The suppression of the order of Jesuits soon followed-1773-their expulsion from Spain. And though restored in 1814, and recalled to the Argentine Confederation by General Rosas, they never attained to much influence. They were in the country but a short time when Rosas, repenting of his recall, with or without cause, expelled them from the province of Buenos Ayres in 1843. The other provinces followed the example, and the expulsion from the entire country was completed in 1848, when they left Cordova. Upon the fall of Rosas, February 3, 1852, the Jesuits appeared again in the train of Urquiza the conqueror. A Jesuit priest by the name of Pena, a short time after Urquiza's entrance into Buenos Ayres, delivered a sermon before him in the cathedral, celebrating his victory. We will make a few extracts from it, to give an idea of the fulsome flattery of a Jesuit.

At the commencement of the discourse he calls upon his hearers, "Assist me to implore the help of grace, by the intercession of the mother of Christ, Holy Virgin! Your own glory is interested in my prayer, for neither were your altars venerated by that scourge of society and religion. [General Rosas.] Enable me to fill my ministry duly. Hail Mary!"

He addressed Urquiza thus: "But likewise thy name, O great Urquiza! Thy name will be immortal in the annals of our history! Toward you our gratitude will be eternal, and the echo of our acknowledgments will make itself heard across the distances of space which separates us from the confines of the earth! The heart of each Argentine will be a temple consecrated to thee, where thou wilt receive continually the sweet incense of our affection! . . . The press, the organ of the sentiments of man, will carry your heroism, your valor on the wings of fame to make you respected throughout all the world; it will make the nations know that if North America glories in her Washington, that in the South there arises another emulous of his virtues, political, military, and social, who now forms the hope of our own and neighboring republics! ... We acclaim you our Washington! The Washington of the Argentine republic! What glory for you, sir! Argentines, I call your attention. Fix your gaze on that bold champion! In the transport of my gratitude, sir, your modesty will suffer me to consecrate to you the sentiments of my heart; sentiments sincere and foreign from all flattery; virgin sentiments which have never been offered before; noble sentiments purely expressive of my opinion and of my patriotism.

"Yes! fix, I again say, Argentines, your looks on that brave warrior! See ye those scintillating eyes, but beaming with humanity! they have suf

fered prolonged vigils for our liberty. Behold ye that noble and capacious brow, even yet burned with the sun of the camp of Mars! It has been absorbed in profound meditations for our liberty. Witness ye that elevated and well-constructed breast, the temple of a magnanimous heart! It has exposed itself to the bullets and the lance of the tyrant for our liberties. Do ye behold that nervous arm and powerful hand, so well known on fields of battle! There he has wielded his dreadful sword with so much valor for our liberties."

The above quotations are sufficient to indicate the sycophancy of a Jesuit priest flattering a bloody and barbarous man.

Priest Pena continued in the city of Buenos Ayres for some months, when, being detected or strongly suspected of complicity with some insurrectionary movements-how Jesuit-like-he was banished. At the present time, though there are Jesuits in the South American provinces, their influence is comparatively small. The field of their glory is forever wrested from them.

In connection with this particular notice of Jesuitism in South America, it may not be amiss to give a brief, general view of the relation between Church and state. We are all aware that Romanism was introduced here coeval with Span ish authority. The Church, however, in this country has never been directly and entirely de pendent upon the Pope, as is usually the case. The Pope granted the tithes of the Church, and the disposal of all the ecclesiastical benefits in the new world, to the kings of Spain. Thus the monarch became the head of the American Roman Church. This power soon became absolute in spiritual matters as well as temporal. Indeed, the two can not long remain separated Even Papal bulls were not permitted to be published in America till they had received the sanction of the Council of the Indies.

When these countries declared their independence of Spain in 1810, the Church patronage of the crown descended, as a matter of course, to the various local governments. And so it has continued till the present time.

In all legislation since the people assumed the government, there has been a strong desire manifested to diminish the influence of the clergy. Under the viceroyalty the country was filled with monasteries and nunneries, and overrun with friars and monks, and brotherhoods and sisterhoods of all descriptions, whose irregular and immoral lives were an offense to the people.

