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atr  iSeatam  iMariam  Uirsinem. 


(Recordare   nostri,   Sanctissima    Virgo  I 


CONTENTS- 


PROSE. 


Advent, 543 

Advocata  Nostra. — Mercedes,     -         -  27* 

Advantages  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  -  -  375 
Alberto  il  Beato. — Octavia  Hensei,  •  -  76 
Ancient  Liturgies,    The  Blessed  Virgin's 

Place  in 385 

Ancient  Miraculous  Picture  (An)  of  the 

Blessed  Virgin,  -  .  .  -  i^^ 
Annual  Miracle  (An)  in  a  Village  of  the 

Apennines,  ....         265 

Another  Recent  Cure  at  Lourdes,        -  351 

Apostles — Where  the  Apostles  Rest,  -  591 
Apparitions  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  -  -  591 
Art,  The  Influence  of  the  Church  on  ,-  73 
Assumption  (The)  in  kx\.— Eliza  Allen  Starr,\ti() 
Aspiring  Shepherds  (The)— A  Kerry  Legend. 

—  T.  F.    Galwey,  -         531,  555,  586 

"Ave  Bell,"   The        -         -         -         -         207 

Beautiful  Customs  of  a  Catholic  Land,  256 

Blessed  Virgin  (The)  Some  Titles  of  -     325 

Blessed  Virgin  (The),  A  Prayer  of  St.  Ber- 
nard to      -         -         -         -         -  207 
Blessed  Virgin  (The),  An  Ancient  Miraculous 

Picture  of 193 

Blessed  Virgin  (Devotion  to  the)  in  Ireland,     97 
Black  Gown's  Prophecy,  The         -         484,  510 
Blessed  Virgin's  Place  (The)  in  Ancient  Lit- 
urgies,   385 

Blessed  Night,  Tht—Eltza  Allen  Starr,  608 
Blessed  Virgin,  Apparitions  of  the  -         591 

Book  for  Boys,  A  Notable  -         -  616 

Brahmin's  Christmas,  The— ^.  L.  Dorsey,  603 
Braun  (Isabella).—^  S ,  -  -  -  583 
Brown  Scapular  (The)  and  the  "  Catholic 

Dictionary,"  -         -         ,         ,         ^^3 

"  Catholic  Dictionary  "  (The)  and  the  Brown 

Scapular,  -  -  .  -  -  553 
Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Union  of  America, 

Sixteenth  Annual  Convention  of  -  161 
Catholic  Poet  (A),  The  Songs  of  -         337 

Catholic  Land  (A),  Beautiful  Customs  of       256 
Catholic  Notes,      18,  41,  64,  89,  114,  135,  184, 
208,  233,  258,  28r,  306,  328,  353,  378,  400, 
425,  449>  473-  496,  521,  544,  57o,  592,  614 
Charity,  The  Heroic  Act  of         -  -  471 

Church  (The)  and  the  Fine  Arts,  -         588 

Church  (The  Influence  of  the)  on  Art,  -  73 
Christmas  Day,  The  Liturgy  of  -  -  601 
Claims  of  Science  and  Faith,  The        -  37 


Conversion  of  a  Freethinker,           -         -  61 

Conversion  (A")  by  Means  of  the  Rosary,  590 
Corrigan  (Archbishop)  on  the  Right  of 

Property, 577 

Cure,  A  Sudden  and  Extraordinary        -  397 

Cure  (Another  Recent)  at  Lourdes,        -  351 

Cure,  A  Wondrous       -         -         -         -  568 

Day  at  Einsiedeln,  A  -  -  -  -  470 
Devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  Ireland. 

— Jams  Keegan,              -         -         -  97 

Dedicating  Children,  -  -  -  183 
Devotion  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  The  Origin 

of  the            -         _         _         .         .  ^QQ 

Devotion  (The)  of  November,            -  433 

Duty,  Growth  and       .         .         -         .  i 

Einsiedeln,  A  Day  at      -         -         -         -  470 

Excellence  (The)  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  313 

Faith  and  Science,  The  Claims  of  — The 

Rev.  R.  S.  Hawker  on            -           -  37 

Favors  of  Our  Queen,       61,  87,  133,  351,  397, 

448,  568 

Fine  Arts  (The),  The  Church  and         -  588 

Footprints  of  St.  Dominic,             -             -  62 

Freethinker's  Conversion,  A               -  61 

Genealogy  of  Mary,  The            -              -  38 

Golden  F^te,  A— II.  MS,  -  352 
Growth  and  Duty. —  TheRt.Rev.f: Lancaster 

Spalding,  D.  D.,               -             -  i 

Happy  Anniversary  in  Rome,  A — Isadote,  565 

Hardey  (Madame),  The  Late  -  17 
Hendricken  (Bi-^hop),  An   Incident  in  the 

Life  of         -             -             -             -  16 

"  Heroic  Act ' '  (The),  The  Indulgences  of  5  20 

Heroic  Act  of  Charity,  The               -  471 

Holy  Man  of  Tours,  The          -             -  395 

Holy  Rosary,  Advantages  of  the             -  375 

Holy  Water,  The  Origin  and  Use  of     -  145 

Holy  Cross  (The),  Triumph  of        -         -  422 

Holy  Rosary  (The),  The  Excellence  of     -  313 

Holy  Name  of  Mary,  The         -             -  241 

Immaculate    Conception    (The)   in   Art. 

Eliza  Allen  Starr,              -              ^  r2Q 
Indulgence  (The)  of  the  Portiuncula,  Origin 

of                 -                  -                  -                  -  III 

Indulgences  of  the  "Heroic  Act,"        -  520 


vt 


Index. 


Incident  (An)  in  the  Life  of  Bishop  Hen- 

dricken,  ...  i6 

Influence  (  The)  of  the  Church  on  Art,  -  73 
Ireland,  Devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  97 
Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy,  The  -  489 


Janssen  (Johannes), 

Kerry  Legend,  A 
Knock,  A  Visit  to 


534,  558 

531.  555.  5S6 
303 


Lake  Como,  Summer  Ramblings  by  -  489 
Late  Madame  Hardey,  The         -         -  17 

Leaves  from  Our  Portfolio,  -  37>  63 

Letter  of  the  Rev.  R.  S.  Hawkins  on  the 

Claims  of  Science  and  Faith,         -  37 

Letter  from  Paris,  -  -  *         39 

Legend  (  The)  of  the  Ghostly  Mass,  -  505 
Leaves  from  a  Missionary's  Note- Book,  -  541 
Life   (The)   of  Our   Lady  in  the  Temple, 

Thoughts  on  -  -  -  481 

Liturgy  of  Christmas  Day,  The         -  601 

Lough  Derg,  The  Pilgrimage  of  -  376 

Lourdes,  Three  Days  at  -  121,155 

Lourdes,  Another  Recent  Cure  at  -         351 

Lourdes,  A  Protestant  at        -  -  326 

Madonna  del  Sasso. — Octavia  Hensel,  -  29 
Madonna   of  Landen,    VhQ—The  Rev.  F. 

Bicker staffe  Drew,       -         -         -         49 
Martyr's  Letter,  A  -  -  -  63 

Martyrdoms,  Variegated         -         -  -      425 

Mary,  The  Holy  Name  of  -  -  241 

Mary,  The  Genealogy  of      -  -         -  38 

Milan,  Souvenirs  of  -         -         -         -     37^ 

Mission  (A)  in  Mid-Ocean,  -         -  35 

Miraculous   Picture   (An   Ancient)   of  the 

Blessed  Virgin,  -  -  -         193 

Miraculous  Medal,  Rosey  O' Toole's  -  87 
Miracle  (An  Annual)  in  a  Village  of  the 

Apennines,  ....  265 

Modern  St.  John  Nepomucene,  A  "374 

Mother  of  God  (The),  Thoughts  of  Protest- 
ant Writers  on  -  -  -  112 
Motives  of  Prayer  for  the  Dead,         -         -     433 

New  Publications,  -        -        43,  137,  186, 

235,  282,  308,  355.  380   402,  427,  451, 

>T  .,  ^.  *  ^^5>  498,  524,  547,  571,  594 
Noble  Three,  A         -         -  -         -  180 

Notable  Bjok  (A)  for  Boys,    ■-       -  -      616 

November,  The  Devotion  of        -        -  433 

Obituary,  -  -  -  19  44  67,  91,  116, 
138,  164,  188,  210,  260  284,  30S,  330. 
380,  403,  452,  475.  499»  548,  572,  595 
On  the  Mother  ot  G;d,  -  -  -  112 
Origin  of  the  Indulgence  of  the  Pi)rtiunciila,  1 1 1 
Origin  and  Use  (  Tht  )  of  Holy  Water.—  7'/^<? 

Rev.  A.  A.  Lambing,  LL  Z?.,       -      145 
Origin  (  The)  of  the  Devotion  of  ihe  Holy 

Rosary,  -         -  ,  .         409 


Our  Lady's  Birthday,  Thoughts  on         -         217 
Our  Unseen  Guardians,  -  -         361 

Our  Queen,  Pavors  of  -  61,87, 133.351,397,448 
Our  Lady  in  the  Temple,  Tnougais  on  me 

Lile  of  -  -  -  -  481 

Palms  (Concluded). — Anna  Hanson  Do?  sey, 

13'  32,  57,  82,  105,   128,   158,   177,  204, 

231,     251,     275,     297,    322,    347.     369, 

411,   443.   466,    492,   516,   538,  561,    579 

Papal  Infallioility,  Mr.  Proctor  on         -         1J3 

Paris,  Letter  from  -  -  "39 

Patriotism,  True  -  -  -  255 

Philip's  Restitution. — Christian  Reid,      10,  25, 

54,  78,  100,  124,  151,  173,  200,  224,  243, 

268,  289.  316,  341,  -^^i.  383,  419,  436,  457 

Pilgrimage  of  Lough  Derg,  Tne  -  376 

Portiuncula  (The  Indulgence  of  the)  Origin 

of •  III 

Pope  (The)  at  Home,         -         -         -  398 

Proctor  (Mr.)  on  Papal  Infallibility,         -  113 
Protestant  Writers  (  Thoughts  of)  on  the 

Mother  of  God,  -  -  -  -  112 
Prayer  (A)  of  St.  Bernard  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, -  -  -  -  207 
Predestination,  A  Sign  of  -  -  -  132 
Protestant  (A)  at  Lourdes,  -  -  -  326 
Prayer  for  the  Dead,  Motives  of  -  433 
Property  (The  Right  of),  Archbishop  Corri- 

gan  on 577 


508 


Republic  (The)  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
Relics  (  The)  of  St.  Anne, 

Rescue,  A     - 

Rif^ht  of  Property  (The),  Archbishop  Corri 

gan  on          -          -         -         -         -  577 
Rosary  (Holy),  Origin  ot  the  Devotion  of  the  408 

Rosary  (  The),  A  Conversion  by  Means  of  561 

Rome,  A  Happy  Anniversary  in         -       -  565 

Rosey  O' Toole's  Miraculous  Medal,       -  87 

Sacred  Heart  (The),  The  Republic  of        -  508 

Saintly  Convict,  A         -         -         -         -  37 

Saint  (A),  Perhaps, 60 

Science  and  F  ith,  The  Rev.  R  S.  Hawker 

on  the  Claims  of    -         -         -         -  37 
Sermon  by  the  Rev.  Father  Conaty  at  the 
Annual  Convention  of  the  C.  T.  A.  U. 
of  America,          -          -          -          -  161 
Sign  (A)  of  Predestination,     -         -         -  132 
Singular  Grace,  A.       -         -         -         -  448 
Singinp  Rose  of  Erin, The — Eleanor  C.  Don- 
nelly,       220 

Sister  L  /uise, 610 

Sixteenth  Annual  Convention  of  the  C.  T. 

A  U   of  America,           -         -         -  161 

Soeur  Ganrielle's  Chaplet.- ^.   V.  N  y  301 

S  )ngs  (Thf)  of  a  Catholic  P..et,     -         -  337 

'$iOwv^mx^K)iyi\\2iX\.- Octavia  Hensel,      -  372 

St   John  Nepomucene,  A  Modern          -  374 

St.  Anne,  The  Relics  of        -        -         ^  Zd 


Index. 


vit 


St.  Dominic,  Footprints  of        -         -         - 
St.  Catherine's  Well.—/  /.  McG., 
St,  Hubert  of  Bretigny,     - 

•  St.  Bernard  (.\  Prayer  of)  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin, 
Summer   Ramblings   by   Lake   Como. — 

Odavia  Hensel,  .  .  . 

Sudden  and  Extraordinary  Cure,  A     -      - 


62 
182 
446 

207 

489 
397 


I 
I 


Thoughts  on  the  Life  of  Our  Lady  in  the 

Temple,  -  -  -  481 

Thoughts   of   Protestant    Writers    on    the 

Mother  of  God,  -  -  112 

Three  Days  at  Lourdes. — A  Benedictine  Abbot, 

i2i»  155 

Thoughts  on  Our  Lady's  Birthday. — Edmund 


of  the  Heart  of  Mary,  C.  P., 


217 


Titles  (Some)  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
Tours,  The  Holy  Man  of         -  - 

Triumph  (The)  of  the  Holy  Cross. — From 

the  Spanish,  -  ,  . 

True  Patriotism. — Paul  Feval, 

Value  of  a  Good  Book,  The 

Variegated  Martyrdoms, 

Visit  to  Knock,  A       -         -         -         . 


325 

395 

422 
255 

425 
303 


108 

591 
609 


What  the  Contents  of  a  Casket  Recalled, 

Where  the  Apostles  Rest, 

White  Cornet,  The 

With  Staff  and   Scrip. —C^^r/^j    Warren 

Stoddard,     -     196,  227,  249,  271,  293,  320 
34S»  366,   391,   416,    440,    461,   486,    514 

Wondrous  Cure,  A        -  -  -        568 


POETRY. 


Ad   Beatam   Virginem   Mariam. — 

Leo  FP  XIII., 
Agnes  Violet  — Eliza  Allen  Starr, 
AUSaints'.— M  J/.^., 
All  We  Need  to  Know  is  Plain. — Samuel H. 

Derbey, 31 

An  Hour  with  St.  Anne. — Angelique de  Lande,  104 
Assumption  of  Our  Lady,  The  —  The  Rev. 

R.  Belaney,  M.  A., 
Ave  Maria  (Music), 


217 

588 
433 


151 
624 


Better  Part,  T\it—From  the  French  ofS.F., 
C.  S   a,  by  M.  E.  M., 


553 


Cecilia.--^.  H.,  .... 

Christmas  Hymn. — M.  A  , 
Claudia's  Monument. — EleanorC.  Donnelly,  48 
Completion  (The)  of  Gilding  the  Dome. — 

Arthur  J.  Stace, 
Consolatrix  Afflictorura.  —  Angelique   de 

Lande,         .... 
Cbr  Purissimum. — M.  R.,      - 
Dowry  of  Mary,  The— J/.  G  R., 


519 
607 


3-^^ 


344 
289 
469 


Enough  Remains. — B.  I.  D  ,         -  -    172 

Feast  of  Gladness,  T\it-^ Marion  Muir,     ~        9 
Fool's  Prayer,  The         -  -  .         564 

Golden  October.— J/.  A.,         -  -         361 

God  Keeps  His  Own. — Angelique  de  Lande,  388 
Growing  Older. — Angelique  de  Lande,      -       53 

Hostages. — M  EM, 

Hymn  to  the  Sacred  Heart.— J/.  A., 

In  Memory.—^.  /.  Durward, 
Irish  Lamp  (The)  at  \.0Vixd.^%.— Eleanor  C. 
Donnelly, 


25 
243 

529 
319 


Light  and  Heat. — From  the  German  of  Schiller, 


by  J.  P.  R., 

M.z.ry.— John  B.  Tabb, 
Master's  Lesson,  ThQ  — Angelique  de  Lande, 
Mater  Dolorosa. — Thomas  J.  Kernan, 
Month  of  the  Dead,  The — Angelique  de 

Lande, 
My  Father's  Promise. — E.  P.  Ryder, 


203 

61 

195 
419 

508 
'3 


O  Dulcis  Virgo  Maria  !  — Albert  H.  Hardy,  182 
Office  Divine,  The — Mercedes,  -  394 

On  Christ's  Nativity. — Margs ret H.  Lawless,  60 1 
Opportunity. — The  Author  of '  'Deirdre, ' '      495 

Sailor's  Song,  The — Morwenna  P.  Hawker,  248 
September  Sonnet,  A — JV.  D.  Kelly,  -  227 
Sonnet  (A)  to  Our  Blessed  Lady  —  Vittoria 

Colonna,  -  -  .  278 

St.  Anne. — M.  A.,  -  .  -      75 

St.  Germain  at  Nanterre. — Margaret  E. 

Jordan,         -  -  -  -       127 

St.  Joseph's  Chapel. — Edna  Proctor  Clarke,  157 

Thought  (A)  for  a  Friend.— »S>/w^  Hunting,  457 
Through  the  Shadows.— C.  W.  S.,  -  583 
To  the  Blessed  Virgin  MsLry.— Pope  Leo  XIIL, 


Translation  by  W.   IV.  Fitzmaurice, 
To  a  Crimson  Cactus  Flower. — Mercedes, 
To  B.  I.  Durward. — Eliza  Allen  Starr,     - 
Trust,         -  -  -  .  . 

Two  Flowers. — Edmund  of  the  Heart  of 

Mary,  C.  P.,  -  -  - 

Vas  Insigne  Devotionis, 

Virgin  Immaculate. — Angelique  de  Lande, 

Vivam  in  Dies. — E.  P.  Ryder, 

Within  the  Fold.— y^.  D.  L  ,     - 
Wreath  (The^  and  the  Flower. — Edmund 
of  the  Heart  of  Mary ,  C.  P., 


397 

296 

^6 


537 

369 

577 
97 

415 
368 


vttt 


Index, 


Youth's  Department. 


PROSE. 


Adventure  (An)  in  the  Thuringian  Forest. 

—M  R, 
Almsgiving,  The  Reward  of 

Birds  of  Heaven,  The 

Bodger;  or,  How  it  Happened. — E.L.D. 


164 


525 
504 

284 

I  Eg 
312 

264 
47 

456 
116 
621 

432 

68,  92 


550 
1O8 

384 

72 

67 


70, 
142 


Blessed  Virgin,  Pictures  of 

Blessed  Virgin  (The),  A  Lover  of      - 

Bridget. — A  Prison  Story, 

Caliph  (The),  The  Judge  and 
Charity,  A  Lesson  of    - 
Christmas  Eve  in  Holland,     - 
Confession  and  Restitution, 
Cross  (The),  A  Victory  of 

Emperor  (The)  and  the  Minstrel. — Z.  M. 
Episode  (An)  of  the  Reign  of  Terror, 
Example  (An)  of  Honesty, 

Faithful  Guide,  A  -  -  - 

Feast  (The)  of  la  Sainte  Enfance, 
Francis  and  Francesco. — Flora  L.  Stanfield,  476 
From  Tipperary  to  Texa*?. — The  Adventures 
of  Tibby  Butler. — T.  F.Galwey,  20,  44 

93>  "9> 

Guardian  Angel  (What  a  Boy's)  Did,      -       330 
Guilt,  Innocence  and  -  -  360 

Haydn's  Answer,  -  -  -  456 

Heaven,  The  Birds  of  -  -  284 

Honesty,  An  Eximple  of        -  -  384 

How  Theodoret's  Mother  was  Cured  of 

Vanity,         -  -  -  -  312 

How  Jean  Bart  Saved  the  Beacon-Tower,  499 

How  a  Priest  Took  Revenge,  -  551 

Innocence  and  Guilt,         -  -  -     360 

Ivan's  Story,     -  -  -  -  309 

Jet,  the  War-Mule  ;    or,  Five  Days  with 

Kilpatrick.— ^.  Z.  Z>.,     -     332,  356,  381, 

405,  428,  452,  477,  502,  526 

Judge  (The)  and  the  Caliph,        -         -        456 

Lesson  (A)  of  Charity,  -  -  116 

Lesson  (The)  the  Water- Drops  Taught,     -     575 


Little  Margaret,  -  -  -  191 

Little  Boy  (A)  but  a  Great  Heart,      -  211 

Little  Paul,  the  C  hristmas  Child. — M.S.M ,  617 
Lover  (A)  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  -        264 

Madonna  of  the  Chair  (The),  A  Story  of  404,  430 
Minnie's  Composition,  -  -  595 

"  Miss  Discontent." — M.J.  B.,         -  238 

Mother's  Prayer,  A  -  -  -         599 

Mozart's  Prayer,         -  -  -  600 

Norine's  Promise,         -  -  236,  260 

"OMary!    O  My  Mother!" 

One  Father's  Course, 

One  of  the  Benevolent  Deeds  of  Pius  IX., 

Order  of  the  Garter,  The 

Our  Lady's  Care  of  a  Wayward  Child. — 

E.V.  N, 
Our  Lady's  Orphan,         -  .  . 

Pictures  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 

Pius  IX.,  One  of  the  Benevolent  Deeds  of 

Prison  Story,  A  -  -  - 


144 

96 

263 

24 

572 
213 


312 
263 
47 
168 
432 
504 


Reign  of  Terror  (The),  An  Episode  of 
Restitution,  Confession  and 
Reward  of  Almsgiving,  The 

Sainte  Enfance  (la),  The  Feast  of  -  67 

Saved  by  a  White  Owl,  -  -  576 

Short  Life  (The)  Fulfilling  a  Long  Time. — 

Eliza  Allen  Starr^  -  -  287 

Sistine  Madonna  (The)  A  Pretty  Story  of       288 
Speedy  Reward,  A         -  -  -  384 

Story  (A  Pretty)  of  the  Sistine  Madonna,      288 
Story  (.\)  of  the  Madonna  of  the  Chair,  404,  430 
Story  (The)  Mother  Told  between  Day  and 
Dark — How  Jean  Bart  Saved  the  Beacon- 
Tower. — M,  E.  Jordan,  -  499 
Story  of  Little  Mathilde,  The— 6*.  H.,           548 

"This  One  is  Mine,"     -  -  -        528 

Victory   (A)   of  the   Cxq's&.  —  Elizabeth 

King,         -  -  -  -     68,  92 

What  a  Boy's  Guardian  Angel  Did. — T/ie 

Rev.  Father  Lambing,         -  -         330 


POETRY. 


All  Souls'  Day.— 7?.   V.R., 

Bear  and  Forbear. — R.  H., 

Christmas  Eve, 

Claudia  before  the  Emperor. 

Little  Deeds, 


M.A.. 


-  452 
572 

-  617 
356 

116 


Noble  Deeds. — Asbury,  -        -  284 

Our  Lady's  Lilies.—^.  ^.  5.,  -  -  138 
Unknown  Martyr,  The— G^;^^  Weatherly,  260 
Woodland  Carol,  A — Mercedes,         -        -      20 


Vol.  XXIII.  NOTRE   DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  3,   1886. 


No.   I. 


C 


[Copyright :— Rrr.  D.  K.  Hudtoh,  O.  8.  C.] 


Growth  and  Duty.* 


BY    THE   RT.   REV.  J.  I^ANCAvSTER    SPALDING,  D.  D. 


HAT  life  is  in  itself  we  do  not  know, 
any  more  than  we  know  what  mat- 
ter is  in  itself;  but  we  know  some- 
thing of  the  properties  of  matter,  and  we 
also  have  some  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
life.  Here  it  is  sufficient  to  call  attention 
to  the  law  of  growth,  through  which  the 
living  receive  the  power  of  self-develop- 
ment— of  bringing  their  endowments  into 
act,  of  building  up  the  being  which  they  are. 
Whatever  living  thing  is  strong  or  beauti- 
ful has  been  made  so  by  growth,  since  life 
begins  in  darkness  and  impotence.  To  grow 
is  to  be  fresh  and  joyous.  Hence  the  Spring 
is  the  glad  time;  for  the  earth  itself  then 
seems  to  renew  its  youth,  and  enter  on  a 
fairer  life.  The  growing  grass,  the  bud- 
ding leaves,  the  sprouting  corn,  coming  as 
with  unheard  shout  from  regions  of  the 
dead,  fill  us  with  happy  thoughts,  because 
in  them  we  behold  the  vigor  of  life,  bring- 
ing promise  of  higher  things. 

Nature  herself  seems  to  rejoice  in  this 
vital  energy ;  for  the  insects  hum,  the  birds 
sing,  the  lambs  skip,  and  the  very  brooks 
give  forth  a  merry  sound.  Growth  leads  us 
through  Wonderland.   It  touches  the  germs 


*  An  Oration  delivered  at  the  forty-second  An- 
nual Commencement  of  the  University  of  Notre 
Dame. 


lying  in  darkness,  and  the  myriad  forms  of 
life  spring  to  view;  the  mists  are  lifted  from 
the  valleys  of  death,  and  flowers  bloom  and 
shed  fragrance  through  the  air.  Only  the 
growing — those  who  each  moment  are  be- 
coming something  more  than  they  were 
—  feel  the  worth  and  joyousness  of  life. 
Upon  the  youth  nothing  palls,  for  he  is 
himself  day  by  day  rising  into  higher  and 
wider  worlds.  To  grow  is  to  have  faith,  hope, 
courage.  The  boy  who  has  become  able  to 
do  what  a  while  ago  was  impossible  to  him, 
easily  believes  that  nothing  is  impossible; 
and  as  his  powers  unfold,  his  self-confidence 
is  nourished;  he  exults  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  increasing  strength,  and  can  not  in 
any  way  be  made  to  understand  the  doubts 
and  faint-heartedness  of  men  who  have 
ceased  to  grow.  Each  hour  he  puts  off  some 
impotence,  and  why  shall  he  not  have  faith 
in  his  destiny,  and  feel  that  he  shall  yet 
grow  to  be  poet,  orator,  hero,  or  what  you 
will  that  is  great  and  noble  ?  And  as  he  de- 
lights in  life,  we  take  delight  in  him. 

In  the  same  way  a  young  race  of  people 
possesses  a  magic  charm.  Homer's  heroes 
are  barbarians,  but  they  are  inspiring,  be- 
cause they  belong  to  a  growing  race,  and 
we  see  in  them  the  budding  promise  of  the 
day  when  Alexander's  sword  shall  conquer 
the  world ;  when  Plato  shall  teach  the  phi- 
losophy which  all  men  who  think  must 
know;  and  when  Pericles  shall  bid  the  arts 
blossom  in  a  perfection  which  is  the  despair 
of  succeeding  generations.  And  so  in  the 
Middle  Age  there  is  barbarism  enough,  with 


The  Ave  Maria, 


its  lawlessness  and  ignorance;  but  there  is 
also  faith,  courage,  strength,  which  tell  of 
youth,  and  point  to  a  time  of  mature  fac- 
ulty and  high  achievement.  There  is  the 
rich  purple  dawn,  which  shall  grow  into  the 
full  day  of  our  modern  life. 

And  here  in  this  New  World  we  are  the 
new  people,  in  whose  growth  what  highest 
hopes, what  heavenly  promises  lie!  All  the 
nations  which  are  moving  forward,  are 
moving  in  directions  in  which  we  have 
gone  before  them — to  larger  political  and 
religious  liberty;  to* wider  and  more  gen- 
eral education;  to  the  destroying  of  priv- 
ilege, and  the  disestablishment  of  State 
churches;  to  the  recognition  of  the  equal 
rights  not  only  of  all  men,  but  of  all  men 
and  women. 

We  also  lead  the  way  in  the  revolution 
which  has  been  set  in  motion  by  the  ap- 
plication of  science  to  mechanical  purposes, 
one  of  the  results  of  which  is  seen  in  the 
industrial  and  commercial  miracles  of  the 
present  century.  It  is  our  vigorous  growth 
which  makes  us  the  most  interesting  and 
attractive  of  the  modern  peoples.  For 
whether  men  love  us,  or  whether  they  hate 
us,  they  find  it  impossible  to  ignore  us, 
unless  they  wish  to  argue  themselves  un- 
known; and  the  millions  who  yearn  for 
freedom  and  opportunity,  turn  first  of  all  to 
us. 

But  observant  minds,  however  much  they 
may  love  America,  however  great  their 
faith  in  popular  government  may  be,  can 
not  contemplate  our  actual  condition  with- 
out a  sense  of  disquietude;  for  there  are 
aspects  of  our  social  evolution  which  sad- 
den and  depress  even  the  most  patriotic  and 
loyal  hearts.  It  would  seem,  for  instance, 
that  with  us,  while  the  multitude  are  made 
comfortable  and  keen-witted,  the  individ- 
ual remains  commonplace  and  weak  ;  so 
that  on  all  sides  people  are  beginning  to 
ask  themselves  what  is  the  good  of  all  this 
money  and  machinery,  if  the  race  of  god- 
like men  is  to  die  out,  or  indeed  if  the  re- 
sult is  not  to  be  some  nobler  and  better  sort 
of  man  than  the  one  with  whom  we  have 
all  along  been  familiar.    Is  not  the  yearn- 


ing for  divine  men  inborn?  In  the  heroic 
ages  such  men  were  worshipped  as  gods, 
and  one  of  the  calamities  of  times  of  de- 
generacy is  the  dying  out  of  faith  in  the 
worth  of  true  manhood  through  the  disap- 
pearance of  superior  men.  Such  men  alone 
are  memorable,  and  give  to  history  its  in- 
spiring and  educating  power.  The  ruins  of 
Athens  and  Rome,  the  cathedrals  and  cas- 
tles of  Europe,  uplift  and  strengthen  the 
heart,  because  they  bid  us  reflect  what 
thoughts  and  hopes  were  theirs  who  thus 
could  build.  How  quickly  kings  and  peas- 
ants, millionaires  and  paupers,  become  a 
common,  undistinguished  herd!  But  the 
hero,  the  poet,  the  saint  defy  the  ages,  and 
remain  luminous  and  separate,  like  stars. 
They 

"Waged  contention  with  their  time's  decay, 
And  of  the  past  are  all  that  can  not  pass  away. ' ' 

The  soul,  which  makes  man  immortal, 
has  alone  the  power  to  make  him  beneficent 
and  beautiful. 

But  in  this  highest  kind  of  man,  in  whom 
soul — that  is,  faith,  hope,  love,  courage,  in- 
tellect—  is  supreme,  we  Americans,  who 
are  on  the  crest  of  the  topmost  waves  of 
the  stream  of  tendency,  are  not  rich.  We 
have  our  popular  heroes ;  but  so  has  every 
petty  people,  every  tribe  its  heroes.  The 
dithyrambic  prose  in  which  it  is  the  fashion 
to  celebrate  our  conspicuous  men  has  a 
hollow  sound,  very  like  cant.  A  marvel- 
lous development  of  wealth  and  numbers 
has  taken  place  in  America ;  but  what 
American  —  poet,  philosopher,  scientist, 
warrior,  ruler,  saint — is  there  who  can  take 
his  place  with  the  foremost  men  of  all  this 
world  ?  The  American  people  seem  still  to 
be  somewhat  in  the  position  of  our  n:w 
millionaires:  their  fortune  is  above  them, 
overshadows  and  oppresses  them.  They  live 
in  fine  houses,  and  have  common  thoughts; 
they  have  costly  libraries,  and  cheap  cult- 
ure; and  their  rich  clothing  poorly  hides 
their  coarse  feeling.  Nor  does  the  tendency 
seem  to  be  towards  a  nobler  type  of  man- 
hood. 

The  leaders  of  the  Revolution,  the  fram- 
ers  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  the  men 


b- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


who  contended  for  State-rights,  and  still 
more  those  who  led  in  the  great  struggle 
for  human  rights,  were  of  stronger  and 
nobler  mould  than  the  politicians  who  now 
crowd  the  halls  of  Congress.  Were  it  not 
for  the  Pension  Office,  one  might  cherish 
the  belief  that  in  our  civilization  the  soldier 
is  doomed  to  extinction,  and  that  the  mil- 
itary hero  will  be  known  only  to  those  who 
study  the  remains  of  a  past  geologic  era. 
Bven  as  things  are,  what  a  blessed  country 
is  not  this,  where  generals,  not  to  be  idle, 
are  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  fighting 
their  battles  in  the  pages  of  sensational 
magazines — powder  magazines  being  no 
longer  needed,  except  for  purposes  of  blast- 
ing! The  promise  of  a  literature  which  a 
generation  ago  budded  forth  in  New  Eng- 
land was,  it  appears,  delusive.  What  a  sad 
book  is  not  that  recently  issued  from  the 
press  on  the  poets  of  America!  It  is  the 
chapter  on  snakes  in  Ireland,  which  we 
have  all  read — there  are  none.  And  are  not 
our  literary  men  whom  it  is  possible  to  ad- 
mire and  love  either  dead,  or  old  enough 
to  die? 

All  this,  however,  need  not  be  cause  for 
discouragement,  if  in  the  generations  which 
are  springing  up  around  us,  and  which  are 
soon  to  enter  upon  the  scene  of  active  life, 
we  could  discover  the  boundless  confidence, 
the  high  courage,  the  noble  sentiments, 
which  make  the  faults  of  youth  more  at- 
tractive than  the  formal  virtues  of  a  ma- 
turer  age.  But  youth  seems  about  to 
disappear  from  human  life,  to  leave  only 
children  and  men.  For  a  true  youth  the 
age  of  chivalry  has  not  passed,  nor  has  the 
age  of  faith,  nor  the  age  of  poetry,  nor  the 
age  of  aught  that  is  godlike  and  ideal.  To 
our  young  men,  however,  high  thoughts 
and  heroic  sentiments  are  what  they  are  to 
a  railroad  president  or  a  bank  cashier — 
mere  nonsense.  Life  for  them  is  wholly 
prosaic,  and  without  illusions.  They  trans- 
form ideas  into  interests,  faith  into  a  specu- 
lation, and  love  into  a  financial  transaction. 
They  have  no  vague  yearnings  for  what 
can  not  be;  hardly  have  they  any  passions. 
They  are  cold  and  calculating.    They  deny 


themselves,  and  do  not  believe  in  self- 
denial;  they  are  active,  and  do  not  love 
labor;  they  are  energetic,  and  have  no 
enthusiasm;  they  approach  life  with  the 
hard,  mechanical  thoughts  with  which  a 
scientist  studies  matter.  Their  one  idea  is 
success,  and  success  for  them  is  money. 
Money  means  power,  it  means  leisure,  it 
means  self-indulgence,  it  means  display; 
it  means,  in  a  word,  the  thousand  comforts 
and  luxuries  which,  in  their  opinion,  con- 
stitute the  good  of  life. 

In  aristocratic  societies,  the  young  have 
had  a  passion  for  distinction.  They  have 
held  it  to  be  an  excellent  thing  to  belong  to 
a  noble  family,  to  occupy  an  elevated  posi- 
tion, to  wear  the  glittering  badges  of  birth 
and  of  office.  In  ages  of  religious  faith 
they  have  been  smitten  with  the  love  'of 
divine  ideals ;  they  have  yearned  for  God, 
and  given  all  the  strength  of  their  hearts  to 
make  His  will  prevail.  But  to  our  youth, 
distinction  of  birth  is  fictitious,  and  God  is 
problematic;  and  so  they  are  left  face  to 
face  with  material  aims  and  ends;  and  of 
such  aims  and  ends  money  is  the  universal 
equivalent. 

Now,  it  could  not  ever  occur  to  me  to 
think  of  denying  that  the  basis  of  human 
life,  individual  and  social,  is  material. 
Matter  is  part  of  our  nature ;  we  are  bedded 
in  it,  and  by  it  are  nourished.  It  is  the  in- 
strument we  must  use  even  when  we  think 
and  love,  when  we  hope  and  pray.  Upon 
this  foundation  our  spiritual  being  is  built: 
upon  this  foundation  our  social  welfare  rests. 
Concern  for  material  interests  is  one  of  the 
chief  causes  of  human  progress,  since  noth- 
ing else  so  stimulates  to  effort,  and  effiort  is 
the  law  of  growth.  The  savage,  who  has 
no  conception  of  money,  but  is  satisfied 
with  what  nature  provides,  remains  forever 
a  savage.  Habits  of  industry,  of  order,  of 
punctuality,  of  economy  and  thrift,  are,  to 
a  great  extent,  the  result  of  our  money- 
getting  propensities.  Our  material  wants 
are  more  urgent,  more  irresistible ;  they 
press  more  constantly  upon  us  than  any 
other;  and  those  whom  they  fail  to  rouse 
to  exertion  are,  as  a  rule,  hopelessly  given 


The  Ave  Maria. 


over  to  indolence  and  sloth.  In  the  stim- 
ulus of  these  lower  needs,  then,  is  found 
the  providential  impulse  which  drives  man 
to  labor,  and  without  labor  welfare  is  not 
possible. 
The  poor  must  work,  if  they  would  drink  and  eat; 

The  weak  must  work,  if  they  in  strength  would 
grow; 

The  ignorant  must  work,  if  they  would  know; 
The  sad  must  work,  if  they  sweet  joy  would  meet. 

The  strong  must  work,  if  they  would  shun  defeat; 

The  rich  must  work,  if  they  would  flee  from  woe; 

The  proud  must  work,  if  they  would  upward  go ; 
The  brave  must  work,  if  they  would  not  retreat. 

So  on  all  men  this  law  of  work  is  lain: 

It  gives  them  food,  strength,  knowledge, vict'ry, 
peace; 
It  makes  joy  possible,  and  lessens  pain; 

From  passion's  lawless  power  it  wins  release, 
Confirms  the  heart,  and  widens  reason's  reign; 
Makes  men  like  God,  whose  work  can  never 

cease. 
Whatever  enables  man  to  overcome  his 
inborn  love  of  ease  is,  in  so  far,  the  source  of 
good.    Now,  money  represents  what  more 
than  any  thing "  else  has  this   stimulating 
power.    It  is  the  equivalent  of  what  we  eat 
and  drink,  of  the  homes  we  live  in,  of  the 
comforts  with  which  we  surround  ourselves ; 
of  the  independence  which  makes  us  free 
to  go  here  or  there,  to  do  this  or  that — to 
spend  the  Winter  where  orange  blossoms 
perfume  the  soft  air,  and  the  Summer  where 
ocean  breezes  quicken  the  pulse  of  life.     It 
unlocks  for  us  the  treasury  of  the  world, 
opens  to  our  gaze  whatever  is  sublime  or 
beautiful ;  introduces  us  to  the  rhaster-minds, 
who  live  in  their  works;  it  leads  us  where 
orators  declaim,  and  singers  thrill  the  soul 
with  ecstasy.    Nay,  more,  with  it  we  build 
churches,  endow  schools,  and  provide  hos- 
pitals and  asylums  for  the  weak  and  help- 
less. It  is,  indeed,  like  a  god  of  this  nether 
world,  holding  dominion  over  many  spheres 
of  life,  and  receiving  the  heart- worship  of 
millions. 

And  yet  if  we  make  money  and  its  equiv- 
alents a  life-purpose  —  the  aim  and  end 
of  our  earthly  hopes — our  service  becomes 
idolatry,  and  a  blight  falls  upon  our  nobler 
self.     Money  is  the  equivalent  of  what  is 


venal— of  all  that  may  be  bought  or  sold; 
but  the  best,  the  godlike,  the  distinctively 
human,  can  not  be  bought  or  sold.    A  rich 
man  can  buy  a  wife,  but  not  a  woman's 
love;  he  can  buy  books,  but  not  an  appre- 
ciative mind;  he  can  buy  a  pew,  but  not 
a  pure  conscience;  he  can  buy  men's  votes 
and  flattery,  but  not   their  respect.    The 
money-world  is  visible,  material,  mechan- 
ical, external ;   the  world   of  the   soul,  of 
the  better  self,  is  invisible,  spiritual,  vital. 
God's  kingdom  is  within.    What  we  have 
is  not  what  we  are;  and  the  all-important- 
thing  is  to  be,  and  not  to  have.     Our  pos- 
sessions belong  to  us  only  in  a  mechanical 
way.    The  poet's  soul  owns  the  stars  and 
the  moonlit   heavens,  the  mountains  and 
rivers,  the  flowers  and  the  birds,  more  truly 
than  a  millionaire  owns  his  bonds.    What 
I  know  is  mine,  and  what  I  love  is  mine; 
and  as  my  knowledge  widens  and  my  love 
deepens,  my  life  is  enlarged  and  intensified. 
But,  since  all  human  knowledge  is  imper- 
fect and  narrow,  the  soul  stretches  forth 
the  tendrils  of  faith  and  hope.     Looking 
upon  shadows,  we  believe  in  realities ;  pos- 
sessing what  is  vain  and  empty,  we  trust 
to  the  future  to  bring  what  is  full  and  com- 
plete. 

All  noble  literature  and  life  has  its  origin 
in  regions  where  the  mind  sees  but  darkly; 
where  faith  is  more  potent  than  knowledge; 
where  hope  is  larger  than  possession,  and 
love  mightier  than  sensation.  The  soul  is 
dwarfed  whenever  it  clings  to  what  is  pal- 
pable and  plain,  fixed  and  bounded.  Its 
home  is  in  worlds  which  can  not  be  meas- 
ured and  weighed.  It  has  infinite  hopes,  and 
longings,  and  fears;  lives  in  the  conflux  of 
immensities;  bathes  on  shores  where  waves 
of  boundless  yearning  break.  Borne  on  the 
wings  of  time,  it  still  feels  that  only  what 
is  eternal  is  real — that  what  death  can  de- 
stroy is  even  now  but  a  shadow.  To  it  all 
outward  things  are  formal,  and  what  is  less 
than  God  is  hardly  anything.  In  this  mys- 
terious, supersensible  world  all  true  ideals 
originate,  and  such  ideals  are  to  human  life 
as  rain  and  sunshine  to  the  corn  by  which 
it  is  nourished. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


I 


What  hope  for  the  future  is  there,  then, 
when  the  young  have  no  enthusiasm,  no 
heavenly  illusions,  no  divine  aspirations, 
no  faith  that  man  may  become  godlike, 
more  than  poets  have  ever  imagined,  or 
philosophers  dreamed? — when  money,  and 
what  money  buys,  is  the  highest  they  know, 
and  therefore  the  highest  they  are  able  to 
love?  —  when  even  the  ambitious  among 
them  set  out  with  the  deliberate  purpose  of 
becoming  the  beggars  of  men's  votes;  of 
winning  an  office,  the  chief  worth  of  which, 
in  their  eyes,  lies  in  its  emoluments? — when 
even  the  glorious  and  far-sounding  voice  of 
fame  for  them  means  only  the  gabble  and 
cackle  of  notoriety? 

The  only  example  which  I  can  call  to 
mind  of  a  historic  people,  whose  ideals  are 
altogether  material  and  mechanical,  is  that 
of  China.  Are  we,  then,  destined  to  become 
a  sort  of  Chinese  Empire,  with  three  hun- 
dred millions  of  human  beings,  and  not  a 
divine  man  or  woman? 

Is  what  Carlyle  says  is  hitherto  our  sole 
achievement — the  bringing  into  existence 
of  an  almost  incredible  number  of  bores-^ 
is  this  to  be  the  final  outcome  of  our  na- 
tional life?  Is  the  commonest  man  the  only 
type  which  in  a  democratic  society  will  in 
the  end  survive?  Does  universal  equality 
mean  universal  inferiority?  Are  repub- 
lican institutions  fatal  to  noble  personality  ? 
Are  the  people  as  little  friendly  to  men  of 
moral  and  intellectual  superiority  as  they 
are  to  men  of  great  wealth  ?  Is  their  dislike 
of  the  millionaires  but  a  symptom  of  their 
aversion  to  all  who  in  any  way  are  distin- 
guished from  the  crowd?  And  is  this  the 
explanation  of  the  blight  which  falls  upon 
the  imagination  and  the  hearts  of  the 
young? 

Ah!  surely, we,  who  have  faith  in  human 
nature,  who  believe  in  freedom  and  in  pop- 
ular government,  can  never  doubt  what  an- 
swer must  be  given  to  all  these  questions. 
A  society  which  inevitably  represses  what 
is  highest  in  the  best  sort  of  men  is  an  evil 
society.  A  civilization  which  destroys  faith 
in  genius,  in  heroism,  in  sanctity,  is  the  fore- 
runner of  barbarism.  Individuality  is  man's 


noblest  triumph  over  fate,  his  most  heav- 
enly assertion  of  the  freedom  of  the  soul; 
and  a  world  iu  which  individuality  is  made 
impossible  is  a  slavish  world.  There  man 
dwindles,  becomes  one  of  a  multitude,  the 
impersonal  product  of  a. general  law,  and 
all  his  godlike  strength  and  beauty  are 
lost.  Is  not  one  true  poet  more  precious 
than  a  whole  generation  of  millionaires; 
one  philosopher  of  more  worth  than  ten 
thousand  members  of  Congress;  one  man 
who  sees  and  loves  God  dearer  than  an 
army  of  able  editors? 

The  greater  our  control  of  nature  be- 
comes— the  more  its  treasures  are  explored 
and  utilized,  the  greater  the  need  of  strong 
personality  to  counteract  the  fatal  force  of 
matter.  Just  as  men  in  tropical  countries 
are  overwhelmed  and  dwarfed  by  nature's 
rich  profusion,  so  in  this  age,  in  which  in- 
dustry and  science  have  produced  resources 
far  beyond  the  power  of  unassisted  nature, 
only  strong  characters,  marked  individual- 
ities, can  resist  the  influence  of  wealth  and 
machinery,  which  tend  to  make  man  of  less 
importance  than  what  he  eats  and  wears — 
to  make  him  subordinate  to  the  tools  he 
uses. 

From  many  sides  personality,  which  is 
the  fountain-head  of  worth,  genius,  and 
power,  is  menaced.  The  spirit  of  the  time 
would  deny  that  God  is  a  Person,  and  holds 
man's  personality  in  slight  esteem,  as  not 
rooted  in  the  soul,  but  in  aggregated  atoms. 
And  the  whole  social  network,  in  whose 
meshes  we  are  all  caught,  cripples  and 
paralyzes  individuality.  We  must  belong  to 
a  party,  to  a  society,  to  a  ring,  to  a  clique, 
and  deliver  up  our  living  thought  to  these 
soulless  entities.  Or,  if  we  remain  aloof 
from  such  affiliation,  we  must  have  no 
honest  convictions,  no  fixed  principles,  but 
fit  our  words  to  business  and  professional 
interests,  and  conform  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  prevailing  whim.  The  minister  is 
hired  to  preach  not  what  he  believes,  but 
what  the  people  wish  to  hear;  the  congress- 
man is  elected  to  vote  not  in  the  light  of 
his  own  mind,  but  in  obedience  to  the  dic- 
tates of  those  who  send  him;  the  newspa- 


6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


per  circulates  not  because  it  is  filled  with 
words  of  truth  and  wisdom,  but  because  it 
panders  to  the  pruriency  and  prejudice  of 
its  patrons;  and  a  book  is  popular  in  in- 
verse ratio  to  its  individuality  and  worth. 
Our  National  Library  is  filled  with  books 
which  have  copyright,  but  no  other  right, 
human  or  divine,  to  exist  at  all.  And 
when  one  of  us  does  succeed  in  asserting 
his  personality,  he  usually  only  makes  him- 
self odd  and  ridiculous.  He  rushes  into 
polygamous  Mormonism,  or  buffoon  revi- 
valism, or  shallow-minded  atheism ;  nay.  he 
will  even  become  an  anarchist,  because  a 
few  men  have  too  much  money  and  too 
little  soul.  What  we  need  is  neither  the 
absence  of  individuality  nor  a  morbid  in- 
dividuality, but  high  and  strong  personali- 
ties. 

If  our  country  is  to  be  great,  and  forever 
memorable,  something  quite  other  than 
wealth  and  numbers  will  make  it  so.  Were 
there  but  question  of  countless  millions  of 
dollars  and  people,  then  indeed  the  victory 
would  already  have  been  gained.  If  we 
are  to  serve  the  highest  interests  of  man- 
kind, and  to  mark  an  advance  in  human 
history,  we  must  do  more  than  establish 
universal  suffrage,  and  teach  every  child  to 
read  and  write.  As  true  criticism  deals 
only  with  men  of  genius  or  of  the  best  tal- 
ent, and  takes  no  serious  notice  of  mechan- 
ical writers  and  book-makers,  so  true  his- 
tory loses  sight  of  nations  whose  only  dis- 
tinction lies  in  their  riches  and  populous- 
ness.  The  noblest  and  most  gifted  men 
and  women  are  alone  supremely  interesting 
and  abidingly  memorable.  We  have  al- 
ready reached  a  point  where  we  perceive 
the  unreality  of  the  importance  which  the 
chronicles  have  sought  to  give  to  mere 
kings  and  captains.  If  the  king  was  a  hero, 
we  love  him ;  but  if  he  was  a  sot  or  a  cow- 
ard, his  jewelled  crown  and  purple  robes 
leave  him  as  unconsidered  by  us  as  the 
beggar  in  his  rags.  Whatever  influence, 
favorable  or  unfavorable,  democracy  may 
exert  to  make  easy  or  difficult  the  advent 
of  the  noblest  kind  of  man,  an  age  in  which 
the  people  think  and  rule  will  strip  from 


all  sham  greatness  its  trappings  and  tinsel. 
The  parade  hero  and  windy  orator  will  be 
gazed  at  and  applauded,  but  they  are  all 
the  while  transparent  and  contemptible. 
The  scientific  spirit,  too,  which  now  prevails 
is  the  foe  of  all  pretence:  it  looks  at  things 
in  their  naked  reality,  is  concerned  to  get 
a  view  of  the  fact  as  it  is  in  itself,  without 
a  care  whether  it  be  a  beautiful  or  an  ugly, 
a  sweet  or  a  bitter  truth.  The  fact  is  what 
it  is,  and  nothing  can  be  gained  by  believ- 
ing it  to  be  what  it  is  not. 

This  is  a  most  wise  and  human  way  of 
looking  at  things,  if  men  will  only  not 
forget  that  the  mind  sees  farther  than  the 
eye,  that  the  heart  feels  deeper  than  the 
hand ;  and  that  where  knowledge  fails,  faith 
is  left;  where  possession  is  denied,  hope 
remains.  The  young  must  enter  upon  their 
life-work  with  the  conviction  that  only 
what  is  real  is  true,  good  and  beautiful; 
and  that  the  unreal  is  altogether  futile  and 
vain. 

Now,  the  most  real  thing  for  every  man,  if 
he  is  a  man,  is  his  own  soul.  His  thought, 
his  love,  his  faith,  his  hope  are  but  his  soul 
thinking,  loving,  believing,  hoping.  His 
joy  and  misery  are  but  his  soul  glad  or  sad. 
Hence,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  see  or  argue, 
the  essence  of  reality  is  spiritual ;  and,  since 
the  soul  is  conscious  that  it  is  not  the  su- 
preme reality,  but  is  dependent,  illumined 
by  a  truth  higher  than  itself,  nourished  by 
a  love  larger  than  its  own,  it  has  a  dim 
vision  of  the  Infinite  Being  as  essentially 
real  and  essentially  spiritual.  A  living 
faith  in  this  infinite  spiritual  reality  is  the 
fountain-head  not  only  of  religion,  but  of 
noble  life.  All  wavering  here  is  a  symptom 
of  psychic  paralysis.  When  the  infinite  real- 
ity becomes  questionable,  then  all  things 
become  material  and  vile.  The  world  be- 
comes a  world  of  sight  and  sound,  of  taste 
and  touch.  The  soul  is  poured  through 
the  senses  and  dissipated;  the  current  of 
life  stagnates,  and  grows  fetid  in  sloughs 
and  marshes.  Minds  for  whom  God  is  the 
Unknowable  have  no  faith  in  knowledge 
at  all,  except  as  the  equivalent  of  weight 
and  measure,  of  taste  and  touch  and  smell. 


TM  Av^  Maria. 


I  V  Now,  if  all  that  may  be  known  and  de- 
sired is  reduced  to  this  material  expression, 
how  dull  and  beggarly  does  not  life  be- 
come—  mere  atomic  integration  and  dis- 
integration, the  poor  human  pneumatic 
machine  puffing  along  the  dusty  road  of 
matter,  bound  and  helpless  and  soulless  as 

B  p#i  clanking  engine!    No  high  life,  in  indi- 

I  Hhduals  or  nations,  is  to  be  hoped  for,  un- 
less it  is  enrooted  in  the  infinite  spiritual 
reality — in  God.     It  is  forever  indubitable 

I^Brat  the  highest  is  not  material,  and  no 
argument  is  therefore  needed  to  show  that 
when  spiritual  ideals  lose  their  power  -of 

•ittraction,  life  sinks  to  lower  beds. 
Sight  is  the  noblest  sense,  and  the  starlit 
ky  is  the  most  sublime  object  we  can  be- 
hold. But  what  do  we  in  reality  see  there? 
Only  a  kind  of  large  tent  dimly  lighted  with 
gas  jets.  This  is  the  noblest  thing  the  no- 
blest sense  reveals.  But  let  the  soul  appear, 
and  the  tent  flies  into  invisible  shreds:  the 
heavens  break  open  from  abyss  to  abyss, 
still  widening  into  limitless  expanse,  until 
imagination  reels.  The  gas  jets  grow  into 
suns,  blazing  since  innumerable  ages  with 
unendurable  light,  and  binding  whole  plan- 
etary systems  into  harmony  and  life.  So 
infinitely  does  the  soul  transcend  the  senses! 
The  world  it  lives  in  is  boundless,  eternal, 
sublime.  This  is  its  home ;  this  the  sphere 
in  which  it  grows  and  awakens  to  conscious- 
ness of  kinship  with  God.  This  is  the 
fathomless,  shoreless  abyss  of  being  wherein 
it  is  plunged,  from  which  it  draws  its  life, 
its  yearning  for  the  absolute,  its  undying 
hope,  its  love  of  the  best,  its  craving  for 
immortality,  its  instinct  for  eternal  things. 
To  condemn  it  to  work  merely  for  money, 
for  position,  for  applause,  for  pleasure,  is  to 
degrade  it  to  the  condition  of  a  slave.  It 
is  as  though  we  should  take  some  supreme 
poet  or  hero  and  bid  him  break  stones  or 
grind  corn, — he  who  has  the  faculty  to  give 
to  truth  its  divinest  form,  and  to  lift  the 
hearts  of  nations  to  the  love  of  heavenly 
things. 

Whatever  our  lot  on  earth  may  be — 
whether  we  toil  with  the  hand,  with  the 
brain,  or  with  the  heart — we  may  not  bind 


the  soul  to  any  slavish  service.  Let  us  do  our 
work  like  men, — till  the  soil,  build  homes,, 
refine  brute  matter,  be  learned  in  law,  in 
medicine,  in  theology;  but  let  us  never 
chain  our  souls  to  what  they  work  in.  No- 
earthly  work  can  lay  claim  to  the  wholes 
life  of  man;  for  every  man  is  born  for  Gody 
for  the  Universe,  and  may  not  narrow  his 
mind.  We  must  have  some  practical  thing 
to  do  in  the  world — some  way  of  living 
which  will  place  us  in  harmony  with  the 
requirements  and  needs  of  earthly  life;  and 
what  this  daily  business  of  ours  shall  be, 
each  one,  in  view  of  his  endowments  and 
surroundings,  must  decide  for  himself. 

And  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  every 
kind  of  life  has  its  advantages,  except  an 
immoral  life.    Whatever  we  make  of  our- 
selves, then — whether  farmers,  mechanics, 
lawyers,  doctors,  or  priests — let  us  above  all 
things  first  have  a  care  that  we  are  men; 
and  if  we  are  to  be  men,  our  special  busi- 
ness work  must  form  only  a  part  of  our  life- 
work.    The  aim — at  least  in  this  way  alone 
can  I  look  at  human  life — is  not  to  make 
rich   and   successful    bankers,  merchants, 
farmers,  lawyers,  and  doctors,  but  to  make 
noble  and  enlightened  men.     Hence  the 
final  thought  in  all  work  is  that  we  work 
not  to  have  more,  but  to  be  more;  not  for 
higher  place,  but  for  greater  worth;   not 
for  fame,  but  for  knowledge.     In  a  word, 
the  final  thought  is  that  we  labor  to  up- 
build the  being  which  we  are,  and   not 
merely  to  build  round  our  real  self  with 
marble  and  gold  and  precious  stones.  This 
is  but  the  Christian  teaching  which  has 
transformed  the  world ;  which  declares  that 
it  is  the  business  of  slaves  even,  of  beggars 
and  outcasts,  to  work  first  of  all  for  God 
and  the  soul.    The  end  is  infinite,  the  aim 
must  be  the  highest.    Not  to  know  this, 
not  to  hear  the  heavenly  invitation,  is  to  be 
shut  out  from  communion  with  the  best; 
is  to  be  cut  off  from  the  source  of  growth; 
is  to  be  given  over  to  modes  of  thought 
which  fatally  lead  to  mediocrity  and  vul- 
garity of  life. 

To  live  for  common  ends  is  to  be  common: 
The  highest  faith  makes  still  the  highest  man; 


The  Ave  Maria, 


For  we  grow  like  the  things  our  souls  believe, 

And  rise  or  sink  as  we  aim  high  or  low. 

No  mirror  shows  such  likeness  of  the  face 

As  faith  we  live  by  of  the  heart  and  mind. 

We  are  in  very  truth  that  which  we  love; 

And  love,  like  noblest  deeds,  is  born  of  faith. 

The  lover  and  the  hero  reason  not, 

But  they  believe  in  what  they  love  and  do. 

All  else  is  accident— this  is  the  soul 

Of  life,  and  lifts  the  whole  man  to  itself. 

Like  a  key-note,  w^hich,  running  through  all 

sounds, 
Upbears  them  all  in  perfect  harmony. 

We  can  not  set  a  limit  to  the  knowledge 
and  love  of  man,  because  they  spring  from 
God,  and  move  forever  towards  Him  who 
is  without  limit.  That  we  have  been  made 
capable  of  this  ceaseless  approach  to  an 
infinite  ideal  is  the  radical  fact  in  our  na- 
ture. Through  this  we  are  human,  through 
this  we  are  immortal;  through  this  we  are 
lifted  above  matter,  look  through  the  rip- 
pling stream  of  time  on  the  calm  ocean  of 
eternity,  and,  beyond  the  utmost  bounds  of 
space,  see  simple  being,  life  and  thought 
and  love,  deathless,  imageless,  absolute. 
This  ideal  creates  the  law  of  duty,  for  it 
makes  the  distinction  between  right  and 
wrong.  Hence  the  first  duty  of  man  is  to 
make  himself  like  God,  through  knowledge 
ever-widening,  through  love  ever-deepen- 
ing, through  life  ever-growing. 

So  only  can  we  serve  God,  so  only  can 
we  love  Him.  To  be  content  with  igno- 
rance is  infidelity  to  His  infinite  truth.  To 
rest  in  a  lesser  love  is  to  deny  the  bound- 
less charity  which  holds  the  heavens  to- 
gether, and  makes  them  beautiful;  which 
to  every  creature  gives  its  fellow;  which 
for  the  young  bird  makes  the  nest;  for  the 
child,  the  mother's  breast;  and  in  the  heart 
of  man  sows  the  seed  of  faith  and  hope  and 
heavenly  pity. 

Ceaseless  growth  towards  God — this  is  the 
ideal,  this  is  the  law  of  human  life,  pro- 
posed and  sanctioned  alike  by  Religion, 
Philosophy,  and  Poetry.  Dulcissima  vita 
sentire  in  dies  se  fieri  meliorein. 

Upward  to  move  along  a  Godward  way, 
Where  love  and  knowledge  still  increase, 

And  clouds  and  darkness  yield  to  growing  day. 
Is  more  than  wealth  or  fame  or  peace. 


No  other  blessing  shall  I  ever  ask: 
This  is  the  best  that  life  can  give; 

This  only  is  the  soul's  immortal  task, 
For  which  'tis  worth  the  pain  to  live. 

It  is  man's  chief  blessedness  that  there 
lie  in  his  nature  infinite  possibilities  of 
growth.  The  growth  of  animals  comes 
quickly  to  an  end,  and  when  they  cease  to 
grow  they  cease  to  be  joyful;  but  man, 
whose  bodily  development  even  is  slow,  is 
capable  of  rising  to  wider  knowledge  and 
purer  love  through  unending  ages.  Hence 
even  when  he  is  old,  if  he  has  lived  for 
what  is  great  and  exalted,  his  mind  is  clear, 
his  heart  is  tender,  and  his  soul  is  glad.  Only 
those  races  are  noble,  only  those  individu- 
als are  worthy,  who  yield  without  reserve  to 
the  power  of  this  impulse  to  ceaseless  prog- 
ress. Behold  how  the  race  from  which  we 
have  sprung — the  Aryan — breaks  forth  into 
ever  new  developments  of  strength  and 
beauty  in  Greece,  in  Italy,  in  France,  in 
England, in  Germany,  in  America;  creating 
literature,  philosophy,  science,  art;  receiv- 
ing Christian  truth,  and  through  its  aid 
rising  to  diviner  heights  of  wisdom,  power, 
freedom,  love,  and  knowledge. 

And  so  there  are  individuals — and  they 
are  born  to  teach  and  to  rule — for  whom  to 
live  is  to  grow;  who,  forgetting  what  they 
have  been,  and  what  they  are,  think  ever 
only  of  becoming  more  and  more.  Their 
education  is  never  finished,  their  develop- 
ment is  never  complete,  their  work  is  never 
done.  From  victories  won  they  look  to 
other  battle-fields ;  from  every  height  of 
knowledge  they  peer  into  the  widening 
nescience;  from  all  achievements  and  pos- 
sessions they  turn  away  towards  the  un- 
approachable Infinite,  to  whom  they  are 
drawn.  Walking  in  the  shadow  of  the  too 
great  light  of  God,  they  are  illumined  and 
they  are  darkened.  This  makes  Newton 
think  his  knowledge  ignorance;  this  makes 
St.  Paul  think  his  heroic  virtue  naught.  O 
blessed  men!  who  make  us  feel  that  we  are 
of  the  race  of  God ;  who  measure  and  weigh 
the  heavens ;  who  love  with  boundless  love ; 
who  toil  and  are  patient;  who  teach  us  that 
workers  can  wait.     They  are  in  love  with 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


life,  they  yearn  for  fuller  life.  Life  is  good, 
and  the  highest  life  is  God;  and  wherever 
man  grows  in  knowledge,  wisdom  and 
strength,  in  faith,  hope  and  love,  he  walks 
in  the  way  of  Heaven. 

And  to  you,  young  gentlemen,  who  are 
about  to  quit  these  halls,  to  continue  amid 
other  surroundings  the  work  of  education 
which  here  has  but  begun,  what  words  shall 
I  more  directly  speak  ?  If  hitherto  you  have 
wrought  to  any  purpose,  you  will  go  fotth 

to  the  world  filled  with  resolute  will  and 
oble  enthusiasm  to  labor  even  unto  the 
end  in  building  up  the  being  which  is  your- 
self, that  you  may  unceasingly  approach  the 
type  of  perfect  manhood.  This  deep-glow- 
ing fervor  of  enthusiasm  for  what  is  highest 
and  best  is  worth  more  to  you,  and  to  any 
man,  than  all  that  may  be  learned  in  col- 
leges. If  ambition  is  akin  to  pridej  and 
therefore  to  folly,  it  is  none  the  less  a 
mighty  spur  to  noble  action;  and  where  it  is 
not  found  in  youth,  budding  and  blossom- 
ing like  the  leaves  and  flowers  in  Spring, 
what  promise  is  there  of  the  ripe  fruit  which 
nourishes  life?  The  love  of  excellence 
bears  us  up  on  the  swift  wing  and  plumes  of 
high  desire: 

"Without  which  whosoe'er  consumes  his  days, 
Leaveth  such  vestige  of  himself  on  earth 
As  smoke  in  air  or  foam  upon  the  wave." 

Bo  not  place  before  your  eyes  the  stand- 
ard of  vulgar  success.  Do  not  say :  I  will 
study,  labor,  exercise  myself  that  I  may  be- 
come able  to  get  wealth  or  office;  for  to 
this  kind  of  work  the  necessities  of  life 
and  the  tendency  of  the  age  will  drive 
you;  whereas,  if  you  hope  to  be  true  and 
high,  it  is  your  business  to  hold  yourself 
above  the  spirit  of  the  age.  It  is  our  worst 
misfortune  that  we  have  no  ideals.  Our  very 
religion,  it  would  seem,  is  not  able  to  give 
us  a  living  faith  in  the  reality  of  ideals;  for 
we  are  no  longer  wholly  convinced  that 
souls  live  in  the  atmosphere  of  God  as  truly 
as  lungs  breathe  the  air  of  earth.  And  we 
find  it  difficult  even  to  think  of  striving 
for  what  is  eternal,  all -holy  and  perfect, 
so  unreal,  so  delusive  do  such  thoughts 
seem. 


Who  will  understand  that  to  be  is  better 
than  to  have,  and  that  in  truth  a  man  is 
worth  only  what  he  is?  Who  will  believe 
that  the  kingdom  of  this  world,  not  less 
than  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,  lies  within? 
Who,  even  in  thinking  of  the  worth  of  a 
pious  and  righteous  life,  is  not  swayed  by 
some  sort  of  honesty-best-policy  principle? 
We  love  knowledge  because  we  think  it  is 
power;  and  virtue,  because  we  are  told,  as  a 
rule,  it  succeeds.  Ah !  do  you  love  knowl- 
edge for  itself — for  it  is  good,  it  is  godlike 
to  know?  Do  you  love  virtue  for  its  own 
sake — for  it  is  eternally  and  absolutely 
right  to  be  virtuous?  Instead  of  giving 
your  thoughts  and  desires  to  wealth  and 
position,  learn  to  know  how  little  of  such 
things  a  true  and  wise  man  needs;  for  the 
secret  of  a  happy  life  does  not  lie  in  the 
means  and  opportunities  of  indulging  our 
weaknesses,  but  in  knowing  how  to  be  con- 
tent with  what  is  reasonable,  that  time  and 
strength  may  remain  for  the  cultivation  of 
our  nobler  nature.  Ask  God  to  inspire  you 
with  some  noble  thought,  some  abiding 
love  of  what  is  excellent,  which  may  fill 
you  with  gladness  and  courage,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  labors,  the  trials,  and  the  dis- 
appointments of  life,  keep  you  still  strong 
and  serene. 


The  Feast  of  Gladness. 

BY   MARION   MUIR. 

1  HAVE  been  sad,  but  I  am  sad  no  more; 
-^    I  have  been  blind,  and  now,  with  open  eyes, 

I  can  look  upward  at  the  wide,  blue  skies. 
The  world  I  fancied  evil  to  the  core 
Hath  room  upon  it  for  the  royal  store 

Of  love  and  trust,  and  splendid  hope  that  lies 

In  youthful  dreams,  or  noble  enterprise 
That  builds  success  from  sorrows  gone  before. 

I  have  shed  tears,  but  now  I  leave  regret 
Under  the  green  that  fitly  clothes  a  grave. 

There  is  no  lasting  gloom  for  those  who  set 
Their  faith  on  ideals  lifted  up  to  save 

Immortal  natures  from  the  strife  and  pain 

Of  seeking  guidance  on  the  pathless  plain. 
Pentecost,  1886. 


lO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Philip's   Restitution. 


BY    t  HRISTIAN    REID. 


A  LARGE  brown-stone  house,  of  elabo- 
rate architecture,  set  in  the  midst  of 
spacious  grounds,  where  every  art  of  the 
landscape-gardener  had  been  called  into 
service,  and  where  the  result  was  as  perfect 
as  taste  and  wealth  could  make  it,  was  the 
home  of  Mr.  James  Thornton,  one  of  the 
most  noted  millionaires  of  the  city  of  River- 
port  Not  that  millionaires  were  uncommon 
in  Riverport,  which,  being  on  the  border  of 
the  prosperous  Southwest  and  West,  had 
a  fair  proportion  of  these  fortunate  persons 
among  its  inhabitants;  but,  beside  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Thornton  was  reputed  to  be  one  of 
the  wealthiest,  there  were  certain  incidents 
in  his  career  which  ^ave  a  picturesque  in- 
terest to  it  in  the  popular  mind.  For  one 
thing,  he  had  amassed  his  wealth  in  a  very 
short  time;  and  this  is  something  which  is 
always  interesting  to  those  who  wish  to  do 
likewise,  yet  lack  the  necessary  opportunity 
or  ability.  Not  very  many  years  had  elapsed 
since  he  was  only  an  ordinarily  prosperous 
business  man.  Suddenly  property  had 
fallen  into  his  hands,  which  almost  immedi- 
ately appreciated  enormously  in  value.  He 
at  once  entered  largely  into  speculative  in- 
vestments, and,  owing  to  good  luck  or  good 
judgment,  everything  which  he  touched 
doubled  his  fortune,  until  in  a  few  years  he 
reached  the  apex  of  prosperity. 

The  admiration  of  the  average  American 
mind  is  deeply  stirred  by  such  a  career, 
and  Mr.  Thornton  tasted  in  full  measure 
the  respect  and  adulation  which  are  paid  to 
financial  success  in  a  country  that  has  not 
indeed  a  monopoly  of  the  cultus  of  the 
golden  calf,  but  where  it  exists  to  a  greater 
degree  than  in  any  other.  He  enjoyed  the 
nineteenth  century  equivalents  of  those 
salutations  in  the  market-place  which  the 
Pharisees  loved,  and  was  not  mistaken  in 
feeling  himself  an  object  of  mingled  admi- 


ration and  envy  to  almost  all  his  fellow- 
citizens. 

Almost,  but  not  quite  all.  In  Riverport, 
as  elsewhere,  a  small  minority  did  not  bow 
the  knee  to  the  modern  Baal,  and  among 
them  were  a  few  who  knew  how  much  this 
man  had  altered  for  the  worse  since  the 
tide  of  his  prosperity  had  set  in.  In  that 
day,  which  now  seemed  to  him  the  day  of 
small  things,  yet  when  he  had  possessed  all 
that  was  necessary  for  comfort  and  inde- 
pendence of  life,  he  had  been  liberal  ac- 
cording to  his  means,  and  kindly  and  genial 
in  disposition.  As  wealth  increased  his 
liberality  decreased,  while  his  character 
changed  and  hardened.  The  hands  which 
were  put  out  so  eagerly  to  grasp  every 
promising  investment,  lost  their  hold  on  the 
charities  of  life;  and  the  eyes  which  were 
turned  intently  on  the  interests  of  earth, 
forgot  to  look  toward  Heaven. 

Such  forgetfulness  is  common  with  men 
so  absorbed,  but  it  was  aggravated  in  this 
man's  case  by  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
educated  a  Catholic.  It  was  true  that  he  had 
early  fallen  into  habits  of  indifference  to 
religion;  but,  although  this  indifference  led 
him  to  marry  a  Protestant,  it  did  not  lead 
him  to  deny  his  faith  until  after  the  era  of 
his  remarkable  prosperity  began.  It  was 
then  that  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  re- 
ligion of  his  fathers,  that  he  was  seen  no 
more  in  Catholic  churches,  and  that  finally 
his  old  friends  heard  with  sorro\y  that  he 
appeared  now  and  then  with  his  wife  in  the 
fashionable  temple  of  ' '  High ' '  Episcopali- 
anism,  where  she  worshipped. 

For  he  had  married  rather  late  in  life, 
into  a  family  of  great  social  prominence, 
and  his  wife  was  as  much  a  type  of  a  fine 
lady  as  the  conditions  of  American  life  can 
readily  produce.  With  inherited  refine- 
ment she  possessed  a  grace  of  manner  and 
charm  of  disposition  which  went  far  to 
atone  for  the  fact  that  she  did  not  possess  a 
great  deal  of  intellect.  It  would  have  been 
impossible,  however,  for  the  heart  of  a  mill- 
ionaire to  desire  a  better  show-piece  for 
wealth,  or  a  woman  who  understood  better 
all  its  uses — in  a  worldly  way.    She  had  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


II         ' 


personal  appearance  of  a  duchess — an  ideal 
duchess — and  such  fine  taste,  that  the  ap- 
pointments of  her  household  and  the  style 
of  her  entertainments  formed  a  standard 
which  others  eagerly  imitated. 

These  people  had  no  children  of  their 
own,  but  circumstances  had  made  it  possible 
for  them  to  adopt  two,  whose  presence  gave 
that  life  and  animation  of  youth  which 
would  else  have  been  lacking  in  their  lux- 
urious home.  One  of  these  was  an  orphan 
niece  of  Mrs. Thornton;  the  other,  a  nephew 
of  Mr.  Thornton.  The  latter  was  also  an 
<i  orphan,  but  his  father  had  been  wise  enough 
I  wto  guard  him  from  a  great  danger  by  his 
*  dying  act.  He  had  inserted  in  his  will  a 
special  provision  stating  how  and  where 
the  boy  should  be  educated.  "For  I  can't 
trust  James  in  this  matter,"  he  had  said  in 
explanation.  "  If  he  has  not  absolutely  de- 
nied his  faith,  he  is  so  indifferent  to  it  that 
he  would  as  soon  send  Philip  to  a  Protes- 
tant college  as  not.  But  I  am  determined 
that  he  shall  have  a  Catholic  education. 
After  that,  if  he  loses  his  religion  it  will  be 
his  own  fault,  not  mine." 

It  was  to  this  wise  forethought  that  Philip 
Thornton  owed  the  years  which  he  spent 
in  a  Catholic  university.  His  uncle  made 
no  objection  to  carrying  out  the  provision 
of  the  will;  but'  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that, left  to  himself,  he  would  have  preferred 
one  of  the  Protestant  centres  of  learning. 
The  only  allusion  which  he  ever  made  to 
the  matter  was  to  say,  when  the  young  fel- 
low was  on  the  point  of  leaving  home :  "  It 
is  a  pity  to  handicap  you  for  the  race  of  life 
in  this  way,  Phil;  but  it  was  your  father's 
wish.  And,  after  all,  it  will  not  matter — 
for  you.  It  would  matter  if  you  had  your 
way  to  make  in  the  world ;  but  the  way  has 
been  made  for  you.  There  will  be  no  diffi- 
culties in  your  case;  you  can  indulge  your- 
self in  believing  what  you  please. ' ' 

It  was  not  until  long  afterward  that  the 
significance  of  these  words  occurred  to  the 
young  man.  But  by  that  time  he  had 
learned  that  religion  was  a  subject  which 
it  was  not  possible  to  discuss  with  his  uncle. 
The   most   avowed   materialist  could  not 


have  ignored  the  spiritual  side  of  life  more 
completely  than  Mr.  Thornton.  Immersed 
in  worldly  interests,  he  seemed  never  to 
give  it  a  thought;  and  if  the  subject  was, 
by  any  chance,  presented  to  his  considera- 
tion, he  did  not  hesitate  to  indicate  his  dis- 
taste for  it. 

When  Philip  first  returned  from  the  relig- 
ious associations  that  had  surrounded  his 
college  life,  this  indifference  of  his  uncle — 
an  indifference  amounting  to  hostility — 
seemed  to  him  terrible.  But  such  is  the 
effect  of  habit  and  example,  that  he  soon 
grew  accustomed  to  the  atmosphere  into 
which  he  had  fallen,  and  before  very  long  it 
ceased  to  excite  any  surprise  in  his  mind. 
He,  too,  began  to  say  to  himself  that  relig- 
ion was  very  well — in  its  place.  But  that 
place  grew  smaller  and  smaller  to  his  ap- 
prehension as  the  pleasures  and  interests 
of  the  world  opened  before  him.  It  was 
indeed  difficult  to  think  of  any  other  exist- 
ence when  everything  contributed  to  make 
his  present  one  so  delightful.  Youth,  wealth, 
leisure  were  all  his,  together  with  a  nature 
eminently  susceptible  of  enjoyment,  and 
formed  to  give  and  receive  pleasure.  He 
did  not  cease  to  practise  his  religion,  only 
it  fell  more  and  more  into  the  background 
of  his  life,  while  the  foreground  was  filled 
with  those  amusements  which  are  so 
charming  to  the  young  and  gay  of  heart. 

It  was  soon  apparent  that  his  social  tastes 
were  very  pleasing  to  his  uncle.  Ivike 
many  men  who  have  had  no  social  success 
of  their  own,  he  placed  an  exaggerated 
value  on  such  success,  and  preferred  to  see 
Philip  a  man  of  fashion  rather  than  a  man 
of  business.  The  matter  might  have  been 
different  had  the  young  man  showed  any 
qualities  of  a  spendthrift;  but  he  was  so 
scrupulous  not  to  exceed  the  means  placed 
at  his  disposal,  that  Mr.  Thornton  was  forced 
to  urge  him  now  and  then  to  greater  ex- 
penditure. 

"Don't  hesitate,"  he  said,  "to  do  things 
handsomely  —  as  handsomely  as  possible. 
Money  can  not  be  spent  to  better  advantage 
than  in  securing  your  social  position.  There 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  at  the 


12 


The  Ave  Maria. 


head  of  everything,  with  your  appearance, 
your  qualities,  and  your  means." 

"?7y//r  means,  rather,"  said  the  young 
man,  laughing  a  little.  ' '  I  sometimes  think 
that  it  is  time  I  began  to  see  about  making 
something  for  myself." 

"Nonsense!"  said  his  uncle.  "Don't 
you  come  into  the  office  and  write  a  few 
letters  now  and  then?  I  look  upon  you  as 
my  son,  and  I  have  other  ends  in  view  for 
you  than  money-making.  At  present  I  de- 
sire that  you  spend  money  freely,  and  make 
yourself  popular.  After  a  while  we  shall 
see." 

It  was  agreeable  advice  to  a  young  man 
with  the  world  already  at  his  feet,  to  spend 
money  freely,  and  make  himself  popular. 
It  might  have  been  dangerous  advice  to 
many,  but  Mr.  Thornton,  who  was  a  shrewd, 
judge  of  human  nature,  would  not  have 
offered  it  had  he  not  been  sure  of  his  neph- 
ew's character — had  he  not  observed  him 
closely,  and  tested  him  well.  Gay,  ardent, 
pleasure-loving  though  he  might  be,  there 
was  a  depth  and  strength  of  character  in 
Philip  which  prevented  him  from  being 
inclined  to  vicious  excesses.  Mr.  Thornton 
recognized  this,  even  while  he  refused  to 
acknowledge  to  himself  where  this  strength 
had  been  gained. 

It  was  certainly  a  pleasant  household  of 
which  the  young  man  found  himself  a  part 
when  he  finally  settled  at  home.  His  aunt 
had  always  been  kind  to  him,  as  she  was 
by  nature  kind  to  everyone;  and  he  had 
always  admired  her  exceedingly.  Her  grace 
and  refinement  had  fascinated  his  eyes  even 
when  he  was  a  boy,  and  they  were  not 
likely  to  fascinate  him  less  now,  that  he  had 
learned  the  value  of  such  gifts.  And  there 
was  another  gracious  presence  also  in  this 
household — a  girl  who  was  like  a  white 
rose  in  delicate  loveliness,  with  the  same 
aroma  of  refinement  that  Mrs.  Thornton 
possessed,  and  a  slight  haughtiness  which 
was  foreign  to  the  elder  woman,  yet  did  not 
misbecome  the  younger.  Constance  Irving 
was  indeed  a  product  of  the  same  condi- 
tions which  had  produced  her  aunt;  but,  as 
a  strain  of  different  blood  must  result  in 


different  characteristics,  there  were  some 
essential  differences  between  them.  The 
foundation  of  the  girl's  character  was  firmer 
and  harder  than  that  of  the  woman;  her 
disposition  was  less  gentle,  and  her  intellect 
keener.  These  things,  however,  were  as 
yet  in  abeyance,  waiting  for  circumstances 
to  develop  them.  To  everyone,  including 
those  of  her  own  household,  Miss  Irving 
seemed  a  model  of  all  that  was  most  charm- 
ing in  young  ladyhood. 

When  or  how  it  became  clear  to  Philip 
that  his  uncle  and  aunt  desired  him  to 
marry  this  very  attractive  girl,  he  could  not 
tell ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  it  had  been 
made  sufficiently  plain,  although  no  direct 
word  had  been  spoken.  He  had  not  the 
least  objection.  Let  him  look  where  he 
would,  he  saw  no  one  so  lovely,  so  refined, 
so  charming  as  Constance;  and,  though  he 
had  known  her  too  long  and  too  intimately 
to  fall  in  love  with  her,  he  felt  sure  that  he 
could  not  admire  her  more  if  he  were  ever 
so  much  in  love.  Whether  the  wishes  of 
their  elders  had  been  made  as  plain  to  her 
as  to  him,  and,  if  so,  how  she  regarded 
these  wishes,  he  could  not  tell.  She  treated 
him  exactly  as  she  had  always  done;  and 
he  knew  that  if  any  change  in  their  rela- 
tions took  place,  the  initiative  must  come 
from  him. 

But  there  seemed  no  reason  for  haste  in 
making  such  a  change.  All  their  youth 
was  before  them  to  enjoy,  and  why  should 
they  lay  a  fetter  upon  it?  Philip  knew  in- 
stinctively that  Constance  would  feel,  with 
himself,  that  there  was  no  reason,  and  that 
she  would  probably  decline  to  be  fettered. 
Just  as  ho  wanted  to  enjoy,  without  any 
sense  of  bondage,  the  pleasures  which  the 
world  spread  before  him,  so,  no  doubt,  did 
she;  the  more  that  the  incense  of  homage 
and  admiration  offered  her  on  all  sides 
would  very  sensibly  diminish  were  she  once 
known  to  be  "  engaged. ' ' 

So  no  word  that  could  be  construed  to 
such  meaning  was  uttered  by  any  one  con- 
cerned. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thornton  were  silent, 
through  the  influence  of  the  latter  rather 
than  by  the  desire  of  the  former.    ' '  Do  not 


The  Ave  Maria. 


15 


urge  the  matter,"  she  said,  "or  you  might 
provoke  opposition;  Let  them  alone.  When 
they  have  enjoyed  themselves  sufficiently 
they  will  see  the  wisdom  of  what  we  de- 
sire." 

"Why  should  they  not  settle  this,  and 
then  enjoy  themselves  as  much  as  they 
like?"  asked  Mr.  Thornton,  somewhat  im- 
patiently. 

"  Oh !  that  would  be  different, ' '  said  Mrs. 
Thornton.  ' '  They  would  feel — bound,  you 
know.  And,  of  course,  a  girl  who  is  known 
to  be  engaged  is  socially  at  a  disadvantage. 
Constance  ought  to  have  some  good  of  her 
beauty  and  attractiveness  before  she  gives 
up  her  reign.  She  will  be  as  great  a  belle 
as  I  was,  I  hope." 

"And  what  good  will  it  do  her?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Thornton. 

The  delicate,  faded  cheek  of  the  woman, 
whose  sweetest  recollection  was  of  that  past 
bellehood,  flushed. 

"  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  her  now,  and 
it  will  be  a  great  gratification  to  her  to  re- 
member hereafter,"  she  said,  with  dignity. 
"I  can  not  consent  that  she  should  be  de- 
prived of  such  a — distinction." 

"It  will  be  a  dearly-bought  distinction 
if  she  takes  a  fancy  to  marry  some  one  of 
the  men  who  are  dangling  around  her  all 
the  time,"  said  Mr.  Thornton. 

"There  are  so  many  of  them  that  .she  is 
not  likely  to  think  of  any  one  in  particu- 
lar," answered  his  wife.  "And  you  must 
see  that  there  are  few  who  have  Philip's 
advantages. ' ' 

Mr.  Thornto"  did  see  that,  and  it  con- 
soled him  a  little,  even  while  he  muttered 
something  not  very  complimentary  to  femi- 
nine vanity.  But  he  knew  that  on  this 
point  his  wife  would  be  immovable,  so  he 
wisely  gave  up  the  discussion. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Christian  faith  is  a  grand  cathedral 
with  divinely-pictured  windows.  Standing 
without,  you  see  no  glory,  nor  possibly  can 
imagine  any;  standing  within,  every  ray  of 
light  reveals  a  harmony  of  unspeakable 
splendors.  — Hawthorne. 


My  Father's  Promise. 

•  

BY    E.  P.  RYDER. 

TYj  Y  Father  promised  unto  those  who  trust 
^  ^  ^  That  for  their  earthly  needs  He  would 

provide; 
So,  as  I  fear  Him,  knowing  He  is  just. 

Securely  in  that  promise  I  abide. 
And  when  my  needs  demand  His  aid  divine, 

And  I  make  known  my  wants  in  humble 
prayer, 
I  feel  His  powerful  assistance  mine, 

And  strength  the  burden  of  my  life  to  bear. 

Never  before  were  skies  so  dark  o'erhead, 
Never  the  way  so  hard;  yet,  day  by  day. 

Through  the  dense  darkness  I  am  safely  led^ 
Secure  from  all  the  perils  of  the  way. 

So  I  can  say,  whatever  ills  beset, 

' '  My  Father's  promise  never  failed  me  yet. ' ' 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XV.— Nemesius  Meets  Pope 

Stephen.    Valerian's  Diabolical 

Ingenuity,  and  how  he  was 

Baffled. 

AT,the  appointed  hour,  Nemesius,  clad  in 
armor,  his  sword  at  his  belt,  and  a  dark 
toga  thrown  around  him,  passed  out  of  the 
bronze  gates,  and,  walking  rapidly,  soon 
reached  the  spot  where  he  expected  to  meet 
Admetus  and  found  him  waiting  his  arrival. 

' '  We  have  far  to  go, ' '  whispered  the  boy. 

"Lead  on,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

So  much  mystery  might  naturally  have 
awakened  distrust,  but,  strange  to  say,  Ne- 
mesius felt  none,  his  mind  being  occupied 
solely  with  the  object  he  had  in  view.  To- 
gether they  walked  down  the  steep  road, 
through  many  turns  and  windings  of  the 
city,  past  guards,  whose  challenge  the  offi- 
cer met  by  the  countersign,  until  they  were 
safely  outside  the  walls,  on  the  wide,  shad- 
owy Agro  Romano,  which  looked  vaster 
under  the  pale  starlight. 

Nemesius   and   his    guide  had  walked 


H 


The  Ave  Maria. 


some  distance  m  an  apparently  aimless 
way,  when  Admetus  turned  to  the  left,  dis- 
turbing several  flocks  of  sheep  that  were 
slumbering  in  the  grass  around  the  poor 
huts  of  their  shepherds,  and  at  last  stopped 
before  a  small,  dilapidated  building,  so  far 
gone  to  ruin  as  to  be  able  to  hold  itself  to- 
gether only  by  numerous  props.  A  bush 
of  grape-vines  hung  ostentatiously  over  the 
doorway,  indicating  that  wine  could  be  here 
obtained  by  thirsty  travellers.  Three  quick 
raps  on  the  door  were  answered  by  a  woman, 
who  opened  it  cautiously,  and  peered  out. 
The  boy  Admetus  whispered  a  single  word ; 
she  threw  open  the  door,  and  invited  them 
to  enter  the  poor  place,  which  was  dimly 
illuminated  by  the  flickering  rays  of  a  lamp 
suspended  by  an  iron  chain  from  a  rafter. 
There  were  one  or  two  shelves,  which  held 
a  few  amphorcE^  drinking- cups,  and  flagons; 
a  rickety  table,  some  rude  seats,  and  a  water- 
cask, — all  in  keeping  with  the  poverty- 
stricken  exterior. 

"Follow  me,"  said  the  low,  sweet  voice 
of  Admetus,  as  he  led  the  way  down  a  steep, 
dilapidated  staircase  into  a  cellar,  that  gave 
out  an  odor  of  rotten  wood  and  mouldy 
straw. 

Nemesius  cast  a  quick  glance  around  the 
vault,  whose  gloom  was  only  intensified  by 
the  dull  torch  borne  by  his  guide,  and  for 
the  first  time  his  instincts  as  a  soldier  sug- 
gested that  it  was  just  possible  he  was  be- 
ing led  into  a  trap.  But  he  did  not  hesitate ; 
peril  or  no  peril,  he  would  risk  everything 
to  secure  the  object  of  his  hope;  and,  follow- 
ing the  light,  he  descended  another  steep, 
narrow  stairway,  cut  in  the  rock  of  some 
older  foundation  than  that  on  which  the 
tumble-down  wine-shop  had  been  built. 
At  the  bottom,  Admetus  turned  into  a  nar- 
row passage,  then  entered  another  that  ran 
across  the  one  they  were  in;  and,  after  pro- 
ceeding a  short  distance  stopped,  and,  push- 
ing aside  some  rubbish,  picked  up  a  stone 
and  rapped  sharply  against  what  appeared 
to  be  a  s®lid  wall  of  travertine.  Suddenly 
an  aperture  opened,  caused  by  the  turning 
of  a  block  of  stone,  which  revolved  on  a 
pivot  fixed  into  it  at  the  top  and  bottom 


"Enter.  I  will  await  thee  here,"  said 
his  guide. 

Nemesius  saw  a  long  gallery  stretching 
away  into  the  darkness,  and  two  soldiers 
with  a  light  advancing  towards  him.  They 
were  unarmed,  and  gave  him  the  military 
salute,  saying, '  ^Deo  gratias. ' '  He  entered ; 
the  stone  door  closed,  then  they  courteously 
but  briefly  told  him  that  they  were  sent  to 
conduct  him  to  the  presence  of  the  holy 
Bishop  Stephen. 

"Lead  on,"  was  all  he  said;  but  what 
were  his  thoughts  as,  following  his  un- 
known guides,  he  beheld  stretching  away 
in  interminable  lines,  as  far  as  the  torch  cast 
its  light,  tier  above  tier  of  square  blocks  of 
stone,  carved  in  devices  unknown  to  him, 
which  sealed  the  graves  of  the  Christian 
martyrs?  None  might  know,  nor  could  he 
define  the  strange  awe  that  sat  upon  his 
soul  as  he  moved  through  these  ranks  of  the 
holy  dead.  He  knew  now  that  he  was  in 
the  Catacombs;  and,  although  his  hand  in- 
stinctively grasped  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
the  faith  and  hope — devoid  of  superstition 
— which  had  brought  him  hither,  to  ask 
the  intervention  of  a  mysterious  and  divine 
power,  unknown  to  him,  to  give  sight  to  his 
blind  child,  did  not  permit  him  to  falter  a 
moment  in  his  purpose,  or  ask  a  single  ques- 
tion of  his  companions.  His  step  was  firm 
and  steady,  his  splendid  eyes  clear  and  un- 
troubled, his  helmeted  head  erect,  while  the 
faint  ring  of  his  armor  kept  time  as  he 
moved. 

After  many  sinuous  turns  along  these 
silent  corridors,  filled  with  the  columbaria^ 
where,  like  "doves  in  the  clefts  of  the 
rocks,"  the  martyred  dead  reposed,  a  sweet, 
solemn  sound  swept  along,  growing  more 
distinct  as  they  advanced;  and  presently, 
through  an  arch  near  which  they  were 
passing,  a  soft  halo  of  light  was  shed,  and 
Nemesius  heard  the  words  chaunted: 

"  O  ye  holy  and  just  ones,  rejoice  in  the  Lord! 
God  hath  chosen  ye  unto  Himself  for  an  inher- 
itance.   Alleluia! 
Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord 
Is  the  death  of  His  saints.    Alleluia ! "  * 


Vespers  for  Martyrs. 


The  Ave  Mar. 


na. 


15 


The  sweet,  restful  strains  died  away;  only 
a  faint  echo  sounded  along  the  dim  galleries 
of  the  dead,  like  the  whispered  response  of 
angels,  as  another  martyr  was  laid  to  rest. 
Nemesius  did  not  then  know  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  light  he  had  seen  and  the  words 
he  had  heard. 

At  length— it  seemed  as  if  miles  had  been 
traversed — the  soldiers  stopped  before  an 
opening,  across  which  a  leather  curtain  was 
suspended.  One  of  them  passed  behind  the 
screen,  and,  quickly  returning,  invited  Ne- 
mesius to  enter.  He  did  so,  and  found  him- 
self in  a  lamp-lighted  apartment,  its-  only 
occupant  a  man  past  middle-age,  clothed  in 
a  white  woollen  robe,  whose  aspect  was  ma- 
jestic but  mild;  who^e  countenance,  shining 
with  sweetness  and  compassion,  was  full 
of  power;  and  whose  eyes,  penetrating  yet 
kind,  inspired  him  with  emotions  such  as 
he  had  never  before  experienced  in  the  pres- 
ence of  any  human  being. 

He  knew  that  this  was  the  Christian 
Pope,  Stephen,  and  involuntarily  knelt  be- 
fore him;  while  the  holy  man,  impressed 
by  his  appearance,  and  the  spontaneity  of  his 
homage,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  head  and 
gave  him  a  benediction ;  then  invited  him 
to  be  seated  near  the  chair  from  which  he 
had  risen  to  greet  him;  and,  in  tones  that 
inspired  confidence,  asked  the  object  of  his 
visit,  and  expressed  his  readiness  to  serve 
him. 

"I  thank  thee  for  granting  me  audience. 
I  am  here  as  a  suppliant,  but  I  will  not  de- 
ceive thee.  Know,  then,  that  I  worship  the 
Genius  of  Rome  and  the  gods,  and  that  I 
have  taken  part  in  the  persecution  of  Chris- 
tians," said  Nemesius,  with  dignity,  his 
voice  subdued,  yet  firm,  as  he  made  his  frank 
avowal,  not  knowing  but  that  it  might  bring 
defeat  to  his  hopes;  but,  as  an  honorable 
gentleman  and  a  brave  soldier,  he  could  not 
act  otherwise. 

"I  have  heard  of  thee,"  was  the  mild 
answer;  "but  know  that  it  is  a  fundamen- 
tal law  of  the  Christian  life  to  forgive  our 
enemies,  and  do  good  to  them  who  despite- 
fuUy  use  us;  otherwise  we  are  not  true  dis- 
ciples of  Jesus  Christ.    Speak,  then,  for  it 


must  be  no  light  cause  that  leads  thee  to 
seek  me  in  the  Catacombs." 

"Thou  ^alt  judge,"  answered  Neme- 
sius, refusing  by  a  gesture  the  seat  offered 
him.  "It  is  for  one  most  dear  to  me — my 
only  child — for  whom  I  solicit  a  share  in 
those  favors  which  I  am  credibly  informed 
thou  bestow  est  on  the  miserable  and  unfor- 
tunate." 

"I  but  do  the  holy  will  of  Him  whose 
servant  I  am,"  was  the  gentle  response. 

Then  Nemesius,  in  brief  words,  unveiled 
the  story  of  his  grief;  the  most  eloquent 
language  could  not  have  increased  the 
pathos  of  its  facts;  tears  rose  unbidden  to 
his  eyes,  and  fell  unheeded;  the  very  deeps 
of  his  strong  heart  were  broken  up,  and  he 
asked,  as  a  boon  more  precious  than  any 
life  could  give,  that  sight  might  be  given  to 
his  blind  child.  Nor — pagan  as  he  was — 
did  he  spare  lavish  offers  of  treasures  and 
countless  gold  to  the  Christian  Pontiff;  for 
had  he  not,  from  time  to  time,  poured  out 
his  riches  to  the  priests  of  his  false  gods 
for  the  same  object?  and  he  did  not  yet 
know  the  difference. 

"The  gifts  of  God  can  not  be  bought 
with  silver  and  gold;  they  are  gratuitous, 
and  of  His  divine  mercy,"  quickly  re- 
sponded the  Pontiff,  whose  heart  was  moved 
with  Christlike  pity  towards  the  noble 
pagan.  He  saw  in  his  simple  faith  a  glorious 
possibility,  and  a  swift,  divine  inspiration 
dictated  the  words:  "With  our  God  all 
things  are  possible ;  take  comfort,  therefore, 
for  thy  desire  will  be  granted." 

"  Do  I  hear  arigh  t  ?    Oh !  sir—' ' 

Nemesius  was  overwhelmed  by  this  calm 
assurance  that  his  long-delayed  hope  would 
be  at  last  confirmed;  he  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve, after  all  his  bitter  disappointments, 
that  this  was  not  some  illusion  of  his  over- 
wrought senses;  his  face  paled,  and  for  a 
few  moments  his  thoughts  were  confused. 

"On  the  morrow  the  blind  eyes  of  the 
innocent  one  will  be  opened,"  continued 
the  Pontiff.  ' '  Bring  her  to  me  in  the  morn- 
ing early — not  here,  but  to  the  old,  walled 
villa  west  of  the  second  milestone  on  the 
Via  Latin  a," 


i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"I  would  thank  thee,  could  I  find  words 
adequate  to  express  my  gratitude;  but  lan- 
guage fails.  I  can  only  say  that  all  I  have 
— aye,  my  very  life  would  I  lay  down,  and 
still  think  the  price  too  small  for  that  which 
thou  hast  promised,"  said  Nemesius,with 
profound  emotion ;  then,  with  generous 
after- thought,  quickly  added:  "but  may  I 
not  bring  my  Claudia  here  ?  It  may  be  un- 
safe for  thee  outside. ' ' 

The  holy  Pontiff  knew  that  the  time  had 
not  yet  come  for  his  crowning  and  replied : 
"There  will  be  no  danger.  The  villa  be- 
longs to  an  officer  of  the  Prsetorian  Guard, 
whose  wife  is  a  lady  of  the  imperial  house- 
hold; both  of  them  are  Christians,  but  not 
yet  openly.  Now  we  must  part.  May  He 
whom  I  serve  enlighten  thee!  Farewell!" 
And  so  saying  he  passed  out  beyond  the 
leather  curtain  that  covered  the  doorway. 
(to  be  continued.) 


An   Incident  in  tFie  Life  of  Bisiiop 
Hendricken. 

From  the  Pilot. 

A  STORY  of  the  late  Bishop  Hendricken, 
of  Providence,  R.  I.,has  been  revealed, 
through  a  brief  sentence  uttered  by  Bishop 
O'Reilly  at  the  funeral  service,  last  week,  to 
the  effect  that  the  Bishop  was  once  nearly 
made  a  martyr  at  sea  for  persisting  in  perform- 
ing a  Christian  act;  and  that  there  lives  a  man 
in  Providence  who  was  instrumental  in  sav- 
ing the  Bishop  from  being  foully  murdered. 
The  gentleman  alluded  to  is  the  Rev.  Samuel 
Davies,  a  Protestant  clergyman,  who  says 
that  the  affair  occurred  on  the  Black  Ball  Line 
ship,  Columbia, ^N\)^.QS^  sailed  from  lyiverpool  to 
New  York  on  May  25,  1852. 

The  captain  of  the  vessel  and  all  his  offi- 
cers and  crew  were  members  of  the  Know- 
nothing  party,  the  captain  being  a  notorious 
leader,  and  president  of  a  lodge  of  Knownoth- 
ings  in  Maine.  There  were  700  steerage 
passengers,  of  whom  500  (Irish  and  German) 
were  Catholics.  Fathers  Hendricken  and 
Walsh,  newly-ordained  priests,  were  among 
the  cabin  passengers.  When  thirteen  days  at 
sea,  a  Catholic  woman  in  the  steerage  was 
taken  mortally  ill,  and  Mr.  Davies  notified 
Father  Hendricken. 


*  'The  young  man, ' '  says  Mr.  Davies, ' '  hur- 
ried into  his  cabin,  donned  his  vestments, 
and  was  passing  out  with  the  Eucharist  in 
his  hand,  when  he  was  confronted  by  the  cap- 
tain.who  damned  him  for  a  papist,  and  seized 
him  by  the  throat,  declaring  that  aboard  his 

ship  people  would  have  to  die  without 

Catholic  mummery.  Drawing  a  pistol,  he 
threatened  to  shoot  if  a  step  was  taken  tow- 
ards the  spot  where  the  poor  woman  lay  dy- 
ing Clasping  his  crucifix,  young  Hendricken 
replied  that  he  must  go  to  the  relief  of  that  de- 
parting soul,  even  though  his  life  be  sacrificed. 
Livid  with  rage,  the  captain  would  have 
felled  him  to  the  earth  but  for  the  other  priest 
and  myself.  We  got  the  young  Father  away, 
and  persuaded  him  to  refrain  from  open  defi- 
ance of  the  captain  until  supper- time,  when 
he  could  slip  down,  while  we  would  endeavor 
to  engage  the  captain  in  conversation  at  table. 
The  ruse  succeeded;  and  while  the  captain, 
with  coarse  gibes  and  ribald  jokes,  was  de- 
claring that  no  Catholic  rite  should  ever  be 
administered  aboard  his  boat.  Father  Hen- 
dricken was  at  the  dying  woman's  side,  hear- 
ing her  confession,  and  administering  the 
Sacrament.  She  died  while  he  was  repeating 
the  final  prayer. 

"Just  before  supper  was  over,  a  sailor  burst 
into  the  room,  and  informed  the  captain  that 
'  that priest  had  got  down,  and  was  at- 
tending that  Irish  woman.'  Snatching  up  a 
pistol,  the  captain  sprang  from  the  table,  fol- 
lowed by  the  mate  and  purser,  bent  on  de- 
stroying Father  Hendricken.  We  ran  out 
after  them,  and  were  in  time  to  see  the  captain 
strike  the  priest  a  fearful  blow  as  he  came  up 
the  hatchway,  hurling  him  down,  where  he 
lay  stunned  and  bleeding.  '  Drag  the  cuss  up 
here,'  commanded  the  captain,  and  his  sail- 
ors, seizing  the  prostrate  priest  by  the  feet, 
dragged  him  up,  and  flung  him  moaning  on 
the  deck.  We  tried  to  interpose,  but  were 
driven  back  by  the  crew,  all  of  whom  were 
ripe   for  any  order  from  the  captain.    'The 

papist  shall  never  see  New  York  alive! ' 

exclaimed  he,  and  he  led  off  by  planting  a 
fearful  kick  on  Father  Hendricken's  head. 
The  blood  gushed  from  a  ghastly  wound,  dye- 
ing the  white  vestments  crimson. 

"I  rushed  down  below,  and  acquainted  the 
German  Catholics  of  the  tragedy  being  en- 
acted on  deck.  Fifty  veteran  soldiers  followed 
me,  and  we  reached  the  scene  in  time  to  hear 


The  Ave  Maria. 


17 


the  captain  tell  the  crew  to  throw  the 

carcass  overboard.  The  men  were  in  the  ac 
of  pushing  the  inanimate  body  over  the  side, 
when  the  Germans  fell  upon  them,  felling 
them  right  and  left,  and  wresting  the  body 

from  them.  '  Mutiny,  by ! '  exclaimed  the 

captain;  but  I  bade  him  beware;  that  these 
Germans  were  but  preventing  the  murder  of 
a  priest,  and  that,  if  goaded  to  desperation  by 
his  wickedness,  summary  vengeance  might  be 
resorted  to. 

'  'At  this  moment  a  great  commotion  was 
heard  in  the  quarter  where  the  Irish  emigrants 
were  penned  up.  The  captain's  deed  had  been 
made  known  to  them,  and  they  were  furious 
and  frantic  to  get  out  to  save  or  avenge  the 
heroic  priest.  Father  Walsh  went  down  and 
implored  them,  in  the  name  of  God,  to  restrain 
their  fury;  and  but  for  his  influence  they 
would  have  forced  the  hatches,  and  the  decks 
of  the  good  ship  Columbia  would  have  been 
deluged  in  blood. 

"Taking  in  the  situation,  the  captain  sul- 
lenly ordered  Father  Hendricken  to  be  ironed 
and  locked  up,  but  this  the  Germans  would 
not  allow.  They  carried  him  to  their  own 
quarters  and  nursed  him  back  to  life.  When 
he  was  removed  to  his  cabin  they  fed  him 
from  their  own  scant  provisions,  fearing  poi- 
son; and  night  and  day,  until  the  ship  reached 
New  York,  three  emigrants  stood  sentinels 
at  his  cabin  door  to  protect  him  from  secret 
violence. 

'  *  The  captain  refused  to  allow  a  burial  ser- 
vice over  the  dead  woman,  or  to  let  the  body 
Tdc  sewed  up  in  a  hammock.  He  ordered  it  to 
be  dragged  up,  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
bereaved  husband  and  children  he  had  the 
still  warm  body  tossed  into  the  sea.  Three 
years  later  he  was  murdered  by  one  of  his 
own  crew,  and  found  the  watery  grave  that  he 
wished  to  give  Bishop  Hendricken." 


The  Late  Madame  Hardey. 

MOTHER  MARY  AI.OYSIA  HARDKY, 
Assistant- General  of  the  Religious  of  the 
Sacred  Heart,  who  died  in  Paris  on  the  17th 
ult.,  was  a  native  of  Maryland.  She  was  ed- 
ucated at  the  Academy  of  the  Sacre  Coeur, 
Grand  Coteau,  I^a,,  and  took  the  veil  in 
that  convent,  then  under  the  government  of 
the  accomplished  and  saintly  Mere  Eugenie 


Ande,  Mme.  Hardey  received  the  religious 
habit  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  having  displayed 
unusual  maturity  of  mind,  and  facility  in  ac- 
quiring the  knowledge  suited  to  her  sex. 
Her  capacity  and  the  needs  of  the  mission 
led  her  superiors  to  confide  important  charges 
to  her  even  during  the  second  year  of  no- 
vitiate; and  when  the  establishment  known 
as  St.  Michael's  was  opened,  she  was  sent 
thither  as  one  of  its  most  efficient  foundresses, 
and  finally,  as  superioress,  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  the  existing  convent  and  academy. 
She  had  governed  that  establishment  with 
great  success,  when  Mme.  Gallitzin  was  ap- 
pointed by  the  Venerable  Mere  Barat  to  visit 
all  the  houses  of  the  community  then  existing 
in  North  America.  That  wise  superioress,  per- 
ceiving the  promising  qualifications  of  Mme. 
Aloysia,  conducted  her  to  the  Maison-Mere  at 
Paris,  to  form  the  acquaintance  of  the  Mother- 
General  of  the  Order,  and  thence  to  Rome,  to 
receive  the  blessing  of  his  Holiness  Gregory 
XVI. 

In  1 84 1  Mme.  Hardey  was  sent  to  a  mission 
lately  opened  in  New  York,  in  a  very  unim- 
posing  building  on  Houston  Street.  Bishop 
Hughes  was  anxious  to  secure  a  better  home 
for  the  religious,  and  thus  until  the  estate  of 
the  lyorillards  was  purchased  at  Manhattan- 
ville(i847)the  community  occupied  a  spacious 
residence  at  Astoria  in  lyong  Island.  As  many 
prelates  wished  to  have  Mme.  Barat' s  daugh- 
ters in  their  dioceses,  houses  of  the  Order 
were  opened  by  Mme.  Hardey  (as  the  Vicar  of 
the  Mother- General)  in  several  parts  of  the 
United  States,  in  Canada,  Nova  Scotia,  New 
Brunswick,  and  the  West  Indies.  From  1841 
to  1870,  that  indefatigable  superioress  founded 
nearly  twenty  convents,  with  their  academies 
and  parochial  schools. 

Those  who  know  the  small  human  resources 
of  every  kind  with  which  Mme.  Hardey  ac- 
complished her  great  work,  can  only  look 
upon  the  results  as  bordering  on  the  marvel- 
lous. She  seemed  destined  to  success  in  gov- 
ernment by  her  calm  dignity,  and  firmness 
mingled  with  rare  sweetness.  Esteemed  by 
the  clergy  and  the  patrons  of  her  schools,  she 
was  loved  and  deeply  venerated  by  her  relig- 
ious daughters  and  her  pupils. 

In  1870  the  beloved  superioress  was  called 
from  her  sorrowing  communities  to  reside  at 
Paris,  as  her  knowledge  of  American  affairs 
rendered  her  particularly  fitted  to  give  counsel 


i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


about  matters  in  the  Order  which  had  rela- 
tion to  this  country.  At  that  period  her  vica- 
riate reckoned  700  religious,  and  the  young 
persons  whose  education  .she  controlled  num- 
bered many  thousands. 

About  a  year  ago  the  venerable  Mother 
Hardey  was  attacked  b}^  congestion  of  the 
brain,  and  her  health  remained  feeble,  alter- 
nating between  hopes  of  improvement  and 
dread  of  illness  on  the  part  of  her  devoted 
daughters,  until  a  cablegram  on  the  17th  ult. 
announced  that  their  sacrifice  was  consum- 
mated.    R.  L  P. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  magnificently  wrought  Golden  Rose 
which  the  Pope  solemnly  blesses  every  year 
on  the  fourth  Sunday  of  I^ent,  for  bestowal 
on  some  Catholic  personage  of  royal  blood  as 
a  mark  of  his  personal  affection,  or  as  a  token 
of  his  recognition  of  some  good  quality  or 
special  merit  in  the  recipient,  has  been  sent  to 
Queen  Christina,  of  Spain. 


We  know  nothing  more  touching  than  the 
piety  of  the  Irish  poor  for  their  dead,  and  their 
traditionary  clinging  to  the  sacred  places  of 
rest  of  their  ancestors.  It  may  be  true  that 
in  their  wakes  there  have  been  abuses,  which 
the  zeal  of  the  clergy  has  now  pretty  well  ex- 
tirpated; there  may  have  been,  occasionally, 
tumultuous  scenes  of  party  conflicts  at  burials, 
which  afford  good  materials  for  writers  of 
Irish  romances,  fonder  of  men's  frailties  than 
of  their  virtues.  But  the  long  and  silent 
train  that  will  for  miles  follow  the  bier,  and 
join  in  carrying  it — despite  of  modern  church- 
yard and  cemetery  tempting  on  the  way — to 
the  ruins  of  some  abbey  church,  or  the  green 
mound  on  the  site  of  an  old  chapel;  the  re- 
spectful demeanorof  every  passer-by;  the  care- 
lessness about  manner  compared  with  the 
solicitude  about  place;  the  true  Catholic  sim- 
plicity of  the  tombstone  inscriptions  (still 
ever  running  in  the  old  form,  ' '  Pray  for  the 

soul  of ");  the  care  for  a  full  ofi&ce,  and 

a  "month's  mind,"  and  an  anniversary  on 
the  part  of  the  survivors, — these  are  evidences 
of  a  Catholic  land,  edifying  and  consoling. 


Everyone  has  heard  the  vulgar  Protestant 
calumny  that  there  are  enough  relics  of  the 


True  Cross  to  build  a  ship;  the  calumny  is  as 
ignorant  as  it  is  spiteful.  The  Cross,  as  Our 
Blessed  lyord  bore  it,  probably  contained  about 
10,800  cubic  inches,  whereas  all  existing  relics 
put  together  do  not  amount  to  250  cubic 
inches.  Hence  not  one-fortieth  part  of  the 
wood  of  the  Cross  survives. 

The  simple  tombstone  placed  over  the  grave 
of  America's  great  orator  and  statesman,  Dan- 
iel Webster,  who  lies  buried  in  the  little  town, 
of  Marshfield,  Mass  ,  bears  the  following  sug- 
gestive inscription: 

"Daniel  Webster.  Born  Jan.  18,  1782;  died  Oct. 
24,  1852.  'Ivord,  I  believe;  help  Thou  my  unbe- 
lief.' 'Philosophical  argument,  especially  that 
drawn  from  the  vastness  of  the  universe,  in  com- 
parison with  the  apparent  insignificance  of  this 
globe,  has  sometimes  shaken  my  reason  for  the 
faith  which  is  in  me;  but  my  heart  has  always 
assured  and  reassured  me  that  the  Gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  must  be  a  divine  reality.  The  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  can  not  be  a  merely  human  production. 
This  belief  enters  into  the  very  depths  of  my  con- 
science. The  whole  history  of  man  proves  it.' 
Dafiiel  Webster.'' 

This  epitaph  is  an  extract  from  Webster's 
own  works,  and.  though  it  sadly  reveals  the 
want  of  that  true  faith  which  enlightens  and 
assists  reason,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  mani- 
fests that  sense  of  religion  by  which  every 
sincere  seeker  after  truth  will  suffer  himself 
to  be  influenced,  and  in  all  the  difficulties  that 
may  beset  his  weak  reason  give  expression  to 
the  cry  of  the  soul:  "I^ord,  help  Thou  my 
unbelief!  " — a  prayer  which,  in  God's  mercy, 
will  bring  in  answer  the  blessed  gift  of  Faith. 


The  Rev.  Thomas  Nolan,  P.  P.,  of  Abbey- 
leix,  Ireland,  who  passed  away  on  the  9th 
ult.,  was  perhaps  the  oldest  priest  in  the 
world.  He  was  born  in  1794,  and  descended 
from  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  respectable 
families  in  Co.  Carlow .  ' '  Father  Tom, "  as  he 
was  called,  was  a  warm  patriot  and  a  zealous 
missioner.  He  left  many  monuments  to  his 
priestly  devotedness,  among  which  may  be 
mentioned  the  beautiful  spire  of  TuUow,  the 
first  erected  to  any  Catholic  church  from  the 
days  of  the  so-called  Reformation.  One  of  the 
most  notable  events  in  the  life  of  this  vener- 
able and  beloved  clergyman  was  his  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Gladstone  some  years  ago, 
when  the  great  Premier  asked  the  old  priest's 
blessing.    R.  I.  P. 


F 


The  Ave  Ala  Ha. 


19 


The  sixteenth  annual  Convention  of  the 
Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Union  of  America 
will  be  held  in  the  University  of  Notre  Dame, 
Ind.,  on  Wednesday  and  Thursday,  August 
4  and  5  The  Board  of  Government  will  meet 
on  Tuesday  evening,  August  3,  in  Washington 
Hall,  Notre  Dame,  On  the  morning  of  the  4th, 
Pontifical  High  Mass  will  be  celebrated  in  the 
beautiful  Church  of  Our  I/ady  of  the  Sacred 
Heart.  Societies  will  be  present  from  Chicago, 
111. ;  lyOgansport,  Goshen,  and  South  Bend, 
Ind,,  and  other  places.  They  will  escort  the 
delegates.  On  Wednesday  evening  a  public 
temperance  meeting  will  be  held  in  Washing- 
ton Hall",  On  Thursday  evening  the  drama  of 
' '  Drink ' '  will  be  presented  by  the  Columbian 
Dramatic  Association  of  Valparaiso,  Ind, 

The  President  of  the  Indiana  Union,  the 
Rev.  F,  C,  Weichman,  writes:  "Other  places 
may  present  many  attractions,  but  Notre 
Dame  will  surprise  everyone, ' '  All  delegates 
will  be  entertained  during  the  Convention  at 
the  commodious  and  elegant  University  build- 
ings, free  of  charge.  The  Rev. Thomas  Walsh, 
C.  S,  C,  President  of  the  University,  will  in- 
vite personally  all  the  bishops  of  the  country, 
and  it  is  expected  that  a  goodly  number  will 
honor  the  Convention  with  their  presence. 


The  bishops  of  the  Provincial  Council  of 
Milwaukee  say  well  that ' '  during  the  Middle 
Ages  the  Church  organized  workingmen  into 
guilds,  and  before  the  i6th  century  the  misery 
they  now  endure  was  unknown,"  We  have 
repeatedly  asserted  that  the  root  of  all  labor 
troubles  is  to  be  found  in  Protestantism.  A 
religion  which  magnifies  the  present  and  min- 
imizes the  hereafter  must  necessarily  prove 
a  nursing  mother  of  communism, —  Western 
Watchman.  

The  history  of  Father  Adam  Schall,  an  ap- 
ostolic Jesuit  missionary  of  the  17th  century, 
has  been  again  brought  into  prominence 
through  the  recent  publications  of  a  Prussian 
literary  society,  I^ike  his  brother  mission- 
ary, Robert  de  Nobili,  he  followed  literally  the 
words  of  St,  Paul— the  type  of  all  zealous 
laborers  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord  —  and 
made  himself  all  to  all,  that  he  might  gain 
souls  to  God,  When  he  entered  upon  his  mis- 
sion among  the  Chinese,  he  learned  that  the 
Emperor  Chun  Tse  had  a  mania  for  astronom- 
ical calculations.    Father  Adam  at  once  ap- 


plied himself  to  the  study  of  all  the  extant 
works  on  abstract  and  concrete  mathematics, 
which  he  mastered  in  less  than  three  years,  in 
which  time  he  also  gained  a  very  fair  knowl- 
edge of  the  Chinese  language.  He  then  be- 
gan to  supplement  his  sermons  with  an  occa- 
sional lecture  on  mathematical  subjects,  which 
had  the  intended  effect  of  attracting  imperial 
notice.  And  it  is  said  that  before  the  end  of 
a  year  he  was  almost  forced  to  remove  to  a 
luxurious  lodging  in  the  imperial  palace,  and 
to  accept  the  insignia  of  a  mandarin.  The 
Emperor  often  visited  him  in  his  study,  and, 
after  dismissing  his  attendants,  would  proceed 
to  discuss  his  favorite  subjects  with  such  en- 
thusiasm and  persistence  that  Father  Adam 
almost  repented  his  stratagem.  However,  the 
grand  end  was  gained:  not  only  was  permis- 
sion granted  the  learned  and  devoted  Jesuit 
to  preach  throughout  the  Empire,  but  an  im- 
perial edict  was  published  proclaiming  this. 


The  title-page  and  contents  of  volume 
twenty-second  are  now  printed,  and  will  be 
sent,  on  application,  to  those  who  wish  to 
bind  their  magazines. 


Obituary. 

'*//  />  a  holy  and  zolinlexome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Daniel  Magorien,  a  venerable  priest 
of  the  Archdiocese  of  Philadelphia,  formerly  pas- 
tor of  Port  Carbon,  Pa. 

The  Rev.  John  Stephany,  the  beloved  rector  of 
St.  Aloysius'  Church,  Covington,  Ky.  His  death 
occurred  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Aloysius. 

The  Rev.  Father  Timothy  (Reilly),  C,P.,  de- 
ceased at  St.  Michael's  Retreat,  Hoboken,  N.J,, 
June  17. 

Mrs.  Nicholas  Hussey,  of  Albany,  N.Y,,  whose 
well-spent  life  closed  with  a  peaceful  death  on  the 
22d  of  May. 

Mrs.  Mary  Anne  Lonergan,  who  departed  this 
life  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  on  the  ist  ult.,  fortified 
by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Marie  Forgeot,  of  Boston,  an  old  and  es- 
teemed friend  of  Thk  "Ave  Maria,"  whose  fer- 
vent Christian  life  was  crowned  with  a  precious 
death  on  the  8th  ult. 

Mr.  Edward  Lanigan,  of  Applegarth,  Australia; 
Miss  Alice  Mary  G'Rourk,  San  Jose,  Cal. ;  Philip 
Fitzpatrick,  and  James  H.  Toner,  Boston,  Mass. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


--^^^^-ji:^^^.':^  1 


pakTmenT 


Ger?nan  Hunting  Song.) 

I. 
OME,  ye  children  bright,  with 
your  happy  voices  ringing, 
Sound  our  queenly  I^ady's  fame! 
With  the  angels  pure,  who  on  golden  harps 
are  hymning, 
Wake  the  woodland  with  her  name. 

Chorus. 
All  hail,  Our  Lady  fair! 
All  hail,  our  Queen  most  rare! 
All  hail,  God's  Mother  sweet! 
We  have  roamed  thro'  Nature's  bowers, 
We  have  gathered  fresh  wild  flowers, 
And  we'll  lay  them  at  her  feet. 

II. 
When  temptation  comes,  then  our  hearts,  all 
sad  and  weary. 
On  our  Mother's  name  will  call; 
And  her  hand  so  kind,  tho'  the  way  be  dark 
and  dreary. 
Will  protect  and  guide  us  all. 

Chorus. — All  hail,  etc. 

III. 
Oh!  most  lovely  Queen,  hear  our  youthful 
voices  blending; 
Bless  thy  children  ere  we  go; 
With  a  mother's  care  every  heart  from  sin  de- 
fending. 
Teach  us  all  our  God  to  know. 

Chorus. — All  hail,  etc. 
Mercedes. 


From  Tipperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  of  Tibbv  Butler. 


BY   T.   F.   GAIyWEY. 


When  one  has  not  worked  in  one's  youth, 
one  knows  nothing,  is  nothing,  and  can  do 
nothing.  — Lacordaire. 

Everything  lives  by  exertion,  every- 
thing dies  by  idleness. — St,  Johii  Chrysos- 
tom. 


I. 

It  was  a  clear  morning  in  February,  as  the 
Oceanic^  after  a  blustering  voyage  from 
Liverpool,  steamed  up  the  lower  bay  of 
New  York.  The  steerage  passengers  were 
gathered  on  the  forward  deck,  and  peered 
out  upon  the  land  they  had  chosen  for  their 
new  home.  There  were  Hans  and  \i\'&frau 
and  the  kinder — a  good  many  of  Hans  and 
his/r^//,  and  still  more  of  the  kinder;  and 
there  was  John  Bull,  with  his  rabbit- skin 
cap,  and  his  wife  done  up  in  a  long  water- 
proof coat,  and  the  little  John  Calves  clus- 
tering about  papa  and  mamma;  and  there 
were  Pat  and  Bridget,  and  the  bright-eyed 
little  Paudeens  and  Brideens, ' '  axin' ' '  their 
daddy  and  mammy  all  sorts  of  unanswera- 
ble questions  about  this  America,  which 
seemed  to  be  moving  out  to  meet  them,  so 
smooth  and  steady  was  now  the  course  of 
the  great  ship. 

lycaning  over  the  gunwale,  staring  hard 
at  the  snow-covered  heights  of  lyong  Island, 
was  a  stout  boy  of  medium  size,  dressed  in 
plain  but  becoming  grey  clothes.  He  was 
about  fifteen,  with  a  serious  cast  of  features, 
yet  with  a  countenance  that  frankly  ex- 
pressed his  real  feelings  at  all  times. 

'  ^  Look  out,  Tibby ! ' '  shouted  some  sail- 
ors, as  they  rushed  along  close  to  him, 
dragging  a  heavy  cable.  Everyone  aboard 
who  came  near  him  regarded  him  in  a 
friendly  manner;  and  it  was  plain  that  in  the 
short  nine  or  ten  days  of  the  voyage,  he  had 
made  a  good  impression  on  those  with 
whom  he  had  come  into  contact. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


2i 


But  he  was  somewhat  melancholy  now; 
and  no  wonder.  Families  stood  together  in 
groups,  and  friends  in  knots  arranged  plans 
for  the  future;  but  Tibby  leaned  over  the 
side  of  the  ship,  and  for  the  time  was  almost 
as  much  alone  as  if  he  were  Robinson  Cru- 
soe on  his  little  island.  Some  of  the  other 
passengers  were  travelling  alone,  it  is  true ; 
but  they  expected  to  recognize  watchful 
faces  ashore,  waiting  with  welcome  and  ad- 
vice, There  was  no  one  in  America  whom 
Tibby  knew;  none  who  knew  him. 

Tibby' s  real  name  was  Theobald  Walter 
Butler,  but  he  had  scarcely  ever  been  called 
anything  else  since  his  babyhood  than 
' '  Tibby, ' '  which  is  a  pet  name  for  Tiobal^ 
the  Irish  for  Theobald.  He  was  an  orphan. 
His  parents  had  both  died  when  he  was  a 
mere  infant,  and,  as  is  often  the  case  in  Ire- 
land, had  left  their  only  child  scarcely  any- 
thing else  than — ij/hat  is  highly  prized  in 
that  country  by  those  that  have  it — an  an- 
cient pedigree.  And  now  he  was  coming  to 
a  country  where  every  man  must  be  his 
own  ancestor — where  no  one  is  allowed  to 
boast  of  any  achievements  but  his  own. 

However,  one  glance  at  Tibby,  upright 
and  straightforward  as  he  was,  showed  that 
he  was  one  who  would  always  do  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  whatever  fell  to  him  to 
do.  An  uncle,  with  a  large  and  expensive 
family  of  his  own,  had  been  almost  a  father 
to  the  little  orphan.  But  the  boy,  foreseeing 
that  in  the  end  he  would  have  to  make  his 
own  way  in  the  world,  and  rather  than  be 
longer  a  burden  to  his  excellent  relatives, 
turned  his  thoughts  to  the  great  nation  be- 
yond the  sea. 

It  was  a  bold  undertaking  for  a  boy  of 
fifteen.  It  cost  Tibby  many  a  sigh  before 
he  could  make  up  his  mind  finally  to  leave 
Carrick-on-Suir,  where  he  had  been  bom; 
sweet,  old  Tipperary,  where  his  family  had 
lived  for  centuries, — where  he  used  often  to 
feel  a  comfort,  in  his  poverty,  in  strolling 
among  the  tombstones  of  the  old  church- 
yard, gloating  over  the  curiously  carved 
escutcheons  of  the  Butlers.  But  he  had  a 
strong  will,  and,  taking  the  few  pounds  left 
by  his  father,  and  bidding  adieu  to  relatives, 


and  friends,  and  schoolmates,  he  started  on 
his  journey.    And  here  he  was  now. 

The  melancholy  could  not  last  long, 
however;  for  Tibby  was  a  boy,  and  there 
was  too  much  now  to  occupy  his  eyes.  As 
he  looked,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  fluttered  on 
the  mast  of  Fort  Hamilton  to  his  right,  and 
Tibby  thought  it  a  most  beautiful  flag. 
To  the  left,  Staten  Island  rose  up  from  the 
water;  and  now,  on  gazing  straight  to  the 
front  through  the  Narrows,  he  had  a  view 
that  would  delight  any  boy.  Far  ahead,  the 
circular  fort  on  Governor's  Island  made 
Tibby' s  grey  eyes  moisten;  for  it  reminded 
him  of  the  grim,  dingy  old  castle  at  Car- 
rick  ;  but  beyond  that  the  beautiful  picture 
so  widened  out,  that,  turn  his  head  as  rap- 
idly as  he  might,  he  could  not  see  as  much 
of  it  as  he  would  have  liked. 

In  the  centre  was  New  York  itself,  with 
the  clump  of  trees  at  the  Battery  glistening 
in  the  snow  that  bent  down  the  branches; 
and,  rising  beyond  and  above  the  Battery, 
the  Produce  Exchange,  and  the  many  other 
stately  edifices  of  the  great  metropolis.  Off 
to  the  right,  Brooklyn  stretched  away  far 
out  of  sight  up  the  East  River;  and  Tibby 
thought  he  had  never  before  seen  anything 
so  strange  as  the  great  suspension  bridge 
hanging  from  its  massive  piers  between 
these  two  cities. 

On  went  the  steamship.  The  water  was 
fairly  churned  into  foam  by  the  hundreds 
of  craft,  of  all  sizes,  shapes,  and  colors,  that 
were  moving  in  and  out,  around  and  across, 
in  constant  seeming  danger  of  collision 
with  one  another:  sloops,  schooners,  great 
sailing  ships,  steamboats,  ferryboats;  and, 
everywhere  flying  about,  active,  powerful 
little  tugs  continually  whistling,  and  send- 
ing up  pufis  of  steam,  that  turned  as  white 
as  chalk  in  the  clear,  cold  air. 

The  course  lay  more  to  the  left  now,  and 
there  was  Communipaw  to  the  west;  be- 
yond, the  Kill  von  Kull;  and  then  Jersey 
City,  and  then — Tibby  took  oflf  his  cap,  and 
said  a  prayer  of  praise  to  God  and  thanks- 
giving ;  for  there,  conspicuous  above  the 
heights  on  the  Jersey  shore,  glittered  the 
gilded  cross  of  the  Passionist  monastery. 


22 


The  Ave  Maria. 


It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Tibby 
found  hhnself  standing  in  line  within  the 
great  hall  of  Castle  Garden,  with  the  other 
steerage  passengers  of  the  Oceanic,  moving 
step  by  step  forward,  through  a  little  gate, 
as  fast  as  the  clerk  could  register  the  im- 
migrants' names. 

''What's  your  name?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"Theobald  Walter  Butler,  sir, "  answered 
Tibby. 

"Whew!  but  that's  high-toned!"  re- 
marked the  clerk.  "What's  your  age?"  he 
continued. 

"Fifteen  next  St.  Patrick's  Day,  sir," 
was  Tibby' s  answer. 

The  clerk,  who  was  an  Irish- American, 
smiled  approvingly  at  this.  And  then  the 
full  entry  was  made,  declaring  that  this 
interesting  arrival  from  Carrick-on-Suir,  in 
the  County  of  Tipperary,  Ireland,  intended 
to  remain  in  the  United  States,  and  that 
his  final  destination  was  "California"  or 
"Columbia,"  the  said  immigrant  not  at 
present  being  settled  in  his  mind  which  of 
these  two  regions  he  wQuld  finally  honor 
with  his  presence. 

II. 

Tibby  removed  himself  and  his  neat 
little  valise  from  Castle  Garden  to  an  emi- 
grant boarding-house  in  Greenwich  Street, 
not  far  from  the  Battery.  The  place  was 
called  the  "Harp  of  Erin,"  and  it  was  the 
big  sign  stretched  across  the  front  of  the 
house — bearing,  besides  the  above  title,  an 
artistically  painted  golden  harp  in  the  mid- 
dle, surrounded  by  a  wreath  of  green  little 
shamrocks  —  that  had  atlracted  Tibby' s 
attention  and  custom. 

Thought  Tibby  to  himself:  ' '  It  must  be 
a  good  man  keeps  this  inn,  and  he  will 
surely  be  kindly-spoken  to  a  boy  from  Tip- 
perary. ' '  And  he  went  in  and  asked  for ' '  the 
landlord." 

"Dot's  me,"  said  a  fat,  jolly,  red- faced 
man  behind  the  counter,  leaning  forward, 
and  resting  his  chin  in  his  hands.  "Come 
right  up  here  once,  my  poy.  Chon ! ' '  (this 
to  a  man  who  was  polishing  a  mirror  on 
the  wall) ' '  dake  de  chentleman' s  peckage. ' ' 

The  valise,  which  Tibby  had  set  down 


until  he  could  make  terms  for  lodging,  was 
whisked  out  of  his  sight  before  he  could 
realize  what  had  happened. 

Tibby  stared  hard  at  the  landlord,  and 
wondered  what  part  of  Ireland  he  could 
have  come  from.  Not  from  Tipperary,  of 
course;  nor  from  Kilkenny,  or  Cork,  or 
lyimerick,  or  Clare.  Perhaps  he  was  from 
the  North,  where,  as  Tibby  had  often  heard, 
the  people  spoke  with  a  queer  accent. 

"You  come  by  de  Oceanic?^''  the  land- 
lord asked. 

' '  Oh !  yes, ' '  said  Tibby ;  ' '  and  I  am  from 
Carrick-on-Suir.  That's  in  Tipperary,  you 
know.  May  I  be  asking  what  part  of  Ire- 
land yourself  s  from?  You're  not  from 
Sligo?" 

"Now,  ton't  you  do  it,  young  feller," 
said  the  landlord.  ' '  Yust  you  wait  alretty  a 
leetle  vile  yet,  as  you  beest  by  de  gountry, 
und  den  mebbee  you  tell  me  I'm  not  a 
'shly  go'  once." 

Tibby' s  amazement  at  the  strange  ac- 
cent was  equal  to  his  amusement  at  the 
pleased  way  in  which  his  host  looked  at 
him.  The  landlord,  in  fact,  was  astonished 
at  what  he  took  to  be  the  coolness  and  the 
wit  of  this  boy,  all  alone  and  friendless  in 
a  new  country.  But  Tibby' s  curiosity  was 
too  much  excited  to  delay  satisfying  him- 
self as  to  the  landlord. 

' '  You  have  m y  belongings,  that' s  plain, ' ' 
he  said;  "though  I  don't  know  where  your 
man  has  put  them.  But  I  suppose  they  are 
all  right.  Anyway,  I  think  I'll  be  after 
stopping  here,  if  your  terms  are  moderate; 
for  it's  not  so  much  I  have  that  I  can  be 
spending  it  about  very  freely.  But  you 
haven't  told  me  what  part  of  Ireland  you're 
from." 

' '  Veil,  young  feller,' '  replied  the  landlord, 
whose  name  was  Fritz  Schnupfer,  "vot 
difference  make  it  anyhow  if  I  peen  from 
Shly-go  —  ish  dot  de  place? — or  No-go? 
Yust  you  make  yourselluf  at  home  by  me 
once,  und  dot's  all  right.  I  treat  you  veil  if 
you  treat  me  veil. ' ' 

"Oh!  to  be  sure,"  said  Tibby,  who  was 

the  opposite  of  narrow-minded,  and  was 

I  ready  to  tolerate  a  man  from  any  part  of 


The  Ave  Maria, 


23 


[Ireland,  even  from  Sligo, which  he  now  felt 
^rtain  was  the  country  of  the  landlord's 
birth;  though  he  couldn't  clearly  under- 
stand why  that  individual  should  be  so 
delicate  about  owning  it  as  he  seemed  to 
be.  "I  must  be  asking  your  pardon,"  he 
went  on,  *'for  taking  so  much  liberty;  but 
a  good  friend  of  mine  and  my  family  at 
home,  Father  Prendergast,  bade  me  mind 
what  strangers  I  dealt  with  in  America. 
I  like  your  looks,  though ;  and  if  you  will 
tell  me  the  terms,  and  they  are  what  they 
ought  to  be,  I'll  go  to  my  apartment,  and 
change  my  dress  for  tea. ' ' 

The  landlord  had  walked  around  from 
behind  his  counter  in  order  to  have  a  better 
view  of  this  young  man  from  Ireland,  who 
was  totally  unlike  any  that  had  previously 
come  within  his  experience. 

It  must  be  observed  that  Tibby,who  was 
a  really  modest  boy,  was  not  likely  to  be 
guilty  of  an  intentional  impertinence.  He 
was  frank  by  nature,  however,  though  usu- 
ally rather  silent'  and  whenever  he  did 
become  communicative  he  was  very  apt 
to  say  whatever  was  passing  through  his 
mind. 

The  terms  for  boarding  and  lodging  were 
arranged,  and  Tibby  was  conducted  to  his 
"apartment" — a  little  room  up  under  the 
roof  of  the  hotel.  He  intended  to  rise  early 
next  morning,  so  as  to  go  to  confession  and 
be  ready  to  receive  Holy  Communion  at 
Mass  in  the  nearest  church,  and  thus  make 
a  worthy  beginning  of  his  life  in  the  New 
World.  "In  the  meantime,  as  the  afternoon 
was  not  yet  more  than  half  spent,  he  was 
aching  to  see  at  once  what  he  could  of  that 
world,  and  he  concluded  to  take  a  stroll  up 
into  the  great  city,  and  return  in  time  for 
the  evening  meal  at  the  ' '  Harp  of  Erin ' ' — 
for  "tea,"  as  he  called  it. 

He  changed  his  clothes,  and  now  ap- 
peared in  the  office  with  a  collar  so  high 
and  stiff,  that  it  was  a  wonder  his  ears  were 
not  sawed  off.  ' '  Landlord, ' '  he  said, ' '  what 
street  have  you  that  is  as  fine  as  Patrick 
Street  in  Cork?" 

"Petrick  Sthreet?" 


Schnupfer  replied. 
Oh,   ya!    Veil,  dere's   Proteway ;  dot's 


mebbee  all  so  goot  as  dot  Petrick  Sthreet. 
My  poy,  it's  petter  as  you  sthay  by  de 
house  yust  now,  und  in  de  morning,  ven  you 
by  St.  Peter's  Church  peen,  den  you  take  a 
promenahd  in  dot  sthreet." 

Tibby  was  evidently  not  pleased  with 
this, for  he  could  not  restrain  his  impatience 
to  be  off  for  a  stroll. 

"Veil,"  said  Schnupfer,  "ef  you  must 
go,  I  gif  you  one  piece  of  adwise,  und  dot 
is  you  leaf  me  your  money,  und  I  put  it  in 
dot  safe. ' '  And  he  pointed  to  a  small  safe 
inside  the  counter. 

Now,  Tibby  Butler  had  always  enter- 
tained a  sort  of  good-natured  contempt  for 
country  people.  In  Carrick  he  had  heard 
much  sport  made  of  the  peasants  who  used 
to  crowd  into  town  in  fair- time;  and  he  was 
hurt  in  his  feelings  to  have  this  man,  whom 
he  supposed  to  be  from  remote  Sligo  in- 
deed, bidding  him  take  care  of  himself  if 
he  went  out,  just  as  if  he  had  never  seen  a 
lamp-post  before,  or  two  roofs  touching; 
worst  of  all,  to  be  as  good  as  told  he  had 
not  sense  enough  within  the  four  walls  of 
his  head  to  know  how  to  carry  his  own 
money!  Still,  the  landlord,  though  stupid 
no  doubt,  as  the  Carrick  people  said  all  the 
' '  Far-Downs ' '  were,  evidently  meant  well. 
He  suppressed  his  indignation,  therefore, 
and  merely  declined  the  friendly  offer  with 
cold  dignity. 

"I  am  beholden  to  you,  sir,"  he  said; 
"but  I  can  mind  what  I  have  very  well. 
I  shall  be  back  for  tea. ' '  And  then  he  strode 
out  into  Greenwich  Street,  and  turned  tow- 
ards Broadway,  to  have  a  look  at  "the  main 
street  of  the  town." 

It  was  after  dark,  and  a  few  of  the  board- 
ers of  the  "Harp  of  Erin" — some  of  them 
newly-arrived  immigrants,  others  laborers 
— were  sitting  about  in  the  office,  and  in  the 
parlor  opening  off  the  office,  when  Tibby 
appeared  at  the  door. 

What  a  change  there  was  in  his  expres- 
sion! He  was  a  small  picture  of  tumbled 
pride.  He  walked  in  not  so  briskly  and 
lightly  as  he  had  walked  out  two  hours 
before.     But  if  his  manner  was  humble,  it 


24 


The  Ave  Maria. 


was  frankly  so — without  any  effort  at  con- 
cealment. 

vSchnupfer  was  stooping  down  behind 
the  counter,  examining  the  contents  of  the 
safe  preparatory  to  shutting  it  up  securely 
for  the  night. 

' '  I  did  wrong,  landlord,  not  to  hearken  to 
you,"  said  Tibby.  The  landlord  rose  up 
and,  turning  around,  faced  his  interesting 
boarder.  "You  bade  me  not  go  out;  or,  if  I 
did,  to  leave  my  money  with  you,  and  to 
take  care  of  the  sharpers.  I  did  neither; 
but  the  sharpers  looked  out  for  me,  and 
they  have  all  my  money  now,  except  a  few 
bits  of  silver  I  have  in  my  trousers  pocket. 
My  bank-notes  they  took — every  one  of 
them." 

Fritz  was  all  attention,  and  was  really 
distressed  at  Tibby 's  misfortune.  He  made 
him  describe  the  rascals  who  had  robbed 
him  of  his  money,  and  the  trick  they  had 
played  to  accomplish  it.  There  were  two 
of  them,  it  seemed;  and  they  had,  one  after 
the  other,  inveigled  Tibby  into  a  conversa- 
tion, learned  all  about  his  plans,  his  money, 
and  so  forth;  and  had  then  advised  him 
to  let  them  see  if  the  bills  were  good  that 
had  been  given  him  at  Castle  Garden  that 
day  in  exchange  for  his  British  money. 
Then  they  had  snatched  the  bills  away 
from  him,  and  had  disappeared  in  opposite 
directions. 

Had  Tibby  been  older  than  he  was,  Fritz 
would  have  laughed  at  his  simplicity,  and 
all  the  more  rendily  for  the  disdain  with 
which  Tibby  had  treated  his  advice.  But 
the  good-natured  German,  who  had  con- 
ducted the  ' '  Harp  of  Erin ' '  ever  since  its 
founder  and  first  landlord  retired  from  the 
hotel  business  to  go  into  politics,  had  al- 
ready taken  a  sincere  liking  to  the  straight- 
forward, though  strong-willed,  little  fellow. 

"  Py  chiminy  Chackson! "  he  exclaimed, 
* '  dis  outrayche  is  fearful !  Now,  my  poy, 
ven  you  peen  a  Cherman  poy,  der  peen 
some  kind  of  society  vat  see  dot  you  ton't 
go  arount  all  by  yourselluf  like  a  leetle 
chackass  in  a  sdranche  gountry.  Now  vat 
you  goin' to  do?" 

"  It  is  to  work  I  must  go  to-morrow,  and 


put  off  seeing  the  country  until  I  hav6 
earned  some  money  in  place  of  what  I  have 
lost,"  Tibby  replied.  ''But  I  was  going  to 
say,  landlord,  that  I  have  a  stock  of  good 
clothes  in  my  portmanteau,  and  I  wish  yoii 
to  take  them  in  pledge  for  my  board  and 
lodging  until  my  first  wages  are  paid." 

Schnupfer  chuckled  quietly  to  himself  at 
the  undaunted  courage  with  which  Tibby 
talked  of  wages  before  he  had  taken  even 
a  step  towards  finding  employment.  But 
he  made  the  boy  go  into  the  dining-room 
and  eat  his  fill,  and  then  sent  him  off  to 
bed. 

When  Tibby  knelt  down  that  night  to 
say  his  prayers,  he  promised  that,  if  God 
would  pardon  him,  he  would  try  to  over- 
come his  self-conceit.    He  slept  soundly. 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Order  of  the  Garter. 


It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  Order 
of  the  Garter  had  for  its  patron  not  only  St. 
George,  but,  in  the  first  place,  the  ever-blessed 
Virgin  Mary.  In  the  statutes  of  the  Order, 
drawn  up  by  Edward  IV.  in  the  beginning  of 
his  reign,  it  is  expressly  declared  that  his  an- 
cestor, Edward  III.  (who  instituted  the  Order, 
as  it  is  thought,  about  1349),  had  done  so  to 
the  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  that  out 
of  his  singular  affection  for  her  he  had  wished 
her  to  be  honored  by  his  knights.  Therefore, 
by  an  unanimous  vote  they  had  resolved  that 
on  each  of  the  five  festivals  of  Our  Lady,  and 
on  all  Saturdays,  as  well  as  on  the  Feast  of 
St.  George,  the  knights  should  wear  during 
the  divine  offices  a  peculiar  habit,  having  a 
golden  figure  of  the  Mother  of  God  on  the 
right  shoulder;  and  that  on  each  of  these 
days  they  should  recite  five  times  the  * '  Our 
Father"  and  five  times  the  "Hail  Mary." 
From  the  same  motive  of  devotion,  Edward 
III.  had  inaugurated  the  Order  on  the  octave- 
day  of  Our  lyady's  Purification. 

What,  I  maj^  ask,  would  the  illustrious 
founder  have  thought  of  the  knights  of  his 
Order  who  scoff"  at  the  idea  of  invoking  the 
Mother  of  their  Redeemer,  or  who  are  perhaps 
declared  enemies  of  the  Christian  faith?  — 
Father  Bridgett,  C.  SS.  R. 


TpHK  glory  of  Mammon  I  have  not  desired, 
^  The  favors  of  Fortune  I  have  not  desired, 
The  friendship  of  worldlings  I  have  not  de- 
sired, 
For  these  white  hostages,  lent  by  Thee — 
(I^ord,  Thou  knowest,  who  knowest  me! ) 

Faith  and  holiness  I  have  desired, 

Truth  and  charity  I  have  desired, 

Honor  and  chastity  I  have  desired, 

That  I  might  bring  them,  unstained,  to  Thee — 

(Lord,  Thou  knowest,  who  knowest  me!) 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN   REID. 


11. 


T  often  chances  that  events  which 
seem  to  us  very  trivial  at  the  time 
of  their  occurrence,  are  regarded 
afterwards,  with  clearer  sight,  as  turning- 
points  in  our  lives.  Such  an  event  occurred 
one  evening  to  Philip  Thornton,  when  his 
aunt  asked  him  if  he  did  not  intend  to  ac- 
company Constance  and  herself  to  a  ball, 
which  was  to  be  one  of  the  chief  events  of 
the  fashionable  season. 

' '  I  can  not  have  the  pleasure  of  accom- 
panying you,"  he  answered;  "but  I  shall 
see  you  there." 


can   you   not   accompany 
asked  Mrs.  Thornton. 

' '  Because  I  have  another  engagement  for 
the  evening, ' '  was  the  reply.  * '  It  will  not 
keep  me  from  the  ball,  but  will  make  me 
later  than  you  will  probably  wish  to  be  in 
arriving.  I  did  not  imagine  that  you  would 
care  for  my  escort, ' '  he  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  It  is  always  desirable  to  have  an  escort, 
especially  at  such  a  ball  as  this, ' '  said  Mrs. 
Thornton. 

Philip  raised  his  eyebrows*  They  were 
in  the  drawing-room  alone  together,  after 
dinner,  and  he  looked  at  his  aunt  in  sur- 
prise. Her  tone  seemed  to  indicate  that, 
for  some  reason,  she  did  care  for  his  attend- 
ance. 

"Really,"  he  said,  "there  are  always'so 
many  of  Constance's  admirers  on  hand  that 
it  did  not  occur  to  me — " 

He  paused;  for  Mrs.  Thornton  looked  at 
him,  and  something  in  her  glance  stopped 
his  words. 

' '  It  might  occur  to  you, ' '  she  said, ' '  that 
there  are  reasons  why  Constance  should 
not  be  left  too  much  to  her  admirers. ' ' 

Philip  understood  her,  but  it  was  the 
clearest  speech  that  had  ever  passed  be- 
tweeil  them  on  this  subject;  and  before  he 
could  decide  what  to  answer,  a  peal  at  the 
door-bell  cut  the  conversation  short. 

Here  entered  a  gentleman  who,  as  a  dis- 
tant connexion  of  Mrs.  Thornton,  was  very 
intimate  in  the  house,  and  who  was  also  one 
of  the  most  devoted  of  Constance's  many 


26 


The  Ave  Maria.- 


attendants.  Jack  Bellamy,  as  he  was  fa- 
miliarly known,  was  a  social  favotite,  an 
authority  on  social  points,  and  a  leader  in 
all  social  matters.  A  handsome,  graceful 
man,  he  had  also  fair  talents,  which  might 
have  enabled  him  to  do  something  in  the 
world  if  he  had  not  loved  pleasure  inordi- 
nately, and  devoted  himself  to  making  a 
purely  social  reputation. 

''i\h!"  said  Philip  as  he  entered,  "here 
is  an  attendant  that  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired.  I  was  just  saying  to  my  aunt,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Bellamy,  "that  I  can  not 
have  the  pleasure  of  accompanying  her  to 
the  ball  to-night;  but  I  am  sure  you  will 
see  her  safely  there." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  Bellamy  an- 
swered. "But  why  should  you  debar  your- 
self from  the  pleasure  aho?  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"Oh!  I  have  another  engagement,  that 
will  occupy  me  for  a  few  hours,"  said 
Philip.  "But  I  shall  appear  in  time  to 
claim  two  or  three  dances — remember  that, 
Constance,  and  keep  them  for  me." 

The  young  lady  whom  he  addressed  en- 
tered at  the  moment,  and  advanced  up  the 
long  room  toward  them,  its  rich  colors 
throwing  into  relief  her  graceful  figure. 
She  was  dressed  in  silvery  blue,  with  a  crys- 
tal trimming  that  made  a  beautiful  effect. 
Diamonds  shone  on  her  fair  neck  and 
arms,  and  a  diamond  arrow  caught  the  soft 
masses  of  her  brown  hair.  Never  had  she 
looked  lovelier — more  like  some  delicate 
creation  of  finest  porcelain — than  as  she 
paused  and  stood  under  the  chandelier,  that 
showered  Its  radiance  down  on  her,  and 
made  her  seem  flashing  with  light,  while  she 
looked  at  Philip. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked.  "Why 
should  I  keep  dances  for  you?  You  must 
take  your  chances  like  everyone  else." 

"I  am  not  going  to  the  ball  with  you," 
he  answered.  "I  shall  make  my  appear- 
ance later,  and  of  course  by  that  time  your 
ball-book  will  be  filled  if  you  don't  keep 
some  dances  for  me.  You  will,  however,  I 
am  sure." 

"Don't   be   too   sure,"   she   answered. 


"Why  should  you  not  go  with  us?  That 
is  the  proper  thing  for  you  to  do. ' ' 

' '  It  did  not  occur  to  me  in  that  light, ' ' 
he  answered,  smiling;  "and  I  have  made 
another  engagement,  which  I— do  not  like 
to  break.  I  know  that  you  never  have  any 
lack  of  attendants. ' ' 

"Certainly  not,"  she  answered,  a  little 
haughtily,  and  then  she  turned  and  held 
out  her  hand  to  Bellamy.  "One  can  al- 
ways depend  on  you^ ' '  she  said. 

Involuntarily  as  it  seemed,  Mrs.  Thornton 
looked  again  at  Philip.  He  understood  the 
inference,  and  knew  that  she  expected  him 
to  yield  and  declare  himself  at  their  service; 
but  the  thing  appeared  to  him  at  once  so 
trivial  and  so  unreasonable,  that  he  would 
not  yield.  "They  have  really  not  the  least 
need  of  me,  and  I  have  told  them  that  I 
have  an  engagement,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I  will  not  give  it  up  for  nothing." 

So  after  a  little  while  he  took  his  depart- 
ure, promising  to  see  them  later,  and  walked 
into  the  city.  As  he  went,  he  had  rather 
an  uncomfortable  sense  of  dissatisfaction 
with  himself  It  irritated  him  a  little  to 
remember  how  thoroughly  at  home  and  at 
ease  Bellamy  had  looked  as  he  sat  by  Con- 
stance, watching  her  draw  on  and  button 
her  long  gloves.  After  all,  perhaps  he  ought 
to  have  gone  with  them,  or  else  have  plainly 
stated  the  nature  of  his  engagement.  Why 
had  he  not  done  the  latter  ?  Not  even  to  him- 
self would  he  acknowledge  that  it  was  be- 
cause he  knew  it  would  have  excited  a  smile 
of  amusement,  with  perhaps  a  tinge  of  scorn. 
For  he  had  promised  to  attend  a  Church 
fair,  of  which  this  was  the  last  night.  Only 
that  day  he  had  met  one  of  his  college 
friends,  who  had  urged  him  to  go.  "  DonH 
you  know  that  they  are  straining  every 
nerve  to  pay  the  church  debt  ?  "  he  said.  '  'A 
fellow  like  you,  made  of  money — what  do 
you  mean  by  not  helping  them  ? ' ' 

' '  I — really  I  never  thought  of  it, ' '  an- 
swered Philip.  "But  I'll  go  to-night,  I 
promise  you." 

' '  If  nothing  more  attractive  turns  up,  I 
suppose,"  said  the  other,  who  had  not  much 
faith  in  him. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


27 


•'Whatever  turns  up,  I'll  go,"  said  Philip. 
"If  you  doubt  my  word,  perhaps  you'll  be 
kind  enough  to  take  me  in  charge.  I  will 
call  for  you  about  nine  o'clock." 

"Very  well,"  responded  the  other,  with 
a  laugh ;  ' '  though  I  can  tell  you  my  pockets 
are  nearly  empty." 

So  it  was  that,  having  reached  the  heart 
of  the  city,  Philip  presently  turned  into  a 
street  sacred  to  the  legal  profession,  and 
made  his  unceremonious  entrance  into  an 
office  which  bore  the  name  of  F.  X.Graham. 
The  bearer  of  the  name  looked  up  from  an 
imposing  leather-bound  volume  as  he  en- 
tered, showing  a  strong  but  rugged  face. 

"So  you  have  come!"  he  said.  "I  did 
not  expect  you." 

'  'Apparently  you  have  not  much  respect 
for  my  assertions,"  answered  Philip.  "Did 
I  not  tell  you  I  was  coming?" 

"Oh!  yes,"  said  Graham,  closing  his 
book;  "but  I  remembered  afterwards  the 
grand  ball  to-night,  and  I  supposed  of  course 
you  would  be  there." 

"  So  I  shall  be  there,  but  I  can  attend  to 
this  matter  first,  I  suppose. ' ' 

"Certainly.  There  will  not  be  much  to 
detain  you.  You  have  only  to  make  up  your 
mind  how  much  money  you  will  spend,  and 
to  spend  it — that  is  all." 

Philip  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  "I 
wonder  I  did  not  think,"  he  said,  "that  it 
would  have  been  easier  just  to  give  you  a 
cheque.    I  believe  I  will  do  it  yet." 

"It  would  be  easier,' '  said  Graham ;  ' '  but, 
on  the  whole,  I  think  you  had  better  go  and 
spend  the  money  at  the  fair.  It  shows  in- 
terest, you  know,  and  that  is  something 
you  are  not  overburdened  with." 

Philip  flushed.  "  Perhaps  you  are  not  the 
best  judge  of  that,"  he  said.  But  the  next 
moment  his  sense  of  honesty  made  him 
add:  "You  are  right  enough,  though;  I 
don't  take  much  interest  in  religious  mat- 
ters. But  I  am  willing  to  give,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  my  means,  whatever  is  needed." 

"That  is  better  than  nothing,"  said 
Graham,  rising  and  putting  his  book  care- 
fully aside.  "But,  if  you  will  pardon  the 
liberty,  I  am  bound  to  add  that  you  are 


ready  to  give  because  it  costs  you  nothing. 
A  little  interest  would  be  better  for  the 
health  of  your  soul.  Without  it  you  will 
be  likely  to  go  some  day  as — others  have 
gone. ' ' 

He  stopped  himself  before  saying  "as 
your  uncle  has  gone, ' '  but  Philip  knew  very 
well  that  it  had  been  on  the  end  of  his 
tongue,  and  it  seemed  to  make  reply  impos- 
sible on  his  own  part.  That  was  the  end  to 
which  indifference  and  worldliness  led.  He 
knew  it  well ;  and,  knowing  it,  he  seemed 
to  see  before  him  the  end  to  which  he 
would  also  come. 

"You  are  always  a  cheerful  prophet," 
he  said,  after  a  minute.  "But  if  I  am  to 
show  interest  in  the  buying  and  selling  of 
useless  articles  for  the  health  of  my  soul, 
come  let  us  go.  I  have  not  much  time  to 
spare. ' ' 

They  went  out  together,  and  walked  a  few 
blocks  to  the  hall  where  the  fair  was  taking 
place.  They  found  it  crowded  when  they 
entered,  and,  although  it  was  the  last  night, 
the  tables  had  not  lost  their  attractive  ap- 
pearance, and  traffic  was  very  brisk.  Philip 
had  not  many  acquaintances — for  his  social 
lines  did  not  lie  much  in  Catholic  circles — 
but  he  was  himself  sufficiently  well  known; 
and  it  was  so  impossible  to  him  not  to  en- 
ter^with  spirit  into  whatever  he  undertook, 
that  he  was  soon  engrossed  not  only  in  buy- 
ing, but  in  assisting  to  sell  all  that  he  could. 

Graham  watched  him  for  a  while  with 
amusement,  then  he  seemed  to  drift  away, 
and  when  Philip  presently  looked  around 
he  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  him.  But 
after  an  interval  he  perceived  him  talking 
to  a  young  lady  who  was  sitting  behind  one 
of  the  tables,  but  who  did  not  appear  to  be 
taking  much  trouble  to  dispose  of  her  wares. 
This,  however,  was  not  because  she  was  en- 
grossed by  Graham's  conversation.  Philip 
rather  doubted  whether  she  heard  half  of 
it,  there  was  so  much  indifference  in  her 
air,  and  now  and  then  her  eyes  wandered 
wearily  over  the  noisy  crowd. 

It  was  these  eyes  which  first  attracted  the 
young  man's  attention,  they  were  so  large, 
so  dark,  so  lustrous, — such  eyes  as  are  seL 


28 


The  Ave  Maria, 


dom  seen  except  in  an  Italian  or  afSpanish 
face.  Noticing  this,  he  also  noticed  that 
there  was  the  nobleness  of  outline,  the 
statne-like  grace  of  the  Latin  races,  in  the 
head  and  features.  Her  profile,  as  she  turned 
it,  might  have  been  cut  on  an  antique 
cameo,  with  the  dark  hair  drawn  back  just 
as  it  was,  in  a  low  knot.  It  was  a  face  of 
the  loftiest  type— fine,  clear,  sensitive— and 
Philip  caught  his  breath  as  he  looked  at  it. 
"Who  on  earth  can  she  be?"  he  said  to 
himself;  and  then  he  walked  directly  up  to 
Graham. 

"I  have  been  wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  you, ".  he  said,  addressing  him  sud- 
denly. 

Graham  turned,  looking  a  little  embar- 
rassed. "Oh— is  it  you?"  he  asked.  "I 
thought  I  left  you  very  well  employed." 

"So  I  was,"  Philip  answered.  "But  I 
think  it  only  right  to  bestow  my  attentions 
impartially.  I  have  come  to  see  what  I  can 
find  to  buy  here." 

"Not  much,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Graham, 
glancing  around.  He  moved  away  from  the 
lady  to  whom  he  had  been  talking,  and  ad- 
dressed a  young  girl  who  shared  the  duty 
of  presiding  over  the  table.  ' '  What  have 
you  that  a  gentleman  anxious  to  spend 
money  can  buy,  Miss  Julia?"  he  inquired. 
"Oh!  a  great  deal,"  replied  the  girl, 
eagerly.  "Here  is  a  lovely  hand-painted 
screen.    Perhaps  he  will  take  that?" 

Philip  took  the  screen  in  his  hand,  as  if 
he  were  critically  examining  the  conven- 
tionalized flowers  that  adorned  it;  but  in 
truth  he  hardly  saw  them,  for  he  was  think- 
ing that  Graham's  conduct  was  churlish  in 
the  highest  degree.  "1  would  not  have 
believed  the  fellow  could  have  been  so  self- 
ish and  rude, ' '  he  reflected — rather  unrea- 
sonably; for,  on  the  face  of  the  matter, 
Graham  was  certainly  not  called  upon  to 
interrupt  his  conversation  in  order  that 
Philip  might  make  some  purchases.  But 
an  instinct  assured  the  latter  that  his  friend 
was  perfectly  aware  of  his  motive  for  ap- 
proaching him,  and  so  he  resented  the  cool- 
ness which  had  handed  him  over  to  Miss 
Julia. 


This  young  lady  discovered  nothing 
amiss  in  her  new  customer,  however.  He 
bought  the  screen  and  various  other  trifles, 
paid  for  them  liberally,  and  then  carelessly 
gave  the  most  of  them  back.  When  he  had 
finished  he  turned,  to  find  Graham  at  his 
elbow.  Involuntarily  he  glanced  around 
for  the  dark-eyed  girl  whose  appearance 
had  so  much  attracted  him.  She  had  moved 
to  some  distance,  and  was  engaged  with 
some  one  else;  but  again  her  air  of  distinc- 
tion, and  the  noble  beauty  of  her  classic 
head,  struck  his  eye.  He  stood  still,  look- 
ing at  her. 

"Well,"  said  Graham,  after  waiting  a 
moment,  "are  you  ready  to  go?" 

"No,"  Philip  answered,  with  quiet  de- 
cision. ' '  I  want  you  to  introduce  me  to  that 
young  lady  yonder." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which 
the  two  men  regarded  each  other — Philip 
with  an  air  of  expectation,  Graham  with  a 
reluctance  which  must  have  been  apparent 
to  the  dullest  observation.  At  length  he 
said: 

' '  This  is  not  a  suitable  place  for  intro- 
ductions, and  she  is — engaged." 

"Whether  or  not  it  is  a  suitable  place  for 
introductions,  you  have  introduced  me  to 
at  least  a  dozen  other  people,"  said  Philip. 
"But  no  matter;  I  only  wanted  to  see  if 
you  would  do  it.    I  am  satisfied  now. ' ' 

He  turned  quickly  on  his  heel ;  but  as  he 
walked  away,  Graham  was  by  his  side. 

"I  know  you  think  me  churlish,"  he 
said,  as  they  passed  down  the  hall. 

"Yes,"  Philip  answered,  "if  you  care  to 
know  it,  I  do;  but,  as  I  have  already  re- 
marked, it  is  not  a  matter  of  the  least  im- 
portance. ' ' 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Graham, 
in  a  low  tone.  ' '  I  could  not  act  otherwise : 
I  could  not  introduce  you  to  her  without 
asking  her  permission — ' ' 

"And  what  prevented  you  from  asking 
her  permission  ? ' '  demanded  Philip,  coldly, 
as  he  paused. 

' '  The  fact  that  she  would  not  have  given 
I  it, "  replied  the  other  ;  ' '  and  that  would 
I  have  been  awkward  for  both  of  you. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


29 


Philip  was  so  much  astonished  at  this 
most  unexpected  reply,  that  he  stopped 
short — they  were  now  outside  the  hall — 
and  stood  looking  at  his  companion  by  the 
light  of  the*lamps  flaring  over  the  door. 

"I  can  not  imagine,"  he  said  at  length, 
*'that  you  are  in  earnest.  What  possible 
reason  could  there  be  for  this  young  lady 
refusing  to  know  nie  ? ' ' 

' '  It  does  seem  extraordinary,  no  doubt, 
since  young  ladies  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
refusing  to  know  you,"  said  Graham,  with 
a  slight  smile.  "But  perhaps  when  you 
know  who  this  young  lady  is,  the  mystery 
will  not  be  so  great.   She  is  Miss  Percival. " 

"And  who  is  Miss  Percival?  I  never 
heard  of  her  before. ' ' 

It  was  Graham's  turn  to  stare  somewhat. 
' '  You  have  never  heard  of  her  father — of 
Robert  Percival  ?  "  he  said. 

' '  Certainly  not, ' '  answered  Philip,  decid- 
edly. ' '  I  never,  to  my  recollection,  heard 
the  name  before," 

'  'Ah ! "  said  Graham.   He  made  no  other 
comment,  but,  turning,  proceeded  to  walk 
on  so  silently  that  Philip  presently  asked, 
"^■"--Jm  patiently : 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  Who 
are  the  Percivals?" 

"Who  are  the  Percivals?"  repeated 
Graham.  He  was  silent  still  a  minute  be- 
fore he  answered :  '  'Ask  your  uncle  that 
question. ' ' 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Madonna  del  Sasso. 


BY   OCTAVIA  HENSEI/. 


FROM  woodlands  of  scarlet  pomegranate 
and  pale  chrysoprasus-hued  olive  and 
aloe,  among  which  cream-white  magnolia 
blooms  breathe  their  perfume  on  the  air,  far 
above  the  waters  of  Lake  Maggiore  rises 
the  rock- wall  Del  Sasso,  crowned  with  the 
old  church  and  convent  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rock. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  Festival  of  SS. 
Peter  and  Paul,  and  the  quaint  old  town  of 


Locarno,  cool  and  tranquil  as  the  lovely  lake 
upon  which  it  rests  its  crescent  shore,  was 
musical  with  the  peal  of  bells,  and  the  patter 
of  many  feet  ascending  its  narrow,  cobble- 
paved  streets  to  the  parish  Church  of  San 
Antonio.  Among  them  might  be  seen  the 
veiled  forms  of  the  Maggiathale  women, 
their  heads  covered  with  white  cloth,  leav- 
ing but  half  of  the  face  exposed;  and 
peasant  girls  from  the  valleys  of  Ticino, 
bringing  to  the  altars  of  Madomta  Maria 
their  customary  offerings  —  grapes,  chest- 
nuts, potatoes,  and  Indian  corn. 

We  joined  the  hurrying  throng,  and 
with  them  entered  the  old  basilica- formed 
church,  which  in  daylight  seems  filled  with 
brilliant  fresco,  and  renaissance  scrolls  of 
gold  and  crimson.  All  was  dark,  save  for 
the  lamps  which  twinkled  before  the  altar, 
and  a  few  pale  candles  burning  beside  the 
dark  confessionals  near  the  entrance  vesti- 
bule beyond  the  baptistery.  So  shadowy, 
silent,  and  ghostly,  the  passing  forms  moved 
as  figures  seen  in  dreams;  it  seemed  t^ie 
very  threshold  of  the  Silent  Land.  At  last 
the  sacristan  ascended  the  pulpit  stairs,  and 
placed  a  tall  wax-candle  beside  the  pulpit 
desk ;  a  few  minutes  later  a  young  priest 
appeared,  and  in  the  soft  Italian  tongue 
told  us  legends  from  the  lives  of  SS.  Peter 
and  Paul. 

The  moon  had  risen  before  this  story- 
sermon  ended,  and  never  was  there  night 
more  lovely.  The  lake  was  gleaming  sil- 
ver; the  tall  white  houses,*  over  which 
acacias  threw  their  lofty  shadows,  seemed 
veiled  in  lace  of  aerial  looms.  Far  out  on 
the  water  a  voice  was  singing  the  ' '  Santa 
Lucia ' '  barcarolle;  and  far  above  the  moon- 
lighted, crescent-shaped  town,  the  gray 
rocks,  upon  which  Our  Blessed  Lady  ap- 
peared to  the  holy  Minorite  Father,  glowed 
like  foundations  of  silver  to  the  convent 
church  of  the  Madonna  del  Sasso. 

Four  hundred  years  ago,  on  just  such  a 
night  as  this,  as  the  good  Fra  Bartolomeo 
von  Ivrea  was  praying  in  the  old  Minorite 

■'^  Of  gray  and  white- veined  marble,  or  stone  of 
neutral  tints.  Wooden  houses  are  rare  in  Italy, 
for  wood  of  all  kinds  is  very  scarce. 


30 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Convent  beside  the  lake,  he  raised  his  eyes 
to  this  rock-wall,  and  there,  surrounded  by 
angels,  stood  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  Three 
times  the  vision  appeared,  and  then  Fra 
Bartolomeo  took  it  as  a  sign  that  Our  Lady 
desired  a  chapel  built  there.  The  ground 
belonged  to  the  Massini  family,  but  they 
gave  it  to  the  good  Father,  and  in  1484  he 
left  his  convent  cell  for  a  cave  on  the  rocky 
height,  where  he  lived  as  a  hermit,  and  with 
his  own  hands  built  a  small  wayside  chapel, 
to  which  the  villagers  ascended  to  offer 
prayers  of  thanksgiving,  and  bring  votive 
offerings  to  Our  Lady  of  the  Rock. 

A  hundred  years  later  a  church  wms  com- 
pleted there,  but  not  until  1587 — long  after 
Fra  Bartolomeo  had  been  laid  in  his  tomb 
in  the  wayside  Chapel  of  I'Annunziata — 
was  the  edifice  consecrated,  and  the  solemn 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  offered  there.  vSt. 
Charles  Borromeo  twice  visited  the  spot — 
once  in  1567,  and  three  years  later,  when 
the  Franciscans,  who  had  dwelt  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  completed  their  convent 
beside  the  church. 

At  dawning  on  the  festival  the  bells 
again  rang  out  their  joyous  music,  and 
from  magnolia  and  jasmine  hedge-rows  the 
birds  flew  upward  to  the  cool  woodlands 
around  Del  Sasso.  The  sun  beat  fiercely 
down  upon  the  vineyards  and  locust  woods 
which  lead  up  the  steep  mountain-side  to 
the  old  convent  church.  But  the  pathway 
is  shadowed  by  acacias,  olives,  and  cedars; 
and  so  much  shorter  than  the  long,  dusty 
drive  up  the  serpentine  mountain  road,  that 
we  again  followed  the  peasants,  in  their 
holiday  dress,  *  and  with  them  ascended  the 
steep  hill-side,  past  the  ruins  of  the  old 
Franciscan  cloister,  past  the  Governess 
Seminary,  and  the  lovely  garden  of  the 
Franzoni  family,  filled  with  great  Italian 
magnolia  trees  and  pomegranates ;  over 
the  foaming  mountain  brook  Romagna  and 
then  we  rested  in  the  little  Church  of  I'An- 
nunziata, where  Fra  Bartolomeo  lies  buried. 


■**  Of  dark  blue  print  or  lawn,  with  mantle  veils 
of  white  cloth  over  the  head  and  shoulders,  strik- 
ingly like  old  pictures  of  the  women  of  Judea. 


The  church  is  full  of  pictures — frightful 
daubs,  viewed  with  artistic  eyes;  but  hal- 
lowed by  saint-like  nimbus,  when  we  re- 
member the  loving  hearts  and  holy  faith  of 
the  poor  Brothers  who  placed*  them  here. 

The  stations  and  stone  staircases  become 
more  and  more  steep  and  intricate  as  we 
near  the  precipitous  rock-wall  upon  which 
the  church  is  built;  but  nothing  more  ex- 
quisite can  be  imagined  than  the  woodland 
pathway  which  leads  up  to  the  rock.  The 
perpendicular  wall  sinking  down  two  hun- 
dred feet,  covered  with  ivy,  moss,  and  ferns, 
ends  in  a  forest  of  magnolias,  olives,  and 
laurel.  Above  us  are  cedars,  olives,  and 
great,  fan-like  ferns,  a  few  fig-trees,  and 
limes  of  emerald  hue.  The  mountain  brook 
comes  dashing  and  foaming  from  unseen 
cliffs  above;  and  as  we  sit  on  the  old  stone 
bench,  looking  down  on  the  town  five  hun- 
dred feet  below  us,  and  over  the  lake  ' '  girt 
round  with  rugged  mountains,"  the  sun- 
shine broken  by  leafy  shadows  from  the 
dark  cedars  of  the  convent  garden,  comes 
the  trilling  of  nightingale,  above  the  broken 
arpeggios  of  the  leaping  brook.  No  other 
sounds  disturb  the  delicious  solitude. 

We  reach  the  church  at  last,  and  kneel 
within  its  portal.  Like  all  the  votive  shrines 
in  the  smaller  towns  of  Italy,  this  one,  raised 
in  honor  of  Our  Blessed  Lady,  is  crowded 
with  rude  pictures  of  the  sick  and  dying 
— deformities  of  every  kind  and  of  both 
sexes.  Silver  hearts,  chains,  and  rings  hang 
on  the  walls,  and  the  whole  church  is  gaudy 
in  blue,  red,  and  gold  decorations.  This 
lack  of  taste  is  painful  to  behold;  heart 
sympathy  alone  can  aid  us  to  endure  the 
glaring  glitter  of  color  which  meets  our 
sight  on  every  side.  One  picture  alone 
holds  the  artist  tourist  spellbound;  it  is  the 
Ento77ibme7it  of  Christy  by  Antonio  Ciseri.  * 
The  face  of  Our  Blessed  Lady  is  one  of  the 
most  exquisite  ever  painted.  Heavenly  pa- 
tience, holy  love,  and  earthly  anguish  com- 
bine in  rendering  this  representation  of  the 
Mother  Immaculate  one  of  most  remarkable 


*  Professor  of  Painting  in   the  Academy  of 
Florence. 


The  Ave  A/aria. 


beauty.  The  tones  of  the  picture  are  golden 
brown,  and  the  sadder  leaden  hues  from  the 
mantles  of  the  women  who  follow  the  dead 
Christ. 

In  a  chapel  to  the  right  of  the  entrance  is 
a  very  lovely  picture,  the  Flight  into  Egypt. 
painted  by  Bramantino.  The  figure  and 
attitude  of  St.  Joseph  are  especially  fine; 
there  is  a  manly  strength  in  the  face,  and 
a  sense  of  full  protection  in  the  strong  arm 
as  he  stands  beside  the  pale  young  Mother, 
with  her  Holy  Child  clasped  to  her  breast. 
An  angel  before  them  points  out  the  road. 

From  the  church  we  went  to  the  loggia^ 
an  open  arcade  balcony  running  along  the 
southern  wall  of  the  church,  above  the 
rock  foundation,  and  overhanging  the  mag- 
nolia-embowered Locarno  and  Lago  Mag- 
giore,  mirroring  the  encircling  mountains. 
The  terraces  of  the  convent  garden  to  our 
right  are  full  of  flowers  and  vines.  On  the 
ledges  of  the  rocks  the  good  Brothers  have 
placed  their  beehives.  Locarno  honey  is 
renowned.  Distilled  magnolia  and  jasmine 
perfume  are  not  more  delicioiisly  fragrant. 

We  protracted  our  visit  to  Del  Sasso  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,  contenting  ourselves 
with  the  cherries  and  cookies  which  poor 
old  women  and  a  few  children  carried  about 
for  sale  among  the  peasant  lads  and  maid- 
ens. Many  had  brought  their  frugal  break- 
fast, and  retired  to  the  woodlands  above 
the  rocks,  or  sat  on  the  church  steps  to  eat, 
crossing  themselves  at  every  mouthful. 
There  is  something  so  childlike,  so  inno- 
cent about  these  people,  that  one  can  not 
but  feel  rested  and  happy  when  surrounded 
by  them;  life  is  very  peaceful  and  content 
in  these  thoroughly  Catholic  communities. 

On  our  homeward  way  we  took  the  car- 
riage highroad,  and  stopped  at  the  Church 
of  Trinita  del  Monti,  under  the  lovely  lin- 
dens of  the  "Platz."  The  Order  of  the 
Holy  Trinity  was  founded  for  the  freeing 
of  Christians  from  Saracenic  slavery.  On 
the  anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  the 
Order,  the  Brotherhood  march  in  procession 
to  this  old  chapel,  bearing  the  banner  of 
the  community,  upon  which  appear  two 
slaves  with  chained  wrists.    Gifts  of  money 


and  jewels  are  still  brought  by  the  faithful, 
but,  as  there  are  no  more  slaves  to  be  set 
free,  the  treasitre  reverts  to  the  Brother- 
hood. 

Evening  had  fallen  over  land  and  lake, 
and  the  mountain  heights  were  purpling  in 
the  Tyrian  crimson  of  the  Alpen  glow  as 
we  reached  our  hotel.  Far  above  us,  from 
the  rocky  heights  of  Madonna  del  Sasso, 
the  Angelus  was  ringing.  The  campanile 
tower  of  San  Antonio  sent  back  the  sweet 
message  of  the  bells;  and,  far  over  the  ruby, 
sunset  waters  of  the  lake,  the  tall  white 
campanile  of  Ascona,  like  maiden  voice 
replying  sweet  and  low,  "  Behold  the  hand- 
maid of  the  Lord ! ' '  echoed  the  angel-greet- 
ing sounding  from  the  convent  towers  of 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rock. 


All  We  Need  to  Know  is  Plain. 

BY   SAMUEL    H.    DERBEY. 

TLtOW  good  God  is!    How  good  God  is! 
•^  ^    The  words  go  ringing  thro'  my  brain. 
Why  should  we  dwell  on  mysteries, 
When  all  we  need  to  know  is  plain  ? 

The  time  has  been  when  wealth  and  fame 

Were  mine  to  share  in  goodly  store; 
But  now  forgotten  is  my  name, 

And  wealth's  delights  I  know  no  more. 
Day  after  day,  wasted  and  worn, 

I  lie  upon  a  couch  of  pain; 
Yet  all  my  ills  are  calmly  borne, 

For  all  I  need  to  know  is  plain. 

The  time  has  been  when  woman's  love 

Sustained  me  with  its  blessed  cheer; 
But  mother's  home  is  now  above, 

And  wife  and  child  no  more  are  here. 
Yet  still  my  heart  does  not  repine; 

How  could  my  spirit  dare  complain  ? 
The  wondrous  peace  of  Christ  is  mine, 

And  all  I  need  to  know  is  plain. 

The  time  has  been — but  why  recall 

That  which  has  vanished  from  my  side  ? 

Nay!  let  my  heart  rejoice  for  all 
The  glorious  joys  that  still  abide. 


32 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Loicl,  help  me  prove  Thy  sacrifice 
For  me  has  not  been  made  in  vain; 

Then  shall  I  find  Thy  grace  suffice— 
Find  all  I  need  to  know  is  plain. 

Yes,  God  is  good — is  more  than  good! 

The  words  ring  thro'  my  heart  and  brain 
Not  all  His  ways  are  understood, 

But  all  we  7ieed  to  know  is  plain. 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XV.— (Continued.) 

THE  PontifF  had  scarcely  gone,  when  the 
two  soldiers  who  had  guided  Nemesius 
hither  came  to  conduct  him  back  to  the 
place  where  the  boy  Admetus  awaited  him. 
While  traversing  these  dim,  silent  streets 
of  the  dead,  he  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in 
thought  to  observe  them  as  at  first,  when 
but  one  idea  dominated  his  faculties;  for 
now,  radiating  from  that,  many  others  oc- 
cupied his  mind.  He  thought  of  the  old, 
walled  villa  out  near  the  Via  Latina,  which 
had  long  been  deserted  as  a  permanent  resi- 
dence by  its  owners,  who  only  came  there 
occasionally  in  the  Summer,  accompanied 
by  numerous  friends,  to  enjoy  open-air  fes- 
tivities in  the  beautiful  grounds.  Nemesius 
knew  it  well,  having  visited  there  with 
Fabian;  but  he  found  it  difficult  to  think  of 
the  brave,  dashing  Tertullus,  and  his  gay, 
pretty  wife  Camilla,  as  Christians.  Truly 
did  it  appear  to  him  that  the  nets  of  the 
Christus  were  spread  far  and  near,  snaring 
in  their  meshes  not  only  the  ignorant  rab- 
ble, always  ready  to  follow  novelties,  but 
those  w^hom  Rome  could  ill  spare  from  her 
patrician  ranks. 

Nemesius  wondered  if  Tertullus  and  his 
wife  were  at  the  villa,  and  jvhether  they 
were  alone,  or  surrounded  as  usual  by  visit- 
ors. Their  being*  alone  would  ensure  greater 
safety  for  the  Christian  Pontiff;  in  either 
case,  his  own  way  would  be  smoothed  for 
the  approaching  interview,  when,  as  if  for 
the  purpose  of  an  early  drive,  accompanied 


by  Claudia,  he  sought  admittance  at  the 
old  iron-ribbed  gates;  a  sunrise  visit  to 
the  near  country-place  of  a  friend  in  warm 
weather  being  too  usual  an  occurrence  to 
attract  attention. 

Not  the  least  surprising  incident  of  the 
night's  experience,  he  thought,  was  the  con- 
fidence reposed  in  him  by  the  Pontiff,  who 
had  virtually  placed  his  life  in  his  hands, 
were  he  base  enough  to  betray  him;  it 
appealed  to  Nemesius'  best  instincts,  and, 
without  the  lest  admixture  of  that  shallow 
gratitude  derived  from  the  expectation  of 
favors  to  come,  but  moved  solely  by  the 
magnanimous  chivalry  of  a  true,  noble 
heart,  he  vowed  that  should  any  danger, 
from  whatever  quarter  it  might  come,  assail 
the  holy  man  in  their  approaching  inter- 
view, he  would  defend  him  with  his  very 
life. 

How  strange  it  was  that  he  should,  all  at 
once,  be  mixed  up  in  this  secret  way  with 
individuals  of  that  despised  class  which 
he,  loyal  to  his  own  traditions  and  convic- 
tions, had  persecuted,  did  not  for  a  moment 
disturb  him ;  love  for  his  child  had  led  him, 
as  it  would  have  led  him  into  the  fires  of 
Tartarus,  could  he  have  hoped  to  find  there 
some  potent  elixir  that  would  open  her 
blind  eyes, — love  which,  although  he  did  not 
then  understand  it,  was  as  a  pillar  of  cloud 
to  his  feet,  and  a  voice  to  his  darkened  con- 
science, that  was  like  the  far-off  echo  of  a 
cry  in  the  wilderness  to  make  straight  the 
path  of  Him  who  was  drawing  near. 

Nemesius  did  not  question  the  mysterious 
influences  that  were  silently  operating  on 
his  inner  life;  had  he  paused  to  do  so,  he 
would  have  ascribed  them  to  the  singular 
impressions  he  had  received,  and  the  pro- 
found joy  he  felt  at  the  certain  prospect  that 
the  long-hoped  for  time — nay,  almost  the 
hour  (for  it  was  past  midnight)  —  was  at 
hand  when  the  eyes  of  his  beautiful  one 
would  be  opened.  It  did  not  enter  into  his 
mind  to  doubt  it — he  a  worshipper  of  the 
gods!  And,  what  is  more  singular,  he  be- 
lieved with  simple  faith  that  the  wonder 
would  be  wrought  by  the  power  of  the  God 
of  the  Christians,  and  not  by  the  exercise 


The  Ave  Maria. 


33 


of  goetic  and  other  occult  sorceries,  to  which 
the  heathen  mind  ascribed  the  miracles  by 
which  the  divine  power  was  manifested  in 
those  days. 

Broad  and  white  lay  the  radiant  moon- 
light, and  black,  grotesque  shadows  over 
the  Agro  Romano,  when  Nemesius  and  his 
youthful  guide  emerged  from  the  dilapi- 
dated wine-shop,  which  concealed  one  of 
the  many  entrances  to  the  Catacombs ;  soft 
winds  from  the  sea,  bearing  sweetest  odors 
from  the  numberless  flowers  over  which 
they  swept,  filled  the  air  with  refreshment; 
here  towered-the  mountains,  draped  in  pur- 
ple shadows;  far  away  stretched  the  aque- 
ducts; and  there  superb  Rome,  her  marble 
splendors  flooded  with  silver,  as  she  sat  like 
a  queen  upon  her  seven  hills,  with  the  op- 
ulence of  the  w^orld  she  had  conquered  at 
her  feet;  while  silence,  like  a  sacred  balm, 
brooded  over  all. 

Nemesius  did  not  pause  to  note  the  en- 
trancing loveliness  of  the  scene;  the  cool, 
sweet  air,  after  the  close  atmosphere  of  the 
Catacombs,  refreshed  him;  but  his  mind 
was  too  full  of  his  approaching  happiness 
to  be  diverted  by  exterior  objects,  however 
attractive.  Followed  by  Admetus,and  never 
halting  in  his  progress,  the  ground  seemed 
to  fly  from  under  his  feet,  and  he  reached 
the  great  bronze  gates  of  the  villa  without 
having  realized  the  distance  he  had  trav- 
ersed. 

Here  this  Roman  gentleman  remem- 
bered his  faithful  guide,  thanked  him  for 
his  attendance,  and  told  him  that  he  wished 
to  retain  him  in  his  service.  There  was  no 
one  to  listen;  the  porter,  who  had  taken 
one  draught  of  wine  too  much,  was  in  a 
profound  sleep;  and,  not  caring  to  rouse 
him,  Nemesius  entered  by  a  narrow,  private 
postern  a  little  farther  on,  to  which  he  alone 
had  the  key ;  but  when  he  turned  to  bid 
his  guide  follow  him,  he  had  disappeared. 

Hastening  up  the  broad  avenue,  Neme- 
sius reached  the  house ;  but,  before  passing 
in,  he  stood  looking  up  with  yearning  heart 
to  the  windows  of  the  room  where  his  blind 
darling  reposed  in  peaceful  slumbers,  un- 
dreaming of  the  happiness  so  near  at  hand — 


But  no!  Could  that  white  figure  waiting 
there  in  the  moonlight  be  hers?  She  de- 
tected the  footsteps  for  which  her  ears  had 
been  on  the  alert,  although  he  had  walked 
lightly,  fearing  to  disturb  her;  and  her  glad 
cry  answered  his  thought.  A  minute  later 
she  was  in  his  arms. 

"I  was  waiting, /«<^r^  mio^  just  for  this, 
and  began  to  think  thou  wouldst  never 
come,"  she  murmured,  in  loving  tones. 

"But  here  I  am,  dulce  mia!  only  to  kiss 
thee  good-night,  and  bid  thee  go  to  thy 
couch  and  sleep ;  for  we  are  to  take  an  early 
drive  together.  And,  O  bella  7nia!  some- 
thing awaits- thee,  full  of  happiness  for  both 
thee  and  me,"  he  said,  the  glad  news  hov- 
ering on  his  lips;  but  he  refrained,  fearing 
that  the  excitement  would  keep  her  awake, 
and  he  wanted  her  to  be  all  fresh  and  rested 
when  they  started  on  the  morning's  quest; 
he  would  tell  her  then,  on  the  way  to  the 
villa  of  Tertullus. 

After  the  interchange  of  a  few  more  fond 
words,  she  lay  her  golden  head  upon  her 
pillow,  satisfied  that  he  had  come,  that  he 
had  kissed  her  good -night;  while  the 
thought  of  the  promised  ^rly  drive  with 
him  was  so  entirely  delightful  that,  like  a 
pleasant  song,  it  lulled  her  to  sleep. 

When  in  the  silence  of  his  own  apart- 
ment, Nemesius  stood  at  his  casement  gaz- 
ing out  at  the  far  distance,  and  wishing  for 
the  dawn,  the  sunrise,  the  beautiful  day, 
which  the  eyes  now  sealed  in  darkness 
would  behold;  and  he  thought  and  thought, 
until  a  mysterious  awe  fell  upon  him,  which 
presently  assuming  distinct  purpose  and 
form,  he  exclaimed:  "If  by  the  power  of 
the  Christians'  God  my  child  receives  her 
sight.  Him  alone  will  I  worship,  and  none 
other. ' ' 

His  vow  was  registered  in  Heaven.  It 
was  no  longer  a  pillar  of  cloud,  but  one  of 
fire,  that  was  leading  him  out  of  the  dark- 
ness; "the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wil- 
derness ' '  was  no  longer  an  indistinct  echo, 
and  the  way  was  being  made  straight  for 
Him  whose  footsteps  were  already  heard. 

Nemesius  dismissed  the  two  drowsy 
servants  whom  he  found  nodding  in  the 


34 


The  Ave  Maria. 


anteroom,  and  passed  into  his  apartments. 
His  impatience  for  morning  and  all  that  it 
would  bring  banished  even  the  thought  of 
sleep,  and  he  determined  to  keep  vigil  until 
it  dawned. 

How  slowly  the  moments  seemed  to  drag 
as  he  stood  at  the  casement  straining  his 
eyes  towards  the  dark,  distant  mountains, 
to  catch  the  first  pale  glimmer  that  would 
illumine  their  summits!  But  what  human 
heart-longing  ever  quickened  the  march  of 
Time?  It  was  hard  to  wait,  but  how  futile 
to  stand  idle  when  things  were  to  be  at- 
tended to  which,  if  deferred  later,  would 
cause  delay! 

He  remembered  that  no  orders  had  been 
sent  to  the  stables,  and,  stealing  noiselessly 
out,  he  reached  them  in  a  few  minutes, 
roused  the  sleepy  and  astonished  guardian 
of  the  stalls,  and,  in  those  firm,  quiet  tones 
of  command  that  always  ensured  obedience, 
directed  him  to  have  the  low  two-seated 
chariot  in  readiness  and  at  the  door  by  sun- 
rise. Then,  refreshing  himself  with  a  ther- 
mal bath,  he  went  back  to  his  apartment,  lit 
a  lamp,  and  began  preparations  to  apparel 
himself  as  be^tted  the  approaching  mo- 
mentous event.  His  child  had  never  seen 
him,  and  he  would  appear  well  in  her  sight; 
he  would  don  rich  garments,  and  his  superb 
armor  of  Damascus  steel  inlaid  with  ara- 
besques of  gold;  his  jewel -hilted  sword, 
made  with  such  cunning  art  that  it  was  as 
keen  and  flexible  as  lightning;  and  wear 
across  his  breast  the  splendid  silken  scarf 
of  his  military  grade.  He  scanned  his  dark, 
noble  face  in  a  mirror,  holding  the  lamp  so 
that  its  rays  shone  full  upon  his  counte- 
nance, and  wondered  if  at  first  sight  its 
strangeness  would  repel  her. 

Never  before,  even  in  the  days  of  his  early 
love,  had  this  man,  self-poised  and  indif- 
ferent to  externals,  given  so  much  thought 
to  his  appearanc  e ;  for  it  was  not  alone  the 
impression  he  would  make  on  his  little 
daughter,  should  she  receive  her  sight — of 
which  he  had  not  the  smallest  doubt — that 
occupied  his  mind,  but  he  wished  to  show 
due  respect  to  that  Power  -by  which  the 
wonder  would  be  wrought,  by  appearing  in 


all  the  insignia  of  his  military  rank,  as  be- 
fore an  Emperor. 

His  preparations  at  length  completed,  a 
more  noble  figure  could  scarcely  be  imag- 
ined; he  looked  the  ideal  of  one  of  his  own 
gods.  He  extinguished  his  lamp,  and  re- 
newed his  vigil  at  the  casement,  his  gaze 
turned  towards  the  mountains.  At  last!  at 
last!  a  filmy,  luminous  whiteness  faintly 
outlined  their  grim  crests;  the  moon  was 
bending  low  over  the  sea;  tints  of  palest 
saffron  veiled  the  morning-star,  and  the 
shadows  began  to  be  transfigured  with 
flashes  of  gold  and  veins  of  cr-imson  as  they 
drifted  away. 

Nemesius  went  to  the  shrine  that  stood 
in  a  corner  of  the  apartment,  and,  mixing 
wine  and  frankincense  together  in  a  gold 
cup,  he  offered  the  morning  libation  in 
honor  of  the  gods.  Having  performed  this 
act  of  heathen  piety,  he  went  out  into  the 
corridor,  walked  softly  towards  Claudia's 
apartments,  and  met  Zilla,who  had  just  left 
them,  her  countenance  wearing  an  anxious 
and  perplexed  expression,  which  vanished 
in  surprise  at  his  appearance.  Folding  her 
hands  on  her  bosom,  she  bowed  her  head, 
and  waited  for  him  to  speak.  He  asked  if 
the  child  was  still  asleep. 

'*She  is  awake,  and  wishes  to  rise  and  be 
dressed  for  a  drive  which,  she  insists,  she  is 
to  take  with  thee.  She  must  have  dreamed 
it,  sir,  as  she  was  asleep  before  I  sought  my 
own  couch  last  night." 

' '  It  was  no  dream ;  I  saw  her  for  a  few 
moments  after  I  came  in;  she  was  at  the 
window  listening  for  me.  I  promised  the 
early  drive.  We  start  at  sunrise,  and  shall 
pay  a  visit  before  we  get  back.  Make  her 
take  a  biscuit  and  a  little  wine  before  we 
go.  And,  Zilla!  be  ready  with  thy  gladdest 
smiles  to  receive  her  when  she  returns;  for, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  she  will  bring  thee 
cause  for  rejoicing,"  he  answered,  scarcely 
able  to  hold  back  his  secret. 

(to  be  continued.) 


A  ROAD  with  a  prickly,  thorny  hedge  on 
either  side  is  often  the  safest,  and  so  is  the 
road  of  sorrow. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Mission   in   Mid-Ocean. 


II 
I 


[For  the  following  interesting  account  of  Easter 
Island,  and  of  a  recent  visit  there,  we  are  indebted 
to  the  Rev.  Father  Albert,  of  the  Society  of  the 
Sacred  Hearts  of  Jesus  and  Mary.  This  apostolic 
man  has  been,  for  more  than  thirty  years,  a  mis- 
sionary in  the  islands  of  the  Pacific.  Our  readers 
will  remember  him  as  the  coadjutor  of  Father 
Damien,  the  apostle  of  the  lepers  at  Kalawao, 
Molokai.] 

EASTER  Island,  situated  in  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  about  half-way  between  Tahiti 
and  the  coast  of  Chili,  is  so  called  because 
it  was  discovered  (by  a  Dutch  squadron) 
on  Easter  Sunday,  1722.  Although  visited 
from  time  to  time  by  whalers  and  ships  of 
war,  it  remained  comparatively  unknown 
till  quite  recently.  In  1863  it  was  almost 
depopulated  by  the  incursions  of  Peruvian 
pirates,  who  carried  off  great  numbers  of 
the  inhabitants,  as  well  as  by  the  small-pox, 
which  created  fearful  havoc  among  them. 

The  missionaries  at  Tahiti  had  long  had 
in  view  the  evangelization  of  this  island. 
Being  at  Valparaiso  that  same  year,  in 
search  of  health,  I  obtained  the  consent  of 
Bishop  Janssen  to  proceed  thither  and  in- 
struct the  inhabitants.  Providence,  how- 
ever, had  allotted  the  work  to  other  and 
abler  hands;  still  I  had  the  great  happiness 
of  opening  the  doors,  as  it  were,  of  the  mis- 
sion, and  of  establishing  there  a  devoted 
laborer,  Mr.  Eugene  Eyrould,  who  had 
some  time  before  joined  the  community  of 
our  Order  at  Valparaiso.  This  gentleman 
accompanied  me  to  Tahiti,  where  at  his  own 
expense  he  chartered  a  vessel,  and  freighted 
it  with  dry-goods,  clothing,  and  agricult-' 
ural  implements,  to  distribute  among  the 
natives,  in  order  the  better  to  dispose  them 
to  receive  the  missionaries. 

Alternately  protected  and  plundered  by 
the  different  chiefs,  who  are  continually  at 
war  with  one  another,  he  deemed  himself 
happy,  after  nine  months  of  privations  and 
indescribable  sufferings,  to  escape,  half 
naked,  in  a  vessel  which  the  Rev.  Father 
Barnabe  had  brought  from  Valparaiso  to 
rescue  him.    The  two  missionaries  saw  no 


immediate  prospect  of  making  any  further 
progress,  and  thought  it  best  to  return  to 
Chili. 

On  his  arrival  at  our  house  in  Valparaiso, 
Mr.  Eyrould  made  his  vows.  He  then  be- 
gan with  renewed  energy  to  prepare  for  a 
second  voyage  to  Easter  Island,  and  was 
allowed  to  purchase  enough  building  ma- 
terial for  several  houses.  He  also  procured 
another  large  stock  of  dry-goods  and  wear- 
ing apparel,  besides  a  complete  assortment 
of  domestic  animals.  This  time  he  was  ac- 
companied by  a  priest.  Two  years  passed — 
years  of  benediction.  On  the  Feast  of  Our 
Lady's  Assumption  Mr.  Eyrould  calmly 
rendered  up  his  soul,  gladdened  by  the  news 
that  the  last  of  the  natives  had  just  been 
baptized. 

We  can  not  but  believe  that  God,  who 
has  promised  a  reward  exceedingly  great 
for  even  a  cup  of  cold  water  given  in  His 
name,  has  long  since  recompensed  the  suf- 
ferings and  sacrifices  of  His  faithful  ser- 
vant. Mr.  Eyrould  deserves  to  be  called  the 
Apostle  of  Easter  Island.  No  sooner  did  he 
learn  of  my  intended  visit  to  the  isle,  than 
he  came  and  offered  himself,  with  no  insig- 
nificant fortune — the  result  of  years  of  hon- 
orable labor  and  of  wise  economy — in  order 
to  be  a  sharer  in  the  good  work. 

Only  a  few  years  after  the  death  of  this 
holy  religious,  all  his  labors,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  two  missionaries,  were  rendered  prof- 
itless by  the  scandals  of  a  certain  European, 
whose  name  and  nationality  I  refrain  from 
mentioning.  After  having-  squandered  his 
fortune,  at  Papaete,  in  gambling  and  de- 
bauchery, he  turned  brigand,  and  endeav- 
ored to  retrieve  his  losses  at  the  expense  of 
the  missionaries  and  the  natives  of  the  isle. 
During  several  years  the  missionaries  la- 
bored, with  many  trials  and  sufferings,  to 
bring  him  back  to  a  sense  of  duty,  but,  find- 
ing their  efforts  ineffectual,  they  finally, 
acting  on  the  advice  of  the  Bishop,  aban- 
doned the  mission.  The  majority  of  the  na- 
tives quitted  it  at  the  same  time,  emigrating 
to  Gamblers  and  Tahiti. 

The  missionaries  had  neither  the  time 
nor  means  during  their  sojourn  to  have  any 


36 


The  Ave  Maria. 


works  printed  in  the  language  of  the  coun- 
try; as  a  consequence,  they  were  obliged 
to  retire  without  having  been  able  to  teach 
the  converts  either  to  read  or  write.  Last 
February,  when  I  visited  the  isle,  I  found 
those  who  had  remained  on  it  as  ignorant 
as  if  a  ray  of  civilization  had  never  shone 
upon  them.  Happily,  however,  a  Catholic 
gentleman  from  Europe  had  been  among 
them  for  about  a  year,  as  agent  of  a  com- 
mercial firm,  and  imparted  to  them  some 
slight  knowledge  of  the  Tahitian  dialect. 
With  the  zeal,  devotedness,  and  patience  of 
a  true  Christian,  he  consecrated  his  leisure 
moments  to  the  instruction  of  the  inhabi- 
tants in  Catechism  and  in  the  singing  of 
pious  hymns.  No  doubt  they  did  not  un- 
derstand half  of  what  they  recited  and  sang, 
but  the  accuracy  with  which  they  had 
committed  to  memory  and  retained  all  that 
had  been  taught  them  both  surprised  and 
charmed  me.  Individually  or  collectively, 
they  answered  with  correctness  and  promp- 
titude many  of  the  most  difficult  questions 
of  the  Catechism.  But  this  good  gentle- 
man did  not  content  himself  with  teaching 
the  natives  the  mere  theory  of  Christian 
doctrine:  he  also  taught  them  the  practice 
of  it,  and  that  by  his  example. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  wharf,  on  my 
first  visit,  I  was  very  much  impressed  with 
the  modest  and  reserved  demeanor  of  the 
feminine  portion  of  the  population.  All  the 
natives  had  turned  out  in  their  best  apparel 
to  receive  me.  Having  formed  in  proces- 
sion, they  began  to  sing  hymns,  and  led  me 
to  the  church  and  school.  Years  of  absence 
had  not  in  the  least  diminished  their  love 
and  respect  for  the  missionaries. 

I  had  only  ten  days  to  remain  among 
them,  and  these  I  tried  to  spend  to  the  best 
advantage.  From  early  morning  till  late 
at  night  I  was  engaged  in  instructing,  bap- 
tizing, marrying,  and  hearing  confessions. 
All  made  their  Easter  duty  in  the  most  edi- 
fying manner.  I  even  began  to  teach  them 
the  elements  of  reading  and  arithmetic,  and 
distributed  among  them  some  books  with 
which  to  instruct  themselves  until  such 
time  as  I  can  send  them  a  teachei"  from 


Tahiti.     I  was  obliged  to  interrupt  my  la- 
bors now  and  then,  owing  to  a  soreness  of 
lungs  and  loss  of  voice;  in  the  meantime  I 
employed  myself  at  manual  labor — paint- 
ing the  church,  school,  etc. 

During  my  stay  I  visited  an  extinct  vol- 
cano in  the  neighborhood ;  descending  into 
the  crater,  I  found  a  pool  of  clear  water. 
Close  to  the  volcano  were  several  caves, 
which  had  formerly  served  as  places  of 
concealment  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  isle. 
I  also  went  to  see  some  colossal  statues  of 
which  I  had  heard  a  great  deal.  A  journey 
of  half  the  circuit  of  the  island  brought  me 
to  them.  I  counted  twenty  standing  on 
pedestals,  all  looking  towards  the  sea,  while 
many  more  la}^  scattered  about  on  the 
ground.  Not  far  from  where  I  stood  were 
several  only  half  finished.  Each  statue  was 
from  40  to  45  feet  in  length.  They  are 
sculptured  by  means  of  a  kind  of  rock 
harder  than  themselves.  To  raise  them 
when  finished  is  the  most  difficult  part  of 
the  work  ;  for  the  natives  know  nothing 
about  mechanics.  Near  where  the  statue- 
is  to  be  placed  they  raise  a  mound,  up  ta 
the  summit  of  which  they  contrive  to  roll 
the  unhewed  stone  After  chiselling  it,  they 
attach  ropes  to  the  upper  part,  and  dig  away 
the  ground  at  the  base. 

I  also  sought  out  the  unhonored  grave  of 
Mr.  Eyrould.  I  had  the  weeds  cut  away  and 
a  mound  raised.  The  neophytes  have  sur- 
rounded it  with  a  picket  fence,  inside  which 
is  a  circular  ridge  of  rich  soil  planted  with 
flowers.  I  blessed  the  grave,  and  erected 
over  it  a  wooden  cross.  A  cast-iron  cross 
and  railing  have  been  ordered  from  San 
Francisco  by  Bishop  Verdier,  our  new 
Vicar- Apostolic;  and  when  these  arrive  the 
wooden  ones  will  be  removed. 

The  ship  which  brought  me  having  re- 
ceived its  cargo,  I  began  to  prepare  for  my 
departure.  When  the  neophytes  heard  that 
I  was  going,  they  were  so  affected  that  they 
could  neither  sing  the  little  hymns  that 
evening  nor  respond  to  the  prayers.  Next 
morning,  after  the  usual  exercises  of  devo- 
tion, I  exhorted  them  to  persevere  in  the 
practice  of  what  they  had  been  taUght;  and 


m 


The  Ave  Maria. 


37 


11 


then,  having  shaken  hands  with  each  one, 
I  embarked,  amid  cries  of,  "Come  soon 
again!  come  soon  again!"  This  I  hope  to 
do,  particularly  as  there  is  danger  that  some 
cattle  raisers — non-Catholics — may  destroy 
the  good  already  effected.  May  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  Jesus,  to  which  I  solemnly  conse- 
crated the  isle,  deign  to  guard  it  against 
so  great  a  misfortune! 


A  Saintly  Convict. 


AZEAIvOUS  priest  of  a  religious  order, 
who  has  served  as  chaplain  in  the  pen- 
itentiaries of  La  Rochelle,  Brest,  and  Tou- 
lon (France),  gives  the  following  account  of 
one  of  the  convicts: 

I  once  conversed  with  a  man  whom  I 
shall  never  forget,  whom  I  honor — venerate 
more  than  any  one  else  I  know;  and  this 
man  is  a  convict!  One  evening  he  came  to 
my  confessional,  and  after  his  confession  I 
asked  him  some  questions  regarding  his 
past  life,  as  was  my  custom  in  dealing  with 
those  unfortunates.  On  this  occasion  a  spe- 
^  cial  motive  impelled  me  to  put  my  ques- 
tions, as  I  was  struck  by  the  peaceful  look 
on  the  man's  face.  He  answered  me  with- 
out affectation,  concisely,  and  to  the  point. 

"What  is  your  age?" 

"Forty-five,  Father." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"Ten  years." 

"How  much  longer  must  you  stay?" 

"I  am  here  for  life." 
*  ' '  What  was  your  offence  ? ' ' 

"Incendiarism." 

"You  certainly  have  much  cause  to  re- 

^       gret  having  committed  such  a  crime." 

K<         ' '  I  have  greatly  offended  God,  but  not  by 

the  crime  for  which  I  was  sentenced.   Still, 

I  am  justly  condemned:  it  is  God  who  has 

condemned  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  greatly  offended  God,  Father;  I 
have  been  very  guilty,  but  \  have  com- 
mitted no  crime  against  society.  After  hav- 
ing repeatedly  fallen  into  sin,  God  touched 
my  heart,  and  I  returned  to  Him.     But  I 


was  uneasy — a  heavy  weight  was  upon  my 
soul:  I  could  not  persuade  myself  that  my 
sins  were  blot4:ed  out.  I  did  not  know  how 
to  make  reparation,  and  felt  the  necessity 
of  atoning  for  the  crimes  of  my  youth. 
In  the  meanwhile  a  very  destructive  fire 
broke  out  near  my  house.  I  was  arrested 
on  suspicion,  found  guilty,  and  condemned 
to  the  penitentiary  for  life.  When  my  sen- 
tence was  pronounced  a  delicious  peace 
filled  my  soul,  and  has  remained  with  me 
ever  since.  No  one  knows  me  here,  and  all 
believe  that  I  am  justly  condemned;  and 
so  I  am.  Pray  for  me,  I  beseech  you,  that  I 
may  do  the  will  of  God  unto  the  end. ' ' 

I  could  not  help  reflecting:  If  we  were  all 
to  accept  the  sufferings  of  this  life  in  view  of 
the  satisfaction  we  owe  the  divine  Justice, 
how  it  would  sweeten  the  trials  from  which 
even  the  most  favored'are  not  exempt,  and 
what  treasures  we  should  lay  up  for  our- 
selves in  the  next  world! 


Leaves  from  Our  Portfolio. 


THK    RKV.    R.  S.    HAWKER    ON    THE    CLAIMS    OF 
SCIENCE   AND   FAITH. 

To  Mr.  S.  J .,  Merchant,  Plymouth. 

My  Dear  Nkphew: — You  ask  me  "to  put 
into  a  nutshell ' '  the  pith  and  marrow  of  the 
controversy  which  at  this  time  pervades  the 
English  mind  as  to  the  claims  of  Science  and 
Faith  Let  me  try.  The  material  universe, 
SO  the  sages  allege,  is  a  vast  assemblage  of 
atoms,  or  molecules — "motes  in  the  sun- 
beam "of  Science— which  has  existed  for  myr- 
iads of  ages  under  a  perpetual  system  of  evo- 
lution, restructure,  and  change.  This  mighty- 
mass  is  traversed  by  the  forces  electrical,  or 
magnetic,  or  with  other  kindred  names;  and 
these,  by  their  incessant  and  indomitable  ac- 
tion, are  adequate  to  account  for  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  world  of  matter  and  of  man. 
The  upheaval  of  a  continent,  the  drainage  of 
a  sea,  the  creation  of  a  metal;  nay,  the  origin 
of  life,  and  the  development  of  a  species  in 
plant  or  animal  or  man — these  are  the  achieve- 
ments of  fixed  and  natural  laws  among  the 
atomic  materials,  under  the  vibration  of  the 
forces  alone. 


38 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Thus  far  the  vaunted  discoveries  of  science 
are  said  to  have  arrived.  Let  us  indulge  them 
with  the  theory  that  these  results— for  they 
are  nothing  more — are  accurate  and  real.  But, 
still,  a  thoughtful  mind  will  venture  to  de- 
mand whence  did  these  atoms  derive  their 
existence,  and  from  what  and  from  whom 
do  they  inherit  the  propensities  wherewithal 
they  are  imbued  ?  And  tell  me,  most  potent 
seigniors,  what  is  the  origin  of  these  forces, 
action  and  the  guidance  of  their  control, 
and  with  whom  reside  the  impulse  of  their 
* '  Nothing  so  difficult  as  a  beginning. ' '  Your 
philosopher  is  mute!  He  has  reached  the  hori- 
zon of  his  domain,  and  to  him  all  beyond  is 
doubt,  and  uncertainty,  and  guess.  We  must 
lift  the  veil;  we  must  pass  into  the  border-land 
between  two  worlds,  and  there  inquire  at  the 
oracles  of  Revelation  touching  the  unseen  and 
spiritual  powers  which  thrill  through  the 
mighty  sacrament  of  the  visible  creation.  Be- 
ing inspired,  we  perceive  the  realms  of  sur- 
rounding space  peopled  by  immortal  creatures 
of  air — 
"Myriads  of  spiritual  things  that  walk  unseen, 
Both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 
These  are  the  existences,  in  aspect  as 
*' '  young  men  in  white  garments, ' '  who  inhabit 
the  void  between  the  worlds  and  their  Maker 
and  their  God.  Behold  the  battalions  of  the 
Lord  of  Hosts,  the  workers  of  the  sky,  the  faith- 
ful and  intelligent  va.ssals  of  God  the  Trinity! 
In  our  poor,  meagre  language  we  have  named 
them  "the  Angels,"  but  this  title  merely 
denotes  one  of  their  subordinate  offices — mes- 
sengers from  on  high.  The  Gentiles  called 
them  ' '  gods, ' '  but  we  ought  to  honor  them 
by  a  name  that  should  embrace  and  interpret 
their  lofty  dignity  as  an  intermediate  army 
"between  the  kingdom  and  the  throne;  the 
centurions  of  the  stars  and  of  men;  the  com- 
manders of  the  forces  and  their  guides.  These 
are  they  that,  each  with  a  delegated  office, 
fulfil  what  their  "King  invisible"  decrees; 
tiot  with  the  dull,  inert  mechanism  of  fixed 
and  natural  law,  but  with  the  unslumbering 
energy  and  the  rational  obedience  of  vSpiritual 
life.  They  mould  the  atom,  they  wield  the 
force,  and,  as  Newton  rightly  guessed,  they 
rule  the  world  of  matter  beneath  the  silent 
Omnipotence  of  God. 

' '  And  he  dreamed,  and  behold  a  ladder  set 
up  on  the  earth,  and  the  top  of  it  reached  to 
heaven;  and  behold  the  angels  of  God  ascend- 


ing and  descending  on  it.    And  behold  the 
Lord  stood  above  it."    (Genesis.) 
Your  affectionate  uncle, 

R.  S.  Hawkkr. 
MoRWENSTOw  Vicarage,  Cornwall. 


The  Genealogy  of  Mary. 

The  hid 0- European  Correspondence. 

A  LEARNED  Belgian  priest,  1' Abbe  Jamar, 
has  succeeded  in  elucidating  the  gene- 
alogy of  Mary  in  a  complete  and  satisfactory 
manner.  The  names  of  her  parents  are  not 
found  in  the  Bible,  but  they  have  been  pre- 
served for  us  by  the  tradition  of  the  Levantine 
Fathers;  so  much  so  that  the  Church  had  no 
hesitation  in  consecrating  the  pious  belief  by 
admitting  the  feasts  of  St.  Joachim  and  St. 
Anne  into  the  calendar  of  her  liturgy. 

According  to  the  same  sources,  Joachim  was 
the  son  of  Mathan,  and  the  brother  of  Jacob, 
who  was  St  Joseph's  father,  so  that  Mary  and 
Joseph  were  first  cou.sins;  and  the  Church 
again  seems  to  endorse  that  opinion  by  caus- 
ing the  genealogy  of  Joseph  through  Jacob 
and  Mathan  to  be  sung  on  the  feast  both  of 
St.  Joachim  and  of  the  Nativity  of  Mary. 

St.  Anne  was  likewise  of  the  race  of  David 
but  through  Nathan,  and  she  was  the  grand- 
daughter of  Mathat,  the  father  of  Heli,  in  the 
genealogy  of  St.  Joseph  as  given  by  St.  Luke. 
Your  readers  are  probably  aware  that  the  dif- 
ficulty of  St.  Joseph's  being  called  the  son  of 
Jacob  in  St.  Matthew  and  the  son  of  Heli  in 
St.  Luke  has  been  explained  in  the  clearest 
way  by  St.  Augustine  and  St.  Jerome.  Heli 
having  died  without  issue,  Jacob,  his  next  of 
kin,  married  his  widow,  according  to  Deuter- 
onomy (xxv.),  and  the  issue  of  the  marriage 
was  held  the  legal  issue  of  Heli,  at  the  same 
time  that  it  was  the  natural  issue  of  Jacob. 

Mary  must  have  been  an  only  child,  and  as 
such  must  have  inherited  the  property  of  her 
parents,  as  tradition  also  relates  it;  for  it  was 
only  in  that  capacity  that  she  had  to  accom- 
pany Joseph  to  Bethlehem,  in  spite  of  her  del- 
icate state,  and  to  get  herself  registered  accord- 
ing to  the  edict  of  Emperor  Augustus. 

It  is  true  that  St.  John  speaks  of  a  sister  of 
Jesus'  Mother:  viz.,  Mary  of  Cleophas  (St. 
John,xix.,  25);  but  it  was  a  custom  among  the 
Jews,  and  it  is  yet  retained  among  Orientals, 
that  near  relatives  call  themselves  brothers 


The  Ave  Maria. 


39 


I 


and  sisters.  Cleoplias  and  Joseph  being  really 
brothers,  their  wives  would  still,  with  greater 
probability  and  with  better  right,  salute  each 
other  as  sisters. 

Joachim  and  Anna  resided  in  Galilee,  and 
possessed  that  little  house  of  Nazareth  (now 
lyoreto)  which  was  to  become  soon  the  most 
august  spot  on  the  earth.  Probabh'  the  family 
had  withdrawn  thither  from  Judea  at  the  time 
of  the  persecution  of  King  Antiochus,  which 
drove  many  Jews  to  seek  refuge  in  the  North, 
and  led  to  heroic  resistance,  and  the  exploits 
of  the  Maccabees. 

I  subjoin  the  Blessed  Virgin's  pedigree 
according  to  the  work  of  M.  1' Abbe  Jamar: 

I.  Adam  — 2.  Seth— 3.  Enos— 4.  Cainan— 5. 
Malaleel — 6.  Jared — 7.  Henoch — 8.  Mathusalem — 
9.  Lamech— 10.  Noe— 11.  Sem— 12.  Arphaxad— 
13.  Cainan— 14.  Sale — 15.  Heber— 16.  Phaleg— 17. 
Reu,  or  Ragan- 18.  Sarug— 19.  Nachor— 20.  Thara 
—21.  Abraham— 22.  Isaac— 23.  Jacob— 24^Juda— 
25.  Phares — 26.  Esron — 27.  Aram — 28.  Aminadab 
— 29.  Naasson— -.30  Salmon — 31.B00Z — 2)'^.  Obed — 
y^.  Jesse— 


34- 


David. 


35.  Solomon — 36.  Ro- 
boam  — 37.  Abia  — 38. 
Asa— 39.  Josaphat— 40. 
:  Joram  —  [41  •  Ochozias 
. — 42.  Joas  — 43-  Ama- 
sias]  —  44-  Ozias  —45- 
Jonathan— 46.  Achaz— 
47.  Ezechias— 48.  Ma- 
nassas—49-  Amon— 50. 
Josias— [51.  Joachaz]— 
52.  Jechonias — 53.  Sala- 
thiel  — 54.  Zorobabel—  | 
55.  Abiud— 56.  Eleazar 
— 57.  Azor— 58.  Sadoc— 
59.  Achim — 60.  Eliud 
— 61.  Eleazar— 62.  Ma- 
than. 

62.  M;Uhan,whom;irrifd  Esthn, 

widow  of  Mathat. 

I 

63.  Joachim,  (^l-  Jacob, 
Anna's  husband,    who  married 

Heli's  widow. 
i 


35.  Nathan — 36.  Math- 
atha — 2il-  Menna  —  38. 
Melea — 39.  Eliakim — 
40.  Jona — 41.  Joseph — 
42.  juda — 43.  Simon — 
44.  Lin — 45.  Mathat — 
46.  Jorini--^47.  Eliezer — 
48.  John — 49.  Her  —  50 
Helmadan — 5 1 .  Cosan — 
52.  Addi — 53.  Melchi — 
54.  Neri — 55.  Salathiel — 
56.  Zorobabel — 57.  Reza 
58.  Joanna — 59.  Juda — 
60.  Joseph — 61.  Semei 
—62.  Mathatia— 63.  Ma- 
hath  —  64 .  Nagge  — 65 . 
Heshi — 66.  Nahiim — 67. 
Amos— 68.  Matiiathias 
— 69.  Joseph — 70.  Janne 
— 71.  Melchi — 72.  Levi 
— ']T^.  Mathat. 

7V  Mathat,  Esth  I's  isthuslxind. 


74.  Iloli, 
who  died 
chikiless. 


74.  Mar\-.  the 
nfeof  Ma'than, 
a  priest  of 
Bethlehem. 


64. Mary,  64,Joseph,  64.  Cleophiis. 
Mother  of     husb;ind  of 
Jesus.  Mary. 


75.  Mary.        Solie.        75.  Anna, 
Joachim's 
wife. 


65.  James,  Joseph,  Judas,  Simeon,  76  Salome,  76,  Elizab.,  76.  Marv, 

the  Less.'         ( rhaddx-us.)  Zebedee's    Zachary's       Mother 

wife.  wife.        of  Jesus. 


77.J:imes,    77.  John    77.  John 
the  Greater,   theEv.     the  Baptist. 


Letter  from   Paris. 

• 

The  Expulsion  of  the  Princes;  The  Comte 
DE  Paris;  A  Royal  Bride.  — The  Jews;  A 
Battle  of  Books. — Piety  and  Irreligion. — 

■     A  Muscular  Christian;  etc. 

DEAR  "Ave  Maria": — Paris  has  always 
some  exciting  question  to  discuss — some- 
thing that  keeps  the  'press  on  the  qui  vive; 
then  public  curiosity,  hope,  or  alarm,  on  tip- 
toe. Just  now  the  subject  that  is  setting  all 
the  tongues  in  the  country — and  out  of  the 
country  —  wagging  is  the  expulsion  of  the 
princes,  who  are  supposed  to  be  pretenders  to 
the  crown  of  France.  They  have  many  a  time 
served  as  a  scapegoat  to  one  set  of  politicians 
or  another,  and  have  periodically  got  notice 
to  pack  up,  and  be  ready  to  decamp  at  a  mo- 
ment's warning.  The  Radicals  were  not  to  be 
done  out  of  the  sport  of  hunting  a  family  of 
royal  blood,  and  are  now  enjoying  the  fun  of 
their  discomfiture,  and  that  of  their  friends; 
but  after  a  while  the  laugh  may  be  on  the 
other  side. 

The  Comte  de  Paris  is  so  little  of  a  pre- 
tender, that  his  adversaries  have  no  worse 
charge  to  bring  against  him  than  that  he  has 
never  shown  the  pluck  of  a  mouse  in  trying 
for  the  crown  he  is  heir  to,  and  his  partisans 
have  long  been  loud  in  their  complaints  that 
he  ' '  does  nothing. ' '  The  Prince  lately,  how- 
ever, did  something :  he  married  his  eldest 
daughter  to  the  heir  of  a  reigning  sovereign, 
and  the  event  was  celebrated  with  becoming 
ceremony  and  jubilation  at  Eu  and  in  Paris. 

The  Comte  de  Paris, who  is  a  good  Catholic, 
and  a  highly-respectable  gentleman,  was  very- 
much  astonished  to  see  the  cordiality  with 
which  people  of  all  classes  responded  to  the 
opportunity  of  testifying  their  loyalty  to  him. 
Thousands  crowded  to  the  castle  at  Eu,  with 
congratulations  and  presents.  One  working- 
man  made  the  young  fiancee  a  graceful  offer- 
ing that  deserves  to  be  commemorated.  He 
came  to  the  castle  and  asked  leave  to  present 
a  gold  piece  of  forty  francs — a  double  Louis,  as 
it  used  to  be  called  —to  the  princess.  When  he 
was  a  little  boy,  her  grandmother,  good  Queen 
Amelie,  had  given  it  to  him  (I  forget  on  what 
occasion),  and  he  resolved  never  td  part  with 
it.  "I  have  kept  it  as  a  relic  through  many 
hard  years,"  he  said;  "though  many  a  time 
I  have  felt  the  pinch  of  want.   I  bore  up,  how- 


40 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ever,  and  never  parted  with  my  treasure. 
Now  I  give  it  to  your  Royal  Highness,  that 
it  may  bring  you  good  luck,  as  it  has  done  to 
me;  for,  after  a  long  fight  with  poverty,  I  am 
now  above  want. ' '  The  young  princess  was 
quite  overcome  with  emotion  on  taking  the 
beautiful  gold  piece  from  the  honest  fellow; 
he  had  kept  it  as  bright  as  the  day  it  came 
from  the  mint. 

The  trousseau  of  the  royal  bride  was  a  very 
grand  affair,  and  circulated  a  good  deal  of 
money  amongst  the  discontented  Paris  trades- 
people ;  the  sum  of  two  millions  of  francs 
having  been  spent,  it  is  alleged,  on  the  bridal 
finery  and  festivities.  But  all  these  gay  do- 
ings and  rejoicings  frightened  the  Govern- 
ment, and  they  declared  the  princes  were 
going  to  upset  the  Republic,  and  must  be  sent 
out  of  the  country.  It  is  all  very  silly  and 
spiteful,  and  very  poor  policy  in  the  rulers  of 
a  great  nation. 

Next  to  the  princes,  the  Jews  are  the  lions 
of  the  hour.  Two  books  have  been  written 
about  them,  one  fiercely  abusive,  the  other 
passionately  apologetical.  The  first  is  called 
''La  France  Juive,'"  by  Monsieur  Drumont,  a 
writer  of  the  Catholic  journal  Le  Monde. 
Monsieur  Drumont  is  a  Catholic,  a  good 
man,  and  an  able  writer,  but  he  dipped  his 
pen  in  gall  when  he  began  to  write  about  the 
poor  Jews;  he  attacks  them  on  all  sides,  calls 
them  usurers  and  thieves;  he  whips  them,  he 
spits  at  them,  he  knocks  them  down  from  their 
gold  bags,  where  they  sit  enthroned,  and  he 
literally  dances  on  them  in  his  rage  and  scorn. 
He  gives  a  long  list  of  names  of  Jews  and 
Jewesses  holding  high  places  in  the  world, 
and  he  lashes  them  fiercely.  He  is  proportion- 
ally hard  ou  the  Christians  who  receive  the 
despised  race  in  their  ranks,  and  gives  no 
quarter  to  the  French  dukes  and  princes  who 
have  sold  their  coronets  to  Rothschild  for 
money-bags.  There  is  a  kernel  of  justice  and 
truth  and  sound  morality  in  all  this  invective, 
but  the  kernel  disappears  in  the  immense  husk 
of  abusive  language. 

The  opposition  book  is  by  a  converted  Jew, 
the  Abbe  I^emann.  He  stands  up  for  his 
race,  and  recounts  all  the  persecutions  and 
cruel  humiliations  that  Jews  were  subjected 
to  through  the  Middle  Ages,  and  up  to  the 
time  of  the  Revolution,  when  they  w^ere  civilly 
emancipated.  He  foresees  the  great  event, 
the  conversion  of  Israel,  and  the  glory  that 


would  come  of  the  union  of  Jews  and  Chris- 
tians under  the  banner  of  the  Church.  A 
grand,  wise,  and  very  pathetic  book,  likely  to- 
do  as  much  good  as  Monsieur  Drumont' s  will, 
I  fear,  do  mischief.  It  will  draw  hearts  to  the 
JewivSh  cause,  and  perhaps  win  many  of  them 
to  Christianity  ;  whereas  the  other  will  only 
create  bitter  enmity,  and  desires  of  being  re- 
venged for  such  an  unprovoked  attack. 

The  devotions  of  the  Month  of  Mary  were 
well  attended  in  Paris,  and,  I  hear,  all  through 
France,  in  the  great  centres.  Nevertheless, 
some  towns  witnessed  scenes  of  painful  im- 
piety, knd  Mary's  worship  by  the  faithful  was 
frequently  interrupted  by  violent  outrages 
from  the  roughs  of  advanced  democracy.  At 
Troyes,  for  instance,  bands  of  idle  workmen 
went  to  the  various  churches,  and  hissed  and 
made  unseemly  noises,  to  hinder  the  preacher 
from  being  heard.  In  one  church  several 
hundred  scattered  themselves  through  the 
congregation,  and  grew  openly  aggressive, 
and  created  such  an  uproar  that  the  pre'acher 
had  to  hurry  out  of  the  pulpit,  and  take  ref- 
uge in  the  presbytery,  where  the  mob  fol- 
lowed, throwing  stones,  threatening  to  set 
fire  to  the  house,  and  behaving  like  madmen. 
The  faithful  showed  good  fight  on  the  occa- 
sion, and  made  a  solemn  reparation  to  Our 
lyady  for  these  insults;  and  the  roughs  were 
afraid  to  go  further.  All  their  misconduct  m  ly 
be  put  down  to  the  impulse  given  by  the  au- 
thorities. 

The  town  council  ordered  all  the  crucifixes 
to  be  taken  down  in  all  public  places,  and  the 
order  was  everywhere  obeyed  until  it  reached 
— the  slaughter-house!  Here  the  butchers- 
more  power  to  their  hatchets! — flatly  refused 
to  let  the  order  be  carried  out.  One  stalwart 
fellow  vowed  that  whoever  laid  a  finger  on  the 
cross  should  answer  to  him  for  it.  ' '  That  cross 
was  here  before  I  came,  and  it  shall  be  here 
while  I  stay,  and  I  mean  to  leave  it  after  me. 
So  come  on!"  Nobody  "came  on,"  and  the 
sign  of  Redemption,  which  the  sacrilegious 
hirelings  were  allowed  to  tear  down  from  the 
town-hall,  the  courts,  the  hospital,  the  schools 
— in  fact,  all  the  respectable  places,  remains 
untouched  in  the  slaughter-house! 

We  are  having  some  threats  of  Summer  at 
last,  in  the  shape  of  bursts  of  heat,  with  rain, 
east-winds,  thunder-storms,  and  every  variety 
of  bad  weather. 

Enfant  dk  Marik. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


41 


Catholic  Notes. 


If 


■ 


On  Wednesday,  the  30th  ult. ,  the  Cardinal 
Archbishop  of  Baltimore  received,  at  the  j 
liands  of  the  venerable  Archbishop  of  St. 
Louis,  the  Apostolic  Delegate  ad  hoc,  the  red 
beretta,  the  official  mark  of  the  new  dignity  to 
.which  he  has  been  elevated  The  ceremonies 
ttending  the  investiture,  which  took  place  in 
he  Cathedral,  were  very  solemn  and  impres- 
ive,  and  were  witnessed  by  an  immense 
throng  of  the  clergy  and  laity,  who  filled  every 
available  spot  in  the  sacred  edifice.  Solemn 
Pontifical  Mass  was  celebrated  by  Archbishop 
Williams,  of  Boston,  during  which  a  sermon 
was  delivered  by  Archbishop  Ryan,  of  Phil- 
adelphia. There  were  also  present  in  the 
sanctuary,  besides  the  prelates  named,  Arch- 
hishops  Corrigan  of  New  York,  Feehan  of 
Chicago,  Heiss  of  Milwaukee,  and  bishops 
and  clergy  to  the  number  of  five  hundred,  to- 
gether with  Mgr.  Straniero,  the  Papal  Able- 
gate, attended  by  Count  Muccioli,  the  Noble 
Guard.  After  Mass  Mgr.  Straniero  presented 
the  beretta  to  the  Apostolic  Delegate,  who 
placed  it  on  the  head  of  the  Cardinal,  who, 
with  the  attending  clergymen,  knelt  before 
him.  After  addresses  by  the  Cardinal  and 
Archbishop  Kenrick,  the  Te  Deum  was  sung, 
and  Cardinal  Gibbons  gave  his  blessing  to  all 
present.  

The  annual  pilgrimage  of  the  students  of 
the  Uniyersit}^  of  lyouvain  to  the  shrine  of 
Our  I^ady  at  Montaigu  took  place  June  3d. 
The  pilgrims  this  year  numbered  450,  and 
went  on  foot  fasting,  although  the  road  is  a 
bad  one,  and  the  distance  fifteen  miles.  Arriv- 
ing at  Montaigu,  the  pious  students  assisted 
at  Mass,  received  Holy  Communion,  and  lis- 
tened to  an  appropriate  sermon. 

Well  might  the  Angelus  bell  have  inscribed 
upon  it,  Vespere,  et  mane,  et  meridie  clamabo  et 
annu7itiabo  (Ps.  ,liv.  ,18), — '  'At  evening,  morn, 
and  noon  I  will  call  out,  and  give  the  angelic 
annunciation."  For  this  is  truly  the  order  of 
the  ecclesiastical  day,  and,  in  Southern  coun- 
tries of  more  Catholic  atmosphere,  of  the  civil. 
With  first  Vespers  comes  in  the  festival,  and 
the  sweet  Ave  Maria,  with  its  clattering  peal, 
rings  in  the  new  day.  We  own  we  like  it.  We 
love  liot  the  old  day  to  slip  away  from  us, 
and  the  new  one  to  steal  in, "  like  a  thief  in  the 


night, ' '  upon  our  unconscious  being,  and  when 
nature,  abroad  and  within  us,  most  awfully 
personates  dea^h.  We  like  the  day  to  die  even 
as  a  good  Christian  would  wish,  with  a  heaven 
of  mild  splendor  above,  enriched  in  hue  as  its 
close  approaches;  with  golden  visions  and 
loved  shapes,  however  fantastically,  floating 
in  clouds  around;  with  whispered  prayer,  and 
a  cheering  passing  bell,  and  the  comfort  that, 
when  gloom  has  overspread  all,  anew  though 
unseen  day  has  risen  to  the  spirit;  that  the 
vigil  only  has  expired,  that  so  the  festival-day 
may  break.  Then, when  we  awake  once  more 
to  sense  and  consciousness,  let  the  joyful  peal 
arouse  us,  with  the  first  dawn  of  day  and 
reason,  to  commemorate  that  Mystery  which 
alone  has  made  the  day  worth  living;  and 
greet,  with  the  natural,  the  spiritual  Sun — the 
Dayspring  from  on  high,  that  rose  on  be- 
nighted man,  and  chased  away  the  darkness 
and  the  shadow  of  death  wherein  he  sat.  Who 
does  not  see  and  feel  the  clear  analogy  ?  And 
who  will  neglect,  if  it  be  brought  thus  to  his 
memory,  to  shield  himself  behind  the  ample 
measure  of  this  grace,  against  "the  arrow  fly- 
ing in  the  day,"  in  its  sharp  and  well-aimed 
temptations?  The  which,  when  they  have 
reached  their  height,  and  when  all  the  holy 
dew  of  morning  devotion  seems  to  have  well- 
nigh  evaporated,  we  need  new  succor,  and 
refuge  ah  incursu  et  dcemonio  meridiano.  At 
these  eventful  periods  will  the  Angelus  bell 
call  out  to  us  aloud,  and  make  the  joyful  An- 
nunciation, speaking  in  angel's  words  and 
angel's  tone,  to  the  gladsome,  to  the  anxious, 
and  to  the  weary  heart — gladsome  at  mom, 
anxious  at  noon,  weary  at  eve.  Truly  it  was 
a  heavenly  thought  that  suggested  the  ap- 
pointment of  both  time  and  thing.  For  what 
can  chime  so  well  with  the  first  of  those  feel- 
ings and  its  season  as  the  glorious  news  that 
"the  Lord's  angel"  hath  brought  to  earth 
such  tidings  as  his  ?  What  can  suit  the  second 
better  than  to  speak  resignation  in  Mary's 
words,  '  Behold  Thy  servant,  or  handmaid,' — 
Fiat  mihi  secundu?n  verbum  tuum?  What 
can  refresh  the  third,  and  cast  forward  bright 
rays  into  the  gloom  of  approaching  night, 
more  than  the  thought  that  God's  own  Eter- 
nal Word  dwelleth  ever  amongst  us,  our 
Comforter  and  Help  ? 


The  conversion,  last  month,  of  Mgr.  Sa- 
varese,  the  chief  of  the  Schismatic  National 


42 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Churcb  of  Italy,  has  caused  great  rejoicing  in 
Rome.  It  is  anticipated  that  the  so-called 
Church  will  now  totally  collapse.  Mgr.  Sa- 
varese  has  made  humble  submission  for  his 
past  errors,  and  is  disposed  to  do  all  that  is 
possible  to  atone  for  the  scandal  given. 


The  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  Company 
have  presented  to  Father  Lacombe,  O.  M.  I., 
an  oil-painting  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the 
Infant  Jesus,  as  a  token  of  their  appreciation 
of  his  services  in  inducing  the  Blackfeet  In- 
dians to  take  no  part  in  the  lyouis  Riel  up- 
rising. They  recognize  the  fact  that  priests 
are  the  safeguards  of  law  and  order,  the  pro- 
moters of  peace,  the  friends  of  humanity. — 
The  Monitor. 

The  members  of  the  Tabernacle  Society,  of 
Washington,  have  been  invited  to  unite  with 
the  nuns  of  the  Perpetual  Adoration,  in  Rome 
and  in  Belgium,  in  offering  to  our  Holy  Fa- 
ther Leo  XIII.  testimonials  of  loyalty  and 
filial  piety  on  the  occasion  of  his  approaching 
sacerdotal  jubilee.  These  testimonials,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  objects  of  the  associations 
named,  and  as  being  most  pleasing  to  the 
heart  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  will  take  the 
form  of  gifts  of  sacred  vessels,  priestly  vest- 
ments, and  general  outfits  for  missionary  work. 
The  faithful  in  the  United  States  are  invited 
to  CO  operate  with  the  Society  at  Washington 
in  this  praiseworthy  undertaking,  by  which 
they  may,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  give  ex- 
pression to  their  filial  devotedness  to  the  Vicar 
of  Christ,  and  aid  in  serving  the  needs  of 
Catholic  missions. 

The  Society  of  Foreign  Missions,  of  Paris, 
includes  751  French  missioners,  of  whom  28 
are  bishops,  424  native  Chinese  priests,  and 
1,800  catechists;  and  possesses  2,292  churches 
and  chapels.  Under  the  care  of  these  are 
829,000  Catholics,  and  around  and  making  the 
field  of  labor  are  203  millions  of  pagans. 


Bernhard  Reiburg,  who  is  both  a  sculptor 
and  the  sacristan  of  the  Church  of  Our  I^ady 
at  Spandau,  on  occasion  of  the  passing  of  the 
new  Ecclesiastical  I^aw,  sent  to  Prince  Bis- 
marck a  bust  of  lyco  XIII.  made  by  himself, 
and  expressed  his  gratitude  that  ' '  sweet  May 
breezes  blow  once  more" — an  allusion  to  the 
now  reformed  or  abolished  May  I^aws.    In 


reply,  the  Chancellor  sent  the  following  auto- 
graph letter: 

Friedrichsruhe,  May  21. 

Sir; — You  have  given  me  great  pleasure  by  the 

gift  of  the  bust  of  his  Holiness  the  Pope,  which 

I  believe  to  be  a  very  good  likeness.    I  beg  you 

accept  my  most  sincere  thanks  for  your  very  kind 

attention. 

VoN  Bismarck. 


While  this  region  round  about  is  being 
seriously  agitated  on  the  temperance  question, 
it  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  briefly  relate 
how  one  man  became  a  total  abstainer.  He 
told  me  his  story  thus:  "I  was  possessed  by 
the  demon  of  drink,  and  no  persuasion  of 
friends  or  reflections  of  my  own  had  any  effect 
in  reforming  me  One  day  I  went  to  New 
York,  bent  upon  a  tremendous  carouse,  and  I 
had  it.  In  four  days  I  spent  $350  for  liquors  of 
all  kinds,  and  at  the  expiration  of  that  period 
my  besotment  maj^  be  better  imagined  than 
described.  Suddenly,  on  the  fifth  day,  while 
still  laboring  under  madness  caused  by  alco- 
hol, I  experienced  the  strangest  sensations  of 
remorse,  and  a  spirit  was  born  in  me  to  lead 
a  different  life.  As  if  supernaturally  inspired, 
I  rose,  trembling  and  yet  determined,  from  my 
bed,  seized  upon  the  cut-glass  decanters  and 
bottles  containing  the  fiery  fluid,  and  smashed 
them.  Amid  that  uncanny  wreck  I  raised  my 
hand  and  eyes  to  Heaven,  swearing  that,  by 
God's  grace,  I  would  never  touch  another  drop 
of  any  intoxicating  fluid,  even  if  my  life  de- 
pended upon  it.  I  grew  so  ill  that  a  doctor 
called  upon  me  and  prescribed  brandy.  I 
would  not  take  it.  He  said  I  would  die.  I 
answered  that  at  least  my  death  should  be  a 
sober  one.  After  him,  in  a  providential  way, 
a  Californian  entered  my  chamber,  and,  divin- 
ing the  situation,  took  instant  steps  to  remedy 
it.  He  had  me  put  in  a  Turkish  bath,  and 
then  gave  me  to  eat  some  dried  herb  of  his 
region,  that  filled  me  w^th  extraordinary 
warmth,  and  worked  internally  like  electric 
shocks.  I  rapidly  regained  my  health  and 
right  senses.  I  have  not  taken  a  drop  of  liquor 
from  that  hour,  and,  though  at  this  moment  I 
am  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  I  would  not  touch 
it  if  any  one  were  to  offer  me  all  this  property 
round  about,  which  is  valued  at  millions  of 
dollars.  I  learned  afterward  that  my  relatives, 
having  exhausted  all  known  human  means 
for  my  conversion,  had  had  recourse  to  divine 
aid.  Three  of  my  family  are  Sisters  of  Mercy. 


m 


The  Ave  Maria. 


43 


Appeal  was  made  to  their  prayers.  They 
offered  up  for  me  what  is  known  in  the  Catho- 
lic Church  as  a  'Novena' — that  is,  an  act  of 
devotion  lasting  nine  days.  It  was  on  the  ninth 
day,  at  the  very  moment  the  last  petition  was 
presented  beseeching^  to  the  Almighty  by 
these  holy  women,  that,  hundreds  of  miles 
distant,  in  the  very  midst  of  my  revel,  I  was 
by  some  supernatural  power  led  to  the  de- 
struction of  my  idols  and  to  permanent  sobri- 
ety, which,  with  Heaven's  help,  will  never 
be  violated.  When  I  see  other  men  drinking, 
or  when  a  temptation  is  set  before  me,  I  be- 
hold the  pale,  angelic  faces  of  three  religious 
women,  clad  in  the  black  and  white  habili- 
ments of  their  order,  with  one  hand  on  their 
rosaries  and  the  other  raised  in  gentle  admoni- 
tion. Some  people  call  this  superstition,  but 
what  a  saving  superstition  it  was  for  me!  " — 
Washington  Cor.  Augusta  Chronicle. 


New  Publications. 


The  stipends  of  ecclesiastics  suspended  by 
the  Prussian  Government  in  virtue  of  the  May 
Laws  amount  to  a  total  of  $4,000,000,  This 
immense  sum  remains  in  the  hands  of  the 
Prussian  Government,  which,  it  is  said,  is  in 
communication  with  the  Vatican  with  the 
view  of  devoting  it  to  some  useful  purpose. 
d^  If  report  be  true,  the  money  will  be  divided 
proportionately  between  the  various  dioceses, 
and  invested  for  the  benefit  of  aged  and  infirm 
clergymen 

The  Holy  Father  is  doing  all  in  his  power 
to  succor  the  destitute  and  homeless  in  China, 
and  to  rebuild  the  churches  and  schools  de- 
stroyed there  during  the  late  catastrophe.  It 
was  for  these  purposes  that  he  recently  sold 
all  the  valuable  presents  received  during  his 
pontificate. 

It  is  stated  as  a  singular  thing  that  the  con- 
verts to  Mormonism  come  entirely  from  the 
Protestant  population;  not  a  Catholic,  so  far 
as  known,  having  joined  them.  It  is  indeed 
to  be  wondered  at  that  not  a  single  Catholic 
has  joined  the  Mormons;  for  there  are  many 
uninstructed  and  nominal  Catholics,  who 
might,  seemingly,  be  as  easily  led  away  as 
Protestants.  But  we  should  as  soon  expect  a 
thorough  college  graduate  to  be  converted  to 
Brother  Jasper's  doctrine  that  "the  sun  do 
move,"  as  to  see  a  person  educated  in  the 
Catholic  faith  converted  to  Mormonism, — 
Ypsilanti  Sentinel. 


The  Christian  State  op  Life;  or.  Ser- 
mons on  the  Principal  Duties  of  Christians  in 
General,  and  of  Different  States  in  Particular. 
By  the  Rev.  Francis  Hunolt,  S.J.  Translated 
from  the  Original  German  Edition  of  Cologne, 
1740,  by  the  Rev.  J.  Allen,  D.  D.  Two  Volumes. 
New  York.  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Ivouis:  Benziger 
Brothers.    1886. 

The  title  of  this  work  sufficiently  indicates 
the  nature  of  its  contents.  It  presents  a  series 
of  very  practical  and  instructive  sermons 
upon  the  duties  which  one  must  fulfil  in  order 
to  live  in  a  manner  becoming  the  dignity  and 
vocation  of  a  Christian.  The  work  is  com- 
plete in  two  volumes,  containing  a  total  num- 
ber of  seventy-six  sermons,  which,  in  the 
extent  and  variety  of  their  treatment,  deal 
with  the  obligations  of  persons  in  the  world, 
of  every  age,  rank,  and  condition — in  their  re- 
lations to  God,  their  neighbor,  and  them- 
selves. Though  the  original  discourses,  of 
which  the  present  publication  is  a  translation, 
were  delivered  at  a  period  dating  almost  two 
centuries  back,  yet  the  simplicity  of  style  and 
plainness  of  language  employed  in  imparting 
the  knowledge  of  truth,  which  is  ever  the 
same,  make  them  suitable  to  peoples  of  all 
times  and  places.  The  great  popularity  of 
these  discourses,  so  long  and  favorably  known 
in  Europe,  is  a  proof  of  this.  Father  Hunolt's 
sermons,  as  the  translator  well  says,  "are 
sound  in  doctrine,  powerful  in  appealing  to 
every  motive  that  could  lead  men  to  virtue  or 
to  repentance,  and  they  display  a  knowledge 
of  human  nature  which  can  be  acquired  only 
by  long  experience  united  with  rare  learn- 
ing. ' '  As  may  be  well  understood,  the  work  is 
of  especial  value  to  the  members  of  the  clergy 
whose  time  is  taken  up  with  the  cares  and 
occupations  of  the  mission;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  to  the  lay  Christian  in  general  it  will  be 
found  to  possess  a  great  practical  usefulness, 
and  prove  the  source  of  much  spiritual  profit. 
We  can  heartily  commend  the  work  to  all 
classes  of  readers.  The  translation  has  been 
well  made;  the  simple  style  of  the  original  has 
been  preserved,  and  expressed  in  pure,  idio- 
matic Knglish.  The  publishers  have  done 
their  part  fairly  well:  the  volumes  are  printed 
in  good,  clear  type,  and  are  well  bound,  mak- 
ing them  both  presentablejin  appearance  and 


44 


The  Ave  Maria, 


vety  acceptable  as  offerings.  We  must  say, 
however,  that  the  title-page  is  marred  by 
crowding  into  it  matter  that  could  find  its 
proper  place  only  in  an  index;  for  what  we 
have  given  at  the  head  of  this  notice  is  but 
the  barest  outline  of  what  will  be  found  on 
the  title-page  of  the  book  itself. 

CoNEWAGO.    A  Collection  of  Catholic  I^ocal 
History,  Gathered  from  the  Fields  of  Catholic 
Missionary  Labor  within  Our  Reach.    A  Hum- 
ble Effort  to  Preserve  Some  Remembrance  of 
those  who   have   Gone   Before,  and,  by  their 
Lives,  their  Labors,  and  their  Sacrifices,  Se- 
cured for  Succeeding  Generations  the  Enjoy- 
ment of  Happy  Homes,  and  all  the  Blessings 
of  Our  Holy  Catholic  Religion.    By  John  T. 
Reily.    Herald  Print:  Martinsburg,  W.  Va. 
All  persons  who  are  interested  in  the  history 
of  the  Church  in  the  United  States  should  se- 
cure a  copy  of  this  entertaining  work.  Would 
that   in  every  State,  county,  and   parish,  a 
Lambing,  a  Webb,  an  Aldering,  a  Griffin,  or 
a  Reily  could  be  found  to  "gather  up  the 
fragments,"  and  place  them  in  a  form  to  be 
preserv^ed!     Photographs   of  the   interior  of 
Conewago  Chapel,  with  exterior  views  of  the 
old  cupola  and  new  steeple,  and  portraits  of 
the  Jesuit  Fathers  Enders,  Deneckere,  Vil- 
liger,  and  Kmig,  enhance  the  value  of  this 
excellent  though  unpretending  volume.   We 
hope  it  will  have  many  readers  among  the 
subscribers  of  Our  Lady's  magazine  in  the 
district  where  these  apostolic  men  labored. 


Obituary. 

"It  is  a  holy  and  vjkolesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  F.  X.  ObermuUer,  the  venerable  chap- 
lain of  St.  Rose's  Convent,  La  Crosse,  Wis.,  de- 
ceased on  the  12th  ult. 

SivSter  Vincent  (Margaret  McDonough),  lay- 
Sister  of  the  Ursulines,  who  died  suddenly  on  the 
22d  ult.,  at  Valle  Crucis  (near  Columbia),  S.  C. 

Mrs.  Catharine  Sullivan,  of  Fall  River,  Mass., 
whose  happy  death  took  place  on  the  27th  ult. 

Mrs.  Anne  Bell,  who  breathed  her  last  in  New 
Orleans,  on  the  12th  of  May. 

Mrs.  John  M.  Crumlish,  of  Wilmington,  Del.; 
William  Geekie  and  Miss  Ellen  Maloney,  St. 
Louis,  Mo. ;  Mrs.  Susan  Murray,  Gallitzin,  Pa. ; 
Miss  Emma  Connor,  and  Patrick  W.  Meagher, 
Marysburg,  Minn. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PAI^TMENI 


From  Tipperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  of  Tibby  Buti^er. 


BY  T.   F.  GALWEY. 


III. 


The  snow  was  falling  in  great  flakes  on 
the  morning  after  Tibby' s  arrival  in  Amer- 
ica. It  had  been  falling  since  midnight,  and 
travel  in  the  streets  of  New  York  was  con- 
sequently very  much  impeded.  On  many  of 
the  lines  no  horse-cars  were  running,  only 
that  now  and  again  an  immense  snow- 
plough  moved  slowly  along  the  tracks, 
piling  up  the  white  mass  on  both  sides  as 
it  went.  The  foot- walks  themselves  were 
nearly  impassable  in  all  but  the  most  im- 
portant thoroughfares. 

Tibby  made  his  way  with  difficulty 
through  the  narrow  avenue  which  the 
householders  and  storekeepers  were  already 
making  on  the  sidewalks  of  Greenwich 
Street,  until  he  came,  as  Schnupfer  had  di- 
rected him,  to  the  massive  granite  structure 
of  St.  Peter's  Church,  at  the  corner  of  Bar- 
clay Street.  Although  it  was  not  yet  quite 
six  o'clock,  and  barely  daylight,  hundreds 
of  persons  were  coming  to  Mass  from  dif- 
ferent directions,  through  the  deep  snow. 

Tibby  mounted  the  steps,  entered  the 
vestibule,  and  blessed  himself;  and  as  he 
pavSsed  through  into  the  nave  of  the  church 
he  felt  himself,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days,  at  home  once  more.  Though  he  was 
an  orphan,  and  all  alone  in  America,  so  far 
as  mankind  went,  he  knew  that  in  the  Tab- 
ernacle there,  where  the  lights  were  twin- 
kling on  the  altar,  far  up  at  the  other  end 
of  the  aisle,  was  his  Friend,  his  God.  He 
knelt  and  adored. 

Over  in  that  quiet  corner,  behind  the 
curtained  door  of  the  confessional,  God's 


The  Ave  Maria. 


45 


vi 


minister  was  sitting,  and  when  Tibby's  turn 
came,  he  went  in  and  made  his  confession, 
in  time  to  receive  Holy  Communion  at  the 
Mass  that  was  just  about  to  begin. 

It  was  bright  day  when,  after  having 
made  his  thanksgiving,  he  came  out  of 
the  church  into  the  street.  It  was  break- 
fast time,  too,  he  recognized  by  the  voice  in 
his  stomach,  which  was  speaking  plead- 
ingly to  him.  And  yet  before  returning  to 
the  boarding-house  he  was  determined  to 
give  a  half  hour  or  so  to  examining  the 
town,  in  order  to  find  out  what  were  the 

ances  of  employment. 

He  was  astonished  at  the  throngs  that 
already  came  hurrying  down  Broadway  and 
the  streets  leading  into  it;  but  he  was  espec- 
ially interested  in  observing  the  army  of 
newsboys,  some  of  them  of  about  his.  own 
age  and  size,  but  most  of  them  very  much 
younger  and  smaller — pale-complexioned, 
sharp-faced  little  fellows;  many  of  them  in- 
clined to  poke  fun  at  Tibby's  slow  walk 
and  amazed  expression,  and  at  the  unmis- 
takably foreign  cut  of  his  clothes. 

' '  Say !  what  are  yer  a-starin'  at,  Micky  ? ' ' 
said  one  insolent  chap.  ''This  ain't  no 
show.  This  is  business,  this  is.  Ye'd  better 
wake  up  and  go  to  work. ' ' 

"That's  true  for  you,"  answered  Tibby; 
but  before  he  could  continue  to  declare  his 
agreement  with  what  the  newsboy  had 
said,  that  young  worthy  had  darted  like  a 
shot  through  the  snow,  and  across  the  street 
to  where  a  man  stood  beckoning  for  a 
paper.  As  Tibby  went  on,  up  past  the  Post- 
Office  and  along  Park  Row,  he  was  bewil- 
dered at  the  excited,  hasty  manner  of  all 
he  met.  He  was  sure  he  had  never  seen 
such  bustle  in  Carrick-on-Suir,  and  even  in 
Cork,  as  he  recollected;  everything  was  as 
quiet  as  a  graveyard  compared  with  this 
breathless  hurry-skurry  of  the  people  in 
New  York  before  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

A  horse-car  was  moving  past  him  at  this 
moment,  and  the  words  "Central  Park" 
above  its  windows  attracted  his  attention. 
Central  Park,  he  thought,  must  be  in  the 
cetj-tre  gf  the  town,  and  it  -was  to  the  very 


centre  that  he  wanted  to  go  first  of  all.  He 
had  about  two  dollars  in  silver  in  his 
pocket — all  that  remained  of  his  funds.  He 
hailed  the  car,  and  would  have  fallen  under 
and  been  run  over  in  attempting  to  step 
upon  the  platform,  had  not  the  conductor 
caught  him  in  time. 

"I  suppose  the  horses  couldn't  stop?" 
he  politely  asked  the  conductor. 

"Yes,  they  could  stop,"  was  the  answer; 
' '  but  they  haven' t  time. ' ' 

Tibby  took  a  seat,  but  he  wished  he  were 
back  again  in  Carrick,  even  if  for  but  a 
day,  so  as  to  tell  the  ' '  Tips ' '  what  a  queer 
people  the  Americans  are;  even  the  work- 
horses are  in  a  hurry.  While  Tibby  was 
amusing  himself  with  these  critical  reflec- 
tions; the  conductor  approached  him,  and, 
in  a  guttural  tone,  said  "Fare!"  at  the 
same  time  thrusting  out  towards  him  what 
looked  like  a  silver-mounted  revolver. 

For  an  instant  Tibby  felt  himself  to  be 
growing  pale,  and  his  heart  almost  stopped 
beating.  "What  have  I  done,"  said  he, 
"that  you  should  shoot  me?  Do  you  call 
that/^/r.^" 

"Now,  look  here,  you  young  sprig  of 
shillelah,"  said  the  conductor,  impatiently, 
"I  haven't  got  time  to  be  fimny.  I  want 
your  fare. ' ' 

"Sure  I'll  give  it  to  you,  if  you  give  me 
time, ' '  said  Tibby,  putting  his  hand  down 
into  his  trousers  pocket  in  search  of  his 
money ;  ' '  but, ' '  he  remarked  softly,  though 
the  rising  indignation  was  bringing  a  flush 
to  his  cheeks  again,  "I  don't  see  why  you 
should  shoot  me  because  I'm  not  in  as 
much  haste  as  all  you  Yankees  seem  to  be 
in." 

"That  young  Mick  is  a  keen  one,"  said 
the  conductor,  a  few  moments  afterwards, 
pointing  out  Tibby  to  one  of  the  crowd  on 
the  rear  platform.  ' '  He  looks  as  if  he  was 
only  just  landed,  and  yet  he  has  been  mak- 
ing fun  of  my  bell-punch. ' ' 

But  Central  Park  was  evidently  a  long 
way  off;  for,  although  the  car  had  been  rat- 
tling on  for  half  an  hour,  there  was  still  no 
sign  of  a  park,  and  Tibby  was  now  very 
hungry.  He  determined,  therefore,  to  leave 


46 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  car,  and  eat  his  breakfast  before  pro- 
ceeding in  his  search  for  employment.  He 
told  the  conductor  to  "let"  him  "down  at 
once,"  but  the  car  did  not  stop  fully,  and 
Tibby  went  headlong  into  a  snow-bank. 
He  picked  himself  up,  however,  and,  beating 
the  snow  from  his  clothes,  and  brushing  it 
out  from  his  hair,  he  shouted  after  the  con- 
ductor:  "  You  are  an  uncivil  fellow,  sir!" 

The  sidewalks  on  either  hand  in  this 
neighborhood  were  almost  impassable  with 
the  snow.  Here  and  there  a  poor  man  or 
boy  was  at  work  clearing  the  way.  From 
all  directions  came  the  scraping  sound  of 
shovels;  but  the  shabby  creatures,  whose 
backs  were  bent  nearly  double  as  they 
tossed  the  snow  from  the  walks  in  front 
of  the  long  rows  of  comfortable-looking 
brown-stone  houses,  had  a  heavy  task  be- 
fore them. 

On  the  far  corner  of  the  block,  Tibby 
espied  an  ugly  brick  structure,  with  a  cross 
on  its  plain  gable — evidently  a  Catholic 
church;  and  towards  this  he  began  to  strug- 
gle on.  Rut  when,  by  dint  of  hopping, 
skipping,  .'ind  jumping  through  the  snow, 
he  had  nearh-  reached  that  corner,  he  found 
himself  so  weak  from  hunger,  and  so  much 
out  of  breath  from  the  exertion,  that  he 
could  go  no  farther.  He  sat  down  for  rest 
and  deliberation  on  the  lower  step  of  the 
high  flight  leading  to  the  hall- door  of  the 
house  next  to  the  church. 

Poor  Tibby!  He  was  not  easily  discour- 
aged, but  he  felt  really  despondent  now, 
in  spite  of  his  stout  heart.  He  thought  if 
he  could  drag  himself  a  little  farther  on 
through  the  snow  to  the  corner,  he  might 
find  the  church  door  open,  and  there  he 
could  warm  himself,  while  he  said  his  pray- 
ers and  made  up  his  mind  which  way  to 
turn. 

"Is  it  a  job  you  want?"  said  a  sharp 
voice  just  at  his  elbow.  As  Tibby  glanced 
quickly  to  see  who  had  spoken,  a  thin-faced, 
middle-aged  Irish  woman — a  servant  in  the 
house — stood  within  the  area  railing,  peer- 
ing at  him  over  the  side  of  the  steps. 

"Indeed  and  I  do  so,"  answered  Tibby, 
in  a  weak  and  rather  indistinct  tone;  for 


his  jaws  were  rattling  his  teeth  together, 
and  his  whole  frame  was  shivering  with 
cold.  "But,  first  of  all,  it's  famished  I  am 
with  the  cold;  and  I  was  wondering  is  there 
a  cook-shop  or  a  coffee-house  convenient, 
where  I  might  get  my  breakfast." 

The  hard  countenance  of  the  woman  re- 
laxed as  she  gazed  in  pity  at  the  little 
fellow. 

"Yerra,  b'y,  come  in  here  at  wanst,  and 
have  your  breckquist!"  she  said;  and  she 
opened  the  gate,  and  led  Tibby  down  the 
steps  with  her  into  the  basement  of  the 
house.  "Faith  it's  a  coffee-house  you 
want,  is  it?  It's  aisy  to  see  you're  not  long 
over.  Sit  down  there  by  the  fire, ' '  she  went 
on,  placing  a  seat  for  him  near  the  raging 
kitchen  stove.  "I'll  have  something  hot 
and  nourishing  for  you  in  three  skips  of  a 
lamb's  tail." 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  woman,  who 
was  from  a  county  in  Ireland  neighboring 
to  the  one  whence  Tibby  hailed,  knew  all 
about  the  youngster's  recent  adventures. 

Tibby  ate  a  hearty  breakfast,  and  then 
went  out  with  shovel  and  snow-scraper, 
and  before  an  hour's  time  had  earned  a  half- 
dollar,  and  had  a  clean  pavement  to  show 
as  a  result  of  his  work.    Such  thorough- 
ness!    There  was  not  as  much  soft  snow 
left  on  the  high  stoop  and  the  sidewalk  as 
I  would  have  filled  his  hat. 
1       That   was   the   thought   which    passed 
j  through  the  mind  of  the  gentleman  who 
I  was  standing  at  one  of  the  parlor  windows 
I  of  the  house,  looking  out  through  the  slats 

of  the  closed  shutters. 
j       "Do  you  know  that  boy,  Nora?"  the 
gentleman  inquired  of  the  servant,  who  was 
'  just  then  flourishing  through  the  hall  on 

her  usual  morning  walk. 
I      "  I  do  not.  your  reverence,"  she  answered; 
I  "except  that  he's  just  over.    Tibby  Butler 
I  is  his  name,  he  does  be  saying,  and  he's  from 
I  Tipperary." 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  was  Fa- 
ther Fitzgerald,  the  rector  of  the  church  at 
the  corner.  He  had  only  a  little  before  fin- 
ished his  own  breakfast  after  celebrating 
Mass,  and  was  now  in  conversation  with 


The  Ave  Maria. 


47 


another  gentleman,  a  friend  of  his  whom  he 
was  entertaining  for  a  few  days  as  a  guest 
—Colonel  Joe  Lynch,  of  Texas. 

"Bring  that  boy  up  here,  Nora,  before 
you  let  him  go,"  said  the  priest  to  the  ser- 
vant. "Colonel,"  he  said,  addressing  his 
guest,  who  was  sitting  curled  up  in  a  com- 
fortably-cushioned arm-chair  before  the 
cheerful  blaze  in  the  open  grate,  and  puffing 
away  at  a  fragrant  cigar;  "if  you  can  leave 
the  fire  for  a  moment,  come  here  to  the  win- 
dow. I  want  to  show  you  a  young  country- 
man of  ours,  who  has  just  arrived  from  the 
«ld  Sod,'  and  is  not  afraid  to  work." 
Colonel  Lynch  arose  reluctantly,  and  ap- 
proached the  window,  with  a  great  shiver. 

' '  Phew ! "  he  groaned.  ' '  Down  in  Texas 
we  think  a  Norther  is  bad  enough,  but  it's 
a  wonder,  Father  Fitzgerald,  you  all  don't 
freeze  to  death  up  here." 

"That's  the  result  of  your  twenty  years' 
life  in  the  enervating  Southern  climate," 
was  the  priest's  reply.  "But  what  do  you 
think  of  that  young  '  Tip '  there,  doing  his 
first  day's  labor  in  America?  Doesn't  the 
sight  of  such  industry  and  such  cleanness  of 
work  warm  your  heart  ? ' ' 

By  this  time  the  Irish-Texan — a  lean, 
dark  -  complexioned,  sinewy  man,  with 
heavy  black  eyebrows  and  steel-blue  eyes — 
had  partly  overcome  his  unwillingness  to 
admit  anything  good  in  connection  with  a 
Northern  winter,  and  was  staring  in  aston- 
ishment at  Tibby,  who  had  raised  a  great 
bank  of  snow  along  the  curb-stone,  and  was 
putting  on  the  finishing  touches  by  scru- 
pulously shovelling  away  any  little  hum- 
mocks of  snow  that  still  remained  on  the 
walk. 

"Ah!  here  he  comes  now,"  said  Father 
Fitzgerald  a  minute  later,  as  the  servant 
brought  Tibby  to  the  parlor  do  ^r. 

Tibby  was  all  in  a  glow  from  his  woik, 
and,  though  the  servant  carefully  brushed 
the  snow  from  his  clothes,  he  hesitated  to 
enter.  ' '  My  feet  are  wet, ' '  he  said,  ' '  and 
I'm  afraid  it's  soiling  the  carpet  I'll  be  if  I 
come  in." 

But  Father  Fitzgerald  took  him  gently 
by  the  shoulder,  and  led  him  to  a  low  chair 


at  the  fireplace,  where  he  made  him  sit 
down.  "Let  me  see  your  feet,"  said  the 
priest.  "Oh!  it's  your  boots,  you  mean; 
not  your  feet,"  he  slyly  remarked,  as  he 
cast  a  glance  at  the  Texan,  whose  admira- 
tion for  a  boy  that  could  face  snow  as  Tibby 
had  done  was  unbounded. 

The  two  gentlemen  soon  learned  from 
Tibby  what  was  his  past,  and  what  were  his 
designs  for  the  future.  It  was  evident  to 
both  that  Tibby  wa-^  ambitious,  as  most 
healthy  boys  are;  but  they  perceived  that 
along  with  ambition  he  had  industry  and 
courage;  and,  what  pleased  them  even  far 
more,  that  he  was  transparently  honest  as 
v/ell  as  pious.  His  religious  devotion  was 
set  off  by  a  straightforward  manner  of  go- 
ing about  whatever  he  had  to  do.  It  was 
plain  that  he  was  one  of  those  who  do  to 
the  best  of  their  ability  whatever  they  have 
to  do,  not  because  they  are  watched,  or  ex- 
pect a  reward,  but  because  they  are  honest. 
Tibby  seemed  to  be  almost  incapable  of 
trick  or  deceit;  or,  if  capable,  to  have  a 
good-natured  contempt  for  deception  in  any 
form. 

He  was  such  a  boy  as,  if  he  lived  to  grow 
up  into  manhood  and  old  age,  would  always 
retain  the  freshness  of  mind  and  the  senti- 
ment of  youth.  If  he  was  what  some  would 
call  an  "old-fashioned,"  he  was  of  the  sort 
that  would  in  after-years  still  be  young  in 
mind  and  body,  when  the  trickier  or  more 
boisterous  companions  of  his  boyhood  had 
become  prematurely  old. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Bridget.— A  Prison  Story.* 

One  day  the  matron  of  a  great  prison  came 
to  Father  Nugent,  and  said  to  him: 

"Father,  there  is  a  young  woman  in  the 
dark  cell  whom  we  can  do  nothing  with.  She 
is  as  strong  as  three  men,  and  is  so  violent 
that  no  one  can  master  her.  I  have  tried 
everything  to  tame  her,  but  in  vain.  She  is 
screaming  and  shouting  now  like  a  wild  beast. 
Do  come  and  see  if  you  can  calm  her. ' ' 

*  Selected.  Adapted  from  "True  Wayside 
Tales,"  by  lyady  Herbert. 


a8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Father  went  straight  into  the  dark 
cell,  and  the  moment  there  was  a  pause  in  the 
torrent  of  bad  words  which  fell  from  the  girl's 
lips,  he  said,  in  a  very  gentle  voice: 

"  Hush,  my  child!    You  must  whisper." 

This  checked  her  at  once:  she  became  quite 
still  and  silent;  and  then  he  began  talking  to 
her  in  the  kindest  way,  promising  to  get  her 
taken  out  of  punishment  if  she  would  only 
behave  differently.  The  poor  girl  after  a  time 
burst  into  tears,  and  exclaimed: 

"Father,  these  are  the  first  kind  words 
that  have  been  spoken  to  me  in  my  whole 
life." 

He  found  in  this  way  the  key  to  her  heart, 
and  then  she  told  him  her  whole  history.  Her 
mother  had  died  in  giving  her  birth,  so  that 
she  never  knew^  a  mother's  care.  Her  father, 
who  was  a  bad  and  worthless  man,  and  angry 
at  having  a  baby  left  on  his  hands,  deserted 
her,  and  went  off  to  America.  She  was  found 
in  the  empty  house  by  the  police,  and  was 
going  to  be  taken  to  the  workhouse,  when  a 
woman  came  forward,  saying  she  had  no  chil- 
dren of  her  own,  and  would  adopt  her.  This 
woman  in  reality  only  wanted  to  have  her  to 
beg;  and  when  she  became  a  little  older,  poor 
Bridget  was  forced  in  all  weathers  to  go  out 
barefooted  to  sell  flowers  or  matches,  and  if 
she  were  unsuccessful,  was  cruelly  whipped 
on  coming  back  to  her  wretched  home. 
She  was  always  half  starved,  and  lived  be- 
sides in  perpetual  terror  of  this  hard-hearted 
woman;  so  that  very  often,  she  said,  she 
thought  of  putting  an  end  to  her  miserable 
little  life. 

At  last  she  got  acquainted  with  some  bad 
girls,  who  laughed  at  her  for  her  cowardice 
in  not  running  away  from  this  cruel  task- 
mistress,  and  persuaded  her  at  last  to  come 
and  live  with  them.  There  she  became  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  vice  of  the  streets,  and 
finally  was  induced  to  take  part  in  a  jewel 
robbery,  which  ended  in  her  capture  and  im- 
prisonment. 

Father  Nugent  got  the  matron  to  take  her 
out  of  the  dark  cell,  and  then  had  a  little 
further  conversation  with  her.  He  found  she 
was  only  too  anxious  to  learn,  and  was  really 
good  at  heart,  though  so  utterly  untrained, 
or  rather  trained  in  nothing  but  evil.  He  per- 
suaded the  matron  to  employ  her  in  other 
works  about  the  house;  and  very  soon,  to  the 
matron's  astonishment,  she  was  found  to  be 


the  best  and  most  industrious  of  the  prison- 
ers. 

When  the  term  of  her  imprisonment  was 
nearly  at  an  end,  poor  Bridget  became  very 
sad  and  downcast. 

' '  What  will  become  of  me, ' '  she  exclaimed 
one  day  to  Father  Nugent, ' '  when  I  leave  this 
place  ?  I  have  no  friends  and  no  character, 
and  yet  I  would  rather  die  than  go  back  to 
my  old  life ! ' ' 

' '  Did  I  not  tell  you, ' '  replied  Father  Nu- 
gent, ' '  that  if  you  would  only  become  a  good 
girl,  I  would  never  forsake  you  ? ' ' 

She  thanked  him  with  tears,  and  he  was 
as  good  as  his  word.  Before  her  term  of  im- 
prisonment had  expired  he  had  begged  her 
passage-money,  and  the  very  day  she  left  the 
prison  he  put  her  in  a  Home,  where  she  re- 
mained until  he  was  able  to  start  for  Canada, 
which  he  did  a  week  or  two  later,  taking  her 
with  him.  When  he  arrived  there  he  placed 
her  with  the  "Grey  Sisters,"  who  employed 
her  in  their  infirmary.  They  found  her  not 
only  most  handy  and  willing,  but  entirely  de- 
voted to  the  sick. 

After  a  time  they  procured  her  an  excellent 
situation.  She  had  grown  a  fine,  handsome 
woman,  though  the  events  of  her  early  life 
had  left  an  expression  of  great  sadness  on  her 
face.  She  was,  however,  thoroughly  good  and 
steady,  modest  in  her  ways,  and  quiet  and 
handy  in  her  work. 

A  few  years  later  Father  Nugent  returned 
to  Canada,  and  went  to  see  her.  He  was  de- 
lighted at  the  high  character  he  received  of 
her  from  her  employers,  and  when  he  was 
leaving  her  she  slipped  a  handful  of  dollars 
into  his  hand. 

"What  is  this  for?"  he  exclaimed,  trying 
to  return  it  to  her.    But  she  replied: 

"Oh,  Father!  do  take  it,  and  spend  it  on 
some  poor  neglected  child,  such  as  I  was;  for 
no  one  knows  better  than  I  what  they  have  to 
go  through." 


In  all  places,  then,  and  in  all  seasons, 

Flowers  expand  their  Mght  and  soul-like 
wings. 
Teaching  us,  by  most  persuasive  reasons, 

How  akin  they  are  to  human  things. 
And  with  childlike,  credulous  affection, 

We  behold  their  tender  buds  expand; 
Emblems  of  our  own  great  resurrection — 

Emblems  of  the  bright  and  better  land. 

— Longfellow. 


Vol.  XXIIL  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUIvY  17,   1886. 


No.  3. 


lC!opyright  •.—Kmv.  D.  E.  HOTeoH,  C.  8.  C] 


The  Madonna  of   Landen. 


BY  THE  REV.  F.  BICKERSTAFFE  DREW. 
I. 

ERHAPS  you  have  never  been  to 

Landen?    You  may  have  seen  the 

^  glories  of  the  sunset  on  Himalayan 


peaks,  whose  white  teeth  are  reddened  with 
the  day's  death-blood;  or  the  sun  which 
never  sets  at  all,  all  Summer  long,  at  Ham- 
merfest;  and  yet  the  chances  are  that  you 
have  never  set  foot  in  the  narrow  valley  of 
Landen. 

It  is  not  over  easy  to  reach,  and  yet  it  is 
not  so  very  far  away.  The  best  plan  is  to 
walk  from  Baden-Baden  over  the  Hornis- 
griinde,  and  so  to  Allerheiligen,  where  you 
can  procure  lodging  at  the  once  great  Pre- 
monstratensian  Abbey,  whence  long  since 
the  White  Canons  have  been  driven  out. 
For  Landen  was  a  dependency  of  Aller- 
heiligen, and  a  few  hours'  walk  up  into 
the  forest  will  bring  you  to  it. 

The  small  nameless  river  that  flows 
along  the  valley,  and  will  ultimately  find 
its  way  to  the  great  Rhine  somewhere  out 
on  the  plain  of  Strasburg,  is  surrounded  by 
pleasant  pastures  and  cool  thickets,  white 
with  spircBa;  and  these  fields  are  bordered 
by  the  advanced  guards  of  the  actual  forest. 
Close  by  the  left  bank  of  the  river  the  road 
winds,  with  now  and  then  a  great  painted 
post  beside  it,  like  a  huge  sugar-stick,  to 
mark  the  boundaries  of  the  Grand  Duchy 


and  the  Kingdom  of  Wiirtemberg;  and  now 
and  then  also  an  elaborate  Calvary  of 
painted  wood,  with  Judas  and  his  money- 
bag, St.  Peter  and  his  keys,  and  the  local 
saint  with  proper  emblem. 

About  half-way  up  the  valley  is  a  little 
detached  hill,  or  mound,  crowned  with  what 
was  once  the  Monastery  of  Our  Lady  of 
the  Wood,  and  is  now  the  Hotel  du  Roi  de 
Wiirtemberg.  Long  ago  its  last  exiled 
mxonk  was  laid  to  rest  under  the  shadow  of 
trees  all  unlike  the  odorous  pines  of  his 
own  valleys ;  and  now  weedy  Alsacian  wait- 
ers, chronically  evening-dressed,  lounge  and 
chatter  in  the  cloisters  where  he  held  a 
meditative  silence.  In  the  prior's  cell  the 
thrifty  hostess  augments  her  reckonings, 
and  in  the  great,  cool  refectory  sit  blowzy 
baronesses  and  impecunious  princes. 

The  chapel  alone  is  undesecrated,  for  the 
merciful  storms  of  a  century  have  reduced 
it  to  less  incongruous  ruin ;  and  one  can  see 
how  beautiful  it  was  once,  though  it  must 
always  have  been  of  plain  exterior,  ^nd 
perhaps  of  no  great  merit  architecturally. 
The  green  grass  is  its  only  pavement  now, 
and  the  blue  floor  of  God's  heaven  its  sole 
roofing;  but  a  few  patches  of  fresco  on  the 
walls  suggest  past  beauties,  and  some  of 
the  empty  windows  show  still  a  little  rude 
tracery.  Over  the  high  altar  is  a  large, 
smooth  space,  where  formerly  was  to  be  seen 
the  miraculous  picture  of  Landen. 

Man}^  of  the  peasants  in  the  valleys  round 
about  have  brightly  colored  prints,  which 
they  claim   to   be   copies  of  the  original 


so 


The  Ave  Maria. 


painting.  These  prints  show  a  grave-eyed 
Teutonic  Maiden,  with  smooth  flaxen  hair, 
and  fair,  sweet  face,  holding  two  children 
in  her  arms,  neither  of  whom  bears  any 
likeness  to  the  typical  Christ-Child,  who 
lies  smiling  at  her  feet.  Behind  is  a  rude 
representation  of  the  forest  on  a  wild,  win- 
try night — 'the  driving  snow  standing  out 
against  the  blackness  of  the  pine-trees,  and 
almost  obscuring  the  light  of  a  pale,  cold 
moon.  The  following  is,  in  brief,  the  his- 
tory of  the  Madonna  of  Landen : 

There  was  at  Allerheiligen,  in  the  very 
height  of  its  prosperity,  a  certain  monk 
called  Rudolph,  who  had  been  Count  of 
Ottenhofen,  but  who,  hearing  read  the  Gos- 
pel wherein  Christ  said  to  the  young  man, 
'One  thing  thou  lackest,'  had  left  all  to 
his  brother,  and  put  on  the  habit  of  relig- 
ion. The  young  monk  made  rapid  progress 
in  perfection,  and  was  noted  for  his  tender 
charity,  which  led  him  to  see  in  all  men 
but  the  counterpart  and  representatives  of 
his  divine  Master.  The  poor  and  wretched 
for  miles  around  were  wont  to  come  to 
him  in  all  their  miseries,  and  he  was  fre- 
quently to  be  found  in  their  huts,  dressing 
loathsome  wounds,  making  savory  messes 
with  his  own  hands,  and  performing  the 
most  menial  and  toilsome  labors  for  the  old 
and  helpless,  who  were  -unable  to  do  any- 
thing for  themselves. 

One  Winter  a  great  famine  came  upon 
the  Schwarzwald,  and  many  of  the  forest 
people  died;  but  in  the  valleys  round  Al- 
lerheiligen the  poor  were  well  cared  for. 
The  Lord  Abbot  daily  gave  large  alms  of 
bread  to  all  who  appeared  at  the  gate; 
while  the  good  monks  carried  provisions 
and  fuel  to  the  sick  and  aged,  who  were  not 
able  to  leave  their  homes. 

But  about  this  time  a  great  sorrow  fell 
upon  the  monks  themselves;  their  beloved 
abbot,  who  had  governed  the  monastery 
for  almost  half  a  century,  was  called  to  his 
reward,  and  the  loss  was  deeply  felt  by  his 
bereaved  children.  However,  when  the  pre- 
cious remains  had  been  laid  to  rest  under 
the  chancel  floor,  and  a  chapter  had  been 
held  in  order  to  appoint  a  successor,  all  the 


monks  were  filled  with  joy  to  find  Rudolph 
chosen  to  replace  the  saintly  abbot,  although 
the  good  Brother  was  still  young,  and  had 
never  before  held  an  office  in  the  house. 

Of  all  the  community,  only  one  monk 
was  grieved  at  the  choice,  and  that  was 
Rudolph.  Nevertheless,  he  obeyed,  and 
bent  his  shoulder  in  meek  submission  to 
the  burden  that  had  been  laid  upon  him, 
although  he  was  very  sad  at  heart.  ' '  Not 
for  a  jewelled  mitre  did  I  lay  down  my  hel- 
met of  plain  steel, ' '  he  say  within  himself; 
"  but  rather  to  be  the  last  soldier  in  the  army 
of  our  great  Captain,  Christ."  The  keys  of 
the  monastery  were  harder  to  carry  than 
he  had  ever  found  his  long  sword  or  spear, 
and  the  cross  of  silver  and  gold  he  now 
bore  upon  his  breast  was  the  heaviest  cross 
that  had  ever  been  laid  upon  him.  Yet  so 
well  and  wisely  did  he  govern  the  great 
abbey,  that,  as  a  sweet  odor  draweth  bees, 
even  so  did  the  reputation  of  his  sanctity 
draw  many  youth  to  his  quiet  retreat.  So 
great,  indeed,  was  the  increase  of  postu- 
lants, that  it  was  found  necessary  to  bt^ild 
a  new  house  in  order  to  accommodate 
them. 

The  remote  valley  of  Landen  was  chosen 
as  the  hive  where  the  new  swarm  should 
take  up  their  abode;  and,  when  the  building 
was  finished,  certain  of  the  brethren  from 
Allerheiligen  were  sent  to  found  the  new 
house,  among  whom  was  Rudolph.  ''I 
have  borne, ' '  he  said,  ' '  the  yoke  of  govern- 
ment patiently  until  now;  suffer  me,  then, 
to  go  in  peace,  to  bear  a  little  severity  and 
hardship  in  this  our  new  home;  and  choose 
you  a  better  ruler  to  be  over  you, — one 
who  has  well  learned  to  obey;  for  only  he 
who  has  been  long  in  subjection  is  fit  to 
govern  others. ' '  So  they  suffered  him  to 
go;  and  because  he  had  borne  rule  (for  such, 
humility  is  more  needful)  he  was  set  to 
cook  for  the  brethren,  in  which  capacity  he 
labored  diligently,  and  gave  entire  satis- 
faction. 

Now,  everything  at  Landen  was  poor  and 
simple.  Even  the  chapel,  though  a  large, 
beautiful  building,  was  very  plain  in  its 
decorations;    it  contained  but  two  altars, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


51 


without  any  paintings.  Over  the  high  altar 
was  a  great  space,  where,  in  time,  some  de- 
vout artist  might  be  tempted  to  exercise  his 
skill.  Rudolph  often  looked  at  this  vacant 
spot,  and  longed  to  see  it  filled  with  a  beau- 
tiful representation  of  some  scene  from 
the  life  of  our  divine  Lord  or  His  Blessed 
Mother;  but  for  the  present  there  was  no 
hope  of  seeing  his  wish  realized;  he  must 
wait  and  pray. 

However,  in  the  second  year  of  the  foun- 
dation a  young  man — a  painter  of  consid- 
erable merit — presented  himself  at  the 
monastery  door,  and  Rudolph  looked  upon 
the  newcomer  as  a  messenger  from  Heaven, 
in  answer  to  his  long  and  earnest  prayers. 
Brother  Willibrord  was  set  to  paint  the 
great  space  above  the  altar.  He  began  by 
drawing  an  outline  of  his  subject,  and  then 
filled  in  a  little  of  the  coloring,  leaving 
the  background  all  confused.  The  monks 
on  coming  to  the  chapel  always  looked 
curiously  to  see  how  he  was  progressing, 
and  at  last  he  had  finished  Our  Lady  with 
the  Divine  Child  in  her  arms.  There  re- 
mained to  be  executed  only  the  scenery  be- 
hind the  figure,  and  the  ground  beneath  its 
feet. 

"In  the  background  I  shall  paint  Aller- 
heiligen,"  said  the  artist;  "and  make  it 
appear  as  though  the  Blessed  Virgin  were 
coming  thence  to  Landen,  holding  the 
Christ-Child  in  her  arms."  But  Brother 
Willibrord  never  painted  thus,  as  we  shall 
see  in  the  sequel. 

IL 

One  night  in  midwinter,  when  the  snow 
lay  thick  and  deep  throughout  the  valleys 
of  the  forest,  the  monk  Rudolph  went  to 
pray  in  the  chapel,  when  his  kitchen  work 
was  done;  and,  being  wearied  therewith,  he 
soon  fell  asleep.  How  long  he  slept  he 
knew  not,  but  when  he  awoke  the  lamps 
were  extinguished,  and  only  that  before  the 
high  altar  was  still  burning.  Its  mild  radi- 
ance fell  on  the  plain  altar  of  rough-hewn 
stone,  on  the  monks'  stalls,  and  on  the  un- 
finished picture  on  the  wall.  Rudolph  knelt 
in  a  dark  corner  apart,  and  so  it  happened 
that  he  had  not  been  noticed  by  those  who 


had   come   to  put  out  the  lights   in   the 
chapel. 

He  presently  arose,  and  passing  before 
the  altar  genuflected,  and  was  about  to  turn 
away,  when  his  eyes  fell  once  more  on  the 
picture  behind  it.  Then  he  stood  still  in 
wonderment.  The  Christ- Child  was  there, 
lying  on  the  ground  and  smiling,  as  He 
raised  His  tiny  hand  to  bless;  but  the 
Gottes  Mutter  was  gone,  and  Rudolph  saw 
only  the  background  rough  and  confused. 
He  looked  long,  in  doubt  of  his  senses,  but 
the  picture  remained  the  same:  Our  Lady 
was  not  there,  and  the  Divine  Infant  lay 
smiling  on  the  ground. 

While  Rudolph  stood  thus,  wondering 
and  astonished,  he  became  aware  that  a 
cold  draught  was  blowing  on  his  face,  and 
causing  the  red  lamp  of  the  sanctuary  to 
flicker  nervously.  He  went  therefore  across 
the  choir  towards  the  sacristy,  the  low, 
arched  door  of  which  he  found  ajar,  and, 
passing  thence  into  a  narrow  cloister  run- 
ning round  the  eastern  portion  of  the 
chapel,  came  to  another  postern  opening 
into  the  monks'  garden.  This  also  stood 
ajar,  and  through  it  the  cold  air  of  the 
winter  night  came  strong  and  keen.  More 
and  more  was  the  good  monk  filled  with 
astonishment  and  fear,  for  seldom  was  this 
postern  opened  at  all,  and  never  left  un- 
locked through  the  night.  It  was  not 
snowing  now,  and  the  pale,  full  moon 
stared  down  out  of  a  steel-blue  sky  upon 
the  forest. 

Rudolph  went  out  a  few  paces,  and 
looked  around  for  sight  or  sound  of  aught 
unusual  that  might  explain  the  strange  oc- 
currence; but  all  lay  still  as  death,  wrapped 
in  the  white  mantle  of  the  winter  night. 
He  was  slowly  going  back  into  the  mon- 
astery, his  head  bent  in  thought,  when  he 
noticed  that  there  were  other  footprints  in 
the  snow  beside  his  own;  they  were  small 
and  light,  like  a  woman's,  and  were  turned 
away  from  the  abbey  towards  the  forest. 
He  followed  them  some  distance,  and  they 
did  not  cease ;  up  the  hill- side  they  led 
him,  off"  the  main  cart-road,  and  into  one  of 
the  narrow  tracks  that  lead  to  the  thickest 


52 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  the  wood.  Here  it  was  often  too  dark  to 
see  the  footprints,  but  still  Rudolph  walked 
on  patiently,  till  he  came  to  a  place  where 
the  moonlight  fell  again  upon  the  path,  and 
then  he  found  the  small  footmarks  ever 
pointing  forward  into  the  forest. 

For  an  hour  he  followed  them,  and  now 
he  was  quite  in  the  recesses  of  the  great 
pine  forest.  Suddenly  the  night-silence  was 
broken  by  a  sound  that  held  his  heart  still, 
and  made  his  pulses  cease  to  beat.  Down 
the  mountain-side  from  about  a  mile  away 
there  came,  on  the  clear,  still  air,  the  bay  of 
many  wolves.  Where  Rudolph  stood  it  was 
pitch-dark;  the  pines  were  thick  around, 
and  their  black  arms  were  twined  together 
overhead;  but  a  hundred  yards  in  the  dis- 
tance he  could  see  the  moonlight  on  the 
snow.  Should  he  go  backward,  or  stay 
here  in  the  darkness,  and  climb  one  of  the 
trees,  to  be  in  safety  from  the  wolves?  or  go 
forward,  and  see  if  the  footprints  still  con- 
tinued? Onward  towards  the  white  light 
and  towards  the  wolves  the  monk  went, 
making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  and  praying 
as  he  approached. 

On  drawing  nearer  to  the  place  where  the 
moonlight  fell,  he  saw  some  one  coming  to 
meet  him  out  of  the  blackness  beyond.  At 
first  the  shadows  were  about  their  way,  and 
he  could  not  distinguish  whether  it  were 
man  or  woman;  but  soon  the  figure  came 
out  iiito  the  moonlight,  and  he  saw  it  was 
a  lady,  tall  and  stately,  with  raiment  of 
glistering  white,  and  a  mantle  like  the 
blue  waters  of  the  summer  sea;  and  in  her 
arms  she  held  two  little  children,  whom  she 
pressed  against  her  shoulders  lovingly. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  pines  the  monk 
Rudolph  stood  still  in  reverent  wonder- 
ment, his  eyes  fastened  on  the  vision  before 
him.  Full  well  he  knew  that  dazzlino- 
raiment,  and  that  sapphire  veil,  and  those 
kind,  mother-eyes  of  the  Lady  coming  to 
meet  him.  It  was  the  Gottes  Mutter  of  the 
picture  Brother  Willibrord  was  painting. 

For  a  few  moments,  that  were  to  the 
monk  Rudolph  as  a  thousand  years,  he 
watched  her  as  she  approached;  then,  fall- 
ing down  upon  his  knees,  he  covered  his 


face  with  his  hands,  and  did  not  dare  to 
look.  Presently  there  came  upon  the  night 
air  the  noise  of  far-off  bells,  as  of  the  chime 
from  all  the  steeples  of  a  Gothic  town,  and 
Rudolph  raised  his  head  to  hear.  Just  by 
him  in  the  snow  two  small  children  stood 
watching  him,  hand  in  hand,  and  waiting 
for  him  to  uncover  his  face  and  speak.  But 
the  Lady  had  left  them  and  was  gone. 

' '  Carry  us ! "  the  children  begged ;  and, 
rising  from  his  knees,  Rudolph  lifted  them 
in  his  arms,  and  turned  homeward,  with 
the  pair  nestled  against  his  heart. 

The  noise  of  those  unearthly  bells  came 
no  more  through  the  listening  air,  but  soon 
there  was  again  the  cry  of  the  wolves,  which 
grew  more  distinct  as  Rudolph  hurried  on. 
Still  he  seemed  to  keep  pace,  and  it  was 
wonderful  how  swiftly  he  sped  homeward 
with  the  sleeping  children  in  his  arms.  It 
was  not  till  he  reached  the  open  space  be- 
tween the  forest  and  the  monastery  that 
he  could  hear  the  trampling  of  the  wolves 
through  the  thicket,  and  knew  that  now, 
at  all  events,  they  were  upon  his  track. 
How  long  those  last  few  hundred  paces 
seemed!  He  hardly  dared  to  look  around, 
and  when  he  did  he  saw  the  black  forms 
of  the  wolves  bounding  over  the  snow. 

Onward,  onward  he  pressed,  and  the 
children  were  wakened  by  his  speed.  The 
wolves  gained  step  by  step;  he  could  hear 
their  panting  now ;  and  still  the  postern  was 
not  reached.  Great  God,  if  it  should  be 
shut!  Perhaps  the  wind  had  blown  it  to; 
it  lay  in  black  darkness,  and  he  could  not 
see.  Onward,  quicker — the  postern  was  all 
but  reached;  he  would  surely  be  in  time. 
But,  nay !  he  stumbled,  and  tripped,  and  fell 
headlong  forward,  and  the  wolves  drew  on 
apace.  Something  surely  lifted  him  up; 
how  else  rose  he  so  swiftly  ?  Again  he  flew 
forward,  like  the  wind  that  whistled  in  his 
ears;  the  wolves  were  hardly  a  dozen  paces 
from  him  now,  and  the  postern  door  was 
half  a  dozen  still  in  front.  Oh!  God,  if  it 
should  be  shut!  For  all  the  heat  of  his 
running,  an  icy  sweat  burst  out  upon  him 
at  the  mere  chance  of  that  horror;  and  his 
eyes  were  well-nigh  strained  from  looking 


The  Ave  Maria, 


53 


forward  into  the  dark  shadow,  but  he  could 
not  see. 

On,  on,  on;  his  feet  were  on  the  lowest 
step,  but,  ah!  dear  God!  the  oaken  door 
was  shut!  Its  panels  filled  the  arched  door- 
way, and  lay  against  the  door-sills  all 
around.  In  frozen,  icy  despair,  the  monk 
Rudolph  almost  turned  to  face  the  foe. 
Was  not  that  less  terrible  than  to  press 
against  that  sullen  door,  and  be  overtaken 
vainly  knocking,  where  there  was  none  to 
answer  ?  But,  by  Christ' s  dear  grace,  he  did 
not;  hoping  against  dead  hope,  he  stum- 
bled forward,  and  fell  against  the  door^ 
and,  joy!  it  yielded;  it  but  lay  to,  and  was 
not  shut.  Into  the  cloister  he  fell  forward, 
and  even  that  fall  well-nigh  cost  him  all. 
Before  the  door  was  quite  closed,  the 
wolves  were  leaping  at  the  threshold.  The 
cloister  was  narrow,  and,  with  his^  feet 
thrust  against  the  wall  opposite,  Rudolph 
pushed  with  all  his  might,  and  held  the  door 
against  them;  while  he  sent  the  two  chil- 
dren to  ring  the  great  bell  in  the  chapel, 
and  rouse  the  brethren  withal. 

vSoon  through  the  dim  chapel  and  dim- 
mer cloister  the  religious  came  to  aid  him. 
The  door  was  pressed  to  and  locked  secure; 
then  together  they  passed  into  the  chapel, 
and  sang  the  Te  Deum  in  the  silent  night. 
As  their  eyes  were  raised  to  the  picture 
over  the  high  altar,  greatly  were  the  monks 
astonished;  for  the  Christ- Child  lay  smil- 
ing in  the  snow,  and  the  Gottes  Mutter 
held  two  children  in  her  arms. 

The  rescued  little  ones  themselves  (who 
had  been  lost  and  benighted  in  the  grim 
forest)  were  taken  back  on  the  morrow  to 
their  home,  where  they  remained  until  they 
were  of  age.  Then  both  of  them  took  the 
habit  of  religion  in  the  Monastery  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Wood,  at  Landen,  where,  in 
great  observance,  they  lived  to  a  blessed 
age. 

This  is  the  legend  of  the  miraculous 
picture  of  Landen. 


Parents  who  are  ignorant  of  their  duty 
will  be  taught  by  the  misconduct  of  their 
children  what  they  should  have  done.—/.  E. 


Growing  Older. 

BY    ANtJELIQUE    DE   LANDE. 

"  It  is  part  of  the  gladness  of  growing  older,  not 
only  that  we  are  thereby  drawing  nearer  to  our 
first  sight  of  Him  [Jesus],  but  that  we  feel  our 
dependence  upon  Him  more  and  more." — Faber. 

if:  ROWING  older!— drawing  nearer 
^    To  the  first  entrancing  sight 
Of  the  Saviour's  matchless  beauty, 

In  His  own  fair  realm  of  light. 
Growing  older! — thoughts  of  gladness 

Gild  the  hours  as  swift  they  fly, 
Chasing  ever3^  cloud  of  sadness 

From  the  Christian's  sunset  sky. 

Growing  older! — daily,  hourly, 

I^earning  more  our  need  of  Him 
In  the  splendor  of  whose  presence 

E'en  the  noonday  sun  grows  dim. 
I^eaning  more  in  dear  dependence 

On  the  sinner's  faithful  Friend, 
Casting  every  care  upon  Him 

Who  has  loved  us  to  the  end. 

Year  by  year  the  milestones  lessen 

As  our  birthdays  come  and  go, 
Ploughing  furrows  on  smooth  foreheads, 

Flecking  raven  locks  with  snow. 
Growing  older! — Blessed  Master! 

lyifting  trembling  hands  in  prayer, 
Come  we  oftener  to  Thine  Altar, 

Sure  to  find  Thee  waiting  there. 

Growing  older! — feebly  groping 

Through  that  mystic,  shadowy  vale 
lycading  unto  Death's  dark  portal. 

Where  the  flesh  and  spirit  fail. 
Aching  hearts  and  wearied  bodies, 

Battle-scarred  and  travel-worn, 
In  the  sleep  of  Christ's  beloved 

Wait  the  Resurrection  morn. 


We  should  let  no  day  pass  without  some 
deliberate  act  of  mortification,  interior  or 
exterior — some  check  to  nature,  to  show  the 
lower  part  of  the  soul  that  it  is  subject  to 
the  higher;  as  a  coachman  chucks  the  reins 
occasionally,  for  no  special  purpose, 
to  remind  the  horses  that  they  are 
ging  along  the  road  for  their  priv; 
fication. — Father  .Tracey  Clarke^ 


54 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


Philip's   Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


aN^ 


III. 

WHO  are  the  Percivals?  The  question 
seemed  to  haunt  Philip.  He  was  too 
proud  to  ask  further  information  of  Graham, 
after  the  latter  had  waived  the  inquiry  and 
referred  him  to  his  uncle;  but  even  at  the 
moment  he  had  felt  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  him  to  go  to  his  uncle  with 
such  a  question.  Why  impossible  he  did 
not  know,  except  that  Graham's  tone  had 
been  very  significant;  and  deep  in  Philip's 
own  heart  was  a  consciousness,  which  he 
did  not  acknowledge  even  to  himself,  that 
there  might  be  things  in  his  uncle's  life 
that  he  would  not  wish  to  know. 

After  parting  with  Graham  he  went  to 
the  ball ;  but  slight  as  the  occurrence  at  the 
fair  had  been,  it  left  a  recollection  which 
marred  his  pleasure;  for,  although  he  had 
not  yet  been  forced  to  realize  the  fact  in  any 
keen  degree,  he  was  possessed  of  a  nature 
so  sensitively  strung  that  it  vibrated  to 
every  touch.  And  this  touch  had  been 
deeper  than  he  imagined.  In  the  midst  of 
the  gay  scene  in  which  he  found  himself, 
he  saw  before  him  constantly  the  dark  eyes 
and  the  stately  head  of  the  girl  who  would 
have  declined  to  know  him.  Perhaps  the 
interest  lay  there.  It  was  so  extraordinary 
that  any  one  should  not  wish  to  know  him. 
Philip  had  no  rpore  than  his  due  share  of 
vanity,  but  he  would  have  been  singularly 
obtuse  if  he  had  not  recognized  his  own 
popularity,  and  appreciated  the  kindness  of 
the  glances  which  many  bright  eyes  be- 
stowed upon  him. 

It  struck,  him,  however,  that  there  was 
less  kindness  than  usual  in  the  glance  of 
one  pair  of  eyes.  Constance  received  him 
rather  coolly,  and  announced  that  her  ball- 
book  was  quite  full.  The  fact  in  itself 
"w^QU^ld  not  have  concerned  him,  but  it  was 
a**"^'n'^ficant  indication  that  she  had  been 
n4e4  by  his  refusal  to  accompany  them, 
ri^gged  his  shoulders  a  little  as  he 


^Cei 


fo% 


e  sj 


turned  away.  It  was  a  pity :  everything  had 
gone  wrong  this  evening ;  and  that,  too, 
when  he  had  been  moved  by  the  best  in- 
tentions. Evidently,  good  intentions  were 
not  sufficient  to  insure  satisfactoriness  of 
result  ir.  a  decidedly  unsatisfactory  world. 

This,  which  is  an  old  story  to  most  peo- 
ple, was  rather  new  to  Philip.  Things  had 
gone  so  smoothly  with  him  up  to  this  time 
— life  had  contained  so  few  difficulties, 
complications,  or  perplexities — that  even  a 
slight  jar  seemed  to  him.  a  reversal  rather 
than  a  fulfilment  of  ordinary  conditions. 

The  Percival  question  was  the  first 
thought  in  his  mind  when  he  waked  the 
next  day;  but  morning  brought  no  light  by 
which  to  determine  how  to  solve  it.  He 
still  felt  it  impossible  to  ask  his  uncle,  as 
Graham  advised.  And  indeed  what  reason 
was  there  why  he  should  ask  any  one  ?  The 
Percivals,  of  whom  he  had  never  heard  be- 
fore, certainly  did  not  concern  him  in  the 
least.  He  recognized  that  very  plainly,  and 
yet  he  felt  that  he  would  like  to  know  why 
Miss  Percival  would  have  declined  his  ac- 
quaintance. 

It  was,  however,  with  the  final  determi- 
nation to  put  Miss  Percival  out  of  his  mind 
that  he  went  down  stairs  to  breakfast.  He 
found  Mrs.  Thornton  in  the  breakfast- room, 
and  the  smile  with  which  she  greeted  him 
did  not  indicate  any  consciousness  of  offence 
on  her  part.  She  made  a  pretty  picture  as 
she  sat  in  a  morning-dress  of  quilted  violet 
satin,  with  a  becoming  lace  trifle  of  a  cap 
on  her  soft  hair,  by  the  side  of  the  perfectly- 
appointed  table.  It  occurred  to  Philip  as 
he  entered  that  twenty  years  hence  Con- 
stance would  look  just  like  this,  and  cer- 
tainly no  man  could  desire  a  more  gracious 
presence  to  preside  in  his  household. 

"  If  it  is  possible,' '  he  said,  as  he  sat  down, 
' '  that  your  looks  are  an  accurate  indication 
of  your  feelings,  I  need  hardly  ask  if  you 
have  recovered  from  the  dissipation  of  last 
night." 

''Oh!  yes,  I  have  recovered,"  she  an- 
swered. ' '  It  was  not  very  severe  dissipa- 
tion. That  is  the  advantage  of  being  merely 
a  chaperon — one  is  not  fatigued  much. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


55 


Ilk 


I  am  glad  to  hear  there  is  some  advan- 
tage connected  with  it,"  continued  Philip. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  awfully 
fatiguing.  But  I  doubt  whether  Constance 
looks  as  fresh  as  you  do  this  morning. ' ' 

' '  Constance  has  not  appeared  yet, ' '  said 
Mrs.  Thornton,  smiling.  "I  fancy  she  will 
look  fresh  enough  when  she  comes. ' ' 

"She  looked  very  well  last  night,"  re- 
plied Philip.  "  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw 
her  look  better.  I  was  sorry  that  she  would 
not  dance  with  me." 

Mrs.  Thornton  glanced  at  him  quickly, 
ut  the  easy  quietness  of  his  tone  was  re- 
flected in  his  manner.  Evidently  his  regret 
was  of  a  very  composed  nature. 

' '  That, ' '  she  said, ' '  was  your  own  fault. ' ' 

"If  so,"  he  answered,  "that  is  chiefly 
why  I  am  sorry — because  it  seems  that  both 
yourself  and  Constance  thought  I  should 
have  accompanied  you.  Believe  me,  if  I 
had  imagined  such  a  thing  for  a  moment, 
I  would  have  done  so. ' ' 

* '  I  suggested  that  it  would  be  well. ' ' 

"True,  but  since  Bellamy  was  on  hand 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  needed,  and  I  had 
made  an  engagement  which  I  disliked  to 
break. ' ' 

"It  must  have  been  a  very  special  en- 
gagement," said  Mrs.  Thornton,  a  little 
dryly. 

' '  It  was, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  I  had  promised 
to  attend  a  church  fair,  of  which  it  was  the 
last  night. ' ' 

"Oh!  a  church  fair!"  The  smile  Philip 
had  anticipated  came  around  her  lips — a 
smile  of  mingled  wonder  and  amusement. 
' '  That  was  very  good  of  you,  indeed, ' '  she 
said;  but  the  wonder  was  evident  in  her 
tone.    ' '  I  hope  it  was — a  success. ' ' 

' '  I  don' t  know, ' '  he  replied ;  ' '  but  I  hope 
so,  too.  At  least  I  did  my  small  endeavor 
to  aid  in  making  it  so.  I  bought  a  number 
of  things — screens  and  the  like — out  of 
which  I  hoped  you  might,  perhaps,  select 
something  you  would  care  to  have. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs. Thornton,  look- 
ing at  him  kindly.  His  affectionate  defer- 
ence had  long  ago  made  her  very  fond  of 
him.    "You  must  tell  Constance  why  you 


did  not  go  with  us,"  she  added,  presently. 

"Pray  mention  it  if  you  think  it  of  suffi- 
cient importarkce, "  responded  Philip.  "I 
could  not  have  conceived  that  it  would 
matter  to  Constance,  who  has  always  so 
many  attendants. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  she  has  a  great  many, ' '  said  Mrs. 
Thornton;  "but  still— " 

She  stopped,  unwilling  to  repeat  her 
words  of  the  night  before,  that  Constance 
should  not  be  left  too  much  to  these  attend- 
ants. If  Philip  did  not  see  this  for  himself, 
Constance's  aunt  could  not  make  it  plainer 
to  him. 

Her  pause,  however,  was  significant,  and 
Philip  looked  at  her  as  if  expecting  her  to 
go  on.    When  she  did  not,  he  said,  lightly: 

' '  But  still  she  does  not  like  certain  things 
to  be  disregarded?  I  understand,  and  I  shall 
be  more  careful  in  future.  Yet  I  could  not 
have  thought  she  would  refuse  to  give  me 
even  one  dance.  I  feel  aggrieved  about  that, 
for  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  was  the 
belle  of  the  ball.  There  was  no  one  pres- 
ent to  compare  to  her. ' ' 

"/  thought  not,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton, 
with  delicate  pride. 

But  even  as  he  spoke  what  perversity  of 
recollection  brought  before  the  young  man 
a  different  face  and  figure  ?  He  looked  at  the 
fire,  as  if  he  saw  it  there,  and  was  silent  for 
a  moment.  Then  he  said,  with  an  abrupt 
impulse : 

"Do  you  chance  to  know  any  people 
named  Percival?" 

"Percival?"  repeated  Mrs.  Thornton. 
' '  No — yes — that  is,  I  had  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance once  with  the  man  who  was  your 
uncle's  partner.  But  I  believe  he  is  dead 
now." 

' '  I  did  not  know  that  my  uncle  ever  had 
a  partner, ' '  said  Philip,  regarding  her  with 
surprise.    "Are  you  quite  sure?" 

"Oh!  perfectly  sure."  She  spoke  with 
ease;  evidently  she  knew  no  reason  for 
shrinking  from  the  subject  or  the  name. 
"It  was  long  ago.  He  brought  the  busi- 
ness, by  some  bad  management,  nearly  to 
the  verge  of  ruin.  Your  uncle  had  great 
difficulty  in  saving  it.    But  Mr.  Percival 


56 


The  Ave  Maria. 


acted  very  well.  He  gave  up  his  property 
to  make  good  what  he  had  lost,  and  then 
he  retired. ' ' 

Philip  caught  his  breath. 

"But  if  he  gave  up  his  property, was  not 
he  ruined?"  he  asked. 

* '  He  was  much  poorer,  of  course, ' '  an- 
swered Mrs.  Thornton,  composedly;  "but 
that  could  not  be  helped.  It  was  his  own 
fault,  you  know. ' ' 

"Yes,"  Philip  assented,  with  a  vague- 
ness equal  to  that  of  the  information  he  had 
received.  He  felt  that  upon  such  informa- 
tion as  this  no  judgment  was  possible.  It 
was  entirely  probable  that  his  uncle  had 
been  in  the  right;  for  the  sense  of  injury 
on  the  other  side  proved  nothing.  He  knew 
— who  does  not  know? — how  wrong  yet 
how  obstinate  people  can  sometimes  be  in 
the  animosities  which  arise  out  of  such 
transactions.    . 

' '  I  never  heard  of  the  man  before, ' '  he 
said,  after  a  short  silence;  "but  I  saw  at  the 
fair  last  night  a  very  striking-looking  girl, 
who,  I  was  told,  was  a  Miss  Percival. ' ' 

' '  His  daughter  most  likely, ' '  replied  Mrs. 
Thornton.  ' '  I  remember  that  he  married 
a  very  beautiful  woman,  the  daughter  of  a 
Spanish  consul.  But  they  were  never  in 
society  much,  and  of  course  dropped  out 
altogether  after  his  misfortune. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  know, ' '  said  Philip,  ' '  whether 
they — that  is,  he — blamed  my  uncle  for  his 
course  in  the  matter?" 

Mrs. Thornton  looked  surprised.  "I  don't 
know  at  all,"  she  said;  "but  I  can  not  see 
how  it  was  possible ;  for  your  uncle  was  cer- 
tainly in  the  right.  I  assure  you  that  Mr. 
Percival  brought  him  nearly  to  the  verge 
of  bankruptcy. ' ' 

' '  Well,  naturally  '  who  breaks  pays, ' ' ' 
continued  the  young  man.  "But  it  does 
seem  hard, ' '  he  added,  as  if  to  himself:  ' '  one 
to  go  on  to  such  prosperity,  the  other  to 
drop  down  to  ruin.  It  is  easy  to  fancy  some 
bitterness  on  the  other  side. ' ' 

' '  Perhaps  so, ' '  said  Mrs.  Thornton,  indif- 
ferently ;   ' '  but  it  was  his  own  fault. ' ' 

His  own  fault !  The  words  echoed  through 
Philip's  mind  after  he  left  her,  still  sitting 


in  the  pretty,  sunshiny  room,  and  went 
himself  into  the  bright,  clear  chill  of  the 
outer  air.  Was  it  his  own  fault  ?  Of  course 
if  so,  it  was  right  that  he  should  have  borne 
the  consequences;  or,  at  least,  life  was  in- 
exorable in  demanding  such  a  penalty. 
But  if — if  it  had  been  failure,  mistake,  or 
anything  except  deliberate  wrong-doing, 
surely  these  consequences  were  hard. 

Philip  had  not  been  conscious  at  the  time 
of  observing  what  Miss  Percival  wore  the 
evening  before,  but  he  remembered  now 
that  it  was  a  simple  black  dress,  relieved 
only  by  some  soft  lace  at  throat  and  hands. 
It  was  true  that  she  had  looked  like  a  prin- 
cess even  in  this ;  yet  what  a  contrast  when 
he  placed  her  in  imagination  beside  Con- 
stance in  her  exquisite  toilette,  flashing  with 
diamonds !  The  two  figures  seemed  to  sym- 
bolize and  emphasize  the  wide  difference  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  two  men  who  had  once 
stood  on  an  equal  level.  And  while  all  things 
had  prospered  with  one,  the  other  had  fallen 
— by  his  own  fault?  Yet  why,  then,  had 
Graham  said  with  so  much  significance, 
'  'Ask  your  uncle  that  question ' '  ? 

The  idea  of  following  this  advice  was  as 
far  from  Philip's  mind  as  ever.  He  won- 
dered a  little  whether  he  should  ever  know 
the  exact  truth  of  the  matter,  but  he  could 
imagine  no  circumstances  in  which  it  would 
be  possible  for  him  to  ask  an  explanation 
of  his  uncle.  "And,  after  all,  how  does  it 
possibly  concern  me  ?  "  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  sense  of  positive  irritation.  ' '  I  wish 
I  had  never  gone  to  the  fair — I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  that  girl!  No  doubt  if  I  had 
talked  to  her  I  should  have  found  her  com- 
monplace enough.  And  this  old  story  of  a 
broken  business  connection — what  is  it  to 
me?   I  will  not  give  it  another  thought." 

Such  resolutions  are,  as  a  general  rule, 
more  easily  made  than  kept,  but  Philip 
managed  to  keep  this  with  tolerable  suc- 
cess. His  life  was  indeed  too  full  of  occupa- 
tion and  pleasure  to  admit  of  much  thought 
on  matters  that  did  not  immediately  enter 
into  it.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  he  had 
almost  forgotten  the  Percival  matter;  or, 
at  least,  it  lay  in  abeyance  in  his  mind,  as 


The  Ave  Ma 


rta. 


S7 


SO  many  things  do  that  we  fancy  forgotten, 
until  some  day  they  startle  us  by  waking 
to  vivid  life. 

A  considerable  length  of  time  elapsed, 
however,  before  the  touch  came  which  was 
destined  to  waken  this.  The  gay  season 
was  at  its  height,  and  Philip  was  not  again 
guilty  of  neglecting  such  degree  of  attend- 
ance as  Miss  Irving  held  to  be  due  on  his 
part.  It  was  not  very  much,  but  enough 
to  show  the  world  his  rightful  place.  That 
was  all  the  young  lady  desired.  Anything 
more  might  have  indicated  that  she  was 
bound  in  some  degree,  whereas  she  only 
wished  it  to  be  understood  that  Philip  was 
at  her  service  and  disposal. 

To  this  Philip  on  his  part  had  no  objec- 
tion. He  entertained  no  doubt  that  he  would 
some  day  marry  Constance,  and,  if  the  pros- 
pect did  not  fill  him  with  rapture,  it  was 
not  in  the  least  disagreeable.  If  she  had 
wished  more  devoted  attention,  he  would 
have  felt  bound  to  oifer  it;  but  his  quickness 
of  apprehension  told  him  exactly  what  she 
did  want,  and  he  was  somewhat  relieved 
that  it  was  no  more.  It  left  him  free,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  be  bound  just  yet. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XV.— (Continued.) 

WHILE  Nemesius  and  his  little  daugh- 
ter are  speeding  on  their  way  towards 
the  villa  out  on  the  Agro  Romano,  let  us, 
anticipating  their  arrival,  take  a  glimpse  of 
the  ancient  structure.  Its  thick,  extensive 
walls,  which  are  twelve  feet  high  —  the 
bricks  showing  dark  and  mouldy  where  the 
plaster  has  dropped  off,  or  where  there  are 
spaces  clear  of  wild,  clambering  vines — 
would  give  it  the  aspect  of  a  prison,  were  it 
not  for  the  great  trees  waving  above;  and 
the  roses  that  toss  blushing,  wanton  sprays 
over  them;  and  the  odorous  wall-flowers 
that  grow  out  of  the  crevices  of  the  crum- 
bling   mortar.     Evidently    these    ancient 


walls,  with  their  deep-sunken,  iron-ribbed 
gates,  were  built  for  protection  in  lawless 
times. 

The  villa  itself  is  a  rambling  structure, 
and  originally  had  a  tower  at  the  north  end, 
the  upper  portion  of  which  had  yielded  to 
the  tooth  of  Time,  and  tumbled  in  a  mass 
of  debris  around  it  and  upon  its  second 
floor,  the  stout  timbers  of  which  had  with- 
stood the  shock,  and  still  upheld  the  heap. 
Vines  with  pendulous  scarlet  flowers,  ivy, 
wild  vetches,  and  blue  wistarias,  are  in 
possession,  draping  the  ruin  in  colors  and 
overlapping  folds  more  gorgeous  than  the 
rich  tapestries  with  which  the  Jews  were 
compelled  by  the  imperial  edict  to  decorate 
the  Arch  of  Titus  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  destruction  of  their  holy  city.  The 
grounds,  interfered  with  by  art  only  so  far 
as  to  prevent  their  becoming  a  tangled 
wilderness;  the  grass,  like  violet-starred  vel- 
vet; the  old,  mildewed  statues  looking  out 
here  and  there  from  green,  shadowy  places, 
and  the  antique  fountains,  are  all  aglow  in 
the  golden  splendor  of  the  newly-risen  sun. 

Tertullus  and  his  wife  are  not  here;  two  or 
three  old  slaves  move  about  lazily;  and  sev- 
eral peacocks,  trailing  their  superb  plumes 
over  the  grass,  are  the  only  signs  of  life 
apparent.  Suddenly  the  sound  of  horses* 
feet  and  of  wheels  is  heard  outside;  the 
porter  springs  to  his  post,  draws  back  the 
bolts:  the  great  gates  creak  slowly  open, 
and  Nemesius  drives  through.  Slaves  are 
ready  to  stand  by  the  horses'  heads  as  he 
draws  up  in  front  of  the  pillared  entrance 
of  the  house ;  and  he  alights,  his  toga  draped 
over  his  armor,  and  lifts  Claudia  out  of  the 
chariot. 

"I  will  conduct  thee,"  said  a  low,  sweet 
voice  at  his  side;  and,  turning,  he  sees 
Admetus,  the  choragus  of  the  Aventine! — 
Was  the  boy  ubiquitous? — He  led  the  way 
into  the  vestibule,  through  the  atrium  into 
a  wide  corridor,  which  stretched  through 
the  villa,  and  ended  in  an  apparently  dead 
wall,  panelled  in  wood  that  was  black  with 
age,  where  he  stopped.  One  of  the  dark 
panels  slid  slowly  upwards,  and  Nemesius, 
obeying  the  gesture  of  his  guide,  passed  in, 


58 


The  Ave  Maria. 


holding  Claudia's  hand  in  the  firm,  tender 
clasp  of  his  own.  He  had  told  her  on  the 
way  thither  that  she  was  to  live  no  longer 
in  darkness — that  her  eyes  were  to  be 
opened  in  a  little  while — and  her  face  was 
radiant.  No  more  darkness  and  groping 
and  dread,  but  light!  light!  Oh!  how  she 
would  love  the  power,  the  hand  that  gave 
sight  to  her  blind  eyes!  She  could  think  of 
nothing  else;  her  heart  was  in  a  tumult  of 
joy. 

A  short  walk  through  a  narrow  passage 
brought  them  to  a  door,  which  Admetus 
opened,  and,  having  invited  them  to  enter, 
left  them,  closing  it  after  him.  Looking 
around,  Nemesius  saw  that  he  was  in  an 
oblong  apartment,  the  windows  of  which 
were  concealed  on  the  outside  by  an  inter- 
woven mesh  of  vines.  At  one  end,  in  the 
centre,  there  stood,  upon  a  dais  elevated 
three  or  four  steps  above  the  floor,  a  large, 
curiously  shaped  chest,  with  two  massive 
iron  rings  at  each  end.  Three  panels  formed 
the  front.  On  the  central  one,  inlaid  in 
gold,  was  the  monogram  I.  H.  S. ;  on  the 
one  to  the  left  was  delineated  a  pelican 
feeding  her  young  with  the  blood  from  her 
wounded  breast ;  on  that  to  the  right,  a  fish. 
On  the  top  of  the  chest  stood  a  narrow, 
arched  cabinet,  about  two  feet  high,  its 
doors  plated  with  gold;  and  a  silver  lamp, 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  by  a  fi^twork 
chain  of  the  same  metal,  burned  with  clear, 
steady  light  before  it. 

On  the  top  of  the  cabinet  stood  a  crucifix 
of  such  realistic  art,  that  Nemesius,  as  he 
gazed  upon  it,  thought  with  a  sudden  thrill 
of  what  Fabian  had  told  him  of  the  death 
of  the  Christus^  that  day  in  the  ilex  grove. 
Frescoed  on  the  wall  above  the  crucifix  was 
the  saintly  face  of  a  woman,  her  eyes  up- 
lifted, her  hands  folded  in  an  attitude  of 
supplication,  and  there  was  a  shadow  of 
sadness  and  tears  on  the  fair,  virginal  coun- 
tenance. Could  this  mean  the  Virgin- 
Mother  foretold  by  sibyls  and  prophets, — 
the  Virgin-Mother  who  brought  forth  Him 
hanging  dead  there  upon  the  cross?  Yes,  the 
same — Advocata  nostra^  as  she  was  known 
from  the  earliest  days  of  Christianity. 


There  were  some  rude  benches  in  the 
apartment,  a  cross-crowned  chair,  and  about 
midway  a  sliding  screen,  which,  when 
drawn  together,  concealed  the  altar — for 
altar  it  was ;  a  portable  one,  as  the  rings  at 
each  end  signified ;  such  as  were  in  use  in 
the  early  Christian  churches,  which  were 
not  edifices  built  separate  and  apart  to 
themselves,  but  the  private  mansions  of 
rich  converts,  consecrated  to  the  worship  of 
God,  and  permitted  by  some  of  the  heathen 
tyrants  to  be  so  used  when  the  fires  of  per- 
secution were  not  abroad. 

The  Church  of  St.  Clement,*  and  that 
of  St.  Pudens,  the  friend  of  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Paul,  are  still  to  be  seen  and  venerated 
in  Rome.  And  here  in  the  villa  of  TertuUus 
was  one  of  the  few  that  had  been  left  un- 
molested, because  unsuspected  and  undis- 
covered; for  who  among  the  heathen,  be 
his  zeal  ever  so  argus-eyed,  would  suspect 
such  an  abomination  to  exist  in  the  dwell- 
ing of  an  officer  of  the  Praetorian  Guard? 
Even  had  such  a  suspicion  arisen,  Valerian 
Imperator  would  have  thought  twice  before 
he  ventured  anything  aggressive,  knowing 
that  the  Praetorian  Guard  sometimes,  with 
a  word  and  a  blow,  made  and  unmade  such 
as  he.  Still  less  was  it  dreamed  that  under 
the  ruined,  ivy-draped  tower  there  was  an 
opening  through  one  of  the  old  wine-vaults 
into  the  Catacombs. 

While  Nemesius  was  observing  the  un- 
familiar objects  around  him,  a  survey  of 
which  required  far  less  time  than  it  has 
taken  to  describe  them,  a  door  opened,  and 
the  Christian  Pontiff"  entered.  He  wore  the 
same  white  woollen  robe  as  on  the  night 
of  their  first  interview,  with  the  addition  of 
a  stole  about  his  neck.  Nemesius,  who  had 
thrown  aside  his  toga,  bared  his  head  with 
reverent  salutation,  which  was  returned  by 
a  whispered  ''^Deo  gratiasf''  and  the  holy 
Sign  df  the  Cross  made  by  the  Pontiff"' s 
uplifted  hand  towards  him.  The  anxious 
father  then  led  Claudia  forward.  The  lovely 
child  was  arrayed  in  soft  white  garments; 


*  Under  the  foundation  of  the  present  Church 
of  St.  Clement. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


If 


her  long,  golden  hair  fell  in  shining  curls 
over  her  shoulders;  her  fair  face  wore  the 
innocence  and  purity  of  an  angel's;  and  as 
the  saintly  Pontiff  gazed  upon  her,  an  ex- 
pression of  benign  pity  illumined  his  coun- 
tenance, and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head 
he  blessed  her. 

' '  What  wouldst  thou  have,  sweet  child  ? ' ' 
he  asked. 

Oh  I  sir,  I  am  blind,  and  would  see," 
as  the  pathetic  answer. 

' '  i  will  give  thee  holy  Baptism,  my  child, 
nd  He  who  opens  the  eyes  of  the  blind 
will  enter  thy  heart,  and  teach  thee  to  love 
and  serve  Him." 

"I  will  love  Him!"  she  said;  then  turn- 
ing to  her  father,  who  pressed  her  hand 
more  closely,  she  continued:  "Oh!  padre 
mio^  will  we  not  both  love  Him  who  gives 
light  to  my  eyes?" 

"x\nd  to  thy  spirit,"  responded  the  Pon- 
tiff, who  had  among  other  supernatural 
gifts  that  of  being  able  to  discern  spirits, 
and  saw  by  the  dispositions  of  the  two  be- 
fore him  that  they  were  already  numbered 
with  the  conquests  of  Christ. 

He  went  to  the  altar,  and,  after  kneeling 
in  profound  homage  for  a  moment,  opened 
the  gold-plated  door  of  the  Tabernacle, 
and  from  one  of  its  interior  compartments — 
there  were  two — drew  forth  a  crystal  flask. 
Nemesius  attentive  to  every  movement,  saw 
that  it  was  filled  with  water;  he  knew  not 
what  Baptism  meant,  but  supposed  it  to  be 
one  of  the  conditions  without  which  his 
child  would  not  receive  her  sight,  and  he 
silently  consented  to  the  Christian  rite, 
whatever  it  might  signify,  moved  by  some- 
thing deeper  than  his  natural  desire  for  her 
blindness  to  be  removed. 

The  little  girl  stood  silent,  waiting;  the 
sacred  rite  began;  she  felt  a  strange  sign 
made  upon  her  forehead,  and  beheld  a  beau- 
tiful One  in  shining  raiment  approach, 
whose  presence  was  invisible  to  all  except 
herself;  and  as  the  Pontiff  poured  the  waters 
of  regeneration  upon  her  head,  the  Appari- 
tion touched  her  eyes,*  and — she  was  no 


*  It  is  so  related. 


longer  blind!  She  looked  up,  around,  and 
uttered  a  cry  of  gladness;  the  darkness  had 
disappeared,  and  there  was  light.  It  was  a 
moment  to  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
described.  She  gazed  into  the  saintly  face 
of  the  Pontiff  Stephen,  into  her  father's, 
then  flew  to  his  embrace,  crying:  "At  last  I 
see  thee!" 

The  miracle  opened  the  way  —  made 
straight  the  path  for  grace  to  enter  the 
mind  of  Nemesius,  who  received  the  Truth 
as  it  is  in  Jesus  Christ,  nothing  doubting; 
and,  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  the  Pontiff,  he 
asked  for  instruction  in  the  Christian  faith, 
and  then  for  Baptism,  which,  it  may  be 
stated  here,  he  received  a  few  days  after,  in 
the  same  place. 

The  child  saw  the  crucifix,  the  sweet  face 
of  Advocata  nostra;  she  knew  them*  not, 
but  both  were  indelibly  impressed  upon  her 
mind,  and  were  not  strangers  to  her  when, 
a  little  later,  she  heard  the  wonderful  story 
of  Redemption.  Glints  of  sunshine  through 
the  ivy  that  mantled  the  windows  filled  her 
with  innocent  delight,  and  the  thought  of 
all  the  beautiful  things  she  was  to  behold 
so  transported  hey  heart  that  she  ran  and 
knelt  at  the  feet  of  the  Pontiff,  exclaiming, 
with  sweet  simplicity : 

"  Oh !  sir,  wilt  thou  thank  Him  for  me 
who  has  given  me  sight?  But  tell  me  His 
name,  that  I  too  may  thank  Him  in  my 
thoughts  every  moment  of  my  life. ' ' 

' '  I  will,  my  sweet  child.  Jesus  Christ  is 
the  name  of  Him  who  by  His  divine  power 
removed  thy  blindness;  keep  His  name  in 
thy  heart,  and  thank  Him  and  love  Him 
without  ceasing.  Thou  art  now  His  little 
neophyte;  by  and  by  thou  wilt  know  Him, 
and  the  Father  who  sent  Him.  He  has 
given  thee  a  new  name  in  Baptism,by  which 
He  will  know  thee  among  His  little  ones 
—the  name  of  Lucilla,  *  meaning  light." 
(to  be  continued.) 

^  "Little  light." 


The  most  imperfect  are  usually  the  most 
fault-finding.  — Felix. 


6o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Saint,  Perhaps. 


THE  humble  soul  whose  virtues  are  about 
to  be  recorded  here  would  have  been 
greatly  astonished,  even  alarmed,  to  see  his 
name  in  print,  and  his  conduct  proposed  as 
a  model  to  fellow-Christians.  But  no  such 
consideration  need  stay  our  pen;  for  he  has 
been  resting  in  a  quiet  grave — his  soul,  we 
hope,  enjoying  the  beatific  vision  of  the 
Master  he  served  so  faithfully  on  earth — 
many  a  long  year. 

Of  M.  Ricoux's  early  life  nothing  is 
known,  except  that  by  his  industry  and 
honesty  he  contrived  to  lay  up  a  small  com- 
petency, sufficient  for  his  modest  tastes; 
that  a  sudden  misfortune  deprived  him  of 
this,  and  reduced  him  to  a  state  of  want 
bordering  on  penury.  This  trial  seemed 
only  to  increase  his  zeal  for  God's  glory  and 
the  relief  of  the  poor;  he  devoted  himself 
entirely  to  good  works.  He  was  an  exem- 
plary member  of  the  Third  Order  of  St. 
Francis  and  of  the  Society  of  St.  Francis 
Xavier ;  the  Communion  of  Reparation  and 
the  Association  of  Prayers  and  Penances 
found  in  him  an  untiring  propagator;  he 
lent  also  an  active  co-operation  to  the  As- 
sociation of  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  whose 
object  is  to  multiply  missions  throughout 
France;  but  above  all  it  was  in  the  Noc- 
turnal Adoration  that  his  burning  love  of 
God  displayed  itself 

In  Paris  the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  per- 
petually exposed — successively  in  every 
church  during  three  days — and  each  night 
some  members  of  the  Adoration  come  to 
pray  from  sunset  till  daybreak.  M.  Ricoux 
spent  nearly  every  night  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar,  always  ready  to  replace  any  absent 
member.  But  this  was  not  enough  to  satisfy 
his  zeal :  for  several  years  he  fulfilled,  with 
admirable  courage,  the  painful  duty  of  car- 
rying from  one  church  to  another  the  mat- 
tresses used  by  the  members  in  the  intervals 
of  rest.  Nor  rain,  nor  snow,  nor  the  bitter 
cold  of  Winter,  nor  the  scorching  heat  of 
Summer  could  daunt  the  pious  man,  whom 
the   soldiers  belonging  to  the  Adoration 


called  in  their  vigorous  language,  "Z^  satnf 
cheval  du  Bon  Dieu. ' ' 

His  house,  which  he  had  made  a  sanct- 
uary of  prayer  became  the  refuge  of  the  des- 
titute. Although  poor  in  the  goods  of  earth, 
his  heart  possessed  inexhaustible  treasures 
of  generous  compassion,  and  often  he  had 
the  heroic  charity  to  reduce  his  own  scanty 
food  in  order  to  relieve  the  suffering. 

There  is  a  charming  anecdote  illustrating 
the  measure  of  his  practical  charity.  For 
over  two  years  he  had  been  the  constant 
benefactor  of  an  unfortunate  family,  but  all 
his  efforts  to  better  their  condition  proved' 
vain,  owing  to  the  husband's  misconduct. 
However,  M.  Ricoux  determined  to  make  a 
final  attempt  to  lift  them  out  of  their  strait- 
ened circumstances.  The  national  fete  of 
the  15th  of  August,  1863 — it  was  during 
the  Empire — was  at  hand;  the  preparations 
were  actively  carried  on  throughout  Paris, 
and  especially  on  the  vast  Esplanade  des 
Invalides,  where  the  festivities  were  to  be 
opened  at  daybreak  by  the  booming  of  can- 
non, an  honor  much  prized  by  the  veterans 
of  Napoleon  I.  "If  that  poor  family  could  * 
only  obtain  license  to  sell  wine  in  this 
thoroughfare,"  thought  M.  Ricoux,  "they 
could  earn  enough  to  pay  their  rent  and 
procure  the  necessaries  of  life. ' ' 

After  some  difficulty  he  obtained  the 
wished-for  permission,  and  immediately  set 
to  work  to  procure  everything  necessary 
for  an  improvised  stall;  the  tables,  chairs, 
glasses,  with  a  barrel  of  choice  wine,  were 
purchased,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  14th 
all  was  in  readiness  to  begin  business  early 
next  morning.  M. ^xo.oxxx' ^ protege  was  ap- 
pointed to  watch  over  the  precious  barrel, 
the  last  hope  of  the  unfortunate  family; 
but,  alas!  when,  before  dawn,  his  wife  and 
daughter  came  to  help  him,  they  found  him 
lying  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  caused  by 
copious  libations  ;  the  proximity  of  the 
temptation  had  been  too  much  for  him.  In 
despair,  they  rushed  to  M.  Ricoux,  and  re- 
lated the  sad  event.  What  was  to  be  done? 

The  good  man  saw  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost ;  he  hurried  to  the  church,  heard  the 
first  Mass,  and  received  Holy  Communion ; 


IE 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6i 


then, overcoming  human-respect, regardless 
of  his  reputation,  and  sacrificing  the  con- 
solations his  piety  would  have  derived  from 
the  solemn  offices  of  the  beautiful  feast  of 
Our  Lady,  of  whom  he  was  a  devoted 
client,  he  resolutely  took  the  place  of  his 
protkgk^  served  the  customers  the  whole 
day,  in  the  midst  of  an  uncongenial,  noisy 
mob,  arriving  home  late  in  the  night,  com- 
pletely spent  after  his  sublime  act  of  char- 
;ity  and  self-denial. 

And  thus  he  lived  in  obscurity,  ignored 
[by  the  world,  though  most  deserving  of  its 
[admiration  and  gratitude;  but  he  was  great 
I  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  of  His  angels,  on 
^account  of  his  wonderful  gift  of  faith  and 
the  great  number  of  his  good  works. 

His  end  was  worthy  of  his  noble  life. 
On  the  eve  of  his  death  those  about  his  bed 
heard  him  say :  "  I  feel  an  indescribable  joy ; 
I  seem  to  be  already  in  Paradise.  I  see  thou 
sands  of  angels  coming  to  meet  me. ' '  Then 
he  added,  like  one  in  ecstasy,  "Heavens, 
open  to  me!"  A  very  rare  spectacle  was 
witnessed  at  his  funeral.  An  immense 
throng — people  of  all  classes,  young  and  old 
— followed  a  coffin  conveyed  in  the  hearse 
of  the  poor!  And  when  the  passers-by  won- 
dered, and  inquired  whose  funeral  it  was,  a 
unanimous  voice — the  voice  of  the  people — 
replied:   "A  saint's!" 


Mary. 

TY|  AID-MOTHKR  of  humanity  divine! 
^*^   Alone  thou  art  in  thy  supremacy, 

Since  God  Himself  did  reverence  to  thee, 
And  built  of  flesh  a  temple  one  with  thine. 
Wherein,  through  all  eternity,  to  shrine 

His  inexpressive  glory.    Blessed  be 

The  miracle  of  thy  maternity. 
Of  grace  the  sole  immaculate  design ! 

Lo!  earth  and  heaven— the  footstool  and  the 
throne 
Of  Him  who  bowed  obedient  to  thy  sway. 

What  time  in  lowly  Nazareth,  unknown. 
He  led  of  life  the  long-secluded  way — 

Pause,  till  their  tongues  are  tutored  of  thine 
own, 
*' Magnificat''  in  wondering  love  to  say. 

John  B.  Tabb,  in  The  Independent. 


Favors  of   Our  Queen. 

A    FREE-THINKER'S    CONVERSION. 

IN  one  of  the  principal  commercial  cities 
of  the  south  of  France  lived  a  physician, 
whose  extensive  practice  left  no  doubt  as- 
to  his  learning  and  professional  skill.  But 
he  was  a  man  without  any  faith,  and  the 
Grotto  of  Massabielle  (about  which  he 
had  heard  some  wonderful  things)  was  to 
him  the  source  of  many  a  merry  joke.  A 
great  favorite  with  the  youth  of  the  city^ 

Dr. was  always  their  chosen  leader  in 

social  festivities.  On  one  of  these  occa- 
sions he  fell  sick,  very  sick — so  sick  that 
neither  his  own  skill  nor  that  of  any  of  his- 
medical  acquaintances  was  of  the  least  avail. 

Among  Dr. 's  friends  was  a  certain 

priest  for  whom  he  had  contracted  an  es- 
teem, and  by  whom  he  was  often  visited.  "I 
believe,  Feather, ' '  he  said  to  him  one  even- 
ing, when  suffering  very  acutely, ' '  that  my 
only  resource  now  is  to  drink  some  of  the 
Water  of  Lourdes."  This  was  said  half 
in  jest;  however,  some  of  the  miraculous 
water  was  procured,  and  the  Doctor  conde- 
scendingly swallowed  a  few  drops,  thinking 
how  can  people  be  so  foolish !  etc. ,  etc.  To 
the  surprise  of  the  spectators,  the  Doctor's 
face  soon  assumed  an  air  of  unaccustomed 
gravity,  and  after  a  few  moments  he  ex-> 
claimed,  joyfully :  ' '  My  pains  have  ceased ! '  ^ 
No  more  was  said  in  derision  of  Lourdes,, 
and  the  patient  became  very  thoughtful. 

It  was  Mardigras — Shrove-Tuesday.  A 
carriage  was  rolling  past  a  crowd  of  masked 
revellers;  a  priest,  in  sacerdotal  vestments,, 
bearing  with  him  the  Holy  Viaticum,  was 
seated  in  it.     The  carriage  stopped  at  the 

house  of  Dr. .    Yes :  he  had  resolved 

that  the  anniversary  of  his  greatest  follies 
in  the  past  should  be  consecrated  by  the 
reception  of  the  Blessed  Eucharist. 

The  priest,  on  his  arrival,  found  the  sick 
man  surrounded  by  a  large  number  of 
friends,  whose  opinions  in  matters  of  relig- 
ion were  as  unlike  as  their  faces. 

"■  Kind  friends,"  said  the  prodigal,"!  have 


62 


The  Ave  Maria. 


purposely  assembled  you  here,  that  you  may 
be  witnesses  of  my  repentance  and  of  my 
return  to  faith.  I  am  now  one  of  those  who 
believe  that  God  can,  when  He  chooses, 
effect  as  great  spiritual  wonders  with  water 
in  its  simple  state  as  He  does  physical  won- 
ders with  the  same  water  vaporized.  This 
the  water  of  Massabielle  has  proved  to  me. 
Do  not  ask  me  any  more  if  I  believe  in  God, 
in  Jesus  Christ,  in  the  Church;  I  believe  in 
them  with  all  the  powers  of  my  soul — as 
firmly  as  I  will  henceforward  believe  in 
Our  Ivady  of  Lourdes.  To  make  this  an 
indisputable  fact  is  why  I  wished  you  all 
to  be  here  to-day.  May  God  grant  you  the 
grace  to  follow  the  example  which  I,  in  full 
possession  of  all  my  faculties,  here  give  you! 
Now,  in  presence  of  you  all,  I  am  going  to 
renew  my  First  Communion." 

The  company  melted  into  tears,  and  the 
priest  was  so  affected  that  he  could  scarcely 
hold  the  ciborium. 

The  Doctor  lived  for  several  months 
afterwards.  During  his  last  moments  an  ex- 
pression of  heavenly  peace  lit  up  his  coun- 
tenance. ' '  You  are  not  suffering  now.  Doc- 
tor?" remarked  the  Sister  in  attendance. 
*'How  could  I  suffer?"  was  the  reply;  "I 
see  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes !  Oh,  how  beautiful 
she  is! "   And  so  saying  he  calmly  expired. 


Footprints  of  St.  Dominic. 

The  Tablet. 

THKRE  will,  no  doubt,  be  many  amongst 
the  pilgrims  to  gourdes  who  have  a  special 
•devotion  to  St.  Dominic,  and  perhaps  if  they 
know  how  near  they  are  to  places  around 
which  still  lingers  the  fragrance  of  his  sanctity 
they  will  be  glad  to  visit  them.  There  is, 
indeed,  little  left  in  the  old  town  of  Faujeaux, 
or  at  Prouille,  but  memories;  revolutions, 
spoliations,  confiscations,  and  restorations, 
have  stripped  the  churches  of  nearly  all  that 
would  attract  the  outside  world.  But  Faujeaux 
and  Prouille  are  names  that  seem  to  awaken 
the  spirits  of  the  two  heroes  of  the  Albigen- 
sian  wars — one  a  saint,  the  other  a  soldier: 
Dominic  de  Guzman  and  Simon  de  Montfort. 
As   the  traveller  goes  from  Villa  Savary 


across  the  rolling  plain,  that  has  a  pastoral 
prettiness,  Faujeaux,  perched  upon  a  lofty 
hill,  dominates  all  the  country  about,  remind- 
ing one  of  the  "city  set  upon  a  hill,  that  can 
not  be  hid. ' '  The  lower  terraces  are  vineyards, 
and  then  begin  the  houses,  and  windmills  with 
huge,  flapping  sails;  and  finally  on  the  very 
top  is  the  Gothic  church,  with  a  lofty  spire  that 
is  high  above  all  else;  and  when  the  sky  is 
red  and  gold  with  the  light  of  the  dying  sun, 
the  silhouette  of  the  city  is  lovely. 

The  Blessed  Jourdain  of  Saxony  tells  of  St. 
Dominic's  coming  to  Faujeaux,  and  of  the 
dispute  which  he  held  with  the  heretics  in 
presence  of  all  the  people;  and  that  when  no 
judgment  could  be  formed,  it  was  decided  to 
cast  the  heretical  books  and  St.  Dominic's 
book  into  the  flames,  and  that  the  doctrine 
which  should  survive  the  fire  was  to  be  de- 
clared the  truth.  This  was  done,  and  St. 
Dominic  triumphed  three  times  over  his  ad- 
versaries. If  one  goes  into  the  church  there 
in  the  square,  one  may  see  a  log  from  the  fire 
in  one  of  the  chapels. 

The  Saint  was  convinced  <hat  one  cause  of 
the  spread  of  the  heresy  was  the  skill  with 
which  the  heretics  managed  the  education  of 
the  young  women.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to 
found  a  convent,  and  by  direction  of  Our 
Lady,  who  indicated  the  fields  of  Prouille  for 
the  site,  he  built  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  of 
Prouille,  which  he  himself  opened  on  St. 
John's  Day,  in  1206.  And  it  was  thither  that 
he  called  his  companions  from  Toulouse,  in 
1216,  to  deliberate  on  the  choice  of  a  Rule  to 
submit  to  the  Pope. 

Prouille  is,  therefore,  the  birthplace  of  the 
Order  of  Friars  Preachers.  It  grew  in  num- 
bers and  in  wealth;  at  one  time  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  fifteen  stately  towers,  in  honor 
of  the  Fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Holy  Rosary. 
However,  the  sacrilegious  hands  of  a  succes- 
sion of  avaricious  revolutionaries  and  heretics 
have  plundered,  scattered,  and  destroyed 
everything,  so  that  now  the  humble  convent 
with  its  few  fields  might  easily  be  passed  by 
unnoticed. 

It  is  best  to  come  down  from  Faujeaux  by 
the  footpath  and  across  the  fields.  This  is  the 
short  cut  which  St.  Dominic  took  for  his  visits 
to  the  convent;  and  at  one  turn  in  the  way 
there  is  a  stone  cross  to  mark  the  spot  where 
he  was  set  upon  by  murderers,  and  miracu- 
lously delivered.    Now  in  these  lovely  days 


Iff 


The  Ave  Maria, 


63 


the  fields  are  brilliantly  starred  with  prim- 
roses, and  all  the  air  is  heavy  with  the  smell 
of  violets  and  almond  blossoms,  and  the  dron- 
ing of  bees  is  restful.  The  road  winds  on 
past  Prouille  to  Montreal,  two  leagues  farther 
on. 

Just  after  crossing  the  stone  bridge  that 
spans  a  stream  flowing  from  a  holy  well  is  to 
be  seen  the  hermitage  of  the  holy  Prophet.  It 
crowns  a  slight  eminence,  and  is  in  the  midst 
of  '  *  a  vineyard  that  is  laid  waste ' ' ;  the  wall  is 
broken  down,  and  weeds  have  come  up,  and 
the  vines  bring  forth  no  grapes.  Father 
KenelmVaughan.whohasbeenin  Prouille  for 
some  months  past,  preparing  for  the  work  of 
the  Universal  Expiation  which  he  is  shortly 
to  take  in  hand  in  England,  has  bought  it, 
and  repaired  the  little  stone  house,  dedicating 
it  to  the  holy  Prophet  Jeremias,  and  setting 
up  statues  of  the  seven  patrons  of  the  great 
work  in  which  he  is  interested;  and  it  is  now 
his  retreat  and  oratory. 

It  is  on  record  that  one  Sunday,  as  St. 
Dominic  was  coming  through  the  fields  below 
Montreal,  his  indignation  was  stirred  by  see- 
ing the  people  at  work,  and  he  rebuked  them. 
One  of  the  men  standing  up  to  answer  him, 
angrily  grasped  a  handful  of  wheat,  when  he 
felt  the  warm  blood  trickling  down  his  hand; 
and  they  all  looked  and  saw  that  the  hands 
of  every  one  of  them  were  in  the  same  con- 
dition. The  men  were — so  runs  the  legend — 
moved  with  fear,  and  followed  the  Saint  into 
the  church, where  he  preached  and  converted 
them. 

The  church  at  Montreal  is  dedicated  to 
St.  Vincent,  Deacon  and  Martyr,  and  was  de- 
signed to  be  a  splendid  building,  but  it  is  still 
unfinished.  One  of  the  Gothic  portals  is  very 
characteristic,  and  the  ensemble  oi  the  interior, 
owing  particularly  to  the  bold,  simple  con- 
struction of  the  arches,  is  very  good;  but  a 
wave  of  restoration  seems  to  have  swept  over 
the  Aude,  and  a  number  of  scene-painters  let 
loose,  so  that  much  of  the  primitive  beauty 
of  the  churches  is  either  marred  by  or  buried 
under  their  work,  though  now  and  then  one 
still  finds  a  bit  of  good  old  glass  that  is  satis- 
factory. 

From  Montreal  there  is  a  charming  view 
of  the  majestic  Pyrenees,  that  is  worth  a  long 
tramp.  Standing  at  an  elbow  of  the  road, 
with  the  well-tilled  plain,  green  with  sprout- 
ing wheat,  and  dotted  with  manors,  chateaux, 


church  spires,  and  villages,  and  off  in  the 
background  the  eternal  hills,  so  great,  so 
white,  so  severe,  in  their  grandeur,  the  scene 
is  one  so  unique  that  it  can  hardly  be  forgotten. 
But  it  is  not  improbable  that  many  of  our 
readers,  whose  eyes  are  turned  to  the  shrine 
of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  will  see  all  this  for 
themselves. 


Leaves  from  Our  Portfolio. 

A  martyr's  letter.^ 

CoREA,  Sept.  10,  1857. 

REV.  AND  Drar  Confrere: — Your  kind 
letter  of  March  25,  1855,  did  not  reach  me 
till  the  end  of  January  this  year.  It  must  have 
gone  all  around  the  world  before  I  received  it; 
but  the  pleasure  its  perusal  afforded  me  easily 
reconciled  me  to  the  delay. 

When  I  read  your  account  of  the  many 
journeys  which  during  the  last  ten  years  you 
have  made  for  the  glory  of  God,  I  am  almost 
tempted  to  envy  you.  I  understand  well  the 
hardships  of  these  voyages,  and, consequently, 
their  great  merit,  when,  like  yours,  they  are 
undertaken  for  the  honor  of  Our  Lord. 

I,  too,  have  been  travelling  during  these 
years.  In  October,  1854, 1  was  on  the  point  of 
being  consecrated  coadjutor  of  Mantchourie, 
when  the  Holy  Father  appointed  me  Vicar- 
Apostolic  of  Corea.  Notwithstanding  the 
pressing  nature  of  his  Holiness'  orders,  I  was 
unable  to  leave  Leoo-Tong  before  October, 
1855.  Having  recovered  my  health  about  that 


*  This  precious  letter — a  martyr's  handwriting 
— is  addressed  to  the  Rev.  L  Baroux,  formerly  a 
missionary  in  the  East  Indies, but  now  attached  to 
the  Diocese  of  Grand  Rapids.  The  thrilling  story 
of  Bishop  Berneux's  captivity  and  death  is  told 
in  a  volume  translated  from  the  French  by  Lady 
Herbert  of  Lea.  Another  priest  in  the  United 
States,  who  studied  under  this  holy  Bishop  when 
a  professor  in  the  Seminary  at  Le  Mans,  and  had 
the  honor  of  serving  his  Mass,  tells  us  that  he 
venerated  him  as  a  saint  even  then.  One  who  ac- 
companied him  on  his  voyages  writes:  "Never 
have  I  known  a  man  with  a  nobler  soul,  with  a 
more  generous  heart,  or  more  passionately  de- 
voted to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of 
his  fellow-creatures." 

■X- 

*  * 
It  was  an  oversight  not  to  have  stated  that  the 
remarkable  letter  on  the  "Claims  of  Science  and 


64 


The  Ave  Maria. 


time,  I  went  to  Shanghai,  and  thence  to  Hong- 
long.  I  remained  there  a  month,  and  then 
returned  to  Shanghai,  whence  I  sailed  for  my 
new  mission,  arriving  on  the  27th  of  March, 
1856. 

If  it  cost  me  an  eiFort  to  separate  myself 
from  the  flock  whom  I  had  been  instructing 
for  twelve  years  at  I<eoo-Tong,  the  good  God 
has  made  me  ample  recompense.  I  have  found 
great  fervor  among  the  faithful  of  my  new 
charge,  and  among  the  pagans  every  disposi- 
tion to  embrace  the  faith,  although  their  do- 
ing so  entails  great  sacrifices,  on  account 
of  persecution.  We  have  had  five  hundred 
baptisms  of  adults  this  year,  and,  if  it  please 
the  lyord  still  to  bless  our  work,  we  shall  have 
a  much  larger  harvest  next  year.  I  have  with 
me  five  missionaries  of  our  Congregation,  be- 
sides a  native  priest.  We  all  labor  as  we  never 
did  before,  and  yet  it  is  only  with  great  diffi- 
culty that  w^e  can  answer  all  demands. 

I  feel  deeply  thankful  for  the  kind  remem- 
brance that  you  retain  of  me,  and  for  the  pious 
prayers  that  you  offer  up  to  God  every  year 
in  m}^  behalf.  I  have  always  stood  in  need  of 
them,  but  never  more  than  at  present.  Con- 
tinue your  prayers,  then,  I  beg  of  you,  that  God 
may  enable  me  faithfully  to  accomplish  the 
duties  given  to  my  charge;  so  that,  after  having 
preached  to  others,  I  myself  ma}^  not  become 
a  castaway.  As  to  yourself,  kind  friend,  may 
the  good  God  preserve  and  increase  the  zeal 
and  charity  with  which  He  has  inspired  you 
— may  He  bless  all  your  works! 

With  sentiments  of  deep  afi'ection  and  re- 
spect, I  am 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

+  S.  BKRNHUX, 
Bp.  of  Copse,  Vic.-Ap.  of  Corea. 

Faith,"  published  under  the  above  caption  last 
week,  was  from  the  pen  of  a  famous  English 
divine  and  poet.  Mr.  Hawker's  works  are  com- 
paratively unknown  in  the  United  States,  none 
that  we  think  of  having  ever  been  reprinted  here. 
He  died  at  Pl5^mouth,on  the  Feast  of  the  Assump- 
tion* 1875.  The  day  before  his  death  he  was  re- 
ceived into  the  Church.  He  had  always  manifested 
great  affection  for  the  Blessed  Virgin ;  some  of  his 
sweetest  poems  were  written  in  praise  of  her.  For 
an  interesting  sketch  of  Mr.  Hawker  see  Vol. 
XVIII.  of  The  'Ave  Maria,"  page  401— "The 
Poet  of  the  Cornish  Coast."  The  letter  above  re- 
ferred to  had  probably  never  before  been  printed 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  Rev.  Father  Sommervogel,  a  German 
Jesuit,  has  published  an  octavo  volume,  which 
is  nothing  more  than  a  catalogue — but  a  most 
interesting  and  edifying  catalogue — of  the 
works  written  in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
by  members  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  since  its 
foundation.  The  list  does  not  include  the 
various  treatises,  panegyrics,  and  meditations 
found  in  the  course  of  works  on  theolog}'-, 
collections  of  sermons,  etc. ;  it  is  confined  to 
those  works  specially  consecrated  to  estab- 
lish or  to  propagate  devotion  to  the  ever- 
blessed  Virgin.  They  amount  to  the  respect- 
able number  of  2,207: — 93  on  the  life  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  the  words  which  she  has 
spoken;  206  on  the  grandeurs  and  privileges 
of  Mary;  98  on  the  liturgy  of  Mary;  36  on  her 
mysteries  and  feasts  in  general;  344  on  the 
Immaculate  Conception;  274  on  the  other 
feasts;  252  on  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
in  general;  28  on  examples  of  devotion  to  Our 
Lady;  1 17  on  particular  devotions — the  month 
of  May,  the  Rosary,  Scapulars,  etc.;  226  on 
the  congregations  and  confraternities  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin;  451  on  pilgrimages,  relics, 
and  miracles;  finally,  82  on  music  and  the 
arts  in  the  service  of  the  Mother  of  God. 
Many  of  these  works  are  still  in  manuscript; 
they  are  in  all  the  languages  of  Europe — one 
might  almost  say  in  all  the  languages  spoken 
upon  the  earth.  The  sons  of  St.  Ignatius  have 
given  incontestable  proof  that  they  are  faith- 
ful servants  of  Mary,  and  worthy  of  saluting 
her  with  the  title  they  are  in  the  habit  of  add- 
ing to  her  litanies:  Regina  Societatis  Jesu, — 
"Queen  of  the  Society  of  Jesus." 


Many  of  our  readers  may  be  pleased  to  know 
that  the  principal  lamp  burning  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  in  the  Lourdes  Basilica 
comes  from  Ireland.  There  are,  perhaps,  a 
score  of  lamps  before  the  high  altar,  but  the 
Irish  one  is  conspicuous  b}-  its  size  and  its 
central  position.       

A  marble  bust  of  Father  de  Smet,  the  fa- 
mous missionary  among  the  Indian  tribes  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  has  been  presented  to 
the  Chicago  Historical  Society.  It  is  from 
the  chisel  of  Mr.  Howard  Kretschman,  of  that 
city,  and  is  highly  praised  as  a  work  of  art. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


65 


Baron  von  Hiibner,  a  distinguished  German 
Protestant,  famed  for  his  extensive  travels, 
writing  of  his  stay  in  Oceanica,  pays  a  de- 
served tribute  to  the  saintly  Prefect- Apostolic 
of  the  Fijian  Archipelago: 

"Father  Breheret,  of  the  Congregation  of  Mar- 
ists,  is  a  Vendean  by  birth.  He  has  been  carrying 
on  his  ministry  here  for  forty  years,  never  once 
visiting  Europe.  He  is  the  type  of  an  ascetic;  his 
venerable  features  beam  with  gentleness  and  love. 
His  garb,  like  the  little  church,  the  priest's  house, 
and  the  school,  bears  the  stamp  of  apostolic  pov- 
erty. '  He  is  a  saint,'  said  a  Wesleyan  missionary 
to  me,  and  this  testimony  is  confirmed  by  the 
unanimous  verdict  of  the  white  population." 


The  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Alemany  is  now 
in  Valencia,  Spain,  where  he  is  crowning  a 
life  of  good  works  in  re-establishing  the  Do- 
minican Order  in  that  country.  The  vener- 
able Bishop  recently  wrote  to  an  esteemed 
friend  in  New  York,  and,  as  all  that  relates  to 
the  personality  of  this  zealous  and  amiable 
prelate  has  intense  interest  to  many  of  our 
readers,  we  are  glad  to  know  that  he  is  in  good 
liealth  and  full  of  energy.  ' '  I  may, ' '  he  wrote, 
' '  have  to  purchase  some  little  property  adjoin- 
ing our  grand  and  large  Dominican  church, 
called  El  Pilar,  where  I  practise  my  old  trade 
■every  day — that  of  hearing  confessions.  Sev- 
eral young  men  have  called,  asking  to  be  re- 
ceived; but,  although  I  have  a  novice-master 
-with  me,  we  can  not  receive  until  the  General 
sends  me  two  or  three  more.  The  people  of 
this  city  of  St.  Vincent  Ferrer  are  very  glad 
to  see  our  habit,  and  when  the  time  comes 
they  will  doubtless  help  us." 

There  are  a  good  many  people  here,  and 
even  more  on  the  Pacific  coast,  who  would  be 
glad  to  see  the  habit  of  the  venerable  and 
venerated  Titular  Archbishop  of  Pelusium. 
Spain  planted  the  Cross  in  America,  and  now 
America  makes  return  by  sending  her  an 
adopted  American  to  strengthen  faith  in  the 
country  of  his  birth.  The  task  of  receiving 
young  Spaniards  into  the  Order  which  he  has 
so  loved  throughout  his  life,  is  a  blessing  well 
deserved  in  his  old  age,  and  one  of  the  sweet- 
est he  has  ever  performed. — N.  V.  Freeman' s 
Journal.  

The  Church  of  the  Franciscan  Fathers  at 
Clonmel,  Ireland,  is  one  of  those  grand  his- 
toric monuments  to  religion  with  which  the 
* '  Isle  of  Saints  ' '  abounds.    It  was  built  about 


the  year  1269,  and  long  ranked  amongst  the 
noblest  ecclesiastical  edifices  in  the  land.  It 
was  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  town,  and  the 
adjoining  monastery  was  the  home  of  many 
a  saint  and  scholar,  who  shed  lustre  on  their 
native  land,  and  who  labored  zealously  to 
preserve  the  faith  taught  by  St.  Patrick.  In 
the  days  of  persecution,  the  Clonmel  Abbey 
shared  to  the  full  in  the  calamitous  fate  of  the 
other  monastic  institutions  of  the  kingdom. 
Suppressed  and  plundered  by  Henry  VIII.; 
rifled  and  unroofed  by  Cromwell;  later  on 
used  as  a  stable  by  the  troopers  of  King  Wil- 
liam, its  history  has  been  an  eventful  one.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century  the 
tower  and  choir  were  the  only  portions  that 
remained  of  the  original  church;  but  in  1827 
the  Franciscan  Fathers  gained,  by  lease,  a 
right  to  return  to  the  place  where  their  breth- 
ren had  ministered  before.  Since  then,  the 
*  'Abbey ' '  (though  not  affording  anything  like 
decent  accommodation)  has  been  a  favorite 
place  of  worship  for  the  Catholics  of  Clonmel 
and  the  surrounding  parishes. 

For  years  pastj  however,  signs  of  decay  have 
been  very  apparent  in  the  building,  and  in 
order  that  something  may  be  done  to  restore 
it,  and  make  it  more  suitable  for  its  sacred 
purpose,  the  Friars  appeal  to  the  generosity 
of  the  faithful  everywhere.  The  Holy  Father 
has  granted  his  Apostolic  Benediction  to  all 
who  aid  in  the  good  work. 


The  Rev.  Father  Rigby,  of  Ugthorpe,  York- 
shire, now  in  his  ninetieth  year,  is  the  oldest 
priest  in  England.  He  has  been  attached  to 
the  Ugthorpe  Mission  for  sixty  years. 


Mgr.  Eangenieux,  Archbishop  of  Rheims, 
in  an  address  delivered  on  the  occasion  of 
his  recent  elevation  to  the  cardinalate,  recalls 
the  glorious  history  of  the  metropolitan  See 
over  which  he  presides.  Since  its  apostolical 
erection,  nearly  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 
Rheims  has  been  a  seat  of  learning  and  piety; 
and  its  long  line  of  prelates  have  rendered  sig- 
nal services  to  their  faith  and  their  fatherland. 
Out  of  the  hundred  Archbishops  of  Rheims, 
thirteen  are  revered  as  saints,  and  eighteen 
have  been  raised  to  the  dignity  of  cardinals. 
Four  churchmen  from  the  Archdiocese  have 
occupied  the  See  of  Peter.  With  it  is  also 
associated  the  memory  of  the  great  Cardinal 
Gousset  and  the  gifted  Archbishop  Eandriot. 


66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


But  the  new  Cardinal,  with  a  humility  by 
which  he  proves  himself  truly  great,  makes  all 
this  glory  serve  as  the  reason  of  his  own  eleva- 
tion; and  attributes  to  the  merits  of  his  illus- 
trious predecessors,  and  the  brilliant  records 
of  the  See  of  Rheims,  the  "  exception  ' '  which 
has  been  made  in  his  favor. 


Although  the  head  of  the  Universal  Church 
has  no  army  to  enforce  his  commands,  these 
obtain  more  ready  assent  than  the  most  im- 
perative orders  of  any  temporal  sovereign. 
He  has  no  iron- clad  fleet  to  thunder  forth  his 
decrees,  but  his  authoritative  word,  conveyed 
around  the  globe  by  the  silent  electric  spark, 
secures  the  willing  adherence  of  his  countless 
flock.to  the  teachings  of  their  Supreme  Pastor. 
As  the  mind  of  man  is  far  above  his  mate- 
rial part,  so  is  the  spiritual  power  of  Peter's 
successor  above  the  weak  authority  of  mere 
human  force. — Catholic  Herald. 


His  Holiness  lyco  XIII.  has  forwarded  to 
the  sanctuary  of  Our  I^ady  of  RipoU,  now 
under  restoration  in  the  diocese  of  Vich,  in 
Spain,  a  magnificent  painting  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

A  special  dispatch  from  Paris  last  week  an- 
nounced the  death  of  the  venerable  and  illus- 
trious Cardinal  Guibert.  He  was  born  at  Aix, 
December  13,  1802,  and  early  distinguished 
himself  in  his  theological  studies,  which  he 
completed  at  Rome  Subsequently  he  became 
Vicar-General  of  Ajaccio  and  Bishop  of  Vivi- 
ers  (Ardeche).  He  succeeded  Mgr.  Morlot 
as  Archbishop  of  Tours,  February  4,  1859,  on 
the  promotion  of  that  prelate  to  the  See  of 
Paris,  to  which  See  he  was  himself  promoted 
on  the  nomination  of  M.  Thiers,  President  of 
the  Republic,  succeeding  the  martyred  Mgr. 
Darboy.  Pius  IX.  created  him  cardinal  in 
December,  1873.  He  was  nominated  an  Offi- 
cer of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  August  11,  1859. 
R.  I.  P.  

The  University  of  Pennsylvania  has  con- 
ferred the  honorary  degree  of  lyL.  D.  on  Arch- 
bishop Ryan,  of  Philadelphia.  The  Inquirer 
of  that  city  says:  ''This  is  the  first  time  in 
the  history  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania 
that  an  honorary  degree  has  been  conferred 
by  that  institution  upon  a  Roman  Catholic. 
The  act  of  conferring  this  degree  of  honor  on  ' 


Archbishop  Ryan  was  not  only  a  just  and 
graceful  recognition  of  his  eminent  learning 
and  piety,  but  a  wholesome  indication  of  the 
broader  and  nobler  spirit  with  which  the  Uni- 
versity has  in  these  later  days  clothed  itself 
withal.  It  is  a  spirit  gracious,  generous,  and 
beautiful ;  and  the  act  which  this  spirit  inspired 
conferred  more  honor  upon  this  ancient  seat 
of  learning  than  upon  the  pious  and  learned 
Archbishop." 

Cardinal  Gibbons  is  said  to  have  been  the 
youngest  prelate  at  the  Ecumenical  Council 
in  1 870,  when  the  entire  Catholic  hierarchy  of 
the  world — over  900  bishops — assembled  in 
the  Vatican  to  vote  on  the  question  of  Papal 
Infallibility,  and  his  youthful  but  intelligent 
and  benign  face  attracted  much  attention. 


It  has  often  st;-uck  us  that  the  events — 
deplorable  from  so  many  points  of  view — that 
brought  about  the  despoiling  of  monasteries 
and  the  dispersion  of  religious  orders  in  Rome 
and  elsewhere,  in  our  day, were  permitted  by 
God  for  the  wise  end  of  scattering  the  sowers 
and  reapers  of  His  harvest:  so  that  they  might 
go  forth,  weeping,  if  you  will,  but  spreading 
the  Gospel  seed  over  the  earth,  to  return  one 
day  carrying  their  sheaves  of  salvation. 


It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the 
maps  of  300  or  400  years  ago  crudely  recorded 
the  chief  geographical  features  of  Africa  as 
they  have  recently  been  found  to  exist.  These 
old  maps,  unlike  any  modern  maps  previous 
to  Stanley's  journey  in  1877,  make  the  Congo 
issue  from  a  lake  in  the  centre  of  the  conti- 
nent. A  Spanish  globe  of  the  i6th  century, 
now  in  Paris,  reproduces  in  a  remarkable 
manner  the  course  of  the  river  as  laid  down 
by  Stanley.  It  shows  the  river  issuing  from  a 
lake,  flowing  north,  describing  a  large  curve 
north  of  the  equator,  and  then  turning  west- 
southwest  to  the  Atlantic.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  all  this  information  was  obtained  by  the 
early  Portuguese  traders  and  travellers,  who, 
perhaps,  crossed  the  continent,  and  certainly 
reached  the  great  lakes  in  the  i6th  and  17th 
centuries.  All  they  added  to  the  map  of  Af- 
rica was  wiped  out  by  the  doubting  Thomases 
of  a  later  age;  but  "old  things  have  become 
new, ' '  and  some  great  things  the}^  discovered 
are  now  back  again  on  the  latest  maps. — New 
York  Sun, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Obituary. 


**It  is  a  holy  and  wfiolesome  ikou^ht  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Camillus  Imoda,  S.  J.,  formerly  an  In- 
dian missionary,  but  for  three  years  past  attached 
to  the  Cathedral,  Helena,  M.T.,  whose  sudden 
death  occurred  on  the  i8th  ult.  Father  Imoda 
was  much  beloved  in  Helena,  and  his  unexpected 
death  cast  a  gloom  over  the  whole  community. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Nolan,  P.P.,  Abbeyleix,  Ire- 
land, who  departed  this  life  on  the  9th  of  May. 

The  Rev.  W.  Revis,  of  the  Archdiocese  of  Chi- 
cago, rector  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Maple  Park,  111. 

The  Rev.  Francis  J.  Finn,  a  worthy  young  priest 
of  the  Diocese  of  Portland,  who  breathed  his  last 
on  the  29th  ult. ,  the  second  anniversary  of  his 
ordination.  v 

The  Rev.  Father  Niederkorn,  a  venerable  priest 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  well  known  in  many  parts 
of  the  West,  who  died  at  Florissant,  Mo.,  on  the 
6th  inst. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Genevieve,  a  religious  of  the 
Convent  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  Cleveland,  Ohio, 
who  yielded  her  soul  to  God  on  the  3d  inst.  She 
was  in  the  forty-fourth  year  of  her  age  and  the 
seventeenth  of  her  religious  profession. 

Mr.  Richard  Courtney,  of  Baltimore,  whose  good 
life  was  crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the  17th 
ult.  He  was  a  generous  friend  of  the  poor,  and  did 
all  in  his  power  for  the  maintenance  of  charitable 
institutions. 

Miss  Cecilia  Oliver,  a  daughter  of  the  late  la- 
mented Marquis  Oliver,  who  passed  away  on  the 
27th  of  June.  Her  death,  which  was  most  edify- 
ing to  all  who  witnessed  it,  has  caused  universal 
regret  in  San  Francisco. 

Mr.  Louis  W.  Mitchell,  who  was  drowned  in 
Lake  Washington,  Minn.,  on  the  12th  ult.  He 
was  an  excellent  young  man,  very  devout  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin. 

Mrs.  Alice  Lyons  and  Miss  Mary  E.Carroll, both 
of  New  York.  They  suffered  long  and  patiently, 
and  died  happy  deaths. 

Mr.  Patrick  H.  Cummins  and  Miss  Nellie  Agnes 
Cummins,  his  daughter,  both  of  whom  were  called 
from  this  life  during  the  month  of  June.  Mr. 
Cummins  came  to  this  country  in  1819,  and  was 
one  of  the  most  respected  Irishmen  in  Boston. 

Katie  F.  Kelly,  of  Lewiston,  Me.,  deceased  on 
the  23d  ult.  She  was  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary,  and 
her  precious  death  will  long  be  remembered  by 
friends  and  relatives. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Sheridan  and  Miss  Elizabeth 
McGrath,  of  Elizabeth,  N.  J. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PrAHTMENt 


The  Feast  of  la  Sainte  Enfance. 


On  a  sunny  morning  in  the  beautiful 
month  of  June  the  pious  parish  of  St.  Lam- 
bert was  all  astir,  especially  the  juvenile 
portion  of  it,  who  were  anxiously  waiting- 
for  the  first  stroke  -^f  the  church  bell  that 
was  to  summon  them  to  Mass,  sermon, 
procession,  and  Benediction — all  for  them- 
selves ;  for  it  was  the  Feast  of  la  Sainte 
Enfance yVfhich  falls  regularly  on  the  octave- 
day  of  the  Ascension. 

Soon  the  sacred  edifice  was  filled  with 
hundreds  of  little  children,  boys  and  girls, 
from  two  years  old  to  twelve.  They  were 
as  good  as  they  were  pretty,  and  quietly 
seated  themselves  in  the  places  assigned  to 
them  by  the  kind  priests  and  devoted  nuns, 
who  smilingly  directed  the  little  flock. 
The  children  were  very  recollected,  and 
prayed  most  fervently,  their  eyes  riveted 
on  the  exquisite  shrine  of  the  Holy  Infant 
erected  before  the  high  altar;  it  was  all  a 
mass  of  choice  flowers  and  lights,  tastefully 
arranged,  and  surmounted  by  a  statue  of 
the  Child  Jesus  blessing  the  little  ones. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  drums  was  heard 
in  the  distance,  gradually  drawing  nearer 
and  nearer.  It  might  be  too  much  to  assert 
that  some  little  heads  did  not  turn  round, 
but  the  Child  Jesus  is  indulgent;  besides, 
the  sight  was  proved  irresistible  even  for 
old  people. 

Two  little  drummers,  about  six  years  old, 
dressed  as  soldiers,  followed  by  two  oflicers 
decorated  with  gold  embroidery,  and  wear- 
ing swords,  led  the  march ;  then  came  two 
little  Chinese  men  and  women,  elegantly 
attired  in  the  costume  of  the  Celestial  Em- 
pire. Whether  they  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Pekin  we  had  better  not  consider;  but 
they  pleased  the  audience  quite  as  much  as 
if  this  had  been  the  case;  at  all  events,  the 
cues  were  genuine. 


68 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Tliese  privileged  personages,  the  heroes 
of  the  feast,  reverently  entered  the  sanctu- 
ary, and  after  a  short  prayer  repeated  by 
hundreds  of  baby  voices,  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
of  the  Mass  was  celebrated  by  the  cure, 
in  the  grandest  vestments,  during  which 
hymns  were  sung.  The  drums  were  heard 
again  at  the  Elevation,  as  in  a  real  military 
Mass.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  Holy  Sacri- 
fice a  missionary  preached  a  most  touching 
sermon  on  the  excellent  Work  of  the  Holy 
Childhood,  explaining  how  much  good 
might  be  accomplished  even  with  pennies, 
and  what  a  happiness  it  was  to  be  the  in- 
istrument  of  salvation  to  the  poor  little  Chi- 
nese, with  whom  he  had  lived  so  long,  and 
whom  he  loved  so  well. 

After  the  sermon,  the  little  French- Chi- 
nese, preceded  by  the  suisse  or  beadle,  went 
through  the  congregation,  begging  for 
their  poor  little  heathen  brethren.  Then 
a  procession  formed,  in  which  all  the  chil- 
dren took  part ;  it  began  with  little  tots, 
dressed  in  white,  with  wreaths  of  white 
roses  on  their  golden  locks, — each  carrying 
a  small  pink  or  blue  banner,  ornamented 
■with  gold  designs,  and  bearing  a  pious 
motto  or  invocation  —  ^'' Notre- Dame  de 
Lourdes^  priez  pour  nous^ ' '  '  ^ Notre- Dame 
dii  Rosaire^  priez  pour  nous^ ' '  etc.  Three 
girls,  about  ten  years  old,  carried  the  beauti- 
ful banner  of  the  Sainte  Enfance\  then 
<:ame  the  four  Chinese,  bearing  on  their 
shoulders  the  statue  of  the  Child  Jesus — 
a  real  Bambino  vestito;  for  it  was  envel- 
oped in  a  very  effective  red  satin  robe. 
These  latter  were  escorted  by  the  drummers 
and  officers,  followed  by  the  little  boys  from 
three  years  to  twelve,  accompanied  by  the 
Christian  Brothers.  The  clergy  and  the 
parish  priest  closed  the  march;  last  of  all 
walked  the  holy  missionary,  whose  ascetic 
face  and  deep  recollection  made  those  pres- 
ent whisper  to  each  other:  "A  saint!" 

The  ceremony  ended  with  solemn  Bene- 
diction of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  after 
a  few  words  by  the  zealous  parish  priest, 
who  complimented  the  children  on  their 
good  behavior,  the  youthful  crowd,  quite 
delighted  with  their  y?/f^,  left  the  church  in 


graceful  ranks,  the  inevitable  drumming 
keeping  time  with  their  measured  step. 

Should  any  old  folks  who  read  these  lines 
perchance  find  traces  of  levity  and  irrever- 
ence in  this  naive  and  childish  ceremony, 
we  can  only  wish  they  had  been  present, 
and  witnessed  the  innocent  delight  and 
piety  of  the  sweet  little  ones,  of  whom  Our 
Blessed  Saviour  said:  "Suffer  little  chil- 
dren to  come  to  Me;  for  of  strch  is  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven. ' ' 

A  Friend  of  The  "Ave  Maria  "  in  Paris. 


A  Victory  of  the  Cross. 


BY  ElylZABETH  KING,  AUTHOR  OF 
IvAND,"  ETC. 


MARIE  CI.EVE- 


"  You  must  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
first,  papa,"  said  a  little  girl,  as  she  made 
the  sacred  sign  before  touching  her  frugal 
dinner. 

"Must  I,  dear?"  replied  the  man,  smil- 
ing, and  patting  his  little  daughter  on  the 
head. 

' '  You  learned  that  at  school,  Mary,  I 
think^"  said  her  mother.  "Alas!  I  some- 
times forget  it,  and  many  other  pious  prac- 
tices, since  I  left  my  native  land. ' ' 

'  'Ah !  well,  we  have  had  a  great  deal  to  at- 
tend to,"  replied  her  husband,  with  a  sigh. 
' '  We  have  had  a  hard  struggle  to  feed  our- 
selves, and  it  was  a  bitter  trial  to  part  with 
the  little  ones  that  are  gone. ' ' 

' '  True,  George ;  but  perhaps  the  darlings 
would  have  been  left  to  us  if  we  had  kept 
stricter  to  our  religion,"  returned  his  wife. 

"  So  I  often  think ;  but  I  fear  it  is  too 
late  to  begin  now;  isn't  it,  Mary?"  added 
the  father,  as  he  saw  his  child's  blue  eyes 
fixed  upon  him,  with  a  wistful,  searching 
look. 

The  child  did  not  quite  understand  what 
her  father  meant  when  he  said,  ' '  It  is  too 
late  to  begin  now,"  but  she  had  a  vague 
idea  that  his  words  had  some  reference  to 
God,  about  whom  she  had  learned  a  good 
deal  lately  at  the  Sisters'  school ;  so  she  re- 
peated :  ' '  Papa,  you  must  make  the  Sign  of 


The  Ave  Maria, 


69 


the  Cross  first.  Sister  Agnes  says  we  should 
bless  ourselves  before  prayers  and  lessons, 
and  other  actions. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  Mary, ' '  said  her  mother,  ' '  you  are 
quite  right.  I  learned  that  at  home,  when  I 
was  a  little  child.  But  now,  dear,  run  and 
play  a  while  in  the  garden,  before  you  go  to 
school. ' ' 

Mrs.  Weston  felt  ashamed  of  her  gradual 
neglect  of  the  exterior  forms  of  our  holy 
religion,  without  which  the  interior  life 
soon  grows  cold.  As  her  husband  rose  to 
go  to  his  work,  she  said:  "George,  our 
child  is  right;  I  at  least  must  make  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross,  and  begin  to  live  a  dififerent 
life;  and  then  perhaps  you  will  do  so  too." 

George  Weston  had  begun  life  as  a  mason, 
with  every  prospect  of  getting  on  in  the 
world;  and  in  Kate  Donovan  he  had  found 
a  worthy  companion — virtuous,  industrious, 
and  frugal — who  would  aid  him  through 
the  trials  and  difficulties  before  him.  The 
young  girl  was  a  Catholic,  and  in  her  child- 
hood had  been  well  instructed  in  the  faith. 
But  her  parents  were  very  poor,  and  during 
an  unusually  severe  Winter  they  were  forced 
to  leave  the  cabin  in  which  all  their  chil- 
dren had  been  born,  and  go  to  Australia, 
to  work  for  their  daily  bread.  Kate,  the 
youngest,  was  left  behind  in  care  of  a  widow 
lady,  who  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  and 
offered  to  adopt  her. 

The  child  received  a  better  education 
than  would  have  been  given  her  had  she 
gone  with  her  parents,  but  still  she  was  not 
happy.  Her  new  mother  had  adopted  the 
little  girl  from  selfish  motives.  She  made 
a  plaything  of  her  for  a  few  years,  and  then 
procured  a  situation  for  her  in  a  family 
about  to  leave  for  England.  Shortly  after 
arriving  there,  Kate  became  acquainted 
with  George  Weston,  and  married  him.  He 
was  sober,  steady,  and  industrious,  but  a 
Protestant,  so  that  they  had  not  a  thought 
in  common  on  the  one  great  subject  which 
alone  can  bind  hearts  together  in  perfect 
union.  George  gradually  left  off"  going  to 
church  on  Sundays;  Kate  often  missed 
Mass;  friends  dropped  in,  or  the  couple 
went  out  visiting.  Then  trade  was  dull ;  for 


two  Winters  George  had  been  out  of  work, 
and  he  had  to  look  for  employment  in  a 
distant  country 'town.  The  children  grew 
sickly,  and  died  one  after  another.  The 
expenses  of  removal,  the  doctor's  fees,  etc., 
incurred  heavy  debts. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  little 
Mary  first  saw  the  light.  She  came  in  the 
hour  of  sorrow.  This  was  probably  the 
reason  why  she  was  graver  than  most  chil- 
dren of  her  age.  Her  mother's  tears  often 
fell  on  her  infant  head;  the  sad  tones  of  her 
father's  voice  sounded  in  her  ear  like  the 
solemn  music  of  a  requiem.  But  still  Mary 
was  not  a  melancholy  child.  There  was  a 
natural  element  of  joy  and  a  vein  of  humor 
running  through  her  blood,  which  she  in- 
herited from  her  Irish  mother.  She  would 
sing  merrily  at  times;  then,  at  the  sight 
of  her  mother's  tears,  she  would  suddenly 
cease,  and  steal  softly  to  her  side. 

Mary  had  been  baptized  a  Catholic,  and 
was  named  after  a  baby  sister  that  had  died 
in  its  infancy.  But  soon  after  the  child's 
birth  Mr.  Weston  lost  his  situation,  and  the 
family  again  removed  to  a  distant  town, 
where  there  was  no  Catholic  church.  For- 
tunately, when  Mary  was  five  years  old  a 
mission  was  opened,  and  a  school  estab- 
lished by  the  Sisters  of  Mercy  in  the  little 
market  town,  and  Mrs. 'Weston  easily  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  place  their,  little 
daughter  under  the  care  of  the  good  relig- 
ious. 

When  Mr.  Weston  came  home  in  the 
evening  of  the  day  on  which  his  child  had 
so  impressed  him  by  her  remark  about 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  he  found  her  care- 
fully studying  the  Catechism.  He  took 
the  book  out  of  her  hand,  and  read  some 
pages,  then  gave  it  to  her  again,  with  a  sigh. 
He  had  learned  one  great  truth,  at  least — 
that  he  was  created  to  love  and  serve  God 
here  on  earth,  and  to  be  happy  with  Him 
forever  in  heaven.  But  the  man  felt  that  he 
did  not  love  God,  and  for  some  years  he  had 
ceased  to  serve  Him. 

He  sat  musing  over  his  evening  meal, 
as  was  his  custom ;  but  how  changed  was 
the  current  of  his  thoughts!  When  he  went 


70 


The  Ave  Maria, 


to  rest  that  night,  it  was  not  to  sleep,  tired 
as  he  was.  How  sweet  is  the  sleep,  after 
a  day  of  toil,  which  the  good  Catholic  en- 
joys, however  poor  he  may  be !  His  last  act 
is  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  his  last  words  to 
commend  his  soul  into  the  hands  of  his 
Creator. 

(CONCIyUSION  IN  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


From  Tipperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  of  Tibby  Butler. 


BY  T.  F.  GALWEY. 


IV. 


The  night  was  intensely  cold,  but  the 
moon  shone  brilliantly  through  the  clear, 
frosty  air,  as  Colonel  Lynch  and  Tibby 
Butler,  well  wrapped,  walked  together  up 
and  down  the  platform  in  the  railroad  depot 
at  Jersey  City.  Alongside  of  them  was  the 
train  for  the  West^  waiting  for  the  signal  of 
departure. 

It  was  now  but  a  week  since  Tibby' s  ar- 
rival in  America,  and  here  he  was  waiting 
to  begin  a  journey  that  would  carry  him 
three-quarters  of  the  distance  across  the 
Continent. 

As  we  have  seen,  he  had  most  favorably 
impressed  the  Colonel  on  the  morning 
when  he  cleared  the  snow  from  Father 
Fitzgerald's  sidewalk;  so  favorably  indeed, 
that  the  Colonel  told  his  friend  the  priest, 
there  and  then,  that  he  would  like  to  take 
the  boy  with  him  to  his  ranch  in  South- 
western Texas,  -where  he  would  be  a  com- 
panion for  his  own  son  Philip.  With  Fa- 
ther Fitzgerald's  approval,  he  offered  Tibby 
a  home  and  opportunities  for  advancement 
if  he  would  come. 

Colonel  Lynch  was  such  a  man  as  a  boy 
like  Tibby  would  naturally  take  to, — a  man, 
a  gentleman,  and  a  good  Christian  in  every 
word  and  action,  yet  perfectly  simple  and 
unaffected. 

Tibby' s  chief  difficulty,  however,  was  his 
want  of  experience  with  horses;  for,  though 
he  came  from  a  "horsy"  neighborhood, 


owing  to  his  circumstances,  he  had  never 
yet  sat  on  a  horse.  And  now  he  was  told 
that  in  Texas  he  would  spend  half  the  day 
in  the  saddle. 

"Why,  Tibby,"  said  Father  Fitzgerald, 
"you  are  too  innocent  for  a  horse  to  play 
tricks  with,  but  you  are  no  fool.  A  horse 
is  a  very  intelligent  animal,  and  it  is  seldom 
it  runs  away  with  any  rider  who  is  not 
afraid  of  it,  and  does  not  think  himself  to 
be  a  very  sharp  fellow,  who  knows  every- 
thing." 

"Then  it's  more  intelligent,"  said  Tibby, 
"than  the  pair  of  animals  that  ran  away 
with  my  money." 

The  matter  had  been  speedily  arranged, 
and  Tibby' s  little  portmanteau  had  been 
brought  from  Fritz  Schnupfer's  "Harp  of 
Erin,"  and  now,  along  with  the  Colonel's 
effects,  was  hidden  amid  a  pile  of  trunks 
in  the  baggage- car  of  the  "Western  Ex- 
press." 

When  Father  Fitzgerald  bade  the  Colonel 
and  Tibby  good-bye  on  the  steps  of  his 
house,  he  gave  them  his  blessing,  and  re- 
turned indoors,  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that 
so  promising  a  lad  as  Tibby  was  on  his  way 
to  a  region  where  the  surroundings  would 
be  more  suitable  than  those  of  a  great  city 
like  New  York.  Tibby  had  given  him  his 
word  that  he  would  never  neglect  his  re- 
ligious duties,  and  that  he  would  always 
endeavor  to  be  courageous  in  one  form  par- 
ticularly— in  doing  his  whole  duty  well  at 
all  times,  and  in  refraining  from  evil  of  all 
sorts,  no  matter  what  others  might  say  or 
do  or  think. 

Bang!  goes  the  gong.  "All  aboard!" 
calls  out  the  conductor;  and  as  Colonel 
Lynch  and  Tibby  climb  the  steps  and  enter 
the  door  of  the  Pullman,  the  train  moves 
slowly  and  smoothly  out  of  the  long  shed, 
and  begins  its  winding  course  through  and 
across  Jersey  City. 

As  Tibby,  following  the  Colonel  on  the 
way  to  their  seats,  was  going  through  the 
narrow  alley  at  the  end  of  the  car,  he  saw 
the  porter  in  an  excited  discussion  with  a 
passenger  as  to  the  location  of  a  berth. 
The  passenger  was  a  sour-looking  individ- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


7* 


II 


li 


al,  and  was  talking  to  the  porter  with  a 
snarl  in  his  voice,  and  using  language  that 
was  both  unnecessary  and  offensive. 

"  Dey  ain't  no  sorter  use  fer  to  abuse  me, 
boss,"  said  the  porter,  in  reply.  '*Ef  dey 
done  didn't  gib  yer  a  ticket  fer  a  middle 
berth,' tain' t  my  fault,  nohow.  Go  and  talk 
o  de  corndoctor;  he's  de  man  to  fix  things 
f  dey  ain't  right."  The  porter  was  evi- 
dently wrought  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  pas- 
sion by  the  passenger's  insulting  manner, 
and  so  thought  Tibby,  who  was  staring  at 
him  aghast. 

He  tapped  the  porter  on  the  back,  saying, 
gently  and  sympathizingly:  "It's  harm 
you'll  be  doing  yourself  if  you  give  way  to 
your  temper  like  that.  Don't  mind  the 
man  at  all.  Sure  you're  black  in  the  face 
already ! ' '  And  he  followed  up  this  speech 
by  begging  the  passenger  to  look  at  the 
porter's  face,  and  desist  from  provoking 
him  any  further. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Colonel,  who  had 
been  busy  stowing  away  the  various  va- 
lises, travelling  shawls,  umbrellas,  etc., 
missed  Tibby,  and  went  back  in  search  of 
him.  But  not  a  moment  too  soon ;  for  both 
the  porter  and  the  passenger,  forgetting 
their  own  quarrel  for  the  instant,  had  turned 
upon  the  boy,  annoyed  by  the  apparent 
impertinence  of  his  remarks. 

"What  is  all  this  disturbance  about, 
Sam?"  the  Colonel  asked  the  porter, whom 
he  knew  from  having  repeatedly  ridden  in 
his  car. 

"Well,  Cunnul,"  said  the  porter,  "dis 
yer  gemman  and  myself  we  jes  talkin'  'bout 
some  business,  w'en  dis  yer  young  Irisher 
comes  up,  an'  right  away  begin  to  gib  me 
sass." 

' '  How  is  this,  Tibby  ?  "  the  Colonel  asked. 

Tibby  was  dreadfully  perplexed,  and 
looked  inquiringly  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  three.  ' '  Sure,  then, ' '  said  he,  ' '  the 
guard  must  be  out  of  his  mind  entirely! 
And  don't  you  see  how  black  he  has 
turned  ?  "  he  insisted,  trying  to  interest  the 
Colonel. 

But  his  horror  at  the  porter's  color  was  no 
greater  than  his  astonishment  at  the  indif- 


ference— the  cruel  indifference,  it  seemed 
to  him — which  both  Colonel  I^ynch  and 
the  passenger  displayed  in  the  presence  of 
this  dire  misfortune  to  the  porter. 

Colonel  Lynch  was  mystified  at  first,  but 
only  for  a  second.  He  raised  his  face  tow- 
ards the  ceiling,  and  emitted  a  shout  of 
laughter  that  drew  the  attention  of  every- 
body in  the  car.  Grasping  Tibby,  he  led 
him  forward  to  their  seats. 

"What  in  the  world,"  said  he,  "do  you 
think  is  the  matter  with  the  porter,  or  the 
'  guard, '  as  you  call  him  ?  Have  you  never 
seen  a  darky  before  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  that's  it!  It's  an  Ethiopian  he  is, 
is  it?" 

"Yes,  Tibby,"  said  the  Colonel,  whose 
frame  still  quivered  with  merriment.  ' '  But 
we  don't  call  them  Ethiopians  in  this  coun- 
try. Where  we  are  going  they  are  as  thick 
as  blackberries  on  a  blackberry  bush,  and 
some  of  them  as  black.  And  so  you  thought 
the  fellow  was  turning  black  from  anger? 
Oh!  Tibby,  Tibby!  you  must  learn  to  ob- 
serve without  too  quickly  making  up  your 
mind;  and,  above  all,  you  must  not  be  too 
ready  to  volunteer  your  opinion  or  your 
advice. ' ' 

"But  if  I  have  hurt  the  man's  feelings 
through  my  ignorance,  I  ought  to  go  and 
make  an  explanation  to  him, ' '  said  Tibby. 

"Leave  that  to  me,"  answered  the 
Colonel ;  "  I  will  attend  to  the  explanation 
myself." 

Tibby  submitted  gracefully ;  for  he  obeyed 
readily  those  who  had  authority  over  him. 

The  Colonel  had  probably  made  the 
' '  explanation ' ' ;  for  he  seemed  to  be  enjoy- 
ing himself  immensely  in  the  smoking 
compartment,  with  a  little  knot  of  fellow- 
travellers,  when  the  porter  approached 
Tibby' s  seat  to  make  up  the  berth. 

"Is  it  the  roof  of  the  car  you're  pulling 
down  ? ' '  Tibby  asked  the  porter,  in  sur- 
prise, when  he  saw  that  functionary  lower- 
ing the  panel  which  sustains  the  upper 
berth. 

"YeSj"  the  negro  answered.  "Da's 
whar  de  Cunnul  says  yer  to  sleep — up  on  de 
roof    An'  w'en  yer  done  tunned  in,  I'm 


The  Ave  Maria, 


gfwine  to  shut  yer  da  fer  de  night,  so's  none 
ob  dese  yer  sharp  Yankees  doan  carry  yer 
off  for  to  show  yer  roun'  de  country. ' ' 

''I  hope  I'm  not  such  a  curiosity  as  that, 
indeed,"  said  Tibby,  without  the  least  re- 
sentment. "But,  now,  \i  you  went  to  Ire- 
land y^u'd  make  a  fortune,  I've  no  doubt, 
after  a  while.  May  I  be  asking  what  is 
your  name?" 

' '  Samuel  Johnson  O'  Sullivan, ' '  answered 
the  negro,  spreading  out  a  mattress  across 
the  lower  berth. 

"O'Sullivan!"  exclaimed  Tibby.  ''That's 
a  queer  name  for  you.  Sure  I  thought  you 
were  from  Ethiopia.  The  O'Sullivans  are 
thick  in  Cork,  and  I  believe  there  are  many 
of  them  in  Kerry." 

The  negro,  who  was  now  holding  the 
edge  of  a  pillow  between  his  teeth  in  order 
to  slip  the  pillow-cover  over  it,  turned  his 
back  to  Tibby,  so  as  to  hide  his  amusement, 
and  mumbled:  "I  reckon  my  folks  done 
come  f 'om  de  Lakes  ob  Killahny,  in  de  fus' 
place. ' ' 

Tibby  was  finally  stowed  away  in  his 
"upper, ' '  and,  after  saying  his  prayers,  slept 
fairly  enough,  considering  that  it  was  his 
first  night  on  a  railroad.  He  awoke  sev- 
eral times,  however,  and  at  each  awakening 
listened  with  some  awe  to  the  melancholy 
music  which  the  car- wheels  played  on  the 
track  as  the  train  spun  along,  around  the 
many  curves  on  the  way  through  the  Alle- 
ghany Mountains.  Sometimes,  on  the  steep 
grades  and  sudden  bends  of  the  road,  he 
almost  fancied  himself  at  sea  again,  in  the 
steerage  of  the  Oceanic^  as  his  heels  went 
up  and  his  head  went  down,  or  the  reverse; 
and  as  his  body  was  tossed  from  right  to  left, 
and  from  left  to  right.  More  than  once  he 
opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  sat  bolt  upright, 
when  the  locomotive,  entering  a  tunnel  or 
approaching  a  turnpike,  gave  out  a  partic- 
ularly piercing  shriek.  But  his  eyes  would 
close  again,  and  the  monotonous  tippety- 
tuppety-tum-tum-tum  of  the  jolting  rails, 
and  the  occasional  shoo! — bangity-bangity- 
shoo!  of  a  bridge  rapidly  passed,  lulled  him 
into  deep  slumber  once  more,  from  which 
he  finally  awoke  early  in  the  morning. 


Sam  was  pulling  at  his  foot.  "Boss,  ye'd 
better  be  gittin'  up.  De  Cunnul's  dressed 
and  waitin'  fer  yer. ' ' 

"I'll  come  as  soon  as  I've  said  my  pray- 
ers.    And  is  this  Texas?" 

"Texas!"  said  the  porter.  "Sho',  now, 
boy,  I  ain't  got  time  tostan'yer  larkin'. 
Dis  yer's  Pittsburg  w' at  we're  comin'  nigh. 
Texas!  W'y,  we  ain't  come  to  Cincinnati 
yet,  let  alone  Texas ! ' ' 

"Sin-sin  naughty,  eh?  Well,  you're  a 
strange  man  indeed !  I  dOn'  t  know  what  you 
mean.  But  I  suppose  your  heart  is  whiter 
than  your  face. ' '  And  as,  amid  the  general 
confusion  of  taking  apart  and  closing  the 
berths,  he  finished  his  little  morning  prayer, 
he  said,  "It's  getting  up  I  am  now!"  and 
he  dropped  lightly  to  the  floor. 
(to  be  continued.) 


A  Faithful  Guide. 


What  a  strange  thing  it  is,  that  * '  still,  small 
voice"  which  speaks  so  continually  to  our 
hearts,  approving  when  we  do  good,  and  re- 
proaching when  we  commit  evil!  This  quiet 
monitor  has  no  articulate  language,  and  its 
admonitions  come  to  us  without  sign  or  sound; 
but  we  are  cognizant  of  all  it  tells  us  just  as 
well  as  though  it  spoke  in  sonorous  tones, 
audible  to  everybody  around. 

Conscience,  dear  children,  is  the  personal 
and  particular  director  which  God  has  given 
every  soul.  It  points  ever  to  the  path  of  right, 
as  the  compass-needle  points  to  the  pole  of  its 
attraction.  A  degraded  reason  or  diseased 
imagination  sometimes  embarrasses  and  inter- 
feres with  the  holy  guide's  freedom  of  action; 
but  through  all  it  faithfully  maintains  its  nat- 
ural tendency — the  character  of  divine  mentor 
is  never  wholly  lost. 

Listen,  then,  young  friends,  to  the  zealous 
promptings  of  this  voice  of  virtue's  guardian 
pleading  with  your  hearts.  Never  neglect  to 
do  that  which  it  urges,  or  avoid  what  it  con- 
demns. In  obeying  it  you  not  only  please 
God,  and  merit  reward  hereafter,  but  you  se- 
cure for  yourselves  here  that  exceeding  hap- 
piness, "the  joy  of  a  good  conscience,"  with 
which  no  other  earthly  delight  can  in  any 
wise  compare. — Catholic  Weekly. 


Vol.  XXIII.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  24,  1886. 


No.  4. 


[Copyright :— Riv.  D. 

The  Influence  of  the  Church  on  Art. 


ERTiVIN  critics  of  our  day,  inspired 
by  the  spirit  of  the  modern  Revo- 
lution, have  attempted  to  obscure 
the  glories  of  the  Church  in  her  relations 
to  art.  Taine,  Renan,  Michelet,  Viardot, 
and  others,  try  to  prove  that  the  fine  arts 
never  spread  the  wings  of  their  inspira- 
tion, and  consequently  never  soared  to  the 
regions  of  the  beautiful,  until  they  freed 
themselves  from  the  trammels  of  Catholic 
dogma;  then,  free  and  emancipated,  they 
explored  all  the  fields  of  human  knowledge, 
in  search  of  that  enthusiastic  inspiration 
to  which  we  owe  the  great  works  of  art. 
"When  people  begin  to  understand  the 
words  free  examination,  civil  liberty,  and 
human  dignity, ' '  said  Viardot,  ' '  then  it  is 
that  the  independence  and  the  personality 
of  the  artist  begin  to  show  themselves. ' ' 

Fortunately,  these  false  judgments  of  im- 
pious critics  have  not  been  as  generally 
accepted  as  their  authors  imagined  when 
they  conceived  and  began  to  propagate 
them;  and  the  chief  reason  of  this  is  be- 
cause it  would  be  necessary  to  close  one's 
eyes  to  the  light  of  evidence  before  one 
could  fail  to  recognize  the  great  benefits  be- 
stowed on  the  arts  by  Catholicity,  whilst 
the  world  is  full  of  marvellous  productions 
which  are  the  admiration  of  artists.  Never- 
theless, when  assertions  of  this  kind  con- 
tinue to  be  repeated  in  books,  magazines, 
and   newsx^apers,  they  can  not  but  have 


E.  Hussov,  C.  S.  C.] 

some  influence,  particularly  in  a  country 
like  ours. 

Although  the  idea  that  during  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  the  arts  were  enslaved  under  the 
oppressive  yoke  of  the  Church  has  not  been 
fully  accepted — because  it  could  not  be, — 
and  the  absurd  doctrine  of  free  and  eman- 
cipated art  has  not  become  naturalized 
amongst  artists,  yet  the  spirit  of  these  er- 
rors has  been  imbibed,  and  modern  painters 
have  sought  to  widen  the  horizon  of  their 
inspirations  by  extending  it  to  all  known 
ages  and  nations,  and  to  all  the  religions 
and  civilizations  that  have  existed  on  the 
earth.  ' '  Do  not  confine  your  fertile  genius 
within  the  beautiful  but  narrow  limits  of 
positive  religions, ' '  was  said  to  artists ;  "do 
not  submit  your  inspiration  to  the  yoke  of 
Christian  dogmas,  nor  to  the  precepts  of 
Christian  morality;  your  horizon  is  the 
universe,  your  wings  the  human  spirit  free 
from  all  oppressive  shackles;  from  the  in- 
finite and  the  eternal,  of  which  you  catch 
a  glimpse  in  the  shadows  of  doubt,  to  the 
limited  and  the  transitory,  which  you  see 
with  your  eyes,  all  belongs  to  you,  because 
the  world  of  art  has  no  boundaries." 

There  has  been  much  talk  about  the 
emancipation  of  art,  and  this  is  the  surest 
way  to  bring  discredit  or  ruin  on  it.  But 
rationalistic  criticism  needed  to  support  its 
assertions  by  facts,  and,  in  the  absence  of 
real  facts,  it  had  to  resort  to  inventions. 
Hence  those  absurd  judgments  pronounced 
on  the  great  works  of  art,  and  especially 
on  Italian  painting,  which  we  meet  with 


74 


The  Ave  Maria, 


in  the  writings  of  certain  anti- Catholic 
authors.  Looking  on  the  beautiful  paint- 
ings of  the  1 6th  century,  it  is  evident  that, 
through  the  prejudices  of  the  rationalistic 
school,  they  have  lost  the  marvellous  colors 
that  were  spread  upon  them  by  the  pencil 
of  Christian  artists. 

Renan  will  tell  you  that  in  the  spiritual- 
ized pictures  of  Giotto  and  Fra  Angelico 
you  may  see  ' '  the  awakening  of  the  pro- 
fane life,  liberty  expanding  under  the  full 
light  of  the  sun,  humanity  coming  forth 
from  the  hypogea^  Taine  discovers  in 
the  massive  forms  and  compact  muscles  of 
Michael  Angelo's  figures  the  energetic  but 
repressed  expression  of  genius  of  the  artist 
held  under  subjection  by  the  intolerant 
dogmas  of  the  Church.  Another  makes  of 
Raphael  an  enemy  of  the  Popes,  and  of 
Domenichino  a  pagan  painter,  because  he 
painted  Diana  Huntmg.  A  volume  would 
be  required  to  enumerate  the  errors  con- 
cerning the  lives  of  the  great  artists,  and 
especially  in  regard  to  the  character  and 
merit  of  their  works,  that  have  been  propa- 
gated by  rationalistic  critics  in  their  ef- 
forts to  adulterate  the  history  of  art,  for  the 
purpose  of  depriving  the  Church  of  the 
glory  of  having  inspired  its  masterpieces. 

A  great  Catholic  Spanish  writer,  the 
learned  Rio,  has  vindicated  Christian  art 
against  these  accusations,  and  in  his  work 
entitled  ^''Arte  Cristiano^^  he  has  ren- 
dered to  Italian  painting,  and  to  art  in  gen- 
eral, a  most  important  service.  Following 
this  distinguished  guide,  modern  artists 
must  learn  to  judge  for  themselves  those 
dicta  of  false  criticism  —  errors  that  are 
most  fatal  to  their  genius  as  well  as  to  the 
public  taste.  They  must  form  their  own 
opinions  of  the  great  works  of  Christian  art; 
because  when  they  see  how  incomparably 
beautiful  these  productions  are,  they  can 
not  but  feel  the  powerful  attraction  of  the 
beauty  that  shines  forth  in  them.  A  journey 
through  Italy  can  hardly  fail  to  remove  their 
prejudices,  if  they  have  contracted  any,  and 
will  make  them  understand  the  salutary 
influence  always  exercised  by  the  Church 
over  artists  and  over  the  progress  of  art. 


Who  have  done  more  than  the  Popes  to 
disinter  the  works  of  ancient  art  buried  be- 
neath the  ruins  made  by  barbarians,  and  to 
encourage  the  progress  of  modern  art,  by 
throwing  open  to  artists  their  churches  and 
palaces  wherein  to  deposit  the  admirable 
productions  of  their  genius?  Who  have 
raised  more  monuments  to  learning  and 
virtue,  and  gathered  around  them  a  more 
brilliant  and  numerous  galaxy  of  painters, 
sculptors,  architects,  and  poets  to  embellish 
those  monuments  with  the  graces  of  all  the 
arts  united, and  to  hold  up  to  the  world's  ad- 
miring gaze  the  beauty  which  Christianity 
brought  down  to  the  earth,  to  elevate  the 
hearts  of  men  to  the  lofty  and  pure  regions 
of  heaven,  where  the  fountain  of  all  arts,  the 
principle,  centre,  and  end  of  the  universe 
of  the  Beautiful  is  to  be  found  ? 

Inseparably  joined  to  the  names  of  Ra- 
phael and  Michael  Angelo  appear  in  the 
history  of  art  those  of  Julius  II. ,  Leo  X. , 
Clement  VII.,  Paul  III.,  Julius  III.,  Paul 
IV.,  and  Pius  IV.,  Pontiflfs  of  the  Church, 
and  great  promoters  of  the  culture  of  their 
days.  It  was  Paul  III.  who,  being  inspired 
by  God  Himself  (in  the  strong  language  of 
Vasari),  named  Michael  Angelo  architect 
of  St.  Peter's,  that  he  might  raise  aloft  in 
the  air  the  pantheon  of  Agrippa.  Julius 
II.  charged  the  same  artist  to  paint  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  already  enriched 
with  works  of  Signorelli,  Boticelli,  Rosselli, 
and  Perugino;  and  to  this  same  Pontiff  we 
are  indebted  for  the  marvellous  pictures 
with  which  the  stanzas  of  the  Vatican  are 
adorned — the  most  remarkable  works  of 
Raphael,  the  intimate  friend  of  Popes  and 
Cardinals,  from  intercourse  with  whom  he 
derived  that  profound  biblical  knowledge 
so  apparent  in  his  best  paintings. 

But  how  shall  we  attempt  to  enumerate 
the  benefits  bestowed  by  the  Popes  on  the 
great  artists  of  all  times,  since  to  do  so 
would  require  us  to  go  through  the  entire 
history  of  the  Church,  from  Leo  III., who 
saved  the  monuments  of  ancient  Rome  from 
being  destroyed  by  Attila,  to  Leo  XIII. , 
the  last  restorer  of  the  arts  in  modern 
Rome? 


The  Ave  Maria, 


75 


To  be  fully  convinced  of  the  salutary  in- 
fluence exerted  by  the  Church  on  art,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  visit  the  rich  museums 
of  Italy.  There  we  shall  see  to  what  class 
belong  the  most  notable  works  of  the  artists 
educated  in  her  schools,  from  the  Byzan- 
tine painters,  who  created  the  first  school 
of  Pisa,  such  as  Giunta,  Ventura,  Orcagna, 
Berlinghieri,  and  Margaritone — who  filled 
the  churches  with  their  Madonnas  and  re- 
ligious pictures,  in  which,  notwithstanding 
the  rigidity  of  the  forms  and  the  dryness  of 
the  tones,  shine  forth  a  candor  and  purity 
without  equal — to  the  restorers  of  ancient 
tasle  in  modern  times;  amongst  them  Over- 
beck  and  Vogel,  Miiller  and  Cornelius,  who 
have  rendered  to  Catholicity  the  testimony 
of  their  love,  first  accepting  her  dogmas, 
and  then  dedicating  to  her  their  marvellous 
productions. 

Suppose  for  a  moment  that  European 
art  desired  to  institute  a  contest  for  the 
purpose  of  rewarding  her  most  brilliant 
geniuses,  where  would  the  judge's  stand  be 
erected  but  in  the  loggias  and  stanzas  of 
the  Vatican,  covered  with  the  Christian 
productions  of  Raphael  d'Urbino?  At  this 
contest  would  appear  Fra  Angelico,  with 
his  Descent  from  the  Cross;  Masaccio,  with 
his  Martyrdom  of  St.  Peter;  Perugino, 
with  his  Burial  of  Christ;  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
with  his  Dispute  on  the  Holy  Trinity; 
Leonardo,  with  his  Last  Supper;  Titian, 
with  his  Death  of  St.  Peter ^  Martyr;  Tinto- 
retto, with  his  Miracle  of  St.  Mark's;  Paul 
Veronese,  with  his  Martyrdojn  of  St.  Jus- 
tina;  Correggio,  with  his  Ascension;  Man- 
tegna,  with  his  St.  Euphemia;  Bellini,  with 
his  Glorious  Virgins;  Caravaggio,  with  his 
Descent  from  the  Cross;  Giorgione,with  his 
Mystical  Allegory;  and  numbers  of  other 
painters  of  the  different  Italian  schools, 
some  eminent  for  magic  of  coloring,  others 
for  correctness  of  drawing;  one  for  the  ef- 
fects of  chiaro-oscuro^  another  for  the  grace 
of  composition ;  but  all,  without  one  solitary 
exception,  surpassing  themselves  in  relig- 
ious subjects, — a  horizon  of  light  wherein 
their  pencils  blended  the  most  beautiful 
colors  that  were  ever  seen,  and  their  genius 


soared  aloft  to  the  highest  and  sublimest 
inspiration  of  art. 

The  princes  'of  Italian  painting  having 
assembled  for  this  noble  contest,  who  could 
fill  the  judge's  seat  more  acceptably  than 
Julius  II. ,  the  friend  and  protector  of  Ra- 
phael, to  whom  art  is  indebted  for  incom- 
parable treasures? 

It  is  thus  that  Italian  art  pays  homage  to 
the  beauty  of  Catholic  dogma,  and  places 
on  the  brow  of  the  Popes  the  crown  of  real 
civilization, — the  daughter  of  the  Cross, 
which  has  redeemed  the  world,  and  poured 
out  upon  mankind  the  light  of  uncreated 
beauty, — the  mother  of  art.  Let  rational- 
istic criticism  strive  as  it  will  to  blot  out 
from  the  paintings  of  the  Middle  Ages  the 
Cross  that  shines  upon  them  like  the  sun  in 
the  heavens.  Vain  attempt!  Christian  art, 
by  the  lustre  of  its  beauty,  scatters  the 
clouds  with  which  impiety  would  darken 
it,  and  its  immortal  works  will  be  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation,  so  that 
all  peoples  may  admire  them,  and  all  may 
sing  the  glory  of  God  and  the  triumphs  of 
His  Church. 


St.  Anne. 


BY  M.  A. 

I  pi  DEAR  St.  Anne!  well  may  we  deem 
^    We  little  know  of  thee, 
For  thine  was  such  a  hidden  life 

In  far-off  Galilee. 
Yet  through  the  clouds  that  intervene 

To  hide  thee  from  our  sight, 
Thou  shinest  like  the  polar  star, 

With  soft  and  steady  light; 
And  there  is  not  a  saint  in  Heaven, 

Whoe'er  that  saint  may  be,- 
Whom,  as  a  model  for  our  lives. 

We  should  prefer  to  thee; 
Because  thou  wert  the  first  to  love 

Mary,  the  Virgin  blessed, — 
And  such  a  love  as  thou  didst  feel 

Few  since  have  e'er  possessed. 
Thine  was  a  glorious  destiny. 

For  God  to  thee  had  given 
The  sweet  and  holy  motherhood 

Of  Mary,  Queen  of  Heaven,   j 


76 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Within  thine  amis  her  infant  form 

Close  to  thy  heart  was  pressed; 
Her  eyes  looked  into  thine,  her  head 

Was  pillowed  on  thy  breast. 
'Twas  thine  to  guard  her  infant  hours, 

To  watch  her  mind  unfold, 
Her  more  than  angel  purity. 

