us for the present content ourselves with a short story of its construction.

We will, if you please, transport ourselves in fancy to those romantic and chivalrous days of the fourteenth century-for though the play was written in the last year of the sixteenth, its events are attributed to the fourteenth. Let us take up our abode in Venice. Venice! Ah! what a train of memories does not that name bring with it in its wake! Venice, the peer of Rome and treasury of the world; mistress of the Adriatic, beautiful with art and proud with wealth; at peace with herself and the world, laughing in triumphant derision at poor, down-trodden, baronridden, immortal Rome. Yes, here we will stop, for it is here our poet rests in his search for his subjects, and, while resting, finds them.

The time passes quickly in this gay, old city that sleeps through the day and is alive with brilliancy from the departure of the last ray of the burning sun over the hills, till the first reappears again, heralding the dawn as the sun rises slowly and majestically from its Adriatic bath. We have just returned from an afternoon trip in the lazy gondola, passing out under thePonte di Rialto," to inspect the only place in Venice where life is seen on these hot summer daysthe Rialto. What an interesting place it is, to be sure; how cosmopolitan its frequenters; Venetian and Roman, English, Jew and Moor, it seems alive with all the nationalities of the globe, running hither and thither, some jubilant and laughing, rejoicing over good news from their distant argosies; others grave and serious, with heads bowed in thought, engrossed in some tremendous risk; and, above all, we catch broken phrases and exclamations of the jumbled, imperfect patois, understood only after months of as

sociation.

It is here we are introduced to the first of Shakespeare's subjects, Antonio. We are pleased with his looks; his kind and noble bearing towards his associates impresses us from the first, and we are sure we will like him on better acquaintance. But he is sad at heart, and though he t.ies, in his kindness, to hide it from his friends, it is but a feeble attempt. Yet he knows not wherefore he is sad, and although he is a merchant with important risks at stake, he denies that they engross his mind: "My mercha dise makes me not sad." Neither is he in love. What can it be, then? Perhaps some indistinct, haunting prescience ofm isfortune yet to come.

However, he is soon joined by his boon companions, Bassanio, Gratiano and Lorenzo-noble fellows, all, free-hearted, sympathetic, true as steel. Bassanio is our favorite immediately. An air of distinction surrounds him, and a kindly grace marks his language. Gratiano is well, not, strictly speaking, too forward, but he speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice." Still, his exuberant wit does not displease us. Lorenzo says little, and from the peculiar, far-away look in his eyes we judge him to be somewhat of a sentimental dreamer.

Bassanio is in love, and admits himself to be, deeply and irrevocably. But he is seriously at odds with But he is seriously at odds with himself to know how he is to bring his suit to a successful termination without the means to speed him on his way in a manner becoming a suitor for the hand

of the princely lady of Belmont. His already too
prodigal use of his own and Antonio's means makes
him somewhat backward in trying his friend's liberal-
ity again. Not so Antonio. Scarcely does he get the
trend of Bassanio's difficulties but he bids him :
"Be assured

My purse, my person, my extremest means
Lie all unlocked to your occasions.

Therefore, go forth,

Try what my credit can in Venice do,
That shall be rack'd to the uttermost

To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.”

What a noble example of ideal friendship!

In the course of time they find themselves unable to obtain any ready money except from a decrepit, miserly, old Jew, named Shylock. Now, Antonio has had dealings with this Jew, and has learned to scorn and despise him for his beggarly manners and avaricious usury. Shylock, in turn, has nourished in his breast an undying flame of hatred against Antonio-hatred combined with the most devilish malice, and if he can "but catch him on the hip," he "will feed fat the ancient grudge " Now is his golden opportunity; let him but get a hold on Antonio, and then

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In his cringing, cautious manner he agrees to supply the money, and in a "merry sport," as he terms it, suggests that Antonio sign himself to a bond that if the money be not repaid on such a day, in such a place, let the forfeit be nominated for an equal pound of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken in what part of your body pleaseth me." Antonio, with a confidence born of uninterrupted successes in his business, readily agrees, and goes forthwith to the notary's to sign the bond, while Bassanio, accompanied by Gratiano, betakes himself with all possible speed to fair Portia at Belmont.

Here the ardent lover is met by a new difficulty. The object of his devotion is to be gained only by the fulfillment of certain fanciful conditions of a deceased father. Three caskets, of gold, silver and lead, have been prepared one containing Portia's picture. To the chooser of the casket containing the picture, Portia, by her father's will, goes in marriage. So great is her beauty and worth that the "four winds blow in from every coast renown'd suitors." Six have already made the trial and have failed. Therefore comes Bassanio to try his fortune. From Portia's talk we gather that she would fain have Bassanio win : "I would detain you here some month or two Before you venture for me. I could teach you How to choose right, but then I am foresworn." But Bassanio can endure the rack of suspense no longer, and is determined upon making his choice directly.

