In Europe this alliance between the despotic and the lawless may be fortunate for the peace of the community. In our Southern States it is eminently conducive to the tranquillity they desire. But when the lawless are here and the despotic are there, when the barbarism is in New York and the tyranny in Richmond, when the elements of discord and turbulence in our Northern cities fly to support their iron-handed rulers in the seceded States, there ensues a state of things, especially in time of war, that is calculated to shake society to its foundations, and fill every loyal heart with dread. The unruly, as if they felt instinctively their lack of self-control, seek a ruler--fly to the strongest to save them from themselves, worship the sternest, the most high-handed, the cruellest, and by that natural sympathy with brutality are maintained in subjection to law. Heaven speed the time when these heedless, reckless, licentious children of humanity may feel sensible of the weight of power without its brutality, may reverence authority when it is neither beastly nor cruel, may yield obedience to Order, whose symbol is not the sword, and to Law, whose badge is not the bayonet. But till that time comes, we, with thoughtful minds and sad hearts and sober consciences, and souls full as we can make them of human charity and good-will, must hold in our hands those terrible symbols, and in the Christian spirit do the ruler's part. The insurrection did not last long. As soon as the United States troops appeared the trouble was over and order was restored. There was fighting; there was pillage; but how many lives were lost and how much property was destroyed was never exactly known. On the whole, the riot strengthened the hands of the government, increased pity for the victims of outrage, and excited sympathy for the negroes and the abolitionists. The priests, as I well remember, helped in the work of pacification. On the second day of the uprising, as I was visiting a friend in his studio on Fifth Avenue, the mob came along, shouting, yelling, brandishing clubs, on their way to the archbishop's palace, to hear an address by him. The prelate appeared on the balcony dressed in full canonicals, in order to impress the people, and delivered a most ingenious and persuasive address. Beginning "Men of New York," he flattered their self-esteem, paid a tribute to their sense of power and exalted influence, and advised them against cruelty and anarchy. The effect of this speech was surprising in soothing and quieting the crowd. They had come there in a mood of tumult--they separated peacefully and went to their own homes, satisfied. From that hour the soul of the riot was broken.