SELECTION FROM FR. FABER. CONSOLATRIX AFFLICTORUM. LIKE the voiceless starlight falling Through the darkness of the night, Like the silent dewdrops forming In the cold moon's cloudless light, So there come to hearts in sorrow Mary's angels dear and bright. Like the scents of countless blossoms That are trembling in the air, Like the breaths of gums that perfume Sandy deserts bleak and bare, Are Our Lady's ceaseless answers To afflictions lowly prayer. They are endless, they are countless, They are wondrous thoughts of Jesus, Or strange sweetness to the rod, For they come into our spirits Oh! it is as if some fragments Into Mary's hands were given; For in Mary's ear all sorrow THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. BY FABER. Он it is sweet to think Of those that are departed, While murmured Aves sink To silence tender hearted, While tears that have no pain In hearts that love is filling. Of earthly ties we love them; For they are touched with rays From light that is above them: Another sweetness shines Around their well known features; God with His glory signs His dearly ransomed creatures. In their dear Lord's caresses. Full many a chain that bound us. O dearest dead! to heaven With grudging sighs we gave you, Who took you there to save you :- Your memories yet more kindly, And trust to God more blindly. THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE. THE YOUTHFUL MARTYRS.-ACT I, SCENE I. BY OAKELEY. Fabiola. How now, Syra, Hast thou no gentle note to swell withal This chorus of sweet music? Ever mute, When others press around with words complacent ? Hast no kind wish to proffer, naught to claim Of service meet and loyal? Syra. Noble Mistress, My only wish is thou mayst be happy. This dull morality mislikes me, Slave; Syra. What boots my praise, poor servant that I am, Well used to turn and point the cunning phrase, And more than she believes? and shall a slave Which polish'd eulogists can scarce command ? Fabiola. Hast thou to learn then, slave, that thou art mine? Mine to command, to move, to play upon, Like some obsequious instrument, at will? Know, then, proud menial, that thy voice is mine, E'en as thy limbs; an't please me to command Its tutor❜d modulations, or its notes Less strain'd and artful of colloquial grace, On whom thy life depends. Syra. 'Tis true, indeed, My life, most gracious lady, yea, mine all, Lady, I have no skill in high philosophy, |