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St.  Ignatius  at  Montserrat. 


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NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  2,  1887.  No.  i. 


Vol.  XXV. 


(CopTTicU  ■— Skv.  D.  K.  HunoH,  C.  8.  CJ 


Compensation. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


11|  HAT  if  my  tender  roots  may  haply  coil 
^^     In  a  deep,  mellow  soil, 

Wherein  is  found  no  weed 
That  killeth  all  things  with  its  harmful  greed; 
But  only  there  is  nourished  mine  own  reed — 

To  rear  its  slender  crest 
In    every   delicate   hue    of   richest    blossom 
dressed  ? 

If  in  the  sunny  mazes  of  my  leaves 

The  crafty  spider  weaves; 

Or  in  my  fairest  bloom 
Some   worm  hath  stole,  where,  in   delicious 

gloom. 
It  lies  and  fattens  in  its  honeyed  tomb — 

What  shall  it  profit  me 
The  outward  show  so  fair,  the  prize  I  seem  to  be? 

Still  I  may  'scape  the  worm,  the  spider's  net; 

No  cursed  blight  may  set 

Its  dangerous  touch  anew 
Upon  my  frailest  buds  in  vile  mildew; 
My  faded  flowers  the  autumn  winds  may  strew; 

But,  after  all  the  strife. 
If  I  have  borne  no  fruit,  then  of  what  use  was 
'life? 


The  best  perfection  of  a  religious  man  is 
to  do  common  things  in  a  perfect  manner. 
A  constant  fidelity  in  small  things  is  a  great 
and  heroic  virtue. — St. Bonaventure^quoted 
by  Longfellow. 


The  Visitation  of  the  Biessed  Virgin. 


BY  ELIZA  ALLEN  STARR. 


EHOLD,  He  cometh  leaping  upon 
the  mountains,  skipping  over  the 
hills.  My  Beloved  is  like  a  roe  or 
a  young  hart."  *  "I  am  the  flower  of  the 
field  and  the  lily  of  the  valleys.  As  the 
lily  among  thorns,  so  is  my  love  among  the 
daughters."  f  "Arise,  make  haste,  my  love, 
my  dove,  my  beautiful  one,  and  come.  For 
winter  is  now  past:  the  rain  is  over  and 
gone.  The  flowers  have  appeared  in  our 
land ;  the  time  of  pruning  is  come :  the  voice 
of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land :  the  fig-tiee 
hath  put  forth  her  green  figs;  the  vines  in 
flower  yield  their  sweet  smell."  |  *'Who  is 
this  that  cometh  forth  like  the  sun,  and 
beautiful  as  Jerusalem?  .  .  .  The  daughters 
of  Sion  saw  her,  and  declared  her  blessed: 
the  queens  and  they  praised  her."  §  "And 
as  the  flower  of  roses  in  the  day  of  spring, 
and  as  the  lilies  of  the  valleys."  || 

With  such  canticles  does  the  Church  lure 
us  onward  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
sacred  mysteries  involved  in  the  Visitation 
of  the  tender  young  Virgin  of  Nazareth  to 
the  aged  Elizabeth.  Like  her  own  illumi- 
nators, she  first  gives  us  a  border  of  grace- 
ful imagery,  drawn  from  the  world  around 
us  and  familiar  to  our  bodily 


eyesj 


*  Cant.,  ii,  8,  9. 
§  Caiit.,vi,8. 


II  Ecclus.,1,  8. , 


2 he  Ave  Maria, 


sketches  in  the  landscape,  beautifying  it 
with  all  the  charms  of  the  most  perfect  of 
seasons — th^  early  days  of  midsummer. 
Not  a  tint  of  the  atmosphere,  not  a  perfume 
that  floats  on  the  morning  air,  is  lost  or 
disregarded ;  and  when  this  natural  paradise 
is  complete,  and  she  has  won  us  by  the 
beauty  to  which  we  are  so  susceptible  in 
the  order  of  nature,  she  straightway  lifts  the 
soul  into  the  supernatural  regions  of  grace, 
and  we  see — no  longer  the  rose  or  lily  of  the 
valleys  of  Nazareth,  no  longer  the  roe  or 
the  young  hart  of  the  woods  of  Libanus, 
but — the  fairest  of  all  the  daughters  of  the 
tribe  of  Judah  or  the  house  of  David,  the 
one  unsullied  Lily  among  the  daughters  of 
Eve,  hasting  with  Her  virginal  step  over 
the  hill  country  between  Her  own  home  at 
Nazareth  and  the  home  of  Elizabeth; — 
hasting ^2&  the  Evangelist  himself  has  it; 
for  did  She  not  bear  within  Her  One  who 
is  swifter  on  His  errands  of  grace  and  of 
sanctification  than  the  roe  or  the  young 
hart? 

What  Solomon,  with  all  the  beauties  of 
his  celestial  poem,  could  not  give  to  this 
picture  of  early  midsummer,  is  given  by  St. 
Luke  the  Evangelist,  privileged  with  pen 
and  pencil  to  show  to  the  world  the  picture 
of  Mary.  This  is  the  spirit  of  the  Church, 
in  her  Invitatory,  as  she  call  upon  all 
Christians  at  her  Matin  song:  Visitationem 
Virginis  MaricB  celebremus^  Christum  ejus 
Filium  adoremus  Dominum.—^'''L,QX.  us  cel- 
ebrate the  Visitation  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 
adoring  Her  Son,  Christ  the  Lord."  In 
response  to  this  invitation  of  our  Mother 
the  Church,  let  us  read, with  hearts  touched 
as  they  may  never  have  been  before,  this 
narrative  of  the  Gospel,  which  has  inspired 
the  artist  and  the  musician,  as  well  as  ihe 
devout,  in  all  Christian  ages;  while  a  St. 
John  Chr^sostom  and  a  St.  Ambrose  of  the 
fourth  century,  and  a  St.  Bede  of  the  eighth, 
still  give  us  the  pure  gold  of  their  theo- 
logical piety,  through  their  homilies  and 
sermons  in  honor  of  this  festival. 

St.  Bede  dwells,  in  his  homily,  upon  the 
singular  humility  and  simplicity  of  dispo- 
sition evinced  by  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  this 


act  of  Her  Visitation.  Instead  of  being 
engrossed  by  Her  dignities  and  honors  as 
the  Mother  of  the  Messias,  She  is  impelled 
to  visit  immediately  Her  kinswoman, who, 
if  not  favored  to  any  degree  like  Herself, 
has  still  been  signally  blessed.  Yet  this 
impulse,  as  St.  Bede  so  justly  remarks,  does 
not  come  from  any  necessity  of  sympathy 
or  encouragement  from  one  of  Her  own  sex 
on  the  part  of  this  tender  Virgin  of  fifteen 
years,  but  from  Her  desire  to  "  congratulate 
Her  aged  kinswoman,  and  to  give  her  such 
careful  service  as  a  youthful  maiden  could 
bestow."*  She  does  not  seem  to  have  con- 
templated any  communication  concerning 
Her  own  extraordinary  favors  from  God; 
and  the  first  word  uttered  by  a  mortal  on 
the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation,  after  the 
'■'Fiaf''  of  Mary  Herself,  was  uttered  by 
Elizabeth.  "And  it  came  to  pass  that  when 
Elizabeth  heard  the  salutation  of  Mary,  the 
infant  leaped  in  her  womb;  and  Elizabeth 
was  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost  And  she 
cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  and  said : 
Blessed  are  Thou  among  women,  and 
blessed  is  the  Fruit  of  Thy  womb.  And 
whence  is  this  to  me  that  the  Mother  of  my 
Lord  should  come  to  me?  For,  behold,  as 
soon  as  the  voice  of  Thy  salutation  sounded 
in  my  ears,  the  infant  in  my  womb  leaped 
for  joy.  And  blessed  art  Thou  that  hast 
believed,  because  those  things  shall  be  ac- 
complished that  were  spoken  to  Thee  by 
the  Lord,  "t 

At  the?e  words  the  tide  of  praise  breaks 
forth  from  the  Heart  of  Mary,  and  on  the 
threshold  of  Elizabeth's  home,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  blossoming  vine  and  fig-tree 
and  the  pale  olives,  She  sings  Her  Magnifi- 
cat^ which  for  eighteen  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven  years  has  been  the  fulfilment  as  well 
as  the  prophecy  of  Mary  ''ories.  Elizabeth 
has  just  called  Her  Blessea  among  women; 
she  has  echoed  the  salutation  of  Gabriel 
—  "Blessed  art  Thou  among  women." 
But  Mary,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy 
Ghost, whose  Bride  She  now  is,  exclaims, 
' '  Behold,  henceforth  all  generations  shall 


"Our  Lady's  Dowry," p.  76.     f  Luke, i, 41-45. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


call  Me  blessed."  NotGabriel  and  Elizabeth 
alone — privileged  as  they  are  to  be  admitted 
to  the  councils  of  the  Most  High, — but  the 
weak  ones,  and  unlearned  ones,  and  the  frail 
and  erring  ones,  as  well  as  great  masters 
of  theology  and  doctors  in  knowledge— «// 
will  call  Me  blessed.  Well  did  the  Church 
speak  when  she  added  to  the  list  of  Mary's 
titles  Regina  Prophetarum^ — "Queen  of 
Prophets. ' ' 

Not  so  many  minutes  have  elapsed  since 
Mary's  foot  touched  the  threshold  of  Z  a  ch- 
ary's  house  as  we  have  taken  to  copy  these 
words,  but  what  wonders  have  been  accom- 
plished! What  miracles  of  grace!  What 
perfection  of  praise  and  of  thanksgiving! 
The  world  goes  on,  and  the  years  roll  by, 
and  this  Gospel  is  chanted  and  meditated 
upon ;  and  not  only  does  its  sweetness  and 
freshness  and  peculiar  charm  never  pall 
upon  the  soul,  but  we  seetn  always  to  be 
growing  into  a  comprehension  of  it  just  in 
proportion  as  we  grow  in  grace. 

The  first  of  these  miracles  was  the  sanc- 
tification  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  the  Pre- 
cursor of  the  Son  of  Man,  the  "Messenger 
who  was  to  go  before  the  face  of  the  Lord 
and  prepare  His  ways  before  Him."  Et  tu, 
Puer^  propheta  Altissimi  vocaberis:  prcs- 
ibis  enim  ante  faciem  Domini^  parare  vias 
ejus.*  As  He  had  sealed  His  choice  of  His 
Mother  by  the  grace  of  an  Immaculate 
Conception,  so  He  forestalled  the  birth  of 
His  Messenger  by  the  grace  of  pre-sanctifi- 
cation.  And  so  effectual  was  thi<;  grace, 
that  more  than  thirty  years  after,  Our  Lord 
said  of  His  Messenger:  "There  hath  not 
risen  among  them  that  are  born  of  women 
a  greater  than  John  the  Baptist."  f 

The  second  miracle  was  the  clause  added 
by  Elizabeth  to  the  Ave  Maria  of  the 
Angel  Gabriel,  "Blessed  art  Thou  among 
women"  belv^i^^cd  to  both,  but  Elizabeth 
added,  Et  benedictus  fructus  ventris  tut. — 
"And  blessed  is  the  Fruit  of  Thy  womb." 
To  this  day  every  Catholic  child  knows  to 
whom  he  is  indebted  for  this  clause  of  his 
"Hail  Mary,"  nor  will  his   tongue   ever 


*  Luke,  i,  76. 


t  Matth.,  xi,  II. 


hesitate  to  pronounce  these  words,  uttered 
by  Elizabeth  under  the  inspiration  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  recorded  by  an  inspired 
Evangelist.  We  have  yet  to  see  this  text  of 
Holy  Writ,  this  clause  in  the  four  Gospels, 
adopted  by  any  Bible  Christian  into  his 
daily  prayers.  Go  on, little  "Papist! "  You 
may  not  own  the  whole  Bible,  and  you  may 
never  read  it  from  the  first  verse  of  Genesis 
to  the  last  of  the  Apocalypse;  but  you  be- 
lieve in  it,  and  your  prayers  are  true  coin, 
stamped  with  its  seal. 

The  third  miracle  was  the  Canticle  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  the  Magnificat  of 
Christendom.  To  say  how  poor  the  Vesper- 
song  of  the  Church  would  seem  to  our  ears 
without  the  Magnificat^  is  to  say  but  little; 
and  yet  not  even  from  her  Vespers  on  Good- 
Friday  does  the  Church  shut  out  the  Mag- 
nificat of  Mary.  At  Christmas  and  Easter, 
on  Good-Friday  and  Holy  Saturday  as  well 
as  Maundy-Thursday,  this  Canticle  makes 
the  one  note  of  joy  that  never  changes. 
The  Antiphon  may  speak  the  grief  of  her 
soul,  but  the  Magnificat  remains  always 
the  same:  always  a  song  of  exultation,  of 
promise  and  of  fulfilment. 

