TI-\E VIATORIAN. PJ:i.C
VOL. XIV.
:ST
SPSRJ:t ,
FEBRUARY, 1897.
NO. 5
THE FIRST FRIDAY. With college bells a ringing, Our choir so s weetly singing, Where servers incense swinging, Move noiselessly about : To chapel all are hastening, Where He our hearts a chastening Unto His own is fastening, With cords both strong and stout. The flow e ry altar's gleaming, Its lights so brightly beaming, Ah! now all else but seeming, All other faiths a sham . The priest has su n g th e prayer, And Christ is poised in air, We bow before Him ther e, Hosanna to th e Lamb ~ - J. H.N.
MELODY ISLAND.
Old Chris Melody lived alone with his beautiful daughter Mary, in an old ruined but attaohed to St. John's Chapel. This place was at one time the scene of many a pious ceremony, but now, an ivy-covered ruin whose mossy stones threaten to fall and injure a too curious 6bserver. The reason of the desertion was that the beautiful and romantic stream which flows by the little edifice, swelled in its joyous run to the ocean and would have submerged the entire little vale but that the ground on which the chapel stood was elevated, and as a re-
sult the stream branched out a little way north and left , it on one of the prettiest islands imaginable. The inhabitants of the village soon had a larger and more costly edifice built in another part of the village, but old Chris whose land was not entirely submerged determined to remain on the island, and there he built the little but which is now seen attached to the old chapel. How often I have rowed over from the village to play a game of cards with old Chris, enjoying at the same time a pleasant chat with his beautiful Mary, or a stroll about the place with father and daughter, and enjoyed the