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Be mindful, Virgin Mother of God, 
when thou standest in the sight of the 
Lord, to speak good things for us, and to 
turn away His anger from us. 








Aaron Burr's Daughter — Maude Gardner-12Z 
About Spiritism, — At a Seance — Rt. Rev. 

Bishop MacDonald 467 

About a Vexed Question 373 

Act of Tardy Justice, An 342 

After-Thoughts on Candlemas Day. — Rev. 

H. G. Hughes 129 

American Proselytism in France 213 

Ancient Abbey of Ceme and Its Namesake 

on the Potomac,The — Margaret B. 

ning 527 

Ancient Votive Procession, An 758 

Anglican Impasse, The — J. F. Scholfield 523 

Artillery against Stormclouds 311 

Athens, Our Lady of 225 

Azores, The ^^ 161 

Babiism 370 

Balzac, The Death of 274 

Basil Kirby — Valentine Paraiso 4, 

35, 69, 103, 132, 166, 200, 230, 
261, 293, 324, 356, 889, 423, 451, 
484, 516, 548, 581, 613, 643, 677, 

711, 739, 773 

Bealtaine Eve— A. J. C. R 531 

Between Ourselves 725 

Beuron, Our Lady of 545 

Bird Sanctuary, A — Maude Gardner 497 

Blackfoot Indians and Spiritists 1 532 

Bledsoe, Dr 181 

Blessed Virgin, The 147 

Bosnia Free, Islam in__ 353 

Brave Man's Example, A 213 

Burr, Theodosia 723 

Burroughs, John ;497 

Candlemas Day, After- Thoughts on 129 

Carmelita's Novena — E. W. Robinson 492 

Catholic, The Militant ^ 52 

Catholics by Example 725 

Catholic Truth Society, The English 498 

Cause that Demands General Co-Opera- 

tion, A 659 

Ceme, The Ancient Abbey of 527 

Chaplain's Courage, A 562 

Character Sketches by St. Gregory the 

Great 787 

Charles of Hapsburg 513 

Chess 658 

Christ's Mother, Devotion to 641 

Christian Science . . 385 

Church Progress under Our Flag 500 

Church of England, Light on the 145 

Columbia, Our Treaty with 342 

Confessional, Protestant, A 118 

Conversion of Criminals, The 438 

Cormac, King of Ireland 335 

Day in the Life of Dorothie Peckham, A 

— Martin May 559 

Deacon of Edessa, The — -Mary Janet 

Scott 304 

Death in Christ 417 

Debtor and Creditor 360 

Death of Balzac, The 274 

De Hammer 310 

De Lisle, Rudolph 213 

Desirable Publicity ^ 276 

Device of the Devil, A — Rt. Rev. Alexan- 
der MacDonald 385 

Devotion to the Mother of Christ 641 

Diligence in Spiritual Affairs 244 

Doctor of Devotion, The — Julius Patten 97 

Duty and an Opportunity, A . 469 

Dutiful Wife and a Good - Natured 

Noble, A 627 

Easter Customs-l 469 

Edessa, The Deacon of 304 

Education, Opposing Forces in 500 

El Mudo — Pierre Suan 655 

Emperor of Austria, The 513 

False Religion, A — Cantab 370 

Families, Large and Small 565 

Familiar Talk on an Uufamiliar Subject,A 758 
Famous Crypt at Malta, A — N. 

Tourneur 180 

Fecamp 481 

Festival of the Fishermen, A — Richard F. 

Anson 481 

Foreign Missions 469 

Forestalling Temptation 692 

For a Mess of Pottage — Sarah Frances 

Ashburton 719, 749 

Foi-ward Movement by the English C. T. 
S., A — A Former Organizing Secre- 
tary 498 

Fortunatus 609 

Fort Moultrie, The Hero of 117 


Foucauld, Charles de 393 

427, 455, 489, 520, 

Fra Angelo The Blind 243 

Fragments— P. J. Toulet 180 

Francesca's Flowers 211 

France, American Proselytism in 213 

Gaillard's Conversion 595 

Glad Awakening, The — Jean Nesmy 464 

Glasgow, The Patron Saint of 8a 

Glimpse of The Azores, A — James Louis 

Small 161 

Glimpse of The Supernatural, A-rW. H., 

S. D. S - 306 

Glamour of Gold, The — Janet Grant 685 

Gloves, The Lore of 625 

God's Acre by the Sea, A — Nora Ryeman-626 

Gospel of Our Lady, The 563 

Great City's Patron Saint, A— N. T 83 

Heart of a Rover, The— V. F. Schol- 

field 173, 207, 238 

Helping Others 468 

Hermanus Contractus 609 

Hermit of the Sahara, The — Countess 

de Courson 393, 427, 455, 489, 520 

Hero of Fort Moultrie, The 117 

His Mother's Portrait — Mary E. Mannix 

332, 365 

His Mother — Florence Gilmore 621 

History, A Romance of American 19 

Holy Ghost, The Seven Gifts of the 692 

How "Home Sweet Home" was Written — 

Maude Gardner 273 

Humility 693 

Huppy, A Procession at . 758 

Icelandic Legends 193 

Ignorant Teachers and False Guides 53 

Imagination and Suffering 595 

In Darkest Russia 289 

In "Old St. Paul's."— Marian Neshitt 577 

Ireland, Vignettes and Views of — 9, 40, 
73, 107, 136, 169, 204, 

234, 266, 297, 828 

Islam in Free Bo^ia — E. Christitch 353 

In the Riccardi Chapel. — P. L. Connellan 65 

Interesting Fact, An 311 

In Vilna^-Marie Cecil Chomel 673 

Jubilees 789 

Kevelaer, Our Lady of 705 

Lambs of St. Agnes, The . 143 

Large Families and Small— ' 565 

Laurie — A Nun of Tyburn Convent 783 

Legend of the Golden Altar, The — Gabriel 

Francis Powers 588 

Legend, The Meaning of 310 

Legends of the Oak Mabel Ansley 

Murphy 689 

Lenten Stations in Rome, The — Johannes 

Jorgensen 257 

Letters from Home — John Ayscough _554, 

585, 618, 648, 681, 715, 744, 780 

Let Us be Broad as well as Orthodox 181 

Light on the Church of England — A 

Convert Clergyman 145 

Linked Lives 140 

Little Miracle, A— J. F. Scholfield- 44 

Lodge, Sir Oliver 53 

Long Masses and Short 372 

Lore of Gloves, The— G. M. Hort 625 

Magi in Legend and History, The — G. M. 

Hort 1 

Malta, A Famous Crypt at 180 

Masses, Long and Short 372 

May Customs 581 

Meekness Rewarded 500 

Memories of Montmartre — James Louis 

Small 752 

Militant Catholic, The — Denis A. McCarthy. 52 

Montmartre 752 

Mortification 275 

Mother of Byzantium, A 371 

Motte, Rebecca 178 

My Grandparents — Jean Nesmy 301 

Neil Bailey's Dilemma— Mar?/ Catherine 

Crowley 430 

New Year's Resolutions 21 

Not Absurdities 310 

Not to be Denied 341 

Notable New Books 152 

Notes and Remarks 22, 54, 86, 

119, 148, 182, 215, 245, 
277, 311, 342, 374, 407, 
439, 470, 502, 533, 565, 
597, 629, 660, 695, 726, 
759, 790 

Oak, Legends of the 689 

Obituary 32, 64, 96, 128, 

160, 192, 224, 256, 288, 

320, 352, 384, 416, 448, 

480, 512, 544, 576, 608, 

640, 672, 704, 736, 768,__800 

On the Seven Gifts of the Holy Ghost and 

a Tale of Perfect Contrition 692 

One Lesson Taught by the War 275 

On the Taking of Resolutions 21 

Opposing Forces in Education 500 

Origin of Chess, The 658 

Other Sheep, The 308 


Our Devotion to Christ's Mother — Rev. H. 

G. Hughes 641 

Our Lady's Gospel— J. B ^ 563 

Our Lady of Athens — A. Hilliard Atter- 

idge 225 

Our Lady of Beuron — Dotti Michael 

Barrett, O. S. B 545 

Our Lady of Kevelaer — Ellis Schreiber 705 

Our Lady, Poets of 609 

Our Mother 147 

Parthenon, The 225 

Pascal, Thoughts of 417 

Passiontide Practice, A 406 

Patience, The Virtue of 84 

Patriotic Heroine, A — Maude Gardner 178 

Poets of Our Lady 609 

Prince de Conde, The 627 

Print, The Tyranny of 694 

Prohibition 341 

Propagation of the Faith, The 659 

Protestant Confessional Advocated, A 118 

Protest in Order 790 

Protected by Providence 405 

Proselytism, American, in France 218 

Proverb, An Old 372 

Quotations, Unfamiliar 212 

Religious Instruction for Children 758 

Republic of Columbia, Our Treaty with the 342 

Resolutions, The Taking of 21 

Resurrection, The — Rev. H. G. Hughes 449 

Resolution 594 

Resurgam — Rev. H. G. Hughes 33 

Return of Norah, The — S. Waldron 

Carney 268 

Riccardi Chapel, In the 65 

Robin the Page — Nora Ryeman 77, 110 

RoUe, Richard, of Hampole 692 

'' Rome, The Lenten Stations in 257 

Romance of American History, A — Asa 

J. Smith 19 

Royal Precursor of St. Patrick, A — N. F. 

Degidon 335 

Royalty at Its Best— £*. Christitch 513 

Russia, In Darkest . 289 

Saint of the Incarnation, The — Dom S. 

Louismet, O. S. B 321 

School Question, The 373 

Sergeant Jasper 117 

Sermonette in Season, A 468 

Sex-Hygiene in Schools 628 

"Slabsides" 497 

Sister Capistrano— i2. O'K 14 

Spire, The Valley of the 737 

Spiritism 467 

Spiritists and Blackfoot Indians 532 

Some Icelandic Legends — Darley Dale 193 

Songstress of the Stairs, The — Anna T. 

Sadlier 459 

St. Agnes and Her Lambs — Visitor 143 

St. Ephrem 304 

St. Francis de Sales 97 

St. Gregory the Great 787 

St. Hilda's Town 436 

St. Ignatius 405 

St. Joseph 321 

St. Kentigern 83 

St. Patrick, A Precursor of 335 

St. Pauls, In Old 577 

St. Philip Neri — Charles B. Fairbanks 655 

St. Theodora 371 

Stations of the Cross, The 406 

State and Education, The 373 

Story of a Lonely Cross, The — Louis 

Coyman 399 

Story of a Silk Gown, The 339 

Suffering and Imagination 595 

Suppressing the "Ego" 693 

Sweet Heart Abbey — N. Toumeur 369 

Tax on Religious Art, The 790 

Teachers, Ignorant, and Guides 53 

Their Rendezvous 595 

Toleration 181 

Two Laws, The 789 

Two of Our Lady's Latin Poets — Darley 

Dale L 609 

Tyranny of Print, The 694 

Unfamiliar Quotations 212 

Valley of the Spire, The— G. N. S 737 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland — K. C. 
9, 40, 73, 107, 136, 169, 

204, 234, 266, 297, 328 

Virgin of Vilna, The 673 

Virtue More Admired than Cultivated, A — 84 

Weddings and Jubilees 789 

Whalley Abbey Past and Present — A. 
Whitby 436 

Who was the Messenger? — Patrick J. 

Haltigan 50 

Hilliard Atteridge ^ 769 

With Authors and Publishers 31, 63, 

95, 127, 159, 191, 223, 255, 
287, 319, 351, 383, 415, 447, 
479, 511, 543, 575, 607, 639, 

671, 703, 735, 767, 799 

Wit and Reverence 244 




Alme Pater, qui Filium — Alan Mc DougalLlGl 

Ascension Day — Hartmann of St. Gall 647 

At Passiontide — Magdalen Rock 385 

Ave Maria— JET. N. 353 

Ditty of St. Anthony, A — Enid Dinnis^-^ 718 

Ecce Ancilla Domini — Fr. C 14 

Ex Nocte ad Lucem Aeternam — J. Corson 

Miller 40 

Good Friday— W. H. Hamilton 417 

Grail Seekers, The — Arthur Wallace 

Peach 140 

Grotto Steps, The— S. M. F 455 

Hail, Blessed Mary! — Anon 617 

Hedge Between, The — Sister Josephine, 

0. S. U 234 

In Dulci Jubilo! 1 

In Exile— M. Rock 297 

In Maytime— S". M. B 577 

In the Slums — Edward F. Gareschi, S. J 203 

June — Edwin B. McElfatrick 685 

Magnus Deus Potentiae — Alan G. Mc- 

Dougall 673 

Missal of the Moor, The — Sydney Snell 257 

Month of Mary, The — Michael Walsh 545 

Mother Song — Louis F. Doyle, S. J 33 

Mountain, The — W. H. Hamilton 585 

My Inland Voyage— S. M. M 289 

North Wind, The— Pf . H. H.. 


Ould Times, The— Penis A. McCarthy 489 

Our Lady of the Way — Enid Dinnis 97 

Our Peace — Cha/rles J. Quirk, S. J 331 

Penitence — Thomas E. Burke 481 

Petition — Sydney Snell : 769 

Pilgrimage — J. Corson Miller 393 

Potato Patch, The— Edward Wilbur 

Mason 360 

Pro Pontifice Nostro — Paul- Crowley 129 

Raiment— C. L. O'D —513 

Recompense — Edwin B. McElfatrick 268 

Repentance — C. S. Cross 430 

Res Coeli— Michael Walsh 321 

Snow-capped Mountain in Summer, A — 

S. M. M 737 

St. Agnes— iJev. H. E. G. Rope, M. A 77 

Stabat Mater Dolorosa— ie. O'K 436 

Tapestry of Life, The— A. McE 553 

Thought, A—S. M. R 44 

To the English Blackbird — A. Safroni- 

Middleton 609 

To a Crippled Child— C. S. Cross 225 

To the Last Wind— Paul Crowley 705 

Tradesmen — Francis Carlin 449 

Undaunted, The — Arthur Wallace Peach — 641 
Under the Stars— T^. H. Hamilton 169 

Voices of Wood and Sea — Denis A. Mc- 
Carthy 193 

Wandering Minstrel to Our Lady, A — 
G. M. Hort— 779 

Way of the Flowers, The — Gertrude 

Robinson Ross 107 

When Rose and Lily Blow — Magdalen 

Rock 743 

Yet a Little While— Elizabeth VD. 

Brownson 523 



About Almanacs 93 

About Electricity 606 

About Elephants 126 

About Lent 318 

Almanacs 93 

Alphabet Deaf-and-Dumb, A 318 

Animals, Trapping 574 

Ants, Wise 670 

Bedtime in Ancient Days 637 

Bells 350 

Better than That 509 

Birds' Spectacles 350 

Blazing Snowball, A 702 

Blessed Sacrament, Devotion to the 734 

Blessed Virgin, Flowers of the 605 

Blue Birds 382 

Apostles, The ^ 478 Blueberry Farming 254 



Boy-Martyrs of England 253 

California's Big Trees 510 

Candles, Queer 446 

Clock of Lubeck, The _670 

Costly Lesson, A 537 

Cradle of Liberty, The 253 

Curious Timepieces 670 

Dauphin, The Kindness of the 414 

Dog of Sir Henry Lee, The 766 

Egyptian Legend, An 575 

Electricity 606 

Elephants 126 

Faithful Friend, A 766 

Faneuil Hall_ 253 

Fire of St. Elmo 157 

Fleur-de-lis, The— 285 

Floral Calendar, A 766 

Flowers of the Blessed Virgin — Harriette 

Wilbur 605 

Fountain of Perpetual Youth, The 478 

Francis Joseph of Austria 509 

Frederick of Prussia 158 

Geese 222 

Glass Houses and Throwing Stones 638 

"Good Again" 94 

Granite 286 

Great General's Piety, A 382 

Hale, Nathan 541 

Hero of the American Revolution, A — 

Maude Gardner 541 

Hofer, Andreas ,The Piety of 798 

How the City was Saved 381 

How the Worm Gets into the Apple 30 

In China 638 

In Honor of the Blessed Sacrament 734 

In Moon Land 94 

Innkeeper's Son, The 190 

Inventive Marquis, An 702 

Labor of Love, A 318 

Lawrence, Sir Thomas 190 

L'Epee, Abbe de 318 

Legends of Sailors 573 

Legouve, A Story of 537 

Lent, The Meaning of 318 

Lil'lady — Mary T. Waggaman 26, 59, 

90, 123, 154, 186, 219, 250, 
281, 315, 346, 378, 411, '443, 
475, 506, 538, 569, 601, 634, 

667, 699, 730, 763, _794 

Lincoln, Abraham 189 

Little AflFair with Figures, A 606 

Little Brother of the Woods, A 158 

Little Gold Table, The— Ma?/ Wynne 29 

Lost Camel, The 222 

Lucky Accident, A 254 

Martyrs, Boy 253 

Moccasins 62 

Moon's Formation, The 94 

More Haste, Less Speed 126 

Multiplication Table, The 506 

National Emblems — Uncle Austin 285 

Needles 94 

States, Nicknames of the 286 

Nick-Sticks— M. F. N. R __734 

Not Silly at All 222 

Old Bells 350 

"Old Fritz" and the Farmer 158 

Our American Knight — H. Twitchell 189 

Our Lady's Bird 382 

Palindromes 254 

Pelissier, Marshal 382 

Picture with a Purpose, A 414 

Piety of a Great Patriot, The 798 

Prisoner of the Porcelain Tower, The — 

Francis Makejoy 664 

Portugal, The Flag of 18b 

Queer Candles — iV. Toumeur 446 

Roses of York and Lancaster 285 

Royal Deed, A 414 

Sailors' Legends 573 

Shamrocks 285 

Shillelagh, The__ 350 

Spring in the Desert, A 62 

Squirrels 158 

States, Nicknames of_ 286 

St. Augustine, Florida 637 

St. Elmo's Fire 157 

St. Hugh of Lincoln 253 

St. Kenelm 254 

St. William of Norwich 253 

Thistles 285 

Timepieces 670 

To be Read Either Way 798 

Trapping Wild Animals 574 

Trees, Big California 510 

Twelve Apostles, The 478 

Under Three Flags 637 

Unique Flag, A 186 

Worcester, The Marquis of _ 702 

Wrens -. 478 

t>»« INDEX 


A. B. C of Schoolboys' Qualities— X^. Y. Z._186 Legend of the Passion, A— Paul Peyton 443 

Little Boy to a Statue of the Blessed Vir- 
Conqueror, The — E. Beck 281 gin, A — Paul Peyton 59 

Dancing Trees — Rosamond Livingstone Mary's Garden E. M. 506 

Monk's Friends, The— Hope Willis 730 

McNaught 794 My Rosary Beads— Lowrence Minot :__154 

Each Bramble its Thorn— A". H 250 My Vision— M. Holmes 26 

Easter Gladness — S. Marr : 475 

For the Feast of the Annunciation — Cecil 

Page 378 

Heart of Our Saviour, The— S. M. R 699 

In May— E. Beck 569 

Our Lady's Flowers — Elizabeth Merry- 
weather 634 

Play and Study — Denis A. McCarthy 90 

Robin, The— PauZ Crowley 346 

Key-Dates of the Year— f/wcZe Austin 123 Song, A— Mary M. Redmond __664 

Legend of the Holy Family, A — S. Marr — 219 Three Musicians — Arthur Wallace Peach 411 

Legend of the Edelweiss, The — Gertrude To Saint George — P. C 537 

E. Heath 763 To St. Joseph— George R. Frost 315 


Holy Night at Bethlehem — Heinrich Hof- 

mann , 1 

The Holy Family— CarZ Muller 129 

The Second Station of the Cross — Beuron 
School 257 

The Resurrection — Raphael Tapestries 449 

Madonna of the "Magnificat" — Uffizi Gal- 
lery, Florence 545 

The Friend of Children — H. Hofmann 705 

\ 4. 

( Heinrich Hof mann ) 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 1 

[Published every Saturday. (Copyright, 1922 

In Dulci JubiIo!*35H^ 

£jfN dulci jiibilo, gladly your voices throw 

Blessing our Child Divine, now in jjraesepio, 
Shining as the bright sunshine in matris 
gremio, — 
Alpha es et O, Alpha es et 01 

O Jesu parvulCf my heart your glances slay; 
Cheerful make my sadness, O puer optime, 
Thou who art all gladness, O pnnceps gloriae! 
Trahe me post te, trahe me post tel 

O patris claritas, Tuatris lenitas, 

Our doom had long been wrought per nostra 

When through Thee there was .^ought coelorum 

Quanta gratia, quanta gratia! 

Ubi sunt gaudia? Here where held in awe 
We raise our gleeful voices, in nova cantica. 
And every harp rejoices, regis in curia. 

Christ lies on the straw, — Christ Jesus on 

The Magi In Legend and History. 


EW Scriptural Stories appeal 
more strongly to the imagi- 
nation than that of the Wise 
Men who came from some 
unnamed Eastern land to the cradle of 
the Christ-Child, offered gifts there," 
and returned quietly to their ovm coun- 
try, never again to appear, or even to 
be spoken of in the sacred narrative. 

Star-led, they came; dream- warned, 
they departed. The darknes3 out of 

* Translation of a very old German Christmas hymn 
still popular in its native tongue.- 

: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

which they emerged seems to swallow 
them again. We can only conjecture 
their past history and their future fate. 
But just because we can only conjec- 
ture, conjectures have been many. A 
broad halo of folklore surrounds and 
envelops the stately figures of the Magi ; 
and symbolism and sacred allegory 
have played so large a part in the 
legends concerning them that they 
themselves sometimes seem to us more 
like august symbols than mere men. 

A well-known favorite tradition rep- 
resents each of the Magi as of a dif-^ 
ferent race and a different color. Their 
supposed number of three (a number 
not, of course, mentioned in the Gospel 
story, but plausibly inferred from the 
three kinds of gifts) seemed to mark 
them as types of "the three races 
of man," descended from the three sons 
of Noah. 

One of them, therefore, must needs 
have been white-skinned ; one, brov/n or 
yellow; and the third, a black Ethiop. 
A reminiscence of this idea survives 
(or, until a recent date, did survive) in 
the picturesque "]\Iass of the Three 
Kings," which,^ said at Epiphany-Tide, 
in St. Peter's at Rome, at three altars, 
must have a Negro for one of the 
ministrants. An old Armenian tradi- 
tion, however, maintains that one of 
the Magi, at least, was of Ai^menian 
birth, and that they all got their first 
sight of the Star from the Armenian 
mountain of Ararat. 

In early Christian times, it seems to 
have been generally supposed that the 


Magi came from Persia, and that they 
belonged to the class of Magians — 
Medes of high or royal rank, who, at 
the fall of Media, lost all political 
power and consequently gave themselves 
to the priesthood, to star-gazing and the 
interpretation of dreams, which put 
power of another sort into their hands. 
It is this 'belief, probably, that caused 
the Magi to be spoken of in popular tra- 
dition as kings; though no doubt the 
prophecy of Psalm Ixxi, 10 — "The Kings 
of the Arabians and of Saba shall bring 
gifts" — ^had influence in the matter. 

A beautiful legend of the Eastern 
Church tells how the Wise Men, in ex- 
pectation of the promised Star, kept 
a long vigil on lonely hills, fasting and 
praying, and looking continually to the 
Eastern horizon, where at last they saw 
a strange, new and unmistakable phe- 
nomenon — a star whose rays sur- 
rounded the figure of a young Child, 
holding in His hand a sceptre shaped 
like a cross. 

We may note that in this legend the 
number of the Magi is said to ' be 
tivelve. This is the case in most 
Eastern traditions about them. It sug- 
gests the desire to regard the star-guided 
travellers as types of the twelve months 
of the year which lead round to Christ- 
mas, or of the twelve Signs of the 
Zodiac, — symbolism which would appeal 
very strongly to converts from pagan- 
ism. The number twelve, it need hardly 
be said, would also have great signifi- 
cance for Jewish Christians ; especially, 
one is inclined to think, after the Fall of 
Jerusalem and the scattering among the 
nations. The story of the Magi would 
have read like a prophecy of the home- 
coming of the Twelve Tribes, and their 
gathering together round the throne of 
the Messiah. It should not be forgotten 
that the particular Gospel, in which the 
story occurs, was primarily written for 
Jewish Christians. 

But the Magi, however they lend 

themselves to symbolism, remain very 
real personages. They show a some- 
what quaint humanness in the Apocry- 
phal "Gospel of the Nativity," which 
tells how, in return for tHeir gifts, the 
Blessed Mother gave them one of the 
swaddling bands in which she had 
wrapped the Divine Child; and how, 
when they had borne it back to their 
own land (in this case represented as 
Persia) and had found it inconsumable 
in their sacred fire, they henceforth 
enshrined it as a priceless relic. 

Another legend tells how the Child 
Himself gave them a small box contain- 
ing a little stone, which they, thinking 
it to be of no value, on their way home, 
cast into a well. But at once there 
burst forth from the well a bright 
supernatural light; and, in contrition 
and amazement, they rescued the sacred 
object and bore it home, where it worked 
many miracles. 

Of the symbolism of their own gifts it 
is not necessary to say much. Christian 
art and literature have made all of us 
quite familiar with it: 

The gold was their tribute to a King; 
The frankincense, with its odor sweet, 
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete; 

The myrrh for the body's burying. 

Not SO generally known is the quaint 
tradition of the identity of the gold with 
the thirty pieces formerly paid by 
Abraham for the caves of Macpelah; 
and, later, to Judas the Traitor by the 
priests at Jerusalem. Of course, this 
latter detail, unless we are meant to 
suppose that what the Magi offered as 
gold was merely silver, gold-coated, 
presses symbolism beyond the bounds of 
reason. More plausibly, and with a 
tragic significance, the myrrh is said to 
have been the same which was ofl^ered 
to Christ on the Cross, mixed in that 
opiate wine which His lips refused. 

Very beautiful also is the legend 
that "the three Kings, Caspar, Bal- 
thasar, and Melchior" (to give them 


their usual traditional names) were, 
respectively, old, middle-aged, and 
youthful, — representative of the three 
periods of human life, which the Divine 
Child comprehended in His own wonder- 
ful nature. To Caspar the youth. He 
appeared as a youth ; to Balthasar, as a 
man in his prime ; to Melchior the aged, 
as old and white-haired. So each of them 
saw Him, first, in a swift, clairvoyant 
vision, that satisfied the needs of the 
gazer's own period of life. When they 
approached to worship Him, they beheld 
only a Child in His Mother's arms. 

Devout imagination follows "the star- 
led wizards" to their journey's end — 
and beyond it, to their last journey of 
all. When they returned home, we are 
told, they became wise men indeed; 
abandoned the honor and worldly 
wealth that were now as nought to 
them, who had glimpsed the more excel- 
lent way; and lived in poverty and 
lowliness till, after the death of Our 
Lord and the dispersion of the Eleven, 
they also heard the Apostolic preach- 
ing, were baptized, and went themselves 
as missionaries to spread the Faith. 

The legend that ascribes their 
baptism to St. Thomas is notable, 
because St. Thomas' ministry has, from 
very early times, been associated with 
India ; and more than one legend rep- 
resents the Magi, as Hindu seers, 
learned in the law of the Buddha, and 
seeking always, as Buddha himself had 
taught them, for light — and more light. 

This is the idea that Sir Edwin 
Arnold elaborated in his "Light of the 
World." Readers of that poem will 
remember how it shows the last sur- 
vivor of the Wise Men, coming in his 
old age to Palestine, and to the house of 
Miriam of Magdala, whom he prays to 
recount to him in detail the life-story 
of the divine Master: 

By eight hard moons, from Indus to this sea, 
In quest of it, last quest of waning life .... 
Yet had I will unquenchable to learn 
The setting of that Star of Men, whose rise 

My younger eyes beheld! Therefore, once 

Over this weary way my steps have passed, 
To hear before I die. 

But to return to the line of more 
generally accepted tradition. The con- 
verted Magi, as aforesaid, set forth with 
natural zeal to convert the heathen; 
they died in heathen lands, the violent 
deaths of martyrs; and were buried 
either in Arabia or Syria, where the 
Empress Helena found their bodies, and 
carried them, together with other yet 
more sacred treasure-trove, to the 
ancient city of Constantinople. 

Later, as an honor to Eustorgius, 
Bishop of Milan, the relics were trans- 
lated to Milan ; and again, in A. D. 1162, 
when the Emperor Barbarossa besieged 
and captured Milan, they were brought 
in triumph to their final resting place, 
in that city on the Rhine from which 
they borrowed their popular Mediaeval 
title, "The Three Kings of Cologne." 

The beautiful thirtee»th-century 
choir of Cologne Cathedral was built 
primarily to enshrine the relics. Here, 
in a chapel behind the high altar, in a 
jewelled shrine, whose costly adorn- 
ments are reminiscent of their own 
costly gifts, the dust of those devout pil- 
grims itself became a goal of devout 
pilgrimage. These seekers after God 
were themselves sought after as ap- 
pointed channels of God's grace. 

Among the Mediaeval pilgrims' signs 
or badges which, as most of us know, 
were worn in the pilgrim's hat, or 
proudly hoarded as proof of pilgrimages 
accomplished, was a star-shaped one, 
signifying that the owner had visited 
"The Three Holy Kings." ^ At Cologne 
could also be purchased rings inscribed 
with the three traditional names of the 
Magi, and regarded as talismans which 
would preserv^e the wearer from 
epilepsy. The virtue of these was in- 
creased if they were placed, before 
wearing, on the shrine itself. The namer. 
of the Three Holy Kings are also of 


frequent occurrence in Mediseval 
charms. To their intercession were as- 
cribed many miracles of healing and 
deliverance from dangers. 

Their own experience of long travel 
(according to Eastern tradition, they 
followed the Star for two years) made 
them the natural patron saints and 
protectors of all travellers, as well as of 
those whose duty it was to care for 
travellers and to provide for their wants 
on the road. 

The inns of the Middle Ages often 
displayed over their hospitable doors the 
significant sign of the "Three Holy 
Kings of Cologne"; so completely had 
these strangers from the unnamed East 
been adopted by Western Christendom, 
and given, in European cities, "a local 
habitation and a name." We would not 
willingly resign this inherited treasury 
of tradition. We love even the quaint 
Mediaeval cult which serves to show hov/ 
greatly their memory was honored and 
their example prized. 

But, when all is said, we may find 
something more expressive still in the 
silence of the sacred story, in the 
artistic reserve of the Evangelist's dis- 
missal : Reversi sunt in regionem suam. 
("They departed into their own coun- 
try.") Like all those whose eyes have 
sought and seen God's salvation, they 
mu?-t surely have departed in peace, and 
into the light of life eternal which is 
the portion of the saints, whether 
known or unkno\vn, famous or obscure, 
remembered or forgotten. 

Basil Kirby. 

Wasting time is the fault of almost 
numberless varieties of lives. Nearly 
every man has his owti way of v/asting 
time. Idling, dawdling, frittering, gos- 
siping, dreaming, procrastinating, play- 
ing with our work, trivial activity, — 
these are only some of the common 
forms of wasting time. Yet wasted time 
is a vengeful thing, and stings terribly 
at the last. — Faber. 


-The Pauper Millionaire. 
T seemed cruel to Basil 
Kirby. He was artistic, sen- 
sitive; and those oblong 
envelopes on the dainty 
breakfast table were all bills. He was 
conscious of culture, genius, an honesty 
strong and pure as a diamond, and yet 
vulgar clods worried him for money. 
He was nearly a millionaire, and he had 
to dodge the grip of the bankruptcy 
court. If he had believed in the guid- 
ance of human affairs by any higher 
Power, he would have revolted against 
Providence. But he believed in nothing 
but Basil Kirby; and his belief in that 
brilliant personality was consoling and 
profound. He had a man's power of 
abstracting himself from the tiresome 
details of life by plunging into art, 
literature, and invention-. Still, one's 
enjoyment of the Beautiful could not 
ward off the stings of those daily bills 
on the breakfast table. 

Basil Kirby lived close to Piccadilly. 
Everyone who^ knows London is aware 
that Half-Moon Street is a perfectly 
straight, narrow street, of high rank 
and fashion in the region called May- 
fair, not far from the world-famed 
Jesuit church of Farm Street. Kirbjr^s 
house was in Half-Moon Street. His 
uncle had left it to him, and left him a 
heavy mortgage as well. But it was a 
very comfortable nest for a bachelor, 
and he had arranged it with fastidious 
taste. There was a carved screen 
(which he called a niusharabiah) in the 
hall, and Oriental lamps jewelled with 
rich color. The polished staircase of 
the little house was very narrow ; yet it 
had its twisted Queen- Anne balusters, 
its wealth of old china against white- 
panelled walls, and its gem of a stained 
window designed by Kirby himself. His 


greatest interest was in the perfecting 
of colored glass. 

There was a good deal of white panel- 
ling about the little house. The room 
where the owner breakfasted was 
adorned with a few of his own crayon 
sketches; and in contrast with the 
creamy walls there was some fine old 
Sheraton furniture surviving, ^without 
crack or scratch. The two windows 
ceased to be commonplace, hung as they 
were with silken curtains, carefully 
chosen, of the tender green of a young 
apple leaf; and the Half-Moon Street 
cars glided by outside, seen dimly 
through a film of French gauze and 
lace. The wood fire was on. a tiled 
hearth, and the blue smoke went up 
behind a copper hood. The first sun- 
shine of Spring came in warmly, ob- 
scuring the flames, and almost putting 
out the fire that no one needed on so 
glorious a day. It made Kirby think of 
Devonshire, the sunniest corner of Eng- 
land, where even the wayside walls 
were covered with flowers, and fuchsias 
were on huge bushes, and the hot air 
was scented with roses and thatch. He 
had a snug country house down there 
at Patchley. 

His faithful servant man, Jenkins, 
had left him with minced chicken and 
toast, a cup filled, a newspaper propped 
against the silver coffeepot. After 
thinking of Patchley, he read the news 
in a brief summary, and then he 
glanced at - his letters and lost his 
appetite. A tailor wanted to be paid. 
Another tradesman sent an absurd ac- 
count for mending the roof. A third 
had drawn up a long bill for "pigments 
delivered at Patchley in Devonshire," 
including at a monstrous charge "ultra- 
marine containing double quantity of 
lapis lazuli according to order." This 
was all very jarring. Could they not 
wait till he made money? These clods 
did not know the artistic temperament, 
highly strung, easily tortured. , 

The fourth letter was even more in- 
considerate. It related to an advance of 
money three years ago, when he began 
the experiments that were to make him 
a millionaire, and when he decided that 
it was absolutely necessary to beautify 
the old house at Patchley. The furni- 
ture, with everything the little London 
house contained, was given as security. 
The written reminder jogged poor Basil 
Kirby down right onto the bedrock of 
business and facts. Why, he had not a 
safe claim to the house, or the table at 
which he sat! He was entangled in 
poverty, as poor as any pauper if his 
debts were paid ; while London was full 
of a coarse, brainless crowd making 
money faster than they could handle it ! 
Exasperating ! If only he could get away 
for one week, and forget London, Dev- 
onshire, stained glass — everjrthing! He 
bit his dry lip and sipped his coffee. 
Then he tore up all the bills and flung 
them into the fire. It was almost as 
good as paying them. 

Two square envelopes remained to be 
opened. These would be better. Why, 
this was from that fellow Nicholov! 
How did he come to have such good 
paper? And what an infernal bad 
hand! Every word might have been 
something else. But the meaning was 
certain. Nicholov was back from Rus- 
sia, and meant to call this very day at 
two o'clock. 

"Hang his impudence!" said Basil, 
and he threw the letter into the fire 
after the bills. 

He would have told Jenkins to refuse 
the man admission, but some instinct 
warned him that it might not be Safe 
to make an enemy of Nicholov. And 
what \yas to be done? One could not 
stay out of the house all day to avoid 
a fellow v.'ho wanted to borrov/. Nicho- 
lov stuck to one like a burr. lie was 
capable of waiting for hours, walking 
up and do^^ii outside ; he miglit even sit 
on the step. 


Basil Kirby turned to the one remain- 
ing letter. His forehead lost its per- 
' plexed wrinkles. He smiled — a placidly 
amused, indulgent smile. This was from 
the frisky old Countess Cavaletti. It 
was written from a well-known hotel in 
the Rue de Rivoli, Paris. The lady had 
covered two sheets with large, dashing 
writing, three lively words to the line. 
There was mention of an Old ]\Iaster 
for sale. 
"Come over here," the Countess wrote. 
"There is a real Holbein selling for a 
song, in a shop down a back entry near 
the Palais Royal. I heard two students 
talking English, saying it was just as 
good as Sir Somebody Something in the 
National Gallery. I believe one of them 
was a Papist, for he began about Sir 
Thomas Something that had his head 
cut off in Old Harry's time ; and he said 
"Sir Thomas was more a martyr or more 
a Holbein, T can't tell you which. But 
that reminds me of the convent and my 
schoolgirl niece. And I am going to 
motor to Mentone, — right down to the 
lovely Riviera. Think of it, and come 
along — do! You never v/ere inside a 
convent, I'll bet my last dollar; and 
Mentone is a dream. I wonder is the 
mimosa over. Take pity on an old 
woman that once was young, and come 
and keep the chauffpur from cheating 
me. We shall hunt for pictures in all 
the towns we go through. And really 
I am only joking about getting old, for 
I feel younger every day. So come to 
the v/oods away; and if we meet with 
a shepherd piping as they do on the 
Watteau fans, I will foot it with you on 
the • green." The letter was signed 
Eugenie Cavaletti. 

Basil Kirby laughed. "Just liko the 
Countess. The old girl is not. half bad. 
She must have been a gay spark in her 
day." He rang and told Jenkins he 
would not be home to lunch, and the 
man who would call at two o'clock was 
to wait in the hall. 

As it happened, Kirby was late in get- 
ting back that day. He went to an art 
sale at Christie's — just to look on. Then 
he thought of a cheap French restau- 
rant in Soho, and went there in a taxi 
— to save money. Lingering over 
lunch, he found with sudden alarm that > 
it was long past two o'clock. But what 
a cheap lunch it had been! He took 
another taxi to Half-Moon Street. 
Compound addition had never been one 
of his strong points. 

But when his car was blocked by 
traffic, he thought of Paris in the new 
sunshine, the long vista over the Tuile- 
ries Gardens, the white Arc de 
Triomphe looking so near in the clear 
air, the statues and sparkling fountains, 
the parterres ablaze with scarlet 
flowers, the vivid green below, the 
warm gold of the sunlight above. And 
he sighed and counted his money. He 
had nothing to speculate with even if 
the Holbein were genuine, nothing to 
pay for travel even as far as Dover. It 
was a cruel state of things; and now 
this horrid man was waiting for him, 
huddled on the hall chair like a bundle 
of greasy old clothes, and defiling the 
air with a smell of absinthe and stale 

Kirby felt that it was an odious ' 
world. His car jerked to a stop, some 
yards from his own door. He stepped 
out. The way had been blocked by a 
magnificent motor car, which was 
standing opposite his house. It was of 
a conspicuous primrose yellow, with 
something like a coronet on the panel. 
A lad in livery was seated at the wheel 
with head erect and folded arms. 

Now, it was Basil Kirby's custom to 
let his London house when he went 
down to Devonshire. Desirable tenants 
hired everything, including Jenkins the 
servant man, and Mrs. Jenkins the 
cook. And the moment he saw the f 
grand yellow car, Kirby was shcckedto 
think the coming of Nicholov had 


clashed with the visit of. wealthy people 
sent by the estate agent. The sight of 
that disreputable object in the hall 
would discourage any one from renting 
the house. 

Jenkins held the door open, and spoke 
in tones of apologj'', vrith a hint of 
amazement and'awe: "He came in that, 
sir. I didn't well know what to do with 
him. He said there was a sort of ap- 
pointment, and I was to shov/ him to 
a room where he might smoke till you 
came in, sir; so, being wholly ex- 
tonished — I — I hope I didn't do v/rong, 
sir, — I showed him upstairs." 

"To my study?" gasped Kirby. "Is 
it Nicholov?" 

"It's Mr. Nicholov right enough, 
, sir, — him as you was not at home to last 
year. But I hardly knew him; he's all 
done up in furs and gold glasses. I'm 
very sorry, sir, but I was that much 
extonished — and tliat's his car." 

Basil Kirby gave a suppressed groan. 
He felt furious. But it v."as a point of 
honor with him to be considerate to the 
man that served him, and poor Jenkins 
had no idea what harm he had done. 
All the patent specifications, all the 
drawings and plans for the new stained- 
glass process, were spread out up there 
on the desk, or close at hand in the 
Jacobean oak chest. It was disastrous. 
That reptile knew everything, had read 

To Basil Kirby's mind, Nicholov was 
a lower sort of being, a man who might 
be dishonest under pressure ^of need. 
The fellow was clever, too, in a stealthy, 
impish way, — ^the cleverness of a fiend 
in a Mediseval story. From his own 
height of principle and culture, Kirby 
loathed him as a freak of nature, a 
mind with no law, a gutter genius. And 
this despicable Nicholov had got hold of 
all the details of the glass process. 
Fuming with rage, Kirby rushed up- 
stairs and sprang into the room. The 
first thing he saw was a small heap of 

money on the table. A sleek little 
gentleman rose to greet him, and 
stretched a thin hand flashing with 

"I have come to thank you and to 
give it back," he said. "You will find 
five per cent interest, — reckoned as if 
the whole sum was kindly lent to me at 
the beginning. I hope five per cent is 
good enough?" 

Not a paper appeared to have been 
stirred. Basil Kirby's heart smote him 
with self-reproach. 

Before him was a slight, keen-faced 
man, with hair of an ashen fairness 
that might have been turning grey. The 
fur-lined coat had been kept on, perhaps 
for effect, — for on such a day it must 
have been a discomfort; and the gold- 
rimmed glasses gave a certain dignity 
to sharp and shifty eyes. 

Kirby stammered with amazement; 
he hardly knew what he was doing. 
For the first time in his life he had 
shaken hands v/ith Nicholov. 

Their first acquaintance had been 
many years before, in the students' 
quarter of Paris, where the young Rus- 
sian cleaned the studios and lighted the 
wood fires. It was discovered then that 
Nicholov was making crayon sketches 
of diabolical cleverness ; and some of the 
students for a joke sent them up with 
their own work for exhibition, and 
found that their own work was 
rejected and Nicholov's wild sketches 
were hung. The young men wouW have 
taught him and made a comrade of such 
a genius, but he drifted away, and 
v.-ent down, down, .down ; idle, ragged, 
drinking absinthe, borrowing a few 
francs here and there. Sometimes he 
disappeared, and was supposed to have 
gone into the secret service in Russia; 
and he arrived again, borrowing, and 
sinking lower and lower. 

Then Kirby lived in London, giving 
up pencil and palette to be art critic, 
connoisseur, inventor; and at long in- 


tei*vals Nicliolov arrived at the door, 
with the odors of old clothes, stale 
tobacco, and absinthe. Kirby had re- 
fused to see him a year ago, when he 
sent a begging letter wanting to obtain 
money to go to Russia. And now — 
well, here was a fine gentleman, with 
the amount of all the debts lafd on the 
table, and sparkling diamonds on his 
right hand, and in his left a cigar of 
exquisite aroma. The study door closed, 
and the two talked for more than an 
hour. It was after four o'clock when 
the bell rang for tea. 

By that time Jenkins in the basement 
did not know what the world was com- 
ing to; and Mrs. Jenkins was nearly 
prostrate with curiosity. They con- 
sulted, and decided upon the Crown 
Derby china, iced cake, and fairy rolls 
of bread such as, no doubt, the visitor 
regarded as silly crumbs. In truth, he 
was accustomed to bread in the thick 
slices schoolboys call "doorsteps,'^ and 
he had made many a meal of two crusts 
from his pocket with a lump of cheese. 

The master himself came downstairs 
when Nicholov went out. The primrose- 
yellow car nearly filled the street in 
turning, and a delicate hand with a 
flash of diamonds waved farewell to 
Basil Kirby. 

Jenkins had darted from the pantry 
at the end of the hall, to open the door. 
As he closed it the master said: "I 
never was so surprised in my life. I 
just came down to tell you, Jenkins, 
that I am going away to-night. I'll tell 
you what to pack for me." 

Jenkins slightly bowed. It was a 
relief not to be blamed for admitting 
the strange visitor. But why was ]\Ir. 
Kirby in this beaming humor? Well, 
the master was always quick making up 
his mind. So the man packed quietly 
and deferentially, asking no questions. 
Light suits were put in, the thinnest 
grey dust-coat, motoring cap and 

"Show the house to any one that 
comes with Debenham and Chewson's 
card," Kirby said at the last. 

Then Jenkins ventured to ask: 

"And if Mr. Nicholov calls again, 
what shall I say?" 

"Tell him I am out,--that's all." 

"You are not leaving any address, 

"Well, no; but you can tell anybody 
else I am gone to Paris." 

Basil Kirby meant to go to the 
French capital, and no farther ; and had 
he remained in that state of mind, there 
would have been a far different tale to 
tell. His present purpose was to enjoy 
a change, lingering about Paris, and 
seeing again the Bohemian "students' 
quarter," and letting the frisky old 
Countess go her way. The reputed Hol- 
bein was the lure. Years ago he had 
bought a Dutch picture for twenty 
pounds and sold it for two thousand. 
Never again had he been able to repeat 
the magic. Still it might happen. And 
if the picture going "for a song" was 
really a Holbein, he would make money 
enough to snap his fingers at the world 
while the stained-glass process was 
turning into a fortune. 

As for the journey to the Riviera, 
he cared nothing. The flighty Countess 
Cavaletti could find her way very well 
by herself. The schoolgirl niece was no 
attraction; but the thought of a 
"Romish convent" in the sunny south 
awakened some romantic curiosity. 
Religion seemed to him unpractical; 
and if he had come across glimpses of 
mysticism that were positively beauti- 
ful, their momentary attraction had 
been met with a sort of counter aver- 
sion in his soul. He did not want t6 
know anything more about religion. If 
he desired mystical beauty, he thought, 
there was the Greek mythology. So he 
did not want to go within the walls of 
the convent near Mentone, and he 
shrank from being bored by a "bread- 


and-b utter schoolgirl." So little do v/e 
guess the future ! 

And yet when he crossed to France, 
the playful old Countess made him 
change his mind. Eugenie Cavaletti 
had had a long life's practice in getting 
her way. First they saw the reputed 
Holbein. "That is not an Old Master," 
Kirby said, turning away from the 
window. "It is a New Fraud." 

"Oh, how clever you are!" she said. 
"And now, dear Mr. Basil, I implore 
you to take pity on me ! And you must 
have some pleasure, too, after coming 
all this way to that wicked fraud. (I 
suspected all the time^it v/as too cheap 
to be any good.) I want you to go with 
'me to Sant' Isolda. A man is so useful 
to talk to the chauffeurs and all the 
rogues at the hotels. You can't think 
how easily cheated I am. And I iiate 
maps ; I couldn't look at one to save my 
life. So do come, or I shall never find 
]\Ientone; I shall get to Constantinople 
or somewhere." 

He smiled, and agreed to go. He was 
an excellent travelling guide, and the 
Countess was gay company and any- 
thing but venerable. 

They motored all across France, and 
at last reached Mentone in triumph. 
On a blazing afternoon they made the 
final excursion from the city, up a hill 
road to the convent of Sant' Isolda. 

(To be continued.) 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

New Series. 

BY K. C. 

What should be the true meaning of 
home? It should be the centre where 
the family may gather into one; within 
its walls love should find a dwelling- 
place ; there parents and children should 
fully share their joys and confidences; 
there the great work of training human 
beings for the duties of the present life 
and the perfection of another should 
be begun and carried on. If not there, 
where? These are the true ends of a 
human dwelling. This is home. 

— C harming . 


r^XSa FTER two years we are in sight 
|o^ of Ireland again. And it is 
M«^i® sunrise. Even if it had been 
•^"^-^^^ war, we would have been here ; 
the desire had become imperative to see 
with one's own eyes, to hear at first 
hand, to earn the right to speak of 
Ireland. It is not^war, however, but 
truce to-day. The trains are all run- 
ning: the trenches have been filled. One 
can interview those who have suflfered, 
talk with the soldiers of the I. R. A., ask 
impressions from men who have gone 
through the hunger-strike for weeks 
and lived. 

We can hear the tale of tragedy from 
women whose nearest and dearest were 
shot in the barrack yard, while they 
prayed outside the wall. We can see 
the mother whose house was burned 
over her head • because she would not 
tell where her sons were, and the wife 
whose husband was killed by "the forces 
of the Crown," without warrant or 
trial, in spite of her despairing 
struggle, — ^two little hands against four 
wrists and two revolvers. Now, in the 
truce, reprisal can not follow upon the 
statement of the truth. The man who 
brings us round to ruined homes will 
not himself forfeit his liberty. We can 
gather facts and write notes without 
danger of having our papers captured 
in a search, and carried off among a 
lorry-load of loot by Black and Tans. 

So there is Ireland again, — Ireland 
that has remained as unshaken as those 
mountains that look towards heaven in 
the early day, beautiful with every 
shade of amethyst and distant grey 
that fades to pearl. Look at the famous 
Sugar Loaf over there, clear-cut against 
the sky among the heights of Wicklow. 



The policy of violence and cruelty has 
not flattened that mountain peak one 
inch; and neither has it made the 
slightest difference to the spirit of the 
Irish people, their confidence of ulti- 
mate victory, their courage and even 
their gaiety, and their steady trust in 
prayer and in the overruling providence 
of Almighty God. 

We drift fast over a shining sea in 
the light of a great sunrise. Under 
the glittering waters there is a sob 
from the storm of a few days ago. It 
is past; a smooth surface reflects 
touches of warm pink and pale green 
and gold, still lingering from the dawn. 
A dark cloud-rack vanishes over the 
Eastern horizon, and the broad sun has 
risen, magnified by some atmospheric 
effect to incredible size and splendor. 
The houses above the harbor tier above 
tier are lighted up, row beyond row of 
windows blazing as if they were all 
filled with fire within. Never did we 
see so broad a sun; and bonfires would 
have been nothing compared to that 
answering illumination of the shore. 

Ireland has endured h^r agony, and 
the seemingly impossible has happened. 
A little while ago' it would have been 
called absolutely impossible. Negotia- 
tion has been asked for by the Dictator 
of the British Empire, called still by an 
unobservant people "the Premier." It 
is an awful crisis. But there is breath- 
ing space, and there is infinite hope. 

We are getting nearer every moment 
to the white breakwaters stretched in 
welcome ; the lower hills have turned to 
a vivid green; and Howth Head 
stands out on the right, one bower of 
verdure, flanking Dublin Bay. Beyond 
this tranquil coast, and farther than 
those purple mountains, there is the 
nation that has been misrepresented 
and lied about, — the nation that has 
been tortured behind padded walls of 
official secrecy, amid a silence that'was 
called lack of information. "Cromwell's 

time" in Irish tradition was always the 
outstanding epoch of cruelty, — always 
until now. But now they sum up the 
last two years everywhere over tile 
country with the same word. They are 
saying it by the turf fire in the cabins of 
the far West, where the Atlantic is 
beyond the rock-fringe and America is 
their next neighbor. What they are say- 
ing is: "It was Cromwell's time oyer 
again, — it was worse than Cromwell's 

The landing quay is commanded by 
two long fortifications of sandbags. 
There are glimpses of khaki and a pac- 
ing sentinel. All this becomes visible as 
the train starts for Westland Row. Two . 
names are in large letters on the name- - 
board of the harbor railway. The name 
of the starting point is in process of 
changing : "Kingstown — Dunlearigh." 
The old name is to come back again. 
"Dun," pronounced "Dhoon," means a 
fort, and a Gaelic speaker would call 
the place "Dhoon-layery." It is the site 
of the fortress of an Irish chieftain 
whose name belongs to the widely 
scattered O'Leary family of the modem 
world. The place was called Kingstown 
in honor of King George IV., who 
visited Ireland in 1821. His departure 
was from there, though his landing v/as 
at Howth. \ 

It is history that he heard of his 
wife's death when he was at Holyhead 
on the journey over, and that his bitter 
quarrel with his unfortunate and ca- 
lumniated queen caused him to refuse 
her a public funeral. It is history that 
his Majesty was helped ashore, drunk, 
at Howth. In a private letter to be 
found in the "Creevy Papers," the 
Countess of Glengall tells us how a ball 
was given in his honor, at which all the 
King's friends wore colors, and she 
found herself the only one who had put 
on State mourning for the late queen; ! 
and as for the royal guest's journey ' 1 
over, "he was dead-drunk when he 



landed on the 12th of August, — his own 
birthday. They drank all the wine on 
board the steamboat, and then ap- 
plied to the whiskey punch till he could 
hardly stand." It w^as during his visit 
that his unhappy queen was buried, 
with a public procession to demonstrate 
the outraged feeling of London. Is it 
any wonder that Ireland is going to 
have done with the name of Kingstown ? 

The Round Room at the Dublin Man- 
sion House was built specially for the 
reception of George IV. He received 
adulation there from the Dublin Castle 
crowd and their toadies and admirers. 
"They pawed and clawed him all over," 
says with disgust the letter- writer from 
whom we have already quoted. It was 
the day of the worship of titles, the 
zenith of landlordism. The so-called 
aristocracy, planted and fostered by 
England, aped everything English. To 
be genuinely Irish was to be despised 
by the leaders of fashion. Outside the 
ground of the island, everything Irish 
was a butt for ridicule. One burns with 
indignation at the recollection of such 
times. It is only in our own days that 
the nation has risen in its strength, 
startled England out of the age-long 
attitude of contempt, and stood forw^ard 
as a people to be reckoned with, a 
Power in the world. 

The visit of George IV. to Dublin was 
a dire disappointment to the Catholics 
of Ireland. Dublin was at that time an 
Orange stronghold, perhaps through the 
attraction of the Castle and its Prot- 
estantism. The whole country was in 
abject poverty, going down the groove 
that led to the great famine and the 
fever, and the depopulation of the land 
by emigration. Dublin and all the cities 
had swarms of beggars and labyrinths 
of reeking poverty, that would have 
shocked the royal visitor if he had the 
heart to look beyond his flatterers or 
to listen to what was going on beyond 
the roar of the street. The Catholic 

bishops waited on him, but received no 
relief for iheir people, who at that 
time paid tithes for the upkeep of the 
empty .State churches ; they were denied 
the rights of free citizens, and allowed 
no voice in Parliament because of their 

It was the bitter disappointment of 
the King's useless visit that fired O'Con-^ 
nell to work out a new plan ; and in the 
second year after, he began his Catholic 
Association with three members, and 
carried it on till he triumplred twice at 
the Clare election, and broke down the 
barrier of the anti-Catholic oath, and 
forced his way into Parliament. Catho- 
lic Emancipation in those days must 
have seemed as unthinkable to the Prot- 
estant mind of England as does the 
idea of a free Ireland now to the 
average Englishman. It was then, in 
the dark hour before the dawn, that the 
Round Room at the Mansion House was 
built for English royalty. 

The reality of the national cause was 
smouldering on since Ninety-Eight, hid- 
den in the hearts of the people. Tom 
Moore had warbled his way into Lon- 
don society with sentimental melodies, 
which the Ireland of to-day mostly dis- 
dains. Strong, facing practical facts, 
self-reliant, justifying her claim to 
govern, and defending her national ex- 
istence with the generous blood of tlie 
best of her sons, Ireland now has no 
place for such unrealities as "The Min- 
strel Boy" and "Come Send Round the 
Bowl." We have gone forward a long 
way since those days. 

And now the Round Room, that was 
built for the King, is packed full, floor 
and gallery, for the meeting of the Dail 
Eireann, the Parliament of an inde- 
pendent Ireland. They have been asked 
to negotiate by England. Their claim is 
that Ireland shall be free — not free and 
an enemy, but free and a friend. Near- 
ness does not make the right to own, 
but it does make the right to be united 



in common interests. Their claim is 
also that Ireland is one, and shall not be 
mutilated. The world knows the nego- 
tiations. The world also knows how 
England in the offer had force, militar- 
ism, on her side; and Ireland logically 
advanced a principle which England 
had already admitted,— the very prin- 
ciple for which she lured, America into 
the World Wiu*. 

The most remarkable thing about the 
session of the Dail Eireann — the most 
remarkable .thing in the whole negotia- 
tion — was the utter absence X)f the 
spirit of .vengeance. The history of the 
last two years must have been branded 
deep into every one of that mass meet- 
ing — the deputies of the Parliament, 
the men and women who thronged as an 
audience from floor to roof. But Ireland 
rejected the first offer, not because it 
was English but because it was insin- 
cere, giving nominal freedom with 
bonds to ensure serfdom. Ireland, with 
her great heart, thought only of the 
freedom of her people, and not of re- 
sentment. There was no hatred in the 
program of the Irish nation. If they 
were to be treated like the Czecho- 
slovaks, the Belgians, the Poles — in 
fact, if they were to be treated like any- 
body else in the world, — ^they were quite 
willing to wipe the hypocrisy and the 
mad policy of the last two years off the 
slate. A great State and a small State, 
side by side, bound by the same in- 
terests, that was Ireland's view of 
future relations — even after all I 

White statues of Irish patriots looked 
down from the walls all round the 
assembly, — memorials of men who 
strove in their time, but did not see this 
day. Three wounded soldiers of the 
I. R. A« were brought in from an am- 
bulance; a black crowd in one part of 
the gallery marked the special place oc- 
cupied by the families of^men who had 
given their life for the cause. The low 
platform or dais had a few chairs be- 

hind its table for the Lord Mayor, the 
Speaker, and special guests, including a 
brother of Parnell. The "red hand" 
famous in history was on the escutcheon 
that hung above; for the present Lord 
Mayor of Dublin is an O'Neill. In 
front of the dais a large part of the 
floor space was covered with circles of 
seats for the members of the Parlia- 
ment of Ireland. 

An outburst of cheering, an impres- 
sion of a vast assembly rising and 
leaning forward, — ^they were coming! 
As that procession entered, led by De 
Valera with a rapid stride, it was 
wonderful to think how many of those 
men had spent long periods in prison. 
Thirty-nine were released as a condi- 
tion of negotiation, and the fortieth, 
only a few hours before canie from a 
condemned celL A soldier of the I. R. A., 
by everyone's testimony chivalrous and 
honorable, Sean MacKeon had been 
captured in open fight, and the verdict 
passed against him would make of 
every soldier on the earth a murderer. 
Here he comes amid a storm of cheer- 
ing, — a fine specimen of Young Ireland, 
strongly built and tall, with ruddy, 
good-humored, almost laughing face. He 
was saved by the stern threat of break- 
ing off negotiations. He is going to his 
seat in the Dail, instead of having his 
young life ended by a volley in a bar- 
rack yard. There are five women mem- 
bers of the Parliament of Ireland. There 
comes, in widow's mourning, Mrs. 
Pearse ; and after her that slight figure 
in black with ivory-white face is young 
Mrs. O'Callaghan, of Limerick. Miceal 
GollinB, the invisible, is to be seen at 
last ; and Arthur Griflfith is here, taking 
up again the intellectual and pacific 
work which England stopped by hii 

"The roll-call is in Irish. The Orange 
names of the northeast corner are read 
in English, and greeted with ripples of 
laughter; for the Orange representa- 



tives are obstinately absent from their 
place in the one great Parliament to 
which they are held to be elected. After 
the roll-call came a prayer said in Irish 
by a priest. If all could not understand 
the words, all followed its spirit, and 
as if with one right hand the whble 
assembly appeared to make the Sign of 
the Cross. It was in the Irish tongue 
the oath of allegiance to the Dail was 
read aloud, while the members stood 
with right hand raised. A great number 
of them wear the "faune," or ring. A 
man can wear it as a necktie pin, and 
a woman as a brooch. It signifies that 
the wearer" is able to speak in Gaelic. 

Every member in turn went to the 
table to sign his name to the oath ; and 
the stewards sought in vain to suppress 
applause as, one by one, the assembly 
saw the men who had risked every- 
thing — liberty and life itself — for the 
cause of Ireland. Even De Valera him- 
self, or Arthur Griffith, Miceal Collins 
or "Cathal Bruga," did not receive so 
irrepressible an ovation as did the fresh 
and buoyant Sean MacKeown. His re- 
lease on the eve of the session had been 
a public triumph for the ultimatum of 
the President. The reversal of the sen- 
tence acknowledged that the I. R. A. 
were soldiers, not criminals. 

De Valera spoke- first in Irish and 
then in English. He stood at a comer 
of the seats to the left as one faced 
the dais, — ^the man whom most of us 
have seen by now: a figure of unusual 
height, with a thin, almost ascetic face, 
distinguished by the power of extreme 
earnestness. There was now and again 
a glistening on glasses about the 
thoughtful eyes. His hands fingered a 
few documents from which he meant to 
read. He began officially, with calm 
formality. The voice was extraor- 
dinarily soft and mellow, but it had a 
clear quality that was penetrating. As 
the logic of his argument closed on the 
Premier's offer with an unanswerable 

grip, the excitement, of his audience 
rose; and when he quoted extract after 
extract from the' Premier himself, ad- 
vocating the freedom of small nations, 
triumphant applause broke out at every 
point. His tones had risen with 
passionate fire, his ardor swept his 
hearers with him, when he declared: 
"We stand for principle, and we mean, 
if necessary, to die for it." One recog- 
nized then the strong and fearless man, 
whom thousands look upon as a leader 
granted as a divine gift to his people. 
Worthy men surround him, — a Par- 
liament with high ideals and pure mo- 
tives. One can not imagine the mere 
politician and the jobber among men 
who are ready to forfeit liberty, -and 
who may yet be called upon — any one 
of them — to forfeit life. 

Outside, the rain has poured in 
torrents on Dublin and on Dawson 
Street. The domestic part of the 
Mansion House is but a large resi- 
dence with a central flight of steps 
to the entrance, and a wall overhung 
with trees at each side of the gate. 
Before the end of the morning, when 
the crowd comes pouring out, the rain 
is over and the sun is shining. The 
street holds a quiet, expectant throng. 
Halfway across the road, making half a 
great oblong in front of the Mansion 
House, a cordon of the I. R. A. has 
kept guard all the time, with a second 
cordon farther in. About three hundred 
young men are there, in grey, with 
breast-knots of emerald green ribbon. 
Side by side facing the road they stand, 
with hands touching, and eyes looking 
forward, bright with earnestness and 
intelligence. "The boys," as they are 
affectionately called, have on every face 
the mark of a high inspiration and an 
humble faithfulness to duty. Their 
officers, with golden-yellow knots of 
ribbon, move about between the tv^^o 
lines and outside. 

The I. R- A., who have been marvel- 



lous soldiers and strategists, are also 
the most courteous and gentle of street 
guards. They are truly a force of 
which any country would be proud. 
Their rule is total abstinence; they are 
frequenters of the Sacraments, leading 
absolutely unstained lives. 

As we go back across O'Connell 
Bridge, and the city brightens, and the 
sea-gulls circle over the river with 
white wings catching the sunshine, is 
it any wonder that the song of Davis is 
in our mind, ringing insistently like the 
words of a prophecy? — 
For Freedom comes from God's right Hand, 

And needs a godly ti-ain; 
And righteous men shall make our land 
A nation once again. 

(To be continued.) 

Sister Capistrano. 

BY R. o'k. 

Ecce Ancilla Domini. 

BY FR. c. 

*nf/^E lay in a manger. 

His bed was of straw; 
Said Mary, His Mother: 
"Thy will is my law. 

"Whate'er Thou hadst chosen. 

Were it cradle or throne, 
Thy Mother, Thy handmaid — 
Her will is Thine own. 

"Hadst Thou come in the summer, 
In autumn or spring, — 

Thou hast come in the winter. 
And Thou art my King, 

"And I am Thy handmaid; 

Whate'er is Thy will, 
I'll choose as Thou choosest. 

And stand by Thee still. 

"Be it stable in winter. 
Or cross on a hill, 
I choose as Thou choosest: 
I'll stand by Thee still." 

Then Mary the Maiden 
She bent o'er her Child, 

And heard Him say soothly: 
"My true Mother mild, 

"For this wert thou chosen 

God's Mother to be, 
S'.nce wiliest thou nothing 

But God's charity." 


WENT one day to visit a priest 
friend, who was chaplain in a 
large hospital. It is a good 
while ago. I found him in the 
sacristy, in soutane and sur- 
plice, and he said to me: "Would you 
mind coming to the Fever Hospital ? Or 
would you be afraid?" 
' I said I would not be afraid; for, 
having been a teetotaller all my days, 
I was under the impression that I was, 
therefore, safe from contagious disease. 
And, though I do not look on it at present 
as an absolute preventive, I have it on 
the word of my friend that the first 
question asked concerning a fever case 
coming to the hospital is: "Was the 
patient given to drink?" "If so, in nine 
cases out of ten," said my friend, "the 
patient goes. But if not, nine out of ten 
he pulls through." 

We went. A double set of doors stood 
at the end of a long corridor. Taking 
out his pass-key and putting it into the 
lock, my companion, turning, whispered 
to me from Scott : 

On God and on Our Lady call. 

And enter the enchanted hr.ll. 

We passed in : a long apartment, yellow 
walls, windows on one side, and facing 
them a row of beds, some tenanted, 
others empty. On one bed was a little 
boy of eight or ten, sitting up. The 
bedclothes and his little nightdress were 
of the humblest. His head was shaven, 
and tears were running down his 
childish face. A nun was sitting beside 
him, evidently comforting him. She 
came forward to meet us, and drew us 
towards the child. She was past the 
prime of life, but moved with simple 
dignity and ease. 

"Look now, Father!" said she. "Poor 
little Patsy, that you anointed two days 




ago, wants to go home; he won't wait 
till his hair has grown; and you know 
what the bad boys outside would be 
calling him." 

She took the child's hand and pushed 
it against the grain of his stubby hair. 
The poor boy seemed startled at the 
"feel"; and, wiping his face with the 
rolled-up cuff of his nightdress, he lay 
back with an air of resignation. 

"And, Father," continued the nun, 
"you'll remember poor Patsy at the 
altar; and you'll pray for him, that his 
hair may grow quick, for he'd like to see 
his mother," 

My friend, patting Patsy's cheek and 
cheering him up, promised he would; 
and, after some conversation with the 
run about the other patients in the 
ward, we left. 

"Is that Reverend Mother?" said I. 

Instead of answering, he stood and 
looked me in the face. It might have 
been a solemn or a reverent or an awe- 
struck look. His answer was: 

"No: Sister Capistrano has been an 
humble, edifying lay-Sister of this con- 
vent for the last quarter of a century. 
Did you see how she knelt for my bless- 
ing. And I was born a poor cotter's son 
at her father's gate. Oh, the goodness 
of God!" he said, and a gush of tears 
burst from his eyes. "My father 
ploughed her father's land at a few shil- 
lings a week; and I, when I was little, 
herded the sheep for a few pence a 
week; my only comfort being a book 
hidden inside my little jacket, that as 
soon as I had done my childish task I 
hastened to read. Oh, many a time I 
saw her ride out her father's gate on a 
lovely chestnut, with her three brothers ! 
And when she looked at me in my poor 
clothes, I was happy for the rest of the 
day. She sat a horse well; and in her 
dark riding habit she looked to my 
young eyes a queen." He paused for a 
moment and then went on: 

It was the time of the first mission 

in our parish, — away^ away back in the 
fifties. Enormous crowds came, not 
alone from the parish, but from all the 
countryside. They would get into the 
simple old church through the windows, 
at three o'clock in the morning, to 
secure a place near the confessionals; 
and often would not be home till after 
midday. I remember seeing one poor 
tottering old man receiving Holy 
Communion at three o'clock. 

"But I am falling into. an old habit. I 
have had three bad habits: I have been 
a ceaseless reader, a poor thinker, and 
a bad listener. Now, the last is the 
worst habit of the three. I had wished 
to tell you about dear Sister Capistrano, 
and here I am, like every egotist, drag- 
ging in myself. But indeed I am hasten- 
ing as fast as I can. 

"At the mission I speak of. Sister had 
charge of the choir and the altar. She 
sang and played delightfully; and to 
this day the convent garden and the 
flowers for the altar are entirely in her 
charge. It was most impressive to see 
her go up the steps of the altar with the 
vases of flowers. I was a little Mass- 
server at the time, and her lightest nod 
would have sent me in joy to the ends 
of the earth to serve her. 

"The parish priest's house being 
small, two of the Fathers were lodged 
at her home. I noticed one day that 
she and the Fathers in charge were talk- 
ing confidentially, and that occasionally 
both of them looked in my direction. 
Next day I was at school. A Father 
came in. We were up at a class at the 
blackboard in Euclid. Our old teacher 
was in the midst of us. We were at the 
famous 47th of the First. In a right- 
angled triangle the square of the hypot- 
enuse is equal to the sum of squares of 
the two sides. The Father watched us. 
It was but play to us : we revelled in it. 
Under our old teacher we could do any- 
thing. From that day to this I have 
never met his like. 



"That evening the Father and Sister 
Capistrano came to my poor mother's 
house. They were talking to her, and 
after a while I heard my mother say: 
'Glory be to God in heaven, it would in- 
deed be the dearest wish of my heart! 
But I have no means to send him to 
study Latin, and can hardly keep a 
stitch of clothes on him. Look at my 
new cloth boots that I gave him to go 
on the altar! The young scamp brings 
them home to me tied with a string, the 
upper torn from the sole.' I knew by 
that it was myself was meant, and I 
made off and hid. Peeping round the 
corner, however, I saw Sister Capis- 
trano laying her hand on my mother's 
shoulder, and I overheard her say: 'All 
right now, dear! God give us all His 
blessing, and may we live to see him at 
the altar.' 

"To shorten the story, the priests took 
me with them when they were leaving, 
at the end of the mission; and years 
after, when acting as secretary to the 
Provincial, I learned that Sister Capis- 
trano had smoothed my way out of her 
private purse." 

^ Recalling those times, his emotions 
overcame him; and I confess I sympa- 
thized with him, wondering at the ways 
of God. Brightening up after a pause, 
he went on: 

"I must now tell you about Sister 
Capistrano alone — " 

"Pardon me 1" I broke in. "It is a far 
cry to Scotland, but what you have been 
saying reminds me of what one of the 
religious denominations did in that 
country many years ago. It was near 
extinction, but had two classes of 
members left: the zealous and the 
wealthy. They met in conference, and 
it was agreed that the wealthy should 
found scholarships in the universities, 
and that the zealous should encourage 
their brethren in the ministry to pick 
out the clever boys in their several- 
parishes, and have them compete for 

the scholarships. Ian MacLaren, in 
'Beside the Bonnie Briar Bush,' has a 
pathetic sketch founded on this in *A 
Lad of Pairts.' The plan succeeded; 
and I have often thought that a priest, 
especially in a countiy parish, might en- 
courage a promising boy, and even 
help him a little with the classics if his 
duties permitted." 


Presently the good priest resumed his 
narrative : 

"It was a surprise to me, on being 
sent to this place by my superior, to find 
Sister Capistrano here before me. I had 
known that she became a nun, but the 
convent she entered had slipped my 
memory ; and, you know, for years I had 
been on the Continent. Her eldest 
brother remained at home; the second 
brother became a lawyer; and her 
youngest brother went to college, was 
appointed professor, resigned, went on 
the Foreign Missions, and is now a 
bishop in partibits. We have a house in 
his diocese, and whenever I 'get an obe- 
dience' to leave here, as in all probability 
I shall (you know it is the way with us 
religious), I hope to be placed under 
him. I could not tell you what that 
family was like ; every one of them was 
so good. 

"One day I said to Sister: 'How did 
you happen to choose St. John Capis- 
trano for your patron?' 

" 'I could ride, you know,' she said, 
'and I could fish ; I could load a gun and 
draw the trigger; but — God forgive 
me! — I knew little of the lives of the 
saints. I was asked when I got my 
votes what saint's name I would prefer. 
I said I thought they were all good, 
one in one way and another in 
another, — that is, so far as I knew. But 
the name I'd like to get was that of a 
saint who would have patience with me, 
and not throw me viway. The day of 
the reception was the feast of St. John 
Capistrano ; and they gave me that great 



saint for my patron, and he has been 
very patient with me indeed. 

" 'But before that, and for the greater 
part of my life, I had another patron. 
When I was at school, a girl of my own 
age spoke to me often of serious and 
religious subjects. She would even talk 
on death, going so far as to suggest, and 
actually proposed, that whichever of us 
died first would return, if God permit- 
ted, and tell the other of things beyond 
the grave. I assented, looking on it as 
something in the far-away future. 

" *In season and out of season she 
was.a ceaseless advocate of devotion to 
the Holy Souls. When on our school 
walks, she'd often draw me to her, take 
_out a crucifix that had the indulgence of 
the Stations of the Cross, and when 
others thought, perhaps, that we were 
talking about the coming examinations, 
we were saying the twenty "Our 
Fathers," "Hail Marys," and Glorias. 
When that was done, she'd skip and 
dance, with the remark: "We've really 
fed the hungry and clothed the naked." 

" 'If she saw me sitting silent in the 
schoolroom she'd whisper, "Minting, 
minting!" And Fd answer back, "Vaca- 
tion, vacation!" It was near vacation, 
but, alas ! before it came she was taken 
away unexpectedly, quite suddenly, and, 
I might venture to add, in her baptismal 
innocence. She was my early patron,' 
said Sister Capistrano from the depths 
of her big, guileless heart. 
_ " *I looked down on her grave,' the 
Sister went on, 'and I wondered how 
dry and unmoved I felt. "She prayed 
for the Holy Souls," said Reverend 
Mother, at my elbow, as the last sod was 
put on. "Let us Say a fervent prayer 
for her now." Then came the flood- 
gates. I knelt by the grave, and 
promised her that I would carry on he?- 
work for the Poor Souls, but that jny 
work should be for the poor bodies. I 
rose and went home, not in sorrow but 
in joy, feeling that I was still bound to 

her by the devotional work she loved best 
of all; and that perhaps it might be a 
magnet to draw her to me, as we had 
agreed. The thought of seeing her 
brought no fear to my mind ; on the con- 
trary, it was a pleasure to think I might 
meet her once again in the fleSh.' " 

"She never came, however," said my 
priest friend, carrjang on the tale in his 
own words. "At least, she never came 
visibly. It is true that Sister Capis- 
trano, when alone, often heard rustling 
and sounds, the cause of which she 
could not find out. And evermore these 
sounds brought to her x, mind a verse 
which she had learned, — where, she did 
not know\ 'O ye sons of men, why will 
ye love vanity and seek after a lie?' 
(Ps. iv.) Of course your reverence 
knows," he observed, turning to me, 
"the meaning of the word 'lie' (menda- 
cwm.) in the Scriptures : the thing that 
promises gladness and pleasure and joy 
and will not give them, that is a lie. 

"After balls and theatres and dances, 
though she had been the belle among 
all there, the dead tongue arose, the 
voice from the grave whispered to her : 
'Oh, ye sons of men, why will ye love 
vanity and seek after a lie?' And then 
she hid herself in her room, 'and there,' 
she said, 'I thought of the foundress 
of the Presentation Order, Nano Nagle, 
after a ball, driving before the dawn 
through the streets of Paris, and seeing 
the poor people waiting for the open- 
ing of the church doors, that they might 
go in to hear Mass. That made a nun of 
her; but my whole system revolted 
against becoming a nun.' 

"It was not that she did not recog- 
nize the good that nuns do ; nor was it 
anything in the pleasures of the world 
that allured her. Everywhere she 
heard, 'O ye sons of men, why will ye 
love vanity and seek after a lie?' The 
one thing that prevented her from 
settling down in the world was the same 
thing that prevented her from entering 



religion. There was in her heart a 
Eomething that would not loose its grasp 
of liberty. 

"At the same time her constant 
prayer was that she might know God 
better, so that she might love Him more 
intelligently, and serve Him (as she 
felt she ought to do) with her whole 
heart and soul, and, if possible, at every 
hour of the day and the night. She gave 
up worldly reading, and even took to 
a book she could never endure pre- 
viously — 'The Imitation of Christ.' It 
had seemed to her but a book of moral 
platitudes; with the Psalmist's words, 
however, acting as a key, it was replete 
with heavenly wisdom: *0 ye sons of 

"Just at this time a virulent epidemic 
broke out in the district. Its ravages 
were alarming. People fled from the 
town into the country; and, unfortu- 
nately, from the country into the town. 
One died to-day; and of those that were^ 
at his funeral, half a dozen would die 
to-morrow. No one attended a funeral 
except those that had to do so. 

"'Here is my work!' cried Sister 
Capistrano, with the personal daring 
that was part of her character. 'But on 
my first visit,' she said, laughingly, 'I 
was humbled to the dust. Thete, work- 
ing, washing, nursing, did I find my 
mother's maid, a slight, fair-haired girl 
of seventeen. She showed me what to 

"The two worked together during the 
epidemic. The girl's mother took ill and 
died, but the girl still worked on un- 
complainingly. They were greatly en- 
couraged by a young doctor of high 
promise and good family. He gave them 
detailed directions, and spent himself 
in his attentions to the patients. But 
though kind-hearted and unselfish in 
the extreme, he was lax in religion. 

"Sister Capistrano was enthusiastic 
over his work and himself, and one day 
spoke in her usual generous way as he 

was leaving a bedside. He was elated 
at her praise. His horse was at the door. 
He thanked her, vaulted with a light 
heart into the saddle, and, turning the 
horse's head, crossed into the field to 
have a canter through the fresh air and 
over the green turf. About an hour 
later word came that the man and horse 
had rolled over a fence, and that the 
rider was carried home dead. 

"This second death made a deep im- 
pression on her, and more plainly than 
ever she now heard the leaves and the 
evening breeze whisper: *0 ye sons of ' 
men, why do ye love vanity?' Yet still 
she was firmly as ever of her old mind : 
it only made her more intent on the 
'poor bodies,' however; and she and her 
assistant continued to the end doing 
their duty for the poor. 

";^efore the terror of the visitation 
had left the people, the old parish priest 
asked our Fathers to give a renewal of 

their mission. Father M , who had 

been in charge before, was in charge 
now also. He lodged once more in 
Sister Capistrano's house. Again he 
used all his powers to persuade her to 
leave the world, but received only the 
old answer: 'I'd sooner be torn between 

"A year goes *by quickly. We don't 
seem to feel its passage, and we take 
just as little note of what happens. 
Good Sister Capistrano, before re- 
tiring to rest one night, had said 
the twenty 'Our Fathers' for the 
Holy Souls. She fell asleep, and knew 
not how long she had slept when a voi'^r-, 
that seemed not to sound but to cut 
through her like a knife, cried: 'Y ,u 
never pray for me!' She sat up in ter- 
ror. A glow, as of a strong fire, waS^ 
all over the bed ; and, looking out on the 
floor, she saw the doctor on his knees, 
his hands joined and his head bent 

" 'Are you saved ?' her terror forced 
her to ask in a direct way. 



" 'Yes. Nothing small or great is 
forgotten by God. He punishes the evil, 
the good He rewards. He saved me 
because of the poor. "For with the 
Lord there is mercy, and with Him 
plentiful redemption." And you will be 
saved. But "if to-day you shall hear 
His voice, harden not your heart." ' 
(Ps. xciv.) 

"She came to breakfast next morning 
with ten years of age added in one 
night. All her beauty and comeliness 
were gone. Her mother would not have 
known her. There was no longer any 
hesitation ; her only anxiety now was to 
make up for lost time. She would be 
./ but a lay-Sister, like her assistant, in a 
distant convent ; and both of them came 
together, and entered here on the same 
day. That was many years ago." 

A Romance of American History. 


[he oft-quoted illustration 
that a pebble cast into the sea 
has its infinitesimal effect 
upQn the distant and opposite 
shore, is seemingly an imposition upon 
the credulity of the average mind. Our 
imaginations do not easily comprehend 
the "divinity of little things." It is 
difficult to interpret what Our Lord 
meant when He said, 'Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of 
these My brethren, ye have done it unto 
Me; and great will be your reward in 

The following narrative is founded al- 
together upon fact. The story has been 
handed down for several generations by 
word qf mouth, has been inscribed in 
different printed historical records ; and 
the writer has substantiated every im- 
portant detail in the minutes of the 
official journal of the House and Senate 
of the Indiana State Legislature for the 
year 1842-1843. 

In 1825 Edward A. Hannegan was a 
young lawyer, just admitted to practice 
before the Bar at the second term of 
Court in Warren County, Indiana. The 
small village of Williamsport was the 
County seat; but in those days the 
judge, with a retinue of attorneys, rode 
on horseback over the wooded districts ; 
whence, indeed, came the origin of the 
so-called Circuit Court. 

Young Hannegan, a mere lad, went 
forth with this assembly on his first 
round with neither clients nor cases. 
Imagine the novice, joked and laughed 
at by the older heads with whom he 
travelled on the route. The Court, you 
will understand, proceeded from place 
to place wherever litigation was pend- 
ing, set up his bench in an old log cabin, 
heard the issues, and passed sentence or 
rendered judgment. 

One day Hannegan, probably more by 
way of jest than anything else, received a 
case. In Switzerland County, the Court 
and Bar came upon an unfortunate, 
slothful and ignorant man, named Schu- 
maker, charged with murder. He had 
no money and the facts seemed entirely 
against him, so his defence was handed 
over to Hannegan. The youilg man took 
it upon himself as a personal respon- 
sibility to secure the acquittal and free- 
dom of his poverty-stricken client. He 
went into counsel with Schumaker, and 
became convinced of the latter's inno- 
cence ; at the trial he proved his ability 
as an orator and clear thinker. The 
prisoner was found to be "not guilty" 
by the jury. 

One can easily depict the scene: old 
man Schumaker, with tears in his eyes 
and with palsied hands, embracing the 
young attorney who saved his life, and 
saying, "If the time ever comes when I 
can repay you in any possible way, I 
will do so ; I shall always remember that 
my first and last debt is to you." 

Thereafter Hannegan became an able 
criminal lawyer, was elected to Con- 



gress from the northern paii; of the 
State, and in 1842 was a colonel of the 
•militia, commanding a regiment that 
had been sent into Plymouth, Indiana, 
for the purpose of terrorizing the In- 
dians, who were menacing the settlers 
in that district. 

That was the year of the great cam- 
paign between Oliver H. Smith, Whig 
candidate for re-election to the United 
States Senate, and General Tilghman A. 
Howard, the Democratic nominee. The 
contest was exceedingly bitter, the lines 
being very sharply drawn. As a result 
of the popular election, there were in 
the Indiana State Legislature, which at 
that time selected the United States 
Senators, seventy-five Whigs and 
seventy-five Democrats. Who might 
have been the choice of this assembly, 
had it not been for what seems the in- 
terference of Providence which so fre- 
quently plays its decisive part in the 
destinies of men, can never be known. 

On the day of the aforesaid general 
election, about five o'clock in the even- 
ing, down in Switzerland County, 
Daniel Kelso, candidate for the State 
Senate, discovered that just over the 
hill from the polls was a sick man who 
had not cast his vote. Accordingly, the 
enterprising office-seeker sought him 
out and asked him to promise that, if he 
were carried to the booth, he would cast 
his ballot for Kelso. The ill man was a 
son of old Mr. Schumaker, since de- 
ceased, whom Mr. Hannegan had de- 
fended twenty years previous. The 
father had charged his boy to remember 
that act of kindness. Though young 
Schumaker was on his own deathbed, a 
victim of consumption, he agreed to vote 
for Kelso if the latter would, in turn, 
vote for Mr. Hannegan for United 
States Senator. Daniel Kelso did not 
readily promise to do this. He was not 
even acquainted with Hannegan, who 
had taken no part in the campaign, and 
was browbeating the Indians several 

hundred miles north at that time, with 
slight thought of politics. Finally, how- 
ever, Kelso passed his word that if 
Schumaker's one vote elected him, he 
would vote for Hannegan in the Legis- 
So Schumaker was carried to the polls, 
cast his ballot, and died the next morn- 
ing. Kelso was elected to the State 
Senate by one vote. His seat was con- 
tested, but after considerable trouble he 
was allowed to retain it. He was a 
Whig, and supposedly aligned with the 
forces supporting Oliver H. Smith. 
When the vote came in the Legislature, 
General Howard received seventy-five, 
the seventy-four Whigs opposing him in 
support of Oliver H. Smith. One lone 
Whig, Daniel Kelso, cast his vote for a 
Democrat named Edward Hannegan. 
Five ballots were taken, and on each 
the Democrats stood solidly for 
Howard and the Whigs, with the ex- 
ception of Kelso, for Smith. On the 
sixth ballot, the seventy-five Democrats 
came over to the one Whig, making 
seventy-six votes for Hannegan, and 
electing him United States Senator 
from Indiana. 

Edward A. Hannegan took his seat 
in the United States Senate, and became 
a distinguished member of that body. 
The Vice-President of the United States 
is President of the Senate, but there is 
elected a temporary chairman to act in 
his stead during his absence, illness, 
or in case of death. Edward A. Hanne- 
gan was honored by being chosen to act 
in that capacity, being called President 
pro tern of the United States Senate, 
which means, translated, President for 
the time — when the permanent execu- 
tive is away. 

It is the duty of the executive officer 
of a legislative body of this kind, 
in case of a tie or even vote, to decide 
the issue himself, his one vote, of 
course, making a majority. When 
Texas declared her independence of 



Mexico and applied for admission to 
the American Union, it was necessary 
to secure the approval of Congress be- 
fore she could be admitted. A resolution 
providing Tor this easily passed the 
House, but in the Senate was 
strenuously opposed. The vote upon the 
question was a tie. Hannegan was at 
that time acting as President pro tern. 
The question was put up to him to de- 
cide, and he voted in favor of allowing 
Texas to become a member of the 
Federal Union. The war with Mexico 
resulted, in which the independence and 
allegiance of Texas was forever deter- 
mined, — another star being added to 
the American flag. 

Hannegan may be given, indirectly, 
credit for another State — namely, 
Oregon. There was considerable dispute 
at this period between the United 
States and England over the Canadian 
boundary. Historians say that Hanne- 
gan, in a debate on the floor of the 
Senate, coined the now famous phrase 
"54-40 or fight." He meant that we 
must have that longitude' and latitude 
or war would result. England evidently 
thought we meant it, for the line as 
definitely fixed gave us the territory 
which now includes the States of Mon- 
tana, Oregon, and Washington. 

Leaving the Senate, Hannegan 
became a candidate for the Presidency, 
just missing the nomination, which if 
he had secured would undoubtedly have 
occasioned the defeat of Franklin 
Pierce, who was at that time unknown. 
Instead, however, he became Ambassa- 
dor to Prussia, where he served with 
great distinction. 

Thus it is shown how an act of 
kindness rendered by a young lawyer 
to an old and unfortunate man was 
returned to him in later years many 
times over, actually changing the 
course of American history by altering 
and enlarging the map of the United 

On the Taking of Resolutions. 

ONE of the traditional subjects on 
which would-be humorists dwell 
for the amusement of hearers or readers 
is the forming of New Year resolutions. 
Needless to say, they take it for granted 
that such resolutions are, and ap- 
parently from the circumstances of the 
case must be, utterly futile. In their 
philosophy, a fixed purpose or a deter- 
mined resolve formulated on the first 
day of January is bound to be set aside 
and given up before the month is halt 
completed. Now, even if they were cor- 
rect in believing that New Year resolu- 
tions are, as a rule, broken within a 
fortnight or a week of their being 
taken, these flippant critics would still 
be mistaken as to the usefulness or the 
futility of the practice they laugh at. 
It is desirable, no doubt, that a resolu- 
tion to avoid a specific evil or to accom- 
plish a designated good should be kept 
from one New Year to the next; but, 
failing this, it is nevertheless an excel- 
lent thing to take a good resolution, 
even if it be only briefly kept. 

It is distinctly better to resolve and 
fail than never to resolve at all; and 
the person who turns aside £rom- any 
evil way, if only for a week or two at 
the beginning of the year, has very 
surely gained something. While we may 
lament the instability of purpose which 
occasions such a person's all too speedy 
return to the old routine, we must 
recognize the fact that at least he has 
made an effort which will certainly 
facilitate his future permanent refor- 
mation, and that there is within him the 
still living consciousness that his life 
needs reforming. 

Notwithstanding the disposition on 
the part of many persons to make 
merry over the sure-to-be-broken New 
Year resolutions, it is fairly ceRain 
that not a few of these very same 
people do a little resolving of their 



own, — make a private compact with 
themselves that, on this or that point, 
their record for the dawning year will 
be materially different from what has 
been their practice in that which has 
just closed. The fewer the points, and 
the more mature the deliberation with 
which they have been selected, the bet- 
ter the chance of one's persevering. 
Seriously to determine oui'selves to give 
up an evil habit or to practise a special 
virtue is of itself a good thing, and 
every day throughout which we remain 
steadfast to our purpose is so much 
gained; but victory is achieved only in- 
asmuch as we are both "wise to resolve 
and patient to perform." 

Assuming that we have been wise in 
formulating our good resolutions, that 
the purposes we have formed have been 
the outcome, not of transitory impulse 
but of serious reflection, how shall we 
prove patient in performing? "Make 
vows to the Lord," we are told in Holy 
Writ, "but keep them." How are we to 
keep our good resolutions, taken at New 
Year's or at any other time? Assuredly 
not by frequenting occasions in which 
to break them. Every good resolution 
implies not only itself as an end, but 
the employment ^of a number of means, 
disregard of which renders that end 

It is well-nigh superfluous to add 
that, just as the avoidance of occasions 
is a necessary negative preliminary to 
perseverance in our good resolves, so 
daily prayer is the surest positive 
means of guaranteeing our steadfast- 
ness. We need God's grace even to take 
a good resolution, and only a daily 
access of His divine assistance can en- 
able us to keep one. No Christian needs 
to be reminded that, of himself, in the 
order of salvation he can do-nothing; 
but, on the other hand, every sincere 
follower of Christ may assuredly say 
with St. Paul, "I can do all things in 
Him who strengtheneth me." 

Notes and Remarks. 

The dawn of a New Year is an op- 
portune time for reflection upon a 
saintly prelate's comment on a petition 
which practical Catholics recite every 
morning and night of their lives: "Give 
us this day our daily bread." Said the 
late Archbishop of Liverpool, in a ser- 
mon delivered not long before his 
lamented death: 

It is just these words of Our Lord which 
form the grounds of the Church's insistence, 
particularly in recent times, on the practice 
of frequent Communion. What did Our Lord 
mean by the words, "Give us this day our 
daily bread"? And what did He mean us to 
mean when we use the words? As the Church 
has now authoritatively interpreted them, "by 
these words must be understood, not so much 
the material food which is the support of the 
body, as the Eucharistic Bread, which ought 
to be our daily food."... The maintenance of 
the spiritual life of the soul is the boundcn 
duty of all. The man, woman or child wlio 
daily asks Almighty God to give them their 
daily bread, and yet will not take the trouble 
for weeks together to partake of the food of 
the soul, to all intents and purposes enters on 
a spiritual hunger strike which will inevitably 
end in the death of the soul, and it may be 
in eternal death. 

Frequent or daily Communion no 
longer carries with it the connotation 
that one sets oneself up to be pietistic, 
or wishes to show oneself better than 
other people. The practice needs no 
more excuse than one would offer for 
partaking of material food every day. 

One of the saddest of Christmas 
Days must have been that of the rela- 
tives and friends of the seventeen Ar- 
menian women and children who came 
to this country last summer, seeking 
safety, and were deported by immigra- 
tion authorities, as being in excess of 
the quota allowed from their country. 
Mr. C. V. Knightly, coujisel for a wel- 
fare organization in Boston, reports, on 
the authority of an American student of 
Roberts College, that, on their return 



to Constantinople, these unfortunate 
v.'omen were first outraged, and then, 
together with the children, murdered 
by Turks because "there were no means 
for their support, and they were con- 
sidered in the way." 

It was probably this harrowing case 
which caused our Government to extend 
its Yuletide clemency to include the 
\aliens held at Ellis Island and other 
immigration stations for deportation. 
All who were not barred by health and 
morality rules were allowed to go to 
their relatives and friends for ninety 
days. They^re not under obligation to 
return unless ordered to do so, and it is 
thought that the Labor Depai-tment will 
arrange in some way for their stay in 
the United States. The rejoicing among 
these aliens and those waiting to wel- 
come them may be imagined. They will 
be sure to prove by loyalty their grati- 
tude to a Government that has shown 
them so much clemency. 

Of all the editorial comments on the 
pastoral letter of the Archbishop of 
New York dealing with what is called 
birth control, Mr. Arthur Brisbane's is 
the most striking and significant that 
has come under our notice. After quot- 
ing the most salient paragraph of the 
letter, he remarks^ "This puts a new 
complexion on the entire question. 
Beyond doubt, to destroy physical life in 
one body, permitting the soul to enter a 
better life, would be a crime less serious 
than saying to that soul, 'You shall 
never exist at all!' It is a complicated 
question, made more complicated by the 
fact that, outside of Archbishop Hayes' 
Church, among the prosperous class at 
least, birth control to a greater or less 
extent is practically universal." 

ance of such a report is of itself a grati- 
fying circumstance, as evidencing our 
Government's acknowledging the prom- 
inent part played by religion, and the 
benefit to accrue to the anny from the 
systematized religious care given to its 
tank and file. The staff in the office of 
the Chief of Chaplains, the report in- 
forms us, are one clergyman each of the 
Congregational, Roman Catholic, and 
Methodist Episcopal Churches. There 
are at present 608 chaplains in the 
Officers' Reserve Corps, their grades 
being majors (5), captains (60), and 
first-lieutenants (543). The numbers 
of chaplains representing the largest 
denominations are: Catholic, 165; 
Methodist, 115; Baptist, 91; Presby- 
terian, 71 ; Protestant Episcopal, 54. 
The remaining one hundred and twelve 
chaplains belong, with the exception of 
seven Jews, to one or another of thir- 
teen Christian sects. . 

Interesting figures are given in the 
first annual report of the Chief of 
Chaplains, War Department, Washing- 
ton, D. C. The mere fact of the issu- 

To Maitland, who was neither a 
Catholic nor free from anti-Catholic 
prejudice, is largely due the better un- 
derstanding of the Middle Ages which 
nov/ prevails among all educated 
persons. He was the first of modern 
English writers to assert, and to prove, 
that the period of history A. D. 
800-1200 was grossly, even grotesquely 
misrepresented. His faithful saying 
that the only good reason for calling the 
IMiddle Ages the Dark Ages is that most 
people are in the dark about them, has 
become familiar. He had examined 
some of the writings of the time and 
learned how enlightened it was ; and in 
the first chapter of his famous book he 
earnestly calls upon his readers to 
follow his example : 

By putting your head into the darkness, 
good reader, I do mean that you must, in some 
degree, make yourself acquainted with the 
original writers of the period. I have heard of 
a traveller at an inn who wished to look out 
and see if it was day; and who returned to bed 
with a very wrong judgment on the matter, 



owing to his being in the dark himself, 
whereby he was led to open the glass door of 
a cupboard, instead of a window; and I must 
say that, in trusting to the repiesentations of 
some popular writers, you will be doing much 
the same thing. 

We find this happy illustration quoted 
in a very readable article on "Sermon 
Illustration," contributed to the current 
number of the Ecclesiastical Review by 
the Rt. Rev. Msgr. Henry. He 
also quotes this eloquent tribute to 
monasticism by Maitland: 

This, I think, no man can deny. I believe 
it is true, and I love to think of it. I hope that 
I see the good hand of God in it, and the 
visible trace of His mercy that is over all His 
works. But if it is only a dream, however 
grateful, I shall be glad to be awakened from 
it; not indeed by the yelling of illiterate 
agitators, but by a quiet and sober proof that 
I have misunderstood the matter. In the mean- 
time let me thankfully believe that thousands 
of the persons at whom Robertson and Jortin, 
and other such very miserable second-hand 
writers, have sneered, were men of enlarged 
minds, -purified affections, and holy lives; that 
they were justly reverenced by men, and, above 
all, favorably accepted by God, and distin- 
guished by the highest honor which He vouch- 
safes to those whom He has called into exist- 
ence, — that of being the channels of His love 
and mercy to their fellow-creatures. 

Naturally, the good folk of the Middle 
Ages did not possess as much knowledge 
as we can boast of, but they certainly 
were not "steeped in ignorance and 
superstition," as so many prejudiced 
writers have asserted; and it is 
very questionable if their lives were not 
better, happier, healthier, and even 
more comfortable than ours. 

The new biography of the Marquess 
of Ripon has not contributed much to 
our knowledge of the Catholic life of the 
distinguished convert; that little, how- 
ever, is of special interest. His leaving 
the Church of England was the result 
of a long study of the writings of New- 
man. In the Church of All Lands he 
found a peace of soul which was never 
again disturbed. "In setting forth on 

his vice-regal career," writes his biog- 
rapher, "Ripon possessed one inesti- 
mable advantage in the religious peace 
which he had found through his con- 
version to the Roman Catholic Church."^ 
And in a letter to his wife, he himself 
says: "One thing is wonderful, and is 
due to the influence of religion: I have 
not ever since I came here been worried 
or snappy; and even when I have had 
big decisions to take, involving much 
responsibility and criticism, I have been 
really quite quiet." (He Was naturally 
of a very restless temperament.) 

It will be remembered that great sur- 
prise and no little indignation were ex- 
pressed by English Catholics because 
Lord Ripon did not resign his place in 
the Cabinet when Mr. Asquith issued 
orders to stop the public procession of 
the Blessed Sacrament, to be held at the 
time of the Eucharistic Congress in 
London. The biographer of Lord Ripon 
stated that he did resign, and presents a 
manly letter which he addressed to the 
Prime Minister. It was consideration 
for his colleagues which influenced him 
not to announce his resignation until 
some weeks had passed. 

Some very interesting information 
about the Lascelles family, soon to be 
allied to the Royal House of England, 
is furnished by the London Tablet, the 
editor of which seems to have many 
sources of knowledge that, are inacces- 
sible to his confreres of the secular 
press : "From Roger de Lascelles, 
Baron of Parliament in the time of 
Edward I., descended the family of Las- 
celles of Brackenbury in Yorkshire, who 
bore the same arms as the present Earl 
of Harewood. This family gave one 
martyr and several priests to the 
Church. The Ven. John Lockwood, who 
suffered at York in April, 1642, at the 
age of eighty-seven, was the son of 
Clara Lascelles, who married Chris- 
topher Lockwood, of Sowerby, in York- 



shire. He often used his mother's name, 
then spelled Lasselles, as an alias. His 
younger brother Francis also became a 
priest, and both studied for a time at 
Douay, before ordination at Rome and 
Reims respectively. Their first cousin, 
Christopher Lassells, was also a priest, 
and was exiled for the Faith in 1606, 
His brother, Sir John Lassells, became 
the grandfather of four priests, all 
brothers: Thomas, John, Richard, and 
Ralph. All four brethren used the alias 
Boldes, or Boold, this being their 
grandmother's maiden name. Of the 
four, Richard was the best known, as, 
besides working as a priest in London, 
he spent much time travelling; and 
after his death in 1668 a work by him, 
called 'A Voyage of Italy,' was published 
and often reprinted. Another book, 
'An Excellent Way of Hearing Mass,' 
which appeared in 1686, was reprinted 
about fifty years ago." 

the more general will become the use of 
drugs by foi*mer drunkards, and the 
more difficult it will be to reduce the 
number of drug addicts. 

With no disposition to rejoice in the 
corroboration of our judgnient, not in- 
frequently expressed during the Pro- 
hibition campaign, we note that our 
forecast as to the increased use of drugs 
as an aftermath of the passing of the 
Eighteenth Amendment has proved to- 
be correct. Dr. Royal S. Copeland, 
Health Commissioner of New York citv, 
has this to say of the matter: 

564,000 pounds of crude opium were im- 
ported into the United States in 1918; the 
year after that we imported 640,000 pounds. 
Statistics show that would mean fifty grains 
foi; every man, woman, and child in the 
country. As regards opium using, we are 
using tiie same amount China used fifteen 
years ago, when she was the chief opium con- 
sumer of the world. The United States now 
has that doubtful distinction. We got very 
much excited over the whiskey habit. We 
have amended the Constitution as a measure 
against it; but, without entering into any dis- 
cussion of Prohibition, I want to say that, 
to my mind, the opium evil is far more harm- 
ful than the whiskey habit ever was. 

Let it be added that the greater the 
eificiency of the laws prohibiting liquor. 

As orators raise their voices for fear 
of not being heard, so writers like Sir 
Philip Gibbs dip their pens in gall for 
fear of not being heeded. In his new 
book, "More that Must be Told," the 
"high priest of journalism," as some 
one calls him, makes the confession of 
the world thus: "The bottom was 
knocked out of the meaning of the war, 
if ever it had any meaning beyond the 
bloody rivalry of politicians, using the 
bodies and souls of men for their dirty 
game; and the insanity of mobs, 
deluded by race passion, inflamed by 
their leaders." 

Very strong language is this, and 
very downright, too; but it will do 
nobody any harm. However, we had 
not thought that the time had arrived 
when war correspondents could thus 
express themselves. The iron has 
entered into the soul of Sir Philip. 

A faithful saying of the Rev. Joseph 
Rickaby, S. J., is quoted by the Catholic 
Adva7ice, of Wichita, Kansas. It will 
afford consolation to those who have 
had the misfortune of hearing preach- 
ers and reading authors who forget that 
"the mercy of God is upon all flesh." We 
are sorry not to have the reference to 
these words of Fr. Rickaby : "If ever you 
find a theologian confidently consigning 
the mass of human souls to eternal 
flames, be sure he is venturing beyond 
the bounds of Christian faith and theo- 
logical science. You are quite free to 
disbelieve his word. I do not believe it 
myself." Fr, Rickaby would admire the 
charity of the man who said of a 
notorious sinner, just dead, of whom 
nobody else could find anything good to 
say: "He was not so bad all the time 
as he was some of the time." 

My Vision. 




"\, WATCHING by moonlight, 

Have seen in the sky 
White wing, on wing. 
Go glimmering by. 

The angels were passing, 

Who sing as they go 
The mystical music 

We children all knqw. 

From moonsct to moonrise, 
They pi-ay for the dead; 

But from owl-light to dawn, 
They sing at my bed. 

Once, in the forest. 

Coming from Mass, 
I saw the Madonna, 

Asleep on the grass; 

The gloom of the trees 

Beneath the grey skies; 
And under her white lids, 

Our Lady's dark eyes. 
These, in a vision, 

I saw, through God's grace; 
And still in my dreams 

I know Mary's face. 

For sweet Mother Mary, 
And God in His heaven, 

I light at my window 
The tall candles seven. 

The Indians' names for the Rocky 
Mountair.s were "Ridge of the World," 
"Mountains of the Setting-Sun," and 
"Hills of Life and Death." The Red 
Men believed that the spirits of the 
dead climbed these mountains to look 
back on life, and forward on "the 
happy-hunting grounds," their name 
for a better world. 

I. — Shorecliff. 
T was not her real name, of 
course. She had a much more 
high-sounding one, inscribed inr 
the great Marsden family Bible 
with a shaking pen that had 
blotted the yellow page. It was 
old Mammy Sue w^ho had called the 
motherless babe Lil'lady, v/hen she took 
it in her faithful arms and christened it 
with her tears. And in the dark days 
that followed — for the light of Shore- 
cliff had gone out with its sweet mis- 
tress — there was no one to dispute the 
name. As Lil'lady, the small daughter 
of the house was nursed and coddled 
and crooned to sleep for months. 

"'Tain't yo' fault, poor Lil'lady," 
Mammy Sue would murmur pity- 
ingly, — "it ain't yo' fault dat yo' ma is 
dead and gone to glory. 'Tain't yo' fault 
noways at all. Yo' come hyah pretty 
and peart nufi, wif yo' soft yaller hair, 
and yo' rosy-red little mouf, and yo' big 
blue eyes, de berry spit of yo' ma's, — 
de real 'little lady' dat folks was wish- 
ing and hoping to get at Shorecliff. 
And yo' pa shets hisself in dat black 
room, wif dem musty old books and 
dead-eyed busts around him, and w^on't 
even look at yo' or gib yo' a name. But 
ole Mammy Sue is gwine ter take keer 
ob you, Lil'lady; she's gwine ter take 
keer ob you good and right — 

"You Ann Caroline!" Mammy Sue 
would rouse from her soft crooning to 
more active anxieties. " Whar dem boys ? 
What yo' doing up hyah, letting dem 
stray off de Lawd knows whar? Ain't 
I tole yo' pintedly agin and agin dat 



Dave and Dan is your 'sponsibility, now 
dat I's got Lil'lady to look after? Clar 
off arter dem* chillun, and see dey don't 
come to no harm!" 

And, Ann Caroline driven off to the 
path of duty, Mammy Sue would rock 
herself to and fro with Lil'lady in her 
arms and moan. 

"De Lawd — de Lawd, dis is de time 
ob tribbilation sure ! Tree poor mother- 
less chillun dat ain't no more dan 
babies, and deir pappy done struck so 
dumb and deaf wif sorrow he don't take 
no 'count ob dem at all." 

So in the shadow of a great sorrow 
Lil'lady's young life had begun; and, 
unnamed and unnoticed by her rightful 
guardian, she lay in Mammy Sue's 
faithful care until Great-aunt Greyson, 
just back from Europe, descended on 
Shorecliff. And Great-aunt Greyson 
was a very important personage indeed. 
She was the sister of Mr. Marsden's 
mother, who had died when he was a 
boy; and, among her many other re- 
sponsibilities. Aunt Greyson had felt it 
a "duty" to keep an eye on her orphaned 
nephew until he had married and 
settled down, with a charming wife in 
whom she could find no fault. Then 
other "duties" claim'ed her attention; 
for her husband received a diplomatic 
position abroad, where Aunt' Greyson 
had "hobnobbed" with kings and queens 
and princes, and learned high and 
mighty ways. 

So it was a very great lady who now 
decided that it was her "duty" to visit 
Shorecliff. She found the sturdy old 
manor, that had faced the wide w^aters 
of the Chesapeake since the days of the 
Lords Calvert, standing unchanged in 
its grim, strong strength ; but the touch 
that had given it grace and loveliness 
was gone. The Mide, Hospitable gate 
sagged on its hinges; the boughs of a 
great oak torn by a thunderbolt barred 
the driveway; the climbing roses that 
had wreathed the columned portico had 

been torn from their trellis and lay 
tangled on the ground; and two bare- 
legged and buttonless little boys 
tusselled on the weed-grown lawn. 
Much more Great-aunt Greyson found 
to her disapproval as she passed on into 
the dusty, disordered house. 

"De Master, he — he ain't in, ma'am," 
stammered the old colored man who 
opened the door. "He's given dem 
orders: he ain't ebhah in now." 

"So I understand," said the lady, 
dryly. "Well, you can tell him his Aunt 
Adelia is here, and intends to wait until 
he is in." 

"De Lawd!" gasped the old man, 
with sudden recognition. "It's Miss 
Adelia, sure nuff ! You's got so noble 
and portly I didn't know you; and I's 
got de 'cat-and-rats' in my eyes, and it 
makes 'em sort ob dim. You's come in 
a time ob tribbilation, ' Miss Adelia, — 
a time ob -tribbilation and desolation for 

"Yes, Shorecliff looks like it," was 
the curt rejoinder. "Isn't there anybody 
here with a head to take care of the 
place ? Where is Mammy Sue ?" 

"Wif Lil'lady, Miss," was the answer. 
"Mammy Sue won't leab Lil'lady for 
nuffin or nobody, day or night." 

"Lil'lady !" exclaimed Great-aunt 
Greyson. "Who or what in heaven's 
name is Lil'lady?" 

"De baby, Miss, — pore Miss Helen's 
baby," replied Eph, dolefully. 

"The baby? Good Lord! Is there a 
baby? I thought it had gone too." 

"No'm, it didn't," — Eph shook his 
grizzled head solemnly. "It's right hyah. 
Miss, and as peart a little gal as you 
ever seed." 

"A little girl?" repeated Great-aunt 
Greyson in dismay. "I thought two boys 
were bad enough, but a little girl! 
Really this was dreadful in poor 
Helen, — to die and leave Elmer with a 
baby girl. If she had only taken it 
with her!" 



"Yes'm," assented Uncle Eph. "Dat's 
what Sister Sabina said, and Mammy 
Sue lit into her like a wild-cat. Said 
she wcir gwine ter keep dat ar Lil'lady 
hyah, if it tuk de las drap ob her blood. 
An' she doing it," chuckled the old man. 
"Ebberyting else in ShoreclifF a-gwine 
ter pieces, but dat ar baby is flourish- 
ing for shuah. Like to go up and see 
her, Miss?" 

"Well, I suppose I must," answered 
the visitor, reluctantly, — "though of all 
unfortunate things that could happen to 
Elmer • Marsden ! He might manage 
boys, but to be left with a baby girl!" 

And as Great-aunt Greyson picked 
her way up the wide Colonial staircase, 
where the dust lay thick on polished 
step and carved balusters, she was con- 
scious of a heaviness in her heart such 
as she had not felt for years. For she 
was a worldly-wise old lady, who 
avoided as far as possible all sorrow and 
pain. Her husband was a distinguished 
man ; her two children had married and 
gone from her into paths of honor and 
success; the evening of her life was 
bright with sunset radiance that had 
no cloud. As the shadow of Shore- 
clifF fell upon her to-day, she seemed 
to feel the weight of her sixty years, 
making her suddenly sad and old. 

For this silent, spacious house seemed 
the tomb of youth and love. It had 
been such a beautiful home half a dozen 
years ago. Helen Marsden had the 
touch that could transform its hoary 
strength, as the flowering vine trans- 
forms the granite rock. Shorecliff and 
its master had grown into life and light 
and gladness under her spell. 

.And now as Great-aunt Greyson 
looked around at the wide upper hall, 
whose deep wuidows, oiice gay with 
draperies and filled with potted plants, 
opened bare and grim to the sunlight; 
as she noted the faded cushions on the 
wicker furniture, the disordered book- 
rack, the disused desk, — all the pretty 

appurtenances of this antechamber to 
the dead wife's lovely rooms, left to dust 
and neglect, the old woman's heart 
grew more heavy and hopeless. For her 
sister's son had been very dear to her 
in the past; and she knew what 
this dire wreck of his home must mean 
to him, and felt that it would be beyond 
her power to save or help. 

The dusty stair had been something 
of a climb with this new weight upon 
her ; and as she paused at the top, a low, 
tender crooning reached her ear: 

Bye, my baby, my baby. 

My own lilly-lady; 
My sweet lilly-lady, so pooty and spry. 

Yo' Mammy is keeping 

Her watch while yo're sleeping. 
Dar's nuffin can hurt you while Mammy is 

So bye, lilly-lady, — now bye, bye, bye! 

Mammy Sue, — dear old Mammy Sue ! 
Great-aunt Greyson knew that low, soft 
voice of old. So it had crooned over 
the frail little one she had brought in 
the far i^ast to breathe the life-giving 
air of Shorecliff, only to be sung to its 
last sleep in Mammy Sue's arms. 

With a stab of unforgotten mother 
pain piercing her heart, Great-aunt 
Greyson. burst into the half-open door 
before her, and found herself back in 
the dead wife's world again. All around 
her was spotless, dainty, beautiful, as 
Helen would -have had it, — as she herself 
had prepared the "nursery" for the 
"little lady" for whom she had hoped. A 
blue and white rug covered the floor; 
blue and white curtains veiled the 
sunny windows; the white enamel fur- 
niture, the crib with its lacy drapery, 
all the dainty little belongings that 
young mothers love, were there, taste- 
ful and complete. 

The wood fire, that these first days 
of autumn seemed to demand, hummed 
brightly upon the shining andirons of 
the chimney-place ; and before it, in the 
big chair that had been her throne now 
for three generations, sat Mammy Sue, 



in snowy cap and apron, rocking her 
latest charge. 

She glanced up at the brusque en- 
trance, and her withered -old face 
kindled with glad recognition. 

"Miss Adelia! De Lawd be praised 
for dis mercy ! De Lawd be praised for 
sending yo' to dis stricken house! De 
Lawd be praised for shuah! I's doing 
my bes. Miss Adelia; but Fs ole and 
weakly now, and can't wrastle wif de 
work and worry like I use ter; so I jes 
dun give up ebberyting to take keer ob 
dis little lamb. Look at her. Miss, — 
look at my Lil'lady ! Ain't she de pur- 
tiest and de sweetest little lady you 
ebber saw?" 

Great-aunt Greyson was looking, — 
looking through blinding tears; for 
Lil'lady, absolutely declining to be bye- 
byed, lay in Mammy Sue's broad lap, 
a dimpled foot clasped in each dimpled 
hand, gurgling and cooing a melodious 
defiance to her nurse's croon, — the 
plumpest, rosiest, loveliest little rebel 
that it had ever been Great-aunt Grey- 
son's luck to see.' 

"Luk at dem little laigs!" Mammy 
Sue went on proudly. '*Luk at dem 
little arms! Ain't had a spoonful of 
doctor's stuff nor a spell of colic since 
she was bom. Jes came like a streak of 
sunshine into de sorrow and de dark- 
ness. And her pa won't look at her or 
gib her a name. You knows about 
babies, Miss Adelia," — and Mammy 
Sue, in righteous indignation at such 
parental neglect, lifted the still cooing 
Lil'lady from her lap. "Take holt of 
dis chile and see how hefty she is." 

And as Lil'lady, who was of a 
friendly nature, stretched out her 
chubby arms to be "taken," the -years 
vanished, with all they had brought of 
pride and power and place to Great- 
aunt Greyson, and she was only a 
mother again, with a cooing, laughing 
baby pressed to her heart. 