Her  thousand  charms  untold. 
Then  surely  thou  dost  fill  in  Heaven 

A  fair  and  radiant  throne, 
Near  hers  who  is  so  dear  to  thee. 

Who  was  on  earth  thine  own. 
And  she  must  love  thee  still,  for  all 

Thy  tenderness  and  care; 
lyove  surely  can  not  die  in  Heaven — 

Its  native  hoine  is  there. 
If  Jesus  loves  His  Mother  blest, 

And  yields  her  honor  due. 
Will  not  His  imitator  best 

I^ove  her  own  mother  too  ? 

O  dear  St.  Anne!  ray  Patroness, 
Wilt  thou  not  plead  for  me  ? 

Thy  daughter  is  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 
And  she  will  list  to  thee. 


Alberto  il  Beato. 


BY    OCTAVIA    HENSE;L. 


UNDER  the  magnolia  blooms  of  Isola 
Bella,  that  loveliest  of  the  Borromean 
Islands,  we  .sat  one  summer  evening,  watch- 
ing the  waves  of  Lago  Maggiore  break  in 
silver  foam  on  the  stone  copings  of  the 
garden  wall.  The  rose  light  of  the  Alpen 
glow  rested  on  the  snow  peaks  of  the  Sim- 
plon;  Pallanza,  its  soil  once  dedicated  to 
Pallas  Athene,  lay  like  a  silver  bow  on  the 
western  shore;  to  the  southeast,  the  grace- 
ful curves  of  that  glorious  mountain  Sasso 
del  Ferro  rose  in  their  dark  green  splendor 
from  the  purpling  crimson  of  the  waters 
of  the  lake;  and  farther  to  the  southeast 
gleamed  like  gates  of  pearl  the  convent 
walls  of  Santa  Catrina. 

Five  centuries  ago  the  foundations  of 
those  walls  were  placed  there  by  one  whose 
repentance  for  sin,  renunciation  of  worldly 
wealth,  and  devotion  to  Our  Blessed  Lady, 
won  for  him  the  name  of  Albert  the  Saint. 


It  is  the  old,  old  story,  common  enough  in 
days  of  martyrdom  and  Holy  Faith  trium- 
phant. 

Alberto  Besozzo,  a  young  nobleman, 
reared  in  luxury  and  affluence,  while  still 
very  young  came  into  possession  of  great 
wealth.  A  period  of  dissipation,  followed 
by  years  of  avarice  and  cruelty  to  the  poor 
on  his  estate,  made  him  the  terror  of  all  the 
country  around.  One  day,  while  crossing 
the  lake  on  an  errand  of  extortion  and 
greed,  he  was  overtaken  by  a  fearful  hurri- 
cane near  the  base  of  the  rocks  upon  which 
the  convent  now  stands.  *  One  moment  his 
boat  floated  in  the  awful  calm,  then  the 
black  tempest  burst  upon  it  with  furious 
force.  The  frail  skiff"  was  dashed  in  pieces, 
and  the  crew,  engulfed  by  the  waves,  were 
swept  far  out  into  the  lake.  Alberto  heard 
their  cries  of  horror  and  despair,  as  a  huge 
wave,  dashing  landward,  raised  him  on  its 
crest.  The  selfishness  and  sin  of  his  past 
life  flashed  upon  his  memory.  In  agony 
and  terror  of  the  cruel  rocks  against  which 
the  waves  bore  him,  he  called  upon  Our 
Blessed  I^ady  to  save  him.  Even  as  he 
prayed  the  stormy  waters  rose  high  in  air, 
and  flung  him  ashore  in  a  cave  of  the  rocks. 

His  resolution  to  repent,  and  live  a  life 
wholly  consecrated  to  God,  was  instantly 
formed.  He  never  left  the  cave  to  return 
to  the  world.  For  thirty-four  years  his 
austerities  and  his  prayers  proved  his  pen- 
itence. All  his  subsistence  came  from  pass- 
ing boats,  to  which  he  used  to  let  down  a 
rush  basket  for  a  dole  of  bread.  His  repu- 
tation for  sanctity  spread,  and  faith  grew  in 
the  efficacy  of  his  prayers  for  the  sick  and 
afflicted. 

About  this  time  (1348)  the  terrible  pes- 
tilence called  the  "Black  Death"  spread 
over  Europe  from  Asia.  Commerce  ceased, 
agriculture  was  suspended ;  all  social  bonds, 
all  human  ties  were  dissolved.  Huge  pits 
were  insufficient  for  the  dead.  '  'A  dense  and 
awful  fog  was  seen  in  the  heavens,  rising 
in  the  East,  and  descending  upon  Italy," 

*  Storms  on  Lago  Maggiore  are  appalling  in 
their  severity  and  suddenness,  especially  near 
Pallanza  and  Sasso  del  Ferro, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


chronicles  a  writer  of  the  14th  century. 
Multitudes  soug-ht  the  Hermit  of  the  Rock, 
and  implored  his  prayers  for  their  deliver- 
ance. The  survivors  of  that  dreadful  plague 
attributed  their  safety  to  his  intercession, 
and  spoke  of  him  as  ''Alberto  il  Beato." 

After  his  death  pious  pilgrims  erected  a 
small  chapel  over  his  remains,  which  were 
placed  in  a  stone  coffin;  and  later  the  outer 
church  and  convent  dedicated  to  St.  Cath- 
arine were  built,  and  first  occupied  by  the 
Augustine  Brotherhood.  The  Carmelite 
Order  succeeded  them,  but  they  have  met 
the  fate  of  all  the  religious  in  Northern 
Italy — dissolution  by  authority  of  Govern- 
ment. A  single  priest  is  the  only  represen- 
tative of  the  Order.  He  says  Mass  daily, 
and  performs  the  duties  of  parish  priest  in 
the  surrounding  district. 

An  excursion  to  the  old  convent  is  de- 
lightful. The  sail  over  the  lake  in  the 
morning  is  like  gliding  over  rainbows  and 
through  crystal  seas.  Opaline  cloud-shad- 
ows dimple  the  waves,  and  emerald  lights 
from  Sasso  del  Ferro  gleam  through  the 
sunshine  sparkling  over  the  sapphire  wa- 
ters. It  is  indescribable :  no  pencil  can  paint 
the  exquisite  colors  of  the  distant  haze,  and 
the  ever-changing  surface  of  Lago  Mag- 
giore. 

Beneath  the  cliff  from  which  the  convent 
rises,  the  immense  depth  of  the  water  *  ren- 
ders its  surface  as  smooth  as  a  mirror,  and 
in  it  are  perfectly  reflected  the  convent  and 
its  surroundings.  Beneath  the  cliff  are  seen 
two  or  three  upright  rifts;  one  communi- 
cates with  the  cave  in  which  the  hermit 
lived,  and  farther  on  is  the  landing-place, 
and  staircase  to  the  convent.  The  ascent 
occupies  but  a  few  moments.  We  pass  a 
curious  old  wine-press,  and  the  outlying 
buildings  and  offices  of  a  well-ordered  old 
convent,  in  which  the  Brotherhood  made 
all  and  cultivated  all  that  they  needed. 

Each  delicately  vine-traced  arch  of  the 
winding  arcade  that  leads  upward  to  the 
convent  is  filled  with  sublimely  beautiful 


*  At  this  point  the  deepest  lake  in  Europe— 
2,615  feet. 


views  of  lake,  island,  and  mountain.  Ex- 
ternally the  church  is  ornamented  with 
frescos  illustrating  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Catharine,  and  in  the  arcade  leading  to  it 
are  remains  of  a  series  of  paintings  showing 
the  Dance  of  Death^  terribly  significant  of 
the  deadly  plague  of  1348.  The  church, 
very  simple  internally,  encloses  an  inner 
chapel — the  nucleus  of  the  convent. 

In  this  chapel  a  wonderful  phenomenon 
presents  itself  An  immense  rock,  appar- 
ently unsupported,  hangs  downward  from 
the  roof  One  is  afraid  to  touch  it  for  fear  of 
dislodging  its  huge  bulk.  Overhead,  other 
massive  rocks  are  seen  pressing  down  upon 
it.  These  crags,  which  fell  three  hundred 
feet  from  the  hill- top  above,  crashed  through 
the  roof,  and  then,  as  if  all  laws  of  gravity 
had  been  suddenly  suspended,  remained  in 
their  present  position. 

Three  hundred  years  ago,  when  the  body 
of  the  hermit  Alberto  was  temporarily  oc- 
cupying the  recess  in  the  wall  behind  the 
high  altar  that  stood  beneath  the  now  pen- 
dant rock,  and  while  a  priest  was  in  the  act 
of  giving  Benediction,  masses  of  rock  came 
hurling  down  the  hill-side,  and  crashed 
through  the  roof  of  the  chapel ;  but  their 
fall  was  suspended  miraculously  by  the 
interposition  of  Our  Blessed  Uady,  upon 
whom  the  kneeling  Brotherhood  called. 

The  body  of  the  hermit  now  lies  exposed 
to  view  in  a  gilt  shrine  near  the  altar.  The 
entrance  to  his  cave  is  beside  it,  in  the  floor 
of  the  chapel.  For  several  yards  we  were 
compelled  to  crawl  on  hands  and  knees 
through  a  dark  opening  in  the  rock,  and 
then  let  ourselves  down  by  ropes  to  a  shelv- 
ing floor  in  a  narrow  crevice.  Looking 
through  a  rift,  we  see  the  lake  laving  the 
base  of  the  rock-wall  beneath  us;  in  the 
distance  the  lovely  Piedmontese  shores  are 
gleaming  in  misty  sunlight,  and  far  above 
and  beyond  them  towers  the  Monte  Rosa 
rxnge. 

Ten  feet  farther  down  is  the  cave  in 
which  the  hermit  lived  for  thirty-four  years, 
and  on  its  sloping,  shelving  floor  he  died. 
The  descent  is  too  dangerous  to  be  at- 
tempted by  tourists  in  these  days;  but  a 


78 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lighted  torch  in  the  hand  of  our  guide 
clearly  revealed  to  us  the  desolate,  dreary 
abode  of  the  Hermit  of  the  Rock,  whose 
high  resolve  and  firm,  unflinching  faith, 
and  saintly  self-sacrifice,  gained  for  him  the 
noblest  title  on  earth— "II  Beato." 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN   REID. 


IV. 


SO  the  weeks  rolled  by;  the  season  drew 
near  its  end  as  Lent  approached,  and 
Philip  would  have  said  that  he  had  forgot- 
ten the  Percivals,  when  a  slight  incident 
occurred  which  had  a  very  direct  influence 
in  reviving  the  recollection.  It  chanced  one 
evening,  at  a  social  gathering,  that  he  was 
asked  to  sing,  and  complied  with  the  re- 
quest. The  song  selected  was  "Z^i-  Ra- 
meaux^^''  and  he  sang  it  in  a  clear,  mellow 
voice,  which  left  little  to  be  desired  in  the 
way  of  natural  quality,  and  was  fairly  well 
cultivated.  When  he  turned  from  the  piano 
a  lady  of  great  musical  taste,  whom  he  knew 
very  well,  and  who  chanced  to  be  also  a 
Catholic,  beckoned  him  to  her. 

' '  You  have  an  excellent  voice, ' '  she  said, 
as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  making  no  use  of  it?" 

Philip  raised  his  eyebrows.  ' '  What  use 
should  I  make  of  it?"  he  inquired.  "Do 
you  think  I  ought  to  join  an  opera  troop? 
I  am  afraid  it  is  not  good  enough  for  that. ' ' 

' '  Hardly,  perhaps, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  though  I 
have  heard  voices  on  the  stage  that  were 
no  better.  But  I  was  thinking  of  something 
else.  Do  you  know  that  we  need  good  voices 
very  much  in  the  Cathedral  choir?" 

"Well,  yes,"  he  answered,  smiling;  "I 
may  say  that  I  am  aware  of  it.  I  gener^^lly 
go  there  on  Sunday. ' ' 

"And  you  have  never  thought  of  help- 
ing us  to  better  things — you  with  such  a 
voice  ? ' ' 

"  No,"  he  said, honestly, "  I  never  thought 
of  it;  but  if  I  had,  what  then?  You  would 
not  expect  me  to  go  to  the  director  and  say, 


'Your  choir  is  very  bad:   I  offer  my  voice 
to  improve  it'  " 

"The  director  would  have  been  much 
obliged  if  you  had  done  so.  He  bewails  in 
touching  terms  his  inability  to  render  good 
music  as  it  should  be  rendered.  He  will 
welcome  you — I  think  he  will  embrace  you 
— when  he  hears  you  sing.  You  must  go 
to  him." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  King!" — Philip  was  a 
little  dismayed — "  I  should  like  very  much, 
of  course,  to  assist,  but  I  have  really  no 
time;  and  to  be  bound  to  attendance  in  a 
choir — I  fear  that  it  is  quite  impossible." 

"Why  impossible?"  asked  Mrs.  King, 
looking  at  him  with  bright,  keen  eyes. 
"What  have  you  to  do  that  should  make 
attendance  in  a  choir  difficult  to  you?  Oh, 
how  indifferent  people  are!  "  she  added,  as 
if  thinking  aloud.  ' '  What  a  great  privilege 
it  is  to  take  part  in  offering  the  solemn  wor- 
ship of  the  Church  to  God!  Yet  here  is  a 
young  man,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to 
do,  who  says  he  has  not  time  for  it. ' ' 

Philip  flushed.  "Are  you  quite  sure  I 
have  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  indifference. 
' '  You  have  a  few  things,  I  presume, ' '  she 
said;  "but  nothing  that  could  interfere 
with  this.  Oh!  I  know  your  life,  and  that 
of  others  like  you.  You  have  time  for  every 
amusement,  every  demand  of  pleasure  and 
business,  but  none  for  anything  relating  to 
the  service  of  God.  Well,  it  is  an  old  story ; 
but  I  thought  you  might  be  willing  to 
give  such  a  little  thing  as  your  voice  now 
and  then.  It  seems  I  was  mistaken,  so  we 
will  say  no  more  about  it. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Philip — who  had  a  con- 
science which  sometimes  stung  him  a  little 
— "you  were  not  mistaken.  When  you 
put  it  in  that  light,  I  can  only  say  that  my 
voice  is  at  your  service.  But  you  really 
must  not  expect  me  to  go  and  offer  it  to  the 
director,  especially  since  there  is  danger  of 
his  embracing  me." 

' '  Oh ! ' '  she  said,  smiling, ' '  I  will  see  him, 
and  arrange  the  matter.  He  and  I  work  and 
groan  over  the  music  together.  But  we 
have  secured  a  fine  soprano  lately,  and  now 


The  Ave  Mar 


rta. 


79 


with  your  voice  I  feel  encouraged.  Come 
to  my  house  the  first  evening  that  you  are 
disengaged,  and  we  will  try  some  music.  I 
do  not  think  you  will  regret  your  decision." 

It  is  generally  rash  to  indulge  in  proph- 
ecy, but  Mrs.  King  proved  to  be  right  in 
saying  that  Philip  would  not  regret  his  de- 
cision. He  had  a  real  love  for  music,  and 
was  soon  deeply  interested  in  the  great  har- 
monies placed  before  him.  The  director 
of  the  Cathedral  choir  chanced  to  be  not 
only  an  accomplished  musician,  but  one 
whose  taste  and  knowledge  had  been  formed 
in  the  best  schools.  Words  were  hardly 
strong  enough  to  express  his  contempt  and 
disgust  for  the  operatic  order  of  music, 
which  is  unfortunately  so  common  in  Cath- 
olic churches.  And  yet  he  did  not  go  to  the 
other  extreme,  and  demand  only  Gregorian 
tones.  He  recognized  that  between  these 
two  lies  the  world  of  majestic  harmony,  that 
has  taken  its  inspiration  from  the  solemn 
tone  of  the  Church's  chant,  yet  lends  to  it 
the  grace  and  variety  of  figured  music,  and 
of  which  Palestrina  is  the  supreme  master. 

But  a  surprise  that  was  altogether  apart 
from  the  music,  awaited  Philip  on  the  first 
Sunday  that  he  made  his  appearance  in  the 
choir-loft  of  the  Cathedral.  Among  the 
eyes  turned  curiously  toward  him  was  one 
pair,  that  sent  something  between  a  thrill 
and  a  shock  through  him, — a  pair  of  unfor- 
gotten  dark,  lustrous,  Spanish  eyes.  '  'Ah ! ' ' 
he  said  to  himself,  "Miss  Percival!"  He 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry 
to  see  her  again,  to  have  the  question  which 
he  could  not  solve  reopened,  and  to  ask 
himself  vainly  once  more  whose  had  been 
the  fault  in  that  past  transaction.  He  found 
now  that  he  had  not  forgotten  it  at  all;  his 
interest  had  only  been  laid  aside,  as  it  were ; 
and  one  glance  from  the  eyes,  which  did  not 
wander  toward  him  again,  had  been  suffi- 
cient to  revive  it. 

He  had  some  thoughts  to  spare  for  the 
present,  however.  He  wondered  a  little  if 
Miss  Percival,  like  himself,  was  a  newcomer 
in  the  choir,  and  felt  tolerably  certain  that 
she  must  be.  .  Surely  none  of  the  indifferent 
voices  to  which  he  was  accustomed  to  listen 


had  been  hers.  "She  does  not  look  like  a 
person  who  would  undertake  to  do  a  thing 
unless  she  could  do  it  well,"  he  said,  men- 
tally, with  a  glance  at  the  face,  which  was 
not  less  noble  in  its  lines  than  he  remem- 
bered it  to  be. 

He  felt -justified  in  the  accuracy  of  his 
judgment  when  the  music  began.  Never 
before  had  the  clear  soprano,  which  rose 
above  all  the  other  tones,  sounded  through 
the  arches  of  the  roof  that  now  echoed  its 
cadences.  Philip,  who  had  not  much  to  sing 
on  this  his  first  appearance,  held  his  breath 
to  listen  to  those  soaring  notes,  so  thrilling 
in  their  sweetness,  so  crystalline  in  their 
purity.  "She  sings  like  a  seraph!"  was 
his  thought;  for  what  power  was  there  in 
the  tones  that  seemed  to  carry  the  soul  up- 
ward in  adoration?  It  is  a  power  which 
the  finest  voices  more  often  lack  than  pos- 
sess, since  the  possessors  of  fine  voices  are 
usually  thinking  rather  of  themselves  than 
of  what  they  sing;  but  one  hears  it  now 
and  then,  especially  among  religious.  And 
hearing  it  once,  it  is  easy  to  realize  how 
music  may  become  truly  the  handnjaid  of 
religion,  lifting  the  soul  on  wings  of  divine 
harmony  to  the  very  gates  of  Paradise. 

As  he  listened,  Philip  found  himself  look- 
ing toward  the  distant  altar  with  a  new 
sense  of  devotion;  a  spark  of  .living  fire 
seemed  to  touch  his  tepid  feelings,  his  in- 
different heart.  When,  after  the  Elevation, 
this  voice  rose  alone  through  the  hushed 
silence,  in  the  exquisite  solo  of  the  Bene- 
dictus  from  Gounod's  Messe  Sole jtne lie ^  it 
seemed  like  a  call  to  worship,  which  no  soul 
could  disregard.  ''''Benedicttis  qui  venit  in 
nomi7te  Domini^^^  sang  the  silvery  tones, 
and  they  helped  one  heart  at  least  to  realize 
with  quickening  force  Who  had  come  in 
the  Name  of  the  Lord  on  that  altar,  before 
which  the  priest  stood  so  silently,  and 
around  which  the  acolytes  with  their  shin- 
ing tapers  knelt  like  sculptured  figures. 

V. 

When  Mass  was  over,  Philip  encountered 

Mrs.  King  at  the  door  of  the  church,  and 

she  at  once  took  possession  of  him.    "One 

did  not  hear  much  of  j^*//,"  she  said;  "but 


8o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


is  not  the  new  soprano  a  great  success?  I 
had  no  idea  how  beautiful  her  voice  was 
until  I  heard  it  to-day." 

"  It  is  very  beautiful, ' '  said  Philip.  '  'And 
there  is  a  quality  in  it  that  I  never  heard 
before — a  silver  purity  that  makes  one  fancy 
what  the  voices  of  angels  may  be.  •  One  did 
not  think  that  one  was  listening  to  an  opera 
to-day." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  King,  with  a  smile. 
* '  There  is  no  operatic  suggestion  in  Alice 
Percival's  voice  or  style.  She  sings  like  one 
of  the  boy  soprani  who  have  been  trained  to 
the  servdce  of  the  Sanctuary — so  devoutly, 
so  simply,  and  with  such  an' utter  lack  of 
self-consciousness. ' ' 

' '  She  brought  to  my  mind, ' '  said  Philip, 
"the  description  of  a  voice  which  I  saw 
the  other  day  in  a  French  novel,  '  les  sons 
donnaient  la  sejisation  d^une  musique  trop 
ids  ale  pour  etre  humaine;  on  eM  dit  une 
dme  qui  chantait. '  "  * 

' '  That  is  very  pretty, ' '  said  Mrs.  King. 
*  'And  the  secret  of  the  whole  thing  is  that 
it  was  a  soul  that  sang.  With  most  people 
it  is  only  a  voice.  But  her  soul  has  a  part 
in  all  that  Alice  Percival  does. ' ' 

' '  You  know  her,  then — personally  ? ' ' 

' '  Oh !  yes,  very  well.  She  is  as  charming 
as  her  voice,  and  quite  original  too — alto- 
gether a  girl  in  a  thousand. ' ' 

"And  yet  one  never  meets  her  in  soci- 
ety," said  Philip,  half  interrogatively. 

"They  are  poor,  you  know,"  replied 
Mrs.  King;  "and  society — your  order  of 
society — is  not  partial  to  poor  people.  Be- 
sides, she  has  no  time  for  it. ' ' 

"What  does  she  do?" 

' '  She  teaches  music — you  can  judge  how 
well — and  takes  care  of  her  mother,  who  is 
an  almost  helpless  invalid. ' ' 

"Does  the  family  consist  only  of  the 
mother  and  daughter?" 

' '  That  is  all.    The  father  is  dead. ' ' 

Philip  was  aware  of  the  latter  fact,  but 
he  had  thought  that  there  might  be  a  son — 
half  a  dozen  sons,  perhaps,  for  that  matter 

*  The  sounds  were  those  of  music  too  ideal  to 
be  human ;  it  might  be  said  it  was  the  soul  that 
sang. 


— and  it  was  with  something  of  a  shock 
that  he  heard  of  two  women  left  alone  to 
face  the  world.  His  countenance  settled 
into  grave  lines  as  he  walked  on  silently. 
The  question  that  had  tormented  him  be- 
fore returned,  and  he  asked  himself  again 
whose  had  been  the  fault.  Granting  that 
it  was  entirely  that  of  the  dead  Percival, 
surely,  for  the  sake  of  old  association,  his 
uncle  might  have  done  something  for  the 
widow  and  daughter  whom  he  had  left. 

After  parting  with  Mrs.  King,  these 
thoughts  haunted  him,  as  he  walked  along 
the  fashionable  avenue,  lined  with  hand- 
some houses,  which  led  to  his  home.  Well- 
dressed  throngs  from  the  different  churches 
filled  the  sidewalks,  but,  a-^  he  acknowl- 
edged salutation  after  salutation,  his  mind 
was  far  away.  He  was  asking  himself  if  it 
was  not  possible  that  his  unck  might  yet 
do  something — if  he  knew.  Even  if  it  were 
true  that  Percival  had  once  brought  him  to 
the  verge  of  ruin,  he  had  so  successfully  sur- 
mounted that  danger,  his  fortune  was  now 
so  secure  and  so  large,  that  he  could  well 
afford  to  forget  the  danger,  and  think  only 
of  the  need  of  those  who  were  the  innocent 
victims  of  past  wrong- doing. 

"And  I  surely  believe  that  he  will!" 
the  young  man  said,  hopefully,  to  himself. 
' '  Who  has  such  good  reason  as  I  to  know 
how  liberal  he  is?  And  if,  as  may  readily 
be,  they  will  not  accept  aid  directly  from 
him,  there  are  ways  and  means  of  helping 
people  without  their  own  knowledge." 

It  was  an  attractive  castle  in  the  air — a 
castle  in  which  Alice  Percival  no  longer 
needed  to  give  music-lessons,  and  her  in- 
valid mother  had  every  comfort — that  he 
had  erected  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
stately  house,  set  in  spacious,  well-ordered 
grounds,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where 
life  moved  on  such  easy  wheels  of  luxury 
and  wealth.  As  he  approached  he  looked 
at  it  as  a  stranger  might  have  looked,  and 
perhaps  for  the  first  time  there  occurred  to 
him  an  idea  of  what  life  would  be  without 
the  great  lubricator,  money.  A  stern,  a  nar- 
row, a  repulsive  thing,  he  felt,  shuddering 
a  little;  and  the  thought  only  quickened 


The  Ave  Maria. 


8r 


his  desire  to  relieve  those  who  had  fallen 
into  the  hopeless  slough  of  poverty. 

When  he  entered  the  house,  voices  and 
soft  laughter  issuing  from  the  drawing-room 
seemed  to  invite  him  to  enter;  and  turning 
in  under  the  rich  curtains  that  draped  the 
open  door,  he  found  that  Miss  Irving  and 
Bellamy  were  the  occupants  of  the  room. 
•The  young  lady  was  still  in  her  out-door 
ostume — a  becoming  toilette  of  dark-blue 
velvet,  that  enhanced  all  the  delicate  fair- 
ness of  her  tints — and  Bellamy,  in  attire 
equally  suggestive  of  fashionable  dress- 
parade,  sat  near  her,  holding  his  hat  on  his 
cane  while  he  talked.  Evidently  they  had 
both  just  come  in.  As  Philip  entered,  his 
foot- fall  on  the  soft,  thick  carpet  did  not 
attract  their  attention  for  a  moment;  then 
Constance  turned  her  head,  saw  liinl  and 
said: 

"Oh,  here  is  Philip!" 

Mr.  Bellamy  looked  up  and  nodded  eas- 
ily. ''I  hope  you  possess  as  much  conscious- 
ness of  virtue  as  we  do,"  he  said.  "We 
have  heard  two  sermons  this  morning." 

"Have  you?"  replied  Philip.  "No:  that 
is  a  point  in  virtue  beyond  me.  How  did 
you  manage  it?" 

"We  have  heard  one  sermon  and  the  con- 
clusion of  another,"  corrected  Constance. 
"Some  of  the  churches  have  services  half 
an' hour  later  than  the  others,  you  know; 
and  as  we  were  coming  from  St.  Athana- 
sius',  we  thought  we  would  just  drop  in  at 
Emmanuel,  hoping  to  hear  the  choir.  The 
preacher  was  concluding  his  sermon  when 
we  went  in,  but  I  did  not  hear  much  of  it." 

"/  did,"  said  Bellamy;  "and  he  seemed 
to  be  pitching  into  the  very  doctrines  that 
we  had  just  been  informed  at  St.  Athana- 
sius'  were  the  right  ones  to  believe. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  you  did  not  hear  a  word!" 
said  Constance,  coloring  and  casting  a 
glance  of  rebuke  at  him — for,  while  they 
have  no  hesitation  in  acknowledging  their 
differences  among  themselves, there  are  few 
Protestants  who  do  not  endeavor  to  ignore 
them  in  the  presence  of  a  Catholic. — "But 
the  choir  sang  an  anthem,  and  it  was  very 
good,"  she  went  on.  "  They  have  several  fine 


voices.  One  was  very  like  3'ours,  Philip." 
"Thanks  for  the  implied  compliment." 
"Oh!  I  did  not  mean  merely  to  imply 
it;  of  course  you  know  that  your  voice  is 
.good.  I  only  wish  you  would  consent  to 
sing  in  our  choir  at  St.  Athanasius'." 

"My  dear  Constance,"  answered  Philip, 
gravely,  "I  am  an  indifferent  Catholic,  it  is 
true,  but  still  a  Catholic;  so  it  is  quite  im- 
possible for  me  to  oblige  you.  If  you  wish 
to  hear  me  sing,  you  must  come  to  the  Ca- 
thedral. I  have  made  my  debiU  in  the  choir 
there  to-day." 

"Have  you  indeed?"  she  asked, with  in- 
terest. "We  must  go  to  hear  you  some  day." 
"I  used  to  drop  into  the  Cathedral  oc- 
casionally to  hear  the  music."  said  Bellamy; 
' '  but  it  has  fallen  off'  so  much  of  late  that 
I  have  discontinued  the  habit.  I  hope  there 
is  to  be  a  change  for  the  better. ' ' 

' '  I  think  so, ' '  replied  Philip.  ' '  The  choir 
has  a  new  director,  and  several  new  voices 
have  been  added  lately, — one  divine  so- 
prano," he  continued,  without  reflection. 

"Who?"  asked  Constance.  "Any  one 
that  I  know?" 

"No,"  said  Philip,  a  little  vexed  with 
himself;  "you  are  hardly  likely  to  know 
her.     She  is — a — Miss  Percival." 

"Miss  Percival!"  repeated  Constance. 
She  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  never  heard  of  her 
before. ' ' 

' '  But  I  have, ' '  said  Bellamy,  so  suddenly 
that  Philip  started,  and  looked  at  him  ap- 
prehensively. "A  very  handsome,  dark- 
eyed  girl,  with  a  divine  voice,  as  Thornton 
says.  Oh!  yes,  I  know  who  she  is,  and  I 
have  heard  her  sing  at  one  or  two  musical 
houses.    She  ought  to  go  on  the  stage." 

' '  I  disagree  with  you, ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  Her 
voice  is  not  suited  to  the  stage;  but  it' is 
perfectly  in  place  where  it  is." 

' '  No  doubt, ' '  replied  Bellamy.  ' '  You  are 
in  luck  to  have  secured  her.  I  shall  resume 
my  visits  to  the  Cathedral  after  this  infor- 
mation. ' ' 

"But  who  is  she?"  asked  Constance. 
"Surely  a  professional  person,  since  I  have 
never  met  her?" 

Philip  left  Bellamy  to  answer,  but  he  was 


82 


The  Ave  Mm-ia. 


distinctly  conscious  that  the  latter  avoided 
his  eye  in  doing  so. 

"Well,  no — not  exactly  professional," 
he  replied;  ''though  I  believe  she  tesches 
music  or  singing.  It  is  a  case  of  reduced 
circumstances,  you  see." 

' '  How  sad !  I  am  always  so  sorry  for  peo- 
ple who  have  been  rich  and  become  poor, ' ' 
said  Miss  Irving,  with  the  composure  of 
one  to  whom  the  idea  suggested  was  like 
thinking  of  a  cannibal  feast  on  the  other 
side  of  the  globe — something  quite  dread- 
ful, but  too  far  off  to  excite  very  lively  emo- 
tion. "You  are  not  going?"  she  said,  as 
Bellamy  rose  to  his  feet.  "Why  not  stay 
to  luncheon?" 

' '  Because  I  have  a  conscie'nce,  and  that 
conscience  suggests  that  I  should  not  be- 
come a  regular  institution  of  your  Sunday," 
the  young  man  replied.  "But  suppose  we 
make  an  appointment  to  go  to  the  Cathedral 
for  Vespers  this  afternoon,  and  hear  Thorn- 
ton and  Miss  Percival  sing?" 

"You  will  not  hear  me,"  said  Philip, 
shrugging  his  shoulders;  ' '  but  I  am  unable 
to  answer  for  Miss  Percival." 

"I  will  go  on  the  chance  of  hearing 
her,"  said  Constance.  "You"  (to  the  last 
speaker)  "shall  take  me,  so you^^  (to  Bel- 
lamy) "need  not  feel  bound  to  go." 

"I  shall  be  there,  nevertheless,"  he  said, 
and  bowed  himself  out. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XV.— (Continued.) 

THE  words  of  the  holy  Pontiff  impressed 
themselves  indelibly  upon  the  little 
girl,  especially  the  Holy  Name  of  Jesus, 
which  became  as  a  glowing  spark  in  the 
very  centre  of  her  innocent  heart.  It  seemed 
altogether  fitting  that  with  the  new  life  so 
wonderfully  opened  upon  her  she  should 
have  a  new  name,  and  that  it  should  signify 
light, — the  light  that  had  dispelled  her 
darkness. 


Claudia  wondered  what  had  become  of  the 
One  in  shining  raiment  who  had  touched 
her  eyes  as  the  baptismal  water  was  poured 
on  her  head,  at  the  moment  she  received 
her  sight;  but  she  did  not  ask;  she  could 
comprehend  nothing  yet,  except  that  she 
had  been  blind  all  her  life  and  could  now 
see,  and  that  her  heart  was  glowing  with 
love  towards  Him  whose  name  was  en- 
shrined therein.  Raising  her  eyes,  spark- 
ling with  joy,  she  gazed  on  the  Pontiff's 
saintly  face,  and  said,  with  simple  trust: 

"Oh!  sir,  I  would  thank  thee  for  open- 
ing my  blind  eyes  if  I  knew  how;  but  tell 
me  who  thou  art,  and  thy  name,  that  I  may 
keep  it  in  my  heart  with  the  Holy  Name 
thou  hast  taught  me." 

"I  am  Stephen,  a  priest  of  the  Living 
God,  my  child,"  he  replied,  laying  his  hand 
on  her  head;  "  and  I  now  bless  thee  in  the 
Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.  Go  in  peace;  faith  has 
been  given  thee:  knowledge  will  presently 
follow,  with  the  fulness  of  heavenly  gifts." 

Obeying  a  swift  impulse,  she  knelt  at  his 
feet,  kissed  his  hand,  and  laid  her  cheek 
for  an  instant  upon  it;  he  raised  her  gently, 
and  she  stood,  happy  to  wait,  near  him. 

"Thou  wilt  soon,"  he  said  to  Nemesius, 
as  he  touched  his  gleaming  corselet,  "put 
on  the  armor  of  Christ  for  the  overthrow 
of  idolatry,  and  the  establishment  of  His 
kingdom  upon  earth." — The  Pontiff  spoke 
with  emotion,  for  the  winning  of  this  noble 
soul  to  God  filled  him  wit'h  unspeakable 
joy. — "I  would  not  delay  thy  Baptism.  On 
the  morrow,  when  the  clepsydra  shows  the 
hour  of  noon,  seek  me  here,  and  we  will 
confer  together  before  the  rite.  The  wife 
of  Tertullus  will  guide  this  little  lamb  into 
the  green  pastures  of  the  one  true  Fold, 
of  which  Christ  is  the  Shepherd.  Now  go 
in  peace,  giving  thanks  to  the  Almighty 
Father  of  all  for  the  grace  of  faith." 

On.  their  way  home,  the  blue  skies,  the 
golden  sunlight,  the  green,  flowery  stretches 
of  the  Campagna,  over  which  cloud-shad- 
ows were  skimming;  the  beautiful  moun- 
tains, trees, '  flowers,  butterflies,  men  and 
animals — all  seen  now  for  the  first  time — 


The  Ave  Maria. 


filled  the  child's  mind  with  wonder  and  in- 
expressible delight. 

"Oh!  but  for  Him  whose  name  is  in  my 
heart  I  had  never  seen  all  this  or  thee, 
padre  miof''  she  said,  her  voice  tremulous 
with  excess  of  happiness.  ' '  Oh !  ho  w  I  love 
Him ! — but  tell  me  who  is  God  ? ' ' 

"He  is  the  Creator  of  all  things — the 
heavens,  the  earth,  and  all  who  live;  and 
beside  Him  there  is  none  other.  He  is  the 
one,  holy.  Supreme  Being,  while  the  gods  we 
have  worshipped  are  false  deities,  who  de- 
lude men  to  their  destruction.  Henceforth, 
my  child,  we  will  adore  and  love  and  serVe 
the  one  Supreme  God,  by  whose  power  thy 
blindness  has  been  removed,  and  the  dark- 
ness of  my  understanding  enlightened,"  he 
answered,  she  listening,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  far-off  sunlit  spaces,  believing  yet 
not  comprehending  what  his  words  con- 
veyed. 

When  they  reached  the  villa,  and  Neme- 
sius  drew  rein  in  front  of  the  portico,  Zilla 
was  waiting  under  the  trees  to  receive  her 
blind  charge,  to  lead  her  in,  watchful  of 
every  step,  and  to  perform  for  her  all  those 
services  of  affection  which  her  faithful  heart 
was  ever  ready  to  bestow — to  be  eyes  and 
hands  for  her  at  every  turn,  and  anticipate 
every  want.  But  when  she  saw  her  spring 
unaided  from  the  chariot,  and  come  run- 
nino^  to  meet  her,  the  woman  stopped  as  if 
spellbound;  while  the  child,  radiant  with 
happiness,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  cheeks 
glowing,  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  ex- 
claiming: 

' '  Oh !  Zilla — niadre  bella  mia!  I  can  see ! 
I  can  see !    Let  me  look  into  thy  dear  face ! ' ' 

' '  See  ?  Have  the  gods  at  last  opened  thy 
€yes,  my  child?"  said  Zilla,  who  grew  in- 
stantly white,  and  was  almost  unable  to 
speak,  the  suddenness  of  the  news  was  so 
overwhelming. 

"The  gods?  No!  Listen,  Zilla  mia! 
There  are  no  gods.  Hast  thou  ever  heard 
of  Him  called  the  Christies  f  He  gave  me 
my  sight  in  an  instant;  my  blindness  is 
g-one,  and,  oh!  I  can  see!  Is  it  not  good 
news?"  cried  the  child,  her  voice  ringing 
with  gladness. 


But  Zilla  could  not  reply;  she  staggered 
from  Claudia's  embrace,  and  stood  as  if 
turned  to  stone,  her  countenance  wearing 
an  expression  of  pain  and  horror.  All  that 
she  had  longed  and  prayed  for  had  come 
at  last;  the  blind  eyes  of  the  only  being  she 
loved  in  the  world  had  sight  given  them — 
but  how?  Rather  had  she  remained  blind 
all  her  days  than  to  have  her  sight  on  such 
conditions!  To  be  a  Christian — that  was 
what  it  all  meant!  And  now — now — when 
it  was  death  to  deny  the  gods! 

Zilla  wished  to  go  away,  and  be  alone  to 
look  this  terrible  misfortune  in  the  face;  she 
tried  to  move,  but  her  trembling  limbs  re- 
fused to  bear  her,  and  she  would  have  fallen 
to  the  earth,  had  not  one  of  the  female 
slaves,  who  was  passing  at  the  moment  on 
some  domestic  errand,  sprang  forward,  and 
caught  her  in  her  strong  arms.  She  was 
not  unconscious,  but  dazed,  prostrated,  and 
bewildered,  like  one  in  a  nightmare. 

Frightened,  Claudia  ran  in,  through  the 
atrium — she  did  not  know  where — in  search 
of  some  one  who  would  get  her  wine  for 
Zilla,  and,  in  a  well-lighted  corridor,  she 
almost  ran  against  Symphronius;  startled, 
she  stopped  and  gazed  steadily  in  his  face. 
It  was  an  old,  wrinkled  face,  with  a  fringe 
of  white  hair  and  beard  around  it;  his  great 
black  eyes  protruded,  his  nose  was  so  large 
that  it  gave  a  grotesque  character  to  his 
countenance,  and  his  complexion  was  like 
parchment.    He  stood  a  moment  aghast. 

"What  has  happened,  and  how  is  it  that 
thou  art  running  about  all  dXovL^^donsellina 
7nia?^-^^  he  gasped. 

"Now  I  know  thee  by  thy  voice,"  she 
said,  not  yet  recovered  from  her  astonish- 
ment at  so  strange-looking  an  apparition: 
' '  thou  art  Symphronius,  the  steward.  I  am 
not  blind,  and  I  was  looking  for  thee  to  get 
some  wine  for  Zilla,  who  is  ill." 

' '  Not  blind  ?  When — thou  wert  blind  a 
few  hours  ago,  domellina  mia! ' '  he  ejacu- 
lated. 

' '  I  was,  but  now  I  see, ' '  she  sweetly  an- 
swered. 


*  My  little  lady. 


84 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  old  steward  felt  as  if  a  leathern  pipe 
from  one  of  the  aqueducts  had  been  sud- 
denly turned  down  his  back;  for  the  news, 
although  so  joyful,  gave  him  a  shock  that 
staggered  him ;  and,  not  knowing  what  to 
say,  he  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  made 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross. 

The  child  had  seen  the  Pontiff  Stephen 
make  that  sign  when  he  pronounced  the 
Holy  Names;  he  had  made  it  on  her  fore- 
head, and  again  when  he  blessed  her;  and 
she  was  conscious  it  was  the  sign  of  Him 
whom  her  heart  knew  and  loved. 

' '  It  was  He  who  made  me  see — the  C^rw- 
^?^5,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "Oh!  it  is  good 
to  find  some  one  here  who  knows  Him!" 

' '  I  am  His  unworthy  servant,  donzellina 
mia,''^  said  the  old  man,  with  quavering 
voice;  "but  I  can  not  speak  for  joy;  lean 
only  lift  up  my  heart,  and  give  thanks  to 
Him  who  has  brought  salvation  to  this 
house.  Rest  here,  cara  donzellina^  while  I 
get  wine  for  Zilla. ' ' 

' '  I  will  come  with  thee, ' '  she  said,  taking 
his  tremblings  hand  as  he  turned  to  gfo  to 
the  wine-closet ;  ' '  and  presently,  when  Zilla 
is  better,  other  good  tidings  await  thee. 
Give  me  the  wine;  I  will  run  back  with 
it." 

He  gave  her  a  flask  of  rich  red  wine  and 
a  crystal  cup,  then  stood  watching  her  in 
speechless  emotion  as  she  ran  swiftly  down 
the  corridor.  "Truly,  truly,"  he  at  last 
whispered,  bowing  his  head  and  crossing 
his  hands  reverently  upon  his  breast,  ' '  the 
Lord  God  is  a  mighty  God,  and  merciful  in 
His  ways." 

When  Claudia — as  we  will  still  call  her 
— reached  the  atrium^  she  saw  her  father 
leading  Zilla  in,  her  face  as  white  as  a  snow- 
drift, her  eyes  half  closed,  and  her  steps 
lagging  and  uncertain;  he  led  her  to  a 
couch,  and  gave  her  wine;  she  felt  the 
child's  soft  lips  upon  her  hands,  her  caress- 
ing arms  about  her  neck,  and  heard  the  lov- 
ing accents  of  her  voice,  which  had  always 
been  as  sweetest  music  to  her  ears.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  for  an  instant 
into  those  so  lately  blind,  now  full  of  life 
and  intelligence,  shadowed  by  a  half-won- 


dering look  of  distress;  then  the  woman 
whispered:  "Leave  me  a  little  while,  cara 
7nia — until  I  am  better." 

"It  is  her  voice — but  can  it  be  Zilla?  I 
thought  she  would  be  glad — so  glad  when 
she  heard  I  could  see!"  she  mused,  as, 
obedient  to  a  look  from  her  father,  she  left 
them,  and  wandered  out  under  the  trees^ 
where,  with  wonder  sweetened  and  bright- 
ened by  faith,  she  gazed  with  delight  on 
the  beautiful  things  of  nature. 

The  sweet  child  felt,  without  formulating 
it,  how  good  it  was  that  sight  and  knowl- 
edge should  have  come  together,  and  how 
much  less  complete  one  would  have  been 
without  the  other.  The  thought  of  Zilla 
troubled  her;  it  was  all  so  different  from 
what  she  had  expected;  it  was  the  first  drop 
of  bitterness  in  her  brimful  cup  of  happi- 
ness, and  disturbed  her,  until  she  whispered 
the  Holy  Name  that  was  enshrined  in  her 
heart, — the  Name  which  so  uttered  is  an 
appeal  for  help,  which  brings  swift  response, 
in  strength  to  bear  if  not  to  heal.  The 
child's  Christian  life  was  only  a  few  hours' 
old;  the  mysteries  of  divine  grace  were  yet 
unknown  to  her;  but,  although  given  in 
measure  proportionate  to  her  littleness,  in 
their  effects  they  were  the  same  in  kind 
as  to  one  further  advanced  in  supernatural 
knowledge. 

When  Zilla  recovered  somewhat,  heathen- 
like, she  was  ashamed  of  her  weakness,  and 
by  a  strong  effort  of  her  will  arose  to  leave 
the  presence  of  Nemesius;  but  he  detained 
her  by  requesting  her  to  resume  her  seat; 
he  wished  her  to  learn  from  his  own  lips 
the  wonderful  things  that  had  taken  place 
that  day,  and  to  understand  that  he  and 
the  child  were  no  longer  worshippers  of  the 
gods,  but  Christians. 

The  woman  knew  him  too  well  to  in- 
dulge the  faintest  hope  of  his  falterinof  in 
the  fatal  course  he  had  adopted,  and  his 
language  was  too  lucid  and  coherent  to 
afford  a  doubt  of  his  sanity.  She  listened 
in  silence,  the  iron  entering  deeper  into  her 
soul  with  every  word  he  uttered,  while  the 
consequences  of  his  apostasy  gathered  in 
frightful  array  before  her.    It  was  terrible; 


The  Ave  Maria. 


85 


but  Zilla  was  a  woman  whose  maternal  in- 
stincts had  been  fostered  into  unusual  ten- 
derness by  the  helplessness  of  the  charge 
which,  under  peculiarly  sad  circumstances, 
had  devolved  upon  her,  and  she  presently 
found  how  indestructible  her  love  was,  and 
how  it  would  at  last  triumph  over  herself. 
And,  now  that  he  had  told  her  all,  Neme- 
sius  added: 

"It  will  be  difficult,  I  fear,  for  thee  to 
remain  longer  with  us;  for  thou  art  still  a 
worshipper  of  the  dcemons  known  as  gods; 
for  thy  own  happiness,  then,  it  may  be 
better  for  thee  to  return  to  Thessalia,  before 
the  storm  breaks.  Thou  shalt  be  provided 
.with  ample  means  and  a  safe  guide — nay, 
do  not  decide  too  hastily.  Later,  I  may 
not  have  power  to  serve  thee ;  for  we  both 
know  that  to  become  a  Christian  means 
death." 

"I  care  not  for  death;  but  for  her,  my 
child,  I  would  plunge  this  stiletto  into  my 
heart;  and,  happen  what  may,  I  will  never 
leave  her." — She  had  snatched  the  gleam- 
ing, keen-edged  thing  from  her  hair,  which 
fell  in  a  dark,  waving  mass  nearly  to  her  feet. 
—  "I  know  of  no  other  way  than  the  one  I 
was  born  to — no  other  belief;  but,  gods  or 
no  gods,  I  will  never  be  faithless  to  the 
promise  I  made  to  the  dying,"  she  said,  in 
hard,  bitter  tones. 

"If  such  be  thy  choice,  thy  idolatrous 
belief  must  be  kept  in  thine  own  heart,  nor 
ever  referred  to  in  her  hearing.  It  would 
be  better  to  part,  unless  thou  wilt  open  thy 
mind  to  receive  the  Truth — which  is  the 
highest  good  I  can  wish  for  thee,"  replied 
Nemesius,  in  his  firm,  even  voice. 

"O  Nemesius!  thou  who  didst  worship 
the  gods,  and  with  loyal  mind  didst  punish 
their  enemies  with  fire  and  sword!  It  seems 
too  incredible  for  belief  that  thou  shouldst 
all  at  once  abandon  the  religion  of  thy  vir- 
tuous and  pious  ancestors  for  a  delusion ! ' ' 
she  exclaimed. 

"I  have  abandoned  a  delusion,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  for  the  eternal  Truth.  My 
child's  blind  eyes  and  the  blind  e^^es  of  my 
spirit  were  opened  at  the  same  moment,  by 
the  grace  and  power  of  God;  henceforth 


we  are  Christians!"   answered  the  noble 
soldier. 

"But,  alas!  Hast  thou  considered  her?" 
she  wailed;  "thy  delicate,  lovely  one,  on 
whom  no  rough  wind  of  fate  has  ever  blown,, 
who  has  been  sheltered  on  my  breast  and 
in  my  arms  from  every  ill  my  watchful  care 
could  avert!  Ah,  pity  her!  Is  her  tender 
flesh  fit  for  the  rack  or  the  teeth  of  pan- 
thers? Ah,  gods!  what  madness!  And  art 
thou  ready  to  give  up  fortune,  fame,  life?" 

"All — everything!"  was  his  firm,  low- 
voiced  reply,  as  he  turned  away  and  walked 
out  of  the  atrium^  his  nature  stung  in  the 
tenderest  spot,  but  his  resolve  and  faith 
unshaken. 

The  woman  felt  as  if  the  crowning  woe 
of  her  life  had  come.  She  would  as  soon 
have  expected  the  sky  to  fall  as  for  that  to 
happen  which  had  happened  this  day.  With 
her  head  bowed  down,  her  face  covered 
with  her  hands,  her  hair  fallen  like  a  som- 
bre veil  around  her  she  sat  there  benumbed^ 
without  the  power  or  wish  to  move,  until 
soft  arms  stole  around  her,  and  the  voice 
most  dear  to  her  said,  in  tones  of  tender  en- 
treaty : 

"Wilt  thou  not  raise  up  thy  head,  Zilla, 
and  let  me  look  into  thy  face?  Hast  thou 
forgotten  that  I  can  now  see,  and  does  it 
not  make  thee  glad?" 

Zilla's  hands  fell;  she  raised  her  w^an 
face,  and  tried  to  smile  into  the  bright, 
beautiful  eyes  that  scrutinized  her  counte- 
nance, and  beheld  in  its  grief-stricken  lines, 
its  stern  white  aspect,  a  first  glimpse  of 
human  sorrow;  frightened,  the  child  drew 
back,  saying:, "Speak,  that  I  may  know  if 
thou  art  Zilla!" 

(to  be  continued.) 


By  cutting  off  the  sprouting  leaves  con- 
stantly, the  root  of  the  plant  is  gradually 
killed;  for  nature  is  unequal  to  this  inces- 
sant reproduction  of  foliage.  So  with  our 
faults  and  the  particular  examen.  Nip  off 
the  first  tender  shoots — the  little  outward 
ebullitions  of  pride,  etc. — and  the  root  of 
the  evil — the  passion  within — in  the  end 
dies  out. 


86 


The  Ave  Maria. 


To  B.  I.  Durward.* 


BY    ELIZA    ALLEN    STARR. 


BARD  of  the  wild  rose!   never  verse  like 
thine 
Hath  sung  this  fairest  blossom  of  the  dell; 
No  poet's  eye  hath  ever  caught  so  well 
The  artless  marvel  of  its  chaste  outline, 
Each  blushing  petal's  mystical  design, 

The  virgin  freshness  of  its  breath,  the  swell 
Of  anthered  coronal,  of  honeyed  cell, 
Wherein  such  precious   symbols   flush   and 
shine. 

Plead  for  him,  wilding  rose,  unto  that  Heart, 
Heart  of  our  hearts,  in  which  we  move  and 

live. 
That  of  Its  treasures  It  may  freely  give; 
Replenishing  his  soul  with  sacred  fire, 
Attuning  still  for  God  his  sweet- voiced  lyre, 
To  bear  in  seraph  choirs  a  poet's  blissful 
part. 


The  Relics  of  St.  Anne. 


AS  one  descends  the  tortuous  course  of 
the  Little  Rhone,  or  Rhone  de  Saint- 
Gilies,  the  horizon  gradually  expands;  the 
mountains  disappear  from  view;  vegetation 
becomes  scant,  and  when  the  sea  is  ap- 
proached the  country  is  a  veritable  desert. 
Soon  the  current  of  the  Rhone  is  no  longer 
discernible  ;  the  waters  of  the  river,  the 
pools  which  spread  out  on  both  sides,  the  sea 
itself — all  seem  blended  in  one  far-reach- 
ing plane.  Nothing  more  desolate  can  be 
imagined,  nothing  more  sterile  than  the  vast 
expmse,  whose  sickly  flora  consists  only 
of  a  few  clusters  of  rushes  and  tamarisks. 
One  day — it  was  more  than  1800  years 
ago — some  poor  fishers  who  were  watching 
their  nets  on  the  coast  of  this  dreary  sea, 
saw  approaching  them  a  strange  bark  con- 
taining persons  with  whose  customs  and 
language  they  were  wholly  unfamiliar. 
These  strangers  were  the  principal  mem- 
bers of  that  blessed  family  of  Bethany  with 
whom  our   divine   Saviour   had  been  for 

*  Author  of  "Wild  Flowers  of  Wisconsin." 


three  years  the  guest  and  friend.  Driven 
from  Judea  by  the  persecution,  in  which  St. 
James  the  Less,  Bishop  of  Jerusalem,  had 
fallen  a  martyr,  they  confided  themselves 
to  the  mercy  of  the  waves,  and,  wafted  by 
the  breath  of  God,  they  reached  the  hos- 
pitable shores  of  Provence. 

This  little  colony  of  saints  and  apostles 
spread  "the  glad  tidings"  throughout  all 
Provence.  Before  separating  they  took  care 
to  divide  the  relics — the  last  and  cherished 
mementos  of  their  native  land — which  they 
had  been  able  to  save  from  the  profanation 
of  the  Jews.  These  were  particles  of  earth 
from  Calvary  impregnated  with  the  Blood 
of  the  Redeemer,  some  articles  of  clothing- 
worn  by  the  Blessed  Virgin,  several  bodies 
of  the  Holy  Innocents,  and  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  St.  Anne,  mother  of  Mary,  and 
near  of  kin  to  some  of  the  fugitives.  Ac- 
cording to  tradition,  the  body  of  our  Saint 
fell  to  the  lot  of  St.  Lazarus,  who  carried  it 
to  Marseilles.  But  one  of  his  successors  in 
that  episcopal  see,  fearing  that  the  precious 
relic  was  not  safe  enough  in  a  city  so  ex- 
posed to  persecution,  entrusted  it  to  St. 
Auspicius,who  became  first  Bi.^hop  of  Apt. 
This  Saint,  a  patrician  by  birth,  was 
formed  to  the  ministry  of  the  Gospel  by 
Pope  St.  Clement,  and  consecrated  by  him. 
Fired  with  zeal  for  the  conquest  of  souls, 
he  quitted  Rome  travelled  through  Tus- 
cany and  Liguria,  crossed  the  Alps,  passed 
over  to  Marseilles,  and,  towards  A.  D.  97, 
under  the  empire  of  Nerva,  arrived  and 
established  himself  a^  Apt. 

The  preaching  of  St.  Auspicius,  aided 
by  the  grace  of  God,  won  over  innumerable 
souls  to  the  faith.  Very  soon  the  house  of 
Corilus  in  which  he  had  taken  up  his  abode, 
no  longer  sufficed  to  contain  the  crowds  that 
flocked  around  him:  'the  public  squares  be- 
came his  places  of  reunion;  .a  milestone  at 
the  cross-roads  served  him  for  a  pulpit,  until, 
having  converted  nearly  the  whole  city,  he 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  magnificent  basilica 
on  the  ruins  of  the  amphitheatre. 

Persecution,  alas !  soon  arose  to  arrest  the 
work  of  conversion,  and  nip  in  the  bud 
this  yet  scarcely- blown  flower  of  salvation. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


87 


\uspicius,  then  fearing  that  the  relics  of 
5t.  Anne  might  be  profaned  by  the  pagans, 
:oncealed  them  in  the  walls  of  the  rising 
church,  and  prepared  himself  for  martyr- 
dom, which  he  shortly  afterwards  suffered 
under  Trajan.     (August  2,  102.) 

From  this  period  iip  to  the  middle  of  the 
8th  century  no  further  mention  is  made  of 
the  relics  of  our  Saint.  If,  as  many  think, 
they  were  again  exposed  to  the  veneration 
of  the  faithful  w^lien  the  persecution  was 
over,  the  frequent  and  terrible  invasions, 
first  of  the  Lombards,  then  of  the  Saracens, 
would  have  obliged  the  possessors  to  hide 
them  anew. 

When  Charlemagne  was  gloriously  reign- 
ing in  France,  it  pleased  God  to  reward  his 
faith  and  zeal  by  their  discovery.  Being  at 
Apt,  on  his  return  from  one  of  his  brilliant 
victories,  this  Prince  was  assisting  at  the 
celebration  of  the  divine  mysteries,  sur- 
rotmded  by  the  vassals  of  his  court  and  an 
immense  concourse  of  people.  A  boy  named 
John,  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  blind, 
deaf,  and  dumb  from  his  birth,  whose  father 
was  a  Baron  of  Caseneuve,  suddenly  made 
signs  with  his  hands  and  feet  to  those  about 
him  that  they  should  look  under  the  place- 
on  which  he  stood.  The  people  began  to  be 
excited;  the  Emperor,  anticipating  some- 
thing unusual,  ordered  them  to  act  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  boy's  directions. 

The  investigation  began  as  soon  as  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  was  concluded.  At  the  first 
stroke  of  the  pick  a  subterranean  noise  re- 
sounded under  the  flags.  The  workmen 
redoubled  their  efforts,  and  ere  long  came 
upon  a  chapel,  in  which  St.  Auspicius  was 
accustomed  during  the  persecutions  to  cele- 
brate Mass,  and  preach  the  word  of  God  to 
the  people. 

The  blind  deaf  mute  was  the  first  to 
enter  the  sanctuary.  By  supernatural  in- 
spiration he  went  directly  to  the  spot  where 
the  relics  had  beeu  concealed,  and  made  a 
sign  to  dig  again.  He  was  obeyed,  and 
soon  a  luminous  ray  proceeded  from  a  cleft 
made  by  the  pick.  Guided  by  this  light, 
they  penetrated  into  a  lower  crypt,  where 
all  saw  with  astonishment  a  lighted  lamp 


standing  before  a  depression  in  the  wall.  At 
the  same  moment  the  Emperor,  the  clergy, 
and  the  nobles  hurried  forward  to  the  vault. 
The  boy  instantaneously  and  miraculously 
received  the  use  of  his  eyes,  ears,  ^nd  tongue, 
and  in  transports  of  joy  cried  out:  ''Here 
repose  the  remains  of  St.  Anne,  mother  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  Mother  of  God!" 

A  slab  of  marble  fixed  in  the  depression 
was  then  removed,  and  a  cypress  case  con- 
taining the  relics  was  revealed.  They  were 
enveloped  in  a  cloth,  on  which  were  written 
the  words:  Corpus  BeatcB  Annce^  matris 
Virginis  Marine ^ — "The  body  of  Blessed 
Anna,  mother  of  the  Virgin  Mary."  The 
moment  the  cypress  box  was  opened  a  most 
agreeable  perfume  issued  from  it,  filling  the 
whole  church.  Then,  being  no  longer  able 
to  control  his  joy,  the  Bishop  intoned  the  Te 
Deum^  which  was  taken  up  by  all  present. 

Devotion  to  St.  Anne  was  thus  revived 
throughout  all  that  country;  thence  it 
crossed  the  seas,  and  to-day  it  is  practised 
in  every  part  of  Christendom. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 

ROSEY  O'TOOLE'S    MIRACULOUS   MEDAL. 

MANY  persons  wear  the  miraculous  medal 
who  never  heard  of  its  origin.  If  to  the 
countless  instances  of  its  wonderful  power  we 
add  the  story  of  two,  personally  known  to  our- 
selves, it  is  with  the  hope  that  they  may  in- 
crease the  piety  of  those  who  already  wear  it, 
and  induce  others  to  do  the  same. 

But  first  a  word  about  its  history.  In  the 
year  1830,  at  Chatillon,  Zoe  lyaboure,  in  relig- 
ion Sister  Catharine,  a  Daughter  of  Charity, 
was  twice  favored  by  apparitions  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  On  the  second  occasion  (No- 
vember 17)  Our  Lady  appeared,  standing  as  it 
were  upon  a  globe,  with  rays  of  glory  stream- 
ing from  her  hands;  tokens,  she  said,  of  the 
graces  she  gives  to  those  who  ask  them. 
"Then,"  to  quote  the  words  of  Sister  Catha- 
rine, "there  formed  round  the  Blessed  Virgin 
a  glory,  somewhat  oval  in  shape,  from  which 
shone  out  in  golden  letters  the  words,  'O  Mary, 
conceived  without  sin,  pray  for  us  who  have 
recourse  to  thee! '  "   Our  Lady  then  bade  the 


88 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Sister  have  a  medal  struck  according  to  the 
appearance  of  the  vision,  and  promised  abun- 
dant graces  to  those  who  should  wear  it  with 
confidence  in  her.  Hence  the  medal  with 
which  all  Catholic  eyes  are  so  familiar. 

About  twenty  years  ago  a  zealous  Redemp- 
torist  Father,  when  giving  a  mission  in  the 
south  of  Ireland,  was  the  guest  of  a  pious  and 
excellent  Catholic  family  of  the  name  of 
O' Toole.  As  was  his  custom  on  taking  leave 
of  his  hosts,  he  presented  each  member  of  the 
household  with  a  medal  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception.  The  little  Rose,  then  six  years 
old,  received  the  gift  with  eager  delight.  The 
good  priest  told  her  its  history,  and  she  prom- 
ised always  to  wear  it,  and  not  to  forget,  every 
night  before  going  to  bed,  to  say  three  times, 
"O  Mary,  conceived  without  sin,  pray  for  us 
who  have  recourse  to  thee ! ' '  Rosey  not  ouly 
promised,  but  faithfully  kept  her  word. 

When  about  fourteen  years  old,  she  went 
with  the  rest  of  the  home  party  to  spend  the 
Summer  in  a  village  by  the  sea-side.  One 
sunny  afternoon,  Rosey  and  one  of  her  sisters 
rambled  far  along  the  lonely  beach,  collecting 
shells  and  sea-weeds.  When  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  any  habitation,  they  resolved  to 
bathe,  and  were  soon  gaily  disporting  them- 
selves in  the  calm  and  sparkling  water,  never 
dreaming  that  the  firm,  smooth  sands  be- 
neath their  feet  were  of  unequal  depth,  swept 
into  deep  hollows  by  recent  storms.  Terror- 
stricken,  they  suddenly  found  themselves 
without  a  footing,  and,  neither  of  them  being 
able  to  swim,  struggled  for  the  dear  life  in 
water  beyond  their  depth. 

Death  seemed  inevitable.  They  were  almost 
exhausted,  when  Rose,  clasping  the  medal 
fastened  round  her  neck,  cried  out,  "O  Mary, 
conceived  without  sin,  do  not  let  us  be  lost! 
Pray  for  us  who  have  recourse  to  thee." 

Strange,  but  true!  At  that  moment  a  tall, 
strong  woman,  in  the  garb  of  a  fish-wife, 
plunged  into  the  water,  and,  firmly  grasping 
the  two  girls,  brought  them  senseless  to  the 
shore.  They  were  taken  to  a  hut  among  the 
neighboring  sand -hills,  where  the  woman 
tended  them  until  animation  was  restored,  and 
a  few  hours  later  they  were  at  home, kneeling 
in  thanksgiving  before  the  image  of  their  Im- 
maculate Mother. 

Not  far  from  Rose's  home  lived  a  Protestant 
family,  with  whom  her  parents  were  intimate. 


They  professed  the  latest  form  of  ' '  High 
Church ' '  principles  produced  by  the  Anglican 
Kstablishment,  and  sincerely  lived  up  to  such 
light  as  they  had.  Their  eldest  son,  George,  a 
University  man,  whose  college  career  had 
done  him  credit,  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
O'Tooles'.  Rosey  herself,  who  was  an  intelli- 
gent child,  became  an  especial  favorite  of  his. 
It  was  at  the  time  of  the  Redemptorist's  visit 
that  George,  having  obtained  a  commission  in 
the  army,  called  to  tell  his  friends  the  news. 
Rose,  hearing  him  enter,  flew  down  stairs  to 
meet  him.  ' '  See, ' '  she  exclaimed, ' '  what  Fa- 
ther Paul  has  given  me — a  lovely  medal  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin!  And  if  I  wear  it,  and  say  the 
words  it  has  upon  it,  she  will  save  me  in  every 
danger.    I  wish  you  had  one  too." 

George,  however,  had  no  faith  in  the  medal, 
and  was  half  amused  at  the  fervor  and  con\'ic- 
tion  of  his  little  friend. 

Rosey  rather  resented  the  smile,  which  she 
felt  implied  doubt,  and  perhaps  a  gentle  de- 
rision. 

Shortly  afterwards  George  left  to  join  his 
regiment,  and  remained  abroad  for  six  or  seven 
years.  He  then  married  a  good  and  charm- 
ing English  lady,  sold  his  commission,  and 
settled  in  Australia.  One  day, when  the  morn- 
ing mail  came  in,  as  he  and  his  wife  were  at 
breakfast  in  their  pleasant  Queensland  home, 
George  exclaimed,  glancing  through  the  let- 
ters: "Here  is  a  sign  of  life  once  more  from 
my  old  friend  Rosey.  The  child  must  be  four- 
teen or  fifteen  by  this  time.  How  time  flies!  " 
he  moralized,  as  he  opened  and  began  to  read 
her  letter.     Presently  he  laughed. 

"Well?"  said  his  wife,  looking  up  from 
her  share  of  the  morning's  budget. 

"  Do  3^ou  remember,  Mary,  my  telling  you 
about  some  miraculous  medal  a  priest  had 
given  Rose,  and  how  she  would  have  hung  it 
round  my  neck,  as  a  preservative  in  all  dan- 
gers, present  or  to  come?  And  now  here  she 
is  still  harping  on  the  same  string!  " 

After  reading  the  letter  to  the  end,  he  added, 
more  gravely:  "By  Jove!  but  she  and  Nora 
have  had  a  narrow  escape! — hauled  in,  in  the 
very  nick  of  time,  to  save  them  from  drown- 
ing; and  this,  she  declares,  all  because  of  the 
medal.  See,  she  encloses  one  of  these  wonder- 
working amulets,  and  begs  again  that  I  will 
wear  it — it  would  make  her  so  happy!  " 

"Upon  my  word,  George,  I  shall  begin  to 
pout  if  this  young  lady  threatens  to  encroach 


The  Ave  Maria, 


89 


)n  my  prerogative, ' '  said  his  wife,  smiling,  as 
ihe  took  the  offered  letter  to  read  for  herself. 
'  You  are  pretty  well  looked  after  already,  I 
should  say! " 

After  reading  Rosey's  story  to  the  end, "  It 
is  certainly  remarkable,"  she  added;  "and, 
believing  as  the  girl  does,  I  am  not  surprised 
at  her  attributing  a  miraculous  power  to  the 
medal.    Do  you  mean  to  wear  it?  " 

"No:  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  any- 
thing I  should  consider  so  irrational.  If  it 
were  simply  a  brass  coin,  I  should  not  mind 
wearing  it  to  please  her;  but  with  this  relig- 
ious element  attached  to  it,  I  should  feel  as  if 
I  were  abetting  or  pretending  to  superstition. 
What's  r^Jz/r  view  of  the  case  ? ' ' 

"I  should  say  wear  it  as  you  would  a  coin, 
and  forget  the  religious  element.  It  can't  do 
you  harm,  if  it  does  you  no  good;  and  you 
will  please  your  little  friend." 

"You  are  a  wise  woman,  wifey.  I'll  1:ell 
her  for  her  sake,  and  for  auld  lang-syne,I  will 
wear  it  as  she  requests;  but  that  if  I  ever  feel 
a  scruple  about  doing  so,  she  must  leave  me 
free  to  take  it  off,  and  put  it  carefully  by  as  a 
keepsake." 

On  hearing  of  this  arrangement,  Rosey  ac- 
cepted the  compromise;  and  George  acted  ac- 
-cordingly,  wearing  the  medal  for  a  time,  and 
then  consigning  it  to  his  dressing-case. 

After  some  peaceful  and  happy  years  this 
loving  couple  were  visited  by  sickness  and 
sorrow.  The  young  wife  fell  ill  of  malignant 
fever,  and  her  husband,  after  a  few  weeks  of 
intense  anxiety  and  anguish,  was  left — dis- 
tracted and  despairing — alone. 

His  ceaseless  watching  day  and  night  by 
his  dying  wife,  loss  of  rest,  and  distaste  for 
food,  told  heavily,  not  only  on  his  bodily 
health,  but  for  a  time  endangered  his  reason. 
Kneeling  for  hours  in  silent  agony  by  the  bed 
on  which  she  had  died,  he  could  neither  weep 
nor  pray.  When  he  tried  to  bow  before  the 
inscrutable  will  of  God,  he  was  beset  by  the 
frightful  suggestions  of  the  tempter,  that  his 
Maker  was  cruel  and  unjust  in  depriving  him 
of  his  dearest  treasure.  Being  religiously  dis- 
posed, these  thoughts  distressed  and  alarmed 
him,  and  he  would  sometimes  cry  out, bitterly, 
"OGod!  if  I  could  only  pray !  "  or  he  would 
pace  the  room  like  a  man  beside  himself,  call- 
ing on  his  darling  to  come  back,  or  take  him 
whither  she  was  gone. 

One  day,  opening  an  inner  drawer  of  his 


dressing-case,  he  came  upon  Rosey's  long-for- 
gotten medal.  He  took  it  up,  and  exclaimed, 
as  he  looked  intently  on  the  figure  of  Our 
Lady,  "O  Mary!  Mother  of  God,  if  you  can  . 
hear  the  cry  of  a  broken  heart,  hear  me  now! 
Obtain  for  me  the  grace  of  prayer,  and  I  will 
no  longer  doubt  your  power." 

Strange  but  true!  we  must  say  again^.  At 
that  moment  the  poor  mourner  felt  his  soul 
flooded,  as  it  were,  with  a  comfort  and  conso- 
lation he  had  never  known  before.  A  calm- 
ness strange  and  sweet  came  over  him,  and 
his  misery  was  soothed  to  rest.  Tears — the 
first  he  had  shed  since  his  bereavement — now 
streamed  from  his  eyes,  while,  with  thankful 
reverence,  he  knelt  down  and  prayed  with 
fervor  and  in  peace.  Once  more  he  placed  the 
medal  round  his  neck,  never  to  be  removed. 
The  light  of  faith,  which  that  day  dawned  on 
his  mind,  was  fanned  by  study  and  instruction 
into  a  bright  and  lasting  flame,  and,  after  due 
preparation,  he  was  received  into  the  Church. 
He  has  since  joined  a  religious  order,  in  which 
at  this  moment  he  holds  a  high  and  responsi- 
ble position,  and  is  unwearied  in  his  labors 
to  bring  others  to  know  and  have  confidence 
in  the  power  of  the  Immaculate  Mother  of 
God. — Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  decree  of  the  Congregation  of  Rites, 
approved  by  his  Holiness  I^eo  XIII.,  and  sol- 
emnly published  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Camil- 
lus  of  Lellis  (July  15th)  proclaims  that  Saint, 
with  St.  John  of  God,  protector  of  all  hospi- 
tals and  of  the  sick  in  general.  The  names 
of  these  two  heroes  of  charity  will  be  added 
to  the  Litany  of  the  Dying.  They  were  es- 
pecially remarkable  for  their  tender  devotion 
to  the  sick  and  suffering. 

The  churching  of  Queen  Christina  of  Spain 
took  place  in  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of 
Antocha,  in  Madrid, — the  sanctuary  which 
Spanish  sovereigns  are  accustomed  to  visit 
every  Saturday  to  invoke  the  intercession  of 
the  Mother  of  God.  The  ceremony  was  per- 
formed by  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo.  At  the 
same  time  the  young  King  was  solemnly  con- 
secrated to  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  altar  was 
ablaze  with  light,  and  by  the  Queen  stood  the 
members  of  the  royal  family,  the  Cardinal  Pri- 
mate, the  bishops,  and  the  leading  clergy  of 


90 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


the  Cathedral  and  re-alni.  Around  were  the 
grandees  of  Spain,  the  diplomatic  corps,  the 
ministers,  the  great  officers  of  the  throne,  the 
representatives  of  the  Army  and  Navy  in 
brilliant  uniforms,  the  principal  authorities  of  | 
the  capital  and  the  provinces,  with  deputa- 
tions of  the  Cortes  and  the  great  cities. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  written 
recently  by  a  devoted  religious,  who  has  been 
privileged  to  visit  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  at 
lyourdes,  will  be  read  with  particular  interest 
by  those  of  our  readers  familiar  with  the  nar- 
ratives of  ' '  The  Miracle  of  the  Assumption ' ' 
and  "The  Cabinet-Maker  of  Lavaur,"  so 
graphically  told  by  M.  Henri  Lasserre  in  ' '  The 
Miraculous  Episodes  of  gourdes ' ' : 

"The  first  thing  that  attracted  our  attention 
at  the  Grotto  was  the  marble  slab  in  front  of  the 
altar,  near  the  place  of  the  Apparition;  it  is  thus 
inscribed: 

"Surge  et  Ambui^a  (Luc,  v.,  23). 
Victor-Marie  de  Musy,  Pretre 

DU   DlOC^SE  D'AUTUN, 

Gue:ri  le  15  AouT,  1873. 
Little  did  we  dream,  when  reading  the  touching 
narrative  in  Our  Lady's  Journal,  that  we  should 
ever  see  this  testimonial  of  his  gratitude,  among 
myriads  of  others.  In  the  Basilica,  too,  observing 
the  beautiful  stained-glass  windows  showing  the 
eighteen  apparitions  of  our  dear  Lady,  we  saw 
the  one  representing  Francis  Macary,  the  cabinet- 
maker, taking  off  his  heavy  bandage  with  a  proud 
smile  (which  must  have  been  a  pretty  loud  laugh, 
for  one  can  count  every  tooth  in  his  head),  his 
wife  appearing  in  the  half  open  door,  lost  in  as- 
tonishment at  what  she  beheld.  We  saw  the  house 
of  Bernadette,  the  bed  used  by  her,  read  some  of 
the  letters  (in  her  own  handwriting)  to  her  brother 
and  sister,  both  of  whom  we  met  also.  We  were 
fortunate  enough  to  secure  some  little  relics  of 
the  favored  child  of  Mary.  We  visited  the  tomb  of 
Mgr.  Peyramale,  the  Blessed  Virgin's  priest,  and 
obtained  a  few  flowers  placed  over  his  marble 
tomb  by  loving  hands." 

On  Sunday,  the  nth  inst.,  the  Rev.  Au- 
gustus Tolton,  the  first  colored  priest  that 
America  has  given  to  the  Church,  sang  High 
Mass  and  preached  his  first  sermon  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Benedict,  the  Moor,  Bleecker 
Street,  .New  York.  Father  Tolton  was  born  in 
Missouri,  in  1854.  His  parents  were  slaves, 
and  he  himself  was  born  in  slavery.  The  out- 
break of  the  war  released  them  from  their  con- 
dition, and  their  home  was  made  in  Quincy, 
111.    From  an  early  age  he  showed  great  tal- 


ents and  industry,  teaching  Catechism  in 
Sunday-school,  and  studying  at  the  college 
of  the  Franciscan  Fathers.  In  1880  he  was 
sent  by  Bishop  Baltes  to  the  College  of  the 
Propaganda  in  Rome,  where  he  studied  Phi- 
losophy two  3^ears,  and  Theolog}^  four  years. 
On  Ember  Saturday,  June  19th,  he  was  or- 
dained priest  by  Cardinal  Parocchi.  and  the 
following  day  celebrated  his  first  Mass  in  St. 
Peter's,  at  the  altar  over  the  tomb  of  the  Chief 
of  the  Apostles.  A  few  days  afterwards  he 
left  the  Eternal  City  for  the  scene  of  his  mis- 
sionary labors  in  America.  A  letter  from  Eng- 
land to  the  Pilot  states  that  Father  Tolton 
stopped  at  Southampton,  having  a  letter  to  a 
leading  Catholic  Irishman  of  that  city,  named 
Dunne.  Mr.  Dunne  took  the  black  priest  to 
his  house,  "thinking  it  a  great  blessing  that 
he  might  say  he  had  kept  the  first  colored 
priest  of  America  at  his  home. ' '  Father  Tolton 
arrived  in  New  York  on  the  6th  inst. ,  and 
passed  some  days  with  the  Rev.  Father  Corri- 
gan,  rector  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Hoboken, 
who  had  known  him  as  a  child.  There  he  said 
his  first  Mass  in  America,  but  declined  an  invi- 
tation to  preach,  saying  that  Cardinal  Parocchi 
had  advised  him  to  preach  his  first  sermon  to 
those  of  his  ovva  race.  This  he  did,  as  above 
stated,  in  St.  Benedict's  Church  for  colored 
people,  in  New  York,  where  his  bearing  and 
address  commanded  attention  and  respect. 
Father  Tolton  has  been  appointed  to  the 
charge  of  the  parish  of  St.  Joseph's  Church  at 
Quincy,  the  congregation  of  which  is  wholly 
made  up  of  colored  people. 

His  Holiness  Leo  XIII.  has  granted,  on  the 
ordinary  conditions,  a  plenary  indulgence  to 
priests  on  the  oct:asion  of  their  first  Mass,  as 
well  as  to  their  relatives,  to  the  third  degree 
inclusively,  who  are  present  thereat.  To  all 
others  who  assist  at  the  Mass  is  granted  an 
indulgence  of  seven  years  and  two  hundred 
and  eighty  days.      

Although  there  is  not  much  to  be  found  in 
Nevada  that  is  of  interest  to  the  antiquarian, 
still  there  are  to  be  seen  in  Lincoln  County, 
at  no  great  distance  from  the  Colorado  River, 
some  interesting  traces  of  an  extinct  civiliza- 
tion. One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  these 
relics  is  in  the  Kingston  range,  near  the 
summit  of  Clarke  Mountain.  On  the  eastern 
face  of  this  mountain  stands  a  perpendicu- 
lar cliff  of  limestone  250  feet  in  height.    On 


The  Ave  Maria. 


91 


the  face  of  this  cliff,  about  loo  feet  above  its 
base,  is  engraved  the  following  inscription: 
"t  I  1/  D."  The  cross  and  letters  are  of 
mammoth  proportions,  being  not  less  than 
sixty  feet  in  height.  The  characters  are  cut 
into  the  rock  to  a  depth  of  over  two  feet,  and 
are  to  be  seen  at  a  great  distance.  The  letters 
must  have  been  cut  for  a  guiding  sign  of  some 
kind,  yet  the  amount  of  work  required  for 
their  engraving  seems  disproportionate  for 
utility  for  such  a  purpose.  The  Indians  have 
no  tradition  in  regard  to  this  curious  relic,  but 
the  fact  of  the  inscription  being  made  in  Ro- 
man letters,  and  preceded  by  the  figure  of  the 
cross,  indicates  that  the  work  was  done  by 
white  men  and  Christians.  At  Ash  Valley 
and  on  Indian  Creek  are  to  be  seen  traces  of 
the  walls  of  adobe  buildings,  and  about  Pah 
Tuck  Springs  are  found  blocks  of  hewn  gran- 
ite. It  is  known  that  there  were  Jesuit  mis- 
sions about  the  mouth  of  the  Gila  River,  some 
of  which  are  indicated  on  a  map  dated  1757, 
but  there  is  no  account  of  the  missionaries  hav- 
ing pushed  so  far  North.  The  Indians  in  this 
region  how  signs  of  having  once  been  sub- 
jected to  the  influences  of  civilization:  they  do 
not  rove  about,  but  live  in  permanent  villages. 


On  the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi,  in  the 
mother  house  of  her  Order  at  Namur,  Sister 
Mary  of  St.  Francis  (in  the  world  the  Honor- 
able Mrs.  E.  Petre)  went  to  her  reward.  For 
the  last  thirty-five  years  this  good  religious 
watched  over  the  establishments  of  the  Sisters 
of  Notre  Dame  in  England,  and  proved  her- 
self a  great  benefactress  to  the  cause  of  Cath- 
olic education.  In  1850,  in  the  prime  of  life, 
though  possessed  of  an  ample  fortune,  she 
renounced  every  attraction  that  the  world 
could  offer,  and  sought  a  retreat  in  which  she 
could  spend  her  life  and  all  she  had  for  God 
and  for  His  poor.  There  was  then  one  Con- 
vent of  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  in  England; 
now,  through  her  zeal  and  devotion,  there  are 
twenty,  in  which  thousands  of  poor  children 
are  instructed  in  their  religion  by  the  Sisters 
of  her  Congregation.  In  particular  the  Train- 
ing College  for  school-mistresses,  which  she 
founded  at  lyiverpool  in  1856,  will  be  a  lasting 
monument  of  her  zeal  for  Catholic  education. 
Her  funds  provided  land  and  buildings,  and 
she  spared  neither  money  nor  pains  to  create 
an  institution  as  perfect  and  complete  of  its 
kind  as  she  could  make  it.    In  the  interval  of 


thirty  years  this  one  institution  has  sent  forth 
1,275  students  as  Catholic  teachers.  The  loss 
of  Sister  Mary  Francis  will  be  keenly  felt  in 
all  the  convents  o'f  her  Order,  but  the  benefi- 
cent fruits  of  her  active  and  devoted  life  will 
long  remain.    R.  I.  P, 


It  is  but  three  years  since  the  Maori  mission 
at  Wanganui,  New  Zealand,  was  established 
by  the  Rev.  Father  Soulas,  and  already  its 
success  has  surpassed  all  hope.  The  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  Redwood  lately  visited  Wanganui  and 
the  neighboring  Maori  missions  of  Keremite, 
Jerusalem,  and  Ranama.  At  the  first-named 
place  he  blessed  a  new  church,  and  gave  the 
veil  to  three  religious,  who  are  devoting  their 
lives  to  the  welfare  of  the  Maori  children.  A 
banquet  was  prepared  for  the  Bishop,  at  which 
the  venerable  Maori  chief,  Pontini,  made  the 
following  address:  "Father,  good-day  to  you, 
— good-day  to  you  surrounded  by  your  new 
children!  Had  you  been  here  at  a  feast  in  the 
days  of  my  youth,  you  would  have  been 
offered  human  flesh.  You  would  have  found 
yourself  in  the  midst  of  intractable  and  savage 
men.  Here,  three  years  ago  we  were  infidels, 
full  of  vice;  to-day,  thanks  to  Divine  Provi- 
dence, and  the  labors  of  the  good  priests  sent 
to  us  by  you,  we  are  a  Christian  people.  True, 
we  are  but  of  yesterday,  but  our  desire  is  to 
persevere.  Behold  the  church:  it  has  cost  us 
great  sacrifices;  it  stands  there  as  a  witness  to 
our  faith,  and  a  promise  of  its  endurance;  we 
shall  never  abandon  prayer.  I^et  the  priest, 
then,  remain  in  our  midst,  to  guide  and  en- 
lighten us.  Good-day,  Father!  Great  is  our 
happiness  at  seeing  you.— 7~>^^  Pilot. 


Obituary. 

"It  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

Sister  Mary  Joseph,  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph, 
who  departed  this  life  at  the  House  of  Providence, 
Dundee.  She  was  in  the  forty-second  year  of  her 
age,  and  the  twenty-fourth  of  her  religious  life. 

Mr.  John  Maher,  brother  of  the  Rev.  Richard 
Maher,  C.  S.  C,  whose  happy  death  took  place  on 
the  23d  ult.,  at  Anamult,  Parish  of  Danesfert,  Co. 
Kilkenny,  Ireland. 

Mr.  Joseph  Mullen,  of  San  Francisco;  Mrs.  J. 
Silver,  and  Mrs.  Anna  Scull}^  Santa  Clara,  Cal. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


parTmenT 


^r<^- 


BY    ELIZABETH     KING,     AUTHOR     OF 
"MARIE  CLEVELAND,"  ETC. 


(Conclusion.) 

Next  morning  little  Mary  Weston  was 
very  feverish,  and  too  ill  to  go  to  school  that 
■day ;  in  the  evening  she  became  worse.  The 
poor  family  could  not  afford  to  pay  for 
medical  advice,  but  after  a  while  the  state 
of  the  little  patient  grew  alarming,  and  a 
doctor  was  called  in.  He  said  the  child  was 
suffering  from  inflammation  of  the  lungs, 
and  was  too  weak  to  rally.  Mr.  Weston  fairly 
hroke  down.  "I  can  not  bear  it,  Kate," 
he  said,  when  the  doctor  had  taken  leave; 
'  *  I  shall  lose  my  mind ! ' ' 

"Oh!  do  not  talk  so,  George;  have  cour- 
age, and  try  to  keep  up,  for  my  sake,  at 
least,"  answered  the  afflicted  wife,  hiding 
her  tears. 

Mr.  Weston  then  arose  and  left  the  house. 
He  could  not  eat  the  dainty  meal  his  wife 
had  prepared  for  him.  He  was  sad  and  de- 
jected, and,  alas!  sought,  as  many  do  in 
the  hour  of  trial,  to  drown  his  grief  in  the 
fatal  cup,  that  is  ever  in  the  poor  man's 
way  at  the  corner  of  almost  every  street 
in  every  town  in  England. 

Oh!  you  well-to-do  people,  who  can  pro- 
cure so  many  alleviations  in  the  hour  of 
sickness  and  sorrow,  do  not  judge  the  poor 
man  too  harshly  when  he  yields  to  the 
temptation  that  is  ever  haunting  him. 
When  you  see  an  inebriate,  pray  for  him, 
and  do  your  utmost  to  destroy  the  snares 
that  lie  in  his  path. 

When  Mr.  Weston  returned  home  in  the 
evening  his  poor  wife  saw  at  a  glance  how 
he  had  passed  the  day.  But  he  was  sober 
now,  and  sank  down  on  his  knees  by  the 


side  of  his  dying  child.  She  opened  her 
large  blue  eyes,  and  laid  her  little  hand  on 
his  head. 

"Father  Byrne  and  the  good  Sisters  have 
been  to  see  her,  George, ' '  said  the  weeping 
wife.  "We  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  thankful 
if  God  should  take  her  to  Himself  in  her 
baptismal  innocence.  Still,  it  is  hard  to  say, 
'Thy  will  be  done.'" 

The  poor,  heart-broken  father  groaned. 

' '  Papa,  pray, ' '  gasped  the  sinking  child. 

"You  must  pray  for  me,  my  little  angel; 
/can  not  pray." 

"You  must  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
first,  papa." 

These  were  her  last  words.  Oh!  how 
they  haunted  the  fond  parent  for  days  and 
weeks  after  this  last  and  choicest  gift  from 
Heaven  had  been  laid  in  her  little  turf-clad 
grave!  It  seemed  like  a  dream  that  this 
delicate  flower  had  been  cut  off",  so  suddenly 
did  she  droop  and  die. 

Father  Byrne  and  the  Sisters  of  Mercy 
were  very  kind  to  the  bereaved  family. 
They  sought  out  a  better  situation  for  Mr. 
Weston,  and  procured  needlework  for  his 
wife.  They  visited  them  occasionally,  and 
offered  the  consolation  and  encouragement 
which  only  Christians  who  love  God  can 
give.  Gradually  the  poor  father  and  mother 
became  resigned,  feeling  assured  that  their 
little  darling  was  praying  for  them  in  Par- 
adise. 

Mr.  Weston  did  not  enter  the  tavern 
again.  Whenever  the  temptation  came — 
and  come  it  would— the  words  of  his  dying 
child  rang  in  his  ear — "You  must  make 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross  first,  papa. ' '  And  al- 
though, strange  to  say,  he  had  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  making  that  sacred  sign,  he  was 
always  trying  to  do  so.  The  human  heart 
is  ever  deceitful  and  perverse.  Mr.  Weston 
was  a  proud  man,  and  there  was  something 


The  Ave  Maria. 


93 


humiliating,  he  thought,  in  the  very  sight 
of  a  cross.  Truly  did  holy  Simeon  proph- 
esy that  the  divine  Child  was  a  sign  that 
should  be  contradicted,  and  the  symbol  of 
the  Cross  is  a  terror  to  those  who  fear  to 
follow  the  Crucified  One. 

One  night  Mr.  Weston  had  a  singular 
dream.  He  thought  he  was  sitting  on  the 
bank  of  a  stream,  bordered  on  the  opposite 
side  by  a  beautiful  garden ;  lovely  flowers, 
such  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  grew  there 
in  luxuriant  profusion,  diffusing  their  deli- 
cate perfume  through  the  soft,  summer  air. 
' '  How  sweet, ' '  he  sighed,  ' '  it  would  be  to 
remain  here  forever,  with  Kate  and  the 
little  ones!"  Presently  his  angel- child  ap- 
peared on  the  opposite  bank,  and  held  out 
her  hands,  as  if  beseeching  him  to  come  to 
her.  He  arose  to  swim  across,  but  was  held 
back  by  some  invisible  power.  He  tried 
to  tell  Mary  he  wished  to  come  but  could 
not.  In  a  voice  of  unearthly  sweetness  the 
child  said:  "You  must  make  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross  first,  papa. ' ' 

Then  he  awoke,  and — lo!  it  was  only  a 
dream ;  but,  like  Jacob's  dream,  it  impressed 
him.  Three  times  in  her  life  his  precious 
child  had  said  those  same  words  to  him. 
Now  it  seemed  as  if  she  really  spoke  from 
the  spirit  world. 

Mrs.  Weston  was  grieved  to  see  how  ob- 
stinately her  husband  refused  to  make  the 
sacred  but  simple  sign  of  our  holy  Faith. 
She  knew  not  the  cunning  devices  Satan 
makes  use  of  to  hinder  souls  from  entering 
the  port  of  salvation.  Pride  and  self-will 
held  the  poor  man  captive. 

One  morning  Mr.  Weston  did  not  come 
home  at  eight  o'clock  to  his  breakfast,  as 
usual.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  another 
quarter,  and  he  did  not  appear.  Mrs.  Wes- 
ton grew  very  uneasy,  and  was  just  prepar- 
ing to  go  to  the  place  where  her  husband 
worked,  when  he  came  up  to  the  door. 

"I  fear  I  have  alarmed  you,  dear,  but 
you'll  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  have  been  to 
Mass.  When  passing  the  church  I  could 
not  resist  going  in ;  and  as  Father  Byrne,  at 
the  end  of  the  service,  turned  to  the  people 
with  upraised  hand  and  made  the  Sign^of 


the  Cross,  I  dropped  on  my  knees  and  made 
it  too." 

The  poor  wife  burst  into  tears.  "Our 
angel-child  has  been  praying  for  us.  Father 
Byrne  and  the  Sisters  said  she  would  not 
fail  to  do  so." 

Mr.  Weston  carried  Mary's  Catechism  in 
his  pocket,  studying  it  in  his  leisure  mo- 
ments, until  he  finally  received  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross  on  his  brow  in  conditional  Bap- 
tism, and  was  made  a  child  of  the  Church. 

When,  after  a  time  they  rose  to  better 
circumstances,  the  good  couple  adopted  the 
little  daughter  of  two  emigrants  from  the 
Green  Isle,  who  had  died  of  fever  within  a 
week  of  each  other,  and  with  their  latest 
breath  had  requested  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston 
to  take  care  of  their  little  girl.  Faithfully 
the  childless  parents  fulfilled  the  trust,  and 
they  loved  the  gentle  orphan  for  the  sake 
of  Him  who  said, ' '  Of  such  is  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven." 

In  that  day  when  the  Sign  of  the  Son  of 
Man  shall  appear  in  the  heavens,  little  Mary 
may  welcome  her  parents  in  the  land  where 
the  Cross  will  be  exchanged  for  a  beauti- 
ful and  unfading  crown. 


From  Tipperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  op  Tibby  Buti,er. 


BY  T.  p.  GAI^WEY. 


V. 


Colonel  Lynch  and  Tibby  were  standing 
on  the  ' '  Texas ' '  of  the  Marquette^  as  that 
steamer  cleared  from  the  levee  at  St.  Louis. 
Such  an  expanse  of  river  Tibby  had  never 
seen  before;  and,  as  the  steamer's  head  was 
turned  fully  down  stream,  the  mighty  bridge 
uniting  the  States  of  Missouri  and  Illinois, 
making  the  great  measure  of  that  expanse 
all  the  more  apparent,  came  in  for  a  share 
of  his  admiration. 

' '  Now,  my  boy, ' '  said  the  Colonel,  swell- 
ing with  Southwestern  pride,  "here  is  a 
river  for  you!  There  is  nothing  like  it  in 
the  Old  Country,  nor  in  the  Bast  either,  for 


94 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  matter  of  that.  This  is  the  Great  West 
— the  land  of  great  things!" 

''It's  little  land  I  see  here,"  said  Tibby, 
musingly,  "but  a  deal  of  water  certainly. 
I  saw  the  Shannon  once,  but  it's  nothing 
to  this;  and  as  for  Thomond  Bridge  at 
lyimerick,  I'm  thinking  it  wouldn't  make 
a  span  of  that  bridge. ' ' 

"  That  church  off  to  the  left,' '  the  Colonel 
said,  pointing  to  a  little  cross-tipped  spire 
projecting  above  the  fringe  of  woods  on  the 
low-lying  Illinois  shore,  "is  in  Cahokia,  a 
settlement  made  by  Catholics  about  two 
hundred  years  ago. ' ' 

Tibby  respectfully  raised  his  hat  as  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ancient  fane.  '  'Are 
they  all  Catholics  in  this  Great  West?  "  he 
asked. 

' '  No,  indeed, ' '  the  Colonel  replied ;  ' '  but 
Catholics  are  numerous  here.  It  was  Cath- 
olics who  discovered,  explored,  and  first 
settled  all  this  vast  region.  The  first  white 
men  to  see  this  great  river  and  to  navigate 
it  were  the  chivalrous  Spaniard  De  Soto, 
and  those  noble  Christian  heroes,  Father 
Marquette,  a  Jesuit  priest;  Father  Henne- 
pin, a  Franciscan  friar  of  the  branch  called 
*  Recollects ' ;  and  that  adventurous  and 
high-minded  Norman,  Robert  Cavelier  de 
la  Salle.  In  fact,  there  is  scarcely  a  river, 
lake,  mountain  chain,  valley,  prairie,  forest, 
or  desert  of  importance  in  North  America, 
that  was  not  visited,  mapped,  and  described 
by  Catholics  before  even  a  Protestant  settler 
appeared. ' ' 

And  thus  on  the  course  down  the  Missis- 
sippi River,  the  Colonel  from  day  to  day 
gave  Tibby  much  interesting  and  valuable 
information  regarding  the  geography,  his- 
tory, and  present  condition  of  the  States 
they  passed  on  their  way.  Tibby  mean- 
while was  exercising  his  powers  of  observa- 
tion to  the  utmost. 

The  ' '  Ethiopians, "  as  he  still  continued 
to  call  the  colored  folk,  were  a  never-ending 
delight  and  amusement  to  the  boy.  At 
some  of  the  plantations  the  levee'  would 
swarm  with  them,  on  the  approach  of  the 
steamer,  like  flies  in  a  sugar-barrel.  Such 
black  faces  as  some  of  the  pickaninnies  had, 


and  such  immense  black  eyes  as  they  turned 
on  Tibby!  And  when  they  opened  their 
mouths  to  laugh  at  his  wondering  expres- 
sion, his  wonder  increased  at  the  size  of 
their  mouths,  the  whiteness  of  their  teeth, 
and  the  redness  of  the  yawning  caverns 
beyond,  of  which  their  mouths  seemed  to 
be  merely  the  orifices. 

After  a  few  days  at  New  Orleans,  the  jour- 
ney was  resumed  by  railroad.  Instead  of 
the  wintry  skies  which  Tibby  had  watched 
a  week  before  in  the  North,  all  here  was  in 
the  season  of  early  Summer.  The  land  in 
most  places  teemed  with  richness,  yet  no 
one  seemed  to  be  at  work.  Great  mobs  of 
people,  white  and  black,  crowded  the  plat- 
forms at  almost  every  station  they  passed, 
just  as  if  they  had  never  seen  a  railroad 
train  before. 

Colonel  Lynch  slept  in  his  seat  a  great 
.  part  of  the  day,  but  Tibby  could  never  have 
been  induced  to  close  his  eyes  for  an  in- 
stant. There  was  too  much  that  was  strange 
to  be  seen.  But  the  gray  moss  hanging  from 
the  cypress  trees  in  the  gloomy  swamps, 
through  which  the  road  runs  in  South- 
western Louisiana,  saddened  him,  and 
caused  him  to  think  of  death  and  funerals. 

' '  Oh !  the  Lord  between  us  and  harm ! ' ' 
he  muttered,  excitedly;  "what's  that?  Is 
it  a  frog?  And  is  that  the  sort  of  beast  they 
say  St.  Patrick  drove  out  of  Ireland  ?  Oh ! 
but  I  am  glad  there  are  no  frogs  at  home ! 
And  are  all  the  frogs  here  black,  like  so 
many  of  the  people  ? ' ' 

The  Colonel  had  opened  his  eyes  from  a 
hap  the  moment  before,  and  he  looked  out 
the  car  window  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  Tibby' s  finger,  at  something  that  was 
moving  slowly  out  of  the  water  upon  a  little 
island  tufted  with  coarse  grass.  ' '  That  is 
an  alligator,"  he  said,  laughing;  "and  if 
you  keep  a  good  lookout — as  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will — you  will  see  more  of  them 
before  the  day  is  over.  These  swamps  and 
bayous  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  are  full  of  them. ' ' 

For  the  next  two  days,  after  crossing 
the  Sabine  River  into  Texas,  the  way  lay 
through  a  generally  flat  country.    Grassy 


The  Ave  Maria. 


95 


plains  stretched  out,  and  over  these  innu- 
merable herds  of  cattle  roamed  without 
seeming  let  or  hindrance. 

"What  queer  bullocks  they  are,  to  be 
sure!"  remarked  Tibby  once,  as  these  ani- 
mals scampered  oflf  on  the  approach  of  the 
flying  railroad  train.  ' '  See  the  little  bodies 
of  them,  and  the  great  horns!  Between  the 
horns  and  the  hoofs  I  am  thinking  there  is 
little  room  for  beef.  They  are  not  like  the 
cattle  we  have  at  home. ' ' 

"You  mean  the  cattle  the  landlords  in 
Ireland  have!"  said  Colonel  Lynch,  dryly. 
' '  The  cattle  in  Ireland  are  fat,  and  the  peo- 
ple lean.  But  in  this  great  New  World  of 
ours,  though  our  cattle  run  to  horns  and 
hoofs,  the  people  seldom  want  for  beef" 

Occasionally  the  Colonel  directed  Tibby' s 
attention  to  wide,  enclosed  fields,  where 
negroes  were  cultivating  cotton  or  sugar; 
but  the  boy's  interest  was  chiefly  centred  in 
the  cattle,  and  in  the  fine  horsemanship  of 
the  vaqueros, or  cowboys,  who  now  and  then 
reined  up  their  little  horses  to  take  a  look 
at  the  passing  train,  or  dashed  in  among 
their  herds. 

"I'll  never  be  able  to  ride  at  all,  I  am 
afraid;  and  certainly  not  like  that,"  said 
Tibby,  in  a  discouraged  way,  as  he  observed 
how  these  cowboys  sat  their  horses.  '  'At 
honle,  when  a  man  rides  he  has  the  knees 
bent,  and  he  can  rise  from  his  stirrups  as 
he  likes.  But  these  might  as  well  have  no 
stirrups  at  all,  though  their  stirrups  are 
big  enough  and  gay  enough  with  all  that 
leather.  111  be  bound ! ' ' 

' '  There  is  a  great  difference, ' '  the  Col- 
onel replied,  ' '  between  the  American  style 
of  riding  and  that  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  in  the  Old  Country.  But  if  you 
were  to  attempt  the  Old  Country  style  with 
one  of  these  little  broncos.,  or  ponies,  the 
beast  would  have  you  over  its  head  in  an 
instant.  Then  the  American  sits  down  on 
his  saddle,  and  steers  with  his  legs,  and 
thus  gives  the  horse's  mouth  some  mercy; 
and  the  American  who  knows  how  to  ride 
at  all  looks  like  a  horseman.  But  your  Old 
Country  rider  squats  on  his  stirrups,  and 
bobs  up  and  down  like  a  'Jack-iu-the-box.' 


Oh!  I've  no  fear,  Tibby,  but  you'll  ride 
like  a  Texan  before  next  Christmas ;  and  I 
think  Texans  and  Mexicans  the  finest  horse- 
men in  the  world  for  general  service. ' ' 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  rugged 
foot-hills  as  Colonel  Lynch  and  Tibby 
alighted  from  the  stage,  which  had  carried 
them  a  day's  journey  from  the  railroad.  A 
dozen  horses  or  more  formed  the  back- 
ground of  a  welcoming  group,  which  in- 
cluded Mrs.  Lynch,  a  pleasant- faced  lady; 
Philip  Lynch,  the  Colonel's  oldest  child; 
and  two  little  ones,  besides  a  baby  carried 
in  the  arms  of  a  fat  negress,  its  nurse.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  Dan  Carroll,  origi- 
nally from  Kentucky,  who  was  the  foreman 
of  Colonel  Lynch' s  ranch,  and  a  half-dozen 
vaqueros^  some  of  them ' '  Mexicans  " — that 
is  to  say,  Texans  of  mixed  Spanish  and 
Indian  blood — and  the  others  Americans. 

There  were  many  congratulations,  and 
amid  them  it  was  evident  that  curiosity  as 
to  Tibby  was  mingled  with  gladness  at  his 
safe  arrival;  for  the  Colonel  had  written 
on  in  advance  to  prepare  them  for  this  re- 
cruit for  the  establishment.  Even  the  thin- 
nosed,  colly  dogs,  that  were  runniug  in  and 
out  among  the  excited  party,  after  taking 
a  sniff  or  two  at  Tibby's  legs,  appeared  to 
be  satisfied  that  he  was  made  of  the  right 
material. 

When  the  first  hearty  greetings  were 
over.  Colonel  Lynch  led  Tibby  forward, 
and  said :  "In  order  to  save  time,  allow  me 
to  introduce  to  you  all  Master  Theobald 
Walter  Butler,  late  of  Tipperary,  but  now 
of  Texas.  He  is  to  be  one  of  my  family,, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  all  will  be  as; 
much  pleased  with  the  young  gentleman  as 
I  am.     Now  prepare  to  mount!" 

Within  a  few  minutes  Tibby  and  Phil 
Lynch  were  as  thick  as  two  peas  in  a  pod. 

"That's  a  long  halter  you  have  on  your 
saddle,"  said  Tibby  to  Phil,  pointing  to 
the  coil  of  smooth  rawhide  line  that  hung 
on  the  saddle  which  Phil  was  carrying,  as 
the  two  boys  went  to  take  their  horses. 

"Now,  Tibby,"  Phil  answered,  "pop 
has  written  to  us  that  you  are  what  we 


96 


The  Ave  Maria. 


call  down  here  an  'amusin'  cuss,'  but  I 
reckon  you'd  better  not  begin  to  make 
sport  of  me,  because  1  have  not  travelled  as 
much  as  you  have.  I  am  to  go  to  college 
next  year,  pop  says.  That  is  a  lasso,  if  you 
please,  not  a  halter." 

The  entire  party  began  to  mount.  The 
Colonel  assisted  Mrs.  I^ynch  to  her  saddle, 
and  placed  the  baby  on  the  great  horn  of 
the  saddle  in  front  of  her.  One  of  the  tod- 
dlers he  placed  behind  the  black  nurse  on 
another  horse,  the  other  he  took  with  him- 
self on  his  own  horse.  Tibby,  after  some 
little  trouble,  having  been  adjusted  Texan- 
fashion  to  his  seat  on  a  little  sorrel  nag, 
the  Colonel  gave  the  word,  and  all  heads 
were  ^  turned  towards  the  foot-hills,  where 
the  buildings  of  Connemara  Ranch  were 
just  visible  through  the  clear  atmosphere  of 
the  semi-tropical  twilight.  What  a  race  it 
was!  How  the  men  hurrahed  and  the  dogs 
yelped  in  the  helter-skelter  run  for  home! 

"Sure,  I'll  split  on  this  saddle,  Phil!" 
Tibby  shouted. 

' '  I  reckon  you'  d  better  not  split, "  shouted 
back  Phil,  who  was  several  lengths  in  ad- 
vance. "There  would  be  two  of  you  then, 
and  that  would  be  more  of  fun  and  of  Tip- 
perary  than  the  ranch  could  stand.  It  is  a 
good  thing  you  haven't  spurs  on,  or  you'd 
drive  that  bronco  wild,"  he  added,  as  he 
reined  up,  and  critically  examined  the  man- 
ner in  which  Tibby  managed  his  legs  and 
feet.  ' '  Lower  your  heels,  and  turn  out  your 

toes." 

(to  be  continued.) 


One  Father's  Course. 


' '  If  more  fathers  would  take  a  course  with 
their  sons  similar  to  the  one  my  father  took 
with  me,"  observed  one  of  the  leading  busi- 
ness men  of  Boston,  "the  boys  might  think 
it  hard  at  the  time,  but  they'd  thank  them  in 
afterlife." 

' '  What  course  was  it  ?  "  asked  a  bystander. 

' '  Well,  I  was  a  young  fellow  of  twenty-two, 
just  out  of  college,  and  I  felt  myself  of  con- 
siderable importance.  I  knew  my  father  was 
well  off,  and  my  head  was  full  of  foolish  no- 


tions of  having  a  good  time.  Later  on  I  e^t- 
pected  father  to  start  me  in  business — after 
I'd  '  swelled '  round  a  while.  Like  a  wise  man, 
father  saw  through  my  folly,  and  resolved,  if 
possible,  to  prevent  m^'^  self-destruction. 

"  'If  the  boy's  got  the  right  stuff  in  him, 
let  him  show  it, '  I  heard  father  say  to  mother 
one  day.  '  I  worked  hard  for  my  money,  and 
I  don't  intend  to  let  Ned  squander  it,  and  ruin 
himself  besides.' 

' '  That  very  day  father  handed  me  fifty  dol- 
lars, remarking, '  Ned,  take  this;  spend  it  as 
you  choose,  but  understand  this  much:  It's 
the  last  dollar  of  my  money  you  can  have  till 
you  prove  yourself  capable  of  earning  money, 
and  taking  care  of  it. ' 

* '  I  took  the  money  in  a  sort  of  dazed  man- 
ner, and  stammered  out:  '  I — why — I — I  want 
to  go  into  business.' 

"'Business!'  exclaimed  father,  contempt- 
uously; 'what  do  you  know'  about  business? 
Get  a  clerkship,  and  learn  the  A,  B,  and  C, 
before  you  talk  to  me  of  business.' 

'  'And  father  left  me  to  ponder  on  his  words. 
And  that  fifty  dollars  was  the  last  money  he 
ever  gave  me,  till  at  his  death  I  received  my 
part  of  the  property.  I  felt  hard  and  bitter 
then — felt  that  my  father  was  a  stingy  old 
fogey,  and  mentally  resolved  to  prove  to  him 
that  I  could  live  without  his  money.  He  had 
roused  my  energy — ^just  what  he  intended,  I 
suppose.  I  looked  about  for  a  situation,  and 
finally  accepted  a  clerkship  in  a  large  retail 
store,  at  four  hundred  dollars  a  year. 

"Another  bit  of  my  father's  'stinginess'  at 
this  time  was  demanding  two  dollars  a  week 
for  my  board  through  that  first  year.  At  the 
end  of  my  first  year  I  had  laid  aside  two  hun- 
dred dollars,  and  the  next  year,  my  salary 
being  raised  a  hundred,  I  had  five  hundred 
laid  by.  At  the  end  of  four  years'  clerking  I 
went  to  my  father  with  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
of  my  own,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  willing 
to  help  me  enter  business.  Even  then  he 
would  only  let  me  hire  the  money — $2,000, 
at  6  per  cent,  interest.  To-day  I  am  called  a 
successful  business  man.  Those  lessons  in 
self-denial  and  industry  which  he  gave  me 
put  manhood  into  me. 

"Years  afterwards,  father  told  me  it  was 
the  severest  struggle  of  his  life  to  be  so  hard 
with  his  boy;  but  he  felt  it  was  the  only 
course  to  make  a  man  of  me.  Many  a  time 
we  laughed  over  that  two-dollar  board  bill." 


Vol..  XXIII.  NOTRE   DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  31,  1886. 


No. 


I 


[Copyright :— Riv.  D. 


Vivam  in  Dies. 

BY   E.   P.   RYDER. 


llj  HAT  shall  J^efall  me  on  my  onward  way 
^^  I  know  not,  and  am  glad  I  do  not  know. 
Enough  that  I  may  clearly  see  each  day 

The  measure  of  the  journey  I  must  go. 
Did  not  the  dear  I^ord  kindly  veil  our  eyes, 

Forthcoming  ills  would  seem  too  great  to 
bear; 
And  we  should  Ipse  the  sense  of  glad  surprise 

That  comes  as  we  His  generous  blessings 
share. 

"This  day  our  daily  bread!"    'Tis  thus  we 
pray; 

The  morrow  with  the  present  hath  no  part; 
So,  if  I  plainly  see  my  path  to-day, 

What  need  have  I  to  further  vex  my  heart? 
So,  Lord,  with  simple  faith  I  rest  in  Thee, 
Content  to  go  where'er  Thou  leadest  me. 


Devotion   to   the   Blessed   Virgin    in 
Ireland. 


BY  JAMES    KEEGAN, 


HE  world  at  large  is  learning  a 
good  deal  worth  knowing  about 
the  ' '  Isle  of  saints  and  sages, ' '  yet 
there  is  still  much  to  be  told,  not  less  use- 
ful or  interesting.  The  thought  that  most 
naturally  arises  to  one's  mind  who  has 
carefully  read  Irish  history  is,  How  there 
can  be  an  Irish  nation  at  all — how  the  peo- 


E.  HmiBOH,  C.  S.  C.] 

pie  could  have  remained  Catholic  through 
such  terrible  slaughter,  famine,  social  deg- 
radation, and  enforced  ignorance;  above 
all,  how  it  is  possible  that  they  have  made 
such  an  impress  on  the  civilization  of  other 
countries.  Causes  in  plenty  are  assigned  for 
all  this.  Macaulay  thought  the  Irish  re- 
mained Catholic  out  of  hatred  for  England 
— a  very  foolish  opinion  for  a  wise  man. 
Their  enemies  always  seem  rather  annoyed 
at  their  survival,  but,  when  pressed  for  a 
reason,  fairly  give  it  up  for  a  puzzle  that 
passes  comprehension.  The  great  Father 
Burke  came  nearer  to  the  real  solution  of 
this  question  than  any  writer  that  I  have 
met  with.  He  ascribed  the  survival  of  the 
Faith  in  Ireland,  and  consequently  of  the 
Irish  people,  to  the  saying  of  the  Beads. 

Of  all  outside  the  Church  of  God  I  know 
none,  except  Mr.  Ruskin,  who  any  longer 
seem  able  to  see  the  hand  of  God  working 
out  His  will  through  the  actions  and  de- 
signs of  men.  In  the  case  of  Ireland,  a 
man  must  admit,  if  he  have  any  perception 
of  the  spiritual,  that  to  Irish  faith  Irish 
nationality  owes  its  existence.  The  strug- 
gle of  Ireland  is,  and  ever  has  been,  that 
of  the  Faith  against  heresy,  of  law  against 
rebellion,  of  Catholic  loyaity  against  sec- 
tarian selfishness,  and  at  last  it  has  resolved 
itself  into  that  of  religion  against  irreligion. 
The  Irish  religious  influence  is  among  the 
greatest  active  forces  in  the  world  to-day. 
Ireland  is  a  fountain-head  of  faith  unde- 
filed,  and  of  fervor  glowing  like  the  sun. 
That  all  this  should  be  owing  to  her  de- 


98 


The  Ave  Maria, 


votion  to  Our  Blessed  Lady  is  not  a  little 
encouraging  and  consoling  to  her  children 
all  over  the  world. 

Once  more — and  it  may  be  for  the  hun- 
dredth time — it  becomes  necessary  to  refer 
to  the  English  persecution  of  the  Irish 
Faith.  Under  Elizabeth  this  became  for  the 
first  time  perfectly  and  completely  organ- 
ized. Elizabeth  was  not  a  religious  woman ; 
neither  were  her  ministers,  courtiers,  nor 
Protestant  clergymen  at  all  God-fearing  or 
pious  men.  The  ablest  English  Protestant 
writers  of  this  century  have  called  these 
Elizabethan  "reformers"  a  party  of  the 
greatest  hypocrites  and  scoundrels  that  the 
world  has  seen;  they  cared  little  about  the 
souls  of  the  Irish,  but  they  cared  a  great 
deal  about  their  lands.  They  knew  very 
well  the  Irish  would  not  apostatize,  and  so 
they  made  their  adhesion  to  the  Faith 
treasonable,  and  punishable  by  fine,  confis- 
cation, and  death.  The  Elizabethan  wars 
were  the  most  barbarous  and  brutal  carried 
on  in  Europe  since  the  time  of  the  Huns 
and  Vandals.  They  destroyed  one-third, 
or,  as  some  say,  one-half  of  the  population 
of  Ireland.  The  total  number  of  human 
victims  from  the  sword,  or  famine  caused 
by  the  deliberate  contrivance  of  the  Eng- 
lish leaders,  has  been  reckoned  from  one- 
half  to  over  three-quarters  of  a  million. 

Poor  S.  Hubert  Burke,  in  one  of  his  admi- 
rable books,  tells  how  the  English  slaugh- 
tered eight  hundred  women  and  children 
sent  to  one  of  the  north- coast  islands  for 
safety.  The  husbands  and  fathers  saw  this 
diabolical  deed  from  the  main-land,  and 
went  nearly  mad  with  grief  and  rage;  but 
when  Elizabeth  heard  it  she  was  especially 
pleased.  This  stony-hearted  woman  was  a 
terrible  scourge  to  Ireland.  Under  her, 
priests,  monks,  nuns,  teachers,  and  bards 
were  put  to  death,  and  in  every  way  exter- 
minated, so  that  there  would  be  none  to 
teach,  encourage,  or  exhort  the  people. 
Eight  hundred  bloodhounds  were  trained 
by  Essex  to  hunt  down  these  malignants. 
Books  were  destroyed  wherever  found; 
learning  was  as  much  as  possible  stamped 
out;  and  the  native  noblemen  who  sheltered 


and  encouraged  teachers  and  writers  were 
all  killed,  beggared,  or  exiled.  Then  such 
of  the  poor  people  as  survived  were  left  as 
sheep  without  a  shepherd. 

This  was  the  first  terrible  blow.  After 
the  ' '  Cailleach  ruah ' '  had  gone  to  her  ac- 
count, the  Scotch  pedant,  James  II. ,  came 
on  the  scene,  to  confiscate  Ulster,  and  per- 
secute all  Ireland  during  the  remainder  of 
his  infamous  life.  Then  reigned  and  raged 
Charles  Land  his  minion,  the  rascally, black 
Tom  Wentworth,  who  suffered  for  his  mis- 
deeds at  the  hands  of  far  greater  tyrants 
and  more  villainous  misdoers.  After  him 
came  the  ' '  Curse  of  Cromwell. ' '  Cromwell 
died,  but  Ireland's  woe  lived  on.  Under 
the  vile  and  ungrateful  Charles  II.,  new 
penal  laws  were  enacted  against  the  Irish 
Catholics.  William  of  Orange  broke  the 
Treaty  of  Limerick,  and  coniiscated  Ireland 
once  more,  and  Anne  renewed  the  penal 
laws.  So  it  has  gone  on  even  until  our  days. 

It  is  very  consoling  to  think  that  our 
fathers  withstood  all  dangers  and  under- 
went all  persecutions  for  their  Faith;  and  it 
is  our  glory  that  they  preserved  it.  All  this 
is  grand  and  glorious,  encouraging  and  con- 
soling; but  may  God  in  His  mercy  grant 
that,  until  the  end  of  the  world,  no  other 
people  shall  have  to  suffer  what  they  suf- 
fered! I  have  read  much  about  these  per- 
secutions in  books,  and  I  have  heard  still 
more  that  never  was  written  or  printed; 
and,  during  a  residence  of  more  than  twenty 
years  on  the  border  of  one  of  Ulster's  Orange 
manors,  I  have  witnessed  somewhat  of  the 
evil  spirit  that  animated  these  persecutors. 
In  my  childhood  my  ears  were  familiar 
with  tales  of  underground  caves,  of  long 
knives  and  bloody  blankets,  of  murdered 
priests  and  burned  monasteries;  of  the  vain 
vow  of  the  Englishman  who  swore  he  would 
not  leave  a  crucifix,  beads,  or  drop  of  holy 
water  in  Ireland;  of  the  proposal  of  that 
other,  who  suggested  that  the  right  hand 
should  be  cut  off  every  male  child  in  the 
island,  to  prevent  him  from  making  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross.  What  wonder,  then,  is 
my  wonder  that  an  Irish  Catholic  survives 
in  Ireland? 


The  Ave  Maria, 


99 


In  those  years  so  great  was  the  desolation 
of  the  Catholics,  and  so  many  the  difficul- 
ties of  practising  their  religious  duties,  that 
whole  parishes  were  months  without  seeing 
a  priest,  and  all  this  time  there  were  loose 
among  them  the  emissaries  of  a  creedless 
faith  and  an  altarless  Church.  Moreover, 
they  were  ' '  forbid  to  read, ' '  and  when 
master  and  pupils  met,  it  was  on  the  wild 
mountain-side  ' '  feloniously  to  learn. ' '  All 
the  old  Irish  books  that  told  of  saints  and 
heroes  were  ruthlessly  destroyed,  and  in 
their  stead  were  scattered  over  the  land 
those  Protestant  tracts,  that  reeked  with 
filth  and  blasphemy. 

How,  then,  did  the  Irish  keep  the  Faith 
— without  teachers,  without  books,  without 
churches,  almost  without  priests — on  oc- 
casions when  it  was  treason  to  love  and 
death  to  defend  the  Cross?  And  yet  they  did 
keep  it.  Keep  it!  There  is  faith  and  fervor 
enough  in  Ireland  to-day  to  convert  the  , 
whole  world.  When  I  consider  this  pre- 
cious treasure,  that  no  persecution  could 
take  from  my  people,  and  its  vigor  and  vi- 
tality, and  look  abroad,  I  raise  my  hands 
and  thank  God  for  all  our  sufferings;  for 
the  prize  was  worth  the  pain. 

When  the  prelates  and  nobles  were  al- 
most all  banished  and  slain,  and  the  few 
priests  who  remained  had  to  live  and  cele- 
brate the  Divine  Mysteries  in  pits,  caves, 
and  quarries;  when  the  books  were  all  de- 
stroyed, and  learning  stifled  or  banished; 
when  there  was  no  church  standing  in 
the  island,  but  a  price  set  on  the  head  of 
priest  and  Catholic  schoolmaster;  when  all 
earth  had  deserted  Erin,  one  hope  and  help 
and  stay  remained — the  glorious  Queen  of 
Heaven.    • 

He  who  has  knelt  at  an  Irish  farmer's 
fireside,  and  joined  in  the  Rosary  offered  up 
in  Gaelic,  will  understand  how  that  favor- 
ite devotion  was  able  to  supply  the  place 
of  church,  priest,  book  and  sermon,  when 
and  where  these  were  not  to  be  had.  I  have 
heard  prayers  said  piously  in  many  lan- 
guages, but  never  anything  like  these- 
Gaelic  Rosaries.  The  prayers  and  responses 
were  recited  in  a  chanting  tone,  which  very 


much  resembled  the  tone  in  which  our 
college  choir  used  to  sing  the  Lamenta- 
tions of  Jeremias  during  Holy  Week.  The 
poor  people  put  all  the  hope  and  trust 
and  sorrow  of  their  hearts  into  these  pray- 
ers. You  felt  that  they  knew  they  were 
not  praying  to  a  Father  who  was  far  away 
from  them,  or  to  a  Mother  who  took  little 
care  of  them.  They  realized  the  presence  of 
God  as  we  do  that  of  a  tangible,  visible 
human  friend.  Their  love  for  the  Mother 
of  God  was  something  that  can  be  appre- 
ciated by  sympathetic  hearts,  but  can  not 
be  described  in  words.  In  those  terrible 
times  they  had  neither  picture  nor  statue 
of  the  sweet  Madonna,  but  they  seemed  to 
need  none. 

This  veneration  for  the  Blessed  Virgin  is 
as  old  as  the  Faith  in  Erin.  I  have  met  in 
very  old  poems  Our  Lord's  title  as  "Son  of 
the  Virgin  Mary."  There  is  a  famous  Old 
Irish  lyitany  of  Clonsost,  composed  about 
A.  D.  725,  that  in  beauty,  fervor,  and  piety, 
surpasses  all  others  except  that  of  Loreto. 
One  of  its  petitions  runs:  A  bhantigherna 
chumachtach  nimhe  acas  talmhan  dilegh  ar 
cinta  acas  ar  pecdai! — "O  powerful  Queen 
of  Heaven  and  Earth,  wash  off  our  crimes 
and  sins! "  Here,  again,  is  a  stanza  from  a 
beautiful  poem  by  Aengus  O'Daly,  Abbot 
of  Boyle,  that  was  written  about  the  time 
Henry  VIII.  was  driving  out  of  England  the 
veneration  of  Mary : 

' '  Ni  maith  thuilHni  teagh  nimhe 
D'fhaghail,  acht  le  a  h-irapidhe; 
Righ  an  tiglie  nar  threigidh  me 
'Snar  threigidli,  Muire  mese! "  * 

From  the  following  passage  of  the  '  *  An- 
nals of  Loch  Ce "  we  learn  that  before  the 
so-called  Reformation  Ireland  abounded 
with  representations  of  the  Blessed  Virgin : 
"The  most  miraculous  image  of  Mary — 
which  was*  at  Baile  Atha  Tricim^  and  which 
the  Irish  people  all  honored  for  a  long  time 
before, — which  used  to  heal  the  blind, 
the  deaf,  the  lame,  and  every  disease  in 


^  I  do  not  well  deserve  to  obtain  the  home  of 
heaven;  but,  through  Her  intercession,  may  the 
King  of  the  household  abandon  me  not,  and  may 
Mary  not  forsake  me! 


loo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


like  manner — was  burned  by  the  Saxons. 
And  not  only  that,  but  there  was  not  a  holy 
cross,  nor  an  image  of  Mary,  nor  other 
celebrated  image  in  Erin,  over  which  their 
power  reached,  that  they  did  not  burn.' '  So 
the  Irish  had  images  of  Mary  held  in  high 
honor  before  the  *  'civilization"  of  the  burn- 
ing Saxons!  The  Saxons  destroyed  all  the 
material  representations, but  they  could  not 
burn  the  image  deeply  graved  on  the  peo- 
ple's hearts. 

It  was  once  charged  against  O'Ruark, 
Lord  of  Breffni,  that  he  who  so  highly  rev- 
erenced the  image  of  Mary,  Mother  of  God, 
and  of  the  saints,  dragged  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's picture  at  his  horse's  tail;  whereon 
the  doomed  hero  replied:  "Ah!  but  there 
is  a  great  difference  between  our  saints  and 
your  Queen!" 

The  persecutions  of  the  Irish  for  con- 
science' sake  brought  those  dangers  to  faith 
and  morals  that  always  follow  in  the  wake 
of  barbarous  and  long-continued  wars.  The 
Irish  were  not  the  men  to  stand  quietly  by 
while  themselves  and  all  they  loved,  rever- 
enced, and  hoped  for  on  earth  and  in  heaven 
were  being  destroyed  and  blasphemed. 
They  fought  like  brave  men  in  the  field,  as 
long  as  there  was  a  chance,  and  when  the 
open  war  was  over,  and  the  work  of  Saxon 
•'  legal '  spoliation  commenced, seeing  them- 
selves hunted  down  like  wild  beasts,  they 
prepared  schemes  of  resistance  and  ven- 
geance. Were  it  not  for  religious  influences, 
they  would  have  slaughtered  the  English 
planters — men,  women,  and  children — on 
highway  and  byway,  as  the  planters  slaugh- 
tered them.  But,  as  an  American  gentle- 
man once  said  to  me,  "Irishmen  have  too 
much  conscience  to  become  dagger  revolu- 
tionists." In  those  terrible  times  of  passion 
and  cruelty,  well  might  every  Irishman  say, 
in  the  lines  of  the  lapiented  John  Keegan: 

"The  land  that  I  fly  from  ivS  fertile  and  fair, 
And  more  than  I  ask  for  or  wish  for  is  there; 
But  I  must  not  taste  the  good  things  that  I  see: 
There's  nothing  but  rags  and  green  rushes  for  me. 
O  mild  Virgin  Mary! 
O  sweet  Mother  Mary! 
Wht)  keeps  my  rough  hand  from  red  murder  but 
thee?" 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    RKID. 


VI. 


IT  would  have  been  difficult  to  imagine 
a  more  unimportant  conversation,  Philip 
would  have  said,  had  his  opinion  respecting 
it  been  asked.  But  this  opinion  would  only 
have  proved  how  little  he,  in  common  with 
many  others,  was  able  to  judge  of  what 
was  truly  important;  for  this  trivial  con- 
versation became  the  means  by  which  the 
subject  of  the  Percivals  was  opened  to  his 
uncle. 

It  was  Constance  who  began  to  talk  at 
luncheon  about  Miss  Percival  and  her  voice. 
"Philip  and  Jack  Bellamy  say  that  it  is 
quite  wonderful,"  she  observed  to  her  aunt. 
' '  I  wonder  we  have  never  heard  of  her. ' ' 

' '  We  have  not  come  in  the  way  of  it, ' ' 
Mrs.  Thornton  answered,  composedly;  but 
Philip  observed  that  she  gave  a  quick 
glance  at  her  husband. 

"Well,  I  am  quite  determined  to  come 
in  the  way  of  it,"  continued  Constance. 
' '  Philip  says  that  she  sings  in  the  Cathe- 
dral choir,  and  I  am  going  there  to  hear 
her." 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  were  so  much 
interested  m  fine  voices,"  said  her  aunt. 

"I  am  just  now — for  a  purpose,"  the 
young  lady  answered.  "We  are  going  to 
get  up  an  operetta  after  Easter  for — really 
I  forget  what,  but  some  charity.  So  of 
course  we  want  all  the  good  voices  we  can 
find.  We  shall  count  on  yours,"  she  added, 
with  a  glance  at  Philip. 

' '  Who  are  '  we '  ?  "  he  asked.   . 

Constance  ran  over  half  a  dozen  names 
of  ladies  who  were  conspicuous  in  fashion- 
able society,  and  in  the  discussion  which 
ensued  nothing  more  was  said  of  Miss  Per- 
cival and  her  voice.  Mr.  Thornton,  with  an 
impassive  countenance,  had  altogether  ig- 
nored the  conversation,  but  Philip  felt  that 
it  made  an  opening  for  the  suggestion  he 
wished  to  offer. 

Still,  even  with  this  opening,  it  was  not 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


loi 


an  easy  task  that  he  proposed  to  himself,  and 
his  heart  was  beating  a  little  more  quickly 
than  usual  when  he  followed  his  uncle  into 
the  library,  where  the  latter  usually  re- 
treated on  Sunday  afternoon.  He  was  sit- 
ting by  one  of  the  windows  in  a  large  chair, 
a  paper  open  on  his  knee,  and  a  cigar  in  his 
fingers,  when  Philip  entered.  His  ruddy 
face,  with  its  whitening  hair  and  beard 
stood  out  in  relief  against  the  dark  back  of 
the  chair,  and  he  looked  up  with  a  smile 
as  his  nephew  entered. 

"Well,  Phil,"  he  said,  "have  you  come 
to  join  me  in  a  quiet  smoke?" 

"With  your  permission,  sir,"  the  young 
man  answered.  "And  also,  if  you  do  not 
object,  to  speak  to  you  on  a  particular  sub- 
ject." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Thornton, 
looking  interested.  ' '  What  is  the  subject  ? ' ' 

Philip  hesitated  an  instant,  but  he  felt 
that  it  was  better  to  make  a  bold  plunge  at 
once. 

"It  is  about — the  Percivals,"  he  an- 
swered. 

If  Philip  had  ever  doubted  whether  the 
subject  of  the  Percivals  would  be  displeas- 
ing to  his  uncle,  those  doubts  were  settled 
by  the  change  that  came  over  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton's face  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  name.  His 
smile  vanished  instantly,  his  brows  drew 
down  in  a  frown,  and  there  was  anger  as 
well  as  astonishment  in  the  eyes  that  looked 
sharply  at  his  nephew.  •* 

"And  pray  what  do  you  know  of  the 
Percivals?"  he' asked. 

"  Very  little, "  the  young  man  answered, 
quietly.  "Only  that  you  had  at  one  time 
a  business  connection  with  the  head  of  the 
family,  who  is  now  dead,  and  that  the  wife 
and  daughter  whom  he  left  are  in  very 
reduced  circumstances. ' ' 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Thornton,  dryly,  as 
he  paused. 

"Well,"  Philip  went  on,  though  his 
courage  sank;  "I  thought  perhaps — if  you 
know  this — you  might  like  to — aid  them. 
Even  if  the  man  deserved  nothing  from 
you,  thCvSe  are  helpless  women,  and  I  know 
how  generous  you  are — " 


He  paused,  for  there  was  little  encour- 
agement to  proceed  in  the  hardening  face 
before  him.  What  a  stern  face  it  might  be 
the  young  man  realized  at  this  moment  for 
the  first  time.  No  offender  looking  at  it 
but  must  have  felt  the  uselessness  of  any 
appeal  for  mercy.  Philip  understood,  even 
before  the  close-set  lips  opened,  that  his 
suggestion  had  been  made  in  vain. 

' '  It  strikes  me, ' '  said  Mr.  Thornton,  very 
coldly,  "that,  granting  my  generosity,  I 
might  be  allowed  to  select  the  objects  on 
whom  to  exercise  it.  If  these  Percivals, 
in  whom  you  take  a  very  singular  interest, 
are  in  reduced  circumstances,  that  is  al- 
together the  fault  of  the  man  who  ruined 
himself,  and  very  nearly  ruined  me,  by 
unprincipled  speculation.  I  am  not  in  the 
least  bound  to  aid  or  to  provide  for  them. " 
"Bound— no,"  replied  Philip;  "I  only 
thought  that  you  might  wish  to  do  so.  The 
man  who  ruined  himself  did  not  ruin  you, " 
he  said,  involuntarily  glancing  around  the 
luxurious  room. 

' '  Because  I  was  able  to  take  care  of  my- 
self," answered  Mr.  Thornton.  "You  do 
not  feel  it  necessary  to  support  the  thief 
who  attempted  to  rob  you  of  your  purse 
because  he  failed  in  doing  so?  The  case  is 
parallel.  Percival  did  not  ruin  me,  because 
I  looked  in  time  after  my  own  interest.  But 
he  jeopardized  my  whole  fortune,  and  gave 
me  so  much  anxiety  and  trouble  that  I 
never  wish  to  hear  his  name  mentioned." 

"You  must  pardon  me  for  mentioning 
it, ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  I  could  not  know  that 
you  regarded  the  matter  in  such  a  light.  I 
only  knew  that  the  man  had  been  associated 
with  you  once,  and  that  he  had  failed  in 
life,  while  you — succeeded." 

The  florid  color  left  Mr.  Thornton's  face, 
and  there  was  a  sudden  light  of  something 
almost  like  defiance  in  his  eyes  as  he  lifted 
them. 

"That  he  failed  was  his  own  fault,"  he 
repeated.  ' '  But  I  have  reason  to  ask  an  ex- 
planation of  your  interest  in  these  people. 
How  is  it  that  you  have  come  to  know 
them?" 

"I  do  not  know  them,"  Philip  answered. 


I02 


The  Ave  Maria, 


* '  I  have  only  seen  the  daughter,  and  heard 
of  their  circumstances.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  you  might  like  to  aid  them,  and  so  I 
spoke.  Pardon  me  if  I  have  taken  too  great 
a  liberty." 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,  which  I 
hope  you  are  not  likely  to  repeat, ' '  said  the 
other,  coldly.  ' '  I  allow  no  interference  in 
my  private  affairs,  and  suggestions  are  of 
the  nature  of  interference.  What  I  think 
best  that  I  do,  without  regard  to  the  opin- 
ions of  people  around  me.  I  dealt  with 
Percival  in  a  manner  which  some  meddlers 
condemned,  but  I  paid  not  the  least  hied 
to  them.  What  he  owed  me  I  exaclei.  How 
he  fared  afterwards  was  no  concern  of  mine; 
and  if  his  wife  and  daughter  are  destitute, 
they  have  no  claim  on  my  compassion  or 
•my  purse.  Now  I  trust  that  you  are  satis.- 
fied,  and  I  must  request  that  the  subject 
shall  not  be  opened  again. ' ' 

"  I  can  not  possibly  have  any  desire  to  open 
it  again,"  answered  Philip,  in  a  low  tone. 

He  said  nothing  more,  but,  turning, 
walked  across  the  room  and  stood  for  a 
minute  or  two  before  the  fireplace,  looking 
down  at  the  red  brands  on  the  hearth.  He 
was  strangely  unnerved  by  the  revelation 
which  had  just  been  made  to  him, — a  rev- 
elation that  seemed  to  destroy  all  his  former 
conception  of  his  uncle,  and  put  in  its  stead 
a  hard,  cruel  nature,  immovably  set  toward 
self-interest.  Every  generous  impulse  of 
the  young  man's  soul  revolted,  even  while 
he  strove  to  subdue  the  feeling  that  over- 
mastered him.  He  knew  that  an  instinct 
had  always  warned  him  of  this  side  of  his 
uncle's  character;  and  yet  it  was  no  less  a 
shock  when  fully  revealed.  Speak  of  the 
Percivals  again !  How  had  he  ever  been  so 
foolish  as  to  speak  of  them  at  all,  he  won- 
dered, as  he  gazed  absently  downward, 
where  his  fancies  of  the  morning  seemed 
lying  among  the  dead  ashes  of  the  fire. 

Mr.  Thornton  glanced  at  him  once  or 
twice  with  the  frown  still  on  his  face,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  he  spoke.  At  last 
he  asked,  abruptly :  ' '  Did  I  understand  you 
to  say  that  you  have  no  acquaintance  what- 
ever with  these  people?" 


"Not  the  least,"  Philip  answered,  look- 
ing up  with  a  start. 

"You  are  very  quixotic,  then,"  said  the 
other,  grimly.  "  It  is  a  fault  of  youth.  But 
the  sooner  you  begin  to  cure  it  the  better. 
The  man  who  wishes  to  succeed  in  life  can 
not  afford  to  indulge  in  sentiment  of  one 
kind  or  another.  It  will  be  well  to  remember 
that." 

He  opened  his  newspaper,  and  Philip  left 
the  room,  with  those  last  words  echoing  in 
his  ears.  They  seemed  a  fitting  close  for 
the  brief  interview.  And  were  they  not  a 
warning  as  well  as  an  admonition?  He  felt 
that  it  was  likely;  and  he  also  felt,  with  a 
force  which  was  fairly  overwhelming,  that  if 
ever  he  was  driven  to  contest  with  his  uncle 
any  point  of  that  high  sentiment  which 
derives  its  force  from  conscience,  he  would 
find  him  as  immovable  as  granite,  and  that 
he  would  have  to  choose  between  yielding, 
or  seeming  to  outrage  affection  and  grati- 
tude by  resistance. 

There  are  people  to  whom  neither  horn 
of  the  dilemma  would  have  been  very  ter- 
rible— natures  which  find  compromise  easy, 
or  that  are  strong  and  hard  enough  to  dis- 
regard the  feelings  of  others.  But  Philip 
was  cast  in  a  mould  that  rendered  him  as 
sensitive  to  those  feelings  as  to  the  higher 
claims  of  conscience;  and  he  knew  that 
should  the  two  ever  be  arrayed  against  each 
other,  the  struggle  within  him  would  be 
-hard,  the  suffering  keen. 

It  was  a  relief  to  put  away  such  thoughts, 
to  hope  that  an  issue  so  fraught  with  pain 
might  never  come  to  pass,  and  to  go  out 
into  the  bright  afternoon  with  Constance, 
who  persevered  in  her  desire  to  go  to  the 
Cathedral  for  Vespers.  On  their  way  she 
began  to  speak  of  Miss  Percival. 

"It   seems   that  I  made  a   mistake   in! 
talking   of  her   at   luncheon,"   she   said.  ' 
'  'Aunt  Lucia  told  me  afterwards  that  Uncle 
James  does  not  like  to  hear  of  the  family. 
The  father  acted  very  badly  to  him  once. 
Did  you  know  of  it?" 

' '  I  have  heard  something  of  it, ' '  Philip 
answered.  "But  it  is  hard  to  learn  the  ex- 
act truth  of  old  stories,  and  until  to-day  1 


The  Ave  Maria, 


103 


\ras  not  any  more  aware  than  yourself  that 
ay  uncle  would  not  like  to  hear  the  name. ' ' 

"And  how  did  you  find  it  out  to-day? — 
lid  he  speak  to  you  about  it?" 

"Yes — or,  rather,  I  spoke,  and  he — an- 

:  wered  me.    There  is  no  doubt  of  his  dis- 

ike  to  the  Percivals;  and,  on  the  whole,  it 

vill  be  well  to  avoid  discussing  them  be- 

ibre  him  in  future." 

"One  can  not  easily  discuss  a  subject  of 
which  one  knows  nothing, ' '  said  Constance. 
' '  You  forget  that  I  never  heard  of  them 
before,  and  all  that  I  know  now  is  that  Miss 
Percival  has  a  voice.  How  much  more  do 
you  know?" 

"Not  anything  at  all,"  Philip  answered, 
with  a  laugh,  which  was  somewhat  directed 
against  himself  For  surely  it  zvas  quixotic 
to  have  concerned  himself  so  much  about 
people  of  whom  he  knew  so  little,  and  with 
whom  he  had  not  the  slightest  acquaint- 
ance. 

' '  Well,  I  am  interested  in  her  voice,' '  pur- 
sued Constance.  ' '  I  hope  it  will  prove  to  be 
fine,  and  that  she  will  agree  to  sing  for  us. ' ' 

Philip's  instinct  told  him  that  Miss  Per- 
cival would  not  agree  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind;  but,  since  an  instinct  is  not  author- 
ity, he  made  no  reply,  and  they  presently 
reached  the  Cathedral. 

As  he  had  anticipated,  and  warned  Con- 
stance was  probable,  the  voice  which  the 
latter,  at  least,  had  come  to  hear  was  not 
heard  in  Vespers  or  Benediction.  As  the 
beautiful  hymns  of  the  latter  service  began, 
Philip  found  himself  listening  for  the  silver 
tones  which  he  thought  would  have  ex- 
pressed so  well  the  deep  devotion  of  the 
O  Salutaris  and  the  Tantzcm  Ergo;  but  he 
listened  in  vain.  Miss  Percival  was  plainly 
not  in  the  choir. 

They  met  Bellamy  as  they  came  out,  and 
Philip  resigned  Miss  Irving  to  him,  plead- 
ing an  engagement  on  his  own  part.  It  may 
have  occurred  to  him,  as  with  a  ^ense  of 
relief  he  saw  them  walk  away  together, 
that  his  sentiments  were  very  far  from  be- 
ing those  of  a  lover;  but  he  reminded  him- 
self that  it  was  impossible  he  could  feel  any 
lover-like   eagerness  to  monopolize   Con- 


stance's society,  when  he  could  enjoy  as 
much  of  that  society  every  day  as  he  liked. 

Certainly  the  -engagement  by  plea  of 
which  he  had  escaped  was  not  a  very  im-. 
portant  one.  Mrs.  King  had  told  him  when 
they  parted  in  the  morning  that  she  had 
some  music  for  him.  "Come  soon  and  get 
it,"  she  had  said.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
this  afternoon  was  a  very  good  time  to  go. 
Accordingly  he  ascended  the  steps  of  a 
house  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Cathedral, 
rang  the  door-bell,  and  was  ushered  into  a 
drawing-room  filled — rather  too  much  filled 
— with  artistic  furniture,  and  bric-a-brac 
that  Mrs.  King  had  collected  in  many  quar- 
ters of  the  world.  He  made  his  way  through 
it  with  the  ease  of  an  accustomed  visitor, 
and  found  his  hostess  in  her  favorite  seat 
near  the  fire.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him 
with  a  smile. 

"You  have  just  come  in  time,"  she  said. 
"I  am  glad  to  have  the  pleasure  of  present- 
ing you  to  Miss  Percival.  Alice  my  dear, 
this  is  Mr.  Thornton,  who  paid  y^ur  voice 
such  a  pretty  compliment  this  morning  that 
I  must  ask  him  to  repeat  it  to  you." 

Philip  turned  with  an  absolute  shock  of 
surprise  toward  the  figure,  which  he  had  per- 
ceived without  identifying  it,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fireplace.  Was  it  possible ! — yes, 
it  was  Alice  Percival  herself,  who  looked 
at  him  with  her  dark  eyes,  and  bowed  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  introduction.  If 
she  disliked  his  acquaintance  to  be  thus 
forced  upon  her,  there  was  no  sign  of  such 
a  feeling  in  her  manner,  only  a  courtesy 
that  might  be  perhaps  a  little  more  grave 
than  usual.  For  himself,  Philip  felt  like  an 
awkward  school-boy,  utterly  bereft  of  the 
power  of  speech.  He  thought  of  Graham, 
and  the  conviction  that  his  name  was  an 
odious  sound  in  her  ears  seemed  to  make 
everything  impossible  except  the  deep  bow 
with  which  he  bent  before  her.  Happily  for 
him,  Mrs.  King  went  on : 

' '  I  tried  to  remember  your  compliment, 
but  the  words  eluded  me,  and  I  think  it  is 
always  a  pity  to  spoil  a  well-turned  phrase 
by  quoting  it  clumsily.  What  was  it  ex- 
actly?'» 


104 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Not  a  compliment  at  all,  if  you  will 
pardon  me,"  answered  Philip,  addressing 
her,  but  including  Miss  Percival  in  his 
glance;  "only  a  description  which  struck 
me  when  I  read  it,  and  which  was  forcibly 
recalled  to  my  mind  this  morning." 

He  repeated  the  French  sentence  a  little 
liuf riedly,  for  he  would  have  preferred  an- 
other opening  to  his  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Percival. 

Mrs.  King  nodded  toward  the  latter. 
*'That,"  she  said,  "is  a  perfect  description 
of  your  singing,  though  it  comes  from  a 
French  novel.  Strange  how  those  people 
liave  the  knack  of  expressing  things!" 

"  If  it  is  a  correct  description  of  my  sing- 
ing," replied  Miss  Percival — -and  the  low, 
clear  tones  of  her  voice  seemed  to  Philip 
like  spoken  music — "I  think  it  needs  im- 
provement. '  Trop  ideale  pour  etre  humaine ' 
— surely, we  must  be  human  in  order  to 
touch  humanity. ' ' 

' '  There  are  countless  things  to  touch  us 
on  our  human  side,"  said  Philip,  quickly. 
^ '  But  to  find  something  that  enables  us  to 
forget  it,  even  for  a  time,  that  is  to  help 
us  in  our  battle  against  the  evil  trinity  of 
which  we  have  all  heard. " 

Miss  Percival  looked  at  him,  and  in  the 
gentle  gravity  of  her  glance  he  could  not 
read  any  trace  of  the  repugnance  which  he 
feared  that  she  must  feel  for  him. 

' '  If  one  could  do  that, ' '  she  answered, 
^ '  it  would  certainly  be  well. ' ' 

' '  Your  voice  does  it, ' '  said  Philip.  ' ' '  On 
eUt  dit  une  dme  qui  chantait^^  and  while 
one  listens  one  realizes  one's  own  soul. 
There  are  many  times,  you  know,  when  one 
forgets  it." 

The  ingenuous  candor  of  his  tone  made 
her  smile.  ' '  Yes, ' '  she  said,  ' '  I  know  that 
there  are  such  times ;  but  the  forgetfulness 
is  surely  not  great  that  can  be  so  easily  dis- 
sipated. ' '  Then  she  rose  and  turned  to  Mrs. 
King.  "I  am  forgetting  how  time  flies," 
she  said;  "and  mamma  will  be  looking  for 


me. 


"Sol  must  not  detain  you, ' '  replied  the 
elder  lady ;  ' '  but  promise  me  that  you  will 
come  on  my  next  musical  evening. ' ' 


"lean  not  promise,"  Miss  Ferciral  an- 
swered; "but  I  will  try  to  come, since  you 
really  wish  it" 

"Of  course  I  really  wish  it,"  said  Mrs. 
King.  "And  so  do  a  great  many  other 
people." 

"The  other  people  do  not  matter,"  re- 
plied the  young  lady,  with  a  gesture  of  in- 
difference; "but  j^«  do." 

She  bent  down  as  she  spoke,  touched  her 
lips  to  Mrs.  King^s  cheek,  bowed  slightly 
to  Philip,  and  passed — a  slender,  stately 
figure  —  down  the  long  room,  and  disap- 
peared. 

(to  be  continued.) 


An   Hour  with    St.  Anne. 


BY  ANGELIQUE   DE   LANDE. 


jpl  SAINT  beloved!  I  joy  to  think  of  thee, 

^      In  motherhood  so  blest, 

With  Mary,  that  sweet  bud  of  chastity, 

Unfolding  on  thy  breast; 
Within  thine  arms  maternal  Heaven's  Queen 

Is  sleeping  peacefully. 
And  angels  gaze  upon  the  tranquil  scene 

In  tuneful  ecstasy. 

For  in  the  compass  of  those  baby  hands 

lyies  Lsrael's  fate  to-day; 
The  Incarnate  God  shall  list  to  her  commands. 

Her  slightest  wish  obey ; 
A  few  short  years,  and  the  Archangel's  voice 

Shall  echo  round  the  earth, 
Bidding  the  Jew  and  Gentile  world  rejoice 

At  the  Messiah's  birth. 

Thy  great  humility  and  patience  rare 

Have  won  this, sweet  reward. 
And  thou  hast  borne,  in  answer  to  thy  prayer, 

The  Mother  of  thy  God; 
Hearest  thou  the  rustle  of  angelic  wings. 

Their  canticles  divine  ? — 
Has  not  thy  soul  some  dim  foreshadowings 

Of  Bethlehem's  hallowed  shrine? 

Our  I^ady's  childhood! — how  the  theme  ex- 
pands 

And  gladdens  all  my  soul! 
Close  to  thy  knee  the  royal  Maiden  stands, 

Studying  the  sacred  scroll; 


The  Ave  Maria, 


105 


\n  aureole  around  her  brow  appears, 
Soft  murmurings  fill  the  air, 

Is  unseen  visitants  from  heavenly  spheres 
Hover  around  thy  chair. 

Not  thine  on  earth,  sweet  Saint,  the  happiness 

To  witness  Mary's  bliss, 
fhine  Infant  God  to  thy  full  heart  to  press, 

His  Sacred  Face  to  kiss. 
Early  thy  mission  ended,  and  thy  child, 

lycd  by  the  Spirit's  power. 
Dwelt  in  the  Temple,  pure  and  undefiled, 

Waiting  Redemption's  hour. 

But  I  love  best,  St.  Anne,  to  think  of  thee 

-Dying  in  Mary's  arms. 
Thy  last  fond  look,  this  side  eternity, 

Fixed  on  her  wondrous  charms. 
Obtain  for  me,  the  while  I  humbly  pray 

Before  thine  earthly  shrine, 
On  Mary's  breast  to  breathe  my  life  away," 

In  transports  like  to  thine. 
Feast  of  St.  Anne,  1886. 


Palms. 


3Y  ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 

CHAPTER  XV.— (Concluded.) 
/^^lyAUDIA'S  movement  and  her  sweet 
\j  words  pierced  Zilla's  heart;  her  old  pas- 
sionate love  for  the  child  asserted  itself, 
strengthened  and  intensified  by  a  sense  of 
the  deadly  perils  which  would  henceforth 
lurk  every  instant  about  her;  and  roused 
with  it  an  impulse,  as  fierce  as  that  of  a 
lioness  when  danger  threatens  her  young, 
to  save  her  from  the  evil  consequences  of 
the  insane  delusion  under  which,  by  the 
arts  of  the  Christians,  she  and  her  father 
had  fallen. 

Fondly  the  old  nurse  looked  into  the 
questioning,  saddened  face;  the  rigor  of  her 
grief  softened;  tender,  familiar  words  fell 
from  her  lips;  and  when  she  saw  how 
brightly  her  darling's  eyes  beamed  upon 
her,  illuminating  the  child's  lovely  face 
with  an  inexprCvSsible  charm,  an  emotion  of 
joy  UvSurped  the  tumult  of  Zilla's  grief,  and, 
drawing  the  golden  head  to  her  bosom,  she 
laid  her  cheek  upon  it  in  the  old,  caressing 


way,  holding  her  close  to  her  throbbing 
heart,  as  if  to  shield  her  from  the  vengeance 
of  Fate. 

' '  Now,  now  do  I  know  it  is  thou,  madre 
bella  miaP^  exclaimed  the  happy  child, 
releasing  herself,  but  still  holding  Zilla's 
hand.  "Let  us  go  to  the  gardens — to  the 
old,  beautiful  places,  which  I  have  not  yet 
seen,  where  I  will  tell  thee  of  Him  who  has 
given  me  sight,  and  whose  name  is  in  my 
heart;  for  thou  lovest  me,  and  wilt  also  love 
Him  for  being  so  good  to  me;  wilt  thou 
not,  madre  bella? ^"^ 

Zilla  yielded  to  the  sweet  constraint  of 
her  hand,  without  speaking;  for  what  could 
she  answer  to  an  appeal  so  confiding?  But 
Claudia  did  not  notice;  her  innocent  heart 
was  in  such  a  divine  glow  with  the  new  joy 
which  had  that  day  entered  it,  and  her  eyes 
were  so  ravished  by  the  beauties  of  nature, 
over  which  it  seemed  to  shed  a  light  '^not 
seen  of  men,"  that  there  was  no  place  left 
for  shadows  or  anxious  thought. 

As  they  crossed  the  beautiful,  level  spaces 
that  lay  between  the  villa  and  the  gardens, 
— spaces  checkered  by  a  thousand  flickering 
golden  shadows, — Claudia  caught  sight  of 
her  father  going  in  the  direction  of  the 
stables,  and,  asking  Zilla  to  wait  a  moment, 
she  ran  towards  him ;  he  saw  her  coming, 
and  stopped,  watching  her  approach,  his 
heart  full  of  an  indescribable  emotion.  Oh ! 
how  brightly  shone  the  eyes  but  a  few  hours 
ago  blind!  What  a  depth  of  love  beamed 
from  them  as  they  met  his!  He  leaned 
down  and  kissed  her  head. 

"O  padre  mio!^^  she  said,  "hast  thou 
seen  Symphronius?  No?  Go,  then,  and 
make  glad  his  heart  by  telling  him  all  that 
is  in  thine;  for  he  knows  and  loves  Him 
who  opened  my  blind  eyes." 

' '  My  old  Symphronius  too ! ' '  exclaimed 
Nemesius,  while  tears  filled  his  eyes.  "I 
will  go  at  once ' ' ;  and. turning,  he  went  back, 
while  the  child  tripped  away  to  her  nurse, 
catching  at  the  butterflies  as  they  fluttered 
overhead,  or  pausing  an  instant  to  smell 
and  touch  with  her  dainty  fingers  some 
glowing  flower  beside  her  path,  until  her 
hand  was  once  more  in  the  clasp  of  Zilla's, 


io6 


Tlie  'Ave  Maria, 


and  their  steps  turned  towards  the  cascade. 

After  his  interview  with  the  old  steward, 
Nemesius  rode  out  to  his  camp,  where,  after 
attending  to  military  details,  and  reviewing 
certain  evolutions  in  some  newly  adopted 
tactics,  he  returned  to  the  villa,  to  find  a 
messenger  from  the  Emperor  awaiting  him, 
and  bearing  a  letter  written  in  his  Majesty's 
own  almost  illegible  hand,  requesting  his 
presence  at  the  palace  that  evening, — a  re- 
quest which,  coming  from  him,  meant  a 
command. 

Arriving  at  the  palace,  Nemesius  found 
the  rich  and  spacious  apartments  thronged 
with  such  of  Rome's  distinguished  patri- 
cians as  had  not  left  the  city  for  their 
summer  homes  on  the  Latian  coast,  or 
gone  to  their  mountain  villas;  also  military 
personages,  orators,  wits,  and  scholars;  for 
Valerian  Imperator  affected  to  be  a  patron 
of  literature  and  learning.  Among  the 
guests  were  many  beautiful  women,  whose 
sparkling  e)es  and  rich  garments  gave 
brightness  and  variety  to  the  scene. 

On  entering  he  was  met  by  one  of  the 
Emperor's  pages,  who  informed  him  that 
his  imperial  master  had  retired  to  his  cab- 
inet, and  awaited  his  presence.  It  had  been 
some  weeks  since  the  handsome  com- 
mander of  the  Imperial  Legion  had  shown 
himself  at  the  palace,  and  he  found  his 
progress  impeded  b)'  many,  who,  imagining 
he  was  there  of  his  own  pleasure,  thronged 
around  him  with  friendly  greeting  and 
pleasant  words. 

Gravely  courteous,  a  whispered  word  of 
his  being  on  his  way  to  the  Emperor  re- 
leased him  from  their  well-intentioned  im- 
portunities, and,  anticipating  no  further 
interruptions,  he  passed  on,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  nor  the  left,  until  when  near  the 
draped  entrance  through  which  he  was  to 
pass  into  the  anteroom  of  the  imperial  cab- 
net,  he  heard  a  sweet,  low  voice,  meant  for 
his  ear  only,  saying:  ''Not  a  word  or  a  look 
for  a  friend?"  Turning  quickly,  he  con- 
fronted Laodice,  who,  attired  in  soft,  gold- 
colored  Eastern  silk,  set  off  by  draperies  of 
scarlet  Syrian  gauze,  spangled  with  gold, 
and  jewels  rare  and  sparkling,  looked  daz- 


zlingly  beautiful.  As  the  glance  of  Neme- 
sius rested  for  a  moment  on  her,  the  color 
deepened  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  shone 
under  their  long,  black  fringes  with  half- 
veiled  splendor. 

"My  friends  forgive  my  inattention  as 
soon  as  they  hear  that  the  Emperor  has 
sent  for  me,  and  that  I  am  on  my  way  to 
his  presence,'.'  he  replied,  in  gravely  courte- 
ous tones ;  and  the  Roman  gentleman  would 
have  passed  on  without  further  parley,  but, 
advancing  nearer  to  h.m,  she  said: 

' '  Spare  me  just  a  moment !  I  would  hear 
something  of  thy  lovely  child,  and  news  of 
the  dear  Princess  Vivia. ' ' 

So  near  had  she  come  that  some  of  her 
fringes  and  gauze  drapings  had  caught  and 
got  tangled  about  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
which  he,  intent  only  on  the  object  for 
which  he  was  there,  did  not  at  first  perceive. 

"Claudia  is  well,  and  happy  to  be  at 
home  among  her  flowers.  Fabian  is  the 
correspondent  of  the  Princess;  but  he  is 
hunting  somewhere  in  Umbria,  so  that  I 
have  really  heard  nothing  from  her  since 
her  departure, ' '  he  answered,  and  would 
have  gone  on,  but  discovered  his  awkward 
dilemma,  and  made  an  effort  to  disentangle 
his  sword,  but,  manlike,  only  tore  the  flimsy 
gauze,  which  seemed  to  elude  his  grasp, 
and  made  matters  worse. 

While  thus  busied,  she  full  of  apologies, 
his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  lithe, 
cool  fingers  of  Laodice,  who,  under  pretence 
of  assisting  to  separate  the  mischievous 
tangle,  contrived  to  make  it  more  inextri- 
cable. She  felt  that  he  started,  and  drew 
back  from  her  touch  as  if  an  asp  had  stung 
him,  and  said  in  her  most  dulcet  tones: 
"Why always  cold  only  to  me, Nemesius?" 
He  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  but,  making  a 
step  backward,  slipped  the  scabbard  from 
his  sword,  which  was  left  dangling  to  her 
fringes  and  scarf;  then,  with  a  grave  bow, 
he  left  her  with  the  trophy  she  had  so  un-. 
fairly  won,  and  a  few  minutes  later  entered' 
the  Emperor's  cabinet,  with,  a  shadow  ol 
annoyance  on  his  countenance,  showing; 
how  intolerably  the  incident  had  madtj 
itself  felt. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


107 


Valerian,  always  impatient  and  irascible, 
s  ;owled  and  gave  him  cold  greeting;  but 
T  hen  the  delay  was  explained,  the  situation 
s  ruck  his  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  a 
I  »w  rumble  of  laughter,  which  threatened 
to  end  in  apoplexy,  told  that  he  was  ap- 
Mj)  eased. 

HSBy  the  gods!"  he  exclaimed,  as  soon 
^  Re  recovered  breath,  ' '  it  was  a  cunning 
trick  Cupid  played  thee,  my  grave  com- 
mander; and,  since  he  has  caught  thy  sword 
in  his  net,  it  is  to  be  supposed  thy  heart  will 
be  the  next  to  surrender. ' ' 

''My  heart,  great  Emperor,  had  already 
made  its  choice  and  complete  surrender 
before  this  awkward  accident  occurred," 
answered  Nemesius,  whose  words  had  a 
significance  of  deeper  import  than  his 
hearer  dreamed  of. 

"By  Apollo!  that  is  news  I  am  glad  to 
hear;  but  it  does  not  surprise  me;  for  it  is 
the  cold,  silent  ones  who  are  not  only  sly, 
my  Nemesius,  but  like  snow-mantled  vol- 
canoes, that  burst  into  flame  at  unexpected 
moments,  and  just  when  people  begin  to 
think  they  are  frozen,"  said  Valerian,  in 
his  throaty,  rumbling  tones,  evidently  well 
pleased  at  his  own  wit;  "but,"  he  contin- 
ued, "there  are  matters  of  more  importance 
of  which  I  desire  to  inform  thee,  know- 
ing hov/  zealous  thou  art  for  the  glory  and 
honor  of  Rome.  Information  comes  that 
the  army  of  the  Persian  monarch  has  fallen 
back  from  his  frontier,  and  that  he  has 
dispatched  an  envoy  hither  with  proposals 
which  will  not  be  known  until  he  arrives. 
Sapor  is  a  crafty  fellow,  and,  although  I 
have  no  faith  in  him,  I  shall  humor  his 
mood  to  a  certain  extent,  until  some  ex- 
pected treasures  come  into  my  hands, 
wherewith  I  may  be  enabled  to  carry  on 
the  war  with  more  destructive  effect.  Thou 
Hast  heard — nothing  else  has  been  talked 
)f  in  Rome  —  about  a  Christian  named 
Laurence,  and  his  sorceries  at  the  house  of 
3ippolytus,  and  all  that  happened?" 

Nemesius  had,  indeed,  heard,  but  simply 
)owed  in  the  affirmative,  and  held  his  peace 
)y  a  mighty  effort,  but  from  no  craven  im- 
ulse,  as  may  be  imagined. 


' '  Under  dread  of  torture,  this  blasphemer 
of  the  gods  has  promised  to  reveal  where 
the  treasures  of  the  Christians  are  con- 
cealed. They  are  reported  to  be  immense. 
After  I  possess  myself  of  them  I  will  reward 
both  him  and  Hippolytus — yes,  by  the  in- 
fernal gods!  such  reward  as  will  astonish 
them  and  delight  Rome.  Listen!  I  have- 
been  reading  some  of  the  Greek  classics, 
and  found  not  only  new  ideas,  but  certain 
novel  methods;  and  I  have  also  some  splen- 
did unbroken  horses  from  the  plains  of 
Northern  Asia,  to  illustrate  an  exciting 
episode.  I  have  thought,  too,  of  a  new  feast 
for  the  gods — a  roast  undreamed  of  in  the 
culinary  art,  the  fumes  of  which  will  be  as 
incense  sweeter  than  the  nard  of  Assyria, 
and  the  cinnamon  and  spices  of  Arabia. 
We  will  propitiate  the  divinities  with  more 
Christian  blood,  until  the  earth  smokes 
with  it;  then,  all  being  ready,  we'll  plant 
the  Roman  eagles  on  the  hills  of  Persia, 
and  bring  Sapor  in  chains  to  Rome  to  grace 
our  triumph." 

And  so  the  tyrant  boasted  until  his  face 
grew  purple,  and  his  eyes  glared  with  such 
diabolical  fury  that  he  failed  to  observe 
the  countenance  of  Nemesius,  which  was 
bent  upon  him  with  a  stern  expression  of 
prophetic  warning,  whilst  his  lips  could 
scarcely  keep  back  the  words  that  would 
declare  him  a  Christian.  But  the  time  had 
not  yet  come  for  this,  and  the  Spirit  of  Love 
that  had  led  him  into  the  very  vestibule  of 
Truth  restrained  him  for  a  more  perfect  and 
glorious  testimony. 

When  at  last  he  was  permitted  to  leave  the 
imperial  presence,  a  slave  of  Laodice — the 
Cypriot — was  in  waiting  with  Nemesius' 
sword,  which  he  presented  with  profound 
obeisance,  and  a  letter,  that  he  placed  in 
the  hand  of  the  commander,  then  instantly 
and  without  a  word  withdrew,  gliding  away 
somewhere  in  the  darkness  like  a  shadow. 

That  night  before  he  slept  Nemesius, 
assisted  by  the  old  steward,  removed  and 
destroyed  the  shrine  in  his  apartment,  be- 
fore which  he  had  for  many  years  offered 
idolatrous  worship  to  the  god  whose  image 
in  gold  stood  thereon, — the  god  to  whom 


io8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


he  had  daily  poured  the  morning  libation 
of  wine  mixed  with  frankincense,  and  at 
eventide  burnt  costly  Arabian  gums  and 
spices.  The  image,  plate,  small  brazier,  and 
cup,  all  of  gold,  and  fine  workmanship,  he 
battered  together  into  a  shapeless  mass,  and 
directed  Symphronius — who  from  hence- 
forth was  the  confidential  agent  of  his 
charities — to  sell  the  metal,  and  give  the 
price  to  the  poor.  He  commanded  further 
that  before  the  sunset  of  another  day  all 
the  images  of  the  Lares  and  Pe7iates^  and 
every  vestige  of  idolatry,  should  be  removed 
to  the  cellar,  and  there  broken,  afterwards 
cast  into  a  pit  to  be  burnt  for  lime. 

Then,  commending  his  soul  to  God,  and 
invoking  the  Holy  Name  of  His  divine  Son. 
he  retired  to  rest,  after  a  day  into  which  had 
been  crowded  an  eternity. 

(to  be;  continued.) 


What  the   Contents   of    a   Casket   Re- 
called. 


AGAIN  and  again  I  contemplated  the  sin- 
gular ornaments  of  Mme.des  Obeaux's 
apartments.  There  were  trophies,  panoplies, 
pictures  of  men  with  fierce  countenances 
armed  cap-a-pie^  and  ofiicers  of  fine  mar- 
tial bearing — all  keeping  company  with 
an  aged,  infirm  woman.  The  whole  called 
forth,  in  this  peaceful  solitude,  so  many 
souvenirs  of  tumult  and  war,  of  assaults 
and  bloody  battles,  as  to  suggest  a  flourish 
of  military  trumpets  arousing  and  agitating 
the  echoes  of  a  hallowed  cloister.  But  my 
attention  was  especially  attracted  by  a 
casket,  lined  with  crimson  velvet,  and  en- 
closed in  a  box  of  ebony,  which  contained 
side  by  side  a  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
and  a  common,  insignificant-looking  knife. 
Why  was  that  knife  (which,  with  its  handle 
of  box- wood  and  blade  of  rusted  iron,  could 
not  have  cost  more  than  fifteen  cents  when 
fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  cutler)  laid  on 
rich  velvet  beside  that  noble  decoration  ? 

Mme.  des  Obeaux,  observing  my  per- 
plexed look,  said :  ' '  Those  are  very  precious 
mementos." 


''What,  Madame!  —  that  old  knife,  as 
well  as  the  cross?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  in  soft  and  gentle 
tones,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  portrait 
of  a  young  spahi  suspended  just  opposite 
her,  and  which,  brightened  by  the  rays  of 
the  morning  sun,  seemed  to  return  her 
glance  of  deep  affection.  ' '  If  you  like,  I  will 
tell  you  the  sad  though  consoling  memories 
they  recall  ? ' ' 

'*  I  shall  listen  with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

"Some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  during 
the  Summer,  I  occupied  a  pretty  cottage  in 
a  large  village  situated  between  Amiens 
and  Paris.  Although  the  house  was  pleas- 
ant, the  walks  well  shaded,  and  the  sur- 
rounding fields  remarkably  fertile,  I  could 
not  leave  the  grounds  of  the  country-seat 
without  experiencing  a  feeling  of  profound 
sadness.  Close  by  was  the  large  Foundling 
Hospital  of  St.  Nicholas;  an  institution 
originated  by  well-meant  charity,  but  now 
in  the  hands  of  revolutionists.  If  I  walked 
out,  I  could  hear  the  infants  moaning  from 
the  depth  of  their  neglected  cradles,  like 
lambkins  tethered  to  stakes.  Those  that 
could  walk  wandered  among  the  hedge- 
rows, stopping  at  the  gates  of  farm-houses 
to  beg  for  bread;  and  such  as  were  still 
further  advanced  in  years  were  harshly 
treated,  badly  fed,  only  half  clad,  and  finally 
disposed  of,  under  the  title  of  ParisianSy 
to  peasants,  farmers,  and  small  traffickers. 
Ah!  how  my  heart  ached  for  those  orphans 
without  guardians,  those  oppressed  inno- 
cents with  no  one  to  plead  their  cause! 
How  often,  too,  I  thought  of  the  generous 
founders  of  this  hospice,  and  asked  myself, 
'  Could  they  have  ever  dreamed  that  their 
munificent  donations  would  be  squandered 
by  such  pitiful,  demoralizing  methods?' 

"One  day,  while  sauntering  along  the 
border  of  a  flowery  meadow,  I  was  stunned 
by  the  whizzing  of  a  pebble,  that,  just  graz- 
ing my  bonnet,  finished  its  course  by  fall- 
ing into  a  little  ditch  full  of  germander. 
I  turned,  and  beheld  the  young  David  who  j 
had  aimed  at  me,  standing  with  the  flap  of  j 
his  blouse  full  of  similar  little  stones,  which  ; 
he  seemed  to  be  intent  upon  throwing  atj 


The  Ave  Maria. 


109 


ebody  or  something  through  pure  spite. 

"I  walked  up  to  him,  and  gently  in- 
(  uired :   '  Why  did  you  throw  that  stone  ? ' 

"'Are  you  going  to  tell  on  me  at  the 
( rrand  Nicolas  ? '  he  asked,  trying  to  get  off, 
i  )r  I  had  taken  him  firmly  by  the  arm. 

"  'No:  I  promise  you  the  Gravid  Nicolas 
i   sball  know  nothing  about  it' 
Ly "For  sure?' 
iP'  'For  sure,'  I  replied. 

'"All  right,'  said  the  lad;  'for  I  would 
■get  a  sound  flogging. ' 

'"I  shall  neither  whip  you  nor  get  you 
whipped ;  I  will  even  give  you  ten  cents  if 
you  drop  those  pebbles.  See,  here's  the 
money. ' 

"Never  did  I  witness  such  a  mingled 
expression  of  joy,  surprise,  and  even  con- 
sternation, as  came  over  the  boy's  counte- 
nance when  I  laid  the  coin  in  his  thin, 
callous  hand. 

"  'Is  that  mine?^   he  asked. 

"'Yes;  what  will  you  do  with  it?' 

"He  reflected  a  moment,  during  which  I 
watched  him  closely.  The  little  fellow  was 
certainly  not  handsome;  he  had  large,  hard 
features,  tanned  skin,  sharp,  black  eyes,  a 
restless  physiognomy,  with  an  expression 
so  haggard,  so  suffering,  that  my  heart  felt 
sick  at  contemplating  him.  He  had  evi- 
dently never  known  either  care  or  caress, 
but  had  grown  up  like  a  wolf's  cub  in  the 
untrodden  forest,  deeming  every  one  he  met 
to  be  his  enemy. 

"'Well,'  I  asked,  'have  you  made  up 
your  mind  ? ' 

"  'I  will  lay  it  aside,'  he  answered;  'and 
when  I  am  very  hungry  it  will  buy  me 
some  bread.' 

What  is  your  employment  in  the  hos- 
pital— for  I  suppose  that  is  your  home?' 

"  'Yes: — I  keep  the  geese.  My  name  is 
Blaise  Joyeux. ' 

"The  droll  name  made  me  smile,  but 
he  poor  boy  did  not  observe  this,  as  he  had 
mceremoniously  started  after  his  flock  of 
^eese,  which  were  wandering  into  a  neigh- 
)oring  field. 

"Next  day,  the  day  after,  and  many  suc- 
eeding  days,  I  went  out  to  meet  Blaise  tak- 


ing care  of  his  giddy  flock.  I  always  greeted 
him  with  a  cordial  'Good-morning!'  which 
he  at  first  received  very  bashfully,  but  as  I 
took  care  to  bring  him  some  fruit  or  bis- 
cuits, he  gradually  grew  more  familiar  with 
me.  The  poor  child  had  not  many  subjects 
to  talk  about;  his  daily  themes  consisted 
of  his  geese  and  the  turf-pits;  his  foster^ 
father,  who  often  beat  him  cruelly;  his  de- 
sire to  grow  up,  so  that  he  could  go  out  to- 
service;  and  his  ardent  wish  to  have  a  pair 
of  new  shoes,  for  the  sabots  were  very  un- 
comfortable to  walk  with  on  the  newly- 
ploughed  grounds. 

"One  day  I  asked  him  what  prayers  he 
knew;  for  I  had  succeeded  in  gaining  his 
confidence.  The  child  did  not  even  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word  'prayer,'  so  I 
offered  to  instruct  him  a  little.  Never  did  a 
missionary  to  Polynesia  meet  a  subject  in 
greater  ignorance  of  any  sort  of  religious 
sentiment,  or  an  intellect  more  thickly 
veiled  in  the  obscurity  of  mere  matter. 
However,  the  lad  was  docile,  and,  although 
in  utter  mental  darkness,  his  soul  had 
never  grovelled  in  the  mire  of  deliberate 
sin.  In  a  short  time  he  was  able  to  say  the 
'  Our  Father '  and  the  '  Hail  Mary  ' ;  and, by 
diluting  the  responses  in  the  Catechism  to 
words  that  he  comprehended,  I  succeeded 
in  instructing  him  in  our  holy  religion,  and. 
after  some  months  the  curate  of  the  parishi 
permitted  him  to  make  his  First  Commun- 
ion. I  feel  sure  that  God,  who  loves  to  dwell 
in  humble  hearts,  was  more  than  pleased 
the  day  He  condescended  to  enter  the  lowly 
soul  of  my  poor,  unfortunate  Blaise. 

"Soon  after  the  boy  was  placed  as  valet 
with  a  respectable  farmer,  who  could  not 
allow  him  leisure  to  visit  me;  but  I  often 
received  assurances  that  his  daily  conduct 
was  good,  and  that  he  never  omitted  ta 
hear  Mass  on  Sundays  and  holydays.  I  was 
very  thankful  to  God  for  this,  and  left  my^ 
protege  in  His  fatherly  care. 

"My  own  son  now  occupied  my  exclusive 
attention;  he  was  about  to  enter  the  Col- 
lege of  St.  Cyr,  and  it  appeared  to  me  that 
I  could  not  give  him  suflicient  proofs  of  my 
affection,  or  impress  him  too  much  with  the 


no 


The  Ave  Maria. 


thought  of  the  happiness  of  a  pure  life,  in 
order  to  fortify  him  in  that  perilous  moment, 
when  the  combat  with  the  seductions  of  the 
world  would  necessarily  begin. 

"Amaury  entered  St.Cyr,  and  I  remained 
alone.  I  went  less  frequently  to  my  coun- 
try house;  life  in  Paris,  and  the  many  op- 
portunities offered  of  assisting  in  works  of 
charity,  were  more  agreeable  to  me  than 
absolute  solitude,  and  consequently  I  had 
tidings  of  poor  Blaise  only  when  he  wrote 
to  thank  me  for  his  annual  Christmas-box. 
However,  the  curate  always  took  care  to 
inform  me  that  my  little  charge  continued 
to  do  well,  and  behave  piously. 

"In  the  Spring  of  1833  my  son  returned, 
convalescent  from  a  wound  received  in 
Africa.  He  brought  me  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  the  first  distinction  ac- 
corded to  his  youthful  courage — that  one 
in  the  casket.  He  accompanied  me  to  my 
cottage  in  the  country,  where  I  passed 
some  cloudless  days — free  from  all  anxiety, 
happy  at  beholding  the  child  for  whom  I 
had  offered  so  many  prayers,  and  whose  ab- 
sence had  caused  me  such  keen  regret,show- 
ing  himself  as  tender,  as  confiding  as  ever. 

"  One  day  who  should  make  his  appear- 
ance at  the  cottage  door  but  Blaise !  On  the 
previous  evening  he  had  drawn  what  con- 
scripts style  a  '  bad  number, '  but  for  him 
a  desirable  one;  for  he  was  delighted  to 
set  out  on  another  kind  of  career.  He  was, 
as  formerly,  taciturn,  shy,  almost  rough  in 
his  manners.  As  he  was  leaving  I  whispered 
in  his  ear: 

'"My  child,  I  hope  you  will  attend  to 
your  Christian  duties  in  the  regiment. ' 

•"Most  certainly  I  will,  Madame,'  he 
answered;  and  I  blessed  God  interiorly, 
w^hile  I  chided  Amaury,  who  was  inclined 
to  amuse  himself  with  the  young  soldier's 
.awkward  ways.  'Be  indulgent;  under  that 
Tough  husk  there  is  a  delicious  kernel;  that 
coarse  envelope  contains  a  pure  and  humble 
soul.  He  is  an  orphan,  remember, '  I  argued. 

"'If  he  is  an  orphan,  I  pity  him  from 
my  heart!'  cried  my  son,  throwing  his 
arms  affectionately  around  me,  and  smoth- 
ering me  with  kisses. 


"The  day  of  departure  arrived  for  the 
conscripts,  and  the  beating  of  drums,  and 
the  reverberating  echoes  of  farewell  songs 
(meant  to  be  lively  and  inspiriting),  awak- 
ened me  at  early  dawn.  I  went  out  on  the 
lawn,  where  I  suddenly  heard  a  voice  call- 
ing behind  me:  'Madame,  I  have  come  to 
bid  you  good-bye.  We  are  off  for  Mar- 
seilles, and  it  is  more  than  probable  I  shall 
never  see  you  again.  Keep  this  in  token 
of  my  gratitude,  and  in  memory  of  Blaise, ' 
he  continued,  as  he  gave  me  the  knife  that 
you  see  by  the  cross  in  the  casket;  and 
he  shook  my  hands  so  warmly  and  eagerly 
that  I  thought  all  the  bones  were  broken. 
He  tried  once  more  to  say  adieu,  but  tears 
choked  his  utterance;  the  drum-beat  called, 
and  soon  its  deep  tones,  mingled  with  the 
sound  of  brazen  trumpets,  summoned  the 
conscripts  to  Paris. 

"A  month  later  my  son  rejoined  his  regi- 
ment in  Africa;  it  was  the  period  of  the 
great  war  against  the  revolted  tribes,  led  on 
by  Abdel-Kader  and  his  chiefs.  France 
paid  dearly  for  her  conquests  by  the  blood 
of  her  soldiers.  Amaury  belonged  to  the  ex- 
pedition directed  by  General  Tiezel  against 
the  Kabyles  dispersed  among  the  moun- 
tains. During  several  consecutive  weeks  I 
received  exact  and  regular  news  from  him; 
a  word,  a  line,  written  under  a  tent,  in- 
formed me  that  he  was  still  among  the  liv- 
ing. Then  followed  a  fearful  silence;  alas! 
the  ominous  silence  that  too  surely  pro- 
claims death.  I  dared  not  speak  of  my 
'fears;  I  even  dreaded  to  hear  words  of  con- 
solation, for  they  would  assure  me  that  I 
had  lost  my  only  child.  At  last  a  letter 
came  from  Africa,  written  by  the  general- 
in-chief,  a  former  friend  of  our  family.  My 
son  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Kabyles^ 
conducted  into  the  mountainous  regions, 
and  there  assassinated,  with  other  French 
soldiers,  whose  names  were  duly  registered 
in  Le  Moniteur  de  V  Ar7nee ;  and  next  to 
Amaury' s  name  was  that  of  Blaise  Joyeux. 
Imagine  my  grief!  But  in  that  dark  hour 
God  gave  me  a  ray  of  heavenly  consola- 
tion straight  from  His  own  Divine  Heart." 

Here  Mme.  des  Obeaux  drew  from  an- 


The  Ave  Afaria. 


II 1 


:her  carefully  locked  casket  a  letter  worn 
in  the  folds,  and  yellow  with  time  and  fre- 
quent handling.  She  gave  it  to  me,  and  I 
read: 

"Madame: — Having  been  one  of  the  compan- 
ions of  your  son  when  in  captivity.  I  assisted  at 
his  death, which  has  left  an  indelible  impression 
on  my  memory ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  an  ac- 
count of  his  last  moments  will  soothe  your  ma- 
ternal heart.  This  consideration  emboldens  me 
to  address  you. 

"Lieutenant  Amaury  des  Obeaux  was  cap- 
tured bj^  the  Kabyles  while  making  a  military 
foray  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bugia.  He  was  dis- 
mounted, wounded  in  the  hand  by  a  blow  from  a' 
yataghan,  stripped  of  his  uniform,  and  led  away 
into  the  depths  of  Mt.  Atlas,  with  six  of  his  com- 
panions. I  will  not  pain  you  with  the  details  of 
our  mental  and  physical  sufferings.  The  Mara- 
bouts, after  consultation,  collected  around  us,  and 
one  of  them,  in  the  Sabian  tongue,  gave  us  to 
understand  that  we  were  to  choose  between" ab- 
juration and  death — Mahomet  or  Jesus  Christ.  A 
profound  silence  reigned ;  every  sentiment  of  faith 
and  honor  combated  against  the  natural  attach- 
ment to  life.  We  had  no  time  to  reflect.  The 
chief  of  the  Amins  questioned  the  prisoner  near- 
est to  him — a  colonist,  the  father  of  a  family — and 
he  abjured.  The  second  was  a  Jew  by  birth,  who 
readily  acknowledged  that  he  did  not  adore  Jesus 
Christ.  The  third  was  Lieutenant  des  Obeaux. 
At  the  question  of  the  Amin  he  was  silent — 
hesitated  a  moment,  when  a  young  soldier  next 
in  the  row  exclaimed :  '  Lieutenant,  you  may  do 
as  you  like;  I  am  Blaise  Joyeux,  and  I  will  never 
forsake  the  creed  your  mother  taught  me!' 

"'Alas!  my  poor  mother!'  sighed  the  young 
officer;  '  were  she  here,  she  too  would  say:  "Death 
before  apostasy!"    Amin,  I  also  am  a  Christian.' 

"The  soldier  signed  himself  with  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross,  the  Lieutenant  did  the  same,  and  a 
second  later  both  appeared  before  God,  martyrs 
to  their  faith.  The  compassion  of  a  Kabyle 
woman  obtained  my  release — humanly  speaking; 
but  it  is  my  sincere  belief  that  God  spared  me  to 
recount  to  you  the  heroic  death  of  those  two 
Christians. 

"Deign,  Madame,  to  accept  my  profound  re- 
spects. 

"Just  Herein." 

"I  see,  Madame,"  said  I,  "while  you 
taught  Blaise  to  serve  God,  He  was  prepar- 
ing for  your  son  the  noblest  of  recompenses 
— a  martyr's  crown." 


The  first  beginnings  of  passion  are  small; 
hut,  like  a  rebel  army,  it  swells  as  it  2^6.- 
voxiQ^s.—Falher  Tracey  Clarke,  S.J. 


Origin  of   tlie    Indulgence  of   the   Por- 
tiuncula. 


IT  was  in  the  month  of  October,  1221,  that 
the  seraphic  St.  Francis  obtained,  from 
Our  Lord  Himself,  the  great  Indulgence  of 
the  Portiuncula.  Having  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  his  Third  Order,  the  Saint  had  re- 
turned to  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Angels  at  Assisi,  more  absorbed  in  God  than 
ever.  His  love  of  souls  and  zeal  for  the  con- 
version of  sinners  knew  no  bounds.  Day 
and  night  he  prayed  and  wept  for  their  con- 
version. 

One  night  while  he  was  praying  in  the 
cleft  of  a  rock,  which  may  yet  be  seen  not 
far  from  the  Church  of  the  Portiuncula,  an 
angel  appeared  to  him,  and  said:  "Francis, 
hasten  to  the  church;  Our  Lord  and  His 
glorious  Mother  await  you  there."  St. 
Francis  went  in  haste  to  the  humble  sanc- 
tuary, and  there  he  saw  a  marvellous  sight. 
Upon  the  altar,  at  the  place  of  the  taberna- 
cle, was  the  Word  made  Flesh,  the  Eternal 
King  of  Ages,  Christ  Jesus,  resplendent 
with  glory  and  beauty,  majestically  seated 
upon  a  throne  of  light.  At  His  right  hand 
was  His  ever-blessed  Mother,  Mary  most 
holy,  and  surrounding  them  were  a  mul- 
titude of  angels. 

Ravished  with  love  and  joy,  the  Saint 
prostrated  himself  with  his  face  to  the 
ground,  and  Our  Lord  said  to  him,  with 
great  tenderness:  "Francis,  I  have  heard 
your  fervent  prayers.  In  return  for  the  zeal 
with  which  you  and  your  Brothers  have 
labored  for  the  salvation  of  souls,  ask  of  Me 
any  favor,  and  I  will  grant  it;  for  I  have 
given  you  to  the  people  to  be  their  light, 
and  to  My  Church  to  repair  her  losses  upon 
the  earth. ' '  Emboldened  by  such  goodness, 
the  Saint  replied,  with  humble  confidence: 
"My  dear  Saviour,  although  I  am  myself 
but  a  miserable  sinner,  I  humbly  beseech 
Thy  divine  Majesty  to  mercifully  grant  to 
the  faithful  this  signal  favor,  that  all  those 
who,  having  with  contrite  hearts  confessed 
their  sins,  visit  this  church,  may  here  ob- 
tain a  plenary  indulgence.  Most  glorious 
and  most  Holy  Virgin  Mary,  our  powerful 


112 


The  Ave  Maria. 


advocate,  I  beseech  you  to  intercede  for  me 
and  for  all  sinners ! ' ' 

Our  Lord  then  said  to  the  happy  Saint, 
still  prostrate  at  His  feet:  "  Brother  Fran- 
cis, the  favor  you  ask  of  Me  is  great,  but  I 
grant  it.  Go  to  My  Vicar,  and  ask  him  in 
My  Name  to  confirm  this  indulgence." 

From  their  cells,  which  adjoined  the 
church,  many  Brothers  saw  the  light  and 
the  angels  that  filled  the  sanctuary;  they 
also  heard  what  was  said,  but  a  holy  fear 
prevented  them  from  approaching. 

Soon  after  St.  Francis,  with  one  of  the 
Brothers,  was  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  Pope 
Honorius  III.  "Holy  Father,"  said  the 
Saint,  "I  have  a  little  church  which  some 
years  ago  I  dedicated  to  the  Queen  of  An- 
gels. I  come  to  ask  your  Holiness  to  enrich 
it  with  a  precious  indulgence." 

"And  what  indulgence  do  you  ask. 
Brother  Francis?"  said  the  good  Pope; 
"an  indulgence  of  one  year?" 

' '  O  your  Holiness ! ' '  exclaimed  the  Saint, 
"what  is  one  year!" 

"An  indulgence  of  three  years,  six  years, 
seven  years? "  asked  the  Pope;  but,  seeing 
that  the  holy  man  was  not  yet  satisfied,  he 
exclaimed:   "What,  then,  do  you  want?" 

' '  Most  Holy  Father, ' '  replied  St.  Francis, 
' '  what  I  ask  of  your  Holiness  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  years.  I  desire  that  all  those  who, 
having  with  contrite  hearts  confessed,  visit 
the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Angels,  shall 
there  obtain  the  remission  of  all  the  punish- 
ment due  to  the  sins  they  have  been  so 
unhappy  as  to  commit  from  their  baptism 
until  the  time  of  their  visit." 

■  "Francis,"  said  the  Pope,  "it  is  not  the 
practice  of.  the  Church  to  grant  such  in- 
dulgences." 

"But,"  answered  the  Saint,  "I  ask  it  in 
the  Name  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who 
sent  me  to  you." 

Then  the  Pope  said,  with  unwonted  solem- 
nity :  "  I  grant  the  favor  you  ask . ' '  And  this 
he  repeated  three  times.  Later  on  the  same 
privilege  was  extended  to  all  churches 
served  by  the  Franciscans.  During  the 
pontificate  of  Pius  IX.  it  was  granted  to 
numerous  other  churches  and  chapels. 


On  the  Mother  of  God. 


THOUGHTS    OF    PROTESTANTS. 


MARTIN  LUTHER  {Comment,  super 
Magnificat)  says:  "Since  Mary  has 
been  made  Mother  of  God,  gifts  precious 
and  innumerable  are  given  to  her,  that  are 
superior  to  the  understanding.  All  the 
honor  and  blessing  comes  from  this,  that 
among  all  matikind  her  person  alone  is  su- 
perior to  the  rest,  as  she  can  have  no  equal, 
having  a  Son  in  common  with  the  Heavenly 
Father." 

Calvin  {^Lib.  de  Harm.  Evaitg.)  declares: 
"We  can  not  celebrate  to-day  the  bene- 
diction brought  to  us  by  Christ  without 
commemorating  also  how  honorably  Mary 
was  adorned  by  God,  who  wished  that  she 
should  be  Mother  of  His  only  -  begotten 
Son." 

Bishop  Bull,  "On  the  Invocation  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin, "  observes:  "We  think  and 
speak  most  respectfully  of  her,  and  do  not 
ordinarily  mention  her  name  without  a 
preface  or  epithet  of  honor,  as  the  Holy, 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  like.  We  do,  by 
the  appointment  of  our  church,  sing  or  re- 
hearse in  our  daily  service  her  excellent 
Magnificat^  and  thereby  we  testify  our 
assent  and  complacence  on  those  singular 
favors  that  God  is  therein  said  to  have  be- 
stowed on  her;  and  together  with  her  we 
finally  return  the  praise  and  glory  of  all  to 
God  alone.  We  celebrate  two  annual  fes- 
tivals in  her  memorial — the  Feasts  of  the 
Annunciation  and  Purification;  and  if  we 
could  think  of  any  other  honor  that  we 
could  do  to  her,  without  dishonoring  God 
the  Father  and  the  Eternal  Son,  we  would 
most  willingly  yield  it  to  her." 

Dr.  Hicks,  ' '  On  the  Due  Praise  and 
Honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,"  re- 
marks: "To  be  chosen  for  the  Mother  of 
God  was  the  greatest  honor  and  favor  that 
ever  God  conferred  upon  any  human  creat- 
ure. None  of  the  special  honors  and  favors 
that  He  did  to  any  of  the  saints  before  or 
since  are  equivalent  to  the  honor  of  being 


s 


The  Ave  Maria. 


113 


IXKJ 

It 


;he  Mother  of  God.  He  who  said,  '  Those 
that  honor  Me  I  will  honor, '  would  not  have 
done  so  great  an  honor  to  any  daughter  of 
Abraham,  but  to  one  who  best  deserved  it;  j 
to  one  of  the  holiest  among  the  daughters 
of  Israel,  to  the  most  heavenly -minded 
Virgin  of  the  tribe  of  Judah  and  the  royal 
house  of  David,  who  had  no  superior  for 
holiness  upon  earth." 
Mrs.  Jameson  in  her  work,  ' '  Legends  of 
e  Madonna  as  Represented  in  the  Fine 
Arts,"  writes:  "I  can  not  understand  why 
there  should  exist  among  Protestants  so 
:  strong  a  disposition  to  discredit  every  rep- 
resentation of  Mary,  the  Mother  of  Our 
Lord,  to  which  a  high  antiquity  had  been  as- 
signed by  the  Roman  Catholics.  We  know 
that  as  early  as  the  second  century  not 
•only  symbolical  figures  of  Our  Lord,  but 
figures  of  certain  personages  of  holy  life,  as 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  Agnes  the  Roman, 
and  Euphemia  the  Greek,  martyrs,  did  cer- 
tainly exist;  why,  therefore,  should  there 
not  have  existed  effigies  of  the  Mother  of 
•Christ — of  her  so  highly  blessed,  the  subject 
•of  so  many  prophecies,  and  naturally  the 
object  of  a  tender  and  a  just  veneration 
among  the  early  Christians?  It  seems  to 
me  that  nothing  could  be  more  likely  than 
that  such  representations  ought  to  have  a 
deep  interest  for  all  Christians,  no  matter 
•of  what  denomination, — for  all,  in  truth, 
that  believe  the  Saviour  of  the  world  had  a 
good  Mother,  His  only  earthly  parent,  who 
brought   Him  forth,  nurtured   and   loved 

Him." 

♦  ♦  » 

Mr.  Proctor  on   Papal   Infallibility. 


The  Tablet. 

AS  a  rule,  Protestants  are  apparently  in- 
capable of  grasping  the  very  idea  of 
Papal  Infallibility.  It  is  at  first  sight  so 
impossible  to  their  method  of  thinking  that 
they  can  not  even  be  persuaded  to  consider 
the  evidence;  and  this  is  possibly  the  reason 
why  one  of  the  most  self-evident  of  the  doc- 
trines of  Christianity  continues  to  be  a 
stumbling-block  to  many  well-meaning  men. 
This  infirmity  is  by  no  means  confined  to 
foolish  or  narrow-minded  people:    it  is  the 


case  that  those  who  on  other  matters  are 
well-informed,  or  even  learned — who  in  all 
other  questions  may  be  regarded  as  men  of 
common  sense,  seem  to  leave  behind  them 
all  the  training  of  a  life  and  all  discipline  of 
thought  when  once  religious  questions  are 
to  be  discussed.  For  this  reason  the  candid 
acknowledgment  of  a  sensible  Protestant 
author,  who  has  a  world  wide  reputation  as 
an  exact  and  well-informed  writer  on  matters 
connected  with  astronomical  science,  is  well 
worth  notice.  Mr.  R.  A.  Proctor  has  at  least 
delivered  his  soul,  and  it  will  be  no  fault  of 
his  if  his  words  fail  to  remove  stumbling- 
blocks  regarding  Papal  Infallibility  from  the 
path  of  many  an  anxious  Protestant  inquirer. 
In  the  current  number  of  Knowledge  he 
writes: 

"The  doctrine  of  Papal  Infallibility,  as  com- 
monly understood,  is,  of  course,  preposterous  on 
the  face  of  it.  But  the  common  mistakes  about 
the  doctrine  are  themselves  preposterous.  One 
hears  an  ignorant  but  most  zealous  Protestant 
talk  such  nonsense  as  this:  'How<:«//the  Pope 
be  infallible  when  such  and  such  a  Pope  was  a 
notorious  unwise,  and  such  another  a  man  of  evil 
life?'  It  would  be  just  as  reasonable  to  say: 
'How  can  we  believe  David  to  have  been  in- 
spired, when  we  find  that  he  behaved  not  only 
villainously  but  most  foolishly  in  regard  to  Uriah 
the  Hittite  and  his  wife? '  Not  quite  so  absurd, 
though  quite  as  incorrect,  is  the  idea  that  Papal 
Infallibility  is  disproved  by  the  decision  (suppos- 
ing for  the  moment  it  received  the  Papal  sanction) 
against  Galileo;  it  is  fairly  matched  by  the  mis- 
take of  supposing  that  a  reasonable  doctrine  as 
to  Bible  Inspiration  would  be  shaken  by  the  mis- 
take of  Matthew  in  asserting  that  all  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth  could  be  seen  from  some  ex- 
ceeding high  mountain.  The  fact  really  is  that 
the  doctrine  of  Papal  Infallibility,  as  it  is  really 
taught  by  the  Catholic  Church,  is  almost  a  corol- 
lary on  the  doctrine  of  Bible  Inspiration.  Accord- 
ing to  the  latter  doctrine,  in  its  only  reasonable 
form,  men  like  Moses,  David,  Solomon,  Ezra, 
Isaiah,  and  the  like,  in  no  sense  to  be  regarded 
as  perfect  either  in  wisdom  or  in  conduct,  were 
inspired  as  respects  certain  matters  which  they 
addressed  to  men  in  regard  to  religion. 

"The  former  doctrine,  in  the  only  form  ever 
adopted  by  the  Catholic  Church,  asserts  that 
Popes,  though  in  no  sense  to  be  regarded  as  per- 
fect either  in  wisdom  or  in  conduct,  have  always 
been  and  always  will  be  so  far  guided  or  re- 
strained (as  the  case  may  be)  that  if,  or  when, 
the}^  address  the  whole  Church  ex  cathedrd  on 
matters  relating  to  morals  or  doctrine,  their 
teaching  will  be  true.     In  conduct,  a  Pope  may 


114 


The  Ave  Maria. 


be  imperfect  or  even  wicked;  in  regard  to  science, 
art,  or  literature,  he  may  be  ignorant  or  unwise; 
in  theological  matters,  even  dealt  with  by  a  priest 
or  a  Doctor  of  the  Church,  a  Pope  may  make 
serious  mistakes;  but  no  Pope,  let  his  personal 
qualifications  be  what  they  may— let  him  even 
be  as  overbearing  as  Moses,  as  unscrupulous  as 
David,  as  selfish  as  Solomon,  as  ignorant  as 
Matthew,  as  contentious  as  Paul— will  ever  ad- 
dress to  the  whole  Church,  ex  cathedra,  false 
teaching  as  to  morals  or  as  to  doctrine.  .  .  . 

"The  Catholic  doctrine  on  the  subject  is  per- 
fectly definite;  and  it  is  absolutely  certain  that  the 
decision  in  regard  to  Galileo's  teaching,  shown 
now  to  have  been  unsound,  does  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  affect  the  doctrine  of  the  infalli- 
bility either  of  the  Pope  or  of  the  Church.  The 
subject  matter  belonged  neither  to  morals  nor  to 
faith;  the  decision  was  neither  ex  cathedrd  nor 
addressed  to  the  whole  Church;  in  not  one  single 
point  does  the  case  illustrate  this  doctrine  of 
Papal  Infallibility  as  defined  by  the  Vatican 
Council,  which  pronounced  that  'The  Roman 
Pontiff,  when  he  speaks  ex  cathedrd — /.<?.,  when 
in  discharge  of  his  office  as  pastor  and  teacher 
of  all  Christians,  he,  in  virtue  of  his  supreme 
apostolic  authority,  defines  a  doctrine  of  faith  or 
morals  to  be  held  by  the  Universal  Church — is, 
by  the  divine  assistance  promised  to  him  in  the 
Blessed  Peter,  endowed  with  that  infallibility 
wherewith  our  divine  Redeemer  willed  that  His 
Church  should  be  endowed  in  defining  doctrines 
of  faith  and  morals.'  " 

This  is,  of  course,  the  teaching  of  history 
and  the  judgment  of  common  sense.  But 
how  many  Protestant  winters  can  pass  by  the 
case  of  Galileo  without  a  sneer,  and  how 
many  have  troubled  themselves  to  ascertain 
the  facts  connected  with  it  before  pronounc- 
ing judgment  on  the  Church?  Mr.  Proctor 
does  not  accept  the  doctrine  of  the  Infallibil- 
ity of  the  Pope,  but  he  deals  with  the  facts 
relating  to  it  as  he  would  deal  with  other 
facts;  and  the  result,  of  course,  is  that  the 
everlasting  Galileo  diflficulty  is  disposed  of 
at  once.  It  seems  odd  that  such  a  treatment 
of  such  a  subject  should  be  rare,  but  it  is  un- 
fortunately the  fact  that  in  hardly  any  case 
will  a  Protestant  condescend  to  inform  him- 
self as  to  what  Catholics  really  do  believe,  or 
to  weigh  the  facts  or  test  the  statements  on 
which  he  does  not  hesitate  to  convict  the 
Catholic  Church,  not  merely  of  falsehood, 
but  of  inconceivable  folly. 


Meanness  is  a  medal  the  reverse  of  which 
is  insolence. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Archbishop  Ryan,  of  Philadelphia,  has  ap- 
pointed a  commission,  consisting  of  Vicar- 
General  Very  Rev.  Nicholas  Cantwell,  and 
Very  Rev.  Maurice  A.Walsh;  Very  Rev.  P.  A. 
Stanton,  D.  D.,  O.  S.  A  ;  Rev.  P.  R.  O'Reilly 
and  Rev.  John  E.  Fitzmaurice,  to  inquire 
into  the  life,  character,  and  works  of  Mgr. 
John  Nepomucene  Neumann,  C.SS.R.,  fourth 
Bishop  of  Philadelphia,  born  1811  at  Bud- 
weis  in  Bohemia,  died  Januarys,  i860,  in  his 
episcopal  city, ' '  in  the  odor  of  sanctity. ' '  The 
testimony  thus  taken  will  be  forwarded  to 
Rome  as  the  preparatory  step  in  the  process 
of  the  beatification  of  this  servant  of  God, 
who  in  life  was  revered  as  a  saint  by  all  who 
came  in  contact  with  him -7  a  belief  which 
since  his  death  has  been  confirmed  by  seem- 
ing miracles  wrought  through  his  interces- 
sion. The  life  of  Bishop  Neumann  was  one 
of  extraordinary  self-denial  and  sacrifice.  It 
is  recorded  that  he  had  the  gift  of  prophecy, 
and  foretold  the  day  of  his  death;  and  that 
upon  the  thirtieth  day  after  his  burial,  his  body 
was  found  incorrupt. 


The  Danish  Catholics  have  just  been  cele- 
brating the  eighth  centenary  of  their  martyr- 
king  and  patron,  St.  Canute, who— married  to 
Adela,  the  daughter  of  Count  Robert  of  Flan- 
ders, and  by  her  the  father  of  Charles  the 
Good — was  assassinated  at  Odensee  in  Fyen 
whilst  prostrate  in  prayer  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Alban.  His  good  son  met  the  same  fate 
while  praying  in  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  in 
Bruges.  During  the  celebration,  which  lasted 
three  days,  there  was  a  daily  pilgrimage  to 
Odensee,  where  Solemn  High  Mass  was  sung 
in  a  church  close  to  the  spot  where  the  Saint 
was  martyred.  The  Prefect- Apostolic  of  the 
North,  all  the  clergy  of  Denmark,  and  a  large 
body  of  Catholics  were  present.  The  pilgrims 
also  visited  the  beautiful  Cathedral,  once  Cath- 
olic, now  Protestant,  but  still  preserving  in 
the  crypt  the  shrine  of  the  martyr. 


We  regret  to  record  the  death  of  our  valued 
contributor  and  friend,  Mr.  K.  P.  Ryder,  which 
took  place  at  the  Hospital  of  the  Alexian 
Brothers  in  St.  I^ouis,  on  the  i8th  inst.,  after 
a  tedious  illness,  borne  with  exemplar>^  pa- 
tience, and  childlike  trust  in  the  mercy  and 


1 


The  Ave  Maria, 


115 


goodness  of  God.  It  is  consoling  to  think  that 
such  long-continued  suiferings,  so  resignedly 
endured,  must  have  shortened  the  term  of  his 
detention  in  that  place  of  longing,  the  ex- 
quisite pains  of  which  even  the  holiest  have 
known.  He  was  a  man  of  such  good  heart,  so 
forgiving,  so  childlike  in  man}^  ways,  that  the 
most  exacting  were  always  ready  to  condone 
his  shortcomings,  —  surely  the  judgment  of 
God  was  merciful. 

Mr.  Ryder  was  the  only  son  of  the  late  Rev. 
Almanza  S.  Ryder,  of  Hubbardston,  Mass., 
where  he  was  born  on  the  30th  of  January, 
1856.  He  became  a  Catholic  some  years  after 
his  father's  death.  Since  1870  he  had  been 
employed  as  a  journalist  in  Boston,  New 
York,  and  St.  lyouis.  His  poems,  which  are 
much  admired,  were  contributed  principally 
to  the  New  York  Sun  and  The  "Ave  Ma- 
ria. ' '  He  also  wrote  occasional  sketches  for 
the  latter  under  the  pseudonyme  of  Samuel 
H.  Derbey.  The  sonnet  which  appears  in 
our  present  number  was  received  shortly  be- 
fore his  death. 

In  personal  appearance  Mr.  Ryder  greatly 
resembled  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  and  his  career,  in 
some  respects,  sad  to  say,  was  not  dissimilar. 
But  the  thoughts  to  which  he  gave  such  grace- 
ful expression  were  proof  of  a  noble  heart, 
more  sinned  against  than  sinful — God  rest  his 
soul! 


In  an  audience  granted  to  the  Chapter  of 
the  lyateran  Basilica,  on  the  completion  of  im- 
portant restorations  in  that  ancient  Cathedral 
of  Rome,  the  Holy  Father  said: 

' '  In  these  times  of  apostasy  from  Christ  I  do  as 
Constantine  did  when  the  Church  came  forth  from 
the  Catacombs,  and  as  Sixtus  III.  when  Nestorius 
had  denied  the  Divine  Maternity.  To  this  Rome, 
which  thought  it  had  a  great  religion  because  it 
had  not  refused  any  falsehood,  that  pious  mon- 
arch [Constantine],  by  the  hands  of  St. Sylvester, 
showed  the  image  of  the  Saviour.  And  Rome, 
recognising  Him  for  its  sole  and  true  God,  from 
being  a  disciple  of  error  became  the  mistress  of 
Truth.  When  Nestorius  impugned  the  Divine 
Maternity,  although  his  blasphemy  was  already 
buried  under  the  anathemas  of  Cyril  and  the 
Council  of  Ephesus,  Sixtus  III.  desired  that  in  the 
Siberian  Basilica  there  should  be  erected  a  perpet- 
ual memory  of  the  Roman  Faith ;  and  he  caused 
to  be  placed  there  an  image  in  mosaic  of  the 
Mother  of  God.  So  have  I  also  studied  to  do.  Now 
that  the  world  is  departing  from  Christ,  I  have 
placed  in  the  Lateran  apse  the  image  of  Him, 


which  Nicholas  IV.  had  formerly  caused  to  be  ex- 
ecuted, but  restored  to  its  ancient  splendor,  and 
more  beautiful,  more  resplendent  than  before.  Let 
us  hope  that  the  world  may  recognize  its  Saviour 
and  its  God!" 

It  is  announced  that  the  Rev.  Alfred  Curtis, 
of  the  Cathedral  at  Baltimore,  has  been  ap- 
pointed to  succeed  Bishop  Becker  in  the  See 
of  Wilmington,  Delaware.  Father  Curtis  was 
born  in  Somerset  County,  Maryland,  and  is 
now  about  fifty- three  years  of  age.  He  is  a 
convert  from  Episcopalianism,  and  was  for  a 
number  of  years  rector  of  a  Ritualistic  congre- 
gation in  Baltimore.  He  was  received  into  the 
Church  in  April,  1872.  by  Cardinal  Newman 
when  he  visited  the  Oratory  near  Birming- 
ham, England.  For  the  past  twelve  years 
Father  Curtis  has  been  stationed  at  the  Cathe- 
dral, where  he  is  much  beloved  by  the  people 
of  the  parish.  His  love  for  the  poor  has  always 
been  very  great,  and  he  manifests  a  particular 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  colored  race.  It 
is  a  curious  coincidence  that  his  predecessor, 
Bishop  Becker,  is  also  a  convert,  and  at  one 
time  was  one  of  the  priests  connected  with 
the  same  Cathedral 


In  Belgium  there  is  an  ancient  custom,  ac- 
cording to  which  the  King  stands  godfather 
for  the  seventh  son  born  to  any  couple  in  the 
kingdom,  and  makes  the  parents  valuable 
presents.  It  lately  happened  that  a  Protestant 
couple  had  a  seventh  son,  and  the  father  wrote 
to  the  King  asking  him  to  be  sponsor.  The 
following  is  the  reply  sent  by  the  King's  sec- 
retary: 

' '  In  reply  to  the  letter  addressed  by  you  to  the 
King,  asking  his  Majesty  to  consent  to  be  sponsor 
for  your  seventh  son  at  the  baptismal  font,  I  have 
the  honor  to  inform  you  that  this  favor  is  granted 
only  to  children  born  of  Catholic  parents. 

"Accept,"  etc. 

Some  Catholics,  who  are  over-ready  to  fra- 
ternize with  Protestants,  and  even  to  join  with 
them  in  their  worship,  with  the  mistaken 
notion  that  thereby  they  show  freedom  from 
bigotry,  might  learn  a  lesson  from  this  little 
incident. 

Cardinal  Manning,  in  a  sermon  on  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  age,  preached  lately  in  Eon- 
don,  speaks  thus  of  the  effect  of  the  spirit  of 
the  world  upon  society: 

"There  was  a  time  when  the  Church,  its  feasts, 
its  customs,  its  traditions,  ruled  society.    There 


ii6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


wavS  a  time  when  individuals  were  weak,  but  so- 
ciety was  strong — society  was  Christian;  and  if 
Christian  men  became  weak,  society  held  them 
up.  Now  society  has  put  off  its  Christianity.  In- 
dividuals retain  their  faith,  but  the  weight  and 
•current  of  society, which  has  lost  its  Christianity, 
are  always  bearing  men  down,  and  carrying  them 
away.  Now  the  Church  has  to  wait  upon  the 
world  for  its  time,  its  hours,  its  festivals.  Chris- 
tians and  Catholics  are  carried  away  by  the  spirit 
of  the  world.  The  name  of  God  is  hardly  men- 
tioned in  private  life.  When  a  number  of  people 
sit  together,  who  ventures  to  mention  the  name 
of  God  ?  Who  ventures  to  speak  of  any  sacred 
thing?  Once  more,  what  little  real  charity  there 
is  amongst  men  at  the  present  day !  Lastly,  there 
is  a  worldly  piety — a  phenomenon  which  I  can  not 
explain.  I  do  not  know  what  to  compare  it  to, 
except  a  kaleidoscope,  in  which  sometimes  one 
-color  predominates,  sometimes  another;  it  is  a 
combination  of  manifold  tints.  So  it  is  sometimes 
in  the  lives  of  some  people.  There  are  scapulars 
and  ball-dresses,  novels  and  books  of  devotion — 
I  will  not  go  on.  Is  it  not  better  to  have  a  '  single 
eye '  and  a  firm  spirit,  and  to  choose  which  master 
you  will  serve  ?  The  people  of  the  world  look  to 
Catholics,  and  when  they  find  one  of  us  doing 
the  same  things  that  they  do,  they  are  not  only 
^scandalized,  but  they  are  disappointed.  They  look 
to  us  for  better  things,  and  they  believe  better 
things." 


Obituary. 

"It  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Hubert  Schick,  rector  of  St.  Alphon- 
sus'  Church,  Philadelphia,  whose  death  occurred 
in  Germany.  The  deceased  was  an  exemplary 
priest,  and  was  remarkable  for  his  saint-like 
charity. 

The  Rev.  James  W.  Kelly,  the  beloved  rector 
of  St.  Ignatius'  Church,  Houghton,  Mich, 

The  Rev.  John  M.  Kremmen,  a  worthy  priest 
of  the  Diocese  of  Springfield,  who  departed  this 
life  on  the  17th  inst.- 

The  Rev.  Patrick  T.  Faunt,  chaplain  of  the 
Orphan  Asylum,  Louisville,  Ky.  He  had  been  in 
ill  health  for  many  years.  The  Catholic  Advocate 
mentions  that  "Father  Faunt  was  the  first  to 
organize  a  pilgrimage  to  Knock,  and  the  first 
priest  to  say  Mass  there." 

Mr.  E.  P.  Ryder,  St.  Louis,  Mo. ;  Mrs. Mc- 
Veigh, Clandeboye,  Ont. ;  Thomas  and  Dennis 
Foley,  Hartford.  Conn.;  Catharine  L.  Haffron, 
Philadelphia;  Mrs.  J.  Kelly,  Rochester,  N.Y. ;  and 
Mr.  Patrick  Keen  an,  East  Boston,  Mass. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


iAf^TMENT 


Little  Deeds. 


N 


OT  mighty  deeds  make  up  the  sum 
Of  happiness  belov^, 
But  little  acts  of  kindliness, 
Which  any  child  may  show. 

A  merry  sound  to  cheer  the  babe, 

And  tell  a  friend  is  near; 
A  word  of  ready  sympathy, 

To  dry  the  childish  tear. 

A  glass  of  water  kindly  brought; 

An  offer' d  easy-chair; 
The  turning  of  the  window-blind. 

That  all  may  feel  the  air. 

An  early  flower,  unask'd,  bestow' d; 

A  light  and  cautious  tread; 
A  voice  to  gentlest  whisper  hushed, 

To  spare  the  aching  head. 

Oh!  deeds  like  these,  though  little  things, 

Yet  purest  love  disclose. 
As  fragrant  perfume  on  the  air 

Reveals  the  hidden  rose. 

Our  Heavenly  Father  loves  to  see 
These  precious  fruits  of  love; 

And  if  we  only  serve  Him  here, 
We'll  dwell  with  Him  above. 

—  The  Catholic. 


A  Lesson  of  Charity. 


N  one  of  the  poorest  parts  of 
the  County  Kildare  lived  a 
widow  with  two  little'girls — 
Lizzie,  aged  seven,  and  Mary, 
five.  As  long  as  her  health  per- 
mitted, the  good  mother  worked 
day  and  night,  and  even  then  could 
hardly  procure  for  herself  and  her 
little  ones  the  bare  necessaries  of  life;  but 
soon  her  strength  began  to  fail.  Her  con- 
stant hard  work  and  scant  food  had  their 
natural  effect  on  her  weak  constitution,  and 


\h 


The  Ave  Maria. 


117 


he  fell  ill,  and  was  confined  to  bed;  but 
)eatli  at  last  took  pity  on  her,  and  in  a  few 
ays  released  ber  from  her  sufferings. 

The  two  little  girls  were  thus  left  entirely 
;  lone,  for  the  neighbors  were  barely  able  to 
]  .rovide  for  their  own  children,  and  could 
1  ot  think  of  feeding  two  additional  mouths. 
]iut  the  good  people  felt  for  the  orphans, 
2nd  after  the  burial  of  the  mother  they  con- 
sulted together  as  to  what  might  be  done. 
One  of  the  old  men  of  the  town  said:  "If 
we  could  only  take  the  poor  little  creatures 
to  their  father's  brother,  at  Kilcullenbridge, 
I  am  sure  they  would  be  well  provided 
for." 

The  idea  was  eagerly  seized  by  the  others ; 
for  if  the  children  could  not  be  properly 
cared  for  by  relatives  or  friends,  the  parish 
would  have  to  provide  for  them.  It  hap- 
pened that  a  countryman  was  going  to 
Naas,  the  principal  town  of  the  county,  and, 
as  his  road  lay  in  the  vicinity  of  Kilcullen- 
bridge, he  expressed  his  willingness  to  take 
the  little  orphans  to  their  uncle. 

The  children,  therefore,  were  placed  in 
the  peasant's  cart,  and  began  their  journey. 
The  clothes  they  wore  were  so  thin  that, 
although  the  kind-hearted  people  wrapped 
them  up  carefully,  they  felt  the  cold  bitterly. 
The  driver  of  the  cart  was  a  silent  and  sul- 
len man,  who  took  no  further  notice  of  his 
young  charges,  until  towards  noon  they 
came  to  a  cross-road  which  led  to  Kilcullen- 
bridge, about  two  miles  distant;  whereas 
the  road  to  Naas,  whither  he  was  going, 
kept  straight  ahead. 

The  man  lifted  the  children  down  from 
the  car,  showed  them  their  road,  telling 
them  to  walk  on  till  they  came  to  the  town, 
and  then  drove  off.  The  little  ones,  with 
tears  in  their  eyes,  answered  the  rough  good- 
bye of  the  heartless  fellow,  and  kept  looking 
after  him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight,  and 
when  at  last  he  disappeared,  they  sat  down 
md  cried. 

The  elder  child  at  last  dried  her  tears, 
;ook  her  little  sister  by  the  hand,  and  said: 
'Come,  Mary:  we  must  not  stay  here;  we 
nust  try  to  reach  Kilcullenbridge  before  it 
jets  dark," 


'  *  But  I  am  so  hungry ! ' '  sobbed  the  child ; 
for  they  had  taken  but  a  scant  meal  that 
morning  before  leaving  home. 

Lizzie  tried  to  console  her  as  best  she 
could,  although  she  felt  very  weak  her- 
self, and  they  continued  their  journey  over 
the  snow- covered  road.  Before  they  had 
walked  a  mile  their  strength  was  nearly 
gone,  and  the  feeling  of  hunger  was  grow- 
ing more  and  more  painful.  In  the  distance 
Lizzie  saw  a  large  farm-house,  which,  by  a 
great  effort,  they  succeeded  in  reaching. 
They  thought  to  ask  the  occupants  for 
something  to  eat.  But  they  stopped  near 
the  wall  that  surrounded  the  house ;  for,  not- 
withstanding the  extreme  poverty  which 
they  had  suffered  at  home,  they  had  never 
begged.  Besides,  they  were  very  much 
frightened  when  they  saw  the  farmer  scold- 
ing one  of  his  men  in  a  loud,  angry  voice, 
and  slamming  the  door  after  him  with  such 
violence  as  to  make  the  windows  rattle. 

These  were  very  unfavorable  signs;  but 
Mary  was  nearly  fainting  from  weakness 
and  hunger,  and  this  compelled  her  sister 
to  lay  aside  her  fear.  Holding  each  other's 
hand  tightly,  the  little  girls  walked  up  the 
path  to  the  house.  Lizzie  knocked  at  the 
door,  and,  hearing  a  rough  ' '  Come  in, ' ' 
they  entered  a  large  room,  that  served  at 
the  same  time  for  kitchen  and  sitting- 
room,  where  the  farmer  sat  in  an  arm-chair 
near  a  bright  fire. 

"Ha!  what  do  you  want?"  he  cried  out 
harshly  to  the  little  strangers,  who  stood 
trembling,  too  frightened  to  speak  a  word. 

"Now,  can  you  not  speak?"  he  asked 
again,  growing  more  angry. 

Lizzie  then  took  courage,  and  in  simple 
words  begged  him,  for  God's  sake,  to  give 
them  something  to  eat,  and  to  let  them  stay 
near  the  fire  for  a  while  to  warm  themselves. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  growled  the  miser; 
"I  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  beg,  for 
I  see  that  you  do  not  belong  to  this  place. 
There  are  beggars  enough  here  already, 
without  having  strangers  to  annoy  us.  We 
can  hardly  get  bread  enough  for  ourselves 
in  these  hard  times;  so  begone!" 

The  children  began  to  cry,  but  the  hard- 


ii8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


hearted  man  exclaimed:  ''It  is  no  use  for 
you  to  begin  to  blubber;  let  your  parents 
feed  you;  but  of  course  they  are  lazy  people, 
who  will  not  work." 

"Our  father  and  mother  are  dead,"  an- 
swered Lizzie. 

"  Oh !  yes, ' '  said  the  farmer,  in  a  sneering 
tone:  "father  and  mother  are  always  dead 
when  they  send  out  their  brats  to  beg.  That 
story  will  not  do  with  me.  So  clear  out  at 
once ! ' ' 

"We  have  eaten  nothing  for  ever  so 
long! ' '  pleaded  the  child,  raising  her  hands 
in  supplication;  "and  we  are  too  weak  to 
go  any  farther.  Oh!  please  give  us  only  a 
little  piece  of  bread,  for  we  are  so  hungry ! ' ' 

"I  told  you  to  leave — that  I  don't  give 
beggars  anything." 

At  these  words  the  farmer  looked  so  cross 
that  Lizzie  ran  to  the  door,  dragging  her 
sister  after  her.  But  when  they  were  in 
the  yard  little  Mary  pulled  her  hand  away, 
and  moved  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the 
barn.  There  was  a  kennel  near  the  barn 
door,  where  a  large,  fierce-looking  dog  was 
fastened  by  a  chain.  His  dinner  was  before 
him  in  a  wooden  dish. 

The  half- starved  child  knelt  down  near 
the  dish,  and  began  to  eat  of  the  dog's 
meal.  Lizzie  ran  after  her,  and  wanted  to 
drag  her  away;  but  when  she  saw  some 
pieces  of  bread  and  roagt  potatoes  in  the 
dish,  she  could  no  longer  resist  the  tempta- 
tion, but  joined  her  sister,  and  ate  heartily. 
The  big  dog  looked  as  if  he  were  taken 
altogether  by  surprise  at  his  unexpected 
company,  and  lay  down  quietly  beside  the 
dish,  and  watched  the  children  eat. 

At  this  moment  the  farmer  opened  the 
door  to  see  if  the  little  beggars  had  disap- 
peared, and  was  astonished  at  the  strange 
sight.  The  dog  was  known  as  one  of  the 
most  savage  in  all  that  neighborhood,  and 
was  always  kept  chained ;  and  even  the 
girl  that  brought  him  his  food  had  to  be 
very  careful  when  she  came  near  him.  At 
first,  therefore,  the  farmer  thought  only  of 
the  danger  that  the  children  were  in,  and 
cried  out  to  them :  ' '  Come  away  from  that 
dog,  or  he  will  tear  you  to  pieces!" 


He  then  ran  quickly  forward,  but  stopped 
suddenly  when  he  saw  the  dog  standing  up 
and  fawning  on  the  children,  and  wagging 
his  tail,  as  if  he  would  say  to  his  master: 
' '  Do  not  disturb  my  guests. ' ' 

At  this  sight  a  great  change  took  place  in 
the  heart  of  the  cruel  man,  and  the  touching 
spectacle  awoke  feelings  to  which  he  had 
long  been  a  stranger. 

The  little  ones  had  meanwhile  jumped 
up  when  they  saw  him  coming;  they  evi- 
dently feared  to  be  beaten  for  having  taken 
a  part  of  th^  dog's  meal.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments the  farmer  could  not  speak ;  then  he 
said,  in  a  voice  as  soft  as  he  could  make  it: 

"Children,  are  you  really  so  hungry  that 
you  can  eat  a  dog's  dinner?  Come  with 
me,  and  I  will  give  you  as  much  as  you 
want." 

Hereupon  he  took  them  by  the  hand  and 
led  them  back  into  the  house,  from  which 
he  had  so  cruelly  driven  them  a  little  while 
before.  The  dog  had  given  his  master  a 
lesson,  and  taught  him  how  inhuman  his 
conduct  had  been.  The  man  called  a  servant, 
told  her  to  bring  in  some  food  and  milk, 
and  invited  the  astonished  children  to  sit 
down  at  the  table,  he  himself  sitting  beside 
them,  and  kindly  asking  their  names. 

' '  My  name  is  Lizzie,' '  answered  the  elder, 
"and  my  sister's  name  is  Mary." 

"How  long  is  it  since  your  parents 
died?" 

"Father  is  dead  two  years,  and  mother 
was  buried  yesterday." 

At  the  remembrance  of  their  recent  loss 
the  orphans  began  to  cry  again;  but  the 
farmer  said  to  them,  encouragingly: 

' '  Do  not  cry,  children ;  God  will  take 
care  of  you.  Tell  me  now  where  you  came 
from." 

"From  Loughrea." 

' '  From  Loughrea? ' '  he  repeated,  in  sur- 
prise, adding  after  a  little: 

"What  was  your  father's  name?" 

"Martin  O' Sullivan,"  answered  Lizzie, 
simply;  but  she  was  frightened  when  she 
saw  the  effect  this  name  produced  on  the  \ 
farmer,  who  repeated  it  after  her.    His  face 
turned  a  deep  red,  tears  started  to  his  eyes, 


Irke  Ave  Maria. 


ii^ 


i  id,  taking  the  children  in  his  arms,  he 
1  issed  them  tenderly. 

"Do  yon  know  my  name?  " 

"No,"  answered  Lizzie. 

"How,  then,  did  you  come  here?  —  did 
a  ay  one  send  you  ? ' ' 

"No,"  replied  Lizzie  once  more.  "We 
vere  told  to  go  to  Kilcullenbridge,  where 
ve  have  an  uncle.  The  people  at  home 
said  that  he  would  be  glad  to  take  us,  and 
we  would  have  a  good  time  with  him;  but 
I  do  not  think  so;  our  mother  used  to  say 
he  was  a  hard  man,  and  that  he  did  not 
cire  about  his  poor  relatives^' 

"Your  mother  was  right;  but  what  do 
you  intend  to  do  if  that  hard-hearted  man 
will  not  keep  you?" 

' '  Then  we  will  have  to  die  of  hunger, ' ' 
answered  Lizzie,  with  a  resignation  doubly 
touching  in  one  so  young. 

"No,  no,  children!"  said  the  farmer, 
pressing  them  to  his  bosom  once  more; 
"God  forbid  that  this  should  happen  to 
you!  See,  He  has  had  compassion  on  you, 
and  made  use  of  a  dumb  brute  to  touch  the 
heart  of  your  uncle,  who  will  never  let  you 
want  for  anything  while  he  lives. ' ' 

The  orphans  evidently  did  not  under- 
stand what  it  all  meant,  and  opened  their 
eyes  in  astonishment;  but  he  went  on: 

"You  wanted  to  go  to  Kilcullenbridge 
to  your  uncle,  Patrick  O' Sullivan,  and  you 
are  now  at  his  house.  I  am  your  uncle, 
and,  since  you  are  my  poor  brother's  chil- 
dren, I  welcome  you  with  all  my  heart. 
This  must  be  your  home  in  future." 

It  was  only  little  by  little  that  the  chil- 
iren  began  to  realize  the  meaning  of  their 
jncle's  words;  he  explained  to  them,  as 
;hey  continued  to  eat,  that  he  formerly  lived 
n  Kilcullenbridge,  but  about  a  year  ago 
le  purchased  this  farm,  where  they  were 
low  to  live  with  him. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  delight  of 
he  poor  orphans;  it  seemed  to  them  like  a 
ream  when  they  learned  that  their  misery 
^as  at  an  end.  After  their  hunger  was  ap- 
eased,  little  Mary  said: 

"Uncle  Patrick,  let  us  go  and  see  our 
ood  friend  the  dog."    And  the  servants 


could  hardly  believe  their  eyes  when  they 
saw  the  morose  ©Id  bachelor  taking  the 
two  children  by  the  hand,  and  leading  them 
out  to  the  dog-house.  The  animal  again 
showed  his  pleasure  by  wagging  his  tail, 
and  licking  the  pale  cheeks  of  his  little 
friends. 

It  was  assuredly  their  good  angel  that  had 
led  the  children  to  Patrick  O' Sullivan's, 
and  the  same  kind  spirit  that  had  changed 
the  nature  of  the  savage  dog.  What  would 
have  become  of  the  poor  orphans  were  it 
.not  for  the  lesson  given  their  uncle  by  a 
dumb  brute! 


From  Tipperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  oe  Tibby  Buti^er. 


BY  T.  F.  GAI.WEY. 


VI. 


The  days  flew  by,  and  Tibby' s  sturdy 
manner,  along  with  his  readiness  to  oblige 
others,  and  the  pains  he  always  took  to  do 
well  whatever  he  had  to  do,  made  him  a 
general  favorite  at  the  ranch.  He  was  be- 
coming a  good  horseman,  and  was  acquiring 
a  facility  with  the  lasso  which  pleased  even 
the  Mexicans,  and  he  had  already  shown 
some  skill  as  a  marksman. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  constant  round  of  hard 
work  and  boisterous  play  which  prevailed 
at  the  ranch,  Colonel  Lynch  did  not  permit 
religion  to  fall  into  neglect.  Every  Sunday 
morning  and  holyday  of  obligation  he  read 
the  service  of  Mass,  except  on  the  occasions 
when  he  had  a  priest  come  out  from  Bl  Paso. 
All  who  could  .be  spared  long  enough  from 
the  care  of  the  cattle  were  present.  In  the 
afternoon  of  the  same  day  the  young  people 
of  the  establishment  were  required  to  recite 
a  lesson  of  the  Catechism.  Whenever  the 
priest  from  El  Paso  came,  there  was  more 
than  the  usual  preparation  made  and  Tibby 
was  gratified  on  the  first  of  these  occasions 
after  his  arrival  to  be  chosen  for  the  server 
of  the  priest's  Mass. 

The  time  for  the  great  spring  drive  to  the 


120 


2 he  Ave  Maria, 


Northern  market  Was  at  hand.  The  herds 
of  many  ranches  were  Wandering  about  to- 
gether on  the  unfenced  plains,  in  charge  of 
their  vaqueros^  wherever  there  was  good 
grass  and  water.  Colonel  Lynch  and  the 
other  ranchers  of  the  region  having  ar- 
ranged for  the ' '  round-up, ' '  or  separation  of 
the  different  herds,  there  was  a  great  hub- 
bub. 

The  long-looked  for  day  came,  and  Tibby 
and  Phil  were  up  at  dawn  and  ready.  The 
two  boys,  of  the  same  age  and  nearly  the 
same  size,  were  dressed  alike.  Each  wore  a 
stiflf  sombrero^  or  broad-brimmed  hat,  hav- 
ing a  band  consisting  of  a  wide,  flat-linked 
silver  chain.  Their  shirts  were  of  dark  blue 
wool,  gayly  embroidered  on  the  bosom  and 
the  wide  collar,  and  their  gray  jackets  were 
very  jaunty,  with  large  silver  buttons;  while 
their  buckskin  chapperals^  or  trousers, 
were  open  at  the  outsides  from  the  knee 
down,  the  whole  of  the  outside  seams  from 
waist  to  ankle  being  marked  with  silver 
buttons  the  size  of  a  bullet,  and  as  round. 
On  the  heels  of  their  boots  each  sported  a 
pair  of  spurs  with  rowels  made  of  silver 
dollars,  and  having  silver  pendants  that 
kept  up  a  constant  tinkling.  Each  carried, 
suspended  from  the  wrist  by  a  loop,  a  whip 
nearly  as  long  as  himself,  with  a  heavy  butt 
at  one  end,  and  a  stinging  lash  at  the  other. 

' '  Do  you  think  is  my  lasso  all  right  for 
to-day,  Phil?"  Tibby  asked,  looking  at  the 
coil  on  his  saddle-bow. 

"I  reckon  it  must  be,"  was  Phil's  reply. 
' '  There  is  not  much  fear  of  your  not  being 
all  right.  You  are  so  particular  about  all 
you  do  I  sometimes  feel  like  calling  you 
*Miss  Nancy,'  only  I  know  you  never  miss 
anything. ' ' 

"It's  very  sly  you  are,  Phil,  and  droll 
too,  I'm  sure.  But  I  hope  I'll  not  miss  my 
share  of  the  day,  anyhow,"  was  Tibby' s 
rejoinder. 

At  this  moment  a  shrill  cry — the  signal 
for  all  to  be  oflf  to  the  round-up — stopped 
the  conversation  between  the  two  boys,  and 
the  next  minute  they  were  galloping  across 
the  flat  with  other  horsemen,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Aguas  Dukes,  a  cluster  of  springs 


a  few  miles  to  the  North.    There  was  to  be 
the  rendezvous  for  the  round-up. 

Tibby  was  lost  in  wonder  on  reaching 
Aguas  Dulces.  The  ground  thereabout  was 
generally  low,  but  there  was  a  lofty  knoll 
near  by,  and  thither  Colonel  Lynch,  accom- 
panied by  his  foreman  and  Tibby  and  Phil, 
rode  to  meet  the  other  ranchers,  in  order  to 
settle  the  details  of  the  round-up.  As  far  as 
Tibby' s  wide- opened  eyes  could  see,  steers 
and  cows  with  their  calves  were  feeding 
calmly  on  the  luscious  grass,  or  were  can- 
tering in,  followed  by  hooting  vaguer os. 
There  were  fully  thirty  thousand  cattle  on 
that  plain,  and  still  more  were  coming  into 
view  over  the  distant  horizon. 

Such  a  noise,  and  such  a  variety  of 
sounds!  The  deep  bellowing  that  rose  from 
the  immense  herd  seemed  to  Tibby  like 
the  thunder  that  precedes  a  summer  rain, 
and  the  tread  of  the  thousands  of  hoofs  was 
almost  appalling.  There  were  human  voices 
also  to  add  to  the  din.  Every  one  of  the 
hundred  and  fifty  vaqueros  was  exercising 
his  lungs  either  in  frantic  hoots  at  the  cat- 
tle, or  in  loud  shouts  in  Spanish  or  English 
to  his  fellow-herdsmen;  while  the  ceaseless 
snapping  at  the  long  whips  resembled  in 
sound  a  Fourth-of-July  discharge  of  fire- 
crackers. Apart  from  the  great  herd,  mean- 
time the  work  of  branding  went  on. 

The  round-up  was  finished  at  last,  and 
then  began  the  long  march  of  the  separated 
herds  northward,  to  the  Kansas  dead-line, 
or  railroad  shipping  point.  This  important 
annual  affair  having  been  successfully  ac- 
complished. Colonel  Lynch  and  his  party 
returned  to  Connemara  Ranch,  taking  with 
him  as  guests  some  of  his  neighbors.  It 
was  a  merry  evening  at  the  ranch.  A  fat 
steer,  properly  prepared,  and  decorated  with 
salad  greens,  was  roasted  whole  in  the  open 
air,  and  there  was  jollity  and  good  cheer  for 
all  comers,  and  generous  accommodations. 

(CONCI.USION  IN  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


There  is  a  beautiful  precept  which  he 
who  has  received  an  injury,  or  thinks  he 
has,  would  for  his  own  sake  do  well  to  fol- 
low: '* Excuse  half,  and  forgive  the  rest." 


II 


~^^:^^^^p^^^^^^^ 


\0h.  XXIII.         NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  7,  1886.  No.  6. 


lCk>pyright :— Ret.  D.  E.  Hudboit,  C.  S.  C] 


Trust. 


Thy 


jpOMRADE.  the  doubts  were  thine! 
^       friends  had  none; 

None  but  thyself  saw  thine  un worthiness; 
For  thou  didst  battle  bravely,  and  hast  won, 
leaving  thy  weeping  friends  thy  name  to 
bless. 
The  promises  of  God  can  never  fail, 

And  Christ  has  told  the  welcome  that  awaits 
The  faithful  souls  that  'gainst  this  world  pre- 
vail, 

When  they  shall  stand  before  Heaven's  jasper 
gates. 

I/)ved  one!  not  least  of  all  God's  glorious  gifts 

Is  this  divine  assurance  He  bestows; 
Ufe's  heaviest  weight  from  off  the  heart  it 
lifts. 
While  every  spirit  with  fresh  ardor  glows. 
When    thinking   that   the   burdens  bravely 

borne 
ATill  disappear  in  Heaven's  celestial  morn. 


Three  Days  at  Lourdes. 


BY   A   benkdictine;   abbot. 


T  was  midday  when  we  quitted 
Tournay,  or  Dornach  (the  ancient 
centre  of  Catholic  Flanders),  with 
s  magnificent  Cathedral,  and  ruins  of  St. 
fartin's  great  abbey.  The  Parisian  fast 
^in  next  stopped  at  Lille,  and  then  at 
ougneau,  not  far  from  Amiens.  It  was 
-fore  the  gates  of  this  city,  formerly  the 


capital  of  Picardy,  and  so  remarkable  for  the 
number  of  its  monasteries,  that  St.  Martin, 
the  Apostle  of  France,  gave  the  half  of  his 
cloak  to  a  beggar — an  act  of  benevolence 
which  won  for  its  doer  the  blessing  of  Him 
who  said:  "As  long  as  you  did  it  to  one  of 
these  My  least  brethren,  you  did  it  unto 
Me."  We  made  no  delay  at  Clermont, and 
entered  the  French  Capital  at  six  o'clock, 
p.  m.  Hailing  a  cab,  we  were  quickly  driven 
to  the  Southern  depot,  through  a  heteroge- 
neous throng  of  surging  humanity,  which 
continually  rolls  over  the  thoroughfares  of 
the  great  metropolis. 

The  city  of  the  Seine! — how  the  influ- 
ence it  exercised  in  the  past  arose  before 
my  mind!  Its  saints,  its  religious  institu- 
tions, and  all  that  radiated  from  it  as  a  head- 
light of  Christianity  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
— all  was  present  now  before  me,  not  ex- 
cepting the  Reign  of  Terror  and  the  shades 
of  its  victims,  as  well  as  the  deadly  vapors 
which  this  modern  Babylon,  cut  adrift  from 
the  Church,  exhaled  over  the  world.  That 
most  deceived  of  all  its  false  prophets, 
Victor  Hugo,  emphatically  named  Paris — 
this  literary  and  moral  sink:  I/^i/le  li^mtere, 
— "The  light- giving  city." 

The  clock  struck  eight,  and  the  locomo- 
tive rushed  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  We  felt  the  cold  keenly,  for  we  had 
thoughtlessly  left  our  warmer  clothing  be- 
hind. The  train  stopped  once,  and  in  the 
stillness  of  the  empty  depot  the  voice  of  the 
watchman  rang  out,  "Orleans!"  In  im- 
agination we  saw  the  heroine,  Joan  of  Arc, 


i2i 


The  Ave  Maria, 


with  waving  banner  and  prancing  steed,  en- 
tering the  gates  of  the  city,  amid  the  joyous 
huzzas  of  the  inhabitants.  Next  our  fancy 
rambled  around  the  neighborhood  of  St 
Benoit's,  where,  say  the  French,  rests  the 
body  of  their  great  forefather  from  Monte 
Cassino.  The  train  sped  through  extensive 
vineyards,  and  before  the  clock  struck  seven 
we  were  in  Bordeaux.  An  hour  later  we 
mounted  the  steam-horse  again,  and  away 
with  us  over  the  so-called  ' '  I^andes. ' '  All 
along  the  road  clouds  of  dust  whirled  about 
the  cars,  and,  entering  in  through  every 
cranny,  crack,  and  crevice,  transformed  us, 
black  Benedictines,  into  white  ones.  About 
moon  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Pyrenees, 
through  the  meandering  brooks  and  smil- 
ing vales  of  which  we  hastened  to  our  des- 
tination. This  we  finally  reached  after  an 
almost  uninterrupted  ride  of  twenty-six 
hours.    We  were  in  gourdes! 

How  our  hearts  throbbed  with  joy  and 
expectation!  We  stood  upon  that  conse- 
crated spot,  which  in  so  short  a  time  had 
risen  to  such  a  height  in  the  estimation  of 
the  Christian  world  as  scarcely  to  yield 
precedence  to  Jerusalem  or  Rome;  upon 
the  mystical  stage  of  so  many  wonderful 
visions;  upon  the  lovely  banks  of  the  Gave, 
which,  in  itself,  appears  a  vision  of  beauty; 
n  fine,  we  stood  before  that  most  miracu- 
lous and  eagerly  visited,  health-restoring 
fountain,  whose  healing  waters  have  pro- 
duced such  marvellous  effects  on  the  souls 
no  less  than  on  the  bodies  of  so  many  hun- 
dreds of  human  beings. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  ourselves 
arrived  the  great  National  French  Pilgrim- 
age, consisting  of  about  20,000  persons,  with 
800  invalids  in  the  van.  It  was  agreed 
forthwith  to  seek  lodgings.  Happily,  we 
succeeded  in  getting  the  only  unoccupied 
room  in  the  Hotel  Ste. -Marie  (board  at>d 
lodging  12  francs  a  day  for 'each).  Having 
arranged  matters  here,  we  went  up  to  the 
mission  house,  and  fixed  upon  a  time  and 
place  for  the  celebration  of  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice. Subsequent  events  proved  this  to 
have  been  a  wise  precaution;  for  not  long 
afterwards  there  arrived  sixteen  extra  trains 


loaded  with  pilgrims,  among  whom  were 
more  than  a  thousand  priests;  so  that  from 
midnight  till  midday  the  Victim  of  Propi- 
tiation was  offered  without  cessation  on 
upward  of  forty  altars — a  sight  no  less  en- 
trancing to  pious  souls  than  to  the  angels. 
After  visiting  the  grand  Basilica  we  be- 
took ourselves  to  the  far-famed  Grotto.  We 
found  it  crowded  with  suppliants,  some  of 
whom  were  strong  and  healthy,  others  weak 
and  sickly.  The  scene  it  presented  is  with- 
out parallel,  and  defies  description.  An 
atmosphere  of  heavenly  odor  seems  to  per- 
vade the  place,  and  the  soul  in  ecstatic 
vision  soars  aloft  into  the  realms  of  celestial 
bliss.  The  pilgrim  is  seized  with  a  reveren- 
tial awe  of  something  supernatural,  divine, 
with  which  the  Grotto  seems  to  be  sur- 
rounded, and  his  soul  is  filled  with  a  holy 
joy.  Before  the  body  touches  the  miracu- 
lous water,  a  stream  of  grace  has  bathed  the 
soul. 

On    the   first    evening    the    procession 
numbered  4,000  persons,  each  one  bearing  1 
a  lighted  taper.    But  as  the  pilgrims  kept 
flocking  in  by  thousands  during  the  night, 
the   next   morning  presented  a  spectacle 
the  remembrance  of  which  is  indelibly  im- 
pressed on  our  minds.    What  an  immense, 
ever- varying  concourse  of  human  beings! 
The  city  was  filled  to  overflowing;  every 
street,every  passage  to  the  Grotto,  the  banks 
of  the  Gave,  the  magnificent  park  which  lies 
in  front  of  the  Basilica,  and  which  contains 
the  crowned  statue  of  the  Madonna, — all 
surged  with  a  vast,  undulating  sea  of  pil 
grims,  to  the  murmuring  of  whose  prayen 
and  hymns  the  tenderest  chords  of  the  hear 
vibrated. 

The  piety  of  the  multitude, which  by  turnij 
prayed,  wept,  rejoiced;   the  heart- rendin^j 
supplications,  the  clear-toned  hymns  heanj 
from  near  and  far,  on  right  and  left  and  aL 
around;  the  responsive  echo  of  sloping  hi! 
and  verdant  dale, — all  blended  into  on 
sublime  song  of  praise  in  honor  of  the  Im 
maculate  Mother  of  God,  and  verified  aue-^ 
her  own  prophetic  words:  "Behold,  henc( 
forth  all  generations  shall  call  me  blessed. 

We  celebrated  Mass  in  the  Basilica,  who.' 


T<p 


The  Ave  Maria, 


123 


(  aimes  pealed  forth  every  hour  the  hymn 
'  Inviolata,^^  marking  each  quarter-hour  by 
]  laying  the  melody  to  the  concluding  verse, 
'  O  Clemens,  O pia,  O  dulcis  Virgo  Maria! ' ' 
i  kfter  Mass  we  descended  to  the  Grotto.  In 
t  tie  entrance  thereto  is  an  altar,  whereon  the 
1  loly  Sacrifice  was  offered  up  from  midnight 
til  noon.  The  moderate  sized  inner  room, 
1  ghted  by  innumerable  wax-candles,  is  re- 
served for  prelates  and  those  whose  infirm - 
ides  are  slight.  The  large  plot  before  the 
grove  was  occupied  by  hundreds  of  sick,who 
were  protected  against  the  weather  by  a 
tarpaulin  spread  overhead.  To  attend  upon 
these  invalids  a  society  composed  of  priests 
and  laics — the  latter  mostly  of  the  nobility 
— has  been  organized  by  a  Count  of  Com- 
battes.  Among  the  noblemen  we  recognized 
an  illustrious  count  from  South  Tyrol. 

These  gentlemen,  the  flower  of  the  Cath- 
olic nobility  of  France,  presented  a  most 
admirable  and  praiseworthy  example.  Of 
renowned  and  ancient  lineage,  descendants 
of  the  chivalricDe  Bouillon  and  his  princely 
compeers,  they  but  ennobled  •  themselves 
the  more  in  thus  becoming  the  voluntary 
servants  of  the  sick  and  poor.  As  badges 
of  their  office,  they  wear  scarfs  across  their 
shoulders;  they  serve  at  the  altars,  and  re- 
ceive Holy  Communion  every  day;  they 
assist  the  ladies  of  rank  and  the  Sisters  in 
the  hospitals  and  at  the  fountain  bath;  in 
a  word,  they  everywhere  exhibit  a  heroic 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  which  is  equalled  only 
by  their  solid  piety. 

The  principal  and  most  fatiguing  part  of 

thework  done  by  these  gentlemen  consisted 

in  carrying  the  invalids  on  litters  from  the 

hospital  to  the  bath  or  the  Grotto,  and  back 

again.   The  unaccustomed  exercise  caused 

the  perspiration  to  flow  freely  down  their 

foreheads.    Arrived  at  the  Grotto,  they  first 

jplaced  the  litters  on  the  ground,  and  then, 

with  ropes  at  hand  for  the  purpose,  they 

formed  a  barrier  to  keep  back  the  pressing 

hrong  of  pilgrims.    Ladies,  lay  and  relig- 

ous,    continually    went    about,   equipped 

;vith  jug  and  cup,  supplying  the  inmates 

f  this  temporary  hospital  with  refreshing 

haughts.   Sometimes  a  priest  would  step 


down  from  an  altar  to  administer  the  Holy 
Eucharist  to  the  sick ;  again  he  would  take 
his  place  beside  an  ambulance  or  a  sick-bed, 
to  hear  the  confession  of  its  occupant. 

From  time  to  time  the  gates  of  the  Grotto 
swung  open,  and  there  entered  a  line  of 
maimed  and  crippled,  whose  look  of  in- 
tense anxiety  and  pain  would  draw  tears 
from  a  heart  of  stone.  Yonder  totters  a  liv- 
ing skeleton ;  he  tremblingly  presses  a  foot 
upon  the  Rock  of  the  Apparition,  sprinkles 
himself  with  holy  water,  and  passes  on. 
Here  is  a  nobleman  bearing  on  his  back  to 
the  source  of  grace  a  poor,  disabled  fellow- 
creature.  There,  carried  by  its  aunt,  is  a 
child  wan  as  death.  The  lady  deposits  her 
burden  on  the  stone  consecrated  by  the  feet 
of  Our  Heavenly  Queen,  prays  a  moment, 
takes  up  her  charge,  and  is  lost  to  view. 
Here  are  represented  all  the  evils  to  which 
poor  humanity  is  subject.  In  front  of  the 
Grotto  is  a  large  cross,  and  close  to  it  a  pul- 
pit, always  occupied  by  a  priest  to  lead  in 
the  devotions. 

But  the  centre  of  attraction,  the  princi- 
pal object  of  our  sympathy,  our  prayers,  and 
our  penances,  were  our  dear  afflicted  ones; 
for  these  especially  did  the  priest  request  our 
prayers  and  hymns.  With  arms  extended 
in  the  form  of  a  cross,  the  vast  multitude 
recited  the  beads,  which  now  and  then  were 
interrupted  by  uncontrollable  emotions, 
taking  vent  in  pious  ejaculations.  Now 
every  form  lies  prostrate  on  the  ground; 
then  all  arise,  and  with  one  accord  cry 
out:  Parce^  Dominef  parce populo  tuo! — 
"Spare,  O  Lord!  spare  Thy  people!"  The 
Psalm  is  ended,  and  the  air  resounds  with 
Ave  Maris  Stella^ — "Hail,  Star  of  the 
Sea!"  The  ejaculations,  "Sacred  Heart 
of  Jesus,  have  mercy  on  us ! "  "  Our  Lady 
of  Lourdes,  pray  for  us!"  "Mary,  Health 
of  the  weak,  intercede  for  us!"  uttered  in 
pathetic  tones,  were  heard  on  all  sides 
throughout  the  day.  The  Immaculate  Vir- 
gin is  besieged  in  the  Grotto;  a  storm  of 
prayers  assails  her,  and  a  glow  of  confidence 
in  her  goodness  shines  on  every  brow. 

Now  a  priest  is  ascending  the  pulpit.    He 
announces  the  first  cure,  and,  like  a  song 


124 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  victory,  Magnificat  reverberates  over 
hill  and  dale.  The  crowd  surges ;  i  t  is  elec- 
trified; it  weeps  for  very  joy  and  gratitude. 
A  young  man,  asthmatic  and  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption,  feels  new  life  thrill 
through  his  veins.  He  breathes  freely,  his 
lungs  are  renewed,  there  is  no  longer  any 
ailment.  Beside  himself  with  joy,  he  sinks 
weeping  before  the  tabernacle  of  the  Grotto, 
and  while  with  outstretched  arms  he  offers 
up  his  heartfelt  thanks,  ten  thousand  voices 
pierce  the  clouds  with  hymns  of  praise. 

More  affecting  still  was  the  cure  of  a  poor, 
unmarried  woman  from  Verdun,  thirty- 
three  years  of  age.  She  had  been  paralyzed 
for  four  years,  and  so  wasted  away  by 
cancer  was  her  neck  that  both  throat  and 
tongue  had  long  refused  their  service.  Loth- 
ringian  pilgrims  heard  of  her  desire  to  visit 
Lourdes,  and  there  she  lay  before  the 
Grotto.  Repeated  immersions  in  the  pool 
produced  some  slight  effects,  yet  no  nota- 
ble change.  Suddenly  she  uttered  an  inar- 
ticulate cry,  like  "Ma — ma — mamma!"  at 
first,  which  was  soon  followed  by  complete 
restoration  of  speech,  and  later  in  the  day 
by  the  use  of  her  limbs.  Henry  Lasserre, 
the  eminent  historian  of  the  Apparitions  at 
Lourdes,  wept  tears  of  joy  next  day  while 
the  woman  was  telling  him  of  the  miracu- 
lous cure,  and,  with  her  permission,  he  will 
"write  up"  the  event. 

The  physician-;  (whose  office  in  the  local- 
ity was  decorated  by  a  sign-board  bearing 
the  \xvs>Q.x\'^'C\Qi\\^  Constat ation  des  guerisons^ 
— "Authentication  of  cures")  testified  that 
out  of  fifteen  cures  that  day,  five  were  in- 
disputable. 

(CONCIvUSION   IN   OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


"And  Jesus  saw  His  Mother,  and  said: 
Mother,  behold  thy  son;  and  to  the  dis- 
ciple: Son,  behold  thy  Mother."  Thus  was 
Mary,  not  by  angel's  message,  but  by  the 
bleeding  lips  of  the  Son  of  God,  proclaimed 
Mother  of  all  mankind.  Vas  insigne  de- 
votionis^  or  a  pro  nobis! 

POT.ICY  is  unworthy  of  a  Christian,  whose 
motto  should  always  be  sincerity. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY   CHRISTIAN    REID. 


VH. 


PHILIP  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a  dream  when 
he  quitted  Mrs.  King's  house.  It  seemed 
to  him  incredible  that  he  had  really  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Percival,  and  that 
in  so  simple  a  manner.  Evidently,  Mrs. 
King  was  not  aware  of  any  reason  why  they 
should  not  know  each  other.  Recalling 
this,  and  Miss  Percival' s  quiet  acceptance 
of  the  introduction,  he  began  to  hope  that 
the  latter  had  no  such  feeling  with  regard 
to  his  uncle  as  he  had  been  led  to  imagine. 

It  was  astonishing  how  much  of  a  weight 
this  thought  lifted  from  him.  It  not  only 
opened  a  vista  of  possible  acquaintance, 
which  he  felt  would  be  pleasant,  but,  more 
than  this,  it  reinstated  his  uncle  in  his  re- 
spect. He  said  to  himself  that  Mr.  Thornton 
had  been  hard,  no  doubt,  on  the  man  who 
had  nearly  ruined  him ;  but  this  hardness, 
as  he  had  lately  learned,  was  part  of  his 
character;  and  if  he  had  been  just,  no  one 
had  a  right  to  blame  him. 

These  reflections  rendered  his  manner 
more  than  usually  affectionate  and  respect- 
ful to  his  uncle  when  they  met.  With  the 
impulse  of  a  generous  nature,  he  was  eager 
to  make  amends  for  what  might  have  been 
a  harsh  and  mistaken  judgment.  But,  natu- 
rally enough,  Mr.  Thornton  misunderstood 
him.  He  thought  that  Philip  feared  to| 
have  offended  him,  and  that  the  change  of| 
manner  was  dictated  by  a  desire  to  propiti-  \ 
ate.  The  error  was  of  importance  only  as  it  I 
led  him  to  believe  the  young  man  to  be  of  j 
more  easily  moulded  material  than  he  was, . 
and  to  imagine  that  his  displeasure  would, 
be  sufficient  to  influence  him  in  any  future! 
emergency.  j 

There  did  not  seem  much  probability,; 
however,  that  such  an  emergency  would 
arise,  for  up  to  this  time  the  lives  of  unclej 
and  nephew  had  passed  without  any  of  thosej 
(sometimes  unavoidable)  frictions  whicl 
frequently  occur  in  the  nearest  relation 


s 


The  Ave  Maria. 


125 


hips.  If  there  had  not  always  been  perfect 
lympathy,  there  had  at  least  always  been 
)erfect  harmony  between  them,  and  a  def- 
erence on  the  younger  man's  part,  which 
vas  graceful  because  evidently  springing 
rom  affection.  And  since  he  had,  in  his 
houghts  at  least,  accepted  the  life  marked 
out  for  him — a  life  which  opened  before  his 
<;yes  like  a  vista  of  serene  prosperity — there 
.seemed  little  reason  to  fear  any  possible 
collisions  or  difficulties  in  the  future. 

Meanwhile  the  present  was  a  smooth  and 
easy  path  to  his  feet,  though  it  was  not  a 
path  which  crossed  that  of  Alice  Percival 
soon  again.  He  saw  her  in  the  Cathedral 
choir,  and  sometimes  received  a  silent  bow 
of  recogtiition ;  but  beyond  this  point  their 
acquaintance — if  it  could  be  called  an  ac- 
quaintance— did  not  progress;  for  he  never 
saw  her  anywhere  else.  She  did  not  appear 
on  Mrs.  King's  musical  evening,  and  the 
ladies  who  were  anxious  to  secure  her  voice 
for  their  operetta,  failed  entirely  to  do  so. 
But  the  sound  of  that  divine  voice  Sunday 
after  Sunday  kept  the  thought  of  her  in 
Philip's  mind,  mingled  with  other  thoughts 
which  it  seemed  to  suggest — thoughts  of 
higher  and  holier  things  than  those  that 
filled  his  life,  which  was  apt  to  appear  to 
him  at  such  times  a  mere  record  of  frivolity. 

How  long  this  singular  kind  of  influence 
might  have  lasted  it  is  impossible  to  say,  for 
finally  an  accident  occurred  which  brought 
the  two  together  again.  The  Spring  was  by 
this  time  well  advanced,  and  Philip,  who 
had  been  out  of  the  city  for  a  few  days,  at 
the  country  house  of  a  friend,  was  returning 
on  an  accommodation  train,  that  stopped  at 
all  stations,  when  he  perceived  seated  in 
front  of  him  a  lady,  whom  he  knew,  even 
before  she  turned  her  head,  to  be  Miss 
Percival.  She  was  alone,  and  he  at  once  felt 
a  great  inclination  to  go  to  her,  and  perhaps 
take  the  vacant  seat  by  her  side ;  but  a  fear 
of  seeming  to  presume  on  a  very  slight  title 
to  acquaintanceship,  and  one  which  had, 
moreover,  been  forced  upon  her,  restrained 
him.  The  elation  which  he  had  felt  on  that 
Sunday  afternoon  when  he  quitted  Mrs. 
King's — the  hope  that,  after  all,  there  was 


no  serious  reason  why  Alice  Percival  should 
not  wish  to  know,  him — had  faded  long  be- 
fore this.  There  had  been  something  in  the 
very  bow  with  which  she  acknowledged 
his  acquaintance  that  made  it  impossible 
to  press  it  further. 

So  he  kept  his  own  seat,  and  contented 
himself  with  watching  the  nobly-outlined 
head  with  its  classic  pose,  and  the  delicate 
line  of  profile,  which  was  now  and  then 
turned  toward  him  as  she  glanced  out  of 
the  window  by  her  side.  His  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  old  question  of  Percival  vs. 
Thornton,  of  the  severed  business  connec- 
tion, and  of  the  doubts  which  he  dismissed 
at  one  time  only  to  find  them  return  to  him 
at  another.  He  was  debating  them  afresh, 
when  suddenly  a  shock  that  unseated  every 
o^e  was  felt  throughout  the  train;  the  car 
rocked  violently  for  a  moment,  and  seemed 
about  to  fall  over  on  its  side,  but  finally 
recovered  its  equilibrium,  while  at  the  same 
moment  the  frightened  passengers  found 
their  tongues  and  their  feet.  "What  has 
happened  ? ' '  every  one  asked  of  every  one 
else;  and,  since  no  one  could  answer,  there 
was  an  immediate  rush  for  the  door.  Philip 
observed  that  Alice  Percival  alone  quietly 
resumed  her  seat,  and  he  stopped  beside 
her.  Danger  gave  him  his  opportunity  to 
speak  to  her,  though  he  did  not  think  of 
it  at  this  moment  as  an  opportunity. 

' '  Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you.  Miss 
Percival?"  he  asked.  "Will  you  let  me 
assist  you  out  of  the  car?" 

' '  Mr.  Thornton ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  a  start;  for  she  had  not 
seen  him  before.  Her  face  was  pale,  but 
she  was  perfectly  self-possessed.  "No — I 
think  not,"  she  said  in  answer  to  his  ques- 
tion. ' '  I  will  not  leave  the  car,  unless  there 
is  need  to  do  so." 

"In  that  case  I  will  make  some  inquiries, 
and  return  as  quickly  as  possible,  in  order  to 
let  you  know  if  there  is  need,"  said  Philip. 

He  made  his  way  out,  and  soon  discov- 
ered what  had  happened.  The  engine, 
tender,  and  two  or  three  of  the  foremost 
cars  had  been  thrown  from  the  track  by  an 
obstacle  placed  upon  it,  whether  through 


126 


The  Ave  Alaria, 


malice  or  carelessness  it  was  impossible  to 
say.  No  one  was  seriously  injured, but  sev- 
eral persons  were  severely  bruised,  and  the 
damage  to  the  train  was  great.  Philip  mas- 
tered the  whole  situation  in  a  short  time, 
and  returned  to  Miss  Percival. 

'*You  were  quite  right,"  he  said,  when 
he  had  told  her  what  had  occurred, "  not  to 
yield  to  panic ;  for  there  is  nothing  worse 
before  you  than  the  prospect  of  waiting 
some  time  for  a  train,  which  will,  of  course, 
be  sent  out  for  the  passengers." 

' '  I  did  not  suppose  there  was  any  danger 
after  the  shock  was  over,"  she  answered, 
quietly.  '  'And  I  knew  I  should  soon  learn 
what  had  happened.  So  we  must  wait  here 
for  an  indefinite  length  of  time!"  She 
looked  out  of  the  window  for  an  instant,  and 
then  turned  back  to  him.  "Do  you  know 
how  far  we  are  from  the  city  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"Not  more  than  two  or  three  miles,"  he 
replied. 

"If  you  are  sure  of  that, "  she  said, rising 
and  taking  up  a  satchel  by  her  side, ' '  I  shall 
walk  in.  Two  or  three  miles  will  be  only 
a  pleasant  walk  this  beautiful  afternoon. ' ' 

Philip's  eyes  brightened.  "It  is  a  very 
good  idea,"  he  answered,  "if  you  are  not 
afraid  of  the  fatigue,  and" — he  hesitated — 
"if  you  will  allow  me  to  accompany  you." 

"Why  should  I  do  that?"  she  asked, 
regarding  him  with  a  grave  but  not  un- 
kindly scrutiny.  "There  is  no  reason  for 
my  troubling  you  so  far. ' ' 

' '  So  far  from  troubling  me,  you  will  do 
me  a  great  kindness  by  permitting  me  to 
accompany  you,"  he  replied,  with  evident 
sincerity.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  remain  here 
waiting  indefinitely  any  more  than  your- 
self. But  I  should  not  for  that  reason  ven- 
ture to  offer  my  companionship  to  you," 
he  added,  quickly.  "  I  do  not  think  that  it 
would  be  safe  for  you  to  walk  into  the  city 
alone. ' ' 

"Why  not?" 

"You  might  be  annoyed — or  worse.  If 
the  obstruction  which  has  thrown  the  train 
from  the  track  was  wilfully  placed  upon  it, 
there  may  be  more  desperate  people  about 
than  you  imagine." 


She  sat  down  again — whether  to  remain 
or  to  reflect  upon  this  view  of  the  matter, 
Philip  could  not  tell.  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment  before  she  said: 

"I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  any  annoy- 
ance. ' ' 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  answered 
Philip,  seeing  how  brave  the  dark  eyes  were. 
"But  lack  of  fear  is  unfortunately  not  a 
safeguard." 

"Then  perhaps  I  had  better  remain," 
she  said,  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

"If  you  prefer  to  go,"  replied  the  young 
man,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  frankness, 
"why  should  you  refuse  me  the  pleasure 
of  attending  you?  I  promise" — a  sudden 
flush  came  over  his  face — "that  I  will  not 
presume  on  being  allowed  to  do  so.  If  you 
desire  it,  our  acquaintance  shall  be  to-mor- 
row exactly  what  it  was  an  hour  ago." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
of  surprise.  '  'And  why, ' '  she  said,  after  an 
instant's  pause,  "should  you  imagine  that 
I  would  desire  it?  I  do  not  usually  ignore 
a  service  or  a  kindness  that  has  been  done 
me." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  do  not — usually," 
he  answered.  "But  I — well,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  be  candid.  Miss  Percival,  I  have 
been  told  that  you  would  not  wish  to  know 
me." 

"You  have  been  told — "she  repeated. 
"Who  had  the  right  to  tell  you  that?" 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  inform  you  who  told 
me,"  said  Philip;  "but  whether  or  not  he 
had  the  right  to  speak  for  you,  that  is  an- 
other question.  It  was  Graham.  Do  you 
remember  the  church  fair?  I  saw  you  there 
for  the  first  time,  and  I  asked  him  to  intro- 
duce me.  He  declined,  saying  that  he  coiild 
not  do  so  without  asking  your  permission, 
and  that  if  he  had  asked  it,  you  would  have 
— refused." 

It  was  now  on  Miss  Percival' s  face  that 
a  slight  flush  appeared.  ' '  Mr.  Graham  is 
very — positive,  even  ^hen  he  speaks  for 
another, ' '  she  said. 

"Then  it  was  not  true?"  asked  Philip, 
eagerly — "you  would  not  have  refused?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment — only  a  mo- 


y 


The  Ave  Maria* 


127 


tnent  —  before  answering,  quietly:  "If  I 
:oo  am  to  speak  candidly,  I  must  acknowl- 
edge that  it  is  quite  true:  I  should  have 
refused.  But  not,  perhaps,  for  the  reason 
70U  imagine.  I  have  not,  I  hope,  any  feel- 
ing of  enmity  toward — any  one;  certainly 
aot  toward  one  who  had  not  the  least  con- 
jection  with  past  matters.  But  there  is  a 
atness  in  all  things,  and  I  should  have  felt 
that  there  was  no  fitness  in  our  acquaint- 
ance; hence  I  would  have  declined  to  know 
you.  You  see,  however,  that  I  have  had 
no  option  in  the  affair, ' '  she  added,  with 
a  smile  that  in  its  involuntary  sweetness 
made  amends  for  anything  in  her  speech 
which  wounded  him. 

* '  It  is  because  you  have  had  no  option, ' ' 
he  said,  "that  I  am  bound  not  to  presume 
upon  an  acquaintance  that  you  would  have 
refused  me.  I  do  not  understand  what  you 
mean  by  saying  that  you  would  have  felt 
that  there  was  no  fitness  in  it,  but  I  under- 
stand thoroughly  that  I  am  not  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  you,  as  I  confess  that 
I  should  like  to  do." 

She  was  silent  again  for  a  minute,  but 
he  was  struck  by  the  absence  of  any  con- 
fusion or  embarrassment  in  her  manner. 
She  seemed  to  reflect  as  she  sat  with  down- 
cast eyes;  but  when  she  lifted  them  the 
same  quiet  self-possession  and  frankness 
looked  out  of  their  dark  depths. 

"  If  you  do  not  understand  my  meaning 
in  saying  that  I  should  have  felt  that  there 
was  no  fitness  in  our  acquaintance,"  she 
said,  "you  must  be  very  ignorant  of  the 
matters  to  which  I  alluded  a  moment  ago. ' ' 

"I  am  very  ignorant,"  he  answered. 
"You  will,  perhaps,  realize  how  ignorant  if 
I  assure  you  that  when  I  learned  your 
name  from  Graham  that  night  at  the  fair, 
I  heard  it  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was  not 
until  afterwards  that  I  learned  of  the  former 
:onnection  between  your  father  and  my 
incle. ' ' 

"From  whom  did  you  learn  it?"  she 
isked,  looking  down  again. 

"From  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Thornton." 
'Ah ! ' '   The  exclamation  seemed  to  es- 
ape  without  intention  on  her  part,  and  for 


a  moment  Philip  held  his  breath,  thinking 
that  he  was  to  hear  the  other  side  of  the 
story,  of  which  he  felt  instinctively  that 
there  was  another  side.  But  no  further 
sound  issued  from  the  lips  wliich  he  watched 
so  closely;  and  presently  he  said,  timidly: 

' '  In  that  story,  as  I  have  heard  it,  there  is 
surely  nothing  to  prevent  our  acquaintance." 

"As  you  have  heard  it,  probably  not," 
she  said.  "And,  indeed,  what  have  you  to 
do  with  the  matter?  This  is. not  Corsica; 
and  if  it  were,  I  do  not  think  I  should  care 
to  maintain  a  vendetta.  What  I  have  al- 
ready said  holds  good — there  is  no  fitness 
in  our  acquaintance.  This  is  not  only  be- 
cause your  name  is  Thornton  and  my  name 
is  Percival,  but  because  our  lines  in  life  lie 
far  apart.  But  since  we  have  met,  and  been 
made  known  to  each  other,  I  shall  not  be 
rude  enough  to  disown  your  acquaintance; 
be  sure  of  that." 

Philip  would  have  been  sure  of  anything 
which  she  attested  by  such  a  glance  as  ac- 
companied these  words. 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  murmured. 
' '  I  assure  you  that  I  feel  it.  But,  as  a  proof 
that  you  will  not  disown  me,  will  you  not 
reconsider  your  resolution,  and  let  me  walk 
with  you  into  the  city?  I  really  think  that 
you  will  find  it  better  than  waiting  here." 

"I  really  think  that  I  shall,"  she  said, 

rising.  ^ 

(to  be  continued.) 


St.  Germain  at  Nanterre. 


AN    INCIDENT    IN   THE    lA    OF    ST.  GENEVIEVE. 


iplNCK,  on  a  Breton  mission  bent,  St.  Ger- 
^       main  of  Auxerre, 

Together  with  St.IyUpus,  paused  in  the  village 
of  Nanterre. 

Servants  of  God!  His  toil  their  rest,  His  holy 

will  their  food! 
Seeking  their  blessing,  round  them  drew  the 

village  multitude. 

One  in  the  crowd  sought  all  in  vain  the  holy 
men  to  see, 


128 


'1  he  Ave  ^lurla. 


So  dense  the  surging  human  throng,  so  small 
and  weak  was  she. 

Enlightened  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  St.  Germain 

sweetly  smiled. 
And  called  from  midst  the  throng  to  him  the 

parents  and  the  child. 

Long  gazed  he  on  the  little  one,  then  barely 

seven  years  old. 
And  to  the  wondering  parents  turned  and 

solemnly  foretold 

The  rare  and  precious  heavenly  crown  an- 
gelic hands  would  weave. 

Through  many,  many  fruitful  years,  for  little 
Genevieve. 

Then  spake  the  maiden,  her  young  heart  with 
virgin  graces  stored: 

*  *  Dear  Bishop,  for  my  holy  Spouse  I've  chosen 

our  dear  Lord. ' ' 

"  Struggle  with  earnestness,  m) "child;  be  of 
good  heart,"  said  he; 

*  'And  in  full  measure  needed  grace  thy  Spouse 

will  give  to  thee  " 

He  consecrated  her  to  God:  to  the  church  her 

footsteps  led; 
At  Vespers  prayed,  with  holy  hands  upon  the 

fair  young  head. 

Through  his  repast  he  kept  the  child  still  very 

near  to  him. 
And  knew  that  guileless  heart  was  pure  e'en 

as  the  Seraphim. 

Rising,  thus  to  the  parents  spake  the  prelate 

of  Auxerre: 
"Bring  back  this  little  one  to  me  before  I 

leave  Nanterre. 

*  *  Daughter, ' '  said  he,  next  morn, ' '  dost  know 

the  promise  thou  didst  make 
A  day  ago,  when  for  thy  Spouse  Our  Redeemer 
thou  didst  take?" 

"Oh!  yes:  well  I  remember  all  "—joy  lit  the 
pure  young  face — 

*  'And  faithful  do  I  hope  to  be  always,  through 

God's  good  grace." 

Charmed  was  the  Saint  with  this  reply.  ' '  O 
spouse  of  Christ! "  said  he, 


' '  Worldly  adornments  thou  must  put  far,  far 
away  from  thee. 

"Let  this  remind  thee  of  thy  Spouse ' '  —around 

her  neck  he  placed 
A  simple  medal  with  a  cross  upon  its  surface 

traced; 

Years  sped;  a  garland  angels  wove  entwined 

each  joy  and  grief; 
For  sorrows  blossomed  into  flowers,  each  joy 

became  a  leaf. 

O  happy  day  for  France,  when  great  St.  Ger- 
main of  Auxerre 

Blessed  the  sweet  child  Genevieve  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Nanterre! 

Margaret  K.  Jordan. 


Palms. 


BY  anna  HANSON    DORSEY. 

CHAPTER  XVL— Tarks  and  Wheat 
AND  Fine  Gold.  ' 

NEMESIUS  would  have  retired  from  the 
Emperor's  presence  at  an  earlier  mo- 
ment, but  he  had  an  object  in  remaining 
until  the  fury  of  the  tyrant  exhausted  itself, 
which  it  presently  did,  in  fitful  curses  and 
hoarse  mutterings,  like  the  last  growls  of 
a  spent  tempest;  then,  having  refreshed 
himself  with  a  copious  draught  of  snow- 
cooled  wine,  and  dried  on  a  napkin  of  fine 
Egyptian  linen  his  lurid  visage,  over  which 
the  sweat  of  his  wrath  still  poured,  he 
threw  himself  back  against  the  gold-broid- 
ered  cushions  of  his  chair,  and  turned  his 
bloodshot  eyes  on  the  grave,  noble  counte- 
nance of  Nemesius,  who  stood  leaning  with 
easy  grace  upon  the  pedestal  of  a  column, 
awaiting  the  opportunity  he  sought.  It  had 
come  at  last,  and  he  spoke  in  his  usual 
clear,  even  tones: 

' '  I  have  a  request  to  prefer,  imperial  sir, " 
he  said. 

With  a  gesture  Valerian  signified  his 
readiness  to  give  attention,  not  having  yet 
sufficiently  recovered  his  breath  to  speak. 

"As  there  is  a  prospect  that  active  hos-  | 


It 


The  Ave  Maria. 


izg 


tilities  will  be  delayed  by  this  new  move 
of  King  Sapor,"  continued  Nemesius,  "and 
as  my  legionaries  are  finely  equipped,  and 
under  perfect  discipline,  I  wish  to  transfer 
for  a  short  time  my  command  to  the  officer 
second  in  rank  to  myself,  that  I  may  look 
into  my  private  affairs,  and  set  them  in 
order. ' ' 

"A  most  reasonable  request,  and  one 
to  be  expected  after  thy  confession  of  an 
hour  ago.  It  is  but  natural  thou  shouldst 
wish  to  spend  a  few  days  in  dalliance  with 
thy  charmer  before  encountering  the  grim . 
chances  of  war,"  answered  Valerian,  with 
rumbling  voice  and  a  coarse  leer.  "Thy 
requests  are  few,  Nemesius;  and  thou  hast 
always  done  good  service  to  the  Empire, 
and  not  seldom  risked  thy  head  into  the 
bargain  by  thy  free  speech  to  me — aye,  and, 
by  the  gods!  would  have  lost  it  too,  but 
that  thy  audacious  sincerity  amused  and 
refreshed  me,  and  because  I  sometimes  have 
need  of  one  who  does  not  fear  to  speak  the 
truth,  as  thou  alone  hast  the  courage  to  do. 
Thou  art  no  plotter,  which  can  not  be  said 
of  many,  and  thy  request  is  granted;  but 
hold  thyself  in  readiness  for  a  sudden  move 
at  any  hour,  as  I  am  convinced  that  the 
crafty  Sapor  is  only  couching  for  a  deadlier 
spring.  And — hold,  Nemesius! — thou  hast 
free  access  to  the  prisons:  the  order  has 
not  been  revoked ;  look  into  them  now  and 
then,  to  observe  whether  or  no  those  con- 
tumacious Christians  get  the  full  measure 
of  their  deserts.  Gods!  how  the  wretches 
tire  and  sicken  me!" 

"I  thank  thee  for  the  favor  granted,  im- 
perial sir,  and  for  thy  kind  words.  I  will 
not  fail  to  visit  the  prisons,"  said  Neme- 
sius, as  he  bowed  and  turned  to  leave  the 
cabinet. 

"And  take  this  kiss  to  the  beautiful  little 
blind  maid  at  the  villa, ' '  cried  the  Emperor, 
tossing  towards  him  a  kiss  from  his  trem- 
bling, bloated  fingers. 

While  the  blood  surged  into  his  face  at 
the  bare  suggestion,  Nemesius,  with  an 
inclination  of  his  head,  left  the  cabinet,  say- 
ing, mentally:  "Yes;  I  will  visit  the  pris- 
ons, but  not  in  accordance  with  thy  cruel 


design;  and  a^  to  thy  kiss,  let  it  pass  to  thy 
dcBmo7is^  for  whom  only  it  is  fit. ' ' 

As  he  came  out  of  the  palace  he  met  the 
Cypriot  as  already  related,  who  gave  him  his 
sword  and  a  letter;  thrusting  the  first  into 
its  scabbard,  without  noticing  the  fragment 
of  spangled  Syrian  gauze  that  clung  to  the 
handle,  and  the  latter  under  his  sword-belt, 
he  mounted  his  horse,  put  him  to  a  gallop, 
and  did  not  slacken  his  speed  until  he  got 
beyond  the  crowded  streets. 

In  thinking  over  his  interview  with 
Valerian  by  the  light  of  faith  which  now 
illumined  his  soul,  Nemesius  felt  as  if  he 
had  been  confronted  with  the  very  incar- 
nation of  the  old,  cruel  idolatrous  belief 
which  he  had  that  day  abandoned,  and  now 
thought  of  with  the  greatest  horror,  while 
he  experienced  a  more  irresistibly  urgent 
desire  to  fly  from  it,  to  be  rid  of  every  ves- 
tige of  it,  that,  untrammelled,  he  might  offer 
the  entire  homage  of  his  being  and  life  to 
the  One,  Supreme  God. 

He  was  impatient  for  the  morrow's  noon, 
when  by  the  voluntary  act  of  his  own  will 
he  would  receive  Holy  Baptism  at  the 
hands  of  th^  Christian  Pontiff",  which  would 
be  the  sign  and  seal  of  his  high  calling  as 
a  soldier  of  Christ.  His  great  heart  over- 
flowed with  gratitude  as  he  thought  of  the 
gratuitous  and  undeserved  favors  of  which 
he  had  been  the  recipient — he  who  up  to 
the  time  his  child  received  her  sight  had 
been  the  enemy  of  God  and  His  servants, 
and  was  worthy  only  of  eternal  condemna- 
tion. Henceforth  whatever  he  possessed, 
all  that  he  was — his  child,  the  most  pre- 
cious of  all ;  his  fortune,  his  time,  his  being, 
his  life — he  devoted  with  all  the  energy, 
sincerity,  and  generosity  of  his  soul  to  the 
honor  and  glory  of  Him  who  had  opened 
her  blind  eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  un- 
sealed his  benighted  mind  to  a  diviner  light. 
Nemesius  was  a  man  who  never  did 
things  by  halves;  he  had  all  his  life  held 
an  uncompromising  belief  in  a  false  and 
idolatrous  religious  system,  and  now  seeing 
his  error,  he  would  be  as  uncompromis- 
ingly and  as  sincerely  a  Christian. 

These  thoughts  occupied  his  mind  as  he 


i;o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rode  homeward  through  the  bahny,  star- 
lighted  night,  exalting  his  spirit,  and  filling 
him  with  a  strange  and  wonderful  peace; 
which  explained  to  him  the  fortitude  and 
constancy  of  the  martyrs,  whose  sufferings 
he  had  sometimes  witnessed. 

Claudia  was  at  her  window  watching  for 
him.  The  first  day  in  Paradise  could  not 
have  been  a  greater  surprise  and  joy  to  Eve 
than  this  one  had  been  to  her  whose  eyes 
for  the  first  time  had  feasted  on  the  beauties 
of  nature,  and  whose  spirit,  purified  by  the 
holy  water  of  regeneration,  beheld  in  them 
the  creations  of  Him  of  whom  she  had  never 
heard  until  this,  the  day  of  her  new  birth. 

' '  O  padre  mio! ' '  she  said,  after  embrac- 
ing him,  "there  has  been  so  much  to  see! 
At  last  I  watched  the  sun  go  down  into  the 
sea,  and  the  sky  was  full  of  such  beautiful 
lights,  until  the  darkness  came ;  then  I  was 
frightened,  until  I  saw  the  stars  like  gold 
blossoms  sprinkled  over  the  sky:  some  of 
them  bright  and  dancing,  some  shining  far 
away, others  glittering  among  the  tree-tops. 
O  padre  mio!  is  not  He  who  made  them 
good  to  give  lamps  to  the  night  that  there 
may  be  no  darkness?  " 

*'He  is  indeed  good,  cara  mia — this 
Creator  and  Supreme  God,  and  worthy  of 
all  love  and  homage,"  said  Nemesius,  ten- 
derly. ' '  Now  seek  thv  couch,  my  little  one, 
and  ask  His  protection  before  sleeping." 

He  kissed  her,  looked  once  more  into  her 
bright,  beaming  eyes  with  a  glad  uplifting 
of  his  heart,  then  left  her  with  Zilla,  and 
went  down  the  corridor  to  his  own  apart- 
ments. Throwing  his  helmet  and  sword 
upon  a  table,  his  eye  was  attracted  by  some- 
thing white  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor 
when  he  unbuckled  his  sword-belt.  He  saw. 
by  the  rays  of  the  lamp  overhead,  that  it  was 
the  letter  he  had  so  mysteriously  received, 
and  which  he  had  forgotten  until  this  mo- 
ment. Mechanically  he  took  it  up,  broke 
the  seal  that  held  the  silk  cords  together, 
slipped  them  off  and  opened  it.  Glancing 
over  the  first  lines,  a  slight  start  of  aston- 
ishment, his  knitted  brows,  and  the  dark 
flush  that  mantled  his  face,  indicated  some- 
thing unusual  and  displeasing. 


As  it  was,  indeed;  for  Laodice,  almost 
hopeless  of  winning  his  love,  had  fallen  on 
this  desperate  expedient — one  that  she  had 
sometimes  thought  of,  but  which  was  pre- 
cipitated by  her  accidentally  meeting  him 
that  night.  As  soon  as  he  had  passed  on 
to  the  Emperor's  cabinet,  she  fled  to  her 
own  apartments,  and,  led  on  by  her  pas- 
sionate, audacious  nature,  which  mastered 
her  womanly  pride  and  her  very  reason, 
she  wrote  to  him  the  letter  he  has  just  read, 
laying  herself  and  her  love  at  his  feet.  How 
many  things  were  now  understood  which 
at  the  time  of  their  occurrence  had  caused 
him  only  a  momentary  surprise!  Again  a 
dark  flush  mantled  his  noble  face.  "Un- 
happy woman!"  he  said,  speaking  low; 
"thy  confidence  shall  never  be  betrayed, 
but  there  is  only  one  course  open  to  me." 

Opening  his  cabinet,  he  selected  a  fine 
piece  of  vellum,  and  wrote: 

'  '•  The  enclosed  is  returned,  to  be  thrown  into  the 
flames  by  the  same  hand  that  penned  it,  and  for- 
gotten. A  heart  already  bestowed,  and  engrossed 
by  a  supreme  love,  has  nothing  left  to  offer  except 
good  wishes." 

This  he  folded  with  the  letter  in  a  wrap- 
per of  papyrus,  secured  it  in  the  usual  way 
with  silk  cord  and  his  seal,  directed  it,  and, 
with  it  in  his  hand,  went  to  ascertain  if 
Symphronius  was  still  up.  The  old  steward 
had  not  gone  to  bed ;  he  had  just  risen  from 
his  devotions  when  his  master  entered.  No 
need  had  he  to  grasp  and  conceal  the  cru- 
cifix before  which  he  had  been  praying, 
when  he  heard  footsteps  approach  his  door, 
or  dash  away  the  tears  which  his  contem- 
plation of  the  sufferings  of  Christ  had 
caused  to  flow  over  his  wrinkled  face;  for 
his  master  was,  like  himself,  a  Christian; 
and  in  those  days  the  new  birth  made  child- 
like the  old  as  well  as  the  young,  and  they 
loved  the  Christus  with  simple  minds,  their 
only  aim  being  to  show  their  devotion  to 
Him,  even  to  the  shedding  of  their  blood, 
in  return  for  all  He  had  done  and  suffered 
for  them. 

"I  am  glad  to  find  thee  awake,"  said 
Nemesius,  gently ;  "  for  I  should  have  been 
sorry  to  disturb  thy  slumbers.     I  have  an  | 


!^ 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


131 


mportant  letter,  which  I  wish  to  be  deliv- 
ered early  to-  morrow  by  a  trusty  messenger, 
ind  thought  I  might  find  Admetus  here." 
"He  will  be  here  about  midnight.  He 
lias  been  sent  to  bear  the  Holy  Bread  to 
5ome  who  are  to  suffer  at  the  Temple  of 
Mars  to-morrow,  among  them  a  priest,"  an- 
swered Symphronius.  "One  of  the  prison 
guards  is  a  Christian,  and  knows  the  boy; 
and,  besides,  the  friends  of  the  condemned 
are  allowed  to  visit  them  the  day  before 
(their  fiery  trial." 
■■Nemesius  knew  this  to  be  a  fact;  he  had 
^fflore  than  once  witnessed  these  last  inter- 
views, and  observed  that  the  victims  wore 
serene  countenances,  irradiated  by  flashes 
of  divine  anticipation;  while  their  friends 
lamented  and  wept  bitterly,  reproaching 
them  for  preferring  a  cruel  death  to  life  and 
safety,  which  a  grain  of  incense  offered  to 
the  gods  would  purchase.  But  he  knew 
nothing  yet  of  the  Holy  Bread,  which,  in 
times  of  persecution  like  the  present,  the 
exigencies  of  the  Church  allowed  to  be  con- 
veyed to  the  victims,  by  approved  messen- 
gers, to  strengthen  and  refresh  them  in  the 
conflicts  through  which  they  were  con- 
demned to  pass  to  their  exceeding  great 
triumph  and  reward;  but  he  would  soon 
know  in  all  its  fulness  and  divine  signifi- 
cance that  it  was  the  Bread  of  Eternal  Life, 
the  Most  Holy  Eucharist,  the  real  Body  and 
Blood  of  Jesus  Christ. 

"When  he  comes  give  him  the  letter, 
and  charge  him  to  deliver  it  only  into  the 
hands  of  the  person  to  whom  it  is  directed, 
at  the  imperial  palace,  and  allow  no  other 
eye  than  his  own  to  see  the  superscription, ' ' 
said  Nemesius,  grasping  the  hand  of  his 
faithful  old  servant.  "And  to-morrow  I 
have  much  to  say  to  thee,  and  many  matters 
to  arrange;  but  now  good-night!" 

At  last,  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  apart- 
ment, the  happy  convert  was  alone  with  his 
thoughts.  The  moon  hung  gibbous  and 
pale  over  the  distant  sea,  and  a  cool,  damp 
wind  drifted  up  from  the  Tiber,  whisper- 
ing its  moan  to  the  shivering  leaves.  To 
this  noble  Roman  soldier  it  had  been  a 
wonderful  day,  from  beginning  to  end,  typ- 


ical of  God's  world,  in  which  His  marvels, 
by  some  secret  design  of  His  providence, 
are  woven  in  with  human  antagonisms,  and 
stand  face  to  face  with  evil.  After  the  joy 
of  the  morning,  how  repulsive  to  his  nature 
and  his  newly- awakened  soul  all  that  the 
evening  had  brought!  But  it  was  already 
past,  borne  away  as  by  a  torrent,  leaving 
unobscured  the  grace  of  faith  which  had 
risen  out  of  the  darkness  upon  him. 

He  sat  there  in  the  shadow,  thinking. 
He  knew  nothing  yet  of  Christian  dogmas, 
but  his  entire  faith  in  the  existence,  su- 
premacy, and  eternity  of  God,  in  His  power 
and  divine  attributes,  opened  the  way  to 
their  reception  and  glad  acceptance  with- 
out discussion ;  for  there  would  be  nothing 
to  doubt  in  whatever  proceeded  from  Him, 
the  everlasting  Truth.  On  the  morrow  he 
would  receive  Holy  Baptism,  the  sign  and 
seal  of  his  covenant  with  Christ,  by  which, 
the  Pontiff  Stephen  had  instructed  him,  he 
would  be  made  a  child  of  God,  and  admitted 
to  full  participation  in  the  divine  mysteries 
He  had  provided  for  His  faithful  ones.  And 
so  he  rested  content  on  the  rock  of  Faith, 
until  knowledge  should  come. 

Nemesius  had  heard  the  old  story  oft 
repeated  that  the  Christians  at  the  celebra- 
tion of  their  secret  rites  worshipped  an  ass's 
head,  —  the  old  rabbinical  legend,  which 
had  drifted  to  Rome  centuries  before,  and 
had  been  forgotten  and  revived  over  and 
over  again  as  an  invective  and  reproach  to 
the  Jews,  and  later  to  the  Christians,  be- 
tween whom  at  first,  and  even  when  they 
might  have  known  better,  the  ignorant 
minds  of  the  Roman  soldiers  could  not  dis- 
tinguish. The  legend  ran  that  a  certain 
high-priest  of  the  synagogue  was  in  the 
habit  of  remaining  so  long  in  the  Holy  of 
Holies  when  it  was  his  turn  to  officiate,  that 
one  day,  having  prolonged  his  stay  to  even 
a  greater  length  than  usual,  a  levite  was 
sent  to  see  if  perhaps  he  was  dead,  and  on 
opening  the  curtain  beheld  him  alive,  and 
worshipping  a  spirit  in  the  form  of  an  ass.  * 

*  Spoken  of  by  Jerome  in  the  4th  century,  also 
by  Kpiphanius,  Bishop  of  Salamis.  It  was  current 
among  the  Gnostics. 


132 


The  Ave  Maria. 


There  had  never  been  lack  of  intercourse 
between  Rome  and  Judea,  international 
comities  and  alliances  for  aid  and  defence, 
especially  when  the  latter  was  beset  and 
sorely  pressed  by  Syria,  Egypt,  and  Assyria 
in  turn,  and  assisted  by  Rome,  until  such 
time  as  she  was  ready  to  "lay  waste"  the 
land,  and  number  it  among  her  insatiate 
conquests.  Pompey's  soldiers  brought  the 
legend  afresh  to  Rome  with  their  Hebrew 
captives,  to  fling  it  at  them  with  blows  and 
derision;  again  the  soldiers  of  Titus  used  it 
as  a  gibe  to  give  emphasis  to  their  insults 
and  blows  to  the  unfortunate  people,  whose 
holy  city  they  Had  razed  to  the  ground. 
And  so,  through  ignorance  of  the  distinc- 
tion which  separated  Jew  and  Christian,  it 
got  fastened  on  the  latter,  who  celebrated 
the  sacred  functions  in  secret. 

And  it  was  not  an  unusual  occurrence 
that  some  who  had  embraced  Christianity, 
but  had  not  yet  been  advanced  to  a  partici- 
pation in  or  even  to  be  present  at  the  holy 
mysteries  of  the  Eucharistic  Sacrifice,  when 
arrested  and  confronted  with  the  rack,  or 
the  lions,  or  the  flames,  through  mortal  ter- 
ror not  only  denied  Christ,  but  cursed  Him, 
and  corroborated  the  foolish  accusation 
about  the  worship  of  an  ass's  head.  Nor  did 
they  deny  that  the  Christians,  as  was  cur- 
rently reported  and  believed,  sacrificed  a 
young  child  every  day  to  their  Divinity, 
and  afterwards  devoured  it.  Conjecture  can 
only  suggest  the  origin  of  the  last  malig- 
nant report.  It  was  known  through  spies 
and  apostates  that  the  Christian  priests 
oflfered  to  their  Deity  a  pure,  spotless  sacri- 
fice of  flesh  and  blood,  of  which  they  after- 
wards partook. 

Ignorant  of  the  Divine  Eucharist,  what 
could  so  well  answer  what  they  imagined 
as  a  young,  sinless  child?  They  knew  that 
the  most  precious  sacrifice  that  could  be 
offered  to  Moloch  was  a  young  child,  and 
that  mothers  themselves,  to  propitiate  him 
by  offering  what  they  most  valued,  placed 
their  offspring  in  his  great,  brazen  hands, 
which,  heated  by  fires  within  the  statue, 
scorched  their  tender  flesh,  while  wild,  bar- 
barous music  and  shouts  rent  the  air  to 


drown  their  shrieks,  until  the  little  victims 
dropped  into  a  fiery  abyss  below.  Of  course 
then  it  was  a  young  child  that  was  daily  sac- 
rificed to  the  Christus^  and  Roman  mothers 
held  their  babes  close  lest  they  should  be 
stolen  for  this  purpose;  while  to  threaten 
a  refractory  little  one  with,  "I'll  give  thee 
to  the  Christians! "  was  suflficient  to  reduce 
it  to  swift  obedience  and  quiet. 

Nemesius  had  heard  these  rumors,  and 
there  were  times  when,  if  they  had  inter- 
ested him  in  the  least,  he  might  have  be- 
lieved them,  but  now,  having  the  grace  of 
faith,  the  golden  portal  of  all  others,  nei- 
ther fables  nor  malignant  riimors  had  power 
to  disturb  his  mind. 

(to  be  continued.) 


A  Sign  of  Predestination. 


THE  question  of  Mary's  relation  to  the 
Church  is  not  one  of  mere  theory,  nor 
an  abstract  matter,  with  which  we  have  no 
practical  concern;  which  may  be  accepted 
or  not,  indifferently ;  whose  reception  will 
do  no  good,  or  whose  rejection  will  not  in- 
jure. If  the  whole  tenor  of  Our  Lord's  life^ 
if  the  language  of  prophecy,  if  the  universal 
and  immemorial  custom  of  the  Church,  if 
the  testimony  of  enemies,  if  the  pious  prac- 
tice of  millions  of  holy  souls, — all  coincide 
in  attributing  to  the  Mother  of  Jesus  an  un- 
interrupted fellowship  with  her  Son  in  His 
great  work  of  Redemption,  and  in  every- 
thing that  belongs  or  tends  to  its  final  ac- 
complishment, the  establishment  of  such  a 
fact  miist  impress  every  mind  with  the  rel- 
ative importance  of  availing  itself  of  this 
divine  institution. 

A  great  power  is  evidently  within  our 
reach,  placed  by  the  care  of  God  at  our  dis- 
posal, to  assist  us  in  our  struggles  with  sin, 
to  raise  us  when  we  fall,  to  carry  us  on  to 
eminent  perfection.  It  is  easy  of  access;  it 
lies  at  our  door;  it  is  within  the  instanta- 
neous reach  of  all,  even  of  children.  That 
power  is  the  influence  of  Mary,  and  its  em- 
ployment in  the  work  of  our  salvation.  We 
may  not  reject  its  powerful  assistance;  noth- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^Z% 


ii  y  can  be  safely  neglected  that  God  has 
d(  signed  to  make  so  perilous  a  work  more 
SI  re.  We  may  not  throw  away  the  aid  thus 
oi  ered,  nor  think  to  fight  our  way  through 
th  a  ranks  of  our  spiritual  foes  without  ob- 
li<  Rations  to  her,  nor  to  speed  on  our  heaven- 
w  ird  course  without  her  helping  hand. 

We  are  not  greater  than  Jesus,  yet  He 
mide  Himself  her  debtor;  we  are  not 
stronger  than  He,  and  yet  she  was  appointed 
to  supply  for  His  infantine  weakness.  Even 
if  we  could  struggle  through  without  her 
support,  we  should  be  outstripped  in  our 
course  by  many  who  started  later  and  with 
many  more  disadvantages ;  our  passage 
would  be  joyless;  hope  would  shine  dimly 
on  the  future.  What  knowledge  have  we 
of  the  assaults  of  our  spiritual  enemies  that 
may  lie  before  us,  perhaps,  in  the  hour  of 
death?  what  security  that  the  absence  of 
Mary's  aid  then  may  not  make  the  differ- 
ence of  our  eternal  loss? 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  is  declared  by  eminent  theo- 
ogians  and  saints  to  be  a  great  sign  of 
predestination,  on  account  of  the  manifold 
iissistance  which  is  thus  secured  in  its  at- 
tainment. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 

A    RESCUE. 

DEAR  "Ave  Maria":— I,et  me  tell  your 
readers  a  true  story,  for  the  honor  of  Our 
Jlessed  Lady.  There  is  no  doubt  about  the 
tory's  truth;  for  I  know  the  mother  in  whose 
ehalf  the  miracle  was  wrought,  and  the 
hild  is  still  living — though  no  longer  a  child, 
ut  a  fine,  "strapping"  fellow  of  six-feet-six. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  S ,  emigrants  from  Ireland, 

ad  not  long  begun  farm  life  in  the  '  *  camp. ' '  * 
1  front  of  their  house  was  the  usual  qiiinta, 
'  garden;  and  in  this  qtiinta  they  had  bored 
well.  It  is  easy  to  bore  wells  in  the  stone- 
ss  soil  of  the  Province  of  Buenos  Aires,  and 

*  That  is  country,  from  the  Spanish  campo.  The 
ord  is  also  used  for  the  land  itself;  for  instance, 
ey  say,  "That  is  good  camp'\-  or,  "  I  am  buy- 
g  campy 


water  is  always  found  at  a  depth  varying 
from  five  to  forty  yards,  according  to  the  level 
of  the  land.  Their  well  was  about  seven, 
yards  in  depth,  bricked  all  the  way  up,  and 
crowned  at  the  surface  with  a  low  wall,  and 
covered  with  a  lid. 

Mrs.  S was  sitting  one  afternoon  at  a 

window  which  opened  on  the  garden.  She 
was  busy  with  her  needle.  Her  first-born,  a 
girl  of  three,  was  with  her  in  the  room;  her  sec- 
ond child — a  boy  just  able  to  walk  a  few  steps, 
and  play  about  by  himself — was  toddling 
and  crawling  outside;  and  the  mother  looked 
up  from  her  work  every  two  or  three  minutes,, 
thus  keeping,  as  she  thought,  a  sufficiently^ 
watchful  eye  on  him. 

Suddenly  he  was  missing.  She  ran  to  the 
door,  but  no  baby  within  sight!  She  looked 
at  the  well  with  a  horrible  fear,  and  noticed 
that  the  cover  had  been  partly  pushed  aside, 
and  was  vibrating.  With  a  scream  she  rushed 
to  the  spot,  and,  sure  enough,  there  was  her 
bo}^  in  the  water!  And  the  water  was  eight 
or  nine  feet  deep. 

Another  minute  and  the  child  would  sink. 
What  could  the  distracted  mother  do  ?  Her 
husband  was  out  in  the  camp,  minding  sheep, 
and  there  was  no  one  near  to  lend  assistance^ 
With  the  instinct  of  a  Catholic  mother's  heart,, 
she  turned  to  the  Mother  of  God.  ' '  O  Blessed 
Mother!  "  she  cried,  "are  you  going  to  let  my 
child  perish  before  my  eyes  ? ' '  Then,  snatch- 
ing up  a  rope,  and  securing  one  end  to  the 
well-post,  she  took  the  other  end  in  her  hand,, 
and — jumped  down  the  well! 

It  was  no  act  of  wild  despair,  but  must  have 
been  prompted  from  above.  For,  instead  of 
killing  the  child,  and  plunging  herself  for  a 
hopeless  struggle  into  the  water — both  which 
things  must  have  happened  had  she  let  go  the 
rope,  or  had  it  been  too  long — she  found  her- 
self, at  the  end  of  the  jump,  standing  withi 
one  foot  in  the  water,  and  the  other  resting 
against  the  side  of  the  well,  the  rope  being 
just  long  enough  to  allow  of  her  reaching  the 
water.  If  any  one  say  that  the  length  of  the 
rope  was  a  fortunate  circumstance,  but  noth- 
ing very  strange,  it  was  certainly  a  wonderful 
thing  that  she  held  on  to  the  rope,  particu- 
larly having  only  one  hand  on  it;  and,  again, 
that  one  foot  caught  the  side  of  the  well,  so 
as  to  prevent  her  being  whirled  round  and 
round. 

Her  child  had  just  sunk  for  the  last  time^ 


134 


The  Ave  Maria. 


but  she  reached  down  an  arm  through  the 
water,  and  caught  the  precious  body  half  a 
yard  from  the  surface.  Yet,  was  it  not  too 
late  ?  To  all  appearance,  yes ;  or,  if  life  re- 
mained, how  was  she  to  resuscitate  it?  Well, 
luckily,  the  position  of  the  child,  as  she  held 
him  under  her  arm,  was  with  head  hanging 
downward,  and  she  saw  the  water  running 
out  of  the  little  nose  and  mouth.  So  she  had 
presence  of  mind  to  lower  the  head  still  more, 
till  all  the  water  had  run  out.  Then  came  upon 
her  heart  an  "aching  time"  indeed — only 
three  or  four  minutes  (as  she  says),  but  "mo- 
ments big  as  years, ' '  *  till  at  last—  a  gasp !  The 
child  lived! 

The  question  now  was  how  to  get  out  of 
the  well.  It  was  only  a  little  after  two  o'clock 
yet,  and  her  husband  would  not  be  home  till 
evening.  But  she  remembered  it  was  one  of 
the  days  on  which  a  young  man  from  a  neigh- 
boring farm  was  w^ont  to  pass  by,  about  four. 
This  young  man  knew  the  family  intimately, 
and  the  little  girl  was  a  pet  of  his;  so  that 
bere  the  child  could  be  of  great  assistance.  Ac- 
cordingly, Mrs.  S bade  her  watch  for  her 

friend,  and,  as  soon  as  she  should  see  him  com- 
ing, run  towards  him  and  scream  her  loudest. 
Meanwhile,  renewing  her  trust  in  Our  Lady, 
the  brave  mother  prayed  and  waited;  and 
this — only  think  of  it!— for  two  mortal  hours, 
with  her  child  under  one  arm,  the  other  hand 
-clinging  to  the  rope,  and  only  one  foot  resting 
on  solid  matter!  Surely  she  must  have  been 
miraculously  supported,  or  she  could  never 
have  held  out. 

Yes,  it  was  close  upon  two  hours  (as  she 
afterwards  reckoned)  from  the  time  of  her 
jump,  when  the  young  man  aforesaid  turned 
his  horse  towards  the  house,  attracted  by  the 
screams  of  his  little  favorite.  ' '  Mother's  down 
the  well!  mother's  down  the  well!"  was  all 
the  explanation  he  needed.    Another  moment 

and  Mrs.S beheld  the  pale,  astonished  face 

looking  down  upon  her.  Her  first  thought,  of 
•course,  was  for  her  child.  She  told  the  young 
man  that  he  would  find  a  rope  tied  to  a  tree 
near  by,  and  with  it  the  usual  canvas-bucket — 
a  large  bag  in  which  water  is  hoisted  by  horse- 
power. A  few  minutes  more  and  the  bucket 
was  lowered,  the  child  placed  within  it  and 
drawn  up. 

*  O  aching  time!  O  moments  big  as  years! 

— Keats. 


And  now,  too,  most  opportunely,  the  hus- 
band arrived  upon  the  scene.  For,  having 
observed  from  a  distance  the  young  man  sud- 
denly gallop  towards  the  house,  he  naturally 
suspected  some  mishap,  and  made  haste  after 
him.  So  that  his  noble  wife,  having  achieved 
the  child's  rescue,  had  not  long  to  wait  for 
her  own.  Her  ' '  good  man  and  true ' '  lost  no 
time  in  adding  his  strength  to  that  of  his 
younger  friend,  and  together,  with  the  help 
of  the  bucket,  they  ennabled  our  heroine  to 
do  what  would  otherwise  have  been  as  diffi- 
cult as,  the  Sibyl  assured  ^neas,  was  the  re- 
ascent  from  Avernus — to  retrace  her  leap,  and 
return  to  the  air  of  day.  * 

But  one  more  marvel  remains  to  be  told. 
Instead  of  requiring  extraordinary  care  for 
the  preservation  of  his  barely  rescued  life,  the 
boy,  after  only  half  an  hour's  sleep,  began 
to  play  about  again  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened! 

So  the  family  group  were  happily  reunited, 
with  a  remembrance  of  God's  goodness  to 

gladden  all  their  years.  To  this  day  Mrs.  S 

can  not  recall  the  strange  adventure  but  her 
eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  her  heart  with  love 
and  gratitude  to  that  sweet  Mother,  to  whom, 
under  God,  she  justly  attributes  the  salvation  | 
of  her  child's  life  and  her  own.  { 

Now,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  humble  nar- 
rative is  not  utterly  unworthy  of  a  place  in 
the  "Glories  of  Mary."  I  send  it  you,  there- 
fore, dear  '.'Ave  M  ri'v,"  with  the  hope  that 
it  will  increase  in  your  readers  their  confidence 
in  Our  Lady  of  Perpetual  Help. 

Your  servant  in  Christ, 

Edmund  of  the  Heart  of  Mary, 

Passionist 

Buenos  Aires. 


How  much  books  could  aid  us  to  employ 
our  existence  usefully !  They  should  pass  un- 
der our  eyes,  like  a  moving  picture — the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  the  birth  of  sciences  and: 
arts,  the  revolution  of  empires,  the  customs  olj 
peoples,  the  recompenses  given  to  good  ac- 
tions, the  shame  attached  to  crimes.  Knowl 
edge  which  is  varied  and  solid  enriches  th( 
mind,  forms  the  heart,  and  aids  us  powerfully 
in  the  great  reformation  of  ourselves.—  Car 
dinal  Donnet. 


*  Revocare  gradum,  superasque  evadere  ad  auras 

—jE7ieid  VI. 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


135 


I  Catholic  Notes. 

French  statistics  just  published  contain 
a]  irming  information  concerning  the  increase 
ol  crime  among  children  of  both  sexes.  It  is 
si  own  that  within  the  last  five  years  the  ratio 
of  crime  among  offenders  under  age  ha?  con- 
sMerabl}^  more  than  doubled.  During  the 
pst  year  there  were  7,582  cases  of  suicide  in 
Fi'ance.  Of  these,  six  hundred  were  women; 
mare  than  three  hundred  were  young  persons 
from  sixteen  to  twenty-one  years  of  age;  and, 
most  terrible  of  all,  one  hundred  were  chil- 
dren! This  is  the  first  time  the  statistics  of 
this  unhappy  country  have  registered  cases  of 
suicide  among  children.  What  a  frightful 
commentary  upon  godless  schools  and  the 
administration  of  a  professedly  infidel  Gov- 
ernment!   

The  famous  Trondhjem  Cathedral  of  Nor- 
way, upon  which  the  work  of  restoration  is 
now  going  on,  is  a  monument  to  the  memory 
of  the  saintly  King  Olaf,  who  died  a  mart3^r 
at  Sticklestadt  in  1030.    He  was  the  patron 
saint  of  Norway  during  the  time  of  faith  in 
that  country,  and  the  grand  temple,  which  is 
the  glory  of  the  land,  is  the  result  of  gifts 
placed  at  the  shrine  of  the  Saint  by  pilgrims 
i-om  all  quarters  of  Europe.    The  Cathedral 
5vas  consecrated  in  1093.  Frequent  extensions 
md  embellishments  were  made  to  it,  until  in 
:heyear  1300  it  had  reached  its  highest  stage 
)f  development,  and  had  become  what,  despite 
he  ravages  of  time,  it  still  is — the  most  mag- 
lificent  ecclesiastical  edifice  in  the  three  Scan- 
iinavian  Kingdoms.   The  length  of  the  build- 
ng  from  east  to  west  is  325  feet.   Its  western 
"agade,  made  rich  with  the  carved  figures  of 
aints,  is    124  feet  wide.     It  had  originally 
went5^-four  altars  of  precious  metals,  studded 
vith  jewels,  and  beneath  the  altar  that  stood 
n  the  precise  spot  where  the  body  of  Olaf  had 
-rst  been  buried  were  deposited  the  Saint's 
emains   in  a  silver  shrine  weighing   6,500 
l^orwegian   ounces,  outside  of  which   were 
tiree  wooden  chests,  mounted  in  gold  and  sil 
er  and  adorned  with  jewels.    Very  early  the 
athedral  showed  signs  of  decay;  then  con- 
agrations— in  1328,  1432,  and  1531 — swept 
ver  it  with  devouring  flames,  and  the  entire 
estern  wing  became  a  heap  of  ruins.    The 
tars,  with  their  splendid  decorations,  were 


removed,  and  the  body  of  the  Saint  was  de- 
posited in  a  place  t©  this  day  unknown. 


The  Rev.  Randolph  S.  Foster,  a  bishop  of 
the  M.  E.  Church,  pays  a  generous  tribute  to 
the  Church  in  a  recent  article  contributed  to 
the  New  York  bidependent.  And  this  is  not 
the  first  time  we  have  had  occasion  to  quote 
the  testimony  of  "Bishop"  Foster: 

"It  can  not  be  disputed  that  she  descends  in 
direct  and  unbroken  line  from  the  Apostolic  time 
and  Church.  Within  her  pale,  both  recently  and 
anciently,  have  been  many  of  the  most  illustrious 
saints  and  scholars.  That  there  are  still  many 
saints  within  her  pale,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt. 

"She  presents  the  most  compact  and  powerful 
orgranization  that  has  ever  been  set  up  among 
men.  She  has  wielded  more  power  over  wider  ' 
spaces  of  time  and  place  than  any  other  institu- 
tion, ancient  or  modern.  She  is  still  to-day  as 
powerful  as  ever  in  essential  respects.  Her  epis- 
copal throne  on  the  Tiber  still  moves  the  world. 
It  is  not  perfectly  clear  that  she  will  ever  be  less 
powerful  than  she  is  to-day. 

"  Her  communion  is  as  large  as  in  her  palmiest 
days,  and  her  children  not  less  loyal.  .  .  .  There 
is  no  mission  field  in  the  world  where  she  has  not 
more  converts  than  all  combined  Protestantism. 
.  .  .  Missionary  efforts  in  her  own  dominion  have 
hitherto  been  effectual  to  win  a  score  of  thousands 
of  converts,  which  are  an  inappreciable  loss  from 
her  fold,  not  missed  more  than  a  hair  from  the 
head." 

We  read  with  great  interest  in  The  Congre- 
gationalist,  the  earnest  and  most  intelligent 
organ  of  Calvinistic  theology  in  New  Eng- 
land, a  feeling  and  appreciative  article  upon 
Prince  Dimitri  Gallitzin,  the  devoted  Roman 
Catholic  missionary,  whose  settlements  in 
Western  Pennsylvania  still  preserve  his  mem- 
ory even  for  the  thoughtless  traveller,  igno- 
rant of  his  religious  character  and  services. 
When  a  Calvinist  thus  does  justice  to  a 
Roman  Catholic  saint,  we  may  well  hope  that 
the  millennium  is  not  far  distant. — The  Sun. 


Canon  Farrar,  one  of  the  ablest  divines  of 
the  Anglican  sect,  writes  as  follows,  in  his 
"Life  of  Christ,"  of  those  words  of  Our 
Blessed  Redeemer  addressed  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  at  the  marriage  -  feast  of  Cana  — 
"Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee?": — 

"The  words  at  first  sound  harsh  and  almost  re- 
pellent in  their  roughness  and  brevity;  but  that 
is  the  fault  partly  of  our  version,  partly  of  our 
associations.    He  does  not  call  her  '  Mother,'  but 


136 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  address  'Woman'  {gundi)  was  so  respectful 
that  it  might  be  and  was  addressed  to  the  queen- 
liest,  and  so  gentle  that  it  might  be  and  was  ad- 
dressed at  the  tenderest  moments  to  the  most 
fondly  loved.  And  '  What  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ? ' 
is  a  literal  version  of  a  common  Aramaic  phrase 
{mah  Le  veldk),  which,  while  it  sets  aside  and 
waives  all  further  discussion  of  it,  is  yet  perfectly 
consistent  with  the  most  delicate  courtesy  and 
the  most  feeling  consideration." 

The  Western  Watch7nan  has  the  following 
earnest  and  timely  remarks  on  attendance  at 
the  daily  Mass: 

"There  is  apparent  in  all  the  cities  of  this 
country — and  we  take  it  the  movement  is  general 
throughout  the  world— a  growing  disposition 
among  our  Catholic  men  to  attend  the  week-day 
^Mass.  We  have  noticed  this  more  in  other  cities 
than  our  own,  but  we  have  no  doubt  the  same 
remark  applies  to  our  own  people.  This  is  a  most 
consoling  augury  for  the  future  of  the  American 
Church.  There  are  thousands  of  our  Catholic  men 
here  in  St.  Louis  who  could  go  to  Mass  every 
morning  if  they  were  at  all  disposed  to  do  so. 
The  time  of  the  daily  Mass  is  convenient  in  most 
of  our  parivSh  churches,  and  their  business  leaves 
them  free  to  indulge  even  most  extensive  relig- 
ious practices.  Why  do  not  more  assist  at  the 
daily  Mass?  They  have  persuaded  themselves 
that  such  extreme  religiousness  is  adapted  only 
for  saints  Leaving  out  the  question  as  to  the  ob- 
ligation of  all  to  strive  after  Christian  perfection, 
we  would  assure  them  that  the  attendance  at  the 
daily  Mass  is  not  generally  considered  a  work  of 
very  high  sanctity;  but,  on  the  contrary,  its  neg- 
lect, where  the  result  of  indifference  and  luke- 
warmness.is  asign  of  weak  faith  and  dangerously 
lax  moral  conduct.  The  man  who  can  go  to  Mass 
every  mornins:  and  fails  throughout  a  whole  life- 
time to  do  it,  will  have  a  terrible  judgment  before 
him,  and  if  he  succeeds  in  saving  his  soul  it  will 
be  after  cycles  spent  in  Purgatory.  At  this  time, 
when  so  many  are  making  their  Jubilee,  we  ask 
them  to  seriously  weigh  and  consider  this  ques- 
tion." 

The  late  Cardinal  Guibert  was  the  son  of 
poor  peasants  In  his  childhood  he  took  part 
in  the  labors  of  his  father's  little  farm,  and, 
like  many  other  illustrious  men,  he  herded 
the  flocks  of  the  family.  That  which  was 
most  striking  in  him  was  the  character  of 
austerity,  or  rather  asceticism,  which  marked 
his  career,  whether  we  behold  him  in  the 
episcopal  purple,  or  in  the  humble  habit  of 
an  Oblate  of  Mary  Immaculate.  The  great- 
ness he  attained  altered  nothing  in  him,  and 
amidst  the  distractions  of  Paris  he  continued 


the  same  austere  life  which  he  began  years- 
before  amidst  the  solitude  of  the  Alps.  On 
the  occasion  of  his  reception  of  the  Cardinal's 
hat,  Pius  IX.,  wishing  to  give  him  a  token  of 
his  affectionate  esteem,  sent  him  a  gold  cross  of 
magnificent  workmanship—  a  royal  gift,  which 
was  received  by  the  monk- archbishop  with 
profound  emotion,  but  which,  nevertheless,  he 
gave  at  once  as  an  offering  to  the  Treasury  of 
Notre  Dame. 

Catholicism  has  lost  a  zealous  champion 
in  M.  Jules  Malou,  Minister  of  State,  who  has 
been  for  many  years  chief  of  the  Catholic 
party  in  Belgium.  M.  Malou  died  at  his  Clia- 
teau  of  Woluwe,  aged  seventy-six.  He  was 
born  at  Ypress.  After  occupying  a  post  in  the 
Ministry  of  Justice  he  became  Governor  of 
Anvers,  and  in  1841  entered  the  Chamber. 
Five  years  later  he  was  appointed  Minister  of 
Finance  in  the  Liberal  Cabinet  of  M.  Van  de 
Weyer.  Differences  arose  betw^een  himself  and 
his  colleagues,  and  in  1 846  he  alone  among 
them  was  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  of  M.  de 
Theux,  which  fell  in  August,  1847.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  speakers  of  the  Bel- 
gian Chamber,  where  he  was  the  leader  of  the 
Catholic  opposition.  M.  Malou,  who  was  sev- 
eral times  appointed  Minister  of  Finance  and 
Premier,  retired  in  1884.  He  was  subsequently 
elected  a  Senator.  His  moderation  and  affa- 
bility rendered  him  generally  popular,  and  his 
loss  is  deeply  regretted  by  his  co-religionists. 
— Catholic  Times. 

The  elevation  of  Archbishop  Taschereau  to 
the  Sacred  College  was  the  occasion  of  great 
rejoicing  in  Canada,  particularly,  of  course,  in 
Quebec.  Illuminations  on  successive  nights, 
salvoes  of  artillery,  and  the  ringing  of  all  the 
church  bells  testified  the  general  joy,  and  the 
universal  veneration  in  which  the  Archbishop 
is  held.  Both  houses  of  the  Provincial  Legis- 
lature having  unanimously  voted  an  address 
of  warm  congratulation  to  the  new  Cardinal, 
they  proceeded  together  in  state  the  next  day 
to  present  the  address  to  his  Eminence.  At 
the  reception  which  followed  every  public 
body  and  class  was  represented.  The  Prot- 
estant Bishop  of  Montreal  and  several  of  his 
presbyters  were  present. 


In  a  communication  to  The  Catholic Sentinei 
Archbishop  Seghers  speaks  thus  of  his  con 
templated  trip  to  Alaska: 


II 


The  Ave  Maria. 


m 


'A  steamer,  the  Ancon,^\\\  convey  us  to  Juneau 
'C  :y,  some  eight  hundred  miles  from  Victoria. 
T  ere  we  lay  in  a  supply  of  provisions,  and  leave, 
it  an  Indian  canoe,  for  Chilcoot  Inlet,  nearly  one 
hi  ndred  miles  north  of  Juneau.  A  portage  of 
sc  ne  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  over  a  range 
of  mountains,  in  company  with  Indian  packers, 
wjU  bring  us  to  the  lakes  that  form  the  head 
w;  ters  of  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Youcon 
River.  How  much  each  of  us  shall  have  to  pack 
is,  of  course,  as  yet  a  matter  of  uncertainty;  but 
th  3re  is  no  other  means  to  get  into  that  part  of 
thi  country,  except  on  foot  with  a  load  on  one's 
shDulder.  On  the  lakes  we  shall  have  to  resort 
to  a  primitive  mode  of  navigation:  we  shall  have 
to  make  a  raft,  and  float  down  to  where  we  find  a 
supply  of  good  timber  to  build  a  boat,  and  thus 
to  sail  down  the  river  as  far  as  the  mouth  of 
Stuart,  where  we  expect  to  find  the  first  field  of 
labor,  the  first  cluster  of  people,  the  first  instal- 
ment of  the  population  of  the  interior.  My  com- 
panions are  Father  Tosi,  S.  J. ,  Father  Rabaut,  S.  J. , 
and  Brother  Fuller.  We  will,  of  course,  select  a 
central  place,  where  we  intend  to  establish  a 
permanent  '  Mission  of  the  Holy  Cross,'  besides 
the  'Mission  of  Our  Lady  ad  Nives,  or,  at  the 
3now,'  which  I  prepared  at  Nulato  in  1877.  But, 
furthermore,  we  shall  have  to  visit  different  parts 
Df  the  interior,  travel  among  the  various  Indian 
;ribes,  and  scatter  the  seed  of  the  word  of  God 
'ar  and  wide,  with  the  expectation  that,  under 
he  influence  of  the  heavenly  dew,  it  will  grow 
ip  into  a  tree,  and  stand  firm  and  unmoved  in  de- 
lance  of  the  fierce  storms  that  may  rage  around 
t.  My  absence  will  probably  be  long,  very  long, 
f  God's  blessing  accompanies  us;  and  this  bless- 
ng  I  expect  your  pious  readers'  charity  to  ask 
nd  obtain  for  us." 

Mgr.  Johannes  Augustinus  Paredis,  Bishop 
f  Roermond  in  Holland,  v^hose  death  was 
itely  chronicled,  was  the  Nestor  of  all  the 
ishops  of  the  world,  and  one  of  the  most  re- 
larkable  ecclesiastics  of  his  time.  Born  at  Bru, 
ear  Maestricht,  on  August  23,  1795,  he  had 
ms  completed  his  ninetieth  year.  He  was  a 
odel  prelate,  distinguished  for  his  humility, 
;al,  austere  life,  and  charity.  His  devotion 
I  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  of  the  tenderest  but 
est  practical  kind,  and  with  the  names  of 
^sus  and  Mary  on  his  lips  he  died  the  death 
"the just.    R.I.  P. 


The  Rev.  A.  M.  Clark,  who  was  ordained  to 
e  priesthood  in  the  Church  of  St.  Paul  the 
postle,  New  York,  a  few  weeks  ago,  was  for 
me  years  an  Episcopalian  minister,  and 
nnected  with  the  Church  of  the  Advent  in 


Boston.  Over  three  years  ago  he  became  con- 
verted to  the  Faith, .and,  after  visiting  Rome 
and  England,  began  to  study  for  the  priest- 
hood in  the  Paulist  Order.  Another  Episco- 
palian minister.  Father  Nears,  was  ordained 
on  the  same  day  with  Father  Clark. — Catholic 

Citizen. 

*  ♦  » 

New  Publications. 

More  about  the  Hugjjenots.    A  Review 
of  Prof.  William  Gammell's  Lecture  on  "The 
Huguenots  and  the  Edict  of  Nantes."  By  Wil- 
liam Stang,  Priest  of  the  Diocese  of  Providence. 
The  style  of  this  pamphlet  is  unpretentious, 
and  the  facts  are  by  no  means  new;  but  no 
doubt  it  will  be  necessary  to  continue  to  pre- 
sent them  to  the  world  so  long  as  the  subject 
of  the   Huguenots   and   their   treatment   in 
France  affords  a  convenient  pretext  for  invec- 
tives^and  calumnies  against  the  Church. 

Father  Stang  has  divided  his  little  study 
into  four  chapters.  In  the  first  he  shows  con- 
clusively that  the  Huguenots  were  enemies  of 
the  State  in  France,  as  well  as  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church ;  and  that  governments  at- 
tempted to  suppress  them  not  so  much  because 
they  were  heretics,  as  because  they  were  the 
source  of  never-ending  discord  and  civil  dis- 
sensions. The  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew 
is  shown  to  have  been  merely  a  political  act 
of  the  reigning  sovereign  of  France.  In  the 
second  chapter  the  leaders  of  the  Huguenot 
party  are  considered,  and  the  utter  baseness 
and  criminality  of  many  among  them  are 
clearly  pointed  out.  The  third  chapter  deals 
with  the  old,  stereotyped  charge  that  the 
Catholic  Church  is  opposed  to  the  diffusion 
of  the  Scriptures  amongst  the  faithful,  and 
the  teaching  and  practice  of  the  Church  on 
this  point  are  set  forth.  The  fourth  chapter 
points  out  the  difference  between  dogmatic 
and  civil  intolerance,  and  shows  how  utterly 
false  and  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  history 
is  the  claim  so  often  made  that  the  world  is 
indebted  to  Protestantism  for  the  civil  and 
religious  liberty  which  the  nations  now  enjoy. 
Father  Stang' s  pamphlet  will  do  good,  and 
we  hope  that  it  will  be  widely  circulated. 

The  IvATin  Poems  of  I^eo  XIII.  Done 
INTO  English  Verse.  By  the  Jesuits  of  Wood- 
stock College.  Published  with  the  Approbation 
of  His  Holiness.  Baltimore,  U.  S.  A. :  John 
Murphy  &  Co. ,  Publishers.    1886. 


138 


The  Ave  Maria. 


This  is  the  title  of  a  most  elegant  and  at- 
tractive volume  lately  issued  from  the  pub- 
lishing house  of  John  Murphy  &  Co.  The 
casket  is  not  unworthy  of  the  jewels  that  it 
contains,  and  it  is  indeed  no  exaggeration  to 
say  that  many  of  the  poems  are  gems.  Pope 
Leo  is  one  who  has  evidently  drank  deep  at 
the  fount  of  all  that  was  best  in  classic  antiq- 
uity, and  these  verses  breathe  the  delicacy  of 
thought  and  the  charm  of  expression  which 
distinguished  the  Golden  Age  of  Latinity, 
while  at  the  same  time  they  are  imbued  with 
a  loftiness  of  moral  sentiment  of  which  the 
authors  of  the  Augustan  Age  had  no  concep- 
tion. The  sapphic  and  the  elegiac  distich  are 
the  metres  most  affected  The  volume  will  be 
welcomed  by  intelligent  Catholics  as  another 
illustration — if  another  were  needed — of  the 
wonderful  versatility  of  the  great  Pontiff  who 
now  occupies  the  Chair  of  St.  Peter. 

The  poems  have  been  done  into  fairly  cred- 
itable English  verse  by  the  young  ecclesiastics 
of  Woodstock.  A  severe  critic  might  find 
fault  with  a  few  of  the  rhymes  as  being  some- 
what limp  and  halting,  but  these  trifling  blem- 
ishes can  not  obscure  the  general  excellence 
of  the  work. 

Obituary. 

"//  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dea'd." 

— 3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

Mr.  Joseph  Norris,  a  venerable  Catholic  citizen 
of  Bay  City,  Mich. , who  passed  away  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  2ist  of  July,  fortified  by  the  Sacraments 
of  Holy  Church.  His  characteristics  were  abun- 
dant charity  and  the  strictest  honesty.  What  he 
possessed  in  this  world  he  also  considered  the 
possession  of  the  poor.  Mr.  Norris  was  one  of  the 
first  subscribers  to  The  "Ave  Maria." 

Miss  Catharine  Duffy,  whose  long  and  patient 
sufferings  were  crowned  with  a  happy  death  on 
the  nth  ult.  She  had  been  a  reader  of  Our  Lady's 
Magazine  from  childhood. 

Mrs.  Fannie  McCafferty,  who  breathed  her  last 
on  the  23d  ult.  She  was  tenderly  devoted  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  was  a  warm  advocate  of  the 
Rosary, 

Mr.  Richard  Walsh,  of  Newark,  N.  J.,  whose 
death  occurred  on  the  30th  of  June. 

Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Carroll,  who  departed  this  life  in 
San  Francisco,  on  the  15th  ult. 

Mr.  John  Burns  and  Mr.  Michael  O'Reilly,  of 
Hudson,  Mich. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PA^TMENt 


Our  Lady's  Lilies. 


BY    E.    A.   S. 

UOU  wonder  why  my  tropic  lilies  thrive 
In  this  small  room,  this  crowded  busy  hive 
I  call  my  home, 
More  freely  than  beneath  thy  marble  dome, 

And  then  declare 
Some  charm  lies  in  my  touch  or  in  the  air, 
And  this  is  why  my  lilies  bloom  so  fair. 

Sweet  friend,  the  mystery  I  will  frankly  tell; 
Upon  it  let  thy  heart  one  moment  dwell: 

The  lilies  know 
As  well  as  you  and  I  where  they  will  go, 

And  from  the  root 
Their  snow-white  arrows  ever  duly  shoot, 
Our  Lady's  feasts  with  gladness  to  salute. 

Our  Lady's  place,  her  own  Son  beside, 
Is  where  her  lilies  ever  choose  to  bide, 

And  there  adore 
In  ecstasy  of  silence  evermore; 

Their  perfumes  plead 
For  us,  poor  pilgrims,  in  our  sorest  need, 
And  Jesus  must  His  Mother's  lilies  heed. 


Bodger;  or,  How  It  Happened. 


BY    E.    L.    D. 


AL,  ef  this  don't  beat  all  the 
rains  ever  /  see ! ' '    And  Cap-  \ 
tain  Ephraim  Saltonstall,  of 
the    schooner    Lively   Polly ^  I 
b^i   bent  his  head,  gave  a  tug  to  his  I 
W^  sou'wester,  and   literally   shoul-j 
%     dered  his  way  through  wind  and 
!!!^     weather  toward  the  wharf,  where 
the  Lively — as  she  was  called  in  ordinary 
conversation — was  bobbing  and  straining  at 
her  moorings.  I 

As  he  reached  the  last  warehouse,  an  unn 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


139 


ue  jally  fierce  gust  tore  round  the  corner, 
ai  d  sent  him  staggering  into  its  doorway 
fo  shelter.  Here  he  stumbled  over  some- 
th  ng,  from  which  issued  a  low  wail. 

"Bless  my  stars!"  said  he,  "wot's  this 
he  re  ?  "  And  he  bent  to  see,  when  a  tiny  fist 
WJ-S  reached  from  the  thin  old  shawl  that 
co/ered  it,  and  he  saw,  or  rather/^//,  it  was 
a  child. 

'  By  gum ! ' '  said  he,  "  it's  a  live  child ;  an' 
it's  agoin'  to  be  a  dead  un  soon,  ef  some- 
thin'  ain't  done,  and  done  quick.  Whar's 
the  watchman?  Turned  in.  Don't  blame 
him  neether.  Wisht  some  o'  them  there 
infant  asylums  was  handy  that  the  Roman- 
ists plant  round.  But  they  ain't.  And  the 
Lively^ s  got  to  trip  anchor  and  off  down 
the  Bay  at  daybreak.  What' 11  I  do  with 
the  critter,  anyway?  Take  it  up  and  kerry 
it  aboard?  Wal,  that's  easy  enuf,  but  arter 
;hat?  Sho  now!  Wisht  I  hadn't  a-come 
his  way!  —  wisht  I  didn't  mind  playing 
Driest  an'  levite,  an'  passin'  by  t'other  side. 
Drk'ard  bein'  a  Samaritan  to  a  infant!" 

Here    the    bundle    stirred    again    and 
noaned. 
' '  Wal,  here  goes !   Come  along,  young  un. 
ain't  never  sheered  off  f'um  a  signal  o' 
liistress  yet,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  begin  wi' 
cock-boat  like  you." 
\ndhe  lifted  the  little  one  ''ork'ardly" 
nough,  opened  his  pea-jacket,  wrapped  it 
/arm,  and  strode  off  to  the  Lively  with  a 
uick  step. 
By  the  light  of  the  oil  lamp  in  his  cabin 
e  examined  his  find  with  some  curiosity, 
ad  saw  an  undersized   child   about  two 
ears  old,  wizened  and  pinched,  and  sleep- 
jig  so  heavily  and  breathing  so  unnaturally 
lat  he  muttered : ' '  Drugged,  an'  turned  out 
)die!" 

It  was  drenched  through,  but  he  had  no 
othes  to  replace  its  rags,  so,  forcing  some 
im  and  water  between  its  blue  lips,  he 
rapped  it  up  in  a  thick  blanket,  put  his 
cket  under  its  head,  and  laid  it  on  his  sea- 
lest  Then  he  hurried  into  his  hammock, 
id,  although  greatly  exercised  about  the 
atter,  fell  asleep  at  once,  and  only 'wak- 
ed when  the  cabin-boy  pounded  on  the 


door,  with  the  brief  announcement, "  Day- 
break, sir!" 

He  turned  out,  hurried  into  pilot  coat 
and  boots,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  thun- 
dering his  orders  from  the  little  deck;  and  it 
was  not  until  the  Lively  was  slipping  down 
the  Bay,  with  Minot's  red  eye  glaring  on 
the  starboard  beam,  that  he  remembered  his 
find,  and  wondered  what  it  was  up  to. 

He  plunged  below,  ducked  his  tall  head, 
and  went  into  the  cabin.  There  it  was, 
sitting  up  among  the  folds  of  the  blanket, 
dry  and  warm,  with  tangled  hair  rampantly 
erect,  and  keen  bright  eyes,  that  looked 
half  frightened  and  half  sly  as  they  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him. 

"Wal,  youngster,"  he  said,  cheerily, 
"how-de-do?  Hungry?"  But  it  made  no 
answer,  and  as  he  drew  near,  it  crouched 
aside,'and  put  up  its  hand  as  if  to  ward  off 
a  blow. 

"Why,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hurt  ye,  ye  little 
goose!  On'y  want  to  get  ye  somethin'  to 
eat.  Come  along!"  And,  lifting  it  up,  he 
smoothed  its  hair  with  one  horny  hand,  and 
looked  dubiously  at  his  tin  basin,  but  he 
shook  his  head. 

"Guess  ye  had  'nufFwashin'  last  night  to 
last  aconsid'able  time."  And  he  tramped 
into  the  little ' '  saloon, ' '  where  the  mate  was 
already  bolting  his  breakfast,  and  drinking 
cup  after  cup  of  black  coflfee. 

The  fellow  looked  up  and  was  so  amazed 
at  what  he  saw — "the  skipper  wi'  a  young 
un  in  his  arms" — that  he  stopped  short, 
with  his  mouth  wide  open  and  his  cup  in 
the  air: 

' '  Whar '  d  that  come  from  ?  "  he  gobbled 
at  last. 

"Rid  up  on  th'  anchor,  p'raps,"  said  the 
Captain,  and,  with  a  solemn  wink,  he  set 
the  child  on  his  knee  and  gave  it  ' '  share 
and  share  alike"  of  his  own  meal,  except 
the  coffee,  which  he  replaced  by  condensed 
milk,  remembering  vaguely  to  have  heard 
somewhere  that  children  and  milk  made  a 
good  combination. 

When  they  were  through,  he  began : 

"Now,  youngster,  wot's  your  name? 
Tom?" 


140 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  shake  of  the  small  head  was  his  answer. 

' ' Ain'  t  ?    Is  it  Bill  ?  Jack  ?  Jim  ?  " 

A  series  of  shakes. 

'"Ot  a  boy  'tall,"  it  said,  finally. 

"My  glory!  ye  ain't  a  gall,  be  ye?'^ 

An  emphatic  nod  proved  it  beyond  doubt. 

' '  Wal,  I' m  jiggered ! "  he  gasped ;  ' '  this 
doos  complercate  matters!" 

"Name's  Bodger,"  she  went  on. 

"Bodger?    What's  that?" 

'  *  Bodger,  an'  I  gits  hitted.' '  And  a  vigo- 
rous action  of  her  arm  showed  what  that 
meant,  at  least. 

Captain  Ephraim  looked  at  her  in  dense 
astonishment,  but  all  he  said  was:  "Well, 
my  little  maid,  ye  must  jes  stay  here  a 
while,  tell  I  git  back." 

But  she  clung  to  his  collar,  and  buried 
her  face  so  close  in  his  jacket,  that  he  could 
not  get  free  without  hurting  her.  So  with 
a  patient,  "I  vum!"  he  went  up  on  deck, 
with  the  child  hanging  like  a  monkey  to 
his  jacket. 

"See  here,  you  fellows,"  he  called  as  he 
stepped  from  the  companion  way;  "this 
here  young  un's  come  aboard.  She's  a  gall- 
child,  an' has  had  ha'sh  treatment.  Look 
at  that  an'  that " — and  he  pointed  to  a  long, 
blue  weal  across  her  face,  and  a  livid  bruise 
•on  her  arm — "an'  I  want  ye  all  to  be  good 
to  her  tell  I  git  back  to  port,  an'  put  her 
som'eres  where  she'll  be  keered  for  decent. 
Now  haul  away  thar,  and  git  that  mainsail 
shook  out;  for  the  breeze  is  a-comin'  over 
thar,  an'  no  mistake. 

"Here  you  are,  youngster!"  And  he 
swung  her  down  on  a  coil  of  rope,  gave  a 
neat  turn  with  one  end  of  it,  fastening  her 
securely  to  the  grating,  and  then  fell  to  with 
a  will  to  help  his  men. 

Some  six  months  after,  on  a  bright  May 
night,  the  Lively  came  dancing  home. 
"The  Capen's  maid,"  as  the  waif  came  to 
be  called,  was  the  pet  of  all  hands,  and  was 
fairly  good  as  children  go,  but  she  tyran- 
nized over  Captain  Ephraim  to  a  degree 
marvellous  to  behold ;  for  he  loved  her  as 
well  as  if  she  had  been  his  own. 

On  this  night  he  stood  leaning  on  the 


rail  looking  at,  but  not  seeing,  Minot's  eye 
that  beamed  a  welcome,  and  Nixie's  Mate 
that  lay  like  a  shadow  to  the  right. 

James  O'Neil,  one  of  his  best  seamen, 
came  up  to  him: 

"Capen,  ef  I  might  make  so  free,  what 
ye  goin'  to  do  wi'  the  maid  when  you  git 
ashore  ?  " 

"Dunno,"  said  Ephraim,  setting  his 
hair  all  on  end,  as  he  rubbed  it  worriedly; 
"dunno;  ain't  got  any  relations,  and  I've 
got  so  fond  of  the  little  critter  I  don't  want 
to  put  her  inter  the  poor 'us  or  a  home,  an' 
I've  pretty  near  made  up  my  mind  to  take 
her  off  again  on  the  Lively. ' ' 

Then  he  gave  his  hair  another  rub — the 
wrong  way,  of  course. 

"It's  a  hard  life  for  a  gall-child,"  said 
O'Neil,  suggestively. 

' '  Yes,  I  know  that, ' '  responded  Ephraim; 
"but  I  don't  see  no — " 

"Wal,  Capen,  I  ast  you,"  said  O'Neil,  as 
he  paused,  "'cause  my  wife  ain't  got  ne'er  a 
chick  nor  child,  an'  I  think  she'd  be  glad  of 
the  comp'ny.  I  know  she'd  take  good  keer 
of  her.  Jes  look  at  my  shirts  an'  socks,  an' 
my  hussif, "  *  he  added,  with  pardonable 
pride. 

"Wal,  now,  that's  a  reel  good  idee, 
O'Neil,  an'  I'll  think  it  over.  An'  it  was 
reel  clever  of  ye  to  think  of  it,  too." 

"  Oh,  sho ! "  said  O'  Neil, "  that' s  all  right. 
Ye  see.  I'm  fond  o'  the  maid  too,  and  ye  ain't 
such  a  bad  skipper  yerself. ' ' 

Which,  coming  from  two  Yankee  sailors, 
meant  civilities  indeed. 

II. 
O'Neil  was  an  American,  but,  several 
years  before  Captain  Ephraim  picked  up 
' '  his  maid, ' '  he  had  married  a  pretty  Irish] 
girl  just  out  from  the  old  country,  and  had; 
set  up  a  modest  housekeeping  in  two  rooms 
on  the  South  water-front.  These  were  as, 
neat  as  soap  and  water  could  make  them,j' 
and  as  MoUie's  clear-starching  and  laun-j 
dering  were  famous,  she  managed  duringj 
! 

*  "Housewife" — the  sewing-case  sailors  tak<j 
with  them  to  sea.  It  is  filled  with  needles,  thread! 
buttons,  tapes,  etc. 


i 


The  Ave  Maria, 


141 


I'e  cruises  of  the  Lively  to  add  many  little 
c  )niforts  to  their  furnishing — turkey-red 
c  irtains  for  Winter,  muslin  ones  for  Sum- 
E  ler,  some  pots  of  geraniums,  a  hardy  rose 
c :  two,  and  lately  a  bird. 

*  Neat  as  a  ship, ' '  was  Captain  Ephraim's 
c  )rament,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  the 
little  one  clinging  to  him  as  usual;  "and 
t]ie  young  ooman  as  fresh  as  paint,"  as 
^[ollie  came  forward,  her  pretty  blue  eyes 
giving  a  welcome  to  her  husband,  and  her 
rosy  cheeks  blushing  a  shade  pinker  before 
the  stranger. 

"Well,  my  girl,"  said  O'Neil,  kissing 
her,  with  a  hearty  pride  in  her  comeliness ; 
"here's  the  skipper,  an' here's  the  young 
un  I  told  ye  about. ' ' 

"Ye' re  kindly  welcome,  sir,"  she  said  to 
the  Captain;  "an' I'll  be  glad  indade  to 
take  the  child." 

*  *  Now,  that' s  reel  clever ! "  he  answered ; 

"fur  I  ain't  never  seen  a  place  that  I'd 

ruther  leave  a  young  un  in;  an'I  think, 

mum,  you're  the  right  sort  to  do  well  by  a 

'  orphan." 

After  a  little  more  talk  the  two  men  left, 
I  but  not  without  a  sore  struggle  on  the  part 
of  the  maid,  who  clung  to  the  Captain,  and 
long  after  he  was  gone  cried  in  a  subdued, 
unchildlike  fashion,  that  made  Mollie's 
heart  ache. 

Finding  words  were  of  no  use,  she  did 
the  best  thing  she  could  have  thought  of — 
picked  the  child  up  in  her  arms,  and  cud- 
dled her  close,  rocking  her  back  and  forth, 
and  kissing  and  petting  her  in  a  way  that 
made  Bodger  hold  her  breath  in  surprise. 

The  Lively  s  trip  was  a  flying  one,  and 
before  the  next  night  she  had  fluttered  out 
like  a  little  white  moth  into  the  far  blue. 
But  the  Captain  left  ample  provision  for 
the  child,  and  Mollie's  days  were  busier 
than  ever,  getting  her  fitted  out,  and  yet 
trying  not  to  let  her  own  work  suffer. 

As  soon  as  the  first  decent  suit  was  fin- 
ished, she  took  her  around  to  Father  Byrne, 
and  told  him  as  much  of  the  story  as  she 
:ould,  while  Bodger  watched  the  pigeons 
rom  the  other  end  of  the  room.  In  conclu- 
ion  she  added: 


"Indade,  sir,  I'm  afeard  she  ain't  bap- 
tized at  all  at  all.  'She  has  no  more  idea  of 
God  an'  His  Holy  Mother — blessed  be  their 
names! — than  a  hay  then  Pi-ute,  as  O'Neil 
says;  an'  she  aint  even  got  a  Christian 
name,  as  near  as  I  can  sense  it,  so  I  thought 
she'd  better  have  a  conditional  baptism, 
any  way." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mrs. — " 

"O'Neil,"  she  said,  with  a  courtesy. 

"Mrs.  O'Neil.  What  name  have  you 
thought  of  for  her?  " 

"Well,  sir,  seein'  as  it's  the  month  o' 
May,  I  thought  p'raps  it  ud  be  good  to  call 
her  afther  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself." 

That's  a  pious  thought,  and  the  name 
will  bring  a  blessing  to  the  child." 

And  it  seemed  to;  for  a  sunnier,  sturdier 
youngster  than  the  maid  grew  to  be,  was 
not  to  be  found  on  the  water-front. 

She  loved  Mollie  and  was  fond  of  O'Neil, 
but  her  "daddy,"  as  she  called  Captain 
Ephraim,  she  simply  adored;  and  as  for 
him,  he  soon  fell  into  the  habit  of  spending 
all  his  spare  time  in  the  little  front-room, 
where,  on  winter  evenings,  the  sausage  siz- 
zled on  the  stove  and  the  kettle  ' '  puttered  " 
on  the  hob,  and  in  Summer  the  salt  wind 
freshened  the  heat,  and  the  flowers  nodded 
in  their  pots,  and  ' '  little  Mary, "  "  me  dar- 
lint, "  or  "  my  maid ' '  (as  she  was  variously 
called),  hung  about  him  as  he  told  his  sea- 
yarns,  or  listened  while  O'Neil  and  his 
Mollie  chatted  of  the  days  to  come,  when 
they  could  have  a  little  home  of  their 
own  somewhere,  and  the  sailor  could  turn 
farmer. 

At  this  last  the  Captain  would  smile,  for 
he  knew  that  when  the  sea  once  gets  its 
grip  on  a  man,  it  never  looses  it  until  his 
soul  goes  out  with  the  ebb-tide  *  in  some 
coast- village,  or  his  bones  go  down  into  its 
silent  keeping. 

These  visits  were  high  holidays  for  the 
maid,  but  when  the  two  men  were  at  sea 
she  was  as  busy  as  a  bee  in  a  tar-barrel. 


*  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  those  who  die  in 
coast-villages,  especially  sailors,  die  as  the  tide  i^ 
going  out. 


142 


The  Ave  Maria, 


learning  all  Mollie  could  teach  her  about 
the  house,  sewing,  going  to  school,  and 
learning  her  Catechism  with  Father  Byrne, 
who  fancied  the  quaint  child,  and  watched 
her  development  with  interest. 

For  a  long  time  the  name  by  which  she 
always  called  herself  — ' '  Bodger  "  —  re- 
mained a  puzzle,  but  Mollie  fancied  she  got 
a  clue  to  it  about  a  year  after  the  maid 
came  to  her.  She  was  ironing  one  day  in 
great  haste,  and  accidentally  touched  her 
hand  with  the  hot  metal. 

*  *  Ah,  bother ! ' '  she  cried. 

The  little  girl  was  on  the  floor,  playing 
with  some  building-blocks,  but  at  this  she 
stopped,  cast  a  frightened  look  around  her, 
then  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and  went  to 
Mollie' s  side. 

"Ot  you  want?" 

"Nothin',  me  darlint,"  said  Mollie. 

^* You  say  'Bodger'!" 

' '  I  burnt  me  hand  an'  said, '  Bother ! '  " 

'"Es,"  said  the  maid,  ''Bodger.  'At's 
me." 

Mollie' s  quick  Celtic  wit  leaped  to  a 
conclusion.  She  dropped  on  her  knees  by 
the  child. 

"Glory  to  God!"  she  said,  "were  you 
called  that,  me  dear?" 

The  maid  nodded. 

"An'  hadn't  ye  anny  other  name?" 

This  titne  she  shook  her  head. 

And  Mollie  thought:  "Ah!  mustn't  that 
be  a  black,  wicked  heart  that  ud  call  a 
child  nothin'  but  a  bother?" 

So  saying  she  put  her  arms  round  the 
maid,  and  kissed  her  silently. 

As  Bodger  grew  older,  and  began  to 
understand  her  religion,  she  developed 
an  ardent  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
of  and  to  whom  she  often  spoke  as  "Me 
dear. ' ' 

Mollie  reproved  her  at  first,  for  it  seemed 
hardly  reverent;  but  the  little  girl  said, 
simply: 

"You  call  me  that  'cause  you  love  me; 
I  love  her^  an'  so  I  call  her  it  too.  But  av 
ye  like  I'll  call  her  'My  I^ady,'  like  ye 
called  the  pretty  Queen  in  the  ould  coun- 
try." 


' '  Not  the  Queen,  darlint,  but  me  Lady 
Clontarf  at  Castle  Darragh." 

' '  Well  her,  then.  Wasn'  t  she  the  biggest 
lady  of  'em  all,  an'  the  prettiest,  an'  the 
swatest?" — for  the  maid  had  a  touch  of 
the  brogue  from  association. 

"Indadeshe  was,"  said  Mollie;  "an'  it's 
meself  should  know. ' ' 

' '  Then, ' '  said  Bodger, "  it' s  a  good  name ; 
for  my  Lady's  the  greatest  an'  prettiest  an' 
the  swatest  of  all  that  ever  lived. ' ' 

And  when  Mollie,  in  some  anxiety,  told 
Father  Byrne,  he  said : 

' '  Let  her  call  Our  Lady  so  if  she  wants 
to.  There  can  never  be  any  harm  in  the 
natural  expressions  of  love  made  by  an  in- 
nocent child."  Then  he  asked  for  O'Neil 
and  the  Captain,  in  the  latter  of  whom  he 
was  much  interested;  for  the  skipper,  al- 
though "no  perfessor  of  religion,"  had  a 
deep,  natural  piety,  and  was  a  singularly 
honest,  straightforward  nature. 
(to  be  continued.) 


From  TIpperary  to  Texas. 


The  Adventures  of  Tibby  Buti^er. 


BY  T.  F.  GAIvWEY. 


(CONCI,USION.) 

VIL 

Shortly  after  the  round-up  Connemara 
Ranch  lost  something  of  its  usual  bright- 
ness. Countenances  bore  a  watchful,  almost 
anxious  look.  The  Apaches,  those  redoubt- 
able and  bloodthirsty  warriors  of  the  moun-  j 
tain  and  plain — almost  the  only  Indians  in  | 
the  United  States  who  have  resisted  the 
efforts  of  Catholic  missionaries — were  grow- 
ing restless  once  more,  after  an  unusually  '■ 
long  period  of  peace.  There  were  rumors  1 
of  fearful  atrocities  perpetrated  by  themi 
among  white  settlers  in  the  valley  beyond  i 
Aguas  Dulces,  and  of  cattle  having  been! 
driven  off  by  them  from  herds  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

Colonel  Lynch,  therefore,  determined  tc 
take  his  wif"?  aud  the  small  children,  with 


11^ 

It]  ere  i: 


^ke  Ave  Maria. 


H3 


feir  nurse,  to  El  Paso,  and  leave  them 
tl  ere  until  this  rising  of  the  savages  was 
q  lelled.  The  now  diminished  herd  and  the 
h  )rses  were  corralled  near  the  ranch  build- 
ii  gs,  and  from  the  corral  to  the  buildings  a 
d  tch  was  dug,  and  the  earth  from  the  ditch 
tl  rown  up  on  both  sides  into  dikes,  so  as 
t(  form,  in  case  of  attack,  a  means  of  com- 
ir  unication  that  would  be  covered  from  the 
b  illets  or  arrows  of  the  Indians. 

As  most  of  the  vaqueros  were  gone  with 
the  drove  to  Kansas,  the  number  of  men 
available  for  the  defence  of  the  ranch  was 
greatly  reduced.  Besides  the  Colonel,  and 
two  vaqueros  who  were  to  accompany  him 
to  El  Paso  and  back,  there  were  Dan 
Carroll,  the  foreman;  Phil  I^ynch,  Tibby 
Butler,  and  five  vaqueros.  One  of  these 
last,  a  Mexican  named  Juan,  was  nearly 
seventy,  and  consequently  not  active.  But 
Juan  was  brave,  and  he  knew  the  Apache 
character  perfectly,  so  that  his  presence  was 
of  value.  The  eight  were  all  fully  armed, 
having  a  Winchester  rifle  each  and  a  re- 
volver, with  an  ample  supply  of  ammuni- 
tion and  of  food  to  stand  a  long  siege,  if 
I  necessary. 

All  the  preparations  having  been  made, 
the  Colonel  with  his  little  party  set  out  for 
El  Paso  at  daybreak.  He  left  Dan  Carroll 
in  charge,  and  directed  Phil  and  Tibby 
to  act  as  aids  to  Dan  in  every  arrangement 
which  that  reliable  man  should  make  for 
the  care  and  defence  of  the  ranch.  The 
Colonel,  with  his  two  well-armed  compan- 
ions, hoped  to  be  back  at  the  ranch  by  noon 
of  the  following  day. 

Reports  of  the  near  approach  of  the 
Apaches  continued  to  reach  the  ranch  dur- 
ing the  day,  and  the  night  was  one  of  great 
watchfulness  and  anxiety.  Breakfast  was 
scarcely  over  next  morning  when  the  sav- 
ages were  descried  near  the  Aguas. 

Alongside  of  the  corral,  and  connected 
with  the  covered-way  to  the  ranch  residence 
buildings,  was  a  good-sized  log  structure 
ised  as  a  blacksmith  shop  and  tool-house, 
md  having  a  small  square  window  at  each 
)f  three  of  its  sides,  and  at  the  other  side  a 
vide  door  facing  the  corral.  The  logs  were 


thick  enough  to  resist  bullets,  and  they  had 
been  laid  so  tightly  that  even  the  chinks 
were  nearly  impenetrable.  The  blacksmith 
shop  had  been  selected  to  be  the  citadel  in 
case. the  Apaches  should  come. 

The  sun  was  high  up  in  the  heavens,  and 
all  was  ominously  still  about  the  ranch, 
except  for  the  occasional  bellowing  of  the 
cattle  impatient  at  being  shut  up,  when 
a  shrill  whoop  from  the  distance  caused 
everyone  to  make  haste  into  the  blacksmith 
shop;  for  it  was  the  Texan  danger  signal. 
On  a  bare  knoll,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  in  the 
direction  of  the  Aguas  Manuel,  a  vaquero 
on  the  lookout  was  galloping  his  horse  in 
a  circle,  and  extending  both  arms  alter- 
nately from  the  body,  to  notify  the  ranch 
that  Indians  were  approaching,  and  in  great 
numjjers.  It  was  he  that  had  given  the 
whoop.  He  then  came  in  flying  to  join  his 
comrades  in  the  defence. 

All  being  in  the  blacksmith  shop,  the 
door  was  closed  and  secured,  and  the  little 
garrison  disposed  itself  at  the  windows, 
and  at  the  slit  in  the  door,  two  at  each 
post. 

' '  Here  they  come,  boys ! ' '  said  Dan,  in  a 
low  but  steady  tone.  "Now  everyone  be 
ready  to  do  his  duty  like  a  man  and  a 
Christian." 

^'^ Hombres  y  Cristianos!^^  echoed  Juan, 
making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  in  which 
he  was  imitated  by  all. 

Tibby  thought  of  pleasant  Tipperary, 
and  the  kindly  ways  of  Ireland.  His  heart 
leaped — but  only  for  an  instant.  He  clutched 
his  rifle,  rested  it  on  the  window-sill,  and 
then  wondered  at  himself  for  his  own  cool- 
ness. 

One,  two,  five — there  must  have  been 
fifty  mounted  figures  approaching  over  the 
prairie,  with  wide  intervals  between  them. 
Their  tall  crests  of  feathers  waved  threaten- 
ingly. In  front  came  one  who  was  flutter- 
ing a  piece  of  canvas  that  sometime  was 
white. 

"Steady,  boys!  Don't  fire  yet!"  was 
Dan's  order.  ' '  That  fellow  wants  to  parley. 
Can  we  trust  him,  Juan?"  he  shouted  to 
the  old  Mexican. 


144 


The  Ave  Maria. 


' '  No  trus'  Apache  por  amor  de  Dios! ' ' 
was- Juan's  reply. 

And  Juan  was  right;  for  at  this  moment 
Phil,  who  had  been  peeping  through  the 
window  that  looked  towards  the  residence, 
discovered  a  group  of  the  savages  circling 
around  in  that  direction. 

"I  don't  like  to  fire  on  a  white  flag," 
said  Dan,  with  momentary  indecision.  But 
he  had  scarcely  spoken  than  a  sharp  twang 
made  the  blood  in  Tibby's  body  cease  to 
circulate  for  a  second,  and  an  arrow  fast- 
ened its  head  in  the  window-frame  along- 
side of  him. 

''Now  give  it  to  them,  and  don't  miss  a 
shot!"  exclaimed  Dan. 

Tibby,  who  had  the  Indian  of  the  white 
flag  in  his  aim,  made  an  act  of  contrition 
for  all  the  sins  of  his  past  life,  and  a  firm 
purpose  of  amendment,  and  pulled  the  trig- 
ger. He  was  inclined  to  be  sorry  the  next 
moment;  for  the  savage's  pony  was  running 
off  without  its  rider,  and  Tibby  did  not  like 
to  kill  or  wound,  even  in  self-defence. 

"I  have  hit  that  Patchy,"  said  he,  as  he 
cleared  the  cartridge  case  from  his  rifle, 
and  made  ready  for  another  shot. 

"You  have  hit  nothing!"  shouted  Phil, 
half-derisively .    ' '  Look  at  that ! ' ' 

All  the  enemy's  ponies  were  running 
off,  and  all  seemingly  without  riders. 

"The  redskins,"  said  Phil,  "are  hang- 
ing on  to  the  other  side  of  the  ponies. 
What  can  be  the  matter?"  he  continued. 
"See  how  they  are  clearing  out!" 

The  next  moment  a  ringing  cheer  and 
a  rapid  rattle  of  rifles  broke  on  the  ears  of 
the  besieged,  and  then  the  cause  of  the 
Apaches'  sudden  flight  was  apparent.  A 
thin  line  of  blue-jacketed  cavalry  men  was 
seen  scouring  like  the  wind  across  the 
plain,  in  pursuit  of  the  fast  disappearing 
Indians. 

The  door  of  the  blacksmith  shop  was 
scarcely  opened  when  Colonel  Lynch  and 
his  two  cow-boy  companions  to  Bl  Paso 
appeared,  along  with  an  officer  of  the  cav- 
alry. 

"  It' s  all  over ! ' '  exclaimed  Dan ;  ' '  thank 
God!" 


' '  Gracias  a  Dios  y  a  la  Virgen  puri- 
sima! ' '  responded  Juan. 

"Well,  it's  a  good  lesson,  boys,"  said  the 
Colonel.  '  'A  few  minutes  ago  I  know  you 
were  all  praying,  brave  as  you  may  be, 
and  making  acts  of  contrition,  because  you 
did  not  know  but  the  next  second  would 
be  your  last.  Now  let  everyone  keep  the 
good  promises  made  then,  and  all  will  be 
right." 

This  little  menace  of  danger  served  to 
draw  more  closely  together  those  who  had 
been  associated  with  it.  Tibby  and  Phil 
for  weeks  found  it  plentiful  source  of  dis- 
cussion as  to  what  might  have  happened  if 
what  did  not  happen  had  happened.  The 
two  boys  became  warmly  attached  to  each 
other,  and  when,  later  on,  the  Indians 
having  been  quieted,  the  family  was  again 
assembled  at  Connemara  Ranch,  Colonel 
Lynch  and  Mrs.  Lynch  concluded  that 
when  Phil  went  to  college  the  next  year 
Tibby  should  go  with  him. 


O  Mary!    O  my  Mother! 


St.  Benedict  Joseph  Labre  left  home  and 
parents  to  live  as  a  poor  beggar  near  the 
sanctuaries  of  Jesus  and  Mary.    His  ragged 
and  miserable  state  procured  for  him  in- 
sults and  blows,  and  he  was  turned  out  of 
the  church  itself  as  a  hypocrite  and  vaga- 
bond.  But  the  presence  of  Jesus  in  the  tab- 
ernacle warmed  his  heart,  and  the  thought 
of  Mary  turned  his  sorrows  to  joy.   He  wore 
her  Rosary  round  his  neck.    Her  shrine  at 
Loreto   was   his   favorite   pilgrimage,  her 
picture  at  Santa  Maria  dei  Monti  his  chosen  i 
spot  for  prayer.    There  he  w^ould  spend 
hours  rapt  in  devotion,  unconsciously  edi- ' 
fying  all  around  him ;  while  the  words,  j 
' '  O  Mary,  O  my  Mother ! ' '  would  burst  from  \ 
his  lips.    There  he  knelt  for  the  last  time 
in  prayer,  and  thence  his  soul  made  its  la[St 
pilgrimage  to  Mary  and  to  God.  { 


Quod  Deus  imperio,  tuprece  Virgo potes,- 

"God  can  do  all  things  by  behest; 
Thou  by  prayer,  O  Virgin  blest!" 


[Ck>p]hrigbt :— Riv.  D. 

le  Origin  and  Use  of  Holy  Water. 


BY   THE    REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  I,L.  D. 


[EADER,  as  you  sometimes  stand 
at  the  church  door,  and  see  the  peo- 
ple enter  and  depart,  taking  holy 
water,  and   some   making   a  well-defined 
Sign  of  the  Cross,  while  others  make  a  mo- 
tion that  might  be  taken  for  the  brushing 
[iway  of  an  importunate  mosquito,  or  for 
my  thing  else  but  what  it  is  intended  to 
"epresent,  did  you  ever  feel  a  desire  to  learn 
inything  more  about  holy  water  than  that 
t  is  blessed  by  the  priest  as  necessity  re- 
quires, and  placed  at  the  church  door  for 
he  convenience  of  the  people  ?  Or  do  you, 
)erhaps,  belong   to  the  large  number  of 
hose  who  are  content  to  practise  their  re- 
igion  without  caring  to  trouble  themselves 
nth  an  inquiry  into  the  history  and  sig- 
j.ification  of  its  sacred  rites? 
It  is  a  fact,  of  which  we  have  little  reason 
)  feel  proud,  that  Catholics,  as  a  rule,  know 
ir  too  little  about  their  religion.  Whether 
is  that  they  have  not  the  opportunity, 
r  that  they  have  not  the  time  to  devote  to 
,  or  that  they  are  satisfied  to  take  every- 
ling  on  faith,  the  fact  can  not  be  denied 
lat  even  educated  and  well-read  Catholics 
low  far  less  about  their  religion  than  they 
)  about  almost  any  other  branch  of  knowl- 
tge.    iVnd  the  information  they  possess  is 
•mmonly  found  to  be  of  a  general  and  in- 
finite character,  and  not  of  that  precise 


nature  which  the  well-defined  teaching  of 
the  Church  would  enable  one  to  acquire. 

The  reader  must  pardon  me  for  drawing 
this  very  uncomplimentary  picture;  no  one 
would  more  gladly  be  persuaded  than  I  that 
it  is  overwrought.  In  view  of  this,  a  brief 
inquiry  into  the  question  of  Holy  Water 
may  be  of  advantage. 

The  first  point  that  presents  itself  is  the 
extensive  use  of  holy  water  in  the  Church 
and  among  the  faithful.  From  the  grand 
basilica  to  the  hut  of  the  beggar  holy  water 
is  found,  and  it  enters  into  the  imposing 
ceremonial  of  the  one  as  well  as  into  the 
simple  devotions  of  the  other.  It  is  required 
in  almost  all  the  blessings  of  the  Church, 
and  in  some  of  her  Sacraments,  and  few 
sacred  rites  are  complete  without  it.  The 
room  in  which  we  are  born  is  sprinkled 
with  it;  in  one  of  its  three  several  forms  it 
is  poured  on  our  brow  in  baptism ;  it  ac- 
companies the  last  rites  of  the  Church  over 
our  remains,  and  the  ground  in  which  we 
are  laid  to  return  to  dust  is  consecrated  with 
its  hallowed  drops.  This  is  an  evidence  of 
the  importance  the  Church  attaches  to  it, 
as  well  as  of  the  perfect  manner  in  which 
the  faithful  have  imbibed  her  spirit;  and 
it  must  also  be  regarded  as  a  proof  of  its 
efficacy  in  conferring  a  blessing,  and  repel- 
ling the  attacks  of  the  enemy  of  mankind. 

What,  then,  is  holy  water?  We  need  not 
be  told  that  it  is  water  that  has  been  blessed 
with  certain  exorcisms  and  prayers,  and 
into  which  salt  similarly  blessed  has  been 
sprinkled.     But  what  is  the  designation  of 


146 


The  Ave  Maria. 


holy  water  in  the  liturgical  language  of  the 
Church?  It  is  called  a  sacramental.  This 
may,  perhaps,  be  a  new  word  to  some  per- 
sons, and  a  definition  of  it  will  not  for  that 
reason  be  out  of  place.  The  reader  will 
pardon  me  for  writing  in  an  instructive 
strain;  I  have  little  imagination  to  draw  on, 
if  I  were  disposed  to  treat  of  subjects  in 
which  it  would  come  into  play;  and,  be- 
sides, I  feel  that  a  plain  instruction  on  some 
useful  every-day  subject  of  this  kind  will 
be  read  with  greater  profit. 

It  has  just  been  said  that  holy  water  is 
one  of  the  sacramentals.  But  what  is  a 
sacramental?  The  meaning  will  be  best 
learned  by  contrasting  sacraments  and  sac- 
ramentals. Three  things  are  required  to 
constitute  a  sacrament:  (i)  The  conferring 
of  inward  grace,  (2)  by  an  outward  sign,  (3) 
in  virtue  of  institution  by  Christ.  ' '  Now, 
the  sacramentals,  like  the  sacraments,  have 
an  outward  sign,  or  sensible  element;  but, 
unlike  them,  they  are  mostly  of  ecclesias- 
tical origin,  and  do  not,  of  their  own  power, 
infuse  grace  into  the  soul."  *  "If  the  sac- 
ramentals are  used  with  pious  dispositions, 
they  excite  increased  fear  and  love  of  God, 
detestation  of  sin,  and  so,  not  in  themselves, 
but  because  of  these  movements  of  the 
heart  toward  God,  remit  venial  sins.  They 
have  a  special  efficacy,  because  the  Church 
has  blessed  them  with  prayer;  an,d  so  when, 
for  example,  a  person  takes  holy  water,  ac- 
companying the  outward  act  with  the  de- 
sire that  God  may  cleanse  his  heart,  the 
prayer  of  the  whole  Christian  people  is 
joined  to  his  own."t  Sacramentals  may 
be  arranged  under  two  general  heads:  (i) 
The  prayers  of  the  Church,  and  (2)  the 
blessings  bestowed  by  the  Church  on  cer- 
tain objects,  as  crucifixes,  scapulars,  water, 
candles,  etc. 

It  is  important  to  inquire  not  only  into 
the  history  of  holy  water  in  the  Church, 
but  also  into  the  part  which  water  played 
in  the  religious  ceremonies  of  both  the  Jew- 

*  "The  Sacramentals  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church,"  by  the  Rev.  W.J.  Barry,  p.  14. 

f  "A  Catholic  Dictionary":  Article,  Sacra- 
mentals. 


ish  and  the  pagan  nations  of  antiquity. 
Water  being  the  natural  element  for  the 
removal  of  external  defilements,  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  any  system  of  religion, 
whether  true  or  false,  abounding,  as  all  did 
in  ancient  times,  in  symbolical  rites,  would 
adopt  water  as  the  emblem  of  interior 
purity.  We  do  not,  however,  read  of  water 
having  been  used  in  the  religious  ceremo- 
nies of  the  worshippers  of  the  true  God  be- 
fore the  establishment  of  the  Mosaic  I^aw. 
Nor  need  we  be  surprised  at  this;  for  up 
to  that  time  the  ceremonial  of  divine  wor- 
ship had  hardly  begun  to  be  developed, 
but  consisted  almost  entirely  of  the  offering 
of  sacrifice  by  the  patriarch  of  the  tribe  or 
family.  But  with  the  establishment  of  the 
Jewish  Dispensation,  when  the  ritual  pre- 
scriptions were  defined  with  the  greatest 
precision,  purification  by  water  was  found 
to  play  an  important  part.  But  it  is  not  nec- 
essary to  inquire  into  this  matter  in  detail 
in  this  place.  The  reader  who  is  anxious 
to  find  instances  of  it  is  referred  to  Exodus, 
xix.,  10;  XXX.,  iS^etseq.;  lycviticus,  viii., 
6;  Numbers,  xix.,  i,  et  seq.;  Deuteronomy, 
xxi.,  I,  et  seq.^  etc. 

The  student  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  clas- 
sics need  not  be  reminded  that  among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  lustrations  and  other 
religious  ceremonies  in  which  the  use  of 
water  entered  largely,  formed  an  important 
part  of  the  ritual  exercises  of  their  temples, 
and  the  following  will  suffice  for  the  gen- 
eral reader:  "  Originally  ablution  in  water 
was  the  only  rite  observed  by  the  Greeks, 
but  afterward  sacrifices,  etc.,  were  added. 
They  were  employed  both  to  purify  indi- 
viduals, cities,  fields,  armies  or  states,  and 
to  call  down  the  blessing  of  the  gods.  The 
most  celebrated  lustration  of  the  Greeks 
was  that  performed  at  Athens,  in  the  days 
of  Solon,  by  Epimenides   of  Crete,  who 
purified  that  city  from  the  defilement  in 
curred  by  the  Cylonian  massacre.    A  gen^ 
eral  lustration  of  the  whole  Roman  people 
took  place  every  fifth  year,  before  the  cen- 
sors went  out  of  office.  On  that  occasion  the 
citizens  assembled  in  the  Campus  Martins 
and   the  sacrifices   termed  Siiovetauriha 


The  Ave  Maria, 


147 


sisting  of  a  sow,  a  sheep,  and  an  ox, 
re  offered  up,  after  being  carried  thrice 
r  >und  the  multitude.  This  ceremony,  to 
^  hich  the  name  lustrum  was  particularly 
a  )plied,  is  said  to  have  been  instituted  by 
S  arvius  TuUius  in  566  B.  C. ,  and  was  cele- 
b  ated  for  the  last  time  at  Rome  in  the 
n  ign  of  Vespasian.  .  .  .  All  Roman  armies 
were  lustrated  before  they  commenced  mil- 
itary operations.  The  Roman  shepherd  at 
the  approach  of  night  adorned  his  fold  with 
branches  and  foliage,  sprinkled  his  sheep 
with  water,  and  oflfered  incense  and  sacri- 
fices to  Pales,  the  tutelary  divinity  of  shep- 
herds. Whatever  was  used  at  a  lustration 
was  immediately  after  the  ceremony  cast 
into  the  river,  or  some  place  inaccessible  to 
man,  as  it  was  deemed  ominous  for  any  one 
to  tread  on  it. "  * 

In  the  Egyptian  pagan  worship  lustra- 
tions were  more  frequent  than  among  any 
I  other  people,  the  priests  being  required  to 
I  wash  themselves  twice  every  day  and  twice 
every  night,  t  But  it  is  needless  to  multiply 
examples  from  pagan  antiquity;  suffice  it 
to  say  that  so  universal  was  the  custom 
that  it  found  its  way  into  the  New  World, 
the  more  civilized  tribes  of  Mexico  and 
Central  America  having  their  sacred  water, 
;vhich  was  used  for  various  religious  and 
nedicinal  purposes.  %  And  among  some  at 
east  of  the  pagans,  as  among  Catholics,  the 
mstom  existed  of  sprinkling  themselves, 
)r  of  having  themselves  sprinkled  by  the 
)riests,  with  water  on  entering  their  tem- 
)les.|| 

The  fact  that  a  sort  of  holy  water  was  in 
ise  both  among  the  Jewish  and  the  pagan 
ations  of  antiquity  might  appear  to  give 
otne  plausibility  to  the  statement  so  fre- 
uently  advanced  that  the  Christian  rites 
nd  ceremonies  are  but  a  reproduction  of 
lose  of  the  pagan  world;  or,  as  one  writer 

*  American  Cyclopedia:  Article,  Lustration. 

t  Herodotus,  Book  II.,  No.  zi- 

\  Hubert  Howe  Bancroft's  "Native  Races," 

ol.  II.,  pp.  601,611;  and  Vol.  III.,  p.  370,  et  seq., 

c. 

Wetzer's  "Kirchen  Lexicon":  Article,  Weih- 
mer, 


charitably  puts  it,  the  Romanists  are  only 
baptized  pagans.  •  Without  attempting  a 
defence  of  religion  against  these  attacks — 
for  instruction  and  not  argument  is  the 
purpose  of  this  article — it  may  be  said  that 
there  are  several  different  replies  to  these 
accusations.  In  the  first  place,  water  being, 
as  was  said  above,  the  most  ready  and  nat- 
ural element  for  the  cleansing  of  external 
defilements,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  it 
would  also  be  used  as  the  symbol  of  purifi- 
cation from  the  defilements  of  sin,  as  in 
baptism. 

Again,  the  Jews  having  employed  water 
in  certain  religious  rites,  the  use  of  it  in  the 
New  Dispensation  would  have  a  tendency 
to  aid  in  winning  some,  at  least,  of  them  to 
the  Christian  religion.  As  such  an  adapta- 
tion we  have  the  blessing  of  women  after 
parturition,  as  an  act  of  thanksgiving,  tak- 
ing the  place  of  the  legal  purification  en- 
joined on  similar  occasions  by  the  Mosaic 
Law.  And  the  same  course  of  action  was 
sometimes  found  to  be  of  advantage  among 
pagans  whom  it  was  sought  to  convert  to 
Christianity.  When  St.  Augustine,  who 
had  been  sent  to  England  to  preach  the 
Gospel,  found  the  custom  of  having  idols 
placed  in  the  hollow  of  trees  and  other  sim- 
ilar places,  he  was  perplexed  as  to  the  best 
means  of  winning  the  people  from  this 
idolatry.  Knowing,  as  he  did  full  well,  that 
even  if  the  idols  were  removed  not  a  few 
of  the  people  would  retain  a  superstitious 
veneration  for  the  places  they  had  once  oc- 
cupied, he  wrote  for  advice  to  St.  Gregory 
the  Great,  who  was  then  ruling  the  Uni- 
versal Church.  The  Pope  advised  him  to 
substitute  for  the  pagan  idols  the  images 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the  saints,  which 
he  did  with  the  desired  effect.  Finally,  it 
may  be  answered  that  the  Church  has  re- 
ceived from  her  divine  Founder  the  plen- 
itude of  power  for  the  institution  of  such 
rites  and  ceremonies  as  may  seem  best  to 
her,  enlightened  as  she  is  by  the  indwelling 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  the  carrying 
her  exalted  mission.  Those  who  mj 
to  pursue  this  question  further 
little  difficulty  in  finding  books 


148 


The  Ave  Maria. 


impart  the  necessary  information.  Turn  we 
now  to  the  history  and  use  of  holy  water 
in  the  Christian  Church. 

The  present  rite  of  blessing  water  by 
prayer  and  an  admixture  of  salt  is  fre- 
quently referred  to  Pope  St.  Alexander  I. , 
who  reigned  from  109  to  119.  But  from 
the  words  which  he  uses  in  his  decree  it 
would  appear  that  the  rite  is  more  ancient 
than  the  time  of  that  Pontiff.  He  says: 
"We  bless,  for  the  use  of  the  people,  water 
mingled  with  salt."  Marcellius  Columna 
attributes  the  introduction  of  holy  water  to 
the  Apostle  St.  Matthew,  whose  action  was 
afterward  approved  by  the  other  Apostles, 
and  soon  became  general.*  Whether  we 
are  disposed  to  accept  this  evidence  as  con- 
clusive or  not,  it  is  all  but  certain  from 
other  proof  that  the  institution  dates  from 
apostolic  times,  as  St.  Basil,  among  others, 
maintains,  f 

The  blessing  of  water  before  the  High 
Mass  on  Sundays,  and  the  sprinkling  of  the 
people  with  it  by  the  celebrant  before  com- 
mencing to  offer  the  Adorable  Sacrifice,  are 
commonly  attributed  to  Pope  St.  Leo  IV., 
who  governed  the  Church  from  847  to  855, 
but  there  are  very  learned  authorities  who 
trace  it  to  a  far  remoter  antiquity,  and  re- 
gard the  words  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiflf  as 
rather  referring  to  an  existing  custom  than 
to  the  introduction  of  one  i^ot  yet  in  gen- 
eral use.  His  words  appear  to  admit  of  this 
interpretation.  He  says,  addressing  the 
clergy  on  their  duties:  "Bles=^  water  every 
Sunday  before  Mass,  whence  the  people 
may  be  sprinkled,  and  have  a  vessel  espec- 
ially for  that  purpose."  % 

The  custom  of  placing  holy  water  at  the 
door  of  the  church  for  the  use  of  the  faith- 
ful entering  and  departin.fr  is  still  more  an- 
cient, as  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that 
the  idea  was  evidently  suggested  by  the 
Jewish  custom  of  requiring  purifications 
before  entering  the  Temple  to  offer  or  assist 
at  the  sacrifices;  but  it  would  be  impossible 


*  ^^Institutiones  LiturgiccB''  by  J.  Fornici,  pp. 
353.  354. 
f  "Kircheti  I.exicon."         %  Fornici,  p.  356. 


to  fix  the  precise  date.  Nor  is  documentary 
evidence  wanting  to  confirm  this.  The  cus- 
tom of  Christians  sprinkling  themselves 
with  water,  or  even  of  washing  their  hands 
and  face  before  entering  the  house  of  God, 
existed  throughout  the  Church  as  early  as 
the  days  of  TertuUian,  that  is  before  the 
end  of  the  second  century.  * 

The  use  of  holy  water  among  the  people 
at  their  homes  is  of  still  greater  antiquity, 
as  may  be  learned  from  the  "Apostolic 
Constitutions,"  which  contain  a  formula  for 
blessing  it,  that  it  may  have  power  ' '  to  givfe 
health,  drive  away  diseases,  put  the  demons 
to  flight,"  fete. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  historical  and 
liturgical  view  of  the  question.  There  are 
three,  or  in  another  sense  four,  kinds  of 
holy  water.  According  to  the  first  division, 
there  is  baptismal  water,  which  is  required 
to  be  blessed  on  every  Holy  Saturday  and 
eve  of  Pentecost,  in  every  church  that  has  a 
baptismal  font.  This  water,  after  the  holy 
oils  have  been  mingled  with  it,  is  used  only 
in  the  administration  of  baptism.  There  is 
a  short  formula  in  the  Ritual  for  blessing 
baptismal  water  to  be  used  in  missionary 
countries,  where  baptism  has  to  be  admin- 
istered at  stations  or  in  private  houses  at 
a  considerable  distance  from  the  church, 
where  it  would  be  impossible,  or  at  least 
very  inconvenient,  to  carry  the  water  from 
the  church.  Next,  there  is  water  blessed 
by  a  bishop  to  be  used  in  consecrating 
churches,  or  reconciling  churches  that  have 
been  profaned.  It  is  called  Gregorian  Water, 
because  Pope  Gregory  IX.  made  its  use  ob- 
ligatory for  the  piirposes  specified.  Wine,  I 
ashes,  and  salt  are  mingled  with  it."  j 

Then  there  is  common  holy  water,  which,  I 
as  is  well  known,  is  usually  blessed  by  a  j 
priest.  This  blessing  may  be  performed  at  j 
any  time,  and  in  any  becoming  place;  but| 
it  generally  takes  place  in  the  church  orj 
sacristy.  It  is  required  to  be  done,  as  hasj 
been  said,  on  every  Sunday  before  Solemn 
Mass,  with  the   exception   of  Easter  and 


*  "Kirchen  Lexicon." 

t  "  A  Catholic  Dictionary ' ' :  Article,  Holy  Water. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


149 


P  ntecost,  when  the  water  blessed  on  the 
p:  evious  eve  is  used  for  the  Asperges.  In 
tl  e  Oriental  Churches  there  is  the  custom 
oi  solemnly  blessing  water  on  the  Feast  of 
E  uphany ,  in  memory  of  the  baptism  of  Our 
D  vine  Lord  in  the  River  Jordan,  which 
e\ent  is  commemorated  in  the  Church  on 
thitday* 

According  to  another  division,  ther^  may 
be  said  to  be  four  kinds  of  holy  water;  for 
wjien  it  is  being  blessed  for  the  baptismal 
fo  It  it  is  usually  put  into  a  larger  vessel, 
and  at  a  certain  stage  of  the  ceremony  the 
font  is  filled  to  receive  the  holy  oils,  and 
the  rest  is  left  for  distribution  among  the 
people.  This  is  what  is  popularly  called 
'Easter  Water."  It  may  be  remarked,  in 
passing,  that  the  laws  of  the  Church  require 
the  water  to  be  removed  from  all  the  fonts 
Df  the  church  during  the  last  three  days  of 
Holy  Week. 

When  we  come  to  examine  into  the  act- 

lal  blessing  of  common  holy  water  it  is 

■Qund  to  consist  of  exorcisms,  prayers,  and 

he  mingling  of  salt  with  the  water.    By 

he  fall  of  our  first  parents  the  spirit  of  evil 

)btained  an  influence  not  only  over  man 

)ut  also  over  inanimate  nature,  whence  he 

s  called  in  Scripture  ' '  the  prince  of  this 

\rorld."    For  this  reason  when  any  mate- 

ial  object  is  to  be  devoted  to  the  service  of 

rod,  or  of  the  people  of  God,  an  exorcism 

;  first  pronounced  over  it,  to  banish  the 

vil  spirit  and  destroy  his  influence,  after 

hich  a  prayer  is  read  over  it  to  call  down 

le  blessing  of  God  upon  it,  and  upon  those 

ho  use  it  in  a  spirit  of  faith  and  contri- 

on.    In  the  exorcism  of  the  salt  the  priest 

idresses   it,  declaring   that   he   exorcises 

by  the  Living  God,  the  True  God,  the 

oly  God,  by  the  God  who  commanded  the 

rophet  Eliseus  to  cast  it  into  the  water  to 

irify  it;  that  it  may  become  exorcised  for 

e  use  of  the  faithful ;  that  whosoever  uses 

may  enjoy  health  of  soul   and    body; 

at  all  phantasms  and  wickedness  and  all 

ceits  of  the  devil  may  depart  from  the 

ice  where  it  is  sprinkled,  and  every  evil 


"  Kirchen  I,exicon.*' 


Spirit  adjured  by  Him  who  is  to  come  to 
judge  the  living  and  the  dead  and  the  world 
by  fire.  The  salt,  having  been  exorcised, 
is  blessed  with  the  following  beautiful  and 
expressive  prayer:  ''Almighty  and  Eternal 
God!  we  humbly  implore  Thy  boundless 
clemency,  that  Thou  wouldst  mercifully 
deign  to  bless  and  sanctify  this  salt.  Thy 
creature,  which  Thou  hast  given  for  the 
use  of  mankind,  that  it  may  bring  salvation 
of  mind  and  body  unto  all  that  take  it,  and 
that  whatever  is  touched  or  sprinkled  with 
it  may  be  freed  from  all  uncleanness  and 
from  all  attacks  of  spiritual  wickedness." 

' '  We  see  from  this  prayer  that  the  Church 
begs  God  to  attach  a  triple  eflicacy  to 
blessed  salt:  ist.  That  it  may  be  a  means  of 
salvation  to  the  soul;  2d,  that  it  may  be  a 
preservative  against  corporal  dangers;  3d, 
that  it  may  sanctify  everything  with  which 
it  comes  in  contact.  It  does  not  produce 
these  effects  of  itself,  as  a  Sacrament  does, 
but  it  obtains  actual  graces  for  the  pious 
user,  which  will,  if  co-operated  with,  obtain 
them.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the 
efficacy  of  the  water. ' '  * 

Then  follows  the  exorcism  of  the  water, 
in  the  name  of  God  the  Father  Almighty, 
in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  His  Son,  Our 
Lord,  and  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
for  the  dispelling  of  all  the  power  of  the 
enemy  of  man,  and  that  the  same  enemy 
with  his  apostate  angels  may  be  utterly 
expelled  by  the  power  of  the  same  Jesus 
Christ  Our  Lord,  who  is  to  come  to  judge 
the  living  and  the  dead  and  the  world  by 
fire.  This  exorcism  is  followed  by  the  sub- 
joined prayer:  "O  God!  who,  for  the  salva- 
tion of  mankind,  hast  wrought  many  gyeat 
mysteries  and  miracles  by  means  of  the 
substance  of  water,  listen  propitiously  to 
our  invocations,  and  infuse  into  this  ele- 
ment, prepared  by  manifold  purifications, 
the  power  of  Thy  benediction:  in  order 
that  Thy  creature  [water],  being  used  as  an 
instrument  of  Thy  hidden  works,  may  be 
efficacious  in  driving  away  devils  and  cur- 
ing diseases;  that  whatever  in  the  houses 


*  Barry,  p.  60. 


^So 


The  Ave  Maria, 


or  in  the  places  "^f  the  faithful  shall  have 
been  sprinkled  with  this  water  may  be 
freed  from  all  uncleanness  and  delivered 
from  all  guile.  Let  no  pestilential  spirit 
reside  there,  no  infectious  air;  let  all  the 
snares  of  the  hidden  enemy  be  removed; 
and  if  there  should  be  anything  adverse  to 
the  safety  or  repose  of  the  indwellers,  may 
it  be  put  entirely  to  flight  by  the  sprinkling 
of  this  water,  that  the  welfare  which  we 
seek,  by  the  invocation  of  Thy  Holy  Name, 
may  be  defended  from  all  assaults;  through 
Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  etc. 

"This  formula  of  prayer  implores  the 
following  effects  for  the  holy  water:  ist.  To 
drive  away  the  devils;  2d,  to  cure  diseases; 
3d,  to  free  houses  and  their  contents  from 
all  evil,  particularly  from  a  plague-infected 
atmosphere.  After  these  prayers  the  priest 
puts  a  little  salt  into  the  water  three  times, 
in  the  form  of  a  cross,  saying:  'May  this 
commingling  of  salt  and  water  be  made  in 
the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son, 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. '"  * 

A  few  words  on  the  use  of  salt  in  this  and 
certain  other  solemn  rites  of  the  Church. 
Salt  is  frequently  referred  to  in  both  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments.  Says  Father  Barry 
(pp.  58,  59):  "The  union  of  water  and  salt 
is  not  without  mystery.  The  property  of 
the  first  is  to  cleanse,  of  the  second  to  pre- 
serve. The  Church  wishes  that  this  sac- 
ramental should  help  to  wash  away  sin 
from  her  children,  and  to  preserve  them 
from  a  relapse.  Water  quenches  fire  and 
fosters  the  growth  of  plants;  thus,  in  the 
spiritual  order,  holy  water  serves  to  quench 
the  fire  of  the  passions  and  to  promote  the 
growth  of  virtues.  Salt  is  the  symbol  of 
wisdom;  it  typifies  the  Eternal  Wisdom, 
the  Second  Person  of  the  Blessed  Trinity. 
Water  represents  human  nature.  Hence 
the  mingling  of  the  two  substances  is  em- 
blematic of  the  Incarnation  —  of  the  as- 
sumption of  human  nature  by  the  Eternal 
Word.  Water  represents  repentance  for 
past  offences ;  salt,  from  its  preservative 
properties,  represents  the  care  which  the 


*  Barry,  pp.  60,  61. 


true  penitent  takes  to  avoid  future  falls. 
' '  There  is  a  remarkable  instance  in  the 
Fourth  Book  of  Kings,  2d  chapter" — to 
which  reference  is  made  in  the  exorcism  of 
the  salt — "of  the  efficacy  which  God  at- 
taches to  salt.  The  inhabitants  of  Jericho 
complained  to  the  Prophet  Eliseus  that  the 
water  of  their  town  was  bad  and  the  ground 
barren.  The  holy  man  then  said  to  them: 
'  Bring  me  a  new  vessel,  and  put  salt  into 
it.  And  when  they  had  brought  it,  he  went 
out  to  the  spring  of  the  waters,  and  cast  the 
salt  into  it,  and  said:  Thus  saith  the  Lord 
I  have  healed  these  waters,  and  there  shall 
be  no  more  in  them  death  or  barrenness.' " 

The  custom  of  mingling  salt  with  the 
water  is  of  great  antiquity  in  the  Church. 
One  of  the  Apostolic  Canons  says:  "We 
bless  the  water  mingled  with  salt,  that  all 
who  are  sprinkled  with  it  may  be  sanctifiedj 
and  purified. "  * 

The  importance  which  the  Church  at-' 
taches  to  indulgences,  more  especially  irj 
modern  times,  and  which,  unfortunately, 
it  is  to  be  feared  is  not  sufficiently  appre 
ciated  by  the  great  body  of  the  faithful 
makes  pertinent  the  inquiry.  What  indul 
gences,  if  any,  are  granted  to  the  use  0 
holy  water?  The  only  one  that  I  have  beei 
able  to  find  is  that  given  in  the  Raccolta  ii 
these  words:  "His  Holiness  Pope  Pius IX. 
by  a  brief  (March  23,  1876)  granted  to  al 
the  faithful,  every  time  that,  with  at  leas 
contrite  heart,  they  shall  make  the  Sign  c 
the   Cross  with  holy  water,  pronouncin 
at  the  same  time  the  words.  In  the  Nam 
of  the  Father,,  and  of  the  Son^  and  of  th 
Holy  Ghost^  an  indulgence  of  one  hundre 
days." 

Much  more  might  be  said  on  the  subje* 
of  holy  water,  but  this,  it  is  hoped,  will  \ 
sufficient  to  give  the  reader  a  more  inte 
ligent  idea  of  its  origin  and  use. 


Kirchen  Lexicon.' 


Why  add  sorrow  to  the  afflicted?  Mo 
painful  to  Christ  are  the  wounds  of  our  si 
than  the  wounds  of  His  Body. — St.  Bv 
nard.  ' 


I 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


15^ 


The   Assumption  of  Our  Lady. 

\        BY    THE    REV.  R.  BELANEY,  M.  A. 

in    HEN    Mary's   sinless   soul   had   passed 

•^      away, 

ln(.  wbile  her  breathless  body  lifeless  lay, — 

Vh  le  Death,  in  joy,  stood  gloating  o'er  his 
prize, 

'ht  fruit  and  crown  of  all  his  victories, — 

A:sunipta  est!''  a  choir  of  angels  cried, 
\:sumpta  est!''  an  empty  tomb  replied. 

i.n^.els  and  saints,  alternating  to  greet 
heir  Queen  in  heaven,  ''Assumpta  est!"  re- 
peat. 

ot  with  the  golden  beams  of  that  glad  day 
as  that  sweet  song  of  triumph  died  away: 
Assumpta  est!  Assumpta  est!"  is  sung 
I  every  land,  by  every  race  and  tongue. 
Assu7npta  est !  Assumpta  est!"  will  be 
he  song  which  saints  will  sing  eternally. 

Mother  blest!  though  hence  of  thee  bereft, 
ly  spirit  with  thy  children  still  is  left; 
ly  love  remains,  to  be  with  theirs  entwined, 
ly  tender  heart  to  be  with  theirs  enshrined, 
]■  this  consoled,  to  heaven  we  raise  our  eye, 

iid  lo!  thou'rt  there  in  all  thy  majesty! 
/elve  radiant  stars  encompassing  thy  head, 
e  sun,  as  mantle,  o'er  thy  shoulders  spread, 
e  moon  beneath  thy  feet,  to  all  proclaim 
1  y  royal  state,  thy  ever- living  fame. 


lat  homage  is  thy  due,  O  glorious  Queen! 
ly  children  read  in  this  celestial  scene, — 
that  we  see  thee,  through  the  vision  given, 
thou  art  seen  by  all  the  hosts  of  heaven; 
that  we  see  how  God  has  glorified 
I  Virgin  Mother  of  the  Crucified; 
hat  we  see,  too,  what  our  love  must  be, 
ke  the  love  that  God  Himself  gives  thee. 


Philip's   Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID, 


VII. 


r  was  a  strange  thing  to  do,  Alice," 

,  said  Mrs.  Percival. 

I  suppose  it  seems  so  to  you,"  Alice 
aii:kred,  in  a  somewhat  meditative  tone, 

le  was  sitting  in  the  twilight,  by  the 
sid  of  the  couch  on  which  her  mother 


spent  the  greater  part  of  her  life;  but  the 
flickering  light  of  the  fire,  which  the  in- 
valid required  at  almost  all  seasons,  fell  on 
her  face,  and  revealed  to  her  mother's  eye 
its  beauty  and  its  gentle  gravity.  She  was 
looking  at  the  fire,  and  her  lips  parted 
slightly  in  a  smile  as  she  went  on: 

"It  seems  strange  to  me  —  now,  but  at 
the  time  it  did  not.  There  is  something 
very  winning  about  the  young  man:  he  is 
so  frank,  and  apparently  so  unspoiled  by 
the  world.  I  should  have  preferred  not  to 
know  him,  but  since  accident  has  brought 
him  across  my  life,  why  should  I  be  rude  to 
him  because  his  uncle  is — what  we  know  ? ' ' 

"There  is  no  reason  for  being  rude," 
said  Mrs.  Percival;  "but  one  has  a  right 
to  choose  one's  acquaintances." 

"Yes,"  answered  her  daughter,  in  the 
same  meditative  fashion:  "one's  intimate 
acquaintances,  of  course;  and  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  admitting  him  to  intimacy.  But 
ordinary  social  acquaintance,  that  I  can  not 
refuse  because  his  name  is  Thornton, ' ' 

"  It  is  not  only  that  his  name  is  Thorn- 
ton," said  Mrs.  Percival,  with  some  agita- 
tion, "but  he  is  the  nephew,  the  adopted 
son,  of  the  man  who  has  wronged  us. ' ' 

' '  Granting  that, ' '  said  Alice,  laying  her 
hand  gently  down  on  the  thin  fingers  of 
the  other,  "I  feel  that  we  occupy  so  much 
the  highest  plane,  that  it  is  easy  to  ignore 
even  the  wrong.  We  have  been  robbed, 
but  what  is  that  in  comparison  with  bearing 
the  stain  that  darkens  that  man's  soul,  and 
his  good  name,  too,  in  the  eyes  of  all  honest 
people?  What  can  be  said  of  my  father 
except  that  he  stripped  himself  of  every- 
thing to  make  amends  for  his  imprudence? 
But  the  other — all  men  know  that  he  has 
taken  and  kept  tenfold  the  amount  of  the 
debt  due  to  him.  Would  you  not  rather — 
a  thousand  times  rather — be  in  our  position 
than  in  his  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  so  glad  that 
I  am  Percival  instead  of  Thornton,  that  I 
have  only  pity  for  him,  and  greater  pity  still 
for  the  young  man  who,  as  you  have  said, 
is  his  adopted  son,  and  who  does  not  know 
how  deeply  stained  is  the  wealth  he  will 
inherit, ' ' 


152 


The  Ave  Marta. 


Mrs.  Percival  looked  at  her  daughter  with 
Some  surprise.  Alice  often  surprised  her 
by  a  way  of  regarding  things  which,  to  say 
the  least,  was  not  common.  Gentle  and 
unvindictive  though  the  elder  woman  was, 
it  required  all  her  Christian  faith  and  feeling 
to  subdue  the  bitterness  witU  which  she 
thd>ught  of  the  wrong  that  had  been  inflicted 
on  her  daughter  and  herself;  she  could  not 
attain  to  Alice's  lofty  point  of  view,  yet, 
while  it  was  presented  to  her,  she  acknowl- 
edged and  appreciated  it. 

"That  is  all  very  true,"  she  said  pres- 
ently ;  ^ '  but  I  can  not  think  that  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  have  any  association  with  a 
member  of  the  family. ' ' 

' '  Not  unless  it  were  accidental,  as  it  has 
been  to-day, ' '  replied  Alice.  ' '  In  that  case 
I  do  not  think  that  it  is  for  me  to  shun  it. 
I  am,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  higher  position, 
and  I  should  feel  that  it  was  ungenerous  to 
make  an  innocent  person  bear  the  odium  of 
a  wrong  in  which  he  had  no  share. ' ' 

"He  will  have  the  share  of  profiting  by 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Percival. 

"  Ignorantly , "  answered  her  daughter. 
"The  people  nearest  such  a  wrong  are  the 
last  to  know  of  it,  and  he  knows  nothing. ' ' 

Mrs.  Percival  thought  that  it  was  a  pity 
such  ignorance  should  not  be  enlightened, 
but  she  did  not  express  this  opinion,  for 
she  also  thought  it  likely  that  Alice  would 
diifer  with  her.  So  they  were  silent  for 
several  minutes,  while  the  dusk  deepened 
more  and  more  around  them,  and  the  fitful 
light  of  the  fire  rose  and  fell,  playing  over 
the  pale  countenance  of  the  invalid  lying 
on  her  pillows,  and  the  beautiful,  stately 
presence  of  the  girl  beside  her. 

Presently  the  latter  rose  and  lighted  a 
lamp,  which  she  covered  with  a  shade  and 
placed  on  a  table  near  her  mother's  couch. 
Then  she  went  to  an  upright  piano  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and,  touching  the  keys 
softly,  began  to  sing  an  evening  hymn  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  tender  cadences 
were  still  filling  the  room  when  a  ring  at 
the  door-bell  was  followed  a  minute  later 
by  the  entrance  of  a  visitor,  who  came  in 
with  the  ease  of  a  familiar  habituk.    Mrs. 


Percival  held  out  her  hand,  but -Alicefe  fin- 
ished the  last  strain  of  her  hymn  before  she 
rose  from  the  piano  and  greeted  the  new- 
comer with  a  smile. 

' '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Graham ! ' '  she  said, 
"It  is  some  time  since  we  have  seen  you.'^ 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Graham,  with  a  pleased  look, 
' '  it  is  some  time.    I  have  been  very  busy. ' ' 

"So  have  I,"  replied  Alice.  "What  a 
great  thing  it  is  to  be  busy,  so  long  as  one 
is  not  worked  beyond  the  measure  of  one's 
strength!  I  am  really  sorry  for  the  idlers 
of  the  world,  who  no  doubt  would  be  very 
much  surprised  by  my  compassion." 

' '  I  am  often  sorry  for  them  myself, ' '  said 
Graham,  "while  at  the  same  time  I  have 
not  much  patience  with  them.  How  much 
I  would  give  for  some  of  the  golden  hours 
they  seem  to  desire  so  much  to  be  rid  of !  '* 

"It  is  a  pity  —  is  it  not? — that  people 
could  not  dispose  of  their  surplus  time!'^ 
she  said,  a  little  absently.  "I  should  like 
to  purchase  some  if  it  were  possible.  Poor 
mamma  should  not  be  left  so  much  alone 
then." 

"Oh!  I  do  not  mind  being  left  alone 
when  it  can  not  be  helped,"  observed  Mrs. 
Percival.  "But  I  confess  I  grew  impatien^ 
and  anxious  this  afternoon  when  you  wi 
so  long  coming. ' ' 

' '  I  knew  you  would  be, ' '  said  Alice, ' '  and 
that  made  the  delay  worse  to  me.  I  was  in  a 
railroad  accident, ' '  she  continued,  turning 
to  Graham.  ' '  Do  you  not  think  I  have  come 
out  of  it  with  tolerably  steady  nerves?" 

"A  railroad  accident!"  he  repeated 
looking  at  her  with  a  startled  air.  *  'Are  yoi 
in  earnest?    Where?" 

"Have  you  not  heard  that  there  was  an 
accident  at  the  Junction  this  afternoon  ?  A 
misplaced  switch  or  an  obstacle  on  the  track 
— some  people  said  one  thing,  some  another 
— threw  off  the  engine  and  several  cars. 
Fortunately,  the  car  in  which  I  was  did  not 
leave  the  rails,  although  there  was  at  one 
time  imminent  danger  that  it  would." 

"And  you  were  not  hurt  at  all?" 

"No;  how  could  I  be?    The  shock  was 
disagreeable,  and  so  was  the  fear  that  other  % 
people  were  injured.    But  I  believe  no  one 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


53 


T  as  hurt  seriously.  There  was  mucli  con- 
f  ision  and  delay,  of  course;  but  I  soon  left 
i  behind  and  walked  into  the  city.  It  was 
r  3t  far,  you  know. ' ' 

"No:  only  a  mile  or  so, "  replied  Graham. 
'  Did  the  other  passengers  follow  your  ex- 
anple?" 

WNo — that  is,  only  one  accompanied  me. 
was  a  gentleman  whom  I  met  not  long 
a.yo  at  Mrs.  King's,  and  who  is  an  acquaint- 
aice  of  yours,  I  believe — Mr.  Thornton." 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  Graham's  face  as  she 
S])oke,  so  she  had  the  advantage  of  seeing 
a  1  the  astonishment  which  his  countenance 
betrayed  when  she  uttered  the  last  name 
which  he  expected  to  hear.  He  looked  at 
her  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  could  scarcely 
believe  his  ears;  but  her  quietness  seemed 
to  make  belief  necessary,  so  he  finally  an- 
swered : 

"Yes,  I  know  a  man  of  the  name — Philip 
Thornton.  We  were  at  college  together, 
else  I  should  hardly  be  likely  to  know  him ; 
for  he  is  a  butterfly  of  fashion — one  of  the 
idlers  of  whom  we  spoke  a  few  minutes 
ago — while  I  am  a  hard-working  grub,  as 
you  are  aware." 

"He  gives  me  the  impression  of  being 
rather  a  pleasant  person,"  she  said,  as 
quietly  as  she  had  spoken  before. 

Graham  flushed  suddenly.  "If  I  could 
have  imagined  that  you  would  find  him 
so,"  he  said,  "I  might  have  acceded  to  a 
request  which  he  made  me  some  time  ago 
to  introduce  him  to  you.  But  I  could  not 
present  him  without  asking  your  permis- 
sion, and  I  felt  sure  that  you  would  have 
refused  it." 

"You  were  quite  right,"  she  answered. 
'I  told  him  so  this  afternoon  when  he 
Jpoke  of  the  matter.  I  should  have  declined 
:o  know  him,  if  the  opportunity  to  decline 
lad  been  given  me;  but  it  was  not.  He 
;ame  into  Mrs.  King's  one  day  when  I  was 
here,  and  she  presented  him,  as  a  matter 
>f  course.  He  has  never  presumed  on  the 
ntroduction  in  the  least.  Although  I  see 
lim  every  Sunday  in  the  choir,  we  have  not 
xchanged  a  word  since  our  first  meeting 
util  this  afternoon,  when  he  very  kindly 


offered  to  render  me  any  assistance  that  I 
needed." 

Graham's  somewhat  sardonic  lip  curled 
a  little.  To  himself  he  said:  "It  was  just 
the  opportunity  he  wanted!"  But  he  did 
not  say  this  to  Miss  Percival.  Instead  he 
observed,  carelessly: 

"That  is  very  like  him.  He  is  pleasant, 
as  you  have  said,  and  is  inclined  to  be 
chivalric  where  women  are  concerned.  It 
is  a  pity  that  he  has  little  depth  of  charac- 
ter or  purpose — or,  perhaps,  I  should  say 
that  it  would  be  a  pity  if  life  had  not  been 
made  so  smooth  to  his  feet.  But  as  it  is  he 
has  no  need  of  more  than  he  possesses." 

"I  must  disagree  with  you,"  said  Miss 
Percival.  "  I  do  not  think  that  life  can  pos- 
sibly be  made  so  smooth  to  any  one's  feet 
that  there  would  not  be  need  of  depth  in 
character  and  purpose.  But  why  should 
you  think  that  he  does  not  possess  any?" 

Graham  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Sim- 
ply from  my  observation  of  him.  He  is  one 
of  those  characters  who  float  with  the  cur- 
rent, but  have  no  strength  to  go  against  it. 
At  present  he  is  a  Catholic,  after  a  fashion; 
but  some  day  the  world  will  offer  him  an 
inducement,  and  he  will  give  up  his  relig- 
ion, as  his  uncle  has  done." 

"Will  he?"  said  Alice,  as  if  to  herself 
She  did  not  contradict  Graham's  opinion — 
what  basis  of  knowledge  had  she  on  which 
to  do  so? — but  Philip's  face  rose  before  her 
mental  vision,  and  she  thought  that  it  in- 
dicated something  better  than  the  moral 
weakness  of  which  the  other  accused  him. 

"I  have  just  been  telling  Alice  that  I  do 
not  consider  the  young  man  a  very— de- 
sirable acquaintance,"  said  Mrs.  Percival' s 
soft,  hesitating  tones. 

Graham  glanced  keenly  at  Alice.  "It 
surprises  me  a  little, ' '  he  remarked,  ' '  that 
Miss  Percival  should  desire  him  as  an  ac- 
quaintance." 

Miss  Percival  met  his  glance  as  calmly 
as  ever.  "Have  you  understood  me  so  little 
as  to  imagine  that  I  desire  his  acquaint- 
ance?" she  asked.  "But  I  will  not  be  so 
unjust,  or  seem  so  vindictive,  as  to  visit  on 
him  the  fault  of  another  person.    I  can  not 


154 


The  Ave  Maria. 


regard  him  as  outside  the  pale  of  that  cour- 
tesy which  one  owes  to  everybody,  though 
I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  showing 
him  anything  more  than  courtesy.  And 
now  I  think  that  we  have  surely  exhausted  | 
the  subject." 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  it,"  observed 
Graham,  dryly;  "but  I  agree  with  you  that 
it  is  exhausted.  Mrs,  Percival,"  he  added, 
turning  to  that  lady,  "I  am  forgetting  all 
this  time  that  I  have  brought  you  some- 
thing— a  mere  trifle  in  itself,  but  which  I 
hope  will  add  to  your  comfort." 

He  rose,  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  re- 
turned in  a  moment  with  one  of  the  book- 
rests  which  are  made  to  be  placed  in  front 
of  an  invalid,  and  support  a  volume  that 
may  be  too  heavy  for  the  hand.  It  was  a 
very  happy  diversion.  Mrs.  Percival  was 
charmed,  Alice  was  grateful  for  the  kind 
thought  of  her  mother,  and  Graham  was 
pleased  by  the  cordial  acceptance  of  his 
gift. 

''I  saw  it  in  a  shop- window  to-day,  and 
thought  of  you  at  once, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  know 
that  you  are  so  much  alone,  and  that  read- 
ing is  your  chief  pleasure,  while  I  am  sure 
that  holding  a  book  must  be  very  fatiguing 
to  you. ' ' 

"Oh!  yes:  it  is  often  so  fatiguing  that  I 
am  forced  to  put  down  the  volume  at  a 
point  where  I  most  wish  to  go  on,"  she 
said.    ' '  This  will  be  delightful. ' ' 

"I  wonder  that  /  never  thought  of  it," 
remarked  Alice,  in  a  tone  of  self-reproach. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  left  it  for  me  to 
think  of, ' '  said  Graham. 

He  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  them  after 
this,  and  Alice  sang  his  favorite  songs  for 
him  before  he  went  away.  But  no  sooner 
was  he  outside  their  door  than  a  cloud  fell 
over  his  face.  He  would  certainly  have  said 
that  no  fear  of  Philip  Thornton's  possible 
power  to  attract,  but  only  a  sense  of  what 
was  fit  and  proper,  had  made  him  refuse  to 
present  him  to  Miss  Percival.  Yet  it  was 
with  keen  regret  that  he  heard  how  the 
young  man  had  carried  his  point — for  it  was 
in  this  light  that  he  regarded  the  affair, — 
and   been  admitted  to  her  acquaintance. 


He  knew  how  winning  Philip  was,  how 
gracious  in  nature  as  well  as  in  manner, 
and  he  overrated  the  possible  effect  of  these 
qualities,  as  a  man  who  does  not  possess 
them  is  very  likely  to  do. 

The  strong  and  hard  nature  may  feel 
something  of  scorn  for  the  lighter  and  sun- 
nier one,  yet  this  scorn  is  often  mingled 
deeply  with  envy,  since  the  man  who  pos- 
sesses the  first  knows  that  many  things  are 
beyond  his  reach  which  the  charm  of  the 
latter  can  win.  And,  beside  this  instinctive 
fear,  Graham  was  startled  by  Alice  Perci- 
val's  attitude.  He  was  not  able  to  realize  or 
fully  grasp  the  sincerity  with  which  she 
felt  that  it  was  beneath  her,  in  dignity  as 
well  as  in  justice,  to  visit  upon  the  nephew 
the  fault  of  the  uncle.  For  once  he  failed  to 
understand  the  nature  which  he  had  reason 
to  know  well,  and  gave  a  lower  reading  to 
her  conduct  than  it  deserved. 

The  reason  for  this  was  not  far  to  seek. 
He  was  himself  so  deeply  attached  to  her, 
that  the  jealousy  which  usually  accompa- 
nies strong  passion  was  ready  to  be  stirred 
by  a  shadow.  He  did  not  imagine  for  a 
moment  that  Philip  would  be  seriously  his 
rival,  for  he  knew  that  there  were  influ- 
ences of  the  present  as  powerful  as  those  of 
the  past  to  forbid  this;  but  he  felt  that  he 
might  suffer  by  comparison  with  a  "butter- 
fly of  fashion,"  as  he  had  contemptuously 
called  him,  and  that  the  gracious  charm 
which  he  had  himself  often  acknowledged 
might  cause  Alice  Percival  to  turn  from  a 
nature  formed  in  so  different  a  mould. 

As  the  young  man  walked  on,  revolving 
these  thoughts,  with  his  dark  brows  knitted 
and  his  face  set  in  heavy  lines,  did  no  spirit 
suggest  to  him,  in  the  words  of  Holy  Writ, 
that  out  of  the  heart  are  "the  issues  of 
life,"  and  that  it  was  a  dangerous  passion 
which  had  entered  to  possess  his?  He  had! 
not  hesitated  to  prophesy  that  Philip  would 
lightly  resign  his  faith  for  some  worldly 
inducement:  was  there  no  reason  to  fear 
that  he  might  himself  forget  its  strongest 
precepts  under  the  influence  of  the  feelings 
that  now  overpowered  him?  I 

(to  be  continued.)  ' 


The  Ave  Maria, 


155 


Three  Days  at  Lourdes. 


BY     A     BENEDICTINE     ABBOT. 


(Conclusion.) 
FTER  assisting  at  High  Mass  in  the 
Basilica,  which  was  richly  decorated 

th  votive  banners  and  costly  presents,  we 
repaired  to  the  mission  house,  where,  with 
about  one  hundred  other  guests,  we  were 
invited  to  dine. 

Benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
was  given  in  the  Grotto  at  five  o'clock, 
Arch-abbot  Maurus  officiating.  Before  he 
had  replaced  the  Sacred  Host  in  the  taber- 
nacle a  general  wish  was  expressed  to  honor 
the  Eucharistic  King  with  an  improvised 
procession.  The  Abbot  declared  himself 
teady  to  carry  the  monstrance,  and  after  a  few 
moments'  delay  the  procession  was  formed. 
It  was  a  solemn  and  edifying  spectacle. 
Hundreds  of  clergymen  with  lighted  tapers 
took  the  lead ;  next  came  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
'  followed  by  the  afflicted  pilgrims,  some 
walking,  some  being  carried,  while  fervent 
petitions  in  their  behalf  were  offered  up  by 
those  accompanying  them.  Having  entered 
the  city,  and  conveyed  the  invalids  to  the 
hospital,  the  procession  turned  towards  the 
Basilica,  where  a  pious  discourse,  prayers 
for  the  sick,  and  Benediction,  brought  the 
devotions  to  a  close. 

While  the  pilgrims  were  thus  engaged  in 
paying  their  adoration  to  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament more  cures  were  obtained  than  dur- 
ing all  the  previous  part  of  the  day;  just 
as  though  Our  Holy  Mother  had  only  been 
waiting  for  this  public  expression  of  our 
belief  in  the  Real  Presence  of  her  Divine 
Son  in  order  to  shower  down  her  favors. 

The  sun  had  now  sunk  behind  the  neigh- 
boring hill-tops.  Leaving  the  Basilica,  we 
proceeded  up  to  the  terrace  which  over- 
hangs the  Grotto.  Its  balustrade,  studded 
with  lighted  lamps,  resembled  a  sparkling 
diadem.  But  the  unsurpassing  splendor  of 
the  lighted  procession  which  we  here 
caught  sight  of  made  an  impression  that 
death  alone  can  efface.    No  illumination. 


no  pyrotechnical  display,  however  grand, 
can  give  any  idea-of  the  torch-light  proces- 
sions which  we  witnessed  at  Lourdes  on 
each  of  these  three  days.  Both  eye  and  ear 
were  ravished  with  delight.  From  eight 
o'clock  till  ten  the  vale,  now  covered  by 
the  shades  of  night,  twinkled  with  myriad 
lights,  that  seemed  to  vie  in  numbers  with 
the  clustering  stars  of  the  dome  above. 

Now  the  procession  proceeds,  and  as  it 
winds  its  way  along  it  resembles  a  gigantic 
fire- drake,  now  coiling,  now  uncoiling  its 
massy  folds.  On  moving,  a  hynin  consisting 
of  six  stanzas,  celebrating  the  apparition  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  at  Lourdes,  was  intoned. 
Each  stanza  concluded  with  a  repetition 
of  the  refrain,  ^^Ave^  ave^  ave  Maria  I  ^^ 
accompanied  by  soul-stirring  strains  of  in- 
strumental music.  The  procession  wended 
its  way  up  the  terrace,  around  the  Basilica, 
and  down  again  by  the  crowned,  illumi- 
nated statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin;  then 
proceeded  onward  to  the  end  of  the  avenue, 
where,  forming  an  immense  fiery  cross,  it  re- 
turned to  the  Grotto  whence  it  had  started. 

No  language  can  describe  the  emotions 
that  thrilled  us  to  the  very  soul  as  we  stood 
upon  the  terrace  that  evening,  regarding 
the  sea  of  glittering  lights  spread  out  be- 
fore us.  Finally  the  signal  for  dispersing 
was  given  by  the  Rev.  Father  Picard,  in 
words  of  burning  eloquence,  which  were  lis- 
tened to  by  a  throng  of  more  than  10,000 
persons.  Then  rows  of  quivering  torches, 
separating  from  the  concentrated  mass, 
swept  onward,  as  hymn  and  music  came 
floating  through  the  air,  until  the  whole 
appeared  an  undulating  ocean  of  enchanted 
harmony.  Then  came  stealing  into  our 
hearts  a  mysterious  peace  and  heavenly  joy 
never  before  experienced.  And  we  thought 
within  ourselves:  How  infinitely  more  mag- 
nificent even  than  this  must  be  the  choirs  of 
heavenly  spirits  beyond  the  stars,  who  for- 
ever surround  the  throne  of  the  Most  High! 
The  reflection  also  strongly  impressed  itself 
that  so  glorious  a  spectacle  could  have  been 
inspired  only  by  the  Immaculate  Virgin 
herself,  who  refers  all  the  homage  offered 
her  back  to  its  source^ — her  divine  Son. 


156 


The  Ave  Maria. 


On  Saturday,  Our  Lady's  day,  we  had 
the  happiness  of  saying  Mass  in  the  Crypt, 
near  the  place  where  the  Apparition  stood. 
Communicants  were  receiving  almost  con- 
tinually at  the  high  altar,  while  the  con- 
fessionals were  besieged  by  penitents.  Next 
morning  brought  with  it  the  same  privi- 
leges and  scenes  as  the  day  before. 

Quite  a  peculiar  ceremony  was  set  apart 
for  the  afternoon.  A  large  cross,  which  had 
been  brought  from  Jerusalem,  was  erected 
near  the  Grotto.  The  previous  year,  four 
hundred  pilgrims,  conducted  by  the  Augus- 
tinian  Fathers,  embarked  at  Marseilles  for 
the  Holy  Land.  The  ship  had  been  char- 
tered by  the  Fathers,  and  on  its  deck  an 
altar  with  a  tabernacle  had  been  raised. 
On  this  altar,  as  well  as  on  seventeen  others 
in  the  cabin,  one  hundred  priests  celebrated 
Mass  every  day.  The  celebrant  was  as- 
sisted by  a  priest  on  either  side  of  him,  who 
protected  the  chalice  against  the  rocking  of 
the  vessel.  When  the  Masses  were  all  said, 
the  rest  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  silence, 
meditation,  and  prayer.  The  tabernacle, 
within  which  reposed  the  King  of  kings, 
was  continually  surrounded  by  a  devout 
throng  of  worshippers. 

Arrived  at  their  destination,  the  pil- 
grims caused  the  cross  above  mentioned  to 
be  made  of  olive  wood.  It  is  twenty  feet 
high,  one  foot  wide,  and  one  and  a  half 
thick.  The  pious  pilgrims  bore  it  toilsomely 
through  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  up  to 
Mount  Calvary.  Thus  consecrated,  it  was 
shipped  to  Lourdes,  and  there  erected  pro- 
visionally. Now  it  was  to  be  brought  to  a 
place  definitely  chosen  for  it — a  granite 
cliflf  of  considerable  height,  and  situated 
above  the  vale.  It  was  a  penitential  cross, 
having  no  image  attached  to  it.  Placed  on 
the  lofty  eminence,  its  outstretched,  naked 
arms  would  seem  to  invite  all  true  lovers  of 
the  Cross  to  its  embrace.  The  solemn  cere- 
mony of  putting  it  in  position  was  to  take 
place  at  three  o'clock,  in  honor  of  the  hour 
at  which  the  world's  Redeemer  expired. 

The  path  from  the  Grotto  up  to  the 
eminence  was  marked  by  fourteen  small 
wooden  crosses,  representing  the  Fourteen 


Stations,  and  around  each  of  which  were 
grouped  thirty  persons,  of  all  ages,  ranks, 
and  conditions  of  life.  They  had  voluntarily 
offered  to  carry,  barefoot,  the  heavy  cross 
up  to  its  place  on  the  height.  On  being  re- 
lieved at  each  station  by  those  in  waiting, 
they  took  their  places  in  the  rear  of  the 
procession,  behind  the  two  officiating  prel- 
ates, the  Bishop  of  Oran  and  Arch-abbot 
Maurus,  both  of  whom  were  also  barefoot. 
The  procession,  10,000  strong,  including 
many  ladies  of  high  rank,  began  to  move.. 
Supported  on  shoulders  and  firmly  grasped 
by  hands,  the  olive  colored  cross  slowly  as- 
cended the  hill.  Now  it  disappears  behind 
the  mission  house,  and  enters  the  steep, 
rubble-stone  mountain  path.  The  long  line 
of  pilgrims,  both  before  and  after  the  cross,, 
was  very  impressive ;  piety  and  enthusiasm 
beamed  from  every  countenance  as  the  cross 
was  borne  onward  amid  psalms  of  penitence 
and  hymns  of  praise.  The  Vex  ilia  Regis 
was  often  repeated, but oftener  still  the  lines:. 

"Hail,  Cross  of  Jesus!  blessed  tree! 
Our  joys  and  hopes  are  all  in  thee; 
Grant  to  the  just  increase  of  grace, 
And  every  sinner's  crimes  efface." 

Which  wa^  responded  to,  in  turn,  by: 

''  Hosannas  sing  to  Jesus'  Name; 
The  glory  of  His  Cross  proclaim. 
He  gave  His  life — oh!  love  most  rare! — 
Our  love  to  win,  and  lives  to  spare. 
Then,  Christians,  high  your  voices  raise,. 
Both  Jesus  and  His  Cross  to  praise." 

Every  time  this  stanza  was  sung  thousands 
of  arms  were  uplifted  towards  heaven,  and, 
like  the  roaring  of  thunder,  broke  forth  the 
exulting  cry,  "The  Cross  forever!" 

The  heat  of  the  sun  became  more  intense, 
the  ascent  grew  steeper  and  steeper,  but 
the  stout-hearted  pilgrims  toiled  bravely 
on  under  their  load.  There  were  many  who 
marched  along  with  arms  extended.  It  was 
a  spectacle  worthy  the  Ages  of  Faith.  The 
Calvary  was  reached  in  little  more  than  an 
hour.  The  view  which  here  greeted  the  eye 
was  most  picturesque.  In  the  distance  stood 
the  wooded  Pyrenees  encircling  us ;  be- 
neath us,  winding  in  its  downward  course, 
was   the  valley,  with  Lourdes,  its   pretty 


The  Ave  Maria. 


157 


the 


*astle  and  its  graceful  Basilica,  nestled  in  a 
fond  embrace. 

Like  the  waters  of  a  river  when  it  reaches 
the  ocean,  the  pilgrims,  leaving  the  pro- 
cessional train,  spread  themselves  over  the 
sloping  surface  of  the  hill-top,  encircling 
the  rock  which  had  been  prepared  for  the 
eption  of  the  cross.    This,  while  slowly 

sing  to  the  perpendicular.was  greeted  with 
a  hymn,  which  was  intoned  by  a  Capuchin, 
who  attracted  much  notice  by  his  stentorian 
voice  and  lively  gestures.  Finally,  when 
the  cross  was  raised  and  fixed  in  its  place, 
shouts  rent  the  air,  the  like  of  which  the 
mountains  had  never  heard  before — *'The 
Cross  forever!  The  Church  forever!  Praised 
be  Jesus  Christ!  France  forever!  Long 
live  Leo  XIIL !  Blessed  be  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes ! ' '  Enthusiasm  was  at  its  highest, 
and  every  eye  shed  tears  of  joy. 

Now  the  people's  beloved  orator,  Fa- 
ther Maria  Antoninus,  a  slender,  emaciated 
friar,  ascended  the  scaffold- pulpit,  and  was 
greeted  by  deafening  cheers.  Then,  ad- 
dressing the  multitude  in  a  loud  and  dis- 
tinct tone,  he  said: 

"Friends  and  brethren,  thivS  day  marks  an  im- 
portant epoch  in  our  lives.  The  Cross  has  given 
undying  fame  to  three  memorable  eminences — to 
Golgotha,  upon  which  it  triumphed  over  Death 
and  Hell;  to  the  hills  of  Rome,  whence  it  has 
marched  in  triumph  over  the  world;  and  to  this 
Calvary  hill  on  which  you  stand,  where  so  many 
thousands  of  voices  announce  its  triumph  over 
France  A  passage  which  I  read  in  the  Prophets  to- 
day struck  me  very  forcibly:  'And  saviours  shall 
come  up  into  Mount  Sion,  to  judge  the  Mount  of 
Esau;  and  the  kingdom  shall  be  for  the  Lord.' 
Abd.,  i,,  21.)  You,  my  brethren,  are  these  sav- 
iours, who  are  to  save-our  country  by  your  faith. 
Mount  Sion  is  this  granite  hill  of  Lourdes.  The 
Mount  of  Esau  represents  the  proud  and  haughty 
enemies  of  religion .  Truly  the  Cross  will  triumph ; 
but  that  it  may  be  victorious,  you  must  all  plant 
it  firmly  in  the  granite  of  virtuous  hearts,  and  cry 
out  with  me:  '  I^ive,  Jesus,  in  our  hearts! '  " 

The  shout  of  exultation  that  arose  was, 
at  different  intervals,  re-echoed  back  to  the 
multitude,  whose  enthusiasm  became  so 
great  that  even  we  Germans  were  almost 
infected  with  it.  The  Bishop  then  gave  his 
blessing,and  the  people  descended  in  groups 
to  the  Grotto,  where  Benediction  of  the 


Blessed    Sacrament  closed  the  ceremony. 

Next  morning  we  again  visited  the  hos- 
pital, into  which,  out  of  800  sick  persons — 
all  French — 432  had  been  brought.  Now  we 
found  in  it  but  very  few,  among  whom  was 
a  dying  girl;  the  others  had  been  carried 
to  the  Grotto.  As  we  descended  the  stairs 
of  the  Basilica,  in  order  to  join  those  wha 
were  paying  their  devotions  to  the  Immac- 
ulate Mother  preparatory  to  their  depart- 
ure, we  encountered  one  of  the  missionary 
priests.  His  countenance  beamed  with  joy, 
and  tears  glistened  in  his  eyes.  At  his 
side  he  carried  a  small  leathern  valise.  He 
seized  our  hand,  and  said,  with  trembling 
voice:  "Only  think!  a  moment  ago  I  was 
sent  from  the  Grotto  to  the  mission  house, 
to  get  the  holy  oils  for  a  dying  w^oman,  and 
when  I  returned  I  found  her — cured!" 

We  passed  on  to  the  Grotto,  and,  having 
reimpressed  the  whole  scene  upon  our  swell- 
ing hearts,  we  prepared  to  return  home.  As 
the  Angehis  sounded  from  the  steeples  the 
iron  horse  began  to  snort  impatiently.  We 
mounted,  he  rushed  forward,  and  Lourdes, 
unrivalled  Lourdes,  was  quickly  lost  to- 
view.    But  its  memory  can  never  fade. 


St.  Joseph's  Chapel.* 

BY  EDNA  PROCTOR  CLARKE. 

7]" HE  land  lies  hushed  in  slumber  deep,, 
^  The,  very  birds  are  sunk  in  dreams; 
The  pale  moon's  crescent  hanging  low 

Touches  the  earth  with  trembling  beams; 
I  look  across  the  meadows  wide, 
Where,  gray  against  the  mountain-side, 
St.  Joseph's  Chapel  gleams. 

Lone  hermit  of  the  mountain-top, 
He  lifts  his  stony  cross  on  high, 

The  silent  dead  beneath  his  feet, 
Above,  the  tender,  brooding  sky; 

Rippling  with  heavy-headed  grain 

The  fields,  once  heaped  with  foemen  slain. 
In  peace  around  him  lie. 

*  South  Mountain,  Washington  Co.,  Md., where 
a  beautiful  chapel  dedicated  to  St,  Joseph  is  sit- 
uated, was  the  scene  of  a  memorable  battle  during 
the  late  civil  war. 


158 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Above  his  cross  a  single  star 

Hangs  pendent  in  the  pulsing  air, 

Pointing,  as  did  that  one  of  old. 

To  where  all  hearts  should  bow  in  prayer; 

For  in  the  chapel,  swaying  low, 

The  lamp,  with  holy  flame  aglow, 
Reveals  the  Presence  there. 

Across  the  meadows  hushed  and  still 
Shines  out  the  blessed,  hallowed  light. 

And  with  a  splendor  strange  and  new 
The  chapel  greets  the  wondering  night. 

As  if  within  that  stony  frame 

A  heart  of  fire,  a  soul  of  flame. 
Had  burst  in  radiance  bright. 

"Within,  upon  the  carven  cross. 

The  pitying  Christ  in  anguish  lies; 
But  see!  upon  the  wings  of  flame 

His  crowned  soul  triumphant  rise. 
And  angel  choirs,  hovering  nigh, 
Hail  with  glad  songs  of  victory 
The  King  of  Paradise! 
» 
Ah.  no!  'tis  but  the  murmuring  sigh 

Of  the  low  night-wind  blowing  chill; 
No  vision  strikes  my  longing  eyes. 

Or  sets  my  yearning  heart  athrill. 
But  o'er  the  meadows  dark  and  drear, 
The  light  shines  steadfast,  soft  and  clear, 
And  whispers:  "Peace!  be  still." 

Oh,  Christ!   who  on  the  cruel  Cross 

Suffered  to  set  us  sinners  free, 
Come  down  into  our  stony  hearts. 

Kindle  therein  a  flame  for  Thee; 
And  let  Thy  glorious  love  divine 
Above  all  other  glories  shine 
-Throughout  eternity! 


Palms. 


8Y   ANNA   HANSON    DORS^Y. 

CHAPTER  XVI.— (Continued.) 

THERE  was  no  need  for  Nemesius  to 
count  the  cost  of  becoming  a  Christian, 
for  he  was  familiar  with  the  methods  of  the 
persecution,  and  knew  exactly  what  it  was; 
but  the  arrangement  of  his  affairs  and  the 
disposal  of  his  wealth  required  considera- 
tion. Whatever  the  details  of  his  plans 
might  be,  he  was  resolved  that,  in  case  he 


and  his  child  should  be  called  upon  to 
suffer  martyrdom,  the  persecuted  Church 
should  inherit  his  wealth  for  the  benefit  of 
her  needy  and  suffering  members;  and  even 
should  they  be  left  unscathed — which  he 
had  no  reason  to  expect — he  would  devote 
the  greater  part  of  his  substance  to  the  same 
objects,  as  a  thank-offering  to  God  for  the 
miraculous  and  inestimable  favors  they  had 
received  at  His  hands. 

On  the  following  morning  Nemesius  had 
an  early  interview  with  his  old  steward,  to 
whom  he  confided  some  of  the  prelimina- 
ries relating  to  certain  plans  which  he  pur- 
posed to  intrust  to  his  supervision,  among 
them  the  liberation  of  his  slaves,  whose 
number  he  did  not  know.  But  Symphro- 
nius  had  been  the  factor  of  the  rich  estate 
on  the  Aventine  too  many  decades  to  be 
ignorant  of  that,  or  any  other  business  de- 
tail connected  with  it ;  his  service  had 
been  too  vigilant  and  honest,  his  accounts 
too  thoroughly  well  kept,  for  him  to  feel 
disturbed  now  at  the  prospect  of  his  present 
task  by  a  wearisome  sense  of  anticipated 
toil,  or  a  dread  of  uncertain  results.  His 
systematic  methods  of  the  past  simplified 
the  undertaking,  while  the  motive  sweet- 
ened and  lightened  it. 

Zealous  to  begin  the  work  confided  to 
him,  the  old  man  went  back  to  his  office,  to 
take  from  the  secret  corners  of  his  cabinet 
accounts  and  records  which  he  had  not  ex- 
pected would  ever  see  the  light  again  until 
he  had  passed  to  the  shades.  He  knew 
that  everyone  of  them  would  bear  the  most 
captious  scrutiny  ;  but  now,  since  every- 
thing had  ta  be  divided  and  parcelled  off", 
and  the  slaves  liberated,  it  wa^  quite  a  dif- 
ferent matter,  in  spirit  and  in  fact,  from  all 
that  had  gone  before;  for  in  this  the  old 
leaven  of  idolatry  had  no  part,  the  honor 
and  glory  of  the  only  True  God  being  the 
incentive. 

Nemesius  sought  Claudia  in  the  apart- 
ment where  the  light  morning  repast  was  j 
usually  taken.  She  had  just  come  in  from  I 
the  beautiful  gardens,  and  was  waiting  for  | 
him.  She  was  arrayed  in  a  white,  silver-  i 
broidered  robe  and  tunic ;  her  eyes  sparkled 


llie  Ave  Afar/ a. 


159 


if,  like  the  fountain's  spray,  they  had 
drank  the  sunlight;  her  cheeks,  delicately 
tinted,  were  dimpled  with  smiles;  her  hair, 
irown  back  fro^  her  round,  childish  fore- 
lead,  flowed  in  light,  golden  waves  over  her 
loulders ;  and  Nemesius  thought,  as  she 
lew  to  his  embrace,  that  so  the  angels  of 
rod  must  look;  for  with  her  human  love- 
iness  there  was  that  nameless  light  irra- 
liating  her   countenance,  which,  like  the 
^'beauty  of  the  King's  daughter,"  was  from 
rithin. 

Ivucilla  miaf^  he  said,  tenderly,  as  he 

^azed  into  the  bright  eyes  uplifted  to  his. 

The  light  is  beautiful,  padre  mio;  it 

fills  me,  and,  oh!  it  makes  my  heart  so  glad 

that  r  stretch  out  my  arms  so" — showing 

him — "to  fly  like  the  doves!" 

"Thou  hast  not  wings  yet,  carina^"^^  he 
answered,  laying  his  hand  caressingly  on 
her  golden  head — "not  yet.  But  come:  I 
must  eat  something  and  be  off";  for  I  have 
much  to  attend  to  to-day." 

Instead  of  offering  the  customary  liba- 
tion, Nemesius  made  the  blessed  Sign  ot 
the  Cross,  which  Claudia  did  also,  while 
she  breathed  the  Holy  Name  that  glowed 
in  her  heart;  then  as  the  minutes  flew  she 
told  him  with  childlike  rapture  of  all  she 
had  seen  that  morning — the  sunrise,  the 
fountains  glittering  in  its  beams;  her  doves 
and  her  wonder  to  see  them  spread  their 
snowy  wings  and  sail  away  in  the  air;  the 
flowers,  and  last  of  all — Grillo,  whose  ap- 
pearance filled  her  with  surprise  and  mer- 
riment; his  long  ears,  his  long,  solemn  face, 
his  bright  eyes  and  small  hoofs,  altogether 
forming  an  image  strangely  unlike  the  one 
her  imagination  had  pictured  of  him.  He 
knew  her  by  her  voice,  and  she  knew  him 
by  his;  for  in  his  delight  at  seeing  her  he 
had  lifted  it  up  aloud,  holding  her  in  half- 
frightened  suspense,  until  his  vociferous 
welcome  subsided. 

There  was  not  a  shadow  to  dim  the  ec- 
static happiness  that  had  so  unexpectedly 
come  into  her  life;  by  Zilla's  tender,  vig- 
ilant care,  nothing  of  pain  or  sorrow  had 
ever  been  permitted  to  reach  her  ears;  con- 
sequently she  had  not  as  yet  heard  anything 


of  the  persecution  and  its  horrors,  and  a 
sudden  pang  smote  her  father's  heart  as  the 
thought  of  what  might  await  her  in  the 
near  future  now  passed  vividly  through  his 
mind.  Would  she  not  die  in  wild  afl"right 
if  confronted  with  the  ghastly  horrors  of  a 
cruel  death?  Would  not  her  child-heart 
fail  at  the  very  last  before  the  appalling 
paraphernalia  of  torture? 

He  had  too  often  faced  carnage  and  death 
on  the  battle-field  to  dread  it  in  any  shape 
for  himself;  to  have  lost  his  life  under  the 
proud,  advancing  eagles  of  Rome  would 
have  been  fame,  but  to  lose  it  now  for  Christ 
who  had  suffered  all  things  for  his  salvation, 
would  not  only  sweeten  the  ignominy,  the 
insults  and  tortures  of  martyrdom,  but  win 
for  him  a  fadeless  glory,  and  crowning  be- 
yond all  that  earth  could  give.  But  for  her 
— ah!  he  could  not  yet  endure  the  contem- 
plation of  it;  he  put  it  away  from  Mm,  arose 
from  the  table,  and,  after  embracing  her 
with  great  tenderness,  hastened  out  to 
mount  his  horse,  to  go  to  his  camp  and 
transfer  his  command  in  due  form.  He  was 
beginning  to  learn  how  possible  it  is  for 
human  nature  to  be  crucified  without  the 
cross  and  the  nails. 

When  half-way  down  the  avenue,  Neme- 
sius saw  a  chariot,  attended  by  slaves,  pass 
the  bronze  gates.  As  it  approached  nearer, 
he  observed  that  it  was  occupied  by  a  lady 
of  distinguished  appearance,  whom  he  al- 
most instantly  recognized  as  Camilla,  the 
wife  of  Tertullus,  and  he  drew  rein.  Her 
fine,  spirited  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure, 
and  after  the  usual  salutations  were  ex- 
changed she  said,  in  a  low  tone: 

' '  I  have  come  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  thy  little  daughter,  and  wish  thee  joy." 

"I  will  turn  back  and  introduce  her  to 
thee,  for  she  is  shy  with  strangers.  Thy 
thought  of  her  is  most  kind,"  he  replied, 
remembering  that  the  Pontiff"  had  promised 
that  this  lady  would  instruct  Claudia  in  the 
rudiments  of  Christian  doctrine. 

Camilla  was  not  critically  beautiful,  but 
the  intelligence,  brightness,  and  frank  ex- 
pression of  her  face  imparted  to  it  a  winning 
charm  which  was  irresistible.   She  had  been 


i6o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  gayest  woman  in  Rome,  full  of  auda- 
cious courage  to  overstep  conventional  cus- 
toms if  they  interfered  with  her  pleasures; 
witty,  outspoken,  and  carrying  off  every 
thing  she  did  with  such  cheerful  grace  that, 
instead  of  blame,  she  won  admiration,  and 
had,  notwithstanding  her  escapades,  a  rep- 
utation that  was  without  a  flaw.  By  her 
sayings  or  doings  she  kept  her  large  circle 
of  friends  well  provided  with  amusement, 
while  her  entertainments,  quite  out  of  the 
beaten  track  of  such  things,  were  made 
delightful  more  by  their  novelty  than  their 
splendor  and  profusion.  But  suddenly,  so 
her  friends  said,  she  had  taken  a  caprice, 
and  adopted  a  more  quiet  mode  of  life ;  she 
excused  herself  by  declaring,  in  a  laughing 
way,  that  she  was  only  learning  how  to 
grow  old  with  a  good  grace,  and  how  at  last 
to  assume  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  matron, 
which  sl«  had  been  accused  of  lacking. 

But  the  fact  was — sub  7^osa — that  Camil- 
la's husband,  TertuUus,  whom  she  idolized, 
had  become  a  Christian,  through  having 
heard  the  testimony  and  witnessed  the 
martyrdom  -of  a  friend  he  loved,  and  she, 
by  the. grace  of  God,  followed  his  example. 
Since  then  many  daring  things  had  been 
done  in  Rome  for  the  persecuted  Christians 
— many  an  edict  had  been  brushed  over 
with  lime  or  pitch";  many  a  martyr's  body, 
destined  for  the  cloacce^  mysteriously  dis- 
appeared; but  neither  the  instigators  nor 
perpetrators  of  these  outrages  could  be 
traced.  But  had  she  chosen  to  speak,  Ca- 
milla could  have  given  the  key  to  it  all;  for 
her  own  daring  spirit  was  no^  exercised 
otherwise  than  for  the  amusement  of  her 
friends,  and  it  was  she  who  incited  many  of 
these  exploits. 

She  and  her  husband  had  many  a  laugh 
together  in  secret  when  she  recounted  her 
hairbreadth  escapes;  how,  by  ingenious 
devices,  she  had  set  magistrates  and  prison 
officials  by  the  ears,  thereby  delaying,  by 
a  confusion  of  orders,  the  torture  and  ex- 
ecution of  those  who  at  a  given  time  were 
sentenced  to  die  for  their  steadfast  faith  in 
Christ;  and  how,  on  a  dark,  stormy  night, 
she  had  caused  to  be  suspended  from  the 


neck  of  one  of  the  marble  deities  a  rude 
portrait  of  Valerian  Imperator,  head  down- 
ward. She  had  alert  hands  and  willing, 
agile  feet  to  do  her  bidding,  and  gold  in 
plenty  to  bribe  sordid  jailers  and  execu- 
tioners for  certain  purposes,  not  unlike  that 
which  inspired  Joseph  of  Arimathea  and 
Nicodemus  to  go  secretly,  after  the  Cruci- 
fixion, with  fine  linen  and  spices,  to  give 
sacred  sepulture  to  the  dead  Christ.  It  was 
she  who  planned  everything,  and  some- 
times, moved  by  her  adventurous  spirit^ 
took  an  individual  and  personal  share  in  the 
attendant  perils. 

This  was,  however,  but  one  side  of  Ca- 
milla's present  life;  the  reverse  showed  a 
sweet,  womanly  tenderness  in  her  minis- 
trations to  the  suffering  and  afflicted,  an 
unsparing  hand  in  relieving  their  necessi- 
ties; she  had  words  of  strong  fervor  and 
consolation  for  the  weak  and  faint-hearted, 
and  courage  herself  to  die,  whenever  called, 
for  the  love  of  Him  whom  she  so  zealously 
loved  and  served. 

By  this  time  the  villa  is  reached,  and, 
assisted  by  Nemesius,  Camilla  alights  from 
her  chariot.  Claudia  is  straying  among  the 
flowers,  and  listening  to  the  carols  of  her 
old  friends,  the  finches  and  thrushes,  hidden 
among  the  leafy  coverts  overhead.  She 
hears  her  father  call  her,  drops  the  violets 
and  roses  she  has  gathered,  and,  emerging 
from  a  tangled  screen  of  white  jasmine  and 
eglantine  which  had  concealed  her,  she 
runs  with  swift,  graceful  steps  towards  him. 
Taking  her  hand,  he  introduces  her  to  the 
strange  lady,  who  had  watched  her  approach 
wnth  moistened  eyes  and  a  sweet,  friendly 
smile.  After  one  quick,  penetrating  glance 
into  her  face,  which  the  child  seems  to  read 
instantaneously,  she  lays  her  hand  in  the 
lady's  soft  clasp,  and  in  few  simple  words 
gives  her  welcome. 

Then  Nemesius,  well  satisfied,  left  them 
together;  he  had  not  a  moment  to  spare; 
he  must  be  at  his  camp  by  a  certain  time; 
his  business  there  would  consume  at  least 
an  hour,  and  at  noon  he  was  due  at  the  old 
walled  villa  out  near  the  Via  Latina. 

Camilla  attracted  and  won  Claudia,  and 


\h 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i6i 


after  Nemesius  had  mounted  and  ridden 
away,  she  proposed  that  they  should  go  and 
5nd  a  seat  in  some  shaded,  sequestered  spot 
n  the  gardens,  saying,  with  a  bright  smile: 

"I  have  things  to  tell  thee,  carina  mia^ 
neant  only  for  thine  own  ear.  The  birds 
md  the  fountains  babble  only  of  their  own 
ifFairs.  I  want  to  talk  to  thee  of  yesterday, 
md  thy  visit  to  my  villa  beyond  Rome.  Ah ! 
jow  thou  knowest!    Come." 

*'Dost  thou  know  Him  who  opened  my 
>lind  eyes — the  Christies  ? ' '  asked  the  child, 
her  countenance  radiant  with  sweet  eager- 
ness. 

"Aye,  and  in  truth  do  I,  my  little  one; 
:and  it  is  to  speak  to  thee  of  Him  that  the 
holy  Bishop  Stephen  has  sent  me  here  to- 
'day,"  answered  Camilla,  as,  hand  in  hand, 
they  wandered  through  the  fragrant,  shaded 
.alleys  to  the  Grotto  of  Silenus,  where  they 
found  comfortable  seats  on  the  moss-grown 
mounds  that  surrounded  it. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  16th  Convention  of  the  C.  T.  A.  U. 
of  America. 

REV.  FATHER  CONATY'S  SERMON. 

THE  1 6th  Annual  Convention  of  the 
Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Union  of 
America  was  held  at  the  University  of 
Notre  Dame,  Ind. ,  Wednesday  and  Thurs- 
day, August  4th  and  5th.  Delegates,  cler- 
ical and  lay,  assembled  in  large  numbers 
from  various  parts  of  the  country,  making 
the  Convention  one  of  the  most  successful 
thus  far  held  by  the  Union.  A  notable 
feature  was  the  presence  of  very  many  cler- 
ical delegates,  who  gathered  to  the  number 
of  about  seventy-two,  which  far  exceeded 
that  of  any  previous  Convention,  and  was 
a  token  of  the  greatly  increased  interest 
taken  in  the  movement  for  which  these 
societies  are  banded  together.  Of  the  higher 
order  of  the  clergy,  the  Most  Rev.  Arch- 
bishop Elder,  of  Cincinnati,  and  the  Rt. 
Rev.  Bishop  Ireland,  of  St.  Paul,  attended 
the  sessions  of  the  Convention,  and  spoke 
words  of  encouragement  and  counsel  to  the 


delegates.  The  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Gilmour, 
of  Cleveland,  had  also  come  to  Notre  Dame 
to  encourage  the  movement,  but  illness 
prevented  his  attendance  at  the  meetings. 
Encouraging  letters  were  received  from  his 
Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons,  the  Most  Rev. 
Archbishops  Ryan  of  Philadelphia,  I^ynch 
of  Toronto,  CWBrien  of  Halifax;  from  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Bishops  Keane  of  Richmond, 
Mclntyre  of  Charlottetown,  Jannsens  of 
Natchez,  Ryan  of  Buffalo,  Chatard  of  Vin- 
cennes,  O' Sullivan  of  Mobile,  McCloskey 
of  Louisville;  also  the  Rt.  Rev.  Monsignor 
McColgan  of  Baltimore,  and  the  Very  Rev. 
J.  Adam,  Vicar-General  of  Monterey  and 
Los  Angeles.  A  telegram  was  received  from 
St.  Mary's  Society,  of  Norwich,  Conn.; 
and  a  greeting  from  St.  Patrick's  Society, 
of  Wa3hington,  D.  C. 

The  President  of  the  Union,  the  Rev.  J. 
M.  Cleary,  of  Wisconsin,  in  his  annual  re- 
port made  an  eloquent  address,  setting  forth 
the  noble  ends  of  the  Union,  and  giving 
valuable  counsels  as  to  the  best  means  to  at- 
tain these  ends.  He  dwelt  especially  on  the 
importance  of  establishing  cadet  and  ladies' 
societies,  and  on  the  emphatic  endorsement 
of  the  late  Plenary  Council  of  Baltimore. 
The  report  of  the  general  Secretary,  Mr. 
Philip  A.  Nolan,  showed  that  there  were  in 
the  Union  651  societies,  with  a  membership 
of  43)995)  a  g^in  for  the  year  of  12  societies 
and  1,955  members.  The  resolutions  passed 
by  the  Convention  condemned  the  liquor 
traffic,  in  accordance  with  the  counsel  of 
the  Fathers  of  the  Plenary  Council;  recom- 
mended the  formation  of  Temperance  asso- 
ciations among  the  young;  repeated  the 
advice  given  by  our  Holy  Father  in  his  En- 
cyclical on  the  Constitution  of  States — that 
Catholics  everywhere  should  take  a  manly 
and  intelligent  part  in  the  workings  of  gov- 
ernment; and  finally  expressed  sympathy 
with  the  struggle  for  right  in  which  the 
Irish  people  are  now  engaged. 

The  deliberations  of  the  Convention  were 
characterized  by  an  intelligent  and  Chris- 
tian spirit,  and  we  feel  assured  that  the  out- 
come will  be  most  happy  for  the  Union, 
and  most  beneficial  to  the  social  sphere 


l62 


The  Ave  Maria. 


wherein  the"infliience  of  the  gentlemanly 
delegates  is  felt.  Most  fittingly  the  blessing 
of  Heaven  was  first  invoked  by  a  Solemn 
Pontifical  Mass,  celebrated  by  the  Most  Rev. 
Archbishop  Elder,  in  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Sacred  Heart  at  Notre  Dame. 
During  the  Holy  Sacrifice  an  eloquent  ser- 
mon was  preached  by  the  Viee-President  of 
the  Union,  the  Rev.  T.J.  Conaty,  of  Worces- 
ter, Mass.  We  take  pleasure  in  presenting  to 
our  readers  a  synopsis  of  his  forcible  plea  for 
the  cause  of  Temperance.  Father  Conaty 
spoke  in  substance  as  follows,  taking  for  his 
text  the  words:  "Have  courage,  and  show 
thyself  a  man."    (HI.  Kings,  ii.,  2.) 

May  it  please  your  Grace,  Brother  Dele- 
gates, dearly  beloved  brethren: — I  congratu- 
late you  upon  this  auspicious  opening  of  your 
1 6th  Annual  Convention  in  this  University 
city  of  the  West.   I  congratulate  you  upon  the 
splendid  organization  which  you  represent, 
which  sends  you  here  to  look  into  one  anoth- 
er's faces,  to  meet  the  friendly  smiles  and  kind 
words  of  brethren,  to  consult  as  to  the  means 
and   methods  best   adapted  to  promote  the 
ends  of  your  Union.  You  come  to  raise  again 
your  voice  in  no  uncertain  tones  against  a 
giant  evil,  warning  men  of  its  closeness  to 
their  doors,  and  showing  them  the  means  by 
which  to  protect  themselves  from  its  ravages. 
Brother  Delegates,  all  men  agree  that  In- 
temperance is  a  great  evil.   All  men  agree  that 
this  evil  is  in  every  community,  but  not  all 
seem  to  realize  that  no  one  can  claim  that  for 
him  it  has  no  dangers,  or  for  them  there  is  no 
need  of  interest.    Intemperance  erects  in  our 
midst  a  monument,  in  the  presence  of  which 
all  the  monuments  of  men  pale  into  insignifi- 
cance.   It   is   not   granite,   nor  marble,   nor 
bronze,  but  it  is  crime  committed  by  it;  pov- 
erty  and   destitution  wrought   by  it;    jails, 
lunatic  asylums,  orphan  homes  filled  by  it; 
faith  ruined,  religion  robbed, homes  shattered, 
communities  paralyzed,  men  degraded,  souls 
lost.    lyook  at  it,  this  monument  of  Intem- 
perance, as,  Babel-like,  it  fills  the  earth,  and 
raises  itself  against  Heaven,  threatening  the 
destruction  of  God  Himself 

Yes,  Brother  Delegates,  Intemperance  is  a 
scourge,  a  plague,  a  foulness  in  society,  de- 
stroying more  men  than  Asiatic  pestilence  or 
the  horrors  of  war.  It  wages  an  unceasing,  an 
unrelentless  war  upon  man,  and  a  ceaseless, 


unrelenting  force  must  meet  it  and  attempt 
its  destruction.  Intemperance  is  a  monster- 
fiend,  threatening  man,  the  home,  .society,  and 
the  Church.  The  home  and  society  must 
unite  for  protection,  while  the  Church  blesses 
and  aids  the  union,  which  is  but  a  co-operator 
in  her  work.  What  greater  enemy  has  man, 
— a  being  created  by  God  for  God,  endowed 
by  God  with  all  the  faculties  necessary  to 
know  the  good  and  the  true,  to  love  the  beau- 
tiful, to  enjoy  life  in  its  best  gifts,  and,  by 
fidelity  to  truth,  to  purchase  the  inheritance  of 
God?  Intemperance  clutches  the  mind,  and 
renders  it  unfit  to  know  the  truth.  It  weakens 
the  will,  and  renders  it  unable  to  follow  the 
good.  It  makes  the  man  ordinarily  intelligent 
a  babbling  fool;  it  makes  the  man  ordinarily 
pure  of  speech  and  reverent  of  manner,  obscene 
and  blasphemous;  it  makes  the  man  ordina- 
rily obedient  to  law  and  rea.son,  a  violator  of 
all  law  and  the  most  unreasonable  of  men.  It 
wastes  man's  energy,  by  which  his  daily  bread 
is  earned;  it  paralyzes  industry,  and  makes 
improvidence  and  beggary.  In  a  word,  it  takes 
man,  whom  God  made  little  less  than  the  an- 
gels, and  degrades  him  beneath  the  brute. 

Intemperance  is  truly  the  enemy  of  man. 
But  man  lives  not  for  himself  alone:  he  is  a 
social  being.  At  his  advent  into  the  world,  he 
finds  himself  in  the  home.  He  is  child  and 
parent.  Home!  home! — how  sweet  the  mem- 
ories evoked,  how  tender  the  affections  there 
formed!  How,  like  the  ivy, the  traditions  that 
are  lasting  cling  around  it!  Home,  which  is 
but  heaven  in  miniature,  a  little  kingdom 
wherein  are  learned  the  first  lessons  of  man- 
hood, where  is  found  man's  first  happiness! 
As  the  home,  so  the  State.  Home  is  the  nur- 
sery of  true  citizens  and  brave  soldiers.  To 
enjoy  and  possess  home,  good  laws  are  de- 
manded; to  protect  and  defend  home,  true 
courage  and  bravery  are  needed.  Yes,  indeed, 
the  strength  of  nationality,  the  vigor  of  citi- 
zenship, the  bulwark  of  country  are  all  in  the 
homes  of  the  land,  whence  go  forth  men  with 
intelligence  and  morality  to  shape  the  laws 
that  govern  them,  to  observe  the  laws  made  for 
them,  and  to  avert  the  dangers  that  threaten 
them. 

Intemperance  is  the  great  enemy,  the  great 
curse  of  the  home.  The  traveller  who  has 
visited  scenes  of  devastation  wrought  by  tem- 
pest and  torrent  has  seen  the  wrecks  of  homes 
laid  waste  even  in  the  midst  of  bounteous, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


jeauteous  nature,  and  busy,  prosperous  in- 
iustry.  He  has  seen  the  roof  torn  from  many 
I  cottage  by  cruel  war,  villages  depopulated 
Dy  giant  famines,  peasantry  scattered  by  the 
ron  rule  of  despotic  land  laws.  But  torrent 
md  tempest,  war  and  famine — aye,  even  the 
.niquities  of  tyrants,  all  combined,  have  not 
;trewn  along  the  highways  of  life  such  wrecks 
of  homes  as  those  caused  by  Intemperance. 
War  and  famine  and  tyrant  were  agents  out- 
side the  home  for  its  destruction:  Intemper- 
ance uses  the  /amily  itself  as  the  instrument 
by  which  to  destroy  the  home.  How  many 
parents  sworn  to  defend  the  home  have  been 
led  by  Intemperance  to  destroy  it!  How  many 
children  sent  by  God  as  angels  of  the  hearth 
have  been  changed  to  demons!  Never  until 
the  great  reckoning  day  will  man  know  what 
a  curse  Intemperance  is  to  the  home. 

If  this  nursery  of  the  State,  this  source  of 
true  manhood,  this  mould  of  character,  pro- 
duce bad  men  or  weak  men,  the  State  is  en- 
dangered thereby.  For  man  finds  himself  in 
society  face  to  face  with  duties  as  well  as 
rights.  On  liim  devolves  the  duty  of  giving 
to  the  State  his  best  intelligence  to  shape  its 
laws,  his  greatest  activity  to  develop  the  re- 
sources of  nature,  his  entire  being  to  contrib- 
ute to  his  own  happiness  and  the  welfare  of 
his  fellow  men.  How  can  the  intemperate 
man  fulfil  these  duties,  with  an  intellect  dulled, 
an  activity  wasted  on  evil,  an  unhappy  life  ? 
Is  he  not  rather  a  danger  where  he  should  be 
a  protection,  a  burden  where  he  should  be  an 
assistance,  a  destroyer  where  he  should  be  a 
preserver  ?  Intemperance  forces  the  State  to 
increased  expenditures  for  poor-houses,  asy- 
lums, and  jails,  where  the  wretches  ruined  by 
drink,  and  the  childhood  uncared  for,  as  a  re- 
sult of  drink,  may  be  housed  and  nourished. 
Society,  then,  has  an  interest  in  any  organiza- 
tion against  the  demon  of  Intemperance,  and 
no  man  can  say  it  does  not  affect  him;  for  what 
injures  the  body  politic  injures  every  member. 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  Church  ?  Placed 
on  earth  to  save  men,  planted  near  the  home 
to  assist  it  in  the  formation  of  the  good  man 
and  the  true  citizen,  where  does  it  meet  with 
difficulties,  where  does  it  find  the  greatest — 
yes,  the  most  insurmountable  obstacle?  In 
Intemperance,  which  neutralizes  its  efforts, 
paralyzes  its  energy,  disgraces  its  garments. 
It  alone  defies  God,  renders  the  Blood  of 
Jesus  valueless,  places  a  barrier  between  sin 


and  grace,  which  not  even  the  almighty  power 
of  God  can  remoye;  for  it  destroys  the  will; 
and  God,  who  made  us  without  our  will,  does 
not  save  us  unless  in  our  co  operation.  The 
strong  words  of  the  Plenary  Council  of  Balti- 
more tell  us  the  cry  of  agony  from  the  heart 
of  the  Church  against  this  plague. 

This  is  an  age  of  organization.  On  every 
side  men  band  together  for  mutual  relief,  for 
political  ambition,  and  for  good  or  evil  de- 
signs. Did  ever  men  have  greater  reason  for 
organization  than  that  given  by  the  dangers 
of  Intemperance  ?  Shall  we  not  band  together 
to  battle  the  giant,  to  defend  our  homes  and 
our  manhood  against  their  arch-enemy  ?  Our 
Union,  based  upon  the  great  cardinal  prin- 
ciple of  Temperance,  urges  men  to  the  Gospel 
counsel  of  Total  Abstinence,  and  bids  them 
enter  the  ranks  of  the  Temperance  Crusad- 
ers, and  save  the  Holy  Land  from  a  tyranny 
worse  than  that  of  the  Moslem.  This  Union 
is  Catholic,  and  in  the  warfare  against  evil,  it 
teaches  not  to  rely  upon  man,  but  upon  God. 
It  gathers  you  to  the  altar;  it  encircles  you 
with  the  network  of  the  divine  economy;  it 
opens  to  you  the  treasures  of  Heaven;  it 
strengthens  you  with  the  Blood  of  the  Sav- 
iour; it  warns  you  against  the  heretical 
teachings  of  sectaries,  who  make  a  religion  of 
Temperance.  It  tells  you  that  Temperance  is 
not  the  moral  code,  but  only  one  of  the  many 
virtues  you  should  practise;  that  the  pledge 
is  not  a  charm,  but  an  aid;  that  it  is  not  cow- 
ardice, but  true  courage.  Men  may  sneer  at 
you,  call  you  hypocrites  and  fanatics.  These 
names  are  not  new;  this  scorn  is  as  old  as 
virtue.  All  men  who  labor  against  an  evil,  all 
men  who  denounce  a  great  wrong,  all  men 
who  struggle  for  the  renovation  of  society, 
must  expect  the  hatreds  of  men  whose  lives 
are  not  in  sympathy  with  them 

Brother  Delegates,  we  are  on  hallowed 
ground,  beneath  these  shades  of  learning, 
within  the  walls  of  the  great  University, 
whence  go  forth  men  armed  for  the  battle  of 
life — educators,  teachers,  reformers.  May  we 
not  catch  inspiration  from  these  surround- 
ings? Are  you  not  educators,  teachers,  apos- 
tles, commissioned  to  educate  and  evangelize, 
spreading  the  gospel  of  total  abstinence  every- 
where? Reform  is  the  want  of  the  hour — 
reform  in  politics,  reform  in  State,  reform  in 
public  life.  You  are  reformers,  not  self- con- 
stituted, but  under  the  guidance  of  the  only 


>i64 


The  Ave  Maria. 


true  reformers,  to  whom  alone  the  Saviour 
said:  *  *  Go,  teach  all  nations. ' '  To  you  society- 
may  look  for  relief  in  her  contest  against  polit- 
ical dishonesty  and  impurity.  To  you  labor 
in  its  great  battle  should  extend  a  friendly 
hand,  for  Temperance  is  labor's  best  friend. 
May  your  deliberations  here  be  blessed  by 
God  and  men!  May  the  Church  find  in  them 
assistance  in  her  great  work!  Be  men;  have 
courage.  Be  true  to  your  principles,  and  you 
will  be  men.  Character,  which  is  the  badge 
of  manhood,  will  be  built  upon  solid  founda- 
tions. Be  unflinching  in  your  fight  against 
the  saloon  which  threatens  your  home.  Have 
no  compact  with  Belial,  have  no  alliance  with 
evil.  Intemperance  is  a  curse:  woo  it  not. 
Intemperance  is  a  plague:  shun  it.  The  saloon 
that  breeds  it  is  the  nursery  of  evil:  raise  your 
hand  against  it.  Cling  closely  to  the  Church, 
frequent  the  Sacraments,  and  have  recourse 
to  prayer.  And  your  life  in  Temperance  will 
pass  in  God's  love,  and  when  you  pass  away 
to  God  men  will  say:  "  He  had  courage:  he 
was  a  true  man." 


Obituary. 


'•//  is  a  koly  and  vjholesotne  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
^readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Very  Rev.  Father  Denis,  a  well-known  Pas- 
sionist,  whose  death  occurred  in  England  on  the 
i8th  of  July. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Blake,  for  thirty-five  years 
rector  of  St.  Bridget's  Church,  Xenia,  O. 

Mother  Ignatia,  sub-prioress  of  the  Convent  of 
Mt.  Carmel,  Baltimore, whose  life  of  self-sacrifice 
was  crowned  with  a  precious  death  on  the  14th  ult. 

Sister  Mary  Xavier,  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  who 
rendered  her  pure  soul  to  God  at  Auburn,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  William  Pickett,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
deceased  at  Hartford,  Conn.,  on  the  21st  of  July. 

Mr.  D.  Collins,  of  Binghamton,  N.  Y.,  whose 
happy  death  took  place  on  the  19th  ult. 

Mr.  John  McMahon,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Ker- 
sey, Pa.,  who  passed  away  last  month.  His  death  is 
deeply  regretted  by  all  classes  of  the  community. 

Mrs.  Esther  Halloran,  a  model  servant  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  who  breathed  her  last  on  the  Feast 
of  Mt.  Carmel. 

Mr.  James  B.  Farrell,  of  Co.  Roscommon,  Ire- 
land; Mrs.  Maria  L.  Dempsey,  Macon,  Ga. ;  Rod- 
ger J.  Mahoney,  Rochester,  N.  Y. ;  Winifred  V. 
Duffy,  Baltimore;  Mrs. P.  Redmond,  John  Quinn, 
and  Thomas  Craby. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PARTMENT 


Bodger;  or,  How  It  Happened. 


BY    E.    L.    D. 


III. 


The  first  time  Father  Byrne  met  the  Cap- 
tain he  asked  him  several  questions,  and 
the  characteristic  answers  of  the  skipper 
made  an  impression. 

' '  No,  I  don' t  b'  long  to  any  Church '  zactly, 
but  o'  course  I  hev  some  chart-lines  laid 
down, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Thar  was  a  ole  chap — 
Taylor,  I  think  they  called  him — that  was 
al'ays  pokin'  round  the  docks,  an'  in  an'  out 
the  shipoin'.  Reel  nice  ole  man  too,  ven- 
er'ble  and  soft-spoken;  an'  oncet  he  said  to 
me:  '  Young  man,  you  air  with  a  bad  set  o' 
fellows.  Git  out  of  it.  You  wouldn't  want, 
ef  you  was  in  the  tropics,  to  go  herdin' 
around  with  a  lot  o'  hungry  sharks. '  An' 
I  says :  '  Not  much  I  wouldn'  t. '  An'  a  cold 
chill  went  down  my  back;  fur  I'd  seen  one 
o'  my  shipmates  chawed  and  mauled  in  the 
Bay  of  Rio  Janary  jest  that  a- way.  An'  then 
he  says:  'These  here  fellows  ull  do  ashore 
fur  you  what  the  sharks  ud  do  afloat,  on'y 
one  would  destroy  your  body,  an' t' others 
your  soul. '  Then  says  he :  '  Respec'  God 
and  women,  be  honest  to  your  neighbor,  an' 
if  you  want  to  be  ha'sh  try  it  on  your  own 
faults,  an' you'll  git  through.'  " 

"That's  good,  sound  Catholic  doctrine," 
smiled  Father  Byrne,  "as  far  as  it  goes; 
but  why  not  come  farther  ?  Suppose  a  great 
ship-owner  sent  you  out  in  a  fine  ship, 
which  he  promised  to  give  you  for  your 
own,  if  you  went  on  a  certain  cruise,  and  fol-  | 
lowed  certain  instructions,  that  were  simple 
and  sensible.    What  would  you  do  ?  " 

''Do  it!"  said  Captain  Bphraim.  "Fool 
ef  I  didn't!" 

"Well,"  continued  Father  Byrne,  "the 
great  Ivord  of  Heaven  has  lent  you  your 
soul;  you  are  sent  out  on  the  sea  of  life;  this 


The  Ave  Maria, 


165 


oul  is  more  noble  and  is  finer  than  any 
/essel  that  ever  slipped  off"  the  stocks,  and 
t  will  be  yours  for  a  happy  eternity  if  you 
bllow  out  the  simple  and  sensible  plan  laid 
lown  in  the  Gospels. ' ' 

' '  Wal,  now, ' '  said  the  Captain, ' '  that  doos 
.sound  reasonable.  But  it  'pears  to  me  the 
:j_(^rections<2/;«'/f  so  simple  an'  easy." 
fc**Come  into  the  Catholic  Church  and 
*u'll  think  differently.  The  line  between 
ight  and  wrong  is  as  clean-drawn  as  the 
(iquator. ' ' 

But  the  old  sailor  shook  his  head. 

''Idunno,"  hesaid;  "Idunno.  O'Neil's 
the  best  sailor  I've  got,  an'  Molly's  a  good 
gall ;  an'  ef  the  maid  grows  like  her  through 
bein'  a  Romanist, why  I'll  be  glad  of  it.  But 
fur  me — ' '  And  he  shook  his  head  again. 
"  Howsomdever,  passon, ' '  he  added, ' '  I  like 
to  hear  ye  talk,  an'  I  like  a  good  square 
stand-up  an'  knock-down  argyment,  so  ef 
it's  agreeable  to  you  we'll  go  at  it  again 
when  the  Lively  gits  back. ' ' 

And  they  did  many  times,  but  there  was 
always  a  lurking  doubt  somewhere  in  the 
old  sailor's  brain,  and  he  came  and  went  as 
before. 

Meantime,  with  little  Bodger  everything 
dated  from  these  comings  and  goings  of  her 
"daddy,"  and  the  days  between  were 
counted  carefully  on  a  string  of  beans  Mol- 
lie  gave  her.  Her  joy  may,  then,  be  imag- 
ined when  one  Christmas  Eve,  in  the  midst 
of  a  whirling  snowstorm,  and  while  the 
beans  had  two  weeks  still  to  run,  in  walked 
Captain  Bphraim,  looking  like  a  polar  bear 
in  the  eddy  of  flakes  that  clung  to  him  and 
chased  after  him  as  he  shut  the  door. 

When  the  .excitement  had  subsided  a 
little  he  said  to  Mollie: 

"O'Neil's  got  the  mid-watch, and  can't 
git  off  till  four  o'clock,  but  he  says  he'll 
meet  ye  at  the  church,  at  the  Mass." 

Mollie' s  pretty  face,  which  had  fallen 
when  he  began,  cleared  up  with  such  a 
brilliant,  happy  smile  that  the  Captain  re- 
marked: 

"Ye  cert'nly  do  set  an  amazin'  store  by 
that  theer  Mass  o'  youm ! ' ' 


We  do  that! 


said  Mollie;  "an'  small 


wonder,  too,  whin  it's  the  mim'ry  of  Cal- 
vary an'  the  reminder  of  the  Real  Pres- 
ence. ' ' 

Then  she  turned  to  the  maid. 

"Come,  me  darlint,  ye  must  lay  down 
and  sleep  a  while,  so  ye  can  go  rested. ' ' 

' '  Who' s  goin'  with  ye  ?  "  asked  the' Cap- 
tain, suddenly. 

"Just  the  two  av  us,"  said  Mollie,  adding, 
shyly, "  unless  ye'd  go  with  us  yerself." 

' '  O  my  daddy !  yes,  do  come ! ' '  cried  Bod- 
ger, flying  to  him  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  his  neck. ' '  Do,  do ! "  And  every  time 
she  said  it  she  kissed  him.  "It's  the  glad- 
dest day  o'  the  year,  an'  av  ye  come  it'll  be 
some  like  the  Wise  Men;  fur  ye've  come 
so  far — on'y  the  Lively  ain't  a  camel,"  she 
added,  somewhat  sadly.  "But  that  don't 
matter;  it  was  the  comin'  that  was  the  good 
part,  not  the  way  they  come. ' ' 

Wise  Bodger! 

Captain  Bphraim  thought  a  minute, 
then: 

"Yes,  my  maid,"  adding  in  a  half-apolo- 
getic tone  to  Mollie,  "it  ain't  safe  fur  you 
two  galls  to  go  alone. ' ' 

But  when  he  reached  the  great  church, 
and  saw  the  vast  crowds  hurrying  in,  saw 
them  kneeling  with  absorbed  devotion,  saw 
the  altar  massed  with  flowers  and  shining 
like  a  moonrise;  when  he  saw  the  Bethle- 
hem with  its  group  of  figures,  and  heard 
the  exultant,  glorious  music,  he  realized 
that  no  Catholic  is  ever  alone  in  his  relig- 
ion, and  he  was  amazed  at  the  splendor  and 
magnificence  about  him. 

A  dim  memory  of  Ephraim  and  his  idols 
swept  over  him,  and  he  shook  his  head 
uneasily.  But  when  Father  Byrne  turned 
from  the  altar,  and  in  a  few  clear  sentences 
recalled  the  significance  of  Christmas,  and 
dwelt  on  its  tender  meaning,  the  Captain's 
face  cleared.  The  burden  of  the  refrain 
was,  "And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them," 
and  just  as  the  priest  uttered  the  words  the 
first  time,  the  maid,  in  sheer  contentment, 
slipped  her  little  paw  into  her  daddy's 
horny  hand. 

It  gave  Captain  Ephraim  a  thrill  of 
strange  emotion,  and  seemed  like  a  tangible 


1 66 


The  Ave  Maria, 


summons  to  receive  the  baptism  Father 
Byrne  had  several  times  urged  upon  him ; 
but  the  feeling  passed  as  he  watched  the 
scene  about  him,  and  he  had  almost  forgot- 
ten it,  [when  suddenly  across  the  silence  of 
the  church  smote  the  clash  of  silver  bells, 
and  every  figure  swayed  forward,  bowing, 
adoring. 

A  strange  awe  fell  on  him,  but  he  saw 
nothing  except  something  round,  which  Fa- 
ther Byrne  held  high  above  his  head.  Then 
the  Captain  knelt  too ;  for  '  it  was  more  ship- 
shape to  do  it, '  he  thought,  '  ef  all  the  others 
was  a-doin'  of  it. ' 

But   even   after   this  when   the   Lively 
sailed  it  was  only  a  good  heathen  that  paced 
her  decks  as  skipper. 
IV. 

The  Lively  had  been  out  on  a  long  cruise, 
and  one  that  paid  so  well  that  Captain 
Ephraim  chuckled  as  he  chinked  his  bags 
of  dollars,  and  thought  how  near  the  little 
home  was  of  which  O'Neil  and  his  MoUie 
dreamed. 

"I'll  buy  it,  by  gum!  An'  the  maid  an' 
MoUie  shell  keep  house,  an'  me  an'  O'Neil 
ull  have  a  reel  stylish  time  of  it — a-sailin' 
in  our  Lively  here  when  time  an'  tide  an' 
bizness  sarve,  an'  goin'  off  to  the  country 
to  take  our  ease  when  they  don't.  I'll  git 
it  round  about  HuUway,  so's  the  two  galls 
kin  see  the  torpsails  arisin' ,  and  anchorage 
clus  to  hum  ull  be  easy.  Thet  thar  O'Neil, 
now  he's  a  proper  kind  of  a  chap.  Guess 
I'll  take  him  out  ez  mate  nex'  time,  fur  ef 
/  buys  the  house  he  kin  put  his  savin's  into 
a  share  in  the  Lively. ' ' 

He  was  so  full  of  his  plan  that  he  was 
eager  to  get  ashore;  but,  as  the  little  craft 
slipped  along  under  the  green  hills  of  the 
harbor,  a  round-robin  was  presented  to  him 
to  the  effect: 

'Bein'  as  how  he  hadn't  got  no  kith  nor 
kin,  an'  all  of  them  a-bein'  fambly  men — 
'cept  the  cabin-boy,  an' his  name  was  put 
in  to  make  the  robin  round — would  he 'low 
all  hands  to  go  ashore  till  midnight,  when 
any  watch  he'd  name  ud  come  back  prompt, 
so  help 'em  davy?' 

' '  Sho  now ! ' '  thought  the  Captain ;  ' '  sho 


now!  The  maid  ain't  mine  except  by  rights 
o'  salvage,  but  I'm  disappinted,  that's  a  fac'. 
Howsomdever,  here  goes  till  midnight." 

And  he  told  them  that,  if  the  two  senior 
men  (for  in  spite  of  that  fine-sounding 
phrase  "any  watch  he'd  name,"  there  were 
only  four  men  on  the  Lively  beside  the 
Captain  and  the  cabin-boy)  would  be  back 
promptly  at  midnight,  they  might  go. 
Thereupon,  with  throats  of  brass  and  lungs 
of  leather,  they  hurrahed  ' '  three- times- 
three,"  and  shortly  after  the  anchor  was 
dropped  Captain  Ephraim  was  pacing  the 
deck — for  the  cargo  was  valuable — atten- 
tively watched  by  the  cabin-boy,  whose 
one  ambition  in  life  was  to  grow  up  to  a 
skipper. 

O'Neil  hurried  home,  and  his  Mollie, 

"  Lookin'  as  fi-esh  as  the  morn,  darlint," 
met  him,  with  the  maid  at  her  apron-string. 

"Glory  to  God  ye' re  home,  my  man!" 
she  said.  * '  An'  it' s  meself  as  hopes  to  have 
a  bit  of  yer  soci'ty  for  a  few  weeks;  ye' re 
that  agreeable,  ye  see,"  she  added,  with  a 
laugh. 

But  the  maid  lifted  up  her  little  pipe. 

"My  daddy — where  is  he?" 

"He  sent  ye  his  love,  an' he'll  be  here 
bright  an'  early  the  morn,"  said  O'Neil. 

But  the  maid  thought  the  morning  was 
too  far  off,  and  her  daddy  so  very  unkind 
that  her  heart  swelled.  Wasn't  she  dressed 
in  her  best,  and  hadn't  she  almost  forgot 
to  say  her  beads  properly  at  May  Devotions 
for  fear  she  would  not  be  home  in  time  to 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  him  as  he  came 
down  the  street?  And  now — now  he 
wasn't  coming  at  all! 

She  ran  back,  as  fast  as  her  feet  could 
paddle,  to  the  church- — for,  although  almost 
eight  o'clock,  its  doors  were  still  open — 
and  crept  to  the  railing  before  the  altar  of 
Our  Blessed  Lady,  where  she  sat  down  for 
a  good  cry.  After  sobbing  out  the  first  of 
her  grief,  she  looked  up  to  the  sweet  coun- 
tenance above  her,  and  whispered : 

"Wasn't  it  mean  of  him,  my  Lady,  not 
to  come  home  to  his  maid?" 

But  the  taper  flickering  in  the  wind  that 
stirred  the  flowers  on  the  altar  lent  a  mys- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


:6^ 


"■J 

B 


erious  smile  to  the  fair  face,  and  the 
aaid,  repenting  her  of  blaming  her  daddy, 
aid: 

"But  maybe  it  wasn't  his  fault.  Was  it, 
ay  Dear?" 

The  flickering  light  lent  a  still  sweeter 

ile  to  the  carven  mouth,  and  the  child 

nt  on: 

*'So  I'll  just  say  me  prayers,  and  then 
go— go— " 

Into  her  little  head  popped  an  idea,  and 
who  shall  say  it  was  a  chance  thought? 

"My  Lady,"  she  said,  quite  loud,  her 
cheeks  red  with  excitement,  and  her  eyes 
shining,  "I'll  go  to  him.  I  know  the  way  as 
well  as  well.  It's  dark  and  scary  down  on 
the  wharfs,  but  I  don't  mind,  if  you'll  take 
care  of  me. ' ' 

And  the  wind  rustled  through  the  flow- 
ers once  more,  and  out  of  the  garland  laid 
across  the  statue's  outstretched  hands  fell 
a  piece  of  May-flower. 

"I'll  take  that,  my  Dear,"  she  said. 
"It's  one  of  your  own  flowers,  an' I'm 
thinkin' maybe  it's  a  mark  you're  willin' 
I  should  go. ' ' 

And  down  the  street  she  trotted  to  where 
a  street-car  stood,  the  conductor  of  which 
was  a  great  friend  of  hers. 

"Do  you  want  a  ride,  my  maid?"  he 
asked. 

' '  Please,  Mr.  White,  I  do, "  she  said ;  "  but 
I  ain't  got  any  money." 

''Well,  I  calculate  your  weight  won't 
break  down  the  car,  nor  one  free  ride  won' t 
bust  the  Comp'ny,"  he  answered,  agreea- 
bly.   "Hop  on!" 

And  they  had  a  pleasant  ride  through 
the  crowded  streets,  and  to  the  far- distant 
wharf,  off  which  lay  anchored  the  Lively. 

Here  the  maid  stepped  down  with  a  polite 
' '  Thank  you. ' '    But  Mr.  White  said : 

"Can't  leave  ye  here,  young  un,  at  this 
hour,  by  yourself" 

"I'm  goin'  to  meet  my  daddy." 

"Sure?"  he  asked,  dubiously. 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  she  nodded  her  head  till 
he  was  quite  dizzy  watching  it. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  it's  all  right,  it  is  all 
right.    But  reely  now,  my  maid,  I  wouldn't 


advise  ye  to  do  that  Chinese  mandarin  busi- 
ness with  your  h^d  too  often,  for  it  might 
come  off"  some  day. ' ' 

At  which  witty  remark  they  both  laughed, 
and  the  maid  skipped  down  the  wharf,  and 
was  soon  lost  in  the  shadows. 

" Now,"  she  said,  "I'll  get  a  boat,  and  off 
I'll  go.  And  won't  my  daddy  be  surprised 
when  he  sees  me  a-climbin'  up  the — " 

Here  a  big  voice  said :  ' '  Clear  out,  little 
gal !  We  don' t  want  no  children  a-fallin'  off 
these  here  wharfs  at  this  time  o'  night." 

Her  heart  sank  to  her  boots.  It  was  a 
great,  big,  fierce  policeman. 

"Please,  sir,"  she  said,  meekly,  "I'm 
here  to  see  my  daddy. ' ' 

"Yer  daddy?  What  is  he?  A  steve- 
dore?" 

"He's ^skipper  o'  the  Lively^  sir.  Don't 
you  see  her  off  yonder? ' '  And  she  poiilted 
to  where  the  pretty  schooner  lay  in  the  light 
of  the  young  moon. 

"Oh!  is  he?"  said  the  big  policeman. 
"  Is  he  coming  ashore  soon  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered;  for,  some- 
how, he  did  not  look  like  a  man  who  would 
approve  of  her  plan. 

' '  Well, ' '  said  he,  still  gruffly,  but  kindly, 
"you  jest  run  home  an'  wait  for  him.  He 
wouldn't  be  too  pleased  to  find  ye  round 
about  sich  a  place  as  this,  little  gal. ' ' 

But  her  hardy  spirit  rose,  and  as  he 
turned  away  she  whisked  into  the  shadow 
of  a  post,  drew  her  gown  close  about  her, 
and  bided  her  time. 

It  was  so  much  longer,  however,  than  she 
bargained  for,  and  the  watchman  patrolled 
so  steadily  up  and  down,  that  she  fell  into 
a  sound  sleep. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Has  a  sensible  man  ever  been  seen  to 
visit  the  abodes  of  people  attacked  with 
some  violent  pestilence,  with  the  intention 
of  amusing  and  diverting  himself?  Who 
then,  can  doubt  that  bad  books  carry  with 
them  a  pestilence  equally  real? — Des^ 
cartes. 

Attach  yourself  to  study;  it  will  be  one 
of  your  sure  safeguards.  — Mgr.  Dubois, 


1 68 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Episodes  of  the   Reign   of  Terror. 

Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
A  Tyrolese  promoter  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
League  furnishes  the  following  instance  of  the 
loving  protection  which  Our  Blessed  Mother 
extends  to  her  zealous  servants.  The  facts  oc- 
curred during  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  France, 
when  everything  was  in  the  hands  of  the  rev- 
olutionists, and  the  practice  of  religion  was 
punished  with  death. 

The  Abbe  Colmar,  afterwards  so  well  known 
as  the  indefatigable  Bishop  of  Mayence,  was 
then  living  in  Strasburg.  Far  from  being 
terrified  at  the  threatening  state  of  .affairs,  or 
quitting  his  country,  he  resolved  to  consecrate 
himself  entirely  to  the  salvation  of  souls, 
and  especially  to  affording  the  sick  poor  the 
consolations  of  the  Sacraments.  He  accord-  j 
ingly  sought  and  obtained  a  refuge  in  the 
house  of  a  faithful  and  pious  family  in  a  re- 
mote corner  of  the  city.  From  this  place  of 
concealment  he  used  to  venture  forth  daily, 
always  in  some  new  disguise,  exercising  his 
sacred  ministry  wherever  he  could  penetrate, 
and  frequently  at  the  peril  of  his  life. 

Such  success,  however,  attended  him  in  spite 
of  his  dangers,  that  he  was  soon  encouraged  to 
form  a  band  of  zHatrices,  as  he  called  them. 
This  consisted  of  a  number  of  pious  women, 
who  ascertained  for  him  the  whereabouts  of 
the  needy,  and  the  best  course  he  should  fol- 
low in  order  to  reach  them,  besides  praying  de- 
voutly for  him,  and  offering  their  beads  for  his 
pious  intentions.  They  were  chiefly  humble 
servant  girls  and  matrons  of  lowly  station,  and 
they  devoted  themselves  with  heroic  eager- 
ness and  constancy  to  their  labor  of  love.  God 
alone,  for  whom  they  thus  endangered  their 
lives,  knows  what  an  amount  of  good  they 
accomplished.  They  seemed  to  be  endowed 
with  special  grace,  and  Heaven  more  than 
once  displayed  its  protection  in  a  visible  and 
striking  manner,  but  never  more  so  than  on 
the  following  occasion. 

After  his  usual  apostolic  journeys  of  the  day 
along  the  route  marked  out  for  him  by  the 
holy  women,  the  Abbe  was  seated  one  even- 
ing at  table  in  the  house  of  the  friends  who 
sheltered  him.  He  had  already  been  frequently 
denounced  to  the  police,  and  had  almost  daily 
found  himself  the  object  of  their  vigilant  pur- 


suit. But  on  the  present  occasion  he  had  seen 
no  reason  for  being  alarmed.  The  meal,  how- 
ever, had  not  progressed  far,  when  a  loud  noise 
was  heard  in  the  hallway,  and  the  door  was 
burst  open  A  government  official  with  a  posse 
of  assistants  entered. 

"Citizen,"  exclaimed  the  officer,  in  an  in- 
solent voice,  "I  demand  the  surrender  of  the 
Abbe  Colmar.  We  have  tracked  him  to  your 
house,  and  know  that  he  is  hidden  here." 

With  a  wonderful  instinct,  none  of  the  fam- 
ily betrayed  themselves  by  any  indiscretion. 
The  father  grasped  the  situation  at  once:  the 
Abbe  was  not  recognized. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  calmly,  rising,  "I 
shall  be  happy  to  lead  you  through  the  whole 
house,  and  if  you  discover  the  Abbe  anywhere, 
you  are  free  to  arrest  him." 

The  officer  followed  him  closely,  and  in- 
spected every  corner  of  the  house  from  cellar 
to  attic,  but,  after  at  least  an  hour's  delay, 
was  compelled  to  retire,  greatly  chagrined. 
The  Abbe  meantime  remained  quietly  at  the 
table  with  the  others,  lost  in  fervent  prayer. 
He  knew  not  why,  but  he  felt  a  sense  of  great 
security.  Ten  of  the  assistants  had  all  the 
while  remained  in  the  room,  but  without 
saying  a  word.  On  the  departure  of  the  po- 
lice the  family  at  once  began  to  express  their 
astonishment  that  the  good  Father  had  ap- 
parently been  utterly  disregarded.  He  could 
not  account  for  it  himself,  but  modestly  said 
that  God  had  hearkened  to  them  as  they 
prayed  during  the  awful  suspense.  Hereupon 
the  smallest  of  the  children  exclaimed:  *  *  How 
could  they  have  seen  the  Abbe  when  a  beauti- 
ful Lady  came  and  threw  a  great  white  cloak 
about  him,  which  hid  him  completely! " 

This,  in  fact,  must  have  been  the  case.  Our 
Blessed  Lady  had  worked  a  miracle  in  behalf 
of  her  faithful  servant,  but  only  the  innocent 
child  had  been  allowed  to  witness  visibly  her 
motherly  protection.  We  need  not  attempt 
to  describe  how  deep  the  thanksgivings  were 
in  the  family  that  evening.  The  Abbe,  thuS 
assured  of  Mary's  ever- tender  solicitude,  con- 
tinued his  good  work  till  the  Reign  of  Terror 
passed  away,  and  the  comforts  of  religion 
could  again  be  procured  without  the  risk  of 
human  life.  On  being  promoted  to  the  See  of 
Mayence,  his  profound  gratitude  to  his  earthly 
protectors  was  only  surpassed  by  that  to  Our 
Lady,  and  he  found  means  of  suitably  reward- 
ing their  heroic  charity. 


Vol.  XXIII.         NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  21,  1886. 


No.  8. 


[Copyright :— Riv.  D.  E.  Htosoh,  C.  S.  C] 

The  Assumption  in  Art. 


BY   ELIZA   ALIvEN   STARR. 


TANDING  close  on  the  line  of  the 
way  leading  to  St.  John  Lateran, 
not  more  than  a  stone's  throw  from 
the   Coliseum,   and   exactly   opposite   the 
Santi  Quattro  Incoronati,  the  Basilica  of  St. 
Clement  draws  the  feet  of  every  traveller  to 
Rome  across  its  threshold.    And  this  not 
only  because  of  the  beauty  of  the  marbles, 
the  perfection  of  the  ecclesiastical  archi- 
tecture of  the  interior,  which  first  meets  the 
eye,  but  because  of  wonderful  revelations 
made  known  to  us  by  the  shovels  of  exca- 
/ators,  under  the   inspiration  of  the   late 
3rior,  Father  MuUooly;  so  that,  attractive 
is  the  well-known  Basilica  of  San  Clemente 
las  always  been,  the  giddiest  tourist  in  all 
5lome  is  now  eager  to  follow  the  guide  down 
he  twenty-three  steps  of  Alban  peperiiio 
narble,  which  lead  to  what  is,  to-day,  a  sub- 
erranean  region,  lighted  only  by  the  torches 
ashing    through    its    cavernous    spaces, 
•ringing  out  the  inscription  of  a  St.  Da- 
lasus  no  later  than  A.  D.  366,  and  of  frescos 
n  wall  and  stuccoed  pillar,  which  carry  us 
ack  to  the  twilight  of  Christian  art,  to  the 
arly  traditions  and  the  early  faith.     For 
cm  the  year  896,  when  a  memorable  earth- 
iiake  shook  even  the  walls  of  St.  John 
ateran,  to  1857,  this  was  a  region  not  only 
ibterranean   but  sealed, —  a  tomb,  to  be 
)ened  after  more  than  a  thousand  years  to 


give  its  testimony  to  the  undying  faith  of 
Christians. 

It  is  on  the  left  hand  as  we  approach  the 
place  of  the  ancient  sanctuary,  and  about 
half-way  between  it  and  the  entrance,  that 
we  see  not  only  a  Crucifixion — on  one  side 
of  the  divine  Sufferer  Our  Blessed  Lady,  on 
the  other  St.  John,  the  sepulchre,  and  the 
holy  women  —  but  what  in  this  instance 
seems  to  fill  out  the  series  like  a  veritable 
Resurrection,  the  Assumption  of  Our  Lady 
herself  into  heaven !  while,  as  in  the  pict- 
ure of  the  Crucifixion,  the  traditions  ob- 
served in  it  are  identically  the  same  as  those 
we  see  in  the  latest  representations  of  the 
same  subject. 

In  the  middle  of  the  foreground  is  an 
empty  tomb,  and  the  twelve  Apostles  at  the 
sides  in  every  attitude  of  amazement,  ad- 
miration, and  veneration ;  two  throwing  a 
hand  heavenward,  pointing  out  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  who  is  seen  ascending  from  her 
tomb,  crowned  with  a  nimbus,  her-  arms 
spread  forth  in  ecstasy,  her  eyes  lifted  to  her 
Divine  Son,  who  appears  in  a  glory  amid 
the  stars  of  heaven,  supported  by  four  re- 
joicing angels,  seated  in  supreme  majesty 
on  an  arc,  which  may  represent  a  rainbow. 
Around  the  sacred  head  is  the  cruciform 
nimbus;  one  hand  rests  on  an  open  book 
standing  on  His  knee,  the  other  hand  is 
raised,  as  if  welcoming  Mary,  and  present- 
ing her  as  His  Mother  to  the  whole  court  of 
Heaven. 

The  joyful  solemnity  of  this  composition 
has  never  been  exceeded  during  all  these 


tyo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


centuries,  which  is  explained  by  the  picture 
itself.  On  one  side  of  the  apostolic  group 
stands  a  tonsured  figure  looking  directly 
out  of  the  picture,  carrying  a  small  cross  in 
his  hand,  and  on  each  side  of  the  round 
nimbus  we  read,  in  letters  placed  vertically, 
SCS  VITVS.  On  the  other  side  of  the  apos- 
tolic group  stands  another  tonsured  figure. 
He  carries  a  book,  although  his  hands  are 
covered  by  the  folds  of  his  mantle,  over 
which  is  seen  the  white  pallium  with  its 
black  crosses.  Instead  cf  a  circular  nim- 
bus, however,  we  see  a  square  nimbus  sur- 
rounded by  a  small  cross,  and  on  each  side 
a  long  inscription,  written  horizontally: 
SancHssimus  Dom.  Leo  — r/.,  PP.RoTuanus; 

or,  ' '  Most  Holy  Lord  Leo ,  Pope  of 

Rome";  while  the  precious  border  of  this 
picture  is  made  by  one  of  those  inscriptions 
to  which  we  of  to-day  are  so  much  indebted 
for  positive  knowledge:  Quod  hcBC  prcE 
cunctis  splendet  pictura  decore^  coTnponere 
hanc  studuit  presbyter  ecce  Leo^  —  ' '  That 
this  picture  may  outshine  the  rest  in  beauty, 
behold  the  priest  Leo  studied  to  compose 
it." 

Father  Mullooly,  from  whose  book  on  his 
beloved  Basilica  we  copy  the  inscriptions 
and  translations,  adds :  "  It  is  not  easy  to 
determine  whether  he  is  Leo  III.  or  Leo 
IV.,  for  the  letters  preceding  are  almost 
effaced,  and  can  not  be  read.  If  it  be  Leo 
III.,  it  must  have  been  painted  before  795; 
if  Leo  IV. ,  before  847.  The  latter  had  been 
priest  of  the  Church  of  the  Four  Crowned 
Martyrs,  opposite  St.  Clement's." 

Our  picture  thus  takes  its  place,  as  to 
time,  among  those  mosaics  which  adorn 
the  most  venerable  basilicas  of  Rome,  and 
we  see  how  personal  was  the  attention 
given  by  the  Roman  Pontiffs  to  the  works 
of  art  in  those  ages^  securing  not  only  their 
beauty, but  the  authenticity  of  the  Church's 
legends  delineated  in  them. 

To  the  present  time,  this  Assumption  in 
the  subterranean  San  Clemente  is  the  old- 
est representation  of  this  mystery,  which 
claims  in  its  honor  one  of  the  six  feasts  now 
of  universal  obligation  even  in  the  United 
States  of  America;  and  certainly,  from  the 


latest  date  given  by  Father  Mullooly,  has 
been  an  authorizeciaas  well  as  favorite  sub- 
ject for  painting  and  sculpture,  for  exte- 
riors as  well  as  interiors,  above  city  gates 
as  well  as  altars;  and  municipal  as  well  as 
private  devotion  has  honored  in  every  way 
possible  the  Assumption  of  the  Mother  of 
Our  Lord. 

This  Assumption^  moreover,  must  be  re- 
garded as  the  middle  act  of  a  drama  in  three 
parts,  viz. :  her  death,  assumption,  and  cor- 
onation ;  sometimes,  indeed  often  on  the 
walls  of  the  noble  churches  of  Southern 
Europe,  represented  as  a  whole,  but  more 
frequently  in  parts ;  yet  always  in  a  way  to 
bring  to  memory  the  acts  unrepresented,  as 
belonging  to  the  glorious  phase  of  Chris- 
tian realities,  the  perfect  efflorescence  of 
dogma  and  faith,  the  complete  victory  over 
death  in  the  creature  as  in  the  Creator. 

And  to  this  drama  there  is  a  prelude; 
for  there  is  nothing  sharp  or  abrupt  among 
these  old  painters  and  sculptors.   Just  as 
an   Archangel  waited  upon  Mary  to  an- 
nounce the  coming  Incarnation,  an  Arch- 
angel announces  to  her  the  coming  of  that 
hour  when  she  will  enter  upon  the  full  and 
perfect  reward  of  her  long  life  of  obedience 
and  conformity  to   the  will  of  God;  the 
kneeling  Archangel  bringing  not  a  lily  but 
a  palm — the  palm  of  the  martyr;  for  is  not 
Mary  rightly  called  Queen  of  Martyrs,  and 
who  has  ever  known  'sorrow  like  unto  her 
sorrow '  ?    Orcagna  includes  this  subject  in 
his  grand  bass-reliefs  in  the  Church  of  Or 
San  Michele,  Florence;  and  we  see  in  his 
noble  composition  that  the  aged  widow  of  i 
Joseph,  the  childless  Mother  of  the  cruci-  j 
fied  Nazarene,  as  she  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  | 
world,  had  lost  nothing  in  the  eyes  of  thej 
heavenly  court;    and  the  Archangel  bears i 
his  triple  palm,  as  he  floats  slowly  down- 
ward towards  the  Virgin  Mother  placidlyi 
awaiting  his  approach,  one  hand  raised  as  if 
in  gentle  surprise,  with  a  veneration  full! 
of  pathos.     In  a  small  German  picture  thei 
Archangel  kneels  with  his  palm   to  the 
Virgin  Mother,  who  turns,  still  kneeling,; 
from  her  prayer-book.     Like  Orcagna' s  0: 
the  year  1359,  it  is  direct  in  its  motive  auc 


71ie  Ave  Maria, 


171 


\  imple  in  its  circumstances,  pervaded  by  a 
(  ertain  quietude  peculiar  to  a  holy  old  age. 

RlWe  have  often  wondered  that  this  sub- 
let has  not  had  a  place  in  our  popular 
]  ictures  of  the  life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  * 
]''ilippo  Lippi  substitutes  a  lighted  taper 
f  )r  the  palm ;  and  in  the  scene  of  her  death 
a  lighted  taper  is  placed  in  her  hand  by 
an  Apostle,  generally  St.  John.  Cimabue 
painted  the  death  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in 
his  grand  series  called  her  Life,  in  the 
C'hurch  of  St.  Francis  at  Assisi ;  Giotto 
painted  it  also,  with  two  angels  at  the  head 
and  two  at  the  feet,  holding  reverently  the 
drapery  of  her  couch,  showing  how  grandly 
this  drama  was  expected  to  open  ages  ago. 
Fra  Angelico's  Death  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
represents  her  on  her  couch  of  death,  sur- 
rounded by  Apostles  and  angels,  while  her 
Divine  Son,  standing  beside  her  in  an  au- 
reole of  glory,  receives  her  soul  under  the 
form  of  a  child.  We  need  not  say  that  this 
exquisite  picture  draws  every  visitor  to  the 
Uffizzi  Gallery  in  Florence. 

In  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  at  Siena  the 
death,  burial  (or  procession  through  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem),  and  the  Assumption, 
are  on  the  walls  of  the  chapel  where  the 
magistrates  of  Siena  found  wisdom  to  direct 
their  councils.  All  these  pictures  are  char- 
acterized by  the  tenderest  solemnity — the 
two  first  preserving  the  usual  arrangement; 
but  in  the  Assumption  is  a  departure,  show- 
ing how  the  imaginations  of  devout  artists 
of  those  ages  were  nourished  by  medita- 
tion. The  scene  is  laid  in  the  Valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  among  the  tombs  of  the  kings, 
where,  as  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  David, 
the  Virgin  Mother  had  been  laid.  The 
mountains  rise  in  sharp  peaks  to  the  sky ; 
all  is  gloom,  as  if  the  dawn  had  not  yet 
pierced  the  darkness  of  the  valley,  when  we 
5ee  thel^ord  of  Life  descending  towards  her, 
surrounded  by  seraphs;  stretching  forth  His 
^ands,  in  which  are  the  prints  of  nails,  He 
seems  to  say  to  her:  "Mother,  it  is  time  to 
ise ! ' '  Who  could  resist  that  call,  even  from 


*  This  last  picture  was  given  in  the  Diisseldorf 
series  of  Religious  Prints  a  few  years  ago,  Or- 
agnais  might  be  more  popular,  perhaps. 


the  slumber  of  death  ?  And  Mary,  hearing 
not  only  the  voice  t)f  her  Lord  and  her  God, 
but  of  her  Son — the  same  voice  which  must 
have  roused  her  so  often  in  the  holy  house 
of  Nazareth,  sweeter  to  her  than  that  of  any 
matin  bird, — just  lifts  herself  from  her  bed, 
stretches  forth  her  hands  to  those  of  her 
Son,  as  if  He  would  help  her  to  go  to  Him, 
while  the  rosy  seraphs  place  their  wings 
under  her  half-reclining  body.  That  look 
between  the  Son  and  the  Mother  of  perfect 
recognition,  of  a  never-interrupted  union  of 
•  love,  is  one  to  prepare  us  for  the  vision  of 
this  Son  and  His  Mother  in  heaven. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  annunciation  of 
the  death  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  by  Orcagna 
in  the  beautiful  Church  of  Or  San  Michele. 
This  is  succeeded  by  the  entombment,  in 
which  Our  Lord  is  seen  as  in  pictures  of  the 
death-bed,  holding  her  soul  in  His  arms. 
He  is  accompanied  by  angels.  St.  Peter  is 
reading  the  Christian  burial-service  at  her 
head,  and  an  angel  at  his  side  holds  a  cen- 
ser; while  St.  John,  still  nearer,  with  the 
sweet  privilege  of  a  son,  softly  raises  the 
drapery  of  her  pall,  as 'does  another  Apostle 
at  her  feet,  and  St.  James  reverently  kisses 
her  hand.  The  early  Christians  are  also 
present  as  well  as  the  Apostles,  and  are  dis- 
tinguished by  caps  on  their  heads.  Above 
this  scene  of  the  entombment,  and  as  if  just 
leaving  the  earth,  the  Blessed  Virgin  is 
seated  on  a  throne  within  a  mandorla^  or 
almond-shaped  glory,  supported  by  four 
angels,  while  two  play  on  musical  instru- 
ments; and  as  a  cloud — the  last  cloud  of 
earth — ^touches  the  mandorla,2XiA  will  soon 
come  between  her  and  mortals,  she  drops 
her  girdle  to  St.  Thomas,  who  clutches  it, 
kneeling.  This  incident  is  also  introduced 
into  The  Assumption  over  one  of  the  doors 
of  the  Cathedral  of  Florence,  and  in  many 
compositions  of  this  period. 

Perugino,  in  his  picture  of  the  Assump- 
tion in  the  Belle  Arti,  Florence,  has  given 
to  the  earth  which  she  has  just  left  a  group 
almost  as  celestial  as  that  which  bears  her 
to  heaven :  the  ' '  four  ambrosial  saints, ' '  as 
they  are  called,  because  they  seem  to  have 
fed  on  the  delights  of  angelical  meditation 


172 


The  Ave  Maria. 


on  this  mystery;  viz.:  the  Cardinal  John, 
of  the  Order  of  St.  John  of  Gualbert,  who 
stands  next  him;  then  St.  Benedict,  and 
lastly  the  Archangel  Michael,  who  presides 
over  death  and  judgment,  in  all  the  glory 
of  the  leader  of  the  heavenly  host,  and  rest- 
ing his  hand  on  his  shield, — a  type  of  St. 
Michael  hinted  at  in  the  missals  of  an  early 
age,  and  even  by  Fra  Angelico,  but  perfected 
and  an  actual  inspiration  under  the  pencil 
and  brush  of  Perugino. 

Among  the  early  pictures  by  Raphael  in 
the  gallery  of  the  Vatican  is  a  Coronation. 
Still,  it  is  not  the  Coronation  so  much  as 
the  scene  at  the  tomb  just  left  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin  which  we  oftenest  remember;  for 
around  this  tomb,  blind  to  the  glory  of  her 
assumption  to  heaven,  are  the  Apostles, 
looking  vainly  for  the  immaculate  casket 
now  united  to  her  immaculate  soul,  while 
in  its  stead  they  see  only  vases  and  lilies; 
the  lilies  painted  with  such  perfection  that 
we  imagine  they  emit  perfumes. 

It  would  be  vain  to  endeavor  to  enclose 
in  anything  less  than  a  large  volume  a  de- 
scription of  the  representations  of  the  As- 
sumption. But  The  Assumption  by  Titian, 
his  greatest  work,  will  also  keep  its  place  as 
one  of  the  greatest  pictures  in  the  world; 
while  it  follows,  strange  to  say,  more  closely 
than  any  other  we  remember,  the  type  of 
the  earliest  Asstimption  known  at  present, 
viz. :  that  of  the  subterranean  Church  of 
San  Clemente.  It  is,  in  truth,  the  picture  of 
the  9th,  possibly  of  the  8th  century,  glori- 
fied, while  that  picture  was  still  entombed 
and  actually  forgotten. 

Below,  giving  the  mortal  actors  in  the 
drama,  are  the  Apostles,  who  see  their 
Mother  and  their  Queen  ascending  to  the 
Sou,  who  is  awaiting  her  in  the  heaven  of 
heavens,  while  myriads  of  angels  surround, 
fill  the  "circumambient  space, illimitable." 
But  all  this  is  lost  for  the  moment  in  the 
ecstasy  of  that  figure,  floating,  ascending, 
soon  to  be  embraced  by  Him  who  made  a 
heaven  for  her  at  Bethlehem,  in  the  wilder- 
ness, in  Egypt,  and  then  at  Nazareth,  and 
even  on  Calvary's  height.  No  words  could 
ever  give,  in  its  fulness,  what  is  here  de- 


picted, and  for  once  even  music  must  keep 
silence  before  the  limner's  art  in  the  ex- 
pression of  rapture. 

On  the  third  act  of  this  mystery  we  may 
venture  to  dwell,  after  The  Assumptiojt  by 
Titian;  and  we  are  recalled  by  it  to  that 
Coronation  painted  by  Correggio  for  the  cu- 
pola of  the  choir  in  the  Church  of  St. John 
Evangelist,  at  Parma,  in  which  is  given  the 
bliss  of  absolute  fulfilment,  as  she  sits  on 
the  clouds  beside  her  Son,  with  her  hands- 
crossed  on  her  virginal  bosom ;  *  and  even 
with  a  profounder  interest  to  the  apse  of 
St.  Mary  Major,  where  above  The  Death  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  is  set,  in  a  mosaic  of 
matchless  beauty,  the  glory  of  this  Virgin 
Mother  in  heaven;  while  the  Coronations 
by  Fra  Angelico  arrest  the  pilgrim,  not  only 
among  the  churches  and  shrines  for  which 
they  were  painted,  but  in  the  gallery  of  the 
lyouvre,  which  keeps,  even  in  Paris,  a  place 
where  Christianity  can  display  the  choice 
pearls  of  art,  and  win,  we  must  hope,  the 
merest  butterflies  of  modem  travel  to  the 
love  of  her  who  has  been  called  by  the 
King  of  kings  to  sit  with  Him  on  'His 
starry  throne.' 


Enough  Remains. 


BY    B.    I.    D. 


I^ROUD  Science,  with  his  ruthless  shears, 
-^     Delights  to  clip  the  poet's  wings, 
That  he  no  more  from  earth  may  rise, 

Nor  fan  the  ether  as  he  sings. 
The  swan  no  longer  sings  and  dies, 

Though  truest  minstrel  still  must  do; 
We  now  may  gaze  upon  the  skies, 

But  see  no  angel  smiling  through. 
The  maelstrom  sucks  no  vessel  down, 

Nor  "whirls  to  death  the  roaring  whale'- 
The  'law  of  storms'  is  known,  and  hence 

No  spectre  rides  upon  the  gale. 
The  albatross  no  omen  brings, 

No  mermaids  now  the  sailors  drown; 


*  This  cupola  was  dCvStroyed  in  1584,  but  the 
original  of  the  Coronation  was  preserved,  and  is 
in  the  bibliotique.  The  engravings  after  this  pict' 
ure  are  very  beautiful, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


173 


*  he  ugly  toad  has  ceased  to  wear 

A  "precious  jewel"  in  his  crown; 

*  'he  mother  pelican  no  more 

Bleeds  at  the  breast  to  feed  her  brood, 
:{■  hells  echo  not  the  ocean's  roar, — 

Nature  is  better  understood. 
I^ Can's  heart,  that  foolishly  was  deemed 

The  citadel  of  hate  and  love, 
1 5  but  a  force-pump,  nothing  more. 

Nor  haunt  of  tiger  or  of  dove. 
Religion,  too,  and  "Poetry 

The  smaller  intestines  produce," 
And  thought  secreted  by  the  brain — 
As  from  the  liver,  bile — 'tis  plain 

Is  but  a  sort  of  juice. 
Drag  down,  O  vain,  progressive  crab. 

The  fancies  that  might  lift  us  higher! 
Prove  clearh^  that  we  are  of  earth, 

Not  as  of  old,  "earth,  air,  and  fire." 
In  pride  of  heart  and  shallow  head 

Teach  (damnable  humility!) 
That  man  is  brother  to  the  ape. 

Gorilla,  monkey,  chimpanzee! 
Cut,  like  the  cold  anatomist — 

Who  finds  no  soul  in  lifeless  brain, 
And  through  whose  pebble-spectacles 

The  mystery  of  life  is  plain — 
And  take  with  thy  mechanic  hand 

Wiiatever  is  within  thy  reach; 
More  than  enough  remains  beyond 

Thy  hooded  eyes  and  prosy  speech. 
While  grass  shall  grow  arid  water  run, 

And  Spring  from  Winter's  bosom  rise, 
And  darkness  flee  before  the  sun. 

The  painter  of  the  earth  and  skies. 
This  wondrous  web  of  mortal  life, 

-Of  warp  and  woof  divine  and  human. 
Mixed  with  dark  threads  from  the  abyss — 

Will  charm  the  thought  of  man  and  woman. 
The  beauty  of  the  works  of  God, 

The  love  in  which  they  all  began, 
The  wisdom  and  Eternal  Power 

That  light  the  consciousness  of  man, 
A^ill  keep  alive  in  this  bright  world. 

To  touch  the  soul  of  age  and  youth, 
True  Poetry, — which  is  a  name 

For  wisdom,  beauty,  love,  and  truth. 


God — my  God! — God  is  all  forgotten; 
nd  men  try  to  turn  into  an  everlasting  tab- 
rnacle  this  Arab's  tent  raised  for  a  night's 
lelter  in  the  wilderness. — Father  Tracey 
^larke,  S.  J. 


Philip'^   Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


VII. 


THE  stars  in  their  courses  seemed  to  fight 
for  Philip,  so  far  as  his  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Percival  was  concerned.  The 
next  Sunday  after  the  railroad  accident,  a 
sudden  heavy  shower  at  the  end  of  Mass 
detained  a  large  part  of  the  Cathedral  con- 
,  gregation,  who  were  totally  unprepared  for 
it.  Among  the  rest,  the  choir  came  down 
from  their  gallery  to  the  stone  portico  on 
the  side  of  the  church,  which  was  their 
place  of  exit,  and,  confronting  the  white 
sheets  of  rain,  paused.  A  few  donned  gos- 
samers, opened  umbrellas,  and  went  away; 
others  retired  to  the  church,  to  wait  until 
the  shower  should  be  over;  but  a  small 
group  lingered  on  the  portico,  and  among 
these  was  Miss  Percival.  Philip,  in  the 
shade  of  the  doorway,  watched  her  for  a  few 
minutes  unobserved.  She  was  standing 
alone,  regarding  the  rain  with  evident  con- 
cern, and  in  the  noise  which  it  made  did 
not  hear  his  step  as  he  approached,  until  he 
spoke  t(3  her.  Then  she  turned  with  a  start. 

' '  Oh,  Mr.  Thornton ! "  she  said.  ' '  So  you 
are  detained,  too  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  have  not  even 
an  umbrella  to  ofifer  you,  and  I  see  that  you 
are  anxious  to  get  away. ' ' 

"■''My  mother  is  not  as  well  as  usual  to- 
day, and  I  dislike  to  leave  her  longer  than 
I  can  possibly  avoid, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  that  is 
why  I  am  anxious.  If  I  had  only  brought 
a  waterproof!  But  who  could  have  sus- 
pected such  a  sky  as  one  came  to  church 
under!" 

' '  This  will  not  last  long;  it  is  too  sudden 
and  too  violent, ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  I  am  sure 
that  in  half  an  hour  it  will  be  fair  again. 
Meanwhile  let  me  hope  that  you  felt  no  ill 
effects  from  your  walk  on  Tuesday?" 

' '  None  at  all.  Why  should  I  ?  It  was 
not  much  of  a  walk. ' ' 

' '  Some  ladies  would  have  thought  it  a 
good  deal  of  a  walk,  especially  preceded  by 


174 


The  Ave  Maria, 


such  a  nervous  shock.  Our  escape  was 
really  remarkable.  I  do  not  understand 
yet  why  our  car  did  not  go  over  as  well  as 
the  others. ' ' 

"It  was  something  for  which  to  be  very 
grateful  that  it  did  not. ' ' 

"Yes;  for  we  should  have  been  badly 
bruised,  at  least. ' '  He  paused  a  moment, 
then  added,  with  some  hesitation :  "  I  wanted 
to  inquire  the  next  day  how  you  were;  it 
seemed  very  strange  not  to  do  so;  but  I 
feared  to  presume  on  the  acquaintance  you 
had  permitted  me." 

"There  was  no  need,"  she  said,  a  little 
hastily.  "I  was  as  well  as  possible  the 
next  day.  My  nerves  never  trouble  me.  I 
thanked  God  for  my  preservation,  and  after 
that  thought  no  more  of  the  matter." 
Abrief  silence  followed  thisremark ;  then: 

' '  You  thanked  God ! ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  Of 
course  that  was  a  duty.  Would  you  believe 
that  I  never  thought  of  it?" 

The  frankness  of  his  tone  almost  pro- 
voked her  to  smile  as  she  looked  at  him. 
"I  fear  that  you  can  not  think  much  of 
what  you  owe  to  Him,"  she  said. 

"I  fear  that  I  do  not,"  he  answered. 
"You  remember  what  I  told  you  once  be- 
fore— that  there  were  times  when  I  forgot 
that  I  had  a  soul  ?  You  see  now  how  true  it 
is.  It  is  terribly  easy  to  forget!"  he  added, 
with  a  slight  sigh. 

' '  I  suppose  it  is — for  some  people, ' '  she 
answered,  thinking  of  Graham's  remarks 
about  this  candid  self-accuser.  No  depth 
of  character  or  purpose :  surely  such  words 
as  these  seemed  to  substantiate  the  charge. 

' '  Yes,  for  some  people, ' '  Philip  echoed. 
' '  I  know  that  it  is  not  so  with  other  people — 
with  strong,  earnest,  spiritual  natures.  But, 
unhappily,  I  have  no  such  nature.  I  am 
easily  influenced,  and  worldly  to  the  ends  of 
my  fingers.  I  can  only  say  one  thing  for 
myself:  that  sometimes  my  soul  wakes  up, 
and  is  conscious  of  higher  things — feels 
them  for  a  time  keenly  and  intensely,  but  | 
it  very  soon  and  very  easily  goes  to  sleep 
again.  Does  that  mean  that  there  is  hope 
for  me,  or  does  it  not.  Miss  Percival?" 

' '  Hope  of  what,  Mr.  Thornton  ? ' '   asked 


Miss  Percival,  interested  in  these  revela- 
tions, yet  conscious  that  they  were  strange. 

"Of  my  ever  being  any  more  alive  to 
spiritual  influences  than  I  am;  of  my  soul 
waking  up  for  good,  and  dominating  my 
life?" 

Alice  remembered  afterward  that  her 
proper  reply  would  have  been  that  she 
really  did  not  know  him  well  enough  to  be 
able  to  answer  such  a  question,  but  at  the 
moment  she  did  not  think  of  this  mode  of 
evasion.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  serious 
inquiry  in  his  eyes,  and  she  felt  constrained 
to  reply,  to  the  best  of  her  ability,  to  the 
question  propounded. 

"Since  you  can  feel  spiritual  things 
keenly  and  intensely,"  she  answered,  "I 
should  say  that  there  was  hope  of  your  be- 
coming more  alive  to  their  influence,  es- 
pecially if — but  this  is  really  too  personal!" 

"No,  no!"  said  Philip,  eagerly.  "Prayj 
go  on."  I 

"Well,  then,  I  was  going  to  say  if  youj 
were  less  prosperous.  Of  course  prosperity 
strengthens  the  influence  of  the  world." 

"Everyone  says  so,"  he  replied,  doubt 
fully ;  ' '  but  my  experience  is  that  there  are 
quite  as  many  worldly  people  in  adversity 
as  in  prosperity..  It  must  be  just  as  bad 
for  the  spiritual  life  to  desire  riches  as  to 
possess  them." 

"Worse,  perhaps,  since  envy  may  be 
mingled  with  the  desire.  But  the  worldli- 
ness  of  people  in  adversity  does  not  lesser 
the  danger  of  those  in  prosperity.  Shall  1 
remind  you  of  the  camel  and  the  eye  of  c' 
needle?" 

"No,  don't;   for  I  shall  be  a  rich 
some  day,  I  suppose." 

' '  Then  there  is  the  more  reason  that  y 
should  be  reminded  of  it;  for  it  was  a  Wi 
ing,  not  a  denunciation.    I  often  think 
the  sad  gentleness  with  which  Our  Lor* 
looked  after  the  young  man,  whose  grea 
possessions  made  him  turn  away,  and  said 
'A  rich   man  shall  hardly  enter  into  th 
Kingdom  of  Heaven. ' ' ' 

"It  was  a  terrible  saying  —  to  com 
from  the  lips  of  God  Himself,"  remarkci 
Philip,  gravely.    "Some  day  I  shall  med: 


r 


Tim  Ave  Matrm-. 


175- 


:at '.  on  it,  and  go  and  become  a  Trappist" 
'No  doiubt  it  is  easier  to  resign  riches 
the  n  to  employ  them  wisely,"  said  Alice. 
"Vet  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  the  steward 
of  he  gifts  of  God." 

}t  did  not  occur  to  her  any  more  than  it 

die  to  him  to  think  at  this  moment  how  it 

jjp-Gild  be  with  riches  that  had  been  un- 

us:ly  gained.    She  had  herself  received  a 

rreat  gift  from  God  in  the  possession  of  a 

lature  that  never  dwelt  u*pon  the  sense  of 

vrong.  The  Thornton  wealth  was  nothing 

0  her,  save,  perhaps,  matter  for  compassion ; 

or  she  knew  the  stain  upon  it,  and  felt 

lerself  far  richer  with  empty  hands. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  both 

erceived  that  the  rain  was  diminishing  in 

iolence,  and  while  they  were  speaking  of 

,  Mr.  Richter,  the  director  of  the  choir, 

ame  up  to  them. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  two  together,"  he 

lid;  "for  I  want  to  suggest  that  I  think 

would  be  well  if  you  practised  your  duets 

little  outside  of  the  choir.    They  do  not 

)  quite  smoothly,  and  it  is  your  fault". 

arning  to  Philip),  "for  Miss  Percival  is 

ways  exact  to  the  faintest  shade  of  tone 

.dtime." 

"Of  course  it  is  my  fault,"  answered 
lilip,  looking  at  Alice  with  something 
]:e  a  flash  of  pleasure  in  his  eyes.  "Miss 
Ircival  is  an  admirable  musician.  I  shall 
1:  only  too  delighted  to  practise  with  her 
-  if  she  will  allow  me. ' ' 
Miss  Percival  hesitated,  and,  for  the  first 
le  since  he  had  known  her,  colored  with 
barrassment.  "The  difficulty  is,"  she 
sd  at  length,  "that  I  am  so  closely  en- 
^ed — I  have  so  little  time  to  spare — ' ' 
'  You  have  your  evenings, ' '  replied  Mr. 
liter.  "Mr.  Thornton  can  go  to  your 
ise,  and  a  little  practice  will  give  him  all 
t  he  needs. ' ' 

Unfortunately  my  evenings  also  are  very 
:h  occupied  with  my  mother,"  she  said, 
:ing  down,  and  feeling  that  she  seemed 
racious;  but  how^  was  it  possible  to  in- 
uce  Philip  Thornton  into  her  mother's 
ence?  ' '  I  really  fear — I  do  not  see  how 
n  be  managed. ' ' 


Mr.  Richter,  surprised,  full  of  musical 
zeal,  and  utterly  devoid  of  social  tact,  waS' 
about  to  remonstrate,  but  Philip  interposed 
quickly: 

"I  am  very  sorry,  but  if  it  would  in- 
convenience you  fn  the  least,  pray  do  not 
think  of  it.  I  could  not  be  guilty  of  tres- 
passing upon  your  time.  I  will  find  a  music- 
master,  and  I  will  instruct  him  to  improve 
my  tone  and  time.  Perhaps  that  will  have 
the  desired  result." 

Alice  looked  at  him  gratefully.  She 
could  not  help  the  glance,  so  much  was  she 
pleased  by  his  manner  as  well  as  by  his 
words.  There  was  not  the  faintest  trace 
of  offended  feeling  in  either,  only  perfect 
courtesy,  and  an  apparently  eager  desire  to 
spare  her  any  annoyance. 

' '  You  are  very  considerate,  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton," she  said,  with  the  dark  eyes  still  rest- 
ing on  him.  "At  present  I  do  not  see  how 
it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  practise  with 
you ;  but  if  any  arrangement  can  be  made, 
I  will  let  you  know." 

Philip  bowed  his  thanks.  "  It  is  you  who 
are  kind,"  he  said.  "I  only  beg  that  you 
will  not  make  any  arrangement  that  could 
possibly  prove  inconvenient  to  you." 

"Oh,  inconvenient! — why  should  it  be 
inconvenient?"  exclaimed  obstinate  Mr. 
Richter.  "It  is  an  affair  of  half  an  hour. 
And  you  should  practise  together — you 
really  should!" 

"The  rain  has  ceased,  I  believe,"  said 
Miss  Percival,  hastily;  and,  giving  no  time 
for  further  words,  she  hurried  away,  while 
Philip,  watching  her,  asked  himself  why 
he  should  be  debarred  from  attending  her, 
and  why  she  was  so  manifestly  reluctant  to 
receive  him  into  her  house. 

These  were  questions  more  easily  asked 
than  answered,  however, — at  least  by  him. 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  presume  on  such 
acquaintance  as  Miss  Percival  permitted 
him,  and  yet  the  restrictions  on  their  inter- 
course began  to  fret  him  greatly.  This  was 
not  only  because  whatever  is  surrounded 
by  difficulty  becomes  in  equal  measure  at- 
tractive to  human  nature  in  general,  espec- 
ially to  masculine  human  nature.    There 


176 


The  Ave  Maria, 


were  qualities  in  Alice  Percival  that  would 
have  taken  his  interest  captive  under  what- 
ever] circumstances  he  had  met  her;  and 
had  those  circumstances  been  favorable  to 
their  intercourse,  this  interest  might  have 
deepened  even  more  surejy  and  rapidly  than 
it  did.  For,  to  any  one  with  sufficient  ele- 
vation of  character  and  fineness  of  percep- 
tion to  appreciate  her,  she  was  charming 
as  only  the  noblest  wjomen  are  charming. 
And  Philip,  whatever  else  he  lacked,  was 
not  deficient  in  fineness  of  perception.  He 
felt,  if  he  did  not  yet  knoiv,  all  that  she  was, 
and  he  never  saw  her  without  wishing  to 
see  her  more  frequently  and  with  more 
freedom.  "  If  I  could  be  with  her  oftener 
I  really  believe  that  I  should  become  a 
different  man,"  he  thought;  and  then  he 
sighed,  for  there  seemed  no  prospect  of 
compassing  such  association  as  that  which 
he  desired. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  rewarded  more 
quickly  than  he  anticipated  for  his  self- 
command  on  that  Sunday  -morning.  Hardly 
a  week  later  he  received  one  day  a  note  from 
Mrs.  King,  bidding  him  come  to  her  house 
that  evening,  and  when  he  went  he  found 
Alice  Percival  there.  That  the  arrangement 
was  no  plan  of  hers,  however,  he  quickly 
learned.    Mrs.  King  met  him  with  a  laugh. 

"Mr.  Richter  came  to  me,"  she  said, 
"with  a  complaint  of  two  indolent  people 
who  would  not  practise  together,  so  I  prom- 
ised him  that  the  practising  should  be  done, 
and  that  under  my  own  eye.  Therefore  I 
have  inveigled  you  both  here,  and  now 
practise  you  must  and  shall. ' ' 

Philip  looked  at  Miss  Percival  with  a 
deprecating  air.  "It  is  all  on  account  of 
my  mistakes, ' '  he  said, ' '  that  you  have  this 
trouble.    I  am  very  sorry. ' ' 

"I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  altogether  on 
account  of  your  mistakes,"  she  answered, 
with  a  smile ;  ' '  but  if  it  were  it  would  really 
be  no  trouble.  You  don' t  know  how  I  like 
to  sing. " 

"And  your  voices  accord  so  well,"  said 
Mrs.  King,  "that  I  promise  myself  great 
pleasure  in  listening." 

She  settled  herself  by  the  fire  while  the 


two  young  people  went  to  the  grand  piano 
which  occupied  the  end  of  her  large  draw- 
ing-room. And  then  followed  an  hour  of 
pleasure  as  great  as  Philip  had  ever  known 
in  his  life.  To  hear  Alice  Percival' s  noble 
voice  rise  in  the  great  harmonies  which 
suited  it  so  well,  to  let  his  own  voice  blend 
with  it  until  they  flowed  together  like  two 
united  streams — this  in  itself  was  delightful. 
But  in  such  practising  there  is  always  much 
beside  singing;  there  is  the  interchange  of 
opinion  and  criticism,  the  common  interest, 
and  the  sense  of  growing  intimacy.  All  of 
this  Philip  enjoyed,  even  while  he  felt  that 
it  was  something  which  slipped  through 
his  fingers  and  left  no  tangible  result  be- 
hind. He  would  be  no  nearer  to  Alice  Per- 
cival for  this  hour  of  association;  he  had 
an  instinct  of  that. 

And  indeed  the  hour  had  hardly  ended 
when  an  interruption  came.    They  were 
still  at  the  piano,  and  Philip  was  saying, 
"  If  it  does  not  tire  you,  let  us  try  that  once 
more, ' '  when  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  | 
a  servant  ushered  in  Graham.    The  eyes| 
of  the  latter  at  once  fell  on  the  two  so  fa- 
miliarly together  at  the  instrument,  and  he 
knew  that  all  his  fears  were  realized.  Philip 
had  made   good  his  position  with  Alice. 
' '  What  will  not  a  womati  overlook  for  the 
sake  of  a  handsome  face  and  winning  man- 
ner!" he  thought  bitterly;  and  he  would 
hereafter  be  contraste.d  with  a  man  whom 
he  knew  to  be  far  his  superior  in  socialj 
grace.    His  countenance  darkened  so  mucli 
that  Mrs.  King,  looking  up,  and  compre 
bending  the  state  of  the  case  at  once,  fel 
it  necessary  to  smooth  matters  by  an  ex 
planation. 

' '  Sit  down,  Mr.  Graham, ' '  she  said, ' ' aii< 
enjoy  the  music  with  me  for  a  few  minu 
It  will  not  last  more  than  a  few  minu 
longer,  fot  it  is  merely  an  affair  of  practi 
Mr.  Richter  came  to  me  and  complain 
that  he  could  not  induce  these  two  to  pra^ 
tise  together,  so  I  laid  a  trap,  drew  the: 
both  here,  and  set  them  to  work  whethe 
they  would  or  no." 

"Indeed!"   said  Graham.     He  glano 
at  the  two  faces  at  the  piano.    "They 


f 


The  Ave  Maria. 


177 


n(  t  look  as  if  you  had  exercised  any  very 
di  agreeable  compulsion,"  he  observed. 

''Oh!  they  both  like  music,"  returned 
M  •S.King;  "and  after  they  get  to  work 
th  iy  are  interested,  of  course.  The  trouble 
wi  s,  by  Mr.  Richter's  account,  to  get  them 
toi;ether." 

"Miss  Percival  did  not  care  to  receive 
Thornton  at  her  house,  I  presume,"  said 
Graham,  dryly. 

'  Yes,  that  was  it, ' '  answered  Mrs.  King, 
3;kncing  at  him.  "But  why  do  you  speak 
;o  significantly?  Why  should  she  not  re- 
:eive  him  at  her  house?" 

'Well,  for  one  or  two  very  weighty  rea- 
;ons — which  do  not,  however,  seem  to  weigh 
j/ery  much  with  her  when  it  comes  to  a 
![uestion  of  intercourse  elsewhere,"  replied 
jraham,  sarcastically. 

"You  are  talking  in  riddles,"  said  Mrs. 

Cing.    ' '  What  kind  of  weighty  reasons  do 

jou  mean?   I  insist  upon  knowing,  for  I 

'itroduced  Mr.  Thornton  to  her." 

"Oh!   the  reasons  are  not  personal  to 

'  continued    Graham.     "He   is  well 

ttough,  as  far  as  he  goes.   They  have  to  do 

ith  another  generation.    Have  you  never 

eard  that  Mr.  Percival  and  Mr.  Thornton 

ere  partners   once,   and  that  while   one 

as  ruined,  the  other  is  now  the  richest 

lan  in  Riverport  ? ' ' 

"No,  never.    How  did  it  happen?" 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Thereby  hangs  the  tale — a  tale  which  is 

ily  dimly  understood  by  the  public,  that 

»ndones  anything  in  a  man  who  succeeds. 

lit  a  good  many  things  come  to  a  law3^er's 

rs,  and  I  by  chance  have  heard  the  par- 

:ulars  from  good  authority.   It  was  a  plain 

se   of  robbery,  and    from    that   robbery 

mes  Thornton's  fortune  dates." 

' '  How  dreadful ! ' '  said  Mrs.  King,  with 

i  startled  glance  toward  the  two  at  the 

]ino.    "Does  she  know?" 

Yes,"  answered  Graham,  gloomily. 
And  does  he  know?" 
' '  I  think  not — no,  I  am  sure  he  does  not. 


It,"  the  speaker  added,  grimly,  "he  shall 
ow  before  he  is  very  much  older. ' ' 
(to  be;  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— (Continued.) 

WHIIyE  the  fountain  tossed  its  spray 
towards  the  sun,  with  a  sound  like  far- 
off  silver  bells, — while  the  birds  sang,  and 
the  blue  Roman  sky  looked  down  from 
its  viewless  depths  over  the  indescribable 
beauty  of  the  scene,  Camilla,  in  simple, 
touching  language,  related  to  the  child  the 
wonderful  story  of  God's  infinite  love  and 
mercy,  which  had  moved  Him  to  give  His 
only  Son  to  die  for  the  redemption  of  His 
creatures,  whose  sins  made  them  worthy 
only  of  condemnation;  and  how  His  Virgin 
Mother — Advocata  nostra  —  had  suffered 
willingly  with  her  Divine  Son,  holding 
nothing  back,  crucifying  nature,  and  ac- 
cepting her  desolation  and  sorrow,  so  that 
nothing  should  be  wanting  to  complete  the 
sacrifice.  Tears  filled  Camilla's  eyes;  her 
strong  face  grew  soft  and  tender  as  she  spoke 
to  the  little  neophyte,  who  listened  with 
rapt  attention,  as  if  fearing  to  lose  a  single 
word. 

^''O  madama/'*''  she  exclaimed,  clasping 
her  hands,  "if  /  had  been  there  I  would 
have  asked  the  cruel  ones  to  take  my  life, 
and  spare  His.  How  could  the  Holy  Mother 
bear  such  grief?  Was  it  for  the  love  of  us 
she  stood  by  His  Cross,  silent  and  weep- 


ing 


?" 


"It  was  all  for  us,  cara  7ma^  that  both 
suffered — through  love  whose  depths  can 
never  be  sounded,  whose  heights  the  human 
mind  ca  ;  never  reach;  He  in  His  sacred 
flesh,  she  in  her  sacred,  maternal  heart,' '  said 
Camilla,  who  in  her  fervor  almost  forgot 
that  she  was  speaking  to  a  child. 

' '  I  can  not  understand  it  all  yet,  madama, 
but  I  can  love !  I  can  love !  His  name,  Jesus 
ChrisHis^  is  in  my  heart,  and  I  will  ask  Him 
to  let  me  be  the  child  of  His  Holy  Virgin 
Mother,  to  live  at  her  feet  and  learn.  He 
opened  my  blind  eyes  but  yesterday,  and 
then  I  knew  Him  —  not  until  then;  and 
now  my  father  and  old  Symphronius  and  I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


no  longer  worship  the  gods,  but  Him  only.' ' 
said  Claudia,  her  face  aglow  with  earnest 
desire. 

"Love  like  thine,  dear  child,  is  most  pre- 
cious to  Him — more  precious  than  knowl- 
edge; for  it  was  love  that  stood  by  Him  at 
the  Cross  when  all  had  abandoned  Him, — 
love  that  had  no  thought  of  self,  and  was 
exalted  to  the  highest  courage.  Thy  love, 
cava  7nia^  is  precious  in  His  sight,  and  His 
grace  will  be  sufficient  unto  thee.  I  heard 
with  great  joy  what  had  happened  at  my 
villa  yesterday;  and  my  husband,  who  is  a 
brave  officer  of  the  Praetorian  Guard,  and  a 
Christian,  could  scarcely  contain  his  de- 
light when  the  holy  Bishop,  after  the  divine 
function,  at  which  we  were  both  present, 
told  us  the  glad  tidings;  for  thy  father  is  a 
noble  conquest,  over  whom  the  persecuted 
Church  rejoices.  I  am  coming  to  see  thee 
often,  cava  tma^io  teach  thee  the  rudiments 
of  the  Christian  Faith,  and  lead  thee  to  a 
knowledge  of  its  divine  Sacraments,  which 
will  unfold  new  joys,  new  mysteries  of  love, 
that  will  bring  thee  in  nearer  communion 
with  the  dear  Jesus  Christ  every  hour,  every 
day." 

"O  madama!  how  much  I  thank  thee!" 
exclaimed  Claudia, kissing  Camilla's  hand, 
which  held  hers;  "I  think  He  will  help 
me  to  understand,  for  I  am  only  a  child." 

"He  will  help  thee,  little  one,  never 
fear,"  answered  Camilla,  with  one  of  her 
radiant  smiles,  as  her  eyes  rested  lovingly 
on  the  angelic  face  uplifted  to  hers.  "Dost 
thou  know  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  how 
to  bless  thyself  in  the  Name  of  the  Most 
Holy  Trinity?" 

"I  know  the  sign,  but  not  the  words," 
was  the  simple  answer. 

Camilla  taught  her,  the  little  girl  repeat- 
ing the  holy  names  after  her  distinctly  and 
reverently. 

"Do  this  often,  sweet  child;  it  is  the 
Christian's  aegis  in  all  dangers.  Now  I  must 
be  gone,  but  here  is  something  I  have 
brought  thee  to  wear  next  to  thy  heart — 
a  little  picture  of  Advocata  nostra^''^  said 
Camilla,  giving  Claudia  a  crystal  medal- 
lion, on  the  inside  of  which  was  painted 


the  lovely  face  of  the  Virgin  Mother.  * 
"And  this  .is  7ny  treasure,"  continued 
the  noble  lacly,  drawing  a  gem  from  her 
bosom,  on  which  was  cut  in  intaglio  a  head 
of  Christ,  copied  from  a  famous  one  of  the 
reign  of  Tiberius  Caesar ;  f  the  face  that  of  a 
"man  of  sorrows  and  afflicted  with  grief," 
who  had  "never  been  seen  to  smile,  but 
often  to  weep," — a  face  on  which  the  griefs 
of  the  w^orld  were  stamped.  The  child's 
eyes  grew  sad  as  she  gazed  upon  it;  her 
heart  was  so  full,  she  whispered,  scarcely 
breathing.  His  Name:  "O  Christ  Jesus!" 
then,  pressing  the  sacred  image  to  her  lips, 
she  gave  it  back  to  Camilla. 

"And  this,"  she  said  presently,  as  they 
were  returning  to  the  villa,  while  she  held 
the  crystal  medallion  close  to  her  heart,"] 
will  keep  right  here,  that  the  thought  o: 
her  and  of  her  Divine  Son  may  dwell  then 
together.  Thou  hast  been  very  good  to  me. 
madama  mia^  and  I  wish  I  knew  how  t( 
thank  thee;  but  perhaps  the  next  time  thoi 
art  so  kind  as  to  come,  and  after  I  have 
thought  it  all  over,  I  shall  have  found  th 
words  I  want." 

"Love  me,  sweet  one,"  said  the  Romai 
lady,  with  a  bright  smile;  "I  wish  no  othe 
thanks.  Now  we  must  part,  but  not  fo 
long,  and  may  the  dear  Christus  keep  thee 
Farewell!"  Then  she  bent  down,  and 
kissing  her,  stepped  into  her  chariot;  th 


*  Crystal  medallions  of  this  description,  whic. 
open  like  lockets  of  the  present  day,  have  occf 
sionally  been  found,  with  the  bodies  of  the  ma) 
t3'rs,  in  the  Catacombs;  some  with  sacred  image 
painted  within,  others  plain.  It  is  .supposed  th? 
in  times  of  persecution  the  Christians,  in  view  c 
the  perils  to  which  they  were  constantly  exposed 
were  permitted  to  bear  the  Sacred  Host  abotj 
their  person  in  these  crystal  receptacles,  to  t| 
used  as  their  Viaticum  in  extremit}-. 

t  Tertullian  and  other  writers  of  the  earlie 
times  refer  to  portraits  of  Our  Lord  and  His  Vi 
gin  Mother  which  they  had  seen.  The  emera' 
intaglio  cut  by  order  of  Tiberius  Caesar— the  1 
gend  states — is  preserved  among  the  gems  of  tl| 
Vatican.  The  writer  has  an  engraving  of  th 
head,  the  countenance  of  which  expresses  all  ar] 
more  than  words  can  describe  There  is  also  JJ 
oil-painting  of  the  same  in  the  Church  of  tl| 
Jesuits — the  Gesii — in  Rome. — A.  H.  D. 


II 


The  Ave  Maria. 


179 


s  )irited  animals  dashed  off,  and  a  few  mo- 
1  lents  later  were  out  of  sight. 

Giving  one  more  look  at  the  tender,  gra- 
c  ous  face  on  her  medallion,  Claudia  went 
i  I  to  find  Zilla — pale,  sad  Zilla.  She  wanted 
a  chain  for  the  crystal  ornament;  she  would 
not  rest  until  it  was  suspended  on  her  neck, 
aid  lying  against  her  heart. 

Never  so  happy  as  when  serving  her, 
e  specially  now  that  she  was  no  longer  blind 
aid  dependent  on  her  at  every  turn,  Zilla 
looked  over  the  ornaments  and  trinkets  of 
her  dead  mistress,  which  had  been  confided 
to  her  care,  and  found  one  formed  of  light 
links  of  gold  curiously  wrought,  upon 
which  the  medallion  was  slipped,  the  clasp 
of  the  chain  fastened,  and,  without  question 
on  her  part  as  to  what  it  was  or  whence  it 
came,  she  passed  it  over  the  child's  shining 
head,  lifting  the  bright,  silken  curls  to  give 
it  place;  saw  her  press  the  pictured  image 
to  her  lips,  and  drop  it  under  the  folds  of 
her  tunic  into  her  bosom.  Then,  full  of  the 
old  child-love,  throwing  her  arms  around 
Zilla,  she  kissed  her. 

"Some  Christian  sorcery,  doubtless," 
bitterly  thought  the  poor,  faithful  heart; 
"and  perhaps  more  deadly  than  the  amulet 
that  Laodice  gave  her.  O  bona  Dea!  hast 
thou  no  power  to  save  this  child .  from  de- 
struction?" But  she  returned  the  little 
one's  caress,  and  began  to  talk  with  her  as 
if  nothing  had  happened. 

Nemesius,  having  reached  his  camp  in 
good  time,  arranged  the  temporary  transfer 
of  his  command  to  the  officer  second  in 
rank,  and  reached  the  villa  of  TertuUus 
some  minutes  in  advance  of  the  hour  which ' 
had  been  named  by  the  Pontiff  Stephen. 
The  holy  man  received  him  with  paternal 
kindness,  bestowing  his  blessing, which  the 
aptain  knelt  to  receive,  after  which  the 
Pontiff  proceeded  to  instruct  him  on  the 
necessity  and  importance  of  Baptism  as  a 
ondition  to  salvation.  To  the  receptive 
md  upright  mind  of  Nemesius  no  difficul- 
ties presented  themselves;  for,  already  en- 
ightened  by  divine  grace,  he  questioned 
lothing,  knowing  that  God  was  the  Eternal 
Truth,  and  that,  through  His  Son,  He  had 


revealed  to  His  Church  all  things  necessary 
to  salvation. 

When  the  subject  was  explained  and 
made  clear  to  his  understanding,  and  the 
Pontiff  told  him  that  he  was  then  ready  to 
administer  the  sacred  rite,  Nemesius  hesi- 
tated, and  said: 

' '  There  is  a  question  I  would  ask ;  one  not 
implying  doubt,  but  ignorance,  on  which  I 
would  be  enlightened." 

' '  Thou  wilt  not  ask  amiss,  for  the  Church 
is  a  divine  guide.  What  wouldst  thou 
.know?"  was  the  gentle  response. 

' '  This.  God  being  supreme,  omniscient, 
and  infinite  in  all  His  attributes,  could  He 
not  have  saved  man,  whom  He  created, 
without  sending  His  Divine  Son  to  suffer 
the  torments,  ignominy,  and  cruel  death  He 
endured  for  man's  salvation?" 

"That  is  a  question  which  naturally  pre- 
sents itself  to  some  minds  on  the  threshold 
of  Faith,  but  a  few  words  will  throw  light 
upon  it,"  answered  the  saintly  Stephen. 
"Man,  as  thou  hast  learned,  was  created  by 
God  in  order  to  fill  the  place  of  the  angels 
who  had  fallen.  But  when  man  fell  into 
sin  it  became  needful  for  God  to  punish 
him,  or  God  would  have  manifested  an  in- 
difference to  sin,  and  would  have  ceased  to 
be  a  righteous  moral  Governor.  It  behooved 
that  man's  sin  should  be  punished,  but  had 
the  punishment  been  inflicted  on  man  it 
must  have  been  unending,  and  man  would 
never  have  fulfilled  the  object  and  end  of  his 
creation.  Thus  would  God's  honor  have 
suffered. 

' '  How  was  the  sin  of  man  to  be  punished 
as  God's  honor  required,  and  man  likewise 
restored  to  God's  favor,  and  the  place  of  the 
angels  supplied,  as  God's  honor  also  de- 
manded? No  created  being  could  make 
the  atonement,  for  no  created  being  could 
offer  to  God  anything  beyond  which  he  was 
already  bound  as  a  creature  to  offer.  It  re- 
mained, then,  that  the  task  must  be  under- 
taken by  the  God-Man,  who  alone  could  so 
atone  for  sin  that  man  should  be  restored  to 
favor.  God  did  not  inflict  the  punishment 
of  sin  on  Christ,  who  voluntarily  offered 
Himself  as  the  Victim  and  propitiation,  and 


i8o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


assumed  human  flesh  in  the  womb  of  the 
undefiled  Virgin  Mary,  and  became  the  Re- 
deemer of  man,  who  through  His  sufferings 
and  death  alone  could  be  restored  to  the 
favor  of  the  Eternal  Father. ' '  * 

The  countenance  of  Nemesius,  which  had 
been  somewhat  overshadowed  at  first  by 
the  gravity  of  his  thoughts,  grew  clearer  as 
the  Pontiff,  speaking  impressively  and  dis- 
tinctly, unfolded  each  link  of  his  argument, 
which  was  not  only  grand  and  simple,  but 
so  divinely  logical,  that  he  threw  himself 
at  his  feet,  exclaiming:  "Make  me  a  Chris- 
tian by  the  holy  rite  of  Baptism,  I  beseech 
thee,  sir,  that  I  may  not  be  another  moment 
separated  from  Him  who  made  a  sacrifice 
so  great  and  perfect  for  me.  Henceforth  I 
am  His  even  unto  death ! " 

(to  be  continued.) 


A  Noble  Three. 


ON  a  damp,  foggy  evening  in  the  month 
of  December,  1841,  a  man  above  the 
medium  height,  leaning  on  a  staff,  was 
wending  his  way  along  the  principal  street 
of  one  of  the  chief  Continental  cities.  His 
steps  were  slow  and  tottering,  his  face  al- 
most hidden  by  the  drooping  rim  of  an  old 
hat,  and  his  hoary  _hair  and  beard  hung 
down  his  bended  shoulders  and  breast.  Un- 
der his  arm  he  carried  an  oblong  package, 
wrapped  in  a  handkerchief  The  streams  of 
light,  the  peals  of  laughter  issuing  from  the 
crowded  hotels  and  restaurants  seemed  to 
confuse  him,  and  he  hurried  on,  like  one 
under  the  influence  of  some  powerful  stim- 
ulus, directing  his  course  towards  the  Court 
of  the  Fountains. 

Arrived  there,  the  weary  wanderer  raised 
his  head,  and,  seeing  lights  shining  from 
every  window  in  the  neighborhood,  took 
refuge  under  a  shelter  at  the  corner  of  the 
main  street  and  a  much  frequented  alley. 
Laying  aside  his  staff,  he  opened  his  pack- 
age, and  drew  out  an  old  violin.    His  ner- 


*  VixdXo^w^ '' Cur  Deus  Homo:'  What  St.  An- 
selm  here  expresses  had  always,  from  its  founda- 
tion, been  the  belief  of  the  Church. 


vous fingers  pinched  the  strings,  and, having 
reduced  them  to  harmonize,  he  placed  the 
instrument  on  his  left  shoulder  and  began 
to  play. 

Half  a  dozen  street  Arabs  arrested  their 
steps  to  watch  the  performance;  but  the 
old  man's  trembling  fingers  fell  confusedly 
upon  the  strings,  producing  such  discordant 
sounds  that  his  little  audience  ran  off,  with 
their  hands  to  their  ears.  A  dog  in  the 
neighborhood  began  to  howl  most  dismally,, 
and  the  passers-by  quickened  their  paces. 
Discouraged  and  sad,  the  man  sat  down  on 
the  sidewalk,  laid  his  instrument  across  his 
knees,  and  groaned  out:  "O  God!  I  can  no 
longer  play ! " 

Just  at  this  moment  three  young  men 
were  coming  up  the  alley,  humming  a  pop- 
ular air,  to  which  they  had  improvised  the 
following  absurd  words: 

' '  When  two  students  of  the  Conservatory 
Meet  a  student  of  the  Conservatory, 
There  are  then  three  of  the  Conservatory; 
And  all  are  charmed,  ravished,  well  content  to  see 
Themselves  away  from  the  Conservatory." 

In  their  glee  they  did  not  at  first  notice 
the  violinist.  One  struck  against  him ;  the 
second  fell  over  him,  knocking  off  his  hat; 
while  the  third  stood  back  in  surprise  on 
seeing  a  tall  figure  rise  and  step  out  into  the 
light. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir!  I  fear  we  have 
hurt  you." 

"No,"  answered  the  old  man,  stooping 
down  with  difficulty  to  pick  up  his  hat;  but 
one  of  the  young  men  anticipated  him,  and' 
reached  him  the  hat;  while  another,  per- 
ceiving the  violin,  inquired:  "Are  you  a. 
musician,  sir?" 

' '  Formerly  I  was, ' '  sighed  the  poor  man, 
and  two  big  tears  slowly  coursed  down  his 
furrowed  cheeks. 

' '  What  is  the  matter,  pray  ? — are  you  suf- 
fering?— can  we  aid  you?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  them  a  moment, 
and  then,  holding  out  his  hat,  said:  "Give 
me  an  alms,  please.  I  can  no  longer  earti 
my  bread  by  playing;  my  fingers  have  be- 
come anchylotic.  .  .  .  My  daughter  is  dying" 
of  consumption  and  want." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i8i 


The  tone  of  grief  with  which  this  was 
^aid  went  to  the  hearts  of  the  young  men; 
:hey  plunged  their  hands  into  their  pockets, 
ind  drew  out — alas!  the  first,  ten  cents;,  the 
jecond,  twenty-five;  and  the  third,  a  piece 
3f— resin!  Grand  total,  thirty-five  cents!   It 

Ivvas  very  little.  They  looked  at  one  another 
kdly. 
I  *'  Friends,' '  said  Charles  (the  one  who  had 
||Hdressed  the  old  man),  "he  is  a  confrere; 
an  attempt  must  be  made  to  relieve  him ; 
brace  up.  Adolphe,  take  the  violin  and  ac- 
campanyGustave,  while  I  make  the  collec- 
tion." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Up  went  the 
coat-collars,  and  down  came  the  hats  over 
forehead  and  eyes. 

"Now  do  your  best,  boys,"  continued 
Charles.  ' '  Begin,  Adolphe ;  first  play  a  pop- 
ular piece,  to  attract  the  people." 

Under  the  magnetic  touch  of  the -young 
virtuoso's  fingers  the  old  violin  sighed, 
wept,  laughed,  whispered,  sang,  prayed;  it 
poured  forth  streams  of  enchanting  notes, 
which  gradually  died  away  in  the  well- 
known  ' '  Carnival  of  Venice. ' '  Every  win- 
dow in  the  neighborhood  was  open  and  filled 
with  heads;  pedestrians  forgot  'their  er- 
rands; cars  a:nd  vehicles  were  impeded  by 
the  crowd;  shouts  of  enthusiastic  applause 
were  heard  on  all  sides,  and  many  a  coin 
fell  into  the  old  man's  hat,  which  had  been 
conspicuously  placed  in  order  to  receive 
them. 

After  a  brief  cessation  the  young  violinist 
excuted  a  Poiitt  d^  Orgue  on  the  dominant, 
as  a  prelude. 

' '  Now,  Gustave ! ' '   said  Charles. 

The  young  man  addressed  sang  ' '  Come, 
Gentle  Lady!"  His  fine  tenor  voice  rang 
out  with  unwonted  warmth,  tone,  and  brill- 
iancy. ^''Encore/  encore f^  cried  the  mul- 
titude, in  an  ecstasy  of  enthusiasm.  And 
the  collection  increased  as  the  crowd  grew 
larger. 

Elated  with  the  success  of  his  undertak- 
ing, Charles  exclaimed:  "  Now, boys, the  trio 
of  'William  Tell,'  to  conclude.  Adolphe, 
old  fellow, while  accompanying  us,  don't  be 
surprised  if  my  barytone  stumbles;  help  it 


on  the  best  you  can;  you  know  it  is  only 
'  cheek '  that  ma'kes  me  attempt  it  at  all. 
And  you,  Gustave,  a  few  more  such  bursts 
of  melody  and  the  goal  is  won." 

The  trio  began.  The  old  man,  who  up  ta 
this  time  had  been  motionless,  as  if  the 
whole  performance  were  only  a  dream  ta 
him,  now  arose,  gazed  around  with  flashing 
eyes,  seized  his  staff,  and  beat  the  measure 
with  the  air  of  a  master.  The  young  men, 
fired  with  his  enthusiasm,  surpassed  them- 
selves. The  people  were  electrified,  and 
spared  neither  money  nor  praise.  Silver  fell 
in  showers  from  the  windows,  leaped  from 
every  pocket,  and  Charles  had  all  he  could 
do  to  gather  up  what  fell  around  the  hat. 

The  concert  being  finished,  the  crowd 
dispersed,  commenting  on  the  very  unusual 
event. 

The  youths  now  approached  the  old  man^ 
who  was  almost  speechless  with  emotion. 

' '  Your  names, ' '  he  murmured, ' '  in  order 
that  my  daughter  may  mingle  them  with. 
her  prayers. ' ' 

"My  name,"  said  the  first,  "is  Faith." 

"And  mine,"  added  the  second,  "is 
Hope." 

"Mine,"  said  the  third,  at  the  same  time 
laying  the  hat  filled  to  the  brim  with  money 
before  the  old  man,  "is  Charity." 

"  Ah  !  gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !  permit 
rhe,  at  least,  to  tell  you  who  it  is  that  you 
have  so  generously  assisted.  My  name  is 
Chappner.  I  am  an  Alsacian.  For  ten  years 
I  was  leader  of  the  orchestra  at  Strasburg. 
There  I  had  the  honor  of  first  presenting 
'  William  Tell. '  Alas !  since  I  left  my  coun- 
try misfortune  and  sickness  have  overtaken 
me.  You  have  saved  my  life.  With  this 
money  I  can  now  return  to  Strasburg,  where 
I  am  known,  and  where  my  daughter  will 
be  cared  for.  Her  native  air  will  restore 
her  to  health.  Your  rare  talents,  which 
you  have  so  nobly  employed  in  relieving  a 
stranger's  distress,  shall  be  blessed.  You 
shall  be  great  among  the  great. ' ' 

"Amen!"  responded  the  three  young- 
men,  and  then,  taking  one  another's  arm^ 
they  continued  their  walk. 

Reader,   if  you   are    curious    to   know 


I«2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


whether  the  prediction  of  the  old  man  was 
verified,  I  can  (at  the  cost  of  committing 
a  grave  indiscretion,  however)  reveal  the 
world-renowned  names  of  those  three  stu- 
dents of  the  Conservatory,  The  lenor  was 
Gustave  Roger;  the  violinist,  Adolphe  Her- 
mann; the  collector,  Charles  Gounod. 


O  Dulcis  Virgo  Maria! 


iplUT  in  the  dark  and  mist  and  cold, 
^    I  heard  a  voice  in  the  city  street, 
Chanting  low,  as  from  flute  of  gold, 
Notes  so  strangely  sad  and  sweet; 
Sobbing  and  vsinging,  singing  and  sobbing: 
''Maria,  Mother,  hear  thy  child; 
Shield  and  keep  her  undefiled; 
Look,  oh!  look  from  heaven,  I  pray; 
Ivight  and  guide  her  on  her  way — 
O  dulcis  Virgo  Maria  !  ' ' 

Into  the  darkness  the  singer  goes. 

And,  like  a  bird  in  its  airy  flight, 
The  music  trembles,  then  swells  and  flows. 

Until  it  echoes  upon  the  night; 
Sobbing  and  singing,  singing  and  sobbing: 
''Maria,  Mother,  hear  thy  child; 
Shield  and  keep  her  undefiled; 
Ivook,  oh!  look  from  heaven,  I  pray; 
Ivight  and  guide  her  on  her  way — 
O  dulcis  Virg^  Maria  !  ' ' 

Afar  in  the  distance  the  music  floats, 

Till  it  dies  away  in  the  mist  and  rain. 
I  have  but  a  dream  of  the  solemn  notes. 

And  I  watch  and  w^ait  for  the  voice  in  vain; 
Sobbing  and  singing,  singing  and  sobbing: 
^' Maria,  Mother,  hear  thy  child; 
Shield  and  keep  her  undefiled; 
lyook,  oh!  look  from  heaven,  I  pray; 
lyight  and  guide  her  on  her  way. 
O  dulcis  Virgo  Maria  !  ' ' 

—Albert  H.  Hardy. 


An  actor  among  puppets  cares  not  for 
them,  but  for  the  applause  of  the  spectators. 
So  we  amongst  our  fellow-men.  God  is 
looking  on.    Is  He  pleased  with  us? 

Those  who  aspire  to  eminence  in  God's 
service  must  begin  from  the  ranks. 


St.  Catherine's  Well. 


BY  J.  J.  M  G. 


THE  town  of  Killybegs,  in  the  County  of 
Donegal,  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
places  that  grace  the  sea-coast  of  Ireland. 
It  has  attained  no  little  prominence  in  the 
eyes  of  the  commercial  world  from  the  fact 
that  its  harbor  is  the  safest  and  most  capa- 
cious in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  is  the 
haven  to  which  one  of  her  Majesty's  cutters 
clings  closely  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year. 
Not  a  vessel  sailing  into  this  bay  but 
passes,  before  it  anchors,  the  little  headland, 
where,  canopied  by  green  shrubbery,  and 
encompassed  by  a  few  tall  trees,  sparkles 
the  water  of  the  Holy  Well  of  St.  Catherine 
—  one  of  those  many  blessed  fountains 
whose  hallowed  memories  inspired  one  of 
Erin's  children  to  sing: 

"The  holy  wells — the  living  wells — the  cool,  the 

fresh,  the  pure — 
A  thousand    ages   roll'd   away,  and  still   those 

founts  endure, 
As  full  and  sparkling  as  they  flow'd  ere  slave  or 

tyrant  trod 
The  emeraid  garden  set  apart  for  Irishmen  by 

God!" 
But  this  well  is  endeared  particularly  to 
the  writer,  for  the  reason  that  he  first  knelt 
by  it  at  his  mother's  side,  and  by  her  was 
instructed  in  the  prayers  to  be  said  while 
"travelling  the  station."  Turning  back 
now,  and  musing  over  the  history  of  that 
well,  he  finds  one  chapter  of  it  forcing  itself 
to  the  front,  and  asking  to  be  recorded,  so 
that  in  after  years  it  may  be  looked  upon  as 
an  historical  truth,  and  not  a  matter  of  fic- 
tion, than  which,  as  we  know,  truth  is  often 
more  strange. 

To  reach  this  holy  well  one  must  walk 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east  of  the  town, 
then  for  a  short  distance  along  the  pebbly 
shore,  past  the  ruins  of  an  old  Catholic 
church  and  its  long-unused  graveyard,  and 
into  the  lands  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ball,  the 
Protestant  rector,  where  in  the  centre  of  a 
trodden  circle  can  be  seen  the  spring  of 
which  I  write. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


183 


Friday  is  the  market-day  of  Killybegs, 
and  after  business  has  been  transacted,  and 
often  before,  the  faithful  wend  their  way  to 
this  holy  fountain.  Some  go  to  pray  for 
sick  neighbors,  and  bring  them  a  little  of 
the  healing  waters;  others,  to  ask  the  Saint 
to  intercede  for  them  in  their  difficulties; 
and  not  a  few  to  offer  a  prayer  for  a  son  or 
a  daughter  far  away. 

"The  grass  that  grows  between  the  stones, 
And  o'er  the  water's  rim — 
A  cure  for  ills  and  aching  bones — 

The  hands  of  peasants  trim. 
The  skeptic  may  their  faith  deride, 

While  now  false  pride  rebels, 
But  changed  his  mind  would  be  beside 
Old  Ireland's  holy  wells." 

Of  course  the  lands  of  Mr.  Ball,  which 
had  been  confiscated  for  his  especial  benefit 
by  the  Government,  were  trespassed  on 
continually  by  the  pioas  suppliants.  On 
the  feast  of  the  Saint  numerous  were  the 
crowds  that  gathered  and  prayed  at  the  well 
from  midnight  even  to  midnight.  The  peas- 
antry residing  near  by  were  careful  to  keep 
the  road  in  good  condition,  and  in  truth 
their  right  of  way  to  the  well  was  a  pre- 
rogative never  but  once  disputed. 

Some  years  ago  Mr.  Ball,  who  is  still  liv- 
ing, I  believe^  grew  impitient  at  the  devo- 
tion manifested  by  the  country-people,  and 
undertook  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  So  he  ordered 
the  following  notice  to  be  posted  conspicu- 
ously at  every  entrance  to  the  well,  "No 
trespassing  allowed."  But  he  had  not  calcu- 
lated the  will  of  the  people.  They  crossed 
his  grounds  as  before,  and  on  the  following 
Friday  the  first  sight  that' greeted  his  eyes 
was  a  couple  of  peasants  bent  in  prayerful 
attitude  beside  the  holy  spring. 

The  good  rector,  as  the  story  goes,  vowed 
to  "  stop  this  superstition  and  idolatry,"  and 
next  morning  the  neighbors  discovered  that 
the  well  had  been  filled  with  stones  and  cov- 
ered with  sods,  no  trace  of  it  being  left. 
But  ere  the  good  people  could  communicate 
the  sad  news  to  the  surrounding  villages 
workmen  were  seen  busily  engaged  in 
clearing  the  well.  Why  was  this?  What  is 
the  mystery? 

W^ell,  it  is  related  on  good  authority  that 


the  spring  broke  out  in  the  parlor  of  Mr. 
Ball,  on  the  ground-floor  of  his  little  palace, 
which  is  situated  fully  twenty  feet  higher 
above  the  sea  level  than  the  holy  well.  The 
signs  of  warning  to  trespassers  were  taken 
down.  And  ever  since  there  has  been  no 
hindrance  to  enter  the  grounds;  and  mother 
— God  bless  her! — says  in  every  letter:  "I 
travelled  St.  Catherine's  Station  for  you  last 
Friday." 

On  a  certain  day  of  the  year — I  forget 
which — the  waters  of  St.  Catherine's  be- 
come muddy  and  disturbed.  This  is  due, 
tradition  has  it,  to  the  washing  of  a  sick 
child  by  its  mother  on  that  day  many  years 
ago,  and  it  is  not  deemed  "right"  to  take 
any  water  from  the  well  that  day. 

Now  you  have  the  history,  at  least  all 
that  I  know  of  it,  of  one  of  Ireland's  holy 
wells. 


Dedicating  Children. 

IN  Catholic  countries  parents  often  dedicate 
or  make  an  offering  of  their  children  when 
infants  to  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God.  They 
are  brought  to  the  church  for  this  purpose. 
The  parents  and  friends  of  the  family  are 
present.  It  is  a  feast-day  for  them.  The  child 
is  taken  to  the  shrine  of  the  Blessed  Virgin; 
the  parents  kneel  before  the  altar  and  ask 
Our  lyady  to  accept  the  gift  they  are  present- 
ing to  her,  and  to  obtain  for  the  child  from 
her  Divine  Son  the  grace  to  be  a  true  Chris- 
tian. 

Mary  presented  the  Infant  Jesus  in  the 
Temple  to  His  Eternal  Father.  Parents  in  thus 
consecrating  their  children  to  God,  through 
Mary,  imitate  the  Blessed  Virgin.  They  tell 
these  children  what  Mary  did,  and  all  about 
the  Infant  Jesus.  He  was  called  the  Son  of 
Joseph  and  Mary;  He  obeyed  their  every  wish 
by  anticipating  it.  He  is  God,  yet  He  was 
subject  to  them  in  all  things.  He  filled  the 
hearts  of  Mary  and  Joseph  with  love  when  He 
was  offered  to  His  Father.  He  came  to  do  the 
will  of  His  Father.  How  grateful,  then,  was 
He  not  to  Mary  and  Joseph  for  the  offering 
they  made  of  Him!  It  was  the  will  of  God, 
and  Mary  fulfilled  it.  Holy  Simeon,  inspired 
by  the  Holy  Ghost,  breaks  forth  in  the  Tem- 


184 


The  Ave  Maria. 


pie  with  the  words  of  sorrow  that  penetrate 
the  heart  of  Mary,  and  tell  of  the  reception  of 
the  offering  in  Heaven.  The  first  sword  of 
sorrow  was  plunged  into  her  heart,  but  she 
kept  those  things  to  herself. 

When  mothers  present  their  children  to 
Mary  they  remind  her  of  the  presentation  that 
she  made  of  the  only  offering  worthy  of  the 
Eternal  Father.  The  Blessed  Mother  is  pleased 
with  the  resemblance,  and  when  asking  her  Di- 
vine Son  for  the  favors  besought  for  the  child 
presented  to  her,  she  reminds  her  Son  of  the 
joy  He  experienced  when  she  dedicated  Him 
to  His  Eternal  Father.  The  an}j:iety  of  heart 
she  then  felt  makes  her  lend  her  all-powerful 
intercession  to  obtain  the  grace  of  a  holy  life 
for  those  children  dedicated  to  her.  The 
young  and  the  old  may  give  themselves  to  the 
service  of  Mary.  Age  places  neither  limit  nor 
barrier  to  her  services. 

But  what  greater  crown,  parents,  can  you 
place  on  the  head  of  Mary  than  the  consecra- 
tion of  your  children  to  her  service  ?  In  Mary 
you  have  a  mother  for  yourselves  and  your 
children.  Where  Mary  is,  there  also  is  Jesus. 
Have  Mary  in  the  hearts  of  your  children,  so 
that  Jesus  may  dwell  with  them.  Your  house- 
hold will  be  blessed;  your  children,  being 
under  the  special  protection  of  Mary,  will  be 
obedient  and  dutiful;  they  will  obtain  the 
graces  that  are  asked  for  them  in  their  con- 
secration, and  increase  in  age,  wisdom,  and 
grace  before  God  and  men.  Parents,  is  not 
this  the  dearest  wish  of  your  hearts  ? — Catho- 
lic Times. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  decree  of  the  Sacred  Tribunal  of  the  Holy 
Roman  and  Universal  Inquisition,  under  date 
May  19,  1886,  but  only  recently  made  public, 
declares  it  illicit  for  Catholics  to  become  mem- 
bers of  societies  having  as  their  scope  the  cre- 
mation of  human  bodies;  and  where  the  said 
societies,  as  is  generally  the  case,  are  affiliated 
to  the  sect  of  Freemasonry,  they  fall  under 
the  excommunication  reserved  to  the  Pope. 
The  decree  further  inhibits  the  faithful  from  in 
any  wise  participating  in  or  promoting  the  act 
of  cremation,  whether  in  case  of  the  deceased 
having  left  directions  to  that  effect,  or  in  that 
of  the  desire  of  surviving  relatives  or  friends. 
The  Holy  Father,  in  confirming  and  sanction- 


ing this  decision  of  the  Holy  Office,  charac- 
terizes the  cremation  of  human  remains  as  an 
"abominable  abuse." 


During  the  Franco- German  war  the  late 
Cardinal  Guibert  gave  hospitality  to  the  Papal 
Nuncio  and  the  delegates  of  the  Government 
of  National  Defence,  who  left  Paris  in  bal- 
loons, and  took  up  their  quarters  at  Tours. 
But  the  Archbishop  made  a  stand  against  re- 
ceiving Garibaldi.  ' '  This  palace  is  the  Pope's 
house,  and  I  will  not  receive  under  its  roof 
an  enemy  of  the  Holy  See. ' ' 

Monseigneur  Guibert  was  able  during  those 
troubled  times  to  render  good  service  to  his 
country;  for  when  the  German  authorities 
laid  on  the  city  a  war  indemnity  of  $1,000,000, 
he  wrote  to  the  Prince  Imperial  saying  the 
money  could  not  be  paid,  as  there  were  only 
a  few  thousand  francs  in  the  treasury.  The 
Prince  immediately  reduced  the  sum  to  $]oo,- 
000!  When  relating  this  fact  some  years  later^ 
his  Grace  said,  smiling:  "In  those  days  the 
bishops  were  sometimes  of  use ! ' ' 


The  following  account  of  the  Sanctuary  of 
the  Mater  Dolorosa  at  Jerusalem,  which  is 
being  erected  by  Armenian  Catholics  in  the 
Via  Dolorosa,  is  abridged  from  La  Terra 
Sa?ita.  A  church  under  the  title  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Swoon,  the  ruins  of  which  still  remain, 
once  stood  on  the  same  site,  and  it  was  doubt- 
less a  hallowed  one  from  the  very  first  ages  of 
Christianity.  This  ancient  church  occupied 
the  space  extending  from  the  Third  to  the 
Fourth  Station: 

"Doubtless  at  a  very  early  date  Christian  piety 
raised  a  sanctuary  on  the  spot  where  a  most  an- 
cient tradition  assures  us  our  divine  Lord  met 
His  Virgin  Mother  as  He  bore  His  heavy  Cross 
to  Calvary.  This  sanctuary  was  mentioned  by  the 
early  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Land, by  Marius  Santo 
in  1306,  and  by  the  Seigneur  d' Anglure.  who  saw  it 
near  the  Praetorium.  Father  Fabri,  a  Dominican 
of  Ulm,  tells  us  he  and  his  companions  saw  in  the 
Via  Dolorosa,  on  the  right  coming  from  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  a  small  knoll  on  which  the  Blessed 
Virgin  had  stood  on  the  morning  of  the  Passion, 
to  watch  for  her  Divine  Son ;  and  where,  on  perceiv- 
ing Him,  she  fell  down  in  a  swoon.  It  was  on  this 
spot,  continues  the  friar,  that  we  gained  the  in- 
dulgences; for  there  stood  a  church  under  thetitle- 
of  Our  Blessed  Lady  of  the  Swoon.  The  Saracens 
destroj-ed  it,  leaving  only  its  walls  of  huge  square 
blocks  standing,  and  these  were  mere  ruins. 

"The  remains  of  this  small  church  were  still 


The  Ave  Maria. 


1 8s 


visible  in  1586,  and  were  described  b}'  Zulluart,  a 
Belgian  from  Ath,  who  says  this  sanctuary  was 
■erected  by  St.  Helen.  Zulluart  adds  that  the  stone 
upon  which  Mary  fainted,  in  the  midst  of  the  holy 
women  who  accompanied  her,  had  been  placed  in 
front  of  the  altar  of  the  church ;  but  that  Father 
Bonaventure  Curseli,  Guardian  of  Zion,  having 
perceived  it  among  the  ruins,  and  desecrated  by 
the  infidels,  had  bought  it  for  a  large  sum,  and 
carried  it  to  the  mon'astery  on  Mount  Zion.  On 
the  site  where  the  swoon  took  place  the  Turks  had 
erected  baths.  The  church  is  again  mentioned  in 
1615  by  Quaresimius,  who  refers  to  the  testimony 
"of  the  Father  Guardian  of  the  Zion  Monastery 
from  1552  to  1560,  saying  the  stone  had  been  placed 
'over  the  main  entrance.  He  also  tells  us  that  on 
his  visit  to  the  Holy  City,  in  1610,  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  Church  of  the  Swoon  still  existed,  but 
it  disappeared  in  1630.  We  could  quote  other  au- 
thorities who  are  all  unanimous  about  the  loca- 
tion of  this  sanctuary,  and  afRrming  to  have  seen 
its  ruins. 

"These  ruins  were  still  a  heap  of  desecrated 
stones  when,  in  1859,  the  Armenian  Catholics 
-succeeded  in  obtaining  possession  of  them.  For 
a  long  time  they  were  unable  to  realize  their  wish 
to  build  a  church ;  sad  events  occurred  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  the  Armenian  Catholics,  followed  by 
the  death  of  Mgr.  Michael  Alexander,  Armenian 
Archbishop  of  Jerusalem,  who  had  devoted  him- 
self to  the  undertaking,  to  which  his  death  put  a 
stop.  At  last,  in  1881,  the  Very  Rev.  Joachim 
Toumayan,  pastor  of  the  Armenian  Catholics  and 
Patriarchal  Vicar  of  the  Armenian  Rite  in  Jeru- 
salem, took  up  the  work  with  zeal  and  courage. 
Excavations  brought  to  light  the  crypt  and  huge 
blocks  of  the  foundations.  Some  decorations  were 
still  entire,  as  the  armorial  bearings  of  several 
noble  families,  fragments  of  broken  pillars,  steps 
and  iron- work,  mixed  with  charred  wood.  In  1882 
the  tanks  of  the  baths  were  unearthed ;  and  on 
clearing  away  the  rubbish  that  covered  the  pave- 
ment of  the  church,  there  appeared  two  footprints 
worked  in  mosaic,  and  pointing  towards  the  Via 
Dolorosa.  Doubtless  these  were  intended  to  in- 
dicate where  Our  Blessed  Lady  stood,  or  the  di- 
rection she  took  in  following  her  Divine  Son 
<:arrying  His  Cross. 

' '  The  Armenian  Catholics  are  poor,  very  poor, 
and  the  work  of  clearing  away  the  ruins  and  of 
excavating  has  exhausted  their  funds,  and  they 
find  themselves  obliged  to  appeal  to  the  devo- 
tion and  charity  of  all  Christians  desirous  of 
honoring  the  tender  grief  of  Jesus  on  meeting 
His  beloved  Mother, — whose  hearts  compassion- 
ate and  generously  long  to  glorify  the  bitter 
agony  of  Mary  when  suddenly  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  wnth  her  thorn- crowned  Son,  and  who 
on  that  spot  fainted  in  the  traces  of  His  Precious 
Blood." 


The  Abbe  Liszt,  one  of  the  greatest  musi- 
cians the  world,  has  ever  seen,  died  at  Bay- 
reuth  on  the  night  of  the  31st  ult.  He  was 
born  in  1 8 1 1 ,  and  from  a  very  early  age  gave 
evidence  of  the  remarkable  powers  with  which 
hie  was  gifted.  In  1825  he  inaugurated  that 
brilliant  public  career,  which  up  to  the  end  of 
his  life  continued  an  unbroken  success.  He 
"was  a  man  of  fine  personal  appearance  and 
charming  manners,  and  had  hosts  of  warm 
friends  in  every  rank  of  life.  At  one  time  he 
greatly  desired  to  enter  the  priesthood,  and 
stated  his  wish  to  his  friend  and  admirer,  the 
late  Pope  Pius  IX.  His  Holiness,  however, 
represented  to  him  the  difficulty  of  reconciling 
the  duties  of  the  priesthood  with  the  profes- 
sional and  social  demands  inseparable  from 
the  life  of  a  world-renowned  musician.  He 
advised  him  to  continue  in  the  career  for  which 
his  genius  marked  him  out;  but,  to  content 
his  good  desires,  admitted  him  to  tonsure, 
with  the  title  of  abbe.    May  he  rest  in  peace! 


In  accepting  the  dedication  of  the  oratorio, 
Mors  et  Vita,  by  Gounod,  his  Holiness  Leo 
XIII.  expressed  a  desire  that  the  work  should 
be  brought  out  in  the  Eternal  City,  during 
the  year  of  his  sacerdotal  Jubilee,  under  the 
gifted  composer's  own  direction.  M.  Gounod 
wrote  a  devout  and  filial  reply,  saying  that  it 
would  be  a  great  happiness  to  him  to  comply 
with  the  wish  that  the  Holy  Father  had  done 
him  the  honor  to  express. 


A  gentleman  residing  in  Middletown,  who 
was  visiting  in  Sullivan  Co.  last  week,  was 
attracted  by  eight  headstones  in  a  little  grass- 
grown  cemetery,  near  Fallsburg,  all  of  which 
stood  in  a  row  and  were  exactly  alike.  He 
got  out  of  his  wagon  to  look  at  them,  and 
found  that  they  were  all  children  of  a  well- 
known  physician,  and  that  all  were  grown 
when  stricken  down,  and  that  the  dates  on 
the  headstones  showed  that  the  first  one  died 
Nov.  23,  1 86 1,  and  the  other  seven  between 
that  date  and  Dec.  15  following. 

The  story  as  told  is  that  in  1861  there  was 
a  scourge  of  diphtheria  in  that  neighborhood, 
and  the  physician  was  kept  busy  treating  pa- 
tients suffering  from  that  disease.  He  was 
very  successful,  and  gained  such  confidence  in 
his  skill  that  he  began  to  boast  that  he  could 
cure  any  case,  and  went  so  far  that  he  ' '  defied 
God  Almighty  to  produce  a  case  of  diphtheria 


1 86 


The  Ave  Maria, 


he  could  not  cure."  In  less  than  a  week  his 
youngest  child  was  seized  with  the  disease, 
and  although  he  exercised  his  skill  to  the  ut- 
most, having  not  only  professional  pride  but 
a  father's  love  to  urge  him  to  do  his  best,  his 
boy  grew  worse  and  died.  One  after  another 
his  children  sickened  and  died,  until  all  were 
gone,  and  laid  side  by  side  in  the  little  grave- 
yard near  Fallsburg.  Only  one  child  was  left, 
a  married  daughter,  but  in  a  few  weeks  she, 
too,  was  stricken  down,  and  became  a  victim 
to  the  dread  disease. — Middletown  Argus. 


Two  noted  tributes  were  paid  recently  to 
the  zeal  and  devotion  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity 
in  France  The  first  is  that  of  Gen.iBoulanger, 
Minister  of  War.  While  on  a  visit  to  the  Val- 
de-Grace,  he  called  at  the  military  School  of 
Medicine;  and,  having  walked  through  the 
wards  of  the  hospital,  he  was  about  to  retire, 
when  medical  Inspector  Baudoin,  one  of  the 
Directors  of  the  War  Office,  who  accompanied 
him,  reminded  him  that  he  had  not  seen  the 
Superioress  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  at  Val- 
de- Grace  (the  Baroness  de  Moissac)  for  over 
thirty-five  years.  Gen .  Boulanger  at  once  asked 
him  to  go  up-stairs  to  the  venerable  Sister, 
and  beg  her  to  descend  and  exchange  a  few 
words  with  him.  In  a  few  minutes  the  sSupe- 
rioress  nimbly  descended  the  stairs,  in  spite  of 
her  eighty-five  years;  and,  in  presence  of  the 
assembled  staff  of  officers  and  students,  the 
General  said:  "Allow  me,  Madame,  to  thank 
you  here,  on  behalf  of  the  Army,  for  the  devo- 
tion and  disinterestedness  of  which  your  Sis- 
ers  give  daily  proof  in  nursing  our  soldiers." 
Then  he  added:  "Yes:  it  would  be  a  disaster 
if  we  were  deprived  of  you. ' ' 

The  other  tribute  was  paid  by  M.  Ferdinand 
de  Lesseps,the  distinguished  French  engineer, 
who,  in  the  course  of  a  speech  made  on  the 
occasion  of  a  public  demonstration  in  Paris, 
said  they  had  the  highest  ideas  of  womanhood 
in  the  brave  Sister  of  Charity:  that  much  of 
the  success  of  the  Suez  Canal  had  been  due 
to  the  nuns  who  nursed  the  sick.  They  would 
do  the  same  in  Panama.  He  was  no  politician, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  entitled  to 
praise  women  who  had  been  his  trusty  and 
courageous  auxiliaries,  without  any  hope  ex- 
cept that  inspired  by  religion.  It  made  him 
angry  when  he  remembered  that  the  Daugh- 
ters of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  were  now  being 
turned  out  of  French  hospitals,  and  replaced 


by  hirelings,  who  were  always  worthless  and 
often  dangerous  to  the  patient. 

A  writer  in  a  recent  number  of  The  Con- 
temporary Review  says  of  the  world-wide  au- 
thority of  Leo  XIII.: 

"On  May  28,  1878, he  creates  the  Diocese 
of  Chicoutimi  in  Canada;  on  June  21,  the 
Apostolic- Vicariate  of  Kansuh  in  China;  on 
July  31  he  converts  the  Apostolic- Vicariate  of 
Montevideo  into  a  bishopric;  on  September 
13  he  cuts  off  a  tract  of  territory  from  the  See 
of  Canstantineli  and  annexes  it  to  that  of  Al- 
giers; on  December  20  he  divides  the  Diocese 
of  Beverley  to  make  a  new  Diocese  of  I^eeds, 
and  in  September  of  the  next  year  makes  the 
Church  of  St.  Anne  its  Cathedral.  On  Janu- 
ary 20,  1880,  he  raises  the  Vicariate  of  Cracow 
into  an  episcopate,  and  gives  it  a  new  territo- 
rial definition ;  on  May  25  he  halves  the  Diocese 
of  Yucatan,  in  Mexico,  and  forms  that  of  Sa-  ! 
basco;  on  July  29  he  divides,  in  the  same  way, 
the  Archiepiscopal  See  of  Santa  Fe  de  Bogota, 
in  New  Granada,  and  forms  the  Diocese  of 
Sunza;  on  July  5,  1881,  he  constitutes  an  epis- 
copal hierarchy  in  Bosnia  and  Herzigovina; 
on  September  30th  he  reduces  the  number  of 
the  Portuguese  bishoprics,  and  remodels  their 
territorial  distribution,"  and  so  on. 

"Every  thought  of  the  pontifical  heart," 
observes  the  same  writer,  farther  on,  "dilates 
and  broadens  to  embrace  the  world.  He  is 
the  only  power  in  existence  whose  inherent 
and  essential  obligation  it  is  to  go  on  inces- 
santly acquiring  and  extending,  over  all  civil- 
ized and  even  all  barbarous  nations,  an  intel- 
lectual and  moral  ascendency." 


New  Publications. 


Short  Papers  for  the  People.  [Ale- 
THAURiON.]  By  the  Rev.  Thomas  C.  Moore, 
D.D.  New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Louis: 
Benziger  Brothers. 

The  preface  to  this  work  fully  explains  its 
origin,  and  refers  to  the  only  objection  that 
could  be  made  to  its  bright  and  sensible  sub- 
ject matter.  The  author  lived  for  some  time 
in  a  non-Catholic  community,  and  was,  of 
course,  forced  by  circumstances  to  discuss 
his  belief.  Out  of  these  discussions  grew 
this  volume  of  essays,  once  offered  to  the  pub- 
lic in  the  columns  of  The  Catholic  Advocate. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


187 


The  essays  are  exactly  what  he  promises — 
' '  lighter  and  sharper  weapons ' '  than  the  pon- 
derous tomes  and  weighty  arguments  em- 
ployed against  learned  theologians.  They 
interest  but  are  no  strain  upon  the  mind;  the 
narrative  and  argument  are  strong,  "but  not 
stilted;  trenchant,  but  not  murderous;  witty, 
but  not  uncharitable."  The  "objection" 
might  be  made,  as  the  writer  feared,  to  the 
ixtreme  lightness  and  airiness  of  some  of  the 
Comparisons  and  some  of  the  trenchant  ridi- 
cule. 

The  book  is  one  well  calculated  to  do  good 
among  other  than  Catholics,  but  it  carries  with 
it  certain  ' '  faults ' '  on  its  face  that  are  too  often 
imputed  to  Catholics,  and  of  which  they  are 
really  less  guilty  than  other  people.  No  Cath- 
olic would  think  of  irreverence  in  the  many 
clever  things  the  author  says  as  naturally  as 
he  draws  his  breath;  but  the  Protestants  for 
whom  it  was  mainly  written  in  the  first  place — 
those  who  all  innocently  ' '  strain  at  a  gnat  and 
swallow  a  camel" — would  be  too  apt  to  lose 
the  pith  of  the  argument  because  of  its  dress. 
The  best  Protestants — those  who  think,  and 
pray,  and  desire  to  learn  the  truth — are  seldom 
found  among  the  admirers  of  the  Talmage 
""Style  of  sermon,  and  are  far  enough  from  the 
frothy  pulpit  orators  who  make  a  jest  of  sol- 
emn things.  They  might  object  to  the  clear 
and  incisive  wit  of  Dr.  Moore,  and  it  is  a  pity 
that  those'whom  he  would  be  glad  to  reach, 
as  he  otherwise  would,  should  be  frightened 
oiF.  For  all  others,  "Short  Papers"  are  a 
welcome  outpouring.  They  are  learned,  but' 
delightfully  so;  explanatory,  but  not  prosy; 
argumentative,  but  not  imperative.  One  likes 
to  learn  and  be  convinced  under  a  kindly 
teacher,  and  such  would  seem  the  author  of 
"Short  Papers," 

lyiFE  OF  Margaret  Clithbrow.  By  Lae- 
tetia  Selwyn  Oliver.  With  a  Preface  by  Father 
John  Morris,  S.J.  London:  Burns  &  Gates. 
New  York:  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Clitherow  was  an  English 
martyr,  who  suffered  at  York,  March  25, 1586, 
in  the  reign  of  ' '  the  tyrant  Elizabeth, ' '  as  this 
little  book  justly  calls  that  sovereign.  It  is 
most  difficult  to  bring  ourselves  to  the  spirit 
of  the  age  in  which  this  good  and  holy  woman 
was  put  to  the  torture  and  to  such  a  death  for 
her  Faith.  The  pain,  the  fear,  the  rebellion  of 
the  flesh  are  often  more  present  to  the  reader 


than  the  fervent  love,  the  sweet  patience,  and 
the  Christian  forgiveness  of  the  gentle  and 
holy  sufferer.  It  is  only  after  the  book  has 
been  read  and  laid  away  for  some  days  that 
the  lessons  it  was  meant  to  teach  are  possible 
to  a  person  of  vivid  imagination  and  sensitive 
nerves;  but  it  is  just  such  training,  perhaps, 
that  the  Catholics  of  this  day  and  this  land 
stand  in  need  of.  The  lives  and  deaths  of 
such  as  Dame  Margaret,  their  heroic  and  un- 
shaken courage,  their  blessed  martyrdom,  in 
fact,  purchased  for  us,  who  came  after,  the 
time  of  peace  we  now  enjoy.  Well,  indeed,  is 
it  for  us  to  keep  in  lively  remembrance  their 
past,  and  dwell  reverently  and  gratefully  on 
their  triumphant  present,  even  at  the  cost  of 
harrowing  our  softened  and  sensitive  natures 
with  the  story  of  all  they  endured. 

lyBAVES  FROM  St.  Augustine.  By  Mary 
H.  Allies.  Edited  by  T,  W.  Allies,  K.  C.  S.  G. 
Same  Publishers. 

These  beautiful  extracts  from  the  writings 
of  St.  Augustine  are  like  draughts  of  clear, 
living  water  to  the  thirsty  soul,  at  once  a 
spiritual  and  an  intellectual  feast  If  Catho- 
lics could  be  persuaded  that  the  writings  of 
the  Fathers  and  the  Lives  of  the  Saints,  lat- 
terly made  so  attractive  by  the  elimination  of 
much  that  is  dry  and  uninteresting,  as  well  as 
above  the  comprehension  of  the  ordinary  in- 
tellect, were  enjoyable  as  well  as  instructive 
reading,  they  would  not  depend  for  literary 
food  on  the  vapid  and  worthless  trash  which 
forms  a  large  part  of  our  so-called  modern  lit- 
erature. 

It  is  well  that  such  laborers  as  Miss  Allies, 
whose  hope  of  reward  is  based  on  a  higher 
than  earthly  basis,  have  the  courage  and  per- 
severance to  accomplish  works  to  which  are 
presented  so  many  serious  obstacles.  .We 
would  like  to  see  the  book  before  us  in  every 
Catholic  library,  and  feel  confident  that  its 
perusal  would  be  a  delight  as  well  as  a 
profitable  work  for  all  who  read.  It  is  well 
bound,  and  printed  in  large,  clear,  attractive 
type. 

Pax  Vobis:  Being  a  Popular  Exposition  of 
the  Seven  Sacraments,  Furnishing  Ready  Mat- 
ter for  Public  Instruction,  and  Suitable,  at  the 
same  time,  for  Private  or  Family  Reading.  By 
the  Author  of  "Programmes  of  Sermons  and 
Instructions,"  etc.  Dublin:  Browne  &  Nolan, 
Nassau  Street.    1886. 


88 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  book  of  instruction  on  the  Sacraments 
can  hardly  be'a  new  book,  at  this  date,  in  the 
things  it  says,  but  it  may  still  be  new  in  its 
manner  of  saying  them.  "Pax  Vobis"  is  an 
addition,  not  a  repetition.  It  treats  of  its  inex- 
haustible subject  with  an  interest  and  ear- 
nestness that  awaken  new  desires  and  new  in- 
tentions in  the  pursuance  of  familiar  duties. 
It  is  an  excellent  book  for  converts  or  for  in- 
quirers, since  its  explanations  are  very  full 
and  very  clear.  The  portion  devoted  to  the 
Blessed  Eucharist  occupies  about  one- third  of 
the  volume.  The  reader  is  prepared  to  receive 
with  intelligence,  and  is  greatly  aided  to  devo- 
tion towards  the  Sacraments,  if  the  book  has 
been  carefully  studied  as  it  deserves. 

OoiyDKN  Sands.  Fourth  Series.  Little  Coun- 
sels for  the  Sanctification  and  Happiness  of 
Daily  Life.  Translated  from  the  French  by  Miss 
Ella  McMahon.  New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  St. 
Louis:  Benziger  Brothers,  Printers  to  the  Holy 
Apostolic  See. 

The  Series  of  which  this  little  volume  is  the 
fourth  is  well  known  to  the  reading  Catho- 
lics of  the  United  States.  It  is  several  years 
since  the  first  * '  Golden  Sands ' '  were  scattered 
among  us,  and  we  have  found  them  pure  gold, 
indeed.  This  volume  is  not  in  the  least  inferior 
to  those  which  have  preceded  it.  It  is  a  book 
to  take  from  your  table  at  any  moment — in 
weariness,  in  sadness,  in  an  idle  pause  of  the 
day's  task— and  find  on  the  first  page  which 
meets  your  eye  something  to  remember,  and 
act  upon.  All  such  books— little  light-bearers 
for  dark  places — are  worthy  of  warm  welcome. 

A  Catechism  of  Christian  Doctrine;. 
Prepared  and  Enjoined  by  Order  of  the  Third 
Plenary  Council  of  Baltimore,  Published  by 
Ecclesiastical  Authority.    Same  PublivShers. 

However  valuable,.however  indispensable, 
a  Catechism  may  be,  it  is  not  often  an  invit- 
ing or  a  beautiful  work.  In  this  case  it  is 
both.  The  subject  matter  needs  no  words  of 
commendation,  of  course,  since  it  bears  the 
imprint  of  the  authority  of  the  Church;  but  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  speak  of  its  fair  dress.  The 
paper  is  smooth  and  white,  the  print  is  clear 
and  delightfully  easy  to  read,  and  the  work  is 
profusely  illustrated,  not  with  coarse  wood- 
cuts, but  with  delicate  and  expressive  copies 
of  celebrated  works  of  art.  Even  "grown- 
ups ' '  will  find  pleasure  as  well  as  profit  in  this 
Catechism. 


The  F01.1.OWING  OF  Christ.  By  John  Tau- 
ler.  Done  into  English  by  J.  Morell.  London: 
Burns  &  Gates.  New  York:  The  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society  Co. 

To  the  lovers  of  Thomas  a  Kempis — and 
their  number  is  legion — no  other  * '  Following 
of  Christ ' '  can  take  the  place  of  the  simple 
and  beautiful  work  which  has  had,  perhaps, 
(excepting  the  Bible)  more  readers  than  any 
book  in  the  world.  However,  the  above  trans- 
lation of  the  work  of  the  great  Dominican  of 
Strasburg  will  no  doubt  find  many  admirers, 
especially  among  those  advanced  in  the  in- 
terior life.  It  is  filled  with  many  sublime  and 
mystical  thoughts,  too  mystical,  we  think,  for 
the  general  reader.  Like  all  books  of  its  class, 
it  will  prove  a  help  to  greater  spiritual  per- 
fection to  those  who  consult  its  pages. 


Obituary. 


"It  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thaifrht  to  pray  for  the  dead.'" 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Francis  Van  Emstede,  a  well-known 
priest  of  the  Congregation  of  the  Most  Holy  Re- 
deemer, who  passed  away  on  the  evening  of  the 
4th  inst.  Father  Van  Emstede  was  rector  of  St. 
Michael's  Church,  Baltimore,  Md.,  since  1883. 

The  Rev.  Michael  A.  Mullen,  for  many  years 
the  beloved  assistant  rector  of  St.  Malachy's 
Church.,  Philadelphia. 

The  Rev.  John  Ansbro,  a  worthy  priest  of  the 
Diocese  of  St.  Paul,  who  rendered  his  soul  to  God 
on  the  4th  inst. 

Madame  Mary  Josephine,  who  breathed  her  last 
at  the  Ursuline  school  of  Nazareth,  Columbia, 
S.  C,  on  the  5th  inst.  This  holy  religious  was  in 
the  fifty-fifth  year  of  her  age,  and  the  twenty-fifth 
of  her  religious  life. 

Mr.  Philip  O'Neil,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
30th  ult. ,  at  Richmond,  Va. 

Ida  J.  Youtz,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary,  whose 
happy  death  took  place  at  Brickerville,  Pa.,  on 
the  Feast  of  St.  Anne. 

Miss  M.  McCarthy,  who  died  a  precious  death, 
at  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  on  the  loth  inst. 

Mrs.  Mary  C.  Sharkey,  of  Taunton,  Mass.,  de- 
ceased on  the  30th  ult.  She  bore  a  long  and  pain- 
ful illness  with  edifying  resignation. 

Mrs.  Ellen  Coughlin,  of  Hartfort,  Conn. ;  Nicho- 
las Jordan,  Cincinnati;  Miss  Lillie  C.  Keating, 
San  Francisco;  Mr.  George  Baugh,  Marysland, 
Minn. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace. 


3AHTMENt 


(CONCIyUSION.) 

V. 

Bodger  was  awakened  out  of  her  sleep 
by  hearing  voices  very  close  to  her,  and 
this  is  what  they  said: 

''The  fool  has  played  into  our  hands. 
He's  sent  his  crew  ashore,  and  nobody's 
aboard  except  him  and  the  cabin-boy.  The 
men  ain't  coming  back  till  midnight,  and 
Bill  Gryce  won't  be  worth  much  when  he 
does  come;  for  I  gave  it  to  him  hot  and  I 
gave  it  to  him  strong."  And  he  made  a 
motion  of  putting  a  glass  to  his  lips. 

The  chill  night  air,  the  surprise  of  her 
surroundings,  the  sudden  waking,  and  the 
fright  might  well  have  excused  an  older 
person  for  making  an  outcry;  but  after  the 
first  start  the  brave  child  crossed  herself, 
and  sent  up  a  prayer  to  her  I^ady,  listening 
eagerly  to  what  followed.  And  how  awful 
it  was!  , 

"So  you  meet  me  here  in  an  hour's  time, 
and  we'll  get  off.  It'll  be  an  easy  matter 
to  kill  him,  chiick  him  overboard,  ransack 
the  Lively^  and  get  off  before  the  lubbers 
find  out  anything' s  wrong."  And  then  a 
laugh  followed. 

The  poor  little  maid  could  scarcely  draw 
ler  breath,  and  trembled  so  she  was  afraid 
hey  would  hear  her  teeth  chatter.  But 
^he  held  on  tight  to  her  knees,  and  prayed 
IS  she  had  never  prayed  before  in  her 
|ife. 

As  the  two  men  moved  away  one  of  them 
'aid:  "Where's  the  boat?" 

"Tied  to  the  pile,  just  here" — rapping 
iv^ith  his  heel  the  very  board  on  which  the 
hild  crouched. 


^^^ 


Then  they  were  gone,  and  Bodger  wrung 
her  small  hands. 

' '  Oh !  I  know  they  mean  my  daddy  ! 
What  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?  O  my 
Lady!  tell  me  what  I  must  do  to  help  him. 
He  saved  my  life,  you  know,  my  Dear,  and 
I  ought  to  save  his!" 

lyike  an  inspiration  came  the  thought  of 
the  boat: 

' '  Thank  ye,  my  I^ady ! ' '  she  said ;  "  I  can 
row. ' ' 

And  she  could  fairly  well — what  child 
brought  up  on  the  river- front  can  not? — 
but  hpw  was  she  to  get  at  it? 

She  crawled  cautiously  along  the  edge  of 
the  wharf,  feeling  every  inch  of  space,  and 
at  last  she  touched  a  small  line,  slip- knotted 
over  the  plank.  She  pulled  on  it  slowly 
and  carefully,  and  soon  a  lap-streak's  nose 
bobbed  against  the  pile.  She  could  hardly 
see  it,  for  the  moon  was  gone,  the  sky  was 
thickening  to  seaward,  and  the  stars  were 
wide  apart  and  dim.  Added  to  this  was  the 
shifting,  uncertain  light  of  the  water. 

Then  came  the  question  how  was  she  to 
get  into  the  boat;  for  it  lay  a  full  six  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  wharf.  But  she  had 
unlimited  faith,  and  her  need  was  urgent. 
She  turned  her  white,  resolute  little  face 
up  skyward: 

"Dear  God,  look  out  for  me  now;  and, 
my  lyady,  please  help  me;  for  I'm  goin' to 
jump,  and  I  think  I'm  goin'  to  fall  into  the 
water.  If  I  do,  I'll  have  some  work  gettin' 
into  the  boat;  but  I'm  goin'  to  hold  tight  to 
the  painter,  and  I  know  you'll  do  the  rest 
for  me. ' ' 

And  the  plucky  little  creature  did  jump, 
but,  as  God  and  Our  lyady  willed,  she  fell 
inside  the  boat,  on  a  pile  of  sacking,  which 
was  doubtless  meant  for  the  plunder.  She 
felt  about  for  the  oars,  and  was  soon  drifting 
slowly  down  on  the  Lively;  for,  although 


190 


The  Ave  Maria, 


the  boat  was  heavy,  she  had  the  tide  with 
her. 

Captain  Ephraim  had  spent  the  evening 
*'up  an' down,"  as  he  expressed  it,  con- 
scious of  uneasiness,  but  not  knowing  what 
made  him  so.  This  time  it  was  one  of  his 
"down  spells,"  and  he  sat  in  his  cabin, 
surveying  a  doll,  a  bright  red  sash,  a  pea- 
green  silk  handkerchief,  and  a  pair  of  shoes 
he  had  brought  his  maid. 

A  slow  smile  was  lingering  on  his  face, 
when  suddenly  thump,  thump! — on  the 
water-line  came  a  succession  of  blows. 

"Land!"  said  the  startled  sailor.  "I 
ain*t  give  e'er  a  job  o'  caulkin'  to  the  mer- 
maids, as  I  kin  remember;  but  ef  them 
ain't  a  caulker's  hammers,  or  somethin' 
else"  (Yankee  caution),  "why,  I  don't 
know!" 

And  he  ran  up  the  companion  ladder, 
and  to  the  side  where  the  sound  was;  for 
a  sailor  can  locate  a  sound  as  quick  as  a 
cat. 

' '  O  daddy ! "  he  heard  a  thin,  piping  wail ; 
"drop  over  a  rope  or  somethin';  it's  me, 
your  maid."  And  then  the  thumping  re- 
commenced. 

"Daddy"  lifted  his  cap  (his  rising  hair 
had  nearly  done  it  for  him).  ' '  Good  Lord ! ' ' 
he  said,  "Ye  ain't  gone  an' took  my  maid, 
hev  Ye?" 

But  the  voice  called  again : 

' '  Hurry,  daddy !  I'  m  so  cold  and  "  — here 
it  broke — "so  skee-e-e-ered!" 

"Never  heern  o' ghosts  bein'skeered," 
he  said.  "They  mos'ly  spend  their  time 
lettin'  other  people  tend  to  that. ' ' 

And  he  dropped  the  small  rope-ladder 
over  the  side,  and  scrambled  down  in  time 
to  pick  up  a  bunch  that  was  a  very  limp 
maid  indeed. 

When,  amid  sobs  and  gasps,  she  told  her 
story  he  could  not  believe  it,  but,  as  she 
insisted  so  upon  its  truth,  he  began  to  feel 
she  was  right.  Besides,  there  was  the  boat, 
and,  what  was  more  important,  a  red  cap, 
such  as  Lascars  wear;  and  the  Captain  rec- 
ognized it  as  belonging  to  a  man  who  had 
helped  ship  some  of  his  cargo  at  New  York, 
and  whom  he  had  rated  soundly  for  cutting 


into  a  bale  of  silk,  dismissing  him  on  the 
spot,  with  a  threat  of  the  police. 

But  he  paid  more  attention  to  his  maid 
than  anything  else,  and  his  keen  eyes  were 
very  wet  when  he  saw  her  poor  bruised, 
blistered  hands,  and  listened  to  the  details 
of  her  adventure. 

As  she  told  him  of  her  innocent  and  fer- 
vent prayers,  of  her  reliance  on  the  Holy 
Ones,  his  head  dropped  lower,  and  he  folded 
his  hands  unconsciously,  while  through  his 
mind  ran,  like  a  refrain:  "And  a  little  child 
shall  lead  them." 

.  Again  and  again  it  came,  and  he  passed 
in  review  the  whole  train  of  events.  How 
eight  years  ago  he  had  picked  up  the  de- 
serted child;  how  she  had  led  him  to  love, 
and  given  him  a  home- feeling;  how  she  had 
taken  him  to  church  that  Christmas  morn- 
ing— a  church  where  a  nameless  awe  had 
overcome  him,  as  the  bells  rang,  and  the 
priest  held  aloft  what  to  the  eyes  seemed  a 
simple  wafer  of  bread,  but  before  which  the 
Heavens  themselves  were  bowed ;  how  the 
priest  told  of  the  Child  that  came  to  lead 
captive  death  and  sin  and  woe;  and  how 
earnestly  Baptism  had  been  urged  upon 
him. 

Then  he  said:  "My  maid,  we'll  go  to- 
morrow to  that  there  church,  and  ef  God 
A' mighty  an'  His  Lady  Mother  will  take 
me,  I'm  theirn  till  the  end  o'my  life — an' 
arterward  too,  I  hope." 
•  And  the  maid  answered:  "Yes,  daddy," 
and  fell  asleep  on  his  shoulder. 

At  daybreak  great  was  Mollie's  relief  to 
see  the  skipper  and  Bodger  coming  in.  The 
poor  woman  had  cried  her  pretty,  grey  eyes 
almost  out;  and  O'Neil  was  still  in  the 
streets,  hunting  at  every  police  station  for 
the  lost  child. 

But  Mollie's  joyful  outcries  were  subdued 
by  the  look  of  solemn  dignity  on  the  skip- 
per's weather-beaten  face,  and  the  strange  . 
light  that  shone  in  his  eyes;  and  when,  ! 
after  early  Mass,  he  rose  and  went  forward 
to  the  font  to  receive  Baptism,  with  the 
maid's  hand  locked  in  his,  and  his  grey  hair 
stirring  in  the  wind  of  Our  Lady's  May 
morning,  she  leaned  back,  and,  like  th^i 


The  Ave  Maria, 


191 


farm -hearted  little  woman  she  was,  cried 
igain  heartily. 

He  tQok  the  name  of  Thomas,  "fur  he 
vas  a  doubter,  same  ez  me,"  he  said;  "an' 
he  Lord  showed  him  special  mercy,  same 
VL  me  agin;  an' them's  the  on'y  two  pints 
()f  resemblance  there'll  ever  be'twixt  me 
an' a  saint,  I'm  afeared." 

God, who  marks  a  sparrow's  fall,  marked 
Captain  Ephraim's  deed  of  charity,  and  in 
the  fulness  of  His  own  time  gave  him  the 

eat  rew^ard  of  faith. 

And  that's  how  it  happened. 


And  the  would-be  murderers  and  rob- 
bers? Punishment  fell  swiftly  upon  them. 
When  they  returned  and  found  the  boat 
gone,  each  accused  the  others  of  careless- 
ness ;  a  quarrel  sprang  up,  knives  were 
drawn,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Lascar  was 
drifting  seaward,  to  fatten  the  gulls  and 
fishes,  with  two  ghastly  holes  in  his  breast 
and  throat.  Of  the  two  that  struck  the 
blows,  one  was  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl 
that  same  year,  after  a  melancholy  career 
of  crime;  and  the  other  is  still  serving  a 
life-term  in  the  penitentiary. 


Little  Margaret. 


In  one  of  the  back  streets  of  Iviverpool  lived 
a  poor  widow  woman  and  her  little  girl.  She 
had  had  a  hard  struggle  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door  since  her  husband's  death,  and  now 
ill  health  had  been  the  result  of  numberless 
privations;  and  she  watched  with  ever-increas- 
ing anxiety  the  faults  of  her  child,  who  was 
bright  and  intelligent,  it  is  true,  but  easily  led 
away  and  tempted. 

One  day,  feeling  worse  than  usual,  she  sent 
the  little  girl  to  a  shop  to  buy  some  needles 
and  thread.  The  child  did  not  come  back, 
and  the  broken-hearted  mother,  after  making 
inquiries  in  vain  of  all  her  neighbors,  was 
roughly  informed  by  a  policeman  that  she  was 
in  the  lock-up,  having  been  caught  stealing, 
and  that  she  would  be  brought  before  the  mag- 
istrates the  next  day.  In  an  agony  of  mind, 
the  poor  mother  flew  to  Father  Nugent,  who 
at  once  went  to  the  prison,  and  found  that  the 
accusation  was  true. 


On  being  questioned,  the  child,  who  was 
crying  bitterly,  said  she  had  gone  to  the  shop 
for  her  mother's  commission,  and  there  had 
been  tempted  by  a  roll  of  bright-colored  pink 
ribbon,  which  was  lying  on  the  counter,  and 
had  taken  it  and  hid  it  in  her  pocket;  but, 
being  seen  by  one  of  the  men  of  the  shop,  had 
been  at  once  seized,  the  ribbon  produced,  and 
vShe  herself  taken  by  a  policeman  to  the  jail. 

The  shopkeeper,  as  an  excuse  for  his  harsh- 
ness, said  that  he  had  been  so  constantly 
robbed  of  late  by  children,  that  he  had  told 
his  men  to  be  on  the  look-out,  and  little  Mar- 
garet, whose  first  offence  it  certainly  was,  be- 
came the  victim. 

Father  Nugent  comforted  the  poor  mother 
as  much  as  he  could,  by  pointing  out  to  her 
that  this  fright  might  be  most  useful  to  the 
child  as  a  check  to  her  vanity,  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  the  magistrates  would  treat  the 
case  leniently,  and  probably  give  her  a  nom- 
inal punishment.  But  the  magistrates,  like 
the  tradesman,  had  become  alarmed  at  the 
enormous  increase  of  thefts  among  children, 
and  so,  as  a  warning  to  others,  in  spite  of  the 
good  character  given  her  in  court,  condemned 
poor  little  Margaret  to  five  years'  imprison- 
ment in  a  reformatory. 

This  hard  sentence  completely  broke  the 
poor  mother's  heart,  although  she  was  con- 
soled at  finding  that  her  child  was  to  be  sent 
to  the  Sisters  of  Charity  at  Sheffield,  of  whose 
kindness  she  had  often  heard.  Father  Nugent 
wrote  also  to  the  superior,  giving  her  all  the 
details  of  the  child's  history,  so  that,  in  conse- 
quence, the  Sisters  were  most  careful  that  she 
should  not  be  brought  in  contact  with  their 
bad  or  hardened  cases,  and  by  placing  her  with 
their  nicest  children,  she  should  have  every 
chance  of  growing  up  a  good  and  virtuous 
girl.  Their  care  was  rewarded.  Margaret, 
who  was  always  quick  and  intelligent,  repaid 
the  good  Sisters  by  a  devotion,  a  progress  in 
her  studies,  and  a  good  conduct,  which  made 
her  an  example  to  the  whole  school. 

But  her  poor  mother  never  recovered  the 
shock  of  her  child's  disgrace,  and  died  soon 
after  Margaret's  arrival  at  Sheffield,  leaving 
her  to  Father  Nugent' s  care,  who  faithfully 
promised  to  look  after  her  when  the  time  of 
her  detention  was  at  an  end. 

The  five  years  passed  quickly.  Margaret 
had  grown  up  a  nice,  strong,  modest-looking 
girl,  a  favorite  with  the  Sisters  and  with  all 


ig2 


The  Ave  Maria, 


lier  companions,  when  one  day  Father  Nu- 
gent knocked  at  the  door  of  the  reformatory, 
and  asked  to  speak  to  the  Sister  Superior. 
Margaret's  time  of  detention  was  over,  and  he 
wished  to  consult  the  superior  as  to  her  fu- 
ture. The  Sister  strongly  urged  him  to  take 
her  to  America,  as  he  was  just  starting  for 
New  York,  adding  that  she  felt  sure  he  might 
recommend  her  anyv^here,  as  she  had  given 
them  nothing  but  satisfaction  ever  since  she 
came  into  the  house. 

Margaret  herself  was  delighted  at  the  idea. 
She  had  no  happy  recollections  of  lyiverpool, 
and,  being  an  orphan,  with  no  brothers  or  sis- 
ters, had  no  ties  or  friends  to  leave  there.  So, 
joyfully  making  up  the  little  trousseau  which 
the  Sisters  had  provided  for  her,  and  feeling 
no  sorrow,  save  in  the  parting  with  those  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  her,  she  embarked  with 
Father  Nugent  and  several  other  emigrants, 
and  arrived  safely  in  New  York.  There  she 
was  placed  in  a  convent  till  a  nice  situation 
was  found  for  her  as  assistant  teacher  in  a 
large  school.  Here  she  remained  for  two  or 
three  years,  giving  every  satisfaction  to  her 
employers,  and  especially  to  the  good  priest 
under  whose  care  Father  Nugent  had  placed 
her,  and  who  wrote  to  him  from  time  to  time 
to  give  him  tidings  of  her.  After  this  she 
married  a  man  of  good  fortune,  and  a  practical 
Catholic,  and  with  him  went  to  the  West,  and 
settled  at  St.  I^ouis.  Then  Father  Nugent  lost 
sight  of  her,  and,  having  so  many  other  chil- 
dren on  his  hands,  Margaret  and  her  history 
faded  from  his  mind. 

In  1879  he  again  started  for  America  on  a 
like  charitable  errand.  After  having  settled 
his  business,  and  gone  to  visit  several  of  what 
he  called  his  ' '  old  children  ' '  in  their  happy 
homes,  he  was  returning  to  England,  and 
stopping  with  a  friend  of  his  at  New  York  for 
a  day  or  two  on  the  way, when  he  was  told  by 
the  waiter  of  the  hotel  that  a  lady  wished  to 
see  him.  He  asked  the  name,  but  it  gave  him 
no  clue  as  to  who  it  could  be;  so  he  simply 
told  the  waiter  to  show  her  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  he  would  come  and  see  her.  He 
went  accordingly,  and  found  an  elegantly 
dressed  young  lady,  who  threw  herself  at  his 
feet,  and,  seizing  his  hand,  exclaimed: 

* '  Father,  do  you  not  know  me  ?  I  am  your 
little  Margaret,  your  Sheffield  Reformatory 
child,  whom  you  brought  to  America  ten  years 
ago." 


Delighted  at  the  meeting,  the  good  Father 
made  her  sit  down  and  tell  him  her  history. 
It  seemed  that  after  she  and  her  husband  had 
been  some  little  time  in  St.I^ouis,  a  fire  broke 
out  in  the  hotel  where  they  were  staying. 
Her  husband  had  thrown  himself  from  the 
window  in  his  fright,  and  though  he  had  es- 
caped burning,  he  broke  both  his  legs,  and  was 
so  seriously  injured  that  he  died  shortly  after. 
Margaret,  returning  to  New  York,  took  a  situ- 
ation in  a  large  dry-store  warehouse,  where 
she  got  on  admirably,  and  earned  a  large  sal- 
ary; but,  finding  that  the  close  confinement  in 
a  store  began  to  affect  her  health,  she  gave  it 
up,  and  determined  to  try  some  other  employ- 
ment. She  attended  a  course  of  lectures,  and, 
having  greatly  improved  herself,  she  opened 
classes  for  young  ladies,  which  prospered  so 
well  that  she  was  now  quite  comfortable  and 
independent. 

Father  Nugent' s  pleasure  at  her  success 
may  be  easily  imagined.  She  insisted  on  his 
taking  some  money  for  his  other  poor  chil- 
dren; and,  as  he  was  sailing  the  next  day,  she 
went  on  board  before  him,  and  filled  his  cabin 
with  fruit  and  flowers,  and  everything  she 
could  think  of  to  add  to  his  comfort  during 
the  voyage  Father  Nugent  found  that  she 
had  always  continued  a  fervent  Catholic,  and 
was  most  active  in  all  works  of  charity  in  her 
parish.  But  her  gratitude  to  him  knew  no 
bounds. 

"Where  should  I  have  been.  Father,  but 
for  you  ? ' '  she  went  on  saying,  and  begged 
him  to  remember  her  specially  to  the  kind 
Sisters  at  Sheffield,  who  had  given  her  the 
training  to  which  she  owed  so  much  of  her 
success. 

"I  could  only  thank  God,"  said  the  good 
Father,  humbly,  when  telling  me  the  story, 
' '  who  had  so  blessed  the  means  He  put  in  my 
way." 

But  will  not  the  little  Margaret's  soul  be 
hereafter  one  of  the  brightest  gems  in  his 

crown  ? 

♦  ♦  » 

Whene'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought, 
Whene'er  is  spoken  a  noble  thought, 

Our  hearts,  in  glad  surprise, 

To  higher  levels  rise; 
The  tidal  waves  of  deeper  souls 
Into  our  inmost  being  rolls. 

And  lifts  us  unawares 

Out  of  all  meaner  cares. 

— Longfellow. 


~-->^^^po^^<^^^-^^ 


\0L.  XXIII.         NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  28,  1886.  No. 


[Copyright :— R«v.  D. 

An  Ancient  Miraculous  Picture  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin. 


CCORDING  to  a  most  reliable  tra- 
dition, the  first  Christians  were  so 
ravished  with  the  virginal  beauty 
of  Mary's  countenance,  and  the  reflection 
of  the  divinity  which  beamed  from  it,  that 
they  felt  a  strong  desire  to  procure  as  perfect 
representations  as  possible  of  this  master- 
piece of  creation.  Hence  the  veneration  felt 
for  certain  paintings  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
which  are  supposed  to  have  been  handed 
down  from  the  days  of  the  Apostles.  Among 
the  number  is  a  representation  of  Our  I^ady 
of  Mt.  Carmel. 

On  procuring  this  admirable  portrait  of 
heir  Heavenly  Patroness,  the  hermits  of 
!^armel  placed  it  in  a  sanctuary  which  they 
lad  built  in  her  honor  after  her  glorious 
issumption  into  heaven.  The  sanctuary,  or 
:hapel,  stands  on  the  very  spot  where  the 
loly  Prophet  Elias,  nine  hundred  years 
)efore,  had  seen  arising  from  the  sea  a  mys- 
^^rious  cloud,  which  prefigured  the  Immac- 
ate  Conception,  and  the  future  glory  of 
,iie  Mother  of  God. 

I  Whatever  may  have  been  the  origin  of 
ns  picture,  one  thing  is  certain;  namely, 
lat  from  the  time  it  was  first  exposed  to  the 
ueration  of  the  people  it  was  the  instru- 
ont  of  many  notable  miracles.  The  numer- 
s  pilgrims  who  came  to  invoke  the  assist- 
jice  of  Mary  at  this  shrine  never  departed 
lithout  experiencing  the  efiects  of  her  in- 


E.  HOKOK,  C.  8.  C] 

effable  goodness.  Who  can  count  the  tears 
that  good  Mother  has  dried,  the  sick  she  has 
healed,  the  imfortunate  she  has  succored? 

But,  alas-!  while  the  fervent  religious  of 
Carmel  applied  themselves  with  the  great- 
est zeal  to  increase  devotion  towards  their 
august  Patroness,  they  incurred  the  hatred 
of  the  Mohammedans,  and  were  subjected 
to  all  sorts  of  persecution.  Not  a  few  of 
them  generously  sacrificed  their  lives  for 
the  glory  of  Mary.  History  has  preserved  a 
touching  episode  of  their  martyrdom.  On 
the  approach  of  the  enemy  they  took  ref- 
uge in  the  sanctuary,  chanting  the  Salve 
Regina.  The  Mohammedans  burst  open 
the  doors,  fell  upon  their  helpless  victims, 
and  slaughtered  them  without  mercy.  The 
pious  religious,  crowned  with  the  palm  of 
martyrdom,  concluded  in  heaven  the  hymn 
begun  upon  earth. 

But  what  became  of  the  miraculous  pict- 
ure amid  so  many  disasters?  It  was  saved 
by  some  of  the  religious  who  had  escaped 
the  general  massacre,  and  carried  to  Naples, 
where  it  became  an  object  of  great  venera- 
tion. The  exiled  monks  founded  at  their 
new  home  another  Carmel,  which  in  a  short 
time  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
beautiful  one  of  the  Holy  Land.  Their  first 
care  was  to  place  the  miraculous  picture 
over  the  main  altar  of  the  church.  Here  the 
Madonna  was  not  slow  to  manifest  her  ma- 
ternal power  and  goodness;  she  performed 
several  miracles,  and  her  sanctuary  was 
soon  thronged  by  pilgrims,  whose  number 
seemed  to  increase  daily. 


194 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  devout  King  of  Naples,  not  wishing 
to  be  surpassed  in  piety  by  his  subjects,  as- 
sembled together  those  of  his  kingdom  who 
were  suffering  from  malignant  diseases,  had 
the  nature  of  their  infirmities  carefully 
attested  by  skilful  physicians,  and  then 
ranged  them  around  the  miraculous  picture. 
In  company  with  the  Queen,  the  nobility, 
and  the  people,  he  went  to  the  Church  of  the 
Carmelites  at  an  appointed  hour,  to  invoke 
publicly  the  intercession  of  Our  Blessed 
Lady  in  behalf  of  the  sufferers.  In  presence 
of  all,  he  first  caused  ih^proces  verbal  of  the 
physicians  to  be  read,  after  which,  in  union 
with  the  multitude,  he  offered  up  a  prayer, 
fervent  and  humble,  to  the  throne  of  Mary. 
Suddenly  a  ray  of  celestial  brilliancy  burst 
through  the  roof  and  rested  on  the  head  of 
the  Madonna,  thence  radiating  in  softened 
beams  over  the  awe- stricken  invalids.  At 
the  same  instant  all  their  infirmities  van- 
ished like  mist  before  the  sun — all  without 
exception  were  perfectly  cured. 

To  this  prodigy  was  added  another  no 
less  marvellous.  At  the  moment  of  the 
strange  occurrence  the  bells  of  the  church 
rang  out  of  their  own  accord,  as  though  to 
proclaim  the  incomparable  goodness  of  the 
Queen  of  Heaven.  The  assembly,  trans- 
ported with  joy,  went  about  the  city  singing 
hymns  of  thanksgiving;  the  happiness  of 
the  King  was  inexpressible ;  those  who  had 
been  cured  loudly  extolled  the  greatness  of 
Mary,  and  the  whole  city  was  filled  with 
rejoicing.  Thenceforward  the  concourse  of 
pilgrims  to  the  holy  shrine  became  much 
larger;  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  and  fre- 
quently of  the  night,  persons  of  all  condi- 
tions— cardinals,  bishops,  priests,  rich  and 
poor-— could  be  seen  journeying  towards 
the  miraculous  sanctuary.  The  numerous 
ex-votos  of  gold  and  silver  surrounding  the 
picture  formed  a  magnificent  crown,  and 
incessantly  proclaimed  the  mercy  of  the 
Queen  of  Carmel. 

But  another  and  a  greater  manifestation 
of  Our  Lady's  goodness  was  in  store  for  the 
devout  Neapolitans.  As  is  well  known,  in 
the  Ages  of  Faith  a  Jubilee  was  an  event  of 
a  life-time.  Pilgrims  flocked  to  the  Eternal 


City  from  all  parts  of  Christendom,  to  ex- 
piate their  faults  and  strengthen  their  faith. 
The  Mother  of  God  chose  one  of  these  fa- 
vorable epochs  (the  year  1500)  to  dazzle  the 
world  and  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  faith- 
ful with  an  exhibition  of  her  maternal 
tenderness. 

The  pious  inhabitants  of  Naples  rightly 
believed  that  they  could  not  better  secure  to 
themselves  the  benefits  of  this  time  of  grace 
than  by  making  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Madonna  of  Car- 
mel. Decorating  the  picture  with  gold  and 
precious  stones,  and  placing  it  under  a  mag- 
nificent canopy,  the  pilgrims  set  out  on  the 
5th  of  April,  preceded  by  the  miraculous 
Virgin,  in  whom  all  had  unbounded  con- 
fidence. During  the  journey  the  fervor  of 
the  people  found  expression  in  liturgical 
chants  and  hymns  of  praise  in  honor  of  | 
their  Heavenly  Patroness.  I 

On  leaving  the  city  the  procession  en- 
countered a  cripple  lying  on  the  side  of  the 
road.  Hardly  had  he  seen  the  Madonna  of 
Carmel  than  he  was  seized  with  an  irresist- 
ible desire  to  join  the  pious  multitude.  ''0 
Mary ! "  he  cried,  ' '  heal  me,  that  I  also  may 
go  and  perform  the  Jubilee! "  In  the  same 
instant  he  arose,  full  of  new  life,  and  proved 
a  living  testimony  of  the  goodness  of  Our 
Immaculate  Mother.  News  of  this  miracle 
spread  in  every  direction,  and  the  afflicted 
were  brought  from  all  quarters  and  laid  at 
the  feet  of  the  Madonna,  who  graciously 
bestowed  health  and  vigor  on  all.  In  the 
different  cities  and  towns  through  which 
the  procession  passed,  the  bells  rang  out 
from  every  steeple,  saluting  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin on  her  journey  with  their  gladsome 
chimes. 

The  rumor  of  these  wonderful  events, 
reached  the  ears  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,! 
and  as  the  procession  entered  the  gates  oi 
the  city  (April  13)  his  Holiness,  followed 
by  the  cardinals,  the  clergy,  and  the  people 
came  to  receive  the  holy  picture,  and  coni 
vey  it  to  St.  Peter's.  It  was  immediatel) 
surrounded  by  an  immense  concourse  of  thf; 
faithful,  all  of  whom  sought  to  pay  homag'i 
to  the  Virgin  of  Carmel.     Mary  responde(! 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


19s 


1 )  this  demonstration  of  piety  and  confi- 
(  ence  by  showering  blessings  on  all  who 

uelt  at  her  feet.  The  other  churches 
^  ;hich  had  been  assigned  for  the  gaining  of 
t  lie  Jubilee,  also  had  the  honor  of  receiving 
c'  visit  from  the  miraculous  Madonna,  and 
i  1  each,  it  is  said,  was  witnessed  a  repetition 
cf  what  had  occurred  at  St.  Peter's. 

The  Neapolitans,  having  finished  their 
devotions,  left  Rome  April  18,  and  with  joy- 
fil  hearts  returned  as  they  had  come,  pre- 
ceded by  their  beloved  Patroness,  and  chant- 
ing hymns  of  praise.  On  the  25th  of  the 
same  month  they  arrived  at  Naples,  where 
the  Madonna  of  Carmel  was  received  amid 
enthusiastic  shouts  of  gladness.  The  news 
of  the  many  miracles  performed  during  the 
pilgrimage  spread  rapidly,  and  made  a  lively 
impression  on  all  minds.  The  miraculous 
picture,  having  been  replaced  on  its  throne, 
became  the  object  of  renewed  love  and  ven- 
eration. 

After  these  extraordinary  events  copies 
of  this  painting  were  exposed  in  all  the 
churches  of  the  Order  of  Carmel,  and,  need- 
less to  remark,  they  were  soon  encircled 
by  a  multitude  of  eager  supplicants.  The 
faithful  having  earnestly  petitioned  for 
j  copies  of  the  picture  for  private  devotion, 
I  they  were  soon  spread  far  and  wide.  And 
Our  Lady  of  Mt.  Carmel  was  pleased  to  listen 
as  graciously  to  the  prayers  addressed  to  her 
before  them  as  she  had  to  those  offered  be- 
fore the  miraculous  painting  itself. 

In  this  favorite  representation  of  the 
Mother  of  God,  she  is  seen  holding  the  In- 
fant Jesus  in  her  arms.  An  expression  of 
lieavenly  benignity  is  spread  over  her  coun- 
tenance, and  she  seems  to  be  meditating  on 
md  revolving  in  her  heart  the  great  mys- 

eries  that  God  had  revealed  to  her.    The 
ittitude  of  the  Divine  Child  is  singularly 

ouching;  His  right  hand  lovingly  rests  on 
^is  Mother's  face,  while  the  fingers  of  the 

eft  gently  hold  up  the  folds  of  her  mantle. 

ie  seems  to  say  to  all  that  approach  Him: 

'  See  how  I  love  My  Immaculate  Mother! ' ' 
The  other  details  of  the  picture  are  in 

dmirable  harmony  with  the  perfection  of 

h^  countenance.    The  Madonna  is  envel- 


oped in  a  long  mantle,  her  head  surmounted 
by  a  crown;  on  tlie  right  shoulder  can  be 
seen  the  star,  whose  mysterious  signification 
is  so  well  applied  to  Mary.  Later  on,  the 
Scapular  was  placed  in  her  hands, — a  wor- 
thy expression  of  her  maternal  goodness 
towards  all  mankind. 


The  Master's  Lesson. 


BY    ANGELIQUE    DE    lyANDE. 


TpHEY  brought  to  Jesus  in  the  market-place, 

^       As  He  the  people  taught, 

A  fallen  woman,  on  whose  once  fair  face 

Sin  had  its  image  wrought. 
Proud  Pharisees  were  they,  and  thus  spoke  one 

Of  stern  and  lowering  brow: 
"By  Moses^law  this  woman  must  be  stoned; 

Master,  what  sayest  Thou  ? ' ' 

The  Saviour  stooped,  and   wrote  upon   the 
ground, 

As  though  He  had  not  heard; 
Close  and  still  closer  pressed   the  accusers 
round. 

Yet  answered  He  no  word; 
At  last  He  rose,  and  calmly  looked  at  them 

(The  woman  bowed  her  head) ; 
"If  there  be  one  among  you  void  of  sin, 

Cast  the  first  stone, ' '  He  said. 

Again  He  stooped  and  with  His  finger  wrote. 

As  He  before  had  done; 
Abashed  they  stood,  and  from  His  presence 
strode 
Silently  one  by  one. 
Then  to  the  trembling  sinner  at  His  feet 

He  spoke,  in  accents  mild: 
' '  Do  none  condemn  thee  ?  "   "  No  one,  Lord, ' ' 
she  said. 
"Neither  do  I,  My  child. 

"Go,  sin  no  more,  and  I  will  make  thee  white 

As  in  thy  life's  first  dawn." 
Weeping  vShe  kissed   His   feet,  then  turned 
aside, — 

That  hour  a  saint  was  born. 
Such  is  the  lesson  from  the  Gospel  page; 

Blessed  are  they  that  heed, 
And  learn  of  Him,  whose  boundless  love  for- 
bade 

To  break  the  bruised  reed. 


196 


The  Ave  Maria. 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


V. — Damascus/ 'Pearl  of  the  East." 

OVER  THE  Lebanon. — Beirut,  that  had 
at  first  disappointed  me,  grew  more  and 
more  lovely  as  our  diligence  slowly  as- 
cended the  green  hills  to  the  east  of  the 
town.  The  cafes  were  crowded  with  loung- 
ers, and  the  suburbs  were  crowded  with 
cafes.  Very  gay  was  the  long  road  winding 
over  the  lycbanon,  where  groups  of  pleasure- 
seekers  continually  nodded  to  one  another 
in  the  rich  glow  of  the  sunset. 

M ,  my  comrade,  in  whom  I  put  all 

my  trust,  sat  up  in  the  coupk  close  to  the 
driver,  with  very  wide-open  eyes,  and  the 
keenest  possible  ears.  I  stowed  myself  away 
in  the  cosiest  corner  of  the  cabin,  sharing 
the  well-worn  cushions  with  a  proud-lipped 
Mohammedaft,  who  was  returning  to  his 
beloved  and  blessed  Damascus. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  deepened  rap- 
idly; long  before  we  had  gained  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Lebanon  pass  the  lights  of  many 
a  village  glowed  softly  in  the  thick  shad- 
ows of  the  valleys  far  below  us.  We  climbed 
two  thousand  feet  into  the  air,  all  the  while 
casting  our  eyes  back  upon  the  lurid  sea  in 
the  west,  where  the  young  moon  trembled 
for  a  moment  and  sank  into  the  waves.  The 
lamps  were  hung  out  upon  our  high  box; 
the  horses,  three  abreast,  were  changed 
every  hour.  We  bowled  on  at  a  lively  pace 
over  one  of  the  finest  of  turnpikes — the 
product  of  French  enterprise — and  for  most 
of  the  way  we  had  it  all  to  ourselves.  We 
dozed  between  times,  but  woke  at  the  fre- 
quent stables,  where  there  was  over-much 
chattering,  smoking,  coffee-drinking,  and 
unnecessary  delay. 

On  the  crest  of  the  mountain  a  bitter  cold 
wind  blew  right  into  our  faces;  I  wonder 
that  the  outside  passengers  did  not  freeze. 

M was  on  guard  all  night,  and  kept 

rousing  the  driver,  who  would  have  slept 
like  a  child  but  for  his  passenger's  impa- 
tience.   After  a  season,  through  which  we 


seemed  to  have  been  dragged  by  the  eye- 
lashes, the  tardy  dawn  began  to  tint  the 
hill-tops.  We  counted  the  stations  on  our 
fingers,  hoping  that  each  ridge  we  climbed 
might  be  our  last — as,  of  course,  one  of  them 
ultimately  proved  to  be,  and  just  at  sun- 
rise we  plunged  into  a  glorious  green  grove. 
This  famous  wood  reaches  to  the  foot  of  the 
desolate,  sun-parched  mountains,  and  pene- 
trates the  ravines  to  the  depth  of  a  mile  or 
more. 

Down  one  of  the  leafy  gorges  we  hastened. 
There  was  a  sound  of  gushing  waters  on 
every  side;  they  flowed  beneath  us  in  swift, 
dancing  currents;  they  were  heard  above 
our  heads,  rushing  through  aqueducts  built 
into  the  steep  walls  of  the  ravine;  again 
and  again  the  brimming  tide  overleaped  the 
airy  channels  and  fell  headlong,  a  cataract 
of  golden  dust.  Every  leaf  was  glossy  in 
the  sunlight;  arrows  of  flame  shot  through 
the  dense  boughs  over  us;  and  out  of  the 
shimmering  haze  that  floated  beyond  the 
mouth  of  the  ravine  sprang  clusters  of 
jewelled  minarets,  like  fairy  lances  tipped 
with  diamonds.  The  exquisite  odor  of  blos- 
soming citron  perfumed  the  air;  the  call  of 
the  mite 2 sin  rose  like  a  triumphant  song, 
clear,  high,  and  full  of  confidence.  As  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach  there  were  billows 
of  foliage  tossing  and  sparkling  in  the  re- 
splendent light  of  the  new  day. 

This  is  the  vision  the  Prophet  saw  after 
the  weariness  of  the  desert.  Foot-sore  and 
faint  with  travel,  Mohammed  stood  upon  the 
heights  above  Damascus,  and  was  ravished 
by  the  beauty  he  behehl.  Then  he  said: 
"But  one  paradise  is  allowed  to  man;  I 
will  not  enter  mine  in  this  world,-'  and  so 
saying  he  turned  back  into  the  wilderness, 
and  pitched  his  tent  there.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  the  Prophet  was  right,  for  he 
doubtless  delighted  his  soul  ever  after  with 
*the  memory  of  that  vision ;  had  he  entered 
the  city,  much  of  its  seeming  loveliness 
would  have  vanished  like  the  mirage. 

Within  the  Gates. — No  sooner  had 
we  come  to  the  city  walls,  and  been  wel- 
comed by  an  indolent  company  of  Damas- 
cenes, than  one  of  these  laid  hands  upou 


The  Ave  Maria. 


197 


1  s,  and  bore  us  straight  away  to  Dimitri's 
J  [ospice.  Dimitri,  a  portly  Greek,  and  like- 
^  rise  a  monopolist  in  the  landlord  line,  re- 
<.2ived  us  at  the  needless-eye  of  his  ancient 
gad  stately  house.  It  was  as  yet  too  early 
for  the  great  gates  to  be  swung  open,  giv- 
iig  free  access  to  the  fountained  and  col- 
umned court,  so  a  hinged  panel  in  one  of 
tie  gates  was  unlocked  for  us;  we  stepped 
high  and  bowed  low,  and  thus  passed 
tlirough  the  eye  of  the  needle — than  which 
it  were  easier  for  a  camel  to  follow  our  lead 
than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven. 

The  kingdom  of  Dimitri's  paradise  is 
four-sided  and  two-storied.  The  quadrangle 
is  all  a  glare  of  white  marble,  often  enough 
glistening  with  the  spray  of  overflowing 
fountains.  The  citron,  the  orange,  and  the 
lemon  seek  to  veil  somewhat  the  dazzling 
court,  but  the  golden  globes  that  cluster 
thickly  in  the  fine  dark  shadows  of  the 
leaves  are  themselves  but  so  many  balls  of 
fire.  Dimitri's  was  originally  the  palace  of 
a  wealthy  Damascene,  and  it  is  not  a  bad" 
specimen  of  native  architecture. 

The  reception-room,  with  a  single  door, 

is  divided  in  three — that  is,  to  right  and 

eft  are  floors  raised  a  couple  of  feet  above 

he  central  third  portion,  and  these  are  ap- 

)roached  by  steps;  the  middle  third  is  level 

vith  the  court  from  which  it  is  entered, 

,ud  is  richly  tiled,  and  ornamented  with  a 

parkling  fountain;  splendid  and  very  lofty 

eilings  give  dignity  to  an  apartment  that 

s  but  scantily  furnished.    Persian  rugs  are 

trewn  about  carelessly  and  profusely;  a  few 

hairs,  ottomans,  and  a  low  divan  on  two 

ides  of  the  room  invite  the  weary  to  re- 

ose.   Here  the  guest  unwinds  his  nargileh^ 

ad  mocks  the  murmurs  of  the  fountain 

ith  long  draughts  at  his  bubbling  pipe; 

'hile  at  a  clap  of  the  hands  swarthy,  tur- 

aued  servants  appear  noiselessly  at  the 

3orway,  and  are  eager  to  proffer,  on  the 

ightest  provocation,  delicious  sherbet,  or 

mouthful  of  the  unrivalled  coffee  of  the 

ast  in  the  most  diminutive  of  cups. 

The  finer  houses  of  Damascus  are  inhab- 

-d  by  Jews,  and  they  are  too  often  ex- 


amples of  shocking  taste ;  the  lavish  decora- 
tion reminds  one  of  the  ornamental  pastry 
of  which  the  saloon  cabin  of  an  American 
river-steamer  is  constructed;  but  while  in 
the  one  case  it  is  plaster  and  paint,  in  the 
other  it  is  rare  marble  and  fine  gold. 

One  day,  exploring  the  Jewish  quarter, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  young  Hebrew  of 
distinction,  we  were  shown  through  stately 
courts,  musical  with  fountains,  and  dusky 
with  the  shade  of  vines  and  shrubs.  Nearly 
always  on  one  side  of  the  court  there  is  a 
three- walled  chamber — the  fourth  side  is 
open  to  the  court — where  deep  divans, 
heaped  high  with  cushions,  beguile  the 
languid  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  From  this 
alcove  you  enter  the  stately  hall  of  the 
house.  It  is  shown  by  the  host  and  hostess 
with  ingenuous  eagerness;  one  might  al- 
most imagine  that  the  elaborately  carved 
and  magnificently  upholstered  furniture 
were  on  sale,  and  the  hosts,  perhaps,  look- 
ing toward  a  bargain.  Various  members  of 
the  family  gather,  and  regard  you  curiously 
as  you  taste  of  the  always-proffered  coffee 
and  sweetmeats.  A  little  conversation  is 
attempted  in  Italian,  but,  as  Arabic  is  the 
language  of  the  people,  they  seldom  speak 
any  other. 

In  nearly  every  Jewish  house  of  any 
magnitude  there  is  a  private  synagogue,  and 
in  one  of  these  synagogues  we  were  shown 
a  splendidly  illuminated  manuscript  copy 
of  the  Old  Testament,  done  in  Bagdad  five 
hundred  years  ago — an  almost  intermina- 
ble parchment  coiled  upon  a  massive  silver 
cylinder,  and  enclosed  in  a  precious  casket 
studded  with  gems. 

As  we  wandered  about  these  marvellous 
old  palaces  we  were  followed  by  troops  of 
women  and  girls,  mounted  on  wooden  pat- 
tens twelve  or  fourteen  inches  in  height. 
Some  of  these  pattens  were  beautifully  in- 
laid with  pearl  and  gold,  and  they  are  worn 
continually  to  protect  the  feet  from  the  cold 
marble  pavements  and  the  dampness  in  the 
courts  of  the  fountains.  The  faces  of  the 
women  were  painted  so  gaudily  that  one 
could  hardly  believe  they  imagined  they 
had  heightened  their  beauty;  their  dresses 


198 


The  Ave  Maria. 


were  showy  and  tasteless,  and  their  manners 
so  simple  that  they  seemed  to  us  little  short 
of  silly. 

The  young  men  were,  for  the  most  part, 
strikingly  intelligent,  handsome  and  agree- 
able. The  Jewish  lads  are  expected  to 
marry  in  their  eighteenth  year,  and  conse- 
quently the  thrice  venerable  city  is  filled 
with  absurdly  youthful  couples,  who  are 
lodged  in  conspicuous  palaces,  in  the  midst 
of  Oriental  gardens,  where  their  lives  are 
suflfered  to  pass  like  a  dream,  in  voluptuous 
indolence. 

Abd-kl-Kader. — It  was  in  one  of  these 
delectable  mansions  of  Damascus,  some- 
what fallen  to  decay,  that  I  met  the  defeated 
lion  of  his  tribe,  Abd-el-Kader.  As  we  en- 
tered the  outer  court — a  very  dismal  one 
— two  servants  greeted  us  formally,  and  led 
the  way  to  the  court  of  the  fountains.  Here 
we  were  received  by  a  slender,  solemn- 
visaged  dignitary,  who  extended  to  us  the 
right  hand  of  fellowship — a  welcome  un- 
looked  for  in  the  Bast,  where  a  mere  touch 
of  the  finger-tips  is  considered  sufiicient 
evidence  of  cordiality,  even  among  friends. 

This  was  El- Hadji- Abd-el-Kader- Ulid- 
Mahiddin,  descendant  of  a  Marabout  fam- 
ily of  the  race  of  Hashem,  who  trace  their 
pedigree  to  the  caliphs  of  the  lineage  of 
Fatima.  It  was  he  who  in  his  eighth  year 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca;  who,  with  a 
highly-cultivated  mind,  was  free  from  sav- 
age cruelty,  as  well  as  the  sensuality  of  the 
Arab ;  who  was  gentle  and  pure ;  a  religious 
enthusiast,  prone  to  melancholy ;  who  won 
the  affection,  the  admiration,  the  devotion 
of  the  fanatical  tribes  of  the  desert,  and  for 
some  years  was  the  life  and  the  light  of  the 
Arabs;  who  was  greater  in  his  time  than 
El  Madi  of  yesterday,  but  who  was  at-  last 
taken  captive  by  the  French,  held  a  prisoner 
in  France,  yet  ultimately  permitted  to  retire 
to  Damascus,  where  his  career  was  brought 
to  a  quiet  close  among  the  wise  men  of  the 
East,  who  paid  him  homage  so  long  as  he 
dwelt  in  their  midst. 

It  was  a  deposed  Emir  who  gave  us  wel- 
come; a  devout  student  of  the  Persian 
poets;  the  author  of  a  religious  work,  a 


translation  of  which  was  published  in  Paris 
(1858)  under  the  title,  ''Rappel  a  V httelli^ 
gent:  Avis  a  V Indifferent ^  He  waved  us 
forward;  crossing  the  court;  littered  with 
leaves  and  having  a  forlorn  and  unkept 
look,  we  passed  into  the  reception-room. 
It  showed  traces  of  former  splendor;  a  foun- 
tain, the  basin  inlaid  with  marble  and 
mother-of-pearl,  played  in  the  centre  of  the 
room;  the  floor  was  a  rich  mosaic;  the  walls 
of  marble,  with  panels  of  mother-of-pearl; 
the  ceiling  set  thick  with  mirrors  of  various 
sizes  and  shapes ;  niches  in  the  wall  were  all 
gilded,  and  all  empty  save  one,  where  stood 
a  slender  vase,  holding  a  large  damask  rose 
in  full  bloom.  The  furniture,  placed  in  a 
row  against  the  wall,  was  modern,  conven- 
tional in  pattern,  and  covered  with  blue 
chintz. 

Here  we  seated  ourselves  with  the  inter- 
preter. The  Emir  looked  curiously  at  us. 
His  was  a  very  serious  face ;  his  beard,  dyed 
raven-black,  was  worn  in  the  prevailing 
mode — pointed  and  rather  long;  his  hands 
were  well  formed,  his  finger-nails  neatly 
trimmed,  and  stained  with  henna;  his  bare 
feet  were  thrust  into  the  loose,  yellow  over- 
shoes, such  as  are  put  off  at  the  mosque  door. 
He  was  clad  in  a  lemon-colored  sack, with 
the  customary  narrow  brown  stripe,  which 
fell  to  his  ankles ;  over  this  was  a  loose  blue 
outer  robe,  lined  with  light  blue  silk,  and 
having  an  inner  sleeve  of  purple.  A  large, 
white  turban,  embroidered  with  threads  of 
pale  gold,  encircled  his  scarlet  tarboosh. 

The  visit  was  evidently  a  bore  to  him — 
how  could  it  have  been  otherwise?  Yet  he 
endured  it  with  Oriental  resignation.  He 
played  with  a  soft  white  handkerchief  em- 
broidered in  colors,  drawing  it  through  his 
fingers  over  and  over  again;  he  made  a  ! 
round  fluffy  ball  of  it;  spread  it  out  care- 
fully upon  his  knees,  and  then  caught  it  up, 
blew  his  nose  loudly,  and  spat  into  it;  he 
cracked  his  knuckles,  inquired  what  part 
of  the  world  we  were  from,  and  seemed  in- 
formed upon  the  affairs  of  the  several  Gov- 
ernments. But  his  reign  was  over;  like 
the  caged  eagle,  he  affected  an  indifference 
which,  perhaps,  he  was  far  from  feeling,      i 


b 


The  Ave  Maria, 


199 


Orange  water  thickened  with  snow  was 
s  rved  soon  after  our  arrival,  and  a  tiny  cup 
c'  coffee  on  our  departure;  but  the  host 
a  )ologized  for  the  non-appearance  of  the 
c  istomary  pipe.  It  was  a  day  of  abstinence ; 
f(  r  thirty  days  of  the  Mohammedan  fast 
h  ^  remained  in  a  small  chamber,  in  utter 
sditude,  drinking  little,  eating  less,  and 
SMoking  not  at  all.  It  was  by  the  greatest 
favor  that  we  saw  him  at  all,  and  I  was 
more  th^n  delighted  when,  at  my  request, 
he  sent  a  dumb  attendant  for  his  ink-horn, 
and,  while  he  held  a  slip  of  paper  upon  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand,  he  took  a  delicate 
brush,  and,  with  the  freedom  and  grace  of 
an  artist,  wrote  an  autograph  in  arabesque, 
the  very  sight  of  which  is  a  joy  to  the  eye. 
He  shook  hands  thrice  at  parting,  follow- 
ing us  to  the  outer  gates,  where  six  servants 
I  bowed  us  a  formal  farewell,  and  proceeded 
ito  conduct  their  venerable  and  venerated 
'master,  tottering  beyond  his  threescore- and- 
;ten,  back  into  the  privacy  of  his  prophet- 
jchamber. 

The  Book  of  the  East. — As  we  rode 
me  afternoon  through  the  gardens  of  the 
nty,  in  a  lovely  path  that  picked  its  way 
mong  the  rushing  streams,  a  solemn  horse- 
nan  approached  us.  The  apparition  was  at 
irst  startling;  for  the  rider,  clad  in  a  long 
|loak  of  white  merino  that  veiled  him  from 
ead  to  foot,  seemed  an  image  of  death, 
Ibeit  his  steed  was  superbly  caparisoned, 
nd  his  face — as  much  of  it  as  was  visible — 
'as  the   type  of  Oriental  youth:   proud, 
lacid,  sensuous.     He  was  followed  at  a 
ttle  distance  by  a  train  of  venerable  men, 
ich  one  mounted  like  a  prince  in  a  fairy 
le,  and  all  grave  and  grizzled.  The  singu- 
r  procession  passed  slowly  onward,  under 
e  trees,  at  sunset,  toward  the  city  gates ; 
id  we  learned,  as  the  caravan  silently  dis- 
peared  in  the  greenwood,  like  a  ghostly 
•jmpany  in  a  story  of  enchantment,  that  he 
0  led  the  band  was  the  son  of  Abd-el- 
i^der,  and   that  his   followers   were   the 
?es  and  philosophers  of  Damascus,  who 
been  passing  the  day  with  him  at  his 
sjumer  palace  in  the  wood. 
3nly  such  picturesque  riders   as   these 


Id 


were  worthy  to  possess  those  romantic  bri- 
dle-paths; and,  somehow,  as  I  rode  down  the 
narrow  and  winding  ways  that  are  forever 
losing  themselves  among  the  meadows 
that  -girdle  the  city,  listening  always  to  the 
gurgle  of  gushing  waters,  pausing  some- 
times beside  full-throated  fountains,  or  un- 
der boughs  where  the  sun  spins  his  web  of 
gold;  standing  knee-deep  in  wild,  rich 
grass,  or  buried  up  to  my  eyes  in  fragrant 
and  flowering  jungles,  I  had  always  in 
mind,  as  the  most  fitting  thought  in  this 
garden  of  glories — indeed  the  garden  be- 
came a  kind  of  illuminated  edition  of  the 
text — some  perfect  page  of  "Eothen." 

After  more  than  thirty  years  of  active 
service,  during  which  time  Messrs.  Tom, 
Dick,  and  Harry,  the  reverent  and  the  irrev- 
erent, male^nd  female,  wise  and  otherwise, 
have  had  their  say  in  print  or  out  of  it — 
and  I  among  the  number, — "Eothen''  is 
still  the  one  royal  and  unrivalled  volume 
of  the  East.  Poet  and  prophet,  the  author  of 
' '  Eothen ' '  is  to-day  as  fresh,  as  fair,  as  fault- 
less as  at  the  hour  when,  radiant  with  the 
classic  glow  of  the  University,  young  King- 
lake  astonished  and  delighted  the  world 
with. his  revelation;  for  he  seemed  to  have 
plucked  out  the  heart  of  the  mysterious 
East,  and  for  the  first  time  to  have  laid  it 
bare  to  the  eye  of  the  unbeliever. 

I  know  not  what  magic  lay  in  his  pen, 
or  if  the  necromancy  of  the  East  conferred 
upon  his  work  a  life  immortal;  but  I  do 
know  from  personal  experience  that,  with 
my  pocket  copy  of  "Eothen"  {Tauchnitz 
edition,  to  be  had  at  any  shop  in  Islamdom), 
with  my  unbound  book — a  mere  bundle  of 
loose  leaves — in  my  hand,  and  my  finger 
upon  the  very  line,  I  have  again  and  again 
tested  its  marvellous  truthfulness  to  nature 
and  to  art;  and  you  who  know  the  volume 
need  not  be  reminded  of  its  perennial 
beauty. 

(TO  be;  continued.) 


Judge  of  nations  by  their  peasantry;  the 
nobles  are  everywhere  nearly  alike. — Fa- 
ther Tracey  Clarke^  S.J. 

Nothing  is  so  positive  as  ignorance. 


200 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


IX. 


"MY 


Y  dear,^^  said  Mr.  Thornton  one  day 
his  wife,  ' '  you  know  more  than  I 
do  about  such  matters,  but  I  can  not  say  I 
like  the  way  things  are  going  on  between 
Constance  and  Philip. ' ' 

Mrs.  Thornton  looked  at  her  husband 
with  rather  a  curious  glance.  She  did  not 
herself  think  that  things  were  ''going  on" 
at  all  between  Constance  and  Philip,  but 
she  did  not  care  to  say  as  much.  'After  an' 
instant  she  asked,  evasively :  ' '  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

' '  I  should  think  you  would  see  what  I 
mean! "  replied  Mr.  Thornton,  a  little  im- 
patiently. "Do  they  have  anything  to  do 
with  each  other — have  they  advanced  one 
step  toward  arranging  the  matter  for  which 
we  are  both  anxious  ?  As  far  as  my  obser- 
vation extends,  Constance  has  that  fellow 
Bellamy  constantly  dangling  about  her; 
and  Philip — I  don't  know  what  Philip  does 
with  himself,  but  he  certainly  does  not  de- 
vote his  time  or  his  attention  to  her. ' ' 

"No,  he  certainly  does  not,"  said  Mrs. 
Thornton,  coldly.  "And  therefore  you  can 
not  blame  Constance  for  letting  Jack  Bel- 
lamy or  any  one  else  enjoy  her  society.  You 
surely  do  not  expect  her  to  devote  her  at- 
tention to  Philip  when  he  gives  no  sign  of 
desiring  it?" 

Pride  of  sex  and  pride  of  family  both 
lifted  the  lady's  head  as  she  asked  this 
question,  and  lit  a  spark  in  her  eyes,  which 
her  husband  understood. 

"Well — no,"  he  answered,  after  a  slight 
hesitation;  "of  course  one  could  not  ex- 
pect that.  But  we  shall  have  her  wanting 
to  marry  Bellamy  or  some  other  fellow  if 
affairs  go  on  as  they  are  at  present.  Some- 
thing must  be  done.  I  must  speak  to 
Philip." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  as  he  uttered  the 
last  words,  as  if  half-expecting  her  to  dis- 
suade him,  as  she  had  done  some  months  be- 


fore. But  Mrs. Thornton, who  really  wished 
for  the  match,  realized  now  that  "speaking 
to  Philip"  was  a  necessity.  As  time  went 
on  it  had  become  more  and  more  apparent 
to  her  that,  so  far  as  Philip  was  concerned, 
Constance  might  marry  Bellamy  or  any  one 
else.  She  had  looked  for  him  to  come  for- 
ward of  himself,  but  he  had  not  come  for- 
ward. He  was  either  the  most  confident  or 
the  most  indifferent  of  suitors — if  that  term 
could  possibly  be  applied  to  a  man  who  had 
never  even  begun  to  offer  suit. 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Thornton's  pride  rose  in* 
arms  when  she  looked  at  Constance,  in  all 
her  delicate  beauty,  and  thought  how  dif- 
ferently she  should  be  wooed;  and  when 
she  saw  other  men  burning  incense  at  her 
shrine,  and  contrasted  their  devotion  with 
Philip's  indiflference,  her  heart  grew  wroth 
against  the  latter.  But  this  feeling  did  not 
generally  last  very  long.  She  reminded 
herself  that  his  intercourse  with  Constance 
was  so  much  more  that  of  a  brother  than 
of  a  lover,  that  he  could  not  be  expected  to 
display  the  ardor  of  devotion  which  other 
men  exhibited.  Nevertheless,  the  fact  that 
he  had  formidable  rivals  must,  she  thought, 
force  itself  upon  his  apprehension;  yet  it 
seemed  to  lend  no  energy  to  his  proceed- 
ings. Did  he  think  that  Constance  was  se- 
curely his  whenever  he  chose  to  throw  the 
handkerchief?  Mrs.  Thornton  hardly  dared 
ask  herself  what  Constance  thought,  but 
she  knew  well  that  if  matters  remained 
unchanged  much  longer,  Constance  might 
give  her  heart  to  some  other  man,  and  all 
hope  would  be  over  of  the  match  which  her 
husband  and  herself  so  much  desired. 

It  was  plainly  necessary,  therefore,  that 
Philip  should  be  spoken  to,  and  she  was 
glad  that  Mr.  Thornton  announced  his  in- 
tention of  doing  so.  She  had  perceived  the 
necessity  for  some  time,  but  it  was  not  for 
her  to  take  the  initiative.  When  he  looked 
at  her,  consequently,  as  if  asking  her  opin- 
ion, she  said: 

"Yes,  it  really  seems  necessary.  He 
either  does  not  share  your  wishes,  or  he 
is  strangely  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  no 
woman,  especially  a  woman  so  much  ad- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


2or 


mired  as  Constance,  will  tolerate  indif- 
ference. I  could  not  blame  her  if  she  an- 
nounced any  day  that  she  had  accepted 
another  man." 

"But  /  should  151ame  her!"  cried  Mr. 
Thornton,  growing  red  at  the  bare  sugges- 
tion. ' '  She  ought  to  know — she  ought  to 
understand.  As  for  Philip,  he  shall  hear 
some  very  plain  words  from  me." 

' '  Take  care ! ' '  said  his  wife,  warningly. 
"Remember  that  you  have  never  distinctly 
expressed  your  desire  to  him,  therefore  you 
have  no  right  to  call  him  to  account.  Speak 
to  him  kindly,  put  the  matter  in  an  amiable 
light,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  at  once  consent 
to  gratify  you. ' ' 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Mr. 
Thornton,  significantly.  "A  pretty  case  it 
would  be  if  he  did  not  consent.  A  beautiful 
wife  and  a  fortune  are  not  things  that  are 
offered  to  a  man  every  day. ' ' 

It  was  on  the  next  day  that  these  two 
very  desirable  things  were  offered  to  Philip. 
It  chanced  to  be  Sunday  again,  and  when 
Mr.  Thornton,  following  his  usual  custom, 
retired  to  the  library  after  luncheon,  he 
summoned  his  nephew  to  accompany  him. 
Philip,  a  little  surprised,  but  nowise  loath, 
complied.  As  he  entered  the  room,  how- 
ever, some  malign  influence  brought  to  his 
mind  the  other  occasion  when  he  had  been 
there  with  his  uncle — when  he  had  rashly 
introduced  the  subject  of  the  Percivals,  and 
made  an  appeal  which  proved  fruitless.  The 
recollection  of  his  disappointment  came 
back  to  him  with  force,  although  he  knew 
now  that  no  other  result  of  such  an  appeal 
had  been  possible.  He  stood  by  the  hearth, 
looking  down  as  he  had  done  before,  and 
thinking  of  Alice  Percival,  when  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton's voice  suddenly  roused  him. 

"I  have  something  of  importance  to  say 
to  you,  Philip, ' '  he  observed ;  ' '  but  I  do  not 
think  it  is  likely  to  be  a  surprise  to  you." 

Philip  looked  up.  His  head  was  so  full 
of  the  Percivals  that  he  absolutely  fancied 
jhis  uncle  might  be  about  to  speak  of  them. 

"I  can  not  assure  you  on  that  point  until 
[  know  what  it  is,"  he  answered,  with  a 
luick  gleam  of  intere:^t  in  his  eyes. 


Mr.  Thornton,  who  had  seated  himself  in 
a  large  chair  by  'the  library  table,  regarded 
him  for  a  moment  without  speaking  further. 
He  was  proud  of  the  young  man ;  his  looks 
and  bearing,  his  social  success  and  fine 
manners,  all  pleased  him,  and  he  felt  a  keen 
sense  of  gratification  in  thinking  what  a 
bright  destiny  he  was  about  to  unfold  to 
him.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  regard 
Philip  as  in  any  respect  an  independent 
human  being.  He  was  so  connected  in  his 
mind  with  his  own  prosperity,  as  the  per- 
son who  would  exhibit  and  adorn  it,  that 
he  was  unable  to  conceive  him  in  any  other 
relation  or  position.  When  he  went  on 
speaking,  it  was  in  a  tone  that  seemed  to 
take  everything  for  granted. 

"You  must  be  aware,"  he  said,  "that  I 
wish  you-to  marry  Constance.  Your  aunt 
and  myself  long  ago  set  our  hearts  on  the 
match ;  and  if  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  on 
the  subject  before,  it  was  because  she  was 
quite  certain  it  would  arrange  itself.  But, 
in  my  opinion,  there  is  nothing  like  mak- 
ing things  sure,  and  therefore  I  want  you 
to  understand  that  it  is  time  the  thing  was 
settled.  Constance  has  too  many  men  in 
her  train  for  delay  to  be  safe,  and  you— 
why  should  you  wait?" 

"Why  should  I  wait?"  repeated  Philip, 
blankly.  He  was  so  much  surprised  that 
for  a  minute  he  could  hardly  collect  his 
thoughts.  Of  course  he  had  known  his 
uncle's  wishes — that  was  true  enough — but 
of  late  they  had  passed  out  of  his  recollec- 
tion altogether.  Brought  thus  abruptly  face 
to  face  with  them  now,  he  was  unable  to 
grasp  a  single  consideration  bearing  upon 
them. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Mr.  Thornton,  ' '  why  should 
you  wait?  You  are  old  enough  to  marry. 
You  do  not  mean" — frowning  quickly — 
' '  that  you  have  any  objection  to  the  plan  ? '  ^ 

"I  hardly  know  what  I  mean,"  Philip 
replied,  truthfully.  "I  have  never  thought 
seriously  of  the  matter,  and  I  am  very  sure 
that  Constance  has  not  either." 

"Then  it  is  time  for  you  both  to  begin 
to  think  seriously  of  it, ' '  said  Mr.  Thornton ; 
"that  is  why  I  have. spoken.    A  thing  so 


202 


The  Ave  Maria. 


important  can  not  be  dealt  witli  in  this 
haphazard  fashion.  Of  course,  the  first  step 
must  come  from  you.  You  must  offer  your- 
self to  Constance.  A  woman  expects  so 
much,  you  know." 

*' Well — yes,'-  said  Philip, who  thought  it 
a  reasonable  expectation.  Then  he  paused 
and  looked  down  again.  To  accept  a  mar- 
riage with  Constance  as  a  distant  possibility 
in  his  thoughts,  and  to  have  it  thus  immedi- 
ately pressed  upon  him,  were,  he  found,  two 
very  different  things.  He  was  astonished 
by  the  reluctance  which  suddenly  seemed 
to  take  possession  of  him.  He  felt  like  a 
man  who  is  dragged  to  the  brink  of  a  prec- 
ipice, and  whose  impulse  is  to  draw  back 
with  all  his  strength.  Mr.  Thornton,  watch- 
ing him,  divined  his  reluctance,  and  felt 
his  anger  rising. 

''Will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
ominous  coldness.  "Why  are  you  so  slow 
to  give  me  the  assurance  that  you  will 
fulfil  my  wishes  and  offer  yourself  to  Con- 
stance ? ' ' 

"Because,"  said  Philip,  lifting  his  head, 
"it  strikes  me  that  it  is  a  matter  which 
concerns  me  so  much  more  than  any  one  else 
— except  Constance — that  I  am  bound  to 
give  a  little  time  to  reflection  before  taking 
such  a  step. ' ' 

Mr.  Thornton's  face  grew  dark.  Opposi- 
tion always  angered  him,  but  opposition 
from  Philip,  and  on  this  point,  was  some- 
thing he  had  so  little  counted  on  that  it 
seemed  to  him  intolerable.  However,  he 
remembered  his  wife's  counsel,  and  with  an 
effort  controlled  himself — or  at  least  he 
controlled  the  outward  expression  of  his 
inward  irritation. 

'  'And  pray, ' '  he  said,  sarcastically, ' '  what 
do  you  want  to  reflect  upon?  Is  not  Con- 
stance the  most  admired  girl  in  Riverport, 
— a  girl  whom  any  man  might  be  proud  to 
win, — a  girl  to  do  you  credit  to  the  end  of 
her  life?  And  do  you  not  understand  that 
I  wish  this  marriage  in  order  that  I  may 
leave  my  fortune  undivided,  and  so  secure 
to  you  a  future  as  prosperous  as  a  man 
could  desire?" 


"Yes,"  said  Philip,  "I  understand,  and 
thank  you  deeply.  It  is  like  the  rest  of 
your  kindness  to  me.  As  for  Constance, 
she  is  all  that  you  have  said.  But^  my  dear 
uncle,  marriage  is  a  very  serioUs  affair,  and 
if  one  enters  into  it  in  haste,  one  may,  you 
know,  repent  at  leisure. ' ' 

' '  What  point  has  that  stale  saying  in  this 
connection?"  demanded  Mr.  Thornton, 
with  stern  impatience.  "What  haste  has 
there  been?  Am  I  not  speaking  to  you  now 
on  account  of  your  delay  ?  You  have  known 
Constance  for  years,  you  have  been  closely 
associated  with  her  for  months :  what  more 
can  you  desire?" 

Philip  felt  that  there  might  be  much 
more  to  desire,  but  he  was  rather  at  a  loss 
how  to  say  so.  He  lifted  his  eyes,  and  by 
chance  they  fell  on  one  of  the  few  religious 
pictures  in  the  house — a  fine  engraving  of 
the  Mado7ina  di  San  Sisio.  He  looked  at  it 
for  a  moment,  while  a  multitude  of  thoughts 
came  into  his  mind;  then  he  turned  and 
looked  at  his  uncle. 

' '  You  forget  one  thin^r, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Con- 
stance and  I  are  not  of  the  same  religion." 

Mr.  Thornton  stared.    He  knew  that  his 
nephew  had  retained  his  faith,  but  he  had 
supposed  that  it  sat  very  lightly  on  him,  j 
and  such  an  objection  as  this  was  the  last  j 
that  he  could  have  anticipated. 

"And  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  he 
asked  after  a  moment. 

"A  great  deal,  in  my  opinion,"  Philip 
answered.  ' '  I  am  not  a  very  good  Catholic, 
but  I  hold  the  truths  of  faith,  and  I  should 
like  my  wife  to  hold  them  also.  It  seems 
to  me  that  there  could  be  small  assurance 
of  harmony  in  a  household  where  there  was 
not  sympathy  on  the  most  important  sub- 
ject connected  with  human  life." 

"Has  there  not  been  harmony  in  this 
household?"  asked  the  elder  man,  rather 
hotly.  ' '  Yet  your  aunt  is  a  Protestant,  and 
I—" 

He  paused,  and,  despite  himself,  changed 
countenance  with  the  consciousness  that 
he  had  gone  too  far.   What,  indeed,  was  he? 

' '  Do  you, ' '  said  Philip,  quietly, ' '  consider 
yourself  a  Catholic  ? ' ' 


The  Ave  Mar 


?.a. 


203 


''I  was  a  Catholic  when  I  married,"  he 
eplied;  "and  if  I  have  since  given  up  the 
Church,  it  has  been  for  no  reason  connected 
vith  my  marriage.  When  two  people  are 
sensible,  their  disagreeing  in  opinion  on 
;;uch  a  subject  does  not  matter  in  the  least." 
■'That  depends  very  much  on  the  way 
le  looks  at  it,"  said  the  young  man. 
think  it  would  matter  exceedingly  to 

Then  you  are  a  fool ! ' '  said  Mr.  Thorn- 
n,  losing  control  of  himself  in  the  inten- 
.sity  of  his  irritation.  "If  you  persist  in 
vshackling  yourself  with  a  faith  which  is  a 
bar  lo  your  worldly  success  in  every  way, 
you  should  be  glad  to  conciliate  public  opin- 
ion by  marrying  a  Protestant — a  girl  whose 
family  connections  are  irreproachable  and 
calculated  to  do  you  great  service  in  the 
future.  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  such  folly. 
If  this  is  your  only  objection,  it  is  not  wor- 
thy of  a  moment's  consideration.  Under- 
stand that  my  mind  is  made  up  on  the 
subject  of  this  marriage.  Either  it  must 
take  place,  or  my  intentions  toward  you  will 
be  greatly  changed. ' ' 

"I  should  have  preferred  that  you  had 
left  that  unsaid,"  replied  Philip,  Avho  now 
looked  a  little  pale,  as  if  the  strain  of  the 
interview  was  telling  on  him.  "What  I 
would  not  do  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  you, 
who  have  done  so  much  for  me,  I  should  cer- 
tainly not  do  through  the  fear  of  any  change 
in  your  intentions  toward  me.  With  re- 
gard to  the  proposed  marriage,  I  divined 
your  wishes  long  before  this,  and  accepted 
them  without  consideration,  thinking  th^t 
in  time  Constance  and  myself  might  make 
a  match.  But  to  think  of  a  thing  as  vaguely 
possible  in  the  future  is  very  different  from 
having  it  held  before  one  as  an  immediate 
necessity.  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  can 
not  give  you  at  once  the  assurance  that  you 
ask.  In  that  which  is  so  important — that 
j  which  concerns  my  whole  life — I  must  take 
a  little  time  for  reflection." 

How  much  time?"  asked  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton, bruskly. 

"A  few  days  would  answer,  I  suppose," 
aid  Philip,  reluctantly. 


"Very  well,  then,"  returned  the  other; 
"in  a  few  days — in.  a  week  at  farthest — I 
shall  expect  to  hear  your  decision.  The 
delay  seems  to  me  absolutely  useless.  A 
girl  might  be  guilty  of  such  absurdity  as 
not  to  know  her  mind  at  the  last  moment, 
but  a  man —  However,  I  will  consent  to 
this  delay  on  the  ground  that  it  is  the  last. '  * 
(to  be  continued.) 


Ctcbt  un^  aBdrmc. 


^er  beff're  OJlenfd)  tritt  in  bie  2BeIt 

"^    3[Rit  fro^Iid)em  ^^ertrauert; 

6r  glaubt,  tt)Q§  il)m  bie  (5ee(e  fct)we(It, 

3luct)  auBer  [ic^  311  fcl^auert. 
Unb  it)eit)'t,  noit  ebiem  @ifer  warm, 
^er  2Bft^rl)eit  feinen  treuen  %xm. 

II. 
^o{^  SllleS  ift  fo  Mein,  fo  eng, 

^at  er  e§  erft  erfnt)ren, 
Ta  fud)t  er  in  bem  SBeltgebrdug' 

©id)  felbft  mir  311  beraabren; 
2)a§  ^er,^,  in  falter,  ftoljer  jHul), 
S(i)Uefet  enblid)  fid)  \>n  Siebe  p. 

III. 
©ie  gebe'n,  o.&)\  nid)t  immer  @(nt(), 

Xer  2BaI)r^eit  t)eUe  ©tra^Ien. 
3So^l  benen,  bie  be§  9Siffen§  @nt 

5Rid)tniit  bem  ^erjen  ^allien. 
3^rnm  i(iaaxi  ju  eu'rem  fd)onften  ©liicf 
ajiit  Sd^rodrmer?  (Srnft  be§  2Beltmann'§  531id. 

— Schiller. 


[translation,  by  j.  p.  r.] 
Light  and  Heat. 


The  upright  man  steps  into  life    • 

With  confidence  elated, 
Trusts  that  with  which  his  soul  is  rife 

By  all's  participated; 
And  then,  with  noble  ardor  warm, 
To  Truth  he  consecrates  his  arm. 

II. 
That  everything  is  narrow,  slight, 

By  him  is  soon  detected; 
Then  seeks  he,  that  in  worldly  fight 

Himself  is  well  protected; 
In  colder,  haughtier  pulse,  his  heart 
Bids  lyove  forever  thence  depart. 


204 


The  Ave  Maria. 


III. 
Alas!  no  heat  always  give  forth 

Truth's  brightest  radiations. 
'Tis  well  for  those  whose  wisdom's  worth 

Heeds  not  the  heart's  pulsations! 
Complete  success,  combined  attain 
Th'  Enthusiast's  zeal,  the  Statesman's  brain. 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— (Continued.) 

THE  Pontiff  granted  Nemesius'  prayer, 
and  without  delay  administered  the 
holy  rite,  whose  regenerating  waters  are  of 
that  "River  of  Life"  that  St.  John*  saw 
proceeding  from  the  throne  of  God  and  the 
Lamb.  From  that  mystical  moment  the 
Holy  Ghost  entered  into  the  cleansed  tab- 
ernacle of  the  man's  soul,  kindling  therein 
the  fire  of  charity,  which  consumed  the  dross 
of  his  nature,  and  by  a  miracle  of  grace 
made  him  indeed  a  new  creature  in  Jesus 
Christ. 

As  the  days  passed  by,  the  neophyte,  be- 
ing in  frequent  intercourse  with  the  Pontiff, 
quickly  learned  the  needs  of  the  persecuted 
Church,  and  how  to  relieve  her.  suffering 
members,  and  console  where  he  could  not 
save.  Self  was  forgotten ;  daily  among  the 
dwellers  in  the  Catacombs,  visiting  in  se- 
cret the  poor  abodes  of  the  miserable  in  the 
byways  and  corners  of  the  proud  city  of  the 
Caesars,  and  out  in  the  dilapidated  huts  on 
the  beautiful  Agro  Romano,  he  distributed 
his  substance  to  the  hungry,  the  naked,  the 
sick,  and  did  not  fail  to  visit  the  prisons,  as 
directed  by  the  Emperor,  but  in  a  far  dif- 
ferent spirit  from  the  command. 

As  his  name  was, still  a  power,  Nemesius 
had  an  opportunity  to  check,  in  a  degree, 
much  of  the  brutality  to  which  the  Chris- 
tian captives  were  subjected,  to  comfort 
them  by  charging  himself  with  the  support 
of  their  helpless  families,  among  whom 
were  little  children  and  those  whose  age 
made  them  dependent, — all  left  destitute  by 
the  imprisonment  of  their  natural  protec- 


tors; and,  by  means  of  gold,  he  succeeded,, 
through  a  trusted  agent,  to  secure  the  mu- 
tilated remains  of  the  martyrs  for  secret 
burial,  or,  when  possible,  had  them  con- 
veyed into  the  Catacombs  for  interment. 
His  zeal  was  tireless,  and  such  was  his 
fervor  that  he  was  soon  admitted  to  assist 
at  the  Divine  Sacrifice  of  the  Altar;  then, 
shortly  after,  followed  the  heavenly  ban- 
quet of  the  Most  Holy  Eucharist,  which 
filled  his  soul  with  divine  sweetness,  re- 
newed his  strength,  and  fanned  his  charity 
to  a  brighter  flame. 

Nemesius  was  ready  to  avow  his  faith: 
his  old  instincts  as  a  soldier  made  him  wish 
to  do  so;  but  the  suffering  Church  needed 
his  services;  for,  not  yet  suspected,  and  hav- 
ing free  access  to  the  prison^,  he  had,  as 
already  shown,  countless  opportunities  to 
comfort  and  aid  those  condemned  to  suffer 
for  the  faith.  When  admission  was  denied 
to  all  else,  it  was  he  who,  with  adoring  love, 
bore  upon  his  breast,  wrapped  in  richest 
cloth  of  gold,  the  consecrated  Hosts,  to 
the  condemned  criminals, — the  Heavenly 
Bread  that  would  ' '  refresh  them  by  the  tor- 
rent, " — their  Holy  Viaticum  *  in  the  sharp, 
bitter  conflict  they  were  to  pass  through  to 
the  embrace  of  Him  for  whose  glory  they 
were  to  suffer,  and  from  whose  nail- pierced 
hands  they  would  receive  eternal  crowns 
and  palms  of  rejoicing. 

The  gloom  of  the  prisons  was  of  great 
assistance  to  Nemesius  in  his  ministrations 
of  mercy,  even  had  the  guards  kept  close 
watch  on  his  movements,  which  they  did 
not;  for  what  was  there  to  fear  from  the 
great  commander  of  the  Imperial  Legion, 
who  bore  the  Emperor's  seal,  and  was  doubt- 
less come  on  some  secret  errand? 

The  Pontiff  Stephen  wished  to  ordain 
him  priest,  but  from  this  high  honor  his 
humility  shrunk,  and  he  was  made  deacon. 
Can  we  tealize  that  this  is,  indeed,  Neme- 
sius, the  proud  commander,  the  laurel- 
crowned  soldier,  no  longer  in  glittering  ar- 

*  Nemesius  was  not  alone  in  the  practice  of  the 
good  works  described ;  there  were  others  besides 
himself  and  the  wife  of  Tertullns,  who  were  not 
suspected  of  being  Christians,  likewise  engaged. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


205 


nor,  no  more  leading  his  legionaries  under 
:he  Roman  eagles  to  fresh  conquests,  no 
onger  listening  to  an  applauding  Senate, 
md  standing  on  the  right  of  the  curule 
:hair,  the  honored  favorite  of  an  Emperor, 
—this  Christian  in  the  garments  of  peace, 
vhose  chosen  haunts  are  the  Catacombs  and 
e  prisons,  and  whose  sole  occupation  is 
t  of  a  servant  of  the  needy  and  afflicted? 
Yes!  this  is  the  noble  patrician,  the  he- 
'oic  military  leader,  the  reserved,  haughty 
pagan  gentleman,  whom  we  knew  as  Neme- 
sius;  but  how  changed!    For  in  those  days 
of  tribulation  when  one  embraced  Chris- 
tianity he  came  out  in  deed  and  in  truth 
from  among  the  wicked  and  the  ungodly; 
the  lines  were  drawn  in  blood,  and  they  were 
as  much  divided  and  apart  as  they  will  be 
on  that  dread  day  \(^hen  Christ  comes  to 
judge  the  world. 

In  the  two  weeks  since  his  conversion 
how  much  had  been  crowded  into  the  life 
of  Nemesius  can  be  imagined  from  the 
brief  outline  given, — so  much  and  so  real 
in  its  essence,  that  his  past  seemed  like  a 
dream,  and  it  was  only  now  that  he  truly 
began  to  live.  Every  day  or  two  he  went 
to  his  vill$i  on  the  Aventine  to  embrace  his 
child,  and,  when  having  ascertained  that 
all  was  well  with  her,  to  confer  with  Sym- 
phronius,who  was  faithfully  executing  the 
tasks  assigned  him,. 

All  the  idolatrous  images  had  been  re- 
moved from  their  niches,  shrines,  and  ped- 
estals, to  the  vaults  under  the  villa,  where 
they  were  destroyed,  and  afterwards  cast 
into  the  limekiln.  Some  of  them  were  of 
ancient  Greek  workmanship,  and,  as  ideals 
of  art,  were  unsurpassed  and  of  priceless 
worth ;  but  Nemesius  knew  that  they  were 
the  conceptions  and  symbols  of  a  false  relig- 
ion, and  that  their  perfection  was  inspired 
by  the  belief  that  the  deity  represented  by 
1  master-hand  in  marble  would  inhabit  the 
5tatue,  if  it  were  found  worthy  of  the  honor, 
md  be  worshipped  through  the  ages.  * 

Thus  we  see  that  the  greatest  and  most 
leathless  works  of  pagan  as  well  as  those  of 

^  St.  Augustine  speakvS  of  this  in  his  '  •  City  of 
od." 


Christian  art  were  inspired  supernaturally 
— the  first  by  an  Idolatrous,  the  latter  by  a 
holy  and  divine  faith. 

Admetus  proved  himself  a  doughty  icon- 
oclast in  the  work  of  destruction.  To  lop 
off  a  nose,  shave  off  an  ear,  strike  off  one 
at  a  time  the  arms  and  legs  of  these  gods 
of  stone,  who  had  received  divine  honors, 
and  still  smelt  of  the  spices  and  Eastern 
gums  that  had  smoked  before  them,  and 
then,  with  a  swinging  blow  of  his  axe  and 
a  hearty  "Bravo!"  knock  the  exquisite 
torso  to  splinters,  afforded  him  the  most 
intense  satisfaction.  ' '  So  perish, ' '  he  would 
say,  as  each  one  was  demolished — "so  per- 
ish the  demons,  and  all  other  enemies  of 
the  dear  Chrishisf'' 

Frequent  and  sweet  had  been  the  con- 
ferences between  the  noble  Matron  Camilla 
and  the  fair  young  daughter  of  Nemesius, 
whose  mind,  illumined  by  the  love  of  Him 
whose  Holy  Name  her  bosom  enshrined, 
received  the  instructions  with  docile,  un- 
questioning faith.  To  her  simplicity  and 
innocence,  her  swift  progress  in  the  super- 
natural life  was  incomprehensible,  even 
had  she  dwelt  upon  the  mystery;  for  the 
restful  joy  it  brought  her,  and  the  love  it 
deepened,  sufficed  without  knowledge  con- 
cerning the  operations  of  grace,  which  ma- 
turer  minds  seek  to  understand.  Was  it 
not  of  such  as  she  that  Christ  spake  in  these 
words:  "Unless  you  be  converted,  and  be- 
come as  little  children,  you  shall  not  enter 
into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven"  ? 

Whenever  Camilla  paid  her  accustomed 
visit,  Zilla  did  not  wait  to  witness  the  loving 
welcome  she  received  from  Claudia;  it  was- 
more  than  her  sensitive,  jealous  affection 
could  bear;  but,  leaving  them  together,  she 
stole  away  silently,  to  brood  over  the  evil 
days  that  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  the  fate- 
ful hour  which  she  knew  boded  danger  and 
death  to  the  child  of  her  heart. 

Presently  strange  visitors  presented  them- 
selves at  the  villa  gates,  such  as  had  never 
found  admission  beyond  the  stately  en- 
trance before, — visitors  without  "sandal  or 
shoon, ' '  who^e  vestments  were  soiled  and 
tattered, — men  and  women  broken  down. 


2o6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


with  toil  and  poverty;  some  of  them  de- 
crepit, and  almost  as  helpless  as  the  little 
children  beside  them;  all  wearing  a  look 
of  patient  sorrow  on  their  wan,  hungry 
faces.  They  were  not  turned  away,  as  would 
have  been  the  case  a  short  while  before, 
but  brought  in,  refreshed  and  fed.  Who 
were  they?  They  were  the  gleanings  of 
Nemesius  in  the  bloody  harvest- fields  of 
the  Lord;  the  destitute  ones,  left,  by  the 
martyrdom  and  persecution  of  their  natural 
protectors,  to  the  compassionate  care  of  the 
faithful. 

Old  Symphronius  was  in  the  secret,  also 
Admetus,  who  guided  them  to  the  villa, 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  Claudia,  who  was 
told  that  they  were  the  suffering  children 
of  the  Chilis tus^who  loved  them,  and  would 
receive  all  that  was  done  for  their  relief  as 
done  unto  Himself  This  was  enough  to 
send  her  like  an  angel  among  them,  with 
sweet,  pitying  words,  and  such  little  min- 
istrations of  kindness  as  their  sorrrowful 
plight  suggested.  She  bathed  the  faces  and 
bleeding  feet  of  the  little  children,  and  fed 
them  out  of  her  own  hands,  winning  them 
to  smiles  by  her  pretty  ways;  then  made 
Zilla  turn  things  upside-down  in  her  own 
chests  and  closets  in  search  of  raiment  to 
cover  them,  and  what  was  lacking  in  fitness 
she  at  once  ordered  to  be  purchased. 

Zilla  was  nearly  frantic  with  disgust  and 
anger;  she  was  sure  that  Claudia  would  get 
some  deadly  fever  or  other  disease  by  con- 
tact with  such  a  miserable  set,  and  besought 
lier  to  forbid  their  coming,  or  at  least  not 
let  them  come  near  the  villa  to  contaminate 
the  air,  but  be  fed  at  a  distance  by  the 
slaves.  That  was  the  pagan  way;  but  the 
child,  even  when  she  held  a  cup  of  cold 
water  to  the  pale,  trembling,  parched  lips 
of  an  aged  person,  who  was  too  far  spent  to 
lift  it  himself,  did  it  for  the  love  and  sake 
of  the  dear  Chris tus^  and  found  therein  too 
much  happiness  to  answer  Zilla' s  stern  in- 
sistence more  seriously  than  to  throw  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  and,  with  her  own 
sweet  laugh,  say:  "Do  not  scold,  madre 
bellal  Do  I  not  feed  my  doves,  and  some- 
times  Grillo,  just   for   fun?     Why,   then, 


should  I  not  feed  these  hungry  ones,  who 
have  none, to  care  for  them?  They  are  the 
children  of  One  I  love;  how,  then,  can  I 
turn  them  away  empty  ? ' ' 

Finding  remonstrance  useless,  Zilla  went 
to  Symphronius,  and  gave  him  a  very  em- 
phatic piece  of  her  mind  for  his  laxity  of 
discipline,  as  guardian  of  the  estate,  in  per- 
mitting beggars,  who  doubtless  brought 
infection  with  them,  to  enter  the  gates, 
especially  when  he  saw  how  Claudia  was 
bewitched  by  them,  so  that  she  could  not 
keep  away  while  they  remained.  ' '  Truly, ' ' 
she  added,  ''have  we  fallen  upon  strange 
and  evil  days!  To  be  blind  was  happiness 
compared  with  what  has  followed  sight." 

"I  have  orders  to  let  the  car  a  donsellina 
have  her  will,"  answered  the  old  steward, 
looking  up  a  moment' from  some  long  rows 
of  figures  he  was  working  out. 

' '  I  will  speak  to  Nemesius  himself  Men 
do  not  consider  the  harm  that  comes  of 
over-indulgence  to  the  immature.  It  is 
something  new,  indeed,  for  a  patrician  child 
to  be  allowed  to  mix  with  such  a  rabble," 
she  said,  with  flashing  eyes. 

' '  He  will  be  here  this  evening, ' '  was  all 
that  Symphronius  said,  and  she  withdrew. 

True  to  her  word,  Zilla  sought  an  oppor- 
tunity to  explain  her  grievance  to  Neme- 
sius. He  heard  her  patiently,  knowing  what 
good  reason  she  had,  from  her  standpoint, 
for  all  she  urged,  and  understanding  well 
that  love  for  his  child  inspired  it;  so,  with 
a  great  pity  in  his  heart,  and  a  silent  prayer 
for  her  conversion,  he  answered,  briefly  but 
kindly : 

"It  is  my  wish  and  her  happiness  that 
these  unfortunates  should  continue  com- 
ing." 

The  poor  woman  made  no  response — un- 
less the  sigh  that  forced  itself  from  her  heart 
might  be  called  one, — and,  folding  her  pale 
hands  on  her  bosom,  her  old  gesture  of  sub- 
mission, she  left  his  presence. 

On  every  side  her  love  for  the  child, who 
from  its  birth  had  been  to  her  as  of  her  own 
flesh  and  blood,  was  cast  back  upon  her;  a 
wall  of  separation,  as  transparent  as  air,  but 
as   impassable  as  adamant,  had  risen  be- 


The  Ave  Mi 


ana. 


207 


tween  them;  she  felt  that  in  all  the  strange 
things  that  had  so  lately  happened,  and  the 
many  changes  they  had  brought  about,  she 
was  no  longer  necessary  to  the  one  only 
human  being  that  she  loved,  and  her  proud, 
faithful  heart  was  breaking.  But  she  re- 
laxed no  tender  service  she  could  render; 
her  vigilance  was  almost  sleepless,  lest  the 
danger  she  dreaded  might  come  without 
word  or  warning.  And,^  because  she  loved  to 
hold  Claudia  near  her,  and  see  her  bright, 
beautiful  face  dimpled  with  smiles,  she  cut 
out  and  helped  to  make  garments  for  her 
*'  beggars ' ' ;  and  because — perhaps  this  was 
the  primary  reason — the  child  would  be  ex- 
posed to  less  danger  of  infection  if  the  mis- 
erable wretches  were  clad  in  fresh,  clean 
raiment,  the  good  nurse  grew  zealous  to  get 
off  and  repbce  their  soiled  tatters  with  good 


clothing. 


(to  be  continued.) 


A  Prayer  of  St.  Bernard  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 


THE  necessities  of  the  Church  in  these 
troubled  times  seem  to  become  more 
and  more  urgent.  With  grave  reason  has  the 
Holy  Father  prescribed  special  prayers  to 
be  said  to  the  patrons  of  the  Church,  and  es- 
pecially to  the  Immaculate  Mother  of  God. 
It  seems  a  favorable  moment  to  bring  to 
light  a  hitherto  unpublished  prayer  to  Our 
lyady,  uttered  by  the  orreat  Doctor,  St.  Ber- 
nard. It  was,  in  fact,  an  outpouring  of  his 
heart  at  the  close  of  one  of  his  sermons  on 
the  Assumption.  May  these  fervent  words, 
uttered  by  thousands  of  lips  full  of  faith 
and  zeal  for  the  interests  of  the  Church, 
obtain  its  eventual  triumph,  and  a  lasting 
peace ! 

ORATIO     S.  BERNARDI    AD    B.  VIRGINEM     MARIAM 

PRESENTIBUS   ECCLESI.E  NECESSITATIBUS 

ACCOMMODATA. 

Ave,  Virgo  Immaculata,  sine  labe  original! 
concepta.  Te  gratia  plenatn  confitemur.  Te- 
cum Dominum  semper  fuisse  gaudemus.  Te 
Matrem  divinae^gratise  factam  Isetamur.  Sit 
igitur  pietatis  tuae,  Virgo  benedicta,  ipsam 
quam  apud  Deum  gratiam  invenisti,  notam 
facere  mundo,  reis  veniam,  medelam  aegris, 


pusillis  corde  robur,  afflictis  consolationem, 
periclitantibus  adjntorium  et  libera tionem, 
Ecclesiae  pacem  et  tranquillitateni,  Sedi  Apos- 
tolicse  de  haeresi,  schismate  atque  impietate 
triumphum  Sanctis  tuis  precibus  obtinendo. 
Ac  nobis  quotidie  dulcissimum  Marise  nomen 
cum  laude  invocantibus  servulis  et  filiis  tuis 
atque  ad  thronuni  tuum  cum  fiducia  acceden- 
tibus,  per  te,  Regina  clemens,  gratis  suae' 
munera  largiatur  Jesus  Christus  Filius  tuus 
Dominus  Noster,  qui  est  super  omnia  Deus 
benedictus  in  saecula.  Amen.  Ave  Maria! 
Ave  Maria!  Ave  Maria! 

[Translation.] 

Hail,  Immaculate  Virgin!  conceived  with- 
out sin,  we  salute  thee  full  of  grace.  We  re- 
joice that  Our  Lord  has  ever  been  with  thee, 
and  that  thou  hast  been  made  Mother  of  Di- 
vine Grace.  Let  us,  then,  feel  the  effects  of  thy 
charity,  O-Blessed  Virgin!  and  manifest  to  the 
world  the  grace  thou  hast  found  before  God  by 
obtaining,  through  thy  holy  prayers,  pardon 
for  the  guilty,  health  for  the  sick,  courage  for 
the  weak,  consolation  for  the  afflicted,  help 
for  those  who  are  in  danger,  peace  and  tran- 
quillity to  the  Church,  and  to  the  Apostolic 
See  triumph  over  heresy,  schism,  and  impiety. 
We  declare  ourselves  thy  humble  servants 
and  children,  and  every  day  invoke  with 
praises  thy  sweet  Name,  O  Mary!  having  re- 
course with  confidence  to  thy  throne.  Deign, 
we  beseech  thee,  O  merciful  Queen!  to  fill  us 
with  thy  grace,  and  to  intercede  for  us  with 
thy  Son,  Our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  the  Su- 
preme God,  blessed  forever  and  ever.  Amen. 
Hail  Mary!    Hail  Mary!    Hail  Mary! 


The  "Ave  Bell.' 


The  Universe  {London}). 


\  PROPOSAL  made  some  time  ago  to  dis- 
i\  continue  ringing  "the  eight  -  o'clock 
bell  "at  Minster,  in  Thanet,  elicited  a  strong 
protest  from  a  Protestant  antiquarian,  Mr. 
Robert  Bubb,  of  Minster,  which  was  followed 
up  by  some  historical  remarks  from  a  Catholic 
writer,  who  sends  us  the  following: 

It  is  quite  refreshing  in  this  dull,  iron  age 
of  ours  to  hear  a  voice  of  protest  against  the 
material  influences  which  would  have  us 
break  with  the  poetical  associations  of  the 
past;  and  Mr.  Bubb  should  be  thanked  for  his 


208 


The  Ave  Maria, 


emphatic  protest  against  the  discontinuance 
(on  the  ground  of  petty  economy)  of  a  time- 
honored  custom — that  of  ringing  the  church 
bells  at  eventide.  This  custom,  he  points  out, 
dates  from  immemorial  time,  and  is  a  token  of 
Minster's  claim  to  historical  prestige. 

The  curfew,  or  Vesper-bell,  was  a  useful  civic 
institution,  so  universally  adopted  in  mediae- 
val Europe  that  Pope  John  XXII.  determined 
to  convert  it  into  an  ordinance  of  the  Church. 
We  accordingly  find  him,  in  the  year  1327, 
granting  an  indulgence  to  all  who  should  say 
at  the  ringing  of  the  curfew  three  "Hail 
Marys"  in  honor  of , the  Incarnation  of  Our 
Divine  Saviour.  In  England  it  was  usual  to 
say  once  the  "Our  Father"  and  five  times 
the  "  Hail'Mary,"  as  we  learn  from  the  con- 
stitutions of  Archbishop  Arundel,  in  the  year 
1 399-  '^he  Archbishop  enjoined  this  com- 
memoration of  the  Incarnation  to  be  made 
night  and  morning,  and  the  church  bells  to 
be  accordingly  rung  twice  each  day.  He  in- 
forms us  that  he  does  this  at  the  request  of  his 
newly-crowned  sovereign,  Henry  IV.;  and  he 
grants  an  indulgence  of  forty  days  to  all  mem- 
bers of  the  Church  of  England  performing 
this  devotion.  ("  Wilkins,"  tom.  iii.,  p.  246.) 

Now,  at  Sandwich  and  at  Ash,  in  the  im- 
mediate neighborhood  of  Minster,  this  bell 
was  rung  daily  at  five  in  the  morning  and  at 
eight  in  the  evening;  and  it  is  quite  clear  that 
the  five  a.  m.  bell  could  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  curfew,  or  couvre  feu.  Archbishop 
Arundel's  enactment  supplies  us  with  the  ex- 
planation of  it;  and  we  have  further  evidence 
of  the  Incarnation  or  Angelus  bell  being  rung 
thrice  a  day,  and  of  the  Archbishops  of  Can- 
terbury and  York,  with  nine  other  English 
bishops,  on  the  26th  of  March,  1492,  granting 
forty  days'  indulgence  for  the  aforesaid  Ave 
prayers.  (See  "Our  Lady's  Dowry,"  pp. 216- 
218.) 

It  was  no  less  a  ruffian  than  Thomas  Crom- 
well, the  lay  Vicar- General  of  Henry  VIII., 
who- forbade  the  peal  of  the  Angelus,  or  Incar- 
nation chime,  so  that  "the  knolling  of  the 
^27^5,  which  has  been  brought  in  and  begun  by 
the  pretence  of  the  Bishop  of  Rome's  pardon, 
henceforth  be  omitted."  (See  "Our  Lady's 
Dowry,"  ut  supra.) 

At    Minster,  however,  there  yet   exists   a 

splendid  bell,  bearing  this  inscription,  in  late 

Gothic  characters :  ' '  Hol}^  Mare,  pray  for  us. ' ' 

"This  is  now  the  fourth  and  evidently  the  old- 


est bell  in  the  tower,  and  its  inscription  would 
lead  us  to  infer  that  it  was  the  old  Angelus: 
bell,  otherwise  called  the  Gabriel  bell,  from 
the  holy  Archangel  who  appeared  unto  the 
lowly  Virgin  Mother  at  her  home  in  Nazareth, 
and  greeted  her  with  ' '  Hail ,  full  of  grace !  The 
Lord  is  with  thee.  Blessed  art  thou  amongst 
women! " 

The  Church  took  up  and  perpetuated  this 
strain  of  the  Angel  Gabriel;  for  she  has  ever 
been  impressed  with  the  essential  co-opera- 
tion of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Mystery  of 
the  Incarnation;  and  in  Merrie  England  of 
bygone  days  the  joyous  "Ave  Bell"  chimed 
forth  a  simple  and  constant  reminder  to  the 
faithful  of  the  mystery  of  divine  love,  which 
brought  down  from  heaven  Emmanuel. 

It  has  been  urged  in  argument  by  Angli- 
cans that  they  have  possession  of  the  Old 
English  churches,  and  that  therefore  they  are 
the  faithful  of  the  Old  English  Church.  Faith- 
ful, indeed !  Why,  the  very  bells  ring  out  their 
condemnation  with  ' '  Holy  Mary ,  pray  for  us ' ' ; 
while  empty  niches  of  discarded  saints,  rood- 
lofts  stripped  of  their  crucifix.  Lady  Chapels 
dishonored,  consecrated  altar-slabs  (as  in  St. 
^Clement's,  Sandwich,)  turned  into  church 
paving-stones,  all  these  seem  to  answer  with 
one  accord:  Yes,  the  material  fabric  of  the 
Old  Church  of  England  is  yours;  but  the  faith 
of  Old  England,  you  have  it  not.  Nescimus 
vos! — "We  know  you  not." 


Catholic  Notes. 


Mgr.  Billere,  Bishop  of  Tarbes  (France), 
has  issued  an  admirable  Pastoral  Letter  rela- 
tive to  the  apparitions  and  miracles  of  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes.    In  words  full  of  unction 
and  piety,  the  Bishop  recounts  the  facts  of  the 
apparitions,  the  strict  canonical  investigation 
to  which  they  were  subjected,  the  wonderful  : 
spread  of  the  devotion  throughout  the  Catho-  | 
lie  world,  and  the  many  notable  marks  of  en-  I 
couragement  shown  by  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs  \ 
Pius  IX.,  of  glorious  memory,  and  Leo  XHI.,  | 
now  happily  reigning.    Referring  to  the  hold  | 
which  the  devotion  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes 
has  taken  upon  every  heart  within  a  little 
more  than  a  decade  of  years,  tjhe  Bishop  says: 

"  The  number  of  pilgrims  and  visitors  during" 
the  last  eighteen  years  amounts  to  at  least  ten 
millions.   Whilst  processions  are  too  often  inter- 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


209 


<  icted  elsewhere,  at  Lourdes  they  succeed  one 
fc  lother  with  great  pomp,  They  come  from  every 
1  art  of  the  world,  traversing  seas,  hastening 
1  ither  on  the  wings  of  steam;  the  day  beholds 
"t  leir  immense  and  harmonious  lines  advancing 
T.  oder  the  shadow  of  the  Cross,  gay  with  banners, 
•a  id  bearing  the  images  of  the  saints ;  night  looks 
d  Dwn  on  the  torches  of  the  multitudes, like  endless 
b  mds  of  fire  eclipsing  the  stars  of  the  firmament, 
Thousands  of  believers  chant  sacred  canticles, 
pray,  communicate,  and  transform  the  Grotto  into 
J&.  vestibule  of  paradise.  During  these  eighteen 
years,  1,784  processions,  or  great  organized  pil- 
grimages, have  brought  to  the  bajiks  of  the  Gave 
•o:ie  and  a  half  million  souls  from  France,  and 
30,000  from  Spain,  Portugal,  Belgium,  Holland, 
England,  Switzerland,  Germany,  Italy,  Hungary, 
the  United  States,  and  Canada.  Among  them 
were  princes  and  kings,  even  of  Protestant  coun- 
tries, attracted  by  the  renowm  of  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes,  many  of  whom  paid  repeated  visits  to 
this  holy  spot.  Some  pilgrims  came  on  foot,  not 
onl}^  from  the  distant  provinces  of  France,  but 
from  Alsace,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  even  Hun- 
gary. These  were  poor  women  and  humble  re- 
ligietises,vAi.o  lived  on  alms  during  their  long  and 
painful  journey.  We  contemplate  with  especial 
admiration  the  great  processions  of  men  exclu- 
sivelj' — an  army  of  70,000  soldiers  of  Christ.  They 
proudly  bore  their  banners;  their  breasts  were 
covered  with  crosses  and  medals;  they  recited 
their  chaplet  or  sung  the  Credo.  The  world,  be- 
holding these  new  Crusaders,  exclaims :  '  The  age 
of  Voltaire  has  passed  away ;  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes 
has  destroyed  human  respect!' 

' '  Our  epoch  introduces  a  practice  hitherto  un- 
known in  the  Church — processions  of  the  sick. 
Poor,  for  the  most  part,  and  dependent  on  charity, 
often  incurable,  sometimes  at  the  point  of  death, 
they  are  conveyed  by  hundreds  from  every  prov- 
ince of  France  and  Belgium.  Railway  cars  become 
ambulances,  and  the  Grotto  an  immense  infirm- 
ary.  Tears  must  flow  at  this  spectacle  worthy  of 
mgels.  While  the  Hospitallers  exert  themselves 
;o  relieve  all  these  infirmities,  all  these  miseries, 
housands  of  pilgrims  kiss  the  earth,  and  pray, 
jvith  their  arms  outstretched  in  the  shape  of  a 
ross,  during  entire  days  and  a  great  part  of  the 
light.   These  fervent  aspirations  are  often  inter- 
upted  by  the  Magnificat,  announcing  a  miraou- 
OTis  cure." 

The  Letter  concludes  as  follows: 
'  The  will  of  the  Holy  Father,  which  he  has 
)een  pleased  in  a  personal  interview  to  repeat  to 
IS  with  his  own  lips — this  sovereign  will  has 
>een  accomplished,  as  far  as  circumstances  and 
'arious  obstacles  have  permitted.  By  the  care  of 
ur  venerable  predecessor  and  by  our  own,  in- 
uiries  have  been  made,  testimonies  heard,  all  the 
etails  of  the  apparitions  have  been  religiously 


collected;  the  cures  already'examined  are  to  be 
still  more  rigorously  investigated  by  learned 
physicians.  We  have  instituted  a  commission, 
presided  over  by  us,  and  composed  of  priests  best 
calculated  to  ascertain  and  appreciate  the  facts. 
Physicians  and  other  competent  persons  will  as- 
sist us  to  confirm  and,  if  need  be,  to  complete  all 
inquiries,  and  to  examine  all  writings  relating  to 
Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 

* '  With  our  whole  heart,  in  the  name  of  the  Holy 
Father,  in  the  name  of  the  Immaculate  Virgin,' 
we  appeal  to  ever3^one  who  can  furnish  a  new 
document,  who  can  co-operate  in  any  manner  to 
Mary's  glory.  We  appeal  to  historians  and  poets, 
scientists  and  orators,  to  recount,  sing,  study, 
analyze;  that  the  miracles  and  benefits  of  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes  may  be  exalted.  Let  her,  with 
Jesus,  be  glorified  in  the  multiplicity  and  variety 
of  her  evangelists,  her  apostles,  and  her  doctors. 
Let  all  hands  and  all  hearts  concur  in  building  up 
this  great  monument  in  a  manner  worthy  of  her, 
so  that  it  may  manifest  her  glory  to  all  nations 
and  to  future  ages.  Glorified  by  her  children, 
our  all-powerful  Mother  will  introduce  them  into 
the  palace  of  her  eternal  glory;  and  for  earth  she 
will  obtain  the  peace  promised  to  men  of  good 
will." 

•A  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of 
Martyrs,  Auriesville,  N.  Y.,  took  place  on  the 
Feast  of  Assumption.  The  pilgrims  num- 
bered several  thousands,  and  were  under  the 
leadership  of  the  Rev.  Fathers  Loyzance  and 
Dewe}^,  S.J.  The  shrine  is  the  scene  of  the 
martyrdom  of  the  saintly  Father  Isaac  Jogues, 
S.  J. ,  Rene  Goupil,  and  Indian  converts  in  the 
seventeenth  century. 

•  The  room  at  the  Gesu  in  Rome  inhabited  by 
St.  Ignatius,  the  founder  of  the  Society  of 
Jesus,  was  crowded  with  devout  visitors  on 
the  occasion  of  his  feast.  The  convent  is  now 
used  as  a  barrack  for  Italian  carbineers,  but 
the  hallowed  chamber  itself,  converted  into  a 
chapel,  has  thus  far  escaped  profanation.  Here 
St.  Ignatius  lived  and  died,  and  here  St.  Fran- 
cis Borgia  expired.  At  this  altar  St.  Charles 
Borromeo  celebrated  his  first  Mass,  and  St. 
Francis  of  Sales  also  offered  up  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice in  this  spot.  It  was  here  that  St.  Philip 
Neri  came  to  converse  with  St.  Ignatius.  The 
walls  of  the  chamber  are  covered  with  auto- 
graphs, including  those  of  St.  Ignatius,  St. 
Francis  Xavier,  and  other  servants  of  God. 

In  an  excellent  article  on  the  temperance 
question  contributed  b}-  the  Rev.  F.  M.  Ryan, 
of  Dublin,  to  The  Irish  Ecclesiastical  Record^ 


2IO 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


the  writer  urges  the  practice  of  inducing  chil- 
dren to  take  the  pledge,  at  least  till  they  are 
twenty-one  years  of  age;  and  the  establishing 
of  societies  in  every  parish,  where  young  men 
may  meet  for  lawful  recreation,  amusement, 
and  instruction.  In  closing  the  atticle,  Car- 
dinal Manning  is  quoted  as  stating  that  "  in 
England  the  vice  of  intemperance  slays  each 
year  sixty  thousand  persons,  and  is  the  source, 
directl}^  or  indirectly,  of  seventy- five  per  cent, 
of  the  crimes  committed. ' '  Father  Ryan ,  very 
justly  commenting  on  this  appalling  fact, says: 
' '  We  grow  pale  at  the  mention  of  a  visitation 
of  cholera;  the  world  applauds  the  man  who 
is  said  to  have  found  the  cure  for  hydropho- 
bia. But  hydrophobia,  terrible  as  it  is,  is  a 
comparatively  rare  disease;  and  no  visitation 
of  cholera  anywhere  ever  swept  to  the  grave 
60,000  people.  But  this  moral  and  physical 
plague,  intemperance,  stalks  the  land,  not  un- 
known to  us,  but  almost  unheeded;  and  its 
track  is  marked  by  ruined  homes,  by  the  cries 
of  little  ones  left  destitute,  by  broken  hearts, 
by  young  lives  of  fairest  promise  blighted,  by 
deaths  that  appall,  and  by  thoughts  of  ac- 
counts for  sins  to  be  rendered  to  the  Great' 
Judge,  so  vast  and  so  unrepented  of,  that  all 
hope  is  crushed.  I  have  striven  thus  to  raise 
a  very  feeble  voice  in  face  of  the  calamity,  but 
many  men  and  stronger  must  swell  the  cry, 
and  put  hand  and  heart  in  the  work,  if  the 
evil  is  to  be  abated." — The  Catholic  Standard 
{Hobart,  Tasmania). 


other  vision;  the  glorified  soul  came  to  an- 
nounce his  release,  and  to  thank  the  nun  for 
her  share  in  his  deliverance.  From  that  hour 
her  health  was  completely  restored. 


The  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross,  whose  Mother 
House  is  at  St.  Mary's,  Notre  Dame, Ind., have 
just  opened  an  academy  for  young  ladies  at 
Woodland,  California.  It  is  called  the  "Acad- 
emy of  Our  Lady  of  the  Holy  Rosary, ' '  and, 
with  its  large,  commodious  building,  and  all 
the  comforts  and  conveniences  necessary  to 
the  well-being — mental,  moral,  and  physical 
— of  its  inmates,  it  begins  its  career  under  the 
brightest  and  happiest  auspices.  The  high  rep- 
utation which  the  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross  have 
earned  for  themselves  as  educators  in  their 
numerous  academies  and  schools  throughout 
the  country  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  for  the 
successful  issue  of  this  new  undertaking,  in 
which  they  have  the  best  wishes  of  all  true 
friends  of  education. 


The  Duke  of  Orleans,  eldest  son  of  I^ouis 
Philippe,  was  killed,  as  may  be  remembered, 
by  jumping  from  his  carriage  while  the  horses 
were  running  away.  The  fact  was  supernat- 
urally  revealed  to  a  nun  of  the  Carmelite  Con- 
vent at  Tours,  of  which  frequent  mention  is 
made  in  the  lyife  of  the  ' '  Holy  Man  of  Tours. ' ' 
She  was  told  that  the  Prince  was  in  purgatory, 
and  asked  for  prayers.  The  superiors  directed 
her  to  offer  all  her  prayers,  fasts,  etc.,  for  the 
unhappy  soul.  The  broken-hearted  Queen, 
who  had  almost  dreaded  that  her  son  was  lost 
for  eternity,  was  greatly  comforted  on  hearing 
of  the  revelation,  and  from  that  moment  she 
redoubled  her  prayers  and  alms.  Immediately 
after  the  vision,  the  holy  Carmelite's  health 
broke  down,  and  her  sufferings  became  acute; 
but  she  never  relaxed  in  fervor,  and  continued 
to  macerate  her  body  to  appease  the  anger  of 
God.   At  the  end  of  sixteen  years  she  had  an- 


All  the  papers  in  the  country.  Catholic  as 
well  as  secular,  which  have  alluded  to  the 
arri\5al  of  the  Rev.  Augustus  Tolton  in  this 
country,  have  erred  in  stating  that  he  is  the 
first  colored  priest  ordained  for  the  American 
missions.  When  the  saintly  Bishop  Kngland 
ruled  the  Church  in  Charleston,  S.  C,  he  or- 
dained a  colored  man  for  that  diocese;  but 
race  prejudice  was  then  so  strong  that  he  (the 
first  colored  priest  of  the  United  States)  went 
to  France,  where  he  labored  in  the  ministry 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  Mention  of  this  fact  is 
made  in  the  works  of  Bishop  England. — Cath- 
olic Knight. 

Obituary. 

"It  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thoti^ht  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  ifi. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Father  Bergin,  S.  J.,  of  St.  Louis  Uni- 
versity, deceased  at  the  Jesuit  Novitiate,  Floris- 
sant, Mo.,  on  the  nth  inst. 

Sister  M.  Stanislaus,  O.  S.  B.,  whose  happy 
death  occurred  at  the  Convent  of  the  Annuncia- 
tion, Nebraska  City,  Neb.,  on  the  7th  of  August. 

Miss  Agnes  Hartt,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
who  calmly  breathed  her  last  at  Waterford,  N.  Y., 
on  the  17th  of  June. 

James  Rhatigan  and  Rudolph  Hertel,  of  New- 
ark, N.J. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


Many  years  ago — so  many  that 
the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the 
little  boys  and  girls  who  read 
this  were,  perhaps,  children  themselves  — 
France  was  a  very  unhappy  country.  After 
many  glorious  victories,  her  brave  soldiers 
were  all  slain  or  enfeebled  by  age  and  in- 
firmities, and  the  hostile  armies,  strong  and 
numerous,  took  possession  of  the  French 
territories. 

It  was  a  time  of  sorrow  and  humiliation. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  young  readers  have 

heard  tell  of  the  sad  events  of  those  days, 

I  and  of  the  grief  that  filled  the  hearts  of  the 

people  at  seeing  the  oft-defeated  enemy  at 

jlast  victorious.    But  this  was  not  the  only 

jaffiiction  that  fell  upon  the  French.   At  the 

time  of  which  I  speak  the  harvest  of  wheat 

and  other  kinds  of  grain  was  meagre,  and 

consequently  bread  was  very  scarce   and 

dear. 

In  the  village  of  Vineuil,  near  Chantilly, 
there  lived  an  industrious  old  soldier,  with 
his  wife  and  several  children.    The  ordi- 
nary sources  of  employment  being  closed, 
the  poor  man  found  himself  reduced  to  the 
inecessity  of  trying  to  earn  a  livelihood  by 
i  eking  up  dead  wood  in  the  for^t  of  Chan- 
iUy.    All  he  could  gather  during  the  day 
le  carried  home  on  his  shoulders  at  night, 
md  sold  to  a  good  lady,  who  always  paid 
lini  cash.   But,  still,  the  little  that  he  could 
|hus  earn  was  not  enough  to  feed  and  clothe 
limself  and  family,  and  so  they  all  suffered 
rem  hunger  and  cold. 
I  Sometimes  the  mayor  of  the  village  gave 
he  people  orders  on  the  baker.    On  a  cer- 
lin  evening,  after  receiving  one  of  these 
rders,  the  soldier  called  his  little  boy  An- 


drew, about  eight  years  old,  and  told  him 
to  be  ready  next  morning  to  go  to  Senlis, 
some  three  miles  distant.  The  order  was 
on  a  baker  in  that  city,  for  the  bakers  at 
home  had  more  than  they  could  attend  to. 
Andrew's  bill  entitled  him  to  a  pound  of 
bread.  It  was  very  little  for  such  a  numer- 
ous family;  but,  then,  it  was  worth  nine 
cents,  and  was  the  most  that  could  be  given 
at  one  time,  there  were  so  many  persons  to 
be  supplied. 

Early  next  morning  Andrew  set  out  on 
his  journey,  fasting;  for  the  last  morsel  of 
bread  had  been  consumed  the  evening  be- 
fore. For  some  time  he  proceeded  at  a 
quick  pace,  but  soon  began  to  grow  tired 
and  weak.  However,  he  renewed  his  cour- 
age by  the  thought  of  the  distress  of  his 
parents  and  brothers,  who  would  certainly 
die  if  relief  did  not  come  soon.  Finally 
he  arrived  at  his  journey's  end,  exhausted 
from  hunger  and  fatigue. 

When  the  boy  had  given  his  order  to  the 
baker's  wife,  who  attended  shop  in  her  hus- 
band's absence,  he  sat  down  on  the  door- 
step, till  those  who  had  come  before  him 
were  served.  The  woman  then  cut  his  por- 
tion of  bread,  and  brought  it  to  him ;  but 
when  she  saw  his  sad,  pale  face,  her  heart 
was  moved,  and  tears  stole  into  her  eyes. 
She  was  of  a  kindly  disposition,  and,  having 
children  of  her  own,  knew  how  to  feel  for 
those  of  others.  Taking  the  little  fellow 
by  the  hand,  she  asked  him  where  he  came 
from. 

"From  Vineuil,"  was  the  answer. 
"So  far!   Did  you  take  any  breakfast  be- 
fore leaving  home?" 
"No,  ma'am." 

' '  Poor  child !   And  why  not  ? ' ' 
"Because,  ma'am,  we  ate  all  we  had  last 
night.    That  is  why  I  am  here  so  early.'* 
And  so  saying  he  stood  up  to  go. 


212 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Won't  you'stay  a  little  longer,  and  rest 
yourself?" 

"Oh!  no,  ma'am;  I  can't  delay,  for  my 
little  brothers  are  all  very  hungry. " 

"And  yourself?" 

"I'm  hungry  too,  ma'am;  but  I'm  older 
and  stronger  than  they." 

"Well,  wait  a  moment,  dear." 

Andrew  sat  down  on  the  step,  thinking 
she  had  a  message  for  him. 

In  a  short  time  the  kind-hearted  woman 
returned,  with  a  large  slice  of  bread,  which 
she  gave  the  little  fellow,  saying:  "  This  is 
for  your  breakfast. ' '  But  he  hesitated,  and 
lield  down  his  head  in  silence. 

"Why  don't  you  take  it,  my  child?" 
asked  the  woman. 

"Because,  ma'am,  I  have  no  money  to 
pay  for  it." 

' '  But  I  don' t  want  payment,  dear.  I  give 
it  to  you  to  eat,  just  as  I  would  wish  to  have 
done  to  my  own  boy  if  he  were  as  you  are. 
Take  it,  my  child;  you'll  please  me  very 
much." 

Andrew  obeyed,  saying:  "Thank  you, 
ma'  am .    May  God  reward  you ! ' ' 

She  expected  to  see  him  devour  the  bread 
immediately,  but  was  surprised  to  observe 
that  he  put  it  away  carefully  with  the  loaf, 
and  prepared  to  depart. 

"Why,  what  are  you  doing?"  asked  the 
woman.  ' '  Eat  it  here,  and  I  will  bring  you 
some  water.  It  will  strengthen  you  for  the 
journey." 

Andrew  blushed,  became  confused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said: 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  would  rather 
carry  it  home,  and  share  it  with  my  poor 
mother  and  little  brothers ;  for  I  am  sure  it 
is  more  than  their  portion  of  the  loaf  will 
be." 

' '  Well,  do  as  you  like,  my  child.  If  Our 
Blessed  Mother  inspires  you  with  such  gen- 
erous sentiments,  I  will  not  oppose  you 
further.  But  won't  you  take  anything  at 
all  before  going?" 

"I'll  take  the  water,  ma'am,  please,  be- 
cause I  am  very  thirsty." 

She  brought  him  some  water,  and,  after 
thanking  his  kind  benefactress,  the  little 


fellow  began  his  journey  homeward,  full  of 
courage. 

He  did  not,  however,  proceed  very  fast 
this  time,  but  was  obliged  to  rest  now  and 
then  on  the  way.  His  hunger  was  becoming 
unbearable,  and  the  delicious  odor  of  the 
bread  which  he  carried  was  a  great  tempta- 
tion. Of  course  he  might  have  eaten  his 
own  piece  if  he  liked,  but  to  do  so  would 
destroy  the  pleasure  which  he  anticipated 
from  sharing  it  with  his  mother  and  broth- 
ers. Then,  again,  he  remembered  that  the 
joy  one  derives  from  a  good  act  is  always 
great  in  proportion  to  what  the  act  costs, 
and  so  he  trudged  onward  much  more 
bravely  than  many  a  strong  man  would 
have  done  in  his  place. 

On  reaching  home,  he  gave  the  loaf  to 
his  mother,  who  was  awaiting  him  with 
great  anxiety;  but  his  own  piece  he  hid 
under  his  jacket  The  pleasure  of  being  able 
to  give  it  had  cost  him  so  great  a  sacrifice 
that  he  surely  had  the  right  of  increasing 
that  pleasure  by  one  of  those  innocent  sur- 
prises which  children  so  much  enjoy. 

While  the  mother  was  cutting  the  loaf, 
which  the  half-famished  little  fellows  had 
already  devoured  with  their  eyes,  and  of 
which  there  was  only  enough  to  make  a 
scant  meal  for  each,  Andrew,  without  say- 
ing^a  word,  proudly  drew  out  his  own  piece 
from  under  his  jacket,  and  looked  at  it,  as 
if  he  would  say:  "Oh!  it's  a  trifle  to  me, 
but  maybe  some  other  poor  fellow  would 
be  glad  to  have  it." 

The  sight  of  the  extra  slice  was  an  oc- 
casion of  great  delight  to  his  little  brothers. 
Their  eyes  lit  up,  they  clapped  their  hands, 
and  shouted : ' '  Look,  mamma !  look  1  Andy 
has  more!"  The  mother  turned  around, 
gazed  at  her  boy  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
with  a  countenance  denoting  half  fear,  half 
gladness,  she  asked: 

' '  My  child,  what  have  you  there? — where 
did  you  get  if?" 

^ '  The  woman  at  the  bakery  gave  it  to 
me, ' '  answered  the  boy,  with  some  dignity. 
"She  wanted  me  to  eat  it,  but  I  told  her  I 
would  rather  carry  it  home,  and  she  said  I 
might  do  as  I  pleased.    I  wanted  to  bring  it 


I 


I- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


213 


I  ^  Hin 


o  you,  mamma;  because  I  remembered  that 
he  loaf  was  very  little  for  us  all,  and  that 
he  last  time  you  divided  one  among  us, 
/our  own  piece  was  so  small  that  I  had  to 
}ry.  Now  we  can  each  have  a  good  slice, 
md  leave  enough  for  poor  papa.  •  Please  cut 
ny  piece,  mamma;  for  I  am  very  hungry. ' ' 
The  glad  mother  forgot  the  little  fellow's 
nger  for  an  instant,  and  clasped  him  to 
!r  bosom  in  the  fulness  of  her  joy.  She 
Hincerely  thanked  God  for  having  given  her 
so  devoted  and  courageous  a  child.  She 
thought  herself  no  longer  poor;  and,  in 
tTuth,what  greater  riches  can  a  mother  pos- 
sess than  a  self-sacrificing,  generous-hearted 
son? 

What  became  of  little  Andy  after  this  I 
have  never  heard.  Whether  he  remained 
poor  and  illiterate  like  his  honest  parents,  or 
found  means  to  educate  himself  and  grow 
rich — whether  his  path  through  life  was 
strewn  with  flowers  or  thorns,  I  am  unable 
to  say.  But  of  this  I  am  certain:  that  he 
became  a  brave  and  virtuous  man;  that,  no 
1  matter  what  his  condition  of  life,  he  fotmd 
means  of  doing  good  by  his  self-sacrifice; 
that  he  was  always  blessed  and  loved  as 
his  mother  had  blessed  and  loved  him ;  and 
that,  consequently,  he  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  truly  happy. 


Our  Lady's  Orphan. 


Little  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

"Oh!  mother,  don't  say  you  are  going  to 
die,  and  leave  your  little  Charley  all  alone! 
Oh!  mother,  mother,  don't  say  that!  " 

It  was  a  pitiful  wail  to  come  from  the  heart 
of  a  child, — a  cry  of  desolation,  which,  after 
God,  only  a  mother  could  understand  in  all 
the  intensity  of  its  anguish. 

Charley's  mother  was  dying.  Close  beside 
her,  on  the  poor  bed  on  which  she  lay,  the 
little  boy  had  thrown  himself,  his  curly  head 
pressed  fondly  against  his  mother's  cheek. 
With  a  feeble  effort  she  drew  the  child  to  her 
bosom,  to  rest  there,  alas!  for  the  last  time. 

Xisten,  my  darling,"  she  said.  "God  is 
indeed  going  to  take  me  from  you,  but  He  is 
^ood,  and  loves  us  too  well  to  leave  my^boy 


desolate.  His  own  Mother  will  take  care  of 
you;  for  remembef,  dear,  she  is  the  orphan's 
Mother  too.  Do  not  cry  so,  Charley,  my  poor, 
poor  child! " 

She  kissed  him  tenderly.  After  a  pause, 
broken  only  by  the  mother's  labored  breath- 
ing and  the  boy's  sobs,  the  dying  woman 
whispered:  "  You  remember  the  story  I  told 
you  about  Our  Blessed  Lady  appearing  to  a 
shepherd  girl  at  Lourdes  ? " 

Charley  looked  up,  the  answer  shining  on 
the  earnest  little  face. 

' '  Well,  my  child,  you  know  we  are  without 
friends  or  relatives,  and  have  no  money. 
When  I  am  gone  you  must  ask  that  good 
Lady  to  take  care  of  you.  Tell  her  your  own 
poor  mother  left  you  to  her.  Kneel  now,  and 
repeat  the  words  with  me. ' ' 

"But  where  shall  I  find  her,  mother?" 
asked  the  little  fellow,  his  eyes  big  with  won- 
der, when  he  had  risen  from  his  knees.  "Does 
she  live  in  the  Grotto  at  Lourdes  ? ' ' 

"No,  my  child:  Our  Lady  went  back  to 
heaven;  but  she  hears  us  wherever  we  may  be. 
When  God  takes  your  mother,  Charley,  you 
must  go  to  Lyons;  there  are  places  in  that  city 
where  kind  people  receive  little  orphans,  and 
teach  them  to  earn  an  honest  living.  Though 
you  are  but  eight  years  old,  you  have  a  brave 
heart.  Go  without  fear,  and  Our  Lady  will 
take  care  of  you." 

The  poor  mother  sank  back  exhausted. 
Soon  the  breathing  became  slower  and  more 
difficult.  Once  more  she  opened  her  eyes,  and, 
resting  them  on  her  boy  with  a  look  of  unut- 
terable love,  she  murmured:  "Holy  Mother 
of  God,  I  am  going! — my  child,  my  child! — 
be  a  Mother  to  my  child;  he  is  thine  now." 

A  long,  long  pause. 

' '  How  still  she  lies! ' '  thought  Charley,  and 
he  checked  his  sobs.  "Surely  she  has  gone 
to  sleep."  Then,  with  the  tears  still  stealing 
softly  down  his  face,  he  nestled  close  beside 
her,  and  he  too  slept.  But  the  child  awoke 
again  in  a  world  of  sorrow,  while  his  mother 
had  gone  home  to  God. 

Alone  and  almost  unnoticed,  the  orphan 
boy  followed  his  mother  to  the  grave,  in  which 
she  was  laid  by  stranger  hands.  To  those 
who  took  the  trouble  to  ask  him  what  he 
was  going  to  do,  Charley  replied  that  he  was 
going  to  Lyons;  so,  doubtless  thinking  he 
had  friends  there,  they  went  their  way.  But 
I  when  the  poor  child  found  himself  all  alone, 


214 


The  Ave  Maria, 


the  full  sense  of  his  desolation  burst  upon 
hira,  and, with  a  broken-hearted  cry,  he  flung 
himself  on  the  new-made  grave. 

"Oh!  mother,  mother,  come  back!"  he 
sobbed.  "There  is  no  one  here  to  love  me. 
Oh!  what  shall  I  do  without  you?  " 

Then  came  the  memory  of  his  mother's 
dying  words,  and  the  last  prayer  he  had  said 
by  her  side.  Raising  his  tear-stained  face  from 
the  grave,  he  looked  up  to  the  smiling  blue 
sky  above  him.  "O  dear  I^ady  of  I^ourdes!  " 
he  cried,  clasping  his  hands,  "you  are  my 
Mother  now;  my  poor  dead  mother  gave  me 
to  you.    Oh!  take  care  of  Charley!  " 

Then,  drying  his  eyes,  full  of  trust  in  his 
newtMother,  the  brave  little  fellow  kissed  the 
grave  where  lay  his  one  earthly  friend,  and 
took  his  lonely  way  to  lyyons. 

Not  far  from  the  poor  cottage  in  which 
Charley's  mother  died  was  a  princely  man- 
sion, all  but  hidden  by  the  stately  trees  which 
surrounded  it.  Without  and  within  every- 
thing'told  of  wealth  and  comfort.  But  here, 
too,  the  Angel  of  Death  had  spread  his  wings, 
casting  a  dark  shadow  over  all.  Servants, 
with  awe-struck  looks,  tripped  softly  up  the 
lofty  staircase,  whose  velvet  carpets  would 
have  hushed  the  heaviest  tread;  for  in  an 
upper  chamber  a  child  lay  dying— an  only 
child,  and  the  last  heir  of  an  ancient  house. 
A  lady  knelt  by  the  bed  in  all  the  desolation 
of  sorrow.  The  widow's  robes  clinging  to  the 
bent  figure  told  their  own  sad  story.  Only  a 
few  months  before  Madame  de  Vignon  had 
lost  her  loved  husband,  who  died  of  consump- 
tion; now  her  son,  her  beautiful  little  Henry, 
was  about  to  be  snatched  from  her  arms  by 
the  same  dread  disease. 

Costly  toys  lay  scattered  unheeded  on  the 
snowy  coverlet;  the  burning  hands  sought 
only  the  mother's  touch;  the  moans  of  pain 
which  escaped  the  parted  lips  wrung  the  very 
soul  of  her  who  could  not  save  him  one  single 
pang. 

"Mother,  I  can  not  breathe!  Oh!  mother, 
lift  me  up." 

"Spare  him,  my  God!  spare  him!"  she 
pleaded  again  and  again,  in  her  agony.  * '  He 
is  all  I  have  left  on  earth;  or  if  he  must  go — 
oh!  take  me  too!" 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  her.  Everybody 
was  talking  of  the  apparition  of  Our  I^ady  at 
JyOUrd^s,  and  of  the  miracles  wrought  by  her 


intercession.  She  would  ask  Our'^^I^ady  of 
Ivourdes  to  restore  her  child.  Raising  the 
wasted  Torm  of  her  little  son  in  her  arms,  she 
turned 'to;  a  statue  or  Our  I^ady  which  adorned 
the  room.  "  O  sweet  Lady  of  gourdes!  "  she 
cried,  with  aU  the  passionate  pleading  of  a 
mother's  love,  "give  health  to  my  child — my 
only 'one — and'I  promise  to  do  for  thee  what- 
ever'thou  wilt  —  anything  —  only  save  my 
boy!" 

But,  alas!  already  the  clammy  dew  of  death 
moistened  the  sunny  curls.  The  last  flush  had 
faded  fromjthe  little  face,  and  the  hands  she 
fondly^clasped  had  grown  icy  cold.  Henrj^'s 
pain  was^over,  once  for  all;  her  child  was  in 
the  embrace  of  his  Heavenly  Father. 

The  mother  was  frantic  with  grief,  and  re- 
fused all  comfort.  Her  child  was  gone:  what 
had  she  now  to  live  for?  She  spent  hours 
weeping  in  her  desolate  room,  or  wandering 
in  lonely  sorrow  in  the  garden  where  he  used 
to  play. 

At  last  her  faithful  old  attendant  Kitty 
persuaded  her  to  leave  the  house,  where  every- 
thing reminded  her  of  her  lost  darling,  and 
go  to  her  early  home,  some  miles  away.  That, 
too,  was  desolate ;  but  the  change,  Kitty 
thought,  would  at  least  rouse  her  from  the 
stupor  of  grief  into  which  .she  was  falling. 

Listlessly  she  consented.  Every  place  was 
alike  to  her,  who  had  no  hope  in  life,  she  said. 

A  day  or  two  later,  on  a  fair,  sunny  evening, 
the  well-appointed  carriage  of  Madame  de 
Vignon  might  be  seen  winding  its  way  amid 
the  green  hills  that  surrounded  her  ancestral 
home.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  lit  up  the 
old  muUioned  windows,  and  tinged  with  a 
rosy  glow  a  scene  of  surpassing  loveliness. 
The  sight  of  her  native  hills,  and  the  vSoft  calm 
of  that  peaceful  evening,  fell  like  a  soothing 
balm  on  the  heart  of  the  grief-stricken  woman. 
Desiring  the  coachman  to  follow  slowly  with  i 
the  carriage,  she  went  on  foot  up  a  well-  ' 
known  path,  which  led  to  a  pretty  little  shrine  j 
dedicated  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes.  Suddenly, 
like  the  voice  of  an  angel,  the  silvery  tones  of 
the  Afigelus  broke  the  stillness.  As  the  last 
sweet  notes  trembled  in  the  air,  the  lady 
fell  on  her  knees,  and,  lifting  up  her  hands, 
sobbed  out:  "O  Lady  of  Lourdes!  I  prom- 
ised to  do  anything  for  thee  if  thou  wouldst 
save  my  boy.  God  took  him,  but  I  will  not 
take  back  my  promise.  Here  I  am!  O  Lady!  I 
ask  what  thou  wilt;   behold  thy  handmaid!  \ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


21^ 


ag 

i 


But,  oh!  have  pity  on  the  childless  widow, 
and  send  her  comfort. ' ' 

Then,  reaching  the  shrine,  she  sank  ex- 
hausted'on  the  step.  Soon  she  perceived  she 
was  not  alone.  On  the  farther  end  of  the  step 
sat  crouched  a  beggar-boy.  Instinctively  she 
drew  back  from  the  wretched,  half-starved 
creature.  As  she  did  so  the  boy  looked  up 
timidly  into  her  face.  He  seemed  about  the 
age  of  her  own  little  son,  and  a  feeling  of  pity 
;ole  into  her  heart. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  child?"    she 

iked. 

"Please,  lady,  I  am  only  resting,"  was  the 
ow  answer.  "I  am  so  tired!  I  have  been 
walking  since  morning,  and  have  had  nothing 
to  eat. ' '  And  the  poor,  forlorn  child  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  inquired  Ma- 
dame de  Vignon,  interested  in  spite  of  her- 
self. 

*  *  I  am  going  to  Lyons, ' '  he  replied, ' '  where 
they  have  homes  for  orphans.  My  own  dear 
mother  told  me  before  she  went  to  heaven  to 
go  there  when  she  was  gone." 

Again  the  thought  of  Henry  made  her 
glance  at  the  child  compassionately;  but  she 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  the  pale  little  face, 
and,  throwing  him  a  silver  coin,  she  turned 
quickly  away. 

"lyCt  us  go,"  she  said  to  Kitty,  who  had 
now  joined  her. 

Poor  little  Charley  looked  at  the  money, 
but  he  did  not  touch  it — it  was  not  bread.  ' '  I 
am  hungry,"  he  said  through  his  tears. 

Kitty  paused  a  moment,  her  heart  full  of 
pity  for  the  child.  She  would  have  liked  to 
take  him  with  them  as  far  as  the  village,  but 
dared  not  suggest  it. 

Meanwhile  Madame  de  Vignon  had  met 
the  carriage  and  entered,  so  the  maid  followed 
reluctantly.  The  carriage  drove  on,  the  lady 
leaning  back  wearily  on  the  seat.  Suddenly 
she  looked  up,  and  addressed  the  maid: 

What  was  it  that  the  boy  was  saying  as 
we  left  the  shrine  ?  Did  he  not  say  that  he  was 
hungry  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Madame,"  replied  Kitty,  bluntly,  de- 
termined to  rouse  her  mistress  at  any  cost. 
'And  well-nigh  famished,  I  should  say,  judg- 
ing from  the  look  on  his  face.  I  doubt  if  he'll 
be  alive  to-morrow,  if  nobody  takes  pity  on 
liim." 

Madame  de  Vignon  started,   "Oh!  surely, 


Kitty,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that!  What  would 
my  child  in  heaven  think  of  me,  if  I  were  to 
let  another  die  of  starvation  ?  Go,  see  to  him 
at  once.    Do  what  you  think  is  best. ' ' 

Gladly  the  good  woman  left  the  carriage 
on  her  charitable  errand,  and,  taking  some 
refreshments  from  the  little  basket  she  had 
provided  for  their  journey,  she  went  back  to 
the  chapel. 

"Thank  God,  something  has  roused  my 
lady  at  last!  "  she  said  to  herself.  "She  had 
ever  a  kind  heart,  but  sometimes  when  Grief 
enters  even  the  best  of  hearts,  he  shuts  the 
door  behind  him.  But  Lord  help  the  child, 
where  has  he  gone  ? ' '  she  exclaimed,  on  com- 
ing in  sight  of  the  shrine. 

Charley  had  watched  the  carriage  drive 
away,  with  a  feeling  of  bitter  desolation. 
Finding  himself  once  more  alone,  he  crept  into 
the  grotto>  and  twined  his  little  arms  round 
the  feet  of  the  fair  image  that  smiled  so  sweetly 
above  him.  "Holy  Mother  in  heaven!"  he 
sobbed,  "please  hear  me  now.  My  mother 
said  you  would  take  care  of  me;  and,  oh!  I 
shall  surely  die  if  you  don't  send  me  some- 
thing to  eat.  It  is  growing  dark  too,  dear 
Mother,  and  I  am  so  frightened  here  all 
alone!" 

Soon  the  clinging  arms  relaxed  their  hold, 
and  Kitty  entered  only  in  time  to  save  the 
child  from  falling  to  the  ground.  Kindly  sup- 
porting him,  she  made  him  swallow  a  little 
wine.  Charley  looked  up  into  the  pitying  face. 
"Who  are  you?"  he  asked,  softly.  "Has  my 
Mother  in  heaven  sent  you  to  me  ? ' ' 

' '  Of  course  she  has, ' '  answered  the  woman. 
"Surely  that  good  Mother  never  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  anybody,  let  alone  a  starving  child. 
There,  now,  try  to  eat  a  bit." 

Then,  taking  the  boy  in  her  strong  arms, 
she  carried  him  to  the  carriage,  giving  the 
coachman  strict  injunctions  to  take  care  of 
him.  Peter  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  he 
made  the  child  snug  and  comfortable  beside 
him. 

"You  have  saved  his  life,  Madame,"  said 
Kitty  to  her  mistress;  ' '  what  with  hunger  and 
fright,  he  would  have  been  dead  by  morning. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  I  sent  you,"  was  the  answer, 
the  mother's  thoughts  still  dwelling  on  her 
own  dear  child.  "Somehow,  I  feel  it  will 
please  Henry.  Alas!  how  few  are  my  conso- 
lations now!  For  his  sake,  this  child  shall 
have  food  and  shelter  to-night. ' ' 


2l5 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Though  hasty  preparations  had  been  made 
for  the  coming  of  its  mistress,  the  gloom  and 
silence  of  that  once  gay  house  struck  a  chill 
to  the  heart  of  the  lonely  woman.  The  loved 
faces  that  had  made  it  home  had  vanished; 
the  happy  voices  were  hushed;  father,  mother, 
husband,  and  child,  all  gone  forever. 

She  retired  to  her  room,  and  shut  herself  in 
with  her  sorrow. 

Karly  next  morning  she  sought  the  chapel. 
"O  God!  give  me  strength  to  say.  Thy  will 
be  done!"  she  prayed.  "O  Mother  of  the 
sorrowful!  again  I  renew  my  promise.  Only 
obtain  for  me  the  grace  of  resignation." 

Meanwhile  Kitty  had  made  Charley  as  tidy 
as  she  could.  Such  a  pretty,  gentle  little  fel- 
low he  looked,  despite  his  rags,  that  her  heart 
quite  warmed  towards  him.  *  *  I  will  take  him 
to  the  chapel,"  thought  the  good  woman. 
"The  child  has  already  been  the  means  of 
rousing  my  lady  a  little:  who  knows  what 
may  come  of  it  ?  " 

"Charley,"  she  said  aloud,  "can  you  say 


any  prayers 


"Oh!  yes,"  he  replied.  "When  my  dear 
mother  was  alive,  she  taught  me  to  say  my 
prayers  every  morning  and  night. ' ' 

Kitty  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  to 
the  chapel,  where  her  mistress  still  knelt  in 
prayer.  The  boy  looked  at  the  pale,  uplifted 
face  with  a  feeling  of  childish  pity;  but  the 
lady,  as  she  caught  his  gaze,  turned  away  al- 
most with  a  gesture  of  terror.  ' '  That  child 
again!  Why  does  he  haunt  me  so,  with  his 
innocent  face  and  bright  head,  so  like  my 
darling's?  I  will  not  look  again.  What  are 
other  people's  children  to  me?  " 

' '  Pray  aloud,  Charley, ' '  whispered  Kitty,  as 
they  knelt  down.  The  child  glanced  timidly 
at  Madame  de  Vignon. 

"The  lady  won't  mind  you,"  whispered 
the  woman;  "say  aloud  the  last  prayer  your 
mother  taught  you. ' ' 

Of  course,  Kitty  did  not  know  what  that 
last  prayer  was;  she  only  wished  to  give  him 
fervor.  She,  as  well  as  her  mistress,  was  un- 
prepared for  the  words  which  the  child  now 
uttered  in  all  the  simplicity  of  his  heart. 

"O  Blessed  I^ady  of  gourdes,  my  mother 
left  me  to  you;  you  are  my  own  Mother  now: 
please  take  care  of  little  Charley!  " 

The  lady  shook  with  a  sudden  emotion. 
What  was  it  in  that  simple  prayer  that  touched 
her  lonely  heart,  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears  ? 


She  covered  her  face  witli  her  trembling 
hands. 

' '  My  God ! ' '  she  murmured, ' '  has  Our  t<ady 
taken  me  at  my  word  ?  Is  this,  this  the  work 
she  would  have  me  do?  Has  she  sent  this 
child  to  mef' 

She  fancied  she  saw  her  own  Henry  point- 
ing with  a  smile  of  love  to  the  orphan  boy. 
Had  he  come  as  a  messenger  from  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  ? 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  cried  at  last,  '  *  I  dare  not  refuse 
thy  bidding.  Mother  of  God,  I  accept  thy 
charge.  This,  I  feel,  is  the  work  thou  hast  set 
me  to  do." 

Again  Charley's  voice  reached  her  ear.  He 
was  whispering  in  a  lower  tone:  "O  my  God! 
bless  these  good  ladies,  who  saved  me  last 
night  from  dying  of  hunger. ' ' 

With  a  look  of  earnest  resolve,  Madame  de 
Vignon  rose,  and  took  the  little  fellow  by  the 
hand. 

"My  child,"  she  cried,  leading  him  to  Our 
Lady's  altar,  ' '  kneel  with  me,  and  thank  your 
Heavenly  Mother  for  bringing  you  to  a  sor- 
rowing mother  on  earth.  This  is  the  house 
her  loving  care  has  opened  to  you.  In  her 
name,  I  will  be  your  mother  now.  You  have 
reached  the  end  of  your  journey. ' ' 

"My  mistress  is  saved! — thank  God,  thank 
God!  "  cried  Kitty,  with  a  grateful  heart,  as 
she  led  away  her  new  charge.  '  *  I  will  teach 
the  child  to  be  so  dutiful  and  good  that  she  will 
take  great  interest  in  him.  Then  the  work  of 
charity  which  she  has  undertaken  will  make 
her  forget  her  sorrow,  and  give  her  great 
comfort, ' ' 

No  mother  could  have  taken  better  care  of 
her  own  child  than  Kitty  took  of  the  orphan. 
He  grew  into  a  charming  boy,  and  Madame 
de  Vignon  soon  loved  him  dearly. 

Charley  has  well  repaid  the  kindness  be- 
stowed upon  him.  He  is  now  a  noble,  earnest 
man,  the  joy  of  his  adopted  mother,  whose 
name  he  bears.  He  is  first  in  every  work  of 
charity  in  the  country  in  which  he  lives,  but 
most  of  all  is  he  noted  for  a  tender  devotion 
to  her  who  so  truly  proved  a  Mother  to  him 
when  he  had  lost  his  own. 


You  must  try  to  be  good  and  amiable  to 
everybody,  and  do  not  think  that  Christianity 
consists  in  a  melancholy  and  morose  life. 
Lacordaire. 


Yoh.  XXIII.       NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  4,  1886.  No.  10. 


(Copyright :— R«v.  D.  E.  Hudsoh,  C.  8.  C] 

Ad  Beatam  Virginem  Mariam. 


[An  appendix  to  the  poetical  works  of  the  Holy 
Father,  just  issued  by  the  Vatican  Press,  contains 
the  following  petitions  addressed  to  the  Blessed 
Mother  of  God.] 

I. 

ARDKT  pugna  ferox;  I^ucifer  ipse,  videns, 
Horrida  nionstra   furens  ex  Acheronte 
vomit. 
Ocius,  alma  Parens,  ocius  affer  opem. 
Tu  mihi  virtutem,  robur  et  adde  novum. 
Contere  virgineo  monstra  inimica  pede. 
Te  duce,  Virgo,  libens  aspera  bella  geram: 
DifFugient  hostes;  te  duce,  victor  ero. 

II. 
Auri  dulce  melos,  dicere  Mater  Ave. 
Dicere  dulce  melos,  O  pia  Mater  Ave! 
Tu  mihi  deliciae,  spes  bona,  castus  amor; 
Rebus  in  adversis  tu  mihi  prsesidium. 
Si  mens  soUicitis  icta  cupidinibus, 
Tristitise  et  luctus  anxia  sentit  onus; 
Si  natum  serumnis  videris  usque  premi, 
Materno  refove  Virgo  benigna  sinu. 
Et  cum  instante  aderit  morte  suprema  dies, 
Lumina  fessa  manu  molliter  ipsa  tege. 
Hi  fugientem  animam  tu  bona  redde  Deo. 


Thoughts  on  Our  Lady's  Birthday. 


BY    THE    REV.  FATPIER    EDMUND,   PASSIONIST. 


T  is  a  well-known  device  with  un- 
belief to  point  out  in  heathenism 
resemblances  to  Christianity,  and 
specially  to  Catholic  Christianity;  as  if  the 
let  of  such  resemblances  proved  conclu- 


sively that  Christianity  in  general  and  Ca- 
tholicism in  particular  are  but  forms  of 
pagan  superstition.  The  infidel  strikes,  as 
he  thinks,  at  the  very  root  of  our  faith,  and 
thereby  lays  low  the  whole  tree,  by  learn- 
edly telling  us  that  our  ingenious  system 
centres  in  one  of  many  legends  of  a  virgin 
giving  birth  to  a  god.  "Why,"  he  says, 
"your  virgin -story  is  one  of  the  oldest 
myths  in  China.  Persia  and  India  boast  of  it. 
Egypt  had  her  Isis  and  Osiris,  zjery  like  your 
Madonna  and  Child.  Mortals  brought  forth 
deities  in  romantic  Greece.  And  Rome's 
fabled  founder  was  the  son  of  a  god  and  a 
virgin. ' ' 

Certainly,  O  sage  profound!  And  did  you 
everhearof  the  Druidical  grotto  atChartres, 
and  its  statue  of  a  woman  with  a  child  on 
her  knee,  and  the  inscription,  Virgiiti  Pari- 
turcB^ — "To  the  Virgin  who  shall  one  day 
bring  forth"?  Moreover,  in  your  list  of 
heathen  nations  pray  include  those  valiant 
ancestors  of  ours  whom  "the  populous 
North  poured  from  her  frozen  loins  to  pap 
Rhene  or  the  Danaw.' '  While,  again,  if  you 
will  look  to  the  Far  West,  we  can  show  you 
the  same  legend  among  Indian  tribes,  as 
Longfellow's  "Hiawatha"  bears  witness; 
and  even  on  the  wilds  of  Alaska.  *  Nor  is 
it  wanting  among  South  American  legends. 

And  now  it  is  our  turn.  We  ask  you  to 
account  for  \}i\^fact  of  this  widespread  tra- 
dition— this  universal  fable,  as  you  call  it — 
of  a  virgin  giving  birth  to  a  god.    Will  you 


^'  See  Mr.  Ball's  interesting  book  on  Alaska. 


2l8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


say  you  are  not  bound  to  account  for  it? 
But  indeed  you  are^  as  a  philosopher,  if  you 
urge  it  against  our  faith,  and  reject  the  ex- 
planation we  give. 

For,  so  far  from  being  embarrassed  by  it 
at  all,  we  find  in  this  tradition  a  confirma- 
tion of  our  faith.  It  may  well  be  a  difficulty 
to  certain  Christians,  in  whose  theology 
there  is  no  place  for  any  particular  venera- 
tion or  love  to  the  Virgin  Mother  of  God. 
But  for  us  Catholics  it  is  little  more  than 
our  faith  might  have  led  us  t©  expect. 

The  first  of  our  sacred  books  records  a 
promise  made  by  God  Himself  to  our  newly 
fallen  parents.  We  read  there  of  "the 
Woman"  who,  together  with  "her  Seed," 
shall  crush  the  serpent's  head.  (Gen.,  iii., 
15.)  The  words,  indeed,  are  addressed  to  the 
serpent;  but,  evidently,  for  the  comfort  of 
his  victims,  no  less  than  for  his  own  confu- 
sion; so  that  they  have  always  been  re- 
garded as  a  promise  of  the  Redemption. 

Now,  this  prediction  is  obscure — inten- 
tionally, perhaps,  because  addressed  to  the 
serpent.  And,  surely,  it  would  be  passing 
strange  could  it  be  shown  that  no  more 
explicit  revelation  was  vouchsafed  to  the 
world  about  the  Woman  and  her  Seed,  until, 
long  ages  after,  the  Hebrew  Prophet  was 
inspired  to  exclaim:  "Behold,  the  Virgin^'' 
(for  the  is  the  true  rendering,  as  the  Septua- 
gint  proves  by  its  ^  -apf^hoi)  "shall  con- 
ceive, and  bear  a  Son ;  and  His  name  shall 
be  called  Emmanuel. ' '   (Is. ,  vii. ,  14. )  * 

We  contend,  then,  that  the  everywhere- 
found  legends  aforesaid  go  to  establish  the 
contrary  supposition:  to  wit,  that  a  fuller 
communication  concerning  the  birth  of  the 
promised  Redeemer  was  made  to  primitive 
mankind;  though  not  mentioned  in  a  nar- 


*  A  Jewish  convert,  who  had  been  a  rabbi,  once 
pointed  out  to  me  that  the  Prophet  in  this  passage 
is  not  making  a  new  and  startling  announcement, 
but  reminding  Achaz  of  a  well-known  tradition. 
The  King  was  fearing  the  destruction  of  the  Jew- 
ish monarchy,  my  informant  said ;  and  Isaias 
gave  him,  as  a  "  sign  "  that  this  could  not  happen 
M^/z,  the  fact  that  tho:  predicted  Virgin  of  the  house 
of  David  had  yet  to  conceive  and  bring  forth  Em- 
manuel. But,  probably,  this  is  clearer  from  the 
Hebrew  text  than  from  ours. 


rative  little  designed  to  take  the  place  of 
the  Unwritten  Word,  which,  of  course,  stood 
first  in  the  Old  Dispensation,  as  afterwards 
in  the  New.  For  these  singular  myths,  be- 
ing identical  in  substance,  have  manifestly 
sprung  from  a  common  source :  that  source 
a  tradition  which  must  have  begun  before 
the  human  family  was  broken  up  into  na- 
tions ;  that  is,  before  the  confusion  of  tongues 
at  Babel. 

That  God  renewed  His  covenant  with 
Noe  is  expressly  stated ;  and  equally  certain 
is  it  that,  along  with  the  covenant  of  sacri- 
fice, was  consigned  to  him  afresh  the  de- 
posit of  revealed  truth,  before  given  to 
Adam,  to  be  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation.  But  can  we  suppose  that  Noe 
was  the  first  to  hear  of  the  Virgin- Mother, 
when  for  our  first  parent  had  been  spoken 
those  words  in  Eden  about  the  Woman  and 
the  serpent?  Was  not  Adam,  during  his 
long  life,  high-priest  and  oracle  to  the 
growing  generations  ?  Must  they  not  have 
looked  to  him  for  all  the  particulars  he  was 
permitted  to  divulge  of  the  promise  of  re- 
demption ?  Indeed,  may  we  not  well  believe 
that,  in  those  communings  with  Heaven 
which  solaced  the  life-long  penance  of  him- 
self and  the  partner  of  his  fall,  it  was  given 
him  to  contemplate  the  Second  Adam,  in 
whom  all  things  should  be  made  new?  Can 
we  doubt  that  weeping  Eve  often  dwelt  on 
that  daughter,  fairer  even  than  her  unfaller 
self,  who  was  destined  to  enjoy  a  solitary  I 
exemption  from  the  punishment  of  "  bring- 1 
ing  forth  in  sorrow,"  and  would  be  at  onct 
a  mother  and  a  virgin? 

Surely,  then,  it  was  from  the  beginning 
that  Our  Lady's  story  got  out  into  th( 
world.  And  so  she  became,  what  we  cal' 
her  in  the  lyitany,  the  "Queen  of  Patn^ 
archs":  whose  tenderest  musings  were  0 
her,  and  who  taught  their  children  to  lool 
forward  to  her  birth  as  to  a  beacon  of  im 
perishable  hope.  And  her  story  made  th< 
strongest  link  in  the  great  tradition  tha: 
went  down  the  ages.  So  sweet,  so  unforget 
able  it  was,  that  when,  in  after  times,  amonj 
the  scattered  peoples,  the  very  knowledge 
of  the  true  God  was  lost,  the  idea  of  a  Oo^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


219 


ing  Virgin,  though  beconle  but  a  legend 
0  the  past,  and  overlaid  with  myths  and 
fi  bles,  still  haunted  the  darkened  mind.  * 

It  is  thus,  then,  that  we  account  for  the 
St  veral  ' '  virgin  -  stories ' '  that   are   found 
fr)m  East  to  West,  and  which,  I  repeat, 
iE  stead  of  embarrassing  us,  are,  rather,  a 
btautiful    confirmation    of   our   faith.    It 
makes  Our  Blessed  Lady  all  the  dearer  to 
us  to  know  that  the  infant  world  thought 
of  her  and  longed  for  her — sighing  and 
praying  for  the  happy  event  of  her  birth. 
And  that  event  took  place  ' '  in  the  midst 
of  the  years,"  in  accordance  with  the  pro- 
phetic prayer  of  Habacuc  (iii.,  2,  3):   "O 
'Lord!  Thy  work,  in  the  midst  of  the  years 
ibring  it  to  life.     In  the  midst  of  the  years 
Thou  shalt  make  it  known:  when  Thou  art 
angry.  Thou  wilt  remember  mercy. ' '    For 
iwhat  was  this  ' '  work ' '  ?    The  regeneration 
l)f  mankind  by  the  Second  Adam  and  Eve: 
:he  beginning  of  that  "end  to  which  the 
whole  creation  had  been  groaning  and  trav- 
liiling  in  pain  together."    And  how  "in 
he  midst  of  the  years  "  ?    In  what  may  be 
ustly  called  the  middle  age  of  the  world; 
lot  mathematically  speaking,  but  because 
t  was   the   most   momentous   epoch   the 
7orld  has  ever  seen  or  will  see. 

When  Thou  art  angry,"  says  the 
*rophet.  God  seemed  to  have  abandoned 
tie  world  to  its  fate.  His  own  chosen  peo- 
le  had  grown  so  degenerate  as  to  appear 
icorrigible;  while  the  sin-blinded,  heathen 
mltitudes  had  drifted  so  far  from  the  light 
f  primitive  revelation,  and  the  observance 
f  the  moral  law,  that  life  had  become  de- 
)air,  with  sensuality  for  its  only  solace. 
Almighty"  Rome  (as  she  was  "hailed") 
id  subdued  to  her  sway  the  territories  of 
1  former  empires;  and  the  very  civiliza- 
3n,  so  brilliant  and  so  corrupt,  of  which 
e  had  made  herself  mistress,  taking  the 

In  justice  to  myself  let  me  here  observe  that 
len  this  was  first  written,  some  years  ago,  I  had 
t  read  the  "Life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  "  by  the 
be  Orsini.  My  information  about  these  vari- 
s  legends  had  come  from  other  sources.  It  was, 
irefore,  a  joyous  surprise  to  me,  on  opening  the 
w's  volume,  to  find  my  view  of  a  primitive 
dition  confirmed  by  so  learned  an  authority. 


lead  in  its  worst  features,  was  already  begin- 
ning to  react  upon  her  by  sapping  her  vigor 
with  luxurious  refinement.  Hence  the  Ro- 
man Empire,  in  its  turn,  was  on  the  eve  of 
that  crisis  which  ended,  as  we  know,  in  its 
ruin ;  and  which  would  have  ended,  but  for 
Christianity,  in  the  total  extinction  of  civ- 
ilization. 

"When  Thou  art  angry.  Thou  wilt  re- 
member mercy."  Yes,  in  such  a  "midst  of 
the  years,"  when  God's  indignation  seemed 
implacable,  He  did  ' '  remember  mercy. ' '  It 
is  said  that  night  is  darkest  towards  dawn. 
So  it  was  now.  When  the  night  of  crime 
and  error  sat  thickest  on  the  nations,  went 
forth  the  Fiat  lux^  the ' '  Let  there  be  light, ' ' 
of  the  new  creation ;  and  sweetly  in  the  faint, 
chill  daybreak  shone  out  the  Morning  Star. 

But  how  modestly  it  shone,  how  unper-  * 
ceived!  The  infant  Mary's  own  parents 
little  dreamt  of  her  destiny,  though  aware 
that  she  was  no  ordinary  child.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  heart  of  universal  human- 
ity may  have  beaten  with  a  strange  pulse 
just  then — a  startled  throb,  which  instinc- 
tively betrayed  a  sense  of  approaching  de- 
liverance. For  it  is  matter  of  historic  fact 
that  about  the  time  of  Our  Lord's  advent 
there  was  a  general  expectation  of  the  birth 
of  some  extraordinary  person.  This  the  poet 
Virgil  attests  in  the  most  beautiful  of  his 
' '  Eclogues, ' '  where,  alluding  to  a  prophecy 
of  the  Cumsean  Sibyl,  he  thus  sings: 
"Jam  redit  et  Virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna; 
Jam  nova  progenies  coelo  demittitur  alto."  * 

So,  again,  with  the  "princes  of  this 
world, ' '  and  the  ' '  rulers  of  its  darkness, ' '  as 
St.  Paul  calls  the  demons.  We  can  not  doubt 
that  they  were  perplexed  at  the  birth  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  sought  eagerly  to  as- 
certain who  she  really  was.  They  remem- 
bered only  too  well  the  promised  Woman 
to  come.  And  might  not  this  be  she  ?  What 
most  alarmed  them  was  that  the  child  was 
not  born  under  their  dominion  at  all.  They 
must  have  found  this  out  by  reason  of  her 
Immaculate   Conception.     Yet,  God    con- 


*  "Now,  too,  the  Virgi?i  returns;  now  the  Golden 

Age; 
Now  is  the  new  offspring  sent  down  from  heaven/ ' 


220 


The  Ave  Maria, 


cealed  from  them  the  mystery  of  her  origin, 
as  He  afterwards  prevented  them  from  dis- 
covering the  divine  conception  and  birth  of 
her  Son.  Blessed  Mary  of  Agreda  tells  us 
(I  believe)  that  there  was  around  Our  Lady, 
from  her  infancy,  an  atmosphere  which 
burnt  the  demons  whenever  they  tried  to 
approach  her;  and,  besides,  she  had  a  body- 
guard of  a  thousand  angels. 

Ah!  the  angels!  They  were  the  favored 
ones — the  only  creatures  who  knew  God's 
secret.  The  Nativity  of  Mary  was  therefore, 
peculiarly  an  angelic  festival.  How  must 
God's  ''ear"  have  "listened  delighted"  to 
the  hymn  of  the  celestial  choirs  as  they  wel- 
comed their  infant  Queen!  Yet,  again, what 
was  their ]oy  in  her  to  His  own?  He  had 
built  Himself  a  house,  had  found  Himself  a 
fiome,  wherein  He  might  rest  amid  a  world 
estranged.  And  does  not  our  joy  partake 
of  God's  even  more  than  of  the  angels'? 
For  Mary  is  not  only  our  Queen,  as  she  is 
theirs,  but  our  Mother,  as  she  is  His,  Her 
bosom,  her  Heart,  is  otir  home.  We  have 
all  a  right,  which  He  Himself  has  given  us, 
and  which  none  can  take  away,  to  dwell 
in  His  mystical  Sion.  And  soothly  can 
they  who  choose  this  home  say  with  the 
Psalmist:  "Blessed  are  they  who  dwell  in 
Thy  Ho  ise,  O  Lord!  they  shall  praise  Thee 
forever  and  ever, ' '  And  again  to  Our  Heav- 
enly Mother  herself:  Sicui  hctantiMm  om- 
nmm  habitatiocst  i7i  te! — "A  dwelling  of 
joy  have  all  who  abide  in  thee: " 


The  Singing  Rose  of  Erin. 


BY    ELEANOR    C.    DONNIU^LY. 


THE  "Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments" 
(ill at  golden  tissue  of  Oriental  marvels, 
which  long  ago  bewitched  and  enriched  our 
childish  fancy)  used  to  tell  us  the  legend  of 
a  Singing  Tree  of  Persia,  whose  quest  was 
attended  with  untold  dangers,  and  whose 
harmonious  exploits  were  wont  to  thrill  our 
young  hearts  with  delight  and  awe;  but  it 
has  been  reserved  for  Erin — blessed,  beauti- 
ful Erin,  the  emerald  shrine  of  purest,  rarest 


folk-lore  and  song — to  present  to  us  in  these 
prosaic  days  another  magical  singer,  a  mu- 
sical flower,  whose  enchanting  strains  have 
not  only  made  melody  for  years  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  her  own  native 
Isle,  but  have  at  last  drifted  across  the 
wide  seas,  and  found  their  echo  in  many  an 
American  heart. 

When  the  Princess  Perie-zadeh  com- 
plained to  the  Speaking  Bird,  in  the  Ara- 
bian story:  "Bird,  I  have  found  the  Sing- 
ing Tree,  but  I  can  neither  pull  it  up  by 
the  roots  nor  carry  it,"  the  Bird  replied: 
"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  take  it 
up  by  the  roots:  it  will  be  sufiicient  to  break 
off  a  branch,  and  carry  it  to  plant  in  your 
garden. ' ' 

.  In  like  manner,  gentle  readers  of  The 
"Ave  Maria,"  if  we  may  not  be  permitted 
to  transplant  the  Singing  Rose  of  Erin, 
root  and  branch,  to  the  appreciative  soil  of 
the  New  World,  the  writer  of  this  sketch 
may  venture,  at  least,  to  break  off  a  few  bio- 
graphical shoots  from  that  lovely  tree,  and 
suffer  you  to  give  them  an  honored  place  in 
the  garden  or  conservatory  of  your  memory. 

Miss  Rosa  Mulholland  was  born  at  Bel- 
fast, Ireland,  nearly  twice  ' '  twenty  golden 
years  ago. ' '  Her  father,  Dr.  Joseph  Mulhol- 
land, was  long  established  as  a  practising 
physician  in  that  busy  northern  city  of 
Ulster,  and  there  the  little  Rosa's  earlier 
years  were  spent.  Beginning  to  go  to  school 
in  due  time — and  a  bright  little  scholar  she 
must  have  been,  God  bless  her! — her  first 
steps  in  the  thorny  paths  of  learning  were 
smoothed  and  guided  by  rather  a  remark- 
able hand.  Her  (then)  preceptress  was  a 
clever  old  lady — Miss  Knowles;  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  sister  of  James  Sheridan 
Knowles,  whose  fame  as  a  dramatist  still 
survives  in  his  plays,  "The  Hunchback," 
"Virginius,"  "William  Tell,"  etc.  We 
can  fancy  what  a  charming  task  it  must 
have  been  to  one  of  that  gifted  family  to 
direct  the  primary  studies  of  our  imagina 
tive  little  heroine;  and  when  the  dear  old 
dame,  "disguised  with  looks  profound," 
like  Shenstone's  "Schoolmistress,"  "eyed 
her  fairy  throng^"  we  are  free  to  wonder  i 


The  Ave  Marti 


221 


1  er  keen  perceptions  singled  out  the  future 
1  Dvelist  and  poet  from  among  the  merry 
1  ttle  maidens  at  her  knee,  or  noted  around 
t  lat  innocent  baby-brow  the  faint  nimbus 
cf  the  future's  glorious  aureola.    Certain  it 

ithat 

".  .  .  .  the  school-house  rude 
Is  as  the  chrysalis  to  the  butterfly; 
To  the  rich  flower,  the  seed.  The  dusky  walls 
Hold  the  fair  germ  of  knowledge;  and  the  tree, 
Glorious  in  beauty,  golden  with  its  fruits, 
To  that  low  school  house  traces  back  its  life." 

Presuming,  not  without  some  show  of 
reason,  that  Miss  Knowles  must  have  had 
a  sympathy  with,  if  not  a  share  in,  the  dra- 
matic proclivities  of  her  talented  brother, 
it  is  easy  to  understand  the  influence  such 
a  woman  would  exert  over  the  plastic  im- 
agination and  aspirations  of  the  little  Rosa. 
Poetry  makes  poets;  "the  words  which  his 
mother  taught  him,  the  songs  which  his 
mother  sang  to  him,"  as  was  remarked  of 
King  Alfred  of  Britain,  "were  the  germs  of 
his  future  thought,  genius,  enterprise,  and 
action. ' '    And  Montgomery  says  of  poetry, 
as  contrasted  with  prose  literature  at  large, 
that  it  "takes  root  in  the  memory  as  well 
as  in  the  understanding, — not  in  essence 
only,  but  in  the  very  sounds  and  syllables 
that  incorporate  it.  .  .  . " ;  whilst  all  the 
narratives,  speculations,  and  arguments  of 
prose  writers,  no  matter  how  fascinating  in 
style,  can  only  be  recalled  in  the  abstract, 
md,  being  blended  with  our  stock  of  gen- 
ral  knowledge,  general  principles,  general 
notives,  can  only  remotely  influence  our 
onduct  and  lives.    Noble  fiction  is,  indeed, 
is  the  same  author  declares  it  to  be,  noth- 
ng  more  nor  less  than  "the  fine  ideal  of 
eality." 

Our  Singing  Rose  must  have  been  early 
tnbued  with  a  love  for  that  "fine  ideal"  ; 
nd  somewhat  later  on,  but  before  her  happy 
hildhood  had  ended,  she  went  across  the 
reen  old  Isle  to  its  western  coast,  and  spent 
year  or  two  in  Galway.  There,  in  the 
xquisite  scenery  of  that  wild  region,  with 
le  grand  roar  of  the  Atlantic  sounding 
/er  in  her  ears,  and  the  witchery  of  sky, 
jod,  and  sea  sinking  like  a  fresh,  sweet 
yl  into  her  soul,  our  young  poetess  gar- 


nered many  a  roseate  memory  for  the  future 

crowning  of  her  muse.  Traces  of  those  early 

dreamings  by  the  strand  can  be  discerned 

in  "My  Song  and  I,"  where  she  tells  us 

how 

"Aloft,  above  the  sea,  by  the  tall  cliff"'s  winding 

path, 
A  flitting  foot  treads   down   the  sweet  wild 

thyme, 
When  its  fragrant  bloom  runs  over  all  the  mossy 

rath, 
And  tides  are  full,  and  the  year  is  in  its  golden 

prime." 

Or  in  "The  Stowaways,"  when  she  cries 
out  in  rapture  to  a  passing  vessel  (the  float- 
ing figure  of  some  private  personal  expe- 
rience) : 

"  O  wide-winged  ship,  out  of  a  distant  port, 
The  winds  are  with  thee,  and  the  seas  run  white: 

Hope-breathing  winds,  and  seas  of  wild  delight; 
Thy  prow  can  cut  a  thousand  moments  short ! ' ' 

In  the  "Wild  Geese,"  in  that  exquisite 
lyric  "Thither,"  or  in  the  weird,  irregular 
music  of  "Kilfenora,"  the  dream  of  those 
purple  hills  of  Galway,  and  of  that 

"...  lonely,  lamenting,  chiming  sea, 
With  its  prayerful  chant  and  its  loud  'Amen,'  " 

finds  frequent  and  melodious  expression,  to 
say  nothing  of  their  reproduction  in  the 
matchless  marine-pictures  wherewith  her 
prose- romances  abound. 

For  the  graceful  pen  of  Miss  Mulholland 
is  equally  at  home  in  prose  and  verse.  ' '  Her 
literary  vocation  was  decided  at  a  very  early 
age, ' '  says  the  gifted  editor  of  The  Irish 
Monthly;'^  "some  of  her  first  appearances 
in  print  being  short  tales  contributed  to 
Dufff  s  Hibernian  Magazine^  and  then  in 
London  Society^  and  The  Cornhill  Maga- 
zine; and  the  London  publishers.  Smith  & 
Elder,  had  a  three-volume  novel  from  her 
before  she  was  well  out  of  her  teens.  Very 
early  in  her  literary  career,  her  talent  was 
discovered  by  Charles  Dickens,  who,  for 
several  years  before  his  death,  published  in 
All  the  Year  Romid  a  large  number  of  her 
poems,  and  a  still  larger  number  of  her 
stories.  The  anonymity  enforced  on  all  con- 
tributors to  Dickens'  periodical  helped  to 


*  The  Rev.  Matthew  Russell,  S.J. 


222 


The  Ave  Maria, 


keep  Miss  Mulholland's  name  from  being 
more  widely  known. ' ' 

No  one  is  better  fitted  to  furnish  these 
facts  than  Father  Matthew  Russell,  S.J. 
A  poet  himself,  and  a  delicate  discerner 
of  poetic  spirits,  the  author  of  "Emman- 
uel, "  "  Madonna, ' '  and  '  *  Erin ' '  is,  besides, 
closely  related  by  family  and  social  ties  to 
the  authoress  of  "Vagrant  Verses."  Rosa 
Mulholland's  elder  sister  is  the  wife  of  his 
brother.  Sir  Charles  Russell,  at  present 
Attorney-General  for  England, — the  first 
Catholic  since  the  Reformation  who  has 
gained  that  position;  gaining  it,  moreover, 
in  spite  of  being  not  only  a  Catholic  but  an 
Irishman. 

Another  (single)  sister  of  Rosa  is  Miss 
Clara  Mulholland,  who  is  also  a  writer; 
her  literary  talent  having  been  displayed 
chiefly  in  stories  for  the  young,  such  as 
"The  Strange  Adventures  of  Little  Snow- 
drop, "  "  Linda' s  Misfortunes, "  "  Naughty 
Miss  Bunny, "  "  The  Story  of  Cackle,  a  Dis- 
contented Young  Goose,"  and  many  other 
pleasant  little  books. 

In  this  literary  family  circle  of  the  Mul- 
hollands  and  the  Russells  mention  must 
not  be  omitted  of  that  illustrious  departed 
member,  that  gifted  divine,  the  late  Dr. 
Charles  William  Russell,  whose  contribu- 
tions to  Catholic  literature  were  of  a  graver 
and  less  ephemeral  character.  President  of 
Maynooth  College  for  nearly  a  quarter  of 
a  century  (i  857-1880),  Dr.  Russell,  whilst 
ably  and  conscientiously  directing  the 
workings  of  that  venerable  and  famous  seat 
of  learning,  still  found  leisure  amid  his 
onerous  duties  to  be  the  chief  support  of 
The  Dublin  Review  in  its  palmiest  days,  a 
frequent  contributor  to  The  Edinburgh  Re- , 
view,  and  the  author  of  an  exhaustive  ' '  Life 
of  Mezzofanti,"  which  Italy  herself  (as  has 
been  cleverly  said  of  it)  was  fain  to  translate 
and  adopt  as  the  standard  biography  of  her 
polyglot  Cardinal.  Dr.  Russell  died  Febru- 
ary 26, 1880,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his 
age  and  the  forty-fifth  of  his  priesthood,  be- 
loved and  lamented  by  all,  a  signal  loss  to 
the  world  of  letters  as  well  as  to  the  noble 
establishment  which  hailed  him  as  its  chief 


But  to  return  to  our  Singing  Rose  of 
Erin.  Save  for  her  visit  to  Galway,  and 
occasional  sojourns  with  her  relatives  in 
London,  Rosa's  life  has  been  spent  in  what 
an  enthusiastic  friend  (more  Irish  than  the 
Irish)  terms  "the  finest  city  of  the  world" 
— Dublin.  Here  the  true  poet  and  artist 
can  always  find  a  circle  of  the  most  appre- 
ciative admirers,  the  ablest  of  critics;  and 
in  this  golden  atmosphere  of  praise  and 
nice  suggestion,  like  fruit  in  the  frost-tem- 
pered balm  of  an  autumnal  sunshine,  the 
genius  of  our  favored  heroine  has  been  ad- 
mirably mellowed  and  ripened. 

As  a  novelist,  she  is  unrivalled  among  our 
living  Catholic  writers.  With  the  strength 
and  mental  endurance  of  a  man  she  com- 
bines the  delicacy,  purity,  and  tenderness|of  1 
a  genuine  and  highly-gifted  woman.  Her 
works  are  of  the  highest  type  of  refined 
fiction,  and  betray  a  delightfully  accurate 
knowledge  of  human  nature. 

Who  can  fully  estimate  the  value  and 
important  mission  of  a  good  Catholic  novel? 
Father  Faber  says,  in  his  comments  on 
well-managed  recreations,  that  a  spiritual 
person  can  merit  even  by  reading  a  trashy 
romance,  provided  trashiness  be  its  only 
defect,  and  provided  the  reading  be  pre- 
ceded, accompanied,  and  sanctified  by  an 
honest  intention  to  distract  an  over-taxed 
mind,  and  render  it  fresher  and  more  elastic 
in  its  graver  duties  for  the  glory  of  God. 
This  being  so,  what  a  return  of  prayerful 
gratitude  do  we  not  owe  at  the  present  day 
to  such  admirable  writers  of  Catholic  fiction 
as  Rosa  Mulholland,  Lady  Herbert  of  Lea,  I 
Kathleen  O'Meara,  the  Author  of  "Ty' 
borne, "and  dear,  dead  Lady  Fullerton;  tc 
say  nothing  of  our  own  Anna  Hanson  Dor- 
sey.  Christian  Reid,  Dr.  O'Reilly,  Maurice 
F.  Egan,  Eliza  Allen  Starr,  and  the  Sadlierj 
(mother  and  daughter),  for  the  delicioui 
and  nourishing  pabulum  they  have  fur 
nished  us  in  precious  seasons  of  Christiai 
relaxation ! 

In  this  era  of  passionate  sensualism  an( 
universal  corruption  of  the  human  heart! 
the  devil  has  no  mightier  or  deadlier  instru 
ment  to  work  his  will  on  souls  than  th 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


225 


T  eapon  of  a  foul,  debasing  fiction — those 
s  locking  native  or  exotic  novels,  which  we 
s  ludder  to  see  young  eyes  devouring  with 
s  ich  unmistakable  avidity  and  delight.  In 
s  )ite  of  their  manifold  fascinations  of  lan- 
g  aage  and  style,  however,  we  pray  God  such 
b  )oks  may  soon  be  abandoned  to  the  igno- 
uinious  obscurity  which  veils  the  profligate 
liierature  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
C(mturies,  whose  romances  and  dramas,  as 
a  thoughtful  writer  has  remarked,  are  "like 
forsaken  mines,  no  longer  worked,  though 
their  veins  are  rich  with  ore,  because  of  the 
mephitic  air  that  fouls  their  passages,  and 
which  no  safety-lamp  yet  invented  can 
render  innoxious  to  the  most  intrepid  vir- 
tue." 

As  a  preventive  of  the  evils  of  such  dan- 
gerous and  degrading  works,  as  an  incentive 
to  all  that  is  pure,  lovely,  and  elevated  in 
woman,  all  that  is  meek,  noble,  and  self-sac- 
rificing in  man,  we  can  safely  recommend 
the  beautiful  novels  of  Rosa  MulhoUand. 
Her  two   longest  stories,  "Hester's   His- 
tory" and  "The  Wicked  Woods  of  To- 
bereevil, ' '  were  reprints  of  serials  in  All  the 
Year  Round, \n  two  charming  volumes  each. 
3f  the  first  mentioned  book  the  London 
Athencsum  has  said :  "  '  Hester's  History '  is 
dever,  compact,  and  entertaining;  the  per- 
onages  are  well  drawn,  well  colored,  and 
veil  set  upon  the  stage,  and  they  all  perform 
heir  parts  well.  There  is  an  unhackneyed 
reshness  about  the  incidents  and  a  simplic- 
ty  in  their  management,  which  make  us 
tnagine  this  to  be  a  first  work,  written  with 
I  pleasure  that  has  made  labor  a  delight.  .  .  . 
^he  description  of  Hampton  Court,  and  of 
le  lonely  child   playing   about   the   old 
:>oms,  making  friends  and  playfellows  of 
le  portraits,  and  going  up  and  down  '  the 
olden  ladder'  made  by  the  sunbeams  on 
le  king's  staircase,  is  true  and  childlike, 
or  is  Hester  in  the  gardens,  making  real- 
ies  of  the  old  Traditions  of  the  place,  and 
lacting  imaginary  scenes  with  the  person- 
^es  of  the  pictures,  less  true  or  charming; 
seemed  like  fairyland  to  the  child,  and 
,e  author  makes  it  look  like  fairyland  to 
te  reader." 


"The  Wicked  Woods"  is  a  tale  of  mod- 
ern times,  yet  weird  and  fantastic  as  the 
goblin  stories  of  Germany.  "The  whole 
country  round  Tobereevil  is  present  to  the 
reader's  eye: — the  awful  gloom  of  the 
Wicked  Woods,  the  gaunt  wreck  of  the 
miser's  home,  the  savage  desolation  of  the 
fields,  the  lofty  mountains  touched  with 
gold  as  they  recede  farthest  from  man.  Full 
of  power  and  fascination  is  the  picture  of 
the  miser  himself.  There  is  a  spell  in  his 
woe,  in  his  agony,  in  his  rage,  in  his  despair. 
The  colors  are  caught  with  a  master-hand, 
and  withal  a  delicate  charity  which  forbids 
hate;  though  always  despicable,  he  com- 
mands still  your  pity.  .  .  .  The  reader  will 
here  find  the  outcome  of  a  pure  and  sin- 
gularly-vivid imagination;  a  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  expressed  often  in  noble,  always 
in  exquisite  language;  a  sympathy  with  the 
humbler  types  of  humanity  at  once  rare  and 
attractive;  and  a  power  of  combination  sec- 
ond to  few  in  the  highest  walks  of  litera- 
ture. ' '  * 

This  tale,  which  is  a  romance,  as  Natha- 
niel Hawthorne  understood  the  term,  has 
been  widely  copied  by  our  American  Cath- 
olic journals,  and  most  of  our  readers  are 
as  well  acquainted  with  the  sweet,  quaint, 
lovable  May  Mourne  as  with  the  hard, 
grinding,  cruel-hearted  Simon  Finiston. 

Besides  "Dunmara"  (a  clever  three- vol- 
ume novel)  and  "The  Wild  Birds  of  Kil- 
leevy" — which  have  long  since  flown  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  made  their  nest  (noble 
Kevin  and  bewitching  Fanchea)  in  the 
literary  groves  of  the  New  World, — Rosa 
MulhoUand  has  given  us  lately  a  capital 
Irish  story  of  the  present  day,  ' '  Marcella 
Grace,"  which  ran  as  a  serial,  a  year  or 
so 'ago,  through  the  pages  of  The  Irish 
Monthly.  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  and 
sketches  of  Irish  character,  her  talent  is 
inimitable;  and  how  prolific  and  successful 
have  been  her  labors  for  Catholic  youth  is 
evidenced  by  her  delightful  child-books  (all 
handsomely  printed  and  illustrated), "  El- 
dergowan, "  "  The  lyittle  Flower-Seekers, ' ' 


*  Dublin  Freeman' s  Journal. 


224 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Puck  and  Blossom,"  "Five  Little  Farm- 
ers," "Prince  and  Saviour;  or,  the  Story 
of  Jesus  told  Simply  for  the  Young, "  "  The 
Walking  Trees,"  "Hetty  Gray,"  etc.,  etc. 
None  of  these  juvenile  books,  however,  have 
reached  the  vast  circulation  of  her  very 
original  prayer-book  for  children — "The 
Holy  Childhood," — of  which  the  editions 
follow  one  another  in  rapid  succession. 

Miss  Mulholland's  renown  as  a  novelist — 
in  America,  at  least, — had  antedated  her 
fame  as  a  poet.  For  many  years  her  health 
was  so  frail  that  those  who  loved  her  best, 
at  home  and  abroad,  fond  hearts  and  true, 
were  troubled  with  an  ever-haunting  fear 
lest  the  Singing  Rose  of  Erin  should  be 
transplanted  from  earth  before  its  time — 
fated  to  bloom  for  God  alone,  and  breathe 
forth  the  full  music  of  its  fragrance  only  in 
His  celestial  gardens.  But  the  divine  will 
had  reserved  her  for  a  great  and  holy  work ; 
and  now,  in  the  mellow  ripeness  of  her 
perfect  womanhood,  she  takes  her  allotted 
rank  in  the  choir  of  our  sweetest  Catholic 
singers,  crowned  with  the  glory  of  her  rare 
poetic  gift. 

Had  Rosa  Mulholland  written  nothing 
else  save  ' '  Vagrant  Verses, ' '  those  pure  and 
polished  gems  of  song  would  suffice  to  win 
for  her  an  enviable  and  enduring  reputation; 
for,  as  an  able  Irish  reviewer  has  recently 
remarked, "  Her  merits  as  a  writer  of  poetry 
are  even  of  a  higher  order  than  those  which 
have  already  made  her  name  popular  as  a 
very  successful  writer  of  prose  fiction. ' ' 

The  old  adage,  nascitur  non  fit^  applies 
with  full  force  to  the  breathings  of  this 
gifted  lady's  muse.  Her  rich  poetic  fancy 
and  chaste,  elevated  spirit  are  rivalled  only 
by  her  exquisite  taste,  delicate  ear  for 
rhythm,  and  deep  sympathy  with  all  that 
is  beautiful  and  true  in  nature  and  human 
feeling.  If  the  Singing  Rose  descant  of 
earthly  love  (like  the  nightingale  with  her 
breast  against  a  thorn),  how  tender  are  her 
strains  in  "The  Faithful  Light,"  "My 
Blackbird,"  "Girlhood  at  Midnight,"  and 
' '  Then  and  Now  " !  If  she  sweep  the  silver 
strings  of  her  own  island-harp,  giving  all  its 

",  .  .  .  chords  to  light,  freedom,  and  song," 


how  full  of  native,  thrilling  music  are 
her  "Children  of  Lir,"  "Emmet's  Love," 
"Shamrocks,"  and  "Snow and  Famine"! 
And  if  (as  her  muse  most  frequently  does) 
she  rises  on  the  wings  of  celestial  poesy 

"To  the  higher  levels  of  love  and  praise," 
how  exquisite  are  the  inspirations  of  her 
pure,  fervent  soul  in  "Christ  the  Gleaner," 
' '  Saint  Barbara, "  "  Perpetual  Light, ' ' 
"Sister  Mary  of  the  Love  of  God,"  ''Ave 
Maria,'''  "Lilies  and  Roses,"  "Saint  Bri- 
gid,"and  "A  Prayer"! 

From  a  casket  filled  to  its  brim  with  so 
many  priceless  gems,  it  is  difficult  to  select 
the  brightest  jewels.  Tastes  are  so  various 
that  where  one  might  pick  pearls  and  dia- 
monds, another  might  tenderly  affection 
rubies  and  emeralds.  So  chacun  a  songoiit, 
and  ' '  Vagrant  Verses ' '  for  us  all.  But  as  the 
writer  of  this  imperfect  little  sketch  lays 
aside  the  charming  book,  with  its  dainty 
diction  and  its  delicate  imagery,  its  fair 
margins,  clear  print,  and  dove- tinted  cover, 
she  stoops  lovingly  in  spirit,  O  dear  Rosa 
Mulholland!  to 

"Kiss  the  pen  that  spoke  your  thought. 
The  spot  whereon  you  knelt  to  pray, 
The  message  with  your  wisdom  fraught 
Writ  down  on  paper  yesterday. ' ' 

And  she  feels  assured  that  no  matter  what 
shadows  may  fall  upon  the  paths  of  duller, 
grosser  spirits,  what  doubts  or  damps  may 
clog  their  feet  in  their  passage  through  this 
valley  of  tears,  which  men  call  Life, 

' '  Your  way  is  across  the  hills  in  the  kindling  j 

light, 
'Mid  living  souls,  with  a  footstep  glad  and  free!' 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


X. 


PHILIP  left  his  uncle's  presence  with  aj 
mind  more  disturbed  than  he  would 
have  believed  possible  had  the  fact  been 
told  him  a  few  months  before.  Then  he 
would  have  accepted  the  fate  prepared  for, 
him  with  entire  resignation,  now  he  was 


1^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


225 


illed  with  a  sense  of  regret  which  surprised 
limself.    What  had  changed  him  so  greatly 
n  so  short  a  time?    He  debated  this  ques- 
I      ion  mentally  as  he  left  the  house,  and  did 
^^t  find  the  solution  of  it  altogether  easy. 
Rpmething    had   wakened   within   him  — 
ifiind,  heart,  conscience,  which  was  it?  — 
and  roused  him  to  a  sense  of  the  great  pos- 
sibilities that  lay  in  life.    As  the  trumpet 
call  rouses  a  sleeping  soldier  to  battle,  so  in 
the  depths  of  his  nature  a  trumpet  had  been 
sounded,  which  had  roused  him  to  think 
of  something  more   than  frivolous  pleas- 
ures or  the  amassing  and  the  enjoyment  of 
wealth. 

He  scarcely  knew  what  influence  had 
done  this — more  than  one  influence,  per- 
haps, had  united  in  doing  it, — but  the  fact 
and  the  result  were  not  to  be  ignored.  For 
the  first  time  he  felt  impatient  of  the  fetters 
that  boiuid  his  life:  he  longed  for  more  free- 
dom and  a  wider  field.  Yet,  quite  apart  from 
I  any  consideration  of  self-interest,  he  was 
I  reluctant  to  disregard  his  uncle's  claims 
upon  him.  Selfishness  often  cloaks  itself 
behind  independence  of  spirit,  but  an  un- 
selfish nature  can  not,  even  for  the  sake  of 
independence,  wound  those  who  have  de- 
served submission  and  respect.  So  long  as 
his  uncle's  demands  were  within  legitimate 
bounds,  Philip  felt  that  he  could  not  fail  to 
y^ield  to  them.  But  was  it  a  legitimate  de- 
nand  that  he  should  marry  Constance? 
This  was  the  question  he  had  now  to  answer. 
He  had  left  the  house  without  consider- 
ng  where  he  was  going,  but  involuntarily 
lis  steps  followed  a  familiar  road,  and  be- 
ore  long  he  found  himself  in  the  wake  of  a 
tream  of  people  who  were  entering  the 
'athedral  for  Vespers.  The  roll  of  the  great 
rgan  filled  the  building,  and  the  choir  were 
banting  the  Psalms  as  he  entered.  The 
oble,  familiar  strains  seemed  to  calm  and 
rengthen  his  spirit.  Impressionable  to  all 
ifluences,  he  now  felt  that  every  influence 
ound  him  was  sustaining  and  inspiring, 
it  were  necessary  to  make  a  decision 
bich  would  affect  his  whole  life,  here 
rely  was  the  best  place  to  make  it.  And 
is  it  a  recollection  of  the  impulse  that  had 


come  to  him  at  tlie  sight  of  the  San  Sisto 
Madonna  that  led  his  feet  toward  the  altar 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  ?  One  of  the  many 
tender  names  which  the  love  and  reverence 
of  the  faithful  have  bestowed  upon  her 
came  into  his  mind  as  he  looked  at  the 
figure,  standing  throned  upon  the  earth 
which  her  Son  had  redeemed — Mother  of 
Good  Counsel.  So  she  was  called ;  and  he, 
who  felt  so  strongly  the  need  of  counsel, 
knelt,  and  by  that  gracious  name  invoked 
her  powerful  aid. 

Owing  to  the  fashion  of  pews  that  pre- 
vails in  American  churches  —  an  odious 
fashion  surely,  as  are  all  fashions  borrowed 
from  Protestantism — one  does  not  see  those 
devotional  groups  kneeling  at  different 
shrines  and  chapels  while  the  great  central 
worship  goes  on,  which  are  so  charming  to 
the  eye  and  spirit  in  the  great  churches  of 
Catholic  Europe.  Philip,  therefore — who 
had  no  desire  to  make  himself  remarkable 
in  the  face  of  a  congregation  of  people  seated 
decorously  in  their  pews,  while  the  Vespers 
were  sung  over  their  heads — also  enter(  d 
one  of  the  boxes,  which,  with  their  closed, 
proprietary  air,  are  so  foreign  to  the  spirit 
of  Catholicity,  and  so  expressive  of  the  sys- 
tem from  which  they  sprang. 

He  had  knelt  for  some  time,  with  his  head 
bowed  in  his  hands,  when  a  stir,  the  sound 
of  rustling  silk,  and  the  opening  of  a  pew- 
door  in  front  of  him,  made  him  involunta- 
rily look  up.  The  sexton  was  ushering  a 
lady  and  gentleman  to  a  seat,  and  a  glance 
showed  him  that  they  were  Constance  and 
Bellamy.  Their  appearance  did  not  sur- 
prise him,  for  he  knew  how  often,  together 
with  other  Protestants,  they  came  to  the 
Cathedral  ' '  to  hear  the  music, ' '  which  of 
late  had  become  well  worth  hearing;  but 
he  felt  strangely  moved  to  see  before  him 
at  this  moment  the  woman  who  was  upper- 
most in  his  thoughts.  And  she  was  seated 
only  a  few  feet  from  the  shrine  of  Mary! 
Would  she  lift  her  eyes,  in  reverence  at 
least,  to  the  image  of  her  in  whom  woman- 
hood was  forever  exalted, — her  who  had 
been  found  worthy  to  clothe  with  the  robe 
of  humanity  the  Son  of  God? 


226 


The  Ave  Maria. 


With  a  kind  of  fascination  he  watched 
for  a  sign  of  this  reverence,  but  watched  in 
vain.  Constance  was  too  finely  bred  to  be 
guilty  of  such  outward  rudeness  as  many 
Protestants  permit  themselves  in  a  Catho- 
lic church;  but  Philip,  who  was  familiar 
with  all  the  expressions  of  her  face,  read  ac- 
curately enough  the  meaning  of  the  glance 
that  roved  critically  over  the  altar,  and  the 
figure  above  it — resting  on  the  last  for  a  mo- 
ment with  cold  scrutiny— and  then  turned 
away. 

Here  was  a  woman  who  in  all  her  life 
had  never  echoed  the  Angelic  Salutation, 
— had  never  cried  to  the  Mother  of  God, 
"Hail  Mary!"  and  would  certainly  never 
teach  those  holy  words  to  infant  lips.  It 
was  easy  to  forget  this  when  one  saw  her 
in  the  world,  young,  lovely  and  charming, 
— when  she  was  the  belle  of  a  ball-room, 
the  centre  of  admiration;  but  here,  in  the 
house  of  God,  where  she  sat  unmoved  before 
the  altar,  or  glanced  with  the  instinctive 
aversion  of  Protestantism  at  the  image  of 
the  Mother  of  God,  it  was  impossible  to  for- 
get it. 

Considering  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
lived,  it  was  hardly  strange  that  Philip  had 
never  given  a  thought  to  the  difference  ot 
religion  between  Constance  and  himself, 
until  it  had  suddenly  flashed  upon  him  as 
a  ground  for  objection  in  the  interview 
with  his  uncle.  But,  once  awakened  to  the 
thought,  he  realized  more  and  more  all  that 
it  meant.  If  he  married  this  woman,  she 
could  only  touch  the  surface  of  his  life;  for 
what  deep  feeling  or  deep  thought  had  he 
which  was  not  influenced  by  the  religion 
that  she  had  been  taught  to  reject? 

One  often  wonders  that  this  consideration 
does  not  weigh  more  strongly  with  those 
who  are  meditating  a  mixed  marriage. 
Where  lives  are  narrowly  bounded  by  ma- 
terial and  domestic  interests,  there  is,  of 
course,  some  common  ground  on  which  to 
meet,  though  all  the  evils  of  religious  dif- 
ference remain.  But  with  those  who  live 
in  the  broader  world  of  thought,  where  is 
there  any  common  ground?  Human  con- 
duct, human  history,  human  life  in  all  its 


aspects, — the  innumerable  questions  in  pol- 
itics, in  science,  nay  even  in  art,  which 
agitate  the  world,  have  for  the  Catholic  re- 
lations to  certain  great,  immutable  truths 
which  the  non- Catholic  denies  or  ignores. 
There  is  no  hope  of  agreement;  for  the  basis 
on  which  opinion  rests  is  radically  different. 
What  Catholic  has  not  felt  this  where  some 
Protestant  friend  or  relative  is  concerned, 
and  has  not  been  taught  that  there  is  hardly 
a  fact  of  history  or  a  subject  of  contempo- 
rary thought  which  it  is  possible  for  them 
to  view  in  the  same  light?  And  yet  there 
are  Catholics  who  will  introduce  the  same 
dissonance,  the  same  hopeless  lack  of  sym- 
pathy, into  the  closest  relation  of  human 
life, — a  relation  so  close  that  only  perfect 
sympathy  can  render  it  endurable  to  one 
who  thinks  or  feels. 

These  reflections  crowded  upon  Philip  as 
he  looked  from  the  star-crowned  siatue  of 
Mary  to  the  fashionable  figure  seated  before 
it.    He  had  learned  of  late,  for  the  first  time 
since  his  childhood,  what  Catholic  woman- 
hood might  be,  and  he  knew  now  the  dif- 
ference between  its  charm  and  that  which 
was  the  result  of  natural  amiability  and  ■ 
worldly   grace.     "It   is    impossible!"    he; 
thought;   "I  can  not  run  the  risk  of  such  ! 
a  marriage, — a  risk  for  others  as  well  as  for 
myself.    If  Constance  will  become  a  Cath- 
olic, I  will  comply  with  my  uncle's  wishes; 
but  otherwise  I  can  not." 

He  said  this  to  himself,  in  a  kind  of  de- 
spair— torn  between  the  wish  to  requite  his 
uncle's  great  kindness  by  gratifying  what 
he  knew  to  be  his  strongest  desire,  and  by! 
his  reluctance  to  bind  his  life  in  the  manner  I 
demanded.     He   sternly    ignored    in    this 
struggle  certain  feelings  which  drew  his 
heart  in  another  direction.   He  felt  that  he 
was,  in  a  degree,  bound  to  Constance,  and  he 
knew  that  any  suit  of  his  to  Alice  Percival 
would  be  utterly  hopeless.    He  tried,  there 
fore,  to  drive  away  the  image  of  the  latter 
whenever  it  presented  itself. 

But  now  the  Vespers  had  ended ;  the  priest! 
with  his  train  approached  the  altar,thecon-| 
gregation  sank  on  their  knees,  the  door  of  the! 
tabernacle  swung  open,  and,  hark !  from  the; 


The  Ave  Maria. 


227 


'*^,'j'>:i7' 


t  hoir-loft  came  a  voice  like  that  of  an  an- 

<  el  leading  the  worship  of  heavenly  choirs. 
O  salutaris  Hostia!^^  it  sang,  lifting  up 

<  n  its  silver  notes,  full  of  the  spirit  of  faith 
nd  adoration,  the  hearts  of  all  below.  "(9 
iilutaris  Hostia!^^    Philip  echoed  in  the 

,  epths  of  his  own,  as  he  raised  his  glance  to 
i^e  throned  monstrance.  In  withdrawing, 
it  fell  on  Constance.  She  had  not  stirred, 
hut  still  sat  careless  and  erect  in  her  seat, 
only  turning  her  head  toward  the  gallery 
from  which  came  the  tones  that  seemed 
giving  utterance  to  the  worship  of  all  the 
kneeling  throng.  ' '  Do  they  say  nothing  to 
her?"  Philip  thought, with  a  sense  of  won- 
der; but  when  he  saw  her  give  a  glance  and 
a  slight  nod  of  approbation  to  Bellamy,  he 
knew  that  they  had  said  no  more  tO  her 
than  the  aria  of  a  singef  in  an  opera. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


A  September  Sonnet. 


BY    WILLIAM    D,  KELLY. 

SEPTEMBER'S  soughing  wind  sighs  sad 
and  soft 
Above  the  meadow-lands,  where,  day  by  day, 
To  duller  tints  the  hues  of  green  give  way; 
And  where,  in  lengthened  lines,  within   the 

croft. 
The  rifled  cornstalks  lift  their  heads  aloft, 
Like  soldiers  serried  for  a  coming  fray, 
Since  they  are  fled,  it  chants  a  funeral  lay 
For  flowers  the  summer  zephyrs  kissed  so  oft. 

And  yet,  despite  the  breeze,  by  day  and  night, 
Which  o'er  the  meadow -land  and  in  the 
corn, 
Sighs  for  the  flowers  and  sorrows  for  their 
flight. 
Until  all  things  around  us  seem  forlorn, 
The  month.  Madonna,  has  its  own  delight, 
Since  it  was  in  it,  Mother,  thou  wast  born. 


After  confession  one  should  feel  and  act 
like  a  school-boy,  who,  after  being  punished 
for  soiling  his  copy-book,  gets  a  new  one 
to  start  afresh,  and  takes  special  pains  to 
do  better. 


With   Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


V. — Damascus,  " Pearl  of  the  East." 
(Continued.) 

FROM  A  Lattice. — Sitting  in  my  win- 
dow at  Dimitri's, — a  window  over- 
hanging the  street  like  a  huge  birdcage, 
and  with  broad  green  blinds  propped  out  in 
front  of  it,  after  the  fashion  of  Alpine  eaves, 
— I  am  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  street- 
travel  and  traffic,  and  again  and  again  re- 
call the  delightful  pages  of  the  Arabian 
Nights. 

Every  figure  that  passes  is  the  living 
image  of  some  hero  or  heroine  in  those  im- 
mortal ta-les: — the  fine  animals,  thorough- 
bred Arabian,,  indeed  worthy  to  be  called 
steeds ;  the  gorgeous  trappings,  crusted  with 
embroideries  done  in  gold  or  silver  thread, 
that  cover  the  high  -  stepping  mares,  and 
trail  their  rich  fringes  nearly  to  the  ground; 
the  shapeless  bundles  of  bright-colored  silks 
and  satins,  with  a  woman  at  the  core  of 
them, — a  woman  whose  dark  eyes  dart  a 
scornful  glance  at  the  Christian,  as  she  jogs 
by  on  her  diminutive  donkey;  the  troops 
of  donkeys,  with  their  bare-legged  boy- 
master  cudgelling  them  bravely,  as  they 
hang  upon  the  flying  heels  in  breathless 
pursuit;  the  camels,  that  eye  me  contempt- 
uously as  they  stalk  by,  with  their  humps 
as  high  as  my  first-floor  window,  their  flabby 
lips  pursing  within  reach  of  my  hand,  and 
their  clumsy  burdens  fairly  brushing  my 
sleeve  as  I  lean  from  the  lattice  at  Dimitri's. 

Is  it  not  like  an  Arabian  tale?  The  little 
hunchback,  the  porter,  the  royal  calendars, 
and  the  ladies  of  Bagdad;  the  barber  and 
his  six  brothers,  the  sleeper  awakened,  the 
poor  blind  man,  the  slave  of  love,  the  en- 
chanted horse — yea,  even  the  forty  thieves 
— all,  all  are  here  visible  to  the  naked  eye, 
and  making  that  wondrous  book  of  Eastern 
romance  seem  like  a  reality.  Who  knows 
but  somewhere  in  the  bewildering  throng 
beneath  my  window  the  young  King  of  the 
Black  Isles  may  be  masquerading?   Or  that 


228 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  beautiful  oue  who  just  passed  was  a 
Princess  of  Cathay?  Perhaps  the  Caliph 
Harouu-al-Raschid  may  not  be  far  distant. 
You  will  remember  his  love  of  adventure; 
and  are  not  all  those  fairy- people  of  Arabia 
immortal? 

Among  the  Pariahs. — From  my  win- 
dow, looking  up  a  street  directly  in  front  of 
me,  and  down  another  street  which  crosses 
it  at  right  angles — the  street  our  hospice 
borders  on, — and  looking  &(Ay  about  fifty 
paces  in  each  direction,  I  have  counted 
twenty-seven  dogs  lying  asleep  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day,  and  likewise  the  middle  of 
the  way.  These  are  the  pariah  dogs  of  the 
Orient,  and  I  believe  there  are  more  of  them 
in  Damascus  than  in  any  other  city  of  the 
East.  Camels  and  horses  step  over  them; 
donkeys  turn  out  for  them;  men  ignore 
them;  children  kick  them,  beat  them  with 
sticks,  and  throw  missiles  at  them;  but  the 
poor  curs  only  raise  their  heads,  give  a  yelp 
of  pain,  and  drop  off  to  sleep  again. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  are 
no  pavements  in  Oriental  cities;  that  man 
and  beast  share  the  middle  of  the  street,  and 
that  the  pedestrian  is  in  constant  danger  of 
being  run  down  by  some  animal  or  vehicle. 
Yet  these  dogs  sleep  calmly  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  thoroughfare;  and  they  sleep 
most  of  the  day — no  wonder:  they  sit  up  all 
night  to  bark. 

Of  the  numberless  canines  that  came 
under  my  notice  in  the  Orient,  I  do  not  re- 
member having  seen  one  without  blemish; 
they  are  bald  in  spots,  weak -jointed,  blear- 
eyed,  mangy,  miserable  creatures.  No  one 
owns  them,  no  one  cares  for  them;  they 
live  upon  the  offal  that  is  heaped  in  the 
streets  after  dark,  and  each  must  fight  for 
his  share  of  it.  Every  dog  has  his  district 
as  well  as  his  day;  he  may  travel  up  and 
down  certain  streets  and  lanes,  known  well 
enough  to  himself  and  to  his  enemies;  he 
may  toe  the  border-line  of  his  beat,  and 
make  mouths  at  the  dogs  over  the  way;  he 
may  say  as  many  saucy  and  wicked  things 
as  he  chooses,  so  long  as  he  remains  on  his 
own  ground;  but  let  him  venture  a  yard 
beyond  it,  and  a  score  of  vengeful  canines 


will  fall  upon  him,  and  rend  him  limb  from 
limb. 

I  have  seen  a  sickly  and  feverish  cur 
steal  noiselessly  into  the  enemy's  camp,  to 
slake  his  thirst  at  a  neighboring  fountain. 
While  the  poor  wretch  w^as  drinking — I 
wonder  how  he  could  swallow  with  his  tail 
curled  down  so  tightly! — while  he  lapped 
greedily  and  fearfully,  his  presence  was  dis- 
covered, and  he  was  at  once  surrounded. 
A  hop-ski p-and-jump  would  have  brought 
him  to  his  native  heath,  and  then  it  would 
have  been  his  turn  to  bark;  but  he  was- 
seized  at  once  by  a  dozen  cowardly  brutes, 
that  dragged  him  hither  and  thither,  and 
would  have  devoured  him  alive,  but  that 
his  piercing  cries  and  the  general  hubbub- 
brought  down  his  tribe  to  the  rescue.  He 
was  saved,  poor  fellow,  and  limped  home 
in  the  pitch  of  battle,  unobserved  by  the 
infuriated  enemy ;  but  his  ears  were  torn  to 
shreds,  and  he  was  so  full  of  holes  that  had 
he  fallen  into  the  fountain  which  brought 
him  so  little  refreshment,  he  would  have 
filled  and  sunk  inside  of  ten  seconds. 

It  is  not  safe  to  venture  forth  after  dark 
without  one  of  the  long  paper  lanterns, 
which  everyone  carries  —  looking  like  an 
illuminated  concertina  standing  on  end, — 
to  light  your  steps.  Indeed,  there  is  a  law 
compelling  all  pedestrians  to  keep  their 
lamps  trimmed  and  burning;  hence,  also, 
the  Scriptural  figure:  "He  shall  be  a  lamp- 
unto  your  feet,  and  a  light  unto  your  path." 

A  story  is  told  of  a  foolish  virgin,  or  a 
tramp,  possibly,  who  ventured  forth  alone 
in  the  dark  streets  without  his  lantern ;  his» 
stumbling  steps  were  heard,  the  alarm  was 
sounded,  and  in  three  minutes  he  was  ten 
feet  deep  in  dogs.  When  the  day  broke,  and 
the  row  was  over,  there  was  nothing  left  to- 
tell  the  tale  but  a  pair  of  indigestible  boots. 

The  cry  of  these  outcasts  is  terrific,  but 
it  is  incessant;  and  therefore  in  the  course 
of  time  the  ear  becomes  accustomed  to  the 
horrible  discord,  and  it  is  scarcely  noticed. 
Can  you  not  see  the  contempt  concentrated 
in  the  favorite  Mohammedan  epithet,  too 
often  hurled  at  our  devoted  heads,  ' '  Dog 
of  a  Christian"? 


The  Ave  Maria. 


229 


Bazaar  Life. — The  bazaars  of  Damas- 
cus are  extolled  above  those  of  Cairo  and 
Constantinople;  but  the  bazaar  in  itself,  let 
^  it  be  wfiere  it  may,  so  long  as  it  is  sheltered 
from  the  glare  of  the  sun,  and  sweetened 
with  the  perfumes  of  Arabia,  is  far   too 
iharming  a  resort   ever  to  lose  much  by 
:om pari  son. 

The  Damascus  streets,  narrow  and  ill- 
laved — the  receptacles  of  every  species  of 
omestic  filth, — are  often  covered  with  steep 
oofs  of  loosely  laid  boards  or  dried  palm 
boughs,  through  which  the  strong  sun-- 
light  sifts  its  powdered  gold.  In  this  semi- 
obscurity,  jostled  continually  by  the  stream- 
ing crowd  that  surges  to  and  fro,  all  the 
senses  are  steeped  in  the  fulness  of  that 
luxurious  Eastern  life,  which  in  Damascus 
alone  seems  as  yet  to  have  suffered  no  notice- 
able decay. 

It  was  in  Damascus,  the  largest  city  of 
Syria,  containing  110,000  souls,  of  whom 
90,000  are  Mohammedans,  that  the  latter 
fell  upon  the  Christians  in  1866,  and  slew 
them  in  the  streets,  in  their  own  houses, 
and  even  on  the  very  steps  of  the  altar, 
whither  they  had  flown  for  safety.  For  days 
the  streets  ran  blood;  the  bodies  of  6,000 
Christian  citizens  were  left  where  they  fell. 
The  dogs  fed  on  them;  the  birds  came  in 
from  the  desert  to  join  the  feast  The  per- 
secuted Christians  were  unable  to  bury 
their  dead;  for  no  sooner  had  the  living 
stolen  from  their  hiding-places  than  they 
were  slaughtered  by  the  bloodthirsty  and 
unrelenting  Mussulmans. 

It  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Abd-el-Kader 
to  say  here  that  all  his  influence  was  ex- 
erted in  behalf  of  the  Christians,  and  that 
he  was  ever  most  charitably  disposed;  but 
the  massacre  was  not  checked  until  15,000 
Christians  had  fallen  a  prey  to  Mohamme- 
dan fanaticism. 

You  are  apt  to  think  of  this  as  you  lounge 
in  the  bazaars  of  Damascus,  and  hear  from 
time  to  time  some  bitter  imprecation  hissed 
at  you  under  the  breath;  and,  yet,  so  bewil- 
dering is  the  spectacle  that  surrounds  you, 
that  fear  is  lost  in  admiration,  and  you 
venture  onward,  filled  with  childlike  won- 


derment. You  enter  the  saddle  -  market^ 
where  there  are  heaps  of  huge  pillows,  gold 
embroidered  and  with  fringes  a  foot  deep. 
These  are  Oriental  saddles,  and  they  make 
a  very  broad,  very  flat,  and  very  comfortable 
seat  atop  of  the  wee  Egyptian  donkeys. 
There  are  straps,  girths,  bridles,  sharp  Ara- 
bian bits,  clumsy  stirrups  that  hide  the 
whole  foot,  holsters,  and  gewgaws  without 
end,  all  glittering  and  jingling — such  daz- 
zling paraphernalia  as  is  the  pride  of  the 
circus  ring-master,  and  the  delight  of  the 
applauding  populace;  yet  these  are  for  the 
daily  use  of  the  picturesque  Damascenes. 

Farther  on,  the  copper-smiths  beat  noisily 
at  their  anvils,  and  display  huge  platters 
that  might  almost  hold  a  barbecued  ox. 
The  bazaar  of  the  second-hand  clothier  is 
called  Luk-el-Kumeleh — literally  the  louse- 
market.  There  is  something  startlinij  in 
the  naked  truths  that  occasionally  surprise 
the  tongues  of  these  Levantine  euphemists. 
The  Greek  Bazaar  is  more  general;  in  it 
one  sees  almost  anything,  from  food  and 
raiment  to  the  far-famed  Damascus  blades; 
but  the  latter  article  has  lost  both  its  edge 
and  its  temper  in  these  degenerate  days. 

Afterward,  elbow  to  elbow,  a  double  line 
of  booths  stretches  away  into  the  shadowy 
distance,  where  the  twilight  of  the  place 
dims  the  brilliant  costumes  of  the  loung- 
ers. It  is  the  bazaar  of  the  pipe-sellers. 
Here  there  are  pipes  of  cocoanut  shells  and 
ostrich  eggs,  mounted  in  gold  and  silver, 
and  having  stems  a  fathom  long,  with  im- 
mense globes  of  amber  for  mouth-pieces. 
Then  there  are  the  drapers  with  fabrics 
rainbow- dyed ;  camel'shair  cloaks — web- 
like tissues  with  gossamer  blossoms  floating 
through  them  as  lightly  as  the  down  of  the 
dandelion.  And  the  booksellers,  with  their 
precious  tomes  filled  with  ancient  and 
Eastern  lore;  lyrics  of  Persian  poets,  en- 
grossed on  dainty  rolls  of  ivory -smooth 
parchment,  tied  with  a  thread  of  gold;  and 
there  are  sealed  volumes  of  magic  and  mys- 
tery. It  is  said  that  these  proud  booksellers 
sometimes  refuse  the  money  of  a  Christian 
customer. 

In  the  silk  bazaar  one  sees  embroideries 


230 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


from  the  Lebanon;  dainty  pouches  for  the 
curled  shavings  of  the  fragrant  tobacco; 
slippers,  millions  and  millions  of  them — a 
whole  parish  filled  with  nothing  but  scarlet 
and  lemon-colored  slippers.  Then  there 
are  draperies  from  Bagdad,  flowered  cottons 
from  Birmingham,  filmy  veils  from  Swit- 
zerland, embroidered  window  -  hangings 
and  table-covers  from  the  South  of  France, 
and  fezes — such  as  everyone  wears  in  the 
Orient, — all  made  in  the  factories  of  Vienna. 
Perhaps  it  is  not  generally  known  that 
many  of  the  so-called  Oriental  fabrics  are 
manufactured  in  Europe  and  shipped  to  the 
bazaars  of  Cairo,  Damascus,  and  Stomboul. 
Genuine  Oriental  wares,  of  all  descriptions, 
are  growing  scarcer  every  year. 

At  the  baker-shops  and  the  little  cafes 
that  are  sprinkled  through  the  bazaars  one 
sees  the  thin  cakes  of  flour  pasted  against 
the  sloping  sides  of  small,  portable  ovens, 
ready  to  be  eaten  hot  at  all  hours.  The 
baker's  boy  cries:  Ya  rezzak! — ^'O  giver 
of  sustenance! "  A  sweetish  loaf,  sopped  in 
grape  sirup  and  sprinkled  with  sesame,  is 
offered  for  sale,  with  the  cry , ' '  Food  for  swal- 
lows!" Young  maidens  are  specially  fond 
of  this  dish.  When  water-cresses  are  sold, 
the  vender  shouts:  "Tender  cresses  from 
the  spring  of  Ed-Drriyeh.  If  an  old  woman 
eats  them  she  is  young  again  next  morn- 
ing." And  the  lad  who  hawks  bouquets 
sings  out  significantly :  "  O  young  husband, 
appease  your  mother-in-law!" 

The  bazaar  of  the  joiners  is  noisy  with 
the  saw,  the  file,  and  the  hammer.  Here  the 
workers  in  perfumed  wood,  and  those  who 
inlay  mother-of-pearl,  make  the  high,  stilt- 
like pattens,  the  small  tables,  the  mirror- 
frames,  and  the  clumsy  but  ornamental  fur- 
niture which  the  Damascenes  delight  in. 
The  goldsmiths  beat  their  gold  into  rude 
armlets,  and  make  the  tiny  and  delicate 
filigree  stands  for  the  fragile  coffee-cups  we 
are  continually  handling. 

The  great  Khan  of  Asad  Pasha  is  forever 
associated  with  the  bazaars  of  Damascus, 
and  is  just  the  spot  to  rest  in  after  one  has 
exhausted  himself  with  sight- seeing.  It  is 
by  far  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  khans; 


is  built  of  black  and  yellow  stone,  the  alter- 
nate layers  striping  the  walls  to  the  top. 
Imagine  a  very  large  and  very  lofty  hall, 
square,  with  four  tall  columns  in  the  centre 
supporting  a  dome;  the  central  dome  sur- 
rounded by  eight  others  of  equal  size,  and 
all  of  them  perforated  with  starlike  win- 
dows, through  which  the  sunlight  slants  its 
dusty  rays.  There  is  a  fountain  between  the 
central  columns.  Two  galleries  surround 
the  building,  and  afford  shelter  for  foreign 
merchants,  who  come  to  Damascus  to  pur- 
chase or  dispose  of  wares.  These,  with  their 
retainers,  camp  along  the  walls  in  the  gal- 
leries, and,  having  turned  their  camels  and 
asses  loose  about  the  fountain,  gather  their 
legs  under  them  among  the  cushions  of  the 
divans,  and  smoke  or  chat  or  pray,  or  listen 
to  the  wandering  minstrels  and  story-tellers, 
who  often  stray  into  the  khan  to  charm 
the  merchants  with  their  romansas  and 
romances.  I  observed  that  all  business  was 
usually  suspended  until  the  climax  of  the 
tale  was  reached  or  the  singer  had  sung 
out  his  song. 

There  is  a  kind  of  magnetism  in  the  stuffs 
heaped  about  in  broken  bales,  that  is  sure 
to  drain  your  pocket  sooner  or  later.  I 
wonder  if  old  Abou  Antika,  who  throws 
wide  his  doors,  stirs  his  snow-chilled  sher- 
bet, and  lays  fire  to  his  best  pipes  when  the 
distinguished  foreigner  is  announced  —  I 
wonder  if  he  has  no  compunctions  of  con- 
science when  he  closes  a  bargain,  and  knows 
that  he  has  defrauded  his  customer  thrice 
over? 

In  Abou's  bazaar  you  recline  upon  Per- 
sian rugs  of  downy  and  silken  softness, 
while  about  you  are  heaped  the  spoils  of 
empires — not  the  sort  of  empires  that  poke 
one  another  in  the  ribs  with  wordy  docu- 
ments, and  divert  one  another  with  the 
exchange  of  pompous  telegrams;  but  the 
empires  that  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  lotos- 
eaters,  and  dream  dreams  of  an  earthly  para- 
dise, until  they  waken  from  this  peaceful  I 
dream  to  war;  then,  like  a  tempest-tossed  I 
sea,  they  overflow  their  borders,  carrying 
death  and  destruction  with  them.  Some- 
thing of  the  wreck  that  follows  has  been 


The  Ave  Maria. 


231 


fathered  and  stored  in  this  treasure-house — 

I  splendid  and  barbaric  confusion  of  jewel- 

lilted  weapons,  and  of  all  the  shapely  or 

hapeless  bric-h-brac  that  for  centuries  have 

)een  in  the  jealous  keeping  of  pagan  hands. 

^ow  a  man's  heart  leaps  at  the  first  sight 

\i  these   covetable  keepsakes,  lying  like 

jlibbish  heaps  about   the   bazaar   of   this 

.niserly  Mussulman ;  how  \v\^porte-monnaie 

.shrivels  up  beneath  the  simoon  breath  of 

the  final  and  fatal  bargain!  Abou  Antika  is 

a  temptation  and  a  snare.    Away  with  such 

a  fellow  as  he!    Mashallah — I  have  said  it! 

(to  be  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY    ANNA    HANSON     DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— (Continued.) 

IN  the  mean  time  the  "mill  of  the  gods" 
had  gone  on  grinding  the  fine  wheat  of 
the  Lord;  at  the  Temple  of  Mars,  in  the 
Flavian  Amphitheatre  at  the  Temple  of  the 
Earth,  in  the  dungeons  outside  the  gates 
and  elsewhere  in  and  about  Rome,  the  work 
went  on,  as  it  had  been  going  on  year  after 
year,  until  more  than  a  lustrum  had  passed, 
without  a  sign  that  it  was  near  the  end. 
It  was  monotonous,  and  the  spectacle  of  a 
martyrdom  was  too  commonplace  now  to 
excite  much  curiosity  or  interest,  except 
when  something  more  extraordinary  than 
usual  attended  it.  Besides,  the  Roman  peo- 
ple liked  extremes;  if  they  had  horrors  they 
wanted  an  even  balance  of  pleasure  and 
amusement;  and,  somehow,  it  happened 
that  just  at  this  time  there  was  more  of  the 
former  and  less  of  the  latter  than  seemed  to 
them  either  agreeable  or  necessary. 

Something  was  at  hand,  however,  that 
would  not  only  break  the  present  monotony, 
but  give  Rome  a  laugh — under  the  breath 
be  it  understood — at  the  expense  of  Vale- 
nan  Imperator.  It  was  rumored  on  a  certain 
day  that  the  Emperor  was  going  to  the 
Temple  of  Mars,  to  receive  from  Laurence 
the  Deacon — the  same  who  had  been  in 
chains  in  the  dungeons  of  Hippolytus  ever 


since  his  arrest,  and  had  there  exercised 
those  powers  attributed  by  the  pagans  to 
magic — the  key  of  the  Christian  Treasury, 
which  contained,  it  was  asserted,  an  enor- 
mous amount  of  gold,  silver,  and  jewels. 

In  his  rich  imperial  robes,  seated  in  his 
curule  chair,  surrounded  by  lictors  and 
guards,  Valerian  awaited  his  anticipated 
triumph;  for  was  not  he  the  first  of  the 
Emperors  who  had  been  able  to  wrest  their 
concealed  treasures  from  the  Christians! 
And  was  it  not  a  sign  that  their  cause  was 
weakening  and  near  its  end  ?  He  was  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  and  conversed  affably  with 
certain  of  his  satellites  whom  he  had  in- 
vited to  attend  him. 

Opposite  to  him  was  the  catasta^  raised 
by  a  few  steps  above  the  floor  of  the  Prae- 
torium,  upon  which  the  criminal  usually 
stood,  in  view  of  all  present.  The  procu- 
rator, in  official  robes,  occupied  his  place; 
here  were  the  consiliarii^  there  the  notaries, 
ready  to  take  down  questions  and  deposi- 
tions. On  one  side  appeared  lictors,  the  keen 
edge  of  the  axe  bound  up  and  their  fasces 
turned  outward ;  while  against  the  wall  a 
group  of  savage-looking  men,  naked  to  the 
waist,  waited  with  implements  of  torture, 
ready  at  a  word  to  spring  to  their  bloody 
work. 

The  Praetorium  wore  the  semblance  of  a 
hall  of  justice,  but  Valerian  Imperator  pre- 
sided. There  would  be  no  formal  trial;  he 
was  there  to  receive,  from  one  pre-judged 
by  his  own  acts,  the  concealed  treasures 
forfeited  by  his  crimes  to  the  State,  and  to 
deal  as  the  laws  of  the  Empire  demanded 
against  conspirators  and  blasphemers  of  the 
gods;  but  for  the  sake  of  appearances  it  was 
well  for  the  ofl&cials  of  the  law  to  be  present. 

Outside,  a  scene  was  progressing  that 
baffles  description.  Rome  seemed  to  have 
vomited  forth  all  her  beggars— halt,  blind, 
diseased, — a  hollow-eyed,  want -stricken, 
tattered  army  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
that,  despite  the  resistance  of  the  guards, 
gathered  around  the  Temple,  pressing  upon 
one  another,  and  overflowing  the  great  por- 
tico and  pillared  vestibule.  The  hum  of 
their  voices,  the  angry  orders  of  the  soldiers, 


232 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  sound  of  blows,  followed  by  shrill  out- 
cries, reached  the  ears  of  Valerian,  like  the 
confused  roar  of  a  tumult,  and  a  pallid  hue 
stole  over  his  bloated  visage.  Was  there  a 
revolt? — were  assassins  at  hand, who  would 
presently  rush  in  and  slay  him  where  he 
sat?  His  flesh  trembled,  his  brutal  heart 
grew  faint;  but  suddenly  there  was  silence, 
and  he  breathed  more  freely. 

At  that  moment  Laurence,  accompanied 
by  Hippolytus  and  surrounded  by  guards, 
was  ascending  the  Temple  steps,  and  when 
about  half-way  he  turned  for  an  instant, 
confronting  the  terrified  assemblage  below, 
and,  lifting  his  manacled  hand,  made  the 
Sign  of  Redemption,  and  breathed  forth  his 
blessing  like  a  heavenly  dew  upon  them; 
then  the  guards,  recovered  from  their  sur- 
prise, more  roughly  than  before  urged  his 
advance. 

Although  under  suspicion  of  sharing 
with  his  family  and  slaves  the  delusion  aris- 
ing from  the  singular  events  that  had  so 
recently  occurred  in  the  dungeons  of  his 
house,  Hippolytus  had  not  been  interfered 
with,  but  still  had  the  custody  of  Laurence, 
as  it  was  believied  that  through  his  persua- 
sions the  latter  would  be  induced  to  give 
up  the  treasures  he  had  in  charge.  This 
supposition  was  confirmed  by  the  fact  that 
he  had  consented  to  yield  his  secret. 

Hippolytus  was  not  yet  openly  a  Chris- 
tian, although  grace  had  touched  his  heart, 
and  he  was  almost  persuaded  that,  so  far, 
he  had  had  no  time  to  weigh  the  matter. 
And  now  what  use  Laurence  expected  to 
make  of  the  mob  that,  with  his  co-operation, 
he  had  summoned  to  meet  him  on  this  9th 
day  of  August,  258,  Hippolytus  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand;  but,  supposing  that  these 
poor  wretches  were  connected  in  some  way 
with  the  question  of  the  secret  treasures,  he 
gave  the  holy  deacon  his  own  way,  thinking 
that,  even  should  the  means  seem  foolish, 
the  result  would  prove  satisfactory.  Ac- 
cordingly he  whispered  an  order  to  the  cap- 
tain of  the  guards  as  the  prisoner  entered 
the  vestibule,  and  those  who  had  been 
driven  back  by  blows  a  few  moments  before 
were  allowed  to  pour  in,  until  all  the  avail- 


able space  in  the  Prsetorium  was   filled. 

Valerian  had  been  promptly  informed  of 
the  harmlessness  of  the  uproar  that  had  sa 
startled  him,  and  quite  regained  his  self- 
possession  when  he  saw  the  Christian  dea- 
con standing  on  the  catasta^  calmly  await- 
ing his  pleasure.  The  dignified,  composed 
air  of  Laurence,  his  serene,  fearless  counte- 
nance, in  whose  presence  he  secretly  felt  his 
own  ignoble  inferiority,  stung  the  tyrant, 
who,  however,  resolved  to  control  himself 
until  the  coveted  treasures  were  in  his  pos- 
session; then  —  let  the  furies  dance  and 
Cerberus  whet  his  fangs! 

' '  Thou  kno west  why  thou  art  here  ?  De- 
liver up  the  key  of  thy  treasury,  and  des- 
ignate its  location;  then,  if  thou  wilt  cast  a 
grain  of  incense  in  yonder  brazier  in  honor 
of  Jupiter,  life  and  liberty  are  thine,"  said 
Valerian,  in  tones  which  were  intended  to 
sound  conciliatory,  but  their  coarse  ram- 
bling had  quite  the  contrary  effect. 

"Had  I  a  thousand  lives  instead  of  one, 
I  would  not  cast  a  grain  of  incense  in  honor 
of  thy  gods,  which  are  of  stone  and  metal, 
without  sense  or  feeling,"  was  the  clear, 
ringing  answer,  that  penetrated  every  ear 
in  the  vast  hall.  "I  have  but  one  life,  and 
that  belongs  to  Jesus  Christ,  the  only  True 
and  Living  God,  whom  I  serve  and  adore^ 
and  for  the  love  of  whom  I  am  ready  to- 
suffer  death.  As  to  the  treasury  of  the 
Church,  behold  it,  tyrant!  in  the  poor  and 
miserable  congregated  here  and  around  this 
Temple,  who  have  been  brought  hither  by 
my  summons,  that  thou  mightest  see  and 
know  that  the  Church  of  Christ  hoards 
neither  gold  nor  silver  nor  precious  things, 
but  distributes  all  to  the  poor." 

