d a humorous parody on a
well-known stanza:--

"There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill,
The ship that had brought him scarce from harbour was steerin',
When Senator Mike was presenting a Bill."

[Side note: Theology]

The great Cardinal Franzelin said to one of his most
distinguished pupils[2]--"As a professor of theology at Rome for
many years I had every day opportunities of studying the
character and mental equipment of various nations, and, though in
favour of the Germans, I give it as my opinion that the Irish, as
a race, have the most theological minds of any people." Judgment
from such an authority is conclusive.

[2] Dr. Croke, late Archbishop of Cashel.

The first essential for a preacher is the power of lucid
reasoning. That this faculty is ours is now abundantly
established. The next talent requisite is imagination. That we
have imagination, often teeming in tropical luxuriance, but
shared in great or less degree by all, has never been questioned.
One more requisite and the oratorical outfit is complete.

[Side note: Sensibility]

On this score it is sufficient to say that we are Celts, endowed
with the ardent nervous temperaments. But suffering has given to
ours an acute refinement that nothing else could impart.

"Never soul could know its powers
Until sorrow swept its chords."

"We give preference to Jews and Irishmen on our staff," said the
proprietor of a leading journal. "Both have suffered, and a man
with a grievance writes passionately. He dips the pen into his
own heart and electric energy thrills his sentences; hence the
crisp pungency and compressed fire of our columns."

What gift that goes to make an orator has God denied us? Reason,
fancy, passion, a pathos and humour where the smile trembles on
the borderland of tears.

Why then this barrenness? Mainly because of the criminal neglect
of colleges in the past to cultivate the abundant material placed
at their disposal; other contributory causes are cynical
criticism and want of courageous ambition.

Colleges are now bestirring themselves--it is high time--but
criticism has not died. Refined natures have heartstrings like
the chords of Aeolian harps, sensitive to the faintest touch,
responsive to the gentlest whisper of the evening breeze; such
shrink in terror from the icy breath of the scoffer: the purpose
is frozen dead within their souls. O criticism! wh