"You darling, — you precious little 

darling!" she murmured. "And without 
name or place in your wretched father's 
heart and home! He shall give you 
both this very day !" 

"De Lawd, Miss," cried Mammy Sue 
in dire dismay, "what yo' g^vinne ter 

"Take this child to her father now 
and here," answered Great-aunt Grey- 
son, resolutely, — "now and here!" 

And, with Lil'lady cooing gleefully in 
her arms, Great-aunt Greyson was 

(To be continued.) / 

The Little Gold Table. 


T was with a joyous heart that 
Jurenot set out early one morn- 
ffl ing for a walk. The sun shone, 
^ the birds sang, ' the wavelets 
curled along the sands, whilst far away 
amongst the merry breakers no doubt 
the yellow-haired meraiaids were play- 
ing. For those were the days of the 
Seven Wise Men, when simple folk be- 
lieved in mermaids and fairies. 

Jurenot, the merchant, walked 
briskly, holding himself alert as one' 
who is w^ell pleased. In his pocket were 
bright gold pieces, — more than he knew 
what to do with. That may have been 
the reason why he stopped to chat with 
a young fisherman who stood in his 
boat, not very far from the shore, haul- 
ing away at his nets. 

"Come," cried Jurenot, clinking the 
coins, "let us make a bargain, my good 
fellow. You are about to haul in your 
nets: I will give you five gold pieces 
for your first draught." 

The fisher paused in surprise ; but as 
Jurdnot seemed to be in earnest, he 
laughingly shouted his readiness to ac- 
cept six gold pieces. 

"Good!" said the other; "I will give 
you six then, as the draught promises 
to be a heavy one." 



^ He, too, laughed as he watched the 
fisherman while he hauled and heaved. 
In place of all that the net should natu- 
rally contain was a little gold table. 

Even in the wonderful times of the 
Seven Wise Men one could not purchase 
a golden table for six gold pieces;. and 
of course as soon as the fisherman got 
to shore and realized what a precious 
draught he had taken, he wanted to 
break his bargain. 

"Six gold pieces for a draught of 
fishes," cried he ; "no mention was made 
of a gold table." 

"I did not mention the word fish," 
retorted Jurenot : "I said 'six gold 
pieces for your first draught.' " 

"Prove your words," said the fisher- 
man; "I made no such bargain." 

So they argued till it was a wonder 
they did not come to blows. I think 
they would have done so had it not been 
for a philosopher who was passing by. 

In the days of the Seven Wise Men, 
many people thought more of philos- 
ophy than of earning their bread and 
butter. So Jurenot and the fisherman 
drew near and stopped the philosopher. 

"What do you dispute about?" he 

Then Jurenot and the fisherman in- 
stantly began to tell the story, each to 
his own advantage, of course. "Now, 
to whom," they concluded, "does the 
table belong?" 

The philosopher stroked his beard. 
"That," he replied, "is a question to be 
decided by the Oracle of Apollo. Go 
quickly and inquire." 

So, after secreting the gold table, the 
two set out for the Oracle, each quite 
confident of success. They had to wait 
so long that Jurenot thought, "What 
will become of my business?" And 
the fisherman thought, "My wife and 
children will be hungry and unhappy," 

It was with as much disappointment 
as relief that they heard the decision 
of the Oracle, which, like all wise judg- 

ments, was brief: "The table belongs 
to the most wise." 

So off they started for the house of 
Thaler, the first of the Seven Wise 
Men, who, after long deliberation, sent 
them to Bias, the second, who sent them 
to the third; and so on until they 
reached Solon. 

How eagerly the two travellers 
awaited his final verdjct, each sure the 
answer would be in his favor! But 
Solon's answer was more prompt than 
that of his comrades : "This table should 
be dedicated to the wisdom of God." 

At last the little gold table had found 
its true destination. And Jurenot and 
the fisherman went home, wiser and 
sadder men. 

How the Worm Gets into the Apple. 

0ID you ever find a worm away in 
at the core of an apple when there 
wasn't a sign of a hole on the outside 
to show where it got in? Well, in the 
spring, when the trees are all in 
blossom and look their loveliest, a little 
moth slipped out of its chrysalis and 
flew among the blossoms. Then, when 
the petals of the flowers had fallen, the 
moth laid an Qgg in the upturned cup 
made by the five points of the calyx. In 
a short time the tiny egg hatched into 
a small worm, and the little worm bored 
its way into the apple that was just 
forming; and there it grew with the 
apple, meanwhile feeding on it. 

When the apple falls to the ground, 
the worm gets out and finds its way into 
the tree, where it spins a cocoon, from 
which another moth is hatched the next 
spring, and so on. The birds are fond 
of these fruit worms ; and it is good for 
us that they are, otherwise we should 
not have many sound apples left. The 
birds search for them in the bark of 
the trees ; and if a worm ventures out, 
you may be sure that he will never harm 
another apple. 



— We learn that the twenty essays (on 
literary subjects) contained in Alice Meyn ell's 
new volume, "The Second Person Singular," 
have not hitherto been printed in book form. 

— The publishers of "The Jesuits, 1534- 
1921," the first history of the Society of Jesus 
in English by one of its own members, state 
that orders for as many as 3000 copies of the 
work were received before the date set for 

— The latest addition to the Fabre story- 
book series is "The Wonder Book of Science." 
It is one of the best. The great naturalist 
wrote: "A sovereign order rules over matter. 
The facts as I see them lead me away from 
M. Darwin's theories .... Atheism I regard as 
a mania." 

— An anthology of more than usual interest 
is that of Sir Henry Newbolt, entitled "An 
English Anthology of Prose and Poetry." The 
selections are made to show forth, as nearly 
as is possible within the allotted space, the 
development of the English mind. J. M. Dent, 
publisher; price, 10s, 6rf. 

— Miss Grace Guiney, who intends to publish 
a selection of the letters of her distinguished 
cousin, the late Louise Imogen Guiney, re- 
quests the possessors of such letters to com- 
municate with her (Wyck Rissington, Stow- 
on-the Wold, Glos., England), or with F. F, 
Urquhart, Esq. (BalUol College, Oxford), 
who is to act as editor. 

— New and forthcoming books include: 
"Pasteur: His Life and Work," by L. Des- 
cour; "Pages from the Past," by John' Ays- 
cough; "Once Upon Eternity," another col- 
lection of tales by Enid Dinnis; "The Popes 
in the Divina Commedia," by Bishop Casar- 
telli; and "The Counter Reformation in 
Scotland," by Fr. J. H. Pollen, S. J. 

— We regret to chronicle the death last 
month, at St. Ives, Cornwall, England, of Mr. 
Alexander Louis Teixeira de Mattos, widely 
known throughout the English-speaking world 
for his versions of Fabre and other foreign 
authors. He was an accomplished linguist and 
a masterful translator. Shortly before his 
death he wrote this message: "I beg my 
friends to pray for my soul, and to have a 
Mass said for its repose." R. I. P. 

—"•The Fiery Soliloquy with God' is the 
great work of an old master; great, that is, 
not in size, but in mei'it and exceeding 

beauty." So reads the editor's note to the 
present edition of this burning little volume 
by Master Gerlac Petersen, of Deventer: When 
one remembers that he was a close friend of 
Thomas a Kempis, and so akin to him in spirit 
as to have been called "alter Thomas," one 
hardly needs a further introduction to his 
book. It is of a mystic, mystical. And to 
those who understand the word, enough is 
said. Benzigers; price, $1.25. 

— "Europe, Whither Bound," is the title of 
a new book by Stephen Graham (just pub- 
lished by D. Appleton & Co.), which is sure 
to have a host of interested readers. The 
universal question, "What indications are 
there that Europe will emerge from the chaos 
in which to-day she lies prone?" led Mr. 
Graham to undertake a tour of the Continen- 
tal Capitals, to feel the pulse of Europe, as it 
were, and to record the facts. He relates 
what he saw and heai'd, what influences for 
good he observed and what for evil. He talked 
with leading politicians and with the man in 
the street; he learned of the peoples' attitude 
toward the catastrophe of the war, the 
changed conditions which have come upon 
them, the doubtful future ahead. From these 
wide and varied experiences he builds up a 
detailed and impressive picture of Europe as 
it is to-day, facing the facts he saw, recording 
the distrust, fear, jealousy, greed and hatred, 
the confusion of passions left in the wake of 
the great international conflict. 

— There is a good deal to praise — and some 
things to blame — in "The Story of the Irish 
Race," by Seumas MacManus and several 
Irish scholars. (New York: The Irish Publish- 
ing Co.) A handsome octavo of 717 pages, 
well printed and bound, the volume will lend 
dignity to the appearance of the ordinary 
library shelf; and its contents will please not 
only such readers as are unacquainted with 
Erin of the olden days, but the majority of 
those to whom the story of the Irish race is 
a thrice-told tale. And just here is one of the 
blamable things about the book. In his fore- 
word, Mr. MacManus reiterates a charge, 
already made in his "Ireland's Case," to the 
eff"ect that "American ignorance of Ireland's 
story rests upon the ignorance of our own 
exiles, and the children of those exiles." To 
tens of thousands of Irish Americans the 
charge can not appear other than ludicrously 
untrue. To go back no further than a half 



century, when the famous Father Tom Burke 
was delivering in New York his lectures 
against Froude's misrepresentations of Irish 
history, — what son or. daughter of an Irish 
exile whose memory reaches back to that 
period does not recall not only the annual re- 
view of Ii-eland's story on each recurring St. 
Patrick's Day, told in pulpit and in press, and 
banquet hall, but the Irish books that filled 
the shelves of the home library, — histories, 
lectures, speeches, sermons, novels and mis- 
cellanea innumerable? As a matter of fact, 
the story of Iieland, ancient and modern, has 
been so well known on this side of the At- 
lantic that Irish visitors not a few have 
testified that Irish Americans and Irish 
Canadians are quite as well acquainted with 
Hibernian annals as are most of their people 
at home. 

Of the plan of the present work, twenty-five 
of whose eighty-one chapters are the contri- 
bution of friends of the author: the first 
thirty-five (307 pages) deal with the period 
from the earliest colonizations to the English 
Invasion; the next twenty-four chapters bring 
the stoiy up to the Rising of 1798; and the 
concluding twenty- three (200 pages) complete 
the record; the ultimate chapter-titles being, 
"Sinn Fein," "Easter Rising," "The Last 
War?" and "The Dawning." Almost in- 
credible as it may appear, the book has no 
index, even though its table of contents is the 
reverse of synoptic. Its price ($6) will be 
found prohibitive, we fear, by many who 
would be glad to possess the volume. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

_ The object of this .list is to afford informa- 
tion concerning the wore important recent 
publications. The latest books will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make room for new titles. 

Orders should he sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country who keeps a 
full supply of book'; published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 
Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 

"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 
J. Godfrey Raupert, K. S. G. (Peter 
Reilly.) $1.25. 

"First Impressions in America." John Ays- 
cough (Rt. Rev. Mgr. Bickerstaffe-Drew.) 
(John Lane.) 16s. 

"How France Built Her Cathedrals." Eliza- 
beth Boyle O'Reilly. (Harper and 
Brothers.) $6. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet. Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros.) $3.50. 

"Hispanic Anthology." ($5.) "The Way of 
St. James." (Putnam's.) 3 vols. $9. 

"Henry Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours." Shane Leslie, M. A. With Six 
Illusti-ations. (Burns, Gates and Wash- 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary." 
Rt. Rev. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Gates 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.) $7. 

"A Mill Town Pastor." Rev. Joseph Conroy, 
S. J. (Benziger Brothers.) $1.90. 


Remember them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rt. Rev. Thomas Grace, bishop of Sacra- 
mento ; Rt. Rev. Msgr. Bernard Richter, of the 
diocese of St. Cloud; Rt. Rev. Msgr. William 
Kieran, archdiocese of Philadelphia; Rev. 
James McGrath, diocese of Little Rock; Rev. 
Joseph La Boule, D, D., archdiocese of Mil- 
waukee; and Rev. Nicholas Davis, S. J. 

Sister M. Basilla, of the Sisters of Charity; 
Sister M. de Sales, Sisters of the Good Shep- 
herd; Sister M. Angela and Sister M. 
Anselma, Sisters of St. Benedict. 

Mr. S. B. Marcan, Mr. Frank Grimes, Mrs. 
Marie Fusz, Mr. William Zimmei-man, Mrs. 
Sarah Feeney, Mr. B. C. Reilly, Mr. Francis 
Gaberlowski, Mrs. Josephine Gauckler, Mr. K. 
L. Beidel, Mr. Emil Court, Miss Mary Dolan, 
Mrs. Catherine Condie, Mr. Alexander Chis- 
holm, Mr. George Cameron, Sr., ^Miss Mar- 
garet McGovern, Mr. P. Dolan, Mr. W. J. 
Robinson, Mrs. James Scott, Mr. John 
McGrath, Mr. Albert Brebant, and Mr. 
Harold Fraser. 

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who eeeth in secret, will repay thee." 

For the starving Russians: R. O'C, $3; L. 
K. H., $1; E. T. Berscheid, $5; friend, $5; 
friend, $10; N. N., $5. For the sufferers in 
Central Europe: S. M. E., $2; R. O'C, $3; 
R. M. N., $5; John F. Curran, $10; F. J. B., 
$1 ; friend, $23.' To help the Sisters of 
Charity in China: R. O'C, $4. For the Celtic 
Cross Association: friend, $23. 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 2 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright. 1922: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

Mother Song. 




0H, my Mother's starry eyes! 

Oh, the hush of Paradise 
When she walks 'mid the wheeling Cherubim! 

Oh, the thrill of far-off thunder. 

As of worlds burst asunder, 
Of the Salve! from the serried Seraphim! 

How they hush and lean and listen 
As her pure eyes fill and glisten! 
Hark! a soul beating on its earthen bars: 
"Memorare, Mater Dei! 
Memorare, Mater mei!" 
Earth and Heaven blend in prayer above the 

^ Softly now the spell is broken; 

Gracious-sweet, the lips have spoken, — 
Lips that lock and unlock the will of Heaven ; 
For the light of Cana lies 
In the kindly, kindly eyes. 
And about her flame the Sorrows that are 

For her own against her Own, 
Upward toward the burning throne. 
Leaps an arrow tipped with sorrow, winged 
with love. 
Hear the moaning of her Son — 
"Thou hast conquered, — ^be it done!" 
Ah, my Mother, Heaven's eagle-hearted Dove! 

To invoke Christ's Mother, the ever- 
blessed Virgin Mary, is not mistrusting 
the Divine Mercy, but conceiving a just 
fear of our own unworthiness. 

— St. Anselm. 

;S there anything in life so 
charming, so engaging, so 
refreshing, as youth at its 
best? What would this sad 
and sorry world be without its young 
people? They must have a crabbed 
and stunted nature who fail to respond 
to the appeal that happy youth makes 
to our sentiments. They have grown 
selfish and self-centered who can not 
find pleasure and renewal of mind in 
the company of those who* are in the 
springtide of life; whom the bright, 
clear eye, the frank gaze, the radiant, 
joyous countenance, the vigorous frame, 
the light and easy movements, the gen- 
erous heart, the eager interest of youth, 
leave unmoved. 

What is the meaning of youth? 
Nothing that God has made is without 
meaning; especially no phase of the 
life of man, God's noblest creation upon 
earth, is without its deep meaning. 
What, then, is the meaning of bright, 
happy youth, with its vigor and beauty, 
its revelation of full, unhampered life, 
its untiring activeness that speaks 
always of abundant* life? Is it a doleful 
lesson that youth teaches us? Has God 
made the beauty and fascination v of 
youth that we may make only sad re- 
flections upon it, tell ourselves that 
youth will fade, that bright eyes will 
grow dim ; that fresh, happy faces will 



become lined with cajre; that generous, 
loving unsuspicious hearts will be dis- 
illusioned; that the open, trustful 
character of youth will grow cautious 
and cunning; that age at last will so 
change what once was so beautiful and 
full of charm that it will be not even a 
caricature of what it was? 

Is the precious, though quickly pass- 
ing, charm of youth to teach us only of 
the shortness of life? Are we to dwell, 
when radiant youth is before our eyes, 
on the fact that death is the end of 
all; that all the charm and beauty and 
fragrance of God's image will end in 
the corruption of the grave? 

I think not. These are the lessons 
of age. We may think of these things, — 
we ought to think of them, no doubt, 
when we see hoary age tottering to the 
tomb. But I can not bring myself to 
think that these are the lessons Al- 
mighty God means us to learn from 
vigorous and splendid youth. 

No: the teaching of youth is of life. 
The very beauty and vigor of youth 
' cry out to us, ResHrgam, — I shall rise 
again. I shall pass, indeed, but not to 
be lost: I, Youth, shall live again. 
Nothing that God makes, nothing that 
He does, is purposeless or wasted; it 
will be again, renewed with the _ new 
heavens and the new earth. Youth 
speaks to us of life; it is the living 
image of immortality; and immortal it 
is, and forever it shall live. The grave 
shall not contain it, nor the hideous 
mask of death be its last or lasting 

Thank God we have God's own word 
for this! Our own hearts suggest it; 
God's word asserts it; God's Church 
proclaims it: Credo in carnis resvr- 
* rectionem, — I believe in the resurrec- 
tion of the body. Says the Apostle St. 
Paul : "If the Spirit of Him who raised 
up Jesus from the dead dwell in you. 
He that raised up Jesus from the dead 
shall quicken also your mortal bodies. 

because of His Spirit dwelling in you."* 
And again : "This corruptible must put 
on incorruption ; and this mortal must 
put on immortality. And when this 
mortal hath put on immortality, then 
shall come to pass the saying that is 
written: Death is swallowed up in 
victory. Death, where is thy victory ? 
Death, where is thy sting?... 
Thanks be to God, who hath given us 
the victory though our Lord Jesus 

To the just, to the penitent, shall be 
given the glory and the radiance of 
eternal youth; a glory and a radiance 
surpassing the most beautiful and en- 
trancing of its earthly images. They 
shall shine like stars in the Kingdom of 
God, the crown of immortality upon 
their brows, and the garment of ever- 
lasting glory about them. There is com- 
fort, then, for those who have lost their 
dear ones in the strength and beauty of 
their youth. To them the great Apostle 
says : "Be not sorrowful, even as others 
who have no hope. For if we believe 
that Jesus died and rose again, even so 
them who have slept through Jesus 
will God bring with Him. Wherefore, 
comfort ye one another with these 
words.".t For "He that raised up Jesus 
Christ from the dead shall raise us up, 
and so shall we be always with the 

* Rom., viii, 11. f I. Cor., xv, 53-57. , 

1 1. Thess., iv, 12, 13, 17. 

What shall be thy delights? Accord- 
ing to the covenant — "They shall delight 
in th« abundance of peace." Peace 
shall be thy gold, peace shall be thy 
silver, peace shall be thy lands, peace 
shall be thy life, peace shall be thy 
God, — peace shall be to thee whatsoever 
thou shalt desire. Gold can not be 
silver to thee; that which is wine can 
not be bread; and what is light can not 
be drink also. Thy God shall be thy all. 
— St. Augustine. 



Basil Kirby. 


11. — At the Convent. 
IRBY and the Countess were 
talking in the car, as it panted 
up the hot road towards Sant' 
Isolda. He was leaning back, 
his sight sheltered by blue glasses; he 
enjoyed, first, the luxuriance of roses 
in the terraced gardens; then, as .the 
road went higher, he was looking at the 
prickly cactus growths, the grandeur 
of the palms, the riot of Southern 
flowers, and feeling the heat reflected 
from a white wall, or realizing the 
warm scent of Southern leaf and 
flower — rather than listening too in- 
tently to the chatter of the lively old 

She sat placidly, wrapped from the 
dust in a silver-gi-ey cloak and motor- 
ing hood, and well shaded by a parasol. 
Her hair, puffed and curled, was much 
whiter than the silken cloak; but her 
cheeks were rosy, and under the black- 
est of arched eyebrows her faded blue 
eyes were still expressive of sharp in- 
telligence, temper, and mischief. They 
had been talking of her schoolgirl niece, 
whom she was going to bring away 
from Sant' Isolda. 

"Now, Countess," said Basil Kirby, 
laughing pleasantly, "I perceive that 
you are truly feminine, for you are 
somewhat inaccurate." 

The Countess shook her grey curls at 
him. "You unkind man! You have 
never paid me a compliment yet, and 
that's not one." 

"I am sorry. Countess. It is not vay 
way to pay compliments. But how can 
any one call this accurate? We have 
been talking of your schoolgirl niece, 
and now you tell me she is neither a 
niece nor a schoolgirl." 

"Well, I have always thought of 
Francesca as my niece. (Oh, you hor- 

rid man, you have got that enigmatical 
smile again!) It is not always, of 
course ; but always since I found her, — 
that is five or six years ago now. I 
used to call on the child when I was in 
Mentone and bring her a box of bon- 
bons. I had to leave her at the nunnery 
a long time, though she might have been 
useful; that was in her father's will. 
She is a grown-up girl by this time; and 
I am sure she is saying, 'Sister Anne, 
Sister Anne, do you see any one com- 
ing?' — like the poor creature in the 
Bluebeard story. Imagine a young 
lady, eighteen or nineteen — no, nearer 
twenty! There she is, learning the 
dancing steps without anybody to dance 
with. Think of her going out in what 
the boys call the school crocodile, — two 
and two and all the same sort!" 

Basil Kirby laughed at her compas- 
sion. "Is your niece a Catholic?" 

"Oh, thank the Lord, no!" said the 
Countess, fervently. "You see, it's like 
this. I don't want religion and worry. 
Why, Francesca might go taking my 
Ariel out, and she might pretend she 
had been walking in the Park, and she 
would have been to her church some- 
where and left the poor dog outside 
tied to the scraper." 

Basil Kirby smiled — what the Coun- 
tess called the enigmatical smile. He 
perceived that Eugenie Cavaletti looked 
upon religion as an inconvenience. 

"Don't you think it does make too 
many complications?" she said to him 
frankly, with a little pucker between 
the arched eyebrows. "Life is full 
enough without it; don't you think so?" 
She leaned back in the car,, fanning her- 
self with one hand, and with the other 
turning the lace parasol towards the 
glare of the Italian sun. "I never had 
any rehgion," she went on, "and I 
haven't done badly. I assure you I 
never was inside a church except the 
two times — the twice I mean — when I 
was getting married. And the first time 



I caught cold; that was in the Protes- 
tant parish church at Putney. (Why do 
they keep those places so damp and 
empty?) And the second time it was 
just the opposite: I got smothered with 
heat and mosquitoes; that was in the 
Catholic church here in Mentone, which 
is glorious Gothic. 

"Poor, dear Giu would go to church 
to get married ; though I think the civil 
ceremony would have been quite enough 
for him, for he never went after. Arid 
his sister — my Francesca's mother, — I 
don't think she knew much more about 
Popery than he did. (Oh, dear, this 
hill is steep ! Are you sure that man has 
the brakes on?) Chesska's mother was 
his half-sister, you know. She is my 
step-niece-in-law, or something of that 
sort, — but it's too hot to explain. lier 
people, the Wallace-Browns, failed ; they 
went stone-broke, and somebody got the 
girl into this school. I don't know 
whether the father turned Papist, but 
he left it in his will that she was to stop 
there, teaching or whatever way they 
would have her, till her twentieth year. 
So she is past nineteen now, — ^that's the 
twentieth year, isn't it? Her father 
brought her up like himself, and popped 
her into the convent when he was 
dying; and, so far as I hear, she has 
been happy enough." 

The car went on throbbing up the 
hot white road, among palms and wild 

"Isn't it strange," said the Countess, 
"they never told her about Giulio?" 

"If I were you, I wouldn't tell her 
either," Kirby observed, with the 
shadow of a smile. 

"Ah, you men are so unsympathetic! 
You can not imagine why I married 

She turned, the diminutive of the 
Italian into plainest English, though 
her pronunciation of her own language 
was exquisite, and her voice, with many 
tones, was one of her charms. A past 

generation had known Eugenie behind 
the footlights, and she had not forgotten 
the music of speech. 

"I am afraid he was — well, a sad 
sort of dog," she said ; "but if you could 
have seen Giulio when first I met him 
in Monte Carlo!" 

"Is the girl hke him?" 

"Not a bit!" replied the Countess, 
with sudden energy: "plain features, 
swarthy skin, hair no color — neither 
black nor fair^ — waist like a tub." 

"I get interested," said the provoking 
Kirby, with the flicker of a smile again. 
"As to the waist, she must console her- 
self with the Venus of Milo." 

"I believe she has lovely teeth," 're- 
marked the Countess; "but one can't be 
always grinning like the corner girl of 
a chorus." 

"By Jove, how scorching it is up 
here!" said Kirby. "Oh, there's a 
grand cactus! And look — look at the 
lizards on that wall! Can you see 
them, — nearly the color of the grey 

"But a thick- waisted girl is so awk- 
ward," persisted the Countess. " (That 
wall goes round the convent.) Mine was 
eighteen inches when I was her age. 
What did you say about the genius of 
Mile End?" 

"Oh, nothing! Did you not tell me, 
Countess — yourself, — it was too hot to 

After a slight pause, she observed: 
"She has "not a bit of color. My hus- 
band used to tell me I was like a wild 
rose washed with dew." 

"I am getting out to walk v a bit. Do 
you mind? One gets cramped knees — 
and — and a cramped head." 

The Countess was never in danger of 
being troubled by a joke, and the last 
furtive word escaped her ears. She sat 
calmly fanning herself. 

Soon they were at the top of the hill ; 
and, after much clanging of the gate 
bell and a long wait, there was the 



sound of footsteps beyond the portal of 
Sant' Isolda. A little shutter in the 
oaken door was pushed aside,» and a pair 
of tranquil eyes regarded them through 
the grille. 

"Let us in, my dear!" said the 
Countess. "We are heretics but not 

In very French English, the little 
Sister asked them to follow her to the, 
parlor. The deep-set windows of the 
corridor looked out upon a view of be- 
wildering beauty, — away to purple hills 
and shining sea. Under the blue depths 
of a sapphire sky, one speck of white 
sail showed lonely and remote,^a ven- 
turesome wanderer going alone into the 
distance. It was not more venturesome 
or more lonely. than the child of Sant' 
Isolda who, after long delay, was now 
going out into the world, with the good- 
natured old Countess as her companion. 

The Countess in the corridor slipped 
on the polished floor as if she was going 
to dance, and prudently took Basil 
Kirby's arm. She considered herself 
a great personage enough to lead a 
fashion, and a train of half a yard added 
to her dignity. There was pathos in 
her voice as she sighed : 

"I never come to this silent place 
without remembering that it was here I 
met the Count." ' 

"Not here!" — in astonishment. 

"Of course not in the convent, you 
dear donkey !" The supporting arm was 
playfully tapped with her fan. "I mean 
that I met Giulio here on the Riviera, 
and I saved him from ruin. Poor, dear 
Giu! He had no idea of arithmetic!" 

"Awkward!" said 'Basil. "By Jove, 
what a glorious garden they have here ! 
Miss Chesska won't find that in 

"She will find plenty to do," said the 
Countess. "I am taking her for com- 
pany; she ■will have no time to fret for 
nuns and nonsense. I can't live without 
all the theatrical news ; and, then, there 

are my letters to write, and the bridge 
parties and the servants and the ac- 
counts. And of course she will have to 
look after Ariel. She will have enough 
to do. I am rather anxious about the 
darling. Poor little dear, I fret so about 
her comfort." 

"Oh, she will be all right!" 

The Countess faced round. "I don't 
mean the girl : I mean the Tom.' I had 
to leave him at home with uneducated, 
unsympathetic people. And my Ariel 
is so highly-strung. He gets quite 
hysterical if you don't understand him. 
One sees him trying to bark, and he 
can't help it ; and when once he begins, 
he barks till he nearly breaks his neck. 
Oh, here's the parlor, thank goodness, 
while our bones are sound! I believe 
in these places they take a vow to bees- 
wax everything. Now" — when the lay- 
Sister was gone — "you will have a 
quarter of an hour to look round this 
room. That will be plenty of time to 
make a sketch, if you begin at once. 
But did you ever see such droll furnish- 

The great, lofty room showed 
through a green tv/ilight. Shutters of 
green laths were closed against the open 
windows. The glare of light was shut 
out, and in the hot shade the "droll 
furnishing" was clearly visible. There 
could not have been two visitors more 
out of harmony with Sant' Isolda. One 
was flippantly amused; the other en- 
dured agonies, which he tried in vain 
to conceal. 

Common chairs were ranged at equal 
intervals by the stately wall. In the 
middle of the waxed floor was a round 
table with one pedestal support, — the 
ugliest form of table ever invented. 
This was draped with a cloth of faded 
jam-color, and surrounded by six chairs 
at equal intervals, upholstered in vivid 
green. Opposite each chair was a book 
or closed album. In the centre was a- 
glass shade filled with ancient flowers. 



Basil Kirby investigated them, and felt 
his flesh creep: they were made of 

Oleographs of a few saints seemed 
to him to spoil the walls. The artist 
eye judged at a glance that the statue 
(Ml a bracket was out of proportion and 
painted in garish colors. But he 
suffered most from St. George and the 
Dragon over the grand piano. The wool- 
work picture was in a gilded frame^ 
The knight in blue armor sat a bulky 
wool horse, and drove a slightly-curved 
spear into the monster's red mouth. 
The Countess likened the dragon to 
cucumbers, and his mouth gave her a 
pleasant reminder of lobster salad ; but 
Basil Kirby said the wool horse 
trampled his soul, and he turned his 
back upon the lobster and cucumber 
dragon with horror. 

The short and stout lady with the 
silvery hair went pirouetting about, 
saying in one breath, "What a perfect 
floor for a dance!" and in the next, 
"How wicked to beeswax that tiled cor- 
ridor!" For a short and stout woman, 
she carried herself superbly, with head 
erect. When she had thrown back her 
motoring hood, the abundant silver hair 
made her look like an eighteenth-cen- 
tury marquise. In fact, the likeness 
would have been complete only for her 
fancy for Paris paste diamonds; these 
imitations clasped her lace, and 
glimmered about her dress and neck 
and hands in every direction. She had 
not outlived the love of the spangles 
and glitter of the stage. 

No one at Sant* Isolda had ever heard 
of the Frivolity Theatre that used to be 
in the Strand, or of the Southwark 
music hall where the bouncing Eugeme 
Marcelle appeared in even more remote 
history. The Countess Cavaletti came 
here as the widow of an Italian gentle- 
man, a great personage residing in Lon- 
don, and the only relative of Francesca 

When a nun entered the parlor, Basil 
Kirby had to conceal his curiosity. Here 
was the product of the Middle Ages 
breathing and living in the twentieth 
century. He had seen this romantic 
figure in pictures : here was the reality. 
He thought her costume of coarse black 
unbecoming, and the white was a stiff 
frame for the face; but there was a 
train which even the Countess would 
have approved, and the black veil hung 
gracefully over* head and shoulders. 
This wonderful lady in black and white 
seemed to be the first woman he had 
ever met who had no thought about her 
personal appearance at all. She came 
and talked to them in perfect English, 
with just a hint of reserve in her 
absolute simplicity. There was the 
warm courtesy that one misses in the 
coldness of London, and there was a 
gentleness infinitely attractive, and very 
rare in the modern world. Basil found 
the nun uncommonly interesting. 

He was thinking of her as "the 
abbess," when he heard the Countess 
addressing her as "Reverend Mother," 
and he lost his whole impression of that 
beautiful presence in a struggle to let 
no smile betray him. It seemed a gro- 
tesque misuse of words. "Reverend" 
was the proper title for a clergyman; 
and this cloistered Sister, if one could 
guess her age at all, had more right to 
call the lively old Countess "grand- 
mother." • 

Miss Chesska Brown was a long time 
about getting ready. The nun offered 
refreshments; she would take no 
refusal, they had come so 'far in* the 
heat. Would they have tea ? ^ She had 
been brought up in England — yes, in^ 
deed, — somewhere near London (they 
should not ask her to say where), and 
she would make tea even if she herself 
went to~the kitchen to do it; it would 
rot be grass floating on water. Or would 
they wish for the wine made from the 
grapes grown here? Basil Kirby could 



not look at the Countess ; he was aware 
that, out of sight of the hostess, her lips 
were twisting, and she had wickedly 
raised her eyebrows and put her hands 
together. Ah, what about iced coffee? 
Oh, yes, iced coitee was the very thing. 
And soon it was brought in, with a tray 
of cakes and fruit, all most dainty and 
delicious looking. 

Basil Kirby, with his cup on his knee, 
admitted that it was the first time he 
had been in a nunnery, and he thought 
it a very good place. He chose the 
word rapidly, with a vague recollection 
of Hamlet saying to Ophelia, "Go, get 
thee to a nunnery." The nun was in- 
stantly aware that he was not of her 
Faith; for no Catholic ever uses the 
word he had chosen, just as the poetic 
expression "taking the veil" is 
generally left to non-Catholics. 

"But he takes an artist's interest in 
you and your cloisters, and eveiything," 
said the Countess, patronizingly, — "he 
really does." 

"An artist?" The nun glanced with 
an inquiring smile at Kirby, and then 
he saw her quick perception. "Ah, I am 
afraid there is nothing in the furnish- 
ing of a 'nunnery' to please an artist's 
taste! The walls, the rooms, the cor- 
ridor, the garden and the palms — ^yes! 
But, Mr. Kirby, is it not true that the 
table should not be in the middle of the 
floor and the chairs round it, — six 
books, six chairs? And this fruit made 
of feathers under the glass shade ! Oh, 
don't say you have not suffered! And 
St. George and the Dragon up there in 
wool work,-^did it afflict you? I am 
quite sure it did." 

They were all laughing very pleas- 
antly by this time. 

"Oh, but you are droll! You are full 
of es'pHtr cried the Countess, with the 
largest lump of cake in her hand. "You 
have second-sight." 

And Kirby stammered: "Madam, I 
criticise nothing. Sant' Isolda is beauti- 

ful. I only admire." He despised him- 
self for the deception; all the more 
because the nun saw through it. 

"Let me explain, then," she said for 
the sake of Sant' Isolda. "When we 
go down to the terrace beyond the palm 
grove, Mr. Kirby, you will not notice 
that the mimosa is all withered. It is 
not beautiful, but we leave it there 
below the terrace, because no one looks 
at it. You will not notice the burned- 
up mimosa in the foreground : you will 
be looking out at that glorious view of 
the Mediterranean, — the blue sea, the 
white city on its brink, the purple hills, 
and our blue sky that is so full of light." 

"Madam," he replied, with a head 
bent in assent, "I am only an artist; 
perhaps you see more." 

"Ah, well !" she said, with that gentle 
manner that had its power. "Art is to 
create the beautiful; is it not so?" 

"Exactly so," said Basil Kirby, — "a 
noble thing. It is the human effort in 
perfect definition." 

"Ah, then we think in some ways 
alike ! Now, in the convent here we 
have not paid much attention to the 
foreground, so much of our thought, I 
am afraid, has been taken up with 
directing the children to look beyond." 

The man nodded a few times. The 
gentle voice seemed to have a world of 
meaning in it. 

"Sant' Isolda is beautiful," he said. 
"It is unlike any other place." 

The nun smiled. "There are thou- 
sands" of places like this. We look out 
into the light. And there may be funny 
little blots in the foreground," — and she 
glanced playfully towards the glass- 
shade of flowers. 

It was all Greek to the Countess ; and 
Kirby never knew what answer to 
make, for no answ^er was ever needed. 
Francesca — ^the little Chesska — was in 
the room, pervading it with a lively 
presence, like the coming of a sudden 
ray of sunshine. 



Basil Kirby'was on his feet, with his 
breath taken away. What was the use 
of the Countess* talk of features and 
such details? This girl was all grace and 
life and sweetness ; a human thing with 
loving lips and gloriously innocent eyes; 
an angel from a Filippino Lippi picture 
come to life. 

She made a swinging little bow to the 
Reverend Mother, and kissed the Coun- 
tess, with great danger to the old lady's 
artificial complexion, no doubt; for 
there were cries of: 

"Oh, don't, child,— don't, dearie! It's 
so hot!" 

And then Kirby was introduced, see- 
ing nothing in the whole world but the 
Filippino Lippi angel. 

(To be continued.) 

Ex Nocte ad Lucem ^ternam. 


^AGLE, soaring toward the sun, 
Poise Thy beating wings for me; 
Lift me heavenward, so I see 
Light through Love's communion. 

Hind, whose tireless feet are shod 
With the silver shoes of grace; 
Pause, that I may scan Thy face; 

Limned in beauty which is God. 

Where the White Dove builds her nest. 
And the meek Lamb lays Him down. 
Shall I seek my laurel crown. 

Fashioned from the GrifRn's breast. 

Fox or Serpent, Dragon wild, 
These may trail the sleeping" Soul ; 
Still the Hare speeds to the goal. 

With the Phoenix undefiled. 

'Twixt the Rivers Four that flow 
Past the Gates of Paradise, 
Palm and Vine and Olive rise, 

Where Three Crosses stand a-row. 

Yea, the rich Stream gushes warm 
From the Pelican's red Side, 
As the Tall Ship takes the tide. 

Riding high above the storm. 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

New Series. 
BY K. c. 


ID you pray for your daddy?" 
says the mother to the child, the 
youngest of many. Daddy had 
disappeared in the night. "I 
did," says the three-year-old baby, with 
big eyes of sorrow. "I told God about 
the bad Black and Tans and the bad 
pleecemen and the bad sojers." 

So we may be sure one protest went 
straight to Heaven against the state of 
things in Ireland; and not one only, 
but many thousands from the children., 
Between six and seven thousand Irish- 
men filled the internment camps of Ire- 
land, and the prisons of Ireland and 
England. The father of the little child 
who made the extempore prayer was 
gone to one of the enclosures of huts 
and barbed wire. He was a professional 
man, a lawyer; and he was kept for 
six months, having no idea from first 
to last of the reason why he was sent 
there. To a happy home, in the middle 
of the night, the loud knock and the 
lorry had come. Such arrests were 
always made at night; and the victim, 
had to disappear on the lorry into the 
dark, not knowing whether he was 
bound for a prison or an internment 
camp, or whether he might be flung 
out and killed on the way. 

In the prisons, half the men, shut up 
for months and years, were there with- 
out accusation or trial. The prisoniers 
who had been tried and sentenced, 
against all the usage of war, were put 
into criminal dress and treated in every 
way as common malefactors. Not only 
could any man or woman in Ireland 
be taken, but anybody "suspected of 
being about to act in a manner preju- 
dicial to the State" could be seized and 
deported to Ireland, to be condemned 




in a district where martial law had been 

At the houses in Irish towns or the 
thatched cabins in the country lanes, 
when the military lorry stopped in the 
middle of the night and any victim of 
reprisal (connected with Sinn Fein or 
not) was dragged from his home, the 
family did not know whether he was 
going to prison or to death. We asked 
a widow, whose husband had been shot 
by "auxiliaries" outside her drawing- 
room door, how it was that the women 
did not struggle to save the men or to 
die with them. The lady who spoke had 
tried to hold back the wrists and re- 
volvers of two men. "The papers don't 
tell it," she said. "But the v/omen Jmve 
fought not to let their men be dragged 
out to death in the night. They have 
struggled, all over Ireland, — the wives 
and mothers and sisters. There have 
been ^ fearful scenes ; the papers say 
nothing of all that." 

Internment camps differed as to tlieir 
treatment; some had a good name, 
some a bad. In one of the largest, rumor 
told of flagrant cases of hardship; but 
there was no redress in that shut-a^^ay 
world of army huts and barbed wire 
barricades. Even during the truce the 
cry of protest came from the prisoi:)s ot 
certain surf-beaten islands off the 
southwestern coast. Disclosures were 
made in spite of officialism. As if with 
a sudden searchlight, one saw the 
prison yard and the helpless crowd 
driven hither and thither with threaten- 
ing bayonets and blows. There could 
be no reason for violence, unless it was 
a planned attempt to provoke riot. 

Again, let us look in upon these men 
at evening, before early "Lights out!" 
By all accounts, it has been an ill-fed 
day, and the night is to be broken by 
raids of armed soldiers tramping 
through the huts. The prisoners are 
kneeling in a large hut for the Rosary. 
It seems the last drop in their cup of 

bitterness when an officer stamps in 
with his hat on, and walks about smok- 
ing and spitting upon the floor. The 
helpless men in reverent prayer feel to 
the quick the open disrespect offered to 
their religion; and they find means to 
send out a desperate protest against 
that insult in the same letter that cries 
for common justice against unmerited 
blows and wounds. 

Turn the light on Galway town-hall 
during the winter, and we see what im- 
prisonment meant in a plague-spot of 
ill-treatment. Opposite a forbidding 
dead-wall we come to a building where 
a notice, roughly daubed, warns us to 
keep to our own side of the road. By 
military order, "no one is allowed to 
come within nine feet of this building." 
About a hundred men were herded there 
not long ago, with no heating except in 
the cooking room, and with scant food, 
making a good meal depend on the par- 
cels sent in. The skin disease called 
scabies spread among these unfortunate 
men. Vermin and disease came evi- 
dently from the old army blankets, 
packed away to breed since the war and 
then issued without disinfection. At 
one end of this den of misery was the 
officers' room," where court-martials 
were held, evidence gathered, prisoners 
sentenced. All was done secretly and 
irrevocably. At the other end of the 
prison hall was the little stage where 
local singers once sang for charities to 
a small concert audience. 

Near the stage was the green-room; 
and there, in these altered times, the 
priest who was allowed to hear confes- 
sions saw the prisoners one by one. In 
the true Irish heart there is a boundless 
confidence in the priest as the represen- 
tative of his Master. He comes as his 
Lord would come, with courage breath- 
ing from his presence, guidance and 
sympathy in his voice, — the dispenser 
of the divine forgiveness, the breaker of 
the Bread of Life, the cUvStodian of the 



Sacraments, who will come on the 
threshold of death, to light the way to 
another world. 

In the long helplessness of empty 
days, the men wandered into this small 
room and sat on benches round the 
wJall. One day a priest stepped in there, 
admitted because of the claim of his 
priesthood, but he was not the ordinary 
confessor. The men had just made a 
discovery. "What is this thing, 
Father?" A prisoner showed a gap 
under a few wooden steps at one side of 
the room; a board was wanting, and 
something was under the stairs close to 
the opening. It was an electric machine, 
with a cover.ed wire attached to it. The 
priest knew what it was. A dictaphone ! 
It was this priest, who had seen it and 
handled it, that told us of the dicta- 
phone found in the room used for con- 
fessions at Galway town-hall. The 
wire went to the other end of the build- 
ing, — to that room used by the officers 
for evidence, judgment, and sentence. 
There the record held, for reproduction 
at any time, the voices and the words 
received from the instrument. The con- 
fessions went to the officers. Can any 
one with a human heart imagine a 
deeper depth of infamy? 

"What happened after that?" we 
asked. And he answered that after the 
men found it — well, it wasn't long 
there. The discovery was made known. 
A question was put- in Parliament. The 
conscience of one of the Anglican 
bishops was pricked by a rumor that 
the confessional had been tampered 
with. Evasion followed, and flat denial. 
For almost two years there were such 
denials about many things, — which 
meant only "no information received." 
The questions in Parliament were the 
protests of those who had heard evi- 
dence of Ireland's agony; and the 
denials were the thickening of the walls 
of the padded room of torture. 

A few irrepressible Irishmen — fewer 

than one could count on the fingers of 
one hand — and some valiant English- 
men, to whom" be honor (some of the 
Labor Members, and Commander Ken- 
worthy and Mr. Mosley of Harrow), — 
these were the little band that struggled 
to put questions in Parliament and to 
bring out the truth. One Irish member 
at Westminster was set upon with 
personal violence, caught round the 
neck and struck, for his championship 
of truth, by the "honorable" member 
who had the advantage of being on the 
higher bench behind him. The denials 
from the Coalition became a byword 
of derision with many an honest 

The list of atrocities will yet be 
published, with names, dates, and 
details. "I was asked for six pages," 
said one man of high position in his 
town and accurate local knowledge. — 
"Six pages! I have fifty-six pages, and 
I am not at the end." One awful 
chapter in that indictment will be the 
proofs of torture inflicted upon prison- 
ers to obtain information. We can un- 
derstand " now the barbarities of the 
sixteenth century, and the racking of 
"Recusants" to get at the names of their 
fellow-Catholics. There is at least one 
barrack in the West that saw scenes fit 
for the Tower of London in the age of 
persecution. There was no rack in 
Ireland, — norte anywhere in working 
order in the twentieth century, or with- 
out doubt it would have been used upon 
the Sinn Fein prisoners. 

Look this way, and turn the light 
upon horrors for a few moments. Here 
is a barrack-room fire, to which a boy 
of fifteen is being held by men in dark 
woollen caps and "tan" mackintosh 
coats. They demand names, and the 
tormented boy will not answer, — no, 
though the blaze is nearly catching his 
clothing, and his scorched flesh begins 
to blister. There is a sudden noise of 
an angry dispute at the door. The mili- 




taiy are into the room. A moni,ent's 
sculile with the Black and Tans and the 
boy is rescued. Most likely the toilurers 
were drunk; for the men in black and 
tan were notoriously intemperate, and 
raided, looted, took prisoners and shot 
them, in. the midst of drunken bouts. 
Sometimes the prese"hce of khaki was a 
protection; some regiments were good 
neighbors, some the reverse. But in 
many of the "shootings up" of tow^ls 
and burnings and reprisals, the military 
were as deeply disgraced as the Black 
and Tans. 

The "auxiliaries" were certainly no 
better, and yet they were supposed to 
be, each one, "an officer and a gentle- 
man" who had fought and commanded 
in the war. In the barrack of a certain 
city; some of those officers and gentle- 
men beat and bruised with rifle butts 
a wretched man who had been flung 
upon the stone floor; and, to keep him 
secure, four others — :«ach "an officer 
and a gentleman" — stood upon the two 
hands and the two feet. More than one 
of the unhappy prisoners had his finger- 
i.ails twisted nearly off, to obtain infor- 
i^iation. And there were whispers of 
the applying of hot iron under the arms, 
also in a barrack. The giver of evi- 
dence might himself be called for at 
night, with the loud knock while the 
lorry waited in the dark outside ; so not 
only in the Parliament chamber and in 
the press, but among the people held 
under a reign of terror, the suppression 
of the truth was almost complete. 

The truce did not unlock the prison 
doors. Some came back from intern- 
ment camps, and about forty members 
of the Dail Eireann had to be released 
or negotiation would have been refused. 
But the truce did give safety to count- 
less men of the I. R. A. Hundreds had 
been "on the run." The wc:! does not 
imply a furtive f ' nee evading 
arrest. It means that the soldiers of 
the guerilla warfare are normally, by 

the very nature of the war, bound to 
keep out of sight of the Forces of the 
Crov/n ; most of the names are known to 
some local R. I. C, and, except during 
truce, they have seldom slept in their 
own homes. "Is he back?" was the 
first question of the assistant sei-ving us 
in a shop when atnother customer came 
in. "He is, then, — he is home," said the 
comfortably-dressed woman, happy, 
smiling. — "And how is he looking?" — 
"Well, he looks a bit thinner, but it will 
do him no harm." — "Ah, that's only 
with moving about!" 

In an empty corner shop of a great 
city, we talked with two brothers who 
had not only been prisoners but had 
gone through a hunger strike. Finely 
built men they were, — one of them per- 
haps a little hollow-cheeked. They were 
working away gaily among crates of 
eggs, earning money to get a home 
together again for the old folks, the 
crippled brother, and the sister,. These 
two men had been amongst the large 
number who fasted at Wormwood 
Scrubbs, London, — refusing food, to 
draw public attention to the wrong that 
was being done in the prisons, where 
political prisoners were treated like 
criminals. On the open ground at 
Wormwood Scrubbs, some Irish crowds 
said the Rosary and sang well-known 
hymns and the famous Soldiers' Song, 
to encourage the men in their en- 
durance. They knelt, prayed and 
sang, in spite of insult and rough usage, 
till the police interfered with the 
demonstration. And here are two 
of the Sinn Fein men who were within. 
Nineteen days, they tell us, — "nothing 
but water , , . . The chaplain was there ; 
we had Holy Communion as often as 
we asked. . , .We did, — we broke down 
the doors of the cells. The reason was 
that they told us some of the boys were 
dying ; and, if they were dying, we had 
to get to them." 

The home of this family had been the 



house next door. There they had a good 
shop and comfortable rooms, instead 
, of the empty place where we saw them. 
What happened was this. No pledge was 
given by any of those men on leaving 
prison; most of them v.ere carried in 
ambulances to hospital. On regaining 
strength, many of them took their place 
in the I. R. A. So did these two 
brothers. Then came Lady Day in 
August (the feast of the Assumption) , 
1920. Military and Black ^nd Tans 
together went in wild career through 
the principal streets of that city. It was 
mercilessly shot-up, and several houses 
set on fire. A lorry stopped outside the 
store where the old parents, the sister, 
and the crippled brother lived. The 
whole family refused information about 
the absent men. At the revolver's 
point, the father and mother would 
not be traitors to their sons. Hardly 
a moment's notice was given to them 
all to clear out, and the home and 
everything in it was destroyed with 
petrol and flame. The energetic mother 
/ began business in an empty shanty of a 
corner shop next door. 

"We got into the house across there," 
the daughter told us, "and I didn't know 
the Black and Tans were following me 
upstairs. They asked where my 
brothers were; 'I don't know,' says I, 
'and if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.' — 
'Are you a Sinn Fene, too?' says one. 
'That's not the way to say it,' says I. 
'It's not Sinn Fene: it's Shinn Fayn.' " 

Was there ever a Gaelic lesson so 
calmly given at such an av/ful crisis? 

(To be continued.) 

A Little Miracle. 


A Thought. 

BY S, M. R. 

<3tH! little we know what the years will bring. 
As to-day merges in the grey morrow; 

The present is all we can call our own, 
So why should we trouble borrow? 

The Master who holds the chalice of life 
Will sweeten with love the sorrow. 


HERE is no doubt," said 
Peter Els worthy to himself, 
as he lit a pipe and sat down 
before the somewhat feeble 
fire in his solitary lodging, — "there is 
no doubt I am a failure." 

Old John Elsworthy, who had died 
twerity years before, had been a gi'ocer 
with a very fair business in the provin- 
cial town. Unluckily, he had ambitions 
for his only son, who might have 
followed his father's calling with some 
ability; and, on the boy's leaving the 
town grammar school with the reputa- 
tion of having "a head for figures," the 
elder Elsworthy managed to secure him, 
through an influential customer, a clerk- 
ship in the local branch of the Loam- 
shire County Banking Co., Limited. 

Peter had really been the reverse of 
a success at school, though hard plod- 
ding had enabled him to keep a fairly 
average place in his classes. But he 
was a^i absolute failure at every kind 
of game, which partly resulted from an 
undoubtedly delicate constitution, butv 
more from the lonely life, with little 
touch of sympathy, that he led at home. 
Old John was a '-'widow-man," in the 
local parlance ; and, outside of his busi- 
ness, he had no friends. As for rela- 
tives, Peter had vaguely heard of some 
Australian cousins, and that was all. < 
The old man never entertained, and his 
son scarcely ever had an invitation to 
another house. In the bank, he speedily ' 
became docketed in the mind of the 
authorities as scrupulously honest, 
obliging, quite without initiative or 
capability of discharging any position 
requiring quickness of brain or power 
of dealing with other men. 

So the years passed on, and Peter 
saw one junior after another promoted 



over his head, while he still toiled at al- 
most the lowest step of the banking 
ladder. His father, whose business had 
received its death-blow from a large co- 
operative store opened, during his last 
years, on the opposite side of the street, 
left Peter all his savings, which brought 
in an annual income of a hundred and 
fifty pounds; and by the sale of the 
premises another twenty pounds a year 
was secured ; so that, living as he did in 
utter retirement, he was comfortable 

But one morning the rubicund, pros- 
perous bank manager had- sent for him, 
and, with some lame prefatory remarks 
as to growing expenses and the neces- 
sity of cutting down the staff, had in- 
formed him that the County Banking 
Co. no longer required his services 
from that day month ; but that, in view 
of his long service, the directors, in lieu 
of a pension, had granted him the sum 
of £200 down. 

The sting of all this lay principally in 
the fact that the manager had himself 
entered the service of the bank on the 
same day as Peter, and for some months 
they had worked side by side. 

"I am thirty-seven," ruminated the 
solitary man, "and of no use to any one. 
After this month, what am I to do with 
myself?" It was easier to ask the 
question than to find the reply. 

He was sensitive to a fault, as hrs 
dimly-remembered mother had been be- 
fore him. That had made a barrier 
between him and the old man; it had 
also hindered him ^from making any 
friends even among those with whom 
he worked day by day. The younger 
men were inclined to' treat him with 
scant courtesy ; his own contemporaries 
had passed on to higher posts, and had 
their own social circles that were closed 
to him; the manager and chief cashier 
frankly ignored him. He had shrunk 
from joining a club, feeling that he 
would probably not be welcome. He 

did not even know a doctor or a 
clergyman professionally. He was never 
ill; and his only church-going was 
now and then to Benediction .at St. 
Aloysius' parish church, a few streets 
from where he lived. 

He was not a Catholic, though his 
mother came of a north-country Catho- 
lic stock. Unfortunately, she had been 
brought up by distant relatives (having 
lost, except one sister, all her near 
kith and kin), and these proved to be 
practically without any religion. She 
had married John Elsworthy, already 
in advanced middle-age, and had given 
him one child before her last illness 
came upon her. Then the traditions of 
her childhood seemed to awaken, and 
she begged her nurse to send for one of 
the clergy of St. Aloysius'. Her hus- 
band, a nominal Methodist but out of all 
touch with his denomination, was 
pleased with the unremitting attention 
of the priest, who restored his wife to 
Catholic communion and gave her the 
Last Sacraments ; but no influence could 
persuade himself even to enter St. 
Aloysius', or to, allow Peter to attend 
a newly-established Catholic secondary 
school a few years later. 

But the boy knew about his mother's 
faith, and, principally for her sake, 
liked to go now and then to the big, 
crowded church, with its great marble 
high altar a-gleam with many lights, and 
the subtle fragrance from the censer 
stealing through nave and aisles. More- 
over, the music was beautiful, and Peter 
cherished a secret passion for good 
music. Besides all this, one or two men 
of the congregation had occasionally 
given him a kindly greeting at the 
church door. It seemed strange that a 
Protestant should feel so little of an out- 
sider in Catholic surroundings; but it 
never entered Peter's head to make 
himself known to the rector or any of 
the priests. If it had, he would have 
dismissed the thought peremptorily. 



He was welcome nowhere and would 
only prove to be a nuisance. 

His gloomy ruminating was interv 
rupted by a knock at the door, which 
heralded the entrance of good Mrs. 
Jones, his landlady for many years, who 
was sincerely troubled about her lodger. 
She liked and respected him. "He's that 
quiet, and gives no trouble, and acts the 
gentleman always," was the character 
she gave of him to her neighbor, Mrs. 
Robson, whose experience as a landlady 
was sadly dissimilar. 

"If you please, M^*. Elsworthy, sir, 
there's a young lady and gentleman 
asking for you — name of Broughton. 
Will you please to see them?" 

"I suppose I must, Mrs. Jones. 
Kindly ask them to come upstairs." 

Vigorous steps were heard ascending 
the stair, and Mrs. Jones ushered in two 
young people upon whom Peter had 
never before set eyes, and at whose rea- 
son for visiting him he could not re- 
motely guess. One of them was a broad- 
shouldered young man, fully six feet two 
in height, with curly light brown hair 
and clear hazel eyes, a rather wide 
mouth, good nose, and perfect teeth. 
The other, his sister, a year or two 
younger, and lacking some inches of his 
height, was remarkably and even 
amusingly like her brother. The rela- 
tionship would have been obvious in a 

"Excuse us, Cousin Peter, for intro- 
ducing ourselves unceremoniously. I am 
Francis Corby Broughton, of Wallaroo 
Creek, Victoria, Australia; and this is 
my sister, Ursula Corby Broughton, of 
the same address. We are in London — 
or we were a few hours ago — with our 
parents, who have at last managed a 
holiday at what they call 'home.' 
Knowing we had a relative (we have 
very few anywhere) in this city, we 
made bold to try and look you up. We 
are delighted to have found you, Cousin 

"I'm sure I'm very glad to see you," 
said the somewhat flustered Peter. 
"Your mother must be my late mother's 

"You have hit it the first time. Cousin 
Peter, — both daughters of our common 
grandfather, James Corby of Man- 

"Frank," remonstrated Ursula, with 
pretended annoyance, "our cousin is 
likely to be more up in the family 
genealogy than you." 

"Ursula my dear," said her brother, 
"I am but setting our credentials of 
respectability before Cousin Peter. 
How does he know we are not im- 
postors ?" 

Peter laughed. "My good cousins, you 
carry your passport to confidence" in 
your faces. Now let me order a small 
supper from Mrs. Jones ; and you must 
spend the evening with me. I believe I 
can easily put you up." 

"Not at all, Cousin Peter," declared 
Frank. "That is not the present pro- 
gramme, though we thank you grate- 
fully. We have rooms — very decent 
ones — at the Midland Hotel; dinner is 
served in that palatial establishment 
from seven o'clock until nine; and you 
are to be our guest, if you will. I speak 
with accuracy; do I not, Ursula?" 

"That is so," said the girl. "It will 
be just lovely to have you with us, 
Cousin. We shall have endless things to 
talk about. Please get your hat and 
coat and come with us." 

Peter could not refuse, nor indeed 
did he wish to do so. These breezy 
Australian cousins had, somehow, 
wakened something within him that as 
yet he could not diagnose. 

"Doesn't everyone dress for dinner at 
the Midland?" he asked. 

"Some wear their 'glad rags,' many 
do not, — we are of the many. So come 
along as you are, Cousin Peter; and tell 
your worthy Mrs. Jones that you don't 
know when you will be back." 



As he entered the sumptuous dining 
room of the big hotel, Peter felt as if 
he was adventuring into a new but very 
delightful world. It was impossible, 
too, for him to feel either shy or fearful 
of rebuff with these merry-hearted and 
cordial relatives who had suddenly 
appeared from nowhere. The dinner 
was worthy of the companionship. 
Peter unbent as he had never done, and 
aflforded quite as much pleasure as he 
received. He asked much as to Wallaroo 
Creek and its prosperous inhabitants, 
and showed, quite unconsciously, that he 
was well up in Australian affairs. 
Equally without intention, something of 
the story of his own drab life, and the 
fact of his present positiofi, was 
revealed to his companions. 

"They were scallawags to fire you, 
Peter," said Frank, as they sat over 
coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes in the 
hotel lounge. "But it is a jolly good 
thing. You are much too good for a 
bank clerk. Look here: when your 
month is up, join us in London. We go 
to Paris and the Riviera next week, but 
shall be back within a month. Why not 
come with us?" 

Peter laughed. "An old fossil like 
me,— one of the obvious failures." 

Firank smote him on the shoulder. 

"Not a bit of it, man ! I know a good 
sort when I see it." 

"Yes," interposed Ursula, "do come 
to London, Peter, and tiy to fix up the 
voyage with us as well." 

"Now, to-morrow morning you are 
breakfasting here. Better say half-past 
eight. I saw that there is a Mass at St. 
Aloysius' at half-past seve», which will 
just suit me, and this child Ursula, if 
she is. not too tired. I wish yeu hadn't 
to go so soon. So long, Peter! Till to- 
morrow morning!" 

Peter walked back to his lodgings in a 
curious state of excitement. This young- 
Australian giant, redolent of everything 
athletic and powerful, found him "a 

good sort." -Both cousins had enjoyed 
hearing him talk. Both wanted to see 
. more of him. "Am I the same man that 
walked out of the County Bank this 
afternoon ?" asked Peter of himself. 

Then there was another strange 
thing. These robust, up-to-date rela- 
tives, typical of the Commonwealth of 
which they were devoted children, were 
downright practising Catholics. It was 
natural enough, of course ; his mother's 
younger sister, when the two were left 
parentless, had been adopted by other 
friends, who saw to it that she was 
carefully trained in her religion. Still, 
it did seem strange to Peter that Frank 
should have talked of going to Mass in 
the businesslike way in which he would 
have talked of catching a train. Clearly, 
the religion these young people pro- 
fessed was no mere accident, but woven 
into the whole texture of their lives. 

So full of the subject. was Peter that 
the next morning he crept into a rear 
seat at St. Aloysius' shortly before half- 
past seven. His wonder increased. 
Frank and Ursula were kneeling near 
one of the confessionals, and he saw 
both brother and sister go into the box 
for two or three minutes, and subse- 
quently go up to the rail at the Com- 
munion time. He was too shy to join 
them after Mass ; so he hurried out of 
the church, and appeared at the hotel 
as if he had come ^straight from the 
house of I^rs. Jones. 

It was felt at the bank that day that 
there was something strange about 
Peter Elsworthy. He was as courteous 
as ever, and scarcely less retiring ; but 
there was about him an independence 
and ail ease of manner that was alto- 
gether new. He himself even felt that 
some fresh power had come into his 
work, and on this and succeeding days 
he astonished the head cashier by his 
masterly manipulation of some confused 
accounts. That functionary, in fact, 



said to the manager the day Peter left 
the bank : 

t "I'm not sure, sir, if we are not losing 
a valuable man in Elsworthy. Some- 
thing has happened to bring him out; 
and he has done the Company excellent 
service this month." 

"Pity the 'something' didn't happen 
sooner," grunted the manager. 

The following morning Peter went up 
to London, and was received joyously by 
Frank and Ursula, and most cordially 
by their parents, at the Hotel Cecil. His 
idea was to be "on his own" during his 
stay ; but the hospitable soul of • Mr. 
Broughton, the wealthy sheep farmer, 
would not listen to such a suggestion. 
Nephew Peter was to be his guest, and 
they were all to have the time of their 
lives for the next fortnight. Then Peter 
must seriously consider whether he 
would not cross the ocean and make his 
home in Australia. 

A new life seemed opening up before 
him. Day by day he accumulated fresh 
experiences, and with them gained such 
confidence in outlook, and in his rela- 
tions to his fellowmen, that his very 
appearance developed an unwonted dig- 
nity. He was not a bad-looking man; 
of middle Height, with dark hair and 
eyebrows, clean-shaven, friendly grey 
eyes, and lips that closed somewhat 

He had no doubt now that at least 
with these Australian kinsfolk he was 
no outsider. Yet when he was alone, 
especially at night, the old sense of a 
missed career would come back in all its 
pain and bewilderment. He was an 
utter failure; for the moment these 
kindly and charming relatives had lifted 
him out of the rut of depression; but 
what good was he to any one? And 
what was his future to be? He was too 
old, and had not the requisite physical 
stamina, for the strenuous life of an 
Australian up-country station. And 
city life there, — ^how could it be 

any better than city life at home? 

London was not very familiar, though 
he had stayed there now and then. 
Under the auspices of the Broughtons, 
however, he came to a much more 
intimate knowledge of his own mighty 
capital. Varicfus introductions gave 
them an entr'ee here an^ Wiere that 
fairly astonished Peter. Mr. Brough- 
ton well represented the genuine demo- 
cratic spirit that asks, not what a man's 
ancestors were, but what he is and what 
he can do; and while, of course, his 
large income bulked in the eyes of 
people of a lower moral and intellectual 
type, there were not a few old aristo- 
cratic houses that opened their doors 
gladly in recognition of his character, 
his ability, and the position these had 
won for him in the Dominion overseas. 

One side of London life — ^the ecclesi- 
astical — had hitherto, naturally, been a 
sealed book to Peter. This, too, be- 
gan to open to his surprised vision. He 
fell in love with the Byzantine glories 
of Westminster Cathedral. He accom- 
panied his relatives to Farm Street, the 
Oratory, and other churches of note; 
one day to the Carmelite convent at 
Notting Hill, which Mr. and Mrs. 
Broughton had a special desire to visit, 
their eldest daughter being one of St. 
Teresa's chosen children; another day 
to a reception at the Archbishop's 
House, where Peter genuflected and 
kissed the Cardinal's ring like any child 
of the Church. He ought to have felt 
a rank outsider, he supposed, but he 
could not manage to do so. On saying 
something of the kind to Mrs. Brough- 
ton, that far-seeing and sympathetic 
lady assured him that she was not sur- 
prised; he was, after all, of Catholic 
stock on one side; and there were his 
mother's praters, which no doubt had 
been offered for him these many years. 

"Now, Nephew Peter," she said, 
"you've had no conscious religion all 
your life. You've got it at last. Take 

• ^ 




my advice: go to Farm Street this 
evening, ask for one of the Fathers, and 
get the thing settled right away." 
^And that is exactly what he did. 

The liking between Peter Elsworthy 
and his relatives had developed into 
very sincere affection. It Ibecanie a 
settled thing that he should go out with 
them to the Antipodes, and less than a, 
month after he came to London the ' 
whole party were embarked on a Blue 
Funnel liner. The voyage was another 
great experience for the ex-bank clerk. 
There were a good many pleasant 
people on board, and he was universally 
liked by his fellow-passengers. It was 
said in the smoking room that 
"Elsworthy is a nice, well-informed 
chap, and is getting to play a very decent 
hand at bridge." He even took a pleased 
and modest part in the games on deck, 
and altogether found quiet happiness 
in mixing with his fellow-travellers. 

On arriving at Melbourne, after a 
couple of days at a luxurious hotel, the 
Broughtons insisted on carrying Peter 
off to Wallaroo Creek, where he made 
the acquaintance of the eldest son, Wil- 
frid, who h^id been keeping everything 
in working order during his father'^ 
absence in Europe. In fact, he was* 
practically his father's partner. Three 
other members of the family — a son and 
two daughters — were married, and 
settled in different parts of the 

Peter and Wilfrid Broughton became 
close friends quickly. They were about 
of an age (Frank and Ursula were the 
babies of the family) , and had various 
tastes in common. Wilfrid was a big, 
powerful man, with great business 
capacity, and a fine horseman, who 
had, nevertheless, a mind that turned 
instinctively to intellectual interests. 
He was a stalwart Catholic and a per- 
vervid Australian. One day during a 
long ride — Peter being provided with a 

gentle, manageable "mount" — the Eng- 
lish cousin opened out somewhat on the 
subject of his future. What was he to 
do, to be of any use in the world ? Wil- 
frid listened with attentive sympathy, 
thought a while, and then said : 

"If I were you, Peter, I should make 
a week's retreat with the Jesuit 
Fathers. They are the men to unravel 
tangles like yours. And they have sr. 
wonderful way of putting both temporal' 
and eternal matters in order for one. T 
have found that for myself." 

Peter remembered how Wilfrid's; 
mother had told him that her eldest, 
son, ten years before, had had his life, 
as it seemed, all broken by the death of 
the girl to whom he was engaged. "We^ 
thought Wilfrid would go all to pieces — 
Madge was such a splendid girl, — but 
he went straight to the Fathers, long; 
journey as it was; and when he came* 
back, he took up the work here as if" 
there had been not a day's break for' 
him. You see what he is to us, Peter,"' 
said Mrs: Broughton. "But he will': 
never marry." 

As they- rode slowly home, Wilfrid: 
said earnestly : "Don't let yourself dwell 
on the past, Peter. And, above all, 
don't write yourself down a failure. No 
fellow can be a failure who keeps his 
head up and goes straight on." 

The upshot was that Peter took- his 
cousin's advice. He found exactly what 
he wanted. He was told that no ap- 
parent handicap need make us lose the 
one race that matters; as for the 
future, it would probably become clear 
to him as the retreat drew to its close. 

And now a strange thing happened. 
Peter had sought his retreat director on 
the last evening of the exercises. He 
looked like a man who has had news of 
weighty import that he can scarcely 
yet assimilate. But he spoke calmly 
and with an unhesitating clearness 
that contrasted strangely with the Peter 
of a few months ago. 



"Father," he said, "this is the lead- 
ing, so far as I can see it. It may well 
seem utter presumption. 1 am an un- 
educated, inexperienced man; my life 
has been without force or purpose; I 
entered the Church only a little while 
ago. Yet there seems to me no turning 
away, short of deliberate disloyalty, 
from an imperious summons that calls 
me to the religious state. I believe that 
in that I am to redeem a life's failure, 
so far as may be. Tell me if I am 

Father Nevinson looked up, with a 
smile on his intellectual and somewhat 
ascetic face, that bore the stamp of 
deepest and simplest goodness. "My 
dear fellow," he said, "I am intensely 
thankful, but not in the least surprised. 
In fact, -for various reasons I have ex- 
pected that you would be led to this con- 

"Then, Father, my wish would be, if 
you approve, to offer myself as a lay- 
Brother in the Order of St. Francis." 

With all good-will Father Nevinson 
put him into communication with the 
Provincial of the Capuchins. But now 
another surprise awaited him. His 
novice master quickly came to the con- 
clusion that he was not called to servo 
as a lay-Brother of the Order. He told 
Peter that his education and his special 
gifts fitted him for the ecclesiastical 
state. Had he never thought of the 
priesthood ? 

"I am too old, Father. And, besides, 
I would never dare — but if it were pos- 

"You are not too old. Brother. And 
I am satisfied that it is as a priest of 
our Order that you are called to serve 
God and follow St. Francis." 

This, then, was the tremendous oflEice 
that was to clothe, when his years of 
preparation were ended, the man who 
had counted himself, and whom others 
had counted, a failure. The Provincial 
made arrangements for his studies to 

begin forthwith, and, to Peter's untold 
delight, in Rome. 

The good people at Wallaroo Creek 
were full of happiness at the news. 
"That man was never a failure," 
said Mr. Broughton; "but until the 
other day he never had a real chance." 

"It was father and mother who gave 
it to him," said Ursula. 

"I think you and Frank had a good 
share in it, my dear," Mrs. Broughton 

"And there's no doubt that you, dear 
Wilfrid, finished it off," added Frank. 
"You know how to keep us heading 
straight, Wilf." 

"If Peter himself was not such a good, 
plucky soul, we couldn't have helped 
him; the whole thing was beyond all 
our hands: it is a little miracle." 

Who Was the Messenger? 


^IND reader, have you ever en- 
joyed the company of a priest, 
and had the opportunity to 
talk with him confidentially on 
religion or the work of his sacred 
ministry? I have had such a privilege 
.on several occasions, and I shall always 
remember with much pleasure and 
profit some of the things I learned 
through such association. The life of 
the average priest is filled with remark- 
able experiences. Let me relate one of 
these as told to me by a dear friend, 
now pastor of a thriving parish in an 
Eastern city. 

One cold and stormy, winter's night 
some years ago, when my friend was an 
assistant in a suburban parish of a 
large city, the bell of the rectory rang 
loudly about ten o'clock, as the Fathers 
were about fo seek their rest for the 
night. When the doorVas opened by 
the housekeeper, a woman heavily veiled 
and dressed in black stepped into the 



hallway and asked that a priest go at 
once to a certain house on a street some 
distance from the rectory and almost 
in the country, where, she said, a man 
was dying. 

My friend, the youngest of the as- 
sistants, hearing the call,, immediately 
prepared to respond, and in a fev/ 
minutes was battling with the storm on 
his way to the address given. 

After a v.alk of about a mile, he 
reached the street mentioned by the 
messenger; but, to his surprise, no 
house was visible. The thoroughfare 
was only a country road, at one side 
of Vv'hich ran railroad tracks some 
twenty feet below the surface of the 

The night was bitterly <;old, aiid the 
sleet, pelted by a strong wind, beat into 
the face of the priest as he stood in that 
lor.ely place, bewildered as to which 
way to turn to find the dying man. Not 
a human being was to be seen of whom 
he might inquire his way. Breathing a' 
little prayer to the Blessed Mother of 
God for assistance in his dilemma, he 
started to go forward, when he saw at 
his right a pathway leading down the 
railroad embankment. The path was 
well beaten, and it led him alongside the 
tracks. After some hesitation, he de- 
cided to follov/ this pathway, spurred 
on by the thought that it might finally 
lead him to the poor soul who needed 
his assistance at that dread hour when 
Death hovered near. 

He followed the pathway for about 
fifty yards, when he saw in the bushes 
to his left an old deserted railroad 
shack. Groping his way in the darkness 
to the door, he knocked loudly, but no 
response came from v/ithin. Yet some- 
thing told him that this was the place 
where the dying man was to be found. 
Finding a knob, he grasped it and 
pushed the door open. Then in a strong- 
voice he called out, "I ama priest of the 
Catholic Church. Is there any one here 

\vho wishes to Sec me?" From an inner 
apartment a weak voice answered: 
*'Yes, Father; please come in. And 
thank God you are here!" 

Striking a match, the priest made his 
way to the inner room, where a man lay 
on the floor in a dying condition. He 
was in the last stages of what ap- 
peared to be consumption. He told the 
priest that he had walked for several 
days along the railroad from another 
city, and that afternoon, exhausted for 
v/ant of nourishment, and to escape the 
storm, he had taken refuge in the old 

Leaving the man for a short time, the 
priest hiirried to the nearest telephone 
station and called an ambulance from 
one of the hospitals. Seeing that the 
sick man did not have long to live, the 
priest accompanied him, and remained 
with him for several hours, meanwhile 
administering the last Sacraments. 
When he was prepared for death, he 
gratefully told the priest that he had 
during his lifetime often said a little 
prayer to the Blessed Virgin that he 
might not die without the Sacraments. 
His prayer was answered. He died in 
the early hours of the morning, while 
the priest was still with him, thanking 
God for His mercy, and our Blessed 
Mother for her response to his humble, 
trusting prayer. 

But who was the woman in black that 
called at the priest's house that stormy 
right and told of the dying man? 
Though frequently asked, the question 
remained unanswered. 

Courage is a virtue that the young 
can not spare; to lose it is to grow old 
before the time. It is better to make a 
thousand mistakes and suffer a thou- 
sand reverses than to run away from 
the battle. Resignation is the courage 
of old age; it will grow in its own 
season, and it is a good day when it 
comes to us. — Van Dyke. 



The MUitant Catholic. 

By Dbnis a. McCarthy. 

PERSONAL pugnacity is not Catho- 
lic militancy. To be ready and 
eager to enter into controversy with 
non-Catholics is not an unerring sign of 
membership in the Church Militant. 
Some confusion appears to exist on this 
head. I once heard a Catholic young 
man, from a public platform, quote in 
favor of controversial militancy the 
words of Our Lord : "I came not to send 
peace but a sword." 

Now, controversy may sometimes be 
necessary, but in ninety-nine cases oiit 
of a hundred the controversialist is un- 
fitted for the job he attempts and the 
role he assumes. And there are other 
interpretations of Our ' Lord's words 
more in keeping with the spirit of the 
Gospel. We have \vhile on this earth 
to fight with our passions and desires 
and motions toward sin. Our militancy 
is well employed in combating these 
various evils. A man is truly a militant 
Catholic who bravely carries on this 
fight from day to day until the end 

In our progress toward heaven we 
have often to cross the desires and plans 
of those who think they love us well, but 
who propose to us courses of action 
which, while they may not be sinful in 
themselves, are not what seem best to 
our highest thought. A young man may 
wish to become a priest or enter the re- 
ligious life. A young woman may feel 
herself called to be a nun. Relatives, 
through the best of motives, may want 
to change the minds of these young 
persons. Our Lord's words, "I came 
not to send peace but a sword," are 
verified in cases of this kind; for the 
eager servants of the Lord must run the 
risk of disturbing the closest and dear- 
est of family relations and of breaking 
the closest of family ties in order to 

accomplish their desire to leave all 
things and follow Him. 

Again, some member of a non-Catho- 
lic family may become interested in the 
Church, and may wish to become a 
Catholic. In non-Catholic .families 
there is usually little sympathy with 
such a wish. One may become almost 
anything religiously, without exciting 
animosity or opposition, except a Catho- 
lic. That is not tolerable: that must 
be opposed to the uttermost. 

The would-be convert finds use for 
Catholic militancy in such a situation. 
There will be painful scenes in that 
family, without a doubt; and bitter 
things will be said against the Church 
and against the person seeking to enter 
it. But Catholic militancy there will 
not consist in answering in the same 
spirit, in assuming a hostile attitude. 
True Catholic militancy will consist 
in fighting down the human im- 
pulse to give back as good as is sent, 
and in striving to cover with the mantle 
of charity the reproaches of those who 
know not what they do. 

The Catholic life is truly a battle; 
but it is not a battle with other people 
because they hold mistaken notions 
about the Church. That may enter into 
it at times ; for there are few of us who 
have not encountered the anti-Catholic 
bigot who is simply "spoiling for a 
fight." But for the most part our 
struggle is with ourselves, — ^the over- 
coming of our own tendencies to sin; 
the holding to the Faith in spite of all 
temptations to lead a softer and easier 
life; the rooting out of our own imper- 
fections, and the constant building up 
of the Christian life. "Put you on," 
says St. Paul, "the armor of God, that 
you may be able to stand against tbe 
deceits of the devil. For our wrestling 
is not against flesh and blood; but 
against principalities and powers, 
against the rulers of the world of this 
darkness, against the spirits of wicked- 



ness in high places. Wherefore take 
unto you the armor of God, that you 
may be able to resist in the evil day, 
and to stand in all things perfect." 

The overcoming of ourselves is the 
chief thing in Catholic militancy. And 
in this overcoming of ourselves we may 
all the better overcome and convince 
others. There is nothing more convinc- 
ing than a Christian life. All the ar- 
guments fall flat before the life of a 
good Catholic. A man may have the 
tongues of men and of angels and still 
fail to move the heart of a non-Catholic 
if his oWn life is not in accord with 
what he preaches. "What you are," 
said one of the American writers, 
"speaks so loud that I can not hear 
what you say." 

Because we claim to have a more per- 
fect form of religion — indeed, the only 
perfect form of religion in the world — 
our lives are under observation from 
our non-Catholic friends ^hen we are 
not at all aware of it. It is not argu- 
ment that counts, although we should 
all be well-informed as to our religion, 
and be able to give information when 
facts are required: what counts in the 
long run in the battle for Catholic truth 
is the kind of lives Catholics themselves 
are leading. 

If they are militant with themselves, 
they will not need so much to be 
militant with their non-Catholic asso- 
ciates. It is not so picturesque and 
dramatic to lead a good life as it is to 
down some adversary of the Church in 
a slashing argumentation ; but it is. the 
most effective argument we can offer in 
favor of the Church's claim on the alle- 
giance of all men. 

I do not think I am going too far 
when I say that the humble Christian 
lives of Catholic working people in this 
country, of women no less than men, 
have attracted far more people to the 
Church than all the controversial 
addresses ever made here. 

Ignorant Teachers and False Guides. 

ONE who had spent some time in 
China without having learned any- 
thing about Confucianism, the official 
cult of the Chinese, would probably be 
ashamed of any betrayal of his igno- 
rance. Yet there are many learned men 
among us whose knowledge of the reli- 
gion of Catholics, despite the number of 
its adherents and of the books in expla- 
nation of it, is hardly more extended 
than that of the "heathen Chinee." A 
distinguished American once amused 
and amazed a number of Catholics by 
asserting that he had seen an Ursuline 
nun saying Mass one afternoon in New 
Orleans! So eminent a scholar as the 
late Mr. Goldwin Smith once gave con- 
clusive proof that he had no idea what 
the dogma of the Immaculate Concep- 
tion really meant, though he attempted 
to write on the subject. Sir Oliver Lodge, 
in his "Man and the Universe," betrays 
a like ignorance. Yet this eminent 
scientist has the hardihood to attack the 
dogmas of the Christian religion ! He is 
an ardent spiritualist, and he evidently 
cherishes the conviction that Spiritual- 
ism will be the cult of the future. 

Sir Oliver's book dqes not enhance his 
reputation as a scientist, but it has no 
doubt won many converts to Spirit- 
ualism, the errors and dangers of which 
one need not be learned in order to un- 
derstand. They have been pointed out 
times without number. Says a recent 
anonymous non-Catholic writer: 

"Through all the different parts of 
his book runs like a thread the asser- 
tion of his beHef in the so-called Spirit- 
ualistic phenomena, and of the idea, 
more or less distinctly expressed, that 
we are living in *a period of religious 
awakening,' when thenvorld is waiting 
eagerly for some announcement that 
shall heal the supposed breach between 
what Sir Oliver Lodge calls 'Orthodox 
Religion' and 'Orthodox Science.' It 



may be greatly doubted whether the 
latter contention can be effectively main- 
tained ; and the examples of the late Sir 
George Stokes and Lord Kelvin, to say 
nothing of Continental scholars like M. 
Branly and the late Prof. Virchow, 
might be sufficient to assure us that 
even 'the average Fellow of the Royal 
Society,' which is the expression Sir 
Oliver Lodge takes as the synonym of 
'the^ recognized official exponent of 
science,' has sometimes been able to 
reconcile the profession of Christianity 
with active questioning of Nature, and 
without treading the middle way recom- 
mended by Sir Oliver Lodge. . . . 

"Sir Oliver Lodge has made himself 
a great name as a skilful experimenter 
and a lucid expounder in physical sci- 
ence ; and has proved himself a brilliant 
and enthusiastic, if not always a very 
sound, mathematician ; but even a well- 
deserved reputation in one branch of 
science does not enable its possessor to 
speak ex cathedra on others in which 
he is not expert. For the rest, as M. 
Lucien Poincare has said, every age 
thinks its own scientific discoveries of 
far greater importance than they ap- 
pear to the eyes of future generations; 
and the world is not waiting, as Sir 
Oliver seems to think, for a voice from 
Birmingham to tell it how it may 
manage — by taking something from and 
adding much to its creeds — to go on 
believing pretty nearly what it believed 
before. Nor, it may be added, when it 
does find itself in need of a new revela- 
tion, is it likely to accept the message of 

All this is wise and well said. In- 
stances of the ignorance and credulity 
of men who are clashed as enlightened 
and educated are constantly occyrring. 
We have been amazed at statements 
made and opinions expressed by the 
scholars above mentioned. In his latest 
book. Sir Oliver Lodge betrays almost 
puerile credulity. 

Notes and Remarks. 

Of few Catholic authors and polemics 
who have lived in our time can it "be 
more truthfully said, "Though dead, he 
yet speaketh," than of Cardinal New- 
man and- Dr. Brownson. The former is 
constantly quoted on account of his 
admirable style. The latter was also a 
master of the English language, and in 
every volume of his works may be found 
passages like the -subjoined, that are 
quite as timely as if they were^-written 
only ycoterday: 

"Let us never forget that the great 
work itself we want done is, after all, 
r.ot done by men but by God Himself, 
using or not using men as seems to 
Him good; and therefore that always 
our most effectual working will be 
prayer to Him that He may be pleased 
Himself to act. A single prayer offered 
in secret to Almighty God by some 
devout soul, unknown to the world, can 
effect more than the most elaborate 
articles or brilliant and stirring edi- 
torials. God loves the simple and 
humble, and will do anything for them. 
The times are fearful, the dangers are 
thick and threatening. Let us betake 
ourselves to prayer as the surest and 
speediest remedy." 

Words welt worthy of remembrance 
are these. . Who can question the truth 
of them, little as it may be realized? 
"Let us betake ourselves to prayer" 
now, more than ever. 

As an aftermath of the World War, 
there have been numerous instances of 
God's "from seeming evil still educing 
good"; and not the least notable in- 
stance, we are inclined to think, is the 
organization of the National Catholic 
Welfare Council. It probably required 
some such catastrophe as the great in- 
ternational conflict to open the eyes of 
our clergy and laity to the absolute 



necessity of their united efforts and con- 
stant energetic work, if the Church in 
this country is ever to attain the lofty 
stature which is hers by right divine. 
The Denver Catholic Register, of re- 
cent date, mentions the visit of the 
Western representative of the Council 
to several dioceses in the territory allot- 
ted to him, and notes the success attend- 
ing his activities. We are pleased to 
see that several matters, the importance 
of which has been commented upon time 
and time again in the Catholic press, 
are at length being attended to. Wit- 
ness the following: 

Some places liave social study clubs meeting 
weekly, studying social and economic ques- 
tions, and using such text-books as the 
"Catechism of the Social Question" and the 
"Civics Catechism." These books are supplied 
by the National Catholic Welfare Council. 
Many cities have committees which get in 
touch with strangers coming into the parish, 
bidding them welcome and looking after them 
so that they will feel that they are among 
friends. Another method of helping the new- 
comers is by placing church cards in the 
depots and hotels, telling the location of the 
nearest church, and stating the time of Mass. 

Union among the Slav peoples 
promises to be strong and lasting, in 
spite of all indications to the contrary. 
Close political relations exist between 
the Czecho-Slovak and Jugo-Slav 
Governments; and these relations are 
being strengthened by Catholic political 
parties in both countries. Jugo-Slavia 
has a population of something like 
11,000,000 ; 9,546,000 Jugo-Slavs,— 
divided into 8,524,000 Croats and Serbs, 
and 1,022,000 Slovenes. There are 
besides 190,000 Slavs of other nation- 
alities; and in addition some 508,000 
Germans, 494,000 Magyars, 479,000 Al- 
banians, 175,000 Rumanians, and 9500 
Italians. On the religious side, the 
streng-th of the denominations is: Or- 
thodox, 47 per cent, or 5,454,000 
Catholics, 39 per cent, or 4,475,000 
Mahometans, 11 per cent, or 1,343,000 

and three per cent of Jews. In the 
Jugo-Slav Parliament of 400 members 
there are 60 Communists, and 70 Croat 
Deputies of the Radic Party who take 
no part in parliamentary activity. The 
Catholics are organized in the Popular 
Party (Pucka Stranka). It is rep- 
resented by as many as 27 Deputies, of 
whom 9 are Croats, 15 Slovenes, and 3 
Croats from Backa; all of them being 
solidly united on the same religious and 
social programme. 

From the number of appeals for 
Catholic literature — books, magazines, 
and papers — coming to us from State 
prisons, hospitals, and homes in all 
parts of the country, we are led to be- 
lieve that one charitable activity which 
may well be committed to" a specific or- 
ganization in each diocese is the supply- 
ing of such literature to every institu- 
tion of the kind mentioned to be found 
within its borders. There can be no 
question that there is an abundance of 
Catholic reading matter available for 
this very laudable purpose: all that is 
needed is a staff of collectors and dis- 
tributors through whom it may be 
passed from the willing owners to the 
eager inmates of the institutions. 
Zealous energy on the part of diocesan 
societies already in existence should 
speedily systematize such work, to the 
great benefit of many unfortunate mem- 
bers of Mother Church. 

The last, lingering doubt in anybody's 
mind as to whether the world moves or 
not should be dispelled by something 
that occurred a while ago up in Michi- 
gan. It was at a convention of the 
Methodists in Detroit. Some of the 
bishops and elders indulged in the 
customary tirades, more or less violent, 
against the Roman Catholic Church, 
blaming it for almost everything that 
is amiss in this naughty world, and 
denouncing our bishops and priests for 



doing many wrong things and leaving 
many good things undone. For thus re- 
lieving their minds and unburdening 
their consciences the speakers were 
loudly applauded; but we are informed 
that when one of the bishops made a 
contemptuous reference to the Pope, the 
:audience groaned inwardly, as only 
:Methodists can ; and that at the dinner 
which followed some of them were 
'moved to utter words of disapproval. 
'One mild-mannered Brother permitted 
^himself to remark that the bishop was 
'"a bit provincial." 

So it is coming to be considered rude, 
narrow, illiberal among our Metho- 
'dist brethren to cast reflection on the 
liead of the Catholic Church. Here- 
tofore he was generally referred to as 
the Man of Sin, the Beast of the Apoc- 
alypse, Antichrist, etc. The world 
really does move, no mistake about it; 
and it is moving in the right direction, 
however slowly. 

In the course of a merciless review of 
a little book called "Priestcraft," 
Hilaire Belloc (who incidentally styles 
the volume "the Modern 'Maria 
Monk' ") devotes several paragraphs 
to popular scepticism among English- 
men, which make interesting reading 
for Americans: — 

Elsewhere in Europe the tempest of scepti- 
cism fell much earlier than it fell on our 
society. It fell first upon the French in the 
middle of the 18th century, and by their 
agency was passed on throughout Occidental 
society. It came late to this island; but now 
that it has come, it has come thoroughly. 

Elsewhere we can survey the wreckage, add 
up the losses and the gains, begin to make an 
estimate of the devastation and also of that 
large part which has been saved and is begin- 
ning to re-evangelize the rest. The Catholic 
intellect has risen high on the Continent, and 
the two parties are fairly face to face. But 
here that great storm has not passed over; 
it is only beginning its fury. Yet already 
the obscure mass has wholly ceased to believe. 
And the proof is that a man, himself without 
education, desiring to appeal to great bodies 

of his fellows who resemble him, takes the 
sceptical attitude to-day in England for 
granted. You don't see only that in a book 
as insignificant as this; you see it in every- 
thing which is written by everyone who 
"counts" outside the small Catholic body in 
Britain. You see it in Wells, you see it in 
Shaw, you see it in the excellent sharp English 
of the Dean of St. Paul's. 

Needless to say, the attitude in ques- 
tion is no more than a legitimate off- 
spring of the boasted Reformation, 
worked out to its logical conclusion. 
Protestantism is doomed to disintegra- 
tion, in England, in the United States, 
and everywhere else. 

The amulet — an object supersti- 
tiously worn as a remedy for, or a 
preservative against, disease, bad luck, 
accidents, witchcraft, etc. — is consider- 
ably older than civilization. It was 
always in high favor with primitive 
peoples, and is still cherished by* such 
tribes in Africa and the South Sea 
Islands as are either wholly barbarous 
or only half civilized. Even present- 
day civilization, however, is not alto- 
gether free from the amulet supersti- 
tion. According to the editor of the Lon- 
don magazine, Nature, the living amulet, 
or "mascot," is especially in vogue ; and 
popular interest in all sorts of other 
magical or occult processes seems to be 
on the increase. A mascot is defined to 
be an object, animate or inanimate, that 
is supposed to bring good fortune to its 
possessor, — dogs, cats, monkeys, goats, 
small boys and girls, dwarfs, hunch- 
backs, and such lifeless things as were 
formerly known simply as amulets. The 
English editor considers this modern 
cult to be an anti-social reversion to a 
primitive mode of thought, and he links 
up with it crystal-gazing, palmistry, the 
ouija board, and spiritism. 

It will be said, of course, that the 
owner of a mascot is merely following 
a harmless fashion, and that he has no 
real faith in its efficacy. His state- 



ment that he keeps it "just for luck" is, 
however, a constructive admission that 
he is not quite free from the taint of 
superstition, which consists in ascribing 
to created things powers which they do 
not possess, either by nature or in vir- 
tue of the prayers of the Church. Now, 
superstition, fortune-telling, magic, and 
spiritism are foolish and irrational 
forms of worship; and that they are 
sinful is clear from Holy Writ:' "The 
soul that shall go aside after magicians 
and soothsayers I will destroy out of 
the midst of its people." 

"Any fact," says Emerson, "is better 
established by two or three good testi- 
monies than by a thousand arguments." 
Some such testimonies recently 
gathered in Toledo establish the fact 
that, notwithstanding the opposite con- 
tention of the advocates of birth con- 
trol, large families do not mean depen- 
dency: on the contrary, the larger the 
family, the less the dependency. The 
director of Catholic charities in the Ohio 
city contributes to America an interest- 
ing table of statistics taken from a 
reputable secular journal, and adds this 
pungent commentary: 

Statistics are generally dry reading, but I 
know of nothing that speaks quite so 
eloquently against the whole unsavory prac- 
tice of birth control, and in favor of the posi- 
tion which the Church has always championed, 
as this set of figures. Is it not startling to 
find that the degree of dependency is abso- 
lutely in inverse ratio to the number of 
children in the family? Think of it! One 
hundred and ninety-nine families that had no 
children to support had to knock at the doors 
of the Public Relief Department, whereas the 
group blessed with the greatest number of 
children numbered the least in the ranks of 
the dependents. There is nothing mentioned 
in the table concerning families with ten 
children or more. These seem to be utterly 
exempt from the danger of joining the ranks 
of public charges. So much for the facts. 

Lyons, publishes in its concluding issue 
for 1921 a detailed necrological report 
of the Foreign Missions for the year 
1920. The total number of deceased 
missionaries mentioned is 162, — 8. 
bishops and 154 priests. Of the bishops,, 
two had lived more than four-score 
years ; four others had gone beyond the 
three-score-and-ten mark; and only 
one, Mgr. Landi, of Laohokou, China, 
had failed to round out his half cen- 
tury of life. The average age of the 
bishops was, in consequence, notably 
large, — something over sixty-eight 
years. Among the deceased priests 
there were one nonagenarian, eight 
octogenarians, and twelve septuagena- 
rians; but there were also many who 
had not reached their fifth decade, many 
others who passed away at thirty-five 
or thirty-six, and half a dozen whose 
age was less than thirty. Accordingly 
the average age of the priests was some 
fifteen years less than that of the 
bishops, — being about fifty-three. The 
four Orders or Congregations most 
numerously represented in this necrol- 
ogy are: the Jesuits, thirty-one; the, 
Fathers of the Holy Ghost, twenty- 
three; the Friars Minor, eighteen; and 
the Foreign Missionary Fathers of 
Paris, sixteen. 

Conformably to its long-established 
custom, the Missions Catholiques, of 

Some of our readers, especially those 
in the smaller towns and villages of the 
country, may possibly imagine that or- 
ganizations like the Catholic Theatre 
Guild, and such activities as the publi- 
cation of a White List of plays, are 
rather negligible than important. 
Readers conversant with matters the- 
atrica:l in New York and others of our 
larger cities, will not, however, share 
this opinion. The Forum is not a par- 
ticularly prudish or effeminate peri- 
odical, yet its editor, Mr. George Henry 
Payne, does not hesitate to write thus 
drastically of the greatest of our Amer- 
ican cities: "New York continues to be 



the home and the hotbed of the Drama 
of Indecency. Week after week, plays 
are produced which are as flagrant as 
anything offered by the worst Paris 
playhouses, and far beyond the drama 
of the Restoration in immorality. There 
is not even the saving grace of wit or 
humor, though the easiest erxomium to 
wring from the easy-going critics is 
'brilliant.' Even John Drew, who once 
appeared in plays that one might ge to 
see without having the colic, is now 
playing in New York in a drama called 
'The Circle,* by W. Somerset Maugham, 
which is about as vile a production as 
one could imagine. It is more insidious 
than most of the filthy French farces; 
for the smut is gilded, and the author 
has a technical facility not unlike that 
of Oscar Wilde." 

There is good advice, quaintly ex- 
pressed, in the New Year's message 
which the editor of the Aynerican 
Magazine addressed to his readers. 
We find it reproduced, in part, in the 
Messenger and Chronicle (Fort Dodge, 
Iowa), under the cryptic heading, "Per- 
form Your Own I^.Iiracles," and quote 
these passages of it : 

January 1 and the days to follow will be 
no different from December 31 and the days 
behind, unless you make them different. One 
of the silliest human delusions is the idea that 
time will bring everything out all right. 

Foolish people leave all sorts of things to 
time. Some leave thv-5 question of ill health 
to time; others leave the question of thrift 
to time. Only to-day I heard of a twenty-five- 
thousand-dollars-a-year man, right here in 
New York, who at fifty is spending every 
nickel he makes, saving nothing. I suppose 
he thinks that God cares for the ravens, and 
that God will take care of him. God will no 
doubt care for him — just as He cares for the 
ravens. But ravens don't live until they lose 
their jobs because of old age. Neither do 
they require steam-heated apartments, under- 
clothes, and hair maltresscs to sleep on. 

Don't leave anything to Father Time. He 
won't do anything for you. He can't. All he 
does is to provide you room in which to per- 

fonn. If you sit in the cornv^r and wait for 
him to do your work, you'll be disappointed. 
Father Time is only a sort of janitor in the 
employ of the Almighty. He sees the tenants 
come and go; but he has nothing to do with 
any of them, cares nothing about them. When 
you enter the arena, he may bow and say, 
"Good-morning!" When you check out seventy 
or eighty years later, he may say, "Good- 
night!" That, howevei", will be the extent of 
his interest in you or knowledge of you. He 
sees billions pass in and out the gate, — dunces, 
mediocres, and bright boys like Julie Caesar 
and Willie Shakespeare. But they all look 
alike to Father Time. 

It is a good thing to recall at every 
season the heroic sacrifices of our 
foreign missionaries, who supply the 
world with a constant example of heroic 
sacrifice and hard-won achievement. 
Tlie following tribute, by an admirer, 
appeared in the columns of the Far- 
East; and, though dedicated to the Irish 
missionaries in China, it may be applied 
with equal right to apostles all over the 
world : 

There was no joyful gathering of friends in 
the houses of the crowded cities and plains. 
On Christmas Day there were no thronged 
confessionals, as at home, no greetings in His 
name. The incense stick burned iji the tem- 
ples along the nari-ow streets, and dull eyes 
stared at those Irish strangers, wondering 
what treasure they seek and what force 
urges them so far from home to preach the 
'unknown Christ. Amidst their loneliness, 
they experienced the secret joy that was 
Blessed Mary's and St. Joseph's when they 
passed unknown amongst the throng; and each 
one of them can say, in the words of Padraic 
Pearse: — 

For this I have heard in my heart that a man shall 

scatter, not hoard ; 
Shall do the deed of to-day, nor take thought of 

to-morrow's teen. 
Shall not bargain nor huckster with God — or was it a 

jest of Christ? 
Lord, I have staked my soul on the truth of Thy 
dreadful word. 

Yes, they have staked all on the truth of that 
night in the stable; on the love of Him who 
came down the Bethlehem road on a journey 
which ended on Calvary; on the incomprehen- 
sible, all-loving mystery of the Word made 
flesh, which is completed for us in the 
Blessed Eucharist. 

A Little Boy to a Statue of the Blessed 


^ HE yVE taken down my Christmas tree, 

And hid my toys away; 
They scold me when I sleep too long, 

And stop me when I play; 
But, though I'm noisy as can be, 
You always seem to smile at me. 

I think I'll be your little boy, — 

They say you're awful kind; 
And when folks think I'm very bad 

I know you'll never mind; 
And if I make a lot of noise, 
Of course you will not take my toys. 




II. — A Victory. 
LMER MARSDEN was seated at 
the big desk in his library, sur- 
rounded by a confused array of books 
and papers. The MS. of his great work 
on International Law, that he had 
hoped would make him famous, was 
thrust aside after hours of weary 
effort ; for the springs of his life seemed 
broken: he could neither think nor 
write. With his head buried in his 
hands, he was drearily considering 
Aunt Greyson's arrival, which Uncle 
Eph with great trepidation had just an- 
nounced to him. He must see her — he 

Aunt Greyson was a personage not 
to be denied; and yet he winced at the 
thought of her questions, her sympathy, 
her advice. If he. could only sleep, — 
sleep forever, and forget, — forget the 
agonizing pain of his loss, that grew 

more terrible every day. And then the 
tempting voice he had heard so often 
of late whispered in his ear that there 
v/as a way, a quick way, of escape, — 
a way that despairing men took when 
life v/as a burden too heavy to bear; a 
way that, in his early days, Elmer 
Marsden had been taught led to eternal 
ruin; but now — now. 

Of late years he had turned a deaf 
ear to those early teachings, and had 
given up the Faith of his fathers. The 
beautiful girl whom he had married had 
neither church nor creed, and he had 
been content to think as she did, — ^to 
find his heaven on earth with her. And 
now there was no star in his darkness, 
no faith, no hope, not even love. Aunt 
Greyson's coming had aroused him from 
his stupor into agonizing memories of 
the past. 

It was a black hour for the master 
of Shorecliff, as the tempter's whisper 
grew louder and more insistent; and, 
with his head bending lower and lower 
on his hand, he was listening, listening, 
listening so breathlessly that he did not 
hear the tap at his study door, repeated 
again and again. Then suddenly that 
forbidden portal burst open under an 
irate hand, and Aunt Greyson stood 
before her nephew, a very flushed, in- 
dignant Aunt Greyson, with a rosy baby 
in her arms. 

"Aunt Adelia!" he cried, starting to 
his feet. 

"Yes," said that good lady grimly, for 
her fighting blood was up, — "your Aunt 
Adelia and her great-niece, who, it 
seems, is the only one of the family to* 
give me a friendly welcome to Shore- 
cliff" (Lil'lady had clutched the visitor's 
glasses with a dimpled hand, and was 
cooing delightedly over the glittering 



prize) ; "my great-niece and your 
daughter, Elmer, whom I find here in 
her father's house without even a name ; 
your child, Helen's child, to whom you 
have given no care, no thought, - not 
even a pitying look; your child, Elmer 
Marsden! Have you forgot your love 
for Helen?" 

The speaker paused in sudden sym- 
pathy for the changed, broken man, 
who, with a low cry, had tottered back 
into his chair. 

"Don't," he cried hoarsely, — "don't 
let me see her ! I can not look at her, — 
the child that cost Helen's life! For 
God's sake take her away. Aunt Adelia, 
out of my sight, out of my mind !" 

And the unhappy man turned back to 
his desk and bowed his face in his 

But Lil'lady's soft coo was in her 
Great-aunt Greyson's ear, and the good 
lady's heart was stirred to its mother's 

"For shame, Elmer!" she said. "I 
would not have believed you could be 
so cowardly, so weak. To cast aside 
your own child, Helen's child, without 
name in your house, without place in 
your heart!" 

"Take her away!" was the shaken 
command. "I tell you I can not look at 
her. She drives me mad, — mad!" 

Again Aunt Greyson paused piti- 
fully, but she was not the woman to 
give up. She cast a quick glance at the 
bowed figure. The wide baize-topped 
desk at which he sat was a safe battle- 
ground even for a six months' soldier. 

"There!" said the determined old 
lady, as she plumped her great-niece 
down amid the scattered pages of Inter- 
national Law. "I leave you your child, 
Helen's child, Elmer. If you let her 
roll off that desk, she will break her 

"Aunt Greyson! Aunt Greyson!" 
cried her nephew, starting up in dire 

But Aunt Greyson was gone, leaving 
Lil'lady to fight it out alone. And she 
was doing it bravely. Righteously in- 
dignant at her great-aunt's desertion, 
^ she was roaring lustily, while her 
dimpled arms and legs waved and 
kicked, scattering the pages of Inter- 
national Law, overturning the inkstand, 
clutching at the student's lamp, making 
a wild havoc that would have ended 
quickly in a reckless plunge off the 
flat-topped desk, if her desperate father 
had not caught her, a soft, rosy, palpi- 
tating little prisoner, in his strong, un- 
willing arms. 

"Aunt Greyson ! Mammy Sue ! Some- 
body come, take this child!" he called. 
But the S. 0. S. cry was unheeded. Aunt 
Greyson, keeping grim watch at the 
study door, was seeing to that. 

Lil'lady was clinging in baby fright 
to her father, her soft arms clasping his 
neck, her cheek pressed to his; her 
touch,* her breath, her soft little sobs 
stirring his deadened, despairing heart 
into life, into love. 

"My baby, my baby, my Helen's poor 
little baby!" he murmured brokenly. 
And Lil'lady snuggled closer, as babies 
will in the consciousness of a strong 
man's hold, and cooed soft responses to 
the deep-toned voice. And wise Aunt 
Greyson, listening at the door, knew 
that the battle was won; knew that 
Lil'lady had come into her own. 

Before she left her nephew's home, 
she had settled matters like the valiant 
old woman she was. Lawn and porch 
and trellis, garden and driveway had 
been cleared up and put in order; Dan 
and Dave buttoned and bobbed into 
shape; Cousin Jane Jarrett, a maiden 
lady of uncertain years, taken out of the 
Church Home to which loss of fortune 
had consigned her, and installed as 
housekeeper. Last, but not least, 
Lil'lady was duly baptized by the old 
priest at Ridgely Point, and entered in 
the family Bible, on the page blotted 



by her father's shaking pen, as "Helena 
Carr Marsden." 

"I — I can not speak the name yet," 
Elmer Marsden had said hoarsely. 
"After a while perhaps, but not yet. 
Let us call her as Mammy Sue does, 
our 'Little Lady'— Lil'lady." 

Though all this had been eleven years 
ago, on this bright September day, that 
found her perched on a jutting rock 
fishing in Marsden Cove, Miss Helena 
Carr Marsden was Lil'lady still. The 
sturdy promise of her babyhood had 
been more than fulfilled. The golden 
curls tangled under her brother's torn 
hat had all their first' sunshine; the 
dimples played in the rosy cheek; the 
eyes — well, really, no one could tell 
much about Lil'lady's eyes. Sometimes 
they seemed blue, sometimes violet; 
sometimes, under the shadow of the 
long, drooping lashes, almost black. 
And they could sparkle and flash and 
grow misty with sudden tears all in one 
glance. And, despite the torn-brimmed 
hat, the head beneath it had the proud 
lift of a little queen's — though Lil'lady's 
costume had no trace of royalty, v/e 
must confess. She had waded out to 
the rock on which she was perched ; and 
her white middy blouse was torn, and 
her blue skirt was draggled, and she 
had left her shoes and stockings on the 
sands of the shore. For the lively 
Lil'lady was off on what her brothers 
called a "tear." 

Miss Gilbert, the governess, had gone 
home, and Mammy Sue was down with 
"rheumatiz" that would not let her 
leave her chair; and Cousin Jane was 
putting up quince jelly, that was the 
pride of her heart and required all her 
attention. Dad was coming home to 
dinner. He was kept at the court so 
much now, that dinner at home was an 
event to be celebrated. 

And Lil'lady meant to celebrate it 
with a fish, — a fish of her own catch- 
ing, — one of those big, shiny, silvery 

fish that dad boasted could be found 
nowhere but in Marsden Cove. And she 
would catch one for him; 4unt Salina 
would cook it, and "fix it up" with 
lemon and parsley and everything good ; 
and dad's eyes would shine as they did 
when she brought him his cigar or his 
tobacco bag or his slippers, — when she 
did anything for this dear, darling dad, 
who loved his "Little Lady" better than 
his own life. So, with Miss Gilbert 
safely out of reach, and Mammy Sue 
laid up by the old nursery fire, Lil'lady 
was venturing recklessly in untried 
ways to-day to show her dad that she 
loved him in return. 

Dan and Dave would never let her go 
with them to Steeple Rock, which, they 
declared, was no place for a girl. A girl 
indeed ! That wasn't her fault. Fifteen- 
year-old Dan was always "rubbing it in" 
that she was a girl. A girl ! As if she 
couldn't swim and run — aye, and 
climb — as well as any twelve-year-old 
boy on the beach! 

But even Dave, her live-long chum, 
was beginning to leave-her out of things 
because she was a girl. And, now that 
Dave had started off to a real boys' 
school, it would be worse than ever. 
Well, she would show them (and 
Lil'lady tossed tjie golden head under 
Dave's torn hat) what a girl could do 

Other girls might be "sissies," like 
Jessie Dunn, who would faint away at 
the thought of wading out to Steeple 
Rock with a tin cup full of fat worms, 
which she herself had dug, and which in 
her secret heart Lil'lady hated to touch. 
But only a fat, squirming worm would 
catch the big silver kingfish for dad's 
dinner; the fish that — goodness! — v/as 
bobbing her cork now. Lil'lady hauled 
in breathlessly, but only a little mudfish 
was dangling on her line. Again she 
tried; again, again; too eager for suc- 
cess to note the passing of time. It was 
not in the spirit of Lil'lady to give up a 



fight. As dad so often told her, she had 
battled for name and place on his desk 
top when she was only six months old, 
and won the day. And Helena Carr 
Marsden meant to ^\^n to-day, too. 

At last it came, — the jerk that nearly 
pulled her off Steeple Rock. A big king- 
fish was on her line. 

(To be continued.) 

A Spring hi the Desert. 


7^ HOSE of our young folk who are 
Vg) familiar with Cooper's "Leather- 
stocking Tales" — and no American boy 
at least should be ignorant of them — 
know that the ordinary foot-gear of the 
American Indian of other days was the 
moccasin. It was, and is, a shoe or 
cover for the feet, usually made of deer- 
skin or other soft leather, and having no 
stiff sole such as is found on the com- 
mon shoe or slipper. What a good many 
boys do not know, however, is that their 
grandfathers, especially such of them 
as lived within reach of an Indian 
camp, often wore during the winter 
season moccasins made, not of deer- 
skin or other valuable leather, but of 
common cowhide, or of calfskin. 

Sixty or seventy years ago, the or- 
dinary foot-gear for men was the top- 
boot with the leg reaching to the knee ; 
and the boys of that day rejoiced in 
little boots with red-leather tops and 
copper toes. To get a pair of moccasins 
all one had to do w«s to procure two 
pairs of boot-legs, cut from worn-out 
boots, and take them to an Indian. One 
of, these pairs he reserved for himself, 
from the other he made a pair of neat 
and comfortable moccasins. 

Moccasins are too warm to wear in- 
doors except in very cold weather. The 
Indians could use them at all times 
because they did not live as we do in 
well-heated houses, but in wigwams, 
cabins or huts made of the branches of 
trees and covered with rush mats or 
skins of animals. 

Q URING the rush for the California 
^ gold-fields in the Fifties a party 
took the route by Gila River, and set 
across the desert. The temperature 
was 120 degrees; the way was strewn 
with wrecks of skeletons, horses, and 
men; and on the second night, after 
crossing the Colorado, the water had 
given out. The party had gathered on 
the sands below Yuma, — the men dis- 
cussing^ the advisability of returning, 
the women full of apprehension, the 
children crying, the horses panting. 
But presently the talk fell low, for in 
one of the wagons a child's voice was 
heard in prayer: 

"0 good Heavenly Father, I know I 
have been a naughty girl; but I am so 
thirsty, and mamma and papa and poor 
baby want a drink so much ! Do, good 
God, give us water, and I'll never be 
naughty again!" 

One of the men responded earnestly : 
"May God grant it!" 

In a few moments the child cried out 
joyfully: "Mother, get me water! Get 
some for baby and me. I can hear it 
running somewhere.'-' 

The horses and mules nearly broke 
from the traces ; for almost at their feet 
a spring had burst from the sand, warm 
but pure. Their sufferings were over. 
The water continued to flow, running 
north for twenty miles, and at one 
point spreading into a lake two miles 
wide and twenty feet deep. When emi- 
gration was diverted, two years later, 
to the northern route and to the 
isthmus. New River Spring dried up. 
Its mission was over. 

Pen is a contraction of peuTia, the 
Latin name for the tubular part of a 
feather. When the ancients adopted 
quills instead of reeds for writing in- 
struments, they naturally used the name 
pemiae to designate them. 




— The writings of Juliana of Norwich are 
too well known to need recommendation. A 
series of "Meditations on the Litany of the 
Sacred Heart" has been compiled by F. A, 
Forbes and published in a book as precious 
as it is diminutive. Quaintness, simplicity 
and vision are its characteristics, as love is 
its meaning. Benziger Brothers, publishers; 
price, 50 cents. 

— "The Treasury of Indulgences," by M. P. 
Donelan, is well named. It contains in com- 
pact form an explanation of the nature and 
meaning of indulgences, the conditions neces- 
sary to gain them, definitions of the terms 
used in connection with them, and an admi- 
rably organized collection of indulgenced 
prayers. And there is an excellent index. 
It would be hard to achieve, in so small and 
neat a form, a better book of its kind than 
this. Published by the B. Herder Book Co.; 
price, 50 cents. 

— "Father Justin: A Story of Papua," by 

M. D. Forrest, M. S. C, comes to us from the 

Sacred Heart Monastery, Sydney, N. S. W. 

A realistic narrative of 'mission life in New 

Guinea, it is as interesting as it can not fail 

to be edifying and instructive. Father Justin 

is a type that is becoming more and more 

\ familiar in these days of accelerated mission- 

j ary activity; and the perusal of his story will 

[ encourage its readers to co-operate with the 

thousands of priests and religious who have 

left home and kindred and fatherland in order 

to follow the behest: "Going, teach ye all na- 

. tions." Price, 60 cents. 

— The Rev. Hugh Francis Blunt's new 

^ volume of verse, "My Own People," is guilty 

> of the sin customary among minor poets — in- 

■ eluding too much, and not polishing adequately 

: a little that might be very good indeed. The 

title of the book is derived from a group of 

poems that deal with Irish fancies and reflec- 

'T tions. How good they might be, one says, if 

. only Fr. Blunt had remembered that Celtic 

themes deserve artistry and that reticence is 

a virtue! Some of the religious stanzas in the 

volume are really appealing. It is tastefully 

printed, and bound in appropriate green. The 

Magnificat Press; price, $1.50. 

— We have so often inveighed against the 
absence of indexes from present-day volumes 
of essays, biographies, hist«ries, and treatises 
of varfous kinds, that we are glad to quote 

a brother editor who shares our annoyance at 
this notable defect. In its notice of "Aban- 
donment to Divine Providence," by the Rev. J. 
P. Caussade, the London Catholic Gazette 
says: "The book contains some S80 pages and 
is clearly printed. Its pages of 'Contents' 
are full and clear, but it has no general index. 
A good index would more than double the 
value of this book, to any one desirous of con- 
sulting it; for there are many points touched 
upon by Fr. Caussade, and many opinions 
expressed, which must escape all but the in- 
dustrious reader who cons every page." 

— "The novelist who never had a failure" 
is the Putnams' characterization of Ethel M. 
Dell, whose fourteenth book has just appeared 
under the title "The Obstacle Race." Readers 
unfamiliar with racing in general or with 
steeplechasing in particular may need telling 
that an obstacle race is a horse-race in which 
ditches, hedges, brooks, and other obstacles, 
must be jumped as they occur along the 
course. The tei*m, as applied to this novel, 
is used in a metaphorical sense: the obstacles 
in the way of the heroine are the temptations 
and subtle perils incidental to the dizzy whirl 
of a lax social environment. The tale of 
Juliet Moore's effort to overcome or to avoid 
such obstacles is an interesting one, full of 
rushing action, and possessed of not a little 
humor. Price, $1.90. 

