on the 20th inst., and three dozen at the admiral's stage at Harbor Grace, on or before the 25th inst., and all the other defendants (except Mr. Felix McCarty) shall receive at the same time, at the last-mentioned place, one dozen each."

Mr. Felix McCarty was sentenced to pay a fine of £30 and all the charges of the court.

By and by came around the formidable American Revolution, and the guilt-haunted intolerants of the "desolate island" became nervous at the prospect of an invasion headed by fighting Irishmen intent on satisfaction for oppression and wrong. However, following the surrender of the English army under Cornwallis, at Yorktown, with the Independent States of America solidly established, the further continuance of religious intolerance and persecution

in Newfoundland was considered inadvisable and perilous. Therefore, in 1784, Vice-Admiral John Campbell, Governor, issued to the magistrates the order, painfully tardy, amusingly monitory and grudging:

"Pursuant to the King's instructions to me, you are to allow all persons inhabiting this island to have full liberty of conscience, and the free exercise of all such modes of religious worship as are not prohibited by law, provided they be contented with a quiet and peaceable enjoyment of the same, not giving offence to the Government."

Originally, early in the seventeenth century, along with the English clergymen brought over by Calvert, the Recollet French Franciscans, who supplied chaplains to the navy of King Louis, gave priests to Newfoundland. Bishop De St. Vallier of Quebec established a convent for Franciscans in Placentia. The names of the hunted Irish "soggarths" who traveled and ministered in the island in the penal days are unknown; they came mainly from Waterford and seem to have left no registers of baptisms or marriages. In

1784 Pope Pius VI sent out as prefect apostolic the Rev. James O'Donnell, a Franciscan, native of Knocklofty, County of Tipperary, Ireland. He took up his residence in St. John's, where, with the permission of the local authorities, he built a chapel. He was consecrated bishop in 1796, at Quebec, with the title of Thyatira, "in partibus infidelium." In 1807 Bishop O'Donnell left the island and returned to his native Waterford, where he died in 1811, aged seventy-four.

By degrees the embers of the fires of religious animosity and race prejudice in Newfoundland grew low and dim, until, in 1832, Bishop Michael Anthony Fleming, who hailed from Carrick-onSuir, was enabled to say at a public banquet: "Should I, in this enlightened period of mankind, meet with a bigot of any denomination, whether clergyman or layman, the best remedy I would prescribe to heal so odious a disease would be to invite him to St. John's, and point out to him its thousands of wealthy and enlightened inhabitants, forgetting all distinctions of party and of creed, but agreeing in that one precept which is the life, the soul of region, 'Love one another,' and never contending unless for the mastery in benevolence and mutual affection."

point out

And now, from the most elevated ground in the capital of Newfoundland, a stately Catholic cathedral looks down upon what was once the most noted stronghold of sectarian bigotry in America, where liberty of conscience was barred and forbidden, where the fires of persecution glowed and the smoke of burning homes and stores drifted dismally out to mingle with the gray fog of the fishing banks.

So, to the cheery but peremptory summons of the trumpet of human fraternity and progress, capitulated the once noted stronghold of intolerance and persecution.

In Canaan's olden and once golden land
Was born of lowly loins a peasant grand
Full fifteen vanished centuries ago:
Some called him Phoros, others Offero:
Similar nicknames these, that signify
the burden-bearer!

Offero grew so high,

He seemed a giant to the common throng On whom he never wrought the slightest wrong.

Unlike most Samsons that are famed in song, His heart was gentler than his thews were strong.

Yet mighty proud of his vast bulk was he
And of his easy strength; but Poverty
And Ignorance-those tyrants of the race-
Compelled and held him in a servant's place.
Still Offero, though he deemed this no dis-
grace

And worked about with simple-smiling face,
Felt his gift wasted and his heart forlorn
To dwell in that small town where he was
born.

So forth he fared, to seek-ah! servant wise!

A mighty master suited to his size. "Earth's greatest king alone is fit to be," Thought Offero, "the lord of one like me."

So, after many days of wandering

He found him in the courtyard of a king,
Believed in power all others to transcend.
"To thee, O King, my service I commend,"
Quoth Offero. "Since thou be'st the might-
iest king,

Men say, and I the mightiest underling,
Tis fit I serve thee, if thou so desire.
Set, then, my wage! Work love I more than
hire."

Right glad the monarch was of such a prize, And, marvelling at his muscles, height and size,

Straight clinched the bargain with a piece of gold,

And in his guard the giant was enrolled.

Now Offero knew nothing of the power
Of Christ or Satan. Hence, for many an

hour

Of easy, golden, tropic days he deemed His King earth's greatest, as in sooth it seemed.

