Shelter at that Cross, oh! yield me! By the death of Christ, oh! shield me! Comfort with thy grace and aid! And, O Mother! bid my spirit Joys of Paradise inherit, When its clay to rest is laid! Ὁπόθ' ὥρα μ' ἀπέρχεσθαι, διὰ Μήτρος δὸς φέρεσθαι, Χριστὲ, νικητήρια· τεθνέωτος χρωτὸς ἐμοῦ, εὔχομαί μοι ψυχῇ δίδου οὐρανοῦ τὰ χάρματα. FOOTNOTES: [8] This translation, which first appeared in the _Democratic Magazine_ thirty years ago, is now republished at the request of the author, G. J. G. [9] By the late Otto George Mayer, student of the Congregation of St. Paul. [10] Instead of these three lines we sometimes find the following: Fac me cruce custodiri, Morte Christi præmuniri, Confoveri gratia. The former version of the Latin is followed in the Greek, the latter in the English translation. THE BRIGAND'S GOD-CHILD. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. Once upon a time, as the legends say, there lived in good old Spain a poor workman, to whom destiny had given twelve children, and nothing for them to live upon. Now his wife was expecting a thirteenth, and perhaps with it would appear a fourteenth also, to run about loved but unclothed and unfed, as the others had before them. The bread was almost gone, work not to be had, and the poor man, to hide his sighs and his misery from the patient partner of his misfortunes, wandered far from home and into the woods, calling upon paradise to assist him, until he came to the ill-reputed cavern and stronghold of the bandits. He almost fell over their captain, and came very near receiving a sabre-thrust for his pains; but his extreme misery made him no object for a robbery, so he was simply catechised as to his condition. He told his story, moved even the brigand heart to pity, and was invited to supper; a bag of gold and a fine horse were given him, and he was sent home with the assurance that, be the new-comer boy or girl, the robber-chief would stand as god-father. The poor man, in ecstasy at such good fortune, flew rather than rode to his well-filled dwelling, and arrived there just in time to welcome number thirteen. A boy! He gave his wife the money and a caress, and, although the night was far advanced, mounted his charger and galloped back to the cave. The brigand was astonished at his speedy return; but true to his word, appeared with him in the neighboring church in disguise of a rich old gossip, made every requisite promise for the new-born babe, and disappeared, leaving a bag of golden crowns and another purse of gold. The angels, however, claimed the baby, and the brigand's god-child flew to paradise on golden wings, and in the splendid swaddling-clothes that his charity had provided for it.