distance the notes of the Libera me, Domine,' from the burial service of the Church, sung by some one in the streets. The singers were evidently hurrying along fast, and the sounds grew more and more clear and distinct as they approached the square upon which our house stood. For two years all such chaunts had ceased in our streets, and therefore I jumped up and ran hastily to the window, to see from whom they proceeded. I immediately perceived a group of twenty or thirty soldiers, hurrying along two men bound together, in the garb of peasants, but I saw immediately that one of them was a priest; his black hair floating on his shoulders, his beard long and unshaven, the very hat upon his head, are present to my vivid recollections. I crossed the square, following close upon their footsteps. At the turn of the street the good priest had finished the Libera, and commenced singing the Miserere."

This account reminds one of the Jesuit missionaries in South America, who used to chant the Te Deum when they fell wounded by the arrows of unseen Indian foes. A curious account is given of the death of the President of the tribunal, Bonassier, whom we have noticed above. People, it is true, in times when striking events occur, often see omens and judgments, rather according to what they would desire than to the bare facts of the case. It is also true that partisans often overlook events which happen on their own side, to mark as sinister occurrences taking place among their opponents. Nevertheless, there is something more than singular in the following account. The two countesses de Renac were sisters, both unmarried, and both living together at the age of about thirty or forty, in a handsome house facing the public promenade, called La Motte á Madame, at Rennes. Gabriel's mother was accustomed to take her morning walk there, and one day, as she was passing, one of the ladies whispered her, "Madame Brutè, would you like to assist at Mass, to-day?" Madame de Rèmur reminded her that the decree against persons who should shelter non-juring priests, was, at that time, being enforced with great vigour, and, warning her to be cautious, declined to be present, notwithstanding her deep desire to hear Mass. The ladies, however, were incautious, and the priest imprudent; a few days afterwards, the house was denounced as harbouring disaffected priests. The task of discovering the priest devolved on Valeray, an unscrupulous agent of the committee, a man, moreover, who accepted it with eagerness, although he was well aware that his intended prey had been his schoolmate, and intimate friend. With a small detachment of experienced men, Valeray visited the house, searched it from attic to cellar, and yet discovered nothing. The ladies, though present, were on their guard. Fearing lest his search should prove abortive, Valeray took the ladies aside, pretended commiseration and sympathy, and represented that it would be impossible for the priest to escape the diligent ardour of his men. He, himself, as a friend of their guest, was anxious for the escape of his old school-mate. There was, however, but one chance for him. He must urge his men to a stricter search, and then the priest would be discovered, unless he had a hint of the spot he was concealed in,

when he could direct his men from that place. After anxious hesitation on the part of the ladies, and vehement protestations on Valeray's side, they revealed the place of the priest's concealment, and Valeray instantly called his men together, and had him dragged forth. They were all brought before the tribunal, and, as may be supposed, their examination was of short duration. The president, Bonassier, passed sentence of death upon all three. On this occasion he seemed much affected. He had known the ladies intimately. His voice assumed a harsh and angry tone, but could not disguise its sadness, or his own anguish. This trial affected him powerfully, his health broke down, frequent sighs marked the decay of his vital powers. When Buonaparte arose, a star above a troubled sea, Bonassier was continued in high position, for he was, as we have seen, a man not devoid of character or estimable qualities. But the people, at least the royalist portion of them said, that he bore life as a heavy burthen, and this extraordinary incident is related of his later days. He was one day, years after the trial we have just sketched, taking a solitary walk along the promenade, called La Motte à Madame, when just as he was passing the mansion of the Countesses de Renac, he suddenly heard his name called, "Bonassier." He looked round, but seeing nobody, he supposed he had made a mistake, and continued his walk to the end of the alley. A second time did he, with alarm, hear himself called, and saw nobody. Still he continued his walk, when, a third time he plainly heard his name repeated. In the greatest agitation and alarm, he addressed himself to some young men whom he saw approaching, and whom he may have thought were playing a trick upon him. "What is the matter, gentlemen, why am I called?" "The matter, sir," they answered, “don't you perceive it is the voice of the ladies at that mansion?" pointing to the house of the Renacs. Bonassier fell sick, and not long survived this remarkable event. His royalist opponents, naturally enough, set it down as a judgment upon him: but the popular voice is proverbially unreliable in matters of fact. Exaggerations are so very common that it would be a serious error to build much upon the fantastic grounds of rumour. However, one thing is happily certain, Bonassier died, a Christian death. When asked, in his last illness, would he like Father Gaffaud to be sent for. "Oh yes," said the dying man, "it would afford me great happiness."

Such were some of the scenes-sad and sanguinary enough-among which the boyhood of young Gabriel de Rèmur was passed. There were others gayer to the eye, yet quite as sad to the soul. There were the periodical festivities with which the state celebrated certain days, which they substituted for the Christian holidays. It is known how, in its folly, the Republic, anxious to get rid of every vestige of the preceding state of things, and model all upon the old Roman Republic, abolished the usual nomenclature of days, months, and years. It instituted a new era, “Year of the Republic," and named its months as follows; Autumn: Vendemaire, Brumaire, Frimaire, or Vintage, Fog, and Sleet months; Winter: Nivose, Pluviose, Ventose, or Snow, Rain, and Wind months; Spring: Germinal, Floreal, Prairial, or Budding, Floral and Meadowy months; Summer: Messi

dor, Ferridor, Fructidor, or Harvest, Heat and Fruit months. Sundays were decreed extinct, and Decadi, or tenth-days were signalized as the legal days of rest. At first, the novelty, backed by curiosity, had some popularity. Each Decade was celebrated by some new contrivance. Extraordinary were the processions which young Gabriel beheld wending their way to the "Temple of Reason." On the Festival of Youth, bands of young men were assembled in marching order, and old men, on the Festival of Age. The Festivals of Agriculture, and of Arts, were marked by processions of labourers and niechanics, with their implements. In Fructidor, there were exhibitions of fruits, and so on through the year. All very pretty and innocent, apparently, but then there were always such days as the Festivals of Divorce, and Orations in the "Temple of Reason," on the yoke which Christianity had imposed upon human liberty in this matter. These were celebrations which only endured for a few years; they were human inventions, and man soon tires of his own inventions in religion.