— If a teacher's best written books are his 
pupils, what shall be said of Blessed Albert 
the Great and his angelic masterpiece? Yet 
for those who have not had the privilege of 
sitting at his feet to study the science of the 
saints, he has left his precious teachings on 
tablets less fair indeed than the white mind 
of St. Thomas, but lasting, nevertheless. The 
new edition of his "Paradise of the Soul" will 
rejoice the heart of all God's friends, and help 
them to some beginning of the virtues of 
which the sainted author, in the epilogue, so 
touchingly confesses his lack. The book is 
written with the system and precision of a 
scientist, and with the humble earnestness of 
a saint. One might describe it as sanctity "in 
a nutshell"; if further description is neces- 
sary, this one sentence will be eloquent: "The 
business of mercy is to give everyone a pFace 
with God according to his deserts." One 
might desire a better quality of paper for such 
superlative excellence of thought; with that 
exception, however, the book is a notably in- 



viting one, without and within. Published by 
P. J. Kenedy & Sons; price, $1.35. 

— "The Mystic's Experience of God," which 
appeared not long ago in the Atlantic 
Monthly, is distinctly and variously signifi- 
cant. On its face it bears witness to its own 
opening statement, that "the revival of 
mysticism has been , one of the noteworthy 
features in the Christianity of our time." For 
years past, Dom Savinien Louismet, O. S. B., 
has been one of the truest voices speaking in 
the wilderness of uncertainty upon the subject 
of mysticism. His series, "The Mystical 
Knowledge of God," "The Mystical Life," and 
"Mysticism, True and False," are authentic 
texts on the subject. Readers who are 
familiar with them need no assurance as to 
the quality of his latest book, "Divine Con- 
templation for All." Its aim is to secure or 
restore to every soul its heritage of natural 
and joyous acquaintance with God. It presents 
divine contemplation as the sweetest, easiest, 
noblest thing in the world, — the only normal 
relation between the soul of infinite desires 
and the infinite Object of those desires. The 
initiated will be thoroughly at home in the 
book, and understand its lessons, each in tei-ms 
of his own experience; the cautious and 
matter-of-fact, who fear not even sin so much 
as the "queerness" which their confounded no- 
tions confuse with spirituality, will be sur- 
prised to meet their own real aspirations on 
every page, and to discover that they, too, in 
desire at least, are mystics unawares. The 
chapters on "The Literature of God" and "The 
Works of the Saints" are in themselves real 
libraries of classified spiritual reading. P. J. 
Kenedy & Sons; price, $1.90. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

_ The object of this list is to afford informa- 
tion concerning the more important recent 
publications. The latest books will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make room for new titles. 

Orders should be sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country tvho keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 

Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 
"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 

J. Godfrey Raupert, K. S. G. (Peter 

Reilly.) $1.25. 
"Hispanic Anthology." ($5.) "The Way of 
' St. James." (Putnam's.) 3 vols. $9. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet. Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros.) $3.50. 

"The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. I. (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. 

"Heniy Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours." Shane Leslie, M. A, With Six 
Illustrations. (Burns, Gates and Wash- 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary." 
Rt. Rev. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Gates 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.) $7. 


Remember them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rev. William Considine, diocese of Detroit; 
Rev. J. F. O'M.eara, diocese of Providence; 
Rev. Michael Kelly and Rev. P. J. Broderick, 
diocese of Scranton; Rt. Rev. Msgr. P. C. 
Hayden, diocese of Natchez; Rev. William 
McCarthy, C. SS. R. ; and Rev. Thomas Slevin, 
S. J. 

Sister M. Gonzaga, of the Sisters of St. 
Dominic; Sister M. Fidelis, Order of the Visi- 
tation; Sister M. Basilla and Sister M. 
Lidwina, Sisters of the Holy Cross. 

Mr. Thomas Lamb, Mrs. Margaret Seer, Mr. 
William McMahon, Mr. John Lauterbach, Mrs. 
M. A. Kent, Miss Mary Brockmeier, Mr. James 
McNish, Mr. E. P. Alsop, Mr. William Edler, 
Mr. Charles Fleck, Mrs. Clara Hershberger, 
Miss Rose Kinney, Mr, Alfred Johnson, Mr. 
John Knoll, Miss Dora Lalor, Mr. Stephen 
Lalor, Miss Louisa Yorger, Mr. H. J. Wilken, 
Mr. D. Shine, Mrs. Emma O'Neill, Mr. Joseph 
Recar, Mr. John Mansfield, and Mr. John 

Eternal rest give unto them, Lord ; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (JOO days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who seeth in secret, wUl repay thee." 

For the famine victims in Russia: Mrs. M. 
J. M., $1; Mrs. John Goeres, $15; Rev. M. C, 
$25; frier\ds, $5; friend, $10. To help the 
Sisters of Charity in China: friend, $10; Rev. 
M. C, $25. For the sufferers in Central 
Europe: Mrs. B. P., R. C, $2.50; W. H. 
Hardy, $5; Rev. M. C, $50. For the Foreign 
Mission: Mrs. J. D., $2.50. 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 3 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 

The North Wind. 

BY W. H. 11. 

^HE wind is blowing over snow; 

It hurts my heart to-day; 
From far away, those breezes blow 
Down dear white hills where long ago 
My tirc^less feet could stray. 

And welcome on my face the chill 

That seldom now I know: 
This old, cold message of the hill 
Oft set my tingling sense athrill 
And made my young veins glow. 

Down the dark city sweeps that wind 

With its old voice and way: 
Ah! long ago, those hills behind, 
I found the kiss exceeding kind 
That hurts my heart to-day. 

In the Riccardi Chapel. 


iHE idea prevailed among 
many Christian people in the 
Middle Ages that all it was 
useful for man to know — 
the history of the world from its crea- 
tion, the dogmas of religion, the ex- 
ample of the saints, the hierarchy of 
the virtues, the variety of the sciences, 
of the arts. and crafts — was taught him 
by the stained glass of the church or 
by the statues that adorned its portal. 
It was on this account that the cathe- 
dral acquired the title which the early 
printers of the fifteenth century gave 

1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

to one of their first books, Biblia Pau- 
perum ("Bible of the Poor"). The 
simple, the unlettered, all those who 
were called "the holy plebs of God," 
learned by sight much of what they 
knew of their faith. 

These cathedral windows, so reli- 
gious in aspect, seemed to bear testi- 
mony of the truth. These innumerable 
statues were regarded as a type of 
the marvellous order which St. Thomas 
described as reigning in the world of 
ideas. "And the intermediary of art," 
says a recent writer, "the highest con- 
ceptions of theology and science, 
reached in a certain degree, and more 
or less clearly, even to the humble in- 
telligence of the people." 

Even at this day the traveller in the 
smaller towns of Italy may hear the 
peasants, no less than the townspeople, 
commenting on the works of art in the 
churches, and explaining to their chil- 
dren, with accuracy and appreciation, 
the legend or history depicted on the 
walls. ■ They are art critics by nature. 
They live in an art atmosphere, sur- 
rounded by the best examples of the use 
of art to religion, of which it is, and 
always has been, the handmaid. Flor- 
ence is, in its streets and squares and 
narrow lanes, in fact, a great open- 
air gallery filled with lovely works in 
terra-cotta, glazed and colored, — ex- 
quisitely beautiful, lifelike statues, 
grandly eloquent. 

Only about one traveller in five 
hundred of those who cross the Alps sees 



Italy, was the opinion of a man who 
lived long in the country, and compiled 
several books which have had an ex- 
ceptional popularity: Augustus J. C. 
Hare. They go to Milan, Venice, Flor- 
ence, Rome, and Naples; and stay at 
hotels much like those they have left 
at home, frequented by their own coun- 
trymen. They do not become ac- 
quainted with the life of the people, nor 
with their soul and sentiment as it is 
expressed in their architecture and in 
their art. 

Perhaps not one in a thousand of 
English-speaking travellers visits or 
even knows the existence of the tiny 
chapel of the Medici (now Riccardi) 
Palace in the Via Larga in Florence. 
When Father Faber, the founder of the 
London Oratory of St. Philip Neri, 
while still an Anglican minister, travel- 
ling in Italy, came to Pisa, where he 
beheld "the glorious baptistery, a tem- 
ple (most unusual sight!) raised to the 
sole honor of the Sacrament of Re- 
generation," he was profoundly im- 
pressed. At Florence he would have 
found a temple to honor the Nativity of 
Our Lord and His manifestation to the 

This, the private chapel of the Medici 
Palace, is cruciform and of small dimen- 
sions. In the middle of the fifteenth 
century, the proprietor commissioned 
Benozzo Gozzoli, the Only pupil of Fra 
Angelico, to paint the Nativity and the 
Adoration of the Angels and the Magi 
on the walls of this chapel. The Adora- 
tion of the Magi is a very old theme in 
Christian art. "In the ancient frescoes 
of the Catacombs," writes the historian 
Wilpert, "the Adoration of the Magi 
was represented by the offering of their 
gifts. Thirteen such compositions still 
exist; two have perished. The most 
ancient is one painted at the beginning 
of the second century." 

This subject in early times seems 
chosen as a tacit profession of faith in 

the divinity of Jesus Christ and in the 
divine maternity of the Blessed Virgin. 
About the seventh century, the Magi 
began to be regarded as representatives 
of the three important stages of human 
life: youth, manhood, old age. Others 
considered them as representatives of 
the three great races of humanity. 

In one of his conferences on the Chris- 
tian archeology of Rome, in 1876, the 
Abbe Duchesne, director of the French 
School of Archaeology and History, gave 
a very thorough, erudite report on' 
the Basilica of the Nativity in Beth- 
lehem. He read the letter of a Council 
held at Jerusalem in the middle of the 
ninth century, in which mention is 
made of the mosaics existing on the 
fagade of the Basilica. From this it 
appears that there was a representation 
of the Adoration of the Magi arrayed 
in their Persian costume, so well imi- 
tated that when the Persians invaded 
Palestine they took care that this monu- 
ment should be respected. This letter 
recounts that these mosaics were or- 
dered by St. Helen; and this confirms 
still more the Constantinian tradition 
of that famous Basilica. The birth- 
place of the Magi is thus indicated ; all 
the Christian world knows that their 
tomb is in the Cathedral of Cologne, — 
one of the great shrines of Europe. 

As we enter the Riccardi Chapel, the 
custodian throws on the walls the light 
of an electric reflector, which reveals 
the brilliant frescoes, still radiant after 
four centuries and a half. On first 
beholding these dazzling and rich com- 
positions, we acknowledge the accuracy 
of the judgment which declares this 
little chapel to be "one of the loveliest 
things to be seen in Florence." The 
subject is the Adoration of the Messiah 
born at Bethlehem, — ^the celestial and 
the earthly Adoration. In this work of 
Gozzoli, the angels descend from heaven 
to adore and glorify the Son of God on 
earth. Then come the great and power- 




ful Wise Men, with the insignia of royal 
pomi3, with rich gifts, and with the 
magnificence of their attendants, to pay 
homage to the King of heaven and of 
earth, and to offer to Him the tribute 
of their submission and their humble 
adoration. Such a subject — one of the 
oldest in Christian art — is full of reli- 
gious poetry, and susceptible of being 
treated with the most varied and 
picturesque details. 

At the end of one of the arms of this 
cruciform chapel is the altar, over 
v/hich was a very elaborate picture of 
the Virgin Mother adoring the new- 
born Messiah. This picture, which is 
supposed to have been painted by Fra 
Filippo Lippi, now hangs in the Gallery 
of Ancient and Modern Art in Florence. 
The Blessed Virgin is represented 
kneeling, with her hands joined in 
prayer and adoration. The Infant 
Saviour lies upon the ground. In the 
upper part of the picture, two hands, 
symbolic in art of the Eternal Father, 
emerge from a cloud ; and beneath these 
the Holy Ghost, under the symbol of a 
Dove with outstretched wings, seems 
to pour down rays of light and glory 
on the I^Iessiah. The scene is rocky, but 
r.round the Saviour abundant flov.'^ers 
bloom. And on the right appears the 
youthful figure of St. John Baptist, 
bearing a rod and a scroll, on which, 
in Latin, are the words, "Behold the 
Lamb of God." On each side wall of 
the altar niche is seen a choir of angels, 
perhaps fifty in number, rejoicing over 
the birth of the Redeemer. 

In Benozzo's work, all glitters with 
gold and glows with color: camels, 
hunting leopards, horses, men-at-arms; 
vesture of the richest texture and most 
gorgeous hues; a many-colored escort 
with Florentine personages in the 
crowd, and the artist himself looking 
out on the spectator. Amongst figures 
and objects worthy of note are the 
caparisons and harness of the horses, 

the Shepherds clothed as they were, in 
the days when the boy-shepherd Giotto 
was seen by Cimabue depicting them. 
Fashions have changed, but the shep- 
herd o'f the hills around Bethlehem is 
much the same as the shepherd of the 
Roman Campagna of to-day. Here the 
fairylike landscape, with its charming 
features in the background of these 
frescoes, is the adaptation of the lands 
and hills round Florence, with mountain 
castles and steep rocks, and bright- 
plumaged birds among the cypresses, 
pines and palms. 

But it is the choirs of angels that 
attract one most. 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those un- 
heard are sweeter. 

Some angels kneel ih adoration, with 
their arms folded; others offer flowers; 
some come forward with a dancing 
movement such as that of the boys 
in their solemn dance (seises) in the 
procession of the Blessed Sacrament in 
the Cathedral of Seville; these carry 
flov/ers in their hands or in the folds 
of their robes; others sing celestial 
music. All of them have golden glories 
(aureolas) round their heads; and 
on some of these gold discs are in- 
scribed, over and over again, the words, 
"Gloria in excelsis Deo"; on others, 
"Glorificamus Te"; and on the rest, 
"Adoramus Te." The first group kneel 
in devotional attitudes, and the words 
written round their heads^ are visible ' 
melodies which explain and interpret 
their angelic love and devotion. It is in 
presence of these figures that one re- 
alizes that the artist is the pupil of Fra 
Angelico, — 

The limner cowled, who never moved his hand 
Till he had steeped his inmost soul in prayer. 

The effect on the spectator is told 
by Mrs. Jameson : "The naive grace, the 
beautiful, devout expression, the airy 
movements of these lovely beings, melt 
the soul to harmony and joy." It was 
impossible for Benozzo to surpass his 



master in the mystic sense, which has 
become a type and standard for the 
highest devotional works; but he has 
surpassed Fra Angelico in his beauti- 
fully realistic delineation of accessories, 
and particularly of the landscape. Tak- 
ing advantage of the initiation of the 
new style, he gave to the personages in 
his pictures — radiant youths and 
majestic old men — the features of his 
protectors, the Medicis. Cosmo (in the 
guise and vesture of the Emperor of 
Constantinople, Paleologus, who had 
recently sojourned in Florence) figures 
as Melchior, the most aged of the Magi ; 
Piero de' Medici is pictured as Caspar; 
and Lorenzo, known in history as "the 
Magnificent," represents Balthasar, the 
youngest of the Three Kings. 

Meanwhile, the chanting angels in 
the Riccardi continue to repeat their 
laudations. "Can you not hear Jaqueline 
singing in the landscape?" said the 
painter Lantara to a friend. The longer 
one continues to look at these angels, 
with their wings of peacock feathers, 
gold and azure and emerald, the more 
one feels that their Glorias will soon 
break upon the ear. "Serried ranks 
of seraphs, peacock-plumed," as William 
Dean Howells writes of them, "and 
kneeling in prayer; garlands of roses 
everywhere; contemporary Florentines 
on horseback, . . . under the low boughs 
of trees; and birds flitting through the 
dun mellow atmosphere; the whole 
dense and close in an opulent yet deli- 
cate fancif ulness of design . . . . " 

The spectator can readily imagine he 
hears the words and the timbre of these 
angel voices. The various forms of the 
open lips suggest the voice — alto or 
tenor — of these lovely and brilliant 
groups of iris-hued choristers. They 
are not the almost visionary figures of 
Fra Angelico ; they resemble, and proba- 
bly have been, the choir boys of 
some neighboring church. They a^e one 
example of the new style. Luca della 

Robbia, the excellent worker in terra- 
cotta, has used such figures in the high 
relief balustrade of the old cantoria, or 
choir, of the Cathedral of Florence. 

The mistress of the Medici Palace, 
Lucrezia Tomabuoni, wife of Piero de' 
Medici, was quite a learned v/oman and 
a celebrated poetess. . About the time 
that Benozzo was engaged in painting 
the chapel, Lucrezia was writing 
Lauds to be sung at Christmas and 
Epiphany, appealing to the angelic 
Powers and the Cherubim to come to 
sing Gloria in excelsis to the Supreme 
God. "Behold the Messiah and His 
Mother Maria ! Arise from the eternal 
choirs, and come and hold a feast to the 
Lord of lords. Come and do not tarry." 
In the original Italian the verses are 
very beautiful, and they were sung to 
a popular and cheerful ballad. They are 
akin to the lovely, popular hymn Adeste 

The abundance of flov/ers that glad- 
den the eyes of the visitors to the 
Riccardi Chapel, and touch to tears the 
artists who come there, is based on a 
custom of the -more ancient painters, 
who, follo"\ving an old tradition, sur- 
rounded the new-born Messiah with a 
variety of blooms. 

And so profoundly has the sense of 
delight in the beauty and devotion asso- 
ciated with the Nativity entered into 
the Italian mind, that the churches are 
adorned with pictures of this theme; 
and the toys that children receive at 
Christmas, or more frequently make for 
themselves, consist of figures for the 
Cribs that adorn their homes. These 
are so numerous, and at times so 
picturesque, that one might be led to 
think that the whole land was a Christ- 
mas chapel filled with the wondrous 
harmonies that touch the soul through 
these silent Glorias. 

Faithfulness in little things fits one 
for heroism when great trials come. 



Basil Kirby. 


III. — The Countess and the Convent 
jHE girl was in a white dress, 
creamy, soft-textured, fall- 
ing in many folds. A dark 
cloak with pink lining hung 
over her arm. Her little white travel- 
ling hat had a light veil, thin as a wisp 
of cloud. Her luggage was ready, — 
"Two paquets," she said in answer to 
the nun. And then she gave a bewitch- 
ing little sigh at the thought of leaving, 
and stood looking from one to the otheiv 

The Reverend Mother asked Kirby to 
look at the view from the terrace before 
he went. 

"Oh, I must see the garden again!" 
cried Chesska, clasping her hands im- 

Basil Kirby carried the cloak for her. 
He noticed that ft was dark green, lined 
with the pink of a seashell. How ex- 
(luisitely artistic! 

They had but a few minutes to look 
at the distant yiew of sea and sky and 
dreamy purple mountains. And it was 
just as the nun had predicted: he never 
thought of the withered mimosa that 
bronzed the hill below their feet. As 
they came back through an avenue of 
palms — the Countess and the nun in 
front, he and Chesska following, — ^the 
girl suddenly touched his arm. 

"Come, please! I want to show you 
the Calvary.", 

The narrow path led to a clearing of 
sunlit grass jewelled with anemones. 
From a huge wooden cross planted 
among stones, a carved and painted 
Figure looked down, with nailed hands 
and feet and outstretched arms. To 
Kirby's mind, it jarred against all the 
ease of life. It was out of harmony with 
the Southern garden and the glorious 
sunshine, — this forlorn representation 

of suffering. Why, pain was the very 
thing every healthy man and woman 
shrank from, and death was the one 
thought that spoiled life. 

"May I wait for you here?" he said 
at the corner of the clearing. 

And then he saw a strange thing 
happen. This girl, pulsating with life 
and youth, climbed up the stones and 
put both her arms round the rough 
cross, and laid her soft cheek with 
closed eyes of love against the wooden 
feet. He could not look on any more. He 
was standing out in the palm avenue 
again when she arrived at his side. 

"You are a Roman Catholic?" he 
said, hinting a gentle deference to her 
superstitions, in spite of a tinge of dis- 

"No," said Chesska; "but I under- 
stand a good deal about the Church— 
Oh, there's Aunt Eugenie waving her 
fan, and she looks so cross! Oh, run, 
run !" 

Within the doorway of Sant' Isolda 
there was a medley of Italian and 
French, when Chesska said the last 
good-byes; and the Countess at inter- 
vals put in the English interjection, 
"Do come, child!" 

At last Chesska came, and they spun 
away down the hill, zigzag; and the 
Countess screamed at all the corners. 
Leaving the palm and cactus region, 
they passed the terraced roses, and were 
down in Mentone. 

They dined that evening at a little 
table for three in the garden of a hotel ; 
the Countess in black lace and Paris- 
paste diamonds ; the girl in white, 
studying Aynt Eugenie with some ner- 
vousness at the prospect of going to 
live with her; and Basil Kirby study- 
ing Francesca Brown, telling himself 
that she was highly interesting from an 
artistic point of view. 

He happened to say he had a place in 
Devonshire, but he could not go to stay 
there till he let the house in Half-Moon 



Street. Then it occurred to the Coun- 
tess that the charming little house in 
Half-Moon Street was the very place 
for her. 

"It is just what I want. There will 
be room for Ariel and for me, and this 
girl, and my French maid Yvonne. Oh, 
you dear man, what do you mean by 
that horrid, fenigmatical smile? What's 
the matter noio?" 

"Did I smile?" said Basil, quietly. 
"I was wondering if there would be 
room for that Pom." 

"What a wicked insinuation! My 
Ariel will not knock down anything. If 
that is all the hesitation is about, we 
are your tenants ; it is settled. We can 
see to the tiresome business details 
another time. Never do to-day what 
you can put off till to-morrow." 

The girl from Sant' Isolda did not 
talk much; perhaps she was filling the 
spaces like the celebrated parrot. Aunt 
Eugenie at near view was somewhat 
different from the lady of the bonbons ; 
she gave surprises. There were mo- 
ments when the prospect of living with 
the Countess was rather alarming. 

Now that the Half -Moon Street house 
was let to a friend, Basil Kirby spoke 
of going down to Patchley at once. The 
Countess was inquisitive. 

"And what is the attraction of 

"Many attractions. South Devon has 
its beauties even after the Riviera." 

"The country was well enough long 
ago, when it was all Maypoles and jolly 
old inns," the Countess observed. "I 
would have liked to 'foot it with you on 
the green' ; but if one can't do that sort 
of thing, the country is triste." She had 
one or two French words, to give her 
talk a flavor. "Are your people at 

"Not now," he said briefly. He did 
not tell her that there had been Kirbys 
of Patchley for centuries. "It's a very 
poor place," he said rather defiantly. 

"You wouldn't like it: just a big cottage 
and an old outhouse that we call the 
Bam, where one can carry on ex- 

"Experiments! Oh, you clever man, 
what is it all about?" 

"Mostly about glass. But don't count 
on finding me if ever you are in Devon- 
shire. I shall very likely have disap- 
peared to Birmingham or Stafford." 

"You make me so curious." The 
Countess leaned her large, soft arms on 
the table, and fixed upon him faded blue 
eyes, in which, however, there was still a 
lively twinkle. "I believe you have a fine 
country-house down in Devonshire. You 
might ask us to see it." 

He was not able, to ask any one to 
Patchley, he said. He assured her vnth 
sudden seriousness he never did ask any 
one. He was quite a hermit. 

The Countess held up a finger.. "You 
dear, clever, mysterious man ! I believe 
you have a beautiful wife down there, 
and you keep her like a Turkish lady 
behind those carved screens — you have 
one of them in your hall. What do you 
call it?" 

"Musharahiah, is that it?" he said,' 
with rolling r's and hoarse vowels. 

"That's it," replied the Countess. 
"What a beautiful word, — quite com- 
forting! It sounds Oriental, doesn't it? 
I believe, Mr. Basil, you are a regular 
Bluebeard. You may have had six 
wives, for all we know. I shall go and 
call on Mrs. Bluebeard." 

"All right!" said Kirby, shortly. He 
was turning round to summon the 
waiter and ask for cigarettes. "When 
you ladies rise, you will allow me to 
have a lonely smoke." 

"Oh, but we must not let you be 
triste!" said the Countess. "I smoke, 
too. Chesska, child, did any one at 
Sant' Isolda ever get a puff?" 

"No, Aunt Eugenie," said the girl, 
with laughter dancing in her eyes. 

"Well, then, you must learn." 



"Don't begin to-night," said Basil. 

She was a picture; Filippino Lippi 
would not have given her a cigarette. 

As the terrace darkened, the three 
walked up and down. There were fire- 
flies on the grass, and a spark glim- 
mered at two cigarette tips. 

"Then are we never to see you when 
you go down to Devonshire?" The 
Countess sang playfully the old words: 
"What, never? — No, never. — What, 
never ? — Well, hardly — ev-er !" 

Kirby became aware that the atten- 
tion of strangers was attracted. "My 
dear Countess," he said, "they will 
think we are a touring company. I shall 
be pleased to call on you whenever I am 
in town." 

His seriousness irritated her. "I 
adore a touring company," she said 
aloud in a tone meant for other ears. 
"We had a glorious time when we went 
from the Frivolity." 

Kirby glanced at the girl, and saw 
her eyes bright with wonder and her 
lips breathlessly parted. But the elder 
lady rattled on : 

"What is that the d^ne in the play 
says? 'If you are to be a wet blanket, 
we shall have no more cakes and ale.' " 

Chesska looked from one to the other, 
fairly puzzled. What did it all mean, 
and what was Aunt Eugenie going to 
say next? 

"It's somewhere in Shakespeare," the 
Countess said; "but I always did think 
Shakespeare an overrated man, don't 

Without waiting for an answer, she 
pounced upon a waiter, and came back 
iWith a little plate of pink ice and a silver 
^poon. Basil Kirby's eye caught a look 
from Chesska. He saw the reflection of 
^his smile flicker on her face. To him it 
was a delicious moment. They under- 
stood each other. 

It was not long till Chesska's curi- 
)sity was satisfied. Aunt Eugenie was 
touch a puzzle ! 

Under the light of the Southern 
moon, the two sat on the balcony out- 
side Chesska's window, when it was 
time for the girl from Sant' Isolda to 
be fast asleep in her bed. Aunt Eugenie 
was in magnificent, sweeping garments 
that might have been a rest-gown for an 
empress. She was saying: 

"I want to talk to you, my dear. I can 
never sleep till two o'clock at night. 
My nerves are too highly strung. How 
beautiful the moonlight is! How it 
shines on the sea ! Oh^ my dear, it looks 
like the drop-scene at the Old Fri- 
volity !" And she gave a deep sigh. 

The Countess enjoyed talking. Her 
confidence was really so interesting that 
Chesska ceased thinking how nice it 
would be to go to sleep. 

Aunt Eugenie did not begin quite at 
the beginning. She began with the 
drop-scene. It was hard work over in 
Southwark at the halls. 

"Clog-dancing, my dear; and there 
was a little song about the bells, when I 
leaned to one side and put my left hand 
to my ear, and then lunged to^the left, 
like that, and up with my left hand to 
listen. We won't talk about that miser- 
able time. Well, I came to the 'Friv' to 
play Often-back. That beautiful moon- 
light on the sea is just like our drop- 
scene. I'd been a good many years 
there, my dear, when I took pity on 
Algie, an infatuated boy, Lord Feather- 
wick's son. The Honorable Algernon 
de Vere Sopley he was, — a broken- 
hearted boy of twenty-two. Lord 
Featherwick, I believe, nearly broke his 
head, which was worse than having his 
heart broken. Anyhow, we got married 
at the parish church in Putney;' and, 
as true as I live, I'd never been in a 
church before, and I never wanted to go 
again, it was so damp. All the company 
came to see me married, and they were 
all wild. I think what made them 
jealous was his being the 'Honorable.' 
I took care to tell them he was." 



And the old lady in the moonlight, 
with an arm on the balustrade, put iip 
her powdered chin, facing round de- 
fiantly, just as she did when she was 
boasting in the green room at the Fri- 
volity long ago. 

"He died," she said; "but, candidly, 
he bored me dreadfully. One gets tired 
of being told one is a rosebud washed 
with dew. You must not think me 
heartless, my dear! I had always too. 
much heart, and both |:imes I married 
I was too easily taken in. It's so many 
years ago now, I don't mind saying I 
don't think he was all there at the top. 
Why, the silly boy nearly missed 
getting married! Twelve o'clock was 
the legal hour then; you wouldn't be 
married if it was a minute past twelve. 
He blamed me, of course, and said my 
eight bridesmaids and I took too long 
getting ready. But it was he dawdled ; 
and he had to give a tip — gold, too — 
to the man in the vestry to pi^t back the 
hand of the clock. Well, it's all over — 
poor Algie! — and he left me very well 
provided for.' 

"The lawyer wanted me to have a 
cottage in the country. 'No, sir; that's 
not my style,' I said. 'Lord Feather- 
wick need not imagine I am going to 
devote the rest of my life to keeping 
pigs and chickens. The widow of the 
Honorable Algernon de Vei'e Sopley is 
not going to retire from the world. I 
prefer to be an ornament to society.' So 
I used to winter on the Riviera and do 
my shopping in Paris. They thought 
me lucky at Monte Carlo. But I never 
went there after I met your poor dear 
Uncle Giulio. It would have been the 
ruin of Giu. I had to take him to a 
quiet place like London." 

"And did he make you happy. Aunt 

"Oh, my dear girl," exclaimed the 
Countess, "never get married ! My ad- 
vice is exactly the famous advice of our 
Punch. Haven't you heard of it? 

Punch's advice to tl^ose about to marry 

is, 'Don't!'— that's all." 

' "I'm sorry to hear that. Aunt 


"Yes, my dear! Giulio Was a very 
handsome man in the style of a hair- 
dresser's wax dummy, with curly hair 
and a mustache. He pawned my jewels, 
he gambled away my money; he kept 
me sitting up for hours at night wait- 
ing for him, and he would lunge into 
the drawing room with his hat on. Oh, 
I shall never forget it!" 

The Countess paused, and her silver- 
grey puffs and curls shook ruefully in 
the moonlight. Both marriages had been 
a disappointment. She had never got 
into the fashionable world, in spite of 
good looks and money and a thousand 
arts. Her final effort had been at the 
time of a great bazaar at the Albert 
Hall. There was to be royalty present, 
and the subscription list was in the 
newspapers. She made up her mind to 
sacrifice one string from the pearl neck- 
lace the late Algernon had given her. 
She was the Countess Cavaletti now, 
though it was only a foreign title; and 
that pearl string would, so to say, lead 
her into the royal circle. Even the 
graceless Giulio might pull himself 
together and be allowed to follow her. 
But at this part of her confidence to 
Chesska, she passed lightly over the 
bazaar and her hopes of using the pearl 
string, and told only the sorrowful tale 
of the greatest shock she ever got in 
her life. 

One night she had sat up for the 
Count; and when he came in, he called 
her an adorable owl, — meaning an 
angel, of course. "I gave him one 
withering glance," she said, "and I can 
speak icily when I like. 'Sir,' I said, 'I 
do not want to hear your opinion of me 
any more.* After that we never spoke 
to each other, except in public, when we 
became actress and actor, to save 
appearances. And during that state of 



things, my dear, I made up my mind tp 
sell some of my pearls for a charity. I 
had a beautiful necklace of five strings, 
of fabulous value, — poor Algie's wed- 
ding present. I took the necklace. (I 
had worn it at the opera the night 
before.) I took my courage in both 
hands, and drove down to the Strand, 
and showed it to Mr. Attenworth. That 
is the shop, you must know, where ad- 
vances of money are made on the most 
precious jewelry to distinguished peo- 
ple. I shall never forget my nervous- 
ness. I put on a businesslike air, as if 
I could buy up the whole shop }.t I liked ; 
and I said I wished to part with thfe 
largest row of pearls — huge they 
were — so as to give to a public charity, 
which I mentioned. I am afraid, my 
dear, my virtues are not heroic, and 
I felt it a wrench. And it was quite 
horrible to risk being seen going into 
Attenworth's at all. ^ 

"Well, he took me into the inner 
room, and held my necklace under a 
globe of electric light, and we nearly 
quarrelled. He said they were not real. 
My heart stopped, and the man and the 
room went round and round. I said of 
course they were ; those pearls were the 
wedding present of my first husband, 
the Honorable, et caetera; and I gave 
him my name and title — ^the Countess 
Cavaletti. He said : *Ah ! then, perhaps 
you have forgotten, Madam, that the 
Count was sent by you to sell a similar 
necklace about two months ago ; and he 
explained that an exact replica had been 

"The perfidy! I understood at once. 
It was mock pearls I had been wearing, 
and my own were gone. The next night 
we went to the opera again — I had lots 
of tickets from old friends — and while 
the applause was going on Giu said: 
'Mon ange, why do you not wear your 
pearls?' I said: 'Pair feed' (which is 
the French for traitor), 'because you 
have stolen them.' And after that he 

bolted' to Monte Carlo. Is it any wonder 
my hair is grey ? He did not live long — 
poor Giu, he was a sad dog, — and I got 
all my widow's things in Paris from 

Chesska was full of curiosity on 
another subject. She had to wait for a 
decent interval to let the Countess dwell 
on the memory of Uncle Giulio, or per- 
haps to think of « the Parisian black, 
which still seemed to give consolation. 
After half a minute the impatience of 
the girl prompted the question: 

"Tell nfie. Aunt Eugenie, who is Mr. 

j.vixwj' . (To be continued.) 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 
New Series. 

BY K. c. 


A TURF fire, — right down on the 
hearthstone. If you have never sat 
by it, on a little narrow Irish stool, 
you don't know what fireside comfort is. 
There is a big pot over the fire, of 
course, — hung high up by a hook and 
a chain. The half -door is closed across 
the lower part of the entrance. A 
curtain of transparent muslin covers 
the window. The Galway street is 
darkening otitside, and we sit about the 
turf fire. One sees a back room through 
an open doorway; and no doubt there 
are two more rooms upstairs. 

It is only a cottage of a row, but 
there is a mysterious cow somewhere 
beyond the garden. Wherever the cow 
lives, the milk is real. It is warmed at 
our evening visit and we sip it from 
big white cups. A cup, if you please, is 
a "cupawn"; of course c-u-p-a-w-n is 
not the way to spell it, bul; it is the way 
to say it, which in the cottage is the 
main thing. And a "cupawn mohr" is 
a big cup; and milk is "baw — " Ah, 
there we must stop ! There is no spell- 
ing it in English. 



So we sit about the turf fire on the 
narrow Irish stools, admiring the 
kindliness and the comfort of the little 
home. The people have a natural 
politeness tempered by simplicity. The 
pleasant old man wears his hat, as he 
sits by the door chopping greens for the 
cow, and struggling with the difficulties 
of teaching us Irish. The low-crowned 
hat appears to be a fixture, but that is 
his way; and he has the ease and 
courtesy of a gentleman. There is always 
a friend or two, and they are welcome 
to a meal. The boy keeps amazingly 
quiet, and follows the chat and the frag- 
ments of Gaelic, making no interrup- 
tion till there is a discussion about a 
word. The point is whether it is right 
to say "a'gul" or "a'dul"; and then, 
though his father and mother are 
strong for "a'gul," he can't help putting 
in, "It's 'a'dul' in the book!" And he is 
right; for the difference is only made 
by colloquial custom. 

Gaelic is goin^ on fast among the 
boys and girls of the schools ; and where 
it is understood at home, it is easily 
learned. The language is more openly 
spoken now. In great centres like Cork 
city, it flourishes among those who have 
studied it; and it spreads in the West 
as the language of the people, no longer 
hidden. One hears it at every fair; it 
is the native tongue of the buyers and 
sellers. In the highlands of Donegal, 
the sound of it is everywhere. Gaelic 
is no longer timid of ridicule and con- 
tempt. If one is among the Irish people, 
one can soon find those who speak it 
now, even without going so far as the 
Aran Islands, which used to be the 
great stronghold of the language. The 
child here in the cottage can talk it and 
understand. Her fair hair hangs about 
a rosy face as she sits listening on her 
stool at the corner of the hearth, with 
bare feet dangling towards the floor. 

Presently a shawled head appears 
over the half-door, and in comes a girl 

without a word of English. She is in 
Galway from Aran. The shawl slips 
back, as she takes a seat in the circle. 
Hers is a soft round -face, with dark 
hair smoothed to a coil. Her eyes are 
such as the inspired writer thought 
beautiful. "Her eyes are as the eyes of 
doves," — that is, of dovelike gentleness. 
She has a healthy clearness of com- 
plexion such as could be produced by 
no beauty specialist of Paris, New York 
or London. She sits silent, with an air 
of blissful repose. There has been a 
bad raid on one of the Aran Islands; 
perhaps she was living on another. 
Let us hope she will go no farther than 
the mainland of holy Ireland. Her in- 
nocence is in her face; she is on the 
safe road to heaven; her Rosary, no 
doubt, is somewhere in her pocket, and 
(except for original sin, which was 
washed off in Aran) she belongs to an 
unfallen world. It is a wonderful thing 
to look -at her with an unobserved 
glance, and to think of the restfulness 
of not speaking English — and not read- 
ing the newspapers. 

Another visitor comes on a dark 
evening of chilly rain. It can rain in 
Galway. It seems as if the whole top 
of the Atlantic has gone up, and is 
coming down all day by instalments. 
On that wet night there was a new voic^ 
behind us. "I've looked in to see if you 
have a coat. I've nine miles to go." 
Yes, the coat was produced at once 
from the back room, and the friend in 
need was helped to thrust his arms up 
the sleeves. Then he vanished into 
the darkness and the rain. He had a 
cart outside. 

A third visitor on the bright even- 
ings was a quiet, good-natured girl, 
who came, of course, as a neighbor, 
hatless, or (as they say) "in her hair" ; 
but when she went shopping she dressed 
with a stylish hat instead of a head- 
shawl. She confided to us her desire i| 
to go to England "to service." We 



promptly gave her Punch's advice to 
those about to marry, applying it to the 
girls about to leave Ireland. "Don't!" 
is the only word to say to them. 

There is a road from Galway city 
towards the sea, — a long road, with 
many turnings. Rows of houses continue 
all the way at the right-hand side, large 
and small, varied by fine residences de- 
tached among the trees of their own 
gardens. Round the last turn one 
comes out on the shore of Galway Bay, 
fringed with broken rocks and sand. 
In summer children play there on the 
weedy margin of the water, and build 
castles, and look for crabs in little 
stretches of white sand. On the right- 
hand side of the road is now a row of 
low-roofed, white seaside houses, with 
their rooms hired by the people who 
walk up and down by the sea wall and 
enjoy the breezes and the sight of the 
blue hills of Clare. One can not imagine 
a more tranquil spot. Here one breathes 
the breath of the ocean and sees the 
western sun go down on dazzling 
waters. And yet a terrible tragedy 
happened between Galway city and this 
peaceful spot ; and Barna, farther along 
the coast, had its owti days of blood- 
shed and horror, as well as close 
proximity to the last scene of the Gal- 
way sacrilege. 

On the road from the city to Salt 
Hill there is a mansion surrounded by 
an undulating and thickly wooded park. 
Its name, Lenaboy, is probably derived 
from the Gaelic words meaning the 
"yellow field,"— the "golden field," as 
we might say, yellowed with flowering 
weed. There is no such gilding on the 
ground of Lenaboy now. The great 
house and densely wooded ground 
became the temporary headquarters of 
"the Auxiliaries." Evidence points to it 
as the scene of the crime that "killed 

The one-sided road towards the old 
city takes many a turn before a certain 

terrace of houses is reached, — neat 
little houses with a few steps to their 
doors; and at each side of the door a 
window; a few more' windows are 
above, close under the slate roof. In 
one of those quiet, old-fashioned little 
houses we found lodging. It w^s a 
homely place, — the windows set in walls 
built thick against the wintei: storms, 
and old trees of the back garden rising 
close above the low roof. 

We chanced to ask from what part of 
Galway was Father Griffin taken out to 
his death. The answer was, "From 
the third next house ; there are but two 
houses between this and his door." A 
breathless silence; we had come very 
near the place of the tragedy. Then 
another question: "You knew him?" — 
"Of course we all knew him. He used 
to be out there on the road, with the 
little children about him. He would 
go talking to them when they were 
playing. He was all for the poor and 
the children. He used to get up 'little 
evenings' for the poor, to bring the 
people together." 

So we go out on the road. There is 
a low stone wall opposite, with oc- 
casional trees hanging over it. Fields 
are beyond; and those roofs in the dis-^. 
tance belong to the quarter called the 
Claddagh, where the Spanish ships once 
came up to the quays, and where behind 
the fishermen's cottages one still sees 
the ruins of the merchants' houses. So 
this place looks across the fields towards 
the Claddagh. 

We go the few paces between our 
lodging and Father Griffin's house. 
There it is with an ivied front, a flight 
of steps, an archway at the side under 
one of the upper windows. Still farther 
down the road is the Jesuit house and 
church, beyond a high hedge of red 
fuchsia. That house — a substantial 
bijilding standing back from the road — 
was raided one night by fifty men, but 
only for a search. They broke the door 



in before the rector could get the key to 
open it; and while some of these uni- 
formed roughs burst into the hall, one 
of their number climbed in by a 
window. They carried off papers of no 
importance, and a few specimens of 
Arthur Griffith's Republican stamps, 
which were being kept as historical 
curios, and no doubt found their way 
as loot to the best buyer. 

Farther yet down the road, the 
cottages are at both sides, a;nd we 
turned into a little shop and bought 
biscuits. It is a very poor general 
store. "Did you know Father Griffin?" 
is asked again. Before his mother could 
answer, the boy of fifteen broke out 
with one impulsive word: '7 knew 
him, — the best man on this earth, that's 
what Father Griffin was." 

And then at the cottage, where we 
sipped hot milk from the large white 
cups, and sat about the turf fire, v\'e 
asked again the same question: "Did 
you know Father Griffin?" The whole 
group woke into excitement at the 
name. "Why, he was often in here!" 
The old man left his work and bent over 
into the circle. Love, horror, indigna- 
tion were poured out, in whispers, in 
silences, in shuddering outbursts, three 
voices at a time. The child lost her 
shyness and found a tongue to talk of 
the priest who had played with her on 
the road and given her a shilling for 
speaking Irish. With the little face 
quivering with eagerness,' and the 
bright hair hanging round it, she 
slipped down on bare feet from her 
stool. "They killed the priest!" she 
gasped out, with a horror the nearest 
thing to infinite. 

From generation to generation these 
things will go down to the Ireland of 
the future. That child will remember 
and tell the tale when the rosy face is 
shrivelled and the bright hair is grey. 
She will remember it with the added 

horror that comes of greater knowl- 
edge. Through the length and breadth 
of the land, in thousands of homes, the 
atit)cities of these times are branded 
into the memories of the people. What 
are they to think of English rule and 
English methods? What are they to 
think of the sending over, of brutalized 
men armed with full , powers to ter- 
rorize and burn and slay? Ask them 
what they think of Cromwell. Everj' 
man, woman and child knows and 
scorns the name after three hundred 
years. Even from England's point of 
view, was there ever a blunder like the 
colossal blunder of the reign of terror 
in Ireland? If the nations are ever to 
become friends, ' why did the stronger 
Power let loose a horde of torturers 
upon the smaller nation, and create a 
tradition of cruelty "worse than Crom- 
well's time"? 

"This place was shot up for a whole 
month," says the poor woman by the 
turf fire. She told how they had the 
curfew early, and the wooden shutters 
had to be closed against the window, 
and the door kept fast, and not a ray 
of light shown; and then the lorries 
went up and down the road, "firing 
shots on each side at everything." Only 
in the morning, or a day or two later,, 
by word of mouth they heard the hor- 
rors that happened. 

We were talking there of less sad 
things, trying to learn the Gaelic again, 
and laughing to hear the long phrases 
baffling us, because half a sentence 
joined up like one word. We were 
cheerily employed after all the sorrows, 
when a man's voice, mellow and gentle, 
said, "I hope I don't inthrude?" 

He took a seat beside us at the 
turf fire. And after a time we were 
back at the tragedy again; for, of all 
men on earth, he was the very man that 
lifted the body of Father Griffin out of 
the bog. 

(To be continued.) 





St. Agnes. 

Robin the Page. 



^LL down the thronging years,. 

With joy too deep for tears, 
Thou dost thy blissful light impart 
To Rome's forever captive heart. 
Sweet martyr, holy Agne^. 

radiant, spotless child, 
Amid a world" defiled, 
Thou passest o'er the fearful scene. 
Blithe maiden and majestic queen. 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

Serene and happy soul. 
The world thou dost control; 
The wicked city bows to thee, 
Captived by utter purity. 

Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

Thou seemest not to feel 
The searing flame or steel; 
Nor Satan's rage^nor world nor crowd 
Athwart thy sunshine casteth cloud, 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

For perfect charity 
Hath cast out fear from thee; 
Thou from thyself thyself hast bann'd. 
Who art already in God's hand. 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

Thou last and crowning grace 
Of all the Claudian race. 
Of earthly princes after-flow'r. 
Princess of Heaven's court this hour, 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

See, holy maiden, — see! 
Earth's homage unto thee 
Breaks forth in waves of almond spray 
Along the loved Nomentan Way, 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

See children's faces bright 
With thy reflected light. 
And sinners in thy pleading smile 
Grown little children free from guile, 
Sweet martyr, holy Agnes. 

The shortest life is long enough if it 
lead to a better, and the longest life is 
short if it do not. — Colton. 

I. — Carrs Court. 

IT was Eastertide in Old England, the 
England of Mary's Dower, of stately 
long processijOns, of pilgrimages, min- 
strels, tournaments, and May-poles ; and 
it so chanced that the great feast fell 
early. Primroses, anemones, and violets 
peeped up in moss-dale woods. Squirrels 
leaped joyously from bough to bough; 
the tip-tap^ of the woodpeckers was 
heard in the hollow trees. It was noon- 
tide as Robin the minstrel entered the 
forest, unslung his harp, seated himself 
comfortably on a grassy knoll, drew 
some cakes from his pouch, and ate 
them to the last crumb. Still hungry, 
"Robin," he said to himself, "thou must 
foot it farther, and see what luck 
awaits; must play and sing for a plate 
o' hot pie." 

His merry brown eyes looked sad for 
a moment, but for only a moment; for, 
like a juggler's ball, he was ever on the 
rebound. Then he slung his harp across 
his shoulders and tramped on again. 
After a while he left the wood behind, 
and found himself on a broad, white, 
open road. He glanced at a square of 
parchment in his pouch, on which waS 
drawn a rude kind of map, and found 
Carrs Wood and Pilgrims Way marked 
on it. "I'm set on the right way. The 
priest who gave this to Uncle Austin 
had once lived here," thought Robin, 
•as he quickened his pace. 

By and by he came to a long,, square- 
towered church of gray rubble, dedi- 
cated to St. Walstan, and walked up the 
narrow pathway into the porch, which 
)vas fitted up with a holy water 
stoup, and a wooden bench, on 
which many a "grannie" and "gaf- 
fer" had rested, and talked of the 
discovery of a strange New World in 
the West, where nuts as big as infants' 



heads grew on palm trees, and men 
picked up silver as boys did pins and 
needles in the woods. Robin dipped 
his forefinger in the holy water and 
went into the church. 

What a fair, sweet temple it was! 
The sunlight fell through unpainted 
windows on many benches, on the 
shrine of Our Lady, with its vases of 
woodland flowers and tapers; on the 
shrine of St. Walstan, with its figure of 
the herdsman saint and his white oxen ; 
on the Holy Rood over the sanctuary 
arch, and the tabernacle beyond. 

The minstrel drew out his canvas 
bag, and, taking a coin from it, dropped 
it into the box by Our Lady's shrine; 
then lit a taper and knelt down. He 
had been left an orphan, but had a dim 
remembrance of a frail woman with a 
cai*essing voice and soft dark eyes, 
whom he used to call "mudder"; and 
now and again her memory recurred to 
him in his wanderings, and his Aves 
were more fervent. All kind and tender 
mothers link us to the Mother of God. 

He left the church.and went straight 
onward, and soon found himself near a 
river debouching into a silvery broad, 
over which the wild birds- flitted. A fair 
bridge crossed the water; and at the 
head of it was a chantry, at whose door 
stood a brown-robed friar ,-^a man with 
a kindly face and a grey beard. Father 
Phocas by name. 

"Blessed be God !" said the friar, with 
a devout cheerfulness. 

"In His angels and in His saints!" 
responded the youth. 

"Enter and rest, my son," said the 
chantry priest. 

Robin accepted the invitation, and 
duly found himself in a cell-like room 
adjoining the oratory. 

"Art hungry, son?" asked the priest, 

Robin owned that he was ; and Father 
Phocas set a brown bran loaf and a jar 
of honey before him, on the shelf-like 

table, saying: "Youth likes sweets. I 
have hives not far from here; and my 
little friends, the bees, provide me with 
horiey for feast-days. Hast come far?" 

"From London, Father." 

"Whither bound?" 

"To Silverbridge." 

"Art alone in the world?" 

"Yea. I have no near relative since 
my Uncle Austin died." 

He then told his sympathetic hearer 
of his life with his uncle, of his learning 
the art of minstrelsy, and his resolve 
to lead a minstrel's life. 

"Think twice of it, boy," counselled 
the Franciscan. "By and by the pleas- 
ures of the world will pall upon you; 
you will tiro of them as children do of 
gingerbread at a fair. Farmer Little- 
proud needs a boy to help the shepherd. 
It might be wiser to be that same boy, 
and bide here. Shall I speak for you?" 

"Nay, good Father.. It is kind to 
think of a wandering lad. But I'd 
sooner see the booths in that same big 
fair and buy and eat the ginger nuts." 

"I see you will have your way;., but 
-the Good Shepherd can bring His sheep 
home from all pastures. Wilt bide here 

"Nay, Father. I am on my way to 
Carrs Court. Uncle Austin once made 
an image of Our Lady for Sir Thomas, 
and he spoke of him as of one whose 
heart was kind." 

"He said truth ; Sir Thomas is a good 
Catholic, and a real scholar." 

"They do say tl\at the Lady sPiana is a 
Court beauty," rejoined Robin. 

"May the Good Shepherd lead her 
home also! May we all find rest and 
place at His Blessed Mother's feet!" 
said Father Phocas, solemnly. 

"Amen!" replied Robin, and he then 
asked for a blessing, thanked his host 
for his kindness, and once more went 
on his way. Passing through a field, 
he asked a goose boy if he was far dis 
tant from Carrs Court. 



"Nay, 'tis near. 'Tis the first fine 
house you'll come to," shouted the lad 
from his seat on the stile. And Robin 
"picked up his feet" and tramped along 
till he saw the cliimneys of a large grey 
homestead rising up amidst the gi-een- 
ery, and rightly guessed that the place 
was Carrs Court. 

Passing through the white gates, he 
walked up the long beech avenue and 
reached a wide yard, full of hayricks, 
geese and turkeys. Facing the door 
was a pump; for, owing to some queer 
architectural freak, the beech walk led 
to the back of the house, and the front 
was where the rear should have been. 

The minstrel stood by the open doer 
and bided his time. But he had not 
long to wait. A dark, sparkling-eyed 
child, in a rose-colored frock, with a 
basket of corncobs in her hand, came 
along the stone passage, and paused 
when she saw Robin. 

"Oh," she cried joyously, "a big boy 
with a harp! Play to me, please! I 
was going to feed the chickies, but I'll 
hear the music first." 

Robin smiled, and swept the harp 
strings, then began singing a little song. 
The sound of the voice and the instru- 
ment brought listeners; and amongst 
them, or rather to them, came a tall, 
dark, grave-looking gentleman, to whom 
the others gave place. "So, a trouba- 
dour?" said he. And Robin left off 

"Ask him in, dad, — ask him into the 
hall to play to mother and me," pleaded 
the fairy, seizing his hand and jumping 
up and down. 

"Quiet, quiet, Ciss!" said Sir Thomas 
Carr. "Where hast come from, boy?" 

Robin told him. 

"A far town from here. Follow me." 

The lad obeyed him, nothing loath, 
and followed him into a large oak- 
panelled hall, hung round with armor, 
ancient weapons, and deers' antlers. A 
great wood fire burned on the marble 

hearth; there were beautifully carved 
screens, and the polished floor had a 
tiger skin (brought from farthest 
India) for a rug. The light fell through 
a painted window like one in a 
church, on which, in letters of gold and 
purple, was blazoned the Carrs' family 
motto, Omnia Vanitas. 

In one of the ingle-nooks, toying with 
a hound at her feet, sat a beautiful 
woman, in a primrose-tinted silken 
gown, slashed with brown velvet. Her 
coif, or headdress, was of the last new 
mode introduced from France by Mis- 
tress Anne Boleyn; and its coquettish 
richness enhanced her dark, rich 
beauty, which put the beholder in mind 
of a ruby, or, better still, a damask rose. 

It Was Lady Diana, the only daughter 
of Basil, Earl of Thetford, who had led 
a wandering life on the Continent for 
years before he died, owing to his 
having incurred the -displeasure of 
Henry VII. He had died all but penni- 
less, leaving his daughter Diana a 
young maid of honor at the Court of 
Francis. Here, in France, she met her 
maternal cousin. Sir Thomas Carr, 
when he came with his royal master, 
Henry VIII., to the Field of the Cloth of 
Gold; and when he asked the bright 
beauty to wed him, she consented and 
became mistress of Carrs Court. The 
cabbages in the cabbage patch may love 
the butterfly, but the butterfly loves the 
flower garden ; and Diana Carr liked to 
be at Windsor better than in East An- 
glia, and so she spent much of her time 
at Court. 

When she saw Robin, she left off 
pulling the dog's ears, and bade him sit 
by the fire. She gave him French 
sweets, and a big piece of cake, and a 
goblet of hot wine and water, talking 
merrily the while. Cicely tossed a 
white woollen ball about, and Sir 
Thomas looked on pleasaiitly. 

When Robin had ended the recital of 
his adventures. Sir Thomas turned to 



him and said : "Son, be advised by me, 
and give over wandering. Bide here, 
and help me with my manuscripts. You 
can assist in many ways; and when 
the day is over, you can give us a ballad 
and tell a tale. The green pasture is 
better than the long road; a roof over 
your head is better than a bed under a 
tree, when the rain and snow come 

For an instant — an instant only — 
Robin was mute ; then he said : "I thank 
you, good Sir Thomas, for your kind- 
ness; but I feel bound to go to Silver- 
bridge and find a friend my uncle had 
there. Besides, to say truth, I would 
play and sing to the King and Queen, 
like troubadours of old times." 

Lady Diana clapped her hands and 
laughed merrily. "Well spoken, Master 
Robin! 'Tis as natural for youth to 
love Courts as for birds to preen them- 
selves in the sun. Would I were going 

Sir Thomas looked grave. "Youth 
need have grey beards, wisdom, and ex- 
perience to walk straight and safely in 
royal lands," he said; "for they are 
places in which it is easy for men to 
lose their heads, women their purity, 
and youth its innocence. As my friend, 
Sir Thomas More, once said to me: 
'When living with monarchs, 'tis well 
to live ever as if in the presence of the 
greatest King, the King Eternal and 
Invisible.' " 

After this there was silence for some 
moments, — a silence which at last was 
broken by the Knight asking his young 
guest to give them the popular ballad of 
the "Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green and 
his Pretty Bessie." 

II. — The Chamber over the Porch. 

Night had fallen; the carillon was 
playing in the old brown belfry; the 
watchmen were keeping watch and 
ward in their towers on the city walls, 
from which floated the royal standard. 

as Robin, footsore, hungiy and sleepy, 
harp on his back, marched up. "At 
last!" said he to himself, feeling that at 
length he had gained the outer walls 
of his earthly paradise. He knew that 
he was too late for admittance, and 
looked round for a resting place. 

Perched atop of a grassy knoll, near 
the pound, was a small house, an an- 
cient cottage; and up the slope he 
climbed and lifted the latch. He found 
himself in a low-roofed room, where, 
beside a wood fire in one of the large 
ingle-nooks, an aged woman sat spin- 
ning. "Good-even, mother! The peace 
of God be on you !" said Robin, softly. 

"It is with me, son. Enter and sit 
thee down," was the response; and, 
nothing loath, he accepted. 

The woman, Purnelle Fancott, a 
watchman's widow, had dark, searching 
eyes, but a most winsome smile. If the 
eyes said, "I mean to know all about 
thee," the smile added, "and to do thee 
good, if I can." 

From an earthen jar on the hob is- 
sued a most appetizing odor of cooked 
meat, tempting as was the savory mess 
of pottage to Esau in days of yore. 
Without a word, Mistress Fancott filled 
a yellow bowl with the soup, crumbled 
some rye bread into it, and put it into 
Robin's hands. 

Then she handed him a big wooden 
spoon, and said under her breath: 
"Speak low, son. In the front chamber 
there be two wayfarers who were too 
late for entrance into the city, as thou 
wert. They be foreigners, and were 
brought to me by a watchman, who said 
that they were friends of the King's 
chief cook, who came with him." 

Robin gave the speaker a merry 
glance, and, after finishing his soup, 
said : "Fret not yourself, good 
mother. I shall not disturb their sleep, 
neither will they mine." He put his 
wooden spoon back in the basin, placed 
his harp near the window, took off his 



shoes, and followed his hostess up the 
sanded stairs. 

The chamber over the porch had a 
truckle-bed, at the head of which was a 
holy water stoup and a branch of conse- 
crated palm. There was a rush- 
bottomed chair, and the floor was nicely 
sanded. The chamber opened into an 
adjoining room; and the widow in- 
dicated it with a warning look, crossed 
herself and withdrew. 

Robin knelt down and committed 
himself to the care of the All Father 
above; then he slipped into bed. In so 
doing, he felt something under his feet ; 
and, upon picking it up, found it was an 
oval box full of almonds. Being partial 
to goodies, he was about to put one into 
his mouth, when something seemed to 
restrain him, and he placed the box oh 
the chair. 

The truckle-bed was comfortable, and 
he was tired. Sleep soon came to "knit 
up the raveled sleeve of care." How 
long he slept he could not say; but he 
was awakened by the sound of men's 
voices in the adjacent room. They spoke 
in English with a pronounced foreign 

"How is this nlan to be approached?" 
said a voice. 

"When you find yourself inside the 
city gates, ask for Master Wagstaff, and 
they will take you to the guildhall 
kitchen. There you may see a man in 
a white linen jacket, with the badge of 
the Rose and Crown on one arm. Go 
up to him and say, 'Fanfare of Trum- 
pets' ; and he will answer, 'Long live the 

"And then?" 

"Then you will give him the almonds, 
saying, 'These are the Varingian 
almonds.' That will be all. Your mis- 
sion will be ended. . We shall take ship." 

"Good!" rejoined the other voice; and 
there was silence, and no more sleep for 

When morning dawned, he slipped 

noiselessly down the sanded stairs, and, 
leaving a silver piece from his scanty 
store on the dresser for kind Dame 
Fancott, put the box of almonds in his 
pouch, and hurriedly made his way to 
a city gate. There was much 
bustle and blowing of horns and trum- 
pets on the walls. The royal standard 
was unfurled, the warders seemed in 
fine feather. 

"Hello, Master Minstrel ! What want 
you?" sang out one. 

"To see Mayor Royle, if you please," 
replied Robin ; and one of the watchmen 
soon brought the chief magistrate to the 
Silver Street Gate. 

Robin looked curiously at the merry- 
looking little man in a blue linen blouse 
and cloth cap, and handed him a letter 
with which his uncle had entrusted him. 

"So, so!" said Royle, crossing himself . 
"My old crony has gone by the Upland 
Way (God rest his soul!), and left you, 
his nevvy, as a legacy to ine. Well, well, 
we will not say nay to it. Follow me, 
my lad." 

So Robin went onward, by the 
Mayor's side, through the narrow 
streets, with their hooded houses and 
tall Gothic buildings. He looked with 
keen, observant eyes, noting the dyers 
with their stained arms and hands, 
listening to the click-clack of the looms ; 
but he did not know that the ancient 
city was the Nuremberg of England, 
famous throughout the entire world for 
its silks, its tapestries, its art work of 
painted windows, carved wood, and 

"See there," said Royle, pointing to 
rows of canvas booths on a large plain. 
"This is our fair. Men come to it from 
all parts — from Musco\'y, Austria, Ger- 
many, and Poland, — and each hath his 
appointed place. I am bishop's steward 
this year, and have appointed the king 
of the fair. There are gay doings here, 
boy. No other town holds a great fair 
and a great king at the same time." 



Robin thought this the fitting time to 
relate his adventure, and told his com- 
panion of the two strangers and the box 
of confections. Royle listened in 
silence; and, when he had heard all, 
asked for the almonds. 

"Knaves," said he under his breath, 
"to compass a monarch's death in a 
town in which he is guest!" Then he 
treaded his way in silence again; and 
when at length he spoke, said, "Keep 
the matter quiet, boy. Lock it up in 
your own heart." 

"That will I." 

Royle spoke again: "It's hard, hard 
to make Justice and Mercy kiss each 
other ; yet it must be done. This fellow 
Wagstaff has a canker in his mind 
because of his only son. Let us hie to 
him, and see how he conducts himself." 

He paused before an ancient 
sandstone building, with painted win- 
dows and an oaken, nail-studded door. 
Its lower windows were iron-barred 
and locked. 

"Those are the guildhall dungeons. 
Some have been found dead there," said 
the Mayor ; and as he spoke there came 
the sound of voices singing the Gloria 
Patri from a church opposite. 

Royle pushed the big door open and 
crossed the flagged courtyard. "Robin, 
my lad," he whispered, "mind and do 
as I tell you. When I touch your foot 
with mine, draw the box of almonds 
from your pouch, saying, *A man of 
Varingia brought these here. Master 
Royle. Take one.' Now do as I bid." 

Robin promised to do so, and the two 
entered the guildhall kitchen. A great 
wood fire was burning on the hearth. 
There was a smell of spicery, and scul- 
lions were moving about. At a long 
oaken table, stirring the contents of a 
wooden bowl, stood a man in a white 
linen suit, which bore a broidered badge 
on the right sleeve. The Mayor went 
up to him and began to converse. At a 
certain part of the conversation he 

touched Robin's foot. The minstrel 
drew the box of almonds from his pouch 
and said, "Take one, Master Mayor. 
They were brought hither by a Varin- 
gian." Royle made as if to take one 
when Wagstaff stayed his hand. 

"Nay, nay," he gasped, "not thou, not 
thou! Thou didst plead for my Sandy 
before the judges." 

"It is enow," said Royle. "Why art 
ready to play the knave?" 

"The loss o' Sandy darkened my life, 
but revenge is sweet," replied Wagstaff. 

"At the first taste, man, but bitter 
afterwards. I may be doing amiss, but 
I can not see you mount the scaffold 
steps. Leave the city by the waterway 
to-day, and enter it not again. And 
thank Our Lady for saving you from 
mortal sin." 

"Mayor Royle," said Wagstaff, 
earnestly, "I hope that I may show my 
gratitude yet to you and yours." 

He put on his cap as he uttered the 
last worfls, and left the guildhall, never 
to re-enter it. Royle sighed. 

"Come, home with me, Robin," he 
said. "A vagabond has no home to 
turn to. That's where the shoe 

When they quitted the guildhall 
kitchen, the pair went on in silence until 
they came to a corner house with 
hooded windows, from one of which 
floated an amber bannerette blazoned 
with the city arms. 

"This," said the Mayor, "is the House 
of Royle, — ^the House of the Golden 
Banner, as it is called. My granddad 
headed the defenders when the town 
was besieged, and it was decided that 
a golden banner should float over his 
doorway. Come in, lad." 

He lifted the latch of the door and 
ushered the minstrel into a lofty 
panelled room, lit by windows opening 
with cord and pulleys from the top. It 
had a carved bureau and corner cup- 
board, and its walls were decorated 



with pine branches and other greeneiy. 
A dark-eyed, kindly-looking woman was 
seated at a spinning wheel; a tall, 
slight girl, blue-eyed and fair-haired, 
was peeling apples; a youth, who was 
apparently her brother, was carving a 
toy, and a little boy with sunny curls 
was watching him anxiously. 

"Wife, children," said the Mayor, "I 
bring you an old friend's newy, Robin 
the minstrel. Make him welcome. I 
must hie me to the Bishop's Palace and 
wait on their Majesties. Have a care 
of this young stranger. We must father 
and mother him." 

With an impulse as kind as his words, 
the speaker passed his hand over 
Robin's curls * and the lad felt drawn to 
the kindly 

After his departure. Mistress Royle 
made much of the boy, gave him his 
breakfast, called him "sonnie," — in one 
word, mothered him. 

"Would you like to bide with us and 
learn to paint windows as father does, 
to go with him in the cart to far-oiT 
places, and see strange cities, as I've 
done?" asked Wattie, the elder brother. 

"Yes, and be a mem.ber of the Paint- 
ers' Guild, and walk in the processions 
through the town?" queried blue-eyed 

"An' play wi' Sandy, our doggie?" 
chimed in the sunny-haired little one, 

"And have some one to look after 
thee and fend for thee?" said the house- 
mother, gently. 

For a moment ambition slumbered in 
the lad's breast. He forgot all about 
Courts and kings and queens. The 
quiet, the sweet kindliness of this good 
Catholic house appealed to him; the 
pride of life went humbled away; the 
wander fever left his veins, and he 
answered : 

"Dear Mistress, kind children, I'd like 
well to bide with you." 

(Conclusion next week.) 

A Great City's Patron Saint. 


LASGOW is the second largest 
city in the British Empire. But 
it IS Glasgow's proudest thought that 
St. Kentigern is its patron saint. Little 
did he — one of the two great civiiizers 
of barbarian Scotland — ever dream, 
when he builded his cell (and chapel) 
of withes and reeds at a most lovely 
spot on the green banks of the Molin- 
dinar burn, not far away from the 
sparkling waters of the Clyde, that 
here would arise an immense centre of 
trade and population, v.ith ramifications 
in eveiy quarter of the globe. To-day 
the city arms and motto are iounded on 
St. Kentigern and traditions of him; 
and fondly proud Glasgov/ is in having 
them. For thirteen hundred years and 
more, it has cherished, the memory of 
its patron saint in Catholic and Prot- 
estant eras alike. 

Early in the sixth century there 
lived in Culross, on the north of the 
River Forth, a holy man, St. Serf, To 
him came a youth called Kentigern, 
con of Thenew, a princess of the 
Brltcns, — folk vrhose country extended 
from the borders of Wales to Argyle 
and- Lorth of the Forth. When the 
time came, Kentigern was called to 
plant tl:e good seed in the hearts of the 
savage Celts in the west of Scotland. 
By the Slolindinar burn he settled, 
and preached and taught. He was the 
first to call the v.ild tribes to worship. 
In order to do this, he hung a bell on a 
tree, and rung it ^vhen the service 
began. To this day the bell may be seen 
on Glasgow's arms. 

The converts to Christianity settled 
round about him, and St. Kentigern's 
influence grew and increased apace. 
The pagan king of Strathclyde, in 
whose territory he was, grew envious 
of the holy man's v/onderful influence 



among his people, and harassed him so 
much that he was obliged to take refuge 
in Wales. There he founded what 
became the bishopric of St. Asaph's, 
now an English See, 

On the death of his persecutor, St. 
Kentigern returned to his old home in 
Strathclyde. His little settlement 
became a centre of population, and his 
folk gave him the name of "Mungo," 
or the "Beloved." Here he continued 
his good work, and wrought miracles. 
A robin redbreast, in a dying condition, 
was brought to him by a sobbing child ; 
he restored it to life; and to-day the 
bird perches at the top of the tree that 
surmounts the city's well-known motto, 
"Let Glasgow Flourish." Tradition has 
it that St. Kentigern provided for 
bodies as well as souls; that he taught 
the folk to sow corn, and himself 
ploughed land with a wolf and a stag 
that he had tamed with kindness. 

St. Kentigern's mother, Thenew, 
came to him in her old age, and in his 
care she died, and was buried where 
stands St. Enoch's Square. There a 
chapel, and later a church, were erected 
to her memory. Her name was altered 
by the speech of the place into St. 
Tennoch, and as time went on into 
St. Enoch. 

The other great civilizer of heathen 
Scotland, St. Columba, came, it is 
known, from his island home in lona to 
visit St. Kentigern; and, doubtless, the 
two holy men held sweet communion 
together, looking forward to the day 
when all "Caledonia, stern and wild," 
would be Christian. Other cities have 
their patron saints: Glasgow has hers, 
and is proud of him. 

A Virtue More Admired than Cultivated. 

The dearest word in our language 
is Love. The greatest is God. The 
word expressing the shortest time is 
Now. The three together make the 
greatest and sweetest duty of man. 

— Anon. 

THE average man can probably 
recall more than one boyish ex- 
perience which evoked from his father, 
or schoolmaster, the indignant remark, 
"You're enough to try the patience of 
Job"; and a good many remember the 
curious mental picture that sprang into 
being when first they heard that Miss 
or Mrs. So-and-so looked "like patience 
on a monument sitiiling at grief." In the 
Book of Job and other portions of Holy 
Writ, as well as in Shakespeare and 
scores of other profane writers, 
patience is lauded in terms of the high- 
est commendation; and, whether it be 
considered as a natural or a super- 
natural virtue, it is well worth thinking 
about — and acquiring. 

As a natural virtue, the cultivation of 
which means much in the attainment of 
worldly success and personal happiness, 
patience may be defined as that 
character or habit of mind which/ 
enables one to suffer afflictions, 
calamity, provocation, or other evil 
with a calm, unruffled temper. It is 
endurance without complaint or fret- 
fulness ; or, in a more specific sense, the 
cast or habit of mind that enables one 
to wait without discontent for some- 
thing to happen. In"^ still another sense, 
it means forbearance or leniency, as in 
the plea of the servant to his lord men- 
tioned in the Gospel: "Have patience 
with me, and I will pay thee all." Now, 
as very little reflection will suffice to 
show, in any one of these senses 
patience is a quality the possession of 
which can easily affect both one's peace 
of mind and one's material interests, 
one's comfort and one's fortune. Its 
importance has been recognized by all 
judicious philosophers who have con- 
cerned themselves with the essentials 
of success in the supreme art of living. 

"He that can have patience," says 
Franklin, "can have what he will." "To 



know how to wait," De Maistre does not 
hesitate to say, "is the great secret of 
success." "Patience is the key of con- 
tent," Mohammed assured his follow- 
ers; and a Chinese proverb declares: 
"Patience is power; with time and pa- 
tience, the mulberry leaf becomes silk." 
Ruskin valued the quality highly: 
"There's no music in a 'rest,' but there's 
the making, of music in it. And people 
are always missing that part of the life 
melody, — always talking of persever- 
ance and courage and fortitude ; but pa- 
tience is the finest and worthiest part of 
fortitude, and the rarest, too." To 
conclude this little string of quotations, 
let Henry Ward Beecher have his say: 
"There is no such thing as preaching 
patience into people unless the sermon 
is so long that they have to practise it 
while they hear. No man can learn 
^ patience except by going out into the 
hurly-burly world, and taking life just 
as it blows. Patience is but lying to 
and riding out the gale." 

Not as a mere natural quality, how- 
ever, but rather as a supernatural vir- 
tue, is patience not only most worthy 
of our consideration, but most easily 
practised. From this viewpoint, pa- 
tience consists in preserving one's 
serenity of mind amid all the contrari- 
eties of this life for the love of God. 
These concluding words are essential to 
the adequacy of the definition ; for it 
should be obvious that a man may dis- 
play all the exemplary patience mani- 
fested by Job, and still, if he lacks 
purity of intention, or has no thought 
of obeying or pleasing God by his 
words and actions, he has not risen 
to the supernatural plane, and has not 
merited any other than a natural re- 
ward for his natural virtue. 

True patience may, perhaps, be best 
understood by consic' ling the charac- 
teristics of its o^\josite. Impatience 
signifies not only restlessness under 
existing conditions, or an eager desire 

for relief and change, but also pro- 
nounced intolerance of whatever 
thwarts or hinders, and even passionate 
vehemence, in which last sense it is 
closely akin to anger, and is the fruit- 
ful source of many sins. We are guilty 
of impatience when, on account of 
something untoward or vexatious 
affecting us, we give way to an inor- 
• dinate and too great a desire to be freed 
from it. 

Such a desire may easily lead us to 
querulousness and quasi-complaint 
against Divine Providence for having 
afflicted us ; and the querulousness may, 
and not uncommonly does, bring about 
lack of confidence in God, if not incip- 
ient blasphemy. These and similar 
feelings find their expression in words 
and actions that are the reverse of vir- 
tuous or commendable. 

Among the various trials of life in 
which it especially behooves us to pre- 
serve our tranquillity of mind there 
may be mentioned, in particular, sick- 
ness, reverses of fortune, our relapses 
into sin, and the pressure of many 
and onerous duties appertaining to our 
calling or state in life. As for sickness 
or bodily suflfering of any kind, it is 
not always a calamity, but rather very 
often a grace, a blessing, though it 
appear in disguise. Accordingly, in- 
stead of losing our temper and growing 
irritable when we are called upon to 
endure such sufifering, we should receive 
it with equanimity, if we can not do 
more, and accord it, as did the saints, a 
welcome. Our proper course of conduct 
is pointed out to us in Ecclesiasticus : 
"Wait on G(od with patience; join thy- 
self to God and endure, that thy life 
may be increased in the latter end. 
Take all that shall be brought upon 
thee, and in thy sorrow endure, and in 
thy humiliation keep patience. For gold 
and silver are tried in the fire, but* 
acceptable men in the furnace of 



Notes and Remarks. 

Those imperturbable citizens who can 
see no signs of a reign of lawlessness in 
this country, and who deny, in spite of 
all evidence to the contrary, that a crime 
wave is rolling over it, especially in the 
Eastern States, should note the unpre- 
cedented action of the Attorney-General 
of the United States in calling the 
county prosecutors of New York to 
meet the Federal prosecutors of the 
State, in order to plan ways and means 
for better co-operation in the 'enforce- 
ment of criminal law. It is said that 
similar conferences between United 
States attorneys and district attorneys 
are to be held in other States. As re- 
gards New York, it is frankly admitted 
that the enforcement of laws is 
altogether inefficient, and that some- 
thing must be done to put an end to the 
comparative immunity of criminals in a 
State which contains a tenth of the 
population and a quarter of the wealth 
of the whole country. 

Attorney-General Daugherty knew 
where to initiate action. There is no 
State in the Union where life is held 
cheaper or where property is so insecure 
as in Nev/ York. The police force of 
the metropolis, though considered alto- 
gether inadequate, is larger than Gen. 
Grant thought our standing army need 
be after the Civil War. 

Persons conversant with the needs of 
foreign missions in any country what- 
soever, know that the medical apostolate 
is one of the most important, as it is one 
of the most neglected, adjuncts of the 
missionaries. The editor of the Ben- 
galese, commenting on the recent or- 
ganization of two groups of Catholic 
nurses into mission societies, writes: 
"The unadorned facts are these. Ex- 
clusive of native medical help, there are 
only two Catholic as compared with 500 

Protestant men physicians, and only six 
as compared with 600 Protestant 
women doctors, engaged at present in 
the missions of Africa, China and 
India. Accordingly, the fact that two 
of our largest Catholic schools for nurses 
have undertaken to promote an active 
interest in mission affairs is a har- 
binger, so we like to think, of a medical 
apostolate which is to become worthy of 
our foreign missions." 

And yet, small though the figures 
seem, shall we forget the hundreds of 
devoted Sister nurses on the foreign , 
missions, — nurses whose undoubted 
skill and sympathetic attention restores - 
health to the natives and contributes 
to the conquest of their souls? 

The Dublin correspondent of the 
London Universe, discussing the recent 
debate in the Dail Eireann, stresses a 
point v/hich most Americans probably 
think altogether negligible; and, so 
thinking, attribute the protracted de- 
bate to the Irishman's instinctive love 
for a fight, intellectual or physical. The 
point is that the opposition of very 
many of the members to the ratifica- 
tion of the Treaty was due not to any 
stubborn dislike for that Treaty, but to 
their scruples about violating their oath 
of fealty to the Irish Republic. Says 
the correspondent in question: 

Hence a large part of the debate turned 
on abstract, ethical and technical arguments 
as to the nature of their oath to the Republic, 
and the real effect of the oath in the Treaty 
naming the King. I do not know if there is 
any other country in the world in which a con- 
stitutional debate on issues vital to the nation 
would turn so much on considerations of moral 
theology, or in which the arguments on one 
side or the other would take so careful an ac- 
count of what theologians would say of moral 
obligation. One speaker after another told 
the Dail what he said theologians had told him. 

It was one of the -strongest of Sinn Feiners, 
representing a const/ uency famous for its 
fighting quality, who Jwelt on the Peace 
Treaty as an answer to prayer. I think, when 
Ireland has settled down to the enjoyment of 



its liberty in its new Free State, we may surely 
look forward to a Parliament with a point of 
view of its own in regard to the relations of 
morals to politics. 

There can not be much doubt as to 
this last point. The deepest students of 
the Irish question have uniformly 
stated that the basic difficulty has 
always been that the Irish, eminently a 
spiritual people, have never been under- 
stood by so materialistic a nation as the 
English nation. 

Under the caption, "Santo Domingo's 
Cardinal Mercier," Mr. Ernest H. 
Gruening contributes to the Nation an 
interesting sketch of Archbishop Nouel, 
and gives, in the form of question and 
answer, a report of an interview with 
that distinguished prelate. The con- 
cluding queries of the interviewer and 
the Archbishop's replies thereto are of 
more than passing interest : 

Q. What message have you for the liberty 
and justice-loving people of the United States, 
nearly all of whom have been, at least until 
very recently, uninformed on the events in 
Santo Domingo and Haiti during the last five 
years? — A. The only message I have for the 
liberty and justice-loving people of the United 
States is that it seems impossible that the 
same people who so generously poured out and 
shed the blood of the best of its manhood in 
defence of liberty should at the same time de- 
prive a small liberty-loving people of that 
same liberty and independence which has been 
their birthright and privilege for almost a 

Q. What course should, in your judgment, 
be followed by the Dominican people if the re- 
sponse of the present American Government 
falls short of fulfilling their aspirations? — 
A. The only course I know of is to hope in 
God, to whom we trust our destinies, and wait 



With the death of the Right Reverend 
Dr. Felix Korum, for forty years Bishop 
of Trier, the German hierarchy loses 
its eldest and, in many ways, its most 
distinguished member. His pastorate 
was a rare mingling of courage and 
benignity, — courage to set forth the 

right, benignity in recognizing the 
weaknesses of men and respecting their 
individual convictions. Bishop Korum 
fought frequent battles, and was for 
many years characterized as "warlike." 
From the day on which Bismarck dis- 
covered that there was a resolute man 
on the ecclesiastical throne of Trier, to 
the soul-trying period following the re- 
cent war. Catholics in the neighborhood 
of the ancient city which once linked 
Rome and the Rhine knew that their 
bishop was a father, giving his life to 
preserve energetic spiritual relations 
between Germany and the See of Peter. 
The venerable prelate was born on 
November 2, 1840, the son of a school- 
master. After the necessary period of 
study, he received the degree of 
doctor of philosophy from Innsbruck, 
was ordained priest in 1865, and, 
shortly after the close of the Kultur- 
kampf, was made a bishop by Pope 
Leo XIII. We can not afford to forget 
his memory ; for the Catholic world says 
proiidly, Ecce vir fortis! 

In the current number of the St. 
Louis Catholic Historical Review, there 
is a very readable sketch of the church 
of Lafayette, La., by the editor, the 
Rev. Dr. Charles L. Souvay, C. M. It is 
called "Rummaging thirough Old Parish 
Records." Under such an attractive 
caption one is sure to meet with much 
interesting matter hitherto kept from 
the gaze of the curious reader. We 
quote a particularly fine incident in the 
life of Fr. Barriere: 

As pastor of the infant parish of VeiTnillion- 
ville. Bishop Du Bourg appointed our old 
acquaintance, Father Michael Bernard Bar- 
riere. Since the now far-distant day when 
he turned over the parish of St. Martin 
to Father Isabey, Father Barriere had, despite 
his high-sounding title of "Priest approved for 
the whole Diocese," lived in relative retirement 
for a number of years at St. Martin, where 
he occasionally lent a helping hand to his 
successor. He had even continued the practice 
of his occasional salidas to distant points. One 



of these missionary excursions came near 
crowning .his labors with martyrdom. As he 
was travelling in the vicinity of Lake Chiti- 
macha, now Grand Lake, he was surprised 
by a party of Indians, who forthwith set about 
to put him to death in true Indian fashion. 
Already they had wrenched out the nails of 
the fingers and toes of their prisoner, when 
the head of the tribe appeared on the scene, 
stopped the tortures, extended his protection 
over the missionary, took care of him, and 
saw to his safe return to his home on the 
T^che. It is to the honor of Barriere's 
modesty that, among the many notes, some 
of which referring to personal facts, where- 
with he adorned the pages of his church 
registers, not a word is to be found in allusion 
to an event so honorable to. him. The fact, 
though, was asserted, some fourteen years 
ago, to the Rev. P. L. Gassier, by an old 
Chitimacha woman, who was the daughter of 
Fr. Barrierd's deliverer. 

Some decidedly interesting, though 
strikingly divergent, views of Prohibi- 
tion are quoted by the Neiv York Herald 
in connection with the fourth of a series 
of articles dealing with the practical 
results of the Eighteenth Constitutional 
Amendment and the Volstead Law. The 
first of these views is expressed by Mr. 
W. M. Anderson, State (New York) 
superintendent of the Anti-Saloon 
League, who declares: 

An enemy of mankind, that has killed more 
men and broken more mothers' hearts than 
all the wars of recorded history since the days 
of Julius Caesar, has been dethroned from a 
position of respectability and made a fugitive 
from justice. The level of thinking and acting 
of a great free people has been so lifted that, 
instead of considering the sale of liquor the 
accepted and expected thing, and drunkenness 
as an unavoidable incident of governmental 
complicity and iniquity, they look upon the 
sale of liquor as "news"; and the sight of a 
drunken man, now exceedingly rare, is ac- 
cepted as proof of dereliction in official duty. 

Mr. W. H. Hirst, attorney for the 
New York State Brewers Association, 
has this to say.: 

And for this excrescence on the body politic 
we have torn up Magna Charta, ridiculed the 
Declaration of Independence, mutilated the 
Constitution of the United States, destroyed 

the resei^ved powers and sovereignty of the in- 
dividual States, and crushed out the spirit of 
freedom and joy of what was the most orderly 
collection of people under any system of 
government in the world, and turned them into 
the users of smuggled, moonshine, bootleg; 
home-brewed, highly alcoholic, deleterious and 
dangerously concocted spirituous liquors, in- 
stead of the harmless, wholesome and temper- 
ance light wines and beers which are not only 
non-intoxicating but healthful. 

There is truth in the words of both of 
these gentlemen, but it is greatly 
exaggerated, as all save their adherents 
will admit ',, and there is falsity, which, 
in view of hard facts, nobody can deny. 
The "enemy of mankind," far from 
being dethroned, is as firmly seated as 
ever; and the number of his followers 
has by no means diminished. As many 
as 250,000 of them were arrested during 
the last two years, while innumerable 
others went scot-free. The bootlegging 
industry is flourishing in a wondrous 
way, in spite of all efforts to suppress 
it. During his recent visit to the United 
States, Lord Northcliffe was asked what 
he thought of Prohibition, and he 
promptly answered by asking to be 
shown where there was Prohibition. 
Mr. G. K. Chesterton, too, declared 
that he never once "experienced 
drought" while in this country, though 
he visited many of our largest cities. 
Messrs. Hirst and Anderson may say 
what they will, but the spirit of free- 
dom and joy is not crushed out among 
us ; and the liquor question, all evidence 
to the contrary notwithstanding, is still 
an unsettled one. 

Two paragraphs of a leading editorial 
in the New York Herald (Jan. 9), on 
"The Irish Settlement and Its Mean- 
ing," deserve reproduction on several 
counts. The reputation of our metro- 
politan contemporary for breadth and 
sanity of thought -is very well main- 
tained by these declarations: 

The acceptance of the Irish Treaty by the 
Dail Eireann is timely proof to the whole 



world that peace everywhere, although not to 
be arrived at in a moment, is possible through 
good will and patient negotiation. If ever 
there was a problem which presented seem- 
ingly unsurmountable difficulties, it was that 
which existed in the British Isles. Yet that 
problem, thanks to the intelligence and for- 
bearance of both sides in the London confer- 
ence, found a solution which has been accepted 
by the representatives of the most radical 
political party seen in Southern Ireland in 

So hereafter, however impossible it may ap- 
pear to reconcile differences between nations 
or factions, the memory of what has been ac- 
complished this winter in Ireland will be re- 
called with hope. The records of the Downing 
Street negotiations and the sessions of the 
Irish Parliament are an object-lesson in tact 
and forbearance. The success of our own 
Washington conference has, of course, been an 
experience of wonderful value to the world; 
but the Irish Treaty stands out in even bolder 
relief from the fact that the meeting in Lon- 
don was not a meeting of friendly nations. It 
was a meeting of the ambassadors of two 
peoples whose political enmity had been 
notorious for centuries, and who were at the 
moment actually at war. 

The passing of Emile Boutroux, dur- 
ing many years a distinguished pro- 
fessor of philosophy at the Sorbonne, 
marks the close of a very fruitful 
career. Thought, during his youth, had 
become materialistic, proclaiming the 
sufficiency of science, the absence of 
human freedom and therefore of human 
morals, and the utter impossibility of 
believing m God. It was Boutroux's 
service to have led the spiritualistic op- 
position to all of these things. He de- 
monstrated successively the relativity 
of the postulates of science, the indi- 
viduality and liberty of man, and the 
reasonableness of religion, without leav- 
ing the field of purely modern philoso- 
phy. Finally, it is to his volume on 
Pascal that the student of the great 
"Pensees" will go for the most succinct 
and moving explanation of their 
author's life. No biography has been 
written with more respectful sympathy 
or more painstaking definiteness. 

Unfortunately M. Boutroux did not die 
a member of the Church, but his teach- 
ing won and saved a great many for her 
cause. Wherefore we have good reason 
to remember him kindly, even in our 

Federal Prohibition Commissioner 
Haynes was exaggerating when he de- 
clared that "bootleggers have murdered 
more men in the discharge of their duty 
in proportion to the number of engaged 
than were killed in France." It behooves 
Mr. Haynes to be temperate and re- 
strained even in speech. He was quite 
within bounds, however, in saying that 
"when, for the gratification of their 
appetites or for the promotion of their 
interests, lawyers, bankers, great mer- 
chants, manufacturers and social lead- 
ers disobey the law, they are promoting 
mob violence, robbery and homicide. 
They are sowing dragons' teeth, and 
they need not be surprised when they 
find that no judicial or police authority 
can possibly save our country from 
reaping the harvest." 

Taking time by the forelock, a parish 
priest writes to the Irish Catholic, sug- 
gesting the advisability of having as 
soon as practicable "an International 
Eucharistic Congress in our new Free 
State." The suggestion, we doubt not, 
will appeal to the Irish hierarchy as an 
eminently fitting one. There are few — 
very few — countries in which the peren- 
nial truth that it is the Mass that 
matters has been so splendidly vindi- 
cated throughout the whole course of 
fourteen centuries as has been the case 
of Ireland ; and if, as many believe, the 
Irish Free State is a portion of God's 
reward earned by fidelity to the Faith, 
then a Eucharistic Congi'ess would be 
a fitting recognition of the Providential 
care that has ever surrounded the chil- 
dren of St. Patrick. 

Play and Study. 

By Denis A. McCarthy. 

^jj?)HEN you study, study hard; 

Then, to keep you stout and ruddy, 
When you play in street or yard, 

Play as hard as when you study. 
Work or play, every day, 

Act as if you meant it, Buddy, — 
Play when you're supposed to play; 

And when supposed to study, study! 

No half-hearted ways for you: 

Lazy brains are mischief -brewing. 
Whatsoever thing you do. 

Give your mind to what you're doing. 
Work or play, that's the way. 

Be intent upon it. Buddy, — 
Play when you are out to play; 

And when you're in for study, study! 



III. — A Rescue. 
Ts) Ilv'LADY was not the only one out 
[(^ fishing on that early autumn day. 
T^ Father Tom Ridgely, taking a holi- 
day at his brother's house after ten 
years of mission v/ork at the Antipodes, 
had been enjoying a morning of fine 
sport in the sunlit reaches of the Bay. 
He' had stolen off from the two young 
nephews who were his usual devoted 
and admifring companions, but a little 
active and noisy when one was bent on 
a real fishing bout, like the one that had 
brought such shining success to Father 
Tom to-day. There was a fine catch 
at the bottom of his boat, topped by the 
greatest prize of all, — a big kingfish, 
that he felt would establish his fame 
with Jack and Ted forever. 

He was rowing back leisurely, quite 
satisfied with his morning's work, and 
gazing dreamily at the scenery that re- 
called many a pleasant day of his early 
youth ; for Ridgely Manor had been the 
home of a happy boyhood » twenty-five 
years ago. Many were the changes in 
those long years that he had spent in 
far-off climes "fishing for men." 

There was the stately domain of 
Brentwood, abandoned and falling into 
ruin; there were the green slopes of 
Brier Hill, ragged and weed-grown; 
there was Shorecliff, where the light of 
Faith had died, and Love gone out in 
darkness that had no star of Hope. 
Father Tom's kind, strong face 
shadowed at the thought. He and Elmer 
Marsden had been classmates and 
chums at Saint Vincent's College in the 
far long ago. 

And now Father Tom was^roused by 
the sweep of rougher water on his oars. 
He was at Marsden Cove, where the 
current, swelled by the creek from the 
uplands, always ran full and strong 
when the tide was in, as it was in now, 
surging and foaming about Steeple 
Rock. He had been caught there once 
when hd was a little chap of twelve, 
and had a close shave of it. And — 
George! Father Tom's heart gave a 
startled leap, some one was caught 
there now. Poised on the most perilous 
ledge of the rock was a small blue-and- 
white figure struggling with a fishing 
line, whose pull was evidently too much 
for her hold. 

"Catch it!" came the excited cry to 
the fisherman below. "You big boob 
down there" (in moments of stress 
Lil'lady was apt to adopt her brothers' 
vernacular) , "catch my line for me. I 
can't — can't — can't hold it any longer. 




Oh, oh, oh!" rose the despairing wail, 
as the line snapped with a force that ^ 
sent the small figure nearly staggering 
off her ledge. "It's gone, — my fish is 
gone — gone! Catch it for me! Oh, 
can't you catch it?" And the speaker 
danced up and down in wild excitement 
that threatened to send her whirling off 
her dangerous perch. 

"Stand back there!" roared Father 
Tom in stentorian tones. "Keep still or 
you'll tumble off. Don't you see the tide 
is in and you'll be drowned ?" 

"Oh, I don't care, — I don't care !" was 
the desperate reply. "My fish is gone, — 
my big, beautiful fish that I had almost 
pulled in. You might have caught — you 
could have caught it!" Lil'lady blazed 
forth wrathfully. "If you hadn't been 
such a stupid, you could have caught my 

"Well, maybe I could," was the 
answer, as Father Tom steadied his 
boat below the rock. "I was thinking 
of something more important : catching 
you before you could drown yourself 
under my eyes. You gave me a turn, I 
can tell you. Come down now and get 
into the boat. It's hard holding her 
here against the tide." 

"Gee!" murmured Lil'lady, suddenly 
aware of the situation. "The tide is in, 
sure enough. I was so busy fishing I did 
not see." And, so saying, she made a 
quick spring from her perilous poise on 
the rocks. 

"Steady there ! Now let me help you," 
said Father Tom. 

But the light, bare feet were sure as a 
gazelle's, and Lil'lady suddenly jumped 
into the swaying boat without her 
rescuer's aid. 

"I suppose there's no use in looking 
for my shoes and stockings," she said, 
glancing over the rising waters. "I left 
them on the sands. They're gone for- 
ever and ever." 

"Looks that way," answered her com- 
panion. "Still, shoes and stockings 

are small matters in comparison — " 

"To my fish," interrupted Lil'lady, 
with a break in her voice. "Oh, I could 
cry about that fish! I wanted it so 
for — for" (a sob choked the words) — 
"for my dad's — ^my dad's dinner," con- 
cluded the small speaker, slowly and 

"You did?" said Father Tom, with a 
pitying glance at his young conipanion. 
Just now, with her torn hat and bare 
feet and draggled dress, Lil'lady looked 
as if she might fitly belong to a home 
where dinners were very serious con- 
siderations. "Don't cry about it," con- 
tinued her new friend, as Lil'lady ap- 
peared to be still struggling with her 
feelings. "I'll make the dinner all right. 
You can have any or all of these fish of 
mine that you want." 

"Oh, it wouldn't be the same!" sighed 

"Why not?" asked Father Tom, 
cheerfully. "That big fellow there is 
all the dinner a hungry man could ask, 
it seems to me." 

"Oh, I know, I know—" Lil'lady's 
voice broke again as she glanced at the 
"big fellow" that recalled her own loss. 
"But / didn't catch him, you see, and 
that is what would please dad. Why, 
he would eat snakes, I believe, if I 
caught them for him." Lil'lady's tear- 
wet eyes suddenly danced into roguish 
light. "You see, my mother died when 
I was born. At first dad did not want 
me at all ; but now he loves me all right, 
you bet!" ' 

Sudden revelation burst upon Father 

"You don't mean you are Mr. Mars- 
den's little girl?" was his amazed ques- 

"Yes," was the reply. "Didn't you 
know it? I'm Lil'lady." And Father 
Tom's small companion spoke the name 
as if it were a title of nobility that 
everyone should recognize. 

"Lil'lady!" repeated her hearer. 



"Lil'lady! Well, I've travelled a good 
deal, but that's a new name on the 
calendar for me." 

"It's short for 'Little Lady,' " was the 
explanation. "But of course it's not my 
real name. I was christened Helena 
Carr Marsden." 

"You mean baptized," corrected 
Father Tom. 

"That's the same thing, isn't it?" said 
Lil'lady, cheerfully. 

"Well — not altogether. Ships are 
christened, you know, with a bottle of 
wine — " 

"Yes, I know," interrupted Lil'lady. 
"Florence Gale christened her uncle's 
ship, and was so 'stuck up' about it she 
could scarcely see. But I was christened 
by a real parson — I mean a priest ; and 
Mammy Sue said it was done right. 
My Great-aunt Greyson saw to that. 
And she had me named right too, after 
my poor, dear, dead mamma. But dad's 
heart was so broken he couldn't bear to 
speak the name, so I've just kept 
'Lil'lady,' as Mammy Sue called me 
when I was born." 

"I see," said Father Tom — who was 
se*eing a great deal that was sad in the 
situation. "Well, it's not a bad name 
when you understand it right. 'Little 
Lady' means everjrthing that is good 
and gentle and kind." 

"Oh, no, it doesn't!" she disclaimed 
quickly. "At least it doesn't with me. 
I'm not the sissy sort of girl at all, and 
I wouldn't like to be either," continued 
Lil'lady, with a decided nod of her 
golden head. "And it would make the 
boys sick of me, I know. Dad says he 
wants me to have a good time, and be 
happy and glad just like the birds and 
butterflies, that do whatever they 

"Then you don't go to school?" ques- 
tioned Father Tom. 

"No," answered Lil'lady. "There's no 
girls' school around here. Cousin Jane 
taught me to read and spell. Now I've 

got a governess. Miss Gilbert, who is 
very nice." 

"Doesn't she give any hard lessons or 
rules?" asked Father Tom, quizzically. 

"No," replied Lil'lady. "She believes 
in — in — what is the big word that 
means doing just as you like? Some- 
thing about devil — devil — " 

"Self -development, perhaps?" sug- 
gested her listener, with a smile. 

"Yes, that's it." Lil'lady's face 
brightened and dimpled delightfully. 
"That's what I'm doing now. Mammy 
Sue says it sounds sort of wicked to 
her, but she reckons white folks know 
what is best." , 

"So you were self -developing when 
I found you on Steeple Rock to-day?" 
asked Father Tom, dryly. "It is well I 
came along, or Miss Gilbert would have 
had a little drowned pupil before many- 

"I can swim," said Lil'lady, with a 
defiant little toss of her flower-like 

"Not in the current that is running 
there now," was the decided answer., 
"It would suck down a strong man. 
Here we are at Shorecliff. Promise me 
you won't try fishing off Steeple Rock 
again, Lil'lady." There was a note of 
gentle authority in the speaker's voice, 
to which his hearer was unused. 

"Oh, I don't want to promise," she 
pouted, "because I will have to keep my 

"I know you will; that is why I am 
not reporting you to dad and Miss Gil- 
bert, as perhaps I should. Steeple Rock 
is no place for a little lady. Come, give 
me your hand on it, like the little sport 
you are. You won't go fishing there 
again alone?" 

For a moment Lil'lady put both her 
own dimpled hands behind her and 
looked up defiantly at the speaker; then 
something in the friendly gaze she met 
seemed to touch, to subdue her. 

"I promise, then," she said, slipping 



her small hand into that outstretched to 
her. "I won't ever go fishing on Steeple 
Rock again." 

"Good!" said Father Tom, as he 
pushed his boat on the sand and let 
Lil'lady jump ashore. "You'll keep your 
word, I know. Poor little girl!" he 
murmured to himself, as he watched 
the little figure bound away up the cliflf. 
"Poor, neglected little girl! Elmer 
Marsdeil has forgotten indeed, — for- 
gotten sadly. Poor Little Lady! God 
pity her, and may our Blessed Mother 
lead her into His light !" 

(To be continued.) 

About Almanacs. 

S^HE word "almanac" (or "alma- 
VS) nach," as it used to be spelled in 
Friar Roger Bacon's time, away back in 
the thirteenth century) is of disputed 
origin, but its meaning has always been 
the same. It was, and is now, a book 
or table containing a calendar of the 
civil divisions of the year; the times of 
the various astronomical events, such as 
eclipses of the sun. or moon, the rising 
and setting of the sun and moon, the 
changes of the moon and of the tides, 
and much other useful or interesting 

The history of almanacs goes back to 
very ancient times. The Greeks of 
Alexandria certainly had them, although 
the date of their first appearance in 
Europe is not known with certainty. In 
the British Museum there are specimens 
of manuscript almanacs dating from the 
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries ; but 
the first printed European almanac that 
anything is known about was compiled 
by the astronomer Purbach, and ap- 
peared some time between the years 
1450 and 1461. • It was, however, Pur- 
bach's pupil, Regiomontanus, who 
brought out the first almanac of real 
importance. It gave all of the usual 
astronomical information not merely for 

one year ahead, but for the fifty- 
seven years — 1475-1531. Regiomontanus 
(whose family name was not so big a 
word, but simply Johann Miiller, or 
John Miller), besides being a great 
astronomer, was a bishop, — a Catholic 
one, of course, as Protestantism wasn't 
known during his lifetime. He received 
a fine present from the King of Hun- 
gary for having compiled his learned 
work, — which, by the way, was of great 
service to Columbus. 

A good many of the oldtime almanacs 
were filled with the predictions of the 
astrologers, the men who pretended they 
could read the future in the stars. 
While the compilers of later almanacs 
did not attempt much foretelling of 
general events, they did profess to pre- 
dict the weather ior the full year. Of 
course the predicting wks, for the most 
part, pure guesswork, because it is only 
in quite recent years that the weather 
bureaus have become so expert that they 
can tell with any degree of certainty 
what the weather is going to be for a 
few days in advance. 

The most famous of American alma- 
nacs were probably "Poor Richard's," 
begun by Benjamin Franklin in 1732, 
and kept up by him for about twenty- 
five years; and the "Old Farmer's Al- 
manac," which is still published. When 
we were little, the jokes and conun- 
drums of the yellow-covered almanacs 
were about the only part of the work to 
interest young folks, — ^those and the 
funny pictures representing the signs 
of the zodiac. Nowadays almanacs are 
far more entertaining. 

In Asia Minor snow is used for re- 
frigerating purposes instead of ice. The 
snow is gathered from the mountains 
and packed in pits, where it is kept from 
melting by a thick cover of straw and 
leaves. Pack-horses deliver it to con- 
sumers, and it sells from ten to twenty- 
five cents for a hundred pounds. 



In Moon Land. 

"Good Again." 

Jgr HE sun is 93,000,000 miles from the 
^ earth, and the moon 240,000. We 
are more familiar with the surface of 
the moon than of any other heavenly 
body, because it is near enough to be 
seen, if there are no heavy clouds. If 
you look through a telescope on any 
clear night, you notice what seems like 
awful desolation, resembling nothing 
that we are familiar with. There ap- 
pears to be no sign of life or activity. 
Deep clefts and yawning depths, fields 
of ashes and frozen sheets of lava, 
mountain ranges, circular in form, 
dotted with craters, make up the "face" 
of the moon. 

The mountains of moon land are very 
much steeper than those on our earth; 
and some of them are very high indeed. 
Astronomers say that there is a crater 
on the moon which is sixty-four miles 
across. This crater contains a lake of 
frozen lava 3000 feet deep. Now the 
moon's volcanoes are all dead, but they 
give signs of frightful fires merged into 
molten streams of lava, which, cooling 
as it ran, formed part of the crust. It 
is on account of these curious forma- 
tions that people sometimes think they 
see the "man in the moon." 


Needles are very ancient implements. 
Many have been found in the cases with 
Egyptian mummies, and those dis- 
covered in the mounds and burial caves 
of America and Europe are supposed to 
be older still. These old ones were all 
made of bone, stone, etc. ; while modem 
ones are of iroh, brass, steel,wood, bone, 
etc. Common needles first appeared in 
Europe early in the fifteenth' century; 
but it was more than one hundred and 
fifty years after that before the secret 
of their manufacture became known 
except to Orientals. ^ 

SPHERE was once a man who used to 
Vg) go by the name of Nahum Gamza 
(Good Again) ; and he was so called 
because whatever befell him he always 
said: "This is good! What Almighty 
God does is well done." 

Good Again was once on a long and 
weary pilgrimage, and came to a little 
village, but could get no accommoda- 
tion. So he retired to the forest, say- 
ing : "Whatever God does is well done." 
He had there a lamp, a fowl, and a 
donkey. He lighted the lamp to guide 
him, but the \vind blew it out, and he 
was left in darkness. "Whatever God 
does is well done," he said. Next a wild- 
cat came out of the thicket and carried 
off his bird. "Whatever God does is 
well done," he said again. Then a lion 
fell upon his donkey and slew it, and 
again he repeated his faithful saying. 

On making his way into the village 
next morning, he found that JDrigands 
had appeared during the night and had 
robbed and then killed the few inhabi- 
tants. His heart was full of gratitude 
for his own preservation; and he felt 
that, whilst it had been a gi-eat trouble 
to him to have to take shelter in the 
forest during the night, yet in this way 
he had escaped death; and also that if 
his lamp had continued shining, or the 
cock had crowed, or the donkey had 
brayed, the brigands might easily have 
found out his retreat. So Good Again, 
true to his strange name, was full of 
thankfulness and praise. 

The intelligence of a faithful dog 
recently saved a French Alpinist from 
certain death when he fell over a 
precipice, breaking his legs. Unable to 
move, he wrote a message to his wife 
and fastened it to the dog's collar. The 
dog rushed home, and before long help 
arrived, the dog leading the way, wag- 
ging his tail for joy. 





— The index of the half-yearly volume of 
The Ave Maria, July-Dec, 1921, vol. xiv. (New 
Series), is now ready for those who bind their 
magazines. It is supplied gratis if applied for 
within six months. 

— Copies of "Father Justin: A Story of 
Papua," by M. D. Forrest, M. S. C, recently 
noticed in these columns, may be procured 
from Mrs. D. J. Murphy, Hampden Ave., 
Cleveland, Ohio. Price, 60 cents. 

— "The Apostolate and Blessed Margaret 
Mary" is the title — ought not the great 
apostle of the Sacred Heart now be called 
Saint? — of a brochure published by the Sisters 
of the Visitation (St. Louis, Mo.), Which 
should be of interest and help to all of her 
numerous disciples. 

— Organizers and directors of the Con- 
fraternity of the Blessed Sacrament will wel- 
come "The Blessed Sacrament Guild Book," 
which may be had of P. J. Kenedy & Sons. 
It is complete in every respect, including all 
of the Guild services, music, - Stations of the- 
Cross, special practices, and suggestions for 
organization and extension. His Eminence 
Cardinal Bourne furnishes an appropriate 
preface. The binding is neat and attractive. 
Price, 70 cents. 

— The late Msgr. Henry A. Brann, the 
venerable rector of St. Agnes' Church, New 
York city, was the author of several excellent 
and once popular books, including "Curious 
Questions," "Faith and Error," "The Age of 
Unreason," "Essays on the Popes,*^"The Im- 
mortality of the Soul," and "Waifs and 
Strays." He also wrote a history of the Amer- 
ican College, Rome, of which he was the first 
alumnus, and a Life of Archbishop Hughes. 
Msgr. Brann was no less distinguished for 
his zeal than his scholarship. 

—"The Story of St. John Baptist de La 
Salle," by Brother Leo, is a worth-while con- 
tribution to American Catholic literature, its 
seventeen chapters being replete with just 
what one wishes to know of the Saint and his 
times; and they are written in an exception- 
ally attractive style, which the ordinary reader 
will thoroughly enjoy, though he may not 
understand the secret of its excellence. In 
an appreciative Introduction, Archbishop 
Hayes, of New York, warmly commends the 
book to teachers, pupils, and to educators 
generally. The table of contents contains bare 

chapter-titles, and there is no index. Published 
by P. J. Kenedy & Sons; price, $1.60. 

— "Sanctifions le Moment Present," by 
L'Abbe P. Feige (a brochure of 270 pages), 
comes to us from the publishing house of 
Pierre Tequi, Paris. It is a collectioti of thirty 
meditations or readings, and is a thoroughly 
practical exposition of the advice of St. 
Francis de Sales: "Let us think only of doing 
well to-day; when to-morrow comes, it will be 
called to-day, and then we will think of it." — 
From the same publisher we have also 
received two pamphlets: "Les Neuf Oflfices du 
Coeur de Jesus," by the Rev. R. Henry, C. SS. 
R. ; and "Autorite et Probite," by M. Gaudin 
de Villaine. The last-mentioned pamphlet is 
the reproduction of an address delivered in 
the French Senate. 

— "A Short History of the Papacy," by 
Mary I. M. Bell (Dodd, Mead & Co.), can 
hardly be called a serious study of the Papacy, 
There are no footnotes, very few citations 
from recognized authorities on the subject- 
matter, and no bibliography to indicate the 
sources from which she has derived her facts 
(at times merely supposititious facts) and 
the inferences and conclusions which she 
derives therefrom. This much being said, let 
us add that the author seems to have tried to 
be fair in her estimate of most of the Sover- 
eign Pontiffs, and that she recognizes the 
Papacy as a spiritual institution deserving 
of more study than the twentieth-century non- 
Catholic seems inclined to give it. 

— There is an old-fashioned charm about 
"Way o' Dreams," by Lucy Gertrude Clarkin, — 
an atmosphere of yesterday which veils even 
the printing and binding. The author sings 
of love, motherhood, and religion with feeling 
and reticence and often with melody. Certain 
of her verses have appeared in The Ave 
Maria, and some readers may remember their 
quality. We shall recall that here by reprint- 
ing a stanza from "Our Comforter": 

Though bloom bereft the path whereon I go, 
Uncheered my memories I dare to keep ; 

Thou, only Thou, O Banker of my woe. 
Must know I weep ! 

The book was printed at Charlottetown, P. E. 
I., by Dillon and Coyle; their excellent work 
is somewhat marred, however, by rather 
eccentric punctuation. 

— A recent issue of the Stirvey Graphic has 
fourteen articles by distinguished Irish men 



and women written in answer to Savel 
Zimand's question, "What will the Irish do 
with Ireland?" All the contributors display 
enthusiasm in setting forth the high possibili- 
ties that may result when the repressed energy 
of centuries is released into the channels of 
literature, science, ai-t, labor, and politics. Yet 
these visions of the future are convincing 
because they are sane,— because they are not 
taken from the clouds but from a firm footing 
on the realities of to-day. Most of the writers, 
especially A. E. (George Russell), express the 
hope that the new-born Gael will send into 
the world a full and steady stream of spiritual 
influence, which may save civilization from 
materialism. The case of Ulster is presented 
in a straightforward way by the Belfast poet 
and manufacturer, "Richard Rowley," who 
seems by no means to despair of final unity 
and co-operation with the South. Readers will 
find valuable infprmation about the recent 
literature on Ireland and Irish aspirations in 
the critical bibliographical paper by, Mr. 
Francis Hackett, entitled "Irish Interpreta- 
tions." Reproductions of paintings by Grace 
and Paul Henry and Power O'Malley lend an 
attractiveness to this issue of the Survey 
Graphic, which helps to account for the fact 
that it has gone into a second edition. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford informa- 
tion concerning the more important recent 
publications. The latest books will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make room for new titles. 

Orders should be sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country who keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers* prices generally include postage. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 
Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 

"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 
J. Godfrey Raupert, K. S. G. (Peter 
Reilly.) $1.25. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet. Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros.) $3.50. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary." 
Rt. Rev. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Gates 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.) $7. 

"Hispanic Anthology." ($5.) "The Way of 
St. James." (Putnam's.) 3 vols. $9. 

"The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. I. (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. \ 

"Henry Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours/' Shane Leslie, M. A. With Six 
Illustrations. (Burns, Gates and Wash- 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

"First Impressions in America." John Ays- 
cough (Rt. Rev. Mgr. Bickerstaffe-Drew.) 
(John Lane.) 16s. 

"How France Built Her Cathedrals." Eliza- 
beth Boyle O'Reilly. (Harper and 
Brothers.) $6. 

"God and the Supernatural: A Catholic State- 
ment of the Christian Faith." Edited by 
Father Cuthbert, 0. S. F. C. (Long- 
mans.) $5. 

"A Mill Town Pastor." Rev. Joseph Conroy, 
S. J. (Benziger Brothers.) $1,90. 

"A Woman of the Bentivoglios." Gabriel 
Francis Powers. (The Ave Maria.) 75 

"Jesus of Nazareth: Who was He?" J. God- 
frey Raupert. (Marshall Jones Co.) $1. 


Remember them ttiat are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rt. Rev. Msgr. Henry Brann, of the arch- 
diocese of New York; Rev. J. E. Roach, diocese 
of Peoria; Rev. Michael Condon archdiocese 
of Milwaukee; Rev. Albert Peters, S. J.; and 
Rev. Eugene Grimm, C. PP. S. 

Sister M. Alexius, of the Order of the Visi- 
tation; Sister Alexia and Sister Stella, of the 
Sisters of Charity. 

Mr. Louis Herr, Mr. Thomas 'Lamb, Mrs. 
James Lewis, Mrs. P. C. Lewis, Mr. N. J. 
Hertel, Mr. John Uebel, Mrs. Katherine Erich- 
son, Miss Marie Reed, Mr. William Rolfes, Mr. 
George Melancon, Jif., Miss Deborah Quill, and 
Mr. J. A. Hyatt. 

. Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord ; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 

For the victims of the famine in Russia: 
C. H. M., in honor of the Holy Name, $1; 
friends (Albany), $1; "Overbrook," $30. For 
the sufferers in Central Europe: friends 
(Albany)', $2; M. F. O'B., $2; Mary Pollitt, 
$2; J. R., $5. To help the Sisters of Charity 
in China: Mrs. M. B., in honor of the Holy 
Family, $2.50; J. R., $5. 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 4 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

Our Lady of the Way. 

(Lines composed en voyage.) 


^HE comes, Our Lady of the way, 

When Labor bids his bedesfolk pray, 
Queen of the holy work-a-day. 

When toil-time called me far from prayer, 
I sought her not, but met her there, 
Our Lady of the thoroughfare. 

Where strove the world, with might and main, 
A-speeding on its way to gain, 
I found Our Lady of the train. 

Betwixt the ledger's four and seven. 

Ere of the twain I made eleven. 

She cheered me with a glimpse of heaven. 

She visited my mind distraught, 
And in my heart a mystery wrought 
A little nearer than my thought. 

Betwixt my spirit and its grief i 

She hid her sweetness, as a thief 
To hide his stolen hoard is lief. 

And at this evening hour of day, 

When workers wend their homeward way, 

And cloistered folk their Compline say, — 

Shaping my song, I find her thus. 
Mother of Him who fashioned us, 
Our Lady of the motor bus. 

Patiently we wait to do God's work, 
counting the years. One will come 
which will be the last. It will bear us 
home, and drop us at His feet; and, 
as we have been all for God in our exile, 
so God will be all for us in our eternal 
home. — Faber. 

The Doctor of Devotion. 


T^HERE can be no doubt that 
II had St. Francis de Sales 
in decided to yield to his 
Ji father's entreaties and follow 
the profession of the law instead of en- 
tering the priesthood, he would have 
been one of the foremost barristers of 
his time; for he was exceptionally 
gifted and carried off the highest honors 
at the University of Padua. But he 
chose the path of penance and sacrifice, 
and in leaving all things for the sake 
of his crucified Master he won fame 
that only shines the brighter with the 
lapse of years. 

