The Double Marriage [pp. 776-787]

The Double Marriage.
every State of the Union there are many
thousands of the very cream of the Irish
population."
So far is this from being the case,
as it must have been represented to
Mr. Maguire, that it was, and is, the
constant complaint of the Fenians
themselves, precisely that the "cream
of the Irish population" kept widely
aloof from them.
The concluding pages of the book
are devoted exclusively to the strange
phenomenon presented by the fondlycherished, never-dying, hatred of England found among the Irish in every
part of America; the deep-seated,
burning thirst for vengeance on the
power whose baneful influence has
for many ages blighted the genius,
the hopes, the energies of the Irish
at home-whose colossal shadow has
thrown into the shade the fairer and
more graceful genius of the Celtic
race, and made" the oldest Christian
nation of Western Europe," the proud
Celto-Iberian race, the poorest, the
most abiect of European nations,
with all its wealth of genius, of poetry,
of energy, of all that gives historic
fame.
Mr. Maguire has given a good
"bird's-eye view " of the Irish in
America; he has shown them in various lights, and under various aspects; still his book has left much
untold, much that would have interested the Irish and the friends of the
Irish everywhere. There is, moreover, a want of method in the arrangement of this book-a certain haziness and indistinctness, that detracts
considerablyfrom its value as a book
of reference. Too much is said of
some things and some persons, too
little of other things and persons
and these omissions unfortunately include what we here consider most honorable to "THE IRISH IN AMERICA."
THE DOUBLE MARRIAGE.*
CHAPTER I.
JUST before vespers, as I came in
from a visit to the hospital, Mother
Frances, our superioress, called me
to her, and said:
"Dear sister, you have been out
nearly all day, and were up last evening; you can go into the church for
vespers, and then you had better go
to your cell."
After the service was ended, I remained a few minutes to say my
prayers. When my time had expired,
I went through the cloisters to my
cell; and, just as I opened the door,
* From The Diary of a Sister of Mercy. By Mrs.
C. M. Brame. Now in press, by the Catholic Publicadion Society.
I heard from the gate-bell a loud
peal that rang through the silent
house. I heard the door opened, and
a hurried message delivered.
"Another call," I thought; and
then came a quiet tap at my door. I
opened it quickly, and Mother Frances entered, saying:
"I am grieved, sister, to disturb
you so soon; but that poor girl, Mary
MacNeal, is dying at the hospital,
and she wishes most earnestly to see
you."'
"Is she indeed dying? why, I left
her so much better."
"Yes; but a fatal change has
taken place, and she has not long to
live."
There was no time to think of my
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