Wasted by his continual labors and incessant care for the welfare of his people, he felt the gradual approach of the last great combat to which all must ultimately yield. He might well exclaim with Saint Paul, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith, and now there is laid up for me a crown of glory, which the Lord shall render to me, the just Judge." "When exhausted nature apprised him that the last sad struggle was approaching, he called for the viaticum. But recollecting that his Master had expired on the hard bed of the cross, and anxious to resemble him even in his end, he ordered his mourning priests to lift him almost naked from his bed, and stretch him upon the cold and rigid floor, and there, in humiliation and penance and prayer, James of Kildare and Leighlin accepted the last earthly embrace of his God." This was in 1834, in the forty-eighth year of his age, and in the fifteenth of his episcopate. Mr. Fitzpatrick has rendered a valuable service to his country and religion by writing the life of this eminent man. The next thing to being a great man is to propose to our people the example of great and good men, whom they should honor, and whose memory should inspire those who come after them. Ireland has many such men whose histories have not yet been written, and whose lives would serve to raise in the souls of her sons a generous emulation of their actions. An incident in the life of Dr. Doyle will show that this was a principle with which he himself was deeply impressed, and which he very emphatically expressed. A foreign monk, dressed rather picturesquely, once approached him with a very meek aspect, and said that he was a member of a community from the continent just come to Ireland bearing the relics of a man said to have been "beatified." At the same time he offered to the bishop a considerable portion of the relics. The bishop was somewhat ruffled in temper, and replied sternly: "Sir, we need not the ashes of beatified foreigners while we see the bones of our martyred forefathers whitening the soil around us." -------- {57} Iona to Erin! What Saint Columba Said To The Bird Blown Over From Ireland To Iona. [Footnote 21] [Footnote 21: This is a very ancient legend of the great founder of Iona, and very characteristic of his exalted patriotism and loving tenderness for all creatures, in which he was an antitype of the seraphic St. Francis.] I. Cling to my breast, my Irish bird, Poor storm-tost stranger, sore afraid! How sadly is thy beauty blurred-- The wing whose hue was as the curd, Rough as the seagull's pinion made! II. Lay close thy head, my Irish bird. Upon this bosom, human still! Nor fear the heart that still has stirred To every tale of pity heard From every shape of earthly ill. III.