But, whiles he stood one day beside the King,

Listing with stupid ear a minstrel sing.
It happened that the singer frequently
Used the word, Satan; and, so oft as he
Pronounced that curious, mysterious name,
The mighty monarch's color went and came
And he with trembling finger crossed himself.
Ceased the strange lay; the poet got his pelf
And stole away; and silence reigned around
The monarch silent in a muse profound.

Then Offero, who was bold in everything,
The meaning of all this did ask the King,
Who answered not, save with a pensive sigh,
Till Offero said: "If thou dost not reply
And tell me why, I leave thee."

"Right is thine."

The King rejoined. "Know, then, I made that sign

Across my breast that Satan over me
May have no power; for wicked as can be
And mighty in his wickedness is he."

The giant felt himself deceived and said:
"Since there is one thou fearest, him, instead,
I go to seek and serve. My proper lord
Must have a courage keener than a sword,
Must feel a fear of none beneath the sun-
Of no one and no thing!"

Ere day was done

(For Satan sought is never far to seek)
The giant, plodding o'er a desert bleak,
'Mid storms of sand that well-nigh blinded
him,

Beheld a monstrous apparition grim,
Who marched at head of an armed legion

vast.

The least was taller than the shadow cast By a lone pine athwart a sunny hill.

At sight of Offero the throng stood still As towers on which a thunder-cloud takes rest,

And the Chief Shape the plodder thus addressed,

Not seeming e'en to mark the man's great size

Which had so often caused mankind surprise. Authority spake loud from voice and brow: "Peasant, where goest, and what seekest thou In this my realm?"

Quoth Offero, unabashed, Though from the regal eyes weird lightnings flashed

As rolled the words of thunder: "Sir, I seek

The King, hight Satan, him that men bespeak

As the most powerful of all the earth,
Him would I have as master."

Touched with mirth

That hideous mirth that seems to wreathe a fire

Wrecking a home or writhing up the spire Of a still church within a sleeping town, For the Fiend's smile was dreader than his frown

Satan rejoined: "Leave search! Lo. I am he;

And not for nothing do men follow me.
Easy and pleasant shall thy service be."
Offero, louting, joined the cloudy throng,
Proud of a lord so affable, though so strong.
But, when they journeyed on a little while,
Yet every moment covering many a mile-
Or so it seemed-behold, before them set
A little wayside cross where four roads met―
Perchance a token left by loving care
That a true brother of the Faith slept there.
At glimpse of this the Devil and all his crew
In sudden haste and seeming fear withdrew,
Making a wide detour, as if to 'scape

From the mere vision of that wooden shape. Whereat spake Offero: "Master, why this flight?

What means that cross? Why shunnest thou the sight?"

And, as the Fiend kept still, continued he: "Unless thou say, I stay no more by thee." Thus to compulsion put, the Fiend replied: "I shun the cross, for on it Jesus died, And when I see it, I must fly or hide, Lest He should overpower me."

"Coward lord,

Further to serve thee I cannot afford.
Tell me who is this King? And where is He?
Since Him thou fearest, mightier must
He be;

And Him, Him only, would I seek and serve."

From this keen thrust the Shape of Gloom did swerve

With all his rout, heaving a hugeous groan;
And the strong man in the desert was alone,
Marvelling mightily that a cross of wood
By such an army could not be withstood;
And at the way they vanished, like a dream
When the sweet dawn sets all the flowers
a-gleam

With dew-drops, and the myriad little birds
A-singing, sweeter than a lover's words.
Then, since for him only the best sufficed,
He wandered many days in search of Christ;
But alas! found Him not.

At last he came

Unto a lonely man, devoid of blame,

A hermit, dwelling in a solemn wood;

Who in the warring world had wrought much good

And had received much wrong for his reward.

"Tell me, I beg, where bides that mightiest Lord,

Jesus, the Christ? Oh! where can He be found?

For I have journeyed now, meseems, half round

This weary world, seeking and finding not.
Yet for to serve Him still my heart is hot."
The hermit, seeing how simple and sincere.
The giant was, began with accents clear
To teach him of the Saviour of mankind
And said: "Thou are most right, though
dwarfed of mind

By nature, in believing this one thing:
The Christ thou seekest is the greatest King
And worthiest of service; for His power
Is bounded not by this life's fleeting hour.
O'er heaven and earth His might of right
extends;

Throughout eternity it never ends;

Not ends, but ever grows. Yet learn of me Thou canst not serve Him lightly-and if He Accepts thee, burdens He on thee will cast; Will stint thy sleep and often bid thee fast, So thou mayst ken how keen is hunger's power,

And thou must pray for strength of soul each hour."