The  rage  of  Valerian  at  an  answer  that 
demolished  with  one  blow  his  avaricious 
schemes  took  from  him  the  power  of  artic- 
ulate speech,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  he 
roared  like  an  infuriated  bull,  while  every 
heart  quailed  before  him,  not  knowing  what 
form  his  vengeance  would  take,  or  on  how 
many  it  might  fall, — every  heart  except 
that  of  Laurence,  which,  uplifted  above  all 
tempests  of  human  wrath,  had  a  foretaste 
of  those  eternal  consolations  which  would 


The  Ave  Maria, 


233 


ioon  reward  him  in  their  complete  fulness. 
I  At  last  from  the  chaos  of  the  tyrant's 
fury  words  shaped  themselves. 

''Seize  him,  lictors,  and  scourge  him,  the 

liar!  the  deceiver!  the  blasphemer  of  the 

;pds!    And  disperse  yonder  rabble! — hunt 

em  down!  trample  them  in  the  dust!" 
fie  bellowed. 

While  the  "rabble,"  weeping  for  the 
fcacher  who  had  led  them  into  the  way  of 
falvation,  and  been  their  provider  and  con- 

ler,  were  being  dispersed,  and,  with  obe- 
dient fidelity,  "trampled  in  the  dust," — - 
while  the  lictors  were  laying  bare  to  his 
■loins  the  tender  flesh  of  I^aurence,  Valerian 
:suddenly  remembered  that  it  was  due  to  his 
own  dignity  to  assume  au  indifferent  and 
impartial  air,  as  of  a  stern  judge  intent  only 
•on  the  punishment  of  an  offender  against 
the  State;  for  had  he  not  been  publicly 
•duped,  and  would  not  all  Rome  make  a  jest 
and  comedy  of  his  discomfiture?  He  knew 
the  Roman  spirit  too  well  not  to  feel  as- 
sured that  its  satirical  wit  would  break  out 
in  epigram  and  lampoon  at  his  expense; 
that  it  would  be  a  sweet  nut  for  the  teeth 
of  every  vagabond  in  the  streets,  and  be 
laughed  over  equally  in  the  low  drinking- 
slums  of  the  city,  as  (on  the  sly)  even  in  the 
porticusoi  the  academies  and  libraries.  Aye! 
he  knew  the  laugh  was  against* him,  and 
that  there  was  no  love  for  him  to  keep  it 
back;  but  woe  betide  the  audacious  Chris- 
tian who  had  humiliated  him! 

Aye!  woe  indeed,  so  far  as  he  had  power 
over  the  body.  With  demoniacal  malice  he 
looked  on,  while  the  lictors  with  dexterous 
blows  bruised  the  flesh  of  their  unresisting 
victim  with  their  rods, — while  the  scorpion 
whips  of  the  executioners  tore  and  mangled 
it,  expecting,  hoping  every  moment  that  he 
would  cry  out  or  moan  with  excess  of  pain. 
But  this  satisfaction  was  denied  him;  for 
I^aurence  stood  with  folded  arms  and  closed 
eyes,  turning  himself  this  way  and  that,  as 
he  was  bidden;  the  edge  of  his  keen  suffer- 
ings dulled  by  the  contemplation  of  Jesus 
in  the  Hall  of  Pilate,  counting  every  blow 
endured  for  the  love  of  Him  precious  be- 
yond all  price. 


Still  more  enraged  by  this  heavenly 
composure,  which  he  looked  on  as  defiance, 
but  which  the  devils  who  instigated  him 
understood,  the  cruel  Emperor  now  caused 
Laurence  to  be  laid  upon  the  rack,  and  hot 
plates  of  iron  applied  to  his  bleeding,  quiv- 
ering sides;  but  the  firmness  of  the  saintly 
victim  remained  unshaken,  his  constancy 
unmoved,  and  no  sound  escaped  his  lips  ex- 
cept the  Holy  Name  of  Him  for  the  sake  of 
whom  he  suffered. 

A  soldier  named  Romanus,who  had  been 
regulating  the  tension  of  the  rack,  amazed 
at  the  heroic  endurance  of  the  tortured 
Christian,  and  touched  with  an  emotion  of 
pity  by  his  sufferings,  turned  from  his  screws 
and  pulleys  to  cast  a  glance  upon  him, 
when  his  astonished  eyes  beheld  an  angel 
anointing-his  mangled  flesh  with  healing 
balms.  And  as  he  gazed  upon  the  heavenly 
visitant — by  the  others  unseen — the  inspira- 
tions of  divine  grace  illuminated  his  mind. 
To  loosen  the  handle  of  the  rack,  lift  the 
sufferer  from  his  bed  of  torture,  throw  him- 
self on  his  knees  at  his  side  and  beg  for 
baptism,  was  the  work  of  a  moment;  then, 
before  the  lookers-on  could  understand  or 
interfere,  he  ran  out,  returned  quickly  with 
a  copper  vessel  of  water,  with  which  Lau- 
rence, rejoicing  in  the  midst  of  his  tribula- 
tion, baptized  him. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Catholic  Notes. 


An  interesting  feature  of  the  great  pilgrim- 
age to  Notre- Dame  de  Fourviere  on  the  5th  of 
July  was  the  procession  of  deaf  mutes  from 
the  Institute  of  Bourg.  These  children  were 
happy  to  place  themselves  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God,  and  intrust 
themselves  to  her  maternal  care.  They  aston- 
ished all  present  by  the  clearness  and  distinct- 
ness with  which  they  articulated  and  spoke; 
a  truly  wonderful  result  of  the  caref;; 
to  which  they  had  been  subj( 
them,  not  more  than  ten  years 
distinctly  the  prayers  of  the 
by  the  Director  of  the  Institute; 
in  a  loud  voice,  recited  an  Act  of 


234 


The  Ave  Maria, 


to  the  Blessed  Virgin.  On  leaving  the  chapel, 
several  persons  spoke  with  the  little  mutes,  and 
admired  the  ease  with  which  they  followed 
the  conversations,  and  the  aptness  of  their  re- 
plies. 

The  investigations  made  by  some  of  the 
Protestant  journals  of  Montreal  have  gone 
far  to  prove  that  the  cure  of  Miss  Hermine 
I^abrie,  at  the  shrine  of  Ste.-Anne  de  Beaupre, 
on  the  15th  of  July, was  indeed  miraculous. 
Several  persons  who  knew  Miss  Ivabrie  for  a 
long  time  bore  testimony  to  the  fact  that  she 
was  ill  for  many  years,  suffering  from  nausea, 
vomiting,  indigestion,  and  general  debil- 
ity, constantly  growing  worse,  until  she  be- 
came unable  to  move  without  help,  and  that 
she  now  enjoys  good  health.  Added  to  this  is 
the  certificate  of  the  doctor  who  attended  her 
for  six  years,  and  who  testifies  to  his  own  ap- 
prehensions of  a  fatal  issue  to  the  pilgrimage 
which  the  invalid  longed  to  make,  and  which 
was  so  happily  rewarded.  Miss  I^abrie  herself 
related  that  after  her  six  years  of  suffering,  in 
return  for  her  confidence  in  I^a  Bonne  Sainte 
Anne,  she  was  now  once  more  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  perfect  health  and  strength.  In  proof 
of  this  she  referred  to  the  fact  that  when  she 
reached  home  on  the  evening  of  the  15th  of 
July  she  actually  ran  up  the  stairs,  down  which 
she  had  had  to  be  carried  in  the  morning;  that 
she  had  since  walked  out  almost  daily  to 
church,  market,  or  to  visit  her  friends;  that  she 
had  had  been  on  a  second  pilgrimage  to  Ste.- 
Anne  de  Beaupre  to  return  thanks;  in  a  word, 
that  "she  was  perfectly  cured,  and  wanted  all 
the  world  to  know  it. ' ' 


The  Rev.  S.  J.  Perry,  S.  J.,  of  ^Stonyhurst 
College,  accompanied  the  astronomical  expe- 
dition, which  sailed  from  Southampton,  Eng- 
land, on  the  29th  of  July,  for  the  Island  of 
Grenada  in  the  West  Indies.  The  expedition 
was  sent  out  by  the  Royal  Society,  to  observe 
the  total  eclipse  of  the  sun  on  the  29th  ult. 


A  letter  from  Dublin  to  the  Indianapolis 
Journal  pays  the  following  tribute  to  the  faith 
and  devotion  of  the  Irish  people: 

>*  X'have  learned  to  respect  the  Roman  Catholic 
,  ChaTCh  more  than  ever  before,  since  my  visit  to 
this  country.  Everywhere  I  find  the  convents 
filled  with  the  children  of  the  poorer  classes,  who 
are  given  an  industrial  education, — children  who 
would  otherwise  grow  up  in  ignorance  and  vice. 


At  the  Convent  of  Kenmare  I  found  nearly  500 
children  received  as  day  pupils.  Many  of  these 
little  ones  came  from  five  and  eight  miles  in  the 
country,  and  were  so  poor  that  a  breakfast  was 
necessarily  given  200  of  them  upon  their  arrival, 
and  a  piece  of  bread  before  they  started  for  their 
homes  at  evening.  The  magnificent  buildings  of 
the  convent  were  the  donations  of  one  man,  who 
is  buried  beside  the  altar  in  a  cathedral  adjoin- 
ing. Lace-making  is  taught  here,  and  I  was  shown 
the  bedspread  ordered  by  Queen  Victoria,  which 
was  being  skilfully  wrought  by  the  nimble  fin- 
gers of  the  misses  in  these  schools.  Said  the  gra- 
cious Sister:  '  Maybe  you  can  mention  our  laces 
to  the  Americans,  that  they  may  order  of  us;  for 
we  support  ourselves  entirely  through  the  gener- 
osity of  those  who  love  and  see  the  necessity  of 
our  work ;  for  our  people  are  very  poor. '  In  the 
overcrowded  work -houses  I  saw  these  gentle- 
mannered,  sweet -faced  Sisters  ministering  in 
sickness  and  in  death.  In  this  district  I  find  the 
percentage  of  crime  very  low;  theft  is  almost  un- 
known, notwithstanding  the  poverty;  women  are 
virtuous  to  an  eminent  degree.  I  believe  this  to 
be  owing  to  the  strict  surveillance  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion  upon  the  conscience  of  these 
people.  They  live  more  for  the  rewards  of  eter- 
nity than  for  the  pleasures  of  the  present." 

There  is  an  incident — and  it  is  only  one 
of  many — related  of  the  late  illustrious  Car- 
dinal Guibert,  which  well  portrays  the  great 
love  which  his  Eminence  always  manifested 
towards  the  poor,  —  a  love  carried  to  such 
bounds  that  he  himself  died  in  poverty.  It  is 
said  that  during  the  first  years  following  his 
promotion  to  the  See  of  Paris,  the  members  of 
his  household  remarked  that  at  a  certain  hour 
each  morning  the  Archbishop  left  the  palace, 
in  the  dress  of  a  simple  priest,  returned  after 
some  time,  and  retired  to  his  library,  without 
a  word  to  any  one.  These  daily  absences  were 
so  regular,  and  so  mysteriously  conducted, 
that  curiosity  was  excited,  and  the  private 
secretary  determined  to  try  and  solve  the  mys- 
tery. One  morning,  after  the  Archbishop  left 
the  house,  the  secretary  quickly  followed,  and 
soon  observed  him  enter  a  house  in  a  poor 
narrow  street.  The  secretary  also  entered  the 
house,  and  hid  himself  in  a  corner.  After 
waiting  about  half  an  hour  he  saw  the  Arch- 
bishop come  out  of  a  certain  room,  and  walk 
quickly  away.  He  then  knocked  at  the  door 
himself,  and,  obeying  the  invitation  to  enter, 
found  himself  in  a  very  modest  but  neat  apart- 
ment, occupied  by  a  poor,  infirm  old  woman. 
"Madame,"  said  the  secretary,  "there  was  a 


k. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


235 


•riest  here  just  now. "  "  Yes,  sir. "  "  What 
lid  he  come  here  for  ?  "  "  He  comes  here  every 
lay  to  fix  my  little  room  for  me.  He  brings 
he  table  near  my  bed,  arranges  my  food  and 
aedicine;  then  he  speaks  to  me  so  beautifully 
)f  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  God,  exhorts  me 
:b  resignation;  then  he  leaves  some  means  of 
ipport,  gives  me  his  blessing,  and  retires. 
'  sir,  this  priest  is,  indeed,  most  charita- 

iThe  secretary,  greatly  moved  on  hearing 
[is  recital,  comforted  the  poor  invalid,  gave 
\x  some  alms,  and  returned  to  the  archiepis- 
)pal  residence,  blessing  God,  who  had  given 
the  diocese  a  pastor  whose  life  recalled  the  vir- 
tues of  St,  Charles  Borromeo. 


The  Catholic  pilgrimage  to  the  place  of  mar- 
tyrdom of  Father  Jogues,  near  Auriesville,  N.  Y,, 
was  very  large  on  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption. 
The  place  promises  to' become  a  shrine. — Mich- 
igan Catholic. 

The  ' '  place ' '  has  already  become  a  shrine, 
as  witnessed  by  the  pilgrimages  and  the  in- 
creasing devotion  to  Our  I^ady  of  Martyrs. 


A  General  Chapter  of  the  Congregation  of 
the  Holy  Cross  was  held  at  the  Mother  House, 
^Otre  Dame,  Ind.,  during  the  week  ending 
August  21.  The  Chapter  was  presided  over  by 
the  Very  Rev.  guperior- General,  Father  Ed- 
ward Sorin,  the  founder  of  Notre  Dame,  also 
of  The  "Ave  Maria."  There  were  present 
delegated  representatives  of  the  Community 
from  various  parts  of  the  Vorld,  among  whom 
were  Mgr.  Dufal,  formerly  Vicar- Apostolic  of 
Eastern  Bengal,  now  Procurator- General  of  the 
Congregation  at  Rome,  and  the  Very  Rev.  Pro- 
vincials of  France  and  Canada,  together  with 
representatives  of  the  priests  and  brothers  in 
the  various  provinces  in  which  the  Community 
holds  establishments  in  Europe  and  America. 
The  Chapter  was  opened  on  the  Feast  of  the 
Vssumption,  with  Pontifical  Mass  of  the  Holy 
jhost,  celebrated  by  Mgr.  Dufal,  after  which 
the  sessions  were  held  each  day,  and  measures 
deliberated  upon  and  approved  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  Congregation.  The  holding  of  this 
General  Chapter  marks  a  feature  in  American 
Catholic  history,  as  it  is  the  second  of  the 
kind  in  this  country  since  its  discovery  by 
Columbus. 

Acorrespondentof  the  Western  Watchman, 
noticing  Father  L^ambing's  excellent  article 


on  ' '  Holy  Water, ' '  which  appeared  recently 
in  The  "Ave  Majiia,"  quotes  the  following 
from  Mgr.  Barbier  in  regard  to  the  custom  of 
taking  holy  water  on  leaving  the  church: 

"The  holy-water  font,  as  its  name  indicates,  is 
a  vase  intended  to  contain  holy  water  for  the  use 
of  the  faithful,  who  bless  themselves  [with  it]  on 
entering  the  church,  and  not  when  leaving;  for 
they  purify  themselves  to  enter  the  holy  place; 
but  when  they  leave  it  they  should  have  no  further 
use  for  the  spiritual  succor,  sanctified  as  they 
have  been  by  prayer,  the  Sacraments,  and  the  lit- 
urgic  offices.  Such  is  the  practice  universally 
followed  at  Rome." 


New  Publications. 


The  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Westmin- 
ster. With  Notes.  By  John  Oldcastle.  London: 
Burns  &  Gates.  New  York:  The  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society  Co. 

We  think  the  principal  charm  of  this  vol- 
ume lies  in  the  four  portraits  of  Cardinal 
Manning,  taken  at  wide  intervals  during  his 
life,  which  would  of  themselves  make  it  a  de- 
sirable acquisition  to  the  library.  For  the  rest, 
we  fail  to  see  the  motive  of  the  work.  If  the 
author  has  intended  it  for  those  who  are  un- 
acquainted with  the  history  of  the  Cardinal 
Archbishop,  he  has  not  said  enough;  for  al- 
though, in  anticipation  of  some  such  criticism, 
he  tells  us  in  the  preface  that  ' '  the  wise  say 
least,"  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  enabled  to 
make  their  meaning  clear.  He  gives  us  where- 
with to  whet  the  literary  appetite  of  practised 
readers,  but  not  enough  to  inform  the  uncriti- 
cal and  more  careless  average  reading  mind. 
Again,  if  the  purpose  of  the  author  has  been 
to  impress  the  numerous  admirers  of  the  Car- 
dinal with  a  fuller  sense  and  appreciation  of 
his  great  talents,  his  unswerving  loyalty  to 
truth,  his  wonderful  discrimination  and  he- 
roic virtues,  the  effort  seems  to  us  superfluous. 
"By  their  works  ye  shall  know  them,"  and 
the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Westminster  has 
long  been  the  central  figure  in  contempora- 
neous English  Catholic  history.  We  deprecate 
the  idea  of  flattery,  although  Mr.  Oldcastle 's 
work  just  fails  of  being  fulsome  to  those  who 
can  not  read  between  the  lines. 

Catholic  Controversy.  From  the  Writ- 
ings of  St.  Francis  de  Sales.  Same  Publishers. 
The  third  volume  of  the  ' '  lyibrary  of  St. 


236 


'Ilie  Ave  JMarici. 


Francis  de  Sales,"  now  being  presented  to  the 
public  by  the  Benedictine  Fathers,  is  the  fa- 
mous treatise  of  St.  Francis  to  the  Calvinists  of 
the  Chablais,  written  in  his  own  inimitable, 
gentle  yet  convincing  way, — the  way  by  which 
he  brought  so  many  souls  to  God.  By  many 
authorities  this  book  is  considered  the  best  of 
his  writings,  though  where  all  are  so  charm- 
ing it  is  difficult  to  particularize.  We  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  with  our  lauded  philan- 
thropic tendencies,  should  be  specially  at- 
tracted towards  St.  Francis, whose  sympathies 
for  the  weak  and  those  in  error  were  the  lode- 
stone  that  attracted  even  the  most  violent 
opponents  of  his  own  time.  He  has  taken  all 
the  hardness  and  dryness  out  of  controversy 
in  these  beautifully  written  expositions  and 
explanations  of  faith,  making  it  all  the  more 
desirable  reading  for  Protestants  as  well  as 
Catholics.  The  translator's  preface  is  volumi- 
nous and  interesting,  forming  a  fitting  intro- 
duction to  the  book,  for  which  we  predict 
success. 

The  Sacrbd  Hearts  of  Jksus  and  Mary, 
etc.  A  Manual  of  Devotion  especially  intended 
for  the  Members  of  the  Apostleship  of  Prayer. 
Compiled  from  the  German  Publications  of  the 
Rev.  Joseph  Aloysius  Krebs,  of  the  Congrega- 
tion of  the  Most  Holy  Redeemer.  New  York  and 
Cincinnati:  F.  Pustet  &  Co. 

Although,  as  announced  on  the  title-page, 
this  little  book  is  especially  intended  for  the 
members  of  the  Apostleship  of  Prayer,  it  will 
prove  a  valuable  incentive  to  pietj^  in  every 
Catholic  home.  It  is  a  carefully  culled  bouquet 
from  the  garden  of  the  saints,  of  which  the 
flowers  are  prayers  and  multiplied  forms  of 
devotion  to  the  Sacred  Hearts  of  Jesus  and 
Mary.  It  contains  five  methods  of  hearing 
Mass,  short  meditations  for  every  day  in  June, 
with  a  complete  explanation  of  the  object  of 
the  Apostleship  of  Prayer,  besides  many  beau- 
tiful indulgenced  prayers,  and  several  litanies. 
Withal,  it  is  nicely  bound,  printed  in  clear, 
attractive  type,  and  is  offered  to  the  public  for 
the  moderate  sum  of  one  dollar. 

We  are  in  receipt  of  an  oleograph  por- 
trait of  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons,  just 
brought  out  by  Messrs.  Benziger  Brothers.  It 
is  a  very  creditable  piece  of  color-printing,  and 
is  said  to  be  an  excellent  likeness  of  our  new 
Cardinal.  Size,  13  inches  by  10.  Price,  60 
cents. 


PARTMENt 


Norine's  Promise. 


I. 

It  was  a  summer  evening,  resplendent 
with  all  the  varied  loveliness  of  earth  and 
sky,  when  the  inmates  of  a  convent  school 
left  their  respective  class-rooms,  to  enjoy  the 
usual  recreation.  The  gracefully  arched  ve- 
randas, over  which  the  light-hearted  troops 
glided  or  skipped,  opened  on  a  lawn,  that 
stretched  far  and  wide  beneath  magnificent 
shade  trees,  which  partially  concealed  from 
the  railroad  near  by  ^  monastic  edifice, 
stately  indeed,  but  not  ennobled  by  the 
poesy  of  antiquity.  Soon  peals  of  laughter 
rent  the  air;  hoops  were  trundled,  croquet- 
balls  driven,  sides  taken  for  tennis,  etc. 

One  group  of  grown-up  misses  remained 
on  the  veranda,  slowly  pacing  back  and 
forth,  discussing  some  theme  treated  during 
class  hours.  Suddenly  one  of  them  quietly 
drew  aside  from  her  companions,  bounded 
over  the  shaven  sward  to  a  sequestered 
nook,  in  which  she  observed  a  favorite 
teacher,  and  knelt  beside  her  arm-chair. 

"I  hope  you  are  feeling  better,  Sister? 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  out  this  fine  evening." 

A  blush  overspread  the  pallid  counte- 
nance of  the  invalid,  like  a  flame  behind 
fine  porcelain,  as  she  replied,  in  a  low,  sweet 
voice:  "Thanks,  Norine.  I  am  far  from 
well;  indeed,  I  never  shall  be  well  until  I 
go  to  meet  our  dear  Lord.  Sister  Ignatia 
is  so  kind.  She  had  me  brought  here,  be- 
cause she  thought  the  air  would  refresh 
me."  Then,  pointing  to  the  sunset,  she 
added:  "Does  it  not  seem  as  if  the  gates  j 
of  heaven  were  unfolding?  lyook  at  those 
royal  purple  clouds  edged  with  fiery  flame. 
Oh!   I  long  to  be  away!" 

."But  we  can  not  spare  you  yet,  dear 
Sister,"  said  Norine,  in  a  caressing  tone 

' '  Something  assures  me  that  I  shall  not 
tarry  much  longer.    I  shall  soon  be  at  rest. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


237 


)li!  long- desired  rest!"    And  Sister  Bene- 
icta  sighed. 
"Rest  in  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus," 
(  choed  Norine.    Yet  she  wondered  why  the 

rir  invalid  should  sigh,  since  the  thought 
Death  was  so  consoling  to  her,  and  his 
fcit  so  near. 

^  Both  kept  silence  a  while. 
Norine  had  been  educated  in  the  convent, 
;ind  had  ever  considered  Sister  Benedicta 
"an  angel,"  but  still  a  mourning  angel. 
Nothing  could  have  pleased  the  girl  better 
than  to  have  it  in  her  power  to  do  a  favor 
for  a  teacher  whoifi  she  loved  dearly.  Still, 
what  could  she  do  for  her?  If  consolation 
in  a  spiritual  way  were  needed,  had  not  the 
Sister  everything  requisite  as  a  religious? 
And  could  she  offer  anything  temporal  to 
one  who  had  contemned  the  superfluous 
goods  of  earth?  Her  life  had  been  perfect: 
there  could  be  no  remorse.  These  thoughts 
flashed  through  tlie  mind  of  the  affection- 
ate girl,  when  Sister  Benedicta  said: 

"Norine,  I  must  see  you  before  I  die.  I 
will  obtain  the  necessary  permission.  Help 
me,  dear,  to  rise  and  go  to  the  house;  I  fear 
the  dew  is  beginning  to  fall." 

Norine  was  about  to  offer  her  assistance, 
when  two  Sisters  advanced  to  support  the 
invalid. 

"Take  these  roses,  dear  Sister,"  said 
Norine,  presenting  her  a  nosegay  of  rare 
blooms,  which  she  had  arranged  whilst  they 
were  chatting.  "I  cultivated  them  myself 
in  my  own  little  garden;  they  are  more 
fragrant  than  white  roses  generally  are,  I 
think." 

"I  accept  them  most  gratefully.  You 
will  lay  them  for  me  before  the  statue  of 
Our  Lady.  Now  good-night,  dear;  I  shall 
soon  see  you  again. ' '   And  they  parted. 

II. 
A  few  days  later  the  Mother  Superior 
summoned  Norine  to  her  room,  and  said: 
"My  child,  Sister  Benedicta  would  like  to 
ee  you.  Go  quietly  up  the  stairway  to  the 
corridor  on  the  first  floor;  you  will  find  her 
awaiting  you  in  the  last  little  room." 

"Is  she  going  to  die?"  asked  the  girl, 
tears  vStarting  in  her  eyes. 


"Not  to-day,  I  presume,"  said  Mother 
Beatrice ;  "at  least,  we  hope  to  keep  her 
with  us  some  time  yet;  for  she  suffers  so 
patiently  that  she  draws  down  blessings  on 
the  school  and  the  community.  Now  go, 
dear;  and  pay  great  attention  to  what  Sister 
will  tell  you." 

Norine,  deeply  moved,  and  feeling  a  cer- 
tain natural  dread  of  seeing  a  dying  person, 
ascended  the  stairway,  and  passing  through 
a  long,  broad  corridor,  from  which  doors 
opened  on  either  side,  each  one  marked  by 
the  picture  of  a  saint,  or  a  holy  legend, 
she  at  length  reached  the  room  indicated. 
Sister  Benedicta  was  alone.  The  half-raised 
curtains  displayed  the  frail  form,  propped 
up  with  pillows,  her  long,  slender  fingers 
clasping  th^  crucifix  of  her  rosary.  Sweetly 
smiling,  she  beckoned  her  timid  pupil 
closer  to  her;  and  Norine,  reverently  kissing 
the  wax-like  hand,  interiorly  wondered  why 
she  should  have  been  called  in  preference 
to  her  numerous  companions. 

The  dark,  expressive  eyes  of  the  Sister 
seemed  to  be  penetrating  the  veil  which 
hid  some  more  distant  sphere. 

"Sister  Ignatia  has  left  me  for  a  little 
while,  to  attend  to  her  devotions ;  so  take  a 
chair,  dear,"  she  said,  gently. 

The  trembling  visitor  quietly  obeyed. 

"My  dear  Norine,  did  you  ever  hear  my 
name  mentioned  in  your  family  ?  " 

"No,  Sister — never,"  replied  the  won- 
dering girl. 

' '  I  am  a  distant  relative  of  your  grand- 
mother, Mrs.  de  Reville." 

Norine,  in  her  surprise,  hardly  knew 
what  to  answer.  After  a  moment  she  said : 
"I  never  saw  my  grandmother,  but  we 
have  a  full-length  portrait  of  her." 

' '  Yes,  I  know.  It  hangs  in  the  red  par- 
lor," said  the  Sister,  with  the  gentlest, 
sweetest  of  smiles.  "Well,  my  father's 
family  being  numerous  and  expensive,  Mrs. 
de  Reville  proposed  that  I  should  take  the 
place  of  lady  companion  to  her;  and  as  she 
was  a  relative  of  my  father,  no  objection  was 
offered.  Your  father  did  not  reside  with  his 
mother,  but  frequently  came  to  see  her." 

The  Sister  remained  vsilent  a  few  mo- 


238 


The  Ave  Maria, 


ttients,  as  if  raising  her  heart  to  God,  then 
sipped  a  potion  near  her,  and  went  on: 

"Your  father  and  I  both  loved  music,  and 
we  often  played  and  sang  together;  for  I 
used  to  grow  weary  of  reading  to  Mrs.  de 
Reville,  and  he  was  fatigued  from  business 
occupations.  Insensibly  an  attachment  was 
formed  between  us,  and  your  father  was 
anxious  that  I  should  accept  his  hand  in 
marriage.  Your  grandmother  opposed  the 
match,  on  the  plea  of  consanguinity ;  but, 
more  likely,  because  I  was  poor.  Your  father 
persisted.  Not  thinking  it  right  that  he 
should  disobey  his  mother,  I  wrote  to  my 
parents,  who  immediately  took  me  home.  I 
consulted  God  in  prayer,  and  resolved  to 
decline  any  further  attentions  from  Mr.  de 
Reville.  The  sacrifice  cost  me  much,  but  I 
soon  found  occupation  in  charitable  works, 
and  after  a  while  I  became  not  only  re- 
signed but  happy,  in  the  desire  of  conse- 
crating myself  unreservedly  to  God  in  the 
religious  state.  When  I  took  the  veil,  a 
heavenly  peace  entered  my  heart,  and  amply 
repaid  me  for  all  my  sacrifices. 

"But  your  father  was  not  so  fortunate 
in  the  methods  he  adopted  to  banish  me,  a 
wretched  creature,  from  his  thoughts.  In- 
stead of  seeking  strength  in  prayer,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  worldly  pleasures.  After  a 
time  he  married;  but  neither  marriage  nor 
paternity  succeeded  in  keeping  him  to  his 
Christian  duties.  The  news  of  his  sad  career 
reached  ^me  in  my  cloistered  home.  Your 
mother  died  soon  after  your  birth.  She  was, 
therefore,  spared  the  pain  of  knowing  that 
her  husband  had  joined  the  Masonic  sect. 
The  thought  of  Mr.  de  Reville' s  dangerous 
state  is  the  only  event  in  my  family  that 
has  caused  me  any  serious  anxiety  since  I 
entered  this  blessed  retreat.  I  have  prayed 
daily,  performed  continual  acts  of  self-de- 
nial, and  all  the  penances  my  superiors 
would  permit,  to  obtain  the  conversion  of 
your  father,  but  my  supplication  is  still  un- 
answered. I  sent  for  you,  dear  Norine,  to 
ask  you  to  replace  me  as  petitioner  before 
the  Throne  of  Mercy." 

Sister  Benedicta  seized  the  hands  of  her 
youthful  listener,  and  hot  tears  fell  upon 


them  as  she  asked  the  girl  if  she  was  willing 
to  fulfil  her  dying  request.  Norine,  over- 
whelmed with  emotion,  turned  to  a  large 
crucifix  suspended  near  the  bedside,  and, 
with  streaming  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  said : 
' '  Sister,  I  promise  you  that  I  will  pray  for 
papa's  conversion  until  my  latest  breath." 

The  religious  sunk  back  exhausted  on  the 
pillows,  while  a  beam  of  heavenly  joy  stole 
ov^r  her  emaciated  but  still  beautiful  face. 
"Then,  dear  Norine,  I  can  die  in  peace.  I 
know  that  you  will  keep  your  sacred  prom- 
ise; and,  thank  God,  I  have  naught  else  to 
disturb  me  in  my  last  moments." 

Two  days  later  Death  claimed  his  vic- 
tim, and  the  last  cry  of  her  purified  soul — 
"Mercy,  O  my  Jesus! " — was,  possibly,  not 
for  herself  alone. 

(CONCIvUSION  IN  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


Miss  Discontent. 


BY   M.   J.    B. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  bright 
September  day,  when  a  young  girl  lay  on 
the  grass,  at  the  foot  of  a  shady  old  apple- 
tree.  Discontent  was  written  in  her  face, 
every  line  of  which  suggested  the  aptness 
of  the  name  ' '  Miss  Discontent, ' '  as  she  was 
called  by  her  brother  Ed. 

Belle  lyce  had  not  always  been  known 
by  such  an  ugly  name.  Hardly  more  than 
a  year  ago  she  lay  under  that  same  old  tree, 
a  bright,  happy,  contented  little  country- 
girl.  But  one  day  Aunt  Margaret  came  to 
visit  her  relatives  on  the  old  farm,  and  on 
returning  to  her  city  home  succeeded  in 
persuading  her  brother  to  allow  his  little 
daughter  to  accompany  her.  She  had  taken 
a  great  fancy  to  the  child,  and  would  like  to 
have  her  spend  a  year  with  her,  and  attend 
a  fashionable  school  in  the  city.  Before  the 
year  was  out,  however.  Aunt  Margaret  died, 
and  Belle  returned  home,  a  changed  girl, — 
not  the  merry,  laughing  maiden  of  a  few 
months  ago,  but  a  sullen,  gloomy,  discon- 
tented miss,  who  considered  herself  an  un- 
fortunate, much-abused   person,  and  who 


The  Ave  Maria, 


239 


5pent  the  most  of  her  time  in  reading  and 
mswering  the  letters  of  the  bosom  friend 
3f  her  city  life,  Miss  Adele  Wilton. 

So  Belle  lay  on  the  grass  that  bright  au- 
tumn day.  Her  hat  was  thrown  carelessly 
iside,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  Adele' s  last 
etter,  which  she  had  just  finished  reading 
for  about  the  twentieth  time.  Oh !  what  a 
happy  girl  was  Adele!  She  was  not  obliged 
to  live  in  an  out-of-the-way  country  place, 
where  there  were  no  houses  within  two 
miles,  no  fine  shops,  no  picture  galleries, 
no  museums — nothing,  in  fact,  to  make  life 
endurable,  much  less  pleasant;  and  Belle 
flung  the  letter  away,  and,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  groaned  aloud: 

"Belle!  Belle!  isn't  this  your  letter?  I 
found  it  on  the  grass  behind  that  bush," 
called  the  bright,  young  voice  of  Alice  Lee. 
In  another  minute  she  was  at  her  sister's 
side,  exclaiming:  ' '  Why,  what  in  the  world 
is  the  matter.  Belle?  You  look  simply 
awful!" 

"Oh!  everything  is  the  matter!"  an- 
swered the  girl,  in  a  tragic  tone.  '  'Alice,  do 
you  know,  I'd  just  as  soon  be  dead,  and 
lying  at  rest  under  the  green  grass,  as  buried 
alive  in  this  way. ' ' 

"O  dear!  it  all  comes  from  that  horrid 
school!  I  wish  you  had  never  gone  there! 
And  I  suppose  it  is  Adele  who  has  been 
telling  you  that  you  are  buried  alive.  May 
I  see  what  she  does  say  ?  " 

Belle  handed  her  sister  the  letter,  and 
Alice  read  aloud,  commenting  as  she  went: 

"My  Own  Poor,  Dear  Littt.e  Country- 
GiRi,! — [Hem!  what  does  she  mean  by  calling  you 
herown?  You're  not  hers:  you're  ours.  And  poor? 
We're  rich  enough.]  Buried  alive  [I  thought  so !] 
as  doubtless  you  feel  you  are,  in  your  seques- 
tered, suburban  retreat,  [O  my!  She's  been  swal- 
lowing the  dictionary!]  a  letter  telling  of  the  gay 
life  of  our  delightful  city  must  surely  be,  I  might 
almost  say,  a  godsend  to  you,  mon  pauvre  Belle! 
[That  young  lady  needs  a  French  grammar.]  And 
I  have  such  a  delightful  party  to  tell  you  of! 

"It  was  that  long-looked-for  birthday /^/^  of 
Maude  Hunter's,  and  in  every  way  it  fulfilled  our 
fondest  hopes.  Ah!  dearest,  how  I  wish  you 
could  have  been  there!  For,  although  there  was 
one  other  girl  who  had  nearly  as  handsome  a  dress 
as  mine — and  mine  was  made  by  that  divinely 
fashionable  Mrs.  F.,— still  it  was  the  nearest  ap- 


proach to  heaven  on  earth  that  I  have  ever  yet 
experienced.  [Queer  idea  she  has  of  heaven !]  My 
dress  was  of — [bother!  here's  a  whole  description 
of  what  each  one  wore,  the  names  of  those  with 
whom  she  danced,  and  all  that  kind  of  stuff.  I'll 
skip  it,  and  go  on  to  the  next  page.]  All  those  who 
were  at  your  party  I  met  again  last  night.  Almost 
all  were  inquiring  very  particularly  for  you,  and  I 
was  charged  with  so  many  messages  of  condolence 
that  I  hardly  remember  one.  [Sad !]  But  I  assure 
you,  my  fragrant  and  boxed-up  little  flower,  that 
you  are  not  forgotten,  and  have  left  much  of  your 
sweetness  far  behind.  [I  think  you  left  it  all  far 
behind;  we  don't  perceive  it,  anyhow.]  You  must 
have  been  one  of  those  whom  the  poet  had  in  his 
mind  when  he  wrote: 

"  'Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. ' 

"Take  comfort,  my  own,  in  that  thought,  and 
who  knows  what  may  happen  ?  My  sweet  one, 
you  must  spend  the  coming  Winter  with  me. 
Your  parents  will  not  possibly  have  the  heart  to 
refuse  you  this  short-lived  pleasure.  [I'm  afraid 
they  will !]  So,  Belle  dearest,  let  me  know  in  your 
next  how  soon  I  may  expect  you.  Mamma  says 
I  may  have  that  little  room  next  to  mine  newly 
fitted  up  in  whatever  style  I  wish.  If  you  come, 
it  shall  be  done  in  rose  color,  which  will  charm- 
ingly set  off"  your  dark  eyes  and  raven  tresses 
[romantic!] ;  while  if  you  do  not, I  shall  fit  it  up  in 
pale  blue,  and  invite  that  dear  little  blonde,  Mabel 
Summers,  to  take  your  place. 

' '  I  will  not  apologize  for  the  length  of  this;  for 
I  imagine  any  break,  however  dull,  in  the  monot- 
ony of  your  life,  must  be  welcome  to  you,  my 
poor  dear!  But  adieu  for  the  present;  I  shall  await 
your  reply  with  impatience. 
"Ever  yours  till  death, 

"AdeIvE  W11.TON." 

As  Alice  finished  reading,  she  remarked: 
''O  Belle!  wouldn't  I  love  to  answer  that 
letter!" 

"Why?"  asked  "Miss  Discontent." 

"Well,  just  to  give  her  a  few  points  on 
matters  and  things  in  general,  and  then  to 
tell  her  what  I  think  of  her — that  she  is  a 
silly,  insincere,  horrid  sort  of  a  person,  and 
that  she  is  doing  you  more  harm  than — 
than — paris  green." 

Belle  hastily  sprang  to  her  feet,  exclaim- 
ing :  ' '  How  dare  you,  Alice ! — how  dare  you 
speak  so  of  my  friend!  She  is  the  dearest 
girl  in  all  the  world,  and  her  letter  just 
shows  her  own  beautiful  character.  It  is  so- 
kind  of  her  to  invite  me,  and  offer  to  have  a 
room  fitted  up  in  my  favorite  color!" 


240 


The  Ave  Maria, 


*'  I  don't  think  she  will  die  of  disappoint- 
ment if  you  don't  go;  for  she  appears  to 
have  'that  dear  little  blonde'  qnite  handy. 
To  tell  the  truth,  Belle,  I  did  believe  that 
you  had  more  spirit  than  to  like  either  a 
letter  or  a  girl  of  that  description.  I  should 
think  you  wouldn't  want  to  acknowledge 
that  you  missed  those  things  so  much. 
Write  a  letter  that  will  make  her  envy  you 
the  many  delightful  pleasures  of  a  country 
life.  Tell  her  she  can  not  imagine  how 
much  she  loses." 

"She  loses  nothing  but  the  dulness." 
"O  bother,  Belle!  If  you  have  resolved 
to  be  stupid  and  not  understand  me,  there 
is  no  use  in  talking;  but  I  must  tell  you  a 
thought  that  came  into  my  head  last  night. 
Whether  I  read  it  in  a  book  or  heard  some- 
body repeat  it,  I  can  not  remember.  All  I 
know  is  that  I  found  it  stored  up  in  my 
memory,  and,  like  Cap' en  Cuttle,  'when 
found,  I  made  a  note  on't, ' — made  a  note  to 
keep  us  both  from  being  discontented,  and 
make  us  feel  proud.  Here  it  is,  scrawled  on 
this  scrap  of  paper. ' ' 

Belle  took  the  .slip,  and  read : 
"Sow  not  wishes  in  other  people's  gardens. 
Don't  try  to  be  anything-  different  from  what  you 
are,  but  the  very  best  of  what  you  are.  The  great- 
est secret  of  happiness  is  to  make  the  most  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  you  happen  to  be  placed." 

' '  Miss  Discontent ' '  slowly  lifted  her  eyes 
to  her  sister's  face. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  that's  true?" 
asked  Alice. 

A  silent  nod  was  the  answer. 

"Do  laugh.  Belle!  Don't  look  so  glum. 
What  fun  we  could  have,  if  you  would  only 
wake  up  and  enjoy  it!  Why,  if  you  so  sigh 
for  the  ball-room,  we  can  all  come  out  here 
this  very  evening  and  dance  like  daddy- 
long-legs.  You  can  climb  up  in  that  tree, 
and,  taking  the  moon  and  stars  for  your 
lamps,  imagine  you  are  in  your  paradise. 
The  fruit  will  serve  for  refreshments,  and 
the  song  of  the — the — ' ' 

"Mosquitos?"  suggested  Belle. 

"Well,  yes:  even  the  mosquito's  song 
would  do  for  music — be  very  good,  in  fact; 
for  it  would  touch  you,  and  you  would  feel 
^what  you  heard. ' ' 


Belle  was  forced  to  laugh.  Just  then  a 
voice  called  from  the  house:  "Alice!  Alice! " 
"There,  mamma  is  calling  me! "  said  the 
young  philosopher;  and  she  tripped  mer- 
rily away  to  answer  her  mother's  siimnions. 
Belle,  the  smile  still  lingering  on  her  lips, 
leaned  back  against  her  ball-room,  and 
thought,  thought,  thought  for  fully  half  an 
hour. 

"Halloo,  'Miss  Discontent'!  Aren't  you 
coming  to  supper  to-night?"  sang  out  a 
voice  close  behind  her.  But  as  the  speaker 
peeped  into  her  fice,  he  exclaimed:  "Why, 
Miss  Belle  Lee,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you 
back  amongst  us  once  more!  How  do  you 
do!  Allow  me  to  escort  you  to  our  evening 
meal."  And  the  gallant  Ed  marched  his 
favorite  sister  off  under  his  arm.  Belle 
laughed  outright  as  she  said :  ' '  Ed,  are  you 
not  glad  'Miss  Discontent'  has  gone  back 
to  the  city?" 

"You  bet  I  am!"  was  the  emphatic 
though  not  elegant  answer.  "Hope  she'll 
never  come  back." 

At  supper  Belle  told  about  her  new  ball-  • 
room,  and  what  Alice  had  proposed  for  to- 
night. Everyone  was  delighted  with  the  1 
novel  idea,  and  Will  added  that  when  they 
grew  tired  of  the  trees,  they  might  have  a 
moonlight  dance  on  the  lawn,  and  his  fiddle 
should  furnish  the  music.  It  was  a  merry 
supper- table  ;  for  Belle — their  own  real 
Belle — was  amongst  them  once  more,  and 
that  disagreeable  intruder  had  gone. 

But  there  was  sad  news  awaiting  Belle. 
Two  weeks  later  a  letter  came  from  Adele, 
telling  of  her  mother's  sudden  death,  and 
her  own  absence  at  the  time,  though  she 
had  been  told  by  her  father  "to  remain  in 
the  house  that  night,  as  mamma  was  not, 
feeling  very  well.  But  I  did  so  want  to  goj 
to  that  party,"  wrote  Adele;  "and  mamma 
seemed  only  to  be  a  little  weak,  so  I  went 
and,  O  Belle!  have  I  not  been  punished? 
If  you  only  knew  how  I  feel ! ' ' 
"Poor,  poor  Adele!"  cried  Belle. 
Yes,  indeed,  she  was  to  be  pitied  now. 
That  terrible  news  drove  "Miss  Discon- 
tent" farther  and  farther  away;  in  fact,  sht 
never  again  came  back  to  the  dear  old  farm 


\^oi..  XXIII.       NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  ii,  1886.  No.  11. 


I» 


[Copyright :— lUv.  D.  E.  Hudsoh,  C.  S.  C] 


The  Holy  Name  of  Mary. 


HE  name  of  Mary  has  always  been 
held  in  especial  reverence  in  the 
Church,  and  was  in  former  ages 
considered  too  holy  to  be  given  in  baptism. 
To  bestow  it  on  a  woman,  were  she  even  of 
the  blood  royal,  would  have  been  deemed  an 
impropriety.  When  Alphonsus  VI.,  King 
of  Castile,  chose  for  his  spouse  a  woman 
of  Moorish  origin,  who  ardently  desired  to 
receive  in  baptism  the  name  of  Mary,  the 
Prince  opposed  this,  saying  that  it  would  be 
a  profanation  of  the  sacred  name  for  it  to  be 
borne  by  any  except  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 
In  the  marriage  articles  of  L/adislaus,  King 
of  Poland,  and  Marie  Louise,  of  the  family 
of  the  Counts  of  Nevers,  a  clause  was  in- 
troduced, expressly  stipulating  that  Marie 
Louise  should  renounce  her  first  name;  and 
since  that  time  this  venerated  name  of  Mary 
has  never  been  conferred  on  any  one  in  the 
Kingdom  of  Poland. 

In  our  days  a  directly  opposite  usage  has 
obtained,  and  the  name  of  Our  Lady  is  the 
one  most  frequently  and  most  joyfully  given 
in  baptism ;  it  is  even  often  conferred  upon 
men  in  combination  with  other  Christian 
names.  Both  its  avoidance  and  its  use  are 
founded  upon  the  same  sentiment  of  respect. 
The  saints  whose  names  we  bear  being 
?iven  us  by  the  Church  as  patrons,  parents 
ove  to  place  their  children  under  the  pro- 
ection  of  Her  who,  ^s  Mother  of  God  and 
3ueen  of  all  the  saints,  enjoys  the  highest 


power  of  any  creature  in  heaven  or  on  earth. 
After  the  names  of  God  and  Jesus 
Christ,  that  of  Mary  is  the  most  sacred,  the 
most  venerated  by  angels  and  by  men,  the 
most  dreaded  by  the  powers  of  hell;  and  cer- 
tain theologians  of  approved  merit  have  not 
hesitated  to  affirm  that  the  pious  invocation 
of  this  name,  selected  by  God  Himself,  pro- 
duces the  most  salutary  effects;  not  only 
on  account  of  the  dispositions  of  the  person 
pronouncing  it,  or  ex  opere  operantis^  as  the 
schoolmen  have  it,  but  ex  opere  operato^ — 
that  is,by  its  own  proper  and  inherent  virtue, 
as  is  the  case  in  regard  to  all  the  Sacra- 
ments and  to  some  sacramentals.  However 
this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  names,  given  by  divine  ordinance 
to  the  most  pure  and  most  august  of  all 
creatures,  ought  to  have  an  exceptional  ef- 
ficacy; and  the  experience  of  ages  shows 
us  that  it  has  never  been  invoked  in  vain. 
Mary,  our  Mother,  is  always  ready  to  succor 
her  children  when  they  call  upon  her. 

The  veneration  of  the  name  of  Mary  is 
as  ancient  as  the  practice  of  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin — dating  from  the  very  foun- 
dation of  the  Church;  but  it  was  long  cher- 
ished as  an  exclusively  private  devotion. 
In  the  year  1513  the  Apostolic  See  permitted 
the  celebration  of  the  Feast  of  the  Holy 
Name  of  Mary  in  the  city  and  diocese  of 
Cuenga,  in  Spain.  The  special  office  com- 
posed for  this  occasion  was  omitted  when 
the  Breviary, by  commandof  St.  Pius  V.,was 
reformed;  but  SixtusV. caused  its  insertion; 
and  henceforward  its  use,  instead  of  being 


242 


The  Ave  Maria, 


confined  to  Spain,  was  adopted  in  all  coun- 
tries. At  first  it  was  celebrated  on  a  fixed 
day  (the  2 2d  of  September).  Subsequently 
it  became  a  movable  feast,  and  is  appointed 
for  the  Sunday  within  the  Octave  of  Our 
Blessed  Lady's  Nativity,  unless  the  occur- 
rence of  a  feast  of  a  higher  order  requires 
that  it  shall  be  transferred. 

The  feast  was  solemnized  in  the  various 
dioceses  only  in  virtue  of  particular  conces- 
sions, until  an  event  occurred  of  the  gravest 
importance  for  Christian  Europe,  the  happy 
results  of  which  inspired  Innocent  XI.  with 
the  thought  of  extending  the  privilege  to 
the  Universal  Church.  Vienna  was  besieged 
by  the  Turks  with  an  overwhelming  mul- 
titude of  soldiery;  and  if  this  city  had  been 
then  taken,  no  human  power  could  have 
preserved  Christian  Europe  from  destruc- 
tion. In  this  extremity  universal  prayer  was 
ordered  for  the  triumph  of  the  Christian 
arms,  and  the  intercession  of  the  Most  Holy 
Virgin  was  specially  implored.  A  brilliant 
victory,  achieved  under  the  most  extraor- 
dinary circumstances,  manifested  that  the 
world  had  not  trusted  in  vain  to  the  protec- 
tion of  Mary.  The  Turks  were  obliged  to 
raise  the  siege;  John  Sobieski,who  was  the 
principal  instrument  of  their  defeat,  pur- 
sued and  overthrew  them,  reducing  them  for 
the  time  to  a  state  of  utter  powerlessness. 

To  excite  the  gratitude  of  Christians 
towards  the  Mother  of  God,  to  whose  favor 
he  justly  ascribed  this  remarkable  success, 
the  same  Pontiff  commanded  that  the  Feast 
of  the  Holy  Name  of  Mary  should  be  cele- 
brated by  all  Christendom.  His  decree  met 
with  opposition  from  a  few  individuals,  who, 
believing  themselves  wiser  and  more  pru- 
dent than  the  Church,  contended  that  the 
institution  of  this  feast  elevated  the  name 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  an  equality  with 
that  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  was 
already  honored  by  a  special,  appointed  sol- 
emnity. The  piety  of  the  faithful,  however, 
was  not  shaken,  and  the  pontifical  decree 
was  everywhere  accepted. 

We  can  suggest  no  reflections  more  pow- 
erful to  enkindle  devotion  in  the  hearts  of 
the  children  of  Mary  than  those  St.  Bernard 


sets  forth  in  the  following  eloquent  passage: 
''''''And  the  name  of  the  Virgin  was 
Mary. '  Let  us  speak  in  brief,  of  this  name, 
signifying  Star  of  the  Sea,  which  is  rightly 
applied  to  the  Virgin-Mother.  Even  as  a 
star  transmits  its  rays  unaltered,  so  did  the 
Blessed  Virgin  bring  forth  her  Son  without 
detriment  to  her  virginity.  The  transmis- 
sion of  its  rays  does  not  decrease  the  brill- 
iancy of  the  star:  the  integrity  of  the  Virgin 
is  unchanged  in  giving  us  her  Son.  She  is 
that  Star  of  Jacob,  illuminating  the  entire 
universe,  shining  amidst  the  splendors  of 
heaven,  penetrating  even  into  hell,  animat- 
ing souls  upon  earth  to  continual  increase 
of  virtues,  to  constant  victory  over  vices. 
Yes,  she  is  indeed  that  lustrous  Star,  whose 
beams  ever  shine  upon  the  vast  sea  of  life, 
glorious  in  merit,  our  perpetual  exemplar. 
"O  you!  whoever  you  may  be,  who  feel 
yourself  borne  away  by  the  mighty  current 
of  this  world,  tossed  by  storm  and  tempest, 
in  order  that  you  be  not  overwhelmed  by 
the  waves  fix  your  eyes  upon  that  shining 
Star.  If  the  winds  of  temptation  drive  you 
towards  the  rocks  of  distress,  regard  the 
Star — invoke  Mary.  If  the  tossing  waters  of 
pride,  ambition,  detraction,  jealousy,  arise 
against  you,  regard  the  Star — invoke  Mary. 
If  anger,  avarice,  the  seductions  of  the  flesh, 
threaten  the  little  bark  of  your  soul,  turn 
your  eyes  to  Mary.  If  troubled  by  the  great- 
ness of  your  crimes,  covered  with  confusion 
by  a  burdened  conscience,  terrified  at  the 
thought  of  judgment  feeling  yourself  about 
to  plunge  into  the  abyss  of  sadness  and  de- 
spair, think  of  Mary.  In  d  mger,  in  distress,! 
in  uncertainty,  think  of  Mary,  invoke  Mary. 
Let  her  name  be  ever  on  your  lips,  hei 
memory  ever  in  your  heart;  and  that  you 
may  obtain  her  prayers,  imitate  her  life. 
Following  her,  you  will  never  go  astray  j 
praying  to  her,  you  need  never  despair 
thinking  of  her,  you  will  be  secure  of  guid 
ance.  If  she  sustains,  you  will  not  fall;  if  sh 
protects,  you  need  not  fear;  if  she  conductsj 
fatigue  will  vanish;  if  she  is  propitiou 
you  will  attain  your  end ;  and  your  own  ex 
perience  will  show  you  how  justly  it  is  saic 
''And  the  name  of  the  Virgin  was  Mary, 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


H3 


Hymn  to  the  Sacred  Heart. 


BY  M.  A. 


ESCKNDING  from  Thy  throne  on  high, 
lyord  of  the  Sacred  Heart! 
^o  every  soul  Thou  drawest  nigh, 

All  loving  as  Thou  art! 
From  such  a  height  of  holiness 

To  such  a  depth  of  love! — 
But  our  poor  words  are  powerless 

Our  gratitude  to  prove. 

O  would  our  hearts  were  temples  blest, 

Fragrant  with  lovely  flowers, 
Wherein  Thy  Sacred  Heart  might  rest. 

As  in  yon  heavenly  bowers! — 
Where  holy  angels  fain  might  come 

To  love  and  worship  Thee, — 
Where  Thy  dear  Heart  might  find  a  home 

Of  peace  and  purity! 

Dear  Lord,  while  kneeling  to  adore 

Before  Thy  sacred  shrine, 
,  A  special  blessing  we  implore. 

To  keep  us  ever  Thine; 
^hat  we  may  live  for  Thee  alone. 

And  ne'er  from  Thee  depart; 
Make  us  Thine  own, ' '  Thy  very  own, ' ' 

lyord  of  the  Sacred  Heart! 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY   CHRISTIAN    REID. 


XL 


A  FEW  days  later  Philip  decided  to  put 
t\.  his  fate  to  the  touch,  so  far  as  Constance 
^as  concerned.  He  felt  that  he  must  know 
before  speaking  to  his  uncle  again  what  his 
luswer  was  to  be,  and  he  could  not  know 
hat  before  he  had  sounded  Constance.  If 
ihe  were  willing  even  to  entertain  the 
hough  t  of  becoming  a  Catholic,  it  would 
)e  enough  for  the  present;  for  surely,  he 
considered,  there  need  be  no  haste  about 
heir  marriage.  Opportunities  to  speak  to 
ler  were  not  lacking,  and  he  took  advan- 
age  of  an  occasion  when  they  were  together 
ne  day  in  Mrs.  Thornton's  private  sitting- 


room — a  charming  apartment,  to  which 
only  her  most  intimate  friends  were  ever 
admitted. 

It  was  in  the  morning,  and  Philip  had 
entered  the  room,  to  find  the  young  girl 
sitting  by  one  of  the  windows,  intent  on  an 
elaborate  piece  of  artistic  needlework.  Her 
graceful  figure  and  fair  head  outlined 
against  the  light,  her  fingers  busy  with  the 
rich-hued  silks,  made  a  pretty  picture — so 
pretty  that  he  wondered  a  little  that  it  left 
him  so  cold.  They  exchanged  a  few  words 
on  indifferent  subjects,  and  then  he  re- 
mained silent  so  long  that  she  glanced  up 
at  him  interrogatively.  He  answered  the 
glance  by  drawing  nearer  and  sitting  down 
before  her. 

"Constance,"  he  began,  abruptly,  "I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  sea-shell  pink  on  Constance's  cheek 
deepened,  for  she  knew  that  there  could  be 
only  one  thing  which  Philip  would  have  to 
say  to  her  in  this  formal  manner;  but  she 
did  not  lift  her  eyes  again.  She  only  said, 
' '  What  is  it  ? ' '  very  quietly. 

"  It  is  something  which  I  think  you  must 
know  as  well  as  I, "  answered  Philip,  who 
had  not  given  much  thought  to  the  manner, 
but  only  to  the  matter  of  what  he  had  to 
say.  ' '  You  must  be  aware  that  my  uncle 
and  your  aunt  wish  us  to  marry. ' ' 

Constance's  lips  moved  slightly  in  what 
was  apparently  an  assent,  but  no  audible 
sound  issued  from  them,  and  her  eyes  still 
remained  fastened  on  her  work,  though  her 
hand  that  drew  the  needleful  of  silk  through 
the  cloth  trembled  a  little. 

' '  I  can  not  tell  what  you  may  think  of  it, 
on  your  side, ' '  said  Philip,  who  hated  him- 
self for  his  coldness,  yet  felt  unable  to  sum- 
mon any  more  warmth  to  his  manner;  "but 
to  me  it  is — it  appears — most  desirable. ' ' 

' '  Does  it  ?  "  asked  Constance.  She  lifted 
her  eyes  now,  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
composure  which  he  had  not  expected.  ' '  I 
understand,"  she  went  on,  "why  my  uncle 
and  aunt  desire  such  an — arrangement.  ^  I 
should  be  very  stupid  if  I  did  not.  But  why 
do  you  desire  it  ?  " 

"I!"  said  Philip.    He  was  conscious  of 


244 


The  Ave  Maria. 


coloring.  How  could  he  say, ' '  Because  they 
do"?  and  yet  what  other  answer  was  pos- 
sible? He  looked  at  the  fair  face  before 
him,  and  felt  that  another  answer  should 
be  possible.  ' '  Because, ' '  he  replied,  after  a 
slight  hesitation,  "I  think  that  we  might 
be  happy  together,  you  and  I.  It  is  true 
that  we  have  been  so  closely  associated 
that  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  '  fall  in  love ' 
after  the  romantic  fashion;  but  I  have  a 
most  deep  and  sincere  attachment  to  you, 
and  I  hope  that  you  have  a  little  for  me. 
No  one  could  appreciate  your  gentleness, 
your  sweetness,  your  grace  of  person  and 
manner  more  than  I  do.  If  you  are  half  as 
well  satisfied  with  me  as  I  am  with  you," 
he  said,  smiling  a  little,  "it  will  not  be  dif- 
ficult for  us  to  gratify  those  whose  hearts 
are  set  upon  this  project." 

"I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  you,"  said 
Constance,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  and 
regarding  him  critically,  while  she  turned  a 
diamond  ring  slowly  round  upon  her  finger; 
"so  you  may  consider  your  compliments 
returned.  And  it  is  quite  true,  no  doubt, 
what  you  say — that  we  have  known  each 
other  too  intimately  to  fall  in  love.  But, 
all  the  same,  Philip,  it  seems  to  me  a  terri- 
blv  cold-blooded  way  of — of — " 

"Marrying,  "said  Philip,  calmly.  "Well, 
I  don't  know.  Accordino-  to  American 
ideas,  perhaps  so.  But  in  Cu-rinental  Eu- 
rope marriages  are  altogether  contracted  in 
thi^  way,  and  I  suppose  they  are  generally 
happy  enough.  I  hive  not  oh;erved  that 
happiness  invariably  attend ;  marriages 
here,"  he  ended,  dryly. 

"No,"  replied  Constance,  "not  invari- 
ably; but  Ihere  must  be  a  better  hope — a 
better  chance  —  of  happiness  when  people 
love  each  other." 

"  Their  best  chance  for  happiness,.in  my 
opinion, "said Philip,  "is  when  they  know 
and  understand  each  other,  and  when  there 
is  an  assurance  of  sympathy  between  them 
on  all  important  points.  And  this  reminds 
m£"— his  face  grew  grave— "that  on  one 
very  important  subject,  Constance,  we  do 
not  possess  that  sympathy.  We  are  not  of 
the  same  religious  faith," 


' '  No, ' '  answered  Constance,  carelessly. 
"But  I  am  not  prejudiced.  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  thaty 

' '  Have  you  not  ?  "  asked  Philip.  ' '  Then 
we  differ  very  much;  for  I  do  object  to  it.  I 
can  not  conceive  that  happiness  is  possible 
where  husband  and  wife  are  not  united  on 
that  point  above  all  others." 

' '  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  so  narrow- 
minded,"  said  Constance,  with  cold  sur- 
prise. ' '  How  do  you  propose  to  arrange 
matters,  then?" 

' '  I  propose, ' '  he  answered,  '  *  to  beg  you 
to  consider — to  examine — the  claims  of  the 
Catholic  faith.  If  you  only  would  do  so,  I 
am  sure  that  you  would  embrace  it.  No 
reasonable  and  unprejudiced  person  has 
ever  examined  it  and  failed  to  be  convinced 
of  its  truth.  Be  sure  of  that.  And  you 
could  not  be  an  exception  to  the  rule.  You 
have  only  to  consent  to  be  instructed — " 

"  I ! "  cried  Constance.  She  looked  at  him 
as  if  divided  between  indignation,  amaze- 
ment, and  amusement.  The  last  finally 
triumphed,  and  she  burst  into  laughter — 
scornful  laughter,  that  made  Philip  start  to 
his  feet.  "/  become  a  Roman  Catholic!" 
she  said.  "How  utterly  absurd!  You  must 
be  mad  to  think  of  such  a  thing!" 

"Mad!"  repeated  Philip.  "No,  I  am 
quite  sane;  for  I  shall  never  marry  any 
woman  who  is  not  a  Catholic. ' ' 

"Then  you  will  never  marry  me,"  said 
she,  haughtily,  rising  in  turn.  "What!  do 
you  think  yourself  so  secure  of  me  that  you 
can  even  impose  conditions,  and  such 
condition  ?  Was  it  not  enough  that  I  waived 
the  objection  which  I  migh^  have  made  tc 
your  very  objeclionable  religion  ?  You  fancy 
that  /would  embrace  it — /.^" 

' '  Pardon  aie, ' '  said  Philip,  with  icy  cold- 
ness. "I  have  made  a  mistake — a  mistake 
altogether — which  I  shall  not  repeat.  Yoi 
are  right.  There  would  be  little  chance  o| 
happiness  for  us  in  marriage,  and  I  will  tell 
my  uncle  tliat  such  is  my  opinion." 

' '  You  may  tell  him  that  it  is  also  mine,' 
she  said,  paling  a  little. 

"No,"  he  replied:  "I  shall  say  nothin; 
of  you.   The  responsibility  is  mine.   I  hav 


f 


The  Ave  Maria, 


n  ide  a  condition  from  which  I  can  not 
n  :ede,  and  which  he  will  no  doubt  consider 
a^  unreasonable  as  you  do;  so  the  whole 
bl  ime  of  refusal  will  rest,  and  rest  justly, 
oi  me.  Let  me  advise  you  "  (significantly) 
^fi leave  it  there." 

If  ^"- 

R  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  Philip 
felt,  after  his  interview  with  Constance,  that 
all  irresolution  and  doubt  were  over,  and 
thit  he  had  now  only  to  let  his  uncle  know 
that  he  could  not  comply  with  his  wishes. 
The  last  was  a  necessity  from  which  he 
shrank,  feeling  keenly  how  sharp  the  disap- 
pointment would  be;  but  he  had  no  thought 
bf  evasion  or  delay.    Had  it  been  possible, 
iie  would  have  gone  to  him  at  once;  but,  as 
t  chanced,  Mr.  Thornton  was  out  of  the 
;ity,  and  would  not  return  for  several  days. 
50  much  delay,  therefore,  was  unavoidable. 
Vhether  he  was  grateful  or  sorry  for  it, 
hilip  hardly  knew.    He  would  have  pre- 
irred,  in  his  own  phrase,  "to  have   the 
latter  over ' ' ;  yet  he  was  aware  that  a  little 
ime  to  reflect  on  his  course  afterward  was 
esirable.    His  uncle  had  threatened  that  if 
e  did  not  comply  with  his  wishes,  it  would 
lake  a  great  change  in  his  intentions  tow- 
rd  him;  and  if  those  intentions  were,  to 
changed,  Philip  knew  that  his  mode  of 
fe  would  change  also. 
"I  must  be  prepared  for  the  worst," 
ought  the  young  man.   "  If  he  declines  to 
ive  anything  more  to  do  with  me,  I  shall 
'ive  no  right  to  complain.   Luckily,  I  have 
me  small  means  of  my  own,  no  debts,  and 
lead  that  ought  to  be  worth  something, 
'ter  all,  there  are  worse  things  than  'a 
ust  of  bread  and  liberty,'  if  it  comes  to 
lit." 

ie  was  rather  exhilarated  than  depressed 

Ij  the  prospect,  and,  without  asking  him- 

f  what  had  wrought  so  great  a  change  in 

views — for  certainly  narrow  means,  and 

narrowing  of  life  which  they  imply, 

11  not  seemed  to  him  very  desirable  be- 

f^e — he  determined  to  learn  without  delay 

at  prospects  would  be  his  if  his  circum- 

ices  materially  altered. 

Ignorant  of  the  change  in  Graham's  sen- 


timents toward  him,  it  was  to  Graham  that 
his  thoughts  instinctively  turned  for  prac- 
tical counsel,  and  his  steps  soon  followed 
his  thoughts.  When  he  entered  the  office 
of  the  young  lawyer, he  found  him,  as  usual, 
absorbed  in  his  books,  and  evidently  not 
very  well  pleased  to  be  interrupted.  In  fact, 
his  reception  was  so  far  from  gracious  that 
Philip  hesitated  to  remain. 

*'If  I  disturb  you,"  he  remarked  when 
Graham  indicated  a  chair,  ' '  I  will  not  sit 
down." 

'  "Oh,  disturb!  —  of  course  you  disturb 
me!"  replied  the  other.  "But  if  you  have 
anything  important  to  say,  you  might  as 
well  say  it  now.  I  shall  hardly  be  less  busy 
another  time. ' ' 

Philip  thought  this  ungraciousness  was 
only  "Graham's  way,"  and  sat  down. 
' '  What  I  have  to  say  is  important  only  to 
myself, ' '  he  observed.  * '  I  can  not  expect 
you  to  find  it  so;  yet  I  hope  you  will  give 
me  your  ear  and  your  advice.  You  are  al- 
ways so  candid  that  I  need  not  adjure  you 
to  be  honest.  Tell  me,  then,  do  you  think 
I  could  make  a  lawyer?" 

This  question  was  so  different  from  what 
Graham  had  feared  and  expected,  that  he 
stared  at  the  young  man  a  moment  without 
replying.    Philip  smiled  as  he  met  his  eyes. 

' '  Your  astonishment  is  not  compliment- 
ary," he  said.  "Do  you  rate  my  abilities 
so  low?'' 

"My  astonishment  has  nothing  to  do 
with  your  abilities,"  Graham  answered. 
' '  They  are  good  enough,  as  you  know  very 
well.  What  surprises  me  is  that  you  should 
think  of  embracing  a  laborious  and  exact- 
ing profession  when  there  is  no  need  for 
you  to  do  so — that  is,  unless  you  wish  to  be 
a  lawyer  merely  in  name. ' ' 

"I  should  never  wish  to  be  anything 
merely  in  name,"  replied  Philip,  flushing 
a  little.  ' '  You  have  certainly  a  very  poor 
opinion  of  me. ' ' 

' '  I  have  never  suspected  you  of  loving 
work  for  work's  sake;  few  people  do,"  said 
Graham.  "And  you  have  probably  little 
idea — few  people,  again,  have  that — of  how 
much  labor  is  required  to  make  a  lawyer 


246 


The  Ave  Maria. 


who  takes  any  rank  in  the  profession." 

' '  I  have  some  idea, ' '  replied  Philip ;  ' '  and, 
though  I  do  not  love  work  for  work's  sake, 
I  am  capable  of  it  when  I  have  an  end  in 
view. ' ' 

"  And  what  end,  may  I  ask,  have  you  in 
view  in  desiring  to  become  a  lawyer?" 

' '  The  end  of  independence.  If  I  can  make 
*my  bread  by  the  use  of  my  brains,  I  shoiild 
prefer  that  to  the  use  of  my  hands;  and  it 
may  be  necessary  that  I  should  make  it." 

Graham  regarded  him  curiously.  ' '  Have 
you  quarrelled  with  your  uncle?"  he  asked. 

''No,"  Philip  answered,  "  nor  ever  shall ; 
because  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel. 
But  I  can  not  agree  to  all  his  wishes,  and 
he  may  change  his  intentions  toward  me; 
in  short,  1  prefer  to  be  prepared  for  any 
event. ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  Graham.  (He  appeared  to 
see  a  good  deal;  for  he  gazed  straight  before 
him  for  some  time  without  speaking.  When 
he  did  speak  it  was  in  a  tone  of  studious  re- 
serve. )  ' '  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
not  become  a  lawyer,  and  succeed  at  the 
bar,"  he  said.  "It  depends  entirely  upon 
yourself,  and  is  a  question  merely  of  in- 
dustry and  application.  But,  of  course, 
you  know  that  time  is  required — time  and 
means. ' ' 

' '  I  have  some  means  of  my  own, ' '  Philip 
answered.  ' '  My  father  left  me  a  little  prop- 
erty. I  can,  therefore,  command  both.  So 
tell  me  what  to  do." 

Graham  told  him,  but  in  every  word  the 
same  reserve  was  perceptible.  When  his 
brief  statement  was  over  he  added :  "  I  must 
warn  you,  however,  that  after  all  this  is 
done — after  you  have  made  your  course  in 
the  law  school,  and  obtained  your  license — 
you  will,  in  all  probability,  have  long  to 
wait  before  you  can  command  any  practice, 
and  it  may  not  be  worth  much  after  it 
comes. ' ' 

"I  know  all  that,"  Philip  answered.  "If 
I  were  merely  intent  on  making  money,  I 
might  make  it  much  more  quickly  by  fol- 
lowing in  my  uncle's  footsteps.  But  I 
prefer  a  more  intellectual  life  with  less  pros- 
perity. ' ' 


"And  more  integrity,  I  hope,"  observed 
Graham. 

The  words  escaped  him  without  pre- 
meditation, almost  without  intention.  He 
scarcely  realized  what  he  had  said,  until  he 
saw  the  flash  that  came  into  Philip's  eyes, 
as  the  latter  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You  will  understand,"  he  said,  "that  I 
can  not  suffer  such  a  remark  as  that  to  pass. 
What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

The  stern  challenge  of  his  tone  roused 
all  of  Graham's  repressed  animosity. 

"I  mean,"  he  answered,  "what  is  well 
known,  that  your  uncle  is  deficient  in  in- 
tegrity. But  I  should  not  have  made  such 
a  remark  to  you,"  he  added,  with  a  faint 
recollection  of  the  demands  of  ordinary 
courtesy.  "The  words  escaped  me  unin- 
tentionally.  I — beg  your  pardon." 

Philip  made  a  gesture  as  if  putting  the 
apology  aside.  He  had  suddenly  grown 
very  pale.  "  Ycur  breach  of  courtesy  to  me 
does  not  matter, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  but  the  charge 
against  my  uncle  is  one  which  you  must 
either  substantiate  or  retract. ' ' 

"It  is  easy  enough  to  substantiate  it,'^ 
replied  Graham,  coldly.  ' '  But  I  should  pre- 
fer that  you  would  drop  the  subject." 

' '  That  is  impossible, ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  You 
must  either  prove  your  assertion,  or  I  shall 
hold  it  to  be  false. ' ' 

The  other  started  to  his  feet,  then  re- 
membered himself,  and  sat  down  again. 
Philip  was  in  the  right;  having  made  such 
a  charge,  Graham  had  no  ground  to  resent 
being  called  to  account  for  it. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  he  said,  "that  you  insist; 
but  as  you  do,  of  course  I  must  speak.  One 
proof,  I  suppose,  will  suffice.  You  are,  per- 
haps, by  this  time  aware  that  Robert  Per- 
cival  (now  dead)  was  for  a  time  your  uncle's 
partner.  You  are  probably  also  aware  that 
he  died  a  poor  man,  and  left  his  wife  and 
daughter  without  any  means  of  subsistence. 
Do  you  know  how  that  occurred?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Philip;  "I  have  been 
told  that  he  brought  the  firm  to  the  verge 
of  ruin  by  imprudent  speculation,  and  then 
gave  up  his  property  to  make  good  what  he 
had  lost.    It  was  hard,  if  you  will,  but — '^ 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


247 


''Hard!"  repeated  Graham.  He  rose 
again,  and  the  two  men  stood  facing  each 
other.  "Listen,"  he  said,  "since  you  zvill 
have  the  truth.  Robert  Percival  indeed 
speculated,  but  it  is  not  true  that  it  was 
without  the  knowledge  of  his  partner.  That 
partner  not  only  knew  what  was  done,  but 
he  also  knew  exactly  the  value  of  the  stocks 
speculated  in.  There  came  a  day  when 
these  dropped  suddenly  in  value.  Then 
Thornton  said  to  his  partner:  'The  firm  is 
on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  and  you  are 
responsible  for  it.'  What  could  the  other 
do?  It  was  true  that  he  had  conducted 
the  speculations  on  his  own  responsibility, 
though  taking  the  consent  of  his  partner 
for  granted.  He  gave  up  his  property,  as 
you  have  said,  to  make  good  what  he  had 
lost,  and  the  partnership  was  dissolved. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Philip,  as  the  voice  of  the 
other  ceased,  "what  is  there  in  this  more 
than  I  have  heard  already  ? ' ' 

"There  is  this,"  replied  Graham:  "I 
have  been  told,  by  men  who  would  make  no 
such  assertion  rashly,  that  James  Thornton 
knew  the  real  value  of  those  stocks  when 
he  professed  to  believe  himself  on  the  verge 
of  ruin.  However  that  might  be,  they  after- 
wards appreciated  and  became  as  valuable 
as  Robert  Percival  had  believed  that  they 
would.  Did  Thornton  then  make  amends 
to  the  man  whom  he  had  robbed?  Not  at 
all.  He  retained  everything,  including  the 
property  which  Percival  had  made  over  to 
him — real  estate  in  an  advancing  part  of  the 
city — and  built  his  fortune  on  that  wrong. ' ' 

Philip  felt  himself  turning  cold.  The 
assertions,  as  they  were  uttered,  seemed  but 
his  own  fears  put  into  words.  Yet  he  made 
still  an  effort  against  the  certainty  that  was 
oppressing  him. 

"If  this  were  true,"  he  said,  "v/hy  did 
not  Robert  Percival  claim  what  was  due  to 
him?  I  am  no  lawyer,  but  I  know  that 
there  must  be  in  law  an  equitable  remedy 
for  such  a  wrongf. ' ' 

"Certainly  there  is,"  answered  Graham. 

But  Robert  Percival  died  within  a  year 
after  the  partnership  was  dissolved,  leaving 
his  wife  and  daughter  in  poverty  and  help- 


lessness. Who  \^ias  there,  then,  to  press  his 
claim  against  a  man  so  powerful  in  the 
might  of  riches?" 

Silence  fell,  and  after  a  moment  Philip 
sat  down  in  the  chair  from  which  he  had 
risen,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 
Graham's  heart  smote  him  for  what  he  had 
done,  as  he  read  in  this  attitude  all  the  pain 
and  humiliation  which  had  so  suddenly 
fallen  on  the  head  that,  with  its  bright  locks, 
seemed  made  for  sunshine  and  prosperity. 
A  sharp  doubt  of  his  own  motives  added  to 
his  regret,  and  softened  his  tone  when  he 
presently  said: 

"I  am  sorry, Thornton — very  sorry  that 
I  was  led  to  speak  of  such  a  matter.  I  beg 
your  pardon  again,  and  I  hope  that  this 
time  you  will  accept  my  apology. ' ' 

"What  does  it  matter,"  asked  Philip, 
lifting  his  head,  "whether  you  spoke  of  it 
to  me  or  not,  if  it  is  true?  It  is  that  alone 
which  concerns  me.  I  would  give  my  right 
hand  at  this  moment  to  be  sure  that  it  is 
not  true.    But  how  can  I  satisfy  myself?" 

' '  I  can  give  you  the  names  of  my  in- 
formants," said  Graham;  and  he  named 
two  or  three  men  of  high  station  and  irre- 
proachable honor. 

"  It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  go  to  them 
or  to  any  one  else  to  inquire  concerning  my 
uncle's  affairs,"  replied  Philip;  "but  I  can 
and  I  will  go  to  himself.  He  shall  know 
what  is  said  of  him,  and  he  shall  have  the 
opportunity  to  prove  his  integrity. ' ' 

Graham  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  ' '  My 
dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "you  will  only  do 
harm  to  yourself  by  approaching  your  un- 
cle on  that  subject.  I  do  not  wish  to  hurt 
you  further,  but  there  is  one  proof,  of  which 
you  and  I  must  feel  the  force.  It  was  after 
that  affair  that  he  gave  up  his  religion. " 

Philip  shrank  a  little.  He,  indeed,  felt  the 
force  of  the  proof,  but  it  did  not  alter  his 
determination.  "  It  is  impossible, ' '  he  said, 
' '  that  I  can  entertain  such  a  suspicion  re- 
garding him  and  not  give  him  an  oppor- 
tunity to  set  me  right.  As  for  the  conse- 
quences to  myself,  I  care  nothing  for  them. 
If  what  you  have  told  me  is  true,  I  shall 
never  profit  by  the  result  of  the  wrong.** 


248 


The  Ave  Maria, 


^'Will  you  not?"  said  Graham,  regard- 
ing him  keenly.  "Yet,  after  all,  you  know 
his  fortune  is  his  own.  He  only  owes  the 
Percivals  the  value  of  the  property  unjustly 
taken  from  them." 

"Would  they  accept  it?"  asked  Philip, 
with  sudden  eagerness. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I 
have  never  heard  them  allude  to  such  a 
possibility, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  But  why  should 
they  not  accept  it  as  a  matter  of  rightful 
restitution?  We  are  discussing  something 
that  will  never  come  to  pass,  however. 
James  Thornton  will  never  make  such  res- 
titution." 

"Would  to  God  that  /could  make  it!" 
exclaimed  Philip.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
walked  across  the  office,  then  turned  and 
came  back  to  where  Graham  stood,  with  his 
face  grown  hard.  "Does  she — does  Miss 
Percival  know  all  that  you  have  told  me?" 
he  asked. 

"Of  course  she  knows  it,"  Graham  an- 
swered, coldly.  '  *  She  has  always  known  it.' ' 

"And  yet  she  has  treated  me  with  the 
courtesy,  the  kindness  of  an  angel!  "  said 
Philip.  ' '  While  I — I  should  never  have  had 
the  presumption  to  approach  her.  And  I 
would  not  have  done  so  if  I  had  known. 
Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  first  time  I  ever 
saw  her — when  I  asked  you  to  present  me, 
and  you  rightly  declined — why  did  you  not 
tell  me  then  all  that  you  have  told  me  now?  " 

"It  did  not  se^m  my  place  to  tell  you," 
Graham  answered.  '  'Although, ' '  he  added, 
frankly, "  I  think  I  should  have  done  so  if  I 
had  imagined  that  you  were  likely  to  meet 
her  afterwards.  But  nothing  appeared  less 
probable." 

* '  It  was  a  mere  chance, ' '  observed  Philip ; 
*  *  and  I  fear  that  I  have  annoyed  her  through 
my  ignorance.  But  I  shall  not  annoy  her 
again — now  that  I  know  how  great  a  strain 
it  must  have  been  upon  her  charity  to  treat 
me  as  she  has  done. ' ' 

' '  Oh !  her  charity  is  equal  to  a  strain, ' ' 
said  Graham,  who  felt  at  once  gratified,  and 
ashamed  of  his  gratification.  '  'And  she  has 
a  very  high-minded  way  of  regarding  the 
matter.    She  did  not  feel  that  you  were  in 


any  degree  accountable  for  your  uncle's 
conduct;  although,  of  course,  Thornton  is 
not  a  name  that  sounds  very  pleasantly  to 
Percival  ears." 

' '  I— suppose  not; '  replied  Philip.  ' '  Well, 
I  can  keep  mine  from  sounding  any  more 
in  Miss  Percival' s  ears.  And  now  I  will  not 
trespass  longer  on  your  time.  I  came  to  you 
for  advice,  and  I  have  received  instead  some 
painful  information;  but  perhaps  it  may 
make  my  way  clearer  in  the  end. ' ' 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Sailors'  Song.* 

iplUEEN  of  the  Waves!  look  forth  across  the 
^         ocean, 

From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  stormy 
west; 
See  how  the  waters,  with  tumultuous  motion. 

Rise  up  and  foam  without  a  pause  or  rest. 

But  fear  we  not,  though  storm-clouds  round  us 
gather; 

Thou  art  our  Mother,  and  thy  little  Child 
Is  the  All-Merciful,  our  tender  Father, 

Ivord  of  the  sea  and  of  the  tempest  wild. 

Help,  then,  sweet  Queen,  in  our  exceeding 
danger; 
By  thy  seven  griefs,  in  pity,  I^ady,  save; 
Think  of  the  Babe  that  slept  within  the  man- 
ger. 
And  help  us  now,  dear  I^ady  of  the  Wave! 

Up  to  thy  shrine  we  look,  and  see  the  glim- 
mer 
Thy  votive  lamp  sheds  down  on  us  afar; 
lyight  of  our  eyes!  oh!  let  it  ne'er  grow  dim- 
mer, 
Till  in  the  sky  we  hail  the  morning-star. 

Then  joyful  hearts  shall  kneel  around  thine 
altar, 
And  grateful  psalms  re-echo  down  the  nave. 
Our  faith  in  thy  sweet  power  can  never  falter, 
Mother  of  God!  Our  I^ady  of  the  Wave! 
— Morwenna  P.  Hawker. 


^  On  a  hill  at  S'  Addresse,  a  suburb  of  Havre, 
is  erected  a  chapel  dedicated  to  Notre-Dame  des 
Flots.  It  is  visible  to  vessels  passing  up  and 
down  Channel. 


I 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


249 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


(■ 


V. — Damascus,  "Pkarl  of  the  East." 
\  (Concluded.) 

THE  Venerable   City. — If  we   may 
believe  Josephus,  then  Damascus  was 
founded  by  Uz,  the  son  of  Aram  and  grand- 

rson  of  Shem.  Abraham's  steward  was  a  na- 
tive of  the  place,  as  is  recorded  in  the  Book 
of  Genesis.  Nothing  more  is  known  of  Da- 
mascus, until  the  time  of  David, when  "the 
Syrians  of  Damascus  came  to  succor  Hadad- 
ezer,  King  of  Zobah,"  with  whom  David 
was  at  war.  On  this  occasion  "David  slew 
of  the  Syrians  22,000  men,"  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  victory,  became  complete 
master  of  the  territory,  which  he  garrisoned 
with  Israelites.  From  that  time  through 
several  centuries  the  city  was  taken  and 
retaken  at  intervals,  fortune  alternately 
favoring  the  Syrians,  the  Israelites,  or  Ju- 
deans. 

Damascus  has  ever  been  a  great  centre 
of  trade.  Strabo  says  it  was  the  most  famous 
place  in  Syria  during  the  Persian  period. 
Its  Gospel  history,  though  not  so  full  as  is 
that  of  the  Old  Testament,  is  yet  of  deep 
interest  to  Christian  readers.  One  is  still 
shown  the  window  in  the  wall  from  which 
St.  Paul  was  let  down  in  a  basket,  and  the 
site  of  his  miraculous  conversion, — though 
this  is  a  disputed  point.  Then  there  is  the 
house  of  Naaman  the  Syrian,  where  there 
are  a  few  indifferent  lepers;  and  the  house  of 
Ananias ;  and  the  street  which  was  ' '  called 
Strait,"  and  which,  no  doubt,  deserved  its 
name  in  the  day  of  its  baptism;  but  new 
houses  have  crept  in  on  both  sides  of  it,  and 
the  old  ones  have  sunk  away,  so  that  now 
it  is  no  longer  worthy  to  be  called  anything 
but  crooked. 

The  great  mosque  should  not  be  forgot- 
ten, though  a  sight  of  it  is  hardly  worth 
the  handful  of  francs  and  the  trouble  it 
takes  to  see  it.  The  chief  interest  that  per- 
tains to  this  structure  is  the  fact  that  when 
the  mosque  was  finished,  with  its  roof  of 


fine  gold,  from-  which  were  suspended  six 
hundred  golden  lamps,  while  the  prayer- 
nithes  were  set  thick  with  priceless  gems, 
the  accounts  of  the  various  artificers  were 
duly  presented  on  the  backs  of  eighteen 
well-burdened  mules.  Then  the  caliph,  who 
was  responsible  for  the  payment  thereof, 
had  them  all  religiously  burned — and  that 
was  his  final  settlement.  As  for  the  glorious 
mosque,  few  traces  of  its  ancient  splendor 
are  now  visible ;  in  brief,  it  is  a  disappoint- 
ment; but  one  finds  consolation  in  the 
cafes  of  Damascus,  and  healing  and  balm 
for  all  wounds.    Let  us  adjourn  thither. 

In  a  Damask  Garden. — We  dined  at 
sunset.  The  first  call  to  prayer  rang  out 
from  a  neighboring  minaret  between  soup 
and  fish.  -We  knew  the  voice  of  that  partic- 
ular muezzin.  Five  times  every  four-and- 
twenty  hours  he  climbed  into  his  high  gal- 
lery, and  chanted  the  '  ^Addn ' '  like  a  lark. 
Poor  fellow!  In  common  with  the  majority 
of  his  singular  and  exclusive  tribe,  he  was 
stone-blind.  With  much  worldly  wisdom, 
blind  men  are  usually  appointed  to  the  semi- 
sacred  office;  because  from  the  gallery  of 
the  minaret  one  looks  over  the  housetops 
and  into  the  jealous  court  of  many  a  harem; 
and  with  wilful  eyes  the  muezzin  might  di- 
rect his  prayer  at  the  wrong  angle  in  search 
of  paradise. 

As  we  were  already  at  the  table,  we  could 
not  lift  up  our  hearts  until  the  meal  was 
over;  no  Moslem  ever  is  expected  to;  though 
at  that  moment  the  shrill,  sweet  voice  soared 
in  the  air,  crying:  "God  is  most  great;  I 
testify  that  there  is  no  deity  but  God;  I  tes- 
tify that  Mohammed  is  God's  apostle.  Come 
to  prayer;  come  to  security.  God  is  most 
great ;  there  is  no  deity  but  God ! ' ' 

We  finished  dining,  and  repaired  to  the 
court  of  the  hotel,  where  a  half-dozen  mer- 
chants were  inviting  custom,  with  their 
wares  temptingly  displayed  upon  rich  rugs. 
iV  snake-charmer  offered  to  divert  us  with 
a  sack  full  of  reptiles;  a  wandering  poet, 
with  his  lute,  volunteered  a  song;  swallows 
swung  to  and  fro  between  the  eaves  of  the 
court ;  the  fountain  plashed  monotonously. 
It  occurred  to  us  that  the  amusements  of 


250 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Damascenes  were  lacking  in  variety.  One 
gets  tired  of  looking  at  rude  armlets  of 
beaten  silver  and  disks  of  yellow  gold  em- 
bossed with  verses  from  the  Koran.  The 
snake-charmers  are,  for  the  most  part,  tire- 
some and  tricky;  the  magicians,  clever  but 
avaricious;  the  poets,  pleasant  enough — 
one  sees  them  in  nearly  every  cafe — which 
reminded  us  that  the  evening  might  be 
passed  in  one  of  the  cafes  for  which  Damas- 
cus is  famous. 

Once  more  the  muezzin  poured  out  his 
voice  upon  the  air.  The  twilight  had  fallen; 
the  afterglow  had  dissolved  into  the  deep 
blue  that  was  gathering  about  us,  with  the 
great  stars  scattered  through  it.  This  was 
the  second  call  to  prayer — a  repetition  of 
the  first  just  after  sunset.  I  could  think  of 
nothing  as  I  listened  to  the  pathetic  cry  but 
of  those  caged  quails  in  Capri,  whose  eyes 
are  put  out  that  they  may  pipe  the  more 
pathetically,  and  with  wistful  notes  entrap 
their  fellows  hastening  over  the  Tyrian 
waves  to  Africa. 

The  poet  promised  to  conduct  us  to  the 
Cafe  of  the  Thousand  Island;^.  The  snake- 
charmer  withdrew ;  the  merchants  shut  up 
shop  on  the  instant.  With  long  paper  lan- 
terns we  groped  through  the  ill-kept  streets; 
droves  oi  pariah  dogs  snapped  at  our  heels, 
but  the  lanterns  were  our  salvation.  From 
one  of  the  darkest  of  the  streets  we  entered  a 
dingy  hall.  It  was  not  inviting;  it  contained 
a  few  very  cheap  and  not  over-clean  tables, 
a  few  chairs,  a  few  lanterns — too  few, — a 
few  indolent  guests,  who  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  interest  in  life.  We  hesitated  at  the  for- 
bidding threshold.  The  poet  begged  us  to 
enter,  hinting  that  as  death  is  the  only  gate 
to  the  seventh  heaven,  it  was  possible  that 
we  were  even  then  upon  the  thorny  borders 
of  the  gardens  of  delight.  We  entered. 
There  was  a  sound  of  rushing  waters.  The 
air  was  cooled  with  spray.  Above  the  mur- 
mur of  the  waters  we  heard  music  and  low 
laughter,  though  laughter  is  uncommon 
with  those  people.  We  heard  the  twang  of 
the  seven  -  stringed  ^ood^  the  wail  of  the 
rahab^  the  singer's  viol  with  its  two  cords, 
the  trill  of  the  double-stemmed  arghool^ 


the  clang  of  the  sagat^  the  jingle  of  the  tar^ 
the  throb  of  the  darabiikkeh. 

We  passed  out  of  the  hall  into  a  parterre 
bordered  with  date-palms.  Drifts  of  snowy 
jasmine  whitened  the  winding  paths.  Be- 
yond us  was  a  grove  of  date-palms  and 
mimosas,  whose  boughs  were  filled  with 
lanterns.  The  music  ceased  for  a  moment; 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  babble  of  in- 
numerable streams,  the  plash  of  innumer- 
able fountains,  and  the  gurgle  of  rose-water 
bubbling  in  the  tanks  of  the  naigilehs. 

'  'Are  not  the  Abana  and  the  Pharphar, 
rivers  of  Damascus,  better  than  all  the 
waters  of  Israel?"  asked  Naaman  of  old. 
Here  the  rivers  are  broken  into  ten  thou- 
sand rivulets, -that  wind  in  and  out  among 
grassy  islands,  making  music  for  evermore. 

Rustic  bridges  spring  from  one  shore  to 
another.  You  may  make  the  tour  of  the 
Thousand  Islands  dry-shod.  You  may  wan- 
der from  bower  to  bower,  under  illuminated 
canopies,  and  find  at  last  the  seclusion  of 
some  kiosk^  where  pipe-bearers  attend  you, 
and  youthful  slaves  lift  to  your  lips  the 
fragile  sherbet- cups,  and  minstrels  and 
dancers  await  your  bidding. 

Our  cups  were  drained;  our  pipes  were 
filled;  we  rioted  at  the  feast  of  lanterns. 
Again  epicurean  music  filled  the  night; 
we  were  reclining  on  deep  divans.  On  either 
hand  kursees  (small  tables  inlaid  with  pearl, 
tortoise-shell,  and  ivory)  were  placed  within 
our  reach.  The  cofiee  steamed  upon  them. 
An  attendant  approached,  and  planted  a 
flaming  mesh^ al  near  us — a  cresset  filled 
with  burning  wood,  that  gave  forth  a  deli- 
cious odor.  A  lurid  glow  flooded  the  pa- 
vilion. 

Did  we  dream,  or  was  it  a  Jiojwi  that  daz- 
zled us  w  th  a  tiara  of  jingling  coins,  and 
with  rows  of  coins  upon  the  breast,  and 
chains  upon  the  arms,  and  girdles  upon  the 
hips?  A  loose  garment  flowed  from  the 
throat  to  the  feet,  confined  only  by  these 
glittering  coins — a  fortune  in  themselves. 
The  white  lace  mask  of  the  Circassian 
beauty  hid  the  lower  half  of  \h.^ghazeeyeJis 
face.  The  uncovered  eyes  blazed  from  their 
dark  rims  of  kohl.    Between  her  fingers  she 


The  Ave  Maria. 


251 


ped  the  bronze  sagat.  Small  silver  bells 
upon  her  anklets,  and  from  a  neck- 
ace  was  suspended  a  gilded  kurs,  that  hung 
]  ike  a  breastplate  upon  her  bosom. 

When  she  danced  the  minstrels  played 
'jQore  glibly.  Every  motion  of  her  body  in- 
:feimed  their  hearts.  It  was  not  a  dance  as 
've  know  it — it  was  the  writhing  of  a  cap- 
rive  serpent,  whose  rising  gorge  sends  the 
)lood  plunging  through  the  veins,  swells 
<!very  muscle  in  the  body,  and  makes  the 
ilesh  quiver  and  creep  perceptibly.  Not  all 
he  Ghawdse  of  the  East  might  furnish  a 
rival  to  this  little  creature;  and  when  at  last 
she  leaped  like  flame,  and  fanned  the  air, 
the  minstrels  shrieked  with  joy,  and  threw 
down  their  instruments  in  the  moment 
when  she  sank  to  the  earth  in  rapturous 
exhaustion. 

We  were  silent  a  moment;  the  waters  still 
played  on  every  hand;  the  lanterns  were 
burning  low.  Here  was  a  Peri  in  a  terres- 
trial paradise;  an  Odalisque  escaped  from 
the  harem  of  the  Sultan.  Soon  the  poet  led 
us  away  into  the  dark  lanes  of  the  city, 
toward  Dimitri's  hospitable  house. 

The  late  moon  was  just  rising  and  flood- 
ing the  east  w^ith  silver — or  was  it  day- 
break? From  a  minaret  came  the  third  call 
to  prayer — it  zvas  daybreak. 

Anon, when  it  was  all  over, with  the  cafes 
of  the  Thousand  Islands,  and  the  feast  of 
lanterns,  and  the  rioting  waters,  and  the 
odors  that  made  a  rose  garden  of  the  place, 
such  as  would  have  gladdened  the  heart  of 
Saadi  or  Hafiz, — when  even  the  poet  had 
departed,  and  the  city  was  still  as  death, — 
lo!  from  among  the  stars  fell  that  marvel- 
lous voice,  "God  is  most  great;  come  to 
prayer;  come  to  security.  Prayer  is  better 
than  sleep ! ' '    But  we  slept. 

(to  be  continued.) 


There  is  nothing  sweeter  in  the  world 
than  to  be  forgotten,  except  by  those  who 
love  us  and  whom  we  love.  The  rest  bring 
us  more  trouble  than  joy;  and  when  we 
have  accomplished  our  task,  dug  our  fur- 
row, be  it  great  or  small,  the  happiest  thing 
IS  to  disappear. — Lacordaire. 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— (Continued.) 

FAITH  and  courage  now  filled  the  soul 
of  Romanus;  he  desired  only  to  suffer 
the  same  torments  he  had  inflicted  on  Lau- 
rence ;  and,  standing  forth  and  raising  his 
hand  to  secure  attention,  in  a  loud  voice  he 
declared  himself  a  Christian.  * 

' '  Scourge  the  cur  within  an  inch  of  his 
life!"  roared  Valerian  from  his  curule 
chair;  "then  may  the  furies  of  hell  devour 
him!" 

Venting  his  rage  on  Romanus  until 
wearied  by  his  invincible  constancy,  the 
gentle  Imperator  wiped  his  frothing  lips, 
refreshed  himself  with  a  draught  of  cooled 
wine,  then  ordered  his  new  victim  to  be 
taken  outside  the  gates  and  executed. 
And  Romanus,  who  had  consoled  himself 
through  it  all  by  repeating  the  Holy  Name 
he  had  learned  from  the  lips  of  Laurence, 
was  led  away,  outside  the  Porta  Salara,  to 
his  death,  which,  by  faith,  baptism,  and  the 
shedding  of  his  blood  for  Christ,  filled  up 
the  measure  of  his  merits,  and  in  a  brief 
space  won  for  him  the  crown  and  palm  of 
martyrdom. 

By  this  time  Valerian  was  fatigued,  over- 
heated, and — hungry.  The  supper  hour 
was  approaching,  and  his  pampered,  luxu- 
rious appetite  craved  its  wonted  indulgence. 
He  would  go  to  the  Baths  of  Sallust,  re- 
fresh himself,  and  return  to  finish  the  work 
so  well  begun.  Having  left  his  instructions 
with  the  officials,  he  went  away  with  his 
attendants. 

The  holy  Deacon  Laurence,  without  a 
sound  spot  in  his  flesh,  was  removed  (still 
accompanied  by  Hippolytus)  to  another 
apartment,  which  opened  upon  the  grove  of 
palms  that  surrounded  the  Temple  of  Mars. 
Here  he  was  visited  and  consoled  by  many 


*  All  that  is  related  of  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Laurence,  and  of  the  conversion  and  martyrdom 
of  the  soldier  Romanus,  has  been  gleaned  from 
the  "Acts  of  St. Laurence." 


252 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  his  friends,  among  them  a  priest  sent  by 
the  Pontiff  Stephen,  from  whom  at  an  op- 
portune moment  he  received  the  Eucharis- 
tic  Bread — the  Holy  Viaticum,  which  left 
nothing  more  to  be  wished  for  on  earth. 

Hippolytus  no  longer  wavered.  Drawn 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Laurence,  whose  noble 
virtues  and  sanctity  of  life  while  in  his  cus- 
tody had  already  won  the  admiration  of  his 
honest  heart,  his  conversion  was  confirmed 
by  the  glorious  example  of  his  sufferings. 
Divine  love,  like  a  fiery  glow,  animated  his 
soul;  life  was  nothing:  he  only  wished  to 
declare  himself  a  Christian  at  whatever  cost. 
But  he  was  restrained  by  a  whisper  from 
Laurence,  who  saw  that  his  time  had  not 
yet  come. 

Lower  sank  the  sun  towards  the  bright, 
restless  sea;  the  filmy  vapors  that  draped 
the  sapphire  vault  above,  drifting  and  wav- 
ering in  the  soft  air-currents,  were  tinted 
with  palest  hues  of  rose  and  purple;  while 
an  iridescent,  tremulous,  golden  shimmer, 
nowhere  so  bright  as  in  Roman  skies,  per- 
vaded space.  The  birds  sang  on  the  wing; 
there  was  music  and  laughter  and  the  hum 
of  glad  voices  in  the  air,  and  other  signs 
telling  that  life  was  not  all  bitterness. 

Valerian  Imperator  had  refreshed  himself 
with  a  perfumed  bath,  put  on  fresh  apparel 
of  purple  and  fine  linen,  had  his  locks 
anointed  with  sweet  unguents  and  crowned 
with  laurel ;  then,  having  piously  offered  the 
customary  libations  to  the  gods,  he  surfeited 
himself  with  rich  food,  and  drank  his  fill  of 
the  rich,  mellow  wines  of  Greece,  uttering 
and  listening  to  coarse,  lewd  jests  in  the 
intervals  of  feasting,  until,  feeling  himself 
invigorated  and  in  prime  condition,  he  and 
his  satellites  went  back  to  the  Temple  of 
Mars. 

As  soon  as  he  was  seated,  and  found  breath 
to  speak,  he  summoned  Laurence  to  his 
presence.  The  holy  sufferer  could  not  have 
moved  his  lacerated,  bruised  body  but  for 
the  supernatural  strength  divinely  given, 
which  enabled  him  to  ascend  the  catasta 
once  again,  to  confront  his  cruel  judge  with 
undaunted  firmness;  although  the  marble 
pallor  of  his  countenance  and  the  purple 


shadows  around  his  eyes  betrayed  the  phys- 
ical anguish  he  endured.  Hippolytus  stood 
near,  the  shadow  of  a  pillar  concealing  the 
tears  which  he  sought  not  t-i  check. 

' '  Has  reason  returned  to  thee  ?  If  so  cast 
aside  the  wickedness  of  magic,  and  tell  us 
thy  history,"  hoarsely  stammered  Valerian^ 
his  brain  heavy  with  drunken  fumes. 

"I  am  a  Spaniard  by  birth,  educated  at 
Rome  in  every  holy  and  divine  law,"  was 
the  calm  reply. 

' '  Sacrifice,  then,  to  the  gods.  If  thou  re- 
fusest,  this  night  shall  be  spent  in  torturing 
thee,"  roared  the  Emperor. 

"Ah!  my  night  hath  no  darkness:  every- 
thing shines  in  brightness,"  responded  the 
holy  Deacon,  with  a  smile  irradiating  his 
countenance.  Heard  he  the  heavenly  anti- 
phon : 

"Night  shall  be  my  light. 
But  darkness  shall  not  be  dark  to  thee"  ?* 

' '  Beat  his  sacrilegious  mouth  with 
stones!"  raged  Valerian. 

The  executioner  obeyed.  The  notaries 
scribbled  faster,  for  the  light  was  fading. 
Hippolytus  drew  his  toga  over  his  face. 

Now  was  at  hand  the  crowning  point  of 
Valerian's  infernal  malice — his  "feast  for 
the  gods, ' '  which  he  had  boasted  to  Neme- 
sius  that  he  had  in  reserve;  but  for  Lau- 
rence, the  refining  ordeal,  the  triumph, 
which,  like  a  beacon  light  pointing  heaven- 
ward, would  shine  through  the  night-shad- 
ows of  time,  until  lost  in  the  bright  dawn 
of  eternal  day. 

The  Emperor  made  a  sign  to  the  half- 
naked  Numidian  savages,  who  stood  await-    j 
ing   his   orders ;    they   left   the   hall,  and    | 
brought  a  framework  of  iron  about  a  foot    ^ 
high,  with  iron  bars  across,  upon  which  the   ; 
unresisting  victim  was  extended  and  se-   I 
cured;   they  then  bore  him  on  his  rough   i 
couch  outside  the  Temple,  and  placed  it  over 
a  pit  of  glowing  coals,  which  cast  a  lurid 
glare  over  the  scene  and  the  grim  faces 
gathered  around,  falling  with  softer  light 
through  the  shadows  on  a  group  of  Chris- 
tians, who   stood    among    the    spectators, 


*  Psahu  cxxxviii.,  ii,  12. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


253 


aiting,  praying,  and  silently  weeping, 
mtil  the  end  should  come. 

Quickly  the  attendants  had  borne  the 
:urule  chair  from  the  Prsetorium,  that  the 
pious  Valerian,  in  his  zeal  for  the  honor  of 
:he  gods,  might  witness  at  his  ease  the 
igonies  of  the  tortured  Christian,  who  had 
blasphemously  denied  them  and  defied  him. 
He  saw  his  victim's  flesh,  penetrated  by  the 
fierce  heat,  begin  to  shrivel  and  scorch.  It 
was  a  brave  show  for  his  cruel  eyes,  but  no 
triumph ;  for  no  moan  nor  murmur  had  yet 
been  wrung  from  the  dying  lips:  on  the 
contrary,  they  had  only  declared  his  faith, 
his  joy  in  suffering  for  Jesus  Christ;  and 
from  his  fiery  couch  he  had  reproved  and 
warned  Valerian  as  the  slow  hours  dragged 
on. 

' '  Learn,  impious  tyrant ! "  he  cried, ' '  these 
coals  are  for  me  refreshing;  but  for  thee 
they  will  burn  to  all  eternity.  .  .  .  Thou,  O 
Lord !  knowest  that  when  accused  I  have  not 
denied,  when  questioned  I  have  answered, 
when  tortured  I  have  given  thanks."  * 

The  Numidians  stirred  the  glowing  mass 
of  fire  to  such  a  heat  that  they  themselves 
shrunk  swiftly  back.  Again  rose  the  mar- 
tyr's voice  clear  on  the  night,  whose  dark- 
ness w^as  dispelled  by  the  fire  that  consumed 
him,  while  a  smile  of  supernal  joy  irradiated 
his  countenance:  "I  thank  Thee,  O  Jesus 
Christ!  that  Thou  hast  deigned  to  comfort 
me."  Slowly  consuming,  life  lingered  in 
his  tortured  frame.  The  night  waned:  Lau- 
rence already  saw  the  gleaming  of  a  dawn 
which  would  usher  in  the  endless  day;  and, 
while  every  nerve  was  stung  with  unspeak- 
able agony,  while  heart  and  muscles  melted 
in  the  fiery  glow,  and  the  marrow  of  his 
charred  bones  withered,  he  cried  out:  "I 
thank  Thee,  Lord  Jesus !  that  I  am  found 
worthy  to  pass  through  Thy  gates. ' ' 

It  was  over;  the  passion  and  pain,  the 
bitterness  of  the  worst  that  could  be  done 
by  human  cruelty  instigated  by  fiends — 
their  malignity  aggravated  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  to  harm  only  the  body  was  the 
limit  of  their   power, — all  was  past  as  a 

*  "Acts  of  St.  Laurence." 


dream,  and  Laurence,  like  gold  refined  by 
the  fire,  entered  with  stainless  garments 
into  the  Land  of  the  Living,  to  receive  the 
palm  and  crown  he  had  so  valiantly  won. 

The  satisfaction  of  Valerian  was  incom- 
plete ;  he  had  compassed  the  death  of  Lau- 
rence, but  had  failed  to  reach  and  drag  down 
the  invincible  spirit,  which  had  soared 
above  him  to  the  end.  He  felt  baffled  and 
vengeful,  and  retired  to  his  ivory,  silk- 
draped  couch  to  seek  oblivion  in  a  drunken 
sleep. 

The  body  of  Laurence  was  not  removed 
from  his  iron- grated,  fiery  couch  when  life 
became  extinct,  but  was  left  to  burn  until 
the  smouldering  coals  turned  to  ashes ;  and 
when  the  dark  hour  just  before  dawn 
wrapped  the  scene  in  deeper  shadows,  the 
guards,  either  drunk  or  overcome  with  si  eep,. 
or  perhaps  gold,  no  longer  kept  watch; 
there  was  no  sound  except  the  wind  among 
the  palms,  that  sounded  like  a  low-breathed 
threnody.  Two  or  three  dark  figures  now 
emerged  cautiously  from  the  shadows  tow- 
ards the  sacred  remains  ;nvith  a  quick  move- 
ment, yet  reverent  and  tender,  wrapped 
them  in  rich  stuffs,  and  glided  away  as- 
noiselessly  as  they  had  come.  It  was  Hip- 
polytus  and  two  other  Christians,  all  dis-^ 
ciples  and  friends  of  Laurence,  who  bore 
away  his  charred  body,  and  concealed  it  in 
the  Garden  of  Cyriaca,  in  a  place  they  had 
prepared  for  it. 

In  the  three  days  that  followed,  Hip- 
polytus  set  his  affairs  in  order,  liberated  his- 
slaves,  and  distributed  his  goods  to  the  poor. 
Not  too  soon  were  his  arrangements  com- 
pleted, for  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day 
his  house  was  surrounded  by  soldiers;  he 
was  arrested,  and  taken  before  the  procu- 
rator, on  the  plea  of  being  a  magician,  and 
of  stealing  the  body  of  Laurence.  He  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  done  so,  not  as  a  magi- 
cian, but  as  a  Christian.  The  pretence  of  a. 
trial  followed;  he  was  tortured,  cajoled;  they 
appealed  to  his  military  pride,  to  his  love  for 
his  family;  and  all  the  horrors  that  awaited 
them  as  well  as  himself,  in  case  he  should 
prove  obstinate, were  depicted  to  him;  and 
last  of  all  came  a  message  from  the  Bm- 


254 


The  Ave  J/ a 


peror,  offering  him  honors  and  riches  if  he 
would  abandon  his  new  delusion  and  re- 
turn to  the  worship  of  the  gods.  But  he 
rejected  all  for  Christ,  and  submitted  to  the 
most  cruel  tortures,  counting  all  things  as 
nothing  for  the  sake  of  his  Divine  Master. 

His  family,  with  the  slaves  who  had  been 
converted  by  the  preaching  of  Laurence  in 
the  dungeons  under  his  house  —  among 
them  the  old  man  who  had  been  miracu- 
lously restored  to  sight  by  the  holy  Deacon, 
together  with  his  son — were  conducted  out- 
side the  Via  Tibertina,  and  put  to  death 
before  the  eyes  of  Hippolytus.  But  his  con- 
stancy remained  unshaken;  his  fervor  only 
increased ;  and,  finding  him  impervious 
to  every  attempt  made  to  seduce  his  faith. 
Valerian  Imperator  sentenced  him  to  die, 
but  not  by  any  of  the  usual  methods;  this 
was  to  be  something  novel,  inspiriting,  and 
would  delight  Rome  as  a  revival  of  some- 
thing classic  as  well  as  tragic. 

On  the  appointed  day,  everything  being 
prepared,  with  the  Emperor  and  all  Rome 
for  spectators,  two  unbroken  horses,  with 
wild,  fiery  eyes,  were  led  forth,  their  ears 
laid  back,  their  red  nostrils  expanded,  their 
veins  and  muscles  strained  like  cords  in 
their  eagerness  to  break  from  the  restraints 
of  the  stalwart  Dacian  soldiers,  who  held 
them  back.  Hippolytus  was  not  appalled 
by  what  he  saw  before  him ;  he  had  learned 
how  to  die,  and  joyfully  yielded  himself  to 
the  soldiers,  who  now  seized  and  bound 
him  between  the  horses,  suddenly  released 
by  the  Dacians,  and,  given  a  stinging  blow 
on  their  flanks,  which  was  scarcely  needed, 
they  sprang  forward,  plunged  and  reared 
to  free  themselves  from  their  strange  in- 
cumbrance, then  dashed  madly  away.  But 
before  their  wild  race  was  over,  the  spirit 
of  Hippolytus  was  reunited  with  that  of 
Sixtus,  Laurence,  and  the  martyrs  of  his 
own  household,  who  had  so  brief  a  time 
preceded  him. 

Gods  of  Rome!  have  your  eyes  grown 
dim,  your  ears  heavy?  Have  your  magi- 
cians lost  their  vaunted  skill?  Can  they 
no  longer  work  their  mighty  spells?  Have 
your  augurs  ceased  to  read  the  dreams  and 


portents  that  shadow  coming  fate?  What 
strange  lethargy  has  stolen  over  ye?  Does 
the  perpetual  incense  rising  from  your 
altars  make  ye  drowsy,  or  does  the  crimson 
mist  ascending  from  the  blood  of  the  holy 
ones  slain  in  your  honor  veil  from  ye  the 
near  future  and  the  coming  destruction? 
Can  ye  not  hear  the  trampiag  of  the  armed 
host  marching  down  through  the  pleasant 
Etrurian  vales  towards  the  Tiber, — a  host 
led  by  a  cross  of  flame  in  the  heavens, 
under  which  in  characters  of  fire  is  writ: 
' '  In  this  sign  conquer ' '  ? 

Do  ye  not  see,  O  gods!  the  great,  splendid 
army  of  Maxentius — whose  proud  boast  is 
that  he  has  extinguished  Christianity  — 
waiting  for  the  advance  of  the  foe  on  the 
hither  side  of  the  Tiber,  where  it  flows 
between  Latium  and  Etruria?  Although 
the  time  is  not  quite  five  decades  distant,* 
it  is  not  yet  too  late — if  ye  are  gods — to 
prepare  your  thunderbolts  to  destroy  the 
invader.  But  ye  willnot  awaken,  and  the 
hostile  armies  meet, — the  one  led  by  the 
Cross,  the  other  by  the  Eagles  which  have 
never  known  defeat.  The  shock  and  clash 
of  battle  shake  the  earth  and  rend  the  air; 
Maxentius,  wounded  and  pursued,  sinks  in 
his  heavy  armor  under  the  swift-flowing 
Tiber;  the  Eagles  fall  and  are  trampled  in 
the  dust;  the  Cross  triumphs,  and  advances 
to  establish  the  throne  of  Christ  on  earth, 
on  the  seven-hilled  city  of  the  Caesars.. 

But  the  vision  does  not  arouse  ye,  great 
gods!  Ye  dream  as  if  your  thrones  were 
founded  on  eternity,  forgetting  the  Seer 
from  the  Euphrates,  and  his  mysterious 
words  on  Mt.  Phogor,  in  the  land  of  Moab, 
seven  hundred  years  before  Rome  was 
founded:  ''They  shall  come  in  galleys  from 
Italy;  they  shall  overcome  the  Assyrians, 
and  shall  waste  the  Hebrews;  and  at  the 
last  they  themselves  also  shall  perish. ' '  t 

*  Valerian,  253-260.    Constantine,  306-337.  Be- 
tween Valerian  and  Constantine  46  years. 
t  Numbers,  xxiv.,  24. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Charity  is  the  salt  of  riches,  without 
which  they  corrupt  themselves. 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


255 


True  Patriotism. 


BY    S.    L.   E. 


may  interest  the  readers  of  The  "Ave 
Maria"  in  the  United  States,  whose 
native  land  has  been  so  providentially  ded- 
icated to  Mary  Immaculate,  to  see  with 
what  intensity  patriotism  and  the  love  of 
God  may  be  united  in  the  human  heart. 
The  following  burning  words  of  Paul  Feval, 
written  to  his  father  after  a  pilgrimage  to 
Montmartre,  bear  striking  witness  to  this, 
and  teach  us  how  to  pray  for  our  country, 
that  it  may  belong  entirely  to  that  God  for 
whose  sake  its  holy  discoverer  sought  its 
shores  neaiiy  four  hundred  years  ago: 

I  am  just  come  from  the  provisional 
Chapel  of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  at 
Montmartre.  As  you  knew  that  I  had 
wielded  the  pen  in  my  day,  you  said  to  me: 
"Write  us  something  about  what  you  saw." 
And  I  replied:  "  I  saw  nothing." 

I  had  entered  a  chapel  already  filled.  How 
it  happened  I  know  not.  A  glow  of  fervor 
seized  upon  my  soul,  and  I  saw  naught  but 
my  own  joy.  I  knelt  between  a  holy  old 
man,  who  had  fled  from  his  country  of  Lor- 
raine to  spend  his  last  days  in  the  French 
'atherland,  and  a  young  priest  who  teaches 
)ur  soldiers  how  one  lives  worthily  in  order 
lO  die  worthily.. 

Mass  was  celebrated  in  profound  recoUec- 
ion.  Before  the  Gospel  our  pastor  uttered 
5ome  afdent  words,  which  spoke  of  France 
0  God.  Our  hearts  were  all  full  of  God,  and 
vere  beating  for  France;  while  from  above  a 
:hant  rang  out,  vowing  to  the  wounds  of  the 
^eart  of  Jesus  the  wounded  heart  of  France. 
Ever  those  names,  "Jesus!  France!"  And 
ver:  "Heart!  Heart!  Heart!"  Basely  they 
le  who  accuse  us  of  not  loving  our  country 
»ecause  we  adore  our  God.  Our  fathers 
efore  us,  in  the  great  days  of  our  glory, 
uited  these  two  loves — religion  and  patri- 
tism — in  the  victorious  shouts  of  their 
ombats;  and  when  France  was  queen  of 
le  world  these  were  the  words  that  shone 
ut  everywhere,  written  in  the  blood  of  our 


chevaliers  :  "  God«  and  our  Fatherland  !  " 
'  'Jesus !  France ! "  "  Son  of  the  Eternal  God  I 
Eldest  Daughter  of  the  immortal  Church! " 
"Divine  Heart!  Sacred  Heart!  lift  even  to 
Thyself  the  humiliated  heart  of  France!" 

Then  they  came,  all  who  were  there,  to 
feast  at  the  altar  on  the  Bread  of  Angels. 
Then  again,  suddenly,  the  pulpit  woke.  A 
voice,  sonorous  as  a  trumpet  of  the  faith, 
recited,  proclaimed  rather,  and  acclaimed 
the  Litanies  of  the  Heart  of  Jesus.  Here 
.was  eloquence,  enthusiasm,  transport ;  a 
vast  emotion  was  roused,  increased,  and 
spread.  To  the  depths  of  my  being  some- 
thing was  burning — incense  and  remorse, 
grief,  triumph,  sacrifice. 

There  was  God  in  the  air!  This  poetic 
form  (oh !  pardon  the  word !  Consider  that 
I  have  lived  on  poesy) — this  form  of  the 
litany,  more  lyrical  than  the  ode,  more  lofty 
than  the  hymn,  more  tender  than  the  canti- 
cle, more  royal  even  than  the  psalm,  dilates 
the  entire  being  by  a  miracle  of  expansion. 
Lift  up  your  souls!  Sursum  corda!  It  is 
the  divine  Word,  woven  in  long  folds  of 
gold.  Wave,  wave,  like  a  banner,  the  vibrat- 
ing list  which  unrolls  the  praises  of  the  all- 
powerful  Heart! 

And,  believe  it,  there  is  glory  still,  and 
heroes  and  martyrs,  under  that  garland  of 
sublime  cries.  We  are  not  dead!  No:  the 
field  of  God's  soldiers  has  not  yielded  yet 
its  final  harvest.  Heart  of  St.  Louis,  heart 
of  Jeanne  d' Arc,  heart  of  Du  Guesclin,  of 
Bayard,  of  Conde — heart  of  France!  O  great, 
O  valiant  and  unhappy  heart!  pierced  by 
the  stranger,  dishonored,  tortured  by  bar- 
barism, recollect  thyself,  warm  thyself  once 
more;  believe,  hope,  and  mount  up  to  the 
very  Heart  of  thy  God,  where  is  open  an 
invincible  refuge! 

My  father,  I  have  heard  nothing,  seen 
nothing,  save  this ;  but  I  have  brought  away 
with  me  a  robust  hope,  and  a  consolation 
which  no  words  can  tell.  At  the  moment 
when  I  was  leaving,  Paris,  despite  the  broad 
day,  was  disappearing  behind  a  thick  mist: 
a  striking  figure  of  the  combat  incessantly 
going  on,  in  this  illustrious  and  fatal  place, 


256 


The  Ave  Maria. 


between  the  darkness  and  the  light.  A 
single  ray  pierced  the  enshrouding  gloom: 
it  was  the  spark  struck  by  the  kiss  of  day 
from  a  cross  'of  gold  on  the  summit  of  a 
church.  O  Crux  ave!  O  light,  salvation! 
Spes  unica!  Unparalleled  ray!  thou  wilt 
suffice,  O  thou  symbol  of  humanity  which 
gives  light,  and  of  victory  in  death! — O 
lighthouse  lighted  by  God  Himself,  thou 
wilt  suffice  to  guide  our  blinded  France 
towards  the  brightness  of  the  future! 

It  is  so.  I  believe  it.  While  I  was  behold- 
ing at  my  feet  Paris,  the  giant  grovelling 
in  its  shadow,  I  heard  above  my  head  your 
inspired  voice,  my  father,  imploring  as  one 
who  commands,  repeating  to  the  Sovereign 
Heartof  theMan-God:  "Have mercy!  have 
mercy!  have  mercy  upon  France!" 


Beautiful  Customs  of  a  Catholic  Land. 

The  Rev.  Richard  J.  M' Hugh,  in  The  Irish  Eccle- 
siastical Record. 

PERHAPS  in  no  country,  not  even  Ireland, 
are  the  beauty  and  sanctity  of  the  Church 
seen  to  better  advantage  than  in  "The  holy 
land  Tyrol,"  as  her  children,  with  affection- 
ate pride,  designate  her;  for  in  no  other  land 
to-day  are  Church  and  State  wedded  in  such 
happy  union  as  in  the  Austro  -  Hungarian 
Empire;  and  in  the  Empire  itself,  it  may  be 
safely  said,  no  other  State  has  won  such  re- 
nown for  its  sterling  fealty  to  ''Kaiser^  Gott 
und  Vaterland,''  as  the  mountain  -  girdled 
home  of  the  patriotic  Hofer. 

The  loyalty  of  the  Tyrolese  peasant  to  the 
Church  has  become  proverbial;  his  name,  like 
that  of  his  unfortunate  Irish  brother,  is  but 
a  synonym  of  Catholic;  his  lively  faith,  un- 
tainted with  the  faintest  suspicion  of  any 
modern  heresy  or  fashionable  ' '  philosophy ' ' ; 
the  almost  primitive  simplicity  of  his  man- 
ners; the  unquestionable  honesty  of  all  his 
dealings,  and  the  stainless  purity  of  his  mor- 
als, are  the  admiration  and  delight  of  all  who 
behold  them ;  while  they  serve  not  a  little  to 
prove  to  the  Protestant  world  that  cleanliness 
of  heart  and  uprightness  of  character  are  not 
altogether  incompatible  with  the  teaching  of 
the  ' '  Priests  of  Rome. ' ' 

To  the  readers  of  the  Record,  and  to  those  of 


them  especially  who  live  in  parts,  like  America, 
or  Australia, where  the  Church,  as  yet  only  in 
her  lusty  infancy,  is  striving  to  beat  down  the 
barriers  of  bigotry,  prejudice,  and  intolerance, 
a  short  description  of  some  of  the  religious 
customs  of  a  land  where  the  Church  has  flour- 
ished for  fifteen  centuries,  and  is  still  loved, 
respected  and  obeyed  by  her  children,  may 
not  be  devoid  of  interest;  while  the  example 
of  those  privileged  ones  who  enjoy  in  full  the 
blessings  of  our  Holy  Mother  may  not  be 
wanting,  let  us  hope,  in  its  salutar}^  lesson  to 
their  less  fortunate  brethren  in  distant  lands. 

At  the  outset  of  my  paper  it  may  be  ap- 
propriate to  remark  that  the  people  of  the 
Tyrol  always  begin  the  day  in  that  most  ex- 
cellent Christian  manner — by  assisting  at  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass.  If  they  failed  in 
this  it  would  show  them  to  be  but  very  lax  and 
careless  Catholics  indeed;  for  there  is  no  vil- 
lage, howsoever  small,  in  all  the  land,  that  can 
not  boast  of  at  least  one  beautiful  little  chapel, 
where  the  Saving  Host  is  daily  offered  up  to 
His  Eternal  Father.  In  the  towns  and  cities 
the  opportunities  of  hearing  Mass  naturally 
are  ampler  still,  and  as  early  as  half-past  four 
in  the  morning  the  bells  can  be  heard  pealing 
through  the  misty  air  from  dome  and  spire  of 
the  church  and  convent,  calling  upon  man  to 
lift  his  waking  thoughts  to  his  Creator.  From 
this  hour,  when  even  the  birds  are  still  sleep- 
ing in  their  nests,  until  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  on 
week-days  and  Sundays  alike,  it  is  easy  to 
find  some  church  in  which  Mass  is  being  cel- 
ebrated; and  the  throngs  of  faithful  worship 
pers  that  fill  the  sacred  temples  at  any  time 
between  these  hours  is  a  sight  truly  edifying. 

Thrice  a  day,  at  the  proper  hours,  the  An- 
gelus  is  rung;  and  as  the  first  stroke  of  the 
bell  is  heard  chiming  on  the  air,  recalling  to 
the  Christian  soul  the  wonderful  mystery  ol 
the  Word  made  Flesh,  the  people,  whether  ali 
home  or  in  the  streets,  in  the  shop  or  market 
place,  bow  their  heads,  and,  with  reverent  lips,; 
softly  recite: 

"The  Angel  of  the  Lord  declared  unto  Mary, 
And  she  conceived  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Every  heart  that  is  at  all  susceptible  t( 
the  benign  influence  of  religion  must  be  im 
pressed  at  the  ringing  of  the  Angeliis  bell;  fo 
its  mysterious  effect  is  still  the  same,  whethei 
its  chimes  be  heard  along  the  vine-clad  slope: 
of  Andalusia  or  amid  the  snow-capped  peak 
of  the  Tyrolean  Alps.  I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


257 


Ul  through  the  Tyrol  the  tourist  from  Prot- 
€S  ant  lands  is  surprised  to  find  the  quiet 
CO  mtry  lanes,  the  rugged  mountain  passes, 
th  :  very  streets  of  the  cities,  adorned  here  and 
th  !re  with  shrines  of  Our  Lady,  crucifixes, 
an  i  statues  of  saints  to  whom  some  special 
de  'otion  is  paid.  Every  bridge  has  its  modest 
eft  gy  of  St.  John  Nepomuk,  the  heroic  priest 
wl  -0  braved  the  anger  of  the  tyrant  Wences- 
laus  IV.,  of  Bohemia,  rather  than  violate  the 
secrecy  of  the  confessional,  and  received  in 
consequence  the  crown  of  martyrdom  by  being 
thrown  into  the  Moldau  at  the  bafiled  King's 
command;  and  every  house,  almost, has  a  rude 
picture  of  St.  Florian,  the  guardian  of  dwell- 
ings against  fire,  painted  on  its  walls.  "O 
3od,  through  the  intercession  of  Thy  servant 
blorian,  protect  us  Thy  children  from  the  dan- 
gers of  fire!  "  is  an  inscription  often  seen  over 
he  main  entrances  of  private  houses. 

This  pious  custom  of  giving  honor  to  the 

Most  High,  and  seeking  the  patronage  of  His 

aints  in  a  public  manner,  not  long  ago,  as 

he  readers  of  the  Record  are  aware,  obtained 

hroughout  the  greater  part  of  Europe;  but 

n  many  countries  still  claiming  to  be  Chris- 

ian,  the  portraits  of  the  saints  have  disap- 

)eared  during  the  past  years,  and  the  crucifix 

las  gone  down  before  the  impious  arm  of  the 

aodern  Iconoclast.    In  Catholic  Tyrol,  how- 

ver,  the  image  of  the  Crucified  Redeemer  has 

lot  yet  yielded  its  place  to  the  effigy  of  Apollo, 

lor  the  statue  of  the  Virginal  Mother  to  the 

gure  of  Diana  or  the  Cyprean  Queen    Maria- 

^heresian  Strasse,  in  Innsbriick,  has  a  beau- 

iful  specimen  of  Christian  art,  consisting  of 

magnificent  shaft  of  highly-polished  gran- 

e,  crowned  with  a  marble  statue  of  the  Im- 

laculate  Conception,  and  relieved  at  the  base 

dth  life-sized  figures  of  SS.  Joachim,  Anna, 

oseph,  and  John.   In  passing  these  pious  rep- 

isentations,the  peasant  respectfully  bares  his 

ead  and  offers  up  a  brief  and  silent  prayer. 

otive  lamps  burn  continually  before  many 

irines,  and  in  harvest  time  the  first  two  ears 

f  corn  plucked  in  the  field  are  suspended  from 

le  arms  of  the  nearest  crucifix,  in  thanks- 

iving  to  the  Son  of  God  for  having  removed, 

7  His  Sacred  Passion  and  Death,  the  curse  of 

id  pronounced  upon  the  earth  and  all  its  fruits, 

id  for  having  restored  the  world  to  its  primal 

race  and  favor  in  the  eyes  of  its  Creator. 

A  mark  of  respect  shown  towards  the  Blessed 

icrament  by  the  Tyrolean  farmers  is  worthy 


the  imitation  of  all, Catholic  men.  Not  un- 
mindful of  the  Prisoner  of  I^ove  concealed 
within  our  tabernacles,  they  never  fail  to  lift 
their  hats  in  passing  a  church,  and,  indeed,  not 
unfrequently  turn  towards  it  and  genuflect. 
When  the  priest  carries  the  Viaticum  through 
the  streets  the  people  on  either  side  kneel,  with 
uncovered  heads,  until  he  has  passed;  and  in 
garrisoned  towns,  whenever  the  Sacred  Host 
is  borne  past  the  barracks,  the  guard  is  turned 
out  to  present  arms  to  the  King  of  kings.  Il^it- 
tle  acts  of  piety  like  these,  after  all,  are  what 
serve  to  keep  the  faith  alive  in  our  breasts  in 
all  its  apostolic  fervor,  and  secure  to  our  souls 
many  special  graces  from  the  Most  High. 

Early  on  summer  mornings,  when  only  the 
highest  peaks  are  flushing  with  the  rosy  light 
of  dawn,  the  village  girls,  pushing  before  them 
little  carts,  laden  with  vegetables  and  fresh- 
laid  eggs,  come  down  from  their  mountain- 
heights  to  the  market  in  the  city.  Having 
disposed  of  their  tempting  stock,  and  made 
whatever  purchases  are  necessary  for  their 
humble  life,  they  form  into  little  companies, 
and  set  our  again  for  their  aerial  homes.  And 
how,  think  you,  do  they  while  away  the  two  or 
three  weary  hours  of  their  difficult  ascent  up 
the  rugged  Alpine  slopes  ?  Not  with  idle  gos- 
siping or  feminine  small-talk;  not  in  discuss- 
ing the  gorgeous  feathers  or  shimmering  silks 
exposed  in  the  shop-windows  of  the  city.  Ah! 
no :  foreign  to  the  heart  of  the  Tyrolese  maiden 
are  the  thoughts  of  such  frivolity.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem  to  the  worldly-minded,  it  is  nev- 
ertheless an  interesting  fact,  that  the  hours  of 
their  return  are  devoted  to  reciting  in  unison 
the  Rosary  of  Our  Blessed  lyady;  and  only 
that  bright  Angel  who  guards  the  heavenly 
exchequer  may  say  how  many  fragrant  gar- 
lands of  never-fading  flowers  have  thus  been 
woven  by  those  pure  and  simple  village  girls, 
and  laid,  a  grateful  offering,  at  the  feet  of  the 
Immaculate  Queen  of  Virgins. 

In  the  salutations  that  greet  the  pedestrian 
in  his  holiday  rambles  through  a  Tyrolese 
village  there  is  something  suggestive  of  the 
first  days  of  Christianity.  ''Griiss'  dick  Gott! ' ' 
(God  salute  you),  and  ''Gelobt  sei  Jesus  Chris- 
tusT'  (Praised  be  Jesus  Christ),  are  among 
those  most  frequently  heard.  "Praised  be 
Jesus  Christ!"  is  certainly  a  most  beautiful 
and  appropriate  salutation  for  Christians,  and 
when  one  hears  it  for  the  first  time  one  seems 
to  be  suddenly  transported  by  some  magic 


258 


The  Ave  Maria, 


agency  back  to  the  very  days  of  the  Apostles. 
I  was  in  the  hospital  not  long  ago,  in  a  neigh- 
boring city,  and  I  remember  what  a  sweet 
awakening  it  was,  morning  after  morning,  as 
the  modest  little  Sister  entered  with  my  break- 
fast, and  called  me  back  "from  dreamland 
unto  day,  "with  her  softly  murmured  ejacu- 
lation, ' '  Gelobt  sei  Jesus  Christus!  ' '  These 
were  the  first  words  that  fell  upon  my  ears  at 
the  opening  of  each  new  day,  and  the  last  I 
heard  when  day  was  over;  for  as  the  gentle 
Sister  smoothed  my  pillow  for  the  night,  and 
sprinkled  me  with  holy  water,  her  parting 
words  were  ever, '  'Schlafen  Sie  wohl!  Gelobt  sei 
Jesus  Christus!''  Truly,  a  people  in  whose 
hearts  and  upon  whose  lips  the  blessed  name  of 
our  divine  Saviour  is  thus  with  reverence  ever 
found,  may  turn  from  this  poor  world  when  that 
Saviour  calls  them,  with  souls  strengthened 
with  all  the  hope  and  love  and  confidence 
such  faith  as  theirs  must  necessarily  inspire. 
An  American  friend  of  mine  lately  received 
an  invitation  to  a  Tyrolese  wedding.  As  it  is 
unique  in  its  way,  and  will  serve  as  a  further 
specimen  of  the  deep  piety  that  pervades  these 
people,  it  may  not  be  altogether  inappropriate 
to  give  it  insertion.  It  was  printed  on  com- 
mon paper,  and  read  as  follows: 

Praised  be  Jesus  Christ! 
Esteemed  and  Beloved  Friend:— Having  en- 
tered, through  God's  will, into  holy  and  honorable 
espousals  with  Maria  G ,  I  hereby  humbly  in- 
vite you  to  be  present  at  our  marriage,  which  will 
take  place  on  the  eighth  day  of  the  Spring  month 
(/.  e.,  March  8),  in  the  most  worthy  House  of  God 

at  V .    A  breakfast  will  be  served  at  the  house 

of  our  honored  pastor,  and  a  dinner  at  the  inn  of 

our    excellent    townsman,  Joseph  H .    May 

everything  tend  to  the  greater  honor  of  God  and 
the  holy  Sacrament  of  Matrimony !  Trusting  you 
will  honor  us  with  your  presence  on  this  joyful 
occasion,  and  recommending  you  to  the  protec- 
tion of  God  and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  I  am,  etc. 

CJ. 

lyike  unto  this,  methinks,  might  the  invita- 
tion have  been  that  was  issued  for  the  mar- 
riage-feast given  of  old  in  the  little  village  of 
Cana  in  Galilee,  which  of  all  marriage-feasts 
was  blessed  by  Heaven;  for,  as  we  read,  "the 
Mother  of  Jesus  was  there;  and  Jesus  also  was 
invited,  and  His  disciples." 

Briefly  and  at  random  I  have  touched  upon 
a  few  pious  customs  that  attract  the  attention 
of  the  stranger  in  this  happy  land;  to  describe 
in  full  the  deep  religious  current  that  sends 


its  purifying  waters  through  the  daily  life  of 
the  Tyrolese;  to  speak  of  the  thousand  and 
one  little  acts  of  devotion  that  distinguish 
them  in  the  field,  at  the  fireside,  or  in  the  shop; 
to  dwell  upon  the  exterior  pomp  and  interior 
fervor  with  which  they  hail  the  oft-recurring 
festivals  of  the  Church,  would  require  more 
space  than  I  may  ask  of  the  Record  in  a  single 
number.  But  I  may  say  in  conclusion  that  I 
never  mingle  with  these  simple-hearted  peas- 
ants, or  see  them  at  their  labors,  their  devo- 
tions, or  their  rustic  merry-makings,  without 
thinking  that  in  them  is  realized  the  fervent 
aspiration  of  the  prayer: 

"Actiones  nostras,  qusesumus,  Domine,  as- 
pirando  praeveni  et  adjuvando  prosequere; 
ut  cuncta  nostra  oratio  et  operatio  a  te  semper 
incipiat  et  per  te  coepta  finiatur." — Prevent, 
we  beseech  Thee,  O  Lord!  our  actions,  and 
carry  them  on  by  Thy  gracious  asssistance; 
that  every  prayer  and  work  of  ours  may  begin 
by  Thee,  and  through  Thee  be  happily  ended. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Within  the  past  few  years  three  of  the  most 
active  and  virulent  persecutors  of  the  Church 
in  several  cantons  of  Switzerland  have  met 
with  such  terrible  deaths  as  to  attract  general 
attention.  One  of  these  was  the  notorious 
Frote,  of  the  Canton  of  Berne,  who  pursued 
with  intense  hatred  the  Catholics  of  the  Jura, 
especially  the  clergy,  whom  he  called  vermin. 
He  died  insane,  almost  eaten  alive  by  vermin. 
The  second  was  M.  Keller,  of  Argovie,  who 
distinguished  himself  by  a  tyrannical  career 
of  oppression  towards  the  Church  during  forty 
years.  His  last  appearance  before  the  public 
was  marked  by  a  tirade  against  the  Church, 
in  which  he  scoffed  at  the  Pope,  and  the  ex- 
communication which  he  boasted  of  having 
incurred  several  times.  He  died  an  idiot, 
abandoned  b)^  everyone.  The  third  was  M.  Vi- 
gier,  whose  career  was  marked  by  his  speeches 
against  the  Church  and  religion,  and  the  num- 
ber of  minds  led  astray  by  his  seductive  words. 
He  died  recently  a  terrible  death  from  cancer 
of  the  tongue! 

It  will  bring  joy  to  the  hearts  of  Irish  Cath- 
olics the  world  over  to  hear  that  a  church  is 
about  to  be  built  in  Rome  in  honor  of  St. ) 
Patrick,  and  we  are  certain   they  will  exert 
themselves  to  have  it  rank  first  among  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


259 


]  ational  churches  of  the  capital  of  Christen- 
i  om.  A  beautiful  site  in  the  late  Villa  Ludo- 
^  isi  has  been  selected.  The  Holy  Father,  with 
\  -horn  this  noble  idea  originated,  has  headed 
t  le  subscription  list  with  the  handsome  offer- 
i  ig  of  4,000  lire.  The  project  has  been  en- 
t  Tisted  to  the  Very  Rev.  Father  Glynn,  Prior 
of  the  Irish  Augustinians,  of  S.  Maria  in 
osterula.  In  compliance  with  the  express  I 
jsire  of  Pope  Leo  XIII.,  Father  Glynn  will 
make  an  appeal  to  the  bishops  and  the  faithful 
ill  America,  Australia,  and  the  British  pos- 
sessions, in  behalf  of  his  undertaking. 


There  are  at  present  thirty-three  foreign 
Cardinals  and  exactly  the  same  number  of 
Italian  Cardinals.  According  to  the  Catholic 
Times,  of  Liverpool,  this  never  occurred  be- 
fore in  the  history  of  the  Papacy. 

Palace  and  hotel  cars,  as  well  as  sleeping 
coaches,  are  now  run  with  the  express  trains 
on  the  railroad  between  Paris  and  Lourdes. 
The  introduction  of  these  ' '  modern  improve- 
ments ' '  will  no  doubt  prove  very  acceptable  to 
the  invalid  pilgrims  seeking  relief  from  their 
sufferings  at  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady. 


The  Paris  correspondent  of  the  Liverpool 
Catholic  Times,  writing  of  the  observance  of 
the  Feast  of  the  Assumption  in  France, -re- 
marks: 

' '  With  much  truth  might  it  be  said  that  this 
Feast  of  the  Assumption  is  the  National  Festival 
of  France.  In  no  other  country  in  the  world  is  the 
Virgin-Mother  more  widely  and  sincerely  honored 
on  this  anniversary,  and  among  no  people  does 
the  recurrence  of  this  great  religious  solemnity 
give  rise  to  more  fervent  sentiments  or  more  ele- 
vating thoughts.  As  the  journal  which  has  the 
largest  circulation  in  the  country  felt  constrained 
to  remark  on  the  morrow  of  the  Feast,  in  the  course 
of  a  short  cynical  article, '  it  is  the  Feast  of  every 
French  family,  whether  its  members  be  practical 
Catholics  or  not.'  The  devotional  feelings  of  the 
nation  are  stirred  to  their  profoundest  depths ;  and 
even  to  those  who  have  lapsed  from  the  Faith,  and 
have  wandered  into  the  ranks  of  its  enemies,  the 
commemoration  brings  with  it  remembrances  and 
associations  which  touch  the  tenderest  chords  of 
their  being.  On  Sunday  last  the  numberless 
shrines  raised  to  the  honor  of  the  Mother  of  God 
throughout   this  ancient  land,  whether  in   the 

orgeous  Cathedrals  of  the  cities  or  the  humble 

liurches  of  the  hamlets,  had  been  richly  decked 
iy  loving  hands  with  fairest  and  choicest  flowers, 
supplemented  here  and  there  by  glittering  gems 
of  priceless  value.    Through  the  aisles  of  thou- 


sands of  temples  the  sweet  strains  of  the  'Ave 
Maria '  arose  amid  *he  perfumed  breath  of  myr- 
iads of  flowers ;  and  the  divine  music  of  the  human 
voice  mingled  with  the  mute  expression  of  the 
floral  poesy  of  earth  in  one  grand  canticle  of  praise 
and  "supplication,  that  was  borne  aloft  on  angel- 
wings  to  the  celestial  throne  of  the  '  Mother  of 
Fair  Love,'  and  the  '  Bright  and  Morning  Star'  of 
humanity." 

We  deeply  regret  to  have  to  chronicle  the 
death  of  the  distinguished  Catholic  scientist, 
Professor  Frederick  S.  Barff,  which  occurred 
at  Buckingham,  England,  on  the  nth  ult. 
His  experiments  and  discoveries  in  chemis-*. 
try,  many  of  which  have  been  at  the  same  time 
brilliant  and  useful,  have  opened  up  an  en- 
tirely new  field  of  research,  and  won  for  him 
a  foremost  place  in  the  world  of  science.  He 
was  Professor  of  Chemistry  at  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy, in  the  ill-fated  Catholic  University  of 
Kensington,-and  until  his  health  failed  taught 
the  same  branch  of  science  at  Baumont  Col- 
lege. Besides  being  a  distinguished  man  of 
science,  Professor  Barff  was  also  a  scholar  and 
an  artist,  and  the  frescos  in  the  church  at 
Stonyhurst  remain  as  one  cherished  memorial 
of  his  skill  as  a  designer.  He  was  a  member 
of  many  learned  societies.  Professor  BariF  was 
born  on  Oct.  6, 1824.  After  receiving  his  de- 
gree at  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  he  took 
orders  in  the  Church  of  England.  He  became 
a  Catholic  in  1852,  and  remained  a  faithful 
and  devoted  son  of  the  Church  to  the  close 
of  his  life.  

On  the  23d  ult.  the  corner-stone  of  the  new 
department  of  St.  Vincent's  Hospital  at  Santa 
Fe,  New  Mexico,  was  laid  with  imposing 
ceremonies  by  the  Papal  messenger,  Mgr. 
Straniero.  There  were  also  present  the  Most 
Rev.  Archbishop  Salpointe,  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bish- 
ops Macheboeuf  and  Bourgade,  and  a  large 
number  of  priests.  Santa  Fe  is  well  know^n 
as  a  health  resort,  and  the  object  of  this  new 
building  is  to  afford  better  accommodation  to 
the  many  invalids  who  seek  the  invigorating 
climate  of  the  locality  in  the  Fall,  Winter 
and  Spring.  

Ratisbon  (or  Regensburg),  in  Bavaria,  is  a 
place  where  the  culture  of  true  church  music 
is  fostered.  Ratisbon  owes  its  supremacy  in 
this  department  of  art  to  the  active  presence 
of  a  learned  priest  named  Haberl,  editor  of  the 
collection  of  Palestrina's  works,  published  by 
Breitkopf  &  Hartel.    To  forward  this  cause, 


26o 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


M.  Haberl  makes  researches  in  the  archives 
in  Rome,  and  while  in  Ratisbon  he  superin- 
tends his  school  of  sacred  music. 


The  convent  of  the  Dominican  Sisters  of 
the  Perpetual  Rosary,  established  recently  at 
I^ouvain,  has  already  won  its  way  to  the  pious 
affections  of  the  people.  The  Sisters  through- 
out the  day  and  the  night,  without  the  least 
interruption,  recite  the  Rosary,  in  turns,  be- 
fore the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  the  image  of 
Our  I^ady  of  the  Holy  Rosary.  In  an  audi- 
ence given  on  the  loth  of  March,  1884,  his 
Holiness  Pope  Leo  XIII.  bestowed  unqual- 
ified praise  upon  the  Institute,  and  expressed 
a  hope  that  convents  similar  to  that  at  I^ou- 
vain  might  be  established  and  encouraged  in 
other  lands.  The  convent  at  I^ouvain  is  under 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  local  Archbishop. — 
Catholic  Standard. 


Obituary. 

•'//  is  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead" 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Father  Pompallier,  a  worthy  and  much 
beldved  priest  of  the  Society  of  Mary,  rector  of  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Name,  Algiers,  La. 

The  Rev.  Michael  J.  Doherty,  a  well-known 
priest  of  the  Diocese  pf  Springfield,  and  for  many 
years  rector  of  St.  Bridget's  Church,  Millbury, 
Mass. 

The  Rev.  Anthony  Leitner,  of  the  Archdiocese 
of  Milwaukee,  rector  of  St.  Valerius'  Church,New 
Berlin,  Wis. 

Sister  M.  Eulalie  (Gaynor),  Superioress  of  the 
Academy  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  New- 
port, Ky.,  who  was  accidentally  burned  to  death 
on  the  27th  ult. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Clementine  (Roach),  and 
Sister  Mary  of  St.  Teresa  (Rafferty),  both  of  the 
Sisters  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  who  were  called  to 
their  reward  last  month. 

Mr.  Dennis  Sheridan,  a  prominent  and  worthy 
citizen  of  Cumberland,  Md., whose  death  occurred 
on  the  2oth  ult. 

Miss  Mary  Reddin,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, who 
rendered  her  pure  soul  to  God  on  the  i6th  ult. 

Mrs.  Sarah  A.  Moody,  of  Wilmington,  Del., 
whose  happy  death  took  place  on  the  8th  ult. 

Mrs.  Catharine  Dages,  of  Montgomery,  Ind. ; 
Catharine  Ryan,  Waukon,  Iowa;  William  Maher, 
Bawnmore,  Co.  Kilkenny,  Ireland;  Mrs.  Catharine 
Clarke,  Pawtucket,  R.  I. ;  and  Miss  Mary  McBlroy, 
Charlestown,  Mass. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


RAj^TMENl 


"The  Unknown  Martyr." 


BY    GEORGE  WEATHER LY. 

Tj  T  stood  in  the  long  gallery — 
-^    A  picture  of  a  maid. 
Crowned  with  a  simple  wreath  of  flowers, 
in  quaint  old  dress  arrayed. 

'  The  Unknown  Martyr, ' '  it  was  called; 

For,  so  tradition  told. 
The  maiden  died  for  Jesus'  sake 
In  the  dark  days  of  old. 

Holding  the  faith  she  knew  was  right, 

Aye,  even  to  the  end. 
Her  very  name  was  blotted  out 

By  father,  mother,  friend. 

Yet  still  her  portrait  held  its  place 

In  the  old  gallery. 
And  lo!  the  lesson  of  her  life 

Was  there  for  all  to  see. 

For  centuries  those  true,  brave  eyes 

Taught  every  passer-by. 
For  the  dear  Christ  who  died  for  us 

How  best  to  live  or  die. 

'  The  Unknown  Martyr ' '  called  they  her; 

Hers  is  undying  fame 
As  long  as  lasts  this  world  of  ours; 

And  Jesus  knows  her  name. 


Norine's  Promise. 


(Conclusion.) 
.  II. 
Years  had  rolled  by;  again  and  again  the 
verdure  had  sprung  afresh  on  the  grave  of 
Sister  Benedicta.  Norine  had  grown  into 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  presided  in  her  fa- 
ther's stately  mansion.  She  had  travelled 
with  him  in  foreign  countries,  had  mingled 
in  the  fashionable  society  of  large  cities,  but 


I 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


261 


1  ad  never  forgotten  the  solemn  promise 
\  lade  to  her  dying  friend, — a  promise  which 
1  ad  exerted  an  ennobling  influence  over  her 
\  outh,  and  given  her  whole  existence  an 
t  xalted  and  inspiring  aim. 

At  first,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  immature 
}ears,  Norine  tried  to  argue  with  her  fa- 
ttier, presenting  to  him  propositions  which 
seemed  to  her  clear  and  irresistible;  but  he 
only  laughed  at  her  simplicity,  and,  if  she 
persisted,  would  express  his  sentiments  in 
such  a  stem  manner  as  to  frighten  her. 
I'^inally.  the  poor  girl  resolved  to  confide  her 
cause  to  God  and  His  Blessed  Mother,  and 
trust  in  their  goodness  and  mercy.  Count- 
less were  the  Holy  Communions  she  offered 
for  her  loved  parent,  countless  her  ejacula- 
tory  prayers.  The  shrine  of  Our  I^ady  was 
never  without  her  offering  of  choicest  flow- 
ers, and  no  one  in  need  ever  departed  from 
the  house  unassisted. 

The  gay  world  wondered  why  Norine  de 
Reville,  young  and  beautiful  as  she  was, 
should  rise  early,  pass  long  hours  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament,  visit  the  sick,  and  help 
the  Sisters  of  Mercy  in  distributing  her 
alms  to  the  poor;  why  her  own  room  was 
destitute  of  luxurious  ornaments,  her  toilet 
so  simple;  and  why,  although  hij^hly  ac- 
complished in  every  branch  suited  to  her 
sex,  she  should  frequent  society  only  when 
duty  compelled  her  to  do  so.  None  but  her 
Guardian  Angel  knew  her  secret. 

Still,  Norine' s  prayers  and  good  works 
seemed  to  be  of  no  avail,  so  far  as  her  father 
was  concerned.  His  heart  was  closed  against 
the  sunlight  of  grace  and  the  winning 
smiles  of  his  devoLed  daughter.  Amuse- 
ments, resorted  to  at  first  as  a  means  of  di- 
verting his  thoughts  from  his  bitter  disap- 
pointment, then  pursued  because  loved, 
had  smothered  the  light  of  faith,  and  he 
persuaded  himself  that  he  did  not  believe, 
because  belief  would  oblige  him  to  act  ac- 
cordingly. He  could  hear  the  Christian 
Brothers  denounced  as  hypocrites  without 
feeling  any  resentment,  and  laugh  with 
scoffers  at  the  Uttle  Sisters  of  the  Poor;  his 
mansion  became  famous  for  grand  dinners 
and  well-furnished  wine-cellars,  his  stables 


for  thoroughbreds  and  expensive  vehicles. 
I^iveried  servants  frowned  on  the  beggar  at 
his  gates. 

One  day  Norine  mentioned  the  family 
name  of  Sister  Benedicta. 

' '  She  was  a  cousin  of  ours,  I  think ;  was 
she  not,  papa?" 

' '  Yes,  dear.  She  was  a  beautiful,  romantic 
creature,  and  had  a  charming  voice.  On  the 
stage  she  might  have  equalled  Malibran." 
Then,  looking  up  at  the  haughty,  imperious 
countenance  of  Mrs.  de  Reville' s  portrait, 
he  went  on:  "My  mother  did  not  fancy 
Lucy,  though  she  admired  her  voice.  It  is 
sad  to  think  she  threw  herself  away  by  en- 
tering a  convent!  That  voice  was  never 
meant  to  sing  the  Miserere  in  plain  chant," 
And,  picking  up  his  newspaper,  he  began  to 
read.  That  was  all  he  remembered  of  his 
first  love — "she  might  have  been  2i prima- 
donna! ^^  Meanwhile  Norine  recalled  the 
scene  in  Sister  Benedicta' s  cell. 

Although  Mr.  de  Reville  loved  his  daugh- 
ter tenderly,  her  words  and  her  pious  ex- 
ample were  a  great  restraint  upon  him.  '  ilf 
she  would  marry!"  he  thought,  and  he 
sought  some  desirable  party  who  would  re- 
lieve him  of  her  guardianship  and  responsi- 
bility. Norine  did  not  object  to  enter  the 
married  state,  but  she  was  resolved  never  to 
accept  the  hand  of  any  but  a  practical  Chris- 
tian, and  this  she  gave  her  father  clearly  to 
understand.  Mr.  de  Reville  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  '  'Another  headstrong  one ! "  he 
remarked ;  ' '  but,  after  all,  she  may  be  act- 
ing wisely. ' '  After  a  time  the  good,  prac- 
tical Catholic  chosen  by  Divine  Providence 
presented  himself,  and  Norine  became  Mrs. 
McMahon. 

III. 

Twenty  years  glided  by,  and  brought 
Norine  to  the  autumn  of  life.  But,  though 
the  beauty  of  youth  had  faded,  and  age  had 
scattered  silvery  hairs  among  the  brown 
tresses,  her  countenance  still  beamed  with 
the  calm  serenity  that  characterized  her  ear- 
lier years.  She  had  enjoyed  all  the  happiness 
this  world  can  give  to  the  good, — a  liappi- 
ness  ever  incomplete  because  mingled  with 
grief,  which  finds  its  way  into  life's  cup 


262 


The  Ave  Maria, 


just  as  sombre  threads  find  their  way  into 
skeins  of  golden  fibre.  As  a  young  wife  she 
confided  to  her  husband  her  solemn  prom- 
ise, and  he  united  his  prayers  with  hers. 
As  a  mother  she  taught  her  lisping  babes 
to  pray  for  her  cherished  intention.  Mr.  de 
Reville  found  a  happy  home  with  his  de- 
voted daughter,  but  no  sign  of  conversion 
manifested  itself.  Indeed,  they  were  often 
obliged  to  feign  an  interpretation  to  his 
utterances,  lest  they  might  scandalize  the 
little  ones,  who  tenderly  loved  him,  and 
ministered  to  his  wants  with  the  most 
charming  delicacy. 

One  day  Norine  was  alone  in  the  parlor 
with  her  father,  who  was  dozing  in  his  great 
armchair  before  the  blazing  hearth.  The 
morning  journal  had  dropped  from  his  hand 
to  the  floor,  and  Norine  had  laid  aside  her 
needlework  to  re-read  two  letters  from  her 
absent  boys.  Thomas  gave  a  description  of  a 
spiritual  retreat  that  had  just  closed  at  the 
Gesu^  and  in  conclusion  he  said :  ' '  Dearest 
mother,  I  did  not  forget  to  remember  the 
object  of  all  your  prayers  when  I  received 
Holy  Communion  yesterday. '^  ''Darling 
Tom!"  murmured  the  affectionate  parent, 
kissing  the  page,  and  laying  it  aside.  An- 
drew's missive  was  from  the  Naval  School 
at  Annapolis,  and,  after  a  long  list  of  tech- 
nical terms,  in  which  the  fond  son  gave  a 
detailed  account  of  his  daily  actions,  he  con- 
cluded with, "  Do  not  fear,  dearest  mamma: 
I  never,  never  forget  to  pray  for  the  soul  of 
one  so  dear. ' ' 

At  this  moment  a  huge  brand  fell  from 
the  andiron,  and  aroused  the  venerable 
grandparent. 

' '  Where  is  Maurice  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  he 
reached  the  tongs  to  Norine. 

"He  is  out  skating,  father.  If  you  like 
I  will  play  back-gammon  with  you.  The 
boy  will  not  return  till  noon,  as  his  class  has 
a  holiday. ' ' 

' '  I  prefer  that  you  would  read  to  me  the 
last  debate  in  Congress,  on  the  Tariff.  Here 
it  is."  And  he  designated  the  column  to 
his  daughter,  who  began  reading  aloud,  with 
deep  interest,  the  excited  discussion  of  dis- 
tinguished Congressmen. 


Suddenly  the  door-bell  rang  violently. 
Mrs.  McMahon  dropped  the  paper,  greatly 
alarmed. 

' '  Why,  what' s  the  matter,  Norine  ?  You 
look  so  frightened." 

'"Really,  I  can  not  say,  father;  but  there 
is  something  foreboding  in  that  bell." 

Going  to  the  vestibule  to  inquire  of  the 
porter,  she  saw  Mr.  McMahon  entering 
from  the  street,  and  ran  to  meet  him,  with  a 
strong  presentiment  that  all  was  not  well. 

' '  Do  not  be  alarmed,  wife.  Maurice, ' '  he 
stammered — ' '  Maurice — they  are  bringing 
him  to  the  house."  And  a  deathly  pallor 
overspread  her  husband's  face  as  he  fell 
into  the  first  chair.  ' '  Maurice  rescued  a  boy 
from  drowning,  and  his  head  is  wounded — 
there  is  a  deep  cut  in  the  temple.  Be  cou- 
rageous now,  dear ;  he  lives,  and  God  is 
able  to  restore  him  to  us. ' ' 

The  agonized  mother  hurries  to  the  door 
to  meet  the  body  of  her  son,  borne  on  a 
litter  by  charitable  friends  and  neighbors. 
A  surgeon  arrives  promptly,  and  dresses  the 

wound.     Father  A also  hastens  to  the 

scene;  and  the  kind-hearted  domestics, 
while  rendering  every  possible  service,  pray 
for  their  generous  young  master.  The  fa- 
ther of  the  rescued  child  also  enters  the 
apartment,  so  speedily  transformed  into  an 
infirmary. 

Norine,  kneeling  before  an  image  of  the 
Mater  Dolorosa,  sees  as  in  a  dream  the  sur- 
geon dressing  the  wound,  hears  her  Maurice 
reply  to  his  questions  in  mournful  tones. 
His  half-opened  eyes  and  limp  form  prove 
him  to  be  greatly  exhausted.  Soon  Father 
A ,  approaching,  lends  his  ear  atten- 
tively during  a  brief  space,  then,  raising  his 
hand  in  benediction,  proceeds  to  administer 
the  holy  oil.  Prayers  for  the  agonizing  fol- 
low. At  length  the  voice  of  Mr.  McMahon 
whispers:  "Beloved  wife,  God  wills  this 
sacrifice;  go  to  Maurice!"  And  he  sup- 
ports her  swaying  form  to  the  death-bed  of 
her  darling. 

At  the  loving  voice  of  his  mother  the 
patient  seemed  to  regain  the  consciousness 
he  had  lost  after  receiving  the  Sacraments. 
Death  had  marked  Maurice  for  his  own, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


263 


.nd  the  lad  seemed  to  be  fully  aware  of  it. 

'Adieu,  dear  father;  I  did  what  you  taught 

ne."    Theu,  perceiving  the  father  of  the 

.;hild  whom  he   had   saved,  he  stretched 

brth  his  hand,  bade  him  not  yield  to  the 

.  .nguish  so  plainly  depicted  on  his  features, 

)ut  remember  him  lovingly  to   the  little 

^  ames.     Next,  looking  at  his  mother  with 

iove  beaming   from   his   countenance,  he 

jaid:    "Mamma,  let  us  offer  our  sacrifice 

jor  my  beloved  grandfather.    Tell  him — " 

He  can  not  finish  the  phrase — his  eyes 
are  fixed  in  death — his  breath  is  chilly — in 
a  few  seconds  the  weeping  mother  holds  in 
her  arms  the  lifeless  form  of  her  darling 
boy.  Long  she  clings  thus  to  the  remains 
of  one  so  precious,  so  suddenly  snatched 
from  her  maternal  care,  and  seems  insensi- 
ble to  the  words  of  Christian  sympathy 
proffered  by  her  husband  and  the  friend  of 

the   family.  Father  A .     Finally,  they 

conduct  her  away.  She  hears  the  sobs  of  the 
aged  grandfather;  for  Maurice  was  the  pet 
of  his  old  age.  ' '  My  God! ' '  she  murmurs, 
' '  would  that  our  great  sacrifice  could  avail 
for  my  father's  conversion!  Mary,  Mother 
of  Mercy,  come  to  my  aid  in  this  dark 
hour!"  At  length  Faith  triumphs:  she  be- 
comes calm,  and  fully  resigned  to  the  ador- 
able will  of  God. 

Two  days  later  the  funeral  cortege  of 
young  Maurice,  composed  of  a  large  num- 
ber of  relatives  and  friends,  slowly  wended 
its  way  to  the  new  Cathedral  cemetery,  and 
a  band  of  loving  school  -  fellows  strewed 
palm-branches  on  his  early  grave. 

In  the  evening  of  that  solemn  day  Father 
A called  to  console  the  afflicted  house- 
hold. To  the  sorrowing  mother  he  said: 
' '  True,  God  has  sent  you  a  heavy  cross,  but 
He  has  heard  your  long  and  earnest  prayer. 
Divine  grace  has  done  its  marvellous  work. 
This  morning,  while  the  corpse  of  Maurice 
was  still  here,  Mr.  de  Reville  sought  me  in 
the  tribunal  of  penance. ' '  (A  cry  of  holy 
joy  escaped  from  the  still  weeping  mother.) 
"Yes,"  continued  the  priest,  "he  said  to 
i^e:  'I  can  no  longer  resist  the  appeals  of 
conscience,  too  long  stifled  or  neglected.' 
Rejoice,  then ;  for  in  a  short  time  your  father 


will  receive  Holy  Communion  for  his  be- 
loved grandson.  God  never  sends  an  un- 
mixed chalice." 

".O  Benedicta!  O  Maurice!"  cried  No- 
rine, "  it  is  you  who  have  gained  this  signal 
victory — but  at  what  a  price!" 

"Bless  God,"  resumed  the  good  Father; 
' '  He  has  separated  the  family  here  below 
only  to  reunite  them  all  in  a  happy  eter- 
nity. Bless  His  Holy  Name,  who  doeth  all 
things  well." 


One  of  the  Benevolent  Deeds  of  Pius  IX. 


In  1824  ^  young  Italian  gentleman 
named  Gaetano,  aged  only  seventeen  years, 
was  unfortunately  captivated  by  revolution- 
ary ideas,  and  drawn  into  a  conspiracy 
formed  in  Rome.  He  was  condemned,  but 
as  they  were  conducting  him  to  the  place  of 
capital  punishment,  a  young  priest,  filled 
with  compassion  for  his  dreadful  fate,  en- 
treated the  executioner  to  grant  a  few  min- 
utes' delay.  Hastening  to  the  Vatican,  the 
priest  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Gregory 
XVL,  and  conjured  his  Holiness  to  com- 
mute the  sentence  into  imprisonment  for  life. 
The  favor  was  granted,  and  the  condemned 
prisoner  was  conducted  to  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo. 

Twenty-two  years  later  the  young  priest 
became  Pope,  under  the  title  of  Pius  IX. 
He  had  never  lost  sight  of  poor  Gaetano, 
and  shortly  after  his  coronation  repaired  to 
the  Castle,  in  the  costume  of  a  simple  priest. 
The  jailer,  not  being  acquainted  with  the 
new  Pontiff,  gave  him  a  rude  reception; 
and  not  until  the  visitor  presented  a  permit 
signed  by  an  influential  personage,  grant- 
ing an  hour's  private  interview  with  the 
prisoner,  was  he  suffered  to  see  him. 

' '  What  does  your  reverence  want  with 
me?"  inquired  Gaetano,  ungraciously,  as 
Pius  IX.  entered  his  gloomy  cell. 

' '  I  come,  sir,  to  bring  you  tidings  of  your 
mother. ' ' 

"Of  my  mother!  Does  she  still  live?  I 
imagined  that  she  had  long  since  died  of 
grief. ' ' 


264 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Not  only  does  your  mother  live,  but  she 
has  coui missioned  me  to  come  hither,  and 
briug  you  present  consolation,  with  the  hope 
of  belter,  happier  days." 

"Then  God  has  at  last  heard  my  prayer. 
All  the  angels  are  not  in  heaven,  for  cer- 
tainly here  is  one  beside  me." 

"Why  did  you  never  write  to  the  Holy 
Father  and  entreat  him  to  grant  your  par- 
don? A  political  crime,  committed  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  in  the  thoughtlessness  of 
youth,  has  long  ago  been  expiated  by  the 
woes  of  prolonged  imprisonment." 

"Father,  I  did  write  again  and  again  to 
the  Pope,  humbly  confessing  my  faults,  and 
imploring  forgiveness;  but  not  one  missive 
ever  received  a  reply. ' ' 

' '  Write  once  more,  my  son. ' ' 

* '  They  will  never  present  my  petition  to 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff." 

"Try  again.  Gregory  XVI.  is  no  more; 
address  yourself  to  Pius  IX." 

"Ah!  I  see.  But  I  do  not  know  any  one 
who  would  trouble  himself  to  see  that  the 
Pope  actually  receives  my  letter. ' ' 

"I  will  do  it;  I  have  daily  access  to  the 
Vatican.  Write  to  him  now;  here  is  paper 
and  pencil." 

The  supposed  priest,  having  taken  the 
prisoner's  petition,  said  to  him:  "Now,  do 
not  be  anxious,  my  friend ;  have  great  con- 
fidence in  God  and  His  Blessed  Mother,  and 
meanwhile  do  not  forget  to  pray  hard  for 
Pius  IX." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  jailer  entered, 
and,  uttering  a  profane  phrase,  cried  out: 
''^ Padre ^  you  are  abusing  your  permission! 
Your  hour  has  passed.  Be  off,  or  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  make  you  go. ' ' 

' '  I  see  no  cause  for  such  irritation, ' '  said 
the  visitor,  sternly ;  ' '  least  of  all  for  your 
profane  language.  You  forget,  too,  that  you 
are  addressing  a  priest.  What  if  the  Holy 
Father  should  hear  of  this  ? ' ' 

' '  Well,  what  if  he  should  ?  I  think  it  safe 
to  say  that  his  Holiness  does  not  trouble 
himself  much  about  me,  and  I  trouble  my- 
self still  less  about  him. ' ' 

"I  perceive  you  do  not  know  him,"  was 
the  reply. 


After  leaving  the  prison,  Pius  IX.  went 
at  once  to  see  the  Governor  of  Castle  St. 
Angelo. 

"Ah,  here  conies  some  new  grievance!" 
muttered  the  irritated  Governor,  between 
his  teeth;  then  aloud:  "Well,  good-morn- 
ing to  your  reverence!  What's  the  trouble 
now?  Let  us  heai  quickly,  for  Fve  not  a 
moment  to  lose." 

' '  Governor,  I  come  to  ask  pardon  for  the 
prisoner  Gaetano." 

' '  Indeed !  only  that  ?  Why,  sir,  you  must 
be  jesting.  No  one  but  the  Pope  himself 
can  grant  such  a  favor." 

\'It  is  in  the  Pope's  name,  and  by  his 
order,  I  demand  it." 

"What  proof  have  you  to  show  for  this? 
My  charge  requires  great  precaution,  you 
can  readily  understand. ' ' 

The  august  visitor  then  wrote  the  follow- 
ing order,  which  he  presented  to  the  sur- 
prised but  obedient  official: 

"I  enjoin  upon  the  Governor  of  Castle  St.  An- 
gelo to  set  the  prisoner  Gaetano  free  without  delay; 
and,  further,  I  require  him  to  dismiss  his  jailer. 

"Pius  IX." 

However,  as  the  jailer  promised  to  avoid 
profane  language  in  future,  and  to  reform 
his  brutal  manners,  he  was  appointed  to  an- 
other office.  And  it  is  said  he  was  faithful 
to  his  word. 


A  Lover  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


St.  Charles  Borromeo  said  the  Office  of 
the  B.  V.  M.  and  the  Rosary  daily  on  his 
knees;  he  fasted  on  Our  Lady's  vigils, and 
at  the  sound  of  the  Angelus  he  would  dis- 
mount  from  his  horse  and  kneel  in  the 
muddy  road,  to  recite  it  with  due  reverence. 
He  instituted  processions  in  honor  of  Mary 
on  the  first  Sunday  of  the  month,  and  in- 
structed his  flock  to  bow  the  head  at  men- 
tion of  Her  sweet  name.  On  Saturdays  a  bell 
rang  in  every  parish,  to  summon  the  people 
to  church  to  sing  Our  Lady's  Antiphon;  j 
and  over  the  porch  by  which  they  entered  1 
was  hung  a  picture  of  Her,whom  St.  Charles  1 
reverenced  as  truly  the  Gate  of  Heaven.     ' 


ICiopyright :— Riv.  D.  E.  Humoi,  C.  S.  C] 


Ah  Annual  Miracle  in  a  Village  of  the 
Apennines. 


pMONG  the  most  remarkable  mani- 
festations  of   the  sanctity  of  the 
servants  of  the  Most  High  God  is 
I  undoubtedly  the  extraordinary  power  still 
! possessed,  even  in  our  own  day,  by  their 
j bones,  their  tombs,  or  merely  the  slab  or 
Istones  which  have  sustained  the  weight  of 
[their  bodies,  of  distilling  an  odoriferous  oil 
I— a  miraculous  manna,  itself  productive  of 
Imost  marvellous  effects.  At  the  close  of  the 
4th  century  St.  John  Climacus,  Abbot  of  the 
Monks  of  Mt.  Sinai,  relates  in  the  Fourth 
Step  of  his  ' '  Ladder  of  Paradise ' '  {Klimax, 
whence  his  name,)  that  on  visiting  a  mon- 
istery  of  Syria,  shortly  after  the  death  of  a 
loly  monk  named  Mennas,  he  was  witness 
:o  a  great  miracle.    ' '  Whilst  we  were  cele- 
brating the  divine  service, ' '  he  writes,  ' '  for 
his  venerable  monk,  on  the  third  day  after 
lis  death,  the  spot  in  which  his  remains 
lad  been  entombed  was   suddenly  pene- 
rated  with  the  most  exquisite  odor.    The 
bbot  permitted  the  cofi&n  to  be  opened, 
nd  we  perceived,  flowing  from  the  soles  of 
lis  feet,  as  it  were  two  currents  of  most 
weet-smelling  balm. ' ' 

In  the  8th  century,  from  the  tomb  con- 
aining  the  body  of  St.  John  the  Almoner, 
Patriarch  of  Alexandria,  who  died  in  the 
sign  of  the  Emperor  Heraclius,  distilled 
miraculous  oil,  which  was  used  by  the 
ck  for  the  healing  of  their  maladies.  The 


biographer  of  this  charitable  pontiff  further 
relates  that  in  his  own  time,  in  the  Isle  of 
Cyprus,  the  tombs  or  ' '  confessions ' '  of  sev- 
eral saints  were  remarkable  for  a  like  prod- 
igy. The  body  of  St.  Walburga,  Abbess  of 
Heidenheim,  which  since  1870  lies  in  the 
city  of  Bichstadt,  still  gives  forth  drops  of 
an  oleiferous  liquid,  which  is  collected  in 
small  vials.  The  supernatural  power  of  the 
sainted  Abbess  is  so  well  known  throughout 
Germany,  that  in  Christian  imagery  St. 
Walburga  is  always  represented  holding  in 
her  hand  a  vial  similar  to  that  which  all  pil- 
grims bear  away  with  them  from  her  tomb. 

In  1087  took  place  the  translation  of  the 
remains  of  St.  Nicholas,  Bishop  of  Myra, 
from  Lycia  to  the  Port  of  Bari,  in  Apulia. 
Those  who  raised  his  body  found  it  bathed 
in  a  limpid  oil,  which  has  never  ceased, 
unto  the  present  day,  to  flow  from  his  tomb, 
whence  it  is  still  collected  with  the  utmost 
veneration,  and,  under  the  name  of  the 
"Manna  of  St.  Nicholas,"  is  applied  with 
great  efficacy  for  the  cure  of  diseases.  Tra- 
dition says  that  immediately  upon  the  burial 
of  the  sainted  Bishop,  in  his  monastery  of 
Myra,  his  body  exuded,  from  the  head,  a 
miraculous  liquid  resembling  oil,  and  from 
the  feet,  water;  but  since  17 19  it  has  flowed 
only  in  one  form,  known  as  the  Mamta  di 
S.  Nicola. 

The  prodigies  wrought  by  this  oil  were 
innumerable,  as  we  read  in  the  Breviary  of 
Toledo: 

"  Cujus  tomba  fert  oleum 
Matres  olivse  nesciunt; 


266 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Quod  natura  non  protulit 

Marmor  sudando  parturit ' ' ; 
whilst  the  Office  of  St.  Nicholas  shared,  with 
that  of  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  the  glory  of 
being  celebrated  throughout  the  entire 
Church,  an  honor  at  that  time  accorded  to 
no  other  confessors.  Annually,  on  May  8, 
a  gr^dit  festa  is  held  at  Bari,  and  during 
that  day  and  the  seven  days  following  the 
Church  of  S.  Nicola  (founded  in  1087,  by 
Robert  Guiscard,  to  receive  the  corpse  of 
the  holy  prelate)  is  crowded  with  pilgrims, 
who  throng  thither  from  Albania,  and  from 
Russia,  of  which  S.  Nicola  is  the  patron 
saint;  and,  after  a  short  religious  ceremony, 
they  are  given  to  drink  water  mingled  with 
this  healing  "Manna,"  which  they  receive 
kneeling. 

We  read  in  the  Life  of  St.  Lutgarde  (a 
Cistercian  nun  of  Brabant,  deceased  June 
16,  1246,  who,  though  never  canonized  with 
the  ordinary  ceremonies,  is  nevertheless 
recognized  as  a  saint  in  the  Roman  Martyr- 
ology,  under  the  date  of  June  16),  that  her 
soul  and  her  body  were  so  inundated  with 
divine  grace  that  even  during  her  life  her 
fingers  distilled  a  white,  perfumed  liquid, 
similar  to  oil.  The  body  of  St.  Rose  of  Vi- 
terbo,  who  died  in  1255,  has  since  that 
time  remained  incorrupt,  and  throughout 
the  lapse  of  years  has  emitted  a  whitish 
manna,  which  has  been  fruitful  in  mira- 
cles. When  the  tomb  of  St.  Felix  of  Can- 
talicewas  opened,  some  time  after  his  death, 
in  1587,  the  coffin  containing  his  precious 
remains  was  found  filled  with  a  most  odorif- 
erous liquid.  Twelve  years  after  the  death 
of  St.  Mary  Magdalen  of  Pazzi  (1607),  a 
clear,  perfumed  oil  escaped  from  the  crevices 
of  her  marble  sepulchre;  whilst  in  the  tomb 
of  the  Blessed  Cardinal  Joseph  Maria  To- 
masi,  of  the  Regular  Clerks  Theatines,  de- 
ceased 1 7 13,  and  buried  in  his  Titular 
Church  of  S.  Martino  ai  Monti,  was  found 
a  considerable  quantity  of  the  like  oil, 
which  is  preserved  untainted  up  to  the 
present  time. 

The  erudite  and  pious  Gorres,  in  his 
"Mystique  Divine"  (Vol.  I.,  iv.),  men- 
tions a  vast  number  of  saints,  and  beatified 


or  venerable  servants  of  God,  of  both  sexes, 
whose  bones  seem  endowed  with  new  life, 
thanks  to  the  supernatural  oil  flowing  there- 
from, which  renders  their  sepulchres  glori- 
ous, and  which,  as  in  the  case  of  St.  Paschal 
Baylon,  O.  S.  F. ,  resists  even  the  action 
of  quicklime;  thfe  body  of  the  Saint  being 
found  eight  months  subsequent  to  his  death, 
though  embedded  in  lime,  to  be  wholly  in- 
tact, and  swimming  in  oil. 

The  traditions  of  the  Benedictine  Order 
attribute  a  privilege  of  a  like  nature,  and, 
if  possible,  still  more  extraordinary,  not  to 
the  mortal  remains  of  the  Patriarch  of  the 
Monks  of  the  West,  but  to  the  figure  of 
his  body,  which  is  miraculously  impressed 
in  the  rock  at  Roiata  —  a  small  village 
in  the  Apennines,  of  some  800  inhabitants, 
not  far  from  Subiaco ;  the  first  abode  of 
St.  Benedict,  and,  until  the  iniquitous  sup- 
pression of  monastic  orders  at  the  hands 
of  kalian  Revolution,  one  of  the  sixteen 
towns  and  villages  forming  the  appanage 
of  that  far-famed  abbey.  It  is  about  fifty- 
six  miles  distant  from  Rome,  and,  to  judge 
from  some  remains  of  walls,  built  of  large, 
rectangular  bricks,  seems  to  occupy  the  site 
of  an„ ancient  city,  possibly  an  oppidum  of 
the  Hernici,  and  as  far  back  as  967  appears, 
under  the  name  of  Luroiate^  in  a  diploma 
of  Otho  I.  confirming  the  property  of  the 
Abbey  of  Subiaco;  whilst  in  the  chronicles 
of  that  monastery  mention  is  made  of  one 
Rao  de  Roiata,  who  swears  fealty  to  the 
abbot;  and  in  1183  the  same  chronicle  re- 
cords that  a  certain  Casto  and  his  son  held, 
under  similar  terms,  the  tower,  or  strong-i 
hold  of  Roiata. 

The    Spanish   historian,  Prudentius  of 
Sandoval,  Abbot  of  Notre- Dame  de  Najera 
(Navarre),  writing  towards  the  close  of  the 
1 6th   century,  relates,  on  the  authority  oi 
still    more    ancient   authors,  the  circum 
stances  of  this  marvellous  prodigy,  in  hi.' 
work  on  the  monasteries  of  Castile.  The 
compiler  of  the  "Benedectina  Susitana' 
reproduces    the    narrative,  which   is    thii 
translated  from  the  original  Portuguese  ii 
the  Messager  des.  Fideles:  \ 

"The  holy  Patriarch,  repairing  one  da| 


The  Ave  Maria, 


267 


the  monastery  where  he  dwelt,  reached 
place  named  Roiata,  the  inhabitants  of 
vhich  refused  him  hospitality,  under  plea 
)f  securing  their  village  from  the  scourge 
.)f  the  plague  then  ravaging  Italy.   It  being 
Iready  late,  the  servant  of  God  was  con- 
;trained  to  sleep  in  the  open  air,  and  to  re- 
)ose  on  the  naked  rock.  The  spot  whereon 
]ie  stretched  himself  to  rest  took  the  figure 
of  his  body,  which  remained  impressed  in 
the  yielding  stone,  even  the  print  of  the 
heel  being  clearly  discernible.    Yearly,  on 
March  21,  Feast  of  the  Saint,  from  every 
pore  of  this  rock  issue  minute  drops,  in  the 
form  of  sweat,  styled  by  the  neighboring 
peasants  'Manna,'  or  'Sweat  of  St.  Bene- 
dict '   [Stidore   di  San   Benedetto)^  which 
they  collect  in  vials  as  a  miraculous  liquid, 
preserve  with  the   utmost  reverence,  and 
utilize  most  devoutly  for  the  cure  of  all 
maladies,  especially  for  diseases  of  the  eyes. 
Wonderful  prodigies  are  related  of  this  su- 
pernatural sweat." 

The  Sicilian  monk,  Tornamira,  confirms 
this  recital,  assuring  us  that  in  his  time — 
that  is  at  the  end  of  the  17th  century — the 
i  miracle  of  Roiata  was  annually  repeated. 
1  Finally,  the  learned  Canon  Janucelli,  in  his 
exhaustive  work  on  the  Abbey  of  Subiaco, 
states  that  this  yearly  prodigy  continues  to 
the  present  day,  and  relates  the  particulars 
of  the  miracle  in  almost  the  same  terms  as 
those  used  by  Sandoval  in  the  i6th  century. 
We  do  not  know  to  what  time  in  the  life 
of  St,  Benedict  to  attribute  the  origin  of 
this  marvellous  occurrence ;  possibly  to  that 
of  his  departure  from  Subiaco  for  Monte 
Cassino,  or  perhaps  to  the  epoch  of  one  of 
his  journeys  to  Terracina,  where,  says  St. 
Gregory,  the  servant  of  God  had  founded  a 
monastery ;  or  again  to  that  of  one  of  the 
excursions  which  his  charity  for  his  fellow- 
men,  or  the  needs  of  the  other  twelve  mon- 
asteries established  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Sacro-Speco,  obliged  him  occasionally  to 
make  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  solitude. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  for  more  than  three  cen- 
turies several  historians  of  the  Benedictine 
Order  testify  to  the  reality  of  the  continu- 
ance of  this  marvel,  of  which  the  little  vil- 


lage of  Roiata  is  the  theatre,  on  March  2 1  of 
each  year.  An  altar  covers  the  miraculous 
stone,  which  is  further  secured  from  injury 
by  a  grated  enclosure  furnished  with  a  key; 
the  whole  being  within  a  small  chapel, 
erected  in  honor  of  the  Saint  shortly  after 
the  verification  of  the  prodigy.  Crowds  of 
devout  pilgrims  flock  thither. 

Dom  Gueranger,  Abbot  of  Solesmes,  had 
learned  something  of  this  miracle  during 
one  of  his  visits  ad  limina  Apostoloruni; 
but  neither  the  authors  he  consulted  nor  the 
persons  he  questioned  could  indicate,  pre- 
cisely, the  true  position  of  the  spot,  buried 
as  it  was  in  the  Apennines ;  nor  did  he 
gather  the  special  details  of  the  wonderful 
occurrence  until  some  years  later,  when  a 
monk  of  Solesmes,  Dom  Louis  David,  then 
resident  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Paul  Without- 
the- Walls  (Rome),  and  having  charge  of 
the  Benedictine  alumni  of  that  monastery, 
made  in  the  Autumn  of  i860  an  excursion 
to  Roiata,  where  he  saw  and  venerated  the 
supernatural  imprint  made  in  the  rock  by 
the  body  of  St.  Benedict,  and  received  from 
Dom  Frederic  Sala,  chaplain  of  the  little 
parish,  a  vial  filled  with  the  oil  which  had 
sweated  a  saxo  durissimo  on  March  2 1  of  the 
preceding  year.  On  his  return  to  Solesmes, 
Dom  David  consigned  to  the  care  of  his  ab- 
bot the  precious  ' '  manna."  Dom  Gueranger 
could  no  longer  doubt  the  truth  of  the  mir- 
acle, but,  in  order  to  obtain  the  fullest  certi- 
tude, he  sent  one  of  his  religious  to  Roiata, 
to  be  present  there  on  March  21,  the  day  on 
which  flows  the  Sudore  di  San  Benedetto^ 
and  who  was  thus  enabled  to  testify,  de 
visu^  to  the  astounding  nature  of  the  phe- 
nomenon thus  annually  repeated. 


It  suffices  for  a  soul  to  be  in  suffering  to 
bring  Our  Lord  nearer  to  her  in  some  way. 
He  listens  like  a  watchful  parent  to  every 
cry  that  ascends  from  earth,  and  to  His  lov- 
ing Heart  it  is  not  only  the  voice  which 
cries:  it  is  all  sorrow,  all  suffering,  all  trial; 
and  Jesus  hears  with  a  loving,  tender  com- 
passion. He  does  not  always  heal — for  sor- 
row has  its  mission — but  He  always  console^ 
and  encourages. — Golden  Sands. 


268 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  Wreath  and  the  Flower. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


1  CUIyly'  D  my  Queen  the  choicest  blooms 
-^     That  grow  in  poet's  garden; 
For  well  I  knew  who  thus  presumes 
Need  never  ask  Her  pardon. 

I  wove  a  wreath  of  honeyed  flowers, 

The  brightest  and  the  rarest. 
But  one  was  left  to  sun  and  showers — 

The  simplest,  yet  the  fairest. 

I  thought,  because  'twas  found  beside 
The  highways  and  the  hedges; 

In  knots  where  quiet  streamlets  glide, 
Or  lone  on  rocky  ledges; 

'Twas  all  too  common  for  a  crown 

As  rare  as  I  was  wreathing: 
Yet  none  so  fitting  Her  renown, 

Or  richer  fragrance  breathing. 

II. 
My  wreath, 'twas  every  sweetest  name 

Of  cunning  love's  devising: 
A  garland  some  would  scorn  to  frame, 

As'neath  Our  I^ady's  prizing. 

And  that  one  flower  of  common  growth, 

Yet  fairer  than  all  other? 
A  word  no  lips  are  ever  loth 

To  voice — the  name  of  Mother. 

She,  of  all  mothers,  needs  must  love 
This  tender  name  most  dearly. 

No  angel-note  She  hears  above 
Can  touch  Her  Heart  so  nearly. 

For — more  than  any  music  when 

Her  mortal  children  sigh  it— 
The  Lord  of  angels  and  of  men, 

Her  Maker,  calls  Her  by  it! 

III. 
Then,  radiant  Queen,  thou  fairest  fair — 

Who  with  a  smile  undoest 
All  other  chains  thy  captives  wear — 

Of  true-loves  thou  the  truest! 

If  I,  among  thy  bondsmen  least — 
This  heart  so  oft  betrays  thee — 

May  yet,  as  now,  on  thy  Heart's  Feast, 
iV  chaplet  weave  to  praise  thee: 


'Mid  rarer  blooms  I  deftly  twine 
From  wealth  of  poet's  bower, 

A  dewy  gem  shall  frequent  shine, 
That  one  sweet,  simple  flower. 

So,  for  thine  eyes,  the  wreath  shall  mean 
(Small  matter  what  for  other): 
' '  My  dearest  love,  because  my  Queen — 
But  more,  because  my  Mother. ' ' 

Feast  of  the  Itnmaailate  Heart  oj  Mary,  i88b. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY   CHRISTIAN   REID. 


XIII. 

IT  is  doubtful  if  there  is  any  pang,  among 
the  infinitely  various  sufferings  of  human 
life,  keener  than  that  with  which  a  young 
and  upright  soul  learns  for  the  first  time 
that  shame  has  touched  it.  And  if  this 
shame  comes  through  one  whom  it  has 
trusted  and  honored,  the  blow  falls  with  a 
force  that  sometimes  destroys  all  faith  in 
human  nature.  The  blow  which  had  fallen 
on  Philip  Thornton  did  not  have  this  effect, 
but  it  filled  "him  with  a  sickness  of  the  spirit 
impossible  to  describe.  Dishonor  seemed  to 
come  so  close — to  touch,  to  lay  hold  upon 
him,  as  it  were^his  very  name  was  stained 
with  it,  and  the  money  which  he  had  spent 
so  freely — the  golden  key  that  opened  all 
doors  to  him — was  the  direct  fruit  of  it.  He 
felt  as  if  he  could  never  hold  up  his  head 
again  in  the  sight  of  men.  And  to  be  obliged 
to  judge,  to  condemn,  the  uncle  who  had 
been  as  a  father  to  him — this  necessity  in 
itself  contained  infinite  bitterness  for  his 
aflfectionate  and  grateful  nature.  To  escape 
from  it,  he  tried  to  take  refuge  in  a  vague 
hope  that  Mr.  Thornton  would  be  able  to 
explain  the  circumstances  which  bore  so 
dark  an  aspect ;  yet  even  while  he  thought 
this,  he  knew  that  he  had  no  expectation 
of  the  kind. 

He  passed  several  days  of  mental  sulFer- 
ing  before  Mr.  Thornton  returned.   He  was 
so  changed  by  it — so  pale,  so  absent,  so 
manifestly  out  of  spirits, — that  Mrs.  Thorn- 1 
ton,  who  had  be^n  incensed  against  him  by  j 


The  Ave  Maria. 


269 


stance's  report  of  the  conversation  be- 
t  /een  them,  felt  her  heart  melt  and  her 
ii  dignation  subside.  She  leaped  to  the  nat- 
u  'al  feminine  conclusion  that  he  was  suffer- 
ii  g  because  the  marriage  prospect  had  been 
ii  terrupted,  and  she  said  to  herself  that 
n  :>  doubt  the  oflfensive  condition  which  he 
hid  made  was  "a  dictation  of  the  priests." 
In  that  case — in  any  case — she  felt  sure  that 
h(!r  husband  would  summarily  make  an 
end  of  it ;  and,  pending  his  interposition,  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  softened  by  Philip's 
changed  aspect. 

Philip,  on  his  part,  had  almost  forgotten 
that  there  was  a  question  of  marrying  Con- 
stance, and  he  treated  her  so  entirely  as 
usual  that  the  young  lady,  who  by  no  means 
shared  her  aunt's  opinion  with  regard  to 
him,  was  moved  to  exasperation.    Did  he 
mean  to  show  her  that  he  cared  nothing  for 
her  refusal  ?   Her  pride  could  find  no  other 
reading  for  his  manner.    He  might  seem 
pale  and  out  of  spirits,  but  the   instinct 
which  seldom  deceives  a  woman  told  her 
hat  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  con- 
iition.    He  might,  indeed,  be  grieving  (so 
;he  reflected,  with  a  smile  which  did  not 
)ecome  her  lip,)  over  the  prospect  of  losing 
;ven  a  part  of  the  fortune  which  should 
lave  been  theirs  jointly  and   undivided; 
)Ut  he  must  be  aware  that  the  lion's  share 
^ould  be  his;  for  was  he  not  a  Thornton, 
'while  I  am  only  an  outsider,  as  far  as  the 
^hornton  money  is  concerned  ! ' '    sighed 
Constance. 
She  did  not  sigh  this  only  to  herself:  she 
nparted  it  to  Mr.  Bellamy  one  day  when 
ley  were  particularly  confidential,  and  she 
)ld  him  the  history  of  Philip's  proposal — 
proposal  it  could  be  called.     Bellamy 
stened  with  an  impassive  air.   They  were 
tting  in  the  garden  together,  and  he  was 
■awing  cabalistic  characters  on  the  gravel 
alk  with  his  stick  while  she  spoke.    But 
hen  she  finished  he  looked  up,  and  his 
«es  betrayed  that  his  impassiveness  was 
<|ly  outward. 

If  that  is  the  state  of  the  case,  Con- 
mce,' '  he  remarked, ' '  why  should  you  not 
isent  to  marry  me  ? ' ' 


Constance  flushed,  but  it  was  evident 
from  her  composure  that  this  was  by  no 
means  the  first  time  that  the  question  had 
been  addressed  to  her. 

"My  dear  Jack,"  she  said,  "what  has 
'  the  state  of  the  case '  to  do  with  your  posi- 
tion or  with  mine?  I  have  pointed  out  to 
you  at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  you  have 
alwa)  s  ended  by  agreeing  with  me,  that  we 
are  much  too  poor  to  think  of  marrying." 

"I  have  ended  by  agreeing  with  you?" 
repeated  Bellamy.  "I  am  not  sure  of  that. 
I  have  agreed  certainly  that  you  know  best 
whether  or  not  you  care  to  risk  matrimony 
with  me  and  my  moderate  means.  But  that 
we  are  much  too  poor  to  think  of  marrying 
— that  I  have  not  agreed  to.  For  myself,  I 
am  quite  willing  to  risk  it;  though  I  can 
not  feel  it  right  to  urge  you  to  make  a  sac- 
rifice that  you  might  regret." 

"That  I  certainly  should  regret,"  said 
Constance,  frankly.  ' '  Remember  that  once 
in  my  life  I  have  known  what  it  was  to  be 
poor.  I  was  only  a  child  at  the  time,  it  is 
true;  but  one  does  not  forget  some  things. 
I  am  not,  therefore,  like  the  romantic  girls 
who,  brought  up  in  luxury  from  their  cra- 
dles, know"  nothing  of  what  poverty  means, 
and  rush  blindly  into  it.  I  have  no  assur- 
ance that  my  uncle  would  give  me  any- 
thing whatever,  unless  I  marry  Philip.  You 
see  /  am  no  Thornton. ' ' 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Bellamy;  "and  I 
hope  you  never  may  be  one.  As  for  the 
fortune,  however,  I  do  not  believe  that  Mr. 
Thornton  would  leave  you  portionless,  af- 
ter regarding  you  so  long  as  his  adopted 
daughter. ' ' 

' '  Adopted  only  to  serve  as  a  wife  for 
Philip,"  said  Constance.  "I  have  always 
understood  my  destiny.  But  really  Philip's 
condition,  and  his  manner  of  making  it, 
were  too  much  even  for  me.  I  have  no 
religious  prejudices;  no  doubt  Romanists 
can  be  saved  as  well  as  other  people ;  but  the 
idea  of  being  called  upon  to  become  one 
was  too  absurd.  What  provoked  me  most, 
however,  was  the  insufferable  degree  of  as- 
surance which  the  laying  down  of  such  a 
condition  proved.  As  if  I  would  be  glad  to 


270 


The  Ave  Maria. 


be  taken  on  any  terms  that  pleased  him!" 

"Well,  you  have  undeceived  him,"  ob- 
served Bellamy.  '  'And  now — what  is  to  be 
the  next  move?" 

"There  is  no  move  possible  for  me," 
she  answered.  ' '  I  have  only  to  wait,  and 
see  what  Uncle  Thornton  will  say. ' ' 

"In  short"  (with  a  perceptible  inflexion 
of  bitterness)  "you  are  simply  a  puppet  in 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Thornton!" 

"I  suppose  it  seems  so,"  she  replied. 
' '  But,  you  see,  he  has  power  to  make  or. mar 
all  my  life.  If  he  would  leave  me  or  give 
me  a  share — only  a  share — of  his  fortune, 
I  could  then  marry  whom  I  pleased." 

"And  if  he  does  not?"  said  Bellamy, 
looking  at  her  intently. 

She  colored  under  the  look, but  answered, 
steadily:  "Then  I  shall  have  to  marry  some 
rich  man,  who  may  not  be  as  unobjection- 
able as  Philip.  That  reflection  has  always 
kept  me  from  rebelling  against  the  destiny 
arranged  for  me. ' ' 

' '  Your  wisdom  and  your  philosophy  are 
certainly  admirable,"  said  Bellamy,  with  a 
tone  of  mockery  in  his  voice.  ' '  I  feel  deeply 
how  very  foolish  and  romantic  I  must  ap- 
pear in  your  eyes. ' ' 

"And  I  feel  that  I  appear  very  mercenary 
in  yours ^''^  she  answered.  "But  I  can  not 
help  it.  I  know  as  well  as  I  know  that  I  am 
existing  that  if  I  were  foolish  enough  to 
marry  you,  without  any  more  means  than 
we  possess  at  present,  your  regret  would  be 
as  great  and  as  lasting  as  my  own.  Indeed 
it  is  likely  that  it  would  be  much  greater; 
for  no  man  who  lives  as  you  do  could  re- 
sign himself  cheerfully  to  the  narrow  straits 
and  cares  of  poverty.  Oh!  Jack,  I  know 
them,  and  abhor  them !  Never,  never  can  I 
face  them  voluntarily ! ' ' 

"I  shall  never  again  ask  you  to  do  so," 
said  Bellamy,  gravely ;  "  for  I  see  that  if  I 
gained  your  consent  it  would  only  be  to 
make  you  miserable.  And,  perhaps,  you 
are  right.  For  people  brought  up  as  we 
have  been,  the  experiment  might  prove — 
a  mistake. ' ' 

' '  It  would ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  For  those  who 
have  always  been  accustomed  to  narrow 


means,  there  is  no  hardship  in  facing  com- 
parative poverty;  but  we  should  have  to 
change  our  whole  mode  of  life,  and  I — could 
not  endure  it." 

"So,"  said  Bellamy,  returning  to  his 
characters  on  the  sand,  "it  is  to  be  Thorn- 
ton, if  he  gives  up  his  condition,  or  some 
other  rich  man?" 

' '  Unless  Uncle  Thornton  will  secure  me 
some  fortune  of  my  own." 

"And  in  that  case?" 

"Ah!  in  that  case — "  she  paused  an  in- 
stant, then  finished  softly,  "I  should  marry 
you. ' ' 

Meanwhile,  unconscious  of  the  disap- 
pointment in  store  for  him,  Mr.  Thornton 
was  journeying  homeward.  He  arrived  a 
day  or  two  after  the  week  he  had  granted 
Philip  was  expired,  and  the  latter  was,  there- 
fore, not  surprised  to  be  summoned  without 
loss  of  time  to  give  his  decision.  It  was  in 
the  evening.  Uncle  and  nephew  had  met  for 
the  first  time  at  dinner,  and  afterwards,  in- 
stead of  following  the  ladies  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, Mr.  Thornton  requested  Philip  to 
come  with  him  into  the  library.  , 

The  young  man  obeyed.  The  matter  had 
better  be  over,  he  felt;  and  yet  his  heart 
sank  as  he  followed  his  uncle  into  the  room, 
which  had  begun  to  have  such  disagree- 
able associations  for  him.    It  was  filled  no^w 
with  the  softly-diffused  light  of  an  arganc 
lamp,  and  seemed  a  place  for  study  anc| 
m^editation  rather  than  for  such  a  conflic  | 
of  opposing  wills  and  passions  as  Philip': 
prophetic  soul  told  him  must  inevitably  b< 
the  result  of  the  disclosures  which  he  ha( 
to  make. 

Mr.  Thornton  sat  down  in  his  usual  chaii 
and  looked  at  the  young  man,  who  pause 
and  stood,  leaning  one  shoulder  against  th 
carved  mantel,  before  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  likely  th 
you  have  forgotten  the  subject  of  our  la; 
conversation  here  together.  What  have  yc 
to  tell  me?" 

"I  have  to  tell  you,"  Philip  answere 
quietly — for  this  seemed  to  him  a  very  u 
important  matter  compared  to  what  w 
behind— "that,  after  reflecting  upon  yo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


27f 


M  Sies,  I  decided  to  comply  with  them,  if 
C  mstance  would  consent  to  become  a  Cath- 
0  ic     I  felt  that  not  even  to  gratify  yon 
c<  uld  I  run  the  risk  of  an  utter  want  of 
s^mpathy  between  my  wife  and  myself  on 
ti  at  important  point.    I  asked  her  if  she 
wjuld  be  willing  to  take  a  change  of  re- 
U'^on  into  consideration— to  examine  the 
Catholic  faith.    She  replied  that  she  was 
not  willing  to  do  so,  and  therefore  I  am  re- 
luctantly obliged  to  inform  you  that  I  can 
not,  on  my  side,  think  of  marrying  a  woman 
who  refuses  even  to  look  into  the  truth." 
This  speech  left  Mr.  Thornton  for  a  mo- 
ment positively  speechless  with  astonish- 
ment and  anger.   But  it  was  not  long  before 
the  latter  found  words.   "  What! "  he  cried, 
you  have  the  audacity  to  tell  me  that  you 
will  not  marry  Constance  because  she  does 
act  choose  to  embrace  your  religion  ?   You 
iiust  be  mad !   Do  you  think  that  I  will  ac- 
;eptsuch  a  paltry  excuse,  or  allow  a  demand, 
hat  you  had  no  right  whatever  to  make,  to 
nterfere  with  the  execution  of  my  plans?  " 
"My  dear  uncle,"  said   Philip,  calmly, 
there  is  no  good  in  our  exchanging  angry 
•r  excited  words.    You  have  told  me  your 
wishes,  and  I  tell  you  respectfully  but  firmly 
am  unable  to  comply  with  them.    There 
5  an  end  of  the  matter,  for  I  can  not  recede 
om  my  position.    My  mind  is  quite  made 
p  on  that  point. ' ' 

It  is  not  an  end  of  the  matter! "  replied 
Ir.  Thornton,  bringing  his  hand  violently 
Dwn  on  the  table  beside  him.  * '  You  were 
ever  more  mistaken  in  your  life  than  when 
DU  imagine  so.  Do  you  suppose  that,  after 
that  I  have  done  for  you,  I  am  going  to 
low  you  to  thwart  me  in  a  matter  so  im- 
)rtant  as  this — one  on  which  the  disposi- 
on  of  my  fortune  depends — and  lay  down 
nditions  as  if  you  were  master  of  the  sit- 
ition?" 

A  hot  reply  rose  to  Philip's  lips,  but  he 

ecked  it.    After  all,  much  had  been  done 

^r  him,  and  the  memory  of  past  benefits 

ide  him  forgive  the  ungenerousness  of 

te  taunt. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  how  much 
egret  that  I  can  not  return  all  your  kind- 


ness—  kindness  which  I  feel  deeply,  and 
gratefully  acknowledge — by  gratifying  you 
in  this  matter,"  he  said.  "But  it  is  alto- 
gether out  of  the  question.  Constance  and 
I  are  really  not  sympathetic  in  any  respect; 
but  this  point  of  religious  difference  goes  so 
deep — strikes  so  into  the  very  roots  of  life 
— that  it  can  not  be  ignored." 

' '  I  suppose  the  priests  are  at  the  bottom 
of  this  sudden  attack  of  religions  fervor," 
said  Mr.  Thornton,  with  a  sneer.  * '  You  have 
listened  to  them,  now  listen  to  me.  Either 
you  must  give  up  this  absurd  freak,  and 
agree  to  marry  Constance  without  any  more 
folly,  or  I  shall  change  my  intentions,  and 
leave  my  fortune  entirely  away  from  you." 

' '  That  is  a  threat  which  has  no  power  to 
move  me, "answered  Philip.  "I  do  not  de- 
sire any  share  in  your  fortune. ' ' 

"Indeed!"  said  Mr.  Thornton,  with  a 
stare  of  wrath  and  incredulity.  "Since 
when  have  you  learned  to  despise  wealth?" 

"I  do  not  despise  wealth  in  general,"  re- 
plied the  young  man.  "It  is  a  great  power, 
for  good  as  well  as  for  evil.  But" — he  sud- 
denly grew  very  pale — "I  can  not  desire 
for  myself  wealth  that  has  been  in  any  de- 
gree unjustly  obtained." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mr. 
Thornton,  in  a  voice  almost  inarticulate 
with  rage. 

' '  I  mean, ' '  Philip  answered,  ' '  that  I  have 
heard  the  story  of  Robert  Percival. ' ' 
(to  be  continued.) 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY    CHARIvES   WARREN    STODDARD. 


VI. — From  Baalbek  to  Beirut. 

INTO  THE  Valley  of  Litany. — Half- 
way between  Damascus  and  Beirut  is 
Shtora,  a  hospice  where  the  traveller  eats 
poorly  and  sleeps  not  at  all,  but  he  may  pay 
as  good  a  bill  here  as  in  any  port  under  the 
Eastern  sun.  At  Shtora  you  turn  suddenly 
and  decisively  to  the  right,  pass  through  a 
broad,  green  valley  between  two  ranges  of 
snow-capped  mountains,  and  ride  for  seven 


l7"2 


The  Ave  Mart  a. 


hours.  Injthe  tail  end  of  the  seventh  hour, 
along  with  the  sunset,  you  fall  upon  the 
flanks  of  a  steppe  where  stand  the  magnifi- 
cent ruins  of  old  Baalbek.  That  is  what  we 
did,  M and  I,  in  company  with  a  drag- 
oman, who  was  worth  his  weight  in  gold, 
^tid  was  inclined  to  speculate  on  his  market 
value. 

We  chased  a  thunder-storm  down  that 
glorious  valley.  At  first  the  mulberry  trees 
sheltered  us,  but  we  rode  out  of  them  into 
the  meadows,  where  flocks  were  feeding, 
and  where  the  storm  trailed  its  crape-like 
skirts  of  rain.  Then  we  dashed  forward  in 
the  track  of  the  tempest.  Two  or  three  vil- 
lages, Mohammedan  or  Maronite,  detained 
us  not  a  moment ;  for  the  air  was  so  charged 
with  electricity  that  horse  and  rider  alike 
longed  for  the  wings  of  the  wind.  By  and 
by  the  valley  spread  out  before  us  like  a 
prairie — a  prairie  turned  up  at  the  sides ;  and 
there  was  nothing  in  all  the  landscape  to 
fix  the  eye  upon  and  rest  it  for  a  moment. 

Then  the  storm  suddenly  turned  on  us, 
and  spat  great,  cold  rain-drops  in  our  faces, 
and  the  wind  drove  us  back  on  our  haunches, 
and  we  had  fifteen  awful  minutes  of  strug- 
gle and  suspense  that  brought  us  to  the 
edge  of  a  shallow  ravine,  where  a  khan  was 
hidden,  and  where  we  sought  food  and 
shelter,  and  found  them  both  at  our  service. 
There  were  but  three  walls  to  the  khan; 
it  was  as  fine  as  a  stable,  and  as  fragrant. 
We  were  stalled  along  with  the  beasts,  and 
fed  at  the  same  time  and  by  the  same  hands, 
and  with  as  much  or  as  little  consideration 
for  our  bodily  comfort.  For  an  hour  we 
shivered  over  the  embers  that  had  been 
coaxed  into  a  blaze  on  our  arrival,  and  that 
enveloped  us  with  clouds  of  thick,  blue 
smoke.  My  nargileh  lost  its  flavor,  and  I 
was  glad  to  cover  my  face  with  the  blank- 
ets that  lay  near  me,  and  drop  off"  into  a 
deep  but  direful  sleep.  Your  Syrian  khan 
is  not  always  the  artistic  retreat  that  sounds 
well  in  song  and  looks  well  in  a  picture. 

Down  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley,  above 
the  clouds  that  fall  upon  its  breast,  towered 
the  hoary-headed  Hermon,  king  of  moun- 
tains.   To  the  west  loomed  Anti-Ivcbanon, 


topped  with  antique  cedar  groves,  and 
thickly  peopled  with  Christians;  to  the  east 
the  twin  range  of  snowy-crested  peaks  shut 
out  Damascus  and  the  desert,  beyond  which 
Palmyra  sleeps  her  eternal  sleep.  All  about 
us  cattle  fed  upon  the  broad,  green-carpeted 
steppes.  The  distant  mountains  echoed 
faintly  the  artillery  of  the  retreating  gale. 

Baalbek. — We  arose,  remounted,  and 
made  a  brilliant  charge  upon  the  walls  of 
Baalbek,  that  were  soon  discovered  at  the 
very  top  of  the  valley.  Baalbek,  a  temple 
sacred  to  Baal  and  all  the  gods, — a  temple 
four  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  in  the 
midst  of  a  green  garden  at  the  top  of  the 
beautiful  Valley  of  Litany; — Baalbek,  the 
proud  mother  of  sun-worship  and  moon- 
worship,  from  whose  high  altars  curled  the 
smoke  of  the  sacrifice,  but  where  later  the 
Apostles  of  the  one  true  God  set  up  their 
standard  of  the  Cross.  When  it  had  been 
thrown  down,  in  its  turn,  the  followers  of 
the  Prophet  entered  into  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
and  the  voice  of  the  muezzin  rang  out  from 
the  summit  of  the  citadel:  "Come  to  se- 
curity! Come  to  prayer!"  But  the  prayers 
were  said  out  at  last,  and  the  Turks  made  a 
fortress  of  one  of  the  world's  wonders. 
Whatever  loveliness  was  left  in  the  once 
wonderful  temple,  these  bearded  barbarians 
stamped  out  with  the  heel  of  scorn. 

From  the  most  distant  times  Baalbek  was 
the  chief  seat  of  sun-worship,  and  was  for 
a  time  known  as  Heliopolis.  Its  temple 
contained  a  golden  statue  of  Apollo,  which 
on  certain  annual  festivals  was  borne  about 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  citizens.  Trajan 
consulted  its  famous  oracle  before  entering 
on  his  second  Parthian  campaign.  Under 
Constantine  the  temple  became  a  Christian 
church ;  but  in  A.  D.  748  the  Arabs  sacked 
the  city,  and  its  total  destruction  followedj 
in  A.  D.  1400.  What  the  Arabs,  Tartars, 
and  Turks  had  spared  was  almost  com-[ 
pletely  annihilated  by  a  terrific  earthquake 
in  the  year  1759.  The  once  splendid  cit) 
is  now  reduced  to  an  insignificant  villag* 
of  a  few  hundred  impoverished  people. 

The  stupendous  proportions  of  some  0 
the  foundation  stones  of  the  temple  give  | 


r 


The  Ave  Mai-ia. 


273 


n;  me  to  the  structure — Trilithon  (three- 
st  med).  These  three  stones,  thirteen  feet 
in  height  and  as  many  in  thickness,  are 
re  ;pectively  sixty-  four,  sixty-three  and  one- 
hf  If,  and  sixty-two  feet  in  length.  The  gods 
themselves  must  have  wrought  here — or 
devils;  and  perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason 
th  it  no  one  is  permitted  long  to  inhabit  this 
Temple  of  the  Sun. 

k.  fanciful  tradition  records  that  Baalbek 
was  built  by  Solomon  to  charm  one  of  his 
Sidonian  wives.  The  genii  under  his  com- 
mand were  pressed  into  service, — the  males 
Duilding  the  walls,  and  the  females  bring- 
ng  the  stone  from  the  quarry  close  at  hand. 
\s  one  of  the  stone-bearers  was  approach- 
ng  the  temple,  she  learned  that  her  brother 
lad  been  crushed  to  death  by  the  fall  of  a 
portion  of   the  walls;  and  in  despair  she 
hopped  her  burden  where  she  stood,  and  no 
tne  was  ever  found  able  to  remove  it.   The 
lock  still  lies  in  the  quarry,  and  measures 
ourteen  feet  in  height  and  breadth,  and 
ixty-eight  in  length. 
The  last  change  has  come  to  Baalbek. 
roats  climb  its  tottering  walls  in  search  of 
le  lichen  that  is  rooted  there.     Cattle  are 
astured  in  the  grass-grown  courts;  hus- 
andmen  till  the  soil  that  has  accumulated 
1  the  royal  chambers;  and  the  robust  cab- 
age,  the  burly  beet,  and  the  homely  but 
earty  artichoke  thrive  in  the  fat  dust  of 
le  thrice- dead  past.    A  wall  that  is  appar- 
itly  the  work  of  a  colossal  race;  a  cham- 
ir  rich  and  lovely  even  in  its  utter  decay ; 
cluster  of  superb  columns,  the  last  rem- 
mt  of  the  beauty  that  was  once  enthroned 
re  (and  these  columns  at  the  point  of 
struction,  for  one  or  another  of  the  moun- 
in  gales  will  dash  them  into  the  dust) — 
ch  is  Baalbek  of  to-day! 
The  lads  of  the  neighboring  village  play 
c.oits  with  fragments  of  marble  chipped 
c  from  the  statues  that  stand  in  noseless 
'd  forsaken  rows;  groves  have  sprung  up 
f^out   the   temple,  and  a  cold   mountain 
seam  sparkles  and  sings  along  its  base, 
lis  the  most  melancholy,  the  most  mys- 
t  ruin  imaginable;  and  at  twilight,  as  I 
^  tched  it  from  the  brow  of  a  neighboring 


hill,  that  cluster  of  slender  columns  stood 
up  against  the  sky ;  and  as  the  evening  star 
threw  an  enchanting  ray  across  them,  I 
could  not  resist  comparing  them  to  shat- 
tered lute-strings.  What  melody  they  once 
gave  forth!  and  now  how  the  winds  sweep 
the  sacred  chords  but  call  forth  no  response! 
That  instrument  was  once  so  cunningly 
touched,  it  moved  to  love  or  wrought  to 
madness  the  passionate  heart  of  the  listener. 
But  the  soul  that  conceived  it,  and  the  spirit 
in  which  it  was  conceived,  have  long  since 
perished  out  of  sight,  and  the  flight  of  the 
gods  left  but  the  shattered  strings,  from 
which  the  voluptuous  music  has  passed 
for  evermore. 

The  Lebanon. — After  surmounting  the 
first  crest  of -the  range,  the  winding  trail 
leads  us  through  gorges  trembling  with 
the  thunder  of  ice-cold  cataracts;  through 
deep  and  wild  ravines;  along  giddy  heights, 
where  one  false  step  would  have  hurled  us 
down  to  death  in  the  abyss  a  thousand  feet 
below.  Numerous  villages  dot  the  mountain 
valleys,  and  some  of  them  are  nestled  fir 
up  among  the  wintry  crags  of  the  higher 
range.  Thousands  of  monasteries  are  planted 
among  the  rocky  gorges  and  upon  the 
sunny  hill -sides.  Most  of  these  are  the 
homes  of  Maronite  monks;  a  few  are  of  the 
Armenian  Order,  but  the  Maronites — the 
descendants  of  the  early  Christians — pre- 
dominate throughout  the  Lebanon, 

The  Druses  haunt  some  of  the  glens — 
the  high-horned  women,  and  the  barbarous 
men  who  did  some  bloody  work  in  common 
with  the  Mohammedans  during  the  reign 
of  terror  in  i860.  The  Druses  are  ever  at 
war,  and  but  for  the  Turkish  soldiers,  who 
keep  them  in  subjection, they  would  give 
the  Christians  little  rest,  even  in  Lebanon, 
the  stronghold  of  Oriental  Christianity. 

As  for  the  cedars,  they  are  fine  old  fellows 
— a  dozen  or  so  of  them ;  and  they  bear  up 
against  the  bitter  Winter  with  miraculous 
fortitude,  considering  the  fact  that  they  are 
believed  to  have  stood  at  the  time  when 
their  fellows  were  cut  down  and  borne  away 
in  floats  and  by  camel  and  drag,  to  roof  the 
Temple  of  King  Solomon  at  Jerusalem.   It 


74 


The  Ave  Maria, 


is  intensely  lonely  on  the  mountain -top. 
The  cedars  called  * '  the  saints ' '  stand  apart, 
and  shelter  a  small  hermit  chapel.  A  grove 
of  some  thousand  trees  is  not  far  distant; 
but  the  thin  air,  the  hiss  or  hush  in  the 
melancholy,  drooping  boughs,  the  winding 
trail  that  comes  out  of  the  cloud  over  the 
last  summit,  and  disappears  in  the  mist  that 
enshrouds  the  peak  before  us — is  it  any 
wonder  that  we  pressed  forward  at  a  reck- 
less pace,  and  rested  not  until  our  eyes  once 
more  fell  upon  the  hot,  palm-fringed  shore, 
and  swept  all  the  waters  of  the  splendid 
sea? 

Beirut. — I  know  of  nothing  more  beau- 
tiful, as  a  landscape  picture,  than  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  Beirut  from  the  west  slope  of 
the  Lebanon.  The  sapphire  sea  dotted  with 
snowflake  sails,  the  golden  shore,  the  para- 
dise of  palms  and  pines — here  they  meet 
together  and  dream  over  that  fantastical 
poem  of  Heine;  the  mosque  domes  and 
minarets  that  shine  like  ivory  in  the  som- 
bre green  of  the  groves;  the  mellow  peal 
of  bells  rolling  up  on  the  summer  gale,  and 
that  gale  heavy  with  the  delicious  breath  of 
orange  and  citron  and  blossoming  vines — 
surely  it  is  a^comfort  to  tarry  for  a  few  last 
days  in  so  sweet  a  land  as  this. 

For  ten  days  I  was  a  prisoner  in  Beiiut, 
awaiting  the  steamer  for  the  North.  The 
heat  increased  almost  hourl}';  it  became  a 
burden,  and  at  last  it  was  only  tolerable,  out 
of  doors,  very  early  in  the  morning,  or  after 
twilight  in  the  evening.  Even  the  great 
pine  groves  that  invoked  the  muse  of  La- 
martine,  and  still  charm  the  smokers  and 
coffee-tasters  of  Beirut,  failed  to  comfort 
me.  The  Cafe  Chantant,  down  by  the  sea, 
where  the  Viennese  girls,  whom  I  saw  at 
Port  Said,  play  nightly — the  shady,  shabby 
terrace  overhanging  the  sea — is  infested  by 
Greeks;  it  is  the  one  place  of  public  resort 
in  Beirut,  and  many  a  time  I  sat  there  un- 
der the  palm-boughs  by  the  water's  edge 
and  watched  the  sun  go  down  into  the  deep, 
and  heard  the  gun  from  the  flagship,  and 
saw  the  bunting  slide  down  from  the  peak. 
Then  the  stars  came  out  and  the  moon  rose, 
throwing  a   white  light   upon  the  rocks, 


that  resembled  the  first  fall  of  snow.  A  few 
bathers  still  strode  into  the  waves,  singing, 
unless  the  orchestra  were  then  rendering 
some  strain  of  Strauss,  that  must  have  rung 
sadly  enough  in  the  ears  of  the  homesick 
girls  who  played  it. 

In  the  sunshine  I  have  seen  columns 
lying  under  the  sea  near  one  of  the  numer- 
ous cafes;  columns  crusted  with  mussels 
and  swathed  in  long  ribbons  of  sea-grass — 
probably  remains  of  the  baths  established 
by  Herod  Agrippa,  who  embellished  this 
"  Berytus  "  with  baths,  theatres,  and  glad- 
iatorial circuses.  There  are  towers  on  the 
sea -shore  built  by  the  Crusaders.  But  few 
other  traces  of  the  past  remain,  and  nothing 
that  points  to  the  earlier  history  of  the 
port. 

It  is  a  long  leap  from  Phoenician  times — 
the  times  of  the  Canaanitish  "Gibbites" — 
to  this  year  of  Our  Lord,  when  the  steamer 
is  overdue;  but  let  us  take  it.    It  is  getting 
too  hot  for -me  in  Beirut.    I  bake  by  night 
and  boil  by  day.    I  hear  the  voice  of  ten 
thousand  birds  in  the  lemon  grove  under 
my  window;  I  hear  the  plash  of  the  foun- 
tain in  the  marble  court;  1  take  my  dinner 
upon  the  housetop  at  twilight,  and  find  half 
the  town  doing  the  very  same  sort  of  thing. 
The  fair  Jewess  in  the  next  block  nods  at 
me  over  the  chimney-pots,  because  we  are 
always  up  under  the  stars  together;  the  fat 
Turk  on  the  roof  below  me  gives  nie  a  pro-| 
found  salaam^  which  I  return  to  the  bestofl 
my  ability.   We  are  all  uncommonly  soci 
able  at  twilight;  and  no  wonder;  for  there  i 
a  surpassing  loveliness  in  sea  and  sky  an 
air,  that  attunes  our  souls  to  harmony. 

Nothing  can  be  finer  or  more  refining] 
than  the  deep  and  profound  repose  of  th 
twilight  of  the  East.    Yet  we  have  had  oui 
trials  in  the  hotel,  notwithstanding.    Oui 
fat  little  landlady  flies  about  in  stiff  am 
ample  skirts,  that  rattle  like  paper  at  ever} 
step  she  takes.    Our  little  landlady  has 
son,  who  lately  let  slip  a  foolish  word,  am 
he  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  his  folly.   I 
seems  that  a  native  Christian  had  sough 
refuge   from   the   tax-gatherer   under  ou 
metaphorical  wings.    He  was  discoverec 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


275 


s  :ized  by  the  soldiers,  and  borne  away  to 
J  dson.    The  landlady's  boy,  hot-blooded 

Pid  glib-tongued,  made  several  remarks 
feicerning  the  Prophet,  highly  offensive  to 
te  ears  of  the  Mohammedans.  This  oc- 
c  arred  about  10  a.  m.  The  boy  was  of  French 
p  irentage  and  a  French  subject.  A  steamer 
c  iianced  to  be  up  for  Marseilles.  The  poor 
follow  was  instantly  banished  for  life;  and 
tJiat  steamer  bore  him  away  in  the  after- 
noon, leaving  his  grief-stricken  parents  to 
mourn  the  loss  of  their  only  child,  and  to 
pay  a  fine  of  some  hundreds  of  francs.  And 
now  our  poor  little  landlady  is  so  sorry,  that 
the  starch  has  all  gone  out  of  her  skirts,  and 
she  wanders  about  the  house  looking  like 
a  big  top  with  the  hum  carefully  extracted. 
Meanwhile  the  Turks  are  crucifying  dogs 
against  doors  in  derision  of  Our  Saviour's 
Death,  and  we  hear  horrible  rumors  of 
approaching  slaughter,  a  repetition  of  the 
barbarities  of  i860.  Such  is  life  under  the 
crescent  when  the  Turks  have  smelt  blood. 

The  last  night  in  Beirut  the  moonlight 
floo.led  the  garden  under  my  latticed  win- 
dow, and  the  light  was  so  green  it  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  filtered  through  an  eme- 
rald. On  the  other  side  of  the  house  lay  a 
mysterious  orchard  of  figs  and  pomegran- 
ates; a  few  cypresses  in  the  distance  were 
as  black  and  as  stately  as  obelisks;  the  far- 
away mountains  soared  to  heaven,  and  were 
as  vapory  as  banks  of  clouds.  In  the  midst 
of  the  garden  stood  two  Arab  towers,  illu- 
minated, and  with  their  great  arched  win- 
dows glowing  like  half  moons.  I  heard  the 
tinkling  lute-strings,  the  throbbing  drums, 
and  sweet,  wild  flute-notes;  and  from  time 
to  time  the  joyous  laughter  of  girls  filled  the 
garden  with  a  music  such  as  the  followers  of 
the  Prophet  delight  in — and  there,  though 
we  be  Christians,  we  can  strike  hands  with 
them  heartily  and  honestly.  It  was  my  last 
night  in  Beirut.  It  began  like  a  dream  of 
delight,  it  ended  in  a  hot  sirocco,  that  filled 
the  air  with  red  sand-clouds,  and  made  the 
palms  of  my  hands  tingle  and  my  eyes 
smart  with  pain. 

For  hours  I  had  tossed  on  my  sleepless 
couch,  the  victim  of  dumb  mosquitos,  that 


drop  on  you  like  sparks  of  fire;  of  a  mouse 
in  the  corner;  of  sWift  flashes  of  heat-light- 
ning, and  a  vision  of  stormy  seas.  But  on 
the  morrow  the  wind  perished,  and  Beirut 
was  consumed  in  her  own  furnace  heat. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Palnns. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVII.— A  Letter  for  La- 

ODicE.    Fabian  back  from  Umbria. 

Sequences. 

NEMESIUS'  letter  to  Laodice,  which 
had  been  confided  to  the  old  steward, 
was  given  to  Admetus  on  the  following 
morning,  wi-th  strict  injunctions  to  obey  the 
instructions  he  received  concerning  it.  As 
the  latter  dropped  it  into  an  ingeniously 
contrived  pouch,  concealed  in  the  folds  of 
his  tunic,  his  brave,  bright  eyes  gave  assur- 
ance that  he  comprehended,  and  would  be 
faithful  to  his  trust;  then,  without  question 
or  delay,  he  left  the  villa. 

When  the  youth  reached  the  imperial 
palace  his  business  was  roughly  challenged 
by  the  official  at  the  great  portal. 

"I  have  a  message  for  the  Lady  Laodice, 
to  be  delivered  in  person,"  he  answered, 
modestly. 

He  was  permitted  to  enter — for  no  one 
would  venture  to  interfere  with  or  obstruct 
the  affairs  of  Laodice,  were  they  great  or 
small, — and  directed  which  way  to  go.  Af- 
ter being  stopped  and  questioned  here  and 
there  by  officers  of  the  palace,  he  reached 
the  anteroom  of  her  apartments,  where  he 
encountered  the  major-domo  of  her  estab- 
lishment, to  whom  he  stated  his  errand. 
Not  pleased  at  being  interrupted  in  an 
angry  discussion  he  was  holding  with  a 
tradesman,  about  some  overcharges  he  had 
detected  in  his  accounts,  he  roughly  bade 
the  intrusive  young  stranger  go  in  and 
wait.  Yes,  it  was  evident  to  Admetus  that 
he  would  have  to  wait;  for,  although  per- 
sons were  passing  to  and  fro,  they  were  too 
intent  on  their  own  errands  even  to  notice 


276 


The  Ave  Maria. 


his  presence;  and  he  leaned  against  a  col- 
umn to  rest,  and  bide  his  time. 

Several  female  slaves,  the  personal  at- 
tendants of  their  lady,  now  strayed  in,  and, 
meeting  in  a  group  a  short  distance  from 
the  lad,  began  to  chatter  and  giggle,  and 
throw  saucy  glances  around  in  quest  of  ad- 
miration, as  well  as  of  any  incidental  thing 
that  would  serve  to  raise  a  laugh.  They 
caught  sight  of  Admetus,  posed  like  a  fair 
statue  of  Hylas  against  the  column,  all  un- 
conscious of  his  own  classic  beauty,  atid 
certainly  without  desire  of  attracting  such 
attention;  and  one  of  them,  a  pretty,  young 
jade,  with  a  significant  wink  at  her  com- 
panions, danced  towards  him,  and  asked 
what  might  be  his  business  there  at  so  early 
an  hour.  He  told  her  the  same  thing  he 
had  told  the  others  who  had  questioned 
him.  She  laughed  good-nafuredly,  and, 
with  a  grimace,  hoped  he  had  taken  his 
breakfast  before  leaving  home,  as  her  lady 
had  not  yet  risen,  and  might  not  do  so  until 
noon. 

"I  will  wait,"  he  answered,  quietly, hop- 
ing the  girl  would  go  away  and  leave  him 
alone  with  his  thoughts;  but  she  was  ripe 
for  mischief,  and  beckoned  her  companions 
around  her  to  amuse  themselves  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  simplicity. 

For  a  little  while  they  thought  they  were 
having  everything  their  own  way ;  for  his 
answers  to  their  silly  questions  were  literal 
and  brief;  but,  quickly  penetrating  their 
purpose,  he  turned  the  laugh  against  them 
by  a  few  good-natured  sarcasms,  and  a 
sharpness  of  humor  that  admonished  them 
it  would  be  best  to  leave  him  to  himself 
But  they  were  loath  to  yield  him  the  advan- 
tage, and  tried  their  best  by  cajolery  and 
banter  to  induce  him  to  confide  to  them  the 
message  of  which  he  was  the  bearer,  declar- 
ing that  their  lady  always  expected  such 
things  to  be  delivered  to  her  the  moment 
her  eyes  were  open;  and  if  they  were  de- 
layed, whoever  was  nearest  felt  the  point 
of  her  stiletto,  while  the  others  were  pun- 
ished with  the  lash. 

But  Admetus  was  unmoved;  it  might  be 
as  they  said,  but  fidelity  to  duty  was  part 


of  his  religion,  and  he  continued  to  evade 
their  curiosity,  until,  finding  their  attempt 
a  failure,  they  left  him. 

Thankful  to  be  rid  of  the  silly, shameless 
creatures,  the  youth  found  shelter  in  the 
embrasure  of  one  of  the  great  windows, 
where  the  ruffled  plumes  of  his  spirit  were 
smoothed  by  meditating  on  the  holy  things 
in  which  his  soul  delighted.  His  thoughts 
wandered  away  to  the  dim  galleries  of  the 
Catacombs;  he  heard  the  sweet,  solemn 
hymns  floating  through  the  darkness;  he 
saw  the  starlike  glimmer  of  tapers  where 
some  sacred  function  was  being  celebrated, 
and  upon  his  ear  rose  and  fell  the  plaintive 
chaunts  of  the  Church  as  the  torn,  broken 
bodies  of  the  martyrs  were  deposited  like 
precious  jewels  in  her  treasure-house,  em- 
balmed by  her  tears,  and  glorified  by  her 
joy  at  their  victory  over  death  and  hell. 

The  soft  touch  of  a  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der recalled  the  young  Christian  from  his 
waking-dream,  and  he  saw  a  slender,  dark- 
visaged  man,  whose  narrow,  glittering  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  his  face,  standing  before 
him.  A  sombre- colored  mantle,  the  hood 
of  which  was  drawn  over  his  head,  partially 
shading  his  countenance,  fell  from  his 
shoulders;  and  so  impassive  did  he- look, 
that,  until  he  spoke,  Admetus  doubted  if  it 
were  he  that  had  touched  him. 

"My  mistress,  the  Lady  Laodice,  is  in- 
formed that  thou  hast  a  message  for  her. 
Thou  wilt  follow  me  to  her  presence,"  he 
said,  leading  the  way. 

Glad  that  a  successful  termination  of  his 
confidential  errand  was  at  hand,  Admetus 
required  no  urging  to  follow  his  guide. 
From  the  antechamber  they  passed  through 
several  spacious  communicating  rooms,  all 
richly  furnished  in  the  luxurious  style  then 
prevailing  in  Rome, — each  more  superb 
than  the  last, — until  the  one  that  termi- 
nated the  suite  was  reached.  Here  the  Cyp- 
riot — for  it  was  he — paused,  and  blew  a  soft 
note  on  a  small  whistle  that  hung  from 
his  wrist.  The  heavy  curtains  were  drawn 
back  instantly, and  a  voice  bade  them  enter. 
Daylight  was  excluded  from  this  apartment 
by  hangings  rich  with  gold  embroidery, 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


277- 


;  nd  it  was  only  by  the  radiance  of  the  per- 
}  imed  lamp,  suspended  by  fine  gilt  chains 
1  -cm  the  ceiling,  whose  rays  glimmered  on 
the  most  salient  points  of  the  splendid  ap- 
]  ointments,  that  an  idea  could  be  formed  of 
i  :3  magnificence. 

On  a  couch,  over  which  was  thrown 
lightly  a  coverlet  of  white  silk,  threaded 
and  fringed  with  silver,  reclined  the  beau- 
tiful Laodice.  Her  dark,  indolent  eyes  half 
veiled  by  their  fringed  lids,  glanced  care- 
lessly at  Admetus,  as,  under  the  guidance 
cf  the  Cypriot,  he  advanced  towards  her. 
Raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  she  said, 
haughtily: 

"What  message  can  such  as  thou  have 
for  me,  that  could  not  have  been  given  with- 
out the  intrusion  of  thy  presence?" 

"I  have  only  obeyed  orders.  Lady." 

"Whose  orders?"  she  flamed  out. 

"A  letter  has  been  confided  to  me  to 
deliver  into  no  hands  except  those  of  the 
person  to  whom  it  is  addressed,"  he  an- 
swered. 

'  "A  letter!"  she  exclaimed;  ''show  it, 
that  I  may  see  if  it  is  for  me." 

"Tell  me  first  who  thou  art.  Lady,  that 
there  may  be  no  mistake,"  was  the  firm 
reply. 

' '  Tell  him, ' '  she  said  to  the  Cypriot,  while 
a  thought  and  a  hope  as  swift  as  light  sent 
a  quick  tremor  through  her  frame. 

The  Cypriot  announced  her  name  and 
rank. 

"It  is  for  thee,  madama.  Forgive  me  if 
1  have  been  over-cautious,"  said  Admetus, 
as  he  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

Laodice  made  a  quick  sign  to  the  Cyp- 
riot to  withdraw,  and  thrust  a  gold  coin 
into  the  hand  of  Admetus,  which  the  lad 
would  have  refused  but  for  the  thought  of 
some  half- starved  children  he  knew  of, 
whom  it  would  afford  him  the  means  of  re- 
lieving; for  their  sake  he  accepted  it  with  a 
gesture  of  thanks,  which  she  did  not  notice, 
and  left  her  presence. 

When  alone  she  tore  open  the  letter, 
snapping  the  silk  cords  and  scattering  in 
fragments  the  waxen  seal  that  secured  it,  so 
wildly  eager  was  she  to  reach  the  contents. 


and  realize  the  hope  on  which  her  very  life 
seemed  to  hang.  But  when  she  read  the 
brief  lines  that  shattered  her  dream,  that 
covered  her  womanly  pride  with  humilia- 
tion, and  pierced  her  heart  with  the  keen- 
est pangs  of  disappointment,  she  turned  her 
face  to  the  wall  and  wept  bitterly,  and  in 
her  despair  grasped  her  stiletto  with  the 
intention  of  ending  it  all  by  one  suicidal 
blow;  for  how  could  she  endure  a  blighted 
life? 

However,  having  reached  this  passionate 
climax  of  emotion,  a  revulsion  set  in,  and 
grief  gave  place  to  rage.  She  had  placed  her- 
self at  the  feet  of  Nemesius,  to  be  scorned 
and  pitied,  while  he  boasted  of  his  love  for 
another;  to  be  insulted  by  his  cold  wishes 
for  her  happiness,  and  his  assurance  of  for- 
getfulness.  That  is  how  she  read  his  manly, 
honorable,  delicate  words;  and  the  more  she 
thought  them  over  the  more  furious  she 
grew,  and  her  wild,  passionate  love  was 
turned  to  deadly  hate. 

Later  in  the  day  the  Cypriot  was  sum- 
moned to  her  presence.  Not  a  trace  of  the 
storm  of  passion  she  had  passed  through 
was  discernible;  her  attire  was  more  than 
usually  rich  and  becoming  her  countenance 
more  haughty,  and  her  wonderful  beauty 
more  regal.  If  there  was  pallor,  it  was  con- 
cealed by  artfully-applied  cosmetics.  Her 
most  costly  jewels  glittered  over  her  per- 
son, and  rare  perfumes  floated  around  her. 
She,  with  some  other  ladies  of  rank,  had 
been  invited  to  the  imperial  table  that  even- 
ing, to  sup  with  two  foreign  princes  who 
had  just  arrived  in  Rome,  and  were  the 
guests  of  the  Emperor;  and  she  resolved  to 
appear  at  her  fairest,  and  show  no  trace  of 
the  eclipse  that  had  darkened  her  life. 

The  Cypriot  slave  entered  and  stood  be- 
fore her,  his  head  bowed,  his  serpent-like 
eyes  cast  down,  his  dark,  slender  hands 
folded  under  his  wide  sleeves,  waiting,  yet 
intently  alert.  She  spoke  to  him  in  a  low 
voice,  and  if  her  instructions  were  brief 
they  were  also  emphatic;  then  she  emptied 
gold  in  his  palm  as  an  earnest  of  future 
rewards,  and  not  as  a  bribe  to  be  faithful  to 
her  behests;  for  Laodice  knew  the  measure 


278 


The  Ave  Alan  a. 


of  his  fidelity,  or  imagined  she  did,  and 
would  have  trusted  her  life  to  him.  She 
dismissed  him.  and  once  more  at  her  bidding 
he  started,  like  a  sleuth-hound,  on  the  track 
of  the  noble  Nemesius. 

(to  be  continued.) 


U 


A  Sonnet  to  Our  Blessed   Lady. 

BY   VITTORIA   COLONNA. 

A  Maria,  Nostra  Donna. 
KRGINK  pura,  che  dai  raggi  ardenti 


Del  vero  sol  ti  godi  eterno  giorno, 
II  cui  bel  lume,  in  questo  vil  soggiorno, 
Tenne  i  begli  occhi  tuoi  paghi  e  contenti ; 

Uomo  il  vedesti  e  Dio,  quando  i  lucenti 
Spirti  facean  I'albergo  umile  adorno 
Di  chiari  lumi,  e  timidi  d'intorno 
Stavano  lieti  al  grande  uffizio  intenti. 

Immortal  Dio,  nascosto  in  uman  velo, 
L'adorasti  Signer,  Figlio  il  nutristi, 
ly'amasti  Sposo,  ed  onorasti  Padre: 

Prega  Lui,  dunque,  che  i  miei  giorni  tristi 
Ritornin  lieti;  e  tu.  Donna  del  Cielo, 
Vogli  in  questo  desio  mostrarti  madre. 

THE  SAME  IN   ENGUSH. 

Virgin  most  pure,  who  never  knewest  night, 
Iviving  within  the  true  Sun's  deathless  day. 
The  golden  gleam  of  which,  thro'  all  thy  way, 
Made  glad  thy  beauteous  eyes  with  joyous 
hght: 

With  thee  the  God-Man  dwelt,  when  angels 

bright 
Ivit  up  His  lowly  home  with  lustrous  ray, 
And,  filled  with  awe,  pleased  homage  sought 

to  pay. 
Yearning  His  will  to  work,  be  what  it  might. 

Thou  the  Kterne,  veiled  by  our  human  screen. 
As  Lord  didst  fear;  didst  cherish  as  thy  Son; 
Didst  love  as  Spouse;  as  Father  didst  adore. 

Pray  that  my  troubled  stream  of  life  may  run 
Back  to  its  happy  source;  and.  Heaven's  great 

Queen ! 
Thy  Mother's  love  thus  show  me  evermore. 

W.  H.  K.,  IN  The  Irish  Monthly. 


Advocata  Nostra.* 

ON  theFeastof  Our  Lady's  Assumption, 
1886,  a  group  of  smiling  eyes  and 
happy  faces  surrounded  a  good  Jesuit  Fa- 
ther, in  the  beautiful  grounds  of  an  acad- 
emy for  young  ladies,  situated  among  the 
Alleghany  Mountains.  The  summer  day 
was  in  its  glory.  Soft  winds  stirred  the 
leaves  and  drooping  flowers;  birds  flitted 
swiftly  by,  their  shadows  on  the  broad 
walks  alone  telling  their  passage.  High 
noon  had  been  in  the  far- up  heavens,  where 
the  intense  blue  and  the  dazzling  light 
blinded  the  eyes;  but  in  the  west,  where 
the  brightness  was  advancing,  great,  white, 
golden-edged  clouds  waited  for  the  magic 
of  sunset  to  flush  into  that  splendor  that 
"can  not  be  written  or  told." 

Under  the  deep  shadow  of  the  friendly 
oaks  and  beeches,  and  close  to  a  rustic  shrine 
of  St.  Joseph,  sat  the  group  we  have  men- 
tioned, and  the  Jesuit  had  just  spoken.  "I 
will  tell  you,  "said  he, ''a  story  that  was  told 
to  me — no  mere  fiction,  but  a  true  though 
remarkable  narrative;  one  the  memory  of 
which  is  stamped  so  deeply  on  my  heart, 
that  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  it.  A  few 
years  ago  I  was  giving  retreats  in  Ireland. 
Near  Dublin  I  visited  a  certain  convent  of 
nuns,  at  the  request  of  a  friend  who  had  a 
relative  there.  The  Mother  Superior  was 
an  English  lady — \'ery  business-like,  prac- 
tical, and  cool ;  so  much  so  that  it  would 
be  an  impossibility  to  suspect  her  either  of 
enthusiasm  or  extravagance.  With  great 
kindness  I  was  shown  through  the  various 
parts  of  the  institution — large  buildings 
devoted  to  laundry  purposes,  etc.,  where 
numbers  of  young  women  were  employed 
under  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  Sisters.  Af- 
ter seeing  the  house,  I  was  conducted  to  the 
little  cemetery  some  distance  off".  Passing 
through  this  quiet,  humble  resting-place  of 
the  dead,  with  the  mounds  marked  only  by 
little  crosses  of  conventual  simplicity,  I  did 
not  notice  that  the  Superior  was  leading  me 


The  incident  here  related  is  entirely  true. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


279 


to  a  new-made  grave.  It  was  the  last  on  e  of  a 
long  row,  and  its  fresh,  yellow  clay  told  that 
it  was  very  recently  made  indeed.  Standing 
beside  it,  she  told  me  a  tale,  strange  and  ter- 
rible, yet  consoling,  the  memory  of  which, 
as  I  said,  will  never  leave  my  heart.  In  the 
quiet,  matter-of-fact  way  that  compels  be- 
lief, she  began: 

'"In  that  grave  lies  the  body  of  a  poor 
girl  whom  we  buried  a  day  or  two  ago.  She 
had  been  with  us  twelve  years,  and  was 
one  of  our  best  workers — the  most  skilful 
ironer  we  had,  although  she  was  totally 
blind.  I  believe  she  is  a  saint  with  God  to- 
day. I  will  tell  you  her  history.  She  did 
not  know  her  parents,  but  was  the  adopted 
child  of  some  good  people  of  the  city,  who 
cared  for  her,  instructed  her,  and  brought 
her  up  with  parental  affection.  The  little 
girl  was  a  model  of  virtue,  and  was  espec- 
ially devout  to  the  Mother,  of  God.  She 
loved  to  call  the  Blessed  Virgin  ^^r  Mother. 
Wheii  she  was  about  eighteen,  passing 
through  the  city  on  some  errand,  she  was 
detained  at  a  street-crossing  long  enough 
to  receive  the  insolent  stare  of  some  officers 
who  were  passing,  and  to  hear  the  excla- 
mation of  one:  "Look  at  that  girl's  hand- 
some eyes!  "  It  was  only  a  moment's  work, 
but  the  poisonous  dart  entered  deeply  into 
that  guileless  soul.  ' '  Handsome  eyes ! ' '  she 
muttered  to  herself;  "/  didn't  know  I  had 
handsome  eyes."  When  she  returned  to 
her  room  she  consulted  her  little  mirror, 
and,  with  swelling  heart,  said  to  herself: 
"He  was  right:  they  at^e  handsome  eyes! 
I  was  blind  not  to  know  it  before.  I  know 
it  now,  and  others  shall  know  it  too." 

"  '  From  that  hour  a  terrible  change  came 
over  her.  Love  of  admiration,  love  of  dress 
— vanity,  led  her  away  step  by  step;  she 
sank  from  one  depth  to  another;  she  be- 
came a  sinner  of  the  vilest  kind.  Her  friends 
cast  her  off,  and  then  she  tried  to  drown 
her  shame  and  guilt  by  drink.  Staggering 
through  the  streets,  pouring  forth  curses, 
she  became  a  known  and  abhorred  name 
for  infamy.  Constantly  arrested  and  impris- 
oned in  drunken  brawls,  the  wretched  creat- 
ure seemed  lost  to  all  human  influence,  and, 


more  like  beast  .than  w^oman,  dragged   ou 
a  horrible  existence. 

' ' '  One  evening  she  was  found  in  a  fearful 
state  of  intoxication  in  the  public  street. 
Dragged  to  the  jail,  she  was  flung  into  a 
cell,  and  left  to  recover  from  her  drunken 
stupor.  During  the  night  the  guard  heard 
a  piercing  shriek  proceeding  from  her  cell. 
No  attention  was  paid  to  it,  for  such  sounds, 
it  seems,  are  common  inside  prison  walls. 
Another  agonizing  cry,  and  then  dead  si- 
lence. Still  no  heed  was  taken :  she  was  be- 
yond sympathy.  Next  morning  two  guards 
went  to  conduct  her  to  court,  to  receive  her 
sentence;  they  unlocked  noisily  the  iron- 
barred  door,  but,  though  accustomed  to 
awful  sights,  they  stood  aghast  at  the  one 
before  them.  In  the  middle  of  t'  e  floor,  in 
a  pool  of  blood,  lay  two  human  eyes.  Seated 
on  the  side  of  the  iron  bed,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  and  the  blood  streaming  out  of  her 
eyeless  sockets,  was  the  prisoner — sobered 
indeed,  quite  calm  and  collected,  and  with 
a  certain  dignity  about  her  that  none  had 
ob-erved  for  many  a  day.  She  rose  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  the  guards. 
"You  have  come  to  take  me  to  court,"  she 
said,  quietly.  "I  am  ready;  I  deserve  far 
more  punishment  than  I  can  receive.  You 
must  lead  me;  for,  you  see,  I  am  blind!" 

"'The  sight  of  that  pale  —  awful  face, 
with  its  sickening  wounds;  the  streams 
of  blood  on  her  long  hair,  on  her  garments, 
on  her  clasped  hands,  appalled  the  rough 
men;  they  gazed  in  speechless  horror.  At 
last  one  of  them  found  voice  to  .say :  "Girl, 
who  did  this  to  you?  how  did  it  happen?" 
"I  will  tell  you  nothing,"  .said  the  prisoner; 
"lead  me  out."  The  prison  officials  gath- 
ered round.  Questions  and  threats  followed 
to  no  eflfect.  There  was  only  one  answer — 
"I  will  tell  you  nothing.  Make  my  sen- 
tence as  severe  as  you  can;  I  deserve  it  all, 
and  far  more." 

"  'At  last  the  prisoner  was  brought  before 
the  judge,  who  had  listent  d  to  the  story  with 
manifest  annoyance.  His  stern  and  severe 
examination  elicited  not  the  least  informa- 
tion, only  the  humble  words:  "  I  am  deeply 
guilty;  you  all  know  my  crimes.   Treat  me 


28o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


with  all  the  severity  you  can."  Refusing 
the  services  of  a  surgeon,  she  only  stanched 
the  blood  that  flowed  from  her  frightful 
wounds,  and  baffled  all  the  curiosity  of  spec- 
tators by  the  constant  reply :  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  tell.  I  am  deeply  guilty.  May  God 
have  mercy  on  me ! " 

"  'There  was  an  awkward  pause  in  the 
learned  court.  The  prisoner  was  perfectly 
sane,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  majesty  about 
her  that  awed  those  present.  Without  doubt, 
this  was  a  case  fitter  for  the  halls  of  a  re- 
formatory than  the  cell  of  a  jail.  So,  at  last, 
the  judge  decided  to  send  her  here.  We 
placed  her  in  the  hospital,  and  cared  for  her. 
No  one  questioned  her — no  one  referred 
to  the  sad  past.  When  her  wounds  were 
healed  she  began  to  make  herself  useful, 
and  so  quick  and  skilful  did  she  become, 
even  in  her  blindness,  that  before  long  every 
one  was  anxious  to  have  her  services.  Her 
life  was  the  most  silent,  the  most  holy,  the 
most  prayerful  I  have  ever  seen.  Being 
blind,  she  could  be  observed  at  all  times; 
and  for  twelve  years  she  has  given  us  such 
an  example  of  sanctity,  that  we  counted 
her  presence  a  blessing  to  the  house,  and 
her  loss  will  be  one  that  can  never  be  re- 
paired. 

"  '  Her  last  illness,'  continued  the  Supe- 
rior, 'was  brief.  The  night  she  died  we 
were  all  with  her.  She  called  me  with  a 
strong  voice,  and  said:  "Mother,  I  have 
never  spoken  to  any  one  of  what  happened 
to  me  the  night  I  lay  in  the  prison,  twelve 
years  ago.  I  want  to  tell  you  before  I  die, 
that  you  may  let  every  one  know  of  the 
love  of  the  Mother  of  Mercy  for  her  erring 
children.  When  the  officers  threw  me  on 
the  bed  in  that  prison  cell,  I  was  stupid 
with  drink,  and  knew  nothing.  Suddenly  I 
thought  I  had  died,  and  was  standing  before 
the  judgment- seat  of  God.  I  was  judged 
and  condemned  to  hell.  I  saw  all  the  crimes 
of  my  wicked  life  rising  up  like  a  huge 
pyramid,  but  the  pyramid  was  reversed: 
the  broad  part  was  above,  in  frightful 
width,  and  it  sloped  downwards  on  both 
sides,  until  all  rested  on  a  single  point,  and 
on  that  point  was  one  word, — 'Vanity.'    I 


gazed  horror-stricken.  Just  as  the  demon 
stretched  out  his  clutches  for  me,  a  white- 
robed,  beautiful  Lady,  shining  like  the  sun, 
came  swiftly,  and  threw  Herself  at  the  feet 
of  my  Judge,  pleading — yes,  pleading  for 
me.  'Give  her  one  more  trial.  My  Son,' 
She  said;  'she  once  loved  Me,  and  she  was 
faithful  for  many  years!  Let  Me  be  her  Ad- 
vocate.' My  Judge  quickly  raised  Her  up^ 
saying:  'My  Mother,  this  is  no  place  for 
Thee.  The  sentence  is  passed.'  But  the 
Mother  of  Mercy  only  pleaded :  '  One  more 
trial,  My  Son!' 

'"It  seemed  to  me,"  the  penitent  went 
on, "  that  there  was  silence  in  heaven.  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  suspended  over  hell  by  a  single 
hair.  I  heard  my  Judge  say:  '  Be  it  so,  then; 
for  Thy  sake^  one  more  trial. '  And  I  awoke 
with  a  wild  shriek.  I  was  sober  then.  Mother; 
a  cold  sweat  was  on  every  limb.  The  prison 
cell  was  dark  enough,  but  I  knew  I  was 
awake,  and  that  God  had  been  there.  When 
I  collected  myself  enough  to  think,  I  went 
back  over  my  life,  sin  by  sin,  year  by  year, 
until  I  reached  the  beginning  of  my  fall. 
*It  was  the  sin  of  vanity,  caused  by  the 
words  of  an  officer  in  the  street — 'Look  at 
those  handsome  eyes!'  The  words  came 
back,  and  pierced  my  heart  like  red-hot 
iron.  I  screamed  aloud  in  my  bitterness, 
and,  with  the  strength  of  horror  at  my 
folly,  I  tore  out  my  eyes  with  my  fingers, 
and  flung  them  from  me!  You  know  the 
rest.  Mother.  Pity  me,  and  pray  for  me. 
I  go  again  before  my  Judge,  but  the  dear 
Mother  of  Mercy  will  be  with  me,  and  in 
humble  trust  I  cling  to  Her." 

"  'The  voice  of  the  patient,  so  strong  in 
the  beginning,  grew  almost  inaudible,  and 
I  saw  she  was  in  her  agony.  In  the  solemn 
awe  of  that  revelation  we  said  the  prayers 
for  the  dying,  and  she  breathed  her  last 
sigh,  clasping  the  crucifix,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression of  majesty  and  sweetness  on  her 
face  that  thrilled  us  all  to  the  very  depths 
of  our  souls.  We  buried  her  here,  and  I  feel, 
as  I  think  of  her,  that  she  is  among  the 
saints  in  Heaven.' 

' '  This, ' '  continued  the  good  Jesuit, ' '  was 
the  story   I  listened   to,  standing  by  that 


I 


HP 


The  Ave  Maria. 


281 


fiew-made  grave.  It  has  touched  you  all: 
udge  how  it  affected  me,  standing  almost 
in  the  very  presence  of  that  life  of  penance. 
I  could  not  speak.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
feelings  of  that  moment.  Often  I  recall 
them;  and  the  more  I  think  the  more  my 
heart  glows  with  love  for  the  great  Mother 
of  God,  our  Advocate  before  the  throne  of 
Her  Son,  who  never  forsakes  those  who  have 
once  loved  and  served  Her — even,  I  say, 
after  years  of  wandering  in  sin. ' ' 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  birds  sang 
overhead;  the  branches  waved  gently  in  the 
breeze;  every  face  was  stamped  with  solemn 
yet  tender  thought.  At  last  the  hush  was 
broken  by  the  convent  bell  for  Benediction. 
The  group  went  .slowly  to  the  chapel,  but 
•every  heart  carried  to  the  foot  of  the  altar 
deep  thanksgiving  for  the  mercy  of  God, 
and  sweet  tears  of  love  for  the  tender  Mother 
of  Jesus,  who  ever  pleads  at  His  throne  as 
Advocata  nostra. 

Mkrckdks. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  Holy  Father  has  ordered  that  a  new 
prayer,  of  his  own  composition,  be  substituted 
for  the  one  the  recital  of  which,  after  I^ow 
Mass  -preceded  by  three  Aves  and  the  Salve 
Regina,  with  versicle  and  response — is  oblig- 
atory upon  the  entire  Church.  An  invocation 
addressed  to  the  Holy  Archangel  St.  Michael 
is  also  appended.    The  prayer  is  as  follows: 

Deus  refugium  nostrum  et  virtus,  populum  ad 
te  daman  tern  propitius  respice;  et  intercedente 
gloriosa  et  Immaculata  Virgine  Dei  Genitrice 
Maria,  cum  beato  Josepho  Bins  Sponso,  ac  beatis 
Apostolis  tuis  Petro  et  Paulo,  et  omnibus  Sanctis, 
quas  pro  conversione  peccatorem,  pro  libertate  et 
exaltatione  sanctse  Matris  Ecclesise,  preces  effun- 
dimus,  misericors  et  benignus  exaudi.  Per  Chris- 
tum Dominum  nostrum.   Amen. 

O  God!  our  refuge  and  strength,  propitiously 
regard  Thy  people  crying  unto  Thee ;  and,  through 
the  intercession  of  the  glorious  and  Immaculate 
Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  Her  blessed  Spouse 
St.  Joseph,  the  holy  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and 
all  the  saints,  mercifully  and  benignantly  hear 
the  prayers  which  we  pour  forth  for  the  conver- 
sion of  sinners,  and  for  the  liberty  and  exaltation 
of  Holy  Mother  Church.  Through  Christ  Our 
Lord.   Amen. 


The  invocation: 

Sancte  Michael  Archangele,  defende  nos  in 
praelio;  contra  nequitiam  et  insidias  diaboli  esto 
prsesidium.— /w;^^/-^/  illi  Deus;  supplices  depre- 
camur:  tuque,  Princeps  militiae  caelestis,  Satanam 
aliosque  spiritus  malignos,  qui  ad  perditionem 
animarum  pervagantur  in  mundo,  divina  virtute 
in  infernum  detrude.    Amen. 

O  St.  Michael  the  Archangel !  defend  us  in 
battle;  be  our  protection  against  the  malice  and 
snares  of  the  devil.  May  God  rebuke  him,  we  sup- 
pliantly  beseech;  and  do  thou.  Prince  of  the  ce- 
lestial host,  through  the  divine  assistance,  thrust 
into  hell  Satan  and  the  other  evil  spirits,  who  go 
about  through  the  world  to  the  destruction  of 
souls.    Amen. 

These  prayers  are  to  be  said  kneeling  by 
the  celebrant,  alternately  with  the  people. 
There  is  an  indulgence  of  300  days  attached  to 
each  recital. 


The  Figlia  di  Maria  states  that  in  a  late 
audience  accorded  the  editor  of  that  period- 
ical, the  Holy  Father,  hearing  that  the  Pious 
Unions  already  aggregated  to  the  Primaria 
number  over  2,500,  warmly  praised  the  zeal 
of  the  various  directors,  adding  that  when 
Bishop  of  Perugia  he  had  much  at  heart  the 
furtherance  of  associations  in  honor  of  Our 
Blessed  I^ady,  and  had  issued  a  pastoral  letter 
expressive  of  his  desire  that  the  Pious  Union 
of  the  Children  of  Mary  should  be  canonically 
erected  in  each  parish  throughout  the  diocese, 
which  command  being  carried  out,  the  Daugh- 
ters of  Mary  were  ever  the  model  of  Christian 
women.  Now  since  by  the  grace  of  God  he 
had  been  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Church, 
he  reiterated  the  like  recommendation  to  the 
world  at  large,  and  wished  it  made  known  that 
he  earnestly  hoped  to  see  Pious  Unions  every- 
where established  and  flourishing. 


The  Austrian  pilgrims,  who  visited  lyourdes 
on  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption,  left  a  beau- 
tiful banner  as  a  souvenir  of  their  pilgrimage. 
On  one  side  is  a  large  Latin  cross,  in  the 
centre  of  which  is  to  be  seen  an  oval  medal- 
lion, bearing  the  image  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Rosary, with  an  inscription  invoking  her  aid. 
On  the  arms  of  the  cross  are  medallions,  show- 
ing images  of  the  patrons  of  the  different 
provinces  of  Austria.  On  the  reverse  is  an 
escutcheon,  with  the  inscription,  "All  ye  holy 
saints  of  the  lands  of  the  Monarchy,  pray  for 
our  Imperial  House  and  for  Austria!  " 


2«2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


M.  Berthier,  of  the  French  National  Insti- 
tute for  Deaf  and  Dumb,  deceased  in  Paris  last 
month  at  the  venerable  age  of  eighty-three, 
wrote  many  books,  among  them  a  life  of  the 
famous  Abbe  de  I'fepee,  and  was  a  member 
of  the  Society  of  Men  of  Letters,  and  of  the 
Society  of  Historical  Research.  M.  Berthier 
was  the  first  deaf-mute  to  receive  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor,  which  was  bestowed 
upon  him  for  distinguished  services  in  the 
cause  of  education. 


The  calendar  preserved  in  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Andrew  at  Villeneuve  (near  Avignon)  is  dated 
as  being  of  the  year  390;  it  contains  the  fol- 
lowing: 

Die  XV.  Augusti,  Assumptio  Sanctce  Maria;. 

This  fact  of  the  festival  having  established 
its  place  in  the  Roman  Calendar  in  the  fourth 
century  shows  that  observance  of,  and  belief 
in,  the  fact  of  the  Assumption  was  of  much 
earlier  date. — Indo-European  Correspondence . 


Archbishop  Kirby,  rector  of  the  Irish  Col- 
lege in  Rome,  is  said  to  have  shed  tears  of  joy 
on  being  told  of  the  new  church  about  to  be 
raised  in  the  Eternal  City  in  honor  of  St. 
Patrick.  In  congratulating  Prior  Glynn,  and 
forwarding  a  liberal  donation,  the  venerable 
prelate  writes: 

"  It  is  with  singular  pleasure  I  hear  of  your  in- 
tention to  build  a  church  in  Rome  in  honor  of  our 
glorious  Apostle,  St.  Patrick.  I  am  sure  this  noble 
thought  will  cause  a  thrill  of  joy  in  the  heart  of 
every  Irish  Catholic  who  shall  hear  of  it,  as  it  will 
fill  up  a  void  so  long  felt  in  the  Eternal  City,  which 
is  adorned  by  churches  in  honor  of  the  patrons  of 
different  countries,  whilst  the  Apostle  of  Ireland 
has  not  in  it  even  a  public  oratory  in  his  honor. 
It  will  be  your  proud  privilege,  with  the  cordial 
and  generous  co-operation  of  all  who  have  shared 
in  the  fruits  of  St.  Patrick's  labors,  to  fill  up  this 
void  by  the  erection  of  a  church  in  his  honor 
in  Rome,  where  he  received  the  authority  and 
blessing  of  St.  Celestine  to  bear  the  light  of  the 
Christian  faith  to  our  forefathers,  to  whom  he 
bequeathed,  together  with  this  treasure,  the  ad- 
monition that  by  the  fact  of  their  baptism  they 
all  became  Romans  —  spiritual  children  of  the 
Mother  who  by  Patrick  generated  them  to  Christ: 
'  Ut  Christiani  et  Romani  sitis. ' ' ' 


The  Baptist  Missionary  Society  of  America, 
after  nine  years  of  zealous  endeavors  and  a 
good  deal  of  expenditure,  have  finally  decided 
on  giving  up  Greece  as  the  field  of  their  mis- 


sionary labors:  the  total  number  of  converts, 
after  so  much  time  and  expense,  amounting 
to — zero  ! 

Sister  Gabriele,  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  who, 
in  the  most  self-sacrificing  manner,  has  de- 
voted nearly  the  whole  of  her  life  to  the  nurs- 
ing of  the  sick,  celebrated,  the  other  day,  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  her  religious  life  at  the 
City  Hospital  of  Coblentz  The  German  Em- 
peror drove  to  the  Hospital  to  congratulate 
Sister  Gabriele  in  the  most  gracious  manner, 
and  remained  with  her  for  half  an  hour.  The 
Grand  Duchess  of  Baden  sent  a  congratula  tory 
telegram .  —  Catholic  Times. 


The  American  College  in  Louvain,  which 
lately  entered  upon  the  thirtieth  year  of  its 
existence,  has  supplied  the  Church  in  this 
country  with  2  archbishops,  6  bishops,  and 
358  priests. 

Among  the  passengers  of  a  steamer  which 
left  Bordeaux  for  Brazil  a  few  weeks  ago  were 
eight  Sisters  of  Charity.  One,  Mother  Du- 
bost,  is  the  visitress  of  the  Order  for  the  prov- 
inces of  Rio,  Bahia,  etc.  This  venerable  nun  is 
in  her  ninetieth  year,  and  has  made  fift}^  voy- 
ages to  South  America  since  1848,  when  she 
introduced  the  Sisters  of  Charity  into  Brazil. 
She  has  herself  passed  more  than  half  of  the 
seventy  years  of  her  religious  life  in  that  coun- 
try. Mother  Dubost  is  a  native  of  Paris.  She 
embraced  the  religious  life  at  the  age  of  nine- 
teen. After  her  novitiate  she  was  sent  to  labor 
in  an  orphanage  for  abandoned  girls  at  Ver- 
sailles; and  since  that  period  she  has  worked 
like  a  true  Daughter  of  St.  Vincent  in  orphan- 
ages and  hospitals  in  the  hot  Brazilian  climate, 
having  left  her  post  but  five  times  to  make, 
in  the  mother-house  in  France,  the  retreats 
prescribed  by  the  rule  of  her  Order.  Mother 
Dubost  is  still  hale  and  vigorous. 


New  Publications. 


M.  DUPONT,  AND  THK  DbVOTION  TO  THK 
Holy  Face.  Translated  and  Abridged  from 
the  Work  of  M.  1' Abbe  Janvier,  Director  of  the 
Confraternity.  By  Julia  C.  Walsh.  Cincinnati: 
171  Sycamore  Street. 

This  little  pamphlet  gives  a  most  interest- 
ing sketch  of  the  career  of  a  holy  man,  and  of 
the  popular  devotions  of  which  he  was  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


283 


ialous  apostle.  A  life  spent  in  charity  and 
ictive  virtue,  such  as  is  seldom  witnessed  in 
:hese  degenerate  days,  can  not  be  made  the 
:heme  of  contemplation  without  good  results 
Dn  the  mind.  Many  devout  practices,  now 
:>ecome  familiar  to  Catholics  of  the  present 

entury,  may  trace,  if  not  their  origin,  at  least 
:heir  widespread  popularity,  to  the  zeal  of  this 
Christian  hero.  Among  these  is  the  devotion 
to  the  Holy  Face  of  Our  Saviour,  according  to 
the  impression  left  upon  the  Veil  of  Veronica 

as  it  is  popularly  called;  but  the  impress 
itself  is  the  ' '  Veronica, ' '  and  the  name  of  the . 
holy  woman  who  offered  the  veil  is  unknown), 
copies  of  which  are  nowadays  so  widely  dif- 
fused. Another  devotion  —  the  Nocturnal 
Adoration  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament — is  due, 
it  seems,  altogether  to  his  initiative.  The 
medal  of  St.  Benedict  also  owes  its  present  ce- 
lebrity to  the  efforts  of  M.  Dupont.  A  long  life 
of  seventy-nine  years,  spent  in  acts  of  devo- 
tion and  kindness  to  his  fellow-men,  was  at 
length  rewarded  by  a  happy  death,  and  his 
home  has  become  a  sanctuary  and  a  place  of 
pilgrimage. 

This  little  work  commends  itself  by  its  in- 
teresting style,  and  the  lady  who  has  trans- 
lated it  must  be  congratulated  on  the  excellent 
result  of  her  labors.  It  should  be  in  the  hands 
of  all. 

A  Hand-Book  of  Christian  Symbols  and 
Stories  of  thf  Saints,  as  Illustrated  in  Art. 
By  Clara  Brskine  Clement.  Edited  by  Kath- 
arine B.  Conway.  With  Descriptive  Illustra- 
tions.   Boston:  Ticknor  &  Co.    1886. 

Mrs.  Jameson's  well-known  works,  "lye- 
gends  of  the  Madonna, ' '  and  ' '  I^egends  of  the 
Monastic  Orders,"  cover  much  of  the  ground 
taken  by  our  present  authoress,  and  we  must 
be  pardoned  for  saying  that  Mrs.  Jameson  is 
superior  in  style.  In  the  book  before  us,  how- 
ever, we  have  the  results  of  later  research,  and 
legends  of  saints  not  belonging  to  monastic 
orders.  The  field,  therefore,  is  wider,  and  the 
alphabetic  arrangement  renders  it  more  use- 
ful as  a  work  of  reference.  The  object,  like 
Mrs.  Jameson's,  is  to  explain  those  works  of 
Christian  art  which  are  admired  by  all,  and 
yet  understood  by  so  few.  The  legends  are 
given  in  their  mediaeval  form,  which  often 
seems  grotesque  to  modern  habits  of  thought; 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  work  is 
not  devotional,  only  artistic;  and,  as  a  hand- 


book for  those  who  take  an  interest  in  works 
of  art,  is  of  great  value.  Finely  illustrated  by 
wood  engravings,  and  beautifully  bound  and 
printed,  it  is  worthy  of  the  excellent  publish- 
ing house  from  which  it  issues. 

The  Pirates  of  the:  Red  Sea.  Recollec- 
tions of  Travel.  Translated  from  the  German 
of  Karl  May.  Baltimore:  John  Murphy  &  Co. 
1886. 

We  hope  these  * '  traveller's  tales ' '  are  true, 
since  they  are  published  as  such;  and,  after 
all,  truth,  they  say,  is  often  stranger  than  fic- 
tion. But  one  draws  many  a  long  breath  while 
reading  of  the  hairbreadth  'scapes  of  this  rash 
adventurer,  who  swims  into  the  sacred  interior 
of  a  Mussulman  home  by  the  channel  intended 
to  convey  water  thither  from  the  Nile,  until 
he  finally  reaches  "a  new  obstacle.  This  was 
a  leaden  plate,  pierced  with  holes,  closing  the 
canal,  and  serving  as  a  kind  of  filter. ' '  He  was 
then  under  water,  and  would  have  been  as- 
phyxiated had  he  attempted  to  swim  back  to 
a  breathing  place.  Happily — shall  we  say 
happily? — the  leaden  plate  gives  way.  He  is 
constantly  getting  into  tight  places  of  this  de- 
scription, for  no  apparent  purpose  except  to 
get  out  again. 

His  translator  has  not  done  him  justice, 
we  believe.  Not  having  seen  the  original,  of 
course  we  can  not  affirm  conclusively;  but 
some  very  interesting  descriptions  —  that  of 
the  "chotts,"  for  instance — are  marred  by  an 
obscurity  which  may  not  be  the  author's.  Be- 
sides, he  says  "deliver  up,"  when  he  means 
"deliver,"  more  than  once;  also,  Mussulw<?;z, 
but,  fortunately,  not  Gormen;  "we  love  both 
thee  and  he"  (page  299),  and  otherwise  be- 
trays a  want  of  ear  for  grammar.  On  page  48 
we  read:  ' '  I  turned  completely  round  over  the 
poor  animal's  head,  which  I  pushed  away  in 
spite  of  myself,  who  instantly  disappeared." 
Those  addicted  to  the  deciphering  of  cunei- 
form inscriptions  may,  after  prolonged  atten- 
tion, come  to  the  conclusion  that  "which"  in 
this  sentence  relates  to  the  animal's  head,  and 
* '  who ' '  {Jiorribik  dicht)  to  the  animal  (a  horse) 
himself.  But  common  folks  will  never  know. 
It  will,  however,  increase  the  marvellous  ef- 
fect of  the  work  on  their  minds.  We  recom- 
mend it  to  all  who,  worn  out  and  dejected  by 
the  impossible,  as  found  in  such  works  as 
those  of  Munchausen,  seek  at  least  a  foothold 
to  which  their  mental  faculties  may  cling, 


284 


The  Ave  Maria. 


-with  the  assurance  that  sanity  is  yet  among 
the  things  that  are.  Got  up  in  very  neat 
style,  fancy  covers,  clear  type,  and  neat  wood- 
engravings  to  illustrate  the  text. 

"The  Judges  of  Faith.  Christian  vs.  Godless 
Schools.  By  Thomas  J.  Jenkins.  Baltimore: 
John  Murphy  &  Co  1886. 
This  pamphlet  is,  as  its  title-page  tells  us, 
a  collection  of  "Papal,  Pastoral,  and  Con- 
ciliar  rulings  the  world  over,  especially  of  the 
Third  Plenary  Council  of  Baltimore,  with 
retrospective  essays  on  the  struggle  for  Chris- 
tian Education. "  It  is  addressed  to  Catholic 
parents,  and  the  large  number  of  copies  al- 
ready in  circulation  is  proof  of  the  just  esti- 
mation in  which  it  is  held  by  those  for  whom 
it  has  been  compiled.  The  heart  of  the  author 
is  evidently  in  his  work,  and  he  has  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  clergy  and  hierarchy  as  well  as 
that  of  all  good  Christians. 


Obituary. 


**Itis  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Thomas  E.  Neville,  rector  of  St.  Mala- 
chy's  Church,  Pittsburg.  He  was  a  true  priest, 
particularly  esteemed  as  a  lover  of  the  poor. 

Mrs.  D.  Allen,  an  old  friend  of  The  "Ave  Ma- 
ria," deceased  in  Philadelphia  on  the  8th  ult., 
after  a  long  and  severe  illness. 

Mr.  Andrew  Byrne,  who  breathed  his  last  at 
Youngstown,  O.,  on  the  14th  of  August. 

Mrs.  Edith  M.  Surmeyer,  whose  fervent  Chris- 
tian life  was  crowned  with  a  precious  death  at 
'Quincy,  III.,  on  the  31st  ult. 

Mr.  Philip  Smith,  of  New  Haven,  Conn.,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  ist  inst. 

Mrs.  Sarah  Byrnes,  of  the  same  place,  whose 
happy  death  occurred  on  the  12th  of  July. 

Mr.  Anthony  Clarke,  of  Baltimore,  who  passed 
away  on  the  4th  inst.,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacra- 
ments. The  death  of  this  noble  Christian  gentle- 
man is  deeply  mourned  by  a  wide  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances and  a  devoted  family. 

Daniel  Grimes  and  Mrs.  D.  Grimes,  Tipperary, 
Ireland ;  Laurence  Mooney,  Ellen  Mooney,  Ed- 
ward Mooney,  Catharine  Mooney,  Thomas  Lee, 
Julia  Lee,  Thomas  and  Mary  McGill, — all  of  Mil- 
waukee, Wis. ;  Michael  Donovan  and  Miss  Cath- 
arine Hogan,  Fort  Wayne,  Ind.;  Mrs.  M.  Boyd, 
Springfield,  Co.  Roscommon,  Ireland;  Mary  Hol- 
ton,  Michael  Guilfoyle,  and  William  M.  Nicholas. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace. 


PA^TMENT 


Noble  Deeds. 


Ivf OBLE  deeds  that  lift  man  higher 
^^    From  this  sordid  world  of  ours 
Are  like  golden  beams  that  waken. 
From  their  slumbers,  lovely  flow'rs. 

Fruitful  seeds  from  generous  actions 
Plant  themselves  in  sands  of  Time, 

Bearing  bright  and  grand  examples. 
Like  effulgent  lights  that  shine. 

Yes:  like  stars  they  light  our  pathway 
To  a  wondrous  height  sublime; 

That,  by  courage,  faith  and  patience, 
We  may  to  that  haven  climb. 

Every  purpose  that  looks  upward, 
Every  noble  thought  that  burns, 

Puts  a  barrier  between  us 

And  the  things  a  true  heart  spurns. 

Virtues  spring  from  Love's  own  bosom- 
Jewels  they  from  heaven  rare; 

And  like  angels  they  surround  us, 
Borne  from  a  diviner  air. 

God's  love  bathes  the  soul  in  beauty. 
As  a  fountain's  limpid  spray 

Cloth' d  in  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
By  the  sunshine's  dazzling  ray. 

Right  triumphant  over  evil 
Blooms  in  fresh,  eternal  youth; 

And,  as  darkness  flees  from  daylight, 
Error  shuns  the  sight  of  Truth. 

ASBURY. 

♦  ■»  ♦ 

The  Birds  of  Heaven. 


"Once  upon  a  time"  I  had  a  dream.  It 
was  so  beautiful,  so  comforting,  and  so  ten- 
der a  lesson,  that  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  it. 

I  was  in  great  trouble.  Our  dear  father 
had  died  not  long  before,  and  our  mother 
had  fallen  ill  and  helpless  soon  after  his 
death.  We  girls  had  suddenly  been  brought 
from  a  very  happy,  sheltered,  easy  life,  and 


The  Ave  Maria, 


285 


f  at  adrift  in  the  busy  world,  to  see  to  every- 
1  hing,  do  everything,  and  earn  everything 
J  jr  ourselves.  We  knew  nothing  of  busi- 
]  .e3S,  we  knew  nothing  of  labor,  we  knew 
I  .othing  of  strangers,  or  the  manner  of  deal- 
i  ag  with  them.  Of  course  our  troubles  were 
laore  than  imaginary,  and  they  were  hard 
to  bear.  At  last  there  came  a  time  when 
hope  seemed  absolute  folly:  we  could  not 
surmount  this  next  difficulty. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  day  I  came  to  this 
conclusion.  We  lived  in  a  very  comfortable 
house  in  a  pleasant  part  of  the  city,  and  I 
was  walking  home  to  it  from  an  interview 
with  a  business  man,  who  aided  me  with  all 
his  power,  and  cheered  me  with  all  kind- 
ness. But  even  he  could  not  see  light  ahead 
that  day.  He  could  only  send  me  home 
with  kind  words  and  vague  phrases. 

"We'll  see!  we'll  see!  Nothing  will 
happen  to-morrow,  at  any  rate.  Keep  up 
your  courage !  keep  up  your  courage !  You 
are  good  children — good  girls,  both  of  you. 
We'll  see!    It  will  all  come  right." 

But  I  was  past  such  comfort ;  I  was  utterly 
miserable,  and  too  broken-hearted  to  have 
faith  in  anything.  As  I  walked  on  wearily, 
I  saw  only  the  horrors  of  the  streets.  Such 
filth  and  poverty, such  cruelty  and  sickness, 
such  babies  and  such  mothers,  and  such 
homes!  Thus  the  poor  dwelt,  and  we  were 
poor.  Oh!  what  was  before  us!  Over  and 
over  it  all  my  wearied  brain  toiled  on,  and 
along  the  muddy,  dismal  streets  my  tired 
feet  slowly  drew  near  home. 

The  bricks  and  cobble-stones  of  one  street 
had  all  been  torn  up  and  scattered  since  I 
passed  that  way  a  few  hours  before,  and 
workmen  were  busy  with  trenches  and 
pipes  and  great  flat  stones.  I  picked  my 
way  through  the  disorder,  because  it  was 
the  nearest  way  home,  too  miserable  to  care 
for  the  mud,  the  slips,  the  splashing,  and 
scarcely  noting  that  I  was  in  front  of  the 
parish  church — the  Gesu.  I  was  so  unhappy 
I  was  wicked,  and  never  remembered  to 
turn  my  head  and  give  even  a  passing 
thought  or  a  silent  word  of  thanks  to  our 
iear  Lord,  patiently  waiting  upon  the  altar 
ivithin.    But  He  reminded  me  of  it,  I  am 


sure.  I  reached  home  at  last.  There  was 
nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  do  but  wait.  We 
had  a  sorrowful  supper,  a  gloomy  evening, 
and.  went  hopelessly  to  bed.  I  was  so  tired 
I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep  immediately,  and 
then  I  had  my  dream. 

In  it  I  was  walking  over  that  broken  and 
unpaved  street,  only  it  was — as  is  always 
the  way  of  dreams — a  thousandfold  worse 
than  I  had  seen  it  in  truth.  The  mud  seemed 
hardly  thicker  than  water,  and  black  and 
,  noisome.  There  were  great  gaps  and  chasms, 
in  some  of  which  men  were  at  work,  cower- 
ingly  and  sullenly, — men  who  looked  up 
at  me  with  cruel  eyes  and  evil  mouths,  and 
seemed  to  threaten  me  without  uttering  a 
word.  From  stone  to  stone,  amid  the  great- 
est desolation  and  ruin  —  for  I  could  see 
only  empty  and  crumbling  houses  on  either 
side,  where  it  had  always  been  so  crowded 
and  noisy  and  busy, — I  picked  my  way  in 
growing  terror  and  perplexity.  But  I  was 
going  towards  the  church,  not  from  it;  and 
I  came,  after  a  long  while,  to  a  narrow 
curbing  of  stone,  supporting  the  iron  fence 
around  it.  I  clung  to  the  rails,  and  slowly 
and  painfully  worked  my  way  towards  the 
gate.  How  long,  long,  long  the  time  seemed 
until  I  reached  it!  All  the  time  I  had  no 
thought  of  seeking  comfort  for  my  fears,  or 
shelter  from  danger  in  the  church.  It  was 
only  to  me  what  any  other  building  would 
have  been.  I  was  not,  even  in  my  dreams, 
seeking  Our  Lord.  I  was  simply  carrying 
my  trouble  with  me,  and  the  way  lay  here. 
I  came  to  the  gate  at  last,  struggled 
round  the  great  iron  post,  and  stood  on  firm 
ground.  The  brick  pavement  before  the 
high  steps  was  just  as  I  had  always  seen  it, 
and  the  same  old  people — one  old  woman, 
with  a  little  plaid  shawl  over  her  white 
cap  with  its  wide  border,  as  I  had  seen  her 
every  day  for  a  year, — were  slowly  going  up 
to  the  church  doors.  As  I  came  to  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  they  all  stood  quite  still  for  a 
moment,  and  then  turned  slowly  round,  and 
looked  beyond  me  with  awed,  pale  faces. 
There  was  suddenly  an  awful  noise  every-, 
where — strange  and  tremulous,  and  terribly 
grand,    It  rolled   nearer  and  nearer,  not 


286 


The  Ave  At  aria. 


alone  as  thunder  rolls,  but  as  though  the 
"fountains  of  the  great  deep  were  broken 
up,"  and  pouring  towards  us  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  It  became  dark — a 
livid  darkness,  worse  than  the  forerunner  of 
a  storm.  I  can  not  describe  it  so  that  any 
one  could  see  it  even  in  his  "mind's  eye" 
as  I  saw  it,  hurrying  and  trembling  as  I  was 
on  the  steps  without  the  church. 

As  I  stood  on  the  last  step,  the  great 
doors  flew  open,  wide  and  high  as  the 
church  itself,  and  afar  off  I  saw  the  gilded 
shrines  of  the  relics  of  the  saints  on  the 
altar  gleaming  and  glowing  like  a  pure 
flame.  But  they  did  not  seem  to  light  the 
air  around  them,  or  to  dispel  the  awful 
darkness.  Only  from  the  sanctuary  lamp, 
crimson  as  blood,  trembling,  quivering,  yet 
burning  steadily  upward,  there  streamed 
one  long,  bright  ray,  into  which  I  felt 
drawn  and  held.  It  led  me  slowly  up  the 
aisle  through  a  silent,  swaying  throng  I 
could  feel  but  could  not  see,  and  I  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar.  I  knelt  down.  All  was 
still  for  a  moment.  The  horrible  noise  and 
tumult  was  deadened  and  held  off  by  the 
sacred  walls.  Then  a  voice  near  me,  but  I 
knew  not  where  nor  whose, — a  sweet,  soft, 
tender  voice  like  nothing  else  I  ever  heard, 
said,  very  low,  but  oh !  so  clearly :  '  'And  yet 
there  is  room ! "    Only  that. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  rush  and  whir 
of  wings.  The  light  around  the  sanctuary 
lamp  grew  wonderfully  vivid  and  far-reach- 
ing, and  I  could  see  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  tiny  birds,  around  me  and  over  me 
and  before  me,  hurrying  in  through  the 
great  doors,  and  casting  themselves  upon 
the  altar  steps  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  pf  de- 
lighted rest.  They  were  only  common  little 
sparrows — dusky  balls  of  brown  feathers, 
with  bright,  little,  far-seeing  eyes;  biit  the 
vast  numbers,  and  the  movement,  and  the 
strange,  unreal,  dream  feeling,  gave  them  a 
singular  dignity  and  pathos  in  their  united 
action.  There  was  no  struggle,  no  haste, 
no  fear.  They  just  hovered  and  settled,  one 
after  another,  one  after  another,  until  the 
altar  steps,  the  floor,  the  railing,  every 
place  near  the  altar  was  warm  and  palpitat- 


ing with  them.  And,  oh!  the  little  con- 
tented chirps  and  twitters,  the  nestling  and 
rustling  of  the  downy  little  breasts,  and  the 
frail,  little,  folded  wings! 

There  came  down  upon  all  a  sweet,  brood- 
ing peace.  At  longer  and  longer  intervals 
the  silence  was  thrilled,  not  broken,  by  a 
faint  bird  voice  —  a  half- uttered,  tender, 
bird's  beautiful  thanksgiving,  or  loving 
greeting.  Darkness  was  still  there,  the  noise 
was  without,  the  throng  of  unseen  watchers 
was  around  the  birds  and  me,  but  I  minded 
nothing.  I  had  not  a  fear,  not  a  desire,  not 
a  longing.  The  birds  and  I  were  safe.  God 
had  us.  I  felt  it  in  every  atom  of  my  being; 
and  then  I  slept  as  I  never  slept  before. 

When  I  awoke  my  care  was  all  gone.  It 
never  came  back.  The  dream  had  comforted 
me  to  my  very  heart's  core.  I  thought  of  it 
all  day,  with  longings  unutterable  to  visit 
the  church,  and  when  I  reached  there  the 
impression  only  deepened  into  greater  viv- 
idness. It  was  like  going  into  a  dear  home, 
where  rest  untold  was  sure  to  abide.  "The 
little  birds  sang  east  and  the  little  birds 
sang  west"  their  sweet  thanksgiving,  in 
voices  I  alone  could  hear  as  I  knelt  in  the 
very  spot  of  my  dream. 

Years  have  gone  by  since  that  time.  The 
"  dark  days  "  never  came  to  us  at  all.  In  ways 
no  man  could  have  foreseen,  help  and  com- 
fort and  strength  and  wisdom  came  to  us  as 
they  come  to  the  birds — out  of  God's  dear 
Hand. 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  lesson  of  my 
dream.  I  love  with  a  warm  affection  the 
tiniest,  chirpiest,  sauciest  sparrow  I  see,  be- 
cause of  that  night  we  watched  together  in 
a  vision,  and  the  birds  sang  with  never  a 
fear  nor  a  doubt  of  the  morning  coming 
' '  in  due  season. ' '  And  there  is  not  a  spot  on 
earth  quite  like  the  altar  steps  of  the  dear 
and  blessed  Gesii. 

We  all  know  that,  as  a  general  thing,  we 
must  not  tell  our  dreams,  nor  talk  of  them,  j 
nor,  above  all,  put  faith  in  them  as  having  j 
a  meaning.  But  we  may  get  a  lesson  from  | 
anything,  and  Our  Lord  comforts  us  as  He  i 
pleases.  It  was  surely  from  Him  the  lesson 
and  the  comfort  came  to  me,  and  surely  it 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


28^ 


as  He  wlio  led  me,  even  in  my  sleep  and  by 
t  le  shadowy  links  of  a  dream,  back  to  His 
(  wn  words  so  many  years  ago :  '  *  Fear  not, 
t  lerefore ;  you  are  of  more  value  than  many 


s  oarrows. 


i 


,he  Short  Life  Fulfilling  a  Long  Time. 


BY    RIvIZA    ALLKN    STARR. 


Holy  Saturday  morning  the  letter-carrier 
brought  a  small  parcel  bearing  a  Florida 
postmark,  and,  opening  it,  we  found  a  box 
full  of  roses  in  bud,  almost  as  fresh  as  when 
gathered, so  carefully  had  they  been  packed ; 
and  on  a  card,  written  in  a  bold  hand,  which 
had  trembled  a  little  from  weakness: 

"happy   EASTER   TO   MISS  STARR ! 
FROM   TOM    PRINDIVILLE." 

"Poor   Tom!    it  is  his  last  Easter  on 
I  earth,"  I  said,  the  tears  starting  as  I  read; 
I  and,  kissing  the  fragrant  buds  as  if  they  had 
I  come  from  the  hand  of  one  already  trans- 
I  lated,*I  placed  them  in  a  dish  so  that  each 
J3ud  would  touch  the  water,  and  each  stem 
show  through  the  crystal.  Swift  as  light  my 
memory  gave  me  the  pictures  it  had  kept 
faithfully  for  twenty  years,  and  Susan  Wat- 
son stood  before  me  in  all  the  beauty  of  her 
maidenhood — the  clear,  dark  eyes,  so  niildly 
expressive;  the  lips  as  rich  as  the  opening 
rose-buds;  the  oval  face;   the  open  brow, 
from  which   the  dark  hair  was  smoothly 
parted;  the  figure  and  whole  aspect  buoyant 
yet  gentle.     She  had  come  from  a  town 
not  far  distant,  with  her  aunt,  to  take  les- 
sons in  my  studio,  and  for  more  than  a  year 
she  was,  in  herself,  a  living  suggestion  and 
inspiration  to  the  study  of  beauty;  while 
her  own  work  showed  such  a  sense  of  it, 
both  in  nature  and  art,  as  to  make  her  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  pupils. 

The  lessons  ended  only  a  few  days  be- 
fore her  marriage  to  Thomas  J.  Prindiville, 
one  of  the  promising  young  ni^n  of  the 
"North  Side,"  and  the  story  of  the  wed- 
ding, as  it  came  to  me,  was  like  an  idyl  in 
its  simplicity.  The  country  church  stood 
on  a  corner  of  her  father's  domain,  and  one 
fresh  May  morning  the  young  bride  and 


bridegroom,  with  -their  numerous  friends, 
walked  over  the  greensward  to  the  church, 
the  light  wind  that  blew  the  apple-blossoms 
now  and  then  from  the  boughs  lifting  the 
tulle  that  veiled  her  blushing  face.  The 
Nuptial  Mass  and  Benediction  over,  they 
returned  the  same  way,  only  the  veil  was 
lifted  and  thrown  back,  and  there  was  an 
exultation  on  the  face  and  in  the  step  of  the 
bride  as  well  as  of  the  bridegroom.  It  was 
such  a  wedding  as  Evangeline  would  have 
had  in  Acadie,  had  no  eviction  sent  her  and 
her  Gabriel  into  the  world,  to  find  each  other 
only  at  death. 

The  next  picture  was  the  figure  of  this 
young  wife,  her  little  boy  Tommy  at  her 
side,  bowed  over  her  young  husband  who 
lay  in  the  sleep  of  de^th — not  in  his  costly 
casket,  but  on  a  couch  among  his  kindred ; 
still  one  of  them,  and  only  the  wasted  feat- 
ures telling  of  the  stroke  of  death.  There 
had  been  long  months  of  hope  and  fear,  but 
no  Southern  clime  could  restore  him ;  and  in 
a  few  months,  heart-broken,  without  mak- 
ing a  struggle  for  life,  the  mother  was  taken 
from  the  boy  who  had  stood  with  her  as  she 
knelt  beside  his  dead  father.  We  almost 
wondered  to  see  the  little  fellow  growing  up 
with  rosy  cheeks,  and  a  light-heartedness, 
too,  that  told  how  tenderly  the  child  was 
being  reared,  so  that  he  had  never  missed  a 
caress  which  father  or  mother  would  have 
given  him;  and  the  pictures  by  which  he 
remembered  them  were  those  of  their  happy 
wedding  day,  in  the  time  of  blossoming  or- 
chards. But  the  blight,  though  hidden,  was 
still  there.  Like  his  mother,  he  took  his 
lessons  in  the  studio  until  he  had  grown  to 
be  a  tall  boy.  Just  then  the  blight  began 
to  show,  and  in  his  seventeenth  year  his 
mind  and  heart  had  a  certain  precocious- 
ness,  a  thoughtfulness,  a  tenderness,  an  as- 
piration we  may  say,  beyond  his  years. 

His  cheek  had  an  October  flush,  which 
reminds  one  of  death;  and  when  the  eigh- 
teenth year — the  Winter  of  1885-6 — came, 
all  college  plans,  all  ideas  of  vocation  or 
profession,  yielded  to  the  necessity  of  a 
Winter  in  Florida.  He  returned  during 
the  Paschal  days,  and  on  the  last  day  of 


288 


The  Ave  Marid. 


June  —  the  last  day  of  the  Month  Of  the 
Sacred^Heart — he  breathed  out  his  young 
life  as  peacefully  as  father  and  mother  had 
done  so  few  years  before  him;  sustained  by 
the  same  faith,  the  same  hope,  the  same 
Sacraments,  and  exchanging  the  beautiful 
hopes  of  innocent  youth  for  the  everlasting 
realities  of  heaven.  It  all  reads  like  a  poem, 
all  sounds  like  some  strain  of  music,  the 
pain  only  putting  it  in  a  minor  key,  and 
giving  a  pathos  which  makes  us  weep ;  but 
our  tears  fall  gently  even  on  his  grave. 

But  the  poetic  beauty  of  this  simple  story 
is  not  all.  Underlying  the  boyish  vivacity, 
and  the  gentleness  of  a  nature  essentially 
noble,  was  a  wellspring  of  supernatural  be- 
liefs, traditions,  habits,  inherited  in  some 
degree,  but  developed  and  confirmed  by  the 
careful'^'education  he  received  from  those 
who  stood  to  him  in  the  place  of  his  parents; 
for,  had  he  been  deprived  of  these  influences, 
how  soon  might  not  the  inherited  graces 
and  spiritual  gifts  have  disappeared!  But 
now  he  had  kept  to  the  very  last  not  only 
the  innocence  which  knows  no  sin,  but  a 
spiritual- mindedness  which  forbade  its  ap- 
proach. From  his  first  confession  to  his 
last  he  had  never  need  of  urging.  It  was 
a  duty,  and  as  such  he  complied  with  its  re- 
quirements; but  it  was  something  more :  it 
was  a  source  of  spiritual  safety,  of  spiritual 
joy,  to  be  sought  rather  than  avoided;  and 
his  Communions,  from  first  to  last,  were 
precious  privileges,  by  which  were  to  be 
secured  not  only  blessings  for  himself,  but 
to  those  souls  to  whom  he  owed  a  filial  ser- 
vice, and  who  were  never  forgotten. 

Then  his  Rosary — it  was  never  outgrown ; 
and  the  Angelus  never  sounded  unheeded 
by  Tommy  in  his  most  light-hearted  years. 
In  the  midst  of  play-fellows,  a  far-away  look 
came  into  the  laughing  eyes;  and  in  his 
aunt's  family  he  never  failed  to  call  their 
attention  to  it.  The  Sunday  Mass  of  obli- 
gation did  not  finish  the  Sunday  for  our 
youth,  growing  too  tall  for  his  years,  with 
the  soft  down  of  coming  manhood  on  his 
lip ;  for  Vespers  and  Benediction  he  dearly 
loved,  and  was  never  happy  unless  he  was 
accompanied  to  them  by  some  one  of  the 


household.  There  was  a  quality  in  his  piety 
which  gave  forth,  at  evening  as  well  as 
morning,  the  perfume  of  praise  and  the  in- 
cense of  thanksgiving. 

Are  we  wrong  in  believing  that  the  story 
of  such  a  life  is  one  that  will  touch  many 
a  youth  beginning  to  feel  that  devotion  is 
"becoming"  only  to  the  very  young  or  the 
very  old;  all  the  more  from  the  fact  that 
this  life  was  lived  in  their  own  midst,  under 
the  very  influences  surrounding  themselves, 
which  are  too  often  made  an  excuse  for  the 
neglect  of  what  should  not  only  be  com- 
plied with  as  duties,  but  laid  hold  of  as 
privileges,  not  to  be  bought  with  any  price 
less  than  that  which  has  given  us  the  sure 
hope  of  a  blessed  immortality? 


A  Pretty  Story  of  the  Sistine  Madonna. 

Raphael,  so  the  story  goes,  was  one  time 
painting  an  altar-piece,  which  was,  for  the 
nonce,  veiled  from  the  curious  gaze  by  curtains 
while  the  paint  was  in  process  of  drying*.  The 
artist,  weary  with  his  work,  had  fallen  asleep 
before  the  closed  hangings;  but,  though  his 
body  slumbered,  his  wondrous  mind  still  wan- 
dered through  the  realms  of  fancy;  and  as  he 
lay  in  sleep  he  saw  the  curtains  open,  and 
standing  between  them,  surrounded  by  myr- 
iads of  cherubim,  a  glorious  vision  of  the  Ma- 
donna and  Child.  For  a  moment  only  the  ap- 
parition lasted,  and  then  the  painter  awoke  to 
find  the  curtains  closed  before  the  altar-piece. 

Next  day  he  received  an  order  to  paint  a 
Madonna  for  the  Sistine  Chapel,  introducing 
Pope  St.  Sixtus.  Raphael,  still  haunted  by 
the  remembrance  of  his  dream,  resolved  to 
paint  what  he  had  seen.  He  sketched  the  Ma- 
donna and  Child  surrounded  by  angel  heads, 
with  the  green  curtains  drawn  back  on  both 
sides.  St.  Sixtus  knelt  down  in  adoration,  his 
tiara  resting  on  the  altar  ledge.  St.  Barbara 
occupied  the  other  side  of  the  painting.  The 
picture  was  complete;  the  vision  was  there, 
and  the  requirements  of  the  order  fulfilled. 
Still  something  was  wanting.  The  bare  ledge 
troubled  the  artist's  eye,  till  one  day  going  to 
his  studio  he  saw  two  boys  leaning  on  the  side, 
looking  intently  at  his  work.  He  seized  the 
happy  moment  and  fixed  them  on  his  canvas 
as  the  adoring  cherubim. 


Vol.  XXIIL       NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  25,  1886.  No.  13. 


(Copyright :— lUv.  D.  E.  Hudsob,  C.  8.  C] 


Cor  Purissimum. 


Ipl  HEART  of  Jesus!  there  is  one — 
^     One  only  Heart  where  Thou  canst  see 
Thy  perfect  image,  as  the  sun 

In  crystal  lake  may  mirrored  be. 
No  storm  disturbs  that  mirror's  face, 

No  cloud  obscures  its  silver  sheen — 
Green  marge,  blue  sky ,  we  there  may  trace 

In  fainter  blue  and  softer  green. 

That  mirror  fair  is  Mary's  Heart. 

O  Virgin  Mother,  meek  and  mild! 
Remember  that  to  me  thou  art 

What  mother  is  to  feeble  child. 
The  tenderest  love  that  e'er  heart  warmed 

Doth  God  to  mother's  bVeast  impart 
For  babe  the  sickliest,  most  deformed, — 

And  such  am  I  to  Mary's  Heart. 

Our  sinful  hearts  are  stern  and  hard 

Towards  brother,  sister,  in  their  fall; 
The  Heart  that  sin  has  never  marred 

Is  kinder,  meeker  far  than  all. 
Thy  Heart,  O  Mary !  will  not  spurn 

What  lyove  Divine  can  still  endure; 
To  thy  Son's  Heart  with  hope  I  turn — 

Plead  for  me  there,  O  Heart  most  pure! 


The  whole  of  Mary,  and  all  the  benig- 
ty  of  Her  queendom,  and  all  the  glory  of 
er  exaltation,  and  all  the  splendor  of  Her 
aces,  and  all  the  mysteries  of  Her  mother- 
od,  are  because  of  the  Precious  Blood. — 
iber. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY   CHRISTIAN   REID. 


XIV. 

HE  two  men  regarded  each  other 
i  for  fully  a  minute  in  silence  after 
those  words  were  spoken.  Then  a 
sudden  change  came  over  the  elder  man. 
He  who  had  been  as  hot  as  fire  now  grew 
cold  as  ice.  "I  begin  to  understand,"  he 
said.  ' '  I  have  not  been  as  blind  as  you  per- 
haps imagined.  After  your  appeal  to  me 
some  time  ago  on  behalf  of  the  person  whose 
name  you  have  just  mentioned,  I  caused 
some  inquiries  to  be  made.  I  heard  of  the 
existence  of  a  very  good-looking  young 
woman,  and  I  also  heard  of  your  acquaint- 
ance with  her,  although  you  had  assured  me 
that  you  possessed  no  personal  knowledge 
of  those  people." 

"What  I  told  you  was  true,"  replied 
Philip.  "I  had  then  no  personal  knowl- 
edge whatever  of  them.  It  was  afterward 
that  I  became,  by  accident,  acquainted  with 
Miss  Percival." 

"Ah!  afterward!"  said  Mr.  Thornton, 
with  the  same  cold  sarcasm.  ' '  That  leaves 
your  extraordinary  intercession  in  her  be- 
half unaccounted  for;  but  it  is  quite  sufii- 
cient  to  account  for  the  sudden  religious 
scruples  which  interfere  with  your  marry- 
ing Constance  and  for  the  insult  which  you 
have  just  permitted  yourself  to  insinuate 
toward  me.    Understand, ' '  he  went  on,  fix- 


290 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ing  his  eyes  on  the  pale  face  of  the  young 
man,  ' '  that  it  is  a  matter  of  complete  indif- 
ference to  me  what  the  Percivals  may  say 
regarding  me;  but  that  you  should  listen  to 
their  slanders,  and  venture  to  repeat  them 
to  me— that  is  something  which  I  can  not 
overlook." 

"Miss  Percival  —  I  do  not  know,  have 
never  even  seen,  her  mother — has  never 
mentioned  your  name  to  me, ' '  said  Philip. 
' '  My  acquaintance  with  her  is  exceedingly 
slight,  and  I  solemnly  assure  you  that  it  was 
not  from  her  that  I  heard  the  story  which 
has  given  me  so  much  pain.  A  person  to- 
tally unconnected  with  the  Percival  family 
told  it  to  me  as  it  is  generally  believed.  If, ' ' 
he  continued,  with  agitation — "if  you  can 
disprove  it,  you  will  lift  from  my  mind  and 
heart  the  heaviest  burden  they  have  ever 
known. ' ' 

"Do  you  think,"  demanded  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton, contemptuously,  "that  I  shall  conde- 
scend to  disprove  for  you — for  you  indeed! 
— slanders  to  which  you  should  never  have 
listened ! ' ' 

' '  It  is  not  for  me  that  I  ask  you  to  dis- 
prove them,"  Philip  answered,  "but  for 
your  own  honor.  Surely  you  do  not  know 
what  men  say  and  believe  of  you !  Shall  I 
tell  you  what  they  say?  It  is  hard — but  you 
ought  to  know.  They  say" — looking  with 
pained  eyes  into  the  face  so  steadily  regard- 
ing him — "that  you  knew  the  value  of  the 
stocks  in  which  Robert  Percival  had  in- 
vested, even  while  they  were  depreciated, 
and  that  when  they  had  become  as  valuable 
as  he  anticipated  you  still  retained  the  prop- 
erty which  he  had  given  up  to  make  good 
your  loss. ' ' 

' '  Well/ '  said  Mr.  Thorn tou — and  his  cold 
tones  made  a  striking  contrast  to  the  agi- 
tated accents  of  the  other — "and  what  if 
they  do  say  this?  They  might  say  much 
worse,  and  I  should  not  think  it  worth  a 
moment's  notice." 

"But  your  good  name?"  urged  Philip; 
"your  reputation  for  integrity,  surely  you 
think  that  of  importance?" 

' '  My  name  is  good  on  '  Change, ' '  replied 
the  other,  brusquely.  ' '  Everyone  knows  its 


worth  there.  I  have  no  time  to  trouble  my- 
self with  considering  how  it  is  valued  else- 
where. I  do  not  find,"  with  a  sarcastic 
smile,  ' '  that  people  are  given  to  shunning 
me." 

"  No, "  said  Philip.  ' '  There  is  a  part  of 
the  world  —  a  large  part — that  condones 
anything  in  the  man  who  is  rich  and  suc- 
cessful. But  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  a 
man  of  honor  could  be  satisfied  with  that 
kind  of  respect.  He  would  also  want  the 
good  opinion  of  men  whose  opinion  is 
worth  having.  My  dear  uncle' '  — in  his  ear- 
nestness he  stepped  nearer  the  elder  man— 
' '  I  beg  you  to  consider  for  a  moment  what 
such  charges  as  these  mean,  how  they  affect 
your  position  in  the  eyes  of  men  who  are 
not  dazzled  by  wealth.  For  my  sake,  if  not 
for  your  own,  explain  them,  deny  them,  if 
they  can  be  explained  or  denied." 

Perhaps  Mr.  Thornton  was  more  moved 
than  he  wished  to  betray  by  these  words  and 
the  expression  of  the  young  face  looking 
down  on  him.  It  may  have  seemed  to  him 
in  some  sort  a  Nemesis  —  this  pale,  set 
countenance  with  its  pleading  eyes.  At  all 
events,  his  own  eyes  dropped  for  the  first 
time. 

"For  your  sake!"  he  repeated.  "You  cer- 
tainly deserve  a  great  deal  from  me — you| 
who  have  not  only  set  my  wishes  at  defi- 
ance, but  who  make  yourself  the  mouth- 
piece of  my  enemies ! ' ' 

"Put  me  out  of  the  question,  then,"  sale 
Philip,  too  intent  upon  his  point  to  answei 
the  last  charge,  "and  for  your  own  sab 
give  me  the  right  to  deny  these  statements.' 

"What  is  there  to  deny?"  said  Mr 
Thornton,  looking  up  again  and  speakin< 
with  much  irritation.  "  It  is  quite  true  tha 
when  I  found  myself  on  the  verge  of  xyxw 
through  the  unprincipled  speculation  of  nr 
partner,  I  forced  him  to  reimburse  me  fo 
the  losses  I  had  sustained.  His  property 
of  which  so  much  has  been  said,  did  nc| 
cover  those  losses;  but  after  much  struggl 
and  mental  anxiety  I  pulled  through.  Lou  I 
afterward  the  stock  which  had  been  leftcj 
my  hands  as  waste  paper  appreciated  ij 
value,  but  what  then?    Was   I  bound  l 


The  Ave  Maria. 


291 


re  open  a  closed  business  and  unsettle  my 
al  "airs  by  accounting  to  the  Percivals — the 
m  m  himself  was  dead — for  what  had  passed 
iD:o  my  hands  in  a  perfectly  legitimate 
m  mner  ?  It  would  have  been  quixotic  folly, 
aiid  I  am  not  a  fool.  Now  I  have  answered 
yc  u,  and  you  may  answer  the  statements 
about  which  you  are  concerned  as  you 
please,  only  understand  that  this  subject  is 
closed  between  us  once  for  all." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  would  like  to 

answer  those  statements?"  asked  Philip, 

undismayed  by  the  peremptory  sharpness 

of  the  last  words.   ' '  I  should  like  to  be  able 

to  say  that,  thinking  of  the  higher  moral 

|law  rather  than  of  the  failing  human  law 

that  gives  you  the  right  to  retain  this  prop- 

rty,  you  have  accounted  to  the  heirs  of 

Robert  Percival  for  all  that  passed  into  your 

bands,  and  have  so  cleared  your  name  and 

^our  soul  from  any  shade  of  wrong-doing. ' ' 

"Wrong-doing!"    repeated  Mr.  Thorn- 

;on.   ' '  Your  insolence  passes  all  bounds.   I 

lave  listened  to  you  quite  long  enough. 

[ycave  the  room, sir!  and  remember  that  you 

leed  not  present  yourself  to  me  again  until 

/ou  are  prepared  to  comply  unconditionally 

vith  my  wishes." 

' '  I  fear,  then,  that  it  will  be  long  before 

shall  see  you  again,"  said  Philip,  much 

noved.   ' '  I  am  deeply  grieved  that  I  should 

eem  to  make  an  ungrateful  return  for  your 

dndness  and  generosity.    I  can  only  hope 

hat  some  day  you  will  recognize  that  your 

lemand  is  unreasonable. ' ' 

''Unreasonable!"  cried  Mr.  Thornton, 
vho  was  growing  very  hot  again.  ' '  I  am 
0  give  you  a  princely  fortune  and  exact 
othingin  return,  forsooth!  or,  better  still, 
am  to  endow  the  Percival  girl  with  a 
3rtune  in  order  that  you  may  marry  her! 
repeat  that  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  I  tell  you 
bat  not  a  sixpence  of  my  money  shall  ever 
0  to  the  Percivals,  directly  or  indirectly, 
.ay  that  to  heart,  and  now — go!" 
He  pointed  to  the  door,  his  hand  trem- 
ling  with  anger,  and  Philip  had  no  alter- 
ative but  to  obey  the  gesture.  He  recog- 
ized  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained 
y  prolonging  the  interview  in  his  uncle's 


present  state  of  mind.  He  bent  his  head, 
therefore,  and,  without  trusting  himself  to 
speak  again,  turned  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  straight  to  his  chamber  and 
made  immediate  preparations  for  leaving 
the  house.  Mr.  Thornton's  command  co- 
incided with  his  own  wishes  in  this  respect. 
He  felt  that  it  was  no  longer  a  place  for 
him.  He  rested  under  the  odium  of  refus- 
ing to  marry  Constance,  he  had  alienated 
the  feelings  of  his  uncle,  and  he  wished  to 
profit  no  longer  by  money  that  had  a  stain 
of  moral  wrong  upon  it.  All  of  these  things 
pressed  upon  him  as  reasons  to  be  gone,  yet 
it  was  with  a  sad  heart  that  he  prepared 
for  a  leave-taking  that  might  be  final. 
Since  he  entered  it  as  a  boy  of  twelve,  this 
had  been  a  happy  home  to  him;  here  he 
had  received  unvarying  kindness,  and  ben- 
efits without  number.  Thinking  of  the 
last,  his  resolution  almost  failed,  for  he 
had  none  of  that  dominant  self-will  which 
makes  resistance  to  the  wishes  of  others 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise  to  some 
people.  In  his  softened  mood,  in  his  deep 
horror  for  ingratitude,  it  is  likely  that  he 
might  have  surrendered  altogether  as  far  as 
Constance  was  concerned  if  the  recollection 
of  the  Percival  matter  had  not  made  him 
glad  of  any  excuse  to  escape  the  burden  of 
unjustly- acquired  wealth. 

.So,  when  his  preparations  were  all  made, 
he  cast  a  look  of  farewell  around  the  room 
that  he  might  never  enter  again,  and  went 
down  in  search  of  Mrs.  Thornton.  Under 
no-  circumstances  could  he  leave  without 
bidding  her  adieu,  although  he  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  alienating  her  also.  Fort- 
unately Constance  was  out,  spending  the 
evening;  but  he  feared  to  find  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton with  his  wife.  This  proved  an  un- 
founded fear,  however:  the  lady  was  alone 
in  her  sitting-room,  reading  a  novel,  which 
she  laid  down  as  he  entered.  Though  she 
looked  so  serene,  so  steeped  as  it  were  in 
quiet,  she  had  in  fact  been  wondering  what 
could  detain  her  husband  and  his  nephew 
so  long.  When  the  latter  entered,  she  looked 
up  with  a  glance  of  mingled  relief  and 
inquiry. 


292 


The  Ave  Maria. 


''Where  is  your  uncle?"  she  asked. 
''Did  you  leave  him  in  the  library?" 

"I  left  him  in  the  library  half  an  hour 
ago, ' '  the  young  man  answered.  ' '  My  dear 
aunt,  I  come  to  thank  you  for  all  your  great 
kindness  to  me  and  to  bid  you  good-bye." 

"Philip!  what  do  you  mean?"  she  ex- 
claimed, startled  by  his  manner  as  well  as 
his  words.    "Where  are  you  going?  " 

"Oh,  not  far;  only  into  the  city  for  the 
present,"  he  answered.  "But  I  may  not 
see  you  again  for  some  time,  since  my  uncle 
thinks  it  best  that  we  should  live  apart, 
and  I  agree  with  him. ' ' 

"Your  uncle  —  thinks  it  best  that  you 
should  live  apart!"  she  repeated,  incredu- 
lously. "You  must  be  mistaken.  You  must 
know  that  he  is  devoted  to  you.  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  you  are  the  person  in  the  world 
he  cares  most  for. ' ' 

"1  hope  not,"  said  Philip,  gravely;  "for 
I  have  been  forced  to  disappoint  him,  and 
he  can  not  forgive  this.  He  has  told  me 
plainly  not  to  present  myself  to  him  again 
until  I  am  prepared  to  fulfil  his  wishes.  So, 
you  see,  I  have  no  option  but  to  go." 

Mrs.  Thornton's  delicate  face  grew  some- 
what cold ;  but  she  was  a  kind  woman ;  she 
was  fond  of  Philip,  and  her  heart,  as  well 
as  that  of  her  husband,  had  been  set  on  the 
hope  of  a  marriage  between  Constance  and 
himself.  Therefore,  although  she  was  vexed 
with  the  young  man  for  his  insensibility 
and  obstinacy,  she  determined  to  play  the 
part  of  peacemaker,  if  possible. 

"And  why,"  she  asked,  "can  you  not 
fulfil  his  wishes?  Surely,  Philip,  you  are 
not  so  bigoted  as  to  sacrifice  your  prospects 
in  life,  the  opportunity  of  gratifying  your 
uncle,  and  I  may  say  even  your  own  hap- 
piness— :for  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of 
you  to  believe  that  you  will  be  happy  when 
you  are  separated  from  us  all — to  a  narrow 
religious  scruple?  How  can  you  be  so  un- 
reasonable as  to  expect  Constance  to  give 
up  her  religion  for  yours?" 

"My  dear  aunt,"  answered  Philip,  who 
would  gladly  have  avoided  this  discussion, 
but  saw  that  there  was  no  hope  of  doing  so, 
"I  do  not  expect  Constance  to  give  up  her 


religion.  I  only  asked  her  if  she  would  not 
examine  the  claims  of  the  Catholic  faith,  in 
the  hope  that  by  examination  she  would  be 
led  to  embrace  it.  You  must  agree  with  me 
that  it  is  desirable  that  those  whose  lives  are 
united  in  the  closest  possible  manner  should 
be  united  also  in  belief. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton,  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  concedes  a  doubtful  point,  "  it  is 
surely  desirable,  but  it  is  not  necessary.  If 
two  people  are  reasonable  and  liberal,  there 
is  no  reason  why  they  should  not  each  go  his 
pr  her  own  way  without  anything  disagree- 
able at  all." 

"And  the  children  probably  would  go 
their  own  way  also, ' '  rejoined  Philip,  dryly. 
"It  is  necessary  to  look  a  little  ahead  in 
these  matters.  I  suppose  I  do  seem  to  you 
bigoted, ' '  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  regret, ' '  but 
at  least  you  will  admit  that  I  am  the  chief 
sufferer  thereby.  My  uncle  will  probably 
make  Constance  his  heiress,  and  she  will  be 
able  to  marry  as  she  likes.  Of  course  you 
know  that  she  does  not  care  for  me. ' ' 

"If  she  does  not,  it  is  your  own  fault," 
observed  Mrs.  Thornton.  ' '  You  could  easily 
have  made  her  care  for  you ;  but  you  have 
neglected  her  in  a  manner  that  no  woman 
— and  especially  a  woman  so  much  admired 
as  Constance — could  possibly  endure. ' ' 

' '  I  am  ready  to  cry  mea  culpa^ ' '  replied 
Philip,  who  was  nervously  anxious  to  be 
gope ;  ' '  but  it  is  too  late  now. ' ' 

"Nothing  is  too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton, rising,  and  laying  her  hand  impressively 
on  his  arm.  ' '  You  need  not  fancy  that  your 
uncle  will  make  Con  stance  his  heiress.  She 
is  not  a  Thornton,  and  he  will  not  dream  of 
it.  His  heart  is  set  on  you.  Only  to-day 
when  he  came  in  he  told  me  his  plans  for  you 
— how  he  wanted  to  see  you  married,  in  the 
first  place,  in  order  that  he  might  make  his 
will,  '  for  I  have  had  some  symptoms  of  late 
that  I  do  not  like,'  he  said,  'and  a  man 
should  be  prepared  for  anything.'  Then 
he  wants  you  to  go  into  politics,  to  become 
distinguished—  Oh!  Philip,  Philip!  how 
have  you  the  heart  to  disappoint  him  so!" 

Philip  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  her  the 
reason  why,  so  he  felt  that  the  sooner  this 


The  Ave  Maria. 


293 


ng  interview  was  ended,  the  better.  He 
t(  ok  the  hand  that  lay  on  his  arm  and  kissed 
it 

"I  can  not  tell  you  all  the  motives  that 
a(  tuate  me, ' '  he  said ;  "  but  I  beg  you  to  be- 
lieve that  they  are  strong,  else  I  could  never 
resist  your  appeal;  I  could  never  leave  you 
tc  think  me  cold,  hard-hearted,  insensible 
to  all  your  goodness.  But  I  can  not  remain: 
it  is  impossible.  Forgive  me,  if  you  can — 
ard  good-bye." 

He  turned  quickly,  and  before  she  could 
utter  another  word,  had  left  the  room. 
(to  be  continued.) 


With  Staff  ar)d  Scrip. 


BY    CHARI.ES   WARREN    STODDARD. 


VH.— Glimpses  of  Asia  Minor. 

OETTING  Under  Way.— The  farewells 
IjT  had  scarcely  been  said — we  swung  at 
mchor  off  Beirut,  steam  up,  and  the  warn- 
ng  whistle  screaming  savagely  at  the  tardy 
light  of  the  shore-folk — the  warmth  of  the 
ast  hand-clasp  still  tingled  in  our  palms, 
^hen  we  dismissed  Syria  and  all  her  mani- 
old  associations,  turning  eagerly  and  stu- 
iously  to  the  charts  of  our  new  cruise.   So 
oon  does  the  prospect  of  a  fresh  experience 
bliterate  the  impressions  of  the  past  in  the 
arbaric  and  bewildering  Hast! 
It  was  twilight.  The  shore  was  bathed  in 
le  soft  radiance  of  the  after- glow;  Lebanon 
)wered  above  us  like  a  mount  of  glory; 
le  land-breeze  stole  over  the  sea  freighted 
ith  the  delicious  odor  of  citron  groves.   It 
as  an  hour  picked  out  of  ten  thousand — 
1  hour  that  one  never  forgets. 
Near  us  three  ships  lay  at  anchor;  their 
earn  was  also  up;   their  decks  swarmed 
ith  excited  people,  and  an  unbroken  line 
small  boats  and  lighters  passed  to  and 
)  between  the  ships  and  shore.  The  Sul- 
ci had  called  for  help,  and  Northern  Syria 
lis    drained.     These    barges   bore    some 


tousands  of  men  (I  forget  the  exact  num- 
r)  out  to  the  ships  that  were  to  convey 
^m  to  the  seat  of  war.    They  were  all 


maddened  with  drink,  and  with  the  fanat- 
ical Turkish  music  that  was  heard  on  deck 
and  echoed  from  the  land.  They  joined  the 
barbaric  chorus,  and  thus  took  leave  of  the 
land  they  love  with  a  lover's  adoration,  to 
meet  their  miserable  fate  at  the  front. 

It  was  said  in  Beirut  that  there  was  not 
time,  nor  inclination  either,  to  properly 
provision  the  transport  ships,  and  that  the 
soldiers  were  to  be  put  on  short  allowance 
immediately.  It  was  said  also  that  when 
fever  or  an  epidemic  breaks  out  on  a  Turk- 
ish troop  ship,  the  victims  are  immediately 
dropped  overboard,  as  it  is  easier  to  sacri- 
fice a  few  than  to  endanger  the  many. 

Old  friends  met  us  at  table  that  night, — 
friends  who  had  dropped  in  upon  us  at 
Cairo,  the  Nile  cataract,  Jerusalem,  Damas- 
cus, and  almost  everywhere.  We  steamed 
over  the  smooth  sea  together,  and  paced 
the  deck  far  into  the  night,  smoking,  dream- 
ing, chatting,  comparing  notes,  and  laugh- 
ing to  think  how  small  the  world  is,  and 
how  the  traveller  is  forever  renewing  the 
chance  acquaintance, which,  agreeable  as  it 
is  for  the  time,  is  usually  dropped  without 
more  than  a  momentary  regret. 

Cyprus. — At  dawn  our  anchor  chain 
whizzed  overboard,  and  the  good  ship 
trembled  from  stem  to  stern.  We  came  to  a 
standstill  in  a  shallow  sea,  about  the  color 
of  pea-soup,  off  the  flat  shores  of  Cyprus. 
The  island  is  rather  forbidding,  all  ashen- 
gray  and  dead.  A  few  dusty  palms  and  fewer 
cypresses  rise  above  the  low,  white  walls  of 
the  port,  and  they  are  the  only  greenish 
things  visible.  In  the  centre  of  the  island, 
some  miles  back  from  the  coast,  rises  a 
splendid  mountain.  I  raked  the  ship  to  find 
some  oracle  who  could  give  me  its  name. 
Of  course  our  guide-gooks  were  all  packed 
away.  One  never  has  a  guide-book  in  hand 
when  it  is  most  needed.  I  ventured  to  pro- 
nounce it  Olympus,  but  was  frowned  down 
by  an  enraged  multitude  not  yet  prepared 
for  so  glorious  a  spectacle. 

All  day  long  the  ship  rocked  in  an  ugly 
chop-sea;  but  some  of  us,  at  the  risk  of  a 
wetting,  went  on  shore  to  stroll  about  one 
of  the  dullest  towns  in  the  world.    We  re- 


294 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fused  to  purchase  a  half  bushel  of  antique 
earthen  vases  for  a  mere  song.  Back  for 
dinner,  after  a  sand  storm  on  shore  and  a 
spray  bath  in  the  little  boat  that  bore  us 
over  to  the  ship  again,  we  discovered  that 
Mount  Troadas — the  old  fellow  towering 
7,000  feet  above  the  sea — is  really  the 
Cyprian  Olympus.  Out  of  these  tumbling 
waters  sprang  the  foam-born  Venus.  To 
this  hour  there  is  an  annual  festival  in  the 
island,  much  frequented  by  virgins,  who  are 
there  sought  in  marriage.  W(hat  is  this  but 
a  modification  of  the  ancient  rites  observed 
by  the  Cyprians?  The  feast,  called  the 
"Deluge,"  is  supposed  to  commemorate 
the  birth  of  Venus,  and  all  Cyprus  on  that 
day  goes  boating  in  honor  of  their  beautiful 
but  rather  disreputable  goddess. 

The  Cyprians  were  famous  for  their 
beauty.  It  was  as  much  as  a  young  man's 
heart  was  worth  to  go  on  shore  in  the  old, 
old  days.  He  may  go  now ;  for  the  maidens 
have  grown  peaked,  and  there  is  nothing 
left  on  the  premises  more  tempting  than 
a  glas=;  of  weak  lime  juice,  and  a  cigar  so 
strong  that  it  actually  kicks  in  your  teeth. 
Larnic,  our  seaport,  is  the  ancient  Chittim, 
the  same  that  has  been  written  of  by  Isaiah, 
Jeremiah,  Ezekiel,  and  Daniel.  This  fact  is 
the  only  interesting  feature  of  the  place. 

We  put  off  to  sea  at  sunset,  and  hugged 
the  island  all  that  night;  for  there  are  145 
miles  of  her.  Olympus  was  star- crowned 
and  beautiful.  The  burnt- offerings  that  as- 
cended in  that  purple  dusk  were  fragrant 
in  the  nostrils  of  the  faithful;  and  there 
was  something  pleasant,  though  pantheis- 
tical, in  the  thought  that  those  skies  were 
once  clouded  with  gods. 

All  the  following  day  we  steamed  along 
the  coast  of  Asia  Minor.  How  agreeable  it 
was  to  turn  from  the  blue  desert,  the  watery 
waste,  and  watch  the  huge  mountains,  the 
distant  mist-filled  valleys,  and  the  cloud- 
like capes  and  promontories  that  bathed  in 
the  azure  sea  under  the  azure  sky! 

Rhodes.  —  Another  night,  and  in  the 
early  dawn  that  followed  we  came  to  a 
standstill  in  the  harbor  of  ancient  Rhodes. 
Coaling  and  the  transfer  of  luggage  made 


night  so  hideous  that  half  the  ship's  pas- 
sengers turned  out  in  a  state  of  alarm.  It 
was  still  dark.  Nothing  in  the  harbor  was 
visible  but  a  huge  revolving  light,  that 
threw  at  intervals  a  ghastly  ray  across  the 
ink-black  sea.  By  and  by  a  cloud  parted 
in  the  horizon  and  disclosed  the  skeleton 
of  the  moon,  which  lodged  for  a  moment 
among  the  black  spars  of  a  ship  that  lay  at 
anchor  near  us,  and  then  fell  and  sank  like 
a  corpse  in  the  dark  waters  of  the  sea. 

This  was  the  island  that  Apollo  called 
from  the  waves,  one  of  the  oldest  land- 
marks in  history,  possessing  one  of  the 
finest  climates  in  the  world; — an  island  that 
has  been  much  shaken  by  wars  and  earth- 
quakes; that  was  fortified  by  the  Knights 
of  St.  John,  and  is  still  lovely  to  look  upon, 
though  the  Colossus  fell  long  ago,  and  was 
carted  away,  nearly  a  thousand  years  later, 
on  the  humps  of  nine  hundred  camels.  A 
Jew  bought  it  for  old  iron,  and  no  doubt  it 
was  a  bargain.  Would  you  believe  it? — 
there  is  no  authority  for  stating  that  the  Co- 
lossus, which  was  105  feet  high,  stood  over 
the  mouth  of  the  harbor  with  a  foot  on  each 
shore.  So  perish  one  after  another,  all  pretty 
fables  of  antiquity — and  more's  the  pity  I 

Smyrna. — Under  way  once  more  for  a 
cruise  of  four  -  and  -  twenty  hours  among 
islands  the  most  famous  in  the  world.  An- 
other night,  with  the  sea  so  placid  that  the 
image  of  each  star  floats  unbroken  on  its 
oily  surface.  Another  morning,  and  our  en- 
gine suddenly  stops,  reverses,  stops  again;  a 
lot  of  little  bells  jingle  in  the  engine-room; 
our  anchor  chain  whizzes  overboard.  What 
a  jolly  sound  it  is,  and  what  a  good,  long 
breath  of  satisfaction  a  fellow  draws  after  it! 

On  the  instant  I  run  to  my  side-light  and 
have  a  picture  all  my  own.  I  see  back  of 
the  cumbrous  brass  frame  of  the  bull's-eye, 
through  which  I  stare  eagerly,  a  flour- white 
city,  reflected  in  the  sea,  which  kisses  its  \ 
very  feet; — a  snow-white  city,  blown  like  a| 
drift  along  the  slope  of  green  mountains; 
an  antique  castle  on  the  mountain- top,  and! 
in  the  town  below  clusters  of  minarets  look- 
ing like  huge  waxen  candles,  each  tippedj 
with  a  crescent  flame.  Off"  to  the  right  a' 


b 


The  Ave  Maria, 


295 


(  reat  forest  of  sombre  cypresses.  How  like 
i  funeral  pall  it  sweeps  across  the  shoulders 
c  f  the  mountains !  This  is  Smyrna — "in- 
f  del  Smyrna" — a  city  of  200,000  souls,  of 
V  hom  90,000  are  Greeks,  80,000  Turks,  and 
t  le  others  Catholics  or  Jews. 

Our  ship  was  soon  deserted ;  the  morning 
coffee  was  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of 
tlie  hour;  twenty  caiques  were  laden  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  as  the  imbat — the  daily 
zi^phyr  that  blows  the  breath  of  the  plague 
out  of  Smyrna — was  rising,  we  hoisted  sail 
and  did  the  regatta  business  for  about  fifteen 
minutes  in  the  most  gorgeous  style. 

There  are  rugs  and  carpets  in  Smyrna; 
there  are  sponges,  emery,  chrome  ore,  mad- 
der-root, liquorice  paste,  opium,  and  attar 
of  rose.  Smyrna  was  a  great  cotton  port 
before  the  rise  of  New  Orleans;  now  it  runs 
to  mulberries  and  silkworms;  but,  after  all, 
it  is  the  fig  of  Smyrna  which  sweetens  our 
memory  of  a  brief  sojourn  among  its  booths 
and  bazaars. 

Would  you  believe  it? — there  are  people 

who  actually  search  for  the  site  of  the  church 

writ  of  in  the  Apocalypse;  Smyrna  was  one 

)f  the  seven  referred  to  by  St.  John.    The 

)bliging  guides  kindly  point  out  one  ruin 

)r  another,  in  order  to  supply  the  demand ; 

)ut  in  the  ancient  Acropolis,  on  the  slope  of 

he  mountain  back  of  the  town,  there  is  a 

uined  mosque.  This  was  originally  a  Chris- 

ian  church,  and  there  St.  Polycarp  preached 

I  little  below  it,  on  the  site  of  the  stadium^ 

be  Saint  was  martyred.    A  solitary  cypress 

Lands  like  a  funeral  shaft  to  mark  the  hal- 

)wed  spot. 

Ephesus. — A  railroad  strikes  out  from 
myrna  for  the  heart  of  Asia.  It  has  not 
cached  it  yet,  but  it  runs  through  Ephesus, 
^  miles  distant,  and  thither  most  pilgrims 
How  it.  Even  in  this  brief  excursion  you 
11  among  the  fugitives  and  the  heralds  of 
le  nomadic  tribes  that  stretch  all  the  way 
China.  There  are  real  gypsies  here,  with 
eir  own  tongue,  their  own  religion,  and 
ith  inimitable  vices  and  virtues,  likewise 
I  their  own.  What  is  left  of  Ephesus  is  a 
ambling  tower,  a  few  shattered  columns, 
bterranean  chambers,  the  outlines  of  Cy- 


clopean walls,  and  a  handful  of  troublesome 
people,  who  bore  you  with  antique  coins  and 
bits  of  ancient  pottery.  The  desolation  of 
Ephesus  defies  description.  Dramatic  jus- 
tice seems  to  demand  the  total  annihilation 
of  a  city  whose  origin  is  attributed  to  the 
gods,  though  its  chief  temple  was  one  of  the 
seven  wonders  of  the  world;  and  the  city 
itself  was,  next  to  Jerusalem,  the  holiest  of 
Christian  cities,  and  the  most  noted  in  Apos- 
tolic labors. 

The  Ephesus  of  to-day  is  a  meadow, 
littered  with  fragments  of  marble,  and  in 
many  places  undermined.  Even  the  prim- 
itive plow  of  the  Levant  would  find  it  dif-* 
ficult  to  tear  the  sod  in  so  strong  a  field. 
This  was  the  refuge  of  Latona;  the  cradle 
of  Apollo  and  Diana;  the  haunt  of  the  great 
god  Pan;  the  scene  of  the  metamorphosis 
of  Syrinx  into  a  reed;  the  chief  seat  of  the 
Amazons,  where  Bacchus  contended  with 
them,  and  Hercules  defeated  them.  Ephesus 
contended  for  the  honor  of  Homer's  birth; 
she  had  her  poets — Callinus  and  Musaeus 
— and  her  schools  of  philosophy,  painting, 
sculpture,  architecture,  metal  work,  magic, 
and  afterward  of  Christian  philosophy.  The 
heroes  of  two  thousand  years  visited  Ephe- 
sus, and  are  associated  with  her  history. 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  held  gorgeous  revels 
in  the  splendid  city,  and,  thence  collect- 
ing players  and  musicians,  they  sailed  for 
Sam  OS  in  a  fleet  of  barges,  the  sight  of  which 
must  have,  recalled  the  days  and  the  deeds 
of  the  gods. 

The  Christian  history  of  Ephesus  is  no 
less  remarkable.  Almost  within  the  shadow 
of  the  sacred  grove  where  Pan  piped  and 
where  Diana  slew  Orion;  where  the  statue 
of  Hecate  was  enshrined,  the  magnificence 
of  which  was  so  terrible  that  men  were 
struck  blind  with  the  sight  of  it;  where  the 
Eleusinian  mysteries  and  the  mysteries  of 
Ceres  were  celebrated — here  Paul  planted 
and  Apollos  watered ;  St.  John  the  Evan- 
gelist, released  from  Patmos,  found  sanctu- 
ary and  death  in  the  bosom  of  the  firsfof  the 
seven  churches  which  he  had  addressed  in 
his  Revelation.  Tradition  mingles  with  the 
fame  of  Ephesus  the  name  of  the  Blessed 


^g6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Virgin  and  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen,  as  well 
as  many  others.  But  the  Grotto  of  the  Seven 
Sleepers  is,  perhaps,  the  most  famous  shrine 
in  the  vicinity;  for  it  has  been  a  place  of 
pilgrimage  during  fifteen  centuries,  not  only 
for  Christians  but  for  Mohammedans,  who 
have  a  chapter  on  the  Grotto  in  their  Koran. 
To- day  you  may  purchase  in  the  Talisman 
Bazaar  of  Smyrna  golden  medals  or  pre- 
cious stones  engraved  with  the  names  of  the 
Seven  Sleepers,  and  these  are  warranted  to 
act  as  a  powerful  charm  against  evil. 

"Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians!"  was 
the  cry  that  once  rang  through  the  glorious 
city,  but  the  cry  was  raised  for  one  who  is 
greater  than  all  others;  and,  though  the  city 
was  ' '  nigh  unto  the  sea, ' '  and  its  port  is  one 
of  the  great  inlets  to  the  Bast,  there  is  noth- 
ing of  it  left  but  a  few  marblesthat  are  moss- 
grown,  and  a  few  chambers  that  are  filled 
with  mould,  and  all  its  history  is  as  a  hand- 
ful of  leaves  that  are  scattered  in  the  winds. 

Having  restored  my  soul  with  the  figs 
and  sherbet  of  Smyrna,  I  was  ready  to  laugh 
at  the  burden  bearers  that  stagger  through 
the  streets  humped  like  camels ;  they  all  wear 
a  kind  of  leather  saddle  strapped  to  their 
shoulders,  that  makes  a  platform  back  ot 
their  neck.  They  are  as  strong  as  giants,  and 
trot  off  with  astonishing  burdens;  anything, 
in  fact,  from  a  piano  to  a  small  cottage. 

Boom !  it  was  the  gun  from  our  ship,  and 
a  peremptory  recall.  We  swallowed  our 
cofiee  in  a  little  ball  of  soft  black  grounds 
— the  less  liquor  the  more  delicious  the 
draught  in  the  mouth  of  a  Mohammedan — 
sprang  into  a  caique,  spread  sail  in  a  stiff 
breeze,  and  plunged  over  the  tossing  waves 
in  a  perpetual  shower  of  spray:  Smyrna, 
far  astern,  looked  awfully  pretty  from  the 
sea;  but  our  visit  reminded  us  of  some  im- 
promptu picnic  rather  than  of  anything 
more  serious;  yet  Smyrna  was  called  in  her 
day  the  Forest  of  Philosophers,  the  Mu- 
seum of  Ionia,  the  Asylum  of  the  Muses 
and  Graces,  and  she  is  now  known  as  the 
pleasure-house  of  the  seductive  Smyrniot, 
whom  "Eothen"  calls  the  young  Perse- 
phone, transcendent  Queen  of  Shades! 
(to  be  continued.) 


To  a  Crimson  Cactus  Flower. 


T^LOOD-RED,  quivering,  beautiful, 
^    Wonderful,  royal  flower! 
Throned  on  thy  thorny  branches, 

Flashing  in  perfect  power! 
Crowned  with  the  type  of  suff'ring. 

Dazzling,  lovely,  and  rare; 
Bring  to  my  heart  some  lesson. 

Some  touch  of  inspired  prayer. 

II. 
Exquisite  crimson  blossom, 

Why  are  thy  robes  so  red? 
Say,  wast  thou  near  the  Martyrs 

When  their  sacred  blood  was  shed? 
Tell  me,  didst  bloom  on  Calvary 

When  the  King  of  Martyrs  died? 
Perhaps  that  crimson  glory 

Fell  from  His  bleeding  Side. 

III. 
Perhaps  thy  thorny  harshness 

Covered  the  mountain  high, 
When  His  Cross,  the  first  Good  Friday, 

Stood  out 'gainst  the  angry  sky; 
Perhaps  His  Sacred  Heart-Blood 

Sprinkled  thee  like  a  spray. 
And  these  blood-like  stars  of  beauty 

Are  trace  of  Its  gleaming  way. 

IV. 

Mayhap  the  Angels  took  thee, 

Bore  thee  to  nearer  skies, 
Blessing  thy  rugged  growing 

With  the  watching  of  their  eyes; 
Writing  upon  thy  branches — 

Each  radiant  flower  gem — 
That  suffering,  even  to  bloodshed, 

Is  \h.^  perfect  way  for  men. 


Suffering  e'en  as  our  Master, 

Till  life,  like  thy  thorny  tree, 
Recalls  the  sorrows  of  Calvary 

Or  of  sad  Gethsemane. 
Till  the  joy  of  His  love  shall  fill  us, 

lyike  the  bloom  on  thy  rugged  stem, 
And  Seraphs  shall  feast  on  the  beauty 

He  gives  to  us,  not  them, 

VI. 


So,  wonderful  cactus  flower, 
I  take  thee  unto  my  heart; 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


297 


Sink  deeply  into  my  spirit, 

And  teach  it  that  ' '  higher ' '  part. 

And  thy  beautiful  crimson  blossoms, 
Throned  on  their  thorny  tree, 

Will  ever  be  type  of  the  lesson 
Preached  from  the  Cross  to  me. 

Mercedes. 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVII.— (Continued.) 

FABIAN  was  still  in  Umbria  when  Lau- 
rence and  Hippolytus  won  their  crowns 
and  palms  by  sufferings  so  cruel  that  even 
Rome  shuddered  and  sickened  at  the  spec- 
tacle. He  was  enjoying  through  all  his 
beauty-loving,  sensuous  nature  the  quiet 
solitudes  and  balmy  fragrance  of  the  wild, 
forest-clad  hills,  where  no  sound  or  rumor 
of  the  discordant  passions  of  men  and  their 
conflicts  could  reach  him,  until,  having  re- 
gained the  mental  poise  so  rudely  shaken 
by  the  tragic  fate  of  Evaristus,  he  decided 
to  return  home.  Fate  and  the  Furies,  he 
thought,  having  done  their  worst,  he  would 
from  henceforth  face  the  sunshine,  and 
leave  the  ghosts  of  the  past  to  oblivion.  He 
little  dreamed  of  what  lay  before  him,  and 
how  near  it  was. 

So  one  day  Fabian  walked  into  his  pal- 
ace as  if  he  had  left  it  only  an  hour  before, 
refreshed  himself  with   a  bath,  took  his 
prandial   meal,  drank  a  cup  of  wine,  and 
stretched  himself  upon  the  pillows  of  his 
couch,  where  he  slept  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon.   When   he   awoke,  fully   recovered 
from  the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  he  ordered 
his  horse  to  ride  to  the  villa  on  the  Aventine, 
where   he  hoped    to  find    Nemesius,  from 
vvhom  he  would  hear  all  that  was  worth 
snowing  of  what  had  been  going  on  in  the 
5loman  world  during  his  absence;   and  a 
ofter  expression  stole  over  his  handsome 
ace  as  he  thought  of  seeing  Claudia,  who 
leld  a  deeper  place  in  his  affections  than  he 
limself  knew. 
He  had  a  new  pet  for  his  little  friend, 


which  he  had  pT_irchased  one  day  out  on 
the  hills  from  some  hunters  on  their  way 
down  to  their  homes  in  the  valley;  they  had 
brought  it  from  the  other  side  of  the  Apen- 
nines. It  was  a  species  of  beautiful  little  an- 
telope, *  soft  and  furry,  with  great,  mild  eyes, 
and  slender  legs.  When  the  hunters  killed 
its  mother,  it  was  too  young  to  stand  alone, 
and  they  had  borne  it  along  in  their  arms, 
almost  humanizing  it  by  their  care;  so  that 
when  they  were  lucky  enough  to  meet  Fa- 
bian it  was  very  tame,  which  fact  increased 
its  value.  He  gave  them  their  price,  and 
confided  the  little  creature  to  the  care  of  the 
peasant-farmer  under  whose  thatched  roof 
he  sometimes  slept,  and  who  for  a  generous 
gratuity  agreed  to  deliver  it  safely  in  Rome, 
whither  he-  was  preparing  to  go  with  his 
olives  and  sun-dried  figs  and  honey-combs, 
— a  long  way  to  carry  his  products,  but  he 
got  a  better  price  for  them  there  than  at 
home. 

The  peasant  faithfully  fulfilled  his  trust, 
and  Fabian  was  well  satisfied  on  his  return 
to  find  the  pretty,  graceful  thing  arrived  and 
in  good  condition.  He  anticipated  Claudia's 
delight  in  the  possession  of  such  a  gentle 
pet,  which  she  could  fondle  and  love,  and 
her  amusement  when  he  should  relate  all 
that  he  had  treasured  up — facts  mixed  with 
fable — for  her  entertainment ;  for  he  counted 
no  stretch  of  the  imagination  or  poetic 
license  too  great,  if  it  won  a  laugh  from  her. 
He  thought  of  her  as  still  blind,  and  that  it 
was  his  chief  mission  upon  earth  to  make  her 
happy,  notwithstanding  the  cruel  decrees  of 
Fate. 

Fabian  was  full  of  pleasant  thoughts  when 
he  got  in  sight  of  the  great  bronze  gates  of 
the  villa,  but  his  attention  was  suddenly 
arrested  by  the  sight  of  quite  a  number  of 
miserable-looking  beings  who'  had  just  is- 
sued from  the  avenue,  followed  by  Admetus, 
with  a  basket  on  his  arm,  evidently  intent 
on  some  errand.  Hearing  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  on  the  stony  road,  the  youth  looked 
up  in  pleased  recognition  of  the  noble  gen- 
tleman, who  had  always  a  kind  word  for  him 


*  Known  to  us  as  gazelle. 


The  Ave  Maru 


whenever  they  met.    He  would  have  gone 
on  his  way,  but  Fabian  drew  rein,  saying: 

"Aha!  \^\\.\}L\ow^my  choragiis!  Tell  me, 
if  thou  canst,  the  meaning  of  yonder  miser- 
able procession." 

"The  times  are  very  hard  for  the  poor, 
sir,  and  there  are  many  in  Rome  who  are 
starving,  and  some  of  them  come  here  for 
alms,"  replied  Admetus. 

"It  would  be  more  merciful  to  throw  the 
poor  wretches  into  the  Tiber,  and  so  end 
their  miserable  existence;  but  never  fear: 
I  will  do  them  no  mischief,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly, as  he  noticed  the  quick  shadow  that 
fell  over  the  boy's  face.  "I  spoke  in  their 
interests,  not  my  own;  for  life,  my  choragus^ 
is  not  worth  much  even  to  the  most  fortu- 
nate.   Are  all  well  at  the  villa?" 

Answering  in  the  affirmative,  Admetus 
would  have  passed  on  had  not  Fabian  tossed 
him  some  silver,  saying,  "For  thy  poor"; 
and,  with  a  whispered  blessing  on  the  gener- 
ous pagan  doner,  he  stooped  to  gather  it  up, 
and  by  the  time  he  had  secured  the  last  coin, 
he  was  alone,  and  Fabian  was  already  at  the 
other  end  of  the  broad  avenue. 

When  Fabian  dismounted  a  slave  led 
away  his  horse;  he  crossed  the  portico  and 
went  into  the  atrium^  hoping  to  find  Clau- 
dia there,  as  it  was  her  favorite  spot  within 
doors;  but  all  was  silent,  and  only  the  beau- 
tiful lights  and  golden  shadows  dancing 
through  the  vines  over  the  mosaic  floor 
greeted  him.  He  heard  a  footstep;  it  was 
one  of  the  household  slaves  who  had  seen 
him  enter,  and  come  to  know  his  pleasure. 
"The  donzellina  is  in  the  gardens  some- 
where," she  said,  in  reply  to  his  question 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Claudia. 

"As  I  might  have  known,  had  I  not  been 
stupid,"  he  thought,  as  he  turned  to  go  and 
seek  her.  He  hastened  through  the  fragrant 
alleys  down  towards  the  old  Grotto  of 
Silenus,  expecting  to  find  her  and  Zilla 
at  the  fountain,  weaving  fresh  wreaths  for 
the  Penates.  But  another  spectacle  met  his 
astonished  eyes:  he  saw  a  number  of  pale- 
faced,  scantily-clothed  little  children,  some 
of  them  leaning  over  the  low  rim  of  the 
fountain,  splashing  the  water  with   their 


hands,  while  others  rolled  lazily  on  the 
violet-sprinkled  grass,  happy  in  the  sweet 
odors  and  the  sunlit  beauty  of  all  things 
around  them. 

Fabian  stood  bewildered  by  the  sight, 
and  began  to  think  he  must  be  under  a 
spell  of  some  sort.  What  could  this  mean? 
A  swarm  of  beggars  at  the  gate,  and  here, 
in  the  most  private  part  of  the  gardens,  re- 
served exclusively  for  the  use  of  the  family 
and  their  guests,  infantile  paupers  of  the 
rabble  class  apparently  as  much  at  home  as 
if  everything  belonged  to  them !  How  could 
he  know  that  these  little  creatures  were  the 
orphans  of  those  who  had  suffered  for  Christ, 
whom  Claudia,  not  knowing  all,  had  taken 
under  her  especial  care  and  made  her  daily 
companions?  Poor,  friendless  and  sick,  she 
knew  them  to  be  the  "little  ones"  of  Him 
she  loved,  and  this  was  sufficient  to  enlist 
her  sympathies  and  endear  them  to  her,  and 
make  her  joyful  in  her  ministrations  to 
them. 

Claudia  was  near  the  grotto,  training  up 
some  vines  over  a  trellis  that  a  recent  storm 
had  displaced,  concealed  from  observation 
herself  but  able  to  see  all  around  her 
through  the  green  net-work.  She  heard 
footsteps,  and,  glancing  through,  she  saw  a 
tall,  handsome  stranger  approaching,  who 
stopped  to  gaze  curiously  on  the  children, 
and  then  cast  his  eyes  around  as  if  in  search 
of  something  else.  She  was  there  alone  and 
unprotected,  and  a  tremor  of  dismay  paled 
her  face;  but  perhaps  he  would  pass  on  and 
take  no  notice.  But  instead  of  passing  on, 
Fabian,  who  knew  every  spot  she  loved, 
came  straight  towards  her  as  she  stood 
mounted  on  a  moss-grown  stump,  holding 
up  the  vagrant  vines.  Seeing  that  discov- 
ery was  inevitable,  she  dropped  the  vines 
and  stood  revealed,  an  image  of  loveliness 
against  the  dark  foliage  of  the  background, 

' '  Have  I  found  thee  at  last,  my  pretty 
dr\afl?"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  pleasant, 
laughing  way. 

A  flush  overspread  her  face,  and  as  she 
looked  gravely  and  steadily  at  him  a 
strange,  puzzled  expression  came  into  hei 
eyes;  but  she  did  not  move,  she  only  whisi 


J 


The  Ave  Maria. 


299 


red  a  prayer  in  her  heart  for  protection. 
"Let  me  assist  thee,  cara  mia;  give  me 
thy  hand.  What!  shrinking  back  from  me! 
Hozv  have  I  offended  thee,  cara  donsel- 
lina  f ' '  he  asked,  amazed. 
»  "Thy  voice  sounds  like  Fabian's — but 
f-"  she  began,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice. 

"I  am  Fabian.  What  spell  has  come 
over  thee  not  to  know  that  it  is  I!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

I' '  I  know  the  voice  of  Fabian,  but  his  face 
never  saw.  I  was  blind — ' ' 
"^«j  blind!"  he  cried. 
"Yes:  I  was  blind  from  my  birth,  and  if 
thou  art  truly  Fabian,  forgive  me  for  not 
knowing  thee  when  my  eyes  for  the  first 
time  behold  thy  face!  Thy  voice  is  the  voice 
I  know  so  well." 


I  am  Fabian,  cara 


I  call  all  the 


gods  to  witness,  and  none  other,  and  am  be- 
side myself  with  joy!  The  gods  have  been 
at  last  propitious  to  thee  and  given  thee 
sight!  I  will  build  a  new  temple  in  their 
honor!  Oh,  my  beautiful  one!  it  is  the  most 
joyous  thing  I  ever  heard  of.  Let  me  look 
into  thy  eyes!  How  they  sparkle!  how  they 
drink  in  the  light  with  a  flash  like  wine!  I 
am  in  a  devout  humor  with  the  gods,  and 
will  never  doubt  them  again!"  exclaimed 
Fabian,  in  tones  of  exalted  emotion. 

"The  gods  did  not  give  me  sight,  Fa- 
bian," she  answered,  gently. 
•   "How    then  —  what    great    physician 
healed  thee  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Jesus  Christ  gave  sight  to  my  eyes;  all 
at  once,  as  the  holy  water  of  baptism  was 
poured  on  my  head,  the  blind  darkness 
was  gone, ' '  she  answered,  her  voice  full  of 
sweetness,  her  eyes  radiant  with  faith. 

A  shock  that  chilled  his  blood  passed 
through  Fabian;  he  turned  sick  and  faint, 
and  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 
Pagan  philosophy  offered  no  shield  to  avert 
a  blow  like  this;  its  feet  were  of  clay,  which 
crumbled  before  his  eyes,  leaving  him  for 
the  moment  bereft  of  strength.  The  child's 
blind  eyes  had  been  opened  by  one  of  those 
startling  miracles  so  often  wrought  by  the 
thaumaturgic  skill  of  the  Christian  priests, 
and  it  was  evident  that  she  had  fallen  under 


the  spell  of  their,  delusions.  With  this  con- 
viction there  arose  instantly  and  vividly 
before  him  the  frightful  results  that  were 
almost  certain  to  follow. 

"And  thy  father,  cara  mia?^^  he  at  last 
found  voice  to  ask. 

"Oh,  Fabian!  hast  thou  not  heard?   He 
.is  a  Christian!"   she  replied,  her  counte- 
nance glowing  with  happiness. 

"I  am  but  just  back  from  the  wilds  of 
LTmbria,"  he  said,  quietly. 

This  was  the  last  thing  that  Fabian 
would  have  thought  of  had  any  presenti- 
ments of  evil  been  haunting  his  mind.  He 
remembered  his  long  conversation  with 
Nemesius  relating  to  the  ancient  and  curi- 
ous predictions  of  an  expected  One,  who 
would  revive  the  glories  of  the  Golden  Age, 
and  make  mankind  like  unto  the  gods,  and 
his  scornful  incredulity;  it  was  only  a  few 
brief  days  ago,  and  it  seemed  incredible 
that  so  sudden  a  transformation  could  have 
taken  place.  Nemesius  a  Christian!  Rather 
would  he  have  heard  of  his  death;  rather 
a  thousand  times  would  he  have  found  the 
beautiful  child,  standing  there  in  her  fear- 
less innocence  before  him,  dead  and  beyond 
the  reach  of  all  harm. 

'Fabian  felt  as  if  he  had  been  away  a  hun- 
dred years  instead  of  a  fortnight;  and  had 
he  only  known  of  these  dreadful  changes 
in  time  he  would  never  have  returned  to 
Rome,  but  hied  away  to  some  corner  of  the 
earth,  where  it  would  be  impossible  for  the 
news  of  how  it  all  ended  to  reach  him;  for 
well  he  knew  that  in  times  like  these  a 
man  so  distinguished  as  Nemesius  could 
not  become  a  Christian  with  the  least  hope 
of  escaping  discovery,  and  death  attended 
by  cruelties  too  barbarous  to  think  of  Nor 
could  it  be  supposed  that  his  child,  whose 
blindness  had  made  her  an  object  of  tender 
sympathy  and  commiseration  in  Rome, 
should  suddenly  receive  her  sight  without 
its  presently  being  known. 

Should  the  impending  war  with  Persia 
soon  break  out,  then  there  was  a  hope; 
for  Nemesius — his  apostasy  unsuspected — 
could  lead  his  legion  away  to  do  battle 
under  the  Eagles  for  the  defence  and  glory 


300 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  the  Empire,  as  many  Christian  soldiers 
had  done  in  times  past,  while  he  would  find 
a  safe  retreat  for  the  child;  but,  alas!  how 
fatal  would  be  delay!  for  her  misfortune 
was  too  well  known  to  the  Emperor,  and  all 
who  had  ever  seen  or  served  her,  for  such 
a  wonder  as  that  which  had  occurred  to 
be  long  concealed. 

Fabian's  mind  was  torn  by  contending 
emotions — not  that  he  cared  for  the  change 
in  its  religious  aspect,  but  because  he 
dreaded  the  consequences  for  these  two  who 
were  so  near  to  his  heart.  He  would  not 
disturb  the  serene  happiness  of  the  beauti- 
ful child  by  question  or  argument;  he  would 
restrain  himself  until  he  could  see  Neme- 
sius,  to  lay  before  him  the  peril  in  which 
they  both  stood,  and  suggest  measures  by 
which  they  might  escape  the  fate  that 
threatened  them. 

It  had  only  taken  a  few  moments  for  these 
tumultuous  thoughts  to  sweep  through  Fa- 
bian's mind,  but  they  left  him  shaken  to 
the  centre  of  his  being,  yet  outwardly  calm. 
At  last  he  said,  gently : 

"And  how  does  the  world  look  to  thee, 
cara  mia  ? ' ' 

*'0h,  Fabian!  I  have  not  words  to  say 
how  beautiful  it  all  appears  to  me;  and  when 
I  think  of  Him  who  made  it,  my  heart 
almost  bursts  with  love  and  gladness,"  re- 
plied Claudia,  while  the  long,  white-blos- 
somed sprays  she  had  gathered  up  to  weave 
in  the  trellis  drooped  from  her  hands. 

'  'And  I — how  do  I  look  to  thee,  cara  f 
tell  me,  if  it  will  not  wound  my  vanity  too 
much,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  in  the  old 
way. 

"Thy  face  is  strange  to  me,  Fabian," 
she  answered,  while  a  delicate  glow  suffused 
her  countenance,  "and  sad;  but  thy  voice 
is  the  same  I  always  loved  to  hear.  By- 
and-by  I  shall  be  used  to  thy  face,  and  love 
it  too." 

"How  is  Grillo?"  he  asked,  pleasantly. 

"Grillo  is  very  well;  and,  now  that  he 
knows  me,  follows  me,  and  sometimes  lays 
his  head  upon  my  shoulder,  and  fans  me 
with  his  long  ears,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
laugh. 


"Grillo  has  the  wisdom  of  a  sage:  he 
makes  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  neither 
pines  for  thistles,  or  risks  his  prosperity 
by  unreasonable  freaks.  Bravo!  for  the 
king  of  the  donkeys, ' '  said  Fabian,  laugh- 
ing; but  his  words  had  a  covert  and  bitter 
significance.  ' '  I  thought  of  thee  every  day, 
cara  mia^  while  I  was  up  yonder  among  the 
hills,  and  have  brought  thee  a  pet  that  will 
rival  poor  Grillo  in  thy  affections — a  gentle, 
graceful  little  antelope  from  Grillo' s  coun- 
try, perhaps  his  cousin ;  but  I  see  so  many 
strange  companions  around  thee,"  he  said, 
waving  his  hand  towards  the  pale-faced 
children  near  the  fountain, "that  I  fear  he 
will  not  find  favor  with  thee.  Tell  me, 
carina^  who  they  are  and  whence;  for  they 
are  so  unexpected  and  out  of  place  that  it 
seems  they  might  have  been  rained  down, 
like  frogs,  out  of  the  clouds. ' ' 

"They  are  the  little  ones  of  the  dear 
Christus;  they  had  none  to  care  for  them, 
Fabian,  and  were  sick  and  hungry,  and  I 
am  allowed  to  keep  them  at  the  villa;  for 
they  had  no  homes  of  their  own,  and  now 
they  are  getting  strong  and  m^rry.  Oh!  it 
is  a  great  favor  to  have  them,"  replied  the 
child,  in  low, tender  accents;  "for  He  loves 
them,  and  it  makes  me  glad  to  serve  them 
for  His  sake." 

"I  hope  thou  wilt  love  the  little  ante- 
lope, then,  for  my  sake;  it  is  a  pretty  creat- 
ure, with  eyes  as  soft  and  bright  as  thine, 
and  diminutive  enough  to  be  carried  about 
in  thy  arms;  and,  better  still,  carina^  it 
doesn't  laugh  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  as 
Grillo  does,"  said  Fabian,  veiling  the  bitter 
pain  of  his  heart  under  an  assumption  of 
the  old  gay  manner.  He  would  ask  no 
question  that  would  seem  to  be  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  astonishing  changes  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  absence,  but,  as  we  see, 
put  them  aside  as  childish  fancies  unworthy 
of  notice,  although  he  gauged  the  gravity 
of  the  situation  to  its  bitter  depths. 

"Thank  thee,  dear  Fabian,  for  thy  kind 
thought  of  me,  and  I  will  love  the  little 
creature  for  thy  sake ;  I  love  Grillo  and  my 
doves,  but  there's  room  enough  for  thy 
pretty  stranger,' '  she  answered,  with  a  bright 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


301 


lance.  "But  come,  let  us  go  and  find 
;  .ymphronius  that  he  may  order  thy  favor- 

:e  dainties  and  wines." 

^."I  can  not  accept  thy  hospitality  to-day, 

ma  donzellina.  I  will  see  Symphronius  a 
1  loment,  to  leave  a  message  with  him,  then 
hasten  away  to  an  engagement  in  Rome; 
t  lean  while  remain  where  thou  art  to  finish 
the  task  I  interrupted,  and  be  happy  with 
thy  frogs,"  he  said,  laughingly,  as  he  nodded 
towards  the  children,  and  walked  swiftly 


Soeur  Gabrielle's  Chaplet. 


BY    E.  V.  N. 


POET,  musician,  painter  and  sculptor, 
Jules  Veldon  appeared  to  have  been 
destined  to  unvarying  success  and  to  un- 
wonted honors  of  every  description.  Dis- 
tinguished by  the  earliest  efforts  of  his  pen 
and  pencil,  he  had  never  known  any  of 
those  moments  of  discouragement  and  mor- 
tification which  from  time  to  time  fall  to 
the  lot  of  almost  every  genuine  artist.  His 
kindness  and  generosity  gained  him  a  host 
of  friends,  and  he  contemplated  the  future 
without  a  single  misgiving.  Trusting  to 
his  good  fortune,  he  enjoyed  life  fully:  he 
would  now  invoke  the  muses  of  song  and 
poetry, now  throw  upon  his  canvas  the  mar- 
vellous creations  of  his  fertile  fancy,  and, 
when  weary  of  these,  seize*  the  chisel  and 
display  genuine  skill  in  fashioning  stone  or 
marble.  It  really  seemed  to  his  ardent  ad- 
mirers that  the  gifted  youth  need  but  will 
the  production  of  a  masterpiece  and  at  once 
his  idea  was  originated  and  completed. 

His  success  in  portrait-painting  alone 
would  have  soon  yielded  him  a  princely 
fortune;  for  he  not  only  sought  the  true 
effects  of  color,  light  and  shade,  but  aimed 
also  at  making  the  soul  beam  forth  in  his 
pictures,  and  hence  his  work  did  as  much 
honor  to  his  heart  as  to  his  amazing  talent. 
His  was  the  triumph  of  the  ideal  in  art. 

One  day  M.  Losnay  was  announced  to 
v^eldon.    The  artist  had  occasionally  met 


this  gentleman  at*  entertainments  given  by 
a  common  friend,  and  had  been  impressed 
with  his, smiling,  happy  countenance.  But 
to-day  there  was  a  sadness  on  his  visitor's 
face  which  could  not  fail  to  attract  attention. 

' '  My  dear  sir,  I  came  to  ask  a  favor  of 
you." 

"Dispose  of  me  as  you  please,  M.  Los- 
nay. ' ' 

"I  have  an  only  daughter,  my  pride  and 
her  mother's  delight — a  creature  too  per- 
,  feet  for  earth.    Two  years  ago  she  entered 
the  novitiate  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity. ' ' 

"What  a  sacrifice!" 

"True,  and  one  more  absolute  than  I 
then  imagined,"  continued  M.  Losnay^ 
whose  voice  became  husky  and  tremulous. 
"My  daughter  is  attacked  by  an  incurable 
malady;  a  few  months,  perhaps  only  a  few 
weeks, is  all  that  medical  aid  can  promise  us 
of  a  life  so  dear.  When  we  gave  our  child 
to  God's  service,  we  fancied  that  she  was, 
so  to  say,  lost  to  us;  but  the  heart  conse- 
crated to  Jesus  Christ  retains  the  liberty  of 
all  pure,  tender,  and  legitimate  sentiments. 
Soeur  Gabrielle  seems  to  love  us  with  even 
a  deeper  affection,  and  hence  she  sympa- 
thizes in  our  too  human  regrets.  We  can 
at  present  see  her  a  while  every  day ;  we 
know  that  she  is  happy,  and  that  happiness 
is  all  from  heaven.  But,  alas!  our  precious 
one  is  doomed  to  die. ' ' 

The  eyes  of  the  artist  filled  with  unbid- 
den tears. 

M.  Losnay  went  on:  "I  should  like  to 
have  her  portrait  taken  for  her  mother.  I 
shall  scarcely  survive  the  shock  long.  What 
dreams  of  hope  I  had  indulged  in  for  her 
before  she  manifested  to  us  her  secret,  holy 
desire!  God  required  the  sacrifice,  and  we 
made  it  without  murmuring." 

"God  can  work  a  miracle  in  her  behalf,'^ 
observed  Veldon. 

"That  is  true;  it  will  be  one,  if  I  bear 
her  loss  with  resignation.  But  I  am  intrud- 
ing on  your  valuable  time.  My  daughter 
is  very  weak;  I  do  not  think  that  she  could 
drive  as  far  as  your  studio. ' ' 

"I  will  gladly  go  to  her  under  your 
guidance,"  the  artist  replied. 


302 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  carriage  of  M.  Losnay  conveyed  the 
gentlemen  rapidly  to  the  Rue  de  Bac — to 
that  religious  house  in  which  heroines  of 
charitable  devotedness  are  formed  to  their 
•exalted  vocation.  They  were  admitted  to  the 
apartment  of  his  dying  child,  where,  rest- 
ing in  an  arm-chair,  she  was  conversing  in 
low  tones  with  her  mother.  An  angelic 
smile  hovered  around  her  lips.  Jules  Veldon 
stood  outside  for  a  moment,  his  eagle  eye 
glancing  over  the  frail  form  of  the  novice. 
He  thought  he  beheld  a  vision  of  paradise, 
a  seraph  in  human  guise.  Soeur  Gabrielle 
appeared  to  be  looking  beyond  the  terres- 
trial horizon  to  a  higher  and  nobler  life,  in 
which  the  best  joys  of  this  exile  are  infi- 
nitely surpassed,  and  all  its  pains  forever 
banished  and  forgotten.  M.  Losnay  intro- 
duced the  artist  to  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"Since  Mother  Superior  has  given  per- 
mission I  am  willing  to  gratify  my  par- 
ents," said  the  Sister,  with  great  simplicity. 

Veldon  set  to  work  at  once.  In  the  sol- 
-emn  silence  of  that  apartment,  in  which 
each  inmate's  thoughts  dwelt  upon  death, 
Soeur  Gabrielle  alone  preserved  an  aspect 
of  peace  and  serenity.  In  the  religious  state 
obedience  ennobles  the  commonest  actions. 
While  her  parents  contemplated  her  with 
affection,  mingled  with  intense'sorrow,  the 
novice  meditated  on  sacred  things;  and 
the  painter,  at  once  fascinated  and  despair- 
ing, asked  himself  whether  he  should  suc- 
ceed in  tracing  the  grace  and  sweetness  of 
the  Sister's  smile,  or  the  supernatural  calm 
of  her  large,  intelligent  eyes. 

After  a  few  sittings  the  portrait  was  com- 
pleted. Jules  Veldon  felt  sad  as  he  gave 
the  last  touches  to  that  pale  type  of  sanctity. 
He  had  soon  learned  to  enjoy  his  daily  visit 
to  the  convent.  Its  atmosphere,  so  very 
different  from  that  of  the  bustling  scenes 
around  his  studio;  the  pious  recollection  of 
the  Sisters  as  they  passed  noiselessly  to  and 
fro;  the  clinking  of  their  rosaries;  the  joy- 
ous activity  with  which  they  fulfilled  their 
various  employments  —  all  these  things 
impressed  him  strongly;  and  when  at  his 
home  he  alluded  to  them  as  charming  nov- 
elties, his  friends  would  say: 


"Take  care,  Veldon!  you  will  became  a 
Trappist." 

But  Veldon  had  no  such  desire.  He  was 
so  absorbed  with  the  thought  of  the  grief  of 
M,  and  Mme.  de  lyosnay  that  he  could  only 
pray  for  them  when,  on  entering  and  leav- 
ing the  convent,  led  by  the  portress,  he 
paid  a  visit  to  the  Divine  Prisoner  of  the 
Tabernacle. 

"My  task  is  completed  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,"  said  the  artist  to  the  parents  of 
the  dying  girl;  "but  I  feel  that  in  trying 
to  seize  the  charm  of  a  pure  soul  ready  to 
take  its  flight  to  the  eternal  home,  there  is 
a  limit  to  man's  capacity." 

"I should  be  glad  to  offer  you  some  proof 
of  my  own  gratitude,"  murmured  the  dear 
invalid.  "Will  you  accept  this  chaplet  as 
a  souvenir?  It  has  been  made  expressly 
for  you,  and  has  been  blessed  and  indul- 
genced  by  the  Holy  Father.  When  you 
meet  with  success,  recite  the  chaplet  in 
thanksgiving  to  God,  the  Author  of  all  tal- 
ents; when  you  are  unsuccessful,  prayer  will 
help  you,  and  make  you  feel  resigned.  Art 
may  become  a  priesthood;  prayer  is  the 
safeguard  of  the  artist.  Will  you  not  pray, 
my  friend?" 

Jules  Veldon  promised  Soeur  Gabrielle 
that  he  would  prav  daily.  Had  the  Sister 
the  power  of  second  sight  ?  Certain  it  is  that 
she  had  touched  the  secret  wound  in  the 
soul  of  this  son  of  Genius  and  Success — he 
never  prayed!  Carried  onward  by  the  vortex 
of  forbidden  pleasures,  forgetful  of  Chris- 
tian duties,  Veldon  complained  sometimes 
of  a  void  in  his  heart.  The  novice,  wholly 
ignorant  of  his  manner  of  life,  had  indicated 
a  remedy  for  that  occasional  weariness  of 
soul,  and  thus,  when  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  she  had  exerted  an  apostolic  power 

Three  days  only  had  elapsed  when  Sister 
Gabrielle  was  summoned  to  meet  the  di- 
vine Spouse  of  her  heart.  The  artist  accom 
panied  her  parents,  friends  and  the  poor 
whom  the  angelical  child  had  loved,  as- 
sisted and  edified,  as  they  followed  the  long 
train  of  Sisters,  who,  carrying  lighted  tapen 
and  chanting  the  Benedictiis,  laid  her  to  res 
in  the  cemetery.  The  tears  of  the  poor  wer*; 


The  Ave  Maria, 


303 


he  best  eulogy  of  the  holy  novice,  who  had 
(  aused  Mercy  and  Charity  to  spring  up  and 
I  lossom  in  her  youthful  footsteps. 

"Ah!"  said  M.  Losnay  to  Jules  Vel- 
<ion,  pressing  his  friendly  hand  as  it  was 

retched  out  to  bid  a  mournful  farewell, 
'  what  a  loss!  She  told  me  I  mtist  live,  and 
carry  out  her  zealous  plans  for  relieving  the 
sick  and  miserable.  Her  last  words  were: 
'  I  am  going  to  the  good  God ;  our  souls  are 
not  parted :  they  will  be  forever  united  in 
the  Hearts  of  Jesus  and  Mary.'  " 

The  memory  of  the  dying  Sister  was 
deeply  imprinted  in  the  heart  of  the  artist. 
He  composed  stanzas  in  honor  of  her  beau- 
tiful death;  he  chiselled  a  marble  bust  of 
her,  full  of  truth  and  feeling,  which  occupied 
the  place  of  honor  in  the  private  apartment 
of  the  bereaved  mother.  Soon,  however, 
other  impressions  gradually  effaced  those 
that  had  seemed  to  be  indelible. 

Fame  still  followed  Veldon  like  a  shadow; 
the  days  became  too  short  for  the  fulfilment 
of  the  orders  of  he  received,  and  also  for 
accepting  frequent  invitations  to  convivial 
entertainments.  The  chaplet  was  not  used, 
the  promise  to  pray  was  forgotten. 

One  evening  the  successful  artist  was 
seized  with  a  singular  wish  to  be  alone — 
singular,  because  he  was  at  the  moment 
enjovinga  glorious  triumph  before  the  eyes 
of  all  Paris.  A  connoisseur  in  art  had  visited 
his  studio,  and  pronounced  the  most  enthu- 
siastic eulogies  on  the  works  that  Veldon 
intended  to  send  to  tlie  salon.  Everyone 
who  visited  the  galleries  declared  Veldon's 
pictures  far  more  meritorious  than  the  oth- 
ers, and  thus  the  opinion  of  one  became  the 
verdict  of  all.  The  soul  of  Jules  was  cloyed 
with  this  succession  of  eulogies,  tire^  of  the 
incense  offered  to  pride.  He  resolved  to 
seek  an  asylum  from  those  temptations  to 
vain-glory,  so  revolting  to  a  superior  mind. 
He  denies  himself,  therefore,  to  everyone, 
even  his  familiar  friends;  and  seizing  a  vol- 
ume, he  plunges  into  the  subject  treated  in 
its  pages,  forgetful  of  the  brilliant  honors 
that  the  so-  called  elite  of  Paris  had  deter- 
mined on  that  evening  to  bestow  upon  him. 
Ere  long  he  reaches  a  portion  of  the  book 


in  which  the  leaves  are  still  folded  as  they 
came  from  the  bindery.  He  opens  a  drawer, 
and  fumbling  about  for  a  paper-cutter,* 
his  ■  hand  falls  on  the  neglected  chaplet* 
''What!"  he  says  to  himself,  "have  I  left 
that  relic  of  a  pure  and  saintly  soul  to  be 
tossed  about  in  this  fashion! "  As  he  raised 
the  glittering  pearls,  chained  with  lustrouS 
gold,  to  place  the  chaplet  in  its  oval  cover, 
a  phrase  that  Si?^ter  Gabrielle  uttered  fell 
upon  his  memory  with  a  mystic  force:  "Art 
may  btcome  a  priesthood;  prayer  is  the 
safeguard  of  the  artist."  What  would  the 
holy  novice  have  thought  of  the  much-ad- 
mired pieces  of  canvas  which  had  won  for 
him  the  praises  of  the  world  of  fashion? 
Would  not  her  chaste  eyes  have  turned  aside 
from  them  with  horror? 

Struck  with  the  thought  of  his  infidelity, 
Veldon  knelt  before  his  long-neglected  cru- 
cifix, and  promised  God  that  he  would  never 
again  use  his  talents,  except  for  the  glory 
of  the  Giver;  and  now,  to  those  who  express 
wonder  at  the  pious  tone  of  his  writings, 
at  the  statues  of  saints  and  angels  that  alone 
grace  his  studio,  at  his  paintings, to  which  a 
monk  might  set  his  signature,  he  answers 
with  simplicity :  "The  gifts  of  God  belong 
to  the  Donor." 

In  his  frequent  Communions  M.  Veldon 
never  forgets  to  thank  God  for  his  mission 
to  the  pious  novice  who,  as  he  says, '  led 
him  into  the  true  path  of  earthly  honor  and 
of  eternal  glory." 


A  Visit  to  Knock. 


The  Rev.  Joh??.  C.  Henry,  in  The  Catholic  Review. 
"  T  S  your  reverence  goi  ng  to  Knock  Chapel  ? ' ' 
i  was  the  question  put  by  a  stout,  ruddy- 
faced  man,  as  we  stepped  on  the  solid  stone 
platform  of  the  clean,  whitewashed  little  sta- 
tion of  Claremorris.  On  our  replying  in  the 
affirmative,  he  took  charge  of  our  baggage 
and  escorted  us  to  Hughes'  Hotel,  in  the 
principal  street  of  the  picturesque  village.  A 
jaunting  car,  with  an  athletic  young  man  at 
thelines,soonawaitedus,andaway  wewentto 
Knock.  Yes, to  the  Knock  we  had  read  about, 
and  the  crude  sketches  of  which  we  had  so 


304 


The  Ave  Maria. 


often  met  with  on  the  ' '  top  floors  "  of  so  many 
of  the  tenements  of  New  York  city.  Our  steed 
was  by  no  means  of  the  2.40  persuasion,  and 
earl}^  on  the  journey  of  seven  miles  gave  evi- 
dence of  a  certain  methodical  gait  that  neither 
coaxing  nor  the  active  encouragement  of  the 
whip  could  change.  Perhaps  it  was  through 
a  customary  deference  to  the  desire  of  the  pil- 
grims who  pass  over  the  road  to  see  as  much 
of  the  surroundings  as  possible,  or  it  may 
have  been  an  assumed  gravity  of  movement 
suitable  to  the  occasion  that  influenced  the 
ancient  quadruped  to  restrain  his  mettlesome 
qualities.  However,  we  had  plenty  of  time  to 
study  the  country  on  all  sides. 

Knock  is  a  parish  situated  in  a  wild  and 
desolate  part  of  the  County  Mayo,  and  to  eyes 
accustomed  to  the  luxuriant  foliage  and  woods 
of  America  looks  like  a  desert,  the  only  relief 
to  the  scene  of  bog  and  barren  hill  being  a 
few  stunted  shrubs  here  and  there.  As  we 
proceed  over  the  rugged  road  we  pass  thatched 
cottages  at  long  intervals,  and  a  good  Irish 
face  will  look  out  and  salute  the  priests,  but 
we  ride  miles  and  see  and  hear  no  one.  The 
silence  is  painful.  ' '  Where  are  the  people  ? ' ' 
one  of  our  party  asks.  From  another  the  an- 
swer comes  grimly:  "In  America."  We  met 
some  boys  riding  on  donkeys,  with  baskets  of 
turf  hanging  on  each  side  of  the  animal,  as  it 
plodded  patiently  along.  They  were  healthy, 
sunburnt  youngsters,  and  urged  their  beasts 
forward  vigorously.  Occasionally  we  dis- 
cerned on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  where  the  land 
was  not  so  poor,  a  residence  of  some  preten- 
sions, and  on  inquiry  were  told  it  was  the 
house  of  the  landlord's  steward.  As  we  rattle 
along,  half  a  dozen  policemen  rush  out  of  their 
roadside  barracks  and  stare  at  us  until  dis- 
tance separates  us  from  their  officious  inspec- 
tion. The  driver  now  tells  us  that  from  the 
top  of  the  hill  we  are  ascending  we  shall  get 
a  view  of  Knock  Chapel,  and  we  prepare  our- 
selves to  enjoy  our  first  sight  of  the  shrine 
Our  Blessed  Lady  has  deigned  to  establish  in 
the  Island  of  Saints.  "There  it  is!  there  it 
is!"  all  exclaim,  as  the  well  known  outlines 
appear  before  us. 

The  church  is  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  with 
a  square  tower,  just  as  we  often  gazed  on  it  in 
the  engravings  so  much  met  with  in  America. 
As  we  approach  nearer  the  sacred  edifice,  we 
are  surprised  to  see  it  such  a  commodious  and 
well-built  structure.  But  the  gable  wall  takes 


all  our  attention.  Before  we  come  near  its 
sacred  precincts  we  enter  the  chapel  to  make 
a  visit  to  the  Holy  of  Holies.  All  inside  is 
plain  and  scrupulously  clean.  The  floor  is  of 
cement,  with  only  a  few  private  pews,  while 
the  very  primitive  looking  confessionals  are 
seen  one  on  each  side.  The  principal  altar,  if 
not  possessing  great  beauty  of  design,  has  a 
simple  charm  about  it  that  awakens  devotion, 
and  the  bouquets  of  wild  flowers  placed  by 
the  school  -  children  tell  of  the  faith  that  is 
already  budding  into  blossom  in  their  little 
hearts.  There  is  a  very  neat  altar  of  Our 
Lady  of  Knock  which  the  good  pastor,  Father 
Cavanagh,  has  erected  with  the  donations  of 
the  faithful  pilgrims.  The  sanctuary  lamp 
burns  nightly,  reminding  us  of  the  Divine 
Presence.  Many  are  kneeling  before  the  small 
and  very  plain  Stations  of  the  Cross.  As  we 
bow  before  the  altar  we  are  deeply  sensible 
of  a  holy  influence  pervading  the  place. 

We  now  went  out  to  view  the  gable  end  of 
the  building,  on  the  surface  of  which  the  Ap- 
paritions were  seen.  It  is  thirty  feet  in  width 
and  about  thirty -five  feet  in  height,  sur- 
mounted by  a  plain,  white  cross.  We  were 
told  that  recently  an  addition  was  put  to  the 
tower,  and  that  it  was  now  seventy-five  feet 
in  height,  and  contained  a  fine-toned  bell. 
The  cement  that  originally  covered  the  entire 
gable  has  all  been  removed  by  order  of  the 
pastor,  and  strong  boards  put  up  in  its  place. 
This  was  a  necessary  precaution,  as  the  pil- 
grims would  very  likely,  having  finished  the 
cement,  have  attacked  the  building  itself  in 
their  eagerness  to  possess  a  particle  of  the  ma- 
terial on  which  the  sacred  shadow  of  Our  Lady 
fell.  The  cement  is  in  the  safe  keeping  of  the 
priest,  who  gives  a  portion  to  all  who  desire 
it.  A  strong  iron  railing,  projecting  ten  feet 
from  the  building  and  across  its  entire  width, 
encloses  the  holy  place  from  intrusion.  A 
really  beautiful  statue  of  Our  Lady  is  placed 
against  the  gable  wall  in  the  centre  of  the 
space,  and  before  it,  outside  of  the  railing,  the 
faithful  pilgrims  perform  their  devotions. 

But  what  do  we  behold  inside  the  railing? 
Can  it  be  possible!  Are  all  these  crutches, 
sticks  and  various  supports  for  suffering  hu- 
manity genuine  evidences  of  the  power  of  faith 
through  the  intercession  of  Mary  Immaculate! 
The  pious  pastor  of  the  district  testifies  to  the  1 
truth  of  the  cures  of  which  these  are  the  silent 
proofs.  Turning  to  an  intelligent,  well-dressed 


The  Ave  Maria. 


305 


ID  in,  who  was  on  his  knees  devoutly  reading 
tt  i  "Glories  of  Mary,"  we  remarked  that 
fa  th  in  the  power  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary 
ce  rtainly  produced  its  fruit  here  He  replied 
tl:  at  he  was  an  example  of  it  himself.  He  then 
ni  n'ated  to  us  that  three  months  previous  he 
hi  d  come  to  Knock  to  obtain  relief  from  an 
af  ection  of  the  eyes,  which  were  so  inflamed 
ai  d  ulcerated  that  he  was  unable  to  endure 
tlie  light,  and  had  given  up  all  work  for  his 
family.  He  made  a  novena  to  the  Comfortress 
of  the  Afflicted  and  applied  the  cement.  No 
relief  came  then,  and  he  returned  to  his  home, 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  country.  His  faith 
was  strong,  however,  and  at  his  home  he  per- 
severed in  his  petition,  with  the  result  that  he 
was  completely  healed.  He  was  now  making 
a  second  visit  to  the  shrine  by  way  of  thanks- 
giving for  the  favor  granted  him  through 
God's  goodness  and  the  intercession  of  Mary. 
We  looked  into  his  cool,  clear  blue  eyes  and 
saw  not  even  a  vestige  of  disease  remaining. 
The  following  is  the  account  given  of  the 
Apparitions  which  have  made  the  Chapel  of 
Knock  attain  world-wide  renown:  On  Aug. 
21,  1879,  at  about  8  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
the  vision  was  seen  on  the  gable,  and  consisted 
of  three  figures — the  Blessed  Virgin,  St.  Jo- 
seph and  St.  John  the  Evangelist  The  two 
Saints  stood  in  a  posture  of  reverence  on  each 
side  of  Our  Lady.  On  the  right  of  St.  John 
was  a  lamb  recumbent,  behind  which  was  an 
upright  cross,  with  what  seemed  to  be  an  altar 
in  close  proximity.  A  brilliant  light  sur- 
rounded the  figures,  without,  however,  illu- 
minating the  immediate  vicinity.  A  second 
Apparition  was  seen  the  following  January, 
between  the  hours  of  11  and  12  o'clock,  noon. 
Ught  appeared  on  the  gable,  and  a  pillow  was 
seen  supporting  a  figure  whose  identity  could 
not  be  made  out  clearly. 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam  ap- 
pointed the  Rev.  A.  B.  Cavanagh,  the  Rev.  J. 
Waldron  and  the  Rev.  U.J.  Bourke  a  com- 
mittee to  investigate  the  truth  of  these  Ap- 
paritions. They  are  men  of  the  profoundest 
earning  and  many  years  of  experience.  They 
'eceived  with  every  caution  the  depositions  of 
he  most  intelligent  of  those  who  witnessed 
he  vision  and  gave  the  matter  of  the  cures 
:heir  closest  scrutiny,  and  after  mature  delib- 
Tation  concluded  there  was  reason  to  admit 
hat  the  appearances  were  supernatural. 
We  knelt  down  before  the  statue  of  Our 


lyady  and  offered  our  petitions.  We  remem- 
bered dear  friends  in  far-off  America  who  had 
requested  us  to  present  their  requests  at  Her 
Irish  shrine.  Many  others  were  around  us; 
and  the  sweet  words  of  the  Rosary,  with  its 
home  fireside  recollections,  were  heard  not 
only  in  English,  but  also  in  the  grand  old 
Gaelic  of  the  Ireland  of  former  days.  We  gave 
ourselves  up  to  meditation,  when  suddenly 
the  bell  tolled  solemnly  from  the  tower.  On 
looking  down  the  road  we  saw  a  funeral  ap- 
proaching. "This  is  something  to  see,"  said 
one  of  our  party:  "a  country  funeral  in  Ire- 
land. ' '  Slowly  the  cortege  came  near,  the  bell 
tolling  at  intervals.  The  open  door  of  the 
chapel  is  passed  into,  every  head  is  uncovered 
and  bowed  in  reverence  for  the  Divine  Pres- 
ence. A  grave  salute  was  given  the  priests  of 
our  party  by  the  respectably- clothed  men  and 
women  as  they  followed  the  body.  Some  were 
on  horseback,  with  their  wives  seated  behind 
them  on  the  pillions  of  our  grandfathers'  days. 
' '  She  was  a  very  old  woman, ' '  said  our  driver, 
* '  and  was  born  and  lived  here  all  her  life. ' ' 

As  we  watched  the  procession  wend  its  way 
up  the  hill  to  the  little  cemetery,  the  thought 
came  to  our  mind  what  joys  and  sorrows  of  her 
country  she  must  have  known  during  her  long 
life  of  ninety -five  years  What  a  consolation 
it  must  have  been  to  her  when  the  shadows  of 
death  gathered  around  her  to  know  that  her 
children  would  lay  her  to  rest  by  the  side  of 
her  kindred !  ' '  Some  people  from  America  are 
buried  here,"  said  our  guide.  "They  come 
to  be  cured,  if  it  is  God's  will,  and  they  die 
with  us,  and  we  lay  them  with  our  own  dead. ' ' 
Gentle,  sympathizing  people  of  Ireland!  This 
poor,  sick  stranger  from  America,  dear  to  you, 
because  from  America,  you  make  your  own. 
What  a  meaning  in  the  words:  "They  die 
with  us,  and  we  lay  them  with  our  own  dead! ' ' 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  memories  of  our 
visit  is  the  acquaintance  of  Father  Cavanagh, 
the  accomplished  pastor  of  the  parish  of  Knock. 
On  leaving  the  chapel  we  directed  our  foot- 
steps to  his  modest  dwelling.  It  is  a  one -story 
thatched  cottage,  with  red  and  white  roses 
climbing  its  sides  in  reckless  luxuriousness. 
The  windows  and  doors  are  painted  green,  and 
a  bright  brass  knocker  graces  the  latter.  On 
entering  we  were  shown  to  his  little  study, 
where  the  good  priest  gave  us  a  genuine  Irish 
welcome,  and  soon  we  felt  quite  at  home.  He 
is  a  splendid  specimen  of  an  Irishman,  and  an 


3o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Irish  ecclesiastic  on  whose  open  countenance 
is  stamped  the  evidence  of  the  peaceful  soul 
within.  He  speaks  in  a  gentle,  sympathetic 
voice,  and  impresses  you  with  the  truth  that 
you  are  conversing  with  no  ordinary  man. 
He  tells  of  the  Apparitions  of  his  poor  little 
church  with  a  reverence  and  earnestness  that 
carries  conviction  to  the  doubtful.  On  taking 
our  departure  we  asked  for  some  of  the  cement, 
and  as  he  gave  it  into  our  hands,  he  remarked: 
"Much  of  it  goes  to  America.  There  is  great 
faith  in  the  power  of  Our  Lady  in  your  happy 
country." 

It  was  now  evening,  and  the  roses  were 
yielding  their  sweet  perfume  through  the  little 
cottage  windows,  as  if  in  homage  to  the  saintly 
priest  who  dwelt  therein;  and  as  we  mounted 
our  car  the  very  air  seemed  filled  with  a  solemn 
stillness  becoming  its  proximity  to  where 
Mary  Immaculate  had  appeared  to  the  poor 
and  lowly  ones  of  Knock.  Away  we  went  over 
the  uneven  road,  very  much  impressed  with 
the  scenes  of  the  day;  and  as  we  climbed  the 
high  hill  from  which  the  last  view  of  the  chapel 
was  seen,  and  gazed  for  the  last  time  on  the 
humble  gable,  now  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  Angelus  ringing  sweetly  from  its 
tower,  we  could  not  help  exclaiming:  "Dear 
old  Ireland,  poor  and  persecuted,  but  rich  in 
faith  and  that  science  which  makes  saints,  we 
have  this  day  experienced  a  joy  that  shall 
never  be  forgotten  during  life ! ' ' 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  great  national  pilgrimage  of  France  to 
Lourdes  was  worthy  of  those  of  previous 
years;  on  the  17th  ult.,  seven  trains  started 
from  Paris,  bearing  away  four  thousand  pil- 
grims. These  were  not  only  from  the  capital, 
but  also  from  Amiens,  Soissons,  Arras,  Cam- 
bria, Versailles,  Orleans,  and  Tours.  At  Poi- 
tiers, where  they  stopped  to  venerate  the  tomb 
of  Ste.-Radegonde,  a  holy  queen  of  the  6th 
century,  they  were  met  by  the  pilgrims  of  St. 
Die,  Nancy,  and  Verdun;  these  latter  were 
headed  by  their  Bishop,  Mgr.  Gouindard.  Af- 
ter a  visit  to  St.  Martin  de  lyiguge,  the  pil- 
grims proceeded  to  gourdes,  arriving  there  on 
the  20th  with  their  fellow-pilgrims  from  the 
South.  The  zeal  and  piety  of  all  were  admi- 
rable; as  usual,  the  charitable  brancardiers  (lit- 
ter-bearers) devoted  themselves  untiringly  to 


the  service  of  the  sick,  who  numbered  eight 
hundred.  (It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  sight 
of  so  many  diseases  does  not  seem  to  depress 
those  who  do  not  go  to  gourdes  in  search  of 
health;  this  arises  from  the  confidence  which 
all  feel  in  the  powerful  intercession  of  our  Im- 
maculate Mother.)  Three  Bishops  presided 
over  the  ceremonies:  Mgr.  Berchialla,  Bishop 
of  Cagliari  and  Primate  of  Sardinia;  Mgr. 
Gouindard,  Bishop  of  Verdun;  and  Mgr.Bill- 
iere,  Bishop  of  Tarbes  The  processions,  fol- 
lowed by  fifteen  thousand  lighted  tapers,  were 
indescribably  imposing.  During  Benediction 
of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  several  sick  rose  and 
followed  the  Sacred  Host  up  to  the  Basilica. 
Thirty- two  remarkable  cures  are  recorded. 


A  cable  despatch  from  Rome  last  week  an- 
nounced the  appointment  of  the  Very  Rev. 
P.  A.  Ludden,  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  Troy, 
N.  Y.,  and  Vicar- General  of  the  Right  Rev. 
Bishop  McNeirny,  of  Albany,  as  Bishop  of 
the  new  Diocese  of  Syracuse.  The  same  de- 
spatch also  announced  the  appointment  of  the 
Very  Rev.  lyawrence  Scanlan,  Salt  Lake  City, 
Utah,  as  a  titular  Bishop  and  Vicar- Apostolic 
of  Utah  Territory. 

Pope  Leo  XIII.  has  already  created  7  arch- 
bishoprics, 25  bishoprics,  21  apostolic  vicari- 
ates, and  7  apostolic  prefectures. 


M.  Michel  Eugene  Chevreul,  a  distinguished 
French  chemist,  and  a  Catholic  whose  devo- 
tion to  the  interests  of  the  Church  has  always 
been  earnest  and  practical,  attained  the  age 
of  one  hundred  years,  and  was  feted  by  his 
countrymen  on  the  31st  ult.  It  will  be  inter- 
esting to  total  abstainers  to  learn  that  through- 
out the  course  of  his  long  life  M.  Chevreul. 
never  tasted  strong  drink.  It  is  probable — 
and  he  himself  considers  it  more  than  a  prob- 
ability— that  his  abstemiousness  has  promoted 
his  longevity. — Catholic  Times. 


We  should  be  ready  to  learn  a  useful  lesson 
wherever  we  can  find  one,  whether  from  friend 
or  foe.  The  ancient  proverb  says, "  It  is  lawful 
to  learn  from  our  enemies ' ' ;  and  we  are  both 
surprised  and  delighted  to  find,  in  happy  con- 
trast to  the  style  of  the  utterance  common  on 
the  lips  of  most  modern  scientific  teachers,  the 
following  admirable  remarks  on  the  difficul- 
ties felt  by  all  reflecting  minds  in  reconciling 


tt  i  existence  of  evil  with  the  mercy  and  om- 
ni  jotence  of  God,  in  the  late  Professor  Jevons' 

.Principles  of  Science."  After  pointing  out 
th  it  some  results  of  mathematical  principles 
ca  a  not  appear  otherwise  than  contradictory  to 
01  r  common  notions  of  space,  the  professor 
gees  on  to  say: 

'  The  hj^pothesis  that  there  is  a  Creator  at  once 
all-powerful  and  all -benevolent  is  prevssed,  as  it 
mist  seem  to  every  candid  investigator,  with  dif- 
ficalties  verging  closely  upon  logical  contradic- 
ticn.  The  existence  of  the  smallest  amount  of 
pain  and  evil  would  seem  to  show  that  He  is  either 
not  perfectly  benevolent  or  not  all-powerful.  No 
one  can  have  lived  long  without  experiencing 
sorrowful  events  of  which  the  significance  is  in- 
explicable. But  if  we  can  not  succeed  in  avoiding 
contradiction  in  our  notions  of  elementary  geom- 
etry, can  we  expect  that  the  ultimate  purposes  of 
existence  shall  present  themselves  to  us  with  per- 
fect clearness  ?  I  can  see  nothing  to  forbid  the  no- 
tion that,  in  a  higher  state  of  intelligence,  much 
that  is  now  obscure  may  become  clear.  We  per- 
petually find  ourselves  in  the  position  of  finite 
minds  attempting  infinite  problems,  and  can  we 
be  sure  that,  where  we  see  contradiction,  an  in- 
finite intelligence  might  not  discover  perfect  log- 
ical harmony?" 

Mgr.  lyouis  Bruno,  Bishop  of  Ruvo  and  Bi- 
tonto,  in  Italy,  during  the  epidemic  of  cholera, 
which   still  rages   through   his  diocese,  has 
^iven  a  striking  example  of  that  Christian 
heroism  so  characteristic  of  the  children  of 
the  Church.  The  devotion  of  this  prelate,  dis- 
tinguished alike  for   his  zeal  and  learning, 
has  been  the  constant  subject  of  praise  on  the 
part  of  the  liberal  as  well  as  the  Catholic 
press.   ' '  From  the  beginning  of  the  month  of 
May,  the  time  of  the  first  outbreak  of  the'chol- 
era,  up  to  the  present, ' '  says  a  liberal  paper  of 
Naples.  '  *  there  has  not  been  a  single  person 
ittacked  by  the  plague  who  has  not  received 
words  of  consolation  from  Mgr.  Bruno,  and 
found  his  charitable  hand  ever  ready  to  assist 
the  distressed.    Night  and  day,  at  Bitonto,  at 
San  Spirito,  at  Ruvo,  he  hastens  to  the  bed- 
side of  the  sick,  and  expends  all  his  means  in 
their  behalf.     In  this  way  he  has  already  dis- 
posed of  his  entire  episcopal  revenue,  besides 
an  especial  appropriation  obtained  for  him 
from  the  Government,  through  the  offices  of 
Minister  Grimaldi,  who,  on  the  occasion  of  a 
recent  visit  to  Ruvo,  was  moved  at  the  sight 
3f  the  zeal  and  self-denial  of  the  eminent 
prelate." 


A  curious  custom  which  prevails  in  Spain 
is  connected  with  the  first  boots  worn  by  an 
infant  Spanish  prince.  These  are  alway.s 
blessed,  in  order  to  invoke  the  Divine  protec- 
tion over  the  first  steps  of  the  royal  wearer. 
In  pursuance  with  this  custom,  the  Queen 
Regent  has  just  had  a  pair  of  bootikins  made 
of  white  leather,  embroidered  with  gold,  for 
Alphonso  XIII.,  which  have  been  thus  con- 
secrated. The  Queen,  at  the  same  time, has  or- 
dered 300  pairs  of  little  boots  to  be  distributed, 
in  the  king's  name,  amongst  the  poor  children 
of  Madrid. —  Weekly  Register. 


An  international  congress  of  Catholic  sci- 
entists is  to  be  held  at  Paris  in  the  Kaster 
week  of  next  year.  The  subjects  to  be  dis- 
cussed have  already  been  drawn  up.  The 
first  class  comprises  philosophic  and  social 
questions;  the  second,  exact  and  natural  .sci- 
ence; and  the  third,  historical  studies.  In  the 
subdivisions  of  the  first  section  conferences 
are  preparing  on  the  several  contemporary 
philosophic  schools,  with  an  examination  into 
the  Idealist  School  (the  Hegelians,  Vacherot); 
the  Agnostic  School  (John  Stuart  Mill);  the 
Agnostic  Idealist  School  (Herbert  Spencer, 
Taine);  the  Naturalist  School  (Darwin);  and 
the  Materialist  School  (Biichner).  The  inten- 
tion is  to  bring  the  examinations  thoroughly 
up  to  date.  In  the  section  treating  metaphy- 
sics and  cosmology  there  will  be  an  equal 
actuality  which  should  arrest  the  interest  of 
sincere  thinkers  of  all  schools.  In  the  other 
classes,  the  high  point  to  which  the  study  of 
animism,  vitalism,  organicism,  and  all  the 
more  intimate  problems  of  physiology,  has 
been  carried  by  certain  Catholics  on  the  Con- 
tinent will  give  the  conferences  on  these  sub- 
jects a  special  value. 


The  life  of  the  late  Cardinal  Guibert  was 
one  of  unbounded  charity  and  of  great  au- 
sterity, but,  like  all  true  saints,  he  was  only 
austere  to  himself  and  indulgent  to  others. 
He  gave  away  everything  he  had,  and  was 
wonderfully  ingenious  in  finding  means  of 
diminishing  his  expenses.  His  carriage  was  a 
very  humble  aflfair,  with  only  one  horse.  This 
was  a  great  humiliation  to  the  coachman,  who 
thought  the  Archbishop  ought  to  have  a  pair; 
to  obtain  them,  he  had  recourse  to  a  very  par- 
donable ruse.  He  told  his  master  the  horse 
was  old  and  worn  out,  and  that  a  younger  one 


3o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


must  be  had.  The  demand  seemed  legitimate 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Archbishop,  so  he  gave  the 
coachman  leave  to  do  as  he  wished.  When 
the  new  animal  was  in  the  stable,  the  Cardi- 
nal asked  Jean  what  he  intended  to  do  with 
the  old  one.  "Oh!  your  Eminence,  we  shall 
keep  him;  harnessed  with  the  other,  he  will 
be  less  fatigued,  and  will  yet  do  a  good  bit  of 
work."  "I  see  what  you  are  coming  to,  my 
good  Jean,"  said  the  Prelate,  with  a  knowing 
look;  "but  it  won't  do;  by  degrees  you  will 
be  wanting  a  groom.  Keep  the  new  horse  as 
you  have  bought  him,  and  take  the  other  to 
the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor;  he  will  be  able 
to  draw  their  cart."  From  that  hour  Jean 
gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  driving  a  pair. 


The  first  printing  press  ever  worked  in  any 
British  colony  was  set  up  in  Maryland  by  the 
Jesuit  Fathers. — Scarf.  The  ' '  Puritans  under 
Clayborne"  destroyed  this  press. —  Catholic 
Universe. 


New  Publications. 


King,  Prophbt,  and  Priest;  or,  Lectures 
on  the  Catholic  Church.  By  the  Rev.  H.  C. 
Duke.  London:  Burns  &  Oates.  New  York: 
The  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
This  work,  consisting  of  a  series  of  lectures 
on  the  constitution  and  mission  of  the  Church, 
is  intended  principally  for  non-Catholic  read- 
ers, and  will,  we  think,  attract  the  attention 
of  those  into  whose  hands  it  may  fall,  by  the 
systematic  method  which  the  author  follows 
in  handling  his  subject,  as  well  as  by  the  evi- 
dences of  careful  research  and  painstaking 
labor  visible  throughout  the  book.  It  opens 
in  a  simple,  natural  style,  with  a  brief  account 
of  the  Creation,  Fall,  and  Redemption  of  man, 
and  then  passes  on  to  consider  the  testimony 
•of  the  Church  to  herself,  and  the  evidences  of 
Holy  Scripture  as  to  her  constitution  and  mis- 
sion. One  of  the  most  valuable  features  of  the 
work  for  those  for  whose  use  it  is  primarily 
intended  consists  in  the  quotations  from  the 
holy  Fathers,  which  are  numerous  and  judi- 
ciously selected.  While  we  do  not  find  much 
that  is  distinctly  original  in  these  lectures, 
we  are  pleased  with  Father  Duke's  style,  and 
hope  that  this  little  volume  will  have  the  suc- 
cess which  has  not  been  always  attained  by 
larger  and  more  exhaustive  treatises  on  the 
same  subject. 


The  C0MPI.ETE  Works  of  Robert  South- 
WelIv.S.J.  With  Life  and  Death.  New  Edition. 
Same  Publishers. 

We  hail  with  pleasure  the  appearance  of 
the  first  cheap  edition  of  the  poems  of  that 
glorious  martyr,  Robert  Southwell.  They 
have  been  so  long  known  and  highly  appre- 
ciated that  any  notice  on  our  part  would  be  su- 
perfluous, and  we  have  only  to  thank  Messrs. 
Burns  &  Oates  for  issuing  the  volume  at  a 
price  which  will  bring  it  within  the  reach  of 
all.  It  is  a  book  that  should  be  in  the  hands 
of  Catholic  readers  everywhere. 

We  have  on  our  table  a  set  of  Murphy's 

Series  of  Illustrated  Catholic  Readers,  seven 
in  number.  They  are  creditably  illustrated, 
well  printed,  and  substantially  bound.  The 
selections  seem  to  have  been  made  with  dis- 
crimination, and  the  grading  is  much  more 
perfect  than  in  other  series  of  readers  that 
might  be  mentioned.  In  the  books  designed 
for  higher  classes  extracts  are  given  from 
some  well-known  Catholic  writers,  but  the 
selections  from  Dickens,  Charles  Anthon,etc., 
are  much  more  numerous.  We  think  Catholic 
children  should  be  made  acquainted  as  much 
as  possible  with  the  writings  of  Catholic  au- 
thors. 

Obituary. 

"//  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Very  Rev.  Moses  Whitty,  Vicar-General  of 
the  Diocese  of  Scranton  and  Rector  of  St.  Mary's 
Church,  Providence,  Pa. 

The  Rev.  Edward  Coghlan,  an  eflBlcient  and 
worthy  priest  of  the  Diocese  of  St.  Paul,  deceased 
at  Henderson,  Minn. 

The  Rev.  William  M.  Murphy,  late  assistant 
priest  at  St.  Bridget's  Church,  Jersey  City,  N.  J. 

Mrs.  Judith  Burke,  of  Milwaukee,  Wis.,  whose 
well-spent  life  was  crowned  with  a  peaceful,  holy 
death  on  the  27th  ult. 

Mr.  Peter  Conlan,  who  passed  away  in  the  dis- 
positions of  a  fervent  Christian  on  the  23d  of 
Aug.,  at  New  Haven,  Conn. 

Miss  Susie  Moore,  of  the  same  city,  a  member 
of  the  Third  Order  of  St.  Dominic,  whose  death 
occurred  on  the  4th  inst. 

Mr.  M.  A.  Butler,  of  Pajaro,  Cal. ;  Mr.  Michael 
Cannon,  New  Haven,  Conn.,  and  Mrs.  —  Mc- 
Laughlin. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


The.  Ave  Maria. 


309 


MRTMENT 


a  part  of  Russian  Poland  where  the 
laws  dealt  heavily  with  the  Catholic  popu- 
lation lived  a  peasant  family  who  were 
noted  for  their  honest,  laborious  lives  and 
genuine  piety.  In  spite  of  many  trials  and 
vexations,  they  had  flatly  refused  to  have 
anything  to  say  to  the  Russian  ' '  popes ' ' 
(priests)  or  their  schismatic  teaching,  and 
had  kept  to  the  old  faith,  in  which  they 
were  helped  and  protected  by  their  land- 
lord— himself  a  confessor  for  the  truth — 
whose  father  had  died  in  a  Russian  prison. 
They  had  one  son,  a  clever,  intelligent  lad, 
gifted  with  that  perseverance  of  character 
which  may  be  said  to  ensure  success  in  life. 

One  day  this  boy  went  with  his  father  to 
plough  some  of  their  land,  his  business  be- 
ing to  lead  the  team  of  oxen.  After  a  short 
time  the  father  was  summoned  home  on 
some  business,  but  told  his  little  son  to 
wait  for  his  return.  The  boy  sat  down,  and 
the  coming  of  his  father  being  delayed 
longer  than  he  expected,  he  went  to  sleep. 
It  was  just  twelve  o'clock,  i.  ^.,  after  the 
Angelus^  which  he  had  devoutly  said,  ac- 
cording to  the  universal  custom  of  the 
PolivSh  peasants. 

Whether  he  fell  asleep  with  thoughts  of 
Our  Lady  in  his  heart,  I  can  not  tell ;  but 
during  this  mid-day  sleep  a  beautiful  Lady 
appeared  to  him,  who  told  him  that  he  was 
to  build  a  chapel  in  her  honor  on  a  neigh- 
boring hill.  The  dream  was  so  vivid  that 
the  boy  woke  with  a  start,  and  looked  about 
everywhere  for  the  Lady  who  spoke  to  him. 
He  described  her  as  radiant  with  light,  and 
beautiful  beyond  anything  he  had  ever 
-  conceived.  Full  of  this  vision,  yet  think- 
ing it  was  nothing  but  a  dream,  he  lay 
down,  and,  being  very  weary,  fell  asleep 
again.  A  second  time  the  beautiful  Lady  ap- 
peared to  him,  repeated  her  command,  and 


gave  him  also  various  details  as  to  the  dedi- 
cation of  the  altars  in  the  church — one  being 
for  Her  Divine  Son  and  one  for  Herself, 
etc.,  and  added  that  he  must  have  a  spe- 
cial picture  painted  for  Her  altar.  Every- 
thing was  set  before  him  so  clearly  that  he 
felt  it  was  more  than  an  ordinary  dream  or 
fancy,  and  when  his  father  came  back  he 
hastened  to  tell  him  of  the  vision.  The 
father,  though  a  good  man,  was  little  in- 
clined to  believe  anything  exceptional  or 
out  of  the  way;  so  he  scolded  his  son  for 
his  folly,  and  told  him  to  mind  his  oxen, 
and  not  trouble  his  head  about  building 
churches.  But  the  vision  remained  indelibly 
impressed  on  the  child's  mind,  though  he 
was  silent  out  of  deference  to  his  father. 

When  theboy  reached  home  he  poured  out 
his  heart  to  his  mother,  who  was  a  woman 
of  lively  faith  and  genuine  piety.  After 
listening  to  him  attentively,  she  advised 
him  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  any  one  save 
his  confessor,  but  to  endeavor  by  increased 
fervor  to  merit  the  favor  which  Our  Lady 
apparently  destined  for  him  in  the  future. 
' '  If  this  dream  be  not  from  God,  my  child, ' ' 
she  added,  ''it  will  come  to  nothing.  But 
if  it  be  His  will  that  you  should  accomplish 
this  great  work.  He  will  make  the  way 
clear  to  you  by-and-by.  In  the  meantime, 
the  faithful  practise  of  your  daily  duties 
will  be  the  best  preparation  you  can  make 
for  the  accomplishment  of  Our  Lady's 
wishes. ' ' 

The  boy  followed  his  mother's  advice, 
and  every  day  increased  in  piety  and  good- 
ness, and  especially  in  devotion  to  the 
Mother  of  God. 

After  a  few  years  his  parents  died,  and  he 
took  a  wife  like-minded  to  himself  and  of 
the  same  earnest  religious  nature.  Never 
was  union  more  happy  or  more  holy.  They 
had  between  them  about  seventeen  acres 
of  land,  which  they  cultivated  themselves, 
living  frugally  and  simply.  God  did  not 
give  them  any  children,  and  they  felt  that 
it  was  His  wish  that  they  should  put  by  all 
they  could  for  the  purpose  which  we  have 
mentioned,  and  which  was  one  of  the  first 
things  the  young  man  confided  to  his  wife 


3IO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


after  their  marriage.  She  entered  into  the 
idea  heart  and  soul,  and  by  her  economy 
and  good  management  they  were  soon  able 
to  save  a  considerable  sum — he  from  the 
produce  of  his  land,  and  she  from  her  poul- 
try and  spinning. 

After  some  years  spent  in  this  way  the 
good  couple  agreed  to  open  their  box  and 
see  what  amount  they  had  gathered  to- 
gether. They  did  so,  and  found  to  their 
astonishment  that  it  amounted  to  70,000 
roubles.  What  will  not  thrift  and  self-de- 
nial effect? 

But  now  came  the  great  difficulty.  How 
could  a  simple  peasant,  utterly  ignorant  of 
any  business  save  his  own,  set  about  build- 
ing a  church?  and  that  in  Russia,  with 
persecution  raging  around  them,  and  their 

sole  protector,  Count  L ,  being  himself 

in  exile  in  Siberia? 

After  many  prayers  and  Communions, 
and  fervent  invocations  to  Our  I^ady,  Ivan 
(for  that  was  his  name)  determined  to  go  to 
the  chief  town  of  the  province  in  the  Gov- 
ernment of  S ,  and  ask  lea\  e  to  build 

the  chapel.  With  great  difficulty  he  ob- 
tained admittance  to  the  Governor,  who,  of 
course,  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  ridiculed 
the  proposal  as  sheer  madness.  Finally,  he 
said  to  him:  "If  you  want  this  extraordi- 
nary permission,  you  must  go  to  Warsaw. ' ' 

Nothing  daunted,  Ivan  set  off  for  War- 
saw, and,  strangely  enough,  obtained  an 
audience  of  the  Governor- General.  This 
functionary  was  kinder  to  him  than  the 
Governor  of  his  own  province  had  been, 
but  told  him  that  he  could  not  give  leave 
for  the  building  of  any  new  Catholic  chapel 
in  Poland,  and  that  he  could  only  obtain 
this  permission  at  St.  Petersburg.  This  he 
naturally  thought  would  entirely  shelve  the 
question.  But  he  did  not  know  the  strength 
of  faith. 

Ivan  at  once  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  St. 
Petersburg,  and,  after  a  wearisome  journey, 
arrived  there,  entirely  unprotected  —  hu- 
manly speaking — and  not  knowing  one 
word  of  the  Russian  language.  Yet  he  perse- 
vered, and  with  incredible  difficulty  made 
liis  way  at  last  to  the  office  of  the  Minister 


for  Public  Worship,  who  fortunately  un- 
derstood Polish.  To  him  he  presented  his 
petition  for  leave  to  I  uild  this  wayside 
chapel.  But  the  Minister  replied  that  all 
wayside  chapels  or  shrines  had  been  for 
some  little  time  forbidden  in  Poland,  only 
churches  being  allowed.  Ivan  then  boldly 
asked  for  permission  to  build  a  church.  As- 
tonished at  his  perseverance,  and  influenced 
doubtless  by  Him  who  moulds  all  human 
wills,  the  Minister  granted  his  petition, but 
told  him  that  he  must  submit  the  plans  to 
the  authorities  in  Warsaw. 