The first General Assembly that ever met in Buenos Ayres, in 1813, issued a decree abolishing the Inquisition in all the provinces. This horrid institution of Popery was established in

South America in 1570 by the pious zeal of Philip II. In June of the same year-1813the complete independence ecclesiastical was declared throughout the provinces, and the authority of the Pope's nuncio in Spain denied. They then proceeded to elect their own vicar-general and other officers, and direct religious affairs in the general.

In 1822, under the government of Don Martin Rodriguez, his Minister of State, Don Bernardino Rivadavia, attempted extensive reforms in the Church establishments. All orders of friars were suppressed; they were driven forth from the convents and monasteries, and their property confiscated for government purposes. These measures produced great excitement, which resulted in a conspiracy by the Church and its supporters against the government. The several attempts at insurrection were suppressed. Taglé, one of the principal leaders, was banished, and the authority of the government fully established. Only one order of friars, that of the Franciscans, was permitted to maintain its organization. It still exists.

It was thus that General Rosas became head of the Church in the Argentine Confederation, and being a man of will he exercised his authority with complete independence of the Pope. He, however, restored many of the suppressed orders to their ecclesiastical standing, and ordered some of their property returned to them. This, with him, was a stroke of policy by which he secured the influence of the priesthood, and they eulogized him in language even more extravagant than that of Pena toward Urquiza. They even went so far as to place his portrait on the high altar in the cathedral. He, however, made the Church entirely dependent upon the state, and up to the present time the expenses of the religious establishments have been defrayed by the state treasury.

Since Rosas's fall the Pope has been making efforts to secure better terms for his Holiness in these countries. He has written a flattering letter to his "beloved son Urquiza," and sent him a little Jesus, the very image of one worshiped in the Vatican, and granted him also the distinguished privilege of having a private chapel connected with his household. We do not now know what effect these tokens of Papal kindness have had, or will have on General Urquiza. But in the Argentine Constitution there are no unusual marks of deference to Romanism. Article 2d simply states that "the Federal Government sustains the Roman Catholic apostolic worship," while liberty to profess and exercise any other forms of religion is granted to all, both natives and foreigners.

The recent Constitution of the state of Buenos Ayres guarantees to all liberty of conscience and of worship in matters of religion; and provides in reference to the Roman Church that the Governor shall "exercise the patronage, with respect to the Churches, benefices, and clergy, which are dependent upon him, according to law. He shall appoint the bishop from three names presented to him by the state senate." This provision very effectually excludes the interposition of the Pope. This sketch will give a sufficiently accurate idea of the political relations of the Church of Rome to the Argentine Confederation.

CHARITY GREEN'S GIFTS.

A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR THE YOUNG.

BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.

OUBLE fold, and only fifty cents a yard.

"DOUBLE

It was the cheapest piece o' plaid worsted I ever laid my eyes on!" exclaimed to herself Miss Charity Green, the old maid tailoress of Allantown, and she unfolded the three-dollar banknote which she had received the day before for a week and a halfs sewing at the squire's, and smoothed the ragged corners, and looked at it affectionately.

"Six yards 'll make me a full dress, and I must have it to wear at cousin Nathan's, as they 've sent me their usual invitation to Christmas dinner. I shall have to pull tight, as I've only a day and a half to cut and make it in. I've set my heart on a plaid dress all the fall, but I could n't raise the money till this week, and it's lucky enough I came across jest the piece I wanted hangin' in the window, and the price in great figures on top.

"To tell the plain truth, too, I was n't a bit proud o' my old silk, 'specially among cousin Nathan's dressy wife and daughters. I've had the silk seven years and turned it twice, and washed it in coffee and ale and cut it over, but for all that it looks gray and scant, and I'd begun to get real 'shamed on 't.

"I guess I'll step over and get the stuff at once and run up the breadths this evenin', as I've got all them button-holes on Joseph Blake's new coat to make to-morrow, and I've no time to let grass grow under my feet."

With this audible conclusion of her intentions Miss Charity Green rose up and snuffed the solitary tallow candle, which was burning on the little round cherry table, which had been her grandmother's. She was a very poor woman who lived by her needle, and rented the "middle room" in widow Blake's small one-story house. She had a thin, faded face, with nothing pretty or attractive

about it, except when she smiled, and then little children would be sure to forget all about the wrinkles and the homeliness, and tangle her spools of thread and play with the scissors, which always hung around her neck, fastened with black ribbon, and never dream of stopping or being in the least alarmed by her frequent, "There, there, children! Dear me! I do believe little hands are the busiest in the world! Who ever did see!"

