al interests.

William MacDonald was born in the county Leitrim, in 1813, being the
youngest of a family of six sons and one daughter, whose parents were
John MacDonald and Winifred Reynolds. The now aged daughter is the sole
survivor of this large family. They were very strictly brought up by
their virtuous, pious parents, and through long and chequered lines,
were upright, honorable citizens, and thoroughly practical Catholics.
Years ago, the writer was told that no descendant of Mr. and Mrs.
MacDonald had ever seen the inside of a non-Catholic school. Charles and
William became priests, the former emigrating when quite young. William
attended the school of his native parish, where he received a solid
rudimentary education, after which he pursued his classical studies in
Dublin. In 1833, he joined his brother Charles, who was pastor of a
church at Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. Father Charles died in
his prime, with a high reputation for sanctity. William always carried
about him a little Latin Imitation of Christ, which had also been the
_vade mecum_ of his beloved brother. The spiritual life of both was
formed in that wonderful book, and Father William was wont to prescribe
a suitable chapter in the same for every mental trouble, difficulty, or
temptation referred to him.

Father MacDonald's education was finished in the College of Three
Rivers, Canada, under the Sulpician Fathers. After his ordination he
exercised the ministry in several places till sent by the Bishop of
Boston to Manchester. Here he found his co-religionists and countrymen
regarded as Helots, and far more despised by Yankee and Puritan than the
slaves in the South by their rulers. The Irish were denied the privilege
of sidewalks, and obliged, in order to avoid perpetual quarrels, to walk
in the middle of the streets. Wherever they appeared, they were hissed
and hooted, and "blood-hounds of hell" was the affectionate epithet the
ubiquitous small boy bestowed on them. Previous to Father MacDonald's
arrival, Father Daly, whose parish included nearly all New Hampshire and
Vermont, used to say Mass in Manchester with unfailing regularity every
three months. On one of these occasions, the floor of the temporary
chapel gave way, and priest, altar, and congregation, were precipitated
into the cellar. Providentially, beyond a few bruises and abrasions, no
one was injured. The previous day, the bigots having heard that Mass was
to be said in the room