Overjoyed  at  his  success,  which  was  con- 
trary to  all  human  expectation,  Ivan  re- 
turned to  Poland,  and  sought  out  an  archi- 
tect, who  had  been  recommended  to  him 
both  as  clever  in  his  profession  and  as  a  good 
Christian.  The  architect  was  very  much 
interested  in  the  story,  and  drew  out  a  care- 
ful plan,  according  to  the  sum  he  had  in 
hand,  including  the  interior  fittings.  To  his 
bitter  disappointment,  however,  these  plans 
for  some  absurd  reason  were  not  accepted  in 
Warsaw.  Evidently  the  object  of  the  author- 
ities was  to  put  a  stop  to  the  whole  thing. 
But  Ivan  felt  he  had  gone  too  far  now  to 
go  back  or  be  deterred  by  any  obstacle.  He 
determined  to  return  again  to  St.  Peters- 
burg; knocked  once  more  at  the  Minister's 
door,  showed  his  plans,  and  'actually  ob- 
tained the  Imperial  consent. 

He  flattered  himself  that  now  his  troub- 
les were  over;  but  his  faith  and  persever- 
ance were  to  be  still  further  tried.  The 
Minister  told  him  that  of  course  he  must 
communicate  with  the  Catholic  bishop  of 
his  diocese.  This  he  hastened  to  do,  and 
joyfully  returned  to  Poland,  anticipating 
no  further  difficulty.  What  was  his  dismay 
when,  on  going  to  the  Bishop,  he  flatly  re- 
fused his  consent!  This  unexpected  op- 
position from  a  quarter  where  he  hoped  for 
cordial  support  and  sympathy  nearly  over- 
whelmed even  a  courage  like  his.  At  last, 
by  the  intervention  of  the  parish  priest,  the 
whole  history  of  Ivan's  faith  and  struggles 
to  accomplish  what  he  considered  were  Our 
Lady's  commands  was  brought  to  the  Bish-  | 
op's  ears,  and  Ivan,  in  consequence,  was  i 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


311 


igain  sent  foi;  to  the  palace.  The  Bishop 
:ould  not  help  being  greatly  struck  at  the 
aith  and  energy  of  this  simple  peasant;  but 
le  represented  to  him  what  grave  difficul- 
:ies  there  were  in  the  way.  The  hill  where 
le  proposed  to  build  his  church  was  a  lonely 
ipot,  far  removed  from  any  parish  or  popu- 
ation.  Who  was  to  serve  the  church  when 
:ompleted?  and  who  would  guarantee  the 
necessary  repairs,  or  the  expenses  required 
for  divine  worship? 

Finally,  Ivan  agreed  that  15,000  of  his 
hardly-earned  roubles  should  be  set  aside 
for  the  maintenance  of  the  priest  and  the 
services  of  the  church.  This  and  the  heavy 
expenses  consequent  on  his  frequent  jour- 
neys to  St.  Petersburg  and  Warsaw  had 
reduced  his  70,000  roubles  to  50,000;  how- 
ever, it  was  sufficient  for  the  erection  of  the 
church,  but  not  for  any  internal  fittings  or 
decoration.  Ivan  was  determined  that  no 
part  of  Our  Lady's  wishes  should  be  left 
unfulfilled  ;  but  how  was  this  to  be  done? 
He  and  his  wife  had  reduced  themselves 
to  extreme  poverty  in  their  efforts  to  carry 
out  their  plan,  and  it  seemed  hard  that,  on 
the  eve  of  its  fulfilment,  they  should  again 
be  stopped  for  want  of  means  to  fit  up  the 
church,  and  especially  to  obtain  the  pictures 
for  the  altar  which  Our  I^ady  had  men- 
tioned. 

One  day  a  person  mentioned  in  Ivan's 
presence  a  society  of  young  ladies  in  War- 
saw, devoted  to  the  work  of  supplying  poor 
churches  with  vestments,  vessels,  etc.  At 
once  he  determined  to  go  and  see  whether 
he  could  not  obtain  what  he  so  earnestly 
desired  from  this  society.  Arrived  in  War- 
saw, he  wandered  up  and  down  the  streets, 
wondering  where  he  could  find  this  institu- 
tion. At  last,  according  to  his  usual  custom, 
he  went  into  a  church  to  pray  for  light  and 
guidance;  and  on  coming  out  he  was  in- 
spired to  ask  the  question  of  a  young  lady  he 
met,  who  was  just  recovering  from  a  severe 
illness,  and  taking  her  first  walk,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  her  sister.  She  happened  to 
be  the  daughter  of  the  founder  of  this  very 

society.  Count  L ,  and  so  gladly  directed 

him  to  the  house.     On  her  return  home,  to 


her  great  surprise  she  found  Ivan  seated  iii 
her  father's  room;  and  the  Count  said  to 
her :  ' '  Mary,  now  we  have  found  the  church 
for  which  you  will  have  to  paint  the  pict- 
ure of  Our  Lady  which  you  have  promised 
Her." 

The  facts  were  these.  His  daughter  Mary 
had  been  dangerously  ill  with  typhus  fever, 
and  at  length  inflammation  of  the  lungs 
set  in,  which  confined  her  to  her  bed  for 
three  months,  and  left  her  so  weak  that  her 
life  was  despaired  of,  and  she  made  every 
preparation  for  death.  Then  the  family 
determined  to  make  a  no  vena  of  prayers 
and  Masses  to  Our  Lady.  Mary  drank  the 
Lourdes'  water,  and  made  a  vow  that,  if 
j  she  recovered,  she  would  paint  a  large  pict- 
1  ure  of  Our  Lady  for  the  poorest  church  in 
Poland.  Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  all 
the  doctors,  the  patient  began  to  recover 
from  the  moment  the  vow  was  made,  and 
now  she  was  considered  convalescent,  and 
had  that  very  day  taken  her  first  walk.  She 
had  a  remarkable  talent  for  oil-painting, 
and  that  same  morning  was  speaking  of  her 
vow  and  planning  her  new  picture. 

It  happened  that  Count  L had  been 

in  the  rooms  of  St.  Luke's  Society  at  the 
moment  when  Ivan  came  in,  and,  aston- 
ished that  a  peasant  should  be  thinking  of 
ordering  three  altar -pictures,  questioned 
him  on  the  subject,  and  heard  the  entire 
story.  Finding  that  he  had  spent  all  his 
money  on  the  church,  the  Count  at  once 
proposed  that  his  daughter  should  under- 
take the  promised  picture  of  Our  Lady. 
The  story  was  circulated;  other  ofiers  of 
help  followed,  and  very  soon  Ivan  and  his 
holy  wife  had  the  joy  of  seeing  their  church 
completed,  and  the  wished-for  pictures  in 
their  places  above  the  altars. 

We  need  not  describe  their  thankfulness 
and  happiness  on  the  day  of  consecration; 
nor  how  the  sneers  of  their  neighbors  were 
silenced  when  the  history  of  the  church 
and  its  founder  was  revealed  by  the  Bishop 
in  the  sermon  he  preached  on  the  occa- 
sion, wherein  he  pointed  out  what  wonders 
piety,  united  with  thrift  and  perseverance, 
can  efiect  when  a  man  thus  acts  in  simple 


312 


The  Ave  Maria, 


faith  and  in  obedience  to  a  holy  inspiration. 
The  peasant  and  his  wife  are  still  alive. 
Everything  has  prospered  in  their  home, 
and  it  seems  as  if  Our  Lady  had  determined 
to  restore  to  them  all  they  so  ungrudgingly 
offered  in  her  service.  A  village  has  now 
sprung  lip,  and  a  religious  order  has  been 
established  near  the  church;  so  that  day 
and  night  the  praises  of  Our  Lord  and  His 
Blessed  Mother  are  sung  on  that  (formerly) 
lonely  hill,  and  the  "boy's  dream"  has 
become  a  reality  indeed,  and  a  source  of 
blessings  to  countless  souls. 


How  Theodoret's  Mother  was  Cured  of 
Vanity. 


Theodoret,  the  eminent  Church  histo- 
rian, relates  that  his  mother  suffered  a  great 
deal  from  a  diseased  eye.  Having  heard  of  a 
holy  hermit, who  dwelt  in  a  cell  near  Anti- 
och,  she  went  to  him  in  the  hope  of  ob- 
taining a  cure.  She  was  only  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  and  very  beautiful.  Being  fond 
of  dress,  she  decked  herself  out  in  bracelets, 
earrings  and  other  costly  ornaments,  trying 
by  every  means  in  her  power  to  add  to  her 
personal  charms  and  her  consequence. 

At  the  sight  of  all  this  pompous  display, 
the  man  of  God  conceived  the  idea  of  cur- 
ing the  lady's  vanity — an  evil  far  more 
regrettable,  according  to  his  views,  than  her 
bodily  affliction. 

' '  Daughter, ' '  said  the  venerable  ancho- 
ret, "were  a  painter,  uncommonly  skilful 
in  his  art,  to  execute  a  portrait,  and  were 
a  man,  altogether  ignorant  of  painting,  to 
give  it  some  additional  touches,  can  you 
suppose  that  the  artist  would  not  feel  af- 
fronted? Then,  my  child,"  continued  the 
holy  solitary, ' '  can  you  doubt  that  the  Crea- 
tor is  offended  at  your  seeming  to  tax  His 
wisdom  with  ignorance,  and  His  skill  with 
awkwardness  by  endeavoring  to  improve 
and  to  perfect  His  work  in  your  own  per- 


son.'' 


"My  mother,"  continues  Theodoret, 
' '  cast  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  saint,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  salutary  admonition. 


Then  she  humbly  solicited  him  to  obtain 
from  God  the  cure  of  her  eye.  Through 
humility,  he  resisted  her  importunities  for 
a  long  time;  but  overcome  at  last,  he  made 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross  upon  her  eye  and  it 
was  instantly  cured.  As  soon  as  my  mother 
returned  home,  she  threw  away  her  cos- 
metics, cast  off  her  meretricious  ornaments, 
and  ever  after  dressed  in  the  neat,  simple, 
and  unaffected  way  which  the  man  of  God 
had  recommended." 


Pictures  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

Some  celebrated  pictures  are  individually 
distinguished  by  titles  derived  from  some 
particular  object  in  the  composition,  as  Ra- 
phael's Madonna  del  Impannata^  so  called 
from  the  window  in  the  background  being 
partly  shaded  with  a  piece  of  linen;  Cor- 
reggio's  Vierge  au  Panier^  so  called  from 
the  work-basket  which  stands  beside  her; 
Murillo's  Virgen  de  la  Servilleta^ — "The 
Virgin  of  the  Napkin,"  in  allusion  to  the 
napkin  on  which  it  was  painted.  Others 
are  denominated  from  certain  localities,  as 
the  Madonna  di  Foligno;  others  from  the 
names  of  families  to  whom  they  have  be- 
longed, as  La  Madonna  della  Famiglia 
Staffa^  at  Perugia. 


About  the  middle  of  the  7th  century  the 
organ  was  introduced  m  churches  by  Pope 
Vitalianus;  and  a  system  of  harmony  was 
invented  by  Huckbald,  a  Flemish  monk, 
whose  theories  were  afterwards,  in  the  nth 
century,  developed  and  in  a  measure  per- 
fected by  Guido.  In  the  year  1200  Franco  : 
introduced  a  defined  method  of  musical  ! 
rhythm  by  forms  of  notes;  and  a  few  years  ' 
later  there  are  evidences  of  musical  develop- 
ment in  England,  when,  in  1235,  Odington, 
an  ecclesiastic,  wrote  a  treatise  on  music. 
From  1320  to  1500,  Masses  motets,  and  com- 
positions in  fugal  style,  were  written  by 
various  authors;  and  in  1550  oratorios  first 
appeared,  originating  with  St.  Philip  de 
Neri. 


\'0L.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  2,  1886. 


No.  14. 


{Copyright :— Riv.  D, 

The  Completion  of  Gilding  the  Dome.* 

BY  ARTHUR  J.  STAGE. 

TTHE  gleam  of  earthly  gold — how  pale! 

^    Our  brightest  light — how  faint  the  shine 
To  eyes  that,  bless' d  with  Light  Divine, 

Are  turned  in  pity  toward  the  vale, 

Where  Eve's  sad  children  bid  Thee  hail! 
To  cheer  them  with  a  glance  benign, 
Their  sorrows  with  Thine  own  to  twine. 

And  thus  the  Throne  of  Grace  assail. 

And  yet,  though  poor  the  gift,  'tis  meet 

Humbly  and  gratefully  to  bring 
All  earthly  treasures  to  Thy  feet, 

O  Mother  of  the  Heavenly  King! 
For  earthly  treasures  by  Thine  aid 
May  turn  to  joys  that  never  fade. 


The  Excellence  of  the  Holy  Rosary. 


HE  devotion  of  the  Rosary,  as  it  is 
i  now  practised  all  over  the  world, 
is  due  to  St.  Dominic ;  but  the 
nethod  of  counting  prayers  by  beads,  or 
pebbles,  has  been  traced  back  to  the  Fathers 
of  the  Desert.  It  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  for  many  ages  there  were  no  printed 
books  in  the  world;  Christianity  had  been 

*  The  gilding  of  the  dome  of  the  University  of 
"^otre  Dame,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  colossal 
tatue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  illuminated  by  an 
•lectric  crown  and  crescent  was  completed  last 
veek— the  gift  of  a  devout  client  of  Our  Lady. 


C.8.C.] 

preached  for  more  than  1,400  years  before 
the  means  of  multiplying  such  books  was 
discovered.  Before  that  time  all  the  books 
that  existed  were  in  manuscript;  they  were, 
for  the  most  part,  large  and  unwieldy,  and, 
in  price,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  private  in*- 
dividuals,  except  the  very  wealthy.  A  few 
expensive  prayer-books  there  were,  in  the 
oratories  of  kings  and  nobles;  but  the  mass 
of  the  people  had  neither  money  enough  to 
pay  for  them  nor  education  enough  to  profit 
by  them.  Besides  this,  they  found  a  peculiar 
pleasure  in  repeating  the  prayer  taught 
by  Our  Blessed  Lord  Himself,  as  well  as 
those  other  forms  sanctioned  by  ancient 
usage  and  by  the  universal  adoption  of  the 
Church,  the  "Hail  Mary"  and  the  ''Apos- 
tles' Creed. ' '  When  they  could  not  procure 
or  use  a  prayer-book,  they  said  these  pray- 
ers many  times  over,  to  express  new  desires 
of  their  hearts.  And  to  preserve  order  and 
uniformity  they  were  accustomed,  in  very 
early  times,  to  count  the  number  of  prayers 
by  dropping  or  laying  aside  a  certain  num- 
ber of  pebbles,  so  that,  without  distracting 
their  thoughts  from  what  they  were  doing, 
they  could  know  exactly  when  they  had 
come  to  the  end  of  the  prescribed  devotion. 

This  is  the  simple  history  of  the  beads, 
which  are  now  strung  upon  a  wire,  and 
made  to  slip  through  the  fingers  as  the  dif- 
ferent prayers  are  said. 

The  Psalms  have  always  been  a  favorite 
part  of  both  public  and  private  devotion  in 
the  Church.  The  daily  Office  said  by  the 
clergy  and  the  religious  orders  is,  in  great 


3^i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


part,  composed  of  them ;  but  before  the  in- 
vention of  printing  it  was  very  difficult  to 
obtain  copies  of  them.  Hence  the  thought 
suggested  itself  to  St.  Dominic  to  prepare  a 
form  of  devotion  that  might  represent  the 
Psalms  to  those  who  could  not  read;  for 
this  purpose  he  made  the  Rosary  consist  of 
as  many  ' '  Hail  Marys ' '  as  there  are  Psalms 
in  the  Psalter.  For  this  reason  it  is  some- 
times called  the  Psalter  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

In  the  Psalms  there  is  an  endless  variety 
of  subjects ;  sometimes  the  language  is 
plaintive,  and  expressive  of  contrition  and 
of  mourning;  in  another  place  it  is  trium- 
phant, returning  high  praise  to  God  for  mer- 
cies granted  and  for  deliverance  obtained 
through  His  all-powerful  assistance.  In  like 
manner,  that  the  attention  might  be  kept 
alive  by  a  similar  variety,  St.  Dominic  pro- 
posed a  series  of  subjects  for  meditation 
during  the  repetition  of  the  prayers  of  the 
Rosary.  These  subjects  are  called  its  Fif- 
teen Mysteries.  They  are  chosen  from  the 
life  and  history  of  Our  Ivord  and  His  Blessed 
Mother,  and  proceed,  with  ever -varying 
and  growing  interest,  from  the  joyful  event 
of  His  Annunciation,  through  His  Birth 
and  Presentation  in  the  Temple,  and  the 
sorrowful  scenes  of  His  Passion  and  Death, 
to  the  glorious  commemoration  of  His  Res- 
urrection and  Ascension,  the  coming  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  the  decease  and  Assump- 
tion of  His  Virgin  Mother,  and  Her  eternal 
union  with  Him  in  heaven.  Each  successive 
Mystery  gives  a  new  meaning  to  the  vocal 
prayer  that  accompanies  it,  though  the  form 
of  that  prayer  is  the  same  throughout. 

Of  the  "Our  Father,"  with  which  each 
Mystery  begins,  and  of  the  Gloria  Patri 
said  at  the  end,  it  will  not  be  necessary  to 
speak  at  present.  The  "Hail  Mary"  is 
taken  in  greater  part  from  Holy  Scripture. 
The  beginning,  ' '  Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace ! 
the  lyord  is  with  Thee, ' '  is  the  language  of 
the  Angel  Gabriel,  when  addressing  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  delivering  his  message 
of  the  Annunciation.  "Blessed  art  Thou 
among  women,  and  blessed  is  the  fruit  of 
Thy  womb, ' '  is  the  inspired  utterance  of  the 


pious  Elizabeth  when,  filled  with  the  Holy 
Ghost,  she  returned  the  salutation  of  Mary. 
The  conclusion  is  the  ardent  prayer  of  the 
Church,  that  She  who  is  so  replenished  with 
grace,  so  blessed  in  Herself,  and,  in  Her 
union  with  Him  who  is  "over  all,  blessed 
forever,"  may  remember  the  children  of 
Her  adoption,  and  assist  them  now — in  the 
trials  and  sorrows  of  life,  its  rough  ways  and 
its  changeful  events — and,  above  all,  when 
all  earthly  support  fails — in  the  solemn 
hour  when  their  spirits  shall  return  to  God, 
to  receive  the  recompense  of  deeds  done  in 
the  flesh. 

This  prayer  is  short  and  simple,  but  it 
contains  much  more  than  a  careless  glance 
would  discover.  It  is  a  monument  of  an 
event  whose  importance  has  never  been 
surpassed  in  the  history  of  the  world — when 
an  angelic  messenger  announced  to  one  of 
the  human  family  that  the  Eternal  Son  of 
God  should  become  Her  Son ;  it  contains  a 
record  of  the  homage  paid  to  Mary,  and  to 
Mary's  Son  and  God,  by  a  saint  of  the  hu- 
man family — Her  aged  cousin  Elizabeth. 

It  is  usual  for  the  young  to  venerate  the 
old,  who,  in  return,  love  and  protect  them, 
and  accept  of  their  deference  as  a  tribute  due 
to  years  and  experience.  But  the  common 
course  of  nature  was  reversed  in  the  visit 
of  Mary  to  Elizabeth.  The  aged  relative 
regarded  it  as  an  honor,  immeasurably  be- 
yond her  deserts,  that  the  youthful  Mother 
of  her  Lord  should  come  to  her.  She  looked 
up,  with  the  venerable  weight  of  years  upon 
her,  to  one  who  had  hardly  emerged  from 
childhood;  she  saluted  Her, and  pronounced 
Her  blessed  because  of  the  blessedness  of 
the  fruit  of  Her  womb,  Jesus. 

And  if  the  first  and  second  parts  of  this 
prayer  are  full  of  meaning,  as  records  of 
past  events,  its  significance  is  further  in- 
creased by  the  consideration  of  the  changes 
that  have  attended  the  unfolding  of  the 
designs  of  Providence.  If  Mary  was  "full 
of  grace,"  and  "blessed  among  women," 
before  Her  divine  Son  was  born,  with  hos\ 
much  more  appropriateness  may  She  be  saiCi 
to  be  so  now  that  He  hath  finished  the  wori! 
assigned  to  Him  by  His  Heavenly  Father  j 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


315 


lat  He  hath  triumphed  over  the  enemy 
© '  all  good,  and  hath  ' '  entered  into  HivS 
g  lory  'M  If  the  Angel  Gabriel  and  St.  Eliz- 
a  )eth  thus  emphatically  proclaimed  the 
h  Dnor  of  Mary  in  the  dawn  of  Her  propi- 
t-  3US  day,  far  more  eloquent  does  this  lan- 
g  lage  sound  on  our  lips,  as  the  expression 
0  :*  Her  glory  in  the  progress  and  consum- 
mation of  Her  union  with  Jesus,  in  the  light 
of  the  "perfect  day"  in  which  She  lives  and 
reigns.  We  have  witnessed  the  end  of  what 
was  seen  only  in  prophetic  vision,  when  the 
inspired  language  of  this  prayer  was  first 
heard  from  the  lips  of  Archangel  and  Saint; 
prophecy  has  given  place  to  history,  hope 
to  fulfilment,  the  first  blossom  of  promise  to 
the  fruit  of  a  mature  and  abundant  harvest. 

A  great  peculiarity  and  excellence  of  the 
Rosary  is  the  combination  of  vocal  with 
mental  prayer,  or  meditation ;  while  the 
lips  pronounce  the  Angelical  Salutation, 
the  thoughts  connect  its  language  with  the 
successive  mysteries  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
and  His  Blessed  Mother.  Hence  arises  an 
endless  variety  in  the  expression  of  that 
jlanguage,  for  its  application  to  the  circum- 
stances of  one  Mystery  imparts  to  it  a 
meaning  widely  different  from  what  belongs 
to  it  in  connection  with  another.  Thus, 
while  we  are  meditating  on  the  Joyful  Mys- 
tery of  the  Annunciation,  "full  of  grace" 
may  be  taken  to  signify  the  peculiar  adap- 
tation of  the  endowments  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  to  the  marvellous  honor  in  store 
for  Her,  the  rich  spiritual  treasure  already 
Hers,  as  a  preparation  for  still  more  pre- 
vious favors.  But  a  very  different  meaning 
tnay  be  expressed  by  the  same  words  when, 
n  the  meditation  on  the  Mystery  of  the 
A^scension,  they  are  applied  to  Her  as  if 
present  at  that  spectacle  of  glory.  "Full 
:)f  grace"  would  then  imply  superabun- 
iance  of  spiritual  riches.  In  like  manner, 
he  other  parts  of  this  prayer  are  susceptible 
)f  a  corresponding  change  in  meaning,  as 
he  subject  of  each  meditation  is  varied. 

In  addition  to  this  variety  in  the  first  and 
econd  parts  of  the  '  'Angelical  Salutation, ' ' 

corresponding  change  in  the  application 
>f  its  third  and  last  part  is  produced  by  de- 


voting the  4)rayer  of  each  decade  to  obtain 
some  special  grace  connected  more  or  less 
with  the  Mystery  under  review.  Thus  it  is 
the  custom  of  many  to  pray  for  the  grace 
of  humility  while  meditating  on  the  An- 
nunciation; for  the  grace  of  charity  while 
meditating  on  the  Visitation ;  for  the  spirit 
of  poverty  while  contemplating  the  Na- 
tivity, etc.  "Pray  for  us"  then  signifies: 
Obtain  for  us  by  thy  powerful  prayers  the 
grace  of  humility,  the  grace  of  charity,  the 
•spirit  of  poverty. 

It  would  take  a  long  time  to  explain  fully 
the  excellence  of  this  form  of  prayer.  It 
is  very  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  simple  and 
unlearned  children  of  the  Church,  who  have 
a  profounder  instinct  in  spiritual  things 
than  belongs  to  many  who  are,  intellectu- 
ally, their  superiors.  Though  the  Rosary  is 
much  esteemed  by  pious  people  who  are 
unable  to  read,  it  is  also  in  frequent  use 
nowadays  among  others  who  are  not  so  de- 
pendent. Books  will  at  times  fatigue  even 
the  most  diligent  student;  there  are  mo- 
ments of  exhaustion,  when  the  mind  refuses 
to  fix  attention  on  the  thoughts  of  others. 
Circumstances,  too,  sometimes  render  it  im- 
possible to  use  manuals  of  prayer;  as, for  in- 
stance, when  one  is  on  a  journey,  or  is  kept 
awake  at  night,  or  while  waiting  upon  oth- 
ers. At  such  times  the  devotion  of  the  Ro- 
sary recommends  itself  as  an  easily  availa- 
ble method  of  prayer.  But  above  all  other 
reasons,  its  own  incomparable  excellence 
makes  it  a  daily  practice  of  millions  of  souls 
— an  excellence  which  has  been  further 
enhanced  by  the  numerous  indulgences  at- 
tached to  its  use  by  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs. 

The  Rosary  is,  therefore,  very  precious  to 
every  Catholic.  It  is  a  mystic  bond  that  unites 
him  with  his  brethren  all  over  the  world. 
Day  by  day,  all  the  children  of  Mary  who 
use  the  Rosary  assemble  at  the  foot  of  Her 
throne  to  express  their  faith  in  Her  Divine 
Son, their  devotion  to  Her  for  His  dear  sake; 
their  charity  towards  one  another  for  Hers. 
How  many  trials  are  borne  with  a  constancy 
unknown  to  natural  fortitude  through  the 
grace  obtained  by  this  simple  means!  how 
many  illuminations  are  shed  on  the  path 


3i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  duty!  how  many  objects  of  the  heart's 
cherished  desire  attained!  If  the  secrets  of 
many  hearts  could  be  revealed,  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  Rosary  in  our  times  would 
bear  comparison  with  those  of  former  ages : 
Mary  is  still  "Our  Lady  of  Victory." 

We  are  taught  also  to  reflect,  as  we  use  our 
beads,  upon  the  generations  that  are  gone 
before  us,  professing  the  Catholic  faith,who 
left  this  world  murmuring  the  names  of 
Jesus  and  Mary.  Perhaps  we  have  known 
some  who,  as  life  was  ebbing,  still  kept  the 
crucified  image  of  their  Lord  before  their 
eyes  and  the  Rosary  in  their  feeble  hands. 
Their  piety  attracts  us  to  what  they  valued 
so  highly;  we  refuse  to  regard  the  contempt 
which  the  children  of  the  world  are  apt  to 
throw  upon  this  beautiful  devotion,  as  a 
vain  superstition,  or,  at  best,  as  something 
fit  only  for  the  illiterate.  In  the  school  of 
Jesus  and  of  Mary,  ignorance  and  knowl- 
edge have  a  meaning  very  different  from 
that  aflSxed  to  them  in  the  schools  of  the 
world.  Wisdom  in  the  school  of  the  saints 
is  profitable  for  eternal  salvation. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY   CHRISTIAN   REID. 


XV. 


"/^AN  you  tell  me,"  said  Alice  Percival 

V^  to  Graham,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
Mr.  Thornton?" 

The  two  were  walking  down  the  street 
together,  and  they  had  just  met  Philip,  who 
bowed,  almost  without  lifting  his  eyes.  Af- 
ter he  passed.  Miss  Percival  turned  to  her 
companion  with  the  above  remark.  That 
gentleman  looked  a  little  surprised  and  not 
very  well  pleased. 

' '  Is  anything  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  he 
asked.    ' '  I  have  not  observed  it. ' ' 

The  young  lady  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 
"I  thought  you  were  a  friend  of  his,"  she 
said. 

' '  Oh,  yes,  I  am  a  friend — though  not  ex- 
actly of  the  Daman  and  Pythias  type, ' '  the 
other  replied.    "I  do  not  see  very  much  of 


him,  and  I  did  not  observe  him  when  he 
passed  just  now." 

"I  have  observed  for  some  time  how 
much  he  is  changed,"  said  Miss  Percival, 
quietly.  "When  I  first  met  him  a  few 
months  ago,  I  thought  him  the  embodiment 
of  prosperity  in  its  most  inofiensive  form — 
one  with  whom  the  world  went  so  well 
that  he  could  not  imagine  its  going  other- 
wise with  any  one  else,  and  whose  overflow- 
ing sunshine  was  agreeable  and  contagious. 
But  of  late  he  is  greatly  altered:  he  is  pale 
and  grave,  and  altogether  different." 

Graham  looked  less  and  less  pleased.  "I 
was  not  aware, ' '  he  said,  stiffly,  ' '  that  you 
knew  him  so  well  as  to  be  able  to  detect  all 
this." 

"I  hardly  know  him  at  all,"  she  an- 
swered, with  the  same  quietness.  ' '  But  this 
change  is  so  great  that  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  strike  any  one.  I  see  him  in  the 
choir,  you  know;  and  I  meet  him  now  and 
then  at  choir- practice — although  of  late  he 
has  neglected  that  very  much,  greatly  to 
Mr.  Richter's  disgust." 

' '  Things  are  not  going  quite  so  smoothly 
with  him  as  they  were,"  observed  Graham, 
overcoming  by  a  great  effort  his  reluctance 
to  speak  of  Philip  at  all.  ' '  He  has  had  a— 
disagreement  with  his  uncle,  which  has 
materially  changed  his  prospects.  That  is 
enough  to  make  him  look  grave;  and  if  he 
looks  pale,  that  is  probably  because  he  has 
been  burning  the  midnight  oil  somewhat. 
He  has  entered  on  the  study  of  the  law  with 
commendable  assiduity. ' ' 

"A  disagreement  with  his  uncle!"  re- 
peated Miss  Percival.  "I  am  going  to  ask 
you  a  singular  question,  Mr.  Graham,  and  I 
beg  that  you  will  answer  it  frankly.  Has 
this  disagreement  anything  to  do  with  his 
acquaintance  with  mef^ 

"With   you!"    said   Graham,  amazed. 
"Certainly  not. 
such  a  thine?" 


How  could  you  imagine 


"Because  his  manner  has  changed  su 
singularly  to  me,"  she  answered.  "For  a 
time  I  thought  I  should  have  the  rather 
ungracious  task  of  repelling  his  advances 
toward  friendliness — advances  which  I  un- 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


317 


lerstood  very  well  sprang  from  the  sunny 
irankness  of  his  disposition,  and  his  igno- 
ance  of  any  reason  why  I  should  not  re- 
i.pond  to  them.  But  of  late  he  avoids  even 
ihe  ;most  trivial  intercourse — such  as  an 
<  exchange  of  words  about  our  singing — in  a 
manner  so  marked  that  it  is  impossible  to 
mistake  the  intention  of  it.  If  his  uncle 
had  heard  of  our  acquaintance — slight  as  it 
Avas— and  had  objected  to  it,  that  might 
iiccount  for  his  manner.". 

"  No, "  said  Graham .  "His  disagreement 
with  his  uncle  was  on  an  altogether  dif- 
lerent  ground ;  and  as  for  the  change  in  his 
manner  to  you,  that  also  has  a  different 
Teason  from  the  one  you  imagine.  His  ad- 
vances toward  friendliness  were,  as  you  say, 
made  in  ignorance;  but  that  ignorance  is 
now  at  an  end.  He  knows  the  true  story 
of  James  Thornton's  conduct  to  your  father, 
and  feels  that  he  has  no  longer  any  right  to 
your  acquaintance. ' ' 

"He  knows  it  —  does  he?"  she  said, 
musingly.  ' '  I  am  half  sorry.  He  seemed  so 
full  of  confidence  that  there  was  no  wrong 
involved.  How  did  he  learn  the  truth  ? ' ' 
"Well— I  told  him,"  replied  Graham. 
"The  matter  came  up,  and  I  thought  he 
ought  to  know. ' ' 

She  gave  him  another  glance.  ' '  It  was 
rather  a  disagreeable  thing  to  tell,"  she 
said.  ' '  I  wonder  you  thought  it  necessary 
to  do  so. ' ' 

"He  insisted  upon  knowing.  I  fancy 
that  he  had  a  suspicion  of  something  wrong; 
and  when  I  dropped  a  word  or  two  reflect- 
ing on  his  uncle's  integrity,  he  demanded 
an  explanation.  I  had  therefore  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  comply  with  his  demand. ' ' 

"And  how  did  he  take  it?"  she  asked, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"It  was  a  severe  blow  to  him,  and  he 
declared  that  he  would  ask  his  uncle  to  ex- 
plain the  suspicious  circumstances.  But  if 
be  ever  asked  him  I  imagine  that  the  an- 
wer  was  not  very  satisfactory,  for  he  has 
ivoided  me  since  then,  and  I  am  sure  that 
le  would  have  come  to  me  at  once  if  he  had 
)een  able  to  clear  up  the  matter — which  is, 
ve  know,  impossible. ' ' 


' '  So  this  accounts  for  the  change  toward 
me,"  she  said.  "Yet  surely  he  can  not 
think  that  I  hold  him  responsible  for  the 
wrong- doing  of  another. ' ' 

"No,"  answered  Graham,  "he  does  not 
think  so.  He  spoke  with  gratitude  of  your 
kindness  and  courtesy;  but  he  also  ex- 
pressed his  regret  that  he  had  ever  forced 
himself  upon  your  notice." 

' '  It  was  an  unnecessary  regret, ' '  she  re- 
plied, "  for  I  have  no  recollection  of  his  ever 
forcing  himself  upon  me  at  all. ' ' 

Graham  did  not  remind  her  that  she  had 
spoken  a  few  minutes  earlier  of  friendly 
advances  which  it  might  have  been  neces- 
sary to  repel.  He  was  silent,  thinking  that 
he  did  not  like  this  interest  in  Philip 
Thornton,  and  that  he  would  say  nothing 
more  about  him.  But  in  forming  the  reso- 
lution he  reckoned  without  Miss  Percival, 
who  presently  resumed : 

'  'And  you  are  certain  that  what  he  learned 
from  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  es- 
trangement from  his  uncle?" 

' '  There  are  not  many  things  that  one  can 
aflirm  oneself  to  be  positively  certain  of," 
Graham  answered ;  ' '  but  this  seems  to  me 
one,  because  he  came  to  me  for  advice  about 
studying  law,  saying  that  he  could  not 
comply  with  some  wishes  of  his  uncle,  who 
had  therefore  changed  his  intentions  tow- 
ard him.  It  was  on  that  occasion  the  con- 
versation took  the  turn  I  have  mentioned, 
and  I  told  him  the  story  of  your  father's 
business  connection  with  Mr.  Thornton. ' ' 

They  walked  on  silently  for  several  min- 
utes, and  Graham  was  about  to  introduce  a 
new  topic  of  conversation  when  Alice  spoke 
again. 

' '  I  am  sorry  for  him, ' '  she  said,  in  a  tone 
as  if  thinking  aloud.  "He  looks  as  if  he 
had  suffered. ' ' 

"That  is  not  very  uncommon  in  this 
world, ' '  replied  the  now  exasperated  Gra- 
ham. "We  must  all  suffer  sooner  or  later; 
and  if  Thornton  has  never  to  endure  any- 
thing worse  than  finding  out  thajtAiB  -Ugcle 
is  deficient  in  honesty,  he  wil 

lightly."  /o,.^^ 

' '  Many  people,' '  observed  mk  ymfc^)^ 


>.0> 


3i8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


coldly,  would  not  suflfer  at  all  from  such  a 
knowledge.  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that. 
But  it  gives  me  a  good  opinion  of  Mr. 
Thornton  to  know  that  he  has  suffered." 

There  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  to  re- 
ply to  this,  so  Graham  held  his  peace ;  and 
a  few  minutes  later  they  reached  Miss  Per- 
cival's  door,  where  the  subject  was  finally 
dropped.  But  although  dropped  it  by  no 
means  left  Alice's  mind.  She  observed 
Philip  with  fresh  interest  the  next  time  that 
she  met  him,  and  his  changed  aspect  struck 
her  more  and  more.  She  resolved  that  on 
the  first  opportunity  she  would  speak  to 
him,  and  show  him  that  she  did  not  regard 
him  as  identified  with  his  uncle.  But  it 
was  some  time  before  this  opportunity  ar- 
rived; for  Philip  was  very  careful  to  avoid 
her,  and  their  chance  meetings  were  few. 
But  at  last  accident  came  to  her  assist- 
ance. 

The  season  was  by  this  time  far  advanced. 
People  were  leaving  the  city  for  summer 
resorts,  and  among  the  rest  Mrs.  King  pre- 
pared to  go.  The  day  before  her  departure 
Alice  went  to  say  good-bye.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon.  The  sun  had  set,  and  after 
a  very  warm  day  a  slight  breeze  had  sprung 
up  and  cooled  the  air.  The  two  ladies  sat 
at  the  open  window  of  the  drawing-room, 
outside  which  the  green  foliage  of  some 
trees  stirred  softly,  and  talked  of  Mrs.  King's 
plans  for  the  Summer. 

'  'And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  that 
lady  asked  at  length.  ' '  You  surely  do  not 
intend  to  remain  here  all  the  season  ? ' ' 

' '  In  the  vacation  mamma  and  I  generally 
go  to  the  country  for  fresh  air,"  Alice  an- 
swered. ' '  But  we  can  not  go  very  far.  Trav- 
elling is  expensive,  and  places  of  resort  still 
more  expensive.  Then  mamma  needs  spe- 
cial comforts,  which  must  be  secured,  you 
know. ' ' 

' '  I  know  that  I  should  like  to  be  able  to 
throw  some  prosperity  into  your  life  and 
hers, ' '  said  Mrs.  King.  '  *  How  dreadful  it 
is  that  a  creature  born  for  a  wide  existence, 
as  you  certainly  were,  should  be  bound 
down  to  such  a  narrow  one!" 
.  ''Its    narrowness   in    outward    circum- 


stances does  not  trouble  me  at  all,"  said 
Alice,  quietly.  ' '  My  mind  and  my  soul  have 
a  wide  life,  and  that  is  enough." 

Mrs.  King  was  silent  for  a  minute,  then 
she  remarked:  "I  never  knew  until  Mr. 
Graham  told  me  that  your  adversity  is  not 
the  result  of  misfortune,  but  of  dishon- 
esty, in  your  father's  business  partner.  It 
seems  to  me  that  would  make  it  harder  to 
bear." 

' '  Mr.  Graham  appears  to  take  a  singular 
interest  in  telling  that  story,"  said  Miss 
Percival.  "How  did  he  possibly  chance  to 
tell  it  to  you?" 

"It  was  apropos  of  young  Thornton," 
Mrs.  King  answered.  ' '  He  came  in  one 
evening  when  you  were  singing  together, 
and  the  sight  did  not  seem  to  please  him. 
To  account  for  his  evident  disapproval,  he 
told  me  why  he  thought  it  an  undesirable 
association. ' ' 

' '  Mr.  Graham  should  certainly  allow  me 
to  be  the  judge  of  that,"  replied  the  other, 
coldly.  "  Is  it  not  strange  that  even  Chris- 
tian people  think  resentment  in  some  cases 
an  absolute  duty!" 

"A  remnant  of  the  heathen  in  usWl,'^ 
rejoined  Mrs.  King.  "But  it  has  been  on 
my  mind  ever  since  to  apologize  to  you  for 
introducing  Philip  Thornton.  If  I  had  ever 
heard  of  this  matter,  of  course  I  should  have 
asked  your  permission — though  I  believe 
he  came  in  upon  us  one  day  when  we  were 
sitting  together,  and  there  seemed  no  alter- 
native. ' ' 

' '  There  was  no  alternative, ' '  Alice  an- 
swered, ' '  and  I  assure  you  I  had  no  objec- 
tion, to  knowing  him.  Why  should  I  have 
any?  He  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  uncle's 
conduct  in  a  business  transaction. ' ' 

"Very  true,"  said  Mrs.  King;  "but most 
people  would  not  remember  that.    How-  j 
ever,  you  are  not  like  most  people.  You  are 
made  of  quite  special  clay,  as  I  always  knew. 
By  the  by,  have  you  seen  him  lately?" 

"Only  in  the  choir,  and  once  or  twice  at 
Mr.  Richter's.  I  have  been  struck  by  a 
change  in  him." 

' '  There  is  a  great  change.  That  is  the 
reason  I  asked  if  you  had  seen  him.   I  hear 


The  Ave  Maria. 


319 


haX  lie  has  broken  with  his  uncle,  or 
3een  discarded  by  the  latter.  And  on  what 
rround,  do  you  suppose?" 

Alice  shook  her  head.  "I  can  not  even 
magine. ' ' 

"Did  you  ever  see  Constance  Irving? 
/ou  know  what  a  beautiful  girl  she  is. 
Well,  she  is  Mrs,  Thornton's  niece,  and  it 
'las  always  been  understood  that  the  two 
oung  people  would  marry.  But  suddenly 
cver>'thing  has  been  broken  off:  Philip  has 
left  his  uncle's  house,  cut  society,  and  gone 
to  studying  law.  Naturally  people  were  cu- 
rious to  know  the  meaning  of  such  conduct; 
and  since  everything  is  known  sooner  or 
later  in  this  delightful  world,  it  has  tran- 
spired that  he  declined  to  fulfil  his  part  of 
the  contract  unless  Constance  would  be- 
come a  Catholic.  She  refused,  his  uncle  and 
aunt  were  indignant  at  the  demand,  and  the 
young  man  was  dismissed,  to  come  to  his 
senses  or  lose  his  fortune.  How  people  do 
surprise  one  sometimes!  Who  could  ever 
have  imagined  that  it  was  in  him  to  take 
so  firm  a  stand  on  such  a  ground  ? ' ' 

Alice  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  She 
was  thinking  of  some  words  of  Graham's 
uttered  a  few  months  before :  ' '  He  is  one  of 
those  characters  that  float  with  the  current, 
but  have  no  strength  to  go  against  it.  At 
present  he  is  a  Catholic — after  a  fashion — 
but  some  day  the  world  will  offer  him  an 
inducement,  and  he  will  give  up  his  religion 
as  his  uncle  has  done. ' '  She  had  doubted 
the  accuracy  of  this  judgment  at  the  time, 
and  now  she  felt  how  much  truer  was  her 
instinct  than  Graham's  knowledge.  A  mo- 
ment of  trial  had  come,  and  instead  of  float- 
ng  with  the  current,  Philip  had  stood  firm 
on  a  point  where  many  Catholics,  of  much 
more  apparent  fervor,  fail. 

"People  do  surprise  one  very  much  some- 
times, ' '  she  assented  at  length.  ' '  It  should 
teach  us  not  to  be  hasty  in  judgment,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"That  is  the  moral  to  be  drawn,  of 
ourse, ' '  said  Mrs.  King.  ' '  But,  consciously 
:>r  unconsciously,  how  can  one  avoid  judg- 
ng?  When  one  sees  a  gay,  worldly  young 
nan,  who  appears  to  take  life  as  lightly  as 


possible,  can  one.reasonably  expect  him  to 
develop  religious  rigor  on  a  point  that  is 
not  only  treated  carelessly  by  many  serious 
Catholics,  but  that  affects  his  whole  future 
in  a  more  than  ordinary  way  ?  I  confess  I 
could  hardly  believe  the  story  when  it  was 
told  to  me;  but  it  came  directly  from  Mrs. 
Thornton's  sister,  so  I  suppose  there  is  no 
doubt  of  it.  His  fortitude  in  right- doing 
does  not  appear  to  have  had  a  very  enliven- 
ing effect  upon  him,  however." 

"Perhaps  he  is  very  much  in  love  with 
Miss  Irving,  and  feels  the  separation  from 
her." 

The  elder  lady  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  don' t 
think  he  is  at  all  in  love  with  her:  they 
have  been  too  long  and  too  familiarly  asso- 
ciated. No  doubt  there  is  som^  attachment, 
and  she  is  such  a  lovely  girl  that  he  could 
not  dislike  the  idea  of  marrying  her;  but  the 
great  inducement,  of  course,  was  pleasing 
his  uncle  and  securing  his  uncle's  fortune. 
Most  men  would  have  done  things  much 
worse  than  marrying  a  pretty  Protestant 
for  that." 

"It  is  a  very  painful  position  for  him," 
said  Alice, thoughtfully.  "  I  do  not  wonder 
that  he  is  so  much  changed." 

Mrs.  King  suddenly  leaned  forward.  A 
figure  on  the  street  had  passed  the  window 
and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  house.  The 
next  instant  the  door-bell  sounded.  "  (9;? 
parte  du  soleil  et  en  void  les  rayons^ ' '  said 
she, smiling.    "There  is  Philip  Thornton 


now. 


(to  be  continued.) 


The  Irish  Lamp  at  Lourdes. 


BY   EI/EANOR    C.    DONNELLY. 


■jlj  HBRK  the  lamps  like  jewels  blaze 
^^   In  our  Queen's  basilic  blest, 
'  Mid  those  circling  lights,  thy  rays 
Are  the  brightest  far,  and  best. 

Glorious  lamp  from  Ireland, 
Brilliant  star  from  Erin's  Isle, 

Gilding  all  the  altar  grand 
With  the  splendor  of  thy  smile! 


320 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Whose  a  dearer  right  than  thine 

To  illume  Our  Lady's  brow? 
Who  hath  better  right  to  shine 
At  Her  virgin  feet  than  thoti  ? — 

Thou  the  boon,  the  symbol  bright 

Of  old  Erin's  zeal  and  love; 
Of  her  faith,  through  Sorrow's  night, 

Flaming  up  to  Heaven  above! 

Of  her  fond  devotion's  fire, 

Fed  with  oil  from  Mary's  name,^ 

Mounting  higher  still  and  higher, 

Through  long  years  of  grief  and  shame. 

Queen  and  Mother,  bending  low. 
Bless  this  daystar  from  the  West; 

Other  lamps  may  round  Thee  glow — 
This  is  bravest  far,  and  best. 

Like  St.  Bride's  immortal  light, 
That  Kildare  once  joyed  to  see. 

Bid  it  shine  forever  bright, 
Type  of  Erin's  hopes  and — Thee!' 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


VIII.— Athens. 

EN  Route. — A  night's  sail  from  Smyrna 
brings  the  voyager  to  Syra.  Piraeus, 
the  port  of  Athens,  is  but  six  or  seven  hours 
distant  from  Syra  across  the  Homeric  Sea. 
Syra  is  Greek  to  the  backbone.  The  town 
climbs  the  steep  slope  of  a  high  hill,  so  that 
the  houses  seem  set  one  upon  the  other. 
They  are  all  white  and  ugly.  Not  a  green 
thing  is  visible;  even  the  island  is  dust- 
colored  and  naked.  Syra,  with  its  pyramid 
of  houses,  looks  as  if  it  were  built  of  cards; 
as  if  the  first  gust  from  the  right  quarter 
would  carry  the  city  off  over  the  sea  and 
scatter  it  on  the  four  winds. 

The  harbor  of  Piraeus  is  scarcely  less  un- 
lovely. To  be  sure,  you  are  pointed  to  the 
tomb  of  Themistocles,  on  the  promontory, 
and  yonder  towers  the  Acropolis;  and  the 
peaks  of  Parnes,  Hymettus  and  Pentelicus 


*  ' '  Thy  name  is  as  oil  poured  out."  (Cant,  i,  2.) 


are  crowned  with  glorious  light;  but  close 
at  hand  there  are  store-houses  and  custom- 
houses, and  many  a  hovel  that  is  sugges- 
tive of  poverty  and  domestic  filth. 

Our  anchor  is  no  sooner  overboard  than 
swarms  of  natives  storm  us.  Hotel  run- 
ners hail  us  in  all  the  tongues  of  Babel. 
Greek,  real  Greek,  is  poured  into  our  aston- 
ished ears.  It  sounds  bookish,  and  recalls 
the  days  when  we  nibbled  the  dry  roots, 
too  often  in  the  extra  hours  that  fall  to  the 
lot  of  the  delinquent.  This  modern  Greek 
sounds  well  enough  and  looks  well  enough, 
but  it  resembles  the  royal  tongue  of  Homer 
only  to  the  degree  that  the  modern  Athe- 
nian resembles  his  illustrious  god-nour- 
ished predecessor.  It  is  spurious,  and  to  be 
guarded  against.  It  is  half  a  page  of  the 
Iliad  dealt  out  in  the  limping  lingo  of  the 
fellow  at  the  foot  of  his  form. 

The  omnibus  that  plies  between  Piraeus 
and  Athens  is  certainly  preferable  to  the 
rail  that  likewise  modernizes  and  disfigures 
the  capital  of  Greece.  The  road  is  most  in- 
teresting. You  can  scarcely  turn  your  eyes 
without  discovering  some  improvement — 
evidence  of  the  new  life  that  seems  to  be 
awakening  in  the  heart  of  that  long- slum- 
bering nation,  and  of  which,  naturally 
enough,  they  are  immensely  proud. 

The  six-mile  drive  from  the  seaport  to 
the  capital  is  too  soon  ended,  and  the  splen- 
dor of  modern  Athens  bursts  upon  the  be- 
holder quite  unexpectedly.  Young  Athens 
might  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  small  Ger- 
man capital.  The  Bavarian  influence  is 
indelible ;  and  though  King  Otho  has  made 
his  bow  and  retired,  and  a  new  king  an(]  a 
new  constitution  come  to  the  troubled  sur- 
face, this  modern  Athens  will  probably 
increase  and  multiply  in  every  phase  and 
feature  that  is  German  until  the  last  feeble 
remnant  of  the  original  race  has  burst  with 
pride  and  mingled  its  dust  with  the  sacred 
soil  of  Attica. 

Athens  has  broad,  glaring  streets,  full  of 
heat  in  summer,  and  ever  open  to  the  ca- 
rousal of  the  winds  from  the  stormy  gulfs. 
There  are  rows  of  smallish  German  cot- 
tages, snow-white,  two-storied,  isolated,  in 


II 


The  Ave  Maria. 


321 


veil-trimmed  gardens.   You  are  cunningly 
ured  on  to  the  Grand  Place  du  Palais^  and 
here  in  a  single  glance  your  eye  takes  in 
he  galaxy 'of   modern   monuments    that 
t  tand  as  indisputable  proofs  of  the  survival 
of  art  on  the  soil  where  it  reached  its  high- 
est perfection.    Here  you  have  the  Royal 
]^alace — which  ought  not  to  complain  if  it 
•vsrere  mistaken  for  a  woollen  factory,  and 
here  also  are  three  huge  hotels,  brilliant 
with  balconies  and  bunting,  and  with  a  pen- 
sion of  twelve  francs  a  day. 

There  are  other  buildings  in  Athens  just 
as  big  and  just  as  ugly.  There  are  cafh 
without  number,  but  not  by  any  means 
without  attractions,  for  the  coffee  of  the 
Orient  is  here  brought  you  in  a  semi-solid 
state,  and  the  divine  nargileh  is  unwound 
by  the  young  man  in  the  fez,  who  is  not 
bad-looking,  and  is  a  tolerable  shot.  They 
will  strike  your  lips  at  three  paces,  these 
pipe-boys,  with  a  coil  of  hose  on  their  arm 
and  an  extra  half  franc  in  their  eye.  Bad 
music  of  a  windy  afternoon  in  the  Place  dti 
/*^/«w,  sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal, 
mingled  with  the  rumble  of  chariot- wheels, 
the  click  of  festive  glasses,  and  the  hubble- 
bubble  of  the  water-pipe  at  my  lips  and 
yours — is  it  not  Athens? 

Are  we  not  in  Greece?  See  the  Franco-, 
Greek  names  on  the  street  corners — Rue 
d''  Hermes^  Rue  du  Stade^  Rue  de  Minerve^ 
Rue  d'Eole,  Boulevard des  Philhellenes.  The 
Greek  names  on  the  houses,  the  shop  signs, 
the  bulletin  boards — do  they  not  set  you 
thinking  on  the  half- forgotten  cases?  Is  it 
not  pleasant  to  know  that  the  Gate  of  Adrian 
is  within  a  stone's- throw — if  one  is  a  tol- 
erable stone- thrower — and  that  the  temple 
of  Zeus  Olympus  (the  Olympieum)  is  just 
above  the  English  Church? 

The  Acropolis. — From  the  Place  du 
Palais^  from  the  top  windows  of  the  hotels, 
from  the  broad,  straight  street,  one  always 
comes  sooner  or  later,  by  one  method  of  lo- 
comotion or  another,  to  the  Acropolis.  This 
also  must  be  accidental ;  for  time,  that  deals 
30  tenderly  with  the  treasures  of  antique  art, 
tias  brought  hoards  of  Iconoclasts  to  the 
mmmit  of  that  forsaken  altar,  and  there 


they  have  dealt  death  and  destruction  to 
whatever  was  susceptible  to  the  barbarous 
hand  of  man.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  in  the 
flight  of  the  gods  mankind  lost  his  rever- 
ence for  the  purely  beautiful;  they  took 
with  them  that  finer  faculty — the  sentiment 
is  called  feminine  to-day,  it  may  be  consid- 
ered infantile  to-morrow — for  the  want  of 
which  the  world  is  now  suffering  sorely.  If 
I  am  somewhat  obscure,  I  trust  I  shall  be 
pardoned  by  all  those  who  have  approached 
Athens  with  due  reverence,  and  have 
wished  it  to  the  old  boy  within  the  next 
four- and- twenty  hours. 

One  takes  coffee  repeatedly,  and  drives 
again  and  again  with  this  friend  or  that. 
One  smokes  religiously,  listens  to  the  vile 
music  in  the  Place  du  Palais^  sleeps  late  in 
the  morning,  after  having  done  the  Acro- 
polis by  sunrise;  and  the  argument  of  the 
new  Iliad  seldom  rises  above  this  miserable 
round.  If  the  Porch  of  Adrian  or  the 
Temple  of  the  Winds  finds  a  corner  in  the 
conversation,  the  one  or  the  other  is  imme- 
diately laughed  out  of  countenance  by  the 
young  woman  you  met  in  Cairo  and  passed 
on  the  wing  at  Nazareth,  but  who  is  resting 
in  Athens  and  has  everything  to  talk  of 
save  Athens.  The  fellow  who  proposes  to 
join  you  in  the  siege  of  Constantinople  is  a 
conscientious  mole;  but,  bless  him!  he  is 
dry  as  salt  fish,  and  wrings  the  last  dew  of 
poetry  from  every  subject  that  he  touches. 
Athens  is  a  spot  to  sulk  in.  I  have  sulked 
in  Athens  in  my  day.  England,  Germany, 
and  the  United  States  have  combined  forces, 
and  between  them  the  little  Greek  that  is 
left  in  Greece  is  of  that  nature  which  God 
alone  in  His  infinite  mercy  can  tolerate  for 
a  moment.  In  such  a  mood  the  finest  ruin 
in  the  world  would  find  no  favor  in  my 
eyes. 

But  the  wreck  of  that  consecrated  mount 
is  so  complete,  so  barbarous,  that  one  can 
not  walk  without  striking  against  the  shat- 
tered marbles,  and  everywhere  the  finger 
of  vandalism  has. profaned  the  fairest  mon- 
ument of  time.  Does  any  one  conjure  up 
the  shades  of  the  past  from  a  sepulchre  like 
this?    Let  me,  rather,  fly  to  the  uttermost 


322 


The  Ave  Maria. 


parts  of  Attica — and  that  is  only  a  little 
way — even  to  bee-hannted  Hymettus,  or  to 
any  convenient  distance,  where  I  can  turn 
away  from  the  insufferable  stupidity  of  this 
young  Athens,  and  look  alone  upon  the 
Parthenon  in  the  blue  edge  of  the  twilight. 

The  Parthenon. — It  rises  above  the 
plains  as  chaste  as  a  virgin  of  the  temple; 
it  seems  to  separate  itself  from  the  earth, 
to  unfold  itself  in  mystery  awful  and  pro- 
found; to  hold  once  more  communion  with 
the  gods.  The  after-glow  that  illumines 
the  inner  temple  rekindles  the  fires  upon 
the  flower- wreathed  altars.  I  fancy  I  see  the 
priestess,  followed  by  her  white-robed  flock, 
and  I  think  I  hear  the  chant  of  voices  and 
the  wild  melody  of  flutes.  Or  is  it  the  piping 
of  some  shepherd  boy  sitting  in  the  thyme 
and  clover  on  the  banks  of  the  trickling 
Ilissus?  Color — pure,  transparent,  luminous 
color — floods  the  fair  temple,  and  in  that 
heavenly  light  the  gods  descend  and  sit 
again  in  their  seats,  clad  in  immortality. 
The  best  inspiration  of  the  artist  can  not 
approach  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  this 
scene ;  but  it  is  as  brief  as  it  is  perfect,  and 
night  veils  the  silent  temple  in  a  shower  of 
golden  stars. 

The  climax  is  over,  and  over  for  better, 
for  worse.  In  the  next  moment  I  find  my- 
self thinking  of  Pericles  and  Phidias  as  if 
they  were  merely  fables,  and  trying  to  glo- 
rify Xerxes,  but  failing  utterly  in  the  at- 
tempt. The  view  from  the  Acropolis  is  no 
less  splendid,  but  it  must  be  indeed  from  it, 
not  in  it.  What  the  moon  does  for  white 
marble  is  too  well  known  for  me  to  dwell 
on.  So,  also,  is  the  geography  of  all  these 
splendid  ruins.  I  can  only  add  that  after 
one  has  duly  execrated  the  memory  of  Lord 
Blgin,  as  every  one  is  bound  to  do  so  sure 
as  he  sees  the  wreck  that  noble  lord  accom- 
plished; having  been  again  and  again  over 
the  same  old  drives,  and  some  of  them  are 
really  interesting;  having  concluded  that 
Nike  Apteros,  the  Unwinged  Victory,  had 
doubtless  the  best  of  reasons  for  deserting 
her  Athenian  worshippers,  one  is  full  ready 
to  gird  up  his  loins  and  depart — at  least  I 
was. 


So  it  came  to  pass  that  having  resolved  to 
enlist  in  the  ranks  of  the  adorers  of  Minerva 
Parthenos,  who  overlooked  all  Greece  and 
the  outer  world,  and  to  cut  Minerva  Polias 
henceforth  and  forever,  because  her  statue 
looked  at  home — and  were  she  not  wall- 
eyed she  would  to-day  be  sick  at  heart  for 
the  sights  that  are  to  be  seen  there;  having 
bid  adieu  to  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry,  the 
Governor,  the  Prince,  two  Counts  and  one 
Embassador,  I  look  my  last  on  the  gentle- 
men in  petticoats  from  Albania,  and  won- 
der when  the  last  vestige  of  the  poetic,  the 
picturesque  and  the  artistic  will  have  died 
out  on  this  soil.  Not  long  hence,  I  fancy; 
for  the  Acropolis  is  to-day  a  fitting  type  of 
the  hopeless  ruin  of  that  ill  fated  race. 

However,  in  the  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as 
I  may  say,  the  whirlwind  of  our  passion, 
with  our  toes  heading  for  the  Hellespont 
and  our  heels  ridding  themselves  of  the  last 
particle  of  classical  Greek  dust,  we  must  not 
forget,  my  friends,  that  Athens — not  this 
cheap  modern  Athens,  but  the  Athens  that 
is  dead  and  gone — was  once  a  city  set  upon 
a  hill,  whose  light  could  not  be  hid;  was 
once  the  cradle  of  the  arts,  the  temple  and 
the  throne  of  beauty,  the  glory  of  the  world! 
(to  be  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEV. 


CHAPTER  XVII.— (Continued.) 

THE  old  steward,  oppressed  by  the  heat, 
had  just  left  his  desk  and  gone  to  a  win- 
dow for  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  The  very  first 
object  that  met  his  sight  was  Fabian,  com- 
ing with  hasty  steps  towards  his  office. 
'^It  is  the  beginning  of  sorrows,"  thought 
he,  while  his  heart  gave  a  great  thump; 
and  he  made  the  blessed  Sign  of  the  Cross 
upon  his  breast,  commending  himself  to 
the  protection  of  God.  How  could  he  tell 
Fabian  of  the  great  events  that  had  taken 
place  while  he  was  absent  ?  How  find  cour- 
age to  announce  that  which  would  disrupt 
the  friendship  and  love  of  a  lifetime?    He 


J 


The  Ave  Maria, 


323 


idvanced  to  welcome  him,  however,  as  he 
entered,  with  his  usual  kind,  courteous 
greeting,  but,  as  Symphronius  remarked, 
A^ithout  the  genial  smile  and  jesting  words 
:hat  had  heretofore  always  characterized 
iiis  salutations.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  him, 
dierefore,  when  he  discovered  that  Fabian's 
Dbject  was  to  inquire  where  he  should  be 
most  likely  to  find  Nemesius  in  the  city, 
and  when  he  might  be  expected  at  the  villa; 
but  the  old  steward  could  give  him  no  cer- 
tain information  on  either  point. 

"My  master,"  he  said,  "has  obtained 
leave  of  absence  from  his  military  duties, 
•and  is  occupied  with  his  private  affairs, 
which,  having  been  neglected  for  years,  re- 
quire his  attention;  but  if  the  illustrious 
signor  will  leave  a  letter  I  will  send  it  by 
"his  messenger,  who  comes  daily  with  words 
to  little  Claudia." 

"Christianity,  secrecy  and  mystery,  al- 
ways hand  in  hand, ' '  thought  Fabian,  as  he 
seated  himself  to  write  to  Nemesius,  urging 
An  interview  wherever  he  might  appoint; 
then,  having  secured  the  letter  in  the  usual 
way  with  twisted  threads  of  silk  and  a  seal, 
he  arose  to  go.  No:  he  would  take  no  re- 
freshment; he  was  not  feeling  well,  he  told 
Symphronius,  who  wished  to  spread  a 
dainty  repast  for  him,  and  went  away  with 
the  heaviest  heart  he  had  ever  known. 

Had  not  the  persecution  been  raging,  Fa- 
bian's  latitudinarian  principles  in  matters 
of  religion  would  have  enabled  him  to  re- 
gard the  conversion  to  Christianity  of  a 
man  of  such  distinction  as  Nemesius  as  an 
eccentricity  which  he  could  have  made  a 
jest  of;  he  would  only  have  thought  he  had 
lowered  his  patrician  rank,  and  possibly 
damaged  his  career  by  giving  up  old  tradi- 
tions and  the  religion  established  by  the 
State,  for  new-fangled  doctrines  and  delu- 
sions; otherwise,  it  would  not  have  affected 
their  friendship  a  single  iota,  at  least  so  far 
as  he  was  concerned. 

Fabian  had  no  veneration  for  the  gods, 
but  he  thought  that  an  established  system 
of  belief  was  conducive  to  individual  and 
social  order  and  public  prosperity.  Like  the 
fasces  of  the  lictors  which,  bound  together. 


no  man  could  bjeak,  but  disunited  could 
be  singly  snapped  asunder  by  a  child,  he 
saw  strength  in  unity,  and  looked  upon  all 
innovations  as  disintegrating  and  destruc- 
tive; but  the  persecution  he  thought  worse 
than  the  innovations  it  attacked  and  sought 
to  exterminate.  And  now  the  only  friend 
he  loved  on  earth  had  chosen  this  time  to 
commit  the  supreme  folly  which  could  only 
be  expiated  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life 
and  that  of  his  child.  He  was  nearly  dis- 
tracted under  the  calm  exterior  which  by  a 
strong  eflfort  of  his  will  he  compelled  him- 
self to  wear. 

When  at  last  Fabian  and  Nemesius  met 
at  the  palace  of  the  former  the  soul  of  each 
was  tried  to  the  very  limits  of  endurance 
by  what  passed  between  them.  Knowing 
Nemesius  as  we  do,  it  is  easy  to  imagine 
the  courage,  firmness  and  constancy  with 
which  he  declared  his  faith,  and  related  the 
circumstances  that  led  to  his  conversion, 
and  the  warning,  pleading  arguments  he 
used  to  persuade  Fabian  to  cast  aside  his 
idolatrous  errors,  and  accept  the  truth  as  it 
is  in  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  easy  also  to  imagine 
Fabian's  worldly,  plausible,  sophistical  ar- 
guments in  reply;  his  logic,  sharpened  by 
satire ;  his  passionate  philippics  against 
Christianity,  which,  all  summed  up,  meant 
that  Nemesius  was  guilty  of  the  most  cul- 
pable foolishness  in  risking  honors,  fortune, 
life,  and  the  life  of  his  child,  for  a  creed 
which  the  wisest  philosophers  of  the  times 
declared  to  be  false  and  delusive. 

He  did  not  spare  Nemesius,  but  his  tears 
flowed  even  when  his  words  were  the  most 
cutting  and  severe;  for,  like  a  skilful  sur- 
geon, he  knew  that  to  heal  he  must  first 
wound.  But  Nemesius  having  counted  all 
earthly  things  as  dross  and  nothingness  in 
comparison  with  the  higher  and  eternal 
good  for  which  he  had  relinquished  them, 
the  words  of  his  friend  were  as  ' '  tinkling 
cymbals,"  and  his  arguments  like  water 
melting  in  the  sand.  It  was  only  Fabian's 
pain  that  touched  him,  for  he  knew  that 
it  was  tjie  outcome  of  his  great,  unselfish 
love  for  him. 
.  The  interview  had  been  peculiarly  pain- 


324 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ful  to  both,  for  the  tie  between  the  two  men 
was  closer  than  that  of  brotherhood.  A  glo- 
rious recompense  was  assured  for  the  sacri- 
fice made  by  Nemesius;  but  for  Fabian's, 
which  looked  not  beyond  earthly  limits, 
there  was  only  despair.  The  lamp  above 
them  glimmered  low;  and  the  dawn,  now 
stealing  faintly  through  the  open  windows, 
revealed  on  their  pale  countenances  traces 
of  the  crucial  pain  they  had  endured — one 
marked  by  sublime  resolve  and  lighted  by 
divine  faith,  the  other  lined  by  the  passion- 
ate sorrow  of  defeat, 

'  'At  least, ' '  said  Fabian,  breaking  silence, 
^ '  and  while  there  is  yet  time,  take  the  child 
and  fly  to  some  remote  region  for  safety. 
My  pleasure-galley  lies  at  Ostia,  and  every- 
thing can  be  got  in  readiness  before  the 
sun  sets  to-day." 

"I  am  a  soldier,  Fabian,  and  have  always 
followed  the  Roman  Eagles  where  they  led, 
without  question  or  thought  of  the  perils  to 
be  faced;  and  now  that  I  am  a  soldier  of 
Jesus  Christ,  with  His  Cross  for  my  stand- 
ard, shall  I  do  less?  No:  I  will  not  fly," 
answered  Nemesius. 

'  'And  the  child — thy  lovely  Claudia  ! 
Why  subject  her  to  the  same  cruel  fate  so 
eagerly  courted  by  thee?  Oh,  Nemesius! 
unfeeling  parent!  How  canst  thou  bear  the 
thought  of  her  being  killed  by  wild  beasts, 
or  cast  into  the  flames?  Gods!  the  very 
thought  of  it  maddens  me!"  exclaimed 
Fabian,  his  face  ghastly  white. 

Nemesius  folded  his  hands  and  bowed  his 
head;  for  here  was  the  human,  vulnerable 
part  through  which  his  nature  was  to  be 
wounded  unto  death.  He  did  not  speak  for 
some  moments:  he  was  silently  offering  the 
dread  anguish  that  wrung  his  soul  with 
generous  love  to  Him  through  whose  Pas- 
sion and  Death  redemption  had  come  to 
mankind. 

"A  few  short  pangs  and  then  eternal  life! 
I  can  ask  nothing  more  precious  for  my  little 
one,  should  He  in  whom  we  trust  will  it  so,' ' 
he  said,  at  last.  "My  Fabian,  let  us  not 
speak  of  this  again. ' '  • 

"My  life-long  friendship  for  thee,  my 
love  for  her  forbids  silence.   Listen,  Neme- 


sius; I  must  speak.  Since  thou  art  so  set 
on  thy  own  destruction,  confide  Claudia  to 
me.  I  love  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  were 
my  own  offspring.  I  will  take  her  away  to 
a  home  in  one  of  the  pleasant  lands  I  know 
of,  and  all  that  I  possess  shall  be  hers;  and 
she  shall  be  guarded  as  the  most  precious 
treasure  of  my  life, ' '  urged  Fabian. 

"Ah!  my  Fabian,  how  thou  rendest  my 
heart !  By  consenting  to  thy  generous  wish 
I  should  risk  her  eternal  salvation.  Better 
she  should  be  safe  in  heaven  than  live 
without  faith  on  earth;  for  she  is  of  tender 
age;  and  with  no  one  to  encourage  and 
guide  her,  tempted  and  warped  through  her 
affections,  there  would  be  danger  of  her 
losing  the  inestimable  graces  that  are  now 
hers.  These  grown  weak,  faith  would  grad- 
ually expire  in  her  soul.  No:  I  dare  not 
consent,"  said  Nemesius,  in  a  voice  that 
betrayed  his  emotion. 

"Hast  thou  gone  so  mad  that  thou  wilt 
even  take  no  precautions  for  thy  safety? 
Thou  canst  not  long  escape;  thy  position 
and  fame  are  too  distinguished  for  that 
which  thou  hast  done  to  escape  detection," 
exclaimed  Fabian. 

"I  am  in  the  hands  and  at  the  holy  will 
of  Him  who  created  and  redeemed  me.  I 
have  no  wish,  no  hope,  no  plan  that  reaches 
beyond  that,"  he  said,  in  grave  tones,  which 
had  in  them  an  exultant  ring.  "Remem- 
ber, Fabian, ' '  he  added,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  "that  it  was  from  thy  lips  I  first 
heard  the  wonderful  story  of  the  divine 
Christies^  which  sunk  deeper  than  I  then 
knew,  and  led  me  to  consider,  even  while  I 
scoffed,  the  possibilities  of  its  truth.  He  is^ 
indeed  the  long-expected  Messiah  of  the 
world-old  prophecies,  the  very  Son  of  God, 
— the  Saviour  who  has  in  our  nature  over- 
thrown the  adversary  of  our  souls,  and  won 
from  God  that  clemency  for  fallen  man 
which  He  refused  to  the  revolted  angels. 
Thy  passion  for  curious  investigation  has 
led  thee  unwittingly  to  a  dim  knowledge 
of  the  truth,  wherein  thou  art  privileged 
above  many;  this  knowledge, supplemented 
by  grace — which  only  awaits  the  action  of 
thy  own  will  and  desire  to  receive  it — will 


The  Ave  Maria. 


325 


ipen  to  thee  the  inexhaustible  treasury  of 

ith  and  holiness,  with  all  its  fulness  and 
perfection-  of  knowledge,  whose  divine 
heights  without  it  no  mortal  can  ever  reach. 
Be  persuaded,  then,  to  throw  aside  all  hu- 
man motives,  all  vain  philosophy,  and  seek 
only  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  Christ." 

The  words  of  Nemesius  were  rendered 
more  impressive  by  a  sudden  golden  glow 
which  at  this  moment  the  newly-risen  sun 
flashed  through  a  window,  crowning  his 
noble  head  as  with  a  halo. 

* '  My  Achates ! ' '  said  Fabian,  with  a  wan 
effort  to  smile  in  his  old  gay,  winning  way ; 
"I  am  not  prepared  either  to  discuss  or  ac- 
cept mysticisms  which  have  brought  into 
my  life  its  first  real  bitterness.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  Chris tus^  coincident  with 
the  ancient  predictions  and  the  phenomenal 
enthusiasms  resulting  therefrom,  I  regard 
only  as  singular  facts  in  the  world's  history 
— mental  disturbances  which  seem  to  lie 
beyond  the  knowledge  of  natural  laws.  The 
only  thing  I  am  entirely  sure  of  at  this  mo- 
ment is  my  friendship  for  thee,  my  Neme- 
sius, which  no  mortal  power  can  shake." 

He  arose,  and  threw  his  arm  around  the 
shoulders  of  Nemesius,  while  tears  dimmed 
his  eyes. 

"And  yet,  my  Fabian,  thou  art  willing 
to  let  death  dissolve  a  friendship  as  dear  to 
me  as  to  thyself,  by  rejecting  the  only  con- 
dition which  would  ensure  its  eternal  con- 
tinuance," said  Nemesius,  with  deep  emo- 
tion, as  he  embraced  him.  ' '  Now,  farewell ! 
I  have  an  assurance  that  fills  me  with  hope 
for  thee. ' ' 

And  so  they  parted,  Nemesius  going  away 
towards  the  Via  I^atina,  while  Fabian  flung 
himself  upon  his  couch  to  seek  repose  after 
the  agitations  of  the  night,  firmly  convinced 
that  he  might  as  well,  by  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  expect  to  remove  grim  Soracte  from 
its  foundations  as  to  endeavor  to  shake  the 
constancy  of  Nemesius  in  what  was  evi- 
dently to  him  a  vital  and  eternal  principle. 
(to  be  continued.) 
»   »   » 


Some  Titles  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


I  DO  know  God's  patient  love  perceives 
Not  what  we  did,  but  what  we  tried  to  do. 


WRITING  of  the  various  titles  given  to- 
Our  Lady,  and  thence  to  certain  ef- 
figies and  pictures  of  Her,  Mrs.  Jameson,  a 
Protestant,  says :  ' '  Some  appear  to  me  very 
touching,  as  expressive  of  the  wants,  the  as- 
pirations, the  infirmities  and  sorrows  which 
are  common  to  poor,  suffering  humanity^ 
or  of  those  divine  attributes  from  which 
they  hope  to  find  aid  and  consolation.  Thus 
we  have": 

Santa  Maria  "del  Buon  Consilio,"  Our 
Lady  of  Good  Counsel. 

S.  M.  "del  Soccorso,"  Our  Lady  of  Suc- 
cor; Our  Lady  of  the  Forsaken. 

S.  M.  "del  Buon  Core,"  Our  Lady  of 
Good  Heart. 

S.  M.  "della  Grazia,"  Our  Lady  of 
Grace. 

S.  M.  "di  Misericordia,"  Our  Lady  of 
Mercy. 

S.  M.  "Auxiliura  Afiiictorum,"  Help  of 
the  Afflicted. 

"  S.  M.  "Refugium  Peccatorum,"  Refuge 
of  Sinners. 

S.  M.  "del  Pianto,"  "del  Dolore,"  Our 
Lady  of  Lamentation,  or  Sorrow. 

S.  M.  "Consolatrice,"  "della  Consola- 
zione,"  or  "del  Conforto,"  Our  Lady  of 
Consolation. 

S.  M.  "della  Speranza,"  Our  Lady  of 
Hope. 

Under  these  and  similar  titles  She  is 
invoked  by  the  afflicted,  and  often  repre- 
sented with  Her  ample  robe  outspread  and 
upheld  by  angels,  with  votaries  and  sup- 
pliants congregated  beneath  its  folds.  In 
Spain,  Niiestra  Senora  de  la  Merced  is 
the  patroness  of  the  Order  of  Mercy;  and 
in  this  character  She  often  holds  in  Her 
hand  small  tablets,  bearing  the  badge  of  the 
Order. 

S.  M.  "della  Liberta,"  or  " Liberatrice, " 
Our  Lady  of  Liberty;  and  S.  M.  "della 
Catena,"  Our  Lady  of  Fetters.  In  this 
character  She  is  invoked  by  prisoners  and 
captives. 

S.  M.  "del  Parto,"  Our  Lady  of  Good 


2,26 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Delivery,  invoked  by  women  in  travail.* 

S.  M.  "del  Popolo,"  Our  Lady  of  the 
People. 

S.  M.  "della  Vittoria,"  Our  Ladyjof  Vic- 
tory^ 

S.  M.  "della  Pace,"  Our  I^ady  of  Peace. 

S.  M.  '^della  Sapienza,"  Our  Lady  of 
Wisdom;  and  S.  M.  "della  Perseveranza, " 
Our  Lady  of  Perseverance.  (Sometimes 
placed  in  colleges,  with  a  book  in  Her  hand, 
as  patroness  of  students. ) 

S.  M. "  della  Salute, ' '  Our  Lady  of  Health, 
or  Salvation.  Under  this  title  pictures  and 
churches  have  been  dedicated  after  the  ces- 
sation of  a  plague,  or  any  other  public  ca- 
lamity. 

Other  titles  are  derived  from  particular 
circumstances  and  accessories,  as  S.  M. 
"del  Presepio,"  Our  Lady  of  the  Cradle: 
generally  a  Nativity,  or  when  She  is  ador- 
ing Her  Child. 

S.  M.  "della  Scodella"— with  the  cup  or 
porringer,  where  She  is  taking  water  from 
a  fountain,  generally  a  Riposo. 

S.  M.  "dell'  Libro,  where  She  holds  the 
Book  of  Wisdom. 

S.  M.  "della  Cintola,"  Our  Lady  of  the 
Oirdle ;  where  She  is  either  giving  the 
;girdle  to  St.  Thomas,  or  where  the  Child 
holds  it  in  His  hand. 

S.  M.  "della  Lettera,"  Our  Lady  of  the 
Letter.  This  is  the  title  given  to  Our  Lady 
as  protectress  of  the  city  of  Messina.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Sicilian  legend,  She  honored 
the  people  of  Messina  by  writing  a  letter  to 
them,  dated  from  Jerusalem, "  in  the  year 
of  Her  Son,  42. ' '  In  the  effigies  of  the  Ma- 
do7ina  della  Lettera  She  holds  this  letter  in 
Her  hand. 

S.  M.  "della  Rosa,"  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rose.  A  title  given  to  several  pictures, 
in  which  the  rose,  which  is  consecrated  to 
Her,  is  placed  either  in  Her  hand  or  in 
that  of  the  Child. 

S.  M.  "della  Stella,"  Our  Lady  of  the 


Star.  She  wears  the  star  as  one  of  Her  at- 
tributes embroidered  on  Her  mantle. 

S.  M.  "del  Fiore,"  Our  Lady  of  the 
Flower.  She  has  this  title  especially  as 
protectress  of  Florence. 

S.  M.  "della  Spina."  She  holds  in  Her 
hand  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  under  this 
title  is  the  protectress  of  Pisa. 


A  Protestant  at  Lourdes. 


*  Dante  alludes  to  Her  in  this  character: 
■*'  E  per  Ventura  udi  '  Dolce  Maria! ' 
Dinanzi  a  noi  chiamar  cosi  net  pianto 
-Come  fa  donna  che'npartorirsia."  {Purg.,c.20.) 


A  CORRESPONDENT  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco Chronicle^  writing  from  Lourdes, 
gives  an  account  of  a  remarkable  cure 
effected  there  on  the  i6th  of  July,  Feast  of 
Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel,  and  the  twenty- 
eighth  anniversary  of  the  last  apparition  to 
Bernadette.  The  writer,  with  hundreds  of 
others,  was  a  witness  of  the  cure : 

' '  Since  my  arrival  at  Lourdes  I  had  been 
j  much  impressed  by  the  remarkable  evidences 
to  be  seen  of  the  intense  faith  of  thousands  of 
people  in  the  supernatural  origin  of  the  foun- 
tain and  the  miraculous  cures  worked  by  its 
waters.  Being  on  the  spot,  I  was  extremely 
anxious  to  witness  some  clear  proof,  as  it  is 
but  natural  one  should  desire,  in  such  matters, 
to  see  and  vouch  for  oneself;  but  I  certainly 
had  no  idea  that  my  wish  would  so  soon  be 
gratified.  .  .  .  Among  the  many  arrivals  on  that 
eventful  morning  my  attention  was  quickly 
drawn  to  a  group  who  had  driven  up  close  to 
the  Grotto  in  a  carriage,  containing  a  sick 
person,  lying  at  full  length  on  a  mattress.  She 
proved  to  be  a  young  woman,  twenty -five 
years  of  age,  though  looking  much  younger. 
'  *  I  have  seen  many  sick  persons  in  my  life- 
time, but  I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  do  not 
remember  ever  seeing  one  more  corpse-like  in 
appearance.  She  was  lifted  gently  from  the 
carriage  and  carried  into  one  of  the  bath-rooms  j 
adjoining  the  Grotto.  The  water  from  the 
fountain  is  led  into  them  through  an  iron  pipe, 
and  they  are  so  arranged  that  sick  persons 
can  be  easily  immersed  in  the  water  in  its 
natural  state  and  temperature,  which  is  icy 
cold.  It  was  about  2  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  she  was  carried,  helpless  and  apparently 
almost  lifeless,  into  the  bath-room,  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  afterw^ard  she  was  able  to  walk 
unaided  from  the  baths  to  the  Grotto,  a  dis- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


327 


tance  of  a  couple  hundred  feet.  Though  able 
to  stand  and  walk,  she  was  still  evidently  very 
weak,  and  was  placed  sitting  in  a  hand-car- 
riage in  front  of  the  statue  of  the  [Blessed] 
Virgin  in  the  niche  over  the  Grotto.  She 
remained  there  for  over  two  hours,  hundreds 
of  persons  continually  circling  and  pressing 
round  to  see  and  question  her.  She  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  statue,  and  seemed  full  of 
joy  and  gratitude  for  her  release  from  a  life 
of  pain  and  agony;  and  when  at  last  the  time 
came  for  her  departure  for  home,  I  shall  never 
forget  the  deep  look  of  affection  and  gratitude. 
in  those  large,  dark  eyes  as,  with  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  thin,  wan  cheeks,  she  gave 
■one  last,  long  gaze  upward  to  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  statue  There  was  something  pain- 
ful in  the  sight — it  seemed  so  like  the  tearing 
away  of  a  loving  child  from  her  mother's  arms. 

' '  When  she  reached  the  carriage  in  which 
she  had  arrived,  and  in  which  still  lay  the 
mattress  on  which  she  had  lain  during  her 
journey  to  the  Grotto,  one  of  the  Fathers 
asked  her  if  she  still  felt  cured  and  able  to 
walk.  'Yes,  certainly.  Father,'  she  smilingly 
answered,  and  immediately  got  up  out  of  the 
invalid's  chair  in  which  she  was  sitting  and, 
in  presence  of  the  large  crowd  of  people  as- 
sembled to  see  her  off,  walked  and  moved 
easily  to  and  fro,  and,  unaided,  climbed  up 
into  the  carriage.  '  This  is  undoubtedly  a  most 
remarkable  and  miraculous  cure, 'said  a  gen- 
tleman standing  near. 

"  '  It  is  certainly  a  very  wonderful  and  in- 
stantaneous cure, '  replied  the  priest ;  '  but 
before- it  can  be  pronounced  upon  as  a  miracu- 
lous cure,  it  will  have  to  be  submitted  to  the 
medical  tests  and  examinations  usual  in  such 
cases,  and  the  testimony  of  the  physicians  who 
have  attended  the  case  and  other  witnesses 
will  have  to  be  procured. ' 

"  I  shall  now  let  .the  Countess  de  Puy,  an 
English  lady  married  to  a  French  nobleman, 
and  who  has  for  years  devoted  herself  wholly 
to  the  care  and  service  of  the  sick  brought  to 
bathe  in  the  waters  of  the  Grotto,  relate  in  her 
own  words  what  took  place  on  this  occasion  in 
the  bath-room.  As  this  devoted  lady  has  had 
great  experience  in  the  baths,  it  is  left  to  her 
judgment  in  a  great  measure  whether  it  be 
prudent  or  not  to  allow  the  sick  person  to  en- 
ter the  water.  'The  sudden  shock,'  she  said, 
in  reply  to  my  question,  '  is  certainly  very  try- 
ing, as  the  water  is  so  cold.   Still,  I  have  never 


known  of  any  accident  occurring  in  the  baths, 
although  1  have  seen  persons  afflicted  with  al- 
most every  ailment  our  poor  humanity  is  heir 
to  placed  in  them.  But  this  young  woman 
seemed  in  such  a  dying  condition  that  I  was 
afraid  to  allow  her  to  be  placed  in  the  bath,  so 
we  simply  sponged  her  body  over  with  the 
water.  We  had  hardly  finished  doing  so  when 
she  said  she  felt  that  she  could  stand  by  her- 
self. I  told  her  to  try,  and  she  immediately 
stood  erect  without  support,  and  asked  to  be 
dressed,  as  she  felt  she  was  able  to  walk. 

'  * '  We  did  not  know  how  to  comply  with  her 
wishes,  as  she  had  been  brought  without  shoes 
or  stockings,  or  any  other  article  of  clothing, 
except  the  long, white  gown  in  which  she  had 
lain  in  the  carriage,  wrapped  up  in  blankets. 
Fortunately  we  had  a  pair  of  slippers  in  the 
room,  and  some  kind  friends  ran  quickly  and 
brought  the  other  necessary  articles  of  cloth- 
ing. She  was  no  sooner  dressed  than  she 
walked  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  said  she 
felt  hungry  and  would  like  something  to  eat. 
In  the  meantime  her  uncle  and  brother  (both 
priests)  had  been  sent  for;  and  when  they  saw 
that  she  was  able  to  walk  they  burst  into  tears, 
and  were  so  completely  overcome  with  emo- 
tion that  they  were  unable  to  join  in  and  re- 
cite the  customary  prayers  of  thanksgiving. ' 

"  '  You  have,  no  doubt,  seen  many  wonder- 
ful cures,  madam,  during  the  years  you  have 
waited  here  upon  the  sick  ? '  I  asked. 

"'Yes,  sir,'  she  replied;  'I  have  seen 
strange  things  happen  here,  especially  dur- 
ing the  grand  national  pilgrimages,  when 
we  sometimes  have  as  many  as  500  and  600 
sick  persons  to  bathe.  I  have  seen  at  those 
times  persons  placed  in  the  bath,  one  putrid 
mass  of  sores  from  head  to  feet,  come  out  com- 
pletely healed,  with  scarcely  a  trace  upon 
their  skin.  I  have  seen  persons  suffering  from 
the  most  frightful-looking  ulcers  and  cancers 
come  out  of  the  bath  instantaneously  cured.' 

' ' '  But  all  the  cures  are  not  so  sudden  and 
remarkable  ? ' 

"'Oh!  no,  sir.  The  greater  number  are 
gradual,  and  many  are  not  cured  until  after 
repeated  baths,  while  others  do  not  experience 
any  relief  at  all.  But  I  have  never  known  of 
any  case  having  grown  worse  through  the  use 
of  the  baths.  On  the  contrary,  they  seem,  if 
not  cured,  to  gain  at  least  ^eater  courage  and 
resignation  to  bear  their  cross  cheerfully  for 
love  of  their  divine  Model  and  Master. '  ' ' 


32' 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  is  worthy  of  note  that  our  leading  literary 
non- Catholic  magazines,  particularly  those 
whose  special  aim  is  the  publication  of  articles 
on  * '  timely  topics  and  questions  of  the  day, ' ' 
have  of  late  begun  to  set  before  their  readers, 
discussions  upon  religious  subjects.  Thus,  to 
mention  one  instance  among  many  others,  the 
North  American  Review  recently  published  an 
article  in  answer  to  the  question,  "Why  am  I 
a  Catholic  ? "  in  which  a  learned  Jesuit  writer 
clearly  and  concisely  set  forth  the  truth  of 
the  Catholic  religion.  The  next  issue  of  the 
magazine  contained  a  paper  by  a  Protestant 
writer  seeking  to  defend  the  particular  sect 
to  which  he  belonged;  and  articles  on  similar 
topics  are  promised  for  future  issues. 

It  goes  without  the  saying  that  the  object 
which  the  conductors  of  these  periodicals 
have  in  view  is  popularity  and  an  increased 
circulation.  But  the  success  of  their  efforts 
indicates  a  popular  demand  for  some  fixity  of 
belief  among  non- Catholics,  in  whom  that  sen- 
timent of  religion  innate  in  all  men  still  ex- 
ercises an  influence.  It  shows  that  there  is  a 
growing  desire  for  the  truth  on  the  part  of 
those  who  are  yet  in  the  darkness  of  error;  a 
greatly  strengthened  opposition  to  the  spirit  of 
infidelity,  which  day  by  day  seeks  to  extend  its 
influence  among  those  outside  of  the  Church. 
In  other  words,  the  fact  of  these  publications 
is  but  another  evidence  of  the  speedy  disin- 
tegration of  Protestantism;  another  feeble  at- 
tempt of  a  dying  form  of  religion  to  retain  its 
hold  upon  the  people;  another  manifestation 
of  a  truth,  fast  becoming  more  and  more  strik- 
ing, that  the  warfare  which  the  Church  of 
Christ  upon  earth  must  needs  wage  in  the 
accomplishment  of  her  divine  mission  is  be- 
coming more  and  more  limited  to  the  conflict 
between  religion  and  no  religion,  between 
Catholicity  and  infidelity.  The  truth  will 
surely  triumph;  but  let  us  hope  and  pray  that, 
as  time  rolls  on,  its  victories  may  become  more 
numerous  and  more  glorious,  that  the  light 
of  its  refulgent  ensigns  may  illumine  a  con- 
stantly increasing  number  of  followers. 


It  is  reported  that  the  Passionist  monastery 
at  West  Hoboken,,N.  J.,  has  been  the  scene 
of  another  wonderful  cure.  An  old  lady  who 
had  suffered  for  years  from  paralysis,  and  was 


unable  to  walk  without  crutches,  had  been  to- 
confession,  and  was  praying  in  the  church, 
when  one  of  the  Fathers,  after  a  prayer  to  God 
that  He  might  lighten  the  sufferer's  burden, 
took  from  its  place  on  the  altar  a  little  ebony 
box  containing  a  particle  of  the  bones  of  St. 
Paul  of  the  Cross.  He  blessed  her  with  it, 
at  the  same  time  exhorting  her  to  have  faith, 
and  the  Saint  might  help  her.  The  result  was 
that  the  woman  dropped  first  one  crutch  and 
then  the  other,  and,  after  a  heartfelt  thanks- 
giving to  God,  went  home  from  the  church, 
leaving  her  supports  where  they  had  fallen. 
This  will  add  another  to  the  long  list  of  cures 
that  have  been  performed  at  the  monastery, 
through  the  power  of  St.  Paul  of  the  Cross, 


From  New  Jersey  comes  the  welcome  news 
of  another  conversion.  Mr.  Emmanuel  Casano- 
wiez,  until  recently  Professor  of  Hebrew  in 
the  German  Presbyterian  Theological  Sem- 
inary at  Bloomfield,  has  formally  renounced 
Protestantism  and  entered  the  Church.  He 
will  complete  his  theological  education  at 
Seton  Hall  with  a  view  of  receiving  Holy 
Orders.  

M.  Chevreul,  the   great   French    scientist, 
whose  hundredth  birthday  has  been  so  enthu- 
siastically celebrated  in  Paris,  is  a  practical 
Catholic.     He  *vas   born    at  Angers,  on  the 
31st  of  August,  1786.  The  important  services 
which  this  eminent  chemist  has  rendered  to 
science  are  well  known;  his  discoveries  have 
ranked  him  among  the  greatest  of  natural 
philosophers.    It  was  fitting  that  the  whole 
country,  indeed  the  whole  world,  should  unite 
in  offering  congratulations  to  a  man  of  such 
remarkable  talent,  one  whose  faculties,  it  is 
said,  are  in  no  way  dimmed  by  the  weight  of 
a  century.   But  M.  Chevreul' s  science  and  his 
extraordinary    longevity .  are    not    his   only      I 
claims  to  consideration:  the  amiable  simplic-     , 
ity  of  his  character  and  his  genuine  modesty,      I 
which  make  him  wonder  at  being  the  object  of     ! 
such  honors,  have  endeared  him  to  his  scien-     j 
tific  colleagues  and  to  legions  of  pupils. 

The  fetes  in  honor  of  the  venerable  cente- 
naire  having  merely  consisted  of  receptions 
by  various  learned  societies,  the  unveiling 
of  a  statue,  endless  speeches,  a  banquet,  and, 
finally,  a  procession  with  lighted  torches 
through  the-  principal  streets  of  the  capital, 
some  Catholics  were  painfully  surprised  that 


The  Ave  Maria, 


329 


o  thought  was  raised  towards  the  Creator 
and  the  Giver  of  all  good  gifts;  but  they 
subsequently  learned  with  much  joy  that  M. 
Chevreul  is  endowed  with  that  gift  above  all 
others — sincere  faith.  The  very  fact  that  the 
programme  of  the  celebration  was  drawn  up 
without  his  being  consulted  explains  the  ab- 
sence of  any  religious  ceremony  from  such  a 
solemn  anniversary. 

M.  Chevreul 's  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin is  vouched  for  by  a  worthy  priest,  who 
relates  the  following  anecdote:  Some  three 
or  four  years  ago,  the  savant  was  passing 
through  the  little  town  of  Dourdan,  numbering 
about  two  thousand  souls.  In  the  afternoon 
of  the  same  day  the  cure  entering  his  church, 
perceived  an  old  man  kneeling  before  Our 
I^ady's  altar,  saying  his  Rosary.  Not  wishing 
to  disturb  the  stranger's  devotion,  he  simply 
bowed,  and  retired  to  say  his  Office.  When 
the  old  gentleman  had  finished  his  beads,  he 
went  up  to  the  priest.  '' Monsieur  le  Cure,'' 
he  said,  courteously,  * '  you  are  perhaps  aston- 
ished to  find  a  stranger  in  your  church  at  this 
hour.  I  am  M.  Chevreul;  I  have  missed  the 
train,  and  while  waiting  for  the  next  I  thought 
I  could  make  no  better  use  of  my  time  than 
coming  to  pray  here  to  Our  Lady." 


On  Tuesday,  the  21st  ult.,  the  Festival  of 
St.  Matthew,  the  solemn  ceremony  of  the  con- 
secration of  the  Rt.  Rev.  F.  X.  Katzer  as 
Bishop  of  Green  Bay  took  place  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  that  city.  The  sacred  edifice,  which 
had  been  beautifully  and  richly  decorated  for 
the  occasion,  was  filled  with  an  immense  as- 
semblage of  the  laity.  The  consecrating  prel- 
ate was  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Heiss,  of 
Milwaukee,  assisted  by  the  Rt  Rev.  Bishops 
Ireland,  of  St.  Paul,  and  Vertin,  of  Marquette. 
The  other  prelates  present  were  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  Flasch,  of  lya  Crosse,  who  delivered 
the  sermon  on  the  occasion  ;  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  Seidenbush,  of  St.  Cloud,  and  the  Rt. 
Rev.  Abbot  Kdelbrok.  More  than  one  hun- 
dred priests  were  in  attendance. 


Our  Canadian  exchanges  give  interesting 
accounts  of  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of 
a  memorial  church  to  martyr  priests  at  Pen- 
etanguishene.  Father  John  de  Brebeuf  was 
sent  by  his  superiors  in  1634  to  the  country 
which  is  now  known  as  the  Province  of  On- 
tario.   A  chapel  was  built,  and  through  his 


efforts  and  those;  of  Father  I^allemant  the 
whole  Huron  nation  was  converted  to  the 
Faith.  For  several  years  all  was  peace  and 
happiness,  till  in  1649  the  Mohawk  and  Sen- 
eca tribes  of  the  Iroquois  broke  suddenly  from 
their  forests,  burnt  up  the  villages  of  the 
Hurons,  and  almost  exterminated  the  entire 
tribe.  The  priests  were  captured  near  the  site 
of  the  present  town  of  Penetanguishene,  and 
were  put  to  death,  after  suffering  such  horri- 
ble tortures  as  make  the  mind  sicken  to  con- 
template. Their  flesh  was  cut  away  in  strips, 
roasted,  and  eaten  before  their  eyes;  they  were  ^ 
in  mockery  baptized  with  scalding  water; 
when  they  attempted  to  speak  their  lips  were 
cut  away,  their  tongues  torn  out,  and  live 
coals  forced  down  their  bleeding  throats.  Well 
may  we  quote  the  words  of  the  Apostle,  and 
say,  Quibus  dignus  non  erat  tnu7idusf — *'0f 
whom  the  world  was  not  worthy! ' '  The  Rev. 
Father  Laboureau,  parish  priest  of  Penetan- 
guishene, undertook  the  task  of  erecting  a 
memorial  church  on  the  spot  where  the  in- 
trepid Jesuits  were  martyred,  and  on  Sep- 
tember 5th  the  corner-stone  was  placed  in 
position,  and  the  building  consecrated  to  di- 
vine worship. 

A  despatch  from  Harrisburg,  Pa. ,  received 
just  before  going  to  press,  announced  the 
death  of  the  Rt.Rev.  Dr.  Shanahan,  Bishop  of 
that  See.  He  had  been  in  ill  health  for  two 
or  three  years,  but  his  decease  (on  the  morning 
of  the  24th  ult.)  was  entirely  unexpected. 
Bishop  Shanahan  was  consecrated  on  the  17th 
of  July,  1868,  and  was  the  first  Bishop  of 
Harrisburg.    May  he  rest  in  peace! 


We  understand  that  the  proceeds  of  Miss 
Donnelly's  Life  of  Father  Barbelin,  now  in 
press  and  shortly  to  appear,  are  to  be  devoted 
to  the  renovation  fund  of  old  St.  Joseph's 
Church,  Philadelphia.  The  work  of  restoring 
this  beautiful  old  shrine  has  been  going  on 
for  some  time  past;  new  pews,  stained-glass 
windows,  and  paintings  have  been  put  in,  and 
all  that  is  now  needed  is  the  tiling  of  the  floDr. 
Most  heartily  do  we  wish  Miss  Donnelly's 
book  all  success,  published  as  it  is  with  so  ex- 
cellent an  object  in  view.  But  it  will  merit  a 
wide  sale  also  on  its  own  account;  for  it  con- 
tains an  exhaustive  history,  not  only  of  Father 
Barbelin' s  times,  but  likewise  of  the  early  Jes- 
uit missions  in  and  around  the  Quaker  City. 


330 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Obituary. 


•'//  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

Sisters  Mary  of  St.  Bruno,  and  Mary  of  St.  Mil- 
"Sred,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross,  who  were  called 
to  their  reward  last  month. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Lawrence,  of  the  Order  of 
Mercy,  who  died  a  saintly  death  at  St.  Joseph's 
.Hospital,  New  Bedford,  Mass.,  on  the  Feast  of  Our 
Lady  of  Snow, 

James  P.  Barr,  Esq.,  a  prominent  citizen  of 
Pittsburg,  whose  happy  death  took  place  on  the 
14th  ult.  He  was  editor  and  chief  proprietor  of 
the  Post  of  that  city,  and  for  nearly  forty  years 
bore  an  active  part  in  the  commercial  and  polit- 
ical life  of  his  district.  He  had  won  the  respect  of 
all  classes  of  people,  and  the  sorrow  for  his  loss 
is  as  general  as  it  is  heartfelt. 

Mrs.  Clara  Cassidy,  of  Waterbury,  Conn., whose 
holy  death  occurred  on  the  15th  ult.  She  was  a 
lady  of  noble  Christian  character,  and  her  spirit 
of  charity  was  the  admiration  of  all  who  knew  her. 
Mr.  George  J.  Lynch, who  met  with  an  acciden- 
tal death  at  San  Jose,  Cal.,  on  the  24th  of  July.  He 
received  the  last  Sacraments,  and  passed  away  in 
peace  and  hope. 

Miss  Mary  Henry,  of  Roxbury  Station,  Boston, 
Mass.,  who  calmly  breathed  her  last  on  the  Feast 
of  Our  Lady  of  Snow. 

Miss  Anna  L.  Harris,  of  Louisville,  Ky.,  whom 
God  called  from  this  life  on  the  9th  ult.  She  bore 
a  long  illness  with  edifying  patience  and  resigna- 
tion to  the  divine  will. 

Miss  Elizabeth  A.  Morrison,  a  fervent  Child  of 

Mary,  who  passed  away  on  the  5th  of  September. 

Mrs.  Mary  Boyle,  of  Chester,  Pa. ,  who  departed 

from  among  the  living  on  the  22d  of  August,  fully 

resigned  to  the  will  of  her  Creator. 

Mrs. Thomas  McCloskey,  an  old  and  warm  friend 
of  Our  Lady's  magazine,  whose  good  life  was 
crowned  with  a  happ}^  death  on  the  17th  ult. 

Miss  Elizabeth  Ryan,  deceased  at  Evansville, 
Ind.,  on  the  nth  ult.  She  was  a  most  fervent 
Catholic,  and  the  example  of  her  holy  life  was  an 
incentive  to  the  good  and  a  reproach  to  the  faint- 
hearted. 

Miss  Elenora  Higgs  and  Monemia  Higgs,  of 
Philadelphia ;  Miss  Susie  V.  Hayes,  Lewiston, 
Me. ;  Mrs.  Mary  A.  McGarry,  Scranton;  Mr.  Dan- 
iel Regan,  Boston;  Miss  Margaret  O'Brien,  New 
Haven;  Mrs.  Anna  Flanigan,  Philadelphia;  Mr. 
Arthur  Magee,  Syracuse;  Miss  Margaret  A. Reilly, 
Spencer,  Mass. ;  and  Mr.  James  Maguire,  Sing 
Sing,  N.  Y. 
May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PAI^TMENT 


What  a  Boy's  Guardian  Angel 
Did. 


BY   THE    REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 

Isn't  it  really  too  bad,  my  good  children, 
that  I  have  been  writing  for  The  "Ave 
Maria'  '  now  so  many  years  and  have  never 
prepared  a  piece  for  the  boys  and  girls? 
Well,  they  say  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend; 
and  so  I  shall  now  tell  you  a  true  story  about 
a  good  boy's  Guardian  Angel. 

There  is  a  little  town  in  Pennsylvania, 
at  the  foot  of  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Alle- 
ghany Mountains,  and  a  church  in  it,  with  a 
congregation  partly  in  the  town  and  partly  in 
the  country  around.   It  happened  not  many 
years  ago  that  the  pastor  and  his  assistant 
were  preparing  the  children  for  Confirma- 
tion.    Among   them  was  a  boy  of  about 
eleven  or  twelve  years,  whom  we  shall  call 
Tommy.     He  was  a  fine  little  fellow,  just 
such  a  boy  as  you  would  like  to  have  for  a 
companion.     But  he  lived  a  long  way  from 
the  church,  and  his  walk  to  instruction  and 
back  was  not  less  than  ten   miles,  and  I 
think  it  was  more.     But  Tommy  trudged 
along  like  a  man,  and  was  never  late,  and 
was  never  behind  the  rest  with  his  lesson. 
At  length  the  day  came  for  them  to  go  to 
confession.     The  Sisters,  who  taught  the 
day  school,  had  the  children  all  in  their 
places  in  the  church  after  dinner,  and  the 
assistant  priest  was  hearing  the  confessions 
in  the  confessional  that  stood  against  the 
wall  between  the  altar  and  the  door.    One 
by  one  the  boys  and  girls  went  in,  and  the 
priest  was  almost  through.    Not  more  than 
a  dozen  had  to  go,  and  it  was  getting  on 
well  in  the  afternoon. 

At  length  it  was  Tommy's  turn  to  go,  i 
and  he  went  in  like  the  rest.  Soon  he  came  | 
out;  and  as  he  walked  around  to  the  altar 
and  down  the  middle  aisle  to  his  place,  to 


The  Ave  Maria, 


33^ 


oerform  his  penance,  some  of  the  children 
oegan  to  say  in  a  whisper  of  astonishment : 
"0-o-oh!  Look!"  The  Sister  made  a  sign 
:o  them  to  keep  quiet.  When  the  confes- 
sions were  through,  and  the  children  had 
yone  back  to  the  school,  the  Sister  called 
;hose  aside  that  had  been  making  the  noise, 
ind  began  to  tell  them  how  quiet  they 
ihould  always  be  in  the  church. 

The  little  girls  looked  very  innocently  at 
the  Sister,  and  said:  "We  couldn't  help  it, 
Sister.  We  saw  an  angel  going  along  with 
Tommy  from  the  confessional  to  his  pew. 
As  quick  as  he  opened  the  door  and  started 
to  his  seat,  we  saw  it,  and  it  went  with  him 
the  whole  way.    Oh !  it  was  so  pretty ! ' ' 

The  Sister  thought  this  was  very  strange, 
and  asked  them  separately  what  they  had 
seen;  for  there  were  a  number  of  children, 
all  girls,  who  saw  it.  Then  they  each  gave 
the  same  clear,  straightforward  story  of 
what  they  had  seen.  Each  one  said  she  saw 
an  angel,  whiter  than  snow,  in  the  air  close 
over  Tommy's  head,  and  a  little  back  of 
him ;  and  it  went  that  way  till  he  came  to 
his  place.  They  watched  it  closely,  and  it 
had  its  wings  stretched  out  as  if  it  were 
guarding  him  against  every  danger,  and  it 
acted  as  if  it  loved  him  very  much. 

The  Sister  then  told  the  priests,  and  they 
examined  the  children  separately;  but  they 
had  each  the  same  story  that  they  told  the 
Sister.  That  night  the  Bishop  came,  and 
of  course  he  was  told  of  what  had  happened. 
The  next  day  he  also  examined  the  children, 
and  they  told  him  the  same  thing.  They 
were  so  innocent,  and  their  account  was  so 
clear,  that  both  the  Bishop  and  the  priests, 
who  spoke  to  me  about  it,  said  they  had  not 
the  least  doubt  but  the  children  had  really 
seen  the  good  angel.  And  the  Bishop  said 
he  felt  certain  that  it  was  a  reward  which 
God  had  given  Tommy,  because  he  was  a 
good,  innocent  child,  and  had  come  so  far 
for  instruction. 

You  may  have  sometimes  read  of  the 
Angel  Guardians  of  some  persons  appear- 
ing to  them  in  olden  times,  but  here  we 
have  one  that  appeared  in  our  own  day. 
And  we  need  not  think  it  impossible  for 


things  to  happen  now  as  they  did  long  years 
ago.  God  orders  all  things  according  to  His 
good  pleasure,  for  His  own  glory  and  for  the 
good  of  His  faithful  children.  Besides,  we 
should  remember  that,  whether  we  see  our 
good  Angels  or  not,  they  are  still  always 
near  us.  Every  boy  and  girl,  every  man 
and  woman,  and  the  little  babies  too,  have 
Guardian  Angels,  who  take  care  of  them  at 
all  times.  When  you  are  in  school  or  at 
play;  when  you  are  in  church  or  at  home; 
when  you  are  asleep  or  awake,  your  Angel 
Guardian  is  with  you.  You  may  be  as  sure 
of  that  as  if  you  saw  him.  When  the  great 
St.  Jerome  thought  of  this,  he  cried  out: 
' '  Oh !  how  precious  is  the  soul  of  man  that 
God  should  send  an  angel  from  heaven  to 
take  care  of  it !" 

Just  think  for  a  moment.  When  a  crowd 
of  children  are  at  school,  or  at  play,  or  any- 
where else,  there  are  as  many  angels  as  there 
are  children.  What  a  pleasure  it  must  be 
for  these  dear  angels  to  see  children  live 
good  and  holy  lives;  to  see  them  obedient, 
careful  at  their  prayers,  studious  in  learning 
their  Catechism;  truthful,  honest,  pure;  to 
see  them  practise  all  the  virtues  that  should 
adorn  the  soul  of  a  child  of  God!  But,  oh! 
what  a  joy  for  them  to  go  up  to  the  altar- 
railing  with  the  child  of  a  pure  heart,  and 
there  stand  by  it  when  it  receives  Our 
Saviour  in  the  Holy  Sacrament  of  the  Eu- 
charist! God  does  not  grant  them  that  favor, 
although  He  grants  it  to  the  least  among 
you,  my  good  children.  St.  John  Chrysos- 
tom  says  that  the  angels  surround  the  altar 
of  every  church,  waiting  patiently  till  Mass 
is  celebrated,  so  that  they  may  carry  to  our 
souls  the  graces  which  Our  Saviour  grants 
through  the  effect  of  the  Holy  Sacrifice. 
And  when  our  lives  are  past,  will  it  not  be 
a  happy  day  for  the  good  angels  when  they 
carry  our  souls  to  God,  and  present  them  to 
Him,  that  He  may  crown  them  with  glory 
for  all  eternity,  and  there  make  them  the 
companions  of  the  angels  who  watched  over 
them  so  carefully  during  the  trials  and 
temptations  of  this  miserable  life? 

We  shall  not  stop  to  think  of  the  poor 
Angels  of  sinners.    It  is  too  sad  to  suppose 


332 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  any  one  should  wound  the  heart  of  so 
loving  a  companion.  We  shall  merely  stop 
long  enough  to  make  a  good  resolution  that 
we  at  least  will  never  do  so.  If  the  angels 
do  so  much  for  us,  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
should  do  something  for  them  in  return. 
What  do  you  think  about  it,  my  good  boys 
and  girls?  Well,  I  won't  wait  for  an  an- 
swer; for  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say. 
^t.  Bernard  tells  us  in  a  few  words  what 
we  owe  to  our  Guardian  Angels.  He  says 
that  we  owe  them  reverence  for  their  pres- 
<ence,  devotion  for  their  good  will  towards 
us,  and  confidence  for  the  care  they  have 
of  us.  We  owe  them,  first,  reverence  for 
their  presence.  When  we  remember  that 
an  angel  from  heaven  is  always  with  us,  it 
is  impossible  for  us  not  to  have  a  loving 
fear  lest  we  should  do  anything  that  would 
-displease  him.  We  are  careful  when  in  the 
company  of  persons  whom  we  love  or  re- 
spect, and  should  we  not  be  more  so  when 
an  angel  of  God  is  by  our  side?  Surely  that 
child  must  be  very  daring  and  very  ungrate- 
ful that  would  insult  his  Angel  to  his  face. 

Next,  we  owe  him  devotion  for  his  good 
will  toward  us.  If  our  dear  Angel  always 
finds  his  delight  in  being  with  us,  in  labor- 
ing for  our  temporal  and  spiritual  good ;  if 
his  only  happiness  is  found  in  our  getting 
on  well,  it  is  plain  that  we  should  be  devoted 
to  him,  and  find  our  greatest  happiness  in 
doing  the  good  and  avoiding  the  evil  which 
his  silent  whisperings  in  our  hearts  tell  us 
to  do  or  to  avoid. 

Lastly,  we  owe  him  confidence  for  the 
care  he  has  of  us.  Whom  can  we  trust  if  not 
our  Guardian  Angel  ?  All  he  does  tells  us 
that.  We  should  then  give  ourselves  en- 
tirely into  his  care,  and  should  try  to  please 
him  in  everything.  Happy  is  the  child 
who  is  obedient  to  his  Angel,  and  who  has 
no  companions  disagreeable  to  him;  who 
goes  no  place  but  where  he  can  invite  his 
Angel  to  go  with  him ;  who  says  no  words 
he  would  not  have  his  Angel  hear;  and  who 
allows  no  thought  in  his  mind  but  what  his 
Angel  will  be  pleased  with ;  who  tries,  in  a 
word,  to  be  a  fit  companion  for  an  angel  of 
heaven. 


The  Church  has"  always  been  anxious  that 
her  children  should  have  a  strong  and  ten- 
der devotion  to  their  Guardian  Angels,  and 
for  that  reason  she  gives  them  every  encour- 
agement. As  a  proof  of  this,  she  has  granted 
an  indulgence  of  one  hundred  days  for  every 
time  that  any  person  says,  at  least  with  a 
contrite  heart  and  devotion,  the  little  prayer 
to  the  Guardian  Angel,  that  may  be  found 
in  any  prayer-book.  And  she  also  grants 
certain  plenary  indulgences  for  the  same 
prayer,  the  conditions  of  which  you  can 
easily  learn.  The  Feast  of  the  Holy  Guar- 
dian Angels  falls  on  the  2d  of  October — just 
about  the  time  you  will  be  reading  this 
piece — an*d  you  must  all  make  it  a  day  of 
joyful  thanksgiving  to  your  holy  Guardian, 
and  to  God  for  having  given  you  so  loving 
and  faithful  a  guide. 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kilpatrick. 


BY    E.  L.  D. 


I. 


They  were  two  very  little  mules  to  be 
turned  out  on  a  cold  world  ( and  that  in 
war  times,  too!),  but  this  was  the  way  of  it. 
When  they  were  only  a  few  weeks  old  the 
gun  was  fired  from  Sumter, 

"  .  .  .  .  that  echoed  round  the  world ' ' ; 
and  during  their  colthood  the  two  great 
armies  of  the  North  and  South  were  thun- 
dering at  each  other  across  the  swamps, 
mountains  and  valleys  of  Virginia,  down 
the  southern  length  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
fighting  among  the  clouds  of  the  Tennessee 
ranges.  The  land  dropped  blood,  and  the 
earth  trembled  under  the  tread  of  marching; 
the  ground  was  cumbered  with  dead;  and 
food  and  forage  got  scarcer  and  scarcer  in 
the  wake  of  the  corps  and  divisions  of  Blue 
and  Gray  that  swept  back  and  forth  as  the 
tide  of  victory  or  defeat  flowed  or  ebbed. 

Not  that  this  last  mattered  much  to 
Ruby  and  Jet,  for  they  were  at  that  age 
when  not  even  a  future  of  plow,  saddle, 
and  harness  could  mar  their  fun  or  sober 


The  Ave  Maria, 


333 


heir  spirits;    and   they  kicked   up   their 

leels,  wagged    their   short,    round    tails, 

tapped  their  ears,  and  ran  by  the  side  of 

iieir  patient  mother,  heeding  little  and  car- 

ng  less  for  wars  and  rumors  of  wars.    Be- 

;  ides,  they  had  plenty ;  for  in   the   fertile 

region  about  Atlanta  (fair  jewel  in  Georgia's 

mountain  crown !)  abundance  reigned;  and, 

except  that  all  the  men  and  boys  marched 

away,  and  large  requisitions  for  corn,  grain 

and  stock  came  more  frequently  from  first 

one  Gray  General  and  then  another,  peace 

might  have  made  her  nest  in  the  shadow 

of  the  city's  walls. 

But  one  day  there  arose  in  the  north- 
west a  cloud  as  blue  as  an  August  thunder- 
storm. On  its  crest  played  the  lightning 
of  steel;  from  its  swelling  heart  rolled  the 
booming  of  artillery,  and  its  track  was 
marked  by  fierce  flames  that 

" .  .  .  .  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night," 

as  they  licked  and  devoured  store-houses, 
magazines,  and  munition-depots;  for  Sher- 
man was  marching  to  the  sea! 

Women  and  children  fled  before  that 
mighty  vanguard ;  for  the  line  of  march  was 
the  line  of  battle,  and  for  days  and  weeks 
every  dawn  saw  its  charge  and  its  stand, 
and  every  evening  its  advance  and  retreat, 
as  the  blue  flood  rolled  on  toward  the  bluer 
one  of  the  Atlantic  water  far  away. 

Empty  plantations  were  filled  to  over- 
flowing one  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  next 
deserted,  and  swept  bare  of  forage,  fowl,  and 
stock.  And  one  fine  day  Company  M.,  of 
the  yth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,*  "scooped" 
the  two  little  mules  near  Covington,  and  the 
first  they  knew  of  life's  burden  was  when 
their  fat  little  barrels  were  bestrode  by 
two  dismounted  troopers,  whose  horses  had 
given  out  on  the  ride.    They  were  heavy. 


*  In  this  raid  the  whole  of  Kilpatrick's  com- 
mand was  engaged,  supplemented  and  reinforced 
by  the  7th  Pennsylvania,  the  4th  Michigan,  and 
the  4th  "Regulars" — as  the  members  of  the 
standing  army  are  called — which  were  detached 
from  Garrard's  Division,  on  the  left  of  Sherman's 
line;  but  as  Jet  belonged  to  Co.  M.  of  the  7th, 
the  fortunes  of  that  troop  will  be  followed  rather 
than  that  of  the  whole  command. 


sturdy  fellows,  and  prodded  and  pricked, 
kicked  and  belabored  their  small  steeds; 
grumbling  and  swearing  because  the  legs 
of  one  were  quite  too  short,  the  other's  quite 
too  long.  And  how  the  regiment  did  laugh 
to  see  them  drawn  up  like  grasshoppers, 
or  stubbing  their  toes  so  violently  as  al- 
most to  let  their  "mounts"  walk  from 
under  them. 

Well  here  was  a  pretty  ' '  how-de-do, ' '  and 
although  Ruby  and  Jet  had  never  heard  of 
Ko-ko  (much  less  the  Mikado\  they  felt 
strongly  that  it  was  indeed  "a  state  of 
things ' ' ;  and  that  night  over  their  forage, 
stiff",  sore,  bruised,  they  laid  their  ears  to- 
gether and  consulted  as  to  what  they  should 
do. 

"I  won't-stand  it!"  snorted  Ruby,  with 
such  fury  that  the  mouthful  of  oats  went 
down  the  wrong  way.  "I  just  won't!  That 
heavy,  two-legged  brute  has  almost  broken 
my  back,  and  I  know  there  are  dents  in  my 
sides  where  he  kicked  me.  I'  11  bolt !  No, ' ' 
— as  Jet  rolled  his  bright  eyes  at  him — 
"No,  there's  no  use  talking:  I  will^  and  I 
have  half  a  mind  to  break  his  neck  before 
I  do  it,  too!" 

And  every  hair  on  his  bright  sorrel  sides 
seemed  to  bristle. 

Footsteps  at  their  backs  (for  they  were 
picketed  in  a  fence  corner)  interrupted  them, 
and  a  tall  trooper  and  a  small,  slight  lad 
stopped  by  them. 

"  O  Hansel!  ain't  they  cute  little  beasts! 
Am  I  really  to  have  one  of  them?" 

"Yes.  Siegel's  horse  played  out  to-day, 
and  he'll  have  to  get  yours.  He's  too  long 
to  mount  on  them  things.  Take  your  pick, 
and  hurry  up  your  cakes,  for  we've  got  to 
ride  in  three  hours.  You  didn't  care  much 
for  that  horse  of  yours  anyway,  did  you?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy.  "He  travels  all 
right,  but  he  bucks  like  the  mischief  Why 
sometimes  I  get  all  ready  for  the  "Flour- 
ish," and  the  first  thing  I  know  he's  hump- 
ing up  and  coming  down  so  stiff"  on  his 
trotters  that  I  feel  as  if  my  teeth  were  bang- 
ing into  my  eye-balls.  And  I'd  just  like  to 
know  how  anybody's  going  to  blow  with  a 
horse  acting  like  that." 


334 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  smile  flitted  over  the  dark,  sad  face 
of  the  soldier;  and  he  watched  the  boy 
kindly,  as  he  walked  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  mules,  examining  them  critically, 
patting  their  sides,  rubbing  down  their 
noses,  and  handling  their  legs.  Ruby's 
bright  coloring  seemed  to  catch  his  fancy ; 
but  Ruby  was  bent  upon  being  cross,  and 
at  every  approach  he  laid  back  his  ears, 
snapped,  shook  his  fat  barrel,  and  limbered 
up  his  heels  as  if  pining  for  a  kick.  Jet, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  so  reminded  of  his 
young  master,  who  had  marched  away  the 
year  before  (although  only  fifteen),  and  had 
never  come  back,  that  he  rubbed  his  nose 
against  the  blue  shoulder,  and  wagged  his 
ears  and  tail  like  a  dog;  while  his  big,  soft 
eyes,  with  their  long,  thick  lashes  looked 
straight  into  the  blue  ones,  winking  in  such 
a  funny  way  that  the  merry  boyish  ha-ha ! 
rang  out  on  the  still  night. 

'* Ain't  he  dandy.  Hansel?  I'll  take  him 
every  time." 

And  Jet  was  led  away,  without  ever  hav- 
ing had  a  chance  to  say  what  he'd  do  at  all. 

II. 

*' Hello,  Ned  !  where  did  you  catch  your 
Dutch  canary?  "  one  of  the  troop  sang  out, 
as  he  came  up  to  the  camp-fire  with  Jet.- 

' '  Settin'  on  a  rail,  singing  with  Heintz- 
elmann's  red -bird,"  said  the  youngster, 
readily,  at  which  there  was  a  shout;  for 
Heintzelmann  was  one  of  the  dismounted 
troopers,  and  he  sat  nursing  his  wrath  and 
his  aching  shins  near  by. 

Then  Oester  led  his  new  '  *  mount ' '  to  his 
own  corner  of  the  worm-fence,*  got  him 
a  measure  of  oats,  and  fell  asleep  before 
Jet's  nose  was  fairly  in  the  sack.  Towards 
eleven  o'clock  he  was  shaken  up  by  Black 
Schwartz  (as  the  grave,  sad  Thuringian  was 
called,  to  distinguish  him  from  several  oth- 
ers of  the  same  name  in  the  regiment),  and 
after  half  a  minute  of  eye-rubbing,  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  blew  the  "  Mount " 
till  he  looked  like  a  cathedral  cherub.   The 


*  Throughout  the  South  thCvSe  fences  are  in 
general  use.  They  are  made  by  piling  rails  '  *  log- 
cabin  ' '  fashion  in  zigzag. 


earth  seemed  to  heave  as  the  men  rose,  with 
jingling  of  sabre  and  spur,  and  rattle  of 
carbine  and  canteen ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  command  was  making  at  a  sling  trot  for 
the  railroad,  where  they  hoped  to  cut  off 
Hood's  supplies,  and  so  force  him  out  of 
Atlanta,  whose  frowning  works  forbade  as- 
sault. 

Well,  ahead  went  the  little  bugler,  with 
such  a  light  hand  on  the  rein,  knees  so 
gently  pressed  on  Jet's  sides,  and  with  such 
a  friendly  twist  now  and  then  at  the  long, 
smooth  ears  that  the  little  mule  snorted  as 
much  like  a  charger  as  he  could,  and  made 
his  short  legs  fly  with  such  speed  that  he 
still  led  when  the  white-faced  dawn  stared 
at  them  out  of  the  darkness. 

Down  the  Sandtown  road  they  rattled, 
with  guidons  flying,  and  spurs,  sabre  and 
carbine  keeping  up  a  subdued  but  merry 
trio;  the  men  joking  among  themselves, 
and  every  mother's  son  of  them  pitying 
Garrard,  whose  duty  kept  him  out  of  the 
fun. 

Suddenly  a  yellow  ribbon  of  a  crossroad 
sprang  into  sight  in  the  growing  day,  lac- 
ing the  fields  and  cutting  the  pike  at  a  clean 
right  angle;  and  along  that  road,  charging 
gallantly  under  the  ''red,  white  and  red," 
came  the  Gray- coats,  yelling  their  war-cry, 
and  wild  for  a  brush.  Their  charge  cut 
our  line  in  two,  and  for  a  lively  half-hour 
there  was  a  rain  of  steel  blows  that  filled 
the  air  with  fiery  sparks  and  flashes,  and, 
alas!  alas!  sowed  the  field  and  roadway 
with  that  which  was  redder  than  poppies, 
more  precious  than  fine  gold — the  blood  of 
brave  men  fighting  for  what  both  sides  be-  | 
lieved  to  be  the  right  cause.  ! 

And  here  Ruby  put  in  his  first  very  bad  I 
conduct.  When  the  flank  charge  broke  our 
line  he  was  with  the  advance,  which  pushed 
at  full  speed  for  the  railroad,  fighting,  as 
it  went.  Their  path  lay  through  a  pine 
wood,  and  a  bog,  whose  treacherous  mud 
was  pierced  by  a  narrow  stream.  Across 
this  last  was  laid  a  foot-bridge  of  logs,  and 
over  it  many  an  iron-shod  charger  passed  in 
safety;  but  Ruby — mad, excited  and  scared 
— took  it  so  gingerly  that  he  was  [the^last 


The  Ave  Maria. 


33S 


Company  M.  on  its  traverse.  Behind  were 
ree  Butternuts,*  flushed  with  success, 
d  brandishing  what  looked  to  the  fright- 
ed little  beast  like  an  arsenal  of  weapons, 
ind  to  his  rider  like  so  many  passports  to 
I  variety  of  southern  prisons,  each  more 
iwful  than  the  other;  and  as  they  pelted 
ilong,  they  shouted :  ' '  Halt !  Surrender ! ' ' 
But  Heintzelmann  shook  his  head,  gave 
Ruby  a  savage  prod  with  a  pair  of  Mexican 
spurs  he  had  mounted  that  morning,  and 
laid  a  whistling  whack  along  his  sides  with 
the  flat  of  his  sabre. 

It  was  the  last  straw — a  whole  bunch  of 
straws!  Ruby  gave  a  violent  jump,  bowed 
his  back  with  such  vigor  as  to  burst  the 
surcingle,  and  bounced  into  the  bog;  then, 
with  an  adroit  wiggle,  he  slid  from  under 
his  rider  and  saddle,  and  bolted,  leaving 
i\itm.  plante-ld,  to  the  ringing  amusement  of 
friend  and  foe  alike.  But  luck  was  against 
him  evidently  (as  it  is  against  most  bolters 
from  duty);  for  while  he  clattered  along, 
free,  unburdened,  unspurred,  and  switching 
a  viciously-triumphant  tail,  a  dismounted 
trooper  caught  his  trailing  bridle,  vaulted 
on  his  unwilling  back,  and  turned  his  re- 
luctant head  again  into  the  thick  of  that 
hateful  firing,  above  which  flashed  the 
sharp,  sweet  calls  of  Oester's  bugle;  and — 
once — resounded  an  awful  bray,  given  by 
Jet,  when  his  feelings  as  a  mule  got  the 
better  of  his  dignity  as  a  cavalry  charger. 
It  was  full  day  now,  and  the  embank- 
ment was  won,  but  only  for  an  instant;  for 
as  our  troopers  rose  on  the  crest  they  were 
enfiladed  by  the  Gray-coats,  and  as  Ruby's 
new  rider  brought  him  up  to  the  scratch,  a 
withering  fire  raked  the  line.  He  didn't 
know  anything  about  Shakespeare,  but 
he  felt  strongly  the  advisability  of  doing 
quickly  and  at  once  what  he  thought  it  well 
to  do;  so  he  wheeled  and  sprang  straight 
off  of  the  embankment — a  sheer  fall  of  ten 
feet, — rolled  over  in  the  thick  sand  two  or 
three  times, and  took  up  a  bee-line  for  home ! 


*  A  name  given  the  Confederates,  because  their 
homespun  was  colored  with  a  dye  made  of  but- 
ternut shells. 


•     III. 

"Well,"  grumbled  his  astonished  rider, 
as  he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  "that's  one  way 
of  dismounting  that  ain't  down  in  the  tac- 
tics, and  I  must  say  /  don't  want  to  intro- 
duce it.  Confound  the  brute !  look  how  he 
skedaddles ! "  * 

And  he  gazed  ruefully  at  the  rapidly- 
vanishing  speck,  so  like  a  pin-cushion,  with 
four  red  legs  waving  wildly  in  the  air. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  comments. 
The  Gray- coats  rushed  along  like  a  sand- 
storm, and  it  was  every  man  for  himself, 
and  then  a  long  detour  to  join  the  other 
half  of  the  regiment.  Then  came  a  rest? 
Not  a  bit  of  it!  There  was  a  pause  long 
enough  to  take  account  of  stock,  catch  fresh 
"  mounts, "' tighten  belts,  gnaw  a  piece  of 
hard- tack  and  nibble  a  bit  of  bacon;  and 
then  it  was  ' '  Forward ! ' '  till  about  2  o' clock 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  advance-guard 
of  the  7th  collided  with  the  advance-guard 
of  the  enemy  —  massed  in  the  woods — to 
beat  them  back  from  Jones'  borough,  where 
enormous  supplies  were  stored,  and  where 
the  first  serious  blow  of  the  raid  was  to  be 
struck. 

As  the  first  shot  began  to  fall,  like  the 
heavy  advance  -  drops  of  a  summer  rain, 
Hartmann  suddenly  turned  to  his  right- 
hand  neighbor  and  said,  abruptly  (of  all 
things  in  the  world): 

"I  thought  there  were  mocking-birds 
singing  all  around  in  the  South. ' ' 

"Mocking-birds,  is  it?"  echoed  the  rol- 
licking Irishman.  "Well,  maybe.  But — 
glory  to  God! — it's  the  blackbirds  ye' 11  hear 
sing  this  day.  Listen  to  'em  whistle.  Good 
afternoon  to  ye!"  he  said,  doffing  his  cap, 
and  bobbing  his  close -cropped  head  po- 
litely, as  the  minie  and  rifle  balls  whizzed 
past. 

' '  Hello,  Ainsworth ! "  he  shouted  to  a 
young  soldier  in  Company  L. — a  guidon 
— who  sat  looking  anxiously,  but  fearlessly, 
ahead.  "What's  the  matter?  Ye  look  as 
solemn  as  if  the  fight  was  off".    But  be  easy, 


^  A  word  which  I  am  assured  has  a  pure  Greek 
origin,  and  meaning  in  army  circles  to  run. 


336 


The  Ave  Maria. 


my  boy,  and  cheer  up;  for  there's  lashin's 
of  'Johnnies '  ahead.    Whoop ! ' ' 

And  he  bounced  in  his  saddle,  his  eyes 
dancing  and  his  mouth  on  a  broad  grin; 
for  O'Keefe  would  rather  fight  than  eat  his 
dinner  any  day. 

"All  right,"  said  Ainsworth,  and  a  laugh 
chased  the  gravity  from  his  face  for  a  mo- 
ment; then,  as  the  regimental  bugler — a 
swart  Indian,  with  streaming  elf-locks  and 
wolfish  eyes — raised  his  bugle  toward  his 
lips,  he  ranged  up  to  Oester,  laid  his  hand 
on  the  peak  of  the  boy's  saddle,  and  spoke 
earnestly  to  him  for  a  few  moments,  hand- 
ing him  a  small  package  as  he  did  so,  and 
then  rode  off,  leading  his  squad. 

Oester  looked  puzzled,  and  O'Keefe,  as 
he  came  abreast  him,  said : 

*'A  good  boy,  that  Ainsworth;  but  did  ye 
ever  see  such  a  solemn  face?  Looks  for  all 
the  world  as  if  he  was  making  his  will,  and 
leaving  his  money  to  relations  he  didn't 
like,  ava.'''* 

' '  Now, ' '  answered  the  boy, ' '  that's  down- 
right queer,  O'Keefe.  It's  just  about  what 
he  has  been  doing — making  his  will,  I 
mean.  He  says  he's  going  to  be  shot  in 
this  charge,  that  he'll  be  hit  right  here" 
(touching  his  forehead);  "that  he'll  be 
killed  outright,  and  maybe  we'll  miss  his 
body  in  the  confusion ;  and  as  he  wants  his 
mother  to  have  all  his  valuables  and  this, 
he's  given  'em  to  me  to  give  the  Colonel. 
If /get  bowled  over — " 

' '  Oh,  shut  up ! "  said  O'  Keefe,  brusquely ; 
for  he  liked  the  boy,  and  —  a  true  Celt — 
he  was  disagreeably  impressed  by  a  fore- 
casting. 

"Don't  you  think  maybe  there  is  some- 
thing in  it?  "  asked  the  lad,  his  candid  blue 
eyes  thoughtfully  raised  to  the  pugnacious 
face  just  now  puckered  with  passing  an- 
noyance. 

"No:  I  don't  that!  Ye  are  both  goin' 
to  live  to  be  killed  a  dozen  times  over — ' ' 
' '  Tarantara-tara-tara ! ' '  suddenly  rang 
the  "charge"  on  ahead.  Oester' s  bugle 
caught  it  up,  and  sent  it  flying  along  the 
line;  and  the  blue  wave  gathered,  rolled, 
and  broke  against  the  barricade  of  rails, 


underbrush  and  felled  timber,  behind  which 
crouched  the  fiery  Death.  It  was  clatter  and 
rush,  crash  of  rider  and  steed,  shock  of 
steel,  and  fall  of  horse  and  man.  Then  the 
barricade  was  carried,  and  Kilpatrick  and 
his  men  went  streaming  down  the  river- 
bank  to  meet — flames! 

The  Gray- coats  had  fired  the  bridge;  and 
as  they  vanished  in  the  trees  beyond,  the 
shriek  of  shells  began  to  pierce  the  air,  and 
a  mighty  bad  twenty  minutes  our  men  put 
in ;  for  the  Gray  cannoneers  had  an  uncom- 
monly neat  idea  of  a  range,  and  grape  and 
canister  played  wild  work.  But  there  was 
no  loitering  or  seeking  for  shelter;  for 
while  one  detachment  put  out  the  fire,  an- 
other cut,  dressed  and  hauled  logs,  and  still 
another  began  to  repair  the  old  bridge  and 
lay  a  new  one  on  the  few  pontoons  the  com- 
mand had  with  them. 

During  the  rush  O'Keefe  was  here,  there, 
and  everywhere  (of  coiirse),  expending  the 
strength  of  ten  men,  and  doing  the  work  of 
half  a  one;  and  once,  as  he  passed  Hart- 
mann,  he  shouted: 

* '  How  d'ye  like  these  mocking-birds,  me 
boy!  And  isn't  it  good  lungs  they've  got 
and  sweet  voices  ?  D'  ye  mind  the  neat  little 
rhyme  the  childer  say  to  the  star?  We'll 
be  givin'  it  a  new  turn,  I'm  thinkin' : 

'*  'Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  shell. 
How  I  hate  to  hear  ye  yell. 
To  my  head  ye' re  quite  too  nigh. 
I  wish  ye'd  stay  up  in  the  sky.'  " 

And  on  he  rode,  with  a  laugh  that  was  a 
tonic,  and  was  among  the  first  of  the  com- 
mand that  rushed  into  the  teeth  of  the 
shelling  batteries,  with  a  shout  that  pre- 
saged victory. 

But  back  yonder  among  the  torn  turf, 
the  trampled  shrubbery  and  the  wreck 
of  the  scattered  barricade,  with  his  face 
turned  skyward  and  a  smile  on  his  quiet 
lips,  lay  Ainsworth  — dead!  his  forehead 
pierced  by  the  bullet  he  had  ridden  out  to 
meet.  * 

(to  be  continued.) 


*  This  presentiment  and  death  are  true  inci- 
dents. 


Vol.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  9,  1886. 


No.  15. 


[Copyright :— Rrv.  D 

The  Songs  of  a  Catholic  Poet. 


N  the  issue  of  the  New  York  Irish 
People  of  March  9,  1867,  a  writer 
describes  how  ' '  on  the  night  after 
the  bloody  battle  of  Fredericksburg,  the 
Federal  army  lay  sleepless  and  watchful  on 
their  arms,  with  spirits  damped  by  the  loss 
of  many  gallant  comrades.  To  cheer  his 
brother  officers,  Captain  Downing  sang  his 
favorite  song.  The  chorus  of  the  first  stanza 
was  taken  up  by  his  dashing  regiment,  next 
by  *the  Brigade,'  next  by  the  division,  then 
by  the  entire  line  of  the  army  for  six  miles 
along  the  river;  and  when  the  Captain 
ceased,  it  was  but  to  listen  with  undefinable 
feelings  to  the  chant  that  came  like  an  echo 
jfrom  the  Confederate  lines  on  the  opposite 
jshore." 

The  song  which  Captain  Downing  sang 
in  the  light  of  the  bivouac  fire  on  the  blood- 
stained slopes  by  the  river  at  Fredericks- 
burg, and  which  was  answered  by  those 
imongst ' '  the  boys  in  grey ' '  who  had  a  soft 
•orner  in  their  hearts  for  Ireland,  was  T.  D. 
Sullivan's  "Song  from  the  Backwoods": 

"We  know  that  brave  and  good  men  tried 
I  To  snap  her  rusty  chain, 

I      That  patriots  suffered,  martyrs  died, 
And  all, 'tis  said,  in  vain; 
But  no,  boys,  no!  a  glance  will  show 
How  far  they've  won  their  way — 
Here's  good  old  Ireland! 
Loved  old  Ireland! 
Ireland,  boys,  hurra!" 

The  writer  of  these  lines,  which  won,  for 


K.  Htosoh,  C.  S.  C] 

the  nonce,  a  kind  of  truce  between  men 
who  faced  each  other  in  arms,  was  the  Rt. 
Hon.  Timothy  Daniel  Sullivan,  now  Lord 
Mayor  of  Dublin,  representative  for  that 
city  in  the  English  Parliament,  and  propri- 
etor of  the  historic  Nation^  which  for  four 
decades  has  sustained  the  fame  which  the 
genius  of  Davis,  Meagher,  and  Mangan 
achieved  for  it  in  the  past. 

The  Nation  has  a  history  all  its  own,  and 
when  the  story  of  the  restoration  of  Ireland 
to  freedom  comes  to  be  written,  the  place 
it  will  hold  in  the  pages  which  tell  of  the 
lifting  of  a  people  out  of  bondage  will  be 
neither  small  nor  insignificant.  To  the 
Nation^  and  to  the  Sullivan  brothers,  who 
took  up  the  banner  of  green  when  the  staff 
fell  from  the  hand  of  Gavan  Duffy,  Ireland 
owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  which  she  never 
can  repay.  To  the  late  Alexander  M.  Sul- 
livan, to  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  and, 
during  many  years,  to  Denis  Baylor  Sulli- 
van, now  one  of  the  most  prosperous  and 
brilliant  lawyers  at  the  Irish  bar,  the  people 
of  Ireland  owe  a  gratitude  deep  and  lasting 
beyond  anything  even  their  affection  can  dis- 
charge. Through  toil  and  sorrow,  through 
the  darkest  and  most  dispiriting  circum- 
stances, the  Nation  has  never  faltered,  but 
has  held  aloft  the  fiery  cross  of  Irish  nation- 
ality, and  called  the  scattered  Fons  of  the  Cel- 
tic race  to  the  service  of  their  motherland. 

That  T.  D.  Sullivan  is  a  true  poet,  the 
following  extracts  from  his  poem  on  the 
"Death  of  King  Connor  MacNessa'*  will 
probably  be  the  best  proof: 


33^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"  'Twas  a  day  full  of  sorrow  for  Ulster  when  Con- 
nor MacNessa  went  forth 
To  punish  the  clansmen  of  Connaught,who  dared 

to  take  spoil  from  the  North ; 
For  his  men  brought  him  back  from  the  battle 

scarce  better  than  one  that  was  dead, 
With  the  brain -ball  of  Mesgedra  buried  two* 

thirds  of  its  depth  in  his  head. 
His  royal  physician  bent  o'er  him,  great  Fingen, 

who  often  before 
Staunched  the  war-battered  bodies  of  heroes,  and 

built  them  for  battle  once  more; 
And  he  looked  on  the  wound  of  the  monarch,  and 

heark'd  to  his  low-breathed  sighs, 
And  he  said:  'In  the  day  when  that  missile  is 

loosed  from  his  forehead  he  dies." 

In  the  pagan  days  of  Ireland  her  warriors 
were  wont  to  mix  with  lime  the  brains  of 
those  whom  they  had  slain,  and  to  roll  this 
substance  into  balls,which  they  preserved  as 
trophies.  It  was  with  one  of  these — which, 
according  to  the  legend,  was  stolen  from  his 
own  armory — that  King  Connor  MacNessa 
was  stricken  down.  The  state  physician 
of  the  great  King  declared : 

"Yet  long  midst  the  people  who  love  him  King 

Connor  MacNessa  may  reign, 
If  always  the  high  pulse  of  passion  be  kept  from 

his  heart  and  his  brain. 
And  for  this  I   lay  down  his  restrictions: — No 

more  from  this  day  shall  his  place 
Be  with  armies,  in  battles,  or  hostings,  or  leading 

the  van  of  the  chase; 
At  night,  when  the  banquet  is  flashing,  his  meas- 
ure of  wine  must  be  small, 
And  take  heed  that  the  bright  eyes  of  women  be 

kept  from  his  sight,  above  all; 
For  if  heart-thrilling  joyance  or  anger  a  while 

o'er  his  being  have  power, 
The  ball  will  start  forth  from  his  forehead,  and 

surely  he  dies  in  that  hour." 

Obedient  to  these  behests,  the  King  lived 
the  life  of  a  pagan  saint,  abstaining  from 
all  the  things  which  had  made  life  bright 
to  one  who  had  no  thoughts  beyond  what 
he  saw  on  earth. 

"The  princes,  the  chieftains,  the  nobles,  who  met 

to  consult  at  his  board. 
Whispered  low  when  their  talk  was  of  combats, 

and  wielding  the  spear  and  the  sword. 

"And,  sadder  to  all  who  remembered  the  glories 

and  joys  that  had  been. 
The  heart-swaying  presence  of  woman  not  once 

shed  its  light  on  the  scene." 


So  in  solemn  and  self-denying  fashion 
lived  King  Connor,  and 

"So  years  had  passed  over,  when,  sitting  midst 
silence  like  that  of  the  tomb, 

A  terror  crept  through  him,  as  sudden  the  moon- 
light was  blackened  with  gloom. 

"From  the  halls  of  his  tottering  palace  came 

screamings  of  terror  and  pain. 
And  he  saw  crowding  thickly  around  him  the 

ghosts  of  the  foes  he  had  slain." 

When  the  tumult  had  somewhat  subsided, 
the  King  sent  for  Barach,  his  chief  Druid, 
and  interrogated  him  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
terrible  convulsion  which  had  shaken  the 
earth  to  its  centre.  The  priest,  inspired, 
answered : 

"  '  O  King!'   said  the  white-bearded  Druid,  'the 

truth  unto  me  has  been  shown : 
There  lives  but  one  God,  the  Eternal ;  far  up  in 

high  heaven  is  His  throne. 
He  looked  upon  men  with  compassion,  and  sent 

from  His  kingdom  of  light 
His  Son  in  the  shape  of  a  mortal,  to  teach  them 

and  guide  them  aright. 
Near  the  time  of  your  birth,  O  King  Connor!  the 

Saviour  of  mankind  was  born, 
And  since  then  in  the  kingdoms  far  eastward  He 

taught,  toiled,  and  prayed ,  till  this  morn. 
When  wicked  men  seized  Him,  fast  bound  Him 

with  nails  to  a  cross,  lanced  His  side. 
And  that  moment  of  gloom  and  confusion  was 

earth's  cry  of  dread  when  He  died.'  " 

Hear  the  miraculously  converted  Druid, 
and  remember,  too,  that  the  legend  so  beau- 
tifully versified  by  T.  D.  Sullivan  is  one  of 
the  oldest  transmitted  through  the  cen- 
turies which  have  left  Ireland  little  else  but 
legends: 
"  '  O  King!  He  was  gracious  and  gentle;  His  Heart 

was  all  pity  and  love, 
And  for  men  He  was  ever  beseeching  the  grace 

of  His  Father  above; 
He  helped  them.  He  healed  them.  He  blessed 

them;  He  labored  that  all  might  attain 
To  the  true  God's  high  kingdom  of  glory,  where 

never  comes  sorrow  or  pain. 
But  they  rose  in  their  pride  and  their  folly,"  their 

hearts  filled  with  merciless  rage. 
That  only  the  sight  of  His  life-blood  fast  poured 

from  His  Heart  could  assuage. 
Yet  while  on  the  cross-beams  uplifted,  His  Body 

racked,  tortured,  and  riven. 
He  prayed— not  for  justice  or  vengeance,  but 

asked  that  His  foes  be  forgiven.'  " 


F 


The  Ave  Maria, 


339 


A  holy  anger  was  kindled  in  the  heart  of 
the  monarch  as  the  priest  spoke,  and,  de- 
scending from  his  throne, 

"The  red  flush  of  rage  on  his  face, 
Fast  he  ran  through  the  hall  for  his  weapons,  and, 

snatching  his  sword  from  its  place, 
He  rushed  to  the  woods,  striking  wildly  at  boughs 

that  dropped  down  with  each  blow, 
And  he  cried:  'Were  I  midst  the  vile  rabble,  I'd 

cleave  them  to  earth  even  so ! 
With  the  strokes  of  a  high  King  of  Brin,  the 

whirls  of  my  keen-tempered  sword, 
I  would  save  from  their  horrible  fury  that  mild 

and  that  merciful  Lord ! ' 
His  frame  shook  and  heaved  with  emotion;  the 

brain-ball  leaped  forth  from  his  head. 
And,  commending  his  soul  to  that  Saviour,  King 

Connor  MacNessa  fell  dead." 

It  will  probably  seem  to  many  that  the 
following  verses,  entitled  "Fisherman's 
Prayer,"  should  have  had  first  place  in  an 
article  appearing  in  these  pages,  not  only 
because  of  Her  in  whose  honor  they  are 
written,  but  also  on  account  of  their  inher- 
ent excellence: 

' '  The  sun  is  setting  angrily. 

In  threat' ning  gusts  the  wind  is  blowing; 
Holy  Mary!  Star  of  the  Sea! 
Speed  our  small  bark  fast  and  free 

O'er  the  homeward  way  we're  going. 

"We  left  the  land  as  the  morning  bright 
Purpled  the  smooth  sea  all  before  us ; 
We  prayed  to  God,  and  our  hearts  were  light. 
We  placed  our  bark  in  thy  saving  sight, 
And  knew  thou  wouldst  well  watch  o'er  us. 

"But  now  the  sun  sets  angrily, 

From  black,  wild  clouds  the  wind  is  blowing; 
Holy  Mary!  Star  of  the  Sea! 
Send  our  small  bark  fast  and  free 

O'er  the  darkling  way  we're  going. 

' '  We  fished  the  deep  the  livelong  day ; 

The  waves  were  rich,  through   God's   good 
pleasure; 
We  ventured  far  from  our  own  bright  bay. 
And  lingered  late;  we  fain  would  stay 
Till  filled  with  the  shining  treasure. 

"  But  now  the  night  falls  threat' ningly, 

The  sea  runs  high  with  the  fierce  wind  blow- 
ing; 
Holy  Mary!  Star  of  the  Sea! 
Our  light,  our  guide,  our  safety  be 
O'er  the  stormy  way  we're  going. 

"We  pass  the  point  where  the  tempest's  strain 
Is  lightened  off  by  the  land's  high  cover; 


Our  village  lights  shine  out  again — 

I  know  my  own  in  my  window-pane. 

And  the  tall  church  towering  over. 

"  Holy  Mary!  Star  of  the  Sea! 

With  grateful  love  our  hearts  are  glowing; 
Behold,  we  bless  thy  Son  and  thee! 
Oh!  still  our  light  and  safety  be 

O'er  the  last  dread  course  we're  going." 

Perhaps  we  may  be  allowed  to  quote  the 
following  verses  from  another  poem,  en- 
titled '  ''Mater  Ecclesia ' '  .• 

* '  O  Holy  Mother  Church !  again 
The  tyrant  seeks  with  scourge  and  chain 
What  tyrants  often  sought  in  vain — 

Thy  master  and  thy  lord  to  be; 
The  foolish  dream  is  in  his  brain 

That  he  can  make  a  slave  of  thee. 

' '  His  armed  hosts  around  him  stand — 
One  word,  one  signal  from  his  hand, 
And  freedom  dies  throughout  the  land. 

But,  let  his  front  be  fierce  or  mild, 
Thou  dost  not  bow  at  his  command, 

O  mother  fair  and  undefiled! 

' '  Yet  even  he  might  surely  know 
That  kings  and  conquerors  come  and  go; 
They  have  their  days  of  strength  and  show. 

Their  systems  flourish,  and  they  fall. 
Thou  seest  them  perish,  friend  and  foe — 

Thou  stand' st  unchanged  amidst  them  all. 

* '  'Tis  true  that  men  of  evil  mind 
Can  wound  and  grieve  thee,  scourge  and  bind; 
So  did  the  rabble,  fierce  and  blind. 

To  Him  whose  stainless  spouse  thou  art. 
The  task  is  vain,  their  followers  find. 

To  tear  thee  from  His  loving  Heart. 

' '  Thou  seest  the  glory  of  His  face, 
Thou  hast  His  words  of  light  and  grace, 
Thy  heart  is  their  abiding  place. 

His  Spirit  in  thy  veins  is  rife; 
No  laws  of  tyrants  bold  and  base 

Shall  ever  rule  thy  holy  life. 

"  O  mother  good  and  fond  and  wise! 
Midst  all  the  wrongs  thy  foes  devise, 
The  loving  sons  who  round  thee  rise, 

To  live  or  freely  die  for  thee. 
See,  looking  in  thy  glorious  eyes, 

But  light  and  peace  and  victory. ' ' 

The  character  of  a  poet  can  often  be  dis- 
cerned in  his  songs,  and  to  those  who  know 
the  happy  domesticity  of  T.  D.  Sullivan's 
life,  or  have  ever  seen  the  gracious  lady  who 
does  honor  to  the  ancient  mayoralty  house 


340 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  Dublin  by  her  kindliness  to  all  who  come 
within  its  portals,  the  following  brief  ex- 
tracts from  her  husband's  poems  may  not 
seem  inappropriate: 

"Pulse  of  my  heart,  draw  nearer,  nearer; 
The  world  may  darken  as  it  will, 
But  time  shall  only  make  thee  dearer — 
Let  me  clasp  thee  closer  still. 

' '  No  lands  or  gold  had  I  to  offer 

When  I  asked  this  heart  of  thine; 
And  these  rosy  lips  assured  me, 

In  a  murmur,  it  was  mine, 
lyike  a  gush  of  heavenly  music 

Came  that  murmur  on  my  ears, 
Thrilled  my  heart  with  sweet  emotions, 

Filled  my  eyes  with  happy  tears. 

"Pulse  of  my  heart,  draw  nearer,  nearer; 
The  world  may  darken  as  it  will. 
But  time  shall  onh'  make  thee  dearer — 
Let  me  clasp  thee  closer  still." 

The  poems  of  T.  D.  Sullivan  are  not  com- 
pendiums  of  abstruse  psychological  studies, 
nor  attempts  at  portraying  such  idiosyn- 
crasies of  perverted  human  nature  as  many 
English  poets  of  the  present  century  have 
set  themselves  to  depict;  but  are  simply 
the  verses  of  an  honest  Irishman,  loving 
his  faith  and  his  country  before  all  the 
world,  to  whom  God  has  given  the  glorious 
gift  of  song  as  well  as  of  great  eloquence 
in  prose.  The  nature  of  the  man,  honest, 
faithful,  and  determined,  shines  through  all 
he  has  written.  Read  everything  that  T.  D. 
Sullivan  has  ever  published,  and  you  will 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  is  not  a  pa- 
triot because  he  is  a  politician,  but  rather  a 
politician  because  he  is,  by  conviction,  a 
patriot.  Few  poems  of  the  present  day  are 
more  striking  than  "My  Faith." 

"I've  heard  enlightened  persons  say, 
With  show  of  logic  keen  and  clever, 
*  The  world  will  roll  in  the  ancient  way. 

And  the  honest  man  will  be  down  forever. 
Honor  and  Truth  are  an  idle  dream. 
Self  is  the  rule  good  sense  advises; 
Worth  will  sink  like  dregs  in  the  stream, 
And  the  sun  will  shine  on  all  that  rises.' 
But  I  say  no, 
It  can  not  be  so. 
And  if  my  reasons  must  be  given. 
So  weak  am  I, 
That  my  sole  reply 
Is,  'A  just  God  lives  on  the  throne  of  Heaven.' 


"And  when  a  nation's  hopes  are  sold 

For  wealth,  a  name,  a  seavSon's  glitter; 
When  hearts  whose  hopes  were  high  and  bold 

Drink  disappointment  cold  and  bitter; 
When,  sitting  by  his  darkened  hearth, 

The  peasant  curses  his  betrayer. 
And  ere  he  leaves  his  native  earth 
Asks  vengeance  with  his  latest  prayer; 
I  own  I  fear 
That  God's  fine  ear 
The  words  will  hear,  and  the  long,  wild  wailing 
From  ruined  home 
And  ocean  foam, 
Where  coffin  ships  are  sadly  sailing. 

'  'And  when  some  light  of  the  modem  school 

Comes  kindly  out  with  a  fine  oration. 
And  strives  to  show,  by  some  new-found  rule. 

The  approaching  death  of  a  grand  old  nation; 
Or  signs  the  fate,  with  a  small  crow  quill, 

Of  a  race  that  lived  through  fire  and  plunder, 
Through  war  and  want ;  and  who  answer  still 
For  the  land  with  a  shout  like  mountain  thunder ; 
So  weak  am  I 
That  I  join  the  cry. 
The  loud  reply  to  our  would-be  sages; 
And  shouting  say, 
'  In  a  different  way 
Do  I  read  the  marks  in  the  Book  of  Ages.' 

"And  when  some  gentle  friend  despairs. 

Sits  by  the  wayside  broken-hearted. 
And,  seeming  quite  sincere,  declares 

That  the  last  good  thing  has  just  departed- 
Says  Heaven  has  ceased,  as  all  may  know. 
The  mould  of  men  for  its  chosen  mission ; 
That  from  some  day  last  week  or  so 

The  world  must  remain  in  a  sad  condition; 
That  story  too 
Is  strange  and  new. 
And  I  hold  true  to  my  old  opinions: 
The  ancient  creed, 
That  God's  good  seed 
Will  always  grow  in  His  wide  dominions. 

"And  though  I  am  told  it  is  wrong  to  feel 

The  burning  glow  of  patriot  passion, 
That  the  national  love  is  ungenteel. 

And  we  all  must  sail  with  the  tide  of  fashion; 
Erin!  Queen  of  my  youth's  wild  dreams, 

Of  my  manhood's  faith  that  faltered  never. 
Through  sorrow's  clouds,  or  hope's  bright  beams, 
This  hand  and  heart  shall  be  thine  forever. 
My  pride  shall  be 
Deep  love  for  thee; 
My  hope,  a  true  son's  aid  to  render; 
My  fixed  belief. 
That  thy  brow  of  grief 
Shall  yet  be  bound  with  a  crown  of  splendor." 

The  poems  of  T.  D.  Sullivan  should  be 


The  Ave  Maria. 


341 


read  after  we  have  made  the  history  of  Ire- 
and's  past  our  own,  and  with  a  good  record 
)f  the  contemporary  history  of  the  island 
}y  our  side;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  at  all 
that,  quite  irrespective  of  all  political  feel- 
:ng — with  which  we  have,  indeed,  nothing 
to  do  in  these  pages, — they  stamp  iheir 
writer  as  a  man  of  genius,  as  a  true  patriot, 
as  a  devoted  Catholic,  and  as  one  who,  it 
is  sincerely  to  be  hoped,  will  be  spared  to 
his  country,  to  guide  and  assist  her  in  the 
day  when  she  undertakes  the  great  work 
of  rebuilding  that  national  edifice  which' 
tyranny  and  corruption  shattered.  Ireland 
will  then  have  need  of  the  advice  of  the 
most  liberal,  the  most  generous,  and  the 
most  prudent  among  her  statesmen. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    R^ID. 


XVI. 

MISS  PERCIVAL  started,  and  made  a 
slight  motion,  as  if  to  rise  from  her 
chair;  but  almost  immediately  sank  back 
again.  Why  should  she  avoid  Philip  ?  Had 
she  not  desired  an  opportunity  to  show  him 
that  his  avoidance  of  her  was  unnecessary, 
and  what  better  opportunity  could  be  found 
than  the  present?  Moreover,  the  thought 
occurred  to  her  that  it  would  be  the  last  for 
some  time,  since  Mrs.  King  was  on  the  eve 
of  leaving  the  city,  and  there  was  not  the 
least  probability  of  their  meeting  anywhere 
else.  She  kept  her  seat,  therefore,  and  when 
Philip  was  shown  into  the  dusky  drawing- 
room — for  sunset  had  deepened  to  twilight 
by  this  time — he  did  not  recognize  her  until 
after  he  had  spoken  to  Mrs.  King.  Then, 
glancing  at  her  companion,  he  was  startled 
to  see  Alice  Percival  leaning  forward  into 
the  light  of  the  after- glow,  which  still  shone 
through  the  window,  and  holding  out  her 
hand  with  a  friendly  gesture. 

It  appeared  for  an  instant  as  if  he  was  not 
going  to  accept  that  frankly- ofifered  hand, 
so  much  was  he  surprised ;  but  before  she 
could  draw  back,  he  had  taken  it  into  his 


own,  bowing  deeply  over  it.  Their  hands 
had  never  met  before,  and  he  felt  as  if  those 
firm,  gentle  fingers  offered  a  pledge  of  amity 
which  he  could  not  refuse.  However,  he 
uttered  only  a  word  or  two  in  reply  to  her 
salutation,  and,  sitting  down,  plunged  at 
once  into  conversation  with  Mrs.  King. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  away,"  said  that  lady; 
"and  quite  time  it  is.  The  city  will  soon 
be  unendurable.  I  wonder  that  you  are  here 
yet." 

"  I  am  not  going  away  at  all, ' '  Philip  an- 
swered. ' '  You  know  I  have  begun  to  work 
in  earnest,  and  I  must  abjure  pleasure  for  a 
time,  at  least." 

' ' '  Scorn  delights  and  live  laborious 
days,'  "  said  she,  smiling.  "But  you  must 
not  forget  that  some  recreation  is  necessary 
to  enable  one  to  labor  to  the  best  advantage. 
'  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  very 
dull  boy.'" 

"I  have  had  my  fair  share  of  play,"  re- 
plied Philip ;  ' '  and  I  must  take  my  share  of 
work  now.  Seriously  speaking,  I  am  very 
much  interested  in  my  studies,  and  I  want 
to  obtain  my  license  as  soon  as  possible. 
After  that  I  can  think  of  recreation." 

' '  I  am  afraid  you  are  studying  too  hard, ' ' 
said  Mrs.  King.  ' '  I  can  not  see  what  you 
look  like  just  now,  but  I  have  observed 
your  appearance  several  times  lately,  and  I 
thought  you  looking  pale. ' ' 

' '  Oh !  I  am  very  well, ' '  answered  Philip, 
hastily,  and  changed  the  subject. 

Alice  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  lis- 
tened without  taking  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion. It  was  not  one  that  interested  her, 
being  chiefly  about  the  merits  of  the  differ- 
ent places  to  which  Mrs.  King  was  going, 
and  with  which  Philip  had  an  extensive 
acquaintance.  After  all,  the  opportunity 
seemed  no  opportunity.  She  had  given  him 
her  hand — and  evidently  much  surprised 
him  by  doing  so, — but  beyond  that  she  had 
no  power  to  show  him  the  kindliness  and 
respect  which  she  felt.  Well,  there  was 
probably  no  real  reason  why  she  should  do 
so;  and  her  failure  did  not  matter.  She 
said  this  to  herself  with  a  slight  sigh  as  she 
finally  rose.  The  dusk  had  deepened,  street- 


342 


The  Ave  Maria, 


lamps  began  to  gleam :  it  was  time  for  her 
to  go. 

' '  Why,  Alice,  how  quiet  you  have  been ! ' ' 
cried  Mrs.  King,  as  the  tall,  graceful  figure 
came  toward  her.  "What  —  going?  Oh! 
impossible!  You  must  stay  and  spend  the 
evening  with  me." 

' '  Unfortunately  I  can  not, ' '  replied  Alice. 
"My  mother  will  be  expecting  me." 

"When  you  intrench  yourself  behind 
your  mother,  I  know  there  is  no  hope  of 
moving  you,"  said  Mrs. King,  with  a  smile. 

While  the  two  ladies  exchanged  their 
farewell  words,  Philip,  who  had  risen  also, 
stood  behind  his  chair,  apparently  motion- 
less, yet  really  in  a  state  of  extreme  nervous- 
ness. Could  he  allow  Miss  Percival  to  walk 
home  unattended  at  this  hour?  It  seemed 
impossible,  yet  could  he  venture  to  offer  to 
attend  her?  That  also  seemed  impossible. 
He  was  hesitating  over  the  question,  when 
the  young  lady  suddenly  turned  around, 
with  a  little  bow  said,  ' '  Good-evening,  Mr. 
Thornton,"  and  was  passing  by.  Then  he 
knew  that  he  must  at  least  give  her  the 
option  of  refusing  his  escort. 

"  It  is  late  for  you  to  walk  home  alone, ' ' 
he  said.  "If  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  attend  you." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  "but  it  is 
not  quite  dark — there  is  really  no  need — 
and  you  have  not  finished  your  visit  to  Mrs. 
King." 

' '  Mrs.  King  will  probably  permit  me  to 
return  and  make  my  adieux,"  said  Philip, 
who  recognized  by  her  tone  that  she  did 
not  object  to  his  accompanying  her;  and  if 
she  did  not  object,  he  was  quite  sure  that 
nothing  else  should  prevent  his  doing  so. 

A  few  minutes  later  found  them  on  the 
street  together.  When  they  ernerged  into 
the  open  air  they  found,  as  Alice  had  said, 
that  it  was  not  yet  dark:  the  long  twilight 
of  June  still  held  the  world  with  that  ex- 
quisite mingling  of  night  and  day  which  is 
so  charming.  A  rosy  glow  lingered  in  the 
West, but  overhead  stars  were  shining  out  of 
a  delicate  sky,  and  the  perfume  of  flowers 
in  unseen  gardens  filled  the  air.  Philip  felt 
like  a  man  in  a  dream  as  he  walked  by  his 


companion's  side,  and  responded  to  her  gen- 
tle advances.  It  was  a  pleasure  the  keener 
for  its  absolute  unexpectedness,  and  for  his 
consciousness  that  it  might  never  be  re- 
peated. This  consciousness  made  him,  per- 
haps, a  little  absent,  but  he  roused  himself 
when  Alice  said : 

"Mr.  Richter  makes  many  complaints  of 
you,  Mr.  Thornton.  He  thinks  you  have 
lost  interest  in  your  music." 

"So  I  have,"  Philip  answered.  "It  has 
been  rather  a  pain  than  a  pleasure  to  me  of 
late.    I  am  thinking  of  leaving  the  choir." 

"Oh!  I  hope  not!"  she  said,  quickly. 
' '  We  have  no  other  voice  as  good  as  yours. 
And  why  should  you  lose  interest?  It  was 
not  for  your  own  pleasure  that  you  entered 
the  choir,  I  am  sure." 

"No:  it  was  because  I  thought  I  might 
really  be  of  use.  But,  despite  your  flattering 
opinion,  I  think  there  are  others  with  better 
voices  and  more  industry  than  myself." 

' '  But  industry  is  within  our  own  power," 
she  observed ;  ' '  and  I  do  not  think  that  one 
should  give  up  lightly  what  is  done  for  the 
service  of  God.  You  seem  to  be  developing 
industry  enough  in  another  direction, "she 
added,  with  a  smile. 

' '  My  studies,  you  mean  ?  "  he  answered. 
' '  But  that  is  a  matter  of  necessity.  It  has 
become  indispensable  that  I  should  do  some- 
thing for  myself.  I  do  not  regret  the  fact 
itself:  I  only  regret  the  reasons  which  led 
to  it." 

He  uttered  the  last  words  half-uncon- 
sciously,  but  he  was  not  sorry  when  he  real- 
ized that  he  had  uttered  them.  He  had  a 
strong  inclination  to  speak  openly  to  Alice 
Percival  of  the  matter  which  concerned 
them  both.  As  they  passed  under  a  lamp, 
he  saw  that  she  lifted  her  dark  eyes  to  his 
face  with  a  look  which  encouraged  him  to 
proceed.  It  was  a  look  of  sympathy,  for  she 
fancied  he  was  regretting  his  separation 
from  Miss  Irving;  but  she  was  mistaken: 
there  was  no  thought  of  Constance  in  his 
mind  at  that  moment. 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  "the  day 
of  the  railroad  accident,  when  I  told  you 
that,  so  far  as  I  was  aware,  there  was  nothing 


I 


The  A^e  Maria. 


345 


;to  prevent  our  acquaintance?  Well,  I  think 
it  only  right  to  tell  you  now  that  I  have 
learned  better  since  then — I  have  learned 
that  there  was  much  to  render  it,  as  you 
said,  'unfit';  and  I  have  also  learned  to 
appreciate  your  kindness  toward  me.  How 
much  I  must  have  annoyed  you — I,  who 
have  no  right  to  know  you! — and  how 
unfailing  in  courtesy  and  forbearance  you 
were!" 

"You  did  not  annoy  me  at  all,"  she  an- 
swered in  the  same  words  she  had  used  to 
Graham  with  regard  to  him.  ' '  But  I  am 
glad  you  thought  me  courteous.  Why 
should  I  have  been  anything  else?  It  never 
occurred  to  me  for  a  moment  to  hold  you 
accountable  for  the  acts  of  another,  or  to 
allow  the  recollection  of  such  acts  to  influ- 
ence my  opinion  of  you  or  my  conduct 
toward  you.  What  had  you  to  do  with  the 
matter?  Simply  nothing  at  all.  It  strikes 
me  that  I  have  said  this  to  you  before." 

"You  have,  but  you  also  said  that  there 
was  an  unfitness  in  our  acquaintance.  I  did 
not  understand  you  then,  but  I  understand 
only  too  well  now,  and  fully  agree  with 
you." 

"I  think  I  also  told  you  once  what  I 
meant  by  unfitness,"  she  replied,  quietly. 
"Our  lives  were  cast  in  such  different  lines 
— we  had  little  or  nothing  in  common.  And, 
then,  so  long  as  you  were  closely  identified 
with  your  uncle,  there  was  a  propriety  that 
seemed  to  forbid  any  intimate  association. 
I  have  friends  who  would  have  looked  upon 
it  as  in  some  degree  compromising  my  fa- 
ther's memory." 

It  was  not  lost  upon  Philip  that  she  spoke 
in  the  past  tense.  "  But  now  I  am  no  longer 
closely — or,  indeed,  at  all — identified  with 
my  uncle,"  he  said.  "It  cost  me  much 
pain  to  refuse  to  comply  with  his  wishes, 
but  there  was  no  alternative  which  I  could 
entertain.  And  I  may  tell  you  that  I  was 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  shake  off"  the  weight 
of  wealth  stained  by  wrong.  If  he  had  con- 
sented to  make  restitution  to  you  and  your 
mother,  I  could  hardly  have  refused  to  do 
anything  that  he  asked.  But  he  did  not 
consent. ' ' 


"Is  it  possible  that  you  proposed  it  to 
him?"  she  asked,  with  much  surprise. 

"Could  I  have  failed  to  do  so  when  I 
learned  at  last  the  true  state  of  the  case?  I 
urged  him,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  honor, 
and  his  own  soul,  to  right  the  wrong;  but 
he  would  not  listen  to  me." 

"And  that,  then,  was  the  cause  of  your 
estrangement?"  she  cried,  with  a  flash  of 
intuition.    "Ah!  I  feared  as  much!" 

"No,"  he  answered,  quickly;  "the  cause 
of  our  estrangement  was  different.  I  would 
not  consent  to  marry  Constance  unless  she 
became  a  Catholic.  God  forgive  me  if  I  was 
glad  that  she  refused!  It  gave  me  an  op- 
portunity to  make  my  own  life,  and  to  profit 
no  longer  by  wealth  unjustly  acquired.  I 
have  only  one  regret  connected  with  the 
matter,"  he  added,  after  an  instant's  pause. 
"If  there  were  a  prospect  that  this  money 
would  ever  come  to  me,  /  could  then  make 
restitution.  But  my  uncle  is  so  much  in- 
censed against  me  that  I  am  sure  he  will 
find  another  heir. ' ' 

' '  Do  not  regret  what  you  have  done  on 
that  score, ' '  said  Alice,  in  a  low  tone.  ' '  Nei- 
ther my  mother  nor  myself  could  accept 
anything  from  you.  Only  he  who  committed 
the  wrong  can  make  restitution  for  it. ' ' 

"He,  I  fear,  never  will,"  answered  Philip, 
in  a  tone  as  low  as  her  own.  "His  pride, 
his  obstinacy,  his  love  of  money — all  com- 
bine to  steel  him  against  the  thought." 

' '  Poor  man ! ' '  said  the  girl,  gently.  ' '  Do 
you  know  that  I  never  see  him — and,  of 
course,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  now  and 
then — without  a  painful  sense  of  pity?  To 
think  that  he  will  let  a  little  money  stand 
between  him  and  a  clear  conscience — the 
esteem  of  men  and  the  friendship  of  God! 
It  is  so  terribly  sad !  The  thought  of  resti- 
tution never  occurred  to  me;  but  if  for  his 
own  sake  he  were  to  make  it,  I  would  will- 
ingly agree  to  give  the  money  away  the 
next  hour." 

"It  would  be  yours  in  justice,"  replied 
Philip.    ' '  Why  should  you  give  it  away  ? '  * 

"I  do  not  think  I  should  like  to  keep  it. 
But  it  is  scarcely  worth  while, ' '  she  added, 
with  a  slight  smile,  "to  discuss  a  contin- 


344 


The  Ave  Maria. 


gency  that  in  all  human  probability  will 
never  take  place." 

*'In  human  probability,  no,"  said  Philip; 
"but  in  the  probability  of  divine  grace  it 
may.  The  only  hope  for  my  poor  uncle  is 
in  that.  Would  it  be  asking  too  much  of 
your  charity  to  beg  you  to  pray  that  he  may 
obtain  this  grace  ? ' ' 

"No,  it  is  not  asking  too  much,"  she 
answered.  ' '  I  will  very  gladly  pray  for  him. 
See ! ' '  She  paused  and  pointed  to  the  win- 
dow of  a  church  which  they  were  passing. 
"There  is  a  light  at  the  altar  of  the  Sacred 
Heart.  Let  us  go  in  and  beg  the  grace  for 
him  now." 

Philip  eagerly  assented,  and  they  turned 
in  under  the  shadow  of  the  church  porch. 
The  doors  were  not  yet  closed,  and  they  en- 
tered the  building,  which  would  have  been 
altogether  dark  but  for  the  lamp  suspended 
before  the  high  altar,  and  a  red  light  which 
burned  at  the  feet  of  a  statue  of  the  Sacred 
Heart. 

When  they  knelt  together  before  the  lat- 
ter, Philip  felt  more  than  ever  like  a  man  in 
a  dream.  The  perfume  of  roses  on  the  altar 
filled  the  church  like  the  fragrance  of  divine 
love;  the  light  of  the  jewel-like  lamp  fell 
on  the  benignant  figure,  and  revealed  its 
tender  aspect;  while  soft  depths  of  shadow 
brooded  all  around,  save  where  the  sanctu- 
ary lamp  flung  its  golden  radiance  on  the 
tabernacle  door.  He  could  not  glance  tow- 
ard Alice,  but  he  was  intensely  conscious 
of  her  presence;  and  it  seemed  too  unreal, 
too  strange  to  be  true  that  she  was  praying 
for  the  man  who  had  wronged  her  father, 
and  who  had  condemned  her  own  life  to 
the  blighting  influences,  the  narrow  restric- 
tions of  poverty  and  toil.  He  thought  that 
such  a  prayer  could  not  fail — it  must  be 
granted  by  Him  whose  Sacred  Heart  would 
recognize  its  accordance  with  His  own  pre- 
cepts and  example. 

They  remained  in  the  church  only  a  few 
minutes,  and  when  they  came  out  walked 
almost  silently  the  short  distance  which 
brought  them  to  Miss  Percival's  door.  As 
they  reached  this,  Alice  paused  and  turned 
to  the  young  man,  who  took  off"  his  hat  with 


the  air  of  one  ready  to  accept  his  dismissal 
at  once. 

"Since  you  promised  to  return  to  Mrs. 
King,  I  will  not  ask  you  to  come  in  this 
evening, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  but  another  time  per- 
haps you  may  like  to  be  presented  to  my 
mother." 

' '  I  should  be  most  happy — if  you  think 
Mrs.  Percival  would  not  object  to  receiving 
me,"  he  answered. 

"I  do  not  think  she  will  object,"  Alice 
replied.  Then,  holding  out  her  hand  again, 
"Good-night!"  she  said. 

"You  have  made  it  a  very  good  night  for 
me,"  he  responded,  with  much  emotion  in 
his  voice,  as  he  took  her  hand  for  an  instant" 
and  was  gone. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Consolatrix  Afflictorum. 


BY  ANGEI.IQUE   DE   LANDE. 

UOU   say  you're   unhappy,  that  life  is  a 
burden, 
That  Sorrow  aye  sits  at  the  door  of  your 
heart, 
That  the  past  holds  no  memories,  the  future 
no  guerdon 
To  sweeten  her  potion,  or  bid  her  depart; 
Has  the  voice  of  affection  no  power  to  console 
you, 
As  sadly  you  bow '  neath  the  chastening  rod  ? 
Has  the  fair  realm  of  Nature  no  charms  to 
allure  you 
To  seek  in  her  labyrinths  the  footprints  of 
God? 

O  come,  then,  with  me,  where  a  lamp  dimly 
burning 
Reveals  the  sweet  face  of  Our  Lady  of  Peace, 
Where  the  hearts  of  Her  children  forever  are 
turning. 
Where  care  finds  a  solace  and  pain  a  release; 
Where  the  perfume  of  roses  with  incense  is 
blending, 
Where  sinner  and  saint  bend  a  suppliant 
knee. 
Where   graces  unnumbered   are   hourly  de- 
scending— 
To  Mary's  dear  altar  O  hasten  with  me! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


345 


A  heavenly  stillness  broods  over  the  portals, 

And  lowly  we  bend  as  we  enter  the  door, 
Where  the  One  Triune  God  condescending  to 
mortals 
Has  promised  to  dwell  with   His  Church 
evermore ; 
'Tis  the  calm  Vesper   hour,  and  the   Salve 
Regiria 
In  tremulous  sweetness  vibrates  on  the  air, 
And  hearts  wearied  out  in  the  world's  great 
arena 
Are  lulled  to  repose  by  the  Angel  of  Prayer. 

There,  prone  at  the  feet  of  God's  own  Blessed 
Mother, 
Unburden  your  soul  of  its  anguish  and  pain ; 
She'll  bear  it  to  Jesus,  our  dear  Elder  Brother, 
She'll  plead  for  you — She  who  ne'er  plead- 
eth  in  vain. 
'Neath  the  folds  of  Her  mantle  She'll  shelter 
and  hide  you 
From  the  tempest  without  and  the  tumult 
within; 
At  rest  on  Her  bosom,  no  ill  shall  betide  you. 
There  your  sorrow  shall  end,  and  your  joy 
shall  begin. 


With   Staff  and  Scrip. 

BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 

IX. — Stamboui.. 

AT  THE  Golden  Horn. — All  night  we 
wallowed  in  the  troubled  sea  of  Mar- 
mora, and  came  too  early  in  the  morning 
upon  the  famous  beauty  of  the  Bosporus.  I 
was  wakened  at  6  a.  m.  by  the  sudden  ceas- 
ing of  the  internal  thunders  one  grows  so 
used  to  when  steaming  over  the  sea;  and, 
looking  out  of  the  sublime  port  in  the  upper 
bunk,  I  saw — not  a  vision  of  Oriental  splen- 
dor, but  only  a  London  fog  on  a  Thames 
shore,  and  so  I  turned  in  again. 

But  not  for  long.  You  know  the  symp- 
toms of  a  general  break-up,  that  grow  more 
and  more  violent  the  nearer  you  approach 
the  land.  Coffee  was  scarcely  tasted ;  every- 
body was  plotting  with  his  neighbor,  and 
in  the  midst  of  this  hopeless  confusion  we 
entered  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and 
were  instantly  boarded  by  swarms  of  boat- 
men and  commissioners. 


Selecting  oui;  man,  we  took  hold  of  one 
another's  hands  and  cast  ourselves  over  the 
bulwarks  into  a  barge  that  tossed  along  side 
the  Diana.  It  was  a  good  shot:  we  struck 
in  the  hold  of  the  barge;  cried  aloud  in 
chorus  and  wrung  our  hands,  until  all  our 
luggage  was  delivered  up  into  the  care  of 
our  dragoman,  and  then  we  set  out  for  shore 
— the  European  shore,  which  lay  about  two 
hundred  yards  distant. 

The  Turks  received  us  with  more  con- 
sideration than  we  had  reason  to  expect. 
We  were  not  hamstrung,  nor  beheaded,  nor 
deprived  of  our  wives  and  children.  All  our 
^'^ig^gag^  was  allowed  to  pass  the  customs 
with  the  slightest  possible  examination. 
There  was  but  one  suspicious  character  on 
the  city  front.  One  man  eyed  us  with  no- 
ticeable caution,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a 
motive  in  his  watchful  yet  restless  glance. 
Presently  he  approached  us  and  presented 
his  card.    It  read  as  follows: 

' '  Far-away  Moses, 
Dealer  in  Rugs,  Embroidery,  and  all  kinds  of 
Oriental  Goods." 

A  few  days  later  we  met  in  the  bazaars, 
where  he  does  the  host  with  much  dignity 
and  no  little  profit.  He  is  a  very  intelligent 
man,  who  speaks  several  languages,  and 
vibrates  between  Constantinople  and  Cairo. 
He  is  sure  to  be  seen  here  or  there  at  the 
height  of  the  tourist  season,  dispensing 
sherbet,  coffee  and  cigarettes,  and  soliciting 
patronage  in  a  fashion  which  is,  to  say  the 
least,  magnetic — and  yet  the  greater  share 
of  his  popularity  is  doubtless  due  to  the 
notoriety  he  has  achieved  through  the  pages 
of  Mark  Twain's  "Innocents  Abroad." 

In  the  Frank  Quarter. — Passing  the 
customs  without  a  scar,  we  all  foot  it  up  an 
exceedingly  steep  and  badly  paved  street 
into  Pera,  the  Frank  suburb  of  Constanti- 
nople. Here  there  are  better  streets,  and 
sometimes  very  serviceable  sidewalks,  fine 
stone  houses,  handsome  stores,  theatres, 
cafes  chantant^  bootblacks,  carriages,  glass 
arcades,  and,  in  fact,  everything  you  would 
not  expect  to  find  in  this  latitude.  From  the 
hotel  window  I  look  out  upon  the  flashing 
waters  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and,  crossing 


3)6 


I'lie  Ave  Miirtii 


one  of  the  bridges  that  rest  upon  it,  my  eye 
is  almost  dazzled  with  the  pomp  of  Stam- 
boul.  Like  a  harem  beauty,  she  had  veiled 
her  face  when  we  first  approached  her;  like 
a  harem  beauty,  we  have  no  sooner  turned 
away  from  her  than  she  withdraws  h^r y ash- 
mack  of  mist  and  reveals  to  our  delighted 
e}es  her  unrivalled  loveliness. 

Pera  is  very  Frenchy;  but  there  is  no 
need  of  coming  to  Turkey  to  enjoy  a  cheap 
edition  of  Paris,  so  we  at  once  gird  on  our 
armor  and  set  forth  for  Stamboul — Galata, 
the  Frank  business  quarter  of  Constantino- 
ple, lies  on  the  Golden  Horn  opposite  Stam- 
boul. Pera  is  just  above  Galata,  at  the  top 
of  a  very  steep  hill.  The  Bosporus  flows 
past  Galata  and  Stamboul,  across  the  mouth 
of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  separates  Europe 
from  Asia.  We  are  in  Europe;  you  would 
naturally  suppose  so  when  you  walk  the 
streets  and  come  to  an  underground  rail- 
way, that  shoots  you  down  an  inclined  shaft 
from  Pera  to  Galata  in  about  three  minutes 
and  a  half  There  is  a  whirl  of  business  in 
the  streets  of  Galata.  The  noise  is  deafen- 
ing; the  street-cars  are  dragged  to  and  fro, 
driven  by  native  drivers,  who  toot  fish- 
horns  with  as  much  apparent  pleasure  as  a 
child  his  penny  trumpet. 

Through  the  City  of  the  Sultan. — 
We  cross  a  bridge  of  boats  over  the  Golden 
Horn  and  enter  Stamboul.  A  magnificent 
iron  drawbridge  was  erected  at  a  vast  ex- 
pense by  an  English  company  just  above  the 
present  bridge.  When  the  unfortunate  Abd- 
ul-Aziz— whose  favorite  palace  stands  on 
the  Bosporus — grew  nervous  at  the  demon- 
strations of  his  people,  he  ordered  the  Turk- 
ish fleet  of  ironclads,  at  that  time  anchored 
in  the  Golden  Horn  above  the  bridge,  to 
be  moored  in  front  of  his  palace.  Two  of 
the  ships,  in  trying  to  pass  the  drawbridge, 
were  so  badly  managed  that  they  stove  in 
a  large  portion  of  the  bridge,  and  sunk  part 
of  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  Golden  Horn. 

The  Bridge  of  Boats  is  one  of  the  great 
thoroughfares  of  the  world.  It  is  thronged 
continually  with  representatives  of  almost 
every  nation  of  the  globe.  Even  in  Stam- 
boul— the  hotbed  of  fanaticism,  where  to 


this  hour  it  is  not  safe  for  a  Frank  to  go 
into  the  streets  at  night — in  Stamboul  the 
pavements  ring  with  the  flying  wheels  of 
the  street- cars,  driven  at  a  reckless  pace — 
reckless  considering  the  stupidity,  or  per- 
haps I  had  better  say  indolence,  or  indiffer- 
ence, of  the  population  swarming  under  the 
wheels  of  the  car.  Here  we  pass  into  the 
division  of  the  car  allotted  to  the  men. 
There  is  a  separate  corner  for  the  veiled 
women,  who  express  great  disgust  if  a  man 
dares  enter  it. 

From  this  moment  our  e}  es  are  never  at 
rest.  Ten  thousand  sights  distract  us  — 
the  fountains,  the  mosques,  the  tombs,  the 
courts,  wherein  a  few  trees  afford  grateful 
shade,  and  where  generally  there  are  half  a 
dozen  barbers  busily  shaving  their  custom- 
ers— both  barber  and  the  barbered  squatted 
upon  the  ground  like  frogs.  Your  Oriental 
barber  hands  you  a  shallow  brazen  bowl, 
with  a  deep  indenture  in  the  rim.  You 
press  your  throat  into  this  indenture,  hold 
the  bowl  under  your  chin,  and  await  with 
what  composure  you  may  the  deluge  of  soap 
and  water  that  is  sure  to  follow.  Fancy  a 
dozen  victims  crouching  in  a  row  under  a 
mimosa  tree,  each  clutching  his  chin-bowl 
in  an  agony  of  suspense,  while  the  suds 
streams  from  his  beard  and  a  little  rivulet 
spouts  from  the  point  of  his  nose;  the  bar- 
bers meanwhile  flourish  their  razors  as  if 
they  were  about  to  decapitate  the  poor  fel- 
lows in  the  presence  of  an  interested  throng 
of  spectators.  Coffee,  chibouks^  story-tellers, 
and  players  upon  flutes  and  lutes  enliven 
the  hour.-.  This  is  a  common  spectacle  in 
old  Stamboul. 

The  Hippodrome  now  presents  a  dreary 
waste,  strewn  with  dust  and  rubbish.  You 
still  trace  the  plan  of  an  ancient  circus,  900 
feet  in  length  and  450  in  breadth,  designed 
by  the  Emperor  Severus,  who  left  it  unfin- 
ished when  he  learned  that  the  Gauls  were 
threatening  Rome.  It  is  written  that  in  the 
time  of  Nicetas  the  images  of  gods  and  he- 
roes, wrought  in  brass  and  stone,  that  stood 
within  this  hippodrome  outnumbered  the 
population  of  the  modern  city.  The  pre- 
cious marbles  have  been  carried  away  by 


The  Ave  Maria. 


347 


various  sultans  to  ornament  palace  and 
mosque.  The  bronze  statues,  many  of  them 
masterpieces  of  antiquity,  that  had  been 
preserved  by  the  Christians  against  the  fa- 
naticism of  these  iconoclasts,  all,  or  nearly 
all,  were  melted  into  rude  coins;  and  now 
die  dreary  circus  contains  only  a  single 
obelisk  of  Egyptian  syenite,  the  remains  of 
a  pyramid,  originally  94  feet  in  height,  and 
a  brazen  column  of  three  twisted  serpents, 
which  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  Pausa- 
nias  saw  in  the  Temple  of  Delphi.  It  was 
brought  hither  by  Constantine,  from  the' 
Forum  of  Arcadius,  and  has  been  mutilated 
by  Mohammed  the  Conqueror  and  by  other 
hands,  so  that  its  history  alone  makes  it 
interesting  to  the  eye. 

The  hundred  and  thirty  baths  and  the 
hundred  and  eighty  khans  are  so  like  the 
baths  and  khans  that  are  found  in  the  chief 
cities  of  the  East,  that  Stamboul  can  hardly 
pride  herself  upon  them.  They  are  one  and 
all  forbidding  when  viewed  from  the  street, 
but  within  they  offer  the  chief  delights  of 
the  Levant — delicious  waters  that  cleanse 
you  and  babble  to  you,  pipes  that  tranquil- 
lize you,  and  couches  that  invite  you  to 
repose.  These  luxuries  are  offered  at  so 
low  a  rate  that  there  are  few  who  may  not 
enjoy  them.  The  pipe  is  specially  cheap. 
You  bring  your  own  tobacco,  of  the  brand 
you  most  delight  in,  and  a  sou's  worth  will 
fill  your  nargileh.  The  nargileh  furnished 
you  at  the  cafe  is  lighted  and  relighted  if 
necessary,  and  there  you  sit  and  smoke  for 
a  whole  hour,  or  even  longer,  if  your  pipe 
is  properly  loaded;  and  for  this  great  hap- 
piness you  pay  the  pipe-boy  two  or  three 
sous.  For  five  sous  you  may  x^lay  the  gen- 
tleman for  sixty  minutes  in  the  handsomest 
cafe  in  Stamboul. 

Lounging  among  the  shows  in  Stamboul, 
it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  realize  that  you 
are  in  the  famous  capital  of  the  East;  there 
is  a  continual  stir,  a  low  rumbling,  an  ear- 
nest haste  that  is  not  characteristic  of  the 
Orient.  The  people  lack  repose.  How  dif- 
ferent is  the  delicious  silence  of  Damascus! 
Cairo,  though  it  is  Frankified,  seems  more 
in  accordance  with   one's   conception   of 


the  languid  and  luxurious  life  of  the  East. 

Seeking  this  tranquillity,  we  descend  into 
the  cool, dusky  depths  of  the  Cistern  of  Con- 
stantine, called  Binbirdirek^or  the  thousand 
and  one  columns.  The  immense  subterra- 
nean chamber  is  dry ;  and  as  we  stood  among 
the  shadowy  columns^  half  blinded  with 
the  eternal  darkness  of  the  place,  men  and 
children  stole  up  to  us  like  ghosts  and  cried: 
' '  Backsheesh/ ' '  Even  from  the  graves  of 
the  earth  comes  that  continual  wail.  These 
gnomes  are  silk  -  twisters,  who  pass  their 
lives  in  darkness,  and  probably  never  get 
more  than  one  thin  slice  of  sunshine  per 
day ;  it  falls  in  at  the  small  door  in  the  roof, 
and  this  morsel  has  to  be  divided  among 
many. 

Above  ground  there  are  fragments  of  an 
ancient  aqueduct,  antique  columns  that 
once  bore  aloft  the  statues  of  the  gods,  and 
a  singular  mixture  of  architectural  monu- 
ments— ancient,  modern,  Eastern,  Western, 
and  nondescript.  There  is  a  "Madame 
Toussaud"  collection  of  shockingly- ugly 
effigies,  dressed  in  cheap  costumes,  and  pur- 
porting to  be  the  faithful  counterparts  of 
the  officers  under  the  sultan  of  the  ancient 
rule:  the  chief  of  the  janissaries,  the  sul- 
tan's dwarfs,  executioner;  eunuchs,  black 
and  white,  etc.  Many  a  faithful  sight- seer 
turns  away  from  this  ridiculous  exposition, 
burdened  with  the  secret  conviction  that 
he  has  been  completely  sold. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVII.— (Continued.) 

FABIAN  was  convinced  that  indifference 
to  beliefs  and  dogmas,  as  taught  by  his 
favorite  Pyrrho,  was  not  a  safeguard  to  tran- 
quillity and  happiness;  far  better  for  him, 
he  now  thought,  had  he  adopted  the  stern 
philosophy  of  Zeno,  which  would  have 
raised  him  above  the  passions  and  emotions 
of  humanity.  But  vain  regrets  were  only 
weakness,  and  there  was  nothing  left  him 


348 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  do  but  to  fight  his  battle  out  as  best  he 
could,  without  taking  the  world  into  his 
secret. 

On  the  following  day  he  prepared  to  go 
his  customary  rounds — to  the  Forum,  the 
Baths,  look  in,  perhaps,  at  the  Theatre, 
should  anything  new  be  going  on,  and 
make  a  visit  or  two.  Never  before  had  Fa- 
bian been  so  fastidious  in  the  choice  of  his 
apparel,  the  draping  of  his  toga,  the  splen- 
dor of  the  few  jewels  he  wore,  and  the 
quality  of  the  perfume  sprinkled  in  his  hair, 
curling  in  short,  silky  rings  all  over  his 
statuesque  head.  Dismissing  his  servant,  he 
made  a  critical  survey  of  himself  in  his 
Egyptian  mirror,  and  was  annoyed  to  dis- 
cover that  he  was  unusually  pale,  and  that 
there  were  dark  shadows  under  his  eyes — 
traces  of  the  passionate  emotion  he  had  suf- 
fered. 

''I  will  only  have  to  smile  the  more,  and 
be  careful  that  my  smiles  do  not  become 
grins;  then,  if  comment  is  made,  I  shall 
have  to  draw  on  my  fever  of  a  lustrum  ago 
as  the  cause,"  said  Fabian,  turning  away 
with  a  short,  bitter  laugh,  which  ended  in 
a  sigh  by  the  time  he  stepped  into  his 
chariot. 

He  drove  to  the  Forum,*  and  as  he  ap- 
proached that  portion  of  the  immense 
structure  assigned  to  the  Vestal  Virgins,  a 
curtained  litter,  carefully  borne  by  eight 
slaves,  and  followed  by  numerous  attend- 
ants, whose  countenances  were  sad  and 
downcast,  issued  from  the  massive  portal. 
The  street- throngs  made  way  silent  and 
respectful ;  they  knew  that  a  sick  Vestal  was 
being  conveyed  to  the  palace  of  some  matron 
of  high  rank,t  to  be  nursed  back  to  health, 
or,  if  Fate  so  decreed,  to  die.  The  litter 
passed;  the  living  tide,  that  had  parted  and 
paused  a  moment,  again  mingled  together, 
and  with  its  dull  roar  of  human  voices, 
rumbling  of  wheels,  and  the  foot- beats  of 
horses,  surged  on  as  before. 

The  delay  had  only  been  momentary;  a 
few  paces  farther  on,  and  Fabian  had  thrown 

*  This  great  edifice  was  devoted  to  many  uses 
besides  that  of  the  judiciary, 
f  As  was  the  custom. 


the  reins  to  one  of  his  attendant  slaves, 
sprang  from  his  chariot,  mounted  the  broad 
marble  steps,  and  was  sauntering  leisurely 
through  one  of  the  lofty,  pillared  halls  in 
the  interior  of  the  Forum,  where  he  met  a 
number  of  his  acquaintance,  singly  and  in 
groups,  who  saluted  and  welcomed  him 
back  to  Rome  with  genial  effusion.  Each 
one  had  something  to  tell  of  how  things^ 
social  and  political,  had  been  going  on 
while  he  was  away  among  the  Umbrian 
hills. 

Among  other  07i-dits^  he  heard  how  an 
audacious  Christian,  named  Laurence,  had 
made  amusement  for  Rome  by  outwitting 
the  Emperor,  who  caused  him  to  be  roasted 
alive  for  his  temerity;  that  Hippolytus,  a 
man  of  distinction  and  wealth,  well  known 
and  of  high  repute,  had — incredible  as  it 
might  seem — been  seduced  by  the  magic 
arts  of  the  same  Laurence,  and  publicly  de- 
clared his  belief  in  the  Chrisius^  while  he 
contemned  the  gods;  that  his  family  and 
household,  sharing  his  delusion,  were  put 
to  death  before  his  eyes — a  well-merited 
punishment, — after  which  he  was  strapped 
between  two  wild  horses,  who  tore  him 
asunder,  limb  by  limb,  in  their  mad  race. 

How  they  gabbled  and  laughed  as  they 
talked  it  all  over,  as  if  it  had  been  a  new- 
comedy  or  a  gladiatorial  contest,  one  sup- 
plying details  omitted  by  the  other,  spar- 
ing no  cruel  horror,  until  Fabian  had  the 
whole  story  complete!  They  regarded  both 
affairs  as  parts  of  a  fine  spectacular  tragedy; 
they  thought  such  examples  necessary  to 
strike  terror  to  the  minds  of  those  wily 
conspirators  known  as  Christians  ;  while 
one — under  his  breath — asserted  that  Rome 
did  not  require*  the  littleness  and  aba.«e- 
ment  of  such  savagery  to  sustain  her  gran- 
deur and  power, — savagery  that  not  only 
brought  reproach  on  her  vaunted  civiliza- 
tion, but  retarded  progress. 

Fabian  would  have  been  better  pleased 
had  he  heard  nothing  about  it;  his  mind 
was  too  sore  with  dread  for  the  only  two 
beings  on  earth  he  loved  not  to  feel  every 
word  touch  his  wound  like  fire;  but  he 
could  not  avoid  it  without  attracting  com- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


3+9 


n  ent  or  seeming  abruptly  rude;  he  could 
0  ily  evade  the  subject  by  irrelevant  re- 
n  arks,  and  sarcastic  criticisms  more  than 
u  mally  pungent,  which  produced  an  im- 
p  ession  that  the  whole  matter  was  of  such 
SI  preme  indifference  to  him  as  not  to  be 
worthy  of  a  second  thought;  as  it  would 
hive  been,  in  fact,  but  for  the  mental  ap- 
plication he  made  of  it  in  regard  to  Neme- 
sius  and  Claudia,  whose  morrow  held  the 
fs.ck,  the  lions,  the  flame. 

Pleading  engagements,  Fabian  left  the 
company  with  his  usual  easy  grace,  and 
drove  from  palace  to  palace,  to  call  on  cer- 
tain noble  Roman  ladies,  to  whom  his  visits 
were  always  as  white  marks  on  their  calen- 
dar, and  who  afterwards  declared  that  never 
had  theiramiable  guest  been  so  brilliant  and 
winning,  so  gay  and  delightful  as  on  this 
day.  Conscious  of  this  himself,  he  felt  sat- 
isfied that  he  was  wearing  his  mask  bravely, 
and  that  his  smiles  were  successful  coun- 
erfeits. 

As  Fabian  was  leaving  the  palace  where 
he  had  made  his  last  call,  followed  by  the 
admiring  glances  of  lustrous  eyes,  a  rose 
in  his  hand — the  gift  of  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Rome, — and  was  stepping  across 
the  marble- flagged  footway  to  his  chariot, 
he  was  stopped  by  an  acquaintance,  who 
declared  that  he  was  the  man  of  all  others 
he  most  wished  to  see;  for  there  was  no  one 
in  the  whole  world  who  would  so  keenly 
ippreciate  that  which  he  had  in  store  for 
bim,  adding  that  he  had  been  to  his  palace 
n  search  of  him ;  and  just  as  he  was  about 
living  up  in  despair,  here  he  was. 

"Has  the  Sphinx  revealed  her  secret? 
t  can  surely  be  nothing  less,  my  Tullius," 
mswered  Fabian,  laughing. 

'Something  far  better!  That  secret, 
whenever  it  comes  forth,  will  be  a  grim 
me,  depend  on  it ;  so  I,  for  one,  am  satisfied 
o  let  her  keep  it  hidden  in  her  stony  breast 
brever.  But  come:  lam  impatient  for  thee 
o  enjoy  a  pleasure  provided  by  the  gods," 
nsisted  the  other. 

"If  thou  wilt  excuse  me,  Tullius,  I  am 
eally  not  in  a  mood  for  anything  spectac- 
ular to-day,  especially  if  there's  a  smell  of 


blood  in  it;  for  I  am  having  some  gentle 
reminders  of  my  old  fever — ' ' 

"No,  by  Appolo!  It  is  whispered  that 
there  will  be  no  more  fights  between  the 
Christians  and  the  lions;  for  it  is  said  there 
are  signs  that  the  heroism  displayed  by  the 
former  is  demoralizing  the  people.  As  to 
thy  quartan-ague,  or  whatever  else  it  may 
be,  the  spectacle  I  allude  to  will  break  its 
evil  spell  by  its  novelty;  for  nothing  like  it 
has  ever  been  seen  in  Rome  before.  I  learn 
.this  from  the  best  authority.  It  is  said  to 
be  something  so  idyllic  as  to  remind  one  of 
a  Greek  fable.  It  is  brought  hither  from 
Spain,  and  everyone  is  wild  to  see  it.  It 
comes  on  as  an  inter-act  between  the  char- 
iot-races and  the  Greek  athletic  contests, 
and  after  it  i^  over  we  can  go  to  the  Baths 
of  Sallust,  to  feast  and  amuse  ourselves," 
rattled  Tullius. 

"Thou  hast  at  least  convinced  me  that 
I  have  }  et  a  spice  of  curiosity  left,  and  I 
yield  myself  to  thy  guidance.  My  chariot 
segfts  two;  get  in,  and  we'll  soon  reach — 
where?"  said  Fabian,  really  glad  to  accept 
anything  that  promised  to  divert  his  mind 
from  its  ever-present  pain. 

"The  Flavian  Amphitheatre,  did  I  not 
tell  thee?  If  we  start  at  once,  we'll  be  just 
in  time  to  select  seats,"  said  Tullius,  well 
pleased  to  have  secured  his  object. 

A  quick  drive  brought  them  to  the  Fla- 
vian, which  was  surrounded  by  the  usual 
mixed  assemblage  of  all  classes — senators, 
civic  oflicials,  priests,  soldiers,  freedmen, 
women,  children,  and  slaves, — all  pressing 
their  way  towards  the  entrances  assigned  to- 
each  grade;  while  the  air  resounded  with 
a  tumult  of  voices,  laughing,  cheering, 
swearing,  and  shouting;  the  crowd  momen- 
tarily increased  by  the  human  tide  that 
poured  down  the  Via  Sacra. 

Fabian  and  Tullius  edged  their  way  skil- 
fully through  the  throng,  procured  tickets 
for  numbered  seats,  and  pushed  on,  up  the 
crowded  steps  to  the  interior  circle  of  the 
vast  Amphitheatre,*  where  without  diflS- 

*  The  Flavian  Amphitheatre  had  a  capacity  for 
seating  eighty-seven  thousand  people,  with  stand- 
ing room  for  twenty-two  thousand  more. 


350 


The  Ave  Maria. 


culty  they  found  their  designated  places. 
The  ranges  of  seats  assigned  to  the  differ- 
ent classes — the  first  tier  above  i\i&  podium 
for  the  populace,  the  last  and  highest  for 
women,  while  between  ran  the  richly  deco- 
rated galleries  of  the  patrician  and  privi- 
leged orders — were  fast  filling,  and  crowds 
were  still  pressing  up  the  vomitoria  to  oc- 
cupy those  that  were  vacant. 

It  was  a  magnificent  spectacle,  the^  thou- 
sands of  human  faces  tier  above  tier,  the 
masses  of  brilliant  coloring,  the  flash  of  pol- 
ished bucklers;  here  groups  of  high  dignita- 
ries in  their  rich  robes  and  jewelled  insignia 
there  gay  young  patricians  attired  in  all  the 
splendor  of  the  latest  fashion;  everywhere 
beautiful,  dark -eyed  women  in  gorgeous 
robes  sparkling  with  jewels;  here  were  the 
Flamines Diales^'va  their  distinctive  dress; 
there,  like  a  bank  of  snow  among  the  varie- 
gated and  glittering  surroundings,  the  Ves- 
tal Virgins,  veiled  and  draped  in  white; 
while  overhead,  the  velum^  slightly  sway- 
ing and  undulating  in  the  summer  breeje, 
intervened  to  shade  the  spectators  from  the 
heat  and  glare  of  the  sun.  The  disk-like 
arena  was  smoothly  covered  with  sawdust 
and  coarse  sand;  the  arched  doors  in  the 
high,  marble  -  lined  podium  which  sur- 
rounded it,  were  closed;  while  beyond  it  an 
occasional  sullen  roar,  a  low  thunderous 
growl,  or  savage  bellowing,  reminded  one 
of  the  near  proximity  of  iron-caged  lions 
and  other  wild,  ferocious  animals. 

Like  a  field  of  grain  suddenly  swayed  by 
the  passing  wind,  the  vast  assembly  were  all 
at  once  moved  by  a  simultaneous  impulse; 
every  eye  was  directed  towards  the  marble 
gallery  opposite  the  main  entrance;  a  shout 
arose,  re-echoed  by  the  enormous  walls,  and 
beating  against  the  velum^  straining  its 
•cords:  ^^Ave  ImperatorP^  as  the  Emperor, 
attended  by  his  lictors  and  Imperial  Guard, 
entered  and  took  his  seat  on  the  aibiculum^ 
or  elevated  chair  he  always  occupied  by 
right  of  his  supreme  rank.  There  was  a 
blare  of  trumpets,  then,  as  if  by  a  spell,  si- 
lence and  expectancy  fell  upon  the  people. 

Suddenly  a  doorway  in  the  podium,  flew 
open.  The  portcullis  was  swiftly  raised,  and 


a  magnificent  black  bull,  with  white  pol- 
ished horns,  wild,  glaring  eyes,  massive  head 
and  neck,  and  thin,  sinewy  hips,  bounded 
into  the  arena  with  a  mad  roar;  dazzled  by 
the  light,  the  space,  and  the  thousands  of 
human  eyes  bent  upon  him,  he  stood  dazed 
and  motionless,  but  only  for  an  instant;  for 
the  same  door  which  had  given  him  admit- 
tance was  thrown  open,  and  there  dashed 
through  a  cacciatore^  fancifully  dressed, 
splendidly  mounted,  with  spear  at  rest,  from 
which  fluttered  a  scarlet  flag.  He  caracoled 
jauntily  around  the  arena,  displaying  fine 
tricks  of  horsemanship,  and  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  his  steed,  which  was  light  of  limb, 
sinewy,  bright -eyed,  alert,  with  waving, 
glossy  mane  and  tail. 

By  this  time  the  bull,  having  recovered 
from  his  dull  astonishment,  became  more 
alert,  following  with  sullen  eyes  the  horse 
and  his  rider,  who  waved  and  fluttered  his 
scarlet  flag  as  he  dashed  in  narrowing  cir- 
cles around  him.  Suddenly  and  almost  at 
the  same  moment  the  horse  felt  a  prick  of 
the  spur,  and  sprang  forward,  as  the  bull, 
goaded  by  the  point  of  the  cacciatore^s 
spear, and  nearly  blinded  by  the  quick  slaps 
of  the  scarlet  flag  across  his  eyes,  was  roused 
to  a  vengeful  and  ungovernable  fury. 

Then  ensued,  on  the  part  of  the  bull,  a 
series  of  plunjres,  attacks,  and  a  hurling  of 
himself  like  a  thunderbolt  on  his  adversary; 
and  on  the  part  of  the  cacciatore^  a  series  of 
dexterous  feints  and  hairbreadth  escapes, 
due  to  his  splendid  equestrian  skill.  He  was 
greeted  with  wild  plaudits  from  the  excita- 
ble spectators,  until  at  last,  when  it  seemed 
impossible  that  he  could  much  longer 
escape  being  tossed  and  gored  to  death  by 
his  frenzied  adversary,  he  made  a  sharp,  sud- 
den turn,  and,  before  the  infuriated,  clumsy  j 
beast  could  check  the  impetus  of  his  mad  ! 
pursuit  and  double  on  him,  reached  the 
door  by  which  he  had  entered;  the  port- 
cullis was  swiftly  raised,  and,  waving  his 
plumed  cap  towards  the  Emperor's  gallery, 
he  leaped  through,  and  the  bars  fell  with  a 
clang  in  the  very  face  of  his  enemy. 

The  bull,  now  wrought  up  to  the  desired 
pitch  of  brutal  rage,  did  not  stand  on  the 


The  Ave  Ma 


na. 


35^ 


eder  of  his  attack  when  another  mounted 
tpciatore,  attired  and  equipped  like  the  first, 
|iped  into  the  arena;  but  he  was  either 
We  reckless  or  not  so  skilful  a  horseman, 
t  perhaps  the  bull's  instincts  were  quick- 
led  by  the  magnificent  fury  he  was  in. 
^Jie  latter  at  last  made  a  successful  lunge; 
1  is  sharp  horns  pierced  and  ripped  the  belly 
cf  the  horse,  who  fell  with  his  rider.    In 
another  instant,  above  the  cloud  of  sawdust 
and  sand  raised  by  the  fray,  a  fluttering 
lieap  of  scarlet  and  yellow  was  flung  in  the 
air,  and  dropped  with  a  heavy  thud  to  the 
ground.    Then  sounded  the  plaudits  of  the 
people  long  and  loud  for  the  bull,  who  was 
romping  around  the  arena,  tossing:  the  sand 
and  sawdust  up  in  yellow  clouds,  his  savage 
bellowing  resounding  louder  than  the  roar- 
ing of  the  human  throats  that  lifted  their 
bravos  in  his  honor. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


ANOTHER  RECENT  CURE  AT  LOURDES. 


ON  the  occasion  of  the  great  national 
pilgrimage  of  France  to  Lourdes,  which 
took  place  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  at  which 
the  processions  were  so  indescribably  im- 
osing,  thirty-two  remarkable  cures  were 
recorded  to  have  taken  place;  up  to  the 
present  date,  however,  an  authentic  account 
of  only  one  of  them  has  been  published. 
The  following  is  the  case: 

Mile.  Celestine  Dubois,  thirty- six  years 
of  age,  lives  in  Troyes  (Aube),  Rue  N'otre- 
Dame  74.  Seven  years  ago,  while  washing 
clothes,  a  needle  ran  into  her  left  hand,  in  the 
flesh  beneath  the  thumb — that  part  called 
by  medical  men  ' '  thenar  ' '  About  one- third 
of  the  needle  was  still  visible,  but  in  an 
imskilful  attempt  to  remove  it  it  broke. 
Dr.  Herve,  of  Troyes,  tried  in  vain  to  ex- 
tract the  part  of  the  needle  that  remained, 
making  an  incision,  and  keeping  it  open  for 
a  month  by  means  of  a  gentian  root.  Hav- 
ing failed  to  extract  the  fragment,  he  ad- 
vised Mile.  Dubois  to  consult  a  surgeon,  at 


the  same  time  warning  her  that  an  opera- 
tion so  near  the  artery  might  prove  danger- 
ous. The  patient  consequently  gave  up  the 
idea  of  taking  any  further  steps  to  effect  a 
cure,  and  often  suffered  from  a  shooting 
pain  in  her  right  hand.  This  continued  for 
four  years,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the 
whole  hand  grew  stiff,  and  the  thumb  fell 
and  became  contracted  on  the  palm  of  the 
hand.  The  fore-arm  was  extremely  sen- 
sitive, yet  without  any  swelling.  Manual 
work  now  became  impossible,  and  her  gen- 
eral health  was  much  impaired.  Her  con- 
dition grew  considerably  worse  in  the  early 
months  of  the  present  year,  when  a  swelling 
attacked  the  entire  member,  rendering  it 
lifeless. 

Following  the  advice  of  another  physi- 
cian. Mile.  Dubois  decided  to  visit  Paris, 
to  undergo  an  operation;  but  previously 
to  this  she  wished  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  Lourdes,  to  implore  of  Our  Dady,  if  not 
a  miraculous  cure,  at  least  the  success  of 
the  dreaded  operation.  Immediately  be- 
fore leaving  Troyes,  several  medical  men 
declared  that  the  needle  was  still  in  the 
same  place.  During  the  journey  the  poor 
invalid's  sufferings  were  so  intense  that  at 
times  she  screamed  with  anguish;  feeling 
distressed,  however,  at  preventing  her  com- 
panions from  sleeping,  she  contrived  to 
repress  these  outward  signs  of  pain;  occa- 
sionally she  would  ask  others  to  touch  her 
hand,  which  seemed  to  be  frozen.  "Is  not. 
my  hand  like  dead?"  she  said. 

On  alighting  from  the  train  at  Lourdes 
(August  20),  Mile.  Dubois,  accompanied  by 
a  friend.  Mile.  Recoing,  of  Troyes,  went  im- 
mediately to  the  Grotto,  and  thence  to  the 
bath-room,  where  she  bathed  her  hand,  but 
with  no  result.  In  the  evening  she  returned 
to  the  piscina  with  as  much  confidence  as 
ever,  and  again  plunged  her  hand  and  fore- 
arm into  the  healing  water.  The  piin  she 
felt  was  excruciating,  and  forced  her  to 
withdraw  her  hand;  nevertheless,  she  re- 
peated the  immersion  several  times,  in  the 
space  of  a  few  minutes,  praying  fervently 
all  the  while.  On  withdrawing  her  hand 
for  the  last  time,  Mile.  Recoing  perceived 


352 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  needle  forcing  its  way  out  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  thumb,  so  that  she  was  able 
to  take  it  out  quite  easily.  The  little  frag- 
ment of  steel,  two  centimeters  in  length,  was 
oxidated,  as  if  it  had  passed  through  fire. 
At  once  the  fingers  became  flexible ;  all  pain 
vanished,  still  the  swelling  had  not  quite 
disappeared.  It  was  only  the  next  morning 
(Saturday),  after  an  ablution  at  the  mirac- 
ulous spring,  that  the  hand  recovered  its 
healthy  appearance. 

The  happy  pilgrim  then  presented  herself 
for  medical  examination :  besides  the  physi- 
cian at  the  Grotto,  Dr.  de  St.  Maclou,  three 
other  doctors  were  present — Drs.  d'Hom- 
bres,  Boissarie,  and  Lavrand.  Mile.  Dubois' 
testimony  was  heard,  as  also  that  of  five  wit- 
nesses from  Troyes,  who  were  acquainted 
with  her,  and  knew  of  the  accident.  The 
four  doctors,  after  carefully  examining  her 
hand,  could  perceive  no  trace  whatever  of 
the  infirmity,  except  a  slight  red  line  under 
the  skin,  at  the  top  of  the  thumb,  close  to 
the  nail.  The  needle,  which  had  run  into 
the  palm  of  the  hand  seven  years  before, had 
worked  its  way  up  six  or  seven  centimeters, 
leaving  neither  wound  nor  any  sign  of  a 
gathering  of  matter.  The  day  following 
Mile.  Dubois  again  presented  herself  to  the 
doctors,  who  could  only  repeat  their  obser- 
vations of  the  evening  previous. 


A  Golden  Fete. 


BY    H.  M.  S. 


THE  golden  jubilee  of  Sister  Mary  Cornelia, 
Superioress  of  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame, 
which  took  place  recently  at  the  convent  of 
that  Order  in  San  Jose,  Cal.,  is  an  event  emi- 
nently worthy  to  be  chronicled  in  the  pages 
of  Our  lyady's  Journal — eminently  worthy  to 
be  registered  in  the  religious  annals  of  the 
Pacific  coast. 

Many  years  ago  this  distinguished  lady — a 
native  of  I^iege,  Belgium, — came,  with  other 
Sisters  of  her  Order,  to  assist  in  the  Indian 
missions  of  Oregon.  After  a  long  and  exceed- 
ingly perilous  journey,  the  devoted  spouses  of 
Christ  reached  their  destination,  and  for  years 


labored  faithfully  and  zealously,  enduring 
unheard-of  hardships  and  privations  in  that 
then  wild  and  desolate  region.  There  they 
established  the  pioneer  schools  of  the  Pacific 
coast,  and  numbers  of  savage  children  were 
instructed  by  the  gentle  and  accomplished  Sis- 
ters in  the  saving  truths  of  Christianity  and 
the  arts  of  civilized  life.  They  also  founded 
an  academy  for  the  children  of  white  settlers 
in  one  of  the  pioneer  towns,  and  among  their 
first  pupils  were  the  daughters  of  the  distin- 
guished convert  and  writer.  Judge  Peter  H. 
Burnett,  afterwards  first  Governor  of  Califor- 
nia. An  epidemic,  however,  broke  out  among 
the  Indians,  which  destroyed  nearly  all  their 
youthful  neophytes,  and  the  discovery  of  gold 
in  the  neighboring  State  of  California  attracted 
most  of  the  white  inhabitants  thither. 

The  then  newly  consecrated  prelate  of  the  lat- 
ter State,  the  revered  and  beloved  Archbishop 
Alemany,  realizing  how  potent  their  assistance 
would  be  in  this  new  vineyard  of  his  Divine 
Master,  invited  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  to 
establish  themselves  in  California.  They  ac- 
cepted the  kind  invitation,  and  built  their  first 
convent  at  San  Jose,  a  growing  town  situated 
in  the  lovely  valley  of  Santa  Clara.  Since  that 
time  (about  thirty-five  years  ago )  they  have 
wrought  faithfully  and  nobly  in  the  grand 
cause  of  true  education,  and  their  academy — 
now  a  spacious  and  massive  structure,  sur- 
rounded by  blooming  gardens,  and  adorned 
with  every  modern  embellishment — has  been 
the  Alma  Mater  of  many  of  the  accomplished 
matrons  who  are  the  ornaments  of  society  in 
the  Golden  State. 

The  week  beginning  Monday,  Sept.  13,  was, 
therefore,  one  of  golden  jubilee,  indeed;  for 
therein  were  commemorated  the  fiftieth  anni- 
versaries of  the  religious  reception  and  profes- 
sion of  the  beloved  Superioress,  Sister  Mary 
Cornelia.  On  the  evening  of  the  13th  the  pu- 
pils who  at  present  enjoy  the  tender  care  and 
instruction  of  the  good  Sisters,  offered  the 
tribute  of  an  excellent  entertainment,  consist- 
ing of  skilfully  rendered  musical  and  literary 
exercises.  On  Tuesday  all  enjoyed  a  delight- 
ful drive,  in  carriages  provided  by  the  kind 
Superioress,  and  on  their  return  partook  of  an 
elegant  repast,  presided  over  by  that  amiable 
guide  and  her  corps  of  efficient  and  tenderly 
beloved  teachers.  Thursday  was  the  day  of 
glad  reunion  for  the  former  pupils.  And  a 
glorious  day  it  was — a  grand  "gathering  of 


The  Ave  Mctria. 


353 


the  clans ' '  from  near  and  far.  The  first  pupil 
4ho,  thirty  years  ago,  entered  the  pioneer 
tademy  (now  an  honored  member  of  the  Or- 
ler),  there  met  and  exchanged  greetings  with 
^ler    school   companions   of  auld  lang  syne. 

i)ver3^  year,  even  to  the  present,  was  well  rep- 
:esented  by  the  smiling  ex-pupils  Grey- 
liaired  matrons,  not  a  few  of  whom  are  grand- 
mothers, threw  off  the  dignity  of  years,  and 
the  weary  weight  of  cares  and  trials,  and 
l)ecame  happy  school-girls  again,  for  that  one 
l,^olden  day;  while  the  Sisters,  with  tender 
cordiality,  welcomed  and  entertained  their  joy- 
ous guests,  and  called  back,  with  them,  sweet 
reminiscences  of  fondly  remembered  school- 
days. 

Friday,  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  her  relig- 
ious profession,  was  the  crowning  day  of  Sister 
Superior's  golden  jubilee.  It  was  fittingly 
celebrated  with  a  Solemn  High  Mass,  fol- 
lowed by  exposition  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
during  the  whole  day, ended  at  last  by  a  grand 
Te  Deum  and  Solemn  Benediction  in  the 
afternoon. 

Thus  closed,  with  heattfelt  thanksgiving 
to  the  divine  Benefactor,  the  golden  jubilee  of 
Sister  Mary  Cornelia,  who  half  a  century  ago 
pronounced  the  solemn  vows  that  bound  her 
to  her  Eternal  Spouse.  Faithfully  has  she  kept 
that  holy  pledge,  nobly  has  she  wrought  in 
the  vineyard  of  her  heavenly  Bridegroom  and 
Ivord. 

By  a  happy  coincidence,  the  Mother  General 
of  the  Order  kept,  at  the  same  time,  her 
golden  jubilee  in  the  Mother  House  at  Namur, 
Belgium.  The  Holy  Father,  therefore,  with 
paternal  kindness,  granted  on  this  occasion 
a  plenary  indulgence  to  the  entire  Order 
throughout  the  world.  May  those  two  faith- 
ful handmaids  of  the  IvOrd,who  thus  together 
breathed  their  holy  bridal  vows,  after  form- 
ing, for  many  years  to  come,  the  world's  best 
sun-shine  of  golden  words  and  deeds,  receive 
their  shining  crowns  and  enjoy  their  well- 
earned  rest  in  the  blissful  realm  of  Notre 
Dame — the  home  of  Heaven's  Immortal  King 
and  God! 


There  is  in  every  human  heart 
Some  not  completely  barren  part. 
Where  seeds  of  love  and  truth  might  grow, 
And  flowers  of  generous  virtue  blow. 
To  plant,  to  watch,  to  water  there — 
This  be  our  duty,  this  our  care. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  following  instance  of  preservation  from 
sudden  death  by  means  of  the  Scapular  is  re- 
lated by  Dr.  Pratt,  a  Catholic  physician  and 
magistrate,  who  has  lived  for  some  years  in 
New  South  Wales.  The  Doctor  is  a  convert, 
we  believe,  and  a  nephew  of  Sir  John  I^eth- 
bridge: 

Some  navvies  were  stationed  at  Tamworth 
in  New  South  Wales.  The  foreman  of  the 
gang  was  a  respectable  man  and  a  Catholic. 
He  had  in  some  way  given  offence  to  one  of 
the  men.  Whatever  the  cause  may  have  been, 
as  soon  as  they  met  on  the  day  when  this  oc- 
currence took  place,  the  navvy  stepped  close 
up  to  the  foreman,  and  drawing  a  revolver 
from  his  pocket  fired  at  his  heart,  and  the  fore- 
man instantly  fell,  apparently  dead.  Shocked 
at  his  deed,  the  navvy  pointed  the  revolver  at 
his  own  head,  and  blew  out  his  brains.  The 
witnesses  of  the  occurrence  immediately  sum- 
moned Dr.  Pratt,  who,  acting  as  a  magistrate, 
brought  the  coroner  with  him.  While  the 
awestruck  bystanders  (a  crowd  had  collected) 
were  awaiting  his  arrival,  the  foreman  slowly 
rose,  and  after  a  while  stood  up  before  them, 
to  the  consternation  of  everyone  present. 
When  Dr.  Pratt  and  the  coroner  arrived,  the 
man  was  stripped  for  examination;  and  it 
was  found  that  there  were  several  large  rings 
of  coagulated  blood  under  the  skin,  and  that 
the  spot  where  the  bullet  had  struck  the 
breast  was  indented.  It  was  further  ascer- 
tained that  the  bullet  had  lodged  in,  and  had 
been  arrested  by,  the  Brown  Scapular,  which 
the  foreman  always  wore,  and  which  was  also 
singed.  There  were  many  persons  present,  of 
various  denominations,  and  all  expressed  the 
greatest  astonishment.  The  evidence  was  not 
disputed  by  any  one,  nor  could  it  be;  and  the 
living  testimony  of  the  foreman,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  shot  dead,  has  proved  the 
fact  beyond  all  dispute. 


The  Holy  Scriptures  attribute  to  the  family 
and  posterity  of  Cain — the  first  murderer — the 
earliest  invention  of  the  industrial  arts,  as  if 
to  show  us  that  there  is  no  necessary  connec- 
tion between  worldly  prosperity  and  the  true 
knowledge  and  acceptable  worship  of  God. 
Greater  material  prosperity  is  no  proof  of  more 
perfect  civilization.    Man  should  be  made  to 


354 


The  Ave  Maria. 


look  forward  to  his  true  home  and  destiny,  by 
detaching  him  from  a  too  close  attention  to 
temporal  concerns;  "for  we  have  here  no  per- 
manent city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come  "  (He- 
brews, xiii.,  14);  or,  as  the  great  Dr.  Johnson 
said  in  contemplating  the  Catholic  ruins  of 
lona:  "Whatever  withdraws  us  from  the 
power  of  our  senses,  whatever  makes  the  past, 
the  distant,  or  the  future  predominate  over  the 
present,  advances  us  in  the  dignity  of  think- 
ing beings. ' '  We  may  also  assert,  in  all  truth, 
that  in  Catholic  countries  mind  triumphs;  in 
Protestant  countries,  matter.  And  if  Protes- 
tant countries  boast  of  their  industrial  arts,  we 
can  answer  that  in  Catholic  countries  the  fine 
or  polite  arts,  which  appeal  to  the  intellectual 
faculties  of  man,  have  always  been  more  suc- 
cessfully cultivated. 

The  persecution  of  the  Christians  in  some 
parts  of  China  still  continues.  On  the  9th  of 
September  Mgr.  Puginier,  Vicar- Apostolic  of 
Western  Tonquin,  sent  a  dispatch  from  Hong- 
Kong,  addressed  to  the  Superior  of  Foreign 
Missions  at  Paris,  in  which  he  stated  that  a  few 
days  before,  at  Tan-Hoa,  700  Christians  were 
raassacred,  30  villages  destroyed,  and  9,000 
Christians  reduced  to  a  state  of  starvation. 


There  can  be  but  few  among  our  readers 
who  are  not  well  acquainted  with  the  self- 
sacrificing  career  of  the  apostle  of  the  lepers  of 
Molokai,  the  Rev.  Father  Damien.  The  sketch 
of  his  ministry  among  the  most  unfortunate  of 
his  fellow-creatures,  w^hich  appeared  in  The 
"AvK  Maria"  last  year,  has  revealed  to  the 
world  a  living  example  of  that  heroic  charity 
which  thinks  not  of  self,  and  which  in  this 
instance  has  risked  the  danger  of  a  horrible 
death,  and  made  a  living  martyr  for  the  good 
of  others. 

In  writing  to  this  saintly  priest  some  time 
ago,  we  told  him  if  we  could  be  of  any  ser- 
vice to  him  through  our  little  magazine,  we 
should  be  only  too  glad  to  help  him.  Now  he 
writes  us  an  interesting  though  pathetic  let- 
ter, descriptive  of  the  deep  and  fervent  piety 
which  exists  among  the  wretched  people  to 
whose  care,  bodily  and  spiritual,  he  has  de- 
voted himself.  Among  other  things  he  men- 
tions that  the  one  chief  privation  which  they 
have  to  experience,  in  a  spiritual  point  of  view, 
is  caused  by  the  impossibility  of  preserving 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  from  day  to  day,  as 


they  have  no  tabernacle  decent  enough  for  so 
holy  a  purpose.  To  meet  his  wants,  the  good 
priest  requires  tw^o  tabernacles  made  of  metal, 
and  of  certain  specified  dimensions  We  are 
sure  that  the  mere  mention  of  this  fact  will 
appeal  to  the  charitable  hearts  of  the  many 
who  have  read  of  and  sympathized  with  the 
great  work  accomplished  by  this  self-sacrific- 
ing priest.  We  shall  acknowledge  all  subscript 
tions  to  this  purpose  in  The  "Ave  Maria," 
and  forward  the  names  of  the  donors  to  the 
Rev.  Father  Damien  Who  would  not  wish  to 
secure  the  grateful  prayers  of  such  a  soldier 
of  Christ!     ^ 

A  notable  event  in  current  Catholic  history 
was  the  National  Council  of  the  Church  in. 
Scotland,  which  was  held  at  the  Benedictine 
Abbey  of  Fort  Augustus,  beginning  on  August 
17,  and  lasting  ten  days.  Archbishop  Smith, 
of  Edinburgh,  presided.  There  were  present 
Archbishop  Eyre,  of  Glasgow,  and  four  other 
bishops,  with  their  theologians;  representa- 
tives of  six  diocesan  chapters,  and  of  the  va- 
rious religious  orders  and  congregations  in 
Scotland — Benedictines,  Franciscans,  Jesuits, 
Passionists,  Oblates,  and  Vincentians.  The 
Church  is  rapidly  regaining  her  lost  posses- 
sions in  Scotland,  thanks  in  large  part  to  the 
notable  influx  of  Irish  into  that  country.  The 
Council  above  noted  was  the  first  held  in  Scot- 
land since  the  so-called  Reformation. — Catho- 
lic Columbian. 

The  old  mission  church  of  Santa  Clara,  one 
of  the  largest  and  most  important  of  the  early 
missionary  stations  of  California,  is  being  en- 
tirely renovated;  and  we  are  pleased  to  learn 
that  great  care  will  be  taken  to  preserve  the 
original  plan,  even  to  the  unique  paintings  on 
the  walls  and  ceiling.  Here  it  was  that,  nearly 
a  century  ago,  the  saintly  Father  Majin, 
one  of  the  early  Franciscan  missionaries,  an- 
nounced the  glad  tidings  of  Redemption  to 
the  Indians,  and  here  is  his  hallowed  grave. 
He  is  spoken  of  by  the  very  old  natives  as  one 
of  God's  saints,  and  indeed  the  cause  of  his 
beatification  has  already  been  introduced  at 
Rome  by  the  Most  Rev.  Dr.  Alemany,  for- 
merly Archbishop  of  San  Francisco. 

To  this  historic  church  is  also  attached  the 
far-famed  College  of  Santa  Clara,  under  the 
charge  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Society  of  Jesus, 
popular  both  on  account  of  its  excellent  curric- 
ulum and  discipline  and  its  healthful  location.  1 


The  Ave  Jlfc 


ana. 


355 


Che  alumni  of  Santa  Clara,  numbering  some 
)f  the  wealthiest  and  most  prominent  men  on 
he  Pacific  slope,  have  commenced  the  erec- 
ion  of  a  memorial  chapel,  which  promises  to 
)e  the  richest  and  best  appointed  in  the  vState. 

An  honored  and  thrice  welcome  guest  at 
S'otre  Dame  last  week  was  the  Most  Rev. 
Patrick  W.  Riordan,  Archbishop  of  San  Fran- 
cesco, who  kindly  profited  by  the  opportunity 
\vhich  a  journey  eastward  afforded  him  of  pay- 
ing a  visit  to  the  institution  where  three 
years  of  his  early  student  life  (from  '56  to  '59) 
were  passed.  The  distinguished  prelate  ar- 
rived on  Thursday  evening,  accompanied  by 
his  brother,  the  Rev.  Daniel  Riordan,  rector  of 
St.  Elizabeth's  Church,  Chicago,  and  the  Rev. 
W.  B.  O'Connor,  of  Stockton,  Cal.  On  Friday 
he  visited  St.  Mary's  Academy,  where  a  little 
entertainment  was  provided  in  his  honor  by 
the  pupils  of  that  institution.  On  Saturday  a 
formal  reception  was  prepared  for  him  by  the 
students  of  St.  Edward's  Hall,  at  Notre  Dame. 
On  both  occasions  he  responded  most  happily 
in  words  of  earnest,  practical  advice  to  the 
addresses  presented  to  him.  On  Saturday 
evening  he  left  for  Chicago,  after  a  visit  which 
had  be^n  greatly  enjoyed,  as  it  will  long  be 
remembered  by  all  at  Notre  Dame, 

It  is  needless  for  us  to  speak  of  the  great 
good  alread}^  accomplished  by  Archbishop 
Riordan  since  his  accession  to  the  See  of  San 
Francisco.  The  energy  and  whole-souled 
zeal  which  had  characterized  his  work  in  the 
ministry  in  the  Diocese  of  Chicago,  has  in  a 
greater  degree  marked  his  administration  and 
borne  rich  and  lasting  fruits  in  the  wider  and 
more  eminent  sphere  of  action  to  which  he 
has  been  assigned,  and  for  which  his  learning 
and  piety  have  particularly  fitted  him.  We 
have  been  honored  by  his  visit,  and  he  bears 
with  him  the  best  wishes  and  prayers  of  many 
friends  at  Notre  Dame,  that  he  may  be  blessed 
with  health  and  length  of  days  to  still  further 
carry  on  the  good  work  in  which  he  is  engaged. 


New  Publications. 


A  Practical  Introduction  to  Engi^ish 
Rhetoric  Precepts  and  Exercises.  By  the 
Rev. Charles  Coppens,  S.J*  Author  of  "The 
Art  of  Oratorical  Composition."  New  York: 
The  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
The    advantages    of    this    book   may    be 


summed  up  in  two'epithets:  it  is  practical  and 
comprehensive.  Practical,  chiefly  because  of 
the  numerous  exercises  interspersed  through 
its  pages;  and  comprehensive  in  that,  besides 
the  elements  of  composition,  it  treats  of  such 
subjects  as  versification  and  the  nature  and 
varieties  of  poetry.  What  seems  to  us  the 
best  written  and  most  useful  portion  of  the 
work  is  the  chapter  on  Essay- Writing,  which, 
according  to  the  present  system  of  English  in- 
struction in  our  colleges,  might  well  have  a 
whole  manual  devoted  to  it. 

Father  Coppens  has  hardly  been  full  enough, 
we  think,  in  his  treatment  of  style  in  literary 
composition,  but  the  hints  he  gives  are  cal- 
culated to  be  of  great  service  both  to  teacher 
and  pupil.  Such  books  as  Blair's  Rhetoric, 
containing  as  they  do  much  valuable  mat-* 
ter,  are  too  bulky  and  ill- arranged  to  be  re- 
tained as  text- books,  and  we  think  that  Fa- 
ther Coppens'  work  will  be  found  a  handy 
and  convenient  manual,  as  well  by  those  who 
are  engaged  in  teaching  the  difficult  subjects 
of  rhetoric  and  composition  as  by  those  stu- 
dents who  wish  to  acquire  the  indispensable 
yet  much-neglected  art  of  writing  clearly. 

I^cr  gamilienfreunb,  ^atljolic^er  SSegH">ei8er  fiir 
"^ixh  3af)r  1886.  St.  2oiii9,  «Dio.  %m\\m  bc8  "^erolb 
bes  ®laiibenci." 

Besides  calendars,  etc. ,  this  year-book  con- 
tains some  very  interesting  stories.  We  were 
particularly  pleased  with  the  historical  sketch 
of  the  first  martyr  of  the  Iroquois  nation,  Ste- 
phen Te-Ganonakoa,  who  was  baptized  in  his 
infancy  by  Father  Jogues,  just  before  the  lat- 
ter was  put  to  death,  and  who,  according  to 
the  prophecy  of  the  saintly  priest,  ' '  lived  to 
be  like  the  morning  star,  shining  brightly  in 
the  night  of  his  people  ' '  The  illustrations  of 
the  volume  are  numerous  and  excellent.  We 
recommend  the  ^amillenfrcunb  to  those  of  our 
readers  who  understand  the  German  lan- 
guage. 

"Ave  Maria."  By  Rudolph  Forster.  A. 
Waldteufel,  publisher,  San  Francisco. 

We  feel  somewhat  disappointed,  having  to 
pronounce  upon  the  merits  of  an  ''Ave  Ma- 
ria'' which  does  not  even  mention  Mary's 
most  glorious  title,  ' '  Mater  Dei. ' '  We  will 
only  suggest  to  the  author  to  substitute  the 
omitted  clause  for  one  repetition — there  are 
three — of  the  words  ' '  ora  pro  7iobis. ' ' 


35^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PARTMENT 


Claudia  before  the  Emperor. 

A  Scene  from  "Palms." 

BY  M.  A. 

SHE  enters  like  a  sunbeam  fair, 
The  little  maid  of  seven; 
lyooking  as  innocent  and  pure 

As  spirit  fresh  from  heaven: — 
A  wreath  of  fragrant  violets 

Amid  her  golden  curls, 
Her  snowy,  silver-spangled  robe 

Clasped  with  a  zone  of  pearls; 
Her  eyes  beneath  their  silken  fringe 

Are  beautiful  and  bright, 
Though  Nature  has  denied  to  them 

The  blessed  boon  of  sight. 
So  in  unconscious  innocence 

She  stands  amid  them  all, 
The  fairest  creature  that  has  e'er 

Adorned  that  princely  hall. 
Even  the  Roman  Emperor- 
Proud  tyrant  though  he  be — 
Seems  spellbound  at  the  vision  fair 

Of  infant  purity; 
And  by  the  shadow  that  has  cast 

Her  life  in  dark  eclipse, 
Half  reverently  her  dimpled  hand 

He  raises  to  his  lips. 
O  many  a  noble  Roman  dame 

Stands  in  that  stately  hall. 
But  that  fair  child  in  loveliness 

Has  far  surpassed  them  all! 


Father  Wood,  an  English  monk  at 
Rome,  constructed  the  first  pianoforte,  in 
1711. 

He  who  lives  in  vain,  lives  worse  than  in 
vain.  He  who  lives  to  no  purpose,  lives  to 
a  bad  purpose. — Nevins, 

Idleness  is  the  plague  of  youth ;  never  be 
without  something  to  do. — St,  Philip  Neri. 

True  merit,  like  a  river,  the  deeper  it  is 
the  less  noise  it  makes. — Halifax, 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kiipatrick. 


BY    E.  L.  D. 


IV. 


Through  the  long  afternoon  the  fight  ran 
its  length,  but  every  hour  brought  our  men 
nearer  their  objective  point,  and  at  7  o'clock 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  swept  into  the  little 
town  of  Jonesborough.  Detachments  were 
told  off  to  fire  the  stores,  but  the  majority 
of  the  tired  men  rolled  from  their  horses, 
many  of  them  falling  asleep  instantly,  oth- 
ers smoking,  others  tying  up  "barked"  legs 
and  arms,  others  chewing  their  quids  and 
"swearing  strange  oaths"  as  they  fought 
the  day  over;  and  the  regimental  cooks 
boiled  coffee  and  made  savory  messes  of 
pork,  hard-tack,  and  beans,  flavored  with 
gunpowder — which,  by  the  way,  is  a  very 
fair  substitute  for  salt  when  you  can't  do 
better.  It  was  up  to  a  group  clustered  about 
one  of  these  kettles  that  Oester  trotted,  slip- 
ping off"  his  little  black  steed  to  givQ  him  a 
moment  of  much-needed  rest. 

"Where's  Schwartz?"  he  asked,  excit- 
edly. 

"What  Schwartz?"  answered  Skelton, 
lazily,  as  he  stirred  his  loblolly  with  a  stick. 
"If  it's  Towhead,  yonder  he  lies" — point- 
ing to  a  young  soldier,  whose  close-curling, 
blonde  hair,  white  forehead,  and  peaceful, 
sleeping  figure  contrasted  strongly  with  his 
sunburnt — sun-blistered —  features  (which 
were  grimed  with  powder),  and  his  torn, 
stained  unifotm.  "If  it's  the  Grey-Rat, 
yonder  he  is" — waving  the  dripping  stick 
toward  a  fierce-eyed,  shock-headed,  elderly 
man,  who  came  toward  them,  bending  under 
a  load  of  forage.    ' '  If  it' s — ' ' 

"No,  no!"  said  the  boy,  stamping  in  his 
eagerness;  "I  mean  Black  Schwartz." 


"Oh,  him!"  said  Skelton,  gravely.  "I 
ain't  seen  him  since  the  last  brush  out 
yonder,  and  I  think  likely  he's  there  some- 
wheres. "  * 

' '  Killed ! ' '  exclaimed  Oester,  with  quiver- 
ing lips.  "Don't  say  that,  Skelton;  don't!" 


The  Ave  Maria, 


357 


' '  Well,  but  what  else  can  I  say'?  "— Skel- 
1  Dn  was  literal. — "If  he  hadn't  been,  he'd 
1  ave  come  in  long  ago. ' ' 

"Maybe  he's  only  wounded.  I'm  going 
( ut  to  see. ' ' 

"Yes,  and  be  gobbled  by  the  Johnnies 
f)r  a  fool!"  growled  Skelton,  returning  to 
1:  is  stew.  "You  never  can  tell  zvhere  them 
chaps '11  turn  up.  There's  one  thing  you 
can  bet  on,  though;  and  that  is,  you'll  find 
'em  when  you  don't  want 'em,  and  where 
you  don't  expect 'em.  Besides,  lookin'  for 
a  wounded  man  in  this  here  light  is  crazier 
than  huntin'  needles  in  a  hay-stack." 

But  the  boy  had  braced  his  belt,  looked 
to  his  saddle-straps,  and  was  ofiT  long  before 
his  friend  finished. 

"Well,"  gasped  Skelton,  "of  all  the 
young  idjits  ever  /  see !  A  pair  of  mules  as 
beats  creation ! ' ' 

But  the  canny  little  beast  and  his  anxious 
young  rider  were  winding  in  and  out  the 
underbrush, warily,  keeping  a  bright  look- 
out for  the  enemy  that  didn't  come,  and 
stumbling  at  last  on  the  object  of  their 
search,  who  sat  leaning  against  a  tree,  one 
bony  hand  twisted  in  the  grass,  its  fingers 
clutching  at  the  earth  in  agony ;  the  other 
pressed  to  his  breast,  over  a  red  spot  that 
spread  and  spread  on  the  blue  coit. 

"O  Hansel !  I  am  so  glad  I'  ve  found  you ! ' ' 
cried  the  boy.  "We've  come  out  to  take 
you  into  the  lines,  haven't  we.  Jet?"  And 
Jet  wagged  his  ears,  and  pawed  with  his 
slender  hoofs,  as  if  eager  to  do  his  half  of 
the  labor  of  love,  although  he  ached  smartly 
from  tip  to  tail. 

Schwartz  smiled  half  tenderly,  half 
5adly.  "No,  lad:  I've  got  my  discharge. 
Death's  white  horse  is  the  one  I'll  ride  to- 
tiight." 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Hansel  ?  Oh !  you 
lin't  as  much  hurt  as  that!  It's  — it's  — 
uch  a  little  place!" 

Big  enough  for  my  soul  to  slip  through.' ' 

The  tears  sprang  to  Oester's  blue  eyes, 
md  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat.  ' '  You  mustn'  t 
lie— you  sha'n't  die!  Let  me  go  back  for 
he  doctor.  He'll  be  sure  to  patch  you  up. ' ' 

No:   stay  here.     It  won't  be  long;  it's 


better  so.    I'm  glad.   Use  and  the  child  are 
there,  and  it's  been  long  to  wait." 

"But,  Hansel,  dear  Hansel,  I  rmist  do 
something  for  you.  Isn't  there  ^//jthing 
you  want  ?  It' s  awful  to  be  doing  nothing ! ' ' 
And  he  sobbed  openly,  too  grieved  even  to 
try  to  hide  it. 

' '  Scratch  a  hole  in  the  ground  for  me  if 
you  can,  and  cover  me  away  from  the  buz- 
zards. Put  this  in  my  hands.  Keep  the 
medal  for  yourself  I  wish  to  God  I  could 
have  the  Sacraments!  It's  an  awful  thing 
to  go  red-handed  before  His  face.  ^Heilige 
Maria.,  bitte  filr  unsf  " 

"This"  was  a  rosary,  black,  well-worn, 
and  shining. 

' '  Read  the  prayer  on  the  medal  as  often 
as  you  can.-  Promise" — and  the  nervous 
fingers  clutched  his  hand.  "And  say  a 
'  Hail  Mary '  for  me  every  day.  It'll  do  you 
good,  and  God  knows  how  it  will  help 
me!" 

"I  will!  I  will!"  cried  the  boy.  "But  I 
don't  know  the  last  one.  Say  it  once,  and 
I'll  try  to  remember." 

And  Schwartz  gasped  out  the  dear  prayer, 
the  blood  spurting  between  like  pulse-beats. 
Then  his  voice  died  away, and  he  lay  back, 
with  strange,  grey  shadows  creeping  under 
his  eyes  and  around  his  mouth.  Once  he 
opened  his  heavy  lids,  and  looked  with  star- 
tled gaze  at  the  red  glare  thaj:  stained  the 
night  like  a  gaping  wound. 

"Morning!  Why  doesn't  the  boy  sound 
the  r'eveille?  The  night  is  over — the  night 
is  over  and  gone.  Death — what  is  it?  Death 
is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  A  victory  ?  Is 
it  blood  I  see  creeping  up  and  spreading 
like  a  lake?" 

"It's  the  fire  in  the  town  back  there, 
Hansel.    They're  burning  up  the  stores." 

"Fire!  What  fire?— Ah!  I  know:  the  fire 
of  the  red  dawn,  when  men  shall  be  judged — 
"  '  In  the  red  dawn 

Of  the  Judgment  morn, 
Mary,  remember  me. '  " 

Then  muttering,  "Christ  of  the  Cross, 
forgive ! ' '  his  voice  again  sank  into  silence. 

The  minutes  hurried  by,  and  the  shy, 
wild  things  of  the  forest  began  to  peep  out; 


358 


The  Ave  Maria, 


a  snake  or  two  trailed  its  bronze  length 
past,  and  here  and  there  a  crippled  bird 
cried  into  the  night.  Suddenly  Schwartz 
sat  erect.  "Here!"  he  answered  to  some 
inaudible  roll-call,  and — was  dead. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  boy  sat  stunned. 
It  was  all  so  different  from  a  death  on  the 
field,  with  the  music  of  the  charge  cutting 
sweet  and  shrill  through  the  rattle  of  mus- 
ketry and  roar  of  artillery,  the  mad  hurrah- 
ing of  the  men,  and  the  rush  of  half  frantic 
horses. 

Then  Jet,  who  had  watched  him  uneasily, 
came  and  took  him  by  the  jacket  sleeve, 
and  gently  pulled  it  once  or  twice.  Oester 
looked  up,  and,  throwing  his  arms  around 
the  little  mule's  neck,  cried:  "  O  Jet!  I  did 
love  him!    Poor,  poor  fellow! " 

But  the  haste  and  stress  of  war  were  on 
him,  and,  with  the  speed  so  horrible  where 
we  love,  he  began  to  dig  his  friend's  grave, 
tearing  up  the  turf  and  soft  mould  with  the 
dead  man's  sabre,  and  digging  with  his 
tin  plate  and  hands.  Then  he  laid  him  in 
the  shallow,  rudely- hollowed  trench,  and, 
racked  and  shaken  by  the  struggle,  fell  on 
his  knees  to  cover  up  the  kind  face,  with 
its  open  eyes  and  yet  warm  cheeks. 

How  long  he  crouched  there  he  did  not 
know,  but  heavy  wings  beat  the  air  above 
him,  and  slowly  circling  nearer  and  nearer 
drew  a  buzzard — vilest  of  birds — its  raw,  red 
neck  eagerly  stretched,  its  harsh  cry  filling 
the  spot  with  unseemly  clamor. 

This  decided  him,  and  hastily  catching 
up  the  softest  patch  of  moss  he  could  find, 
he  laid  it  (earth  out)  on  the  dead  face,  filled 
in  the  grave,  and,  in  a  sudden  flash  of  wrath 
and  grief,  shot  the  bird  with  Schwartz's 
carbine  as  he  hurried  away. 

V. 

As  Oester  and  Jet  stumbled  back  to  the 
lines,  depressed  and  exhausted,  a  great 
cheering  and  shouting  arose,  mingled  with 
the  strains  of  brass  and  silver,  the  short  bark 
of  bass  drums,  and  the  clash  of  cymbals. 

And  what  were  the  bands  playing? 

Why,  from  the  Grey  camp  floated  the 
notes  of  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner," 
which  the  loyal  Blue  applauded  to  the  echo 


(roaring  the  chorus  until  the  forest  trem- 
bled), and  to  which  they  responded  by  the 
rollicking  strains  of  "Dixie."  Then  the 
Grey  camp  lifted  up  its  voice  in  a  deep- 
throated  roar  of  applause,  and  when  that 
subsided  their  bandsmen  blew  back  "The 
Red,  White,  and  Blue,' '  which  was  answered 
by  ' '  Maryland,  my  Maryland ! ' '  and  so  on, 
with  sometimes  mingled  choruses  that  came 
from  neither  Yankees  nor  Rebels,  but  from 
the  brave  hearts  of  American  men  glorying 
in  each  other's  bravery,  and  ready  to  snatch 
the  red  rose  of  national  pride  from  the 
bloody  field  of  the  day  just  past  and  the 
day  yet  to  come — also  ready  to  pitch  in  and 
whack  each  other  soundly  as  soon  as  the 
occasion  offered.  * 

Louder  grew  the  songs  and  higher  burnt 
the  flames  till  midnight,  when  the  one  died 
to  echoes  and  the  other  to  ashes ;  and 
"Boots  and  Saddles!"  "Mount!"  and 
"Forward!"  followed  in  rapid  succession; 
and  before  the  new  day  was  half  an  hour 
old  the  command  was  tearing  at  full  gallop 
toward  Lovejoy  Station.  Like  young  Loch- 
invar, 

' '  They  .stopped  not  for  brake, 

They  stayed  not  for  stone; 
They  swam  every  (river)  where 

Ford  there  was  none." 

And  what  a  ride  that  was!  The  equinox 
was  on,  and  the  storm  had  burst  about  one 
o'clock.  The  water  fell  in  solid  sheets,  and 
every  "creek,"  "run,"  and  "branch"  on 
the  route  lifted  up  a  threatening  voice  as 
it  dashed,  swollen  and  turbid,  through  its 
narrow,  stony  bed.  The  trees  groaned  and 
bent  in  the  wind,  and  tossed  wet,  spiteful 
branches  in  the  faces  of  the  riders,  some- 
times giving  ugly  blows ;  for  the  blackness 
was  Egyptian,  and  time  was  too  precious 
to  pick  the  way.  There  it  was  that  Jet  and 
his  master  got  full  benefit  of  their  small 
stature  and  light  weight;  for  the  wee  beast 
ran  under  the  hanging  boughs,  Oester  lying  ; 
low  on  his  neck;  and  as  they  raced  along 
both  were  too  plucky  to  notice  the  sharp, 
I 

*  This  beautiful  and  graceful  incident  is  strictly  j 
true,  as  are  all  our  citations  of  military  move- 
ments. 


I 


The  Ave  Marta, 


359 


s  oring  scratches  given  by  blackberry,  rasp- 
b  irry,  and  cat- vines. 

It  was  a  sorry-looking  command  when 
tj  e  day  broke — sodden,  bare-headed,  cut  and 
b  Tiised,  haggard  with  want  of  sleep,  pale 
Axith  fatigue,  and  many  a  good  uniform 
koking  like  "the  rags  and  jags"  worn  by 
tlie,  beggars  that  came  to  town  in  Mother 
Goose's  ballad. 

"Rents,  is  it?"  said  O'Keefe,  with  his 
jolly  laugh.  ' '  Well .  then,  /  should  be  callin' 
'em  r<2^/^- rents ! " 

But  the  men  were  in  high  spirits,  and 
when  the  bugles  called  "  Halt! "  they 
hardly  waited  for  the  steaming  black  coffee 
that  their  wise  young  commander  gave 
them  time  to  make  and  take.  It  had  its 
j effect,  though;  and  horses  and  riders  found 
that  courage  and  patriotism  are  never  the 
worse  for  a  judicious  mixture  therewith  of 
forage  and  rations,  and  the  pace  was  de- 
cidedly mended  after  the  brief  rest. 

As  the  column  thundered  down  the  high- 
road, Oester  thought  of  his  promise  to  Black 
Schwartz,  and,  being  a  boy  of  his  word,  he 
took  out  the  medal  to  look  at  it  and  read 
the  prayer.    On  its  oval  he  saw  a  woman's 
igure  with  outstretched  hands,  an  ellipse 
)f  stars  about  her  (like  the  statue  of  Our 
Lady  at   Notre   Dame),   a   globe-segment 
mder  her  feet,  and  crushed  thereon  a  ser- 
pent. Outside  the  stars  ran  the  words:  "O 
Vlary!   conceived  without  sin,  pray  for  us 
vho  have  recourse  to  thee. ' ' 
As  he  looked  at  it,  Denbigh — a  rough- 
nd-ready  fellow — sang  out:    "What  you 
^ot  there,  younker?" 
"A  medal  Schwartz  gave  me." 
' '  What  sort  of  a  medal  ?  Let's  look. ' ' 
But  the  boy  from  some  instinct  put  it  in 
lis  breast,  saying:  "Some  sort  of  religious 
hing,  I  think." 

Religious?  Bah,  I  thought  so!  That 
ichwartz  was  the  biggest  sneak  I  ever  saw 
-a  Catholic  he  called  himself,  but  I  know 
le  breed — liars  and  hypocrites  every  one 
f'em;  chockful  of  superstitions,  too;  a 
)w,  priest-ridden  lot,  with  a  carpenter's 
on  for  a  God,  and  a  fisherman  for  the  head 
f  their  Church." 


' '  Halloo  there ! ' '.  said  O'  Keefe.  '  *  What' s 
all  that?  Who  is  it  that  are  liars,  and  priest- 
ridden,  and  idolaters  into  the  bargain  ? ' ' 

Oester' s  face  was  scarlet.  ' '  I  don't  know 
anything  about  Catholics, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  but  I 
tell  you  Schwartz  was  one  of  the  best  men 
I  ever  saw.  He  hadn't  a  low  grain  in  his 
body,  and  was  the  most  truthful  man  in  the 
world.  You  are  the  liar  and  sneak,  Denbigh, 
and  a  coward  too,  to  fling  out  like  that  at  a 
dead  man  that  can't  fight  for  himself." 

Denbigh's  coarse  face  grew  purple,  and 
he  struck  at  the  boy  furiously.  ' '  You  young 
hound!"  he  snarled;  "I'll  give  you  the 
best  tanning  ever  you  got,  the  first  chance 
I  have." 

But  O'Keefe,  with  his  hat  set  jauntily  on 
one  side,  his  right  fist  poised  daintily  on 
his  hip,  and  with  a  gleam  in  his  Irish  eyes, 
said:  "Leave  the  kid,  and  listen  to  me, my 
boy.  Will  ye  have  the  goodness  to  repeat 
that  little  speech  of  yours,  and  answer  me 
question,  if  you  please?" 

But  Denbigh,  knowing  the  weight  of 
O'  Keefe' s  arm,  and  not  in  the  least  deceived 
by  his  genial  smile,  muttered  an  ugly  word, 
and  sullenly  looked  straight  ahead. 

' '  Do  now, ' '  continued  the  Irishman, 
persuasively;  ^'' do.  It  will  be  safer;  for  ye 
seem  to  have  a  poor  circulation  the  mom. 
Your  face  is  as  purple  as  a  plum,  and  I'm 
thinkin'  you'll  be  havin'  a  fit  or  something, 
if  you  cork  your  feelings  up  so  sudden. 
And  I  tell  you" — his  anger  flashing  out — 
"I'm  achin'  to  give  you  a  warmin'  that 
you'll  remember  to  your  dyin'  hour,  you 
ill-conditioned  brute! — yappin'  at  good  and 
holy  things,  for  all  the  world  like  a  mad- 
dog  bayin'  at  the  moon ! " 

" Silence  in  the  ranks  there!"  said  the 
sergeant,  and  O'Keefe  had  to  carry  on  his 
contention  by  looks,  which  he  did  co7t  amove 
in  a  series  of  darting  glances  sharp  as  stilet- 
tos, and  highly  exasperating  to  their  object. 

At  his  first  chance  he  asked  Oester  what 
was  the  row,  and  when  the  boy  told  him 
he  said:  "And  so  he  is  dead!  Well, God 
rest  his  soul,  and  give  me  grace  to  die  as 
well !  He  was  a  good  man.  And  he  left  you 
the  medal?" 


i66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


* '  Yes,  and  what  does  that  saying  mean  ? ' ' 

"It  means  that  Mary,  the  great  Mother 
of  God"  (and  the  cap  was  reverently  lifted 
from  the  bullet  head),  "was  never  touched 
with  sin,  but  was  born  free  from  the  curse 
of  Adam." 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  and  the  blue 
eyes  looked  searchingly  into  the  grey. 

"Know  it?  For  one  thing,  me  Church 
teaches  it,  and  the  Church  of  God  don't  lie; 
and  for  another,  me  common  sense  tells  me 
it  has  to  be  so. ' ' 

'■''My  common  sense  don't,"  struck  in 
Bel tzhoover,  whom  a  shift  in  formation  had 
brought  along-side. 

"Don't  it  now?"  said  O'Keefe,  admir- 
ingly. "Well,  your  parsons  do  be  sayin', 
'  The  age  of  miracles  is  past. '  But  try  and 
stretch  your  wool- sack  enough  to  sense  this : 
It  would  have  been  mighty  unbecomin'  and 
unnatural  for  God  to  have  let  His  Blessed 
Mother  be  for  a  minute  in  the  grip  of  the 
ould  devil,  as  She  would  have  been  if  She'd 
had  original  sin.  Why,  man,  He  loved  Her; 
don't  you  know  that?  Think  what  that 
means,  if  you  have  a  mother  yourself,  and 
then  size  up  what  the  Lord  could  feel." 

"Oh!  come  now!"  said  Beltzhoover, 
looking  rather  startled,  "that's  downright 
blasphemy  to  talk  in  that  free-and-easy 
way  about  the  Lord,  as  if  He  was  just 
folks." 

"It  ain't  either!"  retorted  O'Keefe; 
"for  He  was  true  God  and  true  Man. 
But"— he  broke  off— "what's  that  now?" 
as  the  commanding  notes  of  the  "Halt" 
sprang  from  bugle  to  bugle,  and  the  line 
pulled  up,  with  a  great  ringing  of  spurs 
and  accoutrements,  and  much  stamping  of 
horses. 

' '  D'  y ou  see  any  Grey-backs  ?  "  he  called 
out  to  Oester. 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  then  said :  ' '  But 
there's  something  ahead  therein  the  woods. 
By  George!"  he  added,  in  sudden  excite- 
ment, ' '  I  tell  you  that  chap  had  better  get 
out  of  the  way'' — waving  his  bugle  tow- 
ard a  slender,  plainly-dressed  young  man, 
who  rode  leisurely  along,  skirting  the  trees, 
trotting  from  point  to  point,  and  taking  an 


exhaustive  survey  of  the  situation.  "The 
first  thing  he  knows  he'll  be  nowhere. 
Who  is  the  little  fool,  any  way?"  he  asked, 
impatienth. 

O'Keefe's  answer  was  a  shout:  "Ain't 
that  a  good  one  now?  'The  little  fool'! 
Why,  it's  'Kil'  [Kilpatrick]  himself!" 

' '  The  Crcneral !  He  looks  like  a  boy,  and 
hasn't  enough  gold- lace  to — " 

"Dress  out  a  second  leftenant?  That's 
him  to  a  T.  No  fuss  no  feathers,  no  blather- 
skiting.  Ah !  he' s  the  boy !  It' s  never  '  Go ! ' 
with  Kil ;  it's  always  '  Come  on,  boys! '  and 
him  ahead  in  the  thick  of  the  shindig. 
That's  for  the  advance.  When  it's  retreat- 
ing we  are,  that's  another  story;  then  he's 
the  last  man —  Dismount,  is  it?" — as  the 
familiar  notes  flew  into  the  air  like  a  flock 
of  birds  startled  by  a  hunter.  ' '  With  all  the 
pleasure  in  life.  A  fourth  man?  "*'  Who  said 
that?  It's  him  that  lied,  then;  for  into  this 
fight  I'm  goin'."  And  he  dexterously 
pushed  in  between  the  two  men  ahead  of 
him,  tossed  his  bridle  to  the  nearest,  and 
was  yards  away  in  a  twinkling. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Innocence  and  Guilt. 

An  artist  once  painted  a  picture  of  a 
child  whom  he  had  seen  at  prayer.  He 
called  it  "Innocence,"  and  it  hung  on  the 
wall  of  his  studio  for  many  a  year,  admired 
by  all  who  saw  it.  When  he  was  an  old 
man,  he  determined  to  paint  a  companion 
picture  and  call  it  "Guilt."  He  visited  a 
prison,  and  asked  to  see  the  most  hardened 
criminal  there,  that  he  might  take  his  por- 
trait. A  degraded  wretch  was  shown  to 
him ;  and  while  he  was  sketching  the  pict- 
ure he  talked  with  the  man,  and  found  to 
his  horror  that  he  was  the  same  whom  he 
had  painted  as  a  boy.  Evil  company  had 
brought  him  to  this  end. 


*  In  ordinary  cases,  when  cavalry  is  dismounted 
for  fighting  on  foot,  every  fourth  man  is  detailed 
to  stay  in  the  rear  and  hold  the  riderless  horses; 
when  it  is  desired  to  engage  the  majority  of  the 
force,  every  seventh  man  is  so  detailed. 


Golden  October. 


BY   M.  A. 


[Copyright :— Rkv.  D.  E.  Htosoh,  C.  S.  C] 

Our  Unseen  Guardians. 


2  WELCOMK  to  golden  October, 


XV 


As  it  comes  with  its  freshening  breeze; 


With  its  mists  and  its  clouds  and  its  sunshine, 
Its  harvests  and  fruit-laden  trees! 

A.  welcome  to  Nature's  great  artist! 
Such  colors  we  rarely  behold 

\s  his  vineyards  of  deep  green  and  purple, 
His  forests  of  crimson  and  gold. 

A^ith  fruits  of  the  tints  of  the  rainbow, 

And  flowers  of  the  sunset's  rich  hue, 
^Chrysanthemums,  marigolds,  dahlias, 

lyift  up  their  bright  heads  to  your  view. 
\.nd  welcome  the  nights  of  October, 

When  the  Harvest-Moon,  radiantly  fair, 
'Comes  forth  like  a  queen  in  her  beauty, 

A.nd  glides  through  her  empire  of  air. 


dl  hail  to  our  dear  Guardian  Angels! 

Be  honor  and  love  to  them  given; 
'hey  their  Festival  hold  in  October, 

Those  glorious  princes  of  Heaven, 
.nd  the  Queen  of  the  Rosary,  bending 

To  earth  from  Her  heavenly  throne, 
kith  Her  court  of  bright  angels  attending, 

October  can  claim  as  her  own. 


God  here  is  a  King  in  exile.  When  the 
estoration  comes,  how  magnificently  He 
ill  reward  those  who  have  proved  them- 
Ives  loyal  through  the  ^ox%X\— Father  T. 
larke^  S.J, 


E  know  of  nothing  more  beautiful 
and  touching,  and,  we  may  add, 
more  edifying,  than  the  extraordi- 
nary fact  mentioned  in  the  Life  of  St.  Frances 
of  Rome — that  Almighty  God,  among  other 
remarkable  supernatural  favors  which  He 
vouchsafed  to  her,  gave  her  an  Archangel 
to  be  her  visible  guardian  during  her  whole 
life.  We  are  told  that  on  a  certain  occasion 
her  young  son  Bvangelista,  who  had  died 
some  time  previously,  appeared  to  her  in  a 
vision,  accompanied  by  an  Archangel  en- 
veloped in  a  halo  of  light;  and  the  youth 
informed  her  that  Our  Lord  had  assigned 
this  blessed  spirit  to  be  her  guardian  during 
the  remainder  of  her  earthly  pilgrimage. 
The  radiance  that  surrounded  the  Archan- 
gel was  so  dazzling  that  she  could  seldom 
look  upon  him  with  a  fixed  gaze.  Some- 
times, however — when  in  prayer,  or  in  con- 
ference with  her  director,  or  engaged  in 
struggles  with  the  Evil  One, — she  was  en- 
abled to  see  his  form  with  perfect  distinct- 
ness. 

The  presence  of  this  heavenly  guide  was 
to  St.  Frances  a  mirror,  in  which  she  could 
see  reflected  every  imperfection  of  her  nat- 
ure. When  she  committed  the  slightest  fault 
the  Angel  seemed  to  disappear,  and  it  was 
only  after  she  had  carefully  examined  her 
conscience,  discovered  her  failing,  lamented 
and  humbly  confessed  it,  that  he  returned. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  she  was  only  dis^ 


362 


The  Ave  Maria, 


turbed  by  a  doubt  or  scruple,  he  was  wont  to 
bestow  on  her  a  kind  look,  which  at  once 
dissipated  her  uneasiness.  When  he  spoke 
she  used  to  see  his  lips  move,  and  a  voice 
of  indescribable  sweetness, which,  however, 
seemed  to  come  from  a  distance,  reached 
her  ears. 

How  delightful !  we  are  ready  to  exclaim. 
What  a  blessed  privilege  thus  to  have  a 
heavenly  attendant  to  admonish,  to  guard 
and  guide  us,  to  console  and  comfort  us  un- 
der all  our  trials  and  difficulties!  But  have 
we  not  such  an  attendant?  Not  visible,  of 
course — such  a  favor  could  only  be  vouch- 
safed to  one  endowed  with  the  extraordinary 
sanctity  which  distinguishes  a  great  saint, 
like  the  blessed  St.  Frances.  But  why  should 
we  fail  to  realize  the  full  measure  of  benefit 
and  consolation  derived  from  our  Guardian 
Angels,simply  because  we  can  not  see  them? 
We  have  faith :  we  believe  without  doubt- 
ing that  the  world  is  full  of  angels,  who,  the 
Bible  tells  us, are  "ministering  spirits  sent 
forth  to  minister  to  those  who  shall  be  heirs 
of  salvation."  We  know  that  each  one  of 
us  has  his  special  Guardian,  appointed  by 
God  to  watch  over,  to  protect  and  guide 
us.  Why  is  it  that  we  do  not  realize  their 
presence  more?  Is  it  because  our  faults — 
possibly  our  sins — drive  them  from  our 
thoughts,  as  blessed  St.  Frances'  faults  com- 
pelled her  dear  Guardian  to  fade  from  her 
sight? 

But  do  even  pious  and  de\  out  Catholics 
— those  who  are  striving  to  avoid  sin  and 
practise  virtue — always  realise  the  blessed- 
ness, the  sweet  consolation  of  devotion  to 
and  constant  communion  with  their  dear 
Guardian  Angels?  If  not,  why  not?  Is  it  not 
because  they  are  not  sufficiently  careful  to 
cultivate  that  devotion?  They, perhaps,  say 
a  prayer  to  their  Guardian  Angel  every  day, 
but  they  do  not  take  pains  to  cultivate  a 
sweet  communion  and  holy  familiarity  with 
him,  which  it  is  the  privilege  of  every  Chris- 
tian to  do. 

In  the  charming  I^ife  of  Mere  Marie  de 
la  Providence,  foundress  of  the  Helpers  of 
the  Holy  Souls,  we  are  told  that  she  had  a 
remarkable  love  for  the  Guardian  Angels, 


and  with  the  beautiful  ingenuousness  of  her 
simple  confidence  she  used  to  ask  her  own 
Angel  not  only  to  defend  her  from  evil,  but 
to  be  the  messenger  of  her  pious  wishes  to 
others.  For  instance,  when  Madame  Des- 
marquets,  one  of  the  mistresses  of  the  school 
in  which  she  was  then  a  pupil,  and  to  whom 
she  was  deeply  attached,  left  the  house  at 
Lille,  Eugenie  (as  she  was  then  called)  felt 
her  loss  most  keenly ;  but  the  sadness,  in- 
stead of  endijig  in  a  useless  depression,  only 
stimulated  her  the  more  earnestly  to  desire 
the  aid  of  her  prayers.  So  on  the  Easter- 
Day  following  she  asked  her  own  Guardian 
Angel  to  communicate  her  wish  to  the 
Guardian  Angel  of  Madame  Desmarquets. 
She  had  no  doubt  that  the  message  would 
be  faithfully  delivered ;  and  to  her  great  joy, 
though  not  to  her  surprise,  she  received  a 
letter  from  her  friend,  with  the  following 
words:  "Trust  more  and  more,  my  child, 
to  your  Good  Angel.  You  have  been  heard 
by  mine;  for  on  Easter- Day,  as  you  had  de- 
sired, I  did  not  fail  to  recommend  you  to 
the  Heart  of  Our  Lord." 

As  we  have  not,  all  of  us,  alas !  the  sanc- 
tity of  Mere  Marie,  we  may  not  always  ex- 
pect manifest,  sensible  evidence  of  the  good 
offices  of  our  dear  Guardian  Angels;  but  of 
one  thing  we  may  be  assured — no  sincere, 
earnest  prayer  to  those  heavenly  spirits  will 
go  unanswered.  It  is  their  greatest  pleasure 
to  serve  us,  and  if  we  keep  the  eye  of  our 
faith  open  we  shall  see  that  in  a  thousand 
ways  they  minister  to  us,  and  contribute 
not  only  to  our  temporal  but  also  to  our 
spiritual  and  eternal  well-being. 

How  ungrate 'ul  to  forget  them,  to  ignore 
them,  and  to  act  as  if  they  did  not  exist! 
or,  if  we  recognize  their  existence,  to  treat 
them  with  coldness  and  indifference,  or  a 
heartless  formality,  which  we  should  be 
ashamed  to  manifest  even  to  a  common 
earthly  friend!  Oh!  if  we  could  but  once 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  beautiful  Angel  who 
so  patiently  and  lovingly  attends  us,  how 
our  hearts  would  be  ravished  with  delight! 
how  they  would  burn  with  desire  to  mani- 
fest their  gratitude  and  love  to  him,  and 
what  an  inexhaustible  source  of  comfort 


p 


The  Ave  Maria, 


3^3 


and  consolation  would  his  company  be  to  us ! 
Well,  what  shall  we  do  about  it?   What 
better  can  we  do  than  to  avail  ourselves  of 
the  present  month  of  October — which  is 
consecrated  to  the  Holy  Angels — to  refresh 
our  memories  with  the  doctrine  of  the  An- 
gels, and  to  stir  up  our  hearts  to  greater  devo- 
tion to  those  heavenly  messengers  of  grace 
nd  salvation  ?   We  do  not  forget  that  it  is 
so  the  Month  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  but  the 
o  devotions  need  not  clash.    Mary  is  the 
ueen  of  Angels,  and  we  may  be  sure  that 
nothing  will  please  Her  better  than  that, 
while  we  renew  our  devotion  to  the  Ro- 
ry,  we  neglect  not  the  Holy  Angels,  who 
ijoice  to  do  her  bidding,  and  to  commu- 
icate  to  us  the  graces  and  blessings  which 
he  obtains  for  Her  devout  clients. 
As  a  means  for  awakening  devotion  to 
e  Holy  Angels,  we  do  not  hesitate   to 
ecommend  the  delightful  little  treatise  of 
ather  Boudon,  called  "The Glories  of  the 
ngels."    This  good  priest  was  a  genuine 
thusiast  in  his  devotion  to  those  blessed 
irits,  and  his  little  book  is  written  with 
fervor  which  can  not  fail  to  kindle  a  cor- 
ponding  feeling  in  the  heart  of  every 
evout  reader. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


XVH. 

ALICE  was  right  in  saying  that  her 
mother  would  not  refuse  to  know 
Philip,  notwithstanding  that  he  bore  an  ob- 
jectionable name,  especially  when  she  heard 
how  frankly  he  condemned  the  conduct  of 
the  elder  Thornton.  Mrs.  Percival  was,  in- 
deed, much  interested  by  Alice's  account  of 
their  conversation,  and,  having  few  inter- 
ests in  her  confined  life,  she  was  very  will- 
ing to  see  the  young  man  who  had  held  a 
great  fortune  so  lightly. 

Therefore,  to  Graham's  deep  though, 
of  course,  silent  indignation  and  disgust, 
Philip  became  a  visitor  in  the  house  where 
a  short  time  before  it^would  have  seemed 


impossible  that  he  could  ever  be  admitted. 
And  it  soon  appeared  that  he  was  to  be  a 
favorite  also,  as,  thanks  to  the  kindness  of 
nature,  he  had  been  a  favorite  everywhere 
during  his  life.  Mrs.  Percival  found  him 
delightful.  The  ease  and  grace  of  his  man- 
ners, his  unfailing  deference  and  sunny  dis- 
position reminded  her  of  men  whom  she 
had  known  in  her  ga3'ar;d  prosperous  youth, 
rather  than  in  her  later  years  of  sadness 
and  adversity.  What  Alice  thought  of  him 
was  not  so  clearly  apparent,  but  she  evi- 
dently liked  him  sufiiciently  to  make  him 
welcome  when  he  came.  And  Philip  was  in- 
genious in  finding  excuses  for  coming.  Mu- 
sic was  a  standard  excuse,  and  Mr.  Richter 
found  that  he  had  no  longer  need  to  deplore 
his  lack  6i  interest  or  lack  of  practice. 

As  the  summer  davs  went  on,  increasing 
in  heat,  the  fashionable  world  fled  from  the 
city,  and  Philip  would  have  found  himself 
stranded  in  social  solitude,  but  for  this  new 
association  that  added  so  much  to  his  life — 
which,  indeed,  seemed  to  leave  nothing  else 
to  be  desired.  Certainly  his  existence  was 
revolutionized  in  a  way  that  he  could  hardly 
have  credited  had  it  been  foretold  to  him 
six  months  before.  His  days,  and  much  of 
his  nights,  were  spent  in  hard  study,  and 
almost  his  sole  recreation  was  to  present 
himself  as  often  as  he  dared  in  the  Percival 
parlor,  where  the  lights  were  usually  turned 
low  for  coolness,  the  windows  open  to 
the  summer  night,  and  Alice  sat  playing 
softly  at  the  piano.  Some  strains  of  music 
would  always,  he  was  sure,  recall  to  him 
these  evenings — tender  berceuses^  haunting 
gondolieds^  into  the  midst  of  which  she 
would  now  and  then  introduce  a  noble  har- 
mony taken  from  some  Mass  of  the  great 
composers.  They  were  enchanted  evenings, 
of  which  Philip  did  not  pause  to  consider 
the  possible  or  probable  end. 

Yet  an  end,  in  one  form,  came,  when  it 
was  necessary  that  Mrs.  Percival  should  be 
removed  to  the  country.  Mother  and  daugh- 
ter went  to  a  quiet  boarding  house,  half  a 
day's  journey  from  the  city;  and  it  was  not 
long  before  Philip  found  that  some  change 
of  air  was  necessary  for  him,  too.    Where 


^^4 


The  Ave  Maria, 


could  he  find  it  more  economically  or  more 
pleasantly  than  at  the  place  where  Alice 
Percival  was  staying?  He  presented  him- 
self at  fi'rst  very  diffidently,  but  the  welcome 
which  he  received  from  Mrs.  Percival  set 
him  at  his  ease,  while  it  was  evident  that 
Alice  was  not  displeased  by  his  appearauce. 
She  met  him  with  a  simple  cordiality,  a 
quiet  unconsciousness  of  any  other  mean- 
ing to  his  visit  than  that  which  he  declared, 
that  disappointed  even  while  it  relieved 
him.  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  he  might 
go  and  come  without  incurring  her  displeas- 
ure, yet  he  would  have  liked  to  see  a  little 
trace  of  consciousness,  a  slight  perception 
that  it  was  herself  whom  he  had  come  to  see. 

Meanwhile  the  Thornton  house  was 
closed — had  been  closed  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Summer — and  the  family  were 
in  Europe.  It  was  the  first  time  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton had  ever  quitted  his  business — had  ever 
relaxed  that  watchfulness  of  his  many  in- 
terests which  was  the  secret  of  his  success 
^had  ever  taken  his  attention  long  enough 
from  stocks  and  bonds  and  railroads  to 
think  of  the  beauties  of  nature  or  of  art.  It 
was  rumored  that  some  significant  signs  of 
failing  health  had  led  to  this  tardy  holiday, 
but  the  rumor  did  not  reach  Philip's  ears. 
His  uncle's  absence  was,  under  existing 
circumstances,  a  great  relief  to  him,  and  he 
did  not  doubt  that  it  was  also  a  relief  to 
Mr.  Thornton  to  be  absent  from  Riverport 
for  a  time.  When  he  returned  it  might  be 
possible  for  them  to  resume  cordial  rela- 
tions without  compromising  his  (Philip's) 
independence  of  positiou.  This  was  the  way 
he  comforted  himself  for  the  sense  of  es- 
trangement that  weighed  heavily  upon  him. 

But  nothing  speeds  time  like  occupation, 
and  never  had  a  Summer  appeared  to  fly  so 
quickly  as  this.  He  was  startled  when  he 
realized  that  it  was  nearing  its  close.  F'or 
the  last  time  he  prepared  to  go  out  to  the 
country  place  where  the  Percivals  were 
staying.  Another  week  would  find  them 
back  in  the  city;  and,  although  he  certainly 
did  not  regret  this,  he  regretted  the  end  of 
the  days  he  had  now  and  then  been  priv- 
ileged to  spend  with  them,  of  the  rambles 


through  fields  and  woods  to  which  he  had 
looked  forward  so  eagerly,  of  sunsets  and 
moonrises  surrounded  by  all  the  charm  of 
pastoral  life. 

Now  that  the  end  of  these  things  was  so 
near  at  hand,  Philip  began  to  ask  himself 
what  was  to  be  the  result  of  this  association 
which  had  added  so  much  to  his  existence. 
He  entertained  no  manner  of  doubt  con- 
cerning the  nature  of  the  sentiment  which 
he  felt  for  Alice  Percival,  but  he  entertained 
the  strongest  possible  doubt  as  to  how  she 
would  receive  any  declaration  of  it.  She 
had  already  admitted  him  to  so  much  more 
than  he  could  have  anticipated  —  to  her 
friendship  and  friendly  intimacy, — that  he 
hardly  dared  take  into  consideration  the 
idea  of  presuming  farther,  of  hoping  that 
she  would  recognize  and  return  his  love. 
Her  very  kindness  filled  him  with  a  sense 
of  despair.  She  seemed  always  bent  upon 
showing  him  that  she  did  not  visit  upon 
him  the  wrong  done  by  another,  but  he  was 
sure  that  she  had  never  for  a  moment  en- 
tertained the  idea  of  finding  the  Thornton 
whom  she  had  tolerated  converted  into  a 
suitor,  far  less  of  accepting  a  man  who  could 
offer  her  little  or  nothing  beside  a  name  that 
was  the  last  she  could  possibly  wish  to  bear. 

When  Philip  reflected  upon  these  things, 
he  fell  into  depths  of  dejection;  but  he  was 
too  sanguine  of  disposition,  too  happily 
constituted  in  nature,  to  remain  there  very 
long.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  would  not 
look  forward;  he  would  enjoy  the  present; 
he  would  not  grasp  at  a  shadow  which 
would  probably  elude  him,  and  lose  the 
substantial  good  that  was  already  his.  It 
was  much — it  was  almost  enough  to  be 
Alice  Percival' s  friend,  even  without  hope 
of  becoming  more.  But,  nevertheless,  such 
hope  lurked  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  A 
French  sentence  that  he  had  met  some- 
where was  often  in  his  mind  at  this  time: 
^^Je  jette  man  passk  dans  la  misericorde  de 
Dieu^  mon  present  dans  son  amour ^  et  mon 
amour  dans  sa  providence.^''  He  might 
leave  it  there  with  safety,  he  was  sure. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  made  his  prep- 
arations to  go  out  to  the  country  for  the  last 


1 


The  Ave  Maria, 


365 


time.  He  was  received,  as  usual,  with  the 
utmost  kindness  by  Mrs.  Percival,who  told 
him  Alice  had  walked  across  the  fields  to  a 
little  church,  which  they  had  several  times 
A^isited  together.  "I  think  she  has  gone  to 
decorate  the  altar,"  her  mother  added. 

Philip, who  knew  that  this  was  generally 
lier  occupation  on  Saturday  afternoon,  had 
no  doubt  of  it,  and  said  that  he  would  go 
to  meet  her.  He  set  out,  therefore,  and  soon 
found  himself  near  the  rustic  church  in 
question.  Entering,  he  saw  Alice  kneej- 
ing  before  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
He  did  not  carry  the  Church  calendar  very 
well  in  his  mind,  but  when  he  saw  that  she 
had  placed  on  this  altar  a  heart  of  crimson 
Tose^,  transfixed  by  a  sword  formed  of  white 
ones,  he  knew  that  the  next  day  would  be 
the  Feast  of  the  Seven  Dolors.  He  knelt 
and  recommended  himself,  his  future,  and 
his  hopes  to  the  gentle  Mother  of  Mercy, 
then  followed  Miss  Percival  when  she  rose 
and  left  the  church. 

She  greeted  him  with  a  smile,  and  in  the 
soft  September  sunset  they  walked  across 
the  fields  by  a  path  which  followed  closely 
a  pretty,  brawling  stream.  The  thought 
which  was  uppermost  in  Philip's  mind  soon 
found  expression.  ' '  I  am  so  sorry, ' '  he  said, 
"that  this  is  one  of  our  last  walks  in  this 
pleasant  place. ' ' 

"I  am  sorry,  too,"  she  answered.  "But, 
after  all,  if  things  did  not  end,  we  should 
grow  tired  of  them;  so  it  is  better  that  they 
should  end  while  one  feels  regret  for  them.' ' 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  he  said,  smiling;  "but 
you  know  I  am  never  quite  able  to  imitate 
the  cheerfulness  of  your  philosophy.  I 
should  think  you  would  dislike  exceedingly 
to  return  to  the  city,  which  is  still  very  dis- 
agreeable, and  to  the  drudgery  of  teaching." 

"I  have  found  that  the  only  way  to  get 
on  in  life  with  comfort  to  one's  self  or  to 
others,  is  by  accepting  things  as  they  come, 
with  what  courage  and  cheerfulness  one  can 
muster,  and  without  considering  whether 
they  are  agreeable  or  disagreeable, ' '  she  re- 
plied, simply.  "What  good  does  it  do  to 
say  to  one's  self,  'This  thing  is  unendur- 
able!' if  it  must  be  endured?" 


"  Oh !  no  goed  at  all,  of  course ;  but  how  is 
one  to  help  it?  And  sometimes  it  need  not 
be  endured,  you  know.  Many  people  endure 
nothing  disagreeable  which  they  can  avoid." 

"But  there  must  be  things  which  they 
can  not  avoid,  and  the  fact  that  they  have 
never  endured  anything  willingly  must 
make  unwilling  suffering  harder  to  bear.  I 
am  not  sure  but  that,  even  as  far  as  this 
world  is  concerned,  those  who  follow  duty, 
and  do  not  shrink  from  sacrifice,  have  the 
best  of  it." 

"It  may  be,"  said  Philip,  who  could  not 
help  the  shade  of  doubt  in  his  tone;  "yet 
to  follow  duty  and  not  to  shrink  from  sacri- 
fice is  often  terribly  hard  to  human  nature. 
I  wonder,"  he  added,  meditatively,  "if  I 
should  have  the  strength  for  it?  I  have 
never  been  tried — yet. ' ' 

' '  I  think  you  do  yourself  injustice.  You 
have  been  tried — in  a  measure,  at  least — 
and  you  have  stood  the  test, ' '  she  observed. 
' '  Have  you  not  given  up  much,  sacrificed 
much,  from  a  sense  of  duty?" 

' '  I  can  not  feel  that  I  have, ' '  he  answered. 
' '  I  really  can  not  think  that  I  deserve  the 
least  credit  for  declining  to  make  a  merce- 
nary marriage,  and  gaining  the  inestimable 
boon  of  freedom  thereby.  I  am  afraid  that 
if  I  had  been  in  love  with  Constance,  I  might 
have  thought  less  of  the  difference  of  relig- 
ion." 

"And  I  am  sure  that  you  again  do  your- 
self injustice,"  she  remarked.  "I  am  sure 
that  for  a  great  end — and  a  point  of  prin- 
ciple is  a  great  end — you  could  make  even 
such  a  sacrifice  as  that. ' ' 

' '  You  give  me  faith  in  myself, ' '  said  he, 
in  a  tone  which  showed  how  much  he  was 
moved.  "But  you* do  not  know — you  can 
not  tell  how  hard  the  sacrifice  would  be  if 
it  were  demanded  in  such  a  form.  /  know 
— now." 

His  voice  sank  over  the  last  word.  It  was 
scarcely  audible,  and  Alice  did  not  feel 
bound  to  answer.  They  walked  on  silently 
for  several  minutes,  during  which  it  seemed 
to  Philip  as  if  his  heart  leaped  to  his  lips, 
and  could  with  difficulty  be  restrained  from 
pouring   forth   all  that  filled   it.     But  he 


2,66 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


feared  that  by  speaking  he  might  end  this 
association,  which  he  so  much  valued,  and 
with  a  great  efifort  he  held  back  the  words 
that  burned  for  utterance.  He  was  quite 
pale  from  the  effect  of  the  restraint  which 
he  had  laid  upon  himself,  when  presently 
he  spoke  again. 

* '  I  hope  that  you  are  right.  I  hope  that 
if  the  trial  came  I  should  not  be  lacking  in 
the  power  to  do  what  was  demanded  of  me. 
But  I  am  not  certain  of  it,  and  you  must  not 
think  too  poorly  of  me  when  I  say  that  I 
trust  it  may  never  come." 

"The  most  confident  people  are  not  those 
who  stand  most  firmly  when  the  hour  of 
trial  comes,"  she  said,  smiling  slightly. 
"But  I,  too,  certainly  hope  that  it  may 
never  come  for  you. ' ' 

They  walked  on  again  silently  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  and  Alice  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking  on  another  and  indifferent  subject, 
when  she  perceived  on  the  path  before  them 
the  figure  of  a  child  running  toward  them. 
"Is  not  that  one  of  the  children  from  the 
house?"  she  asked,  quickly.  "Can  he  be 
coming  for  us?" 

"Coming  to  join  us  very  likely,"  an- 
swered Philip,  who  objected  strongly  to 
having  his  tHe-h-tUe  interrupted.  "You 
spoil  them  by  too  much  tolerance." 

' '  I  am  afraid  my  mother  is  ill, ' '  said  she, 
hastening  her  steps. 

"Oh!  no:  he  is  bringing  something;  do 
you  not  see?"  asked  Philip.  And  indeed 
the  boy  as  he  ran  waved  some  object  in  the 
air  above  his  head. 

"  It  is  a  letter— a  telegram  perhaps, ' '  said 
Alice.    ' '  It  must  be  for  you. ' ' 

She  was  right.  When^the  breathless  boy 
reached  them,  he  could  only  hold  out  the 
yellow  envelope,  which  evidently  contained 
a  telegraphic  dispatch,  and  which  was  ad- 
dressed to  Philip.  With  a  word  of  apology, 
the  latter  opened  it,  read  the  enclosure,  and 
then  handed  it  to  his  companion.  She  in 
turn  read  these  words: 

"We  have  reached  home.  Your  uncle  is  very 
ill  and  asks  for  you.    Come  at  once. 

"Harrikt  Thornton." 
(to  be  continued.) 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 

BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 

IX.  — Stamboul.  — (Continued. ) 

THE  Sublime  Porte. — But  there  are 
sights  in  Stamboul — yes,  many  of  them, 
interesting  and  astonishing.  Let  us  drop 
into  the  seraglio.  The  tongue  of  Stamboul 
is  thrust  into  the  midst  of  the  waters  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  the  Bosporus,  and  the  Sea  of 
Marmora.  It  is  an  oblong  hill,  crowned 
with  white  walls,  domes,  and  minarets,  and 
hedged  about  with  groves  of  black,  funereal 
cypresses.  Here  stands  the  i-^r<2^//6>,  which 
was  for  fifteen  centuries  the  abiding  place  of 
the  Ottoman  Emperors.  It  is  now  used  only 
on  state  occasions,  and  the  palace,  the  courts, 
and  the  innumerable  tenements  that  cover 
the  promontory  —  the  ground-plan  of  the 
seraglio  is  nearly  three  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence— are  battered,  dusty, and  out  of  repair. 

The  Sublime  Porte  is  singularly  ugly, and 
anything  but  sublime.  The  buildings  that 
cluster  about  the  several  courts  have  not, 
for  the  most  part,  the  slightest  pretension 
to  architectural  beauty,  or  even  dignity. 
The  second  court  is  flanked  by  a  row  of 
nine  kitchens,  looking  very  much  like  nine 
limekilns.  They  are  domed,  but  without 
chimneys,  so  the  smoke  passes  out  through 
a  hole  in  the  roof  Here  the  sultan  and 
his  court  consumed  annually  40,000  oxen; 
and  there  were  daily  brought  to  the  table 
200  sheep,  100  lambs,  10  calves,  200  hens, 
200  pairs  of  pullets,  100  pairs  of  pigeons, 
and  50  green  geese.  The  late  Sultan  Abd- 
ul-Aziz was  accustomed  to  feeding  his  fam- 
ily as  bountifully,  and  still  he  was  not 
happy!  In  the  stables  by  the  water  side  a 
thousand  horses  were  formerly  stalled,  and 
among  the  cannon  that  sweep  the  sea  and 
the  mouth  of  the  Bosporus  is  one  huge  old 
fellow  at  whose  hoarse  voice  Babylon  sur- 
rendered to  Sultan  Murad. 

The  chief  attraction  of  the  seraglio  is  the 
treasury.    Here,  in  a  chamber  by  no  means 
large,  is  gathered  treasures  such  as  one  reads    \ 
of  in  tales  oi genii.  The  actual  value  of  this 


The  Ave  Maria. 


367 


store  of  jewels  is  almost  beyond  conception. 
Each  sultan  seeks  to  exceed  his  predeces- 
sor in  the  richness  of  his  additions  to  the 
collection,  and  the  result  is  a  dazzling  but 
biot  very  impressive  array  of  theatrical- 
•  looking  properties,  that  might  just  as  well 
be  made  of  glass  and  tinsel — the  effect  upon 
the  spectator  would  be  as  pleasing.  Picture 
;o  yourself  a  carpet  crusted  with  pearls, 
any  of  them  as  large  as  sparrow  eggs;  a 
hrone  of  gold,  frosted  with  pearls;  draperies 
"or  the  horses  ridden  by  the  sultans,  eni- 
roidered  with  pearls  and  rubies;  a  cradle 
'coated  with  precious  stones;  inlaid  armor, 
jewelled  helmets,  sword-hilts — one  of  these 
is  decorated  with  fifteen  diamonds,  each 
one  as  large  as  the  top  of  a  man's  thumb; 
coffee  trays  of  ebony,  with  a  double  row 
of  enormous  diamonds  set  close  together; 
pipe-stems,  nargilehs^  sword-belts,  caskets, 
and  bushels  of  necklaces  of  the  most  splen- 
did description,  heaped  together  in  glass 
show-cases,  and  flashing  like  fire-flies  in  the 
dark.  The  most  costly  article  in  the  treas- 
ury is  a  toilet  table  of  lapis  lazuli^  and  other 
valuable  materials,  richly  inlaid  with  pre- 
cious stones  of  every  description.  The  pil- 
lars that  support  the  mirror  are  set  with 
diamonds;  the  stem  and  claws  of  the  table 
are  covered  with  diamonds,  emeralds,  ru- 
bies, carbuncles,  etc. ;  along  the  edge  of  the 
table  hangs  a  deep  fringe  of  diamonds,  with 
immense  solitaire  tassels.  The  whole  is  a 
gorgeous — bore. 

Multitudes  of  attendants  are  stationed 
through  the  apartment,  and  you  may  be  sure 
that  you  are  never  left  for  a  second  unob- 
served by  these  watchful  guardians  of  the 
treasure-house.  How  little  faith  has  the  in- 
fidel in  the  honesty  of  his  believing  brother! 
What  a  relief  it  is  to  withdraw  into  the 
Kiosk  of  Bagdad — the  private  library  of  the 
sultan — to  sit  within  eight  walls  that  close 
about  you  like  the  exquisite  panels  of  an 
ivory  or  tortoise-shell  fan,  under  a  dome  of 
rose- tint  and  gold  mosaic;  and, shutting  the 
]  doors  of  bronze,  inlaid  with  pearls,  against 
the  world,  one  realizes,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  how  pleasant  a  thing  it 
is  to  be  poor  but  honest!  On  the  shelves  of 


the  library  there  are  several  codices  brought 
from  the  collection  of  King  Matthias  Cor- 
vinus  at  Buda,  and  there  are  dainty  rolls 
and  folios  of  parchment  laid  away,  each  in 
its  separate  case,  and  all  looking  very  much 
as  if  they  were  not  often  disturbed. 

From  the  Kiosk  of  Bagdad  it  is  pleasant 
to  look  down  into  the  deep  garden  of  the 
hour  is  ^  sloping  to  the  swift  Bosporus,  and 
to  meditate  on  the  lights  of  the  harem  that 
have  suddenly  gone  out  forever,  quenched 
in  that  fatal  flood;  but,  thinking  on  the 
stifled  cries  and  the  slimy  shrouds  dragged 
down  into  the  pitiless  deep,  it  is  still  pleas- 
anter  to  rise  superior  to  the  situation,  fee 
the  custodian,  and  thank  Heaven  that  you 
are  not  a  houri. 

Among  the  Mosques. — The  City  of  the 
Sultan  has  three  Sundays  in  the  week,  so 
also  have  most  of  the  cities  of  the  East. 
One  observes  this  to  a  striking  degree  in  the 
bazaars  and  market-places.  On  Friday  your 
Moslem  goes  to  mosque;  he  shuts  up  shop 
and  gives  himself  to  prayer  and  meditation, 
to  coffee  and  the  nargileh^  among  the  tombs 
of  his  ancestors  or  on  the  shores  of  the  Sweet 
Waters.  On  Saturday,  which  is  the  Sab- 
bath, the  Jews  put  up  their  shutters,  visit 
the  synagogue,  and  enjoy  the  gossip  of  the 
cafes.  On  Sunday  the  Christians  go  to  Mass, 
and  seek  rational  recreation  in  their  best 
clothes  thereafter;  so  that  for  three  da}s  the 
business  of  the  town  is  somewhat  checked. 

The  mosques  are  never  crowded;  people 
are  continually  coming  and  going,  dropping 
their  slippers  at  the  threshold,  and  advanc- 
ing in  their  stocking- feet  toward  the  prayer- 
niche,  where  they  prostrate  themselves, 
stand,  kneel,  turn  their  heads  to  right  and 
left,  and  raise  their  hands  in  a  fashion  that 
is  so  mechanical  one  can  hardly  keep  serious 
until  the  sight  has  ceased  to  be  a  novelty. 

There  are  mosques  in  Stamboul  that  rival 
St.  Sophia  in  magnitude  and  splendor.  The 
Mosque  of  Suleiman  is  considered  one  of 
the  most  glorious  monuments  of  Osmanli 
architecture.  The  court  facing  the  entrance 
is  bordered  on  three  sides  by  colonnades 
supporting  three-and-twenty  exquisitely- 
fashioned  domes.  A  fountain  with  a  cupola 


368 


The  Ave  A/ana. 


StalUds  in  the  centre  of  the  court;  the  min- 
arets spring  from  the  four  corners  of  an 
•outer  court.  The  effect  is  singularly  chaste 
and  elegant.  Attached  to  this  mosque  are 
numerous  endowments — three  schools,  four 
•academies  for  the  four  sects  of  the  faithful, 
&nd  another  for  the  reading  of  the  Koran,  a 
SiSliool  of  medicine,  a  hospital,  a  kitchen 
for  the  poor,  a  resting-place  for  travellers, 
a  library,  a  fountain,  a  house  of  refuge  for 
strangers,  and  a  mausoleum.  Several  of  the 
imperial  mosques  are  as  richly  endowed. 
Mohammedan  charity  begins  at  mosque, 
and  all  good.  Mussulmans  are  very  much  at 
home  in  their  houses  of  prayer.  The  four- 
teen great  mosques  are  built  upon  the  self- 
same plan..  They  measure  225x205  feet, 
and  are  inclosed  on  the  entrance  side  by  a 
forecourt,  and  in  the  rear  by  a  garden,  or 
cemetery. 

The  Mosque  of  the  Doves. — Beside 
these  imperial  mosques  there  are  about  220 
others,  built  by  individuals  of  inferior  rank, 
and  300  or  more  chapels,  some  of  which  are 
chiefly  frequented  by  women.  The  Doves' 
Mosque,  or  the  Mosque  of  Bajazet  II.,  in 
Stainboul,  has  for  me  a  special  charm.  The 
building  was  completed  in  1 505.  The  court 
is  exceedingly  beautiful.  You  enter  by  gates 
elaborately  decorated  in  arabesque ;  the 
cloister  that  surrounds  the  court  is  inclosed 
by  a  range  of  columns  of  porphyry  and  verd- 
antiqtie^^Niih  capitals  of  white  marble  orna- 
mented in  arabesque.  In  the  centre  of  the 
court  is  a  marble  fountain  under  a  canopy, 
and  sheltered  by  a  cluster  of  fine  trees.  As 
you  enter  the  court  you  hear  the  roar  of 
wings,  and  for  a  moment  the  air  is  darkened 
with  the  sudden  flight  of  myriads  of  doves. 
These  birds,  the  offspring  of  a  pair  pur- 
chased from  a  poor  woman  by  Sultan  Baja- 
zet, and  presented  to  the  mosque,  are  as 
sacred  as  was  the  ibis  of  old.  A  grave  and 
reverend  fellow,  with  a  huge  turban,  sits 
under  the  cloister,  and  sells  grain  to  the 
faithful  and  the  fickle.  The  former  feed 
the  doves  for  charity;  the  latter,  for  fun. 

While  the  fountain  is  knee -deep  with 
swarming  birds,  and  the  trees  clogged  with 
them,  and  all  the  eaves  of  the  cloister  lined, 


and  even  the  high  galleries  of  the  slender 
minarets  not  un visited  by  these  feathered 
dervishes,  you  throw  a  handful  of  wheat 
into  the  court,  and,  like  a  thunder-cloud, 
the  whole  tribe  swoops  upon  you  with  the 
rush  and  the  roar  of  a  storm.  They  crowd 
one  another,  and  heap  themselves  together, 
and  stand  on  their  heads  in  their  eagerness 
to  get  a  morsel  of  grain.  In  a  moment  some 
one  enters  the  court,  and  the  birds  take 
flight,  stirring  the  wind  in  the  cloister,  and 
filling  the  air  with  soft- floating  down.  I 
almost  envy  the  placid  pleasure  that  the 
granger  in  the  turban  takes;  for  his  way  is 
easy  and  his  burden  light,  and  those  doves 
are  such  delightful  absurdities !  There  is 
his  neighbor,  against  the  next  column,  who 
sells  rosaries  and  perfumes;  and  there  is  also 
the  fellow  at  the  gate  who  cries  ' '  Sherbet ! ' ' 
and  clashes  his  brazen  cups  till  they  ring  like 
cymbals ;  and  there  are  loungers  from  dawn 
to  dark,  who  drop  in  to  see  the  doves  of  Ba- 
jazet plunge  into  the  court  like  an  avalanche 
of  dusky,  impurpled  snow,  and  wheel  out 
of  it  again,  a  winged  cloud  of  smoke. 

At  this  mosque  on  Fridays  there  is  a  dis- 
tribution of  bread  to  dogs,  and  the  hungry 
ones  come  from  all  parts  of  the  city  to  get 
their  portion;  but  just  how  long  this  ben- 
evolence will  be  possible  it  is  hard  to  state. 
With  the  exception  of  a  few  of  the  finer 
mosques,  the  ecclesiastical  endowments  are 
being  taken  forcible  possession  of  by  the 
Government.  The  Government  begins  with 
promising  to  pay  an  equal  income  to  the 
rightful  authorities,  but  this  promise  is  at 
first  only  partially  fulfilled,  and  then  delib- 
erately ignored. 

Sorcery. — Near  one  of  the  mosques — 
in  its  actual  shadow,  where  so  many  of  the 
faithful  find  noonday  rest  and  sleep— I  saw 
a  sorceress  revealing  her  mysteries  to  a 
Bashi-Bazouk.  This  hag,  who  might  have 
gone  on  as  a  witch  in  Macbeth^  and  been 
applauded  for  her  capital  make-up, — this 
lean  and  grinning  ancient  was  crouching 
on  all-fours,  and  studying  a  litter  of  shells, 
coins,  buttons,  broken  glass,  old  nails,  and 
other  rubbish  which  she  had  just  cast  from 
her  hand.    Out  of  the  chaos  she  spun  a  web 


The  Ave  Maria. 


369 


I 


of  fate  that  made  the  lad  who  was  involved 
in  it  fairly  shiver  with  delight.  Our  drago- 
man said  that,  on  the  whole,  her  revelations 
were  not  very  compromising.  She  foretold 
a  series  of  ordinary  adventures,  terminating 
in  a  final  return  to  the  parental  roof,  where 
love  and  a  full  cup,  and  the  usual  accesso- 
ries of  the  last  act  in  life's  comedy,  awaited 
that  Bashi-Bazouk — "Bless  you,  my  chil- 
dren!" (Curtain.)  A  few  idlers  gathered 
about  while  the  sorceress  grovelled  among 
her  enchanted  trinkets,  and  as  the  climax 
approached  she  threw  her  arms  about,  wi- 
dening the  circle  that  had  closed  in  about 
her.  I  believe  nothing  of  much  importance 
was  said  concerning  the  Eastern  question. 
That  Bashi-Bazouk  was  one  of  a  tribe  who 
are  called  "crack-brained,"  for  so  the  word 
may  be  literally  translated;  but  he  showed 
nothing  of  the  reputed  inhumanity  that 
has  made  the  name  terrible  in  the  mouths 
of  Christians.  Still ,  I  believe  that  the  Turks 
are  so  constituted,  mentally,  morally,  relig- 
iously, physically,  that  in  wartime,  if  you 
were  to  capture  a  Turk  and  behead  him  in 
the  cause  of  science,  you  would  discover 
that  his  body  "wriggles  until  sunset." 
(to  be  continued.) 


Vas  Insigne  Devotionis. 

mARY  the  Dawn,  but  Christ  the  perfect 
Day; 
Mary  the  Gate,  but  Christ  the  heavenly  Way. 

Mary  the  Root,  but  Christ  the  mystic  Vine; 
Mary  the  Grape,  but  Christ  the  sacred  Wine. 

Mary  the  Cornsheaf,  Christ  the  living  Bread; 
Mary  the  Rose-tree,  Christ  the  Rose  blood- red. 

Mary   the   Fount,  but  Christ   the   cleansing 

Flood; 
Mary  the  Chalice,  Christ  the  saving  Blood. 

Mary  the  Temple,  Christ  the  Temple's  I^ord; 
Mary  the  Shrine,  but  Christ  its  God  adored. 

Mary  the  Beacon,  Christ  the  Haven's  Rest; 
Mary  the  Mirror,  Christ  the  Vision  blest. 

Mary  the  Mother,  Christ  the  Mother's  Son: 
Both  ever  bless' d  while  endless  ages  run! 
— Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVII.— (Continued.) 

WAS  it  over?  Was  this  all?  If  so,  it  was 
a  commonplace  and  small  affair  to 
those  present,  who  had  seen  hundreds  of 
savage  beasts  from  the  jungle  and  the  desert 
fighting  together  there  in  the  arena;  who 
had  witnessed  the  gladiatorial  contests,  and 
beheld  Christians  torn  to  death  by  lions 
and  tigers.  No,  it  was  not  all :  a  postern  is 
opened;  the  wild  plaudits  are  hushed,  and 
a  woman's  voice,  singularly  clear  and  sweet, 
was  heard  floating  like  flute  notes  on  the 
air;  it  grew  more  distinct  and  near,  and  a 
beautiful,  dark- eyed  maid,  in  the  peasant 
dress  of  Spain,  her  arms  and  feet  bare,  her 
black,  silky  hair  bound  by  a  silver  fillet 
around  her  head,  falling  loose  over  her 
shoulders,  appeared  on  the  scene,  still  sing- 
ing a  wild  lay  of  her  native  valley. 

The  bull  was  standing,  head  down  la  h- 
ing  the  air  with  his  tail  —  not  spent,  but 
waiting,  his  fury  whetted  for  another  vic- 
tim— when  the  girl's  sweet  voice  reached 
him."  He  listened,  slowly  lifted  his  great 
head,  raised  his  bloodshot  eyes,  saw  her 
advancing  towards  him;  the  angry,  vibrant 
tail  drooped ;  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  reaching  out  her  arm  threw  it  across  his 
neck,  and  with  the  other  hand  smoothed  his 
grizzled  forehead  and  throbbing  nostrils, 
still  singing  her  peasant  song.  She  laid  her 
cheek  on  his  dusty,  sullen  face,  wiped  the 
bloody  froth  from  his  mouth,  and  with  gen- 
tle insistence  led  him  away  as  one  leads  a 
lamb. 

There  was  a  sentiment  in  this  unexpected 
finale  of  the  spectacle  which  somehow  took 
the  popular  heart  by  storm ;  a  roar  of  ap- 
plause filled  the  vast  walls  like  a  burst  of 
thunder;  even  the  Emperor  signified  his 
approval  by  sending  some  gold  coins  to  the 
Spanish  maid.  And  while  they  are  venting 
their  emotions  it  may  be  stated  that  her 
wild,  sweet  strain  was  not  an  incantation, 
nor  her  mastery  over  the  great  brute  due 


370 


The  Ave  Mar 


la. 


to  magic  arts,  as  many  thought,  but  to  the 
power  of  human  kindness;  for  she  had 
trained  and  cared  for  him  since  he  was  a 
weanling,  sheltered  and  fed  him  in  Winter, 
led  him  to  green  pastures  and  by  pleasant 
waters  in  Summer,  hung  garlands  of  wild 
flowers  on  his  horns,  and  been  his  good 
comrade  and  friend  all  the  time,  until  he 
obeyed  only  her,  and  in  his  ferocious  moods 
could  be  quelled  by  no  other  voice  than 
hers.  And  so  the  two,  bound  together  by 
this  strange  friendship,  had  been  persuaded 
by  certain  purveyors  of  novelties  for  the 
theatres  "in  Rome,  who  were  travelling  in 
Spain,  to  return  thither  with  them.  * 

"It  was  not  an  inter- act  after  all,  though 
rather  pretty  for  a  change.  Shall  we  wait 
to  see  the  chariot-races? ' '  said  Tullius,  po- 
litely suppressing  a  yawn. 

' '  I  must  beg  thee  to  excuse  me, ' '  replied 
Fabian.  "I  have  seen  enough  to-day  to 
satisfy  me.  Another  spectacle  would  oblit- 
erate, I  fear,  the  really  pleasant  fancies  left 
by  the  charming  one  we  have  just  wit- 
nessed. Ah!  I  see  that  bright  eyes  and  fair 
hands  are  already, inviting  thee.  Farewell, 
and  many  thanks  for  the  pleasant  hour." 

The  spectacle  had  been  a  living  sym- 
bolism to  Fabian,  and  he  wondered  if  the 
ferocious,  selfish,  brutal  world  might  not  be 
better  led  by  human  kindness  than  by  force 
and  the  shedding  of  blood;  if  yet  from 
some  distant  realm  a  pure,  simple,  virginal 
soul  might  not  appear,  chanting  hymns  of 
peace  to  subdue  to  sweet  submissiveness 
the  ungovernable,  tyrannical, and  cruel  pas- 
sions that  dominated  mankind.  Had  Rome 
sought  by  other  means  than  the  rack,  the 
sword,  the  flame,  to  win  the  Christians  from 
their  illusive  dementia  to  a  proper  sense  of 
what  they  owed  the  gods  and  the  Empire, 
how  different  might  have  been  the  results! 
He  cared  nothing  for  the  Christians;  the 
word  had  but  one  meaning  for  him  now — 
Nemesius  and  Claudia;  but  barbarity  of 
every  sort  was  supremely  disgusting  to  his 
refined  nature. 

Ah!  could  Fabian  only  have  believed  it, 

^  An  incident  like  the  one  described  was  wit- 
nessed in  Spain  by  a  traveller  of  our  times. 


the  virginal  soul  had  already  appeared ;  the 
hymn  of  good- will  and  peace  had  echoed 
through  the  midnight  skies  of  Judea  two 
hundred  and  fifty -eight  years  before,  to 
herald  the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Peace;  and 
the  only  ears  that  had  hearkened  to  the 
strain,  and  followed  whithersoever  it  led, 
were  the  despised  class  known  as  Chris- 
tians.   Would  he  ever  know? 

The  daily  current  of  life  glided  on 
smoothly  at  the  villa  on  the  Aventine,  al- 
though there  were  imperceptible  changes 
which  did  not  appear  on  the  surface.  The 
soft -eyed  little  antelope,  which  Fabian 
brought  from  the  Umbrian  hills  to  Claudia, 
had  become  perfectly  docile  to  her  tender 
care,  followed  her  when  she  walked,  gam- 
bolled around  her,  or  lay  contentedly  at  her 
feet  when  she  rested,  and  reposed  on  its 
silken  cushion  by  her  couch  when  she  slept. 
Its  gentleness,  its  grace,  and  the  tender  look 
of  its  large,  mild  eyes,  gave  her  pleasure,  and 
the  natural  kindness  she  had  for  all  dumb 
creatures  ripened  in  this  instance  to  affec- 
tion. Through  all  created  things,  animate 
and  inanimate,  her  heart  beat  responsive 
to  Him  who  created  them,  without  laborious 
effort  to  link  cause  and  effect  together,  but 
with  a  great,  innocent,  spontaneous  love, 
which  flowed  back  to  Him  from  whom,  she 
now  comprehended,  all  things  that  were 
had  proceeded. 

There  was  at  this  time  a  slight  change  in 
Zilla,  almost  imperceptible  at  first,  but  be- 
coming more  apparent.  When  first  brought 
face  to  face  with  Christianity  in  the  persons 
of  those  she  loved,  her  strong  soul  was 
shaken;  she  felt  that  all  she  had  ever  cher- 
ished as  most  sacred  was  being  outraged 
and  disrupted  by  an  incredible  delusion; 
but  after  the  first  shock  had  passed,  her  in- 
telligent mind  vaguely  suggested  to  her  to 
endeavor  to  discover  the  cause  and  reason 
of  the  potent  spell  which  the  new  religion 
exercised  over,  not  only  the  simple  and  ig- 
norant, but  the  learned,  the  distinguished- 
patricians,  heroes,  and  those  most  noted  for 
their  refinement  and  cultivation.  So  now 
when  Camilla  came  to  the  villa,  instead  of 
going  away  as  she  had  done  heretofore,  she 


The  Ave  Maria. 


371 


Temained  under  some  pretence  or  other,  and 
in  silence  listened  to  her  instructions  and 
her  conversation  with  Claudia. 
,  Camilla,  who  had  been  from  the  first  at- 
I  tracted  by  Zilla's  statuesque  beauty  and  un- 
studied dignity,  and  knowing  something  of 
her  history  and  her  long,  faithful  service, 
hoping  to  win  her  to  Christ,  always  be- 
haved graciously  to  her,  and  latterly  in  a 
•Spirit  of  quiet  friendliness,  which  Zilla 
found  impossible  to  resist.  But  Camilla's 
vigorous  words,  which,  not  being  addressed 
to  her,  she  could  not  with  propriety  answer, 
•sometimes  made  her  wince;  as  one  day,  al- 
most without  relevancy,  the  noble  lady  ex- 
claimed, with  fine  enthusiasm:  "Yes:  this 
holy  faith  taught  by  Jesus  Christ,  this  only 
true  religion  has  alone  been  able  to  mani- 
fest that  the  gods  of  the  nations  are  most 
impure  beings,  who  desire  to  be  thought 
:gods,  availing  themselves  of  the  names  of 
certain  defunct  souls,  or  the  appearance  of 
mundane  creatures,  and  with  proud  impu- 
rity rejoicing  in  things  most  base  and  in- 
famous as  though  in  divine  honors,  and 
envying  human  souls  their  conversion  to 
the  true  God!  *  Such  are  the  deceitful  dei- 
ties we  once  worshipped." 

The  words  graved  themselves  on  the 
mind  of  the  silent  woman,  as  the  speaker 
hoped  they  would;  but  Zilla  made  no  sign. 
Every  evening  Claudia  nestled  in  her 
arms  when  the  day  was  spent,  and  poured 
out  in  her  artless  way  the  fulness  of  her 
innocent  heart,  her  love  for  the  dear  Chris- 
tus^  and  all  that  Camilla  had  told  her  of 
His  wonderful  life,  from  His  nativity  to 
Calvary,  from  Calvary  to  heaven,  in  all  of 
which  was  blended  the  sinless  Virgin 
Mother — Advocata  Nostra — Her  joys.  Her 
sorrows,  which  no  other  sorrows  had  ever 
equalled.  She  told  her  of  the  angels,  the 
fair  ministering  spirits  of  God,  whom  He 
appointed  to  guard  the  souls  of  His  creat- 
ures from  evil;  and  she  never  wearied  of 
repeating  over  and  over  again,  with  every 
particular,  the  miracle  of  the  healing  of 
her  blind  eyes. 

*  St.  Augustine:  "  City  of  God." 


Zilla  took  it  all  to  heart  through  her 
love;  her  child  had  been  blind  from  her 
birth,  but  could  now  see — a  fact  which  no 
logic  or  sophistry  could  subvert  or  change ; 
but  she  was  far  from  being  prepared  to  as- 
sign the  result  to  the  Christus  as  a  divine 
power.  And  when  the  possibility  flashed 
across  her  mind,  like  a  flicker  of  lightning 
ovefa  darkened  sky,  that  all  claimed  by  the 
Christians  ought  indeed  be  true,  she  flung 
the  thought  from  her  as  she  would  have 
done  a  serpent;  for  with  it  came  a  vision 
of  torture  and  death  for  the  child  of  her 
heart,  which,  between  her  love  and  dread, 
nearly  drove  her  to  despair. 

It  was  one  of  Claudia's  greatest  pleasures 
to  go  every  morning  to  speak  to  the  poor, 
who  came  daily  to  the  villa  to  receive  alms. 
Followed  by  Zilla,  with  a  light  basket  con- 
taining white  bread  and  wine,  she  always 
carried  in  her  own  hands  delicacies  to  dis- 
tribute to  the  sick  and  aged.  While  passing 
among  them  one  day  like  a  ministering 
angel,  the  child  heard  two  women  talking 
to  each  other  of  friends  and  relatives  of 
their  own  who  had  suffered  for  Christ;  they 
spoke  of  Laurence  and  Hippolytus,  and 
their  glorious  testimony  in  the  face  of  tor- 
ture and  death.  A  shudder  passed  through 
her  tender  frame;  it  was  the  first  she  had 
heard  of  the  cruel  persecution ;  she  did  not 
quite  understand,  and  refrained  from  ques- 
tioning the  women,  who,  she  saw,  were 
weeping,  but  resolved  to  ask  her  father  and 
Camilla,  and  learn  the  truth  from  them. 
Zilla  had  also  heard  fragments  of  the  same 
kind  of  talk,  and  with  a  wrathful,  break- 
ing heart  she  insisted  on  Claudia's  coming 
away. 

Among  other  pensioners,  there  had  ap- 
peared one  day  a  lame,  bowed,  white- 
bearded  man;  his  manner  was  humble  and 
unobtrusive,  his  words  few.  He  was  a 
Christian,  he  said,  and  his  limbs  had  been 
broken  on  the  rack.  No  one  doubted  him, ' 
and  he  received  the  alms  given  him  with  a 
blessing  on  the  hand  that  bestowed  it.  He 
gleaned  from  his  companions  in  misfortune, 
and  without  asking  a  question,  information 
of  the  beautiful,  golden-haired  child  whom 


37^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


he  saw  so  liberally  dispensing  gifts  and 
sweet,  cheering  words  to  all,  and  how  she 
had  been  born  blind,  but  had  miraculously 
teceived  her  sight  through  the  prayeis  of 
the  holy  Pope  Stephen. 

The  next  time  he  appeared,  he  thanked 
all  for  their  kindness,  and  said  he  would 
not  come  again,  as  he  was  going  South  to 
relatives  who  had  offered  to  provide  for 
him.  Of  their  little  they  gave  him  part,  and 
promised  their  prayers  for  his  safety  and 
eternal  consolation,  and  he  went  away  fol- 
lowed by  their  blessings. 

The  lame  beggar  was  the  Cypriot,  the  spy 

of  Laodice. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Souvenirs  of   Milan. 


BY   OCTAVIA   HENSEL. 


ON  the  road  leading  to  the  Naviglio  of 
Milan,  the  grand  canal  which  connects 
the  Ticino  with  the  River  Po,  we  find  an 
altar  where  one  of  the  noblest  life-histories 
is  told, — an  altar  which  contains  one  of, the 
most  important  records  of  the  ecclesiastical 
costume  of  the  8th  century. 

The  church  in  which  this  altar  stands 
was  built  in  387,  by  the  great  St.  Ambrose, 
Bishop  of  Milan,  and  dedicated  to  SS.  Ger- 
vasius  and  Protasius,  martyred  during  the 
Neronian  persecution,  in  the  year  67.  Pos- 
terity, however,  has  transferred  the 'dedica- 
tion to  its  founder,  and  called  the  church 
Sant'  Ambrogio.  It  is  the  oldest  ecclesias- 
tical building  in  Milan,  and  utterly  dif- 
ferent from  all  others.  A  noble  entrance 
gateway  admits  us  to  an  atrium^  or  clois- 
tered court,  which  in  olden  times  of  strict- 
est Church  rule  the  catechumens  were 
forbidden  to  pass.  This  court  consists  of  an 
oblong  square,  surrounded  by  arcades,  six 
on  either  side,  and  three  on  each  end.  These 
arcades  are  supported  on  columns,  the  cap- 
itals of  which  are  elaborately  sculptured  in 
the  forms  of  early  Christian  art.  The  style 
is  the  so-called  Lombardic,  or  round-col- 
umned Romanesque. 


Fragments  of  fresco  on  the  walls  of  this 
atrium^  slabs,  tombs,  urns,  and  ruined  al- 
tars, are  grouped  with  reverent  care;  but 
the  most  interesting  of  all  relics  are  the  two 
cypress- wood  panels  from  the  gates  of  the 
Basilica  Portiana, — gates  which  St.  Am- 
brose closed  against  the  Emperor  Theodo- 
sius  after  his  inhuman  slaughter  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Thessalonica. 

We  enter  the  church,  and  find  the  interior 
as  peculiar  in  its  construction  as  the  atrium 
approach.  It  was  originally  divided  into 
three  square  portions  by  two  semicircular 
arched  openings,  and  small  arches  above, 
forming  a  triforium^  or  "dark-story."  A 
fourth  square,  into  which  the  nave  leads, 
covered  by  the  octagonal  lantern- tower, 
terminates  in  a  tribune,  between  which  and 
the  nave  the  high  altar  stands,  and  over  it 
a  baldacchino^  supported  on  four  columns  of 
red  porphyry  taken  from  a  Temple  of  Jupiter 
which  once  stood  on  Lake  Maggiore.  On 
either  side  of  the  nave  are  two  columns  of 
granite;  the  one  on  the  left  upholds  a  ser- 
pent of  bronze,  representing  the  Serpent 
of  the  Desert  fashioned  by  Moses.  It  was 
given  to  the  Archbishop  Arnulphus  by  the 
Emperor  of  Constantinople,  in  the  year 
looi.  The  column  on  the  opposite  side 
upholds  a  bronze  cross  of  the  9th  century. 
The  pulpit  —  a  very  ancient  structure  — 
stands  on  seven  circular  arches,  and  under 
this  pulpit,  within  the  arched  circle,  is  a 
well-preserved  Christian  sarcophagus,  said 
to  be  the  tomb  of  Stilicho.  Near  the  en- 
trance to  the  choir  are  two  marble  slabs, 
which  cover  the  tombs  of  Archbishop  An- 
spertus,  and  the  Emperor  Louis  11. ,  who 
died  in  the  year  875. 

The  high  altar  stands  on  the  spot  where 
St.  Augustine  was  baptized  by  St.  Ambrose, 
and  where  the  kings  of  Lombardy  used  to 
be  crowned  with  their  iron  crown.  *  The 
front  of  the  altar  f— formed  of  plates  of  solid 
gold,  the  sides  and  back  of  silver,  richly 
enamelled  and  set  with  precious  stones — is 

*  This  crown,  now  kept  at  Monza,  is  of  gold, 
but  has  inside  an  iron  rim  formed  from  the  nails 
of  our  Blessed  Saviour's  Cross. 

t  Called  thepaliotfo. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


373 


one  of  the  most  remarkable  monuments  of 
art  which  the  Middle  Ages  have  left  to  us. 
The  front,  in  three  divisions,  containing 
smaller  compartments,  is  filled  with  em- 
blems of  Our  Blessed  Lord,  the  Evangelists 
and  Apostles,  while  the  sides  represent  SS. 
Ambrose,  Gervasius  and  Protasius,  with 
Archangels,  and  the  martyrs  who  suffered 
with  SS.  Felix  and  Nazarus  at  Milan,  in 
the  year  304. 

On  the  rear  portion  of  the  altar  are  vari- 
ous scenes  from  the  life  of  St.  Ambrose,  from 
the  earliest  record  of  his  childhood  —  his 
sleep  in  the  garden  of  his  father's  palace 
at  Aries,  with  the  bees  (emblem  of  future 
loquence)  swarming  around  him — to  the 
apparition  of  the*  angel  calling  St.  Honorat, 
Bishop  of  Vercelli,  to  administer  the  Viati- 
cum to  the  Saint  on  his  death-bed.*  Below 
is  altar  is  a  silver  urn  which  contains  the 
ones  of  SS.  Gervasius  and  Protasius.    St. 
Ambrose  also  rests  beneath  the  altar  in  a 
lain  marble  tomb,  yellow  with  time,  and 
paz-hued  in  the  flickering  flame  of  the 
olden   lamp  forever  burning  before   the 
hrine. 
The  eastern  apse,  behind  the  high  altar, 
the  oldest  and  most  unaltered  portion  of 
he  edifice.   The  vaulted  ceiling  is  covered 
ith  mosaic  figures  on  a  gold  ground,  a 
uperb  specimen  of  the  Byzantine  style  of 
rchitecture.   The  inscriptions  beneath  the 
gures  of  Our  Saviour,  SS.  Protasius,  Ger-* 
vasius,  Marcellina,  and  Candida,  are  partly 
in  Greek  and  partly  in  Latin.   In  the  centre 
is  a  marble  throne  called  the  Chair  of  St. 
Ambrose.    It  is  the  primitive  throne  of  the 
Archbishops  of  Milan.    From  this  apse  we 
descend  to  the  crypt  under  the  choir — a 
crypt   containing  twenty -six  red  marble 
columns,  with  black  capitals  in  the  Doric 
style, — and  opening  from  this  crypt  is  the 
altar  and  shrine  of  St.  Gaudentius. 

The  Chapel  of  San  Satiro,  the  east  end  of 
the  south  aisle,  was,  in  the  time  of  St.  Am- 
brose, the  Basilica  of  Fausta,  but  afterwards 
received  the  name  of  San  Vittore  in  Ciello 


*  This  altar  was  given  to  the  church  by  An- 
gilbertus  IL  about  the  year  835. 


d'Oro,*  from  the  mosaic  on  its  ceiling.  In 
this  chapel  are  several  strange -looking 
marble  slabs,with  emblems  and  inscriptions 
like  the  tombs  of  the  early  Christians  in  the 
Catacombs.  The  church  is  too  dark  to  show 
its  pictures  to  advantage,  but  among  the 
treasures  of  the  sacristy  are  many  valuable 
missals  and  illuminated  choir- books.  An 
ostensorium  in  the  form  of  a  campanile, 
given  by  Azzo  Visconti,  is  a  superb  speci- 
men of  the  silversmith's  art.  The  chief 
treasures, however,  are  the  reliquaries  which 
contain  the  bones  of  St.  Ambrose.  One  of 
these  is  a  small  cross  used  in  giving  the 
blessing  of  St.  Ambrose. 

The  last  Mass,  said  at  noon,  was  ended, 
when,  guided  by  the  kind  sacristan,  we  de- 
scended through  the  crypt  to  the  tomb  of 
the  martyrs  in  whose  memory  the  church 
had  been  raised.  We  had  seen  the  treas- 
ures of  the  sacristy,  and  expressed  most 
earnestly  a  wish  that  we  might  be  present 
when  the  blessing  of  St.  Ambrose  was 
given;  but  we  had  no  idea  that  special 
blessing  was  attainable  except  "on  certain 
festivals.  While  kneeling  beside  the  mar- 
tyrs' tomb,  lost  in  meditation  upon  the 
deeds  of  the  great  founder  of  the  church,  an 
old  priest  approached  us. 

"And  you,  my  children,  would  you  wish 
to  receive  blessing  with  this  cross  of  St: 
Ambrose?"  he  said,  showing  us  the  jew- 
elled crucifix.    "But  why?" 

"To  remind  us  to  be  brave  and  do  our 
duty,  irrespective  of  persons,  as  faithfully 
as  did  St.  Ambrose,"  replied  one  of  our 
number. 

'  Brave  enough  to  rebuke  imperial  wrong- 
doing, if  occasion  demanded,"  said  an- 
other. 

"Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit, 
my  child, ' '  said  the  good  Father,  as  he  came 
still  nearer  with  the  saintly  relic.  Standing 
beside  the  one  who  had  last  spoken,  he  laid 
the  crucifix  against  her  forehead.  "Only 
she  that  ruleth  herself  may  venture  to  con- 
trol others;  to  this  end,  my  child,  I  will 
bless  you." 

*  St.  Victor  in  Golden  Heaven. 


374 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  few  words  spoken  in  Latin,  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross  made  upon  forehead,  lips,  and 
breast,  the  precious  relics  pressed  upon  our 
lips  as  we  murmured  "Amen,"  and  then 
priest,  acolyte,  and  sacristan  withdrew, 
leaving  us  to  make  thanksgiving  at  the 
martyrs'  tomb. 


A   Modern   St.  John   Nepomucene. 


TPIE  Nacional^  of  Lima,  relates  the 
martyrdom  of  another  St.  John  Ne- 
pomucene, in  the  person  of  Father  Peter 
Marielux,  of  the  Clerks  Regular,  Ministers 
of  the  Sick.  Father  Marielux  was  military 
chaplain  in  the  army  commanded  by  the 
Brigadier  Rodil,  in  the  castle  known  as  that 
of  King  Philip.  The  narrative  states  that 
after  the  military  prestige  of  Spain  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  battle  of  Ayacucho, 
and  Callao  was  besieged  by  the  victors,  the 
good  priest  would  not  abandon  Don  Rodil. 

In  1825, after  nine  months  of  siege,  owing 
to  default  of  provisions  and  the  prevalence 
of  the  scurvy,  discontent  and  discourage- 
ment were  rife  in  the  garrison,  and  rumors 
of  conspiracy  were  whispered  about.  On 
September  23d  the  commanding  brigadier 
received  formal  warning  that  at  nine  o'clock 
that  night  there  would  be  an  organized  re- 
volt, headed  by  Commandant  Montero,  the 
most  influential  of  the  lieutenants  of  Rodil; 
and  in  this  mutiny  his  most  trusted  confi- 
dants were  all  compromised. 

Rodil,  without  an  instant's  delay,  ar- 
rested all  the  accused ;  but  neither  threats 
nor  torture  could  wring  from  any  of  the 
party  the  slightest  information — all  obsti- 
nately denying  the  existence  of  the  alleged 
conspiracy.  To  cut  matters  short,  the  Gov- 
ernor then  decided  to  put  to  death  the  en- 
tire number,  innocent  and  guilty,  ordering 
them  to  be  shot  at  nine  o'clock  that  night — 
the  very  hour  at  which  the  conspirators  had 
proposed  to  take  his  life. 

*' Chaplain, "said  Rodil  to  Father  Ma- 
rielux, '4t  is  now  six  o'clock;  within  three 
hours  your  paternity  must  confess  all  these 
insurgents." 


So  saying,  he  quitted  the  casemate,  and 
at  the  appointed  hour  the  thirteen  culprits 
were  in  the  presence  of  God. 

Notwithstanding  this  most  rigorous  pun- 
ishment, Rodil  did  not  feel  secure.  "Who 
knows,"  he  reflected,  "if  I  have  not  inad- 
vertently spared  the  lives  of  some  other 
conspirators,  possibly  even  more  dangerous 
than  those  who  were  shot?  I  can  not  rest 
easy.  The  confessor  must  certainly  know 
all  about  the  matter —  Ho,  there!  call  the 
chaplain." 

The  latter  came,  and  was  thus  addressed 
by  Rodil: 

"  Father,  without  doubt  those  wretches 
revealed  to  you  in  confession  all  their  plans, 
as  well  as  the  elements-  on  which  they 
counted  for  success.  I  must  know  all  these 
facts,  and,  in  the  king's  name,  I  order  your 
reverence  to  tell  me  everything,  omitting 
neither  jiames  nor  details." 

"General,"  answered  Father  Marielux, 
* '  you  demand  of  me  an  impossibility.  I  will 
never  sacrifice  the  salvation  of  my  soul. by 
revealing  the  secrets  of  my  penitents,  were 
it  even  imposed  on  me  by  the  king  himself, 
whom  God  preserve." 

The  Brigadier,  scarlet  with  rage,  rushed 
at  the  priest,  and.  shaking  him  furiously  by 
the  arm,  exclaimed: 

"Tell  me  all,  or  1  will  have  you  shot!" 

Father  Marielux  replied,  with  truly  evan- 
gelical serenity:  "If  God  desires  my  mar- 
tyrdom. His  holy  will  be  done.  The  minister 
of  the  Altar  can  make  revelations  to  no  one 
whomsoever. ' ' 

"You  will  not  tell,  then?"  resumed  Ro- 
dil. "Traitor  to  your  king,  your  country, 
your  flag,  and  your  superior!" 

"I  am  faithful  both  to  my  king  and  to 
my  flag — none  more  so,  though  I  say  it. 
But  no  one  can  force  me  to  be  a  traitor  to 
God.    I  am  forbidden  to  obey  you." 

Rodil  hastily  threw  open  the  door,  and 
shouted:  "Ho!  Captain  Iturralde,  bring 
hither  four  musketeers,  with  loaded  mus- 
kets."   And  the  four  quickly  appeared. 

In  the  casemate  where  this  memorable 
colloquy  was  held  were  several  large  cases, 
one  measuring  about  two  perches. 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


375 


Kneel,  friar!"  cried  the  enraged  Gen- 


i^ral. 

I  And  the  priest,  as  if  foreseeing  that  the 
^ase  was  ready  for  his  burial,  knelt  beside  it. 
' '  Load !  Take  aim ! ' '  commanded  Rodil. 
■And  turning  towards  his  victim,  he  said,  in 
imperious  tones:  "For  the  last  time,  in  the 
king's  name,  I  order  you  to  make  the  re- 

ruired  revelations." 
"And,  in  the  Name  of  God,  I  refuse  to 
speak,"  answered  the  religious,  in  a  weak 
but  calm  voice. 

"Fire!"  shouted  Rodil. 

A  volley,  a  moan,  and  Father  Peter  Ma- 
rielux,  illustrious  martyr  of  religion  and  of 
duty,  fell  dead,  pierced  to  the  heart  by  mus- 
ket balls. 

Further  details  inform  us  that  the  Fa- 
thers Ministers  of  the  Sick,  of  the  Mother- 
House  of  the  Order  in  Rome,  have  now  in 
their  possession  an  authentic  letter,  recently 
written  by  one  Signor  Gardillo,  wherein  it 
is  stated,  on  the  testimony  of  the  relatives 
of  the  martyr  and  of  other  persons  present 
at  his  death,  that  Father  Peter  Marielux 
was  first  encoffined  alive,  then  shot,  and 
finally  buried  without  his  death  being  fairly 
ascertained;  furthermore,  that  an  exact 
picture  of  the  martyrdom  has  been  painted 
by  Signor  Augusto  Rinaldi. 


Advantages  of  the  Holy  Rosary. 


BY  the  recitation  of  the  Apostles'  Creed, 
and  the  three  vocal  prayers — the  ' '  Our 
Father, "  the  "  Hail  Mary, ' '  and  the  ' '  Glory 
be  to  the  Father," — of  which  the  Rosary  is 
composed,  we  petition  for  the  most  excellent 
and  necessary  virtues  of  a  Christian  life. 
These  are: 

ist.  Faith,  without  which  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  please  God.  We  make  a  profession 
of  this  virtue  by  the  recital  of  the  Apostles' 
Creed.  The  three  principal  mysteries,  a 
knowledge  of  which  is  absolutely  necessary 
for  salvation,  are  here  expressly  formulated ; 
and  all  the  other  articles  of  our  holy  creed 
are  contained  in,  "I  believe  in  the  Holy 
Catholic  Church." 


2d.  Hope.  The  two  objects  of  this  virtue 
— viz.,  grace  in  this  world,  and  glory  in  the 
next — are  expressed  in  the  four  last  articles 
— "I  believe  in  the  communion  of  saints, 
the  forgiveness  of  sins,  the  resurrection  of 
the  body,  and  life  everlasting." 

3d.  Charity.  This  theological  virtue  — 
God  being  its  object — is  practised  by  the 
recital  of  the  "Our  Father,"  and  is  an  act 
of  perfect  charity,  since  we  pray  that  His 
glory  may  be  spread  over  the  whole  world, 
that  He  may  reign  over  all  hearts  by  His 
grace,  and  that  our  will  may  in  all  things 
be  conformable  to  His.  The  virtue  of  char- 
ity towards  our  neighbor  is  also  practised  in 
this  prayer;  for  we  can  not  pronounce  the 
words  Chir  Father  without  including  our 
fellow -beings  in  the  petitions  which  we 
offer  to  our  common  Father,  and  thus  mak- 
ing the  act  perfect  by  praying  sincerely  that 
God  would  pardon  us  as  we  pardon  others. 

4th.  The  most  excellent  of  moral  virtues 
— that  of  Religion,  by  which  we  render  to 
God  and  His  saints  their  respective  wor- 
ship. Now,  by  the  "Our  Father"  and  the 
"Glory  be  to  the  Father"  we  render  to 
God  the  worship  /«/r/<3;,  which  is  due  to  Him 
alone;  and  by  the  "Hail  Mary"  we  honor 
all  the  angels  and  the  saints  in  the  person 
of  their  August  Queen.  The  angels  and  all 
the  elect  who  form  Her  celestial  court  de- 
light in  this  prayer,  and  thus  we  unite  our 
homages  to  those  which  they  themselves 
offer  in  heaven. 

Besides  the  occasion  of  practising  these 
great  virtues,  the  Holy  Rosary  is  to  us  an 
inexhaustible  source  from  which  to  draw 
all  those  graces  which  are  necessary  for  the 
proper  fulfilment  of  our  other  duties.  We 
have  a  positive  promise  of  these  graces,  on 
condition  that  we  ask  for  them.  And  how 
can  this  be  done  more  fervently  than  by 
repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  "Hail 
Mary ' '  ?  The  Father  can  refuse  nothing  to 
this  prayer  of  His  own  beloved  Son,  nor 
can  the  Son  be  indifferent  to  our  appeals  to 
His  Mother.  He  can  refuse  nothing — no, 
nothing  that  is  conducive  to  the  salvation 
of  our  souls;  for  if  we  ask  anything  which 
God  sees  would  be  detrimental  thereto,  we 


376 


The  Ave  Maria. 


transgress  the  limits  of  the  promise,  and  are 
not  entitled  to  a  hearing;  because  whatever 
is  asked  or  given  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ  must  be  to  our  advantage;  and  God 
loves  us  too  dearly  not  to  pity  our  ignorance 
and  refuse  whatever  we  ask  to  the  contrary. 

Among  those  graces  for  which  we  fer- 
vently pray  there  is  one  especially  precious, 
truly  inestimable, — one  which  will  confirm 
us  forever  in  the  friendship  of  God,  and 
ensure  to  us  the  possession  of  eternal  hap- 
piness— a  holy  death.  The  Rosary  provides 
us  with  the  surest  means  of  obtaining  this, 
since  by  it  our  lips  appeal  one  hundred  and 
fifty  times  for  the  powerful  assistance  of  the 
Mother  of  God  at  our  passage  into  eternity. 
If  we  are  faithful  to  this  pious  practice,  at 
the  end  of  a  few  years  we  shall  have  a  mil- 
lion of  "Hail  Marys"  to  accompany  us 
beyond  the  grave.  What  a  motive  of  confi- 
dence! 

Finally,  in  the  devotion  of  the  Holy  Ro- 
sary we  have  an  immense  treasure,  which 
the  Sovereign  Pontiffs  have  successively 
augmented,  and  from  which  we  can  plente- 
ously  draw  in  order  to  liquidate  the  temporal 
debts  of  our  sins. 


The   Pilgrimage  of  Lough   Derg. 

Sacerdos  Peregri?iatus,  in  the  London  Universe. 

THE  ancient  and  renowned  sanctuary  of 
Lough  Derg  is  an  island  on  a  wild  but 
beautiful  lake,  hidden  among  the  hills  of  Don- 
egal. It  is  known  as  the  Purgatory  of  St. 
Patrick.  Whether  St.  Patrick  ever  visited  the 
island  is  a  disputed  question;  but  while  the 
weight  of  authority  asserts  he  did,  it  is  beyond 
all  doubt  that  he  placed  St.  Dabheoc,  one  of 
his  disciples,  over  a  church  there;  and  it  was 
the  austerities  practised  by  this  servant  of 
God  that  gave  to  it  the  character,  which  clings 
to  it  still,  of  a  place  of  prayer  and  penance. 
From  the  time  of  St.  Dabheoc  until  now  there 
has  been  no  interruption,  unless  for  a  very 
short  period,  in  the  stream  of  pilgrims  from 
far  and  near  to  this  holy  retreat;  and  every 
year  from  June  ist  until  the  Feast  of  the  As- 
sumption of  Our  Lady  (August  15th)  hun- 
dreds of  pious  Catholics  are  to  be  found 
engaged  in  its  exercises. 


The  pilgrimage  of  Lough  Derg  always  oc- 
cupied the  foremost  place  amongst  the  many 
pilgrimages  that  have  existed  in  Ireland,  and 
was  looked  upon  as  the  national  pilgrimage 
of  that  country.  Its  fame  was  in  nowise  con- 
fined to  Ireland,  for  there  are  records  preserved 
of  the  visits  of  many  distinguished  pilgrims 
from  the  Continent.  "There  was  a  time," 
says  Malone, "  when  the  pilgrimage  to  Lough 
Derg  was  scarcely  less  famous  than  that  to  the 
shrine  of  St.  James  at  Compostella,  in  Spain." 
It  had  been  said  that  Dante's  Purgatorio  was 
founded  on  Henry  of  Sal  trey's  account  of 
Lough  Derg;  Ariosto  refers  to  the  pilgrimage 
in  Orlando  Furioso;  Calderon  wrote  a  drama 
on  it — Purgatorio  de  San  Patricio;  and  Bene- 
dict Xin.,  while  still  a  Cardinal,  delivered  a 
sermon  in  praise  of  its  penitential  spirit. 

The  pilgrimage,  or  "station,"  as  it  was 
called,  extends  over  three  days,  during  which 
time  the  pilgrim  observes  a  strict  fast,  taking 
each  day  only  some  black  tea  and  dry  bread, 
and  occasionally  a  cupful  of  water  from  the 
lake,  boiled,  and  sweetened  with  a  little  sugar. 
This  last  is  known  among  the  pilgrims  as  the 
'  *  wine ' '  of  Lough  Derg.  The  penances  pecu- 
liar to  this  pilgrimage  are  as  follows:  A  visit 
to  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  St.  Patrick's 
Church;  one  "Our  Father,"  "Hail  Mary," 
and  Creed  at  St.  Patrick's  Cross,  outside  the 
same  church;  three  "Our  Fathers,"  "Hail 
Marys,"  and  one  Creed  at  St.  Bridget's  Cross, 
at  which  also,  with  back  turned  to  it,  and  with 
arms  outstretched,  the  pilgrim  three  times  re- 
nounces the  devil,  the  world,  and  the  flesh; 
seven  circuits  of  St.  Patrick's  Church,  the 
pious  suppliant  repeating  in  each  circuit  a  dec- 
ade of  the  Rosary,  adding  at  the  end  a  Creed. 

The  pilgrim  next  proceeds  to  the  ' '  cells, ' '  or 
"beds,"  six  in  number.  These  are  the  ruins 
of  the  cells  once  occupied  by  saints,  and  are 
situated  on  a  slope  in  the  centre  of  the  island. 
They  are  circular  in  shape,  with  openings  for 
entrance  and  exit.  Round  each  of  these  the 
pilgrim  goes  three  times,  saying  three  "Our 
Fathers,"  "Hail  Marys,"  and  one  Creed;  and 
these  prayers  he  repeats  kneeling  at  the  en- 
trance, in  going  three  times  round  the  inside, 
and  at  the  crucifix  in  the  centre.  He  then 
goes  to  the  water's  edge,  and  there  says,  stand- 
ing, five  "Our  Fathers,"  "Hail  Marys,"  and 
one  Creed,  and  the  same  on  his  knees.  Return- 
ing, he  says  at  St.  Patrick's  Cross  one  "Our 
Father,"  "Hail   Mary,"  and   Creed;    in  St. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


377 


Patrick's  Church,  five  "Our  Fathers,"  "Hail 
Marys,"  and  one  Creed,  for  the  Pope's  inten- 
tion, and  concludes  the  first  station  by  reciting 
five  decades  of  the  Rosary.  All  this  is  done 
three  times  each  day,  and  occupies  from  an 
hour  to  an  hour  and  a  half. 

The  bells  on  the  campanile  surmounting 
the  height  down  which  the  ' '  beds ' '  slope,  call 
the  pilgrims  to  St.  Patrick's  Church  at  six 
o'clock  each  morning  for  Mass,  at  midday  for 
visit  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  spiritual 
reading,  at  six  in  the  evening  for  prayers  and 
sermon,  and  at  nine  for  Stations  of  the  Cross. ' 
After  Stations  of  the  Cross,  on  the  evening  of 
the  first  day,  the  pilgrim  enters  into  * '  prison ' ' ; 
that  is,  he  goes  into  St.  Patrick's  Church,  to 
remain  there  all  night,  keeping  watch  before 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  saying  the  prayers 
•of  the  "stations"  for  the  second  day.  The 
second  day  is  thus  kept  free  for  the  prepara- 
tion and  making  of  confession,  and  the  prep- 
aration for  Holy  Communion,  which  is  re- 
ceived on  the  morning  of  the  third  day.  If  the 
pilgrim's  time  is  limited,  he  may  perform  the 
whole  station  in  such  way  as  to  include  the 
■day  of  arrival  and  the  day  of  departure  within 
the  three  days  required;  that  is,  he  may  arrive 
on  the  island  in  time  to  perform  the  stations 
of  the  first  day  before  nightfall,  enter  the 
"prison"  on  the  night  of  that  day,  on  the 
second  day  do  two  stations  of  those  for  the 
third  day, and  so  be  enabled  to  leave  early  next 
morning.  In  this  case,  however,  the  pilgrim 
must ' '  take  his  fast  in  with  him ' '  and  * '  take 
his  fast  out  with  him";  that  is,  he  must  ob- 
serve the  fast  on  the  day  he  comes  and  the 
day  he  leaves,  wherever  he  may  be.  All  this  is 
done  by  the  pilgrims  barefooted,  and  in  the 
case  of  the  men  bareheaded.  The  path  round 
the  church  and  ' '  beds ' '  is  for  the  most  part 
over  rough  rocks  and  pebbles. 

Many  set  out  with  the  feeling  that  they  will 
never  be  able  to  undergo  these  severe  exer- 
cises, but  this  feeling  soon  departs  when  they 
have  once  set  foot  on  the  island,  and  begun 
its  station.  Nowhere  else  will  they  behold 
such  a  sight.  Persons  of  both  sexes  and  of 
different  states  of  life — priests  and  divinity 
|stu dents,  sometimes  even  bishops,  members 
of  the  legal,  medical,  military,  and  other  pro- 
fessions; ladies  of  gentle  birth  and  refined 
education,  and  the  pious  poor  generally;  men 
and  women  from  districts  in  Ireland  far  apart, 
rom  England,  Scotland,  America  (there  have 


been  this  year  from  America  alone  nearly  five 
hundred  pilgrims),  and  even  Australia  and 
New  Zealand, — all  moved  by  the  same  feel- 
ings of  mortification  and  prayer,  piety  and 
penance,  cheerfully'  performing  the  severe  ex- 
ercises of  the  place,  seeking  no  miraculous 
cures  for  the  body,  but  striving  by  the  grace 
of  God  to  heal  the  wounds  of  their  souls,  and 
lay  the  foundation  of  future  holy  lives. 

Surely  the  pilgrimage  of  I^ough  Derg  is 
unique  and  very  edifying  Young  persons  of 
both  sexes  come  here  to  pray  for  a  religious 
vocation,  or,  it  may  be,  for  the  blessing  of  God 
upon  their  approaching  nuptials;  the  mother 
to  pray  for  the  happiness  of  son  or  daughter 
in  America;  the  son  or  daughter  to  pray  for 
the  repose  of  a  parent's  soul;  the  devout 
Christian  to  make  thanksgiving  for  some 
blessing  received,  or  petition  for  some  blessing 
desired;  the  holy  to  make  advance  in  virtue; 
the  penitent  to  make  atoneriient  for  past  sins; 
and,  not  unfrequently,  the  aged  to  make  prep- 
aration for  a  dissolution  that  can  not  be  far  off. 

Away  from  the  world,  lonely  among  the 
hills,  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake,  drawing  to  its 
rocky  shore  thousands  of  Christians  from  all 
parts  of  the  English-speaking  world  to  take 
part  in  spiritual  exercises  so  diflicult  to  the 
world,  this  holy  island  is  a  revelation.  It  is 
here  the  earnest  preacher  will  behold  the  re- 
alization, striking  and  complete,  of  the  divine 
command  to  do  penance;  the  pastors  of  the 
parishes  in  the  country  surrounding  are  ever 
ready  to  testify  to  the  abiding  character  of  its 
results.  The  pessimist,  ever  crying  out  about 
the  decadence  of  faith  and  the  disappearance 
of  piety,  will  be  obliged  to  confess  that  there 
is  hope  for  the  world  while  such  a  place  is 
frequented  by  so  many  pious  Christians,  pray- 
ing not  merely  for  themselves,  but  also  for  the 
world;  the  effect  is  not  only  beneficial  to  the 
pilgrim,  but  is  even  encouraging  to  the  pious 
observer.  .  .  . 

It  is  well  remembered  how  the  late  Father 
Dalgairns,  when  making  the  pilgrimage,  asked 
the  prayers  of  his  fellow-pilgrims  for  the  con- 
version of  an  English  statesman;  these  very 
soon  after  had  the  gratification  of  hearing  that 
the  Marquis  of  Ripon  had  been  received  into 
the  Church.  I^et  us  hope  that  the  Sanctuary 
of  Ivough  Derg  may  always  be  a  home  of 
prayer  for  the  restoration  in  England,  and  the 
flourishing  continuance  in  Ireland,  of  our  most 
holy  Faith. 


378 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Much  has  been  said  and  written  of  late 
against  the  Jews,  still  none  can  deny  that  there 
are  many  among  them  who  by  their  noble 
lives  put  to  shame  many  a  Christian.  Foremost 
amongst  these  was  the  late  Baroness  James 
de  Rothschild,  widow  of  the  founder  of  the 
French  branch  of  that  powerful  financial  dy- 
nasty. Her  death,  at  the  age  of  82,  has  caused 
mourning  far  outside  her  own  family.  Her 
charities  were  princely,  and  were  not  confined 
to  those  of  her  own  persuasion:  no  one  ever 
applied  to  her  in  vain.  Her  funeral  was  very 
simple.  She  forbade  either  flowers  to  be  laid 
on  her  coffin,  or  orations  to  be  made  over  it. 
Five  thousand  persons  followed  the  remains 
of  this  good  woman  to  her  resting-place  at 
Pere  la  Chaise;  amongst  the  crowd  were  to 
be  seen  the  curi  in-  whose  parish  the  Baron- 
ess died,  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  the  or- 
phans of  Rueilly,  to  whom  the  deceased  had 
been  a  noble  benefactress. 


The  ferocious  saying  so  recently  attributed 
to  the  Tory  party  in  England,  as  summing 
up  their  ideas  of  how  Irishmen  should  be  dealt 
with — this  savage  alternative  of  ' '  Manacles 
or  Manitoba" — i.  e.,  coercion  or  (forced)  emi- 
gration,— reminds  us  of  the  insolent  cry  of  the 
conqueror  in  Virgil's  Ninth  Eclogue  to  the 
peaceful  tillers  of  their  native  soil:  "  Veteres 
migrate  colonic  To  think  that  a  Christian 
people  should  merit  the  bitter  taunt  of  Galga- 
cus  to  the  heathen  Romans— "They  have 
made  a  solitude  and  call  it  Peace ' ' !  (Tacitus, 
Agric,  30.)  Hear,  rather,  what  John  Milton 
says  ("Reformation  in  England,"  Book  II.,) 
of  such  an  emigration:  "I  shall  believe  there 
can  not  be  a  more  ill-boding  sign  to  a  nation 
(God  turn  the  omen  from  us! )  than  when  the 
inhabitants,  to  avoid  insufferable  grievances 
at  home,  are  enforced  by  heaps  to  forsake  their 
native  country . ' '     

In  the  September  number  of  the  Catholic 
World  appeared  an  ably-written  article  on  the 
late  Judge  J.  S.  Black,  of  Pennsylvania.  Judge 
Black  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  greatest 
of  American  jurists,  and  his  name  must  ever 
occupy  a  prominent  place  in  the  annals  not 
merely  of  the  State  to  which  he  belonged,  but 
of  the  country  which  he  so  faithfully  served. 


Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  afterwards  Attorney- General,  he  was  a 
well-known  figure  in  American  politics.  His 
high  character  and  unblemished  reputation 
stand  out  in  noble  contrast  with  the  lives  of 
many  of  the  time-serving  politicians  of  his 
day;  and  in  his  writings, which  have  been  col- 
lected by  his  accomplished  son,  Mr.  Chauncey 
F.  Black,  we  see  reflected  on  every  page  his 
fidelity  to  high  aims  and  worthy  purposes. 
Valued  as  they  always  will  be  by  all  who  can 
appreciate  fearless  moral  courage  and  un- 
swerving devotion  to  a  lofty  standard  of  duty, 
these  writings  have  a  still  stronger  claim  on 
our  admiration  owing  to  the  noble  charity 
which  they  discover,  and  which  should  make 
the  memory  of  Judge  Black  beloved  not  only 
by  American  Catholics,  but  also  by  every 
Irishman. 

It  will  be  interesting  to  the  readers  of  The 
"Ave  Maria"  to  learn  that  Judge  Black's 
last  appearance  in  public  was  on  the  occasion 
of  the  late  lamented  Bishop  Shanahan's  lect- 
ure at  York,  Pa.,  on  the  "Infallibility  of  the 
Church. ' '  The  discourse  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  him,  and,  as  he  remarked  to  a  friend, 
was  one  of  the  ablest  and  strongest  arguments 
on  the  divine  origin  of  the  Church  which  he 
had  ever  heard. 

The  venerable  M.  Chevreul,  replying  to  a 
friend  who  had  expressed  regret  at  the  pagan 
character  of  iho. fetes  lately  held  in  that  savanfs 
honor,  made  the  following  religious  declara- 
tion: * '  I  am  only  a  savant,  but  those  who  know 
me  are  assured  that,  born  a  Catholic,  of  Chris- 
tian parents,  I  mean  to  live  and  die  a  Catho- 
lic. ' '  When  will  people  get  out  of  the  notion 
that  when  a  man  devotes  himself  to  science 
he  must  necessarily  cease  to  be  a  Christian  ? 


We  are  pleased  to  learn,  from  the  monthly 
bulletin  issued  by  the  Catholic  Knights  of 
America,  that  this  excellent  organization  is 
in  a  flourishing  condition,  having  a  national 
membership  of  15,400.  This  society  was 
founded  in  order  that  its  members  might  en- 
joy the  benefit  of  cheap  insurance  without 
having  to  join  secret  societies.  The  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  of  Natchez,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  the 
clergy  of  the  United  States,  praises  the  frater- 
nity for  requiring  "practice  of  religion  and 
honesty  of  life  "  as  a  test  for  membership;  and 
urges  the  formation  of  co-operative  branches. 


p 


TJie  Ave  Maria. 


379 


As  Bishop  Janssens  remarks,  the  Church  has 
suifered  much  in  late  centuries  from  a  lack 

f'^f  lay  organizations,  and  we  wish  the  associa- 
on  of  Catholic  Knights  of  America  increased 
iccess.  

.  Until  last  year  it  was  comparatively  un- 
icnown  that  among  the  unfortunate  lepers  of 
:he  Hawaiian  Kingdom,  segregated  at  Molo- 
cai,  dwelt  a  self  exiled  priest,  whose  life  was 
ievoted  to  the  temporal  and  spiritual  welfare 
)f  those  pitiable  outcasts.  Now  his  fame  is 
«7orld-wide,  and  thousands  of  sympathizers  in 
llmost  every  civilized  country  people  of  all 
ihades  of  religious  belief  and  of  no  belief — are 
eager  to  have  news  of  the  apostle  of  the  lepers; 
the  interest  in  him  having  been  intensified  by 
e  announcement  made  last  November  that 
e  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  admirable  charity 
— had  himself  become  a  leper. 

It  was  the  happy  privilege  of  The  ' ' AvE 
Maria"  to  reveal  to  the  world  this  shining 
example  of  saint-like  devotion  to  suffering 
humanity  —  of  charity  stronger  than  death. 
The  sketch  published  in  its  pages  last  year, 
and  afterwards  reprinted  in  book-form  under 
the  title  "The  Lepers  of  Molokai,"  has  been 
read  far  and  wide,  translated  into  Polish  and, 
we  doubt  not,  other  European  languages;  and 
there  are  few  newspapers  anywhere  that  have 
not  made  some  reference  to  the  self-sacrificing 
career  of  Father  Damien.  Mr.  Charles  Warren 
Stoddard,  the  writer  of  that  beautiful  sketch, 
and  the  editor  of  The  ''Ave  Maria"  must 
account  it  a  blessing  to  be  numbered  among 
the  friends  of  this  saintly  priest,  whose  grati- 
tude is  touchingly  expressed  in  a  recent  letter. 
"We  think  of  you  and  pray  for  you  often," 

he  writes;  "and  since  the  arrival  of our 

conversation  has  frequently  been  about  Notre 
Dame  and  its  noble  University.  I  now  receive 
many  letters  of  sympathy;  my  answer  is  to 
send  a  copy  of  the  little  book." 

We  take  pleasure  in  again  calling  the  at- 
tention of  the  readers  of  the  Scholastic  to  Mr. 
Stoddard's  charmingly  written  sketch.  It  is 
a  tale  of  woe,  but  with  it  goes  the  record  of  a 
hfe  that  is  an  honor  to  humanity  and  a  new 
glory  to  religion. — Notre  Dame  Scholastic. 


A  young  ecclesiastical  student  in  Rome, 
writing  of  a  recent  visit  to  Nocera,  a  town  full 
of  memories  of  the  great  servant  of  Mary,  St. 
Alphonsus  Iviguori,  says: 


"We  were  delfghted  and  much  edified  with 
everything  we  saw  there.  Just  outside  of  Nocera, 
at  a  small  hamlet  called  Pagano,  stands  the  house 
founded  by  the  Saint,  and  attached  to  it  the  noble 
edifice  designed  by  him,  but  built  afterwards — 
now  the  Church  of  St.  Alphonsus.  Here  repose  his 
remains.  The  good  Fathers  have  happily  suc- 
ceeded in  redeeming  this  house  from  the  hand  of 
violence  laid  upon  it  by  the  Government.  It  is  a 
noble  pile,  and  its  interior  is  in  perfect  keeping 
with  its  exterior.  The  corridors  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing are  adorned  with  all  that  can  elevate  the  mind 
and  heart  to  things  divine.  The  house  abounds  in 
a  great  number  of  personal  relics  of  St.  Alphonsus, 
among  them  the  little  bed  on  which  he  breathed 
his  last;  it  has  never  been  disturbed  since:  every- 
thing remains  just  as  it  was  when  he  lay  there 
a  hundred  years  ago,  like  a  child,  '  fallen  asleep 
in  the  Lord.'  Beside  the  bed  we  observed  the 
old  wheel-chair — a  clumsy  contrivance — in  which 
this  great  servant  of  Our  Lady  was  accustomed 
to  make  tire  circuit  of  the  corridors  when  unable 
longer  to  walk;  and  near  the  window  stands 
an  old-fashioned  piece  of  furniture  that  might 
have  come  out  of  the  ark — the  oddest  thing  you 
ever  saw — a  decrepit  piano,  on  which  he  would 
now  and  then  pour  forth  his  soul.  And,  most 
memorable  of  all,  there  is  the  altar  at  which  he 
offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice;  the  plain  deal-table  on 
which  he  wrote  his  Moral  Theology,  and  the  ivory 
crucifix  before  which  he  penned  that  admirable 
little  volume,  '  The  Practice  of  the  Love  of  Jesus 
Christ.' 

' '  This  crucifix  possesses  a  strange  attraction ; 
once  looked  upon,  it  can  never  be  forgotten,  so 
vivid  is  the  expression  of  the  countenance,  so 
appealing  the  eyes;  it  is  a  masterpiece  of  art — 
nay,  more:  it  has  caught  and  fixed  forever  the 
expression  of  that  inconceivable  agony  which 
wrung  from  the  broken  Heart  of  Our  Saviour  that 
awful  cry:  'My  God,  My  God!  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  Me  ? '  I  do  not  wonder  that  a  saint,  gaz- 
ing upon  this  admirably  -  wrought  face,  should 
have  caught  an  inspiration  to  write  such  unct- 
uous works.  We  also  lingered  at  the  window 
from  which  St.  Alphonsus  looked  out  upon  Vesu- 
vius, when  at  the  earnest  prayers  of  the  people 
he  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  bidding  its  tor- 
rents of  lava  to  recede.  '  God  is  wonderful  in  His 
saints.' " 


If  never  before,  let  the  beautiful  devotion  of 
the  Rosary  be  practised  in  the  Catholic  home 
during  this  its  own  October.  It  is  to  this  de- 
votion, so  powerful  in  obtaining  signal  graces 
in  the  past,  that  the  present  Pontiff  appeals  for 
aid  in  averting  the  manifold  calamities  that 
threaten  modern  society. — Catholic  Union  and 
Times. 


38o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


New  Publications. 

Short  Meditations  on  the  Holy  Ro- 
sary. Translated  from  the  French  by  a  Member 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Dominic.  New  York  and 
Cincinnati:  F.  Pustet  &  Co.  Price,  50  cents. 
Those  who  love  the  Holy  Rosary  will  be 
glad  of  such  a  collection  as  is  contained  in  this 
work.  All  the  instruction  necessary  to  a  full 
and  complete  understanding  of  the  beautiful 
devotion,  all  the  different  methods  of  reciting 
the  Fifteen  Mysteries,  and  all  the  indulgences 
are  most  carefully  and  exactly  given.  It  is  a 
■treasury  of  pious  thoughts,  and,  for  those  who 
need  it,  will  add  wholesome  and  holy  diversity 
to  the  most  familiar  and  universally  accepted 
form  of  prayer.  The  devotions  terminate  with 
the  * '  Communion  of  Fifteen  Saturdays  Pre- 
ceding the  Feast  of  the  Holy  Rosary. ' '  This 
is  a  devotion  of  which  The  "Ave  Maria" 
has  spoken  more  than  once.  A  short  form  of 
meditation  is  here  given  for  each  Saturday, 
taking  the  Mysteries  in  succession,  with  a  les- 
son from  both  the  Old  and  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  a  short  reflection  upon  them.  It  is 
explained,  however,  that  for  gaining  the  indul- 
gences. Holy  Communion  alone  is  necessary 
on  each  of  the  fifteen  Saturdays. 

A  Hymnal  and  Vesper al  for  the  Seasons 
and  Principal  Festivals  of  the  Ecclesiastical 
Year.    With  the  Approbation  of  the  Most  Rev. 
J.  Gibbons.    Baltimore:  John  Murphy  &  Co. 
The  main  object  in  the  compilation  of  this 
volume  was  to  provide  a  suitable  hymn-book 
for  Sunday-schools,  and  great  care  has  been 
taken  in  the  selections.  They  are  thoroughly 
Catholic.  Ordinary  church  choirs  will  find  the 
Hymnal  extremely  useful;  for  the  lyatin  por- 
tion has  been  very  carefully  attended  to,  the 
accents  and  pauses  marked,  thus  ensuring  ac- 
curacy of  pronunciation  and  precision. 

Devotion  to  the  Precious  Blood.  A 
Choice  Selection  of  Prayers  and  Exercises  in 
Its  Honor.  New  York:  Stephen  Mearns,  73  Bar- 
clay Street.    Price,  5  cents. 

The  Stations  of  the  Cross,  in  Honor  of 

the  Precious  Blood,  for  the  Relief  of  the  Souls 

in  Purgatory.    Price,  3  cents. 

These  tiny  pamphlets,  the  first  containing 

seventy  pages  of  fine  type,  and  the  second 

only  twelve,  are  admirably  suited  for  use  at 

the  odd  moments  even  busy  lives  can  snatch 


from  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  The  first 
was  compiled  at  the  Monastery  of  the  Precious 
Blood,  St.  Hyacinth,  P.  Q. ,  and  is  approved  by 
the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  of  that  See.  It  is  explan- 
atory and  devotional,  containing  as  it  does  an 
account  of  the  Confraternity  established  in 
that  monastery,  the  exercises,  prayers,  indul-. 
gences,  etc.  It  is  a  beautiful  little  prayer- 
book,  full  of  sweet  and  lofty  thoughts. 


Obituary. 


•'//  is  a  holy  and  ■wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead** 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Father  Majerus,  a  worthy  priest  of 
the  Congregation  of  the  Most  Holy  Redeemer, 
attached  to  St.  James'  Church,  Baltimore.  He  was 
distinguished  for  his  zeal,  humility,  and  tender 
devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

The  Rev.  Father  Mengarini,  S.J.,  a  co-laborer 
of  the  great  Indian  missionary.  Father  de  Smet, 
whose  holy  life  was  crowned  with  a  happy  death, 
at  Santa  Clara  College,  Cal.,  on  the  23d  ult. 

The  Rev.  George  V.  Burns,  assistant  rector  of 
the  Cathedral,  Buffalo,  who  died  suddenly  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Holy  Rosary.  He  had  preached  an 
impressive  sermon  on  death  the  Sunday  previous. 

The  Rev.  John  Monahan,  the  beloved  rector  of 
St.  Patrick's  Church,  Norristown,  Pa.,  who  met 
with  a  sudden  death  on  the  ist  inst.  He  had  at- 
tended a  sick-call  only  a  few  hours  before.  His 
death  is  regarded  as  a  public  calamity  in  Norris- 
town. 

Mr.  Thomas  J.  Connell,  of  Iowa  City,  la.,  who 
passed  away  in  the  dispositions  of  a  fervent  Chris- 
tian on  the  1 8th  ult. 

Mr.  Matthew  O'Connor,  a  native  of  Westport, 
Co.  Mayo,  Ireland,  whose  happy  death  took  place 
in  Chicago  on  the  4th  ult. 

Mrs.  Matilda  McConnell,  of  Renovo,  Pa.,  who 
was  called  to  receive  the  reward  of  a  good  life  on 
the  3d  inst. 

Thomas  Murphy,  of  New  York;  George  and 
Hannah  Punch,  Michael  Hanifin,  Milwaukee; 
Mrs.  Mary  Sullivan,  San  Francisco;  Mr.  Joseph 
Dunn,  New  Haven,  Conn.;  Mrs.  Rachel  Watter, 
Chest  Springs,  Pa. ;  Annie  Fitzpatrick,  Philadel- 
phia; Mrs.  James  Short,  St.  Charles,  Mo.;  Mi- 
chael CuUen,  James  Duffy,  Mary  Ann  Hybert 
Mrs.  Sarah  Falvey,  and  Thomas  Murphy,  New 
York;  Mrs.  Mary  Quinn,  San  Francisco;  Mrs. 
Anne  Brophy,  Boston;  Thomas  A.  Ryan,  Green- 
bush,  N.  Y. ;  Mr.  William  Healy,  Taunton,  Mass. ; 
and  Mr.  John  Cornelly. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


381 


MRTMENT 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days 
with  Kilpatrick. 


That  zvas  a  day,  and  grey  indeed  must 
e  the  head  (grey  even  with  the  ashes  of 
oblivion)  and  cold  the  heart  that  does  not 
recall  its  dash,  its  triumph,  its  route,  its 
valor,  its  glorious  ending. 

When  the  7  th  pushed  forward  afoot,  Love- 
joy  was  only  separated  from  it  by  a  belt  of 
forest.  Beyond  these  trees  lay  the  railroad, 
and  the  destruction  of  that  road  meant  ful- 
filling the  object  of  the  raid,  and  opening 
the  gate  to  the  sea.  So  it  was  with  light 
hearts  and  a  joyous  shout  that  the  7th  and 
its  companion  regiments  pelted  down  the 
slope,  and — into  the  arms  of  the  enemy. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  great  oaks  the 
Grey  line  sprang  into  sight  and  life,  and  a 
leaden  hail  pattered  through  the  grove, 
bullets  finding  billets  in  the  trunks  of  men 
and  trees  alike.  But  the  Blue  line  advanced 
steadily  through  it,  their  seven-barrelled 
spencers  (carbines)  belching  out  such  irre- 
sistible arguments  that  the  Grey  horse  (for 
the  Confederate  advance  was  mounted) 
drew  off— but  slowly,  and  contesting  every 
foot  of  the  way, — and  finally  swept  over  the 
railroad  track,  beyond  which  they  again 
made  a  stand. 

At  the  sight  of  the  track,  ' '  the  main  ar- 
tery of  Atlanta,"  strained  muscles  limbered, 
tired  backs  dropped  their  fatigue,  stiff  legs 
grew  flexible,  and  at  a  double  quick  our 
boys  charged  on  it,  tearing  it  up  and  scat- 
tering it  far  and  wide. 

But,  oh!  dear,  such  a  surprise  party  as 

they  had!     The  night  before,  Vy  the  light 

of  the  burning  stores  at  Jonesborough,  dash- 

ng  Pat  Clairburn  and  his  veterans  poured 

out  of  Atlanta;  and  hardly  had  the  boys  in 


Blue  been  five  minutes  at  their  work,  when 
he  pounced  upon  them,  and  in  all  too  short 
a. time  Was  driving  them  back  in  a  confused 
mass  toward  the  main-road. 

Helter-skelter  they  went,  and,  bursting 
through  the  trees,  nearly  stampeded  the 
lead- horses;  while  Kilpatrick  stormed  up 
and  down  the  line  of  retreat,  trying  to  stop 
the  rout,  and  the  wild  yell  of  the  Grey-coats 
made  the  very  air  pulsate. 

With  loss  of  breath  came  return  of  com- 
mon sense,  and  with  that  a  halting,  and  an 
attempt  to  stand  and  re-form.  And  as  the 
Chicago  Board  of  Trade  Battery  swung 
around  to  the  front,  wheeling  its  glittering 
pieces  through  the  green  corn  that  bordered 
the  main- road,  and  quietly  beginning  to 
unlimber  and  load  in  the  very  te^th  of  the 
enemy,  every  man  felt  it  was  giving  him 
the  chance  he  wanted  to  "up  and  at 'em 
again. ' ' 

From  the  six  bonnie  guns  of  the  Illinois 
men  grape  and  canister  began  to  fly,  and  the 
corn  was  reaped  with  a  sickle  whose  edge 
was  flame  and  whose  stroke  was  death ;  but 
the  Grey-coats  threw  themselves  against 
the  wall  of  fire  again  and  again,  until  their 
ranks  were  plowed  with  lines  of  blood. 
Then  there  was  a  pause  in  the  attack,  and 
our  boys,  having  shaken  themselves  out  of 
the  tangle  and  coil  of  the  semi-stampe, 
began  a  struggle  for  some  sort  of  regimental 
formation;  the  oflficers  meantime  holding 
a  hasty  council  as  to  what  answer  should 
be  returned  to  the  summons  to  surrender 
sent  in  by  Clairburn  with  a  flag  of  truce. 

Some  of  them  advised  for  it,  because  the 
Grey  line  curved  like  a  crescent  about  the 
Blue,  its  horns  drawing  closer  and  closer; 
it  was  an  enemy's  country  they  were  in, 
and  honorable  terms  were  offered.  But  Kil- 
patrick was  dead  against  it,  and,  as  the  ma- 
jority went  with  him,  the  white  flag  fluttered 
back. 

As  quick  a  thinker  as  he  was  a  charger, 
the  young  general  had  planned  his  cutting 
out  before  the  Grey  messenger  had  reached 
his  commanding  officer  with  his  refusal. 
The  men  were  deployed  in  an  open  field 
some   three   hundred   yards   back ;    every 


382 


The  Ave  Maria, 


eighth  man  was  told  off  to  hold  seven  horses, 
and  orders  were  given  to  dismount  and 
charge  on  foot.  But  as  the  line  formed,  an 
eldritch  screech  rent  the  air,  and  sharpnel 
began  to  drop  in  the  ranks.  Two  batteries 
had  opened  in  the  rear;  our  boys  were 
sandwiched,  outflanked,  surrounded. 

A  second  council  was  held.  To  cut 
through  was  now  imperative,  and  Colonel 
Minty*  volunteered  to  lead  the  charge. 
Kilpatrick's  grey  eyes  blazed;  here  was  a 
man  after  his  own  heart!  A  few  hasty 
words  were  exchanged,  and  the  brigade  was 
ordered  into  a  field  of  broom- corn  that 
stretched  to  the  right,  glistening  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  tossing  its  brown  tassels  haugh- 
tily as  the  horses  thrust  in  among  its  tow- 
ering stalks  (it  stood  nine  and  ten  feet 
high).       ' 

In  a  few  minutes  the  troops  were  in  posi- 
tion, and  every  man  took  his  horse  in  a  firmer 
grip  between  his  knees,  and  every  heart  beat 
as  the  dismounted  troopers  f  marched  for- 
ward, and  began  to  throw  down  the  pan- 
els of  the  fence  to  clear  the  way  for  the 
charge. 

Ahead  was  an  open  field,  gashed  and  cut 
into  gullies  by  the  wash-outs  of  years;  over 
it  the  shells  were  yelling  and  bursting,  and 
beyond  it  was  a  barricade  of  rails  and  earth, 
behind  which  were  a  force  of  dismounted 
cavalry  and  a  battery,  the  latter  trained  so 
as  to  sweep  the  plain  in  a  bee-line  %  with 
our  troops.  A  flourish  of  trumpets  an- 
nounced "ready,"  and  Kilpatrick,  seizing 
his  Division  flag,  §  ordered  the  "charge," 
and  rushed  forward  like  a  thunderbolt. 

From  the  broom- corn  came  a  dazzling 

*  Of  the  4th  Michigan,  the  regiment  that  after- 
ward captured  Jefferson  Davis. 

f  Every  fourth  man  this  time.  These  had  to 
watch  their  chance  as  the  charge  rushed  by,  and 
grab  at  their  horses,  mounting  on  the  gallop. 

X  In  the  South— and  I  suppose  elsewhere — 
when  bees  have  gathered  their  allotment  of  honey, 
they  take  up  a  line  so  straight  and  direct  for  their 
hives  that  the  negroes  use  the  expression  ' '  bee- 
line"  to  indicate  the  quickest  way  to  a  given 
place. 

\  This  flag,  I  am  told,  was  presented  to  him  by 
his  wife;  he  loved  it  next  to  the  honor  of  his  Di- 
vision, and  guarded  both  with  equal  care. 


flash  as  the  sabres  were  drawn  and  tossed 
aloft;  then  there  was  a  noise 

' '  like  the  rushing  of  a  mighty  wind, ' ' 
and  the  corn  lay  low  as  the  command,  with 
resounding  throats  and  an  awful  sound  of 
trampling   hoofs,  stretched  at   full  gallop 
after  him. 

What  a  fight  that  was!  The  two  lines 
crashed  together  with  a  shock  audible  above 
the  roar  of  the  cannon,  and  plunged  and 
swayed  like  St.  George's  dragon,  the  Grey 
melting  into  the  Blue,  the  Blue  wedging 
into  the  Grey ;  small  detached  groups 
drifted  "hither  and  yon,"  fighting  like  wild- 
cats with  clubbed  carbines,  bare  hands,  or 
sabres  that  shore  brain-pans  and  lopped  ofi" 
sword-arms,  to  the  accompaniment  of  sav- 
age shouts  or  grim  silence,  according  to  the 
deadliness  of  struggle;  and  the  uproar  of 
bursting  shells  and  the  death-scream  of 
rider  and  horse,  as  grape  and  canister  re- 
placed the  shells  and  began  to  scatter  ruin  in 
their  path,  made  it  something  to  remember 

"Till  the  sun  grows  cold, 
And  the  stars  are  old, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment  book  unfold," 

as  the  Bedouin  song  puts  it. 

It  was  a  crucial  time  for  Jet  and  his  mas- 
ter, especially  Jet;  for  he  saw  at  this  junct- 
ure a  sight  so  appalling  to  him  that  he 
nearly  forgot  his  duty,  and  quite  lost  the 
stiffness  of  his  upper  lip  for  several  minutes. 

Trotting  hard  after  the  charging  men 
came  the  camp-mules  and  the  ambulances 
(for  it  was  sauve  qui  peut^  and  no  ' '  safety 
in  the  rear ' ' — there  wasn'  t  any  rear,  in  fact, 
to  speak  of) ;  and  one  of  the  former,  a  vet- 
eran named  "Tommy,"  was  leading  the 
way  with  his  accustomed  dignity  and  indif- 
ference to  danger.  On  his  back  were  eight 
large  camp  -  kettles,  and  hanging  from 
these  were  coffee-pots  and  "spiders"  ad 
libitum. 

About  midway  the  field  a  shell  came 
howling  along  with  a  voice  so  particularly 
awful  that  he  halted  a  second,  looked  up 
and  shook  his  head — was  it  instinct  ?— and 
just  as  he  looked  down  again  it  fell  right 
on  top  of  the  highest  kettle. 

There  was  a  sound  like  the  bursting  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


383 


a  nine-inch  gun,  an  appalling  scattering  of 
iron  fragments,  hoofs,  and  coffee-pots,  and 
then  Jet  shut  his  eyes  and  quaked  like  a 
mould  of  jelly.  He  might  have  rolled  over 
but  for  Oester's  cry  of  dismay,  and  the  sud- 
den blowing  of  the  call  to  "church." 

' '  Church ! "  It  wasn'  t  Sunday,  no  chapels 
were  handy,  and,  although  Jet  was  not  up 
to  every  cavalry  eccentricity,  he  felt  pretty 
sure  no  one  would  try  "open-air  service" 
in  a  mess  like  this;  but  there  was  the  call, 
and  crowding  on  its  echoing  notes  came  the 
most  stirring  call  of  all:  "To  the  colors! 
to  the  colors  !  taran — tara — tara — tara  ! ' ' 
Then  there  was  a  fresh  burst  of  speed  from 

squad  of  men,  a  mad  whirling  around  the 
regimental  flag,  and  a  cheering  that  roused 
his  curiosity  in  spite  of  the  sinking  sensa- 
tion that  ran  through  his  barrel  and  quiv- 
ered in  his  hamstrings. 

What  had  happened  was  this :  The  color- 
bearer,  in  his  eagerness  to  reach  the  barri- 
cade, had  got  so  far  ahead  that  a  squad  of 

rey-coats  had  swarmed  out  and  were  doing 
heir  level  best  to  tear  him  from  his  horse, 
and  so  pluck  the  flag  away  from  him.  His 
hat  was  off,  his  eyes  half  blinded  by  the 
blood  from  a  cut  across  his  head,  and  when 
Oester  spied  him  he  was  clinging  to  the 
colors  might  and  main,  with  arm,  hand,  leg, 
and  teeth,  and  was  fighting  like  mad.  The 
boy's  heart  seemed  to  stand  for  an  instant, 
and  then  the  blood  flashed  through  his 
veins  like  fire.  What  should  he  do? 
»  The  biggest  man  in  the  regiment  was  the 
Sergeant- Major — Hamilton  Church;  he 
was  a  stern  disciplinarian,  and  Oester  knew 
that  in  the  very  act  of  dying  he  would  resent 
any  deviation  from  routine  or  discipline — 
hence  his  musical  pun,  or  play  on  the  name. 
Sure  enough,  as  the  call  reached  his  ears, 
Church  turned  with  a  black  frown,  and  saw 
the  little  bugler's  arm  waving  like  a  wind- 
mill toward  the  color- bearer;  at  the  same 
instant  "To  the  colors!"  tore  through  the 
air,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  off  to  the 
rescue  with  a  squad  at  his  back.  And  none 
too  soon,  for  the  bearer's  sword-arm  was 
severed,  a  bullet  entered  his  breast,  and  as 
Church  snatched  at  the  drooping  staff  the 


youth  fell  dead,  with  a  smile  on  his  beard- 
less lips  and  a  flash  of  joy  in  his  dying  eyes 
that  held  Death's  film  at  bay. 

It  all  did  not  take  five  minutes,  and  hap- 
pened while  the  Blue  line  was  still  rolling 
down  on  the  barricade. 

When  the  Bunker-Hill  range  was  reached 
(I  mean  when  the  opponents  could  see  the 
color  of  one  another's  eyes),  the  Grey  can- 
noneers gave  a  last  broadside,  threw  down 
their  rammers,  sponges,  and  ammunition, 
and  fled.  All  except  one  man,  a  young 
Lieutenant* — a  mere  boy — who  stood  by 
his  gun,  loading  and  firing  with  a  courage  so 
superb,  a  coolness  so  admirable,  that  Minty's 
command  ' '  to  spare  his  life,  for  a  man  like 
that  was.too  brave  to  lose,"  did  not  need  to 
be  repeated  to  our  men,  who  cheered  him 
enthusiastically  even  as  they  spiked  the 
piece  he  had  served  so  grandly,  f 

'  'Ah ! ' '  thought  Jet,  as  he  wheezed  along, 
"Ruby  was  wiser,  I'm  afraid.  Here  he  is 
safe  at  home,  and  I  am  in  a  whirlpool  of  de- 
struction. I  don't  like  it — I  hate  it,  in  fact; 
and  I  believe  I — I  wonder  if  I  am  going  to 
bolt?  "  for  the  heart  of  the  little  mule  was 
as  water  within  him. 

But  as  the  breathless  rush  subsided  some- 
what, a  boyish  hand  was  run  down  his 
streaming  neck,  and  two  boyish  lips  whis- 
pered in  his  long  ear :  ' '  You  darling !  There 
isn't  a  horse  in  the  troop  can  beat  you. 
And  Kil  himself  ain't  pluckier." 

Well,  after  that  he  just  made  up  his 
mind  he'd  go  until  he  dropped,  and,  unless 
his  legs  actually  and  uncontrollably  ran 
away  with  him,  he  would  stay  with  Com- 
pany M.  no  matter  what  happened.  And  I 
can  tell  you  that,  after  such  an  experience, 
that  was  being  a  hero  indeed. 
(to  be  continukd.) 


*■  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn  his  name,  and 
would  feel  gratefiil  to  any  of  the  readers  of  the 
'  'Ave ' '  who  could  give  it. 

f  A  similar  gallant  act  was  done  by  Lieutenant 
Van  Pelt,  of  Loomis'  Battery  (Michigan),  atChick- 
amauga;  and  a  similar  command  was  given  by 
the  Confederate  conmiander,  but  the  gallant  youth 
was  killed  by  a  stray  shot  before  he  could  be 
captured. 


384 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


An  Example  of  Honesty. 

In  a  small  town,  about  five  miles  from 
St.  Petersburg,  lived  a  poor  old  German 
woman.  A  little  cottage  was  her  only  pos- 
session, and  the  visits  of  a  few  shipmasters 
on  their  way  to  the  capital,  her  only  re- 
source. One  evening,  when  some  Dutch 
shipmasters  had  been  supping  at  her  house, 
she  found  under  the  table  a  sealed  bag  of 
money,  evidently  left  by  one  of  the  com- 
pany. As  they  had  all  sailed  over  to  Cron- 
stadt,  the  good  woman  put  the  money  in 
the  cupboard,  to  keep  it  till  it  should  be 
called  for.  Seven  years  did  she  keep  it,  and, 
though  often  sorely  pressed  by  want,  her 
good  principles  overcame  every  temptation 

At  the  expiration  of  this  time  four  ship- 
masters stopped  one  day  at  her  house  for 
refreshments.  Three  of  them  were  English 
and  one  Dutch.  Talking  of  various  mat- 
ters, one  of  the  Englishmen  asked  the 
Dutchman  if  he  had  ever  been  in  that  town 
before.  ' '  Yes, indeed, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  I  know 
the  place  too  well.  My  being  here  once 
cost  me  seven  hundred  rubles."  "How 
so?"  said  his  companion.  "Why,  in  one 
of  these  wretched  hovels  I  got  tipsy,  and 
left  behind  me  a  bag  of  rubles. "  "  Was  the 
bag  sealed?"  asked  the  old  woman,  whose 
attention  had  been  aroused  by  the  conver- 
sation. "Yes,  yes,  it  was  sealed,  and  with 
this  very  seal  here  at  my  watch-chain." 
"Well,  then,"  said  she,  "by  that  you  may 
be  able  to  recover  what  you  lost."  "Re- 
cover it  after  seven  years !  I  have  no  hopes 
of  that."  The  old  woman  said  no  more, 
but  she  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room,  and, 
returning  with  the  bag,  said  to  the  Dutch- 
man :  ' '  Perhaps  honesty  is  not  so  rare  as  you 
think";  and,  to  his  intense  astonishment 
and  delight,  she  restored  to  him  his  money. 


Idi^ENESS  is  the  mother  of  mischief,  but 
industry  is  a  sure  sign  of  prosperity. 

lyAY  by  a  good  store  of  patience,  but  be 
sure  to  put  it  where  you  can  find  it. 

No  one  knows  what  he  can  do  till  he  is 
fully  resolved  to  do  what  he  can. 


A  Speedy  Reward. 

Bishop  Grant,  first  Bishop  of  Southwark, 
liked  to  see  holy  things  surrounded  by  tokens 
of  outward  respect;  he  had,  for  instance,  a 
great  devotion  to  the  practice,  so  common  in 
Catholic  countries,  of  keeping  lamps  burning 
before  the  statues  of  Our  lyord  and  His  Im- 
maculate Mother.  He  went  one  day  to  bless 
a  statue  of  Our  I^ady  in  a  convent,  and,  after 
remaining  some  time  prostrate  in  prayer  be- 
fore it,  he  said  to  the  superioress: 

"Make  a  promise  to  Our  I^ady  that  you 
will  keep  a  lamp  always  burning  before  Her 
image;  I  have  known  this  pious  practice  to  be 
blessed  by  miracles. ' ' 

He  then  went  to  the  school-room,  where  the 
children  were  assembled,  and  related  the  fol- 
lowing fact,  which  had  just  occurred  to  a  lady 
of  his  acquaintance.  She  was  visiting  a  con- 
vent near  lyOndon,  and,  observing  a  beautiful 
statue  of  Our  lyady,  she  felt  a  sudden  desire 
to  have  a  lamp  lighted  before  it;  she  men- 
tioned this  wish  to  the  nun  who  was  showing 
her  over  the  house,  and  begged  her  to  get  a 
suitable  lamp,  which  she  would  pay  for,  as 
well  as  for  the  oil  which  it  would  consume. 

The  Sisters  were  delighted,  and  promised 
to  let  her  know  the  day  and  hour  when  the 
lamp  would  be  first  lighted,  so  that  she  might 
join  in  spirit  with  the  community  in  saying 
the  Rosary  for  her  at  that  moment. 

It  so  happened  that  when  the  letter  came 
informing  her  of  the  appointed  time,  she  was 
setting  out  on  a  journey  with  her  daughter; 
she  did  not,  however,  forget  the  rendezvous, 
and  when  the  hour  came  she  took  out  her 
beads,  and  called  her  little  girl,  who  was 
seated  in  front  of  her,  to  come  and  sit  beside 
her  that  they  might  say  them  together. 

Before  they  had  finished  the  first  decade  they 
were  startled  by  a  frightful  crash,  followed  by 
a  deafening  noise.  Thechild,  terrified,  clung  to 
her  mother,  who  clasped  her  in  terror,  but  still  1 
held  tight  her  Rosary,  and  continued  to  recite 
it.  In  an  instant  their  carriage  was  cloven  in 
two,  struck  by  the  engine  of  a  railroad  train; 
the  front  part,  where  a  moment  before  the 
child  had  been  seated,  was  wrenched  away 
and  dashed  down  into  a  precipice,  with  a  great 
portion  of  the  train;  while  the  other  side  re- 
mained safe  on  the  rail,  quite  uninjured. — The 
Young  Catholic. 


^OL.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  23,  1886. 


No.  17. 


[Copyright :— Rmt.  D.  I.  Bxnmov,  C.  g.  C] 


I'he  Blessed  Virgin's  Place  in  Ancient 
Liturgies. 

HE  Apocryphal  Gospels  *  reveal  to 
II  us  the  ideas  and  sentiments  which 
prevailed  among  the  early  Chris- 
tians with  regard  to  the  Mother  of  God: 
they  were  sentiments  of  praise  and  invoca- 
tion. All  the  Proto-Gospel  of  St.  James,  as 
well  as  the  History  and  Gospel  of  the  Nativ- 
ity, shows  the  feelings  of  admiration  and 
praise  that  were  entertained  for  Her  who 
was  called  'Uhe  Mother  of  Benediction," 
and  of  whom  the  people  used  to  say  that 
She  would  be  the  glory  of  future  ages.  Her 
miraculous  conception,  Her  holy  infancy, 
Her  generous  consecration  to  God,  Her 
saintly  life  in  the  Temple,  and  Her  unpre- 
cedented vow  of  virginity  were  favorite 
themes  of  pious  conversation  among  the 
faithful.  And  is  not  the  account  which  these 
apocrypha  give  made  manifest  by  those 
Orantes;\  some  of  which  not  only  bear 
the  name  of  Mary,  but  even  the  inscription, 
Maria  Virgo  minister  Templi  Jerusalem? 
In  like  manner  the  Gospel  of  the  Infancy 
is  full  of  the  invocations  of  the  first  Chris- 
tians to  Mary,  and  clearly  shows  us,  by  the 


*  There  are  three  Apocryphal  Gospels  solely  rel- 
ative to  the  Mother  of  God,  viz. :  the  Proto-Gospel 
of  St.  James ;  the  History  of  the  Nativity  of  Mary 
ind  of  the  Infancy  of  the  Saviour ;  and  the  Gospel 
of  the  Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Virgin . 

t  A  name  given  to  certain  paintings  in  the 
Catacombs,  representing  the  Bkssed  Virgin  in  an 
attitude  of  prayer. 


miracles  mentioned  therein,  how  greatly 
the  faithful  relied  upon  Her  to  assist  them : 
'' O  my  Mistress!  come  to  my  aid,  and  have 
pity  on  me."  '*0  Mary!  I  know  that  the 
power  of  the  Most  High  is  with  Thee,  be- 
cause Thy  Son  cured  the  little  children 
when  they  touched  Him. "  "  O  Mary !  look 
upon  my  son,  who  suffers  so  cruelly, ' '  etc. 
Such  were  the  sentiments  of  the  first  Chris- 
tians during  their  lives,  and  with  such  did 
they  approach  the  foot  of  the  altar. 

The  paintings  in  the  Catacombs  and  the 
Apocryphal  Gospels  thus  bear  mutual  testi- 
mony to  each  other.  The  apocrypha  are 
commentaries  on  the  paintings,  and  the 
paintings  are  the  consecration  of  the  belief 
contained  in  the  apocrypha.  The  latter  con- 
vey to  us  the  public  sentiment,  the  former 
the  object  of  this  sentiment.  But  between 
the  sentiment  and  the  object  there  ought  to 
be  a  language  of  a  particular  signification, 
which  would  explain  and  refine  these  sen- 
timents, and  adapt  them  to  their  object: 
this  language  is  the  liturgy.  The  apocrypha 
and  paintings,  by  their  reciprocal  testi- 
mony, prove  the  existence  of  a  contempo- 
raneous— an  apostolic — liturgy;  for  they 
virtually  imply  such  an  existence.  As  this 
apostolic  liturgy  has  been  recently  discov- 
ered; and,  as  it  is  in  perfect  consonance  with 
the  apocrypha  and  the  paintings,  we  are  no 
more  surprised  at  it  than  we  should  beat  the 
discovery  of  a  fact  the  existence  of  which 
reason  had  already  demonstrated ;  and  this 
rational  demonstration,  supplementing  the 
discovery,  strengthens  it  against  the  inter- 


386 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ested  objections  of  those  whose  prejudices 
such  a  discovery  wounds. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  Apocryphal  Gospels 
and  the  paintings  of  the  Catacombs  lend 
their  support  to  the  apostolic  liturgies  in 
favor  of  the  worship  of  the  Mother  of  God. 
But  these  liturgies  are  very  well  sustained 
by  one  another.  They  are  known  under 
the  names  of  the  liturgies  of  St.  Mark,  St. 
James,  or  some  other  Apostle,  and  have 
always  been  reputed  of  apostolic  origin. 
The  great  objection  raised  against  this  an- 
tiquity of  origin  is  that  they  were  not  writ- 
ten till  near  the  beginning  of  the  5th  cen- 
tury. The  fact  is  true,  but  the  inference 
attempted  to  be  drawn  from  it  is  false.  In 
effect,  the  same  testimonies  which  prove 
that  they  were  not  reduced  to  writing  in 
earlier  ages  also  prove  that  they  were  care- 
fully preserved  in  the  Church  by  tradition. 
It  was  a  mystery  that  the  faithful  wished 
to  keep  concealed  from  the  pagans,  which 
both  priest  and  people  handed  down  by 
common  daily  usage,  the  surest  and  most 
infallible  means  of  preservation. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  reason  on  the  au 
thenticity  of  these  liturgies  as  we  would 
on  the  particular  work  of  some  Father 
or  Apostle.  Learned  by  heart  and  recited 
daily  by  Christians,  they  are  a  monument  of 
the  faith  and  practice  of  the  whole  Church, 
having  not  merely  the  authority  of  a  holy 
person,  but  also  the  public  sanction  of  pas- 
tors and  their  flocks,  who  constantly  made 
use  of  them.  What  matters,  then,  the  date 
at  which  the  liturgy  was  put  into  writing, 
if  previously,  from  the  time  of  tht  Apostles, 
the  Universal  Church  had  it  in  daily  use? 
The  names  of  the  Apostles  had  been  legit- 
imately given  to  these  liturgies,  and  testify 
to  their  apostolic  origin.  The  liturgy  used 
in  the  Church  of  x\ntioch  was  very  natur- 
ally called  St.  Peter's;  that  in  the  Church 
of  Alexandria,  St.  Mark's;  in  the  Church 
of  Jerusalem,  St.  James'  ;  and  so  on  with  the 
others.  It  is  not  pretended  that  these  lit- 
urgies were  actually  written  by  the  saints 
after  whom  they  are  named,  but  that  they 
were  handed  down  from  them  by  tradition 
in  the  churches  which  they  had  founded. 


What  is  certain  is  that  the  truth  of  their 
origin  and  the  faithfulness  of  the  tradition 
up  to  the  time  of  publication  are  attested 
in  two  ways :  materially  and  morally: 
Materially,  by  the  conformity  which  is 
found  in  their  liturgies  among  the  different 
churches  throughout  the  world;  morally, 
by  the  incontestable  evidence  at  the  time 
of  publication  of  their  apostolic  origin.  And 
what  evidence  more  decisive  than  those 
words  of  Pope  Celestine  to  the  churches  of 
France  in  the  year  428:  "Give  heed  to  the 
meaning  of  the  sacerdotal  prayers,  which, 
received  by  tradition  from  the  Apostles^  are 
of  uniform  usage  in  all  the  Church,  and 
from  the  manner  in  which  we  ought  to  pray 
learn  what  we  ought  to  believe"? 

Now,  in  these  liturgies  we  find  the 
commemorations  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in 
admirable  conformity  with  the  liturgical 
paintings  of  the  Catacombs,  and  with  the 
sentiments  of  veneration  and  confidence 
which  the  apocrypha  express  towards  Mary. 
On  almost  every  page  of  these  writings 
we  read:  "Let  us  be  mindful  of  Her,  the 
blessed  and  extolled  of  all  nations,  the 
Holy  Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  God."  "Re- 
member Her,  O  Lord  God!  and  through 
Her  pure  and  holy  prayers  pardon  us,  have 
mercy  on  us,  graciously  hear  us ! "  "  Blessed 
be  Mary,  and  blessed  be  the  Fruit  of  Her 
womb."  "Through  the  prayers  of  the 
Mother  of  Life,  Mother  of  God,  Mary,"  etc. 
But  here  another  objection  maybe  raised, 
which  deserves  to  be  examined.  True,  it 
will  be  said,  we  read  these  testimonies  of 
the  worship  of  the  Mother  of  God  in  the 
liturgies  of  which  you  speak,  and  these  lit- 
urgies may  and  ought  to  be  considered  as 
apostolic.  But  could  it  not  happen,  and  for 
a  good  and  legitimate  reason,  that  these  lit- 
urgies, without  being  materially  altered, 
were  from  time  to  time  interpolated  with 
certain  terms,  in  order  to  defend  the  faith 
of  the  Church  against  heretics?  Is  it  not 
probable  that  the  Council  of  Ephesus,  in 
order  the  more  effectually  to  condemn  the 
Nestorian  heresy,  introduced  some  of  these 
liturgical  interpolations  which  relate  to  the 
divine  Maternity  of  Mary,  and  is  it  not  from 


The  Ave  Maria, 


1^1 


the  like  sources  that  all  these  glorifications 
of  the  Mother  of  God  sprung  up  and  min^ 
gled  with  the  apostolic  apocrypha? 

We  admit  the  truth  of  the  fact  which 
serves  as  the  groundwork  of  this  objection, 
but  we  deny  its  application  against  the 
liturgical  testimony  of  the  primitive  wor^ 
ship  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  title  of 
"Mother  of  God"  given  to  Mary  does  not 
date  its  origin  from  the  Council  of  Ephe- 
sus:  we  find  it  mentioned  previous  to  the 
5th  century  in  the  writings  of  many  of  the 
Fathers — in  St.  John  Chrysostom,  St.  Epi- 
phanius,  St.  Ephrem,  St.  Athanasius,  and 
others.  It  is  also  well  known  how  bitterly 
Julian  the  Apostate  was  against  the  Chris- 
tians for  giving  the  Mother  of  Jesus  this 
title.  "You  are  forever  calling  Mary  the 
Mother  of  God, ' '  said  he.  And,  in  fine,  the 
displeasure  exhibited  by  the  people  when  a 
disciple  of  Nestorius  contested  for  the  first 
time  the  legitimacy  of  this  title,  proves  that 
the  faithful  had  been  already  accustomed 
to  use  it  in  their  public  devotions. 

As  far,  then,  as  the  Council  of  Ephesus  is 
concerned,  this  glorious  appellation  suffers 
nothing  in  its  claim  to  be  of  apostolic  ori- 
gin. We  agree,  however,  that  in  protesting 
against  the  Nestorian  heresy,  it  is  probable 
that  at  the  time  of  the  Council  the  dogma 
of  the  divine  Maternity  was  inserted  and 
mentioned  more  frequently  in  the  liturgies. 
But  that  is  all.  To  conclude  that  all  the 
eulogies  and  invocations  of  Mary  which  are 
found  in  the  liturgies  date  from  the  time 
of  the  Council,  is  so  contrary  to  their  gen- 
eral text  and  to  the  primitive  worship  of 
Mary  that  the  objection  can  in  no  way  be 
sustained. 

Besides,  we  have  an  argument  which  re- 
moves all  difficulty.  And  it  is  even  taken 
from  the  Nestorians'  own  liturgy — contrary 
to  which,  it  is  asserted,  all  the  praise  and 
honor  given  to  Mary  have  been  inserted  in 
the  apostolic  liturgy.  Of  course,  the  Nes- 
jtorians  would  not  subscribe  to  their  own 
|:ondemnation,  and  therefore  in  their  lit- 
irgy  the  title  of  Mother  of  God  is  not  given 
jo  Mary,  or  has  been  purposely  withdrawn 
rom  it — a  convincing  proof  that  this  is 


the  point  which  caused  ihem  to  separate 
from  the  Church.  But  if,  in  every  respect 
except  as  regards  this  one  appellation,  they 
have  retained  all  that  relates  to  the  worship 
of  Mary  as  found  in  the  apostolic  liturgy, 
the  difficulty  arising  from  the  interpolation 
of  this  worship  after  the  Council  of  Ephesus 
is  of  little  importance. 

Now,  the  Nestorians,  in  their  liturgy, 
which  they  call  that  of  "The  Blessed  Apos- 
tles, ' '  have  continued  to  honor  Mary  with  a 
devotion  of  the  most  fervent  kind.  "  Mother 
of  Our  Lord,"  says  their  priest,  "pray  for 
me  to  the  only-begotten  Son,  born  of  Thee, 
in  order  that  He  may  pardon  me  my  trans 
gressions,  and  receive  from  my  infirm  and 
sinful  hands  this  sacrifice,  which  my  feeble- 
ness offers  on  this  altar,  through  Thy  in- 
tercession. Holy  Mother!"  And  in  their 
prayer-books  are  numberless  hymns  to  the 
Mother  of  Christ.  So  true  is  it,  as  a  princi- 
ple, that  ' '  all  that  has  been  even  extrava- 
gantly said,"  to  use  the  words  of  Bay  ley, 
"regarding  Mary,  naturally  flows  from  Her 
quality  of  Mother  of  Jesus  alone,  as  Nesto- 
rius wishes  it. ' '  So  true  is  it,  as  a  fact,  that 
this  worship  of  Mary,  which  was  practised 
before  the  Council  of  Ephesus,  and  main- 
tained among  the  Nestorians,  in  spite  of  the 
.^chism  which  cut  them  off  from  the  Church, 
finds  even  in  this  schism  itself  the  strong- 
est testimony  of  apostolic  antiquity  to  which 
all  classes  of  Christians  refer  it. 

Thus  liturgical  evidence  needs  no  support 
in  this  matter.  It  has,  nevertheless,  in  the 
double  testimony  of  the  paintings  of  the 
Catacombs  and  of  the  Apocryphal  Gospels 
a  reciprocal  support,  making  a  triple  and 
indestructible  historical  testimony  to  the 
primitive  and  apostolic  antiquity  of  the 
worship  of  the  Mother  of  God. 


God  should  be  the  object  of  all  our  desires, 
the  end  of  all  our  actions,  the  principle  of 
all  our  affections,  and  the  governing  power 
of  our  whole  souls. — Massillon. 

Earth  is  our  workhouse,  and  heaven 
is,  or  should  be,  our  storehouse.  Our  chief 
business  here  is  to  lay  up  treasures  there. — 
Grynoeus. 


388 


The  Ave  Maria. 


God  Keeps  His  Own. 

BY    ANGELIQUE    DB    LANDE. 

jt  OD'S  own  are  we,  His  very  own; 
^     He  bought  us,  every  one, 
And  paid  the  ransom  with  His  Blood — 
The  Blood  of  God  the  Son. 

Though  sickness,  poverty,  and  death 

Our  lot  on  earth  may  be, 
Why  grieve?  'tis  but  a  wafted  breath 

From  Christ's  dear  Calvary. 

Though  all  the  powers  of  sin  and  hell 

Against  our  souls  unite, 
Why  should  we  fear  ?  God  keeps  us  well, 

At  morning,  noon,  and  night. 

God  keeps  His  own,  He  loves  His  own — 

He  loved  them  to  the  end; 
We  never  can  be  left  alone 

While  He  remains  our  friend. 

Dear  as  the  * '  apple  of  His  eye, ' ' 
And  ' '  precious  in  His  sight, ' ' 

Are  they  who  make  His  word  their  law, 
His  service  their  delight. 

His  own.  His  own.  His  very  own. 

In  life,  in  death,  we're  His; 
The  angels  sing  around  His  Throne 

No  sweeter  song  than  this. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN   REID. 
XVHI. 

IT  was  like  a  dream  to  Philip  when  he 
found  himself  in  the  night  express,  hur- 
rying back  to  Riverport.  Every  other  feel- 
ing was  merged  in  that  of  concern  for  his 
uncle,  and  reawakened  affection  and  grati- 
tude. He  was  eager  to  reach  him,  yet  the 
hour  at  which  he  arrived  in  the  city  (4  a.m.) 
made  him  hesitate  to  disturb  the  household. 
But  the  urgency  of  his  aunt's  message  de- 
cided him  to  do  so.  "Come  at  once,"  she 
had  said;  and  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  entertain  the  idea  of  the  least  delay. 


Consequently,  he  was  driven  immediately 
to  the  house;  and  no  sooner  did  his  car- 
riage stop,  than  the  hall- door  was  opened  by 
a  servant  evidently  on  the  watch  for  him. 
"How  is  my  uncle?"  he  asked,  breath- 
lessly; and  the  reply  relieved  his  greatest 
fear.  Mr.  Thornton  was  better:  he  was  rest- 
ing easily ;  and  one  of  the  doctors  had  left 
the  house,  though  another  remained  in  at- 
tendance. Mrs.  Thornton  had  gone  to  lie 
down,  and  the  servant  respectfully  sug- 
gested to  Philip  that  he  should  do  the  same. 
But  the  young  man  could  not  be  satisfied 
until  he  had  seen  the  doctor  and  heard  his 
opinion. 

"Ask  him  if  he  will  be  kind  enough  to 
see  me  for  a  few  minutes, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  will 
wait  for  him  in  the  library." 

He  entered  that  apartment  as  he  spoke. 
Lights  were  burning  here  as  elsewhere  in 
the  house,  and  the  aspect  of  the  familiar 
room — the  room  in  which  he  had  last  seen 
his  uncle — smote  him  like  a  blow.  He 
looked  at  the  chair  in  which  Mr.  Thornton 
had  sat  the  night  they  parted,  and  its  empti- 
ness seemed  to  bring  over  him  a  fresh  and 
vivid  sense  of  their  estrangement.  The  sad- 
ness of  alienation  and  the  uncertainty  of  life 
were  presented  to  him  with  a  force  which 
only  the  near  presence  or  danger  of  death 
can  produce.  ' '  Could  I  have  acted  other- 
wise?" he  asked  himself,  mournfully,  while 
he  regarded  the  chair  that  in  its  vacancy 
seemed  to  reproach  him. 

Upon  these  thoughts  the  entrance  of  the 
doctor  broke.  He  came  in  and  shook  hands 
with  Philip,  looking  the  while  so  grave  that 
the  young  man's  heart  sank.  He  dreaded 
to  utter  the  question  which  trembled  on  his 
lips,  and  which  the  doctor  after  an  instant  j 
anticipated.  | 

"You  will  find  Mr.  Thornton  very  ill," 
he  said. 

"Dangerously  ill?"  asked  Philip, quickly. 

"Very  dangerously  ill,"  was  the  reply. 
"Indeed,  I  always  think  it  best  to  speak  \ 
plainly,  and  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  no  ^ 
hope  of  his  recovery." 

Philip  fairly  staggered  under  these  un- 
expected words.    His  own  vague  fears  had 


s 


The  Ave  Maria. 


389- 


"been  one  thing,  but  this  positive  announce- 
ment was  quite  another. 

"  It  is  impossible ! "  he  gasped.  ' '  There 
must  be  some  hope  of  his  recovery !  Why, 
when  I  saw  my  uncle  last  he  was  in  perfect 
health." 

"Very  far  from  it,"  said  the  physician, 
gravely.    ''Mr.  Thornton  has  not  been  in 

rfect  health  for  a  long  time,  but  he  was 
ery  anxious  that  his  condition  should  not 

suspected.  He  went  abroad  at  my  earnest 

commendation,  because  I  thought  that 
is  mind  should  be  relieved  as  far  as  pos- 
ible  of  business  cares.  But  his  health  was 
more  fatally  undermined  than  I  thought. 
He  was  taken  ill  in  Paris,  then  again  in 
New  York,  and  it  is  wonderful  that  he  has 
reached  home  alive.  His  strength  of  will 
and  his  tenacity  of  life  are  both  remarkable; 
but  I  do  not  thjnk  he  can  y ve  more  than  a 
few  days  at  longest. ' ' 

Philip  sank  down  in  the  vacant  chair 
that  a  few  minutes  before  had  seemed  to  re- 
proach him.    "Does  >^<?  know?"  he  asked. 

' '  Yes, ' '  the  doctor  answered.  ' '  He  is  not 
a  man  whom  it  is  possible  to  deceive.  His 
mind  is  clear,  and  he  insisted  upon  know- 
ing how  much  life  he  could  reckon  upon. 
I  told  him,  and  he  at  once  asked  for  you. ' ' 

"That  was—?" 

' '  Yesterday,  soon  after  he  arrived. ' ' 

'  'And  when  can  I  see  him  ? ' ' 

' '  He  will  probably  ask  for  you  as  soon  as 
he  rouses  again.  He  is  now  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  opiates  which  we  were  forced 
to  employ  to  subdue  the  pain  he  was  en- 
during. I  do  not  anticipate  any  very  violent 
return  of  that.  The  worst  is  over.  But  he 
will  now  sink  rapidly." 

"Then,"  said  Philip,  starting  to  his  feet, 
"I  should  see  him  without  delay." 

