There appears to have been something irresistibly attractive in the character of Pius IX. That illustrious champion of Ireland and of liberty, Daniel O’Connell, resolved, towards the close of his days, to visit Rome and pay the homage of a kindred spirit to the Holy Father. Not only was he anxious to be enriched with the choicest heavenly benedictions, whilst kneeling reverently at the shrine of the Apostles, but he desired also, with a fervor which finds place only in the most nobly-moulded souls, whose love of liberty and whose patriotism are unfeigned and pure, to hold communion with one who was, no less than himself, a friend of liberty, and whose exalted station, and whose high duties towards mankind at large, hindered him not from laboring, as did Ireland’s patriot, to liberate his country, not, indeed, from such cruel bondage as that under which the land of O’Connell had for so many ages groaned, but from the no less dangerous tyranny of abuses which, like weeds that grow most luxuriantly in the richest soil, it becomes necessary, in due season, to extirpate. It was not, however, appointed that Ireland’s liberator should ever see Rome. His illness continued to increase. No sooner had he reached the shores of Italy than the strength of his once powerful frame declined rapidly, and he was unable to proceed. Arrived at Genoa, O’Connell understood that his last hour on earth was near at hand. He now expressed the wish that his heart should rest in the Holy City. Thither, accordingly, it was borne by friendly hands to commingle with the consecrated dust of heroes, saints and martyrs. To Rome it was a relic of incomparable price. Although cold and inanimate, it was still eloquent in death, and grandly emblematic of all that he had been to whom it was the centre of life, and to whose generous impulses it had so long and so faithfully beat responsive.