Curiously enough, the profession his 
father had set his heart on his embrac- 
ing was the very one for which Francis 
had the greatest aversion. When conse- 
crated bishop, he forbade the ecclesias- 
tics subject to him to engage in law- 
suits, and told them to refer their dis- 
putes to arbitration. Still, while it was 
possible to hope at all, his father hoped 
that his first-born, of whom he was so 
proud, would eventually abandon the 
idea of the priesthood and be an honor 
to the family. Francis was much 
attached to his father, and it cost him a 
great deal to act against his wishes. 
Later he said to the Bishop of Belley : 

"I had the dearest and best father in 
the world; but he had passed most 
of his life at Court and in camp, and 



he understood the ideas of a courtier 
and soldier better than those of a priest 
or a confessor. When I was Provost, I 
preached constantly and everywhere; I 
never refused to do so, so dear to me 
was the Lord's word. My father, hear- 
ing the bell ring for devotions, would 
inquire, 'Who is going to preach?' and 
the reply was always, 'Who should it 
be but your son, the Provost?' This an- 
noyed him greatly, — so much so that he 
remonstrated with me. 'Look here, 
Provost,' he said : 'you preach much too 
often ; you make yourself too cheap. 
And, then, your sermons! Grand Dieu! 
No Latin, no Greek, no learned quota- 
tions. Your language is so simple and 
unstudied a child,, could understand it. 
Voyez-vous, that is not the way the 
great men of my day used to discourse,' 
and so on, and so on." 

The parents of St. Francis de Sales 
were known as M. and Mme. de Boisy, 
the husband having adopted his wife's 
name upon their marriage, when she^ 
received the estate of De Boisy as part 
of her dowry. Their son Francis has 
been called De Sales, because he was 
born in the castle of that name. Mme. 
de Boisy, who seems to have had many 
points of resemblance with the mother 
of St. Louis, King of France, conse- 
crated Francis to God as she knelt, be- 
fore his birth, in front of the Holy 
Winding sheet at Annecy, and was as 
anxious that he should become a priest 
as her husband was to see him a bar- 
rister. Both parents had the happiness 
of being attended by St. Francis during 
their last illness, and receiving Holy 
Communion from his hands. 

The doctors assured the saint that 
M. de Boisy was in no immediate 
danger, and would in all probability live 
till Easter. Francis, therefore, after 
his father had made a general confes- 
sion to him and received Holy Com- 
munion, left for Annecy, where he had 
promised to preach during Lent. Soon 

after his departure, M.'de Boisy had a 
relapse ; and, feeling that his end was at 
hand, and seeing his wife and daughters 
and their maids in tears, turned to his 
second son, Galloys, and said : "My dear 
son, you are my heir, and also the in- 
heritor of my courage: bring me my 
arms and help me to rise, so that I may 
die standing, sword in hand. It is un- 
v/orthy of a soldier accustomed to face 
death on the battlefield to die tamely in 
his bed, surrounded by weeping 
women." But his saintly son, though 
absent, was surely then praying for his 
dying father; for a more Christian 
spirit came upon him before the end, 
and it was while embracing the crucifix 
that the brave old soldier passed peace- 
fully away. 

Born in the Chateau de Sales, on the 
21st of August, 1567, the eldest son of 
M. and Mme. de Boisy was baptized 
within a few hours of his birth, in the 
parish church of Thorens, and chris- 
tened Francis BonaventurQ. The room 
in which he was born is all that now 
remains of the old chateau, and has 
been converted into a chapel. There 
was a little altar in it even when it was 
used as a bedroom. It was known in 
those days as la clmmhre de St. Fran- 
cois d'Assisi, because a portrait of that 
saint hung above the altar. It was 
probably the smallest room in the 
chateau; but a fine view of the sur- 
rounding country could, then as now, be 
had from its narrow window. It was 
partly in memory of this historic room 
that Francis de Sales, when Bishop of 
Geneva, selected a tiny room in the 
episcopal palace for his private use, to 
which he gave the name of la chambre 
de Francois. Unlike the reception 
rooms, which he called "the apartments 
of the Prince-Bishop," it was very 
simply furnished. "I must be the Bishop 
of Geneva in public," he would say, "but 
in private life I will be Francis de 



Although of a very pious disposi- 
tion — as, indeed, tHe son of such a 
mother could scarcely fail to be,^ — it is 
comforting to read that he was not an 
altogether model boy. He had a weak- 
ness for sweetmeats, and on one occa- 
sion descended to the kitchen, which 
was forbidden ground for him, and 
slyly helped himself to some choice cakes. 
Again, when his father so far yielded to 
his wishes as to allow him to receive the 
tonsure, Francis could not help crying 
for the loss of his pretty golden curls. 
He prayed for strength, hovvever, and 
when the fatal moment came submitted 
to their being cut with the best grace 
in the world. M. de Boisy knew when 
giving his consent that the tonsure en- 
tailed no obligation to renounce the 
world, nor even to wear the ec- 
clesiastical dress ; and hoped that, as his 
son was only eleven, he would, of course, 
■have other ideas when he grew older. 
It was quite a common thing for mere 
boys to receive the tonsure at that date. 

When a schoolboy at Annecy, Francis 
used to gather as many as he could of 
his comi'ades, when the lessons were 
over, and go with them to visit the 
Blessed Sacrament in the nearest 
church. People who watched him then 
prophesied that he would one day be the 
pride and glory of his race, even as he 
already seemed to be the visible angel of 
his family. At thirteen he was sent 
to Paris, accompanied by his pious, but 
somewhat hasty-tempered, tutor, M. 
Deage, of whom it is recorded that he 
boxed the ears of his charge in season 
^and out of season, growing more irrita- 
)le and exacting as the years wore 
m. But he never wearied the patience 
}f Francis, who loved and honored him 

the end, and provided handsomely for 
lim in his old age. 

Francis de Sales remained five years 
in Paris, where he studied at the Uni- 
versity. It was while in Paris that he 
teuffered the violent temptation to de- 

spair, from which after weeks of 
struggle he was delivered as he knelt 
before a statue of the Blessed Virgin in 
the church of St. Etienne de Gris, while 
reciting the IMemorare. He then 
promised to recite it frequently in 
thanksgiving, and to say the Rosary 
daily as well. 

On leaving Paris, he was sent to the 
University of Padua by his father, who 
wished him to take his degree of juris- 
prudence. Francis studied theology at 
the same time; for, while obeying his 
father, he never lost sight of his ambi- 
tion to become a priest some day. Pere 
Possevin, who was the saint's spiritual 
director at this time, told him that he 
would yet be a Prince of the Church 
and a bulwark of the Faith. While 
studying at Padua he was brought to 
death's door by a severe illness, attrib- 
uted to the severity of his studies 
joined to his bodily ' mortifications. 
Death had no terrors for him, and when 
told to prepare for it he received the 
announcement with joy. 

In those days — and, for that matter, 
down to comparatively recent times — 
the horrible practice of body-stealing 
for purposes of dissection was en- 
couraged by the medical profession, 
with the result that there were frequent 
free-fights between the thieves and the 
relatives of the outraged dead. Aware 
of this, and believing himself to be dy- 
ing, St. Francis turned to M. Deage, 
saying that he wished his body to be 
given to the dissectors. "It has been 
useless living," he declared; "I hope it 
may be of some use when dead." 

St. Francis attributed his restoration 
to health at Padua to the intercession of 
the Blessed Virgin, to whom, as usual, 
he had recourse; for, although willing 
and even glad to die, he thought it right 
to pray for his recovery, if it was God's 
will that he should live. \ 

In September, 1591, he received his 
degree of Doctor, the crown and cap 



being placed on his head by the learned 
Panciroli. "The University finds in 
you, Francis de Sales," he said, "the 
highest qualities of head and heart, 
and it is with the greatest pleasure it 
receives you among its graduates." 

Before returning to Savoy, Francis 
went to Rome, where he met St. Philip 
Neri, then in his seventy-seventh year. 
St. Philip was greatly pleased with 
Francis, who was at that time a hand- 
some man of twenty-four, graceful and 
accomplished, with k winning smile anfd 
kindly blue eyes; and prophesied that 
he was destined to be a zealous servant 
of the Most High and a Prince of the 
Church. on, St. Francis founded 
a Congregation of the Oratory of St. 
Philip Neri at Tonon, and was himself 
made its first superior by Pope Clement. 
He called it the Holy House, in honor of 
Loreto, which he visited on his way 
back from the Eternal City. 

M. de Boisy was delighted with his 
son's success at Padua, and insisted on 
his going to Chambery to be called to 
the Bar; and in November, 1592, Fran- 
cis de Sales was admitted as advocate 
by the Senate of Savoy. It was while 
on his way home that he met with the 
extraordinary adventure that brought 
matters to a clima*x and definitely de- 
cided his vocation. Francis and M. 
Deage were riding through the forest of 
Sonay when the former, though a first- 
rate horseman, was suddenly thrown 
from his horse without any apparent 
cause, his sword slipping from its scab- 
bard, and falling with it to the ground 
at the same time. As the sword and 
scabbard lay there they formed a cross. 
Francis mounted his horse again, and, 
buckling on his sword, continued the 
jour»ey. But after a few moments he 
was once more thrown to the ground, 
where, as before, his sword and scab- 
bard formed a cross. Again he replaced 
the sword in its sheath and remounted 
his horse, only to be flung to earth a few 

moments later, while, for the third time, 
sword and scabbard formed a cross as 
they fell with him. 

After this experience, Francis felt 
that he could not in conscience put off 
any longer his renunciation of the 
world. The cross so mysteriously 
formed by his fallen sword and scabbard 
was certainly a sign from Heaven that 
the destined hour was at hand when he 
must once and for all decide between 
obeying the will of a divine or a human 
father. And God, who was witness of 
his good will, made the sacrifice easy 
for him in the end; for he quite unex- 
pectedly won M. de Boisy's consent. The 
post of Provost of the Chapter of 
Geneva, which came next in dignity to 
that of Bishop, was just then vacant; 
and Louis de Sales, cousin to the saint, 
sought and obtained the Pope's consent 
to it,s being given to Francis. This honor 
flattered the paternal pride of M. de 
Boisy, who not only at last consented to 
his eldest son's entering the priesthood, 
but blessed him as well. 

St. Francis was so well versed in the- 
ology, and had been so long living what 
was practically the life of a religious 
in the world, that he was allowed to 
take Holy Orders without the customary 
delay. "I became a prelate without ever 
being a subject," he said ; "but I would 
have preferred to be a simple cleric, and 
would much rather have carried the 
holy water than the crosier." 

But although, as he himself declared, 
M. de Boisy was reconciled to his son's 
entering the priesthood, he had no desire 
to see him a martyr; it was with real 
displeasure that he learned that Claude 
de Granier, Bishop of Geneva, wished 
Francis de Skies to undertake the con- 
version of the Calvinists of the Cha- 
blais. When Chablais surrendered to 
Prince Charles Emmanuel of Savoy in 
1593, out of seventy-two parishes with 
a population of some thirty thousand 
souls, there were only one hundred 




• Catholics. The anti-Catholic feeling in 
the district was very strong, and M. de 
Boisy had some ground for the fear tljat 
his son would be murdered if he under- 
took the proposed mission. And when, 
in spite of his protests and threats, the 
saint did as he was ordered by his 
bishop, and departed for the Chablais 
with as little delay as possible, the in- 
dignant father refused to hold commu- 
nication with him, or to help him in 
any way. 

"When I preached in the Chablais," 
said St. Francis in after years, "I 
wished I could learn a trade, so as to 
be capable of earning something with 
my owii hands ; but I was so stupid that 
I could only mend my garments. It is 
true, however, that I cost not a farthing 
to any one during my stay there; for 
my good mother kept me supplied with 
all I required, secretly sending money 
and linen from the Chateau de Sales." 
One wonders what Mme. de Boisy 
thought of her son's patched garments, 
and of his sewing, when they met again. 
St. Francis himself used to carry the 
cross in religious processions in the 
Chablais ; and the following lines affixed 
to it were his own composition : 
Ce n'est pierre ni le bois 

L Que le Catholique adore; 

V Mais le Roi qui, moi-t en croix, 

De son sang le croix honore. 

The lines attracted much attention and 

, led crowds of Calvinists to inquire 

.further. When they found that they 

had been deceived by their ministers 

• into believing that Catholics adored 
wood and stone they became Catholics 
themselves ; St. Francis and his brother 

'I missionaries baptizing no fewer than 
seventy-two thousand persons. When 
the saint came among them, as has been 
stated, there were only a hundred Cath- 
olics: four years later there were 
scarcely a hundred Calvinists. No 
wonder that the Duke of Savoy called 
the saint "the Apostle of the Chablais." 

It was under this name that he was 
presented to Pope Clement VIII. upon 
his appointment as Bishop of Nicopolis 
and coadjutor of Geneva, with right of 
succession to that See. 

St. Francis' work for the Chablais 
was not yet finished, though it came 
very nearly being seriously injured, if 
not altogether destroyed, about the 
time of his visit to the Pope. In the 
August of 1600, Henry of Navarre en- 
tered Chambery in triumph, to the great 
joy of the Calvinists of Geneva and 
Berne, who petitioned him to proclaim 
the Edict of Nantes throughout the con- 
quered country. Seeing the danger, 
when Henry established himself at the 
Chateau of Annecy, St. Francis visited 
him there, making it his special request 
that all that had been done for the Cath- 
olic religion in the Chablais and the 
Ternier should be left intact. The King, 
who held his hat in his hand throughout 
the interview, was delighted with his 
saintly visitor, and pledged his royal 
word to leave matters as they were, and 
affixed his signature to a written 
promise to that effect. ^ 

In September, 1602, the venerable 
Bishop of Geneva passed to his eternal 
reward; and, on the 8th of, December 
following, Francis de Sales was .conse- 
crated as his successor in the church at 
Thorens,— the very church in which he 
had been bapti:?ed a few hours after 
birth. The 8th of December fell upon a 
Saturday that year, and was chosen for 
that reason by Francis for the ceremony 
of his consecration, as he v/ished it to 
take place on the day of the week that 
was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. 
The church was beautifully decorated 
by his mother and sisters with flowers 
and tapestiy; the armorial bearings of 
the House of de Sales being placed in 
front of the choir. These were sur- 
mounted by a mitre, a gold cross, and 
a green hat with the inscription, "Apres 
de longves aiinees le del." The saint 



had a vision of the Blessed Virgin and 
St. Peter and St. Paul during the cere- 
mony, at which they appeared to be 

St. Francis was at one time the spir- 
itual director of the celebrated abbess 
of the Abbey cf Port Royal, Marie An- 
gelique Arnauld, who subsequently fell 
under the unhappy influence of the Jan- 
senist Abbe of St. Cyran, with such dis- 
astrous results that the Order lost the 
Faith, as indeed St. Francis had warned 
the abbess that it would. The name of 
Mme. de Chantal will also, but in a 
different way, be always associated with 
St. Francis de Sales, in conjunction 
with whom she founded the Order of the 

When St. Francis died, Mme. de 
Chantal discovered a package of her 
o'wn letters to him, carefully arranged, 
and with marginal notes of his owti. 
In her humility she destroyed nearly all 
of them; a nun who was present rescu- 
ing a few with great difficulty. But 
another of his correspondents, Mme. 
de Charm.oisy, fortunately for posterity, 
kept every letter and note that she re- 
ceived from St. Francis de Sales. She 
allowed a Jesuit, Pere Forrier, to read 
them during the saint's lifetime, and it 
was owing to his influence that their 
author, who regarded them only as 
"viTetched scrawls," reluctantly con- 
sented to their publication in bock form. 
The book v/as printed at Lyons in 1608 
and was entitled "L'Introduction a )a 
Vie Devote." Its success Vv'as instanta- 
neous, and it translated into 
several languages. 

When the general of the Carthusians 
read "La Vie Devote," he advised St. 
Francis not to write another book, for 
fear that he might lose the reputation 
it had won for him. But when a second 
work, "L'Amour de Dieu," sippeared, 
the Carthusian critic changed his 
opinion, and implored the saint never 
again to lay down his pen. Henry of 

Navarre was so pleased with "L'lntro- 
duction a la Vie Devote" that he invited 
the author to resign his See and live in 
France, promising, him a position more 
suited to his merits and his talents ; and 
waa greatly disappointed when the saint 
refused. Henry sent a copy of the book 
to James I. of England, as a present 
from Marie de' Medici and himself. 
James was delighted with it, but 
grumbled a good deal because no Eng- 
lish bishop was capable of writing such 
a book. 

A work, in its way quite as famous 
as those just mentioned, was "L'Esprit 
de St. Frangois de Sales," of which John 
Peter Camus, Bishop of Belley, who had 
been consecrated by St. Francis de 
Sales, was the author. Among the 
anecdotes that have come down to us is 
one which shows how considerate St. 
Francis was of the feelings of others. 
People complained to him that the 
Bishop of Belley tired them out and 
taxed their piety to the utmost by, the 
length of time he took to say Mass; 
but it was not till ]\Igr. Camus remarked 
one day on the short time in Vvrhich St. 
Francis finished his public prayers that 
the saint ventured to repeat what had 
been said about his brother Bishop's 
slowness. "It is rather comical that the 
Bishop of Geneva should find fault with 
the Bishop of Belley for his slowness," 
said St. Francis, "and that the Bishop 
of Belley should remonstrate with the 
Bishop of Geneva for being too quick.. 
In future you should endeavor to be 
more quick, and I will try to be more 

Thus did the gentle saint take the 
sting out of a remark that might have 
been painful to hear if couched in other 
terms, or made at any other moment. 
"Truth must be always charitable," he 
said to Bishop Camus on another occa- 
sion ; "for bitter zeal does harm instead 
of good. Reprehensions are a fruit of 
hard digestion, and ought to be dressed 




en a fire of burning charity so well that 
all harshness will be taken off; other- 
V/ise, like unripe fruit, they only produce 
gripings . . . . A judicious silence is al- 
ways better than a truth spoken with- 
out charity." 

Besides being the meekest and 
humblest of men, St. Francis de Sales 
was of a very affectionate nature, and' 
said of himself: "Whoever challenges 
me in the contest of friendship must be 
very detemiined, for I spare no effort. 
No one has a heart more affectionate 
and tender towards his friends than I, 
or one which feels so acutely being 
separated from them. It has pleased 
Our Lord to make me so. I love my 
neighbors so much, and I wish to love 
them even more." 

He was very fond of children, and 
had a particular affection for his sister 
Jeanne. When she died he wrote to 
Mme. de Chantal: "What a happiness 
for this child to be taken av/ay, 'lest 
wickedness should alter her understand- 
ing,' and to have died unspotted by the 
world! You may imagine, my dear 
daughter, how tenderly I loved this 
young child. I had brought her forth to 
her Saviour, for I baptized her with my 
own hand some fourteen years ago. She 
vras the first creature on whom I exer- 
cised my priestly functions. I was her 
spiritual father, and fully promised 
myself to make something good out of 
her one day." 

When it was realized that the saint 
v/as dying, the nuns of the Visitation 
implored him to pr?.y to be left on earth 
a little longer; but Francis answered 
that he was leaving them in good hands, 
and that he was very tired, and would 
'•:e glad to rest with God. He was only 
fifty-five when he died, and had been 
twenty years a bishop. He w^as canon- 
ized in 1665 by Pope Alexander VH. 
In 1877 Pius IX. declared him a Doctor 
of the Church, his special title being 
Doctor of Devotion. 

Basil Kirby. 


IV. — The Slave of the Countess. 

HO was Mr. Kirby? That was 
what Chesska wanted to know. 
The Countess explained that he 
v/as an art critic, as wise as an 
owl about pictures. He wrote about 
them (she had seen his name in print), 
and he had a house in Half-Moon Street, 
vrhich vv^as a most exclusive and fash- 
ionable street in the grandest part of 
London. She herself had been always 
dying to live in Mayfair. It was close to 
Piccadilly and Bond Street, where all 
the dukes and titled people did their 
shopping .... 

The Countess had got off the main 
question. Chesska brought her back. 

"And have you known IMr. Kirby 
long. Aunt Eugenie?" 

Not very long, the lady said. But he 
was such a genius — a kindred spirit — 
one got at once to know him w^ell. He 
was bringing out some wonderful new 
invention now, — blowing colored glass, 
or something. She made his acquaint- 
ance first when she was tiying to get a 
good price — a few thousands — for some 
small paintings that belonged to the 
dear departed Giu. Mr. Kirby said they 
were no good; men of genius were 
always abrupt like that. And, really, 
afterwards she remicmbered her dear 
Giu told her he painted them himself 
when he was a boy ; but he said so many 
things she never believed him. 

Mr. Kirby was a strange, clever man, 
she said, — different from all her other 
friends. She was afraid he would never 
come to them; he never did. But she 
had hired his house near Piccadilly. 
Chesska would not find life triste. One 
must not be sad. She herself had never 
let grief crush her. Oh, dear, no, — ^that 
was a great mistake! As for her agje, 
she had stopped at fifty-two, and meant 



to stop there. Fifty-two was not old — 
"when the heart is young." 

The Countess told Chesska she loved 
the first nights of plays, and could not 
live without the theatrical papers. She 
hoped for many a year to give dinner 
and bridge parties, and to remain young 
and lively. "Remember, my dear, when 
you are growing old, one can be alwaVs 
young by lamplight, especially if there 
is a pink shade." This was already a 
different atmosphere from Sant' Isolda, 
and Chesska felt a mixture of wonder, 
amusement and dread. "I could dance 
with the best yet," the Countess ran on ; 
"but I leave that to you slips of girls; 
none of you are as light on your feet 
as I could be if I chose. And you-should 
hear me recite. I can act through most 
of the Ingoldsby Legends and the Bab 
Ballads. I got them up when I left the 
stage, — to amuse myself entertaining." 

"You must be very clever," said 
Chesska, with awe. It was dawning on 
her that the silver-haired lady could talk 
of herself till morning. The girl's eyes 
were hea\y. "There is no light on the 
sea now," she said. "How far the moon 
has gone!" 

"Oh, my dear, you are keeping me up 
all night !" said Aunt Eugenie, springing 
to her feet. "Good-night, Chesska, — 
good-night! What shall I look like in 
the morning? You will bring me my 
letters, won't you? And don't wake me 
if I am asleep." 

The next day they set off on their 
journey to London ; and before a week 
was over, Basil Kirby had gone, down 
to Devonshire, and the Countess and her 
young companion removed from a hotel 
to the house in Half-Moon Street, Pic- 
cadilly. The key was turned in the 
study door on the first-floor landing; 
and it was understood that the owner 
of the house reser\'ed that one small 
room, which contained his books and 
papers. For the rest, the place was 
theirs. Jenkins and his wife waited 

upon the newcomers; Yvonne, the 
French maid, ran up and down stairs 
at the Countess' bell. Ariel, the Pom, 
barked wild defence in the hall near the 
carved screen, among Basil Kirby's 
china and panelling. 'And Chesska 
Brown began her life in the great, piti- 
less world rather timidly; for the safe 
slielter of Sant' Isolda had been her 
home, with all its holy love, sweet sjmi- 
pathy, and childlike joy. 

There was the Countess instead of 
the Reverend Mother; the bridge- 
players and first-night theatre-goers 
instead of the nuns and the children. At 
one end of the short street, fashion and 
business traffic went rolling along by 
the Park ; at the other, some temple of a 
new Second Advent sect had been built 
brand new on ground that cost a shovel 
of gold an inch. It was all town instead 
of the Riviera flooded with sunshine; 
here was soot on the ledges, clouds over-' 
head, rain in the wind, mud underfoot. 
Chesska stood near the green silk cur- 
tain, with her cheek against the cold 

Aunt Eugenie put her head in at the 
door. "Don't do that. I thought your 
nuns would have told you it is the very 
worst style to look out of the wilidow. 
But I ought not expect style from 
Giulio's people." With that stab, the 
Countess left her. 

Not more than a fortnight had passed 
when the girl from Sant' Isolda in her 
own mind voted Half-Moon Street 
impossible. In the first place, the people 
that came to the house were not to be 
endured. Young men, insultingly famil- 
iar and flattering, arrived evening after 
evening to play cards and "win money. 
Two hideous, greasy, Turkish-looking 
fellows had nicknames derived from the 
bridge table: Grand Slam and Little 
Slam. When Chesska snubbed them 
icily, the Countess told her to get rid 
of her convent ideas, — to be modern, 



Actresses stepped in noisily to after- 
noon tea and gossip. Chesska had noth- 
ing to say among scandal, showy frocks 
and powdered faces. They patronized 
Countess Cavaletti's niece. One of them 
suggested that she need not mind about 
looks: a plain girl could do quite all 
right and have "ripping luck" on the 
stage, if she had "good manners and a 
bit of sauce." When they went away, 
the house of the absent Basil Kirby was 
reeking with vulgar scent, and there 
was a silence as if a storm was over — 
until the Pom began to bark, and the 
Countess to ring the, bell and scream for 
Ariel's next meal. The beautiful draw- 
ing-room, with its color scheme like an 
Orchardson picture, its cream-white 
panelling, and artistic tints of gold and 
brown, seemed to be entirely a wrong 
background for these desecrating visits. 
One could not imagine Mr. Kirby in the 
same room with the Countess' friends. 
Then the Countess herself was a 
sharp trial. She could be charming 
with strangers, but she reigned' fret- 
fully in her own home, devoting all 
spare thought and time to Ariel. The 
service of the Pom was the last straw 
for Chesska — and eveiybody else. Jen- 
kins swore he would wire to his master. 
The co(5k wept that she was trampled 
upon, and got notice to go, but she had 
to remain, as she was the wife of 
Jenkins, and Jenkins was a fixture. 
Even the lady's own French maid, 
Yvonne, talked of leaving. * 

There was not one hour's peace in the 
little panelled house; and the limit of 
endurance was reached when the 
Countess became hysterical, declaring 
no one loved her but the dog. It was 
^\the jBnd of a gay evening; she had 
recited till the room rang with laughter ; 
md she had been told it was superb, and 
lat she ought to appear behind the 
footlights again for a few turns of 
)urlesque. And then, when the guests 
'^ere gone, the doctor had to be called 

by telephone, and she was advised to 
take the "rest cure." 

Aunt Eugenie was a creature of 
moods. She was prostrate, and emo- 
tionally affectionate now to her dear 
Chesska. The doctor's visit had made 
her an invalid. Her dear Chesska should 
remain with her, for she would never 
be able to sleep. So the girl sat there 
with a night-light burning, and weird 
shadows spreading round the room from 
the four-poster of carved oak. 

Chesska sat shivering in her blue 
dressing gown, her curly plaits of hair 
hanging on "her shoulders, and her eyes 
heavy with sleep. Sometimes she dared 
to stir and put a few pieces of coal 
noiselessly _on the fire with the little 
brass tongs. Then, with her feet on tjie 
curb fender, she would begin to think 
she was on the seat under the palms in 
the Sant' Isolda garden — ^where indeed 
she sighed to be, — and all at once a 
querulous voice would call her from her 
dreams : "My dear girl, what is the use 
of having you to sit up if you go to 
sleep like Mrs. Gamp? Do tuck in 
Ariel ! Don't you see he has crawled off 
his own quilt, and he will roll down on 
the floor in a minute?" 

Night after night the Countess slept 
peacefully most, of the time, and 
declared in the morning she had never 
closed her eyes. By some fatality she 
always happened to wake and mention 
Mrs. Gamp, if the girl began to dream 
of Sant' Isolda. 

Each morning Chesska had to go 
down and bring the early cup of tea; 
Mrs. Jenkins had been told she did not 
know how to make it. Then the dog's 
breakfast had to be prepared; Jenkins 
and his wife were unequal to that. It 
had to be shown to the Countess every 
morning and approved, or the dog 
might have t>een cheated any day with 
a sane diet of scraps. 

After breakfast Yvonne took charge 
of the personal appearance of the 



Countess. Ablutions and mysterious 
rites occupied the best part of an hour. 
Chesska, returning to Aunt Eugenie, 
saw her transformed. Her complexion 
had the softness and bloom of youth; 
the eyebrows and ej^elashes were dark; 
the silver hair was curled and puffed as 
if she belonged to the Court of the 
French Monarchy. During the "rest 
cure" the Countess Cavaletti wore a 
mirror-velvet sortie-de-bal, rose color, 
with a lace hood, as if she were on the 
point of going out to the opera instead 
of reposing propped against pillows. 

After the reading of the morning 
letters and the news of the theatrical 
papers, the Pom had to be taken to the 

There was a spice of humor in 
Chesska that made her ready to laugh, 
even when exhaustion brought her to 
the verge of tears. Wouldn't it be the 
best way to get a bag from Jenkins and 
swing the precious Ariel in it with just 
his head sticking out? 

"Begging your pardon. Miss," sug- 
gested the faithful Jenkins, "I should 
say, if I was you, as I never took out a 
dog but I lost him." 

It was a heavenly rest to take a book 
and read oneself to sleep in the restful 
room at the rear that had been . Mr. 
Kirby's drawing-room; but after one 
day, when Grand Slam and Little Slam 
intruded upon her with their noisy 
compliments, she had to find another 
refuge; for Aunt Eugenie's friends 
were, from Chesska's point of view, 
absolutely impossible. 

As the owner of the place v/as down 
in Devonshire, there was one corner of 
the house quite safe from disturbance. 
When Chesska could snatch a few free 
minutes, she found her way from the 
first landing through a greenhouse full 
of ferns into that book-lined room 
where the absent master had spent most 
of his time. A slight odor of smoke 
lingered about the Oriental hangings 

and the cushioned, deep-seated chairs. It 
was then the time to finger the beads 
she hart brought from Sant' Isolda, 
while she sat thinking and dreaming, 
too tired to sleep. 

China vases and all sorts of aitistic 
ornaments were massed on the table 
desk, the mantelpiece, and the top of 
the great, carved oak chest. Chesska 
knew why all those things were there. 
The reason could be guessed from Aunt 
Eugenie's story of her acquaintance 
with Basil Kirby. They had met over 
..the valuing of a picture. He was unlike 
all her other friends. His manner was 
a perfect union of courtesy and direct 
simplicity. He was more lettered and 
travelled, more virile, and at the same 
time more unassuming, than any one 
else. There were moments when the 
Countess could not understand his 
thoughts; one had to have a broader 
education than hers to follow his humor. 

Chesska had fallen asleep one day in 
the study, among the books and the 
refugee china, with the glass door 
closed behind her, and a bright mist of 
glass and light and ferns beyond. She 
was wakened by a click from the oppo- 
site door, and there stood Mr. Kirby 
himself, a man^ to her young sight, 
quite middle-aged, with strong, clear-cut 
features, a mass of brown hair, and 
studious dark-grey eyes. 

Their apologies crossed. She sprang 
up, startled, but glad to see a friend. 
He did not resent her resting in that 
room, — ^that was clear; he made no 
secret of pleasure and surprise, and he 
would hardly listen to her excuses when 
she told him people burst into the rooms 
downstairs, and Yvonne ran in and out 
of her bedroom to tell her about the sol- 
dier in "Algerie." Aunt Eugenie was 
taking the rest cure, and, she said, one 
did get so tired sitting up all night. 

"What! — the Countess is having the 
rest cure, is she, and she keeps you up 
with her all night? Why, child, that's 



downright cruel." He caught both her 
h:inds and led her towards the glass side 
of the room, to look at her tired face 
as if she were a child indeed. "Why, 
you are fagged out!" He looked down 
at her with pity and protection. The 
Rosary caught his eye. It was hanging 
from her wrist. He took up the end of 
the chain, and noted the arrangement 
of cross and beads with some curiosity. 
"But you must be a Catholic, Miss 
Brown?" he said, with a quiet reverence. 
She shook her head rather sadly. 
No, but I wanted to have a Rosary at 
Sant' Isolda. Daddy didn't mind what 
prayers one said, but he was Church 
of England. I know how to say the 
icosary." Atid she, added a girl's word 
of admiration, "It's lovely." 

"I am going to ring for Jenkins to 
light a fire for us," said Basil, changing 
the subject suddenly. "This rainy day 
is cold. You need warmth, child; and 
\7hat I need is a corner at a home fire, 
v/her^ I can sit and rest, and talk to 
somebody like you." 

(To be continued.) 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

New Series. 

BY K. C. 

The Way of the Flowers. 


^ILACS in the silver Spring, 

Asters in the Fall, 
Hollyhocks the Suiiimer through 

By the garden wall; 
And the Will that keeps them so 

High above them all. 

Little peoples bend their backs 

For the victor's rod; 
Hoary nations sink in strife, 

Crumble in the sod; 
But the tulips lift their heads 

For the love of God. 

Kings and kingdoms rear their heads. 

Kings and kingdoms fall; 
Poppies still the Summer through 

Bloom beside the wall; 
Violets in the silver Spring, 

Dahlias in the Fall. 


IT was on a Sunday night in Novem- 
ber, 1920 — a wild night of thunder, 
lightniiig and rain, — ^that a sick call 
came to the little house with the ivied 
front ori the road from Galway to Salt 
Hill. Tv/o priests lived there. Father 
-O'Meehan was absent ; Father ' Griffin 
answered the call. Two men had come, 
pretending to be messengers fror^ some 
dying mtin at a distance. The last word 
the housekeeper heard Father 'Griffin 
say was to the effect that he would will- 
ingly "take' more trouble than this for 
him." There must have been some soit 
of pretended apologj^ for bringing the 
priest out on that terrible night. Father 
Griffin at first took the Blessed Sacra- 
ment from the room which was used as 
a chapel for the reservation of the 
Sacred Host for the sick (the church 
being at some distance) ; then, as if sus- 
picion crossed his mind, the doomed 
priest went and put the Blessed Sacra- 
ment back again, before he left the 
house with his traitorous escort. If 
there was in his m.ind the knowledge 
that he was risking his life, the tragedj'' 
changes from assassination to some- 
thing like martyrdom. 

Beyond the first clump of trees swing- 
ing in the storm, the low grey wall 
towards the fields had a bend, and the 
road had an abrupt turn. In all likeli- 
hood, a militaiy lorry was waiting 
beyond that corner. Heaven knows how 
he was spirited away, but Father 
Michael w^as never seen alive again. Day 
after day went by. Newspapers in Ire- 
land and England reported the disap- 
pearance of a Galway priest. His people 
dreaded the worst, knowing the fiendish 
brutality of the men who had been sent 
to terrorize Ireland. Yet it was hard to 



imagine why this young priest, of all 
others, should have been singled out to 
be foully murdered. The lover of the 
children and the poor — what had he 
done to become the object of spite or of 
vengeance? Afterwards, searching the 
course of recent events, a possible cause 
was fourid. Let us see what happened 
a few weeks before. 

Imagine the dock side of Galway 
beyond the Spanish Arch and the Clad- 
dagh. Over there, lived a young man 
named Quirk, who had been assistant 
in a leading business house of Cork, — 
a jeweller and silversmith's. Quirk was 
called from his lodging one night, seized 
by a group of armed men, dragged to 
the waterside, and left riddled with bul- 
lets. Possibly his uniformed murderers 
thought nine or ten shots must have fin- 
ished him ; but when they were gone, we 
see him crawling slowly and with much 
loss of blood ; and somehow he manages 
to get to the door of the lodging. It is 
a strange house to him, where he only 
rents his room ; but, being in Ireland, it 
is a Catholic house. There seems to be 
no chance of doctor or priest. After 
curfew time, to go into the street is to 
run the peril of death. 

Laid on his bed, he is bandaged in 
some unskilled way with the best care 
of the people of the house. He has seen 
a little child there, — a child of seven or 
eight. "Send me the child to pray be- 
side me," he whispers. "If I can't have 
the priest, let the child come and pray 
near me, for this is my death." Per- 
haps that prayer obtained courage for 
the quest. Two girls, in spite of curfew 
orders, ran out to secure help. Unable 
to bring the priest of that parish — 
possibly being hindered by danger from 
the lorries, — they brought a priest from 
a distance, and that was Father Griffin. 
He went at once to the dying man, heard 
his confession, anointed him, gave him 
his l^st Communion. Quirk, who had 
so wisely asked for the prayers of the 

child, died in peace, with the full rites 
of the Church. But here came the impli- 
cation of Father Griffin. The ^sassins 
believed the priest had received some 
deposition or some verbal statement 
from their victim. Quirk knew who had 
attacked him ; the priest knew too much. 
Or, perhaps, to their suspicious minds, 
it was highly probable that the priest 
who had attended Quirk knew about 
Quirk's associates, and could be forced 
to give information. 

On that Sunday night of storm and 
lightning, it is believed that an army 
lorry took the captured priest to the 
headquarters of the "auxiliaries," the 
country house called Lenaj^oy. Densely 
wooded, undulatirig, grounds surround 
the mansion: not a vestige of it can be 
seen from the road. Beyond the trees 
of this private park is the boundary 
wall of a convent garden. People in 
the neighborhood say that a bright light 
was visible that Sunday night over 
Lenaboy, as if near the house some use 
was being made of one of the search- 
Tights that were often mounted on the 
lorries. ' The noise of shots was a com- 
mon experience, hardly to be noticed;" 
but on the Monday the nuns found that 
a bullet had pierced the convent wall. 

The next step was the circulation of 
a rumor — an incredible report — in the 
English papers. It could not have de- 
ceived any Irish man or woman for 
one moment: The bearing of false wit- 
ness has been a notorious ru$e in the 
suppression of the truth regarding Ire- 
land ; it was too often the usual course, 
like the official denial. The circulation 
of this calumny went even to the House 
of Commons. When a question was put 
to Sir Hamar Greenwood, a few days ■ 
later, about the murder pf the Galway 
priest, a voice among the ministerial 
benches was heard prompting him: 
"Say Sinn Fein did it." 

We now come to the Saturday even- 
ing, nearly a week after the disappear- 



ance, and we look at a desolate road 
skirting a bog. It is four miles from 
Galway, far beyond Salt Hill, about a 
mile inland from Barna. People re- 
membered that the rumble of a lorry 
was heard twice near cottages there on 
the Monday night. A lorry went past 
without any flare of light; and after a 
long time the same lorry came back 
with lamps. The men of the neighbor- 
hood are searching far and wide for 
any disturbance of the ground. You 
can not trace disturbed ground in a bog ; 
but, by a merciful providence, the holy 
body is not to be left buried in the black 
peat. There is a sign; a little end of 
cloth is noticed a few yards distant 
from the road, and eagerly examined. 
It is not a detached rag: it goes down 
into the watery ground. The searchers 
have seen enough. 

That night they are there agaiin," with 
a lantern and spades. Three priests 
are with them. The pony and car are 
hidden away behind a cottage at some 
distance. One of the boys keeps watch, 
while the digging begins very carefully 
by lantern light. The hole has sunk 
to a depth of hardly two feet, when a 
hand goes down and feels the neck of a 
buried man with the straight line of a 
wet Roman collar across it. Not long 
afterwards a burden, carefully wrapped, 
is carried on one of the little carts of 
the country, escorted by a guard of 
I. R. A. men. They take it by the short- 
est way in the night into Galway, con- 
scious all along the four miles that a 
chance meeting with a lorry of soldiers 
would mean interrogation and a violent 
attempt to capture the remains of 
the beloved Father Griffin. After cur- 
few hours, but before dawn, the un- 
obtrusive little cart gets safely into the 
city, and the sacred remains are re- 

leived secretly, reverently, at the pres- 

)ytery of St. Joseph's. 
The body was quite perfect, but bore 

larks of the most brutal ill usage 

before death. From the state of the 
jaw, it seemed as if the priest had been 
struck in the face, like his Divine Mas- 
ter. In all likelihood, there was an 
attempt to extract infonnation, — ques- 
tions that brought no answers to the 
violent men who had him in their 
power. The attempt failed. A bullet 
through the temple ended the priest's 

When the nuns had washed away the 
black earth of the bog, and clothed the 
dead priest in his sacred vestments, he 
was laid before the altar of the church 
where he used to say Mass. A vast con- 
course of people streamed in and out 
of the sacred edifice. But there was one 
figure that remained all the time, — one 
figure in black — ^the saintly and heroic 
mother of the priest. Had not his 
ordination day been the great day of her 
life — a day never to be forgotten? With 
the fortitude of the Irish mother, she 
kept loving watch close by her murdered 
son so long as the body lay before the 
altar in its last sleep. 

The bishop spoke of the crime, on the 
following Sunday, as a horrible sacri- 
lege, — an outrage not to be classed with 
anything else. "Such a thing," he said, 
"has not happened in Ireland since the 
days of the priest-hunters." Then, 
after a time, came the revelations of 
General Crozier, when a British general 
became utterly disgusted with the force 
of which he had only nominal command. 
He revealed that the shot had been fired 
by a "cadet," — ^that is, by one of the 
"auxiliaries," commanders of men in the 
late war. These ex-officers were sup- 
posed to be a grade above the Black 
and Tans, but went for pay to Ireland 
and did the same foul work, — some of 
them at least. 

We hear since from another source 
that the auxiliary who killed Father 
Griffin is still boasting of his infamous 
deed. It is quite likely that the "depart- 
ment" into whose hands the priest fell 



did not mean to kill the prisoner, but to 
investigate. Their investigations were 
brutal: he was killed, and they hushed 
it up. As General Crozier told, a cer- 
tain officer was standing by, who after- 
wards saw the body conveyed to the bog 
and buried; and that ofiicer was ttiken 
out of the way by being given a 
command elsewhere. In his dossier the 
General proves beyond doubt the sup- 
pression of evidence concerning the 
cruel murder. 

So far, we gathered this awful history 
from the lips of the people, the pastor, 
even the child who stood up by the turf 
fire and gasped out with horror, "The^ 
killed the priest!" 

It was by a strange chance that we 
took a lodging so close to the door froni 
which he had gone out on the fatal 
night. One could not wake without 
thinking of the silent road below, and 
the grey wall and the fields, — the Clad- 
dagh beyond with the Spanish Arch and 
the quays. And always on the road, in 
imagination, there was darkness, storm, 
lightning flashing, and the muffled 
figure of a priest hurried along by 
traitors, — a priest going out to absolve 
the dying, giving his life for a soul. 

By a still stranger chance, in a Gal- 
way cottage, one evening at nightfall, 
we sat beside the man who lifted hira 
from the bog. He had been "on the 
run." He came in at the hospitable 
door, and was standing unnoticed for 
some time, while we laughed over our 
struggles with the difficulties of Gaelic. 
He hoped he did not intrude. No: he 
was welcome. Here was the next 
stool, — one of those long, narrow Irish 
stools that are nowhere to be found 
except beside a turf fire. We exchanged 
phrases and acquired new words. He 
had learned the language first at school 
in the new Gaelic movement; and now, 
mixing with the Irish-speaking people, 
he spoke it with a rapidity that baffled 
the ear. He was given a meal in the 

inner room. He sang us an Irish song- 
Then he went away again in the gather- 
ing darkness, with all his possessions 
in the little bag swinging in his hand. 
But we knew by that time what he had 
been privileged to do; and he did not 
go till we had clasped the hand that had 
labored so reverently to clear away the 
water-sodden earth, and lift the dead 
priest from the bog by lantern light. 

(To ))c continued.) 

Robin the Page. , 


III. — The Banquet. 
"T>E not afraid, lad. Hold up your 
■D head, and play and sing your best. 
But mind this : not a word of your ad- 
venture. The King has been told by the 
Bishop that he has escaped a great 
peril, but knows no more. Justice has 
been tempered with mercy, and the 
miscreants who plotted the evil have 
been sent out of the Kingdom under 
escort. Do your best to amuse their 
Highnesses for my sake. Now come !" 

These words were spoken as the 
Llayor and Robin climbed the broad 
staircase of the guildhall; and when 
they reached the top, the former pushed 
open a tapestry-covered door, and they 
found themselves in the splendid ban- 
quet room. 

The hautboys were playing in the 
minstrels' gallery as Mayor Royle led 
Robin over the polished floor to the 
raised dais, where Henry VIII. and 
Catharine of Aragon were seated with 
Bishop Algar. The feast had put the 
King in an excellent temper, though now 
and again the red gleam which spelled 
danger came into his eyes. 

Presently the Bishop leaned forward 
and in a low tone said something to 
their Highnesses, who gave Robin their 
hands to be kissed. 

"Ho, ho, Master Mayor ! This is the 



young spark who goes about discovering 
plots and conspiracies, I trow," said 
Henry; and Royle replied that it was 
the same. 

"He is a troubadour, too, I hear," said 
the Queen. "Let us listen to one of 
his lays. If it is of our Blessed Lady, 
it will please us all the more." 

"Now, Robin, thy best!" whispered 
Royle, kindly ; and the minstrel took his 
harp and sang the "Song of the Blessed 
Children" : 

Happy the victor 

Who winneth the palm; 
Happy the sailor 

Who sails on in calm; 
But happier far are the (Children who play 
At the feet of Christ's Mother forever and aye. 

Safe is the bird in 
Its soft little nest; 
Safe is the babe in 
Its cradle at rest; 
But safer by far are the children who play 
At the feet of Our Lady forever and aye. 

Glad is the skylark 

When singing at morn; 
Glad is the reaper 

When reaping the corn; 
But gladder by far are the children who stay 
At the feet of Our Lady forever and aye. 

Robin sang and played this song 
amidst silence; and when it was ended, 
he modestly bowed and drew back. But 
Catharine called him to her chair. "I 

- like that song," said she. "It might 
have been sung in sunny Spain. I 
would hear more of it. How wouldst 

' like to come to Court and be my 
troubadour, my minstrel page?" 

"Well spoken!" chimed in her hus- 
band. Then he asked Robin if the 
Queen's speech had pleased him. 

For a momfent — a moment only — the 
boy hesitated. The home of the Royles 
rose before him, with its happy family 
group. Then ambition painted the Court 
and all that Court favor meant. Should 
he kick away the ladder set at his feet? 
Would so fair a chance ever be his 
again? Sinking on one knee, he kissed 
the King's hand and said: "Highness, 

I shall be proud to be the Queen's page." 

"Ha, that is well!" replied Henry. 
"The Mayor and his good wife will rig 
thee out, and we will pay for the rig- 
ging. When we quit the city be ready 
to go, too." 

The Mayor made his obeisance and 
took his leave with Robin ; but not until 
they had recrossed the courtyard and 
were clear of the guildhall did he 
speak, and then it was to say : "Put not 
your trust in princes. You know where 
that is written, son. The King is incon- 
stant, so say they who ken him well. 
He is a rover in love: why shouldn't 
he be the same in patronage? He who 
falls from the top of a ladder gets many 
bruises. You might do worse than bide 
with me, and I would teach you my call- 
ing. It is well to have a good, honest 
trade in one's hand. Think it over 
again, Robin." 

Robin did think it over, — thought it 
over on his bed when the midnight 
chimes were playing, and at other times. 
But his decision in the guildhall was 
final; and when Henry and Catharine 
quitted the old town, with fanfare of 
trumpets and much pomp, the minstrel, 
in a blue velvet jerkin and a plumed cap, 
rode in their retinue on a white palfrey. 
He had gained his heart's desire. 

The kind-hearted Mayor felt a trifle 
depressed after the cavalcade had 
quitted the city. He had taken a liking 
to Robin, and would gladly have been a 
second father to him. 

IV. — The Storm. 

Some time after the royal visit to the 
city a dark cloud came over Old Eng- 
land, — a cloud behind which only the 
eyes of faith saw the rainbow. The 
fickle Henry took a distaste to his dark- 
eyed Spanish Queen, and desired to 
place the coquettish Anne Boleyn in her 
seat. When Rome said its Non pos- 
simus, he yielded to the temptation to 
tal^e his own course, to be what lie 



called free, and gave ear to the newly 
fmported religion. It was a terrible 
time for the Catholics of the land. 
Those who would not own the King as 
spiritual head of the Church were har- 
ried ; it was a crime to keep faithful to 
Peter. The pillage began. The King's 
commissioners made visitations to reli- 
gious houses, circulated groundless 
charges, took the revenues and sacred 
treasures, and turned the inmates 
adrift. ' 

Silverbridge, although not entirely es- 
caping, v/as for a time better off than 
the neighboring cities. Its spiritual 
head, Bishop Algar, had not been re- 
quired to take the Oath of Allegiance 
and still retained his See'; its religious 
pursued the even tenor of their way. 
Father Benedict still kept his "free 
school" under the shadow of the old 
church of the Knights of St. John. But 
there were some — among them Felix 
Royle, the painter on glass — who fore- 
saw that the tempest must eventually 
break over the city. 

Feeling it to be a simple duty, he had 
written to Robin, and told him to come 
and seek shelter in the House of the 
Golden Banner, so that he might not be 
tempted to sin against his Faith, as he 
would do if he became the page of the 
Lady Anne. But the reply was far 
from satisfying to Royle. Robin liked 
the Court ; the new Queen had appointed 
him her troubadour; the King was his 
good master; and he, Robin Shelvocke, 
was well content. One saving touch of 
grace the letter did contain. He hoped 
that the friends who had been so kind to 
poor Robin would remember him. 

"That will we," said the Mayor. He 
turned to Wattie : "Boy, if dad has gone 
and Rob turns to ye in need, shut not 
the door on him. Ye would ope it to a 
stray dog: surely ye would do it to a 
soul for whom Christ died." 

Wattle's young face hardened. "He's 
a coward, father, all the same. If he 

had not been one, he would have left 
the Court when Mistress Anne queened 

"Remember, Wattie, he is. young and 
unstable. Children who've been de- 
prived of cake are apt to eat too freely. 
One Queen may be the same as another 
to him. Alas ! 'tis rumored that he has 
lost his Faith ; has even attended Anne 
Boleyn when she went to a service of 
the new religion. God pity him !" 

"Dad, a man who came from London 
saw him. He, the man, said that holy 
Fisher's head after martyrdom was set 
up on London Bridge, and the Queen 
and her ladies went to see it. And 
Robin was present. What sayest now, 

"What I said before. He is a sheep in 
dry pastures, where the wells are 
poisoned. Let us say some Aves for 

Soon after this conversation, a clown 
came to the House of the Golden Banner 
with a message for its master. Would 
the good man accompany him, the 
^'merry-andrew," to a certain booth in 
Cole's Meadow, where one who bade 
him be in mind of Walsingham was 
waiting to have a word with him before 
heleft the town? 

Felix Royle went at once with the 
clown to a large caravan, in which a 
tall, gray-haired man and a little girl 
awaited him. Seeing the stranger, the 
child ran away to amuse herself. 

"Sir Thomas," said Royle, huskily, 
"what brings you here?" 

"Evil fortune and trust in the man 
who made a pilgrimage to Walsingham 
by my side, and who painted St. Wal- 
stan on our church window," was the 
answer. "Royle, Lady Diana has left 
me. She was my first cousin, and the 
new learning teaches that cousinship is 
too near of kin for spousals, and freed 
her from her vows. She has wedded 
Earl Wayverne, left me forever. She 
asked for little Ciss, and was backed up 



by a royal mandate. But I kept Ciss' 
close ; and she and I came with this good 
showman to Silverbridge fair, both of 
us disguised. Felix, I am on my way to 
Spain, where I have friends. Wilt guard 
my one jewel, my little Cicely, till such 
time as this tempest be overpast, and I 
can claim her once again?" 

Royle placed his right hand on that 
of the speaker and said earnestly, even 
solemnly : "I will guard her as the apple 
of my eye, as mine own Jean. And, if 
aught hap to me, my wife and children 
will do the same. Rest content." 

"That will I, old friend and true. Call 
her Ciss Royle. I have bidden her obey 
you as her guardian, and she has been 
bidden to speak not of the past. There 
remains but this." He felt in an inner 
pocket of his vest and drew out a care- 
fully wrapped parcel. "This," he said, 
"contains a golden cross and chain of 
flawless pearls, given to one of our 
family by a dead queen. It is of great 
value, and I put it in your keeping. If 
Cicely is in danger, hesitate not to use 
it. I beseech you guard that pearl of 
great price — her Faith. I'll fetch the 
lambkin now." 

He went outside, and returned with a 
dark-haired child, dressed as a mum- 
mer's daughter. 

"Cicely my birdie," he said brokenly, 
"go with Uncle Royle, and say good-bye 
to father." 

Cicely pouted, winked the tears away, 
threw her arms round Sir Thomas and 
cried: "I won't say it! Come away 
with me!" 

She was deaf to all persuasion ; and at 
last Royle drew her apart and said: 
"Little Ciss, canst keep a big secret?" 

"Try me!" was the retort. 

"If father doesn't go over the sea, we 
shall lose him. Naughty men may .take 
him and put him into a prison, and we 
may never see him again. But if you 
come, like a good little lass, with me, 
you shall play with Jean; and daddy 

will be so happy to think that his Cissie 
is merry and good. See?" 

"Yes, yes. Uncle Royle!" said Cicely. 
"But v/here's muv\^er?" 

V. — The Scaffold. 

The storm was at its worst. The 
new religion was dominant ; the Spanish 
Queen was dangerously ill at Kimbolton ; 
the Coui-t was madly gay ; the stake, the 
rack, the Tower, were the heritage of 
men faithful amidst the faithless found. 
It was criminal to acknowledge the Pope 
as Supreme Father of Chi'istendom. 
Times were troublous at Silverbridge. 
The King's commissioners were making 
a visitation of the Benedictine monas- 
tery; but the faithful meant to have 
their annual procession of the Blessed 
Sacrament, for all that; and have it 
with its usual pomp and splendor, too. 
They had it. Bells chimed; the maids 
wore their blue and white; thurifer- 
bearers sent up wreaths of incense to 
the clear, blue sky ; the religious Orders 
and the trade guilds floated their 
banners. Bishop Algar, in gorgeous 
vestments, bore the monstrance under a 
silken . canopy. The procession was 
headed by the Mayor. 

On they went, — on; walkiijig slowly, 
singing solemnly, until they reached the 
church walk, where the berries were in 
blossom. Then came an interruption. 
Men with halberts, and the Tudor Rose 
emblazoned on jerkins, stopped the way. 

"Halt!" they shouted. 

The long line paused. Three men 
stepped forward and laid hands on 
Bishop Algar. Royle walked up to them 
and said: "Take off your hands. Our 
Father in God bears the Blessed Sacra- 

"Yea, but I am an oflficer of the King's 
Guard of the new religion; and Algar, 
Bishop of Silverbridge, has refused to 
acknowledge our Lord King Henry as 
head of the Church of England. There- 
fore he is committed to the Tower." 



Hurt and indignant, Royle put forth 
his right hand and pushed the three 
hands from the Bishop's shoulder. "He 
is right!" he cried. "The Pope is Head 
of the Church in this as in all Christian 

"Peace!" said the prelate, authori- 
tatively. "Bandy not words about me. 
I am ready to be offered as was my 
Master before me." He gave the mon- 
strance to an attendant priest, and 
folded his hands on his breast. 

The captain of the Guard made a sign 
to his followers, and they led the prelate 
and the Mayor away, — the one to im- 
prisonment in the armory pending his 
durance in the Tower, and the other to 
the guildhall dungeons. 

Jean and little Ciss accompanied the 
sad procession. The former, as white 
as her veil, put an arm round her 
father's shoulders and walked beside 

"Jean dear," he whispered, "soften 
the blow to mother all you can. I am 
glad Wattie had to go to Green Corner. 
I know not what he might have done." 

After a while they came to the guild- 
hall, and there Jean and Ciss said good- 
bye to Royle. 

I can not describe how the long hours 
passed in the House of the Golden Ban- 
ner. But there came a day and an 
hour when Jean and Wattie saw the 
kind father — the "Merry Mayor," as 
the townsfolk called him — mount the 
narrow ladder that led to the high scaf- 
fold on which he was to die, being 
adjudged a traitor by the packed jury 
at a mock trial. 

The executioner (a stranger from 
another city) came forward and asked 
Royle's forgiveness. The heads of the 
men in the crowd bent as blades of grass 
do when a strong wind blows over 
them; there was an agonized cry of 
"Father, my father, let me die with 
thee!" Bishop Algar, who as an act of 
grace had been let out of the armory 

for the occasion, gave the last absolution 
and blessing, and the soul of the faith- 
ful Mayor went to Him who gave it. 

VI. — The Secret Mass. 

When the Mayor's chair was empty, 
sad days and dreary came to the House 
of the Golden Banner; though Wattie 
and Jean did their utmost to sustain 
their widowed mother. 

Clover Farm, the dead man's 
property, was confiscated by the Crown ; 
and Wattie took up the calling of a cob- 
bler, much to Jean's chagrin. She knew 
that the youth fretted grievously for 
their father; she noted how thin and 
white he grew; and one day, when they 
were alone, she said: "Wattie, your 
jerkin is patched and sadly worn, and 
you grow as thin as a rail. Ill luck 
seems always waiting outside our door, 
but I am going to slam it in its face." 

"How, Jean? Do tell me!" 

"I am going to wed a man who will 
buy Clover Farm from the Crown, and 
give it me as a wedding gift. Master 
Curdv/orth, the goldsmith, has asked me. 
to wed, and I shall say yea." 

"You can not wed him, dearie. He 
has taken up with the new religion, — 
is hand in glove with the Crown. I am 
only a lad, 'tis true, but I'd rather be a 
slave in Morocco than see my sister sell 
herself for me. Dad did not die on the 
scaffold for that." 

Something in his voice and manner 
touched the girl" to the quick. She put 
her arms round his neck and kissed him. 
"Wattie, dear lad, dear brother, surely 
father speaks to me by your lips. I'll do 
penance and stay with you. Ask Our 
Lady to keep us all under her mantle." 

Soon after this incident, a gay caval- 
cade went by the House of the Golden 
Banner, headed by a horseman in one of 
the new velvet coats introduced by 
Henry, and a handsome woman in an 
Anne Boleyn coif. The child Cicely, 
who was at an upper vdndow with Jean, 



.cried, "Afaman, inaman!" when she saw 
the lady, who heard the cry through 
the open window, and glanced up, then 
bent her head and v/ent on. 

Jean drew the little one away ; for she 
knew that the horseman in the velvet 
coat was the Earl of Wayverne, and 
guessed that the woman was the new 
Countess, v/ho (so said gossip) had 
divorced her former lord and become a 
follower of Luther. If so, she was, of 
course, Cicely's own mother; and Jean 
prayed Heaven might show her the 
path of right. >- 

One autumn night there came a gentle 
tapping on the outer door; and, on go- 
ing to it, Jean found a v.^oman, closely 
wTapped in a long cloak, standing in the 

"You are Jean Royle, I take it?" 
"Yea. What want you?" 
"Let nie speak mHYi you a- moment, 
for pity's sake." 

Jean took her visitor into the Oak 

Room, and then the stranger said: "I 

' am Diana, Countess of Wayverne, once 

Lady Diana Carr." 
V "Lady Diana Carr still to a Catholic," 
\ was the reply. "The marriage tie is not 
\ a golden bracelet to be lightly cast aside 
,when one is tired of it." 

The Countess paled and bit her lower 

"Mistress Jean, we take different 

ws, are of a different faith. But I 

a mother, and love my only child. 

et me see her." 

"It would not be for her welfare for 

you to do so. Madam. She would grow 


"She need not see me. Put me where 
I can look at her, myself unseen." 

(The Countess was quietly weeping, 
and it seemed as K an interior voice 
whispered to Jean: "It is written that 
a little child shall lead them. It may 
be that Ciss will lead her mother into 
the good old path." 

She turned to the grieving woman: 

"Come here to-morrow at Vesper time, 
v/iien we say the Beads, and I will put 
you in- a cupboard, from whose -peephole 
you can see the little maid." 

The Countess thanked her v/armly; 
and on the following night there came 
three gentle taps on the outer door, the 
signal given. Jean hastened to admit 
the woman, whom she took into the 
closet, from whose small window the in- 
terior of the panelled parlor could be 
seen. "Keep thee here a v/hile, and may 
the Holy Spirit v\'hisper to thee!" she 
said to the visitor in her sv/eet, low 
tones ; after which she joined the others 
in the parlor; and she herself and the 
child Cicely and the Widovv^ Royle knelt 
do^\al and said the Rosary. 

When it was finished, Jean went to 
the cupboard and found that the unseen 
occupant had <:Oi:!e, — let herself out of 
the house. Into the girl's heart stole a 
fear that the Countess had again 
hardened her heart. 

The old shepherds of the flock had 
been turned out of their pastorates upon 
refusing to take the Oath of Allegiance, 
and i;heir places had been filled by men 
of the new doctrine. But the faithful 
stili contrived to hear Mass in secret 
places. Wiien Wattie saw a quantity of 
new'y-washed linen drying on the lines 
near Pell the weaver's, he knew that a 
seer jt Mass v.^as going to be celebrated 
in PeiTs big weaving room at top of 
his liouse ; and on the appointed day, the 
Roy'e family and little Ciss climbed the 
long staircase and joined the mixed con- 
gregidion, who knelt round Father 
Maiirus, a persecuted Franciscan 
priest. The Llass was over and thanks- 
giving was being offered, when the 
watcher at the bottom of the stairs came 
up and whispered to the priest, vv^ho 
turned to the people and said : 

"Go in peace, my children. There is a 
stranger afoot. But there is still time ; 
and I, too, will depart. An unknown 



friend has told the watcher that we are 
suspected. Yet they can not now take 
us unawares, for Our Lord has sent an 
unknown woman to warn us." 

Quietly, yet with thankfulness, the 
congregation dispersed, wondering 
who the unknown friend could be. 
But Jean Royle did not wonder. "It 
must be Cicely's mother. The door of 
her heart oped a little when she saw 
"her child kneeling amongst you, count- 
ing her beads, and grace entered in." 

It was even so. Lady Diana heard the 
Earl of Wayverne tell a minister of the 
so-called Reform that the searchers 
were on the track of rebels who met at 
Pell's, and were to catch and take them 
to prison on a Sabbath morn; and she 
disguised herself and went to save them. 

VII. — Golden Sheaves. 

Denser and deeper grew the clouds 
over the House of the Golden Banner. 
But the darkness was only exterior : the 
light, eternal, the light of Faith, glowed 
brightly in the home. Though the Merry 
Mayor had joined the noble army of 
martyrs, he was unf or gotten. 

"My Felix, — my poor Felix, come to 
my aid! I miss thee!" implored the 
widow in any strait. — "Dad dear, help 
me to stick to my work!" said Wattie 
when the cobbler's wax grew sticky, and 
the patches were hard to affix to the 
shoes. — "Dad went to God from the high 
scaffold. Let me be worthy to be called 
his daughter," said bonnie Jean, when 
she saw other damsels in brave kirtles 
and gewgaws. 

Ciss had been with them for some 
time, when a secret messenger from 
Spain brought them tidings of Sir 
Thomas Carr, her father. He had died 
in Seville, and had desired Don Karnon 
to bring all of which he died possessed 
to Cicely, and to give his wife Diana his 

The Spanish senor himself bore the 
message to the Countess of Wayverne, 

who v/as then lady-in-waiting to the new 
Queen. And when next Jean heard of 
Lady Diana, she was in a Con vent, of 
Poor Clares abroad, as Sister Magdalen 
of Jesus. Like Mary of Egypt, she 
desired to cleanse her spotted raiment 
by tears of penitence. 

They were preparing for the feast 
with a solemn gladness one Christmas 
Eve, when there came a knock on the 
outer door. Jean went to it, and a 
young man's voice greeted her with : "I 
am Robin the page, come to wish you 
a holy and happy Christmas, Mistress | 
Jean." She took him into the guest* 
parlor; and, seeing that he was spent, 
brought him refreshment, after which 
she hearkened compassionately to his 
pitiful story, — the story of one who had 
leaned on Pharaoh's reed and found i 
pierce his hand. 

Catharine of Aragon had sent a 
farewell letter to Friar Forrest, her^ 
spiritual director, who was in Newgate ; 
the letter was conveyed to him by the 
penitent Countess of Wayverne prior to 
her entrance into a religious house. 
She asked Robin to go to the prison for 
the priest's reply,, and he consented. 
When he saw the martyr in his cell, 
penitence came to him as an angel of 
God, and he told the prisoner how he 
had sinned. The Friar gave him wise 
and holy counsel, and the good seed took 
root in his soul. When he saw the 
smoke and flame ascending at Friar 
Forrest's burning, he abhorred himself, 
and, quitting the evil Court, made his 
way to the House of the Golden Banner. 
When he had told his tale, Jean took him 
to her mother, who greeted him as the 
father of Scripture had greeted the 
prodigal. And I think that Jesus and 
Mary blessed the house that Christmas 
Eve as They blessed the first one whe 
the Angels said, "Peace on earth." 


I have little more to tell — only this. 
The chronicles relate that Walter Royle, 




son of Felix Royle, was Mayor of Silver- 
bridge when Mary Tudor reigned. They 
also make mention of Cicely, his wife, to 
whom had been restored the lands of Sir 
Thomas Carr. They tell us also of Jean, 
the Mayor's lister, unto whom, and to 
lier husband Robin, was given Clover 
Farm, once the property of that witness 
for Christ and Peter who had been 
kno^vn as the Merry Mayor. 

(The End.) 

The Hero of Fort Moultrie. 

CHARLESTON, the City by the Sea, 
holds many nooks and comers that 
deeply stir the heart and spirit of 
Americans who know and love their 
country; but nothing has pov^^er to call 
up more poignant memories of heroism 
and bravery than does the statue that 
stands on East Battery, gazing seaward 
across the harbor towards Fort Moul- 
trie, — a bronze figure of a Continental 
soldier, his right hand pointing across 
to the little island where Fort Moultrie 
^stands, his left holding a fla^ fixed on 
sponge staff. The base of the pedestal 
^as a battle-scene representing Ser- 
mt Jasper in the act of mounting 
le ramparts vath the rescued flag. 
And our memoHes hark backward to 
lat memorable day of June 28, 1776, 
^hen the windows of the dv/elling- 
jouses of Charleston were stripped of 
leir weights to supply the American 
)ldiers witl^ bullets. This was the day 
rhen the amount of powder was so 
lall that it had to be expended with 
reat deliberation, the officers pointing 
leir guns -svith such exactness that 
lost of their shot took effect. 
The British commander. Sir Peter 
Parker, had looked with disdaii\ upon 
the rude little fort, built of palmetto 
logs, laid in two rows sixteen feet apart^ 
and filled in between the rows with 
sand. But from this crude fort, the 
Americans gave ^them a welcome of 

which they had never dreamed; their 
well-directed fire raking the deck of 
every ship, while the incessant shov/er 
from the British guns went over the 
fort or sank into the soft palmetto. 

In the thickest of the fight, the Amer- 
ican flag was shot away; and then it 
was that the unlearned little Irish ser- 
geant, looking into his commander's 
face, his eyes shining v/ith true 
patriotism, said: "Colonel Moultrie, 
don't let us fight without a fl^g!" And, 
amid a torrent of shells from the 
British vessels, the brave lad leaped ' 
down outside the parapet, recovered the 
flag and set it in its place again. For 
his heroism he was offered a lieu- 
tenant's commission, which he modestly 
declined, saying: "As an officer, my 
comrades ^vould blush for my igno- 
rance." What a proof of unselfish, 
patriotic devotion ! 

And then came the fateful day of 
October 9, 1780, when, in the city of 
Savannah, the flags of France and 
South Carolina, were planted side by 
side on the parapet; and again the flag 
that Jasper revered was cut down; and 
the young hero of Fort Moultrie, in an 
attempt to repeat his former gallant 
act, was shot as he regained the ram- 
part, and fell dead, clasping to his heart 
the colors he loved so well. 

When we think of him so young, so 
full of life and joy, sacrificing himself 
so freelj^ so gladly, we feel that it can 
not help but inspire the whole American 
people, and impel them to consider the 
ideals that make for true citizenship 
and noble manhood. 

To overthrovv' a building consecrated 
to the Lord would be an impious sacri- 
lege. A crime still greater is that of 
destroying by scandal a soul which had 

been the temple of the Holy Spirit 

It was not for buildings of stone that 
Jesus Christ died. 

— St. John Chrysostorru 



A Protestant Confessional Advocated. 

THE Rev. Charles M. Sheldon, a 
leading Protestant minister and the 
author of numerous books, has a paper 
in the January Atlantic Monthly called 
"The Open Door," in which he very 
earnestly appeals for a closer personal 
contact between the Protestant minister 
and his people, and very seriously ad- 
vocates the setting up of a kind of Prot- 
estant confessional in churches. 

A Catholic does not have to read very 
far into Mr. Sheldon's article to dis- 
cover that his idea of confession and the 
confessional is not at ail that of the 
Church. There is not a Catholic priest 
in the world, in charge of souls, who 
does not conduct outside the con- 
fessional such an "Open Door" as the 
minister describes and designates a 
"confessional." Adjusting troubles is a 
priest's job in every parish, entirely 
aside from his work in the confessional ; 
and adjusting troubles, social and 
marital, seems to be Mr. Sheldon's idea 
of what a priest does in confession. The 
writer has no conception of the sacra- 
mental character of confession or of the 
priest's power of absolving from sin. 
However, in so far as he senses the need 
in the Protestant churches of that gxeat 
institution which, brings every member 
of the parish into intimate contact with 
its religious leaders, this minister shov/s 
what an advance has been made since 
the days when the blood of Protestants 
would run cold at the mere thought of 
the awfulness of confessing one's sins to 
a human being, another sinner like 
one's self. The following passages from 
Mr. Sheldon's paper are especially in- 
teresting and informing: 

The three things that have made the Cath- 
olic Church a power in the past have been its 
unity, its dogma, and its confession. The 
Protestant Church does not have these; but 
there is no reason why it should not have the 
third. One of the first struggles of the 
average Protestant minister seems to be to get 

an audience to come into a building to hear 
him preach. If he can not do that, either by 
sensational methods or by moving pictures or 
unusual preaching, his ministi-y is called a 
failure. The average church committee, seek- 
ing a man for the church, vvant one who 
can draw a crow^d. The church is looked upon 
as a place to go to hear some one. 

But people want something more than 
preaching: they want comfort and courage, 
and the help that does not come to them when 
it is handed out wholesale. The confessional 
of the Roman Church is a recognition of a 
human craving so deep and eternal that it is a 
bewildering thing to see how it has been 
ignored by the Protestant Church, which em- 
phasizes preaching above piety, and the pulpit 
above the person. It is always easy to pre- 
dict what might happen if something is done 
in place of something else; but I would like to 
suggest that if. the Churches of America 
opened a confessional that would minister to 
the primary needs of people's souls, in between 
the preaching and the multiplied committees, 
the Church — the Protestant Church in this 
count iy — would begin a chapter in its life that 
would do away with the questions. How can 
we reach the masses? What shall we do with 
the second service? Why don't people go to 
church? — and all the rest of the wail that goes 
up concerning the Church's weakness. A whole 
Sunday afternoon, given every week to the 
Open Door, established as a church custom, 
might be worth more than all the pulpit 
ministrations and all the machinery of pulpit 

Catholics can not fail to be glad to 
see the need of confession, once so much 
decriedj recognized in this way ; but, of 
course, we know that the trouble about 
empty churches and the like, which goes 
deeper than Mr. Sheldon has any idea 
of, can not be cured by the setting up of 
such a confessional as he has in mind. 
It is astonishing to Catholics to find 
well-intentioned Protestants here and 
there, at this time and that time, advo- 
cating the borrowing of Catholic beliefs 
and practices that may strike them as 
being effective in holding people .to reli- 
gion ; while all the time it is the Church 
itself as a whole, with all its authority 
and all its teaching, with its title-deeds 
obtained from Our Lord Himself, which 
should be accepted. 




Notes and Remsirks. 

The sending of Catholic children to 
a Catholic school should not be con- 
sidered the end of the parents' duty. 
No parent can unload on the shoulders 
of Brother or Sister the responsibility 
that belongs to parenthood. A truly 
'■■ Catholic home is even more important, 
■' in the proper training of a child, than a 
"• Catholic school. Granted a good Cath- 
5 olic home, with intelligent parents who 
know their religion and who explain it 
to their children, and who themselves 
give the example of Catholic practice, 
and one might defy the most bigoted 
school to shake the faith M the Catholic 
pupils. Treating of the desirability of 
sending the children wherever possible 
to Catholic schools. Pope Leo XIII., in 
his Encyclical Sapientiae Christianae, 
•says: "Where the right education of 
% youth is concerned, no amount of 
f ■ trouble or labor can be undertaken, how 
I great soever, but that even greater still 
(' may not be called for. In this regard, 
^ indeed there are to JDO found in many 
countries Catholics worthy of general 
admiration, who incur considerable out- 
lay and bestow much zeal in founding 
schools for the education of youth. It 
^ is highly desirable that .such noble ex- 
<i- ample may be generously followed. 
\i where time and circumstances demand ; 
^•yet all should be intimately persuaded 
ythat the minds of children are most in- 
' fluenced by the training they receive at 
home. If in their early years they find 
^grithin the walls of their homes the rule 
^H an upright life and the discipline of 
^Bhristian virtues, the future welfare of 
^Pie State \\ill thus in great measure be 

The centenary of the Society for the 
Propagation of the Faith, on May 3, 
of the current year, is of peculiar in- 
terest to American Catholics, inasmuch 
as the appeal made in 1815 to the Cath- 

olics of Lyons, France, by Bishop Du- 
bourg, for the poor missions of Louisi- 
ana, v/as the' initial step in the formal 
foundation of the Society in 1822. Es- 
pecially active in fostering the Society, 
if not its actual foundress, was Pauline 
]\Iarie Jaricot, an interesting sketch of 
whose saintly life appeared in our 
columns a few years ago. Of the great 
debt which the Church in this country 
owes to the Propagation of the Faith, 
Cardinal Gibbons wrote to its directors 
in 1884 : "If the grain of mustard seed 
planted in the virgin soil of America^ 
has struck deep roots and grown into a 
gigantic tree, with branches stretching 
from the shores of the Atlantic Ocean 
to the coasts of the Pacific, it is mainly 
to the assistance rendered by your ad- 
mirable Society that ^Ye are indebted 
for this blessing." 

While American Catholics con- 
tributed to the funds of the. Propagation 
of the Faith as long ago as 1840, it is 
only of recent years that their contribu- 
tions have been as large as to be con- 
sidered at all commensurate with their 
means. In many parts of our country, 
indeed, these contributions are still 
more meagre than creditable. 

Perhaps the surest sign of the even- 
tual repeal of the Dry Law is the grow- 
ing disposition on the part of our people 
to make fun of it. And one must admit 
that there is some excuse for this. 
When they hear, for instance, of a 
quantity of costly "booze" being stolen 
from the home of a prominent citizen 
whose services in important affairs are 
often required by our Government, they 
naturally laugh; and when District 
Attorneys, having the general disregard 
of the Prohibition statute in mind, "de- 
mand" that public sentiment back up 
the officers of the law, all the people 
smile, knowing that sentiment is not to 
be drafted or drilled. Who has for- 
gotten the merriment excited over the 



transfer of large quantities of intoxi- 
cants when officials of the former 
Administration changed residence in 
Washington? And who thinks that Re- 
publicans are any more in favor of 
Prohibition for themselves than Dem- 
ocrats? Until all Government represen- 
tatives and wealthy citizens make up 
their minds to do what is demanded of 
other people, it is useless to try to en- 
force Prohibition. As a matter of fact, 
no serious efforts in this direction are 
being made in many places. "Bootleg- 
gers" abound and "speakeasies" flour- 
ish. No wonder people laugh. 

Going on half a century ago, when 
Parnell was the uncrowned King of Ire- 
land, and John Boyle O'Reilly was the 
most notable and best loved of Irish 
Americans, the Pilot (of which O'Reilly 
was editor) reproduced a lengthy 
article, with this prefatory note: "The 
Rev. Andrew J. Chambers, pastor of a 
large colored church, has the following 
splendid paper on Ireland in the A. M. 
E. Revieio for January." The conclud- 
ing paragraph of the paper in question 
may interest some of our readers, now 
that Ireland's unswerving fidelity to the 
Faith has been rewarded with the 
longed-for boon : Ireland for the Irish ; 
her laws framed by her sons, and her 
lands owned by her people: 

If the mighty Irish National League wins 
the fight for liberty — and win it must, for 
God and humanity are on its side, — then let 
a monument be built, broad-based as the 
universe; encircle its gorgeous apex with the 
stars, and christen it "The Beacon-Light of 
Ages." Let its foundation stones be the 
Druids of Ireland, who laid their system of 
religion at the feet of Patrick, grasped the 
standard of the Cross of Christ, and converted 
their island habitations into the jewelled gates 
of Zion. Write upon its base with a quill 
from ■ an angel's wing the name of the illus- 
trious St. Patrick, from whose piety, learning 
and zeal Irish character obtained those inde- 
structible elements of moral manhood and deep 
religious convictions which have been its staff 
and stay for long and gloomy centuries. Write 

next the names of the men and women of 
Ireland who died on their fathers' graves, 
fighting for their country's honor. Above these 
names write those of the devated sons and 
true daughters of Ireland who, though driven 
by tyranny from the land of their ancestors, 
have never ceased to love and labor for that 
land. Next, inscribe upon it the name of 
that victorious chieftain of Irish liberty, the 
bold and brilliant Henry Grattan. Still higher 
write the name of Eobert Emmet, who laid 
his life upon his country's sacrificial altar to 
make her great and grand and free. Above 
Emmet write. in letters of gold that household 
name of Irishmen, Daniel O'Connell, the im- 
mortal son of Erin. Nearer to the stars em-it 
blazon upon it, with a radiant shaft of thej 
sun, the name of the hero of Kilmainham jail, 
Charles Stewai-t Parnell. And, written upon 
the summit shall blaze forever the ancient 
name of "ItearOld Ireland!" 

A faithful saying of Benjamin Frank- 
lin was quoted by a correspondent of 
the New York Herald during the cele- 
bration in honor of the great American ^ 
v;ho "snatched the lightning from the ' 
sky and their sceptre from the hands of. 
tyrants." It is good at this time to re- 
vive in memory the words which the 
great Franklin addressed to the f ramers 
of our Constitution : 

We have searched for three weeks in 
political darkness, and have found nothing. . . . 
Let us invoke the divine guidance of the 
Father of Light upon our proceedings. . . .The 
longer I live and the more I know, the more 
I believe that God governs in the affairs of 
men; and, if the sparrow can not fall without 
His notice, is it probable that an empire can 
arise without His assistance? "Unless the 
Lord build the house, they labor in vain that 
build it." I firmly believe this; and I also be- 
lieve that without His concurring aid we shall 
succeed in our political building no better than 
the builders of Babel. 

The Brooklyn Tablet quotes a 
plaint of the Sydney (Australia) Cath 
olic Press, that Catholics lack the read- 
ing habit, — "a lost art, a memory of 
bygone days." There is no doubt that 
the high speed at which the world now 
moves is regrettably helping to deta 




people from books^ Movies and dances, 
automobiles and what not, are tending 
to monopolize the quiet home hours 
which formerly were devoted to read- 
ing. And yet how true the saying of an 
old mo^k of Pascagouda: "You lose a 
great deal of time in learning from 
books things that the Lord will tell you, 
if He wishes, in an instant" ! Reflection, 
prayer, the practice of the presence of 
God, — are not these also to a great ex- 
tent lost arts? "The Lord giveth wis- 
dom: and out of His mouth cometh 
^prudence and knowledge." Ours for 
the asking, if we prepare our hearts 
by loving communion with the all-wise 
Teacher. Good reading is important, 
but prayer is far more so. 

i — ' — 

K In acknowledging the receipt of a 

^»3py of the Constitution of the Catholic 

^^omen's League of Canada, we take 

^^casion to congratulate the members 

of the League on the excellence of their 

iiims and the sanity of their procedure. 

Their organizing is due to a belief that 

it has become an absolute necessity to 

have a medium through which they may 

' express themselves as a unit in all 

matters which should interest them as 

loyal citizens and devoted children of 

Holy Mother Church. We have been 

particularly impressed with sections 

two and three of the Constitution's 

fourth article, which run: 

To submit all decisions of importance to the 
rulings of the Hierarchy of Canada. 

To consult the Bishop of each diocese as 
his wishes with regard to establishing the 

The common-sense embodied in such 
policy argues well for the development 
the League and for the success of any 
'oject which it may undertake. 

|.When am American is asked to-day 
lether or not Prohibition has proved 
success, his answer is likely to be 

affirmative or negative according to his 

antecedent belief or experience. If he 
was an opponent of the Eighteenth 
Amendment, he can find any number of 
concrete facts apparently proving that 
prohibition is a signal failure; if he 
favors that Amendment, he is not with- 
out weighty arguments tending to show 
that it is too soon to decry Prohibition 
as ineffective. Englishmen visiting this 
country are less likely to be moved by 
prejudice; and so the experience of a 
correspondent of the Church Times, an 
Anglican publication, may be worth 
recording. As the London Catholic 
Times quotes it: 

A correspondent of the Church Times, 
who has just returned from the United States, 
is horrified at the amount of drinking that is 
going on amongst all classes of society in the 

cities he visited The reports of many other 

reliable investigators are to the same effect; 
and it would seem that Prohibition is giving 
an effect entirely opposite to what the people 
intended. The lesson is that it is not at all 
wise to check the habits of a -people which 
might be legitimate under ordinary circum- 
stances. His Eminence Cardinal Gibbons laid 
great stress on the danger of Prohibition for 
this reason, and it would appear that his fears 
are being realized. 


The following paragraphs of an 
article lately published in the Paterson 
(N. J.) Press-Guardian call for no 
comment. They breathe a welcome and 
wholesome spirit of American liberty 
and toleration, which distinctly shows 
the trend of the times. We are pleased 
to reproduce these portions of the 
article. What is omitted would demand 
explanation and excite controversy: 

About eight thousand Paterson men turned 
' out yesterday in the Holy Name parade. They 
marched under the banners of God and 
Country in the ranks of an organization that 
is dedicated to religious precept. In a day 
when it is so often remarked that it is difficult 
to get men into the church, the demonstration 
was impressive indeed. 

A week ago Saturday, Paterson saw a 
double demonstration that "was also inspira- 
tional, when nearly ten thousand Sunday-school 
children paraded through the streets of the 
city, followed later in the afternoon by a turn- 



out of five thousand Shriners, men- identified 
with a great order that is built on the idea of 
faith in God and the Bible as inspired teach- 
ings With three such demonstrations as we 
have had almost within a week, Paterson may 
well lay claim to the distinction of being a 
city where the religious spirit is deeply rooted. 

There was an incident in yesterday's dem- 
onstration that is significant and hopeful. 
The Holy Name paraders, as they marched up 
Broadway, noticed that the local Masonic 
Temple was profusely decorated in their honor, 
and a sign on the front bore the inscription: 
"Freemasons' Greeting to Holy Name 
Men.". . .This manifestation of good feeling 
between two organizations believed, in preju- 
diced circles, to be divided by unbridgeable 
gulfs, is indeed reassuring, and the Press- 
Guardian is proud of the fact that the demon- 
stration showed itself in good old Paterson. 

Intolerance, bigotry, suspicion and hate 
among men have from time immemorial been 
obstacles in the progress of a struggling 
world. The Freemasons and the members of 
the Knights of Columbus have set a shining 
example of good sense and broad Christianity 
that should smooth out some of the rough 
places in Paterson, and which, if emulated bj' 
all other cities of the land, would help to wipe 
out, or at least to minimize, a form of com- 
munity hostility that has long proved a de- 
structive force in American life. 

I From a distinguished gentleman, in- 
terested and experienced in the matter, 
we have received information relative to 
the present Catholic revival in France, 
which many of our readers will wel- 
come. This revival is particularly active 
among the intellectual elite ; it manifests 
the greatest progress in connection with 
younger men who attend the great uni- 
versities, where the future professors, 
higher officers, leading engineers and 
artists are prepared for life. Twenty 
years ago there was only a meagre 
scattering of Catholics amongst this 
group, and the point of view adopted by 
the teaching faculties was frankly 
naturalistic. To-day, however, the situ- 
ation is quite different. At the Ecole 
NoiTnale Superieure, more than half of 
.the student body are practical Catho- 
lics ; and the same proportion holds good 

for the Ecole Polytechnique, also for th^ ; 
School of Beaux Arts. More than one- 
third of the entire body are fervent in • 
the performance of religious duties. 

These figures are absolutely reliable. 
The Jesuits have formed associations, 
the members of which make the First 
Fridays and attend an annual retreat. 
The statistics given are based on the 
membership of the students in question 
in these associations. Since the war, 
the associations have undertaken some- 
thing like the work of the "lay mission- 
aries" in England. Regularly, twice a 
week, lectures on subjects of interest are 
given by students for the benefit of poor 
people, apprentices and workmen. Such 
conferences, however, are not primarily 
religious in character, being more like 
University Extension. Thus is the intel- 
lectual elite of France being trained in 
the practice of religion and charity. 

Like a great many other Irishmen 
and friends of Ireland, the Bishop of 
Down and Connor sees several objec- 
tionable features in the treaty just 
signed between England and Ireland ; but 
he wisely declared, while the terms of 
it were being discussed in the Dail, that 
acceptance was the only thing to do. 
"Accept it and make the best of it." A 
divided and dispirited people, with a 
swelling tide of emigration of young 
men all over the country, and a mill- 
stone of foreign government still roundj 
the neck of the nation, chaos every- 
where would be the inevitable result of 
rejection. Bishop McRory significantly 
remarked that there was no finality in; 
this world, and that the Irish people had 
a far better chance of achieving com- 
plete freedom by accepting the treaty 
than by rejecting it. Another bishop in 
Ireland expresses the opinion that it 
msiy take from thirty to fifty years to^ 
determine whether the Free State is nol 
better for the prosperity'' of the IrisJ 
people than a republic would be. 

Key-Dates of the Year. 


: r HERE are calendars of many kinds and 
K many colors, too, 

Arranged to sjiow the days and dates of 1922. 
Each has its points of excellence; but still, 

when all is said. 
The calendar that's best is one you carry in 

your head. 

Just memorize the dates on which the months' 
first Sundays fall, 

And then no date thi'oughout the year will 
bother you at all. 

Add sevens to first Sunday's date, you'll have 
the dates on which 

The other Sundays of the month occur with- 
out a hitch. 

When dates of all the Sundays of the year are 
;,, fixed in mind, 

. The date of any weekday is an easy thing to 
L find. 

• (If the second of July should fall on Sunday, 
as" it does, 
Then Tuesday is the "glorious Fourth," with 
crash and bang and buzz.) 

^ow, here are named the key-dates of the 
months from first to last, — 
list to get by heart at once and hold in 

memory fast: 
January, first of all, and in October, too, 
le 1st day is first Sunday, — just you look and 
prove it true. 

Both February and then March with bleak 

November mate; 
In each the ,5th day of the month is its first 

Sunday's date. 
In April, and July as well, the 2d day, we find. 
Is Sunday, but in pleasant May our key-date 

lags behind. 

'Tis not until May 7th that a Sunday doth 

appear ; 
In June, the 4th is Sunday, — almost halfway 

through the year. 
In sultry August, on the 6th will our first 

Sunday fall; 
In September and December on the 3d — and 

that is all. 



IV. — Uncle Eph. 

f'T was something of a skip up the 
sandy heights that had given Shore- 
cliff its name ; but Lil'lady had been 
skipping them lightly ever since she had 
learned to use her faiiy feet. Beyond 
the stretch of beach, from which Father 
Tom was just now turning his boat, 
the shore rose in steeps and ridges, like 
the battlements of some sea-girt for- 
tress where earth had been striving for 
centuries against wave and tide. There 
were stormy nights and days, when the 
waters seemed to rise in wrath and beat 
furiously against the barriers that held 
them back; and the lighthouse that 
stood out from the mouth of the Cove 
glimmered its silent warning through 
the darkness. 

But Lil'lady slept through the fiercest 
stoi-ms without fear, so strong and safe 
seemed the old home that stood back on 
the cliff, girdled with its high stone 
walls; sheltered by trees of centuries' 
growi:h ; verdant with shrubs and vines 
and grassy lawns, — a little wild and 
weed-grown now, it is true; for thsre 
was no gentle mistress to give them lov-. 
ing care. But the "Little Lady" of 
Shorecliff was not troubled about that. 
She was something of a wild flower her- 



self, and her home seemed to her the 
most beautiful place on earth. She loved 
its shaggy growth of vines and shrubs, 
its wild tangle of climbing roses, its 
cluttered paths that Uncle Eph was too 
blind to clear. She loved the big old 
house, with its wide halls and rooms, 
and heavy, old-fashioned furniture, that 
had been kicked and scratched and 
banged out of all credit by three pairs ^f 
little feet. Cousin Jane, though a 
good housekeeper in other respects, 
had declared it would put her in her 
grave within a year if she undertook to 
manage Elmer Marsden's children. 

So the old mahogany furniture had 
been whittled, and the great, tapestried 
divans had served successively as Dead- 
wood coaches and pirate ships, and the * 
damask curtains had been looped into 
Indian tepees and Arab tents, until the 
Shorecliff drawing-room, once the joy 
and pride of its lost mistress, was very 
much the w'orse for wear indeed. 

The boys were older now ; the days of 
the Deadwood coach and the pirate ship 
had passed; even Lil'lady, to her grief 
and indignation, was being left behind 
as a "girl." It was this desertion that 
had sent her out to-day on her reckless 
expedition to Steeple Rock, that w^as 
still rankling in her mind as she took 
her lonely way home. The boys were 
at school. Even Dave, now too big for 
a governess, had started off this morn- 
ing to the military academy, recently 
opened not far away. 

Lil'lady did not mind Dan so much: 
he was fifteen, and that was really 
quite old. But Dave, who until now had 
been taught by ]\Iiss Gilbert, — Dave, 
who had been her chum and her pal ever 
since she could remember, — v.^hen Dave 
had gone off so straight and stiff in his 
new uniform, with his head and its 
soldier's cap held high in the air, it w^as 
almost more than she could stand. This 
had sent her on her expedition to 
Steeple Rock, where she would have 

been drowned, perhaps, if that strange 
man had not come in his boat to take 
her off. And he had made her promise 
she would never again go there alone. 
Gee! she hated to promise things, 
thought the little' lady mournfully. 
Why she had done it she could pot tell. 
She should have kept her hands tight 
behind her and said, "No!" 

She had reached the stone gateway 
now, and w^as pattering up the broad 
drive, her little bare feet lightly tread- 
ing the fallen leaves that lay in golden 
drifts, which Uncle Eph was only 
scattering with his rake and broom. The 
"cat-and-rats" had done their worst 
to poor old Uncle Eph's eyes now; he 
could scarcely tell darkness from light. 
But his ear caught the soft footfall, and 
he lifted his gxizzled head anxiously. 

"Dat yo, Lil'lady? Mam Sue, she's] 
been a-shouting down from de window' 
to know whar yo is. What yo doing out 
wifout no stockings or shoes?" 

"How do you know I haven't oni 
stockings or shoes?" laughed Lil'lady* 

"Hear de patter ob your little feet, 
honey. Old Eph can't mistake dose 
little feet. But yo hadn't ought ter be' 
running round wif dem bare. Lil'ladies' 
mustn't run round on de rocks and 
briars wif bare feet.' 'Twill stir up 
Mammy Sue for suah. She's getting 
mouty old and finicky now. Git on yo< 
shoes and stockings 'fore she sees yo."j 

"I can't," was the cheerful answer.J 
"They are washed out by the tide,' 
nobody knows where. I left them in that 
sand when I waded but to Steeple 

"Steeple Rock!" echoed the old man 
in dismay. "Honey chile, what was yo 
doing at Steeple Rock?" 

"Fishing, — trying to catch a nice big 
kingfish for daddy'iS dinner." 

"De Lawd!" gasped Uncle Eph, 
breathlessly. "\^Tiar will dem boys take 
yo next, Lil'lady?" 




"Oh, the boys didn't take me at all! 
They're gone to school, Uncle Eph. I 
dug up a lot of fat worms and went by 
myself. And I caught a fish, too, — the 
biggest kind of a kingfish, Uncle Eph. 
My, didn't he pull! He nearly jerked 
my arms off. And then — then, when 
I most had him — when I most had him, 
Uncle Eph—" 

"Don't say yo lost him !" broke in the 
old man, excitedly. "Don't say yo let 
a kingfish get off en from yo." (Fishing 
was the one pleasure left in poor old 
Uncle Eph's darkened life.) "But how 
could dem purty little hands ob yourn 
pull him in?" 

"Oh, but I did,— I did! I nearly had 
him in. I could feel him turning and 
twisting the line. And then — ^then — it 
broke. Uncle Eph, — it broke and my big 
fish was gone ! Oh, I was so wild I 
nearly tumbled off the rock myself!" 

"Tumbled offen de rock yoself!" 
echoed Unxjle Eph, suddenly rousing to 
the perils that, in his excitement, he 
had ignored, — "nearly tumbled off de 
rock, wid de tide in and nobody nigh — " 

"Oh, but there was, — ^there was !" in- 
terrupted Lil'lady. "There was a man 
in a boat, that took me off and brought 
me home, — a real nice man," conceded 
Lil'lady. "He had caught a kingfish 
himself, and offered to give it to me for 
dad's dinner. But dad wouldn't care 
for his fish, I know. If I only could 
have pulled in ftiine. Uncle Eph, — if I 
only could have mine!" and Lil'lady's 
voice broke tragically. 

"Dar, dar! Don't yo fret about it, 
Lil'lady. I know how yo feel, honey, — 
I know how yo feel. It do cut into 
your heart suah to have a fish get off 
bait and hook and line. But" (again 
Uncle Eph felt duty compelled him to 
remonstrate) "yo ain't got no bisness 
kiting off to fish by yo lone self, honey, 
like dis; yo ain't got no bisness at all. 
S'pose dat man hadn't come long! 

S'pose — s'pose — " speech quite failed 
Uncle Eph as there dawned upon his 
slow mind all the perils his little lady 
had SQ recklessly faced for her kingfish. 
"De Lawd, Lil'lady, -if Mammy Sue 
hears v,iiat yo been doing dis day she 
will nachally bust into a fit!" 

"Well, v»-e won't tell her, then," said 
Lil'lady, philosophically. "It's all over, 
and I am home safe. And I promised 
that man, whoever he was, that I would 
never do it again. And of course I have 
to keep my word, that I will not go 
fishing on Steeple Rock alone any more. 
I don't know why I promised," said 
Lil'lady, in an injured tone. "Somehow, 
when he talked so nice and held out his 
hand, I just had to do what he asked. 
But," Lil'lady's face brightened, "I can 
go fishing with you, Uncle Eph. I didn't 
promise anything about that." 

"De Lawd, honey," Uncle Eph's 
withered old face was one big wrinkle 
of delight, "yo wouldn't want to traipse 
along wif an ole blind Nigger like me !" 

"Oh, yes, I would,— I would!" Lil'lady 
clasped Uncle Eph's old shaking hand. 
"We won't go to Steeple Rock of course, 
but there are lots of other places." 

"Dar is, — dar is, honey ! I ain't been 
telling ob 'em, for Niggers dat kin s^e 
kin find fur demselves ; but I knows de 
bends and de shallov/s, and de quiet 
places whar de fish hides, and whar dey 
bites, and whar eben yo purty little 
hand can pull dem in. Don't yo kite 
off by yo'self no more, honey. Uncle 
Eph will take yo fishing whenever yo 
wants to go." 

And, somewhat comforted for her lost 
day by this agreement, Lil'lady skipped 
on to the big house, remembering Uncle 
Eph's warning that Mammy Sue, with 
her voice and temper sharpened by 
rheumatism, v/as on the lookout for her 
nursling's return. 

It had been an exciting morning, but 
she was now safe home. 

(To be continued.) 



About Elephants. 

Pi^ E are accustomed to think of 
,VY elephants as awkward but pictu- 
resque beasts in ia circus parade ; but in 
India they are among the laborers, 
being employed in all branches of civil 
and military service. They haul artillery 
over the mountain passes, stack great 
logs in the sa\vmills, and do many other 
tasks. Sometimes an order for as many 
as tv/enty elephants will be received 
from a military station. 

Apart from its utility as a draught 
animal, the elephant renders efficient 
service to its owner and itself in a 
variety of ways, by means of its great 
proboscis, or trunk. This trunk, nearly 
eight feet in length, is composed of 
variously interlaced small muscles, 
numbering, according to Cuvier, almost 
40,000. It can be coiled around a tree 
and employed to tear it from its roots; 
it is a more formidable weapon of of- 
fence and defence than the tusks; and 
its extremity may be wound around a 
handful of grass or a slender branch. 
One of the astonishing things about this 
great animal is the very delicate sense 
of touch with which the tip of its pro- 
boscis is endowed, — a delicacy shown in 
the facility with which the elephant can 
pick up from the ground a surprisingly 
small object. 

As for the domesticated Indian ele- 
phants, they are carefully chosen by 
expert judges, and are required to 
possess intelligence, industry, and a 
mild disposition. The elephant is, usu- 
ally willing to do what is required of 
him, and makes a faithful servant, un- 
less he happens to take a dislike to his 
master on account of his cruelty or 
deceit; then the great animal will wait 
a long while to express his resentment 
and to take revenge. 

You have all heard of the elephant 
that put his trunk inside a tailor' shop. 
The tailor, not fancying the intrusion, 

pricked his visitor with the needle he 
was using; thereupon the visitor de- 
parted, but before long came again with 
his trunk filled with unclean water, and 
gave, the astonished tailor a very un- 
pleasant bath. 

Another story tells how a boy, visit- 
ing a menagerie, gave an elephant a 
small piece of tobacco. Many years 
afterward, when the lad had become a 
man, he met the elephant at another 
exhibition, and it was his undoing; for 
the animal promptly recognized and 
killed him. 

More Haste, Less Speed. 

f^NLY by experience do young folk 
^^ learn the wisdom of such prov- 
erbs as "Hasten at leisure," "Hurry 
up slowly," "Rash haste makes waste," 
"Hasty climbers have sudden falls," and 
a dozen others of the same import. 
Most boys with a given task before 
them are apt to reason in this way: "I 
may as well work hard and be done 
with it quickly, as take my time and 
have it last a long while." ', 

This reasoning is incorrect. The 
whole amount of fatigue which results 
from doing any piece of work is by no 
means the same when it is done quickly 
as when it is done slowly. One can tire 
one's self out, for instance, more by 
running a hundred yards than by 
Avalking ten times that distance. If a 
horse is allowed to jog along slowly, 
at the rate of three or four miles an 
hour, he can travel thirty miles a day 
for months at a time, without grow- 
ing thin ; but if he is driven at the rate 
of eight miles an hour, he can not stand 
more than ten or fifteen miles a day for 
any Jong period. Even a steamer can 
cross the Atlantic with a very much 
smaller supply of coal if she goes 
slowly. As the wise old philosopher 
Seneca said, "Haste trips up its own 
heels, fetters and stops itself." 



— "Xhe Fundamentals of Citizenship" is 
the sixth of the series of Reconstruction Pam- 
phlets issued by the National Catholic 
Welfare Council. Its undoubted usefulness 
would be materially increased if reference to 
its ninety-four pages were facilitated by an 
index- or a table of contents. 

— "June Roses for the Sacred Heart" is 
the unnecessarily sentimental title of a very 
excellent little book of meditations for the 
month of June. Lovers of the Sacred Heart 
will find it a source of real devotion, and will 
rejoice to have a new and ever-appealing as- 
pect of the DiAdne Master for every day of the 
month devoted to His loving Heart. P. J. 
Kenedy & Sons; price, 50 cents. 

— The vitality of Cardinal Newman's writ- 
ings is being proved by constantly increasing 
testimony. Herder & Co., of- Freiburg, have 
issued seven small volumes of excerpts from 
his books, grouped under the headings, "The 
Way to Christendom" and "The Way in 
Christendom." This German translation has 
been most ably executed, and the biograph- 
ical, expository and other adjunct matter is 
of an exceptionally high order. 

— The recent Christmas season was as pro- 
lific as usual in protests against the use of the 
foi-m. Xmas to represent the day of Our Lord's 
Nativity. The London Universe thus sensibly 
comments on the matter: "X, every editor 
should know, is symbolic of Christ, and so may 
be used reverently as such. In the early 
Church, this symbolism was necessary. To-day 
it is not necessary, but may be used so long 
as we do not tend to obscure the name of 
Christ by speaking of 'Exmas,' v/hich would 
indeed be barbaric." 

—"A Year With Christ," by the Rev. Wil- 
liam J, Young, S. J. (B. Herder Book Co.), is 
a series of devotional papers, each containing 
i the succinct presentation of one thought taken 
^:n the Gospel assigned to each consecutive 
iday. The papers are designed to supple- 
:it, rather than supplant, the Sunday ser- 
n; and should prove of decided utility to all 
uch laymen as are prevented from hearing 
'he usual Sunday homily. They v/ill also be, 
or should be, welcomed by that growing body 
of lay Catholics who, through their association 
with devout members of various Catholic or- 
ganizations, and their attendance at laymen's 
'etreats, are beginning to feel the need of 
nging Christ more intimately into their 

lives. To priests, the volume will appeal as a 
collection of short sermons, or sennonettes, — 
the average length of the papers being from 
seven to eight hundred words. Price, $1.60. 

— The founding of new Catholic periodicals 
in this country is a matter for rejoicing or for 
regret, according to circumstances. A new 
weekly in a field already sufficiently covered is 
df very doubtful benefit; whereas a new 
weekly, monthly, or quarterly devoted to 
specific purposes in a virgin field ensures its 
own welcome. The Third Order Forum, a 
thirty-two page quarterly published in Chi- 
cago, is a magazine intended primarily for 
directors of the Third Order of St. Francis; 
and, secondarily, for patrons of the Third Or- 
der and Tertiary priests. Its first number is 
attractive in make-up, and the contents are of 
genuine interest, not merely to Tertiaries but 
to practical Catholics generally. 

— The London Catholic Truth Society has 
done well to reproduce in pamphlet form 
"Psycho-Analysis and Christian Morality," a 
study contributed a few months' ago by the 
Rev. E. Boyd Barrett, S. J., Ph. D., to the 
pages of the Month. The attention which 
the psycho-analytic cult has attracted, not only 
in medical and psychological circles, but in the 
difl'erent professions and among the more cul- 
tured of the great mass of the people, war- 
rants an examination of its claims and a dis- 
cussion of its essential morality or immorality. 
Fr. Barrett acknowledges some commendable 
things in the cult, but, on the whole, is dis- 
trustful of its encroaching on- the sphere of 
spiritual guides. "Analysts, however compe- 
tent they may be in psychology or medicine, 
have no divine mandate to act as shepherds 
of the flock." 

— A perfect text-book is extremely rare. 
Its requirements involve more of artistic skill 
than is usually possessed by the ordinary 
writer on, or by the erudite scholar who has a 
firm grasp of, a given subject. With the 
fomier, clearness and conciseness suffer from 
a want of due arrangement and choice of 
materials; while with the latter these same 
qualities are but too frequently negatived by 
crowding in a mass of details which, though 
interesting and strictly belonging to the sub- 
ject, sei'\'e but to confuse and then to dis- 
courage the beginner, for whom alone such 
works are written. Happily, neither of these 
changes can be made against* two books 




recently issued by Loyola University Press, 
Chicago. "Apologotica" and "Institutiones 
Theologisj Naturalis" give convincing evidence 
not only of genuine scholarship, but also of 
long professorial experience in their respective 
authors. Fathers J. T. Langan and W. J. 
Brosnan, both of the Jesuit Seminary at 
Woodstock, Maryland. Though written in 
Latin, and according to the Scholastic method 
— possibly, one should say, because so writ- 
ten, — both the generally accepted theses, as 
well as the controverted points and the ex- 
tensive literature onx the respective subjects, 
are so presented and correlated as to leave 
little wanting from the viewpoint either of 
brevity and comprehensiveness of view or of 
good order, lucidity of style, and proportionate 
development of specific questions. A welcome 
feature of the "Natural Theology" is a wealth 
of apt quotation in the vernacular, together 
with a list of the publishers of the works 
quoted; while students of Father Van Laak's 
treatise on Fundamentiil Theology will find in 
the "Apologetica" the substance of that 
voluminous work presented in a far more at- 
tractive form. 

It is a matter of no small pride to American 
students of philosophy and theology that they 
now possess works by thoir own countrymen 
which, from every point of view, are the equal 
and in many respects the superior, of foreign 
piiblications on the same subjects. It is need- 
less to say that they will eagerly await addi- 
tional works by the same authors. The price 
of the present volumes is $3.70 each. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list i.; to afford informa- 
tion conce^-ning the more important recent 
publications. The latest books will ctppear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make room for neiv titles. 

Orders should be aent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can noiv be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country who keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 
"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 

Agnostic. (Kenedy.) .$3.35. 
"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 

J. Godfrey Raupei-t, K. S. G. (Peter 

Reilly.) $1.25. 
"Hispanic Anthology." ($5.) "The Way of 

St. James." (Putnam's.) 3 vols. $9. 
"The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 

Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 

Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. I. (B. 

Herder Co.) $5.50. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet. Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros.) $3.50. 

"Heni-y Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours." Shane Leslfe, M. A. With Six 
Illustrations. (Burns, Gates and Wash-* 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary.'* | 
Rt. Rev. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated* 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Gates ^■ 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothei-s.) $7.^ 



Remember them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, H. 

Rt. Rev. Msgr. James Bennett, of the dio- 
cese of Rockford; Rev. Thomas Coghlan, arc 
diocese of Boston; Rt. Rev. Msgr. John Ml 
den, diocese of Springfield; Rev. John Phelai 
diocese of Sioux City; and Rev. Benjamii 
Allain, S. M. 

Sister M. Dolores, of the Sisters of St 
Dominic; Sister M. Agnes, Order of the Vis 
tation; and Sister M. Cecilia, Order of th^ 

Mr. Frank Traverse, Mr. John Benn, 
Alice Owens, Mr. William Crofton, Mr. P« 
Rrogan, Mrs. Emma Tait, Mrs. John Ke 
Mr. Edward Stapleton, Miss Jessie Gbrdi 
Mr. James Keaney, Mrs. L. Bertha, Mrs. IVJ 
McDonald, Mr. Thomas Foster, Mr. Jacob Roy, 
i^Irs. J. Folty, Mrs. M. Gardner, Mr. Edward 
Gruzleski, Mr. John Friedmann, Miss Nellie 
McBride, Mrs. B. Ferguson, Mr. Fredei-ick 
Richard, Mr. John Young, Mrs. Brigid Shea, 
Mrs. Mary Fitzpatrick, Mr. William Gooden, 
Mr. John Wilder, Mr. Thomas Carmody, Mr. 
Patrick Griffin, Mr. William Emond, Mr. 
Donald Gillis, Miss E. M. Gallagher, Mr. Ben- 
jamin Gallant, Mr. George Boulton, and Mr. 
Joseph Guei*tin. 

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord ; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 


"Thy Father, ivho s'rcth in secret, wi'f revny thee.". 

For the victims of the famine in Russia 
O'C, $5 ; Rev. F. P. F., $2. To help the Siste; 
of Charity in China: E. T. S., $1; J. H., $3. 
Fo" the sufferers in Central Eui'ope: E. J- 
Connerton, $10; a priest, $20; John F. 
Stoughton, $5. For the Ursulines in Alaska: 
J. H., $2; For the Foreign Missions: A. F., "in 
honor of the 'Ave Maria,' " $100. 

(Carl Muller) 




VOL. XV. (New Series.) NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, FEBRUARY 4. 1922. 

NO. 5 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

Pro Pontifice Nostro. 


God rest his soul, who found the vine-field 
But steadily broke his furrows to the sun; 
: There is no blemish on his scoured shard. 
The work VN'as good; and now that day is 

God rest his soul! 

All Saints, who know what City Beautiful, 
With beryl towers, keeps revel in the night 

For the forspent, join us who, dutiful, 
Do ask that, as a servant's wage aright, 
God rest his soul! 

After-Thoughts on Candlemas Day. 


HE "Candlemas" was just fin- 
ished on that second day of 
February in our convent chapel, 
and the priest knelt down to 
make his thanksgiving. His mind, alas ! 
was quickly assailed by distractions, 
caused by the peculiarly pungent smell 
of wax candles after they have been ex- 
tinguished. His thoughts went back to 
the happy days of faith, when that 
odor, on the same day in February of 
every year, filled every parish church 
from end to end of old England; when 
the little thirteenth-century village 
church, standing, oddly enough, just 
within the convent grounds with a right 
of way for the congregation who never 

come, and for the parson who reli- 
giously reads the service every other 
Sunday or so to an empty building, — 
when that little church itself was redo- 
lent of the Candle-Mass for the rest 
of the week. Has it consciousness, he 
thought, that old church, — a conscious- 
ness, perchance, made up of some 
lingering thought-energies stored in its 
ancient stones from the times when a 
village congregation of Catholics wor- 
shipped there, and poured out earnest 
prayer, and were moved by holy aspira- 
tions; when mighty stirrings of the 
Spirit of God moved among them, and 
sweet communion was held between 
those faithful souls and Jesus dwelling 
in the Most Holy Sacrament? 

Thought-'energies there were in 
plenty, and great waves of love rushing 
forth from the Sacred Host and setting 
into strong vibration the answering love 
of God's people. Does not the old 
Church still thrill with these energies? 
Is it not in some sort alive? May it 
not have caught this very morning a 
faint impression of the pleasant, acrid 
smell of the wax, consumed by flame in 
the chapel hard by, in symbolism of 
hearts consumed by love; sending out 
light and heat around, as hearts con- 
sumed by the fire of love always do ? 

But it was time to check this flow of 
thoughts that came unbidden. This was 
indubitably a distraction, — involuntary, 
let us hope, so far; but nov/ recognized, 
and to be put away. So, thought the 
priest, let me turn to the great mystery 



to-day commemorated; and, since the 
subject of the festival seems to impose 
itself in place of the ordinary thanks- 
giving after Mass, let it have its way; 
but let the thoughts which it shall call 
up be more directly to the point than 
vague surmises about the consciousness 
of old churches. 

It was forty days after the birth of 
the Divine Infant that the little pro- 
cession of the Mother and her Spouse 
and the Holy Child wended its way to 
the great Temple of God at Jerusalem 
to do according to the Law. The Law 
commanded that all first-born children 
should be presented to God as belonging 
specially to His service, in virtue of the 
saving of the first-born in Egypt when 
all the first-born of the Egyptians were 
slain. Also every mother, after child- 
birth, was commanded to go through 
certain rites of legal purification. The 
Church leaves us in no doubt that the 
Holy Virgin underwent the same cere- 
monial purification that was obligatory 
upon every mother in Israel. This lavv' 
symbolized the general sinfulness of the 
human race, — ^the sin in which we are 
all conceived and born. 

God knew, in very truth, that Mary 
needed no actual purification, stainless 
and immaculate as she was, — a pure 
Virgin, though truly a Mother. 
"Who," asks St. John Chrysostom, "is 
more holy than she? Not the Prophets, 
not the Apostles, not the Martyrs, not 
the Patriarchs, not Angels, nor 
Thrones, nor Dominations, nor Sera- 
phim, nor Cherubim, — not any, in short, 
of all things created, visible or invisible, 
can be found greater or more excellent 
than Mary. She is the Handmaid and 
Mother of God; she is at once Mother 
and Virgin." 

But God willed that Mary and His 
only-begotten Son, made Man through 
her, should keep the Law, as an example 
of humility and obedience ; to prevent all 
misconception, and the scandal which 

the Jews would have been prone to take 
had the legal observances been omitted 
by those of such good repute as Mary 
and Joseph; to put, too, in the person 
of His Son, the seal of divine approval 
once more upon the Law which He Him- 
self had given by Moses, — the Law 
which Jesus came not to destroy but 
to fulfil. So the' Holy Family came to 
Jerusalem to keep the Law. 

"And, behold, there was a man in 
Jerusalem named Simeon ; and this man 
was just and devout, waiting for the 
consolation of Israel; and the Holy 
Ghost was in him. And he had received 
an answer from the Holy Ghost that he 
should not see death before he had seen 
the Christ of the Lord."* This holy 
man, drawn by the Spirit of God, was 
waiting in the Temple when the Holy 
Family entered the sacred precincts. 

It does not seem that Simeon was a 
priest : therefore, he did not receive the 
Divine Infant into his arms in any 
oflflcial capacity as a minister of the 
Temple ; though the custom of Christian 
painters is to represent him in pictures 
of the Presentation as wearing priestly 
vestments. He would seem to have met 
the Holy Family just within the Temple, 
near the entrance. "Simeon," says that 
great authority, Pope Benedict XIV.,t 
"went by divine inspiration to Jeru- 
salem, and came to the doors of the 
Temple; and, having taken the Divine 
Child into his arms, blessed God and en- 
treated that he might now be taken 
from this life; praying also a blessing 
upon the parents of the Infant. He then 
restored the Child to His Mother's 
arms, predicted His Passion, and fore- 
told to the Mother that a sword should 
pierce her own heart." 

The meeting with holy Simeon and 
with Anna the Prophetess took place 
before the ceremonies of the Presenta- 

* St. Luke, ii, 25, 26. 

t "Treatise on the Feasts of Our Lord Jesus 
Christ and of the Blessed Virgin Mary." 




tion of Jesus and the Purification of 
the Blessed Virgin. It is worthy of 
remark that in the Eastern Church this 
feast was called the festival of the 
"Meeting," — ^that is, of the meeting of 
Simeon with the Holy Family, — and 
was reckoned amongst the feasts of our 
Blessed Lord. 

In her Mass and Office on this 
festival, the Church, with that wonder- 
ful artistry, if I may use the word, 
which belongs to her in her liturgical 
treatment of things divine, and is so 
conspicuous in her prese^itment of the 
great drama of the Passion in Holy 
Week, sets the mystery of the day be- 
fore our eyes in such a way as to sug- 
gest at one and the same time the actual 
event, its religious lessons, as well as the 

•fact (which gives their unique character 
to all such celebrations of the Church 
Catholic) that the past event is truly 
made present again; that under the 
symbdlism of rites and ceremonies is 
the original reality in all its wonderful 

j truth. 