The  doctor  lifted  his  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  authority.  ' '  Have  I  not  told  you  that 
he  is  under  the  influence  of  opiates?"  he 
asked.  "When  he  rouses,  his  mind  will  be 
clear,  and  we  can  keep  up  his  strength  for 
some  time  by  stimulants.  Do  not  fear:  I 
will  let  you  know  as  soon  as  it  is  possible 
"or  you  to  see  him.  Meanwhile  you  had 
:)etter  lie  down  and  take  some  rest. ' ' 


This  was  a  recommendation  which  Philip 
felt  altogether  unable  to  follow.  After  the 
departure  of  the  physician,  he  walked  to 
ane  of  the  windows  and  opened  it.  Dawn 
was  brightening  in  the  East,  and  the  cool 
freshness  of  the  morning  air  came  to  his 
brow  and  eyes  with  a  reviving  touch.  In 
the  midst  of  the  roseate  glow  which  showed 
where  the  sun  would  presently  appear, 
one  bright  star  still  gleamed  and  caught 
his  regard,  turning  his  thoughts  to  Her 
whose  loveliest  title  is  Morning  Star.  He 
remembered  that  on  this  day  the  Church 
made  solemn  commemoration  of  Her  great 
sorrows,  and  his  heart  rose  up,  as  it  were, 
with  a  passionate  impulse  to  implore  Her 
powerful  intercession  for  the  soul  so  near  to 
death,  and  bearing  a  weight  of  unacknowl- 
edged sin  and  wrong.  To  his  mind,  almost 
to  his  lips,  came  some  lines  of  a  poet  who 
should  have  been  more  Christian  than  he 
was: 

"Oh!  when  our  need  is  uttermost, 

Think  that  to  such  as  death  may  strike 

Thou  once  wert  sister  sisterlike! 

Thou  headstone  of  humanity, 

Groundstone  of  the  great  Mystery ; 

Fashioned  like  us,  yet  more  than  we! " 

He  thought  of  Alice  Percival  and  her 
prayers.  He  knew  that  to-day  her  supplica- 
tions would  meet  his  in  the  sword-pierced 
Heart  of  Mary,  and  the  consciousness  gave 
him  a  hope — a  sense  of  strength  and  pow- 
erful succor  which  he  would  otherwise  have 
lacked.  It  nerved  his  resolution.  Whatever 
else  should  be  said  or  left  unsaid  in  the 
ear  of  the  dying  man,  he  determined  that 
he  would  make  one  last  appeal  to  his  con- 
science, one  last  prayer  that  he  would  call 
upon  the  Church  for  those  great  Sacra- 
ments which  smooth  the  path  of  death,  and 
open  the  gate  of  Paradise. 

It  was  several  hours  after  this  when  he 
was  at  last  admitted  to  his  uncle's  chamber. 
His  first  feeling  when  he  entered  was  one 
of  shocked  amazement.  Could  this  be,  in- 
deed, the  man  whom  he  had  seen  last  in 
robust  health  and  strength? — this  invalid, 
with  his  pale,  wan  countenance,  his  hollow 
cheeks  and  sunken  eyes?  The  ravages  of 
disease,  the  marks  of  intense  physical  suf- 


390 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fering,  and  the  near  approach  of  death,  were 
so  evident  that  he  could  not  speak;  he 
could  only  grasp  the  hand  that  was  ex- 
tended to  him,  while  a  gleam  of  pleasure 
came  into  the  sick  man's  eyes. 

"I  am  glad  that  I  have  lived  to  see  you 
again,  Phil,"  he  said.  "I  thought  once^ 
over  yonder — that  I  should  not." 

"My  dear  uncle,"  replied  Philip,  with  a 
break  in  his  voice,  ' '  you  must  know  that  I 
would  have  gone  across  the  world  to  you  at 
a  word,  a  hint  of  your  danger. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  I  think  you  would, ' '  observed  the 
other.  ' '  But  you  might  not  have  reached — 
However,  here  I  am,  at  home  once  more, 
though  I  have  only  come  home  to  die,  the 
doctors  tell  me.  It  is  hard  to  die,  Phil,  when 
one  has  everything  to  enjoy  here,  and — 
nothing  beyond. ' ' 

Philip  felt  as  if  his  heart  were  wrung  by 
unavailing  pity  and  pain.  It  was  so  terribly 
true.  Everything  to  enjoy  here,  and  beyond 
— nothing!  This  man,  who  had  spent  his 
life  and  sacrificed  his  conscience  in  the 
pursuit  of  wealth,  had  made  to  himself  no 
friends  with  that  mammon  of  unrighteous- 
ness. No  deeds  of  charity  had  gone  before 
him,  no  blessings  of  the  poor  would  waft 
his  soul  to  heaven.  It  was  too  late  now  for 
the  amassing  of  such  treasure,  but  he  might 
yet  do  one  deed  of  justice,  which  would 
lighten  the  awful  reckoning  to  come.  But 
how  to  suggest  this  without  rousing  the 
old  anger  and  provoking  the  old  refusal, 
Philip  hardly  knew.  Yet  he  could  not  let 
the  opening  pass. 

"Yes,  it  is  hard,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
charged  with  the  deepest  feeling.  "But 
faith  assures  us  that  there  is  much  beyond 
for  one  who  believes  and — repents." 

' '  Faith ! ' '  repeated  Mr.  Thornton.  '  'Ah ! 
let  me  tell  you  that  if  a  man  has  once  re- 
laxed his  hold  on  faith  he  can  not  summon 
it  back  at  will — not  even  though  he  be  on 
his  death-bed.  I  am  certain  of  nothing,  ex- 
cept that  I  must  leave  all  that  I  see  and 
know  and  possess,  for — "  [He  paused,  some- 
thing like  a  spasm  came  over  his  face,  his 
voice  sank  lower.  ]  "If  the  things  that  I  was 
taught  and  that  you  believe  are  true,  for 


what?"    he  asked,  looking  at  the  young 
man  with  an  appealing  glance. 

It  was  a  terrible  question,  but  Philip  dared 
not  hesitate  in  his  reply.  He  knelt  down 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  took  the  sick 
man' s  hand.  ' '  For  the  judgment  of  God, ' ' 
he  said.  ' '  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that. 
But  you  have  time  to  prepare  for  it.  You 
can  set  your  conscience  in  order,  you  can 
make  restitution  for  any  wrong  that  you 
have  done,  and  you  can  find  peace  and 
forgiveness  in  the  Sacraments  which  the 
Church  offers  you.  My  dear  uncle,  you  have- 
never  renounced  your  religion,  though  you 
have  long  neglected  it.  Let  me  send  at 
once  for  a  priest. ' ' 

The  other  shrank  at  that  word.  "A 
priest!"  he  exclaimed.  " I  do  not  wish  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  priests.  They  are 
— overbearing.  Do  you  not  think  a  man 
may  have  sincere  repentance  and  be  for- 
given by  God  without  a  priest?" 

"I  should  doubt,"  said  Philip,  gravely, 
' '  the  sincerity  of  the  repentance  which  re- 
fuses to  approach  God  in  the  way  that  He 
has  indicated  as  the  way  to  approach  Him. 
Repentance — sincere  contrition — might  be 
sufficient  for  one  who  did  not  know  the  way ; 
but  you  know  it. ' ' 

Mr.  Thornton  uttered  a  sigh  which  was 
almost  a  groan.  "If  a  priest  come,"  he 
said,  "he  would  exact  too  much." 

Philip  started.  Had  his  uncle,  then,  more 
on  his  conscience  than  he  suspected? 

' '  Let  us  speak  frankly, ' '  he  answered — 
fortunately  they  were  alone,  Mr.  Thornton 
having  insisted  on  even  the  nurse  leaving 
the  room, — "I  do  not  know  what  amount 
of  restitution  might  be  demanded  of  you, 
but  if  it  were  the  half  or  the  whole  of  your 
fortune,  surely  it  would  be  well  made  to 
bring  you  peace  of  mind. ' ' 

Mr.  Thornton  frowned.  Even  at  this  hour 
his  pride  rose.  ' '  It  would  not  approach  the 
half  of  my  fortune,"  he  said.  "The  mere 
money,  you — none  of  you — would  miss.  But 
the  acknowledgment — after  all  these  years 
— that  would  be  hard.  See,  Philip,  might  it 
not  answer  if  I  left  in  your  hands  the  power 
to  do  whatever  you  thought  right?" 


The  Ave  Maria, 


391 


Philip's  heart  leaped  for  an  instant.  Was 
it,  then,  to  be  his,  the  privilege  of  making 
restitution?  But  the  next  moment  he  saw 
that  this  was  impossible. 

"  I  do  not  think, ' '  he  said, ' '  that  it  would 
be  the  same  thing.  It  would  not  be  your 
act:  it  would  be  my  casting,  as  it  were,  a 
reproach  on  your  memory  for  what  you  had 
left  undone.  No,  my  dear  uncle:  let  me  im- 
plore you  to  do  the  thing  yourself.  If  you 
meant  in  your  kindness  to  leave  me  any- 
thing, take  that  for  the  purpose,  and  leave 
me  nothing.  I  should  be  far  happier  in  the 
thought  that  you  had  cleared  your  name 
and  your  conscience,  than  in  the  possession 
of  any  fortune  you  could  give  me." 

The  sick  man  seemed  touched.  His  eyes 
softened  as  he  looked  at  the  pleading  face 
bent  over  him.  "You  are  not  like  most 
heirs, ' '  he  said.  '  'And  this  brings  me  to  the 
chief  thing  for  which  I  wanted  to  see  you 
— for  which  I  wanted  to  reach  home.  My 
will  is  not  yet  made,  and  there  must  be  no 
further  delay  .about  it.  Listen,  Philip.  If  I 
do  what  you  ask,  for  which  you  are  so  anx- 
ious, will  you  do  what  /  ask,  for  which  I 
am  equally  anxious — will  you  marry  Con- 
stance ?  " 

"Will  I — marry  Constance!"  repeated 
Philip.  His  heart,  which  a  moment  before 
had  leaped  up  so  eagerly,  seemed  now  to 
standstill.  What  could  he  say  ?  To  marry 
Constance  meant  to  surrender  all  hope  of 
happiness  for  himself.  His  whole  nature 
cried  out  against  it  as  impossible;  yet  even 
in  the  same  moment  he  knew  that  it  might 
be  a  thing  to  which  he  must  submit — the 
costly  sacrifice  demanded  of  him  to  gain  the 
end  he  had  in  view.  A  little  before  he  would 
have  said  that  he  could  not  hesitate  at  any- 
thing to  gain  this  end — to  restore  to  the 
Percivals  what  was  justly  theirs;  and,  more, 
far  more,  to  induce  his  uncle  to  cleanse  his 
soul  before  going  to  meet  his  God.  And  now 
when  the  way  by  which  this  might  be  done 
was  indicated  to  him,  dared  he  hold  back 
because  his  own  happiness  would  suffer 
shipwreck?  Some  words  of  Alice  Percival's 
when  they  had  walked  together  the  evening 
before,  returned  to  his  memory :  "  I  am  sure 


that  for  a  great  end  you  could  make  even 
such  a  sacrifice  as  that."  The  occasion  for 
sacrifice  had  come  sooner  than  either  could 
have  dreamed,  and  should  he  prove  that  he 
was  not  capable  of  it  ?  For  what  greater  end 
could  be  imagined  than  to  accomplish  that 
for  which  they  had  both  prayed? 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Thornton,  looking  at 
the  pale  face,  which  was  an  index  of  the 
struggle  within,  "how  is  it  to  be?  I  have 
no  time  to  lose,  you  know." 

Philip  was  well  aware  of  that.  The  doc- 
tor had  warned  him  that  there  should  be  no 
delay  in  whatever  business  had  to  be  trans- 
acted. "I  can  answer  for  him  to-day,"  he 
said,  "but  no  longer."  The  decision,  then, 
must  be  made  at  once.  One  short,  sharp 
instant  "of  longer  combat,  and  then  the 
young  man  spoke: 

"Yes,  I  will  do  what  you  ask — I  will 
marry  Constance,  if  she  will  consent  to 
marry  me — if  you  will  send  for  a  priest,  and 
make  whatever  restitution  he  holds  to  be 
just  and  necessary." 

Mr.  Thornton  extended  his  hand.    ' '  You 
promise  on  your  honor?"  he  said. 
"I  promise  on  my  honor." 
"  Then  send  for  a  priest — I  have  no  choice: 
whoever  you  please — and  my  lawyer. ' ' 

(to   BE)   CONTINUED.) 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


Under  the  Crescent. 


BY    CHARI.ES   WARREN    STODDARD. 


IX.  — Stamboul.  — (Concluded. ) 

THE  WaIvLS  of  Constantine.— Con- 
stantine  the  Great  surrounded  his  city 
with  a  wall  thirteen  miles  in  length,  having 
eight-and-twenty  gates  and  many  a  lofty 
tower.  These  walls  still  stand,  tottering,  and 
are  wonderfully  picturesque.  In  parts  of  the 
old  fortifications  you  can  see  the  breaches 
made  by  catapults  and  battering  rams.  Of 
all  the  gates,  there  are  no  two  alike,  and 
each  has  something  of  its  own  that  is  either 
beautiful  or  interesting.    One  of  the  pleas- 


392 


The  Ave  Maria. 


antest  excursions  about  the  City  of  the 
Sultan  is  the  exploration  of  the  walls  and 
towers.  There  are  cemeteries  by  the  way, 
and  mosques  and  a  thousand  cafes  to  be- 
guile you.  You  may  float  under  the  walls 
in  a  caique^  for  their  very  foundations  are 
laid  in  the  sea,  on  one  side  of  the  city ;  you 
may  ride,  or  drive,  or  walk ;  you  may  have 
a  distant  view  of  the  Mosque  of  Eyoob, 
where  the  Osmanli  sultans  gird  on  the 
sword  of  Osman.  Eyoob  was  the  standard- 
bearer  and  companion-in-arms  of  the 
Prophet,  and  was  killed  at  the  siege  of  Con- 
stantinople by  the  Arabs,  A.  D.  668.  Mo- 
hammed II.  having  had  the  tomb  of  Eyoob 
revealed  to  him  in  a  vision,  the  mosque 
and  mausoleum  were  erected  on  the  spot. 
They  are  far  too  holy  for  a  Christian  to  enter, 
even  in  his  stocking- feet;  which  is  rather  a 
pity,  inasmuch  as  this  mosque  is  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  of  the  many  near  the 
capital. 

At  the  Greek  Church,  buried  in  one  of 
the  cypress  groves,  there  are  some  miracu- 
lous fish,  red  on  one  side  and  brown  on  the 
other.  These  fish  were  in  the  frying-pan, 
perfectly  resigned  to  fate,  when  Constanti- 
nople was  taken.  That  was  a  little  too 
much,  and  they  leaped  out  of  the  frying- 
pan,  browned  on  one  side  only.  If  you  don' t 
believe  it,  inquire  at  the  Greek  Church,  and 
see  these  precocious  wrigglers,  swimming 
about  in  the  fountain  as  gaily  as  if  they 
were  not  well-done  on  one  side  and  raw  on 
the  other. 

At  the  Seven  Towers,  where  the  treasury 
was  formerly  kept,  the  walls  are  ponderous, 
and  the  interior  of  the  court,  which  they 
enclose  like  some  ancient  garden,  neglected 
and  forlorn.  There  are  stone  stairways  lead- 
ing up  to  parapets,  where  the  grass  waves 
in  the  wind,  and  the  poppies  flutter  their 
leaves  like  butterfly  wings ;  where  the  huge, 
hollow  towers  are  rent  from  top  to  bottom, 
but  the  vines  that  clasp  them  in  their  strong 
embrace  keep  the  old  fellows  from  falling. 
Trees  force  their  way  out  of  the  crevices, 
and  the  place  is  alive  with  lizards.  As  quiet 
as  a  country  dooryard  in  the  sunshine,  this 
ancient  fortress  was  once  the  scene  of  con- 


tinual slaughter,  and  there  is  hardly  a  stone 
in  it  but  might  mark  the  grave  of  some  vic- 
tim of  tyranny  or  treachery,  whose  blood 
has  stained  this  soil. 

In  the  Valley  of  Sweet  Waters. — 
It  is  a  long  drive  from  Pera  over  the  dusty 
hills  to  the  Vale  of  the  Sweet  Waters;  but 
on  Friday  afternoons  the  road  is  lined  with 
carriages,  and  the  groves  on  the  banks  of 
that  pretty  stream — the  waters  of  which  are 
worthily  called  sweet — resound  to  the  music 
of  many  a  mandolin  and  the  gay  laughter 
of  women. 

After  mosque — the  regular  Friday  duty 
of  all  Mussulmans  is  to  say  their  prayers  in 
state  on  that  day — after  prayers,  the  devout 
and  the  indifferent  hasten  to  the  Vale  of  the 
Sweet  Waters,  and  give  their  souls  to  the 
luxury  of  life.  The  spectacle  is  both  charm- 
ing and  unique;  such  a  scene  can  only  be 
imagined  by  the  student  of  Eastern  poetry; 
for  it  is  one  of  the  most  joyous,  brilliant, 
and  picturesque  that  can  be  conceived  of. 
It  is  a  garden  party,  in  carnival  costume, 
held  in  the  midst  of  green  pastures,  and  be- 
side still  waters  that  rival  those  of  the  Vale 
of  Cashmere. 

As  we  drove  into  the  mouth  of  the  valley 
our  road  wound  under  luxuriant  boughs 
dense  with  black  shadows;  on  one  hand  a 
narrow  stream  flowed  noiselessly ;  one  shore 
was  a  bed  of  moss,  the  other  a  wilderness 
of  foliage,  through  which  even  the  birds 
might  find  it  difiicult  to  pass.  White  swans 
sailed  up  and  down  the  stream;  yellow 
leaves  floated  upon  it;  its  waters  were  so 
clear  and  so  tranquil  that  they  appeared, 
even  in  the  shadow,  like  a  deep  river  of 
amber. 

Deep  in  the  valley  there  is  a  summer 
palace  of  the  sultan.  You  see  it  in  the  midst 
of  velvet  lawns,  among  cypresses,  and  mi- 
mosas, and  fountains — a  cage  of  white  and 
gold,  such  as  might  house  the  birds  of  par- 
adise. Musters  of  peacocks  cover  the  lawns, 
and  strut  about  with  their  fan-tails  spread, 
as  proud  as  any  Turk  in  the  land.  Some  of 
these  decorative  but  unmusical  birds  were 
posing  on  the  pedestals  and  urns  that  stand 
in  the  garden — a  highly  efiective  but  rather 


The  Ave  Maria. 


39V 


theatrical  display,  for  which  the  birds  may 
be  pardoned. 

The  stream  broadens  below  the  summer 
palace;  the  groves  scatter  themselves  over 
the  meadows  on  either  side;  a  thousand 
caiques  are  in  the  water,  crowding  their  way 
to  and  fro  between  the  shores,  laden  with 
pleasure  -  seekers.  The  shores  themselves 
absolutely  swarm  with  women  and  children : 
it  is  their  high  holiday. 

We  enter  one  of  the  caiques^  and  seat  our- 
selves cautiously  in  the  bottom  of  it;  noth- 
ing can  be  more  uncomfortable  or  more 
insecure  than  these  tottering,  flat- bottomed, 
ill-balanced  boats.  The  oarsman  sits  with 
his  back  to  the  bow, and  is  obliged  to  throw 
an  eye  over  his  shoulder  every  five  seconds 
to  avoid  the  possibility  of  a  collision,  and 
with  this  double  duty  on  his  hands  he  is 
certainly  excusable  for  an  occasional  disas- 
ter. We  had  our  bow  stove  in,  and  were 
drawn  on  shore  as  speedily  as  possible,  to 
avoid  being  crushed  in  the  immense  throng 
of  caiques  that  choked  the  stream  for  two 
or  three  miles,  and  rendered  a  cruise  in  the 
sweet  waters  far  from  enjoyable. 

On  the  shore  were  multitudes  of  women 
wrapped  in  silks  and  satins  of  the  brightest 
colors,  and-seated  upon  rich  Persian  carpets 
spread  under  the  trees.  These  women  were 
generally  in  groups  of  three  or  more,  and 
were  attended  by  Nubian  slaves,  who  also 
wore  \}ci.^yashmack  upon  their  faces,  though 
they  were  as  black  as  ebony. 

Bands  of  singers,  dancers,  instrumental- 
ists, magicians,  snake-charmers,  and  story- 
tellers wander  up  and  down  the  shore,  ply- 
ing their  trades  and  making  the  valley 
resound  with  the  confusion  of  Babel.  In 
every  group  the  nargileh  sent  up  its  fra- 
grant incense,  and  half  the  world  seemed  to 
be  feeding  upon  honeyed  fruits  and  drink- 
ing sherbet  or  raki.  Doubtless  this  latter 
liquor  flowed  freely,  for  the  tumult  increased 
as  the  afternoon  waned. 

There  were  tents  pitched  in  the  smaller 
groves,  and  from  these  more  reserved  circles 
came  gushing  laughter,  and  the  click  of 
glasses,  and  the  pretty  patter  of  applauding 
kids.  The  Harem  really  does  enjoy  itself  on 


a  Friday,  even  though  that  black  giant  of  a 
eunuch  is  seated  without  the  curtains  of  the 
tent. 

The  sojourner  in  Pera  can  touch  the  two 
extremes  of  Oriental  enjoyment  when  he 
drifts  over  to  Prinkipo  of  a  sunny  spring 
morning,  and  lounges  in  the  semi-solitude 
of  that  slumberous  isle,  and  when,  weary  of 
professional  sight-seeing  and  of  the  hum  of 
business  in  the  Frank  quarter  of  the  town, 
he  takes  carriage  or  caique  and  comes  by 
land  or  sea  to  the  Vale  of  the  Sweet  Waters, 
and  enters  for  a  moment  into  the  spirit  of 
^^fete.  Your  practical  Mohammedan  goes 
hence  to  indulge  his  eyes  with  a  vision  of 
the  joys  to  come;  for  is  it  not  promised  him 
who  is  faithful,  a  river  and  the  flower  of 
womanhood,  together  with  meat  and  drink? 

The  Bridge  of  Boats. — Somehow,  one 
always  gets  back  to  the  Bridge  of  Boats  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  perhaps 
there  is  nothing  hereabout  that  is  so  de- 
lightful, and  whose  interest  is  so  continu- 
ous. If  the  Styx  were  bridged,  one  might 
expect  to  find  it  no  more  crowded  than  this 
thoroughfare;  and  I  doubt  if  a  more  motley 
multitude  could  be  gathered  together,  even 
though  it  were  personally  conducted  by 
Charon.  I  know  that  the  costumes  are  be- 
wildering; that  one  need  never  go  farther 
to  look  for  faces  or  figures;  that  the  Ark, 
when  it  grounded  on  Mount  Ararat,  and 
poured  forth  its  miscellaneous  crew,  could 
hardly  have  surpassed  this  Bridge  of  Boats 
in  the  infinite  variety  of  its  species. 

Men  and  beasts  travel  together  here. 
The  way  is  lined  with  those  itinerant  ba- 
zaars that  spread  themselves  at  your  feet 
and  beguile  you;  but  the  next  moment  they 
are  rolled  together  again,  and  borne  away  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  merchant,  who  doesn't 
seem  in  the  least  in  earnest  when  he  asks 
you  to  purchase  his  wares. 

The  fire  brigade  of  this  inflammable  city 
is  better  than  nothing;  for  it  shows  a  will- 
ingness on  the  part  of  the  authorities  to 
afford  the  populace  a  cheap  and  perfectly 
harmless  amusement,  but  that  is  about  as 
much  as  it  is  capable  of 

Constantinople  is  always  in  flames;  it 


394 


Tlie  Ave  Jllaria. 


has  several  times  attracted  the  attention  and 
the  sympathy  of  the  world,  in  consequence 
of  the  extent  of  its  suffering.  I  had  often 
wondered  what  means  are  taken  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  so  dangerous  an  element  in 
a  community  that  is  perfectly  at  the  mercy 
of  it.  At  last  my  curiosity  was  gratified, 
l/ounging  on  the  bridge  one  da}  — listening 
to  the  delightful  chant  of  a  pair  of  sherbet- 
sellers,  who  went  off  every  two  minutes  like 
a  musical  clock,  and  looking  at  the  spectac- 
ular populace  crowding  to  and  fro — I  heard 
an  unusual  commotion,  and  saw  that  a 
charge  of  half-naked  infantry  was  cutting 
an  avenue  through  the  dense  crowd.  Then 
came  five -and- twenty  lusty  fellows,  who 
bore  above  their  heads  in  triumph  a  small 
box — its  size  might  have  been  two  by  four, 
and  a  couple  of  feet  deep — with  a  garden 
hose- pump  attached.  If  it  were  the  Ark  of 
the  Covenant  being  hurried  away  to  the 
mountains  it  could  hardly  have  created 
more  sensation  in  the  bosom  of  the  Constan- 
tinopolitan.  The  ten  tribes  leaped  for  joy; 
all  the  nations  sang  together.  I  joined  the 
chorus,  for  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  in- 
fected by  such  universal  enthusiasm. 

On  came  another,  and  another,  and  yet 
another  caravan,  bearing  its  trophy  aloft, 
and  shouting  the  battle-cry  of  something 
which  I  was  unable  to  interpret.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  hundreds  of  these  machines  were 
hurried  over  the  bridge.  Some  of  them  were 
returning  at  a  moderate  pace  long  before 
the  procession  was  over.  The  companies 
saluted  one  another  in  great  glee,  and  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  hour  was  in  nowise 
abated. 

At  last  I  asked  what  was  the  meaning  of 
this  extraordinary  demonstration.  It  might 
have  been  a  race  of  the  youths  of  Turkey; 
or  happy  souls  bearing  tribute  to  the  happy 
sultan  of  the  unhappy  Empire;  but  it  was 
not.  It  was  only  the  fire  department  of 
Constantinople  on  active  duty;  and  the 
wonder  is  that  there  is  a  sole  survivor  capa- 
ble of  telling  the  tale,  or  a  solitary  stone  left 
standing  upon  a  stone  on  the  hills  of  the 
Bosporus. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Office  Divine. 

Aperi  Domine  os  niezcm  ad  be7iedicevdii7n  Nomen 
sanctum  tuum. 

jpl  VEIL£D  nuns,  who  kneel  in  your  choir! 
^    O  cowled  monks,  who  chant  in  the  stall ! 
O  lonely  priests  in  your  silent  room! 

O  prelates  in  purple  or  scarlet, — all! 
O  all  who  the  Office  Divine  recite! 
Can  you  reach  to  your  task's  sublimest height? 

The  swinging  globe  in  its  dazzling  flight 
Rolls  on  to  the  tones  of  that  Matin  song; 

The  echoes  blend  in  their  glorious  might 
With  the  Lauds  eternal  chiming  along; 

Perpetual  dawn  on  the  world's  great  face 

Wakes  the  psalmody  grand  in  a  new-born 
place. 

And  the  Little  Hours,  tone  after  tone. 
The  earth  takes  up  in  a  chorus  grand, 

And  her  tongues  and  races,  speaking  as  one. 
Shout  the  canticles  forth  over  sea  and  land; 

And  a  zone  of  praise  from  her  confines  fair 

Clasps   His  Church  to  Christ  in  a   mighty 
prayer. 

The  soft,  bright  stars  of  perpetual  eve 

Perpetual  Vespers  ever  greet. 
And  eternal  Compline  rising  to  God 

Fills  the  Klders'  censers  with  odors  sweet; 
And  endless  choirs,  in  glad  refrain, 
Bear  on  through  Heaven  the  lofty  strain. 

O  Mater  Ecdesia!  Mother  benign! 

Rise  up  forever  and  sing  thy  love — 
Thy  wondrous  Office— thy  Psalms  divine; 

Mount  up  and  blend  with  the  songs  above, — 
With  the  ' '  harpers  harping  before  the  throne, ' ' 
In  the  music  no  mortal  ear  hath  known. 

Mercedes. 


Look  not  mournfully  into  the  past;  it 
comes  not  back  again.  Wisely  improve  the 
present, — it  is  thine.  Go  forth  to  meet  the 
shadowy  future  without  fear  and  with  a 
manly  heart. — Lo7tgfelIozv. 

The  golden  beams  of  truth  and  the  silken 
cords  of  love,  twisted  together,  will  draw 
men  on  with  a  sweet  violence,  whether  they 
will  or  not. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


395 


The  Holy  Man  of  Tours. 


THERE  is  an  impression  among  some 
that  M.  Dupont,  the  "Holy  Man  of 
Tours,"  was  a  clergyman.  This  is  a  mis- 
take: he  was  a  laic,  and  his  example  adds 
another  to  the  long  list  of  eminent  laymen, 
who  have  illustrated  the  true  spirit  of  our 
holy  religion  by  lives  of  earnest  zeal,  devo- 
tion, and  self-sacrifice  for  the  good  of  their 
fellowmen ;  thus  showing  what  may  be  done 
by  lay  people,  and  encouraging  others  to 
imitate  their  example. 

M.  Dupont  belonged  to  a  wealthy  and 
aristocratic  family, and  in  his  youth  was  of  a 
gay  and  lively  disposition — fond  of  excite- 
ment and  pleasure,  spending  his  abundant 
means  lavishly,  and,  without  disregarding 
the  essential  requirements  of  a  Christian  life, 
frequenting  eagerly  the  fashionable  salons 
of  the  great  world  of  that  time.  Acciden- 
tally thrown  in  company  with  certain  mem- 
bers of  the  Society  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul, 
who  were  enjoying  a  gala  day  with  some 
young  chimney-sweeps  whom  they  had  un- 
der their  care,  he  felt  an  attraction  for  that 
work,  and  asked  the  privilege  of  participat- 
ing in  it;  and  from  this  incident  he  dated 
his  conversion.  "Suddenly,"  he  wrote  af- 
terwards, "a  ray  of  light  shone  upon  me, 
and  made  me  realize  the  importance  of  the 
Christian  life,  and  of  attending  to  the  in- 
dispensable affair  of  salvation.  But  it  was 
necessary  that  grace  should  intervene." 
This  grace  intervened  in  good  time,  and 
transformed  him  into  a  most  earnest,  de- 
vout, and  zealous  servant  of  God  and  of  his 
neighbor. 

Devotion  to  his  lonely  mother,  who  had 
lost  all  her  other  children,  and  who  needed 
his  protection,  prevented  his  entering  the 
ecclesiastical  state.  He  was  appointed  coun- 
cillor in  the  royal  court  of  Martinique, 
where  the .  family  resided,  and  when  thirty 
years  old  he  married  a  noble  young  lady, 
whose  qualities  and  virtues  fitted  her  in 
every  way  to  be  a  helpmate  for  him.  She  was 
suddenly  torn  from  him  by  death,  leaving 
one  child — a  daughter,  who  grew  to  be  a 


beautiful  young  lady.  To  perfect  the  edu- 
cation of  this  daughter,  he  removed  from 
Martinique  to  Tours,  in  France,  which  was 
destined  henceforth  to  be  the  scene  of  his 
extraordinary  labors  in  the  special  field  to 
which  Divine  Providence  had  called  him. 

Having  settled  in  his  new  home,  and 
arranged  with  the  superioress  of  the  Ur- 
sulines  for  the  education  of  his  daughter, 
M,  Dupont  again  thought  seriously  of  em- 
bracing the  ecclesiastical  state.  He  was  dis- 
suaded from  taking  this  step  by  his  confes- 
sor and  the  superioress  of  the  convent,  who 
both  assured  him  he  could  do  more  good 
by  remaining  in  the  world.  From  that  time 
he  occupied  himself  in  all  manner  of  good 
works,  and  so  unusual  was  it  for  a  young 
man  of  aristocratic  birth,  great  wealth,  and 
brilliant  prospects  to  be  decidedly  and 
openly  Christian,  that  his  conduct  produced 
a  great  sensation  in  the  city.  He  was  not 
only  active  in  promoting  every  good  work, 
but  he  strove  with  all  his  might  to  abate 
the  public  disorders  caused  by  the  vices  and 
loose  conduct  of  the  age.  Sometimes  the 
sight  of  certain  scandals  inflamed  his  zeal, 
and  led  him  to  acts  of  vigor  to  which  the 
people  of  Tours  were  little  accustomed. 
One  day,  as  he  was  passing  along  the  street, 
he  saw  an  immodest  picture  exposed  at 
the  door  of  a  shop;  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  he  stopped,  thrust  his  foot  through 
the  canvas,  and  paid  the  price  demanded 
by  the  owner,  on  condition  that  he  would 
never  again  display  such  pictures  to  public 
view. 

Blasphemy  particularly  excited  his  grief 
and  indignation.  He  was  travelling  one  day 
on  the  top  of  a  diligence,  seated  by  the  side 
of  the  driver.  The  latter,  suddenly  yield- 
ing to  an  unfortunate  habit,  uttered  an  oath. 
M.  Dupont  instantly  dealt  him  a  vigorous 
blow  in  the  face.  Surprised  and  indignant, 
the  man  stopped  his  horse,  and  demanded 
an  explanation  of  the  insult.  "Unhappy 
man,"  replied  M.  Dupont,  with  authority, 
"  it  is  you  who  have  insulted  me.  You  have 
outraged  my  Father!  Who  gives. you  the 
right  to  insult  my  Father  in  this  manner?" 
"Your  Father!"   said  the  blasphemer,  as 


396 


The  Ave  Maria, 


much  astonished  by  the  words  as  by  the 
blow.  "Yes,"  said  M.  Dupont;  "God  is 
my  Father  and  your  Father.  Why  do  you 
outrage  Him  as  you  have  just  done?" 
Then,  with  the  eloquence  of  the  heart,  he 
made  him  comprehend  how  unworthy  of  a 
Christian  it  was  to  thus  outrage  his  God. 
The  man,  confused  and  ashamed,  confessed 
his  bad  habit,  and  promised  to  correct  it. 

So  great  was  M.  Dupont' s  abhorrence  of 
the  sin  of  blasphemy,  that  in  establishing 
the  devotion  to  the  Holy  Face — which  has 
since  become  so  widely  practised — he  made 
it  a  special  feature  of  that  devotion  to  make 
reparation  to  Almighty  God  for  the  blas- 
phemies of  thoughtless  and  wicked  men. 

The  greatest  blow  of  his  life  was  the  death 
of  his  beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter. 
On  a  visit  to  Paris,  this  cherished  child 
had  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  witness 
some  play  at  the  theatre.  So  impressed 
was  her  fond  father  with  the  danger  and 
allurements  of  the  world,  that  he  prayed  to 
God  that,  rather  than  allow  his  daughter  to 
be  captivated  by  them.  He  would  call  her 
to  Himself.  Our  Lord  seemed  to  take  him 
at  his  word.  The  young  girl  became  ill 
and  died;  and  we  know  of  nothing  more 
touching  and  at  the  same  time  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  death-bed  scene,  as  sketched  by 
M.  Dupont' s  biographer.  When  she  had  re- 
ceived the  Holy  Viaticum,  the  father,  who 
had  been  on  his  knees  praying  with  fervor, 
rose,  and,  taking  the  hand  of  the  dying  girl, 
said  to  her.  ' '  Now,  my  daughter,  you  have 
received  many  graces;  are  you  content?" 
' '  Yes,  papa. "  "Do  you  regret  anything  on 
earth?"  "Yes,  papa."  "What  is  it,  dear?" 
"To  leave  you."  "No,  my  child,  that 
should  be  no  cause  of  regret.  You  will  not 
leave  me — we  shall  not  be  separated:  God 
is  everywhere.  You  will  be  with  Him  in 
heaven,  and  you  will  see  Him.  I  shall  pray 
to  Him  here,  and  through  Him  I  shall  be 
with  you.  Two  walls  separate  us  at  this 
moment;  yours  is  about  to  fall,  mine  will 
one  day  fall  also.  We  shall  then  be  united 
forever."  All  present  were  in  tears,  and 
could  not  help  admiring  the  heroic.  Chris- 
tian fortitude  which  enabled  M.  Dupont  to 


triumph  over  the  natural  tenderness  of  the 
parent. 

The  devotion  to  the  Holy  Face,  with 
which  M.  Dupont  was  principally  occupied 
during  his  life,  and  which  he  was  instru- 
mental in  propagating  extensively  in  many 
countries,  was  really  inaugurated  by  a  nun, 
within  the  Carmel  cloister  of  Tours — Sister 
Marie  St.  Pierre — whom  God  chose  for  the 
purpose  of  establishing  a  Confraternity  with 
special  reference  to  the  work  of  reparation 
for  blasphemies  and  the  profanation  of 
Sundays  and  holydays.  Intimately  associ- 
ated with  this  holy  nun,  M.  Dupont  saw, 
from  the  first,  the  great  importance  of  this 
devotion,  became  deeply  interested  in  it, 
and  finally,  with  the  permission  of  his  su- 
periors, opened  a  chapel  in  his  own  splendid 
mansion,  procured  a  fine  authentic  copy  of 
the  Holy  Face  from  the  Veil  of  Veronica 
preserved  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome,  had  it 
framed  and  placed  upon  the  altar  in  his 
chapel,  and  kept  a  lamp  perpetually  burn- 
ing before  it. 

One  day  a  lady  called  to  see  M.  Dupont  on 
business.  He  invited  her  to  pray  before  the 
Holy  Face  while  he  attended  to  the  object 
of  her  visit.  She  was  suffering  very  much 
from  a  malady  of  the  eyes,  and  profited 
by  the  opportunity  to  ask  for  a  cure.  The 
servant  of  God  knelt  by  her  side,  and  they 
prayed  together.  On  rising  he  said:  "Put 
some  oil  from  the  lamp  on  your  eyes."  She 
dipped  her  finger  in  the  oil  and  rubbed  it  on 
her  eyes;  as  she  turned  she  exclaimed,  in 
astonishment,  "They  no  longer  pain  me!'^ 
She  was  instantly  cured.  And  from  that 
time  began  a  series  of  striking  miracles, 
which  spread  the  fame  of  the  Holy  Man  of 
Tours  throughout  the  world,  and  brought 
thousands  of  applications,  both  in  person 
and  by  letter,  asking  for  his  prayers,  and  for 
some  of  the  oil  from  the  lamp  before  the 
Holy  Face,  which  was  the  ordinary  medium 
through  which  the  miracles  were  per- 
formed. The  oil  was  put  into  small  vials, 
and  it  is  said  that  the  number  of  packages- 
which  he  sent  to  all  parts  of  France,  and, 
indeed,  throughout  the  world,  was  estimated. 
at  nearly  2,000,000. 


Th&  Ave  Maria. 


397 


For  twenty  years  did  this  holy  man  dis- 
pense the  extraordinary  favors  vouchsafed 
in  answer  to  his  prayers,  and  the  amount  of 
good  which  he  did  will  be  known  only  in 
eternity.  It  was  especially  as  a  work  of 
reparation  for  the  blasphemies  of  men  that 
M.  Dupont  esteemed  and  recommended  the 
devotion  of  the  Holy  Face.    It  had  been  re- 

(vealed  to  the  holy  nun,  Marie  St.  Pierre, 
that  by  applying  one's  self  to  the  reparation 
of  blasphemy  one  rendered  to  Our  Lord  the 
same  service  that  the  pious  Veronica  did 
when  she  compassionately  wiped  His  Face, 
all  covered  with  sweat  and  Blood,  on  His 
way  to  Calvary;  and  that  Our  Lord  will  re- 
gard those  who  thus  honor  Him  with  the 
same  favor  that  He  did  that  holy  woman. 
"In  proportion,"  said  Our  Lord  to  Sister 
St.  Pierre,  "to  the  care  you  take  to  repair 
the  injuries  inflicted  on  My  Face  by  blas- 
phemies, I  will  in  like  manner  take  care  of 
yours,  which  has  been  disfigured  by  sin ;  I 
will  renew  upon  it  My  image,  and  render 
it  as  beautiful  as  when  it  issued  from  the 
waters  of  baptism. ' ' 

Who  would  not  be  willing  to  use  all  his 
endeavors  not  only  to  be  careful  of  his  own 
language,  but  also  to  induce  all  with  whom 
he  may  be  associated,  and  over  whom  he 
may  have  influence,  to  abhor  and  forever 
abandon  the  awful  and  disgraceful  sin  of 
blasphemy  ? 


To  the  Blessed  Virgin   Mary. 

[The  following  is  a  translation  of  a  poem  con- 
tained in  an  appendix  to  the  poetical  works  of  the 
Holy  Father,  recently  issued  from  the  Vatican 
Press.] 

I. 
Then  Beelzebub  himself, 
Where  furious  burns  the  horrid  rage  of  war, 
With   aspect   fierce,  forth   belches   from   the 

depths 
The  dismal  monsters  of  his  dark  abode. 
Oh!  quickly,  bounteous  Virgin!  quickly  bear 
Needed  assistance  to  my  failing  strength. 
And  with  new  courage  gird  my  reeling  limbs. 
I  pray  Thee,  O  benignant  Virgin!  crush 
With  Thy  subduing  foot  the  serpent's  head. 


Who, with  wide  op'ning  mouth  and  venom' d 

fangs, 
Kssays  his  reeking  path  of  strife  and  blood 
With  you,  sweet  Virgin,  as   my  guide  and 

friend, 
I'll  do  dread  battle  in  the  glorious  cause. 
And  dare,  with  willing  hands,  aloft  to  raise 
The  dazzling  ensign  of  the  Truth  and  Right. 
With  you,  sweet   Virgin,  as   my  guide  and 

friend. 
The  foul  and  loathsome  crew,  with  conquering 

sword, 
I'll  put  to  rout. 

II. 
"Hail,  Virgin  Queen!     Hail,  pious  Mother? 

Hail!" 
How  sweetly  do  those  words  sing  in  mine 

ear! 
To  me  Thy  holy  Name,  all  fraught  with  hope,. 
Chaste  love  doth  bring  and  visions  of  delight. 
In  misery's  depths  Thou  art  my  guiding  Star; 
My  soul,  if  tortured  by  devouring  wants, 
Doth  sadly  feel  the  anxious  weight  of  woe; 
If  constant   grief  doth   frequent  press  Thy 

son. 
Him,  bounteous  Virgin,  in  Thy  bosom  clasp,. 
And  kindly  cherish  with  a  mother's  love. 
And  when,  with   rapid   touch.  Death's  seal 

shall  glaze 
His  weary  eyes,  and  shut  the  world  from  view, 
Close  Thou  them  softly  with  Thy  gentle  hand, 
And  to  the  throne  of  God  his  fleeting  soul, 
O  Heavenly  Queen!  restore. 

Wm.  W.  Fitzmaurice. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen, 


A  SUDDEN  AND  EXTRAORDINARY  CURE. 


THE  parish  priest  of  Monasterolo  del 
Castello  (Bergamo),  Italy,  writes  as 
follows,  under  date  July  21,  1886,  of  the  re- 
markable cure  of  one  of  his  parishioners, 
whose  death  was  momentarily  expected: 

One  of  my  parishioners,  named  Catherine 
Meli,  was,  to  her  great  regret,  obliged  to 
leave  the  convent  on  account  of  ill  health. 
She  was  ill  four  years,  and  was  confined  to 
her  bed  for  the  last  three.  'Doctors  were 
consulted,  and  no  means  left  untried;  but 
she  gradually  became  weaker,  and  at  last 


398 


The  Ave  Maria. 


could  retain  no  nourishment,  and  during 
four  months  life  was  sustained  by  an  occa- 
sional spoonful  of  milk  and  water. 

Towards  the  end  of  last  June  her  death 
was  hourly  expected,  and  she  received  Ex- 
treme Unction.  Her  resignation  and  readi- 
ness to  die  were  most  edifying;  her  only 
grief  being  that  she  could  not  receive  Our 
Ivord  in  the  Holy  Viaticum,  as  she  was  un- 
able to  swallow. 

The  Novena  in  preparation  for  the  Feast 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  was  just  beginning; 
and  she,  with  the  nuns  and  some  of  her 
friends,  resolved  to  offer  it  for  the  grace  of 
being  able  to  receive  the  Holy  Viaticum, 
through  the  intercession  of  Our  Blessed 
Lady  and  the  Ven.  M.  Teresa  Eustochio 
Verzeri,  Foundress  of  the  Daughters  of  the 
Sacred  Heart. 

During  the  Novena  she  became  worse  and 
worse,  and  seemed  at  the  last  gasp.  On  the 
2d  of  July,  the  Feast  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
early  in  the  morning,  full  of  confidence,  she 
asked  for  some  coffee.  But  she  could  not 
swallow  it.  "Ah!  see,"  she  cried,  "Our 
Lord  will  make  me  wait  a  little  longer." 
At  lo  o'clock  a.  m.  she  asked  again  for 
coffee, with  a  little  bread;  and, wonderful  to 
relate,  was  able  easily  to  swallow  and  retain 
it.  A  little  later  she  took  more  food  with- 
out difficulty, and  even  with  appetite.  "Ah! 
now,"  she  said  to  those  around  her — "now 
I  shall  be  able  to  receive  the  Holy  Viati- 
cum, and  I  shall  die  happy!" 

Soon  after  this  she  became  sleepy,  and  her 
mother  left  her  alone:  the  rest  we  must  tell 
nearly  in  her  own  words:  "I  had  hardly 
fallen  asleep,  when  I  seemed  to  feel  some- 
thing painful  taken  away  from  my  ulcerated 
throat  and  stomach;  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment a  gentle  voice  repeated  three  times: 
*  Get  up,  and  go  down  stairs. '  I  awoke,  and 
looked  round  to  see  who  had  spoken,  but 
there  was  no  one.  I  tried  to  rise;  and, 
though  previously  it  had  required  both 
mother  and  sister  to  lift  me  up  even  a  little, 
now  I  found  no  diilficulty  in  getting  up, 
dressing  myself,  and  leaving  my  room. 
The  astonishment  of  my  family,  and  of  the 
friends  who  were  in  the  courtyard,  when 


they  saw  me  in  the  balcony,  can  not  be  im- 
agined. ' ' 

It  is  now  three  weeks  since,  and  Catherine 
Meli  continues  well,  rises  early,  has  a  good 
appetite,  and  goes  about  her  daily  work. 
No  one  can  deny  these  facts,  and  I  subjoin 
the  declaration  of  the  doctor  who  attended 
her. 

PiETRO  Aggola,  p.  p. 

MEDICAL  CERTIFICATE. 

Catherine  Meli,  daughter  of  Bernardo  and 
Maria  Zambetti,  aged  twenty-two,  dwelling 
here,  ill  for  three  years,  and  for  more  than  a 
year  under  the  care  of  the  undersigned,  suf- 
fered from  neuralgia,  loss  of  blood,  epileptic 
convulsions,  erysipelas,  diarrhoea,  and  other 
ailments;  no  organ  or  function  of  her  body 
was  free  from  disorder.  No  expense,  trouble 
or  remedy  was  spared  for  the  poor  young 
woman,  but  all  were  useless;  indeed,  her  suf- 
ferings increased  from  day  to  day,  so  that  on 
the  2d  of  July  her  death  was  momentarily  ex- 
pected by  all.  She  fell  asleep,  and  after  a  few 
moments  she  awoke,  and  found  herself  free 
from  all  infirmity;  her  long  lost  strength  came 
back  to  her  as  if  by  magic,  and  she  was  able 
to  get  up,  to  dress  herself  unassisted,  and  go 
down  to  join  her  family  in  the  courtyard. 

The  undersigned  declares  that  what  is  re- 
lated above  is  the  pure  truth,  and  is  ready  to 
confirm  it  on  oath. 

Dr.  Giovanni  Giorgi,  Physician  in  charge, 
Monasterolo  del  Castello,July  25, 1886. 

Witness  as  to  the  truth  of  the  above  signa- 
ture, 

[Signed]  *   Giudici,  Syndic. 


The  Pope  at  Home. 


The  Court  and  Society  Review. 

THE  Pope,  the  papers  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  enjoys  perfectly  good 
health.  It  is  true  that  he  has  been  suffering 
this  Winter  from  rheumatism  and  general 
weakness;  but,  though  these  ailments  have  af- 
flicted him  for  many  years,  they  have  not  in 
creased.  Leo  XIII.  has  frequently  assured  me 
that  he  is  now  stronger  and  better  in  health 
than  before  he  was  Pope.  When  Archbishop 
of  Perugia,  he  was  often  suffering,  and  obliged 
to  remain  in  bed  for  some  weeks  at  a  time,     t 


The  Ave  Maria. 


399 


Since  he  came  to  the  throne  he  has  not  passed 
two  consecutive  days  in  bed;  and,  when  you 
:onsider  his  age  (76),  and  the  amazing  amount 
)f  work  he  does,  this  is  truly  wonderful.  He 
s  not  nearly  so  tall  as  he  looks,  but  he  is  so 
/ery  thin  that  he  seems  almost  a  giant.  His 
lead  is  extremely  small,  but  his  brow  most 
ntellectual;  he  has  a  large  nose,  and  viva- 
cious coal-black  eyes;  his  mouth,  which  is  very 
wide,  is  curious  and  full  of  character;  his  hands 
are  small  and  shapely.  In  manner  he  is  win- 
ning and  courteous;  eager  to  please,  and  so 
good-natured  and  affable  that  it  is  with  diffi- 
culty you  can  get  a  chance  to  kiss  his  hand. 
At  what  is  called  a  private  audience,  he  will 
put  his  hand  familiarly  on  your  shoulder  or 
link  his  arm  in  yours,  and  walk  you  up  and 
down  the  room,  showing  you  his  pictures  and 
curios  with  the  utmost  bonhomniie. 

He  talks  very  good  French;  but  there  is 
something  about  him  which  is  awe-striking 
— almost  terrible.  Sometimes  a  light  flashes 
across  his  face  which  fairly  transfigures  him. 
Whilst  I  was  with  him  recently,  he  received  a 
paper,  and  read  it  swiftly  What  it  contained 
I  know  not;  it  evidently  pleased  him,  for  he 
looked  radiant  with  pleasure;  but,  instead  of 
giving  it  to  the  attendant  Cardinal  to  read, 
he  put  it  in  his  breast,  and,  smiling  in  the 
most  amiable  manner,  rejoined  the  group  in 
which  I  stood.  To  the  poorer  people  about 
the  court,  the  guards  and  servants,  he  is  kind- 
ness itself;  and  he  is  prompt  to  relieve  suffer- 
ing whenever  he  hears  of  it. 

Leo  XIII.  is  a  learned  man  as  well  as  a 
statesman:  his  literary  style  is  purely  classi- 
cal, and  he  writes  I^atin  which,  in  these  days, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  rival.    He  rises  at  six, 
says  Mass,  and  reads  his  devotions  until  seven, 
when  he  breakfasts  on  coffee  and  dry  bread; 
he  then  works  at  his  letters  until  noon;  then 
he  takes  what  you   English  would  call  his 
'  luncheon. ' '  An  hour  is  next  devoted  to  exer- 
ise  in  the  gardens  of  the  Vatican;  but  if  it 
'ains,  the  Pontiff  walks  in  the  library  or  in  the 
[yOggie  of  Raphael,  frequently  pausing  to  ad- 
nire  the  paintings,  for  he  is  a  great  connoisseur 
)f  art.    From  two  to  three,  ambassadors,  dip- 
omatists,  and  other  distinguished  visitors  are 
eceived.  At  half  past  three  the  Pope  re-enters 
lis  study,  and  is  seen  no  more  until  next  morn- 
ng,  except  by  certain  privileged  persons  and 
fficials. 
At  seven   he  dines,  and  sometimes  after- 


wards plays  chess,  but  very  rarely;  for  he  will 
often  spend  the  night  in  prayer,  or  in  writing 
letters,  or  in  correcting  his  encyclicals.  His 
faithful  valet  has  frequentl}^  found  him  in  the 
morning  fast  asleep  in  his  chair.  He  had  not 
been  to  bed  or  changed  his  garments,  and  had 
passed  the  night  writing  until  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  exhausted,  over  his  work.  The  wonder 
to  everybody  is  how  he  manages  to  do  so 
much.  It  seems  superhuman.  His  memory  is 
marvellous,  and  his  knowledge  of  European 
political  affairs  very  extensive.  He  reads  all 
sorts  of  newspapers,  and  is  extremely  sensible 
of  the  power  of  the  press.  Above  all  things  he 
is  moderate  and  prudent  in  his  views.  "  I  al- 
ways strive  to  be  just,"  said  he  the  other  day; 
' '  and  especially  so  to  my  enemies. ' '  The  vast 
responsibility  which  weighs  upon  him  he  ap- 
preciates fully,  and  even  fears.  "There  are 
many  things  I  should  like  to  do,  but  I  dare 
not — the  responsibility  is  too  great. ' ' 

The  simplicity  of  his  life  is  such  that  it 
does  not  cost  him  more  than  six  francs  a  day 
for  his  personal  expenses.  He  rarely  partakes 
of  more  than  one  dish  at  a  meal,  and  only 
drinks  a  very  little  common  wine  of  the  coun- 
try, mixed  with  water.  He  is  scrupulously 
neat  in  his  person,  and  his  white  robe  is  like 
snow — spotless.  As  usual  with  most  Italian 
priests,  he  takes  snuff,  but  not  to  excess.  He 
is  very  fond  of  children  and  young  people, 
and  is  popular  with  them;  but  he  also  enjoys 
the  conversation  of  learned  persons,  and  when 
any  celebrated  scientist  or  literary  man  ob- 
tains an  interview,  it  is  frequently  prolonged 
beyond  the  ordinary  limits,  in  order  to  give 
the  Pope  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  what  to 
him  is  a  great  treat — an  intellectual  chat. 
Taking  him  all  in  all,  Leo  XIII.  is  one  of 
the  most  extraordinary  men  of  the  age,  and 
well  worthy  of  his  great  station,  and  the  uni- 
versal respect  in  which  he  is  held 

Even  as  Archbishop  of  Perugia,  the  present 
Pope  was  renowned  as  a  scholar,  and  had 
published  thirty-five  volumes  on  almost  every 
conceivable  subject.  He  is  proud  of  his  Latin, 
and  has  caused,  as  everybody  knows,  costly 
publications  of  his  beautiful  "Carmina"  to 
be  printed,  and  bound  in  the  white  vellum 
peculiar  to  Rome,  as  presents  to  the  leading 
sovereigns  and  statesmen  of  Europe. 
'  Although  the  position  of  Pope  is  great  and 
exalted,  nevertheless  it  is  extremely  monoto- 
nous; and  its  monotony  is  increased  now  by 


400 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  fact  that  his  Holiness  has  elected  to  re- 
main in  the  Vatican,  and  is  never  likely  to 
leave  it  alive.  Many,  especially  in  England, 
wonder  at  his  self-imposed  imprisonment;  but 
those  who  live  in  Rome  can  easily  understand 
that  it  is  a  wise  and  prudent  policy.  The  city 
is  passing  through  a  complete  transformation, 
and  is  full  of  roughs  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  who  might  easily  be  prevailed  upon 
by  the  demagogues,  who  are  working  them 
for  their  own  purposes,  to  insult  and  even  in- 
jure him. 

You  doubtless  remember  the  disgraceful 
scenes  which  occurred  on  the  night  when 
Pius  I  !<.'s  remains  were  removed  to  his  last 
resting-place  at  San  Lorenzo.  Well,  if  such 
was  the  reception  accorded  to  the  body  of  the 
dead  Pope,  what,  asks  Leo  XIIL,  might  not 
occur  to  the  living?  Again,  if  the  Catholics 
were  too  demonstrative  in  their  mode  of  re- 
ceiving his  Holiness,  it  might  be  interpreted 
by  the  Liberals  in  a  wrong  sense,  and  lead  to 
a  counter  demonstration,  alike  painful  to  the 
Pope  and  dangerous  to  the  occupants  of  the 
Quirinal.  Thus,  although  many  would  wish 
to  see  the  once  familiar  gilded  coach,  with  the 
Papal  arms  and  the  white- clad  figure  of  the 
Pontiff  inside,  passing  through  the  streets  of 
Rome,  it  is  perhaps  best  that  they  should  not 
do  so,  and  that,  until  the  storm  passes  over, 
the  Holy  Father  should  remain  quietly  in  his 
glorious  palace  and  gardens,  where  he  is  safe 
from  the  zeal  of  friends  and  the  malice  of  foes. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Although  the  sanctuary  of  La  Salette  has 
been  of  late  years  somewhat  neglected  for 
that  of  Lourdes,  yet  numbers  of  pilgrims  from 
the  surrounding  country  are  still  faithful  to 
the  hallowed  spot,  where  Our  Lady  appeared 
on  the  19th  of  September,  1846.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  last  month  a  pilgrimage  came  from 
the  Diocese  of  Chambery.  It  was  composed 
of  six  hundred  persons,  who  followed  the 
ceremonies  with  edifying  piety;  among  them 
was  a  father  with  his  little  girl  of  eight 
years,  a  cripple  from  her  birth,  whose  cure  he 
implored  through  the  intercession  of  Notre- 
Dame  de  la  Salette.  Rev.  Pere  Camille,  direc- 
tor of  the  pilgrimage,  excited  the  faith  of  his 
hearers  by  a  few  burning  words:  ' '  Let  us, "  he 
said, ' '  unite  our  prayers  to  his,  that  Our  Lady 


may  look  down  on  this  poor  paralyzed  child, 
and  restore  to  her  the  use  of  her  limbs,  while 
her  father  plunges  her  feet  into  the  piscina." 
All  the  pilgrims,  with  outstretched  arms, 
joined  the  devout  priest  in  reciting  five  Paters 
and  five  Aves;  to  this  they  added  an  act  of  con- 
trition, to  beg  of  God  the  forgiveness  of  their 
sins,  that  their  prayers  might  be  purer,  and 
touch  more  efiicaciously  the  compassionate 
Heart  of  Mary;  then  followed  the  Litany  of 
Loretto.  All  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  poor  child, 
and  all  hearts  were  beating  with  fear  and  hope. 
Suddenly  the  father,  with  an  inspiration  of 
the  faith  that  moves  mountains,  laid  the  two 
crutches  of  the  little  cripple  at  the  feet  of  the 
statue,  and  then  lifted  the  child  out  of  the 
piscina.  What  was  the  poor  man's  joy  at  see- 
ing his  little  daughter  stand  upright  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life!  He  took  her  by  the  hand, 
and  she  walked,  barefooted,  up  the  thirty-two 
steps  leading  from  the  fountain  to  the  spot  of 
the  apparition,  thence  to  the  Basilica,  where 
she  knelt  with  her  overjoyed  parent  in  thanks- 
giving before  the  high  altar.  The  child  had 
never  walked  before,  and  had  even  never  been 
able  to  stand  on  her  feet.  At  the  sight  of  such 
a  marvel,  every  eye  was  moist  with  tears  of  joy, 
and  cries  of  ' '  Vive  Notre- Dame  de  la  Salelte! '  * 
mingled  with  the  chant  of  the  Magnificat. 


Perhaps  the  most  devotional  image  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  to  be  seen  in  the  whole  world 
is  the  exquisite  marble  group  of  the  Madonna 
holding  Her  Divine  Infant  in  Her  arms,  with 
adoring  angels  around,  which  forms  the  chef- 
(Vceuvreoi  Benedetto  da  Majano,over  the  tomb 
of  the  celebrated  patrician  Philip  Strozzi,  in 
the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  Novella,  at  Flor- 
ence. It  is  a  work  of  the  1 5th  century.  It  was 
in  this  church  that  Mother  Seton,  while  still  a 
Protestant,  received  some  of  her  strongest 
Catholic  impressions,  which  led  ultimately  to 
her  conversion;  and  it  is  a  singular  coinci- 
dence that  the  Count  Strozzi  of  our  day  is  the 
husband  of  one  of  her  connections  by  mar- 
riage. 

Devotion  to  the  Holy  Face  seems  to  be 
spreading  rapidly  in  this  country.  It  is  a 
most  important  devotion,  abounding  in  graces, 
and  fruitful  of  good  works.  A  very  interesting 
sketch  of  the  life  and  work  of  M.Dupont,  bet-  \ 
ter  known  as  the  Holy  Man  of  Tours,  who  1 
was  principally  instrumental  in  establishing  , 


The  Ave  Maria. 


401 


he  devotion,  has  been  published;  and,  as  there 
5  an  increasing  desire  to  learn  something  of 
lis  history,  we  have  thought  it  would  be  ap- 
propriate to  give  another  brief  biography  of 
1  jm  in  our  columns;  we  do  so  this  week,  rec- 
(  mmending  all  who  are  interested  in  the  sub- 
j  jct  to  procure  and  read  the  lyife  to  which  we 
^Mude.  

^  ^he  Catholic  Universe  quotes  the  following 
extract  from  an  article  on  Oratorios,  by  the 
Rev  H.  R.  Haweis,  one  of  the  leading  clergy- 
men of  the  Broad  Church  party  in  the  Angli- 
can Establishment: 

"The  great  Roman  Church,  when  she  had  the 
whole  world  before  her,  had  this  merit — that  she 
was  the  home  of  the  people.  Her  aisles  were 
refuges,  her  vestibules  were  schools,  her  altars 
were  asylums;  her  walls  flamed  with  parable,  her 
windows  with  allegory;  her  services  were  full  of 
terror  and  joy;  her  pulpits  rang  with  prophecy, 
her  choirs  with  praise.  Men  could  not  do  without 
her,  could  not  keep  away  from  her — patient  con- 
1  fessor,  sister  of  mercy,  mother  of  consolation ! " 


The  late  celebrated  Professor  Vincenzi,  of 
the  Accademia  Ecclesiastica  in  Rome,  used 
to  speak  with  enthusiasm  of  the  piety  and 
learning  of  Cardinal  Manning,  whom  he  had 
seen  there  as  a  student  after  his  conversion. 
The  Professor  often  heard  him  say  that  he  had 
gone  carefully  through  all  the  Fathers,  but 
found  the  turning-point  in  his  conversion  in 
the  writings  of  St.  Eeo  the  Great;  there  he 
discovered  clearly  the  doctrine  and  practice  of 
Papal  Supremacy. 

A  good  Christian  should  be  guarded,  cor- 
rect, and  pious  in  speech,  for  "In  the  multi- 
tude of  words  sin  shall  not  be  wanting;  but  he 
:hat  refraineth  his  lips  is  most  wise. ' '  (Prov. , 
<:.,  19.)  Beautiful,  indeed,  are  the  chapters  in 
he  Following  of  Christ  on  avoiding  too  great 
reedom  in  conversation,  and  on  guarding 
igainst  superfluity  in  words.  How  touchingly 
he  devout  author  says,  ' '  I  wish  I  had  many 
imes  held  my  peace  in  company,  and  that  I 
lad  not  been  in  it!  "  Here  is  a  good  rule  in 
hyme: 

If  you  your  lips  would  save  from  slips. 
Five  things  observe  with  care: 

Of  whom  you  speak;  to  whom  you  speak; 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where. 


The  Abb4  Ravaille,  Rector  of  St.  Thomas 
Aquin,  Paris,  has  presented  to  the  Rodez 


Museum  the  bone  of  the  right  arm  of  Bayard, 
the  Chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  The 
gift  was  accompanied  with  documents  prov- 
ing'its  genuineness. 


An  edifying  instance  of  the  blessing  that 
accompanies  the  use  of  the  sign  of  our  salva- 
tion came  under  our  observation  not  long 
since.  Several  Catholic  ladies  were  spending 
a  few  weeks  at  a  boarding-house  at  Atlantic 
City,  and  they  did  not  neglect  to  ask  a  silent 
blessing  or  to  give  thanks  before  and  after 
each  meal.  A  young  colored  girl,  who  had 
never  received  any  religious  instructions, 
waited  upon  them  at  table;  and  her  astonish- 
ment was  great  at  seeing  all  these  ladies,  who 
were  strangers  to  one  another,  make  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross  at  the  commencement  and  conclu- 
sion of  each  ineal.  At  night  when  she  returned 
home  she  asked  an  explanation  of  her  mother 
but  that  poor  woman  was  as  ignorant  as  her 
daughter  as  to  what  this  strange  custom  could 
mean.  Finally,  not  being  able  longer  to  re- 
strain her  curiosity,  and  constantly  observing 
the  repetition  of  the  mysterious  sign,  she  ven- 
tured to  inquire  its  meaning  of  one  of  the  la- 
dies. The  young  lady  to  whom  she  applied  for 
information  was  an  ardent  convert  to  our  holy 
Church  and  a  Child  of  Mary.  She  was  but  too 
happy  to  give  the  desired  explanation  of  the 
use  of  the  sacred  symbol,  and  the  girl  was  so 
impressed  by  her  words  as  to  desire  to  become 
a  Catholic.  Her  instruction  was  at  once  com- 
menced, but  as  the  short  stay  at  the  seaside  of 

Miss  S did  not  permit  the  full  preparation 

which  was  necessary,  the  I^adies  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  assumed  the  delightful  task,  and  were 
exceedingly  edified  by  the  excellent  disposi- 
tions with  which  the  convert  received  baptism, 
and  made  her  First  Communion.  The  girl  has 
become  an  earnest  Catholic,  having  thus  been 
led  into  the  True  Fold  by  the  glorious  beacon- 
light  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross. — Messenger  of 
the  Sacred  Heart. 

The  promptness  —  holy  eagerness — and 
generosity  with  which  our  readers  have  re 
sponded  to  the  appeal  for  Father  Damien  is 
beyond  praise,  and  we  have' been  greatly  edi- 
fied by  the  perusal  of  their  pious  letters.  What 
faith  and  charity  they  breathe!  May  God  re- 
ward it!  The  apostle  of  the  lepers  will  offer 
grateful  prayers  for  his  benefactors.  The  no- 
tice had  hardly  been  published  when  $5  was 


402 


The  Ave  Maria. 


received  from  "A  Client  of  St.  Anthony,"  in 
Chicago;  the  next  mail  brought  another  con- 
tribution of  the  same  amount  from  Boston, — 
"the  offering  of  the  family  of  J.  F.  D."  The 
following  amounts  came  later,  but  all  within 
the  week: 

"I,"  Philadelphia,  $5;  A  Child  of  Mary,  Phila- 
delphia, $2;  James  P.  Cummings,  ^5;  Catharine 
Doye,  $2;  A  Friend,  New  Haven,  Conn.,  50  cts. ; 
M.  Hanley.  ;^5;  Mrs.  Rose  Moreland,  $5;  Annie 
and  Helen  Crosson,  %2\  Miss  McDermott,  $1 ;  B.  T. 
Meyer,  |i ;  Eliza  Hagerty,  $2\  Mrs.  Nora  Kelliher, 
|i ;  Miss  Mary  Leddy,  $1 ;  Miss  Hannah  Buckley, 
|i;  Miss  Mary  Buckley,  $2;  Sarah  Fanning,  $i\ 
D.  P.,  Cincinnati,  %i\  Mrs.  Hogan  and  M.  Scho- 
field,  I5;  "For  Love  of  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,"  $5;  Marie  Esther  Fleming,  $\\  Maria 
Pia,  |i ;  Annie  Smith,  $10;  Mrs.  Denis  Walsh,  $2; 
Norre  Pilon,  $5;  "A  Child  of  Mary's  mite,"$i; 
Mary  Keady,  $1;  A  Friend  of  The  'Ave  Maria,"' 
who  asks  the  prayers  of  Father  Damien  for  the 
conversionof  her  brothers,  $2\  Mrs-W.Cohcannon, 
$2;  Maurice  and  Mary  Gannon,  $\ ;  through  Very 
Rev. A. Granger,  C.S.C. $3 (friends,Mauch Chunk, 
Pa.  $2;  S.J.M.  G.,$i);  A  Family's  offering,  Osage 
Mission,  Kansas,  $2;  Marie  Aloysia Squire  (a  little 
convert),  $10;  a  mother  and  daughter,  $10;  J,  Mc- 
Laughlin, 80  cts.;  Mrs.  Roberta  E.  Shriver,  $2  ; 
J.J.W.,Trenton,  N.J.,$5;  '  A  Widow's  Mite,"  $1  ; 
' '  Servants  of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus, ' '  $5 ;  Mrs. 
B.  Casey,  $\ ;  J.  M.  Kilday,  $\ ;  Mrs.  Mary  Kilday, 
$1;  A  Friend,  $1;  Miss  Annie  C.  Kilday,  $1;  A 
friend,  asking  prayers  for  a  young  man,  $5. 


We  regret  exceedingly  not  to  be  able  to 
present  to  our  readers  this  week  the  usual  in- 
stalment of  ' '  Palms. ' '  Extra  space  will  be 
devoted  to  it  in  next  issue. 


New  Publications. 


Christian  Patience:  Thb  Strength  and 
Discipline  of  the  Soul.    A  Course  of  Lect- 
ures. By  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Ullathorne.    New 
York:    The  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
With   genuine  pleasure  we  took  up  this 
latest  work  of  the  learned  and  saintly  Bishop 
of  Bermingham,  knowing  that  a  rich  treat  was 
in  store  for  us.    We  were  sensibly  moved  by 
the  truly  affectionate  dedication  to  his  old 
friend,  Cardinal  Newman,  whose  first  public 
appearance  as  a  Catholic  was  at  Bishop  Ulla- 
thorne's  consecration,  forty  years  ago.    How 
different  is  the  status  of  Catholics  to-day  in 
the  land  both  love  so  well!    God  alone  knows 
how  much  they  have  contributed,  by  pen  and 


voice  and  holy  life,  to  make  known,  respected, 
and  loved,  the  fair  "Bride  of  Christ" — the 
One,  Holy,  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church  of 
God,  not  only  among  their  own  countrymen, 
but  the  world  over.  Naturally  both  are  nearing 
the  time  when  they  will  be  called  to  receive 
the  reward  "exceedingly  great"  promised  to 
those  who  ' '  have  fought  the  good  fight,  and 
kept  the  faith  " 

We  can  not  suppress  the  sadness  that  comes 
upon  us  when  reflecting  that  the  pen  of  the 
great  English  Cardinal  is  all  but  powerless, 
and  now  his  old  and  faithful  friend  tells  us  in 
his  dedication  that  this  is  the  last  work  of  any 
importance  that  he  shall  ever  write.  But  their 
trials  and  their  triumphs,  their  words  and 
their  works,  and  above  all  the  example  of 
well-nigh  every  virtue,  will  be  embalmed  in 
the  memory  of  generations  yet  to  come.  ' '  The 
memory  of  him  (the  wise  man)  shall  not  de- 
part away,  and  his  name  shall  be  in  request 
from  generation  to  generation.  Nations  shall 
declare  his  wisdom,  and  the  Church  shall  show 
forth  his  praise."   (Eccl.,  xxxix.,  13,  14  ) 

The  book  before  us  contains  twelve  lectures 
on  ' '  Christian  Patience,  as  being  the  positive 
strength  and  disciplinary  power  of  the  soul." 
And  no  one  who  knows  the  well-established 
reputation  of  the  author,  will  for  a  moment 
doubt  that  he  has  ably  and  exhaustively  dealt 
with  that  virtue  ' '  which  gives  strength  and 
discipline  to  all  the  mental  and  moral  powers, 
and  perfection  to'  all  the  virtues."  Very  few 
there  are  who  think  Christian  patience  to  be 
so  far-reaching,  so  intimately  bound  up  with 
the  growth,  development,  and  perfection  of 
the  other  virtues;  but  a  careful  perusal  of  this 
book  will  enable  them  to  realize,  as  never  be- 
fore, the  transcendent  importance  of  the  vir- 
tue of  patience  in  the  spiritual  life. 

Henry  Grattan.    A  Historical  Study.   By 
John  George  MacCarthy.    Third  Edition.  Dub- 
lin:   Hodges,  Figgis  &  Co.,  104  Grafton  Street. 
London:  Simpkins,  Marshall  &  Co. 
"Let  us  seek  truth,  not  ammunition  for 
party  warfare. ' '    This  is  a  sentence  in  the  in- 
troduction of  this  slim  volume,  which  sets  forth 
in  four  chapters  the  story  of  one  of  Ireland's 
great  men.    Surely  no  better  spirit  was  ever 
brought  to  the  study  of  history.  The  result  is 
very  satisfactory.  Though  short,  the  study  is 
a  clear  and  forcible  one,  and  its  brevity  is  a 
great  argument  in  its  favor.    Any  man  has 


The  Ave  Maria. 


403 


ime  to  read  it,  and  any  man  may  carry  away 
rom  it  facts  that  will  serve  to  make  him  bet- 
er  acquainted  with  Ireland — an  acquaint- 
:  nee  very  much  needed  at  present.  The  Irish 
(  uestion  is  consuming  a  vast  amount  of  time, 
i  5  causing  a  vast  amount  of  heart-burning,  and 
i ;  is  worthy  of  it  all.  The  misfortune  is  that 
such  questions  are  not  fully  understood  as  a 

i\;hole,  and  most  persons  take  but  little  pains 
tD  add  to  their  knowledge. 
Preparation  for  Death;  or  Considera- 
ifcons  on  the  Eternal  Truths.  The  Way  of  Sal- 
ivation and  Perfection.  By  St.  Alphonsus  de 
Ipviguori.  Doctor  of  the  Church.  Centenary  Edi- 
lEon,  Vols.  I.  and  II.  Edited  by  the  Rev.  Eu- 
gene Grimm.  PriCvSt  of  the  Congregation  of  the 
Most  Holy  Redeemer.  New  York,  Cincinnati, 
and  St.  Louis:  Benziger  Brothers.  Price,  $1.25. 
This  new  edition  of  the  ascetical  works  of 
St.  Alphonsus  is  intended  to  commemorate 
the  first  hundredth  anniversary  of  his  death, 
which -occurred  on  the  ist  of  August,  1787. 
It  will  comprise  eighteen  volumes— each  com- 
plete in  itself,  and  to  be  had  separately — and 
be  known  as  the  Centenary  Edition.  It  would 
be  quite  superfluous  to  speak  of  the  excellence 
of  the  spiritual  writings  of  St  Eiguori — books 
which  have  converted  and  sanctified  souls 
flievery where,  and  which  our  Holy  Father  Eeo 
XIII.  declares  "  should  be  found  in  the  hands 
of  all. ' '  We  have  only  to  observe  that  the  ed- 
itor's task  thus  far  has  been  creditably  per- 
formed, and  to  express  the  hope  that  the 
Centenary  Edition  of  St.  Eiguori's  works  will 
be  a  very  great  success. 

Devotion  of  Reparation  to  the  Holy 
Face  op  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  for  the  In- 
sults and  Indignities  Offered  It,  and  to  Prevent 
Blasphemies  and  the  Profanation  of  Holydays. 
Published  with  the  Approbation  of  His  Emi- 
nence Cardinal  Gibbons.  Baltimore:  John  Mur- 
phy &  Co.    Price,  5  cents. 
This  little  volume  is  a  condensed  edition  of 
he  larger  and  fuller  work  on  the  same  sub- 
ect,  which  we  noticed  some  months  ago.    It 
/ill  be  very  welcome  to  many,  who  have  so 
ntered  into  the  spirit  of  this  devotion  as  to 
nd  the  greatest  help  and  comfort  in  the  pray- 
rs  and  devotions  there  set  forth.    It  is  an- 
ther of  those  handy -volumes  which  may  be 
irried  in  the  pocket,  until  the  prayers  and 
loughts  have  become  so  familiar  by  momen- 
1  |iry  glances,  that  a  book  is  no  longer  needed 
)  make  use  of  them  before  the  altar. 


German   Classics    for    American    Stu- 
dents. Vol.V.   3d)il(cr'o  ^(ucuicmaf)ltc  53ricfc.  Se- 
lected 9,nd  Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and 
Commentary,  by  Pauline  Buchheim.  New  York 
&  London:  G.P.Putnam's  Sons.  1886.  Price,  $1. 
To  the  student  of  German  literature  this 
little  volume  of  206  pages  will  be  quite  an  ac- 
quisition.   It  gives  an  insight  into  Schiller's 
own  character,  and  his  criticisms  of  the  cele- 
brated men  of  his  day  and  country  are  of 
great  value  and  interest.  The  notes  at  the  end 
of  the  volume  are  also  serviceable,  as  reveal- 
ing the  circumstances  under  which  the  letters 
were  written. 


Obituary. 

"//  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Peter  W.  Brannan,  a  worthy  young 
priest  of  the  Archdiocese  of  Philadelphia,  whose 
death  occurred  at  South  Bethlehem,  Pa.,  on  the 
nth  iuvst. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Faure,  of  the  Diocese  of  BuiFalo, 
rector  of  St.  Peter's  Church  in  that  city.  He  was 
held  in  high  regard  by  priests  and  people. 

The  Rev.  Richard  Donnelly,  the  beloved  rec- 
tor of  St.  Joseph's  Church,  Medford,  Mass.,  who 
breathed  his  last  on  the  7th  inst. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Thecla  and  Sister  Mary  of  St. 
Walburga,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross,  who  peace- 
fully departed  this  life,  the  former  on  the  30th 
ult.,  the  latter  on  the  3d  inst. 

Mrs.  Mary  M.  Tiebens,  of  Louisville,  Ky.,  who 
died  the  death  of  the  just,  on  the  ist  inst.  Her 
memory  is  in  benediction  by  all  who  knew  her. 

Mr.  Patrick  Conor,  a  prominent  and  highly  re- 
spected resident  of  Janesville,  Wis., whose  demise 
took  place  on  the  loth  inst. 

Mrs.  Nellie  Killion,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary,  who 
yielded  her  soul  to  God  at  New  Haven,  Conn.,  on 
the  2d  inst. 

Miss  Catharine  Heikey,  of  New  Brunswick, 
N.  J.,  whose  fervent  Christian  life  was  crowned 
with  a  holy  death  on  the  5th  inst. 

Mrs.  Mary  Beck,  of  Green  Bay,  Wis. , who  passed 
away  in  the  dispositions  of  a  true  Catholic  on  the 
24th  ult. 

Sisters  M.  Bernard  and  M.  Hilda,  of  the  Sisters 
of  Notre  Dame;  Mr.  Michael  Murphy,  of  New 
Bedford,  Mass. ;  Miss  Catharine  Taylor,  and  Mrs. 
Ellen  Brennan,  New  Haven,  Conn.;  Henry  S. 
O'Brien,  La  Salle,  N.  Y. ;  Mrs.  M.  A.  Hayes,  May- 
glass,  Co.  Wexford,  Ireland;  and  Thomas  Bexter, 
Shingle  Springs,  Cal. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


404 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PARTMENT 


A  Story  of  the  Madonna  of  the 
Chair. 


John  and  Eddie  Moore  were  merry  little 
boys  of  four  and  five  at  the  time  my  story 
opens.  They  were  a  source  of  great  anxiety 
to  their  poor  mother;  for  not  a  day  passed 
that  they  did  not  narrowly  escape  danger 
to  life  or  limb.  But,  with  all  their  restless- 
ness, they  were  good  children.  They  had 
already  been  taught  to  love  God  and  His 
Blessed  Mother,  and  to  fear  displeasing 
them.  When  they  did  anything  wrong 
their  mother  would  say :  "  The  Blessed  Vir- 
gin is  displeased  with  you. ' '  Then  they 
would  run  under  a  table,  or  to  some  such 
hiding-place,  to  escape  a  supposed  reproach- 
ful look  from  the  picture  (Our  Lady  of  the 
Chair)  which  hung  over  the  fireplace. 

Being  allowed  to  kiss  this  picture  was  a 
privilege  they  enjoyed  when  they  had  been 
very  good,  and  it  was  always  an  object  of 
special  devotion.  One  day  the  little  fellows 
were  left  alone  by  some  circumstance,  and 
they  availed  themselves  of  this  opportu- 
nity to  make  a  stage  to  reach  Our  Blessed 
Mother's  picture.  They  drew  two  rickety 
stools  to  the  fireside,  and  both  climbed  up, 
each  trying  to  have  the  first  kiss.  John, 
being  the  elder,  and  much  stronger  than 
his  brother,  succeeded  in  mounting  first; 
but,  alas!  when  he  was  just  getting  the 
coveted  kiss  the  stools  slipped,  and  he  fell 
into  the  midst  of  a  blazing  fire.  The  fright- 
ened screams  of  the  children  brought  in 
their  mother,  who  found  poor  John  lying 
on  the  floor,  some  yards  from  the  fire.  His 
little  garments  were  burned  almost  to  ashes; 
but  what  was  the  poor  mother's  surprise 
and  delight  to  find  that  the  child  was  not 
in  the  least  injured! 

As  soon  as  she  succeeded  in  quieting  the 
little  ones,  Mrs.  Moore  asked  Eddie  how 
he  managed  to  get  his  big  brother  out  of 


the  fire.  He  answered  that  he  tried  to  pull 
him  out, but  could  not,  and  then  the  Blessed 
Virgin  came  down  and  did  it  for  him.  The 
simple  candor  with  which  both  children 
told  this  strange  story  convinced  the  pious 
mother  that  Our  Lady  had  indeed  saved 
the  little  fellow  from  the  flames.  * 

Soon  after  this  event  it  became  evident 
that  Eddie  was  not  long  for  this  world :  he 
pined  away,  and  went  home  to  heaven  be- 
fore he  had  completed  his  seventh  year. 
John  grew  to  be  a  strong,  sturdy  boy,  and 
gave  promise  of  a  brilliant  future;  but,  alas! 
he  was  destined  to  cause  many  a  pang  to  his 
poor  parents  before  he  realized  their  hopes. 

At  sixteen  he  began  to  show  a  wayward 
disposition,  and  his  father,  anxious  to  have 
him  brought  under  discipline,  sent  him  to 
college,  from  which  he  was  soon  expelled 
for  breaking  the  rules.  A  temporary  im- 
provement resulted  from  this:  he  dreaded 
his  father's  anger,  so  he  became  penitent, 
and  made  resolves  of  good  behavior  for 
the  future.  Later  on,  when  he  had  proved 
to  some  degree  the  sincerity  of  his  prom- 
ises, he  was  sent  to  the  University  at  C , 

to  study  for  the  bar.  This  was  the  object  of 
the  father's  ambition,  while  it  was  also  the 
long-cherished  wish  of  John;  and,  it  must 
be  said,  though  he  was  an  only  son,  it  cost 
his  parents  many  sacrifices  to  give  him  the 
education  required  for  his  profession. 

For  some  time  after  the  young  man's 
departure  all  went  well.  His  letters  home 
were  satisfactory,  and  there  was  apparently 
no  cause  for  apprehension;  but  after  a  few 
months  he  became  careless,  and  at  length 
ceased  to  write  altogether. 

Matters  stood  thus  when  one  morning 
notice  came  from  the  college  to  the  effect 
that  John  had  been  absent  from  the  lectures 
for  some  time,  and,  on  being  inquired  after, 
was  found  to  have  disappeared.  The  grief 
of  the  poor  parents  may  well  be  imagined. 
Tidings  of  him  were  sought  far  and  near, 
but  to  no  purpose,  and  as  time  wore  on  they 
learned  to  resign  themselves  to  the  holy 
will  of  God  in  their  bereavement. 


*  An  actual  occurrence. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


405 


Fifteen  weary  years  had  passed  away,  and 
yet  no  news  of  the  prodigal.  ' '  He  must 
be  long  since  dead,"  the  poor  father  said. 
''If  he  were  living  he  would  have  written 
some  time  or  other;  and  what  a  consolation 
it  would  be  if  we  had  the  certainty  that  he 
died  a  happy  death!"  "Never  fear,"  the 
mother  replied,  confidently;  "Our  Lady 
always  watched  over  him,  and  still  con- 
tinues to  do  so,  I  am  sure.  I  feel  She  will 
obtain  for  us  the  consolation  of  seeing  him 
before  we  die. "  The  father  sighed  despond- 
ingly. 

A  few  days  later  Mr.  Moore  dropped  the 
newspaper  he  had  been  reading,  saying:  "A 
strange  feeling  came  over  me  when  looking 
through  the  promotions  in  the  army.  A 
young  officer  named  John  Moore,  who  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  the  late  war,  was  pro- 
moted from  the  rank  of  captain  to  that  of 
major.  Could  it  be  our  John,  I  wondered! 
But,  alas!  it  was  only  a  father's  fancy,  too 
good  to  be  true. ' '  So  thought  Mrs.  Moore 
also,  but  she  was  silent  on  the  matter. 

One  chill  November  evening  the  lonely 
parents  were  sitting  by  the  parlor  fire. 
There  was  no  light  in  the  room  save  what 
a  blazing  fire  shed  on  the  two  aged  figures. 
Mr.  Moore  had  fallen  asleep  over  his  news- 
paper, and  his  wife  sat  opposite,  plying  her 
knitting  needles.  After  a  while  she  quietly 
rose  to  procure  a  light,  but  hearing  a  noise 
in  the  hall  she  turned  to  close  the  door.  A 
tall,  military-looking  figure  met  her  view. 
She  approached  to  inquire  what  business 
the  strange  visitor  had  with  her  at  so  late 
an  hour,  but  suddenly  she  stopped  short 
and  stood  as  if  spellbound.  It  was  only  a 
moment's  pause,  but  in  that  moment  the 
mother  recognized  her  long-lost  child.  She 
uttered  a  suppressed  cry,  and  fell  fainting 
to  the  ground. 

A  touching  scene  followed.  Mr.  Moore, 
roused  by  the  noise,  started  to  his  feet,  and 
found  himself  in  the  embraces  of  his  son. 
Mrs.  Moore  came  to  herself  in  a  short  time, 
a  .id  the  happy  reunion  of  that  evening  com- 
pensated the  family  for  their  years  of  sorrow 
and  separation. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kilpatrick. 

BY    E.  L.   D. 

VII. 

As  the  Blue  horse  swarmed  in  over  the 
breastworks,  spiking  and  dismounting  the 
guns,  the  Greys  threw  down  their  arms, 
and  tossed  up  their  hands  in  token  of  sur- 
render; but  prisoners  were  the  last  thing 
our  boys  wanted,  their  one  object  being  to 
break  through  that  narrowing  circle  Pat 
Clairburn's  generalship  had  drawn  about 
them,  so  they  held  their  headlong  course. 
Seeing  this,  the  Grey-coats  quietly  picked 
up  their  muskets,  rifles,  and  carbines,  and 
began  potting  them  from  the  rear — a  little 
game  they  kept  up  with  spirit  and  enjoy- 
ment, until  a  charge  at  their  backs  of  the 
Ohio  Brigade  diverted  their  attention  in  a 
way  at  once  forcible  and  unpleasant. 

And  now  the  field  of  battle  presented  a 
spectacle  very  like  a  famous  picture  of 
Prance  and  England  comparing  notes  on 
the  Franco- Chinese  and  the  Anglo-Egyp- 
tian campaigns.*  Our  boys  were  bursting 
through  the  network,  the  first  line  of  Greys 
being  in  full  retreat  ahead  of  them ;  behind 
this  {our  first  line)  chased  hotly  the  enemy's 
second  line,  which,  in  turn,  was  flying  be- 
fore the  onslaught  of  the  men  of  "La  Belle 
Riviere  " ;  f  and  finally  the  latter  were  beings 
peppered  in  the  back  by  a  third  pursuing 
body  of  shouting  ' '  Butternuts. ' ' 

It  was  an  American  edition  of  the  Battle 
of  Killiecrankie,  where 

"We  ran,  and  they  ran, 
And  we  a'  ran  togither. ' ' 

And  as  the  7th  pounded  along,  O' Keefe  the 

*  I  mean  the  picture  in  which  they  are  watch- 
ing alternate  platoons  of  Gauls  and  pig-tailed 
Tartars  running  in  a  close  chase  round  a  circle  on 
one  side,  while  the  Mahdi's  men  and  the  English 
helmets  are  doing  the  same  on  the  other;  the  lion 
meantime  fainting  from  fatigue,  and  the  eagle'lie- 
ing  on  its  back  exhausted,  with  its  claws  in  the 
air. 

f  The  name  given  the  Ohio  by  the  early  French 
explorers. 


4o6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


irrepressible  jerked  out:  "Glory  to  God! 
we  are  just  like  the  black  draughts  ould 
Sawbones  used  to  give  me  in  me  youth,  on 
Shannon's  shore — to  be  well  shaken  before 
taken.  The  first  we  are,  and  the  second  I'm 
thinkin'  we  are  goin'  to  be,  bad  luck  to  the 
Johnnies!  Get  up  there,  you  lead-heeled 
screw ! "  he  shouted  to  his  horse.  But  as  the 
straining  beast  plunged  along,  a  ball  struck 
him,  and  O'Keefe  came  a  cropper  that  broke 
the  thread  of  his  discourse  pretty  smartly. 

Not  for  long,  however;  for  as  he  puffed 
after  the  command,  together  with  dozens  of 
other  dismounted  troopers  (the  fire  just  here 
was  peculiarly  fatal  to  the  horses),  a  raw 
recruit,  whirled  out  of  his  place  and  his 
wits  by  the  shifting  fortunes  of  the  day, 
hailed  him : 

* '  Say,  you !  What  regiment  do  you  be- 
long to?" 

' '  Well, ' '  he  answered,  with  a  twinkle, ' '  I 
started  in  the  7th  Pennsylvania  horse,  but, 
begad,  I've  ended  in  the  Irish  foot!" 

Then  he  grinned  at  the  unsuspicious 
lout,  and  would  have  guyed  him  further, 
but  a  riderless  horse  galloped  by  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  seizing  the  opportunity — as  well 
as  the  bridle — he  sprang  into  the  saddle, 
and  with  a  joyous  whoop  was  skimming 
after  his  comrades,  when  his  own  name 
shouted  in  an  awful  voice  made  him  pull 
up. 

' '  O'  Keefe,  help  me  out,  if  you' re  a  man ! ' ' 

And  there  lay  Denbigh,  his  face  livid, 
his  eyes  rolling  like  a  madman's,  the  veins 
standing  high  on  his  forehead  and  his  one 
free  hand.  His  horse  had  rolled  on  him  as 
it  fell  dying,  and  he  was  pinned  down  where 
the  rush  was  thickest.  His  hat  was  off  and 
trampled, one  cheek  was  cut  open,  and  hoof- 
marks  were  perilously  near  his  head. 

' '  Save  you,  is  it  ?  "  said  O'  Keefe.  ' '  Why , 
man,  I  can  hardly  save  myself!" 

''Save  me,"  repeated  Denbigh,  the  foam 
standing  on  his  lips.  ' '  Don' t  leave  me  here. 
I  can't  stay  to  be  trampled  to  death — I 
won't!"  And  he  struggled  frantically. 

' '  Look  here, ' '  said  O'  Keefe — and  not  un- 
reasonably— "I  couldn't  move  that  horse 
off  you  by  myself,  and  if  I  stopped  to  pry 


him  up,  the  Johnnies  would  bag  us  both.  / 
don' t  want  to  be  a  prisoner  any  more  than 
you  do.  Have  some  back-bone  about  you. 
I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  it's  the  luck  of  war." 
And  he  started  on,  for  the  wild  yell — the 
war-cry  of  the  Grey — sounded  uncomfort- 
ably near. 

' '  Curse  you  ! ' '  screamed  Denbigh,  with 
a  string  of  appalling  oaths.  "I  knew  how 
it  would  be.  You  Catholics  are  all  alike — 
prating  and  whining  all  the  time  about  be- 
ing better  than  other  people,  and  then  when 
it  comes  to  the  pinch  doing  nothing.  Curse 
you,  I  say,  and  your  God  and  your — ' ' 

' '  Hush  up ! "  roared  O'  Keefe,  reining  in 
so  sharply  that  his  horse  reared  upright. 
"  I've  a  mind  to  shoot  you  as  you  lay  there, 
you  vermin !  D'  y ou  suppose  such  as  I  can  be 
one  of  the  holy  ones  of  the  Church  ?  D'you 
think  I'm  up  to  bein'  a  mirror  of  piety,  and 
a  shinin'  example  of  grace?  Well,  now,  I 
just  ain't,!  can  tell  you.  But  there's  this  to 
it.  They  do  say  the  devils  go  down  before 
the  Lord,  and  this  devil  that's  grippin'  my 
throat,  and  tellin'  me  to  let  you  die  in  your 
tracks,  is  goin'  down,  for  His  honor  and  His 
Blessed  Mother's,  if  it  cost  me  my  life  ten 
times  over.    D'you  hear?" 

And  he  wheeled  about  and  threw  himself 
off  at  Denbigh's  side. 

The  latter  burst  into  a  torrent  of  thanks, 
which  O'Keefe  interrupted  violently  with: 

' '  Don't  talk  to  me.  If  you  say  a  word  I'll 
leave  you;  for  I'm  that  mad  with  your  do- 
in' s  and  say  in' s  I'm  most  burstin'.  You're 
about  as  pleasin'  to  me  eyes  as  a  yellow 
ribbon  on  St.  Patrick's  Day ;  and  if  it  wasn't 
for  one  thing  you  might  die  in  your  ditch. 
And  that  is — you'll  please  to  remember  it, 
too,  when  your  goin'  to  defame  holy  things, 
and  sling  mud  at  the  Church^I'm  savin' 
your  life  and  givin'  you  liberty  at  the  price 
of  me  own,  for  the  sake  of  the  '  Carpenter's 
Son'  (d'you  mind?),  of  the  'Fisherman 
Peter '  (and  that?),  and  for  the  sake  of  Maty 
Most  Holy." 

Roughly  expressed,  by  a  rude  trooper  in 
whose  breast  the  Old  Adam  was  on  the 
rampage;  but  the  man's  intention  was  as 
simply  and  purely  the  honor  and  glory  of 


The  Ave  Maria, 


407 


Him  he  served,  and  the  Mother  he  loved, 
as  if  it  sprung  in  the  soul  of  a  saint. 

Then  with  a  heave  of  his  sturdy  back  he 
managed  to  shove  aside  the  dead  horse 
enough  for  Denbigh  to  crawl  out,  helped  him 
mount,  saw  him  ride  towards  the  vanishing 
line,  and,  as  he  braced  himself  for  a  run, 
was  seized  by  an  advance  squad  of  Grey, 
hurried  to  the  rear,  and  one  week  after  was 
in  Andersonville. 

I  VIII. 

Meantime  our  troops  burst  through  the 
oods  and  stampeded  the  lead-horses  of  the 
enemy,  casting  loose  such  of  their  own  as 
were  foundered,  and  mounting  the  blooded 
racers,  whose  clean  limbs  and  long  reach 
carried  them  just  as  swiftly  and  impartially 
as  they  had  carried  their  owners  a  few  hours 
before.  The  others  they  turned  adrift,  and 
bolted  ahead.  And  as  they  went,  Oester, 
who  was  blowing  his  heart  into  the  inspir- 
iting "Forward!"  suddenly  threw  up  his 
arms,  his  bugle  fell  in  a  flashing  curve,  and 
he  himself  swerved  from  the  saddle,  going 
down  into  the  very  thick  of  the  iron-shod 
storm  that  rolled  its  death  and  valor  west- 
ward from  the  field. 

The  next  thing  he  knew  he  was  being 
dragged  along,  head  and  heels  together,  at 
a  rate  intolerable  in  his  pain;  and  a  sting- 
ing agony  in  his  back  made  him  squirm 
around  to  see  what  was  the  motive  power. 

It  was  Jet !  He  had  seen  his  young  master 
fall,  and  knew  how  impossible  it  was  to 
stop;  for  he  felt  the  irresistible  stress  of  the 
advance  on  his  quarters;  but  to  leave  the 
limp,  boyish  figure  was  more  impossible; 
and  the  wise  little  mule  dropped  his  head, 
grabbed  Oester  by  the  waistband  (he  didn't 
I  know,  poor  fellow!  that  in  his  anxiety  he 
'  had  grabbed  a  mouthful  of  flesh  too),  and 
made  off"  with  a  flank  movement  that  kept 
him  on  the  edge  of  the  column,  and  saved 
his  life  as  well  as  Oester' s.  For,  under  or- 
dinary circumstances,  the  stumbling  beastie 
would  have  been  ridden  down  or  shot  as  a 
hindrance;  but  when  the  men  saw  what 
he  was  trying  to  do,  they  turned  out  when 
it  was  possible,  and  when  it  wasn't,  reined 
in,  so  as  to  make  the  shock  of  collision  as 


light  as  might  be,  cheering  him  meantime 
with  voice  and  word:  "Go  it,  Blackie!" 
"Good  for  you,  I  say!"  "Hi  there.  Jet!" 
"Hurrah  for  the  little  contraband!"  and 
so  on. 

However,  in  spite  of  all  this,  hampered 
as  he  was,  he  fell  behind  steadily,  and  there 
is  little  doubt  as  to  what  would  have  hap- 
pened (for  the  7th  was  ahead,  and  to  the 
other  regiments  one  bugler  more  or  less 
"would  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  bat- 
tle"), had  not  the  boy  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  managed  to  mount. 

He  was  too  dizzy  and  faint  to  sit  up,  and 
as  he  lay  over  on  Jet's  neck  he  spit  out 
mouthfuls  of  blood,  and  time  and  again 
thought  the  world  was  reeling  away  into 
chaos.  Then,  too,  there  was  such  a  strange 
refrain  ringing  in  his  head,  shaping  itself  to 
the  time  of  the  hoof- beats :  "  ' .  .  .  now  and 
at  the  hour  of  our  death ;  now  and  at  the 
hour  of  our  death. ' ' ' 

Where  had  he  heard  it?  He  couldn't 
think.  Well,  it  seemed  to  fit;  for  he  be- 
lieved now  was  the  hour  of  death. 

Who  said,  "Holy  Mary,  Mother  of  God, 
pray  for  us  sinners ' '  ?  Schwartz  was  dead, 
and — why,  he  was  saying  it  himself! 
"  'Holy  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us 
sinners  now  and  at  the  hour  of  our  death. 
Amen.'  .  .  .  Hail,  full  of  grace!  blessed  art 
Thou  among  women— ^Friend  of  the  friend- 
less—  Refuge  of  sinners — Health  of  the 
sick — tender  Reflection  of  the  love  of  Jesus 
ChristJ" 

Who  had  said  all  these  things,  that  flitted 
by  like  a  flock  of  starlings?  A  crowd  of 
soldier  faces  started  out  of  the  mists  that 
blinded  him,  and  there  came  a  glimpse  of 
a  tent,  in  which  stood  a  man  in  strangely 
shaped  garments,  that  glittered,  and  had  a 
great  cross  on  the  back.  Was  he  the  one? 
Yes,  and  then :  ' '  There  stood  by  the  Cross 
Mary,  His  Mother.  .  .  .  She  saw  Him  die 
— Her  Son,  Her  God ;  and  to  His  love  She 
added  the  anguish  of  Her  sinless  Heart.  .  .  . 
The  Blood  of  Christ  and  the  tears  of  Mary — 
that  is  what  your  souls  were  worth  to  Our 
Lord  and  His  Mother.  .  .  .'Behold  thy 
Mother  '—thy  Mother! ' ' 


4o8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


There  it  was  again.  A  Mother  who  loved 
and  pitied  and  prayed.  Why  had  nobody 
ever  told  him  about  Her  before,  so  he  could 
have  loved  Her  long  ago?  And — what  was 
that  white  thing  fluttering  in  the  wind? 
"Without  spot  or  stain,  pray  for  us,  who 
have  recourse  to  thee."  That  wasn't  quite 
right  as  to  the  words,  but  She,  the  Mother 
of  God,  was  the  one  Schwartz's  medal  said 
was  without  sin.  Where  was  his  medal? 
And  in  quick  alarm  he  grasped  for  it.  Ah, 
that  agony !  '  'And  a  sword  shall  pierce — ' ' 
But  the  darkness  he  had  been  struggling 
against  closed  in  on  him,  and  he  fell — 
thanks  to  God  and  Our  I^ady — at  the  side, 
not  under  the  wheels,  of  the  ambulance, 
whose  white  cover  he  had  sighted  just  be- 
fore. 

"  Is  he  dead  ? ' '  asked  the  young  surgeon 
in  charge. 

' '  Think  not,  sir, ' '  said  his  steward. 

''Up  with  him,  then.  Here,  let's  see  if 
he's  badly  hit.  Jove!"  he  added,  under  his 
breath,  " that  was  a  narrow  shave!  Here, 
Saunders,  look  at  this." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  soldier;  "that 
often  happens  among  the  Romanists." 

For  the  medal  of  Our  Lady  had  caught 
the  ball  on  its  disk,  and  the  flattened  lead 
fell  from  the  boy's  shirt  as  Doctor  Harding 
opened  it.  Under  the  medal  and  all  around 
it  the  flesh  was  discolored  and  contused,  but 
not  a  scratch  or  break  marred  the  young 
body. 

"What's  that  you're  saying?"  asked  the 
Doctor,  sharply. 

' '  I  said,  sir,  that  often  happens  among 
the  Romanists;  they  most  all  wear  medals, 
and  dozens  of  'em  git  saved  just  that  way." 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  im- 
patiently; "anything  else  would  do  it  just 
as  well. ' ' 

"Then  why  don't  it,  sir?"  asked  Saun- 
ders, not  unnaturally.  ' '  You  see,  Doctor, ' ' 
he  went  on,  confidentially,  ' '  I  used  to  think 
just  like  you  do,  but  a  man  sees  a  sight  of 
things  when  he's  on  hospital  duty.  And 
about  these  here  medals  (/used  to  call  'em 
'charms,'  and  many's  the  time  I've  won- 
dered what  Cotton  Mather  and  John  Knox 


would  'a  done  with  them  fellows,  the  way 
they  take  on  about  the  Virgin  and  miracles), 
they  certainly  are  cur'ous.  Why,  sir,  if 
they  can  have  'em  on — lots  of  Protestants  as 
well  as  Catholics — they're  just  2.^  pleased! 
and  they  say  the  prayers  on  'em  as  simple 
as  children.  And  I  tell  you,  sir,  I've  seen 
such  direct  answers  to  'em,  specially  the 
kind  they  call  novenys,  as  would  make  you 
hold  your  breath. 

' '  They  don' t  reely  worship  Her  neither, ' ' 
he  continued,  with  the  air  of  giving  a 
staggering  piece  of  information ;  "but,  my! 
they  do  love  Her.  They  call  Her  '  Mother 
of  Mercy,'  and  'Ark  of  the  Covenant,'  and 
'Mornin'  Star,'  and  a  lot  more  names;  and 
all  of  'em  have  a  sensible  meanin'  too. 
These  here  are  'cause  She's  never  any  more 
tired  of  pleadin'  to  God  for  sinners  than  the 
mothers  down  here  isof  prayin'  for  their  bad 
children;  and  'cause  She  bore  the  Prom- 
ised Redeemer,  like  the  Jews'  Ark  bore  the 
Tables  of  the  Law;  and  'cause  She  come 
before  the  Sun  of  Justice  rose  on  the  world, 
and  so  forth,  sir.  Just  as  pat!  And  every 
one  givin'  the  same  answer,  though,  as  the 
copy-books  say,  'There's  many  men  of 
many  minds. ' ' ' 

"Why,  you're  a  papist  yourself,  Saun- 
ders, ' '  said  the  Doctor,  laughing. 

"I  ainH^  sir" — with  some  heat, — "but 
I  certainly  do  feel  different  about  the  Vir- 
gin from  what  I  used  to.  Before  I  didn't 
think  of  Her  at  all,  but  one  day  when  one  of 
them  little  white- bonneted  women — Sisters 
of  Charity,  you  know,  sir;  and  good  as  gold 
they  are  too — says  to  me,  '  Mr.  Saunders,  if 
you're  willin'  to  pay  so  much  respect  to 
Mary,  the  mother  of  Washington,  *  I  think 
you  can  surely  spare  a  little  for  Mary,  the 
Mother  of  God. '  I  was  sort  of  struck  in  a 
heap.  The  Mother  of  God!  That  was  pretty 
solemn —   Land!  listen  to  that,  sir!" 

That  was  the  screeching  of  shell  that 
had  grown  so  painfully  familiar  during  the 
day. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 

*  Gen.  Andrew  Jackson's  choice  of  an  epitaph 
to  be  placed  on  the  tomb  of  Gen.  Washington's 
mother. 


Vol.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  30,  1886.  No.  18 


[Copyright :— Ekt.  D. 


The  Origin  of  tlie  Devotion  of  tiie  Holy 
Rosary. 


I. 
HE  word  rosary  signifies  crown  of 
roses.    The  rose  has  always  been 
considered  the  queen  of  flowers. 
jThe  beauty  of  its  form,  the  brightness  of 
I  its  color,  and  the  sweetness  of  its  odor  ren- 
Ider  its  empire   incontestable.    Hence  the 
icustom  among  the  Eastern  nations,  in  early 
jtimes,  of  offering  a  crown  of  roses  as  a  testi- 
mony of  respect  to  distinguished  persons. 
|This  usage  was  retained  by  the  early  Chris- 
ians  in  adorning  images  of  the  Mother  of 
he  Redeemer.     But  a  great  Bishop   and 
llustrious  Doctor  of  the  Eastern  Church, 
5t.  Gregory  Nazianzen,  conceived  the  idea 
)f  a  crown  that  would  not  fade  like  a  crown 
f  flowers,  and  one  that  could  be  offered  at 
ill  times  and  in  every  place.   Selecting  the 
nost  beautiful  titles  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
ogether  with  those  invocations  which  were 
est  adapted  to  the  needs  of  the  supplicants 
/ho  invoked  Her  intercession,  he  wove  of 
bem  a  wreath  of  prayer  and  praise  in  Her 
onor.   But  the  language  of  the  great  Doc- 
;>r  was  too  eloquent  and  poetic  to  be  fully 
jppreciated  by  the  majority  of  the  people, 
lomething  simpler — adapted  to  the  capac- 
y  of  the  illiterate — was  necessary  in  order 
make  the  devotion  at  once  popular  and 
fective.    For  the  formation  of  a  beautiful 
se- crown  the  Orientals  did  not  consider  it 
^cessary  that  the  flowers  should  be  of  vari- 


E.  HimaoN,  C.  8.  C] 

ous forms,  tints,  and  odors;  so,  also, with  one 
familiar  prayer,  oft- repeated,  it  was  thought 
that  a  beautiful  mystical  crown  might  be 
formed. 

It  was  remembered  that  in  the  inspired 
Psalms  of  David  the  same  formula  of  prayer 
occurs  man)-  times:  that  our  divine  Saviour 
Himself  repeated  the  same  supplication 
during  the  three  hours  of  His  agony  in  the 
Garden.  Then  there  was  the  example  of 
many  saints.  A  holy  abbot  named  Paul, 
who  lived  in  the  time  of  St.  Antony,  the 
Patriarch  of  monks,  used  to  repeat  the  same 
invocation  three  hundred  times  a  day.  This 
seems  to  have  been  a  general  practice  of 
those  first  cenobites,  and  by  their  followers 
it  was  established  among  the  faithful  every- 
where. Thus  in  1096  we  find  the  celebrated 
Peter  the  Hermit,  who  went  to  France  to 
preach  the  first  Crusade,  exhorting  the  peo- 
ple to  recite  every  day  a  certain  number  of 
"Our  Fathers"  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
"Hail  Marys,"  in  order  to  draw  down  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  on  the  Christian  army : 
affirming  that  he  had  been  taught  this 
method  of  praying  by  the  pious  solitaries 
of  Palestine,  among  whom  it  had  been  long 
established. 

Pope  Leo  IV. ,  when  attacked  by  the  Sar- 
acens, those  ferocious  sectaries  of  Mahomet, 
had  all  his  soldiers  say  a  rosary  of  fifty 
' '  Hail  Mar \  s  "  ;  and  it  was  to  these  invoca- 
tions that  he  attributed  his  victory  over  the 
enemy.  St.  Albert  used  to  make  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  genuflections  every  day,  and 
say  a  "Hail  Mary"  at  each  genuflection. 


4IO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


In-order  to  avoid  being  distracted  by  the 
counting  of  the  prayers,  little  globules  of 
wood  or  stone  were  strung  together,  to  pass 
through  the  fingers — one  for  each  prayer. 
To  St.  Brigid,  patroness  of  Ireland,  belongs 
the  honor  of  this  invention,  which  soon 
came  into  general  use.  On  discovering  the 
body  of  St.  Gertrude  in  667 — about  a  cen- 
tury after  the  death  of  St.  Brigid — part  of  a 
pair  of  beads  was  found  with  it. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  origin  of  the  de- 
votion of  the  Rosary  is  traceable  to  remote 
antiquity.  Its  present  form,  however,  dates 
only  from  the  thirteenth  century,  when  it 
was  miraculously  revealed  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Herself  to  Her  devout  client  St. 
Dominic.  The  bulls  of  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tifis,  particularly  that  one  of  Pius  V.  begin- 
ning Consueverunt^  make  frequent  allusion 
to  this. 

An  impious  sect,  the  Albigenses,  had 
sprung  up  in  the  southern  part  of  France. 
Its  adherents  blasphemed  our  divine  Lord 
and  His  Holy  Mother;  they  massacred 
priests,  religious,  and  all  who  refused  to 
join  in  their  abominable  sacrileges.  Every- 
where churches  were  profaned  and  burned ; 
everywhere  murder  and  pillage  ran  riot. 
The  armies  of  Catholic  France  were  unable 
to  subdue  these  precursors  of  modern  so- 
cialism, and  the  fate  of  the  whole  nation 
was  menaced  with  ruin. 

St.  Dominic  undertook  the  task  of  reform- 
ing these  fanatics.  He  was  distinguished 
for  his  learning,  his  holiness,  and  an  elo- 
quence that  was  seemingly  irresistible;  still 
more,  God  had  favored  him  with  the  gift  of 
miracles.  Nevertheless,  he  saw  all  the  efforts 
of  his  apostolic  zeal  doomed  to  an  almost 
complete  sterility.  But  one  day  as  the  Saint 
was  praying  with  more  than  usual  fervor  to 
the  Mother  of  God,  She  appeared  to  him, 
and  presented  him  with  a  Rosary,  saying: 
'*Know,  my  son,  that  the  Angelic  Saluta- 
tion is  the  means  by  which  the  Blessed 
Trinity  is  pleased  to  regenerate  the  world ; 
this  prayer  is  the  foundation  of  the  new  alli- 
ance. Are  you  desirous  of  winning  over  to 
God  these  hardened  hearts  ?  Preach  it,  then. 
Yes, ' '  She  added,  ' '  if  this  celestial  dew  fall 


not  upon  this  ungrateful  soil,  it  will  forever 
remain  sterile." 

Dominic,  faithful  to  the  orders  he  had 
received,  began  to  preach  everywhere  the 
devotion  of  the  Rosary;  and  in  proportion 
as  it  became  known,  its  wonderful  results 
proved  to  him  the  magnificent  fulfilment  of 
the  heavenly  promises.  Doubting  souls  be- 
came confirmed  in  the  faith,  and  the  erring^ 
returned  to  the  fold  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 
It  was  estimated  that  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  heretics  abjured  their  errors. 

II. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  flower  of  which 
this  crown,  so  pleasing  to  the  Queen  of 
Heaven,  is  composed.  This  mystical  rose  is 
the  Ave  Maria — arose  of  heavenly  perfume 
from  the  garden  of  paradise,  transplanted 
by  an  Archangel  into  the  garden  of  Holy 
Church.  The  composition  of  this  eloquent 
prayer  is  familiar  to  everyone;  it  is  as  sub- 
lime as  it  is  venerable.  After  the  prayer 
taught  by  Our  Lord,  none  is  dearer  to  His 
followers.  It  is  honey  to  the  mouth,  music 
to  the  ear,  and  jubilee  to  the  heart. 

The  number  of  Ave  Marias  in  the  Ro- 
sary corresponds  with  the  number  of  psalms 
in  the  Psalter  of  David,  and  hence  the  Ro- 
sary is  sometimes  called  the  Psalter  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  It  is  divided  into  fifteen  dec- 
ades, each  decade. beginning  with  an  "Our 
Father,"  and  terminating  with  a  "Glory 
be  to  the  Father. ' '  The  fifteen  decades  are 
again  divided  into  three  parts,  each  part  con- 
sisting of  fifty  "Hail  Marys,"  and  this  is 
what  is  commonly  understood  by  a  beads, 
or  chaplet. 

To  recite  the  Rosary,  or  chaplet,  the  gen-! 
eral  custom  is  to  begin  by  making  the  Sigrj 
of  the  Cross;  then  follow  the  Apostles'! 
Creed,  the  "Our  Father,"  three  "Hai] 
Marys,"  and  a  "Glory  be  to  the  Father.' ' 
The  origin  of  this  introduction  is  unknown.| 
and,  although  not  an  essential  part  of  th( 
devotion,  yet  its  recital  can  not  but  add  t( 
the  value  of  the  mystical  crown  which  wtj 
ofier  to  Our  Blessed  Mother.  Many  of  He! 
devout  clients  offer  the  three  "Hail  Marys' 
in  remembrance  of  Her  grief  at  the  foot  0 
the  Cross. 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


411 


We  have  now  spoken  of  the  framework,  as 
1 :  were,  of  the  devotion  of  the  Rosary,  and 
c  ertainly  nothing  further  need  be  said  to 
1  ecommend  it  to  the  pious  Christian.  Nev- 
f  rtheless,  in  order  to  render  it  more  fruitful 
i  1  its  effects,  St.  Dominic  was  pleased  to 
join  meditation  to  the  vocal  prayer.  He 
tierefore  chose  the  fifteen  principal  mys- 
ttiries,  or  events,  in  the  life  of  Our  Lord  and 
iris  Blessed  Mother  as  subjects  of  reflection 
while  reciting  the  fifteen  decades.  These  fif- 
teen mysteries  are  divided  into  three  classes, 
or  series,  which  present  quite  distinctive 
characteristics,  and  correspond  to  the  three 
divisions  of  the  Rosary.  There  are  Five 
Joyful  Mysteries:  these  relate  to  the  infancy 
of  Our  Saviour,  and  are  applied  to  the  five 
decades  of  the  first  division;  Five  Sorrow- 
ful Mysteries,  which  regard  the  Passion  of 
Christ,  and  which  are  attached  to  the  five 
decades  of  the  second  division ;  finally.  Five 
Glorious  Mysteries,  which  regard  the  Res- 
urrection of  Our  Saviour,  and  are  to  be 
meditated  upon  while  reciting  the  five  dec- 
ades of  the  third  division. 

Who  can  doubt  that  the  Rosary,  which, 
through  the  repeated  recommendations  of 
popes,  seconded  by  the  zeal  of  the  bishops 
md  clergy,  has  become  the  most  universal 
orm  of  prayer, — which  is  suited  to  all  cir- 
cumstances and  states  of  life, — which  is 
ised  by  saints  and  by  sinners, — by  means 
>f  which  innumerable  miracles  have  been 
wrought — is  of  heavenly  origin  ?  And  what 
privilege  to  be  able  to  present  to  the 
)ueen   of  Angels  as  often  as  we  will   a 
rown  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers — flow- 
rs  whose  color  never  fades,  whose  form  is 
llways  delightful,  and  whose  fragrance  is 
5  the  incense  of  celestial  censers ! 


Palms. 


We  are  full  of  prejudices  and  antipathies 
ith  regard  to  God.    We  love  Him  little 
icause  we  know  Him  badly,  and  we  know  ' 
im  badly  because  we  love  Him  little. — 
bbe  Roux. 

Phii^osophkrs  call  God  "the  great  Un- 
lown."  The  great  Mis-known  would  be 
^re  correct.— /</, 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSKY. 

CHAPTER  XVIH.— In  the  Shadow  of 
THE  Palms. 

IN  the  soft  splendor  of  a  summer  evening, 
musical  with  the  flute-notes  of  birds,  the 
play  of  fountains,  and  the  whispering  of 
•leaves ;  while  the  sun  flashed  a  line  of  gold 
along  the  crests  of  the  distant  mountains, 
tinting  the  drifting  clouds  and  sparkling  on 
lofty  temple  and  ruined  fane  alike,  Neme- 
sius  told  his  little  daughter  of  those  heroic 
souls  who,  refusing  to  deny  Christ,  gave 
their  lives  in  testimony  of  their  faith.  He 
had  for  some  days  debated  with  himself  if 
it  would  not  be  best  to  do  so,  but  now  she 
had  of  her  own  accord  asked  an  explanation 
of  what  she  had  accidentally  overheard; 
and,  although  it  gave  him  a  bitter  pang  to 
acquaint  her  with  the  cruel  realities  of  the 
persecution  which  they  both  might  soon 
be  called  upon  to  share,  he  did  not  shrink 
from  the  task.  She  was  only  a  child,  whose 
life,  except  for  the  blindness  that  for  a  time 
clouded  it,  had  been  like  a  summer  day; 
she  had  never  beheld  suffering,  or  felt  pain, 
or  even  heard  of  violence,  cruelty,  or  blood- 
shed; and  he  feared  that  without  some  prep- 
aration her  heart  might  faint  with  terror, 
and  the  weakness  of  childhood  give  way  to 
the  horror  that  threatened  her,  should  the 
test  come. 

Seated  close  beside  him,  her  head  against 
his  shoulder,  and  her  hands  clasped  over  his 
arm,  she  listened,  looking  far  away  into  the 
golden  glow,  a  sweet,  wondering,  half- ex- 
pectant look  upon  her  face. 

''Does  it  make  thee  afraid,  dearest?"  he 
asked,  finding  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  am  not  afraid — ohi  no:  I  was  think- 
ing. It  may  frighten  me,  padre  mio^  if  those 
cruel  ones  try  to  make  me  deny  the  dear 
Christus;  but  I  will  never,  never  do  it — 
even  if  they  kill  me!  Then  He  will  know 
that  I  love  Him  more  than  my  own  life," 
she  answered,  with  simple  fervor. 

'  'And  thou  wilt  behold  the  glory  of  His 


412 


The  Ave  Maria. 


countenance;  He  will  crown  thee  with  ever- 
lasting rejoicing,  and  with  His  Holy  Mother 
and  the  angelic  hosts,  and  the  noble  army 
of  martyrs  and  virgins,  thou  wilt  live  in  His 
presence,  and  drink  of  the  well-spring  of 
His  love  forever,  forever! "  said  Nemesius, 
whose  countenance  shone  as  if  transfigured 
by  the  vision  that  filled  his  mind,  and  tri- 
umphed over  the  pain  and  outcry  of  nature. 

She  did  not  see  his  face — her  head  still 
rested  against  his  shoulder,  and  her  eyes 
still  gazed  out  into  the  golden  glow, — but 
his  words  thrilled  her  heart  with  silent 
ecstasy,  as  love,  winged  by  faith,  bore  her 
thoughts  upward  to  a  contemplation  of  the 
inexpressible  joys  he  portrayed.  Could  it 
be  that  with  her  eyes,  to  which  He  had 
given  sight,  she  would  indeed  behold  the 
divine  C^rw/^^j-,  His  Virgin  Mother,  the  holy 
angels,  and  all  the  resplendent  hosts  of 
heaven,  and  that  He  from  His  great  throne 
would  welcome  a  child  like  her?  Would 
His  Holy  Mother,  in  Her  shining,  robes  and 
crowned  with  stars,  lead  her  to  Him,  *  and 
say:  'Behold,  my  Son,  the  child  to  whom 
Thou  gavest  sight,  who  has  loved  Thee, 
and  not  feared  to  die  for  Thee '  ?  And  then 
would  He  bless  her,  and  let  her  kiss  the 
hem  of  His  garment,  and  place  her  where 
she  could  forever  see  His  face  ? 

"Is  there  no  other  way  to  Him  except 
through  death?"  she  presently  asked. 

"We  only  follow  Him,  my  little  one;  for 
He  trod  the  same  dread  way  before  us,  that 
by  His  Passion  and  Cross  His  children 
might  triumph  over  the  sting  and  bitterness 
of  death,  and  in  His  adorable  presence  find 
their  eternal  reward,"  said  Neniesius. 

"Then  I  will  welcome  death  if  it  lead  to 
Him.  But  W^ow^  padre  mio/  what  wilt  thou 
do  without  thy  little  maid?"  she  asked, 
standing  in  her  childish  beauty  before  him, 
with  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  tangled  in  the 
meshes  of  her  golden  hair,  making  her  look 
already  crowned. 

"Do?  Follow  quickly.  Our  separation 
will  be  but  for  a  moment, ' '  he  answered, 
with  a  strange,  glad  smile. 

*  "And  show  unto  us  the  blessed  Fruit  of  Thy 
womb,  Jesus." 


Claudia  nestled  closer  to  him  in  full  con- 
tent, her  innocent  heart  overflowing  with 
thoughts  of  that  celestial  city,  whose  light 
is  not  of  the  sun,  but  of  the  Lamb  who 
dwelleth  in  the  midst  thereof, — thoughts 
that  spanned  like  a  rainbow  the  dark,  cloud- 
veiled  stream,  whose  bitter, soundless  waters 
flow  between  it  and  this  mortal  life. 

At  this  moment  a  clear,  sweet  voice  floated 
like  an  echo  through  the  silence,  rising  and  i 
falling  in  sweet  inflections,  coming  nearer  i 
and  nearer,  until  the  words  it  chanted  be- 
came distinguishable. 

'  *  Our  soul  hath  been  delivered,  "it  sang, 
"  as  a  sparrow,  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowl- 
ers. The  snare  is  broken,  and  we  are  de- 
livered. ' '  *  Then,  the  singer  passing  on,  his 
voice  drifted  into  indistinctness  and  silence. 

It  was  Admetus,  going  from  his  work 
among  the  flower-beds.  It  was  his  way  to 
refresh  his  soul  by  singing  scraps  of  the 
sacred  songs  he  heard  at  the  functions  in 
the  chapels  of  the  Catacombs.  Like  a  bird, 
he  could  not  help  singing:  it  was  the  voice 
of  his  heart,  full  to  overflowing  with  the 
joyful  mysteries  of  faith. 

' '  That  will  be  our  song  by  and  by,  my 
little  maid, ' '  said  Nemesius,  laying  his  hand 
upon  her  head,  thankful  that  she  was  pre 
pared  for  the  hour  of  trial,  and  assured  that 
her  brave  little  heart  would  not  lose  cour 
age  in  its  ordeal  of  pain ;  but  even  he  could 
not  fathom  the  depths  of  its  Christ-given 
love  and  faith,  and  he  prayed  God  to  send 
His  angel  to  strengthen  and  comfort  hei 
when  the  time  came. 

Day  had  melted  into  purple  twilight, 
through  which  the  great,  tremulous  star.^ 
softly  glowed;  nightingales  fluted  their  lays 
to  the  silvery  chimes  of  the  fountains,  andj 
from  the  pines  on  the  hill,  and  the  orange! 
blossoms  and  sweet  olives  in  the  garden,  the. 
wind  brought  spicy  odors  to  embalm  thej 
night.  Nemesius  and  his  child,  their  mindsj 
filled  with  thoughts  too  sweet  and  solemr: 
for  speech,  walked  silently  back  to  the  villa- 
After  supper,  loving  words  were  exchangee 
and  farewells   spoken,  then,  blessing  heij 


*  Psalm,  cxxiii.,  7. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


4^3 


with  fervor,  he  hastened  back  to  Rome,  to 
bear  the  Holy  Viaticum  to  certain  Chris- 
tians condemned  to  die  on  the  morrow;  to 
distribute  alms  to  some  newcomers,  who 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  Catacombs  and 
were  without  food,  and  be  ready  to  serve 
the  Pontiff  at  the  altar  in  the  morning. 
Symphronius  had  instructions  how  to  warn 
im,  should  danger  threaten  in  his  absence. 
When  Nemesius  left  the  Mamertine  the 
light  was  far  advanced,  and  darkened  by 
clouds  which  threatened  a  storm.  Thread-- 
ing  his  way  in  the  gloom  through  narrow 
cross  streets  to  shorten  the  distance,  he  was 
conscious  that  he  was  being  followed.  Sev- 
eral times  recently  he  had  imagined  that 
he  heard  footsteps  behind  him,  but,  think- 
ing it  might  have  been  accidental,  gave  no 
attention  to  it;  there  was  no  mistake  now, 
however,  and,  wheeling  suddenly  around, 
he  confronted  a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak  so 
dark  that  he  was  scarcely  discernible  in  the 
surrounding  gloom.  His  movement  was  so 
quick  and  unexpected  that  the  fellow  had 
no  time  to  fall  back,  and  almost  ran  against 
him. 

*'For  what  purpose  dost  thou  follow  me, 
friend?  Dost  thou  need  help?"  said  Ne- 
mesius, in  grave,  kind  tones. 

"Aye,  illustrious  signor,"  stammered  the 
other,  ' '  I  heard  thou  wert  merciful  to  the 
needy;  but  I  was  ashamed  to  beg,  and  fol- 
I  lowed,  hoping — " 

' '  To  attract  my  attention  ?  I  will  ask  thee 

I  no  questions;   take  this,"  said  Nemesius, 

dropping  some  silver  coins  into  the  fellow's 

hand;  "and  if  thou  art  sore  pressed  again, 

come  to  me  openly." 

The  man's  dark,  slender  fingers  closed 

over  the  silver,  and  with  muttered  thanks 

he  turned  away.    "I  must  be  more  wary," 

he  panted,  as  he  ran  through  the  darkness. 

I  could  have  stabbed  him,  but  that  would 

be  going  beyond  my  instructions,  to  say 

aothingof  losing  the  reward  I  am  promised, 

ind  perhaps  my  head. ' '  It  was  the  Cypriot. 

Again   and   again  after   this   Nemesius 

'ancied  he  heard  stealthy  footsteps  near  him 

vhen  going  on  his  errands  of  mercy  at  night 

0  various  parts  of  the  city ;  often  he  felt 


a  presence  of  some  one  unseen — by  that 
keen  sense,  call  it  magnetism  or  what  you 
will,  by  which  some  organizations  can  feel 
even  a  passing  shadow, — but  there  was 
nothing  visible  whenever  he  turned,  and  he 
thought  it  might  be  the  echo  of  his  own 
footsteps. 

In  the  mean  time  Fabian  sought  by  every 
means  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  appre- 
hensions that  tormented  him,  and  look  only 
on  the  sunny  side  of  life,  but  without  suc- 
cess ;  for  haunting  forebodings  attended 
him  still,  filling  him  with  an  unrest  as  un- 
controllable as  it  was  sad.  His  heart  drew 
him  to  the  villa  on  the  Aventine  with  an 
impulse  he  found  it  difficult  to  resist;  but 
he  had  not  courage  to  go  until  he  should 
become  more  accustomed  to  the  changed 
state  of  affairs  there. 

One  evening  he  went  to  the  imperial 
palace.  The  soft  strains  of  double  flutes  and 
stringed  instruments  blended  with  the  hum 
of  conversation  and  a  light  ripple  of  laugh- 
ter, as  the  gay,  pleasure-seeking  guests,  clad 
in  festal  attire  and  sparkling  with  jewels, 
moved  through  the  splendid  and  luxuri- 
ously appointed  rooms.  Stopped  often  to 
exchange  salutations  and  a  few  words  with 
acquaintances  and  friends  of  both  sexes,  Fa- 
bian's progress  was  slow  towards  the  mag- 
nificent apartment  in  which  the  Emperor 
and  his  court  held  state  on  occasions  of  this 
sort.  At  length  he  was  near  enough  to  see 
Laodice,  conspicuous  as  usual  by  the  splen- 
dor of  her  dress  and  jewels,  and  the  pre- 
eminence of  her  beauty,  receiving  like  a 
queen  the  adulation  and  flatteries  of  the 
groups  around  her;  she  saw  him  at  the  same 
instant,  and  with  a  glance  of  her  superb 
eyes  invited  him  to  her.  She  was  in  a  gay 
mood,  and  glad  to  see  the  only  man  in  Rome 
whose  wit  was  worth  a  tilt  with  her  own ; 
she  also  had  a  purpose,  known  but  to  her- 
self, which  made  his  presence  especially 
opportune  and  welcome. 

After  the  first  greeting  and  interchange 
of  pleasant  words,  flavored  with  satirical 
but  polite  banter,  the  group  of  gay  adorers, 
who  had  been  offering  so  sedulously  the 
incense  of  their  homage  to  her  charms, 


414 


The  Ave  Alaru 


la. 


with  ready  tact  withdrew,  to  avoid  being 
cast  into  the  shade  by  this  more  brilliant 
aspirant  for  her  favor,  giving  Laodice  the 
opportunity  she  coveted. 

''Canst  thou  give  me  news  of  the  beau- 
tiful blind  child  at  the  villa  on  the  Aven- 
tine  ? ' '  she  asked,  in  soft  tones,  waving  her 
peacock  fan  gracefully  to  and  fro  with  in- 
dolent motion. 

' '  Claudia  is  well ;  I  saw  her  the  day  after 
my  return  from  Umbria.  She  grows  more 
lovely  every  day,"  answered  Fabian,  star- 
tled by  her  question;  for  none,  except  her 
slave,  the  Cypriot,  knew  this  woman  better 
than  himself 

"Can  it  be  true  that  her- blindness  is 
cured,  or  is  the  report  I  heard  to  that  efifect 
but  one  of  those  rumors  one  is  always  hear- 
ing in  Rome?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is  true, ' '  said  Fabian,  having  quickly 
recovered  his  self-possession  and  ready  tact. 
"She  can  see  out  of  a  pair  of  eyes  almost 
as  bright  and  beautiful  as  thine." 

' '  He  must  be  a  most  skilful  physician 
who  cured  her,"  she  rejoined. 

"Yes:  the  fellow  is  skilful;  he  cured  me 
of  a  dreadful  fever  I  got  on  a  troop-ship 
once  in  my  travels,  and  I  recommended 
him  to  Nemesius.  He  brings  his  skill  from 
the  Bast,  where  he  lived  many  years;  he 
also  studied  in  the  schools  of  Egypt.  He  is 
a  strange,  mysterious  man,  who  comes  and 
goes  like  a  ghost.  It  all  happened  while  I 
was  away  in  Umbria." 

There  was  a  baffled  look  in  Laodice' s 
eyes  at  this  simple,  straightforward  state- 
ment. "What  if,  after  all,"  she  thought, 
' '  the  Cypriot  has  deceived  me ! ' ' 

At  this  moment  there  occurred  an  unex- 
pected interruption.  The  Emperor,  having 
taken  a  fancy  to  seek  amusement  among 
the  guests,  espied  Fabian,  and  shouted  to 
him  in  his  usual  strident,  rumbling  voice. 
Instantly  turning,  Fabian  made  graceful 
obeisance,  and  stood  waiting  his  pleasure. 

"Health  to  thee  since  thou  art  still  alive, 
which  thy  long  absence  inclined  me  to 
doubt!  Canst  tell  me  aught  of  thy  Achates, 
our  commander  of  the  Imperial  Legion  ? ' ' 

"I  have  been  absent  from  Rome,  Imper- 


ator.  and  have  seen  Nemesius  but  once  since 
my  return.  He  .is  looking  into  his  private 
affairs,  I  learn,"  said  Fabian,  with  as  indif- 
ferent an  air  as  he  could  assume.  ' '  Truly," 
he  thought,  "Fate  seems  pressing  close." 

"Aha!  by  Mars! "  cried  Valerian,  with  a 
coarse  laugh,  ' '  is  that  all  ?  Can  it  be  thou 
hast  not  seen  the  fair  one  of  his  choice,  or 
heard  of  his  soft  dalliance,  or  the  second 
nuptials?  By  the  Bona  Deal  she  who  has 
won  Nemesius  must  be  a  paragon." 

Fabian  did  not  know  that  this  was  the 
inference  Valerian  had  drawn  from  the 
esoteric  expressions  of  Nemesius  in  their 
last  interview,  but  he  was  not  thrown  ofif 
his  guard;  he  only  said: 

"Nemesius  rarely  talks  of  what  is  in  his 
heart;  it  is  his  sanctuary,  and  all  it  holds 
is  sacred  to  him." 

"A  confidential  matter,  I  see;  but  why 
such  secrecy,  unless  to  make  the  revelation 
more  splendid  by  contrast?  Commend  me 
to  the  silent  for  surprises, ' '  rumbled  Vale- 
rian from  his  short,  fat  throat.  ' '  Nemesius 
has  his  hands  full;  for,  besides  his  romance, 
and  looking  into  the  affairs  of  his  large  es- 
tates, he  blends  duty  with  pleasure  by  visit- 
ing the  prisons  occasionally,  at  my  request, 
to  see  that  those  wicked  dealers  in  magic, 
and  conspirators  against  the  State,  ycleped 
Christians,  have  their  deserts."  A  scowl  of 
hatred  drew  the  tyrant's  heavy  brows  to- 
gether, and  his  visage  grew  purple  at  the 
very  thought  of  them. 

Laodice  had  stood,  in  all  her  superb 
beauty,  silently  watching  Fabian's  counte- 
nance, unobserved  as  she  imagined,  in  the 
hope  of  detecting  some  subtle,  flitting  ex- 
pression, by  which  she  might  judge  of  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  his  words;  but  it  was  in- 
scrutable. He  was  on  his  guard,  knowing 
that  her  eyes  were  upon  him;  and  now,  as 
he  turned  towards  her,  he  observed  a  strange 
glitter,  like  a  spark  of  fire,  scintillating  in 
their  depths,  which  boded  no  good — an  idea 
confirmed  by  her  words. 

' '  It  will  please  thee,  Imperator,  to  I^am 
that  the  beautiful  child  Claudia  is  cured 
of  her  blindness, ' '  she  said  in  honeyed  tones 
to  the  Emperor. 


p 


The  Ave  Maria, 


415 


"The  little  maid  of  the  Aventine — the 
:hild  of  Neraesius!  By  Apollo!  such  news  is 
ike  the  jewel  in  a  toad's  forehead,  in  times 
ike  these.  Health  to  the-little  beauty!  But 
ell  us  by  what  skill  or  magic  the  extraor- 
linary  cure  was  made?"  he  asked, with  sin- 
gular interest. 

"Fabian  says  by  the  skill  of  a  famous 
pastern  physician,"  rejoined  Laodice. 

"He  must  possess  the  skill  of  Machaon 
himself  to  give  sight  to  one  born  blind.  Is 
the  report  true  ? ' '  inquired  the  Emperor, 
turning  to  Fabian  for  confirmation. 

"It  is  indeed  true,  Imperator,  to  the  joy 
of  all  who  love  her,"  he  answered,  feeling 
himself  on  dangerous  ground. 

"The  pretty  one  is  favored  by  the  gods  to 
be  in  such  luck.  I  remember  her  as  beauti- 
ful as  Psyche.  But  I  would  hear  more  of 
the  wonder-worker,  astrologer,  magician,  or 
what,  who  cured  her.  Fidius!  if  he  can  give 
sight  to  one  born  blind,  he  must  be  able 
to  bring  the  dead  to  life,  "  said  Valerian. 

"Some  go  so  far  as  to  claim  that  he  can, 
but  there  is  a  margin  in  all  reports  for  ex- 
aggeration, ' '  was  the  quiet  reply. . 

' '  Where  is  he  to  be  found  ?  I'  11  give  him 
his  own  price,  however  high  he  may  rate 
his  services,  to  go  with  me  when  we  march 
against  Sapor." 

"I  can  not  tell,  imperial  sir.'  He  was  on 
his  way  to  the  East  when  he  saw  the  child. 
He  may  return  soon,  for  he  comes  and  goes 
like  a  shadow.  He  cured  me  of  a  deadly 
fever  once  on  my  way  from  Cyprus,  and 
ooks  in  upon  me  whenever  he  passes 
hrough  Rome.  Should  he  appear  again 
)efore  the  army  moves,  I  will  apprise 
hee." 

"Thou  wilt  earn  my  gratitude  by  so 
oing,"  answered  the  rumbling,  imperial 
oice,  as   the   General   of   the   Praetorian 

uard  approached, — one  whose  claim  to  at- 
-ution  no  Roman  Emperor  could  afford  to 

ight.    Fabian  almost  drew  a  sigh  of  relief 

1  the  burly  form  of  Valerian  moved  away. 

ut  he  was  not  quite  through  the  narrow 

rait   in  which,  so   far,  he   had   skilfully 

oided  both  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Within  the  Fold. 


BY    A.    D.     L 


rpHERB  is  a  flock  of  sheep  and  lambs 
^    That  daily  may  be  seen, 
By  murmuring  brooks  and  rippling  streams, 
Feeding  on  pastures  green. 

Red  is  the  robe  the  Shepherd  wears, 
With  His  own  Blood  'tis  dyed, — 

The  Blood  so  freely  shed  for  them 
From  Hands  and  Feet  and  Side. 

Millions  of  happy  ones  rejoice 
In  this  Good  Shepherd's  care; 

They  hear  His  step,  they  know  His  voice, 
His  tender  love  they  share. 

But,  oh!  of  all  that  favored  flock 

I  long  to  love  Him  best, — 
I  who  was  once  outside  the  Fold, 

la  doubting  and  unrest. 

The  treacherous  paths  of  heresy 

From  childhood  I  had  trod, 
And  in  its  mazes  vainly  sought 

To  find  the  Heart  of  God. 

One  day  I  heard  the  Shepherd's  voice. 
As  through  the  throng  He  pressed; 

I  ran  to  Him,  and,  joy  of  joys! 
Was  folded  to  His  Breast. 

How  blest  if  there  I  could  have  died 

Ere  I  had  sinned  again — 
Ere  I  had  wandered  from  His  side, 

And  caused  Him  grief  and  pain! 

But  all  my  weakness  He  forgives, 

My  faltering  steps  He  guides; 
And  when  I  turn  to  Him,  He  comes 

And  in  my  heart  abides. 

O  bliss,  O  joy  unspeakable! 

Tongue  never  yet  hath  told 
The  happiness  of  those  who  dwell 

In  Holy  Church  the  Fold. 


A  MAN  without  earnestness  is  a  mourn- 
ful and  perplexing  spectacle. — Sterling. 

God  often  visits  us,  but  most  of  the  time 
we  are  not  at  home. — Abb^  Roux. 


4i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 
Under  the  Crescent. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 

X. — St.  Sophia. 

THE  Heart  of  Islam.  —  Above  the 
waters  of  the  Golden  Horn  rise  the 
thousand  minarets  of  the  mosques  that  are 
scattered  everywhere  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  great  city.  More  than  a 
million  souls  are  within  call  of  the  muezzins, 
who  proclaim  Mohammed  the  prophet  of 
Allah,  and  prayer  better  than  sleep. 

In  Stamboul  the  mosques  are  numerous, 
and  three  or  four  of  them  are  marvels  of 
picturesque  architecture.  Close  to  the  se- 
raglio there  is  a  temple  that  seems  not  to 
have  been  made  with  hands;  indeed,  tradi- 
tion attributes  much  of  its  beauty  to  the 
angels,  under  whose  immediate  direction  it 
was  reared. 

Looking  upon  this  superb  structure,  over 
the  roofs  of  Stamboul,  your  eye  is  fixed  in 
wonder  and  delight  upon  the  nine  domes 
heaped  together  one  upon  the  other,  like  a 
cluster  of  huge  bubbles,  with  the  largest  one 
float  ng  at  the  top,  where  it  seems  to  swim  in 
the  air  and  suspend  the  others.  The  min- 
arets that  spring  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  building  are  as  slenderly  and  elegantly 
proportioned  as  waxen  tapers,  and  the  three 
galleries  that  girdle  them  are  as  chaste  and 
as  significant  as  if  they  were  jewelled  rings 
betrothing  earth  and  heaven.  This  mirac- 
ulous mosque  is  "^Ayia  Io<pia^  the  St.  Sophia 
that  fifteen  centuries  ago  sprang  into  exist- 
ence as  if  by  magic,  and  was  dedicated  by 
the  Emperor  Constantine  to  the  Divine 
Wisdom,  the  Word,  the  Second  Person  of 
the  Holy  Trinity. 

Is  there  a  temple  under  the  sun  whose 
history  is  more  romantic,  whose  fate  is  more 
pitiful,  whose  future  is  more  uncertain? 
Ivisten  to  the  marvellous  story  of  St.  Sophia: 

In  the  twentieth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Constantine,  A.  D.  325 — the  same  in  which 
the  Council  of  Nice  was  opened,  and  the 
foundations  of  the  new  city  walls  and  pal- 


aces of  Constantinople  were  laid — arose  this 
Temple  of  Divine  Wisdom.  A  hundred  ar- 
chitects superintended  it;  under  each  archi- 
tect were  a  hundred  masons.  An  angel  had 
appeared  to  the  Emperor  in  a  dream,  and 
given  orders  as  to  the  distribution  of  these 
artisans,  and  the  nature  of  their  work.  Five 
thousand  masons  were  placed  upon  the 
right  side  of  the  building  and  five  thousand 
upon  the  left.  The  Emperor,  dressed  in 
coarse  linen,  his  head  bound  with  a  cloth, 
and  a  stick  in  his  hand,  daily  visited  the 
workmen,  and  hastened  the  progress  of  the 
building  by  prizes  and  gifts. 

The  walls  and  arches  were  constructed 
of  brick,  overlaid  with  the  rarest  marble, 
granite,  and  porphyry.  Phrygian  white 
marble,  with  rose-colored  stripes ;  green  mar- 
ble from  Laconica;  blue  marble  from  Libya; 
black  Celtic  marble,  with  white  veins;  Bos- 
porus marble,  white,  with  black  veins ;  Thes- 
salian,  Molossian,  Proconnesian  marble; 
Egyptian  starred  granite,  and  Saitic  por- 
phyry— all  these  were  lavished  upon  the 
inner  walls  of  the  Temple.  Antique  col- 
umns were  brought  from  the  ruins  of  the 
most  famous  of  the  ancient  temples,  and 
wrought  into  the  structure — columns  of 
Isis  and  Osiris;  pillars  from  the  Temple  of 
the  Sun  at  Baalbek,  of  the  Sun  and  Moon 
at  Heliopolis  and  Ephesus;  of  Pallas  at 
Athens;  of  Phoebus  at  Deles,  and  of  Cybele 
at  Cyzicus. 

The  mortar  was  made  with  barley-water, 
and  the  foundations  were  cemented  with  a 
mastic  made  of  lime  and  barley-water.  The 
chalk- white  tiles  from  Rhodes  that  covered 
the  arch  of  the  cupolas  bear  the  inscription: 
''God  has  founded  it,  and  it  will  not  be 
overthrown.  God  will  support  it  in  the 
blush  of  the  dawn."  These  tiles  were  laid 
by  twelves,  and  after  each  layer  relics  were 
built  in,  while  the  priests  sang  hymns  and 
said  prayers  for  the  durability  of  the  edifice 
and  the  prosperity  of  the  Church. 

When  the  question  arose  whether  the 
light  should  fall  upon  the  high  altar  through 
one  or  two  arched  windows,  the|[Emperor 
and  the  architects  were  in  a  hot  dispute; 
but  an  angel  appeared  and^directed^that  the 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


417 


ight  should  fall  through  three  windows, 
in  honor  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and 
of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

The  altar,  more  costly  than  gold,  was  to  be 
composed  of  every  precious  material  bedded 
iogether  with  gold  and  silver,  incrusted 
with  pearls  and  jewels.  The  tabernacle  was 
I  tower  of  gold,  ornamented  with  golden 
lilies;  and  above  it  was  a  cross  of  gold 
adorned  with  precious  stones,  weighing  five- 
and-seventy  pounds.  The  throne  of  the  Pa- 
triarch and  the  seven  seats  of  the  priests 
were  of  silver;  about  the  altar  were  golden 
pillars,  and  by  the  pulpit  stood  a  golden 
cross  one  hundred  pounds  in  weight,  glit- 
tering with  carbuncles  and  pearls.  The  sa- 
cred vessels  were  of  purest  gold ;  there  were 
42,000  chalice- cloths  worked  in  pearls  and 
jewels.  Four-and-twenty  colossal  books 
of  the  Evangelists,  with  golden  covers, 
weighed  each  twenty  hundredweight. 

The  gold  in  the  vine-formed  candelabra 
for  the  high  altar,  the  pulpit,  and  the  gal- 
lery for  women  amounted  to  6,000  hundred- 
weight of  the  purest  quality.  There  were 
two  candelabra  adorned  with  figures,  all  of 
gold,  each  weighing  1 1 1  pounds,  and  seven 
golden  crosses  of  100  pounds  each.  The 
doors  were  of  ivory,  amber,  and  cedar,  the 
principal  door  of  silver.  Three  doors  were 
veneered  with  planks  said  to  have  been 
taken  from  the  Ark  of  Noe. 

Above  the  holy  font  in  the  church  there 

were  four  trumpets  blown  by  sculptured 

angels,  supposed  to  be  the  very  trumpets  at 

whose  blast  the  walls  of  Jericho  were  over- 

:hrown.   The  floor  was  to  have  been  paved 

^ith  gold,  but  the  wise  Justinian  abandoned 

his  idea,  fearing  that  his  successors  might 

)e  tempted  to  dismantle  the  Temple.   The 

loor  was  therefore  of  clouded  marble,  over 

vhich  faint,  waving  lines  imitated  the  ad- 

ance  of  the  sea;  and  from  the  four  corners 

f  the  Temple  these  mimic  waves  flowed 

ilently  toward  the  four  vestibules,  in  the 

lanner  of  the  four  rivers  of  Paradise. 

At  the  fountain  of  the  priests   twelve 

lells  received  the  rain-water,  and  twelve 

ons,  twelve  leopards,  and  twelve  does,  spat 

forth  again. 


An  angel  gave  the  plan  and  the  name 
for  the  Temple.  It  remained  for  an  angel 
to  furnish  part  of  the  funds  for  its  construc- 
tion. When  money  was  failing,  though 
taxes  were  imposed  upon  the  people  of  all 
classes,  and  even  the  salaries  of  the  profes- 
sors were  applied  to  the  building,  this  an- 
gel appeared  and  directed  a  train  of  mules 
into  a  subterranean  vault,  laded  them  with 
eighty  hundredweight  of  gold,  and  deliv- 
ered the  same  over  to  the  Emperor. 

Seven  and  a  half  years  the  artisans  toiled 
upon  the  material  as  it  slowly  accumulated; 
eight  and  a  half  years  the  building  grew, 
and  when  it  was  finirhed  and  furnished, 
on  Christmas  Eve,  A.  D.  548,  the  Emperor 
drove  in  state  to  St.  Sophia,  entered  the 
church  with  the  Patriarch  Eutychius,  ran 
swiftly  from  the  portico  to  the  pulpit,  and 
with  outstretched  hands  cried:  ''God  be 
praised,  who  hath  esteemed  me  worthy  to 
complete  such  a  work!  Solomon,  I  have 
surpassed  thee ! ' ' 

One  thousand  oxen,  one  thousand  sheep, 
six  hundred  deer,  one  thousand  pigs,  ten 
thousand  cocks  and  hens  were  slaughtered, 
and,  together  with  thirty  thousand  measures 
of  corn,  were  distributed  among  the  poor. 
On  the  following  morning — Christmas  Day 
— the  church  was  formally  opened,  and  the 
sacrifices  and  thanksgivings  continued  four- 
teen days — until  the  Epiphany. 

What  followed  is  scarcely  less  marvel- 
lous. Twice  the  Temple  was  destroyed  by 
fire,  and  twice  rebuilt;  twice  the  great  dome 
fell,  and  twice  it  was  restored.  The  ai^ches, 
having  resounded  to  the  music  of  Chrysos- 
tom's  golden  tongue,  came  at  last  to  echo 
the  blasphemies  of  the  infidel  and  the 
groans  of  the  wounded  and  dying.  At  the 
capture  of  Constantinople  the  clergy,  the 
virgins  dedicated  to  God,  and  a  multitude 
of  people  of  all  classes  crowded  into  the 
church,  and  sought  refuge  before  the  high 
altar.  Mohammed,  at  the  head  of  the  Os- 
manlis,  rode  into  the  sanctuary,  forced  his 
way  through  the  affrighted  throng,  and 
leaping  from  his  horse,  at  the  altar,  he  cried : 
' '  There  is  no  god  but  God,  and  Mohammed 
is  His  prophet ! "  A  hideous  scene  of  slaugh- 


4i8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


ter  followed,  and   the  Temple   was   dese- 
crated. 

The  sultans  have  despoiled  it  of  its  pic- 
torial beauty;  have  added  minarets  and 
abutments  to  support  the  tottering  south- 
east wall ;  have  caused  the  rich  frescos  to  be 
plastered  over  with  a  yellowish  substance; 
have  chipped  away,  wherever  it  was  possi- 
ble, the  carved  symbol  of  the  cross;  have 
hung  great  disks,  graven  with  the  names  of 
the  four  companions  of  the  Prophet,  over 
the  seraphim  under  the  dome,  with  their 
slender  wings  crossed  above  and  below 
them  and  upon  their  breasts;  while  beneath 
the  cupola  is  inscribed,  in  fantastic  and 
beautiful  characters,  a  line  from  the  Koran: 
"God  is  the  light  of  the  heavens  and  of  the 
earth." 

The  St.  Sophia  of  To- Day. — As  we 
entered  the  porch  of  St.  Sophia,  protected 
by  our  dragoman,  we  were  gently  but  em- 
phatically requested  to  put  off  our  shoes. 
We  could  keep  on  our  hats  if  we  chose — 
you  always  wear  tliem  in  a  mosque — but  we 
instinctively  doffed  our  hat  at  the  threshold 
of  the  ancient  church,  and  entered  it  stock- 
ing-footed, in  solemn  silence,  bearing  our 
shoes  in  one  hand  and  our  hat  in  the  other. 

The  first  impression  we  received  was  al- 
most overpowering.  The  vastness  and  ele- 
gance of  the  interior,  the  solemnity  and 
majesty  of  the  decorations,  the  tranquillity 
that  broods  over  all  the  place,  fill  one  with 
religious  awe.  The  seraphim  fold  their  six 
great  wings  above  you,  and  from  the  walls j 
from  the  marble  galleries,  from  the  shadow- 
filled  cupolas  a  hundred  vague  forms  grad- 
ually discover  themselves  —  the  ghosts  of 
the  saints  and  angels  that  once  hallowed 
this  lovely  Temple.  I  know  not  how  many 
crosses  I  traced  in  the  mutilated  sculptur- 
ing. The  original  cross  is  gone,  but  the 
chisel  has  left  the  form  there  as  exact  as  ever. 

There  are  Madonna  faces  that  seem  to 
exhale  from  the  thick,  dull  plaster  that 
has  been  laid  over  them.  You  see  them; 
yet  can  hardly  convince  yourself  that  you 
see  them,  they  are  so  like  half-imagined 
pictures.  In  the  apse  —  the  hollow  and 
naked  apse  that  once  sheltered  the  high 


altar — there  is  a  shadow  that  haunts  you; 
you  turn  to  it  again  and  again,  and  study  it 
from  every  part  of  the  building.  By  and  by 
the  shadow  begins  to  take  shape.  It  is  a 
faint  cloud  that  deepens  in  certain  lights, 
and  when  you  are  at  the  exact  angle,  and 
the  fortunate  hour  has  come,  you  see  it 
plainly  enough — the  sorrowful  but  forgiv- 
ing countenance  of  the  Redeemer  as  it 
looks  down  upon  the  desolated  and  dese- 
crated stanctuary. 

The  apse  of  St.  Sophia  is  due  east,  the 
holy  house  of  Mecca  is  southeast  of  Stam- 
boul;  therefore,  as  every  Mussulman  must 
pray  with  his  face  turned  to  Mecca,  the 
Mihrab,  or  Mussulman  altar,  is  erected  in  an 
angle  of  the  mosque.  At  almost  any  hour 
of  the  day  you  find  rows  of  the  prayerful 
stretched  crosswise  through  the  mosque, 
prostrating  themselves  on  the  rich  carpets 
that  cover  the  marble  floor.  Two  flags,  sus- 
pended near  their  pulpit,  commemorate  the 
triumph  of  Islam  over  Judaism  and  Chris- 
tianity, of  the  Koran  over  the  Qld  and  New 
Testaments.  There  is  a  prayer- carpet  of 
Mohammed — a  very  precious  relic;  a  sweat- 
ing column,  the  moisture  of  which  is  said  to 
produce  miraculous  cures;  a  cold  window, 
famous  as  productive  of  science,  inasmuch 
as  any  one  who  sits  in  the  draft  thereof  is 
sure  to  study  with  exceptional  success. 
They  show  also  among  the  relics  of  the 
mosqne  a  small  sarcophagus,  which  is  called 
the  Cradle  of  Our  Lord ;  and  a  cup,  or  bowl, 
in  which  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  said  to  have 
bathed  her  Babe;  but  these  traditions  are 
purely  Turkish. 

While  we  wandered  over  the  vast  building, 
and  were  being  besieged  by  Turks,  who  had 
handfuls  of  fragments  from  the  mutilated 
mosaics,  and  were  eager  to  dispose  of  them  \ 
at  a  bargain,  I  heard  the  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  mosque.    Looking  about  me,  I  saw 
the  wise  men  of  the  East  seated  upon  fat  j 
cushions  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  youths, 
expounding  the  Koran,  that  lay  open  on  a  j 
tiny  table  richly  inlaid  with  pearl.    In  dis-  j 
tant  parts  of  the  building  there  were  sing-  | 
ing-boys  committing  the  Koran  to  memory. 
They  were  the  acolytes  of  the  mosque,  and  i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


419 


some  of  them  had  remarkably  fine  voices. 
A  Turkish  Chorister. — One  little  fel- 
low who  was  seated  in  an  enclosure  under 
the  gallery  threw  back  his  head  and  carolled 
like  a  lark.  The  Turkish  chant  has  no 
more  method  in  it  than  a  lark's  song.  It  is 
apparently  the  spontaneous  expression  of 
the  singer,  who  voluntarily  yields  to  every 
passion  of  the  heart,  and  finds  a  pleasure  in 
the  distracting  vagaries  of  his  own  delight- 

itful  voice.  We  paused  to  listen.  The  young- 
ster was  rocking  his  body  to  and  fro,  and 
sending  his  delicious  notes  aloft  like  vocal 
» sunbeams  sparkling  among  the  nine  domes 
|of  the  mosque.  He  stopped  suddenly,  like 
■I  bird  in  a  cage,  startled  and  curious;  then 
istretched  out  his  slender  hand  for  alms; 
gave  us  a  baby  scowl  that  had  something 
of  inherited  hate  in  it,  and  shut  his  small 
mouth  with  scorn.  We  passed  on,  and  list- 
ened among  the  columns  at  a  little  distance. 
He  stretched  his  neck  and  stared  after  us; 
again  began  rocking  to  and  fro;  piped  a 
little,  chirped  softly  to  himself,  and  then, 
with  one  daring  flight,  soared  into  the 
seventh  heaven  of  melody, and  floated  there 
in  an  ecstasy  of  fanaticism. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Mater  Dolorosa. 


BY    THOMAS   J.    KERNAN. 


TTHE  deep  gloom  thickens  on  the  altar-hill; 
^   IvOud  roars  the  thunder,  bursts  the  mighty 
rock; 
All  nature  trembles,  and  the  graves  unlock 
Their  hard,  unyielding  portals,  and  at  will 
The  dead  once  more  revisit  earth.    How  ill 
Does  man  repay  his  Saviour' s  love !  The  flock 
Is  scattered,  and  the  hardened  rabble  mock 
The  Shepherd — O  ye  Heavens  hear! — until 
The  very  earth  rebukes  the  ingrates  base. 
Yet,  sinful  man,  there  still  is  hope  for  thee. 
For  Mary,  ever  faithful  to  the  end, 
With  Magdalene  and  John, stands  in  thy  place, 
And  for  thee  prays  beneath  the  blood-stained 
Tree, 
While  Her  pure  Heart  all  human  sorrows 
rend. 
Feast  of  the  Seven  Dolors,  1886. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


XIX. 

THE  priest  and  the  lawyer  came  and  did 
their  work.  The  first  reconciled  to  God 
the  soul  that  had  wandered  so  long  and  so 
far  from  Him ;  the  second  prepared  the  last 
will  and  testament  of  the  dying  man  for 
his  signature.  Before  signing,  however,  the 
latter  insisted  that  Philip  should  read  the 
will;  and  Philip  understood  why  when  he 
came  to  the  clause  which  declared  that,  filled 
with  a  sense  of  his  injustice  toward  the  heirs 
of  Robert  Percival,  the  testator  restored  to 
them  the"  value  of  the  property  which  the 
said  Robert  Percival  had  made  over  to  him 
for  reasons  duly  set  forth.  The  amount 
stated  was  large ;  but,  as  Mr.  Thornton  had 
affirmed,  he  could  pay  it  and  still  remain  a 
very  wealthy  man.  The  residue  of  his  fort- 
une, after  providing  handsomely  for  Mrs. 
Thornton,  was  left  to  Philip,  who  was  also 
appointed  the  executor  of  the  will. 

'  *  Well , ' '  said  the  sick  man,  as  his  nephew 
laid  down  the  paper,  and  their  eyes  met, 
' '  are  you  satisfied  ? ' ' 

' '  I  am  more  than  satisfied  with  your  res- 
titution," the  young  man  answered.  "But 
for  the  rest,  let  me  beg  you  to  provide  for 
Constance  also." 

"Have  I  not  provided  for  her? — have 
you  not  promised  to  marry  her?" 

"Yes,"  Philip  replied,  with  a  freshly- 
sinking  heart;  "but  what  if  she  should 
decline  to  marry  me?" 

"She  will  not  decline,"  said  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton. ' '  If  she  does,  why  should  I  provide  for 
her?    She  is  of  no  blood  of  mine." 

' '  She  is  your  adopted  daughter. ' ' 

"Her  aunt^s,  rather;  and  she  will  provide 
for  her  if  need  be.  There  will  be  no  need, 
however,  if  she  is  your  wife;  and  a  wife 
should  not  be  independent  of  her  husband. ' ' 

Philip  made  no  reply  to  this  very  mascu- 
line opinion;  he  was  thinking  how  every- 
thing conspired  to  rivet  ijiore  firmly  the 
bond  he  had  assumed.    As  if  his  word  of 


420 


The  Ave  Mc 


ana. 


honor  was  not  enough,  there  was  left  in  his 
hands  the  entire  fortune,  which  should  (he 
felt)  have  been  divided  between  Constance 
and  himself,  making  him  more  than  ever 
bound  to  share  this  fortune  with  her  in  the 
way  his  uncle  indicated  and  intended.  And, 
since  it  was  to  be  so,  did  it  matter,  after  all, 
how  the  money  was  left?  He  yielded  with- 
out another  word  of  protest. 

' '  I  will  do  all  that  I  have  promised — all 
that  you  desire,"  he  said.  "Be  certain  of 
that." 

"I  am  certain,"  replied  his  uncle.  "I 
have  not  lived  to  my  age  without  learning 
who  to  trust.  Now  call  in  the  witnesses, 
and  let  me  sign." 

The  witnesses — one  of  whom  was  the  at- 
tending physician — were  summoned,  and 
requested  to  witness  the  signature  of  Mr. 
Thornton.  After  he  had  written  his  name  in 
a  clear  though  trembling  hand,  he  watched 
them  affix  theirs,  and  then  let  his  head 
fall  back  on  its  pillows,  with  a  perceptible 
change  in  his  whole  expression.  It  was  as 
if  the  will-power  which  had  sustained  him 
to  this  point  now  suddenly  failed.  The  doc- 
tor placed  his  hand  on  his  pulse,  and  looked 
significantly  at  Philip.  ' '  The  business  was 
not  done  an  hour  too  soon,"  he  said,  a  little 
later. 

And  indeed  from  this  time  the  flame  of 
life  sank  lower  and  lower.  Partial  uncon- 
sciousness soon  set  in,  from  which  the  dy- 
ing man  roused  now  and  then  to  recognize 
those  about  him,  and  to  utter  a  few  words, 
but  relapsed  again  very  soon  into  the  coma- 
tose state.  It  was  during  one  of  these  brief 
intervals  that  his  eye  fell  upon  Constance, 
who  was  standing  at  the  side  of  his  bed, 
and  he  made  an  effort  to  address  her. 

"It  is  all  settled,  Constance,"  he  said. 
"You  are  to  marry  Philip,  and  everything 
will  be  as  I  planned,  only  I — I  shall  not  see 
it."  Then  he  glanced  at  Philip.  "Is  it 
agreed  between  you?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  agreed  on  my  part, ' '  answered  the 
young  man.  He  moved  to  the  side  of  the 
girl,  and  took  her  hand.  ' '  My  uncle  desires 
our  marriage  very  much,  Constance,"  he 
said ;  ' '  and  I  have  promised  him  that  I  will 


again  offer  myself  to  you — this  time  without 
any  condition;  and  I  beg  you,  if  you  can 
accept  me,  to  say  so  now,  and  let  our  be- 
trothal take  place  here  at  his  bedside. ' ' 

Certainly  such  a  declaration,  made  at  such 
a  time,  might  excuse  some  agitation  in  the 
person  receiving  it;  yet  it  seemed  to  Philip 
as  if  Constance's  agitation  was  greater  than 
even  the  occasion  warranted.  She  was  pale 
to  her  lips,  and  trembling  visibly,  while  her 
reply  was  altogether  inaudible. 

' '  What  does  sh e  say  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton.   "Does  she  promise  to  marry  you?" 

"Will  you  not  promise,  Constance?" 
urged  Philip,  earnestly,  determined  that 
there  should  be  no  lack  of  effort  on  his  side 
to  fulfil  his  pledges  to  the  dying  man.  In  a 
lower  tone  he  added:  "  Speak  quickly,  if  you 
wish  to  gratify  him  before  it  is  too  late." 

She  started,  and  murmured:  "If  it  will 
gratify  him,  I — I  promise — " 

Her  voice  broke  off".  It  seemed  to  Philip 
as  if  she  wished  to  add  more,  but  sank  into 
frightened  silence,  as  Mr.  Thornton,  with  a 
faint  smile,  held  out  his  hand. 

"That  is  well,"  he  said.  "Your  life  is 
assured,  as  I — wished  it.  And  Philip  will 
do  what  is  right.   You  may — trust  Philip. ' ' 

These  were  almost  his  last  intelligible 
words.  He  roused  once  or  twice  again, 
but  his  utterances  were  disconnected,  and 
finally  between  midnight  and  morning  his 
soul  passed  quietly  away. 

Philip's  grief  was  deep  and  sincere.  All 
his  affection  for  his  uncle  (which  had  suf- 
fered only  a  temporary  eclipse)  had  revived, 
and  he  felt  keenly  the  pang  of  parting.  Yet 
with  the  grief  was  mingled  a  sense  of  al- 
most awed  thanksgiving.  It  was  so  won- 
derful that  this  soul,  after  long  years  of 
hardness  and  indifference,  should  have  re- 
turned to  God  at  the  last!  He  thought  of 
Her  on  whose  Feast  of  Sorrow  this  miracle 
of  mercy  had  been  wrought,  and  his  heart 
rose  up  in  gratitude  for  the  grace  which,  he 
was  sure,  had  come  through  Her  powerful  i 
hands.  The  recollection  of  the  Sacraments  ] 
which  the  dying  man  had  received — those  j 
Sacraments  which  opened  the  door  of  i 
heaven  to  him— and  the  sight  of  the  relig-      | 


The  Ave  AT  aria. 


4.r 


ous  emblems  about  his  bier — the  crucifix, 
the  blessed  caudles — touched  the  young  man 
indescribably,  as  if  he  saw  visible  before  his 
eyes  the  infinite  mercy  of  God.  If  the  share 
which  he  had  in  bringing  about  the  result 
occurred  to  him  at  all,  it  was  only  that  he 
might  think  how  little  the  sacrifice  of  his 
own  happiness  seemed  in  comparison  with 

f'hat  he  had  gained  by  that  sacrifice.  He 
new  that  this  period  of  exaltation  would 
pass,  and  that  the  bitterness  of  the  renun- 
ciation which  he  had  made,  and  the  bond 
prhich  he  had  accepted,  would  perhaps  over- 
whelm him  later.  But  just  now  he  could 
think  only  of  what  had  been  gained,  not  of 
the  price  it  had  cost. 

All  responsibility  fell  upon  him  in  these 
days.  Mrs.  Thornton  was  prostrated  by 
her  husband's  sudden  death,  following  so 
closely  upon  their  hurried  journey ;  and  she 
was  also  somewhat  resentful  of  the  fact  that 
a  priest  had  been  called  to  him.  It  was 
Philip's  work,  she  said  to  herself  and  oth- 
ers. When  Mr.  Thornton  was  in  health, 
and  in  the  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  he 
had  given  up  "Romanism"  entirely,  and, 
of  course,  if  he  had  asked  for  a  clergyman, 
she  would  have  sent  for  her  own.  But 
Philip  saw  him,  worked  upon  his  weak- 
ness, and  sent  for  a  priest.  It  was  like 
Philip,  who  had  proved  himself  a  perfect 
bigot  in  religious  matters,  but  it  was  neces- 
sarily very  disagreeable  to  her.  It  decided 
her  not  to  attend  the  funeral.  "I  might 
have  made  an  effort  if  it  had  been  in  my 
own  church, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  but  under  the  cir- 
cumstances I  can  not  think  of  it." 

So  the  funeral  arrangements  were  left 
entirely  in  Philip's  hands,  and  the  lifeless 
body  of  the  man  who  had  not  crossed  the 
threshold  of  a  Catholic  church  for  years 
was  borne  once  more  within  the  sanctuary 
for  the  solemn  blessing  of  the  Church.  As 
the  pale,  young  chief  mourner  followed  the 
coffin  toward  the  altar,  his  ear  was  filled 
with  the  solemn  chant  which  the  choir  was 
singing,  and  he  recognized  the  clear  and 
silvery  voice  that  rose  above  all  the  rest. 

Requiem  cBternam  dona  eis^  Domine.  Et 
luxperpetua  luceal eis^^''  it  sang;  and  Philip 


knew  that  Alice  Percival  echoed  in  her  soul 
the  words  uttered  by  her  lips.  That  she 
should  sing  the  requiem  of  the  man  who 
had  injured  her,  and  who,  so  far  as  she  knew, 
had  died  without  making  any  atonement, 
seemed  to  the  listener  but  another  exquisite 
touch  in  this  miracle  of  mercy  and  charity. 
At  such  a  moment  the  world  seemed  far 
removed,  with  all  its  canons,  struggles,  and 
temptations;  and  sacrifice  itself  was  sweet 
wit'i  the  blessing  of  God. 

But  the  world  asserted  itself  in  a  very  dis- 
agreeable fashion  when  the  will  was  opened 
and  read.  Mrs.  Thornton  was  as  angry  as 
the  gentleness  of  her  nature  would  permit. 
She  was  indignant  at  the  restitution  made 
to  the  Percivals,  more  indignant  that  no- 
provision  was  made  for  Constance,  and  most 
indignant  that  she  herself,  though  amply 
dowered,  was  allowed  no  part  in  the  settle- 
ment of  the  estate,  and  that  Philip's  inheri- 
tance was  largely  in  excess  of  her  own.  To 
the  young  man  she  spoke  some  very  bitter 
words. 

"I  never  underrated  your  influence  over 
your  uncle,"  she  said;  "but  I  confess  that 
I  could  not  have  suspected  that  you  would 
use  it  to  such  a  purpose.  If  he  had  not  been 
weak — if  he  had  not  been  dying,  you  could 
never  have  done  so.  He  would  never  have 
admitted  that  he  had  anything  to  restore  to 
those  Percivals;  for  I  have  heard  him  say 
often  how  much  he  had  lost  by  that  man." 

"One  views  things  differently,"  replied 
Philip,  gravely,  "when  one  looks  at  them 
by  the  light  of  the  world  and  by  the  light 
of  eternity.  My  uncle  was  face  to  face  with 
eternity  when  he  made  his  will, and  he  knew 
that  the  debts  which  man  does  not  pay  for 
himself,  God  will  exact  with  terrible  justice  " 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  you  told  him  such 
things — you  and  the  priest — and  frightened 
him  into  an  act  of  folly  and  weakness, "  said 
Mrs.  Thornton,  resentfully.  ' '  And  did  you 
work  upon  him  by  the  same  means  to  leave 
poor  Constance  nothing — Constance  who 
had  been  ready  to  obey  and  gratify  him^ 
while  you^  who  disobeyed  and  refused  to 
gratify  him,  have  everything?" 

Philip  flushed  deeply.    No  consciousness 


422 


'I he  Ave  Alaria. 


of  rectitude  will   entirely  take  away  the 
sting  of  being  cruelly  misjudged. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  ''I 
begged  my  uncle  to  provide  for  Constance, 
but  he  preferred  to  leave  that  to  me.  I  had 
already  promised  him  to  marry  her — if  she 
would  consent." 

"In  other  words,  you  agreed  to  marry 
her  in  order  to  get  the  whole  fortune  into 
your  hands,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  "I  un- 
derstand perfectly.  But  whether  such  con- 
duct was  worthy  of  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
of  honor  is  another  question." 

Philip  rose  to  his  feet.  ' '  You  will  pardon 
me  if  I  say  that  you  do  not  understand  me 
at  all,"  he  answered.  "This  matter,  how- 
ever, concerns  Constance,  and  it  is  to  her 
that  I  will  justify  myself  You  heard  her 
promise  to  marry  me,  as  we  stood  together 
by  my  uncle's  bedside.  After  that,  does  it 
matter  to  which  of  us  the  property  was 
left?" 

' '  It  matters  that  she  would  have  been  free 
to  reject  you  if  she  had  been  endowed  with 
what  should  have  been  hers,"  enjoined  Mrs. 
Thornton,  hastily. 

"Free  to  break  her  word  to  the  dead?" 
asked  Philip.  "Believe  me,  if  she  wishes 
such  freedom  as  that,  I  will  take  care  that 
it  is  secured  to  her.  But  I  am  sure  that  you 
speak  without  reflection.  I  can  not  imagine 
that  she  desires  freedom  from  her  promise 
any  more  than  I  desire  freedom  from  mine." 

With  this  he  left  the  room,  feeling  that 
he  could  not  trust  himself  to  remain  longer ; 
and  Mrs.  Thornton  shed  some  tears  of  min- 
gled anger  and  self-reproach.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  that  he  did  not  deserve  the  re- 
proaches she  had  uttered,  but  her  exas- 
peration was  so  great  that  she  could  not 
altogether  regret  them. 

Philip  on  his  part  made  no  immediate 
effort  to  see  Constance.  Wounded  and  jarred 
by  the  interview  with  his  aunt,  he  could 
not  face  at  once  what  might  be  worse  even 
than  that.  He  remembered  how  Constance 
had  shrunk  and  trembled  when  called  upon 
to  declare  whether  or  not  she  would  marry 
him,  and  though  she  had  promised  at  last, 
how  reluctantly   that    promise   had   been 


made.  He  was  sorry  for  her,  while  he 
dreaded  his  first  meeting  with  her.  ' '  I  fear 
that  my  poor  uncle  has  provided  unhappy 
lives  for  both  of  us,"  he  thought,  with  a 
sigh.  "As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  have 
accepted  it  with  my  eyes  open,  and  I  have 
been  repaid.  But  Constance  has  nothing 
to  repay  her,  poor  girl !  She  does  not  care 
for  anything  that  I  can  offer;  and,  indeed,  I 
can  only  offer  loyalty. ' ' 

Because  he  could  only  offer  loyalty  he 
felt  the  more  bound  to  preserve  this  with- 
out a  stain,  and  so  he  determined  to  pay 
without  delay  the  necessary  visit, which,  in 
his  quality  of  executor,  he  must  pay  to  the 
Percivals — a  visit  which  would  be  his  fare- 
well to  the  happiness  and  hope  that  had 
brightened  his  life  for  a  time.  He  would  bid 
adieu  to  Alice  Percival,  and  all  possibilities 
that  had  lain  for  him  in  her  gentle  eyes, 
before  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Constance  in 
fulfilment  of  his  promise. 

Provided,  then,  with  a  copy  of  that  clause 
of  the  will  which  restored  a  fortune  to  the 
wife  and  daughter  of  Robert  Percival,  he 
took  his  way  once  more  to  the  modest  home 
to  which  they  had  returned  from  the  coun- 
try. The  small  servant-maid  who  answered 
the  door  told  him  that  Mrs.  Percival  was 
too  ill  to  receive  any  one,  but  that  Miss 
Percival,  who  was  at  home,  could  probably 
see  him.  She  ushered  him  therefore  into 
the  little  well-known  parlor,  and  left  him 
for  some  minutes  to  his  own  reflections. 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Triumph  of  the  Holy  Cross. 


FOR    THE    "AVE    MARIA,"     FROM     THE    SPANISH. 


THE  year  12 12  began  gloomily  for  Spain. 
Mahomet- ben- Yussuf,  Emperor  of  Mo- 
rocco, King  of  Andalusia  and  Murcia,  had 
passed  the  Straits,  at  the  head  of  half  a 
million  warriors,  determined  once  for  all  to 
reduce  the  Kingdom  of  Spain  to  complete 
subjection,  and  to  blot  out  from  it  even  the 
remembrance  of  Christianity. 

The  danger  was  imminent,  and,  without 


The  Ave  Maria, 


423 


losing  a  moment,  the  King  of  Castile,  Don 
Alfonso  VIII. ,  marshalled  his  army,  ordered 
a  general  conscription  throughout  his  States, 
and  sent  ambassadors  to  the  other  Chris- 
tian kings  of  the  Peninsula.  The  King  of 
Portugal  sent  a  small  but  chosen  band ;  the 
King  of  Navarre,  laying  aside  all  thought 
of  grievances  that  had  been  inflicted  on  him 

tby  Castile,  came  personally  with  a  numer- 
ous army;  but  Don  Pedro  II.  of  Aragon 
surpassed  all,  bringing  to  Las  Navas  30,- 
000  of  his  best  soldiers,  and  being  accom- 
panied by  the  Archbishop  of  Tarragona, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Barcelona.  It  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  have  to  make  mention  of  the  King 
of  Leon,  the  uncle  of  the  King  of  Castile, 
who,  instead  of  aiding  his  nephew,  went  so 
far  as  to  wage  war  on  him  in  these  critical 
circumstances. 

Don  Alfonso  VIII.  did  not  forget  that,  in 
order  to  meet  such  a  numerous  and  warlike 
army,  he  must  place  his  chief  reliance  on 
the  help  of  Heaven.  To  obtain  this  aid,  he 
sent  Don  Rodrigo,  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
to  Rome,  to  ask  the  Sovereign  Pontiff"  to  ac- 
cord the  favors  of  a  crusade.  Innocent  III. 
granted  this,  and  ordered  besides  that  pub- 
lic prayers  should  be  offered  up  to  secure  the 
blessing  of  Heaven.  The  people  of  Rome 
observed  a  day  of  strict  fast,  and  the  great 
Pontiff,  barefooted",  carried  the  True  Cross  in 
procession.  Don  Rodrigo  began  to  preach 
a  crusade  in  Italy,  Germany,  and  France, 
and  succeeded  in  enlisting  in  the  Christian 
cause  an  army  of  40  000  infantry  and  12,000 
cavalry.  The  Archbishops  of  Narbonne  and 
Bordeaux  and  the  Bishop  of  Nantes  joined 
this  army. 

Toledo  and  the  neighboring  country  could 
not  hold  the  crowds  that,  animated  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm,  flocked  thither  from 
all  parts.  It  was  at  once  felt  necessary  to 
choose  out  an  able  cpmmander  in-chief  to 
establish  and  maintain  order  amongst  so 
many  different  nationalities  so  variously 
armed, — circumstances  that  made  the  elec- 
tion difficult,  especially  if  we  consider  the 
number  of  distinguished  men  among  the 
warriors  drawn  up  around  Toledo  against 
the  Moors.   After  due  deliberation  the  elec- 


tion fell  on  a  commander  of  ripe  judgment, 
spotless  character,  and  great  and  well- 
known  experience  in  military  affairs.  The 
antecedents  of  the  noble  Catalonian,  Dal- 
man  de  Creixell,  inspired  all  with  the  ut- 
most confidence. 

As  it  did  not  suit  the  plans  of  the  Moors 
to  leave  any  enemies  in  their  rear,  they  de- 
termined to  make  themselves  masters  of 
Salvatierra  before  continuing  their  enter- 
prise. For  eight  months  the  defenders  of 
this  place  held  out  against  the  enemy,  thus 
giving  the  Christians  time  to  organize. 
Whilst  the  soldiers  of  Mahomet-ben- Yussuf 
besieged  Salvatierra,  those  of  Don  Alfonso 
made  great  efforts  to  gain  possession  of 
Calatravg,  which  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Christians  on  July  ist.  Shortly  after  this 
victory  the  foreign  crusaders,  assigning  va- 
rious excuses,  such  as  the  excessive  heat, 
an  unhealthy  climate,  want  of  provisions, 
with  a  few  honorable  exceptions,  abandoned 
the  enterprise  and  returned  to  their  several 
countries. 

The  Spanish  army  advanced  to  the  foot 
of  Sierra-Morena,  whose  difficult  pass  was 
of  the  utmost  importance  as  a  military  po- 
sition. The  Mussulmans  understood  this 
well,  and  prepared  to  defend  it.  Some  one — 
whether  shepherd,  angel,  or  saint  the  histo- 
rians are  not  agreed  upon — presented  him- 
self, and  guided  the  Christians  by  unknown 
paths  until  they  reached  a  spot  where  all 
the  advantage  of  position  was  on  their  side. 
Mahomet  was  both  surprised  and  enraged 
at  seeing  before  him  the  army  which  he  had 
so  confidently  expected  to  conquer  without 
any  difficulty. 

Both  parties  were  eager  for  battle,  but 
prudence  suggested  to  the  Spanish  com- 
mander that  his  soldiers  should  be  allowed 
a  brief  rest.  Religious  sentiment  being  the 
motive  of  the  war  against  the  terrible  Almo- 
hades,  *  the  prelates  and  other  clergy,  who 


^  The  Almohades  were  the  followers  of  an  Af- 
rican who  in  1 120  proclaimed  himself  the  Mehedi, 
that  is,  the  spiritual  guide.  He  stirred  up  the 
Western  tribes  of  Africa,  and  caused  the  founda- 
tion of  a  new  empire  on  the  ruins  of  that  of  the 
Almoravides. 


424 


The  Ave  Maria. 


had  come  to  the  army  in  considerable  num- 
bers, went  about  from  rank  to  rank  exhort- 
ing the  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  before  they 
joined  arms  with  an  enemy  so  well  inured  to 
war,  thoroughly  disciplined,  and  superior  in 
numbers,  to  purify  their  souls  by  the  Sacra- 
ment of  Penance,  and  to  receive  with  fervor 
the  Bread  of  Life.  The  spiritual  graces 
granted  by  Innocent  III.  were  not  forgotten. 
Kings,  officers,  and  soldiers,  having  con- 
fessed and  received  Holy  Communion  as  if 
they  were  members  of  one  family,  hopefully 
awaited  the  morning  of  July  i6,  1212. 

The  two  armies  were  standing  face  to 
face,  ready  for  the  signal  of  battle:  the 
King  of  Castile  was  in  the  centre  of  the 
Spanish  forces,  the  King  of  Navarre  on  the 
right  wing,  and  the  King  of  Aragon  on  the 
left.  An  engagement  soon  began,  which 
proved  the  most  obstinate  and  terrible,  per- 
haps, of  all  that  were  fought  during  the 
eight  centuries  of  the  occupation  of  Spain 
by  the  Moors.  The  two  armies  showed  ad- 
mirable courage,  and  for  a  long  time  victory 
trembled  in  the  balance.  The  bishops  went 
from  rank  to  rank  of  the  crusaders,  ani- 
mating and  encouraging  them;  the  figure 
of  Mary  Immaculate,  Help  of  Christians, 
waved  to  and  fro  on  the  standard  of  the 
King  of  Castile. 

The  Archbishop,  Don  Rodrigo,  with  the 
rear  guard,  had  difficulty  in  restraining  the 
impetuosity  of  Don  Alfonso,  the  prelate 
fearing  the  disastrous  consequences  that 
might  result  from  his  death  if  he  followed 
the  dictates  of  his  imprudent  bravery. 

The  battle  continued  to  rage  furiously ; 
some  Spanish  soldiers  began  to  waver;  the 
King  of  Castile  doubted  the  final  result. 
Don  Rodrigo  himself  tells  us  of  the  fears  of 
King  Alfonso,  and  how  he  turned  to  him 
impetuously,  exclaiming: 

"Archbishop,  you  and  I  will  die  here, 
for  this  is  honorable  death." 

"You  will  not  die,  sire,"  answered  the 
aged  prelate:  "  you  will  conquer.  God  will 
grant  you  victory;  but  should  He  dispose 
otherwise,  we  shall  die  together." 

Finally  victory  declared  in  favor  of  the 
Christians.     The    Mussulmans,  not    able 


I  any  longer  to  hold  out  against  their  fierce 
charges,  turned  their  backs;  the  slaughter 
was  horrible,  and  ancient  historians  esti- 
mate the  number  of  Saracens  that  fell  on 
that  day  at  200,000.  Mahomet- ben- Yussuf, 
who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  blot  out  the 
Christian  name,  and  had  sworn  to  plant  the 
standard  of  the  false  prophet  on  St.  Peter's 
Basilica  at  Rome,  and  convert  the  Vatican 
into  a  stable  for  his  horses,  had  to  fly  on  a 
borrowed  steed;  the  eusign  of  Mahomet 
was  sent  to  Rome,  and  placed  as  a  glorious 
trophy  in  the  very  temple  which  Mahomet 
intended  to  profane. 

Seville  had  to  suffer  the  consequences  of 
Mahomet's  anger  when  he  fled  thither  after 
the  memorable  1  attle.  But  the  Moor  did 
not  consider  himself  safe  in  the  beautiful 
city  of  the  Guadalquivir,  and  crossed  over 
into  Africa  to  hide  the  shame  of  his  irrepa- 
rable defeat. 

Whilst  throughout  all  Spain  spontaneous 
hymns  of  glory  to  God  were  chanted  over 
and  over  again,  the  nations  of  Christendom, 
with  the  Pope  at  their  head,  sent  enthusias- 
tic congratulations  to  the  Navas  of  Toledo 
for  such  a  signal  victory. 

As  a  perpetual  memorial  of  the  event, 
the  Church  established  in  Spain  a  special 
festival  called  the  Triumph  of  the  Holy 
Cross,  which  is  observed  annually  on  July 
16.  It  is  eminently  proper  that  vSpanish 
Catholics  should  celebrate  the  anniversary 
of  a  victory  which  so  signally  favored  the 
rapid  progress  of  the  Reconquest.  It  is 
proper,  too,  that  we  who  believe  in  Provi- 
dence should  be  grateful  to  God  for  having 
given  more  than  human  bravery  to  those 
soldiers,  who,  fighting  for  religion  and  coun- 
try, under  the  banner  of  the  Cross,  humbled 
the  Crescent,  and  wrote  in  History  one  of 
the  most  glorious  pages  of  the  many  that 
are  contained  in  the  record  of  the  long  and 
obstinate  struggle  against  the  sectarians  of 
the  Koran. 


He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God; 

To  him  no  chance  is  lost; 
God's  will  is  sweeter  to  him  when 

It  triumphs  at  his  cost. 


Faber. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


425 


Variegated  Martyrdoms. 


V  Little  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
VERY  old  document,  known  to  scholars 
and  antiquarians  as  the  Rule  of  St.  Co- 
lumba,  speaks  of  two  kinds  of  martyrdom — 
i^he  red  and  the  white.  The  reason  why  mar- 
■yrdom  is  called  red  is  plain  enough.  The  mar- 
Syr  generally  has  the  privilege  of  shedding  his 
l^lood  for  the  faith.    This  is  his  testimony,  or 

tis  witness;  for  the  word  "martyr"  means  a 
dtness.  ' '  The  blood  is  the  life  " :  he  gives  his 
life.  Bloodshed  implies  suiFering:  he  yields 
liimself  to  suffering.  Blood  was  often  the  seal 
of  a  solemn  covenant:  he  thereby  enters  into 
covenant  with  his  Lord,  and  his  I^ord  with 
him.  ' '  Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will 
give  thee  a  crown  of  life. ' '  And  so  the  Church 
clothes  her  priests  in  red  vestments  when  they 
celebrate  the  Holy  Mass  on  martyrs'  feasts, 
even  when  those  martyrs  have  died  without 
actually  shedding  their  blood;  as,  for  instance, 
when  they  have  been  drowned,  or  died  in 
prison. 

But  the  Rule  of  St.  Columba  goes  on  to  speak 
of  another  kind  of  martyrdom,  and  calls  it 
* '  white. ' '  This  white  martyrdom  consists  of 
the  more  ordinary  trials  of  a  Christian,  well 
and  courageously  borne  by  holy  souls,  who 
"have  not  yet  resisted  unto  blood."*  Of 
these  trials  St.  Bernard  says  that,  in  the  long 
run,  they  may  equal  martyrdom.  For  the  lat- 
ter is  soon  over;  very  sharp  and  terrible  it 
has  often  been,  as  long  as  it  lasted;  but  the 
tyrant  persecutor  has  only  his  little  day  or 
hour,  and  his  victim  is  then  wafted  safe  to 
heaven.  Whereas  to  take  up  a  daily  cross,  to 
follow  a  daily  rule,  to  bear  with  unkindness 
at  home,  with  calumny  abroad;  pain,  sickness, 
a  weary,  lonely  life — oh !  while  we  honor  red 
martyrdom,  and  invoke  the  holy  martyrs  with 
their  ruby  crowns,  let  us  not  forget  to  adore 
the  grace  that  has  made  the  white  martyrs  too. 
For  of  them  also  it  may  be  said:  "These  are 
they  who  are  come  out  of  great  tribulation,  and 
have  washed  their  robes,  and  have  made  them 
white  in  the  Blood  of  the  I^amb."  f  So  the 
sufferers  by  white  martyrdom  are,  in  their  own 
high  degree,  a  very  glorious  company. 

Is  there  yet  another  kind  ?   There  is  what  a 
great  theologian  of  the  Church  has  called  a 


*  Heb.,xii.,4. 


t  Apoc,  vii.,  14. 


black  martyrdom;  or,  rather  (in  his  words)  a 
martyrdom  of  ink.  To  this  they  alone  are 
called  whom  Our  lyord  wills  to  advocate  His 
truth  by  their  writings. 

But  the  real  martyrdom  of  ink  is  gained 
only  by  solid,  well-pondered,  laborious  and 
prayerful  writing,  such  as  deserves  a  reward 
as  being  the  fruit  of  real  brainwork,  animated 
and  sustained  by  a  pure  desire  of  putting  truth 
before  our  fellow-men.  This  is  the  offering 
which  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  in  his  own  emi- 
nent degree,  made  to  Our  I^ord,  and  which 
He,  in  turn,  speaking  through  the  crucifix, 
rewarded  by  the  words:  ' '  Well  hast  thou  writ- 
ten of  Me,  Thomas;  what  recompense  dost 
thou  desire  ? ' '  We  remember  the  answer  made 
by  the  Saint:  "Nothing,  I^ord,  but  Thyself." 
If  we  consider  the  answer,  we  shall  appreciate 
the  purity  of  intention  which  directed  both 
his  long,  patient  study,  and  the  result  of  it. 
If  we  look  at  the  row  of  folio  volumes  con- 
taining the  writings  he  has  left  behind  him, 
we  shall  estimate  the  cost  of  the  martyrdom 
of  ink  that  won  that  praise  from  Our  I^ord. 

But,  whether  classified  as  red,  white,  or 
black,  may  each  and  all  of  us  have  the  grace, 
and  use  it,  to  * '  witness ' '  for  Our  Lord  in  word, 
in  work,  in  self-denial,  and,  if  He  calls  us  to  it, 
in  suffering! 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  was  the  Church  that  abolished  slavery, 
and  insisted  on  the  dignity  of  human  nature. 
How  noble  are  the  words  of  Pope  St.  Leo  the 
Great  in  connection  with  this  subject:  "  Let  no 
man  think  a  fellow-man  contemptible,  nor  in 
any  one  despise  that  nature  which  the  Creator 
of  all  things  has  made  His  own," — Non  sit 
vilis  homifii  homo,  nee  in  quoquam  despiciatur 
ilia  7iatura,  quam  rerum  conditor  suam  fecit. 
(Serm.  ix.,  cap.  11.) 

The  last  Archbishop  of  Glasgow,  before  the 
re-establishment  of  the  Catholic  hierarchy  in 
Scotland,  was  James  Beton,  nephew  of  the  cel- 
ebrated Cardinal  Primate.  He  was  Queen 
Mary's  faithful  resident  at  the  French  court. 
So  great  was  the  esteem  for  his  talents  and 
virtue,  that  even  after  the  city  of  Glasgow  had 
fallen  into  the  novelties  of  the  day,  the  Prot- 
estant municipality  continued  to  send  him  his 
ecclesiastical  revenues  until  his  death,  at  Paris, 
in  1603.  His  ecclesiastical  coat-of-arms,  cut  in 


426 


The  Ave  Maria, 


stone,  which  was  for  a  long  time  over  the  door 
of  a  private  house  in  lyyon  Street,  is  now  in 
the  possession  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers  of  St. 
Joseph's  Church,  Glasgow. 


The  zealous  rector  of  St  Mary's  Church, 
Rochester,  N.Y.,  the  Rev.  John  P.  Stewart,  in 
a  recent  sermon  on  the  care  of  children  gave 
the  following  excellent  advice  to  parents: 

' '  To  our  efforts  for  your  children  must  be  added 
your  own,  with  good  example  and  loving  advice 
Bad  example  at  home  will  render  almost  useless 
our  best  eftbrts  to  train  them  in  the  way  they 
should  go.  Bad  companions  outside  the  school- 
room corrupt  more  youth  than  all  the  perversity 
that  the  demon  of  fallen  nature  ever  planted  and 
cultivated  in  man.  Therefore,watch  the  company 
your  children  keep. 

* '  Rule  by  love.  If  you  must  punish,  do  so  with 
firmness,  without  anger.  Speak  kindly,  lovingly; 
make  confidants  of  your  children.  Mothers,  be 
the  guardian  angels  of  your  little  ones.  Fathers, 
bring  not  home  a  clouded  brow  or  a  scowl  on 
your  countenance  to  the  hearth- stone.  Better  have 
the  children  running  to  meet  you  than  hiding 
away  in  corners  when  you  approach.  Such  chil- 
dren will  soon  leave  home.  They  may  succeed  in 
life,  but  I  fear  many  tramps  are  made  by  surly, 
abusive,  or  drunken  fathers. 

"The  rising  generation  of  young  girls  who  pa- 
rade the  streets  in  the  evening  to  see  and  be  seen 
are  filling  a  bitter  cup  for  themselves  and  their 
parents.  This  begins  harmlessly,  through  curios- 
ity, or  under  pretense  of  requiring  exercise.  They 
reach  the  down  grade  in  a  short  time,  and  land  in 
a  saloon  or  restaurant.  Another  fatal  step  is  sure 
to  follow.  The  brazen  brow,  leering  eye,  and 
wanton  gaze  and  giggle  soon  replace  the  modest 
maiden's  blush,  and  resentment  of  advances  by 
the  human  night  hawks  who  watch  for  their  prey 
in  the  dark.  Keep  your  children  around  you  in 
the  evenings.  Make  home  so  pleasant  that  they 
will  not  seek  attractions  elsewhere.  If,  by  your 
permission,  they  go  out  for  an  evening,  and  you 
can  not  accompany  them,  know  where  they  go, 
and  what  company  is  with  them.  Insist  upon 
their  coming  home  at  an  early  hour. ' ' 


In  Rustem  Pasha  we  have  in  London  a 
Catholic  ambassador  from  the  Porte;  and  now, 
by  a  curious  coincidence,  we  have  a  Catholic 
ambassador  at  Constantinople  in  Sir  William 
White,  who  has  been  promoted  from  Bucha- 
rest.—  Weekly  Register. 


In  the  convent  garden  attached  to  the 
Church  of  San  Fra7icesco-a-Ripa,  so  memora- 
ble as  the  place  in  which — then  the  house  of 


the  Counts  of  Auguillara — St.  Francis  of  As- 
sisi  received  hospitality  on  his  first  coming  to 
Rome,  in  1219,  is  a  beautiful  old  well,  whose 
history  illustrates  the  simplicity  of  a  poor 
Franciscan  lay-brother,  whose  duties  were  to 
go  around  and  beg  through  the  streets  (a 
rimifo2Lr,  as  Chaucer  says)  for  his  convent. 
When  Pope  Paul  V.  was  only  a  Cardinal  he 
had  known  and  liked  this  humble  son  of  St. 
Francis,  and  when  he  ascended  the  pontifical 
throne,  in  1605,  he  asked  him  to  name  any 
favor  he  might  wish.  ' '  Give  us,  Holy  Father, 
some  drinking  water  for  our  convent,"  said 
the  simple-minded  friar.  All  were  edified  by 
such  a  modest  request.  A  good  well  was  im- 
mediately dug,  and  the  beautiful  stone  rim  and 
carved  covering  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  are 
very  picturesque  indeed. 


Queen  Christina,  of  Spain,  distributes  more 
than  100,000  lire  a  month  in  charity,  without 
counting  extra  donations  to  almshouses,  hos- 
pitals, and  other  benevolent  institutions,  some 
of  which  she  founded  herself.  On  the  bank  of 
the  Manganeres,  in  sight  of  the  royal  palace, 
in  an  open  and  cheerful  spot,  one  sees  a  little 
house  painted  in  bright  colors,  surrounded  by 
a  garden,  from  which  in  passing  one  hears  the 
laughter,  shouts  and  cries  of  children.  The 
Queen  had  it  built  as  a  resort  for  the  little 
children  of  the  laundresses,  who,  while  their 
mothers  were  working,  used  to  be  left  on  the 
streets.  It  is  a  mingling  of  almshouse  and 
school.  She  has  also  founded  a  hospital  for 
foundlings,  a  house,  or  species  of  college,  for 
the  children  of  the  tobacco  workers,  and  a  dis- 
tribution of  soup,  meat  and  bread  for  all  the 
poor  of  the  city.  She  has  several  times  gone 
quite  unexpectedly  to  assist  in  the  distribu- 
tion, to  assure  herself  that  no  abuse  was  made 
of  it;  and  having  once  discovered  some  rog- 
uery, she  provided  against  a  repetition  of  the 
offence.  The  Sisters  of  Charity  receive  from  her 
every  month  70,000  lire. — Neiv  York  World. 


A.  plain  tablet  in  the  Bianco  Chapel  of  the 
Badia  Church  at  Florence  commemorates  one 
of  the  last  of  the  Stuarts,  whose  fall  is  so  his- 
torically connected  with  devotion  to  the  Cath- 
olic Faith  on  one  side,  and  the  cruel  triumph 
of  Protestantism  on  the  other.  It  is  a  memo- 
rial of  Bernard  Stuart,  a  Scot,  of  the  royal  race 
of  Queen  Mary,  who  died  in  the  adjoining 
monastery  while  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome  in 


The  Ave  Mar 


?a. 


427 


|i 


the  year  1755.  He  was  Lord  Abbot  of  the  Ben- 
edictine Monastery  of  St.  James  at  Erfurt,  in 
Germany. 

I    The  Rev.  George  Salvaire,  a  I^azarite  mis- 
sionary, sent  to  Rome  by  the  Bishops  of  the 
Argentine  Republic,  and  by  the  Bishop   of 
Montevideo,  was  received   lately   in   private 
audience  by  the  Holy  Father.    The  object  of 
this  journey  was  to  solicit  the  benediction  of 
he  Pope  on  a  magnificent  crown  in  gold  des- 
ined  for  the  statue  of  Our  Lady  of  Lujan,  near 
uenos  Ayres,  which  is  held  in  great  devotion 
mong  the  people  there.    The  Holy  Father 
graciously  complied  with    the   request,  and 
delegated  the  Archbishop  of  Buenos  Ayres  to 
crown  the  miraculous  statue  in  his  name,  at 
the  same  time  according  spiritual  privileges  to 
the  sanctuary  of  Lujan. — Moniteur  de  Ro7ne. 


We  are  in  receipt  of  further  offerings  for 
Father  Damien  as  follows: 

A  number  of  girls,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  $25;  Pat- 
rick Cozzens,  $1 ;  Hannah  Kelly,  50  cts. ;  M.  E.  M. , 
%\\  J.  McC.,$2;  A.S.0.,^5;  James  McCarthy,  $2; 
j  a  mother  and  son,  ^2;  Mrs.  F.  Ketchura,  $i\  a 
reader  of  Our  Lady's  Magazine,  $1 ;  Mrs.  A.  Nolan, 
%\\  Ellen  Ewing  Sherman,  $5;  Dr.  W.  W.  Mor- 
gan, $2;  L.  I.  Guilmartin  and  family,  |5;  Three 
Friends,  $2;  A.  M.  C.,$i;  A  Friend,  ^5;  Thomas 
Wharton,  |i;  A  Friend,  Warren,  R.  I.,  $1.20;  Ida 
McCabe,  $1 ;  Thomas  E.  Devane,  $1 ;  A  Friend, 
Si;  Miss  Bridget  Kelly, $2;  Mrs.  Bridget  Collins, 
$5;  Miss  Margaret  Ryan,  |i;  Mrs.  Margaret  Bar- 
rett, $5;  E.  H.  Naughten,  %2. 


New  Publications. 


William  Penn,  the  Friend  of  Catho- 
lics. By  M.  I.  J.  Griffin,  First  Vice-President  of 
the  American  Catholic  Historical  Society  of 
Philadelphia,  etc.  Philadelphia:  Press  of  the 
/.  C  B.  U.  Journal. 

In  this  interesting  essay,  read  before  the 
American  Catholic  Historical  Society  of  Phil- 
adelphia, Mr.  Griffin  attempts  to  show  that 
Catholic  writers  are  mistaken  in  their  estimate 
of  the  character  of  William  Penn;  that  he  was 
the  friend  of  religious  liberty,  and  did  not 
deny  Catholics  the  freedom  of  worshipping 
according  to  their  religion.  The  evidence 
adduced  in  favor  of  this  view  is,  for  the  most 
part,  indirect  and  negative,  still  it  goes  a  great 
way  to  show  that  there  has  been  considerable 
misrepresentation  of  Penn's  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject of  religious  toleration. 


Among  the  Fmries.   A  Story  for  Children. 
By  the  Author  of  "Alice  Leighton  "    New  Edi- 
tion.   London:  Burns  &Oates.    New  York:  The 
Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
A  graceful  little  fancy,  delicately  and  brightly 
carried  out.    There  is  a  mild  and  pretty  wit, 
which  marks  a  woman's  touch,  and  will  hardly 
be  seen  or  appreciated  by  children.  But  there 
are   still  some   "grown-ups"   who  take   sly 
peeps  into  fairyland  betimes,  and  they  will 
repay  the  writer  by  their  full  appreciation. 
The  story  is  a  new  one,  and  that  is  something 
greatly  in  its  favor;  for  a  life- long  student  of 
fairy-tales  declares  that  they  have  all  been  told 
and  read  over  and  over  again. 

A   Catechism   of   Christian    Doctrine. 
Prepared  and  Enjoined  by  Order  of  the  Third 
Plenary  Council  of  Baltimore.     Published  by 
Ecclesiastical  Authority.  German-English  Edi- 
tion. NewYork  and  Cincinnati:  F.  Pustet&Co. 
This  edition  of  the  Catechism  contains  the 
English  and  German  texts  on  opposite  pages. 
It  is  clearly  printed,  and  gotten  up  in  a  more 
durable  form  than  the  usual  paper  covers.  The 
Rev.  A.  B.  Schwenniger,  a  learned   priest  of 
the  Archdiocese  of  New  York,  was  the  German 
translator. 

Miss  A.  M.  Pope,  an  occasional  contrib- 
utor to  various  Catholic  periodicals,  has  made 
an  excellent  translation  from  the  PVencli  of  a 
*  *  Memoir  of  Father  Vincent  de  Paul,  religious 
of  La  Trappe. ' '  An  interesting  sketch  of  this 
saintly  priest  appeared  in  The  '  'Ave  Maria'  ' 
some  months  ago.  We  feel  sure  many  will  be 
glad  to  learn  more  about  him.  It  was  his  ap- 
ostolic zeal  that  kept  the  Faith  alive  in  East- 
ern Nova  Scotia  in  the  days  when,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  French  missions,  it  lived 
only  in  the  hearts  of  the  poor  Micmac  Indians. 
A  portrait  of  Father  Vincent  accompanies  the 
work  to  which  the  Rt  Rev.  Dr:  Cameron  has 
supplied  a  valuable  preface. 

The  first  of  the  Catholic  j^ear-books  in 

English  to  make  its  appearance  is  Benzigers' 
Home  Almanac,  of  which  the  present  is  the 
fourth  issue,  and  perhaps  the  most  creditable. 
It  is  filled  with  useful,  instructive  and  enter- 
taining reading,  and  the  illustrations  are  up  to 
the  usual  high  standard  of  excellence.  Among 
the  good  things  we  find  ' '  My  Pilgrimage  to 
Lourdes,"  which  we  feel  certain  the  editor 
would  have  credited  to  The  '  'Ave  Maria'  ' 
had  he  been  aware  that  it  first  appeared  in 
these  columns. 


428 


The  Ave  Maria. 


RAHTMENt 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days 
with  Kilpatricl<. 


BY    E.  L.  D. 


IX. 


While  O'Keefe  was  giving  up  liberty, 
and  Oester  was  being  carried  to  the  rear, 
the  yth  and  the  rest  of  the  brigade  were  re- 
organizing about  a  mile  from  the  rail-fence 
barricade;  but  they  had  hardly  begun  to  pull 
into  shape  before  Clairburn  made  a  fresh 
pounce  on  them,  and  for  the  next  twenty 
minutes  the  display  of  horse-shoes  would 
have  rejoiced  the  soul  of  a  farrier. 

About  four  miles  ahead  they  filed  off  into 
the  open  fields,  where  they  fetched  up  ' '  face 
to*'  the  wood  out  of  which  they  had  just 
rushed,  and  made  another  attempt  at  re- 
organization;  and  were  succeeding,  when 
again  the  fatal  yell  rose  in  a  steady  cres- 
cendo; and  ' '  Fighting  Pat ' '  for  the  third 
time  hurled  his  command  on  them,  his  men 
looking  like  a  vast  grey  shadow  in  the  fall- 
ing night — but  it  was  a  shadow  of  death, 
and  the  bugles  of  the  7  th  and  4th  sharply 
and  thrillingly  called  the  ''Dismount." 
The  men  were  ranged  in  line,  and  the  Chi- 
cago Board  of  Trade  Battery*  wheeled  its 
six  guns  in  front  of  them,  with  the  precision 
of  veterans  and  the  coolness  of  a  dress  pa- 
rade, and  unlimbered  and  began  to  serve 
their  pieces  with  such  effect  that  the  Greys 
were  checked,  but  not  beaten  back  until 
after  an  hour  of  hard  work. 

But  how  they  fought !  It  was  ' '  Charge ! ' ' 
from  the  Grey,  then  grape  and  canister 
from  the  Blue.  "Retreat!"  for  the  Grey, 
then  shells  from  the  Blue.  ' '  Charge ! ' '  and 
again  a  scattering  death.    ' '  Retreat ! ' '  and  a 


*  This  was  one  of  the  finest  batteries  in  Sher- 
man's army,  and  was  raised,  equipped,  and  (I  be- 
lieve) manned  by  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade. 


rain  of  shrieking  iron.  In  the  midst  of  it 
one  of  the  Battery's  guns  burst,  and  then 
it  was  harder  work  for  the  other  five,  and  a 
death  of  honor  on  the  field  for  many  a  bold 
cannoneer. 

Needless  to  say,  they  stuck  to  it  though, 
till  the  woods  swallowed  back  the  Grey- 
coats; and  then,  exhausted,  bleeding,  but 
undaunted,  the  command  rolled  from  iheir 
horses,  and  slept  like  the  Seven  Sleepers. 

The  next  two  days  were  a  confused  blank 
to  Oester,  and  very  "hagamarizing"  *  to 
Jet;  for  Clairburn  still  hung  on  the  rear  and 
flank  of  our  troops,  and  the  fighting  was 
incessant:  the  Blue  hating  to  go  back  to 
camp  leaving  the  railroad  intact,  the  Grey 
knowing  that  the  life  of  Atlanta  as  a  Confed- 
erate stronghold  depended  on  so  keeping  it, 
and  both  behaving  accordingly.  And  when 
two  sets  of  Americans,  with  opposing  ideas 
on  the  same  subject,  come  into  collision, 
I  can  just  assure  you  that  "Greek  meeting 
Greek ' '  is  nowhere  as  a  simile  of  the  tug  of 
war  that  follows.  One  incident,  however, 
both  boy  and  mule  remembered  as  long 
as  they  lived,  and  for  very  much  the  same 
reason. 

Jet  had  hung  about  the  ambulance  so 
persistently,  after  his  young  master  was 
lifted  into  it,  that  he  attracted  Saunders' 
attention.  He'd  dodge  teamsters,  wagons, 
troopers,  and  trees;  he'd  gallop,  he'd  trot, 
he'd  crawl,  according  to  the  pace  of  the 
train  of  wounded;  and  if  he  got  separated 
from  it  in  any  way,  he'd  lift  up  his  voice 
in  such  appalling  discord  that  everything 
that  could  give  way  did  so  rather  than  listen 
to  his  ' '  honing. ' '  So  when  one  of  the  lead- 
ers fell  lame,  Saunders  clapped  Jet  into  the 
harness,  and  he  trotted  on,  looking  funny 
enough  by  the  side  of  the  rawboned,  long- 
legged  beast  he  was  paired  with.  But  he 
held  his  own;  for  wasn't  he  pulling  his 
young  master  into  safety  at  every  step  ?  He 
balked  at  nothing,  he  shirked  nothing;  and 
even  when  they  came  to  a  deep,  swift  creek, 
that  roared  across  their  line  of  retreat,  he 

*  A  word  which  in  darky  dialect  means  some- 
thing which  is  both  harrying  or  worrying,  and 
painful  or  agonizing. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i— 

■  plunged  in  stoutly,  and — in  a  minute  was 
f  floundering  and  choking,  with  not  even  the 
tips  of  his  ears  out! 

The  rest  of  the  team  was  not  so  badly 
oflf,  for  the  horses  were  taller;  but  even 
they  were  nearly  afloat,  and  Saunders,  look- 
ing with  dismayed  eyes  at  the  almost  per- 
pendicular bank  before  him,  realized  that 
violent  remedies  were  necessary. 
.  He  was  driving  that  day  (owing  to  some 
accident  to  the  faithful  black  who  usually 
filled  the  seat),  and  rose  to  the  occasion — 
literally ;  for  he  stood  up,  and  let  fly  a  long 
whip,  that  snapped  like  a  volley  of  mus- 
ketry, emitting  as  he  did  so  a  torrent  of 
shouts  and  stalwart  Puritan  swear- words 
that  made  the  woods  ring.  The  horses 
scrambled  and  strained  and  lashed  and 
plunged,  and  whenever  and  wherever  he 
saw  a  flank  or  shoulder  rise,  he  cut ;  so,  im- 
possible as  it  seemed,  they  actually  got 
through,  and  started  up  the  bank  before  the 
"block"  grew  serious  behind  them. 

Then  Saunders  eased  down  a  trifle,  and 
had  puckered  his  mouth  for  a  whistle,  when 
the  off  wheel  struck  a  boulder;  the  horses 
recoiled  with  the  sudden  stop,  and  then 
sprang  forward  so  violently  under  the  whip 
that  every  wounded  man  in  the  ambulance 
was  jerked  into  the  river. 

The  shock  of  the  cold  water  roused  Oester 
from  the  lethargy  he  was  in,  and  he  tried 
to  strike  out;  but  the  agony  in  his  breast 
made  him  drop  his  arms,  and  he  was  going 
under  when  a  manly  voice  shouted  in  his 
ear:  "Hold  up,  my  boy;  you're  all  right!" 

And  there  was  the  young  General  on  his 
splendid  horse  *  breasting  the  current,  and 
bending  low  to  catch  him.  Four  times  did 
Kilpatrick  do  this  thing,  and  each  time  he 
fished  out  one  of  his  men,  and  towed  him 
ashore,  with  a  joke  or  a  word  of  sympathy 
as  occasion  demanded;  and  then  he  sent 
back  for  brandy  and  dry  blankets  (for  every- 
thing was  soaked  or  sunk  in  the  bottom  of 
the  stream),  showing  as  much  care  and 
concern  as  if  the  fate_  of  thousands  were  not 
weighing  on  his  mind. 


429 


This  incident  is  strictly  true. 


But  the  boy  got  a  chill,  and  when  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day  the  command 
swung  round  the  last  segment  of  the  half 
circle  to  the  left,  and  the  great  raid  was 
ended,  he  was  put  into  the  hospital  to  be 
treated- for  lung  fever. 

Here  a  great  surprise  awaited  him.  He 
had  been  light-headed  for  several  days,  not 
painfully  so;  for  neither  the  blood  nor  car- 
nage nor  fatigue  of  the  raid  had  oppressed 
him ;  but  always  he  had  seen  a  set  of  fleet- 
ing visions  of  Our  I^ady  as  he  had  thought 
of  Her  during  that  bitter  ride,  and  he  said 
and  muttered  so  often  the  two  prayers  he 
had  learned  that  the  attendant,  naturally 
supposing  him  to  be  a  Catholic,  sent  Father 
Ryan  to  him  as  soon  as  his  head  cleared. 

The  priest  was  a  Southern  man,  born  and 
bred,  with  every  instinct  of  his  nature  in 
sympathy  with  the  Confederacy;  but,  true 
to  his  calling  as  representative  and  servant 
of  Christ,  he  ministered  as  tenderly  to  the 
Blue  as  to  the  Grey,  saying  in  response  to 
the  reproaches  of  some  of  his  congregation : 
"My  children,  when  they  are  sick  and 
wounded  they  cease  to  be  enemies,  and  be- 
come simply  souls — souls  to  be  saved  and 
healed." 

As  he  came  abreast  the  boy,  and  saw  his 
youth  and  the  candor  of  his  blue  eyes,  he 
asked,  with  a  smile: 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Tell  me  about  the  Mother  of  God." 

"What  about  Her?" 

' '  Everything,  please. ' ' 

"Are  you  a  Catholic?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning; 
for  Her  life  is  so  interwoven  with  that  of 
Our  Ivord,  that  I  can't  tell  you  the  one  with- 
out the  other. ' ' 

And  he  sat  for  twenty  minutes,  speaking 
clearly  and  concisely,  then  left,  promising 
to  come  soon  again;  for  the  boy's  face  be- 
gan to  flush  with  fatigue. 

As  he  did  so,  some  one  called:  "Mister 
— Deacon— you,  sir. ' ' 

As  Father  Ryan  turned,  Oester  did  the 
same  with  his  heavy,  tired  head,  and  .saw 
Denbiofh. 


430 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"Did  you  want  me?"  asked  Father 
Ryan,  pleasantly/  "Are  you  one  of  my  chil- 
dren, too?" 

"No!  oh,  no!"  said  Denbigh:  "I  ain't 
a  Romanist;  but  I'd  like  to  speak  to  you, 
if  you^can  spare  the  time, ' ' 

But  when  Father  Ryan  sat  beside  him, 
he  seemed  to  have  no  words. 

"  Is  it  something  that  is  on  your  mind  ? ' ' 
asked  the  priest. 

"Well  that's  about  the  size  of  it,  but 
blamed  if  I  know  where  to  begin!"  And 
he  rubbed  his  forehead  worriedly.  ' '  Look 
here,"  he  broke  out,  finally,  "can  you  find 
out  anything  about  a  man  that's  been  taken 
prisoner?  Not  an  officer,  but  a  private,  like 
me.  And  I  don't  know  what  prison  he's 
into;  and  maybe  he  ain't  alive;  and  I'd 
give  my  foot — willin' — "  (Oester  saw  one 
was  bandaged  and  packed  in  ice)  ' '  to  find 
him;  and,  I  say,  can  you  do  it  for  me?  I'll 
give  you  my  year's  pay  and  my  watch, 
and — "  He  had  dragged  himself  up  into  a 
half-sitting  position,  and  was  gripping  Fa- 
ther Ryan's  arm  with  a  force  that  made 
him  thankful  he  hadn't  met  the  man  in 
battle. 

"I'll  do  it  gladly,"  said  Father  Ryan, 
'-'"without  the  year's  pay  and  the  watch,  but 
you  must  try  to  be  a  little  clearer." 

"I  can't,"  replied  Denbigh,  falling  back 
on  the  pillow  with  a  groan,  "unless  I  tell 
you  a  long  story  that  would  make  you  hate 
me  too  much  to  want  to  help  me.  And  I've 
got  to  be  helped."  (The  man's  undisci- 
plined nature  showed  in  his  desperation.) 

"My  friend,"  said  the  priest,  gravely, 
"do  you  think  I  would  dare  refuse  any 
favor  I  could  grant — I  a  priest  of  the  Living 
God,  who  am  trying  to  walk  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Our  Lord,  and  who  begs  to  be  for- 
given as  he  forgives  others?" 

Denbigh  looked  suspiciously  and  gloom- 
ily at  him. 

"Do  you  feel  that  way,  or  do  you  just 
talk  that  way — wait,  I  don't  mean  to  ask 
that,  but  I  haven' t  any  kind  of  religion,  and 
didn't  believe  anybody  else  had  until  — 
Will  you  swear  to  help  me  if  I  tell  you?" 

"No:  that  is  unnecessary;  but  I  promise 


in  the  name  of  God  and  Our  Lady  to  help 
you  to  the  best  of  my  ability. ' ' 

"'God  and  Our  Lady,'  that's  what  he 
said,"  muttered  the  man.  Then  with 
averted  eyes  he  told  the  story  of  O'Keefe's 
rescuing  him,  closing  with: 

"I  sha'n't  rest,  I  canH,  till  he's  out  of 
that  hell.  I've  heard  you  Catholics  stick 
together  like  dock- burs,  so  maybe  some 
other  priest  round  the  prisons  can  tell  you 
where  he  is,  and  how  I  can  get  him  North. ' ' 

"I'lf  write  immediately  to  the  priest 
nearest  Belle  Isle  and  Andersonville,  and  to 
Richmond,  and  the  moment  /  hear,  you 
shall.  Or  would  J'ou  like  me  to  stop  by  to- 
morrow or  next  day?  There  may  be  some- 
thing else  you  will  think  of  that  you'd  like 
to  tell  me  about. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  Denbigh,  eagerly;  "I 
wish  you  would." 

"Halloo,  boy!"  he  said,  as,  having 
watched  Father  Ryan  off,  he  settled  down 
in  bed,  and  spied  Oester.  "  How'd  you  get 
here?" 

And  when  the  boy  told  him  and  added 
with  quiet  conviction,  "It  was  the  medal 
did  it,"  he  neither  scoffed  nor  jeererl,  but 
lay  quite  still,  whistling  an  inaudible  tune, 
and  thinking  deeply. 

(to  be  continued.) 


A  Story  of  the  Madonna  of  the  Chair. 


(C0NC1.US10N.) 
The  story  of  years  was  soon  told.  John 
would  not  retire  to  rest  until  he  had  re- 
counted all  that  God  and  Our  Lady  had 
done  for  him.    His  sudden  departure  from 

C was  owing  to  the  pressure  of  debts, 

which  he  had  contracted  by  extravagant 
living.  Arriving  in  London,  he  sought 
employment,  but,  meeting  disappointment 
everywhere,  he  enlisted  as  a  common  sol- 
dier. At  first  he  found  his  new  manner  of 
j  life  insupportable,  but  later  on,  when  his 
regiment  was  ordered  out,  he  determined  to 
earn  distinction,  and  soon  found  the  active  ! 
life  of  a  soldier  quite  to  his  taste.  He  finally  I 
drew  on  himself  the  notice  of  his  superior     ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


43-^ 


officers,  and,  after  his  first  campaign,  was 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant.  He 
rose  steadily  to  distinction,  and  at  the  time 
of  which  we  write  he  held  the  position  of 
Major,  and  was  in  high  repute  for  his  valor 
and  military  knowledge.  In  private  life, 
too,  he  might  be  esteemed  equally  fortu- 
nate. A  few  years  previous  he  had  married 
he  daughter  of  his  dear  friend  and  patron, 

olonel  D ,  and  this  union  contributed 

ery  much  to  his  happiness.  God  had  sent 
im  two  lovely  children,  round  whom  all 
is  affections  were  twined. 

But  the  question  arises :  Why  did  he  leave 
his  parents  so  long  in  painful  suspense  as 
to  his  fate  ?  The  darkest  and  yet  the  bright- 
est part  of  his  story  is  still  to  be  told. 

By  degrees  he  had  grown  indifferent  in 
religious  matters,  and  ended  by  becoming  an 
avowed  infidel.  The  blessings  which  God 
had  bestowed  on  him  seemed  only  to  make 
a  wider  gulf  between  him  and  his  Creator. 
He  felt  that  the  knowledge  of  this  change 
would  cause  more  pain  to  his  aged  parents 
than  even  the  news  of  his  death  could  give 
them,  and  he  shrank  from  the  thought  of 
renewing  old  ties  when  the  strongest  link 
was  broken.  But  there  was  still  a  chord  in 
his  heart  which,  when  touched,  awakened 
once  more  the  harmonies  of  childhood's 
innocence.  This  was  a  respect  for  the  Name 
of  Mary,  quite  unaccountable  in  one  who 
seemed  dead  to  all  sense  of  religion. 
Though  he  ceased  to  pray  to  Her,  he  could 
not  endure  to  hear  Her  spoken  of  disre- 
spectfully. 

One  night  his  elder  little  boy  ran  up  to 
him,  saying:  "Papa,  you  don't  love  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  do  you?  Mother  prays  to 
Her  always,  and  I  kiss  Her  picture  every 
night.  I  never  see  you  pray  to  Her. ' '  He 
ordered  the  child  to  bed,  saying,  "Little 
boys  should  be  sleeping  now,  instead  of 
asking  questions."  But  he  could  not  so 
easily  rid  himself  of  the  thoughts  to  which 
the  circumstance  gave  rise.  The  earnest 
words  of  his  child  kept  ringing  in  his  ears 
all  night  long,  bringing  back  memories  of 
the  innocent  days  of  his  childhood.  He 
thought,  too,  of  the  story  so  often  told  by 


his  mother  of  his  wonderful  escape  from  the 
fire.  The  event  was  now  beyond  his  recol- 
lection, but  the  frequent  relation  of  it  had 
made  a  lasting  impression  on  him. 

Evil  struggled  hard  to  keep  the  mastery, 
but  grace  overcame  it.  A  gleam  of  heavenly 
light  illumined  that  darkened  soul,  and  the 
spark  of  faith  which  Mary  still  kept  alive 
burst  forth  into  a  glowing  flame.  "My 
God,  I  believe,  I  hope,  I  love!"  he  ex- 
claimed. At  these  words  a  sweet  calm  filled 
his  heart,  and  he  wept  to  find  himself  once 
more  a  child  of  the  Church.  He  did  not 
trifle  with  grace.  The  following  day  he'be- 
gan  to  carry  out  the  good  resolutions  which, 
with  his  Blessed  Mother's  help,  he  had 
formed  the  night  before.  The  first  was  to 
become  reconciled  with  God  in  the  Sacra- 
ment of  Penance. 

When  next  the  mother  and  child  repaired 
to  Our  Lady's  oratory  for  night  prayers, 
they  were  surprised  to  see  the  head  of  the 
family  take  the  place  which  he  had  never 
occupied  before,  and  give  out  the  Rosary. 
After  little  Eddie  kissed  good-night  to  his 
Blessed  Mother,  he  said, '  'Another  kiss  now 
for  papa,  who  loves  you  too. "  "  Yes,  sweet 
Lady,"  the  father  murmured,  with  a  voice 
broken  with  emotion. 

Soon  after  this  he  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  applying  for  a  furlough  in  order  to 
visit  his  parents.  He  obtained  a  few  weeks' 
leave,  but,  as  he  was  obliged  to  set  out  im- 
mediately, he  could  not  take  his  wife  and 
children,  much  as  he  desired  to  bring  them 
to  the  old  home.  He  wished  to  give  his 
parents  a  joyful  surprise,  so  he  did  not  write. 
With  feelings  of  the  most  intense  anxiety 
he  drew  near  the  house,  fearing  that  time 
might  have  left  its  traces  there,  and  that 
the  place  of  a  loved  one  might  be  vacant. 
But  no:  as  he  stood  at  the  parlor  window, 
and  looked  around  the  familiar  old  room, 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  left  it  only  yester- 
day. 

After  he  had  related  to  his  father  and 
mother  all  that  had  happened  during  the 
period  of  their  separation,  he  told  them  that 
he  should  be  obliged  to  leave  them  after 
Christmas,  but  that  he  would  retire  from  the 


l32 


The  Ave  Maria. 


army  as  soon  as  he  could  do  so  with  honor 
and  advantage,  and  that  he  would  be  the 
stay  of  their  declining  years. 

Before  going  to  rest  that  night  the  little 
family  group  knelt  to  offer  the  Rosary  to 
the  Queen  of  Heaven,  in  thanksgiving  for 
Her  loving  care;  and  none  was  more  fer- 
vent than  the  poor  wanderer,  who  had  been 
brought  back  to  God  and  to  his  parents  by 
Her  powerful  intercession. 


Confession  and  Restitution. 


A'  vicar  of  one  of  the  parishes  in  Paris 
relates  the  following  incident: 

I  frequently  met  a  chief  clerk  of  the  Bank 
of  France,  who  always  saluted  me  with 
marked  respect  and  politeness.  One  day  I 
accosted  him,  and  inquired  whether  he  was 
acquainted  with  me,  adding,  "priests  are 
commonly  very  poor  patrons  of  banks." 

' '  Very  true, ' '  he  remarked ;  ' '  and  yet  the 
best  business  transaction  I  ever  made  was 
with  a  priest." 

' '  How  so  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Well,  Father,  the  story  can  not  be  told 
in  a  minute." 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  relate  it  to  me  as  we 
continue  our  walk  together." 

"Certainly,"  he  replied;  "and  I  do  not 
ask  your  reverence  to  keep  the  matter  a  se- 
cret either.  In  my  employment,  as  you  can 
easily  understand,  we  must  guard  against 
distractions.  About  five  years  ago  I  yielded 
to  one  that  came  near  costing  me  dear.  I 
had  made  my  customary  round  of  the  desks, 
and  returned  to  the  private  office.  All 
was  in  perfect  order;  but  when  I  began  to 
foot  up  my  cash  account  I  discovered  that 
ten  thousand  francs  were  missing — neither 
more  nor  less.  Well,  I  did  not  close  my 
eyes  that  night.  The  morrow  brought  no 
tidings  of  the  missing  money,  so  I  was 
obliged  to  confess  my  delinquency  to  the 
cashier.  He  was  very  kind,  and  granted  me 
a  month's  time  to  make  up  the  deficit. 
Fortunately,  I  held  some  shares  in  the  bank, 
but  I  intended  them  as  a  dowry  for  my 
daughter,  and  a  resource  in  my  old  age. 


To  lose  everything  was  really  very  hard. 
Three  weeks  passed  by,  and,  hearing  no 
news  of  the  missing  money,  I  ordered  my 
shares  to  be  sold. 

' '  But  I  have  not  mentioned  my  daugh- 
ter's affliction.  Her  betrothal  with  a  most 
estimable  young  man  was  nearly  concluded; 
but  when  his  father  learned  that  I  was  finan- 
cially ruined,  he  opposed  the  match.  My 
daughter  was  both  pious  and  dignified,  but 
her  father's  penetrating  eye  could  not  fail 
to  observe  that  she  was  sorely  grieved.  My 
wife  showed  greater  courage  (as  a  rule, 
though  they  appear  weak,  women  bear 
trouble  with  more  fortitude  than  men). 
However,  though  she  tried  to  conceal  her 
sorrow,  she  went  to  consult  a  fortune- 
teller." 

"Excuse  me,  did  your  wife  tell  you  what 
the  mountebank  said?" 

' '  The  fellow  said  nothing  but  nonsense. 
The  only  real  thing  in  the  whole  affair  was 
the  ten-franc  fee. 

"I  disposed  of  my  shares  in  the  bank, 
and  was  going  to  pay  up,  when  one  even- 
ing ^  priest  entered  the  office,  and  asked  to 
speak  to  me.  'Have  you  not  lost  some 
money  ? '  he  inquired.  '  Yes,'  I  replied,  trem- 
bling nervously ;  '  on  the  fifth  of  last  month, 
between  twelve  and  four  o'clock  in  the  af- 
ternoon, I  lost,  or  rather  forgot  somewhere, 
ten  bank-notes,  each  of  a  thousand  francs.' 
'  Here  they  are, '  said  the  priest,  handing 
them  to  me.  I  threw  my  arms  about  the 
good  Father's  neck,  forgetting  in  my  joy 
the  impropriety  of  the  act,  and  exclaimed : 
'O  sir!  if  ever  I  can  render  you  a  service, 
command  me  by  night  or  by  day.  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  for  you. ' 

' '  The  priest  gave  me  no  explanation,  and 
I  hesitated  to  ask  any.  I  comprehended  at 
once  that  confession  and  restitution  were 
at  the  bottom  of  the  afiair.  I  had  my  lost 
money,  which  was  all  that  I  desired.  Since 
that  time  I  have  felt  convinced  that  none 
but  the  ignorant  can  attack  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion, that  priests  render  great  temporal  as 
well  as  spiritual  services,  and  that  the  tri- 
bunal of  penance  is  very  far  from  being  in- 
jurious to  morals." 


{Copyright :— RsT.  D.  E.  Huseox,  C.  8.  C] 


All  Saints'. 


BY   M.  M.  R. 


^OW,  in  the  valleys  of  the  golden  year, 
^  Men  gather  fruits  and  bind  their  rustling 

sheaves, 
Amid  the  glories  of  the  tinted  leaves. 
And  thus  the  Bride  of  Christ,  supremely  dear 
To  His  great  Heart,  presents  her  harvest  here; 
Won  where  'round   rocky  isles   gray  ocean 

heaves, 
From  deserts  gaunt,  from  gloomy  haunts  of 

thieves. 
Strange  wastes  of  woe,  and  combats  fierce  and 

drear. 
"  Lo!  through  wild  wanderings, ' '  she  teaches, 

"these. 
Through  sin  and  doubt,  through  all  the  world 

malign, 
.Redeemed  and  radiant,  reached  the  heights  of 

peace. 

So  mayst  thou,  too,  attain  to  rest  divine. 
Blest  as  the  earth  when  all  her  woodlands  blaze 
Thro'  the  warm  light  of  blue  October's  haze. ' ' 


The  Devotion  of  November. 


MOTIVES   OF    PRAYER   FOR   THE  DEAD. 


IHE  Church  sometimes  offers  to  our 
contemplation  truths  which  strike 
US  with  terror,  but  again  she  calls 
ur  attention  to  others  which  are  full  of 
^eetness  and  consolation, — which  are  of  a 
ature  to  sustain  our  courage  in  our  pil- 


grimage through  life,  and  pour  the  balm  of 
consolation  over  oiir  most  bitter  sorrows. 
Such  is  the.doctrine  upon  which  we  are  in- 
vited to  meditate  in  a  special  manner  during 
the  present  month — the  doctrine  of  Purga- 
tory, and  of  the  efficacy  of  prayers  for  the 
dead. 

How  full  of  sweetness  and  consolation 
must  this  belief  be  to  any  one  who  has  had 
to  weep  over  the  tomb  of  a  father,  a  mother, 
or  any  other  whom  he  held  dear!  For  it 
affords  us  the  assurance  that  we  shall  see 
them  again,  and  that  during  the  term  of  our 
separation  we  may  ease  their  sufferings  in 
the  other  life,  and  shorten  the  period  of 
their  exile. 

What  a  source  of  consolation  it  should 
be  for  us  that  we  belong  to  a  Church  whose 
solicitude  for  all  her  children  extends  far 
beyond  the  bounds  of  the  present  life, — a 
Church  that,  after  closing  our  eyes  in  this 
world,  will  continue  her  interest  for  us  in  the 
life  to  come,  and  never  interrupt  her  sup- 
plications until  assured  that  we  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  eternal  happiness!  How  sad 
and  cold  must  be  the  belief  that  can  see 
nothing  beyond  the  grave, — which  thinks 
that  all  is  over  when  the  lifeless  body  has 
been  consigned  to  the  tomb!  How  worthy 
of  pity  are  those  who  thus  weep  without 
hope,  and  who,  in  receiving  the  last  sigh 
of  an  expiring  friend,  think  that  they  are 
bidding  him  an  eternal  farewell ! 

But  for  us,  who  know  that  death  is  but 
the  passage  to  another  and  a  better  world, 
— that  we  shall  meet  again   in   eternity 


434 


The  Ave  Maria, 


those  from  whom  we  have  been  separated 
in  time, — how  consoling  it  is  to  feel  that 
the  love  of  which  we  were  never  weary 
of  giving  them  proofs  here  below,  may  be 
shown  much  more  efficaciously  now;  and 
that,  too,  not  by  costly  tributes  of  affection 
— not  by  erecting  lofty  monuments,  which 
flatter  the  vanity  of  the  living  rather  than 
contribute  to  the  relief  of  the  dead,  but  by 
praying  for  them,  by  offering  to  Heaven 
in  their  behalf  the  pleasing  sacrifice  of  our 
good  works! 

The  practice  of  offering  prayers  for  the 
repose  of  the  souls  of  the  faithful  departed  is 
one  whose  utility  and  necessity  the  Church 
is  never  weary  of  inculcating.  There  is  no 
necessity  to  waste  space  in  demonstrating 
truths  of  which  every  reader  of  The  "Ave 
Maria"  must  be  already  convinced,  and 
which  it  is  so  easy  and  agreeable  to  believe; 
in  showing  how  pleasing  this  devotion  is 
to  God,  how  beneficial  to  the  suffering  souls, 
and  how  salutary  for  ourselves;  it  is  not 
necessary  to  point  out  how  clearly  this  de- 
votion is  approved  by  Holy  Scripture,  and 
sanctioned  by  pious  antiquity,  and  how 
plainly  it  is  in  conformity  with  our  reason. 
Our  hearts  tell  us  without  all  this  that ' '  it 
is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray 
for  the  dead. ' '  Let  us  rather  consider  a  few 
of  the  many  motives  that  make  it  a  solemn 
and  sacred  duty  for  us  not  to  withhold  the 
assistance  which  it  costs  us  so  little  to 
afford. 

We  have,  in  the  first  place,  the  motive  of 
promoting  the  honor  and  glory  of  God. 
Sometimes  we  feel  within  ourselves  a  cer- 
tain zeal  for  the  things  of  God,  but  unfortu- 
nately we  do  not  always  apply  this  zeal  to 
the  objects  by  which  the  glory  of  God  is 
most  concerned.  We  are  filled  with  admira- 
tion for  those  apostolic  men  who,  inspired 
by  their  zeal,  cross  oceans,  plunge  boldly 
into  pathless  forests  and  deserts,  bury  them- 
selves in  the  midst  of  barbarous  tribes ;  and 
the  story  of  their  lives  is  certainly  a  tale  of 
heroic  self-sacrifice  in  God's  service.  But  do 
we  reflect  that,  without  imposing  upon  our- 
selves similar  sacrifices,  to  which,  perhaps, 
we  have  not  been  called,  we  may  yet,  by 


devotion  to  the  suffering  souls,  promote  the 
honor  of  God  in  an  almost  equal  degree?  If 
the  souls  of  idolaters  and  those  living  in  the 
darkness  of  infidelity  and  superstition  are 
so  dear  to  the  Heart  of  God,  why  should  not 
those  holy  and  predestined  souls,  who  have 
as  yet  but  a  few  stains  to  wash  away,  b6 
equally  so? 

Has  not  Jesus  Christ  Himself  been  will- 
ing to  serve  as  a  model  for  us  in  this  respect? 
Has  He  not  in  person  given  us  an  example 
of  this  devotion  by  descending,  as  the  Apos- 
tles' Creed  tells  us,  into  hell — i.  e. ,  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  Church,  did  He  not 
descend  into  the  lower  regions,  to  console 
by  His  divine  presence  the  souls  of  the 
patriarchs  and  prophets,  and  to  withdraw 
them  therefrom  by  His  power?  Do  we  ever 
reflect  that  we  may  imitate  Our  Lord  in 
this  respect — that  we  may,  like  Him,  be  the 
means  of  shortening  the  probation  of  souls 
as  deai:  to  God  as  the  souls  of  patriarchs 
and  prophets ;  and  that  by  doing  as  He  did, 
with  the  view  simply  of  promoting  the 
honor  and  glory  of  God,  we  share  in  the 
apostolic  spirit  of  which  He  is  the  source, 
and  with  which  He  wishes  that  all  our  ac- 
tions should  be  inspired  ?  If,  knowing  this, 
we  yet  fail  in  our  binding  duty,  woe,  per- 
haps, will  it  be  to  us  for  being  so  negligent 
in  things  in  which  the  honor  of  God  is  so 
closely  concerned. 

Another  and  a  powerful  motive  which 
should  inspire  us  with  piety  for  the  dead 
is  the  knowledge  that  we  can  to  so  great  a 
degree  promote  the  happiness  of  those  who  , 
were  dear  to  us.    Do  we  ever  think  of  the  j 
plaintive  cry  which  the  Church  lends  to  the  | 
suffering  souls:   "Have  pity  on  me,  havcj 
pity  on  me,  at  least  you  my  friends;  because  i 
the  hand  of  the  Lord  hath  touched  me"?| 
That  plaintive  cry,  which  can  not  fail  to 
find  an  echo  in  our  hearts,  is,  perhaps,  at 
this  very  moment  addressed  to  us  by  a  fa- 
ther, a  mother,  or  others  equally  dear,  who 
have  done  so  much  and  suffered  so  mucli 
for  us — nay,  perchance,  it  may  be  for  faults 
committed  through  an  unwise  and  excessive 
partiality  for  us  that  they  are  now  detained, 
in  that  place  of  suffering  and  expiation 


( 


The  Ave  Maria. 


435 


On  their  death-bed  we  may  have  promised 
not  to  forget  them  in  the  world  beyond  the 
tomb:  that  promise  consoled  their  dying 
moments;  and  now  that  they  are  no  more — 
low  that  the  justice  of  God  is  weighing 
jpon  them,  can  we  have  the  hardness  of 
leart  to  abandon  them  ?  We  consider  that 
i^ratitude  is  binding  upon  us  to  those  who 
have  rendered  us  temporal  favors;  we  even 
consider  it  a  sacred  and  ennobling  duty ;  and 
can  we  bring  ourselves  to  be  ungrateful  to 
those  to  whom,  after  God,  we  owe  all, — to 
those  in  whose  favor  pleads  not  only  the 
voice  of  benefits  conferred,  but  likewise  the 
cry  of  nature  and  of  blood  ? 

We  have,  again,  to  urge  us  to  pray  for 
the  dead,  the  motive  of  charity.     Which 
of  us  would  have  the  heartlessness  to  refuse 
bread  to  a  famishing  friend?    If  our  ears 
catch  the  note  of  a  sigh  of  pain,  we  instinc- 
tively feel  impelled  to  relieve  it.   Shall  the 
sighs  and  sufferings  of  our  afflicted  breth- 
ren alone  find  us  insensible  ?    Perchance  to 
I  enable  them  to  reach  the  goal  of  eternal 
happiness  very  little  is  needed — a  prayer, 
an  almsdeed — the  glass  of  water  mentioned 
in  the  Scriptures, — and  can  we  bring  our- 
selves to  refuse  it  to  them?    Think  of  all 
that  God  has  done  for  these  souls;  think  of 
the  sacrifices  which  Christ  has   imposed 
upon  Himself  for  their  salvation;  and  re- 
flect that  by  praying  for  them  we  go  before 
His  wishes,  we  do  an  agreeable  violence  to 
His  justice,  we  become   the  auxiliaries  of 
His  clem-ency. 
But  perhaps  it  is  too  little  to  say  that  it  is 
duty  commanded  by  charity;  it  may  be 
n  obligation  of  strict  justice.    How  many 
ouls,  alas!  may  now  be  sufifering  in  pur- 
;atory  on  our  account — parents  weakly, 
Dolishly  indulgent  to  us;  friends  and  com- 
anions  led  astray   by  our   example  and 
^ords;  the  accomplices  of  our  misdeeds,  our 
ictims  even — and  we  would  be  so  heart- 
iss  as  to  abandon  them  in  the  distress  into 
hich  we  may  have  been  the  means  of 
iunging  them !    Should  we  not  fear  that 
od  will  one  day  punish  us  severely,  not 
ily  for  the  faults  which  we  ourselves  have 
expiate,  but  also  for  the  sufferings  which 


we  have  been  the  means  of  making  others 
endure  ? 

But  if  we  belong  to  the  number  of  those 
who  feel  no  burning  zeal  for  God's  honor 
and  glory, — if  we  are  deaf  to  the  appeals  of 
gratitude,  charity,  and  justice, — if  we  listen 
only  to  the  voice  of  our  own  interest,  in 
what  manner  more  than  by  devotion  to  the 
souls  in  purgatory  may  we  reasonably  ex- 
pect to  advance  it?  Although  this  spirit  is 
far — very  far  distant  from  the  pure  charity 
with  which  we  should  endeavor  to  perform 
our  good  works,  yet  it  is  allowed  us  to  seek 
our  own  spiritual  interests,  provided  that 
we  do  so  through  the  lawful  means  which 
religion  offers  us.  If,  then,  we  have  neither 
friends  nor  relatives  nor  victims  nor  accom- 
plices in  our  past  faults  to  pray  for,  we 
ought,  nevertheless,  not  to  allow  a  single 
day  to  pass  by  without  offering  up  a  prayer, 
however  short,  or  some  good  work,  for 
those  unfortunate  souls,  who  may,  perhaps, 
be  sighing  for  this  prayer  or  good  work  as 
earnestly  as  the  rich  man  in  the  Gospel 
sighed  for  the  drop  of  water  from  Lazarus, 
and  who  will  be  certain  to  pay  it  back  a 
hundredfold. 

If  God,  by  a  special  revelation,  were  to 
make  known  to  any  one  of  us  that  an 
immortal  soul  is  indebted  to  him  for  the 
hastening  of  its  hour  of  eternal  bliss,  with 
what  faith  would  he  not  invoke  the  pro- 
tection of  this  new  saint  of  Heaven!  with 
what  confidence  would  he  not  recommend 
himself  to  his  intercession!  with  what  fer- 
vor would  we  not  all  ask  of  this  glorified 
soul  to  remember  us  as  we  had  remembered 
it — to  ask  of  God  to  show  us  the  same 
mercy  that  we  had  shown — to  obtain  for  us 
the  grace  of  being  withdrawn  from  sin,  as 
we  had  obtained  for  it  the  grace  of  being 
removed  from  a  place  of  suffering!  This 
consolation  is  within  the  reach  of  each  and 
every  one  of  us ;  for,  though  we  may  not 
know  those  whose  exile  we  have  shortened, 
yet  we  may  feel  confident  that  they,  seeing 
all  things  in  God,  both  know  and  are  mind- 
ful of  their  deliverers.  No  necessity  of  ad- 
dressing them  as  Joseph  of  old  addressed 
the  servant  of  Pharaoh:  "Remember  me 


43<5 


The  Ave  Maria. 


when  it  shall  be  well  with  thee,  and  do  me 
mercy ' ' ;  because  a  soul  admitted  to  the  en- 
joyment of  eternal  happiness  is  incapable 
of  being  unfaithful  to  any  obligation. 

But  if  we  remain  deaf  to  the  wants  and 
petitions  of  our  sufifering  brethren, — if  we 
abandon  them  in  their  necessities,  have  we 
not  reason  to  fear  that  we  shall  be  one  day 
abandoned  in  like  manner?  "For  with 
the  same  measure  that  you  shall  measure, 
it  shall  be  measured  to  you  again,"  says 
the  Gospel.  We  all  know  the  stern  law 
of  retaliation  in  force  among  different  na- 
tions at  different  periods  of  the  world's 
history.  It  was  a  practical  application  of 
the  principle, '  'An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth, ' '  etc. ;  i.  e. ,  that  the  assassin 
should  be  punished  in  the  very  same  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  treated  his  victim. 
Have  we  not  also  reason  to  fear  that  the 
same  terrible  law  will  be  enforced  against  us 
if  we  are  without  compassion  ?  For  if  he  is 
accursed  of  Heaven  who  refuses  his  starving 
brother  an  alms,  what  shall  be  said  of  him 
who  refuses  a  suffering  soul  the  alms  of  a 
prayer  or  a  good  deed  ?  We  should  never 
forget  that  in  praying  for  others  we  are 
praying  for  ourselves;  and  that  at  our  last 
hour,  when  the  good  works  which  we  have 
performed  are  about  to  be  weighed  in  the 
balance  of  the  Supreme  Judge,  the  remem- 
brance of  our  mercy  and  charity  will  fill  us 
with  a  consoling  hope  that  others  will  be 
equally  merciful  towards  us,  and  we  shall 
feel  within  us  that  peaceful  security  which 
was  felt  by  the  mother  of  St.  Augustine, 
when,  on  her  death  bed,  her  son  promised 
to  remember  her  at  the  holy  Altar. 

We  read  in  the  life  of  St.  Monica  that, 
feeling  her  last  hour  at  hand,  she  sent  for 
St.  Augustine,  and  thus  addressed  him : 
"My  son,  I  know  that  I  shall  soon  be  no 
more;  but  when  I  am  gone,  pray  for  the 
repose  of  my  soul.  Do  not  forget  me,  who 
have  loved  you  so  dearly ;  especially  think 
of  me  when  you  are  at  the  Altar,  and  about 
to  offer  the  Sacrifice  of  the  New  Alliance. ' ' 
St.  Augustine,  bathed  in  tears,  made  the 
required  promise;  and  after  his  mother's 
edifying  death,  he  never  ceased  to  intercede 


for  her.  ' '  God  of  mercy ! "  he  exclaimed,  in 
his  sorrow,  ' '  forgive  my  mother  the  faults 
which  she  may  have  committed;  enter  not 
into  judgment  with  her;  turn  aside'Thy  eyes 
from  her  sins.  Remember  that  on  the  point 
of  expiring  she  thought  not  of  the  honors 
which  should  be  paid  to  her  lifeless  corpse: 
she  asked  only  that  she  should  not  be  for- 
gotten at  Thy  Altar,  in  order  that  any  stains 
of  sin  which  might  not  have  been  expiated 
during  her  life  should  be  washed  away." 

Supplications  like  these,  we  may  confi- 
dently expect,  will  be  offered  up  for  us  also, if 
we  have  secured  for  ourselves  intercessors  at 
the  last  solemn  hour;  in  like  manner  will 
our  souls,  too,  be  refreshed  by  the  salutary 
dew  of  prayer;  and  if  for  the  souls  of  our 
brethren  we  have  imposed  any  privations 
or  sacrifices  upon  ourselves,  they  will  be  re- 
paid with  interest;  for  if  to  give  to  the  poor 
is  to  lend  to  the  Lord,  what  is  it  to  give  to 
the  souls  of  our  brethren  suffering  under 
the  avenging  stroke  of  God's  justice? 

Zeal  for  God's  glory  and  our  own  sanctifi- 
cation,  gratitude,  charity,  and  justice, — all 
exhort  us  to  pray  for  the  dead,  and  pray  with 
perseverance.  Our  prayers  for  them  will 
be  heard,  and  their  prayers  for  us  in  return 
will  be  listened  to.  This  is  the  real  commun- 
ion of  saints:  by  giving  we  purchase — by 
giving  to  the  poor  we  purchase  the  pardon 
of  our  sins,  and  by  giving  to  the  suffering 
souls  we  purchase  for  ourselves  eternal  hap- 
piness and  the  glory  of  the  elect. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


XX. 


IT  seemed  to  Philip  a  considerable  time, 
but  it  was  not  in  reality  very  long,  be- 
fore the  door  opened  and  Alice  Percival 
stood  before  him.  She  held  out  her  hand 
with  an  expression  of  exquisite  sympathy. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "I  have 
thought  of  >  ou  and  felt  for  you  very  much." 
The  words  were  simple,  but  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  tone  moved  him  indescribably. 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


437 


' '  You  are  always  kind, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  and  I 
liave  much  to  thank  you  for  beside  your 
sympathy,  I  am  sure  that  your  prayers 
aided  to  bring  about  the  result  for  which 
you  asked  with  such  pure  charity.  My 
uncle  was  reconciled  to  the  Church  before 
he  died." 

!fc  "I  know,  and  I  was  very  glad." 
■  "I  am  sure  of  that,  too.  But,  as  you  are 
lell  aware,  he  had  atonement  to  make  as 
well  as  repentance  to  feel.  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  that  he  made  it. " 
■She  looked  at  him,  but  said  nothing;  and, 
Sawing  the  paper  he  had  brought  from  his 
pocket,  he  went  on: 

' "  Here, ' '  he  said,  "  is  a  copy  of  the  clause 
in  his  will  wh'ch  restores  to  your  mother 
and  yourself  all  that  was  taken  from  your 
father.  You  can  not  hesitate  to  receive  it" 
— she  made  a  slight  motion  as  if  drawing 
back  from  the  paper  he  offered, — "because 
he  explicitly  states  that  he  restores  it  as  an 
act  of  justice.  Will  you  not  read  what  he 
dictated  with  his  dying  lips?" 

The  gentle  entreaty  prevailed  over  her 
reluctance.  She  took  the  paper  and  opened 
it.  Pnilip  saw  that  she  paled  as  she  read 
the  words  written  within,  and  that  the 
breath  came  quickly  through  her  parted 
lips.  When  she  looked  up  at  him  her  large, 
dark  eyes  were  full  of  surprise  and  doubt, 
mingled  with  pity. 

"Poor  man!"  she  breathed  rather  than 
said,  softly.  "  I  am  rejoiced  for  his  own  sake 
j  that  he  did  this — that  he  went  with  a  cleared 
conscience  to  meet  the  justice  of  God;  but 
I  can  not  feel  that  it  is  possible  for  my 
mother  and  myself  to  accept — all  that  is 
stated  here." 

It  is  all  rightfully  yours,"  answered 
Philip.  "I  have  verified  every  item,  as  I 
im  the  executor  of  the  will.  You  must  ac- 
cept it;  for  it  is  yours,  and  yours  only." 

But  I  have  never  heard  that  my  father 
vas  so  wealthy  a  man  as  this  implies." 

You  forget  that  my  uncle  is  accounting 
lot  only  for  the  property  which  he  received, 
ut  also  for  its  increase  in  value  during  the 
ears  that  it  remained  in  his  hands.  Con- 
alt  your  mother,  consult  your  lawyer,  con- 


sult whom  you  will,  Miss  Percival;  but  be 
sure  that  everyone  will  tell  you  that  this  is 
justly  yours;  while  /  tell  you  that  you  have 
no  right  to  refuse  what  is  purely  and  simply 
a  restitution." 

She  still  regarded  him  doubtfully.  ' '  If, ' ' 
she  said  at  length,  "you  can  assure  me  that 
there  is  nothing  here  which  is  not  strictly 
ours — nothing  which  has  been  added  as  an 
atonement,  perhaps — " 

"I  assure  you,"  responded  Philip,  as  she 
paused,  "that  my  uncle  intended  only  to 
restore  what  he  felt  was  not  justly  his  own; 
and  he  was  too  exact  a  business  man  to  have 
made  any  error  in  doing  so.  He  certainly 
did  not  restore  a  farthing  more  than  was 
necessary.  If  you  have  any  confidence  in 
me,  I  beg  you  to  believe  this. ' ' 

"I  have  such  confidence  in  you,"  she 
observed,  in  a  low  tone,  ' '  that  I  feel  as  if  it 
were  your  restitution  rather  than  his." 

"You  must  not  do  him  that  injustice," 
said  Philip,  earnestly.  "It  is  his  own,  and 
may  it  avail  much  for  him  before  God! " 

"Amen,"  she  answered,  softly. 

A  brief  pause  followed,  while  Philip  asked 
himself  how  much  he  should  tell  her  of  the 
circumstances  of  his  position.  He  had  not 
decided,  when  she  spoke  again, 

'  'At  least, ' '  she  said,  ' '  I  am  certain  of  one 
thing — though  it  is  his  restitution,  he  would 
never  have  made  it  but  for  you." 

' '  Perhaps  not, ' '  the  young  man  answered. 
' '  Yet  I  do  not  for  a  moment  think  that  my 
influence  alone,  or  chiefly,  brought  it  about. 
Other  influences  far  more  powerful  did  that. 
I  only  thank  God  that  I  was  able  to  be  with 
him  at  the  last,  to  urge  on  him  the  impor- 
tance of  the  duty.  But  he  did  not  yield 
without  a  struggle,  and — I  was  not  victori- 
ous without  a  sacrifice." 

Her  eyes,  still  fastened  on  him,  were  full 
of  sympathy  and  interest.  "We  are  told 
that  nothing  is  worth  much  which  is  not 
bought  by  sacrifice, ' '  she  said.  ' '  Yet  I  hope 
that  yours  was  not  very  great. ' ' 

"  It  is  the  greatest  that  could  have  been 
demanded  of  me, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  I  promised 
to  marry  Constance." 

His  voice  sank  over  the  last  words,  and 


4j8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


silence  followed  for  a  moment,  until  Alice, 
holding  out  the  paper  he  had  given  her, 
said,  with  a  manifest  effort: 

"You  promised  that — to  secure  ihisf^ 

' '  No, ' '  he  answered,  * '  not  to  secure  that, 
but  to  secure  the  reconciliation  with  God 
of  which  it  is  but  a  visible  sign.  I  should 
not  have  told  you,  only  I  knew  that  you 
would  hear  of  my  —  engagement.  And, 
since  we  have  spoken  of  the  matter  before, 
I  wish  you  to  know  why  it  has  taken  place. 
Others,  who  will  not  know,  will  say  that  I 
have  sold  myself  That  is  true,  but  you  will 
believe  that  the  price  was  not  a  fortune  but 
a  soul." 

"Have  you  not  proved,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  full  of  feeling,  "that  a  fortune  could 
not  tempt  you?    But  was  it — necessary?" 

"Yes.  He  would  not  have  yielded  on  his 
side  unless  I  had  yielded  on  mine.  And 
can  you  conceive  that  I  would  ever  have 
consented  if  it  had  not  been  not  alone  nec- 
essary, but  indispensable?  Ah!" — with  a 
sudden  inflection  of  passion  in  his  voice — 
"surely  you  must  know  better  than  that! 
Surely  you  must  understand  how  great  the 
sacrifice  was ! ' ' 

She  was  mute,  only  the  paper  slipped  from 
her  fingers  to  the  floor. 

"I  should  have  no  right  to  tell  you  that 
I  love  you,"  Philip  went  on,  "if  I  had  the 
faintest  shadow  of  hope  that  you  would, 
under  any  circumstances,  think  of  me.  But 
I  have  none.  I  have  never  misunderstood 
your  kindness,  nor  based  the  least  dream 
upon  it.  I  know  well  that  I  did  not  sur- 
render you  in  making  this  sacrifice,  but  I 
surrendered  the  happiness  of  thinking  of 
you,  and  the  far  greater  happiness  of  seeing 
you  and  being  with  you;  for  after  to-day  I 
shall  not  voluntarily  see  you  again.  You 
now  know  why.  It  was  due  to  you  and  to 
myself  that  you  should  know. ' ' 

He  rose,  as  if  he  had  said  his  last  word, 
and,  stooping,  picked  up  the  paper  lying  at 
her  feet.  "Will  you  show  this  to  Mrs.  Per- 
cival,"  he  said,  "and  tell  her  that,  as  the 
executor  of  my  uncle's  will,  I  shall  lose  no 
time  in  transferring  to  her  and  to  you  all 
that  has  been  so  long  withheld  from  you  ? ' ' 


Their  fingers  met  as  she  took  the  paper 
from  him,  and  the  next  moment  their  eyes 
met  also.  What  was  it  in  hers  that  made 
Philip  start  as  if  an  electric  shock  had 
passed  over  him  ?  '  'Alice ! "  he  cried,  invol- 
untarily, like  one  from  whom  an  utterance 
is  sharply  wrung. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  with  a  touch  as 
restraining  as  it  was  soft.  "Are  yon  glad 
or  sorry,"  she  said, "  that  the  sacrifice  is  not 
all  on  your  side?" 

He  flung  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her 
chair.  ' '  Oh !  I  am  sorry — God  knows  that 
I  am  sorry!"  he  cried.  "If  I  had  dreamed 
— if  I  had  dared  to  dream  of  such  a  thing 
for  a  moment,  I  could  never  have  con- 
sented ! ' ' 

"Then  I  thank  God  that  you  did  not 
dream  of  it,"  she  continued;  "though  I 
think  you  wrong  yourself — I  think  you 
would  have  been  strong  enough  for  the  sac- 
rifice even  had  you  known.  You  remem- 
ber" (with  a  faint,  sweet  smile)  "I  told  you 
that  I  knew  you  would  be  when  the  occa- 
sion came?" 

"I  thought  of  your  words,"  he  said, 
"and  they  helped  to  give  me  the  strength 
I  needed.  But  they  might  not  have  given 
it  if  I  had  known  how  great  the  sacrifice 
was. ' ' 

' '  Could  any  sacrifice,  not  wrong  in  itself, 
be  too  great  for  such  an  end?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  passion  of  ap- 1 
peal  in  his  eyes.  ' '  I  might  have  thought  | 
that — I  might  have  felt  that — an  hour  ago,' '  i 
he  said;  "but  now  I  can  only  realize  thatj 
I  held  happiness  in  my  grasp,  and  that  I  j 
have  lost  it. "  ! 

"Happiness  is  not  all  that  we  have  to| 
live  for, ' '  she  remarked,  gently.  I 

"Not   all,"  he   answered,  "but   much,: 
very  much,  to  weak  human  hearts;  and  my 
heart  dies  within  me  when  I  think  what  I 
have  so  narrowly  missed." 

' '  God  will  give  you  some  great  good  to 
atone  for  it, ' '  she  said.   ' '  I  am  sure  of  that. ' ' 

"He  can  give  me  no  earthly  good  so 
great  as  this  which  I  have  lost,"  replied  the! 
young  man,  with  despair  in  his  voice.  "Fori 
it  is  not  only  happiness  that  I  have  lost] 


The  Ave  Maria. 


439 


n  losing  you,  but  a  great,  an  inestimable 
rood,  I  can  not  tell  you — at  least  not  in 
:his  bitter  moment — all  that  you  have  been 
o  me  since  I  knew  you  first — all  the  inspi- 
'ation  to  better  things  than  my  life  knew 
jeforc;  all  the  revelation  of  excellence,  all 
"he  help  in  a  battle  w4iere  I  should  else  have 
l)een  overcome.  And,  in  return,  what  have 
I  done  for  you?  Had  not  one  Thornton 
injured  you  enough,  that  another  should 
cast  even  a  passing  shadow  on  your  life? 
I  had  a  right  to  sacrifice  myself,  but  not 
you." 

She  was  almost  frightened  by  his  vehe- 
mence— by  the  sudden  kindling  of  his  pas- 
sion at  that  light  which  he  had  read  in  her 
eyes.  She  did  not  know  how  strong  was 
the  tension  in  which  he  had  held  himself 
before,  nor  how  inevitable  this  moment  of 
reaction  was,  even  had  not  the  knowledge 
that  had  burst  upon  him  hastened  and  in- 
tensified it. 

' '  Listen  to  me, ' '  she  said,  earnestly, ' '  and 
believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  glad 
— glad  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart — to 
have  a  share  in  the  sacrifice  which  has  won 
so  great  a  grace.    We  did  not  think  of  suf- 
fering together  when  we  prayed  together 
for  this  which  has  come  to  pass;  but  we 
should  have  remembered  that  nothing  great 
was  ever  accomplished  without  suffering. 
Do  not  think  of  me:  think  only  of  fulfilling 
;he  duty  to  which  you  are  bound  by  your 
:onscience  and  by  your  honor.     For  the 
est,  if  one  Thornton  injured  me — which  I 
'o  not  remember — another  has  more  than 
oned  for  it.    Never  forget  that." 
"When  shall  I  ever  iorg&i  yotif^  said 
^hilip.    "You  talk  like  an  angel,  but  I — 
rod  lielp  mel — feel  like  a  man.    It  is  true 
Hat  my  conscience  and  my  honor  bind  me, 
ut  where  shall  I  find  the  strength  for  that 
hich  lies  before  me  ? ' ' 
"You  do  not  need  for  me  to  tell  you 
here  it  is  to  be  found,"  she  answered; 
inor  yet  that  a  sacrifice  must  be  voluntary 
[  order  to  have  merit.  You,  who  have  made 
)urs  so  bravely,  are  you  going  to  fail  now, 
cause  you  have  learned  that  another  has 
me  share  in  it?    Nay,  let  us  make  it  to- 


gether— a  free  offering — trusting  to  God 
for  the  help  and  courage  that  can  not  fail." 

Her  words  sounded  in  his  soul  like  the 
trumpet  which  calls  a  soldier  lo  battle.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood  before  her  pale 
and  grave. 

'  ^  You  shame  me, ' '  he  said, ' '  and  you  give 
me  the  courage  of  which  you  speak.  Yes,  a 
voluntary  sacrifice  alone  has  merit.  I  will 
go  and  try  to  make  mine  voluntary,  while 
you — ' ' 

"Will  pray,"  she  said,  as  he  paused. 
Then  she  extended  her  hand,  adding,  softly, 
"God  be  with  you!" 

He  took  it  as  the  adieu  which  she  in- 
tended; and,  unable  to  trust  himself  to  utter 
another  word,  he  kissed  her  hand  silently 
and  went  out,  feeling  like  a  man  who  had 
received  a  mortal  wound. 

But  it  was  not  mortal.  By  the  help  of 
God,  the  higher  part  of  the  soul  triumphed 
in  the  struggle  that  followed, — one  of  those 
strugfgles  that  have  no  witness  save  God, 
when  all  the  inner  man  is  torn  by  strife, 
when  nature  cries  out  against  the  law  that 
is  imposed  upon  it — the  terrible  law  of  re- 
nunciation, which  grace  alone  can  render 
possible," — when  the  things  of  sense  press 
so  closely,  and  the  things  of  faith  seem  re- 
moved so  far  away.  It  was  well  for  Philip 
that  he  took  refuge  in  the  first  church  to 
which  he  came.  Only  there,  kneeling  be- 
fore the  altar,  could  he  have  found  the 
strength  to  overcome  himself,  to  resist  the 
insistent  demands  of  his  heart,  to  gird  him- 
self up,  as  it  were,  for  the  sacrifice  that  he 
offered,  and  to  go  forth  at  length,  resolved 
that  there  should  be  no  delay  in  that  which 
must  be  done. 

(CONCI<USION  IN  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


If  the  Son  of  Mary  is  nothing  but  a  great 
philosopher,  whence  comes  it,  O  ye  free- 
thinkers! that  you  love  so  little  and  profess 
so  badly  His  philosophy? — Abbe  Roux. 

The  habit  of  prayer  communicates  a  pen- 
etrating sweetness  to  the  glance,  the  voice, 
the  smile,  the  tears — to  all  one  says  or  does 
or  writes. — Id. 


440 


The  Ave  J/ 


and. 


With   Staff  and  Scrip. 

Under  the  Crescent, 
by  charles  warren  stoddard. 

XL — On  the  Bosporus. 

OUTWARD  Bound.— The  bridge  of 
boats  that  spans  the  Golden  Horn  is 
lined  on  the  lower  side  with  steamers  plying 
between  it  and  the  sea  islands,  the  Asiatic 
shore  and  the  villages  on  the  Bosporus.  It 
is  our  day  for  the  Bosporus.  Antonio,  a 
Greek,  in  whom  we  are  gradually  gaining 
confidence,  leads  our  caravan  forth  in  the 
fresh  morning.  We  slide  from  Pera  to  Ga- 
lata  by  the  underground  rail,  in  company 
with  several  opulent-looking  Turks,  who  fill 
the  close  carriage  with  cigarette  smoke  dur- 
ing our  brief  transit.  At  Galata — that  name 
signifies  the  abode  of  the  Gauls — we  pick 
our  path  through  the  busy  streets,  hasten 
half  way  over  the  bridge  of  boats,  and  climb 
down  ladders  and  over  planks,  and  up  lad- 
ders again  on  the  other  side,  until  we  find 
ourselves  safely  ticketed  for  a  day  on  a 
Bosporus  boat. 

The  mere  fact  that  we  are  on  board  one 
of  the  five  -  and  -  twenty  steamers  of  the 
Shir ket-i-H air ie  Company  is  delightful; 
neitlier  can  we  read  the  name  on  the  paddle- 
box,  which  adds  greatly  to  our  enjoyment 
of  the  voyage.  It  begins  to  feel  as  if  we 
are  really  in  Turkey — a  fact  that  is  not  to 
be  accepted  without  some  compunctions  of 
conscience  up  yonder  in  that  Frankafied, 
hotel-haunted  Pera. 

Our  steamer — not  a  bad  one  by  any  means 
— rapidly  fills  with  the  mixed  races  of  the 
earth;  the  bridge  is  crowded  from  dawn 
to  dark;  a  thin  stream  of  tourists  pours 
down  the  ladder  onto  our  boat.  I  can  see  on 
either  side  of  us  other  steamers,  with  steam 
up,  and  they  are  likewise  being  overrun 
with  the  strange-looking  people,  who  drop 
out  of  the  dense  tide  that  ebbs  to  and  fro. 
The  wonder  is  that  you  and  they  are  not 
swept  on,  and  swallowed  up  in  the  strong 
current  that  seems  never  to  decrease  in  vol- 
ume or  slacken  its  speed. 


Our  boat  is  a  double-decker.   In  the  bows 
the  poorer  classes,  chiefly  natives,  travel  at 
a  reduced  figure.  Amidships  there  are  cush- 
ioned seats,  a  comparatively  clean  deck,  and 
the  companion-way  dropping  into  a  cabin 
below,  which  is  apparently  a  kind  of  re- 
fined black-hole,  carefully  avoided  by  every- 
body.  In  the  stern  there  is  a  pen,  hedged  in 
by  a  low  railing  and  a  canvas  curtain;  and 
behind  that  veil  the  women  of  the  harem 
bury  themselves  from  the  faces  of  men.  We 
can  see  them,  as  much  as  we  care  to  see  of 
them,  as  they  board  us,  and  elbow  their  way 
through  the  throng  of  first-class  passengers 
to  their  sanctuary;  and  we  are  just  mean 
enough  to  look.    The  yashmack  that  falls 
from   the  eyes  to  the  waist  is  rather  for- 
midable ;  it  were  vain  to  search  among  its 
opaque  folds  for  any  shadow  of  the  lips  that 
have  fed  on  halva  and  sherbet  all  their 
days;  but  the  dark  orbs  are  turned  toward 
you,  and  the  heavy  lids  that  have   been 
plastered  with  a  white  paste  that  lies  upon 
them  like  fish-scales,  and  darkened  with 
deep,  broad  lines  of  kohl — those  soft  but  ex- 
pressionless eyes  look  at  you  with  stupid, 
animal    curiosity,  and   the   large,  velvety 
pupils  roll  into  the  corners  of  the  sockets  as 
the  >^6>z^r/ passes  by.  Ah!  she  might  sit  for  a 
face- card  with  those  eyes  of  hers;  the  cow- 
like coquetry  of  the  Queen  of  Hearts  lurks 
under  her  sooty  lashes. 

The  harem  is  so  crowded  before  we  swing 
off  into  the  stream  that  the  canvas  parti- 
tion bulges  in  spots  like  a  huge  dumpling. 
We  regale  ourselves  with  domestic  pastries, 
such  as  the  imagination  of  the  untravelled 
foreigner  may  not  conceive  of;  we  eat  or- 
anges and  drink  sherbet,  and  watch  the 
traffic  of  the  bridge,  until  the  paddle-wheels 
begin  to  beat  the  sea  into  a  foam,  and  the 
last  man  has  wrung  his  hands  in  despair- 
he  wears  a  turban  in  this  country,  and  his 
toes  turn  up  like  skates. 

From  Sea  to  Sea  — Drifting  cautiously 
down  to  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn, 
picking  our  way  among  the  shipping  that  is 
anchored  in  mid- stream,  we  turn  away  from  j 
the  point  of  the  seraglio,  head  due  north,  and  i 
find  ourselves  entering  a  river.   This  is  thai 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


44f 


~  losporus;  it  might  as  well  be  the  Hudson, 
{  r  any  other  winding  stream  that  has  green 
■\  'alls  and  is  lovely  to  look  upon,  but  for  the 
I  eculiarly  important  relation  it  bears  to  the 
grand  divisions  of  the  earth's  surface.  It 
y;ji  in  fact,  a  brilliant  geographical  climax! 
H  Bust  think  of  it  for  a  moment.  On  our 
^  ght  the  eastern  shore  is  Asia ;  on  our  left, 
to  the  west,  is  Europe;  at  our  back  is  the 
Sea  of  Marmora,  and  in  two  hours  we  shall 
have  come  to  the  waters  of  the  Black  Sea. 
The  channel  turns  so  abruptly  at  times  that 
seven  land-locked  lakes  are  formed,  each 
more  charming  than  the  last.  Palaces,  vil- 
las, villages  line  the  delicious  shores;  the 
hills  brood  over  the  waters  like  hanging 
gardens  of  delight.  I  believe  that  the  re- 
markable beauty  of  the  Bosporus  is  posi- 
tively unequalled  in  the  world;  for  Nature 
has  made  here  a  bed  for  Art  to  dream  a 
dream  in. 

I  Behold  two  continents  face  to  face,  like 
Irival  queens,  glassing  themselves  beside 
jtwo  classic  seas.  We  are  cruising  between 
Ithe  Poritus  and  the  Propontis,  the  Euxine 
Imd  the  Marmora.  We  swing  from  shore 
to  shore,  pause  for  a  few  moments  at  each 
landing,  exchange  passengers,  and  have 
iver  about  us  a  landscape  that  is  renewed 
it  every  turn,  and  a  surprise  that  is  as  fresh 
vhen  we  steam  up  the  Golden  Horn  at  sun- 
et  as  at  the  hour  when  we  came  out  of  it, 
vith  our  hearts  full  of  expectation  and  our 
louths  of  exclamations. 
The  very  names  of  the  villages  about  us 
re  appetizing;  let  me  select  only  a  part  of 
lem.  Here  in  Europe  we  have  the  Hazel- 
ut  Village,  the  Crowded  Garden,  the  Cradle 
tone,  the  Dried  Fountain,  the  Castle  in 
Europe,  the  Place  of  Wailing,  the  Farm 
illage,  the  Yellow  Place.  Across  the  chan- 
1,  in  Asia,  lie  the  Place  of  Labor,  the 
oint  of  Quails,  the  Sultan's  Village,  the 
ig  Village,  the  Pipe  Village,  the  Village 
Blood,  the  Castle  in  Asia,  the  Heavenly 
ater,  the  Illuminated  Village,  the  Weary 
an's  Village,  the  Chief  of  the  Beys,  and 
ijany  other  water -side  hamlets  nestling 
i  long  chestnut  groves  and  cypresses  under 
te  shelter  of  the  hills. 


With  these  shores  is  associated  the  ro- 
mantic history  of  Barbarossa,  of  Dandolo 
and  his  Venetian  galleys.  Here,  at  the  vil- 
lage of  the  Dried  Fountain,  stood  the  laurel 
tree  Medea  planted  when  she  returned  from 
Colchis  with  the  adventurous  Jason;  and 
here  Constantine  erected  a  church  (what  a 
church-builder  he  was!)  to  the  Archangel 
Michael;  and  by  this  church  stood  the 
column  on  which  St.  Simeon,  the  stylite, 
watched  and  prayed  between  heaven  and 
earth;  and  St.  Daniel,  the  stylite,  followed 
him.  In  yonder  valley  are  seven  plane  trees, 
under  which  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  encamped 
with  his  crusaders  in  1096.  Some  writers 
question  this  tradition,  but  what  is  gained 
by  disbelief  when  the  evidences  are  in  favor 
of  the  tradition?  To  begin  with,  there  are 
the  trees;  I  defy  you  to  disprove  it!  What  a 
tramp  we  had  through  a  queer  village,  and 
off  into  the  soft,  green  meadows,  just  to  pat 
those  old  trees  on  their  shaggy  barks,  and 
tell  them  that  we  believe  in  them,  spite  of 
Murray  and  his  apostles,  and  that  it  is  sure 
to  be  all  right  in  the  end! 

There  is  a  tree  in  the  Vale  of  Roses,  near 
Kirej-Boornoo — that  gorgeous  word  means 
nothing  less  practical  than  lyime  Point — 
there  is  a  tree  there  on  the  bark  of  which  a 
shawl  merchant  from  Ispahan  has  left  his 
mark.  The  sales  were  light  that  day,  and 
the  poor  fellow  had  carried  a  bale  of  splen- 
did fabrics  about  in  the  hot  sun  until  his 
heart  fainted  within  him,  and  he  dropped 
into  verse.  Then  the  merchant  from  Ispa- 
han cut  his  sonnet  on  the  bark  of  the  tree, 
and  you  may  read  to-day,  with  the  aid  of 
your  dragoman,  how  the  bodies  of  the  mer- 
chants of  Ispahan  are  indeed  perishable, 
but  that  the  song  of  the  singer  endureth 
forever.  A  pretty  and  a  commendable  sen- 
timent for  a  merchant  to  express,  and  he 
has  expressed  it  in  rare  Persian  characters 
as  lovely  as  one  of  his  own  shawl  pat- 
terns. 

Everywhere  on  the  Bosporus  there  are 
groves  and  gardens  and  lawns.  At  Belgrade, 
thirteen  miles  north  of  Constantinople,  the 
woods  are  sacred,  and  the  ax  is  never  laid  to 
their  roots;  nor  are  the  fountams  suffered 


44^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  run  dry  in  that  blessed  land.  It  was  at 
Belgrade  that  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tague lived  and  wrote  her  letters.  In  the 
yellow  valley,  near  the  Cape  of  the  Tombs, 
the  fishermen,  skippers,  and  gardeners  have 
made  an  earthly  paradise.  When  Murad 
IV.  saw  one  of  these  gardens  he  exclaimed: 
*'I,  the  servant  of  the  two  noblest  harems 
[of  Mecca  and  Medina],  possess  no  such  gar- 
dens as  this!"  And  the  very  next  day  the 
price  of  vegetables  went  up. 

But  the  Valley  of  the  Heavenly  Waters  is 
the  most  famous  of  all  these  celestial  haunts. 
The  Eastern  poets  have  preferred  it  to  the 
four  jewels  of  Asia — the  Plains  of  Damascus 
and  Sogd,  the  Meadows  of  Obolla,  near  Bas- 
sora,and  the  Persian  valley  of  Shaab  Bewan. 
There  is  some  slight  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  this  enchanted  glen  is  without 
a  rival  in  all  the  lands  of  the  Orient;  yet  it 
is  only  slight.  Truly  we  are  in  Turkey; 
but  it  is  only  Turkey,  after  all.  Why  are  we 
not  in  Persia?  What  is  Stamboul  to  the 
bazaars  of  Bagdad ! 

We  cross  the  Bosporus  in  a  caique,  and 
climb  the  steep  slopes  of  the  Giant  Moun- 
tain in  Asia.  What  went  we  up  for  to  see? 
Two  continents  and  two  seas,  and  such  a 
chain  of  lakes,  and  hill  upon  hill  overhang- 
ing a  score  of  valleys, — valleys  filled  with 
vines  and  fruits  and  flowers.  Yonder  is  the 
Buxine.    Turn  to  your  Byron  and  read: 

The  wind  swept  down  the  Euxine,  and  the  wave 
Broke  foaming  o'er  the  blue  Symplegades. 

'Tis  a  grand  sight  from  oiFthe  Giant's  Cave 
To  watch  the  progress  of  those  rolling  seas 

Between  the  Bosporus,  as  they  lash  and  lave 
Europe  and  Asia,  you  being  quite  at  ease. 

There's  not  a  sea  the  passenger  e'er  pukes  in 

Turns  up  more  dangerous  breakers  than  the 
Euxine. 

Down  there  at  the  mouth  of  the  Bospo- 
rus lie  the  Symplegades,  through  which  Ja- 
son steered  his  Argonauts.  I  fancy  a  dove 
might  pass  them  in  safety  on  a  day  like 
this.  It  is  quite  evident  that  they  don't 
butt  one  another  so  much  as  they  used  to. 
Probably  there  are  no  more  Golden  Fleeces 
in  Colchis,  and  not  so  many  adventurers  as 
of  yore. 

On  this  Giant  Mountain  there  is  a  small 


monastery,  wherein  live  two  Turkish  der- 
vishes, who  guard  the  grave  of  Joshua.  An 
open  cellar,  twenty  feet  in  length  and  five 
in  breadth,  planted  with  flowers  and  shrubs, 
is  shown  as  the  grave;  a  classical  story 
points  to  I  he  same  as  the  tomb  of  Amycus, 
King  of  the  Bebrycians,  who  was  slain  by 
Pollux.  In  either  case  we  are  happy  in  our 
pilgrimage ;  so  are  a  dozen  Turkish  women 
shrouded  in  voluminous  folds  of  white  linen, 
who  have  come  hither  to  eat  sweetmeats  all 
day  long  on  the  breezy  mountain-top.  This 
harem  was  dragged  up  the  mountain  road 
in  a  chariot  of  scarlet  and  gold,  looking  like 
a  small  band-wagon  in  a  cheap  circus.  The 
gray  oxen,  loosed  from  the  vehicle,  fed  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Joshua's  grave,  and 
didn't  seem  to  care  much  about  the  Eastern 
question,  though  it  is  one  that  concerns* 
them  personally. 

Down  the  stream;  back  again  over  the 
same  course;  seeing  everything  in  a  new 
light,  and  liking  it  better  than  ever;  through 
the  arbor  of  the  Raving  Laurel — the  leaves 
of  that  tree  turn  the  brain  of  him  who 
plucks  them;  past  the  port  of  the  Man- 
slayer;  threading  the  ideal  shores  where 
ancient  palaces  are  falling  to  decay,  and 
quaint  old  houses  are  toppling  into  the 
water;  where  huge  ships  lie  close  to  the 
shore,  and  tower  above  the  tiny  villages  that 
are  built  upon  the  edge  of  the  very  last  sea- 
wave,  and  seem  to  rise  and  fall  with  the  tide; 
where  water- side  cafes  are  thronged  with 
dreamers  slumbering  in  clouds  of  smoke; 
where  ten  thousand  caiques  rock  upon  the 
tide,  and  threaten  to  turn  over  every  mo- 
ment, and  where  the  land  and  the  sea  are  so 
wedded  that  the  sea  seems  to  have  clasped 
her  arms  over  the  neck  of  the  land,  and  the 
embrace  is  called  the  Bosporus.  | 

In  the  great  white  palaces  of  the  solemn 
Sultan,  where  the  caged  windows  shut  in 
the  hothouse  flowers  of  Georgia  and  Circas- 
sia,  I  saw  the  sea-gulls  soaring  under  the 
eaves,  and  a  moment  later— at  sunset- -we 
entered  the  Golden  Horn,  which  was  like  a 
lake  of  flame  flooding  a  fairy  city  built  oi 
crystal  and  pearl  and  gold. 

(TO  BK  CONTINUED.) 


The  Ave  Maria, 


443 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVIII.— (Continued.) 

LAODICE,  however,  determined  to  probe 
the  affair  further. 

"Thy  Eastern  physician  is  as  great  a 
thaumaturgist  as  the  famous  Nazarene," 
she  said,  with  a  sneer  lurking  under  her 
soft  smile,  and  a  deep  meaning  in  her  eyes 
and  voice. 

"  So  it  is  thought  by  some, ' '  was  Fabian's 
tranquil  answer;  "but  to  me  it  is  a  one- 
sided proposition,  as  I  am  acquainted  with 
only  one  of  the  parties." 

Then,  with  his  most  delusive  and  irresisti- 
ble smile,  and  that  deferential,  delicate  man- 
ner which  takes  captive  womankind  in  all 
ages,  he  added :  "I  can  speak  only  of  such 
spells  as  I  know,  beautiful  sorceress,  with 
anything  like  certainty.  Let  me  ask,  in 
turn,  the  fate  of  thy  latest  conquest,  the 
young  Syrian  prince." 

Laodice  was  too  vain  a  woman  not  to  fall 
into  the  trap,  and  yielded  herself  unresist- 
ingly to  Fabian's  elegant,  subtle  flatteries; 
and  in  the  war  of  wit  and  repartee  that 
thereafter  ensued  between  them,  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  fascination  of  the  hour, 
knowing  that  she  could  bide  her  time  for 
the  gratification  of  her  revenge. 

But  under  it  all  the  thought  of  the  peril 
impending  over  Nemesius  and  his  child  was 
like  a  thorn  in  Fabian's  heart;  no  protean 
mask  that  he  might  assume  could  disguise 
the  painful  fact  from  himself.  And  no 
sooner  had  he  left  Laodice,  wearing  his  usual 
smile,  speaking  gay,  sharp,  witty  words  to 
those  of  his  acquaintances  he  met  on  his  way 
out,  and  found  himself  alone  with  the  night, 
than  a  stern  expression  of  dread  and  sorrow 
clouded  his  face,  and  he  drew  the  hood  of 
his  light  cloak  low  over  it,  so  that  neither 
friend  nor  foe  might  observe  him  too  closely 
as  he  passed  homeward. 

"How  did  Laodice  discover  that  Claudia 
is  no  longer  blind?"  he  asked  himself  as 
he  hastened  along;   "and  how  far  does  her 


knowledge  of  the  event  extend?  Have  I 
baffled  her  by  my  evasions  and  transposi- 
tion of  facts  ? ' '  He  could  not  tell ;  he  only 
knew  that  she  was  as  artful  as  Circe,  and  was 
convinced  that  some  fresh  disappointment 
to  her  hopes  had  risen  to  rekindle  her  hatred 
against  Nemesius  and  his  innocent  child, 
and  that  her  revenge  would  follow  them  to 
the  bitter  end. 

Fabian  sought  his  couch  as  usual,  but 
the  tumult  of  his  thoughts  forbade  sleep. 
Once,  towards  day-dawn,  he  lost  himself; 
but  a  vivid,  frightful  dream,  in  which  he 
found  himself  struggling  to  release  Neme- 
sius and  Claudia  from  the  deadly  coils  of  a 
python,  with  a  beautiful  human  face,  which 
was  wrapping  itself  closer  and  tighter 
around  them,  aroused  him,  and,  with  the 
horror  of  tlie  dream  upon  him,  he  sprang  to 
the  floor,  every  sinew  strained  by  the  des- 
perate contest,  and  his  face  covered  with  a 
cold  sweat. 

Such  a  dream  was  not  unnatural  in  the 
overstrained  condition  of  his  mind  and 
nerves;  but  he  would  not  court  sleep  again, 
if  such  horrible  visions  lay  in  wait  for  him 
beyond  its  portals.  He  lighted  his  lamp, 
looked  at  the  clepsydra^  took  up  a  volume 
of  the  Satires  of  Juvenal,  and  found  in  their 
bitterness  a  mental  tonic,  which,  although 
refreshing,  failed  to  bring  forgetfulness  of 
the  vague  unrest  that  haunted  him. 

After  the  light  morning  repast,  Fabian 
resolved  to  drive  to  the  villa  on  the  Aven- 
tine;  he  was  uncertain  what  he  should  find 
there,  but  concluded  that  to  know  even  the 
worst  would  be  better  than  this  incubus  of 
dread  brooding  continually  over  him.  As 
he  passed  through  the  great  bronze  gates, 
and  up  the  broad  avenue,  where  every  leaf 
and  blade  of  grass  held  its  glistening  dew- 
gem, — where  the  birds  sang,  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  flowers  pervaded  the  radiant  atmos- 
phere, he  almost  imagined  that  his  old  fever 
had  been  playing  tricks  with  his  brain  filling 
it  with  illusions,  and  that  he  was  just  awake. 

Slaves  ran  to  lead  his  chariot  away  as 
soon  as  he  alighted.  Standing  a  moment, 
he  cast  a  glance  over  the  beautiful  grounds, 
and  almost  the  first  object  that  attracted  his 


444 


The  Ave  Ala  via. 


eye  was  Claudia,  on  a  marble  bench,  under 
the  great  trees,  her  gazelle  frisking  near 
her,  while  some  of  her  little  pensioners,  now 
grown  strong  and  active,  were  riding  Grille 
by  turns.  Zilla  sat  apart,  her  pale  face  bent 
over  a  piece  of  rich  embroidery,  into  which 
she  was  working  threads  of  gold.  And  the 
sunshine  through  the  leaves  fell  like  a  spray 
of  gold  over  them  all. 

Claudia  rose  and  half  advanced  to  meet 
Fabian  as  he  approached,  waving  his  hand 
with  a  graceful  gesture  of  salutation;  then 
she  stopped,  while  a  delicate  glow  over- 
spread her  face;  for  to  her  eyes  he  was  still 
only  a  noble-looking  stranger,  from  whose 
presence  she  shrank  with  instinctive  and 
modest  reserve,  until  he  greeted  her  in  the 
old  familiar  voice  of  her  blind  days;  then 
she  smiled  and  welcomed  him. 

' '  I  salute  thee,  fairest !  Methought  Aurora 
had  chosen  to  disport  herself  among  the 
flowers,  to  receive  the  homage  of  fauns  and 
naiads;  while  Zilla — health  to  thee,  Zilla !^ — 
like  the  pale  moon,  hovered  near,"  he  said, 
gaily;  for  so  far  from  these  peaceful,  lovely 
scenes  appeared  all  thought  of  violence  and 
danger,  that  he  resolutely  turned  his  back 
on  the  latter,  and  his  face  to  the  sunshine, 
temporary  though  it  might  prove  to  be. 

The  little  one  smiled  at  his  nonsense, 
and  he  thought  he  could  never  tire  of  the 
sweet,  pure  outlook  of  her  radiant  eyes. 

"I  have  been  wishing  to  see  thee  oh!  so 
much,  Fabian!  I  have  a  keepsake  for  thee. 
Wait  here  until  I  run  and  bring  it  "  she  said. 

' '  Let  me  go  for  it,  cara  mia! ' '  exclaimed 
Zilla,  rising. 

No,  madre  bella!  Thou  art  tired,"  she 
answered  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  sped 
away  across  the  grassy,  flower-dappled  ex- 
panse that  stretched  between  them  and  the 
villa.  In  a  few  moments  she  appeared,  run- 
ning towards  them,  her  golden  hair  flying 
in  the  wind,  her  face  bright  and  glowing, 
her  hands  clasping  a  small  package. 

"Wilt  thou  come  with  me  to  the  cascade, 
Fabian?  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  were 
there,"  she  said;  then  to  Zilla,  with  a  ca- 
ress: "Thou  wilt  care  for  the  little  ones 
while  I  am  away?" 


And  they  walked  away  together,  the 
gazelle,  which  would  not  be  left  behind, 
following  close  by  the  side  of  its  gentle  mis- 
tress, content  to  feel  her  soft  hand  on  its 
head,  and  occasionally  rub  its  nose  in  her 
rosy  palm. 

Fabian  involuntarily  paused  a  moment 
at  the  Fountain  of  Diana,  arrested  by  the 
view  of  the  magnificent  city  outspread  far 
below;  its  marble  fanes,  palaces,  columns, 
and  triumphal  arches,  steeped  in  Roman 
sunshine.  He  could  even  distinguish  by  its 
sharper  gleam  the  great  gold  statue  of  Ju- 
piter that  surmounted  the  temple  erected 
in  his  honor.  A  throb  of  pride  dilated  his 
Roman  heart  as  his  eyes  swept  over  the 
glorious  spectacle,  and  he  could  but  exult 
over  its  pre-eminence  as  the  queen  of  the 
nations.  But  far  different  were  Claudia's 
thoughts;  for  it  renlinded  her  of  that  celes- 
tial city,  with  gates  of  jasper  and  pearl,  the 
light  of  which  is  He  that  was  slain,  the 
splendor  of  His  Father,  the  Son  of  Mary, 
the  Joy  of  angels.  The  ecstatic  reflection 
filled  her  heart  and  irradiated  her  counte- 
nance. Fabian  caught  its  gleam  as  he  turned 
away. 

"Aha!"  he  exclaimed,  well  pleased, 
"thou  art  a  true  Roman;  yet  how  could  it 
be  otherwise,  with  the  blood  of  a  Caesar  in 
thy  veins?" 

He  judged  her  by  himself,  nor  dreamed 
that  it  was  the  thought  of  "a  city  not  made 
with  hands,"  that,  like  a  lamp  in  a  vase  of 
alabaster,  shone  out  from  her  glad  soul, 
and  illumined  her  fair  countenance  with 
heavenly  graces. 

Through  the  rose -blooms  and  orange 
flowers,  under  the  palms,  and  along  broad 
walks  shaded  by  lime  and  sweet- olive  trees, 
— through  alleys  where  the  white  jasmine 
trailed  its  snow-white  stars,  filling  the  air 
with  sweetness,  they  found  their  way  to  the 
cascade,  which  sprang  flashing  and  spark- 
ling from  the  rocks  above.  A  grape- vine 
trailed  from  a  crevice  in  the  rock,  where  it 
had  taken  root,  and  with  wanton  grace  flung 
red,  ripening  clusters  to  the  sun,  out  of  reach 
of  all  except  birds  and  bees.  Claudia  held 
her  hand  in  the  crystal  water;  the  gazelle 


s 


The  Ave  Maria. 


445 


I 


lapped   it  daintily  as  it  trickled  over  the 

marge  of  the  basin;  and  Fabian,  delighted 

in  every  fibre  of  his  aesthetic  nature  by  the 

exquisite  picture,  stood  watching  the  child. 

There  was  that  in  her  which  puzzled  him — 

a  strange  womanliness  without  loss  of  her 

old,  sweet,  childish  simplicity;  an  air  of  ab- 

Lsolute  happiness  tempered  by  a  soft  serious- 

Iness,  which  cast  no  shadow  over  eye  or  lip. 

trhe  pagan  mind  of  him  could  not  read  it. 

Drying  her  hands  on  the  moss,  she  seated 
herself  on  a  low  grassy  bank,  overgrown 
with  vetches,  in  front  of  the  rustic  stone 
bench  on  which  Fabian,  at  a  sign  from  her, 
flung  himself  with  an  indolent  air.  The  sun- 
shine and  leaf-shadows  flickered  and  danced 
over  them.  Claudia's  package,  on  which 
her  hand  lightly  rested,  lay  beside  her,  and 
her  soft- eyed  gazelle  crouched  at  her  feet. 

"And  now,  my  Psyche,  I  am  at  thy  bid- 
ding whether  to  slay  a  python  or  go  in 
search  of  a  pigmy  to  add  to  thy  family  of 
pets,"  he  said,  in  his  old  gay  tones. 

"No,  oh!  no!"  she  answered,  with  a  little 
laugh;  "it  is  nothing  like  that.  I  have 
something  to  say  which  no  one  else  must 
know — yet." 

He  grew  instantly  intent,  and  a  vague 
dread  chilled  his  veins,  as,  fixing  her  grave, 
sweet  eyes  on  his,  she  began: 

"Fabian,  I  am  going  away  soon — " 

' '  Mercury  speed  thy  journey,  sweet  one ! " 
he  interrupted,  as  a  wild  hope  sprang  up  in 
his  heart  that  Nemesius  had,  on  second 
thought,  changed  his  mind,  and  would  fly 
with  her  to  a  place  of  safety.  "When  wilt 
thou  start?  Tell  me,  that  I  may  not  be  left 
behind." 

"Oh!  what  joy  it  would  be  to  have  thee 
with  us!  But  it  is  different  from  what  is  in 
thy  thoughts,  Fabian.  I  will  tell  thee.  There 
are  cruel  men  who  kill  all  who  will  not  deny 
and  curse  the  divine  Christus.  They  may 
come  for  us — my  father  and  me — at  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night,  as  soon  as  they 
find  out  that  we  are  Christians;  but  not  all 
they  can  do  would  make  me  deny  Him  who 
suffered  death  for  me.  I  would  be  glad  to 
suffer  and  die  for  the  love  of  Him.  And,  O 
Fabian!  is  it  not  joyous  to  know  that  we — 


my  father  and'I — shall  not  be  separated? 
Wilt  thou  come  with  us  now?"  she  asked, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"I  might  go  on  a  worse  journey,  little 
one;  but  the  conditions  are  impossible;  for 
how  can  f  deny  that  which  I  never  affirmed? 
The  Christus  is  nothing  to  me.  It  is  pos- 
sible to  be  happy  under  the  mild  sway  of 
the  gods,  but  it  is  like  a  reign  of  the  furies 
under  thy  Christus, "^^  said  Fabian,  his  grief 
more  bitter  than  his  scorn. 

"There  are  no  gods,  Fabian;  those  we 
worshipped  as  gods  are  devils.  There  is 
only  One  Supreme  God,  who  made  all  creat- 
ures. The  gods  can  neither  give  nor  restore 
life;  they  could  not  give  sight  to  my  blind 
eyes,  but  He  in  one  instant  opened  my  eyes, 
and  gave  "faith  to  my  soul,  that  I  might  be- 
lieve His  word,  and  have  eternal  life,"  she 
said,  her  voice  exultant  and  sweet. 

"Thy  logic  is  weak,  my  little  dialecti- 
cian," he  replied. 

' '  I  do  not  understand  words  of  the  learned, 
Fabian ;  but  I  do  know  what  it  means  to  be 
a  Christian,  which  lam,  come  life  or  death," 
she  said,  clasping  her  hands,  and  raising- 
her  eyes  towards  heaven,  with  an  expression 
so  holy  and  radiant  that  he  remembered  it 
to  his  dying  day;  then,  "I  will  ask  Advo- 
cata  Nostra  to  intercede  for  thee,  Fabian,, 
and  lead  thee  to  Her  divine  Son;  and,  if  I 
may,  when  I  go  to  Them  I  will  rest  not  from 
praying  that  thou  wilt  at  last  come." 

He  loved  the  little  maid  too  tenderly  to 
say  words  out  of  his  pain  that  would  dis- 
tress her,  or  ruffle  the  exaltation  of  her  en- 
thusiasm, dementia^  or  whatever  it  might 
be;  she  called  it  faith,  but  it  was  faith  of  a 
quality  he  could  not  comprehend  because  its 
animus  was  far  beyond  the  level  of  human 
philosophy,  and  exalted  her — a  simple  child 
— above  its  widest  scope.  He  was  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  accursed  Chimcera  had 
woven  spells  around  both  father  and  child 
to  their  own  undoing.  He  remained  silent; 
he  wished  to  get  away  from  the  subject,  and 
lapse  once  more  into  a  transient  pretence 
of  forget  fulness  of  the  grim  realities,  only 
veiled  maybe  by  a  day,  or  perchance  an  hour. 
(to  be  continued  ) 


446 


The  Ave  Maria. 


St.  Hubert  of  Bretigny. 


HUBERT  of  Bretigny— a  small  village 
on  the  banks  of  the  River  Oise,  about 
two  leagues  below  the  city  of  Noyon — 
though  his  fame  is  not  so  widely  spread  as 
that  of  his  godfather  and  namesake,  the 
holy  Bishop  of  Maestricht  and  Liege,  yet  is 
known  to  possess,  like  him,  the  miraculous 
power  of  curing  hydrophobia,  and  averting 
pestilence  from  those  who  seek  his  favor. 

The  Annals  of  the  Church  of  Soissons, 
quoted  in  the  Acta  Sanctorum^  tell  us  that 
Hubert  lived  under  Childebert  III.  and 
Dagobert  III.,  Kings  of  France  (695-715), 
and  was  the  only  child  of  Pierre,  Lord  of 
Bretigny,  one  of  the  most  powerful  Frank 
nobles  of  his  time.  Having  no  heir  to  their 
name  and  wealth,  his  parents  prayed  God 
most  earnestly  that  He  would  grant  them 
the  blessing  of  a  child,  and  offered  abun- 
dant alms  to  the  Monastery  of  Bretigny, 
begging  the  abbot  to  unite  his  supplications 
with  theirs,  that,  through  the  intercession 
of  the  saints,  they  might  obtain  from  God 
the  boon  they  so  ardently  desired.  Their 
prayers  found  favor  with  Heaven,  and  a 
son  was  born  to  them,  who  was  held  at  the 
baptismal  font  bv  St.  Hubert  (Lord  of  Ar- 
dennes, later  Bishop  of  Liege)  and  their 
suzerain,  Hubert,  Count  of  Vermandois,  in 
honor  of  whom  he  received  the  name  of 
Hubert. 

The  child  grew  in  grace  and  in  heavenly 
wisdom  far  beyond  his  years,  and  at  the  age 
of  twelve  secretly  retired  to  the  Monastery 
of  Bretigny,  to  dedicate  himself  irrevocably 
to  the  service  of  the  Altar.  His  parents, 
alarmed  at  his  prolonged  absence,  hurried 
to  the  monastery,  where  his  mother  sought 
by  prayers  and  tears  to  induce  him  to  be 
satisfied  with  a  life  of  piety  in  the  world, 
while  remaining  in  enjoyment  of  the  rank 
and  wealth  befitting  his  birth  and  educa- 
tion. But  Pierre  de  Bretigny,  moved  by  di- 
vine grace,  and  by  the  wise  reasoning  of  his 
youthful  heir,  not  only  yielded  full  consent 
to  the  purpose  of  his  son,  but  so  convinced 
his  spouse  that,  with  her  co-operation,  he 


divided  his  possessions  in  three  parts,  be- 
stowing a  share  upon  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Peter  of  Bretigny,  another  on  the  poor,  and 
reserving  only  the  third  part  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  family  and  household. 

Hubert  received  the  holy  habit  from  the 
hands  of  the  abbot  about  the  year  670,  and 
from  that  moment  made  rapid  strides  in 
the  path  of  religious  perfection;  so  much 
so,  that  the  chroniclers  of  the  time  unani- 
mously assert  that  "from  his  very  person 
emanated,  as  it  were,  a  sweet  and  wondrous 
perfume  of  holiness. ' '  His  days  were  passed 
in  prayer,  meditation,  and  study,  and  he 
soon  learned  by  heart  the  Psalter,  and  even, 
it  is  said,  the  whole  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures. 
He  subsisted  altogether  upon  fruit, — fast- 
ing during  the  whole  of  his  life,  three  days 
in  the  week,  on  which  occasions  he  distrib- 
uted his  usual  portion  of  food  to  the  poor. 

The  life  of  the  saintly  cenobite  of  Bre- 
tigny was  one  long  prodigy.  Having  been 
ordained  priest  at  the  age  of  twenty,  three 
holy  Bishops — St.  Gaudin  of  Soissons,  Ma- 
dalgaire  of  No}  on,  and  Numianus  of  Laon 
— were  warned  by  an  angel  to  repair  to 
Bretigny,  to  assist  at  his  first  Mass.  At  the 
dinner  following  the  ceremony  a  mendi- 
cant approached  the  tables,  at  which  were 
seated  the  prelates  and  nobks;  and,  having 
received  from  Hubert  his  share  of  the  re- 
past, immediately  disappeared,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  guests,  who  were  fully  per- 
suaded that  it  was  Jesus  Christ  Himself, 
under  the  semblance  of  a  beggar,  who  had 
taken  part  in  the  banquet. 

On  this  occasion  Hubert  further  cured  a 
woman  of  Noyon  afflicted  with  blindness 
and  obsessed  of  the  devil,  which  gave  so  high 
an  idea  of  his  sanctity,  that  the  Bishops, 
before  departing,  earnestly  recommended 
themselves  to  his  prayers.  When,  later,  he 
was  healing  innumerable  cases  of  illness, 
especially  of  hydiophobia,  he  said  to  all 
his  clients:  "Go,  my  dear  brethren,  render 
thanks  to  God  alone,  Creator  of  all  things; 
and  tell  no  one  Hubert  has  cured  you,  lest 
perchance  something  worse  befall  you.' 
Again:  "Be  careful  never  to  swear  by  the 
Name  of  God;  for  it  is  a  great  crime." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


447 


Hubert  did  not  long  survive  his  parents, 
whom  he  so  deeply  mourned  that  the  Arch- 
angel Michael  was  sent  from  heaven  to  an- 
nounce to  him,  from  God,  his  speedy  call  to 
the  bliss  of  Paradise.  Some  authors  state 
that  this  vision  was  vouchsafed  him  as  he 
was  prostrate  before  the  altar  in  the  abbey 
church.  But  a  still  more  charming  version, 
inserted  by  the  Bollandists  in  a  marginal 
note,  tells  us  that  Hubert,  being  wont,  after 
Matins,  to  retire  into  the  garden  (since 
known  as  the  Garden  of  St.  Hubert),  and 
pass  there  the  remainder  of  the  night  in 
prayer,  kneeling  on  a  large  stone,  beneath 
a  thick  linden  tree,  was  there  warned  by  the 
celestial  messenger  of  his  approaching  end. 

His  death  was  as  exemplary  as  his  life. 
Whilst  his  brethren  in  tears  surrounded  his 
bed,  praying  earnestly  for  his  recovery,  he 
humbly  demanded  pardon  for  his  faults, 
recommended  his  soul  to  God,  and  conjured 
Him  ever  to  watch  over  and  protect  his  re- 
ligious confreres,  to  preserve  Bretigny  and 
its  environs  from  hurtful  animals,  from 
hail,  lightning,  thunder'  olts,  from  the  de- 
lusions of  Satan;  to  heal  all  who,  being 
attacked  with  epilepsy  and  hydrophobia, 
should  come  to  seek  relief  at  Bretigny. 
"Finally,  O  my  God!"  he  prayed,  "grant 
me  what  Thou  ha«^t  already  conceded  to  my 
godfather  [St.  Hubert  of  Ardennes],  that 
all  those  who  implore  the  protection  of 
my  name  may  be  immediately,  and  in  all 
places,  cured  of  hydrophobia. ' '  Then,  hav- 
ing devoutly  received  the  Sacraments  of 
the  Church,  he  yielded  up  his  soul  to  God, 
May  24,  714. 

Scarcely  had  he  breathed  his  last,  when 
the  monastery,  together  with  the  entire 
village  of  Bretigny,  was  pervaded  by  so  ex- 
quisite an  odor  that  Divine  Power  seemed 
to  have  collected  thither  all  the  flowers  of 
Spring — significant  of  the  celestial  sweet- 
ness Hubert  was  enjoying  in  Paradise. 
Crowds  flocked  from  all  parts  of  Belgium 
to  touch  his  body,  which  was  entombed  at 
Bretigny,  where  miracles  became  frequent. 
A  man  with  a  paralyzed  arm,  unable  to 
obtain  his  cure  after  nine  days  and  nights 
passed  in  prayer  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Hubert 


the  Great,  in  'the  Ardennes,  heard  a  voice 
bidding  him  repair  to  the  church  of  Bre- 
tigny ;  he  did  so,  and  was  healed.  A  lunatic, 
named  Petronilla,  was  cured  at  the  tomb 
of  the  Saint,  a-;  likewise  three  men  pos- 
sessed by  the  devil,  who  were  brought  to 
Bretigny  only  eight  days  subsequent  to  the 
death  of  St.  Hubert. 

But  a  still  more  remarkable  case  occurred. 
Two  noted  robbers  of  the  neighboring  Cha- 
teau of  Courcy,  condemned  to  death  for 
their  crimes,  having  invoked  St.  Hubert, 
were  suddenly  transported  to  the  doors  of 
the  church  of  Bretigny.  Entering  therein, 
they  made  a  novena,  and  their  fetters  fell 
off.  Finally,  on  the  Festi\  al  of  the  Saint, 
a  stranger  in  the  village  of  Bretigny  com- 
menced-to  dig  the  foundations  of  a  house, 
when  he  was  unexpectedly  seized  by  the 
demon,  hurled  into  a  deep  ditch,  and  buried 
beneath  a  landslide.  He  was  drawn  forth 
at  last,  half  dead,  his  forehead  bearing  a 
deep,  black  mark,  like  a  livid  scar,  and  was 
borne  to  the  church;  but  was  not  entirely 
healed  until  he  had  made  offering  of  a 
weight  of  wax  equal  to  that  of  his  body. 

This  last  miracle  explains  the  usage  of 
the  so-called  Chapel  of  the  Scales  {Chapelle 
des  Balances),  which  as  late  as  the  i8th 
century  still  existed  within  the  church  of 
Bretigny.  It  stood  at  the  north  of  the  high 
altar,  dedicated  to  St.  Peter,  and  wherein 
St.  Hubert  at  first  found  burial.  In  this 
chapel  were  weighed  the  commodities,  etc., 
offered  by  pilgrims  to  obtain  their  cure. 
According  to  Dom  Mabillon,  who  visited 
Bretigny  in  the  17th  century,  the  Chapelle 
des  Balances  was  so  called  because  they 
weighed  therein  all  those  who  went  thither 
to  be  cured  of  hydrophobia,  as  in  certain  pil- 
grimages, during  the  days  of  their  novena, 
to  ascertain  the  decrease  in  the  malady;  and 
he  naturally  pronounces  that  usage  super- 
stitious. But  the  very  example  which  he 
quotes,  drawn  from  the  relations  of  St. 
Quirinus  and  St.  Arsacitis — where  a  pilgrim 
weighs  himself,  by  the  loaves  and  cheeses  he 
afterwards  distributes  to  the  poor,— proves, 
as  also  the  miracles  of  Bretigny,  that  the 
erudite  Benedictine  mistook  the  case,  and 


4+8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  the  use  of  the  scales,  as  properly  ex- 
plained, partook  in  nowise  of  superstition. 

The  glory  of  Bretigny  consists  only  in  the 
miracles  wrought  at  the  tomb  of  St.  Hubert, 
the  abbey  itself  becoming  from  the  12th 
century  a  simple  priory,  dependent  on  that 
of  Lihons,  of  the  Order  of  Cluny ;  since  we 
find  in  1131  the  confirmation,  by  Pope  In- 
nocent II.,  of  a  donation  of  tithes  and  other 
seignioral  rights,  belonging  to  the  Abbey 
of  Bretigny,  made  by  the  Prior  of  Lihons 
to  the  Abbey  of  Ourscamp.  Dom  Mabillon 
describes  the  fallen  state  of  the  Abbey  of 
Bretigny,  of  which  naught  remained  in  his 
time  save  the  half  ruined  church,  wherein 
was  still  discernible  the  Chapel  of  the  Scales 
a  neglected  altar  of  St.  Gam  (above  which 
was  a  portrait  of  the  holy  abbot),  and  some 
few  vestiges  of  monastic  buildings.  The 
priory  was  inhabited  by  a  secular  prior,  with 
a  monk-treasurer,  to  whom  the  former  ceded 
a  portion  of  the  oblations  furnished  by  the 
pilgrimage  of  St.  Hubert. 

A  visitor  to  the  ancient  shrine  in  1855 
states  that  of  the  church  of  Bretigny, 
though  rebuilt  in  the  12th  century,  nothing 
was  left  but  the  nave,  with  two  side  chapels, 
one  of  which,  then  serving  as  sacristy,  must 
have  been  the  Chapel  of  St.  Gam,  whilst  the 
other  was  undoubtedly  that  of  the  Scales, 
although  the  memory  thereof  was  entirely 
lost  even  in  the  very  neighborhood  itself. 
Some  faint  traces  still  exist  of  the  chateau 
and  of  the  abbey — a  few  walls  built  of  sand- 
stone, in  semicircular  arches,  some  vestiges 
of  fish-ponds,  of  moats,  and  an  enclosure 
containing  a  Fountain  of  St.  Hubert,  to 
which  is  attributed  the  virtue  of  curing 
hydrophobia,  etc.  The  memory  of  the  Saint 
has  alone  survived  all  this:  pilgrimages  to 
his  relics  are  frequent,  sometimes  over  two 
thousand  persons  flocking  thither  during 
the  novena. 

St.  Hubert  of  Bretigny  is  chiefly  invoked 
against  the  bites  of  mad  dogs,  like  his 
godfather,  St.  Hubert,  patron  of  the  Ar- 
dennes, who  died  727;  though  such  is  the 
popular  belief  in  his  sanctity  and  powerful 
protection  that  anything  which  has  touched 
his  relics,  as  well  as  any  place  whereon  his 


name  be  written,  is  firmly  held  to  ensure 
preservation  from  thunder,  tempest,  mad- 
ness, or  pestilential  maladies,  sharing  in 
this  respect  the  renown  of  his  saintly  name- 
sake of  Liege,  of  whom  legends  tell  us 

"That  still  a  stole  St.  Hubert  wore 

Is  kept  with  love  and  care, 
Where  long  ago  the  dwellers  did 

St.  Hubert's  blessing  share; 
And  pestilence  upon  its  touch 

Within  our  lives  has  fled, 
And  in  the  forests  of  Ardennes 

St  Hubert  seems  not  dead. 
And  to  the  church  that  keeps  this  stole,. 

Not  many  years  ago, 
The  people  took  their  rosaries, 

That  gifts  to  them  might  flow; 
And  those  who  on  St.  Hubert's  Beads 

Their  day's  devotion  said. 
Were  saved  amid  the  pestilence — 

Were  not  among  the  dead  " 


Favors  of  Our  Queen, 


A  SINGULAR   GRACE. 


ON  the  26th  of  July,  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  Henry  and  Ferdinand, 
the  two  oldest  sons  of  Doctor  Cadilhac, 
were  taking  a  bath  in  the  Mediterranean, 
near  Fleury.^  The  sea  was  rough  and  chop- 
ping. All  at  once  Henry  thought  he  saw  his 
brother  borne  off" on  a  wave ;  he  called  to  him, 
and  immediately  swam  to  his  assistance; 
but  it  was  only  to  be  carried  away  himself. 
A  cry  for  help  then  rang  out  from  both.  A 
man  named  Paul  Bringer,  of  Nissau,  heard 
the  call,  and  gave  the  alarm  to  his  wife, 
who  with  three  children  happened  to  be 
on  the  beach.  These  repeated  the  cry  again 
and  again,  and  rushed  towards  the  village. 
Mr.  Bringer  bravely  plunged  into  the  water 
to  rescue  the  boys,  but  a  high  wave  threw 
him  back  to  the  shore.  Meantime  two  ex- 
pert swimmers  had  arrived,  and  with  a  cour- 
age that  merits  the  highest  praise  struck 
out  for  the  drowning  boys.  After  the  great- 
est exertions,  one  of  them  (Ferdinand)  was 
finally  brought  to  the  shore  in  safety.  The 
second  swimmer  exerted  himself  to  his 
utmost  to  save  the  other  brother,  but  all 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


449 


liis  efforts] were  ineflfectual.  And  feeling  his 
strength^fast  waning,  he  turnedjtowards  the 
shore,  which  he  had  hardly  gained  when  he 
fell  exhausted. 

By  chance  there  happened  to  be  a  small 
boat  moored  at  some  distance  up  the  beach. 
After  some  delay  it  was  manned  and 
TOwed  towards  the  spot  where  Henry  was 
last  seen.  Just  at  this  time  a  shout  came 
from  those  on  shore,  which  led  the  rescuers 
to  suppose  that  the  other  body  had  been 
recovered,  and  they  accordingly  put  back'to 
land.  Learning  their  mistake,  they  quickly 
rowed  again  in  the  direction  pointed  out. 
It  was  fully  ten  minutes  later  when  they 
succeeded  in  getting  Henry  into  the  boat. 
He  was  entirely  motionless,  and  as  he  lay 
on  the  sand  the  fishermen  declared  that 
never  before  had  they  seen  a  human  body 
so  horribly  disfigured;  the  physician,  who 
had  been  summoned — one  who  has  been 
practising  at  Fleury  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury— said  the  same;  while  the  custom- 
house officers  who,  from  their  elevated  po- 
sition, had  seen  the  crowd,  and  run  to  ascer- 
tain what  was  the  matter,  affirmed  that  the 
unfortunate  boy  had  been  altogether  too 
long  in  the  water  to  think  of  trying  to  re- 
suscitate him.  ' '  Cover  him  up, ' '  they  said, 
"till  the  coroner  arrives." 

However,  the  love  of  his  friends  induced 
them  to  attempt  restoration.  For  fifteen 
minutes  they  labored  with  energy,  under 
the  direction  of  the  doctor;  but  in  vain. 
Finally  a  slight  rattling,  followed  by  a  little 
foam  issuing  through  the  violet-colored  lips 
of  the  patient,  seemed  a  sure  sign  of  death. 
"His  last  sigh!"  some  one  whispered,  in 
saddened  tones.  With  tears  and  sobs  his 
friends  continued  their  treatment,  hoping 
against  hope.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed,  when,  to  the  astonishment  and  joy 
of  all,  animation  returned.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  come  back  from  death.  Thus  both 
brothers  were  saved. 

The  circumstances  of  this  singular  in- 
cident are  worthy  of  consideration.  It 
occurred  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Anne,  mother 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  boat  which  had 
been  instrumental  in  saving  Henry's  life 


bore  the  name  Mary.  When  the  fishermen 
drew  the  inanimate  body  of  the  young  man 
into  it,  they  noticed  his  Scapular  floating  on 
the  water;  the  strings,  which  still  remained 
about  his  neck,  seemed  to  keep  him  from 
going  to  the  bottom.  The  event  was  so  ex- 
traordinary that  the  doctor  did  not  hesitate 
to  declare  it  was  altogether  inexplicable. 
"Never,"  he  remarked,  "have  I  seen  a 
drowned  person,  in  such  a  state,  brought 
back  to  life,  especially  after  being  so  long 
in  the  water. ' '  A  merchant  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of 
the  whole  occurrence,  clapped  Henry  on  the 
shoulder  and  said,  pointing  to  the  Scapular: 
' '  Young  man,  don' t  take  that  off",  any  way.' ' 
This  advice,  so  naturally  elicited  by  the 
circumstances,  induced  many  who  were 
present  to  be  invested  with  the  Scapular. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  well  merited  rebuke  was  administered 
recently  by  President  Cleveland  to  an  indi- 
vidual in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  who  wrote  to  him 
complaining  that  he  had  been  removed  from 
a  position,  in  the  post-office  of  that  city,  and 
that  "an  Irishman  and  Catholic"  had  been 
appointed  in  his  stead.  Replying  to  this  mis- 
sive, the  President  said: 

"Your  exceedingly  ill-natured  reference  to  the 
'Irishman '  and  the  *  Catholic,'  who,  you  say,  has 
succeeded  to  your  position,  detracts  very  largely, 
I  think,  from  the  claims  you  base  upon  '  twenty- 
two  years  of  honest  and  faithful  service  in  the 
Brooklyn  post-office,  and  ten  years  as  a  soldier, 
with  an  honorable  discharge, '  and  demonstrates 
thatyou  have  but  little  idea  of  the  impartial  treat- 
ment due  to  American  citizenship." 

While  Mr.  Cleveland  did  no  more  than  his 
simple  duty  in  thus  rebuking  a  fellow-citizen, 
yet  it  is  greatly  to  his  credit  that  he  has 
taken  advantage  of  his  position  as  chief  exec- 
utive of  the  nation  to  give  public  expression 
to  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  the  American 
people,  which  can  tolerate  no  antipathy  be- 
tween man  and  man  on  the  score  of  religion 
or  nationality.  As  President  of  the  United 
States  he  has  emphasized  the  fact,  before  the 
millions  of  people  whose  representative  he  has 
been  chosen,  that  the  days  of  Know-Noth- 
ingism  have  passed  away — that  an  Irish- Cath- 


4^o 


The  Ave  Mai'ia. 


olic  may  be  a  true  American  citizen — that  a 
man  may  be  capable  of  duly  fulfilling  all  his 
duties  towards  the  State,  while  still  remaining 
a  devoted  and  faithful  member  of  the  Church. 

There  are  many  wiseacres  in  these  days  of 
weak  faith  and  weaker  virtue,  to  whom  the 
scathing  words  of  the  Abbe  Roux's  criticism 
of  Godescard's  Lives  of  the  Saints,  quoted  be 
low,  are  applicable.  In  reading  them  we  were 
reminded  of  the  recommendation  once  made 
to  us  by  a  learned  and  zealous  Catholic — 
whether  ecclesiastic  or  layman  we  will  not 
say — to  omit  the  title  Mother  of  God  from  our 
cover-page,  and  not  to  be  quite  so  loud  in  our 
praise  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  "for  fear  of  ex- 
citing Protestant  prejudices"! 

"Godescard  and  his  school  admire  in  their 
Lives  of  the  Saints  only  that  which  the  reason 
of  man  could  accept  of  the  miracles  and  prodigies. 
Everything  which  exceeded  the  settled  limits 
was  rejected  under  the  name  of  extravagance,  or, 
at  least,  of  temerity.  It  was  with  the  best  faith  in 
the  world,  and  for  the  greater  glory  of  God,  and 
the  good  of  the  faithful,  and  the  honor  of  the 
Church,  that  they  said  to  the  Blood  of  Jesus  Christ, 
which  was  .shed  for  all,  and  eager  to  extend  to  all, 
'  Thou  shalt  go  no  farther! ' 

' '  They  w^ere  sincere,  I  repeat,  in  spite  of  so 
much  pride  and  overweening  self-confidence;  they 
thought  they  knew  men  and  things  a  little  better 
than  God  Himself;  they  simply  gave  lessons  in 
tact  to  the  Holy  Spirit;  they  recalled  the  Son  of 
Mary  to  respect  for  law.  manners  and  usages; 
they  explained  the  Gospel,  they  made  excuse  for 
it  when  necessary;  they  clipped  the  wings  of  the 
angels;  they  warned  ecstatics  to  speak  low,  and 
wonder-workers  to  be  on  their  guard.  The  mar- 
vels of  the  Old  Testament  and  of  the  New  suf- 
ficed; all  the  rest  was  compromising  superfluity 
and  lacking  in  propriety. 

"Why  were  not  these  good  people,  so  mediocre 
in  mind  and  heart,  contemporaries  of  Jesus 
Christ  ?  They  would  have  besought  Him,  in  the 
Name  of  God,  in  His  own  interest  and  in  ours, 
not  to  be  born  in  a  stable,  and,  above  all,  not  to 
die  upon  a  cross!"     

The  first  person  upon  whom  the  title  of 
doctor  in  medicine  was  ever  conferred  was 
William  Gordenia.  The  College  of  Asti  gave 
the  degree  in  the  year  1329. 

The  Episcopal  Convention  in  Chicago  dis- 
cussed the  subject  of  creating  a  unity  of  all 
Christian  denominations.  That  needs  no  long 
discussion.  Not  to  mention  the  great  orig- 
inal Christian  Church,  that  stands  with  arms 


outspread  to  receive  them  all  if  they  will  but 
come,  there  is  not  a  sect,  small  or  great,  that 
would  not  be  glad  to  receive  any  or  all  of  the 
rest,  and  thus  create  the  desired  "unity." 
That  is  what's  the  matter.  Each  one  wants 
to  be  the  Aaron's  rod,  that  swallows  all  the 
other  serpents;  and  in  consequence  they  will 
all  continue  to  squirm  around,  and  breed  more 
instead  of  .swallowing  one  another. —  Ypsilanti 
Sentinel. 

Sunday,  October  24,  was  a  happy  day  for 
the  priest  and  parishioners  of  St.  Jarlath's, 
Chicago.  The  new  St.  Jarlath's  Church — a 
beautiful  Gothic  edifice  on  the  corner  of  West 
Jackson  Street  and  Hermitage  Avenue,  the 
erection  of  which  has  been  in  progress  during 
the  last  four  years — was  on  that  day  dedicated 
with  impressive  ceremonies.  Contrary  to  the 
general  rule  in  such  cases,  the  structure  had 
been  entirely  completed  for  the  occasion,  and 
there  was  nothing  lacking  of  either  external 
or  internal  ornamentation.  The  achievement 
of  this  great  undertaking  for  it  is  a  great 
enterprise  to  build  a  church  which  need  not 
fear  comparison,  in  point  of  beauty  and  finish, 
with  any  in  Chicago — is  due  to  the  zeal  and 
untiring  energy  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  A.  Cash- 
man,  for  many  years  the  beloved  rector  of  St. 
Jarlath's,  who  has  been  devotedly  assisted  by 
his  worthy  curates,  the  Rev.  L  A.  Campbell 
and  the  Rev.  S  Maloney.  The  decorations  of 
the  church  special  to  the  dedication  ceremony 
were  a  work  of  the  most  elaborate  art,  chief 
among  them  being  a  large  harp  of  shamrocks, 
threaded  with  natural  blossoms  of  the  bright- 
est tints, — an  appropriate  device  in  honor  of 
the  great  Irish  Saint  to  whom  the  church  is 
dedicated.  No  true  son  of  Erin  but  felt  his 
heart  stirred  with  the  hope  that  the  day  would 
signalize  a  renewal  of  the  great  ages  of  faith 
in  which  the  good  St.  Jarlath  flourished. 

The  crowd  at  the  dedication  was  so  great 
that  many  could  not  be  admitted.  Archbishop 
Feehan  conducted  the  sei-vices,  and  preached 
a  beautiful  sermon  on  Faith,  in  which  he  took 
occasion  to  congratulate  both  pastor  and  peo- 
ple on  the  successful  outcome  of  their  perse- 
vering efforts  and  unselfish  generosity.  The 
sanctuary  was  filled  with  priests  from  far  and 
near.  Conspicuous  among  the  visitors  was  the 
Right  Rev.  Bishop  Ireland,  of  St.  Paul,  from 
whom  another  eloquent  discourse  was  heard 
at  Vespers.    The  many  friends  all  over  the 


The  Ave  A  fa 


na. 


451 


world  of  the  large-hearted  rector  of  St.  Jar- 
lath's  will  wish  him  health  and  length  of  days 
to  minister  in  the  beautiful  sanctuary  which, 
at  the. cost  of  many  sacrifices,  he  has  erected 
to  the  glory  of  God  and  His  great  servant 
^-St.Jarlath.  

The  Republic  remarks :  ' '  The  prevalent  idea 
[that  the  late  Archbishop  McCloskey  was  the 
.first  native-born  American  to  attain  the  dig- 
nity of  cardinal  is  an  erroneous  one.  That 
distinction  belongs  to  the  Archbishop  of  Val- 
'ladolid,  Spain — ^John  Ignatius  Morina,  wHo 
[was  born  at  Guatemala,  South  America,  Nov. 
24,  1817."  

More  than  enough  money  has  already  been 
contributed  for  the  purchase  of  the  two  taber- 
nacles desired  by  Father  Damien;  but, presum- 
ing that  many  others  besides  those  from  whom 
we  have  acknowledged  contributions  wish 
to  be  numbered  among  the  benefactors  of  the 
apostle  of  the  lepers,  we  have  decided  to  keep 
the  subscription  list  open  a  few  weeks  longer. 
There  must  be  pressing  needs  in  such  a  poor 
mission  as  that  of  Molokai,  which,  of  course, 
receives  no  support  whatever  from  the  unfort- 
unate natives.  Our  charitable  friends  may  rest 
assured  that  their  offerings  could  hardly  be 
more  worthily  bestowed.  We  have  pleasure  in 
acknowledging  the  following  sums  received 
during  the  past  week: 

A  Servant  of  Mary,  $20;  Mrs.  E.  R.  Newman, 
I1.25;  a  Family,  $5;  Sarah  S.  Joslin,  $1.25;  Wil- 
liam Pickett,  $1;  H.  H.  T.,  50  cts.;  A  Client  of 
St.  Joseph.  $1;  F.  S.  H.,  $2;  Martha  White,  $i\ 
T.  C.  $3;  Mrs.  Eliza  Foote,  $5;  J.  Hanley.  $1;  A 
Friend,  $1 ;  Anna  McCloskey  and  Maria  Sheehan, 
$2;  Elizabeth  Walsh,  $2;  W.  J.  T.  and  family,  $1 ; 
A  Friend,  $10;  Oakland  Friends,  $15.50;  Miss  D., 
$3;  W.  M.  J.  Tieman,  $1  (per  the  Rev.  T.  E.  Walsh, 
C.  S.  C. ,) ;  A  Child  of  Mary,  $1 ;  A  Friend  of  The 
'Ave  Maria,"  |i;  M.  A.V.,$i;  For  Maggie 
Hayes,  $1;  Bridget  Linehan,  $5;  Mary  Arundel, 
$1 ;  Sarah  Farrell,  25  cts. ;  Margaret  Moore,  25  cts. ; 
Mrs.  Margaret  Fondy,  $2 ;  John,  Mary,  and  Maggie 
Fondy,  $3;  Through  Sister  Basile,  $2;  John  Wal- 
lace, $1 ;  Edward  O'Connor,  $1 ;  A  Child  of  Mary, 
$5;  A  mother  and  three  little  sons.  $5;  Margaret 
Callahan,  $1;  C.  McC,  $5;  A  Friend,  $5  (through 
the  Rev.  P.J.  Boyle);  A  Family's  Offering,  I1.90; 
A  Friend.  50  cts. ;  A  Readerof  The  '  AvE  Maria," 
$2;  A  Child  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  $5.  Through  the 
Very  Rev.  A.  Granger,  C.S.C.,  $6;— Helen  C.  Burt, 
$1 ;  William  Russell,  $1 ;  H.  Fessler,  $2 ;  Mrs.  Dan- 
iel Flynn,  $2;  J.  M.  K.,  $1;  T.  McC.,11.25;  Bridget 
Hickey,  $2. 


New  Publications. 

Missionary  I^abors  op  Fathers  Mar- 
quette, Menard,  and  AIvIvOUEZ.  in  the  Lake 
Suparior  Region.  By  the  Rev.  Chrysostom 
Verwyst,O.S.F.  Milwaukee  and  Chicago:  Hoff- 
mann Brothers. 

The  author  of  this  little  work  tells  us  in  the 
preface  that  the  writing  of  it  has  been  to  him 
a  labor  of  love.  We  do  not  wonder  at  it:  the 
investigation  of  the  history  of  any  Catholic 
mission  is  always  a  delightful  employment, 
and  by  no  means  the  least  interesting  among 
missionary  records  are  the  labors  and  trials  of 
the  three  most  prominent  Jesuit  Fathers  who 
worked  in  the  field  of  Northern  Wisconsin. 
First  of  these,  in  point  of  time,  is  Father  Men- 
ard,who  arrived  in  the  Eake  Superior  country 
in  1660;  Fathers  Marquette  and  Allouez  fol- 
lowed in  his  footsteps  a  few  years  later.  The 
book  opens  with  an  account  of  the  pioneer 
missionary,  and  gives  a  graphic  description  of 
the  labors  he  performed  and  the  hardships  and 
trials  he  underwent  among  the  Hurons  and 
Iroquois.  In  his  voyages  up  the  rivers  he  was 
often  obliged  to  travel  for  days  fasting,  and 
when  he  did  get  something  to  eat,  it  was  gen- 
erally nothing  more  luxurious  than  a  little 
corn,,  broken  between  two  stones.  His  bed 
was  on  the  bare  ground,  and  a  great  portion  of 
his  travelling  consisted  in  walking  through 
water  and  morasses,  exposed  to  the  stings  of 
innumerable  flies  and  mosquitos.  Added  to 
these  hardships  was  the  cruel  treatment  he 
had  to  endure  at  the  hand  of  the  Indians,  who 
frequently  threatened  to  burn  or  tomahawk 
him. 

Of  the  * '  noble  army  of  martyrs ' '  Wisconsin 
can  record  three,  whose  blood  watered  its  soil 
and  made  it  fruitful  to  life  eternal.  In  a  letter 
to  his  superior.  Father  Menard  wrote:  "We 
walk  with  our  heads  lifted  up  in  the  midst  of 
dangers  —  through  insults,  hootings,  calum- 
nies, tomahawks  and  knives,  with  which  they 
often  run  after  us,  to  put  us  to  death."  After 
years  of  patient  labor  among  the  Hurons,  the 
perseverance  of  Father  Menard  and  his  fellow- 
laborers  was  rewarded  with  an  abundant  har- 
vest. But  too  soon  incursions  of  the  treach- 
erous Iroquois  compelled  them  to  seek  another 
field  for  their  energies,  which  they  found  in 
St.  Therese  Bay,  and  at  the  head-waters  of 
Black    River.    At   the   latter  place    Father 


45^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Menard  met  his  death  from  hunger  and  expos- 
ure; and  this  heroic  soul,  which  had  brought 
so  many  into  the  Fold  of  Christ,  went  to  re- 
ceive the  crown  laid  up  for  those  who  have 
fought  the  good  fight.  The  name  of  Father 
Marquette  is  so  well  known  to  all  our  readers 
that  we  need  do  no  more  than  say  that  Father 
Verwyst's  account  of  him  is  so  interesting  that 
we  wish  he  had  made  it  longer;  and,  in  fact, 
we  may  express  the  same  wish  with  regard  to 
the  volume  as  a  whole. 


Obituary. 


•'//  »>  a  holy  and  wholesome  thougfkt  to  pray  for  the  dead" 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Medor  Thibodeau,  for  six  years  the 
faithful  and  beloved  rector  of  St.  Joseph's  Church, 
Bay  City,  Mich. 

The  Rev.  P.  J.  Diiddenhausen,  one  of  the  ablest 
and  most  energetic  priests  of  the  Diocese  of 
Yincennes,  who  departed  this  life  on  the  evening 
of  the  27th  ult. 

The  Rev.  Joseph  Giustiniani,  CM.,  the  learned 
and  pious  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception,  Baltimore.  He  was  a  native  of  Genoa, 
his  father  being  Marquis  Giustiniani,  of  Venice. 

The  Rev.  Father  Bramburg,  S.  J.,  professor  at 
Woodstock  College,  Md.  He  had  taught  in  houses 
of  the  Order  in  France,  Holland,  and  England,  and 
earned  a  reputation  for  deep  learning  and  piety. 
Father  Bramburg  was  a  native  of  Westphalia, 
and  of  the  lineage  of  the  illustrious  Canisius. 

The  Rev.  Father  Alban  O'Connor,  a  worthy 
young  priest  of  the  Coagregatioa  of  the  Passion, 
who  yielded  his  soul  to  God  at  the  Sacred  Heart 
Retreat,  Louisville,  Ky.,  on  the  17th  ult. 

Mr.  John  E  McCormick,  a  young  gentleman 
highly  esteemed  for  noble  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart,  who  met  with  a  sudden  death  at  Kamloops, 
B.  C,  on  the  15th  of  September. 

Mrs.  Catharine  Dunn,  an  exemplary  member  of 
St.  John's  parish,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  who  passed 
away  on  the  6th  ult.  Her  death  was  as  edifying  as 
her  life.  She  received  the  last  Sacraments  with 
admirable  sentiments  of  piety,  and  expired  while 
pronouncing  the  sacred  names  of  Jesus  and  Mar3^ 

Mr.  John  J.  Freel,  of  East  Cambridge,  Mass.; 
William  Walsh,  Middleborough,  Mass.  ;  Miss 
Maggie  Hoye,  Kenosha,  Wis. ;  Miss  Nora  and  Miss 
Margaret  G.  Murphy,  Mrs.  Jane  Manning,  and 
Mrs.  Ellen  O'Brien,  Somerville,  Mass. ;  Mr.  John 
Ring,  Mr.  D.  A.  Nyen,  and  Martin  Comboy,  South 
Boston,  Mass.;  Mrs.  Ellen  Dougherty,  Lakeville, 
Cal.;  and  Dominic  Gosman,  York,  Pa. 
May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PARTMENt 


All  Souls'  Day. 


BY    R.    v.    R 

T^RAY  for  thy  dead,  thy  parted  ones, 
. -^      Oh!  gentle  Christian  heart! 
So  shalt  thou  in  love's  holiest  work 

Fulfil  thy  blessed  part 
Pray  for  the  great,  the  low  of  earth, 

The  wealthy  and  the  poor; 
For  all  alike  have  sinned,  and  all 

Sin's  penalty  endure. 
Pray  for  the  soul,  the  eager  soul, 

That  sees  with  longing  eyes, 
Half  oped,  that  it  may  enter  in 

The  gates  of  Paradise; 
And  pray  for  those  poor  suffering  souls 

That  all  too  surely  know, 
If  ransomed  not  by  pitying  prayers, 

Theirs  are  long  years  of  woe. 
The  soul  that  unto  justice  owes 

The  heaviest,  crudest  debt. 
The  soul  its  false  friends  think  not  of, 

Oh!  do  not  thou  forget. 
For  every  soul  thy  prayers  and  alms 

Shall  entrance  win  to  heaven. 
Know,  unto  thee,  by  Mary's  hand, 

Sweet  guerdon  will  be  given. 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kil'patrick. 


BY    E.  I..   D. 


X. 

The  days  stretched  into  a  long  week, 
broken  only  by  the  surgeon's  rounds,  and 
two  visits  from  Father  Ryan,  who  brought, 
however,  but  the  comfort  of  his  presence  to 
the  little  bugler,  and  the  assurance  of  his 
sympathy  to  Denbigh;  for  of  O'Keefe  he 
had  been  able  to  learn  nothing. 

A  genuine  friendship  meantime  had 
sprung  up  between  the  bed-neighbors,  un- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


253 


likely  as  it  seemed,  which-became  a  comfort 
to  both ;  although  it  was  necessarily  a  silent 
one;  for  Oester  couldnU  speak,  and  Den- 
bigh found  little  to  say,  except  when  his 
savagery  cropped  out  as  Pain  ran  its  burn- 
ing ploughshare  up  and  down  his  crushed 
leg,  or  when  he  was  pouring  out  his  ques- 
tions and  hopes  about  O'  Keefe.  But  they 
exchanged  kindly  looks,  and  many  a  time 
the  man  swallowed  back  his  groans  and 
curses  as  the  patient  blue  eyes  of  the  boy 
looked  at  him  aggrieved  and  amazed. 

Denbigh  had  fallen  on  hard  times.  His 
was  a  stubborn  nature,  that  ran  deep  in 
single  grooves,  and  its  entire  strength  was 
set  on  finding  O'  Keefe,  and  releasing  him — 
a  possibility  that  halted  lame  in  Despair's 
own  harness.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  concerned  himself  about  any  one,  and 
through  the  opening  made  in  the  iron  ar- 
mor of  his  selfishness  Love  and  Conscience 
entered,  and  his  whole  being  was  in  revolt 
against  their  stings.  His  mind  was  pitted 
against  his  body;  and  burst  ligaments, 
crushed  bones,  and  a  troubled  mind  are  a 
bad  combination,  I  can  tell  you. 

Saunders  did  him  an  ugly  turn,  too,  al- 
though quite  unconsciously ;  for  one  day, 
when  he  incidentally  mentioned  a  brother 
who  had  come  home  from  Belle  Isle — kept 
alive  by  his  passionate  desire  to  see  once 
more  the  White  Mountains  of  his  boyhood, 
and  who  died  as  the  train  drew  up  in  the 
station, — Denbigh  had  questioned  him  with 
a  terrible  eagerness  as  to  the  condition  of 
the  prisoners,  the  hardships  they  had  under- 
gone, and  the  effects  of  the  mental  torture 
produced  by  the  sights  and  sounds  around 
them;  and  Saunders'  answers,  sharpened 
by  personal  grief  and  faithful  memory,  had 
nearly  maddened  him,  the  closing  sentence 
completing  the  keenness  of  his  suffering. 

"I  don't  like  to  rake  over  old  sores  like 
these  here;  and  I  don't,  as  a  gen'ral  prac- 
tice. When  I  fust  come  down  here,  I  usedter 
pretty  frequent;  but  that  O' Keefe — wonder 
whatever  did  become  of  that  fellow,  any 
way? — he  was  a  great  chap  for  list'nin'. 
Good  heart  he  had,  too.  Many's  the  time 
Tve  set  and  talked  with  him  about  it  tell 


I've  seen  the  tears  a-rollin'  down  his  face, 
an'  always  he  says  to  me:  '  I  pray  to  God  and 
Our  Lady'  (that's  the  Virgin,  you  know) 
'that  I'll  die  before  I  git  into  their h^a.nds.'' 
He'd  a  horror  of 'em  that  was  solid  sitidi  no 
mistake. ' ' 

And  when  Father  Ryan  came  the  next 
time,  his  frantic  appeal  set  the  priest  to 
wondering  whether  the  man's  mind  could 
bear  the  strain.  'At  the  close  of  their  agi- 
tated talk  the  Father  said : 

' '  Pray  for  the  news  you  seek,  my  friend ; 
thaVs  the  surest  means  to  the  end." 

''Pray!"  exclaimed  Denbigh,  sullenly. 
' '  Much  your  God  would  care  for  my  pray- 
ers! Besides,  isn't  it  a  snivelling  thing  to 
do,  to  go  to  somebody  you  haven't  ever 
taken  any  notice  of,  or  done  anything  for 
all  your  life,  and  ask  for  a  favor?" 

Father  Ryan's  answer  was  the  parable 
of  the  prodigal  son. 

"But,"  objected  Denbigh,  "that  was  his 
son. ' ' 

"And  so  are  you  God's  son,  bought  with 
a  great  Price,  set  free  at  the  cost  of  His  own 
life." 

Denbigh  started  at  this  last,  but  said,  sar- 
donically: "I  look  like  it,  don't  I?  Don't 
talk  to  me  that  way.  I've  got  to  stand  or 
fall  by  my  own  strength. ' ' 

' '  Then, ' '  replied  Father  Ryan, ' '  God  love 
and  pity  you,  for  you're  leaning  on  a  broken 
reed — one  of  the  sort  that  will  pierce  you, 
you  know." 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Denbigh,  irri- 
tably, "what  am  I  to  do?  I  don't  know 
anything  about  God,  and  I  don't  believe 
He'd  bother  to  look  out  for  me  any  way, 
even  if  I  did.  I've  had  a  rough  life,  but, 
since  I  can  remember,  I  never  felt  sorry  for 
anything  except  about  O' Keefe.  When  I 
got  hit,  I  hit  back;  when  a  man  did  me  a 
mean  turn,  I  paid  him  off"  as  soon  as  I 
could—" 

"'An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth.'" 

' '  That's  so, ' '  said  Denbigh,  emphatically. 
"Who  said  that?" 

' '  The  Jews.  But  Our  Lord  gave  a  new 
commandment — 'That  you  love  one  an- 


454 


The  Ave  Maria, 


other,  as  I  have  loved  you '  .  .  .  '  even  to  the 
death  of  the  Cross.'" 

"Is  that  what  makes  you  Catholics  so 
clannish  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Ryan;  "for  the  least 
of  us  who  tries  to  practise  our  holy  faith 
has  to  love  his  neighbor  as  himself,  forgive 
seventy  times  seven,  and  forego  revenge." 

"That  don't  leave  much  show  for  the 
chaps  that  get  started  croo'ked. ' ' 

"Oh!  yes.  ' There  shall  be  joy  in  heaven 
upon  one  sinner  that  doth  penance,  more 
than  upon  Ainety-nine  just,  who  need  not 
penance. ' " 

' '  I  don' t  believe  it ! "  said  Denbigh,  flatly. 

"Why?  Don't  you  think  it  a  comforting 
belief?" 

"Yes,  but  it's  dead  against  nature." 

* '  Human,  yes ;  but,  thank  God,  it  is  the 
promise  of  Eternal  Mercy.  Come,  Denbigh, 
think  a  minute.  You  are  not  playing  fair. 
Here's  something  on  which  you've  set  your 
heart.  Prayer  is  your  only  chance  to  get  it; 
for,  although  we  do  all  we  can  as  men,  we 
can  accomplish  nothing  unless  God  so  wills 
it.  (Don' t  you  remember, '  Unless  the  Lord 
keep  the  city,  he  watcheth  in  vain  that 
keepeth  it '  ?)  And  you  are  leaving  me  to  do 
all  the  praying. ' '  And  he  smiled  pleasantly. 
But  Denbigh's  lips  were  set,  and  he  picked 
nervously  at  the  bed-clothing;  so  Father 
Ryan  rose,  touched  the  restless  hand  kindly, 
and  said: 

' '  Try  not  to  be  discouraged.  I'm  begging 
Our  Blessed  Lady  and  St.  Anthony  to  pray 
for  your  intention  too — St.  Anthony  is  the 
patron  of  all  things  or  persons  lost  or  strayed 
— and  I'm  sure  they'll  help  you.  By  the 
way,  I've  brought  you  a  medal.  Will  you 
wear  it?" 

The  man  made  a  hasty  gesture  of  dissent, 
then,  with  an  effort  at  his  old  carelessness, 
said:   "All  right." 

But  when  Father  Ryan  was  gone,  Den- 
bigh looked  at  it  curiously,  and  asked  sev- 
eral elaborately  indifferent  questions  of  Our 
Lady's  little  client  in  the  next  bed. 

Oester's  sharp  suffering  meantime  had 
been  intermitted  by  the  great  joy  of  baptism, 
and  a  pleasure  that  filled  his  boyish  heart 


with  triumph  and  delight — nothing  less 
than  the  purchase  of  Jet.  It  came  about  in 
a  very  natural  way,  although  small  buglers 
are  not  usually  able  to  buy  valuable  mules 
in  war  times. 

Saunders  told  him,  the  day  after  their  ar- 
rival, how  the  little  beast  had  saved  his  life, 
and  how  pi  uckily  he  had  behaved  afterward ; 
and  the  boy,  with  eyes  shining,  half  with 
laughter,  half  with  tears  (for  he  was  very 
weak),  had  begged  so  earnestly  to  see  the 
surgeon-in- chief,  that  that  important  func- 
tionary actually  came  to  him,  and  Oester 
told,  or  rather  gasped,  his  story  with  such 
eagerness  that  his  visitor's  indifference 
changed  to  interest,  and  the  latter  ended  by 
promising  to  see  that  Jet  was  "mustered 
out,"  and  the  boy's  back-pay  applied  to 
buying  this  trusty  four- legged  friend. 

And  that  was  how,  when  Atlanta  went 
down  under  the  Blue  avalanche  hurled  on 
it,  and  the  wounded  were  sent  back  to  Chat- 
tanooga, the  little  black  mule  happened  to 
go  along  too, — the  property,  as  the  bill  of 
sale  declared,  of  E.  Oester,  Bugler  of  Co.  M, 
yth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  U.  S.  Army. 

XL 

The  shouts  and  huzzas  rang  loud  and 
long  for  that  victory  ayont  Altoona  Pass, 
and  the  sick  rallied  from  their  ails  and 
wounds  for  pure  joy ;  but  Denbigh  was  in 
the  depths.  To  him  the  return  to  Thomas's 
lines  meant  separation  from  Father  Ryan, 
to  whom  he  clung  as  his  one  hope  of  dis- 
covering O'Keefe;  and  he  fell  into  such  a 
state  that  the  priest  sacrificed  valuable  time 
to  sit  by  him  in  the  ambulance  for  the  first 
miles  of  the  journey,  assuring  and  reassur- 
ing him  of  his  continued  interest,  and  of  his 
confidence  that  God  and  Our  Lady  would 
help  him  in  his  extremity. 

Denbigh  could  not  disbelieve  the  honest 
face  and  kind  voice,  but  neither  could  he 
believe;  for  all  faith  and  he  were  stran- 
gers ;  and,  between  his  doubting  mind,  his 
troubled  heart,  and  the  exhausting  trip, 
he  was  a  very  ill  man  when  the  wagons 
lumbered  into  Chattanooga. 

And  Oester  was  not  much  better  off;  for 
a  driving  storm  played  the  mischief  with 


The  Ave  Maria, 


455 


his  inflamed  lungs,  and  when  they  reached 
the  hospital  he  had  only  strength  to  beg  for 
a  place  next  his  burly  comrade,  whose  main- 
stay he  became  in  the  weary  weeks  that 
followed. 

They  often  talked  over  the  chances  for 
and  against  finding  O'  Keefe,  and  sometimes 
Denbigh  was  boastfully  hopeful;  but  then 
when  Father  Ryan's  letters  came, still  with- 
out news  of  the  lost  trooper,  he  would  fall 
into  paroxysms  of  despair  that  were  awful 
to  witness.  At  first  these  exhaled  in  rav-' 
ings,  but  later  they  passed  in  long  shivering 
agues,  that  left  him  silent  and  half  lifeless 
for  two  or  three  days. 

Oester  finally  got  very  uneasy  about  him, 
and  his  Rosary  often  slipped  through  his 
thin  fingers  as  he  prayed  to  the  sweet  Com- 
forter of  the  Afflicted  for  the  man  suffering 
so  acutely  at  his  side. 

One  day,  when  things  were  very  bad,  he 
said,  with  some  hesitation: 

"I  say,  Denbigh,  why  don't  you  ask  the 
Blessed  Virgin  to  help  you?  She's  the 
sweetest — the  dearest — and, then, don't  you 
know  '  it  never  has  been  heard  of,  through 
all  ages,  that  any  one  who  had  recourse  to 
Her  ever  was  forsaken '  ?  " 

"Who  said  so?"  asked  Denbigh,  as  he 
lay  back  spent  on  his  cot,  the  sweat  stand- 
ing on  his  forehead,  and  his  hands — once  so 
muscular — shaking  like  a  nervous  woman's. 

"St.  Bernard." 

"  Oh !  hang  it ! "  said  Denbigh ;  ' '  you  and 
your  saints ! ' '  And  he  flounced  over  in  a 
way  that  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 

But  in  the  night,  when  Sleep  fled,  and 
Memory  and  Pain  took  turns  at  tormenting 
him,  he  found  his  mind  dwelling  on  it — 
^  It  never  has  been  heard  of^  through  all 
cLges^  that  any  one  zvas  ever  forsaken,'^ 
And  they  called  Her  the  Mother  of  God. 
What  if  the  whole  thing  were  true — the 
story  of  Bethlehem  and  Calvary?  The 
coarsest,  lowest  man  in  the  world  is  bound 
to  have  some  feeling  for  his  mother:  and 
this  Man  they  called  Christ,  who  was  perfect 
enough  to  give  His  life  for  His  enemies, 
why,  of  course.  He'd  care  more,  thought 
Denbigh.    And  from  his  wild  heart  burst 


his  first  prayer  (if  prayer  it  could  be  called) : 
"God — if  there  is  one — give  me  this  life! 
Mary — if  you  can  and  will  hear  me — beg 
your  Son  to  do  it!" 

And  after  that  he  sent  this  challenge 
hurtling  up  to  Heaven  morning,  noon  and 
night;  sometimes  with  a  faint  hope,  some- 
times with  angry  impatience,  but  most 
often  with  despair,  as  the  days  and  weeks 
rolled  by,  and  Christmas  was  at  hand,  with 
the  blank  wall  of  silence  still  unbroken. 

The  25th  dawned  in  a  whirl  of  white — 
as  if  the  Angels  of  Peace  and  Good- will 
were  trying  to  shroud  away  the  crimson 
stains  on  valley  and  hill;    and  the  lusty 

wind 

"roared  sweet  thunders  up  to  God" 

among  the  pines  that  crowned  the  moun- 
tains. To  be  sure  the  hospital  carrier  could 
not  find  much  trace  of  Heaven  in  the  flakes 
that  sifted  into  his  neck,  and  the  blasts  that 
tweaked  his  nose  till  the  water  stood  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  floundered  through  the  drifts 
from  the  post;  but  he  was  doing  its  work, 
and  there  was  a  bit  of  its  practical  charity 
in  his  heart,  that  had  made  him  load  him- 
self and  his  horse  to  their  utmost  capacity 
with  the  Christmas  parcels  and  letters  for 
"the  boys,"  and  set  him  grinning  when- 
ever he  thought  of  their  surprise  and  joy 
when  he  would  stumble  in,  "looking  like 
old  Kriss  himself,  with  his  fine  wig  of  snow, 
and  his  pack  on  his  back." 

Oester  spied  him  first,  and  hurried  to 
meet  him,  followed  by  an  excited  throng 
of  such  men  as  could  hobble  or  go  on 
crutches,  and  by  the  shouts  and  questions 
of  such  as  had  to  "stay  put"  in  their  beds; 
and  when  among  the  letters  he  saw  one 
for  Denbigh,  in  Father  Ryan's  writing,  his 
heart  gave  a  great  leap;  for  all  his  Christ- 
mas devotions  and  prayers  had  gone  for  the 
' '  intention ' '  of  good  news,  and  hope  flamed 
high. 

He  laid  the  missive  on  the  trooper's 
breast — for  he  had  fallen  asleep,  worn  out 
with  waiting — and  passed  on  to  a  poor  fel- 
low whose  hands  were  off",  and  for  whom 
he  had  promised  to  write  a  letter  home, . 
wishin'  'em  many  happy  returns  of  the  day, 


456 


The  Ave  Maria, 


and  tellin'  'em  he'd  be  there  on  his  legs 
fast  enough, when  once  he  started;  but  that 
he'd  grown  too  proud  to  shake  hands  with 
anybody;  for  the  surgeons  admired  them 
paws  to  such  a  extent  that  they'd  put  'em 
in  spirits  as  specimens  of  good  looks. ' 

As  he  finished  his  dictation,  with  a  wide, 
cheerful  grin,  a  suppressed  shout  from  Den- 
bigh brought  the  boy  hurrying  down  the 
ward. 

' '  He' s  found !  he' s  found ! "  he  cried,  and 
from  that  iron  man's  eyes  the  tears  streamed, 
and  from  his  breast  a  sob  tore  its  way,  while 
the  little  bugler  pranced  feebly  but  gaily 
around  his  cot,  saying:  ''I  told  you  so!  I 
told  you  so!  I  knew  the  Blessed  Virgin 
would  find  him  for  you.   Where  is  he?" 

'*In  Anderson ville, "  replied  Denbigh; 
' '  and  if  your  God — ' ' 

' '  Leave  off  the  jj/,  Denbigh. ' ' 

^'Well,  then,  if — God  will  give  me  a 
chance,  I'll  try  to  do  the  square  thing;  and 
if  your  Lady — ' ' 

"Another  y  too  many,"  cackled  the 
youngster. 

And  Denbigh  lay  back,  with  a  softened 
look  on  his  grim  face,  too  happy  for  words. 

After  this  he  made  a  turn  for  the  better, 
talked  very  seriously  with  the  surgeon-in- 
charge  as  to  the  best  way  of  building  up 
quickly  and  soundly,  became  the  most  obe- 
dient of  patients,  and  took  to  watching  the 
weather  as  if  he  were  a  barometer  paid 
by  the  hour.  This  last  phase  puzzled  the 
young  doctor  not  a  little,  and  he  began  a 
paper  on  the  "Effects  of  H3^grometric 
Changes  upon  certain  Nervous  Tempera- 
ments ' '  ;  but  Oester  knew  that  when  the 
storms  beat,  and  the  frosts  nipped,  and  the 
long  winter  rains  drowned  the  land,  his 
thoughts  and  heart  were  away  in  the  open 
stockade  at  Andersonville,  with  the  freez- 
ing, starving,  unsheltered  men,  and  that  he 
was  suffering  for  and  with  the  one  who  was 
dying  there  that  he  might  live. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUKD.) 


Evil.,  like  a  rolling  stone  upon  a  mountain  top, 
A  child  may  first  set  off— a  giant  can  not  stop. 

— French, 


The  Judge  and  the  Caliph. 


The  Caliph  Hakkam  seized  upon  the 
little  field  of  a  poor  widow,  in  order  that  he 
might  add  it  to  the  gardens  of  his  palace; 
and  the  poor  woman  laid  her  complaint 
before  the  judge.  The  judge  saddled  his 
ass,  hung  a  large  sack  on  its  back,  and  rode 
off  to  the  caliph,  whom  he  found  walking 
in  his  new  pleasure-ground.  "Permit  me, 
sire,"  said  he,  "to  fill  this  sack  with  earth 
from  these  grounds."  Hakkam  assented, 
and,  when  the  sack  was  filled,  was  asked  by 
the  judge  to  help  him  lift  it  on  the  ass's 
back.  The  sack,  however,  was  too  heavy. 
' '  I  can  not  do  it, ' '  said  the  caliph ;  "  it  is  im- 
possible. "  "  Sire, ' '  replied  the  judge, ' '  this 
sack  contains  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
earth  you  took  from  the  poor  widow.  How, 
then,  will  you  bear  the  weight  of  all  of  it, 
which  the  Great  Judge  will  lay  upon  your 
shoulders  at  the  Last  Day  ? ' '  The  caliph 
was  struck  with  the  force  of  these  words. 
He  thanked  the  judge  for  his  admonition, 
and  restored  the  widow  her  inheritance. 


Haydn's  Answer. 


The  famous  musician  Joseph  Haydn  was 
the  son  of  a  poor  wheelwright  at  Rohrau, 
in  Lower  Austria.  His  father  played  on  the 
harp,  to  the  music  of  which  his  mother 
would  often  add  that  of  her  charming  voice. 
This  it  was  which  first  awoke  the  musical 
talents  of  the  great  composer. 

One  day,  when  he  was  in  company  with 
several  other  distinguished  musicians,  the 
question  arose  as  to  the  best  way  of  refresh- 
ing the  mind  when  one  is  wearied  with 
mental  labor.  ' '  For  my  part, ' '  said  one, ' '  I 
find  nothing  so  effective  as  a  glass  of  good 
wine."  Another  remarked:  "When  my 
ideas  begin  to  flag,  I  quit  my  work  and  go 
into  company. ' '  '  'And  how  is  it  with  ycu, 
Haydn?"  asked  one  of  his  companions.  ''I 
take  to  my  Rosary,  which  I  always  carry 
about  me, ' '  he  answered,  modestly.  ' 'After 
a  few  decades  I  am  sure  to  feel  refreshed 
both  in  body  and  in  mind. ' ' 


Vol.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  13,  1886.  No.  20 


{Copyright :— lUv.  D.  E.  Htjbboh,  C.  8.  C] 


A  Thought  for  a  Friend. 


BY    SYLVIA    HUNTING. 


O  pray  for  me! 
For  when  the  twilight  falls  I  think  of  thee; 
And  in  His  presence  bright 
The  thought  is  a  delight — 

Then  pray  for  me! 

II. 
O  pray  for  me! 
Thy  Father  is  above;  my  Father,  too; 
Thou  doest  well  what  thou  art  wont  to  do; 
Thy  soul  is  faithful,  all  thy  thoughts  are  true — 
Pray,  pray  for  me! 
III. 
O  pray  for  me! 
the  orderings  of  thy  life  are  straight  and  sure, 
The  pathways  for  thy  feet  are  sweet  and  pure; 
Ml  blessings  wait  thee:  I  am  sad  and  poor — 
Then  pray  for  me! 

IV. 

O  pray  for  me! 
Uways   my  thoughts  of  thee   are   born    in 
Heaven; 

At  morning,  noon  and  night  I  think  of  thee; 
Lnd  in  the  sweet  abundance  God  has  given, 
With  all  thy  tenderness,  it  can  not  be 
Thou  dost  not  pray  for  me. 


God  is  good  enough  and  great  enough  to 
ipply  for  everything.  When  all  abandons 
5,  let  us  abandon  all  to  Him.  —  Fen.  Mother 
arat. 


Philip's  Restitution. 


by  christian  reid. 

(Conclusion.) 
XXL 
HEN  Philip  reached  home — at  least 
the  house  which  had  been  home  to 
him  for  many  years,  but  which,  by 
the  terms  of  her  husband's  will,  was  now 
Mrs.  Thornton's  for  the  period  of  her  natural 
life — he  sent  a  message  to  Constance,  ask- 
ing if  he  might  see  her.  The  messenger  was 
long  in  returning,  but  presently  brought 
the  reply  that  Miss  Irving  would  see  him 
in  her  aunt's  sitting-room.  Remembering 
their  last  interview  in  that  room,  Philip 
almost  wished  that  she  had  chosen  another 
apartment;  but,  reminding  himself  that  it 
mattered  very  little  where  he  said  the  few 
words  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  say, 
he  went  up  stairs  and  entered  the  pretty 
boudoir. 

To  his  surprise  it  was  unoccupied,  and 
he  waited  several  minutes  before  a  door 
leading  into  his  aunt's  chamber  opened,  and 
Constance  made  her  appearance.  He  was  at 
once  struck  by  a  change  in  her,  which  was 
too  great  to  be  accounted  for  by  her  heavy 
mourning  draperies,  or  the  grief  they  indi- 
cated. He  had  hardly  met  her  since  her 
return,  save  on  the  memorable  occasion  at 
his  uncle's  bedside,  and  he  thought  that  he 
had  never  seen  any  one  so  much  altered. 
She  was  pale  and  thin,  her  eyes  were  heavy 


458 


The  Ave  Maria, 


as  if  from  many  tears,  and  her  manner  was 
nervous  and  restrained.  She  came  in,  gave 
him  her  hand  almost  without  a  word,  and 
then  sat  down  listlessly  in  a  chair  which  he 
drew  forward  for  her. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Philip, 
who  was  himself  calm  with  the  calmness 
of  resolution  and  despair,  hesitated  for  an 
instant,  hardly  knowing  how  to  open  the 
subject  which  must  be  discussed  between 
them ;  while  Constance,  after  a  brief  reply  to 
his  greetings,  looked  studiously  away  from 
him.  He  could  not  tell  that  she  was  mak- 
ing an  effort  for  self-control,  and  the  appar- 
ent indifference  of  her  manner  made  him 
think  that,  after  all,  he  might  as  well  plunge 
at  once  into  what  had  to  be  said.  Indeed, 
there  seemed  nothing  else  to  do,  and  there- 
fore he  began: 

' '  I  am  glad  that  you  have  been  able  to  see 
me,  Constance;  for  I  think  you  will  agree 
with  me  that  the  sooner  everything  is  set- 
tled between  us,  the  better. ' ' 

"Yes,"  answered  Constance,  without 
turning  her  head,  "I  certainly  agree  with 
you — the  sooner  it  is  settled,  the  better." 

''Then,"  said  Philip,  "may  I  understand 
that  you  are  ready  to  fulfil  the  engagement 
which  we  entered  into  at  my  nucleus  bed- 
side?" 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  rose 
abruptly  from  her  chair  and  faced  him. 
"Are  you  ready  on  your  side?"  she  de- 
manded. 

He  looked  surprised.  ' '  Surely  you  know 
that,"  he  said.  "My  promise  has  been 
given  to  my  uncle  and  to  you.  If  you  will 
marry  me,  Constance" — he  held  out  his 
hand — "I  will  do  all  that  is  in  my  power 
to  make  you  happy." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"I  suppose  you  gave  up  your  religious 
scruples  for  the  sake  of  the  fortune  which 
was  left,  undivided,  to  you.  You  did  wisely, 
for  now  you  can  enjoy  both  the  fortune  and 
the  scruples.    I — can  not  marry  you." 

"Constance!"  (He  drew  back  amazed.) 
' '  You  forget  your  promise ! ' ' 

"No,  I  do  not  forget,"  she  cried,  with 
sudden  passion.    "I  fear  I  shall  never  for- 


get! It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  deceive — to 
lie  to  the  dying;  and  that  I  did  from  sheer 
cowardice.  I  knew  when  I  promised  to 
marry  you  that  I  could  not  do  so." 

' '  But  why  not  ? — what  can  prevent  your 
marrying  me?" 

"The  simple  fact  that  I  am  married  to 
another  man. ' ' 

If  she  had  discharged  a  pistol  in  his  face 
he  could  not  have  been  more  astounded. 
Even  the  sense  of  relief  was  for  the  moment 
lost  in  overwhelming  surprise.  ' '  Married ! ' ' 
he  repeated.    ' '  When  ? — to  whom  ? ' ' 

"To  Jack  Bellamy, before  I  went  abroad. 
It  was  an  act  of  folly  that  I  have  repented 
— but  it  is  done." 

Done!  Then  he  was  free!  The  room  i 
seemed  whirling  around  with  Philip  in  the 
suddenness  of  this  realization — in  the  rush 
of  happiness  which  overpowered  him.  For 
a  minute  he  could  not  control  himself  suf- 
ficiently to  speak,  but  at  length  he  said, 
gently: 

"Will  you  not  sit  down  again,  and  let  us 
speak  of  this?  I  am  sorry  that  my  uncle 
did  not  know  it." 

"I  meant  to  tell  him,"  answered  Con- 
stance, sinking  into  her  chair, ' '  but  he  grew 
desperately  ill  so  quickly  at  the  last.  And 
when  he  spoke  to  me  that  awful  night, 
what  could  I  say?  It  seemed  shameful  to 
promise  what  I  knew  I  was  unable  to  per- 
form, but  how  could  I  —  then — tell  the 
truth?" 

"It  would  have  been  hard,"  said  Philip, 
"yet  harder  still  to  deceive — but  it  is  not 
my  place  to  blame  you.  Your  own  con- 
science, I  am  sure,  does  that.  Why  were 
you  ever  led  into  the  deception?  Both  my 
uncle  and  your  aunt  had  deserved  better  of 
you." 

' '  I  know — I  feel  it ! "  she  cried,  with  sud- 
den tears.  "It  was  folly,  and  worse.  But 
we  had  been  lovers — after  a  fashion— a  long 
time,  and  when  I  was  going  away  I  prom- 
ised for  the  first  time  to  marry  him.  He 
was  not  satisfied  with  that — men  are  so 
selfish !— but  he  followed  me  to  New  York, 
said  that  he  feared  to  lose  me,  and  persuaded 
me  in  an  hour  of  weakness  to  a  secret  mar- 


2'he  Ave  Maria. 


459 


1  lage,  which  I  have  repented  ever  since. ' ' 
"Forgive  me  if  I  ask  why  you  have  re- 
]  anted  it?  Is  it  because  you  have  ceased 
t )  love  him  after  having  bound  yourself  so 
i  Tevocably  ? ' ' 

''Oh!  no,"  she  answered;    "I  like  him 
as  well  as  ever.    But  see  the  difiSculties  in 
which  it  has  placed  me!    I  have  lived  in  a 
s':ate  of  anxiety,  I  have  deceived  my  uncle 
on  his  death-bed,  and  I  am  justly  punished 
I  by  being  left  in  exactly  the  position  which 
Ukept  my  marriage  a  secret  to  avoid." 
HI* You  mean  with  regard  to  fortune?" 
■^^*  Yes.   I  know  that  he  left  everything  to 
you,  believing  that  I  would  certainly  marry 
you ;  but  what  worse  could  he  have  done 
i  for  me  had  he  known  that  I  was  already 
married  to  Jack  Bellamy  ? ' ' 

"He  would  have  made  a  different  will 
in  that  case, ' '  said  Philip.  ' '  He  was  too 
just  and  too  generous  a  man  not  to  have 
given  you  a  share  of  his  fortune.  It  is  my 
great  happiness  that  I  have  the  power  to 
Igive  it  in  his  name.  We  will  make  an 
lequitable  division  of  the  property,  and  you 
Ishall  be  happy  with  the  man  of  your  own 
hoice. ' ' 

"Oh,  Philip!"  she  cried,  with  an  acces- 
sion of  emotion,  ' '  you  are  too  good !  I  have 
10  right  to  expect  it — my  uncle  never  meant 
t — would  never  have  wished  it — " 

"My  uncle  would  certainly  have  wished 

jt,"  said  Philip,  with  decision.    "He  would 

[lave  been  angry,  no  doubt,  when  he  learned 

|he  truth;  but  his  anger  would  no  more 

ave  lasted  in  your  case  than  it  did  in  mine, 

nd  in  the  end  he  would  have  done  what 

^as  right.    If  your  name  is  not  mentioned 

1  his  will,  it  was  because  he  thought  he 

ad  provided  for  you  by  our  engagement; 

id,  as  he  told  me  when  I  urged  a  diflferent 

rangement  on  him,  he  did  not  think  that 

woman  should  be  rendered  independent 

her  husband.    I  ventured  to  differ  with 

m  on  that  point,  however;  and  I  have 

hver  known  a  keener  pleasure  than  I  shall 

'd  in  settling  her  own  fortune  on  Mrs. 

llamy. ' ' 

"You  are  the  first  person  to  call  me  by 
t  It  name, ' '  she  said,  smiling  through  her 


tears.    "And  do  you  forgive  me  on  your 
part  for  the  deception  of  my  promise?" 

"My  dear  Constance,"  answered  Philip, 
gravely, ' '  I  not  only  forgive  you,  but  I  thank 
God  that  we  have  both  been  preserved  from 
the  greatest  of  human  ills — a  marriage 
without  love  or  sympathy.  Do  not  mistake 
me.  My  aflfection  for  you  is  most  sincere; 
but  I  am,  nevertheless,  certain  that  we 
should  have  been  miserable  in  that  relation, 
and  I  am  as  grateful  for  your  release  as  for 
my  own." 

' '  If  you  felt  in  that  way — if  you  believed 
that  we  should  have  been  miserable — you 
might  have  released  yourself,"  she  said,  a 
little  resentfully.  ' '  The  fortune  is  all  yours 
— there  is  no  condition  in  the  will.  Many 
men  would  not  have  hesitated." 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  Philip.  "There 
are  unfortunately  many  men  who  have  nei- 
ther conscience  nor  honor.  But  my  uncle 
knew  well  that  no  condition  could  bind  me 
so  firmly  as  my  own  promise.  That  I  should 
never  have  broken. ' ' 

Several  expressions  passed  across  her  face 
as  she  looked  at  him.  Perhaps  she  felt  how 
rock-like  was  such  honor  as  this — honor 
based  firmly  upon  conscience — contrasted 
with  her  own  weakness  and  deception.  She 
breathed  a  sigh  which  seemed  to  express 
some  such  feeling. 

' '  You  are  far  too  good  for  me, ' '  she  said, 
with  strange  and  unexpected  humility.  ' '  I 
am  of  the  world,  you  belong  to  something 
higher.  I  have  always  felt  it,  but  more  of 
late  than  ever.  Perhaps  we  have  grown 
farther  apart;  at  least  I  am  sure  that  it  is 
best  our  lives  should  be  joined  no  nearer." 

"It  is  certainly  best,"  replied  Philip, 
while  his  heart  echoed  the  words  in  a  deeper 
sense  than  she  could  understand.  ' '  My  poor 
uncle  himself  would  think  so  if  he  could 
know  all.  Now  I  will  go  and  see  Bellamy 
without  delay.  Does  he  know  of  your — 
promise  ?  " 

Constance  mournfully  indicated  assent. 
"He  has  been  tormenting  me — by  letters 
— ever  since  he  heard  a  report  of  it,"  she 
said.    ' '  I  have  had  no  peace  at  all. ' ' 

'  'And  have  you  told  my  aunt  the  truth  ? ' ' 


460 


The  Ave  Maria. 


* '  Not  yet.  I  wanted  first  to  see  how  you 
would  take  it — if  you  would  give  me  up  to 
utter  reprobation. ' ' 

Philip  smiled  slightly.  "Be  sure  that  I 
shall  never  cast  a  stone  at  you,"  he  said. 
' '  Poor  Constance !  your  looks  tell  that  you 
have  suflfered  enough.  Let  me  beg  you  to 
go  and  tell  your  aunt  at  once,  and  tell  her 
also  that  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  what  is  just 
toward  you. ' ' 

So  they  parted.  And  what  a  different  as- 
pect earth  and  heaven  wore  to  Philip's  eyes 
compared  to  that  which  they  had  worn  an 
hour  before !  The  relief  had  been  so  wholly 
unexpected,  the  change  so  wondrously 
great,  that  as  soon  as  he  lost  sight  of  Con- 
stance he  began  to  ask  himself  if  it  were 
not  all  a  dream,  from  which  he  would  awake 
to  a  hard  reality  of  sacrifice. 

In  order  to  make  sure  that  it  was  not, he 
went  to  see  Bellamy,  whom  he  found  look- 
ing as  pale  and  worn  as  Constance  herself. 
He  received  Philip  at  first  very  coldly,  but 
almost  broke  down  with  emotion  when  he 
learned  the  errand  on  which  he  had  come. 
' '  By  Jove,  I  began  to  think  that  she  meant 
to  throw  me  over  altogether! "  he  said.  ' '  I 
have  not  seen  her  since  her  return,  nor  had 
more  than  a  few  vague  lines.  I  did  not  wish 
to  force  her  to  acknowledge  the  marriage, 
yet  I  began  to  fear  that  I  should  have  to  do 
so.  It  has  been  a  very  trying  position — for 
me." 

"So  much  for  persuading  a  woman  to  a 
secret  marriage,"  thought  Philip;  but  he 
only  said  aloud:  "It  has  been  much  more 
trying  for  her.  When  my  uncle  was  dying 
he  asked  her  to  promise  that  she  would 
marry  me,  and  she  had  either  to  avow  the 
truth,  or  to  give  a  promise  that  she  could 
not  keep.  She  chose  the  latter,  and  it  is 
only  to-day  that  I  have  learned  the  facts  of 
the  case.  Unfortunately,  since  my  uncle 
died  under  a  wrong  impression  —  certain 
that  she  was  betrothed  to  me,  and  therefore 
that  her  future  was  assured — he  made  no 
provision  for  her  in  his  will.  But  this  I 
shall  change  at  once,  by  making  the  division 
of  the  property  that  he  would  have  made 
if  he  had  known  the  truth." 


"You  are  a  fine  fellow,  Thornton,"  said 
Bellamy,  much  moved.  "I  am  sure  you 
must  feel  as  strongly  convinced  as  I  do  that 
he  would  have  made  no  such  division.  But 
I  can  not  refuse  to  let  you  settle  on  Con- 
stance what  you  think  to  be  just.  She  has 
always  shrunk  so  from  the  thought  of  pov- 
erty— it  was  what  made  her  refuse  to  listen 
to  me  for  so  long,  and  what  sealed  her  lips 
with  regard  to  our  marriage — that  I  should 
be  sorry  now  to  condemn  her  to  the  nar- 
rowness of  means  which  she  dreaded.  For 
myself  I  should  not  mind  it;  I  should  pre- 
fer it  to  taking  money  that  Mr.  Thornton 
would  never  have  given.  But  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  insist  on  what  would  make 
her  regret  our  marriage. ' ' 

' '  You  would  have  n6  right  to  insist  on 
it, ' '  observed  Philip.  ' '  I  am  the  best  judge 
of  what  would  have  been  my  uncle's  wishes 
and  intentions,  and  I  am  confident  he  would 
in  the  end  have  done  what  was  right,  if 
Constance  had  dealt  frankly  with  him. 
What  he  has  left  undone,  I  shall  do  in  his 
name,  and  with  the  power  he  has  given  me. 
It  is  a  great  happiness  to  me,  I  assure  you." 

* '  I  really  believe  that  it  is, ' '  said  Bellamy, 
with  a  smile. 

And,  indeed,  Philip  felt  that  he  deserved 
no  credit  for   his   generosity.     He'  would 
gladly  have  given  not  only  the  half  but  the 
whole  of  his  fortune  for  the  freedom  that 
had  come  to  him.    When  he  left  Bellamy 
he  had  a  more  keenly  realizing  sense  of  this 
freedom,  and  he  turned  his  steps  at  once 
toward  Alice  Percival.    Yet  even  on  the 
way  he  paused.    It  was  when  he  reached 
the  church,  where  earlier  in  the  day  he  had 
so  despairingly  asked  for  strength  to  make 
the  sacrifice  which  seemed  appointed.    He 
had  found  the  strength,  and  he  had  been  i 
spared  the  sacrifice:  could  he  fail,  then,  to  j 
enter  and  offer  thanksgiving  where  he  had  \ 
asked  help?  He  turned  in  under  the  arched  | 
portal  of  the  door,  and  trod  softly  up  the  | 
aisle  in  the  soft  gloom  of  the  interior.   It 
chanced  to  be  the  same  church  which  Alice 
Percival  and  himself  had  entered  one  June 
evening,  to  ask  for  his  uncle  the  grace  which  | 
had  then  seemed  so  little  likely  to  be  gained 


The  Ave  Maria, 


461 


L 


The  recollection  carried  his  steps  to  the 
altar  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  there — he 
started  as  he  recognized  the  figure  kneeling 
before  it.    It  was  Alice  herself! 

She  did  not  stir  or  turn  her  head  at  his 
approach,  so  he  knelt  quietly  near  her,  and 
waited  for  her  recognition.  It  was  long  be- 
fore it  came,  and,  knowing  that  she  was 
asking  help  in  pain,  rather  than,  like  him-^ 
self,  returning  thanks  for  happiness,  Philip 
was  at  last  on  the  point  of  attracting  her 
ptention  when  she  rose  and  perceived  him. . 

Her  surprise  was  evidently  great.  He 
saw  the  sudden  enlarging  of  her  eyes,  the 
quick  pallor  of  her  face;  but  she  only  bent 
her  head,  and  with  a  quick  movement  passed 
him  by.  He  rose  at  once  and  followed  her. 
She  heard  his  step,  and  when  they  reached 
the  vestibule  paused  and  turned  toward 
him. 

"I  understand  why  you  are  here,"  she 
,aid;  "but  why  do  you  follow  me?  There 
is  nothing  more  for  us  to  say  to  each  other. ' ' 

' '  You  are  mistaken, ' '  replied  Philip,  with 
a  tremulous  smile;  "there  is  something 
more, — something  which  I  was  on  my  way 
to  tell  you  when  I  entered  here.  I  felt  that 
I  must  thank  God  even  before  I  told  you. 
And  have  I  not  need  to  thank  Him? — Alice, 
I  am  free ! " 

She  drew  back  from  his  eagerly  extended 
hand,  growing  still  paler.  ' '  How  can  that 
be?"  she  said.  "  How  is  it  possible  for  you 
to  be  freed  from  your  promise  to  the  dead  ? ' ' 

' '  Because  a  promise  that  can  not  be  ful- 
filled— to  the  fulfilment  of  which  there  is 
an  insurmountable  obstacle — does  not  bind 
me.  I  can  not  marry  Constance,  because  she 
is  already  married.  I  have  just  learned  the 
fact,  and  there  is  no  doubt  of  it. ' ' 

"Philip!" 

' '  Yes,  my  love.  God  has  been  good  to  us, 
and  the  sacrifice  which  we  were  ready  to 
make  is  not  demanded.  Have  I  not  cause 
to  be  thankful?  The  freedom  I  resigned  is 
restored  to  me,  and,  without  any  real  sacri- 
fice on  my  part,  all  that  I  desired  has  been 
gained:  my  uncle  died  in  the  Church,  and 
nade  the  restitution  but  for  which  I  could 
lever  have  dared  to  approach  you. ' ' 


It  was  she  now  who  held  out  her  hand. 
"The  sacrifice  was  as  real  in  the  sight  of 
God  as  if  its  fulfilment  had  been  possible," 
she  said.  ' '  Since  you  made  it  in  your  heart, 
.you  may  surely  feel  that  you  gained  for  him 
the  grace  of  which  he  had  need,  as  /  feel 
that  it  is  you  who  have  made  the  restitu- 
tion—  Ah,  not  a  word!  That  is  a  point  I 
shall  never  resign.  And  now  let  us  go  back 
for  a  moment,  to  thank  God  for  what  He 
has  given." 

"My  whole  life  must  thank  Him  for 
j<9?/,"  said  Philip,  as  he  opened  again  the 
inner  door,  and  they  passed  into  the  church 
together. 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


Under  the  Crescent. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


XII. — Prinkipo. 

THE  Islands  of  the  Blessed.— Ofif  in 
the  Sea  of  Marmora,  on  a  spring  morn- 
ing, the  eye  discovers  a  little  wreath  of 
islands,  floating,  apparently,  clould-like  in 
mid-air.  These  fairy  islands,  nine  in  num- 
ber, are  frequented  by  the  wealthy  Constan- 
tinopolitans,  who  seek  repose  in  the  lonely 
and  lovely  valleys,  where  the  sun  seems  to 
shine  forever;  where  the  harshest  sound 
that  falls  upon  the  ear  is  the  silvery  ring 
of  steel  as  the  husbandman  sharpens  his 
scythe  in  the  meadow,  or  the  chorus  of 
fisher-boys  singing  over  their  nets  on  the 
shore. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  a  half's  sail  from 
the  Golden  Horn  to  Prinkipo,  the  chief 
island  of  the  group;  yet,  once  beyond  the 
contagious  hurry  of  the  city,  you  find  your- 
self sinking  comfortably  into  one  of  the 
easy-chairs  on  deck,  inhaling  the  delicious 
sea- air,  and  absorbing  the  sunshine  with 
genuine  physical  delight.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  emperors  and  empresses  have  fled  to 
these  sea  islands  for  repose  and  for  security. 
It  seems  as  if  nothing  worldly  ought  to 
touch  their  shores;  and,  indeed,  the  steamer 


462 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  runs  over  and  back  across  the  sea, 
morning  and  evening,  is  the  only  sugges- 
tion of  an  earnest  and  vigorous  life. 

We  set  sail  in  the  morning,  and  find  our- 
selves almost  immediately  under  the  en- 
chanting influence  of  the  new  atmosphere. 
The  ripples  sparkle  in  the  sun;  a  few  sea- 
birds  wheel  on  lazy  wing  and  bear  us  com- 
pany ;  now  and  again  a  fish  leaps  from  the 
water:  the  white  gulls  scream  and  dart 
upon  it;  there  is  a  splash  in  the  track  of  the 
sun  where  the  sea  is  paved  with  gold,  and 
we  rouse  ourselves  from  a  reverie  as  deep 
almost  as  the  sea.  Nothing  comes  of  it ;  we 
fall  upon  a  basket  of  fruit  and  launch  a 
fleet  of  orange-peel  caiques  in  our  wake; 
we  roll  the  famed  tobacco  of  the  land  in 
wrappers  of  rice-paper,  and  sweeten  the  air 
with  the  aroma  thereof.  No  one  talks  much : 
everyone  seems  to  be  looking  with  con- 
tented eyes  into  the  future  or  the  past. 

We  swing  up  to  a  shallow  shore,  under 
green  hills,  where  a  narrow  dock  reaches 
far  out  into  deep  water.  This  is  Khalki, 
one  of  the  fairest  islands  of  the  group ;  but 
we  don't  land  here  to-day.  We. lean  over  the 
rail,  and  see  the  rope  thrown  lazily  ashore, 
and  as  lazily  caught  and  slipped  over  the 
one  post  on  the  dock.  Somebody  goes  on 
shore  very  quietly,  some  other  body  steps 
noiselessly  on  board;  we  are  cast  off"  with- 
out comment,  and  so  drift  on  toward  Prin- 
kipo. 

We  see  the  three  grassy  hills  of  Khalki, 
crowned  with  the  convents  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  St.  George,  and  the  Holy  Trinity. 
We  learn  that  there  are  students  there — 
Greeks  many  of  them ;  that  there  is  also  an 
Ottoman  naval  college  over  the  hill,  and 
that  Khalki  is  much  resorted  to  by  the 
rayahs — the  non-Mussulman  subjects  of  the 
Sultan.  It  seems  to  us  that  nothing  can  be 
finer  than  to  be  a  ray  ah  and  a  student,  and 
to  lie  all  day  on  those  green,  green  slopes, 
looking  off"  upon  the  sparkling  sea,  and  lis- 
tening to  the  study-bell  growing  ever  fainter 
and  fainter  as  we  fall  asleep,  lapped  in  a 
meadow  of  sweet  clover. 

Prinkipo  is  the  largest  of  the  Prince's 
Islands.    It  has  its  village  and  its  hotels, 


with  baths  along  the  shore  just  under  them. 
A  high  road,  in  capital  repair,  makes  the 
circuit  of  the  island;  a  swarm  of  donkey- 
boys  light  upon  you  as  you  come  to  land; 
and  it  were  vain  to  waive  them  back  or  seek 
to  fly  from  them,  for  they  will  track  you  to 
the  grave  or  get  their  fee. 

The  summer  village — a  colony  of  play- 
houses— is  so  neat,  so  pretty,  so  untroubled! 
Wreaths  of  flowers  hang  over  the  doors  and 
the  windows  of  almost  every  house.  So 
they  welcome  the  return  of  Spring  in  Prin- 
kipo. Stately  Turks  are  borne  up  and  down 
the  village  streets  in  sedan-chairs.  Pipe- 
bearers  follow  them,  and  from  time  to  time, 
as  the  pompous  effendi^oMts  his  hand,  his 
box  is  turned  toward  the  sea  in  a  shady  spot; 
the  stalwart  carriers  dash  the  sweat  from 
their  foreheads  and  squat  at  the  feet  of  their 
master;  the  pipe -boy  uncoils  the  pliant 
tube,  lays  a  live  coal  upon  the  bowl  of  the 
nargileh  as  it  sits  in  the  grass,  and  the  next 
half  hour  is  given  to  serene  and  secret 
thoughts.  A  prince  in  the  Isle  of  Princes 
is  a  man  to  put  your  faith  in;  you  will  al- 
ways know  just  where  to  look  for  him,  and 
you  may  be  sure  that  he  takes  no  interest 
in  the  aff"airs  of  other  men,  and  that  noth- 
ing can  disturb  the  placidity  of  his  life — 
unless  the  bottom  should  suddenly  drop  out 
of  his  sedan-chair. 

We  hired  a  set  of  donkey- boys  to  walk 
behind  us  at  a  respectful  distance.  Alone 
we  did  it, — one  after  the  other,  idling  here 
and  there,  getting  astray  in  the  vineyards, 
hiding  among  rose-gardens,  pausing  to  in- 
hale the  warm  odors  steeping  in  the  sun, 
or  to  catch  the  refrain  of  some  singer  buried 
in  the  wood  on  the  hill. 

There  is  a  Greek  convent  above  the  road 
hidden  like  a  nest  in  a  deep  hollow.  When 
the  Empress  Irene,  a  contemporary  of  Char- 
lemagne and  Haroun-al-Raschid,  was  de- 
throned, she  was  robbed  of  all  the  treasures 
of  the  crown,  and  then  banished  to  this 
convent,  which  herself  had  built.  Later  she 
was  sent  to  Lemnos,  and  there  died;  but  her 
body  was  brought  hither,  and  is  still  treas- 
ured in  this  convent.  When  the  conquerors 
of  Constantinople  scattered  the  dust  of  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^5 


Byzantine  emperors  to  the  winds,  the  sar- 
cophagus of  Irene  alone  escaped  destruc- 
tion. 

High  on  a  summit  of  a  peak  in  Prinkipo 
there  is  a  cloister  and  a  kitchen.  Our  path 
lay  through  a  fragrant  forest;  we  caught 
glimpses  of  broad  blue  seas  and  of  islands 
that  swam  below  us  as  we  climbed  toward 
the  summit  of  the  peak.  Here,  in  an  arbor 
that  hung  upon  the  edge  of  space,  a  monk 
served  us  bread  and  wine  and  omelet.  He 
also  brought  the  consoling  nargileh^  and  as 
we  feasted  and  fattened  we  looked  down 
upon  a  picture  that  can  never  fade  from 
memory. 

If  ever  islands  floated,  these  islands  float. 
They  are  the  haunts  of  flying  islanders,  and 
that  is  why  the  air  is  so  still  and  so  restful 
and  so  magical.  On  the  one  hand,  the  sea 
and  sky  lie  down  together,  and  on  the  other 
the  glamour  of  Stamboul  illuminates  the 
hoiizon  like  a  mirage.  In  the  distance  we 
discover  the  little  boat  returning  for  us. 
She  sits  like  a  bird  upon  the  water  with 
foam -white  tail-feathers  and  long,  dark 
wings  of  smoke.  Think  of  saying  farewell 
to  these  dream-nooks  of  the  world — think 
of  plunging  again  into  new  fields,  with  the 
consciousness  that  you  have,  in  all  human 
probability,  seen  the  best,  and  that  one  ex- 
perience laid  so  soon  upon  another  is  sure 
to  deaden  the  flavor  of  both ! 

Like  sea- flowers,  the  islands  seem  to  drift 
jiway  from  us,  and  in  secret  I  am  half  con- 
|/inced  that  yonder,  between  sea  and  sky, 
ies  Avalon ;  and  yonder,  within  the  magic 
drcle  of  the  waves,  sleep  the  Happy  Isles, 
he  Islands  of  the  Blessed! 


XIII.— Scutari. 

Chrysopolis. — As  the  day  is  uncom- 
lonly  fair  we  take  a  run  over  to  Asia.  There 

something  appetizing  in  the  thought  of 

icknicking  on  another  continent,  and  get- 

ng  back  before  sundown,  so  we  hasten 

that  famous  Bridge  of  Boats.    All  the 

eamers  start  from  it,  and  we  select  our 

le  with  some  caution ;  for  it  would  not  be 

fficult  to  go  astray  in  the  confusion  that 
1  ods  this  thoroughfare  from  dawn  to  dusk. 


We  steam  directly  across  the  Bosporus  to 
the  Asiatic  coast — that  point  of  land  was 
called  the  Bosporus  (the  Boss- ford);  for  it 
was  just  here  that  lo,  transformed  into  a 
cow,  swam  over  from  the  opposite  shore. 
A  rock  in  the  middle  passage,  crowned  with 
a  beacon- tower,  is  called  the  Tower  of  Le- 
ander.  Now.  Leander  swam  the  Hellespont^ 
and  not  the  Bosporus;  but  the  Turkish  tale 
that  hangs  thereby  is  more  popular.  Sultan 
Mahmoud  imprisoned  one  of  his  mistresses 
in  the  White  Tower.  For  this  reason  the 
Turks  still  know  it  as  Kis-Koulissi — the 
Tower  of  the  Maiden. 

Scutari,  which  is  quite  a  city  by  itself, 
though  reckoned,  a  suburb  of  Constanti- 
nople, is  of  the  ancient  Persian  origin.  It 
was  called  Chrysopolis  (the  Golden  City), 
perhaps  because  the  Attic  commanders  used 
to  levy  a  toll  of  one-tenth  on  all  the  vessels 
and  goods  passing  by  from  the  Eux.ne — 
so  says  Xenophon,  and  he  ought  to  know; 
for  he  and  his  Greek  auxiliaries  made  a 
seven  days'  halt  at  Chrysopolis  on  their 
return  from  the  campaign  against  Cyrus, 
and  they  here  disposed  of  their  booty. 
Xenophon  wouldn't  know  the  place  now: 
the  walls  are  down,  and  a  crowd  of  hack- 
men  await  the  arrival  of  the  hourly  ferry, 
each  man  eager  to  secure  a  passenger  for 
the  great  cemeteries,  or  the  Hill  of  Bool- 
goorloo. 

BoOLGOORLOO. — We  pick  our  carriage 
and  drive  leisurely  through  the  pretty  town. 
Ox  teams  stop  the  way  from  time  to  time; 
the  barbers  sit  under  the  trees  shaving  the 
native  youth — >  oung  fellows  who  seem  to 
relish  this  public  proof  of  their  claim  to 
manhood.  Fruit- sellers  cry  after  us,  and  we 
are  tempted  to  fill  our  laps  with  cherries 
and  strawberries;  for  it  is  a  long  pull  to  the 
top  of  Boolgoorloo.  We  drive  as  far  as  we 
can,  leave  the  town  behind  us,  and  are 
charmed  with  the  handsome  villas  of  the 
wealthy  Moslems.  Some  of  them  have  their 
own  little  mosques,  and  a  private  minaret, 
not  much  larger  than  a  smoke-stack.  We 
pass  through  villages  with  great  fountains 
at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  where  dervishes 
— the  Mohammedan  monks — dip  water  and 


464 


The  Ave  Maria. 


offer  it  to  the  thirsty,  who  await  their  turn 
with  amiable  resignation. 

By  and  by  the  road  tips  up  at  such  an 
uncomfortable  angle  that  we  are  glad  to 
descend  from  the  trap  and  foot  it  to  the 
hill-top.  The  hill  itself  can  boast  little  but 
a  name;  that  name,  Boolgoorloo,  is  not  to 
be  sneezed  at.  I  wonder  what  it  means? 
There  is  a  diminutive  convent  a-top  of  it, 
with  a  couple  of  dervishes,  who  beguile  the 
strangers  into  a  kitchen-garden,  and  then 
offer  them  a  bouquet  of  gilly- flowers,  and 
demand  a  backsheesh  in  return.  A  grave  in 
this  garden  is  said  to  date  from  the  days  of 
Constantine.  As  it  is  simply  a  hole  in  the 
ground,  the  statement  seems  not  improba- 
ble— the  hill  is  much  older  than  that. 

The  ladies  of  all  lands  flock  to  Boolgoor- 
loo and  eat  strawberries.  They  look  at  the 
graves  in  the  convent  garden,  and  some  of 
them  erect  little  sticks  with  a  strip  of  rag 
at  half-mast,  which  is  a  sure  cure  for  tooth- 
ache and  the  like.  They  wander  among  the 
heather,  that  is  fresh  and  hardy  and  fra- 
grant; then  they  turn  about  on  their  heels 
and  take  in  panoramic  slices  of  the  land- 
scape, and  finally  go  home  with  their  hearts 
full  of  satisfaction  and  their  arms  full  of 
flowers. 

But  why  call  up  that  magical  city  over 
the  sea?  It  is  very  splendid  to  look  upon; 
and  yonder  is  Olympus — the  snowy  Olym- 
pus of  Homer  and  of  all  the  gods.  It  looks 
down  upon  Stamboul  and  the  Buxine,  and 
over  upon  the  desolate  plain  of  Troy,  and 
has  a  thousand  storied  islands  at  its  feet;  a 
great,  white  throne  is  Olympus, but  the  gods 
storm  about  it  no  longer,  wrought  to  divine 
fury.  As  it  was  once  their  garden,  it  is  now 
their  grave — an  immeasurable  pyramid  of 
snow! 

The  ancient  emperors  had  hunting  pal- 
aces on  the  slopes  of  Boolgoorloo,  and  down 
yonder  at  the  sea's  edge  is  Kedi-Keni,  where 
stood  the  temple  of  the  gods;  and  there  also 
was  a  palace  and  a  villa  of  Belisarius,  who 
ended  his  days  in  the  tranquil  enjoyment 
of  his  dividends,  and  was  not  a  vagrant  with 
no  visible  means  of  support,  as  has  been 
slanderously  stated. 


Among  the  Dead. — At  the  base  of  Bool- 
goorloo there  is  a  black  sea  of  cypresses. 
The  wind  that  sweeps  over  it  awakens  a 
deep  murmur  that  is  as  the  sound  of  many 
waters.  This  is  the  great  Turkish  cemetery 
of  Scutari.  It  is  said  that  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  Constantinople  does  not  exceed 
a  twentieth  part  of  the  dead  that  sleep 
under  those  cypresses.  It  is  a  wilderness 
of  trees,  set  so  close  together  that  their 
branches  are  matted  overhead,  and  scarcely 
a  ray  of  sunlight  penetrates  them.  Carriage 
roads  wind  through  and  through  the  mel- 
ancholy wood.  But  for  these  dimly  lighted 
avenues  one  might  easily  get  lost  among 
the  millions  of  stumbling-blocks  that  mark 
the  graves  beneath. 

Your  Turkish  grave  is  fantastical.  When 
it  is  fresh  and  green  it  glories  in  a  monu- 
ment like  a  hitching-post — round,  high- 
shouldered,  with  a  cap  over  all,  and  is  brill- 
iant in  red  or  green  paint.  You  will  know 
the  male  from  the  female  by  the  knob  on  it. 
Your  male  in  death,  even  as  in  life,  never 
takes  his  fez  off;  the  fezless  one  is  a  woman; 
the  half-length  is  a  boy;  they  lie  side  by 
side,  never  two  in  a  grave,  never  put  down 
in  layers  as  in  England  and  other  Christian 
countries. 

I  have  seen  the  Turk  in  his  pride  spit 
at  ' '  the  dog  of  a  Christian, ' '  who  was  wan- 
dering about,  stocking- footed,  through  a 
mosque, — a  mosque  that  was  once  a  church 
of  God,  and  not  of  the  Prophet.   I  have  seen  j 
that  portly  Moslem  laid  low  in  his  grave  I 
at  Scutari,  and  a  post  driven  over  his  head, 
— a  post  of  such  magnificence  that  in  form 
and  feature  it  was  not  unlike  a  gigantic 
sch7iapps  bottle  overlaid  with  gold.    His| 
friends  came   and   took   coffee  under  the  j 
shadow  of  his  monument,  and  the  world  | 
wagged  well;  but  by  and  by  love  that  per- 
isheth  away  took  cofiee  up  town.  The  tough 
thistle  sprang  from  the  bones  of  the  Turk, 
and  the  dust  that  covered  that  sepulchre 
was  never  again  disturbed. 

It  seems  strange  to  find  the  Turks  so  fond 
of  the  shadow  of  death — if  I  may  so  call  the 
gloomy  groves  of  Scutari, — and  yet  so  neg- 
lectful of  their  dead.   They  will  swarm  to 


The  Ave  Maria, 


465 


he  cemetery  and  spend  the  whole  day  in 
(  ating,  drinking,  and  smoking — revelling 
:  1  the  midst  of  the  tombs.  They  will  invite 
(  ne  another  from  grave  to  grave,  and  pre- 
smt  coffee  and  pipes  in  the  most  festive 
rianner.  Indeed,  you  have  only  to  knock 
at  a  headstone,  and  you  are  sure  of  a  warm 
welcome.  But  they  will  not  pluck  the  rank 
veeds  that  flourish  in  that  fattening  soil, 
nor  set  up  the  monument  that  sta^^gers  and 
is  a  shame  to  them ;  they  will  not  even  turn 
out  the  jack  or  jenny  that  stands  knee-deep 
in  the  loam,  and  rubs  an  ear  against  the 
wooden  fez  of  the  late  head  of  the  family. 
All  through  the  dark  valley  there  are 
small  cafes^  thronged  with  weary  pilgrims, 
who  thus  cheer  their  solitary  journey  to 
the  tomb.  There  are  strolling  minstrels 
also,  who  entertain  the  mourners  with  the 
poems  of  Hafiz,  and  dancers  with  a  dance 
of  death  that  gives  delight  to  the  living. 

Beggars  line  the  way — Turkish  a'rocities 
not  easily  to  be  recognized  as  human.    I 
saw  three  blind  men  sitting  in  a  row, shoul- 
der to  shoulder;  their  legs  were  crossed  in 
the  dust  of  the  roadside;  their  hands  were 
aised  in  supplication,  and  their  heads  lolled 
ipon  their  shoulders  as  they  rocked  their 
Dodies  to  and  fro,  and  sang  a  pitiful  terzo. 
\  dish  in  front  of  them  received  from  time 
0  time  a  small  tribute  of  copper;  but  the 
Id  men  sang  on,  oblivious  of  the  idlers  who 
ingered  near  them,  oblivious  of  all  things 
arthly — if  their  withered  faces  did  not  be- 
ie  them.  Again  I  could  think  only  of  those 
jlinded  quail  who  pipe  night  and  day  in 
leir  cages,  and  at  whose  call  the  free  birds 
ather — but  who  knows  of  what  the  blind 
uail  in  his  cage  is  singing? 
There  is  one  tomb  at  Scutari  that  is  more 
)lendid  than  all  the  others.     A   canopy, 
ipported   by  six  columns,  covers  it,  and 
^neath  it  lie  the  remains  of  Sultan  Mah- 
cud's  favorite  mare. 

When  the  coffee  is  cold  and  the  pipes 
ale  we  turn  from  the  dusky  valleys  of 
press,  and,  as  the  desolation  of  the  place 
ows  more  and  more  oppressive,  I  am  re- 
inded  of  the  Ottoman  curse,  which  seems 
have  been  fulfilled  to  the  uttermost  in 


this  populous  city  of  mortality — you  re- 
member it? — "  May  jackasses  bray  on  the 
graves  of  your  ancestors ! ' ' 

In  Memoriam. — Not  far  away  is  an- 
other burial-ground,  vastly  different  in  all 
particulars.  It  is  open  to  the  sunshine — a 
green  lawn  sloping  to  the  sea,  and  planted 
with  roses  and  willows  and  the  yew.  The 
white  stones  glisten  among  the  foliage; 
everything  is  as  trim  and  tidy  and  decent- 
looking  as  one  wishes  it  to  be.  There  are 
costly  tombs  and  modest  ones,  and  in  the 
centre  is  a  memorial  column  with  sculpt- 
ured angels  supporting  it;  but  there  is  a 
billowy  waste  of  green  mounds  with  no 
stones  to  tell  their  tale,  and  there  sleep 
8,000  nameless  dead  who  died  for  England 
in  that  terrible  Crimean  War. 

There  are  rows  of  graves  with  simple 
headstones,  on  which  are  recorded  a  few 
lines  full  of  agony.  You  read  again  and 
again  these  inscriptions  in  memory  of 
young  officers,  with  ages  ranging  from 
eighteen  to  twenty-eight  years,  who  bravely 
fell  at  this  or  that  battle,  or  wasted  in  the 
hospital,  or  who  died  at  sea.  These  stones 
are  usually  "erected  by  his  comrades,"  and 
they  all  lie  within  sight  of  that  hospital, 
now  a  barrack,  where  Florence  Nightingale 
did  her  labor  of  love. 

The  waning  light  of  the  afternoon  sleeps 
on  that  hallowed  slope;  the  waves  sing  be- 
low it.  The  islands  hang  like  clouds  upon 
the  face  of  the  waters,  and  Stamboul  un- 
veils her  splendor,  which  is  mirrored  in  the 
tranquil  sea.  Turning  from  all  this  sensu- 
ous beauty,  my  eye  falls  upon  a  solitary 
slab;  it  bears  in  bold  relief  an  inscription 
that  takes  me  by  storm.  I  think  of  the 
flower  of  England,  young,  brave,  impetu- 
ous, hurled  upon  the  fire  of  the  enemy  and 
ignominiously  sacrificed;  and  I  read  again 
that  last  appeal  of  one  of  those  ill-fated  lads, 
and  I  believe  that  such  a  prayer  will  not 
pass  unheeded— it  is  only  this :  "  I  am  Thine 

— save  me!" 

(to  be  continued.) 


He  is  worthy  of  honor  who  willeth  the 
good  of  every  man. — Cicero. 


466 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Palms, 


BY    ANNA    HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XVIII.— (Concluded.) 

JUST  then  a  great,  rose- colored  butterfly 
fanned  Fabian's  hair,  and  fluttered  down 
against  his  cheek,  made  fearless  by  his 
perfect  repose  and  silence.  He  lifted  his 
hand  and  caught  it  by  the  tips  of  its  wings, 
then  offered  it  to  Claudia;  in  another  mo- 
ment the  beautiful,  frightened  captive  trem- 
bled on  her  palm,  where  it  slowly  waved 
its  wings  once  or  twice,  to  assure  itself  that 
it  was  indeed  at  liberty ;  she  brushed  them 
with  a  kiss,  then  tossed  it  into  the  air,  and 
watched  it  drifting  and  quivering  farther 
and  farther,  until  it  disappeared  in  the 
golden  haze. 

"Now  I  wait  the  reward  of  my  patience; 
I  am  consumed  with  curiosity  about  the 
promised  keepsake,  all  the  more  because  no 
one  has  ever  before  valued  me  sufficiently 
to  give  me  one,"  said  Fabian,  who  had  been 
watching  her,  almost  fancying  that  Psyche 
herself  had  sent  the  butterfly  to  afford  him 
an  opportunity  to  change  the  conversation 
without  abruptness. 

"I  had  not  forgotten,"  she  said,  gently; 
then  untied,  one  by  one,  the  silken  cords 
that  confined  the  package,  which  contained 
two  parcels  of  unequal  size,  both  sealed. 

"This,"  she  said,  taking  up  the  larger 
one,  "is  the  music-bird  that  was  given  to 
me  a  histrum  ago,  by  that  gentle  old  man 
who  came  to  see  if  he  could  cure  my  eyes  " 

"The  physician  Ben  Asa,"  replied  Fa- 
bian.   "I  remember." 

"  It  had  been  the  plaything  of  his  own 
little  girl,  who  was  dead,  and  he  said  it  had 
been  in  his  family  hundreds  of  years,"  she 
went  on;  "so  I  think  it  must  have  been 
very  precious  to  him.  I  want  it  given  back 
to  him,  with  my  love  and  thanks,  after  I  go 
awa}  ;  and  tell  him,  Fabian,  I  prized  it  very 
much,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  it." 

"Is  it  not  just  possible,  carina^  thou 
mayest  be  disappointed  of  thy  expected 
journey  ?   People  often  are,  even  when  most 


certain  of  going,"  he  observed,  with  a  ring 
of  impatience  in  his  voice;  for  it  seemed  as 
if  Fate  with  cruel  insistence  hemmed  him, 
leaving  him  no  escape  from  his  pain ;  ' '  but  I 
promise  in  either  case,  whatever  thou  wilt." 

"Thou  art  always  kind,  Fabian.  This," 
she  said,  giving  him  the  smaller  package, 
"is  thy  keepsake.  It  is  a  rich  jewel,  and 
entirely  my  own  to  do  with  as  I  please,  and 
I  have  woin  it.  Do  not  open  it  until — I  am 
no  longer  here.  That  is  all,  Fabian,  except 
that  I  would  thank  thee  for  all  thy  love  and 
kindness." 

He  bowed  his  head  over  the  little  hand 
that  presented  the  gift,  and  touched  it  with 
his  lips,  with  a  feeling  of  reverence  such  as 
he  had  never  felt  towards  the  gods;  but  he 
did  not  speak — this  man,  whose  philosophy 
boasted  itself  of  immunity  from  all  disturb- 
ing emotions,  who  had  believed  happiness 
on  earth  possible  until  now.  His  heart  felt 
as  heavy  as  lead,  and  had  he  opened  his  lips 
all  the  bitterness  of  his  sorrow  would  have 
found  vent.  He  thrust  the  things  she  had 
given  him  into  the  bosom  of  his  tunic,  and 
walked  away  a  short  distance,  when,  having 
mastered  his  emotions,  he  plucked  a  tall, 
snow-white  lily,  and  going  back  placed  it 
in  her  hands,  saying: 

"Thy  words  have  pained  me,  little  one; 
but  I  take  comfort  in  the  fact  that  thou  art 
no  sibyl.  I  will  treasure  thy  keepsake  while 
I  have  breath,  but  one  of  thy  golden  curls 
would  be  more  precious  to  me  than  jewels; 
for  it  would  remind  me,  after  thou  art 
grown  up,  that  thy  beautiful  childhood  was 
not  a  dream." 

"Thou  shalt  have  thy  choice  of  them 
all,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  as  she  ruffled 
her  dainty,  dimpled  hand  through  them; 
"Zilla  shall  cut  one  for  thee  as  soon  as  we 
get  back." 

"Let  us  hurry,  then ;  the  sun  grows  hot, 
and  fever  lurks  in  those  soft  winds  now 
drifting  to  us  over  the  Pontine  mavshes.  We 
have  loitered  here  too  long,"  he  added. 

When  they  got  back,  expecting  to  find 
Zilla  in  the  same  place,  she  and  the  chil- 
dren, with  Grillo  had  disappeared ;  the  noble 
lady  Camilla  had  just  arrived,  and  was  step- ; 


The  Ave  Maria. 


467 


)ing  from  her  chariot.  Claudia  flew  to  greet 

ler;  and  Fabian,  after  an  interchange  of 

^  aUitation  and  pleasant  words,  went  away 

^  nthout  the  golden  tress,  which  not  until  a 

liter  day  came  into  his  possession. 

That  night,  feeling  that  solitude  best 
.'uited  his  present  mood,  he  sat  alone,  trying 
to  concentrate  his  attention  on  a  favorite 
comedy,  and  find  his  usual  enjoyment  in 
its  pungent,  satirical  wit;  but  the  flavor  was 
wanting;  his  zest  was  gone;  even  the  rustle 
•of  the  vellum  on  which  it  was  written  irri- 
tated him,  and  made  him  start.  A  voice 
that  he  recognized,  and  approaching  foot- 
steps, made  him  turn  expectant  towards  the 
•entrance  of  his  cabinet;  the  curtain  was 
drawn  aside,  and  Nemesius  was  ushered  in. 
Their  hand- clasp  was  as  warm,  their  greet- 
ing as  sincere  and  friendly  as  ever,  though 
distinguished  by  a  gravity  different  from 
their  former  intercourse;  nor  was  the  visit 
one  for  the  purpose  of  social  enjoyment,  as 
Nemesiu-  presently  explained.  He  brought 
with  him  certain  legal  papers,  drawn  ac- 
cording to  the  strictest  interpretation  and 
formula  of  the  Roman  law,  which  he  asked 
Fabian,  in  the  name  of  their  life-long  friend- 
ship, to  preserve  until  such  time  as  the  be- 
quests therein  indicated  could  be  disposed 
of,  first  by  the  written  and  later  by  his 
verbal  instructions. 

He  went  over  them  carefully,  word  by 

word,  with  Fabian,  that  in  the  future  there 

should  be  no  misunderstanding  as  to  the 

conditions,  which  might  cause  the  latter  to 

think  his  friendship  had  been  strained  too 

far  at  a  moment  and  under  circumstances 

which    greater    deliberation   would    have 

made  it  impossible  for  him  to  accept.  There 

was  no  fear  of  a  mistake :  it  was  all  plain  to 

lini;  and,  though  the  situation  was  anom- 

)lous,  he  pledged  himself  to  hold  as  his 

)wn,  according  to  the  written  bequest,  and 

is  the  heir  of  Nemesius,  the  old  palace  with 

.11  it  contained,  and  the  villa  and  estate  on 

he  Aventine,  until  such   time  as  by  the 

atter's  verbal  wish  they  could  be  safely 

ransferred  to  the  Christian  Church,  to  be 

pplied  to  her  needs  at  the  discretion  of  her 

signing  Pontiff". 


The  pagan  gentleman  made  no  difficulty 
about  holding  in  trust  a  heritage  for  the 
Christians;  he  would  have  done  more  for 
the  sake  of  the  man  he  loved;  but  that  was 
all  that  was  required,  but  not  all  that  he 
afterwards,  with  splendid  generosity  and 
noble  unselfishness,  offered  to  do. 

