You must not only possess that singleness of eye which will direct you in the right way, but also the strong and ardent spirit of zeal; that vivida vis animi which agitates the living body, which no impediment can retard, and no exertion can tire, as independent of any impulse as it is impatient of any obstacle, borne along by the force of its own velocity, and kindling, as it moves, by the vehemence of its own action.

I perceive I have spoken to you at sufficient length, and if with more than usual seriousness, it was called forth by the seriousness of the occasion: and I wish I could feel some of the madness of St. Paul in speaking of the same religion which inspired that Apostle. I will not prolong your attention further: what each of you can do for the Catholic Church your own meditations will speak to you more than human tongue can utter. But as this is the last time that we are all to meet together here in the same circumstances, and since many, in leaving the hall to-day, will rub its dust off their feet for the last time-not, I hope, in malediction-I thought it but a small requital of gratitude to address to you these few words in return for your uniform respect and attention. And when I speak of that respect, do not imagine that I look on it in any other light than in that of an act of homage to religion. Woe be to the superior, who would attempt to support himself on any other basis! Were he to attempt to regulate subordination by any other standard, or intercept that respect which is referred to the place he holds, he would be soon a just victim of his own presumption. While, then, I value your respect, I value it because it is the spontaneous dictate of virtue, recognising in everyone, who occupies any station, a link of that great chain of mutual dependence which God has formed, and merging every

subordinate consideration in a respect for established order. As you are, then, going to embark on the voyage of life, I should be insensible if I felt not an interest for those who have so long sojourned here. And if I cannot furnish you with the lessons that are derived from age, and the tried perils of the deep, to warn you of the dangers that await you on the way, I can offer a still stronger consolation which the Catholic only feels, since we can all invoke for each that Power who will not fail, as He has promised, to awake at our prayers, to rise at our prayers to rebuke the sea and still the anger of the storm. For those who

remain still behind they will, I trust, endeavour to lay up a sufficient store of knowledge, as a chart to direct them when they follow. If the man in the happy valley felt weary of the insipidity of unchequered repose, it is not to be wondered if others, notwithstanding the tranquillity of this place, should wish to tempt the active scenes of life in spite of their dangers. If so, they shall not pine in the melancholy reflection, that they are left behind, until age or infirmity should unfit them for the labour. It may thus be our lot to be engaged in the same labour as we have shared in the same literary leisure. But whether or no, I shall always feel pleasure in recollecting my connection with such a respectable number of young men, whom I shall rejoice to see striving in the competition of virtue-nor shall I fear to be profane since the Scripture consecrates the word-and running the race of glory. If St. Paul, in the ecstasy of his revelations, thought he stood in need of the prayers of the faithful, it would be in us the height of presumption to think we stood in no need of such assistance. Since, then, we are the heirs of that religion which has for every pang its peculiar consolation, and which alone

associates the heart to the empire of the understanding, I trust we shall not be unmindful of that Apostle's pious practice, which consecrates the best feelings of our nature: there is scarcely one of his letters which he does not conclude with a tender and solemn adjuration of mutual remembrance in their prayers.

I have only to remark, and I may now do so with freedom, since few will make the application to themselves, that I observed once or twice something like an indifference. I was unwilling to observe on it at the time, being one of those doubtful matters which you know not whether to ascribe to indifference or infirmity. However, ascribing it to the former, I did not wish to animadvert on it. Perhaps they were some who found the labours of study as unworthy of their talent, and who thought that their talents were wasted on a disproportioned object, like him of whom it is said that while he made a poor fist of the distaff he could wield the thunderbolt. But you may perceive that I never wasted any time in the recommendation of theology to your attention, because such incessant recommendation betrays a consciousness that it requires extraordinary aid. If its importance is not otherwise felt than by the action of incessant terror it will be studied with little assiduity, and with less profit. Thanks to those who have rescued it from its barbarism, and invested it with becoming interest, such as it is now cultivated, or as it ought to be studied, it associates with it the knowledge of Scripture and of history, unlike the treatises of theology which were studied by some in former times, in which not a name was quoted more ancient than their own time. As if the whole circle of science and theology was confined to their own age, they quoted each other like oracles; but their for

getfulness of the ancients was amply avenged by the indignation of posterity, which has equally forgotten them of whom no relic exists save that mathematical improvement of the infinite series of argumentation which they imported into theology without the aid of a binomial theorem to resolve it, and who in transforming the plainest sense into the profoundest mystery, realised the boasted powers of the philosopher, in Lucian, set up to auction, who could change a man into a horse by the single touch of a syllogism.

ADDRESS TO THE THEOLOGICAL STUDENTS OF THE COLLEGE OF MAYNOOTH, 1825.

You have often heard of the charms by which men are so attached to life, that even when every rational hope of remaining longer is gone, they still cannot endure the idea of their departure. I must confess I have laboured under a similar illusion, and, though my judgment assured me of the certainty of speedy separation, yet it was one of those scenes which my feelings forbade my fancy to anticipate. It may excite surprise that one can feel regret in quitting a place which he willingly resigns; and the least expression of reluctance to exchange one's situation may appear affected or unnatural, to those who have only carelessly viewed the surface of life without reflecting that some of its most tempting honours are like the sunny apples of Istkahar, of which naturalists say they are all sweetness on the one side, but all bitterness on the other; the sunny side is pleasing to the view, the bitterness is not felt if not

tasted. Hence the incredulity of mankind with respect to dangers which they never tried; and hence the lessons of moralists, on the illusions of life, are often treated with the same heedlessness as the cautions of age are received by the thoughtlessness of youth, disregarded until time confirms their wisdom, when the adventurous incredulity of the next generation avenges the indifference, with which they received the precepts of their fathers.

But let the charms of life be what they may, let it possess all the reality with which the fancy of some invests it, I defy any individual, possessed of a heart, to make such a transition without the most serious emotion. Before you approach such a period in your existence, you may be tranquil, when you pass it you may experience a similar calm; but the passage itself like the narrow straits that are always vexed by the contending currents of opposite seas must be agitated by the swell of contending feelings which rush from the contrary directions of the past and the future. If, therefore, I should appear melancholy, it will not wear the air of mystery or affectation to those who have explored the recesses of their own heart, and who can find, in that single volume, an epitome of all the passions of mankind. May it not be that my regret at departure proceeds from a selfishness, which would fain disguise itself under the appearance of a generous and disinterested sensibility; may it not be from the consciousness that so much of the happiness of life is flown, accompanied by the pensive thought which must steal over the most sanguine mind, that, even when one seems to be mounting the ascent to elevation, he is only approaching nearer the goal of his existence.

Yet when I look back upon those