Poor Miss Charity Green! She was that very sad spectacle, a lonely, almost friendless woman, without father or mother, brother or sister, husband or children in the world. Her life was turning its face toward half a century of years; her health, never vigorous, was gradually failing her; and a cold, lonely old age rose up sometimes and appalled her with its chill and gloom. She had to work early and late, for the roof that sheltered and the bread that nourished her. Poor Miss Charity Green!

But as she tied on her straw bonnet that evening, there was a quick knock at the door, and the next moment a little brown curly head, with a pair of eager, bright, dancing eyes was thrust inside.

"Come in, Johnnie; what do you want?" said Miss Charity Green. And if you had heard her voice just then you would have understood something of the secret of her being so general a favorite with children.

"Mother wants to know, Miss Green, if you 'll lend her a drawin' o' tea. She'll pay you tomorrow."

"O she need n't be in the least bit o' hurry about that are," answered Miss Green, as she took the little blue cup from the boy's hand. "Do sit down, Johnnie, and warm yourself by the fire."

And the boy sat down in the great arm-chair, while the woman measured the tea in the cover of her tin canister.

"Mother and sisters pretty well to-day, Johnnie?"

"Yes, ma'am, only mother said she felt a little touch o' rheumatiz in her right shoulder this mornin'."

"Dear me, suz! It won't do for her to let the rheumatiz get hold on her this time o' year. I'll jest step out into the shed and get her a little boneset. I al'ays lay up some every fall, for there's nothin' like it for rheumatiz, as my grandfather used to say."

And as the woman tied up the dried herbs in a piece of brown paper, it struck her that her little neighbor was unusually grave and silent; so half with the purpose of drawing out any concealed trouble which might possess him, Miss Green continued the conversation,

"Well, Johnnie, you all goin' to have a merry Christmas at your house?"

"I do n't know," said the boy in a disconsolate tone of voice, twisting his brown fingers in and out of each other.

"What! you and sisters not going to hang up your stockings?"

"No, ma'am; mother said she could n't afford to give us any presents this year. Ellen and Jane cried all the afternoon about it."

"Wall, now, I declare! That is too bad," answered the sympathizing voice of Miss Green, and she silently tied the paper and snapped the thread with her scissors, and as she placed it in the boy's hands she said to him, "Never mind, Johnnie, dear. Pluck up good heart. May be somethin' 'll turn up about them Christmas presents after all."

"If I was only a little better off now," murmured Miss Charity Green as she rocked herself back and forth in her great arm-chair, "them are children should n't go without hangin' up their stockings. I'd willingly sell my dinner to buy 'em some presents, for I know jest how much store children set by 'em. I remember the Christmas when aunt Marsy sent me my first cheeny cradle, with a little baby inside of it; and brother Tim his new skates. I can see 'em both jest as plain as I see that stove now, though it's nigh upon forty years ago. How Tim and I did reckon on them are presents! I don't believe a crowned king and queen were happier that Christmas than we. Poor, dear Tim! if he had n't gone to sea and been overtaken in that terrible storm his sister would n't a been a poor, lonely toilin' woman tonight," and here the tears gathered into Miss Charity Green's eyes, and she wiped them away with the corner of her gingham apron, and continued her rocking and her low monologue. "Well, the Lord knows what is best, and I must leave it all with him.

"But about them presents! I sha' n't take a minute's comfort thinkin' o' the children's disappointment, and yet I do n't see how in the world I can prevent it. If I did n't need that plaid dress now"-here the woman unclasped her bead purse and drew out the bank-note and looked at it wistfully. "But I do need it! my old silk an't fit to be seen, and cousin Nathan's folks are so perticerler like. I can't get along without a new gown any how; but then how dreadful down in the mouth Johnnie did look; and to think o' them children's cryin' all the afternoon 'cause they could n't hang up their stockings! Poor things! It might seem sort o' nonsense to some people, but it don't to me; for I can look right down into my own childhood and remember jest how Tim and I used to feel, and I never look at John

nie Russell but it takes me right back to my brother that I loved so, and was so proud onthe laughin', fun-lovin', bright-eyed boy that he was! "Them children must hang up their stockings; but if they do I must go without my dress, for it's jest come to that. One thing 's sartin, I could n't take a minute's comfort there in a new one thinking on Miss Russell's children; no, not if it was the finest satin that ever stood alone," and here Miss Charity Green brought down her foot with solemn emphasis. "I must. wear my shabby old silk, and those that do n't like the looks must turn their heads t'other way; for as long as I hold three dollars in my hands them children sha' n't go without a merry Christmas."