And  now,  surely,  we  can  repeat, even  more 
fervently  than  at  first,  the  precious  sen- 
tences by  which  the  Breviary  Lessons  and 
Noctums,Versicles,  Responses,  Antiphons, 
and  even  Invitatory,  sought  to  accustom 
our  bodily  ears,  as  well  as  the  ears  of  our 
souls,  to  the  gracious  significance  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  Visitation.  We  turn  with 
fresh  delight  to  her  ejacula'ory  Versicles 
and  Responses:  "Blessed  are  Thou  that 
hast  believed,  because  those  things  shall  be 
accomplished  that  were  spoken  to  Thee  by 
the  Lord.  And  Mary  said:  My  soul  doth 
magnify  the  Lord."*  "Come  and  hear, 
and  I  will  tell  you  what  God  hath  done  for 
my  soul."  t  "Surely  Thou  art  happy,  O 
Holy  Virgin  Mary!  and  most  worthy  of  all 
praise;  for  out  of  Thee  arose  the  Sun  of 
Justice,  Christ  Our  God.  Pray  for  the  peo- 
ple, mediate  for  the  clergy,  intercede  for 
the  devoted  female  sex.  Let  all  experience 


*  Luke,  i,  45  46. 


t  Ps.,lxv,  16. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Thy  assistance, whoever  celebrate  Thy  holy 
Visitation."* 

For  the  pictures  of  the  Visitation  we  can 
go  back  as  far  as  Cimabue  with  delight. 
The  most  popular  is  undoubtedly  the  one 
painted  by  Albertinelli,  although  Pintu- 
ricchio  may  well  dispute  the  palm  so  offen 
given  to  Albertinelli.  Both  Lucia  della 
Robbia  and  Lucas  von  Leyden  have  repre- 
sented this  mystery  under  forms  of  exceed- 
ing grace  and  tenderness;  but  the  Visitation 
which  has  held  the  first  place  in  our  hearts 
for  years,  the  one  to  which  we  find  ourselves 
referring  mentally  whenever  the  mystery 
is  named,  is  by  Don  Lorenzo,  monk  of  the 
Angeli  of  Florence.  His  paintings  came 
into  notice  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  fif- 
teenth century.  His  name  is  gene? ally  given 
as  "Don  Lorenzo  the  Monk,"  and  is  thus 
given  under  the  small  but  very  choice  en- 
graving we  refer  to,  and  which  was  issued 
many  years  ago  by  the  Dusseldorf  Society. 

The  monastery  of  the  Angeli  belonged 
to  the  Camaldoli  Order,  which  has  been 
favored  by  a  genuine  love  of  art  among  its 
members  Of  the  type  of  the  Virgin  in  this 
picture, we  may  say  that  Don  Lorenzo  cer- 
tainly belonged  to  the  same  celestial  order 
of  souls  as  Fra  Angelico  Fiesole,  and  the 
angels  in  attendance  on  his  own  monastery 
must  have  assisted  his  pious  aspirations.  In 
his  picture,  St.  Elizabeth  kneels  to  salute 
the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the  divine  "Fruit 
of  Her  womb" ;  and  nothing  could  exceed 
the  puritv  of  the  forms  that  express  the 
youth  fulness  and  delicacy  of  the  Virgin 
Mother.  She  was  indeed  to  Don  Lorenzo 
the  Monk  what  She  is  still  in  the  Breviary 
Lessons,  "the  flower  of  the  field  and  the 
lily  of  the  valleys,  whom  all  generations 
shall  call  blesfed." 


*  Office  of  the  B  V.  M. 


Like  as  the  ark  floated  on  the  waters — 
the  deeper  they  became,  the  higher  it  rose, 
— so  does  Christianity  at  this  moment  re- 
pose in  all  calmness  and  majesty  on  the 
great  flood  of  human  science  in  its  highest 
cultivation.—  Cardinal  Manning. 


A   Brave   Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O  MEARA. 


GASTON  DE  SEGUR  was  born  in 
Paris,  on  the  15th  of  April,  1820.  His 
father,  Comtede  S^gur,was  a  peer  of  France^ 
and  in  those  days  that  was  still  something 
more  than  an  empty  title,  so  that  the  birth 
of  an  eldest  son  was  an  important  event,  as 
well  as  a  domestic  joy. 

The  Comtesse  de  S6gur,  Gaston's  mother^ 
was  a  Russian — Mademoiselle  Rostoj)chine, 
daughter  of  the  famous  General  Rostop- 
chine,  who  was  Governor  of  Moscow  in 
181 2,  and  who  gave  the  heioic  order  to  set 
fire  to  the  city  when  Napoleon  was  advanc- 
ing with  his  conquering  legions  to  take 
possession  of  it. 

The  wife  of  this  stout-hearted  soldier  was 
as  remarkable  in  her  way  as  the  General 
himself.  She  had  been  early  converted  to 
the  Faith,  and  had  imbibed  its  spirit  so 
deeply,  and  embraced  its  maxims  and  prac- 
tices so  fervently,  as  to  become  a  model  of 
holiness  and  an  accomplished  type  of  a 
Christian  lady  living  in  the  world.  She  was 
a  person  of  great  weight  in  the  family,  both 
on  account  of  her  intellectual  gifts,  which 
were  of  a  very  high  order,  and  of  her  an- 
gelic piety. 

This  first  little  grandchild  was  welcomed 
with  great  delight  by  the  General  and  his 
wife,  and  soon  the  indomitable  old  soldier 
who  burnt  down  the  capital  of  Russia, 
and  thereby  nearly  beggared  himself  rather 
than  surrender  to  the  conqueror  of  Europe, 
went  down  abjectly  before  the  new-born 
peer  of  France,  and  became  his  obedient, 
humble  servant  even  before  he  had  made 
his  personal  acquaintance.  ' '  I  am  very  im- 
patient," he  writes  to  his  son-in-law,  "to 
see  for  myself  the  progress  of  Gaston,  and 
to  supplant  him  in  Sophie's  affections  by- 
means  of  presents,  base  bribes, — by  treating 
him,  in  fact,  as  a  personage  in  office. ' "  Else- 
where he  "kisses  the  feet  of  Gaston,  the 
first  paladin  of  Christendom." 

It  seems  strange  that  the  little  paladin, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


object  of  the  adoring  tenderness  of  two 
fathers  and  two  mothers,  all  equally  im- 
pressed with  his  importance,  should  have 
been  sent  away  to  school  at  the  infantine 
age  of  six.  But  so  it  was.  The  child  evi- 
dently suflfered  keenly  from  this  early  ban- 
ishment from  home,  and  his  letters  at  eight 
years  old  to  his  mother  show  how  his  poor 
little  heart  pintd  for  ihe  warm  tenderness 
of  home  atmosphere,  and  how  much  he  suf- 
fered from  the  want  of  it.  Gaston's  love  for 
his  mother,  which  was  the  great  love  of  his 
life,  breathes  through  these  early  letters 
very  touching ly,  and  already  testifies  to  the 
strength  of  that  affection  which  illumi- 
nated the  dark  school-days,  protected  his 
youih,  and  remained  through  his  manhood 
a  strength  and  a  benediction. 

And  yet,  at  this  early  date,  there  started 
up  in  his  heart  a  rival  passion  to  this  unique 
love :  a  passion  for  drawing.  The  child  man- 
ifested an  extraordinary  talent  for  art,  and 
was  perpetually  exercising  it  in  illegal  ways 
and  at  forbidden  times,  covering  his  own 
and  other  boys'  boots  with  sketches  and 
caricatures,  adorning  or  disfiguring  with  his 
pencil  everything  he  could  lay  his  hands 
on.  This  gift,  which  made  him  very  popular 
amongst  his  companions,  was  not  equally 
appreciated  by  his  masters.  It  was  continu- 
ally getting  him  into  trouble.  Sometimes 
he  got  out  of  the  scrape  by  a  peace-offering 
in  the  shape  of  some  pretty  sketch,  or  a 
portrait  of  the  angry  master;  he  had  a  won- 
derful facility  for  taking  likenesses,  and 
often  turned  it  to  good  account  as  a  means 
of  propitiation. 

From  this  infant  school  Gaston  went  to  a 
more  advanced  one  at  Fontenay-aux-Roses, 
where  the  pupils  followed  the  classes  of  the 
Lyceum.  There  he  formed  some  friend- 
ships which  added  much  to  the  happiness 
of  his  school-life,  while  they  developed  his 
heart  and  character.  He  took  the  troubles  of 
his  friends  and  their  successes  and  rewards 
as  much  to  heart  as  if  they  had  been  his 
own,  and  his  letters  home  are  full  of  their 
concerns. 

"  Paul  and  Albert  have  passed  as  bache- 
lors!" he  writes  to  his  mother,  jubilantly. 


"You  can  fancy  how  happy  I  am  in  their 
happiness.  They  are  going  home  with  their 
good  mother,  the  next  best  mother  in  this 
world  after  mine.  They  came  this  morning 
to  announce  the  news.  .  .  .  But,  as  every 
good  thing  has  its  bad  side,  after  the  happi- 
ness came  tears.  I  cried  for  a  good  half 
hour  after  they  left.  I  held  myself  in  before 
them,  so  as  not  to  damp  their  joy;  but  I 
shall  be  alone  now,  dear  mother, — all  alone, 
without  a  friend  to  t;on6de  my  sorrows  and 
joys  to.  I  had  hoped  not  to  lose  my  two 
friends  until  it  was  time  to  go  back  to  you, 
who  fill  up  ever)  body's  place  to  me;  but  in- 
stead of  this  I  have  four  months  of  complete 
solitude  before  me. ' ' 

These  pure  and  strong  affections  filled 
up  Gaston's  youth,  and  were  a  protection  as 
well  as  a  delight  to  him,  until  God  came  and 
took  full  possession  of  his  heart.  During  his 
student  days  religious  sentiments  seem  to 
have  lain  dormant  in  his  soul,  and  nothing 
in  his  correspondence  at  this  date  suggests 
his  future  vocation.  He  made  a  pious  First 
Communion,  but  that  supremely  important 
event  was  not  accompanied  by  those  exam- 
ples and  immediate  influences  which  help 
to  make  it  sink  deeply  into  a  young  life, 
and  assist  in  keeping  alive  its  blessed  in- 
fluences. "We  were  not  impious  at  col- 
lege," he  writes,  recalling  those  days  in 
later  years,  "but  we  were  utterly  indifferent. 
When  I  think  tliU'^.  the  year  after  my  First 
Communion  nobody  suggested  to  us  that 
we  should  make  our  Easter  duty !  It  took 
me  fifteen  years  to  get  rid  of  the  baneful 
effect  of  the  impression  left  upon  my  mind 
by  that  fatal  university. ...  It  took  my  four 
years'  stay  in  Rome  as  Auditor  of  the  Rota 
before  I  finally  got  rid  of  every  trace  of  it " 

This  '  utter  indifference '  was  rather  a 
misfortune  than  a  deliberate  fault  with  the 
young  student,  and  the  fatal  university,  as 
he  styles  it,  never  went  the  length  of  shak- 
ing his  faith,  though  it  made  him  luke- 
warm and  negligent  in  the  practice  of  it. 
This  lukewarmness,  however,  soon  disap- 
peared in  the  beneficent  atmosphere  of  his 
Christian  home  life,  and  under  the  example 
of  his  parents,  of  his  young  cousin,  Angus- 


The  Ave  Maria 


tine  Galitzin,  and  above  all  under  the  in- 
fluence and  teaching  of  his  grandmother, 
the  Countess  Rostopchine.  This  holy  and 
gifted  woman  resided  in  Moscow,  where 
she  spent  her  time  in  study,  prayer,  and 
working  for  the  poor.  Her  reading  was  ex- 
traordinarily extensive,  and  reminds  one  of 
Madame  Swetchine's  prowess  in  that  line. 

In  the  summer  of  1838  she  came  to  France, 
to  the  Chateau  des  Nouettes,  her  daughter's 
country  home.  Here  ttie  charming  grand- 
mother became  the  centre  of  the  family  life, 
and  drew  all  the  hearts  of  the  young  people 
to  her.  But  none  loved  her,  or  was  so  ten- 
derly loved  in  return,  as  Gaston.  With  that 
quick  insight  to  souls  and  characters  which 
again  reminds  us  of  Madame  Swetchine, 
the  Countess  Rostopchine  quickly  detected 
the  rare  spiritual  capacities,  the  germ  of  di 
vine  things,  that  lay  dormant  in  her  grand- 
son. She  attracted  him  as  much  by  her 
holiness  as  by  her  charm,  and  she  used  her 
power  over  him  to  develop  his  vocation  for 
the  perfect  life.  He  became  another  being 
before  the  holidays  were  half  over.  Every- 
one was  struck  by  the  change  in  him;  his 
brothers  and  sisters  were  puzzled  as  to  the 
cause  of  it;  he  was  no  longer  the  same 
Gaston;  his  conversation  had  grown  grave 
and  earnest,  and  was  continually  turning 
on  religion;  his  manner  was  subdued  to 
sadness;  his  countenance  and  demeanor 
reflected  the  crisis  that  his  soul  was  passing 
through.  This  lasted  for  over  a  month.  On 
the  8th  of  September,  the  Nativity  of  Our 
Lady,  he  went  to  the  cur^  and  made  a  gen- 
eral confession,  and  in  the  humble  little 
parish  chuich  he  received  Holy  Commun- 
ion, and  consecrated  his  young  heart  to 
God  once  and  irrevocably.  He  was  eigh- 
teen years  of  age.  Jesus  came  into  his  soul 
that  morning  as  sole  Lord  and  Master  for 
evermore. 