Fate is with him; the "meagre looking lead" discloses fair Portia's picture and instructions to claim his lady. It were difficult to say which is the more rejoiced at this happy termination. But, soaring to a giddy height in their happiness, they are suddenly recalled by news from Venice. Antonio's ships are reported lost; his time expired and his bond forfeit; Shylock is crying out in the highways and byways of the city for the enforcement of the law.

Portia bids Bassanio marry her, then begone, take with him thrice the Jew's sum of ducats, redeem his

loyal friend, and return with him to her again. Upon his arrival in Venice Bassanio finds Antonio already in custody, a day set for the trial, and the Jew fearful lest he shall be, by any means, cheated of his victim. He has refused double, treble the amount of the principal, and will have only his bond.

The day of the trial arrives. The duke himself is there to conduct it. Shylock is there, with his bond and his sharply whetted knife; Antonio, too, calm and dignified. A great concourse of people has assembled and listens in silence to the statement of the case. Scarcely are the facts well presented when news comes of the arrival of a young doctor of the law from Padua, with his clerk. They are bidden enter, and are none other than Port a and her maid, Nerissa, in disguise.

Portia, as the doctor, assumes the conduct of the case, it being so recommended in a letter she brings from the famous Balerio. She begs the Jew be merciful, take his principal and begone. He refuses. She cannot compel him, so bils Autonio prepare his naked breast. How the Jew's eyes gleam; how his hands clutch, how carefully he tries the edge of his blade; how he trembles and is turned pale with pent-up malice and revenge! Ah! his triumphing hour is at hand at last; he will cut, and will cut deep. If the pride of that accursed Christian would but admit some slight sign of fear, even the slightest, how immeasur ably would his joy be increased.

An intense silence reigns in the court; the duke is stolid; the assembled multitude looks on with bated breath, strained eyes, and now and then is heard a gasping murmur of Horror and disgust. Antonio has taken a pathetic farewell of friends, and stands with calm dignity awaiting his end. Shylock, after carefully adjusting his cales, stands with knife half raised, but a pace from his victim; a gloating fire gleams from his eyes as he stands there, like a hungry tiger, ready to bound on his prey. Suddenly through the silence the young doctor's voice rings out in clear tones and bids Shylock stay his hand. He has asked for justice, and justice he shall have. But justice. gives him not one drop of blood. Now, then, Shylock, cut, sate thy vengeance and take thy flesh, but if "thou dost shed one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods are by the laws of Venice confiscate." You have insisted the strict adherence to your bond, and every word shall be fulfilled; look to it, then, and see for how much blood thou hast made provisin. None? Then blame thine own wit and infernal greed for the omission. Ay! rage and foam and curse; it well becomes thee. What? You will take the principal? Nay, take thy bond or begone-yet, hold, there is even more justice for thee. You have conspired against this noble citizen's life, and for such offence, by the laws of Venice, half of thy wealth goes to him, half to the state, and thy very life hangs only on the clemency of the duke." Down, then, and beg for mercy."

Now, indeed, is the Jew's cup full; his schemes. against Antonio's life have failed, his wealth is confiscate, his only child, Jessica, has, in the meantime, possessed herself of all his jewels and eloped with our quondam friend, the "sentimental dreamer," Lorenzo; and now his very life hangs in the balance of the duke's

There is little more to tell. Antonio is free; Portia on her return home reveals her part in the trial to Bassanio; Gratiano and Nerissa, who were wed with Bassanio and Portia, have experienced their first matrimouial quarrel and reconciliation; Lorenzo and Jessica are there, too, and all rejoice together in Antonio's regained liberty and the joyful news that his ships were not lost, after all. We might add, with the chronicler of the fairies, that "they lived happy ever after;" but with our knowledge of their characters we deem it superfluous. LEK.

Laertes.

AMLET, as a tragedy, has many attractions for the student of character. The Danish prince has a character all his own, and unparalleled in all Shakespeare. He is, of course, the leading. personage of the play. The others serve as foils to. Hamlet, and do certainly bring to the fore his many great qualities of mind and heart, although they themselves are also very interesting and important. One of these is Laertes, a human being in every sense of the word, who at times excites our admiration for his many noble traits, yet again he falls into the lowest depths of passion and commits a crime for which he has our severest censure, yet our sincerest pity.

That Laertes possessed a kind heart and gentle disposition can be inferred from his great love for his sister, the deep and sincere tenderness of his words and manner towards her, his watchful care for his devoted Ophelia, and the heartfelt grief he gives utterance to when she is stricken with madness. He seems in the early part of the play to take an optimistic view of life, and, until his father's death, to live only for the present--at least his actions at the gay capital of France would lead us into such a supposition. Laertes is not an important personage in the early scenes, neither does he ever philosophize as deeply as Hamlet, nor does he seem to possess the wholesouled sentiments to which the "melancholy Dane" gave voice.