"Nay, nay, good sir, I know not how to pray,"

Said the proud giant. "Tis not in my way,
Nor will I learn. Service like that may be
For weaklings well enough; but not for me.
Nor will I fast or stint myself of sleep,
Since 'tis by bed and food my strength I
keep.

Why should I waste it, like a spendthrift, when

'Tis all I have?"

The hermit answered then To this most simple of all strenuous men, Smiling a little sadly: "If thou would Use thy great strength, that sure was meant for good,

Since given by God, know'st thou a river deep

The rain swells wide and which doth often sweep

Those who perforce must cross it clean away In its fierce current from the light of day?" "Ay, ay," quoth Offero, "such a stream I know."

"Then," said the hermit, "straightway thither go!

Live on its banks, and those who dare its

wave

Aid them-for some be little ones-and save

Their tossing bodies from that rushing grave.

This is good work; and if that Christ, our
Lord,

Will have thee for that service, thy reward
Shall surely come; for verily, some day. He
Will let thee know He hath accepted thee."
Most glad was Offero a task to find
Suited his powers nor overtaxed his mind.
He hied him to the stream and out of boughs
Beside it made himself a clumsy house,
And aided all who came and many bore
On his big shoulders to the other shore.
Ah! never fell he weary day or night;
The more he toiled, the greater grew his
might;

And after he his life-work thus began

That savage water swallowed up no man;
And for a staff, his towering height to suit,
A palm-tree did he pluck up by the root
To steady him 'gainst the current, as he
stept;

And through his toil his heart with gentlest laughter leapt.

Now the Lord Christ, seeing that strenuous life

Devote to goodly deeds and not to strife, Was pleased with Offero, who had found a

way,

Though he could neither fast nor easy pray, To serve Him; and, when years had flown, at length,

As age began to steal that giant strength,
Little by little, while within his hut
Lay Offero, his eyes for slumber shut,
One pitchy night with rising tempest wild
A voice came, like the voice of a weak child:
"O Offero, wilt thou carry me across?"
Out went he, but he stood there at a loss,
For nothing could he see. So back he went,
Deeming he dreamed that voice and quite

Once more

That cry the tempest to his hearing bore; And yet once more.

At the third call he caught His lanthorn up and palmtree staff and sought,

In the deep darkness by the roaring flood, To find the sound.

Sudden beside him stood

A child so small it seemed a baby slight, Fit for a cradle warm, not such a night 'Of darkness, icy waves and piercing gales. Take me across, unless thy courage fails This night of storm, of blackness and of cold!"

Then Offero, the burden-bearer old,

But stalwart still, and by his kindness bold, On one broad shoulder perched the little child

Who, all unseen, in starry beauty smiled,
As into the wild stream with easy wade
He by the gentle giant was conveyed.
Sudden the winds blew wilder, wilder still,
Like to a thousand fiends, fore speaking ill;
And higher swelled the waves, to billows

grown,

Till Offero feared he might be overthrown. And the roar of the waters waxed as loud As when, against a mountain, cloud on cloud Hurls itself loose in thunder-and the child On the broad shoulder, who so strangely smiled,

Grew heavy; heavier; grew the heaviest load The giant felt he e'er had understrode;

And for a moment, ere the worst was crossed,

Feared he might sink and both of them be lost.

But by the steadying of his staff, at length, And the forth-putting of his final strength, He gained the other bank and softly laid His burden down. Then, wonderstruck, he said:

"Whom have I borne? Hadst thou the whole world been,

Thou hadst not been more heavy."

With a mien

Unspeakably gentle, yet that seemed to light With radiance majestical the night,

And soothe the storm to music and bring on Over the ancient hills ineffable dawn:

"Me thou wast fain to serve, and thou hast

Won

Thy wish and art accepted. Thou hast done Good work and on thy peasant shoulders borne

Not only the whole world, weak and forlorn, But Him who made it-and who now, for sign

Of thy acceptance by thy King Divine,
Bids thee affix thy staff into the sod
And it shall grow-and for the glory of God,
Shown in thy work, it shall bear fruit once
more."

Offero set the staff; and lo! it bore
Leaves in a moment, and in clusters rich
The dates invited him.

Beholding which,

Offero turned, with eyes that dewily shone, To speak his wonder.

But the Child was gone.

Then Offero knew it was, indeed, the Lord Whom he had borne and who in sweet accord

Vouchsafed this miracle for his reward;
And he fell down and worshipped.

Then he rose

To work still more for Christ against man's foes,

And soon to die for Christ and earn a saint's repose.