The  sense  of  his  sinfulness,  remorse  for 
what  he  called  his  "criminal  life,"  filled 
his  soul  with  such  intense  sorrow  that  his 
one  desire  was  to  take  vengeance  on  him- 
self by  penance.  This  led  him  into  exag- 
gerated exercises  of  mortification ;  he  was 
perpetually  saying  prayers  and  performing 


penances;  he  shunned 'the  merry  company 
of  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  his  natural 
gayety  was  clouded  by  melancholy.  But 
the  phase  of  indiscreet  fervor  had  its  source 
in  too  healthy  a  cause  to  last  long.  It 
quickly  passed  away,  leaving  the  ardent 
young  soul  the  purer  for  the  suffering  it  had 
inflicted.  Gaston  got  back  his  natural  high 
spirits,  and  was  brighter  than  ever,  proving 
that  the  heart  is  all  the  merrier  for  having 
cast  out  sin  and  self,  and  turned  with  all 
its  strength  to  God. 

The  holidays  of  1838  mark  a  distinct 
era  in  his  life,  and  he  always  attributed 
the  blessed  change— his  conversion,  as  he 
rightly  called  it, — under  God,  to  the  influ- 
ence of  his  grandmother.  Guided  by  her, 
he  placed  himself  in  the  hands  of  a  wise 
director,  and  became  a  daily  communicant. 
He  commemorated  his  conversion  in  a  pict- 
ure of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  surrounded 
by  angels  in  adoration,  and  bearing  the 
inscription,  ''''Souvenir  de  ma  conversion^  ct 
Aiibe^  Notre  Da7ne  de  Septembre^  i8j8''\' 
and  under  this  the  words, "  Blessed  are  they 
whose  iniquities  are  forgiven." 

His  life  from  this  forth  was  divided  be- 
tween piety  and  painting;  when  he  was 
not  in  the  chapel,  or  visiting  the  poor,  the 
pencil  or  the  brush  was  never  out  of  his 
hand.  He  spent  his  evenings  with  Ma- 
dame Rostopchine,  and  while  joining  in 
the  conversation  around  him  he  was  busy 
drawing  a  series  of  pictures  which  were  to 
represent  the  life  of  Our  Lord.  He  fin- 
ished only  twelve  of  them,  but  these  are  full 
of  beauty  and  fine  artistic  as  well  a?  spir- 
itual sentiment.  He  was  interrupted  in  the 
work  by  an  attack  of  inflammation  in  his 
eyes,  brought  on,  it  was  said,  by  overstrain 
of  them ;  but  it  was  doubtless  the  first  warn- 
ing of  that  terrible  infirmity  that  was  to 
sanctify  him,  and  crown  his  life  as  by  a 
grace  of  martyrdom. 

He  soon  recovered,  and  so  completely 
that  he  set  to  work  in  good  earnest  at  his 
art,  and  entered  the  studio  of  Paul  Dela- 
roche.  But  the  atmosphere  of  the  atelier 
was  intolerable  to  him;  the  naked  models, 
the  coarse  jokes  and  elastic  morals  of  his 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fellow-students  were  odious  to  his  pure 
conscience  and  refined  taste.  He  left  the 
atelier  2iX\<i  continued  his  studies  at  home, 
getting  models  to  come  there  and  sit  to  him. 
In  leaving  the  company  of  the  students  he 
did  not,  however,  cease  his  intercourse  with 
Delaroche.  He  went  frequently  to  his  house, 
and  met  ihere  a  great  many  distinguished 
artists,  who  became  interested  in  him,  and 
conceived  great  hopes  of  his  talent.  Paul 
Delaroche  expected  great  things  of  Gaston, 
and  when  M.  de  S^gur  told  him  he  meant 
to  put  his  son  into  the  diplomatic  service, 
the  artist  replied:  "  You  may  do  what 
you  will  with  him,  and  put  him  into  what 
career  you  like:  his  vocation  is  to  be  a 
painter,  and  a  great  painter." 

The  future  great  painter  had  a  brilliant 
facility  for  caricature,  which  he  exercised 
diligently  at  this  period,  but  never  at  the 
expense  of  charity.  If  one  of  his  sketches, 
however  successful,  struck  him  as  the  least 
ill-natured,  it  was  at  once  pitilessly  sacri- 
ficed. His  enthusiasm  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
art  did  not,  even  at  its  high  tide,  draw  his 
heart  away  from  the  pursuit  of  holiness; 
God  ruled  supreme  there,  and  his  soul  con- 
tinued bent  on  higher  things  than  any 
earthly  achievements  His  devotion  to  the 
poor  was  admirable;  he  became  a  member  of 
the  Society  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  then  in  its 
infancy,  and  had  as  his  fellow- worker  Pierre 
Olivaint,  the  future  Jesuit  and  martyr. 

Gaston's  sympathy  with  the  poor  equalled 
his  pity  for  them,  and  enabled  him  to  win 
their  confidence,  and  made  his  mission 
amongst  them  fruitful  as  nothing  else  can. 
He  was  by  nature  essentially  distingue^  but 
with  the  poor  he  made  himself  as  simple, 
as  homely  as  they.  He  served  them  like  a 
servant,  taking  his  gifts  to  them  in  person ; 
he  would  walk  off  through  the  most  fash- 
ionable street  with  a  huge  bundle  of  clothes 
under  his  arm—  sometimes  his  own  clothes, 
sometimes  old  suits  that  he  had  begged  of 
his  friends.  He  was.  indeed,  constantly  com- 
pelled to  beg  these  gifts,  for  he  gave  away 
his  wardrobe  so  recklessly  that  he  was  fre- 
quently left  with  the  bare  necessaries.  He 
did  not  rest  satisfied  with  visiting  the  poor 


in  iheir  homes:  he  followed  them  to  the 
hospital,  and  tended  them  there  diligently. 
Pierre  Olivaint  was  his  companion  here,  as 
in  the  service  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  They 
had  the  same  ward  and  the  same  days  for 
their  visits.  The  future  Jesuit  used  \.^  speak 
with  admiration  in  after  times  of  the  won- 
derful grace  Giston  had,  even  at  this  early 
date,  for  consoling  the  dying  and  preparing 
them  to  receive  the  last  Sacraments. 

One  day  the  Sister  of  Charii-y,  a  venera- 
ble woman  who  had  grown  old  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  poor,  met  him  in  the  corridor  of 
the  hospital  (the  Hospital  Necker),  and,  ac- 
costing him  with  some  agitation,  siid :  "Go 
to  Number  39,  and  see  what  you  can  do.  He 
is  a  man  between  three  or  four  and  thirty, 
in  the  last  stage  of  consumption ;  he  will  be 
dead  in  three  days.  I  have  done  my  best, 
but  to  no  purpose;  your  confrere  [Pierre 
Olivaint]  has  succeeded  no  better.  Very 
likely  he  will  send  you  about  your  business, 
too;  but  one  must  try  while  one  can;  he 
has  got  a  soul  to  save."  "If  he  sends  me 
about  my  business,  I  will  go,"  replied  Gas- 
ton; "it  won't  do  me  any  harm.  But  do  you 
go  and  say  an  Ave  Maria  for  the  poor  fel- 
low while  I  am  trying  to  bring  him  round. " 
He  went  into  the  ward,  and  made  his  way 
to  Number  39.  The  dying  man  was  dread- 
ful to  see;  he  was  emaciated  to  a  skeleton, 
and  his  great  black  eyes,  fixed  on  vacancy, 
had  something  unnatural  in  their  expres- 
sion. Gaston  asked  him  kindly  how  he  felt; 
he  made  no  answer.  "Can  I  do  any  little 
thing  to  comfort  you?  "  No  answer,  only  a 
fierce  glance  of  the  black  eyes  that  turned 
slowly  on  the  speaker. 

"I  was  going  to  give  it  up  in  despair," 
Gaston  said,  relating  the  incident  after- 
wards, ' '  when  God  sent  me  an  inspiration.  I* 
bent  over  him,  and  whispered : '  Tell  me,  did 
you  make  a  good  First  Communion  ? '  The 
question  acted  like  an  electric  shock;  he 
started,  the  expression  of  his  face  changed, 
and  he  said,  almost  inaudibly:  ''Oui^  mon- 
sieur.^ 'Well,'  I  said,  'and  were  you  not 
happier  then  than  you  are  now  ? '  Presently 
two  big  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  I  took 
his  hand  in  mine  and  said, '  You  were  happy 


The  Ave  Maria. 


then  because  you  were  pure  and  chaste  and 
good,  and  fearing  God.  But  the  happiness 
may  come  back.  God  has  not  changed.'  " 
The  poor  fellow's  tears  were  trickling  down. 
Gaston  went  on  pleading.  At  last  he  said: 
"You  will  go  to  confession,  won't  you?" 
The  dying  man  made  an  eflfort  to  speak. 
'"'■  Out,  monsieur ^^''h^  said,  and  he  made  a 
movement  to  embrace  Gaston,  who  took 
him  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him.  This  was 
his  first  conquest  of  a  death-bed  sinner  to 
God. 

In  these  blessed  and  wholesome  labors  the 
time  passed  quickly.  When  the  summer  of 
1 84 1  came  round,  Gaston  made  ready  for  a 
pleasure  long  in  store  for  him.  This  was  a 
.visit  to  his  grandmother  in  Russia.  The 
Countess  Rostopchine  passed  the  long  win- 
ter in  Moscow,  and  the  short  summer  at 
Voronovo,  her  countr> -seat.  Here  Gaston 
joined  her,  and  the  old  gentlewoman  and 
the  young  man  spent  two  delightful  months 
in  tete-a-tHe.  He  learned  many  things  from 
lier,  and  discovered  new  beauties  in  her 
ardent  soul  and  lofty  intelligence.  It  was  a 
period  of  distinct  spiritual  growth  for  Gas- 
ton, and,  like  that  visit  of  his  grandmother 
to  Nouettes,  marked  an  epoch  in  his  soul's 
life. 

On  his  return  home  he  had  soon  to  make 
ready  for  another  journey.  This  time  it 
was  to  Rome  that  he  bent  his  steps.  His 
father,  anxious  to  combine  all  pleasant  and 
useful  things  for  him,  had  obtained  for  him 
the  appointment  of  attachk  to  the  Embassy 
in  Rome,  under  M.  de  le  Tour-Maubourg, 
an  old  friend  of  the  family.  This  nomina 
tion  would,  he  felt,  enable  Gaston  to  follow 
his  true  vocation,  as  M.  Delaroche  called  it, 
and  study  art  while  learning  his  duties 
in  the  diplomatic  service.  It  may  seem 
strange  that  the  family  did  not  foresee  the 
probability  of  any  other  result  in  this  new 
sphere, — that  it  did  not  occur  to  them  that 
the  young  man's  great  natural  piety  might, 
under  the  spiritual  influences  so  potent  in 
the  Eternal  City,  develop  a  vocation  for  the 
priesthood;  but  they  foresaw  nothing,  and 
he  himself  had  no  apprehension  of  the  sort. 
He  entered  with  intense  zest  into  the  life 


of  Rome,  its  artistic  and  social  delights,  and 
above  all  into  that  religious  life  which  to 
a  fervent  Catholic  is  so  attractive;  but  he 
suspected  no  danger  to  his  chosen  career  in 
these  divine  allurements. 

He  was  welcomed  by  M.  de  le  Tour- 
Maubourg  as  a  member  of  his  family,  and 
all  that  was  most  agreeable  in  Roman  soci- 
ety was  at  once  opened  to  him.  Handsome, 
spirituel^  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  with  a 
charm  that  none  resisted,  he  was  soon  a  uni- 
versal favorite.  He  might  easily  have  drifted 
into  a  life  of  mere  pleasant  worldliness,  had 
he  not  been  protected  from  it,  on  one  side  by 
the  influence  of  that  pure.  Christian  home 
life  which  was  to  be  seen  in  its  highest 
perfection  in  the  family  of  the  French  Am- 
bassador, and  still  more  powerfully  on  the 
other  hand  by  his  staunch  and  ardeiit  piety. 
He  used  the  honest  pleasures  of  society  as 
a  Christian  may  use  them,  but  they  never 
carried  him  away  from  his  duties,  or  in- 
fringed on  the  work  he  had  set  himself  to 
do.  His  duties  at  the  Embassy  demanded 
only  two  hours  a  day,  and  this  left  him  a 
large  margin  for  stud}ing  his  art  in  the 
galleries  and  museums  and  studios. 
(to  be  contintjed.) 


