The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-09-21

OF the Daily Netos in Rome, and few years
iater became the Paris correspondent of the
London Globe. No one could fafl to recognize
ms styie-brimful of scholarly illusions culled
from all sorts OF unheard-0f authors, who were
familiar enough to him; caustic and witty
speed here and there with some sly quotation
from Irish ballads or verses of his own manufac-
ture, and yet as to facts, SO cautious so trust
worthy, and so transparently honest. For
score of years, and, indeed until n few weeks
before his DEATH which took place in the entire
sol in the Rue des Moulns, a street in the Rue
Neuye des Petlts Champs, he wrote his attrac-
tive letters, and was the recognized leader in
Paris of that curious body known as Bohemians.
AS regards Rome, there never was the slightest
doubt of Mahonys orthodoXy-so little, indeed,
that he might have had a cardinals hat to cover
his bald little head but for his one great fault,
conviviality At the Eternal City, SO strongly
impressed were the leading men of the Church
with his abilities and wonderful scholarship,
that it was intimated to him that he might hope
to rise high in ecclesiastical honors, if he would
devote himself exclusively to the Pope. lie
assented; a period of probation was assigned,
during which 1t was ascertained that his notions
of temperance were entirely too liberal for the
Church. Mahony told Maginn the temptations
he had at Rome, adding, ANY road, they say,
leads to Rome; but would it not have been odd If
had gone to seat myself there through the
Groves of Blarney?"
Shandon is an ancient and most interesting
abbey within the city of Cork, celebrated for its
chime of bells. Connected with these famous
'BellS OF ShandOn there is q beautiful legend.
One of the monks of the abbey was driven, with
the rest of the ecclesiastical household, away
from this sacred home at the time of one of the
wars in Ireland. Leaving the shores of his ma
tive land, he iourneyed through England,
France, and Italy, broken-hearted exile. All
his life had been spent in this holy abbey, on the
banks OF the Lee, and every morning and noon,
and at midnight, during long lifetime, he
had listened to the sweet music of those
bells of Shandon. and the memory of
phiminO hDuntQ0
every step of his long wandering. Months and
those rich and holy chimes were ever fresh and
vivid. After n long time spent upon the Conti-
nent, he determined to return to the abbey and
pass his last days there, to be lued to sleep by
the music of its bells, and be laid to rest under
its shadow. Over the Alps and through France
| and across England, he wended his weary way
on foot, TILL jaded and worn he arrived at Bris-
| tol, and took passage for the city of Mahonys
birth. As he entered the beautiful Cove of Cork,
and while the boat was slowly sailing up the lovely
| river of Lee, floods of golden memories were
| passing over his soul-every tree and rock, and
| castle and crag, was rich with history to him.
| By-and-by the shore was approached, as evening
| drew on, and the gables and buttresses of the
| abbey appeared in the distance. AT length the
| solemn bells slowly began the vesper-peal, and
| over the waters the sweet music came stealing
| along the lurking shadows till it reached the
| ears of the venerable monk. 1t was too pre-
| cious for him; his heart could not hold it. The
| rowers stopped and sprinkled a few drops OF
| water gpon his cold brow, and lifted him up,
| hoping that the breeze would revive him. But
| he was gone.-Appleton'S Journal.