There are two causes of this great 

■fact. One is that the Church "herself is 

;;jhrist's mystical Body, one with Him, 

ler Head, animated by His Holy Spirit ; 

that all her actions in the sacred 

liturgy of prayer and praise, of sacra- 

lent and sacrifice, are the acts of 

irist Himself, who lives in her and 

Barries on in her His incarnate life. 

)f the Church's corporate life, those 

^ords are pre-eminently true which St. 

*aul used of himself: "I live; now not I, 

>ut Christ liveth in me."* The other 

cause is the Real Presence of Jesus 

Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. 

So, then, in the Mass and the cere- 
monies of the feast of the Purification, 
Mary and Joseph are united, as mem- 
bers of the Church Triumphant, with us 
of the Church Militant on earth ; for we 
on earth and the Blessed in heaven are 
one in the body of Christ, the Commun- 

* GaU ii, 20. 

ion of Saints. And Jesus is with us 
bodily upon the altar, as well as dwell- 
ing and acting by the Holy Spirit in 
His Church. 

Thus Jesus, in the Sacred Host, is 
again presented to God in His holy 
Temple for the salvation of men. Again 
holy Simeon, speaking by the voice of 
the Church, tells in the Nunc Dimittis 
of the Light that enlightens the Gentiles 
and is the glory of God's new Israel. 
Again, in the silence of the Host, as 
before in the silence of His infant 
Humanity, the Sacred Heart thrills and 
pleads with a mighty onrush of compas- 
sion and interceding love as Jesus is 
taken into the hands of His priests and 
off'ered for this poor world, for the liv- 
ing and the dead. So, for the most part 
unnoticed, as at first, by the great world 
around, the Presentation of Christ in 
the Temple is re-enacted, and the hearts 
of God's people are purified with that 
real purification of grace of which the 
ancient legal rites were the type. 

Light, heat, purification, — ^these 
would seem to be the chief ideas 
brought out in the prayers and cere- 
monies of to-day's Office ; with the com- 
ing of the Lord to His Temple to be the 
Fount and Source of purification, heat 
and light alike. The trumpet voice of 
Malachi/ sounds forth in the Epistle of 
the day: "Presently the Lord whom 
you seek, and the Angel of the Testa- 
ment whom you desire, shall come to 
His Temple. Behold He cometh, saith 
the Lord of Hosts. . . .And He shall sit 
refining and cleansing the silver, and 
He shall purify the sons of Levi, and 
shall refine them as gold and as silver; 
and they shall offer sacrifices to the Lord 
in justice. And the sacrifice of Juda 
and Jerusalem shall please the Lord, as 
in the days of old and in the ancient 

So the Prophet looked forward to the 
great Sacrifice of the new Israel, of the 

* MaL, iii, 1-4. 



Holy Church in which Christ our Lord 
has made us "a kingdom and priests to 
God."* The burning lights, the proces- 
sion, symbolize the coming to the 
Temple of Him who enlightens every 
man that cometh into this world ; whose 
grace can find a way anywhere and 
everywhere, even into the hearts of 
those who, in ignorance, are outside the 
visible bounds of His Church. They 
symbolize especially the light of Faith 
that Christ has shed abroad, Himself 
the bright sun of Truth shining into the 
dark places of the earth. Heat, too, is 
symbolized as well as light; the heat 
without which the light of faith itself is 
a cold gleam, precious indeed, as in- 
dicating the way back to God, but in- 
sufficient by itself for salvation. For 
this there must be the glowing warmth 
of divine charity, radiating from the 
Heart of Jesus into the hearts of His 
true followers. 

As Mary, holding the sacred Human- 
ity in her arms, felt the fire of His love, 
and worshipped Him, God made Man, 
so the faithful on Candlemas Day, hold- 
ing the candles in their hands, and feel- 
ing the gentle warmth wafted upon 
their faces, bethink them of Him who is 
the light and warmth, the very life itself 
of their souls. 

Very beautifully are these lessons 
summed up in the prayers for the bless- 
ing of the candles before the Mass of 
this festival ; and especially in the third 
of those prayers, with a translation of 
which, these few considerations may 
well conclude: 

- "Lord Jesus Christ, true Light who en- 
lightenest every man that cometh into 
this world, pour out Thy blessing upon 
these waxen candles, and sanctify them 
by the light of Thy grace; and merci- 
fully grant that, as these lights, being 
enkindled with visible fire disperse the 
darkness of night, so our hearts, being 
illuminated by invisible fire — that is, 

* Apoc., i, 6. 

by the splendor of Thy Holy Spirit, — 
may be free from all blindness of sins ; 
that, the eye of our mind being purified, 
we may be able to see what things are 
pleasing to Thee and helpful to our sal- 
vation ; and thus, after the perils of the 
darkness of this world, we may merit 
to come to the- light that never dies: 
through Thee, Christ Jesus, Saviour of 
the world, who, in perfect Trinity, 
livest and reignest God for ever and 
ever. Amen." 

Basil Kirby. 


V. — Basil's Visit. 
Francesca Brown had Rosary 
beads ! Basil Kirby had, through 
politeness, concealed a slight 
feeling of disappointment. That 
Popish superstition had caught onto her 
like a burr. And yet the world, even 
before the Great War, had heard of the 
Rosary. There was popular sentiment 
about it. The word had been placarded 
on London v/alls. There had been a sen- 
timental song, an impossible play, a film 
appealing to folk who liked melodrama 
and dressed-up nuns. Kirby had an in- 
stinct that what this girl had got hold 
of was the real Rosary, and the thing 
on the stage and the film was a fraud. 
This truthful-eyed "Chesska" was so 
intensely sincere, she had some ideas of 
infinite holiness connected in her own 
mind with that string of beads. He 
thought of Thackeray's verses, "Kneel 
undisturbed, fair saint!" Francesca 
might have her superstition, if she 
thought it religion. Why should her 
childlike ways trouble him, who believed 
in nothing but a remote Power, un- 
known, inaccessible? So he got over 
that sense of friction and distress. 

As Jenkins kindled the logs on the 
hearth, he even wondered at the t)rocess 
of thought that made a man dislike 
everything "Roman," though he was in- 



different to a thousand other beliefs. 
Was it because there was an attraction 
that he was fighting against every time 
he heard of that mighty system? It 
had certainly spread over the whole 
earth to far, far wider bounds than the 
old Csssars' empire. Its mysticism was 
beautiful, a mighty appeal to the intel- 
lect. It said noble things to catch the 
sympathy of every noble soul. Its feast 
was magnificently spread with pomp and 
ritual; and he was aware that all sorts 
and conditions of men, the ignorant as 
well as the cultured, were fed and satis- 
fied. Its teachings were the most al- 
truistic conceivable; he knew tens of 
thousands had followed the Poor Man 
of Assisi. -It was a sort of glorified, 
world-wide democracy. Yes, it had a 
secret attraction that he did not like 
to recognize even in the depths of his 
own mind. And for that very reason 
he. disliked all those little outer fringes 
of that mysterious system, — like the 
simple string of beads in this girl's 
fair hand. 

So he was glad she said she was 
Church of England. She was illogical, of 
sourse, playing with Popish prayers like 
lat. But, after all, the Botticelli and 
i'ilippino Lippi angels belonged to that 
religion, as well as all Perugino's visible 
spirits walking this world in the colors 
of the dawn. He admired that over- 
mastering creed, while he shrank from 
it. And meanwhile his poor little angel 
had put the Rosary away; and she had 
no wings, and her eyes were terribly 
tired. It was a very patient face, with 
dark shadows and cheeks pale as ivory, 
that looked at him across the hearth; 
and the sunshine of Sant' Isolda was 
gone from her smile, 

"A girl like you kept up all night, and 
nothing the matter with her! Never 
heard of such a thing in my life !" he re- 
peated impatiently. They sat beside the 
newly-made fire; the flames kept a 
.flickering light on her face. 

"Don't mind so much, please," she 
remarked. "It will soon be over. I 
must go back to Sant' Isolda again." 

Kirby started. "No, you won't," he 
said entreatingly. Yet he felt it v/as un- 
reasonable to ask her not to go. What 
had he to do with it? The mere men- 
tion of her going seemed to threaten a 
blank in his life. "You are not going 
just yet, anyhow?" 

"No— not just yet." 

Respite! Perhaps he could make 
things better for her, and she v/ould 
stay. It was strangely pleasant to Basil 
Kirby to have her company in that old 
familiar room that he had so often 
called his "den." As he looked at her, 
with the firelight on her face, he 
thought she was more than ever like the 
Italian angels, — young and human-look- 
ing, with sweet lips and hair half-curl- 
ing, and garments softly- tinted. He 
was studying Francesca Brown, of 
course, from an artistic point of view, — 
so he told himself. Her hair was 
"fuzzed" from contact with the 
cushions; her eyes dreamy after last 
night's vigil. Wonderful eyes they 
were, the artist thought, — holy eyes, 
full of that quality of innocence that is 
almost adorable in the eyes of a child. 

"What are you looking at?" she said, 
smiling. "Am I very untidy?" 

Most of us know that there are some 
people with whom we can be quite our- 
selves, and other people who could 
never understand us, and with whom it 
is necessary to be conventional. In- 
stinctively, Chesska had made up her 
mind that with Basil Kirby she could 
be her own simple self; he would under- 

"No," he said ; "but you need a long 

She laughed. "I could sleep for a 

"Suppose we have some tea?" said 
the practical Basil, and Jenkins was 
summoned again. He was not to dis- 



turb the Countess, and — was that Ariel 
barking- somewhere? — ^he was to keep 
Ariel quiet and out of the way. "And 
I hope Mrs. Jenkins has some of her 
ver>^ best cake. Awfully jolly cake it 
is. It always makes me feel like a 
schoolboy again." 

Chesska presided over a little table 
laden with silver and dainties and Basil 
Kirby's most precious china, — the 
Crown Derby, a medley of g^old and rich 

"I love those pretty cups," said the 
girl, beginning- to feel bright again. 
"Aunt Eugenie always gives me a 
kitchen cup, for fear I might break one 
of these." Here she stopped to laugh 
merrily. "And it is all the funnier, 
because Ariel has his tea at the same 
time on the floor." 

Basil Kirby groaned. 

"I have to feed Ariel," she said. "He 
pounces at my feet if I keep him wait- 
ing. Do you hear him now? I believe 
Jenkins is smothering- him in some- 
thing, so that he won't wake Aunt 

Kirby began to ask questions. How 
many nights had Miss Brown been up? 
Three! Oh, but she had slept some- 
times in the day, — indeed, she had! And 
she slept a little at night too, sitting up. 

Then he asked a few questions about 
her occupations before the rest cure. 
She had not been out much. The 
answers were becoming resen-ed, and 
the tone rather miserable; and while 
she sipped from her cup, the other hand 
held a screen between the firelight and 
her face. He suspected there were tears 
in her eyes. They went to a first night 
once, — no: she was afraid Aunt 
Eugenie's taste and hers were quite dif- 
ferent. Oh, yes, they had games at 
Sant' Isolda! But she could not expect 
to have tennis here. She did not mind 
at all. Oh, no, thank you ! It would not 
be worth while to join a club. Danc- 
ing? Yes, she was fond of dancing. Bi^t, 

of course. Aunt Eugenie would not have 
dances, and she was not sorry — because 
— because — well, perhaps the people — 
Here she stopped suddenly. 

"And you don't go out at all in the 
air, except vdth that dog?" There was 
indignation in the tone. 

"No," Chesska admitted. "But— 
please don't mind, — don't be so sorry. 
You see, I have come to London to earn 
my living. Aunt Eugenie says I mustn't 
think I have come to enjoy myself. And 
that's quite true. But what really wor- 
ries me is that — well — it's like this: I 
could never make friends with her 
friends; so hadn't I better go away?" 

"Why don't you like her friends?" 
He looked steadily into the fire. The 
quiet question was calculated to win 

But she could not tell him ; she could 
not tell any one. Evidently, countless 
little details of words and ways had 
led to her repugnance. The ideas of 
the people who frequented this house 
were all difi'erent from the ideas of her 
father and the nuns and her holiday 
friend, the Marchesa Desti. But the 
right way out of the trouble was not by 
complaining, but by going away. "I can 
not tell you why I don't like them," she 
said, — "but I don't." And here he had 
reached a strong barrier of reserve. 
"Oh, I don't know their names !" with a 
slight toss of her head rejecting an un- 
pleasant subject. "Aunt Eugenie calls 
two of them Grand Slam and Little 
Slam, after something in the game of 
cards. Do let us talk of something else. 
Is it rainy and cold like this in Devon- 

"No: it is all sunshine." 

He saw the wisdom of asking no more 
questions ; so he talked about his cottage 
at Patchley, — a fine large cottage, 
with big rooms. No, it was not beauti- 
ful ; it was out of repair, and the Coun- 
tess would think it very shabby. The 
next country place was tremendously 




grand, and made his look v/orse. But, 
luckily, there was a belt of wood and 
half a mile of meadows between him 
and the Hall. Then he began to de- 
scribe the possession that was his 
' heart's delight. 

' "But I have a house, — a real old Tudor 

manor house that we call the Barn. 

That's the thing, — that's the place. The 

Hall is only gimcrack modern. Behind 

*atchley Cottage, beyond the garden 

md a sort of courtyard, there is this 

wonderful old place; and when I 

scraped the whitewash off the walls 

inside, I found the most perfect oak 

/panelling. There is a staircase going 

that way and that way, and then this 

way" (he moved his hand, drawing a 

diagram in the air) . "And the outside 

Js timbered with black beams going 

aslant, you know, in the plaster; and I 

got leaded diamond panes put in. The 

people there before me were barbari- 

ins. They used that place as a barn." 

"I'd love to see it," sighed Chesska. 

He paused. He was an impulsive 
lan. "I wonder would the Countess 
)ring you if I asked her?" 

"She would bring Ariel," the girl 
lid, with a sparkle of mischief in her 

'I don't care if she was to bring a 
"dozen Ariels." 

They exchanged unflattering remarks 
about the Pom. "He ran after the 
doctor's ankles all the way downstairs," 
said Chesska. "The doctor said he was 
a perfect pest." 

"It's well to be perfect in some way," 
laughed Basil. "And how the Countess 
has set her heart on that fretful little 

"She has a heart too," put in Chesska. 
"She is very nice sometimes." 

"A heart! Of course, child; but the 
late Count must have knocked it about 
pretty badly. And she is most incon- 

A heavy sigh behind them. There 

stood the Countess in th6 new "cham- 
pagne-color" rest-gown that arrived 
that morning from Paris. Chesska 
ought to have guessed she would be 
cured at once. Eugenie Cavaletti could 
not resist a new dress. 

"I am sorry to intrude upon an ap- 
pointment," she said. "But I heard you, 
you cruel man! You called my Ariel a 
frightful beast." 

" 'Fretful,' not 'frightful' !" exclaimed 
Basil. "It makes all the difference in 
the v/orld. And he is a beast, not a bird. 
Shakespeare says 'delicate Ariel.' Your 
Pom is all nerves." 

Both were standing. Chesska was 
giving her cushioned chair to the silver- 
haired lady in the splendor of new 

"We were conspirators," said Basil. 
"You came at the right moment. I w"as 
just asking Miss Brown if you would do 
me the honor of visiting my little house 
at Patchely." 

He had the tact of a diplomatist, but 
the crisis was not quite past. 

"How sweet of you!" the Countess 
said. "Miss Brown needs a whole week 
here to put my things in order. I'll 
come, dear Mr. Basil." 

Basil instantly saved himself. "A 
little later, then," he said hastily. The 
old place wanted some putting in order. 

"Ah, Bluebeard, — Bluebeard !" ex- 
claimed the Countess, and held up a 
linger. "Well, I shall keep you to your 
promise, sir. And now — how do you 
like the new creation?" 

Chesska came to the rescue, observing 
the man's blank looks. "Aunt Eugenie 
means her new tea gown." 

"Superb!" he said, with a glance at 
Chesska, who sat demurely, with- a 
sparkle in her eyes and a quiver on her 
lips. "It is a rare tint that velvet. But, 
as the man says in the opera, there is 
a Venetian sort of color, like cold 
gravy — " 

"Don't say that, Mr. Basil!" The 



Countess hit his arm with her fan. "1 
declare I never know whether the man 
is joking or in earnest. And, oh, you 
unkind monster, v/hy have you brought 
in all your china bric-a-brac here? I 
know. You would not trust my Ariel 
not to break it." 

He offered his arm. "Come down- 
stairs, Countess. This is no place for 
you; it is a mere storeroom. I shall 
ring for fresh tea for you in the draw- 
ing-room, and then I have to rush 

"Then it's settled that we go to Patch- 
ley," she said on the stairs. "I won't 
forget. I am coming, and my Ariel will 
forgive you." 

The Countess went down the stair- 
case leaning on his arm. But he was 
a provoking man. He disappeared the 
moment he had seen her established in 
the drawing-room with Ariel and 
Chesska. He had a business interview 
down somewhere in the Strand. 

That was a more important interview 
than any one imagined. At a remote 
table in the smoking room of a popular 
cafe, Nicholov was waiting for him. A 
cheap cigar was balanced on the edge 
of the marble table, sending up a spiral 
of ill-smelling smoke. There was no 
car outside, and the man's shabby coat 
was frayed ; but he still wore the gold- 
rimmed glasses. 

"I have got the red," said Nicholov, 
holding a small piece of glass against a 
page of his pocket-book. The glass was 
a pale pink at one side, and deepened 
into the richest ruby. "Take that down 
to your Devonshire place," he said, lay- 
ing it on the table, "and try all the ex- 
periments you like. Nothing spoils 

"Have you tried it? Have you put 
it in my solution?" 

"Precisely. That is what I have done. 
Then it has been heated almost red-hot. 
Three days it was in your solution." 

Kirby took the bit of ruby-red glass 

in his hand, and stared at the man. 

"What is the pigment you used?" 

"Ah, that is my secret!" 

Kirby gave an order to a waiter, 
lighted a cigar, and puffed in silence. At 
last he gasped out his wonder. "If we 
lived in the Middle Ages, Nicholov, I'd 
say you sold your soul to the devil." 

Nicholov bowed, shrugged his shoul- 
ders and spread out both hands. "Per- 
haps! You pay me a compliment. But 
let us keep to business. If I sell you 
the power of my brains, you give in ex- 
change a fair share of the whole ven- 
ture. As we are not in the Middle Ages, 
you will not accuse me of having 
another partner." 

The idea seemed to amuse him; he 
laughed to himself. 

(To bo continued.) 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

New Series. 

BY K. C^ 


A LITTLE church close to the edge 
of the town, and the Irish children 
flocking in to Benediction. It seemed 
a rare chance to hear a parish priest of 
the old time speak to the lambs of his 
flock, so we knelt among the benches, 
not far from the door. The church 
was low-roofed, v/ith great beams 
across its time-worn ceiling. It could 
not have been many years since the 
people knelt in a crowd on the flagged | 
floor, without ben6hes. But now there 
were seats and "kneelers." No pulpit. 
Three altars across the farther end, all 
in beautiful order, adorned with 
flowers. On the high altar, a "clerk" in ;i 
cassock lighted the candles. This was 
evidently the girls' night for some local 
confraternity, and they came in, with 
and without hats, all tidy, clean, bright, 
intelligent, with dear little Irish faces 
fresh as cream and roses. Those who 
came "in their hair" had a ribbon 



bow almost big enough to stand for a 
hat. About eighty of them crowded the 
Epistle side of the chapel. 

And here we remember how the Cath- 
olic church is still called the "chapel" in 
most of the country parts of Ireland. 
The name is a remnant of the days 
when the building belonging to the 
State religion was the "church," sacred 
to the use of the aristocracy planted 
in from England, and the parson and 
the parson's wife. So this was the 
chapeUand on Sundays', the people not 
only filled it, but knelt in "the yard" in 
a great crowd outside the open doors. 
This reminds us that there is a prim- 
itive arrangement in the yard, fre- 
quently to be seen in Ireland. On an 
erection of wooden beams, the immense 
bronze bell is mounted, and the "clerk" 
comes out and tugs the bell-rope with a 
heave of both arms for some minutes 
before Mass. 

The children had come in without any 
bell; and the parish priest arrived, 
book in hand, — a lithe, quick figure, 
'.with grey hair and shiny cassock. He 
had tremendous straight black eye- 
brows, and a chin that betokened deter- 
mination. There was a light of humor 
^ »in the keen eyes. But this was not the 
[time for joking: he was going to pray 
[with the lambs of his flock and instruct 
[them on confession. It was going to be 
la very serious business, and his stroiig 
[chin was set resolutely. He stood within 
[the altar rails and faced the lambs. 
The difficulty was that the lambs still 
cept -coming in; and where one 
'squeezed," and found a place, half a 
dozen packed themselves in after genu- 
flecting. There seemed no limit to the 
capacity of a bench to hold a crush of 
little Irish girls. The parish priest 
prayed facing them, book in hand, and 
the answers came in volleys of young 
voices. The litany alternated with sharp 
orders : 

"Now, children, don't crowd. Chil- 

dren are always crowding, — always 
crowding, — 'has purchased for us the 
rewards of eternal blessedness.' — There 
is plenty of room in that third bench. 
Children, are always crushing up 
against one another, and then they can't 
say their prayers. Where was I ? — 'the 
rewards of eternal blessedness.' — Oh, 
there are more coming in now! How 
ever am I to get on with this? You 
should be in your places before the ser- 
vice begins. Maggie" (with a rap of 
the book and a glance into the distance) , 
"you are laughing! Stop that!" Then 
he goes on again to "the rewards of 
eternal blessedness" ; and the crov*'d 
kneel apart, and they all get to the end 
of the prayers — which, to the great 
honor of the holy priest and his school- 
teachers, they know and follow wonder- 
fully well. 

Then he explains that they are all to 
come next day to confession. He re- 
peats that they are to be in church a 
quarter of an hour before the time, "and 
that does not mean a quarter of an hour 
after." There is some sternness neces- 
sary with the lambs on the subject of 
getting in time. He is the sort of father 
that will stand no nonsense. There are 
serious faces under the big ribbon bows, 
and one wonders if any of the hearts 
are fluttering. "Eighty of you will 
come," he says, — "eighty, at two 
o'clock, — perhaps more. There's the 
other Father and myself. Now, don't 
all go to the other priest. We can't hear 
you that way. If you do that, I'll come 
and sort you myself: I'll divide you up, 
the same number to each. So don't make 
me have to come out." (Sensation.) 
Then the priest, who knows ever>- 
child as he knows every member' of his 
flock, begins to give a most beautiful 
instruction on the right way to get ready 
to receive divine forgiveness and how 
it was purchased. 

One's thoughts drift off to the possi- 
bilities of future years. Where are 



these children going-, before life ends? 
It is too much to hope they will all stay 
in holy Ireland. America, Australia, 
South Africa, London with its name for 
money-getting and its poisoned atmos- 
phere of the new paganism, — where are 
these girls going? One looks at the rows 
of heads, — the little fair ones, the 
sturdy and ruddy, and the dark and 
curly. Not one of them is moving now ; 
they are all listening. What is all other 
schooling worth compared with this 
great, true, tender lesson on the one 
subject that niatters — how to receive 
the forgiveness of God ! Some of these 
far off in years to come will think of 
such homely instructions as these, 
when the parish priest is gone to his 

"And don't be running out the minute 
after," he says. "I've seen some of you 
make the Sign of the Cross and hardly 
finish it before you were making it 
again — ahd then up and running out. 
Yes, I have ; and I've brought the same 
children back twice over to make their 
thanksgiving properly. So now come 
in good time to-morrow; and don't go 
running to the other priest, but divide 
yourselves up, and then you will all have 
your confessions heard, and you will 
all go home happy." 

The fresh voices of the children rose 
faultlessly in tune at Benediction, — 
sweetly, heartily. These were a contin- 
gent of the future women of Ireland; 
and the women of Ireland are handing 
on the Faith from one generation to 
another, humbly unconscious of their 
great vocation. 

The Old- World parish priest is still to 
be found, though the type is becoming 
rare. Going out, we found evidence of 
his lively wit and his homely union with 
his people. As to the children, "One 
has to keep hammering them," he said 
playfully. One felt that the stern ways 
concealed a heart of gold and a quaint 
humor, and there was no doubt he 


had "his flock in the grandest control." 
The union between the Irish priest 
and his people is, of course, wonderfully 
close. It is the outcome of the clear and 
vivid faith of the nation. And there is 
no wrong that they have felt in these 
times more keenly than the outrages 
against priest and altar. Some perhaps 
will say, "But have such things really 
happened ?" The answer is. Yes, far too 
often; but truth has been officially 
suppressed, and the newspapers have 
not printed the facts. 

We have watched the last scenes 
the murder — or may we say the mar- 
tyrdom? — of Father Michael Griffin. 
He was by no means the only priest who 
suffered persecution. Some were under- 
going long sentences, — one for two 
years, another for five. And penal ser- 
vitude means that anointed hands are 
quarrying rock, or breaking stone, or 
making roads among condemned 
"gangs" of malefactors. One priest was 
nearly beaten to death outside his pres- 
bytery. Yet another, a Franciscan of 
the Friars Minor, was, fortunately, 
away from his own roof when a Black 
and Tan ascended the house by staples 
driven into the wall outside, and stepped 
in at the upper window, seeking his 

What happened to arrested priests we 
may judge from the case of Fathers 
McKenna and Gaynor at a court-mar- 
tial in County Claire, in April, 1921. On 
the day of their arrest both were in- 
sulted, the troops using vile language 
and calling them murderers. (Surely 
this was not the right process of law 
at any man's arrest.) Father McKenna 
was struck by a military officer with a 
rifle butt. Both priests were taken in a 
lorry to a neighboring town, and shown 
the body of a constable, whom they were 
accused of murdering. They were after- 
wards let go, several miles from home, 
and later arrested again, — the whole 
procedure proving the reign of abuse 



and lynch-law, instead of legal order. 
Nearly two months later, the court- 
martial of the same two priests took 
place, with a very different charge, — 
that of the possession of "seditious lit- 
erature" ; a charge upon which most of 
the people of Ireland could have been 
imprisoned, and some hundreds of 
thousands in England. Lastly, we all 
remember the shooting of Canon 
Magner, in daylight, at the roadside, by 
a uniformed drunkard, who could only 
plead that he was in a state of delir- 
ium, — ^the common excuse of reckless 

A scene at Dublin Castle will illus- 
trate the methods of militarism. The 
prisoners were Father Dominic, the 
confessor of the Lord Mayor of Cork; 
and Father Albert, another Franciscan 
(both Capuchins). At first they were 
left together. Students of the penal 
days in England, who have read of 
Father Garnett in the Tower of Lon- 
don, will have their own suspicion of the 
grace allowed to the two priests in being 
left for a short time together. Then 
the prisoners were separated. Father 
Albert was subjected to a very long in- 
terrogation. They wanted the names of 
certain people. It was exactly the sort 
of questioning that was carried on in 
prisons used as adjuncts to the court 
in the sixteenth century ; and if the rack 
is obsolete in these days, another form 
of torture is not wanting. The prisoner 
refused the information demanded. 
He was told he would be hanged or 
shot; k rope was too good for him: 
probably he would be shot. But he was 
given an hour to meditate on his end, 
and for that hour he was to stand with 
his face to the wall. 

The bearded Capuchin, of great 
height and powerful build, turned 
patiently to the wall. There can be 
little doubt what was the occupation of 
that silent figure with the brown habit 
and knotted cord. Certainly there was 

no fear in his heart. Trie Franciscans 
of Ireland have the glorious record of 
some three hundred martyrs in the old 
times of persecution. Whole communi- 
ties were hanged by their cords. The 
brown habit of St. Francis had a wearer 
true to a great tradition when Dublin 
Castle tried in vain to get information. 
Whatever the questions were, they 
failed. The officer sat with his 
watch in his hand, telling now and 
again the nearing of doom ; and the son 
of St. Francis spoke no word against his 
brethren. The hour ended as it had 

Then another plan was tried, — a pLiu 
which seems to belong to some bygoie 
age of barbarity ; there is no parallel for 
it in any criminal procedure of a 
modern and civilized State. It was 
elaborate trickery. An execution was 
staged, or pretended to take place, in 
the room above. The priest in the room 
below was made to infer that he was 
listening to the fate of the priest from 
whom he had parted. A volley was 
heard, and with it came the fall of a 
heavy body on the floor overhead. Then 
it was pointed out to the prisoner that 
now his friend was gone; and that 
he would assuredly be the next to 
go, if he did not give the required 
information. Torture failed, — and can 
this be called anything else than men- 
tal torture? 

At this present time of writing, dur- 
ing the truce, Father Albert is free, 
but with i)roken health, keeping out of 
the way of the evil hands that might 
not spare his life another time. Father 
Dominic, for having "seditious litera- 
ture" in his possession, and for such 
patriotism as any man might consider 
himself safe in ' writing in a private 
letter, is undergoing five years' hard 
labor as a criminal. 

As a general rule, it takes the bitter 
anti-Catholic spirit of Orangeism to at- 
tack the altar as well as the priest. One 



Sunday in May, 1921, a uniformed man, 
belonging to the Ulster "special" con- 
stabulaiy, appeared in the church of St. 
Patrick, at Claudy, in County Derry. 
It is probable that it was some time 
after Mass: the priest was absent, and 
the church was empty except for some 
women who had remained to pray. The 
"special" Ulster constable had got in by 
the "sacristy, and came from it into the 
church. Smoking a pipe, he as- 
cended the altar steps, and, as the Cath- 
olic official repoi-t says, "he went 
through a mock celebration of the 
Mass," and then "searched the taber- 
nacle for the Sacred Host." 

But this form of atrocity is not con- 
fmed to the Orange districts of the 
North. There was a report of violence 
done to the altar not long ago near 
Dublin. And in the report of the court- 
martial of the two priests in Clare, 
which we have mentioned before, it is 
on record that on the day of the arrest 
the military "forced open the tabernacle 
in the church at Mullagh and committed 
frightful desecration." And no doubt 
it vv^as in the struggle to avert sacrilege 
that the devoted priest found himself 
struck with the rifle butt of the com- 
manding officer. 

(To be continued.) 

The Grail Seekers. 

Linked Lives. 



'Their eyes may never see 
The beauty of the Grail, 
But recompense remains 

For those who tiy — and fail. 

The desert ways of earth 
May find no shining goal; 

But, bravely walked, they reach 
A peace profound of soul. 

The stormy mountain paths 
In pain and longing trod. 

If bravely climbed, at last 
Go glimmering up to God. 

WHEN a northeast wind blows 
across the Bay of St. Malo, 
strange things may sometimes be dis- 
covered between- Mount Sant-Mikeal 
and the Isles of Chausey. Whole villages 
have Jjeen covered by the waves: Tom- 
men, Sant-Stevan, Sant-Loeiz, Mauny, 
Epiniak, and many others. The ruins of 
these submerged hamlets lie in the sand, 
v/ith fragments of wrecks, and great 
trunks of the forest of Scissy. 

A pitiless strife has raged for cen- 
turies between the ocean and the poor 
land of Brittany. The conquering sea 
sleeps peacefully now on the field of 
battle. It is not tradition only which 
has preserved the mempiy of those 
deadly combats. Family and monastic 
records, town archives, dusty papers of 
notaries, — all contain a number of 
authentic titles to those lost estates, 
those submerged cornfields. 

All along the coast from Granville to 
Cape Frehel, near St. Malo, this con- 
quering sea has covered the once fertile 
fields with barren sand. Here and there 
a rock raises its black head above the 
waves. This may preserve its ancient 
name of fief, of castle, or of village ; for 
the earth has bones, and even a moun- 
tain leaves behind it a skeleton of stone. 

How long the sea took to conquer this 
land none can tell. The strife began 
before the Christian era. It is known 
that Druidical woods stretched for eight 
or ten miles' beyond the present coast 
line. Later, the forest of Scissy planted 
its vanguard oaks on the rocks of 

At that time the Couesnon was a big-^ 
river, which Ptolemy and Amien Mai 
cellin confounded with the Seine. 
proud river it was, sovereign of the^ 
Selune' and lord of the See, whicl 
brought to it the tribute of their watei 



It flowed ocean ward beyond the hills of 
Chausey, which now form an archipel- 
ago ; and, at that remote date, its course 
was by the right of Mount Sant-Mikeal, 
along the coast of Cotantin. It was 
long after this that the Couesnon 
doubled upon itself. Thereafter it 
flowed to the left of the Mount, thus 
taking it from Brittany to give it to 
Normandy. The Breton legend of the 
Great Flood — the Deluge, as it is called 
in Armorica — which brought about that 
severance runs thus: 

Penhor, thfe daughter of Bud, was the 
wife of Amel, who tended the flocks of 
Annan. This great seigneur was lord 
and count of Cheze, beyond Menez- 
Trombelene. His castle stood in- the 
midst of seven villages, which paid 
tribute when he sent out his men to war. 
One of these villages was called Sant- 
Vinol, and it was here that Amel and 
Penhor dwelt. 

Penhor w^as eighteen years old, Amel 
was almost twenty-five. Their parents 
were dead, and they loved each other 
with the great love of orphans. The 
woman was as beautiful as a sunbeam 
in spring. Her hair fell as a mantle 
around her; her eyes pierced to the 
depths of the heart. Amel was tall and 
strong, and his limbs v/ere supple. 

In those days there were striped 
wolves which were bigger than foals six 
months old. They killed horses, and 
drank the blood of sleeping cattle; and 
they disdained to flee at the approach of 
man. It was said of them that an ar- 
row could not pierce their skin ; that if 
struck by a spear, it snapped in the 
hand. Nevertheless, Amel set himself 
to cope with this terror. Thus it was 
that, one Winter night, when the striped 
wolf of Cheze left the forest in search 
of food, the brave youth crouched on 
the plain to intercept him. 

The end was this: Amel stunned the 
wolf with a stone,- then seized the animal 
in his strong arms, and strangled it. 

Amel was, indeed, a youth both of 
might and valor. But before he had set 
out to await the wolf, it should be said, 
Amel had hung in the village church of 
Sant-Vinol, under the niche from which 
Our Lady smiled, a distaff of fine linen, 
prepared hy the fair hands of Penhor. 

Our Lady of Sant-Vinol was rich. 
Year after year offerings were placed at 
her feet: gold, silver and jewels, besides 
gifts of linen, of sheaves of corn, of 
fair ripe fruits. 

Amel and Penhor lived in joy, for 
they were young and they loved. One 
shadow, however, dusked their sunshine 
at times. That they had no children: 
this was their one regret. Thus it was 
that Penhor was sad when she remained 
alone in her home while Amel guarded 
his flocks. 

She said to herself one day when the 
weariness was upon her: "Ah, Holy 
Mother, if only I had a bfeautiful child 
on my knee, the living image of his 
father, then, true, it would be with a 
singing at my heart I could await each 
day the home-coming of Amel." As for 
Amel, this is what he said to himself: 
"Ah, Blessed Mother, if Penhor gave me 
a beautiful child, the living image of 
herself, what joy, what happiness 
would be mine!" 

"Penhor, my wife," said Amel one 
day, "weave a veil for the Holy Mary, 
Mother of God, and perhaps a child will 
be given to us." So in due time Penhor 
wove a veil for the Holy Mother of God ; 
a beautiful veil it was, white as snow, 
and more delicate than the mist of an 
August evening. 

The Mother of God was well pleased. 
Amel and Penhor had a child, and they 
loved each other all the more tenderly as 
they bent over its cradle. 

The child was nine days old, when 
Amel took the cradle in his arms, and 
so carried the infant to the priest. After 
the baptism, Penhor lifted the cradle 
and bore it round the church to the 



altar of the Virgin. "Mary, Holy 
Mary!" said she, kneeling before the 
Mother of God, "to you I consecrate the 
child which you have given to us. Look 
at him, Holy Mother. Behold him, that 
you may know him in the day of peril." 
And Amel, assenting, cried, "So be it!" 

Our Lady's color is the blue of the 
sky. Therefore it was that the child 
Paol was thenceforth robed in bright 
blue. He was beautiful, with the fair 
hair of his mother and the dark eyes of 
Amel, the brave herdsman. 
/ Then the sorrow of sorrows came. No 
man can tell if it was because of some 
great sin among the people of Sant- 
Vinol, or but the design of God, that 
one night — Mary ! a night of terror ! 
— the waters of the Couesnon rose 
rapidly. The wind blew from the 
northeast, the rain fell in torrents, the 
earth shook. In a little while the whole 
plain was covered with water. 

When morning broke, the people saw 
that it was not the Couesnon only which 
had overflowed; it was the sea, which 
had destroyed all its barriers, even 
those raised by the hand of God Him- 
self. And the flood increased, bearing 
on its surface uprooted trees and the 
bodies of dead animals. 

Into the church of Sant-Vinol, which 
stood on a height, the bewildered 
villagers crowded. All save two: for 
when Amel and Penhor hastened thither 
with their, child the church was full, 
and they could only remain at the door. 

The waters rose and rose. When the 
lips of the flood licked their feet, Amel 
took his wife in his arms. Soon the 
waters reached his waist. He said: 
"Farewell, beloved wife. I will uphold 
you. Perhaps the deluge will be stayed. 
If I die and you are saved, it is well." 
And thus it was. Still the dark flood 
of waters rose. When it reached her 
breast, she lifted little Paol, and said: 
"Farewell, my darling child. I will up- 
hold you. Perhaps the waters will be 

stayed. If I die, and you are saved, it 
is well." With the child it was in turn 
as with his mother when Amel had 
whispered to her. 

Still the waters rose. Soon nothing 
was visible above the angry waves, save 
the fair head of little Paol, and a fold of 
his blue frock which fluttered in the 
fierce wind. 

It was at this , moment that our 
Blessed Mother left her niche in the 
church of Sant-Vinol to fly heavenward. 
In her hands she carried all her offer- 
ings. As she passed above the grave- 
yard she saw the fair head of little 
Paol and the fluttering fold of pale blue. 
Then she paused in her flight, and said : 
"This child is mine. I will bear him to 
God." With that she put her soft hand 
about his fair hair. But the child was 
heavy, very heavy. One by one the Holy 
Virgin had to relinquish her offerings. 

When she had thrown them all aside 
she was able to raise him. Then it was 
she saw why little Paol was so very 
heavy. His mother held him in her stif- 
fened arms. In his stiffened arms, the 
father upheld the mother. 

Our Lady smiled and said: "In truth, t| 
they loved one another well." But when -'I 
she smiled, the darkness of death went 
from them, and they awoke at the gates] 
of Paradise. 

The men of fortitude! who face dan- 
gers according to the judgment of" 
reason, in the beginning seem remiss, 
because it is riot from passion but with 
deliberation that they address them- 
selves to their duty. But in the hour of ■■ 
danger they meet with no unforeseen Jj 
experience, but frequently find the'' 
difficulty less than they had anticipated ;,!|| 
and therefore they hold on their way f | 
more steadily. Moreover, it is for the 
good which in virtue lies that they face 
danger: the will to gain which, good 
abides in them, however great the dan*i| 
gers prove. — St. Thomas Aquinas, 




St. Agnes and Her Lambs. 

THOSE who have been eye-witnesses 
of the celebration of the feast of 
St. Agnes in Rome always hve the 
scene over again as her day comes 
round. And perhaps those who have 
not had that privilege will welcome an 
account of the celebration . from one 
who has. 

Outside the Porta Pia, a broad, dusty 
road leads away to the shrine of St. 
Agnes. "Already the almond trees are 
hoary, not with frost but with blos- 
soms ; the earth is being loosened round 
the vines; and spring seems latent in 
the swelling buds, which are watching 
for the signal from the southern breeze 
to burst and expand. The atmosphere, 
rising into a cloudless sky, has just that 
temperature that one loves, — of a sun, 
already vigorous, not heating but soft- 
ening the slightly frosty air." 

So it was in Cardinal Wiseman's day. 
But now the picture is somewhat 
changed. The same sun shines 
festively. The same hills show up in 
the distance across the shadowless Cam- 
pagna. But the noise. of heavy tram- 
cars, the hoot of automobiles, the new, 
white-faced buildings lining the road 
where once trees made shade, — these 
give a changed look to the old road. 

And yet there is no change in the 
povv'er of the child-martyr's appeal ; and 
to-day, as formerly, the Roman children 
make long procession to her tomb, — the 
tomb of their favorite saint. This is, 
indeed, the children's day. And as one 
passes them, making their way unat- 
tended, or, more usually guided by 
some Sister, one hears them telling 
anew of "little Agnes" and her "little 
lambs." It is Innocence speaking lov- 
ingly of innocence. One can not repress 
the prayer: 

St. Agnes, holy child, all purity, — 

Oh, may they, undefiled, be pure as thee ! 

St. Agnes was buried (304. A. D.) 
by her family on their own property. 
Twenty years later, Constantia, the 
daughter of the Emperor Constantine, 
was baptized near this spot. At her 
request, her father built a basilica over 
the burial place of St. Agnes, which 
to-day stands almost as it was left by 
Pope Honorius, who restored it in the 
seventh century. As a place of pilgrim- 
age and as one of the oldest and most 
interesting Christian monuments in 
Rome, it has ever been an attraction to 
the world. 

The way to the church, through the 
entrance court, has to be made in and 
out among numerous beggars — ^the 
blind, the lame, and the aged poor, — 
who stand or lie in one's path; and 
then through groups of children, who 
are looking earnestly at a temporary 
display of pictures of the saint, and toy 
lambs, the souvenirs of the day's feast. 
One Ambrose, who is thought to have 
written in the sixth century, has left a 
pretty story, which may account for the 
common association of St. Agnes and 
the lamb, as in Carlo Dolci's beautiful 
picture of the saint. 

"It came to pass that, as the parents 
of blessed Agnes were spending the 
night at her tomb, suddenly in the dead 
silence a bright light shone forth, and 
they saw an array of virgins passing, 
all robed in cloth of gold; and among 
them they saw also most blessed Agnes, 
robed like the rest, and at her right 
hand there stood a lamb whiter than 
snow. Her parents' wonder was thus 
answered by their martyred daughter: 
'Do not grieve for me as dead, but re- 
joice and be glad ; for I have gained the 
mansions of light, as these have done 
before me, and am united to Him in 
heaven whom I loved with all my soul 
on earth.' She then disappeared." 

The church, which is constructed on 
a level with the saint's tomb, is reached 
by a descent of more than forty marbl§ 



steps. Ancient sepulchral inscriptions 
from the neighboring cemetery cover 
the walls on either side of the steps. It 
is as though one were passing between 
the ranks of unknown warriors who 
fought for Christ, and now are body- 
guard of one whose company they 

In the church, the solemn activity at 
the high altar, under its exquisite bal- 
dachino, upheld by four porphyry 
columns; the sweet smell of incense, 
which in its rising veils the rich mosaics 
of the apse; the fragrance of flowers 
tastefully placed about the saint's 
shrine ; the kneeling figures among the 
sixteen precious columns which divide 
the nave from the aisles; the trained 
' voices of a picked choir, — these are the 
eloquent religious expression of Rome's 
homage to St. Agnes, who gave her body 
in sacrifice to Him who is on the altar 
under which she lies in a silver shrine, 
adorned with rich jewels. 

It was a fine Catholic experience. 
There we were, massed together and 
pressing close to the foot of the altar, — 
representatives of the nations of the 
world. One faith, one hope, one baptism 
broke down all the distinctions of 
speech, of color, of custom ; and we, who 
in respect of the minor things of life 
were widely separated, were closely 
united in homage to St. Agnes, and in 
the act of praise to her Spouse who gave 
her the palm of victory. 

There was scarcely room, for us all; 
and as trams and motors and carriages 
set down their pilgrim loads at the 
church, the discomfort increased. But 
no one moved away, for the lambs were 
not yet blessed ; and who would dare to 
confess that he had been to St. Agnes' 
on her feast-day (Jan. 21) and had not 
seen her lambs? 

Towards the end of Mass there was a 
sudden movement in the direction of the 
door, where two men, each carrying a 
lamb, were thronged and jostled by the 

importunate faithful, eager to see, and 
lovingly to touch, if possible, the "lambs 
of 'St. Agnes." 

The lambs looked pretty as they lay 
on their damask cushions, the one lamb 
lightly bound at the feet with red, the 
other with blue " ribbon. The air was 
noisy with a chorus of admiration. 
English-speaking visitors joined their 
"How sweet!" and "Poor dears!" with 
the expressive and melodious "Pove- 
rello!" and "Incantevole!" of the 
Italians, and the appropriate phrases of 
others. Old folks lost their wrinkles in 
joyous smiles; children clamored to be 
lifted high for "just a peep." 

And while we, like children, were 
having our way, the priests at the high 
altar were awaiting the arrival of the 
lambs. They would have had long to 
wait, had not the police helpfully 
formed a bodyguard round the bearers, 
and prepared the way before them to 
the altar. There the lambs were prayed 
over, blessed and incensed. One of them 
did not like the incense, and attempted 
to kick. This caused some merriment. 
And then the end came, with a proces- 
sion of the lambs and officiating priest. 
But the crowd broke the procession, and 
the ministers were left to make their 
way out unheeded, whilst the lambs 
were besieged as before. At last they 
were conducted to safety, and, later, to 
the Pope for his blessing. 

From him they are sent to the nuns 
who have care of the shrine of that 
other glorious virgin martyr, St. Cecilia. 
There they are tended, and grow white 
fleece, which is given to the Pope at . 
Easter, and woven into palliums, which 3 
are placed over the tomb of St. Peter in 
June. These palliums are worn by 
metropolitans as a symbol of their 

A last look round the church took in 
lingering groups at prayer about the 
saint's tomb. It recalled how St. Emer- 
entiana, foster sister of St. Agnes, 



though not baptized, was found when 
other friends had departed, praying at 
her sister's grave. The armed pagans 
who found her thus, sought from her 
a denial Of the Christian God. Her 
refusal won for her the martyr's crown. 
It was as yet only midday, but it 
seemed better to continue on the road 
away from Rome, lest its attractions 
should crowd out, or at least dull, the 
keen sense of the morning's spiritual 
experience. Within sight of the hills, 
which at that moment seemed so 
friendly, one could rest and forget the 
"old, unhappy, far-off things" in the 
memory of this new and near joy, — the 
joy at having worshipped with children 
at the shrine of Innocence personified 
in St. Agnes, virgin and martyr. 


Light on the Church of England. 


A WELL-KNOWN Ritualistic church 
in London has recently achieved 
notoriety in the public press, owing to 
the correspondence which has passed 
between a Protestant member of Par- 
liament and the Anglican Bishop of 
London. The "Mass" at this church is 
said in Latin, and its interior decora- 
tions resemble a Continental Catholic 

One is tempted to ask the question,"Is 
the Church of England honest?" The 
•ordinary Anglican layman in England 
oes not much mind if his parson is 
igh. Low or Broad, so long as he is "a 
ood sort"; but he is somewhat stag-- 
ered when he finds "Romanism ram- 
ant in the Establishment." 
There is in the Anglican Church 
to-day a body of men, clergj^ and laity, 
who hold the following views : First of 
all, the Church of England is the 
(Roman) Catholic Church; secondly, 
the clergy of the Church of England 
are (Roman) Catholic priests ; therefore 

they can not "go over to Rome," or be 
received into the (Roman) Catholic 
Church, because they are already 
(Roman) Catholic priests in the 
(Roman) Catholic Church. It is of 
course easy to call this an absurdity and 
to proceed to laugh it out of court ; but, 
in view of the fact that this theory is 
tenaciously held by an increasing num- 
ber of Anglican clergy and laity, it is 
far better calmly to study the "view- 
point" of these men. They hold, in the 
first place, that everything which, ac- 
cording to their views, is wrong with 
the Church of England is due to the 
State. The Church of England, it is 
urged, has never accepted the encroach- 
ments of the civil power. If pressed, 
they will modify this statement by say- 
ing that the Church has never volun- 
tarily accepted these encroachments. 

Acting on these views, the Book of 
Common Prayer is deliberately put on 
one side; and if it is ever used, it is 
regarded merely as a concession, tempo- 
rarily made, to the "Protestants" in the 
congregation. Instead of reciting morn- 
ii^g and evening prayer daily from the 
Bock of Common Prayer, they recite the 
Divine Office from the Breviarum 
Romanum ; and the "Mass," as they call 
it, is said from the Roman Missal. If 
English is used for this latter service, it 
is generally used "under protest." 

Further, it is claimed that the Church 
of England has never formally rejected 
the Papal Supremacy. Papal Infalli- 
bility is believed in, and the Pope's Bull 
on Anglican Orders is not regarded as 
an infallible utterance; in consequence 
of which they retain their belief in the 
validity of their own Orders. Holding 
that they are Roman Catholics already, 
they rule out individual secession to 
Rome as an impossibility; they recog- 
nize that — for the time being, at any 
rate — corporate reunion is out of the 
question; and, therefore, they take the 
line that the only thing to do is to "carry 



on" until such time, presumably, when 
everyone in the Church of England 
adopts the position which they them-, 
selves now hold. I am convinced that 
this "position" is not known to the "man 
in the street"; indeed, I very much 
doubt if the Archbishop of Canterbury 
is cognizant of it; and I imagine that it 
will be in the nature of a surprise to 
Cardinal Bourne himself. 

Can anything be said for the position 
taken up by these men? I think the 
only thing is that it is more logical and 
more honest than the views held and the 
practices adopted by the vast majority 
of the "Anglo-Catholic" party, who, 
while repudiating the claim to be Roman 
Catholic, and generally protesting 
against Papal Infallibility, yet inter- 
polate from the Roman Missal, largely 
adopt Roman ceremonial; make the 
Communion Service of the Book of Com- 
mon Prayer as nearly like the Mass as 
they have seen it in France, Italy or 
Belgium; preach sacramental confes- 
sion as of obligation; have public Ro- 
sary devotions; teach the invocation of 
saints; "reserve the Sacrament" in their 
churches ; teach their people to adore it ; 
and generally invent substitutes for 
Catholic devotions. 

This latter party is even stronger 
than its numbers would indicate — 
although their numbers are growing 
fast, — and is able, by means of the 
English Church Union, to browbeat the 
Anglican episcopate. 

It is extraordinary that Protestants, 
whether in the Established Church or 
in the Free Church, can have any part 
or lot with those belonging to either of 
these parties ; and yet it is an undeniable 
fact that many churchmen who are sup- 
posed to value the name of Protestant 
are decidedly friendly to them. The 
Bishop of Chelmsford, while desiring 
reunion with Free Churchmen, pleads 
for more than toleration for the "Anglo- 
Catholic." The Bishop of London gives 

active, though secret, support to these 
men. The Dean and Chapter of St. 
Paul, on the plea of "Continuity," ap- 
point them to certain livings in their 
gift. Preferment from the Crown or 
the Lord Chancellor occasionally comes 
their way. The "Liberal" Bishop of 
Birmingham visits their churches, be- 
stows canonries upon their members, 
and allows numerous "Roman" practices 
to take place in his diocese. 

Can it be wondered that Free Church- 
men urge that, before Reunion can be- 
come practical politics, these men should 
be sent to their true home — the bosom 
of Papalism? The "man in the street," 
even if he does not approve, can ap- 
preciate the clearly-defined principle of 
the Catholic Church, and grant her free- 
dom to propagate her doctrines in her 
own way; but it would be surprising if 
he felt anything but good-humored dis- 
regard, or something stronger, for those 
whom he looks upon as neither fish, 
fowl nor good red herring. To the Cath- 
olic, I imagine, the "Anglo-Catholic" 
party would seem 

As if its whole vocation 
Were endless imitation. 

It may be urged that it is merely a 
feeding ground to Catholicism; but 
against this must be set the fact that it 
keeps back hundreds from seeking ad- 
mission into the Catholic Church. Those 
members of the Anglican Episcopate 
who might be willing to persecute these 
men are doubtless deterred by many 
reasons : the danger of making them ap- 
pear martyrs under persecution, and the 
knowledge that it would be invidious to 
single out advanced High Churchmen 
for punishment, when advanced Broad 
Churchmen openly deny the Divinity of 
Christ, the Virgin Birth, the ' Creeds 
and the miraculous. What is certain is 
that, so long as the present situation 
lasts, the answer to the question "Is the 
Church of England honest?" will be in 
the negative, 



Our Mother. 

THE Blessed Virgin is as truly our 
Mother as she is the Mother of 
Je3U3 This truth is so implicitly re- 
ceived from our earliest years that it 
s not easy to form an explicit idea of 
its importance. Unwittingly enunciating 
the grandest truth of Christian faith, 
the Catholic claims Mary as Mother. 
Just as unconsciously denying that 
dogma, the non-Catholic claims Christ 
as Brother, but not Mary as Mother; 
and, in not recognizing her in reality, 
rejects Him. There can not be a practi- 
cal acceptance of the fraternal tie which 
binds our Saviour Christ to us, without 
a ready and undoubting recognition of 
His Mother's maternal relationship to 
us likewise. Non-Catholics can not 
comprehend the grand definition of the 
Incarnation so clearly given in the 
Athanasian Creed; 

"Now the right faith is, that v/e 
believe and confess that our Lord Jesus 
Christ, the Son of God, is both God and 
man. He is God of the substance of His 
Father, begotten before the world; and 
He is man of the substance of His 
Mother, born in the world. Perfect God 
and perfect man, of reasonable soul and 
human flesh subsisting. Equal to the 
Father according to His Godhead, and 
less than the Father according to His 
manhood. Who, although He be both 
God and man, yet He is not two, but one 
Christ. One, not by the conversion of 
the Godhead into flesh, but by the tak- 
ing of the manhood unto God. One 
altogether, not by confusion of sub- 
stance, but by unity of person. For as 
the reasonable soul and the flesh is one 
man, so God and man is one Christ." 

Here we have the divine personality 
of Mary's Son as fully elucidated as 
human words can do so. Our separated 
brethren, unable to grasp this truth of 
"unity of person," imagine a certain 
"confusion of substance," and so receive 

not "one Christ," but "two." The Vir- 
gin Mary is the Mother of Christ the 
Man, but not of Christ the God; thus 
they argue, because they can not see 
tlial! the two natures of Christ are 
united in one person — a divine Person. 
It is a mystery that can only be believed 
through that little phrase so familiar to 
Catholic lips from infancy: "Mother of 
God." Not more truly is God the 
Father of the Divine Redeemer than the 
Virgin Mary is His Mother. If, there- 
fore, we have a right to call Almighty 
God our Father, because His Divine Son 
is our Brother, v/e have the very same 
right to call Mary our Mother. 

It -is precisely this fact that gives us 
the children's claim on God. If one of 
our earth-born race vrere not as truly 
the Mother of His Divine Son, Christ 
Jesus, as God is the Father, both 
Father and Son would be no nearer or 
dearer to us than they were' before the 
Incarnation. Without the mother there 
is no family. Through Mary we have an 
inalienable right to call the great God 
our Father ; He is brought nearer to us, 
and, without for a moment losing sight 
of His transcendent majesty, we use 
our privileges with the native grace of 
children enjoying their birthright. 

Then it is only needful to remember 
that as our Father, God, is both power- 
ful and willing to help us in all wants, 
so is our Mother Mary; the only differ- 
ence being that He has the power and 
will in and of His own adorable self, 
while she receives both from Him. That 
she has a right to them, follows from 
her office of Mother; for God Himself 
teaches us intuitively that a mother 
can not be indifferent to her children's 
woes. Thus she is ever showing, tof' 
those who petition for her favor, the 
wide world over, that she recognizes her 
relationship to them. Now, as at the 
marriage-feast of Cana in Galilee, Mary 
is the advocate with her Divine Son of 
all who invoke her. 



Notes and Remarks. 

Only when the head of the Church 
dies does the world mourn as it has 
mourned since Jan. 22. The death of a 
Pope is an event of deepest interest and 
highest importance. That of Benedict 
XV. marks an epoch in history. Ele- 
vated to the Throne of St. Peter at 
the beginning of the most barbarous 
and disastrous war that the world has 
ever known, or that in all probability it 
will ever know again, he saw its end 
and witnessed the ruin and desolation 
that marked its course. Though pre- 
vented by untoward circumstances from 
restoring peace at any time, he did more 
than will ever be known to mitigate the 
horrors of the conflict; and when it 
was over, he sought by every means in 
his power to alleviate the general suffer- 
ing and misery which it caused. He had 
the supreme consolation of knowing 
that the power and influence of the 
Church had greatly increased during 
his brief pontificate, and of seeing un- 
mistakable signs of greater prosperity 
and progress in the future. 

If the efforts of Benedict XV. to 
prevent the continuance of 'the war 
failed, the promulgation of the princi- 
ples which he enunciated will be the 
foundation of that universal peace for 
which the whole world longs. It has 
become a commonplace that if his ap- 
peals and warnings had been heeded, the 
nations would have been spared many 
woes which now afflict them; and that 
only when his wise and humane views 
are adopted will the war-worn countries 
again enjoy the blessings which he in- 
voked upon them. Already is the name 
of the dead Pontiff held in universal 
benediction. Future historians vdll be 
sure to eulogize his character, to sympa- 
thize with his efforts, and to laud his 
accompli shments. 

In the declining years of Pius IX., 
it was said that he would probably be 

the last in the long line of the Roman 
Pontiffs, — that the Catholic Church, 
like all human institutions, was doomed 
to destruction. The world has learned 
since then^ At the moment of writing 
it is busily speculating about the succes- 
sor of Benedict XV., undoubting that a 
successor there will be. And wher- 
ever a Christian altar is raised, prayers 
are ascending that the future Pope will 
be like his immediate predecessor, zeal- 
ous for the glory of God and the wel- 
fare of humanity. Peace to the soul of 
the laborer who has laid down his bur- 
den, and may his passing mark the 
daAvn of a brighter day ! 

Persons who still show a great deal 
of sensitiveness when the Allies are con- 
cerned are likely to receive some rude 
shocks from books about the World War 
that have lately made their appear- 
ance, — for instance, the American edi- 
tion of the German White Book of 1915, 
translated by a former British officer. 
In his Introduction to it he writes : "We 
have seen the evidence adduced to prove 
Germany's misdeeds in Belgium. Why 
have we been prevented from seeing 
Germany's defence against these 
charges? In any civilized society, even 
the vilest criminal is allowed to defend 
himself. What is the use of 'defying 
Germany* to prove a single case of 
f ranc-tireur action and at the same time 
depriving the public of all access to the J 
German White Book, with its long list ' 
of specific outrages supported by sworn 
evidence ? . . . That the German troops 
were confronted with a widespread and 
determined opposition on the part of 
armed civilians, in flagrant violation of 
the laws of war, must be accepted as a 
fact established by evidence varied, 
cumulative, and irresistible." 

Even those writers for the daily 
press who during- the war did all in 
their power to fan the flame of hate 
against Germany, now go out of their 



way to denounce anti-German propagan- 
dism. Reviewing, in an English paper, 
a volume of war stories by an eminent 
Belgian author, one of these journalists 
does not hesitate to say: "It is marred 
by an overloading of massacres and 
mutilations, burnings, ravishings, and 
debauches; and in at least two stories 
of diabolical revenge taken by Belgians 
he is so blinded by his hatred that he 
does not realize that the monsters of 
cruelty which he creates are no better 
than their enemies." 

Owners of such publications as the 
Bryce report on Belgian atrocities 
should take good care of them; they 
will be curiosities some day, and his- 
torians will wonder at them. 

While the overwhelming majority of 
the newspapers of England welcomed 
the solution of the Irish question attained 
by the treaty recognizing the Irish Free 
State, there are, of course, some that 
survey the outcome with ultra-pessi- 
mistic vision. Prominent among them 
is the London Spectator, which allows 
itself to predict that "Southern Ireland 
is probably condemned to be one of the 
worst governed States in the world, — 
a land of civil disorder and intimida- 
tion, overshadowed by the selfish and 
suffocating power of a reactionary 
sacerdotal caste." 

It may be remarked, incidentally, that 
the sacerdotal caste in question has not 
noticeably overshadowed or suffocated 
the proceedings of the Dail Eireann 
since the signing of the treaty: quite 
the contrary, in fact. On the whole, 
we are inclined to agree with the Lon- 
don Catholic T 17)168, which comments 
on the foregoing quotation in these 
words: "For our part, love of truth 
compels us to say that we consider the 
editor of the Spectator the most be- 
fogged and unreliable prophet that ever 
indulged in prophecy ; and that our faith 
is in the prophecy attributed to St. 

Malachy — namely, that Ireland (includ- 
ing, of course, the South) , as a free na- 
tion, will flourish exceedingly, and in the 
matter of prosperity will leave England 
far behind. As for disorder and intimi- 
dation, they have been provoked by 
England's obstinacy in injustice. The 
Irish heretofore could get no act of 
justice done Jby the Government vvith- 
out intimidating England." 

The downfall of the House of Haps- 
burg would hold greater pathos for the 
generality of people, if the enmity en- 
gendered by the war were not still so 
intense. Catholics at least v»^ho read 
the recently published reminiscences of 
the Emperor Francis Joseph should feel 
some pity for a monarch who, -with all 
his faults, was a loyal member of the 
Church, deeply religious and genuinely 
pious. He set a constant example of 
frugal, almost austere living. "There 
was no taint of intolerance about him, 
although he highly prized religious con- 
viction in those with whom he came in 
contact." If we may not lightly dis- 
credit the testimony of one who lived in 
close contact with the Emperor, he was 
always essentially against the war ; "for 
his influence had for years past been 
constantly cast, and sometimes not inef- 
fectually, in favor of European peace." 
He was deceived by false representa- 
tions. Not until July, 1916, was he 
thoroughly disillusioned. "Things are 
going badly -with us," he then said 
slowly, sitting, "terribly pale, careworn, 
and downcast," at his desk; "perhaps 
worse than we suspect. The starving 
people can't stand much more. It re- 
mains to be seen whether and how we 
shall get through this Winter. I mean 
to end the war next Spring, whatever 
happens. I can't let my Empire go to 
hopeless ruin." There was to be no 
next Spring for him, nor any salvation 
for his Empire from hopeless ruin. 

Francis Joseph's domestic life was 



overshadowed l:y the two great trage- 
dies — the Crown Prince Rudolfs 
mysterious death in 1889, and the Em- 
press Elizabeth's assassination by an 
Italian anarchist at Geneva in 1898. 
■Another grievous blow was the mor- 
ganatic marriage of the Archduke 
Francis Ferdinand (who had become 
his heir) with the Countess Sofia 
Ciiotek, as no issue by such a mes- 
alliance could succeed to the Throne 
under -the law of the House of Haps- 
burg. Francis Joseph, little as he liked 
his nephew, could not bring himself to 
refuse his consent to the marriage ; but 
when it had been wrung from him, he 
did not conceal what it had cost him. "It 
seems," he exclaimed, "I am to be 
spared nothing - on this earth." The 
murder of Prince Francis Ferdinand 
l^recipitated the conflict in which the 
Austrian Empire perished. 

The aged Emperor died, as he had 
lived, an unhappy man; oppressed, as 
never before during his long and often 
ill-starred reign, with the sense of im- 
pending disaster, but true to the very 
end to his high conception of kingly 
duty, working till within five or six 
hours of death. Though occupying a 
throne, the Emperor Francis Joseph 
surely experienced more than most 
mortals those hard things that crucify 
body and soul. 

The attention of Americans is being 
very properly called to the fact that, of 
nineteen members in the new Canadian 
Cabinet, no fewer than seven are Cath- 
olic. While of course the Catholics of 
Canada form a much larger propor- 
tional minority of the total population 
of that country than do American 
Catholics of the aggregate population of 
the United States, there is a marked 
difference in the Cabinet representation 
of the Dominion and our Republic. On 
the basis of the Canadian plan, there 
should be in President Harding's exec- 

utive family of nine members at least 
one Catholic, if not two. Years ago, 
when the overwhelming majority of 
American Catholics belonged to the 
Democratic party, there was some 
plausible excuse for the exclusion of 
Catholics from Republican Cabinets, 
but that excuse no longer exists; and 
even in that period Republican presi- 
dents (McKinley and Roosevelt) gave 
Cabinet positions to Catholics. Mr. 
Wilson might creditably have followed 
their example, but, for reasons, did not ; 
aind Mr. Harding has, unfortunately, 
followed the example of his Democratic \ 

A mighty force for future world 
friendship, in the opinion of the editor 
of Good Housekeeping, will be the 
generosity of America towards the 
stricken peoples of the world, who in 
their extremity looked to us for help, 
and have not been disappointed. The 
agencies of mercy that have already 
saved the lives of many thousands, are 
still fighting disease, poverty, famine, 
and death. Millions of other lives re- 
main to be saved, and it is confidently 
hoped by the directors that they will 
be enabled to continue and even to en- 
large their work. "They hold that such 
work as they are doing is to be meas- 
ured, not only in terms of lives saved 
to-day, but in soul values ten, twenty, 
thirty years from now, when the chil- 
dren America is feeding to-day will be 
the men and women upon whom will 
depend the place their countries take in 
the family of nations. If your imagi- 
nation has developed its normal spread 
of wings, the bread you cast upon the 
waters will be a large loaf." 

On more than a few occasions during 
the past three or four decades we have 
commented on the sectarian character 
of the Young Men's Christian Associa- 
tion, urging that character as an all- 



sufficient reason why Catholic young- 
men should decline to join the organiza- 
tion. We have been quite aware of the 
fact that not a few Americans — some 
of our coreligionists included — have 
looked upon the Association as a great 
club for American youth of every class 
and creed; but the mere exclusion of 
Catholics and Jews from any of the 
"club's" official positions discounted 
rather forcibly that notion. We are, 
accordingly, somewhat gratified to learn 
that the Association has at last discon- 
tinued a course which was virtually 
equivalent to sailing under false colors. 
It — or at least the Philadelphia branch 
of it — has decreed that only five per 
cent of the total enrollment will be 
allowed to any one religious society out- 
side Protestantism. This is quite in 
harmony with the constitution of the 
Association, the first article of which 
states that its object is "the promotion 
of Evangelical Christian religion, the 
improvement of the spiritual, mental, 
social and physical conditions of young 
men residing in and visiting the city of 
Philadelphia and its vicinity, and their 
enlistment in varied forms of Christian 

As we have repeatedly said, the Y. 
M. C. A. is an excellent society for 
Protestant young men to join, and for 
young Catholics to keep out of. 

As one of the contributory causes of 
the frivolity displayed by the modern 
girl, the laxity of parents was recently 
denounced by an Eastern specialist in 
the matter of girl training. "We are so 
used," he said, "to handling things over 
to the city or the State to manage, that 
the family doesn't amount to anything 
now and parents have grown lazy." 
There can be no question that the 
lessened emphasis on home life; the 
fewer and fewer evenings spent to- 
gether by father, mother, brothers, and 
sisters in the intimacy of the family 

circle; the increasing rage for attei. cl- 
ing the "movies" and dance-halls where 
syncopated music of the "jazz" variety 
holds dominant sway, — that all this is 
inimical to the best interests of children 
and parents alike. The latter can not 
divest themselves of their responsibility 
as fathers and mothers, bound before 
God to look after the moral upbringing 
of the youthful souls entrusted to their 
charge; nor can they conscientiously 
shift the major portion of that respon- 
sibility to the officious paternalism of 
city or State. Catholic parents in par- 
ticular must be aware that the duty 
they owe their children, both by precept 
and example, is one they can not shirk 
without ceasing to be God-fearing men 
and women. 

A recent utterance of Lieut.-Goyernor 
Fuller, of Massachusetts, with regard to 
the importance he ascribes to religion in 
the making of a reliable business man, 
is receiving som.e attention from the 
press of the country. Now, the end 
and aim of religion is not to make men 
more effective in business, though reli- 
gion does, of course, develop the 
character of men; and character is as 
necessary in business as in any other 
activity. The Massachusetts official 
who is a man of "big business," said: 
"In building up an organization in my 
own retail business I have found it well- 
nigh essential to make sure that a man 
has some religious foundation on which 
to build. OtherAvise the work and energy 
that is put into developing that man 
and making him an important factor 
of one's organization is liable to be 
wasted." Whereupon a secular paper 
remarks that, "simply as hard-headed 
business men and nothing else, the- 
Lieut.-Governor of JNIassachusetts and 
many other successful heads of great 
organizations have realized that if a 
man had absolutely no religion, no faith 
in anything, not even in a plighted 



word, when the test came such a man 
would be no more reliable than a rope 
made of sand." 

Notable New Books. 

Sjaichronizing as it did with the pass- 
ing of Pope Benedict XV., the death of 
Viscount James Bryce evokes less news- 
paper publicity than would otherwise 
have been ythe case. Not even the world- 
wide grief elicited by the loss of the 
White Father of Christendom, however, 
can overshadow the regret which will 
be felt throughout the British Empire, 
and in the United States as well, for 
the death of the venerable statesman 
and author, who served as England's 
ambassador extraordinary and minister 
plenipotentiary to this country during 
the years 1907-1913. Like many an- 
other distinguished "Englishman," Vis- 
count Bryce was born in Ireland, and 
of an Irish mother, although his father 
was Scotch. Previous to his residence 
in this country as ambassador, he was 
best known to Americans as the author 
of that classic work, "The American 
Commonwealth"; and he so endeared 
himself to our citizens while living in 
Washington that his popularity prob- 
ably exceeded that ever enjoyed by any 
other Minister to this country. 

Referring to Lincoln's trust in Prov- 
idence, in an article contributed to the 
Febiniary number of the North Amer- 
ican Review, Mr. Cheesman A. Herrick 
observes: "Above all the men of his 
time, he saw the hand of God in the 
affairs of this world. He yielded to the 
divine leadership, and under God gave 
his nation a new birth of freedom, so 
that 'government of the people, by the 
people, for the people,' should not perish 
from the earth. In the times of new 
national peril, men may well draw from 
him fresh lessons "of faith in the overrul- 
ing of Almighty God, and patience in 
dealing with the trying problems vdth 
which they are confronted." 


John Howley, M. A. Kegan Paul, Trench, 
Trubner & Co. ; B. Herder Book Co. 

Unlike the majority of recently published 
works on mysticism, the present volume is 
restricted in its appeal to such readers as 
possess a fairly thorough knowledge of 
present-day psychology, both Catholic and non- 
Catholic. To the average reader — nay, even 
to the passably cultured general one — ^much 
of the argument and not a little of the very 
terminology will be quite unintelligible. This 
much being sajd, it remains to be stated that 
the work is a genuinely valuable critical con- 
tribution to the study of the psychic phenom- 
ena peculiar to the religious life. After an 
Introduction which presents a general view 
of the psychology of religious experience, the 
author discusses two general themes. Part I., 
Conversion, includes four chapters: The Psy- 
chology of a Retreat, The Theory of William 
James, The Psychology of a Revival, and A 
Theory of Integral Conversion. Part II., In- 
troversion, comprises three chapters: Mysti- 
cal Experience and Quietism, Mystical Ex- 
perience Proper, and Varieties of Mystical Ex- 

Not the least interesting chapters of the 
volume are those dealing with the theory of 
Di?. James, and the psychology of a revival. 
Premising that the theory of the subcon- 
scious and the "subliminal self" is frankly 
agnostic ("with, in James' hands, a faint sug- 
gestion of pantheistic possibilities"), the 
reverend author says that its holding the field 
as a naturalistic explanation of religious ex- 
periences both normal and mystical fully 
justifies his summing up of the theory in these 

(1) There exist fields of consciousness and variations 
in these fields : hence the origin of the subconscious. 

(2) There is a tendency in psychological elements 
thus withdrawn from clear consciousness to organir..' 
themselves in a new synthesis, which, in certain ex- 
ceptional circumstances, can constitute a secondary 
personality fully prepared in the shadow to burst into 
the light: hence the formation of the subconscious self. 

(3) In the cases mentioned [revival conversions! there 
is an eruption sudden or gradual of those elements 
into clear consciousness : hence the relations of the sub- 
conscious with the normal consciousness. 

As a substitute for the postulates of the 
subliminal self and subconscious elaboration 
held by the school of James and Myers, our 
author proposes the following: 

{ 1 ) The existence in our states of consciousness of ■^' 
certain centres of instability. In the various con-'/ if 
solidated groups of sensations, images, passions, concepta»|» i" 



;iml volitions, potential or aqtual, which foi-m together 
;liat complex which we call the field of consciousness, 
h-re is some one psychic element, or small group of 
'.ments, which being disturbed, the gix>up of which it 
']-ms part bi-eaks up, with a moio or less general rear- 
langement of the whole field as a result. 

(2) The psychic dynamism of nascent ideas. By a 
• ascent idea we understand, not i\ bare concept, but 
>me psychic element, which may even be a complex of 
. nsations, images, passions, concepts, and volitions, yet 
as a certain unity and simplicity taken as a whole, 
and which is a novelty in consciousness, either as com- 
ing suddenly from without, ivs in ordinary apprehen- 
sions, or from within, from the deeper memory, or from 
the break-up of some psychic complex. 

In selecting concrete illustrations of his 
own theories, the author ranges over a wide 
field, — from the extraordinai-y occurrences at 
the revival in Wales in 1859 to the experiences 
of St. Teresa, St. John of the Cross, Adolphe 
Rette, and J. K. Huysmans. It is to be re- 
membered that Prof. Howley writes, not as a 
theologian, but as a psychologist, although in 
many a case theology and psychology are so 
blended that it would require an expert 
to disentangle them. A well-printed octavo 
of 275 pages, it is of undoubted (impor- 
tance in its own field, and it would be con- 
siderably enhanced in value if the author had 
taken the pains to supply an adequate index. 

Father William Doyle, S. J. By Prof. 

Alfred O'Rahilly. (Illustrated edition.) 

Longmans, Green & Co. 

It is not easy to describe the delight 
of an artist who, in passing the canvases 
of a mediocre gallei-y, comes suddenly upon 
one unexpected masterpiece, the splendid 
beauty of which has been a secret for many 
years; yet not a bit less impressive is the joy 
one feels in discovering, among many common- 
place, haphazard lives, one that is supremely 
heroic. In "Father William Doyle, S. J."— an 
utterly prosaic title, to be sure, — Prof. 
O'Rahilly tells the story of a priest so lovingly 
devoted to his ministry that one comes to be- 
lieve him the deliberate choice of Our Lord 
for a modern illustration of the parable of the 
Good Shepherd. This is really an exceptional 
book, which we can not recommend too highly 
to those who care for spiritual reading which 
is, at the same time, spirited. 

The last section of the volume treats of 
Father Doyle's experiences as an army 
chaplain. One follows the fearless priest 
thi-ough the turmoil of Flanders by the light 
of his own letters, not intended for publica- 
tion. Having offered his life before offering 
his services. Father Doyle braved the most ex- 
treme da'ngers with a light heart; his long 
term of trench life maj'^ be accounted for to ' 
some extent by his Celtic blood; yet it seems 

almost miraculous. There was never anything 
in his heart but mercy; and when his Irish 
"boys", returned" with German prisoners, he 
gave himself to these also. Death came at 
Ypres as the direct result of a perilous 
attempt to rescue a wounded man. Perhaps 
no other chaplain of the war — noble men, in- 
deed, in nearly all instances — carried out his 
task with such titter self-forgetfulness. 

Earlier sections of the book show us the 
formation of Father Doyle's saintly character. 
He seems always to have been more or less 
of a boy, but a boy who learned to walk with 
God during a simple home-life, a stern Jesuit 
novitiate, and years of sei-vice among working- 
men. All these things had gone into the forg- 
ing of a soul of blessed steel, whom the world 
will continue to admire as a hero. 

The author has done his work fluently, care- 
fully, and affectionately; only, it seems a pity 
that the last section was not allowed to come 
first. We can not help feeling that such an 
arrangement would have helped to draw many 
readers who, as things stand, may find the 
opening chapters somewhat tedious. 

Sermons. By the Rt. Rev. John S. Vaughan. 
Two Volumes. Joseph F. Wagner. 

These handsome volumes, which provide 
thoroughly developed discourses for all 
the Sundays and for the chief feasts of 
the entire year, are an important and wel- 
come contribution to Catholic literature. 
Even in the absence of the living voice, 
such sermons as these carry conviction and an 
unmistakable appeaL The distinguished 
author has an accurate sense of form 
and a sure touch in shaping his material. 
Added to a judicious blending of argument 
and persuasion, there is a wealth of illustra- 
tion drawn from the fields of science, philoso- 
phy, history and politics. It is in the deft 
handling of abundant Scripture texts, how- 
ever, that the inspirational value of these 
discourses chiefly lies. 

Archbishop Glennon, in his Introduction, 
touches a point with which we are in hearty 
agreement when he intimates that the reading 
of sermons is more important for the laity 
than it is for priests or nuns. Particularly 
does this seem true of Mgr. Vaughan's dis- 
courses, on account of their timely and ex- 
haustive treatment of important doctrinal and 
moral subjects. Hence we cordially recom- 
mend them not only tt) the clergy and religious 
for meditation and spiritual reading, but to 
the laity also as a means of counteracting the 
influence of frivolous and sensational, not to 
say decadent, periodicals and books. 

My Rosary Beads. 


"X DREAMED the I'oses were in bloom, 

Though it was Winter time; 
I dreamed that light came through the gloom 
Into my little curtained room, 
Like sun in tropic clime. 

I saw the roses flame and glow — 

A garland rich and fine, — 
Those red, red roses in a row. 
With lines of others white as snow : 

"And these, my child, are thine!" 

So sweet my Guardian Angel spoke, 

Like Summer wind through reeds: 
"When all earth's glory fades like smoke. 
These flowers will live!" — then I awoke. 
And found my Rosary Beads. 



V. jMeetings. 

?& IL'LADY slipped up the back stairs 
|,(^ noiselessly, but Mammy Sue was on 
T^ the watch. No "rheumatics" could 
dull her anxious care of the little lady 
whom she had taken in her arms and to 
her heart eleven years ago. 

Seated in the big armchair by the 
low blaze that Ann Caroline had kindled 
to "driv" out the pain, leaning on the 
stick that had become necessary these 
late years, old Mammy Sue, withered 
and bent under the weight of nearly 
fourscore years, was still a power in 
Shorecliff that no one white or black 
defied. Mammy Sue knew what was 
due to her "white folks," and treated 
them with oldtime deference; but, all 
the same, Miss Jane and Miss Gilbert 

dwindled yito mere figureheads when 
Mammy Sue took the helm. It was not 
often she did so now: the spark of life 
was burning lower; but it could flash 
and blaze still when Lil'lady needed care 
and guidance. For Lil'lady Mammy Sue 
lived, in spite of age and pain and weak- 

"I's a-gwine to see that chile rizzed if 
I kin. Dar ain't nobody to keer for her 
like her own Mammy Sue." 

But poor Mammy Sue was old and 
feeble now, and her nursling had grown 
restless and strong; the "keer" was 
getting harder every day. The old 
woman started up from the doze pro- 
duced by Ann Caroline's friendly 
ministration of poppy tea, as Lil'lady's 
light footsteps sounded in the hall with- 

"Dat yo, Lil'lady, — dat yo? Bress 
de Lawd yo's back! I ben having de 
heart beats about yo suah. Here's nigh 
onto noontime an yo dun gone since 
nine. Come right in hyah and tell me 
whar yo been." 

There was no escape: spattered and 
torn and draggled and barefoot as she 
was, Lil'lady had to appear at this com- 

"De Lawd hab mercy!" gasped the 
old woman, as her eyes fell on the little 
sinner in the doorway. But Lil'lady had 
learned of old how to manage Mammy 
Sue. In a moment she was at the big 
chair with both arms around her old 
nurse's withered neck. 

"Don't scold. Mammy, — don't scold, 
or I'll run away and not tell you a word. 
I've been fishing, Mammy Sue. It's no 
harm to go fishing, is it? And I left my 
shoes in the sand, and the tide" washed 
them out, and — and — " Lil'lady paused, 
feeling it was unnecessary to go into 



further particulars. Mammy Sue had 
heard quite erxough to rouse her. 

"Been a-fishing, — a-fishing by yor 
lone self, on de beach, and a-wading out 
into de waves ; lost yor shoes and stock- 
ings, and come home wet and draggled 
and torn, like yo was de poorest kind of 
white trash and not de Lil'lady of 
Shorecliff! After all my washing and 
ironing and mending to keep yo lady- 
fied and nice! Ain't I tell yo agin and 
agin dat yo can't be no boy like Dave 
and Dan?" 

"Yes, Mammy, you have, — you have !" 
sighed Lil'lady, her soft cheek pressed 
against Mammy Sue's wrinkled face. 
"But it's awful hard luck, all the same, 
to be born a girl." 

"Shoo, now, — shoo! It ain't at all," 
declared Mammy Sue, indignantly. "It 
ain't hard luck for yo, Lil'lady, wif such 
a grand gen'leman for yor pa, and de 
fustest families in de land for yor kin, 
and a home like this hyah, whar yo is 
de Lil'lady and queen, and servants to 
wait on yo, and teachers to larn yo all 
lil'ladies ought to know. Dar ain't no 
hard luck 'bout yo, honey chile, — 
none at all. It's jes a-growing up wif 
dem two big boys what's sort ob turn- 
ing yor head. I's suttingly glad dey's bof 
gone off to school. Now yo kin keep to 
de real lil'lady ways, and have yor 
hands white and pretty, and yor hair 
fixed nice, and play on de piano or de 

"Oh, I couldn't!" burst forth Lil'lady, 
rebelliously. "Jessie Dunn is learning 
the piano. Mammy Sue, and she has to 
practise two hours a day, which would 
drive me wild. And dad wouldn't want 
it either, — I know he wouldn't. He 
wants me to — devilup — whatever it is — 
as Miss Gilbert says girls should, and 
not do anything I don't like." 

"I guess dey knows, honey," — 
Mammy Sue's tone was a little uneasy. 
"I spec yor pa and Miss Gilbert knows. 
But I'd like to keep yo in de Lawd's 

way if I could. Now, kite 'long, honey, 
and put on a white dress and yor blue 
ribbons, and yor silk stockings what yor 
Great-aunt Greyson sent yo from 'cross 
de sea, and dem slippers Miss Jane 
bought yo in Baltimore, cos yor pa is 
coming home and will want to see his 
Lil'lady leaking right." 

And Lil'lady "kited" along from the 
nursery, that had lost its olden order 
with the passing years, and was 
cluttered up not only with dolls and toys 
of earlier days, but v^ith many other 
juvenile treasures, brought in these 
later times from land and sea: shells 
and birds'-nests, and queer stones and 
crystals gathered in wild wanderings 
with her brothers; the stuffed canary 
whose passing had nearly broken 
Lil'lady's five-year-old heart ; the beaded 
bag for which she had traded her leg- 
horn hat with the gj'psy girl at the 
camp in the Hollow; for, in spite of all 
Mammy Sue's watchful care, Lil'lady, 
under the tutelage of her brothers, had 
started early in an exciting and often 
venturesome career. "Sissy girl" was 
the one taunt she could not and would 
not bear, and it had stirred her into 
activities to which the old nursery still 
bore witness. 

But beyond the nursery was another 
domain where brothers did not intrude, 
and shells and stones and birds'-nests 
gathered in boyish ways had no place, — 
the big, beautiful room that had been 
mamma's, and was now kept by Mammy 
Sue with jealous care as her Little 
Lady's own. Here were all the dainty, 
lovely things which had surrounded 
that sweet "lady" of eleven years ago. 
Here Lil'lady slept on embroidered 
sheets and under silken countei-pane ; 
and here she learned to use all the 
beautiful things of silver and ivory on 
the carved toilette table. Here, behind 
the mirrored doors of the wardrobe, 
were kept the pretty French gowTis, 
which arrived in a big box from Great- 



aunt Greyson every year, — good Great- 
aunt Greyson, who, in the midst of her 
diplomatic duties and various cares, was 
ever mindful of the motherless little girl 
of Shorecliff. 

There were soft, lovely rugs, dainty 
draperies, and a low wicker rocker in 
which a baby could be sung to sleep in 
its mamma's arms ; and a tall, swinging 
mirror that showed Lil'lady how she 
looked from head to foot at her best — 
and worst. Here, most beautiful of all, 
over the high mantel hung the picture 
sent up from the drawing-room by dad, 
who in the first anguish of his loss could 
not bear to look at it: "mamma" in her 
wedding dress, young and lovely and 
radiant, smiling down night and day 
upon her little girl. Oh, it was a Won- 
derful room ! And there had been times 
when Liriady felt she could not live up 
to it, and just tumbled, naughty and 
tired and tangle-curled, into the v/hite 
iron cot in the nursery; but she was 
growing old enough and wise enough 
to like it now. 

As she entered it to-day, and the tall, 
swinging mirror showed her the bare- 
legged, draggled little figure that faced 
it, she was conscious of a momentary 
shock. She did look "awful," sure! 
What could that nice man in the boat 
have thought of her? And, in the mood 
that always came over her when, after 
spirited adventure, she returned to the 
quiet of mamma's room, Lil'lady pro- 
ceeded to bathe and dress and brush her 
hair, and transform herself generally 
into the Little Lady of Shorecliff whom 
everybody loved. 

And when, about tv/o hours later, a 
motor car honked up to the great hall 
door, and Elmer Marsden, stern-faced, 
grizzled, aged far beyond his years, 
mounted with slow, heavy tread the 
broad steps of the porch, the golden- 
haired fairy that fluttered out to meet 
him was all that a father could ask in 
the Little Lady of his home. 

There was not a trace of the reckless 
little hoyden of the morning in the 
dainty, graceful figure that, in Great- 
aunt Greysbn's latest choice, with rib- 
bons and slippers and silken stockings 
all complete, sprang joyfully into dad's 
open arms. And, oh, how the sad, stern 
face brightened, and the tired eyes 
kindled, and the world-weary man 
seemed to rouse into life, almost into 
youth again, at his little daughter's 
kiss ! 

"Why, halloo!" he exclaimed, holding 
her at arms'-length for a delighted sur- 
vey. "We seem to be unusually fine 
to-day. What's the occasion? It's not 
anybody's birthday, is it?" 

"No, dad, it isn't. But you haven't 
been home for two whole weeks (I 
counted the days) , and I dressed up just 
for you, dad." 

"Just for dad !" Mr. Marsden seated 
himself in one of the high-backed hall 
chairs, and drew his Little Lady to his 
knee, while joy and sorrow tugged 
together at his heart-strings. (The 
dainty, white-robed daughter was a 
miniature of the lovely mother who had 
gone from him, — gone into a hopeless 
gloom, where he could see no star.) 

"And it was lots of trouble, too," con- 
tinued Lil'lady, her soft cheek snuggled 
against her father's. "You see. Aunt 
Greyson sent me a box last week,- — four 
lovely dresses, dad; but whether they 
fastened before or behind I couldn't tell, 
and neither could Ann Caroline until 
she had buttoned me up three times. 
And twenty buttons each time! I was 
so tired! It was almost more than I 
could stand." 

« "I should think so," — the stern liniS 
of the speaker's face broke into a smil 
"Don't bother with buttons again ii 
me, pet. You look just right to dad,- 
always just right." 

"Oh, you wouldn't say that if you hi 
seen me a while ago!" laughed Lil'laC 
softly. "I was a sight; and what t| 




nice man that picked me off Steeple 
Rock thought' of me I don't know — " 

"Nice man — picked you off Steeple 
Rock," interrupted dad in quick tone 
of alarm. "What do you mean, little 

And then (for there never were any 
concealments from dad) the whole story 
of the morning's adventure came out, 
the father's face darkening and bright- 
ening by turn as he listened. 

"Caught by the tide on Steeple Rock! 
Great Heavens, I thought you knew 
better than that, Lil'lady!" 

"Oh, I did, dad,— I did!" she mur- 
mured. "But I was too busy watching 
that fish for your dinner." 

"My darling, my own loving little 
girl !" Dad's arm tightened around his 
treasure with an agonizing thought of 
how she, too, might have been swept 
from him. "Who was the man that 
saved you? Where did he come from? 
I must see him, thank him, reward 

"Oh,, you couldn't!" said Lil'lady,' 
with quick "lady" instinct. "You 
couldn't reward him, dad. He isn't that 
kind ; and he never told me who he was 
or where he came from. I only know he 
was nice, — something like you. I got 
mad and called him a big boob for not 
catching my line, and he didn't mind a 
bit; and he said, though he never heard 
such a name as Lil'lady, it stood for all 
that was gentle and kind and good. But 
I told him it didn't mean that for me 
at all; and it doesn't. I am sure you 
don't want it to mean that for me, do 
you, dad?" 

"In time," said her father, pinching 
the rosy cheek. "I want you to be all 
that is lovely and sweet and — and 

omanly, in good time. But just now 
1 want you as you are, — like the birds 
and the buttei*flies, and all the glad, 
bright things that live joyously and 
don't — don't think," added dad after a 
moment's pause. 

"Isn't it good to think, dad?" asked 
Lil'lady, softly. 

"Not for little girls," he answered, 
and over his face swept the shadow that 
Lil'lady did not like to see. "And 
neither is Steeple Rock. Don't go there 
fishing again, Lil'lady." 

But before she could make this second 
promise, there came a quick call from 
the telephone within the hall. Mr. 
Marsden hastily put his little daughter 
from his knee and stepped forward to 
answer it. As he listened his face grew 
dark and stern again. 

"I will come at once," he said briefly. 

"0 dad, no, no," — Lil'lady sprang to 
his side in dismay, — "not without your 
dinner, dad!" 

"I must," he said. "I can wait for 
nothing, darling ! I hoped to have a few 
hours with you, but this is a matter I 
can not delay." He drew her to him 
and kissed her again and- again. "I 
must go — at once, — at once." 

(To be continued.) 

St. Ehno's Fire. 

gETWEEN seventeen and eighteen 
hundred years ago, there was a very 
holy bishop in Italy named Elmo. He 
was canonized not long after his death, 
and became very popular among the 
sailors on the Mediterranean, especially 
during storms. Eventually he was 
known as the special patron of naviga- 
tion. His name lives nowadays chiefly 
because of an electrical appearance 
called St. Elmo's Fire, or St. Elmo's 
Light. This is either a ball of fire or 
a brush or star of light, sometimes seen, 
especially in Southern climates during 
thunder-storms, at the tops of masts, 
spires, or other pointed objects. It is 
often accompanied by a rushing, hissing 
noise, and is of the same nature as the 
light caused by electricity streaming 
from points connected with an elec- 
trical machine. 



"Old Fritz" and the Farmer. 

CREDERICK, King of Prussia, 
ff popularly surnamed "Old Fritz," 
when taking a ride one day over the 
country fields, came upon an elderly 
farmer, whom he found ploughing his 
patch of ground, all the time cheerily 
singing a song. 

"You must be well off, my man," 
said the King. "Does this acre in which 
you are so industriously laboring belong- 
to you?" 

"No, sir," replied the farmer, who 
knew not that it was the King. "I am 
not so rich as that; I plough this field 
for wages." 

"And how much do you get a day?" 

"Eight groschen," said the farmer. 

"That is not much," replied the King. 
"Can you get on with so little?" 

"Oh, yes," said the farmer, "and very 
well, too; and have something left over 
besides !" 

"How is that?" continued his Majesty, 
very much interested. 

The man smiled and said: "Well, if 
I must tell you, two groschen are for 
myself and wife, two go to pay my old 
debts, two I lend, and two I give away 
for the Lord's sake." 

The King, growing more and more 
surprised and interested, said: "This is 
a mystery I can not solve." 

"Then I will solve it for you," said 
the farmer. "I have two old parents 
at home, who kept me when I was weak 
and needed help; and, now that they 
are weak and need help, I keep them. 
This is my debt toward which I pay two 
groschen a day. The third pair of 
groschen, which I lend, I spend for my 
children, that they may receive good 
Christian instruction. This, you see, 
will come handy to me and my wife 
when we get old. With the last two 
groschen I maintain two poor relatives 
whom T would not be compelled to keep ; 
this I give for the Lord's sake." 

The King had been all this time 
listening with the deepest attention; 
and, being well pleased with the man's 
conversation, he said : "Bravely spoken, 
friend ! Now I will also give you some- 
thing to guess. Have you ever seen me 

"Never," said the farmer, after a 
moment's hesitation. 

"Then in less than five minutes you 
shall see me fifty times, and carry in 
your pocket fifty of my likenesses, and 
very good likenesses they are!" 

"This is a riddle," replied the farmer. 

"Then I will solve it for you," said 
the King; and, therewith thrusting his 
hand into his pocket, he counted out 
into the farmer's hand fifty brand-new 
gold pieces stamped with the royal like- 
ness ; and, bidding the man good-bye, he 
said: "This coin is genuine; for it also 
comes from the Lord, and I am one of 
His paymasters. May He bless you 
with health and content!" 

A Little Brother of the Woods. 

(P <3UIRRELS are very sly little fellows 
Q) in their efforts to conceal them- 
selves from their pursuers. Sometimes 
one will flatten himself out against a 
gray patch on a tree trunk, and remain 
perfectly motionless, and is quite safe 
unless a telltale ear happens to appear 
in relief against the sky. Another will 
hide in the fork of a limb, and then is 
betrayed only by the fluffy top of his 
tail. But wherever Brother Squirrd 
may be, he always seems to know just 
when you discover him; and then he 
will make a long jump and be out of 
your sight before you know it. Squirrels 
in the parks in some of our cities learn : 
to know their friends, and prove very 
affectionate and intelligent. It is de-| 
lightf ul to see one of them sitting upon .- 
his haunches, and holding between his| 
paws a nut at which he nibbles withi* 
evident gusto. 





— A new collection of sermons and lectures 
by the Rev. Robert Kane, S. J., entitled "A 
Dream of Heaven and Other Discourses," is 
among forthcoming books by Messrs. Long- 
mans, Green & Co. 

— Under the auspices of the Italian Govern- 
ment, a specially appointed committee v/ill see 
to the publication of the complete works of 
Alexander Volta. This great physicist, who 
was a stanch Catholic, is one of the glories 
of modern Italy. 

— "The Literary Life and Other Essays" 
is the title of a volume of hitherto uncollected 
work by Canon Sheehan, so famous as the 
author of "My New Curate." These essays 
were written at various times during his life. 
The book is published by Maunsel & Roberts, 
Dublin and London. 

— The "North American Almanac" for 1922 
is a good book to have at hand. In addition to 
the regular matter common to almanacs, one 
can find in it a great deal of useful informa- 
tion about the stars, the weather, and things 
in general. The North American Almanac 
Co., publishers. Price, 35 cents. 

— "Story-Sermonettes for the Children's 
Mass," an octavo volume of 200 pages (New 
York: Joseph F. Wagner), is another worth- 
while book from the indefatigable pen of the 
Rev. Frederick A. Reuter, who of late years 
has been supplying pastors with excellent 
reading material for the little ones. The in- 
f^^tructions in the present work are equal in 
attractiveness to those in his previous books, 
and will receive as hearty a welcome from the 
pastors who use them as from the children 
who hear them. The price is not given. 

—"Work, Wealth, and Wages," by the Rev. 
Joseph Husslein, S. J., Ph. D., may be regarded 
as a sort of supplement to the author's pre- 
vious admirable books, "The World Problem," 
"Democratic Industry," and "Evolution and 
Social Progress." Its purpose is to ofTer a 
suggestive, if brief, exposition of the Chris- 
tian principles underlying the great social 
problems of the day. Accordingly, there is 
an illuminating discussion of wages, labor 
unions, strikes and the class struggle, woman 
labor and its proper safeguards, Socialism, 
Capitalism, and Industrial Democracy. Fr. 
Husslein makes no apology for insisting upon 
the intimate connection between economics and 
religion, — ^between the industrial problems and 

the doctrines of Christianity. As a matter 
of fact, he shows that Protestants and 
Socialists, as well as Catholics, agree upon 
this importaint point. A detailed table of 
contents partly — but only partly — supplies the 
lack of an index. The volume is a 12mo of 
159 pages, and is published by the Matre Co., 
Chicago. Price, $1. 

— Notwithstanding the statement of its 
publishers (G. ,P. Putnam's Sons) that 
"Beany, Gangleshanks, and the Tub," by Ed- 
ward Streeter, is not a "boys' book," but a 
book about boys for grown-ups, the latter will 
hardly find it so interesting or amusing as will 
lads in their early teens. The story is a record 
of the mischievous pranks and adventures of 
a trio of youngsters about twelve years old. — 
A much more interesting book from the same 
publishers — interesting for boys of all ages 
from twelve to eighty — is James B. Hendryx's 
"Connie Morgan in the Fur Country." It is a 
story of the "Big North," and contains all the 
ingredients of a fascinating tale of adventure, 
danger, and heroism. To say that this latest 
of the Connie Morgan series is fully as good 
as any of its predecessors, is no small com- 
pliment to its author. 

— Mr. Frederick Palmer has been for years 
a most engaging war correspondent, and the 
amount of carnage he has witnessed is stag- 
gering. Naturally reflective, he set out to do 
some thinking about his specialty, and the con- 
clusions are set down in "The Folly of Na- 
tions," a volume designed to explain the 
foolishness of battlefields and the virtues of 
peace. We are taken from one international 
fracas to another, and made to indulge in a 
kind of panorama of universal hatred. Un- 
fortunately, Mr. Palmer's disjointed method of 
narrative, rather long-winded moralizing, and 
inveterate journalese, spoil the effect of the 
point he wishes to make. It is this: "I have 
seen all the wars of recent years and have 
studied the causes that brought them about; 
and I tell you it is all a cruel, bloody fake." A 
very good and very telling conclusion, but 
why preface it with 408 pages of rambling 
narrative and garbled philosophy, when two 
hundred effective pages would have "turned 
the trick" much better? Dodd, Mead & Co., 
publishers; price not stated. 

— A good take-off — the best that we have 
met with — of the wearisome "psychological 
novel," so called, occurs, in a little book by 



Dr. Compton-Rickett, a well-known English 
teacher, lectui'er, and writer, lately published 
by E. Cooper, Bournemouth. In some hints 
and examples for "the complete novelist," 
there is a supposed treatment of the story of 
Jack Spratt and his wife by Mr. Algernon 
Blackwood.- Mr. Spratt, it will be remembered, 
could eat no fat, and Mrs. Spratt, no lean. 
Describing their first meal together, the 
novelist would naturally write thus: 

An indefinable emotion stirred in him as he stared 
across at the woman opposite. "I c;in eat no lean," 
she had told him, and the phrase at first made him 
dumb with apprehension. Yet somewhere out of sight in 
a region life had left implumbed, the woi-ds sank down 
softly and irresistibly till they vibrated like the flutings 
of impossible birds. They shivered away, delicately and 
disturbingly, into the abyss of illimitable things. .. .The 
familiar ritual of daily food took upon it a terrible and 
sinister significance. 'She could eat no lean.' How could 
he provide for her? How could he satisfy those eclectic 
yet mundane cravings that had fount! a sharp staccato 
expression in the phrase flung defiantly across the 
dinner table? Then the spiritual mist cleared. There 
came an uprushing flow of illumination. Like a mighty 
wind it swept through him. His mind, unexpectedly 
clarified, became almost intelligent. Looking steadily at 
the woman, he spoke deliberately and clearly: "And I 
can eat no fat." 

Whereupon (in order to render the incident 
complete) they proceeded to consume the 
broth; and afterwards, in utter disregard of 
4)roprieties, "licked the platter clean." If Mr. 
and Mrs. Spratt did not do this, our recollec- 
tion of the original version of the story is at 
fault. It may confidently be asserted, however, 
that, having finished their repast, they care- 
fully eliminated all traces of it from the dish 
Ihat had been in use. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford informa- 
tion concerning the more important recent 
-publications. The latest books will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make rootn for new titles. 

Orders should be sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported ivith little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country tvho keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Psychology and Mystical Experience." John 
Howley, M. A. (Kegan Paul, Trench, 
Trubner; B. Herder Book Co.) $2.50. 

"Sermons." Rt. Rev. John S. Vaughan. 2 
vols. (Joseph F. Wagner.) $.5. 

"Father William Doyle, S. J." Alfred 
O'Rahilly, M. A. (Longmans, Green & 
Co.) $3.50. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 
Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 

"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 
J. Godfrey Raupert, K. S. G. (Peter 
Reilly.) $1.25. 

"Henry Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours." Shane Leslie, M. A. With Six 
Illustrations. (Bums, Gates and Wash- 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

"The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. I. (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. 

"First Impressions in America." John Ays- 
cough. (Rt. Rev. Mgr. Bickerstaffe-Drew.) 
(John Lane.) 16s. 

"The Mother of 'Christ; or, The Blessed 
Virgin Mary in Catholic Tradition, The- ; 
Rev. O. R. Vassal]- \ 

(Burns and Gates; 

ology, and Devotion 

Phillips, C. SS. R. 
, Benzigers.) $2.50. 
'Hispanic Anthology." ($5.) "The Way of 

St. James." (Putnam's.) 3 vols. $9 


Remember them that are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rev. John Grant, of the diocese of Brooklyn ; 
and Rev. Arthur Calvert, diocese of Middles- 

Sister M. Raphael, of the Order of the 
Presentation; and Sister M. Blanche, Sisters 
I. H. M. 

Mr. Charles H. Davis, Mrs. Mary Gordon, 
Mr. Donald McDonald, Mr. Thomas Hagan, 
Miss Winnie Crawley, Miss Helen Planett, Mr. 
Gordon McMaster, Mrs. J. H. Farrell, Mr. 
Nicholas Wjmne, Mr. Henry Boudreau, Mr. 
John V. Delany, Mr. John P. Hughes, Mrs. 
James Borden, Mr. John Hunt, Mrs. Ella 
Gallagher, Mrs'. Julia Curran, Mrs. Mary 
Fawkes, Mr. Thomas Fraser, Mrs. Catherine 
Barry, Mrs. T. O'Connor, Mr. Anthony Fabert, 
Mr. Edward Forrest, Mrs. Mary Coveny, Mr. 
John Green, Mr. Hugh Harrington, Mr. Joseph 
Knott, Mr. Joseph Wagner, Mr. D. J. Murphy, 
Mrs. S. Clarke, and Mr. James Loveley. 

Eternal rest give unto them, Lord; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who secth in secret, will repay thee." 

For the starving Russians: friend, $5; Mrs. 
J. K., 50 cents. To help the Sisters of Charity 
in China: James Hennessy, in honor of St 
Anthony, $5; W. 6. F., $2.50. For thi 
sufferers in Central Europe: J. G., in honor 
the Little Flower, $2; M. E. B., $7.50. 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 6 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

Alme Pater, qui Filium. 

A Glimpse of the Azores. 



^WEET Father, who foi\ us undone 

Didst deign to send Thine only Son 
To take, that He avert our doom, 
Flesh in the stainless Maiden's womb, 

Grant that we cleave to Thee alone, 
And so Thy mighty amour own: 
Mother and Son acclaim and praise, 
And walk in chaste and holy ways. 

Lest sudden-snatching death us name 
Worthy of endless death and shame; 
And so our crime. Thy love despite. 
Deprive us of Thy glorious light. 

Spirit of Father and of Son, 
Dwell in our hearts and make them one; 
Thy cleansing flood the infant face 
Once laved: refresh us now with grace. 

Sweet Maiden Mary undefiled. 
Mother of grace and inercy mild. 
Guard thou our souls from iSatan's power. 
Uphold us, weak, in death's dread hour. 

Glory, Lord, we meetly pay 
To Thee, the Virgin-Born, to-day. 
With Sire and Spirit, One in Three, 
Henceforth to all eternity. 

O Mother of God ! if I place my con- 
fidence in thee, I shall be saved ; if I am 
under thy protection, I have nothing to 
fear ; for the fact of being thy client is 
the possession of a certainty of salva- 
tion which God grants only to those He 
means to save. — St. John Damascene. 

REALLY knew nothing of 
the Azores, in which respect 
I was neither better nor 
worse off than my com- 
panions. We stood aft, Mac and I, tak- 
ing our last look landward before going 
to dinner. New York and the Statue of 
Liberty were mere blots upon the hori- 
zon. Sunset touched the dancing waves 
with crimson, and lights were beginning 
to blink from the shore. Mac was the 
pious member of the party. "We are in 
God's hands," he remarked, sotto voce. 
I am a Yankee, and not, I fear, pious. I 
surveyed the narrow deck, which was 
to be our sole place of exercise for six- 
teen days, reflected upon the fact that 
the "Cordova," bound for Marseilles, 
was single-screw and of only 9000 tons 
register ; thought of how she might act 
in a "sou'wester," and replied with 
acerbity— though not, I trust, with ir- 
reverence — that he was quite right; 
that if Providence didn't take care of 
us, I could not possibly imagine who 

Nearly all our third-class passengers 
(and there were nine hundred of them) 
were Portuguese, most of them from 
various points in New England. Their 
coming aboard, to say nothing of the 
advent of their goods and chattels, com- 
prising everything from bird-cages to 
sewing machines, had proved a divert- 



ing process. We grew to like them im- 
mensely as time wore on. They were 
a bright-eyed, cheery lot, with the pas- 
sion for music that is the luxuriant 
heritage of the races of the South. On 
the long, sunny days, two or three 
gwarthy fellows would tune up their 
guitars ; while the women, arms akimbo, 
swayed back and forth, and the children 
capered about on the forward deck. The 
daily wash, in which the brightest hues 
predominated, as it hung out to dry 
on the railings, gave us an indescribably 
festive appearance. All in all, we felt 
much as if we were going to Coney 
Island rather than to the performance 
of serious European post-war work, 
under the auspices of the highly re- 
spectable Knights of Columbus. 

As I said before, the Azores meant 
nothing to us. All that I was able to 
remember in connection with them was 
the opening line of Joaquin Miller's 
"Columbus" : "Behind him lay the gray 
Azores." Gray, indeed, was our first 
glimpse of them. We were exactly a 
week out from New York when, after 
luncheon one day, the purser called 
out, "Flores!" All hands rushed deck- 
wards: and, sure enough, there to the 
north of us was land, — "standing up," 
as Mark Twain puts it in recording his 
own impression of Flores, "out of the 
dull mists of the sea." Then it faded 
from sight and we lurched on our way. 

If you consult a map, you will see that 
the Azores comprise three rather dis- 
tinct groups lying between the 25th 
and 31st degrees of longitude, and the 
87th And 40th degrees of latitude. They 
are somewhat over two-thirds of the 
distance between New York and Lis- 
bon. First in the traveller's pathway 
lies Flores. A run of twenty-four hours 
brings one to Fayal, Pico, Terceira, and 
the rest of the central and largest 
group; while beyond lie Sao Miguel (St. 
Michaels) and Santa Maria. Ponta 
Delgada, with its 17,000 inhabitants, is 

the capital of St. Michaels and the 
metix)polis of the Azores. Santa Maria, 
though small, is historically important; 
since it was here that some of the 
sailors under Columbus landed in 1493, 
when returning from their voyage of 
discovery. The story goes- that, having 
been overtaken by a severe storm, the 
great navigator and his men made a 
vow that if their lives were spared they 
would giv| thanks in the first church 
they reached, and that not long after- 
ward they anchored off Santa Maria, 
where in a nearby chapel the vow was 

In the early morning of the day after 
we had sighted Flores I wakened sud- 
denly from sleep, conscious that the 
ship's engines had ceased to throb and 
that she was riding quietly on the 
bosom of the deep. Outside were the 
hurrying of feet and the excited stac- 
cato of voices. I dressed hurriedly, and, 
when I emerged upon the deck, rubbed 
my eyes to make sure that the scene 
before me was part of real life and not 
a stage setting. 

We were lying in the harbor of Horta. 
Tiers of glistening white houses 
stretched along the side of the hill, and 
a great wall of masonry curved out 
protectingly from the shore. Well 
towards the top of the hill rose a church 
of stately proportions, flanked by a large 
building that looked as if it might be a 
school or college. Back of the town, on 
the higher slopes, lay fields and vine- 
yards, with comfortable villas set in the 
midst. One could discern nothing that 
resembled waste land: the hills were 
cultivated to their very summits. The 
diminutive fields were separated from 
one another by hedges, producing an 
odd, checkered effect that obtained as 
far as eye could reach. A Methodist 
missionary lady, on her third trip to the 
interior of Africa, and, on the whole, 
"a rather good scout," as Mac expressed 
it, told us that later in the reason these 



hedges of hydrangea would be abloom, 
blazing in pink and purple. One could 
easily imagine what a riot of color the 
hillsides might boast in July. 

Back of us, on the opposite side of 
the channel, Pico towered 7000 feet and 
more above the sea. So serenely 
majestic an appearance did it present, 
with scattered vegetation on its sides 
and its head lost in the clouds, that it 
^^•as difficult to believe that volcanic 
: ossibilities lurked beneath. However, 
as there were no passengers to land, 
we were to enjoy Horta only from a 
distance. In two hours' time we Vv'ere 
picking our waj' through the passage 
that lies between the islands of Pico 
and Fa^^al, of which latter Horta is the 

Mid-afternoon brought us to Ahgra, 
the principal town of the island of Ter- 
ceira, and, as I afterwards learned, the 
See city of the Azores. The water- 
front was much like that of Horta, ex- 
cept that it was lined with people. In- 
deed, it looked as if the entire popula- 
tion had turned out to bid us welcome. 
We lay in the harbor, and very soon 
a number of fussy little launches came 
out from shore. We boarded one of 
them, and, upon landing, climbed the 
slimy steps of the ancient stone quay, 
in the face of a frankly curious but 
quite courteous crowd. After pushing 
our way through, we discovered an 
attacking party of ragged, black-eyed 
urchins harassing our rear flank and in- 
sistent in their demands for money. 
Having been warned in advance, we de- 
clined to pay tribute, — a circumstance 
which in no wise discouraged them, 
and we were unable to shake them off 
until our return .to the ship. 

Angra lingers in my memory as one 
of those delectable spots which one 
feels one would like never to leave. Un- 
like Ponta Delgada, our last stop' in the 
islands, it does not suggest to me shops, 
out-of-door marketing, or any of the 

everyday things of life. I associate it, 
rather, with the spirit of deep tran- 
quillity and fragrant repose. We 
climbed the hill back of the town, 
crowned by a weather-beaten monument 
commemorating some national worthy, 
at whose feet a tiny park spread its gay 
pai'terres. Flowers, many of them 
strange to our north«rn eyes (and 
noses), filled the air with perfume. An 
old mill wheel dribbled water lazily into 
an equally old cliute; and at thGxfoot 
of the hill stood red-tiled houses, with 
stones scattered here and there upon 
their roofs, by way, I suppose, of 
protection against the fierce wind 
storms of the Atlantic. Each house had 
its bit of garden, and over the walls in 
rich profusion hung clusters of purple 

The shadows were beginning to 
lengthen on the plaza and an occasional 
donkey clattered across our path as we 
made our v/ay back to the wharf. The 
spell was unbroken untii we sat at 
dinner in the "Cordova" and the clang- 
ing of a bell gave warning that w^e w^ere 
putting out to sea. Even now, after the 
lapse of many months, I can see Angra 
in fancy as I saw it in reality on that 
afternoon of late Spring. The little city 
in the Azores stands out vividly, dis- 
tinctly, like unto itself and none other. 

But it remained for Ponta Delgada, 
on the island of Sao Miguel, to impart 
the real Azorian flavor to our fleeting 
visit. We steamed into the harbor on 
the morning of the first day of May. 
The sun shone caressingly from a tur- 
quoise sky, and there was much move- 
ment, both ashore and upon the water. 
Most of the "Cordova's" passengers 
were -about to leave us, and the work of 
debarkation began very shortly after 
our arrival. We preferred, for novelty's 
sake, to go landward in a huge baggage 
scow which was fastened to one of the 
sturdy launches by a towrope. The sea 
was not as smooth as it might have 



been, and during the trip our minds 
were principally occupied with various 
possibilities contingent upon the break- 
ing of the rope. 

The business that called for transac- 
tion first was the exchange of money. 
Under the tutelage of a fellow-traveller 
this was safely accomplished, and we 
left the bank with- what seemed like 
a basketful of paper money, given us in 
return for our four or five American 
dollars. It was not long before I real- 
ized the significance of Mark Twain's 
story, told in "The Innocents Abroad," 
of his own shore leave in the Azores: 
how one of the ship's passengers en- 
tertained at dinner, to be faced sub- 
sequently with a bill of 21,700 "reis" ! 

I began, too, to feel with poignancy 
the force of his remark concerning such 
of the population as are "by instinct, 
education, and profession, beggars." 
One, of course, must always discount 
Twain, particularly as he reveals him- 
self in "The Innocents Abroad," which 
assuredly stands unrivalled as a \ com- 
pendium of humor, irreverence, and 
misinformation. Certainly it would be 
grossly unfair to apply his characteriza- 
tions indiscriminately; for the Azorians, 
as a class, are rated highly by those 
who have lived among them. Never- 
theless, mendicancy was a bit too preva- 
lent to be comfortable for the stranger 
within the gates, although it was less 
evident and less repulsive than the sort 
which we were to encounter a few days 
later in Lisbon. 

The Azores and their people can not 
fail to give the sojourner, even if he be 
but a casual, an impression of thrift 
coupled with an enviable disposition to 
"loaf and invite one's soul," a combi- 
nation difficult of attainment in more 
rigorous climes. For it must be ob- 
served that the highest and lowest tem- 
peratures ever recorded in the islands 
have been somewhere about 85 and 45 
degrees; and that, economically, the in- 

habitants are more or less independent, 
since they raise enough of everything 
to support themselves, with a surplus 
for export. 

