THE CAPUCHIN'S OATH. A great festival was to be celebrated at Brixen today. It was the 2nd of August, the day of St. Cassian, and not only were the bones of this saint, which reposed in the cathedral adorned with two splendid towers to be exhibited as they were every year to the devout pilgrims, but the pious bishop had resolved that these sacred relics should be carried in solemn procession through the whole city, that all might have an opportunity to see the saint's remains and implore the assistance of God in the sore distress which bad befallen the Tyrol again. Therefore, since early this morning the peasantry had been flocking from all sides toward the gates of Brixen. Women and children, young and old men, came from all parts of the country to take part in the solemn procession and the devout prayers for the welfare of the country. Among those who were wandering along the road to Brixen, was a monk of strikingly bold and martial appearance. His tall, broad- shouldered form was remarkable for its military bearing; his long, well-kept red whiskers and mustache did not correspond to the tonsure on his head, which was covered with thin reddish ringlets; and in striking contrast with it were likewise the broad red scar on his healthy sunburnt countenance, and the bright, defiant glance of his eyes, which indicated boldness and intrepidity rather than piety and humility. He had tucked up his brown robe, and thus exhibited his stout legs, which seemed to mock the soft sandals encasing his broad, powerful feet. In his hand he held a long brown staff, terminating at its upper end in a carved image of St. Francis; and the Capuchin did not carry this staff in order to lean upon it, but he brandished it in the air like a sword, or held it up triumphantly as though it were a victorious banner. But however strange and unusual the Capuchin's appearance might be, no one laughed at him, but he was greeted everywhere with demonstrations of love and reverence; and when he passed some slow wanderers with his rapid step, they looked after him with joyful surprise, and said to each other, "Look at old Red-beard, look at brave Father Haspinger! He has fought often enough for the fatherland. Now he is going to pray for the Tyrol." "Pray, and fight again, if need be," said the friar, turning to the speakers. "You think, then, reverend father, that there will be war again?" asked many voices; and dense groups surrounded the friar, and asked him anxiously if he advised them to allow the enemy to re-enter the country; if it would not be better to drive him back forcibly, or if be thought it would be preferable for them to keep quiet and submit to stern necessity?