The first word of every SENTENCE should begin with a capital.

PROPER NAMES, and words derived from them, should begin with capitals.

The first word of every LINE OF POETRY should begin with a capital.

All names of God and all titles of the DEITY, as well as all pronouns referring to the Deity, should begin with capitals.

The words I and O should always be capitals.

The first word of a DIRECT QUOTATION should begin with a capital.

The names of the DAYS and of the MONTHS should begin with capitals; but not the names of the seasons.

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7

HYMN TO ST. LA SALLE.

Glorious Patron! low before thee
Kneel thy sons, with hearts a-flame! 
And our voices blend in music,
Singing praises to thy name. 
Saint John Baptist! glorious Patron! 
Saint La Salle! we sound thy fame.

Lover of our Queen and Mother,
At her feet didst vow thy heart,
Earth, and all its joys, forsaking,
Thou didst choose the better part. 
Saint La Salle, our glorious Father,
Pierce our souls with love’s own dart.

Model of the Christian Teacher! 
Patron of the Christian youth! 
Lead us all to heights of glory,
As we strive in earnest ruth. 
Saint La Salle! oh, guard and guide us,
As we spread afar the Truth!

In this life of sin and sorrow,
Saint La Salle, oh, guide our way,
In the hour of dark temptation,
Father! be our spirit’s stay! 
Take our hand and lead us homeward,
Saint La Salle, to Heaven’s bright Day!

Mercedes.

[Illustration:  ST. JOHN BAPTIST DE LA SALLE.] Founder of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, pointing out the way of salvation to the children of all nations.

“Christian Teachers are the sculptors of living angels, moulding and shaping the souls of youth for heaven.” Most Reverend Archbishop Keane, of Dubuque.

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8

due mien fri’ar pri’or Pa’los por’ter con’vent pre’cious grat’i tude

COLUMBUS AT THE CONVENT.

Dreary and brown the night comes down,
Gloomy, without a star. 
On Palos town the night comes down;
The day departs with stormy frown;
The sad sea moans afar.

A convent gate is near; ’tis late;
Tin-gling! the bell they ring. 
They ring the bell, they ask for bread—­
“Just for my child,” the father said. 
Kind hands the bread will bring.

White was his hair, his mien was fair,
His look was calm and great. 
The porter ran and called a friar;
The friar made haste and told the prior;
The prior came to the gate.

He took them in, he gave them food;
The traveler’s dreams he heard;
And fast the midnight moments flew. 
And fast the good man’s wonder grew,
And all his heart was stirred.