"O! is that you? Do come in, Miss Green," and little pale, sorrowful-faced, care-worn Mrs. Russell lifted her head from the child's stocking she was darning as her neighbor entered the

room.

"Little folks all abed?" whispered Miss Green in a low, mysterious tone of voice, as she came into the room with something carefully concealed under her shawl.

"Yes, I sent 'em off an hour ago-poor things!" and a deep sigh heaved the heart of widow Russeil-a sigh that was born of wearying cares, and baffled hopes, and fainting spirits.

"Wall, you see, Miss Russell," still preserving her low, mysterious tones, and slowly uncovering her red merino shawl, revealing several packets in brown paper. "I thought as it was about Christmas time them little folks would want some fixins-you know children an't like grown folks any how; so I kinder thought I'd slip somethin' into their stockings, for I s'pose you'd ways enough for every penny."

"O, Miss Green, you are too good now!" What a light it was that broke over the pale, worn face of the mother as her eyes fell on the bundles!

"S'pose you jest take a squint at 'em," said the old maid, breaking the small cords and tearing away the wrappers.

First, there was a blue drum with red stripes for Johnnie, which his mother knew would fairly throw him into ecstasies; then in a round pink box was a white china tea-set for Ellen, with the most diminutive cups and saucers, and the daintiest sugar-bowl, and cream-mug, and water-pitcher; and for little Jane there was a wax doll, with black eyes, and ruby lips, and small dainty rings of real brown hair; and a red-bird in a cage picking seeds out of a yellow trough; and added to all these was a purple horn-of-plenty tied with golden ribbons, and filled with sugar plums for each of the children.

Mrs. Russell's faded eyes gleamed with new light as she gazed at the gifts. She tried to speak, but the words choked themselves back in her throat, and she broke down into a sob of tears.

"Wall, I do say now, Miss Russell," said her neighbor, attempting in awkward but sincere fashion to comfort her. "Don't give up so. It an't much, I know, but then we all had to be children once."

"Yes, Miss Green, and it 's jest the thought o' that and the good times we used to have when I was a wild, careless gal at father's that's e'en amost broke my heart ever since I told the children they must n't expect to hang up their stockings this Christmas. You never did see children so put down in your life; they an't hardly smiled since, and it's seemed as though we'd had a funeral in the house when I put 'em to bed tonight.

"Somehow I've been in a murmurin' state all day, for, wicked as it was, I could n't make it seem right that their father should be taken away so sudden, when the children needed him the most, and I left here all alone to strain every nerve and muscle to keep their souls and bodies together."

"Wall, it is awful tryin', as you say, Miss Russell; I've been through the mire myself, but somehow another God does bring us out."

"I know it," answered the widow penitently. "I'd fairly given up to-night when I put the children to bed, for I did n't care for myself; but to see them so down-hearted was more 'n I could bear."

"Well, s'pose now you jest get their stockings and we'll slip these in, and you can pin 'em up to the bed-post, you know."

Mrs. Russell went to her chest of cherry drawers and brought forth three small blue and white woolen stockings, and the hearts of the two women were full of a tune of gladness, as they crowded the playthings inside."

"The house won't hold 'em to-morrow-mornin'," exclaimed Mrs. Russell. "They'll be as proud as kings and queens."

"Bless their hearts!" said Miss Green. "There an't no use o' tryin to get this drum inside."

"No, I'll jest set it on the mantle. Dear me! I expect I sha' n't know whether my head's off or on to-morrow mornin' about seven o'clock."

And so Mrs. Russell's mother heart dwelt on the delight of her children, and Miss Green drank in all her words greedily, with frequent ejaculations of wonder and sympathy.