Ponta Delgada turned out a delight; 
a trifle more sophisticated than Angra, 
and a trifle less languorous, but a de- 
light all the same. Vigorous, sun- 
browned people strolled along the 
cobbled streets, with now and again an 
alert donkey laden with panniers of fish 
brought from the open market at the 
end of the town. So many of the women 
wore the extraordinary costume in- 
digenous to the Azores, known as the 
"capote" and the "capello," that one 
could predicate but little of their 
personal appearance. The first-named 
garment is a voluminous cloak of dark 
blue, very like the "circulars" worn by 
our grandmothers. Attached to it is an 
enormous hood of coal-scuttle shape, 
the "capello," which all but hides the 
owner's face. As the cloth is durable, 
the "capote" and "capello" might see 
several generations of use, without, one 
fancies, the slightest embarrassment on 
the part of the wearer. 

But it is to the churches that Catholic 
footsteps instinctively turn when one is 
in a foreign land; and the churches of 
Ponta Delgada are well worth visiting. 
Built in the spacious Southern stvle and 
approached by wide flights of steps, 
they invite to prayer and meditation. 
One of them, the dedication of which 
was, and still is, unknown to me, proved 
to be particularly interesting. The in- 
terior, darkly cool, disclosed carvings 
on altar and stall that were black with 
age. Abov6, pathetic Christ and sad- 
faced Madonna showed dimly; while 
close against the sanctuary railings, as 
if to press as near to Our Lord as pos- 
sible, three or four women, all in 
"capote" and "capello," crouched upon 
the floor and said their Beads. Other 
wohien were busy with flowers in the 
chapel of the Blessed Virgin nearby, 




I was reluctant to tear myself ^way; 
for, so far as I could tell, I should never 
see it all again. But the others urged 
haste. "What are you waiting for?" one 
of them inquired. I looked up at the 
old carvings, then down at the speaker, 
and there came to my mind, oddly 
enough, a story I had once heard of 
two Americans, mother and daughter, 
v/ho were "doing" the Uffizi Gallery in 
Florence. "Now, Elizabeth," said the 
mother, pleadingly, "we've only forty- 
five minutes to make the train; so for 
goodness' sake don't get interested in 
any of those pictures!" 

Later on we stood in Roosevelt Park, 
overlooking the harbor, so named be- 
cause of a call paid it, -as well as the 
church facing it, by the redoubtable 
Colonel. The church is dedicated to 
Our Lady. It is small, but possesses a 
facade of considerable beauty; and 
within a few yards of it a stately pine 
tree stands picturesquely on guard. 

Some of the churches, like certain of 
those in Portugal, appeared to have 
been given over to secular uses. One 
was saddened in passing them by the 
reflection that magistrate or school- 
master now presided where once there 
had been the sound of praise and the 
gesture of Sacrifice. 

The sky was overcast and an east 
wind was blowing when we pushed off 
for the ship. We noticed three or four 
priests in the crowd on the wharf, — 
not in soutane, as in France, or in the 
habit of religious, as in Spain, but in 
suits of sober black and wearing Roman 
collars, such as we had known "back 
home in the States." They smiled at us 
in friendly fashion, and vre smiled back. 
3iVe did not understand Portuguese, and 
it is doubtful if they understood Eng- 
lish, but we spoke the common language 
of the heart. 

Another hour and the lights of Ponta 
Delgada were but twinkling signals in 

the soft darkness of the semi-tropical 
night. I should like to have remained 
much longer and to have learned much 
more of this fascinating spot. I should 
like to have taken walks into the coun- 
try along those roads that wound so 
alluringly between the hills. I should 
like to have penetrated some of those 
lovely Azorian gardens, over whose 
walls the trees shot their long branches, 
and the wistaria draped its clusters. I 
should like to have done and seen a hun- 
dred and one other things; most of all, 
to have learned more precisely of the 
political situation, and to what extent it 
had affected the Church and her life in 
the islands. 

I strolled forw^ard, where a weird, 
phosphorescent light played about the 
ship's bow. I fell to thinking of 
Columbus, of La Rabida, of the trip into 
the unknown and uncharted West. 
"Behind him lay the gray Azores." 
They lay behind us, too; but we were 
going East, not West. The Gates of 
Hercules were before us, as were the 
varied experiences to which they were 
destined to point the way.* 

* For several bits of historical and sta- 
tistical data I am indebted to an interesting 
article, "The Azores," by Mr. Arminius T. 
Haeberle, former American Consul at St. 
Michaels, published in the National Geographic 
Mq.gazine shortly after my visit to the Islands. 

CouM) Poly carp fail, to the end of his 
days, communing spiritually with the 
beloved disciple John, by passing again 
and again in holy meditation over the 
many happy hours during which he had 
heard him recount every incident wit- 
nessed by him in the Saviour's life, and 
listened to the fervent accents of charity_ 
in which they were related? The same 
kind of communion, only more exalted 
and more deeply respectful, we may 
easily suppose to have been kept up by 
those who enjoj^ed in life the familiarity 
of our Blessed Lady. — Wiseman. . 



Basil Kirby. 


VI. — Between Two Influences. 



•-f ICHOLOV was smoking his bad 
cigar to the very end, regard- 
less of flavor. 
"They would have put Edison 
Marconi on the same black list," 
he said. "The architect of Cologne 
Cathedral was given that compliment, 
wasn't he? I didn't know you thought 
so much of me, Kirby, — Mr. Kirby, I 
mean." He laughed. "I only wish I 
could make a bargain with the devil. 
He would be a partner of great ex- 
perience. I really would if I could." 
More ashes were knocked off his cigar. 
"But this is a practical matter, sir. 
This is business. I sell you my brains ; 
we go shares in the whole stunt — the 
deuce! I've burned my fingers!" He 
flung the cigar butt on the floor. 

"Something burning! Pick it up, 
man!" cried Kirby, stretching across 
the table to see. "It is on the rug. 
Stamp it out. It smells rotten." 

"All out now. Only a bit of a hole 
burned." Nicholov was vigorously 
pushing his foot about.- 

"Can't you stop that vile smoke?" 
Kirby leaned over the table again. 

Nicholov unceremoniously splashed 
water on the floor from tke water 
bottle. Then he lapsed into raverie, 
in his exquisite French, about parfums 
de paradis; and, with another rapid 
change of language and subject, spoke 
strange words and did calculations with 
a finger-tip of his right hand along the 
fingers of his left. 

Kirby looked on impatiently. 

"I don't understand Russian," he 
said. "Are you going off your head? — 
I think I know what this is, Nicholov. 
Now I am going to speak plainly to you : 
I shall give you a generous share if you 
work for me; but the day you touch a 

drop of absinthe again, that day you 
and I part." 

Nicholov went on calculating, while 
he slightly inclined his cunning head 
in assent. He said he had renounced 
that elixir diaboliqye. And he began 
to invoke such horrible curses upon his 
own head if he touched it again, that 
Kirby told him sharply to stop that la)'- 
guage, and not to behave like a lunatic 
in a public place. "Stop it, if you don't 
want me to go," said Kirby. "Can't you 
gather your wits together?" 
. The man drew a long breath, putting 
his elbow on the table, and letting his 
forehead drop suddenly on his hand. 

"Good Lord," said Kirby, "he has 
gone to sleep ! And this wreck," he re- 
flected, "has wormed himself into my 
confidence and got my whole process at 
his fingers' ends! What on earth, did 
I let him talk to me for that other day? 
Where is the grand car? Had he bor- 
rowed it — stolen it? Was he only the 
chauffeur, and did he borrow his 
master's coat as well as his car?" 

What had really happened was that 
Nicholov had made a bold stroke. He 
had heard that Kirby was on the track 
of some great discovery, and he was 
fresh from Russia and looking out for a 
safe investment for a small sum earned 
in the secret service; that much Kirby 
knew. The man had come to Half-Moon 
Street making a dashing display. 
He had much more reliance on his own 
cleverness than on Kirby's invention. 
If there was anything in the discovery, 
his own brains would make the most of 
it. In the study, while he waited, he 
had what he would have called the 
devil's own luck. He had noted every 
detail, and saw that red was wanting; 
that one color blocked the way. When 
Kirby came, he led round the talk to 
pigments and to red, and promised to 
find the missing color. With this inven- 
tion, there would be no difference 
between new and old glass ; the factory 




could turn out windows like those of 
the Sainte Chapelle; they would get 
mellow tone without darkness. It was 
a fortune. But one color was wanting. 

The promise of the red and the in- 
telligence he showed made Kirby take 
him into his confidence. The man had 
come bluffing from a new position. The 
sorely-needed money was on the table. 
No word from Nicholov hinted that he 
had read the papers. As a fact, they 
were all in the oak" chest, and that ap- 
peared to be untouched. Kirby told 
him what solution and w^hat heat should 
be the test of the color. He was con- 
scious that he was telling Nicholov what 
the man already knew. 

At the smoking-room table, the in- 
ventor now jogged the elbow of the 
"clever devil" whose assistance he was 
buying. The man was a repulsive and 
mysterious partner, but a most useful 
one. Nicholov awoke from a deep 
sleep, quite his nqrmal self. He stared 
about with wonder, and stretched his 
arms, and then said, "Oh, yes, yes !" and 
apologized to Kirby. He was most rea- 
sonable. He had not the slightest idea 
of going down to Devonshire in any 
capacity but that of a servant. His plan, 
he said, was to be chauffeur; and he 
began at once to say "sir" to Kirby, 
and stood up deferentially. He would 
like a small share, and in return he 
would work about the laboratory. And 
there was the red. 

"You have done me an infinite ser- 
vice, Nicholov,"' said Kirby, quite sub- 
dued by the man's humble manner. 
"To-morrow we shall have a business- 
like arrangement in writing, and you 
will come down to Devonshire. There 
is a big room over the garage. I'll get 
the housekeeper to make you com- 

"Thank you, sir! Shall I see you 
here to-morrow?" 

"Oh, yes, here, — not at the house. It 
is let." 

"Thank you, sir!" 

The man looked relieved. He was 
evidently shy of being seen by Jenkins. 
Well, it was true, the fine clothes had 
disappeared. A mystery hung over the 
fur coat and the car. But Kirby had 
secured his fellow-workman, and he was 
in no rtiood for being troubled by 

The partnership with Nicholov was 
the last thing in the world he could 
have predicted. And now the repulsive 
element was ruled out by the fact that 
the man was to be under his orders for 
practical work — chauffeur and labora- 
tory man. As an enemy capable of 
betraying secrets, Nicholov would be 
dangerous; but as an humble ally he 
was worth any money. Basil Kirby left 
the restaurant as if he walked on air. 
The invention was now completed. 
There would be a world-wide revolution 
in that great artistic product, stained 
glass. Several firms were already nib- 
bling at the bait for shares. But he 
would keep the bulk of the shares him- 
self. He would be a millionaire. 

He ran into debt heavily that . day. 
It seemed reasonable, unavoidable. He 
bought a car, and sent it down to 
Devonshire by rail. He had interviews 
with Jewish money-lenders. 

Now, he had possessed a motor-car of 
his own twice before. It had been the 
ambition of his life to have one, but he 
had bought many a luxury that he had 
to sell again. Dowii in Devonshire he 
felt that it was a necessity; and what 
was the sense of having a chauffeur if 
there was no car? Nicholov should look 
up to him as a rich man. Besides — 
besides, somehow when he thought of 
the fortune, he thought of Chesska 
Brown; and he himself could steer a 
car, and he longed to give that tired 
child one happy day. 

That was how it happened that the 
new car stopped at the door in Half- 
Moon Street next day, to the amazement 



of Jonkin.s. The master had come to 
take the Countess and Miss Brown for 
a run in the country, to try the new car. 
He could not ask "Miss Brown" without 
asking the Countess. 

"Ah," thought Basil Kirby, "fortune 
favors the brave !" For he was told the 
Countess had gone out to lunch. Where 
was Miss Browni? 

Chesska saw him for a moment in 
that front room where he opened his 
letters at breakfast when first he heard 
of Countess Cavaletti's schoolgirl niece. 
She had slept, and looked like the girl 
he saw at Sant' Isolda. She even wore 
that dress of creamy white, and the 
dark green cloak with pink lining. He 
thought her like a hawthorn spray. He 
admired her in an artistic manner. It 
was definitely settled in his own mind 
that this was to be only artistic interest. 
And yet he was very pleased that the 
Countess was out to lunch, and he had 
reflected that fortune favors the brave. 

"I was just ready to take out the 
Pom," she said ; "but it will be lovely to 
have a run in the car." In a moment 
the silvery veil was twisted about her 
face, and her gloves were on. 

Basil Kirby handed her to her seat, 
and wound up the motor noisily. . Jen- 
kins stood at the house door, looking 
after them with a sort of blessing; he 
was that type of butler, with an inch 
of grey side-whisker and a serene 
countenance, — as dignified as an Angli- 
can bishop. 

A long spin through the town ended 
with the traversing of a suburban road 
of shops, behind an avenue of plane- 
trees; and then they crossed a broad 
stone bridge. Basil was humming, 
"Come to Kew in lilac time, in lilac 
time, in lilac time !" And they were out 
speeding along roads hung with the fall- 
ing gold of laburnums, and beautiful 
with lilac and hawthorn bloom. Rich- 
mond Hill mingled a straggling town 
with the misty distande of a glorious 

view of river and wood; and next they 
were beyond Richmond Park, and fairly 
out into the country, where trees and 
hedges bloomed, butterflies whirled and 
a lark sang, lost in the blue. 

Each humblest weed 
Wore jewelled coronal .... Stirred by unseen 

The very walls seemed breaking into flower. 

The girl was in an ecstasy of delight. 
She threw her veil backward, and flung 
open the front of the dark green cloak. 
Her white dress shone like light in the 
strong sunshine. "Hawthorn scheme of 
color," thought the artist handling the 
wheel. "She is part of the Spring, — 
part of the beauty of the world." 

He asked her where her wonderful 
name came from. 

"Brown?" she said, laughjng. "You 
don't call that a wonderful name ! Such 
lots of people have it. All the same, I 
am very proud of my poor lit'tle name, 
because of my father." 

"Quite right!" said Kirby, ardently. 
"But I was asking why they call you 

"Ah, that is Francesca ! They short- 
ened it at home. I made up the spelling 
of it myself, loecause my father was 
always ill, and I couldn't always see 
him; so I wrote letters — printed them 
with a pencil you know, — and I spelled 
my name 'C-h-e-double s' — like the. 
game. I was a little thing then, — only 
about five." 

"Just think of it !" said Kirby, musing 
and nodding his head* "I was at that 
time a grown-up man studying in 
Paris." He felt a sudden depressing 
sense of being much older than Chesski 
Brown ; and yet he had been persuadii 
himself he was only taking an artistiJ 
interest in his companion. When did 
man feel any concern at disparity o| 
years between himself and a face ii 
a picture? 

"You would have liked my father^J 
, she said, turning to him with sud( 



confidence. "He was Vincent Wallace 
Brown; you may have heard the name. 
He failed. You know what I mean, — he 
did his best, but the Company failed. 
The Marchesa Desti told me about it 
afterwards, for I was only a little thing. 
My father was afraid the shareholders 
were losing an a'wful lot, and some of 
them were poor. And there is a Com- 
pany law (you will understand about 
that) , and he needn't have paid all his 
money away. But he wouldn't take ad- 
vantage of the Company law, and he 
just paid out all his money. He pre- 
tended he had more, to make the poor 
ones take it. So he paid away every- 
thing he had, and then — well, then he 

"Oh, how splendid !" said Kirby. She 
came of a heroic stock. Her voice 
trembled in telling that history; and it 
was a revelation. This girl was not a 
picture: she was a living human being, 
with deep feeling and great faithful- 
ness. She was not a child, though he 
loved to call her so. Chesska was the 
sort of- woman that might be the inspi- 
ration of a life. And she had a sweet, 
little confiding manner that was some 
consolation to Kirby for being twice her 
age. But she said the most alarming 
things quite without warning. 

"Do you think my father is in 
heaven?" There was no answer. "You 
believe in it, don't you? The nuns at 
Sant' Isolda used to pray for him. And 
don't you think it must be lovely to be 
a Catholic? I wonder how it would feel 
to be a nun at Sant' Isolda." 

The car skidded to the side of the 
road with a jerk of the wheel. So she 
wanted to be a Catholic, did she? A 
nun of all things, — a nun! It was un- 
commonly like the unexpected prick of 
a red-hot needle. 

(To be continued.) 

Under the Stars. 


^JI^HEN God woke Beauty out of primal 
All things grew fair His puissance to con- 
With golden smiles He did the ocean dress, 
And kissed the Earth till flowers had made 

her bright: 

Yet I have dreamed He could not give to sight 

Himself most fair; and, failing to express 

His infinite lovely love and beauteousness, 

O'erspread them with yon starry web of light. 

So may my heart, alas! — howe'er it long, — 

Not bare itself to thee: but His way divine 
It follows, veiling love with splendent song. 

And thy pure heart abides my certain sign. 
Thou see'st what 'neath my frail tune standeth 
As thou see'st God, — thou who art His and 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

BY K. C. 


The devil's banner bears "Discord" 
for its appropriate motto. 

A WHOLE region of workmen's 
houses wrecked and pillaged; in 
every house two big gaps instead of the 
upper windows; smashed doors, in- 
teriors bereft of furniture; and here 
and there a little place that once was 
home, burnt down, a rubbish-strewn bit 
of ground open to the sky. Look at the 
twisted iron among the wreckage — 
scrap-iron of the bed-frames that fell 
with the burning upper floor. There are 
people still living in many of the houses. 
One shudders to think how they crept 
back, and how they exist mostly out of 
sight, lest any day they might be 
"chased" again. Off this long street are 
byways, a wall at one side and little 
houses at the other. These also have 
been l^ft with demolished -windows 
and all their contents looted or de- 
stroyed. In one short by-street of half 



a dozen houses, the \vTeckers have made 
doubly ^ure that the families shall 
not get in to live there again. They 
have nailed up boards to cover the lower 
windows, and six Union Jacks hang 
from the row of holes above, — a flag for 
every ruined home. 

Where on the civilized earth have we 
got to, that we see such things? Oh, 
my friends in a fr^e world, we are 
looking at Belfast, — some of the Catho- 
lic streets of Belfast under Orange rule ! 
This destruction of a hundred and sixty 
homes, near the Falls Road, took place 
one Sunday morning, not many days 
after the visit of the King of England 
to establish an Ulster Parliament. Here 
are the first fruits of partition. This 
is the sort of thing an Orange mob can 
do without hindrance, and with no legal 
penalty to stop its recurrence. You see, 
these were the houses of Catholics, and 
to the Orangeman's mind Catholics are 
no better than vermin. 

We go to a doorway where a group 
of very thin people lool? out rather fur- 
tively. There is a baby in arms amongst 

"Why did they do this to your 
homes?" we say. "It is wicked, it is 
horrible !" 

No answer. The poor people look at 
each other. It may be dangerous to 
speak to a stranger. They murmur 
something about the state of things 
being bad. Then the stranger wins con- 
fidence with a word: "They did this 
to you because you are Catholics; isn't 
that it? I am a Catholic: tell me." 

"That's it," says a woman. "Will 
you come in and see?" 

It was a small kitchen into which one 
stepped from the threshold. The first 
impression was of a ^one floor and 
complete emptiness. The broken 
pictures were in the corner ; every stick 
of furniture had been passed out to the 
crowd, or destroyed by the men who 
broke in, back and front, 

"We were here fourteen years," said 
the poor woman. "We had our house 
consecrated to the Sacred Heart — and 

She pointed to a little colored picture 
of the Sacred Heart hung near the 
window. Even the glass was unbroken, 
and she had tucked in a few artificial 
flowers above it. It was the only thing 
that had escaped. 

Since the destruction she had 
managed to get a rough deal table and a 
chair. The chair stood in the middle 
of the floor, supporting the spare gar- 
ments of the family ; and the deal table 
was pushed near the window, and served 
to hold the half-loaf, the baby's feeding 
bottle, and some rough crockery. There 
was a small fire, and the house cat had 
found its way back. The broken or- 
naments on the mantel-shelf were an 
attempt to make the place look like 
home again. Amongst them were 
statues of St. Anthony and the Holy 
Child, with both heads knocked off. At 
the back of the room was a narrovv^ 
staircase leading to a ruined upper 
floor, where even the lath and plaster of 
the walls had been torn down. The 
head rail of a bedstead was in a corner ; 
that was all that was left of beds or 
bedding. Bundles of straw had been 
brought in and laid on the floor! 

"We are trying to remain here," the 
poor woman said. "We don't want all 
of us Catholics to be driven out of 

The thin and pinched faces told their 
own tale of raiseiy. The girl had lately 
been ill, and had lain day and night in 
her sickness on one of the bundles of 
straw. The boy of seventeen or 
eighteen would have been only too glac 
to work ; but there was no use in speal 
ing of work, — no chance of earning 
moiTey. Catholics could get no work in 
Belfast. The right to labor was denied 
to them everywhere. If any boy or girt; 
tried to get work in that city, the firgtj 




question asked was, "What school did 
you attend?" And if a Catholic school 
was named, the door was shut, 

Now, here is St. Mary's Hall, and we 
enter with a priest prominent in the or- 
ganization of relief. It is truce time. 
Young men of the I. R. A. give the 
military salute, standing at each side of 
the white stone staircase. They are not 
uniformed and not armed ; but they are 
finely set up, and unmisfakably 

We go into the room above, where 
week by week the funds are dispensed : 
the dollars that have come across the 
Atlantic to the rescue of the Catholic 
population of Belfast. Here in" the 
Summer of 1920, six thousand pounds 
(thirty thousand dollars) were given 
out every week. Then, funds running 
lower, it was reduced to five thousand 
pounds (twenty-five thousand dollars). 
The two great shipyards had closed 
against Catholics; the factories would 
not take Catholic women or girls. "Forty 
thousand out of work," was what the 
priest said. "And, then, think of their 
dependents!" Special mention was made 
of the gi-eat-hearted charity of Amer- 
ica ; but, of course, money from Ireland 
and from the Irish in England was also 
swelling the fund. It was being dis- 
tributed from the Unemployed Workers' 
Fund (Archdeacon Convery, St. Mary's 
Hall, Belfast) and by the St. Vincent de 
Paul Society and the Ladies of Charity. 
Belfast has Catholic streets and 
Protestant streets. A priest can not go 
through the Protestant streets, — not 
for fear of insult (which he may receive 
ary where) , but because he would be in 
danger of death: he has to safeguard 
his life for his flock. The priest at St. 
Mary's Hall told ©f the stopping of 
Catholic children on their way to school 
as a common occurrence. The poor 
children were captured by loafers and 
corner-boys and ordered to curse the 

Pope; they always refused, and, like 
brave confessors of the Faith, bore 
being struck and ill-used until they 
could slip free from the clutches of their 
tormentors. Only a few days after our 
visit, a bomb was flung into a Catholic 
street where the children were playing 
in the evening. The one Orange family 
in the place had received previous warn- 
ing to keep out of the way. 

Two days before our exploration of 
Belfast, a Catholic workman, at his 
crane in a coal-yard, was set upon by a 
gang armed with revolvers; and after 
he had been asked his religion, a brutal 
shot v.'as fired at him at close quarters, 
doing such cruel injury that he was car- 
ried to the hospital in frightful agony. , 
The same gang then proceeded to the 
waterside, where another of our men 
vfas unloading coal from a ship. "You 
are a Catholic ?" was the question. The 
answer was, "I am." The man was a 
giant in build and strength, and he tried 
to defend himself, until he received a 
shot in the arm. If it is asked how five 
or six men came armed to a coal wharf 
to exterminate Catholic workers, the 
revolvers can easily be accounted for. 
A special force of Orange constabulary 
had been lately chosen in the city from 
its most violent men ; but their conduct 
had been so bad that they were kept in 
the barracks. While Ihe new force was 
in the barracks, there was a continual 
disappearance of revolvers to arm the 
Orangemen outside against their fellow- 

Long before the present acute perse- 
cution. Catholic men had a rough time 
in the two great shipbuilding yards. If 
one of them rose from the commonest 
labor to a well-paid job, there was sure 
to be "an accident" before many days. 

By street-car to Newtownards Road; 
and here, in a long thoroughfare with 
many small shops and advertisement 
hoard-ings, we find many traces of re- 



pair, and an occasional shop-front 
boarded up, and defiant chalk-marks 
on the walls— "No Pope here!" We 
first saw "No Pope here" when the 
train steamed into Portadown on the 
way to Belfast. They don't wait till one 
gets out of the carriage, but Orange 
hatred tells its tale on walls within sight 
as one passes through Portadown sta- 
tion. "To hell with the Pope!" used to 
be the war-cry in Belfast; but in 1921 
we were assured by the citizens that 
the language in the streets had become 
foul beyond description. As one of the 
Belfast priests said, "Compared with 
what they call out now, 'To hell with 
the Pope!' would sound like a blessing." 

All those shops repaired or boarded 
up in Newtownards Road and its 
neighborhood were the stores kept by 
Catholics. In the great anti-Catholic 
pogrom of 1920, they were attacked by 
the mob; the people had to rush out, 
and rescue the sick and aged, at a mo- 
ment's notice; while the furniture of 
the house and the whole stock -of the 
store were burned in bonfires in the 
street. In some cases the military stood 
and looked on at the plunder and 

Come round this corner, past the 
garden enclosure, with locked gates and 
the beautiful Gothic church. That is 
St. Matthew's; and the detached build- 
ing beyond (where you see the broken 
windows) is the priest's house ; and the 
building beyond that again, with the 
wooden gates in the wall, is the convent 
of the Sisters of the Cross and Passion. 
It has damaged glass, too. Up there, 
at the side where the lofty colored 
windows are, you see a stone has made 
a hole. That is one of the chapel 
windows. The nuns had to clear out of 
this convent, and go, some here and some 
there, for refuge in the Summer of 1920. 
And first the altar lamp was put out; 
for the Divine Dweller in the Taber- 
nacle had to be taken secretly away and 

placed in safety, even as once He was 
carried in flight to the land of Egypt. 

When that turn of the Terror was 
over, the nuns came back, to teach in 
the schools and to visit the poor again ; 
and upstairs in the chapel the altar 
lamp was burning. But what a convent 
parlor! We stood and looked round at 
the black charred partition between 
this and the next room. And we heard 
how the mob had broken down the 
gates in 1920, and stormed the house, 
and poured petrol on the floor and set 
the place on fire. The fire brigade came 
in time to keep the blaze from spread- 
ing; but there was a fight against the 
firemen in the street, because the 
Orange mob was howling like demons 
to see the convent of the Cross and 
Passion burned down. , 

And what was happening in St. 
Matthew's church ? What has happened 
at every time of rnob law these years. 
The men stood guard over the Blessed 
Sacrament, and came in relays, and held 
the church safe day and night. The 
workmen of Belfast are always ready 
to do this ; and that is how their beauti- 
ful churches have been saved from 
sacrilege and destruction. 

The Catholics number ninety-three 
thousand, mostly working people. The 
non-Catholics exceed that number by 
two hundred thousand. Our people have 
not only grand Gothic churches, but 
their schools are acknowledged the best 
in' the city. The dream of Orangeism 
is to drive out the Catholic population, 
and to seize and secularize the schools. 

Attacks on Catholics and on their 
houses never entirely ceased after the 
opening of the Orange Parliament. [ 
There seemed to be some hidden agency] 
working for the inciting of riot; am 
it was soon an open secret that th^ 
governing powers were counting on" 
provocation to bring about a breaking 
of the truce in the North, which might 
spread like fire to the rest of the 




country. Ever since the plantations of 
Ulster, Orangeism has been the tool of 
the conqueror. Ever since the legend 
of the massacre of Derry, which dis- 
appears with the study of history, ru- 
mors have been spread, with no basis 
in fact, to the effect that the Catholics 
were a public danger. It has been one 
long pogrom, with intervals of bombs 
and sniping; one long scene of Cain 
killing Abel; and the press in non- 
Catholic hands has been doing its ut- 
most to make out that Abel all the time 
is killing Cain. Orangeism is a great 
asset for those who want to divide Ire- 
land. But if the wider world of freedom 
knew what Orange rule is like for the 
minority, there is not an honest man in 
either hemisphere who would not vote 
for a change of rule in Belfast. 

It is a disgrace to the Union Jack to 
be hung out over the destroyed houses 
of workingmen; a disgrace to civiliza- 
tion that a mob should sweep destruc- 
tion over those streets, and burn and 
loot unchecked in open day. Such was 
the capital of Ulster in 1920 and 
1921, — ^the visible example of lawless 
intolerance, and the strongest possible 
argument for the unity of Ireland. 

(To be continued.) 

The Heart of a Rover. 


The artistic temperament, whatever 
may be its disadvantages, always 
ensures its possessors against two evil 
things — namely, thei fear of man and 
the love of money. For there is nothing 
which makes people so strong as not 
taring about a thing, and there is 
inothing which makes people not care 
[about a thing except caring about some- 
thing else. This is why the true artist 
[and the true saint alike dwell in a land 
[of promise as ~in a strange country, 
^following not after the fleshpots of 
Igypt, and fearing not the wrath of 
cings; for they both endure as seeing 
lat which is invisible. 

— Ellen T. Fowler. 


Guy will be here to-night, dear. 
This wire came ten minutes ago." 

General Sir Richard Ingleton took the 
flimsy pink sheet from his wife without 
a word, but there was a slight frown on 
his face as he read the message. His 
eldest son, after many months of service 
with the Army of Occupation on the 
Rhine, was at last demobilized with the 
rank of major, that he could keep, if he 
cared, as an honorary title all his life. 
Guy had been several times mentioned 
in dispatches, and the King had pinned 
the medal and ribbon of the D. S. 0. on 
his breast. 

Sir Richard was proud of all this; 
but the fact remained that his son, the 
heir to the Thorswick property, that lay 
between the wild Northumberland coast 
and the Cheviots, was at once a puzzle 
and something of a trial to the old 
soldier. He himself, like most of his 
race, had followed the army as his 
profession. For many years no active 
service had been possible for his regi- 
ment; and on his father's death, at a 
great age, and his own succession to the 
title and estate, it was only the breaking 
out of the South African war that 
hindered his retirement. He did good 
service in that unfortunate struggle, 
and then came home with his field- 
officer's rank, to settle down for the rest 
of his life with his wife and children 
(of whom he possessed four, — two boys 
and two girls) in his north-country 

To the General's mind it was obvious 
that Guy should enter Sandhurst or 
Woolwich when he left Harrow ; but his 
son showed so strongly his distaste for 
the ordinary life of a soldier, and an 
equal repugnance to the idea of a uni- 
versity residence and degree, that Sir 



Richard, much to his chagrin, could not 
insist on the boy's following the 
paternal programme. 

Guy was «et with all his heart on a 
wider, freer life. The routine and con- 
ventions of an English country house 
felt to him like the bars of a cage. He 
endured several somewhat trying scenes 
with the old gentleman, who tried to 
instil into the lad's mind a due sense of 
the dignity of an English squire and 
the infallibility of the Tory tradition. 
The father, in fact, was a survival of 
the mid-Victorian age, in which he had 
been brought up ; while the son, through 
no wilful revolt but simply because he 
could not help it, represented the new 
aspirations and ideals of a new century. 

So Guy crossed the Atlantic and 
joined an old schoolfellow in running a 
fruit farm in British Columbia with 
very fair success. Five years later the 
Great War broke out, and at once the 
two young partners entrusted their 
property to honest and capable hands, 
and placed themselves at Lord 
Kitchener's disposal. Commissions were 
not hard to obtain in those first days, 
and before the end of the Summer Guy 
was at the Front. The General was, 
of course, delighted ; but at the time of 
his son's first leave he found, to his 
disappointment, that army life had no 
real attraction for the boy, who had, in 
fact, "joined up" only from a mingled 
sense of duty and adventure. 

The terrible years passed on, Guy 
proving himself an efficient officer ; then 
a piece of shrapnel gave hiril three 
weary months, first in a base hospital, 
and then in a London nursing" home, 
followed by a long leave. But he was at 
the Front again in time for the last 
frightful Prussian attack, and the turn 
of the tide of war under the great 
French Marshal's leadership. He had 
received his majority on rejoining the 

Now he was coming home, a se«MSoned 

soldier nearly thirty years old, but with 
the same boyish, adventurous soul as 
when he first went to Canada. There 
was no hope, his father knew, of his 
settling down to English country life. 
And there were other disquieting ele- 
ments. Sir Richard enjoyed a certain 
amount of political influence, and was 
high in the councils of the Primrose 
League. Guy's sympathies were in 
exactly the opposite direction: he was 
something of a social student as well as 
an all-round sportsman, and had various 
friends among the Labor party, which 
his father detested with full-blooded 
Conservative horror. To the Baronet, 
Guy's convictions as to class privilege, 
unlimited wealth, industrialism and its 
grinding evils, were rank socialism, if 
not absolute anarohy. More than this: 
his father was a Church-and-State man 
of the old Protestant type that knew 
little of the religion he professed, but 
was violent in his opposition to any 
other, especially the old Faith of his 

Guy was a great friend of Mon-i 
signor Alison, the Catholic rector of i 
Thorshaven, the fishing town three^ 
miles away; and of the Rev. Edmund 
Corby, an excellent and enthusiastic 
social worker, who was minister of a- 
large Congregational church in theS 
same place. The three men had mordj 
than once, when Guy was on leave, 
joined to fight some municipal or in- 
dustrial abuse. The conventional reli- 
gion of the Hall he found altogether im- 
possible. A fine Sunday forenoon was 
for him an opportunity for a gallop on 
his good horse "Cheviot, "^or a tramp 
across the hills ; a wet one pointed to a 
couple of hours in the billiard room 
with a week-end visitor, of whom there 
scarcely ever failed to be two or three^ 

11. f 

The 'Rolls-Royce drew up almost 
noiselessly at the justly admired front 
entrance. Major Ingleton, a tall, alert 



figure, stepped out with his kit-bag, 
and, nodding to the chauffeur, ran up 
the steps to the open door. Lady Ingleton 
had been watching from the morning- 
room, and the old butler stood respect- 
fully aside while mother and son were 
folded in each other's arms. She was a 
singularly sweet-looking woman, carry- 
ing her more than half a century with 
easy grace. Married early, under family 
pressure, she had been an excellent wife 
to Sir Richard, and would never have 
tallowed to herself (what was, never- 
leless, the case) that the moral and 
itellectual atmosphere of Thorswick 
'lay somewhat heavy on her. She knew 
gleams of "divine discontent" now and 
len, and understood something of her 
rst-born s bid for freedom. 
'Dearest boy, so it is all over at last !" 
she murmured. "This is the best home- 
joming of all." 

"It's grand, mother," said Guy. "And 
you are younger and prettier than 
"Foolish old boy!" laughed the lady, 
pleased as a fond mother could be at 
"the loving sincerity of the young sol- 
dier's compliment. "And how long will 
you give us this time?" 

"A month, at any rate," replied Guy. 

"I- must fix things up with Jim Hewit- 

son about our starting on the farm 

again. That will take a little time. And 

I want to see a few old friends here. 

But, most of all, I want to see you, 


A heavy step sounded in the hall, and 

Jir Richard, coming out of the business 

3om where he had been discussing es- 

ite matters with the family lawyer, 

shook hands warmly with the son of 

rhom he could not but be proud, though 

ie understood him so little. 

"Welcome home, my boy! Y6u have 

)me just at the right time. Edith is 

^ere, with Trevannion and the baby, 

ind Claude comes to-morrow. If the 

jnants had known, I think they would 

have got up some kind of a demonstra- 
tion to greet the heir of Thorswick." 

"What a comfort, father, that I got 
'demobbed' only in time to send yon the 
wire from town this morning!" 

The voices had attracted others. Edith 
Trevannion, Guy's elder sister, a few 
years his junior, came down the great 
staircase, carrying her first baby with 
intense pride; her husband, a middle- 
aged, clean-shaven man, who filled the 
post of private secretary to a well- 
known Minister, emerged from the 
billiard room; and Joan, the younger 
girl, not long released from the tutelage 
of school, rushed tumultuously through 
the still open door, with a tennis racket 
in her hand, her merry face glowing 
with excitement. There was no doubt 
as to the heartiness of the welcome that 
one and all gave to the returning war- 
rior. In the midst of the happy commo- 
tion, the gong sounded to remind the 
liousehold that it was time to dress for 

"The Vicar and Mrs. Chadwick are 
dining here to-night," said the General : 
"Edith's friend, Imogen Grantly, is with 
us; and young Ballingall, who has an 
engineering job at Thorshaven, is com- 
ing over. So be quick, all of you. 
Dinner waits for no man at Thorswick 

Guy went upstairs to his old room, 
stopping on the way to greet with warm 
affection his old nurse, now installed as 
housekeeper and aide-de-camp in gen- 
eral^ to Lady Ingleton. Her sem'ice of 
over thirty years had made her as much 
part of the Hall as the family portraits 
in the drawing room or the aged oaks 
that overhung the mile-long avenue 
from the West Lodge. 

"Eh, but it's a good day that brings 
you back. Master Guy, dearie — I should 
say Major Ingleton, sir!" 

"Never to me, Nurse dear! I am 
just your own bad, wild boy Guy, whQ 
gave you such endless trouble," , 



"You were the best of all to me, 
dearie! But, eh, how anxious I used to 
be when you were away on the hills by 
yourself all day long, or sailing your 
boat to the Fames with Master Hewit- 
son ! I mind one night I never thought 
to set eyes on you again." And good 
Mrs. Mclnnes wiped her eyes at the 

"Hurry up, Guy!" sang out Joan, 
putting her curly head in at the quondam 
nursery door. "You have only ten 
minutes to dress in." 

Dinner was, in the Baronet's view, a 
meal of some solemnity as well as im- 
portance. He looked the complete Eng- 
lish squire of broad acres as he gave his 
arm to Mrs. Chadwick to conduct her to 
the dining room. Guy found himself 
sitting next to Imogen Grantly. She was 
a pleasant enough companion, decidedly 
good-looking and fairly well-informed, 
the only ^daughter of a city magnate 
who was reputed to be a millionaire. 
She had been taken into dinner by Mr. 
Trevannion, but seemed to find the son 
of the house a more interesting 
neighbor than the keen-eyed, clever 
secretary, of whom she was in the least 
degree afraid. 

"You will be settled at home for good 
now, I suppose. Major Ingleton?" she 

"Only for a very few weeks. I am 
not suited to this life." 

"But surely Sir Richard needs you at 
home noWv?" 

"I don't think so. Though over sijjty, 
he is in the prime of life for all 
practical purposes. He can ride to 
hounds better than many a young man. 
And my brother fits in with civilization 
much better than I do." 

"He is in Edinburgh, isn't he?" 

"Yes. He writes a good deal ; in fact, 
literature is his profession. And, be- 
cause I was in Canada, he settled in 
Edinburgh rather than London, so 
as to be within easy reach of home. 

He can get here in a couple of hours." 

"And you really like life in the Far 

"I'm afraid I am an inveterate rover, 
Miss Grantly, — in mind as well as body. 
I should quite scandalize the good folks 

Joan, who was sitting opposite,' 
looked across the table and said : "Don't 
I wish I could go, too, Imogen!" 

"We all know you are half a gipsy," 
laughed Miss Grantly. "I would love to 
see you on a ranch twenty miles from 
everywhere ; it would be like your native 
heath. Still, you do fairly well with the 
moors and the streams about here." 

"I wonder," put in Mr. Trevannion, 
"where two of my wife's peopl^ got this 
wanderlust ? Now, Edith's idea of bliss 
is a flat in town and a little place in 
Surrey. The other thing must surely be 
a throw-back to some distant ancestor." 

The Vicar, who had been discussing 
local politics with his hostess, looked 
up and smried. He was a cheerful, 
rubicund person, with a merry twinkle 
in his eye,, a good judge of a horse, 
and a great authority on Bridge. 

"The Major doesn't only wander 
across oceans and continents: he is a 
rover from the comfortable conservative 
traditions of his house. Well, well ! We 
old fellows are apt to stagnate a bit, 
and it is good for us to be startled now 
and then." 

Sir Richard caught the word "con- 
servative," and remarked in a voice that 
commanded the attention of the whole 
table : 

"By the way, George Featherby is 
holding a meeting at Thorshaven 
to-morrow night. You know he is nurs- 
ing the constituency in view of the 
next election. I hope you will all be 

"Do go, Guy, and move a vote of n<_ 
confidence," said Joan, mischievously. 
She knew and cared nothing about 
political questions, and was promptly 



told by her father that little girls should 
not advertise their lack of information. 

At this point the ladies left the table ; 
and while the General and his son-in- 
law discussed the policy of Ministers, 
Guy and Charlie Ballingall devoted their 
attention to the more congenial subject 
of the prospects for the approaching 
game shooting. 


The following morning Guy cycled 
down to Thorshaven, chiefly to see his 
two friends, the Monsignor and Mr." 
Corby. He called on the latter first, 
and found the good man busy in the 
preparation of one of a series of lec- 
tures on Christian Sociology that he had 
been asked to deliver at Newcastle dur- 
ing the early Winter, He was glad 
enough, however, to lay down his pen 
for a tete-a-tete with his "friend ; and, 
after preliminary greetings and in- 
quiries, they were soon deep in the dis- 
cussion of the lecture. After half an 
hour Guy rose. 

"So you are off again to Canada next 
month?" said the parson. "Well, I do 
wish we could have your presence ynd 
your influence here. But I see the time 
has not come for that, and with all m.y 
heart I sympathize with your longhig 
for freedom from our too conventional 
life. Perhaps some day — anyhow, may 
every blessing be yours, my dear 

Msgr. Alison was also found pen in 
hand, making out the complicated school 
returns demanded by "My Lords" at 
Whitehall. He was a finely-built, in- 
tellectual-looking man, with keen, 
kindly eyes and a strong, mobile mouth. 
His influence in the seaside town was 
warmly recognized by all men of good- 
will; his parochial administration was 
that of a true shepherd of souls; and 
his schools were the pride of the dio- 
cese. He rose as Guy entered, and took 
both the young man's hands, with a few 
warmly welcoming words, To the Mon- 

signor, Guy spoke of himself and his 
own concerns with a freedom that was 
quite unusual with him; he had never 
even dreamed of embracing the Catholic 
religion, but he felt that sympathy and 
strength and wisdom radiated from the 
elderly priest, who listened with af- 
fectionate attention to what the young 
officer had to tell him of his recent ex- 
periences abroad and of his plans for. 
the future. 

"It is a queer thing, Monsignor. 
There is everything to keep me at 
Thorswick, from one point of view ; yet, 
short of an evident call of duty to my 
parents, I simply can not settle at home. 
The call of the wild seems to -fee in my 
blood. And it is not only that I want 
the freedom of a new country : I am, as 
our parson put it last night, a rover 
from our family traditions, to my 
father's intense dismay. Claude is 
different: he doesn't love Tory politics 
and social tyrannies any better than I 
do, but he is a quiet sort of chap, and 
would make a fine landlord. The estate 
is not entailed. Besides, I am considered 
a pagan at home, because I can not 
follow a religion that means nothing to 
me. My mind and my conscience both 
revolt from the comfortable Anglican- 
ism that seems to satisfy my people. 
You will think me crazy, but religion 
without adventure and romance seems 
to me a contradiction. But here again 
I see no chance of settling down." 

"Yet there is one religion, my dear 
fellow, that is, as Michael Williams 
tells us — do you know his book? — the 
essential High Romance of life. And G. 
K. Chesterton says somewhere that, 
while heresy is always and intensely 
dull, the history of the Church seems 
to him one S'reat adventure all through 
the centuries." 

"Yes, I see clearly that there is only 
one possible religion that can seriously 
challenge one's attention. Yet here 
again I must have the sense of freedom. 



I want to bind myself to no system or 
code of rules." 

"That is not, the way it would 
present itself to you if you had the true 
vision of the Civitas Dei. I believe it 
will come to you some day. It comes to 
those who follow what they do see 
clearly of the light, and who — let, me 
add this — ask for more perfect light. 
In the meantime, believe mte that the 
true philosophy of life is expressed in 
the four words, Qui servire regnare 

"You don't think I am making a 
mistake in going out to Canada again, 
do you, Monsignor?" 

"No, I don't think so. Things being 
as they are, you would be wasting your 
time at home, and the position would be 
difficult in a good many ways. I know 
your farm is a long distance up 
country; but when you are in Van- 
couver I want you to call on the Arch- 
bishop, to whom I will give you a letter 
of introduction. Whatever the future 
may hold, your vigorous, hard, open-air 
-life is a good preparation for it. Be 
sure to come to dine with us some day 
before you go." 

When Guy had left, the Monsignor 
paused for a few moments before re- 
suming his work. "That boy — for he 
is a boy still in his fresh vigor — has the 
heart of a rover, in body, mind, and 
soul. But I believe he will yet find life's 
'great adventure' lead him to the City 
of God, the home of souls." So he 
thought to himself, as he resolved to 
offer his ' first free Mass for this 

(To be continued.) 

A Patriotic Heroine. 


Like the wide, deep ocean, that pul- 
sates into every bay and creek, and 
blesses the most distant isles, so God's 
heart throbs and pulsates into the 
uttermost parts of the universe, hav- 
ing a father's sympathy for His chil- 
dren who suffer. — Anon. 

THE wives and mothers of the Revo- 
lution did their part -vyith noble 
constancy and self-sacrifice; and yet it 
may be doubted whether in all the 
American Colonies there was another 
woman who made, of her own con- 
venience and interest, greater sacrifices 
to promote the general good than Re- 
becca Motte, the brave Sou^h Carolina 
woman whose courage and fidelity attest 
her ardent patriotism. 

The many fires which have devas- 
tated Charleston, the quaint old city 
on the South Carolina coast, have de- 
stroyed most of the houses which be- 
longed to Revolutionary days ; but some 
remain, and among them are two of 
great interest — the plain three-story 
building on Church Street, where Re- 
becca Motte lived as a bride; and the 
beautiful old Colonial mansion on King 
Street, which she inherited from her 
brother. Miles Brewton, and around 
which so many historical memories 
cling. This house was used by Sir 
Henry Clinton, and successive com- 
manders-in-chief, as headquarters dur- 
ing the Revolution; and it was in its 
beautiful drawing room that the first 
meeting to discuss resistance to the 
Crown was held. It was in this house, 
too, that the ladies of Charleston 
brought to Lord Rawdon their futile 
petition for the release of our truest 
American patriot — Nathan Hale. 

When the British took possession of 
Charleston and selected Mrs. Motte's 
palatial residence as their headquarters, 
she determined that she would not be 
driven from her home, and presided 
daily at the head of her own table, amid 
the frequent taunts uttered in her 
presence against her "rebel country- 
men." But from policy she played the 
part of an ideal hostess ; keeping, how ^ 




ever, her^tliree young daughters saitiv 
locked in the garret, guarded by a faith- 
ful old black "mammy," who would 
rtuiggle all kinds of dainties to ths 
•ondering little girls in their garret- 
prison. In after years one of thess 
•ittle girls became the wife of Col. Wil- 
!am Alston, father of Governor Alston, 
v/ho married Aaron Burr's^ daughter, 
Theodosia,, around whose life there is 
such a halo of mystery, romance, and 

On the Southern Railway, between 
Charleston and Columbia, is a little 
station called Fort Motte, near v'hich 
Vv^as the plantation home of Rebecca 
Motte, where her Summers were spent, 

the Winters being passed in the Colo- 
nial mansion above described. After 
the fall of Charleston in 1780, the 
British commander sought to hold mili- 
tary possession of the State by es- 
tablishing fortified camps in the in- 
terior ; and the plantation home of Mrs. 
lotte was commandeered, fortified 
or the purpose, and named Fort Motte ; 
and the owner, being driven out, took 
ui) residence in an old farmhouse on 
the hill opposite. 

Having but one cannon, the Ameri- 
cans could make but little impression 
on the British works, until finally there 
was conceived in Lt.-Col. Lee's fertile 
mind the idea of routing the enemy by 

- burnin.g the plantation house, — the act 
to be effected by hurling ignited com- 
bustibles upon the diy roof by means of 
a bow and arrows. But he hesitated 
to mention the matter to Mrs. Motte; 
for it seemed such a poor return for her 
generous hospitality to the American 
officers who had shared with her the 
meagre comforts of the almost aba:v 
doned farmhouse. But at last he found 
himself compelled to tell her of the 
proposed destruction; and she at once 
relieved his embarrassment by saying 
that she was perfectly willing to sacri- 
fice her property, if by so doing she 

coiiid aid m the leasfc degree the fall of 
the enemy. "I am gratified," she said, 
"with tlie opportunity of contributing 
to the good of my country, and shall 
view the approaching scene with 

On Ivirs. Motte's ejection from the 
plantation house, she had gathered to- 
gether a few household articles, and, by 
accident, among them were the beauti- 
ful bov/ and arrows v/hich have become 
so famous in histoiy. They had been 
given to her brother. Miles Brewton, by 
an East India captain, as a curiosity. 
So, thinking these better adapted for 
the object than those already provided 
by Col. Lee, she presented them to him, 
requesting that he use them. 

The scorching rays from the Carolina 
sun had prepared the shingle roof for 
the conflagration ; and the refusal of the 
British to surrender was immediately 
followed by the shooting of the arrows, 
to which balls of blazing rosin and 
brimstone were attached. The hoped-for 
result was accomplished; and Mrs. 
Motte, from the old farmhouse on the 
hill, watched the scene, rejoicing in" the 
great triumph secured by her country- 
men, and the benefit to her native 
land, by the sacrifice of her own in- 
cerests to the public service. At length, 
seeing the utter futility of resistance, 
the British commandant hung out the 
white fiag and surrendered the garrison, 
after which Mrs. Motte entertained the 
ofi'icers of both armies with a sumptu- 
ous dinner. 

Rebecca Motte's descendants are 
among tlie most distinguished in the 
State of South Carolina; and the mem- 
ory of this noble woman is cherished 
with pride and affection by her an- 
cestors, for her valorous deeds are in- 
deed a rich inheritance. 

No one can do more than his best, 
but a great many could do more than 
they think their best. — Anon. 



A Famous Crypt at ?»lalta. 


CENTURIES ago, it was the 
custom in many monasteries in the 
South of Europe and the Levant to pre- 
serve their dead unburied, but to-day 
the usage is practically obsolete. At 
Malta, however, it is still carried out 
among the Capuchins. Under the con- 
vent inhabited by the living lies the 
crypt in which deceased brethren re- 
pose. Forty of them are carefully 
preserved; and when a death occurs in 
the monastery, the oldest dead friar 
makes way for the newcomer. 

You descend the stairs leading from 
the chapel, and walk along a dark 
narrow passage to the crypt. When the 
Brother, who is conducting you, unlocks 
the massive door, you find yourself in a 
large crypt built wholly of the familiar 
white Maltese stone, the roof rising in 
the shape of a dome. It is lighted from 
the top, so that every object is quite 
distinct; yet over all is a subdued 
twilight shade. 

Standing upright, in niches cut in the 
wall, forty monks are ranged round the 
chamber, twenty on either side, and 
<' each clothed in the complete garb of the 
Order. At first glance, they seem to 
be engaged in prayer, just the very 
same as their living brethren in the 
chapel above; for they also are very 
still and quiet, with their heads, from 
which the dark cowl is thrown back, 
bent slightly over their clasped hands. 
Alongside each body is an inscription, 
giving the name of the departed and 
the date of his death. It really requires 
some such announcement to bring home 
to you that it is upon lifeless bodies 
you are gazing. 

There is nothing in the outward ap- 
pearance to indicate that each has not 
a living, throbbing heart within his 
bosom. By means of a secret process. 

liaiided down for centuries among the 
Capuchins at Malta, the outward ap- 
pearance is retained in perfection. The 
flesh is firm; the limbs have kept their 
shape ; the lips, their color; and the eyes, 
though with a fixed gaze, do not look 
dull or rayless. 

The expression on each face is dif- 
ferent, according to the individual's 
temperament and last thoughts, but is 
immutably eloquent of the exact dispo- 
sition of mind in which he has met the 
Angel of Death. You see the serene 
and placid face that tells death came in 
happiness. You see another on which 
th^re is a sublimity of repose, which 
life can never bring. Here is one that 
tells of nothing but bodily pain; there, 
another awful to look upon, so markedly 
significant is the record on his dull 
yellow features of most intense fears 
and anxiety. But he that stands next 
to him shows us in the lines about his 
mouth the smile ineffable, — the smile 
of sweet and glorious triumph. 

What volumes of hopes and fears in 
eternity these Capuchins' still lips un- 
fold! In this famous crypt at least, 
Death does not, as the saying is, com 
pletely bury the past. 



Pardon may be only a symbol of 

One day at Saint Helena — a mournful 
day, during which no ray of sunlight 
pierced the heavy mist, — some one re- 
peated the familiar remark that there is 
no smoke without its fire. "Have you 
heard of glory?" quickly demanded 

Suffering must be very sincere, lest it 
be flattered inwardly because of public 

A bit of splendor, a bit of dust: that 
is a hero — or a butterfly. 




Let Us be Broad as well as Orthodox. 

IF, as many observant men are of 
opinion, we are at the beginning of 
a conflict between the Christian and the 
anti-Christian spirit which will be both 
long and bitter, it is hard to understand 
why any open-minded Catholic should 
not welcome, from whatever source they 
may come, refutations of atheism, de- 
fences of Christian doctrine, and pleas 
for the safeguarding of Christian 
morality. Our civilization b.eing Chris- 
tian, it is natural that there should be 
defenders of it on all sides; and when 
-they write in a good spirit, they cer- 
tainly deserve recognition and en- 
couragement. One ought to be tolerant' 
of errors found in any book from a non- 
Catholic pen, the main purpose of which 
is to uphold Christian principles and 
morality. And there are many such 
books, which must do a world of good 
among outsiders, preserving some frag- 
ments of Christianity to hundreds of 
thousands who in all probability will 
never possess more. 

It ought not to be necessary to inform 
any reader of this magazine that when 
we quote a non-Catholic author with 
approval we do not mean to sanction all 
that he has written, or that in praising 
his defence of some truth of religion 
we condone any of his errors. Conclud- 
ing his learned work in refutation of 
atheism, Calvinism, and many other 
isms with which the vast majority of 
people in this country are affected. Dr. 
Bledsoe, professor of mathematics and 
astronomy in the University of 
Mississippi, wrote : 

"We have honestly endeavored to con- 
struct a Theodicy, or to vindicate the 
divine glory as manifested in the con- 
stitution and government of the moral 
world. We have endeavored to recon- 
cile the great fundamental doctrines of 
God and man with each other, as well 
as with the eternal principles of truth. 

It hasjikewise been our earnest aim to 
evince the harmony of the divine attri- 
butes among themselves, as well as their 
agreement with the condition of the 
universe. In one word, we have aimed 
to repel the objections and solve the 
difficulties which have been permitted to 
obscure the gloiy of the Divine Being,— 
whether those difficulties and objections 
have seemed to proceed from the ^alse 
philosophy of His enemies, or the 
mistaken views and misguided zeal of 
His friends. How far we have succeeded 
in this attempt, no less arduous than 
laudable, it is not for us to determine. 
We shall, therefore, respectfully submit 
the determination of this point to the 
judgment of those who may possess 
both the desire and the capacity to think 
for themselves." 

To our mind, these words reveal an 
admirable spirit; and when quoting 
others it never occurred to us to look for 
errors in the work. Who is there that 
rejects a piece of amber because a 
gnat happens to be embedded in it? 
Hatred of heresy is a good thing; and 
"heresy-hunting," as it is called, is a 
commendable occupation, when it is not 
an exclusive one, as in the case of some 
persons there is danger of its becoming. 
It was a lesson in tolerance to us, 
whether needed or not, to receive in the 
same mail letters from two theolo- 
gians — one would be classed as ad- 
vanced, the other as belated, — in which 
the same work of a Protestant author 
was praised for its fairness toward the 
Church and denounced on account of 
certain liberal opinions which, however, 
neither of our correspondents would 
take upon himself to pronounce 
actually heretical. 

American Catholics may indeed be 
lacking in hatred of heresy, but we 
do not hesitate to praise them for their 
toleration of the erring who are not 
wilful, and their commiseration of 
ignorance which is invincible. 



Notes and Remarks. 

In what was, we think, his last Allo- 
cution to the Sacred College of Cardi- 
nals, Benedict XV. emphasized "the 
school 0^ virtue which the Church is 
about to open to all her children in the 
commemoration of the third centenary 
of the canonization of five great ser- 
vants of God, surrounded at one time by 
the aureole of Saints." The outstand- 
ing paragraph in the Holy Father's 
address is one which signally stresses 
the Church as the truest of all democ- 
racies : "And nov/ shall We be silent in 
regard to Our other desire of seeing 
rendered to the class of the humble 
those honors which are due to all the 
sons of one Redeemer? Our eyes turn 
toward Isidore of Madrid, persuaded 
that, if a simple farmer was enabled 
to atlain the crown of the Saints on the 
same day as his three countrymen of 
noble lineage, it signifies that, before 
God and in the ministry of the Church, 
honors are not given to the rich or to 
the noble or to the learned because they 
are such, but only to those who faith- 
fully accomplish their duty." 

This is but a repetition of the old, 
old story told by every writer on growth 
in holiness and religious perfection: 
sanctity consists not in doing extraor- 
dinary things, in working miracles in 
the world of nature or of grace, but in 
performing perfectly the duties of one's 
state in life, be it high or low, 
prominent or inconspicuous. 

An exceptionally interesting short 
paper, contributed to the London Cath- 
olic Times by the Rev. A. V. Phillips, 
discusses "the heresy of details." Premis- 
ing that "we English have a bad habit 
of exaggerating details and missing es- 
sentials," he writes: "Now, this busi- 
nesslike insistence on details, which in 
the practical order is veiy useful and 

jn'ofitable, in the moral order is most 
dangerous. Undue emphasis on partic- 
ulars may amount to heresy. Thus, God 
is undoubtedly merciful; but if I say 
that God is so merciful that there can 
not be a hell, I am a heretic. God is un- 
doubtedly just; but if I say that He is 
so just that He can not pardon sin, I 
am a heretic. God is everywhere; but 
should I insist on this so much as to say 
that He is everything, I should be a 
paiitheist. Or should I restrict God so 
much as to reduce Him to nothing, 1 
should be an atheist." 

So, too, says Father Phillips, it is I 
merely a detail that the head of thej 
Church should be in Rome, and conse- 
quently there is no real contradiction in] 
the phrase "Roman Catholic." Afterj 
elaborating this point, he concludes:! 
"The enumeration of lesser things that 
are stumbling-blocks to narrow-minded 
people could be prolonged indefinitely. 
Candles, holy water, rosaries, scapulars. 
Communion under one kind only, 
irreverent altar-boys, the Spanish dance 
before the Blessed Sacrament, the often 
very familiar attitude of Southerners in 
church, — all these, and hundreds of 
others, are mere details around the cen- 
tral facts of devotion to the Saints^ to 
our Blessed Lady, and to the Holy • 
Eucharist. To insist on these deL. 
too much is very unreasonable, and is 
often the cause of formal and theo- 
logical heresy." 


Among the exceptionally striking and 
seemingly well-authenticated recent 
cures at Lourdes, the following, as told 
by a member of the Irish pilgrimage, 
seems likely to rank, later on, as a 
veritable and indisputable miracle. The 
recipient of the favor was a young Bel- 
gian nun, who for nearly twelve months 
had suffered from tuberculosis of the 
larynx, and who for that period had not J 
spoken, whilst she had been kept alive^ 
with liquid foods alone. On the da] 



after her arrival at Lourdes, she was 
among the group of invalids awaiting 
the passing, of the Blessed Sacrament 
to the Rosary Chapel. As the Host ap- 
proached, she was noticed as if respond- 
ing mentally to the invocations, when 
suddenly, as she told later, she felt a 
vibration of the vocal chords. Then she 
said, "I speak!" her pronunciation 
being distinct and without any effort. 
Subsequently Benediction was given in 
the Rosary Chapel, when the nun, who 
had not spoken for nearly a year, was 
able to take part in the singing of the 
hymns. A well-known Dublin doctor 
was among the witnesses of the 
"miracle." Previously, he, as well as 
Doctors Cox and Marchand, attached to 
the Bureau at Lourdes, had examined 
the nun, all of them certifying that she 
was suffering from an incurable disease. 
After the miracle they, in company with 
the distinguished surgeon Bartholet, of 
Toulon, examined her and pronounced 
her completely cure^. The Dublin 
doctor said, "This cure is absolutely in- 
explicable by any natural process." 

Following the usual prudent proce- 
dure at Lourdes, the cure will not be 
definitely pronounced a miracle until, 
after the lapse of a year, the nun is re- 
examined by the Bureau of Verifica- 
tions, and found to be- still free from 
any sign of tuberculosis. 

Notwithstanding that the various 
Governments which have come into 
power in Portugal since i. Republic was 
set up there, have been anything but 
friendly to the Church, Benedict XV., 
while expressing to a Portuguese editor 
his earnest Mdsh that religious peace 
should reign in the country, took occa- 
sion to repeat what has often been 
said authoritatively before, that the 
Church is indifferent as to fomis of 
government, provided the rights of 
Deoples and communities are respected 
by the powers that be. Ignorant Catho- 

lics as well as ignorant Protestants have 
asserted that the Church is opposed to 
the Republican form of government in 
Portugal because it was established by 
the overthrow of a monarchy. It re- 
mains to be seen whether the nation 
will be any better off imder the new 
regime than it was under the old. The 
Republic began badly, and was greatly 
favored by many of the worst class in 
Portugal. A bad monarchy is no worse 
than a bad republic. 

Not less surprising than gratifying is 
the news of a movement for the more 
religious observance of Sunday in 
France. The Lord's Day has been so 
long and so generally profaned in the 
Gallic lyepublic that the evil had come 
to be regarded as a matter of course, 
and seemed more likely to be increased 
than lessened. But one can never tell 
what may occur among the French. 
They have taken a notion that the Eng- 
lish week-end, as it is called, with rest 
and religion, would be a good thing for 
them, and they propose to have it. A 
stirring appeal to this end by Cardinal 
Dubois has given the movement a dis- 
tinct impetus. "Sunday ought to be 
looked upon as sacred," says his Emi- 
nence. "Its obligation is imposed by 
both the divine and the ecclesiastical 
law. We feel it our duty, hy reason 
of certain recent happenings, to lift up 
our voice in the name of the Christian 
conscience, and on behalf of interests 
that are perfectly well understood by 
the country at large. And we ask all 
the people of the diocese, both indi- 
viduals and religious organizations, to 
use all the means in their power to 
secure the Sunday rest which is guaran- 
teed by the law. On that point Catho- 
lics should, more than all other people, 
set a good example." 

Although the Puritans are credited 
with being most strict in the observance 



of Sunday, our English forefathers in 
the Faith were far more so. With them 
the Lord's Day began at noon on Satur- 
day and ended at dawn on Monday. 
During this period unnecessary work 
and recreation were prohibited, and 
fines were imposed for violation of the 
ecclesiastical laws on the matter then in 
vogue. Those convicted of taking part 
in games were imprisoned for six days ; 
and any one caught selling goods had to 
forfeit 6s. 8c?., the purchaser being fined 
half this amount. In the year 1409, 
Henry IV. ordered "That no cooks nor 
victuallers dress any meat on Sunday, 
except for strangers ; and that, too, be- 
fore eleven o'clock." Later on, "innocent 
pastime and honest recreation'' were 
permitted, "after the people had at- 
tended church and prayed for the 
.pardon of their sins." The Puritans 
went to extremes in the observance of 
Sunday; their zeal was not tempered 
with discretion and often lacked com- 
mon-sense. They even forbade walking 
on the Lord's Day. During the years 
of the Puritan Parliament four persons 
found guilty of going on foot to Bath, 
were fined twenty shillings each, "for 
not remaining quietly at home." 

The manner of observing Sunday is a 
subject which is continually coming to 
the front. Many of those who discuss 
it, however, seem to forget that times 
change, and men with them. It is most 
unlikely that the Lord's Day will ever 
again be observed as it was, — which, 
however, is not saying that it shouldn't 
be observed better than it is. 

The Christian world some years ago 
deplored the action of the infidel educa- 
tional authorities of France in suppress- 
ing the name of God in the text-books 
used in the schools, but a still more re- 
grettable and indefensible course of ac- 
tion has just been approved by the 
London Missionary Society, which con- 
trols and finances the Protestant mis- 

sions of India. In order that no offence 
might be given to the Buddhists and 
Mohammedans of Bangalore, the mis- 
sionaries of that place actually elimi- 
nated the name of Christ from their 
hymns and prayers, — and, what is 
worse, the Home Society informed them 
that their course was justifiable. That 
any self-respecting Buddhist or Moham- 
medan will be drawn to Christianity by 
such action as this is hardly con- 
ceivable; and one wonders whether in 
the Protestant version of the Bible 
there is to be found no such declaration 
as "Whosoever shall deny Me before 
men, I will also deny him before My 
Father, who is in heaven." 

Even more true than when he wrote 
them are the words of the Protestant 
Menzel ("German Literature," vol. i, p. 
147, ed. Felton), "The characteristic 
badge of the Protestant world is reli- 
gious indifference," which he attributes 
to the fact that "people regard the 
preacher alone, because nothing else in 
the Protestant church attracts atten- 
tion." This indifference is becoming 
more and more general, at least among 
workingmen; and Protestant ministers 
on all sides are asking, why do they hot 
go to church ? One answer is because 
ritual has been abandoned. In refer- 
ence to the rejection of incense, for in- 
stance, a Presbyterian preacTier, of all 
persons— a certain Dr. Wilson ("Five 
Gateways of Knowledge") , — writes, 
somewhat satirically: 

"It is difficult for us to realize the im- 
mense difference between ancient andl 
modern feeling and practice regarding 
perfumes ; but we may imagine the emo- 
tions with which a Hebrew of the days , 
of Aaron or Solomon or -Herod would 
worship in o^r^ - ". our Protestant 
churches. It would startle him to find 
that the ear had become the most reli- 
gious of the senses; that the eye was 
scarcely appealed to, except to guide the • 



ear; and that the nostril was not in- 
vited to take any part whatever in the 
service. He would be inclined to apply 
to the worshippers the words which one 
of his great poets applies to the gods 
of the heathen — 'Noses have they, and 
they smell not/ — till, looking round, he 
chanced to observe that, though the 
priest bore no censer, many of the fe- 
male worshippers carried in their hands 
certain misshapen crystal vessels, which 
from time to time they offered to their 
nostrils, with the effect of rousing them 
to an animation such as the most 
eloquent passages of the preacher often 
failed to provoke. Yes, that is the only 
religious use the moderns make of 
perfumes ; and I leave you to picture to 
yourselves the contrast between the 
Hebrew altar of incense sending its roll- 
ing clouds of fragrant smoke to heaven, 
and a modern church smelling-bottle or 
snuff-box passed from hand to hand 
along a row of sleepy worshippers on a 
drowsy Summer afternoon." 

No incense is offered to Almighty 
God, but a great deal too much incense 
is offered to the preacher, and by the 
preacher to the congregation. 

In the course of a series of articles on 
"Jhe Amenities of Controversy," 
Father Hull, S. -J., editor of the Bombay 
Examiner, proffers the following cau- 
tions, which may well be taken to heart 
not only by Catholic apologists properly 
so called, but by Catholic editors and 
polemics generally: 

(1) Be chary of denjang even the most ex- 
travagant charge of crime or corruption 
against the clergy of past ages. What is 
alleged may be a canard or fiction, but it may 
be true. There were bad times in every part 
of the Church, and times of violence, corrup- 
tion and licentiousness, the recital of which is 
found in genuine documents. Ask the ad- 
versary to produce proof of what he says, 
and look up his references before venturing 
to say a word. 

(2) Be chary of densang the wildest 
charges against the dogmatic or moral theo- 

logians of the past. While there has always 
been a large body of sober and sound writers 
in the Church, there is everywhere a sprin- 
kling of fantastic and unsound ones. There is 
hardly a single erroneous proposition possible 
in theology, dogmatic or moral, which some 
one writer or other *has not put forth ; and 
sometimes even otherwise sound writers will 
lapse into error, and even extravagant error, 
on some point or othei*. Deny nothing there- 
foi'e. Simply ask for references. Then look 
them up, and see what you find before ex- 
pressing any judgment. 

Very much unprofitable discussion 
v.oiild be avoided if the foregoing cau- 
tions were observed. In one sense, of 
course, they form merely an elaboration 
of the homely proverb assigned to the^ 
famous Davy Crockett : "Be sure you're 
right, then go ahead." 

The latest discoverer of the obvious 
seems to be Dr. Frederick Eliot, of St. 
Paul, Minn., who recently "told the 
world" that education without religious 
instruction will lead America "straight 
to smash." With all the aplomb of a 
sage delivering a statement absolutely 
original, the Doctor declares, "The 
American people have got to rise above 
the denominational handicap and put 
religion into the schools." True, he does 
admit that "some educators have begun 
to study the question," and this he looks 
on as a hopeful sign. So it is, — a very 
hopeful one. We aria glad that Dr. Eliot 
feels as he does about the matter; but 
why does he talk about it as though the 
subject of putting religion into educa- 
tion is something novel, hitherto un- 
heard of ? Every adult American citizen 
is aware that the Church has always in- 
sisted, in these United States as else- 
where, upon the religious training of 
her children. We can not help thinking 
that if the educators of whom Dr. Eliot 
speaks were thoroughly honest and sin- 
cere, they would frankly admit that the 
age-old Catholic attitude is the only 
correct one possible, and candidly de- 
clare, "We must follow suit." 

A, B, C of Schoolboys' Qualities. 


BY X. Y. Z. 

Attentive at botlT work and play. 
Busy all the livelong day; 
Courteous at home and school. 
Diligent to keep the rule; 
Earnest in vvhate'er you do, 
Friendly with your classmates true; 
Generous of hand and heart; 
Honest in life's every part; 
Innocent of all that's mean. 
Jolly as a king or queen; 
Kind where'er your footsteps roam. 
Loving to the ones at home; ^ 
Merry in the sun and rain, 
Neat in dress, but never vain; 
Orderly in desk and books, 
Pious, more in deeds than looks,*; 
Quiet when 'tis time to be. 
Ready others' needs to see; 
Steady in your every aim, 
Truthful, though it bring you blame; 
Untiring in the way of right,. 
Valiant in temptation's fight; 
Willing others to befriend, 
Xemplary to the end; 
Youthful till life's set of sun, 
Zealius till the crown is won. 

A Unique Flag. 

Among the flags of civilized nationsr, 
that of Portugal has particular interest. 
It is made of green and red silk, and in 
the center is a silver shield bearing the 
Portuguese arms. Upon this shield are 
five small ones in blue which Alphonso 
I. placed there, to commemorate the 
defeat of five Moorish princes. The 
white spots on the small shields repre- 
sent the wounds of Christ. 



yi. — Signs AND Omens. 

^ND all my dressing up for noth- 
ing!" sighed Lil'lady, as, standing 
on the vine-tangled porch, she 
watched her father's motor-car sweep 
down the drive. "Oh, I wish the busi- 
ness dad talks about would let him 
alone when he comes home to dinner! 
And such a dinner! Aunt Sabina is 
freezing the cream now. My! she will 
be mad when she finds dad is gone. She 
says there hasn't been any right rules 
in this house since my poor mamma 
died; that it's the happy-go-luckiest 
place she ever saw, — keeping things hot 
or keeping them cold all the time; 'and 
that no other cook would stand it. And 
I am sure of it. Cousin Jane says it's 
not her business to fuss with the family. 
But just wait until I am a little more 
grown up! The boys will hear from 
me." And Lil'lady's reflections ended in 
a determined nod of her golden head. 

The tap of a heavy cane on the porch 
made her turn quickly. Mammy Sue 
had hobbled painfully down the stairs 
to investigate dad's sudden and un- 
looked-for departure, — good old Mammy 
Sue, whose bright, sunken eyes watched 
anxiously over all that could affect her 

"Miss Jinny, she's all right fur d 
Housekeeping," the old woman woul 
confide to her especial crony, Sabina. 
"She's got de haid and de hand fur dat 
suah, and it ain't fur an ole Niggah 
woman like me to meddle. But she 
ain't got ole Mammy Sue's heart fur dis 
hyah family, and it can't be spected ob 
her. She's de plump and comfitable 




kind dat don't worry ; and a sort of fur- 
off poor relation besides, wot can't feel 
like close kin. But me, dat's been 
watching and worriting ober ebberyting 
and ebberybody for nigh onto sixty 
years, has to keep it up fur dat chile of 
mine, — I has to keep it up, sister 
Sabina, as you sees and you knows." 

And Mammy Sue was evidently keep- 
ing it up to-day; for she had left arm- 
chair and fireside, though every move- 
ment of the withered old limbs cost 
her pain. 

"Your pa's gone, honey chile?" she 
asked, — "gone quick as dis?" 

"Oh, yes, yes! Isn't it dreadful. 
Mammy Sue, after all my dressing up? 
He couldn't even wait for dinner, or to 
see the boys, or anything. Some horrid 
man called him on the telephone, and he 
had to go right away. Oh, I hate tele- 
phones ! They are so meddlesome." 

"Dey is, honey, — dey is, fur suah." 
Mammy Sue was leaning painfully on 
her cane, her eyes shining in their 
sockets like those of some watchful 
old mother bird. "And dey're sort ob 
onlucky besides. Bad news come quick 
nuff in de ole time when it hed to 
trabbel on wheels or laigs ; but dese here 
talking wires sort of seems to go agin 
de Lawd's nachal rules and ways. Dey 
do fur suah, and dey's been pestering yo 
pa suttinly dese here last weeks. Don't 
gib him no peace or rest night or day, — 
night or day," repeated Mammy Sue, 
anxiously. "And de pestering ain't fur 
no good nuther: it's a worriting him, I 
kin see dat plain." 

"Oh, can you. Mammy?" asked 
Lil'lady in quick alarm. "I don't like 
dad to be worried. Mammy Sue." 

"Oh, sho, sho! Yo can't help it, 
honey!" soothed the old woman. "All 
big men folks like yor pa has wor- 
ries ; and he's getting bigger and bigger 
ebbeiy day. Shouldn't wonder if he'd 
end up by being Governor or President 
or suthing dat's de tiptoppest in de 

land. But de bigger and higher yo get, 
de more folks fling at yo; and I guess 
dat's what dey's a-doing at yor pa now." 

"Flinging at dad, — my dad!" broke 
out Lil'lady, passionately. "They shan't ; 
they mustn't; nobody would dare, 
Mammy Sue!" And the dark blue of 
Lil'lady's eyes flashed into lightning 

"Dar, dar, honey! Doan git up yor 
dander now. Yo is fire and tow, suah, 
and alius was," murmured the old 
woman, tenderly. "'Tain't fur m.e or yo 
nuther to go superstitioning about a 
great, grand, knowledgeable gen'leman 
like yo pa. He's bound to come out on 
de top and haid ob tings, as we all 
knows. It jes seem sort of pity, wif yo 
dressed up like dis in yor fine French 
frock fur him, and dem tree fat pullets 
sizzling in de pan fur his dinrier, dat 
he can't 'joy no peace or rest fur dat 
buzzing, meddlesome tellyphone. And 
it's a-trying to sister Sabina too, I must 
saj'', — all dat fried chicken and mush 
cake, to say nuffin ob de succotash and 
buttered beets and yellow squash and 
ice cream, and de caramel cake she's 
bin a-wrastling over all mawming. Like 
as not, dem boys won't be home nuther. 
I heern Dave talking 'bout stopping at 
Carleton Riggs' to see some new puppies 
dey got dar." 

"Oh, have they new puppies at the 
Riggs'?" asked Lil'lady, eagerly. 
"Mammy Sue, I've got to see them, too. 
I'll just run over for a minute and bring 
Dave back with me, and take a peep at 
the puppies while I am there — " 

"And say 'How d'ye do!' to Miss 
Milly," interrupted Mammy Sue. "Don't 
yo f urgit to say 'How d'ye do !' to Miss 
Milly, honey. I heern she's' bin talking 
in dat ole maid way of hern 'bout how 
yo runs round keerless, as if yo was a 
boy. I wants her to see what a fine 
Lil'lady you can be when yo and me 
likes." And Mammy Sue fixed dim, 
adoring eyes on the dainty little figure 



before her. "I suttinly wants Miss 
Milly to see yo looking like yo does ter 
day. So say 'How d'ye do !' to her, honey, 
and make her open her eyes." 

"I will," laughed Lil'lady, gleefully. 
"The last time she saw me I was up the 
pear tree, and I guess I did look pretty 
tough. But I'll be your Lil'lady to-day, 
Mammy Sue, and give her a surprise." 

"And be suah yo's back to dinner at 
two, honey," called the old woman. 

But Lil'lady was already beyond the 
reach of the cracked voice. 

"Lawd, Lawd!" murmured the old 
M^oman, as her gaze followed the little 
flying figure. "Dat chile-is a picture 
for dese dim ole eyes to look at, suah; 
make you think ob birds and flowers 
and sunshine and stars and ebberyting 
de Lawd made good and fine. Den why 
can't I keep de bad-luck thoughts out of 
dis ole fool haid of mine? Why can't 
I keep 'em out, I don't know. — Yo, 
Eph!" Mammy Sue's voice rose in 
shrill rebuke to the old man blindly 
wielding his splint broom in the car- 
riage drive. "What yo sweeping criss- 
cross de road in front ob de house? 
Don't yo know dat sweeps bad luck into 
de doah?" 

"I didn't know I was sweeping criss- 
cross, sister Susan," answered Uncle 

"Well, yo orter know," retorted 
Mammy Sue, sharply. "Yo's ole nuff 
to keep yor broom going straight 'long, 
even if de 'cat-and-rats' won't let yo 
see. And it's no time to be fooling v/if 
bad luck round dis hyah house, I kin 
tell you dat." 

"Yo's right dar, sister Sue!" Uncle 
Eph paused, leaning on his broom, to 
nod his grizzled head. "I can't see, as 
yo says; but I's been heern tings 

"What yo bin a-heern ?" asked the old 
woman quickly. 

"De big bullfrog in'de swamp, fur 
one ting," was the answer. "Dar ain't 

been such a bullfrog booming his bad 
luck sence de year Lil'lady was born." 

"Don't yo bring Lil'lady in dis here 
talk," said the old woman, fiercely. 
"Ain't no bad luck kin tech her. Why 
don't yo set some ob de boys on dat dar 
croaking bullfrog and shet up his big 

"I has." Uncle Eph shifted his 
broom to the other hand and leaned 
more' heavily. "I tole Aunt Mirandy's 
Jim dat white folks would pay him a 
dollar fur dat frog's hind legs, what has 
meat enough on 'em fur a Sunday 
dinner; and Jim went fur him tree 
nights hand running wif a flat-haided 
stick dat looked as if it couldn't miss. 
But, Lawd, Jim says yo might as well 
try to hit a streak of moonshine. Dat 
dar frog jest dodges Jim's stick, and 
den looks up at him and laughs. Jim 
swars he seen him laugh. Skeered him 
so yo can't git dat boy to cross de 
swamp arter night fur no money. And 
Uncle Joe Maddox, wots nigh onto one 
hunnerd, says dat same frog's bin 
a-coming and going in de swamp hyah 
ebber since he kin remember, and he 
nebber knowed him to come fur any 

"Sho!" said Mammy Sue. "Uncle Joe 
Maddox, he's bin dotie dis twenty 
years, as ebberyone knows. Who keers 
'bout frogs? Dar ain't no predestinat- 
ing 'bout dem. If it was a hoot owl, 
now yo mout talk." 

Uncle Eph shifted his broom, so thatf 
he could lean with both wrinkled hands, 
and nodded again. 

"Dat's what I was coming to," he 
said; sinking his voice. "I hates to be 
anyways perturberating, sister Susan j, 
but, since we got on dis hyah subject, 
has to tell yo dat hoot owl is back, to 

"Whar?" asked Mammy Sue, in sh 
alarm she could not hide. 

"Down in de same ole dead pine w] 
he was eleven years ago. Dat dar pi 
orter to have come down long ago. 



Uncle Eph went on solemnly. "I's alius 
heem dat it brought bad luck to have 
a dead tree stanning around, specially 
when de lightning split it from top to 
root like dat pine, — and wif de ole hoot 
owl back arter all dese years !" 

"How do yo know he is back?" asked 
Mammy Sue, fiercely. "Dem ole eyes of 
yorn can't tell." 

"No, dey can't, sister Sue, — "dey 
can't, I knows," sighed Uncle Eph. "But 
Oder folks has eyes dat kin. And de 
Niggahs down in de Hollow say dis hyah 
owl dat hoots de bad luck all night is 
de berry same owl dat libbed in de split 
pine nigh a dozen years ago. Clem 
Dixon say he recognize de white bress 
like a shirt front, and de big rings round 
his eyes. Clem allows dat pore Miss 
Helen nearly laugh herself to deaf when 
she see dat owl. She say he's de berry 
spit of Parson Jonadab Jones, spectacles 
and all. And Clem say he do favor de 
parson suah; but Miss Helen nebber 
orter to laugh at it. Hoot owls don't 
stand fur no jeering." 

"Nor parsons nuther," said Mammy, 

shaking her head solemnly. "But pore 

Miss Helen wasn't no church-going 

Christian, as we all knows. And if it 

hadn't bin for Miss Delia and me, I 

reckon Lil'lady wouldn't have bin 

christened yet. De Lawd only knows 

what a time we had. But it was done 

right; me and Miss Delia seen to dat. 

, 'And it wam't no pore white preacher 

luther, but de reai fust-class kind dat 

ny missus believed in and dat useter 

;ome long ago to Shorecliff. And when 

le done finish de christening, wif Miss 

->elia fur godmother, he tuk Lil'lady in 

lis arms and held her up, while he said 

I'Uthing soft and low under his breaf, 

)efo he give her back to me. 'Now. 

'lammy,' he said, 'yo baby is a chile of 

Tod, and I have given her to a Mother 

n heaven whose love will never fail.' 

)at's wot he said," concluded Mammy 

ue, impressively. "I ain't ever furgot 

it, though jest wot he meant I don't 
know. But it was suthing good, fui- 
suah; and it's gwine ter keep bad luck 
from my Lil'lady, let de hoot owls and 
the bullfrogs do what dey will." 

And with this simple act of faith, 
Mammy Sue hobbled into the house. 

(To be continued.) 

Our American Knight. 


BUR knight was not bom in a castle, 
for we have no castles in America. 
Neither did he v/ear shining armor, 
carry a spear, or ride on a prancing 
charger. Instead, he was born in a log 
cabin in the \\dlderness. His shirt was 
of homespun, and the rest of his clothes 
were of deerskin. In place of a plumed 
helmet, he wore a coonskin cap. 

He was never trained in the arts and 
graces, the games and tournaments of 
the Courts. He had but one year of 
regular schooling in his whole life. He 
studied by himself, by the light of a 
pine fire. Afterwards, he studied men 
in the great school of life. He was 
brave and gentle, as a true knight 
should be. He had no shield or spear 
with which to defend himself. But he 
had great strength and two fists, which 
he did not hesitate to use in defence of 
the good and the right. As he grew 
older, his powerful mind and soul helped 
him to win many battles. 

The knight was the protector of 
everything small and weak, just as a 
knight should be. For did not the 
knights of old ride forth in all their 
splendid panoply to do battle for the 
right, to protect the helpless, and 
punish their persecutors? 

It is tol4 of our hero that when he 
was a boy, he came into the schoolyard 
one morning, and found his playfellows 
tormenting a turtle. They had put live 
coals on its b^ck, to make it run faster. 



The boy's eyer, flashed at the sight of 
such cruelty, and he sprang to the res- 
cue. ••Shame on you !" he cried. "How 
would you like to be treated in that 
way? Brush ofT those coals!" And, 
though he was but one against many, 
they did not answer back or try to 
fight. They dared not disobey, for they 
knew that they were at fault. His first 
composition was entitled "Showing 
Kindness to Dumb Animals." 

Again, we read how he saved the life 
of his little dog. His family were mov- 
ing from the wilderness of Indiana to 
the wilderness of Hlinois. On the jour- 
ney they had to cross a swollen stream, 
in which cakes of ice were floating. 
Fording a raging river with a team of 
oxen and a loaded cart was a risky 
matter. When they were safely across, 
they heard furious barking behind 
them. It was their dog, that had been 
forgotten. Our knight's pity was at " 
once aroused as he realized the plight 
of the poor animal. 

"We must go back and get him," he 

"We can't go back," was his father's 

"Then I'll have to go, for I can't leave 
the poor dog to die." 

So saying, he pulled off his boots and 
socks, waded across through the icy 
water and brought the dog safely over. 
Great was its joy, and at sight of it 
our hero felt repaid for his effort. Later 
on, our knight rode forth to legal 
battles, using his keen mind as a 
weapon. But, no matter how urgent 
the case, he would always pause to 
relieve suffering. 

An appreciative writer says: "The 
hands that were lifted up to help the 
needy and the suffering were the hands 
chosen to lift up a broken people and 
free them from the curse of slavery. 
It is a long journey from the little log 
cabin in the wilderness to the White 
House in Washington, fi'om the poor 

boy in the backwoods to the man who 
was cliosen President; but such a 
journey was made by this boy, who had 
always shown sympathy and tenderness 
to all about him. Truly, wTien we read 
his life story, we know that no ancient 
'knight of old* ever gave to the world 
more deeds of valor, or lived a life of 
more heroic devotion to the cause of 
duty, than did our own American 
knight, Abraham Lincoln." 

The Innkeeper's Son. 

61 POOR man and his wife kept a little 
pj country inn in England. They had 
only one child, a son, of whose talents 
they were proud; for he could draw 
'offhand' anything thai: he saw, and 
color it as well. 

One fine day, in early Autumn, a 
grand carriage stopped at the inn and 
a gentleman and lady alighted. With 
them was their son, the future Lord 
Shaftesbury. The innkeeper, finding 
his guests very agreeable, entered into 
conversation with them, and told them 
of the gift his boy possessed, ending . 
with a request which, from one in his 
humble position, must have impressed 
his aristocratic guests as being at least 
a little bold : 

"Will you let him make a picture of 
your son?" the father asked. 

The time was heavy on the hands of 
the travellers, and they assented. The 
young artist came in modestly with his 
chalk and paper, and in a short time had 
drawn a portrait of the future Lord 
Shaftesbury that made his parents ex- 
claim in wonder, and elicited the wann 
applause of the son. 

"We must help such a genius!" they 

And they helped so well that the son 
of the poor innkeeper became, in course 
of time, one of the greatest portrait 
painters of his day, and is known to us. ^ 
as Sir Thomas Lawrence. 




— An enlargement of the London Universe — 
the normal issue to be thirty-two pages — is 
announced. It is gratifying to learn of the 
prosperity of so excellent a Catholic journal, 
one of the most readable and best edited in the 
English language. 

— For the first time in modern histoiy a 
great literary award has been made to a Negro. 
Rene Maran, author of "Batoula" and winner 
of this year's "Prix Goncourt," studied in 
France, but now lives in Africa. His poetic 
character and natural sensitiveness make him a 
figure very much like the American Negro 
poet, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, whose short 
career was so promising. 

— "Handbook for the Limbless" seems a 
strange title until one learns that the work, 
which is published by the Disabled Society 
(London), contains the experiences, written by 
themselves, of men who have acquired the use 
of artificial limbs. It is described as "a 
manual of employments, occupations, and 
sports possible for limbless men, with lists of 
organizations, publications, etc." 

— Messrs. Philip Allan, of London, announce 
that P. B. M. Allan is editing "The Book 
Called the Imitation of Christ," containing the 
first English translation (about 1470) of 
Thomas ^ Kempis from the MS. in the Cam- 
bridge University Library, but in modern 
spelling. The "Imitation" is printed in red 
and black throughout, with borders after the 
early Flemish woodcutters' style. 

—P. J. Kenedy & Sons publish "When, 
Whom, and How to Marry," by the Rev. C. 
McNeiry, C. SS. R., with a foreword by the 
Bishop of Salford. The little work is replete 
with admirable instniction and advice. The 
pages on mixed marriages are especially worth 
while, and it is to be hoped that they may 
meet the eyes of thousands of Catholic yoting 
oaeli and women on both sides of the Atlantic. 
Price, 55 cents. 

• — According to the Journal des Debate, the 
Vatican Library has just been enriched by the 
acquisition of the collection of rare books and 
-manuscripts founded between 1838 and 1854 
by the Cavaliere Giovanni Francesco de' Rossi, 
which, having been left by the collector's 
widow to the Jesuits, who were then not able 
to fulfil the conditions of the bequest, passed 
' into the possession of the Emperor of Austria, 
but was afterwards restored by him to the 

Jesuit Order, and was by them removed from 
the Austrian Embassy in Rome to Vienna. 
On re-establishing themselves in Rome in 
1920, the Jesuits decided to move the library 
back thither, and have now handed it over to 
the Vatican. While it was in Vienna it was 
carefully catalogued. The founder collected 
more than 1000 manuscripts, 2500 incunabula, 
and about 6000 other volumes of no little in- 
terest and importance. 

— No reader of Isabel Clarke's new novel, 
"The Light on the Lagoon," we feel sure, will 
be in the least disappointed with it. To us 
it seems one of the very best of her books, 
being admirably written and possessed of all 
the attractions to which the author has ac-- 
customec^ us. ^ It is the story of a broken 
friendship and a wasted love, and shows how- 
God strips the soul He wants to call into His 
sei-vice. The "light on the lagoon" is the blue 
light of a statue of the Blessed Virgin holding 
the Divine Child in extended arms, "as if 
mutely entreating that He should be remem- 
bered by those who pass by." This is all that 
need be said either by way of description or 
in praise of a book which can not fail to 
benefit and entertain its readers. We are 
hoping that there will be a host of them, to 
learn, as the story teaches, that "the will of 
God is our peace." Price, $2. 

— Noting the recent publication of a letter 
of Robert Louis Stevenson's, with the closing 
sentence, "And remember me in your prayers," 
the writer- of "Et Csetera" in the London 
Tablet remarks: "And it was not, in his case, 
a mere form of words. He was himself a 
practiser, as well as a beggar, of prayer. Mrs. 
Stevenson has left it on record: 'With my 
husband, prayer, the direct appeal, was a 
necessity. When he was happy he felt im- 
pelled to offer thanks for that undeserved joy; 
when in sorrow or pain, to c^ll for strength to 
bear what must be borne.' In Samoa, Steven- 
son, who always ended the day Arith household 
prayer, once brought the sitting, or kneeling, 
to an abrupt end. He had just learned of the 
treacherous conduct of one in whom he had 
trusted; and, at a point of the religious exer- 
cises, he arose abruptly and left the room. *I 
hastened after him,' says Mrs. Stevenson, 
'fearing some sudden illness. "What is it?" 
I asked. "It is this," was his reply: "I am 
not yet fit to say Forgive us our trespasses 
as we forgive them that trespass against 



us." ' " It is perhaps not generally known that 
Robert Louis Stevenson was thinking very 
seriously of joining the Church at the time of 
his death. We were so infoimed by an intinnate 
f i-iend of his in Samoa. 

— It is quite in confonnity with poetic 
justice and the "eternal fitness of things" that 
the signing of the treaty between the English 
Government and Sinn Fein should synchronize 
with the publication of "Ireland and the Mak- 
ing of Britain," by Benedict Fitzpatrick. 
(Funk & Wagnalls Co.) A large octavo, of 
377 pages, furnished with a good table of con- 
tents, several appendices, and an adequate in- 
dex, the volume is one to delight all who are 
Irish by blood or race or sympathy; and to 
astonish the many thousands of English-speak- 
ing people who have been accustomed to re- 
gard the stories of Ireland's golden age, her 
kings and bards, her saints and sages, as 
mere myths and legends, destitute of genuine 
historical truth. As may be inferred from the 
title, the book is not a history of Ireland, but 
rather an account of the efforts of Medieval 
Irishmen to establish civilization in Con- 
tinental Europe generally, and in England in 
particular. Such chapter titles as "The Irish 
Kingdom of Scotland," "Reclaiming English 
Tribes," and "Irish Tutelage of England," are 
suggestive of much that will prove new to the 
general reader. The author has gone to 
original sources for his facts, and his industry 
in their collation and presentation is highly 
commendable. He has written a notable book 
and an authoritative one. Price, $4. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford infonna- 
tion covcei-ninf) the more hnporiant recent 
jmblications. The latest hooks will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped, out from 
time to time to make room for neiv titles. 

Orders should be sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale rn the United States 
can now be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this cojintrg who keeps a 
full svpply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Psychology and Mystical Experiei^e." John 

Howley, M. A. (Kegan Paul, Trouch. 

Trubner & Co.; B. Herder Book Co.) $2.5o! 
"Sei-mons." Rt. Rev. John S. Vaughan. 2 

vols. (Joseph F. Wagner.) .^r). 
"Father William Doyle, S. J," Alfred 

O'Rahilly, M. A. (Longmans, Green & 

Co.) $3.50. 
"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An Amerlcaji 

Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 

"Human Destiity and th^New Psychology." 
J. Godfrey Raupert, K. S. G. (Peter 
Reilly.) $1.25. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet. Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros.) $3.50. 

•'The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. L (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. 

"The Mother of Christ; or. The Blessed • 
Virgin Mary in Catholic Tradition, The- 
ology, and Devotion." Rev. O. R. Vassall- 
Phillips, C. SS. R. (Burns and Gates; 
Benzigers.) $2.50. 

"First Impressions in America." John Ays- 
cough. (Rt. Rev. Mgr. Bickerstaffe-Drew.) 
(John Lane.) 16s. 

■'How France Built Her Cathedrals." Eliza- 
beth Boyle O'Reilly. (Harper and 
Brothers.) $6. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary." 
Rt. Rov. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Gates 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.) $7. ,j 


Rcvicviber thf^i tliat are in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rev. Camile Seux, of the archdiocese of 
Santa Fe; Rev. Lucian Migeon, diocese of 
El Paso; Rev. Florian Chodniewicz, arch- 
diocese of Chicago; and Rev. John B. Hanley, 

Sister M. Laura, of the Sisters of Charity; 
Sister M. de Chantal, Sisters of Charity, B. 
V. M. ; and Sister Bonaventure, Order of the 

Mr. John English, Mrs. Florence Gilmore,. 
Mr. Richard McGuire, Mrs. Thomas H. McAllis- 
ter, Mrs. Anna Watts, Mr. and Mrs. Patrick , 
Donohue, Mr. Louis Benoit, Miss Veronica, j 
McCann, Mrs. Katherine Peni-ose, Mr. Henryjj 
Boyle, Mr, Walter Smith, Mr. John McDonald,] 
Mrs. T. Conroy, Mrs. W. 0. Taylor, Miss 
Nellie Desmond, Mr. Allan McDonald, Mi 
George Hooper, Mr. Thomas Huntley, Mi 
J. J. Murphy, Mrs. Margaret O'Brien, 
Michael O'Brien, Mr. D. J. Harcourt, Mi 
Frederic Doucette, Mr. Joseph Brown, Mis^ 
Catherine O'Rourke, Mr. E. W. Johnson, Mi^ 
Alexander Bui-nette, Mr. Joseph F. Raffertj 
• Mr. Charles Garrett, Mr. Joseph Borg, an^ 
Mrs. J. L. Curtis. 

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord ; and 
perpetual light shine upon them. May thef 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 



VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 7 

* [Published every Saturday. Copyright, 

Voices of Wood and Sea. 

By Denis A. McCarthy. 

'The winds within the forest dim • 
(I heard them as I musing sat) 

Seemed singing Mary's queening hymn, 
The heaven-inspired "Magnificat." 

And when I wandered by the shore 
And heard the murmur of the sea, 

The sound, repeated o'er ahd o'er, 
Was Mary's Rosary to me! 

Some Icelandic Legends.' 


HERE are few countries 
whose early history contains 
so much interesting matter 
as does Iceland, if we agree 
that it is the personal element which 
appeals most strongly to the minds and 
hearts of most readers. It is the human 
touch in the old Icelandic Sagas, the 
personal details of life and manners and 
ancient customs, — it is the glimpses of 
character which arrest the attention at 
once, as mere dry records, dates, statis- 
tics, bare facts, completely fail to do. 

We feel, as we read the quaint lan- 
guage in which the stories and legends 
and the history of the early Church in 
Iceland are clothed, even in a transla- 
tion, that human nature is very much 
the same all the world and all the ages 
over. Even in the old "Landnamabok" 

♦ Adapted from "Origines Islandicae," with the kind 
pennission of the Clarendon Press, Oxford. 

1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

of the historian Ari, which consists 
mainly of a catalogue of the early 
settlers in Iceland and their genealo- 
gies, we find little anecdotes which illus- 
trate the text, like so many vignettes; 
while the Lives of the early bishops and 
the Cristne Saga are fascinating 
pictures of Mediaeval Iceland. 

Christianity was adopted as the es- 
tablished religion of Iceland at the Al- 
thing, or Parliament, in the year A. D. 
lOOO, — or, in the words of the Saga, 
"Iceland was christened." But several 
centuries previous to this some Irish 
monks are said to have been the first 
Christians in Iceland, and to have lived 
at a place called Papey. Hence Papas 
v.^as the name given to the first Chris- 
tians before the Norwegians settled in 
the country. But paganism prevailed 
until 1000, and even, then it died a lin- 
gering death. 

One of the early bishops, we are told, 
found it necessary to forbid the people 
to call the days of the week Wednesday, 
Thursday, and Friday, after their pagan 
gods, Woden, Thor, and Freya; and 
made them follow the custom of the 
Church in the Breviary, and say third 
day, fourth day, et cetera. Devotion to 
Thor is apparent in the numerous Chris- 
tian names derivatives of Thor that are 
common in Iceland, such as Thorstan, 
Thorlak, Thorgerd, Thorkild, Thorhall, 
Thorwald; and some of the stories we 
are about to tell will show how popular 
the god of thunder was in Iceland in the 
early Middle Ages. 

There was a certain wealthy Norwe- 



gian nobleman who had a daughter 
named Audrey, a Christian. She mar- 
ried an Icelander, a pagan, called Anlaf 
the White; and they had a son named 
Thorstan the Red. Anlaf was killed in 
battle ; and Audrey, with her son, went 
to the Faroes. There the boy grew up 
and became a famous fighter, and is 
said to have conquered half of Scotland. 
In the meanwhile he married, and had a 
large family, consisting of one son and 
six daughters; and finally he, too, was 
killed. When his mother, Audrey, heard 
the news, she was at Caithness, with 
Thorstan's widow and children. Some of 
the daughters were grown up, and their 
mother seems to have been rather an 
incapable woman; at any rate, she was 
completely overshadowed by Audrey, 
who might well be called the "match- 
maker" ; for the first thing she did after 
her son's death was to have a boat built 
secretly, in which she and all Thorstan^s 
family sailed to the Orkneys, and there 
she fortunately married off her eldest 

Then she took twenty men, sons of 
earls, all freedmen, and with them set 
out on an exploring expedition to find 
Iceland. The commander of this boat 
was called Coll of the Dales, and Audrey 
\ held him in great honor, and showed 
how highly she appreciated his virtues 
by marrying him to her second grand- 
daughter, named Thorgerd. Her next 
enterprise was to buy a slave for Thor- 
stan's widow, for whom she had to pay 
a high price. She then set sail again 
for the Faroes, deferring her quest for 
Iceland for the moment, in order to 
marry her third granddaughter, Olof, 
to a Faroese. Having accomplished this 
matrimonial feat, she once more ordered 
the sails to be set for Iceland ; but they 
were wrecked off the coast, and came 
ashore at a place called Lava-Links. 

She had a brother named Helge, liv- 
ing at Keelness; so she called on him. 
He invited her and ten of her company 
to come and stay with him ; but she con- 

sidered this very mean, and said Helge 
was "a poor fellow and always had 
been." So she Went to another brother, 
named Beorn, who lived at Breidafiord 
on the west coast. Beorn, knowing his 
sister's "proud heart," went to meet her 
with servants, and invited her and all 
her company to come and stay with 
him. This hospitable invitation Audrey 
was pleased to accept; and the whole 
company landed and stayed at Breida- 
fiord till the Summer, when she and 
her "sons of earls" and the others went 
up the Fiord to explore the country. 

They landed at Daysmealness, so 
called because it was here that they 
took their midday meal. Afterwards 
they went inland and rested at a spot 
now called Combness, from the fact that 
Audrey lost her comb there. Here they 
took up all the Dale-lands in the 
neighborhood, and Audrey settled at a 
place she called Audreytoft. It appears 
to have been a hilly neighborhood; for 
she set up crosses on the hills, and built 
an oratory near her house at Cros^- 
hillocks. She then gave lands to her 
companions, and resumed her match- 
making activities. There were still 
three of Thorstan's daughters to be 
provided for, and she married them. 
She brought up Thorstan's only son, 
but we are not-^told that she had any- 
thing to do with his marriage to a 
woman from the Hebrides. 

Audrey is called in the Saga a "wor- 
shipful lady" ; she was certainly a brave 
and capable woman, with a strong 
character. Surrounded by pagans, and 
cut off, as she appears to have been, 
from the consolations of religion, she 
kept the Faith, and seems to have 
brought up her family in it; for we are 
told that after her death her descend- 
ants relapsed into paganism. When she 
was old and felt her end approaching, 
she summoned all her grandsons-in-law 
and kinsmen to Audreytoft, and had a 
great feast prepared for them, which 
lasted three nights. Afterwards she 




made them all handsome presents and 
gave them good advice. She then an- 
nounced that the feast was to last three 
more nights and to be her funeral 
feast. The next night she died. She 
gave orders that she was to be buried 
on the shore, below high-water mark, 
because, as she was a baptized woman, 
she would n^t be buried in uncon- 
secrated ground. This command was 

This last expedient of the dying 
Audrey, to avoid being buried in uncon- 
secrated ground, preferring that her 
body should be washed out to sea, or 
dashed against the rocks of that terrible 
coast, shows how strong was the faith 
of this Christian noblewoman, v/ho was 
sadly deprived for the greater part 
of her life of the ministrations of her 
religion. She was evidently a very fine 
character, a good Catholic under most 
trying circumstances, and an excellent 
example, though a Norwegian by birth, 
of Mediaeval Icelandic women; for, as 
we have seen, half at least of her life 
was passed in Iceland, and her husband 
was an Icelandic chief. To a certain 
extent, she was an explorer ; for she was 
certainly the inspirer of this voyage of 
the "sons of earls" from the Orkneys 
to discover Iceland and take up land 
there; and all through the expedition 
she was the organizer and the distrib- 
uter of the land when found, and the 
rew^arder of those who had served her 

Another notable example of an Ice- 
landic woman was the wife of one of 
the early bishops of Skalholt, the 
first episcopal See to t3e established 
in Iceland in the south, to be 
supplemented some years later by a 
second See at Holar in the north. 
Bishop Paul, of Skalholt,* married, 
when young and in deacon's Orders, a 
lady named Herdis. Her activities were 
on a different plane from those of 
Audrey, for they were domestic in kind ; 

* Lives of the Bishops, Pol's Saga. 

but she, too, was a most capable woman, 
and.her tragic death was partly due to 
her zeal in executing the duties of her 

Bishop Paul was a wealthy man: he 
inherited a fortune from his uncle, St. 
Thorlak, the patron saint of Iceland and 
a former bishop of Skalholt. Paul had 
an estate in the north of Iceland, at a 
place named Scard; this consisted of a 
large sheep farm and some cattle. When 
he was elected bishop, he moved to 
Skalholt, and left Herdis and their four 
children — two girls and two boys — at 
Scard, that she might look after the 
property and take care of the "home- 
stead" for a few years. Then he called 
her to Skalholt, where she undertook 
the management of the house and land 
attached to it, while Paul was engaged 
in his episcopal duties, and often absent 
during most of the Summer months on 
his visitations and at the Althing. The 
"bishopstead," as the bishop's houses 
were called, contained no fewer than one 
hundred people, of whom eighty were 
servants and farm-laborers; and all 
these Herdis had to cater for. We are 
told, as though it were considered a feat 
in housewifery, that, after the first one 
or two Winters, she never ran short of 
provisions, much of which was depen- 
dent on the winds and waves of the 
severe weather of these Northern 

When the children were growing up, 
Herdis had occasion to go to Scard to 
hire some help, — the servant problem 
apparently agitating mistresses even in 
those remote days and regions. She 
took with her two of the children, a 
girl and a boy, leaving the two younger 
ones at homeT To reach the homestead 
at Scard, they had to cross a river; and, 
as there were then no bridges in Iceland 
(and there are very few now) , the river 
had to be forded, which was easy when 
the water was low, as was the case when 
Herdis arrived. 

During her stay at Scard, one of the 



terrific storms to which the island is 
subject broke over this part, and the 
river rose so high that it made the pas- 
sage difficult; but Herdis wanted to 
get back at a certain date, and deter- 
mined to make the attempt. Her party- 
consisted of several priests, the two 
children, and some servants. They 
proceeded in detachments, with their 
ponies. The first detachment crossed in 
a boat, and reached the other side safe ; 
but all the. others were drowned except 
a servant, who was washed ashore. 

In the early days of. Christianity they 
had a peculiar custom to enable pagans 
to hold intercourse with Christians: 
they were marked with the cross — not 
baptized, but just signed with the 
cross, — which was called "being prime- 
signed" ; and they might hold any creed 
"which was to their mind."* This was 
before Iceland "w^as christened," when 
the vast majority of the inhabitants 
were pagans. 

A beautiful little legendf is told of a 
pagan nobleman, named Thorhall Knop, 
who was a leper, — a very good man ac- 
cording to his lights, and very devout 
to his false gods, for w^hom he had built 
a large temple, in which he used to 
sacrifice to his idols. He lived near 
Fleet, in the north of the country, and 
was wealthy. One day he had a vision. 
He dreamed that he saw a v/hite horse, 
on which sat a "bright man," coming up 
to his house ; the rider was clad in royal 
robes and held a golden spear in his 
hand. The sight of this unknown 
visitor so splendidly equipped fright- 
ened Thorhall, and he tried to escape 
into his house; but the "bright man" 
overtook him, dismounted and placed 
himself in front of the door, barring the 

Telling Thorhall not to be afraid, he 
led him beyond the gi'ounds in which 
the house stood, and told him to build a 

♦"Primitive Laws," p. 329,— "Origines 
t "Early Church Legends," p. 417. 

church there in honor of the true God, 
with the wood from the temple he had 
built for his false gods, whom he must 
worship no more; that he must do 
this at once; when he went to the 
Althing that Sununer he would learn 
who the true God was; promising that 
if he worshipped and served Him for 
the future, he should be cured of his 
leprosy. The stranger then showed him 
the size of the church he was to build, 
and ordered him to pull down the 
heathen temple without delay. He then 
disappeared; and in the morning when 
Thorhall woke, he believed the visio^i, 
and began at once to fulfil the com- 
mands of his mysterious visitor. - As he 
proceeded with the work, he recovered 
daily from his leprosy; and when the 
Summer came he rode to the Althing, 
and there he was baptized, and, on his 
return, worshipped afterwards in the 
church he had built. 

The clergy never had much trouble 
in persuading their converts, who had 
the means of doing it, to build a church ; 
for they believed that a man should 
have room in heaven for as many people 
as could stand in the church he had 
built on earth.* 

Several hermits and anchorites are 
mentioned in the course of the Sagas. 
One man, named Earwand the Chris- 
tian, became a hermit in his old age. 
Mane the Anchorite, also called "the 
Christian," was baptized by Bishop 
Frederick even before the Catholic reli- 
gion was established in Iceland. He 
lived near a river in which there was a 
quantity of salmon, — a fish that is very 
plentiful in Iceland, and forms a staple 
article of food. He also possessed a 
cow, and he walled in a field and made 
hay for it, living on the milk, butter, 
cheese, and salmon with which the cow 
and the river provided him. He pre- 
ferred living here alone rather than 
with the heathen, whom, we are told, 
he feared. He was very charitable to the 

* " Libellus Islandorum," p. 329. 



poor and gave abundant alms. During, 
one of the famines to which Iceland is 
subject, he caught the salmon in the 
river and gave it to the starving people 
in the neighborhood. He built a church 
near the river, in which he spent a great 
part of his time; and before he died he 
endowed the church with the salmon 
fishery. The place in which he lived 
v/as called Holt in Colgemire, but it is 
now named after him — Manesgarth. 

In the lifetime of the same pishop 
Frederick, who baptized Mane the An- 
chorite, a rich man named Swade was 
living, at the time of that famine, on 
his estate at Swade. He was a very 
wicked man, and did nothing to help 
any of the poor people who were starv- 
ing around him. One day he called to- 
gether a number of these unfortunates, 
and told them to dig a large grave near 
his house ; and the men, hoping to earn 
some food, worked hard all day. In the 
evening Swade put th^em into a shed, 
fastened the door, and told them that in 
the morning they should all be killed, 
and buried in the grave they had dug, 
and so their troubles caused by the 
famine would soon be over. 

The poor men, instead of trying to 
break down the door and escape, "wept 
all night," till one Thorwald "the Chris- 
tian," passing by, heard them, and 
asked them the cause of their grief. On 
hearing it, he promised that if they 
would do as he bade them, he would 
set them free and take them to his own 
house and feed them. They agreed 
gladly, and he unbarred the door and 
led them down to the Ridge where he 
lived. In the morning when Swade 
heard this he was very angry, and, 
accompanied by some armed men, hur- 
ried after the workmen on horseback; 
but he fell off his pony near the grave 
they had dug, and by a stroke of poetical 
justice was buried in it himself. Thor- 
wald of the' Ridge kept these men and 
fed them all through the famine, and 
taught them the Pater Nosfer, the 

Gredo and the Ave Maria, and then had 
them baptized.* 

In the early ages of Christianity the 
fashion of distinguishing people by 
some personal characteristic or trait 
was veiy common; for instance, Gisor 
the White, Thorstan the Red, Aurlyg 
the Old, Cetil the Beguiler, Thorkeel the 
Tall, Thormod the Strong, Eanwend the 
Wise, Eystan the Fat, and many others 
are mentioned in the Sagas.. One of the 
oddest of these nicknames, and one to 
which a strange story is attached, was 
that of two brothers called Hellskins. 

There was a certain King of Horda- 
land,t a province of Norway, whose 
name was Heor; and his Queen, who 
was seemingly a fair woman, was 
named Asa the Light. She certainly 
had a preference for fair children, as 
will appear. Heor was a brave soldier, 
and was often av/ay from home fighting. 
On one of these occasions Asa the Queen 
gave birth to twin sons. They were 
fire, big children, very dark and very 
ugly, and the Queen did not care for 
them. At the same time the wife of 
one of the King's thralls also had a son ; 
but her child was very fair and delicate- 
looking. When the Queen went to see 
the thrall's baby, she was so charmed 
with him that she begged the thrall's 
wife to exchange him for her big, ugly 
boys. The poor woman did not at all 
wish to do so ; but she dared not refuse 
the Queen, and finally agreed to the ex- 
change. Her fair, beautiful child, 
named Laf , was taken to the palace and 
brought up as the prince; while the 
twins were sent to the thrall's hut and 
brought up "in the straw on the floor," 
in the words of the Saga, as was the 
custom for the children of bondsmen. 

As the children grew up, Laf became 
more delicate ; while the twins, in spite 
of their poor fare and humble surround- 
ings, throve splendidly. When the 
three boys were about three years old, 

* "Early Church Legends." 

t "Mantissa," Book I., 274, 275. "^ 



the King went away again, on a hunting 
expedition this time; and one day dur- 
ing his absence the three children were 
playing in the large hall of the King's 
house, at the upper end of which was 
the customary raised dais. Laf was on 
this dais, playing with a gold ring. 
The twins, as became the children of 
thralls, were at the lower end of the 
hall. It seems to have been Winter; 
for the Queen was lying in the inner 
part of the room, covered with rugs, so 
that no one could see her; and Braga 
the poet, whose duty it was to amuse the 
household, was sitting on a high bench, 
with his head also wrapped up in a 

Presently the twins, not knowing that 
the Queen and the poet were in the hall, 
and noticing the g<5ld ring Laf was play- 
ing with, one suggested to the other 
that they should go and take the ring 
away from the prince. This was soon 
accomplished, for Laf was much too 
small and delicate to resist them. He 
made no attempt to do so, but burst 
out crying; and the twins, pulling him 
off the dais, laughed at him, saying: 
"Look how the King's son behaves, — 
ciying for a gold ring! He is not fit to 
be a prince, and that is the truth." 

Braga the poet, who was listening 
to this quarrel, then rose and woke the 
Queen, and sang her a verse from an 
old Corpus poet, in which it was proph- 
esied that these twins, Heahmund and 
Garmund, would be great men; but 
Laf, who was the son of a bondsman, 
would only be a craven. The Queen, 
on hearing this prophecy, repented of 
having changed the children ; and, going 
to Laf's mother, left him with her, and 
brought her ugly twins back to the 

When the King returned home from 
his hunting, she led the two boys* up to 
him and confessed what she had done. 
The King looked at the children, and, 
seeing how dark they were, declared he 
had never seen such "hellskins" in all 

his life ; and from that day forward the 
name of "hellskin" stuck to them. They 
were now kept at the palace, and 
brought up as princes ; and they became 
brave sailors and mighty men of war. 

Twenty-five years before Christianity 
was established -in Iceland, there was a 
great famine in the country, so that 
men had to eat ravens and foxes; and, 
to economize the food for the hale and 
strong, some of the old and infirm 
people were slain and their bodies cast 
over the cliffs intq the sea. Ver>- 
diiferent was the behavior in the year 
1056, half a century after the establish 
ment of Catholicity, when there was 
another great famine and very great 
mortality. Bishop Islaf was then oc- 
cupying the See of Skalholt, and he 
made a law that men should fast very, 
rigorously on Twelfth Day, the feast 
of the Epiphany, for three years; he 
had been to school in Harford, in Nor- 
way, where this was the custom. There 
was much now in the country when 
this law was made, but after it was 
passed the weather improved, and they 
had one of the finest Summers known. 
The following Winter there was no frost, 
so men walked to church barefoot; and 
they were able to build houses in Janu- 
ary and February, — almost an un- 
heard-of thing in that cold country. 