Nemesius  had  already  liberated  his  nu- 
merous slaves,  giving  a  provision  to  all,  to 
enable  them  to  tide  over  their  first  days  of 
freedom, until  they  should  find  self-support; 
he  had  turned  his  gold  and  silver  and  jewels 
into  the  treasury  of  the  persecuted  Church, 
for  the  use  of  the  poor;  and  now,  like  an 
athlete  divested  of  all  that  might  impede 
his  victory,  he  waited  for  the  final  combat. 
It  had  cost  him  nothing  to  give  up  his 
earthly  possessions,  but  there  was  a  some- 
thing more  precious  than  all  yet  to  be  of- 
fered before  his  sacrifice  was  perfect,  which 
would  strain  every  fibre  of  his  being,  and 
rend  his  nature  with  an  anguish  which  no 
material  implement  of  torture,  however 
savage, — which  no  death,  however  cruel, 
could  inflict.  But  he  knew  in  whom  he 
trusted ;  he  remembered  Gethsemane,  and 
that  moment  of  supreme  desolation  on  the 
Cross  that  crowned  Christ's  holy  Passion. 
In  Him  he  hoped,  waiting  His  holy  will, 
strong  in  faith,  and  willing  to  suffer  all 
things  in  testimony  thereof. 

CHAPTER  XIX.— By  the  Way  of  the 
Cross  They  Win  Their  Palms. 

"I  have  come,  dear  child,"  said  Camilla, 
as  they  entered  the  cool,  shaded  atrium^ 
"to  stay  until  the  sun  gets  low;  then  thou 
wilt  come  with  me  to  my  old  villa  out  near 
the  Via  Latina,  where  thy  noble  father 
and  my  husband  Tertullus  will  meet  us. 
The  holy  Pontiff  has  signified  a  wish  to  see 
thee.    Wil  t  thou  come  ? ' ' 

' '  Oh,  jo}  fully !  I  have  thought  constantly 
of  the  holy  rnan,  and  that  day  that  seemed 
to  be  the  first  of  my  life.  And  his  face 
was  the  first  I  saw  when  my  eyes  were 
opened.  Thou  art  very  kind,  dear  lady,  to 
a  foolish  child,"  said  Claudia,  kissing  the 
hand  she  held. 

To  kneel  once  more  at  the  Pontiff"' s  feet 


468 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  feel  his  benediction,  like  a  perfumed 
flame, penetrating  her  heart,  while  it  glowed 
and  sang  its  new  song  to  Him  whose  name 
was  graven  upon  it,  and  to  know  that  her 
father  would  be  there  to  share  her  happi- 
ness, was  almost  too  much;  only  the  lan- 
guage of  Heaven  could  voice  her  felicity; 
and,  although  she  made  no  attempt  to  give 
it  expression,  it  irradiated  her  countenance, 
scintillated  in  her  eyes,  smiled  upon  her 
lips,  and  crowned  her  altogether  with  a 
strange,  spiritualized  loveliness,  of  which 
she  was  as  unconscious  as  is  a  flower  when 
the  glory  of  the  sunshine  rests  upon  it. 

"I  thought  it  would  make  thee  glad," 
said  the  noble  matron,  noting  the  celestial 
expression  of  her  countenance,  while  she 
thought :  ' '  How  near  the  highest  wisdom  is 
the  foolishness  of  a  pure  and  innocent  soul ! ' ' 
Two  of  the  household  slaves  now  entered, 
each  bearing  a  tray,  one  of  which  held 
crystal  cups  of  snow-cooled  orange  juice, 
light,  sweet  cakes,  great,  golden  pears,  and 
clusters  of  white  and  purple  grapes;  on 
the  other  were  broidered  napkins  of  fine 
Egyptian  linen,  two  small  gold  basins  con- 
taining perfumed  water,  and  garlands  of 
summer  lilies  and  Damascus  roses.  After 
arranging  the  refreshments  on  a  malachite 
table,  whose'green,  highly-polished  surface 
gave  beautiful  effect  to  the  viands,  they 
withdrew;  and  Claudia,  always  a  gracious 
hostess,  invited  her  friend  to  the  light  re- 
past, which  the  summer  heat  made  espec- 
ially grateful. 

Camilla  had  risen  at  an  early  hour  that 
morning,  to  assist  at  the  divine  Sacrifice  of 
the  Altar  in  the  palace  of  a  friend  who  was 
a  recent  convert  to  Christianity — a  widow, 
whose  two  half-grown  daughters  received 
baptism  at  the  same  time  as  herself.  She 
gave  secret  shelter  to  a  priest,  and  one 
or  two  converts  of  the  patrician  class,  on 
whom  the  authorities  determined  to  take 
signal  vengeance  as  soon  as  they  could  be 
hunted  down.  Many  of  the  ancient  palaces 
of  Rome  had  been  constructed  with  con- 
cealed places  of  refuge  within  their  walls,  to 
which  their  inmates  could  fly  for  safety  in 
times  of  invasion  and  violence.    This  and 


one  or  two  others  like  it  had  become  not 
only  hiding-places  for  the  persecuted 
priests,  but  sanctuaries  where  the  mystery 
of  the  Holy  Eucharist  was  often  celebrated. 

When  the  Divine  Sacrifice  was  finished, 
and  each  devout  soul  had  received  the 
Bread  of  Eternal  Life,  and  offered  fervent 
thanksgiving  for  the  mystic  feast,  the  little 
congregation  silently  rose  to  depart.  In 
the  corridor  Camilla  spoke  to  Nemesius, 
who  had  been  present.  She  warned  him 
that  there  were  whispered  rumors  afloat — 
none  could  tell  whence  they  came — that 
his  child  had  been  cured  of  her  blindness 
by  the  Pontiff"  Stephen,  and  that  suspicion, 
and  surmise  were  rife.  Some  declared  that 
a  famous  Eastern  physician  had  given  her 
sight,  but  others  preferred  the  more  sensa- 
tional side  of  the  story — that  it  was  by  the 
sorceries  of  the  Christian  Pope,  who  was. 
well  known  to  be  a  magician,  that  her 
blindness  was  cured. 

"Discovery  is  inevitable.  I  do  not  seek 
it,  and  will  not  evade  it.  My  will  is  the 
holy  will  of  God.  I  have  prepared  my  little 
one  for  that  which  is  in  prospect,  and  vshe 
is  willing  to  suflfer  for  Christ.  Nature  has 
given  her  a  brave  heart;  divine  grace  will 
give  her  strength  and  constancy  in  the 
hour  of  trial.  She  knows  the  voice  of  her 
true  Shepherd,  who  will  deliver  His  lamb 
from  the  fangs  of  the  wolves  seeking  to 
devour  her;  and  He  will  bear  her  in  His 
arms  to  His  own  heavenly  pastures,"  said 
Nemesius,  as  if  communing  with  himself. 

Camilla's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "I  am 
going  to  her  this  morning, ' '  she  said.  ' '  The 
holy  Pontiff"  has  asked  to  see  her,  and,  with 
thy  consent,  I  will  take  her  with  me  to  my 
villa, where  we  will  spend  the  night.  Ter-  j 
tullus  will  be  there,  and,  if  it  be  possible,  j 
wilt  thou  not  join  us?  In  the  morning  our 
Holy  Father  offers  the  Divine  Sacrifice  in 
the  old  tower-chapel." 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  serve  him  at  the  alt^r. 
I  will  be  with  you  this  evening.  Tell  ray 
little  maid  to  expect  me,"  he  answered^ 
and  they  parted. 

And  so  Camilla  had  come  on  her  loving- 
errand  to  the  villa  on  the  Aventine,  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


469 


explanation  of.  which  brings  herself  and 
Claudia  to  the  end  of  their  light  repast. 
Rising  from  the  table,  the  little  hostess  led 
her  friend  up  to  the  beautiful  summer  room 
where  she  was  born,  and  in  which  her  fair 
young  mother  had  died,  since  which  sad 
event  no  changes  had  been  made  in  it,  ex- 
ept  to  remove  a  shrine  on  which  had  stood 
statue  of  some  deity,  to  which   divine 
onors  had  been  daily  offered,  and  certain 
mages  of  the  Penates  that  had  for  many 
ears  looked  down   from   their   pedestals 
nth  stony  smiles  of  promise,  which  they 
vere  powerless  to  fulfil.     In  their  places, 
arved  in  alabaster  by  a  young  Christian 
ulptor  in  the  Catacombs,  were  small  stat- 
es of  Christ  the  Good  Shepherd,  the  Vir- 
in  Mother  and  Her  divine  Babe,  the  holy 
postlcs  Peter  and  Paul,  who  had  suffered 
artyrdom  in  Rome,  and  others  who  had 
iven  glorious  testimony,  even  unto  death, 
for  their  Faith. 

Here,  sitting  together,  Camilla  and  her 
young  neophyte  held  long,  sweet  converse, 
and  the  noble  Christian  matron  discovered, 
as  the  latter  laid  her  heart  bare  to  her,  that 
her  dispositions  were  singularly  perfect; 
that  her  faith,  love,  simplicity  of  mind,  and 
directness  of  purpose  were  in  advance  of 
the  brief  period  of  her  Christian  life,  and 
were  supernaturally  combined  with  an  ut- 
ter, childlike  humility  which  pervaded  all. 
They  talked  much  of  the  bitter  ordeal  by 
which  the  martyrs  won  their  palms,  but 
Claudia  was  presently  silent,  then  at  last 
she  gave  expression  to  her  feelings. 

'*  Their  terrible  sufferings  do  not  last 
long,"  she  said,  "and  when  all  is  over  they 
fly  like  doves  to  the  dear  Christus;  then 
their  joy  1  egins,  never  to  end.  The  wicked 
ones  may  frighten  me  by  their  violence 
when  they  take  me  away  to  kill  me,  and  I 
may  cry  out  with  pain,  for  I  am  only  a  child ; 
but  my  tongue  shall  never  deny  Him,  and 
my  soul,  that  came  from  Him,  shall  cling 
to  Him  and  praise  Him  until  my  flesh  and 
my  body  are  torn  to  pieces;  then  He  will 
bring  me  alive  out  of  their  hands,  to  dwell 
with  Him  forever  and  forever." 

Camilla  now  explained  to  her  more  fully 


than  she  had  yet  done  the  Sacrament  of  the 
Holy  Eucharist,  having  several  times  be- 
fore only  approached  the  august  subject; 
she  told  her  that  Jesus  Christ  Himself  was 
really  present  in  the  divine  Sacrifice  of  the 
Altar,  and  that  His  faithful  ones  received 
Him  whole  and  entire  from  the  hands  of 
the  priest,  in  the  Holy  Communion,  as  their 
Food  and  their  Guest,  to  strengthen  and 
sustain  them  in  life,  and  as  their  Viaticum 
in  death,  to  defend,  console,  and  give  them 
safe  passage  from  time  to  eternity. 

"Oh!  tell  me  how  soon  I  may  receive 
Him  into  my  heart!"  she  besought. 

"It  is  not  usual,  dear  child,  for  one  so 
young  as  thyself  to  be  admitted  to  this  great 
mystery,  but  our  Holy  Father  Stephen  will 
judge,  r think  I  may  give  thee  hope," 
answered  Camilla,  feeling  almost  sure  that 
an  exception  would  be  made  in  favor  of  this 
child  of  many  graces,  over  whose  head  the 
sword  of  martyrdom  hung  suspended;  for 
it  was  one  of  those  unusual  cases  in  which 
years  do  not  count. 

(TO   FE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Dowry  of  Mary. 

[lyines  suggested  by  the  praises  of  the  Virgin 
Mother  found  in  the  English  poets  of  the  last 
half  century.] 

CHKY  parted  Thy  dowry,  my  Mother, 
Yea,  e'en  as  a  bride, 
In  the  hour  of  her  queenly  enthronement 

I^ed  darkly  aside; 
Despoiled  of  the  bride- wreath  and  jewels, 

And,  weeping,  sent  forth 
From  a  temple  of  God-lighted  splendor 
To  snowdrifts  of  earth. 

From  the  altar  they  led  Thee,  my  Mother; 

They  silenced  the  prayer, 
And  the  bell's  quiet  melody  pealing 

Thy  name  through  the  air. 
To  the  breeze  and  the  waves  they  were  flinging 

The  flowers  of  Thy  shrine; 
But  the  harp  and  the  heart  of  the  minstrel. 

My  Mother!  were  Thine. 

They  parted  Thy  dowry,  my  Mother, 
The  wealth  of  the  land; 


470 


The  Ave  iMana. 


But  the  harp's  golden  strings  had  resisted 

The  strength  of  their  hand. 
Hushed  often  to  tremulous  sleeping, 

The  Angel's  sweet  strain 
Awoke  to  unconscious  expression 

Again  and  again. 

For  anon,  when  the  storm-sounds  were  raging, 

lyike  winds  of  the  sea, 
Upsprang,  as  the  song  of  the  seabird, 

A  love-note  to  Thee. 
And  the  soul,  from  its  tempest-swept  dwelling, 

Breathed  sweetness  divine; 
For  the  harp  and  the  heart  of  the  minstrel, 

My  Mother!  are  Thine. 

Though  the  hands  of  the  minstrel  may  never 

Be  folded  in  prayer. 
Yet  wherever  the  harp  chords  are  wakened, 

Thy  dowry  is  there. 
Though  the  eyes  of  the  minstrel  scarce  ever 

Are  lifted  on  high, 
To  the  heart  that  knows  aught  of  true  beauty 

77y/ beauty  is  nigh. 

Though  the  lips  of  the  minstrel  have  chanted 

Karth's  weariest  moan. 
With  a  soft  startled  cadence  he  singeth 

A  song  of  Thine  own. 
Till  in  one  lovely  chorus  earth's  poets 

And  seraphs  combine; 
For  the  heart  and  the  harp  of  the  minstrel, 

My  Mother!  are  Thine. 

M.  G.  R.,iN  The  Month. 


A  Day  at  Einsiedeln. 


WE  left  Lucerne  early  on  the  morning  of 
September  13,  passed  through  Zug  and 
Zurich,  enjoying  good  views  of  the  lakes, 
and  reached  Einsiedeln  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon.  The  little  hamlet  was  so  full 
that  not  a  room  was  to  be  had  at  the  principal 
hotels;  so,  regardless  of  disordered  toilets, 
we  went  to  the  monastery,  presented  our 
letter  to  the  prior,  and  were  advised  to  go 
to  the  Hotel  St.  Pierre,  which  was  described 
as  "rude  but  perfectly  respectable."  A 
quaint  statue  of  St.  Peter  with  a  pair  of 
enormous  keys,  placed  over  the  door  of  a 
cka/c  /,  assured  us  that  we  had  found  our  un- 
pretentious hotel,  in  which  we  hurriedly 


secured  a  room,  deposited  our  luggage,  and 
then  hastened  to  the  Cathedral. 

The  existence  of  this  gorgeous  temple 
in  a  district  so  remote  is  itself  a  marvel. 
When  we  entered  it,  the  first  impression 
was  that  the  art  of  decoration  had  attained 
its  acme,  and  even  gone  a  little  mad,  so  over- 
poweringly  splendid  and  ornate  was  the 
church  in  every  detail;  but  afterwards  a 
sense  of  strange  harmony  came  to  assuage 
the  sudden  wonder  that  had  overwhelmed 
us.  From  the  tessellated  pavement  to  the 
glowing  roof  everything  was  radiant,  be- 
wildering, and  yet  curiously  pleasing  even 
to  the  two  American  wanderers,  who  cling  to 
a  preference  for  the  severely,  simply  grand 
in  architecture. 

The  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Einsiedeln 
stands  midway  between  the  main  entrance 
and  the  centre  of  the  edifice.  It  is  built 
entirely  of  marble,  and  occupies  the  space 
of  a  small  house — in  fact,  it  covers  a  little 
more  than  the  site  of  St.  Meinrad's  Cell; 
and  in  it,  above  the  beautiful  altar,  stands 
the  image  that  has  survived  the  devastations 
of  a  thousand  >ears.  It  is  entirely  black, 
having  been  rendered  so  by  the  futile  at- 
ternpts  of  the  enemies  of  religion  to  burn  " 
it.  The  features  of  the  Mother  and  Child 
are  soft,  straight,  almost  doll-like,  and  the 
figures  are  arrayed  with  much  stiffness  and 
splendor.  Many  of  the  altars  in  the  Cathe- 
dral are  the  tombs  of  saints,  whose  entire 
bodies  are  seen  through  the  glass  covering; 
all  are  dressed  with  more  richness  than 
taste— but  that  sort  of  thing  has  long  ceased 
to  annoy  us.  Slight  errors  in  performance 
can  not  mar  the  sweetness  of  good  inten- 
tion; it  is  enough  that  the  precious  relics 
have  been  so  carefully  preserved. 

A  continuous  musical  murmur  filled  the 
church :  hundreds  of  voices  in  various 
tongues  were  reciting  litanies,  and  finally 
all  broke  forth  into  song,  chanting  always 
the  same  melody,  but  in  German,  Italian, 
French,  English,  and  innumerable  dialects. 
There  were  people  of  every  rank,  though, 
of  course,  the  peasants  outnumbered  the 
others.  The  contrasts  were  as  pleasing  as 
they  were  surprising.    Here  a  Dominican, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


471 


in  his  majestic  white  robes;  there  a  group  of 
Alsacian  women,  with  huge  bows  of  ribbon 
on  their  he^ds;  slender  young  Parisians, 
and  the  oddest  old  women,  with  garnet 
necklaces  upon  necks  too  often  distended 
by  the  unsightly  goitre.  The  whole  assem- 
blage was  rendered  touchingly  memorable 
by  unanimity  of  sentiment;  all  seemed  an- 
imated with  the  most  fervent  devotion  to 
Almighty  God,  and  with  a  desire  to  secure 
the  prayers  of  Our  Holy  Mother.  In  this 
liallowed  spot  one  seemed  to  be  quite  out 
of  hearing  of  the  skeptic's  sneer  and  taunt. 

The  songs  ended,  we  all,  with  tapers  in 
"  hands,  reciting  the  Litany  of  Loreto,  and  led 
by  a  priest,  ascended  by  a  zigzag  path  the 
mountain,  upon  whose  summit  stands  the 
monument  and  statue  of  St  Meinrad;  de- 
scending, we  re-entered  the  Cathedral,  were 
blessed  and  departed  to  seek  our  repose. 

It  had  been  a  delightful  day,  but  oh!  how 
tired  we  were !  The  bed  proved  to  be  more 
than  stony  in  hardness,  and  verv  inade- 
quately supplied  with  covering.  We  dozed 
and  froze  for  three  hours,  when  the  cannon 
began  firing  for  the  earliest  Mass  of  the  great 
fHe  day.  lyooking  from  the  window,  we 
saw  the  lights  twinkling  in  the  chalets  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  the  people  set  out 
in  steady,  quiet  streams  toward  the  church. 
At  nine  o'clock  we  had  another  Solemn 
High  Mass,  with  magnificent  music;  and 
then,  our  strength  bting  all  exhausted,  we 
returned  to  Lucerne,  without  waiting  to  see 
the  brilliant  illumination  of  the  Cathedral 
which  was  to  take  place  on  the  coming  night. 
We  doubt  if  it  could  equal  in  picturesque- 
ness  the  vocal  chain  of  fire  that  had  ascended 
and  descended  the  mountain  the  night  be- 
fore. 


The   Heroic  Act  of  Charity. 


THE  Heroic  Act  of  Charity  is  an  offering, 
a  voluntary  gift,  of  all  the  personal 
works  of  satisfaction  we  may  perform  dur- 
ing our  lives,  and  of  all  the  suffrages  we 
may  receive  after  our  death,  to  be  applied 
to  the  relief  of  the  Souls  in  Purgatory.  We 
place  all  in  the  hands  of  the  ever-blessed 


Virgin,  praying  Her  to  dispose  of  them  as 
it  may  please  Her  in  favor  of  the  faithful 
departed.  Though  this  offering  has  been 
approved  by  several  Popes,  and  enriched  by 
many  indulgences,  some  objections  have 
been  made  to  it,  which  we  propose  to  con- 
sider briefly  in  the  following  paragraphs. 

When  devout  souls  are  exhorted  to  this 
practice  some  are  wont  to  reply:  We  ac- 
knowledge that  it  would  be  a  great  charity 
to  the  Souls  in  Purgatory,  and  therefore  very 
agreeable  to  God,  but  it  is  a  complete  sur- 
render of  that  which  we  ought  to  cherish 
most — our  prayers  and  good  works.  After 
disposing  of  all  to  the  Holy  Souls,  what  will 
remain  to  discharge  our  own  debts?  What 
can  we  expect  at  the  hour  of  judgment  if 
we  appear  before  God  stripped  of  all  the 
merits  of  our  Christian  life,  and  with  hands 
entirely  empty?  And,  then,  to -think  that 
we  shall  no  longer  be  able  to  direct  our  pray- 
ers as  we  may  desire,  either  for  ourselves  or 
others — for  our  spiritual  or  temporal  welfare, 
for  our  living  relatives,  friends,  and  benefac- 
tors !    Ah !  we  can  not  make  such  a  sacrifice. 

The  apparent  force  of  these  objections  is 
based  upon  a  false  notion  of  the  Heroic  Act. 
A  simple  explanation  of  the  teaching  of 
theology  on  this  point  will  be  sufficient  to 
assure  us  that  we  shall  lose  nothing,  but  in 
reality  gain  much  by  this  holy  practice. 

All  the  acts  of  our  soul  when  in  a  state 
of  grace  —  prayers,  and  good  works  of 
every  kind — bear  a  fourfold  fruit:  of  merit, 
of  propitiation,  of  impetration,  of  expia- 
tion, or  satisfaction.  Therefore,  the  faithful 
may  in  virtue  of  a  single  good  work  ask 
and  obtain  a  favor,  appease  the  anger  of 
God,  merit  an  augmentation  of  grace  here 
below,  with  a  new  degree  of  glory  in  heaven, 
and  satisfy  the  divine  justice.  These  four 
qualities,  which  theology  teaches  us  are 
proper  to  each  act  when  one  is  in  a  state  of 
grace,  are  so  many  mysterious  forces  and 
supernatural  powers  placed  at  our  disposal 
by  the  Divine  Mercy  to  combat  our  spirit- 
ual enemies  and  to  accomplish  our  destiny. 

Now,  what  does  the  Heroic  Act  require? 
That  we  should  despoil  ourselves  of  all 
the  merit  of  our  good  works?     Not  at  all. 


47^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


It  calls  for  only  the  fourth  part  of  our  good 
works  in  favor  of  the  Holy  Souls;  that  is, 
the  expiatory  or  satisfactory  part.  It  is  this 
portion  that  we  place  in  the  hands  of  our 
loving  Mother  to  relieve  their  sufferings  or 
to  deliver  them  from  their  torments.  The 
meritorious,  the  propitiatory,  the  impetra- 
tory  portion  of  our  spiritual  acts  remains  in 
our  possession — belongs  personally  to  us;  in 
fact,  can  not  be  applied  by  way  of  suffrage. 

Moreover,  the  cession  that  we  make  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Holy  Souls  augments  in 
value  the  fourfold  qualities  of  our  actions, 
since  their  merit  is  derived  from  the  charity 
that  inspires  them;  and  how  can  charity 
be  more  fully  shown  than  by  voluntarily, 
and  through  purely  supernatural  motives, 
renouncing,  in  favor  of  our  neighbor,  a  spir- 
itual good  which  belongs  to  ourselves  ?  Fur- 
thermore, we  thereby  increase  our  resources 
a  hundredfold ;  for  do  we  not  enlist  in  our  be- 
half all  the  souls  we  thus  console  or  release? 
And  who  can  express  the  ardor  of  their 
gratitude  to  their  deliverers,  the  promotion 
of  whose  welfare  has  thus  become  a  sacred 
obligation  to  them?  This  multitude  of 
grateful  souls,  then,  will  unite  their  prayers 
with  ours, and  God  will  refuse  them  nothing. 

The  Heroic  Act  has  some  analog^y  to  the 
miracle  wrought  in  the  desert,  whereby 
Christ  fed  five  thousand  men  with  five  bar- 
ley loaves  and  two  fishes;  that  is.  He  returns 
to  him  who  had  furnished  the  bread  much 
more  than  he  had  originally  given.  By  the 
charity  of  this  boy  the  five  barley  loaves, 
multiplying  under  the  divine  benediction, 
not  only  fed  the  famishing  thousands  "as 
much  as  they  would,''  but  so  abundantly 
that  what  remained  filled  twelve  baskets. 
Thus  it  is  with  the  gifts  we  make  to  the 
Holy  Souls;  in  our  hands  they  are  only  as 
five  barley  loaves,  but  with  the  divine  bene- 
diction they  acquire  an  extraordinary  merit, 
and  not  only  benefit  thousands  of  suflfering 
souls,  but  enrich  ourselves  a  hundredfold. 

Two  points  only  in  the  teachings  of  the- 
ologians upon  Purgatory  are  illuminated 
by  the  infallible  rays  of  Catholic  dogma, 
viz. :  the  existence  of  a  place  of  detention, 
and  the  fact  that  the  prayers  of  the  living  are 


beneficial  to  the  souls  therein.  All  else  is 
veiled  in  the  greater  or  less  obscurity  of 
theological  opinions.  We  can  not  know 
what  souls  are  most  in  need  of  our  prayers, 
or  whether  those  for  whom  we  pray  are  in 
Purgatory  or  not.  No  one  can  tell  in  what 
proportion,  or  according  to  what,  law  in  the 
divine  economy,  our  suffrages  are  available 
for  those  for  whom  we  pray.  God,  indeed, 
respects  our  intentions,  and  applies  our  suf- 
frages in  accordance  with  our  desires,  when 
there  is  in  them  nothing  contrary  to  His 
will.  But  if  the  souls  for  whom  we  pray  are; 
not  in  Purgatory,  our  suffrages  would  fall 
into  the  common  treasure  of  the  Churchy 
increasing  the  sum  of  satisfactory  merits, 
which  are  applied  by  way  of  indulgence  to 
the  souls  of  men.  For  God  can  not,  so  to 
speak,  traverse  the  actual  order  established 
by  His  providence,  and  apply  our  suffrages 
Himself,  directly,  without  in  some  way  re- 
ceiving from  us  a  sort  of  authorization  so 
to  do, — so  true  is  it  that  the  suffering  souls 
can  be  assisted  solely  by  suffrages.  God 
disposes  directly  neither  of  our  satisfactoiy 
merits  nor  of  those  which  compose  the  treas- 
ure of  the  Church ;  He  passes  them  over  lo 
us;  He  liberates  the  souls  whom  we  liber- 
ate, He  leaves  bound  those  whom  we  do  not 
unbind — the  poor  souls  whom  we  forget. 

It  is  clear  from  what  has  been  said  above 
that  our  suffrages  may  possibly  fail  of  the 
object  for  which  we  offer  them;  this  can 
never  be  the  case  after  we  have  made  the 
Heroic  Act,  our  expiatory  merits  then 
being  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  who  applies  them  Herself  accord- 
ing to  the  will  of  Her  Divine  Son,  and  who 
knows  all  the  secrets  of  that  dread  place  of 
purification,  which  are  as  yet  concealed  from 
us.  We  are  left  entirely  free  to  pray  for  any 
good  whatsoever— for  our  friends,  our  rel- 
atives, our  benefactors,  living  and  dead, — 
and  the  good  God  will  not  fail  to  hear  our 
prayers  according  to  our  intentions,  so  long 
as  they  are  conformed  to  His  holy  will. 
Those,  then,  that  make  the  Heroic  Act  of 
Charity  need  have  but  one  anxiety — to 
multiply  the  suffrages  which  they  entrust  to 
Our  Blessed  Mother. 


Catholic  Notes. 


r 

■  f      The  relics  of  St.  James  the  Apostle,  and  of  his 
^  companions  SS.  Athanasius  and  Theodore, 

which  were  discovered  a  few  years  ago  at  Com- 
postella,  were  lately  transferred  with  great 
solemnity  to  a  more  fitting  shrine  of  gold, 
adorned  with  precious  stones.  The  Bishop  of 
Palencia  presided  at  the  ceremony.  The  faith- 

Iful  came  in  large  numbers  to  take  part  in  the 
procession,  and  venerate  the  relics  of  the  first 
apostles  of  their  country. 
The  English  College  in  Rome  is  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  educational  establishments  in 
the  Eternal  City.  It  is  a  pity  that  as  yet  there 
lias  been  no  history  written  of  it.  The  sub- 
ject would  be  both  sacred  and  interesting  to 
i  a  high  degree,  and  abundant  sources  are  cer- 
tainly not  wanting.  All  English-speaking 
Catholics — and  not  the  least  Americans  of 
English  descent — hold  this  College  in  dear 
love  and  remembrance  for  its  long  and  inti- 
mate connection  with  our  holy  religion.  In 
the  library  is  preserved  an  original  copy  of 
Cornelius  a  lyapide's  great  Commentary  on 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  presented,  as  the  auto- 
graph testifies,  by  the  writer  himself.  There  is 
also  the  original  MS.  of  that  touching  Chris- 
tian story  "  Fabiola,"  given  by  its  author,  the 
late  Cardinal  Wiseman,  who  was  at  one  time 
Hector  of  the  College.  No  other  house  in 
Rome  has  ever  received  such  praise  as  is  given 
to  this  one  in  the  AnjiucB  LittercB  Societatis  Jesu 
for  1 581: — "Among  all  the  colleges  in  Rome 
this  one  is  the  noblest,  for  the  bright  minds 
that  it  has  cultivated,  and  the  heroic  deeds  of 
those  who  have  gone  out  of  it.  Its  students 
are  devoted  to  the  Catholic  Faith  and  loyal  to 
the  Roman  Pontiff.  They  are  educated  here 
that,  after  they  have  united  sound  doctrine  to 
solid  piety,  they  may  return  to  England — 
yea,  to  almost  certain  death — for  the  salvation 
of  their  brethren.  Truly  it  can  be  said  of  this 
place  that  it  is  not  so  much  an  institution  of 
learning  as  a  seminary  of  martyrs." 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


473 


A  number  of  pious  ladies  of  the  Polish  no- 
biUty  lately  sent  a  petition  to  Queen  Margaret, 
of  Italy,  entreating  her  to  save  from  threatened 
demolition,  on  the  part  of  the  Municipality 
of  Rome,  the  room  in  the  ancient  Convent  of 
St.  Andrea  where  the  seraphic  St.  Stanislaus 


Kostka  lived  and  died.  The  petition  reminds 
the  Queen  that  both  herself  and  her  spouse  are 
the  descendants  of  a  long  line  of  heroes  and 
of  saints,  and  that  the  blood  of  the  most  an- 
cient Polish  nobility  flows  in  their  veins.  It 
is  stated  that  Queen  Margaret,  moved  by  this 
appeal,  intends  to  transfer  the  room  of  St. 
Stanislaus  into  a  private  chapel. 

Catholicism  is  making  great  progress  in 
Bulgaria,  in  proof  of  which  the  hido- European 
Correspondence  quotes  the  following  extract 
of  a  letter  written  from  Adrianopolis  by  Mgr. 
Petkoff,  Vicar- Apostolic  of  the  United  Bt!l- 
garians  in  Thrace,  who  lately  made  a  pastoral 
tour  in  Eastern  Roumelia. 

"Since  the  erection  of  Eastern  Roumelia  into  a 
separate  State,  Malko-Tyrnovo  has  become  a  town 
of  considerable  importance,  and  exercises  great 
influence  on  the  surrounding  villages.  It  is  only 
two  years  since  I  was  able  to  entrust  that  town  to 
the  Resurrectionist  Fathers,  and  since  that  time 
the  movement  of  reunion  with  Rome  has  been 
deepening  and  widening.  A  school  was  scarcely 
opened  when  it  was  thronged  by  Catholics  and 
Schismatics  alike.  The  church  was  threatening 
to  come  down,  it  was  speedily  rebuilt  and  beauti- 
fied. A  wretched  shed  was  bought  and  repaired, 
some  furniture  got  into  it,  and  I  left  it  in  charge 
of  Father  Isidore  Georgiew,  a  child  of  the  very 
place,  who  was  brought  up  by  the  Resurrection- 
ists, and  lives  according  to  their  rule.  That  young 
missioner,  by  his  fervor,  piety,  and  gentleness,  is 
paving  the  way  for  the  return  of  a  great  many 
Schismatics  to  unity!  When  I  reached  Malko- 
Tyrnovo  for  my  pastoral  visit,-  the  number  of 
Catholic  families  ofiicially  recorded  was  forty-six; 
during  the  time  of  my  visit  I  received  the  abjura- 
tion of  fourteen,  and  twenty  more  are  postulants 
for  reception.  May  our  Divine  Master  be  blessed, 
who  thus  sends  joys  after  trials!  " 


The  beautiful  church,  under  the  patronage 
of  Our  I^ady  of  the  Rosary,  erected  atTallaght, 
Ireland,  to  the  memory  of  the  late  Father 
Burke,  was  dedicated  last  month  by  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Dublin.  At  the  High  Mass  which 
followed,  the  Rev.  Nicholas  Walsh,  S.  J., 
preached  an  eloquent  panegyric  of  the  great 
Dominican.  A  large  congregation  was  present 
at  the  ceremony.      

Munkacsy's  celebrated  painting,  Christ  be- 
fore Pilate,  is  about  to  be  placed  on  exhibition 
in  New  York.  The  picture  is  great  in  more 
senses  than  one,  and  will  probably  attract  as 
much  attention  here  as  it  did  in  European 


474 


The  Ave  Maria. 


cities.  The  artist,  who  will  soon  visit  this  coun- 
try, is  a  Hungarian  and  a  devout  Catholic. 

A  most  extraordinary  incident  took  place 
here  yesterday  during  a  burial-service  held  at 
the  quarantine  station  While  the  Rev.  Fa 
ther  Wilson,  of  St.  Mary's,  was  reading  the 
beautiful  burial-service  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  just  as  his  lips  had  given  utterance 
to  the  words,  "And  the  earth  shall  open  and 
give  up  its  dead."  etc  ,  the  mighty  and  deep 
roll  of  the  earthquake  was  heard  approaching; 
the  house  began  to  rock,  and  even  the  dead 
man  seemed  to  respond  to  Nature's  throe,  as 
the  coffin  gently  swayed  as  though  in  response 
to  the  mighty  voice.  The  faces  of  the  sur- 
rounding officers,  friends,  and  crew  portrayed, 
if  possible,  more  solemnity,  as  though  each 
were  looking  for  the  last  great  summons  to 
come. — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

We  regret  to  chronicle  the  demise  of  Mon- 
signor  George  Talbot,  which  occurred  last 
month  at  Passy,  where  he  had  been  living  for 
thirteen  years  or  more.  Monsignor  Talbot  was 
well  known  in  England,  France,  and  Italy, 
and  was  everywhere  esteemed  for  his  learn- 
ing and  piety.  He  was  a  son  of  the  third  Lord 
Talbot  of  Malahide.  After  finishing  his  edu- 
cation at  Eton  and  Oxford,  he  was  appointed 
Vicar  of  Evercreech,  Somerset,  where  he  re- 
mained till  his  conversion  to  the  Catholic 
Faith.  For  nineteen  years  he  was  a  chamber- 
lain to  Pius  IX.,  by  whom  he  was  greatly  be- 
loved. His  death  will  prove  a  heavy  loss  to 
the  poor  schools,  and  the  poor  generally  of 
the  parish  of  Passy,  where  his  memory  will 
long  be  held  in  benediction  It  was  for  their 
sake  that  he  gave  repeated  orders  to  be  buried 
in  the  simplest  manner  possible,  in  order  that 
there  might  be  more  money  left  to  give  to  the 
poor.     R.  I.  P.        

The  Roman  correspondent  of  the  I^ondon 
Tablet,  writing  under  date  Oct.  23d,  says: 

'As  among  the  final  acts  of  the  Apostolic  Proc- 
ess for  the  beatification  and  canonization  of  the 
saints  is  that  of  the  recognition  of  their  remains, 
the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Turin,  Mgr.  Caprara, 
Promoter  of  the  Faith,  and  other  dignitaries  of 
that  Curia,  proceeded  on  Monday,  in  presence  of 
H.  R.  H.  the  Princess  Clotilda  of  Savoy.and  some 
few  persons  permitted  to  attend,  to  the  formal 
recognition  of  the  body  of  the  Venerable  Canon 
Joseph  Benedict  Cottolengo,  founder  of  the  Little 
House  of  Divine  Providence,  who  died  in  Chieri, 


April  30,  1842,  and  was  buried  May  3,  within  the 
Institute  Church  at  Turin ,  beneath  the  altar  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Rosary — his  own  choice  for  sepulture. 
The  tomb  being  opened  with  all  the  prescribed 
formalities,  the  remains  were  found  well  pre- 
served, and  after  due  recognition  were  placed  in  a 
new  coffin,  and  removed  to  a  site  less  exposed  to 
the  damp,  but  still  inside  the  precincts  of  the 
church  built  under  the  eye  of  the  Venerable  Canon, 
whose  cause  is  now  before  the  Sacred  Congrega- 
tion of  Rites,  and  rapidly  approaching  a  favorable 
termination." 

An  interesting  sketch  of  the  Venerable  Jo- 
seph Cottolengo,  by  Lady  Herbert,  was  pre- 
sented in  a  previous  volume  of  The  "Ave 
Maria."  This  new  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  was 
declared  venerable  by  Pius  IX  in  1877.  Turin 
mourned  his  death  as  that  of  a  great  saint. 
The  miraculous  cures  effected  through  his  in- 
tercession are  almost  countless. 


The  Presentation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary  in  the  Temple,  a  feast  now  kept  on  the 
2 1  St  of  the  present  month,  was  restored  to  the 
Roman  calendar,  from  which  it  had  been 
dropped,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  one  of 
the  early  Jesuits — Father  Francis  Torriani, 
whom  Bartoli  in  his  Life  of  St.  Ignatius  calls 
grande  ed  erudito  teologo,  —  "a  great  and 
learned  theologian." 

We  are  in  receipt  of  other  offisrings  for  Fa- 
ther Damien,  as  follows: 

A  mother  and  daughter,  asking  prayers,  $2; 
J.  F. ,  $1 ;  William  Mulry,  $5 ;  William  P.  .Winifred, 
Mary  T.,  and  Winnie  J  Mulry,  $5;  Mrs.  P.  K. 
Walsh,  $5;  Mrs.  MaryHanway.  $1;  RoseHanway, 
50  cts. ;  ' '  For  the  Love  of  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed 
Sacrament, "  $2 ;  A  Client  of  St.  Joseph,  $5 ;  Bridget 
O'Donnell,  Mary  McKenney,  Annie  Gibbons, Mrs. 
Martha  Dugan,  Bridget  Gibbons,  Mary  Drain, 
$7;  A  suppliant  of  Father  Damien's  prayers,  $y, 
Thomas  MuUin,  $5;  A  Friend,  |i;  John  J.  Adams 
(Sr.).  JohnJ.  Adams  (Jr.),  William  I.,  Samuel  J., 
Mary  and  Katie  Adams,  William  J.  and  Basil  J. 
Nettleton.  $2;  John  Sheahan,  $1;  M.  A.  H.,  $5; 
Hannah  Mee,  $5;  A  Family,  $3;  From  four  per- 
sons, "for  the  Love  of  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,"  $4;  Louise  Augustine  Lippe,  $S\  J- 
Mc  ,  $5 ;  Three  Friends, Salem,  Mass. ,  $4;  A  Reader 
of  The  'Ave  Maria,"  $i;  Mrs.  Noonan,  |i;  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  Smith.  $10;  A  Friend  of  The  "Ave 
Maria,"  $1;  A  Child  of  Mary,  |i ;  A  Child  of  the 
Sacred  Heart,  $5;  Miss  Jane  Byrne,  |i;  Patrick 
Liston,  $1;  Johanna  Laughnane,  $1;  Ellen  Keef, 
$1 ;  Mrs.  Bridget  Neven,  $1 ;  Mrs.  Jane  Bennett, 
$1;  Barrett  children,  $1;  Bridget  Kelly,  $1 ;  Wil- 
liam Hore,  $2;  A  Friend,  |i;  Edward  Collins,  |i. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


475 


New  Publications. 

In  Bohemia.  By  John  Boyle  O'Reilly.  Bos- 
ton: The  Pilot  Publishing  Co. 
Mr.  John  Boyle  O'Reilly's  latest  volume  of 
poems,  "In  Bohemia,"  more  than  fulfils  the 
abundant  promises  of  his  earlier  verses. 
While  the  latter  merited  and  received  wide 
praise  for  their  grace  and  strength,  there  is  a 
matureness  in  these  later  lines  which  finds 
expression  in  a  greater  terseness  of  thought,  in 
a  more  perfect  crystallization  of  ideas,  without 
limiting  in  any  sense  the  poetic  imagery,  and 
in  a  stronger  phraseology, — all  of  which  char- 
acteristics, it  is  unnecessary  to  remark,  add 
greatly  to  theirmerit  and  beauty.  Mr. O'Reilly 
never  speaks  vaguely:  whatever  he  says  or 
sings  goes  straight  to  the  mark  he  has  in 
view;  and  this  directness  of  diction,  which  is 
noticeable  even  in  his  prose  productions,  is 
very  remarkable  in  his  poems.  Once  he  has 
chosen  his  subject,  he  appears  to  study  it  from 
all  sides,  with  a  view  of  discovering  the  best 
way  to  approach  it,  and  it  is  seldom  that  his 
judgment  errs  in  making  its  choice.  His  nat- 
ural enthusiasm,  and  his  correct  way  of  think- 
ing, aid  him  greatly;  for  in  poetry,  especially 
when  one  is  the  true  poet  Mr.  O'Reilly  is,  im- 
pulse, particularly  when  it  is  accompanied  by 
trained  thought,  rarely  goes  astray  in  such 
matters.  In  the  epigrams  which  are  scattered 
through  "In  Bohemia,"  this  faculty  of  its 
author  to  state  a  poetic  idea  forcibly  and  con 
cisely  is  well  illustrated.  For  instance,  what 
better  description  of  the  greatness  and  little- 
ness of  distance  could  one  have  than  this : 
"The  world  is  large,  when  its  weary  leagues  two 

loving  hearts  divide ; 
But  the  world  is  small,  when  your  enemy  is  loose 
on  the  other  side"? 

"A  Dead  Man,"  in  which  the  representa- 
tives of  three  races  claim  for  the  departed  hero 
some  characteristic  of  their  own,  furnishes  an- 
other striking  illustration  of  this  attribute  of 
Mr.  O'Reilly's  muse. 

Of  the  grand  poem  "Wendell  Phillips," 
which  is  one  of  the  best,  if  not  the  very  best, 
Mr.  O'Reilly's  pen  ever  produced,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  speak  here,  since  the  wide  pub- 
lication given  it  on  its  first  appearance  has 
made  it  familiar  to  all.  '  'A  Lost  Friend  "  is  a 
sermon  in  rhyme,  which  has  an  application 
to  almost  every  life;   and  the  same  line   of 


thought  can  be'discerned  in  '  A  Builder's  Les- 
son," which  conveys  excellent  counsel  in  co- 
gent language. 

The  most  striking  poems  of  "In  Bohemia ' ' 
are  undoubtedly  those  which,  like  "The 
King's  Evil,"  "The  Three  Queens,"  "The 
City  Streets,"  and  others,  treat  of  social  and 
humane  topics.  Mr.  O'Reilly  entertains  very 
radical  ideas  on  some  of  these  subjects,  and  he 
has  given  expression  to  many  of  his  thoughts 
in  this  volume.  Even  if  one  does  not  agree 
with  all  his  ideas,  it  can  not  be  denied  that 
he  presents  them  in  a  terribly  forcible  manner. 

Poems  of  especial  merit  are  "The  Dead 
Singer, ' '  commemorative  of  Miss  Fanny  Par- 
nell;  "In  Bohemia,"  which  is  a  charming 
description  of  a  land  in  which  Mr.  O'Reilly 
lived  so  short  a  time  that  he  longs  to  revisit 
it;  and  '  '^Ensign  Epps, ' '  with  the  blare  of  the 
trumpets  in  its  every  line.  But  to  mention  all 
the  meritorious  poems  in  this  volume  it  would 
be  necessary  to  give  the  whole  table  of  con- 
tents; for  there  is  not  one  in  the  entire  book 
which  has  not  a  special  excellence  of  its  own. 

W.  D.  K. 


Obituary. 

'  It  is  a  noly  and  wholesome  thouifhi  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  venerable  Father  Serra,  S.  J.,  of  Rock  Hill 
College,  Ala.,  whose  life  of  devotedness  and  self- 
sacrifice  was  crowned  with  a  happy  death  on  the 
23d  ult. 

The  Rev.  Antonio  Cassese,  O.  S.F.,  the  efficient 
and  beloved  rector  of  St.  Joseph's  Church,  Swedes- 
boro,  N.  J.  In  the  sermon  preached  at  his  funeral, 
by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  O'Farrell,  he  was  spoken 
oif  as  an  example  of  priestly  virtues. 

Mr.  P.  McCune,  of  Wurtsborough,  N.  Y.,  whose 
holy  death  occurred  on  the  25th  ult.  He  was  a 
man  of  noble  Christian  character,  and  his  spirit  of 
charity  was  the  admiration  of  all  who  knew  him. 

Patrick  E.  Dougherty,  a  native  of  Glasgow, 
Scotland,  whose  death,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacra- 
ments, took  place  at  San  Rafael,  Cal.,  on  the  14th 
of  September. 

Mrs.  Mary  Howden,  Shanghai;  John  J.  Zeglio, 
San  Francisco;  Annie  Coleman,  Chicago;  Miss 
Catharine  Butler,  Wilmington,  Del. ;  Mary  King, 
Trenton,  N  J.;  Mrs.  Joanna  Murphy,  Cambridge- 
port,  Mass.;  Mrs.  Mary  Roche,  Philadelphia  ; 
Thomas  Murphy, Omaha;  Julia  Hogan,  Pittsfield, 
Mass.;  and  A.  B.  Gallagher,  Esq.,  Philadelphia. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


476 


The  Ave  Maria. 


FARTMENT 


Francis  and  Francesco. 


BY   PI.ORA   I,    STANFIELD. 


"Ah!  I  have  sighed  to  rest  me!"  piped 
•out  poor  little  Francesco  as  sturdily  as  he 
'Could,  while  his  father  thrummed  away  on 
a  great  harp  that  had  travelled  many  weary 
miles,  and  was  very  much  the  shabbier  for 
its  journeys.  Francesco  was  tired,  and  his 
father  was  cross,  which  was  not  strange;  for 
the  mercury  was  up  in  the  nineties,  and 
there  was  no  money  for  the  supper.  Fran- 
cesco finished  his  song  in  broken  English, 
and,  taking  ofif  his  cap,  ran  close  to  a  win- 
dow, where  a  boy  of  about  his  own  age  sat. 

' '  What  is  your  name,  little  Macaroni  ? ' ' 
called  out  the  lad  in  the  window. 

"Francesco,  if  you  please,"  was  the  an- 
swer. 

"Well,  then,  Francesco,  here's  a  dime. 
My  name  is  Francesco,  too,  only  I  spell  it 
another  way." 

Francesco  gave  a  sort  of  military  salute, 
and  shyly  lifted  a  pair  of  dark  and  rather 
sad  eyes.    "Very  much  thanks,"  he  said. 

The  dime  just  then  looked  very  large  and 
valuable  to  him,  he  was  so  hungry,  and 
they  had  played  and  sung  all  that  day  for  a 
few  pennies.  The  children  around  the  cor- 
ner had  tossed  some  buttons  into  his  cap, 
just  for  a  joke;  and  the  butcher  on  the 
avenue  had  given  him  a  counterfeit  coin 
that  had  strayed  into  his  till ;  but  of  money 
there  was  little — certainly  not  enough  for 
the  most  frugal  supper,  to  say  nothing  of 
breakfast. 

So,  with  a  happy  glance  at  the  dime,  he 
called  to  his  father  that  they  must  stop  for 
another  tune,  because  the  young  master  had 
been  so  liberal ;  but  the  father  was  already 
half  a  square  away,  playing  the  prelude  to 
a  quaint  song  about  the  merry  days  in  his 
,own  sunny  Italy.     Francesco  ran  up,  quite 


out  of  breath,  but  soon  began  to  sing  again, 
feebly  at  first,  then  with  all  his  might;  and 
Francis,  sitting  in  his  window,  looking  at  a 
new  book,  that  was  gaily  .bound  in  blue  and 
gold,  heard  the  silver  tones  as  they  floated 
out  on  the  warm  summer  air. 

It  was  his  birthday,  and  from  the  base- 
ment most  appetizing  odors  were  rising; 
for  cook  was  making  a  big  birthday- cake, 
with  twice  the  usual  amount  of  raisins  in 
it.  Francis  went  on  reading.  The  book 
in  his  lap  bore  on  its  cover,  in  large  letters, 
' '  The  Life  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi. ' '  Grand- 
father Baldwin  had  sent  it  that  very  day, 
with  a  pleasant  note.  "My  dear  boy,"  it 
ran,  "you  have  a  holy  model  in  St.  Francis, 
and  the  best  wish  I  can  send  you  is  that  you 
may  try  and  be  in  some  degree  like  him." 

Francis  had  been  happy  all  that  morning, 
reading  of  the  blessed  St.  Francis,  who 
liked  best  of  all  to  be  called  "Helper  of 
men,"  and  who  loved  and  protected  every 
living  thing,  however  small  or  humble. 
But  now  the  lad's  thoughts  were  all  astray; 
something  had  come  between  him  and  the 
sunshine.  "  In  some  degree  like  him. "  The 
words  rang  in  his  ears;  they  spoiled  his. 
perfect  pleasure :  he  was  no  longer  happy ; 
and  surely  he  ought  to  be  happy,  with  his 
twelve  bright  years  behind  him,  beautiful 
gifts  from  loving  friends  about  him,  and 
the  scent  from  the  spicy  birthday-cake  steal- 
ing up  the  kitchen  stairway.  Then  sud- 
denly he  could  not  see  the  page  before  him, 
and  a  big  tear  fell  upon  it. 

' '  He  looked  so  hungry,  poor  little  chap! " 
he  murmured;  "and  I  with  a  birthday-cake 
as  big  as  a  bushel!"  And  Mrs.  Baldwin, 
coming  in  to  find  her  boy  in  tears,  had  no 
reproof  for  him,  but  made  a  silent  offering 
of  thanks  to  God  for  giving  him  the  grace 
of  charity  toward  the  poor  and  suffering. 

But  Francis  was  only  a  lad,  and  a  merry 
one  too,  and  in  due  time  the  cake  went  the 
way  of  all  cakes,  and  Francesco  passed  from 
his  mind.  Then  came  the  cold  weather, 
and  another  letter  from  Grandfather  Bald- 
win. ' '  Can  you  not  spend  the  Winter  holi- 
days in  the  country  with  us?"  he  wrote. 
' '  We  have  no  gay  shops  or  happy  crowds  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


477 


jleasure-seekers,  but  we  have  crackling 
wood  fires,  and  early  drives  to  church 
through  the  bracing  air.' '  Surely  they  could 
not  say  no  to  such  an  invitation,  and  the 
first  snow-storm  found  Francis  and  his 
mother  snugly  tucked  away  in  the  great 
farm-house,  a  few  miles  from  the  city's  roar. 

Francis  enjoyed  the  change,  and  delighted 

in  going  the  rounds  of  the  farm,  watching 

the  men  feeding  the  cattle,  and  the  maids 

iking  the  fat  chickens  and  turkeys  their 

Loking  meals.    Every  morning  the  trees 
rere  filled  with  birds — blue-jays,  English 

irrows,  and  snow-birds ;  and  he  would 
ike  them  the  crumbs  from  the  table,  over 
which  they  twittered  and  scrambled,  after 
the  manner  of  birds. 

' '  In  some  degree  like  him,"  the  boy  would 
say,  thinking  of  St.  Francis,  and  Grand- 
father Baldwin's  wish. 

One  night  it  snowed  from  dusk  to  dawn, 
and  in  the  morning  the  fields  were  a  white, 
trackless  waste.  Francis  awoke  early  and 
looked  out  of  his  window.  ' '  I  wonder, ' '  he 
said,  "how  my  birds  like  this  weather?" 
They  seemed  to  think  it  great  sport,  and 
kept  up  such  a  chattering  that  Francis, 
dressing  hurriedly,  and  going  to  the  door 
with  some  crumbs,  almost  failed  to  hear  a 
faint  voice  that  came  across  the  snow. 
Where  had  he  heard  those  words  and  that 
tune  before?  Ah !  he  remembered,  and,  with 
the  street  singer  Francesco  in  his  mind,  he 
was  soon  plowing  through  the  snow  toward 
the  place  whence  the  song  came. 

"Francis,"  called  his  mother, opening  a 
window  up-stairs,  "you  must  put  on  your 
overcoat  if  you  are  going  to  run  around  in 
the  snow  before  breakfast."  And,  -"Fran- 
cis," Grandfather  Baldwin  added,  "you 
will  have  a  fine  cold  if  you  are  so  careless. " 

But  Francis  was  already  too  far  distant 
to  hear  distinctly  what  was  said ;  he  floun- 
dered on,  now  hidden  from  sight  in  a  huge 
drift,  now  making  better  headway. 

*'Ah!  I  have  sighed!"  came  the  voice, 
fainter  and  weaker. 

"Well,  you'll  not  sigh  any  more  to-day, 
little  Macaroni, ' '  said  the  rescuer,  dragging 
from  the  snow  what  looked  like  a  confused 


heap  of  rags,  wilh  a  pair  of  big  eyes  shin- 
ing from  it. 

The  child  was  many  weeks  coming  back 
to  health  and  strength,  and  meanwhile  they 
learned  his  story.  It  was  a  very  sad  story 
indeed — of  cold  and  hunger  and  cruelty. 
Finally  his  father  had  died,  and  he,  in  go- 
ing to  find  another  town,  had  lost  his  way, 
and  lain  down  to  die. 

He  is  a  young  man  now,  and  when  peo- 
ple ask  Francis  about  his  foreign-looking 
friend,  who  sings  so  wonderfully,  and  who 
helps  Grandfather  Baldwin  manage  the 
farm,  he  smiles  and  says:  "He  is  one  of 
God's  birds  that  I  found  in  the  snow." 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kilpatrick. 

BY    K.  I/.  D. 


XII. 


By  mid-February  Denbigh  was  up  and 
about  again,  and  ready  for  duty;  but  the 
day  he  got  his  discharge  from  the  hospital 
he  slipped  on  a  piece  of  ice,  and  snapped 
his  sword-arm,  to  his  own  great  disgust  and 
to  Oester's  satisfaction. 

"I'm  sorry  you  got  hurt,  Denbigh,"  he 
said;  "but  I  am  so  glad  you  ain't  goin' 
away!    It  would  have  been  so  lonesome!" 

For  never  again  would  the  boy-bugler  of 
Company  M.  thrill  the  breasts  of  his  com- 
rades with  the  wild,  sweet  music  of  the 
"charge,"  or  the  stirring  alarm  of  the 
"retreat";  never  again  would  Jet's  black 
legs  trot  in  advance  of  the  long- stretching 
chargers;  for  the  bullet  that  was  turned 
from  the  breast  of  his  little  master  by  Our 
Lady's  medal  had  so  bruised  and  shocked 
his  lungs  that  they  were  all  too  easy  a  prey 
to  cold,  and  the  surgeon  had  put  him  on 
detached — very  detached — duty  about  the 
hospital. 

Denbigh  looked  at  him  half  grimly,  half 
amused — it  was  so  new  to  him  to  have  any 
one  glad  about  him. 

"You  ^6>  seem  badly  ofl"  for  comp'ny," 
he  growled,  "with  only  a  thousand  or  so 
fellows  around." 


478 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Oester  laughed. 

**I  know,  but  they  ain't  home -folks. 
Now,  you  and  Jet  and  I,  why  we're  all  one 
family:  we  belong  to  the  7th — " 

*'A  mule,  a  fool,  and  a  boy — nice  fam- 
ily!" interrupted  Denbigh. 

' 'And  the  regiment's  all  the  home  I  had, ' ' 
finished  the  boy. 

*'I  too,"  said  Denbigh.  "But  shut  up, 
that's  a  good  younker!  I'm  'most  crazy 
with  this  here  arm,  and  thinkin'  of  this 
fresh  stop  to  gettin'  ahead." 

About  mid-March  the  rumor  came  up 
that  Wilson  was  going  to  make  a  dash  into 
the  heart  of  the  Grey  country  with  ' '  discre- 
tionary orders,"  and  that  the  7th  was  going 
with  him. 

This  was  hard  luck  with  a  vengeance,  and 
their  faces  became  as  blue  as  their  coats 
when  they  thought  of  how  they  had  to  stay 
behind  and  miss  the  "fun."  Then  came 
word  that  Wilson  was  lost,  and  for  a  month 
no  news  could  be  had  of  the  man  that  was 
cutting  such  a  broad  swath  through  Ala- 
bama and  Northern  Georgia.  Then  came 
the  wonderful  message  of  Appomattox 
Court- House,  the  simultaneous  fall  of  Rich- 
mond and  Sel  ma ;  then  Wilson  burst  through 
the  "no-news"  veil, and  in  rapid  succession, 
like  beads  of  fire  running  down  the  tele- 
graph wires,  came  the  announcements  of 
Montgomery,  Columbus,  and  Macon,  John- 
ston's surrender,  and— oh!  balm  to  Den- 
bigh's heart — the  release  of  the  Anderson- 
ville  prisoners 

Denbigh  would  have  started  off  without 
leave,  pay,  clothing,  staff  or  scrip;  but 
Oester  managed  to  pull  his  head  out  of  the 
clouds  long  enough  to  put  him  through  the 
proper  formalities;  and  at  the  same  time,  by 
the  advice  of  his  friend  the  surgeon,  he  got 
his  own  discharge,  pay,  and  Jet's  purchase 
papers.  Then  they  both  started  for  Annapo- 
lis, to  which  port  Father  Ryan  told  them 
that  O'Keefe  (or  the  man  identified  as 
O'Keefe)  would  be  sent. 

They  reached  there  early  in  the  morning 
on  a  troop-train  (cattle- cars) ;  for  Denbigh's 
impatience  could  not  be  contained,  and  he 
found  no  trouble  in  ' '  mixing  in ' '  with  a  re- 


turning regiment  from  his  own  State.  They 
' '  snatched ' '  a  breakfast,  and  then  Oester 
went  to  see  about  getting  Jet  fed  and  wa- 
tered (it  wasn't  safe  in  those  busy  times  to 
depend  on  other  people),  and  Denbigh 
posted  ofi"  to  see  when  the  boats  were  due. 
As  to  this  last,  though,  the  rumors  conflicted 
so  (and  I'm  afraid  his  temper,  rubbed  into 
a  great  irascibility  by  his  anxiety,  did  not 
smooth  matters)  that  by  the  time  the  whis- 
tles were  sounding,  he  was  as  far  from  pos- 
itive news  as  ever.  The  marshal's  office  was 
shut;  nobody  knew  who  could  make  out  the 
papers  necessary  for  going  aboard;  and  no 
one  in  the  throng  that  raced,  that  jostled, 
that  surged  and  poured  to  see  the  men  raised 
from  worse  than  the  tomb,  could  or  would 
tell  him  what  ought  to  be  done.  All  were 
too  eager  to  reclaim  friend,  child,  brother, 
husband,  kinsman,  from  their  long  journey 
into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow;  and  such 
as  had  not  that  hope  groped  tearfully  down 
to  hear  some  chance  word  of  their  dead  and 
"missing." 

Here  and  there  some  kind  hearts  listened 
to  him,  but  they  shook  their  heads,  and  had 
no  help  to  give  except  their  sympathy;  and 
it  was  well  on  into  the  afternoon  when  Den- 
bigh got  to  the  wharf,  and  had  to  halt  before 
the  wall  of  steel  that  guarded  the  enclosure, 
watching  with  miserable  and  envious  eyes 
those  who  had  passes,  and  who  went  in  to 
claim  their  own. 

xni. 

Denbigh  pressed  as  near  as  the  guards 
would  permit,  and,  O  God!  what  an  awful 
sight  met  his  eyes!  Were  those  creatures 
human  that  staggered  up  the  gang-plank? 
Were  those  objects,  lying  on  pallets,  and 
carried  by  on  stretchers,  men  ?  Gaunt  with 
hunger,  idiotic  with  suffering,  rotted  with 
scurvy  and  gangrene,  covered  with  sores, 
they  were  dying  by  the  half  score,  even  as 
the  boat  lay  alongside  the  wharf,  and  home 
and  freedom  were  in  their  grasp. 

He  turned  deathly  sick,  and  the  green 
hills  and  blue  river  surged  and  rolled  to- 
gether like  a  groundswell;  but  he  shook 
off  his  faintness,  and,  when  the  first  rush  was 
over,  told  the  soldier  nearest  him  that  he  had 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A)9 


a  friend  aboard  he  wanted  to  carry  away. 
"Got  a  permit?" 

I   "No." 
"Get  one." 
" But,  man, "  said  Denbigh,  "the  office 
IS  closed  now." 

That's  so.  Then  wait  till  to-morrow." 
I  can't  and  I  won't! "  flashed  Denbigh, 
hen,  fearing  some  delay,  he  controlled 
imself  enough  to  reason  and  remonstrate 
ith  the  soldier;  and  after  a  while  the  lat- 
r  said : 

"Well,  see  here:  I've  got  my  orders,  but 
guess  the  captain  wouldn't  be  too  hard  on 
e  at  such  a  time,  and" — with  reckless 
good-nature — "don't  care  if  he  is.  /  can 
stand  it  \i you  can ;  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  keep 
e'er  a  one  of  them  poor  critters  away  from 
his  friends  after  he's  got  this  far  on  the 
road  home." 

And  Denbigh  slipped  by  as  the  soldier 
looked  away,  and  in  a  few  seconds  was 
standing,  cap  in  hand,  before  the  officer  in 
charge. 

"Well?"  said  the  latter,  briskly. 
"I  want  a  man  named  O'Keefe,  please 
sir." 

He  turned  to  the  ledger,  ran  his  finger 
down  the  O's,  then  down  the  A"'s,  then 
shook  his  head. 

"No  such  man  here." 
Denbigh's  heart  seemed  to  stop. 
"He  must  be,  sir." 
"Well,  he  isn't." 

"Ain't  this  the  Queen  of  the  Chesapeake^ 
sir?" 
''Yes." 

"Well,  that's  the  boat  he  was  put  aboard 
to  come  North." 
'  'Are  you  sure  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes,  sir.  Here  it  is  in  writin' . ' '  And  he 
drew  a  well-worn  envelope  from  his  pocket 
containing  the  few  lines  from  Father  Ryan : 
"...  He  will  be  sent  with  the  draft  of 
men  shipped  aboard  the  Queen  of  the  Chesa- 
peake. ' ' 

"That's  so,"  said  the  officer;  "but  there 
may  have  been  some  mistake,  you  know." 
My  God!  don't  say  that,  sir.  You  don't 
enow  what  hangs  on  findin'  him." 


.    '  *  Is  he  your  brother  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir." 

"Ah,  a  friend?" 

"Well,  sir,  he  ain't  any  call  to  look  on 
me  as  even  that." 

The  young  officer  turned  surprised  eyes 
on  him. 

' '  Think  again,  sir,  please,' '  said  Denbigh. 
"Ain't  there  a  chance  he  could  have  been 
slipped  aboard  without  bein'  booked  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  was  the  somewhat  reluctant  an- 
swer, "he  might.  But  I  say,  my  good  fel- 
low, I've  been  on  duty  twenty-four  hours, 
and  I'm  very  tired.  Couldn't  you  come 
back  to-morrow?" 

Denbigh  made  a  gesture  of  mute  despair, 
and  launched  his  old  cry  for  help  to  Heaven. 
The  officer  looked  at  him  more  attentively 
as  he  did  so,  and  the  anguish  that  in  a  few 
minutes  had  drawn  the  man's  face  old  and 
thin  touched  his  heart  (you  see  he  was 
young,  and  had  not  had  time  to  grow  en- 
tirely hard  in  the  midst  of  War's  horrors), 
so,  giving  a  mighty  yawn,  and  an  impatient 
shake,  he  shouted : 

"Orderly!" 

A  soldier  appeared  and  touched  his  cap. 

"Were  all  the  released  prisoners  regis- 
tered?" 

'^ No,  sir." 

"How  many  were  not,  and  where  are 
they?" 

'  'About  a  hundred,  sir.  Some  of ' em' s  in 
the  forward  cabin,  some  of 'em  was  buried 
at  sea,  and  some  of 'em's  just  dead." 

' '  Can  you  identify  your  man  ?  " — to  Den- 
bigh. 

' '  Yes,  sir.  He's  about  my  size,  broad  and 
strong,  a  red  face,  black  hair,  grey  eyes,  and 
a  turn-up  nose." 

The  officer  shook  his  head  but  said  noth- 
ing, and  led  the  way  to  the  forward  cabin, 
the  floor  of  which  was  littered  with  pallets, 
on  which  lay  men  in  every  stage  of  emacia- 
tion. Over  some  the  sheets  were  entirely 
drawn,  but  through  the  folds  knees,  feet, 
and  ghastly  bones  set  up  with  horrid  dis- 
tinctness. 

"Not  much  breadth  or  color  here,  my 
man,"  he   said,  sadly,  as  Denbigh's  star- 


480 


The  Ave  Maria, 


tied   look   flashed   around   the   enclosure; 

'TU.look  at  the — the — dead  ones  first," 
remarked  the  trooper,  in  a  choked  voice. 

And  one  after  another  poor  face  was  un- 
covered, but  without  result.  Then  he  went 
from  mattress  to  mattress,  scrutinizing,  and 
in  one  or  two  instances  calling  the  men  by 
the  name  that  had  become  his  text.  But  ne- 
gation and  denial  met  him  at  all  sides;  and, 
with  the  revulsion  from  hope,  that  deathly 
sickness  again  swept  over  him,  and,  with 
his  hands  pres^ed  to  his  head,  he  dropped 
on  a  seat,  muttering  faintly:  ''  Pm  beat,  my 
God!  I'm  beat!" 

"Run,  fetch  some  brandy,"  said  Lieut. 
Craig  to  the  orderly. 

As  he  stood  looking  at  Denbigh,  and  the 
latter,  feeling  bruised  and  crushed,  repeated, 
"My  God!  my  God!"  in  a  tone  of  agony 
that  made  it  a  most  complete  prayer,  a  qua- 
vering wreck  of  a  voice  that  had  once  been 
sweet  and  flexible  crooned  feebly: 

"Holy  Mary,  Mother  mild, 
Hear,  oh!  hear  Thy  feeble  child! 
Waves  of  sorrow  o'er  me  roll, 
Storms  of—' ' 

"Who's  that?"  cried  Denbigh,  a  thrill 
running  through  him. 

' '  Where  ? ' '  said  the  young  officer. 

"That  singing." 

"I  didn't  hear  any  singing." 

"Yes,  sir;  here."  And  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  door  of  a  small  state-room  near  by. 

* '  Please  sir, ' '  observed  the  orderly,  who 
had  returned,  "  it' s  '  Crazy  Pat. '  When  the 
transports  was  comin'  ofi",  some  of  the  boys 
asked  me  to  look  out  for  him  special;  for 
he'd  just  spent  himself  a-lookin'  out  for 
them  in  that  cursed  hole — beg  your  pardon, 
sir—" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Denbigh;  "go  on!" 
And  he  seized  his  arm  with  his  old  strength, 
and  his  eyes  burned  so  fiercely  that  the  man 
said  to  himself:  "Whew,  you  look  as  if  you 
needed  a  strait-jacket,  j)/6>2/  do!"  Then  to 
Lieut.  Craig:  "And  so  when  we  got  started, 
I  just  got  one  of  the  little  state-rooms,  and 
put  him  in  it.  I  hope  you  don't  mind,  sir. 
You  see  he  was  so  2/«common  good  to  them 
poor  chaps. ' ' 


"Mind?  Not  a  bit,  Holt,  I  think  it  was 
mighty  good  of  you  to  do  it." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Holt,  reddening. 
"My,  you'd  just  ought  to  hear  about  that 
poor  fellow,  though  they  do  say  when  fust 
he  come  he  was  just  like  a  wild  beast;  but 
when  he  got  to  lookin'  around  he  stopped 
a-cussin'  and  growlin,'  an'  turned  to  like  a 
— a — a — most  like  a  angel.  He'd  taken  off" 
his  clo'es  tell  he'd  most  nothin'  left,  and 
covered  up  the  naked  ones;  and  when  he 
hadn't  any  more,  he'd  cover  'em  with  his 
body,  for  the  warmth  of  it,  sir,  you  know; 
for  it  was  a  most  cruel  cold  Winter.  He 
shared  his  feed  with  the  hungriest,  an' 
when  that  there  spring  *  busted  out,  he'd 
crawl  backwards  and  forwards  for  hours, 
a-fetchin'  water  to  them  as  was  too  weak  to 
go  for  it;  and  tell  his  mind  went — " 

Here  Denbigh  flung  up  his  arms  with  a 
cry  that  made  the  soldier  jump  and  edge  a 
little  farther  off".  He  thought,  ' '  You  never 
know  what  they're  up  to — they  lunatics!" 

Holt  went  on :  "  He  was  the  comforting- 
est  cretur  to  the  dyin'  ones!  He'd  a  little 
crucifix  and  a  string  o'  prayer-beads,  and 
when  they  was  a-givin'  the  countersign  to 
Death — an'  glad  enough  to  go,  poor  souls! 
— he'd  hold  'em  in  his  arms  an'  pray  with 
'em,  an'  hold  that  there  cross  afore  their 
eyes,  and  put  them  there  beads  in  their 
hands,  an'  turn  'em  on  their  faces  when 
they  was  dead,  so  they  wouldn't  be  stared 
at,  and  set  by  'em  tell  they  was  buried. 
And  even  after  he  turned  luny  he'd  sit  and 
sing  an'  pray  in  a  way  that'd  make  you 
laugh  an'  cry,  too;  for  sometimes  it  was 
songs  that  was  funny  as  fun,  and  sometimes 
it  was  hymns  an'  wailin's  and  such;  and 
he'd  such  a  way  of  callin'  on  the  Virgin 
Mary — " 

"It's  him!  I  know  it's  him!"  said  Den- 
bigh, shaking  with  excitement.  '  *  Take  me 
to  him.  For  any  sake  in  the  world  that'll 
hurry  you,  take  me ! ' ' 

And  Holt  opened  the  door. 
(to  be  continued.) 

*  A  spring  of  pure  fresh  water  burst  up  through 
the  sand  within  the  stockade — a  miracle  of  God's 
mercy. 


Vol.  XXIIL        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  20,  1886.  No.  21. 


liCopyright  — R«v.  D.  E. 


,C.8.C.] 


Claudia's  Monument.* 

BY    KIvEANOR     C.    DONNELLY. 

NOT  in  the  beauty  of  sculptured  stone, 
Not  in  the  splendor  of  mural  brasses, 
Sleeps  thy  memory,  sainted  one! 
The  glory  of  God  all  earth's  surpasses. 

1*0 !  in  the  blessed  ciborium, 

In  jewelled  chalice  and  golden  paten, — 
In  the  rarest  laces  of  Christendom 

(Shimmering  soft  over  rich  old  satin). 

Thy  sweet  remembrance  finds  its  shrine 
With  the  sparkling  gems  in  the  sacred  ves- 

I  sels; 

|0r  lives  in  the  web  of  these  laces  fine. 

Where  the  delicate  dream  of  the  artist  nes- 

,  ties. 

/Vnd  whenever  the  Body  and  Blood  of  Christ 
Bloom  from  paten  or  lifted  chalice — 

'\Vhen  the  royal  Victim  is  sacrific'd. 
Or  rests  in  His  little  golden  palace, 

Che  priest  at  the  altar,  bending  low. 
Shall  breathe  a  prayer  for  thy  soul  departed; 

^nd  up,  with  the  incense-wreaths,  shall  go 
Thy  name  and  thy  sister's,  gentle-hearted! 

^eave  funeral  urns  to  the  soulless  clod, 
Marbles  and  bronze  to  Fame's  endeavor; 

[ere,  at  the  feet  of  the  Living  God, 
Claudia's  memory  lives  forever! 

*  Suggested  by  the  exquisite  sacred  memorials 
esented  in  her  name  to  the  Altar  of  God  by  her 

voted  sister,  Miss  J.  L ,  to  whom  these  lines 

e  inscribed  with  tender  love  and  sympathy. 


Thoughts  on  the  Life  of   Our  Lady  in 
the  Temple. 

T  was  in  the  Greek  Church  that  the 
Feast  of  the  Presentation  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Temple  first 
began  to  be  celebrated.  It  was  not  recog- 
nized as  a  feast  by  the  Western  Church  till 
the  year  1375,  when  it  was  introduced  by 
Pope  Gregory  XI.  On  the  occasion  of  this 
solemnity  the  Church  celebrates  the  spe- 
cial oflfering  of  Herself  which  Our  Lady 
made  to  God  on  the  day  when,  in  the  Tem- 
ple at  Jerusalem,  Her  parents  publicly  and 
solemnly  presented  their  beloved  daughter, 
then  three  years  old,  in  fulfilment  of  the 
vow  which  they  had  made  to  consecrate 
their  child  to  God.  In  honoring  this  mys- 
tery by  the  establishment  of  a  special  feast, 
the  intention  of  the  Church  is  to  perpetu- 
ate among  the  faithful  the  remembrance  of 
that  holy  Presentation,  which  is,  next  to 
the  Sacrifice  of  Our  Lord,  the  most  accept- 
able offering  that  has  ever  been  made  to 
God.  The  Church  also  desires  to  hold  out 
to  us  as  an  example  for  our  imitation  the 
exalted  virtue  which  the  Blessed  Virgin 
displayed. 

From  the  very  first  moment  of  Her  ex- 
istence Mary  offered  to  God  Her  whole 
being  and  life.  Her  thoughts.  Her  actions, 
and  Her  will.  The  constant  tradition  of  the 
Church,  supported  by  the  authority  of  the 
Holy  Fathers,  assures  us  that  as  soon  as  Our 
Lady  acquired  the  use  of  Her  reason — that 
is,  from  the  first  moment  of  Her  existence — 


48^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


She  offered  Herself  to  God  absolutely  and 
unconditionally,  by  an  act  of  the  most  dis- 
interested love  and  the  most  perfect  devo- 
tion. This  offering  Mary  renewed  when, 
fourteen  days  after  Her  birth,  Her  mother, 
on  the  occasion  of  her  own  purification, 
carried  Her  to  the  Temple,  and  made  the 
offering  prescribed  by  the  Mosaic  I^aw  for 
the  redemption  of  the  child.  We  can  not 
doubt  that  on  this  occasion  Mary  offered 
Herself  once  more  to  Her  Sovereign  Lord, 
to  fulfil  in  everything  His  holy  and  adora- 
ble will. 

This,  however,  was  only  the  prelude,  as 
it  were,  to  that  solemn  and  public  offering 
of  their  child  to  God  made  by  Her  parents, 
in  execution  of  the  vow  of  which  we  have 
spoken.  It  was  then  that  Mary,  already 
possessed  of  the  full  use  of  Her  reason, 
voluntarily  presented  Herself  to  God,  exer- 
cising a  perfect  freedom  of  choice,  and  ex- 
periencing a  deep  and  sovereign  joy  in  so 
exercising  it.  We  may  believe  She  heard 
the  voice  of  God  inviting  Her  to  consecrate 
Herself  entirely  to  His  love,  and  saying: 
"Come,  My  beloved.  My  fairest.  My  chosen 
dove.  Incline  Thine  ear;  forget  also  Thy 
own  people  and  Thy  father's  house :  so  shall 
the  King  have  pleasure  in  Thy  beauty." 
Mary  listened  to  the  voice ;  She  believed  that 
it  was  the  voice  of  God,  and  understood  it. 
She  yielded  Herself  to  the  divine  command ; 
faithfully  obeying  the  action  of  God's  grace 
in  Her  heart.  She  renounced  without  hesi- 
tation all  that  was  most  dear  to  Her,  and 
broke  all  the  ties  that  bound  Her  to  created 
beings,  to  give  Herself  up  to  God  with- 
out the  sligh  test  reserve.  ' '  God  of  virtues ! ' ' 
She  exclaimed,  "how  amiable  are  Thy 
tabernacles!  My  soul  faints  and  thirsts  to 
appear  before  the  presence  of  God.  Thy 
altars.  My  God  and  My  King,  are  the  only 
refuge  My  soul  desires.  Nothing  but  Thy- 
self can  satisfy  My  longing  heart.  Thou  art 
the  God  of  My  heart  and  My  portion  for 
eternity. ' ' 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  says  St.Liguori, 
that  this  was  the  greatest  and  the  most  per- 
fect offering  ever  made  to  God  by  a  creature. 
Mary  offers  no  burnt- offering,  no  sacrifice 


of  beasts,  no  talents  of  silver  or  gold :  She 
consecrates  Herself  to  God  as  a  victim  for 
all  eternity.  What  could  the  spirits  of 
Heaven,  who  witnessed  this  fervor  and  de- ' 
votion,  say  at  the  sight  of  an  offering  so 
pure  and  a  victim  so  acceptable!  In  their 
wonder  and  amazement  they  could  only 
repeat,  with  the  Holy  Spouse  in  the  Canti- 
cle of  Canticles :  ' '  How  beautiful  art  Thou, 
My  beloved,  like  unto  the  sun  and  the 
moon !  Thy  grace  hath  ravished  the  Heart 
of  the  King ;  He  hath  preferred  Thee  before  ' 
all  that  bear  Thee  company."  The  holy 
victim  seems  to  reply  to  the  Most  High: 
"Behold,  I  come  to  do  Thy  will,  O  God! 
Sacrifice  and  burnt- offering  Thou  wouldst 
not.-  Again  I  said:  'Lo,  I  come!'" 

The  zeal  and  devotedness  with  which 
Mary  consecrated  Herself  to  God  should  be 
a  bright  example  for  every  Christian  to  fol- 
low.  Whatever  our  state  of  life,  we  should 
determine  to  present  the  first  fruits  to  God. 
The  most  essential  duty  of  every  intelligent 
creature  is  that  it  should  turn  its  heart,  in 
love,  to  God,  and  the  very  first  dawn  of| 
reason  should  be  employed  in  this  way  and| 
consecrated  to  this  end.    Following  the  ex 
ample  of  Mary,  all  Christians  should  hasten 
to  offer  to  their   Sovereign  Master  their 
possessions,  their  life,  and  all  their  being, 
and  devote  themselves  to  His  service  for- 
ever.   But  what  is  it  that  actually  takes 
place  among  Christians?    How  sad  it  is  to 
think  how  they  hesitate  and  delay  when  it 
is  a  question  of  giving  themselves  to  God: 
while  they  show,  on  the  other  hand,  such 
alacrity  and  zeal  in  seeking  out  created  ob- 
jects, and  in  devoting  themselves  too  often 
to  the  service  of  the  world  and  the  indul- 
gence of  their  passions!    Every  moment] 
of  our  life  belongs  to  God,  and  yet  how| 
many  do  we  spend  in  His  service?    Oui 
hearts  are  not  large  enough  to  admit  of  di- 
vision; besides,  God  is  a  jealous  Master,  whc 
will  not  tolerate  any  rival ;  and  yet,  not- 
withstanding this,  it  is  a  matter  of  only  toe 
frequent  experience  to  find  unfaithful  soulf 
striving  to  serve  God  and  the  world  at  thf 
same  time.    The  generous  offering  whictj 
Mary  made  to  God,  the  perpetual  sacrific(| 


Ihe  Ave  Maria. 


483 


<  f  the  whole  of  Her  being  and  life,  is  an 
(  verwhelming  condemnation  of  a  spirit  so 
c  iametrically  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the 
( rospel. 

When  the  ceremony  of  the  consecration  of 
Hary  was  over,  and  the  vow  accomplished, 
I [er  parents  withdrew;  but  the  young  child 
Y'ho  had  been  consecrated  to  God  remained 
in  the  Temple,  and  lived  there,  growing 
every  day  in  grace  and  beauty  like  a  lovely 
flower,  or  a  tree  planted  by  the  water-side, 
destined  to  bring  forth  its  fruit  in  due  sea- 
son.   Mary  passed  twelve  years  in  this  holy 
retirement.    She  was,  like  the  other  virgins 
in  the  Temple,  consecrated  to  the  service 
of  the  altars,  and  lived  under  their  shadow, 
guarded  by  the  priests  of  the  Old  I^aw, 
(Studying   the   Holy  Books,  and  devoting 
much  time  to  prayer.   These  privileges  She 
1  enjoyed  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the 
iholy  sisterhood,  but  She  alone,  by  a  sin- 
gular favor,  was  permitted  to  penetrate  into 
the  Holy  of  Holies,  where  the  high- priest 
klone  could  enter,  and  only  once  a  year.  Into 
phis  inner  shrine,  before  the  Mercy-Seat, 
iMary  would  frequently  enter  to  offer  to  God 
3er  most  ardent   supplications,  and  give 
lerself  up  to  the  most  sublime  contempla- 
ions.    The  angels  of  God  came  there  to 
isit  Her  and  minister  to  Her. 
No  one  but  the  spirits  in  heaven  could 
peak  in  fitting  terms  of  the  marvellous 
inctity  which  characterized  every  action 
f  the  Blessed  Virgin  during  Her  life  in  the 
emple.  As  the  light  of  the  dawn  increases 
|id  grows,  Mary  was  continually  advanc- 
g  from  virtue  to  virtue,  from  perfection  to 
Tfection.   Angels  and  men  contemplated 
er  with  astonishment,  and  were  lost  in  ad- 
iration  of  this  incomparable  miracle  of 
nctity. 

Of  all  the  virtues  which  adorned  the  soul 

Mary  in  Her  holy  retreat  in  the  Temple, 

-  most  excellent  and  the  dearest  to  Her 

iart  was  Her  holy  virginity,  to  which 

s|te,  by  a  special  inspiration  of  God,  She 

^|s  particularly  attracted  at  an  early  period 

Her  life.   ' '  Most  prudent  of  all  virgins, ' ' 

s  St.  Bernard,  "how  did  you  learn  that 

state  of  virginity  is  pleasing  to  God? 


You  heard  neither  precept  nor  counsel,  you 
followed  no  example;  but  the  enlighten- 
ment of  your  soul  by  God's  special  grace 
instructed  you  on  this  as  on  all  other  points. 
The  Iviving  Word  of  God  became  your 
teacher,  and  before  He  became  your  Son, 
and  took  upon  Him  your  flesh,  He  poured 
into  your  soul  all  the  treasures  of  wisdom 
and  knowledge.  You  offered  your  sacred 
virginity  as  a  most  acceptable  offering  to 
Jesus  Christ,  and  you  knew  not  then  that 
you  were  destined  for  the  infinitely  higher 
privilege  of  becoming  His  Mother. ' ' 

Such  are,  briefly,  the  principal  charac- 
teristics of  the  hidden  life  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  after  Her  consecration  to  God,  in 
the  Temple  at  Jerusalem.  A  simple  feeling 
of  admiration  on  our  part  for  the  ineffable 
virtues  She  displayed  would  be  a  poor  trib- 
ute to  Her:  what  is  needed  is  to  draw  prac- 
tical conclusions,  and  adopt  resolutions,  in 
conformity  with  Her  glorious  example,  for 
the  regulation  of  our  own  individual  lives. 
Let  us  institute  a  comparison  between  our 
lives  and  Hers,  and  we  shall,  indeed,  have 
reason  to  blush.  The  virtue  of  Mary  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  corruption  of  the 
world,  and  yet  we  see  that  this  Holy  Virgin, 
as  soon  as  She  attained  a  sufficient  degree 
of  childish  strength,  hurried  from  the  world 
to  take  refuge  in  Her  Father's  house,  and 
to  shield  Her  innocence  from  all  dangers 
under  the  shadow  of  His  altars.  Her  life 
was  passed  there  in  absolute  seclusion;  She 
occupied  Herself  solely  in  the  service  of 
God  and  the  practice  of  virtue. 

Now  consider  our  conduct,  and  compare 
it  with  Hers.  How  often  have  we  experi- 
enced that,  with  regard  to  the  salvation  of 
our  souls,  we  have  everything  to  fear  from 
this  corrupted  and  corroding  world!  And 
yet  we  go  on  loving  this  world,  we  seek 
continually  after  its  pleasures,  and  expose 
ourselves  to  all  its  dangers.  Even  if  com- 
pelled to  live  away  from  the  seductions  and 
dissipations  of  the  world,  yet  we  too  often 
give  free  rein  to  our  imagination, "and  trans- 
port ourselves  in  thought  to  the  scenes  we 
have  left  behind  us;  we  take  delight  in  the 
news,  the  gossip,  the  pleasures,  pomps,  and 


484 


The  Ave  Maria. 


vanities  which  we  ought  long  since  to  have 
renounced  forever. 

In  celebrating  the  Feast  of  the  Presenta- 
tion of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Temple,  let 
us  learn  to  follow  Her  example,  and  to  love 
a  life  of  retirement — a  life  of  recollection 
and  prayer.  Above  all,  let  us  learn  the  value 
of  a  life  of  virtue,  and  let  us  convince  our- 
selves of  the  great  reward  in  store  for  those 
who  make  sacrifice  of  themselves  to  God. 
Finally,  at  this  holy  time,  let  us  unite  our 
hearts  to  the  Heart  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
in  order  that  we  may  present  ourselves  to 
God,  both  our  souls  and  bodies,  as  a  holy 
sacrifice  for  His  glory.  Let  us  entreat  our 
Holy  Mother  to  obtain  for  us  from  Her  di- 
vine Son  the  grace  of  fidelity  and  constancy, 
of  which  She  has  given  us  so  shining  an  ex- 
ample; so  that,  following  in  Her  footsteps, 
we  may  remain  steadfast  and  immovable  in 
the  love  and  service  of  God  henceforth  and 
forever. 


The  Black  Gown's  Prophecy. 


T' 


I. 

^HE  woods  bordering  on  the  dancing 
i  waters  of  the  Mohawk  River  were  glori- 
ous in  their  Autumn  dress,  although  await- 
ing death  at  the  first  touch  of  frost  and 
snow.  Amidst  all  the  glories  of  nature  the 
wigwams  of  Audagoron,  the  chief  town  of 
the  warlike  Mohawks — who  at  that  time, 
with  the  Senecas,  Oneidas,  Onondagas,  and 
Cayugas,  formed  the  dreaded  confederation 
of  the  Five  Nations — seemed  to  be  deserted. 
No  sound  disturbed  the  repose  of  evening, 
for  the  warriors  had  assembled  in  earnest 
consultation.  The  village  was  plunged  in 
grief:  heavy  trials  had  visited  it. 

About  a  hundred  paces  from  the  farthest 
wigwam,  at  the  foot  of  an  oak  tree,  knelt  a 
priest  rapt  in  contemplation;  a  heavenly 
peace  rested  on  his  countenance;  his  eye 
was  fixed  on  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  and  the 
monogram  of  Christ  carved  on  the  bark  of 
the  tree,  which  in  the  course  of  the  year  had 
become  almost  obliterated.  This  solitary 
petitioner  in  the  wild  forest  of  the  Mohawk 
^as   Father  Isaac  Jogues,  the  celebrated 


Apostle  of  the  Iroquois.  His  hands,  which 
had  been  maimed  by  the  redskins,  had 
once  been  reverently  kissed  by  the  dowager 
Queen  of  France  in  presence  of  the  whole 
court;  and  the  Holy  Father  himself  had 
called  him  a  martyr  of  Christ.  Four  years 
before,  after  sufiering  severe  tortures,  he 
had  languished  for  fifteen  months  as  a  pris- 
oner amongst  the  Mohawks.  It  was  during 
that  hard  captivity  that  he  had  engraven 
the  sacred  symbols  on  the  oak;  there  he 
had  found  consolation  in  his  sorrows;  there 
to  his  favored  vision  the  Lamb  who  taketh 
away  the  sins  of  the  world  had  appeared, 
filling  his  soul  with  seraphic  sweetness. 

Only  three  months  before  our  narrative 
opens  he  had  come  to  the  spot  for  the  second 
time,  in  order  to  establish  peace  between 
his  own  people — the  French  dwelling  on 
the^St.  Lawrence — and  the  Indian  tribes; 
and  now  he  had  come  for  the  third  time  to 
bring  to  the  red  men  sitting  in  the  shadow 
of  death  that  higher  peace  with  which  his 
own  soul  overflowed — that  peace  which  the 
world  can  not  give — the  peace  of  the  true 
faith. 

On  the  former  visit  the  missionary  had 
left  a  small  box  after  him,  as  it  was  his 
intention  to  return  to  his  Iroquois.  After 
his  departure  the  worms  destroyed  the  har- 
vest of  the  Indians,  and  the  ''black  death" 
entered  their  wigwams,  demanding  many 
a  painful  sacrifice.  This  afforded  a  splendid 
opportunity  to  the  medicine  men,  who  had 
long  before  sworn  the  death  of  the  hated 
missionary.  They  spread  around  the  report 
that  the  devil  was  hidden  in  the  box,  and  it 
was  he  that  afflicted  them  so  grievously 
The  declaration  was  readily  believed  by  the 
superstitious  multitude.  With  many  im- 
precations the  box  was  thrown  into  the 
river,  and  all  now  awaited  the  return  of  the 
Black  Gown,  to  wreak  their  vengeance  or 
him  for  this  witchcraft.  Father  Jogues  hac 
barely  reached  Lake  Champlain  when  the} 
fell  upon  him  with  loud  cries  of  triumph 
took  him  prisoner,  and  brought  him  to  An 
dagoron  (now  Caughnawaga).  The  mis 
sionary,  though  fully  aware  of  what  awaitec 
him,  was  calm  and  resigned,  and  went  t< 


The  Ave  Maria. 


48s 


prepare  himself  for  death   near  that  oak 
where  he  had  knelt  so  often  before. 

Some  warriors  noiselessly  approached 
the  kneeling  priest.  "  Ondesonk  " — by  this 
name  the  Iroquois  called  the  missionary — 
*'wilt  thou  not  enter  the  Bear's  cabin,  and 
eat  of  his  corn  and  dwell  in  his  wigwam, 
that  his  mighty  hand  may  protect  thee 
against  thy  enemies  ? ' ' 

The  holy  man  arose  without  answering, 
and,  looking  up  to  heaven,  said,  joyfully: 
^Deo  gratiasf^  He  then  kissed  the  holy 
gn  on  the  bark  of  the  tree,  and  turned  to' 
e  messengers  of  the  Bear.  "Let  us  go  in 
ace."  Silently  as  they  had  come  the 
essengers  turned  their  steps  towards  the 
llage,  which  lay  before  them  in  gloomy 
pose. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falliifg  slowly 
on  the  forest.  They  were  still  some  distance 
from  the  wigwams  of  the  chief  of  the  great 
family  of  the  Bears.  From  one  of  the  cab- 
ins the  wailing  cry  of  a  woman's  voice 
fell  upon  the  ear  of  the  missionarv'.  Sym- 
pathy arrested  his  steps,  and  he  inquired 
of  his  escort  the  cause  of  this  mourning. 
"Tlie  demon  of  death,"  they  answered, 
"has  laid  his  hand  on  Ganonakoa,  the  little 
son  of  the  brave  Pomoakon.  Pomoakon 
fell  under  the  bullets  of  the  Pale  Faces  from 
the  Great  River,  and  his  widow  weeps  and 
laments  becau=^e  death  is  about  to  rob  her 
of  her  last  comfort. ' '  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  the  man  of  God  entered  the  wig- 
wam, whilst  his  companions  awaited  him 
outside;  he  hoped  he  might  be  fortunate 
enough  to  win  another  soul  for  heaven  by 
Baptism. 

A  sad  picture  presented  itself  to  view:  an 
Indian  woman  knelt  on  the  ground,  tearing 
her  dishevelled  hair,  and  in  a  piercing  voice 
repeating  over  and  over  the  name  of  her 
child,  whose  fever- wasted  form  lay  on  skins 
beside  her.  The  child's  bosom  rose  and  fell, 
and  the  little  creature  seemed  to  be  in  its  last 
agony.  The  medicine  men,  who  by  dancing 
and  words  of  enchantment  pretended  to 
drive  away  the  demon  of  death  from  the 
beds  of  the  sick,  had  no  time  to  attend  to 
their  office  this  night.     They  were  busy 


with  the  plan  of  revenge  which  they  had 
been  preparing  for  years. 

As  soon  as  the  weeping  woman  caught 
sight  of  the  form  of  the  missionary  through 
the  gloom  she  hastily  arose;  a  gleam  of 
joy  passed  over  her  haggard  features,  and, 
casting  herself  at  his  feet,  she  exclaimed, 
in  passionate  tones:  "Save  my  child,  On- 
desonk, thou  servant  of  the  Great  Spirit! 
Save  my  son,  my  only  joy ;  for  the  demon 
hath  laid  his  hand  upon  him !  Thou  canst 
drive  him  away,  Ondesonk,  if  thou  wilt; 
for  thou  hast  power  over  all  devils."  She 
raised  her  arms  imploringly  to  him,  as  if 
life  and  death  lay  in  his  power.  Without 
appearing  to  notice  the  woman,  the  Father 
knelt  beside  the  dying  child,  and  folded  his 
hands  in  prayer,  in  this  last  hour  of  his  life 
asking  of  the  Lord,  for  whose  love  he  had 
suffered  so  much,  to  grant  him  one  more  ex- 
traordinary favor.  Then  dipping  his  hand 
into  a  vessel  of  water,  which  the  mother 
had  been  using  to  moisten  the  parched  lips 
of  the  child,  he  poured  some  of  it  on  his 
burning  forehead,  saying  in  a  loud  and  sol- 
emn voice:  "I  baptize  thee  in  the  Name  of 
the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost." 

The  woman  still  continued  kneeling 
where  she  had  thrown  herself  at  the  mis- 
sionary's feet,  watching  intently  his  every 
movement.  Suddenly,  when  the  waters  of 
Baptism  had  touched  the  boy's  forehead, 
his  breathing  became  easier  and  slower, 
his  breast  ceased  its  convulsive  heavings, 
the  woman  uttered  a  piercing  cry  —  the 
jewel  of  her  soul  was  dead!  But  no:  the 
child  opened  his  eyes  and  cast  a  grateful 
look  on  the  countenance  of  the  apostle  of 
the  Indians.  With  a  second  cry  the  now 
happy  mother  threw  herself  on  her  child, 
pressed  him  to  her  bosom  and  kissed  him, 
calling  him  by  the  most  endearing  names 
a  mother' s  love  could  suggest.  Then  turn- 
ing to  the  missionary,  through  whose  min- 
istry her  son,  with  the  purificati^ij  of  liis 
soul,  had  also  received  healtlyoLbody,  she 
said:  (   McJ^i 

' '  How  shall  the  desolate  -iriclow  of  Po- 
moakon be  able  to  thank  thee,  wlio  hast 


48b 


The  Ave  Maria, 


preserved  the  apple  of  her  eye?  I  swore 
vengeance  against  the  Pale  Faces;  my  soul 
hates  them,  because  by  their  hands  fell  Po- 
moakon  when  he  had  scarcely  chosen  me 
as  mistress  of  his  wigwam.  But  thy  heart 
is  full  of  charity,  Ondesonk,  and  thy  hand 
brings  not  death  like  that  of  thy  brethren. 
Oh!  go  not  to  the  cabin  of  the  Bear,  for 
death  awaits  thee  there.  The  tomahawks 
of  the  warriors  are  prepared  to  cut  thee 
down;  the  medicine  men  are  ready  to  chant 
thy  death-song.  Hasten,  flee  in  the  shadow 
of  the  night!  Woe  is  me  that  I  can  not  bear 
thee  forth  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  save 
thee!"  And  the  woman  wrung  her  hands 
in  her  agony. 

But  the  missionary  answered,  with  holy 
calm :  * '  Let  not  thy  soul  be  troubled  on  my 
account,  O  woman !  Although  I  walk  amidst 
the  shades  of  death,  I  fear  no  evil ;  for  the 
Great  Spirit  is  with  me.  I  go  whither  He 
calls  me.  I  go,  to  return  no  more;  for  so 
He  wills  it. "  And,  making  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  on  the  forehead  of  the  boy,  the 
Black  Gown  continued :  ' '  This  son  of  thine, 
through  the  Cross  of  Christ,  will  shine  as 
the  morning  star  in  the  night  of  his  people. 
God  grant  that  to  thee  also,  O  woman!  fort- 
unate mother  of  such  a  son,  the  grace  of  the 
Great  Spirit  may  show  the  way  to  peace 
and  to  heaven ! ' '  With  these  words  he  left 
the  wigwam. 

The  kind-hearted  woman,  foreboding 
evil,  took  her  son  in  her  arms,  wrapped 
him  in  one  of  the  skins,  and  rushed  after  the 
missionary;  but  she  had  scarcely  crossed 
the  threshold  when  a  horrid  outcry  re- 
sounded through  the  darkness.  The  sound 
pierced  her  heart  like  a  sword.  She  rushed 
forward  to  the  Bear's  cabin,  but  the  mar- 
tyrdom was  completed.  Ondesonk  lay  at 
the  door  of  the  wigwam,  his  skull  split 
open.  With  wild  shouts  of  joy  the  warriors 
of  the  family. of  the  Bear  and  the  medicine 
men  danced  around  him.  She  was  about 
to  force  her  way  through  the  bloodthirsty 
savages,  in  order  bravely  to  assist  her  bene- 
factor in  his  death  struggle,  when  suddenly 
the  voice  of  her  little  son  was  heard  above 
the  outcries  of  the  savages. 


"O  mother!  look  at  the  light  that  is 
coming  down  from  the  clouds!  See  those 
people  that  are  carrying  Ondesonk  through 
the  light  into  heaven!  O  how  beautiful, 
mother!  O  how  beautiful!"  But  mother 
and  warriors  saw  nothing,  save  the  bleeding 
remains  of  the  Black  Gown  —  when  be- 
hold! a  wonderful  light  surrounds  the  body; 
it  shines  from  the  corpse —  from  the  maimed 
hands,  from  the  scarred  face,  from  the  gap- 
ing wound  in  the  head, — and  it  grows 
brighter  and  brighter.  A  panic  seizes  upon 
the  murderers;  their  screams  are  silenced, 
and  they  flee  from  the  spot  in  terror. 

Before  the  martyr's  glorious  remains 
Pomoakon's  widow  and  little  son  knelt  in 
silent  wonder  and  holy  fear. 

(CONCI.USION  IN  OUR   NEXT  NUMBER.) 


With  Staff  and  Scrip. 


Under  the  Crescent. 


BY    CHARI.ES   WARREN    STODDARD. 


XIV. — The  Sultan  Goes  to  Mosque. 

THE  Shadow  of  God."— It  is  high 
noon  of  a  Friday,  the  Sabbath  of  the 
Turks.  The  Sultan  goes  to  mosque  at  twelve 
sharp;  but  as  yet  (five  minutes  before  the 
hour)  we  are  unable  to  ascertain  whether  he 
goes  by  sea  or  land,  or  which  of  the  royal 
mosques  he  deigns  to  honor  with  his  august 
visitation. 

The  Sultan  is  the  Pope  of  the  Mohamme- 
dans; he  is  the  head  and  front  of  their  faith, 
and  when  they  take  up  arms  in  his  defence 
they  are  fighting  the  good  fight.  It  is  a 
religious  war,  in  which  the  poor  fellows  will 
perish  with  enthusiasm;  for  they  also  be- 
lieve that  the  soul  of  everyone  who  falls  in 
battle  is  translated  immediately  to  the  sev- 
enth heaven  of  eternal  bliss. 

We  are  informed  that  His  Awful  High- 
ness never  decides  until  the  last  moment 
which  mosque  he  will  visit.  This  is  partly 
caprice,  partly  a  precaution ;  for  who  knows 
at  what  moment  some  mad  wag  may  send  a 
charmed  bullet  whizzing  through  theimpe- 


IS 


The  Ave  Maria. 


487 


ial  brain  ?   If  you  would  see  ' '  The  Shadow 

>f  God" — the  successor  of  Mohammed — 

et  forth  on  his  weekly  visitation,  you  must 

ecure  your  carriage,  drive  to  the  gates  of  the 

avorite  palace  on  the  Bosporus,  and  there 

wait   the  moment  when  the   "Shadow" 

laounts  his  superb  steed,  and  rides  away, 

surrounded  by  a  small  army;  or  follow  the 

loyal  barge,  and  reach  the  mosque  by  land 

in  season  to  see  him  arrive  by  water. 

For  a  whole  hour  we  sat  under  the  shade 
C'f  the  trees  in  front  of  the  palace;  a  thou- 
sand troops  were  lounging  in  easy  attitudes, 
exchanging  slang  and  small  talk  with  the 
swarms  of  beggars  that  infested  the  place. 
A  large  number  of  high  officials  rode  to  and 
fro  in  raiment  that  would  make  the  fortune 
of  any  manager  who  could  reproduce  it  in 
some  Eastern  extravaganza.  The  horses, 
of  pure  Arabian  blood,  seemed  mad  with 
vanity,  and  were  as  coquettish  and  affected 
as  young  girls.  The  harem  was  well  repre 
sented.  A  line  of  handsome  broughams 
j  manned  with  eunuchs,  if  I  may  be  allowed 
the  expression,  passed  up  and  down  the 
I  avenue,  displaying  the  highly  artificial 
'  loveliness  of  the  Circassian  and  Georgian 
houris^  who  are  the  wives  of  the  Sultan. 
This  is  as  near  a  view  as  they  ever  get  of 
the  great  world  about  them,  and  with  what 
eyes  they  look  upon  it  —  these  beautiful 
odalisks! 

We  recognized  all  our  steamer  friends, 
and  caught  glimpses  of  faces  that  we  had 
grown  familiar  with  in  other  ports,  but  had 
missed  for  many  a  day.  All  the  world  comes 
forth  to  gaze  when  the  Sultan  goes  to 
mosque. 

As  the  hour  of  noon  drew  near  there  was 
\  noticeable  tremor  of  anticipation  every- 
where visible.  Even  the  swarthy  infantry — 
ough- looking  fellows  they  are — grew  im- 
mtient,  and  turned  again  and  again  toward 
:he  palace  gates,  where  the  dignitaries  of 
he  court  were  stationed.    The  avenue  was 
'eared   of  pedestrians   and   vehicles — or 
ither  a  way  was  opened  through  the  centre, 
-and  we  were  suffered  to  sit  in  our  high 
arriage  at  the  roadside  in  the  best  possible 
i'osition.   The  retinue  that  awaited  the  ar- 


rival of  His  Majesty  was  composed  of  the 
handsomest,  haughtiest,  and  most  distin- 
guished-looking gentlemen  that  can  be 
imagined.  The  spectacle  was,  of  course, 
highly  theatrical,  but  none  the  less  inter- 
estinor  or  ao^reeable  for  that  reason. 

The  excitement  increased.  Suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  it,  the  officials  who  had  been 
waiting  at  the  palace  gates,  where  also  the 
Sultan's  charger,  superbly  caparisoned,  was 
led  to  and  fro, — suddenly  and  without  a 
moment's  warning  the  soldiers  presented 
arms,  and  then  the  officials  dashed  up  the 
street,  followed  by  the  harem  and  the  mob, 
or  so  much  of  it  as  was  on  wheels,  and  capa- 
ble of  keeping  pace  with  the  flying  officials. 
The  army  retreated,  the  avenues  were  de- 
serted in  a  .very  few  moments;  for  the  Sul- 
tan had  gone  to  mosque  by  water. 

The  carriages  of  the  harem  were  our  only 
guides.  We  got  in  their  wake,  and  drove 
rapidly  through  narrow,  crooked  and  ill- 
paved  streets,  following  the  shores  of  the 
Bosporus,  but  unable  to  get  even  a  glimpse 
of  it.  Having  come  at  last  to  the  water's 
edge,  our  dragoman  hastened  to  conduct 
us  into  an  upper  chamber  of  a  Greek  cafk^ 
where  we  had  a  row  of  windows  opening 
upon  the  Bosporus,  and  bearing  directly 
upon  the  quay  of  the  mosque  not  a  stone' s- 
throw  from  us. 

We  were  singularly  fortunate;  for  below 
us,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  crowd 
grew  denser  every  moment,  and  many  a 
foreign  face  was  recognizable  by  reason  of 
its  agonized  and  despairing  expression. 
Coffee  and  pipes  were  brought,  not  forget- 
ting the  glass  of  rosewater,  with  which  we 
at  first  moistened  our  lips.  Meanwhile  the 
officials  passed  into  the  quay,  and  stood  in  a 
long  line  against  the  facade  of  the  mosque. 
They  were  all  in  European  dress,  with  the 
exception  of  the  fez,  and  looked,  as  they 
stood  there  shoulder  to  shoulder,  not  unlike 
an  overgrown  military  school  on  drill. 

A  caique  shortly  arrived  with  the  royal 
properties.  Splendid  Persian  carpets  were 
unrolled,  reaching  from  the  steps  at  the  wa- 
ter's edge  across  the  quay  into  the  mosque; 
others  —  the   prayer  -  carpets,    etc., —  were 


488 


The  Ave  Maria. 


taken  within  the  mosque.  Caiques  began  to 
drift  in  from  the  Bosporus,  but  they  were 
kept  at  a  respectful  distance  by  the  water 
police.  A  band  of  instruments  stationed 
itself  under  our  windows,  and  awaited  the 
arrival  of  His  Mightiness. 

Then  the  thunder  of  cannon  was  heard 
rolling  over  the  water.  The  six  ironclads 
that  were  lying  a'  reast  of  the  palace  were 
covered  with  flags,  the  yards  were  manned, 
and  as  the  royal  caique  swept  under  them, 
the  great  guns  belched  forth  their  ava- 
lanches of  smoke  and  fury,  and  the  crews 
of  the  war- ships  one  after  another  rent  the 
air  with  lusty  cheers.  It  was  extremely 
exciting;  I  felt  the  little  shivers  running 
up  and  down  my  spine. 

The  caiques^  as  we  saw  them  down  the 
Bosporus,  looked  like  huge  sea-birds  flying 
low,  with  wings  just  dipping  in  the  water. 
In  the  centre  the  royal  barge  of  white  and 
gold  flashed  gloriously  in  the  sunshine.  It 
was  followed  by  the  barge  of  the  Sultan's 
eldest  son.  The  chief  officers  of  the  royal 
family  surrounded  the  state  barges  with 
their  smaller  caiques.  The  band  struck 
up  under  our  window;  the  wild,  fanatical 
Turkish  music  is  calculated  to  goad  one  to 
frenzy;  there  is  something  devilish  in  it, 
and  therefore  something  fascinating.  Two 
of  the  band  men  held  each  aloft  a  pole,  on 
the  top  of  which  was  a  crescent  and  a  mul- 
titude of  scarlet  tassels  and  brazen  bells, 
and  these  were  whirled  dizzily  round  and 
round  so  long  as  the  music  lasted. 

With  the  thunder  of  cannon,  and  the 
chorus  of  cheers  from  the  last  of  the  iron- 
clads, came  the  magnificent  Sultan  to 
mosque.  His  gilded  caique,  a.  hundred  feet  in 
length,  was  as  graceful  as  an  ostrich  feather. 
Under  a  canopy  of  scarlet  velvet,  spangled 
and  heavily  fringed  with  gold,  the  Sultan 
sat  like  an  idol ;  and  at  his  feet,  with  their 
hands  spread  palms  down  upon  their  knees, 
and  their  heads  bowed  low,  knelt  the  Vizier 
and  Grand- Vizier  in  silent  adoration.  Six- 
and-twenty  picked  rowers — men  as  lithe  as 
serpents  and  as  agile  as  panthers,  clad  in 
white,  and  moving  with  marvellous  preci- 
sion— plunged  upon  their  golden  oars. 


These  wonderful  oarsmen  actually  went 
down  upon  their  knees,  and  made  a  pro- 
found obeisance  before  their  lord  and  mas- 
ter, at  the  same  moment  throwing  their 
oar-blades  high  into  the  air;  then  with  a 
tremendous  sweep  they  sprang  up  and 
struck  their  oars  into  the  sea,  while  the  tips 
flashed  in  an  arch  of  flame.  Recovering 
themselves,  the  graceful  oarsmen  crept  for- 
ward, crouching  like  wild  beasts  on  the 
alert,  fairly  grovelling  at  the  feet  of  the  Sul- 
tan. It  was  altogether  a  very  extraordinary 
performance,  and  the  great  barge  shot  for- 
ward with  astonishing  rapidity,  and  swam 
up  to  the  steps  of  the  mosque  in  the  most 
brilliant  and  effective  manner. 

When  the  barge  touched  the  quay,  the  of- 
ficials who  awaited  His  Supreme  Highness 
stooped,  took  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the 
Sultan,  kissed  it,  touched  it  to  their  fore- 
heads and  their  breasts.  The  dust  was,  of 
course,  invisible,  but  the  ceremonial  was 
significant.  As  the  royal  foot  was  placed 
upon  the  steps,  the  dignitaries  touched  their 
foreheads  to  the  ground  and  showed  every 
mark  of  humility.  His  Terrific  Mightiness 
passed  haughtily  into  the  mosque,  and  the 
spectacle  was  suspended.  Not  the  slightest 
notice  was  taken  of  the  son  and  heir  to  the 
throne ;  for  in  this  wise  the  supreme  glory 
due  to  the  father  might  be  lessened. 

Everybody  was  at  liberty  to  do  as  he 
pleased.  We  became  exceedingly  demo- 
cratic, and  were  admitted  to  a  private  in- 
spection of  the  royal  barges.  Before  the 
royal  party  had  arrived  at  the  mosque, 
orders  came  from  some  official  near  us  that 
the  windows  of  our  ca/e  must  be  closed. 
We  were  obliged  to  comply,  though  most 
reluctantly,  since  it  was  an  affair  in  which 
our  safety  and  the  security  of  our  host  de- 
pended; but  we  were  reckless  enough  to 
throw  up  the  window  at  the  last  moment, 
when  all  attention  was  directed  toward  the 
Sultan,  and  so  we  lost  nothing  but  a  little 
fresh  air  through  the  fear  or  the  fanaticism 
of  the  authorities.  We  could  not  ascertain 
the  real  cause  of  this  interference  with  our 
comfort  and  pleasure,  but  were  told  it  wasj 
probably  because  it  is  not  safe,  or  was  not,  J 


( 


p 


The  Ave  Maria. 


489 


for  Abdul- Aziz  to  appear  in  public;  and 
every  precaution  was  taken  to  keep  the 
route  of  his  journeys  to  the  mosque  a 
secret,  as  well  as  to  have  an  eye  upon  the 
windows  and  housetops  in  the  vicinity, 
'est  he  might  be  shot  from  some  ambus- 
cade. 

After  the  procession  had  returned  from 
the  mosque  on  the  occasion  of  which  I 
write,  the  Sultan  repaired  to  his  palace,  and 
three  days  later  the  unhappy  wretch  lay  in 
;he  royal  chamber  drowned  in  his  own 
blood!  When  the  Sultan  went  to  mosque 
that  day  he  said  the  last  prayer  of  his  life, 
and  the  son  that  followed  him  was  scarcely 
more  fortunate  than  his  miserable  and 
miserly  sire. 

The  Last  Farewki^l  — From  the  lofty 
tower  of  Galata  I  had  my  last  view  of  the 
City  of  the  Sultan.  Galata  was  settled  early 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  by  a  Genoese 
colony.  The  Genoese  were  allowed  to  throw 
a  wall  about  it,  and  to  govern  it  by  the  laws 
of  the  republic.  They  built  a  high  tower 
in  the  midst  of  it,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
world  with  so  much  of  pride  that,  of  course, 
they  had  their  fall.  The  walls  went  down 
with  them.  The  great  tower  alone  remains, 
and  from  its  lofty  summit  a  watch  is  con- 
tinually on  the  lookout  for  smoke:  this  is 
the  fire-alarm  that  floats  from  the  flagstaflf 
overhead — a  silent  and  ineffectual  signal. 

There  is  a  cafe  in  the  top  of  the  tower. 
You  sit  in  the  deep  windows  thereof  and 
look  over  into  Asia,  with  all  Europe  at  your 
back.  Beneath  you  thousands  of  Christians 
have  been  martyred  for  Christ's  sake. 
There  are  a  dozen  churches — Greek  and 
Latin — that  have  been  turned  into  mosques 
To-day,  at  any  moment,  if  the  Moslem  fa- 
natics were  to  rise,  they  could  without  diffi- 
culty sweep  all  the  unbelievers  from  the 
face  of  this  part  of  the  earth. 

You  think  of  this  as  your  eye  scans  the 
ravishing  picture.  You  float  like  a  dove 
over  the  enchanting  city.  You  note  the 
points  with  which  you  have  grown  familiar 

the  deep  shadows  of  the  funereal  cy- 
presses; the  crescents  that  sparkle  in  the 
mnshine  from  the  peaks  of  slender  mina- 


rets; the  golden  llood  that  divides  the  city, 
and  yet  clasps  it  in  a  warm  embrace;  the  sea 
beyond,  and  the  sea  islands. 

The  mists  of  the  evening  gather  at  sunset; 
a  luminous  haze  is  spread  over  the  bewil- 
dering landscape,  and  it  is  more  fairy- like 
and  unreal  than  ever.  You  look  across  the 
world,  and  pass  from  hill  to  hill,  on  to  the 
remote  horizon ;  and  there,  over  against  the 
sunset,  across  the  broad  disc  of  splendid  fire, 
you  see  the  dark  outlines  of  a  fort,  one  of 
the  chief  strongholds  of  Constantinople; 
and  out  of  the  midst  of  cannon  and  shot 
and  shell  springs  the  sharp,  spear- like 
minaret. 

Y^ou  will  find  that  these  Turks  are  al- 
ways backed  by  their  religion.  I  believe 
there  is  na  exception  to  this  rule.  Every 
soldier  of  the  Sultan  carries  a  mosque  in 
his  own  heart,  and  the  bullet  that  pierces 
that  heart  opens  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  the 
late  Bashi-Bazouk.  I  thought  of  this  with 
a  slight  chill,  and  was  glad  when  they  said 
unto  me,  "Let  us  arise  and  go  hence." 
(to  bk  continued.) 


Summer  Ramblings  by  Lake  Como. 


The  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy. 


BY  OCTAVIA   HENSEL. 


LAKE  COMO  was  ruddy  in  sunset  glow 
as  we  left  the  vine-trellised  wharf  at 
Bellagio,  and  steamed  across  the  beautiful 
carmine  and  purple  waters  to  the  olive 
and  oleander  groves  of  Cadenabia.  White- 
winged  sail-boats,  and  tiny  skiffs  rowed  by 
fishermen  in  the  picturesque  costume  of 
the  boatmen  of  Lake  Como,  floated  idly  in 
the  summer  evening  breeze  along  the  leafy 
woodland  shores. 

Cadenabia,  with  its  beautiful  Villa  Car- 
lotta — the  summer  home  of  the  Duke  of 
Saxe  Meiningen — was  like  a  giant  bouquet 
of  oleanders  and  crape  myrtles,  out  of  which 
gray  and  white  campaniles  arose,  and  flung 
from  their  turrets  the  silver  tone  of  bells. 


490 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Sailing  onward,  around  the  green  prom- 
ontory of  Villa  Balbianello,  below  the  pretty 
Bay  of  Lenno,  we  came  to  San  Giovanni's 
rocky  island,  with  its  monastery  and  church, 
its  fortifications  and  bastions,  now  covered 
with  almond  and  olive  trees  on  fort-like  ter- 
races, where  once  the  valiant  Knights  of  St. 
John  kept  watch  and  ward.  Very  beautiful 
was  this  island  in  the  warm  Italian  sunset 
glow,  nestled  under  vine-terraced  hills  and 
great  mountains  that  fall  down  to  the  lake, 
their  base  lost  in  softly-rounded  lobes  of 
mulberry  and  pomegranate  groves. 

Villas  and  campaniles  are  the  features  of 
Lake  Como,  as  are  the  vine}  ards  and  clus- 
ters of  green  hills  the  features  of  Lugano's 
Lake.  Como  with  its  strange  old  church- 
towers,  its  cathedral  (founded  in  1396), 
and  its  city  gates,  is  one  of  the  quaintest  of 
Italian  lake  cities.  We  spent  hours  in  wan- 
dering about  its  narrow  streets,  broader 
thoroughfares,  and  old  churches, — hours 
which  well  repaid  us  for  the  necessary  fa- 
tigue; for  they  contain  the  best  paintings 
of  Luini  and  Tomaso  di  Rodario,with  many 
quaint  bits  of  sculpture  from  the  days  of 
the  Lombard  Kings. 

A  day  at  Como  is  quite  enough  for  the 
pleasure  tourist;  for  it  leaves  such  pleasant 
memories.  Villas  high  on  hill-sides  of  mag- 
nolia and  aloe;  tall  stone  houses,  roofed  with 
convex  tiles  of  terra  cotta,  which  gleam  in 
the  myrtle  and  cactus  groves;  tall,  graceful 
campaniles,  with  arched  belfries  sketched 
against  the  deep  blue  sky — these  are  the 
sights  that  crowd  upon  us  as  we  look  from 
the  windows  of  the  Milan  train,  rushing 
southward  to  Monza,  through  panoramas  of 
exquisite  loveliness.  Flowers  of  the  meadow 
fringe  the  woodland  borders  —  tiger-lilies 
and  blue  campanulas,  mullens  in  gorgeous 
fulness  of  bloom,  wild  camomile,  and  tufts 
of  feathery  caraway.  The  trees  are  oak, 
lime,  magnolia,  and  acacia,  with  the  olives 
—  delicious  gray-green  tint?,  —  and  silver 
aspens  forever  shivering  in  the  warm  sum- 
mer air. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  watch  the  peas- 
ants gathering  the  wisp-like  bundles  of 
grain,  not  stacking  it  in  mounds,  but  lay- 


ing it  on  the  ground  in  the  form  of  a  Greek 
cross.  * 

The  cathedral  at  Monza,  to  which  we 
went  in  the  early  morning,  stands  on  the 
spot  where  Queen  Theodolinda,  in  the  year 
595,  built  a  chapel  in  honor  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist.  At  the  close  of  the  13th  century 
Matteo  Visconti,  Lord  of  Milan,  undertook 
the  reconstruction  of  this  chapel  upon  a 
larger  scale.  The  fagade,  as  it  exists  at 
present,  dates  from  the  year  1396.  It  has 
most  peculiar  architectural  decorations.  It 
is  subdivided  into  a  variety  of  patterns  by 
marbles  of  different  colors;  and  a  singularly 
carved  statue  of  St.  John,  clad  in  camel's 
hair,  and  holding  a  small  lamb,  adorns  the 
apex  of  the  arched  entrance  portal. 

Upon  the  left  as  we  entered  we  found 
the  baptistery,  on  the  walls  of  which  is  fres- 
coed the  historical  painting  of  the  baptism 
of  the  son  of  Agilulphus;  and  in  the  next 
chapel  is  a  lovely  picture  by  Guercino— the 
Visit  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  Elizabeth — 
full  of  soft,  rosy  flesh-tints,  and  sweet, 
maidenly  love. 

Queen  Theodolinda,  whose  beauty,  wis- 
dom, and  piety  endeared  her  to  her  subjects, 
was  the  daughter  of  Garibold,  King  of 
Bavaria.  She  became  the  wife  of  Antharis, 
King  of  Lombardy,  and  so  won  the  confi- 
dence of  the  Lombards  that  upon  her  hus- 
band's death  they  offered  her  the  crown, 
declaring-  that  whoever  she  selected  as  a 
husband  they  would  acknowledge  as  their 
King.  She  chose  Agilulphus,  Duke  of 
Turin.  Very  ambitious  and  fond  of  warfare, 
this  prince  determined  to  make  himself 
master  of  Rome;  but  Theodolinda  diverted 
his  attention  from  this  enterprise,  and  thus 
earned  for  herself  the  gratitude  and  friend- 
ship of  his  Holiness  Gregory  the  Great,  f 

The^  capitals  of  the  pillars  that  divide 
nave  and  aisle  inside  the  cathedral  are  of 
much  older  date  than  the  edifice  itself.  They 


*  In  parts  of  Northern  Italy  the  grain  is  twisted 
into  very  small  wisps,  and  strung  by  the  head| 
upon  saplings  in  pyramidal  form.    Near  Monza,  , 
the  Greek  cross  is  laid  upon  the  fields.  j 

t  Gregory  the  Great  dedicated  his  Dialogues  to ' 
her,  and  it  was  to  her  that  he  sent  the  Iron  Crown.  \ 


I 


r 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


491 


were  brought  from  some  nth  century  build- 
ing, and  are  ornamented  with  barbarously 
ugly  figures.  A  cornice  of  medallions  near 
the  ceiling  contains  portraits  of  the  Em- 
perors from  the  crowning  of  Charlemagne. 
The  carving  of  the  pulpit  has  for  subject 
the  crowning  of  Berangario,  son  of  Everard, 
Duke  of  Friuli,  *  who  came  into  possession 
of  Lombardy  in  the  year  888,  on  the  divis- 
ion of  the  Empire  at  the  death  of  Charles 
the  Fat.  The  altar-railing  is  emblazoned 
with  the  escutcheon  of  Queen  Theodolinda 
— a  shield  bearing  a  hen  and  seven  chick- 
ens. The  a"" tar-  front  is  of  silver  gilt,  covered 
with  scenes  from  Scripture  history,  and  in- 
laid with  enamel  work  and  gems. 

The  sacristy  is  extremely  rich  in  histori- 
cal treasures.  We  find  there  Queen  Theo- 
dolinda's  fan,  of  painted  leather  and  brown 
silk,  like  the  round  folding  fans  of  the  pres- 
ent day.  The  handle  is  of  carved  wood, 
enamelled  with  gems.  Her  comb,  of  ivory, 
shaped  like  ordinary  dressing  combs,  is  or- 
namented with  golden  filigree  and  emeralds 
— a  gem  to  which  she  seems  to  have  been 
most  partial.  Her  necklace,  formed  of  pear- 
shaped  pend  mts  of  emeralds  and  diamonds; 
her  crown,  a  plain  golden  circlet  set  with 
gold  and  gems;  her  escutcheon,  represented 
as  a  golden  tray,  upon  which  is  a  large 
golden  hen  with  ruby  eyes, and  seven  chick- 
ens, which  represent  the  seven  provinces  of 
the  Lombard  Kingdom;  and  a  drinking  cup 
formed  from  a  single  sapphire,  are  among 
the  most  valuable  of  her  personal  effects. 

Upon  a  papyrus  is  written  a  list  of  the 
relics  seat  to  the  Queen  by  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff.  One  of  these  is  a  drop  of  oil  taken 
from  the  lamp  burning  before  the  tombs  of 
the  martyrs  in  the  Catacombs.  A  cross  of 
rock-crystal  and  gold  filigree,  sent  by  Greg- 
ory the  Great, on  the  baptism  of  the  Queen's 
eldest  son,  is  worn  by  the  present  Bishop 
on  certain  festivals.  Here,  too,  are  kept  the 
cross,  or  pectoral  staff,  used  in  the  corona- 
tion of  the  early  kings  of  Italy,  and  an  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  chalice  and  patena  of 
gold,  ornamented  with  grapes  of  amethyst 

*  Reckoned  as  Barengarius  I.  among  Roman 
Emperors. 


and  ruby,  with  d^ewdrops  of  diamonds  glit- 
tering upon  them ;  also  two  most  valuable 
MSS. — the  Evangelistorum  of  Heribert, 
Archbishop  of  Milan  in  1018,  and  the  Sac- 
r amenta  of  King  Barengarius — with  the 
services  used  by  Pope  Gregory,  and  his  cross 
covered  with  precious  stones. 

But  all  these  treasures  fade  into  secon- 
dary consideration  before  the  Iron  Crown, 
"//  Sacro  Chiodo^^''  which  is  kept  most 
reverently  in  the  chapel  of  the  crypt  below 
the  high  altar.  Bolts  and  bars  withdrawn, 
the  doors  of  the  staircase  admitted  us,  and 
we  descended  to  the  white  and  gold  stucco- 
decorated  chapel  of  the  crypt,  with  its  mas- 
sive brass  altar.  Four  lighted  candles  were 
placed  before  the  tabernacle  in  which  the 
crown  is  kept.  In  a  few  moments  a  priest  in 
lace  surplice  and  richly  embroidered  satin 
stole,  followed  by  two  acolytes,  entered  the 
sanctuary.  After  incensing  the  tabernacle, 
altar,  and  chancel,  the  doors  of  the  repos- 
itory were  opened,  and  the  crown,  which  is 
kept  in  a  box  of  plate-glass — a  sort  of  osten- 
sorium — was  placed  upon  the  altar,  and  the 
Catholics  present  were  permitted  to  kneel 
within  the  chancel  railing  and  examine  it. 

The  thin  plate  of  iron  which  lines  this 
diadem  was  hammered  from  one  of  the  nails 
of  Our  Blessed  Saviour's  Cross,  hence  its 
name,  //  Sacro  Chiodo.  The  outer  circlet  has 
six  links  of  fine  golden  plates,  like  medal- 
lions,* which  can  be  folded  over  to  suit  the 
head  of  the  wearer;  while  the  iron  band 
inside  has  small  holes  which  can  be  suited 
to  the  size  of  the  outer  crown. 

Since  the  presentation  of  this  crown  to 
Queen  Theodolinda  it  has  been  used  at 
kingly  and  imperial  coronations  of  Catholic 
sovereigns.  In  131 1  it  was  removed  from 
Monza  to  Milan,  to  crown  Henry  VII.,  of 
Luxemburg;  and  the  Austrians  carried  it  to 
Mantua  on  their  expulsion  from  Lombardy. 
Charles  V.  was  the  last  of  the  later  German 
Emperors  crowned  with  it,  but  Ferdinand 
II.,  and  the  present  Emperor,  Franz  Josef, 
of  Austria,  wore  it  at  their  coronations. 

*  Ornamented  with  twenty-two  precious  stones 
— rubies,  sapphires,  emeralds,  and  diamonds — all 
very  large. 


492 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  ceremony  of  displaying  it  is  most 
impressive;  the  death-like  silence  of  the 
crypt,  the  vault-like,  funereal  air,  the  dim 
light  from  taper  and  swinging  lamp,  the 
heavy  perfume  of  incense,  the  kneeling  at- 
tendants, and  the  reverent  care  of  the  priest 
as  he  places  the  diadem  upon  the  altar,  ren- 
der the  ceremonial  most  memorable. 

Again  clouds  of  incense  arose  before  the 
sacred  relic,  and,  veiled  in  their  perfumed 
depths,  the  brass  doors  of  the  repository 
were  closed,  locked,  and  bolted,  the  candles 
on  the  altar  extinguished  as  the  priest  left 
the  sanctuary;  then  slowly  we  ascended  to 
the  upper  air. 

The  noontide  sun  was  filling  the  Piazza 
del  Duomo  as  we  left  the  cathedral,  and 
the  Angelus  rang  out  from  its  quaint  old 
belfry  tov/ers. 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSE Y. 

CHAPTER  XIX.— (Continued.) 

THE  day  passed  happily  and  swiftly, 
heaven  had  seemed  so  near,  and  at  sun- 
set Camilla  and  the  little  maid  drove  out  of 
the  city  gates,  along  the  flowery  stretches 
of  the  Agro  Romano,  where  all  the  beauty 
of  the  peaceful,  smiling  scene,  touched  with 
the  flickering  gold  of  the  sunset,  made  elo- 
quent protest  against  the  inhuman  cruelties 
by  which  mortals  marred  the  divine  har- 
mony of  nature. 

Within  an  hour  of  their  arrival  at  the 
old  walled  villa,  Nemesius  and  TertuUus 
came,  and,  after  brief  but  cordial  greeting, 
they  went  together  down  into  the  Cata- 
combs, to  present  themselves  to  the  Pontiff, 
to  receive  from  him  certain  instructions  in 
relation  to  measures  for  a  more  extended 
distribution  of  aid  to  the  needy,  suffering 
Church. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Claudia 
was  summoned  to  the  chapel  of  the  ruined 
tower.  Following  her  guide,  she  was  ush- 
ered into  the  presence  of  the  holy  Bishop, 
who    regarded    with   tender    interest    the 


graceful,  innocent  child,  as  with  glad  yet 
reverent  steps  she  approached  and  knelt  at 
his  feet.  Giving  her  his  blessing,  he  ques- 
tioned her,  leading  her  by  gentle  steps  from 
one  point  to  another,  until  her  pure  heart, 
with  all  its  faith,  fervor,  and  courage,  lay 
open  before  him,  and  he  discerned  her  spirit 
so  clearly  as  to  be  assured  that  she  might 
indeed  receive  the  Sacrament  of  the  Body 
and  Blood  of  Christ,  and  that  in  her  an- 
gelic heart  Our  Blessed  Lord  would  find  an 
abiding  place  in  which  it  would  delight 
Him  to  dwell.  The  Pontiff"  gave  her  holy 
absolution;  for,  although  her  life  was  with- 
out a  stain  of  mortal  sin,  there  were  doubt- 
less venial  shadows,  from  which  it  would 
release  and  purify  her.  Then  he  bade  her 
go  in  peace;  and  her  face  beamed  with  joy 
and  happiness  when  she  joined  her  father 
and  Camilla,  and  told  them  that  she  was 
invited  to  the  wedding  feast. 

''It  will  be  her  Viaticum,"  thought  Ca- 
milla, whose  eyes  were  dim  with  tears ; ' '  but 
oh!  supreme  selfishness!  oh,  human  weak- 
ness! ye  shall  not  have  power  to  make  me 
for  a  moment  wish  to  keep  such  a  soul  from:, 
heaven ! ' ' 

Camilla  had  prepared  the  altar,  draping 
it  with  precious  embroideries  of  gold,  not 
the  cast-off"  finery  of  her  worldly  life,  but 
new  and  costly  fabrics,  thinking  nothing 
too  rich  or  priceless  for  His  temple- throne. 
She  had  brought  forth  her  jewelled  vases, 
and  arranged  them,  filled  with  flowers,  on 
each  side  of  the  tabernacle,  and  placed 
among  them  golden  lamps,  which  contained 
perfumed  oil,  and  gave  a  clear,  brilliant 
light.  And  now  the  saintly  Pontiff",  in  vest- 
ments of  white,  with  silver  broidered  cross 
upon  the  back,  attended  by  his  deacon,  Ne^ 
mesius,  ascended  the  altar  and  celebrated 
the  Divine  Sacrifice  with  singular  devo- 
tion, knowing  that  for  all  there  present,, 
including  himself,  this  might  be  their  last, 
and  the  Communion  their  Viaticum.  The 
same  thought  was  in  every  mind,  and  sO' 
with  adoring  faith,  exalted  love,  and  solemn 
joy  they  received  their  Lord  and  the  bene- 
diction of  His  ineffable  presence.  Their 
interview  with  their  heavenly  Guest  was  so- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


493- 


'full  of  fervor  that  in  pouring  forth  the  oint- 
ment of  their  love  upon  Him,  they  forgot 
their  needs  and  all  they  had  meant  to  ask 
for;  but  He  knew — He  would  remember, 
and  they  were  satisfied. 

When  the  moment  of  departure  came,  the 
PontiiF  blessed  them  individually  and  with 
deep  emotion.  "Pray  for  me,  my  little 
^ucilla,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Clau- 
lia's  golden  head.  ' '  Let  us  remember  each 
>ther,  my  children,  in  our  prayers;  pray 
for  your  old  Bishop,  that  when  proved  his 
fold  may  not  be  found  to  be  dross,  and  pray 
for  the  persecuted  Church.  As  often  as  I 
celebrate  the  holy  mysteries  I  will  have  ye 
in  mind." 

He  was  turning  away,  and  they  were 
ibout  separating,  when  Claudia,  with  voice 
full  of  entreaty,  asked  him  if  she  might 
:ome  again. 

"We  will  meet  soon,  my  lamb,"  he  an- 
swered, gently.  The  spirit  of  prophecy  was 
on  him;  he  knew  what  he  knew,  but  held 
his  peace. 

That  night  two  youths,  wrapped  in  sober- 
hued  togas,  met  in  the  shadow  of  a  stately 
palace  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Forum 
Trajano,  evidently  intent  on  some  appoint- 
ment. There  was  a  fog,  through  which  fil- 
tered a  soft  drizzle  of  rain ;  and  while  thev 
stood  conversing  a  moment,  a  low- voiced 
stranger  drew  near,  and,  having  courteously 
saluted  them,  said  that  he  had  accidentally 
overheard  them  while  standing  under  the 
arched  door -way  close  by,  where  he  had 
taken  shelter  from  the  rain,  and  he  judged 
that  they  were  Christians;  in  which  case  he 
besought  them  to  guide  him  where  he  could 
be  baptized  and  instructed,  as  that  very  day 
at  the  Temple  of  Mars  he  had  witnessed  a 
martyrdom  which  had  opened  his  eyes  to 
the  truth. 

Zealous  but  inexperienced,  as  well  as 
credulous,  the  young  men  invited  him  to 
accompany  them ;  they  were  only  catechu- 
mens, they  said,  but  would  introduce  him 
to  a  holy  deacon,  who  would  give  him  the 
information  he  desired.  He  expressed  his 
thanks  with  proper  humility  and  gratitude, 
and  they  proceeded  on  their  way  together. 


Had  they  only  known  that  this  plausible 
wretch  was  a  miserable  apostate,  how  swiftly 
they  would  have  avoided  his  companion- 
ship! But  there  was  none  to  tell  his  brief, 
infamous  history — how  once,  in  a  moment 
of  excitement,  and  ungovernable  curiosity 
to  penetrate  the  secrets  of  a  mysterious  sect, 
to  afterwards  barter  them  for  gold,  he  had 
declared  himself  a  Christian,  and  been  bap-^ 
tized;  but  having  been  arrested  soon  after, 
with  several  of  his  new  companions,  and 
confronted  with  the  rack  and  flame,  had 
denied  and  cursed  Christ  as  required,  burnt 
incense  to  Jupiter,  and  accused  his  friends 
of  having  deluded  him  by  their  sorceries. 
He  witnessed  their  sufferings,  and,  to  prove 
himself  a  true  servant  of  the  gods,  derided 
and  jeered  the  holy  martyrs  until  their  souls 
passed  to  their  eternal  reward. 

Having  thus  saved  his  worthless  life,  and 
being  without  means  to  sustain  it,  averse 
to  honest  toil,  and  a  stranger  in  Rome,  he 
was  without  friends,  without  shelter,  and 
perishing  for  food.  At  this  crisis  of  his  fate 
he  was  approached  by  the  emissaries  of  a 
lady  of  rank  who  wished  to  hire  him  on 
conditions  which  she  alone  would  impart; 
and  they  were  not  mistaken  when  they 
counted  on  his  necessities  for  his  abject  and 
unqualified  assent.  He  had  no  scruples ;  his 
price  was  protection  and  good  pay ;  hence 
he  betrayed  no  hesitation  when  he  learned 
from  the  lips  of  the  beautiful  woman,  to 
whom  he  blindly  swore  unconditional  obe- 
idence,  that  he  was  to  assassinate  a  certain 
profligate  young  patrician,  whose  love  she 
had  trifled  with,  encouraged,  and  rejected, 
and  who  out  of  revenge  threatened  toblizon 
abroad  a  secret  that  involved  her  honor, 
which  by  some  means  he  had  possessed 
himself  of  A  few  days  later  the  body  of 
the  unfortunate  youth  was  found  under  the 
deep  arch  of  the  main  entrance  to  his  own 
palace,  with  a  single  wound,  so  small  that 
it  scarcely  left  a  mark,  inflicted  by  a  keen, 
slender  weapon,  which  penetrated  his  heart 
through  and  through.  * 


*  In  medigeval  times  in  Italy  the  hired  profes- 
sional assassins  were  known  as  "Bravos." 


494 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Do  we  recognize  in  these  two  partners  in 
crime  Laodice  and  the  wily  Cypriot,  and 
understand  the  hold  she  had  on  him  ?  For, 
although  as  guilty  as  himself,  he  well  knew 
there  would  be  none  to  believe  or  defend 
him  should  a  person  of  her  wealth  and  con- 
sequence denounce  him.  As  her  slave,  she 
protected  and  learned  to  confide  in  him; 
while  he,  as  patient  as  he  was  wily,  bided 
his  time.  Thus  the  tie  that  united  these 
two  in  the  bonds  of  iniquity  is  explained. 

The  true  motive  of  the  Cypriot  in  ad- 
dressing the  tw^o  catechumens  was  that  he 
heard  them  speak  of  the  noble  Deacon  Ne- 
mesius,whom  they  were  going  to  meet,  and 
he  felt  that  his  opportunity  to  win  a  rich 
reward,  and  release  from  Ivaodice's  service 
— she  had  promised  it — was  at  hand;  for, 
could  they  be  persuaded  to  let  him  accom- 
pany them,  he  would  see  with  his  own  eyes, 
and  be  able  at  last  to  report  something  con- 
clusive. 

The  youths  now  stopped  before  a  narrow 
door  in  a  wall  which  enclosed  one  of  the 
palace  gardens;  a  single  low  tap  was  re- 
sponded to  inside  by  the  withdrawing  of  a 
bolt;  the  door  was  cautiously  opened,  and 
the  three  entered.  Groping  through  long, 
dimly -lighted  corridors,  they  joined  the 
little  assembly  of  catechumens,  old  and 
young,  who  at  the  invitation  of  Nemesius 
met  in  one  of  the  lower  apartments  of  his 
own  palace  at  stated  times,  where  he  in- 
structed them  in  the  mysteries  of  the  Chris- 
tian Faith. 

Nemesius  was  standing  before  his  eager 
listeners,  explaining,  in  simple,  logical,  fer- 
vent words,  the  Sacrament  of  holy  Baptism, 
when  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  newcomer, 
who  involuntarily  shrunk  before  the  dig- 
nity of  his  presence  and  the  manly,  spiritu- 
alized beauty  of  his  countenance.  But  the 
thought  that  at  last  he  had  the  noble  Chris- 
tian in  his  toils  quickly  restored  the  vile 
creature's  self-control,  and  he  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  listening  to  the  words  of  di- 
vine truth  with  apparently  the  most  hum- 
ble and  absorbed  attention.  The  instruction 
closed  with  a  fervent  invocation  to  the  Most 
Holy  Trinity  for  the  grace  of  enlighten- 


ment and  perseverance,  the  Pater  Noster^ 
and  a  prayer  to  the  Virgo  Mater  Salvatoris^ 
Advocata  Nostra. 

The  strange  neophyte  was  then  led  for- 
ward and  introduced  to  Nemesius,  who  wel- 
comed him  with  Christian  charity,asked  no 
questions,  but  said  a  few  words  of  encour- 
agement, and  invited  him  to  come  again; 
but  this,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  his  last 
appearance. 

Laodice  was  sunk  in  the  depths  of  a 
gloomy,  retrospective  mood  when  the  Cyp- 
riot, with  his  usual  stealthy  step,  came  into 
her  presence  to  report  his  success.  She  had 
been  thinking  how  deceitful  and  shallow 
the  sparkle  of  life,  how  swiftly  it  had  van- 
ished, and  how  worthless  and  bitt^er  it  had 
been  made  by  the  ruthless  disappointment 
of  her  love  for  the  only  man  towards  whom 
she  had  felt  a  sentiment  exalted  enough — 
as  she  thought — to  raise  her  to  its  own 
height.  With  an  heredity  of  the  cruel  blood 
of  Egypt,  the  crafty  blood  of  Greece,  and  the 
hot  blood  of  Italy  mingling  in  her  veins, 
is  it  a  wonder  that  her  passionate  pagan 
heart  now  hated  as  intensely  as  it  had  loved  ? 

When  she  heard  all  that  her  slave  had  to 
report,  and  that  revenge  was  at  last  in  her 
power,  a  sudden  thrill,  as  if  a  cold  snake  had 
suddenly  glided  down  her  back,  arrested 
for  a  brief  instant  the  functions  of  life — but 
it  was  only  an  instant,  then  followed  re- 
action, with  fiery  impulses  kindled  at  the 
altar  of  Nemesius;  her  face  glowed,  her  eyes 
flashed,  and,  commending  the  vile  Cypriot 
for  his  vigilance  and  faithfulness  in  her  ser- 
vice, she  gave  him  a  purse  cf  gold  and  dis- 
missed him;  for  she  would  lose  no  time. 
Then,  arraying  herself  with  splendor  that 
rivalled  Esther's,  when,  glowing  and  superb 
in  her  dark,  queenly  beauty,  she  appeared, 
with  a  far  different  object,  before  King  As- 
suerus, Laodice  entered  the  Emperor's  ante- 
chamber, asking  audience  with  him,  which 
he  readily  granted,  hoping  that  she  brought 
him  some  amusement. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  depict 
Valerian's  rage  when  he  learned  that  Ne- 
mesius had  become  a  Christian, — Nemesius, 
the  only  man  whom  he  had  found  incor- 


The  Ave  Alal- 


ia, 


495 


ruptible,  in  whom  he  had  placed  implicit 
trust,  and  for  whom  he  felt  such  friendship 
as  a  nature  of  his  was  capable  of  Laodice 
herself  retreated  precipitately  from  the  dia- 
bolical tempest  she  had  raised ;  and  the  Em- 
peror's attendants,  as  well  as  many  persons 
of  rank  who  were  awaiting  audience,  fled  or 
concealed  themselves,  lest  in  his  maniacal 
_futy  he  might  slay  them. 

The  moment  he  recovered  possession  of 
[his  reason,  an  order  was  issued  for  the  arrest 
[of  "Nemesius,  late  commander  of  the  Im- 
[perial  Legion,  now  a  traitor  to  Rome,  and 
a  defamer  of  the  gods."  Before  noon  the 
infamous  accusation  was  placarded  on  every 
wall  in  Rome,  causing  a  sensation  from 
palace  to  camp,  and  wherever  the  noble 
commander  was  known.  Swiftly  the  news 
penetrate'i  the  Catacombs,  and  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Pontiff  Stephen,  who  dispatched 
messengers  to  summon  Nemesius  to  his 
presence. 

The  holy  deacon  was  found  out  on  the 
Agro  Romano,  aiding  and  consoling  the 
^destitute  families  of  several  fever- stricken 
quarry  workers.  When  informed  of  the 
edict  for  his  arrest,  he  straightened  himself 
to  his  full  stature,  looked  heavenward  for 
a  moment  with  a  grave,  sweet  smile,  and 
an  exultant  light  in  his  eyes,  as  if  the  glory 
of  things  unseen  had  shone  upon  them, 
then  without  a  word  returned  to  his  minis- 
trations of  mercy.  When  he  had  done  all 
that  was  possible  for  the  relief  of  the  sufter- 
ing  ones,  he  hastened  away,  and  quickly 
reached  the  dilapidated  wine-shop  of  Gale- 
otto,  in  the  cellar  of  which,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, there  was  an  entrance  to  the 
■interminable  galleries  of  the  Catacombs. 
Happily,  Admetus  had  gone  with  him  to 
the  huts  of  the  quarry-men,  bearing  wine 
and  food,  and  now  accompanied  him  as  his 
guide  through  those  tortuous,  subterranean 
passages,  with  every  winding  of  which  he 
was  familiar. 

The  Pontiff  awaited  him  with  anxiety, 

and  was  overjoyed  when  he  appeared.   The 

j  interview    was    affecting   and    consoling. 

"The  time  approaches  for  our  deliverance 

from  the  prison-house  of  clay,  to  reign  with 


Him  who  by  His  Passion  and  Death  made 
us  His  heirs  in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
forever,"  said  the  holy  man.  ''Thou  art 
impatient  for  the  final  victory  to  the  shed- 
ding of  thy  blood  for  the  love  of  Him;  but, 
Nemesius,  He  has  set  the  supreme  law  of 
charity  above  all  Christian  virtues;  there- 
fore be  patient,  for  His  persecuted  Church 
needs  thy  help,  and  in  serving  His  Spouse 
thou  wilt  best  serve  Him.  It  is  more  glori- 
ous to  be  found  working  His  will  in  holy 
obedience  than  to  rush  unbidden  upon  the 
sword.  Show  thyself  no  more  in  the  streets 
of  Rome  by  day;  I  can  not  yet  spare  my 
deacon  In  the  mean  time  the  boy  Admetus 
will  be  thy  messenger." 

The  military  habits  of  Nemesius  had 
taught  him  the  importance  of  obedience  as 
an  auxiliary  to  martial  success,  but  he  had 
never  yet  waited  to  be  first  attacked  by  the 
enemy;  and  it  not  only  irked  his  heroic 
nature,  but  grieved  him,  by  delaying  the 
eternal  and  ineffable  victory  for  which  he 
sighed.  Still,  he  submitted  with  docile 
spirit  to  the  divine  authority  invested  in  the 
visible  head  of  the  Church,  Christ's  Vicar 
on  earth,  putting  self  and  every  human  con- 
sideration entirely  aside. 

(TO    BE   CONTINUED.) 


Opportunity. 

[The  following  unpublished  sonnet,  by  the  au- 
thor of  "Deirdre,"  appeared  some  weeks  ago  in 
The  Pilot.'] 

SWEET  hours  that  I  have  lost  unwittingly, 
Bright  pearls  that  thro'  my  careless  fingers 
slid 
Into  oblivion's  wave,  and  there  lie  hid, 
Never  returning  to  restore  to  me 
The  priceless  gift,  wing'd  Opportunity, 
That  few  men  grasp  and  keep,  and  fewer  still 
Use  justly!    O  swift  hours!  had  I  been  wise 
From  year  to  fleeting  year  your  worth  to  prize, 
On  other  paths  than  those  of  grief  and  ill 
And  ignorance,— beneath  the  shining  skies 
Of  calm  Philosophy  with  clearer  ken 
I  now  might  walk,  and  see  the  hearts  of  men. 
And  Nature's  face,  and  teach  my  soul  from 

these 
Some  little  knowledge  of  God's  mysteries. 


496 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  beautiful  grotto  at  Mataryeh,  near  Cairo, 
in  Egypt,  marks  the  spot  where,  according  to 
an  ancient  tradition,  the  Holy  Family  rested 
when  fleeing  from  the  wrath  of  Herod,  and, 
at  the  prayer  of  Mary,  a  spring  gushed  forth 
to  allay  the  thirst  of  the  weary  exiles.  This 
spot  is  now  crowned  by  a  neat  little  chapel, 
which  is  the  only  public  sanctuary  and  the 
first  and  only  place  of  pilgrimage  in  the  coun- 
try. Since  the  completion  of  the  chapel  the 
number  of  pilgrims  has  increased  daily,  and 
the  many  wonderful  graces  obtained  through 
the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  St. 
Joseph  are  shown  by  the  ex-voto  offerings  of 
grateful  souls,  whose  names  are  there  inscribed 
in  letters  of  stone. 


A  missionary  among  the  North  American 
Indians,  in  a  letter  to  his  sister,  gives  the 
following  example  of  the  powerful  patronage 
of  St.  Joseph: 

"Three  years  ago  I  was  stationed  at  Bayfield, 
and  had  also  under  my  charge  a  church  on  Made- 
leine Island.  On  the  19th  of  March,  1880.  I  dedi- 
cated the  latter  to  St.  Joseph,  the  good  Indians 
from  the  Point  celebrating  the  feast  with  edifying 
piety  and  solemnity.  One  of  them,  who  had  taken 
the  name  of  Joseph  at  his  baptism,  was  of  the 
greatest  assistance  to  me  in  building  the  church; 
and,  wishing  to  show  my  appreciation  of  his  devot- 
edness,  I  gave  him  at  my  departure  a  statuette  of 
his  patron  Saint.  Nearly  three  years  had  elapsed, 
and  these  circumstances  had  entirely  passed  from 
my  mind,  when  changes  and  voyages  brought 
me  to  Ashland,  a  station  near  Bayfield.  There  I 
met  Father  Eustache,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for 
several  years.  During  our  conversatioU  he  said: 
'  No  doubt  you  remember  having  given  a  statue 
of  St.  Joseph  to  an  Indian  from  the  Point,  named 
Joseph  Denomie,  about  two  years  and  a  half  ago  ? ' 
'Yes,'  I  replied  'Well,'  he  continued, 'last  year, 
towards  Spring,  this  man  was  crossing  the  lake 
between  Madeleine  Island  and  Bayfield,  with  the 
mail.  He  had  not  noticed  that  the  ice  was  begin- 
ning to  melt,  when  suddenly  it  cracked  beneath  his 
feet,  and  he  sank  to  a  great  depth.  The  bag  of  let- 
ters and  his  own  effects  escaped  from  his  hands. 
Just  as  he  was  sinking  he  remembered  that  he 
had  with  him  the  little  statue  of  St.  Joseph,  and 
he  fervently  invoked  the  Saint,  begging  that  he 
might  be  saved.  Hardly  had  he  done  vSo  when  he 
felt  himself  seized  by  a  strong  but  invisible  hand, 
and  placed  on  his  feet  upon  firm  ice,  coming  up 
out  of  the  same  hole  into  which  he  had  fallen ; 


and  he  reached  the  opposite  side  in  safet3^  It  was 
from  Joseph  Denomie  himself  that  I  learned  of 
this  miraculous  deliverance;  it  is  known  to  all 
the  Indians  at  the  Point,  who  are  very  devoted  to 
their  great  patron.'  " 


A  recent  visitor  to  Ferney,  the  home  of  Vol- 
taire, notes  with  surprise  that  no  memorial  to 
the  great  man  is  to  be  found  there.  His  very 
name  is  all  but  forgotten  in  the  home  where 
he  dwelt.  There  is  nothing  surprising  about 
this.  Humanity  remembers  its  benefactors. 
It  owes  nothing  to  the  man  who  would  have 
robbed  it  of  that  which  is  dearer  than  life — the 
belief  in  a  better  world.  The  man  who  lessens 
human  faith  lessens  human  happiness  A 
people  may  accept  the  cold  doctrine  of  nega- 
tion, but  they  never  thank  its  apostle.  To 
obtain  gratitude  one  must  give,  not  take  away; 
must  construct,  not  destroy.  The  day  of  birth, 
not  of  death,  is  commemorated. — The  Pilot. 


Among  the  devoted  missionaries  who  ac- 
companied or  labored  with  Father  Ricci, 
S.  J.,  the  Apostle  of  China,  was  one  who,  al- 
though comparatively  unknown,  gave  proofs 
of  great  courage  and  zeal  for  souls.  This 
was  the  holy  lay  Brother,  Benedict  Goe>. 
He  first  spent  several  years  with  Father  Je- 
rome Xavier  at  the  court  of  the  Great  Mogul,. 
who,  before  his  departure,  made  him  a  pres- 
ent of  all  the  Portuguese  children  whom  he 
had  taken  prisoners  during  the  wars  of  pre- 
vious years.  The  Jesuits  had  long  wished  ta 
preach  the  faith  in  the  Kingdom  of  Catai,  so 
celebrated  during  the  Middle  Ages,  but  where 
no  missionaries  had  as  yet  penetrated.  The 
task  of  exploring  this  unknown  land,  for  the 
guidance  of  future  apostles,  was  intrusted  to 
Brother  Goes.  It  was  a  perilous  and  difficult 
mission  Disguised  as  an  Armenian,  he  had 
to  pass  through  Mahometan  and  pagan  tribes, 
to  traverse  unknown  regions,  where  perils  of 
every  kind  attended  his  steps.  The  journey 
lasted  for  five  years,  during  which  he  discov- 
ered the  route  from  India  to  China  through 
Tartary.  As  the  good  Brother  was  approach- 
ing the  end  of  his  peregrinations  he  fell  dan- 
gerously ill.  He  was  quite  alone;  but  soon,  to 
his  great  surprise  and  joy,  arrived  Brother 
Fernandes,  a  Chinese,  whom  Father  Ricci, 
hearing  of  his  arrival  in  China,  had  sent  to 
meet  him.  It  was  impossible  to  think  of  pur- 
suing the  journey,  and,  in  spite  of  his  ardent 


The  Ave  Maria. 


497 


•desire  to  receive  the  Sacraments,  the  sick  man 
fully  submitted  to  God's  holy  will.  A  few  mo- 
ments before  the  end  he  said  to  his  companion: 
"My  dear  Brother,  it  is  five  years  since  I  have 
been  to  confession;  but  blessed  be  Our  Lord 
for  His  grace!  I  do  not  remember,  since  my 
departure,  to  have  done  anything  the  recol- 
lection of  which  saddens  me  at  this  moment. ' ' 

H  M.  Gounod's  kindness  of  heart  is  prover- 
pbial.  Not  long  since,  during  his  recent  stay 
in  Normandy,  a  little  friend  on  a  summer's 
night  incited  the  composer  to  make  him  a  kite. 
M  Gounod  set  to  work  and  made  a  monster. 
Midnight  saw  the  task  completed.  Just  as  the 
new  day  was  creeping  in,  the  maestro  took  up 
his  pen,  and,  as  a  finishing  touch,  inscribed 
on  'the  face  of  the  toy  a  brief  sonata.  Rumor 
describes  it  as  one  of  the  most  exquisite  gems 
that  Gounod  has  ever  written  — TV.  Y.  Sim. 


A  brilliant  French  naval  officer,  Lieut. 
Olivieri,  who  covered  himself  with  glory  at 
the  bombardment  of  Foochow,  and  was  deco- 
rated for  his  bravery  under  Admiral  Courbet, 
has  withdrawn  from  the  navy  in  order  to  re- 
tire to  La  Trappe.  

The  Island  of  Maduras — one  of  the  Sunda 
Islands  in  the  Indian  Ocean — will  commem- 
orate during  the  year  1887  the  fiftieth  anniver- 
sary of  the  inauguration  of  Christian  missions 
among  its  inhabitants.  Moved  by  the  coinci- 
dence with  his  own  Golden  Jubilee,  the  Holy 
Father  has  graciously  granted  a  special  apos- 
tolic blessing  and  a  plenary  indulgence  to  the 
missionaries  and  all  the  faithful  of  that  diocese. 


Although  Adam,  the  first  of  the  human 
race  and  the  father  of  all  men,  fell,  and  by  the 
mortal  taste  of  the  forbidden  tree 
"Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe," 
the  Church  believes  him  saved,  and  con- 
demns the  contrary  opinion  in  Tatian  and  the 
EncratitiB  heretics.  Many  of  the  Fathers 
treat  of  his  sincere  repentance  and  his  life- 
long penance.  An  old  English  writer  (Robert 
South,  1633-17 16)  thus  quaintly  describes  the 
state  of  man  before  the  fall:  "All  those  arts, 
rarities,  and  inventions,  which  vulgar  minds 
gaze  at,  the  ingenious  pursue,  and  all  admire, 
are  but  the  relics  of  an  intellect  defaced  with 
sin  and  time.  We  admire  it  now  only  as  an- 
tiquaries do  a  piece  of  old  coin,  for  the  stamp 


it  once  bore,  anfl  not  for  those  vanishing  line- 
aments and  disappearing  draughts  that  remain 
upon  it  at  present.  And  certainly  that  must 
needs  have  been  very  glorious  the  decays  of 
which  are  so  admirable.  He  that  is  comely 
when  old  and  decrepit,  surely  was  very  beau- 
tiful when  he  was  young.  An  Aristotle  was 
but  the  rubbish  of  an  Adam,  and  Athens  but 
the  rudiments  of  Paradise. ' ' 


A  remarkable  study  on  His  Holiness  Leo 
XIII.  has  been  published  by  Sigmund  Munz 
in  the  "9iorb  unb  Siib,"  one  of  the  Liberal  liter- 
ary reviews  of  Germany.  The  author  renders 
homage  in  every  respect  to  Leo  XIII.— as  a 
Pontiff,  as  a  diplomatist,  as  a  politician,  phi- 
losopher, poet,  and  man  of  letters.  The  work, 
of  which  this  essay  is  a  part,  will  be  entirely 
written  by  Protestants,  and  it  expresses  very 
well  the  sentiment  of  respectful  admiration 
with  which  the  adversaries  of  the  Church  are 
inspired  by  the  contemplation  of  the  grand 
figure  of  the  Pope  happily  reigning. — Liver- 
pool Catholic  Times. 

One  of  Pittsburg's  oldest  and  most  respected 
citizens,  and  the  pioneer  Catholic  of  Pennsyl- 
vania has  gone  to  his  rest  On  November  4, 
at  the  advanced  age  of  94,  died  John  O'Brien. 
For  eighty  years  he  had  lived  in  Pittsburg, 
and  had  occupied  the  same  house  for  a  period 
of  half  a  century.  He  was  a  remarkably  vig- 
orous man,  and  it  is  said  that  up  to  within  six 
months  before  his  death  he  attended  to  his 
property,  of  which  he  possessed  a  considera- 
ble amount,  often  walking  back  and  forth  be- 
tween his  home  (in  the  suburbs)  and  the  city. 
His  life  presents  some  features  of  interest.  A 
native  of  Baltimore,  he  went  with  his  parents 
to  Pittsburg  in  1806.  John  O'Brien  did  not 
have  the  advantage  that  most  boys  of  his  sta- 
tion in  lifeenjoy,of  a  special  college  education; 
but  he  managed  by  hard  work  to  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  civil  engineering,  and  was  ap- 
pointed architect  for  some  Government  arsenal 
buildings  along  the  Alleghany  River.  Mr. 
O'Brien's  excellent  wife,  who  died  a  few  years 
ago,  attained  the  venerable  age  of  eighty- 
eight.   R.LP.  

The  ancient  and  venerable  city  of  Trier,  or 
Treves — Sanda  Treviris — which  claims  an 
antiquity  greater  by  thirteen  centuries  than 
that  of  Rome, — ""Ante  Romam  Treviris  stetit 
annos  mille  trecentos, ' ' — was  e?ifete  on  October 


498 


The  Ave  Maria. 


3d.  That  day  was  the  i, 600th  anniversary  of 
the  martyrdom  of  the  Theban  Legion  and  of 
the  Christians  of  Trier,  whose  bones  repose 
by  the  thousand  in  the  vast  crypts  beneath 
the  rococo  Church  of  St  Paulinus.  All  the  old 
city  of  Helena  and  Constantine  (afterwards 
the  city  of  St.  Athanasius)  was  gaily  decked, 
and  in  presence  of  the  Bishop,  Mgr.  Korum, 
the  relics  of  the  principal  martyrs  were  ex- 
posed on  the  high  altar,  and  afterwards  borne 
in  procession  by  eight  priests  to  the  scene  of 
the  martyrdom.  Trier  has  rightly  been  called 
the  Northern  Rome.  Not  only  does  it  abound 
in  Roman  remains  of  every  kind,  but  its  very 
soil  is  hallowed  by  the  blood  of  thousands  of 
martyrs  and  the  footsteps  of  many  greatsaints. 
—  The  Tablet. 

The  following  amounts  for  Father  Damien 
have  been  received  since  our  last  acknowl- 
edgment: 

Mary  Smith,  $5;  A  Friend,  50  cts. ;  Mrs.  Patrick 
Lyons,  $1 ;  A  Friend.  $1 ;  A  few  friends.  Fall  River, 
Mass., $5;  A.  E.  Hughes,  $2;  An  offering  in  behalf 
of  the  Souls  in  Purgatory,  $1 ;  Mrs.  Mary  T.  Ahern, 
$1;  Mrs.  Kate  C.Flynn,|i;  A  Friend  of  The  "AvK 
Maria,"  $i\  Miss  Mary  Cruden,  |i;  A  Family, 
Circleville,  O.,  $10;  Two  families,  Blairsville,  Pa,, 
$10;  M.  K.  L,|i;  E.D.,  Hyde  Park,  111..  ^5;  A 
Friend  of  The  '  'Ave  Maria,  "  $3 ;  Compatriots  of 
Father  Damien,  $2;  Mrs.  F.,  50  cts.;  George  J. 
Gross,  $5;  John  Giles.  $2;  A  Friend  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  $1;  A  Friend,  $2;  A  Friend  of  The  "Ave 
Maria,"  $i;  Rose  and  Thomas  Murphy,  $1;  Mrs. 
Alice  Quirk,  $2;  A  Fredericktown  Friend,  $1; 
Sisters,  Montreal,  $5;  L.  E.  Wallace,  50  cts.;  A 
widow  and  son,  $1 ;  A  father  and  son,  $1 ;  A  Friend, 
$2\  Elizabeth  Poor,  |i;  Mrs.  J.  Kelly,  $1;  Kate 
Dorsey,  Mary  E.  Neary,  Ella  Neary,  $2;  Children 
of  Mary,  $1;  A  Child  of  Mary,  |i;  P.J.  Maher, 
$1;  Mrs.  Catherine  Keenan  and  friends,  $9.20; 
B.,  Jersey  City,  N.  J,  I3;  A  Child  of  Mary,  $1; 
Ellen  Gannon,  $1 ;  Charles  F.Gannon,  $1;  Bridget 
Cummings,|i;  A.J.Gracia,  $5;  Friends, Chicopee, 
Mass.,  $4;  Maria  Smalley,  $1 ;  Two  well-wishers, 
$1;  Mrs.  Mary  Waters,  |i;  Henry  McKenna,  $5; 
Michael  Henry,  $1;  Joseph  Clark,  |i;  Mrs.  K. 
Shanley,  $1 ;  Mrs. Eliza  McKenna,  50  cts. ;  Stafford 
McKenna,  50  cts.;  Mr.  Richards,  50  cts.;  Miss 
Nellie  F.  Murtagh,  $1 ;  Teresa  M.  Kelley,|i ;  Kittie 
A.  Keas,  $i\  Mrs.  Thomas  Ahearn,  $1;  For  the 
Souls  in  Purgatory,  $1;  John  F.  McCarthy,  $2; 
Edward  Burke,  $i\  Patrick  Giblin,  |i;  T.  F. 
Hearnan,  $1 ;  Miss  Nellie  Crowley,  $1 ;  Annie  Mc- 
Guire,  $1;  Mary  Donovan,  $1;  Mrs.  Margaret 
Nagle,  $1 ;  S.  J.  M.  and  family,  $3 ;  Kate  Sullivan, 
$1;  Mrs.  Catherine  McGinty,  $2  25.  Through  the 
Very  Rev.  A.  Granger,  C.  S.  C,  I14.50;— Mrs.  J.  C. 


Troy,  $1.50;  Mrs.  J.  D.,  $2;  Mrs.  C.  G  ,  $1;  Mrs. 
Margaret  S. ,  ^2;  Mrs.  E.  Maron,  50  cts. ;  M.  E.  Sul- 
livan, 50  cts  ;  E.  S.,  50  cts  ;  Mrs.  S.  O'Brien,  50 
qXs.\  Enfa?itde Marie, $s\  A  Spalding,  $1. 


New  Publications. 


A  Treatise  on  Plane  and  Spherical 
Trigonometry,  with  Logarithmic  Tables. 
By  J.  Bayma,  S.  J.,  Professor  of  Mathematics, 
Santa  Clara  College.  San  Francisco:  S.  Wald- 
teufel,  J2>7  Market  Street.  1886. 
A  neat  little  manual  on  a  branch  of  math- 
ematics so  thoroughly  ossified  that  no  growth 
can  take  place  in  it  for  evermore;  and  there- 
fore the  only  merit  that  present  or  future 
works  on  the  subject  can  claim  is  that  of  judg- 
ment in  the  selection  of  examples  for  the  ap- 
plication of  principles,  which  can  never  be 
better  demonstrated  than  they  have  been  by 
the  men  of  old.  We  may  observe  that  the 
treatise  before  us  -has  been  successful  in  this 
respect,  placing  before  the  student  exercises 
that  will  at  once  awaken  his  interest  and  ele- 
vate his  mind  to  a  sense  of  the  claims  of  the 
science  upon  his  attention.  The  tables  of  loga- 
rithms are  exceptionally  compact,  dismissing 
all  superfluous  figures  from  the  page,  thereby 
materially  relieving  and  assisting  the  eye.  One 
passage  in  the  preface  is  incomprehensible  to 
us,  where  the  author,  speaking  of  two  equa- 
tions, says  that  "if  the  former  is  true,  the 
latter  can  not  but  be  false. ' '  There  is  no  rea- 
son in  the  world  why  the  square  of  radius 
should  not  be  taken  for  the  unit- area;  and 
hence  the  equations  may  be  both  true  at  the 
same  time. 

A  Thought  from  St.  Francis  and  His 
Saints,  for  Each  Day  of  the  Year.  Translated 
from  the  French  by  Miss  Margaret  A.  Colton. 
New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Louis:  Benziger 
Brothers. 

It  was  a  happy  idea,  when  so  much  effort  is 
being  made  to  propagate  the  Third  Order, 
to  collect  a  thought  for  each  day  of  the  year 
from  St.  Francis  and  his  saints.  True,  many 
of  the  counsels  contained  in  this  little  book 
can  be  fully  appreciated  only  by  the  learned 
and  those  who  have  ' '  chosen  the  better  part ' '  : 
however,  there  are  others  by  which  we  may 
all  profit,  and  which  we  should  strive  to  make 
our  own.  They  will  supply  our  minds  with 
wholesome  food  for  reflection  at  all  times.  The 
frontispiece  to  the  volume  presents  the  famil- 


p 


Tlie  Ave  Maria. 


499^ 


iar  and  always  pleasing  picture  of  ' '  the  sweet 
Saint  of  Assisi,"  surrounded  by  animals  — 
doves,  a  rabbit,  a  deer,  and  a  stork. 

Sketch  op  the  Catholic  Church  in  the 
City  of  Natchez,  Miss. 
This  small  pamphlet,  published  on  the  oc- 
sion  of  the  consecration  of  the  Cathedral  of 
atchez,is  a  very  interesting  compilation  from 
e  various  authorities  on  the  history  of  the 
Church  in  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi.  The 
scattered  materials  found  in  Shea,  Claiborne, 
Monteith,  and  the  other  writers,  are  arranged 
and  harmonized  with  great  skill  and  care'. 
The  result  is  a  publication  which  gives  us  a 
vivid  and  picturesque  account  of  the  history 
of  the  Church  in  Natchez,  tracing  its  progress 
from  the  cradle  of  the  new-born  city,  through 
toil  and  tribulation,  to  the  present  day,  when 
the  towers  of  St.  Mary's  Cathedral  have  just 
raised  their  head  on  a  soil  which  two  hundred 
years  ago  heroic  martyrs  watered  with  their 
blood. 


Obituary. 


'H  is  a  koly  and  wholesome  thoui^ht  to  pi 


ay  for  the  dead.*' 
—2  Mach.,  xii.,  4fi 


We  commend  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers  the  following  persons  lately  deceased: 

The  Rev.  Father  Jourdant,  a  venerable  priest  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  whose  death— the  result  of  a 
fall— occurred  in  New  Orleans.  He  was  for  many 
years  superior  of  houses  of  his  Order  in  the  South, 

The  Rev.  M.  A.  Horgan,  O.  P.,  for  several  years 
a  beloved  pastor  of  St.  Dominic's  Church,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C. 

"Father  Joseph"  (M.  Cordia  Collier),  a  well- 
known  member  of  the  Trappist  community, 
Abbey  of  Our  Lady  of  La  Trappe,  Gethsemani,  Ky . 
He  was  once  famous  as  a  singer  and  musician. 

Sister  M.  of  St.  Victorina,  of  the  Sisters  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  who  was  called  to  her  reward  on  the 
8th  inst. 

A.  H.  Wagner,  Esq. ,  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
respected  citizens  of  Windsor,  Ontario,  whose 
death  occurred  on  the  i6th  ult.  He  was  a  con- 
vert to  the  Church,  and  in  every  respect  a  model 
Catholic. 

Mr.  John  Ewing,  of  Roxbury,  Mass. ;  Mr.  Ber- 
nard McCusker  and  Mrs.  Anne  Carberry,  South 
Boston;  Mrs.  Catherine  E.  Almender,  Charles- 
town,  Mass.;  Mrs.  Catherine  Nahan,  Chicago; 
Miss  Nora  Davin,  Avon,  N.  Y. ;  Mr.  Michael  Glea- 
son.IonaHill,  Cal. ;  Mrs.  Honora  Smith,  New  York 
city;  Mrs.  Alice  Condon,  Vicksburg,  Miss.;  and 
Mr.  John  Day,  Graceville,  Minn. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PARTMENX 


The  Story  Mother  Told  between 
Day  and   Dark. 

How  Jean  Bart  Saved  the  Beacon-Tower. 


BY    MARGARET    E.   JORDAN. 


I. 

"  We'th  weady,  mamma;  we'th  all  weady 
for  the  'tory,"  lisped  Baby  Annie. 

"And  the  nursery's  ready,  mamma," 
added  Bernard,  a  bright  little  fellow  aged 
eight.  "Charlie  and  I  picked  up  all  the 
scraps  and  pictures. ' ' 

'  'And  now,  please,  put  your  sewing  away, 
mamma;  it's  story -night,  you  know," 
chimed  in  Elizabeth,  a  motherly  little  lady, 
twelve  last  May -Day. 

"There  are  only  three  buttons  more  to 
sew  on,  Elizabeth,  and  then  your  new  dress 
will  be  finished,"  said  the  mother  of  the 
happy  group,  re-threading  her  needle. 

"Just  put  pins  in  to  mark  the  places,  and 
I'll  sew  the  buttons  on  this  evening.  You 
know  what  you  say  to  me,  mamma  darling: 
— 'You'll  have  to  wear  glasses  before  your 
time,  if  you  abuse  your  eyes  using  them  in 
this  light.'" 

"True  enough,"  replied  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
rising  and  laying  her  work  aside;   "and 
mother  must  not  forget  that 
"  '  Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight. 

When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 
Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupation, 
That  is  known  as  the  children's  hour.' 

Come,  little  ones." 

Mrs.  Ivawrence,  Elizabeth,  Bernard,  and 
Charlie  ascended  the  stairs,  forming  a  body- 
guard for  Baby  Annie,  who  slowly  climbed 
upward,  in  danger  of  falling  backward  at 
every  step,  so  heavily  laden  was  she, — a 
new  frowzy-haired,  pink-cheeked  wax  doll 
under  one  arm,  and  a  blue-eyed,  flat-nosed, 
battered  relic  of  a  doll,  that  was  once  a 


500 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"perfect beauty,"  and  is  still  a  "dear  dar- 
ling," hugged  closely  in  the  other. 

In  a  few  moments  Annie  and  her  treas- 
ures are  cosily  nestling  in  mother's  arms, 
in  the  low  rocking-chair;  Elizabeth,  Ber- 
nard, and  Charlie  are  seated  upon  hassocks 
around  them.  The  sunbeams  have  vanished, 
and  the  twilight  gazes  through  the  open 
casement  at  this  picture  of  happy,  holy 
home- life,  while  mother  tells  the  children 
* '  How  JeanjBart  saved  the  Beacon- Tower." 

It  was  more  than  two  centuries  ago,  be- 
fore the  first  snowflakes  had  fallen  in  the 
Winter  of  1662,  that  a  French  squadron, 
under  command  of  Count  d'Estrades,  en- 
tered the  harbor  of  Dunkirk.  The  exciting 
news  sped  like  wind ;  rich  and  poor  flocked 
to  the  scene;  and  before  long  the  sailors,  and 
the  fishermen  of  the  seaport  engaged  at 
close  of  day  in  spreading  their  fish  and  nets 
to  dry  upon  the  plains,  left  their  work  unfin- 
ished, and  strode  towards  the  quay.  Within 
the  cabins  barley- cakes,  in  preparation  for 
the  frugal  evening  meal,  were  set  aside  un- 
cooked, and  mothers  and  daughters  fol- 
lowed fathers  and  sons. 

The  first  flash  of  the  news  was  a  signal 
for  rejoicing.  Had  not  the  King  of  France 
re-purchased  Dunkirk  from  the  English? 
Were  they  not  again  under  the  French  flag 
— again  subjects  of  a  son  of  St.  Louis?  But 
the  brighter  the  flash  of  light,  the  deeper 
the  darkness  that  follows.  The  old  folks, 
and  the  young  folks  who  bore  "old  heads 
on  young  shoulders,"  discussing  the  sale, 
saw  no  cause  for  rejoicing;  and  as  the  sun 
set  and  the  night  began  to  deepen,  the  elders 
surrounded  a  venerable  priest,  and,  having 
obtained  permission  to  meet  during  the 
night  in  the  garden  adjoining  the  church, 
the  throng  dispersed  to  their  homes. 

There  was  one  of  the  good  housewives  of 
Dunkirk  who  had  bravely  conquered  her 
woman's  curiosity,  and  when  Corneille  Bart 
and  his  two  sons,  Jasper  and  Jean,  reached 
their  humble  cabin,  the  warmth  and  the 
glow  of  fire  and  candle-light  awaited  them; 
and  they  were  scarcely  inside  the  door  when 
thrifty,  motherly  Catherine  had  served  the 
hot  tea  and  steaming  griddle- cakes. 


'  ^Mon  Dieu^  preserve  us !  what  has  hap- 
pened? Did  you  lose  your  appetites  upon 
the  quay  ? ' '  cried  the  good  soul,  gazing  from 
the  scarcely  tasted  food  to  the  sorry  faces  of 
her  husband  and  sons.  ' '  Dunkirk  bought 
from  the  English  for  a  small  part  of  its 
value! — why  that's  good  news!" 

"So  it  would  seem,"  responded  Cor- 
neille; "and  so  it  would  be,  were  it  not  for 
the  conditions." 

' '  Conditions !  And  what  are  they,  pray  ? ' ' 
asked  Catherine,  looking  questioningly 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"Listen:  every  public  building  is  to  be 
razed  to  the  height  of  the  highest  dwelling. 


No  one  cares  for  the  fortress — let  it 


go! 


but  to  see  the  beacon-tower  of  the  dear  old 
church  levelled!  Why,  wife,  from  that  tower 
for  years  untold  has  the  beacon-light  flashed 
out  upon  the  waters,  guiding  both  the  sail- 
ors and  the  fishermen.  Who  will  venture 
forth  now  to  cast  a  net?  what  vessel  will 
dare  come  in  to  purchase  a  cargo?  Alas! 
tear  down  the  beacon-tower  and  Dunkirk 
is  ruined ! ' ' 

Hearts  often  seem  to  find  a  sorry  comfort 
in  reviewing  the  cause  of  their  trouble. 
(Perhaps  they  do  thus  wear  it  out,  in  a 
measure,  or  at  least  blunt  its  sharp  edge.) 
Corneille  found  in  Catherine  an  attentive 
listener,  and  more  than  once  he  told  of  the 
treaty  at  the  close  of  the  war,  in  1658,  by 
which  Dunkirk  was  ceded  to  the  English. 
With  its  flourishing  fisheries,  it  had  proved 
a  valuable  possession;  but  King  Charles, 
young,  gay,  extravagant,  and  always  short 
of  funds,  seeing  the  eye  of  Louis  fixed  upon 
the  thrifty  city,  resisted  alike  the  advice 
and  entreaties  of  his  ministers,  and  deter- 
mined in  favor  of  the  sale.  Vexed  beyond 
measure  at  the  loss  of  so  valuable  a  portion 
of  the  kingdom,  the  English  ministers  re- 
solved that  what  was  a  loss  to  them  should 
be  no  gain  to  the  French ;  hence  a  trarfsfer, 
hampered  with  conditions  destined  to  ruin 
the  fisheries  of  Dunkirk. 

II. 
Seldom  from  the  stately  mansion  of  the 
merchant  prince,  or  from  the  lowly  cottage 
of  sailor  or  fisherman,  did  more  fervent  peti- 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


50^ 


tions  arise  to  the  Most  High  than  were  ut- 
tered upon  that  memorable  night;  for  when 
do  we  ever  invoke  the  divine  aid  with  such 
fervor  as  when  human  help  becomes  of  no 
avail?  Never  before  had  the  light  burning 
in  the  church-tower  seemed  to  send  forth 
so  bright  a  ray  upon  the  lone,  dark  sea. 
Within  the  chapel  the  altar-light  burned 
bright  as  ever,  its  crimson  beams  crowning 
with  a  nimbus  of  fire  the  humble  "fisher 
of  men, ' '  the  aged  and  holy  priest,  who  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar  prayed  for  his  people; 
their  sorrows  were  his  sorrows;  their  joySj 
his  joys. 

Ah,  how  he  prayed!  From  his  heart  arose 
that  sweet  prayer  of  faith  which  "removes 
mountains."  And  how  near  Our  Blessed 
Lord  was  to  him! — just  there  in  the  taber- 
nacle, dwelling  as  truly,  as  lovingly,  in  the 
midst  of  the  fishermen  of  Dunkirk,  as  of  old 
He  had  lived  and  toiled  with  the  fishermen 
of  Galilee;  now,  as  then,  His  sweet  voice 
sounding  in  the  ears  of  men:  "All  things 
which  you  shall  ask  in  prayer,  believing, 
you  shall  receive " ;  "If  you  have  faith,  and 
shall  stagger  not. ' ' 

Silently,  or  talking  in  mufiied  tones,  the 
members  of  his  flock  grouped  together  in 
the  garden,  screened  by  the  gloom  of  night. 
Soon  the  priest,  standing  in  their  midst, 
opened  the  meeting.  Plan  after  plan  for 
preventing  the  levelling  of  the  tower  was 
presented  to  him ;  he  sadly  but  decidedly 
shook  his  head.  Of  what  avail  would  be 
either  petition  or  violence? 

"Then  our  tower  must  be  destroyed!" 
slowly,  sadly  wailed  the  throng. 

"Not  at  all!"  rang  out  a  clear,  boyish 
voice. 

"Silence,  Jean!"  cried  Corneille  Bart, 
recognizing  by  the  voice  of  the  speaker  his 
younger  son.    "Another  word  and  I'll — " 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven  let  the  lad 
speak,"  said  the  priest,  with  voice  and  gest- 
ure of  command ;  ' '  the  wisdom  of  God  has 
often  been  withheld  from  the  great,  and 
revealed  unto  little  ones. ' ' 

"Speak,  then,  Jean,  as  the  priest  wishes 
I  it." 

"Father,  the  conditions  of  thf  sale  read: 


'  Every  public  building  must  be  razed  to 
the  level  of  the  highest  dwelling.'  There 
is  but  one  way  to  save  the  tower:  let  a 
dwelling  be  made  its  equal  in  height.  Tear 
down  our  cottage  to-morrow  nighty  and^  be- 
fore morning  breaks^  build  it  up  to  the  top  of 
the  church-tozver;  thus  will  the  beacon,  the 
city,  and  the  fisheries  of  Dunkirk  be  saved.'  * 
A  gesture  of  the  priest  suppressed  the 
dangerous  burst  of  applause  about  to  break 
forth. 

' '  Silence,  my  children ! ' '  said  he.  ' '  You 
see  the  good  God  protects  you.  As  for  you, 
my  son" — laying  his  hand  on  the  head  of 
the  happy  lad, — "  you  will  become  famous, 
and  your  mother  will  be  proud  of  you." 

His  voice  was  low  and  tremulous;   his 
eye  glowe-d  with  the  fire  of  divine  love;  he 
spoke  little:  there  are  moments 
When  human  lips  seem  powerless  to  frame 
Aught, save,  in  trembling  whispers  Jesus'  Name. 

Yet  he  kept  the  boy  by  his  side,  now  gaz- 
ing down  upon  him,  now  looking  toward 
the  chapel  window,  through  which  beamed 
the  faithful  crimson  light.  He  knew  it  was 
burning  its  life  out  before  the  Divine  One 
who  had  whispered  the  saving  message  to 
the  boy.  His  soul  longed  to  be  there,  too; 
yet  he  stood  by  the  gate,  breathed  a  bless- 
ing upon  each  one,  gave  directions,  and  en- 
joined the  strictest  secrecy  regarding  the 
coming  night's  work. 

At  length  all  had  departed ;  and  while  the 
beacon  burned,  and  the  bright-eyed  stars 
listened  to  the  tales  of  the  winds  and  waves, 
and  his  people  slept,  the  faithful  shepherd, 
prostrate  before  the  altar,  panted,  between 
the  throbs  of  his  grateful  heart:  "O  Jesu! 
OJesu!" 

m. 

Providence  never  does  good  deeds  by 
halves,  for  those  who  do  not  attempt  to 
thwart  Its  action.  The  venerable  priest  was 
not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  that  it  was  the 
coming  night  which  the  French  com- 
mander had  set  upon  for  the  grand  military 
ball,  to  take  place  on  board  the  vessel.  He 
had  invited  the  English  officers  in  com- 
mand of  the  garrison.  Thus  would  the  scene 
of  the  fishermen's  proposed  labors  be  left 


502 


The  Ave  Maria, 


free  from  the  observation  of  the  enemy, — 
something  which  the  fisher- folk  had  vainly 
sought  to  devise  a  means  of  accomplishing. 

Night  came  on.  Under  loads  of  brush 
the  cottage  had  been  borne,  in  pieces,  to  the 
priest's  garden;  on  board  the  vessel  in  the 
harbor,  festivity  reigned;  in  the  garrison 
the  English  soldiers  on  duty  wondered  at 
the  generosity  of  the  French  merchants  in 
the  gift  of  Dutch  gin  in  honor  of  the  occa- 
sion, and  before  long  they  slept  over  the 
empty  bottles;  in  the  garden  women  kept 
watch  while  men  rigged  derricks  and 
hoisted  beams.  Within  the  chapel  the  good 
priest  prayed;  now  and  then  he  implored 
a  blessing  on  the  strange  work,  as  the  stroke 
of  hammer  and  mallet  reached  his  ear;  but, 
more  than  all,  the  burden  of  his  prayer  was 
a  tender  outpouring  of  gratitude  to  our  di- 
vine Lord,  who  had  whispered  to  a  child  the 
secret  by  which  Dunkirk  would  be  saved. 

Morning  dawned;  the  sun  shone  upon 
land  and  sea.  The  rough  voices  of  the  fish- 
ermen swelled  the  glad  hymn  of  praise  in- 
toned by  the  priest  of  God,  and  the  soft 
breeze  bore  it  far  out  across  the  glistening 
waves.  Standing  upon  the  vessel's  deck, 
drawn  thither  by  the  unusual  sound  of  re- 
joicing, French  and  English  beheld  a  fish- 
erman's cottage  firmly  set  upon  the  broad 
summit  of  the  beacon- tower!  From  its 
chimney  proudly  waved  the  flag  of  France. 
Through  the  open  door  could  be  seen,  par- 
taking of  a  joyful  though  humble  meal, 
Corneille  Bart,  his  devoted  wife  Catherine, 
and  their  two  sons,  Jasper  and  Jean. 

' '  Behold  the  highest  dwelling-house  in 
Dunkirk!"  exclaimed  a  French  merchant; 
"nor  is  there  even  a  weather-vane  above 
its  level!" 

"We  may  contend  with  you  upon  the 
battle-field,"  responded  the  English  com- 
mander, with  a  good-natured  smile;  "but 
when  wit  or  invention  is  at  stake,  we  sur- 
render. Gentlemen,  we  will  evacuate  the 
city  to-day." 

' '  What  a  fine  story,  mamma ! ' '  exclaimed 
Bernard  and  Charlie,  as  Mrs.  Ivawrence 
ceased  speaking. 


' '  Who  wrote  the  story,  mamma? ' '  asked 
Elizabeth,  who  was  always  interested  in 
authors. 

' '  Well,  my  daughter,  it  is  a  legend  which 
dames  and  sires  of  Flanders  tell  to  the  little 
ones  at  their  knee,  and  which  years  ago  the 
gifted  pen  of  Ben  Perley  Poore  gave  to  the 
story- loving  children  of  America. ' ' 

"And  is  it  true,  mamma?" 

"A  little  cottage  still  preserved  on  the 
summit  of  a  massive  stone  tower  attests  the 
truth  of  the  legend.  Jean  Bart  became  one 
of  the  bravest,  most  daring  naval  com- 
manders that  ever  espoused  the  cause  of  a 
beloved  land;  thus  proving  that  the  good 
old  priest  had  not  prophesied  in  vain  that 
memorable  November  night." 

"And  will  you  tell  us  more  about  him, 
mamma?"  asked  Bernard. 

"Yes,  my  son,  when  comes  again  'the 
children's  hour' — between  the  dark  and 
the  daylight." 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kilpatrick. 

BY     E.    L,.   D. 

XIV. 

Was  /'/^^/'O'Keefe? 

Denbigh  went  on  his  knees  and  hung 
over  him,  with  the  tears  streaming  down 
his  face,  and  the  great  veins  in  his  throat 
filled  to  bursting.  He  caught  his  hands — 
like  the  claws  of  an  eagle,  with  the  nails 
gone  to  talons — in  his  own  shaking  palms, 
and  tried  to  call  him  by  name,  but  he  could 
only  make  the  awful,  choking  sound  that 
unaccustomed  weeping  brings  to  a  man. 

"  I'  11  go  make  out  his  papers, ' '  said  Lieut. 
Craig,  and  disappeared;  while  Holt  stood 
near  the  door,  ready  to  pounce  in  should 
the  supposed  lunatic  offer  to  hurt  "Crazy 
Pat,"  and  out  if  he  should  fly  at  himself 

But  Denbigh's  soul  was  concentrated  in 
the  look  with  which  he  devoured  the  pa- 
thetic figure  before  him.  Where  was  the 
broad  back  that  heaved  the  dead  horse  from 
off  him  that  day  ?  where  the  muscles  that 


The  Ave  Marian 


503 


made  him  the  most  fearless  and  tireless 
rider  in  the  troop?  where  the  ruddy  cheeks, 
and  the  thick,  black  hair?  Sunken  eyes  that 
looked  vacantly  at  him;  sunken  cheeks, 
and  blue  lips  that  clung  to  gums  almost 
toothless  with  scurvy ;  the  saucy  nose  drawn 
and  pinched  as  on  a  death's-head ;  the  black 
hair  white  now,  and  clinging  scantily  to 
the  skull ;  and  the  sturdy  figure  so  light  he 
could  lift  it  on  one  arm. 

"  O'  Keefe ! "  he  cried  at  last ;  "  O'  Keefe, 
look  up!     Don't  you  know  me,  man?" 

But  he  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the 
dead. 

"I  must  get  him  out  of  this!"  he  half 
mplored,  half  flung  at  Holt. 

'  'And  you  shall, ' '  said  that  kind-hearted 
:ellow.    ' '  Where' 11  you  take  him  ?  " 

''Away  to  Pennsylvania — anywhere  in 
the  world  he'll  want  to  go." 

And  they  lifted  him  in  his  blanket,  and 
carried  him  to  the  gang-plank.  But  here  a 
difficulty  arose.  As  the  air  smote  his  face 
he  roused  up,  and  in  a  distinct  voice  an- 
nounced he'd  go  no  farther;  and  when  they 
tried  to  move  on,  he  clutched  at  the  nearest 
stanchion,  and  held  so  desperately  they 
could  not  get  him  loose  without  hurting 
him.  Denbigh  was  in  the  deepest  distress, 
and  it  would  have  amazed  anybody  who 
had  ever  known  the  rough  trooper  to  see 
how  gentle  he  was,  and  how  tenderly  he 
coaxed  and  plead  with  the  crazy  man. 

Won  at  last  by  his  manner,  or  tired  of  his 
whim,  O' Keefe  motioned  to  him  to  come 
closer,  and  as  Denbigh  bent,  the  sick  man 
whispered,  with  a  sly  look  in  his  eyes: 

"I  won't  let'em  take  me,  for  they'll  be 
carry  in' me  back  to  the  stockade;  but  if 
ye' 11  watch  your  chance  and  get  me  a  horse, 
we  can  go  free  sure."  And  he  laughed  the 
vacuous  laugh  of  madness. 

Holt  shook  his  head. 

'  It's  just  a  freak.  He  couldn't  set  a 
horse  two  minutes." 

But  the  struggle  began  the  moment  they 
attempted  to  move  on  again;  and  one  of  the 
surgeons  coming  by  at  the  moment,  stopped 
long  enough  to  say : 

"Ah,  'Crazy  Pat' !    Poor  fellow,  he'll  die  | 


anyhow,  so  let  him  have  his  way  if  you — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence,  and  Denbigh's 
fierce  denial  of  its  first  half,  were  drowned 
in  a  loud  bray;  and  there  were  Jet  and 
Oester  peering  over  the  railing  of  the  wharf, 
to  see  what  had  become  of  him. 

K  motion  to  the  boy  brought  him  aboard 
at  a  full  run,  and  he  shared  Denbigh's  joy 
and  dismay  at  the  news  and  sight  of  their 
long-lost  comrade;  then,  as  soon  as  he  got 
the  idea  of  a  horse  being  wanted,  he  rushed 
for  Jet,  and  in  a  jifFy  had  the  mule  along- 
side, and  was  helping  O'  Keefe  to  mount. 

The  poor  fellow  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
Denbigh,  who  walked  beside  him,  holding 
him  up,  and  two  or  three  times  O' Keefe 
whispered : 

' '  Be  careful !  Muffle  his  hoofs,  and  tie  up 
his  nose.  If  the  guards  get  a  sound  they'll 
be  firin'  and  chasin',  an'  we're  dead  men. 
Keep  to  the  trees,  keep  to  the  trees!" — in 
great  excitement — "they'll  catch  us,  and, 
man,  if  you  knew — " 

A  look  of  horror  finished  the  sentence 
more  forcibly  than  a  volume  of  words  could 
have  done. 

As  they  began  to  emerge  from  the  trees, 
and  the  houses  of  the  town  came  in  sight, 
O' Keefe  grew  wild. 

' '  Not  there ! "  he  exclaimed ;  ' '  not  there ! 
They'll  get  us.  Back  for  the  life  of  ye!" 
And  arguments  and  entreaties  were  useless. 

As  Denbigh  fell  silent,  discouraged, 
Oester  had  a  happy  inspiration. 

"Look  here,  Denbigh,"  he  whispered. 
"Pretend  to  hide  with  him  till  it's  dark, 
then  we'll  get  him  to  the  station.  I'll  go 
now  and  get  something  for  us  all  to  eat." 

And  he  was  off  before  Denbigh  quite  took 
it  in.  When  he  did,  however,  he  lowered 
his  voice,  and,  affecting  great  caution,  said : 

"Let's  hide  here  till  night."  And, 
O' Keefe  eagerly  assenting,  he  lifted  him 
down,  spread  his  coat  for  him  to  lie  on,  and 
took  his  head  on  his  knee. 

The  Spring  was  in  full  leaf,  and  the  sun- 
shine, the  rustling  of  the  trees,  and  the  fresh, 
sweet  air  were  like  balm  to  the  distraught 
brain,  and  soon  O' Keefe  was  in  a  sound 
sleep,  from  which  he  awakened  to  tear  with 


504 


l^he  Ave  Maria, 


eager  fingers  the  food  the  boy  had  brought. 

Toward  night  they  got  to  the  station,  but 
the  crowd  excited  his  fears,  and  again  he 
refused  to  go,  struggling  so  violently  that  a 
soldier, 'attracted  by  the  scuffle  (which  took 
place  somewhat  apart  from  the  station), 
spoke  up  to  Denbigh: 

''I've  seen  that  sort  before,  and  my  ad- 
vice to  you  is  to  get  him  home  on  the  tramp. 
The  excitement  of  such  frights  and  scares 
as  these  here  '11  kill  him  sure;  but  if  he  has 
his  way,  and  thinks  he's  escaping,  he'll  get 
a  chance,  maybe. ' ' 

"But,"  said  Denbigh,  "how—" 

"Get  a  couple  of  rubber  blankets,  a  tent 
if  you  can,  a  coffee-pot,  and  a  haversack  for 
grub,  and  tramp  it.    That's  my  advice." 

The  man  and  boy  looked  at  each  other 
and  nodded;  and  while  Oester  plunged  oflf 
to  get  Jet  out  of  the  cattle-car  in  which  he 
had  been  shipped,  and  explain  to  the  agent 
(who  rowed  about  refunding  the  money, 
but  did  it  when  he  heard  ' ' Andersonville 
prisoner"),  Denbigh  led  O'Keefe  away  to 
the  appointed  place  of  meeting.  And  that 
very  night  they  started  in  as  straight  a  line 
as  they  could  make  for  the  Juniata  Valley. 

They  fell  in  with  the  humor  of  the  mad- 
man, trod  stealthily,  muffled  Jet's  hoofs, 
and  halted  only  when  the  dawn  began  to 
signal  up  the  day  in  the  East.  Then  they 
hid  in  the  woods  till  dark,  the  man  and  boy 
taking  turns  to  watch  their  comrade ;  and 
when  night  fell  they  started  on  again,  Den- 
bigh always  at  his  side,  with  his  arm  about 
him,  and  the  tired,  crazy  head  often  resting 
on  his  shoulder.  And  as  he  went  his  heart 
and  lips  kept  time  to  his  tread — 

' '  God,  I  thank  Thee !  Most  Holy  Virgin, 
I  thank  Thee !  Ivisten  to  my  thanks,  please 
— you  listened  once  to  my  prayers — though 
they  aren'  t  much  in  face  of  your  mercy  and 
goodness." 

And  truer  praise  is  seldom  given  to 
Heaven  than  that  which  welled  from  his 
deep  gratitude. 

As  they  rose  higher  into  the  mountains, 
and  the  air  blew  keener  and  sweeter, 
O'Keefe  brightened  perceptibly.  Some- 
times  he   would  break   into  singing,  his 


sweet  Irish  voice  swelling  on  the  night; 
then  he  lost  his  dread  of  travelling  by  day- 
light; and  one  afternoon,  when  they  ran 
across  a  party  of  farm  lads  out  for  a  holiday, 
he  looked  at  them  tranquilly,  and  stood  his 
ground  without  any  sign  of  fear. 

Once  Denbigh  trembled  on  the  verge  of 
a  hope  so  exquisite  as  to  shake  his  being 
to  its  centre.  It  was  on  a  sultry  day;  they 
had  halted,  exhausted  with  the  heat,  and  a 
violent  thunder-storm  burst  over  them.  As 
the  bolts  fell,  and  the  sharp  rattle  of  the 
meeting  clouds  rolled  away  in  sullen  boom- 
ing, O'Keefe  looked  up,  with  his  hand  at 
his  ear. 

"Begad!"  he  said,  "Kil's  at 'em  in  ear- 
nest; and  there'll  be  wigs  upon  the  green 
before  the  night,  or  ye  may  call  me  an 
Orangeman. ' ' 

His  friends  hung  breathless  on  his  next 
words,  but  the  light  was  only  a  flash  of  the 
brain,  and  they  took  up  their  tramp,  in  two 
minds  about  it. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Reward  of  Almsgiving. 


A  certain  wealthy  abbey  had  been  noted 
for  the  largeness  of  its  almsdeeds;  but  its 
abbot  died,  and  under  his  successor  the 
bounty  of  the  community  diminished.  The 
revenues  of  the  abbey  also  grew  less  and 
less,  and  at  last  so  small  had  they  become 
that  a  chapter  of  the  brethren  was  held  to 
consider  how  expenses  were  to  be  provided 
for.  Many  schemes  were  proposed  and  re- 
jected, when  at  last  an  old  monk  rose,  who 
had  been  high  in  the  favor  of  the  former  ab- 
bot. ' '  We  used,' '  he  said, ' '  to  have  two  good 
servants  in  this  abbey,  and  whilst  they  were 
with  us  everthing  prospered.  Their  names 
were  Date  and  Dabitur-vobis.'^  We  drove 
away  Date^  and  Dabitur-vobis  left  of  his 
own  accord.  Let  us  recall  the  one,  and  the 
other  will  return  also. ' '  The  old  man's  ad- 
vice was  followed :  the  brotherhood  began 
to  give  alms  more  freely,  and  soon  their 
former  prosperity  was  restored. 

*  ' '  Give ' '  and  '  *  It  shall  be  given  unto  you. 


Vol.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  27,  1886.  No.  22. 


I 


[Copyright :— Rbv.  D.  E.  Hudboh,  C.  8.  C.J 


The  Legend  of  the  Ghostly  Mass. 


T  was  the  ist  of  November.  After 
the  solemnities  of  the  Feast  of  All 
Saints  were  over,  the  worshippers 
hurried  homeward,  eager  to  regain  their 
fireside,  and  seek  shelter  against  the  threat- 
ening storm,  which  seemed  the  hasty  pre- 
cursor of  the  approaching  commemoration 
of  All  Souls;  an  icy  wind  scattered  afar  the 
yellow  leaves  that  strewed  the  ground, — last 
j  relics  of  spring-time;  while  a  universal  sad- 
ness seemed  to  pervade  Nature,  and  prepare 
the  soul  for  the  melancholy  services  of  the 
morrow. 

But  the  feelings  of  depression  which  the 
evening  inspired  were  increased  tenfold  by 
la  contemplation  of  the  ruins  of  the  ancient 
labbey,  with  its  broken  arches,  its  deserted 
cloister,  and  its  abandoned  cemetery.   Once 
thousands  of  monks  had  chanted  therein, 
iay  and  night,  the  praises  of  God;  there 
aiitred  abbots,  learned  and  holy  men,  had 
oresided  at  the  glorious  and  touching  cere- 
noniesof  the  Church, — there  where  naught 
jiow  remained  save  the  remnants  of  the 
pbey  church  and  a  bell-tower,  the  shadow 
tf  which  still  fell  over  the  ancient  burial- 
ground  of  the  monks.    The  neighboring 
|>easants  came,  occasionally,  to  pray  at  the 
30t  of  the  cross  in  the  neglected  cemetery ; 
/hile  in  the  belfry  a  silvery-toned  bell, 
,'hich  had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  ruth- 
l-ss  plunderers  of  the  Revolution,  still  rang 
kth   the  call  to  God's   service;    for   the 


poor  little  village  church,  scarcely  recov- 
ered from  the  national  disasters,  possessed 
neither  belfry  nor  bell. 

Maclou,  the  bell-ringer  and  sacristan 
of  the  humble  church,  which  was  too  poor 
to  give  him  any  salary  for  his  double  func- 
tions, had  laid  out  the  black  vestments  for 
the  commemoration  of  the  dead,  and  had 
brought  into  operation  all  the  resources  of 
his  long  experience  and  of  his  zealous  de- 
votion towards  the  souls  of  the  faithful  de- 
parted ;  he  ranged  the  waxen  torches  round 
the  empty  catafalque,  surveyed  his  prepara- 
tions with  a  satisfied  air,  and  set  out  for  the 
belfry  of  the  cemetery,  to  toll  the  knell  of 
the  parting  day.  The  old  bell  of  the  monks 
vibrated  and  rang  forth,  as  in  centuries 
gone  by,  to  the  country  round :  ' '  Pray,  pray 
for  the  departed!"  And  at  every  fireside 
each  one  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  and 
responded  to  the  sound  of  the  bell  with  a 
De  profundis.  That  evening  neither  laugh- 
ter nor  song  was  heard  throughout  the 
village,  since  there  was  no  household  with- 
out the  memory  of  some  place  left  vacant 
by  the  fell  reaper,  Death. 

Night  reigned  in  utter  darkness  over  the 
abbey  ruins;  all  was  silent,  and  the  triple 
covering  of  moss  woven  by  time  over  the 
sepulchral  slabs  deadened  even  the  steps  of 
an  old  man  walking  slowly  among  them. 
He  was  the  aged  priest  who  acted  as  pastor 
of  the  church, — a  living  wreck  escaped 
from  the  persecution.  He  remembered  the 
closing  days  of  the  monastery  wherein  he 
had  been  a  novice,  and  where  he  was  now 


5o6 


the  Ave  Maria. 


sole  guardian  of  its  ruins.  He  had  preserved 
undimmed  the  ardor  of  eternal  youth,  daily 
renewed  at  the  altar;  the  people  knew  him 
as  "the  Saint,"  and  it  was  declared  that 
sometimes,  when  at  prayer,  his  forehead 
shone  brilliantly. 

At  the  toll  of  the  knell  the  monk  had  re- 
cited the  Penitential  Psalms;  then,  drawn 
by  some  mysterious  attraction,  heedless  of 
the  intense  cold,  he  had  come  thither  amid 
the  ruins,  to  pray  for  those  who  had  for- 
merly been  his  brethren  in  religion.  Kneel- 
ing before  the  remains  of  the  altar,  he  in- 
voked the  efficacy  of  the  countless  Masses 
celebrated  upon  those  crumbling  slabs  of 
marble,  and  prayed  long  and  fervently  for 
the  deceased  religious  buried  beneath  the 
pavement,  who  had  none  that  would  re- 
member them. 

The  hours  glided  by ;  gradually  the  last 
fires  were  extinguished,  the  hearth  stones 
grew  cold,  slumber  had  closed  all  eyes,  yet 
Maclou,  the  bell-ringer,  continued  still  to 
toll. 

''Toll,  toll,  Maclou!"  whispered  an  in- 
terior voice;  "the  longer  you  ring  the  bell, 
the  more  prayers  will  be  said  for  the  dead. ' ' 

But  Maclou  answered  to  himself:  "What 
use  is  it?    All  are  asleep." 

"Who  knows,"  continued  the  voice, 
"but  some  one  may  possibly  awake  during 
the  night  to  pray  for  the  departed?  Toll, 
toll  on!" 

"I  will;  my  bell  \^  my  prayer." 

And  Maclou  resumed  his  task.  And  the 
longer  he  tolled,  standing  beneath  the  an- 
cient porch,  the  more  energy  he  felt;  a  kind 
of  supernatural  strength  seemed  to  animate 
him ;  he  experienced  not  the  slightest  fa- 
tigue; and,  calling  to  mind  the  many  dead 
whom  he  had  accompanied  to  the  cemetery, 
the  harmonious  rhythm  of  his  bell,  like 
the  sough  of  the  waves  on  a  sandy  beach, 
transformed  his  ideas  into  revery. 

"My  turn  will  come,"  he  said,  slowly; 
"I  am  over  sixty.  Lord,  grant  that  I  be 
prepared  when  my  hour  draws  near ! ' '  And 
his  head  drooped  upon  his  breast,  his  limbs 
bent  under  him;  he  sank  upon  the  ground; 
the  rope  slipped  from  his  fingers,  and  the 


last  tones  of  the  knell  died  away  in  the  fog. 

Meanwhile  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  the 
priest  knelt  in  an  ecstasy  of  prayer:  he  was 
lost  to  all  sounds  of  earth,  and,  not  perceiv- 
ing that  the  death- knell  had  ceased,  con- 
tinued his  fervent  supplications.  The  clock 
rang  out  midnight;  All  Souls'  Day  was 
ushered  in,  and  at  the  last  stroke  of  the 
hour  a  mysterious  breath  passed  over  the 
cemetery,  similar  to  that  which  astonished 
the  Prophet  Ezekiel.  A  strange  noise  issued 
from  those  silent  tombs.  The  dark  plain  un- 
dulated like  the  ocean  when  swollen  by  a 
tempest ;  the  willows  wept,  the  cypresses 
moaned,  and  the  yews  shook  their  branches, 
as  if  in  agonies  of  grief.  There  was  a  rus- 
tling of  winding-sheets,  an  indefinable 
crashing,  as  of  breaking  boughs.  Soon  a 
spectre  emerged  from  the  tombs,  then  an- 
other, still  another,  then  ten,  twenty,  a  hun- 
dred at  once.  These  phantoms  came  forth 
from  the  cemetery,  from  the  cloister,  from 
the  pavement  of  the  sanctuary, — all  wearing  f 
the  monastic  habit;  there  were  likewise  the 
benefactors  of  the  convent  in  their  worldly 
attire,  and  some  choir- boys  clothed  in  white 
surplices.  All  gradually  penetrated  into  the 
nave  (which  grew  sufficiently  spacious  to 
contain  them),  and  found  places  in  the 
stalls,  in  the  choir,  and  around  the  broken 
columns. 

The  aged  priest  prayed  on;  strange  tc 
say,  the  awesome  spectacle  had  no  terrors' 
for  him;  he  understood  that  under  thesej 
sensible  forms  the  departed  members  of  his 
monastery  solicited  suffrages.    One  of  thf 
spectres  bore  the  abbatial  mitre  and  crosier, 
and,  advancing  toward  the  kneeling  figure, 
said,  authoritatively :  ' '  Living  priest  of  th( 
Living  God,  in  the  Name  of  Our  Lord  Jesu; 
Christ  take  these  vestments  and  this  chalj 
ice,  and  offer  at  the  altar  the  Holy  Sacrifio 
for  the  dead  who  surround  you." 

The  altar  was  prepared,  the  tapers  lighted 
and  the  vestments  laid  in  order.  A  thril 
of  joy  pervaded  the  assembly  when  th 
monk,  obedient  as  of  old,  approached  th| 
altar;  but  when  he  began,  "-Introibo  a 
altare  Dei^ ' '  no  one  present  could  answe 
him;  the  Sacrifice  of  the  living  may  nc 


The  Ave  Maria. 


507 


le  served  by  the  dead.  '  ^Introibo  ad  altare 
9^2,"  repeated  the  priest,  still  louder;  yet 
10  voice  broke  the  silence.  Anxiety  now 
•  3ok  possession  of  the  assemblage,  and  la- 
laentations  resounded  on  every  side;  the 
i>acrifice  accorded  them  could  not  be  ac- 
complished. 
L  H  iMaclou  slept  on — the  steps  of  the  dead  do 
^■ilt  awake  the  living;  he  had  heard  naught 
^AE  that  terrible  thrill  which  had  accom- 
panied the  entrance  of  so  many  spirits. 
But  when  the  priest  repeated  for  the  third 
time,  yet  more  loudly,  ^^Introibo  ad  altm^e 
Dei^^^  Maclou  awoke;  he  perceived  the 
church  filled,  the  priest  alone  at  the  altar, 
and,  without  further  thought,  understood 
that  his  pastor  needed  his  services,  and  in 
aloud  voice  he  answered,  as  usual:  ''^Ad 
Deiim^  qui  IcBtificat  juveritutem  meam*' 
And,  making  his  way  towards  the  altar,  he 
knelt  to  serve  a  Mass  such  as  he  had  never 
before  witnessed. 

At  the  Dies  IrcB  strange  voices  sounded 
forth  unknown  canticles;  an  organ,  touched 
by  an  unearthly  hand,  gave   out  terrible 
tones,  as  of  thunder;  the  granite  arches  of 
the  vaulted  roof,  and  the  columns  beneath 
the  cross-springers,  vibrated  in  unison,  like 
the  chords  of  a  harp;  it  was  a  concert  of  the 
unseen  world.     Silence  followed;  the  con- 
secrated Host  was  slowly  elevated,  then  the 
chalice,  and  all  bowed  in  adoration;  when 
the  heads  were  raised  a  smile  played  over 
the   sad  faces,  and  angels  appeared,  who 
marked  each  with  the  Blood  of  the  chalice. 
Ere  long  the  priest,  turning  towards  the  peo- 
ple, pronounced:    ^^Requiescant  in  pace y 
^^Amept^^^   repeated  Maclou,  and   forth- 
with the  vision  disappeared;  the  candles 
ivere  extinguished  on  the  altar;  the  tombs 
;vere  silent,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  sky 
he  souls  were  seen   rising   upward  like 
adiant  stars.    '  'ii/  vidimus  gloriam  ejus^ 
'plenum  gratics  et  veritatis^    And  myriad 
oices   responded   with    exultation,  ^""Deo 
'ratios. ' ' 
No  one  remained  save  the  abbot,  who  had 
rdered  the  monk  to  celebrate  the  Holy 
acrifice.    Approaching  with  an  air  of  ma- 
stic dignity,  he  blessed  the  celebrant,  and. 


turning  to  MaclotP,  said :  ''  My  son,  you  have 
powerfully  aided  us  by  serving  this  Mass, 
wherein  the  God  of  Mercy  has  graciously 
deigned  to  concentrate  all  the  merit  of 
numberless  functions;  and  in  recompense  of 
your  charity,  the  Lord  permits  me  to  bear 
you  to  heaven. ' '  And  with  his  icy  hand, 
colder  than  mountain  snow,  the  abbot 
signed  the  Cross  on  his  forehead. 

"And  will  you  not  also  take  me  to  the 
Promised  Land?"  asked  the  celebrant. 

"No:  your  hour  is  not  yet  come;  you 
must  still  open  heaven  to  others  of  our 
brethren,  who  can  not  now  join  us;  and  you 
must  increase  otherwise  the  number  of 
those  that  will  welcome  you  on  high." 

The  next  morning  the  peasants,  sum- 
moned by  their  saintly  parish  priest,  came 
to  bear  oflf  old  Maclou,  who  had  expired 
while  sounding  the  knell  during  the  eve 
of  All  Souls'.  The  Office  for  the  Dead  was 
duly  recited,  and  under  the  catafalque  which 
he  had  raised  and  ornamented  with  his  own 
hands  on  the  day  previous,  the  body  of  the 
aged  sacristan  rested  in  peace;  his  soul  was 
already  in  the  abode  of  the  blessed.  Later, 
on  the  spot  where  Maclou  had  breathed  his 
last,  the  old  priest  succeeded  in  raising  a 
humble  chapel,  dedicated  to  the  Souls  in  ' 
Purgatory,  where  he  daily  said  Mass  for  the 
dead,  especially  for  his  brethren  in  the  ad- 
joining cemetery  who  yet  awaited  deliver- 
ance. 

Finally,  after  persevering  for  some  time 
in  his  pious  practice,  and  in  his  efforts  to 
extend  devotion  to  the  Holy  Souls,  he  be- 
came dangerously  ill,  and  on  the  evening 
of  the  following  Festival  of  All  Saints  lay 
in  his  agony.  The  faithful  began  the  pray- 
ers for  the  dying;  towards  midnight  he  was 
believed  to  be  peacefully  expiring,  and 
they  began  the  prayer  for  the  recommenda- 
tion of  the  soul.  '''Subveniie^  Sancti  Dei; 
occurrite  atigeli.^'^  And  the  saints  undoubt- 
edly obeyed  the  invocation ;  for  the  dying 
man  once  more  opened  his  eyes  to  a  sight 
which  shed  indescribable  joy  over  his  feat- 
ures, alreadv  glazed  in  death. 

"What  is  it? — what  do  you  see?"  asked 
those  present.    And  the  dying  saint,  in  an 


5o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ecstasy  that  arrested  death,  said :  ' '  It  is  the 
*  Mass  of  the  Ghosts ' !  Oh !  how  beautiful, 
amid  the  ruins  of  the  abbey!  I  had  gone 
thither  to  pray  for  my  brethren."  Then, 
in  clear  and  distinct  accents,  he  related 
the  incident  given  above,  adding,  ''The 
server  was  Maclou,  the  bell-ringer,  who  was 
tolling  the  knell  for  the  dead,  and  who  was 
permitted  to  join  their  blessed  train.  It  is 
now  my  turn. ' '  So  saying,  he  expired ;  his 
soul  went,  without  doubt,  to  swell  the  as- 
sembly of  the  saints  in  heaven,  who  owed 
their  speedy  deliverance  to  his  charitable 
prayers;  while  amid  the  darkness  of  the 
night  an  invisible  hand  tolled  the  bell  of  the 
ruined  monastery,  ringing  forth  a  strange, 
strange  knell,  so  that  all  remarked :  ' '  The 
bell  tolls  as  only  Maclou  knew  how  to  ring 
it — sadly  yet  joyously. ' ' 


The  Month  of  the  Dead. 


BY  ANGEIylQUE  DE   I.ANDE. 

>JOVEMBER  winds  are  sobbing  fitfully 

-*-^    A  sad  funereal  strain, 

And  the  dead  leaves  are  falling  ceaselessly, 

Drenched  with  the  Autumn  rain; 
The  skies  put  on  their  filmy  robes  of  gray. 

And  weep  in  sympathy 
For  those  poor  souls  who  in  their  anguish  pray: 

"Oh!  pity,  pity  me!" 

Their  plaintive  cry  has  reached  the  listening 
ear 

And  stirred  the  mother-heart 
Of  Holy  Church,  that,  in  the  waning  year. 

Bids  other  cares  depart. 
And  folds  her  suffering  children  tenderly 

Within  her  sheltering  arms, 
Chanting  the  while  a  low,  sweet  lullaby 

To  quiet  their  alarms. 

Around  her  knees  yet  other  children  cling, 

Obedient  to  her  call. 
And  at  her  bidding  solemn  requiems  sing, 

While  pitying  tear-drops  fall. 
There  oft  the  Holy  Rosary  they  say — 

That  pledge  of  Mary's  love — 
And  thro'  Her  tender  Heart  thus  find  the  way 

To  Jesus'  Heart  above. 


Oh!  'tis  a  holy  practice,  full  of  peace 

For  those  left  desolate. 
To  offer  for  the  Suffering  Souls'  release 

The  lyamb  Immaculate! 
That  I,amb,  for  sinners  once  on  Calvary  slain, 

Now  on  the  altar  lies. 
By  hands  anointed  lifted  up  again 

In  bloodless  Sacrifice. 

Still  sob  the  winds,  the  sad  November  sky 

Still  weeps  in  sympathy, 
And  friends  beloved  still  from  their  prison  cry: 

"Oh!  pity,  pity  me!  " 
Pierced  Heart  of  Jesus!  merciful  and  good, 

Sweet  Vision  of  the  Blest! 
These  are  Thine  own,  bought  with  Thy  Pre- 
cious Blood, 
Oh!  grant  them  light  and  rest! 


The  Republic  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

ON  the  8th  of  October,  1873,  Garcia 
Moreno,  President  of  the  Republic  of 
Ecuador,  consecrated  his  country  to  the  Di- 
vine Heart  of  Jesus,  and,  inspired  by  him, 
the  Senate  and  the  House  enacted  the  fol- 
lowing decrees: 

I. — The  Republic  of  Ecuador  is  from  this  date 
consecrated  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus, — that 
adorable  Heart  is  hereby  proclaimed  its  Patron 
and  Protector. 

II. — The  Feast  of  the  Sacred  Heart  shall  hence- 
forth be  observed  as  a  national  feast  of  the  first 
class. 

III. — In  every  cathedral  there  shall  be  erected 
an  altar  dedicated  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 

IV. — Upon  the  front  of  each  altar  shall  be 
placed,  at  the  expense  of  the  State,  a  marble  tablet, 
on  which  these  decrees  shall  be  inscribed. 

Garcia  Moreno  was  a  member  of  the 
Apostolate  of  Prayer,  and,  what  was  more, 
an  ardent  zealator  of  the  lycague  of  the 
Sacred  Heart;  we  need  not  be  surprised, 
therefore,  at  his  earnest  desire  to  promote 
this  great  devotion  throughout  the  Repub- 
lic. Our  Lord  rewarded  his  zeal  and  fervor 
by  martyrdom,  which  is,  viewed  in  the  light 
of  faith,  the  most  precious  of  all  graces. 

On  the  6th  of  August,  1875,  the  first  Fri- 
day of  the  month,  Garcia  Moreno  fell,  in 
hatred  of  religion,  by  the  dagger  of  the 
Masonic  sect,  which  had  vowed  his  de^tl;, 


1 


The  Ave  Maria, 


509 


That  morning,  as  was  his  custom,  he  had 
taken  part  in  the  Communion  of  Repara- 
tion of  the  Associates  of  the  Apostolate  of 
Prayer;  fortified  by  the  God  of  the  Eucha- 
ist,  he  expired  uttering  this  sublime  cry: 
Hos  non  muere! — ''God  does  not  die!"  . 
No,  God  does  not  die;  and  Garcia  Mo- 
jno's  Republic  is  still  the  Republic  of  His 
Hvine  Heart.    The  Messenger  of  the  Sa- 
'■ed  Hearty  of  Quito,  furnishes  us  with  glo- 
ious  proofs  of  this  fact  by  its  description 
>f  the  manner  in  which  the  National  Feast 
ras  celebrated  this  year. 

* 
*  * 

Before  beginning  a  description  of  the 
extraordinary  and  truly  splendid  feast  cel- 
ebrated by  the  city  of  Quito  in  manifestation 
of  its  love  for  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus, 
we  will  reproduce  the  bill  voted  on  by  the 
Senators  of  the  Republic.  On  Saturday, 
June  19,  the  Hon.  Fernando  Polit,  with  the 
support  of  the  Hon.  Antonio  Rivera,  and 
other  illustrious  colleagues,  proposed  to  the 
House  the  following: 

"The  Senate  of  the  Republic  of  Ecuador — in 
consideration  of  the  fact  that  the  law  of  October 
8,  1873,  consecrated  the  Republic  of  Ecuador  to 
the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  and  declared  Him  its 
Protector  and  Patron ;  that  the  21st  of  June  of  the 
present  year  is  the  second  centenary  of  the  public 
worship  rendered  to  this  Divine  Heart;  consider- 
ing that  it  is  just  and  suitable  for  the  representa- 
tives of  the  people  to  prove  their  Catholic  Faith 
•upon  such  a  solemn  occasion — enacts  the  follow- 
ing decree: 

"We  will  render  a  solemn  act  of  thanksgiving 
to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  Patron  of  the  Re- 
public of  Ecuador;  and,  in  token  of  our  adherence 
to  the  pious  sentiments  of  the  people,  the  Senate 
will  abstain  from  session  upon  that  day." 

This  measure  was  carried  without  oppo- 
sition. 

On  Sunday,  June  20,  there  was  great  anx- 
iety among  the  people,  as  towards  evening 
the  sky  became  overcast,  and  presaged  a 
storm.  "What  a  misfortune!"  was  the  ex- 
clamation on  all  sides ;  ' '  our  illuminations 
will  be  spoiled."  But  the  clouds  dispersed 
as  if  by  magic,  and  at  nightfall  streets, 
squares,  palaces,  towers,  houses,  and  cabins 
were  illumined  beneath  the  azure,  starlit 
heavens.    Not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen.    In 


less  than  an  hour  the  entire  city  was  trans- 
formed, and  presented  a  charming  scene. 
Quito,  usually  quiet  and  deserted  at  night, 
was  the  most  animated  of  capitals.  Fifty 
thousand  people  thronged  the  streets,  eager, 
happy,  enthusiastic;  and  in  the  centre  of 
the  city  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  open  a  passage. 

The  aspect  of  the  capital  surpassed  all 
expectations.  At  all  times  the  grand  illu- 
minations of  the  Government  House  and 
the  City  Hall  attract  a  multitude  of  admir- 
ers, but  on  that  occasion  these  were  blended 
in  the  ensemble^  and  received  no  particular 
notice.  The  entire  city  was  streaming  with 
lights.  In  many  dwellings  splendid  altars 
were  erected  to  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  the 
statues  were  surrounded  with  beautiful 
flowers,  expensive  candelabra,  and  rich  dra- 
peries. The  facades  of  some  great  houses 
were  transformed  into  veritable  monu- 
ments, and  here  and  there  effigies  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  stood  out  from  the  radiant 
ovals  which  gracefully  framed  them.  Upon 
the  fa9ades  of  the  National  Palace  shone  a 
magnificent  heart,  bearing  the  initials  of 
the  Holy  Name. 

It  is  impossible  adequately  to  describe 
these  illuminations.  Ecuador  has  never 
seen  anything  to  equal  them.  And  yet  they 
were  entirely  spontaneous;  neither  the  civil 
nor  religious  authorities  had  ordered  them; 
nothing  was  official :  all  was  done  by  the 
people ;  rich  and  poor,  young  and  old,  bore 
the  whole  expense  among  themselves.  The 
illuminations  of  the  poor  people  were  so 
touching  as  to  bring  tears  to  the  eyes,  and 
they  were  even  more  numerous  than  those 
of  the  rich.  Their  houses  were  all  lighted  up 
with  lanterns,  and  often  the  only  entrance 
to  the  dwellings  was  barred  by  a  glowing 
altar  to  the  Sacred  Heart. 

To  the  brilliancy  of  the  illuminations 
were  added  countless  balloons  of  gorgeous 
colors,  ascending  every  moment  towards  the 
heavens.  They  were  made  of  the  national 
colors,  and  each  bore  pictures  of  the  Sacred 
Heart, beneath  which  were  the  inscriptions: 
"Glory  to  the  Heart  of  Jesus,"  "Ecuador 
to  its  Divine  Protector,"  "Long life  to  the 


5^o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Republic  of  the  Sacred  Heart. ' '  And  if  the 
eye  was  gratified  by  the  decorations,  the 
ear  also  was  charmed  by  delicious  strains  of 
music  from  choirs  of  children,  military  and 
private  bands:  the  air  was  filled  with  the 
melody  of  pious  canticles. 

Thus  began  the  celebration  of  the  Feast 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  at  Quito.  At  the  same 
time  all  the  provinces  of  the  Republic  were 
participating  in  these  splendors;  for,  ani- 
mated with  one  sentiment,  the  entire  nation 
was  preparing  to  do  honor  to  its  Divine 
Protector. 

At  last  day  dawned  on  the  21st  of  June. 
The  populace  was  awakened  by  salvos  of 
artillery,  and  scarcely  were  the  doors  of  the 
cathedral  opened  when  crowds  began  to 
pour  in,  eager  to  make  their  preparations 
to  approach  the  Holy  Table  for  the  Com- 
munion of  Reparation.  Holy  Communion 
was  administered  almost  without  intermis- 
sion until  towards  eleven  o'clock. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  vast  nave  of  the 
cathedral  was  filled  with  men  of  all  ranks 
and  conditions — magistrates,  the  military, 
professors,  physicians,  authors,  students, 
merchants,  mechanics,  and  day  laborers. 
No  class  was  without  its  representatives. 
In  the  side  aisles  there  was  not  sufiicient 
room  for  the  women. 

All  the  religious  societies  and  confrater- 
nities were  united  in  this  important  assem- 
blage: the  Associations  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
the  Congregation  of  the  Children  of  Mary, 
the  Confraternities  of  St.  Joseph  and  St. 
Vincent  of  Paul,  the  Third  Orders  of  St. 
Dominic  and  St.  Francis,  the  Apostolate  of 
Prayer,  etc.,  etc. 

High  Mass  was  celebrated  by  his  Grace 
the  Archbishop.  No  pen  could  describe  the 
solemnity  of  the  scene — those  thousands  of 
Christians,  fervent  and  recollected,  prepar- 
ing themselves  for  the  Communion  of  Rep- 
aration. They  had  but  one  desire:  to  con- 
sole the  Divine  Heart — to  atone  for  the 
many  outrages  inflicted  on  Our  Saviour  by 
the  impious.  It  was  a  sublime  spectacle; 
it  carried  one  back  to  the  days  of  liveliest 
faith:  an  entire  people  was  taking  part  in 
the  Bucharistic  Banquet. 


At  this  blessed  and  awe-inspiring  moment 
the  organs  filled  the  cathedral  with  their 
melody,  and  well- trained  choirs  of  children 
sang  in  softened  tones  a  series  of  beautiful 
hymns.  Many  of  those  present  wept,  and 
all  were  greatly  moved.  Never  had  Quito 
seen  such  a  numerous  and  touching  Com- 
munion of  men. 

At  half- past  eight  the  Mass  was  over,  and 
the  last  communicants  were  requested  to 
make  their  thanksgiving  in  the  adjoining 
chapel.  Soon  the  cathedral  was  again  filled 
with  those  who  had  not  as  yet  been  able  to 
receive  the  Bread  of  lyife.  Masses  followed 
uninterruptedly  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  it 
is  believed  that  at  the  cathedral  alone  there 
were  ten  thousand  Communions,  of  which 
three  thousand,  at  the  least,  were  by  men. 
It  is  impossible  to  give  the  figures  for  all  the 
churches  of  Quito,  but,  we  repeat,  never  has 
anything  like  it  been  seen  there. 

Communion  truly  expiatory  of  the  sins 
of  an  entire  people! — truly  a  reparation  for 
the  many  individual  and  national  crimes 
which  outrage  the  ineffable  love  of  the 
adorable  Heart  of  Jesus!  And  it  was  not 
only  in  the  city  of  Quito,  but  in  all  the 
provinces. 

Surely  Ecuador  deserves  to  be  called  the 
Republic  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 


The  Black  Gown's   Prophecy. 


(Conclusion.) 
II. 

FOUR  and  forty  years  have  passed  since 
the  glorious  martyrdom  of  the  Apostle 
of  the  Iroquois.  The  rising  sun  pours  a 
stream  of  liquid  gold  over  the  St.  Lawrence 
River.  Yesterday  the  king  of  day  had  sent 
forth  his  brightest  rays  to  honor  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  in  Her  Assumption,  and  to-day 
he  still  shines  with  unwonted  splendor. 

The  Indians  of  La  Prairie  de  la  Made- 
leine, after  the  celebration  of  the  feast,  pre- 
pared themselves  for  their  early  Autumn 
hunt.  Their  canoes  danced  on  the  swift- 
flowing  waters;  one  parting  salute  to  chil- 
dren, the  aged,  and  the  matrons,  who  were 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ST 


to  remain  behind  at  the  mission,  and  who 
stood  on  the  bank  to  witness  the  departure, 
and  the  light  boats  of  the  hunters  dashed 
onward  like  arrows. 

For  a  long  time  they  kept  together,  like 
[a  flock  of  black  swans  on  the  glittering, 
golden  stream;  but  the  waters  gradually 
'^separated,  first  one  canoe,  then  another, 
from  the  little  flotilla.  In  vain  did  the 
[occupants  of  the  two  lagging  boats  contend 
with  the  waves :  they  were  compelled  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  hope  of  reaching  the  place 
appointed  for  their  landing  that  night  at  a 
later  hour  than  the  rest. 

One  of  these  lingering  canoes  claims  our 
special  attention.  There  are  two  persons  in 
it — an  Indian  warrior,  who,  to  judge  by  his 
rich  warlike  accoutrements,  must  be  one 
of  the  chief  men  of  the  mission — and  his 
wife,  who,  terrified  at  the  solitude,  gazes 
afirighted  into  the  woods  bordering  the 
stream.  The  warrior  is  Stephen  Ganonakoa, 
who  as  a  child  received  the  last  blessing  of 
the  Apostle  of  the  Iroquois.  And  that  bless- 
ing had  produced  rich  fruits:  the  prayer 
of  the  martyr  had  been  heard.  When  after 
his  death  the  Christian  Iroquois  from  the 
villages  of  the  Five  Nations  were  obliged  to 
fly,  Pomoakon's  widow  and  son  accompa- 
nied them  towards  the  Great  Stream,  where, 
on  the  lands  of  the  French  colony  of  La 
Prairie  de  la  Madeleine,  the  Jesuit  Fathers 
had  founded  the  Indian  mission  of  St. 
Francis  Xavier  de  Prez  for  Christian  exiles. 
There  the  proud  woman  forgot  her  hatred 
of  the  Pale  Faces,  and  learned  to  bow  her 
neck  to  the  sweet  yoke  of  the  Cross.  Her 
son,  whom  she  named  Stephen,  as  if  in  a 
spirit  of  prophecy,  was  brought  up  carefully 
and  lovingly,  and  taught  to  be  brave  like 
his  father,  and  at  the  same  time  holy;  so, 
according  to  Ondesonk's  words,  he  shone 
like  the  morning  star  in  the  night  of  his 
people. 

The  years  of  his  manhood  were  sanctified 
by  a  tender  piety,  which  made  him  observe 
with  strict  fidelity  the  duties  of  a  true  Chris- 
tian, and  especially  of  a  Christian  husband 
I  and  father.  The  journals  of  the  missionaries 
I  make  special  mention  that  he  watched  care- 


fully over  the  education  of  his  children,  and 
was  most  exact  in  engraving  deeply  in  their 
young  minds  the  sense  of  duty.  Years  ago 
his  mother  had  entered  upon  her  rest. 

Stephen  had  placed  his  children  under 
the  care  of  his  wife's  mother,  a  woman  of 
eminent  piety,  who,  as  the  same  records  tell 
us,  "well  deserved  to  be  a  member  of  such 
a  family";  but  his  wife  could  not  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  remain  at  La  Prairie  during 
the  hunting  season:  she  accompanied  her 
husband  to  his  martyrdom. 

The  voyage  of  the  boat  was  stopped  by 
rapids.  The  other  hunters  had  carried  their 
canoes  over  the  banks,  and  were  continuing 
their  voyage.  Stephen  pulled  for  the  shore 
to  do  the  same.  He  was  preparing  to  lift 
his  boat  "over  the  rocks,  whilst  his  wife  was 
ready  to  follow  him  with  the  utensils,  when 
suddenly  a  band  of  Indians  sprang  from 
behind  the  trees,  and,  without  utter' ng  a 
sound,  rushed  upon  the  man  and  woman 
with  the  agility  of  wild  beasts,  and  threw 
them  to  the  ground.  The  band  consisted 
of  fourteen  braves  of  the  Cayugas — a  tribe 
allied  to  the  Mohawks, — who,  not  content 
with  having  driven  the  Christians  from 
their  homes,  pursued  them  even  to  the 
banks  of  the  Great  Stream,  and  had  come 
out  on  this  excursion  in  the  hope  of  overtak- 
ing some  Christian  Iroquois  from  La  Prairie 
to  carry  them  prisoners  to  the  interior  of 
New  York. 

With  muttered  imprecations,  blasphe- 
mies, and  insults,  they  compelled  Ganona- 
koa to  lie  down  on  his  back,  with  his  arms 
extended,  like  Our  Blessed  Saviour  on  the 
Cross ;  they  then  placed  the  trunk  of  a  young 
tree  across  his  breast,  and  bound  his  hands 
to  it  with  strips  of  buffalo  hide;  his  feet 
were  tied  to  a  post,  and  around  his  neck 
they  passed  a  cord  which  they  attached  to 
a  tree  close  by,  so  that  the  poor  victim  could 
move  neither  hand,  foot,  nor  head.  After 
fastening  his  wife  to  a  tree,  and  leaving 
a  guard  to  watch  the  prisoners,  the  savages 
hurried  back  to  the  river  in  search  of  other 
boats. 

Without  a  word  of  complaint,  almost  with- 
out moving  a  muscle  of  his  face,  Stephen 


512 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Ganonakoa  had  borne  the  ill  treatment  and 
abuse  heaped  upon  him ;  and  now  when  the 
sobs  of  his  wife  reached  his  ears,  he  repeated 
for  her  consolation  words  that  the  Black 
Gown  had  often  addressed  to  them,  to  en- 
courage them  should  any  persecution  arise : 
''Whosoever  doth  not  carry  his  cross,  and 
come  after  Me,  can  not  be  My  disciple." 
His  wife  thereupon  dried  her  tears,  and  her 
sobs  were  turned  into  fervent  prayers. 
Above  their  heads  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
rustled  gently  and  comfortingly,  as  if  the 
angels  of  heaven  were  whispering  to  the 
hearts  of  the  witnesses  of  Christ  that  peace 
which  the  martyrs  of  old  felt  in  the  midst 
of  their  sufferings,  and  which  enabled  them 
to  break  forth  in  hymns  of  thanksgiving 
and  praise. 

After  perhaps  an  hour  the  Cayugas  re- 
turned— no  longer  the  silent  band  of  treach- 
erous ambushers,  but  a  shouting,  howling, 
cursing  mob.  They  had  not  succeeded  in 
capturing  any  other  boat,  and  therefore 
poured  out  the  full  measure  of  their  wrath 
on  Ganonakoa:  they  trampled  him  under 
their  feet,  struck  him  with  their  fists,  tore 
his  hair,  drew  his  bonds  still  tighter  so  as  to 
make  them  cut  deep  into  the  flesh ;  and  when 
their  fierce  passions  were  somewhat  glutted, 
they  loosed  him  from  his  position,  and  tied 
his  hands  behind  his  back. 

The  journey  towards  their  home  on  the 
Mohawk  now  began — long  days  of  hard 
walking,  almost  without  food  and  drink,  in 
the  fierce  heat  of  August;  terrible  nights 
of  torment,  during  which  the  two  victims 
were  bound  fast  on  the  ground,  without 
rest  and  without  liberty  to  move.  But  the 
Lord  consoled  His  faithful  servants,  and 
strengthened  them  to  bear  the  load  of  af- 
fliction, so  that  they  ''rejoiced  as  a  giant  to 
run  the  way. ' ' 

It  was  not  Andagoron  that  was  destined 
to  witness  the  triumph  of  the  first  martyr 
of  the  Iroquois,  as  it  had  witnessed  the  vic- 
tory of  the  proto-martyr  of  their  apostles. 
The  Cayugas  led  their  victims  to  the  capi- 
tal of  the  Onondagas,  whence  Father  I^am- 
berville,  who  was  the  last  of  the  Iroquois 
missionaries  to  abandon  his  post,  was,  two 


years  previously,  obliged  to  flee  in  order  to 
escape  the  fate  of  Father  Jogues.  In  Onon- 
daga the  chiefs  and  the  most  celebrated  war- 
riors of  the  Five  Nations  were  assembled 
in  council,  to  deliberate  on  an  excursion 
against  Fort  Frontenac,  on  Lake  Ontario,  a 
stronghold  which  they  had  unsuccessfully 
attacked  the  year  before. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  the  prisoners 
were  Christian  Mohawks  from  La  Prairie, 
all  hastened  from  the  village  to  feast  their 
eyes  on  their  sufferings:  men,  women,  and 
children,  adorned  as  for  a  festival,  carry- 
ing clubs,  knives,  tomahawks,  and  other 
instruments  of  torture.  They  all  seemed 
to  be  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury,  for  it  was  to 
the  Christian  name  that  they  attributed  all 
the  injustices  done  them,  all  the  evils  that 
befell  them — the  treacherous  capture  of 
their  chiefs  at  Fort  Frontenac,  their  de- 
feats in  battle,  the  bad  crops,  disease:  the 
demon  of  the  Christians  had  brought  all 
kinds  of  misery  into  their  land.  They  yelled 
and  howled,  and  clapped  their  hands,  as  if 
hell  had  opened  its  gates  and  let  loose  a 
legion  of  its  infernal  spirits. 

It  was  again  a  warrior  of  the  Mohawk 
family  of  the  Bears  —  Assalekoa — who 
showed  the  greatest  ferocity.  No  sooner  had 
he  heard  Stephen's  name  than  he  rushed 
forth,  tomahawk  in  hand,  to  bury  the  weapon 
in  his  brain ;  but  the  other  braves  held  him 
back,  and  protected  their  victim,  fearing  to 
be  too  soon  deprived  of  the  sight  of  his 
torments. 

The  multitude  accompanied  our  hero 
into  the  village  with  shouts  of  joy ;  the  stake 
had  already  been  erected  by  those  that  had 
remained  at  home.  Bearing  his  wife  away 
into  one  of  the  wigwams,  they  bound  him 
securely  to  the  stake,  whilst  he,  in  imitation 
of  Our  Saviour,  opened  not  his  mouth. 
Brandishing  his  battle-axe,  Assalekoa  stood 
before  Stephen.  "Now  thou  art  destined 
to  die,  dog  of  a  Christian!  Why  didst  thou 
desert  us,  to  dwell  amongst  our  enemies  ou 
the  Great  River  ?  Why  dost  thou  pray  to  the 
Evil  Spirit,  who  hates  thy  own  people?" 

"I  am  a  Christian,"  answered  Ganona- 
koa, with  a  look  of  compassion  and  forgive- 


p 


The  Ave  Maria. 


513 


ness;  *'and  I  glory  in  tlie  name.  Do  with 
me  what  you  will;  I  fear  not  your  tortures 
nor  your  fire.  I  gladly  give  my  life  for  a 
God  who  shed  His  Blood  for  me. ' ' 

There  was  a  horrid  outcry  raised  by  the 
ferocious  Bear,  and  at  a  sign  from  him  the 
entire  mob  fell  upon  the  victim  with  various 
instruments  of  torture.  The  pen  shrinks 
from  recording  the  diabolical  cruelty  of  the 
Redskins  to  one  of  their  own  kindred :  they 
cut  the  flesh  from  his  arms  and  legs,  his 
,  breast  and  back ;  they  tore  out  his  finger- 
nails, while  Assalekoa  cut  off  the  thumb 
[  and  index  finger  of  his  right  hand. 

"Pray  now  as  the  Black  Gown  taught 
thee,"  he  exclaimed. 

And  the  martyr,  who  had  been  standing 
motionless,  raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven  and 
his  maimed  hand  to  his  forehead,  marking 
it  with  his  own  blood,  as  he  said:  "In  the 
Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  pf 
the  Holy  Ghost.  Amen, " — words  that  were 
heard  above  the  yells  of  the  mob. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence;  such 
fortitude  seemed  to  startle  and  terrify  even 
the  fiercest.  But  again  Assalekoa  uttered 
a  shout  for  the  bloody  work  to  continue, 
and,  cutting  ofif  the  remaining  fingers  of 
the  sufferer's  right  hand,  said  to  him  once 
more:    "Pray  again." 

' '  Pray !  pray ! ' '  was  the  shout  taken  up 
by  the  braves;  and  again  Stephen  raised 
his  bleeding  right  hand,  repeating, "  In  the 
Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.    Amen." 

Then  the  savage  Mohawk  cut  off  his 
whole  hand,  leaving  only  the  bloody  arm 
remaining.  For  the  third  time  he  chal- 
lenged Stephen  to  pray,  and  for  the  third 
time  the  martyr  fearlessly  raised  his  arm 
and  confessed  his  faith,  whereupon  the  en- 
tire arm  was  cut  off;  and,  as  if  to  destroy  the 
hated  sign,  his  forehead,  breast,  and  shoul- 
ders, which  were  marked  with  his  blood, 
were  hacked  with  knives. 

The  furious  rabble  now  pressed  forward 
with  firebrands;  each  one  strove  to  mark 
his  flesh  with  a  torch,  whilst  the  medicine 
men  danced  around  the  sufferer,  shouting : 
"Arekoi,  our  demon,  we  offer  to  thee  this 


victim,  which*  we  burn,  that  thou  mayest 
glut  thyself  on  his  flesh,  and  mayest  grant 
us  victory  over  our  enemies!" 

The  body  of  the  Christian  hero  was  one 
great  wound,  but  not  a  single  cry  of  pain 
had  as  yet  escaped  his  lips;  he  even  chal- 
lenged his  tormentors,  saying:  "Feast  on 
the  pleasure  of  burning  me;  spare  me  not; 
my  sins  deserve  greater  sufferings  than  you 
can  inflict;  the  greater  my  pain  here,  the 
brighter  will  be  my  crown  in  heaven." 

"His  death- song!  his  death-song!"  ex- 
claimed the  multitude,  in  fierce  delight.  And 
the  hero  sung  the  beautiful  hymn  that  was 
intoned  by  the  missionaries  in  La  Prairie: 
"Ultima  in  mortis  hora 

Fihum  pro  nobis  ora, 

Bonam  mortem  impetra, 

Virgo,  Mater,  Domina! "  * 

Assalekoa  now  held  his  firebrand  to 
Stephen's  neck.  The  dying  man  repeated 
in  a  weak  voice :  * '  Virgo ^  Mater ^  Domina! 
'Father,  forgive  them;  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do. ' ' '  Once  more  he  raised  his 
eyes  to  Heaven;  new  life  seemed  to  flash 
through  his  whole  being;  his  blood-stained 
countenance  shone  with  joy,  and  he  cried 
out:  "Thou  comest,  Ondesonk,  to  take  me 
away!  Thou  comest  as  I  beheld  thee,  a 
child,  in  Andagoron.  I  follow."  At  this 
moment  Assalekoa's  tomahawk  fell  upon 
the  hero's  head,  and  his  soul,  beautiful  as 
the  morning  star,  ascended  from  out  the 
darkness  of  his  people  to  the  realms  of  eter- 
nal bliss — the  star  that  preceded  the  sun  of 
faith  which  should  enlighten  the  Iroquois. 


Such  is  the  history  of  Stephen  Ganona- 
koa,  the  first  martyr  of  the  Iroquois,  who, 
although  he  enjoys  not  the  honors  of  the 
Church,  is  surely  amongst  that  band  that 
follow  the  Lamb,  and  have  washed  their 
garments  in  His  Blood.  vStephen's  wife  was 
allowed  to  return  to  La  Prairie,  but  the 
blood  of  the  martyr  was  the  seed  from  which 
a  rich  harvest  of  virtue  sprang  up  in  the 
hearts  of  the  converted  Iroquois. 


^  At  the  last  hour  of  death  pray  to  Thy  Son  for 
us.  Obtain  for  us  a  good  death,  O  Virgin,  Mother, 
Lady! 


5H 


The  Ave  Maria. 


With   Staff  and  Scrip. 


BY    CHARLES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


(Conclusion.) 
XV. ^ Out  of  the  East. 

HOMEWARD  Bound!— The  very  same 
ship  that  brought  us  over  has  been 
lying  in  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn  all 
these  eventful  days.  We  board  her,  a  half- 
dozen  of  us,  and  are  warmly  greeted  by  the 
officers  and  welcomed  by  every  soul  on 
board.  How  wholesome  a  thing  is  a  little 
show  of  fellowship  in  a  strange  and  far-away 
land !  I  look  for  my  old  state-room, and  find 
it  just  as  I  left  it,  secured  to  me  by  the 
steward,  who  is  at  my  elbow,  oddly  enough, 
and  who  receives  a  tip,  which  makes  us 
both  smile  blandly. 

We  are  much  scattered — I  mean  the  com- 
pany of  the  last  sea- voyage.  Some  have 
gone  up  the  Danube,  some  to  Greece.  The 
Eton  boy,  the  life  of  the  ship,  has  returned 
to  the  scenes  of  his  early  triumphs,  aud  we 
mourn  over  him  as  the  only  piece  of  unaf- 
fected humanity  that  it  has  been  our  lot  to 
meet  with  in  the  East.  In  the  evening  we 
steam  through  the  Dardanelles,  and  are 
rather  glad  that  it  looks  black  and  stormy. 
We  hear  the  gods  growling  on  distant 
Olympus;  we  see  the  green  and  red  lights 
on  shore;  pass  ghostly  ships  without  ex- 
changing greeting  of  any  sort;  and, in  truth, 
the  Hellespont  to-night  seems  haunted  by 
fleets  of  ''Flying  Dutchmen." 

Leaves  from  a  Log. — Windy  and 
rough  all  day;  dreary,  barren  islands  lie 
about  us,  but  no  one  cares  to  look  at  them 
a  second  time.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that 
these  desolate  rocks  are  the  landmarks  of 
the  Iliad,  the  same  that  interested  us  so 
deeply  when  we  first  sighted  them.  Can  it 
be  possible  that  all  Oriental  experiences  are 
like  the  first  breath  of  a  perfume,  or  the 
first  bite  of  a  fruit,  never  to  be  repeated  suc- 
cessfully ? 

At  7  p.m.  we  arrive  at  Syra.  If  the  cap- 
tain were  to  come  down  the  deck  shouting. 


' '  Syra ;  change  boats  for  Piraeus  and  Ath- 
ens ! "  it  would  not  seem  at  all  out  of  place. 
All  romance  seems  to  have  evaporated,  now 
that  travel  is  so  easy  and  so  universal.  The 
daily  trains  for  Jerusalem  will  start  in  a  little 
while,  and  already  you  can  go  up  the  Nile 
by  rail  for  hundreds  of  miles. 

Our  family  circle  is  again  broken.  In  the 
delicious  dusk  we  wave  adieu  over  the  deli- 
cious sea ,  and  an  hour  later  we  are  hurried  out 
of  sight  and  hearing  in  the  tranquil  night. 
The  day  following  we  hug  the  Greek  coast, 
or  pick  our  way  among  the  isles  of  Greece, 
and  wonder  what  Byron  found  in  them  to 
estrange  his  heart  from  England.  The 
mountains  are  fine  enough,  but  much  of  the 
land  is  as  monotonous  as  the  sea  itself  As 
for  the  poetry  and  the  politics  of  the  people, 
I  have  nothing  to  say  of  them. 

Corfu. — At  2  p.  m.  to-day  (the  third  out 
of  Constantinople)  we  drew  into  the  pictu- 
resque harbor  of  Corfu.  Here,  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Ionian  Islands,  five-and- 
twenty  thousands  inhabitants  live  a  semi- 
pastoral  life — yatching,  hunting,  and  bor- 
ing time  to  death.  The  chief  fort  of  the 
harbor,  behind  which  the  city  tries  to  hide 
itself,  is  as  pretty  as  a  cork  model.  Indeed, 
it  looks  more  like  a  terraced  garden,  with 
its  sloping  lawns,  its  cypresses,  and  orna- 
mental batteries,  than  anything  less  pleas- 
urable. 

How  odd  it  seems  when  we  think  that 
the  Corinthians  colonized  here,  B.  C.  734; 
that  their  increasing  power  was  one  of  the 
chief  causes  of  the  Peloponnesian  war;  that 
the  Venetians  held  the  island  in  the  Middle 
Ages — you  can  see  maps  and  models  of  it 
in  the  Arsenal  at  Venice;  that  the  English 
ruled  it  from  18 18  to  1863,  when  they  ceded       | 
it  to  the  Greeks!    And  yet  to  day  it  seems       | 
like  the  least  harmful  of  watering-places —       j 
a  mere  Summer  resort,  tranquil  to  the  verge 
of  stupidity. 

But  there  are  other  associations  that  j 
must  not  be  forgotten.  That  humped  island  j 
under  the  table- land  of  Kanoni,  the  islet  j 
Pondikonissi,  is  the  Phenician  ship  that  | 
brought  Ulysses  to  Ithaca,  and  was  turned 
to  stone.    At  the  mouth  of  a  brook  near  at 


The  Ave  Maria, 


515 


"hand  is  the  spot  where  Ulysses  was  cast 
ashore,  and  where  he  met  the  Princess  Nau- 
sicaa,  as  related  in  Book  VI.  of  the  Odyssey. 
^Those  are  the  Albanian  Mountains  yonder, 

md  here  are  some  pure  Greeks  just  board- 
ig   us,  ticketed    for   Triest.     The    lady, 

rery  slender  and  not  bad-looking,  has  stilts 

m  her  slippers;  her  son  is  of  the  color  of 
licorice  water,  and  not  a  bad  type  of  the 

legenerate  race.  We  are  overrun  with  these 
"Greeks;  their  language  is  heard  in  every 
part  of  the  ship.  It  sounds  like  a  fair  imi- 
tation of  the  ancient  tongue.  Much  respect 
is  paid  a  Greek  bishop,  who  lounges  in  the 
•easiest  chair  on  deck,  and  plays  with  his 
beads  from  morning  till  night. 

Up  the  Adriatic. — Rounding  a  point 
•of  Albania,  we  enter  the  Adriatic,  and  find  it 
brighter,  bluer  and  more  tranquil  than  the 
sea  of  yesterday.  The  Dalmatian  Islands 
lie  on  the  one  hand,  misty  mountains  upon 
the  other.  We  have  been  talking  of  Mon- 
tenegro, sailing  under  its  shadow,  and  of 
the  troublesome  days  that  multiply  as  we 
steam  onward  toward  Triest.  It  is  a  time 
for  meditation  on  the  past;  and  as  I  recall 
my  experiences  in  the  East,  I  am  surprised 
to  find  how  little  there  is  that  one  cares  to 
forget,  or  can  afford  to,  either.  There  are 
hours  that  bore  you,  many  of  them,  and 
people  who  are  an  annoyance;  but  how 
€asy  it  is  to  forgive  a  negative  injury  when 
the  cause  is  removed!  It  is  like  physical 
pain:  forgotten  as  soon  as  it  ceases. 

Triest. — All  the  glorious  morning  we 
skirt  the  olive- clad  coast  of  Istria,  counting 
the  white  villages  on  our  fingers.  Fleets  of 
scarlet  and  orange-tinted  sails  are  on  the 
sea,  a  foretaste  of  the  Venetian  lagoon. 
Triest,  backed  by  splendid  hills,  rises  be- 
fore us,  and  we  drop  anchor  in  the  cosy  and 
well-filled  harbor  at  the  end  of  a  prosperous 
voyage. 

My  first  expedition  was  to  the  Chateau  of 
Mirimar,  the  former  home  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Maximilian  of  Mexico.  The  road  fol- 
lows the  shore  just  within  reach  of  the  spray, 
and  ends  in  a  lovely  garden  that  loses  itself 
among  high  and  very  picturesque  hills. 
The  chateau^  built  upon  a  low  promontory. 


and  with  the  windows  on  three  sides  of  it 
opening  directly  upon  the  sea,  is  an  ideal 
villa,  crowded  with  quaint  and  beautiful 
wares.  The  custodian,  who  alone  seems  to 
occupy  it,  shows  the  visitor  through  suites 
of  rooms,  points  out  the  royal  portraits,  and 
calls  attention  to  the  rich  furni^re  with  an 
indifferent  air,  as  if  he  were  ratner  tired  of 
his  profession. 

The  chambers  occupied  by  "Max" — so 
the  custodian  called  the  late  Emperor — are 
as  dainty  as  the  house  of  a  bride.  Every- 
thing is  in  perfect  taste,  and,  judging  from 
the  atmosphere  that  is  still  preserved,  the 
ill-fated  man  who  made  himself  this  charm- 
ing home  by  the  sea  must  have  been  a 
scholar  of  much  refinement,  one  who  would 
have  preferred  the  cloistered  seclusion  of 
his  study  to  any  honors  that  a  throne  might 
bring  him.  The  apartments  of  the  Empress 
— "poor"  Carlotta! — are  in  strange  con- 
trast to  the  library  and  the  cell-like  sleep- 
ing room  of  her  husband.  Whether  she  has 
taken  away  the  charm  with  her,  or  whether 
the  gaudy  and  unrestful  boudoirs  never  pos- 
sessed any,  I  know  not,  but  it  is  certain  that 
all  the  wholesome  influences  of  Mirimar, 
as  it  now  stands,  are  gathered  in  his  half  of 
the  house.  The  gardens  are  a  wilderness  of 
beauty.  I  should  say  that  a  home  such  as 
this  must  have  been  worth  twenty  empires. 
It  is  a  pity  that  there  is  no  one  to  enjoy  it, 
save  the  tourist,  who  lounges  about  the  place 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  oppressed  with  sad 
memories  of  the  former  occupants. 

Triest  has  its  Roman  antiquities.  They 
begin  in  the  columns  of  the  cathedral  on  the 
hill,  and  end  in  the  arch  by  the  sea —  But 
oh!  how  fresh  these  Roman  ruins  seem  to 
us  after  the  temples  of  old  Egypt! 

Having  dined  in  a  beer- shop  and  taken 
beer  in  a  chop  house  with  the  jolly  "Doc- 
tor" of  our  good  ship  Diana;  having  sat 
out  the  evening  over  coffee  and  late  papers, 
to  the  music  of  numerous  street-musicians, 
and  heard  the  wind  rise  and  the  rain  fall 
with  chagrin,  I  drop  down  to  the  docks 
again,  and  take  the  boat  for  Venice.  One 
night  more  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep,  and  at 
dawn  the  sky  breaks,  and  out  of  the  tranquil 


5^6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


bosom  of  the  lagoon  rise  the  towers,  the 
domes,  the  pale  walls,  the  floating  gardens 
that  I  have  grown  so  familiar  with. 

Yea  verily!  out  of  the  East  I  come  to  the 
watery  gates  of  this  sad  bride  of  the  sea,  and 
find  a  welcome  that  has  been  awaiting  me 
a  whole,  long,  glorious  year. 


Palms. 


BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XIX.— (Continued.) 

CAMILLA,  being  one  of  the  ladies  of  the 
imperial  household,  heard  almost  as 
soon  as  it  happened  of  the  Emperor's  dis- 
covery that  Nemesius  was  a  Christian, 
and  of  his  mad  fury  on  the  occasion.  She 
lost  not  a  moment,  but  was.  on  her  way  to 
the  villa  on  the  Aventine  before  the  order 
for  his  arrest  was  promulgated.  Having 
reached  it,  she  went  straight  to  Symphro- 
nius,  informed  him  of  what  had  happened ; 
then,  in  her  usual  energetic  way,  with  his 
assistance,  dispersed  and  placed  in  safe- 
keeping Claudia's  orphaned  pensioners,  and 
had  the  sick  and  disabled  adults  removed 
to  the  sheep-farms  and  olive  lands,  that  lay 
some  distance  farther  back  among  the  hills. 
Her  precautions  were  well  timed ;  for  that 
very  night  the  villa  was  surrounded  by  sol- 
diers, whose  orders  were  not  to  molest  the 
daughter  of  Nemesius,  meaning  her  to  be 
the  decoy-bird  that  should  lead  the  fond  fa- 
ther, anxious  and  uncertain  as  to  her  safety, 
to  his  home  by  night,  or  through  secret 
ways  by  day;  and  if  eventually  he  were  dis- 
covered, both  were  to  be  arrested. 

"Thou  wilt  see  him  again,  dear  child; 
until  then  meet  him  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross 
with  Mary,  our  Advocate,  who  consoles  and 
delivers  all  who  suffer  for  the  love  of  Her 
Son,"  said  Camilla,  when,  having  accom- 
plished what  prudence  suggested,  she  had 
gone  in  to  Claudia,  to  acquaint  her,  as  gently 
as  the  cruel  facts  of  the  case  admitted,  with 
the  cause  of  her  visit,  and  try  to  sweeten 
the  bitterness  of  her  grief  by  the  consola- 
tions of  faith.    She  held  the  child,  who  was 


weeping  silently, in  her  strong,  tender  arms, 
her  head  reclining  upon  her  breast.  It  was 
the  pain  of  separation  from  her  father  that 
grieved  her  most;  could  she  only  be  with 
him,  and  suffer  with  him,  she  would  ask  no 
more. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  presently,  making 
a  brave  effort  to  compose  herself:  "that  is 
where  his  thoughts  will  be,  and  there  too 
shall  mine  be — at  His  feet,  with  His  Holy 
Mother.    O  Camilla!  is  it  sinful  to  weep?" 

"No,  my  little  maid,  not  tears  like  thine. 
The  divine  Christus  often  wept;  He  was 
acquainted  with  all  human  sorrow;  and  it 
is  His  way  to  let  affliction  visit  his  dearest 
ones,  that  they  may  prove  by  their  patience 
and  resignation  how  much  they  love  Him, 
how  blindly  they  trust  Him,  knowing  that 
Hi'^  ways  are  the  best.  And,  after  all,"  she 
said,  as  if  answering  some  thought  of  her 
own,  "there's  but  a  breath  between  this 
land  of  exile  and  heaven. ' ' 

The  faith  of  this  noble  woman,  sure  and 
steadfast,  ever  rested  on  Christ  as  unwaver- 
ingly as  an  eagle's  eye  upon  the  vSun;  He 
was  her  celestial  Sun,  in  whose  light  she 
lived,  moved,  and  had  her  being,  fearless  in 
whatever  she  undertook  for  His  honor,  and 
willing  to  suffer  death  for  His  glory, — a 
brave,  tender,  heroic  spirit. 

Camilla  remained  until   the   little  girl 
grew  more  tranquil — until  her  sorrow  and 
its  mist  of  tears  were  glorified  by  hope  in 
the   eternal   promises  of   Him  on   whom 
her   innocent   soul  rested;  then  the   lady 
left  her,  with  great  pity  and  love  surging 
together  in  her  heart  for  the  human  deso- 
lation that  had,  all  at  once,  fallen  upon  the 
child.    It  is  true  that  Zilla  was  there,  but 
what  had  her  poor,  grieved,  pagan  heart  to 
offer  her  idol,  except  endearments?  what  to 
give,  except  vigilance  and  devotion,  and  the 
hatred  and  revenge  that  inspired  her  tow-     | 
ards  those  who  had  brought  mourning  and     j 
weeping  into  this  beautiful  and  lately  happy     ! 
home?    The  woman  was  nearly  mad  with    j 
grief.  j 

Days  passed,  and  Nemesius  had  not  yet    | 
been  taken.   The  two  consuls,  Quirinus  and 
Maximus — on  whom  devolved  the  duty  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


517 


his  arrest,  with  the  comfortable  assurance 
that  they  should  suffer  in  his  stead  in  case 
they  failed — strained  every  nerve,  and  were 
ceaseless  in  their  vigilance  and  zeal  to  se- 
ure  their  object.  And  there  was  yet  an- 
ther— the  wily  Cypriot — who,  unknown  to 
em,  and  with  greedy  eyes  on  the  reward 
ffered  by  the  prefect,  was  stealthily,  pa- 
iently  engaged  in  hunting  down  the  noble 
Christian. 

The  spirits  of  the  cruel  men  began  to 
flag,  and  the  ardor  of  their  pursuit  to  be 
dampened,  as  time  sped  on  and  there  was 
yet  no  sign  of  their  victim ;  they  almost  be- 
lieved the  culprit  had  slipped  away  from 
Rome,  else  how  could  he  have  so  long  eluded 
their  search?  But  Nemesius  had  not  left 
Rome;  he  was  in  the  Catacombs,  ever  en- 
gaged in  ministrations  of  mercy,  and  daily 
sent  and  received  loving  messages  from  his 
little  maid  on  the  Aventine,  by  Admetus, 
who,  as  lithe  as  a  lizard,  and  as  active  as  a 
squirrel,  had  ways  of  slipping  in  and  out 
of  the  extensive  gardens  in  the  most  sur- 
prising manner,  eluding  the  vigilance  of 
the  soldiers  on  guard  day  and  night,  who,  if 
they  heard  a  rustling  in  the  trees  overhead, 
thought  it  was  the  birds  darting  in  and  out; 
or  a  tremulous  stir  among  the  long  grasses 
and  undergrowth,  thought  it  was  a  hare,  the 
sound  was  so  slight  and  passed  so  swiftly. 
Cheered  by  hearing  from  her  father,  and 
the  certainty  that  he  was  in  a  place  of  safety, 
Claudia's  thoughts  in  her  loneliness  were 
drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  celestial 
land;  closer  and  closer  did  her  innocent 
heart  cling  to  the  divine  Christus  and  His 
Virgin  Mother.  There  was  such  an  atmos- 
phere of  purity  around  her  that,  now  and 
then,  when  a  rough,  half-barbarian  soldier, 
from  his  covert  of  espial,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  white-robed,  graceful  figure  as  she 
passed  fearlessly  through  the  garden-alleys 
to  the  places  she  loved,  he  would  draw  back 
with  an  involuntary  movement  of  rever- 
ence until  she  went  by. 

But  at  last,  when  the  soft  September  sun 
lay  golden  on  the  beautiful  land, — when  on 
the  slopes  of  the  hills  and  over  the  undulat- 
ing, flowery  stretches  of  the  Agro  Romano 


were  seen  processions  of  peasants  in  holiday 
attire,  bringing  home  the  grapes  from  the 
vineyards  to  the  wine-vats,  with  Bacchic 
songs  and  choral  lays,  accompanied  by  the 
music  of  double  flutes,  zithers,  and  pipes  of 
reed,  their  wagons  loaded  with  baskets,  in 
which  the  great  red  and  purple  clusters  of 
the  delicious  fruit  of  the  vine  were  heaped 
up,  covered  with  blossoms;  while  the  sleek 
oxen,  garlanded  with  scarlet  poppies, 
vetches,  and  corn-flowers,  moved  lazily 
along, — the  end  drew  near,  and  the  events 
that  followed,  given  in  the  "Acts  of  the 
Martyrs"  and  by  tradition,  succeeded  each 
other  with  such  rapidity,  that  we  may  not 
linger. 

One  gloomy,  lowering  night  Nemesius 
had  left  his  underground  *  *  City  of  Refuge '  ^ 
to  carry  aid  and  consolation  to  certain  sick 
and  destitute  Christians,  who  were  living 
in  concealment  in  the  cellar  of  a  hovel  in 
the  old  southern  suburb  of  Rome.  Having 
accomplished  his  charitable  purpose, he  was 
returning,  his  thoughts  so  absorbed  by  ce- 
lestial meditation  that  he  did  not  observe  the 
direction  he  had  taken,  until  a  strong  light 
suddenly  glared  athwart  his  eyes.  Star- 
tled, he  stopped,  looked  around,  and  saw 
that  he  was  at  the  Temple  of  Mars,  where 
at  that  moment  Quirinus  and  Maximus, 
with  others,  were  offering  their  idolatrous 
and  unholy  worship  to  the  marble  statue  of 
the  god.  His  soul  revolted  at  the  imposture, 
which  was  an  insult  to  the  supreme  and 
only  true  God.  Single-handed  he  had  nO' 
power  to  stay  the  impure  rites;  but,  know- 
ing the  efficacy  of  faith  and  charity,  he  knelt 
on  the  stone-flagged  road,  and,  lifting  up  his 
heart  in  strong  appeal,  he  besought  Our 
Lord  by  the  operation  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
to  enlighten  the  minds  of  these  idolaters, 
that  they  might  know  they  were  worship- 
ping devils  instead  of  divinities,  and  so  bring^ 
them  to  a  knowledge  of  the  Faith  as  it  is  in 
Christ. 

At  this  moment,  while  Nemesius  is  be- 
seeching God's  mercy  on  their  benighted 
souls,  the  Consul  Maximus,  a  cruel  perse- 
cutor of  the  Christians,  was  possessed  by 
the  evil  spirit,  and  suddenly  cried  out,  in 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  hearing  of  all  present :  ' '  The  prayers  of 
Nemesius  are  burning  me!" 

The  Cypriot,  who  had  been  stealthily 
creeping  behind  Nemesius  for  some  short 
distance,  having  accidentally  caught  sight 
of  his  majestic  figure  at  a  moment  when,  for 
a  wonder,  he  was  not  thinking  of  him,  and 
convinced  when  the  light  from  the  Temple 
shone  out  upon  him  that  it  was  indeed  he, 
ran  in  and  informed  the  Consul  Quirinus 
that  Nemesius  had  fallen  into  his  hands, 
and  was  outside  invoking  his  Deity,  and 
working  Christian  sorceries  for  their  de- 
struction. They  rushed  out  to  seize  him, 
but  had  no  sooner  laid  hands  upon  him, 
than  Maximus  gave  forth  a  shriek  such  as 
lost  souls  in  the  depths  of  perdition  may  be 
supposed  to  utter,  and,  to  the  horror  of  all 
present,  was  lifted  several  feet  in  the  air, 
then  hurled  down  upon  the  stone  pavement, 
dead.  *  This  swift  judgment  of  God  on  the 
hardened  persecutor  of  His  suffering  Church 
was  but  one  of  many  manifestations  of  His 
almighty  vengeance  on  His  enemies;  but 
they  did  not  impute  them  to  Him,  but  to  the 
sorceries  and  magic  arts  of  the  Christians. 

Nemesius  made  no  attempt  to  escape  in 
the  temporary  panic  and  confusion  caused 
by  the  terrible  death  of  Maximus,  but  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  bound  and  led  away  to 
the  Mamertine,  where  he  was  cast  into  one 
of  the  lower  dungeons.  When  his  capture 
was  reported  to  the  Emperor,  the  latter 
cried  out: 

"Now  shall  the  gods  be  avenged!  Tor- 
ture and  death  will  be  nothing  to  this  man; 
we  will  reach  him  and  rend  him  through 
his  child,  the  pretty,  dainty  maid!  Bring 
him  before  the  tribunal  in  the  morning,  and 
if  he  refuse  to  sacrifice  to  Jupiter,  give  her 
in  charge  to  the  courtesan  Lippa,  and  re- 
mand him  to  the  Mamertine."  Then  he 
returned  to  his  wine  and  feasting  and  his 
lewd  pleasures. 

Fabian  had  confidential  agents  in  his  pay 
employed  to  find  out  and  report  to  him 
everything  they  might   learn  concerning 


*  ItissorelatedbytheRev.A.J.O'Reilly.D  D., 
in  his  "Victims  of  the  Mamertine." 


Nemesius,  and  the  morning  after  the  arrest 
the  first  news  he  heard  on  leaving  his  bath 
was  that  the  commander  of  the  Imperial 
Legion  had  been  taken  and  cast  into  the 
dungeons  of  the  Mamertine.  The  sun  was 
barely  risen,  but,  ordering  his  horse,  Fabian 
dressed  quickly,  and,  without  breaking  his 
fast,  was  soon  galloping  along  the  road  to 
the  Aventine. 

The  scene  that  greeted  him  when  he 
reached  the  villa,  although  not  entirely  un- 
expected, verified  his  worst  forebodings,  and 
kindled  in  his  breast  a  concentrated  fire  of 
rage  and  grief  which  for  the  moment  held 
him  speechless ;  for  on  the  portico,  sur- 
rounded by  rough  soldiers,  who  had  been 
sent  to  bring  her  away,  stood  the  beautiful 
child,  attired  in  her  dainty,  silver  broidered 
tunic  and  white  silken  robe — she  had  ex- 
pected Camilla  to  breakfast  with  her, — her 
face  like  purest  marble,  her  fine  abundant 
hair  falling  in  golden  ripples  over  her  shoul- 
ders. A  clasp  of  pearls  confined  her  tunic 
on  the  shoulder,  and  around  her  neck  she 
wore  the  fine  chain  of  gold  to  which  was 
suspended  the  crystal  medallion  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mother,  Advocata  Nostra^  that  now  lay 
close  against  her  wildly- throbbing  heart. 

This  was  the  first  scene  of  violence  Clau- 
dia's innocent  eyes  had  ever  beheld.  Did 
she  think,  as  she  gave  one  frightened  look 
at  the  stolid,  coarse,  merciless  face«;  of  the 
soldiers,  of  what  Fabian  had  once  said  to 
her  when  she  was  blind — that  '  there  are  in 
the  world  human  monsters  and  beings  so 
frightful  as  to  make  one  rather  wish  to  have 
been  born  blind  than  see  them'?  If  she 
did,  it  was  but  a  flash  of  memory;  for  her 
heart  swiftly  turned  towards  the  divine 
Christus  at  the  moment  He  was  betrayed 
into  the  hands  of  His  enemies,  and  she  re- 
membered her  words  to  Camilla  when  she 
heard  how  they  took  Him  away  to  crucify 
Him:  "If  I  had  been  there  I  would  have 
asked  them  to  kill  me,  and  spare  Him"; 
and  now  she  did  not  falter,  but  offered  her- 
self again  to  Him,  although  shrinking  in  all 
her  nature  from  the  cruel,  brutal  wretches 
in  whose  midst  she  stood.  Zilla  and  Sym- 
phronius  had  pleaded  and  wept  in  vain  for 


The  Ave  Maria. 


5^9 


■I 


er  release,  but  were  driven  away  with 
curses  and  threats,  and  now  from  a  distance 
watched  through  their  fast-falling  tears  for 
e  end,  which  they  were  powerless  to  avert. 
The  soldiers  were  preparing  to  lead  their 
victim  away,  when  Fabian,  dismounting 
from  his  horse,  pushed  his  way  through 
them,  and,  reaching  her  side,  took  her  hand 
and  drew  her  to  him. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  cried,  his 
voice  stern,  his  countenance  frowning.  ' '  Lay 
not  a  touch  upon  her,  ye  base  hounds!  or 
there'll  be  but  a  short  step  between  ye  and 
hell." 

They  hesitated,  for  as  soldiers  they  were 
accustomed  to  yield  instant  attention  to  the 
voice  of  authority;  but  their  lieutenant,  an 
old,  grizzled  veteran,  commanded  them  to 
close  in  and  obey  orders. 

''Whose  orders?"   demanded  Fabian. 
' '  The  Emperor' s.    And  who  mayest  thou 
be  to  gainsay  them  ? ' '  was  the  curt,  angry 
reply. 

"A  friend  of  the  Emperor's,"  was  Fa- 
bian's quick  response.  As  a  Roman,  well 
versed  in  the  laws,  he  knew  the  weight  of 
an  imperial  order,  and  the  penalties  attached 
to  disobedience.  "There  is  some  mistake. 
Why  should  the  Emperor  order  the  arrest 
of  a  child  like  this?" 

"She  is  a  Christian,"  answered  the  lieu- 
tenant, with  a  grim  laugh. 

"Yes,  Fabian,  it  is  true:  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian," outspoke  the  child,  in  clear,  sweet 
tones. 

"Oh!  foolish  lamb,  to  run  thy  head  into 
the  shambles!"  he  whispered,  knowing 
but  too  well  how  helpless  he  was  to  save. 
"How  wilt  thou  convey  her  hence?"  he 
asked  the  officer. 

"Our  prisoners  walk." 
"What  are  thy  instructions  in  this  case?" 
"We  have  none." 

"Then  it  will  not  matter.  Symphro- 
lius,"  he  cried;  "  come  hither,old  man,  and 
oring  out  thy  dead  lady's  litter  for  her  child. 
\nd  here,  ye  fellows,  I  will  give  ye  silver 
or  a  carouse  when  off  guard  to-night,"  he 
aid,  with  furious  scorn,  as  he  threw  his 
urse  among  them. 


The  once  elegant  litter,  its  rich  silken 
curtains  now  faded  and  dust-covered,  its 
splendors  of  gilding  and  fine  decorations 
mildewed  and  nibbled  to  tatters  by  mice, 
was  brought  forth,  and,  after  arranging  the 
cushions  for  her  comfort,  Fabian  tenderly 
lifted  Claudia  in,  leaned  over  and  kissed 
her  forehead,  drew  the  curtains  together, 
and  moved  away. 

"If  questioned,"  he  said  to  the  aston- 
ished soldiers,  "as  ye  go  through  the  city, 
answer  that  ye  are  conveying  a  noble  Ro- 
man virgin  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  gods,  and 
guarding  her  as  Roman  soldiers  now  guard 
innocence." 

His  sense  of  inability  to  rescue  her  from 
her  fate  stung  and  enraged  him;  he  had 
done  all  he  could,  but  how  little!  He 
mounted  his  horse,  galloped  dpwn  the  broad, 
beautiful  avenue,  and  out  of  the  wide-open 
gates,  careless  whither  the  mettlesome  ani- 
mal bore  him,  so  that  it  was  away  from 

Rome. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Cecilia. 

Fiat  cor  meuni  immaculatutn.  (Ant.) 
I. 
ip]  MIGHTY  Rome!  O  cruel  Rome! 
^    Vassal  at  last  to  Music's  sway, 
Hark  how  thy  hollow  Catacomb 
Resounds  Cecilia's  magic  lay! 
There,  laid  by  great  Callixtus'  side, 
She  sleeps  in  beauty  'mid  the  just. 
Ah,  Rome!  while  runs  old  Tiber's  tide, 
Enthroned  in  song,  she  shall  preside 
Above  thy  monumental  dust! 
Music  still  breathes  from  that  fair  form- 
Though  mute  in  death,— and  martyred  hosts 
Seem  thrilled  to  life;  while  quick  and  warm 
About  her  throng  th'  enraptured  ghosts. 

Pulse  of  the  universe!  voice  of  all  feeling, 
Hymn  of  earth's  gladness  and  plaint  of  its  woe ; 
Essence  ethereal,  rainbow  reveahng 
GHmpses  of  heaven  to  us  exiles  below; 
Music  divine!  God  speaks  in  thy  numbers, 
His  love  and  His  light  are  thy  home  and  thy 

spring; 
Murmur  of  spheres  where  the  spirit  world 

slumbers, 


520 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Dreaming,  while  angels  low  lullabys  sing. 
Hark  to  the  notes  that  resound  to  her  fingers! 
How  her  soul  vibrates  to  God's  mystic  breath! 
On  the  glad  air  the  bright  melody  lingers — 
Song  of  the  swan  that  grows  sweeter  in  death ! 

Hark!  through  the  spirit  strain, 
Cecilia's  voice  again 
Wakes  in  accord: 
*  *  Clean  be  my  heart  to  Thee, 
Thy  living  light  to  see,* 
Source  of  all  harmony, 
Father  adored!" 
II. 
Love  spreads  his  lures!  Death  lights  his  fires! 
Cecilia  strikes  the  tuneful  chord. 
To  heavenly  heights  her  song  aspires: 
"Clean  be  my  heart  to  Thee,  O  Lord! 
Clean  be  my  heart! ' '    So  full  and  clear, 
From  voice  and  organ,  swells  the  tone. 
That  choirs  angelic  pause  to  hear 
A  music  sweeter  than  their  own. 

Mother  of  Music,  thy  bosom  is  teeming 
With  melody,  offspring  of  love's  fruitful  fire! 
Virgin,  thy  spirit  forever  is  beaming 
With  rays  that  are  struck  from  the  strings  of 

the  lyre. 
Martyr  Cecilia,  come  bless  the  devotion 
To  Music  and  thee  that  inspires   our  glad 

throng; 
Attune  every  heart  by  a  sacred  emotion. 
To  sound  to  thy  name  and  re  echo  thy  song. 

Banded  thy  loyal  knights, 
By  Music's  sacred  rites. 
Guarding  for  song's  delights 

Hearts  ever  clean! 
Ever,  Cecilia,  be 
To  our  glad  company 
Mistress  of  melody. 

Patron  and  queen. 
R.  H.,  IN  The  Notre  Dame  Scholastic. 


*  "Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall 
see  God. ' ' 


Ai^L  the  Christian  virtues  live  in  the  light 
of  faith,  all  look  to  hope,  all  obtain  their 
life  from  love  of  God.  They  are  founded  in 
humility,  ruled  by  justice,  guided  by  pru- 
dence, sustained  by  fortitude,  preserved  by 
temperance,  strengthened  and  protected  by 
patience.  — Bishop  Ullathorne. 


The  Indulgences  of  the  "Heroic  Act." 


PRIESTS  who  make  the  Heroic  Act  of 
Charity  are  entitled  to  the  great  favor 
of  a  Privileged  Altar  on  every  day  of  the 
year.  A  Privileged  Altar  is  one  to  which^ 
by  special  grant,  our  Holy  Father  annexes 
a  Plenary  Indulgence  applicable  only  to  the 
souls  of  the  faithful  departed.  In  his  brief 
of  August  30, 1779,  Pope  St.  Pius  V.  says : 
''Every  time  a  priest,  secular  or  regular, 
shall  celebrate  at  such  an  altar,  we  grant  a 
Plenary  Indulgence,  by  way  of  suffrage  to 
that  one  of  the  faithful  departed  for  whom 
the  Holy  Sacrifice  shall  have  been  offered; 
so  that,  in  virtue  of  the  treasure  of  the 
Church — that  is,  of  the  merits  of  Christ,  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  saints, — this  soul 
may  be  delivered  from  Purgatory." 

If  the  indulgence  be  applied  to  the  dead 
in  general,  the  Mass  ought  to  have  the  same 
application.  However,  it  would  seem  that 
this  can  not  be,  except  on  the  Feast  of  all 
Souls,  whereon,  by  a  decree  of  May  19, 1 761, 
every  altar  is  privileged;  and,  pursuant  to 
a  decision  of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
Rites,  the  Mass  may  then  be  applied  for  the 
dead  in  general,  or  in  behalf  of  some  partic- 
ular person — ^''  tarn  in  ge^iere  pro  omnibus 
quam  in  specie  pro  aliquo  defunctoy 

The  faithful  who  make  the  "Heroic  Act" 
may  gain  a  Plenary  Indulgence,  applicable 
only  to  the  Holy  Souls,  each  time  they  re- 
ceive Holy  Communion ;  also  on  every  Mon- 
day throughout  the  year,  by  hearing  Mass 
for  the  relief  of  those  suffering  in  Purga- 
tory, provided  that,  in  both  cases,  a  visit  is 
made  to  a  church  or  public  oratory,  and 
prayers  are  there  offered  for  the  intention  of  | 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff.    Let  us  here  remark  | 
en  passant  that  any  indulgences  whatever  1 
may  be  applied  to  the  relief  of  the  Suffering  | 
Souls  by  those  who  have  made  the  "Heroic 
Act." 

His  Holiness  Pius  IX, ,  by  a  decree  of  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Indulgences,  dated 
Nov.  20,  1854,  declared,  ist,  that  the  aged 
and  infirm,  country  people,  travellers,  pris- 
oners, and  others,  who  can  not  hear  Mass 


The  Ave  Maria, 


521 


on  Mondays  may  gain  the  indulgence  at- 
tached thereto  by  offering  the  Sunday  Mass 
for  that  intention;  2dly,  that  Bishops  may 
authorize  confessors  to  commute  the  Com- 
munion for  some  other  work  of  piety,  in 
favor  of  children  who  have  not  made  their 
First  Communion,  and  of  others  of  the 
faithful  who  are  unable  for  sufficient  cause 
approach  the  Holy  Table, 
besides  the  encouragement  of  the  Church, 
explained  above,  we  have  the  example 
saints  to  induce  us  to  elicit  the  Heroic ' 
Let  of  Charity.  From  her  tenderest  years 
>t.  Gertrude  oflfered  all  her  prayers  and  good 
works  in  behalf  of  the  Souls  in  Purgatory. 
She  had,  in  fact,  made  the  ' '  Heroic  Act, ' ' 
from  which  we  shrink.  This  generous  offer- 
ing was  so  acceptable  to  our  divine  Lord 
that  He  was  pleased,  on  many  occasions,  to 
designate  to  her  the  souls  most  in  need  of 
her  prayers,  and  to  show  her  the  glory  of 
those  delivered  by  her  charity,  who  thanked 
her,  and  promised  never  to  forget  her  in 
Paradise.  The  hour  of  her  death  ap- 
proached, and  full  of  confidence  she  awaited 
it  in  peace,  when  the  enemy  of  salvation 
began  to  represent  to  her  that,  having  de- 
spoiled herself  of  the  expiatory  merit  of  her 
good  works,  she  was  about  to  enter  Purga- 
tory, where  she  must  make  satisfaction  for 
her  faults  by  long  and  terrible  sufierings. 

This  temptation  caused  the  Saint  such 
desolation  of  spirit  that  her  celestial  Spouse 
deigned  Himself  to  console  her.    "Why, 
O  Gertrude ! ' '  He  said  to  her, ' '  art  thou  now 
so  overwhelmed  with  sadness — thou  who 
heretofore  enjoyed  such  perfect  serenity?" 
' 'Ah,  Ivord ! ' '  she  replied,  ' '  how  deplorable 
is  my  situation !  Behold,  death  approaches, 
and  I  have  deprived  myself,  for  the  Souls  in 
Purgatory,  of  all  the  satisfaction  I  might 
have  derived  from  my  good  works.  Where- 
with shall  I  pay  my  debts  to  the  divine  jus- 
tice?" With  infinite  tenderness  Our  Lord 
made  answer:   ' '  Fear  not.  My  beloved;  thy 
bharity  towards  the  dead  has  so  augmented 
hy  merits  that,  not  only  are  thy  faults  ex- 
piated, but  thou  hast  acquired  an  immense 
ncrease  of  glory  in  heaven.    What  thou 
last  done  for  them  shall  be  returned  to  thee 


a  hundredfold. ' '  With  these  words  He  dis- 
appeared, leaving  the  soul  of  His  servant 
filled  with  celestial  joy. 

Let  us  learn  to  give  thus  freely,  and  we 
also  shall  receive  recompense  a  hundred- 
fold, and  life  everlasting. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Preparations  are  already  being  made  for  the 
celebration  of  the  fourth  centenary  of  the  dis- 
covery of  America  by  Columbus,  which  occurs 
in  the  year  1892.  One  feature  of  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  date  of  his  landing  (October  12)  is 
to  be  the  erection  of  a  statue  to  the  great  nav- 
igator. That  such  a  statue  has  never  yet  been 
erected  in  this  country  may  well  give  rise  to 
feelings  of  surprise.  The  neglect  should  be 
atoned  for  as  soon  as  possible,  and  what  more 
fitting  occasion  for  raising  a  statue  to  Colum- 
bus than  the  four  hundredth  anniversary  of 
the  date  of  the  discovery  of  the  Western  Con- 
tinent? Washington  will  probably  be  the 
locality  selected,  and  it  is  proposed  that  on 
October  12,  1892,  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  the  Kmperor  of  Brazil,  the  Governor- 
General  of  Canada,  and  the  Presidents  of  the 
fifteen  American  sister  republics  should  unite 
in  unveiling  the  statue.  The  Holy  Father  has 
expressed  the  deepest  interest  in  the  project, 
and  has  made  known  his  intention  to  co-oper- 
ate in  the  celebration  by  the  publication  of 
the  documents  contained  in  the  Library  of  the 
Vatican  referring  to  the  discovery  and  early 
history  of  America.  By  carrying  out  this  ad- 
mirable idea,  the  world  will  be  indebted  to  His 
Holiness  for  a  store  of  fresh  and  valuable  in- 
formation on  the  subject,  which  to  us,  dwellers 
in  the  New  World,  will  be  one  of  absorbing 
interest  for  the  next  few  years. 


We  may  soon  expect  the  report  of  the  com- 
mittee appointed  by  the  Catholic  Young  Men's 
National  Union  to  devise  plans  for  raising 
funds  for  a  memorial  to  Orestes  A.  Brownson. 
The  undertaking  is  most  commendable.  The 
figure  of  Dr.  Brownson  will  always  be  one  of 
the  greatest  in  the  history  of  the  Church  in 
America;  and  few  Catholic  laymen,  we  may 
perhaps  say  none,  have  attained  to  the  reputa- 
tion which  he  enjoyed  during  his  life,  and 
which  has  been  more  than  confirmed  since  his 


52^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


death.  There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  discus- 
sion as  to  the  form  which  the  memorial  should 
take;  some  suggest  the  erection  of  a  monu- 
ment in  Central  Park,  New  York;  others  ad- 
vocate the  foundation  of  a  Brownson  chair  in 
the  new  Catholic  University.  The  idea  of  a 
monument  in  Central  Park  appeals,  it  would 
seem,  very  strongly  to  most  Catholic  minds, 
and  has  received  the  greatest  encouragement 
from  Cardinal  Gibbons  (who  is  the  chairman 
of  the  Board  of  Trustees),  from  Archbishop 
Williams, and  Bishops  McQuaid,Gilmour,and 
Keane.  We  understand  that  a  public  appeal  is 
soon  to  be  made  on  behalf  of  the  monument, 
and  we  hope  that  all  the  admirers  of  our  great 
literatus  will  contribute  according  to  their 
ability  to  so  excellent  an  object. 

At  the  risk  of  being  thought  ill-natured  we 
will  remark  that  comparatively  little  interest 
has  been  shown  in  the  best  memorial,  already 
existing,  that  could  possibly  be  devised  to  pre- 
serve the  memory  of  Dr.  Brownson.  We  refer 
to  the  uniform  edition  of  his  writings.  The 
erection  of  a  monument  of  bronze  may  prove 
an  advertisement  for  the  mine,  seemingly  un- 
known or  unheeded  by  many,  contained  in 
the  works  of  America's  illustrious  convert; 
if  so,  success  to  it. 


According  to  the  Western  Watchman,  a  re- 
cent article  in  the  North  American  Review,  on 
"Rome  and  Reason,"  has  given  great  offence 
to  Protestants.  The  writer  declares  that  Prot- 
estantism is  dead  almost  everywhere,  and 
where  it  is  not  dead  it  is  dying;  and  that  be- 
fore many  years  the  world  will  know  only 
those  who  accept  Rome  and  her  teachings, 
and  those  who  follow  reason.  The  preachers 
are  busy  bringing  forward  proofs  and  evi- 
dences that  their  religion  is  neither  dead  nor 
dying,  but  they  can  not  agree  on  the  facts. 
One  Dr.  McAnally  thinks  they  had  better 
claim  the  ' '  inventions ' '  as  the  work  of  live 
and  vigorous  Protestantism.  Protestantism  is 
itself  an  '  *  invention  of  the  enemy. ' ' 


A  distinguished  convert  to  the  Church  has 
just  received  episcopal  consecration.  The  Rt. 
Rev.  Alfred  Curtis,  now  Bishop  of  Wilming- 
ton, was  only  eight  years  ago  the  rector  of 
Mt.  Calvary,  then,  as  now,  the  fashionable 
Ritualistic  church  in  Baltimore.  He  made 
his  abjuration  at  the  feet  of  Cardinal  Newman, 
and  was  received  by  him  into  the  True  Fold. 


He  almost  immediately  entered  St.  Mary's 
Seminary,  Baltimore,  to  study  for  the  priest- 
hood, to  which  he  was  ordained  three  years 
after.  Father  Curtis  was  soon  appointed  Sec- 
retary to  Archbishop  Gibbons,  which  impor- 
tant position  he  held  up  to  the  time  of  his 
elevation  to  the  episcopate. 

The  ceremony  of  the  consecration  of  Bishop 
Curtis  was  most  impressive.  It  took  place 
in  the  Cathedral  of  Baltimore,  and  was  wit- 
nessed, notwithstanding  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather,  by  an  enormous  crowd  of  people. 
The  ceremony  was  performed  by  Cardinal 
Gibbons,  assisted  by  Bishop  Keane,  of  Wheel- 
ing Bishop  Becker,  of  Savannah,  preached 
the  sermon. 

The  city  of  Breslau  lately  celebrated  the 
500th  anniversary  of  an  occurrence  which  was 
memorable  in  the  history  of  the  town,  and  is 
known,  says  the  Scientific  American,  wherever 
German  poetry  finds  a  home.  The  bell  which 
hangs  in  the  southern  tower  of  St.  Mary  Mag- 
dalen's Church — known  as  "  St.  Mary's  Bell," 
but  usually  called  "the  Poor  Sinner's  Bell," 
— rang  out  morning  and  evening  on  the  17th 
of  July,  to  remind  all  who  heard  it  that  it  was 
cast  on  that  day  500  years  ago.  Next  day 
(Sunday)  the  preacher  reminded  his  congre- 
gation of  the  pathetic  story  which  made  it  sin- 
gular among  bells — ^how,  when  all  was  ready 
for  the  casting,  the  bell-founder  withdrew  for 
a  few  minutes,  leaving  a  boy  in  charge  of  the 
furnace,  warning  him  not  to  meddle  with  the 
catch  that  secured  the  seething  metal  in  the 
caldron.  But  the  boy  disregarded  the  caution, 
and  then,  terrified  on  seeing  the  molten  metal 
beginning  to  flow  into  the  mould,  called  to  the 
bell-founder  for  help.  Rushing  in,  and  seeing 
what  he  had  intended  to  be  his  masterpiece 
ruined,  as  he  thought,  angered  to  madness,  he 
killed  the  boy  on  the  spot.  When  the  metal 
had  cooled,  and  the  mould  was  opened,  the  bell 
was  found  to  be  an  exquisite  work,  perfect  in 
finish,  and  of  marvellous  sweetness  of  tone. 
Coming  to  his  senses,  he  recognized  his  bloody  ' 
work,  and  straightway  gave  himself  up  to  the 
magistrates.  He  was  condemned  to  die,  and 
he  went  to  his  doom  while  his  beautiful  bell 
pealed  an  invitation  to  all  to  pray  for  ' '  the 
poor  sinner,"  whence  its  name. — The  Pilot, 


From  our  foreign  exchanges  we  learn  the 
circumstances  attending  the  conversion  and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


523 


reception  into  the  Church  of  Manlio  Garibaldi, 
the  eldest  son  of  the  notorious  revolutionary, 
whose  life  was  devoted  io  persecuting  the 
Church  and  assailing  the  power  of  the  Papacy 
in  Italy.  As  may  be  supposed,  Manlio  grew 
up  in  ignorance  of  God  and  of  every  Chris- 
tian duty.  Four  years  after  his  father's  death 
the  Signora  Francesca,  his  mother,  and  her, 
children,  Clelia  and  Manlio,  came  to  fix  their 
residence  at  Turin  The  youth  was  placed  in 
the  International  College,  where  the  example 
of  his  companions  induced  him  to  study  the 
maxims  of  the  Gospel.  His  mother,  being 
questioned  on  the  subject,  admitted  that  the 
desire  of  her  son  was  most  natural,  and  gave 
full  consent  to  have  him  instructed  in  religion. 
He  was  then  entrusted  to  the  care  of  a  learned 
priest,  and  a  few  months  ago  received  the  Sac- 
rament of  Baptism.  Shortly  after  he  made  his 
First  Communion  and  received  Confirmation 
from  the  hands  of  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of 
Turin.  He  is  described  as  a  young  man  of  ex- 
cellent character,  lively  and  intelligent,  and 
one  whose  life,  with  God's  blessing,  will  do 
much  towards  repairing  the  evil  wrought  by 
his  father. 

It  is  only  from  time  to  time  that  we  hear 
anything  of  the  state  of  the  Church  in  Scan- 
dinavia, where  the  Catholics  are  in  a  tiny 
minority,  scattered  into  various  small  groups, 
but  still  having  a  consoling  activity  and  zeal 
of  their  own.  Some  months  ago  we  recorded 
the  death  of  the  Vicar- Apostolic  of  Sweden, 
Mgr.  Huber.  We  rejoice  to  learn  that  the  Cath- 
olic Swedes  have  now  a  new  Vicar- Apostolic 
in  the  person  of  the  Rev.  Albert  Bitter,  a 
native  of  Hanover,  who  was  born  in  1848. 
Educated  at  Osnabriick,  Miinster,  and  Wiirz- 
burg  (where  he  studied  under  Cardinal  Her- 
genrother  and  Mgr.  Hettinger),  he  was  or- 
dained priest  in  1874  at  Osnabriick,  and  the 
same  year  joined  the  Swedish  mission.  He 
rapidly  mastered  the  language  of  the  country, 
and  after  a  year  was  sent  to  Gothenburg,  the 
second  city  in  the  kingdom,  as  parish  priest. 
Only  last  year  Father  Bitter  returned  to  his 
native  diocese,  but  scarcely  had  he  settled  once 
more  in  his  home  when  the  summons  of  Leo 
XIII.  reached  him,  bidding  him  to  take  up 
the  succession  of  the  late  Mgr.  Huber,  as  chief 
jpastor  of  the  Catholics  of  Sweden.  The  Papal 
Brief  bears  date  July  27th,  but  the  new  Vicar- 
Apostolic  was  not  solemnly  installed  in  his 


office,  in  the  Mission  Church  of  Stockholm, 
until  the  17th  of  last  month.  We  heartily 
join  in  wishing  Mgr.  Bitter  ad  multos  annos. 
— London  Tablet. 

Louis  XIV. ,  the  flower  of  the  French  mon- 
archy, used  to  say  the  Rosary  every  day.  One 
of  the  courtiers,  less  pious  than  his  master,  see- 
ing the  beads  in  his  hands  one  day,  expressed 
surprise  that  the  monarch  should  make  use  of 
so  simple  a  form  of  devotion.  Louis  XIV. ,  after 
rebuking  him  for  the  absurd  remark,  added: 
' '  It  was  the  Queen,  my  mother,  who  taught 
me  to  say  my  Rosary,  and  since  childhood  I 
have  been  so  happy  as  to  miss  it  very  rarely. " 


A  missionary  bishop  in  Cochin  China, speak- 
ing of  the  eagerness  of  Chinese  Christians 
to  possess  religious  objects,  declares  that  the 
messengers  of  the  Gospel  are  sure  to  be  very 
cordially  welcomed  among  them  when  they 
can  offer  a  rosary,  little  cross,  picture,  or 
medal.  But  the  missionaries  in  China,  like 
those  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  are  poor. 
This  fact  has  been  remembered,  however,  by 
some  pious  persons  in  France,  who  have  found 
a  very  simple  and  inexpensive  way  to  aid  the 
Chinese  missionaries,  by  forming  an  associa- 
tion known  as  ' '  The  Work  of  Old  Rosaries. ' ' 
It  is  called  after  its  principal  object,  although 
it  has  reference  also  to  old  pictures,  crosses, 
medals,  etc.  It  was  established  at  Mouscron, 
by  Mme.  and  Mile.  Reynaerts,  and  has  effected 
so  much  good  as  to  elicit  the  approbation  and 
thanks  of  the  Director- General  of  the  Holy 
Infancy.  How  ingenious  is  charity!  These 
pious  ladies  had  never  handled  a  pincers  in 
their  lives,  but  they  learned  to  mend  rosaries 
in  order  to  be  of  use  in  the  good  work  to  which 
they  had  devoted  themselves.  The  most  dis- 
figured, the  most  mutilated  objects  come  from 
their  skilful  hands  completely  renovated,  and 
the  hearts  of  hundreds  of  poor  Christians  in 
China  have  been  made  glad. 


' '  In  the  presence  of  unalterable  history,  to  hear 
a  Romish  editor  discoursing  about  religious 
rights,  sounds  real  funny." — Methodist  Christian 
Advocate. 

In  the  light  of  the  19th  century,  to  hear  the 
editor  of  an  organ  of  a  large  and  intelligent 
denomination  still  reiterating  the  charges 
against  another  and  older  Christian  body, 
which  reliable  history  has  proved  false  a  thou- 
sand times,  doesn't  sound  funny  at  all.    It 


524 


The  Ave  Maria, 


sounds  lamentable,  as  showing  how  invulner- 
able ignorance  is  when  clad  in  prejudice  as 
armor,  and  armed  with  religious  hate  as  a 
weapon. —  Ypsilanti  Sentinel. 

Further  offerings  to  the  apostle  of  the  lepers : 
A  Friend,  |i;  Annie  E.  Denver,  |i;  Fannie 
Bartlett,  $i;  A.  D.  Iy.,|i;  Mrs.  Annie  Foran,  $2; 
Three  Friends,  Fond  du  Lac,  Wis.,  $1;  Through 
N.  McM.,  I2.25;  C.  M.,$i;  A.  B.  0..|r;  A  Moth- 
er's offering,  $5;  A  Friend,  $1;  Elizabeth  Wan- 
baugh,  ^3;  A  Friend,  $1;  Mrs.  N.  A.  Appleby,  50 
cts.;  A  Reader  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  |i;  Mrs. 
Riaski,  %\ ;  Joseph  Smith,  50  cts.  ;  Lawrence 
Michaelis,  50  cts  ;  A  Friend,  50  cts. ;  Two  Fam- 
ilies, $3 ;  P.  J.  and  M.  Rooney,  I5 ;  James  Tackney, 
|i ;  Anna  F.  Shields,  |i ;  A  Subscriber  of  The 
"Ave  Maria,"  $2;  M.  F.  Murphy,  |2;  A  Lover 
of  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  |i ;  A  Child 
of  the  Sacred  Heart,  $1;  E.S.,$i;  M.  C.,|i;  E.  A., 
10  cts. ;  C.  C,  15  cts. ;  Owen  Nugent,  25  cts. 


New  Publications. 


Songs  and  Satires.  By  James  Jeffrey  Roche. 

Boston:  Ticknor  &  Co. 

The  dainty  outside  and  exquisite  printing 
of  this  beautiful  little  volume  are  not  un- 
worthy of  its  contents.  In  this  age  of  externals 
and  fair  outward-seeming,  the  fact  that  a  book 
is  gotten  up  in  a  dress  of  striking  elegance 
is  almost  enough  to  prejudice  one  against  it; 
it  seems  to  show  a  somewhat  transparent  and 
desperate  endeavor  on  the  part  of  the  pub- 
lisher to  cloak  the  manifold  defects  and  short- 
comings of  the  author  under  an  attractive 
garb.  This,  however,  is  far  from  being  the 
case  with  Mr.  Roche's  elegant  volume.  If 
happy  rhythm,  diversity  of  subjects,  and  uni- 
form grace  of  treatment,  combined  with  dis- 
tinctive originality,  entitle  an  author  to  rank 
as  something  more  than  a  mere  verse  writer, 
Mr.  Roche,  from  the  high  degree  in  which  his 
poetry  possesses  these  characteristics,  deserves 
an  honorable  place  among  those  who  have  the 
rare  wisdom  and  judgment  to  be  content  with 
devoting  themselves  to  light  arid  lively  treat- 
ment of  contemporary  subjects,  without  ven- 
turing to  soar  into  the  ' '  azure  deeps. ' ' 

The  portion  of  the  book  which  possesses 
most  attraction  for  the  average  reader  is  un- 
doubtedly the  second  part,  which  consists  of 
some  remarkably  clever  satires  and  vers  de 
societe.  The  first  of  these,  entitled  ' '  The 
V-a-s-e,"  seems  to  us  to  show  a  delicate  sense 


of  humor  and  an  airy  gracefulness  that  are 
not  found  to  such  a  striking  degree  in  any  of 
the  other  pieces.  All  of  them,  however,  will 
be  found  very  readable;  while  the  songs  in  the 
first  part  of  the  book  show  a  genuine  poetic 
instinct,  taking  form  in  finished  language  and 
melodious  versification.  Those  who  have  a 
taste  for  poetry  and  a  sense  of  delicate  humor 
can  not  fail  to  be  charmed  with  Mr.  Roche's 
little  volume. 

La  Devotion  au  Sacre  Cckur  de  Jesus. 

Par  le  R6v.  Pere  Schmude,  de  la  Compagnie  de 

Jesus.    Paris:  Poussielgue  Freres. 

This  is  a  reprint  of  a  work  originally  written 
in  German,  afterwards  translated  into  French 
by  Father  Mazoyer,  S.  J.,  portions  of  which 
at  least,  we  believe,  have  also  been  rendered 
into  English.  It  is  a  history  of  the  devotion 
to  the  Sacred  Heart,  with  reasons  why  we 
should  be  specially  attracted  to  it,  and  con- 
tains several  beautiful  prayers  and  ejacula- 
tions which  we  do  not  remember  to  have  seen 
elsewhere.  All  honor  to  the  devoted  servants 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  everywhere  who  contrib- 
ute to  the  increase  of  this  beautiful  devotion! 

The  True  Rewgion  and  Its  Dogmas.  By 
the  Rev.  Nicholas  Russo,  S.J.  Boston :  Thomas 
B.  Noonan  &  Co. 

This  unpretentious  volume  is  really  a  popu- 
lar treatise  on  dogmatic  theology,  extensive 
enough  for  the  general  reading  public,  and 
withal  so  lucidly  written  as  to  be  easily  un- 
derstood, and  to  have  the  full  force  of  its  argu- 
ments acknowledged  by  all  fair-minded  per- 
sons. Here  we  have  exactly  and  briefly  stated 
the  doctrines  of  the  Church;  the  great  ques- 
tions of  the  day  are  fairly  met  and  ably  treated; 
while  the  errors,  inconsistencies,  and  slanders 
of  the  enemies  of  religion  are  laid  bare  by  the 
author's  incisive  logic. 

The  I1.LUSTRATED  CathoIvIC  Family  An- 
nual for  1887.  New  York:  The  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society  Co. 

This  little  volume,  now  in  its  nineteenth 
year  of  publication,  is  quite  up  to  the  high 
standard  of  previous  years.  It  is  a  valuable 
vade-mecum  for  any  Catholic,  as,  in  addition  to 
all  the  information  which  we  expect  to  find 
in  an  almanac,  it  contains  an  interesting  se- 
ries of  articles  on  deceased  prelates  and  em- 
inent Catholic  laymen,  poems,  etc.  Printing 
and  type  are  everything  that  could  be  desired, 
and  the  illustrations  are  excellent. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


525 


PARTMENT 


An  Adventure  in  the  Thuringian 
Forest. 


Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century  a 
band  of  students  set  out  on  a  journey  from 
Halle  to  Jena  (Germany),  there  to  join  some 
others,  who,  like  themselves,  were  on  their 
way  to  Franconia,  beyond  the  Thuringian 
Forest.  The  first  day's  travelling  brought 
them  to  an  inn,  which  stood  at  the  head  of 
a  road  leading  through  the  forest.  Here 
they  put  up  for  the  night.  As  morning 
came  on,  rain  began  to  fall  heavily,  and  con- 
tinued until  noon,  when  the  young  trav- 
ellers prepared  to  resume  their  journey. 
The  proprietor  of  the  inn,  and  the  town- 
clerk,  who  happened  to  be  present,  were 
opposed  to  the  young  men's  setting  out  so 
late  in  the  day,  and  urgently  pressed  them 
to  remain  till  next  morning.  "By  starting 
now,"  they  said,  "night  will  overtake  you 
in  the  midst  of  the  forest.  It  is  true,  there 
are  some  taverns,  but  more  than  one  of  them 
has  an  unenviable  reputation,  and  rumor 
has  it  that  several  murders  have  been  com- 
mitted in  them." 

The  young  men  were  all  armed  with 
swords,  as  was  the  custom  in  those  days, 
and  in  a  good-natured  way  made  light  of 
the  warning.  One  of  them  observed  that  as 
late  as  last  Spring  he  had  passed  through 
the  forest,  from  his  home  in  Franconia,  and 
nothing  had  happened  to  him ;  whereupon 
the  others  began  to  rally  their  host  upon 
his  timidity,  and  laughed  at  the  idea  of  be- 
ng  afraid  of  robbers,  declaring  there  was 
nore  reason  why  robbers  should  be  afraid 
)f  them.  Then,  taking  a  hasty  leave  of  their 
mxious  friends,  they  set  out  at  a  rapid  pace 
cross  the  chalk-hills  that  lay  between  them 
ind  the  thickly  wooded  mountain  beyond. 
Through  the  lofty  ^fir-tre^spf  the  forest, 


onward  along  a  rough  and  miry  road,  they 
wended  their  weary  way,  cheering  them- 
selves as  best  they  could  with  jovial  songs 
and  witty  tales.  As  night  approached,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  began  to  grow 
deeper,  they  espied,  in  the  valley  below 
them,  one  of  the  taverns  alluded  to  by  their 
friends  at  the  inn.  It  was  built  of  stone,  and 
stood  in  a  lonely  place  near  a  noisy  little 
stream.  However,  being  tired  and  hungry, 
they  decided  to  pass  the  night  there,  rather 
than  in  the  damp,  open  air. 

On  entering  the  tavern,  the  young  men 
thought  the  inmates  viewed  them  with 
very  sinister  looks,  and  a  dog  belonging 
to  one  of  the  students  would  not  cross 
the  threshold,  but  ran  back  and  forth, 
whining  and  howling,  till  the  owner  of  the 
house,  seizing  him  by  the  neck,  dragged 
him  in,  saying,  "He  is  afraid  of  our  big 
dog. ' '  This  incident  had  quite  a  depressing 
influence  on  the  travellers,  and  they  scarcely 
spoke  a  word  to  one  another  till  after  supper. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  which  they 
were  to  occupy  for  the  night  stood  a  wooden 
post,  the  apparent  object  of  which  was  to 
serve  as  a  prop  to  the  ceiling.  Beds  were 
prepared,  and  placed  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  pillows,  which  were  laid  on  the  backs 
of  upturned  chairs,  came  in  contact  with  the 
post.  The  students  wondered  at  this  ar- 
rangement, and  jokingly  inquired  the  cause 
of  it.  The  servant  smiled,  and  answered  that 
it  was  to  prevent  them  from  quarrelling 
during  the  night.  They  accepted  the  ex- 
planation good  humoredly,  and  seemed  to 
think  no  more  about  it. 

Being  overcome  with  fatigue,  and  as 
everything  was  still  in  the  house — in  fact, 
there  were  no  guests  besides  themselves, — 
the  young  men  determined  to  go  to  rest. 
Their  first  act  was  to  bolt  the  doors,  and 
place  their  swords  within  reach.  But  the 
youth  of  those  days  used  to  arm  themselves 
in  more  ways  than  one.  On  rising  in  the 
morning,  at  table,  and  before  retiring,  no 
matter  where  they  were,  at  home  or  abroad, 
they  never  failed  to  say  their  prayers.  Ac- 
cordingly our  young  travellers,  taking  out 
their  Rosary,  recited  it  devoutly,  and  com- 


526 


The  Ave  Maria, 


mended  themselves  to  the  protection  of  God 
and  His  Blessed  Mother.  Armed  thus  in 
heart  and  hand,  they  lay  down  to  rest. 

But  an  indefinable  presentiment  of  evil 
drove  away  all  sleep  from  one  of  them;  as 
soon  as  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow  the 
dog  began  to  jump  around  him,  and  yelp  and 
whine  most  piteously,  and,  though  beaten 
several  times,  could  not  be  made  to  keep 
quiet.  Finally  the  young  man  became  so 
uneasy  that  he  hastily  sprang  out  of  bed, 
and  prevailed  upon  his  companions  to  rise 
also.  They  then  dressed  themselves  fully, 
lit  a  candle  and  sat  around  the  table.  Some 
tried  to  find  comfort  in  a  smoke,  while  the 
others,  leaning  their  heads  on  the  table,  fell 
sound  asleep. 

Suddenly  a  fearful  crash  was  heard.  A 
large,  heavy  iron  ring,  which  the  young  men 
had  taken  to  be  the  capital  of  the  post,  had 
fallen  from  its  place,  and  crushed  in  splint- 
ers the  backs  of  the  chairs  on  which  the 
heads  of  the  travellers  had  been  resting 
but  a  short  time  before.  The  young  men 
leaped  from  their  seats  in  terror,  and  with 
drawn  swords  placed  themselves  near  the 
door  to  await  what  might  follow  the  murder- 
ous attempt.  After  some  minutes  they  heard 
voices  and  hasty  footsteps  approaching. 
The  bolts  of  the  door  were  so  arranged  that 
they  could  be  withdrawn  from  the  outside. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  owner  of  the 
tavern,  with  two  of  his  associates,  entered, 
expecting  to  find  nothing  but  corpses.  In 
the  struggle  which  ensued  one  of  the  mur- 
derers fell  to  the  ground,  but  the  other  two, 
though  badly  wounded,  succeeded  in  get- 
ting outside  the  door,  which  they  fastened 
behind  them.  Not  knowing  what  might  fol- 
low, the  students  barricaded  the  door  on  the 
inside.and  stood  prepared  for  another  attack. 

Morning  dawned,  however,  without  any 
further  disturbance.  Sword  in  hand,  they 
contrived  to  make  their  escape  from  the 
room,  and  resumed  their  journey,  keeping 
a  vigilant  watch  in  every  direction ;  and  fear 
so  hastened  their  steps  that  before  noon  they 
had  reached  their  destination,  where  they 
informed  the  authorities  of  their  strange 
adventure. 


Jet,  the  War-Mule;  or,  Five  Days  with 
Kil  Patrick. 

BY    E.  I..   D. 
(CONCI.USION.) 

XV. 

That  tramp  was  now  drawing  to  a  close. 
During  its  entire  length  Denbigh  had  been 
mind,  strength,  eyes,  hands,  and  feet  to  his 
comrade,  who  in  turn  hung  implicitly  on 
him,  and  whimpered  like  a  child  if  he  lost 
sight  of  him;  and  even  when  O'Keefe  tried 
to  say  his  prayers,  stumbling  sorely  in  his 
eiForts,  Denbigh  would  hold  the  poor  thin 
claws  together,  and  (with  a  little  help  from 
Oester)  halt  with  him  through  the  "Our 
Father"  and  the  "Hail  Mary";  and  deep 
were  the  thoughts  in  that  man's  soul  as  he 
traversed  hill  and  valley  face  to  face  with 
Nature  and  Nature's  God,  learning  lessons 
of  faith  and  patience  at  every  step,  and  his 
whole  inner  life  softened  and  lighted  by  the 
new  forces  at  work  upon  it. 

One  morning  they  came  in  sight  of  a 
village  so  pretty,  so  thriving,  and  so  high, 
that  Oester  said : 

"Let's  stop  here,  Denbigh.  You  and  I 
can  work,  and  we  can  take  care  of  O'  Keefe 
ourselves." 

"I'd  like  to  see  anybody  else  try  to  inter- 
fere!"  exclaimed  Denbigh,  fiercely. 

"You  see,"  continued  the  youngster, 
"you've  got  your  back-pay,  and  I've  got 
Jet.  That'll  give  us  a  start.  O' Keefe  '11  get 
a  pension  (that  doctor  at  Chattanooga  said 
anybody  that's  regularly  outed — crazy,  you 
know,  or  too  mauled  up  to  work,  etc., — 
gets  over  $60  a  month);  so  he  can  have  all 
he  wants,  and  we  can  manage  somehow." 

"Yes,"  said  Denbigh;  "but  how'll  we 
get  work  ? ' ' 

"Go  to  the  Catholic  priest— there's  a  cross 
shinin'  on  a  steeple — and  ask  him  about  it." 

"Very  well,"  responded  Denbigh,  greatly 
pleased.    ' '  Let' s  hustle  along. ' ' 

I  think  if  Catholic  priests  ever  could  be 
surprised  at  anything.  Father  Connor  would 
have  been  at  the  group  that  saluted  his  eyes 
as  he  sat  on  his  porch,  reading  his  Office— 


The  Ave  Maria. 


52? 


la  tall,  lank  boy,  brown  as  a  berry;  a  little 
f  black  mule,  so  fat  that  his  sides  stood  out  like 
saddle-bags;   a  burly  man,  travel-stained, 

(and  with  wild  beard  and  hair;  and  finally 
the  still  distressing  figure  of  poor  O'Keefe. 
But  a  few  words  explained  everything, 
and  the  kind  heart  of  the  Father  over- 
flowed. When  they  spoke  about  wishing  to 
settle  there,  he  held  up  his  hands,  and  said : 
Now,  thanks  be  to  God  and  Our  Lady, 
you're  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  buy  out 
the  Widow  Suydam!  Her  son  in  Iowa  has 
lost  his  wife,  and  she  has  a  distracted  letter 
from  him,  begging  her  to  come  at  once,  and 
look  after  the  farm  and  the  children;  and 
she  was  wondering  this  very  morning,  after 
Mass,  who  would  take  her  little  house,  her 
cow,  her  chickens,  and  her  pasture  land. 
She'll  be  willing  to  sell  on  time,  and  the 
price  will  suit,  I  think." 

Then,  after  a  little  more  talk,  the  priest 
rose,  saying : 

'  'And  now  shall  we  not  go  into  the  church, 
and  say  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  to  God 
and  Our  Lady  for  bringing  you  home  safely 
out  of  the  bloodshed  and  danger?" 

They  assented  gladly,  and  behold,  as  they 
entered  the  sacred  place,  O'Keefe  lifted  his 
battered  cap,  his  vacant  eyes  took  expres- 
sion, and,  after  kneeling  and  crossing  him- 
self before  the  tabernacle,  he  went  to  Our 
Lady's  shrine,  where  with  folded  hands  he 
raised  his  voice  and  coherently  repeated 
the  "Hail  Mary"! 

Only  another  flash,  but  Father  Connor 
whispered:  "That's  a  good  sign.  It  shows 
some  stirring  of  memory." 

And  as  the  months  went  by,  the  crazy 
soldier,  his  friend,  and  the  long-growing 
lad  became  a  regular  part  of  the  congrega- 
ion  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Mount. 

That  was  all,  at  least  twenty  years  ago; 
)ut  to-day,  if  you  get  off"  the  train  at  the 
fight  station  on  the  Pennsylvania  Central, 
fand  ask  for  Oester,  or  Denbigh,  or  O'Keefe, 
you  will  be  directed  to  a  comfortable  red- 
roofed  dwelling,  in  the  midst  of  far-reach- 
ing fields,  dotted  with  barns  as  big  as  meet- 
ing-houses, and  filled  with  short  horns  and 


brawny  draught- horses ;  and  you'll  seej 
wherever  a  master  ought  to  be,  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man,  with  candid  blue  eyes, 
ruddy  cheeks,  and  lutigs  of  leather— that's 
Oester. 

He'll  ask  you  up  to  the  house,  and  present 
you  to  a  fresh,  comely  woman,  and  half  a 
dozen  sturdy, well- behaved  children.  He'll 
seat  you  in  a  wide, delightful  kitchen,  with  a 
sanded  floor  and  a  great  fireplace,  a  raftered 
ceiling  garnished  with  strings  of  onions, 
apples,  seeds,  small  bright  gourds,  and 
bunches  of  "old  man";  and  he'll  go  or 
send  one  of  the  children  for  "Uncle  Dan" 
and  "Uncle  Tom,"  and  they'll  come  in — 
O'Keefe  limping  from  the  effects  of  expos- 
ure in  that  hard  time  long  gone, — white 
haired,  and  wrinkled,  but  with  his  grey  eyes 
and  saucy  nose  as  expressive  of  fun  and 
gayety  as  ever,  his  mind  clear,  his  tongue 
master  of  his  speech ;  and  Denbigh,  massive 
and  powerful  still,  but  his  grim  face  look- 
ing kind  and  his  eyes  gentle — like  a  moun- 
tain of  granite  with  the  dawn's  light  upon 
it;  for  faith  has  done  for  him  what  it  does 
for  all  of  us. 

And  if  you  are  an  old  comrade,  you'll 
glance  at  the  carbines  and  sabres  crossed 
above  the  mantel-shelf,  and  talk  of  the  rat- 
tling fun  of  the  old  soldier  days,  with  a  sigh 
for  the  dead  and  a  laugh  for  the  living;  and 
if  you  were  in  Company  M  on  that  famous 
raid,  you'll  suddenly  say: 

"And,  by  the  way,  old  fellow,  whatever 
became  of  the  little  black  mule?" 

Then  Oester,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and 
in  his  eyes,  will  rise,  and  all  of  you  will 
troop  out  to  a  paddock  near  by,  where  an 
old,  old  mule,  with  many  white  hairs  shin- 
ing on  his  glistening  coat  (he's  curried  and 
rubbed  down  every  day  by  Oester  himself), 
is  standing  knee-deep  in  luxury. 

"Jet,  old  boy!"  Oester  says,  and  the 
beast  trots — not  as  he  did  down  the  Sand- 
town  Road,  though, — over  to  the  bars,  and 
rubs  his  nose  on  the  broad  shoulder,  and 
waofs  his  round  tail,  not  fast  but  vet  decid- 
edly;  and  each  child  strokes  him,  and  two 
whip  an  apple  and  lump  of  sugar  out  of 
their  pockets  and  beg  him  to  eat  them. 


528 


The  Ave  Maria, 


And  then  Oester  laughs  and  says :  ' '  Do 
you  remember  the  little  red  mule  that  left 
Heintzelman  sticking  in  the  mud  the  morn- 
ing the  Johnnies  cut  us  in  half?" 

And  when  you  nod  and  laugh,  too,  at 
the  memory  of  the  ridiculous,  long-legged 
trooper  sitting  on  the  saddle  in  the  bog, 
and  the  wicked  little  red  mule  careering 
through  the  woods,  he  will  say : 

"I'm  sure  I  saw  him  in  '69,  when  I  went 
down  there  to  try  to  find  Schwartz's  body — 
to  give  it  Christian  burial,  you  know;  for 
we  had  got  pretty  well  out  of  debt,  and 
O'Keefe's  mind  had  begun  to  clear  perma- 
nently, and  we  agreed  to  do  it.  Well,  I 
looked  around  for  some  sort  of  wagon  to 
take  me  out  from  the  station,  and  I  saw  an 
old  darky  working  in  a  field  near  by — 
trying  to  work  I  mean ;  for  his  mule,  scored 
with  scratches,  blind  in  one  eye,  harness- 
galled,  and  thin  as  a  rail,  was  kicking  like 
the  very  old  scratch. 

'"Hi  there.  Uncle!' *  I  said, 'can  you 
take  me  over — ' 

'  'Just  then  the  mule  made  a  furious  lunge 
at  him. 

'"lyaws  a -massy!  there,  you  good  for 
nothin' ,  wall-  eyed,  or'  nary  muel,  you !  How 
long  you  'specs  I'se  gwine  to  put  up  wid  dis 
here  owdacious  'havior?  I'll  take  de  skin 
offen  yo'  bones,  an'  sell  you  to  de  'monia 
[ammonia]  factory.  How  you  like  dat,hey  ? 
'Sense  me,  marse',  what  dat  you  gwine  to 
say?' 

"  'Can  you  take  me  over  the  Sandtown 
Road?' 

'"Dunno,  sah.' 

'"I'll  give  you  two  dollars  to  do  it' 

* ' '  Two  doUahs !  Hear  dat,  you  lim'  o' 
Satan?' — to  the  mule.  'Is  you  gwine  to 
'have  yo'self,  an'  let  yo'  mawster  yearn  dat 
money,  hey?  Dat's  a  heap,  sah.' 

' ' '  Well,  come  along, '  I  exclaimed,  impa- 
tiently. 'Where  did  you  get  the  beast?'  — 
as  he  untackled  the  plow  and  pulled  a  small 
ramshackle,  spring    (less)   wagon   toward 


*  In  the  old  days  every  well-bred  young  person, 
white  and  colored,  called  the  old  and  respectable 
darkies,  "Uncle"  and  "Auntie." 


those'agile  heels,  on  which  he  kept  an  eye. 

"'He  comed,  sah.  'Twar  in  '64,  'bout 
the  time  Killumpatrick  was  a-raidin'  an'  a- 
tearin'  round  dese  here  parts;  dere'd  been 
a  smart  bresh  in  de  woods  over  yander, 
and  de  rebels  an'  de  Unions  dey  jes'  went 
higgle  dy-piggledy  ober  the  kentry;  an'  dis 
here  muel  come  a-runnin'  into  the  planta- 
tion cober,  an'  fust  thing  he  done  was  to 
back  heself  agin  my  ba'n  doah,an'  mos'  kick 
de  hinges  off;  an'  fum  dat  time  I  ain't  had 
nuffin'  but  kickin'  an'  fightin'  —  mighty 
little  wuk,  you  imp,  you ! — fum  mawnin' 
tell  night.'" 

Then,  after  you  have  laughed  at  the  fate 
of  the  mule  that  shirked  duty,  and  ran  away 
so  as  to  take  life  easily,  you  will  go  into  the 
house,  and  spend  a  pleasant  hour  where  love 
and  good-will  reign ;  and  then  the  men  and 
maids  will  drop  in,  and  Oester  and  his  fam- 
ily will  kneel  and  say  the  Rosary  (and  you 
will  notice  that  Denbigh  and  O'  Keefe  kneel 
side  by  side,  and  that  Denbigh's  hand  and 
shoulder  are  what  help  O' Keefe  up  and 
down) ;  and  then  the  household  will  bid  one 
another  a  friendly  good-night,  and  you  will 
lie  awake  a  few  minutes  to  think  of  the 
strange  and  beautiful  results  that,  through 
the  grace  of  God  and  the  prayers  of  Our 
Lady,  worked  out  of  those  five  days  with 
Kilpatrick. 


"This  One  is  Mine." 


During  a  war  in  Germany  the  captain  of 
a  troop  of  cavalry  met  a  husbandman,  and 
desired  him  to  show  them  a  good  barley 
field,  where  their  horses  might  be  fed.  The 
poor  man  said  he  would  do  so,  and  led  them 
some  way,  till  at  length  they  came  to  what 
they  were  seeking.  ' '  This  will  do  very 
well, ' '  said  the  captain.  ' '  Halt ! "  "  Come 
a  little  farther,"  urged  the  other,  "and  I 
will  show  you  one  that  will  do  even  better. " 
Accordingly  he  led  the  troops  farther  on, 
and,  sure  enough,  they  came  to  another  bar- 
ley field.  "After  all,"  said  the  captain, 
"this  is  very  little  larger  than  the  first 
field."  "True,"  replied  the  honest  hus- 
bandman ;   ' '  but  this  one  is  mine. ' ' 


OL.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  4,  1886.  No.  23. 


(Copyright :— Rkt. 


In  Memory. 


BY  B.  I.  DURWARD. 

SICK,  though  not  ill  enough  to  be  in  bed, 
But  the  kind  Sister  Dionysia  said: 
"Here  is  your  breakfast — coffee  and  some 
bread. ' ' 

This  is  too  bad — -for  you  to  climb  up-stairs, 
When  with  the  others  you  might  be  at  prayers, 
Or  free  from  trifling  temporary  cares. 

''Our  Lord  may  count  the  steps,"  she  simply 
said. 

Since  then — behold!  mid  terror,  wreck  and 

flame,* 
Her  steps  for  Him  being  counted,  with  her 

name. 
The  number  full — homeward  her  spirit  fled. 


The  Immaculate  Conception  in  Art. 


BY   ELIZA   AI,LEN   STARR. 

"Who  is  this  that  cometh  forth  as  the  morning, 
clothed  with  the  sun,  crowned  with  twelve  stars, 
the  moon  under  Her  feet  ? ' ' 

'HE  dreary  rain-storm  is  over;  the 
clouds  give  way  above  the  horizon 
before  the  sun  goes  to  rest;  a  ten- 
der light  fills  the  air,  seems  to  pervade  the 
very  dome  of  heaven,  and  gives  to  the 
twilight  a  loveliness  v\  hich  brings  peace  to 

,  *  Near  Rio,  Wis.,  1886. 


D.  E.  H1TDB0H,  c.  a.  c] 

the  heart,  serenity  to  the  troubled  brow; 
when,  instinctively,  we  turn  to  the  West,  so 
lately  heavy  with  clouds,  to  see  the  new 
moon  in  a  cloudless  sky — a  mere  crescent  of 
light  floating  in  limitless  azure — and,  with 
a  feeling  that  joy  has  come  again  to  earth, 
peace  to  the  elements,  we  exclaim,  "The 
new  moon!" 

But  to  this  joy,  shared  by  every  human 
being,  the  child  as  well  as  the  mother,  the 
philosopher  as  well  as  the  husbandman,  the 
sailor  as  well  as  the  poet,  is  added  a  deeper 
joy,  a  more  profound  sentiment,  thrilling 
the  heart  of  one  who  recognizes,  in  that 
slender  curve  of  virgin  light,  the  symbol  of 
Her  who  was  '  set  as  a  lily  among  thorns, ' 

"  Our  tainted  nature's  solitary  boast"; 
and  with  bowed  head  we  repeat,  softly, 
three  times :  "  O  Holy  Mary,  conceived  with- 
out sin,  pray  for  us  who  have  recourse  to 
Thee!" 

When,  during  and  after  the  Vatican  Coun- 
cil of  1854,  declaring  the  Mother  of  Our 
Lord  to  have  been  conceived  immaculate — 
without  the  least  taint  of  that  original  sin 
clinging  to  all  the  other  children  of  Adam 
and  of  Eve — the  world  rose  up  to  protest 
against  what  was  called  a  new  doctrine,  an 
addition  to  the  already  long  list  of  Catholic 
dogmas,  it  forgot — this  world  so  wise,  so 
watchful,  so  tenacious  of  its  own  history— 
what  Art  had  said  century  after  century 
concerning  this  Immaculate  Virgin;  and, 
while  manuscripts  may  be  interpolated,  and 
sentences  misconstrued,  the  language  of 
Art,  and   the  declaration  of  Art,  and  the 


530 


The  Ave  Maria. 


testimony  of  Art  to  the  belief  of  Christians 
in  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  Mary, 
stand  incontrovertible;  proving  that  when 
Pio  Nono,  of  holy  memory,  pronounced  that 
Bull,  fitly  termed  "Ineffable,"  he  did  but 
place  within  just  limits,  strictly  make 
known  and  define,  the  belief  of  Christians 
of  all  ages  in  the  Immaculate  Conception 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  the  Mother  of 
Our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

Among  the  Dusseldotf  series  of  religious 
prints  is  a  veritable  Immaailate  Cofiception, 
of  the  ancient  school  of  Lower  Germany, 
and  taken  from  a  chasuble  in  the  Church  of 
Xanten  (?).  *  Not  a  single  attribute  or  sym- 
bol necessary  to  an  Imtnaculate  Conception 
of  to-day  is  wanting  in  this  design  embroid- 
ered upon  a  chasuble  to  be  worn  at  the 
Adorable  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  with  all  the 
authority  which  such  circumstances  could 
give.  Angels  are  seen,  not  disporting  among 
the  clouds,  but  sustaining  with  reverence 
and  admiration  this  meek  Virgin  in  the 
midst  of  the  mandorla^  or  glory,  in  which 
She  appears,  under  a  flood  of  light  pouring 
upon  Her  from  heaven,  Her  feet  resting 
upon  the  crescent  moon,  while  below  Her 
appear  the  habitations  of  men  and  the  sum- 
mits of  lofty  mountain  ranges.  The  hands 
are  joined  as  if  in  adoration,  and  the  eyes 
are  veiled  by  their  lids  with  a  modesty 
which  is  also  humility.  Among  the  rich 
arabesques  of  the  embroidered  ornaments  is 
a  scroll,  on  which  appears:  Sancta  Maries 
Immaculata  Conceptio. 

We  shall  never  forget  our  exultation  on 
seeing  this  picture  in  the  midst  of  the  dis- 
cussions raised  among  those  opposed  to  the 
definition  of  the  dogma.  Here  was  a  pict- 
ure giving,  more  than  four  hundred  years 
ago,  incontrovertible  evidence  of  the  belief 
in  this  dogma,  and  also  conforming  to  the 
present  received  type  in  its  representation ; 
while  who  could  suppose  this  to  be  the  only 
one,  even  of  the  devout  German  school, 
much  less  of  that  Italian  school  so  enthusi- 
astically devoted  to  the  honor  of  Mary? 

*  Ex  ant.  schola  German,  infer,  de  casula 
eccles.  Xant.  The  date  of  this  chasuble  may  be 
assigned,  with  perfect  safety,  to  1439. 


Among  the  late  issues  of  the  Dusseldorf 
prints  is  one  from  the  modern  German 
school,  by  Felsburg,  and  so  entirely  in  the 
spirit  of  the  ancient  school,  that  we  feel 
certain  the  same  traditions  have  influenced 
it.  In  this  last  a  half  veil  lies  on  the  Vir- 
gin's head,  from  which  escape  the  long, 
wavy  tresses,  falling  lower  even  than  the 
girdle;  but  the  hands  are  folded  together 
precisely  as  in  the  other  and  older  picture, 
and  on  the  face  is  depicted  the  same  mod- 
esty and  humility.  The  same  mandorla  sur- 
rounds the  entire  figure,  and,  as  in  the  other, 
the  light  terminates,  not  in  rays  but  flame- 
like points.  She  does  not  stand  on  the  cres- 
cent moon,  but  on  the  earth,  and  Her  foot 
is  on  the  head  of  the  serpent,  bearing  in 
his  mouth  the  apple  of  Eve. 

Guido  Reni,  who  was  born  in  1575,  and 
died  in  1641,  painted  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception with  great  beauty :  standing  on  the 
crescent  moon,  which  rests  upon  the  heads 
of  two  cherubs.  Her  hands  crossed  on  Her 
immaculate  bosom,  crowned  by  twelve 
stars,  and  between  clouds  which  seem  to 
have  parted  as  before  the  coming  of  the 
new  moon  after  a  storm.  Guido  painted 
four  pictures  under  the  title  of  the  Immac- 
ulate Conception,  and  may  be  said  to  have 
given  the  type  for  his  century. 

To  almost  everyone,  however,  the  name 
of  Murillo  (1613-1685)  is  associated  with 
the  Immaculate  Conception  as  his  master- 
piece. In  fact,  Murillo  executed  more  than 
one  masterpiece  to  honor  the  Immaculate 
Conception  of  Mary,  and  all  the  twenty- five 
have  a  charm  peculiar  fo  that  artist.  But 
the  one  which  we  have  always  regarded  as 
his  most  perfect  inspiration  is  still  in  Spain. 
Instead  of  a  multitude  of  angels,  and  a  cer- ! 
tain  flutter  of  their  wings  and  agitation  in  i 
their  movements,  this  one  has  but  four  an- 1 
gels,  and  of  these  only  two  are  in  full  light 
(the  other  two  are  in  deep  shadow);  and 
these  in  full  light  bear  with  solemn  sweet- 
ness the  lily,  the  olive  and  the  palm,  as 
they  hover  around  this  Sinless  One,  Her 
feet  resting  on  the  crescent  moon.  But  how 
describe  the  entranced  figure  before  us? 

No  mandorla^  only  the  head  seems  to  emi- 


21ie  Ave  Maria, 


531 


a  tender  glory,  and  the  outlines  of  the  figure 
are  lost  in  the  misty  background  from  which 
it  comes  forth — as  if  its  tissues  still  clung 
to  Her  garments — as  the  new  moon  comes 
forth  from  the  mists  of  twilight.  The  head, 
30  young,  so  absolutely  virginal,  is  turned 
heavenward,  the  eyes  fixed  upon  a  glory 
far  above  the  stars,  drawing  Her  whole 
heart,  Her  whole  soul.  Her  whole  being; 
expressed  by  the  very  folding  of  the  hands, 
one  over  the  other,  on  Her  bosom. 

All  this  may  be  thought  to  apply  to  some 
other  Immaculate  Conception  by  the  same 
artist;  but,  when  compared,  how  unspeak- 
ably this  surpasses  all  others  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  pose,  the  abstraction  of  the 
enraptured  face!  There  is  the  same  hair 
flowing  over  the  shoulders,  the  same  white 
robe,  the  same  blue  mantle;  but  we  seem 
to  have  floated  with  Her  into  limitless  space, 
— into  that  eternity  from  which  the  Creator 
called  forth  this  Flower  of  light,  this  Lily  of 
purity,  this  Woman  clothed  with  the  sun, 
crowned  not  alone  with  twelve  stars,  but  a 
nebula  of  starry  worlds,  and  the  moon  un- 
der Her  feet.  Solitary  in  Her  immaculate 
purity,  she  rises  above  the  summits,  the  very 
mountain-tops  of  human  virtue;  the  ideal 
Woman  indeed,  but  more  than  this ;  for  She 
is  the  impersonation  of  a  womanhood  not 
in  the  natural  order  alone,  nor  in  the  pre- 
ternatural order  like  Eve  in  her  innocence; 
but  in  that  transcendent  order  of  grace  sur- 
passing angel  and  archangel,  the  crowning 
perfection  of  womanhood  under  possibili- 
ties bestowed  only  by  God  Himself 


The  Aspiring  Shepherds. 


BY  T.  F.  GALWEY. 


"N  the  last  year  of  the  last  century,  on  a 
day  in  August,  far  back  amid  the  pictu- 
esque  McGillicuddy  Reeks  of  Kerry,  the 
rown  inclines  of  Druim-an-Bo  were  mot- 
ed  by  browsing  sheep.  They  were  not 
ich  sheep  as  those  which  supply  mutton 
>r  English  tables;  indeed,  their  long  legs 
id  lithe  bodies  gave  them  more  the  ap- 


pearance of  diminutive  deer.  Even  the 
old  ewes  were  nearly  as  lank  and  agile  as 
lambs  in  other  countries.  Instead  of  mov- 
iug  slowly  along,  and  fattening  itself  with 
quiet  dignity,  like  a  South  Down  flock,  that 
makes  a  mouthful  of  every  blade  of  the  rich 
grass  it  finds  to  pasture  on,  this  flock  was 
skipping  about  from  one  clump  of  dry 
heather  to  another;  while  its  stragglers 
raced  up  and  across  the  hill  as  far  as  eyes 
could  reach  them.  They  belonged  to  Pierce 
Roche,  of  Tralee. 

Pierce  Roche  was  proud  to  call  himself 
an  Irish  gentleman,  and  he  kept  the  sheep, 
not  for  their  mutton  or  their  wool,  but  be- 
cause they  were  sheep,  and  because  they 
were  the  pure-blooded,  unmixed,  descend- 
ants of  the  sheep  which  his  family  for  gen- 
erations had  been  keeping — ever  since  one 
of  his  ancestors  had  driven  the  ancestors  of 
this  flock  away  from  the  tribe  land  of  the 
O'Keefes.  They  do  things  for  reasons  of 
their  own  in  Ireland,  and  that  was  Pierce 
Roche's  reason  for  keeping  sheep. 

A  part  of  the  wool  from  the  shearings 
went  regularly  to  the  poor,  to  weave  into 
blue  frieze  for  their  coats  and  their  cloaks; 
and  as  for  the  mutton,  what  there  was  of  it, 
and  such  as  it  was,  some  of  it  went  to  make 
Irish  stew  at  Roche's  Castle  (as  the  own- 
er's rather  dilapidated  residence  was  called), 
and  some  went  into  the  stew-pots  of  all 
the  happy-minded  beggars  from  Tralee  to 
Castle  Island  who  would  take  the  trouble  to 
be  on  hand  at  the  slaughter.  It  was  but  few 
of  Roche's  sheep  that  ever  found  their  way 
to  the  fair  on  Lady  Day  at  Tralee;  for  the 
dickering  traders  from  Limerick  and  Kil- 
larney,  who  were  accustomed  to  assemble  at 
that  fair,  would  not  have  condescended  to 
buy  such  sheep,  even  to  hang  up  as  crow- 
baits. 

Like  a  true  Irish  gentleman,  he  kept 
shepherds  for  his  sheep — three  of  them.  As 
Roche  used  to  say,  * '  before  the  Cromwellian 
blackguards,  whose  descendants  now  call 
themselves  gentlemen,"  came  into  Kerry, 
the  Roches  had  nearly  as  many  shepherds 
as  sheep.  And  brawny  shepherds  they  were, 
too;  for  in  that  day  the  sheep  were  not  so 


532 


The  Ave  Maria, 


often  bought  and  sold,  as  fought  for  and 
taken  or  lost.  That  was  one  reason  why 
the  flock  that  was  feeding  on  Druim-an-Bo 
were  not  fat  and  lazy.  They  belonged  to  a 
breed  that  of  old  had  been  accustomed  to 
go  galloping  up  and  down  hill,  and  across 
wide  stretches  of  country,  at  a  lively  pace, 
accordingly  as  O'  Keefe  or  Fitzgerald,  Roche 
or  O'S  alii  van  gained  the  upper- hand  for 
the  time  being,  and  took  hasty  possession 
of  the  flock. 

The  three  shepherds  of  Druim-an-Bo 
were  not  warriors  by  any  means,  like  the 
Roches^  shepherds  of  the  olden  time.  They 
were'pious,  peaceable  lads;  very  illiterate,  it 
is  true,  but,  among  other  things,  they  were 
ignorant  of  harm.  They  were  cousins,  of 
course;  not  first  cousins,  but  cousins  so  far 
removed  in  degree  that  it  would  take  a 
Kerryman  to  trace  any  blood-relationship 
whatever  between  them.  Nevertheless,  they 
were  called  cousins  in  Kerry;  and  not  one 
of  the  three  had  ever  seen  any  world  but 
Kerry,  and  even  of  that  nothing  but  what 
was  visible  from  the  heights  of  the  McGilli- 
cuddy  Reeks.  All  but  one  of  the  three — 
Finan.  Finan,  who  was  just  twenty,  and 
the  oldest,  had  once,  some  years  before,  had 
a  far-away  glimpse,  towards  the  West,  of 
the  Atlantic  Ocean — the  ^^Sean  Arragh^''^ 
or  '*01d  Sea,"  as  it  is  called  in  Gaelic,  the 
only  language  these  three  youths  knew. 

Finan,  open-faced  and  loose- jointed,  lay 
stretched  on  his  back,  with  his  hands  clasped 
under  his  head.  His  rusty  hair,  almost  the 
color  of  the  heather, hung  down  on  his  broad 
forehead,  and  bristled  out  through  the  rents 
in  his  dark  woolen  bonnet.  He  wore  a  thick, 
unbleached  linen  shirt,  a  sheepskin  vest, 
and  a  frieze  coat  having  one  entire  skirt  and 
a  fragment  of  another;  while,  below  his  cor- 
duroy breeches,  his  bare  legs  and  feet  were 
crossed  in  contemplative  content. 

At  Finan' s  feet  sat  the  youngest  of  the 
three,  Donal,  an  angular  yet  well-knit 
youngster  of  seventeen,  who,  on  account  of 
his  brown  skin  and  dark  hair  and  eyes,  was 
known  as  Donal  donn.  Cahal,  a  fair-com- 
plexioned  fellow  of  nineteen,  with  square 
features  and  a  set,  determined  expression. 


was  erect  on  his  knees,  his  hands  resting  on 
Donal' s  shoulders.  He  was  looking  in- 
tently at  Finan. 

''Tell  us,  Finan,"  began  Donal,  "is  the 
Old  Sea  all  water?" 

''Now  listen  to  that,  Cahal ! "  said  Finan. 
"What  a  question  Donal  is  asking  me! — is 
the  Old  Sea  all  water?  Do  you  suppose, 
Donal,  that  the  Old  Sea  has  stirabout  float- 
ing on  it?" 

"Indeed,  then,  and  I  wish  it  had,  Finan, 
and  plenty  of  it,"  remarked  Cahal;  "for  in 
that  case  it  is  down  there  I  would  be  going 
this  blessed  minute,  if  it  were  the  will  of 
God,  instead  of  breaking  my  heart  trying 
to  keep  those  wild  animals  there  beyond 
from  breaking  their  long  necks.  Look  at 
that  fool  of  a  ewe  now  where  she's  going! 
She  has  less  sense  than  the  'slabs'  of  lambs 
that  she  is  running  away  from." 

Donal  meantime  had  risen  to  his  feet, 
and  with  many  soothing  calls  and  much 
affectionate  chiding  was  bringing  the  wan- 
derers back  from  the  steep  and  treacherous 
declivity  to  which  they  had  strayed. 

The  long  shadows  of  evening  were  draw- 
ing down  the  faces  of  the  hills  towards  the 
East,  and  the  mist  was  already  gathering 
on  the  higher  crests  and  ridges,  as  the  three 
youths,  with  sharp  cries  and  many  flour- 
ishes of  their  crooks,  headed  the  flock  grad- 
ually off  towards  the  glen,  which  served  as 
a  fold. 

Night  fell,  and  the  shepherds,  finally 
done  with  their  long  day's  work,  were  sit- 
ting about  a  fire  at  the  mouth  of  the  glen, 
one  by  one  dipping  a  wooden  spoon  into 
the  pot  of  oaten-meal  that  rested  beside  the 
fire  of  glowing  turf  The  stars  shone  above 
them,  but  their  earthly  view  was  narrowed 
on  all  sides  by  the  black  masses  of  the  sur- 
rounding hills. 

"It's  a  fine  thing  to  have  travelled  like 
you,  Finan,"  said  Cahal.  "And  did  you  see 
a  town  that  day  you  looked  at  the  Old  Sea  ? ' ' 

"I  did  not,"  replied  Finan.  "It  was 
through  the  hills  I  went  with  Roche,  that 
day  I  helped  him  to  find  his  foster-sister  to 
be  foster-mother  to  his  sister's  child.  But 
they  say  a  town  is  a  grand  thing!" 


The  Ave  Maria, 


533 


' '  Yes,  and  I  have  been  told  it  is  a  bad 
thing  to   see,"  said  Donal.     "It  was  my 

unt  Sheela  told  me." 

Is  it  your  Aunt  Sheela  dall^  you  mean, 

onal?" 
*  The  same,' '  answered  Donal.  '  'And  she 

Id  me  never  to  go  near  a  town." 

Yerra,    Donal,"    said    Cahal,   "hasn't 
heela  been  blind  since  her  birth?    How 

uld  she  know  what  is  good  or  bad  to 
see?" 

"Old  Sheela  Brosnan  is  blind  indeed,'^ 
replied  Finan;  ' '  but  she  is  not  deaf,  and  she 
has  been  many  a  time  as  far  as  Killarney. 
I  myself  have  been  told  that  the  things  one 
hears  in  a  town  are  very  bad,  let  alone  what 
one  sees." 

"And  my  aunt,  you  know,"  continued 
Donal,  "understands  the  Saxon  speech." 

"I  wish  I  did,"  said  Finan. 

"And  I  wish  I  did,"  added  Cahal. 

"If  we  could  speak  the  Englishman's 
speech,  we  would  make  our  fortune." 

"And  lose  our  souls,  perhaps.  The  Eng- 
lish are  very  bad,  I  have  heard.  Think  of 
their  doings  last  year  down  below!" 

"But  everyone  that  speaks  the  Saxon  is 
not  a  Saxon,"  protested  Cahal. 

"Yes;  there  is  Father  O'Leary,"  said 
Finan.  "They  say  he  speaks  the  language 
as  well  as  the  English  themselves." 

"Ah!  how  can  that  be?"  asked  Donal,« 
incredulously.  "My  Aunt  Sheela  knows 
what  the  Saxon  says  when  he  speaks,  but 
she  can  not  say  a  word  of  the  language. 
Old  Roche  can  speak  it,  but  his  mother 
was  of  the  Saxon  blood.  How  can  a  real 
Irishman  speak  anything  but  Irish?" 

"Well,"  said  Cahal,  "there  is  Father 
Cormac,  that  speaks  Latin,  and  Latin  is  not 
Irish." 

"True  for  you,  Cahal,"  observed  Finan; 
"and  surely,  Donal,  if  an  Irishman  may 
iearn  to  speak  so  noble  a  language  as  that, 
we  poor  boys  could  easily  learn  the  stutter- 
ing babble  if  we  tried. ' ' 
\    "Let  us  try,"  said  Cahal. 

"But  how  shall  we  try?"  was  Finan' s 
[uery.  "Does  either  of  you  know  any  one 
hat  speaks  the  language  ?    I  do  not. ' ' 


Cahal,  who  was  lying  at  full  length, 
poking  the  fire  with  the  heel  of  his  crook, 
sat  up,  and,  resting  his  chin  in  the  palms 
of  his  hands,  was  lost  for  a  moment  in 
study.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  twirling 
his  crook  around  his  head,  cried  out:  "I 
have  it!" 

"Tell  us  your  plan,"  both  Finan  and 
Donal  said,  half  rising  from  their  recum- 
bent posture,  and  turning  towards  Cahal, 
who  was  pacing  excittdly  up  and  down, 
stopping  now  and  again  to  kick,  the  em- 
bers at  the  edge  of  the  fire. 

"  Lirten,"  said  Cahal,  approaching  and 
taking  a  seat  on  a  clod  of  turf,  so  a>  to  face 
his  companions,  who  drew  closer  up,  and 
watched  him  with  expectation.  "To-mor- 
row is  Lady  Day,  and  the  fair  opens  at 
Tralee.  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  I  am 
determined  to  see  a  town  and  a  fair,  and 
to  learn  the  English  speech,  so  as  to  make 
a  fortune;  and  I  have  a  plan  that  will  make 
the  three  of  us  rich  and  wise.  We'll  go  to 
Tralee  at  once.  You,  Finan,  know  where 
to  find  the  road,  and  we'll  follow  it  when 
it  is  found,  until  we  come  to  the  town. 
From  what  I  have  heard  of  the  distance,  if 
we  set  out  at  once  we  shall  be  at  Tralee 
before  the  sun  is  very  high  to-morrow." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do,  Cahal,  when 
we  are  at  Tralee?"  asked  Finan. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you.  As  soon  as  we 
reach  the  town,  you,  Finan,  will  go  one  way, 
and  you,  Donal,  another,  and  I'll  go  my 
way;  and  each  of  you  will  listen  to  the  first 
that  you  hear  spoken  of  the  Sacsanach^  and 
I'll  do  the  same;  and  then  we  three  will 
meet  at  the  market-house — which  I  have 
heard  is  a  very  big  house, — and  there  we'll 
each  tell  the  other  two  what  we  have  heard. 
Then  we  will  scatter  again,  and  come  back 
again  to  the  market-house;  and  so  by  the 
time  the  day  is  done  we  will  be  abl  •  to 
speak  as  well  as  any  of  those  rich  English- 
men we  have  heard  of  so  often. ' ' 

"But  what,"  asked  Donal,  "is  to  become 
of  the  poor  sheep?  I  never  saw  a  flock  with 
so  little  sense,  and  I  pity  the  wool  that's 
left  on  their  hides  if  they  are  allowed  a  day 
to  themselves.    What  will  the  creatures  do 


534- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


without  us  when  they  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"It  is  little  I'm  thinking  of  the  sheep 
themselves,"  said  Fman ;  ''but  there  is 
Pierce  Roche!  Won't  he  be  the  angry  man 
when  he  finds  we  have  gone  off  and  left 
the  flock  to  shift  for  iiself!  Why  should 
we  be  doing  harm  to  people  that  have  done 
no  harm  to  us?" 

''Oh!"  replied  Cahal,  "that  is  all  very 
well  in  its  way.  It  is  not  harm  I  wish  to 
the  sheep  or  their  wool,  or  to  Pierce  Roche, 
or  any  one  belonging  to  him — the  Lord 
preserve  and  strengthen  him,  for  he  is  a 
good  man! — but  our  life  is  before  us,  and 
wouldn't  you  both  like  to  make  your  for- 
tune?" 

"Oh,  of  course!"  rejoined  Finan  and 
Donal. 

''Well,  who  is  to  make  our  fortune  but 
ourselves?''  Cahal  went  on;  "'and  how  can 
we  make  our  fortune  unless  we  speak  the 
Saxon  speech,  and  if  we  speak  the  Saxon 
speech  are  we  not  bound  to  make  our  for- 
tune?" 

"Oh,  to  be  sure!"  the  others  answered. 

"But,"  said  Donal,  "if  we  go  oflf  this 
way,  as  soon  as  we  have  made  our  fortune 
we  ought  to  give  Roche  a  fine  new  flock 
for  the  one  we  leave  here  on  the  hills." 

"Yes,"  vSaid  Finan;  "and  we  ought  to 
buy  him  a  splendid  hunter — as  fine  a  one 
as  there  is  in  Ireland." 

"Indeed  and  we  shall,"  Cahal  assented, 
freely.  "And  we  will  do  more  than  that 
We  will  have  all  the  masons  and  handv  men 
in  Ireland  down  to  build  Roche  a  new  cas- 
tle, with  planks  in  the  floor,  and  with  win- 
dows with  glass  that  you  can  see  through." 

"But  if  the  castle  is  to  be  so  fine,  the 
people  that  are  in  it  will  not  wish  to  look 
out;  and  if  you  could  see  through  the  glass, 
impudent  people  might  be  ill-mannered 
enough  to  look  in  through  the  windows 
when  they  were  not  invited  in  at  the  door. ' ' 

"You  are  always  though  if  ul  for  others, 
Finan,"  said  Cahal, musingly.  "We'll  have 
real  gold  windows  for  Roche's  castle  when 
we  make  our  fortune." 

"That  will  be  fine,  no  doubt,"  answered 


Finan.  ' '  I  don' t  know  how  it  is,  Cahal ;  you 
are  younger  than  I,  but  you  think  of  things 
that  would  never  come  into  my  head.  You'll 
make  your  fortune  first." 

"Not  at  all,"  was  Cabal's  somewhat  in- 
dignant reply.  "We'll  make  our  fortunes 
together,  and  it  is  back  here  we  will  come 
this  day  a  year — if  the  Lord  is  good  to  us 
— to  build  a  grand  fold  for  a  new  flock  of 
sheep  for  Roche;  and  then  we  will  go  once 
more  to  Tralee,  to  see  how  the  masons  and 
handy  men  have  finished  his  new  castle." 
(to  be  continued.) 


Johannes  Janssen. 


[The  following  sketch — the  first  to  appear  in 
English — of  the  great  German  historian  we  bor- 
row from  that  excellent  periodical,  the  ,,5lltc  unb 
9{cuc  SBclt."  The  writer  acknowledges  his  indebt- 
edness to  some  of  the  friends  of  Dr.  Janssen's 
youth  for  the  incidents  of  his  early  years,  and  to 
other  friends  from  whom  he  received  a  number  of 
original  letters  ] 

JOHANNES  JANSSEN  was  bom  at 
I  Xanten,  on  the  Rhine,  April  lo,  1829. 
His  parent >  were  excellent  Christians, 
and  the  early  lessons  taught  by  them  made 
a  life- long  impression  on  the  heart  of  their 
son.  Even  in  the  first  years  of  his  school 
life,  Johannes  was  remarkable  amongst  his 
companions  for  his  amiability  and  piety. 
One  of  the  friends  of  those  early  days  still 
remembers  with  feelings  of  pious  emotion 
how  on  extraordinary  occasions — as,  for  in- 
stance, in  Holy  Week — Johannes  used  to 
take  him  to  the  church,  where,  followed  by 
his  little  companion,  he  went  from  altar  to 
altar  offering  up  the  prayers  tatlght  him  by 
his  mother.  Four  years  after  her  death,  the 
charity  of  that  good  mother  was  strangely 
remembered  in  favor  of  her  boy.  As  he  was 
returning  home  in  the  twilight  two  robbers 
stopped  him  on  a  solitary  road,  demanding 
his  money  and  valuables;  but  when  they 
caiiie  near  enough  to  distinguish  his  feat- 
ures, one  of  them  exclaimed:  "Hold!  this 
is  the  son  of  Hanneke  Janssen,  whose  bread 
we  have  so  often  eaten.  We  must  not  touch 
him." 


The  Ave  Maria, 


535 


It  was  from  his  mother  that  Johannes  in- 
herited his  tender  love  for  Our  Blessed  Lady. 
Almost  every  year  he  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  Her  shrine  at  Kevelaer,  and  on  his  way 
thither  was  not  ashamed  to  recite  his 
beads  aloud.  It  miy  be  siid  thit  it  was  at 
the  feet  of  Our  -Lady  of  Kevelaer,  whither 
he  accompanied  his  mother  and  aunt  in 
1837,  on  his  first  pilgrimage,  that  Jmssen's 
future  vocation  was  decided.  Friends  of 
his  youth  relate  that  on  this  occasion  his 
mother  bought  him  a  little  tin  chalice  and' 
other  articles  for  "saying  Mass,"  which 
was  one  of  his  boyish  delights.  At  the 
same  time  his  aunt  gave  him  a  volume  of 
Annegarn's  "Universal  History,"  which 
happened  to  be  that  which  treats  of  the  last 
epoch  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  eight-year- 
old  boy  read  the  volume  with  the  greatest 
eagerness. 

Johannes  now  began  to  "say  Mass"  at 
home,  and,  before  a  large  audience  of  his 
fellow-pupils,  "lectured"  on  history,  ques- 
tioning his  hearers  after  the  lecture.  He 
kept  a  careful  listof  his)  outh'ul  attendants, 
and  took  notes  of  the  answers;  and  those 
who  acquitted  themselves  satisfactorily 
were  rewarded  by  his  mother  with  choice 
fruits.  On  a  certain  occasion  the  writer  hap- 
pened to  see  one  of  those  lists,  and  J  in<sen 
said,  laughingly:  "As  Professor  of  History 
in  Frankfort,  I  have  never  had  such  a  large 
audience  as  I  used  to  have  in  Xanten,when 
I  was  a  little  b  >y  of  nine  or  ten."  The  ven- 
erable historian  still  has  a  great  affection 
fjr  the  author  from  whom  he  first  imbibed 
his  love  of  history. 

When    Johannes    was    about    thirteen 

years  of  age  his  mother  died.    During  the 

last  four  years  of  her  life  the  good  lady  had 

been  suffering  almost  continually  from  ill 

lealth,  and  this  circumstance  exercised  its 

Influence  on  the  boy  for  life.    Everv  day  he 

read  some  pages  of  a  pious  book  to  his  sick 

nother;  he  also  joined  daily  iu  praying  for 

1  happy  dtath  lor  her,  and  in  petitions  for 

he  departed  souls  who  had  none  to  pray 

or  them. 

When  his  mother  related  anecdotes,  he 

stened  to  her  with  the  greatest  attention. 


The  story  she  loved  best  to  relate  was  the 
legend  of  St.  Genevieve,  which  she  touch- 
ingly  explained  even  in  its  minutest  de- 
•ails.  His  father  also  took  pleasure  in  enter- 
taining the  boy  with  incidents  frqm  his  life 
in  the  wars  with  France.  The  old  soldier 
was  filled  with  indignation  when  speaking 
of  the  sacrilegi'ous  atrocities  of  the  French. 
He  had  a  picture  of  old  Bliicher  which 
he  received  when  guardsman  at  Potsdam. 
Pointing  to  the  marshal,  he  would  ex- 
claim: ,,1><-'i*  I.Hit  a(I  tie  fd)lcd)tcn  ^ran^ofcnfcrlen  fa})ot 
gcfcl)lagcn ! "  which  may  be  freely  translated: 
"He  was  the  fellow  to  send  all  those  ras- 
cally French  infidels  where  they  belonged  " 

After  his  mother's  death,  young  Janssen 
was  apprenticed  to  his  step-mother's  father, 
Lahaye,  the  master  coppersmith.  But  under 
his  leather  apron  he  would  hide  his  books; 
and  besides,  as  his  master  complained,  he 
kept  the  other  apprentices  from  their  work; 
for  he  was  always  telling  them  stories.  ' '  I 
have  a  great  liking  for  Johannes,"  remarked 
the  master  to  one  of  Janssen' s  friends;  "but 
he  will  never  make  a  coppersmith;  and  a 
student  is  spoiled  in  him."  It  eventually 
turned  out  that  Lahaye' s  words  were  veri- 
fied. A  friend  of  the  family,  now  parish  priest 
at  Wankum,  succeeded  in  persuading  Jans- 
sen's  father  to  send  his  son  to  the  Rectoral- 
schule,  of  which  he  was  at  that  time  rector, 
and  where  Johannes  had  already  spent  two 
sessions. 

Some  years  ago,  when  we  happened  to 
be  speaking  to  Janssen  about  the  first  vol- 
ume of  his  "History  of  the  German  Peo- 
ple," which  had  just  appeared,  and  in  which 
he  depicts  the  labors  of  the  artisan  with 
so  much  zest,  he  showed  us  a  letter  from 
Master  Lahaye,  to  whom  he  had  written  in 
1853,  informing  him  that  he  had  gradu- 
ated as  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  We  took 
the  liberty  of  copying  the  following  nota- 
ble passages:  "That  a  coppersmith's  ap- 
prentice could  in  nine  and  a  half  years 
become  a  doctor,  never  occurred  to  our 
minds.  Almighty  God  has  blessed  you,  be- 
cause it  was  not  through  laziness  that  you 
determined  not  to  become  a  workman,  but 
you  believed  that  God  had  called  you  to 


536 


The  Ave  Maria. 


wield  another  kind  of  hammer  than  that  of 
a  smith.  Do  not  repent,  however,  of  hav- 
ing been  an  apprentice  to  the  trade,  and 
always  preserve  a  regard  for  artisans." 
"These  words,"  said  Janssen,  "were  con- 
stantly present  to  my  mind  whilst  I  was 
writing  on  handicrafts." 

Between  the  Easter  of  1844  and  the  latter 
part  of  1846,  Janssen  by  unwearying  indus- 
try made  his  way  from  qiiinta  to  secunda^ox, 
as  we  would  call  it  in  our  colleges,  from  the 
second  year  preparatory  to  the  junior  year. 
He  distinguished  himself  especially  by  his 
progress  in  German  and  in  history.  Even 
in  those  years  it  was  his  constant  practice 
to  extract  from  the  books  that  came  under 
his  hands  whatever  was  most  valuable,  and 
to  arrange  this  material  in  order.  He  hardly 
ever  read  anything  without  having  his 
note- book  beside  him,  wherein  to  set  down 
any  thoughts  or  expressions  in  his  author 
that  took  his  fancy.  When  in  quinta  he 
once  related  with  charming  simplicity  that 
he  had  read  Overberg's  Bible  History  so 
often  that  he  almost  knew  it  by  heart;  but, 
not  yet  having  come  across  the  third  vol- 
ume, giving  the  history  of  the  Church  from 
the  death  of  the  Apostles  to  our  days,  he 
had  written  for  it  to  a  bookseller  in  Miinster. 
The  studious  youth  was  not  aware  that  this 
third  part  did  not  exist;  but,  like  a  born 
historian,  he  felt,  what  St.  Augustine  had 
so  long  ago  declared,  that  the  full  outline  of 
the  history  of  religion  should  be  taught  to 
children. 

In  his  tertia  (Sophomore  year),  Janssen 
had  prepared  a  useful  abridgment  of  Wel- 
ter's "Universal  History,"  and  spent  his 
Summer  evenings  in  communicating  the 
results  of  his  work  to  his  trusty  friend 
Gietman,  now  pastor  of  Haldern.  The  aged 
publisher  SchafFrath,  of  Gelderin,  used  to 
relate  how,  in  1845,  ^^  ^^^  been  in  com- 
munication with  a  boy  of  sixteen,  named 
Janssen,  for  the  publication  of  an  abridg- 
ment of  history.  But  the  youthful  author 
required  fifty  dollars  to  be  paid  down,  which 
he  intended  secretly  to  convey  to  a  poor 
family. 

In  the  Autumn  of  1 846  Janssen  entered  the 


gymnasium  of  Recklinghausen,  and  passed 
into  secuitda.  At  that  time  his  eyes  troubled 
him  considerably,  and  in  consequence  of 
frequent  bleeding  from  the  nose  he  suffered 
from  general  debility.  He  was  afterwards 
subject  to  hemorrhages,  which  were  some- 
times so  severe  as  to  make  his  friends  fear 
that  they  would  prove  fatal.  It  was,  there- 
fore, regarded  as  a  manifest  intervention  of 
Providence  that  subsequently  he  so  far  re- 
covered as  to  be  able  to  write  those  great 
works  that  have  made  him  famous. 

After  undergoing  a  successful  examina- 
tion, Johannes,  in  1849,  entered  the  acad- 
emy at  Miinster, to  study  theology.  In  1850 
he  attended  the  Catholic  University  of 
L^ouvaiu,  where  the  thoroughly  Catholic 
spirit  of  all  the  surroundings  made  a  deep 
and  lasting  impression  on  his  mind.  He 
was  particularly  taken  with  Father  Roh, 
who  during  the  month  of  May  preached 
daily  in  French.  He  became  an  active  and 
zealous  member  of  the  St.  Vincent  de  Paul 
Society,  which  afforded  him  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  the  practice  of  that  Christian 
charity  with  which  his  heart  was  filled  to 
overflowing.  He  attended  lectures  on  phi- 
losophy and  theology,  and  plunged  into  the 
study  of  that  misrepresented  and  misunder- 
stood period,  the  Middle  Ages.  When  some 
persons  happened  to  speak  of  the  darkness 
of  this  period,  he — then  in  prhna  (senior 
year) — remarked,  with  some  vehemence: 
"Hereafter,  when  we  ourselves  can  go  into 
researches,  we  shall  see  whether  the  Middle 
Age  was  as  dark  as  it  has  been  painted." 
At  this  time  also,  under  the  leadership  of 
Professor  Feye,  a  Dutchman  by  birth,  he 
studied  "The  Genesis  of  the  Revolution  in 
Holland,"  and  published  the  results  of  his 
inquiries  in  the  German  edition  of  the  Ct- 
vilta  Callolica,whichwas  issued  at  Miinster. 

Up  to  the  Autumn  of  1850  Janssen  de- 
voted himself  to  the  study  of  theology.  But 
the  consideration  of  his  physical  weakness 
made  him  think  that  he  was  unsuited  tor 
the  duties  of  the  priesthood,  and  therefore 
he  began  to  turn  his  attention  principally 
to  languages  and  history.  In  the  folio  A^ing 
Autumn  he  removed  to  Bonn,  where  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


537 


\^ 


continued  his  study  of  history  under  the 

elebrated  Aschbach;  and  in  1853,  as  has 

n  already  stated,  he  received  the  degree 

of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.     Having   then 

passed  six  months  at  home,  during  which 

time  he  finished  his  first  great  work  on  the 

-A.bbot  Wibald  von  Stablo  and  Corvey,  he 

■irent  for  a  Summer  to  Berlin,  to  complete 

nis  studies,  and  to  make  use  of  the  libraries 

Kiere,  as  well  as  to  follow  the  courses  of 

some  of  the  celebrated  professors.  In  Berlin 

he  became  a  member  of  the  first  Catholic 

etubcntcn=25ciTino  (Students'  Union). 

In  1854  Janssen  prepared  himself  to  be 
private  teacher  of  history  at  the  academy 
of  Miinster ;  but,  being  invited  to  the 
chair  of  Catholic  Professor  of  History  in 
Frankfort,  he  accepted  the  latter  position. 
In  Frankfort  he  contracted  the  closest 
friendship  with  the  great  specialist  in  his- 
tory, Johann  Friedrich  Bohmer,  who  was 
destined  to  exercise  a  decisive  influence 
on  all  his  future  investigations.  The  two 
learned  men  met  regularly.  On  one  day  of 
each  week  they  had  a  conference  on  history, 
and,  as  Bohmer  wrote  to  Professor  Aschbach 
at  Vienna,  under  date  of  April  5, 1856,  Jans- 
sen  ''never  failed  to  have  abundant  matter 
for  investigation  and  criticism." 

In  Freiburg  Janssen  took  particular  de- 
light in  the  company  of  the  lamented 
Church  historian,  Alzog,  and  the  learned 
and  pious  Alban  Stolz.  The  latter,  too,  had  a 
special  regard  for  Janssen.  He  speaks  of  him 
as  ''our  amiable  Democrat;  he  will  not  be 
moved  from  his  ideas,  but  he  is  a  Democrat 
of  the  style  of  the  Middle  Age;  and  never 
forgets  that  he  comes  from  artisans, and  that 
he  himself  was  once  an  artisan."  In  his 
last  ''Kalendar  of  the  Eight  Beatitudes," 
which  appeared  only  after  his  death,  Stolz 
relates  a  touching  inci'^ent  about  Janssen 
and  a  laborer,  which  we  reproduce  in  all  the 
simplicity  of  Stolz' s  own  words. 

"A  certain  professor,  who  is  also  a  priest, 
pnce  related  to  me  how  one  day,  when 
Walking  outside  the  town,  he  was  met  by 
I  poorly  clad  laborer,  who  said  to  him: 
km-ccf,  bu  %\<x^\ — 'Down  wiih  the  priests!' 
bhe  priest  in  question  is  naturally  gentle 


and  of  a  friendly  disposition,  and  we  need 
scarcely  say  that  he  made  no  angry  reply ;  he 
did  not,  however,  pass  the  man  by  in  silence, 
but  asked  him  why  he  saluted  him  with 
such  an  imprecation.  He  went  on  to  tell 
the  man  how  priests  do  not  inflict  any  in- 
jury on  the  poor,  and  do  not  persecute 
them,  as  too  many  great  and  little  lords  do; 
how,  on  the  contrary,  when  the  priest  is 
called  by  the  poorest  in  sickness  or  at  death, 
he  goes  and  asks  no  pay;  in  like  manner 
the  poor  and  unfortunate  do  not  go  to  the 
poor-house  to  ask  for  alms,  but  to  the  priest. 
During  the  course  of  these  remarks  the 
man  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  finally  said: 
'Father,  what  you  say  is  true.  I  have  just 
come  from  a  meeting  of  Communists,  where 
the  priests  came  in  for  particular  abuse. 
I  was  quite  excited,  and  that  is  why  I  ad- 
dressed you  in  such  a  rude  manner.  After 
some  time  the  same  man  came  to  the  priest's 
room,  told  him  that  it  was  seven  years 
since  he  had  been  to  confession,  and  that 
now  he  wanted  to  make  a  general  confes- 
sion, which  he  accordingly  did." 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Two   Flowers. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


TTHESB  Carmen*  camps'  dehcious green, 
^  While  others  mourn  the  lingering  drought, 
Turns  thought  to  Thee,  my  dearest  Queen! 
These  breezes,  too,  which  waft  about 

Thy  blessing — balmy  airs,  that  bring 
Thus  early,  in  the  wonted  hour 

Of  chilling  gales,  f  the  sense  of  Spring- 
Remind  us  of  Thy  gentle  power. 
II. 

Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel  keeps 
Around  Her  town  %  a  garden  fair, 


^  "Carmen  "  is  Spanish  for  Carmel.  The  "Car- 
men Camps"  are  the  plains  around  Carmen  de 
Areco,  a  town  in  the  Province  of  Buenos  Aires. 

t  September  is  the  March  of  this  climate. 

X  The  town  is  named  after  Our  Lady  of  Mount 
Carmel,  and  has  its  church  dedicated  to  Her. 


53^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


And  richer  dews  than  evening  weeps 
Are  falling  ever  fruitful  there. 

And  one  choice  flower  'tis  mine  to  know: 

A  Hly — all  so  pure  and  sweet 
That  only  Mary's  self  can  show 

The  treasure  blooming  at  her  feet. 

To  me  She  shows  it.    Ay,  my  Queen: 

Thou  bidst  me  prize  what  Thou  dost  prize; 

And  'tis  enough  when  I  have  seen 
Wherever  rest  those  gracious  eyes. 

And  lo!  beside  this  lily  rare 

A  rose  unfolds  its  blushing  leaves, 

And  looks — so  fresh,  so  free  of  care  — 

But  form'd  to  smile  where  nothing  grieves! 

It  shall.   But  ah!  not  yet,  not  here. 

Can  rose  or  lily  smile  for  aye! 
There's  need  of  many  an  April  tear 

To  deck  them  for  eternal  May. 

III. 
How  favor' d  I,  to  share  a  task 

Which  angels  covet— yea.  Thine  own, 
Sweet  Mother!    Thou  hast  deign' d  to  ask 

A  prayer  at  Jesus'  altar-throne — 

A  faithful  prayer  through  years  to  come — 
To  help  Thee  cherish  lives  like  these! 

I  promise.    I,et  my  Northern  home 
Reclaim  me — daily  o'er  the  seas 

Shall  memory,  dove  like,  wing  her  flight, 
To  circle  round  Thy  Carmen  bower, 

Until  that  other  garden's  light 

With  glory  robe  each  fadeless  flower. 

September,  1886. 


Palms. 

BY   ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 

CHAPTER  XIX.— (Continued.) 

ON  the  following  day  Nemesius  was  led 
before  the  tribunal,  and  questioned  by 
the  judge,  the  examination  being  attended 
by  all  the  formalities  usual  on  such  occa- 
sions; for  the  iniquitous  proceedings  had  to 
be  draped  with  a  semblance  of  legality,  to 
subserve  the  Roman  laws  to  the  despotic  will 
of  the  reigning  tyrant.    Nemesius'  answers 


were  firm,  and  worded  with  such  simplicity 
that  it  was  impossible  to  misunderstand 
them.  He  declared  himself  a  Christian;  he 
refused  to  sacrifice  to  the  ^ods;  he  expressed 
his  strong  abhorrence  of  idolatry,  and, when 
threatened,  made  answer  that  he  coveted 
no  higher  blessing  than  to  be  permitted  to 
seal  his  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  by  the  shedding 
of  his  blood. 

"Despite  thy  wicked  obstinacy,  the  Em- 
peror is  inclined  to  be  merciful,  Nemesius, 
and  will  aflford  thee  time  for  more  reasonable 
thoughts  before  sentence  is  pronounced; 
meanwhile  it  may  console  thee  to  know  to 
whose  keeping^  he  has  confided  thy  daugh- 
ter," said  the  judge,  with  a  malignant  sneer; 
but  he  held  back  the  information  that  every 
eflfort  was  to  be  made  bv  her  new  protector 
to  corrupt  the  child's  mind,  and  force  her 
to  worship  the  gods.  ''Wouldst  thou  see 
for  thyself?" 

"My  daughter!  —  what  of  her?"  ex- 
claimed Nemesius,  starting,  as  he  glanced 
around. 

"Go look  from  yonder  open  casement  into 
the  court  below;  she  is  there,  unless  they 
have  removed  her,"  responded  the  judge. 
"Make  way  for  him,  soldiers." 

The  soldiers  moved  back,  and,  attended 
by  his  guards,  Nemesius  quickly  reached  the 
window,  and  on  looking  down  beheld  a  sight 
which  nearly  froze  his  blood.  There,  sur- 
rounded by  soldiers,  her  soft,  dimpled  hand 
in  the  grip  of  a  bold-faced,  flaunting  woman 
of  remarkable  size  and  stature,  stood  his 
little  Claudia.  They  had  not  stripped  ofl"  the 
pretty  dress  in  which  she  had  that  morning 
arrayed  herself  to  welcome  Camilla;  and, 
with  the  sunlight  upon  her  golden  hair  and 
her  spotless  white  attire,  she  looked  like  a 
fair  lily  in  some  savage  morass,  or,  what  is 
more  true,  a  celestial  spirit  surrounded  by 
demons.  Nemesius  heard  the  woman's 
loud,  coarse  laugh  as  low,  ribald  jests  were 
bandied  between  herself  and  the  soldiers. 
And  now  while  his  eyes  rested  horror- 
stricken  on  this  scene,  obeying  some  signal, 
they  led  her  away,  his  innocent  one — led 
her  away,  for  what  and  with  whom? 

"What  woman  is  that  with  the  child?" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


539 


"he  asked,  almost  suifocated  with  emotion. 

^'That,"  answered  the  soldier,  with  a  grin, 
*'is  Lippa,  the  cyprian;  thou  hast  heard  of 
her,  mayhap?" 

Aye,  he  had  heard  of  her  as  a  disturber  of 
the  peace,  a  betrayer  of  innocence,  the  most 
infamous  woman  in  Rome,  whose  house 
was  a  resort  of  the  vilest  characters.  Could 
it  be  that  his  pure  child  was  to  become  the 
inmate  of  such  a  den,  and  under  such  tute- 
lage as  Ivippa's?  Could  fiendish  malignity 
go  further?  A  storm  of  natural  emotion 
surged  through  the  strong,  noble  soul  of 
Nemesius,  almost  rending  his  heart.  Had 
they  broken  his  body  by  slow  tortures  on 
the  rack,  torn  his  flesh  with  hot  pincers, 
beaten  him  with  spiked  clubs,  none  of  these 
could  have  equalled  the  inexpressible  an- 
guish caused  by  the  sad  condition  of  his 
child.  He  thought  of  the  cruel  treatment 
she  would  receive,  the  horrible  suggestions 
she  would  be  obliged  to  listen  to;  and  might 
they  not  succeed  by  their  devilish  arts  in 
corrupting  her  innocence?  Oh,  bitter  cup 
for  a  man  like  this  to  drink!  Oh,  terrible 
assault  of  nature  and  hell  to  shake  the  in- 
tegrity of  his  soul ! 

It  was  but  a  little  while  that  the  dark 
shadow  eclipsed  his  spirit;  and,  although 
the  pain  was  not  removed,  he,  remember- 
ing in  whom  he  trusted,  offered  her  to  Him, 
and  implored  the  protection  of  His  Virgin 
Mother  for  his  innocent  one.  She  had  dis- 
appeared from  his  view;  he  turned  away 
from  the  casement  and  faced  his  enemies, 
who  waited  with  fiendish  glee  and  curiosity 
to  see  and  exult  ever  the  effects  of  their 
cruel  and  malicious  work;  but  his  grave, 
majestic  countenance  gave  forth  no  sign  of 
the  passion  of  pain  that  had  torn  his  heart; 
his  tongue,  no  word.  His  lips,  perhaps  more 
£rmly  set,  and  a  gray  pallor  overspreading 
liis  face,  were  all  that  but  faintly  expressed 
"his  agony. 

*' Cruel  parent!"  cried  the  judge,  as  Ne- 
mesius once  more  resumed  the  criminal's 
place  on  the  catasta;  "wilt  thou  not,  even 
to  rescue  thy  beautiful  child  from  a  fate  like 
that  which  awaits  her,  cast  a  few  grains  of 
incense  into  the  brasier?" 


"She  and  [  are  in  the  hands  of  Him  who 
created  and  redeemed  us;  He  is  strong  to 
deliver  her  out  of  the  jaws  of  the  devouring 
wolves  to  whom  ye  have  cast  her,  and  to 
punish  forever  in  hell  those  who  would  de- 
stroy His  innocent  one.  Again  I  say  I  will 
not  burn  incense  to  idols,"  answered  Ne- 
mesius, with  such  majesty  and  impressive 
determination  that  the  judge  fairly  cowered; 
for  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  had  been 
many  terrible  examples  of  what  the  prayers 
of  the  Christians  could  bring  down  upon 
their  persecutors;  had  not  Nemesius  him- 
self only  yesterday  killed  Maximus,  the 
consul,  by  his  incantations? 

"Her  fate  and  thy  own  be  upon  thy 
head! "  said  the  judge.  "  Soldiers,  back  with 
him  to  the  Mamertine!" 

In  the  solitude  of  his  dungeon,  Nemesius 
prostrated  himself  on  the  rough,  slimy  floor, 
and,  pouring  out  his  tears,  lifted  up  his  heart 
with  intense  fervor  and  unshaken  faith  to 
God,  and  besought  Him  to  deliver  his  child 
out  of  the  pit  prepared  for  her  destruction 
by  the  malice  of  idolaters.  From  the  fetid 
depths  of  this  place  of  sorrow,  cleaving 
through  its  impervious  walls,  swiftly  arose 
his  prayers  to  Heaven,  and  soon  was  his 
resignation  rewarded  beyond  all  human 
conception. 

We  will  follow  Claudia  as,  full  of  fear, 
she  was  led  by  Lippa  to  her  house.  Mak- 
ing her  way  through  the  rabble  —  there 
was  always  a  rough  crowd  hanging  around 
her  door — that  pressed  forward  to  stare  and 
ask  questions  which  she  disdained  to  an- 
swer, and,  without  relaxing  her  grasp  on  the 
tender  hand,  she  passed  quickly  through  her 
vestibule  into  a  room,  where  several  men — 
wrestlers,  gladiators,  and  a  soldier  or  two 
off  duty — were  gathered  around  a  table, 
noisily  engaged  in  a  game  of  micare  digitis,^ 
their  stake  a  bottle  of  wine.  ^'Tutti'^  had 
just  been  shouted,  and  wild  excitement 
prevailed;  for  there  had  been  a  fraudulent 


*  The  oldest  game  of  chance  then  known.  It 
was  brought  from  Egypt  to  Greece,  thence  to 
Italy,  where,  under  the  name  of  Mora,  it  is  as  pop- 
ular now  as  then.  Its  name  signifies  flashing  of 
the  fingers. 


540 


The  Ave  Maria. 


count  of  thumbs.  Oaths,  frantic  g-esticula- 
tions,  a  wild  uproar  of  voices,  and  flashing 
knives,  were  the  sounds  and  sights  that 
greeted  the  innocent,  sensitive  child. 

Lippa  called  to  them  to  clear  out,  fear- 
ing the  carouse  would  end  by  some  one 
being  murdered,  and  the  reputation  of  her 
house  would  thereby  be  ruined.  They 
turned  their  heads  at  her  voice,  and  at  once 
their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  beauti- 
ful, richly  dressed  young  girl  clinging-  to 
her  hand.  One  more  daring  than  the  others 
rushed  towards  her,  but  a  well-aimed  blow 
of  Lippa's  sinewy  fist  caught  him  between 
the  eyes  with  such  violence  that  he  stag- 
gered backward.  Claudia  shrieked  and 
clung  'o  the  woman,  who  had  not  delivered 
the  blow  in  defence  of  the  child,  but  because 
she  feared  that  Guercino  might  wrench  the 
jewel  from  her  tunic,  or  the  glittering  chain 
from  her  neck,  knowing  what  adroit  thieves 
the  men  were  who  infested  her  drinking- 
rooms. 

But  the  depraved  woman  had  felt  the 
child's  arms  clinging  around  her;  the  del- 
icate, trembling  form  pressed  against  her, 
and  it  touched  some  far  off,  buried  memory 
of  the  days  of  her  own  youth  and  inno- 
cence. But  the  reflection  was  transitory;  it 
awoke  no  pity  in  her  now  callous  heart  tow- 
ards the  gentle  little  creature,  to  whom  she 
spoke  harshly, and  shook  oif.  Then,  leading 
her  into  a  small,  gloomy  room  reeking  with 
unsavory  smells,  she  stripped  off"  her  beau- 
tiful garments,  secreted  the  pearl  clasp  and 
gold  chain  in  her  own  bosom,  clothed  her 
in  the  cast-off",  dirty  dress  of  a  slave,  then 
went  away,  fastening  the  door  on  the  out- 
side. 

Finding  herself  alone  at  last,  a  stream  of 
tears  flowed  from  Claudia's  eyes,  sobs  con- 
vulsed her  breast,  and  the  only  ray  of  con- 
solation she  had  was  in  callingf  upon  the 
Holy  Name  of  Him  who  was  enshrined  in 
her  pure  heart.  Was  this  suffering  for  Him  ? 
Then  welcome.  It  was  not  death,  but  would 
He  be  well  pleased  if  she  bore  it  patiently 
for  the  love  of  Him?  Then  for  His  sake 
she  would  make  no  moan,  and  she  offered 
herself  to  Him  to  suffer  as  He  pleased;  all 


she  asked  was  His  love,  and  grace  to  resist 
evil,  and  to  be  at  last  with  Him.  Happily 
she  was  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  perils 
that  environed  her,  and  a  sweet  composure 
stole  over  her.  When  at  night  some  coarse 
crusts  and  a  cup  of  water  were  brought  to 
her,  although  nature  turned  from  them  in 
disgust,  she  tried  to  eat;  and  when  later  she 
was  ordered  to  go  into  a  close  closet  to  sleep 
on  a  heap  of  rags  and  other  refuse,  she  lay 
down  in  peace, knowing  that  the  dear  Chris- 
tus  was  her  refuge,  and  would  watch  while 
she  slept.  She  thought  of  her  father  with 
tender  affection,  happy  to  know — as  she 
imagined — that  he  was  in  safety  in  the 
Catacombs. 

And  so  this  lovely,  sensitive  child,  who 
had  been  reared  in  softest  luxury,  and 
guarded  from  every  word,  sound  or  sight 
that  could  shock  or  sully  her  stainless  inno- 
cence, was,  for  her  faith  in  Christ,  cast  down 
into  the  very  depths  of  human  cruelty  and 
depravity,  where  every  effort  the  enemy  of 
souls  could  suggest  to  his  human  instru-. 
ments  was  to  be  put  into  operation  to  cor- 
rupt her,  and  force  her  to  return  to  the 
worship  of  idols.  But  the  language  of  de- 
pravity and  lewdness  was  as  incomprehen- 
sible to  her  as  if  she  had  suddenly  been 
transported  to  a  distant  and  barbarous  land, 
while  many  things  she  was  compelled  to 
look  upon  frightened  and  sickened  her  with 
instinctive  disg^ust. 

Day  after  day  new  trials  beset  the  little 
heroine;  she  was  required  to  burn  incense 
before  a  statue  of  Hercules,  the  favorite 
deity  of  the  house,  and  commanded  to  deny 
Christ;  refusing  to  do  so,  she  was  beaten, 
*  and  sent  to  work  with  the  slaves.  Nothing 
that  could  wound  or  fill  her  with  horror  was 
spared;  Lippa  often  left  her  without  food, 
but  the  brave  little  heart  never  faltered, 
and  at  last — as  it  is  related — her  heavenly 
patience,  her  sweetness  and  innocence 
touched  the  savage  natures  of  her  perse- 
cutors, who  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  their 
depravity  and  cruelty. 

There  was  oneof  Lippa's  women,a  coarse, 
handsome  creature,  who  had  at  first  been 
the  harshest  and  most  wicked  of  them  all 


The  Ave  Maria. 


541 


in  her  assaults  on  the  brave  little  Christian, 
but  who  now,  grown  softened  and  kinder, 
spared  and  protected  her  whenever  it  was 
n  her  power  to  do  so.  Her  name  was 
ypria,  and  day  by  day  the  influence  of 
laudia's  example  impressed  her  more 
eeply.  One  evening  Cypria  questioned  the 
ittle  girl  as  to  the  name  and  rank  of  her 
then  It  wa5  the  first  time  any  one  had 
poken  to  her  on  the  subject,  and  she  an- 
swered readily,  with  tears  in  her  eyes: 

"My  father  is  named  Nemesius;  he  was 
the  commander  of  the  Imperial  Legion,  but 
now  he  is  a  soldier  of  Christ." 

"  Oh !  is  it  indeed  so  ?  Art  thou  the  child 
of  that  brave  officer  who  once  saved  me 
from  Cecco's  knife  just  as  he  was  about  to 
cut  my  throat?"  cried  the  woman,  falling 
at  Claudia's  feet,  kissing  and  bathing  them 
with  her  tears.  ''And  now  thou  leadest  me 
to  a  better  life.  I,  too,  will  be  a  Christian; 
teach  me;  forgive  me!" 

They  were  alone.  Claudia  lifted  up  the 
woman's  wet  face,  kissed  off  her  tears,  and 
exclaimed,  joyfully :  "  I  will  tell  thee  about 
the  dear  Christus^  and  He  will  lead,  and  His 
Virgin  Mother  will  be  thy  advocate." 

"Oh!  will  They  not  spurn  me  for  my 
wicked  life?  Oh!  there  is  no  evil  that  I 
have  not  done!"  she  cried. 

"No:  for  such  as  thee,  too,  did  He  suffer 
death,"  she  answered,  in  soft  tones.  "Oh! 
no,  Cypria;  He  loves  thee  with  everlasting 
love,  and  He  will  welcome  thee  to  His  Fold. 
By  and  by,  when  my  father  comes  to  take 
me  away  from  this  dreadful  place,  thou 
shalt  go  with  us  to  one  who  will  give  thee 
Holy  Baptism,  and  instruct  thee  better  than 
I  can;  for  I  am  only  a  child." 

Later  Cypria  told  her  that  a  pale  woman, 
bowed  with  sorrow,  came  to  the  door  every 
day,  praying  for  tidings  of  her;  but  she 
was  always  driven  away,  and  ordered  not 
to  come  again;  still,  on  the  morrow  s'le 
was  there  at  the  same  hour,  asking  the 
same  sad  questions,  which  were  answered 
only  by  gibes  and  insults  and  derisive 
laughter. 

"I  know  that  it's  my  nurse,  Zilla, who  has 
been  a  mother  to  me  ever  since  I  was  born. 


O  kind  Cypria!  see  her,  and  give  her  my 
love;  and  tell  her  that  I  am  well,  and  that 
no  harm  has  befallen  me;  for  the  dear  Christ 
has  sent  His  angels  to  watch  over  and  guard 
me,"  she  said,  her  countenance  irradiated 
with  such  a  soft  light  that  the  woman 
turned  to  see  whence  it  came. 

Cypria  promised,  and  kept  her  word;  for 
it  was,  indeed,  the  broken-hearted  Zilla. 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Value  of  a  Good  Book. 


I.EAVES   FROM   A   MISSIONARY'S   NOTE-BOOK. 


THE  advantage  to  be  derived  from  the 
habit  of  reading  good  books  is  too  well 
known  to  require  proof,  but  it  is  often  espec- 
ially valuable  as  a  means  of  leading  remiss 
souls  to  the  practice  of  religious  duties. 
All  are  supposed  to  be  familiar  with  the 
Tolle,  lege;  toUe,  lege,  —  "Take  up,  and 
read;  take  up,  and  read," — which  the  un- 
seen voice  addressed  to  the  proud  young 
Manichean  as  he  reclined  on  the  grassy 
bank.  Looking  round,  he  caught  up  the 
life  of  a  saint,  and  the  reading  of  it  gave  to 
the  Church  her  greatest  light — St.  Augus- 
tine. If  the  pastor  or  a  friend  approaches 
the  delinquent,  he  may  offer  excuses — for 
the  poorest  man  in  the  world  is  the  one  who 
can  not  afford  an  excuse, — or  he  may  make 
promises  which  he  may  or  may  not  intend 
to  keep;  or  he  may  grow  fretful,  and  put 
his  mentor  off  with  a  rebuff;  or,  in  a  good- 
natured  way,  but  with  as  much  determina- 
tion, say  that  it  is  a  matter  for  himself  to  look 
after,  without  interference,  which  means: 
"Mind  your  own  business,  and  I  will  mind 
mine."  But  when  a  good  book  is  put  into 
the  hands  of  a  man  who  is  at  all  given  to 
reading,  it  is  almost  certain,  sooner  or  later^ 
to  make  a  favorable  impression  on  him. 
And  this  for  many  reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  reading  generally  leads 
even  the  most  superficial  to  think,  and 
awakens  feelings  that  claim  consideration 
and  will  not  easily  be  put  to  rest;  then,  one 
can  not  talk  back  to  a  book,  and  tell  it  to 


54^ 


The  Ave  JMaria. 


mind  its  own  business;  again,  there  is  com- 
monly a  desire  to  read  a  bt^ok  through  when 
it  is  once  begun;  and  still  another  and,  as 
I  may  say, a  paradoxical  result  of  such  read- 
ing is  that,  whereas  a  person  will  not  permit 
his  best  friend  to  admonish  him,  he  rather 
likes  a  book  that  reproves,  and,  so  to  speak, 
scolds  him  And,  from  wondering  how  it 
came  to  hit  the  nail  so  exactly  on  the  head, 
he  will  come  not  merely  to  acknowledge 
the  justice  of  its  animadversions  on  his  con- 
duct, but  to  feel  their  force,  to  give  way  to 
remorse  of  conscience,  and  finally  to  re- 
pentance and  a  return  to  Christian  duty. 
Did  Catholics  but  know  the  value  of  a  good 
book,  judiciously  selected,  as  a  preacher  of 
repentance  lo  sinners,  more  of  them  would 
be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  delinquent. 
But  no  little  judgment  is  required  in  the 
selection  of  a  book,  and  perhaps  even 
greater  judgment  n  hitting  upon  the 
time,  place,  and  introductory  remarks,  when 
handing  it  to  a  friend. 

As  an  instance  of  the  effects  of  pious 
reading  the  following  may  be  cited,  which 
fell  under  my  own  observation  some  twenty- 
five  years  ago, and  which, although  contain- 
ing nothing  very  remarkable,  may  for  that 
reason  be  the  more  valuable.  There  lived 
in  a  country  place  a  farmer,  whom  we  shall 
call  William,  who  went  occjisionally  to  the 
neighboring  city,  some  forty  miles  distant, 
on  business  connected  with  his  farm,  and 
who  was  accustomed  on  such  visits  to  bring 
back  with  him  a  small  collection  of  prayer- 
books  and  other  religious  works  for  the  con- 
venience of  his  neighbors,  who  requested 
him  to  do  so,  or  from  the  promptings  of  his 
own  piety ;  for  the  trifle  he  made  on  them — 
if,  indeed,  he  made  anything — was  far  from 
"being  the  motive  which  influenced  him. 
It  happened  that  he  had  a  friend,  and  a  most 
singular  friend  he  was,  who  had  long  been 
away  from  confession,  and  who,  though  a 
good  man  in  his  way,  would  not  permit  any 
one  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject,  dismiss- 
ing him  with  the  remark,  spoken  good- 
naturedly,  that  that  was  his  business,  and 
lie  was  able  to  attend  to  it. 

Thomas  G (we  may  as  well  name 


him)  was  indeed  a  strange  man  in  many  re- 
spects; and  I,  who  have  known  him  all  my 
life,  have  often  felt  a  curiosity  to  learn  how 
he  merited  the  grace  of  persevering  in  the 
good  he  did,  and  the  further  grace  of  entire 
conversion.  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  at- 
tribute it  to  some  devotion  to  the  Mother  of 
God;  for  such  results  are  not  generally 
brought  about  without  the  hand  of  Mary 
interposing.  Born  in  a  Catholic  settlement, 
he  practised  his  religion  with  fidelity  till  he 
had  attained  the  age  of  perhaps  nineteen 
years,  when  his  parents  moved  to  the  then 
Far  West,  far  from  church,  and  with  "sta- 
tions" only  at  intervals.  Here,  although 
other  members  of  the  family  remained 
faithful,  Thomas  fell  away,  as  far  as  the  re- 
ception of  the  Sacraments  of  Penance  and 
Holy  Communion  was  concerned.  But  he 
continued  to  pray  with  the  greatest  regular- 
ity, hear  Mass  without  fail  whenever  an 
opportunity  was  presented,  observe  the 
holydays,  and  fast  with  a  rigor  that  would 
have  edified  a  Trappist;  do  everything,  in 
a  word,  and  do  it  well,  except  go  to  confes- 
sion, and  that  he  would  not  do,  and  it  was 
worse  than  useless  to  urge  the  matter  upon 
him.  His  friends  were,  quite  naturally,  in- 
terested, but  how  to  proceed  they  knew 
not.  Only  one  vulnerable  point  was  pre- 
sented: Thomas  was  an  inveterate  reader, 
or,  more  properly,  a  devourer  of  such  books 
as  fell  within  his  reach  where  books  were 
scarce,  and  readers  not  plenty. 

At  this  time  it  was  that  Father  Faber's 
works  were  first  published  in  this  country, 
and,  from  a  conviction  of  the  good  they 
would  effect,  our  farmer  friend  was  inter- 
ested in  securing  a  good  circulation  for  them 
in  his  neighborhood.  At  each  visit  to  the 
city  he  brought  back  with  him  such  vol- 
umes as  had  appeared  since  his  last  visit; 
and  he  had  Thomas,  among  others,  in  his 
mind's  eye  the  while.  On  his  way  to  the 
county  town  he  would  pass  the  shop  of  the 
industrious  Thomas — for  the  latter  was  a 
mechanic — when  some  such  conversation 
as  this  might  be  heard: 

"Well,  Thomas,  how  are  you  the  day?'* 
"Oh!  sober,  sober.    How  are  you?" 


i 

I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


543 


"Well,  I  have  no  reason  to  complain.  I 
was  in  the  city  last  week,  an'  I  brought  up 
some  books,  as  usual;  an'  among  others  I 
got  a  new  one  by  Father  Faber." 

"Has  he  published  another?  I  liked  the 
last  one  very  much,  and  I  have  read  it  over 
two  or  three  times.  Last  Sunday  there  was 
no  Mass,  and  I  spent  nearly  all  day  with  it. 
I  liked  it  so  well,  in  fact,  I  could  hardly  lay 
it  down  to  go  to  dinner." 

"I  thought  you  would  like  to  have  the 
last  one  too,  an'  I  brought  one  up  with  me. 
Here  it  is." 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  have  it,  but  I  have 
no  money  just  ;iow,  and  the  times  are  close; 
and  if  I  take  it,  I  don't  know  when  I  can 
pay  you." 

"Oh!  don't  trouble  yourself  about  that. 
You  will  pay  me  sometime,  and  I  am  in 
no  hurry  just  now;  I  can  easily  wait  till  the 
next  time  I  come  to  town." 

The  bargain  was  made,  and  Thomas  was 
impatient  for  a  leisure  moment  to  address 
himself  to  the  new  book. 

The  result  was  that  Father  Faber  was  all 
the  while  silently  preaching  to  him,  and 
making  a  far  deeper  impression  than  the 
unsuspecting  reader  imagined,  till  at  length 
it  became  too  strong  to  be  either  ignored 
or  resisted.  For  whether  it  was  "Bethle- 
hem," with  its  plaintive  cries  of  the  Divine 
Babe  in  the  manger,  who  for  love  of  us  had 
"emptied  Himself,  taking  the  form  of  a 
servant'' ;  or  "All  for  Jesus,"  showing  him 
how  he  might  have  done  so  much  good  with 
little  cost,  and  his  ingratitude  in  failing  to 
do  so;  or  "The  Creator  and  the  Creature," 
teaching  him  his  relation  to  God,  and  his 
true  nobility  and  greatness;  or  "The  Foot 
of  the  Cross,"  so  vividly  portraying  the 
tragic  scenes  in  the  life  and  death  of  the 
"Man  of  Sorrows,"  and  the  dolorous  part 
which  Mary  took  in  the  great  work  of  man's 
redemption;  or,  in  fine, the  overflowing  love 
of  "The  Blessed  Sacrament,"  the  work 
was  silently  going  on.  Grace  at  length  tri- 
umphed, and  the  delinquent  found  himself 
at  the  age  of  sixty,  compelled  as  it  were,  to 
seek  reconciliation  with  Holy  Church.  Re- 
turning to  the  feet  of  his  Divine  Master,  he 


humbly  confessed  his  sins,  and   obtained 
pardon  for  them. 

From  that  day  forward  he  has  been  a 
regular  and  frequent  communicant,  striv- 
ing by  his  fervor  to  make  up  for  the  misspent 
past;  and  now,  with  the  weight  of  more  than 
fourscore  and-five  years  upon  him,  he  re- 
signedly awaits  the  summons  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  who  so  long  followed  him  in  his 
wanderings,  and  ultimately  brought  him 
back  to  the  path  of  duty  by  means  of  good 

books. 

♦  ♦  » 

Advent. 

THE  time  of  Advent,  which  begins  the 
ecclesiastical  year,  comprises  four  weeks, 
symbolical  of  the  four  thousand  years  which 
preceded  the  birth  of  the  Messiah.  It  is  so 
called  from  the  Latin  word  adventus^^\\\Q}a 
signifies  coming.  It  is  the  season  which  the 
Church  has  set  apart  to  prepare  the  faithful, 
by  various  exercises  of  piety,  for  the  cele- 
bration of  the  great  Feast  of  Christmas,  the 
anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Our  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ.  The  mystery,  then,  with  which 
the  Church  is  occupied  during  Advent  is 
that  of  the  coming  of  Christ.  This  coming 
is  at  the  same  time  simple  and  triple ;  single, 
for  it  is  the  Son  of  God  Himself  who  comes; 
and  triple,  because  He  comes  at  three  differ- 
ent times  and  in  three  different  ways.  His 
first  coming,  as  St.  Bernard  observes,  was  in 
flesh  and  feebleness;  the  second  is  in  spirit 
and  in  power;  the  third  will  be  in  glory  and 
in  majesty.  An  ancient  spiritual  writer  thus 
explains  this  triple  visit  of  Christ: 

"There  are  three  comings  of  the  Lord: 
the  first  in  the  flesh,  the  second  in  the  soul, 
and  the  third  at  the  Last  Judgment.  Thefirst 
took  place  at  midnight,  according  to  the 
words  of  the  Gospel :  '  In  the  middle  of  the 
night  a  cry  was  heard:  Behold  the  Bride- 
groom!' This  first  coming  is  past:  Christ 
has  walked  on  the  earth,  and  conversed  with 
men.  We  are  now  in  the  second  coming, 
provided,  however,  that  we  are  in  a  fit  state 
to  receive  Him;  for  He  has  said  that  'if  we 
love  Him  He  will  come  to  us,  and  make 
His  dwelling  in  us.'    The  second  coming, 


544 


The  Ave  Maria. 


then,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  is  a  matter 
of  mysterious  uncertainty ;  for  what  other 
but  the  Spirit  of  God  knows  those  who  are 
of  God?  Of  the  third  coming  of  Christ  it 
may  be  said  it  is  very  certain  that  it  will 
take  pla:e,  very  uncertain  when  it  will 
take  place;  since  there  is  nothing  more  cer- 
tain than  death,  aad  nothing  more  uncer- 
tain than  the  hour  of  death.  The  first 
coming  was  humble  and  hidden;  the  sec- 
ond is  mysterious  and  full  of  love;  the  third 
will  be  dazzling  and  terrible.  In  His  first 
coming,  Christ  was  unjustly  judged  by  men; 
in  the  second  He  renders  us  just  by  His 
grace;  at  the  last  He  will  judge  all  things 
with  equity; — in  the  first  coming  a  Lamb, 
a  lyion  in  the  last,  in  the  second  a  Friend 
all  tenderness." 

During  Advent  the  Church  omits  the 
Gloria  in  excelsis  in  the  Mass,  unless  when 
the  festival  of  a  saint  is  celebrated.  These 
sublime  words  were  sung  by  angel  voices 
at  Bethlehem  only  at  the  moment  when  the 
Saviour  was  born ;  they  are  therefore  sus- 
pended for  the  time,  to  be  caught  up  again 
with  renewed  exultation  on  the  anniversary 
of  that  great  event.  The  solemn  salutation 
"//^  Missa  est^^^  at  the  end  of  the  Holy 
Sacrifice,  is  also  omitted,  and  replaced  by, 
'"'' Benedicamiis  Domino^''^  which  the  priest 
says  turned  towards  the  altar. 

The  time  of  Advent  is  at  once  a  season 
of  joy  and  of  sadness,  but  more  of  sadness; 
of  joy,  inasmuch  a>  it  recalls  the  first  com- 
ing of  Jesus  Christ,  who  brought  peace  and 
happiness  to  the  whole  world ;  of  sadness, 
inasmuch  as  it  calls  to  our  mind  His  last 
coming  to  judge  all  men.  Hence  the  color  of 
the  vestments  in  which  the  Church  clothes 
herself  at  this  season — vtolet^which.  is  sym- 
bolical of  sadness  and  penitence. 


(Of  retreats,  etc.)  Fill  your  cruise  out  of 
the  spring  at  the  appointed  resting-place, 
else  you  will  not  have  strength  for  the  re- 
mainder of  your  journey  across  the  desert. 
— Father  Tracey  Clarke^  S.J. 

The  mercy  of  God  is  eternal,  so  also 
should  be  our  confidence.  —  Ven.  Mother 
Barat. 


Catholic  Notes. 

At  the  close  of  the  month  of  October  the 
Holy  Father  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Cardinal 
Vicar  of  Rome  on  the  devotion  of  the  Holy 
Rosary,  and  urged  its  daily  public  practice 
in  the  churches  of  the  Eternal  City.  In  this 
letter  His  Holiness  alludes  to  the  joy  with 
which  all  faithful  hearts  throughout  the  world 
received  his  Encyclical  Letters  on  the  subject 
of  this  devotion,  and  the  proofs  of  the  salutary 
fruits  produced  in  souls  through  its  influence. 
But  he  does  not  feel  that  he  has  done  enough 
to  propagate  a  devotion  which  has  so  strong 
a  hold  on  the  popular  heart,  §nd  his  only  de- 
sire now  is  to  see  it  established  in  every  place, 
and  form  one  of  the  daily  practices  of  religion 
in  every  church  in  the  world.  And  this  desire 
is  all  the  greater  because  the  times  are,  day 
by  day,  becoming  more  evil,  and  the  need  of 
divine  assistance  more  urgent;  not,  indeed, 
so  much  in  behalf  of  the  Church — for  she  is 
a  divine  work,  whose  perpetuity  is  assured 
by  promises  which  can  not  fail — but  in  be- 
half of  souls  who  are  exposed  to  incalculable 
evils,  and  many  of  whom  miserably  perish. 
Therefore,  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  wishes  that 
throughout  the  Universal  Church  there  should 
be  uninterrupted  recourse  to  God  through  the 
intercession  of  the  glorious  Queen  of  the  Ro- 
sary, the  Help  of  Christians,  whom  the  very 
powers  of  hell  fear  so  that  they  tremble  at  Her 
name. 


An  interesting  anecdote  is  related  of  Mrs. 
Bronson,  of  New  York,  the  widow  of  the  late 
Mr.  Arthur  Bronson — the  lady  who, gossip  has 
it,  is  to  become  at  no  distant  date  the  second 
wife  of  the  poet  Browning.  It  is  said  that 
during  her  residence  in  Venice,  after  her  hus- 
band's death,  she  was  so  pained  by  the  con- 
stant use  of  profane  language  by  the  gondo- 
liers, that  she  resolved  to  make  a  determined 
effort  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  The  means  she  chose 
was  (for  a  Protestant)  singular.  Being  con- 
vinced that  if  they  had  constantly  in  sight 
something  which  they  revered,  they  would 
hesitate  to  blaspheme  in  the  presence  of  such 
an  object, she  placed  tiny  shrines  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  on  the  walls  in  many  places  along  the 
canals.  "Now,"  she  said  to  them,  "you  can 
not  swear  before  a  lady  you  know,  how  much 
less  in  the  presence  of  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows! " 


The  Ave  Maria. 


545 


It  ought  to  be  discouraging  to  the  enemies 
)f  religion  in  France  to  observe  with  what  ill 
mccess  their  efforts  to  destroy  the  faith  of  the 
'people  are  attended.    Proofs  of  this  are  con- 
stantly being  presented.    For  instance,  during 
^November  the  cemeteries  were  visited  by  enor- 
lous  crowds.  Statistics  prove  that  more  than 
joo.ooo  persons  went  to  lay  flowers  on  the 
)mbs  of  their  dear  dead  ones. 


^*l 


The  outrageous  law  on  primary  education 
was  passed  in  the  French  Chamber  of  Deputies 
ty  a  large  majority,  in  spite  of  the  energetic 
opposition  of  the  Right.  During  the  debate, 
Monseigneur  Freppel  having  mentioned  the 
Name  of  God,  the  radical  Mayor  of  St.  Germ  ain 
arose  and  said :  "  God !  Who  is  God  ?  There  is 
no  God!  "  By  this  shameful  law  the  boys'  ele- 
mentary schools  are  to  be  secularized  within 
five  years,  but  the  period  when  the  nuns  are 
to  vacate  the  girls'  schools  has  not  yet  been 
fixed  upon. 

Cardinal  Simor,  whose  jubilee  was  celebrated 
October  3 1 ,  furnishes  a  splendid  example  of  the 
democratic  spirit  of  the  Church.  Son  of  a  poor 
shoemaker  of  Stuhlweissenburg,  he  said  his 
first  Mass  fifty  years  ago  in  a  poor  little  church 
in  Hungary,  and  his  mother  was  obliged  to 
sell  a  calf  in  order  to  purchase  a  surplice  for 
him  on  that  occasion.  Now  the  Archduchess 
Clotilda,  of  Austria,  brings  him  a  magnificent 
surplice,  on  which  all  the  archduchesses  of  the 
imperial  family  have  worked.  The  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph,  accompanied  by  the  Ministers 
of  the  Hungarian  Kingdom,  comes  from  Pesth 
to  congratulate  the  Cardinal  on  his  jubilee. 
The  secret  of  his  life  is  constant  work  and 
constant  prayer.  He  has  a  royal  revenue,  and 
yet  that  is  not  sufiicient  for  him;  for  he  is  in 
debt  He  gives  all  that  he  has,  and  more,  too, 
— ^hence  his  debts — to  the  poor.  "The  rich 
have  no  need  of  me,  except  to  give  to  me, ' '  he 
says;  "but  the  poor  have  need  of  me  to  live." 
He  is  head  of  the  Chamber  of  Magnates  in 
Hungary,  and  his  seat  is  higher  than  any  of 
theirs,  except  when  the  Emperbr  is  present. 
At  his  entrance  into  the  Chamber  all  the 
magnates  rise,  and  bow  their  heads  to  receive 
his  benediction  as  Primate  of  Hungary.  It 
was  he  who  soothed  the  agitated  minds  of  the 
people  in  the  Anti-Semitic  disturbance,  in  a 
pastoral  letter  which  will  be  to  the  eternal 
lienor  of  the  writer.    His  fellow-countrymen 


adore  him,  and  remember  that  it  was  he  who, 
in  1867,  crowned  the  King  of  Hungary,  by 
which  Home  Rule  was  established  in  that 
country.  He  is  penetrated  with  the  highest 
sense  of  duty.  ' '  He  who  tries  to  perform  his 
duty  conscientiously,"  he  remarked  on  one 
occasion,  "fulfils  the  end  assigned  to  him  on 
earth.  There  are  people  of  whom  it  may  be 
said  that  they  have  nothing  in  this  world  ex- 
cept that  virtue;  and  yet  these  are  as  powerful 
in  their  sphere,  as  solid,  as  respected,  as  a 
king  upon  his  throne."  These  words  were 
pronounced  by  him  in  the  Cathedral  of  Grau, 
in  preaching  upon  St.  Stephen,  King  of  Hun- 
gary.— Rom.  Cor.  Pilot. 