"Ugh! how the wind does blow!" said the old maid as she gathered her shawl closer about her head and hastened down the road to her home, while a raw blast struck her in the face. The

night was full of the moan of winds and the anger of black wintery clouds; but Charity Green did not mind this, for her heart was full of the last words of Mrs. Russell:

"I do n't know how to thank you, Miss Green, but you have remembered the widow and the fatherless, and be sure God will remember it of you."

"Merry Christmas-merry Christmas, Miss Green!" The voices, the bright, eager, children's voices, were outside the door and inside the room all in a breath.

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There was Johnnie with his drum, and Ellen, whose blue eyes danced with joy over her tea-set, and little flaxen-haired Jane, who looked " ning as a witch," Miss Green averred, as she hugged up in true motherly fashion her precious doll to her heart.

Then such a confusion of voices and running of feet, drowned frequently in the sound of Johnnie's drum, as went on for the next hour in Miss Green's solitary room.

"We're goin' to play company this afternoon," said Ellen, "and I'm goin' to set out my tea-set and"

"And I'm goin' to be mother," broke in the sweet child-voice of little Jane. "And I shall bring dolly and the canary and act just like a big woman goin' a visitin'.".

"And I'm goin' to be a soldier jest come home from the wars," said Johnnie; and here he struck up "Yankee Doodle" on his drum so loud that Miss Green put her hands to her ears, exclaiming, "O, children, for all the world! What a clash you do make!" but her face was full of smiles all the time.

Miss Charity Green wore her old black silk dress to her cousin's Christmas dinner. It looked gray and shabby, it is true; but she would not have felt half so happy in the richest velvet that ever adorned the figure of an empress.

And it is written and sealed up in the story of her life, and one day the old maid shall read with eyes of glad wonder the gracious and glorious words, which God's angels shall open before her in their settings of dazzling and eternal beauty, CHARITY GREEN'S CHRISTMAS GIFTS.

GREATNESS.

GREATNESS lies not in being strong, but in the right using of strength; and strength is not used rightly when it only serves to carry a man above his fellows for his own solitary glory. He is greatest whose strength carries up the most hearts by the attraction of his own.

THE ORPHAN'S TWO HOMES.

BY MRS. F. M. ROWE.

THE upon a new-made grave in the little village church-yard at B. There were a good many graves there, but the mild autumn sun seemed to linger lovingly upon this one in the corner, of which we are writing; perhaps it was because two little children sat there, looking so utterly forlorn and wretched that the kind sun wanted to clasp them in his warm embrace and whisper some such words of comfort as these, "Look up, little children, and believe, that as surely as I shall rise again in the morning, bringing light, and life, and joy to all this lower world, so surely shall the dear mother, who sleeps beneath, rise also, rejoicing in the beams of the Sun of righteousness."

HE setting sun cast its last, lingering rays

But the sun went down and the children sat alone, alone in the wide world, by the grave of their mother. They were two-a boy of five or six summers, and a girl of twelve, as one would judge from her childish face and figure; and yet already over that young face there was a shade of thought and care strangely at variance with her tender years. Upon her lap was pillowed the head of her little brother, and thus they sat till the twilight deepened into night and the twinkling stars came forth one by one.

"Look, sister!" said the boy breaking the silence and pointing upward, "mother's got to heaven and God's lighting up the sky 'cause she's got there."

"O, Charley!" said his sister, "do n't talk so; we hope dear mother is in heaven, but do n't you know those are the stars? they come out every night."

"Yes, but they look a great deal brighter tonight."

"Perhaps that is because we see them better out in the open air; but we must go home now, Charley, for you know Hannah is coming to take us away to-morrow."

The girl kneeled down and kissed the sod, then taking her little brother by the hand led him to their lonely room; with gentle hands she undressed him, heard him say his prayers, and watched him till he slept, and then throwing herself upon the bed beside him, shed such bitter tears of heart-felt, genuine sorrow as seldom fall from children's eyes; a heavy sleep succeeded, and we leave her so to tell you something of her previous history.

John Norris, the father of our little friends, was a market-gardener; he had leased a small piece of ground for that purpose with a cottage, attached, hoping by industry and frugality soon