That  Wicked  Paragraph. 


BY  MAURICE  F.  EGAN, 


THEY — that  is  the  critics — say  that  the 
art  of  letter  writing  has  gone  out  of 
fashion,  and  that  the  speed  of  the  mails  and 
the  cheapness  of  postage  have  forever 
blighted  any  hope  of  there  being  another 
Madame  de  S^vignd  in  these  times.  For 
myself,  however,  the  hasty  notes  of  our  day, 
particularly  if  they  suggest  any  kind  of  a 
story,  or  show  the  workings  of  character, 
have  an  inexpressible  charm.  As  I  am  sure 
I  am  not  alone  in  this,  I  am  unselfish  enough 
to  open  a  little  packet  of  notes— enclosing 
a  newspaper  clipping  among  them — which 
came  to  me  from  both  the  writers,  with  the 
consent  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 


The  Ave  Maria. 


written,  of  course.  Of  Mr.  Redmond  O'Con- 
nor and  Miss  Anna  Arthur,  I  have  nothing 
to  say,  except  that  they  were  the  persons 
last  alluded  to. 

II. 

The  paragraph  enclosed  in  one  of  the 
letters  of  the  packet  leads  this  way.  It  is 
printed  in  leaded  bourgeois.  It  was  written 
because  the  editor-in-chief  of  a  metropoli- 
tan daily  journal  suddenly  dashed  into  the 
office  of  one  of  his  staff,  to  say : 

"There's  nothing  going  on.  I've  ex- 
hausted myself  on  the  present  appearance 
of  the  tariff  question ;  but  I  need  a  couple 
of  stickfuls  to  'fill  out.'  Can't  you  think  of 
a  paragraph  or  two  ? ' ' 

The  member  of  the  staff  took  his  cigar 
from  his  mouth,  and  thought  and  grinned. 

"Pitch  into  the  Pope!" 

"That's  played  out,  you  know  very  well," 
answered  the  editor-in-chief,  irritably.  "It 
used  to  be  different.  I  want '  copy. '  Hurry 
up!" 

"Very  well,"  the  member  of  the  staff 
said,  amiably;  "I'll  see  to  it." 

And  the  editor-in-chief  lefc  the  room, 
sighing  with  relief  The  member  of  the  staff 
turned  up  his  gaslight,  picked  up  a  pile  of 
'  *  exchanges, ' '  and  looked  for  prey. 

"Indian  question,"  he  murmured;  "we 
have  had  enough  of  that.  New  novel  by 
James— Judkins  has  too  much  literary  stuff 
in  already.  Lecture  by  Ingersoll  —  don't 
know  whether  the  paper  is  for  or  against 
him  just  now.  Tariff— oh,  bother!  Theat- 
ricals— enough  of  them.  too.  Sermon  in  St. 
Paul's  Roman  Catholic  Church:  unity — 
unchangeable — infallible.  Good  gracious! 
what  awful  claims  that  priest  makes!  It 
would  be  pretty  bad  for  us,  who  are  neither 
hot  noT  cold,  who  neither  believe  nor  dis- 
believe, if  he  should  happen  to  be  right. 
'One  Faith,  one  Lord,  one  Baptism.'  He 
talks  as  if  he  knew — ah,  here's  poetry! 
'Tower  of  David,  Tower  of  Ivory,  House 
of  Gold.'  Well,  it  is  queer  that  a  fellow  in 
the  Protestant  Church  should  be  taught  to 
believe  in  Christ  and  yet  told  to  hold  an  atti- 
tude of  reserve  and  almost  of  dislike  towards 
His  Mother.   It  is  queer — by  George,  I've 


been  dreaming!  It  will  not  do.  I  must  find 
two  stickfuls  of  something.'*'' 

He  turned  over  the  papers,  and  ran  his 
eyes  up  and  down  columns  of  print  with 
the  dexterity  of  long  practice. 

"What's  this?  '  Mr.  James  Vernon's  fail- 
ure in  business  struck  the  community  like 
a  thunder-clap.  The  closing  up  of  his  fac- 
tory will  leave  over  a  hundred  men  without 
the  means  of  subsistence.  His  inability  to 
meet  the  demands  of  his  creditors  is  attrib- 
uted to  careless  management.' " 

The  member  of  the  staff  cut  this  out  of 
the  Evening  Cablegram,  with  speed  and  a 
ne  w  pair  of  scissors.  "Not  remarkable, ' '  he 
said,  "but  it  will  do,  unless  the  chief  brings 
me  a  hint  from  the  telegraphic  reports.  Let 
me  see.  Roumania  —  bother  Roumania! 
Bismarck — well,  he  ought  to  die!  French 
Republic,  M.  Ferry — always  talking  about 
'revenge'  on  Germany,  and  taking  it  out 
of  the  priests,  who  can't  fight.  That's  an 
idea;  but  the  chief  wouldn't  like  me  to  put 
that  in;  too  ultramontane;  some  light  sneer 
at  something  else  would  be  better.  But — 
confound  it! — I  can't  find  anything  to  sneer 
at  to-night." 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  he 
lighted  his  cigar  again  and  wro!:e  the  par- 
agraph. 

"Another  disastrous  failure  is  announced. 
It  is  alleged  that  James  Vernor,  the  only 
survivor  of  the  solid  old  firm  of  Vernon  & 
Vernon,  has  allowed  'carelessness'  to  force 
him  to  close  the  factory  of  the  firm.  '  Care- 
lessness' is  a  very  light  and  frivolous  way 
of  putting  a  phase  of  our  life  which  ought 
to  be  called  criminal ;  for  it  is  criminal  to 
reduce  working-men  to  despair  by  taking 
the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  their  wives 
and  children.  If  Mr.  Veinon  chose  to  rob 
his  rich  creditors,  we  have  nothing  to  say 
against  it.  That  is  the  affair  of  the  law,  and 
the  rich  can  easily  secure  the  law's  assist- 
ance. But  what  of  the  poor?  They  may  die 
in  dumb  despair  in  their  close,  unhealthy 
rooms, — die,  yes,  my  lords  and  gentlemen, 
with  James  Vernon's  carelessness  written 
on  their  hearts — their  withered  and  pulse- 
less hearts.  '  Carelessness '  like  this  brought 


lO 


Tlie  Ave  iMariu. 


on  the  French  Revolu  ion.  Public  opinion 
should  frown  down — 

''No,  not  'frown    down.'     That's   too 
weak,"  said  the  member  of  the  staff,  draw 
ing  his  pencil  through  the  phrase, — 

"Should  scoriate  these  'careless'  indi- 
viduals— oppressors  of  the  poor, —  until  they 
should  be  forced  out  of  the  piecincts  of 
every  decent  community." 

"A  sweet  thing! "  he  said,  meditatively. 
"The  chief  will  like  that.  Judkins'  aristo- 
cratic notions  have  lately  made  some  of  the 
people  think  we  were  going  over  to  the 
bloated  bond-holders.  I  know  that  he  has 
a  long  'stor\  '  on  the  first  page  about  the 
swells  that  have  taken  boxes  for  the  Italian 
opera.  This  will  even  up  things  a  bit." 

He  pushed  the  "  copy  "  into  the  tube  that 
led  to  the  printing  department,  and,  hum- 
niing  a  tune,  took  up  several  letters  which 
he  had  not  yet  had  time  to  read.  Then  he 
yawned— for  it  was  after  midnight, — took 
up  his  pen  and  answered  them. 

III. 

"Dear  Red:— When  I  looked  at  the 
signature  of  your  letter — which  I  always 
do,— and  saw  the  old  scrawl,  *  Redmond 
O'Connor,'  it  gave  me  new  energy ;  for  I  was 
almost  fagged  out  by  a  night's  work.  You 
ask  me  whether  anything  has  happened 
to  me.  Nothing  much.  The  most  interest- 
ing event  was  the  receiving  of  your  letter, 
and  another  one  to-night  after  I  h"d  finished 
my  work  on  the  paper.  It  was  a  little  note 
containing  one  of  those  silver  medals  you 
Catholics  are  so  fond  of, — a  representation 
of  the  Virgin  (after  all.  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  hesitate  to  call  Her  blessed,  since  the 
Scripture  does  so)  with  outstretched  arms. 

"The  note  was  made  up  of  a  few  words. 
It  had  no  signature,  but  I  recognized  the 
delicate  handwriting — not  at  all  like  the 
big,  sprawling  English  .'■tvle  that  ladies  of 
fashion  have  adopted — as  that  of  one  of 
the  most  interesting  young  gentlewomen  I 
have  ever  seen.  She  only  said  'Thank  you,' 
and  I  shall  never  see  her  again,  but  I  will 
never  forget  her.  You  think  all  this  is  very 
romantic  coming  from  a  material istic  and 
utilitarian  fellow  like  me,  don't  you? 


"The  other  day  the  chief  asked  me  to 
go  up  to  the  Brevoort  House,  to  do  an  '  in- 
terview,' which  I  hate.  But  in  journalism 
one  has  to  do  what  one  i.s  expected  to  do, 
so  of  course  I  went  It  was  hard  work;  for 
whenever  the  dignitary  said  anything  par- 
ticularly interesting,  he  always  paused  and 
said  that  he  told  it  to  me  as  a  gentleman 
and  not  as  a  reporter.  This  was  very  un- 
pleasant, and  I  went  awa)  in  a  gloomy  state 
of  mind.  I  was  trying  to  disentangle  the 
parts  of  his  talk  that  were  for  the  public 
from  those  that  were  not,  and  feeling  that 
his  views  on  the  tariff  were  about  as  in- 
comprehensible as  possible,  when  I  heard 
a  little  scream.  I  looked  up.  There  was  an 
elderly  man,  looking  pale  and  helpless,  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  in  a  regular  tangle 
of  drays,  wagons,  and  street-cars.  The  po- 
liceman was  looking  after  a  group  of  ladies 
who  were  just  crossing,  and  the  old  man 
seemed  utterly  bewildered  by  the  shouts  of 
the  drivers  and  the  turmoil  around.  You 
know.  Red.  that,  as  a  New  Yorker,  I  know 
my  Broadway.  It  is  like  the  proverbial 
nettle:  you  must  attack  it  boldly  if  you 
want  to  come  out  unscathed. 

"The  old  man's  foot  slipped  in  the  slimy 
mud;  he  went  down  almost  under  the  fore- 
feet of  a  huge  dray  horse.  But  I  had  the 
horse  by  the  bridle  in  an  instant.  I  pulled 
the  old  man  up.  Then  the  policeman  with 
charming  coolness  cleared  a  space,  and  to- 
gether we  dragged  him  to  the  sidewalk. 
The  old  man  thanked  me  gravely,  and 
asked  for  my  card,  which  I  gave  him  in  a 
courteous  impulse.  As  I  did  this  I  noticed 
a  young  woman  by  his  side.  I  saw  her  for 
onlv  a  moment — just  a  glimpse  of  a  face. 
It  was  she  who  had  screamed.  She  took  her 
father's  arm,  and  gave  me  such  a  look  of 
gratitude!  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  a  look  like 
that  makes  a  man  feel  chivalrous!  I  did  not 
make  note  of  the  color  of  her  eyes  but  I 
know  they  were  the  color  I  like, — that  is, 
whatever  color  they  were  I  like, — that  is 
— but  never  mind  sneering  ai  me;  I  am  a 
confirmed  bachelor. 

"  I  shall  never  see  her  again,  and,  besides, 
she  is  a  Catholic;  for  the  old  man  smiled  a 


2%e  Ave  Ma-ria. 


II 


little  and  said :  '  St.  Raphael  sent  this  young 
gentleman.'  And  his  daughter — of  course 
she  is  his  daughter — answered:  'We  must 
thank  them  both. ' 

"She  would  not  marry  a  Protestant,  nor 
would  I  marry  a  Catholic  You  people  are 
right  in  your  objection  to  mixed  marriages. 
I  am  not  a  bigot,  but  I  could  not  endure  a 
wife  who  prayed  to  saints,  and  who  would 
interrupt  a  dinner  party  to  say  the  Angelus, 
and  who  would  amaze  her  Protestant  friends 
by  giving  them  little  pious  pictures.  It 
would  not  do.  There  must  certainly  be  a 
great  discord  in  married  life  when  two  peo- 
ple are  of  diflferent  religious  practices. 

