faults, and, perhaps the most general of all, is the fondness of self-ease and convenience. A Christian, by seeking self-ease, renounces the first Gospel maxim—self-denial, by which he is ordered to renounce himself and to take up his cross; the sixth is the neglect of the custody of our senses. On the contrary, perfection does not consist in doing extraordinary actions, but in doing every-day actions, namely, daily duties of our state of life extraordinarily well.
There is nothing more conspicuous in the demeanour and comportment of an Irish gentleman, of true Milesian blood, than the extreme moderation and even modesty of his desires and manners. This appears in his air, his carriage, his looks, his tone of voice, his manner of expressing himself; in a word, in the composition of his whole exterior. It is a mistake to suppose that by giving way to boisterous gaiety and mirth, he makes himself agreeable to the world. Everyone expects a man in his place: it is wrong to think that anyone can be pleased who meets you out of it.
The conversation of a gentleman should always be instructive, solid, and useful: it need not always turn upon learned subjects, but is never frivolous or puerile. A gentleman is well proved in conversation: he is never uncharitable or offensive, and always expresses himself in moderate and gentle terms, to inferiors, as well as superiors.
The love of God comes from a high appreciation of Him above all things, and this naturally leads to a depreciation of all inferior things; but especially of one's self: None, then, but the humble, truly love God. All the blessing which we enjoy through the incarnation of Jesus Christ spring from the humility of the Redeemer.
I am deeply impressed with the importance of the future to very one of us; I make no apology to my readers for writing so gravely, since we all know there is but one way to become a good man.
Nora Daly's Christmas Gift:
A Tale of the South of Irelande.
By Laoi.
Chapter 2.
Weeks had elapsed since the departure of John O'Regan, without bringing any tidings of him to his disconsolate parents. Poor Nora Daly, who surely needed consolation herself—for all her young heart’s were centred in the absent sailor boy,—used her best endeavours to comfort them, reminding them that the Almighty God watched over him, and suggested that, in all probability, he only delayed writing in order to surprise them by a speedy return. To add to the affliction of the O'Regans, the agent had served them with a notice to quit.
Young James Cotter continued to pay the most assiduous attention to Nora, to whom his courtesies were distasteful in the extreme. Much to the pain of Nora's mother, he called too frequently at their humble dwelling, which, though the widow could not actually prevent without infringing on the duties of hospitality, she did everything in her power to discourage that did not involve rudeness. One day, about a week before Christmas, he called at the cabin. Nora was alone: in return to a gallant compliment regarding her looks, she thanked hm, and informed him that her mother was out, but she would at once go in quest of her if he wished; or he might call again in an hour when she would be at home. "No, no, my dear Nora," he rejoined, as he divested himself of his overcoat and hat, "It is your sweet self that I wish to see and converse with. Can you not understand how I feel towards you? Ah, Nora! Nora! I love you, and it is you I want to see, and you only." As he said this, the young man stood gazing earnestly at her, his cheeks all aglow with heat, and his hands held out to her imploringly.
"Master James," said Nora, determinedly, "I do not understand you, and I do not think of it becomin' a young gentleman to conduct himself in such a way to a poor girl like me; an' I must tell you once an' for all its not pleasin' to me. I'm willin' to respect you as a gentleman till you give me reason not to do so, an no more."
"Girl!" said the other fiercely, nettled that he should meet with so sudden a rebuke, "there is many a lady who would be proud to know that I entertained the least regard for her; and can it be disagreeable to you to learn that I love you?" Then modulating his voice, he said more tenderly, "Dear Nora, can you not have pity on me? I love you as no one else can love you. I would make you my wife; and instead of living in a pauper's cabin, giving away your precious life for a mere morsel of bread, you would be the equal of any lady in the land, and live in a fine house, and have servants to attend you slightest wish."
"I tell you, Master James"—
"Then, too, as you take as much interest in these O'Regans, I shall use my influence with my father
