"Oh, the entrusted to his holy hands, a resting-place. depth of the councils of God! how unsearchable are his ways, and how incomprehensible are his judgments!" how far that which seems good to men is removed from the views of God's ever-wise and merciful Providence! The fond aspiration of our hearts would be to see virtues, such as distingvished our holy Pontiff, rewarded, even here below, with peace, with honor, with glory, with the heartfelt homage of children and of subjects, obedient to the best of Fathers and Sovereigns. Such, however, dearly-beloved brethren, is not generally the way in which God deals with his elect. The just and the good, of course, he leads by the hand to their glorious destination, but their pathway to it he strews with thorns; to reach the Thabor of his permanent glory, they must carry their cross up the narrow, rugged heights of Calvary; and, even should they find in their way, scattered here and there, a few flowers of joy, they must gather them with a trembling hand from amidst the many thorns that surround them. Theirs is only a transient, momentary happiness, like the fleeting vision of the transfiguration, or like "The dewdrop that, glittering on the thorn, In the past brief triumphs and present humiliations of our beloved and venerable Pontiff, we see, dearly-beloved brethren, the same finger of Providence that manifested itself in the life of our Divine Redeemer, whose Vicar he is. He also heard, on the commencement of his mission, this cry of seemingly warm affection— "Blessed is the womb that bore thee, and blessed are the breasts that suckled thee"-he saw the pressing anxiety of the multitude to crown him King of Juda and of Israel-him who already seemed to reign in their hearts. Babes and sucklings gave him praise-the garments of the people were spread before him to do him honor the palm, the emblem of victory, and the olive, the symbol of abundance and peace, strewed his pathway, and the air was rent with hosannas to the Son of David, with blessings upon him that came in the name of the Lord. But amidst this scene of tumultuous joy, the Saviour was seen weeping, for well he knew the hollow fickleness of all human applause-that all human triumphs were but day-dreams, that end in tears—that they who spread their garments for him would shortly strip him of his own-that of the palm branches they were already forming a cross for him, and that, instead of the olive of gladness and of peace, they would very soon administer to him vinegar and gall, and that their hosannas, in fine, to the Son of David, would be changed, before a week had passed, into "Away with him, away with him-crucify him, crucify him." Hence he wept, letting us understand that the real triumph of justice is in suffering, and its unfading crown only in a virtuous death. How striking, dearly-beloved brethren, the parallel between our Divine Redeemer and his holy Pontiff. His election to the Chair of Peter and the sovereignty of Rome was unanimous. The citizens leaped with joy, and hailed their new-made sovereign with vivas--they spread their garments on the ground to honor him-they sang their hosannahs to him-they blessed him as a Sa viour coming to them to redeem the captive, and to set the bondsman free-bouquets of flowers covered his pathway, and there was no end to their rejoicings. Like his Divine Master, he passed amidst them doing good, heaping upon them benefactions-striking the chain from the limb of the prisoner-restoring to disconsolate parents their lost children-proclaiming a universal jubilee of deliverance. None like the just and the good Pio Nono-the womb was blessed tnat bore him, and the breasts thrice blessed that suckled him-he alone was fit to reign over the Roman people-the great apostle of law revived, of order restored, and the great high Priest of liberty-the resurrection, in fine, and the very life of Rome. This, dearly-beloved brethren, was the world's forced tribute of transcendent beneficence and rectitude. Let us now see its inherent natural hatred of both. Its testimony to virtue is ever constrained, hollow and fleeting; its detestation of it real, spontaneous and permanent; for in it it sees its own condemnation. It was this feeling in Cain that made him murder Abel, because he was innocent-that in Cham mocked the best of fathers-that made Lot hostile to Abraham, his kinsman and benefactor-and made Esau's hatred of Jacob almost immortal; the same that induced Joseph's brethren to coolly plan his murder, to cast him into a pit, and afterwards sell him to the merchants of Idumea -the same that made Egypt detest Israel, and enslave it and pursue it to the death-the same that stirred up the thirty and one kings against God's people in the desert, and made Core and his followers conspire against Aaron and Moses-the same that made Saul furious 13 against David, and Absolam a traitor to his own father -that cast Daniel into the lions' den, and into the fiery furnace that made Haman abominate a Mordecai, and sigh for his destruction, and that of his race-the same that covered a Jezebel and an Athalia with the blood of the Priests and Prophets of the true God, and made them the rabid enemies of his saints and holy templethat made Elias a fugitive, Jeremias a martyr, and prepared the pincers and heated the gridiron for the youthful heroic Machabees and their devoted mother-the same hatred of justice shed the blood of the Holy Innocents, placed the Baptist's head in a dish, preferred a Barabbas to a Jesus, and nailed essential justice to a gibbet. This world-wide hatred of justice has filled our calendar with Christian martyrs, persecuted everywhere the children and the Church of God-made those whom God loved and angels looked upon with admiration, objects of ignominy and reproach-drugged their cup with gall and wormwood—yea, gloried in their misery and utter destruction. This spirit of the world has been lately at its wicked work in Rome, apotheosizing the assassination of the innocent, desecrating whatever was there holy and venerable, and making Pius IX. first its captive, and then an exile! Oh beloved Pontiff! your benignity, your truthfulness, your piety, your justice, were your only crimes. Because you were truthful, meek and just, you are now an outcast; "because thou wert beautiful in virtue beyond the sons of men-because grace was poured abroad by God on thy lips, and God had, abundantly blessed thee—because the sceptre of thy kingdom was truly a sceptre of uprightness-because, in a word, thou hadst loved equity and hated iniquity, therefore it is that "they that sat in the gate spoke against thee, and they that drank wine made their song of thee;" therefore it is that "thou art become a stranger to thy brethren, and an alien to the sons of thy mother!" Rome, such as it now is, venerable Pontiff, was not worthy of thee, neither was the world. Exile, however, as thou art, betrayed, deserted by those whom you loved, whom you blessed, and loaded with benefactions, thou wilt not be alone in thy exile. No; the hearts and souls of hundreds of millions of thy faithful children in the world, but not of it, shall cluster around thee, and comfort thee with their prayers, their tears and their sympathies. Thou art not a solitary exile, illustrious Pontiff; the angels of God are around thee; God is with thee-"the ark of God and the people of Israel." The true Catholics of the earth are emulous to give thee a reception worthy of thee. The Queen of Catholicity-noble France-hailed thee afar, and sent her enthusiastic hosts to defend thee against the infidel faction that assailed thee. Spain pants for the honor of having with her her Catholic Pontiff, Naples displays the riches of her household to allure thee to her palaces; under the shadow of the wings of the American eagle, a safe, a generous asylum would be afforded thee. And oh! if thy faithful Catholic Ireland, wounded though she be by misery, and bruised from the top of the head to the sole of the foot by oppression, could promise herself the bliss which all so ardently ambition, how her heart would bound within her at the bare thought of such happiness, how, in one sight of thee, would she |