' '  It  was  so  kind  of  the  Unknown  to  send 
me  this  medal!  I  shall  always  wear  it.  I  do 
not  see  why  I  should  not.  I  fancy  you  aie 
sneering  at  my  inconsistency .  I  am  a  Chris 
tian,  although  I  have  never  thought  much 
about  religion.  I  do  not  have  time.  I  fancy 
that  if  I  married  I  should  adopt  my  wife's 
form  of  belief — not  if  she  were  a  Catholic, 
though ;  I  really  could  not  go  that  far.  But 
at  present  there  is  no  chance  of  my  marry- 
ing, as  the  French  poet  says — 

"  '  Si  vous  croyez  que  je  vais  dire 
Qui  j'ose  amier, 
Je  ne  saurai,  pour  un  empire 
Vous  la  nommer.' 

"You  ask  me  if  I  would  not  like  to  go 
back  to  the  law,  and  work  over  Blackstone 
with  you  in  a  musty  old  office  again.  No. 
As  you  say,  a  journalist  has  great  responsi- 
bilities, but  I  bear  them  without  acquir 
ing  those  deep  lines  of  care  which  you  seem 
to  think  ought  to  ftirrow  my  brow.  Per- 
haps if  I  were  a  Catholic,  and  scrupulous 
about  many  things,  I  might  lie  down  under 
the  weight  of  my  fears,  and  hesitate  a  long 
time  before  I  wrote  a  paragraph  or  even  a 
line.  But  my  conscience  is  not  abnormally 
tender,  and  I  write  about  what  comes  in 
my  way  without  troubling  myself  about  it. 
I  suppose  I  do  some  harm  occasionally;  but 
a  man  has  to  'fill  space,'  and  what  is  the 
use  of  bothering? 

' '  You  ask  me  what  the  twentieth  century 
will  bring  forth  if  we  young  men  continue 
to  doubt.  Nothing,  my  dear  boy, — nothing. 


We  shall  all  have  committed  suicide  by  that 
time,  and  your  Church  will  alone  remain  in 
the  ruins,  like  Macaula\'s  New  Zealander. 
Of  course  I'm  a  Christian,  if  I'm  anything; 
but  I  don't  know.  Really,  I  don't  know 
anything.  And  you  can  not  blame  me  from 
your  Papal  height  of  certitude.  I  have  been 
educated  to  believe  only  what  I  see.  I  am 
what  I  have  been  made.  Good-bye;  it  is 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

IV. 

'"The  curse  has  come  upon  me,*  dear 
Red, — the  curse  of  weariness  of  all  things. 
During  the  chief's  vacation  I  took  his  place, 
and  when  he  came  home  he  complimented 
me ;  he  said  he  could  not  have  done  better, 
and  he  sent  me  off  to  this  town  to  recuper- 
ate It  is  a  quiet  spot,  as  all  watering-places 
are  in  April,  I  suspect. 

"Here  I  am  at  Atlantic  City,  with  my 
pipes  and  a  few  books.  I  can  look  at  the 
sea  from  my  window  all  day  long.  But  I 
am  tired  of  it,  as  I  am  of  everything.  Life 
is  not  worth  living.  The  only  other  persons 
in  the  house  are  from  New  York,  too.  They 
are  a  young  girl  and  an  old  man  or  woman, 
I  believe.  But  don't  care.  I  shall  get  back 
to  the  journalistic  harress  as  soon  as  I  can. 

' '  Why  didn'  1 1  write  ?  Because  I  did  noth- 
ing I  could  help  doing.  Now,  do  not  try  to 
convert  me  (although  I  am  under  obligation 
for  the  books  you  sent).  I  never  read  books; 
and  it's  too  ]ate  for  me  to  try  to  go  against 
the  spirit  of  the  age.  I  don't  know;  and  the 
Christians  I  meet  seem  to  have  as  little  rea- 
son for  the  faith  that  is  in  them  as  I  have  for 
going  occasionally  to  the  Episcopal  Church, 
which  is  very  well  served  here  by  a  gentle- 
manly rector.  The  wind  is  howling,  and  you 
should  see  the  sea!  It  tears  along  the  beach 
and  upon  it  with  a  fury  truly  awful.  Just 
think  of  it!  A  thin  pane  of  glass  separates 
me  from  the  cold,  the  pitiless  wind,  and  the 
rush  of  watej:  outside  my  room !  A  thin  pane 
of  glass!  But,  old  fellow,  the  partition  be- 
tween life  and  death  is  thinner." 

V. 
' '  What  an  April !  I  have  been  on  the  out- 
skirts of  this  queei',  straggling  city  a  week. 
The  wind  still  howls.   Every  morning  I  see 


'12 


The  Ave  Maria. 


one  of  the  other  inmates  of  this  cottage  go 
out  early  through  the  howling  storm,  I 
asked  the  landlady  where  she  goes.  She 
said  to  church  I  concluded  that  she  must 
be  a  very  advanced  Ritualist.  'She's  very 
"High  Church,"  I  suppose,'  I  said. 

* ' '  High  ? '  the  landlady  repeated.  '  She' s 
a  Catholic.  I  never  met  anybody  else  who 
would  run  out  in  weather  like  this  just  to  go 
to  church.  But  she  does.  And  I  never  met 
a  kinder  or  a  sweeter  girl.  She  takes  caie 
of  that  father  of  hers  as  if  he  were  a  baby. ' 

'"It's  strange  I  never  met  them.' 

"'People  don't  go  promenading  on  the 
beach  in  a  storm  like  this,'  she  answered; 
'  and  they  take  their  meals  in  their  room. 
•I'd  like  them  better  if  they  were  not  so  par- 
ticular about  having  meat  on  Fridays;  but 
we  all  have  our  weaknesses. ' 

' '  The  day  after  this  I  was  up  earlier  than 
usual.  The  boom  of  the  waves  was  like  the 
sound  of  the  dead  march  of  some  giant 
beaten  out  of  colossal  drums.  The  spray 
spouted  against  the  gray  sky.  I  thought 
that  a  morning  like  this  would  certainly 
keep  my  neighbor  at  home.  It  did  not.  She 
went  out,  closely  wrapped  up,  and  was  soon 
lost  in  the  mist  and  spray.  This  amazes 
me.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  a  woman 
look  on  church-going  as  a  serious  business, 
unconnected  with  new  bonnets  or  new 
frocks. ' ' 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


A  Lady. 


BY  MARGARET  H.   LAWLESS. 


1 T  was  a  good  old  Saxon  name, 
^   When  names  had  soul  beneath  their  sound , 
Before  world's  lore  had  turned  men's  heads, 
Ere  yet  they  knew  the  earth  was  round. 

The  woman  then  who  kept  the  keys 

And  helped  her  maidens  with  each  task, 

And  fed  the  hungry  at  her  door. 

Nor  questioned  any  who  might  ask, 

Was  called  "loaf-giver," — in  their  tongue 
'''^Laf-dienV  was  the  rough  old  name, 


Till  usage,  like  waves  on  a  rock. 

Its  roughness  smoothed,  and  it  became 

'A  lady."  So  the  name  implies 

A  something  beyond  what  we  find 

In  those  who  claim  the  title  now. 
Yet  seem  to  fall  so  far  behind 

The  lady  of  those  ancient  days, 
Who  fed  the  poor  with  open  hands. 

But  she  who  is  a  lady  now 
Must  meet  society's  demands: 

Must  nurse  her  nerves,  but  not  her  child- 
She  leaves  that  to  a  hireling's  care, — 

Must  have  her  daily  change  of  dress. 
Unasked  by  any  daily  prayer; 

Falls  ill  because  some  richer  friend 
Has  jewels  which  her  own  outshine, 

But  never  grieves  because  her  soul 
No  more  resembles  the  divine. 

Your  mission  is  forgotten  quite, 
"Loaf-givers!  "   Ye  are  strangely  few; 
How  it  must  pierce  your  tender  hearts 
To  think  God  is  forgotten  too! 

O  Charity!  thou  warm,  wide  cloak! 

If  only  women  were  agreed 
To  clothe  themselves  in  thy  blest  folds, 

They  would  be  "ladies"  then  indeed. 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  first  thing  of  which  Marion  was 
conscious  when  .she  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room was  that  a  pair  of  bold,  bright  and 
keen  dark  eyes  were  instantly  fastened  on 
her.  The  owner  of  these  eyes  was  a  tall  and 
very  striking-looking  man,  whose  originally 
brunette  skin  was  .^^o  deeply  bronzed  by 
exposure  to  a  tropical  sun  that  he  scarcely 
had  the  appearance  of  a  white  man  at  all, 
but  whose  cleai-cut  features  at  once  recalled 
those  of  old  Mr.  Singleton,  and  whose  whole 
aspect  was  so  unusual  and  so  remarkably 
handsome  that  it  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble for  him  either  to  personate  or  be  mis- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


taken  for  any  one  else.  Marion  recognized 
this  even  while  Mr.  Tom  Singleton  was  in 
the  act  of  stepping  forward  to  take  her  hand, 
and  said  to  herself  that  no  one  who  had  ever 
seen  this  man  once  could  doubt  whether  or 
not  he  was  the  person  he  assumed  to  be. 

"How  do  you  do  this  morning,  Miss 
Lynde?"  said  Mr.  Singleton,  who  tried  to 
conceal  a  certain  awkwardness  under  more 
than  his  usual  geniality  of  manner.  "I  hope 
we  have  not  disturbed  you  too  early,  but  I 
had  your  permission  to  present  my  cousin, 
Mr.  George  Singleton." 

"Not  my  permission  only,  but  my  re- 
quest,' '  observed  Marion,  looking  at  the  tall, 
handsome  stranger,  who  bowed.  "I  am  very 
glad  to  see  Mr.  George  Singleton — at  last. ' ' 

' '  You  are  very  good  to  say  so, ' '  replied 
that  gentleman,  easily.  "I  assure  you  that, 
so  far  from  expecting  you  to  be  glad  to  see 
me,  I  feel  as  apologetic  as  possible  about 
my  existence.  Pray  believe,  Miss  Lynde, 
that  I  mean  to  give  you  as  little  trouble  as 
possible.  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  soon  ar- 
rive at  an  amicable  arrangement." 

"[  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Marion, 
calmly.  ' '  But  you  will  allow  me  to  say  how 
sorry  I  am  that  any  arratDgement  should  be 
necessary, — that  your  father  was  not  aware 
of  your  existence  when  he  made  his  will." 
Mr.  George  Singleton  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  "  I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  my 
father  believed  me  to  be  dead , "  he  answered. 
"At  least  he  had  no  special  reason  for  such 
a  belief  He  had  indeed  not  heard  from  or 
of  me  in  a  long  time,  because  that  was 
thoroughly  settled  when  we  parted.  I  threw 
off  his  control,  and  he  washed  his  hands  of 
me.  But  I  hardl)  thought  he  would  ignore 
me  completely  in  his  will.  No  doubt  he  had 
a  right  to  do  so,  for  I  had  ignored  every  duty 
of  a  son;  but  he  should  have  remembered 
that  he  also  had  something  to  answer  for  in 
our  estrangement.  However,  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  What  I  mean  to  say  is  that 
the  consciousness  of  my  shortcomings  will 
make  me  easy  to  deal  with;  for  I  feel  that 
my  father  was  in  great  measure  justified 
when  he  selected  another  heir." 

This  cool,  careless  frankness  was  so  un- 


expected that  for  a  moment  Marion  could 
only  look  at  the  speaker  with  a  sense  of 
surprise.  He  was  so  totally  unlike  what 
she  had  imagined!  His  bold, bright  glance 
met  hers,  and,  as  if  divining  her  thoughts,, 
he  smiled. 

"Don't  expect  me  to  be  like  other  peo- 
ple, Miss  Lynde,"  he  continued.  "Tom 
here  will  tell  you  that  I  never  was.  Even 
as  a  boy  I  was  always  a  law  unto  myself — 
a  wild  creature  whom  nothing  could  tame 
or  restrain.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  still 
something  of  a  wild  man  that  I  see  no  rea- 
son why  we  should  not  discuss  and  settle 
this  business  between  us  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner. I  have  only  the  most  friendly  senti- 
ments for  you,  being  awaie  that  my  coming 
to  life  is  rather  hard  lines  for  you." 

Marion  could  not  but  respond  to  his 
smile  and  what  seemed  to  be  the  genuine 
though  somewhat  blunt  friendliness  of  his 
manner.  Yet  when  she  spoke  her  tone  was 
slightl)  haughty. 

"Pray  do  not  think  of  me,"  she  said. 
"The  fact  that  your  father  left  his  fortune 
to  me  was  the  greatest  surprise  of  my  life, 
— a  surprise  from  which  I  have  hardly  yet 
recovered.  Naturally,  therefore,  it  will  be 
no  great  hardship  to  give  it  up." 

