"the breadth and length, and height, and depth, and the charity of Christ, which surpasseth all knowledge," than the previous studies of herself, and of all who could have ever studied, imagined, or apprehended, before they saw.

W. H. ANDERDON, S.J.

LESSON XCI.

THE MAID OF THE INN.

1. WHO is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes

Seem a heart overcharged to express
She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains, but her silence implies
The composure of settled distress.

2. No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek ; Cold and hunger awake not her care;

Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow

bleak

On her poor withered bosom half bare; and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair.

3. Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, Poor Mary, the maniac, has been ;

The traveller remembers, who journeyed this way, No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay,

As Mary, the maid of the inn.

4. Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, As she welcomed them in with a smile;

Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night

When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.

5. She loved, and young Richard had settled the day,

And she hoped to be happy for life;

But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who knew her would pity poor Mary, and say
That she was too good for his wife.

6. 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,

And fast were the windows and door;

Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, They listened to hear the wind roar.

7. "Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside,

To hear the wind whistle without."

"A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied. "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about.

8. "I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head;

And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,
Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear,
For this wind might awaken the dead.”

9. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
"That Mary would venture there now."
"Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied,
"I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow."

10. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaimed with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the alder that grows in the aisle."

11. With fearless good humor did Mary comply, And her way to the abbey she bent;

The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, She shivered with cold as she went.

12. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid,

Where the abbey rose dim on the sight; Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night.

13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast

Howled dismally round the old pile;

Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she

passed,

And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle,

14. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near,

And hastily gathered the bough—

When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her

ear

She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear,

And her heart panted fearfully now!

15. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her

head;

She listened; naught else could she hear.

The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with

dread,

For she heard in the ruins-distinctly-the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.

16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there;

That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them--a corpse did they bear!

17. Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold!

Again the rough wind hurried by

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold!
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled !—
She fell-and expected to die!

18. "Curse the hat!" he exclaims; "Nay, come on and first hide

The dead body," his comrade replies— She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the abbey she flies,

19. She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the

door,

She gazed horribly eager around;

Then her limbs could support their faint burden no

more,

And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound.

20. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view;

Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, oh God! what cold horror thrilled through her heart,

When the name of her Richard she knew.

21. Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by,

His gibbet is now to be seen ;

Not far from the inn it engages the eye,

The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,
Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn.

SOUTHEY.

LESSON XCII.

THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO.

1. It is not to be supposed that Pope St. Pius V., upon whom lay "the solicitude of all the churches," should neglect the tradition, which his predecessors of so many centuries had bequeathed to him, of zeal and hostility against the Turkish power. He was only six years on the Pontifical throne, and