ught him to a broad and pleasant
cross-street; he went up the high steps of one of the houses, rang the
bell, and was admitted.

Rev. Mr. Martin was in his study, and the missionary was shown up.
Precisely what the conversation was has not been reported; but certain
it is that the next day after Mr. Cole's call, Mr. Martin began to
prepare himself for an address upon the life of Saint Patrick. It was an
entirely new topic to him; but he soon found himself in the full current
of the stream, considering--First, did such a man really exist, or is
Saint Patrick a mere myth, floating in the imagination of the Irish
people? Second, what was his nationality? Third, where was he born, and,
herein, how are we to reconcile his escape from captivity in 493, with
his visit to his kinsman, Saint Martin of Tours, after his escape from
captivity, in 490? Fourth, to what age did he live? Fifth,--and so
forth.

Mr. Martin had begun his labors by taking down his encyclopaedia and
such books of reference as he had thought could help him, and had
succeeded so far as to get an outline of the saint's life, and to
find mention of several works which treated of this topic. There were
Montalembert's "Monks of the West," and Dr. O'Donovan's "Annals of the
Four Masters," the works of Monseigneur Moran and Father Colgan, the
Tripartite Life, and a certain "magnificent quarto" by Miss Cusack. All
these and many more he had hoped to find in the different libraries of
the city. But great had been his surprise, on visiting the libraries,
to find that the books he wanted were invariably out. It was a little
startling, at first, to come upon this footprint in the sand; but a
little reflection set the feeling at rest. The subject was an odd one
to him, to be sure, but there were thousands of people in the city who
might very naturally be concerned in it, particularly at this time, when
Saint Patrick's Day was approaching. None the less the fact remained
that the books he wanted--scattered through two or three libraries--were
always out.

As he stepped out from the Free Library into the street, it occurred
to him to go to a Catholic bookstore near at hand to look for what he
wanted.

It was a large, showy shop, with Virgins and crucifixes and altar
candelabra's in the windows, and pictures of bleeding hearts. He went in
and stood at the counter. A rosy-faced servant-girl, with a shy, pleased
expression, was making choice of a rosary. A young priest,