"But  I  don't  ask  you  to  give  it  up,'* 
replied  the  tall,  dark  man,  hastily.  ' '  There 
is  enough  to  divide,  and  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  a  grasping  fellow.    Ask  Tom  if  I  am.'* 

Mr.  Tom  Singleton  smiled.  "If  so,"  he 
said,  "you  must  have  changed  very  much.'* 

"I  haven't  changed  a  particle.  I  did 
not  give  a  thought  to  my  father's  fortune 
when  I  left  him:  I  was  thinking  only  of 
freedom,  of  escape  from  irksome  control; 
and  I  hardly  gave  it  a  thought  during  the 
years  that  I  have  been  out  yonder,  thor- 
oughly satisfied  with  my  own  mode  of  life. 
I  should  not  be  here  now  but  for  the  fact 
that  a  lawyer — what  is  his  name? — took 
the  trouble  to  write  and  inform  me  that  my 
father  was  dead  and  I  disinherited.  Natu- 
rally one  does  not  like  to  be  ignored  in  that 
way;  so  I  replied,  directing  him  to  contest 
the  will.  But  since  I  have  come,  heard  the 
circumstances  of  the  case,  and — and  seen 


14 


The  Ave  Maria- 


you,  Miss  Ivynde,  I  perceive  no  reason  for 
any  such  contest.  We'll  settle  the  matter 
more  simply,  if  you  say  so. ' ' 

"Seen  you,  Miss  Lynde"!  It  sounded 
simple  enough,  but  the  eyes  of  this  wild 
man,  as  he  called  himself,  emphasized  the 
statement  so  that  Marion  could  not  doubt 
that  her  beauty  might  again  secure  for  her 
an  easy  victory — if  she  cared  for  it.  But  she 
did  not  suffer  this  consciousness  to  appear 
in  her  manner  or  her  voice  as  she  replied : 

"We  can  settle  it  very  simply,  I  think. 
Shall  we  now  put  aside  preliminaries  and 
proceed  to  business?'' 

"  Immediately,  if  you  desire,"  answered 
Mr.  Singleton.  He  bent  forward  slightly, 
pulling  his  long,  dark  moustache  with  a 
muscular,  sunburned  hand,  while  his  brill- 
iant gaze  never  wavered  from  Marion's  face. 
His  cousin  also  looked  at  her,  apprehen- 
sively as  it  seemed,  and  gave  a  nervous 
cough.  She  met  his  eyes  for  an  instant 
and  smiled  gravely,  then  turned  her  glance 
back  to  the  other  man. 

"I  am  very  sure,  Mr.  Singleton,'  she 
said,  "that  yonr  father  must  have  left  his 
fortune  to  me  under  a  wrong  impression  of 
your  death.  If  this  were  not  >o  he  certainly 
left  it  under  a  false  impression  of  my  char- 
acter. To  retain  money  of  which  the  right- 
ful heir  is  living,  is  something  of  which  I 
could  never  be  guilty  if  every  court  of  law 
in  the  land  declared  that  the  will  should 
stand.  Your  father's  fortune,  then,  is  yours, 
and  I  will  immediately  take  steps  to  resign 
all  claim  of  mine  upon  it." 

"But  J  have  not  asked  you  to  resign 
more  than  a  portion  of  it,"  answered  Sin- 
gleton, impetuously.  "It  is  right  enough 
that  you  should  have  half,  since  my  father 
gave  YOU  the  whole." 

"You  are  very  generous,"  she  said,  with 
a  proud  gentleness  of  tone,  "but  it  is  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  keep  the  half  of  your 
fortune.  Your  father  would  never  have  left 
it  to  me  but  for  circumstances  which  need 
not  be  entered  into — he  wished  to  punish 
some  one  else.  But  he  could  never  have 
wished  to  disinherit  his  son.  I  am  certain 
of  that.   He  liked  me,  however — I  think  I 


may  say  as  much  as  that;  he  was  very  kind 
to  me,  and  I  believe  that  even  if  he  had 
known  of  your  existence  he  might  have  re- 
membered me  with  a  legacy;  do  you  not 
think  so?"  She  turned,  as  she  uttered  the 
last  words,  to  Mr.  Tom  Single :on. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  that  gentle- 
man. 

"Believing  this,  I  am  willing  to  take 
what  he  would  have  been  likely  to  give.  It 
is  rather  difficult,  of  course,  to  conjecture 
what  the  exact  amount  would  have  been, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  would  probably 
have  left  me  about  ten  thousand  dollars." 

Both  men  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation. 
"Absurd!  You  must  certainly  take  more 
than  that,"  said  George  Singleton. 

"Remember  that  you  are  giving  up  half 
a  million,'    remarked  his  cousin. 

But  Marion  shook  her  head.  "It  is  with 
extieme  reluctance,"  she  said,  "that  I 
have  decided  to  take  anything.  Mr.  Single- 
ton is  aware  that  my  intent'on  yesterday 
was  to  keep  nothing;  but  I  have  been  ad- 
vised io  the  contrar)'  by  one  whoj-e  opinion 
I  respect.  ai:d  so  I  have  determined  to  take 
what  I  th'uk  your  father,  under  ordinary 
circumstances,  might  have  given  one  with 
no  claim  upon  him,  but  in  whom  he  had 
taken  an  interest" 

"But  why  should  you  fix  upon  such  a 
paltry  sum?"  demanded  George  Singleton. 
"There  was  nothing  niggardly  about  my 
father.  He  was  cold  and  hard  as  an  icicle, 
but  he  always  give  like  a  prince." 

"That  would  h-ive  been  a  very  generous 
bequest  to  one  who  had  touched  his  life  as 
slightly  as  I  had,"  said  Marion,  "and  who 
had  no  claim  upon  him  wha'ever — '" 

"He  calls  you  his  adopted  daughter  in 
his  will." 

"  He  was  very  good  to  me,"  she  replied, 
simply,  while  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "Bijt 
I  think  he  only  said  that  to  make  such  a 
disposition  of  his  fortune  seem  more  rea- 
sonable. Your  cousin  here  has  perhaps  told 
you,  or  at  least  he  can  tell  you,  all  the 
circumstances — how  your  father  was  disap- 
pointed in  some  one  else  on  whom  he  had 
set  his  heart." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


15 


"Brian  Earle,"  said  George  Sin^letoa, 
carelessly.    ' '  Yes,  I  know. ' ' 

''Well,  he  thought  that  I  had  been  disap- 
pointed too,  and  so — partly  from  a  generous 
impulse  to  atone  for  the  disappointment, 
and  partly  from  a  desire  to  punish  one  who 
had  greatly  angered  him — he  made  me  his 
heir.  But  it  was  all  an  accident,  a  caprice, 
if  I  may  say  so;  and  if  he  had  lived  longer 
he  would  have  undone  it, no  doubt." 

''You  did  not  know  my  father  if  you 
think  so,"  said  the  son,  quietly.  "He  had 
caprices  perhaps,  but  they  hardened  into  res- 
olutions that  never  changed.  Who  should 
know  that  better  than  I?  No,  no,  Miss 
Lynde,  this  will  never  do!  I  can  not  take  a 
fortune  from  your  hands  without  litigation 
or  any  difficulty  whatever,  and  leave  you 
only  a  paltry  ten  thousand  dollars.  It  is 
simply  impossible." 

"It  is  altogether  impossible  that  I  can 
retain  any  more,''  answered  Marion.  "As 
I  have  already  said,  I  would  prefer  to  retain 
none  at  all ;  and  if  I  consent  to  keep  any- 
thing, it  can  only  be  such  a  moderate  legacy 
as  might  have  been  left  me." 

"As  would  never  have  been  left  you!  My 
father  was  not  a  man  to  do  things  in  that 
manner.    What  was  your  legacy,  Tom?" 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  replied  Mr. 
Tom  Singleton. 

"Something  like  that  I  might  agree  to. 
Miss  Lynde,  if  you  will  insist  on  the  legacy 
view  of  the  matter;  but  I  should  much  pre- 
fer to  simply  divide  the  fortune." 

"You  are  certainly  your  father's  son  in 
generosity,  Mr.  Singleton,"  said  Marion. 
"But  believe  me  you  are  wasting  words. 
My  resolution  is  finally  taken.  I  shall  make 
over  your  fortune  to  you,  retaining  only  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  myself.  That  is  set- 
tled." 

It  was  natural,  however,  that  neither  of 
the  two  men  would  accept  this  settlement 
of  the  case.  Both  declared  that  it  was  man- 
ifestly unjust,  and  each  exhausted  his  pow- 
ers of  argument  and  persuasion  in  trying 
to  move  Marion.  It  was  a  singular  battle — 
a  singular  turn  in  an  altogether  singular 
aflfair, — and  when  at  last  they  were  forced 


to  go  without  having  altered  her  resolution, 
they  looked  at  each  other  with  a  sense  of 
baffled  defeat,  which  presently  made  George 
Singleton  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "this  is  a  reversal 
of  the  usual  order  of  things.  To  think  of 
a  disinherited  man,  instead  of  having  to 
fight  for  his  rights,  being  forced  to  beg  and 
pray  that  his  supplanter  will  keep  a  fair 
share  of  the  inheritance !  What  makes  the 
girl  so  obstinate?  Has  she  money  besides?*' 

"I  don't  believe  that  she  has  a  sixpence," 
replied  his  cousin. 

"Then  what  on  earth,  in  the  name  of 
all  that  is  wonderful,  is  the  meaning  of  it? 
She  does  not  look  like  a  fool." 

Mr.  Singleton  laughed.  "Miss  Lynde," 
he  said,  "is  about  as  far  from  being  a  fool 
as  it  is  possible  to  imagine.  We  all  thought 
her  at  first  very  shrewd  and  scheming,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  might  have 
wound  your  father  round  her  finger  without 
any  trouble  at  all.  She  is  just  the  kind  of 
person  he  liked  best:  beautiful,  clever—^*? 
never  fancied  fools,  you  know, — and  she 
charmed  him, without  any  apparent  effort, 
from  the  first.  But  if  she  schemed  for  any 
share  of  his  fortune  it  was  in  a  very  subtle 
way — " 

"In  the  light  of  her  conduct  now,  I  don't 
see  how  it  is  possible  to  believe  that  she 
ever  schemed  at  all,"  irrterposed  the  other. 

' '  I  don' t  bel  ieve  it.' '  said  Tom  Singleton ; 
"although  the  fact  remains  that,  in  choos- 
ing between  Brian  and  his  uncle,  she  stocd 
by  the  latter." 

"There  might  have  been  other  than 
mercenary  considerations  for  that.  I  can't 
itnagire  that  this  splendid  creature  ever 
cared  about  marrying  Brian." 

Mr.  Singleton  did  not  commit  himself  to 
an  opinion  on  that  point.  He  said,  diplo- 
matically :  "  It  is  hard  to  tell  what  a  woman 
does  care  to  do  in  such  a  ca?e,  and  Miss 
Lynde  bv  no  means  wears  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve.  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  the  mat- 
ter was  that  Brian  obstinately  went  away, 
and  that  your  father  made  this  girl  his  heir 
— for  the  very  reasons  she  has  given,  I  have 
no  doubt.  Sie  was  most  genuinely  aston- 


i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ished  when  I  told  her  the  news,  and  my 
belief  that  she  had  ever  schemed  for  such 
a  result  was  shaken  then.  But  from  some- 
thing she  said  to  me  yesterday  I  think  she 
is  afraid  that  such  a  belief  lingers  in  peo- 
ple's minds,  and  she  is  determined  to  dis- 
prove it  as  completely  as  possible.  Hence 
her  quixotic  conduct.  I  can  explain  it  in 
no  other  way. ' ' 

"She  is  a  queer  girl,"  observed  George 
Singleton,  meditatively ;  ' '  and  so  handsome 
that  I  don't  wonder  she  knocked  over  my 
father — who  was  always  a  worshipper  of 
beauty, — and  even  that  solemn  prig,  Mr. 
Brian  Barle,  without  loss  of  time." 

"She  knocked  over  another  man  here  in 
Scarborough,  who  has  a  hand  in  her  affairs 
at"  present,"  said  Mr.  Singleton,  signifi- 
cantly. "Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  wonder 
why  that  fellow  Rathbome  should  have 
interested  himself  to  look  you  up  and  notify 
you  of  >our  lost  inheritance?" 

"Why  should  I  wonder  over  anything 
so  simple?    Self  interest  prompted  him,  of 
course.  If  there  had  been  a  contest  over  the 
will,  he  might  have  pocketed  a  considera 
ble  slice  of  the  fortune." 

'Well,  I  suppose  that  influenced  him; 
but  his  chief  reason  was  a  desire  to  do  Miss 
Lynde  an  ill  turn,  and  so  revenge  himself 
for  her  having  trifled  with  his  feelings." 

"You  are  sure  of  this?"  asked  George 
Singleton,  with  a  quick  look  out  of  his 
flashine:  dark  eyes. 

"Perfectly  sure.  Everyone  in  Scarbor- 
ough knows  the  circumstances.  He  consid- 
ered himself  very  badly  used,  I  believe — 
chiefly  because  he  was  engaged  to  Miss 
Lynde' s  cousin;  and  the  latter,  who  is  some- 
thing of  an  heiress,  broke  the  engagement. 
He  fell  between  two  stools,  and  has  never 
forgiven  her  who  was  the  cause  of  the  fall." 