In studying the different events of the play we must give consideration to the times, manners and customs of the people of that period, else a wrong conception of the personages will be the result. This tragedy was written at a time when the idea of true Christian revenge was almost unknown, or, at least, despised by such nobles as are seen here. The sword was the instrument of honorable satisfaction; a person wronged, therefore, or insulted, immediately went about seeking satisfaction by challenge and subsequent duel. Charity has no place in the minds of some of the characters, and might rules right. Hamlet at times shows his angry passions, and gives utterance to his desire of revenge for his father's death. In fact, in almost every scene motives for vengeance

character of his students soon procured his promotion as prefect of discipline. This office, together with prefect of studies, he held until March, 1871, when he was elected vice-president. He served in this capacity for seven years, at the end of which period he was selected as president, to succeed the lamented Father Rice. During the sixteen years that he wielded the sceptre he labored zealously for the cause of Christian education. That his efforts were successful needs no comment. The fruits of his labors survive him, and will ever serve as a fitting memorial to a life forgetful of self and solicitous for the welfare of others.

When Father Kavanagh assumed the duties as president of the College and Seminary of Our Lady of Angels the institution was not widely known; it was in its infancy, and a heavy debt threatened its existence; the attractions were few and the accommodations poor; in fact, there were no inducements for students, and the road to success seemed long and dreary. But before the giant frame and mind of Father Kavanagh all difficulties were forced to yield. In 1883, with the assistance of Hon. T. V. Welch, he secured a university charter from the state, under the title of Niagara University, and established a law and medical school in Buffalo.

In September, 1894, Father Kavanagh sought a change. It was granted to him, and he became pastor of the Immaculate Conception Church, Baltimore, Md., and afterwards pastor of St. Joseph's Church, Emmittsburg, Md.

It was while perform ng his duties at the last mentioned church that he was stricken with the malady which ended his life. How long Father Kavanagh was afflicted he never told. He suffered patiently and in silence, at the same time discharging the onerous duties of a pastor.

But when at last the serious turn the disease had taken compelled him to make known his condition he asked to be transferred to Niagara, to rest and regain, if possible, his wonted health. His condition, however, was more serious than at first supposed, and he was compelled to stop on his way at the Sisters' Hospital, in Buffalo, where, after suffering for two months untold agonies, he died on the night of December 9th.

THE FUNERAL.

The remains of Father Kavanagh were taken from the hospital Sunday afternoon to the home of his brother, James, No. 204 Niagara street, Buffalo, N. Y., where they remained and were viewed by his host of friends in Buffalo till Tuesday morning. The funeral took place at 9:45 a. m. Followed by a long line of carriages, the corpse was brought to the Cathedral, where a solemn requiem mass was celebrated by

Very Rev, P. McHale, C.M., assisted by Rev. J. W. Hickey, C. M., as deacon, and Rev. P. J. Conroy, C. M., as sub-deacon. The pall bearers in Buffalo were Revs. J. C. Long, R. Burke, R. O'Connell, M. Purcell, D. Walsh, J. J. Sheehan, J. J. Grant, J. D. Biden.

The services were most impressive. The sanctuary choir of the Cathedral, assisted by a choir from the Seminary and the regular choir, rendered the mass. Miss Juliana Cronyn presided at the organ. Dr. J.J. Mooney and Miss Elizabeth Cronyn sang the different solos. Father McHale delivered a short and affecting eulogy, in which he briefly touched upon the death and life of Father Kavanagh. Quite a large number of priests who had been friends of and students under Father P. V." were present in the sanctuary.

After mass the corpse was transferred by rail to Niagara, where it lay in state, guarded by the Faculty and Seminarians, until Wednesday, when the funeral took place. The Seminary Chapel had been draped in mourning for the occasion; the entire house, in fact, was in mourning for him who had ruled it so gen ly, yet so firmly, for so many years. As long as the body remained, the deepest sile.ce reigned throughout the house, everyone went about sid at heart; his loss was truly mourned by Niagara.

The entire University, the Seminarians in choir and the students in the body of the chapel, attended the services, which began at 10:45 a. m. A large number of priests also attended. The Solemu Office of the Dead was chanted by the Seminarians and the priests. The mournful chanting was most impressive and Holy Mother Church too well expresses in this office, the thoughts and feelings of all those present. Solemu Miss, coram episcopo, was then celebrated by Rev. J. W. Hickey, C.M. assisted by Rev. David Kenrick, C.M. as deacon and Rev. E. J. V. News, C.M. as sub-deacon. Rev. P. J. Conroy, C.M. was master of ceremonies. The music of the mass was rendered

by the Seminarians and the students. The sanctuary was crowded with priests come to honor the memory of Father Kavanagh. Directly after mass Father N. H. Baker, '76, of West Seneca, N. Y., delivered a touching and eloquent eulogy on the deceased. The reverend gentleman was a student under Father Kavanagh and knew well his noble character. In the course of his remarks he dwelt on the personal magnetism, the sweet, affable character, the winning ways, the sincerity and purity of the life, yet the strict disciplinary methods of beloved Father "P. V," not only in regard to the Study Hall but especially to the Seminary. He was characterized by Father Baker, as one of the few great men, a man set apart by God especially for the work he performed and a man whose