From various facts recorded in the 
course of these old Sagas we gather that 
in Catholic days the Icelanders fasted 
rigorously, especially in Lent and Holy 
Week, which last they called the 
"Dumb-bell Days." We also learn that 
they were very strict about going to 
Mass on Sundays and holydays, despite 
the terrible storms of wind and rain, 
and snow in Winter. In the year 1118, 
in the time of Bishop Gizor, there was 
so terrible a snowstorm in Holy Week 
that none could attend the religious 
services. On Easter Day, however, 
which fell on April 14, men could get 
to Mass, though some of them died of 
the cold. 




The legend of St. Patrick's Bell does 
not concern the great St. Patrick of 
Ireland, but a local saint, once Bishop 
of the Faroes. He had a foster son 
named Aurlyg, who, when he grew up, 
was seized with a great longing to go to 
Iceland, so he begged Bishop Patrick 
to give him an outfit. Apparently, Aur- 
lyg was going as a missionary ; for the 
outfit Bishop Patrick gave him was 
wood with which to build a church, and 
what is called a "plenarium," which 
consisted of an iron church bell, a gold 
penny, and some consecrated earth to 
put under the four corners of the 
church, since there was no bishop then 
in Iceland to consecrate it. He also sent 
some priests with Aurlyg to dedicate 
the church to St. Columbkille. St. Pat- 
rick then described the place in Iceland 
on which this church was to be built. 
This was where three fells could be seen 
from the sea. 

Aurlyg had a "sworn brother" whose 
name was Coll,' and Coll was a pagan. 
He accompanied Aurlyg in another boat 
on this trip; but when they were near 
Iceland a great storm arose and they 
were separated. Aurlyg invoked St. 
Patrick to help him, and Coll invoked 
Thor, his god. Aurlyg landed first, and 
he called the place (as he had vowed he 
would if he was saved) Patrick's Frith. 
Coll also landed, but he lost his ship, and 
he called the place he landed Colls- 
wick. This happened in Winter, and 
they remained there till the Spring, 
when Aurlyg fitted up his ship and 
sailed away to find the place St. Patrick 
had indicated to him. After some time 
he recognized the three fells, or rocky 
mountains, such as are common in Ice- 
land, which the holy man had described 
to him; but here the iron bell fell into 
the sea. They then sailed along the 
Frith until they came to Sandwick, 
where they found the bell on the beach 
among the seaweed. They all landed, 
and built the church there in a dale 
between the fells, at a place called 

Estarock, "and did all things just as St. 
Patrick had commanded Aurlyg to do." 

In Medisevai times the old Icelandic 
capital was Akureyri in the north. A 
little south of Akureyri was Holar, the 
second episcopal See. This had a large 
theological college attached to it, as had 
also Skalholt, the first bishopric in the 
south; and these were most important 
places in Iceland till the Reformation. 
Reykjavik, the Danish capital, was then 
only a farm; the Danes chose it as one 
of their trading stations, and in 1801 
made it the capital of the country. 
There are now no traces of the theo- 
logical colleges, or of the Benedictine 
and Augustinian monasteries, which in 
Mediaeval times were centres of learn- 
ing. It is to the monks and friars that 
the Icelanders owe their Mediaeval cul- 
ture, of which they are very proud. 
There were four Benedictine and five 
Augustinian monasteries at one time in 
the country. All , disappeared at the 
Reformation, which was carried out in 
the most drastic fashion in this un- 
happy country, where, as a result, in- 
fidelity is widely spread. 

Heroic efforts are being made by the 
Missionaries of Mary Immaculate and 
the Sisters of St. Joseph to restore the 
Catholic religion to a people who were 
formerly greatly attached to it, and who 
were remarkable for their devotion to 
the Blessed Virgin, traces of which can 
still be found in the country places and 
in hymns in her honor. There were 
formerly, in Iceland, no fewer than 220 
Catholic churches, many of them built 
of stone; but they, too, were either de- 
stroyed or taken over by the Luther- 
ans at the Reformation; and now 
there is only one small, dilapidated 
Catholic church in the whole country. 

The holiness of children is the very 
type of saintliness; and the most per- 
fect conversion is but a hard and 
distant return to the holiness of a child. 
— Cardinal Mamiing. 



Basil Kirby. 



VII. — The Flower of Sant' Isolda. 
FTER all, thought Basil Kirby, 
she was but a schoolgirl, and did 
not know what she was talking 
about. Then he made a discovery. 
Francesca Brown was neither a picture 
nor a child. She was a friend and com- 
rade, — a fellow-artist in appreciation 
and sympathy. She had travelled, heard 
the music of Parsifal at Bayreuth, and 
witnessed the Passion Play among the 
mountains of the Tyrol. These experi- 
ences were part of her religion ; and her 
mind had what he would have called a 
religious coloring, beautiful and in- 
determinate, like the tints of the dawn 
in an Italian picture. 

Chesska often had the company of 
her great friend, the Marchesa. "She 
was almost like my mother," the girl 
sard simply. "She gave me this pretty 
little motoring cloak, and that is why 
I love it; I shall keep it always." 

The tone and the very handling of 
the dark green cloth told Kirby that her 
friend the Marchesa was dead, and he 
understood already that Chesska had no 
recollection of her real mother. 

"I had nobody but father," she said; 
"and after he died, the Marchesa came, 
and put me at the convent, because 
father said they were good at Sant' 
Isolda, and he wanted me to stay there 
until I was quite grown up. So I stayed, 
and I used to teach English — very 
badly, I am afraid — just by talking to 
the children. And then the Marchesa 
took me about in the holidays. We 
visited many places; we motored over 
Italy, and saw the churches and the 
picture galleries." 

"What picture did you like best?" 

"Oh, that was not in Italy! I liked 
best a picture in Dresden." 

"The Raphael?" 

"Yes," she said. "Isn't it wonderful? 

When 1 went back Mother Gabrielle and 
I used to talk of it. But no copy gives 
one any idea. Oh, the face of that Child ! 
If you look into the eyes, there is some- 
thing divine. Mere Gabrielle said the 
painter was thinking how He is the 
Eternal — 'I am Who am.' And, then, 
that human Mother, and He an Infant 
in her arms! And the living back- 
ground, all angels! — Mr. Kirby, 
where is the car going to? You will 
bump into the hedge." 

He laughed, backed the car, and 
shunted it about. "I forgot my steering, 
I was listening to you, child. I was at 
Dresden with you. Let us think about 
Florence now. What about the UfRzi? 
I declare we can travel together in 

Her tongue was loosed. It was part 
of her charm that she spoke straight out 
of her own mind, with an unspoiled 
ardor and freshness. 

But while they were exchanging 
memories of the Uffizi Gallery, the car 
was swerving about the road, and they 
nearly had an unromantic collision with 
a country donkey cart. 

"You see, Mr. Kirby," she said, with 
a quaint air of teaching him how to 
manage the wheel, "when you turn to 
look at me, you must not turn your 
hands round, too." 

"But you don't know, child, how ex- 
citing it is to find some one to talk to." 

And, under this encouragement, she 
told him all about Assisi. "Have you 
ever heard of Saint Francis — the Poor 
Man of Assisi? It's such a lovely 
story!" Oh, yes, he had ! There was a 
picture, painted by Marks, of Saint 
Francis and the birds. Those legends 
belonged to the poetry of the Middle 

They talked of Pisa next, and the 
frescoes in the Campo Santo; and then 
they were back in Florence again, at 
"the gates of Paradise." 

He suddenly stopped the car near 
mossy wall under the branches of an' 



elder tree. "Miss Brown," he said, 
"you and I must really be friends. We 
understand lots of things that other 
people don't understand at all. Though 
I don't want to say a word against fhe 
Countess — one might as well expect the 
Pom to take an interest in these things. 
People don't use their eyes; they have 
no faculty of admiration; they don't 
speak out of their hearts. But you and 
I are fellow-pilgrims. We ' understand 
each other. We have met, and we speak 
the same language." 

It was flattering. Her face glowed. 
The motor buzzed and throbbed softly. 
A few of the white crumbs of eld6r 
flowers dropped from the broad, flat 
patches of blossom on the branches close 

"Let us have some sign that we 
understand each other," he said. "Let 
me call you by your name, 'Chesska.' " 

"Why, of course!" 

"And will you call me 'Basil'? You 
make me feel young again. And yet, 
I am afraid," he added sadly, "I must 
seem so very old to you." 

"But, Mr. Kirby, it's nice to have 
somebody older than myself to talk to." 

"Now, can't you manage to call me 
'Basil' ? It will be the sign that Vv^e are 
companions, friends." 

"I'll try — Basil ; but you must not ex- 
pect me to remember always. It seems 
so strange. I had no brothers. I have 
never called any man by his name." 

She looked at him frankly, trustfully. 
He was so much older, and so different 
from Aunt Eugenie's friends; it gave 
her confidence. To her amazement, he 
caught her white-gloved hands and 
kissed them. 

"You precious little flov/er of Sant' 
Isolda. Chesska, Chesska, child, you 
don't know what'a treasury you are!" 

"Don't, Mr. Kirby— Basil,— don't !" 
She drew her hands away. 

"Well, then, I won't even ask to kiss 
your glove. I don't believe in holy 
things, Chesska, — not if I don't see 

them. But you are a holy thing to me — 
like your saints up in nichesi on the 

"Do drive on," said Chesska, "or I 
shall not call you Basil any more, and I 
shall t^lk of nothing but the Pom." 

"Now, don't be provoking. Why 
shouldn't a man of my ag^ be among 
your worshippers?" 

"I have not any worshippers, Mr. 
Kirby." The girl said it coldly, with a 
sort of gentle defiance. He did not 
understand her world. 

"But don't be offended. And you 
were going to call me Basil." 

"And so I will, if you like. But I don't 
want you to fuss over me, please. I 
never thought you would. It would 
change everything. And I couldn't ask 
your advice. And I'd have no one to 
talk to." 

"Did you want my advice about any- 

"I was thinking of going back to 
Sant' Isolda." 

"Oh, don't!" 

"But Aunt Eugenie is well now, and 
I can't bear the life at Half-Moon 

"Wait a few days, and let us think," 
he said. "I have not told you my great 
news yet. It is about the stained glass. 
I have found the color that was want- 
ing." Then he stopped, and hesitated, 
and talked about his prettj'' place in 
Devonshire, and tried to divert her from 
•her troubles at Half-Moon Street. 

They took lunch in the garden of a" 
country inn, where they sat on rustic 
chairs near a box hedge, and the cloth 
was spread on a green wooden table. 
There was a stretch of common near, 
where they wandered in the afternoon 
among gold-tipped clumps of gorse and 
hawthorns and crab-apple trees. Kirby 
carried the cloak on his arm, and the 
girl in white looked as gay as the sun- 
shine. The place was all new to 
Chesska. Jt seemed to have drifted 
from "fairyland just for that day. 



The car ran back gaily at the close of 
the afternoon, and sped at last through 
the crowded streets of London, and 
across the space at Hyde Park Corner, 
and along by the trees and railings of 
the park, and into Half-Moon Street. 

"Have you enjoyed your outing ?" he 

"Oh," she said rapturously, "it was 
lovely ! We went to fairyland." 

"If it loere a fairy tale, I would be 
young again, and I would be your 

"I like you so much better as you 
are, — Basil. You are my prince." 

"Really, Chesska? I wonder what that 
means. But there is no time to ask, — 
here we are at the door." 

"It means," she said simply, "that 
you are very, very kind and good." And 
those innocent eyes looked at him 

As she walked into Aunt Eugenie's 
house, there was just a little sense of 
being dazed by so tremendous an event 
as Basil Kirby's avowal of admiration. 
Nothing else seemed to matter now. 
She could hardly collect her thoughts, 
it was all so tremendous a surprise. In 
that last brief talk, as the car slowed, 
his looks had told even more than 

The Countess had come home. She 
was enthroned but struggling for self- 
control in that wonderful drawing 
room, which the owner had copied from 
an Orchardson picture. Ariel met the 
holiday-makers in the hall with a tor- 
nado of barks, and a skirmishing attack 
on Kirby's ankles. The whole household 
had been upset. Jenkins had been 
stormed at ; Yvonne had received notice. 

Basil Kirby guessed the state of the 
atmosphere as he entered the drawing 
room. He made a desperate plunge to 
soothe the lady. "I called for you, to 
take you for a run in my new car. 

"How sweet of you!" she said, ap- 
peased in a moment. "I know how you 

enjoy a chat with me. And so you were 
put off with this chit of a girl? I am 
so sorry!" 

Chesska was to be banished. An order 
was given to go and get a caramel from 
the bonbon box for Ariel. 

"Does he r6ally like, them ? Splendid . 
idea!" said Kirby, pleasantly. "Sticky 
stuff, caramel. Stick his jaws together." 

This facetious idea made the Countess 
angry. "How can you be so cruel? 
Well, never mind. It's your nerves. 
Bored to death you must have been with 
that convent creature. What on earth 
did you find to talk about?" 

"You are speaking of Miss Brown? 
I found her charming." 

"Nonsense!" A tinge of jealousy 
flamed through the rouge on the cheek 
of the Countess. "Well, I dare say she 
made her hay while the sun shone. But 
she has no talk at all, — no esprit. She 
won't go to the theatre — not after the 
first revue I took her to, which she 
rudely said was vulgar. She won't have 
a bit of fun with my friends. The girl 
never reads the most interesting pages 
of the newspapers, and doesn't know 
what's going on in the world. How can 
she be anything but dull? And I may 
as well tell you, my dear Mr. Basil, I 
have' nothing but worries. You ought 
to dismiss that man Jenkins, and your 
cook is a thief. And one hears the noise 
of Piccadilly, and it makes one's head 
ache. And the worst of all is that really 
I don't believe in Miss Francesca 
Brown, though everybody that comes to 
the house runs after her. She likes it; 
it's her artfulness." 

"But she is the very nicest girl — " 
began Basil. 

"Oh, she has captured you, too!" — ■ 
with another flush of jealousy. "Then I 
had better warn you, Mr. Basil, — and 
at your age you ought to know the 
world. She has put dust in your eyes, 
with her Papist convent ideas. And 
see how she got you to take her out!; 
Beware! She is half Italian, and they 



^ are born intriguers. — Why are you 
standing, Mr. Kirby? You are not 

Chesska had come into the room with 
Ariel under her arm. 

"Yes, I am going," Kirby said. "I 
have entirely the opposite view. I must 
go; I can not listen without pain." 

"Chesska," he said, suddenly facing 
the girl, and disregarding the petrified 
Aunt Eugenie. "Yesterday morning I 
would have had nothing secure to offer 
you, but to-day my work of years stands 
completed. I was yesterday a poor man 
with a tangle of debt: now I am some- 
thing like a millionaire. I am far on 
in life compared to you. But I want 
to offer you all I have. Will you give 
me the right to provide for you? Will 
you be my wife?" 

Chesska hardly heard, — ^the man 
hardly heard his own voice; for there 
never was such a tableau at a wedding- 
proposal. The Countess became hyster- 
ical, and the Pom barked. 

In an interval of silence, Basil Kirby 
asked: "May I call in the morning, 
Chesska, for your answer? I shall be 
here at twelve." 

With a sweeping bow to her and to 
the Countess, he went out of the room. 

The Countess stood up in wrath when 
he was gone. She accused Chesska of 
being a successful schemer, declaring 
that Basil Kirby had nothing but his 
debts and his expectations. He had 
proposed in haste (just in a fit of 
pique), and he would repent at leisure. 
All the new joy was thus knocked out of 
Chesska's romance. 

After a sleepless night, she again 
saw the man of twice her age who had 
come forward as her chivalrous cham- 
pion. She had been a little nervous 
about marrying a millionaire. It was 
a relief to her to be told that the for- 
tune was not already come. She wanted 
to comfort and to help the man she 
had learned to love. He was going to 
work his hardest to make the glass 

process a tremendous success, — so he 

"It will be new life to be working 
for you, child. I hardly dare to cal- 
culate what the fortune will be." 

"And might it fail?" 

"That is hardly possible," he said. 

"And what if it did?!' 

"Oh, we needn't think of that ! It is 
only like one chance against us in ten 


"O child, I should be very soriy then 
that I had ever met you; for I should 
be beggared indeed." 

They stood opposite each other near 
the amber-curtained window. "And if 
you were not rich but poor, you would 
want me more than ever?" 

In the silence a new view occurred to 
him. "It is selfish to marry you, with 
nothing but plans and hopes," he said, 
with sudden indecision. 

She put a confiding hand upon his 
sleeve. "Do you think, Basil, I could 
bear to be away from you if you failed ? 
It is just then I would Want to be with 
you. That's what a woman's heart is 

"So you would rather have a poor 
man who is going to be rich?" 

"So long as you are the poor man." 

(To be continued.) 

In the Slums. 


/JRE daisies sweet, that silver blow. 

Or daffodils \vith sunny eyes. 

Or violets dim that purple glow. 

Or roses rich that scented rise? 

Is dawn most dear, that all the skies 
Can gild with fair and tender light? 

Is morning blest, that glowing lies 

Upon the breast of slumbering night? 

These dost thou love with deep delight? 

And seekest these with rapture mild? 
Lo, dawn and morn and flowers are bright 

In the sweet face of yonder child! 



\ igr.ettes and \ iews of Ireland. 

New Seriks. 

BY K. C. 


WE go under an ancient archway, 
now pai-t of hospital buildings. 
Tliey say Sarsfield's horse drank out of 
this trough at the corner of the path. A 
nun, in the white habit and veil of the 
hospital wards, conducts us. across a 
narrow strip of convent garden, then 
we scramble up a stony ascent of a few 
feet; and here v/e are standing on the 
\vsX\ of Limerick. It is a wide parapet 
overgrown with clumps of grass and 
weed. The other side' of the wall is 
steep, and one looks out over a level of 
green country. The wajls of the old city 
went "in and out," forming bastions. 
At the other side of the strip of garden, 
one can see the mended masonry at the 
point where the women of Limerick 
made their sally and routed the invader. 

Coming away from the hospital and 
the remnants of the ancient wall, we 
begin to think of the part borne by the 
women of Ireland in the struggle of our 
own time. "Victory," said Terence Mac- 
Swiney, "will be to those who have 
suffered most." 

Not far from the ancient gateway 
and the fragments of the old defences, 
we pass by a row of typical Irish cot- 
tages, — a thatched roof, a whitewashed 
front, a window at each side of the 
door. Then the cottages are larger; 
there is an upper storJ^ We turn into 
a narrow lane, paved with cobble-stones, 
and with no side-paths. The clean v/hite 
houses look closely across at each 
other, — each with one window above 
and a door and a window below. A line 
is stretched across from house to house, 
to dry the washing; white linen hangs 
in the sunshine, also a child's woollen 
jacket of emerald green. 

We tap at a door. A pale young" 
woman opens it. She wears a wedding 

ring oii a thin hand. Her dress is very 
poor, clean and neat, — a cotton blouse, 
a dark skirt. But her face looks 
strangely distraught, or dulled and 
made dumb. At each side of the tense 
features a short plait of hair falls. 
Each plait has some attempt to curl. 
Her eyes are glassy. She is of no age — 
any age; her experience has not been 
counted by years. And yet one hears that 
Mrs. Keane was quite a pretty girl not 
long ago. For this is the wife of 
Thomas Keane, who was shot at the 
New Barracks little more than two 
months before our visit, after six weeks 
in jail and many helpless and fruitless 
petitions for mercy. 

The young wife does not shed any 
tears; she is unnaturally quiet. There 
is a driven look about her, as if she 
can go on enduring now, since the worst 
that life can hold has happened. The 
face is extraordinarily pointed and 
pinched. You might mistake her for 
a lunatic; but she is perfectly sane, 
gentle, silent. Only this week she began 
to work again, and the little home shows 
the result of her efforts. Everything is 
spotless. The window is white-screened ; 
the stone floor has no speck; a glisten- 
ing array of glass and china covers the 
opposite wall. She has whitened the 
flagged floor all round the little fire- 
place, and the children's clothes are 

The children come in and stand near 
her, — a curly-haired girl of three, and 
a sturdy boy a little older, his head 
well held up, fair and shining. The 
citizen of Limerick highest in civic 
oClce is our escort. He stoops to the boy 
with a caressing hand, "Good-morning, 
little rebel!" A true word! What does 
tlie future hold? Wait until the boy 
grows up to be tall and strong like his 
young father in that portrait on the 
wall ; and, if independence has been 
long delayed, look among the leaders 
for the Keane of those days. He willi 
be among a legion of the sons of the 



slain. For the things that have been 
done have kindled the very children of 
Ireland; and, even if the impossible 
could happen, and Sinn Fein could be 
stamped out to-morrow, the new gen- 
eration would rise up with the same 
principles, the same ardor infinitely 
increased. The cruelties of coercion 
have made the national movement a fire 
that can not be conquered. 

And now what is the tale at this poor 
little house, where the two children 
stand by the apron of the quiet mother, 
who looks so pinched and ghastly pale? 
"He was a good boy," she says. "Most 
of the furniture in the house was made 
by him ; that was the way he put in his 
time when he vv^as done work. He was 
making a little altar upstairs, but he 
did not live to finish it. I don't know 
when he joined. They didn't talk about 
that. He came in here to his dinner. It 
was a Sunday, about three o'clock. And 
he went out saying he would be back 
to his tea. But I never saw him again 
till I saw him in the jail." 

What had happened? Keane had a 
useless old weapon under his coat. He 
was on the bridge with two other young 
men, and the military lorries were pass- 
ing in both directions. There was a 
coercion law against the possession of 
arms, and these men were seen "in a 
suspicious attitude." The soldiers 
called to them to hold lip hands. The 
three men had made no sort of attack, 
and never fired. But -the soldiers fired 
upon them. One was shot ; one escaped ; 
and Keane threw away his revolver, 
and was captured. When he was taken 
to the barracks, the ill-treatment he en- 
dured was so terrible that he left his 
deposition on oath that it would have 
been easier to die. 

After about six weeks in jail, he was 
shot early one morning by a squad 
firing a volley in the yard of the New 
Barracks (July 4, 1921). Mercy had 
been implored in vain from the Home 
Secretary. The state of the young wife 

and mother was made the plea, as well 
as the fact that Keane had never fired, 
that his weapon could not have done 
harm, and that the three young men 
were only "in a suspicious attitude." 

This mother, brave to desperation, 
went towards the prison wall that 
morning, a friendly woman at each side 
supporting her. She wanted to pray 
with the crowd, not to forsake her 
"good boy" till the volley was over and 
its last echoes gone. All the memories 
of the little house were -with her, — the 
joys of a home that was blessed in its 
poverty, and the further remembrance 
of their innocent love-making. She v/as 
a valiant woman, who went to kneel 
outside the barrack wall, to get as near 
as she could before the last volley 

So at every Irish execution have the 
women come forward^the mother, 'the 
wife, the sisters, — and knelt amongst 
the crowd outside the wall, whether 
in sunshine or rain and mud, and 
answered aloud the Rosary that is 
the great prayer of suffering Ireland. 
That morning outside Limerick bar- 
racks the soldiers would have no prayer. 
They were charging the people, driving 
away the crowd. 

Meanwhile a banner was snatched 
from the hands of a lady, who had 
striven to hold it up. The Black and 
Tans had torn it from her grasp. The 
staff was split in pieces, to be used in 
striking the crowd; the banner of the 
Sacred Heart was flung on the ground, 
trampled upon, kicked. At one of the 
houses of Limerick we were shown by a 
white-haired lady a fragment of a 
Rosary, — three inches of beads and the 
cross. She had held up her hands to 
save her head from the stroke of a rifle 
butt, and the soldier's weapon was 
caught in the beads. Such scenes 
as these the women of Ireland have 
lived through. One can only hope in the 
divine protection for the safety of the 
children of this generation. 



If we ask what became of the poor 
wife of young Keane after she was 
pushed back, there rises to imagination 
a vignette that is one of the bright spots 
of life. Another widow spent the 
morning with her; the "ex-mayoress" 
came to comfort the broken-hearted 
creature in that small house of the little 
street. Everyone remembers that there 
was an awful night, when the Lord 
Mayor of Limerick, the ex-Mayor, and 
a merchant citizen were all murdered. 
Time has brought out the fact that the 
horrible work was carried out by 
masked "Auxiliaries" of officers of the 
war. The young widow who comforted 
Mrs. Keane had struggled to save her 
husband's life in her OMai hall in the 
dead of night. Little more than a girl, 
and of splendid spirit, she told us how 
she came downstairs before the doomed 
man, keen to be the first and to inter- 
cept his fate, with the tears on her face 
and her Rosary in her hand. And from 
another quarter we learned that it was 
she who went to "spend the morning" 
with poor little Mrs. Keane. Such are 
the women of Ireland. 

What a terrible change has swept over 
Limerick since that evening two years 
ago when we listened to the bells of 
Mount St. Alphonsus, and watched the 
men of the Holy Family Confraternity 
advancing under the trees that border 
the broad street, all going the one way 
in irregular ranks towards the evening 
service and Benediction ! Most of them 
walked with a drilled step; they had 
learned it in the Great War, or in Ire- 
land out among the hills. Two evenings 
in the week, two thousand each even- 
ing, — can we doubt that many who then 
swelled the ocean-roar of the men's 
Rosary and the mighty chaunt of the 
Benediction hymns, a little later gave 
their lives for Ireland, or joined in the 
nightly Rosary that has gone up from 
the prisons and the crowded internment 

Let us continue our walk through 

Limerick. It is strange to see a ghostly 
skull and crossbones fading high up on 
"a bakery front in the city ; and stranger 
still to read below, in large letters of 
daubed white paint, "Antichrist is still 
alive — 4 p. m." The inscription was put 
there in the September of 1920, when 
the Crown forces ^ook down the Gaelic 
lettering ; and the mention of Antichrist 
referred to Terence MacSwiney, who 
was then dying in Brixton prison! 

The owners of the bakery are a 
family of women. The head of the 
house was, in his time, thrice Lord 
Mayor of Limerick, and was once elected 
to the British Parliament. His nephew, 
the brother of the present owners, was 
the commander who held the Four 
Courts, Dublin, in 1916. His execution 
and that of his brother-in-law left the 
family without any man to head its 
affairs; and it was evident that the 
relatives of the men of 1916 were butts 
for military spite, even after four or 
five years. 

It was with one of the sisters we 
drove over into Clare by a narrow, 
winding, uphill lane, wjth a screen of 
trees on each side, and a tangle of black- 
berry brambles and wild flowers. 
Through this screen one looked down 
upon the luxuriant Irish country, — 
thickets and green pastures, streams 
and valleys. The wildness of the ground 
and the thickness of the leafy screen 
increased as we mounted towards the 
hills. The openings between the branches 
framed pictures of pastures far below 
and a blue mountain distance. And as 
for the foreground, the blackberries 
made a temptation to stop the car and 
be children again. Then, all at once, we 
came to crossroads, and the pony stood ; 
and v/e were grown up to the years of 
awful knowledge ; and this was Ireland. 
A roofless edifice stood at the cross- 
roads; the Summer sky showing 
through all the empty gaps that once 
were the windows of a home. The 
garden was overgrown with weeds. 



"Who lived here?" — "Two women: the 
mother and daughter. The three boys 
were in the I. R. A." 

Was this, then, a war upon women? 
Our informant was one of the White 
Cross Committee, and knew the people 
and what happened that Winter night. 
We leaned against the low wall and 
listened. The Summer wind stirred the 
clump of trees. The four walls stood, 
with no floor remaining, — four bare 
walls enclosing rubbish-strewn ground. 
And yet the lights of Home shone here 
not long ago through warmly curtained 
windows; and this was a cosy, pleasant 
place at Meelik Cross. Now it is a scene 
of utter desolation. What happened? 

(To be continued.) 

The Heart of a Rover. 



GUY INGLETON and his chum and 
partner, Jim Hewitson, were sit- 
ting on the deck of the great Atlantic 
liner, enjoying a final pipe and chat 
under the clear midnight sky that blazed 
with ten thousand points of fire. They 
were on their way back from Eng- 
land to their ranch in Canada. The 
warm September air had no hint of 
chill; and the mighty ship, with her 
freight of two thousand human lives, 
ploughed her swift path westwards 
across a lake-like sea. To-morrow she 
would enter the St. Lawrence, and then 
a few hours would see the end of th^ 
first stage of the two friends' journey. 

The talk naturally drifted to their 

"That man you were talking to after 
dinner, Jim, seems a nice chap. Going 
our way, isn't he?" 

"He will be a near neighbor : only ten 
miles to the south of our place. Yes, 
Rothwell ought to get on, if he only has 
the physique. He doesn't look pai'' 
ticularly strong. That nice-lopking girl 

who sat next to him at dinner is his 
sister. She looks fit enough for 

"Poor girl," said Guy, "it will be a 
lonely life for her. We might be able 
to give them a bit of help now and then ; 
might try to encourage them, anyhow." 

"It is little one can do at that dis- 
tance, with all we have to look after. 
But when we do get a spare day, we'll 
try to go over to Roth wells', Guy. Their 
next neighbors will be a good deal 
nearer than we are." 

The following morning Hewitson 
made a point of bringing Guy and Philip 
Rothwell together; and Philip's sister, 
Audrey, coming up at that moment, also 
made the acquaintance of the two 
friends. During the short remainder of 
the voyage they saw a good deal of one 
another, and the acquaintance ripened 
considerably during the long transit in 
the cars of the Canadian Pacific. All 
of them stayed at Vancouver to make 
their final arrangements for "going up 
country'' ; and the railway northwards 
took them to the same starting-point for 
their respective farms. 

"You must let us know if we can be 
of any use," said Guy as they parted; 
"and some day we will come to pay our 
respects, if you will let us." 

"We shall be only too grateful," re- 
turned Philip Rothwell. "You know the 
ropes, and we are a couple of tender- 
feet. We mean to make good, however." 

"Good-bye, then, and good luck to you 

It was several months before the 
friends of the long journey met again. 
The Rothwells were too busy in starting 
their new life, and the two partners at 
"Ingleton's," as their fruit farm was 
familiarly known, too full of extensions 
and new plans, to have time for' any 
visiting. But towards the end of the 
Winter Guy suggested that they should 
ride over and see how the newcomers 
were prospering. 

At the last moment, however, Hewit- 



son was called to Vancouver on business 
— the arrangements for shipping the 
fruit being his special department, and 
Guy started alone on "Cheviot," whom 
he had brought across with him. The 
track was not yet sufficiently developed 
for motor traffic ; and if it had been, he 
would have greatly preferred equine 
motive power to petrol. He started 
fairly early, and was at the Rothwell 
farm by midday. It was a day of 
bright sunshine, warm with the promise 
of Spring. Guy's practised eye saw 
that, at any rate, a good beginning had 
been made by the "new chums." 

Philip Rothwell came from the 
veranda, where he was talking to two 
of his men, with a hearty smile and out- 
stretched hand. 

"This is splendid of you, Ingleton ! It 
is like a bit of home in a strange land. 
Come in and see my sister. She is just 
at the end of her preparations for 

Audrey, hearing the voices that be- 
tokened the arrival of a visitor, came 
from the kitchen into the living room 
and gave Guy as warm a welcome as her 
brother had done. He noticed the 
splendid physique of the girl, the easy 
carriage that spoke of constant exercise 
•and perfect health, and the content in 
her steady grey eyes. Here was the 
right kind of a girl for a new country. 
She gave Guy her well-formed, if work- 
roughened, hand with the cordiality of 
an old and trusting friend. She always 
believed in Philip's estimate of his 

"Hasn't Mr. Hewitson come, too?" 
she asked. 

"No : he had to go to Vancouver, and 
won't be back till Monday. He only 
knew this morning; we were both 

"I'm sorry he isn't here. We should 
have been our cosy C. P. R. party again, 
with more room to move about than we 
had in the cars." 

''Now, Ingleton," put in Philip, "to- 

day is Saturday. Just you stay over the 
week-end. It will do us good, and I'm 
sure Cheviot won't object to being 
spared another ten miles over that 
rather unspeakable track." 

"It is awfully giK)d of you, but — " 

"There are no 'buts' about it. I can 
give you everything you want, and Joe 
will take every care of Cheviot. I saw 
he was in love with the beast when he 
was leading him round to the stable." 

"And we have another visitor 
to-night, Major Ingleton," added 
Audrey. "Father McAndrew, who has 
charge of the mission at Windy Gap, is 
giving us a Sunday ; and he is going to 
say Mass in this room, — he is bringing 
all the requisites with him, of course." 

"He is a capital man as well as a 
splendid priest," said Philip. "We have 
told our neighbors in the other direc- 
tion, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor; and there 
will be quite a crowd from their place 

"I should be delighted to stay," said 
Guy; "but you will have enough to do, 
Miss Rothwell, without an extra guest 
o;i your hands." 

"Don't my hands look equal to it?" 
laughed Audrey, holding them out. 
"They are quite strong; if they are" not 
very delicate, — I'm — I'm afraid they 
are rather rough." „ 

The offer was too tempting to refuse, 
and Guy gladly capitulated. After 
dinner, his host took him round the 
farm and asked his advice on many 
points. Towards evening Father 
McAndrew, a big man with a shrewd, 
kindly face, and overflowing with cheer- 
ful friendliness, arrived on a much- 
bespattered bicycle, with a small suit- 
case, containing ecclesiastical and per- 
sonal necessaries, strapped on the 

"You've had a bad track for the 
machine. Father,'^' said Philip. "The 
thaw makes things worse, and they 
were none too good before." 

"They were still worse when I came 



five years ago," said the priest, with a 
merry laugh. "You couldn't have got a 
bike along here at all then — unless you 
carried it." 

"Well, Father, it's great to have you 
for a Sunday. We feel terrible heathens ; 
it has been impossible to manage the 
fifteen miles to Windy Gap for the last 
month. We must get the track/ made 
fit for motors, and you must have a car ; 
and we'll yet have a chapel here." 

"Philip, you're an idealist. Quite 
right, though. That's the way to get 
things don^. And how are you? I 
thought you were a good deal run down 
last month. Oh, here comes Audrey ! I 
needn't ask how you are, child. You 
are a sight for *sair een,' as we used to 
say at home." 

Audrey was certainly good to look at. 
She had finished her household labors 
and had supper all ready to serve. Her 
dark brown hair, with irrepressible 
curls, cro\\Tied a wide forehead. Her 
features were not particularly regular, 
but her bright expression and her glow 
of health made her a delightful picture. 
She was dressed in a short-sleeved white 
blouse and a plain serge skirt, which 
revealed a pair of brown-stockinged 
ankles and stout low shoes. From which 
it is to be gathered that Miss Rothwell 
was a sensible and economical young 
person; though she liked pretty things, 
when she could aflford them, as much 
as any one. 

Then Guy appeared and was duly in- 
troduced to the priest. After a happy 
meal, during which a delightful flow of 
talk flavored Audrey's excellent cooking, 
all four (Guy feeling much privileged in 
being allowed to help) arranged the 
living room as a temporary chapel. 
Father McAndrew placed the altar- 
stone on a suitable table. Mass had 
been fixed for nine o'clock, and the 
Catholics of the neighborhood were in- 
formed that the kindly priest would be 
available for confessions during the 
hour before. 

Then Audrey asked the men to come 
into her kitchen for coffee and cigars, 
and showed them with pride the prepa- 
rations she had made for providing the 
Tnorrow's congregation with a good 
breakfast after Mass. "They may have 
to come in two or three lots, but there 
is plenty of food, any way; and I shall 
ask Maud Taylor to look after the 
washing up of cups and saucers, that 
we may not run short." 

To Guy Ingleton, the atmosphere of 
this household came as a revelation. 
Philip Rothwell and his sister were 
gently nurtured, educated people, and 
delightful companions ; they were hard- 
working, and therefore on the road to 
success. Their interests were keen and 
varied, but it was plain that their reli- 
gion came first of all ; and that with the 
most unconscious simplicity and down- 
rightness.' There was nothing ofllicial 
or merely conventional about it. Cath- 
olic faith and practice were the veiy air 
they breathed, and their guest read 
the secret of their evident happiness. 
He felt, when he lay down in his 
sparsely furnished but spotless little 
bedroom, that he had come to anchor, 
for the time, on a very restful shore. 

The next morning Guy discreetly 
effaced himself by going for a stroll 
until it was time for Mass. Quite a 
number of people had arrived from 
various directions, mostly on foot or 
cycle. The Taylor household drove over 
in a big covered cart; it was good to 
see the parents, six children of various 
ages, and two or three farm hands, 
coming as one household, eager to take 
advantage of an unwonted spiritual 

At-nine o'clock Guy came in, and took 
his place, not without a subconscious 
longing to be one of them, at the back 
of the little congregation. Father 
McAndrew was beginning to vest, while 
Philip lit the candles and then knelt to 
serve the Mass. The Spring sunshine 
streamed into the room, and fell on 



the people like a benediction. After the 
Gospel the priest preached a short 
sermon on the Gospel for the day. It 
was Midlent Sunday ; and to that hand- 
ful of the Faithful the explanation he 
gave of the liturgical name, Laetare, 
and the old English title for the day, 
"Refreshment Sunday," seemed to have 
a singular appropriateness. At the 
Communion, Guy proved to be the only 
one present who did not approach to 

Audrey's breakfast party was an un- 
qualified success. As she expected, the 
guests had to be served in relays; but 
Maud Taylor, a strong, rosy girl of six- 
teen, laughing and bare-armed, turned 
out a most efficient aide-de-camp. The 
heir of Thorswick Hall found himself in 
extraordinary sympathy with all these 
good people, and the sense at once of 
liberty and of peace seemed to enter 
his very soul. 


The evening of the following day the 
partners at "Ingleton's" were sitting by 
a bright wood fire, the day's work done, 
and the supper table cleared. Each man 
had his pipe alight, and a big jug of 
steaming coffee, with a couple of mugs, 
stood on the table between them. 
Neither of them cared for alcoholic 
drinks, though neither was a Prohi- 

"So you got over to our friends, 
Guy. How did you find them?" asked 
Jim Hewitson. 

"Doing exceedingly well for a start. 
Philip's sister makes an ideal mistress 
of a ranch." 

"And you stayed over Sunday. I 
wasn't a bit surprised to find a yawn- 
ing solitude when I got back last night. 
You must have had a good time." 

"First rate, old man! There was 
great regret that you were not with 

"I'll not disappoint the lady of the 
ranch a day longer than I can help. 
She's a girl in a thousand. Pour me 

out some more coffee, and do go on tell- 
ing me about Rothwells' place." 

"They have more neighbors than we, 
by a long way. Quite a decent little 
congregation turned up yesterday morn- 
ing." • 

"What? Has Roth well got a chapel 
or church of some kind? I forgot, — 
he's a Catholic, of course." 

"Father McAndrew, of Windy Gap, 
is their pastor. And he now and then 
gives one place or another in his parish 
a Sunday, for the sake of the people 
who are too far from the parish church. 
A room is fixed up as a chapel for the 
time being." 

"And what sort is the Padre?" 

"One of the jolliest I ever met," said 
Guy. "He is no end of friends with the 
Rothwells, and I don't wonder at it. 
There was a fine family that interested 
one a good deal, too. They came from 
Lancashire seventeen years ago, and old 
man Taylor is making a splendid thing 
of his farm. Six kiddies and two or 
three hired men came with the parents ; 
and, my word, their religion does mean 
a lot to them. And they are the 
simplest, plainest folk, — the kind one 
can always get on with easily." 

"Heir of Thorswick Hall and to the 
Ingleton baronetcy, what would your 
respected father think of your senti- 
ments ?" 

"Honestly, Jim, these people are in- 
finitely more interesting than what one " 
meets at home. Taylor, whose family 
has been on the land — a farm in the 
Fylde, north Lancashire — for genera- 
tions, is a real good sort. His brother 
is now tenant of the old place; so, in- 
stead of going in for industrial work, 
as he was pressed to do — he married a 
stalwart young mill-girl, — he just 
packed up his few belongings and came 
straight out to the new country. Now 
he is Canadian of the Canadians. We 
had the most festive breakfast party, — 
all sorts and conditions; thirty or mor^ 
of us, like one big family." 



"You seem to have enjoyed yourself. 
And all these good people came over 
just for the service?" 

*'I think, really, my dear boy, that is 
the explanation of why everything was 
so jolly. I have no doubt there are 
plenty of Catholics who don't live up to 
their creed; but when they do, there is 
something about them that makes them 
quite sui generis." 

"But what a terrible lot they have to 
l>elieve !" 

"They never seem to feel burdened. 
I think it all depends on whether there 
is an authority able to tell one if there 
really is any positive truth. I can't 
see that there is ; but if there were, the 
way would be clear enough." 

"Anyhow, Guy, what satisfies Philip 
Rothwell and his sister must have 
plenty to say for itself. Well, we should 
be turning in, — what a queer thing that 
we of all people should have got on the 
subject! Sleep well, partner." 

(Conclusion next week.) 

Francesca's Flowers. 

IN the heart of the merchant-prince 
Solari there was wrath and indig- 
nation. A young artist, poor in fame 
as well as in possessions, had dared to 
ask for the hand of his only and much 
beloved daughter. 

"You can not have her!" thundered 
Solari. "If you were successful in your 
paltry painting, it would not be so bad ; 
but who buys your pictures? She shall 
not marry you, now nor ever. I have 
nothing more to say to you, and I will 
not hear another word from you now 
or at any other time." 

With these stern and decisive words 
the merchant turned away abruptly, 
and a servant opened the door for the 
rejected and humiliated suitor. 

The next day, by one of those coin- 
cidences which happen on purpose, the 
artist met the lady of his love as, in 
charge of a duenna, she was going on 

an errand of mercy. Her attendant 
kindly walked behind while he told her 
the result of the interview with her 
irate father. 

"There must be some way," she 
said. "Let me think!" Then, after a 
moment: "I will take our trouble to 
the Mother of Sorrows, who never yet 
has failed me." 

That afternoon she prayed long and 
earnestly at Our Lady's altar, to which, 
as was her habit, she had brought an 
offering of flowers. At night she sought 
her father. 

"I love Andrea," she began, "and yet 
I must obey you. You must know 
how good he is. Will you not -ask 
some test of him ? Give him the chance 
to win me, and if he fails I will say no 
more of marrying him." 

"Let him perform the impossible," 
sneered the father, "and you shall be 
his reward. Let him paiiit from nature 
— from nature, mind you — some brown 
lilies and blue roses, and he may marry 
you, and then you can starve together, 
so far as I am concerned. Not a soldo 
of my money shall you ever have. Live 
on love, and see how long it will last." 

Brown lilies and blue roses! To paint 
such would be an easy thing; but to 
paint them "from nature," — ah, that 
was different ! In the whole world there 
was not a browii lily or a blue rose to 
serve for a model. 

"But there must be some way," again 
che said; and again at sunset she 
sought the Blessed Mother, and in front 
of her altar laid a bunch of white roses 
and a long stalk of Annunciation lilies, 
"Help us, dear Mother Mary!" she 
prayed earnestly. 

Then, as if by a miracle, the roses 
began to turn to a heavenly blue, and 
over the fair petals of the lilies a brown 
shadow crept. Francesca could hardly 
believe her eyes, but the roses were cer- 
tainly blue and the lilies brown. 

Hurrying from the church and dis- 
regarding all convention, she went 



straight to the studio of her lover, 
which was not far away. 

"0 Andrea, come!" she exclaimed. 
"Bring your brushes and paint!" 

Thinking that her perplexities had 
disordered her mind, he tried to calm 
her, and begged her to think of other 
thirigs. But she became only the more 

"Come ! come !" she repeated. 

Then, seeing there was no use to 
oppose her, he followed where she led— 
to Our Lady's altar, before which 
lay roses the color of the sky, and 
lilies of nut-brown. 

Seeking no explanation, he began to 
paint; and as the last flower \vas per- 
fected l>eneath his brush, behold! once 
more were the roses and lilies as wliite 
as the marble face above them. 

Solari would not believe. 

"It is a clever trick," he declared. "I 
myself will go at sunset and see if this 
miracle, as you evidently consider it, 
will be done for me." 

So the next evening, as the Angelus 
rang, all three gathered in the church, 
and again the flowers changed their hue. 

The father was wo^i over. 

"Take her!" he said, as they went 
out into the street. "Our Lady and 
my daughter's patron saint have done 
this; for I saw what neither of you 
did, — that it was the sun shining 
through the brown robe of St. Francis 
and the blue mantle of the Madonna in 
the window near by that wrought the 
transformation in the flowers." 

So, as the old storybooks say, th^y 
were married and lived happy ever 
after, at peace with their old father, 
who sometimes jokingly referred to the 
"miracle of Francesca's flowers." 

Wise men mingle innocent mirth 
with their cares as a help either to 
forget or to overcome them ; but to re- 
sort to intoxication for the ease of one's 
mind is to cure melancholy with 
madness. — An on. 

Unfamiliar Quotations. 

There may be only two or three op- 
poi-tunities in^a lifetime of proving one- 
self brave, but every hour of every day 
one may have the satisfaction of know- 
ing that he is not a coward. — Anon. 

To select well among old things is 
almost equal to inventing nev/ ones. 


Love, faith, and patience, — ^the three 
essentials of a happy life. — Anon. 

When men will not be reasoned out 
of a vanity, they must be ridiculed out 
of it.;; — L'Estrange. 

A duty is no sooner divined than from 
that moment it becomes binding upon 

us. — Amiel. 

No man can make a habit in a mo- 
ment or break it in a moment. It is a 
matter of development, of growth. But 
at any moment one may begin to make 
or begin to break any habit. 

— William G. Jordan. 

How many prodigals are kept out of 
the Kingdom of God by the unlovely 
character of those who profess to be 
inside ! — Henry Drummond. 

Christianity alone, of all human reli- 
gions, possesses the power of keeping 
abreast with the advancing civilization 
of the world. — James Freeman Clarke. 

A wide-spreading, hopeful disposi- 
tion is your only true umbrella in this 
vale of tears. — T. B. Aldrich. 

The best way to forgive an injury is 
to ignore it. — Charles V. 

Men say that when they know they 
will do; Our Lord says that when we do 
we shall know. — Babcock. 

The wayside joys are better than the 
final successes; the flowers along the 
vista brighter than the victor wreath at 
its close. — Theodore Winthrop. 

A man v/ho has never had religion 
before, no more grows religious when 
he is sick than "a man who has never 



learned figures can count when he has 
need of calculation. — Dr. Johnson. 

To be an honest man is, in the last 
resort, the highest of social positions. 
— Henry Perreyve. 
Men of evil life are murderers of 
souls. By direct intention, or by the in- 
fection of example, they destroy the in- 
nocent and turn back the penitent. 

— Cardinal Manning. 
No one has a right to do as he pleases 
except when he pleases to do right. 

— Ano7i. 
It is absurd to be vain of what any 
one can have who can pay for it. 

— St. Clement of Alexandria. 
If you are suffering from a bad man's 
injustice, forgive him, lest there should 
be two bad men. — St. Augustine. 

Each time you repeat the Lord's 
Prayer, think for a moment in what 
state of mind you are when you ask 
God that His kingdom should come. 

— Lacordaire. 

Maid, choosing man, reinember this: 
You take his nature with his name. 

Ask, too, what his religion is; 

For you will soon be of the same. 
— Coventry Patmore. 

O that we could take that simple view 
of things — ^to feel that the one thing 
which lies before us, is to please God! 
— Cardinal Neivnian. 

Do not burden yourself with too many 
devotions; rather undertake few, and 
persevere with those. — St. Philip Neri. 

By what he omits the master of style 
is known. — Schiller. 

Think of times of devotion as you 
would of your meals, and so judge as 
to the importance of any interruptions 
that would postpone them or take their 
place. — Fenelon. 

The root of all evil is pride; that of 
all good is charity. — Cardinal Bona. 

He who believes and practises yet 
sins, would sin much more if he neither 
believed nor practised. — Louis Veuillot. 

A Brave Man's Example. 

IF there was one specially marked 
characteristic about Rudolph de 
Lisle from earliest boyhood, it was his 
absolute fearlessness, whether of 
danger, ridicule, or hardship, in the dis- 
charge of duty. He belonged to a family 
of English converts, remarkable both 
for faith and piety. Many striking in- 
stances of his brave spirit are given. 
Take this one. 

There was a French man-of-war 
stationed not far from his ship in one 
of the harbors of the Pacific Ocean; 
and, as there was Mass on board this 
ship, Rudolph thought it best to take the 
men under his charge there rather than 
go on shore. Leave was asked and ob- 
tained; so a quarter of an hour before 
the time, De Lisle arrived with his 
companions. He himself was invited at 
once by the officers into the cabin, where 
they showed him every politeness. But 
by -and by, the quarter of an hour hav- 
ing expired, the English oflficer looked at 
his watch and said: "Ah, I see 'tis 
Mass-time now, gentlemen!" 

These Frenchmen were Catholics, but 
lived in total disregard of religion. So 
when Rudolph said, " 'Tis Mass-time," 
they replied: "Mass! Surely you are 
not going to Mass?" — "Yes, I am," said 
Rudolph; and, at once taking leave, he 
went off and entered the cabin v\^here 
Mass was offered. About the time of 
the Sanctum one of the French officers 
slunk in ; the next Sunday two or three 
came; the Sunday after, all of them 
attended from the very beginning of 
Mass; and they continued to do so as 
long as the two men-of-war were within 
easv reach of each other. 

Precept freezes, while example 
warms. Precept addresses us, example 
lays hold on us. Precept is a marble 
statue ; example glows with life, a thing 
of flesh and blood. — Gladstone. 



A Protestant Warning against American 
Proselytism in France. 

WE hope the Pi-otestant people of 
this country who are hsteiiing to 
appeals these days in behalf of "evan- 
gehzatioii" work in France will heed the 
words of a writer in the Boston Even- 
iyig Transcript about France and its 
people. This writer is not a Catholic. 
What he says, therefore, regarding 
French Protestants and Catholics can 
not be regarded as prejudiced in favor 
of the Church. He is only better in- 
formed than most others, and he has the 
courage of his convictions. To quote : 

Americans who have a profound respect 
for the Protestants of France may, never- 
theless, regard with dislike and some suspicion 
an American endowment to propagate the 
cause of Protestantism in that country. The 
French Protestants are now regarded with 
much favor by all classes in their own coun- 
try. They may even be said to be petted a 
great deal by the Government, and all ref- 
erences to them in the press and in current 
literature . are complimentary. They have 
ceased to diminish in numbers ■ and are 
relatively gaining. They have lately received 
a noteworthy accretion through the reannexa- 
tion of Alsace. There is an entire absence of 
anything like persecution or ostracism in their 
treatment by the Catholic mass. This is largely 
because they do not engage in proselyting. 

They are a dignified and seemly people, 
commonly of the bourgeois type, but furnish- 
ing many honorable names to the list of the 
country's statesmen, authors, and professional 
men. They have indeed occupied a very 
eligible position. But now, if you please, set 
up, by the aid of foreign money, a Protestant 
propaganda in France; send your missionaries 
here and there — men and women of zeal and 
high personal merit, no doubt, but with the 
dash of fanaticism that goes with the mission- 
ary character, — and what will be the result? 
Bitterness will be aroused, hatred will be 
stirred up, enmities will be introduced where 
before there was nothing but friendship; and 
verily the last state of the French Protestants, 
since always they arc bound to be in a 
minority, will be much worse than their first. 
Before they are through with it they may 
wish that the Laura Spelman Rockefeller 
memorial, which is embarking In this effort, 
had kept its money at home in America. 

For, after all, the character and quality of 
the French people, like that of most of the 
Latin countrie* throughout Europe, is dis- 
tinctly Catholic. The French heai-t vibrates 
in unison with the cure's chant. The 
people are the children of old Rome, and the 
Church is still the living Rome. Even when 
a Frenchman becomes a freethinker and be- 
lieves no more, there is still the Catholic 
quality in his thought. Renan would never 
have been Renan if he had not first been a 
Catholic. It was characteristic of him to say 
that the oaths of a French soldier were 
sweeter in his ears than the prayers of an 
English parsonV 

Much more, in the same strain, this 
Protestant American writer says by 
way of proving how foolish and mis- 
chfevous is the attempt on the part of 
any of his Protestant fellow-country- 
men to go a-proselyting among the 
Catholics of France: how^ poorly they 
will serve the French Protestants if 
they arouse in them that militant hos- 
tility to the Church which seems to be 
so strong in many of our Protestant 
sects in America. 

The writer might well say the 
same regarding the efforts of Prot- 
estants in this country to proselyte the 
Italians in Italy. Italian Protestants 
now, few as they are, suffer from no 
social or political ostracism ; but the ac- 
tivities of American Methodists in 
Rome and elsewhere certainly have not 
endeared them to the hearts of the 
Italian Catholic people, who are the 
most tolerant of Christians. 

One would suppose that in a country 
like our own, where, out of more than 
110,000,000 people, only about 
20,000,000 are members of sectarian de- 
nominations, there would be much 
greater need for missionary effort than 
in France or It^ly, or any other Catholic 
country. But it has always been so 
with our ultra-Protestant friends: one 
Catholic turned from the faith of his 
fathers seemingly weighs a great deal 
more with them than any number of 
souls delivered from the darkness of 
pure paganism. 



Notes and Remarks. 

"In the evening grief and in the 
morning gladness." Christendom had 
hardly recovered from the shock, the 
world from the sensation, caused by the 
death of Benedict XV., when the election 
of a successor, in the person of Cardinal 
Ratti, Archbishop of Milan, was an- 
noimced; and the faithful were invited 
to rejoice. Another "servant of the 
servants of God," as he is called, oc- 
cupies the imperishable Throne of the 
Fisherman, another link is added to the 
enduring chain of the Roman Pontiffs. 
Pius the Eleventh. It is the way of 
God's providence, of His love and His 
goodness. His promises never fail. He 
Is with us all days, mysteriously 
guiding; and His arm is not short- 
ened. Let us be glad and grateful, 
as we are bidden, and rejoice that w^e 
are of the "little flock" to whom Christ 
said "Fear not," members of His un- 
changing and indestructible Church. 

Benedict XV. is already characterized 
as a providential Pope, lauded even by 
outsiders for his zeal in the cause of 
religion and his manifold services to 
humanity. The World War, which he 
did all in his power to bring to an end, 
and the miseries of which he did so 
much to alleviate, momentous as it was, 
is a mere vicissitude in the life of 
the Church. Pius XL will continue 
the work of pacification and reconstruc- 
tion which his predecessor so zealously 
and trustingly began, complete what 
he inaugurated, and actuate what he 
planned for the progress of the Church 
and the welfare of society. 

All that we know and all that we are 
learning about the new Pope strength- 
ens the conviction that he also is a 
providential one, singularly qualified for 
the high office to which he has been 
elevated. But the times are evil. The 
burdens of Pius XL will be heavy, and 
his way beset with difficulties hard to 
overcome. However^ the prayers of his 

devoted spiritual children the world 
over will continuously be offered 'that 
the Lord may preserve him, and 
quicken him, and make him to be blessed 
upon the earth, and deliver him not unto 
the will of his enemies.' 

The most optimistic among us can 
hardly look out upon America to-day 
without being somewhat troubled for 
the future of religion among our people. 
Eveiything tends toward secularism, — 
toward disbelief in the old standards 
that good Protestants held equally with 
good Catholics. And yet, in spite of all 
this, there are Protestant bodies who 
are going far afield to unsettle the faith 
of men and w^omen already Christians ; 
while in every community here at home 
there are people who have sunk back 
into a state of paganism, who belong to 
no church, obsen-e no divine ordinances, 
and are only kept in the ranks of decent 
living by the law of the land or the con- 
ventions of society. But this law and 
these conventions, as is perfectly plain, 
can not last if the religious faith of the 
people dies out. 

Far better were it for American Prot- 
estants with money to spend to use it 
here at home among their own un- 
churched, their owni pagans, rather than 
pour it into countries which are already 
Christian and wherfe it can only 
do harm. "Former President Taft has 
said this more than once in reference to 
the Philippine Islands. 

Exceptionally solemn religious cele- 
brations during the current year will 
include not only five centenaries of 
canonizations, but an International 
Eucharistic Congress, to be held in 
Rome. This last solemnity will be the 
twenty-sixth of its kind. 

As our readers do not need to be told, 
the purpose of an international Eucha- 
ristic Congress is to cause our Lord 
Jesus Christ in the Most Blessed Sac- 
rament to be known, loved and served 



more and more by means of solemn in- 
ternational and periodic assemblies, and 
in this way work toward the extension 
of His rei^ in the world over society. 
In each Congress two means are em- 
ployed to attain this end: 1. Prayer, 
Communions, adoration, sermons, 
solemn homage to the King of kings, 
and especially the final procession 
through the streets of the city, — a pro- 
cession that is a striking, public, and as 
far as possible a national act of repara- 
tion and love toward the Blessed Sacra- 
ment. 2. Sessions at which are studied 
the associations, confraternities, and 
other organizations in honor of the 
Blessed Sacrament, and in general the 
best means to take in order to spread 
devotion to the Holy Eucharist through 
all the foiTns authorized by the Church. 
In the meantime, the duty of all Cath- 
olics is to pray for the success of the 
coming Congress. 

It has often been said that the 
average American citizen allows his 
thinking to be done for him by the 
newspapers, and that his opinions are 
accordingly those of his favorite jour- 
nal. If that be the case, American 
opinion of the recently terminated 
Washington Conference is very much 
divided. On the one hand, we have 
reputable and influential papers hailing 
the Conference as an epoch-making 
event, the greatest international meet- 
ing of history; on the other, not a few 
periodicals dismiss the Conference as an 
almost negligible convention, quite as 
barren of valuable results as were the 
conventions at the Hague. As in most 
other controversial matters, the truth 
probably lies between the two extremes, 
with the preponderance inclining 
towards the optimistic view. 

That the Conference has made future 
wars impossible or practically incon- 
ceivable is, of course, absurd; but that 
it has perceptibly lessened the proba- 
bility of wars on a large scale, at least 

for a good many years to come, is ad- 
mitted by all who have judiciously con- 
sidered its concrete achievements. 
Among these may be mentioned the 
abrogation of * the Anglo-Japanese 
treaty, the "scrapping" of battleships 
vv'ith the ten years' naval holiday, the 
Four-Power treaty in the Pacific, the 
maintenance of tjie integrity of China, 
the elimination of poison gas, and the 
restriction of the submarine. That 9. 
better understanding among the great 
Powers has been brought about can 
scarcely be denied; and that means 
much in twentieth-century diplomacy 
and international politics. 

The success of the Christian-Demo- 
cratic Congress, held in Paris last 
December, can not be said to have been 
very great. M. Marc Sangnier was 
largely responsible for its convocation, 
and he is known as a fervent Catholic, 
with profound democratic enthusiasms. 
It was hoped that a conference among 
thinking Catholics from the various 
Continental nations would provide some 
international organization for working 
towards peace. Delegates arrived, 
mostly Germans; various resolutions 
were passed; Ireland was congratu- 
lated: but when everything had been 
said and done, each nationality had 
looked v/ith suspicion upon the others 
and departed. Nor was there behind 
the delegates anything like an organiza- 
tion — they stood alone. 

One can not refrain, however, from 
admiring and pitying a man like M. 
Sangnier. His generosity of spirit and 
sympathy with working people spdVids 
itself vainly for want of firm construc- 
tive theory; his Sillon movement was 
roughly handled, because, no doubt, it 
had been misrepresented by ultra-con- 
sertative clerics; and now the Catholic 
international movement is seconded 
only by a mere handful of individuals. 
But, then, these failures may be useful 
beyond measure in showing the road 



which Christian activity in politics will 
take firmly some day, when a thousand 
little disputes have subsided, and the 
great social goal of Christendom again 
becomes generally evident. 

Attention has frequently been called 
by the Catholic press of this country to 
the advisability of posting in hotel lob- 
bies directions for finding the nearest 
Catholic churches, so that Catholic 
guests may have no difficulty in attend- 
ing Mass. According to. the Glasgow 
Observer, no such posting is needed in 
the hotels of London. A young Irish- 
man, a new arrival in England's me- 
tropolis, recently declared that he, a 
stranger, could find his own way to a 
Catholic church on Sundays — by simply 
following the crowd, just as. he would 
do in his native Ireland. In so far as 
early morning services are concerned — 
Masses at five, six, or seven o'clock, — 
the same plan would doubtless prove 
quite as effective in New York, Phila- 
delphia, Boston, or Chicago, as in Lon- 
don or Dublin. Our non-Catholic 
fellow-citizens are not particularly 
matutinal in the matter of their public 
devotions; and in any of our American 
cities a church towards which a crowd 
is making its way early on Sunday 
morning may safely be set down as 
Roman Catholic. 

The fact that the Irish Free State has 
the same constitutional status in the 
British Empire as the Dominion of 
Canada has developed in a good many 
persons greater interest in that Domin- 
ion than they have hitherto felt. It 
will probably be a surprise to the 
majority of people to learn that Cana- 
dians enjoy in more than one respect 
greater practical freedom and better 
conditions than Americans. For one 
thing, the Canadian Government is more 
quickly responsive to the popular will 
than is ours. After a Presidential elec- 
tion in this country, government for the 

ei: suing four years is either Democratic 
or Republican, let its faults, its excesses, 
or its defects, be what they may. The- 
oretically of course a President may be 
impeached; in practice, impeachpient 
seldom, if ever, occurs. In Canada, a 
general election puts one party in 
power, but not for a specific, cut-and- 
dried period. Unpopular action on the 
part of the Government may be, and not 
infrequently is, followed by a want of 
confidence vote, the fall of the Govern- 
ment, and another general election, in 
which the voice of the people determines 
the policies to be pursued. Another 
respect in which, according to the report 
of a committee appointed recently by 
the American Bar Association, Canada 
is avowedly in advance of the United 
States, is the enforcement of law, es- 
pecially criminal law. Judge Marcus 
Kavanagh, a member of that committee, 
is reported as saying: 

Penalties imposed in Canada for vicious 
crimes are twice as severe as our own; and 
when a man is sentenced for a crime, that 
ends the matter in all but the rarest cases. 
Administration of criminal laws in Canada is 
absolutely beyond the reach of politics. 
Judges, chiefs of police and policemen have 
their jobs for life, so long as they make good; 
and it is practically the same with prosecuting 
attorneys. Crimes against women are few in 
Canada. There were only thirty cases of the 
kind recorded in that countiy last year, as 
against hundreds in Chicago alone. 

The foregoing will not surprise the 
readers of these columns, as we have 
more than once called attention to the 
superiority of Canadian law enforce- 
ment, as vouched for by such good 
Americans as Chief Justice Taft, and 
his predecessor in the White House, 
President Roosevelt. Let us hope that 
the new Irish Free State will resemble 
Canada, not only in its constitution, but 
in the translation of that constitution 
into beneficent laws and their adequate 

While the address from which the 
following extract is taken was delivered 



some weeks ago, its forcefulness and 
timeliness are by no means diminished. 
The speaker was the Most liev. Dr. Gil- 
martin, Archbishop of Tuam; and his 
words have their application to other 
people than the Irish: 

The practical and wise thing is to make the 
most of all you can get. There will be to 
the end of time honest differences of opinion 
between man and man, and even between 
brothers. But, while there are honest differ- 
ences of opinion, there need be no sti-ife; there 
need be no recrimination or violence. Let us 
believe that all the men acting in the present 
crisis are honest men, and that they are trying 
to do what is right. What we most need is 
union among ourselves. 

Society can not exist without governmfent. 
What we want is a strong native govern- 
ment, — a government "of the people, by the 
people, for the people"; and then, when we 
get a government, let us support it. Let us 
support the principle of government, because 
whije parties go into office and go out of office, 
while parties rise and fall, there is one thing 
that must remain, and that is government. 
When goverament is broken up there is chaos, 
there is Bolshevism. Therefore, I appeal to 
all to support the principle of a good, strong 
native government. The principles of govern- 
ment must remain; and the Gospel must re- 
main to teach government and to teach peoples 
that salvation must be worked out through 
the eternal law of justice; and individual 
liberty, within the law, with order and charity. 

The foregoing will impress ordinary 
readers as good common-sense, and it 
is very gratifying to know that the 
Irish people with practical mianimity 
have endorsed the enlightened views of 
his Grace of Tuam. 

Our missions to China may be .as- 
sisted in a way by no me'ans so 
adequately realized as it ought to be. 
We shall state this in a roundabout 
manjner, which we hope will also be the 
shortest way to drive it home. In a 
recent number of the Far East, Father 
McPolin tells about a visit which he 
made to the home of a distinguished old 
Chinaman of culture. Most of us find 
it hard to visualize a Pekinite outside 
of a restaurant or a laundry; ])ut this 

particular old gentleman, like many of 
his fellow-citizens, had studied in 
Europe, come in contact with Western 
civilization, and returned to the doc- 
trines of Confucius. He felt that spir- 
itual realities are not, in practice, reali- 
ties at all for the Western nations. 
These struck him as decidedly material- 
istic, and he pointed out that young- 
Chinese students coming back from 
English and American universities are 
generally frank materialists, who scoff 
at all religion and disseminate pseudo- 
scientific literature of the kind hostile 
to every Christian creed. 

Why, he asked, do missionaries come 
to China when their own countries are 
given over to unbelief? This question 
can be readily answered; but it is not 
so easy to see why we should be more 
interested in the Chinese in China than 
in the Chinese who come to this country. 
Very few ever find their way into 
American Catholic colleges and uni- 
versities; and they are permitted to 
drift along unguided, as if their homes 
were amongst us. 

To the London Sunday Express Sir 
Alfred Fripp contributes a few simple 
rules for the attainment of happiness. 
One of them will commend itself to a 
great many Americans : 

If you have cultivated a sense of propor- 
tion, you will be temperate in thought and 
word as well as in deed; you will be moderate 
and tolerant to others who think differently; 
you will not be averse from the use of the 
good things put into this life, but you will 
recognize the essential difference between 
using them and abusing them. One is think- 
ing particularly of tobacco and alcohol, and 
also of Kipling's line, "Don't drink 'cos another 
man's thirsty." 

Kipling's line was an excellent argu- 
ment in the vanished" days when "treat- 
ing" was one of the abuses connected 
with the American saloon; the rest of 
Sir Alfred's statement would make good 
reading for eulogizers of the Eighteenth 

A Legend of the Holy Family. 


^HE desert way was hard and long, 

The desert way was wild, 
And Joseph feared lest harm should come 
To Mary and the Child. 

The evening shadows nearer drew, 

No refuge was in sight: 
Where should he get them food and drink 

To stay them for the night? 

When, lo! the dry palm where they stood 

Burst forth in> living green. 
With branches laden down with fruit 

The fairest ever seen. 

And from the roots- there bubbled forth 

A spring of water clear. 
While soft clouds like a sheltering tent. 

All star-flecked, gathered near. 

And softest music Joseph heard 

Round Mary and her Child, 
While angel hosts the anxious night 

With watch and song beguiled. 



VII. — A Rescue. 

HROUGH box-bordered paths, 
and by the "short cut" that had 
been tracked by the friendly 
feet of four generations, Lil'lady sped 
on her way to Riggs' Manor. Colonel 
Riggs, the genial master of the house, 
was on duty in the Philippines, where 
his wife and younger children had 
joined him; but Carleton, the twelve- 
year-old boy, had been left at home to 
attend the militaiy school opened in the 
last year at Calvert Point, which, 
officered by old comrades of the Colonel, 

was considered especially desirable for 
his son, — "Miss Milly," Carleton's 
maiden aunt, being on the spot to 
mother him. 

Miss Milly, though of uncertain 
years, was uncertain in nothing else, 
and had most definite and decided views 
on all matters, in and out of her juris- 
diction. Lil'lady's bringing up was an 
especially sore subject; and only the 
fear of a break in the friendly relations 
existing iDetween the families of Riggs 
and Marsden prevented the good lady 
from giving open expression to her dis- 
approval. As it was, the Little Lady of 
Shorecliff felt she was under critical 
eyes at Riggs' Manor during IVIiss 
Milly's regime; and, though a frequent 
\isitor there when the family were at 
home, had of late been keeping at 
a distance. 

Her brother Dave's lingering, when 
she was dying to hear of his experience 
at school, and the attraction of the new 
puppies, were too much for Lil'lady. 
Besides, as Mammy Sue had suggested, 
her appearance to-day in the latest 
Parisian jeune fille fashion (French 
muslin hand-embroidered and hand- 
made) was quite equal to all Miss 
Milly's critical demands. 

Flitting along the wooded path that 
led to the Manor, Lil'lady caught the 
sound of a familiar whistle, and sprang 
eagerly forward to meet her brother, 
evidently making his way home. 

"Gee-whil-a-kins !" was his startled 
greeting. "What's up, Lil ? Where are 
you going all dolled up like that?" 

"Oh, I thought dad would be home 
for dinner, so I dressed up for him." 

"And is he?" asked Dave, who was a 
lean brown youth of about thirteen, 
with his father's brow and eyes. 

"No," was the rueful answer. "He 



scarcely had time to sit down before 
the horrid old tele^Dhone called him 

"Gee!" said Dave. "I guess that 
means the fight is on." 

"What fight?" asked his sister. 

"Oh, you wouldn't understand!" said 
Dave. "I don't understand much about 
it myself, but dad is fighting a big cor- 
poration that is tiying to grab every- 
thing in reach, and is doing all it can 
to down him. But w^hat sent you skip- 
ping over here in all your glad rags? 
Gee! you look fine." And Dave's dark 
eyes rested on the little white-robed 
figure with masculine approval. 

"I ran over to meet you. I was afraid 
you'd stop by the way and be late for 
dijiner. Aunt Sabina is mad enough to 
eat us all now. And, Daye, can't I 
have a peep at Carleton's new puppies 
before we go back?" 

"The puppies!" exclaimed Dave. 
"Why, they're gone!" 

"Where?" asked Lil'lady, eagerly. 

"Drowned," said her brother, — "or 
good as drowjied," 

"0 Dave, when — where — how?" 

"I met Mirandy's Jim carrying them 
oft' to the beach not two minutes ago. 
Cute little tricks they were, too, — about 
the nicest puppies I ever saw. But Miss 
Milly said she couldn't be bothered with 
them. So she gave Jim a quarter to 
carry them off." 

"And — and — drown them !" gasped 
Lil'lady, breathlessly. "0 Dave, not — 
not drown them?" 

"What else can he do? ]\Iirandy won't 
be bothered with them either. They'd 
die anyhow, I guess," said Dave. 

"No, they wouldn't, — they wouldn't, 
poor darling little doggies! To be 
drowned because no one will bother 
with them! Oh, couldn't you stop it, 

"Gee, no ! What could I do with four 
baby dogs on my hands, especially now 
when I'm going to school ?" 

"But I'm not— I'm at home. I'd take 

care of them for you, Dave. Oh, mayte 
we can stop Jim yet!" cried Lil'lady, 
desperately. "Which way did he go?" 

"Down by the cove," was the answer. 
"He said the tide would carry them off 
quicker — gee, Lil! you're not crying 
about those puppies?" asked Dave in 

"Oh, I am, — I am," sobbed his sister. 
"It seems too cruel and awful to drown 
the poor little things. And I'm going 
to stop it," continued Lil'lady, her tone 
steadying and her tearful eyes begin- 
ning to flash. "If you are too mean to 
stop it, Dave Marsden, I will. I'm going 
right after that Jim now." 

"Gee-whizz, no," remonstrated her 
brother, — "not diked up like that! Come 
back here, Lil ! You'll never catch Jim. 
He cut across the swamp. Come 
back, — come back!" 

But the peremptory call was in vain : 
the white-robed figure was gone. There 
was no time to lose in . argument, as 
Lil'lady knew. Between Riggs' Manor 
and the cove the ground sank into a 
swamp, tenanted by the bullfrog and 
owl of Uncle Eph's story. The swamp, 
often flooded by high tide and heavy 
rain, afforded a treacherous foothold; 
but it held no terrors for Lil'lady, who 
had tracked it fearlessly with her 
brothers, leaping its pools, skimming its 
quagmires, bounding over the fallen logs 
and matted roots in delightful freedom 
from all restraints. 

So -there was no hesitation in her 
flight to its shadowy depths to-day. All 
the "dolling up" of Great-aunt Grey- 
son's finery was forgotten as she sped 
along by marshy, briery ways to the 
cove, whose swelling waters still some- 
times made this low-lying lands their 
ovni. Lil'lady was not costumed to-day 
for such rough journeying. Slippers 
and silk stockings were soon much the 
worse for wear; and there was a rent 
in the French muslin, made by a big 
brier bush, that it would take a French 
hand to mend. 



But she reached her goal in time. 
"Mirandy's Jim," as he was called (to 
distinguish him from half a dozen other 
Jims who could not boast so notable a 
cook-lady as their mother) , stood on the 
sheltering beach of the cove, remorse- 
lessly adjusting a heavy stone to a bag, 
from which came squealing and squirm- 
ing that told plainly of its doomed occu- 

"You horrid, awful, cruel boy !" burst 
forth Lil'lady, springing to the small 
executioner's side. "Put down that bag 
this minute!" 

But Jim, who was slow both of wit 
and speech, held stolidly to bag and 
^stone. "Hev-hev-hev to do-do-do like 
dis," he stuttered. "Dese pup-pup-pup- 
pies nebber stay drowned no-no other 

"But you shan't drown them!" de- 
clared Lil'lady, breathlessly. "I've run 
all the way here to stop you." 

"Ter stop me!" The speaker was 
startled out of his stutter for a moment. 
"Miss-Miss-Miss Milly, she dun-dun-dun 
gib me a quar-quar-quarter — " 

"I don't care what Miss Milly gave 
you," broke in Lil'lady. "You shan't 
drown those puppies. Open that bag 
and give them to me. The poor little 
things are nearly smothered to death. 
Open the bag, I say!" 

But these conflicting orders were too 
much for Mirandy's Jim. He could only 
stare at the speaker in bewilderment. 

"Wha-wha-what yo want wif dese 
hyah pup-pup-puppies, Miss Lil ?" 

"I want to get them out of your 
hands, you wicked, cruel boy! I just 
know how the poor little things feel. 
I was a baby like that myself, nobody 
wanting me or caring for me but 
Mammy Sue. Miss Milly is a dried-up 
old maid without any heart," continued 
Lil'lady hotly, as the squealing in Jim's 
bag grew more insistent. "You shan't 
drown them, I tell you, if I have to stay 
here and watch you all nightj" 

"Miss-Miss Milly, she dun-dun gib 

me a quar-quarter," stammered Jim, in 
helpless bewilderment at the financial 
situation. "And if I don't-don't-don't 
drown dese hyah puppies like-like she 

"I'll give you two, three, four 
quarters," said Lil'lady, seizing reck- 
lessly at this world-wide argument. 
"Come up to Shorecliff and I'll give 
them to you right now." '^ 

But Jim became suddenly discreet. 
"No-no-no, Miss; I dus-dus-dussent go 
arter all dat money, wif Uncle Eph and- 
and-and all dem cullud folks around. 
Marm, she'd hear 'bout it, and I'd get 
lambasted sure. I could-could-couldn't 
take all dat dar money from yo nohow. 
Miss Lil. But-but-but," an unwonted 
gleam of intelligence lit the speaker's 
face, "if yo jest put it some place whar- 
whar I'd find it. Miss Lil, — under de 
flat stone dat holds up de meadow gate, 
or in de hollow ob de big oak by yor 
garden wall, — if-if yo put de quarters 
dar, Miss Lil—" 

"Well, I will," said Lil'lady. "It 
seems a sort of sneaky, but I suppose 
there are times when you have to sneak. 
I'll wrap three quarters in a piece of 
paper and put them under the stone of 
the old meadow gate, and you can find 
them there. Now give me the puppies 
right away." 

"Best-best take 'em ba-bag and all," 
suggested Jim. 

"No, I won't,— I won't !" said Lil'lady. 
"I won't have the poor little things 
smothering in that dirty bag another 
minute. It's almost as bad as being 

Here Lil'lady, looking vainly around 
for other receptacles, caught up the 
skirt of Great-aunt Greyson's Paris 

"Put them here. Oh, the darlings, — 
the dear, little, soft, fuzzy things ! And 
they all have white noses and paws," 
continued the new owner delightedly, as 
Jim dumped the squirming contents of 
his bag into the folds of Lil'lady's skirt. 



"And to think you were going to drown 
them!" Lil'lady flamed up into a final 
outburst of righteous wrath as she con- 
cluded her bargain. "You deserve to be 
drowned yourself, you wicked, cruel 

"Jing!" cried Jim in sudden dismay, 
as a boat shot out of the w^illows fring- 
ing the bank just beyond them. "Some 
one's jest been-been-been spying and 
listening to dis hyah talk. Fs gone, 
Miss Lil, — I's goner And Jim was 
gone at the word. 

(To be- continued.) 

The Lost Camel. 

A DERVISH was journeying alone 
r^ in the desert, when two merchants 
suddenly met him. 

"You have lost a camel," said he to 
the merchants. 

"Indeed we have," they replied. 

"Was he not blind in his right eye and 
lame in his left leg?" said the dervish. 

"He was," replied the merchants. 

"Had he lost a front tooth?" said 
the dervish. 

"He had," rejoined the merchants. 

"And was he not loaded with honey 
on one side, and wheat on the other?" 
persisted the dervish. 

"Most certainly he was," they re- 
plied; "and as you have seen him so 
lately, and marked him so particularly, 
you can in all probability conduct us 
unto him." 

"My friends," said the dervish, "I 
have never seen your camel, nor ever 
heard of him but from you." 

"A pretty story, truly!" said the mer- 
chants. "But where are . the jewels 
which formed part of his cargo?" 

"I have seen neither your camel 
nor your jewels," repeated the dervish. 

On this they quickly seized him, and 
forthwith hurried him before the cadi, 
where, on the strictest search, nothing 
could be found upon him, nor could any 

evidence be adduced to convict him 
either of falsehood or of theft. The 
merchants were then about to proceed 
against him as a^ sorcerer, when the der- 
vish with great calmness thus addressed 

"I have been much amused with your 
surprise, and own that there has been 
some ground for your suspicions; but I 
have lived long, and alone, and I can 
find ample scope for observation • even 
in a desert. I knew that I had crossed 
the track of a camel that had strayed 
from its owner, because I saw no mark 
of any human footstep on the same 
route; I judged that the animal was 
l>]ind in one eye, because it had cropped 
the herbage on only one side of its path ; 
and I perceived that it was lame in one 
leg, from the ^ faint impression which 
that particular foot had produced upon- 
the sand. I concluded that the animal 
had lost one tooth, because, wherever 
it had grazed, a small tuft of herbage 
was'left undisturbed in the centre of its 
bite. As to that which formed the 
burden of the beast, the busy ants 
informed me that it was com, on the one 
side ; and the clustering flies that it was 
honey, on the other." 

Not SiUy at AIL 

It is only the ignorant who talk about 
"silly geese." Hunters tell us that it 
requires great patience to hunt wild 
geese. While they are feeding, several 
of their number act as sentries, ready 
to give an alarm in case of attack. These 
sentries stand with head erect, eyes and 
ears alert, and detect the slightest move- 
ment of the sportsman, — "true de- 
scendants," one writer observes, "from 
the ancient preservers of Rome." Their 
sight and hearing are marvellous. 

Geese have also learned to be sus- 
picious of a camera, and the photogra- 
pher who thinks it an easy matter to 
photograph a wild goose, often finds 
himself greatly mistaken. 



— "Why I Came In," by B. M., a twopenny 
pamphlet of the London Catholic Truth 
Society, is a brief but interesting account of 
yet another Protestant's conversion to the_ 
only true Church. 

— "A Crown of Tribulation" is an attrac- 
tive little book of meditations on the sorrows 
of the Blessed Virgin, by Elizabeth Parker. 
It is good to find even so small a volume built 
upon the Scriptural prophecies and fulfilments 
of Our Lady's dolors. P. J. Kenedy & Sons, 
publishers; price, $1. 

. — The new Vailima Edition of the works 
of Robert Louis Stevenson, edited by Mr. Lloyd 
Osborne, the first two volumes of which have 
just appeared, will contain, besides other 
hitherto unpublished matter, as many as one 
hundred new letters, also a considerable 
number of new poems. 

— The action of American Italians in pre- 
senting to the two hundred leading libraries 
of the United States copies of Dante's ".Divine 
Comedy," made to order with all the care of 
industrious Italian scholarship and all the 
skill of the most expert bookmakers, deserves 
the hearty praise of the admirers of Italy and 
her immortal poet. 

—The third volume of "Field Afar Stories," 
dealing with incidents in the lives of foreign 
missionaries, is a "very attractive little book. 
These brisk, well-written narratives ought to 
make anybody interested in the Catholic 
apostolate of the Far East. Personally, we 
have become fond of the pictures, too. Pub- 
lished by the Catholic Foreign Missionary 
Society, MaryknoU, Ossining, N. Y. Price, 
85 cents, — a most reasonable one. 

— Father Garesche, S. J., is a priest of wide 
activities, but even wider sjnnpathies. These 
sjnnpathies, however varied, always center 
about him for whom Christ lived and died — the 
average man. All of Father Garesche's books 
of short essays have gone out to meet common^ 
human needs. "The Paths of Goodness" is the 
most recent of these volumes, and will find a 
welcome where persons are hesitating before 
other paths, or are blinded by other lights than 
those of goodness. Benziger Brothers, pub- 
lishers; price, $1.65. 

— An illuminating addition to the literature 
of Platonic thought has been made by Sister 
M. Basiline, B. V. M., whose dissertation on 
"The Esthetic Motif from Thales to Plato" has 

just been issued in a very attractive form by 
Schwartz, Kirwin & Fauss, New York. The 
motif investigated by iJie industrious author 
is a phase of Greek philosophy not so widely 
known as students of the question would wish. 
This book has been very carefully prepared: 
the bibliography is impressive, the index ex- 
tended, and even the errata, as a little note 
tells us, are "sins of the printer, not of the 

— "The Story of Loui-des," by Rose Lynch 
(B. Herder Co.), is a book for the sceptical 
and the devout, for the non-Catholic and Cath- 
olic alike. It is direct, straightforward, and 
quite exceptionally lucid. The author spent six 
months at the famous shrine; and the facts 
that she has set down about it ai-e of her own 
experience, or were told her by immediate 
relatives or friends of Bernadette Soubirous. 
Statistics from the Medical Bureau were fur- 
nished by Dr. Cox, for twenty-five years a 
worker of that Bureau. The. book is excel- 
lently illustrated, and is in every way a con- 
tribution to the literature of Our Lady's most 
favored shrine. Price, $1.60, 

— With the appearance of "Histoire Reli- 
gieuse," by Georges Goyau, in the "History of 
the French Nation," edited by Gabriel Hano- 
taux, Catholics are supplied with an outline of 
the Church's life in France, that combines the 
most eminent authoritativeness with extreme 
beauty of narrative. Some of the distinctive 
characteristics of M. Goyau's treatment are: 
great religious like St. Hilaii-e are shown to 
have wielded wider influence in the early 
centuries than did soldiers like Charles Martel, 
just as St. Francis de Sales and Pere Joseph 
should be emphasized, perhaps, more strongly 
than characters like Bossuet; the downfall of 
Lamennais is held to have alienated the great 
Romantics like Hugo and Sainte-Beuve ; and 
the history of Catholicism in France since 
1870 is grouped round Cardinal Lavigerie. 
The volume is copiously illustrated by Maurice 
Denis. Plon-Nourrit, Paris, publishers; 
price, in paper covers, 48 francs. 

— Readers of recently published books deal- 
ing with conditions in Europe meet with 
widely divergent views. Frank A. Vanderlip 
("What Next in Europe") declares that the 
nations of the Old World have entered upon 
a period of decadence and decay, of social 
corruption and economic dissolution. Less 
pessimistic as to the economic and political 



future of Europe, Dr. L. Haden Guest ("The 
Struggle for Power in Europe, 1917-1921") 
thinks that the condition of the Old World is 
far from hopeless. The most significant fact 
about the new Europe, he say's, is that the 
farmer has quietly assumed a dominant posi- 
tion in the political and economic scheme 
of things. Finally, Stephen Graham ("Europe 
— Whither Bound?") gives one the impression 
that, despite the bulletins of the political 
doctors on both sides of the Atlantic, Europe 
is by no means dead, and may even hope 
to recover full health and prosperity. 

— Thei*e are Lives and Lives of the Saints, 
and it is well that there ai*e, although the 
announcement of a new one will not as a inile 
create much of a stir. Father Leo Gregory 
Fink's "Paul, Hero and Saint," is, however, a 
book to make one "sit up and take notice." 
It is a missionary Life about a missionary; 
not a book designed to supply unctuous and 
learned details about the great Apostle of the 
Gentiles, but a story written to arouse en^ 
thusiasm and promote imitation. The author's 
point of view is interesting because it is so 
really that of the American boy or young man. 
He shows us St. Paul fighting, working, priiy- 
ing, getting things done; St. Paul with a 
modern man's vitality putting his dreams into 
effect. Thus, while the book may strike an 
older reader as having a little too much 
"ci-ust on the pie," we feel sure that younger 
people, with good spiritual stomachs, will eat 
and digest it with great benefit. Perhaps we 
need a series of such Lives. At all events, w^e 
have needed this one of St. Paul. The 
Paulist Press; price, $2. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford infotina- 
tion ronceminfj the viore important recent 
publications. The latest books will appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to make room for neiu titles. 

Orders should he sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported with little delay. There 
is no bookseller in thin country who keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Psychology and. Mystical Experience." John 
Howley, M. A. (Kegan Paul, Trench, 
Trubner & Co.; B. Herder Book Co.) $2,50. 

"Sermons." Rt, Rev. John S, Vaughan, 2 
vols, (Joseph F, Wagner.) $5. 

"Father William Doyle, S. J." Alfre-l 
O'Rahilly, M. A. (Longmans, Green & 
Co.) $3.50. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 
Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3,35. 

"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 
J. Godfrey Raupert, K, S, G, (Peter 
Reilly,) $1.25. 

"The Letters of St. Teresa." Translated from 
the Spanish and Annotated by the 
Benedictines of Stanbrook. With an In- 
troduction by Cardinal Gasquet, Vol. II. 
(Thomas Baker, Benziger Bros,) $3,50. 

"The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol, I, (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. 

"The Mother of Christ; or. The Blessed 
Virgin Mary in Catholic Tradition, The- 
ology, and Devotion." Rev. O, R. Vassall- 
Phillips, C. SS. R. ^ (Burns and Gates; 
Benzigers.) $2,50. 

"First Impressions in America," John Ays- 
cough, (Rt, Rev, Mgr. Bickerstaffe-Drew.) 
(John Lane.) 16.s. 

"How France Built Her Cathedrals." Eliza- 
beth Boyle O'Reilly. (Harper and 
Brothers.) $6. 

"The Rule of St. Benedict: A Commentary." 
Rt. Rev. Dom Paul Delatte. Translated 
by Dom Justin McCann. (Burns, Oates 
and Washbourne; Benziger Brothers.) $7. 


Rcmeviber thctn that arc in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Rev, E, W. J, Lindesmith, of the diocese of 
Cleveland; Rev, Michael Guthneck, diocese of 
Indianapolis; Rev. Joseph Nau, diocese of 
Erie; and Rev. Thomas Duffy, archdiocese of 
New York. 

Sister M. Delphine, of the Sisters of the 
Good Shepherd; Sister M. Berthaline, Sisters 
of St. Anne; Sister M, James, Sisters I, H, M. ; 
and Sister M, Constance, O, S, B, 

Mr. George Walter, Mr. J, B, Dixon, Mrs, 
Charles P, McHugh, Mrs, J, M, Cain, Mr, Felix 
Meyei', Mr, John Sullivan, Mrs, Mary Pickup, 
Miss Margaret King, Mrs, John R, Smith, 
Mr, Andrew Kelly, Mr, Martin Kelly, Mr, 
Albert Schauber, Miss Mary Stritimitter, Dr, 
Daniel McKee, Mrs, M, Quigley, Mr, George 
Chenier, Mr. Heni-y Flerlage, Mr. R. L. Knott, 
Mr. Thopias Quigley, Miss Ellen McCormick, 
Mr. Joseph Klein, Mr. Charles Maxwell, Mrs. 
Mary Harrigan, Miss Margaret Haley, Mr. 
George Mon-ison, Mr. Frank Naes, Miss Susan 
Travey, Mrs. E. Burkey, Mr. T. J. Bowe, and 
Mr. John Hewitt. 

Eternal rest give unto them, Lord ; and let | 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they^ 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 


VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 8 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson. C. S. C] 

To a Crippled Child, 

On Receiving Uohj Communion. 


iQ LITTLE one, 

How mighty thou art 
So easily bearing 

The wjiole world in thy heart! 

Our Lady of Athens. 


HE decrees of Constantine gave, 
first, toleration and then protec- 
tion to Christianity in the Roman 
Empire early in the fourth cen- 
tury ; but it was not till the close 
of the same century that Theodosius 
and Honorius decreed the suppression 
of the worship of the pagan gods. It 
is often said that this official recogni- 
tion of the triumph of the Faith and the 
downfall of paganism was accompanied 
by the destruction of the temples and 
"their idols; it is easy to quote passages 
from the Fathers that seem to confirm 
this popular tradition. - But in the 
light of official documents of the time, 
and other contemporary evidence, it 
becomes clear that these passages refer, 
in somewhat rhetorical language, not to 
the material destruction of buildings 
and statues, but to the downfall of the 
worship to which they were dedicated. 
« The decrees of Honorius show plainly 
Wl that the Imperial Government opposed 
^K.any such destructive policy, and sought 


to presei"ve, as monuments of art, 
the temples that had so long been the 
shrines of classic paganism. 
V "As strongly as we forbid the sacri- 
fices, so also we desire to preserve these 
public monuments as ornaments to the 
city," said Honorius in a decree of A. D. 
399. Seven years later, in a further 
decree, he ordered that "in the tovnis 
and their suburbs the temples are to be 
treated as State property, but their 
altars are everywhere .to be thrown 
down." And again, in another decree, 
he gives the warning: "Let no one dare 
to demolish the temples after they have 
been cleared of forbidden things." The 
"forbidden things" were the pagan 
altars. The statues of the gods, so long 
revered as idols, were not destroyed; 
they were removed from the temples, 
and set up as works of art in porticoes, 
gardens, and other public places. 

The Christian poet, Prudentius, in the 
verses in which he describes the Em- 
peror Theodosius telling the Senate to 
put an end to the old worship, represents 
him as saying: "Forsake the childish 
festivals and the sacrifices that are un- 
worthy of a great empire. Cleanse the 
marble statues that have been defiled 
by your superstitious ceremonies, and 
leave them in their simple beauty. They 
are the work of great masters. Let 
them be made the ornaments of our 
fatherland, and let not base uses dis- 
gi'ace such monuments of art by turn- 
ing them to an evil purpose." 

The imperial decrees were not every- 
where obeyed. In the East especially 



there were instances of temples being 
wrecked and their statues broken to 
pieces in popular tumults. But as a 
general nile the temples were preserved 
in these first years of the triumph of 
the Cross. They were destroyed or fell 
to ruin in later days. 

In some cases, the temples, purified 
from paganism, were converted into 
Catholic churches. But this was ex- 
ceptional. Father Grisar, in his elab- 
orate study of this time of transition, 
notes that in the Western provinces 
of the Empire, such adaptation of the 
temples to Catholic worship was ex- 
tremely rare; and he aptly remarks: 
"Even had the temples been offered to 
the Christians, the latter would have 
been much embarrassed by such gifts. 
Christians were already well provided 
with basilicas, which met the require- 
ments of their new service much better 
than the elaborate temples in Greek or 
Latin style, with their small shrine for 
the idol and their extensive porticoes. 
Above all, who could accept the enor- 
mous expense of maintaining such mag- 
nificent structures?"* 

He adds that in Rome there is no 
evidence of any temple's being trans- 
ferred to Christian use before the sixth 
century. Even then the few temples 
so used had really been temples in little 
more than name. They were public 
halls, record offices and the like, dedi- 
cated to one or other of the gods. In 
the West the Christians had long a hor- 
ror of using for religious purposes the 
temples that had been the centres of 

In the Eastern provinces of the Em- 
pire the conversion of temples into 
churches was more frequent and began 
at an earlier date. Such an adaptation 
was a somewhat difficult work. The 
temple erected for heathen worship did 
not supply, like the basilica or public 
hall, a large room taking up the greater 

* "History of Rome and the Popes in the 
Middle Ages," vol. i, § 11. 

pail of the space under its roof, and 
thus ready for the assembly of a con- 
gregation. In the Greek temples of the 
East, the usual plan of the building was 
an oblong structure surrounded by por- 
ticoes. There were usually two door- 
ways. The principal entrance, facing 
eastward, opened into a large vestibule ; 
and the central part of the building, 
about one-third of its whole floor space, 
sometimes less, was devoted to the 
sanctuary of the god» This central 
shrine was often further limited as to 
space by inner walls, enclosing in a com- 
paratively small cell the statue of the 
god, and the altar for burning incense 
before it. Then came a wall dividing 
the sanctuary from all the western part 
of the building, which was accessible 
only by the western or back entrance 
of the temple. This space was again 
divided up into several smaller rooms, 
and was used as a treasury and store- 
house. Such a building would require 
a complete interior reconstruction to 
turn it into a Christian church. 

Among the temples of the Greek 
lands in the Eastern Mediterranean re- 
gion, the most famous -and the most 
wonderfully beautiful of them all was 
converted into a Catholic church and 
dedicated to our Blessed Lady. The 
Parthenon at Athens was the supreme 
masterpiece of Hellenic art. Erected 
when the city was ruled by Pericles, 
and was at the summit of its prosperity 
and power, it was adorned with the 
sculptures of. Phidias, one of the world's 
great masters of art. For more than 
eight hundred years, it was a pagan 
sanctuary. But then for the still longer 
period of at least a thousand years it 
was a Christian church. 

Athena, whom the people of Athens 
honored as the guardian goddess of 
their city, was one of the few divinities 
of the Greek Olyrnpus whose name was 
linked with only noble ideals. She was 
the personification of wisdom and 
power. Her legend claimed for her the 



invention of the plough and the intro- 
duction of the oHve into Attica. She 
presided over all elegant arts and use- 
ful work, — ^the labors alike of the hus- 
bandman, the housewife, and the artist. 
She was a virgin goddess, a maiden, — 
parthenos, whence the name of her 
temple, the Parthenon, crowning the 
Acropolis of Athens. In the art of 
Greece she is always represented as 
fully clothed in a long robe, girt at the 
waist and descending to her feet. She 
wears a helmet and bears or leans upon 
a shield, — these are the emblems of 
power. She is shown with an earnest, 
thoughtful face. The Romans, when 
they brought Greek ideals into their 
religious system, identified her with the 
Minerva of their Pantheon. 

It is not certain that when Pericles 
erected the Parthenon it was intended, 
or was subsequently used, as a temple 
for sacrifices. Many high authorities 
on the subject hold that it was designed 
only to be a monument to the glory of 
Athens, an expression of the city's devo- 
tion to its protecting divinity, and at the 
same time a public depository for the 
treasure of the State and of the league 
over which Athens presided; a place 
where gold and silver might be stored, 
with the additional security that any 
attempt upon it would be regarded as 
a sacrilege. Athens was in those days 
the greatest city of the civilized world ; 
from a political and military point of 
view, the most powerful of the Greek 
Republics; materially, the most 
wealthy; at the sametime the centre of 
Hellenic culture in a period when that 
was the golden age of Greek literature 
and art. 

Pericles was able to employ as the 
designer of the Parthenon, Ictinus, the 
greatest architect of the time; and to 
entrust its artistic decoration to 
Phidias. The marble quarries of Mount 
Pentelicus supplied the material. A 
magnificent site was available. Athens 
had grown up around the hill of the 

Acropolis, which was at once its citadel 
and its sanctuary, — a hill of moderate 
height, but yet high enough to dominate 
all its surroundings ; and precipices on 
three sides gave it some of the dignity 
of a mountain summit. 

The Parthenon was erected on the 
highest point of its summit platform. 
From its porticoes there v/ere wide 
views over the city and the surround- 
ing country. Near at hand, the pros- 
pect included the lower Hill of Mars, the 
meeting place of the supreme Court of 
the Republic, before which St. Paul 
in a later time preached the Gospel 
message. On* the southern margin of 
the city could be seen the Pnyx hill, 
the place of the general assemblies of 
the citizens. Beyond, the long, forti- 
fied walls stretched seaward, linking 
the city with itjs ports; and then the 
view extended over the deep blue Medi- 
terranean; and the high ground of 
Salamis marked the position of the 
straits where the Persian fleets had 
been defeated, within the memory of 
men still living, when the foundations 
of the Parthenon were laid. Landward, 
the prospect included the fertile plain of 
Attica, with its mountain barrier to 
the north and west. 

Athens was proud of its wealth, its 
culture, and its "freedom" as a demo- 
cratic Republic; its poets and orators 
celebrated the glories of the city, and 
their praises of Hellenic liberty have 
been echoed in the literature of all the 
centuries since their time. But that 
"freedom" was really the monopoly of 
a relatively small body of citizens, 
whose leisured, prosperous and cultured 
lives were made possible by the exist- 
ence of a system of slavery. Slave 
labor quarried the marbles for the 
Parthenon on the slopes of Pentelicus, 
and transported them across the Attic 
plain. Slave craftsmen, artificers and 
laborers built and adorned the temple 
under the guidance of Ictinus and 



The temple was built upon a massive 
platform, and surrounded on all four 
sides by a portico, the eastern and 
western porches having a double row of 
columns. The interior plan had a sim- 
plicity that later facilitated its conver- 
sion into a church. The eastern door- 
way, with its huge gates of bronze, gave 
access to a great hall, with a double 
row of columns supporting its panelled 
roof. This hall extended to more than 
two-thirds of the internal space ; and in 
its midst stood the colossal statue of 
Athena, the work of Phidias. It was of 
wood, more than thirty feet high, and 
covered with plates and masses of 
sculptured gold and ivory. We knov/ its 
general appearance only from two an- 
cient representations, and from con- 
temporary descriptions; for the statue 
seems to have been taken to pieces more 
than a thousand years ago. 

Athena was represented standing 
erect, robed and helmeted, holding in 
her right hand a statue of the winged 
Victory; her left hand rests on her 
shield. The goddess was shown also 
in marble statues, each of them the cen- 
tral figure of the sculptured exterior 
groups in the pediments, or gable ends 
of the building. Round the outside of 
the temple, under the portico, and close 
up to its roof, there ran a band of mag- 
nificent sculpture — the frieze of the 
Parthenon, — showing in relief- the 
procession of the Athenian citizens, 
celebrated every four years in honor of 
their goddess. The frieze was alto- 
gether nearly six hundred feet in length. 
The greater part of it, mostly represent- 
ing a cavalcade of horsemen, is nov/ 
among the treasures of the British 
Museum in London. 

Completed in the second half of the 
fifth century B. C, the eastern hall of 
the Parthenon served as the chief 
sanctuary of Athens. The rest of the 
building, divided from the main hall by 
a solid wall and entered by the western 
doorway, was the treasure house of the 

Athenian State. For more than eight 
centuries the Parthenon ranked as one 
of the most celebrated sanctuaries of the 
old pagan world. But in A. D. 394 the 
Emperor Theodosius issued his decree 
ordering the closing of the temples 
throughout the Empire. It must have 
been soon after this that the Parthenon 
was remodelled and converted into a 
church. The Catholics at Athens, un- 
like their brethren in Rome, had no 
basilicas at their disposal; it would 
even seem that their public worship was 
conducted as yet only in small chapels in 
private houses. So there was more rea- 
son to take in hand at once the recon- 
struction of the temples. 

The statue of Athena was renioved 
from the great hall of the Parthenon, 
and her two statues were also taken . 
down from the pediments of the ex- 
terior. The main entrance leading to 
the shrine had been by the eastern por- 
tico ; but in a church this would normally 
be the end for the altar. The western 
door thus became the main entrance, 
and openings were cut through the wall 
that had so long divided the treasury 
from the shrine. The east doorway was ^ 
enlarged, and an apse built out from 
it under the portico to make a sanctu- 
ary for the altar. The marble roof 
appears to have been * removed about 
"lis time, and replaced by a wooden one, 
probably with the object of improving 
the lighting of the building. The walls 
were adorned internally with fresco 
paintings of the saints. 

In his great work on "The Acropolis 
of Athens," Prof. D'Ooge, of Michigan 
University, says that when the Par- 
thenon was converted into a church, 
"Athena, the goddess of wisdom, was 
baptized and became St. Sophia"; and 
he remarks that the transformation was 
"a very natural one." This is an allu- 
sion to the tradition that, as a Catholic 
church, the Parthenon was dedicated, 
under the new title of Santa Sophia. 
The^most famous church erected under 



this dedication is the Santa Sophia 
(Hagia Sophia) of Constantinople, 
Justinian's great church, now a Turkish 
mosque. The dedication is not to any 
saint named Sophia, but to "the Holy 
Wisdom," — that is, to Christ our Lord, 
"the Eternal Wisdom." That the Par- 
thenon was thus dedicated v/hen it wasi 
converted into a church rests on a 
doubtful authority. On the other hand, 
it is certain that for centuries it was 
kno"wii as the Church of Our Blessed 
Lady; and it does not seem likely that 
this would have been substituted for an 
earlier dedication to her Divine Son. 

There are recorded references to the 
church as that of the "Panagia" ("All 
Holy"), a Greek title of the Blessed 
Virgin ; or under her other title, dating 
from the Council of Ephesus, "Theo- 
tokos" (Mother of God). Dr. Quinn, in 
his article on Athens in the Catholic 
Encyclopedia, mentions a type of the 
icons, or sacred pictures of our Blessed 
Lady, to be found in many of the 
churches and monasteries of the East, 
as "probably identical" with the type 
once knovv'n as the "Panagia 
Athenseotissa," which was the Madonna 
of the Parthenon through the centuries 
v'hen it was a Christian church. In 
the popular phraseology of the Church 
in the West, "Panagia Athenasotissa" 
would have for its equivalent rendering 
"Our Lady of Athens." 
^ On the walls and columns, especially 
near the doorways of the Parthenon, 
there are a number of roughly inscribed 
records of events belonging to the 
Christian centuries, the latest of them 
dated 1190. In these inscriptions the 
edifice is described as "the great church 
of the Mother of God 'in Athens" — 
"great church" being here equivalent 
to "cathedral." 

When the Crusaders seized Con- 
stantinople in the opening years of the 
thirteenth century, Conrad of Monfer- 
rat became King of Thessaly and 
Greece, with his capital at Salonika; 

and in 1204 one of his vassals, Otho de 
la Roche, was made Duke of Athens. 
The Crusaders installed a Latin arch- 
bishop in the' city, and he took posses- 
sion of the Parthenon as his cathedral, 
where Holy Mass was novv^ celebrated 
with the ritual of the West. Greece 
had been severed from the jurisdiction 
of the Holy See since the days of 
Photius. It was now restored to union 
with Rome, but great numbers of the 
people still adhered to schism. For some 
two hundred and fifty years Athens vras 
under the rule of Frankish, Catalan and 
Florentine "Dukes," with a succession 
of Catholic archbishops living on the 
Acropolis, with the "great church of the 
Mother, of God" for their cathedral. 

In 1456 came the Turkish conquest. 
For a while the Turks allowed Greek 
priests to use the Parthenon church; 
but they soon expelled them, turned the 
church into'' a mosque, and erected a 
minaret at its western end. In the 
seventeenth century, the Venetians, un- 
der the Doge Francesco Morosini, for a 
short time made themselves masters of 
Greece. In 1687, Morosini occupied 
Athens, and besieged the Turkish gar- 
rison, which held out for a while in the 
Acropolis. The Turks had stored their 
gunpowder in the Parthenon. Morosini 
brought some heavy mortars up to 
attack the southern front of the citadel ; 
and a bomb fired from one of these fell 
on the roof of the temple, penetrated it 
and burst inside, causing a tremendous 

The Parthenon became a roofless 
ruin ; but, happily, little injury had been 
done to the eastern and western end^ 
their porticoes and the adjacent part of 
the side walls, so that what remains 
still gives us some impression of v/hat 
the building was before this disaster. 
In the early years of the last century. 
Lord Elgin, while British Ambassador 
at Constantinople, obtained from the 
Sultan the right to remove most of the 
sculptures from the ruin. These now 



forai the collection in the British 
Museum known as the Elgin Marbles. 

In recent years, researches on the 
Acropolis — the work of experts em- 
ployed by the Greek Government and of 
German and American scholars — have 
revealed much of the hitherto unknown 
history of the Parthenon, and of the 
earlier temples that occupied its site. 
These investigations have dealt mainly 
with its histoiy as the temple of 
Athena, but incidentally have thrown 
new light on its transformation into the 
"great church of the Mother of God in 
Athens." One interesting discovery 
Jias been that of a little Christian 
cemeteiy close beside the church, some 
of the graves dating from the reign of 
the Emperor Justinian. 

Basil Kirby. 


VIII. — The Bride-Elect. 

been called in haste to Lincoln's 
Inn to see her lawyer. She went 
with Ariel in a taxi, and the Pom made 
a noisy third at the interview; in fact, 
Mr. Quills had to ask the lady to "re- 
strain the dog from assault without 
compehsation ; for it was no comfort to 
him to hear that Ariel had never bitten 
anybody. The English law allows no 
damages for a first bite. 

During intervals of defending his 
ankles, the lawyer disclosed bad news to 
his client. Lord Featherwick was 
dead, — the elder brother of her often- 
boasted Algernon de Vere Sopley. The 
next relative who succeeded had ques- 
tioned the legality of her marriage. 

"Nonsense !" she exclaimed, springing 
from her chair. "I was married in 
Mentone, with bell, book, and candle!" 

"But your first marriage, Madam? 
There was a flaw in it." 

The Countess, in her vexation, tried 
to talk at the same time as her legal 

adviser. She pitched her voice higher, 
to get above his. Ariel barked madly. 

"Could that dog be put out of the 
Court — out of the room, I meant to say ? 
Madam, we can not come to an under- 
standing if you do not hear me. It is 
of the first marriage I am speaking, — ^to 
^ Algernon de Vere Sopley, Lord Feather- 
wick's younger son. From that mar- 
riage you have enjoyed a considerable 
income; and, I am sorry to say, it has 
been overdrawn. The new Lord 
Feathervvick maintains that you were 
married at the parish church of Putney, 
the ceremony beginning at five minutes 
past ' twelve. Several witnesses can 
swear to that. In consequence of a dis- 
pute, the clerk made no entry in the 
book kept in the vestry ; and it was un- 
derstood that the record was to be made 
later as Lord — I mean the Honorable 
Algernon — said he had waited a con- 
founded time already (they say that 
was his word), and he wanted to catch 
a certain train for Dover to get to 

Mr. Quills advised her not to go to 
law, as she would certainly lose her 
case and have h^avy costs; for there 
were witnesses against her side, and no 
record. He felt rather like a heartless 
robber, as he paced the office, and told 
her he had done his best for her. He 
had induced the Featherwicks to cross, 
oif the amount overdrawn, and even to 
make a small settlement. But the Count- 
ess raged, and abused him roundly. 

It was a relief to the man of law 
when the Countess and the Pom took 
themselves off. The lady drove back 
to Half-Moon Street, and broke in upon 
Basil Kirby's declaration, just as he was 
slipping upon Chesska's finger the ring 
of pearls, — bought, poor fellow! with 
some of the Jewish money-lenders' cash. 

"0 my dear children," she said, "I am 
ruined, ruined by the peerage and the 
lawyers!" After an interval of in- 
coherence, which she and Ariel filled; 
with sobs and barks, she fold Basil 



Kirby he was her one hope and the 
prop of her declining age. 

As a consoler, Chesska was irresist- 
ible. The hard words of yesterday 
were forgotten. She cheered up Aunt 
Eugenie so much, that the Countess 
was smoking cigarettes and singing 
"Begone, dull care!" in the amber draw- 
ing room before the afternoon was over. 
And after dinner she had forgotten 
ruin, and was arguing with Basil and 
Chesska about the necessary details of 
the wedding. 

"Westminster Cathedral!" said the 

"But they wouldn't have us. Auntie. 
None of us are Catholics." 

"Well, you must be in white, and have 
Bopeep bridesmaids, quilted skirts, you 
know, and pink and blue like china 
figures, and big hats and crooks." 

Basil sat back in his chair with a 
laugh and a sigh. "We want to be mar- 
ried very quietly, and you want us to 
be marri-ed 'noisily.' " 

The whole affair was a disillusion to 
the vanity of Eugenie Cavaletti. There 
w*as a short fit of depression that night, 
and she declared that Ariel was the only 
thing she had in the whole world. To the 
temperament of people like the Count- 
ess, those violent moments are not 
without a subtle pleasure. She appealed 
for sympathy, and enjoyed the inde- 
pendence of refusing it. Then she re- 
covered after the relief of a few tears, 
which rolled down her cheek and made 
her lace handkerchief pink. Chesska 
could not imagine why her aunt spoke 
of having no one but Ariel to love her. 
Both she herself and Basil had said the 
kindest things to Aunt Eugenie. Basil 
had said she need not think of money: 
he v/ould have plenty for everybody. 
And Chesska had tried to cheer her with 
promises that the. Pom should wear 
white, whoever else did. Ariel should 
have a white satin butterfly bow, and 
he would look lovely, sitting up with a 
piece of bride's cake on his nose. 

The Countess soured suddenly at this 
attempt to cheer her, and told Chesska 
they should have taught her at Sant' 
Isolda that a wedding was a sacred and 
solemn thing, and that she was quite 

The fact was that the much-experi- 
enced heart of the Countess was a little 
sore. She had hoped for a third mar- 
riage. It made her cross to see Basil 
Kirby infatuated and blind. A man 
of his age, especially ■svith a fortune to 
manage, ought to have asked a woman 
of the world, not a silly girl. But she 
was too proud to let any one guess her 
sentiments. Only when Chesska wished 
her good-night did she dash cold water 
as well as tears on the prospects of the 

"I wish you joy, my dear, I'm sure; 
and I hope he w^on't marry in haste and 
repent at leisure." 

Chesska was getting quite used to 
Aunt Eugenie's fits of "nerves," the 
privilege of the highly-strung. It did 
seem to overcloud her sweet romance, 
and she hoped she was never going to 
be "highly strung" herself. 

After the slight bruise to her vanity, 
the Countess saw good fortune for her- 
self in the marriage of Basil Kirby and 
the "schoolgirl niece." He said he was 
going to be a millionaire. This just 
happened in the nick of time, when the 
wicked Featherwicks had taken away 
her income by a la\vTer's quibble, and 
left her only a miserable pittance. She 
would have to cling to the destined bride 
and the man of great expectations. 

"Basil is one of the family now," she 
said. "Let me see! Poor, dear Giulio's 
niece's fiance. I have it! He is going 
to be my step-nephew-in-law." 

Basil Kirby came next day to lunch, 
and saw Chesska first in his wonderful 
Old-World amber drawing room. He 
meant to be married by special license, 
without the delay of three weeks' notice 
for banns. 

"All we need is the legal civil con- 



tract," he said. "We don't want a fuss." 
He laughed. "You and I don't want 
ceremonies. Bridesmaids in pink and 
blue like china shepherdesses! Isn't it 
comical ? Awfully f unnj^ to think of the 
Countess wanting to insist on a big 

"I don't mind at all," said Chesska, 
sweetly. , 

He was stroking the hand that wore 
the little pearl ring. He thought how 
yielding she was, and he took her 
hand and pressed it to his lips. Basil 
Kirby preferred a wife rather like a 
schoolgirl. He might find it incon- 
venient if she had too many ideas of her 
own. Her spirituality he admired. He 
loved her for being different from the 
rest of the world, — a Filippino Lippi 
angel. But he took it for granted that 
her spirituality would be vague. It 
would safeguard their happiness, and 
his love would be worship. He was glad 
she had assimilated the beauty of the 
Sant' Isolda spirit without the definite 
religion of the nuns. As a man of 
nearly forty, Kirby did not want any- 
thing to clash with his judgment. For, 
without being aware of it, he believed 
in his own infallibility. He also believed 
in the impeccability of Basil Kirby, — 
which is more than any "Papist" is 
asked to believe of a Pope. Honor and 
principle were his religion, so he had 
always told himself ; and he stood on his 
own strength. 

So he said with confidence: "No reli- 
gious ceremony could add anything to 
our vow." 

"But we are going to be married in 
church, are we not?" Chesska turned 
to him with startled eyes. 

"Why should we?" he said. "Of course 
ril do anything you like. But, dear 
child, all we need is a legal sanction. I 
thought of going quietly to the nearest 
registrar's office." 

Chesska looked scared by tb.e mere 
mention of being married by a man at 
an office. She looked ready to cry. "Oh, 

no, we mustn't do that! We want the 
blessing of God." - 

"What does that mean?" said Basil 
quietly, stroking her hand again, to sug- 
gest his tender sympathy. 

The blessing of God! What did it 
mean? Chesska could not give him an 
answer. He told her registry office 
marriages were getting to be the 
fashion. If they wanted not to have a 
crowd, it was the best way. He knew 
people who had made that legal con- 
tract ; they were happy ; they had suc- 
cess in everything. 