"The  wretched  cad!"  said  George  Sin- 
gleton, emphatically.  '  'As  if  anything  that 
a  woman  could  do  to  a  man  would  justify 
him  in  such  cowardly  retaliation!  I  am 
glad  you  told  me  this.  I  will  end  my  asso- 
ciation with  him  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  let 
him  know  at  the  same  time  my  opinion  of 
him — and  of  Miss  Lynde. "     • 


"  Do  be  cautious,  George.  I  shall  be  sorry 
I  told  you  the  story  if  you  go  out  of  your 
way  to  insult  the  man  in  consequence.  No 
doubt  he  was  badly  used." 

The  other  laughed  scornfully.  "As  if 
that  would  excuse  him!  But  I  don't  believe 
a  word  of  it.  That  girl  is  too  proud  ever  to 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  use  him  badly. 
But  a  man  might  lose  his  head  just  by  look- 
ing at  her.  What  a  beauty  she  is!" 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


The  Miracle  of  Avignon. 


AMONG  other  errors  of  the  Albigenses, 
that  blasphemous  sect  rejected  the 
dogma  of  the  Real  Presence  of  Our  Saviour 
in  the  Holy  Eucharist,  and  profaned  every- 
where, by  a  thousand  abominations,  that 
august  Sacrament.  Louis  VHI.,  King  of 
France,  having  won  a  brilliant  victory  over 
these  heretics,  was  piously  inspired  to  insti- 
tute a  public  reparation  for  the  outrages 
committed  against  our  divine  Lord.  The 
14th  of  September  of  the  year  1226,  which 
was  also  destined  to  be  the  last  year  of  that 
monarch's  life,  was  the  day  chosen  for  ihe 
accomplishment  of  the  solemn  act. 

The  King  was  returning  to  his  capital, 
and  to  his  dearly  loved  family  (whom  he 
was  dest  ned  never  to  see),  and  the  citizens 
of  Avignon,  where  he  halted,  looked  on  with 
admiration  at  a  touching  spectacle.  The 
Bishop,  Peter  of  Corbie,  carried  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  to  a  chapel  built  in  honor  of  the 
Cross,  without  the  walls  of  the  town,  and  the 
King  took  part  in  the  procession,  clothed  in 
a  clay-colored  sack,  girdled  with  a  cord, 
bareheaded,  holding  a  torch  in  his  hand,  and 
accompanied  by  the  Cardinal  Legate,  fol- 
lowed by  all  his  court,  and  by  an  immense 
crowd  of  people  The  Most  Holy  Sacrament 
was  deposited  in  the  chapel,  and  while  the 
King  remained  in  Avignon  he  went  every 
day  to  pay  homage  to  His  divine  Majesty. 
So  illustrious  an  example  was  imitated,  and 
this  procession  gave  rise  to  the  founding  of 
a  devout  band  known  by  the  name  of  the 
"Gray  Penitents,"  because   the  members 


The  Ave  Maria. 


17 


adopted  then,  and  have  preserved  to  this 
day,  as  their  habit  a  clay- colored  sack,  like 
the  one  worn  by  Louis  VIII.  during  the 
ceremony  of  reparation. 

The  Blessed  Sacrament  remained  ex- 
posed, but  veiled,  according  to  the  usual 
custom  of  that  century,  in  the  Chapel  of  the 
Cross.  The  crowd  was  so  great  on  the  day 
of  Its  transportation  that  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  leave  It  exposed  during  the 
night  also.  There  was  no  limit,  apparently, 
to  the  devotion;  the  chapel  was  thronged 
with  worshippers  every  hour,  and  was  thus 
permitted  to  enjoy  the  very  special  and 
almost  unique  privilege  of  the  perpetual 
adoration  of  the  Most  Holy  Sacrament. 
This  pious  practice  was  still  in  full  vigor 
in  the  church  of  the  Gray  Penitents  more 
than  two  centuries  after  its  institution,  when 
God  ordained  to  render  this  sanctuary, 
already  so  favored,  more  celebrated  still 
throughout  the  whole  Christian  world  by 
renewing,  after  a  fashion,  the  miracles  of 
the  Red  Sea  and  the  crossing  of  the  Jordan. 

The  topographical  position  of  Avignon 
is  well  known.  Built  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone,  which  bathes  its  embattled  walls  on 
the  west,  this  town  has  its  territory  watered 
by  the  Durance  and  a  branch  of  the  stream 
of  Vaucluse.  These  signal  advantages  are 
not  without  inconveniences,  and  more  than 
once  the  Papal  city  has  had  to  suffer  great 
danger  from  inundations.  In  1433  the  con- 
tinual rains  caused  the  Rhone,  the  Durance, 
and  the  Sorgue  to  overflow.  Soon  all  the 
lower  parts  of  the  town  were  inundated. 
On  the  27th  of  November  the  water  began 
to  enter  the  chapel  of  the  Gray  Penitents, 
which  was  situated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sorgue,  near  the  convent  of  the  Friars 
Minor ;  and  the  waters  rose  so  much  during 
the  night  that  it  was  feared  they  would 
soon  reach  the  stone  niche  in  which  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  was  exposed. 

To  guard  against  such  an  accident,  the 
priests  resolved  to  proceed  at  once  to  the 
chapel,  and  remove  the  Sacred  Host.  They 
approached  in  a  boat,  and  saw  with  inex- 
pressible amazement  that  the  waters  had 
risen  to  right  and  left  along  the  walls  to  the 


height  of  at  least  four  feet,  and,  dividing, 
had  left  a  dry  passage  leading  to  the  altar. 
The  prodigy  appeared  still  more  stupendous 
when  it  was  perceived  that  the  sanctuary, 
which  was  on  a  level  with  the  chapel,  was 
also  dry,  and  that  the  waters  sloped  gradu- 
ally down  the  whole  length  of  the  walls, 
to'  the  pathway,  which  they  left  bare,  thus 
forming  a  bank,  or,  as  the  ancient  historian 
says,  a  sort  of  roof.  The  two  priests  having 
satisfied  their  devotion,  and  adored  the 
Author  of  this  marvel,  hastened  to  impart 
the  news  to  their  brethren.  The  following 
is  a  translation  of  a  portion  of  the  ancient 
official  report: 

' '  The  miracle  in  that  holy  chapel  was  as 
great  as  the  waters  in  1433  They  rose  high 
on  Monday  morning,  the  29th  of  November; 
they  penetrated  into  the  chapel  toward  the 
upper  part  of  the  altar,  under  which  were 
many  books  of  paper  and  parchment,  the 
vestments  and  linen,  and  all  the  reliquaries, 
— all  of  which,  by  the  providence  of  God, 
were  not  in  the  least  wet,  notwithstanding 
that  that  day,which  was  Tuesday,  the  waters 
ceased  not  to  rise ;  and  the  next  day,  which 
was  Wednesday,  they  began  to  subside, 
until  Thursday  morning  they  were  all  gone 
at  the  hour  of  Prime,  at  which  time  many 
people  came. 

' '  Mr.  Armand  and  Mr.  Jean  de  Pousilliac 
discovered  this  grand  sight.  On  the  dexter 
and  sinister  walls  rose  the  water  to  about 
four  feet;  it  was  two  feet  higher  near  the 
wall  than  it  was  at  the  seats,  and  from  there 
it  sloped  gradually,  like  a  roof.  Half  of  each 
seat  was  full  of  water,  and  the  other  part  was 
not  wet;  and  in  the  middle  of  the  chapel 
there  was  no  water  at  all,  and  all  was  per- 
fectly dry,  as  also  the  whole  space  near  the 
altar,  by  a  miracle  of  Jesus  Christ,  The 
plush  covering  of  the  seats  of  the  masters 
was  not  wet.  The  rest — and  there  were 
twelve  of  us  at  the  least — all  saw  this  mira- 
cle; and,  to  be  more  sure,  we  went  in  search 
of  four  Friars  Minor,  of  whom  three  were 
doctors  in  theology,  and  the  other  a  bache- 
lor of  the  same;  and  they  found  half  the 
seats  wet  and  the  other  half  dry.  And  with 
knives  we  cut  into  the  seats,  and  found 


iS 


The  Ave  Maria, 


them  dry  within;  as  also  a  little  farther, 
where  you  know,  by  the  permission  of  the 
Pope,  we  keep  Corpus  Domini^  of  which 
we  are  not  worthy." 

By  the  ist  of  December,  the  water  having 
left  the  chapel,  the  people  came  in  crowds, 
and  all  witnessed  the  fact  that  the  books, 
papers,  linen,  and  everything  that  was  be- 
neath the  altar,  had  not  been  wet,  and  that 
half  of  the  seats  had  been  left  entirely  dry. 

So  striking  a  miracle  increased  the  de- 
votion of  the  faithful  and  the  zeal  of  the 
Confraternity.  To  perpetuate  the  memory 
of  it,  the  Penitents  decided  that  a  special 
festival  should  be  held  in  the  chapel  on  the 
anniversary.  It  is  celebrated  on  St.  Andrew's 
Day,  November  30,  when  all  the  members 
of  the  Confraternity  leave  their  shoes  in  the 
outer  chapel,  and  go  from  there  to  the  altar 
on  their  knees  to  receive  Holy  Communion. 
After  Vespers  there  is  a  sermon  on  the 
wonderful  event  of  1433. 

The  privilege  of  perpetual  exposition 
which  this  chapel  enjoyed  was  interrupted 
only  by  the  revolution  of  1793.  The  Chapel 
of  the  Cross  underwent  the  fate  at  that 
time  of  all  things  consecrated  to  the  use  of 
religion.  Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  the  rev- 
olution the  chapel  was  bought  by  a  worthy 
family,  who  presented  it  to  the  Confrater- 
nity of  Gray  Penitents  at  the  time  of  the 
restoration  of  the  Faith.  I^ater  Mgr.  Maurel 
de  Mons,  Archbishop  of  Avignon,  re-insti- 
tuted the  privilege  of  exposition  of  the  Most 
Holy  Sacrament,  and  from  then  until  now 
the  adoration  continues  with  piety  and  edi- 
fication. 

•  »  « 

Indian  Policies.--An  Appeal  for  Prayers. 


THERE  are  now  three  Indian  policies 
before  the  country:  (i.)The  policy  of 
extermination,  based  upon  the  savage  creed 
so  truly  expressed  in  the  words  of  a  promi- 
nent General,  "The  only  good  Indian  is 
the  dead  Indian  " ;  (2.)  The  policy  of  imme- 
diate and  forcible  absorption  of  the  Indians 
by  the  body  politic,  based  upon  the  barbar- 
ous creed  put  into  aphoristic  form  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott,  "Barbarism  has 


no  rights  which  civilization  is  bound  to 
respect," — which  creed  is  the  basis  of  the 
Dawes  laud-in -severalty  bill;  (3.)  The  just 
and  truly  Christiav)  policy  of  keeping  faith 
with  the  Indians,  by  respecting  their  rights 
under  the  treaties  already  made  with  them, 
and  protecting  them  in  the  possession  of 
the  small  remnants  they  still  hold  of  the  vast 
domain  once  owned  by  them.  This  policy 
is  embodied  in  the  platform  and  constitu- 
tion of  the  National  Indian  Defence  Asso- 
ciation. 