Another  Episcopalian  clergyman  has  re- 
turned to  the  One  True  Fold.  The  Rev.  George 
Washington  Bowne,  formerly  rector  of  St  Pe- 
ter's Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  Salisbury, 
Md.,  was  baptized  a  short  time  ago  by  Father 
Dwight  layman,  of  Baltimore,  who  is  himself  a 
convert  to  the  Church,  and  brother  to  Bishop 
Lyman,  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  diocese  of 
North  Carolina.  Mr.  Bowne  has  been  for  sev- 
eral years  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  and  in  the 
parish  of  which  he  had  charge  created  some 
dissension  among  his  congregation  by  his  ex- 
treme High  Church  views.  Arrangements 
have  been  made  for  his  admission  to  the  Sem- 
inary of  St.  Sulpice,  where  he  will  prepare 
himself  for  the  reception  of  Holy  Orders.  Mr. 
Bowne,  we  are  informed,  is  about  thirty  years 
old,  possesses  considerable  literary  ability, and 
is  an  excellent  musician. 


A  writer  in  the  New  York  Evening  Post  has 
a  long  letter  on  the  ' '  Decay  of  the  New  Eng- 
land Churches."  New  England,  the  old  cen- 
tre of  a  most  active  religious  life,  a  country 
settled  by  ardent  believers,  whose  Puritan 
faith  impregnated  every  civil  institution  even 
which  they  established,  is,  this  writer  declares, 
in  its  rural  quarters  fast  drifting  into  a  state 
of  practical  heathenism. 


According  to  the  directions  of  the  Bishop 
of  Tarbes  in  his  recent  Pastoral,  all  the 
cures  effected  at  Lourdes  are  submitted  to  se- 
vere medical  examination,  in  order  to  silence 
accusations  of  fraud  which  are  often  made  by 
irreligious  people.  Close  to  the  Grotto  there 
stands  a  wooden  structure,  bearing  the  words, 
''Bureau  des  Constatations,'"  where  Dr.  de  St. 


546 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Macloii  remains  all  day  to  examine  into  ex 
traordinary  cures.  To  make  the  investigation 
as  complete  as  possible,  each  sick  person,  be- 
fore setting  out  on  the  pilgrimage,  is  required 
to  have  a  medical  certificate,  describing  the 
origin  of  the  disease,  its  different  phases,  and 
its  treatment.  These  certificates  are  numbered 
by  Dr.  de  St.  Maclou,  who  gives  a  card,  with 
the  corresponding  number,  to  each  sick  per- 
son. This  is  worn  exteriorly.  Instead  of  pro- 
ceeding privately  to  his  professional  investi- 
gations, the  Doctor  invites  all  his  colleagues 
present  at  lyourdes  to  assist  him  in  verifying 
the  facts.  When  a  cure  is  effected,  the  subject 
of  it  is  borne  to  the  ''Bureau  des  Constata- 
tions, ' '  and  the  physician  of  the  Grotto,  taking 
up  the  certificate,  begins  his  investigations, 
which  are  minutely  written  down;  after  this 
the  other  doctors  are  free  to  repeat  the  exam- 
ination, and  consign  the  result  to  the  registry. 
After  such  precautions  there  is  no  room  left 
for  doubt  in  the  minds  of  unprejudiced  scien- 
tists solely  intent  on  knowing  the  truth.  The 
test  of  time  is  also  required  for  these  super- 
natural cures;  after  six  or  twelve  months,  the 
doctors  who  took  care  of  the  patients  in  their 
respective  homes  are  requested  to  send  a  com- 
munication to  gourdes,  stating  if  the  recovery 
has  been  complete. 

Cardinal  Mezzofanti  has  at  length  been  sur- 
passed as  a  linguist,  though,  let  us  add,  by 
one  of  his  own  countrymen.  The  "living 
miracle  of  Pentecost,"  as  we  believe  Pius  I  >C. 
styled  him,  is  said  to  have  spoken  some  fifty- 
eight  languages  (according  to  Dr.  Russell, 
thirty  "with  rare  excellence,"  nine  "flu- 
ently," and  eleven  "less  perfectly").  Signor 
Marcantonio  Canini  is  reported  to  ' '  know, 
speak,  and  write ' '  the  almost  incredible  num- 
ber of  ninety-three  languages!  Signor  Canini, 
at  present  staying  in  Paris,  has  recently  pub- 
lished the  first  volume  of  a  collection  of  poems 
translated  into  Italian  from  all  imaginable  lan- 


guages, 


ancient  and  modern. — London  Tablet. 


In  connection  with  the  recent  enactments 
secularizing  education  in  France,  the  words 
of  one  whom  the  radicals  seek  to  apotheosize 
have  a  significance  which  none  other  could 
give  in  their  eyes.  In  one  of  his  novels — 
"Claude  Gueux" — Victor  Hugo  wrote  as 
follows: 

' '  When  France  knows  how  to  read,  leave  not 


undirected  that  intelligence  which  you  have  de- 
veloped. That  would  be  but  another  disorder. 
.  Ignorance  is  far  preferable  to  evil  knowledge.  No. 
Ever  remember  that  there  is  a  book  more  philo- 
sophical than  "Compere  Mathieu,"  more  popular 
than  the ' '  Constitutionnel, ' '  more  eternal  than  the 
Charter  of  1830;  and  that  is  the  Bible.  Now,  a 
word  of  explanation. 

"  Whatever  you  may  do,  the  lot  of  the  mass,  of 
the  multitude,  of  the  majority,  will  always  be  rel- 
atively poor,  unhappy  .wretched.  Theirs  it  will  be 
to  labor  hard — burdens  to  drive,  burdens  to  drag, 
burdens  to  carry.  Ivook  to  the  scales:  in  the  one 
balance  are  all  the  comforts  of  the  rich,  in  the 
other  are  all  the  miseries  of  the  poor.  Are  not  the 
two  unequally  divided?  Must  not  the  scales  nec- 
essarily incline  to  one  side,  and  the  State  with  it  ? 

• '  Now,  on  the  side  of  the  poor — in  the  balance 
of  the  wretched — throw  the  certainty  of  a  heav- 
enly future,  place  therein  the  aspirations  after 
eternal  happiness,  give  them  paradise,  and  what 
a  magnificent  counterpoise!  Then  you  establish 
the  equilibrium.  The  side  of  the  poor  is  made  as 
rich  as  that  of  the  possessors  of  worldly  goods. 

"So  it  was  that  Jesus  spoke  to  us  long  before 
Voltaire  knew  aught  of  humanity.  Let  the  people 
who  labor  and  suffer,  let  those  for  whom  this  life 
is  so  wretched — let  them  have  and  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  their  belief  in  another  and  a  better  world. 
They  will  be  peaceful  and  patient;  for  patience  is 
the  fruit  of  hope. ' '     

The  Catholic  Universe  quotes  a  non- Catho- 
lic historian  of  Kentucky  as  saying:  "The 
Roman  Catholics  were  represented  among  the 
very  first  settlers  in  the  State.  Dr.  Hart  and 
William  Coomes,who  settled  at  Harrod's  Sta- 
tion in  1775 — the  one  a  physician,  and  the  wife 
of  the  other  a  school-teacher, — were  both 
Maryland  Catholics;  so,  as  Collins  remarks, 
'  the  first  practising  physician  and  the  first 
teacher  in  Kentucky  were  Roman  Catholics' 
They  were  both  valiant  and  valuable  men. 
They  were  followed  by  many  other  families, 
who  founded  the  large  Catholic  community 
that  still  exists  near  Bardstown,  in  Nelson 
County."  The  Universe  adds:  "The  first 
church  building  was  erected  in  1792.  The 
priest  of  1 787  was  the  Franciscan,  Father  Whe- 
lan,  who  had  been  the  first  resident  priest  in 
New  York  city  after  the  Revolution." 


Our  fund  for  Father  Damien  now  amount* 
to  $837.65;  it  will  be  closed  on  the  loth  inst. 
The  following  offerings  have  come  to  hand 
since  our  last  acknowledgment: 

James  Easley,  $5  ;  A.  R.  K.,|i;  Miss  Maggie 
Batemans,  $5;  Louise  M.  Moran,  $100;  Sarah  A. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


517 


Archabold,  ^i ;  K.  K. ,  $i ;  A  Friend,  Norich,Conn. , 

|i  ;    Mrs.  C.  Woods,  $io  ;    N.  L.S.,^i;   J.  J.  P.,^i; 

A  Sympathizer,  $i  ;  Mrs.  William  S.  Allgaier,  $5  ; 

Margaret  O'Reilly,  $1 ;  J.  R.  K.,  |i ;  John  Brennan, 

^i ;  Children  of  Mary,  $2 ;  An  offering  in  behalf  of 

the  Souls  in  Purgatory,  $1 ;  A  Family  per  E.  H  B. , 

|io  ;   B.  A.  F.,  |i  ;   For  Love  of  Our  Lord  in  the 

Uessed  Sacrament,  $1 ;  Presentation  Convent  and 

*upils;  $14  ;  Thomas  McWiggin,  ^i  ;  Mrs.  Marie 

[enrie,|5;  Philomena  Buerkle,  Sscts.;  M.  A.T., 

ii;  Friends,  Cohoes,  NY.,  |[;  Mrs.  R.  Farrell,  ^i ; 

[ary  J.  Mahaney,  |i;  H.  F.  Sheen,  1$;  Margaret 

^Daly,  $\.  Through  Very  Rev.  A.  Granger,  C.  S.  C, 

$3-25;— A  Friend,  25cts.;  K.  Noonan,  $1;  M.  Mc- 

Cullough,  $2;  Friends,  $\. 


New  Publications. 


A  Memoir  of  Father  Felix  Joseph  Bar- 
BEUN,  S.  J.  By  Eleanor  C.  Donnelly.  Philadel- 
phia: F.  A.  Fasy.    1886. 

Miss  Donnelly  has  given  us,  in  an  elegant 
volume  of  450  pages,  a  most  entertaining  and 
graphic  sketch  of  the  life  and  labors  of  Father 
Felix  Barbelin,  who  was  for  many  years  pastor 
of  St.  Joseph's  Church,  Philadelphia,  for  the 
benefit  of  which  the  book  has  been  published. 
The  work  is  divided  into  four  parts,  the  first 
of  which  contains  an  account  of  the  childhood 
and  youth  of  the  man  who  was  afterwards  to 
endear  himself  to  so  many  hearts  on  a  soil  far 
distant  from  that  of  the  country  where  he  was 
born  and  brought  up.  The  second  part  treats 
of  Father  Barbelin' s  religious  life  and  labors; 
the  third  describes  his  character  and  virtues, 
and  the  fourth  and  last  part  is  devoted  to  the 
vSubject  of  his  last  illness  and  death.  The  book 
is  written  in  Miss  Donnelly's  usual  graceful 
style,  and  there  is  not  a  chapter  in  it  that  will 
not  enhance  the  reputation  of  its  richly  gifted 
authoress.  The  most  interesting  and  at  the 
same  time  most  touching  part  of  the  volume 
is  that  which  describes  how  the  last  years  of 
Father  Barbelin 's  life  were  spent;  how,  not- 
withstanding extreme  physical  suffering,  he 
nevertheless  continued  to  perform  all  his  du- 
ties to  the  last,  and  when  no  longer  able  to 
stand,  was  carried  to  the  confessional  by  his 
devoted  friends. 

Annual  Report  of  the  Carroll  Insti- 
tute, Washington,  D.  C.    1886. 
The  Carroll  Institute  is  a  Catholic  young 
men's  association  in  Washington,  D.  C,  the 
objects  of  which,  as  set  forth  in  this  pamphlet, 


are  improvement  in  literature,  the  encourage- 
ment of  education,  and  the  defence  of  Cath- 
olic faith  and  morals,  combined  with  the  pro- 
vision of  due  means  for  social  intercourse  and 
rational  amusement.  That  the.se  objects  have, 
one  and  all,  been  successfully  attained  is 
shown  by  the  report  of  the  Board  of  Direcu  rs 
What  pleases  us  in  particular  is  the  excellent 
programme  of  literary  exercises,  which  seems 
to  form  the  chief  feature  of  the  regular  weekly 
meetings.  To  spread  among  young  Catholics 
a  taste  for  good  reading,  and  excite  an  inter- 
est in  literary  topics,  is  a  noble  object  for  any 
institution,  and  one  which  is  too  often  lost 
sight  of. 

Gems  of  Catholic  Thought.   By  AnnaT. 
Sadlier.    New  York:    The  Cai hoi ic  Publication 
Society  Co.    London:  Burns  &  Oates. 
This  pretty  little  volume  consists  of  sayings 
of  eminent  Catholic  authors,  and  has  been 
compiled  to  refute  the  widespread  calumny 
that  Catholics  have  no  literature  of  their  own. 
Such  a  collection  as  this  can  not  aim  at  com- 
pleteness in  any  sense  of  the  word,  but  we 
think  that  Miss  Sadlier's  little  book  will  be 
found  valuable  both  by  Catholics  and  non- 
Catholics:  by  the  former  as  a  means  to  open 
their  eyes  to  the  rich  treasures  of  Catholic  lit- 
erature of  which  they  are  too  often  ignorant  or 
regardless,  and  by  the  latter  as  a  suggestion 
that  the  old  cry,  "Catholics  have  no  litera- 
ture," is  now  somewhat  out  of  date. 
* 

Verses  on  Doctrinal  and  Devotional 
Subjects.  Vol.  II.  By  the  Rev.  J.  Ca>ey  P.  P., 
Author  of  "Intempei-ance,"  "Our  Thirst  for 
Drink,  and  Other  Poems."  Dublin:  James  Duffy 
&  Sons. 

This  little  book  is  a  compilation  of  verses 
on  an  endless  variety  of  religious  subjects, 
and  bears  the  endorsement  of  several  bishops. 
While  we  can  not  help  thinking  that,  in  niany 
instances,  poetry  has  been  sacrificed  in  the 
interest  of  practical  illustrations,  we  highly 
commend  the  pious  zeal  which  has  prompted 
the  publication  of  the  book,  and  have  no  doubt 
it  will  excite  devotion  in  the  hearts  of  tin  se 
for  whom  it  was  written — viz  ,  children  in 
Catholic  schools  and  colleges. 

The   Destruction    of  the  World,  and 
Other    Poems.    By  John  J.  McGin      Boston  : 
Mudge  &  Son,  24  Franklin  Street. 
The   author  of  "The   Destruction  of  the 

World"  displays  considerable  poetic  talent. 


548 


The  Ave  Maria, 


From  the  many  pleasing  little  verses  scattered 
through  the  volume,  we  should  judge  him  to 
be  an  ardent  lover  of  Nature,  with  an  eye  for 
beauty  in  all  its  forms,  a  devoted  patriot,  and 
a  fervent  Catholic.  The  book  is  nicely  bound 
in  red  and  gold,  and  printed  on  excellent 
paper,  from  clear,  attractive  type. 


Obituary. 

**It  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons  lately  deceased  have 
been  commended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers : 

The  Rev.  Father  Sautois.  a  venerable  priest  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  whose  life  of  unwearied  labor 
for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  souls  was 
crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the  14th  ult.  He 
was  one  of  the  oldest  members  of  his  Order  in  the 
United  States. 

Rev.  Brother  Alexius,  who  yielded  his  soul  to 
God  on  the  5th  ult.,  in  Troy,  N.  Y. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Zita,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy 
Cross,  who  breathed  her  last  at  Park  City,  Utah, 
on  the  2ist  ult. 

Sister  Mary  Agnes,  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
whose  precious  death  occurred  at  Kingston,  Can- 
ada, on  the  31st  of  October. 

Mr.  John  J  Roe,  well  known  in  Ireland  and 
many  parts  of  the  United  States  as  a  devoted  friend 
and  benefactor  of  deaf-mutes,  who  departed  this 
life  on  the  3d  ult. ,  at  St.  Maty  s  Hospital,  Virginia 
City,  Cal. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wright,'an  exemplary  child  of 
Holy  Church,  who  passed  away  at  Burnsville, 
Ind.,  on  the  9th  of  October. 

Mr.  Thomas  J.  Kinney,  of  Broddock,  Pa.,  whose 
death,  after  a  long  illness,  took  place  in  Novem- 
ber. He  was  highly  respected  by  all  who  knew 
him 

Mrs.  Ellen  OKane  Murray,  deceased  in  Phila- 
delphia. She  was  a  woman  of  superior  mind,  and 
gifted  with  remarkable  faith  and  piety. 

Mr.  Bernard  Murphy,  who.  after  longsufTering, 
died  in  St.  Louis  on  the  23d  ult.,  fortified  by  the 
last  Sacraments. 

Mr.  John  Connors,  of  Chicago;   Mr.  John  Mc- 

Kenna  and  Mrs  Dorcey,  Boston;  Mrs.  Ellen 

Smiley,  Silex,  Mo.;  Mr.  David  Finley,  Mrs.  M. 
Finley,  Mrs.  Lizzie  Greenham.  and  Mr.  John  Mc- 
Elhinny,  San  Francisco;  Mr.  (ieorge  Hugfhes, 
Vallejo,Cal.;  Annie  Gallagher,  Chester,  Pa.  John 
R.  Reilly,  Philadelphia;  and  Mrs.  Maria  E.  Carey, 
New  York. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace 1 


PAfjTMENl 


The  Story  of  Little  IVIathiWe. 


BY    S.    H. 


Many  incidents  have  been  related  of  the 
stormy  period  of  1871,  when  the  Commune 
was  at  the  height  of  its  infamous  reign, 
and  the  evil  passions  of  hell  seemed  to  have 
been  set  loose  throughout  France.  Among 
the  numerous  episodes  it  was  my  fortune 
to  witness,  or  which  came  under  my  notice 
in  various  ways,  none  is  more  striking  than 
the  following  story,  true  in  every  particular, 
save  names  and  localities. 

At  this  time  there  lived  in  Paris,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Place  du  Chateau 
d '  Eau,  the  young  widow  of  a  civil  engineer, 
distinguished  during  life  for  his  talents  and 
probity,  and  revered  after  his  death  (which 
had  occurred  about  six  years  before)  for  the 
noble  and  stainless  record  he  had  left  be- 
hind him.  But  one  precious  souvenir  of 
this  happy  union  remained  to  the  desolate 
widow:  a  little  daughter.  Mathilde,  a  lovely 
child,  with  beautiful  features,  long  silken 
curls,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  mirror  at 
once  heaven's  azure  and  its  purity, so  sweet, 
so  clear,  so  frank  and  open  was  their  every 
expression. 

Mathilde  was  the  well-spring  of  her  moth- 
er's life;  without  her,  the  world  was  noth- 
ing; with  her,  hope  and  joy  revivified  the 
saddened  fountains  of  her  heart.  Possessed 
of  an  easy  competence,  until  the  terrible 
days  of  1871  dawned  on  Paris,  Madame 
Eiiennehad  little  to  fear  as  regarded  worldly 
fortune;  but  in  those  times,  that  tried  men's 
souls,  the  estimable  woman  was  too  sym- 
pathetic not  to  feel  their  terrors  with  every 
throb  of  her  sensitive  heart. 

The  last  days  of  the  sieo^e  were  fraught 
with  horrors;  all  who  could  do  so  remained 
shut  up  in  their  houses,  filled  with  incessant 


Tlie  Ave  Maria. 


549 


apprehension,  day  and  night.  The  Com- 
munists were  at  this  time  monarchs  of  the 
streets;  death  followed  their  footsteps,  and 
tfire  and  sword  were  the  heralds  of  their 
conquering  march.  The  Place  du  Chateau 
I'Kau  was  strongly  barricaded,  because  of 
the  beautiful  boulevards  in  the  vicinity; 
[and  the  widow  lived  in  fear  and  trembling, 
lest  some  stray  shot  might  pierce  the  win- 
^dows  of  her  apartment,  and  injure  or  kill 
her  little  daughter,  for  whose  safety  she 
was  always  alarmed.  Finally,  one  morning, 
after  a  sleepless  night,  passed  in  listening 
to  the  cries  of  the  Communists,  and  their 
incessant  clamor  as  they  worked  at  the 
barricades,  the  poor  woman  became  so  ner- 
vous that  she  was  unable  to  rise,  and,  ex- 
hausted by  fatigue  and  watching,  she  fell 
into  a  profound  sleep. 

Poor  little  Mathilde,  fearful  of  awaking 
her  mother,  stole  softly  to  the  window, 
which  opened  on  a  balcony,  and,  gently 
unbarring  the  shutters,  she  stepped  out  joy- 
ously into  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning.  In 
her  hand  she  held  a  toy  balloon,  which  re- 
bounded lightly  in  the  air,  while  vshe  ran 
hither  and  thither,  the  string  poised  be- 
tween her  fingers,  her  golden  hair  waving, 
her  blue  eyes  dancing  with  joy. 

At  that  moment  a  man,  passing  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  was  attracted  by  the 
actions  of  the  child,  and  paused  to  watch 
her  innocent  gambols.  She  was  so  frail,  so 
delicate,  so  lovely,  one  would  have  thought 
that  the  sight  of  her  must  have  calmed  the 
passions  of  an  almost  impenetrable  heart. 
Alas!  not  so.  To  the  demon,  who  stood 
looking  at  her  with  undisguised  hatred  in 
his  eyes,  she  was  the  embodiment  of  a  civ- 
ilization he  despised,  the  personification  of 
an  order  which  it  was  his  mission  to  de- 
stroy. 

How  can  I  relate  it?  He  seized  a  huge 
paving-stone  that  had  been  left  after  the 
erection  of  the  barricades,  and,  hurling  it 
with  all  his  might  at  the  child,  struck  her 
in  the  forehead,  and  she  fell  to  the  sidewalk. 
|Not  satisfied  with  his  fiendish  work,  the 
lan  crossed  over,  and,  flinging  the  stone 
ice  more  against  the  poor  little  headj^al- 


ready  crushed  and  bleeding,  he  went  his 
way. 

In  a  moment  the  neighborhood  was  all 
excitement.  The  unhappy  mother,  aroused 
from  slumber,  missed  her  little  daughter, 
and,  hastening  to  the  balcony,  soon  discov- 
ered what  had  happened.  In  an  instant  she 
was  on  the  pavement,  clasping  her  child  in 
her  arms,  but  in  what  a  state!  Let  us  pass 
over  the  agony  of  those  moments. 

Madame  Etienne  was  a  Christian,  and 
God  came  to  her  assistance.  When  her 
maternal  soul  would  rebel  against  the  cruel 
death  that  had  snatched  her  child  from  her 
arms,  the  thought  of  the  Crucified  One  was 
all  potent  to  console  her;  she  marvelled  at 
her  own  .resignation,  but  the  Lord  never 
forsakes  those  who  trust  in  Him,  and  He 
thus  rewarded  her  piety  and  charity.  Hence- 
forth she  lived  but  to  do  good,  in  the  hope 
of  rejoining  her  angel  child  in  heaven. 

Time  passed  on;  Paris  was  once  more 
restored  to  tranquillity.  Madame  Etienne 
had  early  removed  from  the  scene  of  her 
sorrow  to  another  quarter  of  the  city,  whence 
she  journeyed  during  the  Summer  to  pay 
some  visits  to  relatives  in  the  country.  On 
returning  home,  she  found  that  the  chim- 
ney of  her  apartment  smoked,  and  ordered 
the  concierge  to  send  for  a  mason  to  repair 
it.  She  afterwards  related  that  when  the 
man  came  into  her  presence  she  experienced 
a  feeling  of  repugnance  towards  him,  and  a 
shudder  ran  through  her  frame;  but  she 
accounted  for  this  by  his  sinister  and  for- 
bidding appearance.  He  also  seemed  ab- 
stracted and  almost  incapable  of  attending 
to  her  directions.  However,  as  the  concierge 
had  told  her  that  he  was  in  need,  and  a  good 
mechanic,  her  kind  heart  reasserted  itself, 
and  she  bade  him  go  on  with  his  work. 

A  few  moments  after  she  had  retired  to 
an  adjoining  room,  she  heard  a  loud  cry, 
and,  hurrying  to  the  scene,  found  the  ma- 
son prostrate  on  the  floor,  his  forehead  and 
skull  crushed,  and  his  brains  oozing  from  a 
ghastly  wound,  while  beside  him  lay  the 
instrument  of  destruction — a  huge  stone, 
which,  while  he  was  looking  upward  into 
the  chimney,  had  fallen  from  its  place  and 


SSo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


struck  him  on  the  head.  A  physician  was 
hastily  summoned,  as  also  the  wife  of  the 
unfortunate  man.  The  former  pronounced 
death  only  a  matter  of  a  few  hours,  at  most; 
and  when  the  woman  saw  what  had  be- 
fallen her  husband,  she  cried  out: 

"My  God!  my  God!  Thy  ways  are  just! 
Oh!  that  Thou  hast  made  his  death  the 
atonement  for  his  awful  crime!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Madame 
Btienne,  amazed  at  the  conduct  of  the  weep- 
ing wife. 

"Alas!"  said  she,  "during  the  last  days 
of  the  Commune, my  husband  was  mad  with 
rage  and  hatred  against  those  whom  he 
called  the  aristocrats — the  persecutors  of 
honest  men.  One  morning,  passing  along 
the  Place  du  Chateau  d'Eau,  he  saw  a  child 
playing  on  a  balcony.  He  flung  a  paving- 
stone  at  the  innocent  creature,  and  she  fell  to 
the  ground,  as  he  told  me  afterwards,  bleed- 
ing and  crushed.  Remorse  entered  his  soul ; 
from  that  time  he  has  never  known  a  mo- 
ment's peace.  Every  night  he  would  cry 
out  in  his  sleep,  and  would  imagine  that  a 
boulder  had  fallen  on  his  head.  Alas!  alas! 
my  God,  Thy  judgments  are  just!" 

Madame  Etienne  sank  into  a  chair,  as 
she  exclaimed : 

"Unhappy  wife,  unhappy  mother!  it  was 
my  child,  my  darling  Mathilde,  who  met 
her  death  at  the  hands  of  your  husband." 
Then  falling  on  her  knees,  she  cried  out. 
"O  God!  Thou  knowest  I  did  not  harbor 
revenge,  I  did  not  ask  for  retribution !  Grant 
forgiveness  to  this  unfortunate  man.  I  ask 
it  of  Thee  with  all  my  soul." 

For  an  hour  the  two  women  watched  be- 
side the  dying  man,  praying  and  weeping 
by  turns.  But  his  eyes  never  opened  again 
to  the  light  of  day.  Once  or  twice  the  eye- 
lids flickered,  as  though  responsive  to  the 
eager  solicitations  of  his  wife,  who  begged 
for  a  sign  of  recognition.  It  may  be,  how- 
ever, that  the  poor  soul,  fluttering  between 
life  and  death,  was  conscious  of  the  sup- 
plications offered  in  its  behalf;  God  alone 
knows.  It  passed  so  gradually  that  the 
watchers  did  not  know  the  end. 

Madame  Etienne  paid  the  funeral  ex- 


penses, and  found  employment  as  a  laun- 
dress for  the  widow;  and  to  this  day  (for  she 
still  lives,  and  I  have  known  her)  she  never 
fails  to  pray  fervently  for  the  murderer  of 
her  darling  Mathilde. 

Truly  the  arm  of  God  is  not  shortened, 
nor  have  all  the  heroines  of  charity  passed 
away.  Christians,  let  us  hope  on,  pray  on, 
work  on;  the  Lord  remembers  His  own,  and 
sustains  them  always;  the  darkest  hours 
of  suffering  and  sorrow  are  purified  and 
brightened  by  His  all- watchful  love  and 
care. 


The  Emperor  and  the  Minstrel. 


BY  L.    M. 


In  the  year  1273  the  feuds  which  had  so 
long  disturbed  Germany  came  to  an  end,  and 
Rudolf  I. ,  Count  of  Hapsburg,  was  elected 
Emperor.  A  touching  incident  occurred  at 
his  coronation. 

The  Emperor  was  presiding  at  the  feast 
given  in  honor  of  the  event  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  in  the  ancient  hall  of  the  castle. 
The  seven  electors  encircled  him,  each  anx- 
ious to  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  office.  The 
large  gallery  around  the  hall  was  filled  with 
courtiers  and  vassals,  whose  acclamations 
mingled  with  the  flourish  of  trumpets.  Lay- 
ing down  his  golden  cup,  the  Emperor 
exclaimed: 

' '  This  feast  is  indeed  a  bright  one,  and 
cheers  my  imperial  heart.  But  where  is  the 
minstrel?  I  miss  the  harmony  which  ever 
thrills  my  soul,  and  raises  my  thoughts  to 
Heaven;  I  miss  the  minstrel,  who  in  the 
days  of  my  youth  I  loved  to  hear  improvise, 
and  I  will  not  now  be  deprived  of  the  sweet 
influence  of  his  enchanting  strains. ' ' 

The  princes  made  way,  and  the  minstrel 
appeared  before  the  Emperor.  He  was  clad 
in  a  flowing  robe.  Age  had  whitened  his 
hair,  which  encircled  his  brow  like  a  silver 
crown.  Sweet  harmonies  slept  in  the  chords 
of  his  lyre.  "O  tell  me!"  he  exclaimed, 
' '  what  I  can  sing,  on  a  day  of  such  solem- 
nity, that  would  be  worthy  of  the  great 
Emperor  whom  we  wish  to  exalt!"  j 


f%e  Ave  Maria. 


551 


"It  is  not  my  province,"  replied  the 
onarch,  smiling,  "to  command  the  min- 
trel ;  he  has  to  obey  One  greater  than  I, 
nd  to  answer  to  the  spirit  that  moves  him. 
ike  unto  the  spring  which  rises  from  the 
epths  of  the  earth,  the  minstrel's  song 
omes  from  his  inmost  soul,  and  awakens 
ithin  us  most  sweet  thoughts." 
Taking  up  his  lyre,  the  minstrel,  in  a 
werful  voice,  began  his  improvisation. 
"A  noble  lord,  on  a  fiery  steed,  started  to 
hunt  the  wild  deer,  followed  by  his  serving*- 
man  and  dogs.  Borne  out  of  the  forest  by 
his  horse,  the  count  came  to  a  meadow, 
when  the  sound  of  a  bell  struck  on  his  ear. 
He  listened;  then,  dismounting,  knelt  on  the 
ground,  humbly  bowing  his  head,  the  bell 
having  warned  him  that  the  priest  whom  he 
saw  coming  was  bearing  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment. The  noble  huntsman,  full  of  faith, 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  to  render  hom- 
age to  Him  who  redeemed  the  world,  and 
in  His  mercy  dwelleth  among  men.  Now, 
the  stream  which  ran  through  the  meadow 
had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  rose  like  a 
barrier  before  the  priest.  But  he  did  not 
hesitate;  taking  off  his  shoes,  he  prepared 
to  cross  the  brook. 

"  '  What  are  you  going  to  do.  Father! '  " 
;  cried  the  count.  'My  lord,' replied  the 
i  priest,  '  a  dying  man  is  waiting  to  receive 
the  Viaticum ;  the  rivulet  has  become  as  a 
torrent,  but  it  must  not  stop  me,  or  deprive 
the  sick  man  of  the  Heavenly  Food. '  *  Nay, 
good  Father,  the  waters  shall  not  stay  you, ' 
answered  the  count;  'I  pray  you  take  my 
horse;  it  will  carry  you  safely  across  the 
stream. '  Thus  speaking,  he  helps  the  priest 
to  mount  his  richly  caparisoned  steed,  and, 
again  kneeling  on  the  ground,  watches  the 
religious  cross  the  water.  Then,  spring- 
ing on  the  horse  of  his  serving- man,  he 
drives  into  the  forest.  The  next  day  the 
priest  (not  riding  now,  but  leading  the 
horse,)  appeared  at  the  castle  gate.  'God 
forbid,'  cried  the  count,  when  he  heard  of 
his  arrival,  'that  I  should  henceforth  ride 
the  horse  which  has  carried  my  Cieator!  I, 
his  master,  have  offered  him  to  my  Master. 
Has  not  God  given  me  all  I  have?'    'May 


God,  who  is  alm'ighty, '  answered  the  priest, 
'listen  to  my  poor  prayers,  and  give  you 
glory  in  return  for  the  homage  you  have 
paid  Him!  You  are  a  powerful  lord;  your 
name  is  famous  in  all  Switzerland;  your 
home  is  adorned  with  seven  daughters; 
may  you  possess  seven  crowns  in  your 
house,  and  may  your  glory  extend  to  the 
last  of  your  descendants! '  " 

The  minstrel  ceased. 

With  head  bent  low,  the  Emperor  seemed 

lost  in  thought,  as  if  calling  back  memories 

of  the  past.    Then,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the 

minstrel,  he  sees  the  meaning  of  his  song. 

Tears  flow  down  his  cheeks,  and  fall  on  the 

purple  robe.    Every  eye  is  fixed  upon  him. 

The  vast  assembly  now  interprets  the  song, 

and  beholds   in   the   Emperor  the   noble 

huntsman,  and  in  the  minstrel  the  holy 

priest. 

»  ♦  ♦ 

How  a  Priest  Took  Revenge. 

BY  C.  A.  J. 

At  a  railway  station  in  France  two  priests 
stood  in  the  crowd,  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  train.  Their  modest,  dignified  appear- 
ance commanded  the  respect  of  all,  with 
the  exception  of  some  disorderly  young 
men,  who  persisted  in  annoying  them  by 
their  coarse  remarks  and  rude  jokes.  They 
kept  up  their  insolent  behavior  for  some 
time  without  receiving  any  attention  from 
the  priests,  and  at  length  began  to  indulge 
in  the  coarsest  of  insults.  Suddenly  an  old 
man  advanced  from  the  crowd,  and  con- 
fronted the  youths,  speaking  in  a  strong, 
firm  voice.  "Stand  back!  You  insult  me 
when  you  insult  these  men,  and,  for  my 
part,  I  shall  not  put  up  with  it."  The  young 
men,  surprised  and  overawed  by  the  com- 
manding appearance  of  the  speaker,  mut- 
'tered  some  words,  and  slunk  away.  The 
train  soon  arrived,  and  all  took  their  places. 

To  a  fellow-traveller,  who  had  questioned 
him,  the  old  man  related  the  following  in- 
cident: 

"Some  fifty  years  ago  I  acted  as  travel- 
ling agent  for  a  well-known  firm  in  Paris, 


S52 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  passed  the  greater  part  of  my  time  on 
the  road  between  that  city  and  Toulouse. 
At  that  time  I  was  just  like  those  young 
men  whom  you  saw  me  rebuke — lively,  friv- 
olous, and  without  thought  of  religion,  or 
respect  for  its  ministers.  On  one  occasion 
I  was  riding  with  three  other  agents — inti- 
mate friends  of  mine — in  the  stage  from 
Paris  to  Limoges.  Among  the  other  travel- 
lers was  a  poor  priest,  whom  for  two  days 
we  unceasingly  tormented  with  our  rude 
jokes.  At  length  we  arrived  at  a  town, 
where  we  were  all  obliged  to  put  up  for  the 
night  in  the  same  hotel.  Myself  and  friends 
were  assigned  a  large  room  on  the  top  story. 
We  were  all  fast  asleep,  when,  about  two 
hours  after  midnight,  we  were  suddenly 
aroused  by  loud  cries  of  *Fire!  fire!'  The 
flames  seemed  to  jievour  the  old  rookery  of 
a  hotel,  and  the  din  and  confusion  were  ter- 
rible. In  rushing  from  the  room,  I  stumbled 
over  one  of  our  boxes,  and  fell, breaking  my 
leg  just  above  the  ankle.  I  cried  out  to  my 
friends  to  help  me,  and  not  leave  me  to  per- 
ish in  the  flames.  One  of  them  stopped  just 
long  enough  to  say  that  the  stairs  were  burn- 
ing, and  they  could  only  save  themselves, 
and  then  disappeared. 

"I  could  see  the  flames  surrounding  the 
room;  the  stiff"  curtains  fluttered  above  my 
head;  burning  embers  came  flying  in  every 
direction,  and  the  fire  was  fast  approaching 
me.  I  dragged  myself  to  the  door,  calling 
loudly  for  help;  but  saw  nothing  before  me, 
save  a  burning,  seething  furnace.  Outside, 
the  bells  were  clanging  from  the  church 
steeples,  the  people  were  shouting,  and  the 
burning  timbers  of  the  building,  as  they 
crackled  and  crashed,  made  a  terrible  noise. 
I  felt  that  death  was  near  me.  As  the  win- 
dow-frames disappeared  in  the  flames,  I 
could  hear  the  cries  from  below:  'Come 
back!  He'll  slip  and  be  killed!  He  is  lost! 
He's  a  fool!  The  firemen  will  not  follow 
him!' 

''Suddenly  through  the  burning  window 
a  man  bounded  into  the  room,  black  with 
smoke,  his  clothes  torn  to  shreds,  his  head 
bruised  and  bleeding.  He  looked  quickly 
around  him,  and,  despite  the  smoke,  dis- 


tinguished my  motionless  body.  To  lift'me 
in  his  arms,  place  me  on  his  back,  and  take 
hold  of  a  rope  was  all  the  work  of  an  in- 
stant. I  recognized  the  priest,  and  then 
lost  consciousness. 

''When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  lying  on 
a  pile  of  straw  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  and 
a  surgeon  was  attending  to  me,  while  an 
anxious  crowd  looked  on.  From  scraps  of 
conversation,  I  gathered  what  had  taken 
place.  Several  lives  had  been  lost,  and  many 
were  injured.  The  priest  had  shown  him- 
self a  hero.  Before  the  terrified  gaze  of 
thousands  of  men,  he  had  climbed  to  the 
roof  of  the  burning  building,  and  saved  the 
life  of  his  persecutor.  But  he  had  been  hor- 
ribly burned,  and  was  now  enduring  the 
most  terrible  tortures  in  the  hospital  near 
by. 

**As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  walk,  I  went  to 
the  bedside  of  the  suffering  priest.  I  stood 
for  a  long  time,  unable  to  speak,  until  at 
length  I  found  voice  to  say :  '  Father,  par- 
don me;  my  friends  abandoned  me,  and 
you  saved  me.'  Pointing  to  the  crucifix 
near  his  bedside,  the  good  priest  murmured: 
'  "Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive 
those  who  trespass  against  us. "  ' 

' '  You  can  understand  now  why  I  took 
the  part  of  those  priests  at  the  depot  a  short 
time  ago. ' ' 


Every  night  you  undress  is  a  symbol  of 
your  death.  You  put  off"  your  clothes  and 
enter  into  peace,  for  the  most  part;  and  so  it 
will  be  with  death.  We  put  off  our  shrouds, 
which  bear  us  down,  and  which  can  not 
enter  the  true  rest. — Gen.  Gordon. 


Hearts  good  and  true 

Have  wishes  few, 
'In  narrow  circles  bounded; 

And  hope  that  lives 

On  what  Grd  gives 
Is  Christian  hope  well  founded. 

Small  things  are  best: 

Grief  and  unrest 
To  wealth  and  rank  are  given; 

For  little  things 

On  little  wings 
Bear  humble  souls  to  heaven. 


OL.  XXIII.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  ii,  1886.  No.  24. 


COopyiicht  >— Bbt.  D.  E.  HmnoB,  C.  S.  C] 


The  Better  Part. 

FROM    THE   FRENCH    OF    S.  F.,  C.  S.  C,  BY    M.  E.  M. 

T  OVERS  of  things  celestial,  even  now, 
^  Monks  full  of  faith,  ecstasy  on  your  brow. 
Drinking  long  draughts  as  steadily  ye  plod, 
From  the  Book,  wisdom;  from  the  Chalice, 

God. 
Restless  we  moan,  weighed  down  with  sombre 

care. 
Unknown   the  calm,  the  sweet  delights  of 

prayer; 
Plucking  the  bitter  fruits  of  love  in  sin, 
While  our  sad  hearts  bleed  silently  within. 
You  smile  and  sing,  your  trembling  voices  rise 
In  sacred  harmonies  that  pierce  the'skies; 
The  heavens  are  parted,  stilled  are  all  earth's 

sighs: 

You  see  Jesus — monk,  angel,  both  in  one — 
But  we  with  senses  blunted,  souls  undone. 
Bewail  our  pleasures,  faded  ere  begun. 


The 


Catholic  D'ctionary' 
Brown  Scapular. 


and  the 


HE  current  number  of  T/ie  Month 
opens  with  an  able  article  on  the 
Brown  Scapular,  from  the  pen  of 
the  editor,  the  Rev.  Father  Clarke,  SJ. 
The  occasion  of  it  is  a  regrettable  article 
ion  the  same  subject  in  the  "Catholic  Dic- 
Itionary,"  a  learned  and  useful  work,  which 
las  just  passed  to  a  third  edition.  The  un- 
fortunate production  caused  surprise  and 
egret  wherever  it  was  read;   but  as  the 


Dictionary  supplied  a  want  long  felt  by 
English-speaking  Catholics,  and  as  a  whole 
was  deserving  of  praise,  the  passage  in 
question  was  allowed  to  pass  without  the 
censure  it  so  richly  deserved,  and  which, 
for  our  part,  we  are  now  sorry  to  have  with- 
held. Having  published  a  favorable  notice 
of  the  Dictionary,  recommending  it  as  a 
work  calculated  to  do  good  service  to  the 
Catholic  cause,  we  took  care  to  lay  before 
our  readers  a  full  and  exact  account  of  the 
devotion  of  the  Brown  Scapular,  as  an  offset 
to  the  article  in  the  Dictionary,  to  which, 
however,  for  the  reason  immediately  to  be 
stated,  we  thought  it  better  to  make  no 
reference. 

The  attention  of  the  authors  of  the  Dic- 
tionary was  called  to  their  oflfensive  writing; 
they  were  informed  that  the  work  on  which 
they  had  based  their  arguments  against  the 
devotion  of  the  Scapular  as  understood  and 
practised  by  the  faithful,  was  penned  by  a 
disloyal  Catholic,  a  bitter  opponent  of  the 
Holy  See,  and  a  defamer  of  the  Religious 
Orders.  We  supposed  that  this  would  be 
sufficient  to  cause  the  suppression  of  the 
scandalous  article  when  a  new  edition  of 
the  Dictionary  should  be  called  for.  We 
have  been  disappointed:  a  third  "revised" 
edition  of  the  work  is  now  being  advertised 
in  London,  and  the  notice  of  the  Scap- 
ular appears  as  it  was  originally  written. 
Furthermore,  one  of  the  authors,  in  a  letter 
addressed  to  the  Tablet,  has  had  the  ef- 
frontery to  attempt  a  defence— if  it  can  be 
called  such — of  his  disgraceful  production. 


S54 


Tlie  Ave  Maria, 


Silence,  then,  is  no  longer  golden;  on  the 
contrary,  we  think  it  high  time  for  the  Cath- 
olic public  to  protest  against  this  attack  on 
a  cherished  devotion,  and  for  the  Catholic 
press  to  call  for  the  suppression  of  an  article 
which,  as  Father  Clarke  observes,  is ' '  likely 
to  be  very  mischievous  to  the  ignorant 
and  ill-informed,  and  to  disgust  all  well- 
informed  and  loyal  Catholics,  and  all  faith- 
ful servants  of  Mary  and  lovers  of  Truth." 

The  "Ave  Maria"  is  intended  chiefly 
for  perusal  in  Catholic  families;  the  discus- 
sion of  mooted  points  of  theology,  ecclesi- 
astical history,  canon  law,  etc.,  is  altogether 
outside  its  province;  it  is  published  for  the 
people,  and  we  are  convinced  that  very  few 
of  our  numerous  readers  are  interested  in 
foggy  disputations  on  subjects  concerning 
which  savants  are  constantly  wrangling. 
But  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  a  slur  is 
cast  upon  a  devotion  specially  dear  to  the 
children  of  Mary, — a  devotion  universally 
practised  by  Catholics, — a  devotion  repeat- 
edly approved  by  the  Holy  See,  we  should  be 
recreant  to  what  we  consider  our  bounden 
duty  to  remain  silent,  all  the  more  so  from 
the  fact  that  the  very  object  of  our  little 
magazine  is  to  honor  the  Mother  of  God. 
And  we  are  sure  that  this  subject  will  deeply 
interest  our  readers. 

The  object  of  the  reverend  editor  of  The 
Month  in  writing  his  excellent  article  was 
to  show  (i.)  that  the  arguments  adduced  in 
the  '* Catholic  Dictionary"  to  discredit  the 
supernatural  origin  of  the  Brown  Scapular 
are  groundless.  (2.)  That  there  exists  evi- 
dence sufiicient,  and  more  than  sufficient,  to 
prove  the  fact  of  the  apparition  to  St.  Simon 
Stock.  (3  )  That  in  a  matter  concerning  the 
honor  of  a  great  religious  order,  and  a  devo- 
tion dear  to  the  faithful  everywhere,  it  is  very 
unseemly  that  a  Catholic  author  should  take 
as  his  authority  a  book  condemned  by  the 
Holy  See,  the  production  of  an  unscrupulous 
writer,  disloyal  to  the  Church  and  opposed 
to  the  Religious  Orders.  That  these  points 
are  we  11  established  no  unprejudiced  reader 
can  for  a  moment  deny.  The  arguments 
employed  are  entirely  conclusive;  the  evi- 
dence brought  to  bear  can  not  be  rejected; 


and  I<aunoy  is  proved  a  notorious  defamer 
of  the  Religious  Orders,  and  an  enemy  of 
Rome  and  of  religion.  Furthermore,  it  is 
shown  that  the  very  work  on  which  the 
author  of  the  ''Catholic  Dictionary"  has 
based  his  arguments  against  the  supernatu- 
ral origin  of  the  Scapular  has  been  on  the 
Index  of  Prohibited  Books  for  two  hundred 
years. 

Instead  of  expressing  regret  for  his  unfor- 
tunate production,  and  promising  to  with- 
draw it  from  the  next  edition  of  his  work, 
as  we  had  a  right  to  expect  of  him,  the 
author  of  the  "Catholic  Dictionary,"  on 
reading  the  protest  of  The  Month^  makes 
matters  worse  by  publishing  in  the  Tablet  a 
rejoinder,  in  which  he  reiterates  the  argu- 
ments of  his  original  article,  and  says  in  ex- 
cuse for  relying  on  the  authority  of  Launoy 
that  he  regards  him  "as  a  man  of  extraor- 
dinary learning."  Moreover,  he  reminds 
the  editor  of  The  Month  that  the  Dictionary 
bears  the  imprimatur  of  the  highest  eccle- 
siastical authority  in  England.  This  is  sub- 
terfuge. He  himself  ought  to  remember 
that  Cardinal  Manning's  approbation  could 
extend  only  to  what  is  good  in  the  work; 
nor  should  he  consider  it  necessary  to  wait 
until  formal  disapproval  is  expressed  of  the 
account  given  of  the  Scapular  before  eras- 
ing it  from  the  pages  of  the  Dictionary. 

The  sentiment  of  the  Catholic  public  has 
already  condemned  the  article,  and  it  is 
needless  to  remark  that  it  would  never  have 
been  printed  had  the  censor  depiitatits  dis- 
covered it  in  time.  It  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  MSS.  submitted  for  the  approbation  of 
ordinaries  will  be  read  through  and  through 
before  such  recommendation  is  granted; 
hence  the  necessity  of  ability  and  learning, 
sound  faith,  and  the  instinct  that  comes  of 
it,  in  those  who  undertake  to  prepare  works 
like  the  "Catholic  Dictionary,"  which 
sooner  or  later  are  sure  to  find  their  way  into 
the  hands  of  Protestants  as  well  as  Cath- 
olics, and  to  which  those  ill  informed  will 
turn  for  authoritative  statements  of  Catholic 
doctrine,  and  for  full  and  exact  information 
concerning  the  ceremonies,  councils,  rites, 
discipline,  etc. ,  of  Holy  Church. 


The  Ave  Mm'ia, 


555 


In  reasserting  the  honor  due  to  the  holy 

Scapular,  as  a  gift  from  Our  Blessed  Lady's 

fewn  hands,  carrying  with  it  privileges  al- 

■nost  miraculous  to  those  who  wear  it  as  a 

fcledge  of  their  devotion  to  Her,  we  can  not 

refrain  from  quoting  two  passages  from  Fa- 

her  Clarke's  article, — an  article  creditable 

dike  to  his  scholarship,  his  faith,  and  his 

ievotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

'HVe  do  not  believe  that  there  is  any 
practical  danger  of  Catholics  placing  any 
indue  confidence  in  the  efficacy  of  the  Scap- 
ular. We  certainly  have  never  encountered 
an  instance.  The  tendency  is  quite  the 
other  way.  One  of  the  strongest  practical 
arguments  in  favor  of  the  privilege  attach- 
ing to  it  is  that  a  continuance  in  sin  almost 
always  carries  with  it  the  voluntary  or  in- 
voluntary abandonment  of  the  Scapular. 
We  could  quote  instances  without  number 
which  have  come  under  our  own  expe- 
rience. Often  a  Catholic  who  intends  to 
commit  mortal  sin  will  deliberately  take  off 
his  Scapular.  Bad  he  may  be,  but  not  so 
bad  as  to  insult  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  by 
wearing  Her  uniform  while  he  is  outraging 
Her  Divine  Son.  More  often  the  indifference 
to  holy  things  which  is  one  of  the  effects 
of  sin  will  make  him  careless,  and  one  day 
he  will  forget  or  neglect  to  resume  it  after 
it  has  been  taken  off.  Somehow  or  other — 
and  many  of  my  readers  will  confirm  the 
truth  of  what  I  am  saying  from  their  own 
knowledge — the  abandonment  of  the  Scap- 
ular is  one  of  the  most  certain  signs  which 
iccompanies  wilful  persistency  in  wrong- 
^doing,  and  a  determined  resistance  to  the 
ace  of  God. 

*'A11  over  the  world  the  Brown  Scapular 
not  only  a  popular  but  a  universal  devo- 
on.  Not  only  is  it  dear  to  the  faithful,  but 
eir  confidence  in  it  is  unlimited.  They 
ccept  it  as  the  gift  of  Mary.  Bishops  rec- 
mmend  it  to  their  dioceses,  missioners 
reach  it,  priests  explain  it,  catechists  in- 
istruct  the  children  under  their  care  respect- 
ing it:  one  and  all,  they  give  the  same 
account  of  it;  one  and  all,  they  profess  and 
inculcate  their  a'bsolute  confidence  in  its 
celestial  origin;  one  and  all,  they  confirm 


by  their  own  experience  the  truth  of  the 
promise  made — that  none  wearing  it  fails 
to  die  well ;  one  and  all  bear  testimony  that 
the  hardened  sinner,  sooner  or  later,  loses  or 
throws  off  his  Scapular.  Securus  judical  or- 
bis  terrarum.  In  spite  of  the  attacks  made 
upon  it  by  Galileans  and  other  enemies  of 
the  Holy  See, — in  spite  of  the  insinuations 
of  the  'Catholic  Dictionary,'  this  absolute 
reliance  remains,  and  will  ever  remain,  in- 
eradicably  fixed  in  the  hearts  of  the  faith- 
ful children  of  Holy  Church.  What  the  Ec- 
clesia  docens  teaches  in  every  country  and 
every  age,  what  the  Ecclesia  discens  accepts 
and  approves,  what  Catholic  instinct — the 
unfailing  touchstone  of  truth  in  things  spir- 
itual— pronounces  to  be  in  accordance  with 
the  ways  of  God's  Providence,  and  what  an 
ever-increasing  experience  confirms  and  rat- 
ifies, can  not  be  rejected  without  the  great- 
est peril,  except  where  invincible  ignorance 


excuses. 


The  Aspiring  Sheplierds. 


A  Kerry  Legend. 


BY  T.  F.  GAI.WEY. 


II. 

THE  Rebellion  had  been  quenched  in 
blood  the  year  before,  but  peace  was  still 
far  from  being  re-established.  Many  of  the 
''boys"  (as  the  people  sympathetically 
called  the  insurgents)  were  still  "out,"  and 
scarcely  a  week  went  by  that  a  detachment 
of  the  hated  yeomanry  did  not  come  into 
Tralee  with  some  of  these  young  men  as 
prisoners  to  be  kept  for  trial  at  the  next  as- 
size. 

There  was  in  Kerry  scarcely  a  decent 
family  of  the  old  Irish  that  had  not  one  rep- 
resentative, at  least,  either  already  hanged 
or  transported,  or  in  danger  of  such  a  fate. 
There  was  little  gayety,  therefore,  among 
this  naturally  gay  people.  But  even  when 
minds  are  greatly  wrought  up.  and  the  coun- 
try is  sorely  disturbed,  there  must  be  eating 
and  drinking,  and,  consequently,  buying 
and  selling. 


It  was  Lady  Day,  and  the  an- 


556 


The  Ave  Maria, 


nual  fair  was  to  open  this  day  at  Tralee. 
The  commodities  chiefly  dealt  in  at  the 
Tralee  fair  were  horses,  catt'e,  sheep,  and 
pig's,  woolen  and  linen  cloths,  iron-  mongery, 
del  ft,  and  tob  icco,  with  all  the  odds  and  ends 
which  a  country  so  poor  as  that  portion  of 
Ireland  was  at  that  period  could  be  expected 
to  produce  or  to  purchase. 

The  generality  of  the  people  in  the  streets 
and  around  the  booths  on  the  common  were 
talking  Gaelic  when  among  their  own  kin 
or  neighbors;  but  there  were  traders  from 
Waterford,  Clare,  and  even  from  Gal  way; 
and  when  a  mixed  gathering  broke  into 
conversation,  English  was  often  preferred 
as  a  medium,  because  of  the  difficulty  which 
many  found  in  understanding  one  another's 
dialects  of  Gaelic.  There  was  even  a  per- 
son from  Dublin,  who  attracted  much  atten- 
tion. His  clothes  were  in  the  English  style, 
and  he  wore  his  hair  done  up  in  a  qiieue^ 
which  hung  gracefully  down  the  centre  of 
his  back.  He  spoke  the  beautiful  Dublin 
English,  and  seemed  proud  that  he  could 
not  understand  the  *'ja-argon,"  as  he  called 
the  ancient  language  of  his  own  race  and 
country.  He  was  said  to  be,  or  rather  he 
called  himself,  Mr.  John  Murphy,  woolen- 
draper,  and  he  had  the  best  lodging  at  Mrs. 
Houlahan's  inn. 

Mr.  Murphy  was  sitting  at  a  little  table 
by  himself  in  the  small  common-room  of 
the  inn,  eating  his  breakfast,  consisting  of 
a  rasher  of  bacon  and  a  cup  of  "tay,"  with 
a  dash  of  "poteen"  in  the  tea.  He  was 
a  large,  well-fed  man,  and  as  he  extended 
his  legs  under  the  table,  and  nourished  him- 
self at  his  ease,  he  had  all  the  airs  of  what 
the  starvelings  around  him  would  call  a 
**comfortab^e  man."  The  Widow  Houla- 
han,  whose  head  scarcely  reached  above  the 
bar  behind  which  she  was  arranging  the 
bottles  of  various  sorts  of  spirits,  was  keep- 
ing her  eye  on  Mr.  Marphy,  though  that 
individual  appeared  entirely  unconscious  of 
her  scrutiny. 

Just  behind  him  was  a  low-seated  window 
looking  out  on  a  side  street;  and  through 
that  window,  if  he  turned  around  far 
enough,  and  through  the  door  on  his  left. 


which  opened  into  the  high-road,  if  he 
turned  but  a  little,  Mr.  Murphy  could  have 
a  view  of  the  throngs  which  were  already 
pressing  about  for  the  fun  and  the  business 
of  the  fair. 

''Mrs.  Houlahan!"  said  Mr.  Murphy. 

"Sir!"  responded  the  landlady. 

"This  is  foine  tay  you  provide  for  me." 

"It's  thebestBohay,  sir,"  said  she;  "but 
it's  little  I  know  fat  you  mane  by  sayin'  I 
'perwide'  it.  It's  bart  it  I  did  av  Lanty 
Soolivan',  an'  I  have  the  proofs  av  what  I'm 
sayin'  if  I  was  to  be  shot  by  the  yeomen 
this  day." 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Houlahan,  it's  aisy  to  be  seen 
you've  not  yet  acquired  the  more  elegant 
stoile  of  English.  I  meant  to  say  that  the 
tay  is  good  that  you  have  put  before  me. 
But  to  change  the  subject,  I  understand 
the  boys  of  Kerry  are  still  bound  to  have 
their  own. ' ' 

"Are  you  afther  knowin'  anny  o'  thim?" 
was  the  cautious  form  of  response. 

"And  how  should  I  know  any  of  them, 
and  I  a  stranger  here?"  said  Mr.  Murphy. 
"But  I  don't  moind  telling  you^^  (and  he 
emphasized  the  "you,"  and  looked  slowly 
about,  as  if  desirous  not  to  be  heard  by  any 
one  but  the  widow, )  "  I  have  a  dale  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  cause;  and  from  my  business 
standing  in  Dublin  I  might  be  of  assistance 
at  the  Castle  to  some  of  the  boys,  if  I  could 
know  where  to  foind  them." 

"  Yerra,  thin,  but  it  ud  be  hard  to  find 
thim.  They're  as  keen  as  foxes,  so  they 
are,  an'  as  dumb  as  oxes;  an'  there  is  a  song 
here  — 

"  '  I'd  sooner  be  hung  or  be  nailed  to  a  tree 
Than  have  an  informer  in  my  family.'  " 

"I  don't  blame  them  for  their  caution, 
Mrs.  Houlahan,"  said  he;  "for  there  must 
be  many  informers,  as  there  is  so  much 
money  to  earn  by  informing." 

"Musha,  thin,  an'  I  don't  know,"  Mrs. 
Houlahan  answered.  "There  are  not  so 
manny,  considherin'  how  much  there  is  to 
earn,  an'  how  manny  a  poor  man  there  is 
could  earn  it,  if  he  liked." 

Here  Mr.  INIurphy  dropped  his  efforts  to 
be  social  with  the  landlady,  and  quietly  di- 


r 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


557 


rected  his  attention  to  a  "horsy"  looking 
party  who  entered  from  the  high-road,  and 
were  placing  themselves  at  a  table  near  the 
door.  The  widow  was  wiping  the  table  for 
them  with  the  width  of  her  apron. 

'*  God  save  all  here,  Mrs.  Houlahan!"  was 
their  greeting. 

''God  save  }e  kindly,  ihin,"  was  the 
landlady's  return;  ''an'  how  are  ye  all?" 

''Thanks  be  to  God  ^e  are  all  well,  as 
you  see,"  replied  the  most  chatty  of  these 
men,  who  were  horse-dealers  from  the' 
County  Limerick,  and,  in  spite  of  their 
rather  tricky  profession,  were  as  clean - 
minded  and  honest,  if  shrewd,  fellows  as 
ever  loved  a  good  animal.  The  speaker  was 
Murty  Hayes.  "Airs.  Houlahan,"  said  he, 
"will  you  be  givin'  us  a  noggin  apiece?" 

"Indeed  an'  1  will  so.  An'  how  manny 
o'  ye  have  come  from  Askeaton?" 

"We  three,"  replied  Murty,  indicating 
his  two  companions  and  himself.  "What's 
\}[\2Xgamach  doin'  there,  Mrs.  Houlahan?" 
he  asked,  pointing  to  a  young  mountaineer, 
the  greater  part  of  whose  body  was  thrust 
into  the  window  of  the  side  street,  and  whose 
eyes  were  peering  curiously  around  the  in- 
terior, examining  every  object  of  furniture, 
but  seemingly  most  interested  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Murphy,  upon  whose  qiteiie 
his  gaze  finally  became  riveted. 

"How do  I  know, sure?"  said  Mrs.  Hou- 
lahan, as  she  looked  benevolently  at  the 
strange  figure,  which  was  no  other  than 
iFinan.  She  invited  him  in  in  Gat-lic:  Tair 
\an' s  teach,  a  mhic^ — "come  in,  my  son." 

At  the  sound  of  the  Gaelic,  Finan  merely 
jfrowned,  and, while  listening  to  the  English 
conversation  of  the  traders,  continued  to 
;can  the  Dublin  man,  who  had  now  tw'sted 
iround  in  his  chair,  and  was  examining  the 
hepherd  in  turn. 

I  "As  I  was  goin'  to  say,"  resumed  Mrs. 
jloulahan,  placing  the  noggins  of  liquor 
n  the  table  before  the  traders,  "I  tart  it's 
liore  there' d  be  of  ye,  but  it  seems  there's 
o  one  kem  wid  ye  from  Askeaton  but }  our- 
ilves." 

"That's  it,"  replied  Murty,  divining  the 
luse of  the  woman's  curiosity,  b u t  disposed 


to  tease  her  before  gratifying  it;  "none  but 
ourselves — just  we  three." 

With  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  muttering 
something  over  and  over  to  himself,  Finan 
withdrew  from  the  window  and  disappeared. 

Mr.  Murphy  began  to  be  uneasy.  He 
gulped  down  the  remainder  of  his  breakfast. 
"That's  a  strange  character,  Mrs.  Houla- 
han, ' '  he  said,  motioning  with  his  head  tow- 
ards the  now  unobstructed  window.  "Do 
you  know  him?" 

"Faith  an'  I  do  nat,"  was  the  landlady's 
reply.  "I  suppose  he's  one  of  the  moun- 
tainy  b'ys.  But,  Conn,"  said  she  to  another 
of  the  traders,  "Murty's  as  close-mouthed 
as  an  iseter.  Do  you  be  tellin'  me  fy  Gar- 
ret's not  come  wid  ye  from  Askeaton." 

"Yerra," woman,"  Conn  answered,  "sure 
there's  a  weddin'  this  day  at  Askeaton 
that'll  kape  him  from  comin'." 

"A  weddin'!  An'  who's  to  be  married?" 

"An'  who  but  himself!  He's  to  marry 
Nora  McCarthy,  no  less." 

"Oh,  aye!"  said  the  landlady.  "Musha, 
thin,  but  it's  quare  goin's  on  there  is,  sure 
enough,  at  Askeaton.  An'  fat's  she  goin' 
to  marry  Garret  Fitzgerald  for? — the  likes 
o'him!" 

"For  his  money,"  answered  the  third  of 
the  traders. 

Mr.  Murphy,  who  was  just  finishing  his 
cup,  became  very  fidgety  now;  for  another 
strange  face  was  at  the  window,  close  to 
his  shoulder.    It  was  Cahal. 

"Don't  mind  the  b'y,"  Mrs.  Houlahan 
Slid,  somewhat  annoyed,  nevertheless,  at 
the  interruption  to  the  interesting  theme  of 
a  marriage.  "For  his  money,  you  say?" 
she  resumed,  turning  towards  the  three 
traders. 

"For  his  money,"  they  repeated  all  to- 
gether. 

Cahal,  with  a  triumphant  look,  vanished. 

"Well,  my  fine  fellows,"  said  Mrs.  Hou- 
lahan, "weddin'  or  no  weddin',  it's  a  bad 
fall  ye' 11  be  havin'  from  those  Waterford 
cattle  min.  I'm  told. there's  a  dozen  o'  t' 
in  town  now,  an'  more  to  come."         , 

Another  strange  face  presented  \liui. 
the  window — Donal  this  time. 


C^/l 


'^iM 


iO. 


558 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


'*The  divil  a  care  we  care! "  was  the  dis- 
dainful answer  of  Murty  Hayes;  a  senti- 
ment in  which  his  companions  agreed,  each 
in  his  turn  repeating, "  The  divil  a  care  we 
care!" 

Donal  glanced  quickly  around  the  room 
and  was  gone  like  a  flash.  Mr.  Murphy 
evidently  could  stand  this  no  longer.  He 
rose  from  his  chair  and  walked  rapidly  out 
of  the  door  into  the  street,  and  was  lost  to 
view  amid  the  passing  crowds. 

''Who's  that,  Mrs.  Houlahan?"  asked 
Murty. 

"He's  a  Misther  John  Murphy,  of  Dub- 
lin,a  woolen-draper — so  he  says.  But,"  and 
she  moved  close  to  the  table,  and  leaning 
over,  in  a  tone  but  a  little  raised  above  a 
whisper, ' '  he  may  be  a  shpy  from  the  Castle 
sint  to  find  out  fat  he  can  about  the  b'ys. 
But  do  ye  have  nothin'  to  do  wid  it,  if  ye 
take  my  advice. ' ' 

"  Indeed  an'  we'll  not,"  said  Murty.  "  If 
there  was  any  good  to  be  done  by  kapin' 
up  the  war  it  ud  be  different.  As  it  is,  we' 11 
attind  to  our  horses,  an'  have  nothin'  to  say 
or  do  wid  anything  else.  But  I'm  thinkin' 
if  you^  innocent  woman  that  you  are,  have 
marked  him,  there  are  others  in  the  town 
that  have  his  measure  by  this. ' ' 

(CONCIvUSION   IN   OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


Johannes  Janssen. 


i 


(Conclusion.) 

ALTHOUGH  Janssen  dreaded  the  heavy 
responsibilities  of  the  priesthood,  still, 
in  the  midst  of  his  secular  studies  he  felt  a 
longing  for  that  holy  state.  After  having 
made  trial  of  his  vocation  for  many  years, he 
began  preparation  for  the  reception  of  Holy 
Orders,  by  entering  on  a  retreat  at  Tiibingen, 
which  he  prolonged  for  several  months, 
during  which  time  Bohmer  felt  his  absence 
keenly.  ' '  It  would  make  a  great  void  in 
my  life, ' '  he  wrote, ' '  if  Janssen,  after  his  en- 
.'tfance  into  the  ecclesiastical  state,  for  which 
-lie-is  preparing,  should  be  prevailed  upon 
to. leave  Frankfort  and  accept  another  ap- 
pbintment.     He  will   not  go  of  his  own 


choice ;  he  loves  Frankfort  too  well  for  that, 
and  his  surroundings  suit  him  perfectly, 
which,  alas!  I  can  not  say  for  myself  this 
long  time.  In  the  gymnasium  he  is  equally 
beloved  by  pupils  and  professors." 

On  March  26,  i860,  Janssen  was  ordained 
priest  in  the  Cathedral  of  Limburg.  From 
the  reputation  which  he  had  already  ac- 
quired it  was  but  natural  that  he  should  at 
once  be  thought  of  for  ecclesiastical  digni- 
ties; but  he  constantly  refused  them,  and 
often  complained  to  his  intimate  friends  of 
the  annoyance  occasioned  by  these  offers, 
remarking  that  he  had  no  inclination  and  no 
abilities  except  for  the  study  of  history.  In 
1866,  however.  Archbishop  Vicari,  of  Frei- 
burg, named  him  canon,  and  in  1880  our 
Holy  Father  Leo  XIII.  appointed  him  Prel- 
ate and  Protonotary  Apostolic  ad  ins  tar 
participantium.  Amongst  the  works  un- 
dertaken by  Janssen  for  Archbishop  Vicari 
we  will  mention  only  the  famous  pastoral, 
''The  Papacy  in  History." 

The  pleasantest  years  of  Janssen' s  life  at 
Frankfort  were  those  that  he  spent  with 
his  father,  from  1865  to  1869.  The  elder 
Janssen  was  highly  esteemed  and  respected 
by  his  fellow- townsmen ;  he  was  one  of  those 
of  whom  it  could  be  said  with  truth :  ' '  He 
never  intentionally  harmed  even  a  fly." 
The  mourning  at  his  death  was  universal, 
as  well  among  the  common  people  as  among 
the  higher  classes.  We  have  before  us  a 
touching  letter  written  by  his  son  imme- 
diately after  his  death,  from  which  we  quote 
as  follows: 

"Try  not  to  comfort  me;  for  grief  must 
have  its  way.  The  four  years  that  my  fa- 
ther passed  with  me — since  the  death  of  my 
stepmother,  whose  memory  was  equally 
dear  to  us  both — are  now  gone,  with  all  their 
pleasant  and  cheerful  surroundings.  He 
had  received  only  an  ordinary  education, 
but  took  a  great  interest  in  and  had  a  clear 
understanding  of  higher  things,  and  even 
during  his  last  illness  he  preserved  remark- 
able vigor  of  mind.  All  who  knew  him 
admired  his  amiability  and  childlike  sim- 
plicity, which  seemed  to  increase  with  his 
years. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


559 


'A  pious  and  thoroughly  earnest  Catho- 
lic, he  hated  all  wrangling  about  matters  of 
religion,  and  shortly  before  his  death  he  said 
KG  me:  'Do  all  things  for  your  faith — live 
*and  die  for  it;  but  in  your  intercourse  with 
Qthers  do  not  be  drawn  into  controversies; 
lurt  no  one's  feelings,  and  love  all  men.' 
He  repeated  these  words  to  my  friend  Pro- 
essor  Stumpf,  who  took  particular  pleasure 
n  conversing  with  him  when  he  was  here 
luring  the  holidays.    '  But,'  he  would  add, 
*we  must  not  allow  our  faith  to  be  mis- 
represented.    If  we  are  attacked,  we  must 
defend  ourselves;  otherwise  we  are  paltry 
cowards.    An  old  major  in  Berlin  used  to 
say  to  me:  "Young  man,  whoever  permits 
injustice  to  be  done  him,  and  his  honor  to 
be  attacked,  is  just  as  contemptible  a  fellow 
as  he  that  does  the  injustice. ' '   I  have  often 
thought  of  these  words,'  continued  my  fa- 
ther, '  especially  in  regard  to  out  faith ;  for 
that  is  man's  real  honor.' 

"My  most  cherished  reward,"  writes 
Janssen  in  conclusion,  "was  when  my  fa- 
ther's eye  rested  on  my  work,  and  I  saw 
that  he  was  pleased  with  it.  Now  I  am  again 
quite  alone.  .  .  .  He  died  without  agony; 
whilst  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  pro- 
nouncing distinctly  the  words,  'In  the 
Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.  Amen,'  he  fell  asleep  in 
the  Lord." 

Janssen' s  work, ' '  Schiller  as  a  Historian,' ' 
first  published  in  Freiburg  in  1863,  met 
with  remarkable  success.  With  a  crushing 
weight  of  evidence,  he  shows  that  those 
much- read  historical  works  of  Schiller  are 
the  merest  poetical  inventions.  The  hope 
expressed  by  a  critic  on  reviewing  the  vol- 
ume on  its  first  appearance — that  in  future 
well-informed  men  would  know  what  to 
think  of  Schiller's  historical  writings — has, 
in  part  at  least,  been  fulfilled ;  nowadays  no 
''well-informed"  historian  would  venture 
to  refer  to  Schiller's  ' '  History  of  the  Thirty 
Years'  War"  as  an  authority. 

In  December,  1863,  some  weeks  after  the 
death  of  his  friend  Bohmer,  Janssen  visited 
Rome,  and  became  the  guest  of  Cardinal 
eisach.    He  was  three  times  admitted  to 


private  audien«e  with  Pius  IX.,  who  took 
the  greatest  interest  in  his  historical  re- 
searches. At  one  of  these  audiences  the 
Holy  Father  presented  him  with  a  medal, 
on  one  side  of  which  was  his  portrait,  and 
on  the  other  the  ' '  Washing  of  Peter' s  Feet.' ' 
"I  am  accustomed  to  give  this  medal  only 
on  this  day  [Holy  Thursday],"  said  His 
Holiness, ' '  and  only  to  the  thirteen  apostles; 
but,  as  a  historian,  you  have  the  work  of  an 
apostle  to  do.  It  is,  indeed,  an  apostolical 
work  to  be  occupied  in  the  spread  of  histor- 
ical truth,  and  to  be  thus  occupied  in  the 
spirit  of  charity  and  peace." 

It  was  during  his  stay  in  the  Eternal  City 
that  the  fourth  volume  of  the  collection  of 
original  documents  concerning  the  history 
of  Poland,  made  its  appearance  (published 
by  Theiner,  librarian  of  the  Vatican).  The 
numerous  important  and  hitherto  unpub- 
lished papers  relating  to  the  period  imme- 
diately prior  to  the  division  of  Poland  were 
of  the  deepest  interest  to  Janssen,  who  set 
to  work  to  study  these  documents,  and  all 
other  original  writings  concerning  this 
epoch  and  that  which  preceded  it.  The  re- 
sult of  his  researches  was  his  volume  „3ur 
®  cnefIS  ber  crften  3:f)eilung  ^olend," — ' '  Remark  s  on 
the  Origin  of  the  First  Division  of  Poland, ' ' 
— a  work  indispensable  to  the  right  under- 
standing of  this  period. 

Janssen  next  wrote,  ,,3oI)ann  griebrid)  S36^- 
incr'9  £eben,  ©riefe,  unb  flcincre  Sd)iiftcn," — "The 
Life,  Letters,  and  Shorter  Writings  of  Jo- 
hann  Friedrich  Bohmer. ' '  One  who  would 
become  acquainted  with  the  historical  re- 
searches that  have  been  going  on  in  Ger- 
many of  late  years,  and  who  wishes  at  l;he 
same  time  to  learn  the  true  spirit  and  the 
proper  direction  of  such  studies,  should  not 
neglect  to  read  this  Life.  In  order  that  a 
wider  circle  of  readers  might  become  fa- 
miliar with  the  disinterested  labors  of  his 
departed  friend  and  guide,  Janssen  the  fol- 
lowing year  published  a  shorter,  independ- 
ent Life,  entitled  ,.3oI;anngrkbrid)  S6^mcr'g2cbcn 
unb  5lnfd)auungcn." 

Our  wonder  at  Janssen' s  fertility  as  a 
writer  is  greatly  increased  when  we  bear  in 
mind  that,  besides  the  various  works  re- 


56o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


ferred  to,  and  others  which  we  have  not 
mentioned,  he  never  ceased  to  occupy  him- 
self in  the  preparation  of  what  may  be 
called  his  life-work,  "The  History  of  the 
German  People."  He  has  also  won  consid-  I 
arable  fame  by  his  contributions  to  periodi- 
cal literature.  The  numerous  articles  on 
purely  historical  subjects,  as  well  as  on  the 
history  of  literature  and  of  manners  and 
customs,  that  appeared  especially  in  the 
„5^^iflorifd)=politifd)c  25lattcr"  and  in  the  „.^cUI)olif," 
are  distinguished,  as  is  everything  that  pro- 
ceeds from  his  pen,  for  the  classical  beauty 
of  their  language,  and  stand  in  the  highest 
rank  as  scientific  investigations.  Some  of 
these  articles  were  republished  separately, 
others  were  incorporated  into  his  Historv, 
and  still  others  were  collected  in  his  „Z^\i' 
unb  Scbcnobilbcr."  The  effects  of  these  ''con- 
tributions to  the  comparative  history  of 
civilization"  were  really  surprising.  No 
one  before  Janssen's  day  had  ventured  so 
mercilessly  to  tear  away  the  mask  from  the 
idols  of  modern  progress;  and  meantime  he 
never  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away 
by  passion,  but  was  "provokingly"  cool 
and  composed. 

The  chief  production  of  our  venerable 
author  is  his  "History  of  the  German  Peo- 
ple." When  he  was  only  a  student  he  had 
conceived  the  plan  of  this' work,  and  held 
correspondence  in  regard  to  it  with  Rohmer, 
amongst  others.  In  1854  the  latter  wrote 
to  him:  "There  is  certainly  no  more  beau- 
tiful or  more  fruitful  task  than  that  of  a 
history  of  the  German  nation, — popular  in 
the  nobler  sense  of  the  word, — which  shall, 
as  far  as  possible,  u^e  the  researches  already 
made,  and,  collecting  together  the  essen- 
tials, shall  place  them  before  the  educated 
public  in  powerful  language.  I  congratu- 
late you  who,  in  your  youth,  aspire  to  exe- 
cute such  a  high  task." 

Afcer  more  than  twenty  years  of  prepara- 
tion, the  first  volume  made  its  appearance 
in  1876,  and  the  universal  verdict  was  that 
here  was  the  work  of  a  master.  Whilst  the 
learned  wondered  how  the  author  was  able 
to  employ  the  almost  endless  amount  of 
material,  and  to  put  it  together  in  such  a 


smooth,  masterly  style,  the  general  reader 
was  carried  away  by  those  life-like  descrip- 
tions of  the  ways  and  doings  of  the  German 
people  in  the  most  dangerous  period  of  their 
development.  This  enthusiasm  was  not 
confined  to  Catholics,  but  extended  even 
to  non-Catholic  circles;  Protestants  of  the 
strictest  type  could  unhesitatingly  declare 
of  the  first  volume  that  it  was  imperishable. 

But  as  the  History  progressed,  especially 
when  it  began  to  treat  of  the  great  religious 
upheaval  of  the  sixteenth  century,  opposi- 
tion arose,  as  could  not  but  be  expected. 
Champions  of  more  or  less  fame,  learned 
and  unlearned,  came  forward  and  sought  to 
refute  the  work;  but  in  vain  did  the  former 
expend  the  feeble  armory  of  their  science, 
in  vain  did  the  latter  give  vent  to  passionate 
invective.  If  anythng  was  needed  to  insure 
the  success  of  the  book,  it  was  afforded  in 
the  overthrow  of  the  opposition,  which 
called  forth  a  regular  crusade,  or  we  might 
call  it  a  deluge  of  writings  against  Janssen, 
until  the  author  at  last  was  forced  to  de- 
fend himself,  which  he  did,  in  his  brilliant 
and  dignified  style,  in  two  works,  „Siii  5l^ort 
<x\\  nicinc  ^ritifcr,"  and  „Giii  jirciteo  2;i>ort  an  nicine 
jlritifcr." 

As  the  opposition  increased,  the  History 
spread  the  more  rapidly,  so  that  the  edition 
of  the  fourth  volume  was  twelve  times  the 
size  of  the  previous  one — namely,  24  000 
copies;  a  fact,  observes  a  Protestant  re- 
viewer, which  is  unheard  of  in  regard  to  a 
scientific  treatise  of  several  volumes  treat- 
ing of  German  affairs.  And  this  fact  is  all 
the  more  remarkable  when  we  remember 
that  most  of  those  copies  of  a  work  em- 
inently Catholic  were  sold  in  the  north  of 
Germany — a  stronghold  of  Protestantism. 
The  best  fruit  produced  hereby  is,  however, 
the  considerable  number  of  conversions  to 
which  it  has  given  occasion. 

When  we  reflect  on  Janssen's  clear 
method,  by  which  he  succeeds,  apparently 
without  an  effort,  in  disentangling  the  most 
chaotic  points,  it  is  hard  for  us  to  realize 
how  many  days  of  utter  prostration  and 
suffering  intervened  between  the  various 
parts  of  the  work.    Thus  it  is  that  the  ap- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


561 


pearance  of  the  fifth  volume  of  his  German 
History,  which  was  expected  to  be  readv  by 
ilast  Christmas,  was  deferred  in  consequence 
of  long  illness. 

We  have  given  the  principal  points  in 
*the  life  of  this  great  investigator  of  history, 
[ — a  life  devoted  to  the  service  of  the  Church 
and  of  truth.     May  he  be  granted  many 

lore  years  to  prolong  the  same  noble  ser- 
ivice!  May  he,  above  all,  be  permitted  to 
crown  his  life-work,  and  not  only  to  bring 
the  '*  History  of  the  German  People"  to  its 
completion,  but  also  to  give  a  popular  ver- 
sion of  the  work,  so  that  it  may  be  in  the 
hands  of  all!  His  general  health,  thanks 
be  to  God,  has  greatly  improved  in  the  last 
few  years. 


Palms. 

BY  ANNA   HANSON    DORSEY. 

CHAPTER  XIX  —(Continued.) 

ONE  morning  Fabian  received  a  summons 
to  the  Emperor's  presence.  He  would 
have  disregarded  the  mandate  had  it  been 
possible;  for  his  very  soul  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  him.  He  had  a  motive,  however 
— although  he  was  not  hopeful  as  to  its  re- 
sults,— which  induced  him  to  obey, instead 
of  going  with  all  speed  to  Ostia,  to  embark 
on  his  galley,  and  put  out  to  sea,  as  he  had 
at  first  resolved. 

Valerian,  on  the  other  hand,  learning  that 
there  was  an  ill-feeling  among  the  soldiers 
on  account  of  the  arrest  of  Nemesius  (who 
was  the  idol  of  the  army),  and  the  cruel  fate 
of  his  lovely  child,  grew  uneasy,  and  deter- 
mined to  manifest  a  desire  to  be  merciful, 
which,  if  rejected  by  Nemesius,  would  throw 
upon  his  own  head  the  responsibility  of  all 
that  should  follow. 

*'It  is  needless  for  me  to  relate  what  has 
befallen  Nemesius  through  his  own  obsti- 
nacy," said  Valerian,  after  the  u'^ual  salu- 
1  tations.    (They  were  alone  in  his  private 
j  cabinet.) 

I      ''I  know  all,"  replied  Fabian. 
!      "I  confided  in  and  honored  Nemesius 


above  all  men,  until  he  ungratefully  be- 
trayed both  my  friendship  and  trust,  by 
giving  himself  up  to  the  delusions  of  mag' c, 
and  united  himself  with  the  enemies  of  the 
gods  for  the  overthrow  of  religion  and  the 
destruction  of  the  State, — both  capital  of- 
fences," continued  the  Emperor,  affecting 
a  dignified  and  inj  ured  tone ;  ' '  but,  even  so,  I 
am  disposed  to  be  merciful,  and  to  use  every 
possible  effort  to  recall  him  to  his  senses. 
Therefore,  knowing  thy  life-long  intimacy 
with  him,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that, if  thou 
wilt  take  the  matter  in  hand,  he  may  be  in- 
duced to  heed  thy  persuasions,  and  be  suf- 
ficiently amenable  to  reason  to  recant  his 
folly;  in  which  case  he  will  be  restored  to 
his  military  rank,  to  his  child,  and  to  the 
enjoyment  of  his  possessions." 

*'  It  would  be  but  time  wasted,  Imperator^ 
for  me  to  attempt  such  a  thing;  for, al;  hough 
Nemesius  has,  in  my  judgment,  done  a 
most  foolish  thing,  and  I  have  made  use  of 
every  argument  to  dissuade  him,  he,  being 
a  man  of  great  integrity  and  uprightness, 
and  of  a  singularly  noble  sincerity  of  mind, 
does  only  that  which  appears  to  him  right 
solely  on  conviction;  therefore  it  is  right, 
in  this  case,  for  him  to  have  ac  ed  just  as 
he  has,"  i-aid  Fabian,  with  gravity. 

"What!  right  that  he  should  become  a 
Christian?"  angrily  cried  the  Empeior. 

"Yes,  right  even  to  that  extreme,  from 
his  point  of  view;  and,  such  being  the  fact, 
and  I  having  failed  to  convince  him  to  the 
contrary,  a  fresh  attempt  on  my  part  would 
be  needless  insult;  it  would  be  as  vain,'* 
said  Fabian,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  "as  the 
efforts  of  Enceladus,  who,  with  a  mountain 
pressing  upon  him,  throws  rocks  at  the 
gods,  which  all  fall  short  of  their  aim." 

"Perhaps  thou  sharest  his  delusion?" 
observed  Valerian,  enraged;  "if  not,  prove 
it  by  casting  spices  in  yonder  brasier  be- 
fore the  statue  of  Mercury." 

"A  measure  if  thou  wilt;  not  only  here, 
but  before  every  deity  in  Rome! "  exclaimed 
Fabian,  with  suppressed  fury,  as  he  strode 
to  the  spot,  and  threw  a  handful  of  frankin- 
cense on  the  glowing  coals,  which  instantly 
filled  the  room  with  a  cloud  of  aromatic 


562 


The  Ave  Maria. 


smoke,  that  was  at  the  same  time  pungent 
and  suffocating. 

So  fitful  are  the  moods  of  tyrants  that, 
although  coughing  violently,  and  nearly 
siiffocated  by  the  incense — which,  being  a 
religious  prince,  he  always  kept  on  hand  for 
his  private  devotions,  as  well  as  for  emer- 
gencies like  the  present — Valerian  laughed 
as  soon  as  he  recovered  his  breath;  and,  his 
good  humor  restored,  he  told  Fabian  that  he 
had  abundantly  satisfied  him  of  the  sincer- 
ity of  his  fidelity  to  the  gods.  In  the  midst 
of  the  smoke  Fabian  wished  he  had  been 
more  prudent,  fearing  that  he  had  marred 
the  success  of  the  object  he  had  in  view; 
but,  reassured  by  Valerian's  extraordinary 
mood,  he  thought  the  moment  was  propi- 
tious. 

'"''Imperator^''''  he  said,  "I  wish,  with  thy 
gracious  permission,  to  submit  a  proposi- 
tion to  thee." 

**I  am  willing  to  serve  thee,  Fabian; 
name  it." 

"It  is  this.  I  offer  to  the  treasury  of  the 
State  one  half  of  my  enormous  wealth  for 
the  ransom  of  the  child  Claudia.  I  propose 
to  adopt  her  as  my  own,  and  remove  to 
Britannia  Prima,  where  I  have  an  estate. ' ' 

"It  is  a  generous  offer,  more  than  the 
spawn  of  a  Christian  is  worth,"  replied  the 
scowling  tyrant.  "It  depends  on  Nemesius 
whether  or  not  the  ransom  will  be  ac- 
cepted ;  for  if  he  persists  in  his  madness,  he 
shall  suffer  through  her  to  the  end." 

"All,  Imperator — all  that  I  have,  even  my 
life,  for  both!"  urged  Fabian. 

A  hoarse,  rumbling  laugh  was  Valerian's 
answer  to  this  noble  offer.  ''''Fidms/  it 
is  equal  to  anything  in  the  tragedies  ot 
Euripides;  but  remember,  Fabian,  that  this 
is  real  life,  and  not  a  stage." 

"Such  things  were  once  realities  in 
Rome,"  was  the  proud  answer. 

"Thou  knowest  the  only  conditions  on 
which  Nemesius  and  his  daughter  will  be 
spared,"  returned  the  Emperor,  rising.  "I 
regret  losing  thy  agreeable  society;  but, 
this  being  the  hour  I  go  to  the  Baths  of 
Sallust  every  day,  I  must  say  farewell." 

Fabian, on  being  thus  abruptly  dismissed, 


bowed  and  withdrew.  "The  cranes  of  Iby- 
cus  still  fly,  thou  monster! "  was  on  his  lips, 
as  he  passed  under  the  gilded  leather  cur- 
tain from  the  imperial  presence. 

At  last  a  day  came  when  Claudia  was  to 
leave  the  infamous  abode  of  Lippa.  That 
morning  everything  had  gone  wrong  with 
the  depraved  creature,  and  her  fiery  temper 
spared  nothing  that  came  in  her  way.  She 
saw  Claudia  working  among  the  domestic 
slaves,  called  her,  and  ordertd  her  to  lift 
an  article  which  it  was  beyond  her  strength 
to  move,  although  in  a  spirit  of  sweet  obe- 
dience she  made  an  effort  to  do  so.  Lippa 
snatched  up  a  scourge,  and  gave  her  a  sharp 
cut  across  the  shoulders;  and  the  child 
would  have  received  another  stroke  from 
the  uplifted  arm,  had  not  Cypria  run  in, 
breathless,  to  say  that  the  '  Emperor  or  the 
Prefect,  or  somebody,  had  come  to  take  Cla- 
dia  away. ' 

"I'm  glad  enough  to  dance! "  exclaimed 
Lippa;  "she  has  left  me  in  a  fever  ever 
since  she  has  been  under  my  roof,  so  that 
I've  not  had  a  night's  rest.  Take  her  to 
the  bath,  and  put  something  clean  on  her 
before  she  goes.  As  for  me,  I'm  going  to 
gossip  with  my  friend  the  barber,  and  then 
to  the  circus." 

"Where  am  I  going?"  asked  the  little 
girl,  in  surprise. 

"To  meet  thy  father,  dear  child, — one  of 
the  soldiers  told  me;  come  let  us  hasten," 
said  Cypria,  leading  her  by  the  hand.  "I 
have  some  of  thy  own  pretty  garments, 
brought  by  thy  nurse,  hidden  away  ready 
for  thee." 

When  the  lash  had  stung  Claudia's  ten- 
der flesh,  and  she  had  cried  out  with  pain, 
she  thought  of  the  scourging  of  the  divine 
Christus^  and,  though  she  wept  bitter  tears, 
in  her  heart  she  was  glad  to  suffer  a  little 
as  He  did  and  for  Him ;  and  now,  in  union 
with  this  sorrow,  she  offered  the  joy  that 
filled  her  at  thought  of  meeting  her  father. 
Her  golden  hair  once  more  fell  in  curls 
over  her  shoulders;  refreshed  by  the  bath, 
and  some  sweet  salve  with  which  Cypria 
anointed  the  crimson  welt  left  by  the  lash, 
and  arrayed  in  her  simple  tunic  and  robe 


The  Ave  Maria. 


563 


of  white  embroidered  with  lilies,  she  looked 
a  very  image  of  purity  and  innocence.  She 
thought  not  of  the  soldiers  who  guarded 
her,  of  the  staring  crowds,  the  rough  stones 
of  the  street;  for  the  celestial  love  that 
^  glowed  in  her  heart,  and  the  certainty  that 
in  a  few  moments  she  would  be  in  her  fa- 
ther's arms,  made  her  oblivious  of  all  else. 

Nemesius  meet  his  child  near  the  Temple 
of  the  Earth,  to  which  both  were  being  con- 
ducted, and  where  the  tribunal  sat  that 
would  pronounce  the  final  sentence.  In  a 
moment  she  was  clinging  around  his  neck, 
while  he  embraced  her  fondly,  and,  aware 
of  what  was  impending,  could  scarcely  com- 
mand his  emotion;  but  this  she  did  not 
observe,  in  her  joy  at  once  more  seeing  him. 

'^Thou  wilt  keep  me  close,  my  father, 
and  not  let  them  take  me  back  to  Lippa. 
Oh!  it  is  a  terrible  place!  I  must  have  died 
but  for  the  love  of  the  dear  Christus^  who 
comforted  me,  and  the  protection  of  His 
Holy  Mother.  Oh !  let  them  kill  me,  only 
save  me  from  Lippa!  But,  my  father,  there 
is  one  even  in  that  dreadful  den  who  wants 
to  be  a  Christian, — a  woman  whose  life 
thou  didst  save  when  a  wicked  man  had  his 
knife  ready  to  cut  her  throat.  She  was  good 
to  me  after  she  heard  I  was  thy  little  maid. 
Her  name  is  Cypria, ' '  said  Claudia. 

"Fear  not,  sweet  one,  thou  wilt  not  re- 
turn to  Ivippa.  May  God  reward  with  His 
choicest  graces  her  who  was  kind  to  thee! " 
he  answered,  knowing  what  was  at  hand. 
Her  words  tore  his  heart,  and  he  "felt  it  a 
greater  sacrifice  to  ofifer  to  God  the  impulses 
of  revenge  than  the  shedding  of  his  own 
^    and  his  daughter's  blood."  * 

This  offering,  so  pleasing  to  Almighty 
Love,  was  succeeded  by  an  unspeakable  joy 
that  flooded  his  soul  at  the  constancy  of 
his  brave  Claudia,  and,  leading  her  by  the 
hand,  he  went  in,  serene  and  undaunted,  be- 
fore the  tribunal  of  Valerian.  He  had  laid 
aside  forever  the  glittering  trappings  of  his 
martial  rank,  and  appeared  in  the  graver 

*  The  incidents  now  related  of  the  martyrdom 
of  Nemesius  and  his  lovely  child  follow  closely 
the  account  given  by  Dr.  O'Reilly,  gleaned  by 
him  from  the  "Acts  of  the  Martyrs." 


habiliments  of  a  Christian,  his  military 
peace-toga  thrown  about  him.  He  was  in 
the  prime  of  a  noble  manhood,  perfect  in 
masculine  beauty,  tall  and  stately,  and  bear- 
ing in  his  presence  a  natural  dignity,  which 
now,  as  it  had  always  done,  commanded  in- 
voluntary respect  and  admiration.  Among 
the  many  present  were  several  of  his  com- 
rades in  arms,  who  were  touched  with  pro- 
found sympathy  when  they  beheld  their 
brave  commander  and  his  innocent  little 
maid  conducted  to  the  criminal's  stand. 

Valerian,  wearing  his  imperial  robes,  and 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  sweet  olive,  sat, 
conspicuous  and  scowling,  in  his  curule 
chair  of  ivory  and  gold,  which  was  elevated 
on  a  dais  several  feet  above  the  floor;  sol- 
diers, lictors,  and  priests  of  the  idol  to  whom 
the  Temple  of  the  Earth  was  dedicated  sur- 
rounded him.  The  judge  and  other  legal 
officials  were  in  their  places.  Nemesius  and 
his  beautiful  child  stood  on  the  catasta  in 
view  of  every  eye,  and  a  breathless  silence 
prevailed.  Then  spake  the  judge,  with  im- 
pressive solemnity: 

' '  Nemesius,  where  is  that  prudence  al- 
ways so  conspicuous  in  thee,  whose  public 
career  has  ever  been  so  illustrious  in  word 
and  deed?  Dost  thou  not  think  that  we 
know  what  is  good  for  thee,  and  will  recom- 
mend it?  We  counsel  thee,  therefore,  not 
to  abandon  the  worship  of  the  gods  thou 
hast  followed  from  thy  childhood." 

The  words  of  the  judge  were  less  than 
nothingness  to  Nemesius,  who  was  contem- 
plating the  result  of  his  refusal  to  sacrifice. 
Thought  of  the  tender  one  clinging  to  him 
caused  nature  once  more  to  assert  itself,  the 
exaltation  of  his  spirit  drooped,  and  unbid- 
den tears  rushed  to  his  eyes;*  but,  lifting 
his  heart  to  Him  who  was  sifting  His  ser- 
vant like  fine  wheat,  he  composed  his  voice, 
and  answered  with  firmness  and  dignity: 

' '  Thy  words  of  praise  apply  not  to  me, 
who  have  always  been  but  a  sinful  man.  I 
rejected  the  truth,  preferring  idolatry;  I 
have  shed  innocent  blood,  and  when  bur- 
dened and  crushed  with  guilt  I  found  mercy 


*  "Acts.' 


5^4 


The  Ave  Maria. 


at  the  hands  of  the  great  and  only  true 
Ruler,  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  God.  Al- 
though late — my  life  having  reached  its 
meridian — I  now  know  Him  who  redeemed 
me  with  His  Blood,  who  gave  sight  to  my 
child  whom  no  earthly  skill  could  cure,  and 
at  the  same  time  illuminated  also  the  eyes 
of  our  hearts,  that,  despising  the  blindness 
of  idolatrous  superstition,  we  might  be  con- 
verted to  the  light  of  Christianity.  Him  I 
fear,  and  Him  only  will  I  adore;  to  Him  I 
offer  the  poor  service  of  my  worship.  I  re- 
ject idols  of  stone  and  metal,  which  I  know 
to  be  devils,  that  seek  our  ruin,  and  wish  to 
drag  us  with  them  to  the  woes  of  eternal 
death." 

As  he  proceeded  with  his  simple  and 
glorious  confession.  Valerian's  face  grew 
livid  with  suppressed  wrath,  and  he  roared 
out  in  his  rasping,  guttural  voice: 

"I  know  the  spell  of  thy  magic  words, 
and  the  power  of  thy  incantations,  which 
even  slay  whom  thou  wilt;  for  it  was  by 
them  Maximus  was  slain, that  thou  mightest 
escape  justice.  It  is  plain,  moreover,  that  it 
is  thy  purpose  to  try  thy  dark  arts  against 
me,  thy  lawful  ruler,  and  the  safety  of  the 
State.  Thou  deservest  the  severest  penalties 
instituted  for  such  crimes;  but,  willing  to 
show  mercy,  sentence  shall  be  delayed  to 
offer  thee  another  chance.  Wilt  thou  sac- 
rifice?" 

The  reply  of  Nemesius  was  a  stern,  em- 
phatic negative. 

All  through  this  trying  scene,  Claudia 
clung  close  to  his  arm,  her  pale  face  piessed 
against  it,  listening  to  his  words,  and  whis- 
pering prayers  to  the  divine  Christus  to  de- 
liver them  out  of  the  hands  of  the  wicked, 
and  bring  them  safely  to  the  joys  of  His 
presence. 

A  deep  silence  pervaded  the  place,  the 
supreme  moment  had  come;  then,  surging 
and  rumbling  out  upon  the  stillness,  the 
voice  of  the  malic'ous  tyrant  pronounced 
sentence:  "They  are  to  be  taken  hence  to 
the  Temple  of  Mars,  on  the  Appian  Way; 
there  the  daughter  of  Nemesius  shall  be  put 
to  death  before  his  eyes,  unless,  when  seeing 
his  child  about  to  be  executed,  he  consent 


to  save  her  life  and  his  own  by  abandoning- 
his  wicked  delusion  and  sacrificing  to  the 
gods." 

Thus  Valerian  washed  his  hands  of  the 
blood  of  his  victims  by  throwing  the  fatal 
responsibility  on  the  head  of  Nemesius, 
sparing  him  the  customary  sufferings,  to- 
torture  him  more  cruelly  through  his  affec- 
tions. 

(CONCI^USION  IN  OUR   NEXT  NUMBER.) 


The  Fool's  Prayer. 


TTHE  royal  feast  was  done;  the  King 
^    Sought  some  new  sport  to  banish  care. 
And  to  his  jester  cried,  'Sir  Fool, 

Kneel  now  for  us  and  make  a  prayer.'*  . 

The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells, 
And  stood  the  mocking  court  before; 

They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  bent  his  knee 
Upon  the  monarch's  silken  stool; 

His  pleading  voice  arose,  "O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool! 

"No  pity,  Lord,  could  change  the  heart 
From  red  with  wrong  to  white  as  wool; 

The  rod  must  heal  the  sin;  but,  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool! 

"  'Tis  by  our  guilt  the  onward  sweep 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord!  we  stay; 

'Tis  by  our  follies  that  so  long 

We  hold  the  wrath  from  Heaven  away. 

"Those  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire. 
Go  crushing  blossom-  without  end; 

These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heartstrings  of  a  friend. 

"The  ill-timed  truth  that  we  have  kept — 
We  know  how  sharp  it  pierced  and  stung! 

The  word  we  had  not  cause  to  say — 
Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had  rung? 

"Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask. 
The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them 
all; 

But  for  our  blunders — oh.  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  Heaven  we  fall! 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


565 


"Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  mistakes: 
Men  crown  the  knave,  and  scourge  the  tool 

That  did  his  will;  but  Thou,  O  IvOrd, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!  " 

The  room  was  hushed;  in  silence  rose 
The  King,  and  sought  his  garden  cool, 

And  walked  apart,  and  murmured  low, 
"Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool! " 


A  Happy  Anniversary  in   Rome. 


i(rp( 


^0-MORROW  will  be  the  eleventh 
anniversary  of  my  reception  into  the 
Church;  what  shall  I  do  to  celebrate  the 
day,  in  this  city  of  the  soul?" 

Such  was  the  question  of  one  of  three 
Amedcan  ladies — all  converts  from  the 
Episcopal  persuasion — as  they  came  from 
the  porch  to  the  piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  and 
looked  with  wonder  and  delight  on  the  vast 
crowds  of  worshippers  coming  and  going, 
to  and  fro,  as  the  glorious  Easter  festivities 
arose  to  Heaven  from 

"This  eternal  ark  of  worship  imdefiled." 

"You  can  not  do  better  than  visit  some 
of  the  holy  rooms  in  Rome — the  rooms  of 
saints,"  was  the  reply  of  the  good  lady  who 
had  been  a  resident  for  many  years  in  the 
Eternal  City. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  in  the  early  spring- 
time, when  Roman  skies  are  most  beautiful, 
and  Roman  air  most  exhilarating,  after  an 
early  Mass  and  Communion  in  St.  Andrea 
delle  Fratte  —  the  favorite  church  of  all 
converts,  always  fragrant  with  the  memory 
of  the  pious  Ratisbonne,— that  the  trio  of 
ladies  took  their  carriage  and  were  driven, 
first  to  the  rooms  of  St.  Ignatius  Loyola; 
for  where  is  the  convert  whose  heart  is  not 
drawn  to  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  that  faithful 
band  of  God's  servants,  ever  found  in  the 
van  of  the  battle,  and  always  first  to  be  at- 
tacked by  the  enemies  of  the  Church? 

Some  years  after  the  death  of  St.  Igna- 
tius, the  houses  and  a  church  where  he 
had  established  the  Company  of  Jesus  were 
taken  down,  to  build  what  was  called  the 
Professed  House,  by  Cardinal  Farnese,who 
had  already,  in  1577,  erected  the  beautiful 


Church  //  Gesu,  near  by.  This  house  was  to 
be  the  residence  of  the  General  of  the  Order 
and  the  Provincial  of  the  Roman  province. 
It  is  to  day  occupied,  in  a  great  part,  by 
troops!  But  the  Government,  though  hold- 
ing the  building  as  barracks  for  soldiers, 
has  not  as  yet  laid  sacrilegious  hands  on  the 
rooms  where  St.  Ignatius  lived  and  died. 
When  the  house  was  built  by  the  Cardinal, 
in  1599,  the  apartments  made  sacred  by  the 
prestnce  of  so  many  servants  of  God  were 
left  intact,  as  they  remain  to-day. 

Passing  through  a  gallery  which  seemed 
to  separate  the  rooms  from  the  newer  house, 
our  attention  was  called  to  the  remarkable 
frescos,  representing  the  life  of  St.  Ignatius. 
These  paintings  are  of  the  i8th  century, 
and  were  the  work  of  a  lay- brother,  P.  P<  -zzi, 
who  also  decorated  the  adjoining  church. 
The  rooms  occupied  by  the  Saint  were  four 
in  number,  besides  an  antechamber  which 
we  first  entered.  In  this  room  may  still  be 
seen  an  old  tile  fireplace  closed  by  shutters; 
here  the  holy  recluse  burned  the  letters  of 
his  family  without  reading  them.  There  are 
also  three  doors  of  the  same  date  with  the 
fireplace,  and  a  closet  which  once  held  the 
garments  of  the  Saint. 

The  apartment  which  we  next  entered, 
through  the  very  same  door  by  which  saints 
have  passed,  is  an  object  of  special  interest, 
joined  with  love  and  veneration ;  for  here 
the  holy  founder  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  died ; 
here  is  the  place  where  stood  the  couch  on 
which  he  breathed  his  last  July  31,  1556,  at 
the  age  of  sixty- five  years.  In  the  centre  of 
one  side  of  this  room  still  stands  the  altar 
where  he  daily  ofiered  the  Holy  Sacrifice; 
over  the  altar  is  a  picture  of  the  Holy  Fam- 
ily, which  the  Saint  regarded  with  great 
affection.  At  this  same  altar  St.  Charles 
Borromeo  offered  his  first  Mass;  St.  Philip 
Neri  often  came  here  to  pray  and  to  confer 
with  St.  Ignatius;  St.  Francis  Borgia  oc- 
cupied this  room  for  some  }ears,  and  died 
in  it.  St.  Aloysius  was  here  admitted  to 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  taking  his  first  vows; 
St.  Francis  de  Sales  came  here,  to  gather 
strength  in  the  conflicts  with  heresy  in 
which  he  was  always  engaged. 


566 


The  Ave  Maria. 


This  sanctuary  exhales  the  perfume  of 
true  piety  and  unalterable  devotion  to  Holy 
Church.  We  seemed  to  hear  a  voice  saying, 
' '  The  place  whereon  thou  standest  is  holy 
ground."  The  walls  are  hung  with  precious 
mementos — portraits  of  St.  Charles  Borro- 
meo,  St.  Francis  Borgia,  St.  Francis  de 
Sales,  and  a  very  striking  one  of  St.  Ignatius 
himself  in  the  garb  of  his  Order.  Here 
may  be  seen  autographs  of  all  these  saints, 
as  well  as  those  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul, 
Blessed  Alphonsus  Rodriguez,  and  Blessed 
John  de  Britte.  Directly  opposite  the  altar 
is  an  embroidered  picture  of  Our  Blessed 
Lady,  before  which  St. Francis  de  Sales  de- 
lighted to  pray. 

Near  the  ancient  door  which  leads  to  the 
next  chamber,  we  saw  on  the  wall  the  orig- 
inal act  by  which  the  first  followers  of  St. 
Ignatius  bound  themselves  to  obey  and  serve 
the  Church.  This  precious  paper  was  signed 
by  their  own  hands — St.  Ignatius,  St.  Fran- 
cis Xavier,  Laynez,  Salmeron,  Bobadilla, 
Blessed  Lefevre,  and  Blessed  Rodriguez. 
Here,  too,  St.  Stanislaus  Kostka  made  his 
profession. 

After  feasting  our  souls  on  these  good 
things,  dwelling  in  the  company  of  that 
white-robed  army  of  confessors  so  inti- 
mately associated  with  the  foundation  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  we  followed  our  guide 
into  another  room  through  a  door  that 
had  often  opened  to  saints.  This  was  the 
apartment  reserved  for  Brother  John  Paul, 
attendant  and  companion  of  St.  Ignatius. 
Here  we  observed  a  large  portrait  of  the 
Saint  in  the  costume  of  a  young  knight,  as 
he  appeared  when  an  officer  in  the  army 
of  Charles  V.,  of  Spain.  Here  is  preserved 
an  image  of  Our  Blessed  Mother  which  had 
belonged  to  St.  Veronica  Julianna;  also  the 
relics  of  Benedict  Joseph  Labre,  whose  can- 
onization was  then  being  sought  for,  and  is 
now  accomplished.  We  were  also  shown 
many  other  precious  autograph  letters, 
which  we  could  not  help  coveting. 

A  door  from  this  apartment  led  into  a 
museum  filled  with  precious  objects  which 
had  been  used  by  the  saints,  among  them 
the  vestments  in  which  St.  Ignatius  said 


Mass — the  chasuble,  alb,  amice  and  beretta. 
The  chasuble,  being  worn  by  age,  was  re- 
paired by  the  Archduchess  Mary  Anna,  of 
Austria.  In  this  room  St.  Ignatius  wrote 
the  immortal  Constitution  of  his  Order. 
Here  we  came  upon  an  object  that  brought 
to  our  memory  the  holy  St.  Francis  Xavier, 
a  shining  star  among  the  Jesuit  Fathers — 
viz.,  the  parasol  which  he  carried  in  the 
East  Indies.  It  looked  very  like  the  Japan- 
ese shades  that  we  see  in  our  day.  Opening 
out  of  this  last  room  was  a  loggia^  where 
St.  Ignatius  was  wont  to  come  to  breathe 
the  air  and  to  meditate  in  the  night  time. 
Here  he  was  favored  with  many  of  those  re- 
markable visions  and  those  heavenly  graces 
which  we  read  of  in  his  Life;  here  he  cried 
ovX^'^'Quain  sordet  mihi  tellus  quum  cesium 
aspicio! ' ' 

Reluctantly  we  turned  away  from  these 
hallowed  precincts,  exclaiming  in  our 
hearts  and  with  our  lips,  * '  It  is  good  to  be 
here. ' '  We  drove  silently  to  the  Roman  Col- 
lege, which  had  St.  Ignatius  for  its  founder. 
We  were  met  by  Father  Lambert,  who  took 
us  at  once  to  the  rooms  of  St.  Aloysius 
and  Blessed  John  Berchmans.  The  body  of 
the  former  is  in  the  Church  of  St.  Ignatius, 
near  the  Roman  College,  while  the  body  of 
St.  Ignatius  himself  rests  in  //  Gesu.  Both 
these  saints  have  altars  of  wonderful  mag- 
nificence, each  a  study  in  marble  and  pre- 
cious stones. 

After  climbing  many  stairs,  we  came  to 
an  ante- room  decorated  with  scenes  from 
the  life  of  St.  Aloysius;  here  he  took  his 
vows,  at  the  close  of  his  novitiate.  The 
adjoining  room,  where  the  Saint  lived,  is 
now  a  chapel;  over  the  altar  is  a  most  ex- 
cellent likeness  of  the  holy  youth.  Some  of 
his  manuscripts  were  shown  to  us.  and  an 
autograph  letter  to  a  lady  friend, — all  writ- 
ten in  most  delicate  and  perfectly  formed 
characters,  and  fair  and  spotless  as  himself. 
We  kissed  his  precious  crucifix,  and  were 
given  some  mementos  of  his  wonderful  mi- 
raculous powers,  in  the  shape  of  pieces  of 
cloth  which  he  had  multiplied  for  the  poor, 
and  little  packages  of  flour  which  had  been 
increased  by  his  blessing.    There  was  also 


ISO     I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


5^7 


an  interesting  picture  of  St.  Mary  Mag- 
dalene de  Pazzi.  who  had  a  vision  of  the 
Saint  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

St.  Aloysius  was  a  prince  in  his  own 
right,  but  gave  up  the  throne  and  embraced 
the  Cross.  His  life  was  a  touching  example 
of  purity  of  heart;  this  is  why  he  is  the 
chosen  patron  of  youth.  He  died  June  21, 
1591.  At  the  timeof  his  beatification  (which 
took  place  fourteen  years  after  his  death), 
his  mother  and  two  brothers  erected,  in  the 
sacristy  of  the  Church  of  St.  Ignatius,  a 
magnificent  altar  of  various  marbles  and 
precious  stones.  Pope  Pius  IX.,  of  blessed 
memory,  gave  to  the  Roman  College  a  trea- 
tise on  Theology  written  entirely  by  the 
hand  of  this  saintly  youth,  who  was  learned 
as  well  as  pious.  During  a  fearful  epidemic 
he  distinguished  himself  by  taking  care 
like  a  brother  of  the  sick  and  dying,  and 
fell  himself  a  victim  to  the  malady. 

In  the  sacristy  which  divides  the  cham- 
ber of  St.  Aloysius  from  that  of  Blessed 
John  Berchmans,  we  found  many  objects  of 
interest,  among  them  some  autographs  of 
St.  Veronica  Julianna  and  St.  Aloysius; 
also  the  picture  of  the  Crucifixion  before 
which  the  latter  Saint  prayed  and  wept. 
Beyond  this  we  came  to  the  chamber  of 
Blessed  Berchmans.  All  pious  travellers 
from  Belgium  visit  this  room;  for  the  youth 
was  a  native  of  that  Catholic  country.  He 
was  a  rare  scholar,  and  died  in  this  College 
in  162 1,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  having 
pessed  five  years  in  the  Society  of  Jesus. 

At  the  suggestion  of  Father  Lambert  we 
went  to  visit  the  observatory,  in  which  we 
found  much  that  was  interesting.  Within 
these  walls,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
dwelt  the  renowned  scientist.  Father  Secchi. 
When  the  present  paternal  Government 
took  the  College  from  the  Jesuits,  it  desired 
earnestly  to  retain  Father  Secchi;  he  was 
too  useful  to  be  turned  out.  But  the  relig- 
ious refused  to  remain,  except  as  the  loyal 
subject  of  the  Holy  Father,and  in  obedience 
to  his  superiors.  The  merciful  usurpers,  in 
consideration  of  the  value  of  his  labors  from 
a  worldly  and  scientific  point  of  view, 
suffered  him   to  retain  his  position  as  a 


Jesuit,  and  to  acknowledge  the  Pope  as  his 
sovereign. 

The  Rev.  Father  told  us  that  among  the 
many  false  rumors  concerning  the  state 
of  things  in  Rome  since  the  coming  in  of 
the  Italian  Government,  and  the  occupa- 
tion of  religious  houses  by  the  dependents 
of  the  controlling  power,  none  was  more  un- 
founded than  the  report  that  more  Roman 
youths  come  now  to  the  Roman  College  for 
instruction  than  before  the  usurpation.  He 
had  taken  pains  to  investigate  the  story, 
and  had  found  that,  whereas  there  had  been 
in  previous  years  from  ten  to  thirteen  hun- 
dred students  each  year,  the  number  since 
the  College  was  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  Jesuits  had  never  exceeded  three 
hundred,  and  this  year  it  was  even  less. 

As  we  left  the  College,  thanking  Father 
Lambert  for  his  kindness,  we  turned  our 
faces  in  the  diiection  of  the  rooms  of  St. 
Stanislaus  Kostka,  another  pious  youth, 
whose  name  is  intimately  associated  with 
those  of  St.  Aloysius  and  Blessed  Berch- 
mans. His  apartments  are  in  the  house  of 
the  Jesuit  Novitiate,  near  St.  Andrea, on  the 
Quirinal.  We  entered  by  a  long  corridor, 
and  passed  through  a  sacristy  into  the 
chamber  where  the  Saint  lived,  which  is 
now  used  as  a  chapel,  where  Mass  is  daily 
offered.  Over  the  altar  is  an  authentic 
portrait  of  the  Saint;  beyond  this  is  a  fa- 
mous picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  present- 
ing Her  Divine  Son  to  St.  Stanislaus,  who 
kneels  at  Her  feet  in  rapt  devotion.  On  the 
spot  where  he  breathed  his  last  is  a  recum- 
bent figure  of  the  Saint,  in  black,  white  and 
yellow  marble;  he  has  in  his  hand  his  Ro- 
sary and  a  picture  of  the  Blessed  Mother. 

Over  this  statue  of  the  dying  boy  (for  he 
was^only  eighteen  at  the  time  of  his  death) 
hangs  a  lovely  picture  of  a  vision  which 
appeared  to  him  at  his  last  moments— the 
holy  ones  welcoming  him  to  heaven.  Our  . 
Blessed  Lady,  with  the  Child  Jesus,  stands 
on  the  clouds,  while  bright  angels  hover 
about  Her;  in  the  background  appear  the 
three  patron  saints  of  the  youth:'  St.  Agnes 
with  her  lamb;  St.  Barbara  bearing  the 
chalice  and  Host;  and  St.  Cecilia,  with  the 


56^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


harp  and  other  instruments  of  music  at  her 
feet. 

Beyond  this  sacred  chamber  is  another, 
called  the  chapel  of  the  Madonna.  Over 
the  altar  is  a  copy  of  the  miraculous  Ma- 
donna of  St.  Miria  Maggiore,  said  to  have 
been  painted  by  St.  Luke.  Another  room 
is  filled  with  objects  belonging  to  the  ven- 
erable Cardinal  Bellarmine,  who  was  the 
confessor  of  St.  Aloysius.  On  the  wall  are 
numerous  precious  autograph  letters  and 
portraits  of  St.  Aloysius  and  St.  Leonard  of 
Port  Maurice,  and  a  reliquary  filled  with 
pious  mementos.  There  is  also  a  small 
chamber  where  St.  Francis  Borgia  lived  for 
some  time.  The  inscription  over  the  ves- 
tibule is  as  follows:  ^  Romanum  Societatis 
Jesu  tirociniiun  a  S.  Francisco  Borgia  in 
hac  cEdium  parte  institutum  S.  Stanislaus 
Kostka  vivens  cohiit  et  7noriens  illiistravit'^ 

A  noted  writer  has  remarked:  ''The 
chamber  of  St.  Stanislaus  is  one  of  those 
places  where  prayer  springs  spontaneously 
in  the  pious  heart."  It  is  said  of  this  holy 
youth  that  his  heart  burned  so  fervently 
with  divine  love,  that  he  was  often  obliged 
to  bathe  his  breast  to  cool  the  flame.  The 
Saint  belonged  to  a  noble  Polish  family;  he 
was  born  in  1550,  and  died  in  1568.  His 
relics  repose  under  a  beautiful  altar  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Andrea,  on  the  Quirinal, — 
a  favorite  spot,  where  pious  Roman  youth 
come  to  pray.  Near  the  main  altar  is  the 
tomb  of  Emanuel  IV.  (the  grandfather  of 
Victor  Emanuel),  who  resigned  his  throne 
in  1802,  and  embraced  the  rule  of  St.  Igna- 
tius in  1815. 

How  sad  it  is  to  think  that  the  rooms 
which  stood  on  the  outside  of  St.  Stanislaus' 
chamber  have  already  fallen  beneath  the 
pickaxe  of  the  demolisher,  and  even  the 
Saint's  own  room  will,  probably,  too  soon 
share  the  same  fate!* 

We  returned  to  our  apartments  for  bodily 


*  We  learn  from  a  late  issue  of  the  London 
Tablet  that  there  was  an  immense  concnirse  in  the 
Church  of  St  Andrea,  on  the  Quirinal,  on  the  Fes 
tival  of  St  Stanislaus;  and  it  was  perhaps  thought 
that  this  would  be  the  last  feast  of  his  when  the 
sanctuary  of  his  room  could  be  visited  by  the 


refreshment,  after  this  long  day  of  spiritual 
sustenance,  and  closed  the  anniversary  by 
going  to  the  Chapel  of  Perpetual  Adora- 
tion, called  the  Chapel  of  the  Pregatrici — 
an  enclosed  order  of  nuns,  clothed  in  white 
with  blue  mantles.  Go  into  the  sacred  I 
edifice  when  you  will,  there  is  always  a  ' 
nun  kneeling  in  adoration.  They  have  Ben- 
ediction of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  every 
day,  when  visitors  are  allowed  to  look  into 
the  chapel  from  behind  a  wooden  screen, 
and  to  hear  heavenly  music  from  the  voices 
of  these  Sisters,  the  whole  congregation 
joining  in  the ' '  Orapro  nobis ' '  of  the  Litany 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

This  was  a  most  happy  ending  of  our  an- 
niversary, crowning  the  day  with  sweet  and 
hallowed  memories.  We  visited  many  other 
holy  houses  in  Rome,  where  saints  have 
lived  and  died,  of  which  we  may  some  time 
wriie;  but  the  day  of  our  eleventh  anniver- 
sary is  one  that  will  be  always  marked  with 
a  white  stone. 

ISADORE. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


A   WONDROUS    CURE. 


[To  the  countlCvSS  number  of  prodigies  effected 
in  the  world  by  the  ever- Blessed  Virgin  for  the 
relief  of  the  miserable,  the  following:  marvel  of  re- 
cent occurrence  is  to  be  added.  We  give  it  in  the 
simple  words  of  the  man  in  whose  favor  the  cure 
was  operated.] 

PENETRATED  by  the  deepest  senti- 
ments of  gratitude,  I  yield  to  the  ne- 
c.ssity  which  my  soul  feels  to  make  known 
the  wonders  worked  on  me,  Her  unworthy 
son,  by  the  Mother  of  God.  Unworthy  I 
truly  call  myself,  because,  born  a  Catholic, 
I  professed  a  very  poor  kind  of  Catholicity: 
to  admit  that  there  is  a  God,  to  do  no  injury 
to  any  man,  in  this  consisted  all  my  religion. 

faithful.  But  the  urgent  representations  of  the 
Polish  Catholics  to  Queen  Margaret— who  on  her 
mother's  side  claims  Polish  descent — have  not 
been  without  effect,  and  an  order  has  been  issued 
by  King  Humbert  to  remove  the  chamber  bodily 
to  a  space  behind  the  church, when  the  JCvSuit  novi- 
tiate is  converted  into  stables  for  the  royal  horses. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


569 


hatever  else  there  was  in  religion  I  either 
laid  aside  as  doubtful,  or  treated  with  indif- 
ference. To  my  shame  I  may  add  that  I  was 
consistent  with  my  doubts  and  indifference; 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  external 
rorship,  nor  cared  for  the  laws  of  the  Church 
)r  her  Sacraments.  To  give  myself  the  air 
)f  a  learned  man,  as  I  thought  became  my 
^occupation  of  elementary  teacher,  I  spoke 
of  miracles  as  legends,  and  treated  the  his- 

Eiry  of  religion  as  a  pious  fable. 
"But,  by  the  divine  mercy,  I  was,  as  it 
ere,  to  touch  with  my  hand  the  folly  of 
uiy  convictions.  On  the  morning  of  Au- 
gust the  13th  of  this  year  I  felt  a  very  severe 
headache,  and  on  returning  home  from 
school  I  suddenly  lost  the  sight  of  my  right 
eye.  Soon  afterwards  I  was  deprived  of  my 
speech.  The  doctor  was  called  in,  and  he 
pronounced  my  ailment  to  be  cephalic  apo- 
plexy. He  bled  me  three  times  in  quick 
succession,  and  put  leeches  behind  my  right 
ear;  sinapisms  were  also  applied,  which  I 
hardly  felt ;  but  his  efforts  to  administer  sed- 
atives were  in  vain,  because  my  teeth  were 
closed  convulsively.  Another  physician  was 
summoned, and,  after  repeated  experiments, 
they  agreed  in  declaring  that  the  sight  of 
my  eye  was  destroyed,  and  the  right  arm 
was  totally  paralyzed. 

"On  the  morning  of  the  14th,  being  able 
to  open  my  mouth  a  little,  they  gave  me 
some  spoonfuls  of  broth  and  wine,  which  it 
cost  me  a  great  effort  to  swallow.  Soon  after- 
wards I  felt  a  second  stroke  of  apoplexy; 
^my  mouth  closed  again,  and  the  doctors  pro- 
nounced my  case  desperate.  By  their  advice 
the  pastor  was  summoned,  and  I  made  my 
confession  by  signs.  I  myself,  as  well  as  all 
who  stood  around  me,  were  convinced  that 
my  last  hour  was  at  hand. 

"It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  school- 
mistress of  the  place,  according  to  a  pious 
custom  of  the  country,  assembled  some 
other  ladies,  with  whom  she  proceeded  to  a 
little  church  near  by,  wherein  is  a  much 
venerated  miraculous  image  of  the  "Ma- 
donna of  the  Penitents."  All  joined  in 
fervent  prayers  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  to 
preserve  me,  as  the  support  of  my  mother, 


wife,  and  children;  but  meanwhile  my  mal- 
ady was  making  rapid  progress.  About 
noon  my  breathing  became  difficult,  then 
irregular,  and  the  doctor  declared  that  I 
could  not  live  more  than  a  few  hours. 

"At  this  time  the  good  ladies  who  had 
been  praying  for  my  recovery  returned, 
bringing  with  them  a  handkerchief  that  had 
been  placed  on  the  sacred  image.  My  wife, 
taking  it  from  them,  laid  it  on  my  forehead, 
which  was  already  bathed  in  the  cold  sweat 
of  death.  At  its  touch  I  was  stirred  by  a 
secret  power — I  felt  life  coursing  through 
my  members;  I  opened  my  eyes,  called  for 
my  mother,  and  cried  out  joyfully  that  I 
was  perfectly  cured.  I  asked  for  food,  and,  to 
the  surprise  of  all  present,  I  rose  from  my 
bed. 

"The  glad  news  of  my  sudden  cure 
soon  spread  amongst  the  people,  who  had 
known  how  low  I  was,  and  a  great  number 
came  running  to  see  me.  In  the  midst  of 
this  excitement  I  left  the  house  to  go  and 
make  my  thanksgiving  to  God  and  Our 
Lady  in  the  parish  church,  where  the  pastor, 
yielding  to  a  universally  expressed  wish, 
had  a  most  devout  celebration  in  honor  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin. 

"The  above  is  a  true  relation  of  the  prod- 
igy effected  on  me,  testified  to  by  a  whole 
people,  and  certified  by  the  declarations  of 
the  physicians." 

"Glory  be  to  God  and  to  His  Most  Holy 
Mother!  and  may  Heaven  grant  me  the 
grace  that  my  future  life  may  be  a  constant 
reparation  of  my  past  disorders,  and  a  con- 
stant expression  of  gratitude  for  the  favor 
bestowed  upon  me! 

"D.  A.,  School-Teacher, 
•'PoGGio  S.  lyORENzo  IN  Sabina,  Sept.,  1886." 


The  advantage  of  living  does  not  con- 
sist in  length  of  days,  but  in  the  right  em- 
ployment of  them. — Mo7itaigne. 

Like  the  angels,  we  must  do  good  to  all, 
but  without  awaiting  their  gratitude. — 
Veil.  Mother  Barat. 

Jesus  weighs  His  gifts  and  favors  with  the 
measure  of  our  confidence. — Id. 


570 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 

A  lady  who  had  been  cured  at  Lourdes  thir- 
teen years  ago  of  a  fearful  cancer  in  the  breast, 
recently  submitted  to  a  fresh  examination  by 
Dr.  de  St.  Maclou,  the  physician  stationed  at 
the  Grotto.  He  found  no  trace  of  the  malady 
save  a  large  scar.  In  1873  her  condition  was 
such  that  it  was  judged  useless  to  employ 
remedies;  and  on  learning  her  resolution  of 
going  to  Lourdes,  her  physician,  one  of  re- 
nowned skill,  declared  that  if  she  returned 
well,  he  would  recognize  a  supernatural 
power.  She  was  instantly  cured,  and  in  a  few 
days  he  saw  her  perfectly  healed.  The  man 
of  science  acknowledged  Irimself  vanquished, 
and  became  a  fervent  Catholic.  He  has  since 
died,  but  the  patient  whose  case  he  declared 
hopeless  thirteen  years  ago  lives  on  in  good 
health.  

We  are  happy  to  learn  that  the  Rev.  Mr 
Rose,  the  founder  of  a  Ritualistic  community 
known  as  the  ' '  Brothers  of  the  Common  Life, " 
and  Mr.  Poock,  one  of  his  novices,  have  been 
received  into  the  Church. 


In  an  article  on  ' '  The  Helpers  of  the  Holy 
Souls,"  which  appeared  in  The  "Ave  Ma- 
ria' '  in  the  month  of  November,  1 885,  the  hope 
was  expressed  that  the  Society  would  soon 
be  established  in  our  own  country,  the  writer 
not  being  aware  at  that  time  that  preliminary 
steps  had  already  been  taken  to  this  end.  We 
have  recently  learned  that  an  "Association  of 
Honorary  Members  of  the  Society  of  the  Help- 
ers of  the  Holy  Souls ' '  has  been  in  operation 
for  several  years,  having  its  headquarters  in 
New  York  city.  It  has  been  approved  by  the 
late  Cardinal  and  the  present  Archbishop, 
and  has  been  formed  in  this  country  with  a 
view  to  the  ultimate  foundation  in  America  of 
the  active  order  of  Helpers  of  the  Holy  Souls. 
For  the  better  accomplishment  of  this  desir- 
able result,  we  think  greater  publicity  should 
be  given  to  the  object  and  ends  of  the  Associ- 
ation,which  are,  if  we  mistake  not,  almost  un- 
known outside  of  New  York.  We  are  pleased 
to  facilitate  the  progress  of  the  good  wOrk  by 
giving  the  address  of  the  locality.  All  com- 
munications should  be  sent  to  '  *  The  Associa- 
tion of  Hon.  Members  H.  H.  S.,  Station  K., 
New  York  City." 


It  is  no  surprise  nowadaj^s  to  hear  the 
strongest  condemnation  of  our  Public  School 
System  from  the  lips  of  Protestants,  even 
ministers,  so  completely  have  non- Catholics 
changed  their  minds  on  the  subject  of  educa- 
tion. The  Rev.  Thomas  E.  Green,  pastor  of 
St.  Andrew's  Protestant  Episcopal  Church, 
Chicago,  is  quoted  as  saying  from  his  pulpit, 
a  few  Sundays  ago,  that  just  as  sure  as  the 
secular  tendency  of  the  schools  prevailed, 
atheism  and  infidelity  would  flourish  in  the 
land,  leaving  the  inevitable  fruits  of  anarchy 
and  communism  He  declared  that  the  secu- 
larization of  the  schools  was  largely  respon- 
sible for  the  growing  evils  of  the  social  and 
business  world.  

If  the  statement  of  a  Berlin  correspondent 
who  is  usually  well-informed  be  correct.  Em- 
peror William  cherishes  the  devsire  to  ratify 
the  re-establishment  of  religious  peace  in  his 
dominions  by  a  personal  meeting  with  His 
Holiness  Leo  XIII.  The  following  report 
appeared  in  a  recent  issue  of  the  Osservatore 
Cattolico:  "We  hear  from  Berlin  that  Mgr. 
Thiel,  the  learned  Bishop  of  Varmia,  has  had 
an  interview  with  his  Majesty  the  Emperor. 
The  Minister  of  Worship,  Baron  Gossler,  was 
present  during  the  audience,  which  lasted 
about  an  hour.  The  Emperor,  in  the  course 
of  the  conversation,  said  to  the  Bishop:  '  I  am 
glad  to  have  restored  religious  peace  to  my 
country.  I  wish  to  see  the  Pope  before  I  die, 
but  how  can  I  do  it  ? '  After  the  interview,  the 
Bishop  dined  with  the  Emperor. — Catholic 
Times. 

From  the  institution  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
to  the  year  1852  only  five  women  received  the 
decoration,  and  they  were  all  religious.  In 
1 865  the  Empress  sent  the  Cross  of  the  Order 
to  Rosa  Bonheur.  During  the  Franco- Prussian 
war  a  female  telegraph  clerk  and  a  cantiniere 
were  decorated  for  acts  of  heroism  performed 
at  great  risk  of  life,  and  resulting  in  important 
services  to  the  French  army.  The  recent  war 
with  China  added  two  more  to  the  list  of  dec- 
orated ladies,  both  of  them  Sisters  of  Charity, 
eminent  for  their  services  to  the  wounded  on 
the  field  of  battle.  The  latest  chevali'^re  won 
the  insignia  for  her  services  to  archaeology  ren- 
dered during  the  recent  expedition  to  Persia. 


The  Rev.  John  Edwards,  rector  of  the  Church 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  in  East  Four- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


571 


teenth  Street,  New  York  city,  recently  told 
the  people  of  his  parish  that  he  wanted  a  col- 
lection. The  response  was  $3,600.  East  Four- 
teenth Street  is  not  a  "brownstone  district," 
but  it  has  had  a  most  successful  Catholic 
school  in  operation  for  many  years,  and  Father 
Edwards  says  that  helps  to  account  for  this 
generosity.  Next  year  the  zealous  rector  hopes 
to  paint,  decorate,  and  improve  the  interior  of 
the  church.  Recently  the  exterior  has  been 
painted,  pointed,  and  made  weathertight. — 
N.  V.  FreemarV  s  Journal. 


In  spite  of  the  protests  of  the  medical  staff 
and  the  indignant  appeal  of  the  public,  the 
two  remaining  hospitals  in  Paris  devoted  to 
children  have  been  placed  in  charge  of  lay 
nurses.  The  Necker  Hospital  was  served  by 
the  Sisters  of  Charity  and  the  Hospital  of  the 
Child  Jesus  (fitting  name  for  a  home  dedicated 
to  the  suffering  little  ones  He  loved)  was  in 
charge  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Thomas.  This 
change  involves  a  heavy  addition  to  the  hos- 
pital budget,  but  the  irreligious  officials  could 
not  tolerate  the  presence  of  religious  by  the 
bedside  of  sick  and  dying  children. 


Very  Rev.  A.  B.  Oechtering,  the  zealous  rec- 
tor of  St  Joseph's  Church,  Mishawaka,  Ind., 
made  time  last  month  from  his  numerous  and 
exacting  duties  to  conduct  the  exercises  of  the 
Jubilee  in  Leo,  a  little  town  in  the  same  State, 
the  worthy  pastor  of  which  is  the  Rev.  Father 
Vagnier,  C.  S.  C,  formerly  a  member  of  the 
faculty  of  the  University  of  Notre  Dame.  The 
sermons  were  well  attended,  and  the  fervent 
eloquence  of  the  preacher  brought  back  many 
careless  Catholics  to  their  duty.  Leo,  though 
a  very  small  village,  bears  an  honored  name. 
Forty  years  ago  and  more,  when  a  post-office 
was  established  there,  Mr.  William  Miiller, 
one  of  the  early  settlers  of  the  town,  gave  it 
the  name  it  bears  in  honor  of  Leo  XII.,  then 
reigning.  May  the  Jubilee  proclaimed  by  Leo 
XIII  prove  the  source  of  abundant  blessings 
to  the  congregation  of  Leo,  and  of  much  con- 
solation to  its  worthy  pastor! 


Writing  of  Christmas  gifts,  Le  Couteulx 
Z,^aflf(?r  suggests  a  year's  subscription  to  some 
Catholic  magazine  as  one  of  the  best  presents 
that  could  be  made.  This  is  sensible.  A  peri- 
odical coming  to  hand  every  week  or  month 


would  be  a  pteasant  remembrance  of  the 
sender  all  through  the  year,  and  few  gifts 
would  be  likely  to  prove  more  beneficial. 
There  are  not  a  few  persons  who  order  The 
"Ave  Maria"  sent  as  a  Christmas  or  New- 
Year  present  to  friends  or  relatives  abroad. 


Our  fund  for  the  apostle  of  the  lepers,  which 
amounts  to  $946.90,  is  now  closed.  The  tab- 
ernacles he  desired  will  be  purchased  as  soon 
as  we  are  informed  as  to  the  most  suitable 
material,  etc. ,  and  the  remainder  of  the  money 
will  be  remitted  by  draft.  Besides  the  follow- 
ing sums  received  within  the  past  week,  we 
have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  a  lace 
surplice,  an  elegant  specimen  of  needlework, 
also  a  beautiful  pyx  case,  the  gifts  of  sym- 
pathizing friends  in  Cambridge,  Mass. : 

M.O'Connell,$5;  M.C.  M.,$5;  M.D.,^i;  Philip 
Clarke,  $f;  The  Rev.  Father  Malone,  $10;  The  So- 
dality of  the  Church  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion, New  York,  $10;  Mary  Corrolan,  |i;  John 
Meehan,  %\ ;  The  Rev.  John  Edwards,  $10;  Mrs.  C. 
Hahn  and  Mrs.  L.  S.  Karst,  $5;  Miss  Bridget 
Goodall.  $1 ;  A  Reader  of  The  '  'Ave  Maria,  "  $i  ; 
Miss  Bridget  Madden,  %\\  A  Friend,  in  honor  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  $2 ;  A  non- Catholic  gentle- 
man in  St.  Louis  (through  Mrs.  E.  E.  Sherman), 
$25;  A  Friend  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  ^i;  A  Con- 
vert, "asking  prayers  for  the  conversion  of  my 
mother,"  $1;  John  Bashford,  $5;  M.  F.,  25cts.;  J., 
$1 ;  A  Friend.  $1 ;  An  unknown  friend  in  Balti- 
more, %2\  Thomas  McDonald,  a  subscriber  of  the 
Catholic  Columbian,  $i;  James  Riley,  $1 ;  Mr.  J. V. 
Moffit,$2;  E.B.,E.H.,J.B.,andM.Z.,$2;  Read- 
ers of  The  "Ave  Maria"  in  Portugal,  ^10;  Mrs. 
C.  J.  White,  $2 ;  An  offering  in  honor  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  $1. 


New  Publications. 


Purgatory:  Doctrinal,  Historical,  and 
Poetical.  New  York:  Sadlier  &  Co. 
We  think  that  Mrs.  Sadlier' s  object  in  writ- 
ing this  book  was  an  excellent  one.  Doctrinal 
and  devotional  works  on  the  subject  of  Pur- 
gatory exist  in  abundance,  but  unfortunately 
they  do  not  attract  the  attention  of  the  gen- 
eral reader.  To  make  Purgatory  more  real  and 
more  familiar  to  the  faithful,  and  thereby  to 
promote  devotion  to  the  Holy  Souls,  such 
were  the  ideas  Mrs  Sadlier  had  in  view  in  the 
compilation  of  this  most  instructive  volume. 
The  first  part  of  the  work  is  doctrinal  and 
devotional,  and  comprises  extracts  from  theo- 


57^ 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


logians,  both  ancient  and  modern.  The  sec- 
ond part  consists  of  anecdotes  and  incidents 
relating  to  Purgatory,  which,  while  not  all 
authenticated,  will  be  read  with  edification 
hy  pious  souls.  The  third  part  contains  some 
historical  matter  on  the  same  subject,  and  the 
fourth  and  fifth  contain  selections  in  prose  and 
poetry  from  various  authors  who  have  written 
on  the  subject  of  Purgatory.  The  legendary 
and  poetical  portions  of  the  book  will  be  found 
by  the  majority  of  readers  the  most  attractive, 
and  contain  some  pieces  of  the  highest  liter- 
ary excellence.  We  heartily  commend  the 
book  to  the  attention  of  all  our  readers,  as  we 
feel  sure  that  all  will  find  something  to  in- 
terest them  in  a  perusal  of  its  richly  varied 
contents. 

The  Angki,  Guardian  Annual.  1887.  Bos- 
ton, Mass. 

This  pretty  little  ^72722/^/,  which  is  published 
by  the  Brothers  of  Charity  for  the  benefit  of 
the  orphans  and  destitute  children  in  the 
House  of  the  Angel  Guardian,  Boston,  and  is 
now  in  its  eighth  year,  contains  a  useful  and 
entertaining  series  of  biographical  sketches 
and  short  articles  on  subjects  of  general  inter- 
est to  Catholics.  The  Brothers  of  Charity  are 
doing  an  excellent  work  in  undertaking  the 
charge  of  orphans  in  Boston,  and  we  trust  that 
this  Annual  may  be  the  means  of  procuring 
them  new  friends  and  an  increase  of  funds. 


Obituary. 

"//  is  a  holy  and  tuholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

— 2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  have 
been  commended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our 
readers : 

Captain  James  May,  formerly  of  Pittsburg,  whose 
death  occurred  at  the  SivSters' hospital, Springfield, 
111.,  on  the  25111  of  October.  He  was  a  good  citi- 
zen, a  kind  father,  and  a  faithful  Catholic. 

Miss  Ellen  Glass,  a  Child  of  Mary,  who  was 
called  from  this  world  on  the  23d  ult. ,  at  Emmitts- 
burg,  Md. 

Mr.  William  Cahill,  a  worthy  young  man,  who 
lately  departed  this  life  in  Philadelphia.  He  was 
beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Donoghue, of  Springfield,  Mass., 
whose  lamented  death  took  place  on  the  26th  ult. 

Mr.  William  Lyons,  of  Chicago,  111. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace ! 


PAKTMENI 


Bear  and  Forbear. 


BY    R.   H. 


LEARN  to  "bear  and  forbear,"  wrote  wise 
Plato  of  old, 
'Tis  a  motto  to  print  on  the  heart; 
In  forbearing  be  gentle,  in  bearing  be  bold, 

And  you'll  act  throughout  life  a  man's  part. 
Aye,  bear  and  forbear,  'tis  a  motto  will  wear, 

And  be  new  till  the  end  of  life's  span; 
Keep  it  always  in  view,  to  its  lesson  be  true, 
For  it  simply  means  this — be  a  man! 


Our  Lady's  Care  for  a  Wayward  Child. 


BY    E.    V.    N. 


'*  Lottie,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where 
our  class  has  wandered?"  said  a  bright- 
eyed  girl  to  a  schoolmate  who  had  just 
joined  her  in  picking  up  some  fine  chest- 
nuts that  had  fallen  after  an  early  frost. 

"I  fancy  they  have  continued  on  this 
road  as  far  as  the  turnpike  gate.  I  heard 
them  talking  about  <3;.y^/<?/>2'«^, and  during  the 
Summer  there  were  a  great  many  growing 
about  there." 

"True,  they  dids2cy  something  about  the 
pods  maturing  and  being  full  of  silk ;  it  has 
been  proposed,  they  say,  to  attempt  to  man- 
ufacture silk  tissue  from  these  seed-bearers. 
But  why  are  you  so  late,  Kate?" 

' '  I  stopped  to  take  a  piano  lesson  from 
the  German  master." 

'  'And  /  could  not  pass  this  dear  old  chest- 
nut-tree. This  one,  and  those  above  the 
knoll  near  the  cemetery,  will  have  a  place 
in  my  memory  as  long  as  I  live.  Shall  we 
go  and  join  the  others  now?  My  pocket  is 
nearly  full." 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  I  have  gathered  a  few 
more  nuts.  It  is  so  windy  this  afternoon  that 


The  Ave  Maria. 


573 


the  burs  are  falling  everywhere.   Just  look 

how  those  boughs  near  the  top  are  tossing 

'  about!  The  brown  and  fawn- colored  leaves 

contrast  beautifully  with  the  clear,  vaulted 

iblue." 

?  "I  do  love  this  season — the  changing  of 
ithe  leaves,  the  gathering  in  of  fruit,  and 
Ithat  sort  of  mystic  rune  of  the  swaying 
If  trees,  as  if  they  were  mourning  the  depart- 
ure of  Summer!    But  come  on,  Kate." 

"Do  you  know,  Lottie,  I  am  glad  to  have 
met  you  alone?  I  have  been  trying  to  find 
an  opportunity  to  invite  you  to  join  our 
Congregation." 

''I  wish  I  were  a  good,  true  Child  of 
Mary,  dear  Kate.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
silver  badge  of  Our  Lady's  protection  is 
more  to  be  coveted  than  the  graduate's 
golden  token  of  the  highest  honor.  But,  you 
see, with  my  temper — so  harsh  and  impa- 
tient— I  should  have  to  make  very  generous 
ejfforts  to  merit  the  votes  of  the  members." 
*'Dear  Lottie,  since  you  appreciate  so 
highly  the  privileges  of  a  Child  of  Mary, 
why  not  send  in  your  petition,  so  as  to  be 
received  at  our  next  Sunday's  reunion?" 
*'I  believe  I  will.  My  head  is  full  of 
dreams  of  success  on  Distribution  Day.  I 
feel  quite  interested  in  my  studies — but — " 
"But — what  will  acquirements  avail 
without  good  deportment,  Lottie?  Now, 
if  you  really  resolve  to  overcome  yourself, 
the  efforts,  joined  to  prayer, will  be  the  very 
best  means  of  attaining  literary  success. 
This  is  the  last  week  of  October;  you  can 
surely  merit  the  medal  of  the  Congregation 
by  thti  8th  of  December —  But  I  hear  our 
class." 

"Yes,  by  the  sound  of  their  voices  they 
must  be  nearing  the  great  bridge.  Let  us 
sit  on  these  lustic  benches  by  the  lake  till 
they  come  up.  We  can  explain^our  delay 
to  Madame  afterwards." 

*  *  Very  well, ' '  answered  Kate.  *  'And  they 
will  enjoy  these  lovely  chestnuts  with  us." 

The  8th  of  December  dawned.  At  Holy 
Mass  the  altar  blazed  with  lights,  and  all  day 
long  the  shrines  of  the  Mother  of  Sorrows 
and  the  "Lily  of  Judah"  were  ornamented  i 


with  tapers  and  a  rich  burden  of  fragrant 
flowers.  The  pupils  of  the  academy, in  veils 
of  filmy  lace,  and  bearing  branches'of  St. 
Joseph'slilies,  walked  in  procession  through 
the  convent  halls,  to  the  chant  of  their 
most  triumphant  litanies,  alternating' with 
hymns  breathing  warm  and  tender  devo- 
tion to  the  Mother  of  God.  At  every  shrine 
the  simple  pageant,  gay  with  banners  in 
honor  of  the  Immaculate  Heart,  the  angels, 
and  the  sainted  Gonzaga,  halted  to  invoke 
the  Queen  of  Virgins. 

At  the  solemn  hour  of  the  Benediction 
a  select  band  of  Sodalists  of  Mary,  in  white 
robes,  veiled,  and  crowned  with  roses,  mod- 
estly entered  the  broad  aisle  of  the  convent 
chapel,  and  solemnly  advanced  to  the  altar, 
accompanied  by  the  music  of  a  soft  and 
melodious  march,  improvised  by  the  sym- 
pathizing organist.  Three  new  candidates 
were  to  be  received,  and  all  the  former  mem- 
bers were  to  renew  their  promise  to  love 
and  honor  Our  Blessed  Lady.  A  short  ex- 
hortation was  to  be  delivered  by  their  spir- 
itual director,  and  then  Benediction  of  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  was  to  crown  the  favors 
of  that  glorious  festival.  Among  the  newly 
received  candidates  was  Lottie,  and  warmly 
did  the  zealous  Kate  welcome  her  to  their 
consecrated  fellowship. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  year,  Lottie 
was  untiring  in  her  efforts  to  become  a  close 
imitator  of  the  Virgin  of  the  Temple.  Mod- 
est amid  the  most  brilliant  success  in  her 
studies,  ever  ready  to  aid  a  companion  less 
quick  at  comprehending  or  memorizing  an 
allotted  task,  generous  in  working  for  the 
poor  of  Christ,  careful  of  all  the  rules  of 
the  academy,  and  observing  marked  defer- 
ence towarr's  her  superiors  and  her  school- 
mates— both  teachers  and  companions  were 
delighted  to  award  her  the  "Blue  Ribbon" 
(decoration  for  perfect  conduct),  and  the 
laun  1  crown  of  victory.  To  the  heavy  chain 
that  bore  the  gold  medal  of  success  was 
suspended  the  more  gkrious  (in  her  eyes) 
silver  medal  of  a  Child  of  Mary. 

When  the  Archbishop  and  his  clerical 
assistants  withdrew  from  the  hall  on  Prize 
Day,  Lottie   hastened   to  embrace   Kate, 


574 


The  Ave  Maria, 


pressiTior  her  to  her  heart  with  tears  of 
mingled  joy  and  gratitude,  and  assuring  her 
that  to  her  zeal  in  urging  her  to  become  a 
Child  of  Mary  she  owed  her  overflowing  cup 
of  happiness.  The  friends  parted,  promis- 
ing to  exchange  visits  and  letters. 

Two  years  glided  into  oblivion,  during 
which  Kate  and  Lottie  kept  up  a  regular 
exchange  of  friendly  letters  and  visits.  The 
first  Christmastide  Lottie  spent  at  Kate's 
home,  and  Kate  passed  the  Summer  with 
Lottie  at  her  parents'  stately  mansion.  The 
next  Christmas  Kate  visited  Lottie,  and  the 
two  families  met  during  the  following  Sum- 
mer at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  of  Vir- 
ginia. On  these  occasions,  notwithstanding 
the  gaieties  and  amusements  by  which  they 
were  surrounded,  our  two  young  friends 
were  faithful  to  the  rules  of  the  Sodality, 
making  their  morning  meditation,  and  de- 
voting some  time  every  day  to  spiritual 
reading,  and  the  recitation  of  the  Rosary. 
■  Preparations  soon  began  to  be  made  for 
Kate's  wedding.  Lottie  accepted  her  invita- 
tion to  act  as  first  bridesmaid;  and,  while 
the  parents  and  relatives  of  the  bride  con- 
tributed all  that  social  position  and  wealth 
could  offer  on  the  festive  occasion,  Kate  in- 
sisted that  every  particular  concerning  the 
Sacrament  of  Matrimony  should  be  con- 
ducted according  to  strictly  Catholic  usage. 

A  few  months  later  the  marriage  bells 
chimed  anew  in  honor  of  Lottie's  bridal 
feast.  But  the  ceremony  at  the  cathedral 
was  neither  consoling  nor  brilliant.  While 
Kate  and  her  betrothed  had  on  their  wed- 
ding-day occupied  2iprie-dieic  in  the  sanct- 
uary, which  was  redolent  with  the  perfume 
of  holy  incense  and  emblematic  flowers, 
and  had  received  Holy  Communion  at  the 
Nuptial  Mass.  the  ceremony  of  Lottie's  mar- 
riage was  cold  and  cheerless;  for  she  had 
given  her  hand  to  a  Protestant.  Hence  she 
was  wedded  in  the  sacristy.  No  lighted 
tapers  symbolized  faith,  no  fragrant  flowers 
typified  the  blessing  of  the  Church  on  the 
future  life  of  the  bride  and  groom,  and  no 
Holy  Communion  made  their  hearts  one 
with  the  Heart  of  their  divine  Saviour. 

Each  of  I  he  bridal  parties  visited  Europe. 


Lottie  and  Mr.  W went  to  Berlin,  Kate 

and  Mr.  Y to  Florence,  thence  to  Rome 

to  ask  the  blessing  of  the  Holy  Father. 
During  the  greater  part  of  the  year  the  two 
friends  kept  up  a  regular  correspondence, 
relating  interesting  details  of  all  the  won- 
ders that  attracted  their  attention.  Lottie 
was  the  first  to  delay  in  replying,  and  Kate 
observed  that  she  no  longer  signed  herself 
^ ^ Enfant  de  Marie.''''  Alarmed  at  this,  the 
zealous  friend  wrote  at  once  to  beg  a  novena 
in  honor  of  the  Immaculate  Heart  of  Mary, 
from  the  Directress  of  the  Sodality  at  the 
academy  in  which  both  friends  had  been 
enrolled  under  that  sweet  banner.  The 
steamer  that  brought  Kate's  letter  also  bore 

a  letter  from  Mrs.  Lottie  W ,  and  a  neat 

case  of  fine  red  morocco.  The  letter  was 
affectionately  grateful,  full  of  interesting 
descriptions  of  society  and  customs  in  Ber- 
lin, Munich,  Dresden,  and  Baden,  but  con- 
cluded with  explaining  the  meaning  of  the 
morocco  case  and  its  contents — viz..  Lot-* 
tie's  Sodality  medal.  She  thus  closed  her 
lengthy  missive: 

"My  husband  has  taught  me,  dear  and 
respected  Madame,  that  the  invocation  of 
the  Virgin  Mary  is  pure  creature- worship; 
and,  as  he  insists  upon  my  discontinuing  to 
wear  the  Sodality  medal,  I  forward  it  to  \ 
you.  No  doubt  you  will  be  pained  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  pretty  well  convinced 
that  Mr.  W 's  views  are  correct  in  re- 
spect to  prayers  offered  to  the  Mother  of 
Our  Saviour;  but  I  could  not  bear  to  see  the 
badge  (which  is  a  sweet  souvettir  of  school- 
days) in  the  hands  of  those  who  would  de- 
spise the  image  it  bears." 

Mme.  Z burst  into  tears,  then  has- 
tened to  the  chapel  to  confide  her  grief  to  the 
Comfortress  of  the  Afflicted;  after  spend- 
ing sometime  in  humble  supplication,  she 
arose  and  hung  the  medal  on  the  arm  of 
the  statue,  saying,  "Thou  alone.  Blessed 
Mother,  canst  restore  this  heavenly  token 
to  Thy  way.ward  child!'' 

Six  full  years  that  abandoned  medal 
continued  to  rest  on  the  arm  on  which  the 
confiding  Directress  of  the  Congregation 
had  so  reverently  placed  it.    On   Rosary 


The  Ave  Maria. 


575 


Sunday  a  reception  of  new  candidates  was 
to  take  place.  On  examining  the  box  in 
which  the  medals  were  kept,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  there  were  not  enough,  and 
hence  one  of  the  accepted  ones  must  defer 
her  expected  happiness  until  new  medals 
could  be  procured  from  a  Parisian  jeweller, 

fho  had  the  die.  A  consultation  was  held, 
id  as  one  of  the  candidates  had  expressed 
desire  to  follow  our  dear  Lord  in  His 
counsels,  it  was  reasonably  presumed  that 
she  would  take  the  disappointment  with 
greater  fortitude  than  the  others. 

Louisa  acquiesced  meekly,  but  ran  to 
offer  her  grief  to  the  Mother  of  Sorrows, 
and  while  raising  her  tearful  eyes  observed 
the  medal  suspended  from  the  arm  of  the 
statue.  She  had  never  noticed  it  before. 
Was  it  a  vision?  Did  the  Blessed  Virgin 
oflfer  her  this  view  to  console  her?  The 
pious  client  of  Mary  made  haste  to  commu- 
nicate her  thoughts  to  the  Directress,  who 
then  disclosed  to  her  the  secret  of  that  pre- 
cious but  discarded  token. 

*'But  could  I  not  wear  it — it  is  so  long 
now  since  Lottie  gave  it  back  ? ' ' 

"I  have  never  given  up  my  trust  in  Our 
Blessed  Mother's  care  over  her  child;  it  was 
placed  there  as  a  constant,  silent  invocation. 
But  if  you  will  promise  to  recite  six  '  Hail 
Marys'  every  day  for  Mrs.  W 's  con- 
version, I  will  allow  you  to  wear  the  medal ; 
for  it  will  be  some  time  before  we  can  get 
a  new  invoice  from  Paris. ' ' 

"Gladly  will  I  recite  six  ^Aves^  and  even 
the  whole  chaplet;  and  I  will  obtain  all  the 
prayers  I  can  from  others  for  that  inten- 
tion.*' 

Louisa  was  received,  and  kept  her  prom- 
ise. At  the  Sodality  meeting  this  little 
episode  of  school-life  was  narrated,  proper 
inferences  drawn,  and  all  agreed  to  join  in 
fervent  prayer  for  the  unfaithful  client  of 
I  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

Early  in  the  month  of  December  of  that 

Isame  year  a  grand  carriage  stopped  before 

[the  convent  entrance.    A  lady  in  fashiona- 

)le  attire,  accompanied  by  two  lovely  chil- 

Iren  and  their  attendant,  alighted  and  sent 

,  Directress  of  the 


her  card  to  Mme.  Z- 


Sodality.    The  name  on  the  card  was  that 

of  Mrs.W .    The  religious  hastened  to 

the  parlor  with  mingled  sentiments  of  hope 
and   fear.     But  the  latter  sentiment  was 

speedily  banished ;  for  Mrs.  W ran  to 

meet  her  former  teacher  and  guide,  and, 
sobbing  audibly,  begged  her  pardon  for  the 
great  disedification  she  had  given. 

After  some  conversation,  the  lady  ex- 
plained the  new  mystery  by  saying  that  a 
mission  had  been  given  near  her  home, 
and,  perceiving  the  multitude  that  entered 
the  church  morning  and  evening,  she  had 
resolved  to  pay  a  visit,  to  see  and  hear  what 
was  going  on.  Captivated  by  the  earnest 
words  of  the  preacher,  she  attended  sermon 
after  sermon,  and  assisted  at  the  recitation 
of  the  beads  and  at  the  Way  of  the  Cross. 
Finally  confession  came,  with  holy  contri- 
tion, and  she  had  resolved  henceforth  to 
live  up  to  her  faith.  Her  husband  had  been 
invited  to  listen  to  the  eloquence  of  Rev. 

Father  X ,  and  was  at  present  receiving 

instruction;  her  little  ones  had  been  bap- 
tized, and  now  she  had  come  to  beg  the 
restoration  of  her  medal  of  a  Child  of 
Mary. 

Those  who  love  and  confide  in  Her  who 
was  never  invoked  in  vain,  will  easily  com- 
prehend the  holy  joy  of  Mme.  Z and 

of  the  pious  sisterhood. 


The  Lesson  the  Water-Drops  Taught. 

A  little  Spanish  boy,  wearied  with  the 
drudgery  of  learning,  ran  away  from  school. 
As  the  sun  grew  hot,  he  sat  down  to  rest 
beside  a  spring  that  gushed  from  a  rock. 
While  reclining  in  the  shade,  he  noticed 
that  the  constant  dropping  of  the  water  had 
scooped  a  hole  in  a  hard  stone  beneath.  "If 
the  light  drops  can,  by  continual  falling, 
accomplish  so  hard  a  task,"  he  thought, 
"surely  by  constant  effort  I  can  overcome 
my  unwillingness  to  learn."  He  returned 
to  school,  persevered  in  his  studies,  and  be- 
came famous  in  after  years  as  a  great  Saint 
and  Doctor  of  the  Spanish  Church  —  St, 
Isidore  of  Seville. 


57^ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Saved  by  a  White  Owl. 

In  the  cabin  of  a  bark  lying  at  a  San  Fran- 
cisco wharf  is  a  good-sized  glass  case  contain- 
ing the  body  of  a  large  white  owl.  It  is  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  its  species,  and  is  the 
property  of  the  master  of  the  bark,  Captain 
Edmonds.  It  is  fully  two  feet  in  height,  and  its 
snow}^  breast  is  nearly  nine  inches  across.  But 
there  is  a  story  attached  to  Captain  Edmond's 
owl,  and  this  was  related  by  the  Captain  him- 
self while  we  were  inspecting  the  bird. 

"Three  years  ago,"  said  the  Captain,  "I 
was  in  command  of  a  schooner  owned  by  the 
Hudson  Bay  Fur  Company,  plying  between 
Ungara  Bay  and  other  points  along  Hudson's 
Straits,  and  Newfoundland  and  Halifax. 
You  must  know  that  all  through  the  wild 
and  desolate  North  country  are  trading  posts, 
where  hundreds  of  white  trappers  and  Indians 
in  the  employ  of  the  Company  leave  their 
bundles  of  furs  and  hides.  From  these  posts 
parties  are  sent  out  to  carry  the  furs  to  the 
coast,  where  they  are  picked  up  by  the 
schooners  and  barks,  to  be  taken  to  civilized 
regions.  Well,  so  far,  so  good.  It  was  late  in 
the  season,  and  I  had  my  cargo  all  aboard,  with 
the  exception  of  a  lot  of  furs  from  Fort  Hut- 
ton,  several  miles  below  the  mouth  of  the 
Whale  River.  Days  passed,  and  as  they  did 
not  arrive,  I  got  anxious,  and  at  last  deter- 
mined to  set  out  for  the  Fort  and  find  out  the 
cause  of  the  delay.  It  was  a  good  day's  jour- 
ney to  the  Fort,  and,  taking  some  provisions 
in  a  bag,  which  I  slung  over  my  shoulder,  I 
started  on  my  snowshoes,  leaving  the  vessel 
in  charge  of  the  mate.  To  make  a  long  story 
short,  I  reached  the  Fort,  and  was  told  that  the 
furs  had  been  dispatched  to  another  schooner. 
So  I  hastened  on  my  return,  as  I  wanted  to 
get  my  vessel  out  of  the  straits  before  Win- 
ter set  in  in  dead  earnest. 

"Before  I  had  covered  my  first  mile  the 
band  on  one  of  the  snowshoes  gave  way,  and 
I  sat  down  in  the  snow  to  mend  it.  While  so 
engaged  I  did  not  notice  anything  about  me; 
and  when  I  did  look  up,  snow  was  falling,  and 
the  atmosphere  had  grown  very  dark — the 
sure  sign  of  a  storm.  I  replaced  my  shoe  and 
hurried  onward,  but  was  soon  in  the  midst 
of  a  howling,  blinding  snowstorm.  Jn  my 
bewilderment  I  lost  my  bearings,  and  wan- 
dered aimlessly  about,  hallooing  and  yelling, 


with  small  hopes  of  my  cries  being  heard. 
Some  hours  passed  in  this  way,  and  it  became 
pitch  dark.  Benumbed  and  exhausted,  I  at 
last  fell  down  in  the  snow,  and  gave  up  all 
hope  of  ever  seeing  my  schooner  again.  As 
with  people  freezing,  I  became  semi-con- 
scious, and  my  extreme  cold  gave  way  to  a 
prickly  heat,  which  I  knew  was  preliminary 
to  death. 

"Suddenly  I  heard  one  of  the  most  un- 
earthly noises  near  me.  It  affected  me  like  an 
electric  shock,  and  caused  me  to  stagger  up, 
and  look  around.  I  heard  another  *  hoo — hoo,' 
and  then  I  saw  something  white  in  the  dark- 
ness. My  fears  increased.  I  thought  it  must 
be  a  spook.  The  fluttering  w^as  repeated,  the 
object  came  nearer.  Then  I  saw  my  mistake. 
It  was  a  white  owl,  out  in  the  storm  with 
myself.  Then  I  recalled  the  old  Esquimaux 
supersition,  that  a  white  owl  always  appears 
when  one  is  in  distress,  and  that  if  followed, 
the  bird  will  conduct  one  to  a  place  of  safety. 
I  approached  the  owl  and  it  receded.  I  stag- 
gered ahead  and  it  still  went  before  me,  but  it 
never  got  out  of  sight.  I  don't  know  how  far 
I  followed  the  bird,  which  at  intervals  emitted 
its  mournful  'hoo — hoo,'  as  though  to  en- 
courage me.  Thinking  I  must  be  near  the 
ship,  I  hallooed  with  all  my  feeble  might,  and 
was  rejoiced  to  hear  a  response.  Soon  through 
the  falling  snow  I  saw  a  lantern,  and  I  knew 
that  I  was  saved.  The  owl  seemed  loath  to 
leave  me,  and  I  threw  it  the  remains  of  my 
provisions,  which  it  devoured  greedily.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  was  once  more  on  the 
schooner;  and  now  you  know  why  I  think  so 
much  of  this  owl,  as  it  is  the  very  one  that 
saved  my  life." 

"But  how  did  you  get  it?"  we  asked. 

' '  That  is  the  queer  part  of  it, ' '  resumed  the 
Captain.  "In  the  morning  the  owl  was  seen 
flapping  around  in  the  snow,  and  one  of  the 
men  secured  it  without  trouble.  It  died  soon 
after  it  was  brought  aboard.  I  concluded  that 
in  its  hungry  condition  it  had  gorged  itself 
with  the  food  I  threw  it,  and  its  death  was  the 
result.  Being  somewhat  of  a  taxidermist,  I 
stuffed  it  myself,  and  money  couldn't  buy 
W— Catholic  Youth. 


*  *  Good  Bye  ' '  is  the  contraction  of  * '  God  be 
with  you."  When  you  say  "Good-Bye"  you     \ 
always  say  "God  be  with  you."  | 


Vol..  XXIII.       NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  i8,  1886. 


No.  25. 


tCopyricht :— Rirr.  D.  E.  HuMoa,  C.  S.  C.] 


Virgin   Immaculate. 


BY    ANGEI.IQUE    DE    LANDE. 

TV  BOVE  the  moon,  Her  face  reflecting 
-^        Heaven, 

Beneath  Her  feet  the  world  and  all  its  strife, 
Thus  is  She  pictured,  who  to  man  hath  given 

The  Source,  the  Author,  and  the  Crown  of 
Life. 

Mary  Immaculate!  O  sweetest  name! 

Second  to  none  but  His,  Thy  God,  Thy  Son; 
Enkindle  in  Our  hearts  love's  brightest  flame. 

Virgin  of  Virgins!  O  Beloved  One! 

Thou  beauteous  promise  of  Creation's  dawn! 

Destined  restorer  of  our  fallen  state! 
Bright  Star  that  ushered  in  Redemption's 
morn ! 

Shine  on  our  darkness,  O  Immaculate! 

Purer  than  crystal  streams  or  mountain  snows, 
Whiter  than  lilies  on  the  lake's  blue  crest, 

Distilling  fragrance  sweeter  than  the  rose, 
Virgin  Immaculate!  we  hail  Thee  blest. 


Archbishop   Corrigan  on  the    Right  of 
Property. 


NDOUBTEDLY  there  is  a  crisis  in 
the   social   order   to-day,  and   its 
^^    greatness  can  be  determined  only 
|by  the  issue  which  fast  approaching  events 
ill  bring.  The  conflict  between  labor  and 
ipital— long  standing,  and  we  may  say  it 
ill  ever  stand — has  now  assumed  such 


proportions  that  a  clear,  proper  distinction 
between  the  rights  of  both,  made  in  ac- 
cordance with  those  true  Christian  princi- 
ples which  form  the  basis  of  civilization  and 
modern  society,  becomes  of  primal  necessity. 
As  in  the  past,  so  in  the  present,  the  world, 
amid  the  dangers  with  which  it  is  threat- 
ened, turns  to  her,  the  one  safe,  divinely- 
commissioned  arbiter,  who,  down  through 
the  centuries,  has  ever  proved  true  in  the 
fulfilment  of  the  work  entrusted  to  her,  of 
guiding  and  directing  mankind ; — the  world 
to-day  turns  to  the  Church,  and  seeks  her 
aid  and  influence  in  enabling  it  to  with- 
stand the  tidal  wave  which  threatens  to 
break  over  its  social  organization.  No  bet- 
ter proof  of  this  could  be  given  than  the 
utterances  of  the  daily  press,  which,  accord- 
ingly as  emergencies  arise,  clamors  for  the 
pronouncement  of  some  definitive  author- 
ity, not  from  freethinkers  or  the  loose  ut- 
terances of  their  own  sects,  but  from  the 
Catholic  Church. 

Now,  every  fair-minded  reader  of  the 
pastoral  letter  recently  addressed  by  the 
Archbishop  of  New  York  to  the  faithful  of 
his  charge  (which  we  regret  we  can  not 
publish  entire)  must  see  that  he  sets  forth 
clearly  and  concisely  the  true  Christian 
principles  in  relation  to  the  right  of  prop- 
erty, and  effectively  combats  the  wild  So- 
cialistic and  Communistic  theories  which  of 
late  years,  in  a  more  or  less  disguised  form, 
have  begun  to  take  hold  upon  the  masses. 
It  is  but  too  true  that  when,  as  is  the  case 
in  these  days,  instances  are  presented  of  the 


S78 


The  Ave  Maria, 


laboring  class  becoming  the  victims  of  a 
grasping  monopoly, — when  the  just  wages 
which  labor  can  claim  as  its  right  are  with- 
held,— the  result  is  that  the  minds  of  the 
oppressed  are  but  too  well  prepared  to  yield 
to  the  influence  of  the  Socialist  wildly  prom- 
ising a  division  and  community  of  goods 
and  possessions. 

The  words  of  the  distinguished  prelate 
have,  therefore,  a  character  of  timeliness, 
and  will  not  fail  to  be  productive  of  good 
towards  providing  an  efficacious  remedy 
against  the  evils  which  threaten  society. 
The  Archbishop,  to  use  his  own  words,  ap- 
pears ' '  like  the  sentinel  on  the  ramparts  of 
a  city  under  siege,"  and  considers  that  a 
highly  important  duty  of  a  bishop's  office  is 
to  be  quick  in  discerning  dangerous  move- 
ments, and  prompt  in  sounding  timely 
alarm. ' '  Therefore,' '  he  says, ' '  we  commend 
you,  brethren,  to  be  zealously  on  your  guard 
against  certain  unsound  principles  and 
theories  which  assail  the  rights  of  property. 
They  are  loudly  proclaimed  in  our  day,  and 
are  espoused  by  many  who  would  not  wil- 
fully advocate  what  is  wrong.  It  is  the  fair- 
seeming  of  those  theories  which  captivates 
the  minds  of  many,  inasmuch  as  they 
abound  in  promise  of  large  benefit  to  those 
who  are  in  sorest  need." 

The  Church,  with  a  true  mother's  love, 
would  gladly  see  ' '  the  poor  relieved  and  the 
burden  of  the  toiler  lightened  wherever  and 
whenever  just  means  are  used  to  reach  the 
desired  end. "  But  she  will  not  be  deceived 
by  specious  theories,  or  capriciously  change 
her  course.  She  is  ever  the  same  in  her 
guardianship  of  truth  and  her  care  for  souls. 
*'  Hers  is  the  noble  task  not  only  of  direct- 
ing the  actions  of  mankind,  but  also  of 
guiding  their  very  thoughts;  because  she 
never  is  unmindful  that  thought  is  the  par- 
ent of  action,  and  that  sound  principles  are 
the  ouly  solid  foundation  for  pure  mo- 
rality." 

After  explaining  the  true  meaning  of  the 
statement  that  ''all  men  are  born  equal "  — 
that  they  are  equal  in  the  sense  that  "they 
are  all  destined  to  the  same  ultimate  end, 
have  the  same  essence,  and  are  endowed 


with  the  same  faculties  wherewith  to  attain 
that  end, " — Archbishop  Corrigan  sets  forth 
the  true  Christian  doctrine  of  the  right  of 
property,  as  follows: 

''Undoubtedly  God  made  the  earth  for 
the  use  of  all  mankind ;  but  whether  the 
possession  thereof  was  to  be  in  common  or 
by  individual  ownership  was  left  for  reason 
to  determine.  Such  determination,  judging 
from  the  facts  of  history,  the  sanction  of 
law,  from  the  teaching  of  the  wisest  and  the 
actions  of  the  best  and  bravest  of  mankind, 
has  been  and  is  that  man  can,  by  lawful 
acts,  become  possessed  of  the  right  of  own- 
ership in  property,  and  not  merely  in  its 
use.  The  reason  is  because  a  man  is  strictly 
entitled  to  that  of  which  he  is  the  produc- 
ing cause,  to  the  improvement  he  brings 
about  in  it,  and  the  enjoyment  of  both.  But 
it  is  clear  that  in  a  farm,  for  instance,  which 
one  has,  by  patient  toil,  improved  in  value; 
in  a  block  of  marble  out  of  which  one  has 
chiselled  a  perfect  statue,  he  can  not  fully 
enjoy  the  improvement  he  has  caused  un- 
less he  have  also  the  right  to  own  the  sub- 
ject thus  improved.  He  has  a  right — and 
evil  are  the  laws  and  systems  which  ignore 
it — either  to  ownership  and  enjoyment  or 
to  a  full  compensation  for  the  improvement 
which  is  his. 

"To  strive  to  base  an  argument  against 
ownership  in  land  by  reasoning  on  the  uni- 
versal distribution  of  air  and  light  is  only  a 
freak  of  the  imagination.   Human  industry 
can  not  scatter  a  cloud  from  before  the  face 
of  the  sun,  nor  lift  a  fog  that  might  be 
freighted  with  damaging  vapors;  we  take 
the  air  and  the  light  as  God  gives  them, 
and  we  owe  Him  thanks  for  His  bounty. 
It  was  only  the  earth  which  fell  under  the 
primeval  curse  when  man  had  sinned;  and 
it  is  only  the  earth,  not  the  air  or  light, 
which  man's  industrious  toil  can  coax  back  I 
to  something  like  its  original  fruitfulness.  j 
When  he  has  done  so,  his  just  reward  is  to  | 
enjoy  the  results  without  hindrance  from  j 
others.    Even  in  such  a  necessary,  abundant  j 
and  free  commodity  as  water,  if  a  man  by  j 
artificial  means  congeals  a  portion  of  it  into  j 
ice,  is  he  not  entitled  to  enjoy  its  exclusive , 


r 


The  Ave  Maria, 


579 


ownership?  Can  he  not  demand  for  it  with 
justice  a  compensation  equivalent  to  his  in- 
dustry ?  Once  deny  the  right  of  ownership, 
and  you  sow  the  seed  of  stagnation  in  hu- 
pan  enterprise. 

\  *'Who  would  burrow  the  earth  to  draw 
Drth  its  buried  treasures,  if  the  mine  he  was 
orking  were  at  the  mercy  of  the  passer-by 
horn  its  riches  might  attract?  Who  would 
atch  with  eagerness  the  season  when  to 
ow  and  to  reap,  and  to  gather  the  harvest 
rhich  is  the  very  fruit  of  his  labors, if  he  were' 
told  that  those  who  stand  by  the  wayside 
idle  are  equally  entitled  to  its  enjoyment? 
True,  indeed,  in  many  painful  instances  the 
rights  of  the  toiler  are  trampled  on,  and  the 
fruits  of  his  labor  snatched  from  his  grasp. 
True,  this  is  done  too  frequently  with  the 
concurrence,  or  at  least  the  connivance,  of 
law.  This  is  the  evil  that  needs  redress,  but 
such  redress  can  never  be  brought  about  by 
denying  a  fundamental  right  or  by  perpe- 
trating a  radical  wrong.  Seek  rather  for 
redress  of  such  irksome  grievances  by  the 
wise  methods  which  the  Church  is  forever 
teaching,  though  her  voice  may  pass  un- 
heeded by  the  great  ones  of  the  earth. ' ' 


Palms. 


BY  ANNA  HANSON    DORSEY. 


CHAPTER  XIX.— (Concluded.) 

THEIR  sentence  having  been  pronounced, 
Nemesius  and  his  little  daughter  were 
led  to  the  Temple  of  Mars.  The  scene  that 
followed  has  lost  none  of  its  heroism  and 
soul- touching  pathos,  or  been  dimmed  by 
i^  the  seventeen  hundred  years  that  have  since 
passed,  but  thrills  the  hearts  of  those  who 
J|B  read  of  it  now  as  if  it  had  happened  only 
yesterday. 

The  atrium  of  the  Temple  was  thronged 
H  to  witness  the  spectacle.  Many  were  in  tears 
at  the  sight  of  the  beautiful,  innocent  little 
maid,  whose  purity  shed  a  halo  of  sweetness 
around  her.  She  trembled  when  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  rough  soldier,  with  his  gleaming 
e,  who  stood  ready  to,  slay  her.    It  is  not 


recorded  what  passed  between  her  noble 
father  and  herself  in  their  last  embrace,  but 
we  can  imagine  that  he  bade  her  have  cour- 
age, that  her  sufifering  would  only  be  for  a 
moment,  and  that  He  whom  she  loved  and 
His  Holy  Mother  were  already  waiting  at  the 
portals  of  the  Celestial  City  to  receive  her; 
and  that  she  would  scarcely  have  won  the 
diadem  wherewith  she  would  be  crowned, 
and  the  palm  they  would  place  in  her  hands, 
before  he  too  would  be  there,  to  be  united 
with  her  forever.  The  end  was  so  near  that 
his  courage,  kindled  by  divine  anticipa- 
tion and  undimmed  faith,  rose  to  a  sublime 
height;  with  his  own  hands  he  cut  oflf  the 
golden  curls  that  fell  over  her  fair  neck, 
that  the  axe  might  strike  sure,  and  bound  a 
handkerchief  over  her  eyes;  then,  holding 
her  soft  hand  in  the  firm,  tender  clasp  of  his 
own,  led  her  to  the  block,  and  bade  her 
repeat  the  Holy  Name  of  Jesus. 

The  executioner,  unnerved  at  the  sight, 
hesitated  to  strike  ofif  the  beautiful  head; 
but,  terrified  by  the  rough  command  of  his 
captain,  he  advanced  with  uplifted  arm ; 
there  was  a  flash  of  steel,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment it  was  crimsoned  with  innocent  blood. 
Ivike  a  dove  that  had  broken  the  fowler's 
snare,  her  angelic  soul  escaped,  and  she  was 
already  singing  her  glad  song  of  praise  with 
the  celestial  hosts. 

Nemesius  bent  his  neck  to  the  axe,  still 
dripping  with  the  blood  of  his  innocent  one, 
and,  repeating  the  Holy  Name  aloud  so  that 
all  might  hear, — the  Name  that  had  lighted 
her  way  and  strengthened  her  heart, — he 
too  passed  to  his  eternal  reward. 

That  night  Fabian,  almost  benumbed 
with  grief,  was  alone  in  his  private  apart- 
ment, where  he  had  been  for  some  time 
waiting  the  appearance  of  a  person  he  ex- 
pected. By  the  clepsydra  it  was  far  past 
midnight.  He  heard  a  light  footfall  along 
the  corridor,  a  rustle  against  the  leather 
curtain  that  hung  over  the  doorway,  and 
the  boy  Admetus  entered,  bearing  a  small 
parcel  which  had  been  confided  to  him  by 
an  official  at  the  Temple  of  Mars.  Fabian 
looked  up  as  the  messenger  approached, 


58o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


and  bade  him  speak  his  errand,  which  he 
did  with  fast- falling  tears,  his  strangely 
beautiful  face  as  white  the  while  as  a  piece 
of  rare  Grecian  sculpture. 

Camilla  sent  him  to  say  that,  with  the 
connivance  of  certain  Christian  soldiers, 
helped  by  one  of  the  Temple  officials  (to 
whom  she  had  offered  lavish  bribes),  she 
had  obtained  the  sacred  remains  of  Neme- 
sius  and  Claudia;  and  by  his  wish,  ex- 
pressed some  weeks  before  to  the  Pontiff 
Stephen,  who  in  turn  communicated  it  to 
her,  they  were  to  be  entombed  in  the  Cata- 
combs, and  were  at  that  moment  lying  at 
her  villa,  near  the  Via  Latina,  in  case  Fa- 
bian should  wish  to  visit  them. 

* '  Tell  the  Lady  Camilla  it  is  well.  I  leave 
Rome  at  dawn.  My  coming  would  not  re- 
store life  to  the  two  I  most  loved,  and  I  have 
not  courage  to  look  upon  them  dead ;  but  I 
thank  her  in  their  name  for  her  tender  care," 
was  Fabian's  brief  but  pathetic  answer. 

Admetus  delivered  the  parcel  he  had 
brought,  and,  drawing  his  cloak  closer,  de- 
parted as  silently  as  he  had  come. 

Fabian  trimmed  the  wick  of  his  lamp,  and 
with  trembling  fingers  undid  the  fastenings 
of  the  clumsily  folded  package,  and  as  the 
coarse  napkin  fell  apart,  he  saw  that  the 
treasure  it  contained  was  the  golden  curls 
of  Claudia.  *  The  Temple  official,  who  had 
promised  to  secure  him  one,  gathered  them 
up  after  Nemesius  had  cut  them  off,  and  pre- 
served them  until  they  could  be  conveyed 
to  him.  The  little  girl  had  promised  him 
one — how  well  he  remembered  the  day,  and 
all  that  had  passed  between  them ! — and  as 
the  hair  shone  in  beautiful  coils  and  waves 
of  gold  in  the  lamplight,  and  he  thought 
of  the  cruel  death  she  had  just  suffered,  he 
bowed  his  face  upon  them,  and  wept  aloud. 
When  he  lifted  his  head,  his  once  smiling 
countenance  was  set  in  stern  lines,  as  if 
nothing  earthly  could  ever  brighten  it  again, 
and  every  vestige  of  color  had  fled  from  it. 
The  old  Fabian  was  no  more. 

He  was  going  away  at  the  first  glimpse  of 

*  Called  in  the  Martyrology  Lucille,  the  name 
given  her  by  Pope  Stephen  in  Baptism,  when  she 
received  her  sight. 


dawn,  and  there  were  one  or  two  things  to 
be  done  before  he  could  say  a  last  farewell 
to  the  past.  He  opened  an  ivory  cabinet, 
and  took  out  the  "keepsake"  Claudia  had 
given  him,  which  he  had  not  unwrapped; 
for  she  had  bidden  him  not  to  look  at  it 
until  after  she  had  gone  away.  She  was 
gone,  and  he  would  open  it. 

Unfastening  the  silken  cords  that  had 
been  tied  by  her  own  dainty  fingers,  he  saw 
a  small  gem-studded  casket  in  which  lay 
glowing  and  flashing  the  ruby  amulet, with 
the  gold  Etruscan  chain  coiled  around  it, 
which  Laodice  had  given  her  that  happy 
day  they  had  spent  at  the  ruined  Temple  of 
Jupiter  on  the  Aventine.  A  strange,  faint 
odor  exhaled  from  it,  and  reminded  him  that 
there  had  been  a  mystery  associated  with 
the  jewel,  which  he  would  now  penetrate. 
No  whisper  of  this  had  reached  Claudia's 
ears  when  the  article  was  laid  aside,  as  an 
ornament  too  rich  and  heavy  for  a  child  of 
her  age  to  wear;  she,  knowing  Fabian's 
passion  for  curious  gems,  said  then  that  it 
should  be  his,  and  she  had  not  forgotten. 

He  selected  a  small,  finely  tempered  in- 
strument from  an  assortment  he  had,  and 
with  delicate  skill  took  the  ornament  to 
pieces.  In  the  process  he  discovered  that 
the  gold  band  by  which  the  two  halves  of 
the  split  ruby  were  held  together,  leaving  a 
narrow  space  between,  was  perforated  with 
innumerable  small  holes,  which  were  con- 
cealed by  the  gold  filigree  work,  in  which 
were  set  the  encircling  pearls.  Within  he 
found  several  grains  of  a  poisonous  Eastern 
drug,  so  powerful  that,  when  worn  upon  the 
person,  its  exhalations  produced  slow  but 
certain  death.  He  had  heard  of  this  deadly 
drug  in  his  wanderings,  and  had  once  seen 
it.  He  threw  the  poison  on  the  expiring 
coals  of  the  brasier  that  stood  on  a  tripod 
near  him;  there  was  a  hissing  as  from  a 
nest  of  vipers,  then  a  blue  thin  flame  shot 
up  to  the  gold-fretted  ceiling,  expiring  in 
fumes  of  deathly  odors. 

Cleansing  the  gem,  and  dropping  per- 
fume in  it,  Fabian  folded  one  of  the  golden 
curls  between  it,  then  hung  on  his  neck  the 
old  Etruscan  chain  to  which  it  was  sus- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


581 


pended;  and  the  amulet,  thus  consecrated 
by  the  relic  of  a  martyr,  never  left  its  rest- 
ing-place on  his  heart,  even  in  death.  With 
a  bitter  malediction  he  consigned  Laodice 
,  to  the  evil  Furies  that  punish  crime.  He 
fclaid  two  of  the  beautiful  curls  in  the  little 
casket  that  had  held  the  amulet,  marking 
one  for  Camilla  and  one  for  Zilla;  and,  after 

i sealing  it,  directed  it  to  the  former,  in  care 
of  his  notary,  to  be  delivered  as  soon  as  re- 
ceived. Then — beautiful  thought  of  his 
pagan  but  faithful  heart — he  kindled  a  fire 
.  of  cinnamon  and  spices  on  his  brasier,  and 
laid  what  was  left  of  the  golden  tresses  on 
the  perfumed  flame — the  funeral  pyre  of  his 
love, — and  watched  them  until  they  were 
consumed.  When  the  sun  rose,  Fabian  was 
on  board  his  galley  going  southward. 

Symphronius  was  arrested,  and  brought 
before  Olympus,  a  tribune,  who  was  com- 
manded by  Valerian  to  torture  him ,  by  which 
cruel  means  he  hoped  to  obtain  from  him 
the  treasures  of  Nemesius.  They  stretched 
him  upon  the  rack  until  his  bones  were  dis- 
jointed, they  tortured  his  flesh  until  every 
nerve  in  his  old  body  was  stung  with  pain; 
but  his  brave  answer  through  it  all  was  still 
the  same :  "  If  you  seek  from  me  the  riches 
of  my  master  Nemesius,  you  will  not  get 
them ;  for  they  are  already  distributed 
amongst  the  poor.  If  I  am  to  sacrifice,  I  will 
sacrifice  only  to  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

His  glorious  testimony  and  pious  con- 
stancy excited  the  wonder  of  Olympus,  who 
ordered  the  lictors  to  cease  torturing  him; 
the  grace  of  God  had  touched  the  heart  of 
the  tribune,  and  before  the  dawn  of  another 
day  he  and  his  family  were  converted  to 
Christianity. 

When  their  conversion  was  reported  to 
Valerian,  his  rage  exceeded  all  bounds;  he 
ordered  that  Symphronius,  with  Olympus 
and  his  family,  should  be  brought  in  chains 
to  the  Temple  of  the  Earth,  whence,  after  be- 
1  ing  severely  tortured,  they  were  to  be  taken 
and  burned  to  death  before  the  statue  of 
Ithe  Sun,  near  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre.  * 

*  Their  bodies  were  borne  away  that  night  by 
Pope  Stephen  and  his  deacons,  and  buried  on  the 
Via  Latina. — ''Acts." 


No  time  was  lost  in  the  execution  of  this 
cruel  edict-,  and  the  victims  received  the 
crown  and  palm  of  martyrdom. 

The  war  with  Persia,  so  many  months  im- 
pending, finally  began.  Sapor,  at  the  head 
of  an  immense  army,  had  invaded  the  Ro- 
man possessions  in  the  East,  and  was  cap- 
turing cities  and  laying  waste  the  lands  over 
which  he  passed.  Gallienus,  the  son  of 
Valerian,  who  shared  the  Empire  with  him, 
was  called  to  Rome,  and  charged  with  the 
defence  of  the  West  during  his  father's 
absence.  Assured  of  victorious  campaigns 
under  the  invincible  Eagles,  and  that  Sapor 
would  be  brought  captive  to  Rome  to  grace 
a  triumph,  the  public  mind  was  lulled  into 
a  seductive  state  of  ease  and  security,  until 
one  day,  in  the  midst  of  the  Saturnalian 
revelries,  news  of  disaster  came,  which  fell 
upon  Rome  like  a  thunderbolt.  In  an  at- 
tempt to  relieve  Edessa,  the  Emperor  had 
been  defeated  and  captured,  his  whole  army 
made  prisoners,  and  the  Persians  were  over- 
running Asia  Minor. 

Shall  we  not  anticipate  events  a  little, 
and  tell  the  fate  of  this  detestable  tyrant, 
who  had  so  long  persecuted  the  Church  of 
God,  and  poured  out  the  blood  of  His  saints 
like  water?  History  records  that  *'  the  Per- 
sian monarch  Sapor,  or  Shah  Pur,  treated 
his  victim  with  the  greatest  indignity  and 
cruelty.  He  used  him  as  a  footstool  for 
mounting  his  horse,  and  finally  ordered  him 
to  be  put  to  death ;  then  caused  him  to  be 
flayed,  and  his  skin  to  be  painted  red  and 
suspended  in  one  of  the  Persian  temples  as 
a  monument  of  disgrace  to  the  Romans." 

We  return  now  to  panic-stricken  Rome. 
Gallienus  had  gone  to  his  father's  villa 
on  the  Latian  coast,  below  Ostia,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  warm  salt  baths.  The  disas- 
trous news  from  the  army  flew  as  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind  to  every  camp  in  and 
around  Rome,  rousing  the  soldiers  to  an  ex- 
citement that  broke  through  the  restraints 
of  discipline;  and  the  populace,  recovering 
with  quick  rebound  from  its  panic,  flamed 
out  in  still  more  extravagant  excesses  than 
the  Saturnalian  license  allowed,  until  by 


582 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  time  night  closed  over  the  scene  a 
general  tumult  ensued,  and  Rome  was  for 
the  present  given  over  to  lawlessness  and 
pillage. 

Before  midnight  the  guards  around  the 
imperial  palace  had  been  driven  in,  and 
every  avenue  of  approach  to  it  was  choked 
up  with  a  drunken,  yelling  crowd,  endeav- 
oring to  force  their  way  in  for  plunder  and 
other  crimes;  and  while  they  are  battering 
down  one  of  the  iron-plated  doors,  we  will 
enter,  for  what  purpose  it  will  be  presently 


seen. 


The  Cypriot  has  preceded  us  to  the  apart- 
ments of  Ivaodice,  and  is  advising  her  to 
gather  up  her  jewels  and  gold  and  fly  to  a 
place  of  safety,  to  which  he  will  conduct 
her.  Faithful  slave!  confiding  mistress!  She 
fills  a  leather  wallet  with  her  rare,  costly 
jewels,  worth  the  ransom  of  a  king;  the 
Cypriot  stuffs  another  with  gold.  They  hear 
a  frightful  crash:  the  iron-plated  door  has 
fallen,  the  populace  press  in.  Snatching  a 
dark-hooded  cloak,  and  terrified  almost  to 
death,  she  grasps  the  Cypriot' s  hand,  and 
together  they  fly  along  dark  passages  and 
out  through  the  stables,  she  with  the  jewels, 
her  companion  with  the  gold — a  heavy 
enough  load  for  a  man  in  a  wild  flight  for 
life. 

Passing  through  narrow,  zigzag  ways, 
they  reach  the  Pincian  Hill,  and  are  tearing 
their  way  through  a  dense  thicket,  she 
slightly  in  advance,  stumbling  in  the  dark- 
ness, when  suddenly  a  sharp,  hot  sting 
pierces  her  under  the  left  shoulder,  and  she 
falls  without  a  cry — dead.  The  Cypriot 
draws  out  his  stiletto  from  her  heart,  seizes 
the  wallet  of  jewels  from  her  still  warm 
hand,  and  flies  on,  on,  on,  in  mad  race,  until 
by  ways  known  to  himself  he  reaches  the 
Viminal,  which  he  begins  to  ascend,  when 
he  is  suddenly  confronted  by  a  party  of  half- 
drunken  soldiers;  they  try  to  halt  him,  but 
he  breaks  away,  and  is  off"  again  like  a  moun- 
tain goat,  they  pursuing  in  hot  chase.  They 
gain  upon  him;  he  is  now  on  the  Urban 
Way,  and,  weighted  as  he  is  with  his  plun- 
der, he  despairs  of  escape;  for  his  legs  trem- 
ble under  him,  and  he  feels  that  in  a  few 


moments  they  will  fail  him.  But  suddenly 
he  thinks  of  the  house  of  Hippoly  tus,  which 
for  some  time  past  has  been  deserted ;  he 
knows  it  is  near  at  hand — he  sees  it  loom- 
ing through  the  shadows,  and  by  a  supreme 
effort  he  collects  every  energy,  reaches  it, 
and  disappears. 

The  Cypriot  plunges  through  the  cellars 
opening  into  the  dungeons;  he  hears  the 
soldiers  clattering  down  the  stone  steps;  he 
is  trapped — but  no;  he  crowds  into  a  nar- 
row, deep  archway,  pressing  himself  flat 
against  the  wall;  a  door  gives  way  behind 
him;  he  rushes  forward,  running,  running, 
through  winding  passag^es  and  cavernous 
galleries,  until  no  sound  reaches  his  ears; 
the  silence  of  death  reigns,  and  the  hunted 
wretch  drops  exhausted.  He  had  found  his 
way  into  those  unexplored  Catacombs  from 
which  none  who  had  ever  ventured  within 
returned  to  tell  the  tale,  and  out  of  which 
he  came  no  more.  Starving,  and  mad  with 
despair,  he  died,  clutching  his  stolen  treas- 
ures, all  of  which  he  would  have  given  for 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  cup  of  water.  * 

Tertullus  fell  in  battle,  and  Camilla,  ac- 
companied by  Zilla  (now  a  Christian),  retired 
to  the  old  walled  villa  out  near  the  Via 
L/atina,  where,  in  the  exercise  of  every  Chris- 
tian virtue,  and  spending  much  of  their 
time  in  the  Catacombs,  ministering  to  the 
needs  of  the  persecuted  Church,  they  lived, 
until  the  army  of  Constantine,  led  by  the 
Sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  in  the  heavens, 
overthrew  the  altars  of  the  gods,  and  planted 
the  Cross  upon  their  ruins.  Then  was  ac- 
complished the  prophecy  of  the  seer  from 
the  Euphrates,  on  Mt.  Phogor,  in  the  Land 
of  Moab,  seven  hundred  years  before  the 
Roman  Empire  was  founded:  ''They  shall 
come  in  galleys  from  Italy ;  they  shall  over- 
throw the  Assyrians,  and  waste  the  He- 
brews; and  at  the  last  they  themselves  also 
shall  perish." 

One  day  a  monk,  still  noble- looking, 
though  bowed  with  years,  asked  an  inter- 
view with  the  Christian   Pontiff".    It  was 

*  Some  years  ago  a  party  of  scholastics  from  the 
Propaganda  ventured  into  this  labyrinth  and  were 
lost.    It  is  yet  unexplored. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


583- 


Fabian,  come  to  deliver  up  the  trust  con- 
fided to  him  by  Nemesius,  and  turn  his  own 
wealth  into  the  treasury  of  the  Church,  now 
no  longer  hiding  in  the  Catacombs,  for  the 
shadows  had  fled;  she  had  come  "forth  as 
the  morning  rising,  fair  as  the  moon,  bright 
as  the  sun,  and  terrible  as  an  army  set  in 
array. ' '  *  Clothed  in  garments  of  beauty, 
the  Spouse  had  come  forth  with  songs  of 
rejoicing. 

And  when  at  last  Fabian  died,  his  re- 
mains were  entombed  near  those  of  Neme- 
sius and  his  child  Lucilla,  by  the  holy  priest 
Admetus,who  knew  the  exact  place  of  their 
repose.  When  preparing  his  body  for  sep- 
ulture, a  ruby  medallion,  which  enclosed  a 
curl  of  golden  hair,  was  found  upon  his 
breast.  "It  is  the  relic  of  a  martyr,"  said 
Admetus  the  priest,  who  knew  what  it  was; 
"let  it  abide  with  him  in  death." 
(The  End.) 


Through  the  Shadows. 

BY    C.    W,    S. 

Alvlv  in  a  dream  i'  the  twilight, 
Glimmering  stars  in  their  glee 
I^ist  to  the  murmur  of  far-ofi" 
Ripples  of  tropic  sea. 

Low  is  the  sun  in  the  westward, 
Bleeding  to  death  in  the  wave — 

Staining  and  tinting  with  crimson 
The  corals  that  fashion  his  grave. 

Out  through  the  mist  and  the  vapor, 
The  cloudy  wreaths  and  the  rings, 

Sunlight  has  flown  like  a  butterfly 
Brushing  the  gold  from  its  wings. 

Quiet  is  coming  and  folding 

Our  troubles  away;  and  our  woes 

Are  hushed  in  the  cool,  fragrant  shadows, 
lyike  bees  in  the  heart  of  a  rose. 

Come  forth,  little  stars  all  silver; 

For  the  terrible  sun  has  gone. 
And  out  of  her  misty  harbor 

The  moon  has  set  sail  for  the  dawn. 


*  Canticle,  vi.,  9. 


Pale  are  the  stars,  for  the  morning 
Is  blooming  as  fresh  as  the  May; 

So  through  the  shadows  we  wander 
Seeking  the  perfect  day. 


Isabella  Braun. 


IN  the  afternoon  of  the  15th  of  May,  of 
this  year,  a  seemingly  endless  funeral 
procession  moved  along  the  road  that  leads 
lo  the  southern  cemetery  of  Munich.  A 
band  of  children  in  white  frocks  with  black 
sashes  opened  the  way,  bearing  palm 
branches  and  flowers;  and,  though  the 
Spring  breezes  played  with  their  fragrant 
burdens,  the  children's  faces  were  sad  and 
downcast.  Men  of  every  age  and  station 
followed;  many  of  the  most  illustrious 
names  in  the  City  of  the  Isar  were  there 
represented, — amongst  them  priests,  dis- 
tinguished officials,  officers,  authors,  and 
literati. 

Over  the  heaped  up  wreaths  and  flowers 
with  which  the  bier  was  covered,  the  black 
and  yellow  colors  of  the  city  waved  from 
an  enormous  laurel  wreath — such  a  wreath 
as  the  magistrates  usually  send  to  deck  the 
coffins  of  the  city  fathers;  and  to  an  unini- 
tiated spectator  it  might  well  appear  that 
some  such  personage  was  being  borne  to 
his  last  resting-place.  But  no — it  was  the 
funeral  of  a  woman,  one  who  had  left  the 
city  no  golden  treasure,  but,  living  in  quiet 
and  retirement,  had  for  fifty  years  labored 
unweariedly  for  the  instruction  and  enno- 
blement of  youth. 

Isabella  Braun,  who  shortly  before  the 
time  of  which  we  write  had  seen  her  seven- 
tieth birthday  celebrated  with  great  pomp, 
was  born  in  Jettingen,  in  Swabian  Bavaria, 
in  the  year  18 15.  Her  father  was  agent 
on  the  Count  of  Stauffenberg's  estates;  he 
lived  in  that  nobleman's  ancient  castle, 
with  its  four  towers  and  splendid  demesne, 
where  Isabella  spent  a  happy  childhood. 
She  was  a  wild,  high-spirited  child,  the 
favorite    companion   of   her   brother  and 


584 


The  Ave  Maria. 


his  friends,  and  their  usual  associate;  so 
browned  was  her  complexion  by  constant 
exposure  to  the  weather,  that  the  villagers 
knew  her  by  the  nickname  of  ^*  Brown 
Belle." 

She  tells  us  of  her  childhood  in  a  charm- 
ing little  book  called  ,,^1110  nuincr  :;^iu]cnb^eit  " 
(The  Days  of  my  Youth),  which  should  be 
familiar  to  all  children.  The  authoress  by 
no  means  depicts  herself  as  a  model  heroine, 
but  frankly  confesses  her  youthful  peccadil- 
loes in  her  usual  fresh,  gay  style.  Through 
all  the  merry  scenes  of  play  and  mischief, 
the  warm-hearted,  upright  nature  of  the 
child  shines  forth,  and  her  object  through 
life  was  to  banish  from  the  hearts  of  children 
prejudices  and  contempt  of  those  beneath 
them.  Her  beautiful  tales  of  ' '  Lasche ' '  and 
the  despised  comedian  Wiegand,  whom  the 
children  nicknamed  "Wicked  Golo,"  were 
written  for  that  purpose,  and  must  have  left 
their  beneficial  impress  on  many  a  youth- 
ful mind. 

With  her  father's  death  ended  Isabella's 
happy  country  life;  her  mother  migrated  to 
Augsburg  for  the  sake  of  her  three  chil- 
dren's education,  and  poor  "Brown  Belle" 
felt  like  a  transplanted  country  blossom 
within  the  city  walls. 

She  was  placed  at  the  school  of  the  good 
Sisters  of  Our  Lady,  whose  convent  is  known 
as  the  "English  Institute,"  and  there  rele- 
gated to  the  most  backward  class,  while  the 
city  children  laughed  at  her  old-fashioned 
dress  and  country  manners.  No  wonder 
that  the  poor  little  child's  head  flew  back  to 
her  sunny  Swabian  home,  and  she  was  con 
sidered  idle  and  inattentive.  But  the  day 
came  at  last  when  her  talents  were  brought 
to  light. 

The  mistress  of  her  class  gave  the  chil- 
dren as  a  subject  for  composition  a  descrip- 
tion of  their  homes.  Isabella,  who  was  only 
ten  years  old,  and  had  hitherto  enjoyed  no 
tuition  save  that  of  the  village  teacher, 
knew  nothing  of  the  rules  of  composition ; 
but  lyove  and  Homesickness  are  mighty 
teachers;  they  guided  the  little  girl's  hand; 
she  wrote  what  her  full  heart  dictated,  for- 
getting all  around  her,  and  with  wet  eyes 


gave  it  into  the  hand  of  her  mistress.  The 
result  was  that  the  composition  was  read  as 
a  model  to  the  whole  class,  and  Isabella  took 
her  rightful  place  in  the  estimation  of  her 
teachers.  She  had  found  the  only  true  way 
to  be  a  writer — that  of  drawing  from  the 
interior  resources  of  her  own  heart  and 
mind. 

The  limits  of  this  sketch  will  not  permit 
of  more  than  a  hurried  indication  of  the 
chief  events  in  Isabella  Braun's  career.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-one  we  find  her  installed 
as  teacher  in  the  Free  School  of  Neuburg. 
She  felt  herself  quite  happy  in  this  new 
sphere,  and  remained  there  until  a  change 
of  direction  occasioned  her  departure.  She 
had  already  begun  to  write  little  tales  for  her 
pupils,  to  assist  her  in  forming  their  minds 
and  hearts.  These  first  attempts  became 
known  to  the  venerable  patriarch  of  all 
writers  for  youth,  Christopher  von  Schmid; 
he  caused  them  to  be  published,  and  wrote 
the  preface  to  the  first  volume  of  * '  Pictures 
from  Nature. "  The  little  book  proved  such 
a  success  that  the  young  authoress  pub- 
lished year  after  year  one  or  more  volumes. 
Her  attractive  style  and  natural  descrip- 
tions soon  procured  her  a  large  circle  of 
readers;  and,  although  all  her  works  are 
distinguished  by  a  highly  moral  aim,  they 
are  never  formal  or  pedantic,  but  invari- 
ably pervaded  by  a  quiet  strain  of  natural 
drollery. 

In  the  year  1854  the  President  von 
Stengel,  whose  daughter  Amanda  was  Isa- 
bella's dearest  friend,  removed  with  his 
family  to  Munich.  Isabella  went  with  them, 
and  thenceforward  her  life  entered  on  a  new 
phase.  She  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  large 
circle  of  friends,  amongst  whom  were  to 
be  found  Geibel,  Giill,  Kobell,  and  the  ec- 
centric Count  Pocci.  The  latter  was  very 
intimate  with  her;  when  at  Christmas,  in 
1854,  she  published  her  first  volume  of 
,,3ugenbbldttcr,"  or  "Pages  for  the  Young,!'^ 
he  aided  powerfully  in  its  circulation,  an( 
procured  from  the  Ministry  of  Public  Wor- 
ship its  authorization  for  the  school-boards. 
Two- and- thirty  years  have  passed  since! 
then,  and    the    modest    publication    still' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


58s 


thrives,  while  year  after  year  the  school- 
boards  employ  one  or  two  hundred  copies 
as  prizes. 

Isabella  was  highly  honored  for  her  in- 
defatigable efforts,  in  the  ,,SiigcnbbIdtter,"  to 
improve  the  manners  and  hearts  of  her 
youthful  readers.  She  was  beloved  by  old 
and  young  during  her  whole  life,  and  on  her 
seventieth  birthday  received  many  touch- 
ing proofs  of  the  estimation  in  which  she 
was  held  by  all  clases.  The  royal  family  of 
Bavaria  specially  patronized  her;  the  King 
bestowed  on  her  a  pension,  the  Lewis  Medal 
for  Art  and  Knowledge,  and  the  Maximilian 
Medal  also. 

Her  private  life  was  a  most  happy  one, 
surrounded  by  a  loving  and  appreciative 
circle  of  friends,  and  united  in  the  strictest 
bonds  of  friendship  with  Fraulein  von 
Stengel,  who  shared  all  her  intellectual 
pursuits  and  joys.  She  was  very  proud  of 
the  CO  operation  of  the  poets  above  men- 
tioned— Geibel,  Giill,  and  Kobell — in  the 
publication  of  the  ,,^iiocnbbldtter."  Her  great- 
est sorrow,  in  a  severe  illness  she  had  some 
time  ago, and  which  resulted  in  the  final  lay- 
ing aside  of  the  busy  pen,  was  the  thought 
that  the  journal  to  which  she  had  dedi- 
cated her  life  would  no  longer  profit  of  her 
care;  but  she  was  at  rest  before  it  ended, 
in  the  thirty-second  year  of  its  publication. 

Many  of  her  faithful  fellow- workers  had 
preceded  her  to  the  grave;  the  first  to  go 
was  Princess  Alexandra,  of  Bavaria,  who  up 
to  the  period  of  her  last  illness  was  an  ac- 
tive contributor  to  the  journal,  and  a  warm 
personal  friend  of  Isabella  Braun's.  A  year 
later  occurred  the  death  of  Count  Pocci,who 
was  famous  both  as  painter  and  writer,  and 
whose  comedies  in  the  puppet- theatre,  which 
is  one  of  Munich's  specialties,  still  enchant 
thousands  of  little  folk.  His  love  of  droll- 
ery was  akin  to  Isabella's,  and  many  were 
the  tricks  they  played  on  each  other  during 
their  long  years  of  intimacy. 

We  give  one  instance  of  their  mutual  love 
of  fun.  Count  Pocci  made  a  wager  with 
Isabella  that  he  would  make  her  an  '* April 
ifool"  every  ist  of  April.  As  he  was  inven- 
tive, he  succeeded  easily  enough  for  some 


years,  but  later  Isabella  was  on  her  guard, 
and  the  plot  to  ensnare  her  had  to  be  care- 
fully laid.  He  knew  that  she  received  many 
letters  from  strangers  passing  through  Mu- 
nich, asking  permission  to  pay  their  respects 
to  the  celebrated  authoress;  such  letters 
came  very  frequently  from  teachers  in  par- 
ticular. Pocci  fabricated  a  letter  purporting 
to  be  written  by  a  young  painter  from  Dus- 
seldorf,  who  admired  her  works  extremely, 
and  begged  for  the  honor  of  an  interview. 
She  consented,  but  that  was  not  enough; 
knowing  her  dislike  to  dress,  her  sly  friend 
undertook  to  convince  her  that  it  was  quite 
unseemly  to  receive  her  visitor  in  the  loose 
jacket  which  formed  her  ordinary  attire,  and 
that  she  should  don  her ' '  best  dress, ' '  which 
consisted  of  a  black  silk  gown  known  by 
the  above  title  for  at  least  ten  years  pre- 
vious. 

As  the  ist  of  April  fell  on  Sunday  that 
year,  Pocci  succeeded  in  persuading  his  un- 
suspecting old  friend  to  comply  with  his 
wishes,  and  she  sat  in  state  in  the  ' '  best 
dress"  until  midday,  awaiting  her  guest. 
Instead  of  the  painter  appeared  Count  Pocci, 
with  a  bouquet  of  flowers  as  a  peace-  offering. 
Isabella  laughed  heartily  as  she  acknowl- 
edged he  had  won  his  bet,  and  the  two  old 
friends  enjoyed  the  joke  with  all  the  gayety, 
of  youth;  for  theirs  were  hearts  that  never 
grew  old. 

Our  age  is  unfavorable  to  the  develop- 
ment of  such  characters;  much  that  they 
wrote  would  be  found  by  our  modern  chil- 
dren "not  interesting "  ;  but  those  who  pre- 
fer real,  warm  feeling  to  sensational  excite- 
ment, will  echo  the  words  of  the  priest  over 
Isabella's  grave:  "Did  we  not  feel,  as  Isa- 
bella Braun  told  us  her  charming  tales  in 
the  ,5"0f"t)bdtter,'  as  if  we  were  sitting  close 
to  some  friendly  grandmother,  who,  clasping 
us  to  her  heart  with  the  left  arm,  and  laying 
the  right  hand  in  blessing  on  our  heads, 
looked  on  us  with  loving,  maternal  eyes  as 
she  began  her  story,  while  we  hung  in  rapt 
attention  on  her  lips,  so  happy,  so  blessed, 
so  enthusiastic  for  everything  good  and 
noble?" 

Such  were  the  feelings  of  many  child- 


566 


The  Ave  Maria. 


hearts,  and  such  will  be  those  of  many  more 
who  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  still  in 
store  the  pleasure  of  reading  the  collected 
works  of  Isabella  Braun. 


The  Aspirirg  Shepherds. 


A  Kerry  Legend. 


BY    T.    F.    GAI.WEY, 


(Conclusion.) 
III. 

IT  was  late  that  afternoon  when,  in  ac- 
cordance with  their  programme,  the 
shepherds  met  at  the  outskirts  of  Tralee, 
on  the  high-road  to  Killarney.  They  had 
begun  the  execution  of  their  project  to  ac- 
quire English  on  the  co-operative  plan,  and 
thus  make  their  fortune.  Finan  was  the 
first  to  arrive,  and,  in  excited  haste  to  ex- 
change what  he  had  learned  for  CahaVs  and 
Donal's  newly  won  English,  he  glanced 
impatiently  up  the  road  into  Tralee. 

Cahal  was  coming  at  headlong  pace,  his 
elbows  bent  and  his  fists  clenched  close  to 
his  hips.  At  every  stride  he  cleared  a  yard 
and  a  half. 

''We  three!"  shouted  Finan, ex nltingly. 

"For his  money!"  returned. Cahal,  with 
glaring  eyes,  not  to  be  outdone  in  the  dis- 
play of  readiness. 

' '  The  di vil  a  care  we  care ! ' '  came  a  shrill 
cry  from  the  sturdy  young  Donal,  who  in 
spite  of  his  shorter  legs  was  approaching 
rapidly  down  the  road  after  Cahal. 

The  three  met  in  high  glee.  Their  suc- 
cess had  more  than  equalled  their  hopes. 
They  had  carefully  avoided  one  another 
during  the  day,  and,  in  mingling  with  the 
throngs  at  the  fair  and  about  the  streets, had 
kept  away  as  much  as  possible  from  those 
who  were  talking  Irish.  Many  curious  little 
scraps  of  English  had  they  picked  up,  with- 
out, of  course,  understand  ing  their  meaning ; 
but  they  seemed  to  be  particularly  impressed 
with  the  three  phrases  which  they  had  sev- 
erally overheard  at  the  Widow  Houlahan's 
window. 


The  meaning  of  the  words  they  were  to 
learn  they  considered  as  of  no  consequence 
just  at  present.  Children  learn  to  speak  a 
language  without  having  anyone  to  explain 
the  meaning  of  the  words,  and  why  should 
not  these  enterprising  and  ambitious  young 
shepherds?  They  would  learn  to  speak 
English  first,  and  afterwards  they  would 
find  out  the  meaning  of  what  they  were  say- 
ing. That  was  the  ingenious  system  they 
had  devised. 

On  coming  out  of  the  town,  they  econom- 
ically took  off*  their  brogans,  and  hung  them 
by  their  stout  laces  across  the  end  of  the 
shillalah  which  each  carried  at  his  shoulder, 
alongside  of  the  knotted  handkerchief  con- 
taining all  his  worldly  goods,  as  well  as  his 
provision  of  bread  and  bacon  for  a  day  or 
two.  Full  of  merriment,  and  chattering 
glibly,  in  Gaelic,  about  the  uses  to  which 
theywere  quickly  to  put  the  Saxon's  speech, 
they  trudged  forward  towards  Killarney, 
intending  to  reach  there  sometime  in  the 
night,  and  to  begin  in  that  wonderful  city 
thei-  active  career  in  the  world  and  their 
public  display  of  English. 

Dusk  was  coming  on,  and  but  few  way- 
farers were  encountered  by  the  shepherds, 
and  those  mostly  of  the  sort  with  whom  the 
three  were  not  just  now  disposed  to  be  so- 
ciable; for  the  kindly  salutations  of  "God 
save  you ! ' '  and  ' '  The  blessing  of  God  and 
Mary  on  you ! ' '  were  delivered  in  Gaelic,  to 
which  the  young  men,  therefore,  persist- 
ently refused  to  make  any  intelligible  re- 
sponse, much  to  the  astonishment  of  these 
good  people. 

The  road  now  wound  around  into  the  en- 
trance of  a  shallow  gap.  From  the  earth- 
embanked  fence  on  one  side,  the  hill  rose 
up  bire  and  bleak;  while  on  the  other  side 
a  stream  of  crystal  water  rippled  along  on 
its  way  to  join  the  River  Maign. 

"  The  Lord  look  down  upon  the  sorrow- 
ful !  but  what  is  that  man  doing  lying  in  the 
field  there  beyond?"  exclaimed  Donal, 
pointing  to  a  prostrate  figure  of  a  man  inside 
the  fence. 

At  a  bound  Cahal  sprang  over  the  dike, 
followed  by  his  companions.   They  endeav- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


587 


ored  to  rouse  him.  In  vain.  The  man  was 
dead,  and  the  pistol  behind  the  ear  told  the 
means.  He  had  evidently  been  killed  some- 
where else,  and  his  body  carried  hither  by 
his  assassins,  until  abandoned  by  them,  per- 
haps because  he  was  too  heavy  to  carry 
f  farther.  The  dusk  was  not  yet  so  dark  but 
that  his  features  could  be  distinguished. 
"That,"  said  Cahal,  "is  the  man  with  a 
tail  to  his  head  that  I  saw  sitting  at  the 
inn  window  this  morning." 

"And  I  saw  him  there,  too,"  said  Donal. 

"SodidI,"addedFinan. 

"Well,"  said  Cahal,  "the  poor  man  is 
dead,  and  it  is  not  Christianlike  to  be  gos- 
siping about  him  this  way,  when  we  might 
better  be  praying  for  his  soul." 

The  three  youths  knelt  devoutly  down 
beside  the  dead  and  recited  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  the  "Hail  Mary"  with  an  ear- 
nestness and  an  unction  such  as  one  does 
not  often  observe  among  some  more  culti- 
vated Christians. 

A  party  of  horsemen  were  coming  up  the 
road  from 'the  direction  of  Killarney,  but 
the  shepherds  were  still  praying. 

"What's  that  you  are  cackling  about 
there  in  your  Irish  gibberish?"  the  leader 
of  the  mounted  party  asked,  in  a  harsh,  dom- 
ineering tone. 

The  shepherds  looked  up  from  their 
prayers,  and,  seeing  these  men  in  red  coats 
and  fully  armed,  rose  to  their  feet.  They 
beheld  a  yeomanry  officer  and  a  squad  of 
common  soldiers  staring  hard  at  them. 

"This  is  another  assassination,  you 
scoundrels!  Take  charge  of  them,  corpo- 
ral," the  officer  said  to  his  subordinate. 
The  officer,  his  corporal,  and  some  of  the 
men  dismounted  and  crossed  the  fence  to 
where  the  body  lay. 

"Now  I  recognize  the  dead  man  —  a 
King's  servant,  too.  Who  killed  him,  you 
rascally  Croppies?" 

The  shepherds  had  forgotten  a  moment 
their  horror  at  finding-  the  dead  body;  for 
they  were  stunned  by  the  gorgeousness  of 
these  yeomanry  men,  never  having  seen 
soldiers  before.  They  saw  that  the  captain, 
who  was  a  portly,  red-faced  man,  was  very 


angry,  but  thfey  did  not  suspect  the  motive, 
as  they  understood  nothing,  of  course,  of 
what  he  said.  They  were  struck  with  admi- 
ration at  his  shining  sword- scabbard  and 
his  gold  epaulets,  and  their  eyes  were  gloat- 
ing on  his  magnificence,  from  his  silver 
spurs  up  to  the  crimson  plume  that  nodded 
to  them  from  the  side  of  his  helmet.  All 
these  horsemen  were  a  sight  to  behold,  but 
the  captain's  grandeur  was  the  most  fasci- 
nating of  all. 

Here  was  a  chance  for  them  to  begin;  no 
need  to  wait  until  they  reached  Killarney 
before  making  their  first  venture. 

"Do  you  hear  me? — who  killed  this 
man?" 

"We  three!"  said  Finan,  in  the  pleas- 
antest  tone  imaginable. 

The  English  officer's  eyes  nearly  popped 
out  of  his  head  with  rage.  "You  Pope- 
worshipping  beggars,  what  did  you  do  it 
for?"  he  demanded. 

' '  For  his  money ! ' '  replied  Cahal,  with  a 
grin  that  brightened  his  face  greatly. 

"You  crop -head  rebels!"  roared  the 
Englishman,  "you  will  be  hanged,  every 
one  of  you,  on  a  new  rope." 

"The  divil  a  care  we  care!"  answered 
Donal,  gaily. 

To  their  indescribable  amazement,  the 
shepherds  were  handcuffed,  and  dragged 
into  the  road,  and  then  driven  on  towards 
Killarney  ahead  of  the  yeomanry — not  to 
make  their  fortune,  but  to  be  tried  for  mur- 
der at  the  next  assize. 

The  poor  young  men  had  a  narrow  es- 
cape of  it.  The  Widow  Houlahan  in  the 
court  swore  to  the  truth.  She  pitied  the 
shepherds;  for,  somehow, she  believed  them 
innocent;  yet  she  had  to  testify  that  she 
remembered  them,  and  how  intently  each 
had,  one  after  the  other,  seemed  to  observe 
the  Castle  spy,  whose  continued  absence 
was  first  called  to  her  attention  by  the  three 
horse- traders.  The  yeomanry  captain  and 
his  men  swore  to  the  confession  of  the  crime 
which  the  shepherds  made  at  the  moment 
of  their  arrest, and  to  the  rollicking,  insolent 
manner  in  which  they  made  that  confession, 
— more  of  a  boast  it  had  seemed  to  these 


/ 


588 


The  Ave  Maria. 


yeomanry  men  than  a  confession.  Under 
the  English  law  the  shepherds  could  not 
testify  in  their  own  behalf. 

But  their  old  friend  and  confessor,  Father 
Cormac,  came  to  their  assistance.  He  too 
was  convinced  of  their  innocence,  and,  after 
much  coaxing,  he  was  able  to  soften  Pierce 
Roche,  who  was  indignant  at  first  at  the 
abandonment  of  his  flock.  He  learned  the 
truth,  or  guessed  it  rather,  on  a  visit  to  the 
shepherds  in  Killarney  jail;  and,  through  a 
skilful  lawyer  whose  services  he  secured,  it 
was  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  judge  and 
jury  that,  whoever  might  have  taken  the 
life  of  the  unfortunate  Government  agent, 
these  youths  were  innocent.  Amid  the  roars 
of  laughter  of  the  entire  court,  and  to  the 
great  amusement  of  a  large  part  of  the 
"Kingdom  of  Kerry,"  the  real  story  of  the 
shepherds'  adventures  was  brought  out,  and 
they  were  acquitted  before  the  jury  left  the 
box. 

Finan,  Cahal,  and  Donal  returned  to 
Druim-an-Bo,  and  to  the  care  of  Pierce 
Roche's  sheep,  and  on  their  knees  made  a 
sincere  thanksgiving  for  their  escape  from 
an  undeserved  and  ignominious  death. 

For  a  long  while  the  memory  of  the  three 
shepherds  of  Druim-an-  Bo  served  as  a  warn- 
ing to  other  mountaineers  of  Kerry  against 
attempting  to  learn  the  speech  of  the  Eng- 
lish. 


The  Church  and  the  Fine  Arts. 


Agnes  Violet. 


BY    ELIZA    AI.I.E;n    STARR. 

TURING  violets — not  purple,  although  set 
^     In  vernal  meadows,  wet 

With  vernal  rain: 

Their  purple  stain 
Might  bring  a  thought  of  pain; 
But  white.  They  bloom  in  meadows  fair, 

Albeit  rare; 
And  these  our  little  one  could  claim 
In  virtue  of  her  innocence  and  name — 
Our  Agnes  Violet  '^ 


*  Agnes  Violet,  daughter  of  Walter  and  Mar- 
garet Scammon  I^ockwood;  born  St.  Agnes'  Eve, 
1880;  died  November  29, 1886. 


I. 

THE  love  of  the  beautiful  is  one  of  the 
purest  of  our  inclinations,  and  the  foun- 
dation of  most  of  our  noblest  sentiments. 
It  has  been  aptly  compared  to  a  sacred  light 
that  continually  lures  us  upward  to  its 
august  Source.  Hence  the  fine  arts  have 
captivated  the  attention  of  mankind  in  all 
ages  and  in  every  clime.  Their  origin,  prog- 
ress, and  perfection  have  been  laboriously 
traced,  until,  lost  in  a  maze  of  insuperable 
difiiculties,  the  unenlightened  student  con- 
cludes that  ' '  a  compassionating  seraph 
crossed  the  wandering  path  of  lost  man, 
and,  teaching  him  Art,  gave  him  power  to 
draw  a  blessing  even  from  the  blighting 
curse."  But  Faith  casts  a  brilliant  and  in- 
fallible light  over  the  mystery,  showing  us 
true  Religion  as  the  source  of  all  that  is  good 
and  lovely  in  Art,  and  bidding  us  consider 
the  Creator  of  the  universe  as  the  earliest 
Master,  the  Maker  of  man  as  the  first  and 
grandest  Sculptor;  in  fine,  as  the  Author 
of  beauty  in  every  form. 

Obedient  to  a  sentiment  as  old  as  his 
existence,  man  feels  the  need  of  consecrat- 
ing some  place  in  which  he  may  offer  the 
Deity  his  adoring  homage  and  humble 
supplications.  He  borrowed  from  the  for- 
ests his  primitive  ideas  of  solemn  artistic 
beauty;  hence  the  lofty  grove  and  the  silent 
wilderness  became  the  earliest  temples  to 
the  God  of  Mysteries.  The  Egyptians,  ac- 
customed to  see  the  banana  and  sycamore, 
adopted  a  towering  and  colossal  style  of 
architecture;  the  Greeks,  impressed  by  the 
palm-tree  and  its  graceful  crown,  imitated 
it  in  their  elegant  Corinthian  column,  with 
its  leafy  capital ;  but  it  was  reserved  to  na- 
tions enlightened  by  revealed  religion  to 
establish,  after  some  vicissitudes,  the  archi- 
tectural expression  of  genuine  beauty. 

The  temple  of  God  in  the  Catacombs  was 
consistent  with  the  sublime  poverty  of  the 
persecuted  worshippers,  and  then  the  appro- 
priation of  pagan  basilicas  led  to  a  complex 
style.    But  Catholic  Art,  when  unfettered 


r 


The  Ave  Maria. 


589 


in  its  creations,  records  only  the  mysteries 
of  the  orthodox  faith.  Though  the  edifices 
first  erected  for  Christian  worship  were  not 
as  vast  as  those  built  to  heathen  deities,  they 
had  what  pagan  temples  had  not — that 
,  exquisite  taste  and  harmony  which  is  an 
essential  of  true  excellence. 

Christian  Art  lives  and  flourishes  in  the 
light  of  eternity.  Its  noblest  production, 
the  Gothic  Cathedral,  combines  the  rarest 
and  choicest  collection  of  poetic  beauty  and 
heaven  born  grace.  The  minutest  tracery  of 
the  vast  pile  suggests  in  every  detail  all  that 
is  morally  lovely  in  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  predicted  future.  The  m^ssiveness 
of  its  proportions  is  a  symbol  of  the  ever- 
lasting truths  proclaimed  within  its  walls; 
its  pointed  spires  can  not  fail  to  remind 
us  of  the  promised  resurrection  from  the 
dead,  and  they  contrast  beautifully  with  the 
curved  trefoil  that  brings  before  our  minds 
the  ever- Blessed  Trinity,  with  whom  the 
risen  faithful  soul  will  forever  dwell.  The 
very  ground  on  which  the  ivy-crowned 
Cathedral  stands  is  hallowed;  for  with  it 
are  mingled  the  ashes  of  those  who  sleep 
the  sleep  of  the  just. 

11. 
This  sacred  temple  is  the  genial  home  of 
Painting  and  Sculpture.  Sacred  History  is 
their  noble  theme.  Religion  their  mother, 
nurse,  and  protectress.  Art  has  never  pro- 
duced any  truly  admirable  work  when  de- 
prived of  Piety's  devout  inspirations.  The 
early  Fathers  of  the  Church  never  wearied 
of  eulogizing  the  fine  arts;  and,  in  fact,  no 
modes  of  conveying  instruction  have  more 
successfully  lured  youth  into  paths  of  wis- 
dom and  virtue  than  the  representations  of 
typical  events  in  sacred  history,  or  the  soul- 
subduing  acts  of  the  Passion  of  Our  Lord 
and  of  His  martyrs.  If  pagan  Greece  and 
heathen  Rome  attained  a  high  degree  of 
civilization  and  refinement  through  the  in- 
fluence of  classic  statuary,  what  must  be 
the  sublime  effect  of  sacred  Art,  nurtured  in 
the  bosom  of  infallible  truth,  and  drawn 
from  a  divine  ideal?  Are  the  Graces  of 
polytheism  as  exalted  themes  as  the  Graces 
of  Christianity — Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  ? 


Can  the  Penelope  of  Zeuxis  compare  with 
the  Madonna  of  Raphael,  or  the  sacrifice  of 
Iphigenia  with  the  immolation  of  Jephtha's 
daughter,  or,  indeed,  with  any  one  of  the 
thousand  martyrs  of  Christianity  ? 

The  greater  number  of  Christian  artists 
have  been  men  as  much  admired  for  their 
saintly  lives  as  for  their  transcendent  gen- 
ius. They  consecrated  their  powers  to  the 
Church,  and  she  was  their  protectress  and 
their  recompense.  To  estimate  the  value  of 
the  productions  of  the  great  Catholic  mas- 
ters, we  should  follow  them  to  the  studio. 
The  Blessed  Angelico  never  began  any 
work  without  fervently  imploring  inspira- 
tion from  Heaven,  and  he  never  painted  the 
Crucifixion  without  bathing  his  emaciated 
cheeks  with  scalding  tears.  Lippo  Dalmasia 
would  never  attempt  any  subject  but  Ma- 
donnas, and  was  so  deeply  impressed  with 
the  sublimity  of  his  work  that  he  ever 
sought  supernatural  aid  in  vigils,  fasting, 
and  the  reception  of  the  Sacraments.  Vitale 
and  Lorenzo  worked  at  the  same  pictures  in 
the  cloisters  of  Bologna,  until  they  were 
about  to  reproduce  the  Crucifixion;  then 
Vitale  was  completely  overpowered  by  the 
grandeur  of  his  subject,  and  abandoned  the 
painting  to  his  friend. 

In  our  own  age  Carlo  Pesanti,  of  Genoa, 
inspired  by  a  heavenly  vision,  often  devoted 
thirty  consecutive  hours  to  the  work  of 
sculpturing  the  masterpiece  known  as  the 
Genoese  Crucifix,*  fasting  the  while,  and 
keeping  his  heart  united  to  the  divine  Sub- 
ject of  his  enthusiastic  toil.  How  many  a 
penitential  tear  has  been  shed,  how  many 
an  act  of  perfect  contrition  evoked  by  a 
devout  contemplation  of  that  unrivalled 
work! 

The  Monk  Lazarus  had  the  courage  to 
die  for  his  art.  In  vain  Theophilus  ordered 
the  hands  of  the  artist  to  be  burned,  so  as 
to  render  them  incapable  of  holding  a  brush. 
Concealed  in  the  vault  of  the  Church  of  St. 
John  the  Baptist,  the  religious  painted  with 
his  mutilated  fingers  the  great  Saint  whose 
intercession  he   implored,  and  who   is  so 


*  Now  in  the  Cathedral  of  Philadelphia. 


590 


The  Ave  Maria. 


worthy  of  being  appointed  the  patron  of 
men  whom  the  spirit  of  God's  inspiration 
has  raised  above  the  level  of  their  kind. 

III. 

Music,  like  her  sister  arts,  owes  her 
full  development  to  the  fostering  hand  of 
revealed  Religion.  Undoubtedly  our  first 
parents  consecrated  their  vocal  powers  to 
singing  the  name,  the  glory,  and  the  benefi- 
cence of  their  Creator,  until  to  the  admira- 
ble melody  of  the  human  voice  were  added 
the  musical  instruments  made  by  the 
sons  of  Lamech.  The  Hebrews  were  cul- 
tivators of  music  from  the  earliest  times, 
though  the  harp  which  the  desponding 
Jews  hung  on  the  willows  of  Babylon  did 
not  discourse  as  thrilling  melody  as  the  harp 
whose  echoes  roll  to  us  across  the  centuries 
from  the  halls  of  Tara.  In  the  days  of 
King  David  music  was  cultivated  to  a  high 
degree,  and  we  learn  from  the  Book  of 
Chronicles  that  the  ceremonies  of  worship 
instituted  by  the  "sweet  singer  of  Israel" 
were  more  splendid  than  had  yet  been  intro- 
duced in  the  public  service  of  any  nation. 

The  Christian  architect,  not  content  with 
erecting  a  miniature  forest  for  a  place  of 
worship,  has  even  imitated  the  forest's  mur- 
murings,  its  loud  howling  winds,  and  its 
peals  of  thunder,  by  inventing  that  majes 
tic  and  harmonious  instrument,  the  organ. 
Enter  the  grand  cathedral.  Does  not  the 
Kyrie  eleison  of  trembling  love,  uttered  by 
a  thousand  devout  worshippers,  remind  you 
of  the  choruses  of  the  promised  heaven? 
Ah!  yes:  the  most  exalted  sphere  of  music 
is  the  Christian  sanctuary.  Egypt  and 
Creece  did,  indeed,  astonish  the  Gentile 
world  with  their  skill  in  adapting  music  to 
their  religious  ceremonies,  but  the  theme 
and  its  execution  sink  into  insignificance 
compared  with  the  hymns  of  Christian  in- 
spiration. What  human  strains  can  there 
be  more  deeply  solemn  than  those  of  the 
Dies  Irce^  what  more  transporting  than  the 
Regina  Coeli  of  Easter  triumph?  Where 
can  songs  be  found  more  enthusiastic  than 
the  "Canticle  of  Miriam"  or  the  Magnifi- 
cat of  the  Blessed  Virgin?  In  vain  may  we 
seek  for  a  nobler  expression  of  gratitude 


than  the  Te  Deum  of  St.  Ambrose  and  St. 
Augustine. 

If  we  pass  to  works  more  scientifically 
wrought,  what  dramatic  compositions  can 
compare  with  the  Masses  of  Palestrina  and 
Mozart,  or  with  the  Psalms  of  Allegri?  No 
doubt  profane  music,  when  wedded  to  true 
and  noble  sentiments,  may  and  does  affect 
the  mind  delightfully,  but  it  has  never  at- 
tained to  the  lofty  height  that  sacred  music 
has  reached.  The  lyres  of  Amphion  and 
Orpheus  moved  the  rocks  and  streams  of 
inanimate  nature,  but  the  harp  of  revealed 
religion  breaks  the  sinner's  hardened  heart, 
and  opens  a  gushing  fountain  of  contrite 
and  saving  tears. 

Thus  we  may  be  enabled  to  realize  how 
every  art  has  been  preserved  and  ennobled 
in  the  service  of  the  Church.  As  in  the 
Noachian  deluge  specimens  of  what  the 
world  of  nature  had  been  and  materials  for 
its  physical  restoration  were  preserved  in 
the  Ark,  so  in  the  Gothic  Cathedral  are  pre- 
served the  elements  of  all  that  is  great  in 
the  soul  of  man,  as  an  earnest  of  its  destiny 
when  the  domes  of  earthly  worship  shall 
be  exchanged  for  the  mansions  of  Our  Fa- 
ther's House. 


A  Conversion  by  Means  of  the  Rosary. 


A  FAMOUS  preacher  of  the  last  century, 
was  called  early  one  morning  to  hear 
the  confession  of  a  man  stricken  with  pa- 
ralysis. Hastening  to  the  house,  he  found 
him  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness.  He  then 
returned  to  the  church,  and  offered  for  the 
dying  man  the  votive  Mass  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Scarcely  had  he  taken  off  the  vest- 
ments, when  a  servant  came  to  say  that 
his  master  had  regained  his  speech.  Upon 
returning  to  the  bedside  of  his  penitent, 
the  priest  found  him  ready  to  confess,  filled 
with  sentiments  of  the  deepest  repentance, 
and  offering  his  life  to  God  in  expiation  for 
his  sins.  The  priest  at  once  heard  his  con- 
fession and  administered  the  last  Sacra- 
ments. 

Not  knowing  to  what  this  happy  death 


The  Ave  Marta. 


591 


might  be  attributed,  the  confessor  observed 
that  he  considered  the  circumstances  some- 
what remarkable. 

"Father,"  replied  the  dying  man,  *'I 
can  only  attribute  the  great  graces  I  have 
received  to  the  prayers  of  my  beloved 
mother.  On  her  death-bed  she  calkd  me 
to  her,  and,  telling  me  of  the  dangers  to 
which  my  youth  would  expose  me,  she  said : 
*The  only  consolation  I  have,  my  son,  is  that 
I  have  put  you  under  the  protection  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Promise  me  to  say  your 
Rosary  every  day.'  I  promised,  and  for  ten 
years  it  has  been  the  only  act  of  religion  I 
have  performed." 

At  these  words  the  confessor  recognized 
the  visible  protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
which  continued  to  be  manifest  until  the 
sufferer  drew  his  last  breath. 


Where  the  Apostles  Rest. 


CHURCH  authorities  state  that  the  re- 
mains of  the  Apostles  of  Christ  are  now 
in  the  following  places:  Seven  are  in  Rome 
— SS.  Peter,  Philip,  James  the  Lesser,  Jude, 
Bartholomew,  Matthias,  and  Simon.  Three 
are  in  the  Kingdom  of  Naples — St.  Matthew 
at  vSilerno,  St.  Andrew  at  Amalfi,  and  St. 
Thomas  at  Ortano.  One  is  in  Spain — St. 
James  the  Greater,  whose  remains  are  at  St 
Jago  de  Corapostella.  Of  the  body  of  St. 
John  the  Evangelist,  the  remaining  one  of 
the  twelve,  there  is  no  knowledge.  The 
Evangelists  SS  Mark  and  Luke  are  also  in 
Italy;  the  former  at  Venice,  and  the  latter 
at  Padua.  St.  Peter's  remains  are,  of  course, 
in  the  great  church  which  is  called  after 
him,  as  are  also  those  of  SS.  Paul,  Simon, 
and  Jude.  Those  of  St.  James  the  Less 
and  St.  Philip  are  in  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Apostles;  St.  Bartholomew's  are  in 
the  church  on  the  island  in  the  Tiber  called 
after  him;  St.  Matthias'  are  in  the  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore,  under  the  great  altar  of  the 
renowned  basilica. 


Liberality  consists  not  so  much  in  giv- 
ing a  great  deal,  as  in  giving  seasonably. 


Apparitions  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

HOW  often  do  we  hear  it  said,  '  *  We  are 
living,  indeed,  in  an  extraordinary  pe- 
riod"! And  the  assertion  is  more  than  justi- 
fied by  facts  that  occur  every  day.  Frightful 
as  are  the  enormities  of  wickedness  in  these 
times,  we  witness,  on  the  other  hand,  bound- 
less good  appearing  everywhere,  and  in  the 
most  unexpected  manner.  The  most  remark- 
able feature  of  our  age  is,  however,  the  visible 
intervention  of  the  invisible  world  in  the  des- 
tinies of  mankind.  Supernatural  apparitions 
have  been  witnessed  in  quick  succession,  ac- 
companied with  prophecies,  and  followed  by 
a  large  number  of  miraculous  cures.  Vast 
countries  are  roused  to  the  greatest  degree  of 
excitement  by  these  phenomena;  entire  pop- 
ulations wend  their  way  to  the  hallowed 
scenes  of  these  apparitions.  Even  in  the  re- 
motest parts  of  the  world  a  general  interest  is 
caused  by  the  news  of  these  occurrences.  A 
lively  controversy  about  their  truth  and  im- 
portance is  opened  in  the  daily  papers. 

If  the  nature  of  these  events  is  more  closely 
examined,  they  develop  themselves  chiefly 
into  revelations  of  Mary,  the  Mother  of  God. 
And  it  is  this  very  feature  of  the  apparitions 
which,  on  the  one  hand,  gains  so  rapidly  the 
faith  and  interest  of  the  Catholic  populace, 
and,  on  the  other,  awakens  the  fierce  hatred 
and  scoffing  blasphemy  of  the  infidel  world. 
Mary!  name  how  full  of  consolation  and  joy 
for  the  faithful  mind!  but,  again, what  a  stum- 
bling-block to  the  erring  and  unbelievers! 

The  Catholic  people  seize  joyfully  upon 
the  conviction  that  Our  Lady  has  appeared, 
and  hope  for  some  new  exhibition  of  Her  in- 
exhaustible goodness.  An  experience  of  1800 
years  teaches  them  that  they  are  right  in  their 
expectations.  Such  revelations  of  the  Mother 
of  God  are  nothing  new.  Every  generation 
has  been  more  or  less  favored  with  them.  And 
it  is  precisely  this  frequent  intercourse  of 
Mary  with  the  Christian  people  that  gives  to 
our  devotion  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven  that 
fervor  and  vivacity  which  is  so  great  a  stum- 
bling-block to  those  outside  the  Church. 

We  are  reminded  again  and  again  that  the 
Mother  of  Our  Lord  is  not  only  an  historical 
personage,  who  dwelt  on  our  earth  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago,  but  that  the  devotion  of- 
fered to  Her,  the  fulness  of  virtue  and  grace 


59^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


admired  in  Her,  the  glory  and  immense  power 
of  intercession  ascribed  to  Her,  as  well  as  the 
maternal  solicitude  with  which  She  is  said  to 
relieve  our  misery, — all  this  is  not  a  mere  in- 
vention of  pious  fancy,  but  a  truth  that  has 
become  in  the  course  of  time  self-evident. — 
Herald  des  Glaubens. 


Catholic  Notes. 


By  a  strange  coincidence  Paul  Bert  was 
struck  down  by  the  terrible  disease  of  which 
he  died  on  the  very  day  that  the  French  Leg- 
islature sanctioned  the  expulsion  of  religion 
from  the  State  schools,  which  was  the  object 
of  his  constant  desire.  He  was  the  most  zeal- 
ous propagandist  of  the  anti-religious  policy 
of  Gambetta,  in  whose  short-lived  cabinet  he 
was  Minister  of  Education  and  Worship.  And 
some  time  ago  we  were  reading  of  the  neglect 
with  which  Gambetta' s  grave  is  treated.  The 
great  man,  who  compared  the  ovations  he  re- 
ceived on  occasion  of  his  famous  tour  through 
France  with  the  processions  on  Corpus  Christi, 
is  so  completely  forgotten  that  there  is  no  one 
to  care  for  his  last  resting-place.  It  will  be 
the  same  with  Paul  Bert. 

The  announcement  of  the  conversion  and 
baptism  of  Garibaldi's  eldest  son,  we  regret 
to  say,  seems  to  have  been  unfounded.  It  is 
denied  by  the  leading  Italian  journals,  one  of 
which — the  Gazzetta  di  Torino — publishes  a 
letter  from  the  mother  of  the  young  man,  in 
which  she  manifests  her  hatred  of  the  Church 
by  saying  that  ' '  the  baptism  will  never  take 
place,  because  the  family  will  maintain  intact 
their  traditions,  and  respect  the  wishes  of  my 
lamented  husband. ' '  We  may  hope,  however, 
that  a  rumor  so  general  must  have  some  slight 
foundation  in  truth,  that  the  young  man  has 
felt  the  influence  of  the  good  associations  in 
which  he  had  at  times  been  placed,  and  that 
God  will  grant  him  the  inestimable  gift  of 
Faith.  

A  valuable  Descent  from  the  Cross,  by  Ru- 
bens, has  been  found  at  Montreuil-sur-Mer, 
not  far  from  Boulogne;  while  almost  simul- 
taneously a  beautiful  Entombment,  by  Van 
Dyck,  is  reported  at  Auchy,in  the  same  neigh- 
borhood. 

In  the  following  eloquent  passage  Hallam 
pays  a  well-merited  tribute  to  the  genius  of 


one  of  Italy's  greatest  men,  who  was  inspired 
by  the  atmosphere  of  Christian  Rome  to  show 
that  a  Catholic  architect  could  surpass  the 
mightiest  efforts  of  antiquity.  This  was  Philip 
Brunelleschi  (i 377-1444).  Incidentally,  also, 
the  passage  contains  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
images  of  the  episcopate  to  be  met  with  in  any 
writer.  In  describing  the  prospect  of  Florence 
from  Lorenzo  di  Medici's  villa  at  Fiesoli,  Hal- 
lam says:  ' '  One  man,  the  wonder  of  Cosmo's 
age,  Brunelleschi,  had  crowned  the  beautiful 
city  with  the  vast  dome  of  its  cathedral, — a 
structure  unthought  of  in  Italy  before,  and 
rarely  since  surpassed.  It  seemed,  amidst  clus- 
tering towers  of  inferior  churches,  an  emblem 
of  the  Catholic  hierarchy  under  its  supreme 
head;  like  Rome  itself,  imposing,  unbroken, 
unchangeable;  radiating  in  equal  expansion 
to  every  part  of  the  earth,  and  directing  its 
convergent  curves  to  heaven." 


At  a  certain  country  church  it  was  decided 
by  the  members  to  assemble  together  at  a 
given  time  to  pray  for  rain,  which  was  badly 
needed  for  the  growing  crops  At  the  ap- 
pointed hour  the  people  began  to  gather,  and 
one  little  fellow  came  trudging  up  with  an 
umbrella  almost  as  big  as  himself.  ' '  What  did 
you  bring  that  for,  youngster?"  some  one 
asked,  with  a  smile.  ' '  Cos  I  don' t  want  to  get 
wet  going  home,"  was  the  confident  reply. — 
Catholic  Citizen. 

Mgr.  Palma,  Archbishop  of  Bucharest,  is 
building  a  magnificent  seminary,  towards 
which  the  Holy  Father  has  contributed  the 
handsome  sum  of  forty  thousand  lire. 

A  life  of  heroic  labor  and  self-denial  has 
lately  been  brought  to  a  close  Sister  Louise, 
the  founder  and  superioress  of  the  twenty- 
seven  houses  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Order  of 
Notre  Dame  in  this  country,  died  in  the  Con- 
vent of  Notre  Dame  in  Cincinnati  on  the  Feast 
of  St.  Francis  Xavier.  Sister  Louise  was  one  of 
those  heroines  of  unselfishness  and  piety  al- 
ways to  be  found  in  religious  sisterhoods.  Her 
name  in  the  world  was  Josephine  Susanna  Van 
der  Schriek.  She  was  born  in  Holland,  and 
received  her  education  first  at  a  day-school 
in  Antwerp,  and  afterwards  at  the  famous  con- 
vent of  Namur,  in  Belgium.  From  her  earliest 
years  she  showed  signs  of  a  vocation  to  the 
religious  life,  and  was  the  idol  of  the  poor  chil- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


593 


dren  in  Antwerp,  whom  she  instructed,  with 
the  assistance  of  some  of  her  companions,  in 
making  lace.  Her  father  and  family  strenu- 
ously opposed  her  inclination  to  take  the  veil, 
and  it  was  nine  years  before  she  obtained  their 
-consent.  In  the  year  1840  she  came  to  America, 
and  five  years  later  was  appointed  superior  of 
all  the  houses  of  the  Order  of  Notre  Dame. 
"Sister  Louise's  last  hours  on  earth  were  a  fit- 
ting close  to  her  laborious  and  well-spent  life. 
She  had  withdrawn  from  the  world  because 
she  felt  that  its  spirit  was  antagonistic  to  the 
spirit  of  Christ;  and  with  her  dying  breath 
she  begged  those  who  stood  round  to  keep  out 
the  world  from  the  establishments  of  the  com 
munity,  nor  let  its  spirit  under  any  pretence 
creep  in.  Her  labors  are  over,  and  she  has 
been  called  to  her  great  reward  May  her  soul 
rest  in  peace! 

M.  Dupont,  the  Holy  Man  of  Tours,  had 
great  devotion  to  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  and 
prayed  to  him  not  only  for  the  recovery  of 
material  things  lost  or  mislaid  (which  he  did 
even  on  what  would  be  called  the  most  trivial 
occasions),  but  for  an  object  much  less  com- 
mon :  the  recovery  of  lost  graces,  — graces  which 
had  been  allowed  to  pass  unheeded,  or,  if 
received,  had  been  wasted  and  forfeited  by 
neglect.  This  practice  he  most  earnestly  rec- 
ommended. * '  We  can  never  know, ' '  he  wrote, 
"how  much  a  true  sentiment  of  faith  is  capa- 
ble of  effecting  in  the  search  for  lost  graces. ' ' 
— Little  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heai^t. 


Signor  de  Sanctis,  the  distinguished  Italian 
portrait  painter,  has  recently  completed  an  his- 
torical picture  of  a  colonel  of  the  Swiss  Papal 
Cuards,  clad  in  the  armorial  dress  of  six  cen- 
turies ago,  which  has  fallen  into  disuse  since 
Papal  court  ceremonials  have  ceased  to  be 
public  affairs  in  Rome.  The  costume  consists 
of  a  cuirass,  helmet  and  armlets  of  j  ointed  steel, 
overlaid  with  ornamental  designs  in  gold, 
among  which  appears  the  armorial  crest,  or 
insignia,  of  the  Pfiffer  family  of  Switzerland, 
in  which  the  position  was  for  centuries  a  hered- 
itary one.  Attached  to  the  cuirass,  is  a  short 
skirt  of  knitted  mail.  Knee-breeches  of  crim- 
son velvet,  bound  at  the  bottom  with  gold 
bands,  and  rosettes  at  either  side,  silk  stock- 
ings of  the  same  color,  low  shoes  with  red  vel- 
vet heels,  and  adorned  in  front  with  rosettes 
in  gold  and  crimson,  and  a  high  Elizabethan 


ruff  in  double  folds  of  white  around  the  neck, 
are  the  other  details  of  a  costume  alike  rich 
in  color  and  form. 


Mgr.  Edmund  Prince  Radzivill,  Domestic 
Prelate  to  His  Holiness,  and  Vicar  of  Ostrowo 
in  the  Prussian  province  of  Posen,  has  entered 
the  Benedictine  Order,  wherein  he  received  the 
name  of  Benedict. 

M.  Louis  Baillarge,  a  pious  lawyer  of  Que- 
bec, while  reading  a  number  of  Catholic  Mis- 
sions conceived  the  sublime  idea  of  rendering 
honor  to  the  Five  Wounds  of  Our  Saviour  by 
raising  five  altars,  one  in  each  of  the  five  parts 
of  the  world — Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  Australia, 
and  America.  The  first,  already  erected,  is  at 
Hai  Men,  or  Amoy,  in  the  district  of  Fo  Kien 
in  China;  it  is  dedicated  to  St.  Francis  Xavier. 
The  second  has  been  given  to  the  missions  of 
Cardinal  Lavigerie  in  the  north  of  Africa;  the 
third  to  Father  Strade,  S.  J. ,  for  his  mission  to 
the  Aborigines  of  Northern  Australia;  the 
fourth  to  Monseigneur  Bosse,  Prefect-Apos- 
tolic of  San  Salvador  in  South  America;  and 
the  last  to  a  poor  mission  in  Scotland. 

Among  the  prized  relics  which  are  shown  in 
the  National  Museum,  at  Mexico,  is  the  banner 
under  which  Cortez  conquered  the  empire  of 
the  Montezumas.  It  is  of  red  damask,  with  a 
beautiful  picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  painted 
upon  it.  Her  hands  are  united,  as  if  to  implore 
Her  Son  to  aid  in  overthrowing  the  idolatrous 
dynasty.  On  the  reverse  are  the  arms  of  Castile 
and  Leon.  The  banner  is  about  three  feet 
square,  and  was  preserved  in  the  University 
in  a  frame  under  glass  to  prevent  decay.  A 
few  years  ago  it  was  removed  to  the  National 
Museum  for  better  preservation.  Its  authen- 
ticity is  sustained  by  a  series  of  accounts, 
beginning  with  that  of  Bernal  Diaz,  who  de- 
scribes how  it  was  borne  in  procession  when 
Cortez  returned  thanks  to  God  at  Cuyoacan 
for  the  capture  of  the  city  of  Mexico  in  15 19. 
— Catholic  Herald. 

The  first  Eucharistic  Congress  in  America 
was  held  last  July  in  the  city  of  Quito,  Re- 
public of  Ecuador,  and  was  presided  over  by 
Archbishop  Ordonez.  It  was  divided  into  two 
sessions,  in  one  of  which  were  discussed  the 
means  of  promoting  devotion  to  the  Blessed 
Eucharist  and  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  in  the 
other,  the  spread  of  the  spirit  of  Catholic  char- 


59^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ity.  It  was  resolved  to  erect  a  church  to  record 
the  national  vow  by  which  the  Republic  had 
been  consecrated  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 
Submission  to  ecclesiastical  authority,  the  ed- 
ucation of  youth,  good  reading,  Catholic  asso- 
ciation, were  the  principal  subjects  treated  of 
in  the  second  session. 


The  world  moves.  The  Rev.  Father  Perry, 
S.  J.,  the  distinguished  astronomer,  has  been 
decorated  with  an  honorary  degree,  with  three 
other  distinguished  scientists,  by  the  Royal 
University  at  its  recent  sitting.  In  1878,  when 
the  British  Association  visited  Dublin,  the 
name  of  Father  Perry  was  included  in  the  list 
of  honorary  degrees  proposed  to  be  conferred 
on  the  most  eminent  among  the  scientific  visit- 
ors. But  the  Board  of  Senior  Fellows  of  Trin- 
ity College  could  not  be  induced  to  inscribe  a 
Jesuit's  name  on  their  lists,  and  vetoed  the 
proposal.  Father  Perry  bids  fair  to  succeed 
to  the  honors  in  the  scientific  world  of  his  late 
brother  Jesuit,  the  distinguished  astronomer, 
Father  Secchi,  of  Rome,  who  was  second  to 
none  in  his  particular  department,  and  who 
acquired  a  world-wide  reputation  for  his  inves- 
tigations and  discoveries. — Catholic  Review. 


New  Publications. 


The  Glories  of  Divine  Grace.  By  Dr. 
Scheeben.  Translated  from  the  German  by  a 
Benedictine  Monk  of  St.  Meinrad's  Abbey,  Ind. 
New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Louis:  Benziger 
Brothers.   1886. 

The  German  original  of  this  work  is  an  ad- 
aptation from  a  Latin  treatise  on  the  subject 
of  Grace,  by  P.  Eusebius  Nieremberg,  S.  J.,  a 
theologian  whose  ascetical  writings  are  too 
little  known  and  appreciated.  It  is  on  this 
work  that  Dr.  Scheeben,  who  is  professor  in  the 
archiepiscopal  seminary  at  Cologne,  based  his 
German  treatise,  which  has  now  been  trans- 
lated with  great  fidelity  and  success  by  one  of 
the  Benedictine  monks  of  St.  Meinrad's.  Fa- 
ther Scheeben  was  led  to  undertake  the  writ- 
ing of  the  work  some  twenty  years  ago,  by  the 
discovery  which  he  made  that,  in  the  whole 
range  of  German  theological  literature,  there 
was  scarcely  one  popular  dogmatical  or  ascet- 
ical work  which  treated  the  subject  of  Grace 
with  anything  like  thoroughness  or  complete- 


ness. We  may  say  the  same  with  more  em- 
phasis with  regard  to  the  treatment  of  the 
subject  by  Knglish  theologians.  Neither  from 
the  pulpit  nor  in  literature  has  this  all-impor- 
tant subject  received  one  tithe  of  the  attention 
that  it  deserves. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  alleged  in  excuse  that 
the  subject  is  a  very  difficult  one.  Undoubt- 
edly in  its  metaphysical  developments  it  is 
one  of  the  most  difficult  of  all  subjects,  but 
that  is  no  reason  for  neglecting  altogether  a 
presentation  of  it  which  would  be  appreciated 
by  the  popular  mind,  which  is  not  tolerant  of, 
and  has  no  relish  for,  abstruse  metaphysical 
disquisitions.  That  such  a  presentation  is 
practicable  the  volume  before  us  is  a  convinc- 
ing proof,  and  we  are  sure  that  Dr.  Scheeben's 
hope  that  pastors  and  teachers  of  the  people 
will  find  in  the  work  a  new  and  rich  mine  for 
the  instruction  of  the  faithful  will  be  amply 
fulfilled.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  subject 
of  Divine  Grace, — a  subject  so  full  of  beauty, 
so  invested  with  attractions  for  every  devout 
mind, — should  not  form  the  subject  of  sermons 
to  a  greater  extent  than  it  does;  and  the  hand- 
ling of  the  theme  in  the  pulpit  would  be  well 
calculated  to  augment  piety,  and  help  to  coun- 
teract the  delusive  and  pestilential  dogmatism 
of  sciolists  and  scientists. 

While  such  great  and  untiring  efibrts  are 
made  by  learned  men  of  the  present  day  to 
popularize  theories  of  natural  science  which 
scarcely  deserve  the  name  of  theories  at  all, 
being  puffed  into  a  brief  and  illusory  light  to- 
day and  exploded  next  week  or  next  month, 
surely  it  is  incumbent  on  ministers  of  relig- 
ion to  do  their  best  with  both  tongue  and  pen 
to  explain  and  inculcate  the  supernatural 
truths  of  Divine  Revelation,  in  the  forefront 
of  which  stands,  as  the  corner-stone  on  which 
all  teachings  of  theology  rest,  the  doctrine  of 
God's  grace,  flowing  like  an  inexhaustible 
river,  from  which  all  that  thirst  may  drink 
bountiful  draughts,  which  shall  be  for  them 
a  fountain  of  waters  springing  up  to  life 
eternal. 

"  Cantabo  Domino"  is  the  well-chosen 


title  of  a  careful  selection  of  Latin  hymns  and 
motets,  compiled  by  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame, 
and  published  by  Messrs.  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co. , 
of  New  York  and  Boston.  The  pieces  are  ar- 
ranged for  two  and  three  voices.  In  such  a 
large  collection  it  would  be  too  much  to  ex- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


595 


pect  that  all  the  compositions  should  be  first 
class.  There  are  quite  a  number  that  we  would 
not  have  included;  but  tastes  differ,  and  per- 
haps some  of  the  least  meritorious  of  the 
pieces  will  prove  the  most  popular.  The  pub- 
lishers have  done  their  part  with  the  careful- 
'•  ness  and  good  taste  for  which  they  are  distin- 
guished. 

'Music  for  Christmas,"  a  valuable 

collection  just  published  by  Prof.  Singen- 
berger,  includes  four  charming  pieces  for  so- 
prano, alto,  tenor,  and  bass.  Leaders  of  choirs 
in  search  of  appropriate  music  for  Christmas- 
tide  will  find  this  collection  very  acceptable 
The  name  of  Prof.  Singenberger  is  sufficient 
guarantee  of  the  excellence  of  any  publica- 
tion on  music. 


Obituary. 

"//  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thoitffht  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Brother  Jerome,  a  novice  of  the  Congregation 
of  the  Holy  Cross,  whose  holy  life  was  crowned 
with  a  blessed  death  on  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception.  He  was  an  employe  of 
The  "Ave  Maria"  Office,  and  left  to  his  co- 
laborers  and  the  community  an  example  of  piety 
and  devotedness  which  will  long  be  remembered. 

Sister  Francesca(Sweetram),  of  the  Institute  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  whose  death,  fortified 
by  the  last  Sacraments,  took  place  at  Loreto  Con- 
vent, Belleville,  Ont.,  on  the  25th  of  November. 

Mr.  Michael  A.  Lambing,  father  of  the  Rev. 
A.  A.  and  M.  A.  Lambing,  who  died  the  death  of 
the  just  at  Manorville,  Pa. ,  on  the  Feast  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception.  Mr,  Lambing  had  just 
entered  upon  his  eighty-first  year. 

Mr.  John  Bennet,  a  venerable  citizen  of  Balti- 
more, whose  happy  death  occurred  on  the  6th 
ult. 

Miss  Catharine  McKeon,  a  fervent  Child  of 
Mary,  who  was  called  to  a  better  world  on  the 
Feast  of  All  Souls.  She  was  one  of  the  first  sub- 
scribers to  The  "Ave  Maria,"  and  always  a 
warm  friend  of  the  magazine. 

Mrs.  Alice  E.  Fay,  of  Boston,  who  peacefully 
breathed  her  last  on  the  12th  ult. 

Patrick  Hayden,  of  Jersey  City,  N.  J. ;  Mrs.  Rose 
R.  Kiernan  and  Catharine  Flannelly,  New  York; 
Mary  Lynn,  Manchester,  N  H. ;  Mary  V.  McGrath 
and  Edward  Howland,  Faribault,  Minn. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


PAHTMENI 


Minnie's  Composition. 


I. 

'* Mamma,  dear  mamma!"  exclaimed  a 
sweet,  eager  voice,  and  a  girl  of  thirteen 
years  ran  into  the  room  where  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton  sat  at  work.  ' '  Sister  Antonia  says  that 
there  is  a  prize  to  be  given  at  the  close  of  the 
scholastic  year  to  the  one  in  our  class  who 
writes  the  best  composition.  I  mean  to 
compete  for  it;  pray  for  me,  mamma,  that  I 
may  win  it." 

Minnie  Rushton  was  a  lively  little  creat- 
ure. She  had  run  all  the  way  home  from  the 
convent  school,  and  her  round  straw- bonnet 
hung  on  her  neck  instead  of  shading  her 
brow,  while  a  profusion  of  soft,  dark  brown 
hair  streamed  in  disorder  about  her  glow- 
ing face. 

The  lady  drew  her  little  daughter  tow- 
ards her,  and  smoothed  back  the  rebellious 
curls,  through  which  Minnie's  eyes,  full  of 
life,  and  beaming  with  love,  peeped  into  her 
mother's  mild  countenance  with  all  the 
beauty  of  a  fresh,  innocent  soul. 

''My  dear  Minnie,  how  disorderly  you 
look!    I  am  really  ashamed  of  you!" 

''Mamma,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least 
how  I  look;  if  I  were  a  beauty,  you  know, 
like  Matilda  Peacock,  I  should  be  more  par- 
ticular about  my  toilet.  But,  dear  mamma, 
do  please  give  me  a  subject  for  my  compo- 
sition.   I  want  to  begin  it  right  away." 

' '  First  go  brush  your  hair,  change  your 
shoes,  and  mend  that  rent  in  your  dress  as 
neatly  as  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Rushton, 
quietly. 

Minnie  was  inclined  to  pout,  but  she  met 
her  mother's  tranquil  smile,  and,  kissing 
her  with  childish  aflfection,  bounded  away 
to  do  her  bidding. 

While  she  is  gone  we  will  inform  our 
readers  that  Mrs.  Rushton  was  a  widow,  with 
a  moderate  fortune,  residing  in  a  handsome 


596 


The  Ave  Maria. 


liouse  on  Walnut  Street,  Philadelphia.  She 
had  once  shone  as  a  star  in  fashionable  soci- 
ety, but  after  the  death  of  her  husband  she 
retired  from  the  gay  world,  and  devoted 
herself  to  the  education  of  her  daughter — a 
wild,  impulsive  creature,  but  who  showed 
promise  of  acquiring,  with  careful  training, 
solid  and  redeeming  virtues. 

When  the  little  girl  returned,  it  seemed 
that  the  act  of  obedience  had  rendered  her 
more  calm  and  thoughtful,  and  she  con- 
sulted her  mamma  about  a  patron  for  her 
composition.  ' '  Shall  I  choose  St.  Joseph  ? ' ' 
she  asked.  ''I  have  read  that  he  helped 
Pere  Nonet  to  write  beautiful  composi- 
tions." 

' '  No  doubt  St.  Joseph  will  help  you,  dear, 
if  you  are  humble, ' '  said  her  mother ;  ' '  but 
why  not  take  St.  Aloysius?  When  I  was  at 
school  at  the  Sacre  Coeur,  in  France,  there 
was  one  of  my  classmates,  Anna  du  Rousier, 
who  had  great  difficulty  in  memorizing  her 
lessons.  She  was  very  anxious  to  become 
a  religious  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  but  feared 
that  the  Ladies  would  not  receive  her  un- 
less she  were  capable  of  teaching.  Thus  she 
saw  in  the  light  of  her  vocation  an  urgent 
need  to  advance  in  her  classes.  So  she  de- 
termined to  ask  St.  Aloysius  to  aid  her,  and 
promised  to  learn  by  heart  a  summary  of 
the  Saint's  life.  She  accomplished  her  task, 
and  thenceforward  was  blessed  with  a  most 
retentive  memory,  and  made  rapid  progress 
in  her  studies. ' ' 

"Did  she  become  a  religious,  mamma?  " 

' '  Yes,  dear,  and  served  God  so  well  in  her 
holy  vocation,  that,  being  superior  in  Turin, 
the  revolutionists  set  a  price  upon  her  head. 
She  and  her  community  had  to  flee  from 
the  city,  which  was  controlled  by  the  ene- 
mies of  the  Holy  Father.  Some  years  later, 
the  courageous  lady  went  to  Chili,  where 
she  founded  several  houses  of  her  Order, 
and  succeeded  in  spreading  the  devotion  to 
St.  Aloysius." 

' '  Mamma,  I  think  I  will  ask  St.  Aloysius 
to  help  me.  I  shall  put  his  initials  at  the 
top  of  the  page  in  my  composition  book, 
and  will  hear  Mass  to-morrow  morning  in 
his  honor." 


Then  running  to  her  room,  and  invoking 
the  assistance  of  her  new  patron,  she  began 
her  composition. 

II. 

Minnie  had  a  maiden  aunt,  who  was  ex- 
tremely fond  of  her  lovely,  engaging  little 
niece.  However,  it  is  painful  to  be  obliged 
to  say  that  we  can  not  compliment  Aunt 
Harriet  on  being  a  model  of  womanly 
accomplishments.  She  had  completed  her 
education  in  a  modern  Ladies'  College.  The 
study  of  physics,  metaphysics,  and  a  variety 
of  ologies  had  unfortunately  drawn  her  out 
of  the  sphere  which  her  sex  is  intended  to 
adorn,  and  rendered  her  almost  useless,  and 
at  times  disagreeable.  She  scribbled  verses, 
and  left  them,  by  accident,  in  the  leaves  of 
books,  where  guests  would  be  likely  to  meet 
them.  She  loved  to  talk  about  the  human 
soul  and  its  noble  emotions,  but  always  had 
an  almost  inexhaustible  shower  of  tears,  or 
fell  into  a  fainting-fit,  when  any  exigency  in 
the  circumstances  of  her  friends  demanded 
self-possession,  energy,  or  prompt  assistance. 

Hygiene  and  anatomy  were  favorite 
themes  with  Miss  Harriet,  and,  as  she  had 
attained  an  ''uncertain  age,"  it  was  natural 
to  suppose  that  she  had  acquired  experience 
in  waiting  on  the  sick;  but  whenever  an 
invalid  needed  watching  or  careful  atten- 
tion in  administering  medicine.  Aunt  Har- 
riet was  unfortunately  seized  with  a  jump- 
ing toothache,  pain  in  the  side,  nervousness, 
or  some  trouble  that  utterly  precluded  the 
propriety  of  asking  her  aid. 

With  a  mind  so  liberally  furnished,  Min- 
nie's aunt  was,  of  course,  a  great  admirer  of 
the  ''human  face  divine,"  and  sometimes 
when  she  would  call  her  niece,  exclaiming, 
"O  you  angelic  child !  I  do  think  you  are  the 
sweetest  creature!  Come  here  and  kiss  me, 
you  beauty!"  she  imagined  she  was  dis- 
playing the  most  graceful  enthusiasm.  But 
no  one  ever  saw  Aunt  Harriet  take  care  of  i 
the  child,  attend  to  her  wants,  or  do  any- 
thing for  her  benefit.  The  only  tangible 
expression  of  her  affectionate  regard  was 
given  in  the  shape  of  confectionery,  a  box 
of  which  cost  quite  as  much  as  a  pretty 
book. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


597 


III. 

While  Minnie  was  engaged  on  her  com- 
position, Aunt  Harriet  happened  to  enter 
the  room  unobserved.  She  went  over  to  see 
what  absorbed  the  child  so  thoroughly  that 
she  did  not  hear  the  approaching  footsteps, 
bor  observe  the  intruder  peeping  over  her 
shoulder. 

^'Ah!  I  see  you  are  composing  a  story! 
That's  right,  Minnie,  my  love!  It  is  de- 
lightful to  see  you  taking  to  intellectual 
pursuits.  Let  me  have  the  pen  a  moment; 
I  will  improve  the  sentence  for  you.'* 

*' Thank  you,  auntie  dear,  but  I  do  not 
care  to  have  it  improved." 

''Well,  there's  vanity!  A  little  girl  of 
thirteen  not  want  her  composition  im- 
proved ! ' ' 

"But,  auntie,  I  am  competing  for  a  prize. 
It  would  not  be  fair  to  get  any  one  to  help 
me.  I  have  placed  my  work  under  the 
patronage  of  St.  Aloysius." 

" Competing  for  a  prize!  So  much  the 
more  reason  for  having  some  assistance. 
Now,  run  away  to  your  play,  and  I  will 
write  the  article  for  you;  then  you  will  be 
sure  to  win  the  prize." 

At  every  word  Aunt  Harriet  uttered, 
Minnie's  eyes  seemed  to  grow  larger  and 
darker,  and  at  the  last  phrase  she  turned 
them,  filled  with  amazement,  from  her 
aunt's  face  to  her  mother's.  Reassured  by 
the  expression  of  the  latter,  she  replied: 

"But  that  would  be  acting  a  falsehood, 
you  know." 

"Not  at  all!  A  falsehood  indeed!  It  is  a 
very  common  thing.  Who  ever  supposes 
that  all  the  compositions  read  at  school 
exhibitions  are  the  original  work  of  the 
pupils?" 

* '  Circumstances  vary, ' '  said  Mrs.  Rush- 
ton;  "if  those  compositions  are  revised,  it 
is  by  the  teacher  or'  professor  of  the  class, 
who  has  a  certain  implied  authority  to  give 
moderate  correction  to  those  competitors 
who  excel  in  a  department.  But  in  this 
case,  Minnie's  composition,  with  the  others 
of  her  class,  is  to  be  given  to  her  teacher. 
I  think  you  had  better  leave  the  task  to 
terself," 


"If  you  had  been  to  college  you  would 
see  things  in  a  very  different  light,"  said 
Aunt  Harriet,  as  she  left  the  room,  secretly 
determined  to  have  her  own  way;  but  she 
said  no  more  about  it,  and  Minnie  resumed 
her  work  without  further  interruption. 
IV. 

At  the  convent  day-school  on  Walnut 
Street,  the  Rev.  Mother  Superior  had  ad- 
vised with  the  directress  to  stimulate  the 
pupils  to  literary  efforts  by  offering  a  pre- 
mium in  each  of  the  too  higher  classes. 
The  pastor,  the  Rev.  Father  Merrick,  and 
the  parents  of  the  children  would  be  invited 
to  be  present  at  the  reading  of  the  best 
among  the  little  essays,  and  to  witness  the 
donation  of  the  prizes. 

The  appointed  day  arrived.  Minnie  had 
finished  her  story  several  days  before,  and 
read  it  to  her  mother.  It  was  a  simple,  grace- 
ful, childlike  narration  of  a  visit  she  had 
paid,  with  her  parent,  to  a  bedridden  woman, 
who  was  the  mother  of  a  large  family,  and 
in  great  distress.  The  composition  was  not 
highly  ornamented,  but  had  more  of  orig- 
inality in  thought  and  expression  than  is 
generally  found  in  the  efibrts  of  children  of 
her  age. 

Mrs.  Rushton  was  pleased  with  the  sub- 
ject her  daughter  had  selected,  and  the  un- 
pretending way  in  which  she  had  treated  it. 
Above  all,  it  showed  a  kind  heart.  Aunt 
Harriet,  however,  criticised  it  rather  un- 
mercifully, and  a  sort  of  sly,  triumphant  ex- 
pression flitted  about  her  smiles,  as  though 
she  were  in  possession  of  a  secret. 

Minnie  had  been  to  early  Mass,  and  now 
she  peeped  into  the  breakfast-room,  and 
said:  "Good-bye, mamma;  good-bye.  Aunt 
Harriet.  Pray  for  me,  please. "  She  looked 
very  pretty  in  her  uniform  dress  of  white 
merino.  The  story  was  in  her  hand,  neatly 
enclosed  in  an  envelope,  and  her  eyes 
beamed  with  hope — the  cloudless  hope  of 
childhood. 

"I  am  sure  you  will  win  the  prize, "  said 
Aunt  Harriet.  "But  don't  look  surprised, 
dear,  at  anything  that  may  occur,  only  be 
thankful." 

"If  Katie  Keating  doesn't  win  it,  I  do 


598 


The  Ave  Maria, 


hope  I  shall,"  replied  the  eager  child,  and 
away  she  tripped  to  the  academy. 

At  twelve  o'clock  Mrs.  Rushton  and  her 
sister  took  their  seat  among  the  little  audi- 
ence assembled  in  the  study-hall.  After  an 
overture  with  four  hands  on  the  piano,  the 
reading  of  the  compositions  began.  The 
pastor  read  those  of  the  higher  class,  and 
their  prizes  were  given.  A  pretty  vocal  duet 
was  next  performed,  after  which  the  com- 
positions in  Minnie's  class  were  handed 
to  the  reverend  Father.  The  first  was  a 
sentimental  essay  on  ' '  Love  and  Friend- 
ship." The  pastor  seemed  surprised,  then 
amused,  then  vexed;  while  a  fashionably 
dressed  lady,  who  occupied  a  conspicuous 
seat,  was  observed  to  toss  her  head  and  fan 
herself  with  a  complacent  air,  meeting  with 
a  nod  of  satisfaction  the  conscious  glance 
of  a  beautiful  girl  of  fifteen  who  sat  among 
the  pupils. 

''By  Matilda  Peacock,"  said  the  Father, 
and,  laying  aside  the  paper  without  further 
comment,  he  took  up  the  next  envelope — 
' '  Lines  on  Generosity. ' '  It  was  short  and 
simple. 

"  Give  as  the  morning  tliat  flows  out  of  heaven, 
Give  as  the  waves  when  their  channel  is  riven, 
Give  as  the  free  air  and  sunshine  are  given — 

Lavishly,  piously,  joyfully  give. 
Not  the  waste  drops  of  thy  cup  overflowing, 
Not  the  faint  sparks  of  thy  hearth  ever-glowing, 
Not  a  pale  bud  from  the  June  roses  blowing — 

Give  as  He  gave  thee,  who  gave  thee  to  live. 
"Kate  Keating." 

The  third  was  a  story.  All  the  girls  were 
anxious,  because  only  the  three  best  in 
each  class  were  to  be  criticised;  but  Minnie 
Rushton' s  eyes  and  cheeks  changed  color 
as  she  listened.  It  was  the  same  story  that 
she  had  written,  and  yet  not  the  same.  The 
incidents  were  hers,  but  the  sentiments  were 
more  romantic,  and  many  a  flowery,  highly- 
polished  sentence  had  been  introduced 
which  she  had  never  heard  before. 

The  little  girl  was  full  of  wonder  and 
dismay  when  Father  Merrick  called  out  her 
name.  She  looked  up,  and  saw  in  his  hand 
a  richly  chased  cross  of  gold,  suspended 
to  a  highly- wrought  chain  of  the  same  ma- 
terial.   The  sound,  the  sight  recalled  her 


bewildered  senses,  and  ere  she  reached  the 
platform  she  had  resolved  to  do  what  was 
right,  whatever  it  might  cost. 

"Miss  Rushton,  the  prize  is  yours,"  said 
the  priest,  leaning  forward  to  throw  the 
chain  around  her  neck. 

' '  No,  reverend  Father, ' '  she  answered,  in 
a  low  but  distinct  voice,  looking  up  at  him 
modestly  but  bravely ;  "I  did  not  write  the 
story  that  you  have  just  read.  The  one  that  I 
put  in  the  envelope  was  not  so  good;  it  was 
changed  without  my  knowledge,  so  I  must 
not  take  the  prize. ' ' 

The  tall  beauty  who  had  written  on 
"Friendship"  laughed  rather  scornfully, 
but  a  soft  murmur  of  approval  ran  through 
the  little  assembly.  Aunt  Harriet  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  momentary  excitement  to 
glide  quietly  out  of  the  room — "French 
leave, ' '  she  called  it. 

Miss  Matilda  Peacock  was  next  called  up. 
Affecting  the  airs  of  a  fine  lady,  the  fair  and 
really  graceful  girl  sauntered  up  to  the  plat- 
form, while  the  portly  matron,  her  mother, 
inclined  smilingly  forward.  Languidly  ex- 
tending her  hand  to  receive  the  prize,  the 
amazed  and  mortified  girl  received  only  her 
own  envelope. 

' '  Miss  Peacock,  I  can  not  praise  your  se- 
lection," said  the  reverend  president,  softly. 
"The  next  time  you  want  an  extract  on 
that  theme,  I  would  recommend  you  the 
pages  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales  rather  than 
those  of  a  flashy  magazine. ' ' 

Poor  Matilda  burst  into  tears,  and"  the 
portly  lady  turned  very  red;  but  all  thought 
the  reproof  well  deserved,  as  the  crestfallen 
miss  returned  to  her  seat,  carrying  her  MS. 
in  her  now  trembling  hand,  and  seeming 
utterly  discomfited. 

"Miss  Catharine  Keating,"  resumed  the 
good  Father,  smiling  benignly  on  a  noble- 
looking  girl  who  came  forward  as  he  spoke. 
"I  presume  there  can  be  no  mistake  about 
your  little  effasion.  It  gives  me  much  pleas- 
ure to  present  this  reward,  due  not  only  to 
your  mental  cultivation  but  to  the  goodness 
of  your  heart.  What!  do  you,  too,  hesitate?" 

"Will  you  be  so  kind,  reverend  Father," 
said  the  generous  Kate,  taking  a  paper  from 


7%e  Ave  Maria, 


599 


her  pocket, "  as  to  read  Minnie's  story  before 
you  decide?  I  asked  her  for  a  copy  several 
days  ago;  here  it  is." 

*' You  shall  read  it  to  the  audience  your- 
.self,  my  child;  I  am  sure  that  Sister  An- 
tonia  and  those  present  will  gladly  listen  to 
so  kind  a  pleader  in  her  friend's  behalf." 

Then  Kate,  with  a  modest  self- possession 
which  well  became  her  native  dignity,  did 
full  justice  to  the  pretty  and  touching  story, 
of  which  Minnie  had  been  so  cruelly 
robbed. 

"  It  is  well  worth  reading, ' '  said  Father 
Merrick,  when  she  had  finished.  "Your 
friend  has  won  the  prize,  dear  child;  and  as 
she  owes  it  to  your  generosity,  you  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  bestowing  it. ' ' 

Kate's  face  glowed  with  emotion  as  she 
hung  the  chain  around  Minnie's  neck;  and 
Minnie  could  not  restrain  her  tears,  while 
she  whispered :  ' '  I  take  it  not  as  a  prize, 
but  as  a  gift  from  you,  dear  Kate. ' ' 

*  'And  now.  Miss  Keating, ' '  said  the  ami- 
able pastor,  ' '  I  must  tell  you  that,  although 
only  one  premium  was  at  first  offered,  the 
critics  have  awarded  this  second  prize  to 
you,  on  account  of  the  merits  of  your  little 
poem."  And  a  beautifully  bound  copy  of 
"Selections  from  Shakspeare"  was  pre- 
sented to  her. 

Then  the  good  Father  withdrew,  and  the 
audience  quietly  retired. 

"Minnie,  will  you  lend  me  the  Maltese 
cross  you  received  as  a  prize?"  said  Mrs. 
Rushton  the  next  morning.  She  was 
dressed  for  a  walk,  and  Minnie  wondered 
what  she  could  wish  to  do  with  her  pretty 
cross;  but  she  immediately  unclasped  the 
chain  from  her  neck,  and  handed  it  to  her 
mother,  without  asking  any  questions.  * '  I 
hope,  my  daughter,  that  you  have  recog- 
nized the  protection  of  St.  Aloysius,  and 
that  you  will  offer  a  Holy  Communion  in 
his  honor  to  show  your  gratitude." 

"I  certainly  will ;  for  I  am  sure  I  owe 
my  prize  to  him.  What  can  I  do  to  imitate 
him,  dear  mamma?" 

"My  child,  try  always  to  set  a  good  ex- 
ample to  all  your  companions.   St.  Aloysius 


was  very  exact  in  the  performance  of  every 
duty;  and,  although  he  never  preached  a 
sermon  in  his  life,  his  virtuous  example  has 
induced  thousands  to  love  and  serve  God  in 
the  world  and  in  the  higher  life  of  Chris- 
tian perfection." 

When  Minnie  returned  home  from  school 
that  day,  she  found  her  cross  had  the  word 
"Truth"  engraved  on  it  in  handsome 
Gothic  capitals;  and  in  a  little  box  near 
it  was  a  beautiful  gold  ring,  elaborately 
chased,  and  adorned  with  a  glittering  pearl. 
In  the  interior  of  the  circle  was  inscribed, 
' '  Souvenir  from  Minnie  to  Kate.' '  We  leave 
our  young  readers  to  imagine  how  affection- 
ately she  kissed  her  kind  and  thoughtful 

mamma. 

<  »  > 

A  Mother's  Prayer. 


There  was  a  young  soldier  in  the  French 
army  who,  when  he  went  to  war,  had  most 
earnestly  asked  for  the  prayers  of  his 
mother.  It  was  the  last  request  he  made 
her  when  he  left  home,  and  every  letter  she 
received  from  him  was  sure  to  express  this 
same  pious  desire — "Do  not  forget  to  pray 
for  me. ' '  She  did  not  forget  to  do  what  he 
had  asked,  but  prayed  for  him  morning 
and  evening. 

One  Wednesday  afternoon  this  mother 
had  it  most  strongly  impressed  upon  her 
mind— she  could  not  tell  why  or  how,  but 
so  it  was — that  her  son  was  in  great  danger, 
and  that  she  ought  to  pray  for  him  at  once. 
And  accordingly  she  did  so;  and  went  on 
praying  for  him,  still  having  the  same  feel- 
ing for  more  than  an  hour.  In  process  of 
time  she  had  a  letter  from  her  son,  stating 
that  on  that  very  day,  at  the  same  hour,  he 
had  been  in  the  extremity  of  danger:  he  had 
been  picked  out  to  serve  in  the  forlorn  hope 
of  the  French  army  at  the  battle  of  Buffa- 
lora.  Soldiers  who  stood  on  his  right  and 
left  were  shot  down — many  of  them;  his 
own  cap  had  been  shot  away,  and  his  trou- 
sers were  nearly  torn  to  pieces  with  splinters 
of  flints  hit  up  out  of  the  ground  by  spent 
bullets;  but  he  himself  was  not  in  the  least 
injured — had  not  even  received  a  scratch. 


6oo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Mozart's  Prayer. 


Catholic  Telegraph. 

Many  years  ago,  in  the  town  of  Salzburg, 
Austria,  two  little  children  lived  in  a  cot  cov- 
ered with  vines,  near  a  pleasant  river.  They 
both  loved  music,  and  when  only  six  years 
old  Frederika  could  play  well  on  the  harpsi- 
chord. But  from  her  little  brother  such  strains 
of  melody  would  resound  through  the  humble 
cottage  as  were  never  before  heard  from  so 
young  a  child.  Their  father  was  a  teacher  of 
music,  and  his  own  children  were  his  best 
pupils. 

There  came  times  so  hard  that  these  chil- 
dren had  scarcely  enough  to  eat;  but  they 
loved  each  other,  and  were  happy  in  the  sim- 
ple enjoyments  that  fell  to  their  lot. 

One  pleasant  day  they  said:  "I^et  us  take 
a  walk  to  the  woods.  How  sweetly  the  birds 
sing!  and  the  sound  of  the  river  as  it  flows  is 
like  music."   So  they  went. 

As  they  were  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree 
the  boy  said,  thoughtfully:  "Sister,  what  a 
beautiful  place  this  would  be  to  pray!  " 

Frederika  asked,  wonderingly:  "What 
should  we  pray  for?" 

"Why,  for  papa  and.  mamma,"  replied  her 
brother.  "  You  see  how  sad  they  look.  Poor 
mamma  hardly  ever  smiles  now,  and  I  know 
it  must  be  because  she  has  not  always  bread 
enough  for  us.  Let  us  pray  God  to  help 
us." 

* '  Yes, ' '  said  Frederika,  ' '  we  will. ' ' 

So  these  two  sweet  children  knelt  down 
and  prayed,  asking  the  Heavenly  Father  to 
bless  their  parents,  and  make  them  a  help  to 
them. 

' '  But  how  can  we  help  papa  and  mamma  ? ' ' 
asked  Frederika. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  replied  Wolf- 
gang. ' '  My  soul  is  full  of  music;  and  by  and 
by  I  shall  play  before  great  people,  and  they 
will  give  me  plenty  of  money,  and  I  will  give 
it  to  our  dear  parents,  and  we'll  live  in  a  fine 
house  and  be  happy." 

At  this  a  loud  laugh  astonished  the  boy,  who 
did  not  know  any  one  was  near  them.  Turn- 
ing, he  saw  a  fine  gentleman  who  had  just 
come  from  the  woods. 

The  stranger  made  inquiries,  which  the 
little  girl  answered,  telling  him,  "Wolfgang 
means  to  be  a  great  musician;  he  thinks  he 


can  earn  money,  so  that  we  shall  be  no  longer 
poor. ' ' 

* '  He  may  do  that  when  he  has  learned  to 
play  well  enough,"  replied  the  stranger. 

Frederika  answered:  "He  is  only  six  years 
old,  but  plays  beautifully,  and  can  compose 
pieces. ' ' 

"That  can  not  be,"  replied  the  gentleman. 

'  *  Come  to  see  us, ' '  said  the  little  boy,  '  *  and 
I  will  play  for  you." 

' '  I  will  go  this  evening, ' '  answered  the 
stranger. 

The  children  went  home  and  told  their  story 
to  their  parents,  who  seemed  much  pleased 
and  astonished. 

Soon  a  loud  knock  was  heard,  and  on  open- 
ing the  door  the  little  family  were  surprised  to 
see  men  bringing  in  baskets  of  richly-cooked 
food  in  variety  and  abundance.  They  had. an 
ample  feast  that  evening.  Thus  God  answered 
the  children's  prayer. 

Soon  after,  while  Wolfgang  was  playing  a 
sonata,  which  he  had  composed,  the  stranger 
entered,  aud  stood  astonished  at  the  wondrous 
melody.  The  father  recognized  in  his  guest 
Francis  I.,  Emperor  of  Austria. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  family  were  invited 
by  the  Emperor  to  Vienna,  where  Wolfgang 
astonished  the  royal  family  by  his  wonderful 
powers.  From  that  time  the  father  and  his 
children  gave  concerts  in  many  cities  of  Ger- 
many and  France. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  years  Wolfgang  was 
acknowledged  by  all  eminent  composers  as  a 
master. 

Mozart  was  a  good  Catholic  as  well  as  a  great 
musician.  The  simple  trust  in  God  which  he 
had  learned  in  childhood  never  forsook  him.  . 
In  a  letter  to  his  father  he  says: 

'  *  I  never  lose  sight  of  God.  I  acknowledge 
His  power  and  dread  His  wrath,  but  at  the 
same  time  I  love  to  admire  His  goodness  and 
mercy  to  His  creatures.  He  will  never  aban- 
don His  servant.  By  the  fulfilment  of  His  will, ', 
mine  is  satisfied." 


For  the  structure  that  we  raise, 

Time  is  with  materials  filled; 
Our  to  days  and  3^e,sterdays 

Are  the  blocks  with  which  we  build, 
Truly  shape  and  fashion  these. 

Leave  no  j^awning  gaps  between; 
Think  not,  because  no  man  sees, 

Such  things  will  remain  unseen. 

— Lo7igfellow. 


^^^^^^^F^^^^^^^^^'^^ 


K 


OL.  XXIII.       NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  25,  1886.  No.  26. 


[CopTriglit 

On  Christ's  Nativ  ty. 

BY   MARGARET   H.   tAWLESS. 

HAPPY  the  babe  whose  eyes  first  see  the 
light 
Of  life  upon  the  holy  Christmas  Day! 
Some  special  grace  will  be  with  him  alway, 
And  Mary  keep  him  ever  in  Her  sight: — 
Blessed  the  soul  that  takes  from  earth  its  flight 
Into  eternity!    For  on  this  night 
The  gates  of  Heaven  stand  open,  and  the  way 
Thereto  illumined  by  the  radiant  flight 
Of  joyous  angels  in  a  shining  throng, 
"Who  sweep  their  wings  among  th'  expectant 

spheres, 
And  raise  their  voices  in  triumphant  song; 
Hearing  which,  the  earth-shriven  soul  that 

nears 
The  golden  heights,  could  no  more  miss  its 

way 

Than  the  sun  misses  his  straight  path  thro' 

day! 

«  »  < 

The  Liturgy  of  Christmas  Day. 

N  Christmas  Day  three  different 
Masses  are  celebrated  —  the  Mid- 
night Mass,  the  Mass  of  the  Morn- 
ling,  and  the  Mass  of  the  Day, — and  each  of 
these  Masses  has  a  special  character  of  its 
own.  God  the  Fa^.her  gives  His  Son  to  the 
[world;  this  miracle  is  wrought  by  the  Spirit 
)f  Love,  and  the  whole  earth  renders  to 
le  Most  Glorious  Trinity  the  homage  of  a 
riple  sacrifice.  He  whose  Nativity  we  com- 
lemorate  on  Christmas  Day  is  manifested 


C.S.C.1 

by  three  births:  He  is  bom  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin;  He  is  born  by  His  grace  in  the 
hearts  of  the  Shepherds,  who  are  the  first 
fruits  of  Christianity;  He  is  also  born  eter- 
nally in  the  bosom  of  His  Father,  amid  the 
splendors  of  th.e  saints.  This  triple  birth  is 
honored  with  a  triple  sacrifice.  The  Mid- 
night Mass  is  celebrated  in  memory  of  the 
birth  of  Our  Saviour  according  to  the  flesh; 
the  Mass  of  the  Morning  is  offered  to  honor 
the  birth  of  Jesus,  Son  of  God  and  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  in  our  souls  by  His  grace;  the 
Mass  of  the  Day  commemorates  the  eternal 
birth  of  the  Son  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father. 

I. — The  Midnight  Mass. 

'*  The  Lord  said  to  Me,  Thou  art  My  Son; 
to-day  I  have  begotten  Thee."  These  are 
the  first  words  of  the  Introit  of  the  Mid- 
night Mass.  Then  comes  the  Kyrie  eleison^ 
which  serves  a  prelude  to  the  hymn  of  the 
angelic  choirs,  "Glory  to  God  in  the  high- 
est, and  on  earth  peace  to  men  of  good- will." 
Let  us  join  heart  and  voice  in  this  ineffa- 
ble and  rapturous  concert  of  the  heavenly 
host.  Our  brethren  the  angels  begin  this 
canticle;  they  are  round  the  altar,  as  they 
surrounded  the  Crib  of  Bethlehem,  and  they 
are  singing  the  song  of  our  happiness. 

Before  the  Epistle  the  priest  says  the 
following  prayer:  "O  God!  who  hast  illu- 
mined this  sacred  night  with  the  splendor 
of  Him  who  is  the  True  Light,  grant,  we 
beseech  Thee,  that,  having  known  this 
mysterious  Light  here  below,  we  may  here- 
after enjoy  in  heaven  all  the  blessings  of 
which  He  is  the  source. ' '  Then  follows  the 


6o2 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Epistle,  which  is  taken  from  the  Epistle  of 
St.  Paul  to  Titus:  ''Beloved  son,  the  grace 
of  Gad  Our  Siviour  hath  appeared  to  all 
men,  instructing  us  that,  renouncing  im- 
piety and  worldly  desires,  we  should  live 
soberly,  and  justly,  and  piously  in  this 
world." 

In  the  Gospel  we  assist  at  the  birth  of  the 
Infant  Jesus  in  the  Grotto  of  Bethlehem, 
accompanied  by  the  songs  of  the  angels.  At 
the  Offc^rtory  a  glad  cr/  of  njoicing  goes 
up  from  the  heart  of  the  Cliurch:  "Let  the 
heavens  rej  nee,  and  let  the  earth  be  glad 
before  the  presence  of  the  Lord;  for  He  is 
come."  In  the  Secret  the  celebrant  a^ks  of 
Gjd  that  the  offering  which  is  presented  to 
Him  may  be  agreeable  to  Him,  and  that  we 
may  become  like  the  Infant  Jesus,  in  whom 
the  human  substance  is  united  to  the  Divin- 
ity. In  the  Preface  the  priest  thanks  the 
''Almighty  Father,  Eternal  God,  because 
by  the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation  of  the 
Word  a  new  ray  of  His  splendor  has  been 
sent  to  shine  on  souls  "  Gjd  makes  Himself 
known  to  all  in  a  visible  manner,  in  order 
that  by  this  sight  of  Him  we  m  ly  conceive  a 
rapturous  love  for  His  invisible  beauties. 
At  the  Communion  the  fiithful  soul  ad 
dresses  its  Redeemer  in  the  words  wh  ch 
God  spoxC  to  His  Son:  "In  the  splendors 
of  the  saints  I  have  begotten  Thee,  before 
the  morning  dawn." 

II. — The  Mass  of  the  Mornixg. 

The  lutroit  of  the  Mass  of  the  Morning 
celebrates  the  rising  of  the  Divine  Sun: 
"Light  will  shine  upon  iis  to  diy,  for  the 
Lord  is  born  to  us;  and  He  shall  be  called 
Wonderful,  God,  Prince  of  Peace,  Father  of 
ages  to  come;  and  His  reign  shall  have  no 
end.  The  Lord  has  entered  on  His  king- 
dom; He  is  clothed  with  glory  and  with 
power."  In  two  Collects  the  Church  begs 
Almighty  God,  who  has  made  the  new  light 
of  the  Word  Incarnate  to  shine  upon  us,  to 
grant  that  the  faith  in  this  mystery  which 
enlightens  our  souls  may  also  shine  forth 
in  our  actions,  through  the  intercession  of 
the  Blessed  Anastasia,of  whom  we  celebrate 
the  solemn  memory.  St.  Anastasia  was  a 
widow  at  Rome,  who  on  the  birthday  of  the 


Redeemer  was  born  to  the  celestial  life,  by 
her  cross  and  sufferings,  under  the  persecu- 
tion of  Diocletian. 

The  Epistle  teaches  us  that  the  Sun  which 
is  risen  upon  us  is  God  the  Saviour,  in  all 
His  goodness  and  all  His  mercy.  The  Gos- 
pel brings  before  us  the  Shepherds  at  Beth- 
lehem, "glorifying  and  praising  God  for  all 
the  things  that  they  had  heard  and  seen." 
At  the  Offertory  the  Church  glorifies  the 
power  of  Emmanuel:  "God  hath  confirmed 
the  earth:  it  shall  no  longer  be  shaken. 
Thy  throne,  O  God!  is  established  from 
eternity:  Thou  art  before  all  time."  At  the 
Communion  is  heard  again  the  note  of  joy 
and  gladness:  "Rejoice,  O  daughter  of 
Sion!  sing  songs,  O  daughter  of  Jerusalem! 
Behold  thy  King  cometh  unto  thee,  the 
Saviour  of  the  world." 

HI.— The  Mass  of  the  Day. 

The  Word  is  the  Child,  which  is  bom  to 
us,  according  to  the  prophecy  of  Isaias;  the 
Introit  proclaims  Him  in  the  words  of  that 
prophecy:  "Unto  us  a  Child  is  born,  unto 
us  a  Son  is  given;  He  bears  on  His  shoul- 
der the  sign  of  His  sovereignty."  In  the 
Collect  we  ask  of  Almighty  G  >d  that  the 
new  birth  by  which  this  Word,  His  E'.ernal 
S  m.  has  condescended  to  be  born,  may  re- 
store us  liberty,  and  deliver  us  from  the 
yoke  of  sin.  The  Word,  according  to  the 
Epistle  read  in  the  Mass — which  is  taken 
from  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews, — is 
the  true  Son  of  G  )d,  bv  whom  He  created 
the  worlds,  and  whom  He  has  made  heir  of 
all  things.  It  is  of  Him  that  the  words  are 
spoken:  "Thou  art  the  same,  and  Thy 
years  shall  not  fail."  This  Word,  too,  is  the 
Siviour  who  is  mentioned  in  the  Gradual: 
''AH  the  whole  earth  has  seen  the  Saviour 
that  our  God  has  sent;  praise  God  with  joy 
and  gladness,  all  ye  inhabitants  of  the 
earth."  So  in  the  Gospel:  "In  the  begin- 
ning was  the  Word,  and  the  Word  was  with  j 
God,  and  the  Word  was  God.  In  Him  was  [ 
life,  and  the  life  was  the  light  of  men.  That 
was  the  true  light,  which  enlighteneth  every 
man  that  cometh  into  the  world."  I 

Again,  this  same  Word  is  the  infinitely     I 
powerful  King  who  is  spoken  of  in  the 


llie  Ave  Maria, 


603 


Offertory;  "Heaven  and  Earth  are  Thine. 
Thou  hast  made  the  wnld  and  all  that  is 
therein;  justice  and  equity  are  the  founda- 
tions of  Thy  throne."  The  Communion 
expresses  the  happiness  of  the  world,  which 
to  day  has  seen  its  S uiour,  the  Word  made 
Flesh  without  suffering  any  diminution  of 
His  glory. 

Let  us  complete  the  Liturgy  of  Christmas 
D  ly  by  addressing  to  the  B  e^sed  Virgin  the 
wo^ds  of  a  chant  of  the  fifteenth  century: 

*' Christians,  ofF-r  your  tribute  of  prai<>e 
to  the  Virgin  Mary. 

*'E^e,  hapless  mother,  was  the  cause  of 
our  ruin,  but  Mary  has  given  us  a  Son  who 
has  redeemed  sinners. 

''Tell  us,  O  Mary,  sweet  and  clement 
Virgin !  how  didst  Thou  become  Mother  of 
Thy  Creator? 

"  '  The  Angel  is  witness  of  it,  sent  to  Me 
from  heaven.  Of  Me  is  born  the  Child  who 
is  My  hope.' 

' '  Yes,  we  know  that  of  a  truth  Christ  is 
the  Son  of  Mary. 

"Have  meicy  on  us,  Christ  Our  King, 
who  was  born  for  us!   Amen.'' 


The  Brahmin's  Christmas. 

BY    E.   I..   DORSEY. 
I. 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  the  2d  of  Decem- 
ber in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  187-,  and 
the  Indian  sun  was  but  little  past  the  me- 
ridian, when  two  figures  came  slowly  down 
the  path  toward  the  village  of  Mutnoor,  in 
the  Guntoor  District.  One  was  a  white  man, 
tall  of  stature,  square -shouldered,  and  of 
soldierly  build:  his  white  robe  fell  to  his 
ankles,  a  broad  scarlet  sash  girdled  his 
waist,  a  wide-brimmed  scarlet  hat  covered 
his  head,  and  he  carried  a  long  bamboo  rod. 
The  other  was  of  smaller,  slighter  mould, 
with  rich,  bronze-colored  skin,  and  his  fine 
white  draperies,  turban,  cord,  sandals,  and 
beads  proclaimed  him  a  Brahmin  of  high 
degree. 
They  had  met  on  the  journey  up  country 


from  Masulipa'am;  a  friendship  had  sprung 
up,  cemen'ed  by  the  priest's  saving  the 
Hindoo's  life;  and  now  the  latter  was  going 
to  Mutnoor  with  his  deliverer,  to  witness 
the  celebration  of  the  F^jast  of  St.  Francis 
Xivier.* 

A  group  of  ch  ildren  stationed  in  the  road, 
and  evidently  on  the  lookout,  spied  ihem, 
and  rushed  into  the  villa.,'e,  shouting  with 
shrill  and  gleeful  voices, ''  The  gn^at  Swami 
[master]  incoming!  He  is  here!"  And  men 
and  women  dropped  whatever  they  were 
(ioing,and  crowded  and  clustertd  about  him 
in  such  numbers,  echoing  the  children's  cry 
of  ''^ Swami!  Szvami/^^  that  his  progress 
was  stayed. 

All  the  castes  and  conditions  of  Mutnoor 
were  represented — the  rich  weavers,  the 
farmers,  the  shepherds,  and  booth-keepers; 
and  the  Brahmin  drew  his  robes  about  him, 
and  stepped  aside  in  haughty  disgust,  as  a 
fair  young  woman  knelt  with  her  year-old 
baby  raised  in  her  arms  for  a  blessing. 

Accursed,  indeed,  was  she,  according  to 
the  laws  of  caste;  for  she  was  the  wife  and 
daughter  of  a  Tchandala;^  and  yet  the 
priest's  left  hand  lay  as  gently  on  her  child's 
head  as  his  right  did  on  that  of  the  Catho- 
lic Brahmin  boy  near  by. 

*'Why,0  Richard!  priest  of  the  Church 
of  Rome,dost  thou  defile  thy  hand  by  touch- 
ing so  vile  a  thing  as  that?"  he  asked. 

"She  for  whom  my  Master  died  is  as 
dear  in  His  sight  as  a  rajah's  child,"  an- 
swered the  priest. 

"How!  Thy  Master  died  for  that  thing?" 

"Do  you  not  know,  O  brother !  that  Jesus 
Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  died  for  all  man- 
kind? That  the  wood  of  His  Cross  is  the 
bridge  to  heaven?   That  His  Blood  was  the 


*  This  feast  (the  3d  of  December)  opetis  the 
ecclesiastical  year,  and  is  the  gor3:eous  prelude  to 
Christmas,  the  Epiphany  being  the  third  in  order 
and  importance  of  Catholic  India's  festivals. 

t  The  child  of  a  Pariah  father  and  a  m-)ther  of 
Brahmin  descent  Such  children  are  considered 
lower  than  Pariahs,  and  their  children  worse  yet. 
The  accidental  touch  of  a  Pariah  is  believed  to  so 
pollute  the  soul  of  a  Brahmin  that  he  has  to  offer 
a  sacrifice  to  the  gods  and  be  purified,  else  he  is 
lost  forever. 


6o4 


-The  Ave  Maria. 


ransom  of  every  soul  that  shall  be  created 
till  the  end  of  time?'' 

**But  not  in  like  degree,''  said  the  Brah- 
min, incredulously. 

**Yes:  'full  measure,  pressed  down  and 
running  over.'  And  only  those  are  lost  who 
will  not  be  saved — who  sin  against  Him,  and 
die  with  those  sins  unrepented. — Coming, 
Devaya" — to  a  young  farmer  who  stood 
near.    ''And  how  have  things  gone?" 

^^'V^tW.^Swami.  But  they  need  you  at  Ped- 
dacotla  Ignacy's.  The  last  of  his  powder 
won't  mix." 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  half  hour,"  he  an- 
swered, and  moved  on  toward  the  church. 

As  they  went  the  Brahmin  gave  a  keen 
glance  that  swept  the  village,  then  said: 

"This  Xaverei\s>  one  of  your  gods?" 

"We  have  no  god  save  one,  the  supreme 
and  only  true  God,"  answered  the  priest. 

"Why,  then,  the  ia-u^'^  the  fireworks, 
the  pandal,  and  the  crowds  that  gather?" 

"To  do  honor  to  a  faithful  servant  of  the 
lyord,  and  thereby  praise  that  God.  Listen  to 
His  command."  And  in  the  sonorous  Hin- 
doostanee  he  repeated  the  First  Command- 
ment, concluding  with,  "Worship  is  His 
alone,  but  His  faithful  servants  we  revere, 
and  ask  their  prayers,  that  they  may  help 
us  to  a  happy  eternity." 

n. 

The  nearer  they  came  to  the  priest's 
house,  the  greater  grew  the  bustle  and  ac- 
tivity. Every  man,  woman,  and  child  seemed 
to  have  some  specific  duty,  and  to  be  en- 
grossed in  performing  it.  Some  of  them 
ground  sulphur  in  stone  pestles,  some 
pounded  charcoal,  others  polished  the  long 
narrow  cannon  whose  bronze  throats  would 
welcome  in  the  morning  of  the  beloved 
Saint's  festival;  others  filled  buffilo-horns. 
with  powder,  others  stuffed  rockets  and 
"snakes"  (but  these  worked  in  inclosures, 
around  which  boys  flocked  like  bees  about 
a  hive);  others  toiled  at  the  great  par.dal^ 
or  scaffolding,  in  the  open  space  of  the  vil- 
lage; and  some  fastened  rockets,  horns,  and 


*  A  portable  circular  shrine  surrounded  by  pil- 
lars, which  support  its  canopy,  or  roof. 


snakes  to  a  huge  wheel  erected  beyond  the 
lake  opposite  W\^  pandal. 

The  booths  were  going  up,  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  sound  of  torn  toms^  and  the 
sharp,  bold  notes  of  the  clarione'.s;  while 
from  every  direction  came  streaming  the 
people,  who,  as  the  day  waned,  gathered  in 
larg:er  and  larger  numbers — Brahmins,  sol- 
diers, merchants,  shepherds;  women,  with 
children  to  be  presented  in  the  church  next 
day;  and  hosts  of  young  girls  and  youths 
laden  with  wreaths  and  garlands  of  white 
and  yellow  marigolds  with  which  to  deck 
the  altar  and  the  statues  of  Our  Lady  and 
the  beloved  Apostle  of  India. 

Here  and  there  sharp  words  and  slippers 
flew;  for  in  the  press  a  Pariah  would  some- 
times draw  too  near  a  Brahmin,  and  horror 
of  the  outcast's  touch  made  him  snatch  at 
the  most  available  missile;  and  every  man 
cried,  ''^Swami^  look!"  or  ''^ Swami,  see!" 
or  "Is  this  as  it  should  be ? "  or  " Help  us, 
Swamil ' '  And  to  every  man  aid  or  advice 
or  approval  was  given. 

"What  a  contrast  to  our  priests!" 
thought  the  Brahmin.  ' '  They  move  among 
the  people  as  gods  among  slaves:  exacting 
divine  honors,  and  giving  no  thought  to  the 
suffering  of  the  world,  though  they  fatten 
on  its  labor.  Who  comes  to  them  for  help? 
Who  looks  to  them  for  comfort?" 

A  welcome  to  his  guest,  a  few  minutes 
in  the  church,  a  light  repast,  and  then  the 
priest  was  in  the  confessional  to  shrive  his 
people  for  the  festival,  and  later  was  among 
them  to  superintend  the  decoration  of  altar, 
statues,  and  scaffolding,  and  finally  to  in- 
spect the  fireworks,  detail  the  /<7r2/-bearers, 
and  then,  with  a  courteous  good-night  to 
his  visitor,  he  withdrew  for  a  short  night's 
rest. 

At  daybreak  he  was  afoot,  and  the  young 
Brahmin  with  him;  for  it  was  the  first 
Christian  festival  he  had  seen,  and  he  was 
an  interested  witness  of  all  that  happened. 

First  came  a  cloud  of  white  canopies,  and 
under  them  women  clad  according  to  their 
state  of  life;  some  were  wrapped  in  plain 
white  scarfs  from  head  to  foot,  but  others 
wore  brilliant  blue  skirts  with  scarlet  jack- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


605 


ets,  gold- threaded  scarfs,  rich  armlets  and 
ankle  rings,  and  jewels  on  their  forehead*^; 
and  all  carried  children,  whom  they  dedi- 
cated to  God  and  put  under  the  protection 
of  Our  Lady  and  St.  Francis.  With  them 
were  their  kinspeople,  bearing  offerings  of 
gold;  preceding  and  following  them  were 
bands  of  drums  and  clarionets,  or  dnims, 
tambourines,  and  reed  flutes,  while  all  the 
company  chanted  native  hymns  The  aisles 
were  soon  filled  with  these  mothers,  who 
advanced  on  their  knees  from  the  door- to 
the  altar;  and  mingled  with  them  were  hun- 
dreds of  Christians  (and  pagans  a--  well), 
who  offered  candles,  and  besieged  Heaven 
for  favors. 

In  the  mid- morning  came  the  grand  High 
Mass,  with  a  sermon  on  St.  Francis;  and 
then  the  congregation  dispersed,  and  the 
crowds  of  petitioners  again  filled  the  aisle>. 

Outside,  the  fun  and  traffic  waxed  high; 
the  bazaar  was  filled  with  vendors  of  sweets, 
fruits,  jewels,  golden  ornaments,  and  silken 
and  cotton  stuffs;  and  jugglers  played  their 
tricks,  and  chaffering  and  laughter  filled 
the  air.  Disorder  there  was  in  plenty,  but 
neither— the  Brahmin  noted — license  nor 
indecency.  How  different  from  the  festivals 
of  Rama,  Siva,  Krishna,  and  the  host  of 
gods  that  swarmed  in  his  creed ! 

The  Holy  Name  of  Jesu  replaced  the 
salutation  "Rama,  Rama!"  and  cheerful- 
ness reigned.  Suddenly,  however,  a  clamor 
arose, and  a  woman' s  voice,  shrill  with  fright 
and  agony,  screamed,  '' Swami,  O  great 
Swami,  save  me!"  and  into  the  heart  of 
the  crowd  thrust  the  figure  of  the  priest. 
The  people  were  standing  irresolute,  half- 
cowed;  for  it  was  the  highest  Brahmin  of 
the  village  that  held  in  his  grasp  the  fright- 
ened creature. 

No  one  dared  interfere,  because  an  indig- 
nity, even  a  remonstrance,  offered  a  Brah- 
min is  followed  by  terrible  punishments 
(not  the  worst  of  which  is  the  cutting  out 
of  the  tongue);  but  the  priest  made  short 
work  of  him,  seizing  him  by  the  throat, 
and,  with  a  good  will  and  a  tremendous 
strength,  laying  the  bamboo  about  his  head 
and  back  till  he  fairly  roared. 


Again  the  ydung  Brahmin's  pride  of  caste 
arose,  but  the  priest  said:  "Shall  a  tiger 
destroy  one  of  my  flock  and  I  stand  idly 
by?" 

And  then  again  the  Brahmin  youth  was 
constrained  to  ponder  on  the  creed  of  love 
tanght  by  this  Church  of  Rome. 

"But  the  punishment!"  he  said;  and  the 
peoplecrowding  about  their  pastorrepeated, 
fearfully:  "Yes,  the  punishment!  It  may 
be  death ;  for  awful  is  the  vengeance  of  the 
Brahmins." 

"And  even  then  I  would  have  done  it," 
smiled  the  priest.  "'The  good  shepherd 
giveth  his  life  for  his  sheep;  the  hireling 
flieth.'  But  he  will  not  have  me  put  to 
death,*  nor  yet  shall  he  fine  you." 

But  t4iey  shook  their  heads;  for  had  not 
a  heavy  fine  crushed  them  only  a  few  years 
before,  and  their  other  priest  been  sent 
away,  for  resisting  and  striking  a  Brahmin? 

Again,  however,  he  assured  them  no  harm 
should  come  to  iliem;  and  this  time  they 
looked  at  one  another  and  said,  "The 
Swami  nevtr  lies."  and  dispersed  to  their 
afternoon  meal  with  light  hearts,  f 

HI. 

Higher  rose  the  excitement  as  the  sun 
went  down;  for  the  great  event  of  the  day 
was  at  hand — the  procession;  and  toward 
eight  o'clock  the  crowd  streamed  to  the 
church,  and,  as  the  priest  ascended  the  steps 
of  the  shrines  of  Our  L  idy  and  Sc.  Francis 
to  incense  the  statues,  the  congregation,  in- 
doors and  out,  swayed  and  bent  and  moved 
with  the  thrilling  interest  of  the  moment; 
and  hands  were  outstretched,  eyes  grew 
brighter,  and  from  a  thousand  lips  cries  of 
'^Devera-Talli!''  (Mother  of  God),  and 
^^XavereilV  rose  in  ardent  salutation. 

The  aliar  blazed  with  hundreds  of  lights, 
and  the  mass  of  vivid  yellow  flowers  banked 
upon  it  and  in  the  sanctuary  filled  the  in- 

*  The  BraVimins  rarely  strike  a  death-blcw 
themselves  hut  usually  have  it  do?ie. 

f  A  case  the  parallel  of  this,  was  brought  by  the 
infuriated  Brahmin  into  the  courts,  and— honor 
to  the  name  of  Grant  Duil— his  complai-it  was 
dismissed  by  the  judge,  with  the  advice  to  "lake 
the  beating  as  a  penance  for  your  sins." 


6o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


terior  with  brightness;  and  as  the  stalwart, 
handsome  men  in  their  white  robes,  volu- 
minous turbans  and  floating  scarfs,  ad- 
vanced toward  the  statues,  also  half- buried 
in  garlands,  a  gladder,  more  brilliant  scene 
can  scarcely  be  imagined.  The  great  fig- 
ures were  raised  and  set  in  the  tarus^  the 
candles  lighted  around  them,  and,  preceded 
by  the  children  of  the  Sodality  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  the  line  of  march  was  taken  up  for 
Wi^  pandal. 

Torch  after  torch  was  kindled,  and  cups 
full  of  crimson,  green,  blue  and  yellow  tab- 
leau powder  were  fired  and  carried  aloft  on 
long  sticks;  hundreds  of  men  waved  buf- 
falo-horns above  their  heads,  from  which 
burst  balls  of  blue  and  crimson  fire;  others 
lighted  rockets,  that  tore  through  the  night 
with  burning  sticks  that  never  seemed  to 
fall,  for  no  damage  was  done;  and  large 
choirs  of  children  sang  native  hymns  to 
Our  Lady  and  St.  Francis. 

Every  few  minutes  the  ^<2r/^  -  bearers 
halted,  and  then,  like  chicks  under  their 
mother's  wing,  women  and  children,  the 
lame  and  suffering,  huddled  under  the  taru^ 
imploring  the  prayers  of  Devera-Talli 
(whose  name  echoed  ever>  where  *),  and 
Her  Son's  great  servant  Francis;  and  dur- 
ing these  halts  companies  of  native  men 
mounted  the  nearest  eminence,  and  sang 
sweetly,  while  the  crowd  took  up  the  re- 
frain. 

Arrived  at  the /<2«flf<«/,  the  statues  were 
set  up,  the  priest  seated  on  his  throne  with 
his  guest  and  friends,  and  then  the  wrest- 
ling and  leaping  began,  the  air  meantime 
being  a- flame  with  rockets,  squibs,  and 
bursting  globes  of  light,  sent  in  twenty 
cases  out  of  twenty-one  from  the  bare  hands 
of  the  men. 

When  the  prizes  were  awarded,  and  the 
people's  fireworks  exhausted,  then  the  great 
wheel  was  touched  off  and  set  in  motion. 
As  it  swung  faster  and  faster,  the  rockets 
streamed  out  like  burning  spokes;  fiery  ser- 
pents darted  through  the  air,  and  the  buf- 


*  The  devotion  of  Catholic  India  to  Our  Lady 
is  equalled  nowhere  except  in  Ireland. 


falo-horns  spit  out  their  gorgeous,  flaming 
balls.  Ivoud,  rapturous  shouts  greeted  each 
fresh  display, and  the  excitement  died  away 
only  when  the  lake*  quenched  the  last 
sparks  of  the  whirling,  exploding  splendor. 

IV. 

Two  week«?  went  by,  and  still  the  Brah- 
min lingered,  and  the  days  were  days  of 
grace;  for,  first  through  courtesy,  then 
through  interest  and  then  through  faith,  he 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  priest,  and  found 
that  the  thirt}-three  million  gods  of  his 
own  belief  were  human  makeshifts  and  in- 
different substitutes  for  the  Mighty  God  of 
Heaven,  His  Holy  Spirit,  and  Jesus  the 
Saviour  of  men. 

For  the  Blessed  Lady  he  conceived  a  ten- 
der love  and  reverence;  for  his  quick  brain 
recognized  the  wonderful  part  She  played 
in  the  plan  of  Redemption;  and  his  heart 
bowed  before  Her  sweetness  and  purity,  re- 
coiling from  the  memories  of  Sita,  Mahri, 
and  Doorga,  and  the  orgies  carried  on  in 
their  names ;  while  the  communion  of  saints 
opened  channels  of  communion  with  God, 
that  set  his  heart  at  rest,  and  raised  his  soul 
on  high  as  by  rounds  of  a  golden  ladder; 
and  his  affection  for  Richard  the  Priest 
grew  so  strong,  that  when  the  latter  started 
for  Peringhipuram  ^the  head  -  station)  to 
celebrate  the  Nativity,  he  followed  him. 

On  the  eve  of  Christmas  he  came  to  him 
and  said:  "I  too  would  be  a  Christian. 
How  can  I  break  free  from  my  creed?'* 

' '  By  baptism  and  the  Holy  Ghost, ' '  was 
the  answer. 

*  *  But  my  people,  my  friends,  my  home, 
my  riches  and  honors?"  asked  the  Brah- 
min. 

''Sacrifice  them  to  God." 

"Bitter  is  the  thought,  and  cruelly  it 
pulls  at  my  heart-strings;  for  if  I  do  it,  con- 
tempt will  be  my  portion,  and  beggary  my 
lot;  from  my  kindred  T  will  be  estranged, 
and  from  my  home  cast  out  " 

"But  eternal  life  will  be  your  reward,'* 
added  the  priest. 


*  The  wheel  is  put  beyond  the  lake,  so  the  peo- 
ple can  not  get  near  the  danger. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


607 


The  Brahmin  thought.  Then— *' What 
is  the  Veda  of  the  youth  who  would  follow 
JesnV 

And  he  listened  attentively,  repeating 
softly  at  the  close: 

*"If  thou  wilt  be  perfect,  go  sell  what 
^hou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor;  and  thou 
shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven ;  and  come, 
follow  Me.'" 

Then  he  added :  "I  will  do  it,  O  Richard ! 
and  to  morrow  thou  shalt  baptize  me." 

Then  they  parted,  the  priest  to  go  among 
the  people,  the  Brahmin  to  kneel  in  the 
church  to  pray  for  the  coming  day. 

Hours  passed,  and,  wrapped  in  medita- 
tion, the  Brahmin  did  not  notice  that  the 
noises  without  were  lessening,  that  the 
crowds  about  the  confessional  had  long  de- 
parted, that  the  priest  had  been  summoned 
in  haste,  and  had  not  returned;  nor  did  he 
observe,  creeping  with  cat-like  tread,  a  white 
figure,  that  stole  from  point  to  point  to 
where  he  knelt,  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
sanctuary  lamp.  But  when  the  stroke  fell 
that  stung  like  a  cobra  bite  beneath  his 
shoulder,  he  heard  a  voice  hiss: 

"There,  foul  pig!  Strike  a  Brahmin  again 
if  thou  darest!" 

And  as  he  fell  he  saw  the  Brahmin  of  the 
fUe  day  hurrying  away,  with  an  evil  smile 
on  his  lips  and  triumph  in  his  eyes.  And 
he  knew  he  had  received  the  blow  meant 
for  the  priest,  and  he  thanked  God  he  had 
saved  his  friend. 

"A  life  for  a  life,"  he  murmured,  and 
then  his  senses  failed. 

When  next  his  eyes  opened  it  was  not  a 
church  he  saw,  nor  an  altar,  nor  the  mild- 
eyed  statue  of  Our  Lady,  but  an  open  stable, 
from  which  streamed  a  light  unlike  the 
sun  or  moon  or  torch  or  flame.  It  centred 
about  and  rayed  from  a  tiny  Child,  that  lay 
on  a  young  Maid's  knee. 

'^JesuP'  he  breathed,  and  then,  with 
joyful  recognition,  '  ^Devera-  Talli! ' ' 

And  up  the  mountain  rode  three  men, 
kings  all  of  them;  for  their  crowns  gleamed 
in  the  light;  and — hush!  what  was  the  mu- 
sic that  rose  on  the  night?  Richard  the 
Priest  had  told  him  of  it: 


"Peace  on  ^arth — good-will  to  men!'* 

"Peace" ?  What  could  be  sweeter  than 
to  lie  and  gaze  on  that  scene!  Good-will? 
Yes,  yes;  and  thanks  as  well  to  the  hand 
that  struck  the  blow  to  his  body.  "Forgive 
him,  JesiiP'^  And  as  he  said  it  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  be  at  the  feet  of  the  Child  with 
the  Kings;  but  while  they  offered  Him  gold 
and  incense  and  myrrh,  he  noticed  that  in 
his  own  hand  there  lay  only  a  tiny  heart, 
on  which  was  cut  his  name  and  those  of  the 
people  and  possessions  he  had  always  held 
dearest;  and  he  felt  abashed  at  the  poorness 
of  his  offering.  But  the  Child  smiled  a 
mysterious  and  radiant  smile,  and  touched 
him  three  times  with  His  cool,  soft  hand; 
and  then  it  all  vanished,  and  he  saw  the 
face  of  Richard  the  Priest  bending  over 
him,  with  tears  in  the  dark  eyes,  and  he 
said: 

"I  have  baptized  you.  Gladly  would  I 
have  died  for  you.  Pray  for  me;  for,  freed 
from  sin,  you  will  this  day  be  in  Paradise.'* 

"This  day?" 

"Yes:  listen!" 

And  as  the  bell  rang  midnight,  and  the 
Christmas  hymn  rose  on  the  air,  the  Brah- 
min's soul  went  out  to  meet  the  Child 
whose  coming  set  us  free. 


Christmas  Hynnn. 

BY    M.    A. 

HE  comes,  our  Infant  Lord  and  Love! 
He  leaves  His  throne  of  light, 
And  comes  to  dwell  with  us  on  earth 

This  blessed  Christmas  night. 
How  can  we  fitting  homage  pay 

To  our  dear  Infant  King, 
And,  kneeling  at  His  sacred  feet, 
What  offering  can  we  bring? 

The  angel  choirs  to  greet  His  birth 

Carolled  glad  hymns  of  praise. 
Would  that  in  anthems  like  to  theirs 

Our  voices  we  could  raise; 
And  would  that  ours  were  precious  gifts 

Like  those  the  Kings  of  old 
Offered  with  reverential  love — 

Myrrh,  frankincense,  and  gold! 


6o8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


On  that  first  Christmas  night  He  came, 

Our  heavenly  Infant  Guest, 
In  Blessed  Mary's  arms  to  lie. 

Or  on  St.  Joseph's  breast; 
But  now  He  comes  with  still  more  love. 

Still  more  humility, 
To  rest  in  these  poor  hearts  of  ours, 

To  dwell  with  you  and  me. 

And  can  we,  then,  make  no  return. 

Our  gratitude  to  prove  ? 
Dear  Lord, Thou  knowest  we  have  naught, 

Thou  dost  but  claim  our  love. 
Come,  then,  our  glorious  Infant  King, 

Our  hearts  Thy  home  shall  be; 
Come  make  Thine  empire  in  our  souls, 

Reign  there  eternally. 


The  Blessed  Night. 


BY    ELIZA    ALIvEN    STARR. 

IT  is  night,  but  what  a  night!  The  glis- 
tering snow,  creaking  under  the  foot- 
steps, reflects  the  brilliancy  of  moon  and 
stars  until  darkness  seems  to  have  been  ex- 
pelled from  earth.  The  pines  are  loaded 
with  snow,  held  by  their  strong,  upright 
needles,  while  the  hemlock  boughs  droop 
under  its  weight.  The  beauty  of  this  Win- 
ter night,  whether  in  woodland  or  on  prairie, 
mountain  or  valley,  in  village  or  city,  is  not 
to  be  told ;  and  yet  it  is  only  a  reflection  of 
the  glory  of  that  night  which  saw,  for  the 
first  time, ' '  the  Word  made  Flesh  and  dwell- 
iog  among  us. ' '  No  moon  or  starry  heavens 
Gould  give  an  idea  of  that  light  which 
shone,  all  at  once,  over  the  Stable  of  Beth- 
lehem; and  no  waste  of  untrodden  snow 
could  have  given  back  its  brilliancy  like 
the  face  of  Mary,  Virgin  and  Mother. 

The  brush  of  the  artist  seems  to  fail  as 
he  tries  to  give  us  the  luminous  atmosphere 
of  the  Stable  of  Bethlehem,  and  the  harp 
feels  the  hand  of  the  poet  faltering  over  its 
strings  as  he  tunes  it  in  praise  of ' '  the  Babe 
lying  in  a  manger."  Even  Milton's  Hymn 
on  the  Nativity  makes  us  feel  that  angels 
alone  could  fitly  sing  the  joy  of  that  re- 
splendent night.  It  is  only  when  the  ' '  full- 
voiced  choirs"  of  earth  help  us  to  fancy 


ourselves  among  celestial  songsters,  that  we 
are  content. 

And  yet — how  wonderfully  the  human 
mind  adapts  itself  to  its  limited  musical 
scale,  to  its  short  list  of  tones  in  color!  The 
joy  of  a  ceremony  is  not  according  to  its 
actual  perfection,  but  according  to  the  glory 
or  majesty  which  it  suggests  to  the  mind. 
And  thus  it  is  that,  while  even  all  religious 
solemnities  (and  these  are  the  grandest  and 
the  most  perfect,  in  themselves,)  must  fall 
short  of  the  glory  of  a  Christmas  or  Easter 
mystery,  they  still  lift  the  mind,  as  it  could 
not  lift  itself,  to  that  plane  of  heavenly  con- 
templation, whence  the  imagination  wings 
its  flight  to  a  region  trodden  only  by  angels 
and  by  the  souls  in  blessedness, — that  re- 
gion of  Beatific  Vision  to  which  we  must 
aspire  during  life,  although  it  is  to  be 
reached  only  through  death. 

And  still  another  wonder.  This  Church, 
this  Holy  Mother,  gathering  her  children 
under  her  manile,  whether  this  mantle  be 
one  of  riches  or  of  poverty;  and  leading 
them  to  her  altars,  whether  in  basilicas 
glittering  with  mosaics  on  their  gold 
grounds,  or  in  some  far-off  chapel  in  a  grove 
on  the  Western  prairies,  or,  poorer  still, 
the  log-cabin  of  a  pioneer, — whether  her 
liturgy  is  intoned  by  some  cathedral-voiced 
prelate  and  responded  toby  world-renowned 
choirs,  or  simply  read  in  the  Low  Mass  by 
some  missionary  priest  with  a  single  aco- 
lyte,— still  dispenses  all  the  graces  of  the 
Christmas  night,  still  bears  in  her  hands 
"the  Word  made  Flesh,"  and  lifts  Him  up 
as  a  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  the  world.  No 
straitness  of  circumstance  can  curtail  her 
benefactions,  and  there  is  no  richer  gift  for 
cardinal,  prince,  or  Pope  himself  than  she 
dispenses  at  the  hand  of  the  humblest  priest 
to  the  humblest  of  his  penitent  flock. 

O  blessed  altar- rail  of  the  poorest  of  sanct- 
uaries! thou  art  that  Bethlehem  which  is 
truly  the  "Hou^e  of  Bread,"  at  which  those 
who  eat  shall  be  fed  with  the  Food  of  An- , 
gels! — may  we  not  say,  rather.  Food  sur- 
passing that  of  angels  ?  For  what  a  ngel  has 
ever  partaken  of  that  Eucharistic  Bread,  in 
which  Christ  is  truly  present? 


The  Ave  Maria, 


609 


Well,  then,  may  we  say  to  the  Christian 
^people,  to  the  tiue  children  of  the  Catholic 
^Church, our  Holy  Mother:  Lift  up  your  eyes 
i^and  behold!  lift  up  your  hearts  and  adore! 
[*'The  heavens  have  indeed  dropped  down 
their  dew,  and  the  skies  have  poured  down 
[the  Righteous  One.    The  earth  has  opened 

I  and  brought  forth  the  Saviour.  The  waste 
places  have  given  sweet  buds,  and  out  of 
Zion  the  perfection  of  beauty,  our  God,  has 
corne  manifestly.  This  day  is  the  true  peace 
come  down  unto  us  from  heaven.  This  day, 
throughout  the  whole  world,  the  skies  drop 
down  sweetness.  This  day  is  the  daybreak 
of  our  new  redemption,  of  the  restoring  of 
the  old,  the  everlasting  joy ! "  * 

There  can  be  no  shadow  on  this  Christ- 
mas joy;  for  it  comes  not  from  earth  but 
from  heaven.  No  prosperity  can  increase, 
no  poverty  or  sorrow  or  bereavement  can 
diminish  it.  Sin,  and  sin  alone,  can  dim, 
can  even  blight  and  utterly  destroy  it.  Let 
us,  then,  put  away  all  circumstances  from 
our  ideal  of  Christmas.  Let  it  be  to  us,  as  it 
really  is  or  it  is  nothing,  "The  Child  born 
to  us,  the  Emmanuel  with  us!" 


The  White  Cornet. 


IN  the  midst  of  the  Red  Caps  of  1793,  Sis- 
ter Teresa, with  her  white  cornet,  like  a 
dove  in  a  tempest,  passed  with  gentle  step 
from  the  prison  to  the  scaffold.  There  was 
no  more  king,  no  more  church,  no  more 
altar,  no  more  God ;  but  there  were  the  poor, 
the  unhappy,  and  the  suffering;  and  Sister 
Teresa's  cornet  was  their  banner  of  hope. 
Of  the  heroism  and  devotion  to  suffering 
humanity  under  that  white  cornet,  the  his- 
tory of  the  time  says  little,  but  it  was  known 
to  God  and  God's  poor.  It  was  currently  re- 
ported that  this  servant  of  the  sick,  this  fi  iend 
of  the  people  had  renounced  lace  and  dia- 
monds for  her  garb  of  serge,  and  exchanged 
heraldic  honors  for  a  chaplet.  The  people 
knew,  venerated  and  loved  her;  they  valued 
her  benefits,  her  bravery,  and  her  gayety. 

*  See  Advent  Responsories  in  the  Breviary,  as 
translated  by  John,  Marquis  of  Bute. 


One  day  Sister  Teresa  was  denounced  as 
one  of  the  hated  aristocracy  in  disguise;  she 
only  said,  smilingly, "  If  they  want  my  head, 
I  offer  it  with  a  willing  heart;  but  I  shall  go 
to  the  guillotine  with  my  white  cornet,  and 
all  my  friends  of  the  lanes  and  alleys  shall 
accompany  me  to  the  scaffold." 

They  did  not  touch  the  White  Cornet; 
it  would  have  caused  an  outbreak. 

One  Christmas  evening  Sister  Teresa  was 
in  a  poor  garret  in  the  Rue  Brutus.  A  young 
woman  was  lying  on  a  miserable  pallet  with 
twin  babies  just  born.  Upon  a  bundle  of 
straw,  tossed  and  moaned  a  child  of  three 
or  four  years,  a  prey  to  fever  and  famine; 
the  father  was  dead.  On  that  day  the  poor 
White  Cornet  had  encountered  only  humil- 
iations atid  menaces;  her  ice-cold  hands 
were  empty.  Endeavoring  to  stop  up  the 
chinks  of  the  little  window  that  lighted 
that  miserable  shelter,  she  was  attracted 
by  the  brilliant  illumination  of  a  princely 
dwelling  not  far  distant,  which  was  occu- 
pied by  a  rich  man,  a  member  of  the  Con- 
vention. This  person, who  owed  his  fortune 
to  the  illustrious  family  of  Montmorency, 
was  now  one  of  the  most  rabid  and  haughty 
members  of  "the  Mountain,"  the  political 
party  then  in  power. 

"We  are  saved,"  said  the  Sister  of  Char- 
ity to  the  sick  woman.  "I  shall  soon  re- 
turn. ' ^  And,  crossing  the  street,  she  hastily 
entered  the  grand  mansion. 

At  sight  of  her  the  domestics  were  stupe- 
fied.   A  religious!— a  White  Cornet! 

"Will  you  kindly  announce  me?"  asked 
Sister  Teresa,  smiling.  "I  am  in  great 
haste." 

"What  do  you  want?"  said  he  of  "the 
Mountain,"  casting  a  glance  of  anger  and 
surprise  on  the  proscribed  dress  of  the  reli- 
gious. 

"I  ask  alms." 

"Alms  for  yourself?" 

"No:  for  my  masters." 

' '  Who  are  your  masters  ?  " 

"The  poor.  I  am  their  servant.  In  a 
garret,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  a 
poor  woman  has  just  given  birth  to  twins. 
She  has  neither  fire,  food,  nor  clothing. 


6]o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


She  is  your  neighbor,  and  I  hold  out  my 
hand." 

"But  that  costume! — don't  you  know- 
that  is  proscribed?" 

''The  faubourgs  know  and  protect  it; 
the  people  respect  and  love  it.  They  call 
me  the  White  Cornet." 

"You  were  speaking  of  twins?" 

' '  Yes ;  their  mother  is  suffering — hungry 
and  cold.    And  it  is  Christmas." 

' '  Christmas !    What  of  that  ? ' ' 

"  It  is  the  children's  feast,  and  when  they 
are  abandoned,  when  they  are  poor,  charity 
ought  to  be  doubly  theirs." 

"Well,  here  is  something  for  them,  and 
make  them  hurrah  for  the  nation." 

"We  must  wait  till  they  are  older,"  said 
Sister  Teresa,  smiling. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  terrible  Con- 
ventional,  surprised  at  his  own  pleasantry. 
"But  take  care  of  your  white  cornet,  or  one 
of  these  days  its  wings  will  be  reddened." 

"As  it  pleases  God.  I  am  ready,  and  my 
poor  also;  more  thap  a  thousand  of  them 
have  promised  to  accompany  me  to  the 
scaffold. ' ' 

"They  will  not  be  allowed." 

"But  they  will  do  so,  nevertheless." 

"Stop!  here  is  something  more  for  your 
little  twins." 

"Thanks  in  the  name  of  their  young 
mother. " 

' '  What  is  your  name  ? ' ' 

"I  am  called  Sister  Teresa." 

"Pshaw!  that  is  no  name." 

"I  own  no  other." 

"Oh!  you  understand  me  very  well.  I 
ask  your  name — your  family  name.  Sister 
Teresa  is  only  a  nickname.  But  what  was 
your  name  formerly  ? ' ' 

"Formerly,"  said  the  White  Cornet, 
drawing  herself  up  a  little, — "formerly  I 
was  called  Louise  de  Montmorency." 


We  look  around,  in  our  stroll  on  Christ- 
mas morn,  at  the  corners  and  cross- streets. 
Where  shall  we  find  a  beggar  soliciting 
alms  as  usual  ?  They,  too,  seem  to  be  enjoy- 
ing their  Christmas;  for  Christian  charity 
has  touched  them,  and  they  are  happy. 


Sister  Louise. 

BY  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them. ' '  Po- 
tent words,  and  never  more  fiily  applied 
than  to  her  who,  on  the  3d  of  December,  1886, 
the  Feast  of  St.  Francis  Xavier.  laid  l^r  meas- 
ure of  good  works  at  the  feet  of  her  Master, — a 
measure  full,  pressed  down,  running  over;  her 
God-given  talent  multiplied  a  hundredfold. 

Wherever  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  are 
known  in  America — and  they  are  widely  and 
favorably  known  through  their  successful 
efforts  in  the  cause  of  Christian  female  educa- 
tion,— the  memory  of  Sister  lyouise,  late  su- 
perior of  the  Mother  House  in  Cincinnati,  is 
to-  day  mourned  and  venerated ;  for  she  was  the 
founder  and  guardian  of  every  offshoot  from 
the  first  foundation  in  this  country,  the  foster- 
ing spirit  that  combined  the  different  elements 
into  one  harmonious  whole. 

Josephine  Susanna  Van  der  Schrieck  was 
bornNov.  14,1813,  at  Bergen- op  Zoom, in  Hol- 
land. Her  father,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  that 
place,  subsequently  removed  to  Antwerp, 
where  several  years  of  her  life  were  spent.  A 
highly  educated  and  cultured  man,  of  a  philo- 
sophical tirrn  of  mind, he  spoke  Latin  fluently, 
and  transmitted  to  his  daughter  many  remark- 
able intellectual  qualities;  while  she  inherited 
from  her  mother  her  beautiful  gentleness  and 
sweetness  of  disposition. 

They  were  a  happy  family  of  twelve  chil- 
dren— nine  boys  and  three  girls.  Josephine 
attended  school  for  some  time  at  Antwerp, 
but  afterwards  became  a  boarder  at  the  Mother 
House  of  Notre  Dame,  at  Namur.  While  from 
her  earliest  years  she  gave  evidence  of  a  re- 
ligious spirit,  her  temperament  was  remark- 
ably cheerful,  and  endowed  with  that  keen 
sense  of  humor  peculiar  to  the  Flemish,  free, 
however,  from  all  trace  of  irony  or  sarcasm. 

At  the  completion  of  her  education,  she 
devoted  herself  to  various  works  of  charity, 
becoming  especially  interested  in  a  school  for 
lace-making, in  which  many  girls  of  the  poorer 
classes  were  instructed  and  employed.  In 
company  with  several  other  young  ladies,  she 
gave  a  considerable  portion  of  her  time  to  the 
encouragement  of  this  excellent  work,  and 
soon  became  the  idol  of  the  pupils,  who  on 
her  entrance  into  the  religious  state  were  in- 
consolable at  the  loss  of  their  devoted  friend 
and  preceptress. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


611 


She  had  for  some  time  cherished  the  desire 
of  becoming  a  religious,  and  finally  made 
known  her  wishes  to  her  family,  by  whom  she 
was  greatly  beloved  One  and  all  opposed  her 
resolve;  but,  with  that  quiet  determination  so 
characteristic  of  her  through  life,  she  bided 
her  time,  preferring  to  wait  patiently  rather 
than  to  break  suddenly  the  strong  ties  which 
bound  her  to  her  home.  Seven  years  elapsed 
before  she  was  permitted  to  carry  out  her  dear- 
est wish,  and  she  was  often  laughingly  heard 
to  say  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  wait  a 
year  for  every  one  of  her  brothers,  of  whom 
there  were  then  seven. 

At  the  expiration  of  this  time,  seeing  that 
further  opposition  was  useless,  and  that  he 
was  probably  interfering  with  her  happiness, 
her  father  gave  his  consent  to  her  departure, 
and  himself  accompanied  her  to  the  novitiate 
at  Namur.  Having  heard  that,  according  to 
the  rules  of  the  community,  each  Sister  was 
obliged  to  perform  daily  some  menial  av^oca- 
tion,  he  begged  that,  in  consideration  of  her 
former  habits  and  delicate  training,  no  such 
employment  as  that  ofstanding  over  the  wash- 
tub,  or  the  like,  would  be  given  her.  The  su- 
perioress smilingly  replied  that  each  member 
of  the  Order  was  taken  care  of  in  accordance 
with  her  needs;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
gentle  yoiing  aspirant  would  have  been  per- 
fectly satisfied  wuth  any  duty,  however  menial 
or  distasteful,  that  had  been  as-igned  her. 

More  than  once  during  our  school  days  do 
we  remember  forming  part  of  a  group,  who,  by 
accident  having  caught  sight  of  "Superior" 
at  the  wash  tub, would  gleefully  peep  through 
the  window,  and  run  away  laughing  at  the 
novel  sight;  while  she,  looking  up  from  her 
employment, would  playfully  shake  her  head 
at  the  group,  in  smiling  deprecation  of  our 
childish  amusement. 

After  an  edifying  novitiate.  Sister  Louise 
received  the  black  veil  of  a  professed  Sister, 
May  19,  1839,  and  in  the  following  year  began 
her  new  mission. 

During  a  visit  to  Europe  about  this  period, 
the  late  Archbishop  .Purcell  was  much  im- 
pressed by  the  methods  and  great  .success  of 
the, Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  in  the  education  of 
young  girls,  and  resolved  to  invite  them  to  his 
diocese.  In  response  to  the  invitation  of  the 
Archbishop,  a  foundation  in  Cincinnati  was 
determined  upon,  and  in  1 840  Sister  Louise, 
with  seven  companions,  sailed  for  America. 


Although  not  given  the  highest  authority  in 
the  little  band,  she  was  virtually  the  leader, 
by  reason  of  her  knowledge  of  English,  which 
she  had  studied  at  home,  and  of  which  the 
others  were  entirely  ignorant. 

Arrived  in  Cincinnati,  the  Sisters  were 
heartily  welcomed  by  the  Archbishop,  and 
after  a  short  residence  on  Sycamore  Street, 
opposite  old  St.  Xavier's  Church,  they  estab- 
lished themselves  on  Sixth  Street,  where  the 
original  convent  still  stands,  though  sur- 
rounded by  several,  more  commodious  build- 
ings erected  at  different  times.  The  Sisters 
of  Charity  had  a  small  day-school  in  the  south- 
western part  of  the  city,  but  no  boarders.  The 
Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  received  boarders  at 
once,  and  these  were  from  the  best  families  in 
the  city,  the  larger  proportion  being  Protes- 
tants. 

At  the  solemn  High  Mass  of  Requiem,  cel- 
ebrated by  her  own  request  at  St.  Xavier's 
Church,  on  Thursday,  the  9th  inst. ,  numbers  of 
those  early  pupils  were  present,  most  of  them 
mothers,  many  grandmothers,  to  whom  the 
remembrance  of  their  convent  days  had  been 
for  years  scarcely  more  than  a  dream,  until  the 
announcement  of  the  death  of  Sister  Louise 
struck  the  tender  chords  of  memory; — aliens 
in  faith,  separated  in  the  ranks  of  life  by 
difference  in  position  and  circumstances,  in 
numerous  instances  strangers  to  one  another, 
but  all  united  in  the  common  bond  of  sym- 
pathy and  retrospection,— girls  and  compan- 
ions once  more  in  their  desire  to  pay  the  last 
tribute  of  love  and  gratitude  to  her  who  had 
known  and  loved  them  all. 

For  five  years  after  the  arrival  of  the  Sisters 
in  this  country.  Sister  Louise  taught  several 
classes  daily,  and,  thorough  in  all  things,  she 
proved  an  earnest  and  successful  teacher.  She 
continued  to  give  some  lessons  even  after  her 
appointment  to  the  office  of  superior,  which 
occurred  three  years  after  the  foundation  was 
made  in  Cincinnati;  but  the  press  of  other 
duties,  and  the  accession  of  new  members  to 
the  community, soon  precluded  that  necessity. 

She  assumed  her  new  position  cheerfully 
and  obediently,  but  with  great  inward  reluc- 
tance, dreading  the  responsibility,  and  fearful 
of  her  unfitness  for  the  charge.  Nearly  forty- 
seven  years  of  stewardship  demonstrated  how 
wise  a  choice  had  been  made  in  the  selection, 
judging  from  the  administrative  ability  she 
displayed,  the  admirable  system  under  which 


6l2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


she  organized  and  governed  her  immature 
subjects,  the  perfect  satisfaction  resulting  from 
her  simple  but  thoroughly  practical  methods; 
the  gentle  yet  inflexible  rule  that  rendered 
her  subordinates  as  it  were  the  very  reflex  of 
her  thoughts  and  wishes;  above  all,  the  in- 
tense personal  love  and  admiration  felt  for  her 
by  each  individual  member  of  the  community 
over  which  she  presided 

The  subjoined  statistics  (of  1886)  will  best 
show  what  Sister  Louise  accomplished  during 
the  forty  six  years  of  her  administration.*  It 
was  her  custom  to  visit  annually  the  founda- 
tions which  had  sprung  from  the  original  es- 
tablishment in  Cincinnati, — another  proof  of 
her  excellent  management;  for  she  thereby 
became  familiar  with  the  progress  and  needs 
of  each  community,  and  intimate  with  its 
members,  being  to  all  a  wise  counsellor,  an 
experienced  directress,  and  a  personal  friend. 

When  we  endeavor  to  analyze  a  character 
so  admirably  balanced  and  adjusted  to  the 
requirements  of  practical  as  well  as  the  hidden 
miniiticB  of  spiritual  life,  so  eminently  dis- 
tinctive of  the  rarest  qualities,  so  fitted  to  deal 
with  worldly  affairs  and  withal  so  detached 
from  the  spirit  of  the  world,  we  see  the  impos- 
sibility of  being  able  to  do  any  kind  of  justice 
to  this  realized  ideal,  or  to  convey  to  those  who 
did  not  know  her  an  adequate  idea  of  the  qual- 
ities of  mind  and  soul  she  so  pre-eminently 
possessed.  As  was  well  said  by  a  friend  and 
companion  after  her  death,  "she  had  all  the 
best  qualities  without  any  of  the  defects  of  a 
man;  all  the  tenderness  and  gentleness  of  a 
woman,  without  any  of  her  weaknesses." 
Hers  was  a  strong  soul,  capable  of  battling  to 
their  overthrow  with  the  greatest  difficulties; 
a  thoughtful,  logical  reflective  mind,  which, 
while  it  grasped  a  subject  with  unerring  men- 
tal quickness,  still  viewed  it  from  every  side. 
Never  impulsive,  she  was  endowed  with 
prompt  and  true  intentions;  and  here  her  fem- 


*  Number  of  houses  of  the  Order  in  the  United 
States,  27.  Parish  scholars,  23.000.  Daypcholars, 
868.  Boarders,  221.  Sunday  scholars,  13,934.  Sodal- 
ists,  24  296.  Adults  for  Baptism.  93  Adults  for 
other  Sacraments,  593.  Number  of  souls  in  all  the 
establishments.  61,053.  Professed  Sisters,  645. 
Novices,  84.  Postulants,  10.  The  houses  of  the 
Order  on  the  Pacific  slope,  of  which  there  are  six, 
though  branches  of  Notre  Dame,  were  not  founded 
under  her  vSupervision,  having  been  established 
by  Sisters  sent  directly  from  Belgium. 


inine  nature  asserted  itself;  although  those 
who  knew  her  best  believed  that  this  great 
sagacity,  this  fine  perception  of  differences, 
this  astuteness  in  reading  character,  came 
from  a  higher  source — that  it  was  the  wisdom 
which  seems,  like  the  shadow  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  to  rest  upon  a  few  chosen,  perfect  souls. 
Her  trust  in  Providence  was  unbounded. 
When  human  aid  seemed  of  no  avail, — when 
human  means  (of  which  she  always  used 
those  at  her  command)  were  inadequate  to 
the  necessity  involved,  she  placed  the  diffi- 
culty in  God's  hands,  and  left  it  there.  Her 
trust  was  always  rewarded,  perhaps  not  in- 
variably as  was  most  natural  to  fallible  minds 
to  hope  and  expect,  but  she  was  satisfied  with 
the  results. 

She  had  absolutely  no  human  respect.  Her 
whole  life  was  a  protest  against  the  futile  and 
degrading  compromises  which  are  made  so 
frequently  by  Christians  with  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil.  Her  most  earnest  teach- 
ings were  those  so  distinctive  of  the  spirit  of 
the  community  wherever  it  exists — unquali- 
fied honesty  of  word,  deed,  and  purpose,  joined 
to  perfect  simplicity.  Once  assured  that  as  be- 
tween right  and  wrong  her  course  lay  here  or 
there,  no  thought  of  worldly  policy  or  possible 
beneficial  effects  could  move  her.  Measures 
which  others  might  think  best  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  interests  of  Notre  Dame,  and 
which  of  themselves  were,  from  a  purely  hu- 
man point  of  view,  proper  and  legitimate,  were 
never  adopted  by  her  on  the  plea  of  being  con- 
ciliatory. Utterly  disinterested,  fearless  in 
her  denunciation  of  the  spirit  of  the  world, 
which  she  dreaded  above  all  things  in  a  relig- 
ious community,  she  was  yet  so  peaceful  by 
nature,  and  so  loth  to  incur  enmity,  that  she 
often  suffered  imposition  rather  than  insist 
on  rights,  which,  after  all,  she  would  say, 
amounted  to  nothing. 

Her  charities  were  numerous  and  unstinted. 
Seldom  did  the  appeal  of  misery  seek  her  ear 
in  vain,  and  many  instances  could  be  related 
of  the  delicacy  and  generosity  with  which  she 
ministered  to  the  wants  of  those  whom  sudden 
poverty,  or  a  continued  succession  of  misfort- 
unes, had  reduced  from  comfort  or  affluence 
to  penury.  She  rejoiced  at  the  beginning  of 
every  new  charitable  undertaking,  and  gave 
to  it  abundantly, — of  counsel  when  asked, 
and  often  of  means  unsolicited.  Although  the 
rules  regarding  the  admission  of  papers  and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6i,? 


periodicals  into  the  community  are  very  strict, 
she  subscribed  liberally,  to  wards  all  Catholic 
publications — few  of  which  she  ever  saw,  but 
to  the  success  of  which  ]she  was  always  anx- 
ious to  contribute  to  the  best  of  her  ability. 

On  the  day  of  her  death  she  called  the  atten- 
tion of  her  assistant  to  a^memorandum  of  her 
charities — life  was  then|so  near  its  close  that 
her  humility  no  longer  shrank  from  divulging 
what  would  be  to  the  deprivation  of  many  to 
conceal.  "  I  have  always  done  so  and  so  for 
such  and  such  people,"  she^said,  "  I  would 
like  you  to  continue  it."  The  Sister,  already 
aware  of  her  great  charity,  was  surprised  at 
the  extent  the  memorandum  revealed. 

She  had  a  hatred  of  gossip.  lyegitimate 
news,  such  as  was  proper  and  profitable  to  be 
known  of  the  community,  she  was  willing  to 
hear;  for  she  was  too  wise  not  to  be  aware 
that,  for  greater  usefulness  in  their  calling, 
even  religious  must  have  some  knowledge  of 
outside  affairs;  but  she  was  never  so  stern  as 
when  anything  was  broached  in  the  nature  of 
comment  or  uncharitable  construction  of  the 
actions  of  others  "Stop!"  she  would  say; 
'  such  things  are  not  for  us, ' ' 

As  long  as  human  nature  exists  it  will  have 
its  affections  and  partialities;  but  if  Sister 
Louise  had  such,  they  were  unknown  of  men 
Her  sense  of  justice  was  perfect,  and  it  was 
probably  this  fact  that  caused  her  to  be  so  im- 
partial and  free  from  preferences.  Thus  she 
became  endeared  beyond  understanding  to  her 
spiritual  children,  to  the  humblest  of  whom 
she  was  as  accessible  as  to  the  most  gifted;  she 
knew  no  distinction  of  age  or  youth,  or  talent, 
or  superior  virtue,  or  natural  endowment,  if 
we  may  except  the  very  old  and  the  weak 
and  ailing,  to  whom  she  was  especially  kind. 
Change  of  air  or  occupation  was  always  in- 
sisted on  when  she  saw  that  a  Sister  was  be- 
coming unfitted  for  her  charge,  and  in  illness 
no  trouble  or  expense  was  ever  spared  by  this 
truly  maternal  guardian  of  so  many  valuable 
lives. 

Her  duties  were  so  well  systematized  that 
they  fitted  into  each  other  without  the  loss  of 
a  moment;  and  such  was  her  forethought  and 
care  for  the  future,  that  when,  a  couple  of 
years  ago.  she  found  her  strength  failing,  she 
asked  that  an  assistant  be  given  her  before 
she  should  become  incapacitated  from  duty, 
wishing  gradually  to  transfer  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment into  her  hands.   When  the  end  came 


all  things  were  in  order,  and  she  in  readiness 
to  go;  for,  while  she  did  not  long  for  death, 
she  quietly  and  gladly  responded  to  the  call 
of  her  Maker. 

She  was  gifted  with  a  remarkable  memory, 
and  never  lost  interest  in  those  who  had  been 
educated  at  Notre  Dame.  She  rejoiced  in  their 
prosperity,  but  it  was  when  adversity  came 
that  they  fully  realized  how  dear  they  were  to 
the  heart  of  that  tender  mother.  Many  who 
read  this  sketch  will  bear  testimony  to  the 
debt  of  gratitude  they  owed  her  while  on 
earth,  feeling  comforted  by  the  thought  that 
she  will  not  forget  them  in  heaven.  Among 
the  pupils  in  the  various  schools  which  she 
regularly  visited,  the  announcement  of  her 
coming  created  anticipations  of  joy,  and  a 
word  of  commendation  from  her  lips  was  as 
great  a- reward  as  the  little  testimonials  of 
merit  she  delighted  to  bestow. 

In  appearance  she  was  tall  and  stately, look- 
ing, on  account  of  her  dignified  carriage,  even 
taller  than  she  really  was.  Her  fine,  benevo- 
lent features  portrayed  that  even  character  and 
gentle  disposition  which  were  her  predomi- 
nant outward  characteristics.  Her  manners 
were  at  once  gracious  and  reserved;  her  words 
few  but  well  chosen.  During  her  last  years 
age  and  suffering  dimmed  the  clear  brightness 
of  her  large,  tranquil  eyes,  and  somewhat 
changed  the  expression  of  her  features;  but  as 
she  lay  clothed  for  the  grave  in  the  convent 
parlor  during  those  last  days,  the  old  ex- 
pression appeared  to  have  returned,  and  she 
seemed  a  spiritualized  likeness  of  herself^ 
' '  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God. ' ' 

Of  the  end,  though  long  expected,  yet  sud- 
den when  it  came,  and  all  too  soon  for  those 
she  left  behind,  there  is  little  to  be  said.  From 
an  eye-witness  we  quote  the  following:  "She 
had  a  word  of  comfort  and  sympathy  for  each. 
Forgetful  of  self,  she  spoke  to  all  as  they  came 
and  went.  'Have  you  no  message?'  her  as- 
sistant asked.  'No,' she  said;  'I  have  told 
you  all,  I  think.  Keep  out  the  world.  On 
no  pretence  let  its  spirit  creep  in!'  Always 
cheerful,  she  kept  up  her  spirits  to  the  end; 
although  breathing  with  difficulty,  and  very 
weak,  she  insisted  on  performing  her  re- 
ligious duties  to  the  last  hour,  and  without 
shortening  the  time.  To  one  Sister,  who  asked 
her  for  some  word  to  remember,  she  said :  '  It 
must  be  short.  Submission  to  the  will  of  God; 
make  this  your  life;  relish  it  above  all  things. ' 


6r4 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'Do  not  think  of  my  death,'  she  said  again; 
*go  on  with  your  occupations.  You  gain 
nothing  by  grieving;  on  the  contrary,  you  lose 
much.'    And  so  to  the  end  " 

On  the  Tuesday  morning  after  her  death  a 
Solemn  Mass  of  Requiem  was  celebrated  in  the 
convent  chapel  by  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop 
Elder,  who  also  paid  a  fitting  tribute  to  her 
memory  in  a  few  impressive  and  appreciative 
words.  This  Mass  was  attended  only  by  the 
community  and  assistant  priests,  but  on  the 
arrival  of  the  funeral  cortes^e  at  Mt  Notre 
Dame,  where  the  cemetery  of  the  Sisters  is  sit- 
uated. Mass  was  again  celebrated  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Academy,  at  which  friends  and  some 
old  pupils  were  present.  The  remains  were 
subsequently  taken  to  he  burying- ground, 
the  Sisters  and  pupils  walking  in  solemn  pro- 
cession to  the  hallowed  spot,  where  she  had 
so  often  assisted  at  the  obsequies  of  her  be- 
loved daughters. 

Hushed  were  the  sobbings  and  subdued  the 
lamentations  over  that  quiet  grave,  but  the 
sad  faces  and  falling  tears  of  the  Sisters  as 
they  turned  away  told  of  the  loss  they  had  sus- 
tained Yet  we  doubt  if  there  was  one  among 
them  who  did  not  inwardly  rejoice  that  the 
dear  one  had  put  aside  the  garment  of  mortal- 
ity for  the  shining  robe  of  the  beatified,  or  who 
did  not  feel  herself  one  step  nearer  heaven  for 
her  watchful  and  tender  guardianship,  believ- 
ing her  still  mindful  of  her  children  in  that 
home  where  all  hope  to  be  reunited  and  parted 
no  more  forever. 

But,  perhaps,  it  may  be  remarked  and  noted 
as  strange  that  no  mention  has  been  made  of 
any  defect  or  shadow  of  a  fault  in  the  charac- 
ter of  this  favored  servant  of  God.  To  which 
the  writer  can  answer  truthfully,  as  to  her 
Redeemer -and  the  Redeemer  of  the  dear  de- 
parted, that  through  an  acquaintanceship  of 
more  than  thirty  years, — not  intimate  it  is 
true,  for  she  had  no  intimates  apart  from  the 
members  of  her  own  community,  yet  with 
such  opportunities  of  intercourse  and  knowl- 
edge of  her  as  were  possessed  by  few  outside 
the  convent  precincts, — she  has  never  heard 
her  name  mentioned  in  connection  with  fault, 
error,  or  imperfection.  This  opinion  will  be 
echoed  by  the  children  of  her  soul,  the  daugh- 
ters of  her  household,  the  poor  whom  she 
loved,  the  afiiicted  whom  she  comforted,  the 
sinners  whom  she  counselled,  the  friends  of 
her  youth,  the  companions  of  her  maturity, 


the  survivors  of  her  old  age.  If  she  had  faults 
or  imperfections,  they  were  like  breaths  upon 
the  surface  of  the  mirror,  so  fleeting  and 
evanescent  on  the  beautiful  crystal  of  her  soul 
that  they  were  known  only  to  herself  and  God. 
Yet,  knowing  so  well  how  she  in  her  perfect 
humility  would  deprecate  the  thought — how 
it  would  have  distressed  her  in  life  to  have 
anticipated  that  we  might  thus  exalt  her  after 
death,  we  will  not  close  this  record  without 
asking  from  all  who  read  it  a  prayer  for  the 
soul  of  her  whose  lips  and  heart  were  ever  re- 
sponsive to  the  pleadings  of  the  departed, 
adding  from  the  depths  of  our  own  grateful 
affection  a  fervent  Requiescat  in  pace! 


Catholic  Notes. 


At  this  blessed  season  of  Christmas,  as  we 
listen  in  fancy  to  the  angel-songs,  and  lean 
with  the  simple  Shepherds  by  the  manger- 
cradle  of  the  Infant  Redeemer,  we  mingle  our 
adoration  of  the  Infant  with  holy  veneration 
of  His  Virgin  Mother.  Such  devotion  seems 
only  natural,  and  in  accordance  with  common 
sense;  but  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  have 
been  nurtured  in  unreasoning  prejudice,  and 
for  the  edification  of  Catholics  in  general, 
we  think  we  can  not  do  better  than  reproduce 
the  following  words  of  Cardinal  Wiseman, 
which  fully  express  our  sentiments,  and  ex- 
press them  far  more  eloquently  than  anything 
we  could  frame  ourselves: 

"If  any  one  shall  accuse  me  of  wasting  upon 
the  Mother  of  ray  Saviour  feelings  and  affections 
which  He  hath  jealously  reserved  for  Himself,  I 
will  appeal  from  the  charge  to  His  judgment,  and 
lay  the  cause  before  Him,  at  any  stage  of  His 
blessed  life.  I  will  go  unto  Hira  at  the  Crib  of 
Bethlehem,  and  acknowledge  that,  while,  with 
the  Kings  of  the  East,  I  have  presented  to  Him 
all  ray  gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh,  I  have 
ventured, with  the  Shepherds,  to  present  an  hum- 
bler oblation  of  respect  to  Her  who  was  enduring 
the  Winter's  fuost  in  an  unsheltered  stable,  en- 
tirely for  His  sake.  Or  I  will  raeet  Him  as  the 
holy  fugitives  repose  on  their  desert -path  to 
Egvpt,  and  confess  that,  knowing  from  the  ex- 
ample of  Agar  how  a  mother  cast  forth  from  her 
house  into  the  wilderness,  for  her  infant's  sake, 
only  loves  it  the  more,  and  needs  an  angel  to  com- 
fort her  in  her  anguish  (Gen.,  xxi.,  17),  I  have  not 
restrained  my  eyes  from  Her  whose  fatigues  and 
pain  were  a  hundredfold  increased  by  His,  when 
I  have  sympathized  with  Him  in  this  His  early 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6-5 


flight,  endured  for  my  sins.  Or  I  will  approach  a 
more  awful  tribunal,  and  step  to  the  foot  of  His 
Cross,  and  own  to  Him  that,  while  I  have  adored 
His  Wounds,  and  stirred  up  in  my  breast  deepest 
feelings  of  grief  and  commiseration  for  what  I 
have  made  Him  suffer,  my  thoughts  could  not 
refrain  from  sometimes  glancing  toward  Her 
whom  I  saw  resignedly  standing  at  His  feet  and 
sharing  His  sorrows;  and  that,  knowing  how 
much  Respha  endured  while  sitting  opposite  to 
her  children  justly  crucified  by  command  of  God 
(II.  Kings,  xxi.,  lo),  I  had  felt  far  greater  compas- 
sion for  Her,  and  had  not  withheld  the  emotions, 
which  nature  itself  dictated,  of  love  and  vetiera- 
tion  and  devout  affection  toward  Her.  And  to 
the  judgment  of  such  a  Son  I  will  gladly  bow, 
and  His  meek  mouth  shall  speak  my  sentence, 
and  I  will  not  fear  it.  For  I  have  already  heard 
it  from  the  Cross,  addressed  to  me,  to  you,  to  all, 
as  He  said:  '  Woman,  behold  Thy  son ' ;  and  again : 
'Behold  thy  Mother  '   (John,  xix.,  26,  27.)" 


young  Virgin  holding  a  Child  in  Her  bosom, 
with  a  royal  crown  on  His  head." 


The  following  touching  and  striking  ac- 
count of  a  confession  heard  and  absolution 
given  in  articiilo  mortis  has  lately  been  brought 
under  our  notice.  A  French  army  officer  told 
a  religious  that  one  day  after  a  battle  he  had 
found  among  those  left  for  dead  a  soldier,  hold- 
ing a  Scapular  in  one  hand  arid  a  Rosary  in 
the  other,  and  asking  for  a  confessor.  His  fore- 
head had  been  pierced  by  a  ball,  which  had 
come  out  on  the  other  side  of  the  head;  the 
brain  could  be  seen  through  his  fractured 
skull;  in  fact,  he  was  in  such  a  condition  that 
nothing  less  than  a  miracle  could  have  kept 
him  alive  for  a  moment.  Assistance  was 
brought  to  him;  he  arose,  made  his  confession 
to  the  chaplain  with  great  piety,  and  expired 
after  having  received  absolution 

We  learn  from  the  Weekly  Register  that  on 
the  same  day  that  Mgr.  Edmund  Prince  Rad- 
ziwill  entered  the  Benedictine  novitiate,  at 
Maredsons,in  Belgium,  mention  of  which  was 
made  in  our  last  number,  his  sister,  the  Prin- 
cess Elizabeth,  was  received  as  a  postulant  by 
the  nuns  of  the  Third  Order  of  St.  Francis,  at 
Maria  Schein,  in  Austria.  Another  brother, 
Prince  Wladislaw,  is  a  Jesuit;  and  another  sis- 
ter, Princess  Hedwige,  is  a  Sister  of  Charity. 

The  Syro- Orientals,  the  legitimate  descend- 
ants and  heirs  of  the  holy  Magi,  have  handed 
down  to  us  a  tradition,  received  from  their  fa- 
thers, that  the  extraordinary  and  portentous 
star  which  appeared  in  the  heavens  on  the 
night  of  Christ's  birth,  "bore  the  image  of  a 


Since  the  year  1858  Dr.  Vergez,  a  learned 
and  conscientious  physician,  and  a  Fellow  of 
the  Faculty  of  Montpellier,  has  made  a  search- 
ing investigation  of  the  miraculous  cures  ob- 
tained at  Lourdes.  His  convictions  are  those 
of  a  master  of  the  art  of  healing,  whose  com- 
petency is  unquestionable.  Dr.  Vergez  speaks 
of  the  cures  at  gourdes  in  the  following  terms: 

"I  am  asked  what  I  have  seen  at  Lourdes.  In 
answer,  a  few  words  will  suffice.  I  have  .seen  well- 
authenticated  facts,  facts  beyond  the  power  of 
science  or  art,  works  wrought  by  the  hand  of  the 
Divinity — miracles.  I  have  seen  natural  water 
gifted  with  «-upernatural  and  versatile  powers. 
I  have  seen  this  water  restore  to  health  a  child 
in  the  agony  of  death ;  I  have  seen  it  restore  sight 
to  an  eye  injured  beyond  any  aid  from  science.  I 
have  seen  it  restore  life  and  movement  to  totally 
paralyzed  limbs.  I  have  seen  it  cure  ulcers  of  the 
worst  description ;  such  w(  re  some  of  its  first  oper- 
ations. The  hai  vest  has  been  rich,  abundant,  and 
of  long  duration." 

Could  any  testimony  be  more  convincing? 
Well  may  we  say  of  the  miraculous  cures  at 
lyourdes:  Fingant  quid  tale  hcBretici! — '  Let 
the  heretics  invent  something  like  them  if 
they  can ! ' '  

The  Catholic  Review  quotes  from  an  article  in 
the  New  York  Sun,  entitled  "How  Mormon- 
ism  is  Recruited,'.'  in  which  the  writer  says 
that,  while  the  Mormons  have  extended  their 
field  of  evangelization  over  Switzerland  and 
the  whole  of  Northern  Europe,  where  Protes- 
tantism is  prevalent,  in  the  southern  countries,  ^ 
on  the  other  hand  in  which  Catholicism  pre- 
dominates, the  apostles  and  disciples  of  Mor- 
monism  never  found  a  favorite  ground  for 
their  seed.  We  fully  endorse  the  remark  of 
the  Catholic Revieiv,  that  just  in  proportion  as 
Protestantism  is  found  to  be  less  and  less  mod- 
ified and  restrained  by  surviving  Catholic 
tradition,  just  in  that  proportion  is  there  to  be 
observed  an  increase  of  contempt  for  Chris- 
tian marriage  This  contempt  for  the  mar- 
riage tie  among  Protestants,  when  they  had 
degraded  it  from  the  rank  of  a  Sacrament  to 
that  of  a  mere  civil  contract,  began  with  the 
days  of  Luther,  and  has  gone  on  increasing 
ever  since,  having  now  attained  such  gigantic 
proportions  that  the  looseness  of  the  marriage 
tie  is  the  crying  curse  of  every  Protestant 
country  in  the  world. 


6i6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


We  have  to  acknowledge  the  following  sums 
for  Father  Damien.  Our  fund  was  closed  on 
the  loth  inst.,but  we  include  the  offerings 
received  up  to  the  end  of  the  week.  The  whole 
amount  is  $1,063.90: 

Charles  V.Jones,  $r;  A  Family's  Offering,  I3; 
K.  M. ,  50  cts. ;  L.  McC. ,  ;^i ;  Thomas  Bollin,  50  cts. ; 
H.  S.,  $2\  Mary  Conway,  75  cts  ;  James  Neely, 
50  cts.;  A  Client  of  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  $1; 
Two  Friends,  ^i ;  Bridget  Hickey,  |i ;  Mary  Ma- 
loney,  $i\  M.  M.,|i;  Mrs.  B.  A.  Quinn,  $5;  Mrs. 
Catherine  Verdon,  $1;  Mrs.  A.  McDonald,  |2;  For 
the  love  of  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
$3.65;  D.J.  C,  %2\  A  Family,  ^i;  Two  Friends, 
$2;  A  Subscriber  to  The  "Ave  Maria,"  $:^:  P. 
Joyce,  |i;  R.R.M.,$i;  A  Friend,  $1;  Mary  Barry, 
$1;  Rose  Kleiber,  $1;  A  Friend  of  The  "Ave 
Maria,"  $10;  AfewFriends,  New  Britain.  Conn,, 
$2;  J.  A.  M.,$2]  Mrs.  William  Kennedy,  |i;  Wil- 
liam Kennedy,  |[;  B.  P.  C.  and  family,  $5;  E. 
Henry,  $1 ;  Aloysius  B.  Mukautz,  75  cts. ;  Mrs.  M. 
E  Mukautz,  75  cts. ;  Mr.  M.  Davust,  25  cts. ;  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  Lynch,  20  cts. ;  E.  Schreiner,  10 cts. ; 
Michael  F.  Kearne}-,  $1 ;  John  Conway,  |i ;  Patrick 
Quinn,  $1;  the  Rev.  M.J.  Dorney,$5;  In  honor  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  $1 ;  A  Child  of  Mary,  $1 ;  A 
Reader  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  $i;  Mrs.  H.Joyce, 
|i;  Mrs  J.  Crowley,  |i;  Maggie  H.White,  $1;  Rob- 
ert Shea,  50  cts. ;  Mrs.  T.  McDonnell,  25  cts. ;  Mrs. 
Duffy, 25  cts  ;  Annie  Flannagan,  50 cts. ;  J.  Griffin, 
25  cts  ;  Bridget  O'Connell,  25  cts.;  Mary  O'Cqn- 
nell,25cts.;  M.J.  S.,$i;  A  Child  of  Mary,  50  cts. ; 
A  Friend,  $5;  Two  Children  of  Mary,  $1;  J.  M.,  $2; 
M.and  D.,30  cts.;  Mrs.  Annie  Salisbury,  |i;  A 
Friend,  $2;  A  Reader  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  $i; 
V.J  H.,^2;  Mary  F.  Donovan,  $i;  A  Subscriber 
of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  $2:  A  Friend,  $r.;  A  Child 
of  the  Sacred  Heart,  $1;  A  Friend,  $1;  "A  poor 
sinner,"  $10;  "One  who  needs  resignation  to 
God's  will,"  $1 ;  Francis,  $5. 


A  No  able   Book   for  Boys.* 

In  "Midshipman  Bob"  we  have  at  last  a 
Catholic  story  for  Catholic  boys — the  first  of 
its  kind;  though  we  hope  the  talented  author 
will  devote  the  rest  of  her  life  to  writing  for 
that  most  neglected  portion  of  the  reading 
community,  Catholic  children  of  either  sex. 
'  *  Midshipman  Bob ' '  is  not  the  story  of  a  truly 
admirable  but  worn-out  type  of  boy  (in  sto- 
ries), who  in  the  face  of  almost  insurmountable 
obstacles  becomes  a  priest,  and  subsequently 
a  bishop;    nor  of  the  often  delineated  hero 

*  "Midshipman  Bob."  By  E.  L.  Dorsey.  Re- 
printed from  The  "Ave  Maria  "  Notre  Dame, 
Ind.:  Joseph  A.  Lyons.   1887.  265  pp.  Price,  $1. 


who  supports  a  widowed  mother  and  several 
smaller  brothers  and  sisters  in  affluence,  on  a 
salary  earned  by  working  hard  all  day  and  dur- 
ing the  greater  part  of  the  night,  finally  falling 
heir  to  the  vast  possessions  of  an  unknown 
uncle  or  grandfather;  nor  the  dispiriting  ac- 
count of  an  orphan,  who,  after  a  variety  of 
heart-rending  adventures,  dies  in  the  ward  of 
a  charity  hospital.  It  is  not  the  history  of  the 
everyday  American  boy,  who,  after  reading 
dime  novels  and  frontier  stories  ad  libitum^ 
steers  his  fortunes  to  the  Wild  West,  where 
he  falls  a  victim  to  three  bullets  of  a  six- 
barrelled  revolver,  or  becomes  a  candidate  for 
the  penitentiary,  where  he  spends  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days  binding  brooms,  and 
concealing  his  identity;  or  who  ends  on  the 
gallows,  where,  after  making  full  and  frank 
confession  of  innumerable  crimes,  he  "dies 
game,"  and  goes  up  in  a  blaze  of  glory. 

It  is  with  none  of  these  that  we  have  to  do 
in  the  exhilarating  story  of  "Midshipman 
Bob  "  He  is  a  genuine,  old-fashioned,  rollick- 
ing, mischievous  boy, — bright,  clever,  dutiful 
and  affectionate,  and  withal  determined  to  be 
a  sailor,  in  spite  of  pleading  mother  and  reluc- 
tant though  sympathetic  aunt.  We  grow  very 
fond  of  the  pure,  clean- hearted,  clear- minded 
lad,  whose  religion  is  as  much  part  of  his  life 
as  the  air  he  breathes,  and  who  never  loses 
sight  of  its  teachings  through  his  naval  career. 
For  he  does  become  a  sailor,  and  is  helped  to 
the  accomplishment  of  his  heart's  desire  by  a 
Catholic  priest,  formerly  in  the  United  States 
service,  and  whom  Bob  considers  a  special  in- 
strument of  Providence  in  his  behalf 

The  story  is  interesting  from  beginning  to 
end;  we  have  but  one  fault  to  find  with  it: 
Bob's  ultimate  success,  outlined  at  the  end, 
should  have  been  left  for  a  sequel,  with  full 
details.  What  though  the  book  abounds  with 
nautical  terms  as  bewildering  to  the  general 
reader  as  they  were  to  Bob's  young  aunt,  the 
boys  will  like  it  all  the  better  for  the  sea-flavor. 
Healthy  and  happy  in  tone,  it  contains  les- 
sons in  self-control  and  true  manliness  that 
no  boy  who  reads  it  can  fail  to  heed  and  long 
to  imitate.  It  will  make  a  beautiful  holiday 
gift;  and  if  the  writer  were  as  ubiquitous  as 
Santa  Claus,  with  his  wondrous  resources, 
every  Catholic  boy  in  America  would  wake 
up  on  Christmas  morning  to  find  himself  the 
proud  and  happy  possessor  of  the  story  of 
"Midshipman  Bob." 


The  Ave  Maria, 


617 


PAHTMENI 


Christmas  Eve. 


ipUIyl/  many  a  hearth  is  decked  to-night, 
^     To  hail  the  blessed  morn 
On  which,  in  ages  long  ago, 

The  Saviour  Child  was  born; 
The  churches  all  are  wreathed  with  green. 

The  altars  decked  with  flowers, 
And  happy,  lowly  hearts  wait  on 

And  count  the  passing  hours; 
Until  the  midnight  chimes  proclaim    ^ 

The  hallowed  season  come, 
When  Heaven's  broad  gates  are  open  wide, 

And  earth's  loud  roar  is  dumb. 
The  myriad  voices  in  acclaim 

The  song  of  homage  yield, 
That  once  from  angels'  lips  was  heard 

By  shepherds  in  the  field. 
Stilled  for  a  time  are  angry  thoughts, 

The  hearts  of  men  are  mild; 
The  father  with  a  holier  thrill 

Bends  o'er  his  sleeping  child. 
And,  fountain-like,  o'er  all  the  world, 

Where  Christ's  dear  name  is  known, 
I^eap  up  the  sounds  of  prayer  and  praise 

Toward  the  Eternal  Throne. 


Little  Paul,  tlie  Christmas  Child 


BY   M.  S.  M. 


High  up  on  the  coast  of  North  America 
there  is  a  small  fishing  village,  where  little 
Paul  lived  with  old  Grandpere  Michel.  He 
was  not  Paul's  real  grandfather;  in  fact,  he 
was  no  relation  to  him.  Mr.  Michel  always 
said  Paul  was  a  Christmas  gift,  and  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  why  he  said  so. 

The  village  in  which  the  old  man  lived 
is  situated  on  a  very  dangerous  part  of  the 
coast:  there  are  rocks  and  shoals  out  in  the 
water,  where  sometimes,  in  stormy  weather, 
vessels  are  wrecked.  One  Christmas  Eve  it 
was  very  cold  and  stormy,  and  the  next 
morning  Grandpere  Michel,  who  lived  all 


by  himself, 'found  little  Paul  lashed  to  a 
piece  of  wood  on  the  shore  in  front  of  his 
house.  He  was  nearly  frozen  to  death,  but  • 
grandpere  took  him  in,  and  nursed  him 
until  he  was  well  and  strong.  He  was  a  very 
little  boy  then,  not  more  than  two  years 
old,  and  could  not  speak  plainly  enough  to 
tell  anything  about  himself.  Mr.  Michel 
was  very  good  to  him,  and  Paul — this  was 
the  name  he  gave  to  the  child — loved  him 
dearly.  The  little  fellow  was  pretty,  with 
yellow  curly  hair,  and  big  blue  eyes,  just 
the  color  of  the  sea. 

Jean  Michel  was  a  fisherman,  and  would 
often  take  Paul  out  with  him  in  his  boat; 
but  if  it  was  stormy,  or  he  expected  to  be 
gone  long,  he  would  leave  him  under  the 
care  of  Madame  Philipe  till  he  returned. 
This  good  lady  was  Grandpere  Michel's 
niece;  she  was  a  plump,  rosy -cheeked 
woman,  with  a  house  full  of  children  — 
healthy  boys  and  girls,  all  older  than  Paul, 
except  Marie,  who  was  just  about  his  age, 
and  exactly  as  tall  as  he  was.  Paul  and 
Marie  were  great  friends;  in  Summer  they 
used  to  wade  together  on  the  beach,  and 
hunt  for  shells;  and  in  Winter  they  would 
sit  by  the  fire  and  tell  each  other  stories. 

One  Christmas,  when  Paul  was  about  six 
years  old,  his  grandfather  was  obliged  to 
go  to  the  next  town,  three  miles  away,  and 
he  left  the  boy  in  the  house  by  himself, 
with  his  big  Newfoundland  dog  Carlo.  Paul 
was  not  at  all  afraid ;  it  was  only  about  one 
o'clock  when  his  grandfather  left,  and  he 
knew  he  would  be  back  before  dark;  be- 
sides, he  was  making  a  boat  as  a  Christmas 
present  for  grandpa,  and  he  wanted  to  work 
on  it  without  his  seeing  him. 

"Now,  Paul,"  said  his  grandfather,  when 
he  was  leaving,  *'it  is  very  cold,  and  you 
must  keep  up  a  fire  in  the  stove,  and  be 
sure  not  to  let  any  coals  drop  on  the  floor. 
Be  a  good  little  boy,  and  if  I  see  St.  Nich- 
olas, I  will  tell  him  to  bring  you  something 
pretty."  And  he  kissed  him  good-bye. 
Paul  stood  at  the  door  and  watched  him  go 
down  the  road,  but  the  wind  was  so  cold 
that  he  soon  went  in  to  the  fire. 

He  called  Carlo  to  him,  and  they  began 


6[» 


The  Ave  Maria. 


romping  on  the  floor; — presently  he  heard 
some  one  running  up  the  steps,  the  door 
opened,  and  in  came  Marie.  "  Mamma  said 
I  might  come  and  stay  with  you  until  uncle 
returns,"  she  said, 

Paul  was  glad  to  see  her;  they  drew  their 
chairs  close  to  the  stove,  and  he  got  his 
knife  and  began  working  on  his  boat. 

"It  is  blowing  hard,  and  mamma  says 
she  thinks  there  will  be  a  storm,"  said 
Marie. 

"I  wonder  if  St.  Nicholas  will  come  if  it 
is  stormy  ? ' '  asked  Paul. 

**  Of  course  he  will,"  answered  the  little 
girl;  ''that  won't  make  any  difference." 

' '  1  wish  St.  Nicholas  would  give  me  what 
I  want,  but  I  am  afraid  he  won't,"  and  Paul 
sighed. 

''What  do  you  want,  Paul? — a  drum?" 

"Oh!  I  know  I  will  get  that,  because 
grandpa  said  he  would  tell  him  to  bring  it. 
I  mean  something  else.  But  I  am  afraid 
you  will  laugh  if  I  tell  you." 

"Please  tell  me,"  begged  Marie. 

Paul  stopped  whittling  and  looked  into 
the  fire  a  minute,  then  whispered  to  Marie: 
' '  I  want  h im  to  bri ng  me  a  mamma. ' ' 

"A  mamma!  Why,  Paul,  your  mamma  is 
out  in  the  water. ' ' 

"But  can  not  the  good  God  take  her 
out  of  the  water,  and  give  her  to  St.  Nicho- 
las to  bring  tome?" 

"But  she  has  been  there  so  long  she 
must  be  dead,"  said  Marie. 

"Oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  the  poor  little 
fellow,  almost  in  tears;  "I  want  a  mamma! 
Everyone  has  a  mamma  but  me,  and  I  want 
one  too!" 

"Never  mind,  Paulie;  you  can  have  my 
mamma  for  yours  too,  and  you  may  call  her 
mamma." 

"But  I  want  a  real  one,  for  my  own,  my 
very  own.  Don't  you  think,  Marie,  if  I  pray 
real  hard  to  the  good  God  He  will  send  me 
one  by  St.  Nicholas?" 

"Maybe  He  will,  Paul;  and  I  will  pray 
too.  We  will  ask  Him  to-night,  and  maybe 
in  the  morning  you  will  find  one  standing 
by  your  stocking." 

"  If  she  is  in  the  water  she  must  be  very 


cold,"  said  Paul;  and  they  both  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out  at  the  angry  waves 
as  they  dashed  against  the  shore. 

The  sea  was  white  with  foam,  and  the 
sky  bleak  and  gray,  while  the  wind  whis- 
tled around  the  little  house  as  if  it  were 
doing  its  best  to  blow  it  away.  Evidently  a 
fearful  storm  was  impending,  but  the  chil- 
dren were  used  to  such  weather,  and  never 
thought  of  being  afraid.  They  kept  up  a 
blazing  fire,  popped  corn,  romped  with  old 
Carlo,  talked  about  Christmas,  and  were  as 
happy  as  could  be  all  the  afternoon. 

Towards  dark  Grand pere  Michel  re- 
turned, and  one  of  Marie's  big  brothers 
came  to  take  her  home.  The  wind  blew 
more  furiously,  and  when  night  fell  there 
was  a  perfect  gale. 

"  It  is  an  awful  night  to  be  on  the  water, ' ' 
said  Mr.  Michel;  "I  am  glad  we  have  such 
a  nice  warm  fire."  He  was  sitting  in  the 
big  arm  chair,  with  Paul  in  his  lap.  The 
little  fellow  was  thinking  of  his  mamma, 
and  wondering  if  she  could  be  out  in  the 
water;  but  he  resolved  not  to  say  anything 
to  his  grandfather  about  her. 

"  Do  you  think  the  water  feels  very  cold, 
grandpa?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  sonny;  if  the  wind  goes 
down  before  morning,  I  think  it  will  be 
frozen.    It  is  sleeting  now. " 

The  boy  was  silent  for  some  time. 

' '  Why,  Paul,  you  are  very  quiet  for  Christ- 
mas Eve.  Don't  you  know  you  are  going 
to  hang  up  your  stocking  to-night,  and  St. 
Nicholas  will  fill  it  with  pretty  things?  You 
ought  to  be  very  happy,  my  little  man,  in- 
stead of  looking  so  solemn." 

Paul  listened  to  his  grandfather,  and  after 
a  while  was  as  merry  as  ever.  Before  going 
to  bed,  he  borrowed  one  of  grandp^re^  s 
socks,  and  hung  it  up  by  the  chimney,  and 
when  he  said  his  prayers  he  added  an  extra 
"Hail  Mary,"  and  asked  the  good  God  to 
send  him  his  mamma. 

He  woke  early  the  next  morning,  and 
saw  his  grandfather  preparing  to  go  to 
Mass.  Paul  jumped  up  quickly,  and  ran  to 
his  stocking  to  see  what  St.  Nicholas  had 
brought  him.    He  was  delighted  with  his 


The  Ave  Maria. 


619 


drum  and  other  pretty  things,  but  was  sadly 
disappointed  not  to  find  a  mamma.  He 
looked  everywhere,  but  could  not  see  her. 
''Never  mind, "he  said;  "  I'll  go  to  church, 
and  pray  to  the  Holy  Infant,  and  maybe 
when  I  return  she  will  be  here.  Grandpa, 
may  I  go  to  Mass  with  you?"  he  asked. 

Now,  Grandpa  Michel  could  not  refuse 
Paul  anything,  so,  after  wrapping  the  boy 
in  his  warmest  clothes,  they  set  out  for  the 
church.  It  was  very  cold;  the  ground  was 
slippery,  and  the  wind  cut  their  faces  .like 
a  knife.  They  could  scarcely  hear  them- 
selves speak  for  the  roaring  of  the  wind 
and  waves. 

When  they  reached  the  church,  they 
found  many  others  who  had  ventured 
out,  notwithstanding  the  severe  weather, 
amongst  them  Marie,  who  had  persuaded 
her  mother  to  let  her  come.  Paul  whispered 
to  her  to  pray  that  he  might  get  a  mamma, 
and  they  passed  into  the  church. 

The  altar  was  bright  with  lights,  and 
tastefully  decorated  with  evergreens.  Paul 
thought  it  very  beautiful.  The  priest  came 
in  from  the  sacristy  and  began  Mass.  The 
choir  sang,  and  it  seemed  to  the  boy  he  had 
never  heard  such  sweet  music.  "It  must 
sound  like  the  angels  when  they  sang  to 
the  Shepherds,"  he  thought,  and  then  he 
began  to  pray. 

When  the  Holy  Sacrifice  was  over,  and 
the  last  echoes  of  the  music  had  died  away, 
the  priest  turned  to  the  people,  and,  having 
spoken  about  the  festival,  said:  "Let  us 
pray  for  those  who  are  at  sea."  While  he 
was  reciting  the  prayers,  and  the  people 
were  making  the  responses,  above  the  sound 
of  their  voices,  and  above  the  loud  roaring 
of  the  storm,  they  heard  the  booming  of 
cannon  repeated  again  and  again  at  short 
intervals.  They  knew  at  once  that  it  must 
come  from  a  vessel  in  distress.  When  the 
prayers  were  ended,  the  people  poured  from 
the  church  and  hastened  to  the  shore. 

They  knew  that  some  of  their  fellow-men 
were  in  peril,  and,  dark  and  dangerous  as 
the  water  was,  they  did  not  hesitate  to  go 
to  their  assistance.  The  life-boats  were 
soon  out,  and  the  brave  men  glided  over  the 


angry  waves*  as  fast  as  possible,  out  towards 
the  great  dark  object  that  was  faintly  out- 
lined in  the  morning  air.  Jean  Michel  has- 
tened home  with  little  Paul,  and,  opening 
the  door,  told  him  to  stay  with  Carlo,  while 
he  went  to  the  beach  to  assist  in  the  rescue. 

Paul  was  glad  to  go  home;  he  wanted  to 
see  if  St.  Nicholas  had  brought  his  mamma 
while  he  was  away;  but  the  house  was  just 
as  he  had  left  it,  and  Carlo  the  only  living 
creature  in  it.  The  little  fellow  was  very 
sad,  and  did  not  care  to  eat  his  candy,  nor 
play  with  his  toys;  he  was  disappointed, 
for  he  had  prayed  so  much  that  he  felt  sure 
of  obtaining  his  request. 

After  a  while  the  day  grew  brighter,  the 
wind  died  away, and  Paul  thought  he  would 
go  and  see  if  his  grandfather  was  coming. 
Opening  the  door,  he  saw  a  great  crowdfof 
people,  but  there  was  no  one  near  the  house. 
He  looked  at  the  sea.  ' '  I  wonder, ' '  he  said 
to  himself,  ' '  if  my  mamma  is  in  it  ?  "  And 
he  walked  to  the  water's  edge,  Carlo  bound- 
ing on  before  him.  Suddenly  the  dog  gave  a 
low  whine,  then  went  racing  down  the 
beach.  Paul  hurried  after  him,  and,  on 
drawing  nearer,  noticed  that  Carlo  was  lick- 
ing something.  Arrived  at  the  spot,  he  saw 
stretched  out  on  the  beach  the  frail  form  of 
a  lady,  her  face  pale  as  death,  and  her  long 
hair  trailing  on  the  sand. 

"Oh!  oh!  it  must  be  my  mamma!"  ex- 
claimed the  frightened  boy.  "The  good 
God  has  taken  her  out  of  the  water  for  me; 
but  she  is  so  cold!"  And  he  laid  his  hand 
on  her  face.  "Lady,  please  wake  up!"  he 
cried;  but  she  did  not  move.  Hastening 
towards  the  crowd  of  people,  who  were 
farther  down  the  shore,  he  saw  his  grand- 
father coming  to  meet  him.  ' '  O  grandpa ! ' ' 
he  cried,  "I  have  found  my  mamma!  The 
good  God  took  her  out  of  the  water  for  me." 

' '  What  is  the  child  talking  about  ? ' '  said 
Jean  Michel,  as  he  hurried  along.  "His 
mother  has  been  dead  these  four  years,  I 
suppose. ' ' 

"I  prayed  to  the  Holy  Infant  to  give  St. 
Nicholas  a  mamma  for  me,  and  He  has 
done  so,"  explained  Paul. 

' '  Oh ! ' '  said  his  grandfather,  when  he  saw 


'620 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  lady,  "she  must  be  the  one  who  was 
washed  overboard;  we  have  saved  all  the 
rest;  thev  told  us  that  there  was  only  one 
person  missing." 

He  was  a  strong  old  man,  and  easily  lifted 
the  slight  figure,  and  carried  it  in  his  arms 
up  to  his  house,  and  sent  Paul  for  Madame 
Philipe.  The  good  woman  came  in  haste, 
and  soon  had  the  lady  in  bed,  well  wrapped 
in  warm  blankets.  After  a  while  the  patient 
opened  her  eyes,  then  closed  them  again 
and  fell  asleep. 

Madame  Philipe  sent  little  Paul  to  her 
house  to  spend  the  day,  while  she  remained 
with  the  stranger.  The  boy  went  much 
against  his  will;  he  would  rather  have 
stayed  with  his  mamma,  as  he  persisted  in 
calling  her.  However,  he  was  glad  to  tell 
Marie  about  her,  and  to  see  what  St  Nicho- 
las had  brought  his  little  friend. 

Towards  evening  Paul  could  stay  away 
no  longer,  and  so  he  returned  to  his  grand- 
father. The  lady  was  still  sleeping  when 
he  came  in,  and  Madame  Philipe  went 
home  for  a  while,  promising  to  return  soon, 
and  leaving  her  charge  in  care  of  her  uncle. 
Now,  poor  old  grandpere  had  been  up  since 
before  dawn,  and,  being  tired  out,  soon  fell 
fast  asleep  beside  the  fire.  Litile  Paul  had 
been  sitting^near  him,  looking  at  his  new 
picture-book;  and  now  that  everything  was 
quiet,  he  arose  and  went  on  tiptoe  into  the 
next  room,  where  the  sick  lady  lay  sleeping. 
The  fire  was  burning  brightly,  making 
curious  shadows  on  the  wall,  and  casting  a 
pretty  red  light  on  the  white  bed  where 
she  lay.  Her  hair  was  hanging  over  the 
pillow,  and  now,  being  dry,  it  was  a  pretty 
golden  color,  just  like  Paul's,  but  much 
longer — it  reached  nearly  to  the  floor.  Her 
face  was  very  white  even  in  the  rosy  fire- 
light, and  it  looked  sad — oh!  so  sad,  but  so 
sweet!  Paul  crept  gently  to  the  bed,  and 
looked  at  her.  "She  must  be  my  mamma," 
he  said,  and  then  climbed  up  beside  her, 
gazed  at  her  intentlv,  and,  leaning  over, 
kissed  her  softly  on  the  mouth,  and  stroked 
her  pretty  hair.  It  was  a  very  gentle  touch, 
but  the  sleeper  stirred,  and  suddenly  opened 
her  eyes,  and  looked  up  in  Paul's  face.   He 


was  a  little  frightened;  he  had  not  meant 
to  awaken  her. 

' '  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  looked 
around;  "how  did  I  get  here?  I  thought 
I  was  in  the  water." 

"The  good  God  took  you  out  of  the 

water,  and  gave  you  to  St.  Nicholas  for  me. ' ' 

The  lady  looked  at  Paul    attentively. 

"You  are  a  strange  little  boy,"  she  said; 

"what  is  your  name?" 

"My  name  is  Paul.  I  did  not  have  any 
mamma,  so  I  prayed  for  one.  You  are  my 
mamma." 

'  *  Your  mamma,  baby  ?    I  wish  I  were ! ' ' 

And  the  pale  face  looked  sadder  than  ever. 

"But  you  are!'*''  insisted  Paul.    "You 

have  been  in  the  water  ever  since  I  was 

there." 

The  lady  smiled  at  his  talk.  ' '  You  look 
more  like  a  dear  little  angel,"  she  said; 
"will  you  give  me  a  kiss?" 

Paul  gladly  kissed  her  again,  and  was 
about  to  have  a  good  talk  with  her,  when 
Madame  Philipe  entered  the  room,  and  told 
him  to  run  and  play.  She  brought  some 
soup  to  the  patient,  and  was  pleased  to  find 
her  so  much  better. 

' '  Who  is  that  litile  boy  ? ' '  asked  the  lady. 

' '  He  is  a  child  who  was  washed  ashore 
just  four  years  ago  to-day.  We  supposed  a 
vessel  must  have  been  wrecked  somewhere 
near,  but  he  is  the  only  sign  of  it  that  ever 
came  to  light.  My  uncle  fo^ind  him  on 
the  beach,  and  has  kept  him  ever  since. 
The  little  fellow  has  been  so  much  alone 
that  he  is  somewhat  peculiar." 

The  lady  had  listened  with  deepest  atten- 
tion to  what  Madame  Philipe  said. 

"How  many  years  did  you  say  since  he 
was  found?"  she  asked,  excitedly. 

' '  Four  years, ' '  repeated  Madame  Philipe, 
surprised  at  her  eagerness. 

'  'And  you  have  never  heard  to  whom  he 
belonged?" 

"No,  although  my  uncle  made  careful 
inquiries,  and  left  no  means  untried  to  find 
some  clue  to  his  parents." 

"Was  there  nothing  about  the  child  that 
might  help  you  to  identify  him?" 

"Nothing,  except  a  little  gold  medal  set 


1 


Tlie  Ave  Maria. 


62! 


with  stones,  which  led  us  to  believe  he  was 
a  Catholic.  His  clothes  were  very  costly, 
and  uncle  laid  them  away  carefully." 

The  lady  sat  up  in  bed,  and  her  pale  face 
flushed.  *'  Four  years  ago! — a  medal  set  with 
stones!  My  God!  could  it  have  been  my 
baby!  Were  there  six  stones — a  diamond,  a 
ruby,  a  pearl,  a  topaz,  an  emerald,  and  a  tur- 
quoise? And  did  it  bear  a  date — the  year 
of  his  birth,  1870?" 

In  her  excitement  she  had  almost  risen 
from  the  bed.  Madame  Philipe  was  aston- 
ished. ' '  Yes, ' '  she  answered, ' '  your  descrip- 
tion is  correct.  Paul  still  wears  the  medal. 
I  will  call  him,  that  you  may  see  it." 

Paul  entered  the  room,  accompanied  by 
his  grandfather,  who  had  been  awakened 
by  the  sound  of  their  voices. 

"Paul,"  said  Madame  Philipe,'*  the  lady 
wishes  to  see  your  medal." 

The  child  walked  over  to  the  bed,  un- 
buttoned his  little  blue  shirt,  and  drew  out 
the  medal — a  bright  gold  piece  surrounded 
by  gems,  and  bearing  on  one  side  in  tiny 
figures  the  date  1870.  The  lady  took  it  in  her 
hand  and  examined  it  carefully.  "God  be 
thanked ! ' '  she  exclaimed, "  it  is  my  darling 
boy ! ' '  and  sank  back  unconscious  on  the 
pillow. 

Madame  Philipe  hastened  to  apply  resto- 
ratives, and  in  the  meantime  told  her  uncle 
what  had  happened.  Poor  Grand p^re  Mi- 
chel was  glad  to  think  Paul  had  actually 
found  his  mamma,  but  he  was  almost  incon- 
solable at  the  thought  of  losing  him. 

When  the  lady  had  revived,  and  gained  a 
little  strength,  she  told  them  her  history. 
Her  name  was  Mrs.  Seymour.  Five  years 
previous,  her  husband  being  in  ill  health, 
she  accompanied  him  to  Europe,  leaving 
her  only  child,  a  baby  about  a  year  old,  with 
relatives  in  America.  Finding  that  her  stay 
abroad  would  be  longer  than  she  had  ex- 
pected, she  wrote  to  have  the  child  sent  to 
her.  He  was  put  under  the  care  of  a  faithful 
old  nurse,  who  had  been  in  the  family  for 
years;  but  the  vessel  in  which  they  took 
passage  was  never  heard  of  after  she  started, 
and  the  afflcted  mother  was  forced  to  re- 
sign herself  to  the  idea  of  never^^seeing  her 


child  again.  Her  husband  did  not  long  sur- 
vive the  shock;  he  died  in  Italy,  and  she 
was  now  returning,  sad  and  broken-hearted, 
to  her  relatives,— wealthy  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  but  stripped  of  all  that  her  heart 
held  dearest. 

"And  so,  little  Paul,  you  are  my  own 
dear  baby,  and  I  am  your  true  mamma, ' '  she 
said,  as  she  kissed  him,  and  pressed  him 
lovangly  to  her  breast. 

"Yes,  and  the  good  God  did  take  you  out 
of  the  water,  because  I  asked  Him;  didn't 
He?" 

"No  doubt,  my  darling,  He  heard  your 
innocent  prayers. ' ' 

"And  must  I  give  up  my  little  Paul?" 
said  grandphre. 

"No,  indeed,"  answered  Mrs.  Seymour; 
"you  shall  come  with  us,  if  you  wish;  and 
if  not,  I  will  bring  him  here  every  Summer 
to  see  you.  But,  my  boy,  your  name  is  not 
Paul;  you  were  christened  Noel,  because 
you  were  born  on  Christmas.  I  lost  you  on 
Christmas,  I  found  you  on  Christmas,  and 
you  came  to  me  first  on  Christmas, — surely 
you  area  Christmas  child!" 


Christmas  Eve  in  Holland. 

Christmas  Eve  was  a  time  of  eager  ex- 
pectation among  the  younger  members  of 
the  family  of  Dr.  Verheyn,  of  Harlem,  in 
North  Holland.  Santa  Clans  would  then 
pay  his  annual  visit,  and  the  children  were 
aware  that,  if  their  old  friend  was  indulgent, 
he  was  also  just;  and  that  before  giving 
them  presents,  he  made  a  strict  investiga- 
tion of  their  conduct,  so  as  not  to  encourage 
idleness  or  obstinacy.  Their  consciences 
smote  them  with  the  vivid  recollection  of 
misdeeds,  yet  they  hoped  that  the  good  old 
Saint  might  relent  in  consideration  of  their 
sincere  repentance  and  wholesome  resolu- 
tions. It  is  not  difficult,  therefore,  to  im- 
agine the  state  of  tremulous  excitement 
they  were  in  as  they  stood  gathered  in  the 
drawing-room,  late  in  the  afternoon,  wait- 
ing for  Santa  Clans  to  make  his  annual 
appearance. 


622 


The  Ave  Maria, 


*'I  wonder  what  Sitita  Claus  is  going  to 
bring  me?"  exclaimed  Siize,  a  bright-eyed 
little  tot  of  six. 

*'  I  can  easily  settle  your  mind  about  that, 
MissSuze,"  replied  Anton,  whose  ten  Sam 
mers  gave  him  great  superiority  over  his 
little  brothers  and  sisters ;  "  a  rod  is  the  only 
fit  present  for  a  naughty  girl,  who  cries 
every  night  of  her  life  when  she  is  sent  to 
bed." 

*' '  People  who  live  in  glass-houses  ought 
not  to  throw  stones,'  "saidl/ina;  "I  suspect 
the  rod  will  be  for  you,  who  are  always 
qiiarrelling  with  us,  and  wanting  to  be 
boss." 

*' Yes,  indeed,"  rejoined  Rudolph,  vehe- 
mently, *'he  always  wants  me  to  be  the 
horse;  and  the  other  day  when  it  was  my 
turn  to  be  driver,  he  said  I  knew  nothing 
about  horses,  and  gave  me  a  severe  blow." 

* '  Which  you  were  not  slow  in  returning, 
young  man,"  retorted  Anton.  "You  know 
somebody  must  be  the  horse,  and  it  is  only 
right,  as  I  am  two  years  older  than  you, 
that  you  should  obey  me." 

*'That  I  never  will!"  cried  Rudolph, 
stamping  his  little  foot  with  anger. 

*'Hush,  boys!"  said  Lina;  "you  must 
not  quarrel;  Santa  Claus  might  hear  you, 
and  then  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
us." 

**No  fear,"  replied  Anton;  "he  never 
comes  till  nightfall;  he  is  still  a  long  way 
ofif,  because,  you  know,  he  has  to  stop  at  so 
many  places." 

"He  is  on  horseback,  isn't  he?"  inquired 
Carl,  a  little  fellow  just  three. 

"Of  course  he  is,"  said  Anton;  "you 
don't  think  he  could  travel  on  foot!  He  is 
accompanied  by  his  servant,  carrying  two 
large  bags,  one  full  of  sweetmeats,  and  the 
other  containing  beautiful  toys." 

"And,"  continued  Lina, " as  he  walks  on 
the  roofs  of  the  houses,  he  can  hear  through 
the  chimneys  what  is  going  on  below;  that 
is  why  I  was  warning  you  not  to  raise  your 
voices." 

"Oh!  well,"  said  Suze,  "z£/^  are  not 
fighting — Carl,  Izi,  or  myself;  Santa  Claus 
will  not  scold  «j." 


"I  am  good,"  said  tiny  Iza,  with  self- 
complacency;  "so  I'll  get  the  sweetmeats; 
won't  I,  sister  Lina?  And  perhaps  Til  get 
a  doll:  mine  is  broken,  you  know." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Rudolph,  "weknow 
that  you  have  broken  every  doll  in  the 
house,  both  yoar  own  and  those  of  the 
others." 

Poor  little  Iza  grew  quite  red  under  the 
rebuff. 

"I  haven't  broken  them  all,  only  their 
heads." 

"And  pray  what  use  are  they  once  they 
have  lo:t  their  heads?"  asked  Rudolph. 

"Oh!  but  I  love  mine  all  the  same," 
protested  Izi. 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter,  anyhow;  I  take 
no  interest  in  such  nonsense  as  dolls;  they 
are  only  for  girls." 

"How  can  you  say  that,  Rudolph,"  ex- 
claimed L'na,  "when  yesterday  you  and 
Anton  insisted  on  helping  us  wash  the 
dolls'  clothes,  and  you  rubbed  so  haid  that 
every  little  thing  you  caught  hold  of  was 
torn  into  ribbons!" 

"What  silly  talk!"  replied  Anton;  "we 
just  wanted  to  have  the  work  done  quickly, 
so  that  we  might  all  play  together  at  blind- 
man's-buff." 

We  do  not  know  how  the  dialogue  might 
have  ended,  had  it  not  been  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  their  mother.  They  all! 
sprang  to  wards  her,  exclaiming,"  O  mammal  j 
will  you  call  Santa  Claus?  Perhaps  he  may  | 
notbefjroff." 

"I  hope,  my  darlings,  you  will  sing  your j 
verses  nicely  to  the  Saint  when  he  comes 
— I  mean  //"he  comes, because  one  can  neve 
be  sure." 

Mrs.  Verheyn,  walking  up  to  the  largej 
mantel-piece,  called  out,  softly:  "  Santaj 
Claus,  are  you  there?  These  children  aiei 
very  anxious  for  your  kind  visit." 

The  little  ones  held  their  breath,  whih 
a  deep  voice  answered:  "Yes,  Madam;   IJ 
will  be  with  you  in  a  few  momenfs.  I  shall 
inquire  into  their  behavior,  and  must  hear* 
the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

The  children  were  bewildered,  and  began 
entreating,  in  whispers:  "Please,  mamma, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


623 


don't  say  that  I  fastened  a  saucepan  to  the 
dog's  tail." 

**And  don't  say  that  I  took  papa's  razor 
to  shave  myself." 
.        '* Please,  mamma,  don't  tell  him  that  I 

got  into  a  passion  on  my  birthday." 
^  *'Alas!  my  children,  I  fear  Santa  Claus 
'  will  need  all  his  indulgence  when  he  makes 
his  appearance  here.  I  hope  he  may  not 
question  me  too  closely,  or  I  should  feel 
obliged  to  relate  all  these  sad  stories." 

' '  O  mamma ! ' '  they  all  chimed, ' '  we  will 
be  so  good  that  you  will  never  have  to  com- 
plain of  us  again." 

During  this  scene  the  maids  had  lighted 
the  lustre  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing- 
room,  as  was  usual  on  great  occasions.  Sud- 
denly a  loud  ring  was  heard ;  the  doors  were 
thrown  open,  and  Santa  Claus  entered,  in 
full  pontificals.  His  golden  mitre,  crosier, 
and  vestment  were  dazzling,  and  his  white 
hair  and  venerable  beard  struck  the  chil- 
dren with  awe;  they  sank  on  their  knees. 

He  advanced  with  measured  steps,  greet- 
ing first  the  mistress  of  the  house,  then  in- 
quiring in  a  solemn  tone  if  she  had  reason 
to  be  pleased  with  the  conduct  of  her  chil- 
dren, and  if  they  had  been  faithful  to  the 
resolutions  taken  on  his  last  visit. 

''jBe  indulgent,  holy  Santa  Claus,"  she 
replied;  "truth  compels  me  to  confess  that 
they  have  sometimes  forgotten  their  prom- 
ises; but  I  am  sure  you  will  make  allow- 
ance for  human  frailty,  and  take  into  account 
their  tender  years  and  their  sorrow  for  past 
ofiences." 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  frankness, 
madam,  and  hope  your  children  will  prove 
themselves  worthy  of.  their  mother.  Now 
arise,  my  little  ones,  and  sing  the  hymn 
you  have  prepared." 

Each  child  then  had  to  go  through  the 
ordeal  of  standing  alone  before  Santa  Claus, 
and  singing  a  verse,  with  beating  heart  and 
trembling  voice. 

"Well,  my  little  ones,"  he  said,  "I  am 
delighted  with  the  pious  sentiments  ex- 
pressed in  the  hymn  you  have  just  sung, 
and  I  will  leave  some  token  of  my  pleasure 
in  the  shape  of  sweetmeats.   As  to  the  more 


important  gift§,  which  you  perhaps  expect, 
I  must  reflect  on  your  respective  merits 
and  demerits  before  bestowing  them.  Fare- 
well, my  dear  children;  love  God  and  your 
parents." 

Thus  saying,  the  good  old  Saint  disap- 
peared, leaving  the  youngsters  wild  with 
delight  and  full  of  hope. 

Shortly  afterwards  their  father  came 
home,  and  heard  a  full  description  of  Santa 
Claus'  visit.  His  peculiar  smile  escaped 
their  unsuspecting  notice;  he  only  re- 
marked: "  Beware,  my  children,  of  raising 
your  expectations  too  high;  you  might  be 
disappointed,  although  Santa  Claus  is  both 
generous  and  forbearing.  However,  we 
shall  see  to  morrow  morning,  so  now  good- 
night."- 

The  following  morning  the  children  were 
up  at  daybreak,  anxiously  questioning  their 
mother  about  the  looked- for  presents,  but 
she  could  give  them  no  information  on  the 
subject,  and  proposed  visiting  the  house 
from  top  to  bottom.  They  eagerly  followed 
her,  while  she  opened  the  door  of  each  room. 
They  explored  every  corner  in  vain;  their 
spirits  began  to  droop,  and  they  grew  silent. 

"Ah!  my  darlings,"  said  their  mother, 
"Santa  Claus  has  not  deemed  you  worthy 
of  his  bounties;  however,  we  have  not  yet 
visited  the  garret." 

They  climbed  the  stairs  with  alacrity, 
and  lo!  as  they  entered  the  garret,  they  be- 
held what  seemed  to  them  a  little  paradise; 
the  room  was  tastefully  decorated  with  flow- 
ers, and  a  large  centre  table  was  strewed 
with  presents  of  every  description,  bearing 
the  names  of  the  exultant  troop,  who  burst 
out  in  cries  of  grateful  delight  to  their  mys- 
terious benefactor. 

Our  youngf  readers  can  easily  understand 
that  Santa  Claus  is  a  very  popular  Saint 
in  Holland,  and  even  those  who  have  aban- 
doned the  true  faith  still  keep  up  the  old 
custom  of  their  Catholic  forefathers.  And  it 
is  not  only  in  the  Netherlands  that  Santa 
Claus  is  a  favorite:  in  France  and  Belg  um 
he  is  found  to  be  equally  generous,  but  he 
shows  a  decided  predilection  for  little 
boys. 


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