Gabriel, who had intended entering the Polytechnic School, and pursued the study of mathematics to this end, saw fit to prepare himself for a nobler profession. In 1796, he began the study of medicine at Rennes, Nevertheless, he still managed, by visiting the prisoners, to be of service to priests and others who might be confined there. After two years' study at Rennes, Gabriel went to Paris. The Medical School of Paris was then at the height of its glory. Bichat, and Pinel, Esquirol, Fourcroy, and other illustrious names shed splendour over its name. Here, though Gabriel has passed out of his years of boyhood, we may mention some facts of his later career. As a student of medicine, Gabriel highly distinguished himself, not less by his attention and aptitude, than by his manly faith and piety, at the time when infidelity was a fashion. With several other students, he chose subjects for the class thesis, which afforded him an opportunity of avowing and defending faith in revelation, while rebutting the sophistries of some of the professors. This drew the attention of First Consul, Napoleon, to the state of things in the Medical School, and he directed professors to keep strictly to their professional teaching. There were at that time more than a thousand students attending lectures in medicine. By concursal examinations, a hundred and fifty of them were eliminated as the best, and a further examination was held to determine which of those athletes should bear the palm. That, indeed, would be a glorious prize for the victor, one worthy of heroic endeavours. The examination was held, The prize was awarded. To whom? To Gabriel de Rèmur!

After that, what a career was open to him, of success, profit, and distinction ! He was at once appointed Physician to the first Dispensary in Paris. Figure to yourself his passage along the path of renown, while noting, as a touching trait in his character, that he sent his precious prize to his teacher at Rennes, as a mark of his gratitude. Yes, picture in the most brilliant colours that fancy can afford, his triumphant professional life in the gay Parisian world. And then, read this, "I am exiled on the eastern shore of Maryland, where I serve with Mr. Monaly, at St. Joseph's, Talbot Co. I went there the first days of vacation. I am trying to learn

practically my English. I have said Mass and preached, bad preaching it may be, in six different places."

Yes! that extract was written by Doctor Gabriel de Rèmur, the first prizeman of the Parisian concursal examinations. He declined the offer of the dispensary, and, seeing how thin had grown the ranks of the clergy, he devoted himself to the Church. He graduated in medicine, in 1803, in 1804, he received the tonsure, and after spending four years in the Seminary of St. Sulpice, was ordained priest. He went on the foreign mission, reaching America in 1810, and shortly after, was appointed professor of a seminary in Baltimore. Thence he was transferred to the Sulpician Seminary at Emmitsburg, in Maryland, and this soon acquired that renown which has never departed from "Mount St. Mary's College." In 1834, Father Gabriel was appointed to the See of Vincennes, in Indiana, of which he was the first Bishop. On his arrival in America, he had found the Church with but one Bishop, and he an Irishman, the most Rev. Dr. Carrol; but, when he went to occupy his See, there were many. He passed through Cincinnatti, governed by another Irish Bishop, most Rev. Dr. Purcell, and pursuing his onward way through storms and prairies, at last reached his own, Vincennes. He was warmly-received. But, what a contrast did this little town in the wilderness present to that in France, whose name it bore. Its Cathedral, of brick, unadorned, was little over 100 feet long, by sixty wide. The Episcopal Palace, separated from the Church by a small strip of garden, magnificently contained one room and one closet, and nothing more! A wooden shed, at some distance, presented an apartment for the Bishop's servant, and a stable for his horse, when he had one. The Cathedral pew-rents absolutely amounted to £20, not much more than what was needed for the expenses of the Church itself, whilst the subscription, on paper, for the Bishop's support, rose to £50 per annum. He had a flock of about fifteen hundred. In the visitations, which, as Bishop, he made throughout his diocese, he came upon strange scenes. At the Indian village of Pokegan, for instance, he visited a mission. The missionary had baptized over six hundred Catholic Indians, whose huts surrounded the chapel. The Indians had built it. With the axe as their only implement, and strips of skin and bark to serve instead of nails and glue, they erected the little bark chapel. On its floor were rude benches, and in a corner, a ladder by which the Bishop ascended to visit the missionary's abode. It was a single room above the church, containing books on its walls, but only a chair, table, and hammock, as other furniture. Missionary and Indians formed a community of strict teetotallers. He found the Indians leading an innocent life, kindly disposed, and quick to learn. The Bishop's learning, and the active use he made of it, his energy and indefatigable exertions in the cause of virtue, made him beloved throughout America.

After many changes, many labours, Gabriel, the Breton boy, born under royalty, a witness to the Reign of Terror, died under the wing of the great Western Republic, in his peaceful Bishopric of Vincennes, in 1839.

COLUMBA.