"But I wonder is that the blessing of 
God?" said the girl, gazing vaguely 
beyond him with those beautiful, inno^ 
cent eyes. She was so earnest, speak- 
ing in her guileless way straight from 
her heart. It was now his turn not to 
know what to answer. "They said at 
Sant' Isolda that marriage is a sacra- 
ment," she told him, trying to think it 
out as best she could. 

"If there is anything holy on earth, 
I am sure marriage is," said Basil. 
"Such love as ours is sacred." 

"And it is for all one's life," Chesska 
went on. "The Marchesa Desti showed 
me the marriage service in the prayer- 
book she gave me. The priest blesses 
the ring, and they are married 'till 
death do us part.' " 

"The Catholic Church is right about 
that," said Kirby, with a spice of ad- 
mission and patronage ; he was aware 
of an attraction in that world-wide 
system; yet at the back of his mind he 
always fought against the attraction. 
"Yes, they are right about some things. 
It is for the good of humanity that mar- 
riages should not be broken up. A few 
may find it hardship, but the higher law 
is right. It secures the nobility of the 
contract, the safety of the many." 

"How wise you are, Basil!" said 
Chesska, with admiration. 

"But it is so evident." He was en- 
thusiastic; for his own marriage was 
near, and he wanted it to be a noble 



union. "Rome is right about that. It 
would be a bad day for the world if the 
old order was given up all round. They 
say so many are unhappy. But they 
don't say a man who suffers incurably 
may end his life. He must keep the 
law of the preservation of life, and 
make the best of it. That's another of 
the natural laws that stand for human 
good. Yes, Rome is right; and even if 
we are married at an office desk, we 
mean our vow to be, as you say, 'till 
death do us part.' " 

Naturally Chesska began to wonder 
if he believed much more like the holy 
teaching that she heard at Sant' Isolda. 

"I am afraid J don't believe anything, 
my darling!" he said, with a sigh. The 
word of affection was apologetic; he 
could not think of deceiving her, but he 
could not bear to hurt her. 

A gap, or rather a wide gulf, seemed 
to be revealed between them. She had 
hoped Basil Kirby had some sort of reli- 
gion of his own, hidden v/ith a man's 
shyness of speech on such subjects. But 
she found that his silence had not con- 
cealed a personal creed; there was 
nothing to hide — no religion in the 
man's life at all.. He, of course, be- 
lieved there was a Creator, he said, — 
a Force, a Higher Power. But as for 
the rest, it seemed to him wisdom to 
make the most of this life. 

"My father loved the Scriptures," 
said the girl, feeling desperately 
towards the darkness of his soul.- 

"The Christian Scriptures are parts 
of the world's treasures," he said 
slowly, not 'svishing to shock this con- 
vent girl. - 

"Then you love them, Basil?" She 
was thinking of her father. An in- 
definite creed, with real prayer, had 
seemed enough for him. If Basil had 
anything like that, she would be happy. 

"I can't say I love them. Honestly, 
I have touched nothing like that since 
I was a boy. But I grant they contain 
Oriental precepts and histories that are 

the basis of all that we accept as right 
and good." 

This was a shock. There was a 
silence. Then he playfully suggested 
that she was a Papist, after all. 

"No, no, I am not!" she said, with a 
smile. "But t love Catholics and their 
religion. Sometimes I think the Eng- 
lish Church has only got a piece of it. 
The Catholics have a great deal more 
than my daddy had. But if you had as 
much as he had, I'd be so glad, — so very 

The man smiled indulgently. "You 
are talking of it, my darling, as if it 
were a piece of cloth, and one could have 
more and another less." 

"Well, I suppose one person or one 
religious body can know more of truth 
than another. The Catholics have got 
seven sacraments. And the Real 
Presence ! I sometimes used to feel that 
was true." 

Basil Kirby did not think such specu- 
lations worth an answer. But he ad- 
mired her ardor. And it was wonder- 
ful to think he might touch her hair 
while she talked, and smooth the ripple 
and curl that shaded her troubled eyes. 
Why should she become so serious about 
such things? What need was there of 
it all? 

"I am surprised that you did not 
become a Papist when you were at 
Mentone?" he said finally. 

She told him she wanted to be "like 

As a fact, the influence of the Sant' 
Isolda convent had not been counter- 
acted, for she had eagerly learned all 
she could about the religion of the nuns ; 
but there had been no move towards 
the final step, because in her heart she 
was passionately devoted to her father's 
memory. Chesska Brown wanted to be 
spiritually what Vincent Brown had 
been. That was enough for her, she 

No doubt the father of Chesska 
thought well of Catholics; for he had 



been pleased at the Marchesa's offer of 
sending his daughter to Sant' Isolda. 
And more: he had put it among his 
last written wishes that she should find 
a home with the Sisters until her 
twentieth year, if they would allow her 
to be of use in the schools. The Mar- 
chesa Desti herself had been once a 
pupil in the same convent. The pro- 
longing of Chesska's stay meant an ex- 
tension of the time of safe and happy 
shelter. Perhaps the good Italian lady 
had her hopes that the girl would have 
all the more chance of embracing the 
faith of the Sisters. If she had that 
hope, it was disappointed. Chesska ab- 
sorbed Catholic ideas, and had her mo- 
ments of longing; but she remained 
fixed in the desire of growing up to be 
"just what daddy was." It never oc- 
curred to her that her soul could not 
plead ignorance like his. He went as 
far as he' knew ; but, for her, the light 
had shone upon a farther path. 

Her mother had been the sister of 
Giulio Cavaletti, — half instructed, and 
as careless as "Giu." It was no wonder 
so thoughtless a wife did not impress 
an earnest husband. He learned nothing 
of Catholicity, except that people could 
belong to it nominally and care nothing 
about it. The mother died in Chesska's 
infancy, and the father brought up the 
child according to his knowledge. 

"I should like to be married in the 
Anglican church," said Chesska. And 
it was a relief to Basil when she began 
to talk lightly again. "It will be a funny 
little wedding, — nobody there! I'm 
sure we don't want all those people 
Aunt Eugenie would ask. But we can 
drive straight away, and they can have 
the breakfast and the bride's cake. I 
must make Aunt Eugenie happy, be- 
cause the Featherwicks have been so 
horrid to her. I won't wear a bridal 
veil and have to come back here. But 
Ariel shall have a white satin bow as 
big as his head." 

(To be conttnaed.) 

The Hedge Between. 


iQ LITTLE golden-hah-ed Virginia Joy, 

There's just -a hedge of green between 
us two; 
And over it I watch you, from my books, 
While your dear baby eyes are peeping 

We play at charming games, the two of us; 

You ofFer me your hospitality; 
I drain your tiny cups and eat the cakes 

Which only you and I are given to see. 

You open wide your eager baby heart. 
And royally you bid me enter in. 

But I move shyly. Why should I be there, 
With all my childhood's glamour dulled by 

Ah, no, Virginia Joy! You come to me; 

You'll keep my woman heart so clean, so 
The years from you to me will vanish. Naught 

But the green hedge will separate us two. 

Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

BY K. C. 


IT was on a cold night in the Winter 
of 1920-21 that a lorry, sweeping the 
road uith its lights, went rumbling 
heavily up that lane where we drove in 
August and felt like children at the 
sight of the blackberries. Limerick 
was left behind, with its chief city en- 
veloped in curfew darkness; the black 
depth on either side, without the 
twinkle of a light, was Clare. The lorry 
arrived at Meelik Cross. A thunder- 
ing knock came to the door of the con- 
demned house, — any door that was not 
opened in a moment was smashed in. 
A woman with a candle undid the bolt. 
The three sons were away ; perhaps the 
midnight visitants had expected to 
find prisoners, and were balked. Any- 
how, it was . clear that the place was 
doomed, — the house was to be burn§4 
down, with everything in it, 



The mother snatched some cover- 
ing-, — the first thing she could lay hands 
on ; the daughter slipped on a skirt and 
coat. Neither had time for shoes and 
stockings: they had to go out bare- 
footed into the Winter night. The girl 
wanted to take her bicycle: it would be 
useful in the morning for running down 
to Limerick to get help. The house was 
already burning. The bicycle was 
snatched from her hands and flung 
into the flames; one of the wheels, all 
bent and rusted, lies in the garden now. 
Going out unshod in the bitter cold, the 
pair of outcasts found shelter at one 
of those cottages that one sees far off; 
and in the morning they arrived at the 
home of this member of the White Cross 
Committee, the elder woman having 
been lent a man's boots and long over- 
coat, and the younger having been fitted 
with shoes by the charity of the 

They had seen their house flaming in 
the night. Everything in the way of 
clothes and furniture was gone. A 
neighbor went over to the scene of de- 
struction, and got the pigs out of the 
stye, and the cattle were in the field. 
The fodder for the Winter had been 
burned under the iron shed; and, -the 
live stock being removed, no one dared 
rent th~e field. We saw it overgrown 
breast-high with a sea of weeds. If 
any one took it for pasture, the Black 
and Tans might do away with their 
cattle ; for no money was to come to the 
ruined relatives of those three boys of 
the I. R. A. 

The eldest of the three had attained 
to the distinction of being commandant 
of a county. He so baffled the khaki 
forces and the constabulaiy (R. I. C.) 
that a price was on his head and he was 
to be "shot at sight." Among his own 
people he was enthusiastically held in 
honor, — a great strategist, a fearless 
soldier ; to the other side he had a mar- 
vellous power of remaining invisible. 
Not only was he known to be fearless 

and brilliantly daring, but his chival- 
rous spirit had to be acknowledged even 
by his enemies. The prisoners of the I. 
R. A. were always let go, fed and un- 
hurt. When the truce came, a message 
was sent from the R. I. C. (Royal Irish 
Constabulary) inviting him to have 
a drink with them. He sent the answer, 
true to the principles of the Sinn Fein 
army: "I do not drink." Then they 
asked if he would come and shake hands 
with them. To this he replied, "I will" ; 
and he came into the country town, 
making his way to the police barracks. 
But the news had spread that the com- 
mandant was coming; and everybody 
wanted to see him. His o\vn people 
were out to shake hands with him, and 
the end of it was that the R. I. C. men 
could not satisfy their curiosity. He 
was too popular; with so many friends 
on the way, he never got as far as the 

We had driven that day over the 
county border into Clare to see the ruin, 
and we came back to the private house 
of our member of the White Cross Com- 
mittee,— one of the ladies who run the 
Limerick business thalt a courteous 
government has adorned with a daub 
of a skull and crossbones and an "Anti- 
christ" inscription. The trap used for 
that drive v/as of brown polished wood, 
and we noticed some damage and 
blistering on the back about the little 
swing-door. The damage had been left, 
for the same reason that the insulting 
daub was not scraped from the wall. 

The pony had once been backed to 
run the trap against a bonfire in the 
street; after a stubborn struggle, the 
gallant animal refused to be pushed 
about by Black and Tans, "Auxiliaries" 
and khaki soldiers ; and so the trap was 
not burned, but only damaged. That 
was in April, 1921. The owners of the 
large bakery were then living at a house 
called "Ardeeven," a pleasant home, 
with eleven rooms beautifully fur- 
nished. They had a great store of valu- 



able china and the renowned Waterford 
glass that is the desire of collectors, 
besides a quantity of fiiie old Limerick 
lace, and priceless funnily relics and 
souvenirs. Tlie pioceedings of the Black 
find Tans and khaki forces make a strik- 
ing picture of military misrule. Some 
policemen h:ul been attacked at a great 
distance av/ay; and' the family at "Ar- 
deeven" were unjustly blamed for not- 
having made the attack known before- 
hand, /is a Diatter of fact, they knew 
nothing about it. 

The whole town vv'as ill-used. All 
fairs and markets were stopped — that 
is, the transit of food was barred, — and 
people from the country (food- 
bringers) were beaten back with 
rifles. Several times during the day 
the public stores Vv'ere cleared by police- 
men. Curfew was proclaimed at four, 
and no one could go into the streets. 
Not long after, two lorries of Black and 
Tans drove up to "Ardecven." Troops 
of soldiers surrounded the place, both on 
the front road and up the lane in the 
rear. The member of the family who 
was on the White Cross Committee was 
away in Dublin ; but her sisters were in 
the house, also her mother, an aunt, and 
a maid. 

The furniture was piled along the 
street beyond the end of the gardens — 
an immense obloijg bonfire, — and set 
ablaze. A few family pictures were 
dragged out and saved, but everything 
else that would burn went into the 
fire, — all the furniture, spare clothing, 
relics . of dead relatives and friends. 
Possibly the lace was only "lost," with a 
sum of money which disappeared. Then 
the Black and Tans smashed everything 
that would not burn, and even de- 
m.olished the flowerpots in the hothouse 
at the back and the rosebushes in the 
garden. Two city corporation carts 
next day carried off the fragments of 
glass and china. Near a window in the 
garden we picked up a scrap of ex- 
quisite porcelain tinted with colors and 

gold, and clear as eggshell. It is kept, 
that those far off may know the history 
that belongs to it, and get some idea of 
the treatment of the women of Ireland 
and their homes in 1921. 

These brave people put a working- 
man's family into the empty house and 
went to live with relatives. We were in 
their new home, among the family 
circle, v/hen some one entered beyond 
the looped-up curtains that divided the 
drawing room. "Who is that?" was 
asked. The answer came in a man's 
voice: "A friend!" There was a smile 
in the voice. It was a familiar tone, 
that brought joy, excitement to the 
people of the house. In stepped the 
commandant who had baffled the forces 
of the Crown times out of number, — the 
liian whom the R. I. C. had asked in 
vain to see. He strode in like the hero 
■hat he was, gay as a boy, looking the 
whole world in the face with a brave 
pair of blue eyes. The white-haired 
lady v/ent to meet him, with both hands 
stretched in welcome. Herown son had 
given his life in 1916; and this young 
soldier in the I. R. A. uniform greeted 
her as a returning son instead, and, 
stooping, touched her cheek with his 

One gazed at him, safe in the truce, — 
the man who was to be "shot at sight," 
the eldest son of the house at M^^lik 
Cross. In appearance, he was the living 
reality of the young commander that 
the stage tries to imitate. He had taken 
off his broad soft hat. His full-skirted 
trench coat revealed at the neck the 
grey collar of the I. R. A. military garb. 
Brown leather leggings and hrown 
boots completed a serviceable soldier's 
costume. . A wrist watch, glanced at 
now and then, marked off the minutes 
of his visit. The face was the most 
open and candid imaginable. He looked 
defiantly brave, and there was plenty of 
brain povrer beneath that fine heap of 
light brown hair, flung back with wave 
and curl. 



"We saw your mother's house 
to-day," some one said. "It looks sad, 
standing there in ruin." He knew the 
mother was safely lodged in a house of 
her kindred. "Sad? No!" he replied, 
with his ready smile, and the blunt 
look of almost reckless bravery. "It is 
better it should stand there as a witness 
of these things." 

And now we come to a touch of 
romance in the history of the second 
brother from that ruined house at 
Meelik Cross. We must bring into our 
circle of light, as a view of what really 
happened, a night scene in the wilds of 
Clare. The flaming torches, smoky and 
ruddy ; the grey figures of the I. R. A. ; 
the earnest faces relaxing to smiles and 
mirth; a bride and a bridegroom fresh 
from the blessing of the priest, — what 
an unwonted scene is showii in our 
luminous circle! The bishop has given 
special license for the wedding of a sol- 
dier (one of the three brothers) and a 
young girl only too fair, with a i*ose- 
glow on her cheeks that people take for 
health. These men of the I. R. A. have 
Mass Sunday after Sunday, and the sac- 
raments are eagerly sought for, where 
the altar is raised in some sheltered and 
hidden spot, or under the roof of a 
farmhouse. And now there is a mar- 

'riage and a torchlight procession. But 
that color on the bride's cheek is the 
sign of a parting. 

Let us swing another vision into the 
light. It is a year after. She has faded 
and died of consumption, in a little 
country-house, — an early death, but a 
happy one, sweetened by the sacraments 

> of the Church, and illumined by that 
perfect faith that is the rich inheritance 
ol the Irish nation. She is going to 
rait in heaven for her soldier of Ire- 
land ; and they will meet "as the angels 
of God," with exceeding great joy, to 
love each other more than on earth, 
lese must have been the sentiments 

Iwith which her pure soul passed; and 

these the thoughts of the mourners who 
laid her on her white bed amid the light 
of holy tapers, and prayed around her 
during the night. 

Then came a shock: the noise of an 
approaching lorry, — ^the loud knock, 
threatening to break down the door. In 
rushed a squad of Black and Tans, and 
cleared the people out of the way, and 
made their search. They were sure the 
soldier bridegroom would be in the 
house. They hunted mercilessly for 
him, not sparing even the white couch 
of death itself. Everything was dis- 
turbed by their profaning touch. But 
they found no fugitive. They only 
wounded in a new way the spirit of the 
Irish people. Even the last sleep of 
death was not sacred from the Black 
and Tans. Not long before, at a Dublin 
convent, the grave of a newly-buried 
Sister was opened by these uniformed 
roughs, in a search for arms. 

Limerick and Cork should have a 
splendid future, if, as we are assured, 
suffering is the promise of victory. 
And now we are going southward to 
turn the light on Cork, the city with 
the burned-out centre, — the forefront of 
the battle. 

(To be continued.) 

We talk of mothers making idols 
of their sons, — ^that is worshipping 
them, turning them from creatures into 
creators,^ regarding them as truly their 
last end and true beatitude; so giving 
their hearts to them as they have no 
right to give them to any one but God. 
This Mary could not do, and yet in 
another sense might well do. For Jesus 
could be no idol, and yet must of neces- 
sity be worshipped as the Eternal God. 
None saw this as Mary did. No angel 
worshipped Him with such sublimely 
abject adoration as she did. No saint, 
not even the dear Magdalen, ever hung 
over His feet with such mortal yearn- 
ing, with such human fondness. Yes! 
He is God. — Father Faber. 



The Heart of a Rover. 



IT was some weeks after Easter be- 
fore business allowed the partners to 
take a complete day off. The time had 
been an anxious one, as heavy rain 
had threatened the early blossoms of 
their long lines of fruit trees. Happily, 
the weather had cleared before any 
serious damage was done ; but the track 
between their farm and the Rothwells' 
was a waste of mud and water. In 
spite of this, having a spare day, they 
rode over early, and found Audrey in 
much anxiety. 

"It is a comfort to see you two friends. 
Philip is not well. I think he has taken 
a bad chill with all this damp, and often 
getting wet. Joe has ridden over to 
Mr. Taylor's. He is on the telephone 
(as we ought to be), and will ring up 
the doctor, and also Father McAndrew, 
who will wish to know, even if things 
don't get worse." 

"But, Miss Rothwell, we must not 
stay to add to your troubles, unless we 
can really help," said Jim Hewitson, 
and Guy chimed in to the same effect. 

"I should be grateful if you could stay 
until Joe comes back. Phil will wish 
to see you both. And there is plenty of 
cold dinner for us all." 

Philip was in bed with a cough and 
evidently some temperature. He looked 
exhausted and pale, but greeted his 
friends warmly. They would not tire 
him by a long talk, however, but 
promised to look in again before they 
went away. Audrey had various offices 
to perform for the invalid's welfare, and 
the young men persuaded her to leave 
the preparation of the midday meal to 
them. "We are practised housekeepers," 
said Guy; "and Jim is a topping cook." 

It was a sadder meal than that which 
Guy had found so charming tw^o months 
before. But both of them were im- 

pressed with Audrey's serene cheerful- 
ness and quiet courage. When it was 
ended, Joe arrived with the excellent 
news that Dr. Parkinson would be with 
them probably within the hour. "Do 
stay till he comes," begged the girl. "I 
want you to hear his verdict." 

The doctor arrived, — a clever-looking, 
bearded man, on a big black horse. 
After a quarter of an hour with the in- 
valid, and a short interview with Au- 
drey, he came do\viistairs, and accepted 
a cigarette from Guy's case before go- 
ing farther. 

"That girl has saved her brother 
from almost certain pneumonia, which, 
in his present run-down state, could 
easily have been fatal in a few days. He 
is ill certainly, but evidently mending, 
and should be all right in a couple of 
weeks. I have told Miss Rothwell I 
shall be back to-morrow. But I am anx- 
ious that she should get some help of 
her owni sex, and that is not easy. If 
she goes under, there will be the very 
mischief to pay." 

"I will gladly ride on to Taylors' and 
see if any one can be spared from 
there," said Guy. "I know them all, and 
capital people they are." 

"That's real kindness," said Dr. Par- 
kinson. "I must hiu-ry on. A bad ac- 
cident in the other direction. Very glad 
to have met you both." 

As Guy was about to turn towards 
the stable, however, he caught sight of 
a girl's figure coming up the wretch- 
edly muddy road from the direction of 
Taylors' farm. As she came nearer, he 
suddenly recognized Maud Taylor's 
smiling, rosy face. She had walked the 
five miles short-skirted and barefooted, 
and carried a small suit-case in one 
stout young hand. 

"Good-morning, Maud! You might 
have heard what the Doctor said five 
minutes ago. He was very anxious about 
Miss Rothwell's not having help in her 
trouble. You have turned up like an 
angel unawares." 



"I'm afraid I'm a very muddy angel, 
then," the girl answered laughingly. 
"But we would all do anything for Mr. 
and Miss Rothwell. Mother would have 
come herself, but she has had a touch of 
influenza, and father wouldn't hear 
of it." 

At that moment Audrey appeared, 
her face showing the traces of happy 
tears; the Doctor's verdict had eased a 
strain that had tried her more than she 
had realized. She put her arais round 
her little friend Maud and kissed her, 
telling her how grateful she was to her 
mother and herself. "What a walk 
you've had, Maud dear !" she said. 

Maud laughed. "It was rather fun. 
Miss Rothwell. I love paddling, and it 
was that most of the way." 

"You've not brought much with you, 
dear; but I dare say you did not wish 
to carry anything heavier." 

"Just my things for the night, Miss. 
And I am to stay as long as you 
need me."" 

"I can let you have some shoes and 
stockings, and anything else you want." 

"Thank you so much. Miss! I will 
ask you if I need anything. But, if 
you don't mind, I will keep my bare feet. 
I am used to them." 

"Sensible child! Now come in and 
get settled. You know your way 

The two partners from "Ingleton's" 
were greatly relieved by Maud's appear- 
ance, as well as by the Doctor's report ; 
and after a few more minutes' talk with 
Philip, and promising to be back again 
on the first possible day, they said Au 
revoir to Audrey and started on their 
homeward journey. 

"Curious thing, Guy," remarked Jim 
Hewitson as they rode back. "Rothwell 
knew he might be very dangerously ill, 
and was absolutely serene, with all his 
thought for others. His sister — I had 
to drop into 'Audrey' when I, said good- 
bye — seemed to be visibly upheld by 
some power in her terril?!? anxiety, 

And that young Taylor lassie was 
simply eager to help, with not a bit of 
self-consciousness, as modest as could 
be, with the heart of a child and the 
head of a woman. It is fine to meet 
such people. But there must be some- 
thing behind it all." 

"Jim, old man, it gives one to think 
furiously," said Guy, with sublime dis- 
regard of idiomatic translation. 


As Ingleton and his companion rode 
up to their own door, a boy who had 
tramped ankle-deep from the nearest 
post-office, some miles away, came for- 
ward with a cablegram in his hand, and 
interrogatively remarked: "Hewitson?" 

Jim opened the envelope and read the 
message. He turned to Guy and simply 
said : "My mother ! She has been out of 
health for a long time. God rest her !" 

Guy laid his hand for a moment on 
his friend's arm ; then he took the post- 
office boy into the kitchen, and put a 
good plate of cold meat and bread be- 
fore that hungry youth; lit up the oil 
stove, and set on a fragrant jug of 
coffee, already made, to heat up. A 
moment later he joined his partner in 
the living room. 

"Jim, old man, you know what I 
would like to say without my saying it. 
How good your mother was to me when 
I stayed with you in Devonshire that 
Summer after we left Harrow, twelve 
years ago! It might be yesterday." 

"Dear boy, I know you understand. 
I must write a reply to the wire and let 
that lad take it. And to-morrow I must 
start. It is awfully hard on you at this 
time of year, but I'll be back before 
the end of Summer." 

"I shall be all right, Jim, but lonely 
enough till you return. While you are 
across, it would be more than good of 
you to go to Thorswick and tell them 
how we are getting on." 

So Jim wrote the cablegram, and 
hande(| it tp the refreshed messenger, 



who splashed away down the miry 
track, whistling cheerfully. 

As the partners sat together that 
night, Jim said to his friend : "You will 
go over to Rothwells' as soon as 
possible, won't you?" 

Guy looked at him a little curiously. 
"I will indeed. We shall both be 
anxious for news. But while you are 
away, I shall be too busy to see any- 
thing of them, I fear." 

"Dear old boy, this might be our last 
night together, life is so full of change 
and chance. So let me speak openly. 
We know that Audrey is a magnet to 
both of us, and I believe she is very fond 
of us both. But it is quite evident that 
she gives me the open affection of an 
adopted sister, — no less, but nothing 
more. Her very familiarity with me 
should tell you that. So, my old friend, 
you must not, out of the loyalty of your 
heart, efface yourself that you may 
leave the coast clear for me. That's 

Guy looked up and smiled. "That's 
you, Jim, all over. I certainly thought 
that you and Audrey — ^there's no one 
like her among girls, and no one like 
you among friends. I'm not in the least 
fit to think of her." 

"It will all come, I think; only re- 
member — Audrey is a fervent Catholic, 
and we know a little of what that 

"Good old Jim !" said Guy. And that 
meant everything. 

The next day Hewitson went down to 
Vancouver, and a few hours later was 
en route for Montreal. How his 
thoughts went back to the last time he 
had taken the wonderful journey, one of 
a delightful quartette instead of his 
present solitary state ! And he was now 
on his way to a distant home, saddened 
by the greatest loss that a home can 

Guy's loneliness was modified by the 
extra press of work that Jim's absence 
necessitated. He had, however, found 

effective help in a young Scotsman who 
had come out with more brains than 
capital, and whom.a reliable friend in 
Vancouver had very warmly recom- 
mended, at least as a stop-gap. Rory 
Macrae hailed from the Catholic High- 
lands. As Guy wrote to his partner: 
"I am forever coming up against softie 
one of the Old Faith." 

When at length he found it possible 
to pay another visit to the Rothwells, 
Philip met him at the open door, still 
somewhat shaky, but clearly winning 
his way back to health by leaps and 
bounds. They sat in the veranda, talk- 
ing of many things, and revelling in the 
perfect June sunshine. Suddenly there 
was a patter of bare feet on the wooden 
floor, and Guy turned round to give a 
kindly greeting, as he supposed, to 
Maud, Taylor. "Well, Maud—" he had 
begun; but it was Audrey who stood 
there, with flushed cheeks and out- 
stretched hand. 

"0 Guy, I didn't know you were here, 
or perhaps I would have made myself 
more presentable! That rogue Maud — 
here she comes! — has inveigled me 
into 'wearing* bare feet, as she calls 
it, like herself. And I find it exceedingly 

Maud came out at that moment, and 
Guy shook hands cordially with her. 
With mingled Canadian freedom and 
the respectful bearing which her 
parents had tried to impress on her, 
she was quite unabashed, and smilingly 
said: "And doesn't Miss Audrey look 
nice, sir?" Guy heartily agreed with 

Audrey sat down at his side, and was 
soon deep in the story of Philip's 
wonderful progress. "Dr, Parkinson 
says there is nothing wrong, and the 
Summer will soon set him up." 

Jim Hewitson's grievous loss evoked 
the greatest sympathy; and Audrey 
was so outspoken in her opinion of him, 
and her admiration for him, that Guy 
felt convinced that, as Jim had said, 



the affection, though warm, was entirely 

Presently the girl jumped up. "Only 
ten minutes to dinner time. Maud is 
looking after the meal, but I must wash 
these hands of mine, and^-must I put 
on shoes?" 

"Certainly not," Guy laughed. , "You 
must keep Maud in countenance." So 
the two young men and the two bare- 
footed girls were soon sitting at 
the table in much contentment and en- 

A few days later business called Guy 
to Vancouver, and he took the oppor- 
tunity of presenting Mgr. Alison's letter 
to the Archbishop, who, needless so say, 
received him with the utmost kindness. 
It appeared that the Monsignor had al- 
ready mentioned him when vvrriting to 
his Grace on another matter. The 
prelate was greatly interested in Guy's- 
account of the Rothwell household, 
and, with the wisdom of tong ex- 
perience, saw that here was the golden 
chain that would lead the spiritual and 
intellectual rover to the peace he so 
much desired. Guy found himself talk- 
ing to the Archbishop almost as if he 
were the rector of Thorshaven; and 
when he left, it was with the promise 
to return on the first opportunity. 

In early August a letter came from 
Jim, written at Thorswick Hall. It 
brought somewhat astounding irews. 

Thorswick Hall, July 25. 

Dear Old Partner: — As I told you 
in my last epistle, I came here at the 
beginning of this month ; and here I am 
still, thanks to the extraordinary hos- 
pitality of your kind people. Now I am 
going to fire off a couple of bombshells, 
so prepare yourself for the worst ! 

In the first place, your friend Mgr. 
Alison received me into the Church 
yesterday, after a three weeks' diligent 
instruction. When I left you, I had an 
idea that my growing conviction could 
only end thus. Philip and Audrey — to 
both of whom my love — ^have been veri- 

table, though unconscious, apostles in 
this work of rescue, — for that it is. 

Now for something more startling. 
Your good parents have been in a 
terrible upset because some months ago 
your sister Joan announced her inten- 
tion of becoming a Catholic. She is 
only nineteen, as you know; and they 
made her promise, rightly or wrongly, 
that she would wait until she either came 
of age or v/as married. They forbade 
her to say a word to you about it. I 
say 'they,' but I think Sir Richard is 
really responsible for the stiff line that 
has been taken. 

Well — Joan is not going to wait until 
she is twenty-one, as she and I have 
found out that we can't get on without 
each other; and the Baronet — who, I 
think, is secretly relieved that she is 
"arranged for" — has positively given 
his consent for our marriage before I 
go back. It will make me later than I 
intended, but you have relieved my 
mind by your account of your excellent 
Highlander. Now, what do you think 
of this plan? We have some square 
miles of our property that, so far, we 
have not attempted to plant. How 
would it be if Joan and I built a house 
on this part? To begin with, we could 
put up a temporary bungalow. 

Joan encloses a letter. She is to be 
received next week; and of course the 
Monsignor is to officiate at our 

Can't you send me some news of the 
same kind, Guido carissime? 

Thine ever, JiM. 

Guy lost no time in riding over to the 
county post-office and sending a cable- 
gram of joyous congratulation "on both 
splendid pieces of news." On coming 
home, he told Rory Macrae of his part- 
ner's reception into the Church and en- 
gagement to his o^\Ti sister. "So, my 
boy, there will be a permanent job here 
for you if you like, until you start on 
your own." 

"And it is I that will be proud to stay 



as your helper, Major. You have made 
my life 'a very happy one, and my one 
wish is to be of all the use 1 can to you." 

"You've made a capital beginning, 
Rory, and I have no fear for the 

Next morning brought a letter from 
Philip, which had taken a few days to 
meander round a strangely circuitous 

My dear Guy: — When are you com- 
ing over? Father McAndrew is to be 
here for Sunday. Come on Saturday as 
early as you can. What news of Jim? 
I am as strong as a horse. Audrey 
says if you don't come she will think 
her unshod feet have frightened you 
away. All greetings from us both. 

Yours ever, 

Philip Rothwell. 

The following Saturday, therefore, 
Guy once more arrived at "St. Philip's," 
as the Rothwells had now named their 
farm. Both brother and sister were out 
on farm business at the moment; but 
Maud, who seemed to have become a 
fixture, and a most valuable one, in the 
household, greeted him at the door with 
a broad smile of welcome; and Joe 
was beaming as he led "Cheviot" away 
to the stable. 

"Mr. Rothwell is away on the hill 
seeing about some drainage, as a new 
lot of trees are coming, sir. But you 
will find Miss Audrey in the yard ; she is 
busy with a lovely litter of black 

Guy laughed, and, giving his bag to 
Maud, started for "the yard." Audrey 
had made it a condition that she should 
look after the newly introduced pigs 
and poultry, Joe's services being needed 
for heavier and more serious work. 
The yard, you must understand, was not 
the spick-and-span division of an old- 
established farm that is known by this 
name. It was still very much in the 
rough ; and as this was a fruit, and not 
a general, farm, the outbuildings were 
on quite a small scale. 

Audrey had just finished giving the 
big black mother, with her fifteen 
piglings, some new litter and had re- 
plenished the feeding trough. She had 
cleared away the old litter, and was 
watching her porcine family with 
evident satisfaction. Her sleeves were 
cut sl;ort at the shoulders, and there 
is no denying that her hands and arms 
showed plentiful signs of the work she 
had been engaged in. The yard was 
distinctly miry, and the girl's feet and 
ankles were fairly covered with mud. 
Yet to Guy she had never seemed so 
beautiful. She heard his step and could 
not conceal her gladness. 

"O Gu-y, we were afraid you didn't 
get Phil's letter! This is splendid. I 
oughtn't to shake hands, really; but I 
must, 'piggy' as I am. Any news of 

Guy told her the two great pieces of 
news and sTie clapped her hands, like a 

"And, Audrey, I am going to take 
counsel with good Father McAndrew 
to-night. If you will let me, I will take 
the Padre for a walk before supper." 
Then he told her of his visit to the 
Archbishop', and how everything was 
clearing up for him. 

The girl's tears of happiness trembled 
on her eyelids. Guy took both her hands 
and said: "Audrey dearest, you know 
what I would ask! Can you care for 

"But, Guy, you are the heir of an old 
English family, with a great property. 
And you will be Sir Guy Ingleton some 
day. We are nobodies, though we are 
gentlepeople. And look at me, — a bare- 
footed farm girl, that's what I am !" 

"My own Audrey, you are my lady 
and my queen. I love you all the more 
for your hard work and your muddy 
feet. Bother that wretched old title ! It 
may be many years before there is any 
question of that. And as for the 
property, Claude, though he wouldn't 
take it, might manage it if there was 



any need. I don't quite see you and me 
settling down at Thorswick Hall, with 
its social conventions and all that." 

"No, Guy, you have the heart of a 
rover, though in the best sense of all 
you are coming Home." 

"Then, my dearest — " 

Surely Heaven itself was gladdened 
by the utter purity and burning loyalty 
of their betrothal kiss. Theirs was love 
that was worthy of the sacred name. 

As they walked back to the house, 
hand in hand, Guy caught sight of 
Philip coming back, still at sonie 

"I am a selfish beast," he said. "I 
have been quite forgetting dear old 
Philip, and what this will mean to him." 

"You needn't pity him," laughed 
Audrey. "There is a little girl in Wales. 
He is waiting till he can offer Gwynneth 
a settled home and something of an 
assured income." 

"Here is Jim's letter," said Guy. "I 
didn't show it to you before, lest you 
should tell me that there was no news 
to send of the kind he wishes." 

"Dear Jim, he's understood things 
wonderfully, — much better than you 
have, silly boy! As if there could have 
been a doubt as to what I should say !" 

"Well, you see it meant everything 
to me." 

"And do you think it meant any less 
to me? My own Guy, here's Philip! 
Are you surprised, Phil? Of course 
you're not, being a wise old man. Maud, 
come here and wish us joy. Oh, dear. 
Father McAndrew will be here directly ! 
I must wash my hands and feet, but I 
will not put on shoes and stockings. I 
am too happy to dress up. Guy dear, 
why is everything so beautiful and God 

so good?" (The End.) 

Fra Angelo the Blind. 

Sorrow is not given to us alone that 
we may mourn, but that, having felt, 
suffered, wept, we may be able to under- 
stand, love and bless. — Ation. 

IN the Capuchin monastery at Mace- 
rata, not far from Ancona, in the 
olive-crowned land of Italy, there lived 
in the fourteenth century a friar known 
as Fra Angelo of Canobio. He was very 
frail, very cheerful, and veiy holy. Most 
useful to the community, he had at 
last reached a serene and well-ordered 
old age; but, alas! he was blind. This 
would have been but a small trial, 
so perfectly attuned was he to the sweet 
wi'A of God, had it not been that by his 
affliction he was deprived of the bless- 
ing of saying Mass. This sometimes 
grieved him sofely, but he bore his trial 
most patiently. 

At length Fra Bartolemo, the beloved 
Guardian at Macerata, said to the aged 
religious one morning: 

"Fra Angelo, why do you not en- 
deavor to say Mass ?" 

"But, Padre, it is impossible. I am 
as blind as the man of Jericho whom 
Our Lord healed," the old man replied 

"Yes, but Our Lord healed him when 
he asked Him," said the Guardian. 
"Yours is but the blindness of old 
age. Ask the good God to breathe upon 
your eyes, that you may celebrate the 
Holy Sacrifice at least once more before 
you die." 

"Nay, Padre Guardian, a miracle is 
not for such as me," — ithe old man 
shook his head. 

"But I desire it," said Fra Bartolemo, 
led perhaps by a ray from Heaven; 
"you are still fasting, I know. Come, 
in virtue of holy obedience, vest yourself 
and go to the altar. I shall be there to 
assist you.". 

Fra Angelo at once made his way, by 
means of his stick, to the sacristy. 
There, fumbling feebly, he smihngly 
vested himself, finding amice, alb, 
girdle, maniple, stole, chasuble, — all in 
perfect order. Then, grave and obe- 
dient, he took the chalice and was led 



to the altar. With the first words at 
the foot of the altar, In nomine Patris, 
his eyes were opened that he might see ; 
and with devout fervor he celebi-ated the 
Mass, only to fnid himself (juite blind 
again when it was over. His thanks- 
giving was a succession of joyous 

For nine days this took place; and 
when the novena was at an end he told 
the friars that he would die, God's will 
having .been fulfilled in him. Thus 
tranquilly and sweetly he breathed his 
last. And, lo! after his death a sweet 
fragrance emanated from his body, and 
the Father Guardian said: 

"Behold a miracle! The sweetness 
of his spirit has communicate^ itself 
unto his corruptible body ; and even the 
destroyer Death has been the true 
friend of that sweet soul, Fra Angelo." 

Diligence in Spiritual Affairs. 

Wit and Reverence. 

IT is a beautiful thing," wrote Syd- 
ney Smith, "to observe the boun- 
daries which Nature has affixed to the 
ridiculous, and to notice how soon it is 
swallowed up by the more illustrious 
feelings of our nature .... Who ever 
thinks of turning into ridicule our great 
and ardent hope of a world to come? 
Whenever the man of humor meddles 
with these things, he is astonished to 
find that, in all the great feelings of 
their nature, the mass of mankind 
always think and act alike; that they 
are ready enough to laugh, but that they 
are quite as ready to drive away with 
.indignation and contempt the light fool 
who comes ^\'ith the feather of wit to 
crumble the bulwarks of truth and beat 
down the temples of God." 

It is this incompatibility of wit and 
sacred things that spoils for thousands 
of readers many a page of one of the 
most noted of American humorists, who 
ignored the boundary-line that divides 
legitimate fun from irreverence, not to 
say constructive blasphemy. 

IT is a commonplace of writers on the 
spiritual life that holiness, sanctity, 
religious perfection, consist, not in do- 
ing great, notable, or extraordinary 
actions, but in doing as well as we 
possibly can God's will as it is embodied 
in the everyday duties of our state in 
life. Diligence, or constant exertion of 
body and mind in an earnest effort to 
accomplish what one has undertaken to 
do, is not less a virtue in the spiritual 
life than it is in worldly matters. "In 
all departments of activity," says a 
secular philosopher, "to have one thing 
to do, and then to do it, is the secret of 
genuine success." "What we hope ever 
to do v/ith ease," declares vnse old Dr. 
Johnson, "we must first learn to do with 

In the sphere of the interior life, 
diligence is still more necessary, and is 
immeasurably more worth while. 
Christians are professed followers of 
Christ; and a significant pecuharity of 
Christ was that, as St. Mark assures us, 
"He did all things well.!! Those of His 
servants who have most closely imitated 
Him in the general tenor of their lives, 
the saints, have not failed to enforce 
this doctrine by both precept and ex- 
ample. Commenting on the words of 
St. Mark, just quoted, St. Vincent de 
Paul insists: "It is not enough to do 
good things: we must do them well, in 
imitation of Our Lord. We ought, then, 
to do all things in the spirit of Christ; 
that is, with the perfection, with the 
circumstances, and for the ends for 
which He performed His actions. 
Otherwise, even the good works that 
we do will bring us punishment rather 
than reM^ard." 

A good many persons imagine that 
the saints, or their nearest imitators, 
must have appeared altogether different 
from the common run of even pious and 
devout Catholics. In all probability, 
they differed from others not in ap- 



pearaiice but in reality. The distinction 
is thus explained by St. Bernard: "En- 
deavor not to appear singular, but to he 
so. This is done by leading, in all 
respects, the common life, — doing all 
things that are enjoined, but with exact- 
ness, in the time, place, and manner 
prescribed. We must do common things 
not in a common manner, but in a man- 
ner more sublime and perfect than that 
in which they are commonly .done. This 
is to appear externally like all the rest, 
and to be interiorly singular, which is 
a great virtue and a treasure of merit." 

N Practical Catholics are regular in the 
recitation of morning and evening 
prayers, and constant in their attend- 
ance at Mass on Sundays and holydays ; 
they approach the sacraments with edi- 
fying frequency, — in fact, so far as ex- 
ternal activities indicate, they are doing 
all that is necessary to bring them to a 
state of Christian perfection. If, in 
reality, they are not making appreciable 
progress thither, it is not because they 
are not doing enough, but because they 
are not diligent enough in its doing. 
Frequently renewed purity of intention, 
whole-heartedness in performing all 
their religious duties, practice in put- 
ting themselves in the presence of 
God, — these are what is wanting to 
make their lives greatly meritorious in- 
stead of indifferent and sterile. 

Age quod agis ("Do what thou 

P doest") , says an old proverb ; that is, do. 

I diligently and with all possible perfec- 
tion whatever action thou art engaged 
in. All our actions take their value 
from conformity to the will of God. 
"When I take food or recreation," says 
St. Francis of Sales, "if I do it, because 
it is the will of God, I merit more than 
if I went to suffer death without that 
intention. Plant this principle firmly 
in your mind, and then at every action 
fix your eyes upon it, in imitation of the 
carpenter, who brings every board 
under the square. Thus you will do your 
work with perfection." 

Notes and Remarks. 

Though rejoicing over the attainment 
of what he considers the chief object of 
the Washington Conference, the assuag- 
ing of enmity between England and the 
United States, the American correspon- 
dent of the Manchester Guardian 
deplores some great mistakes of the 
Conference: 'Departure from the 
Hughes disarmament scheme by yield- 
ing to Japan's outcry for the preser- 
vation of the capital ship "Mutso," thus 
entailing some expense upon America 
and a great expense upon Great Britain 
in providing new capital ships to main- 
tain the ratio; yielding to the French 
demand for a vast fleet of submarines, 
when England proposed their total 
abolition; failure to preserve China 
from encroachments except by Elihu 
Root's four resolutions, which can easily 
be broken by an aggressive Power; 
yielding to Japan's demand to obliterate 
the fourth of the Hughes resolutions, 
allov/ing the proposed Board of Refer- 
ence to examine past as vvell as future 
concessions and agreements made by 
China with other Powers, thus securing 
to Japan by default all her claims in 
Port Ai-thur, Manchuria, and certain 
other concessions.' 

A difficult situation exists in China: 
it has not a stable government, and in 
the near future Japan may consider a 
war with its neighbor necessary in 
order that such a government may be 
established, — one favorable to Japan, of 
course. In fact, Mr. J. B. Powell, 
Secretary of the American Chamber of 
Commerce of China, has publicly ex- 
pressed the opinion that the Washing- 
ton Conference may yet be the cause of 
war between Japan and China. To 
quote his exact words: "It is going to 
take a lot of explaining to make the 
Chinese believe that a return of Shan- 
tung with a Japanese tariff manager 
with unlimited powers in charge of the 
railroads is anything more than a left- 



handed gift. They will not understand 
the details. Therefore, the immediate 
effect of the Conference en public opin- 
ion in China may yet be the cause of 
arming her millions for a war which 
the Washington Conference was called 
to prevent." 

All things considered — there are 
many things to corsidcr, — perhaps it 
is a little too soon to declare with the 
enthusiasts that the Conference is "the 
greatest event since the beginning of 
the Christian era." 

lous, person of the cloth. Let us hope 
that before he passes to judgment he 
will some night be 'smitten with com- 
punction in his chamber,' as our copy of 
"The Imitation" has it. 

In order to nullify in benighted dis- 
tricts of the United States — still numer- 
ous and of large area — ^the effect of 
statements derogatoiy to the Church 
and Catholics attributed to Lincoln, the 
Knights of Columbus propose to dis- 
tribute "by the million" copies of a 
letter addressed to Mr. John B. 
Kennedy, K. C, by the Hon. Robert T. 
Lincoln, son of the great President, — 
the greatest of Americans. "I* know 
of no anti-Catholic utterance made by 
my father," Mr. Lincoln writes. "The 
only instance known to me of my 
father's referring in any y»'ay to the 
subject [the Catholic Church] is in a 
letter to Archbishop Hughes, of New 
York, in which he requested the Arch- 
bishop to give him the name or names 
of some suitable persons of the Cath- 
olic Church whom he might with pro- 
priety designate as chaplains in our 
militaiy service. This letter in itself is 
a complete answer to any possible pub- 
lication of the character you mention." 

Another great President of the 
United States, Grover Cleveland, in de- 
nying a false charge made against him 
by a Protestant clergyman, declared 
that for the invention of so bold-faced 
an accusation as the one in question, the 
participation of a minister seemed to 
be a necessity. In all probability, the 
statement that Lincoln once character- 
ized the Church as a "wicked auto- 
cracy" emanated from some unscrupu- 

Dr. Friedrich Dessauer, an eminent 
radiotherapist and one of the highest 
authorities on cancer, was lately among 
us, and took observations. They have 
since been published in one of the lead- 
ing German monthlies. From such an 
authority one would expect the exact 
trutlT stated vvith scientific dispas- 
sionateness, — only cold facts instead of 
flattering compliments; but the learned 
gentleman declares: "During the five 
weeks, I never saw a drop of liquor on 
sale. Many people are opposed to Pro- 
hibition ; but, as it is a law of the land, 
they defend it. Friends and enemies 
combine to enforce it. Violation of the 
Volstead Act is looked upon with hor- 
ror, considered a personal injury. . . . 
The policeman rules, and everybody 
obeys and assists him." 

The only possible explanation of these 
extraordinary statements is that Dr. 
Dessauer had a wag for travelling com- 
panion. It is hard to believe that any 
one could be among us five weeks with- 
out discovering an altruistic stilL But, 
perhaps for reasons unfathomable, the 
Doctor did not want to see, or did not 
know where to look. 

Among the various recent episcopal 
pronouncements concerning the Cath- 
olic press — pronouncements especially 
timely during the present month — that 
of Bishop Turner, of Buffalo, addressed 
to his priests, impresses us as being ex- 
ceptionally forceful. The following ex- 
tract merits thoughtful reading by 
Catholics everywhere: 

It is an acknowledged fact that our Catholic 
people generally do not support our religious 
publications as they should. Out of approxi- 
mately 4,000,000 Catholic families in the 
United States, there are 3,000,000 that do not 
regularly receive a Catholic weekly paper. 



You know by your own experience among your 
people, and by tke confession of fathers and 
mothers of families who are alive to their i*e- 
sponsibility as parents, that the home life 
among Americans of all creeds and classes 
leaves much to be desired at the present day. 
Without attempting to assign the blame for 
the conditions which we deplore, one may say 
in all truth and justice that the reading mat- 
ter which finds its way into the home — with its 
salacious details of divorce trials, its ap- 
pallingly realistic descriptions of crime, its 
. unblushingly pagan discussion of such prob- 
lems as birth-control and crimes of sexual 
passion, — is, to say the least, not suited to the 
immature minds of young and adolescent chil- 
dren. Indeed, it is no exaggeration to say 
that much of the reading matter that* is so 
freely admitted into our homes is fraught 
with more danger to the soul of the child 
than the most virulent diseases are with 
danger to their physical health. 

Bishop Turner is not likely to be 
reckless in his assertions ; and his state- 
ment that three out of four American 
Catholic families are non-subscribers to 
Catholic papers may accordingly oe ac- 
cepted — and deplored — as a very omi- 
nous fact. 

In connection with the public school 
system of this country there is an 
elementary truth to which it appears 
necessary from time to time to call the 
attention of our Protestant fellow- 
citizens, — the truth that in theory and 
in law the public schools are non-sec- 
tarian. There is not the slightest valid 
reason why they should be allowed to 
become Protestant any more than 
Jewish or Catholic. The fact that we 
Catholics support a school system dis- 
tinctively our own in no way abrogates 
our rights with regard to the public 
schools, so long as we are taxed for their 
maintenance. And yet Bishop W. O. 
Sheperd, of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, speaking at a banquet to the 
members of the Columbia River Con- 
ference, declared that "the public 
schools are a Protestant proposition. If 
they are growing to be anything but 
that," he added, "it is our own fault. 

We're going to correct it." Oh the other 
hand, let us say that if the public 
schools become Protestant, it will be the 
fault of Catholics and Jews — and we 
ought to prevent it. 

Of cognate interest is a case to which 
attention has been called by some Cath- 
olic students of the University of Cali- 
fornia, who are attending the lectures 
on history given by a Mr. Galvez, an 
exchange professor from South Amer- 
ica. Says the San Francisco Monitor: 
"This Spanish professor is furiously 
hostile to the Catholic religion, and 
makes no bones about it in his class- 
room talks. He is said to take particular 
pleasure in attacking all religions and 
proclaims himself to be an out-and-out 
atheist, without any belief in God. His 
special delight is in vilifying the Cath- 
olic Church and in denouncing it as an 
enemy of progress." 

In a State University supported in 
part by the taxes of Catholic citizens, 
such action as this is outrageous, and 
calls for general denunciation and 
vigorous pirotest. 

One of the Golden Jubilees the cele- 
bration of which was minimized, if not 
prevented, by the war was that of the 
foundation of the Missionary Fathers of 
the Most Blessed Sacrament, quietly 
commemorated at the House of Mis- 
sions, Enniscorthy, Ireland, in October, 
1916. Referring to this Society in the 
Irish Ecclesiastical Record, Dr. W. H. 
Grattan Flood says: "Let it first be 
stated that the House of Missions is an 
Irish indigenous Congregation, and has 
the distinction of being the only institu- 
tion of its kind in Great Britain and 
Ireland ; in fact, it may be described as 
sui generis, so far as the British Isles 
are concerned. Other religious Orders 
in Ireland — ^the Franciscans, Domini- 
cans, Carmelites, Austin Friars, Jesuits, 
Vincentians, Redemptorists, Marists, 
Oblates, etc. — are of foreign origin. But 



the Missionaiy Fathers of the Most 
Blessed Sacrament, whose affix is 
M.S.S., can proudly claim to be ex- 
clusively Irish, and to have been 
founded by a. saintly Irish prelate, the 
Most Rev. Dr. Furlong, Bishop of 
Ferns, in the year 1866." 

The prelate mentioned, who had been ■ 
a brilliant professor of theology at May- 
nooth, had long planned a foundation 
which was to consist, m the words of 
a statute of the community, "of certain 
members of the secular clergy living iA 
community, who, by means of devo- 
tional exercises, by the study of sacred 
subjects, and by the cultivation of the 
ecclesiastical virtues, would render 
themselves even more efficient for the 
holy ministry of conducting missions 
and retreats for the people." During 
its half century of existence, the Society 
has done admirable work for the 
Church, especially in promoting devo- 
tion to the Blessed Sacrament, in fur- 
thering the cause of temperance; and 
in developing an association kno^wn as 
the "Apostleship of One Fold," whose 
purpose is to bring about the conver- 
sion of the million of Irishmen still out- 
side of the Church. 

Many of. our readers will probably 
share the surprise with which we read 
the following extracts from an article 
by Rabbi Stephen S. Wise in the Jeivish 
News, of Denver. After stating that 
the number of Jewish converts to 
Christian Science is not so large as is 
commonly believed among Hebrew^s, 
he declares that, nevertheless, the num- 
bers are "considerable enough to be dis- 
turbing and arrestive. Twenty years 
ago it was believed that the death of the 
founder of Christian Science would 
somehow mark a defection therefrom of 
its Jewish adherents; but the expected 
has failed to come to pass, and there are 
few Christian Science churches in 
America of which Jews, in num- 
bers large or small, are not members. 

Strange as it may sound to those un- 
acquainted with the fact, the conver- 
sion of Jews to Christian Science is per- 
haps more serious than any defection 
of centuries." ^ 

Explaining this trend of American 
Hebrews, the Rabbi says further: "Jews 
tiiiTi to Christian Science not because it 
is a negation of the realities of pain and 
disease and death, but because, though 
covertly and by indirection, the largest, 
if not the entire, emphasis of Christian 
Science is, however disguised, upon phy- 
sical health, upon added years, upon 
freedom from pain, upon the annulment 
of suffering, and upon the cancellation 
of death itself." 

Whether or not the learned Rabbi's 
explanation explains, the fact is an un- 
usually interesting one. 

Notable among fine tributes to Bene- 
dict XV. by the secular press — ^there 
have been any number of them — were 
those of the London Daily Chronicle 
and the Daily Telegraph. They show 
tliat a more just estimate 6f the 
lamented Pope is already being made, 
even by those who considered his atti- 
tude during the war to be influenced 
by a certain pro-German bias; and that 
a better understanding of the difficulties 
of his position now prevails. The first 
of the two journals mentioned declared 
that "Benedict XV. preserved the 
moral prestige of the Papacy"; the 
second, with like candor, remarked : "To 
many observers, the Papacy appeared 
in the war to lose the greatest oppor- 
tunity it was ever likely to have. To 
others — and they are a growing number 
— the attitude of Benedict XV. during 
the war seems to bear the stamp of im- 
partiality and wise statesmanship." 

Better and better, as time goes on, it 
will be understood how the opportunity 
was profited by instead of lost. A 
well-chosen word was "impartiality." 
The Father of the Faithful could not be 
otherwise than impartial. Some day it 



will be generally realized that the seat 
of the government of the Church is the 
only place in the world the world 
is thought of as a whole, where national 
preferences and prejudices do not 

In view of the common boast that the 
United States is the land of "the square 
deal" . (a cis- Atlantic synonym of the 
British "fair play"), it is interesting to 
note how many of our countrymen 
falsify the boast whenever their reli- 
gious prejudices assert themselves. A 
case in point is mentioned by the (StowtZ- 
ard and Times. It appears that the 
head physician of the Delaware State 
Hospital, in advertising for an assist- 
ant, listed among the necessaiy qualifi- 
^cations of the applicants that they be of 
the Protestant faith. Such discrimina- 
tion against adherents of other faiths 
was, of course, absolutely indefensible 
in the case of a State institution sup- 
ported by people of every creed and of 
no creed ; and quite naturally the Gover- 
nor of Delaware deplores the incident 
and promises redress. In the mean- 
time, our Philadelphia contemporary 
concludes its comment on the matter 
with this judicious paragraph: 

An institution that is frankly and honestly 
denominational may be sincerely non-sectarian 
in its spirit and practice. Names mean 
nothing. Let us not be deceived by them. Let 
us always look for the spirit. As a rule, we 
shall find more tolerance, more \'ision, more 
genuine impartiality and more broad-minded- 
ness in the candidly denominational institution 
than in that which boasts of its non-sectarian 
character. But wherever sectarian discrimi- 
nation is discovered, it should be mercilessly 
exposed and pilloried. 

Bexhill, a seaside resort on the south 
coast of England, has become famous, 
not for its natural advantages or its 
popularity among "society" people, but 
for its Catholic library. This is all the 
more notable because of the fact that 
only about 500 of Bexhill's 16,000 in- 
habitants belong to the Church. As Sir 

Bertram Windle tells the story, 'the 
library was started only a few years 
ago by an American convert resident in 
England, and had its habitat in the 
porch of the little Catholic church of the 
town. At present the Bexhill Library 
books, more than 20,000 in number, are 
being sent to every large town in Great 
Britain, and even to British India and 
Egypt. The only explanation given for 
this expansion — and perhaps the only 
one needed — is that the library is a free 
lending one, without any fees, fines, or 
formalities. Has any other library in 
existence ever given its patrons such a 
notice as the following? 

This Library is in every respect free and 
infoiinal. Members of this congregation, resi- 
dents, or casual visitors, regardless of creed, 
are at perfect liberty to borrow the books 
without charge, the only obligation incurred 
being to return the same, uninjured, for the 
use of others, as soon as possible, either per- 
sonally or by post. No permission to borrow 
books is necessary: simply help yourself. 
Address any communication to The Librarian, 
24 Eversley Road, Bexhill. 

In a reference last week to Chinese 
students in the United States, of whom 
there are a large number, the fact 
should have been more openly stated 
that as yet little or no Catholic influence 
has been brought to bear on them. On 
their return home, these young men will 
naturally be among the most influential 
of Chinamen. Hence the importance of 
looking out for them while they are 
among us. A number with whom we 
have come in contact, in one way or 
another, show themselves very favor- 
ably disposed towards the Church. 
Would it not be a good thing for the 
Chinese missions if the Catholic 
Students' Crusade, or some other such 
organization, were to arrange for the en- 
rollment of young Orientals in our col- 
leges, and for their after needs? Every 
one sent back to China would be a 
source of influence most welcome to our 
missionaries there. 

Each Bramble its Thorn. 

BY K. H. 

(J HARE, close pursued, thought it prudent 

and meet 
To a bramble for refuge a while to retreat. 
He hopped in the covert; but, entering, found 
That briers and thorns did on all sides 

abound ; 
And that, though quite safe, yet he never 

could stir 
But his sides they would prick, or would tear 

off his fur. 
He shrugged up his shoulders, but would not 

complain : 
"To repine at small evils, indeed, is in vain. 
That no bliss can be perfect, I very well 

know ; 
But from the same source good and evil do 

While full sorely my skin these sharp briers 

now rend. 
Still they keep off the dogs and my life will 

For the sake of the good, then, let evil be 

borne ; 
For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its 




VIII. — A "Lucky" Meeting. 

THERE had been an amused 
listener to the exciting alterca- 
tion between Lil'lady and Jim, as 
the latter had feared. Father Tom 
Ridgely, who, on his homeward way, 
had paused for a brief visit and lunch 
with some oldtime friends on the shore, 
had pushed his boat into the shadow of 
the low-hanging willows that fringed 
the cove, that he might quietly say his 
Office before rejoining his lively 
nephews at Ridgely Hall. Roused by a 

ringing young voice which he had rec- 
ognized as that of his little acquaint- 
ance of Steeple Rock, he had been an 
unseen witness to the business deal that 
left Lil'lady in possession of Jim's in- 
tended victims. 

"Halloo!" hailed Father Tom, as he 
paddled into sight, rather bewildered 
"by the transformed Lil'lady struggling 
to hold the puppies in her Paris gown. 
"It's you again, is it?" 

"And it's you again!" cried Lil'lady 
in glad relief. "Oh, would you mind 
taking two of these puppies for me? I 
can't carry them all myself, and I didn't 
dare trust them with that horrid Jim 
another minute. He was going to drown 
them," — Lil'lady's lip quivered at the 
remembrance, — "to drown them all!" 

"So I heard, and you bought them 
all," laughed Father Tom. "And, as 
you're a long way from home with all 
this live stock, suppose you jump into 
my boat and let me take you back ?" 

"Oh, if you will!". said Lil'lady, step- 
ping forward eagerly. "I'd never get 
across the swamp with these puppies. 
They are scratching my dress to pieces 
now\ But I didn't care for dress or any- 
thing, except getting the poor little 
^thing^ away from that mean, horrid 
Jim. If you'll put that net over them, 
they can't get out, and I'll sit here and 
M'«,tch them. X)h, such a time as I've 
had with them!" Lil'lady drew a long 
breath as she sank down in the boat 
beside her treasures. "And I have been 
so — so mad — so mad — I could scarcely 
hear or see. Did you ever get so mad 
that you couldn't hear or see ?" 

"Well, not that I remember," an- 
swered her companion, with a smile at 
this open examen of conscience, — "at 
least it never took me that way." 

"Well, I guess it would if you found a 



stuttering Nigger boy trying to drown 
four poor little puppies under your very 
eyes, and putting a stone in the bag to 
keep them do^\^l." Lil'lady's eyes began 
to flash again at the remembrance. 

"It has been an exciting day for you 
altogether, hasn't it?" said her com- 
panion. "First Steeple Rock, and the 
fishing, — ^though, really, you don't look 
like the same little lady I picked up 

"No: I've been home and dressed up 
for dinner," answered Lil'lady. "Dad 
was coming; and, after all my trouble — 
for I hate dressing up, — he didn't stay. 
Had a call on the telephone that took 
him right off. Dave says it means a 
fight. I don't like dad getting into a 
fight," continued Lil'lady, anxiously. 
"But when people try to grab things 
and — and down you, you just have to 
stand up to them, and have it out." 

"Yes," assented Father Tom; "and we 
all have some sort of fight in this world, 
little lady. Sometimes it is with our 
neighbors, sometimes with ourselves." 

"With ourselves?" echoed Lil'lady. 
"I never heard of anybody fighting 
himself, did you?" 

"Very often," was the quiet answer. 

"They must have been crazy, then," 
said Lil'lady, decidedly. * 

"Not at all," replied Father Tom. 
"Some of them are the very wisest 
people I ever knew. You see," he went 
on, wondering how he could make the 
best of his brief moments with this 
winsome child, who was as untaught in 
many things as the dusky-faced little 
heathen to whom for the last ten years 
he had been ministering, — "when w^e 
feel mean and cross and hateful, 
or," he added \vith a twinkle in his^ 
eyes, "so mad we can not hear or see, 
we have to fight our bad selves to get 
right and good again." 

"Oh, I don't see how!" said Lil'lady. 
"Did you ever fight yourself?" 

Again Father Tom smiled the grave, 
quiet smile that made his thin, bronzed 

face SO' pleasant and "nice." "Very 
often," he answered. "If I hadn't there 
is no telling where or what I should 
have been now, — not a priest, I am 
sure," he added, feeling it was time to 
introduce himself. 

"A priest?" Lil'lady echoed in be- 
wilderment. "You don't mean that 
you're a — a — preacher?" 

"I said priest," corrected Father 
Tom, quietly. 

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" asked 

"Well, not altogether," replied her 

"I thought it was," said Lil'lady. "I 
thought parsons and preachers and 
priests were all the same. But — but I 
didn't think any of them were like you." 

"Oh, didn't you?" laughed Father 
Tom, as Lil'lady's . blue eyes regarded 
him in evident perplexity. 

"Not a bit," she added. "I thought 
they were all preachy and poky and 

"Maybe you never saw one of my 
pattern before," said her companion. 

"Not that I can remember," replied 
Lil'lady. "There was one christened 
me. Mammy Sue says; but of course I 
^didn't know anything about that." 

"And you've never seen a priest 
since,^never been to Mass, never — " 
Father Tom suddenly paused before 
the blank look he saw in his young' 
listener's eyes. Ah, here was darkness 
heavier and more hopeless than that 
which he had left in the pagan East! 
And Lil'lady came of a race that had 
given countless saints and martyrs to 
the Church. 

"Oh, we don't ever go to church!" she 
answered, guessing vaguely at Father 
Tom's meaning. "Cousin Jane's chapel 
is too far, and Miss Gilbert doesn't like 
the preacher at St. Luke's, and dad 
doesn't bother about church at all. But 
I've been to camp meeting," continued 
Lil'lady, cheerfully. "Ann Caroline took 
me two years ago. Goodness! it was 



exciting, — praying and preaching and 
singing, and great long tables with fried 
chicken and beat biscuits and water- 
melons, and everything good. I was 
having a fine time until Ann Caroline 
got religion and nearly frightened me 
to death." 

"Frightened you to death?" repeated 
Father Tom, questioningly. 

"Oh, yes, — shouting and crying and 
clapping her hands so that I ran away 
home by myself in the dark, I was so 
afraid I might get religion, too. My! 
but Mammy Sue was mad, and lit into 
Ann Caroline about it. She has never 
let me go near a camp meeting since. 
And dad saj^s he doesn't want my head 
troubled about any church-going yet." 

Father Tom's eyes rested pityingly 
on the bright young face. "I am sorry 
to hear that," he said ; imd there was a 
gentle gravity in his tone. "I was just 
thinking of asking you to come over to 
Ridgely Hall on Sunday. We are going 
to open the old chapel that has been 
closed for so many years, and have 
Mass. The good people are coming 
from all the country around. It's going 
to be a gTeat time." 

"Mass?" repeated Lil'lady. "I don't 
know what Mass means. Will people get 
religion, like Ann Caroline?" 

"Not at all— like Ann Caroline!" 
replied Father Tom. 

"And will you preach?" asked 

"Well, yes, a little," was the smiling 
answer; "but not very long, I promise 
you that. And afterwards there will 
be picnicking under the trees, so the 
good people won't have to go home to 
dinner; and the children can play, or 
wade in the cove, and have a fine time, 
with Ted and Dick to lookout for them. 
And, then, I have promised to tell some 
stories of the queer places where I have 
been these last ten years, and the queer 
people that live on the other side of the 

"On the other side of the world," 

Lil'lady's blue eyes were ^vide open 
again. "Have you been there? Were 
the people nice?" 

"Well, not at first," was the reply. 
"In fact, at one time they had a fire all 
ready to roast me." 

"To roast your' gasped Lil'lady. "You 
don't mean really and truly roast?" 

"Yes," said Father Tom, " 'really and 
truly roast,' in a big pile of sticks as 
high as my head. That was their way 
of settling people they didn't like at, 

"Oh, I never, never heard anything 
so dreadful!" murmured Lil'lady, 

"There are a great many things of 
which you have never heard. Little 
Lady," said Father Tom, with his quiet 

"Yes, I guess there are," agreed 
Lil'lady. "Why did those awful people 
want to roast you ? And what were you 
doing in such a horrid place, anyhow?" 

Father Tom paused for a moment 
before he answered, in the simple terms 
he had learned to use with dusky little 
pagans who had never heard the holy 
name of God. For to this fair-faced 
daughter of a saintly race, the blessed 
work and life to which he had been 
called would not be understood, he 

"I went there to teach them," he said 
at last, — "to teach them things they had 
never heard ; that they had a Father in 
heaven, who wanted them to know Him 
and love Him, and not live like the wild 
beasts in their jungle and forest, w^ho 
are fierce and cruel and pitiless becaus*^ 
they have no minds or souls, and can 
not think. And at first these people 
at Kalobar were almost as fierce as lions 
and tigers, and wanted to kill me for 
trying to meddle with them and change 
their ways. But they learned after a 
while that I came there only to do them 
good, and we became first-rate friends. 
You should have heard them ciying 
after me when I left!" Father Tom's 



face softened with tender remembrance. 
"It was like the wailing of the wind 
until my ship was out of sight. And 
it is about these far-away friends of 
mine I am going to talk next Sunday, — 
these friends who learned to love when 
at first they knew only how to hate and 
kill. So if you would like to come Little 

"Oh, I would, — I would!" was the 
eager answer. "Dad will let me, I am 
sure. He lets me do anything that I 

"At ten o'clock, then, Sunday morn- 
ing," said Father Tom, pushing his boat 
up to the Shorecliff beach. "And you'd 
better keep the puppies in the crab net. 
It will save your pretty gown," he con- 
tinued, as he helped his passenger to 
the shore. 

"Oh, thank you!" said Lil'lady, 
gathering up her squirming possessions 
in safety. "You have been very nice 
and kind." And she flashed a bright, 
grateful glance at him as she added: 
"It was a lucky thing for me you were 
out fishing to-day, wasn't it?" 

And as Father Tom wat<jhed the 
bright little figure springing on its 
homeward Vv^ay, there was a half -formed 
hope in his kind heart that there might 
be more than luck for Lil'lady in this 
meeting v/ith her father's friend and 
classmate of long ago, — that this seem- 
ing chance might yet bring blessings to 

(To be continued.) 

The Cradle of Liberty. 

This is the familiar appellation be- 
stowed on Faneuil Hall, Boston, Massa- 
chusetts, erected in 1742 by Peter 
Faneuil (1700-1743), and presented by 
him to the town. In 1761 it was de- 
stroyed by fire, but was rebuilt in 1763. 
During the Revolutionary War the 
hall was so often used for political meet- 
ings that it became known as the 
"cradle of American liberty." 

Boy-Martyrs of England. 

NpT v/as once a somewhat general 
^^ though false belief that the Jews 
were accustomed to crucify Chris- 
tian children, in scorn and mockery of 
the death of our Saviour. That this 
belief was wrong is now generally con- 
ceded ; but that many Christian children 
in various countries were martyred by 
Jews in contempt of the Faith of Christ 
is undoubtedly true. Several cases are 
recorded by old chroniclers as having 
occurred in England. 

The young saint, William of Norwich, 
was an apprentice to a tanner of that 
city. He was only eleven or twelve years 
of age, and vras the son of poor country 
people. He was a good boy, much de- 
voted to prayer. It was during King 
Stephen's reign — some say in 1137, 
others in 1144 — that the little fellow 
was decoyed from his employer's house 
to the abode of some Jews, and there 
mocked, bound, and crucified. 

The account of the boy's martyrdom 
came from a Jew who later became a 
Christian; and the monks of Norwich, 
who discovered Saint Wilham's dead 
body, found on it the marks of his cruel 
sufferings. They held that he was a 
martyr, like the Holy Innocents, — not 
because of his sufferings but because he 
had died for Christ's sake. 

An English chronicler relates: "The 
Jews of Noi-wich tortured a Christian 
child with the same torments with 
which Our Lord was tortured, and 
after^vard buried him. They thought 
their evil deed would be hidden, but 
the Saviour manifested that the child 
was a holy martyr. The monks took 
him and reburied him honorably in 
the minster; and he performs, through 
Our Lord, wonderful miracles, and is 
called Saint William." The English 
calendars commemorate Saint William 
on the 24th of March. 

The circumstances attending the mar- 
tyrdom of Saint Hugh of Lincoln were 



similar to those narrated above, save 
that Saint Hugh was condemned to 
death at a mock trial, at which Jews 
from all parts of England were present. 
Or.e of them, named Joppin, who had 
taken part in the trial and subsequent 
death, confessed the crime. Many Jews 
were arrested, but the majority were 
released through the intercession of the 
monks. The body of the martyr was in- 
terred in Lincoln's beautiful minster, 
and his tomb was for centuries a favo- 
rite place of pilgrimage. Saint Hugh 
was martyred in 1255. 

Of much higher rank in a way than 
Saints Hugh and William was Saint 
Kenelm, the boy-king of Mercia. He 
was, we are told, "small in age but great 
in mind and piety," when the death of 
his father gave him the throne. His 
guardian was his ambitious sister Quin- 
dride, who coveted the kingdom for her- 
self. This unscrupulous woman hired a 
ruffian to take the life of her young 
brother. It is related that he was mur- 
dered while singmg the Te Deum, and 
that he fell dead as he repeated the 
words, "the white-robed army of mar- 
tyrs." His body was hidden 

In Cl«nt cow-pasture under thorn. 
But a ray of heavenly light revealed its 
whereabouts, and the young King was 
buried in Winchcombe in Gloucester. 
Many miracles proved his sanctity; and 
Kenelm took a place among England's 
saintly kings, while his cruel and un- 
natural sister was driven from the king- 
dom which she had tried to gain by 
crime. Saint Kenelm's death took place 
in 820. In Clent Valley, where the 
saint met his death, there is still a well 
bearing his name. 

The growth of the great fir trees of 
the 'State of Washington is easily 
accounted for when we consider the 
rainfalls of the country and the mild 
climate. The seeds germinate easily, 
are abundantly watered, and the atmos- 
phere is mild. 

A Lucky Accident. 

One of the most common varieties of 
v.'ild fruit is the blueberry. It grows on 
low bushes, is easily picked, and, as our 
young readers are probably aware, fur- 
nishes delightful dessert. Blueberry 
farms, or "barrens," are especially 
numerous in the State of Maine. Just 
how important an industry the cultiva- 
tion and preserving of the blueberry has 
l>ecome is shown by the experience of a 
farmer in the Pine Tree State. 

In 1916 this man, who was trying to 
make a living out of a large but rocky 
farm in Washington County, set fire one 
day to some brush. The fire got beyond 
his control and swept over the whole 
place. He thought he was ruined, and, 
in despair, abandoned his home. 
Two years later he returned to find the 
farm grown wild. The whole burned 
area was covered with stunted bushes. 
They turned out, however, to be blue- 
berry bushes; and ever since then the 
lucky farmer has been receiving an 
average of five thousand dollars a year, 
dimply for granting permits to pick 
blueberries off his land. 


One of the recreations with which it 
used to be the custom to while away 
the long Winter evenings in the home 
circle was, the making of palindromes. 
A palindrome is a word, verse, or 
sentence that reads the same either 
from left to right or from right to left. 
The word is a derivative from two 
Greek words meaning "back" and "run- 
ning," — a running back from the end of 
a verse or sentence to the beginning. 
The name Eve is a simple example of 
the palindromic word. "Madam, I'm 
Adam," is a palindromic sentence. In 
attempting to compose a new palin- 
drome, one must of course be on the 
lookout for words which, being spelled 
backwards, make other words; "for in- 
stance, was, live, on, read. 




— From the American Constitutional League 
of Wisconsin we have received a series of three 
booklets containing fourteen articles which 
constitute an explanation and criticism of 
"Scientific Socialism." The author is James 
Edward Le Rossignol, Ph. D., of the Univer- 
sity of Nebraska. These articles are distinctly 
worth while. 

— A booklet written and published by J. M. 
Kluh, Chicago, b^ars the somewhat cumbrous 
title "The Etymologic Cipher Alphabet of One 
Hundred and Twenty Letters with a New 
Arithmetic System." Connoisseurs of lin- 
g^uistics may possibly find the little work of 
interest, and even of value. We have found it 
decidedly puzzling. 

— "Daisy" is the title of a rather im- 
probable but well-intentioned little story by 
Gilbert Guest. The book concerns itself wdth 
the very poor and the very rich of "little old 
New York," and the influence of a beautiful 
child upon both. Respect for the sincerity of 
the author can not excuse the numerous mis- 
takes in punctuation and capitalization 
throughout the b««k. Published by the Omaha 
Burkley Printing Co. 

— "The English Dominican Province" is an 
effective pleading for interest in the history 
and labors of the Black Friars, who lately 
celebi'ated the seventh centenary of their es- 
tablishment on "the white shores of Kent." A 
series of special articles written by various 
eminent members of the Order go to make up 
a book that can not fail to impress and in-' 
spire those who read it. We found par- 
ticularly interesting Fr. Hugh Pope's section, 
"The Bible." Catholic Truth Society, London ; 
price, 3s, 6d. 

— Although "Our Lord's Last Discourse," 
recently published by Benziger Brothers, has 
the sub-title "Meditations," it is rather a 
critical analysis and interpretation of chapters 
xiii-xviii of the Gospel of St. John. It is written 
by the Abbe Nouvelle, former Superior-Gen- 
eral of the Oratory, and is deeply spiritual 
as well as soundly learned. Being decidedly 
above the level of even very good books of 
meditation, this unobtrusive volume will be a 
real treasure house for the student and lover 
of the Holy Scriptures. Price, $2. 

—"The Presence of God," by A Master of 
Novices, is just such a well-ordered, practical 
treatise as a master of novices might be ex- 

pected to write. The author is evidently a 
director of minds as well as of souls; his 
method of developing his theme is almost 
mathematical in its precision. Nor are his 
authorities less oi-thodox than his method, — 
Maturin, Scaramelli, Faber, etc. Altogether 
the book is excellent. The first chapters may 
be a little difficult for some, but theology soon 
gives way to practice, and the reader feels 
God with him everywhere. Published by Ben- 
ziger Brothers; price, $1.15. 

— Of the general purpose of "The Eccle- 
siastical Year," by the Rev. John Rickaby, S. 
J., we are told in the preface that the volume 
"presupposes that abundant books already are 
in hand, giving the traditionally settled ac- 
counts of the matters here treated pai'tially 
and from aspects less usually presented." 
The sub-title of the book, "Contemplations on 
the Deeper Meaning and Relation of its [the 
Ecclesiastical Year's] Seasons and Feasts," 
conveys the same idea, that the twenty 
chapters of this volume are riot merely hack- 
neyed repetitions of matter to be found in a 
dozen different books dealing with the same 
general subject. A perusal tf several of the 
chapters and a cursory examination of the 
others confirm this impression. While they 
contain much that is old, there is also not a 
little that is new, or, at least, newly presented. 
Furnished with a table of contents, a brief 
synopsis at the beginning of each chapter, and 
a gobd though not very exhaustive index, the 
book is one that may be warmly commended 
to all Catholics. Published by Joseph F. Wag- 
ner; price, $2.75. 

— From Pierre Tequi, Paris, come a number 
of new books on various subjects. "Les 
Charismes du Saint-Esprit," by D. Bernard 
Marechaux, deals with the importance of the 
mission of the Holy Ghost and of devotion to 
Him (price, 3 francs) ; "Tentations et Taches 
des Femmes, Trois Conferences aux Femmes 
du Monde," by Msgr. J. Tissier, Bishop of 
Chalons, exhorts women to make use of eveiy 
opportunity to advance themselves morally 
and intellectually; "Capitalisme et Com- 
munisme," by Jules Riche, discusses labor 
problems in dialogue form (price, 5 francs) ; 
"La Bienheureuse Marguerite de Lorraine, 
Duchesse d'Alengon et Religieuse Clarisse," by 
Chanoine Rene Guerin, is a well-written biog- 
raphy of a saintly woman who was "grande 
dame" and lowly Poor Clare (price, 5 francs) ; 



"Marcellin Champagnat, Founder of the Little 
Brothers of Mary," by Msgr. Laveillc, Vicar- 
General of Meaux, is an excellent account of 
the life of the saintly Fr. Champagnat (a con- 
temporary of the Cure d'Ars) and of the 
origin of the Society of the Little Brothers of 
Mary (price, 10 francs). 

— "A Great Mistake," by Mrs. G. J. Romanes 
(Sands & Co.; B. Herder Book Co.), is a 
worth-while novel that can be unreservedly 
recommended to all lovers of thoroughly in- 
teresting and withal uplifting fiction. A some- 
what unusual plot, Inormal character develop- 
ment, unprotractcd action, and sprightly dia- 
logue, are ingredients whose combination is 
safe to make a readable narrative; and they 
are skilfully blended in this stoiy of English 
life before and after the Great War. The novel 
is, moreover, a frankly Catholic tale, with no 
minimizing of the Church's docti'ines, and no 
hesitation about recognizing the occasional in- 
troduction of the supernatural into purely 
human affairs. Not the least enjoyable fea- 
ture of the book is the sympathetic treatment 
of the kindly Lady Merkes, a Jewess, whose 
naturally religious temperament eventually 
leads her to peace and happiness. The radical 
transformation of Sir ^t'hilip Meredith from 
a self-centred and irreligious tyrant into an 
humble penitent is a psychological change not 
very common perhaps, but not at all phe- 
nomenal in actual life. "A Great Mistake" is 
a book to bo read at leisure, and to pass on 
to one's friends. Price, $2. 

Some Recent Books. 

A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford informa- 
tion concerning tlie more important recent 
publications. The latest books unll appear at 
the head, older ones being dropped out from 
time to time to inake room for new titles. 

Orders shoidd be sent to the publishers. 
Foreign books not on sale in the United States 
can now be imported ivith little delay. There 
is no bookseller in this country vjho keeps a 
full supply of books published abroad. Pub- 
lishers' prices generally include postage. 

"The Light on the Lagoon." Isabel Clarke. 

(Benzigers.) $2.65. 
"Psychology and Mystical Experience." John 

Howley, M. A. (Kegan Paul, Trench, 

Trubner & Co.; B. Herder Book Co.) $2.50. 
"Father William Doyle, S. J." Alfred 

O'Rahilly, M. A. (Longmans, Green & 

Co.) $3.50. 
"Human Destiny and the New Psychology." 

J, Godfrey Raupert, IC. S. G. (Peter 

Reilly.) $1.25. 

"Sermons." Rt Rev. John S. Vaughan. 2 
vols. (Joseph F, Wagner.) $5. 

"Rebuilding a Lost Faith." An American 
Agnostic. (Kenedy.) $3.35. 

"Heni-y Edward Manning, His Life and 
Labours."' Shane Leslie, M. A. With Six 
Illustrations. (Burns, Gates and Wash- 
bourne; P. J. Kenedy & Sons.) $7.65. 

•'The Psalms: A Study of the Vulgate 
Psalter in the Light of the Hebrew Text." 
Rev. Patrick Boylan, M. A. Vol. I. (B. 
Herder Co.) $5.50. 


Rcmcvibcr them that err in bands. — Heb., xiii, 3. 

Most Rev. Charles Gauthier, archbishop of 
Ottawa; Rt. Rev. Msgr. Daniel Riordan, arch- 
diocese of Chicago; and Rt. Rev. Msgr. Joseph 
Buh, diocese of Duluth. 

Sister M. Borromeo, of the Sisters of the 
Holy Cross; Sister M- Winifred and Sister M. 
Emilian, Sisters I, H. M. ; Sister M. Adelaide 
and Sister M. Leonie, Sisters of St. Joseph. 

Mr. John T. Brown, Mr. Harry Pellitier, 
Miss Mary Sullivan, Mrs. Martha Seabrook, 
Mr. Andrew Ade, Mr. Patrick Flynn, Dr. J. 
G. McCarthy, Mr. William Coen, Mr. H. M. 
Johnson, Miss M. McKinnon, Mr. Henry 
Drissel Sr., Mr. W. Fitzmaurice, Mr. James 
Houston, Mr. A. L. Maupin, Mr. E. J. Parkin- 
son, Miss Margaret E. Kelly, Miss Maria 
Tunney, Mr. H. A. Parker, Mrs. W. Fitz- 
maurice, Mr. John Overbeck, Mr. and Mrs. 
Hugh Hannon, Mr. George Mueller, Mrs. 
Catherine Reynolds, Mr. James McNamara, 
Mr. Philip Boehm, Mr. J. J. Hoelscher, Mr. 
•Patrick Sheehy, Mr. James Myers, Mr. 
Anthony Nester, Miss Mary Hannon, Mr. Ed- 
ward Nettler, Mr. C. E. Vanama, and Mr. M, 
L. Weber. 

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace! (300 days' indul.) 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, ivho sccth in secret, will repay thee." 

For the sufferers in Central Europe: R. M. 
N., $5; J. M. O'B., $4; Mrs. W. E. T., 50 cents; 
M. Satori, $1; friend (P. D.), $10. To help the 
Sisters of Charity in China: in behalf of the 
soul of L. E., $5; J. M. K., in honor of the 
Blessed Virgin, $10; M. McS., in honor of the 
Sacred Heart, $1. For the famine victims in 
Rus.sia: Mrs. M. D., $1.25; M. 0., 50 cents; B. 
G., $1; M. McS., in honor of the Sacred 
Heart, $1. 



< i 
H 2 

Q ^ 




VOL. XV. (New Series.) 


NO. 9 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1922 : Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C] 

The Missal of the Moor. The Lenten Stations in Rome.* 


"TTtRE is a missal of God. Its letters are 
purple and gold, — 
Resplendent letters that foiTn precepts and 
texts for the soul. 
A wonderful page outspread; and the capital 
letters there 
Are the little dark trees of the moor that 
emphasize the whole. 

The myriad flames of the gorse burn, at the 
close of the day, 
Like a sunset spilt on the earth, or a vest- 
ment of gold far-flung: 
The acoljrte myrtles their censers round secret 
altars swing, — 
The light slowly fails, and the evensong of 
the lark has been sung. 

Ah, could I read all the hidden deep mean- 
ings there! 

Could be one with the wind, and the growing 
things, the birds of the air; 

Set free my soul in that freedom of spaces and 
paths untrod, — 

Then would all questions be hushed. I should 
stand in the presence of God. 

The road to heaven is narrow. 
He, then, who would walk along it 
with greater ease should cast aside 
every encumbrance, and set out leaning 
on the staff of the Cross,^that is, 
resolved in good earnest to suffer 
everji;hing for the love of God. 

— St. John of the Cross. 


'HE Carnival was over. Early- 
next morning the faithful 
received the blessed ashes on 
their heads, and heard 
the solemn words: Metnento, homo, 
quia pulvis es! — "Remember, man, that 
thou art dust !" 

There is one custom pertaining to 
the observance of Lent in Rome that 
never can be treated lightly by those 
who love the memories and things of 
days past — "the visits to the Stations." 
Throughout the Middle Ages every day 
of the holy season was marked by a 
procession of the entire Roman clergy 
to a certain church, where a common 
service was then held. These churches 
were designated beforehand; they were 
called "Stations," and their names are 
yet preserved in the Roman Missal. 

This custom was abandoned years ago, 
nor are the "Stations" any longer oc- 
cupied by the canons, priests and dea- 
cons of Rome. In some respect, how- 
ever, the old observances have been con- 
tinued. On the Station days the churches 
in question are ornamented in the 
prettiest manner: the pillars covered 
with red cloth, the floor strewn with 
twigs of box. All the sacred relics are 
placed upon the altars; and if there is 
a crypt, it is lighted. 

Numerous churches are open to the 

* Translated for The Ave Maria, with the author's 



public only on these days of all days in 
the year; and this is true especially of 
old and out-of-the-way churches. Con- 
sequently a large number of people 
make a pilgrimage to such places during 
the great Fast; the afternoon prome- 
nades of students of religious colleges 
invariably take that course. Then, if 
any one remains in Rome for the pur- 
pose of studying ancient art, he will 
realize by this time that an unusual op- 
portunity is afforded him. 

A complete list of the Station 
churches is found in the "Diario Ro- 
mano" for the current year, — a church 
calendar that can be obtained at the 
bookstores. Or one may purchase La 
Vera Roma, a periodical that contains, 
on its last page, a list of the Stations 
of the coming week. 

Lent begins on Ash Wednesday, and 
likewise the Station pilgrimages. As 
many as three churches, all unusually 
interesting, are open to visitors on this 
day. First the Santa Maria in Cosme- 
din, opposite the Vestal Temple. In its 
hall we find the well-known "Bocca della 
Verita." This ancient Byzantine basil- 
ica has a splendid floor of mosaics; its 
apse and its two side chapels are or- 
namented with antique frescoes of 
various designs. Beneath the chancel is 
a crypt where a number of curious 
relics are exposed; the place is illumi- 
nated with many oil lamps and wax- 

From Santa Maria the road rises up 
along the slope of Mount Aventine, en- 
closed on both sides by spacious gar- 
dens with mighty pines. As we ascend, 
we reach two other Station churches 
of the day — S. Sabina and S. Alessio. 
We first arrive at the S. Sabina, which 
belongs to the Dominicans. Above the 
main portal of this edifice we find the 
oldest known representation in pictorial 
art of the Crucifixion ; it is done in wood 
and belongs to the fifth century. Our 
Lord is represented as standing rather 
than in a hanging posture, and the cross 

runs up into a triangular roof above 
His head. To the right and left of Him 
are the two robbers, and a wall-like 
structure in the background would seem 
to indicate the site of Jerusalem. 

The convent adjoining the S. Sabina 
is a building of historical significance. 
It forms a part of the old Papal palace 
that was erected in the year 1216 by 
Honorius III. Here St. Dominic once 
lived, and it was in this building that 
Honorius authorized the statutes of his 
Order. In the garden the stranger is 
shown an orange tree, the first ever 
planted in Italy ; this tree was set there 
by the Spanish saint. Here, too, that 
friar lived who in time became known 
as Pope Pius V.; now his cell and the 
cell of St. Dominic have been changed 
into chapels that may be visited by any 
one. Above the entrance of St. Dom- 
inic's cell is an inscription stating that 
"here the holy men Dominic, Francis 
and Angelus, the Carmelite, passed 
many nights in conversing about divine 
things." The cell of St. Pius V. is 
larger and brighter; its window com- 
mands a view of the Tiber's edge, up 
toward the Capitol. 

Close by the S. Sabina stands the S. 
Alessio, another basilica, which, unfor- 
tunately, underwent a thorough process 
of renovation sometime in the eight- 
eenth century. On the episcopal throne 
in the chancel one finds, however, a pair 
of splendid, incrusted pillars, made by 
Jacob Cosmas ; the mosaics run in blue, 
violet and purple streaks over a back- 
ground of gold. 

Having visited these three churches, 
we close our promenade by an excursion 
to the magnificent Garden of the Mal- 
tese Knights. A great brown gate with 
the renowned "keyhole of St. Peter" 
forms the entrance. Scarcely have we 
reached the gate when a number of old 
women and eager boys rush forth, 
pointing to the wonderful keyhole; and 
on bending^ down and peering through 
it, we discover, as in a stereopticon, the 



cupola of St. Peter's Cathedral rising 
far above the end of a long, straight 
alley of shade-trees. We are not satis- 
fied, however, with a peep through the 
keyhole, but proceed to knock at the 
gate, and are allowed to enter. It is an 
old garden, wonderfully well kept; and 
it would seem to be reserved solely for 
the enjoyment of two old gardeners. 

Close by the Garden of the Maltese 
Knights is a new Benedictine convent 
called the S. Anselmo. Pope Leo XIII. 
gave the money both for the extensive 
building and for the grand Romanic 
church. It is the dwelling of certain 
young Benedictines that are pursuing 
special studies in Rome; and here also 
resides the Primarius of the Benedic-^ 
tine Order. 

We descend the street that runs along 
S. Anselmo's walls. On the slopes of 
Mount Aventine the almond-trees are 
in bloom; the distant view embraces 
the ancient convent of S. Saba, with its 
Roman arcades g,bove the front portal. 
There yet remains some of the old 
city. Down below, by the foot of the 
mountain, we are met by the electric 
street car from S. Paul's which takes 
us directly to the Piazza Venezia. 

Now we make an excursion to S. 
Giorgio in Velabro, down by the Forum 
Boarium. The church is very old and 
it is quite damp. In velabro means "in 
the marsh." Close by is the identical 
triumphal arch that was erected by the 
money-changers in honor of Septimius 
Severus and his sons ; but the same vin- 
dictive Caracalla that removed the name 
of Geta, his brother, from the Severus 
areh had also cut off the head of Septi- 

On another occasion we stroll down 
past the Coliseum, through Constan- 
tine's Arch to the S. Gregorio Magno, 
with its elegant Renaissance staircase, 
erected by Cardinal Scipio Borghese. 
As we walk about the S. Gregorio, 
we find, in a chapel to the right of 
the main altar, a room from the home 

of the great Pope's parents. It is well 
preserved and was taken from the orig- 
inal building, which fonnerly stood on 
this very site. We also see an old curule 
chair, once the seat of Gregory ; and the 
niche where he used to sleep. And in 
the garden of the Camaldolese convent 
near the church are to be seen three 
chapels; in one of them we find the 
marble table at which the Pontiff used 
to feed twelve indigent persons every 
day. A cross hewn in the top of the 
table marks each of the twelve seats. 
One day, however, a thirteenth person 
appeared, and St. Gregory fed him with 
the others. But the thirteenth guest 
was an angel. 

Leaving S. Gregorio, we turn toward 
the right, ascending a steep, quiet street 
spanned by imposing mural arches. 
Soon there arises above the budding 
tops of the trees on our left the lofty 
apse of the S. Giovanni e Paolo. With 
its small Roman arches, it reminds one 
of the renowned chancel of the Roskilde 
Cathedral, in Denmark. A little farther 
on we step out upon a quiet piazza, sur- 
rounded by the church itself, with its 
arcades, the bell tower, and the convent 
(which rises up and encloses the place 
like a fortress) , and by the walls of the 
city of Rome. 

St. John and St. Paul, for whom the 
church was named, are not identical 
with the two Apostles. The names re- 
fer to two martyrs who sacrificed their 
lives for the Faith under the reign of 
Julian the Apostate. The Acts of the 
Martyrs describe them as oflScials of 
the royal court; and, to avoid public 
notice, Julian caused the execution to 
be carried out in their private homes 
instead of in the usual place beyond the 
city walls. In 398, after the death of 
Julian, Senator Byzanticus and his son, 
Pommachius, transformed the house 
where the bloody deed had been done 
into a church; and it is interesting to 
note that in our day an ancient Roman 
dwelling has been found underneath the 



church now standing on the site. During 
the "Station" this subterranean place 
is lighted, and one may move about it 
without the least danger. In several 
rooms Christian frescoes are yet to be 
seen, in other places heathen ones. In 
the so-called oratorivm there is a pic- 
ture representing the beheading of the 
two martyrs, together with a female 
figure with hands uplifted — an Orante, 
or "the praying one." She is thought to 
represent either the Church or our 
Blessed Lady. 

On still another day our journey ex- 
tends to the church of Santa Maria in 
Dominica, on Mount Coelio. Passing 
the Coliseum, we follow the Via 
Claudia, and soon reach a square close 
by the walls of the city. In the middle 
of this square is a pillar surmounted by 
a small antique ship done in marble. 
The place — the Piazza della Navicula — 
has been named after this marble sail- 
ing-vessel. The ancient Romans, on re- 
turning from a long and perilous 
voyage, always offered such a ship as a 
votive gift to the gods. The navicella 
now crowning the pillar is a copy of the 
original, which was removed by Leo X., 
who caused a fac-simile to be put in its 
place. Behind this pillar is the en- 
trance to Santa Maria in Dominica, an 
old church, whose apse is decorated 
with precious mosaics. Here, as in the 
chancel of the Lateran Church, or on 
the front of the Santa Maria in Tras- 
tevere, we see the figure of the Pope 
who contributed these mosaics, — a tiny 
human form kneeling before the Blessed 
Virgin and kissing her foot. 

Here, on the site of the Santa Maria 
in Dominica, the Apostle Paul passed 
the first days of his sojourn in Rome, 
until "permitted to dwell by himself" 
in a hired house, down by the old 
Flaminian Road, — ^the Corso of modem 
times, in the place where now stands 
the church of Santa Maria in Via Lata. 
Santa Maria in Dominica is the 
property of Greek friars and opens its 

gates only on the "Station" day. This 
is an occasion of much solemnity, and 
a service is held morning and evening, 
with a great deal of melodious, monoto- 
nous singing by numerous clear, youth- 
ful voices. 

On the opposite side of the piazza, 
beyond the walls, stands the remarkable 
church of S. Stefano Rotondo. It was 
originally an old Roman slaughter-house 
(macellum) — a round building sup- 
ported by five and twenty antique pil- 
lars; in its hallway we see the bishop's 
chair said to have been used by St. 
Gregory the Great when preaching. 
Thus the Station pilgrimages continu- 
ally oflfer possibilities for seeing in- 
teresting objects. 

We pay a visit to each of the better 
known mosaic-churches in Rome : Santa 
Maria in Trastevere, S. Lorenzo fuori 
della Mure, Santa Pudenziana, SS. 
Cosma e Damiano, Santa Prassede. One 
must not pass by any of them; and if 
one desires to obtain a perfect knowl- 
edge of the art of mosaics in Rome, 
some are yet to be added: the Lateran 
Church, St. Paul's, Santa Csecilia, Santa 
Maria Maggiore, and Santa Francesca 
Romana, by the Forum. The art is of 
a rather uniform character, and it is 
diflScult to remember the many various 
patterns. But the subjects are usually 
closely related to one another. In the 
centre Christ is enthroned, saints at 
both sides, under the green palms and 
the golden skies of Paradise. Below, by 
way of a frieze, a double row of lambs, 
coming from Jerusalem and from Beth- 
lehem — the two symbolic places, — ap- 
proaching the Lamb of God on Calvary, 
the place from where the four rivers 
of the Gospel flow. In S. Clemente the 
Cross is represented as the Tree of 
Life, whence grows the true vine-plant, 
with twelve doves — the Twelve Apos- 
tles — resting on its branches. This, 
probably, is the most conspicuous fea- 
ture of all Roman mosaic art. There is 
not much besides, yet what a grand, 




liturgical dignity in the sum-total! 
What a contrast to the art of the after- 
Renaissance vv'hich employed such great 
outward show to cover up its lack of 
profundity of spirit! 

The "Station" excursion also takes 
us to places in Rome that are otherwise 
of little interest to the tourist. In our 
search for the small church of S. Tri- 
fone, which is located in the Piazza Fia- 
metta, we wander about the old quarter 
between the Piazza Navona and S. Luigi 
Degli Francesci, where Anima's Ger- 
man church unexpectedly raises its 
green, tiled steeple above the Roman 
roofs. Finally we arrive at the S. Cle- 
mente, a wonderful basilica, dating 
from the time of Constantine, decorated 
with beautiful frescoes, lighted and ac- 
cessible \vithout the aid of a sacristan. 
We proceed along the Via Latina, a de-' 
serted thoroughfare, as far as Porta 
Latina, now closed. A tinge of the ver- 
dant Spring overspreads the brown 
walls; and crowds of beggars on this 
one day are permitted to flock about the 
entrance of the old church of S. Gio- 
vanni ante Portam Latinam, erected in 
the place where the Apostle John was 
cast into the caldron of boiling oil, dur- 
ing the reign of Domitian. 

Thus day after day, week after week 
of the Lenten season passes in Rome. 
Before we realize it. Holy Week begins. 

Basil Kir by. * 


It is good to think that sometimes on 
earth faithful love and tender hopes are 
crowned with that golden gift of happi- 
ness which our hearts desire; but it is 
good also — nay, better — to believe that, 
if they are not so crowned, there are 
some gifts better lost than won; some 
souls called to taste the divine sweetness 
which lurks in the bitterness of sacri- 
fice, rather than that rich nectar which 
m.en call joy; and v^-ho are taught the 
great lesson that out of weary longing, 
baffled efforts, and failure which seems 
almost too sad to be dwelt upon, a . 
victory may be wrought. — Anon. 

IX. — The Marriage. — Patchley 
r\ /"OTHER GABRIELLE at Sant' 
fivl; ^^^^^^ thought Chesska's father 
must have been "in the soul of 
the Church." The girl knew how he 
had ended a broken life in extreme dif- 
ficulty and poverty ; and she was nearly 
fifteen at the tinie of his humble and 
holy death, when his lips prayed for 
mercy "to me a sinner," and his eyes 
closed in peace. It was no wonder she 
felt that all vras well with him. 

Basil noticed the Rosary making a 
bracelet round her wrist the next day 
as they drove back from an exhibition 

"All really charming ^ women," said 
the lover, "are very feminine, and there- 
fore inconsistent and illogical." 

"All really charming wdmen don't 
mind too m.uch what men say." There 
was a playful toss of her head. 

"Child, you are adorable! The angels 
of the early painters did not, I am 
sure." He was looking at the beads 
out of the corner of an anxious eye. 
"Was your father High Church?" 

"Oh, no!" she said. "He was all by 
himself, — no particular Church, you. 
know. He v/ould have liked the Rosary^ 
He didn't have one because he didn't 
know about it." 

"Prayer to the saints?" said Basil. 

"Well — he thought they could pray 
for us." 

"And the Virgin?" 

"Daddy called her the 'Blessed' Vir- 
gin, because that is in the Bible. 
Daddy said what they called the Mag- 

* Synopsis. — Basil Kirby, art connoisseur, 
deep in debt, with a house in the West End of 
London and a countiy place in Devonshire, 
goes to Paris to see a picture, and joins the 
Countess Cavaletti in a motoring trip to bring 
home her "schoolgirl niece" from a convent at 
Mentone. Kirby is an unbeliever; the Count-. 



nificat at Sant' Isolda. He said it eveiy 
day in English, to make up for England 
'putting her aside.' He heard some- 
where chapel people saying they loved 
Christ and put His Mother aside. Daddy 
would have liked my beads, and I like to 
be the same as daddy was." 

He asked no more. 

To please Chesska, Basil Kirby was 
to be married "before the nearest par- 
son." The bride was not particular 
about the shade of Anglicanism, be- 
cause her father had thought out things 
by himself and had gone nowhere. 
Chesska w^ould wear her travelling 
dress, and an artist friend was to come 
as best man. The Countess would be 
there, of course; but not Ariel. 

"I don't care where we go," he said, 
"so long as it's not that ne^^^angled 
Second-Comang place at the top of the 
street. Christians can have new 
fashions, but they can't have a new 
Christianity at this time of day." 

The Countess shed a petulant tear in 
private. She had a "sveakness for wed- 
dings. She told Yvonne that Mr. Kirby 
ought to know better. It was so irrev- 
erent for a girl to be led to the altar 
without a white dress and orange blos- 
soms and a train and a veil ! 

It was all hurried, unconventional, — 
shabby people about the door, errand 
boys and a policeman; the lanky artist 
Pilcocks, with a Byronic open collar and 
a flower; Chesska in "an old frock"! 
In reality, the bnde's dress was one 

ess, a vivacious person, of no religion, for- 
merly an actress. Francesca Brown 
("Chesska") is not a Catholic, but she loves 
the nuns and their religion, and has remained 
as a grown-up girl at Saint' Isolda teaching 
English. Kirby admires her "artistically." 
She reminds him of the young, human-looking 
angels of the early Italian painters, and the 
charm of her innocence attracts him at once. 
To the man, twice her age, she is a new type 
never met with before. Meanwhile he is keen 
to make a fortune in a stained-glass process; 
and on the eve of his journey to Mentone, 
Nicholov — a man of diabolical cleverness — 
visits him and repays a debt, furnishing the 

that her artist lover happened to like 
for its indefinable tint, and v/hat he 
mysteriously called its beautiful lines; 
and the dark green cloak with the pink 
lining was put aside on the front bench 
during the short ceremony. 

Chesska prayed in her own heart that 
they might always love and be faithful 
to each other. It was a very humble 
prayer, relying on divine help, accord- 
ing to the teaching of "daddy" ; though 
she was as deeply in love with Basil as 
ever Juliet was with Romeo. She also 
said the "Hail Mary," — perhaps the 
first that was ever said within those 
rather "Low Church" walls. The dear 
Sisters at Sant' Isolda had led all their 
motherless children to the Mater Ad- 
mirahilis; this one asked silently that 
she and Basil, who was putting this ring 
on her finger, might both belong to 
Christ, no matter how little her dear 
Basil knew Him now. It was no wonder 
the clergyman had to prompt her re- 

Basil was anxious to get the con- 
tract over and signed. For him the 
registrar's office would have done as 
well. It was swift as a dream. Chesska 
was Mrs. Kirby, and the Countess was 
kissing her and telling her she hoped 
it was not "in haste," and it did so 
remind her of "poor dear Giu." She 
wanted to tell them all about the wed- 
ding at Mentone, and how the priest 
sprinkled the holy water 'so awkwardly ^ 
right into her eye,' and how the candles 

money that enables the impecunious Kirby to 
travel. Nicholov was first known to him as 
a servant in the Bohemian art studios of 
Paris, and has since been a borrower, a beggar, 
and a Russian spy. Kirby finds in Nicholov 
just the man he wants to help him with his 
manufacture of stained-glass. He employs 
him, and arranges for him to go to Patchley, 
Kirby's country place. In the meantime, Kirby 
is becoming more interested in Chesska and 
correspondingly bored with the Countess. He 
proposes to Chesska, is accepted, and thereby 
incurs the temperamental displeasure of the 
Countess, who had very seriously thought to 
marry him herself- 



were doubling up with the heat. She 
signed her name as a witness, with a 
splash and dash of ink, taking up all the 
space in the book, — "Eugenie, Countess 
de Cavaletti." 

She was also fidgeting badly about 
Ariel: Yvonne had been left with the 
Pom on a string somewhere outside. But 
a smothered bark had been heard, and 
there was reason to fear Yvonne had 
been unable to resist a wedding, and 
had brought the Pom into church. 

And then they all came out. The 
Countess had secreted a white slipper to 
throw after the carriage of the bride 
and bridegroom for luck. Even if they 
had escaped a breakfast party of her 
friends by driving away from the 
church, they should not escape the lucky 
slipper. So she threw it from the 
church step after the carriage, and, 
making a bad aim, hit the policeman, to 
the great joy of the populace. And 
then Ariel flew round and round after 
the white bow on his collar, and, being 
exasperated, bit the best man. And the 
lanky Mr. Pilcocks, the stout Countess, 
and the hysterical dog bundled into a 
waiting car and went off to a hotel, 
where they entertained "a few friends" 
at Mr. Kirby's expense. 

Eugenie Cavaletti put a long notice in 
the Times, over which Basil groaned. 
She called him Basil Kirby, Esq., of 
Half-Moon Street, Mayfair, and of 
Patchley Hall, South Devon. And there 
really was a Patchley Hall of which the 
lady was ignorant. A most objec- 
tionable family of the name of Popple- 
ton would roar laughing. But such was 
life; and, now that Basil had married 
Chesska, he could forgive the Countess 
and snap his fingers at the world. 

So it was all over, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Basil Kirby arrived at Patchley Cot- 
tage, — a little low-roofed house of two 
floors, separated from the road only by 
a strip of ground and a box-hedge. Kir- 
by's ancestors had lived there," — gentle- 
folk without any show. There were 

large rooms, with old furniture all in 
perfect order; and everjrthing had a 
value in memory for the man who had 
been there as a boy, — the room where 
his father carved the early Sunday din- 
ner at this same table; the sideboard 
standing near by, laden with the same 
old silver; the kitchen where the chil- 
dren had tossed pancakes on Shrove 
Tuesday; the inlaid desk where his 
mother kept her old love-letters tied 
with ribbon; the grandfather clock in 
the hall. 

Before that Times notice worried 
him, Basil had cheered Eugenie by an 
invitation to Patchley Cottage. She was 
to bring the inseparable Ariel, of 
course ; and they would see in the quiet 
of the country v*'hat her new settlement 
amounted to; and he would put her 
money affairs in order. Basil was what 
is called good-natured. His kind im- 
pulses now and again brought him more 
trouble than he reckoned. 

The bride and bridegroom promised 
themselves- a deferred honejmioon, a 
splendid time in Italy later on. They 
wanted to visit Sant' Isolda together. 
But now the fortune had to be made, 
and the Devonshire country looked a 
paradise of flowers in their first mar- 
ried days. There is no part of England 
so luxuriant as the green wooded hills 
and shores of South Devon. Roses and 
thatched roofs, apples and cream are 
all suggestive of its beauty and com- 
fort. Walls are covered with a torrent 
of white blossom, and plumed on top 
with a thousand glorious weeds. Rocks 
girdle the shore, approached by a tangle 
of pilie belts and precipitous steeps 
draped with flowering trees and wild 
fuchsia bushes. 

Basil's home was a delight to the 
woman that loved him. It was here he 
lived as a boy. His first sketch had 
been made in the courtyard beyond the 
garden, — a sketch of the Old Barn. He 
sometimes called it the Old Barn still, 
and sometimes the Tudor House. He 



kept it locked and had the key. Chesska 
knew Aunt Eugenie would call him 
Bluebeard. Nicholov, the chauffeur, ap- 
peared to have another key ; for he went 
.down the garden and disappeared for 
hours at a time. 

The chauffeur had a cunning look in 
his eyes behind those gold glasses. 
Chesska wished he would not bow so 
much, and smile with such a leer; but 
Basil said the man had been in Russia, 
and perhaps the manners of chauffeurs 
in that country were different. Nicho- 
lov, though deferential, addressed 
familiar remarks to them both. 

The bride had been at home but a few 
days when she was surprised to hear 
the man say to her husband : 

"There's an auction at Exeter to-mor- 
row, sir, I have the catalogue." 

"All right, Nicholov. Tell me another 

"There are pictures, and there might 
be something. You'll excuse me, sir, 
but we must go early." 

"Not now, — not now, Nicholov!" 

Chesska admired Basil's patience. The 
chauffeur of the Marchesa Desti would 
never have made such mistakes. 

A housekeeper was at the cottage, 
and also a country maid. Both v/ere de- 
voted to the master, and met the bride 
in the hall, beaming with delight, when 
she came. Even the house boy, Noah, 
stood in the background by the garden 
door, his freckled face all one blissful 
grin. No doubt Mrs. Dobbs and Hester 
and Noah all fell in love with little 
Mrs. Kirby. Cassar, the old watchdog, 
came up the garden, bolting round the 
ends of hedges, and bouncing over 
flower borders, to give an uproarious 

Chesska went from room to room, the 
first days, entranced with the new idea 
that this was home. The wedding had 
been too hurried for special refurnish- 
ing. The large, iow-ceiled rooms had 
the homely air of containing nothing 
new. The windows were open ; the little 

casement curtains fluttered in a breeze 
scented with roses. There were flowers 
in every room, and the sv/eet cleanliness 
of the country reminded Chesska of the 
convent at Sant' Isolda. 

It was all lovely, she said. "And, 
Mrs. Dobbs, do please unpack my 
trunk ! I have only one. Do you know, 
it is my old school trunk! You will 
stay with us ahvays, won't you, Mrs. 
Dobbs? I simply couldn't do without 

The buxom housekeeper looked all 
white apron and good-natured face. 
She had knelt to unpack the trunk. 
Chesska's impulsive speech made her 
raise towards her little mistress an 
adoring smile, wondering if it would be 
possible to hug her on the spot. No, 
absolutely impossible. In the ducal 
house where in early years she had 
graduated from step to step in service, 
such a liberty would have meant the 
fall of the mansion and the end of the 
world. So, instead, Mrs. Dobbs, used 
her choicest language, as she always 
remembered doing in formal addresses 
to her "betters." 

"I have less reason than ever to want 
to go away," she said. "It's a small 
place, my lady, but it's flexible." 

No doubt she meant convenient, and 
perhaps she addressed Chesska as "my 
lady" because "madam" seemed too hard 
a title for such a winning young crea- 

"The other house is handsomer done 
up," she went on to say, as she knelt 
and unpacked; "but it's too mideevyal. 
No kitchen range nor oven, — not any- 
thing fit for gentry to live in. The 
Titdors lived there, but they must have 
been nobody — in a sense." 

Mrs. Dobbs often qualified her words 
with that saving clause; and Chesska 
listened in high ^\ee, without even a 
quiver of the lips that were wont to 
smile so easily. 

It was in the evening that she first 
saw the old Tudor house. It stood 



beyond a paved yard, where wild 
flowers seemed to bubble up between the 
stones. In the farthest corner of the 
yard was a pool and the winch of a well. 
That corner was alive with ducks and 
chickens. The low grey wall of the 
whole enclosure was full of moss and 
ferns in every chink. 

The long, low timbered house was 
without any windows at the rear, ex- 
cept such chinks as one could see under 
the edge of the red-tiled roof. But at 
the other side, facing the glow from the 
sunset, there was a glimpse of oak fur- 
niture and fine pewter on shelves, 
through a diamond-paned window; and, 
looking up, Chesska saw a whole range 
of such windows, making almost a glass 
side to the upper room. Some of the 
leaded casements up there stood open, 
and dark blue curtains fluttered in the 
sea breeze. 

"Now I am going to show you my 
workshop," Basil Kirby said. And, un- 
locking the door with one of his own 
keys, he stepped in with her to explore 
the old house. 

A peculiar smell of chemicals met her 
at the portal. Echoes sounded as they 
closed the door. There was a square 
hall, with small oak panels lining the 
walls; the pattern was the linen-fold 
that connoisseurs admire. The narrow 
polished stairs went round three sides 
of this square room, and the tv/isted 
balusters reminded Chesska of the house 
he had decorated in Half-Moon Street. 
There was a dining room at the left, 
furnished sparsely \vith a long table, 
oak chairs rush-seated, and a few 
shelves of artistic old pe\\i;er. Passing 
under the staircase, one reached the 
stone-paved kitchen by a narrow pas- 
sage, where he told her with pride that 
he had set in large panels, though he 
doubted if any one would ever see them. 

Then they went to the upper floor. A 
broad hall or passage, the width of half 
the house, ran all along the back, lighted 
by those glazed chinks they had seen 

under the eaves of the roof. Every 
door opened into the one room, that 
went the whole length of the upper 
floor, with casement Avindows all along 
one side. Oaken pillars, square and 
carved, had been set to support the 
beamed ceiling. 

"When I began restoring the house," 
Basil told her, "this was all stuffed with 
hay and sacks. The windows were bar- 
ricaded, and the glass was gone. One 
open gap was left for unloading into 
carts potatoes or hay, and such stuff. 
The rqof sagged and hung down in the 
middle. I got the props in, and a new 
roof put on, — old, old mossy tiles. Then 
there was a ladder, and I built the stair- 
case, and turned out the rats, and 
panelled the v/hole place." 

From the inside of the long, narrow 
room all the doors were concealed by 
oak panelling, except the one door they 
had come in by, and that closed after 
them with a click. 

"I must never come here by myself," 
said Chesska. "I might be like Ginevra 
in the oak chest of the Italian castle." 

Basil shuddered. "We must not talk 
of such dreadful things. You would 
call, and I would come. The lock on 
that door saved me from many an in- 
terruption when I was working here." 

"And is this all of the old house, 

"There is another room, — no place 
for pretty frocks. We shall not go 
beyond this." 

He turned abruptly to show her a 
piece of'colored glass against the light. 

(To be continued.) 

If you would be ready for the great 
moments of the future, prepare arid ex- 
ercise yourselves in those of the present. 
Be unselfish and generous, and true at 
all costs to what you are convinced is 
right. Learn to face and to stand the 
"single test." Be your best selves, . . . 
to show the world the might of moral, 
beauty. — Eamon de Valera, 



Vignettes and Views of Ireland. 

New Series. 

BY K. C. 


V y t)ri 

HERE are you taking your 
prisoner?" We asked this ques- 
tion at Cork,