All  who  desire  to  see  the  Indians  treated 
justly,  and  who  feel  an  interest  in  the  wel- 
fare of  the  missions  established  among 
them,  will  give  their  cordial  sympathy  and 
support  to  the  appeal  of  the  National  Indian 
Defence  Association  against  the  Dawes 
land- in-several ty  bill  passed  by  the  late 
Congress,  the  enforcement  of  which  would 
almost  inevitably  result  in  paupeiizing  and 
demoralizing  the  mass  of  the  Indians.  It  is 
proposed  to  test  its  constitutionality  before 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States, 
and  our  readers  are  asked  to  offer  special 
prayers  that  this  iniquitous  law  ma}  be  set 
aside.  The  following  letter,  in  which  the 
appeal  is  made,  has  been  addressed  to  us  by 
a  prominent  Catholic  layman  in  the  East: 

Rev. Editor  "Ave  Maria": — I  was  glad 
to  see  your  notice  of  the  Dawes  Indian  sev- 
eralty law.  I  have  for  a  long  time  taken  a  deep 
interest  in  those  unfortunate  wards  of  the 
nation,  the  aborigines  of  the  West.  After  a 
careful  investigation  of  the  subject,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  there  is  too  much  reason  to  fear 
that  the  Dawes  bill  was  engined  through  the 
late  Congress  by  a  powerful  railroad  syndi- 
cate altogether  in  the  interests  of  the  whites, 
and,  if  carried  out,  that  it  will  prove  the  de- 
struction of  the  poor  Indians.  The  object  of 
the  law  is  to  place  the  Indians  on  farms  in  sev- 
eralty of  40,  80,  or  160  acres,  as  the  case  may; 
be;  survey  the  reservations,  and  sell  the  rest  of 
the  land  to  white  settlers.  This,  it  is  claimed,  is 
an  arbitrary  measure,  ignoring  treaty  rights, 
and  going  back  on  all  the  traditions  of  the 
Government.  It  is  also  believed  that  to  place 
the  Indians  on  farms,  and  make  them  citizens 
before  they  are  prepared  for  it,  will  be  the 
surest  way  to  exterminate  them. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


19 


We  as  Catholics  are  particularly  interested 
in  this  subject,  because  the  law,  if  carried  out 
in  its  present  form,  will  prove  the  destruction 
of  our  missions,  which  have  cost  so  much,  and 
which  have  thus  far  proved  so  successful  as 
to  attract  the  attention  and  commendation  of 
distinguished  Protestants.  There  is  a  most  de- 
plorable apathy  prevalent  even  among  Cath- 
olics on  this  subject,  and  there  is  great  danger 
that,  unless  public  sentiment  is  aroused  to  the 
evils  which  threaten  not  only  our  missions  but 
the  ver)-  existence  of  the  red  men  of  the  forest, 
the  law  will  go  into  immediate  operation. 
There  is  just  one  slight  ground  of  hope,  and 
that  is  that  an  appeal  will  be  made  to  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  that  the  law  will  be  pro- 
nounced unconstitutional.  My  object  in  di- 
recting attention  to  the  matter  through  your 
columns  is  to  call  upon  all  good  Catholics,  and 
especially  the  religious  of  every  order,  to  pray 
for  the  success  of  the  appeal,  and  that  the 
threatened  evils  may  be  warded  oflf. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Those  who  have  travelled  in  England  are 
probably  familiar  with  the  name  of  Willesden, 
a  pretty  suburb  at  the  northwestern  extremity 
of  I^ondon,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
localities  on  the  outskirts  of  that  city.  At  the 
present  day  it  is  chiefly  known  as  a  great 
railroad  junction,  but  in  former  times  it  was 
the  favorite  resort  of  pious  pilgrims.  A  church 
is  still  standing,  in  which,  before  the  Refor- 
mation, was  a  statue  of  Our  lyady  famed  for 
many  graces  and  miracles:  this  church,  though 
now  in  Protestant  hands,  still  bears  the  title 
of  St.  Mary's  of  Willesden.  I^ast  year  a  small 
Catholic  mission  was  opened  at  Willesden, 
the  first  Mass  being  said  by  the  Rev.  Ber- 
nard Ward,  son  of  the  famous  Dr.  Ward.  The 
mission  was  placed  in  the  charge  of  Father 
Ward,  and  the  old  name  of  Our  I,ady  of  Wil- 
lesden was  revived.  Since  that  time  the  mis- 
sion has  been  rapidly  increasing,  and  a  small 
community  of  nuns  of  the  Order  of  Jesus 
and  Mary  have  located  themselves  there.  The 
special  objects  of  the  religious  are  twofold:  ist, 
to  revive  the  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
under  the  title  of  Our  I,ady  of  Willesden; 
and  2d,  to  provide  facilities  for  Christian  edu- 
cation. The  community  is  poor — poorer  than 
most  communities, — and  they  make  a  touch- 


ing appeal  for  funds  to  enable  them  to  carry 
on  their  work,  which  is  commended  by  Cardi- 
nal Manning  to  the  charity  and  generosity  of 
all  who  may  be  able  and  willing  to  help  them. 
It  is  a  striking  fact  that  there  has  been  found 
in  an  old  chronicle  an  account  of  a  revelation 
to  a  certain  Dr.  Crookham,  who  lived  shortly 
after  the  Reformation,  to  the  effect  that  the 
Blessed  Virgin  had  said,  "  I  will  still  be  hon- 
ored at  Ipswich  and  at  Willesden."  The  date 
of  this  revelation  is  some  years  after  the  public 
burning  of  the  venerated  images  of  Our  I^ady 
at  both  these  places  of  pilgrimage. 


The  Lazarist  Fathers  are  gathering  testi- 
mony and  examining  witnesses  on  the  life  of 
Mademoiselle  le  Gras,  with  a  view  to  her  can- 
onization. She  was  the  foundress,  with  Sr.  Vin- 
cent de  Paul,  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity. 

A  well-known  jeweller  of  I^yons  has  just 
finished  a  magnificent  reliquary  of  monu- 
mental proportions,  destined  to  hold  the  heart 
of  St. L,ouis,  which  is  to  be  placed  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  St.  Louis  in  Carthage.  It  is  an  exact 
copy  of  the  shrine  ordered  by  the  saintly  King 
to  receive  the  relic  of  the  Crown  of  Thorns. 


The  following  resolution  was  passed  by  the 
Catholic  Knights  of  America  at  their  recent 
convention  in  Chicago: 

"Whereas  our  Holy  Father,  Leo  XIII.,  will  cel- 
ebrate the  Golden  Jubilee  of  his  priesthood  this 
year;  and  whereas  he  has  always  entertained  and 
encouraged  a  most  particular  devotion  to  the  Im- 
maculate Mother  of  God.  and  has  ever  manifested 
a  cordial  spirit  of  good-will  towards  all  approved 
Catholic  associations;  and  whereas  it  is  meet, 
just,  and  proper  that  the  Catholic  Knights  of 
America  should  give  practical  expression  of  their 
love  and  veneration  for  the  Supreme  Head  of  the 
Church,  therefore  be  it  resolved  by  the  sixth  Su- 
preme Council  of  said  Catholic  Knights  of  Amer- 
ica that  it  recommend  to  the  various  branches  of 
the  order  that  they  shall,  on  the  first  Sunday  of 
October,  1887,  Feast  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  receive 
Holy  Communion  in  a  body  for  the  temporal 
and  spiritual  intentions  of  our  beloved  Supreme 
Pontiff;  and  that  they  shall  on  the  afternoon  or 
evening  of  the  same  day  take  such  appropriate 
action  as  will  demonstrate  their  attachment  and 
filial  devotion  to  his  august  person." 


A  few  months  ago,  when  the  small-pox  made 
its  first  appearance  in  L^os  Angeles,  California, 
three  Sisters  of  Charity  offered  their  services  at 
the  hospital  to  nurse  the  afflicted.  Their  offer 


20 


The  Ave  Mana. 


was  accepted,  and  day  after  day  the  religious 
were  at  their  post,  caring  for  those  who  were 
attacked  by  the  disease.  This  noble  act  of  self- 
sacrifice — though  nothing  more  than  acts  that 
are  performed  by  the  Sisters  of  Charity  every 
day  all  over  the  world  —has  called  forth  an  elo- 
quent tribute  from  the  Board  of  Health  at  Los 
Angeles.  What  bright  examples  these  hero- 
ines of  unselfishness  are!  How  irresistible  a 
proof  of  the  truth  and  vitality  of  the  Catholic 
Faith!  

Among  Queen  Victoria's  Jubilee  gifts  was 
a  Madonna  from  the  brush  of  Signor  Corrodi. 
an  eminent  Italian  artist.  It  represents  one  of 
the  shrines  of  Our  Lady,  built  on  piles  high 
above  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  approached 
by  long  step-ladders.  A  boat  containing  the 
family  of  a  fisherman  is  waiting  at  the  foot 
of  a  ladder,  and  a  girl  is  trimming  the  lamp 
which  is  always  kept  burning  before  the 
statue.  The  painting  was  the  gift  of  the  Prin- 
cess of  Wales.  

We  are  pleased  to  comply  with  the  request 
of  a  subscriber  of  The  "Ave  Maria"  in 
India,  who  asks  us  to  publish  the  following 
item  in  thanksgiving  for  a  remarkable  cure, 
which  he  attributes  to  the  prayers  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Apostleship  and  the  intercession 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin: 

"  India.  Tehri-Garhwal. — I  wrote  and  asked 
the  prayers  of  the  members  of  the  Apostleship  at 
Calcutta  for  a  cure.  A  severe  accident  happened 
to  mv  brother — a  fall  from  a  horse,  followed  by 
fracture  of  the  leg  I  at  the  same  time  promised 
to  write  to  the  Messenger  of  St.  Helen's,  Lanca- 
shire, and  The  'Ave  Maria,'  and  now  return 
heartfelt  thanks  to  the  Sacred  Hearts  of  Our  Di- 
vine Lord  and  His  amiable  Mother,  through  your 
medium.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the 
cure  was  a  miracle:  the  bone  not  having  joined 
for  over  a  month — in  fact,  mortification  had  set  in, 
— there  being  no  physician  in  the  station;  when, 
after  continued  prayers,  it  took  quite  a  favorable 
change,  and  is  now  well." 

Our  Lady  of  Prime- Combe,  Nimes,  France, 
has  been  invoked  for  a  thousand  years  under 
the  title  of  Notre-Dame  de  Bon  Secours,  the 
first  authentic  date  of  this  devotion  being  887. 
In  1238  the  priory  of  Prime-Combe  was  served 
by  the  disciples  of  St.  Benedict.  During  four 
centuries  the  glories  of  the  old  abbey  were 
clouded,  and  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  per- 
sons who  let  it  fall  into  ruin.  Then  St. Francis 


Regis  appeared  in  the  seventeeath  century, 
and  by  his  preaching  aroused  the  faith  of  the 
people.  Fired  by  his  saintlj''  ardor,  a  brave 
soldier,  Gabriel  de  le  Fayole,  after  twenty 
years'  service  with  the  sword,  laid  it  at  the 
foot  of  the  altar,  became  a  hermit  and  restored 
the  ancient  chapel,  to  whose  service  he  devoted 
himself.  The  statue  of  Notre-Dame  de  Bon 
Secours  was  held  in  veneration  far  and  wide; 
numerous  miracles  were  performed  at  its 
shrine,  and  it  passed  unmolested  through  the 
storm  of  the  Revolution.  At  the  close  of 
the  month  of  May  this  statue  was  solemnly 
crowned  by  the  Bishop  of  the  diocese,  assisted 
by  a  number  of  distinguished  prelates  who 
had  come  from  the  surrounding  dioceses  to 
add  to  the  solemnity  of  the  event,  at  which 
as  many  as  fifteen  thousand  pilgrims  were 
present. 

Count  Frederick,  eldest  son  of  Prince  Fran- 
cis de  Waldburg,  has  renounced  the  world 
and  entered  the  Society  of  Jesus.  He  is  twenty- 
five  years  of  age. 

Over  $100,000  have  already  been  collected 
for  the  new  church  of  Our  Lady  to  be  erected 
in  Hanover,  to  commemorate  the  seventy-fifth 
birthday  of  Dr.  Windthorst,  the  famous  Centre 
leader. 

Prof.  Seelye,  of  the  Congregational  College 
of  Amherst,  and  Dr.  Hodge  of  the  Presby- 
terian College  at  Princeton,  have  gone  as  far 
as  any  Catholic  in  describing  and  denounc- 
ing the  irreligious  tendencies  of  the  public 
schools,  from  which  religious  instruction  is 
necessarily  excluded.  In  the  last  paper  written 
by  him  before  his  death,  Dr.  Hodge  expressly 
commended  the  Roman  Catholics  for  having 
maintained  a  sounder  position  on  that  subject 
than  Protestants,  and  rendered  thanks  to  God 
' '  that  He  has  preserved  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  in  America  to-day  true  to  that  theory 
of  education  upon  which  our  fathers  founded 
the  public  schools  of  the  nation,  and  fram 
which  they  have  been  so  madly  perverted." 
—N.  Y.  Sun.  

In  France  the  different  diocesan  offerings  for 
the  Papal  Jubilee  are  very  handsome.  Paris 
is  to  send  a  tiara,  which  is  to  be  the  work  of 
Froment-Meurice,  the  celebrated  artistic  jew- 
eller. Chalons  offers  a  bronze  statue  represent- 
ing St.  Alpinus  arresting  Attila  at  its  gates. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


21 


Bayeux  gives  a  surplice  trimmed  with  costly 
lace.  The  Bishop  of  Clermont  proposes  to  his 
flock  to  send  vestments,  sacred  vessels,  etc., 
for  poor  churches  and  foreign  missions;  but  to 
add  as  a  personal  gift  to  His  Holiness  a  set  of 
vestments  for  his  daily  Mass,  "said  by  the 
Pope  in  that  small  oratory  where  we  have  the 
happiness  on  each  visit  to  Rome  to  receive  his 
blessing. ' ' 


New  Publications. 


Once  upon  a  Time.  A  Collection  of  Stories 
and  Legends.  297  pp.,  i6mo.  Office  of  The 
"Ave  Maria."    Price,  75  cents. 

An  attractive  title,  an  attractive  binding, 
and  type  that  fits  the  eye,  ought,  in  this  book- 
buying  age,  to  be  enough  to  create  a  demand 
for  a  new  volume  even  if  there  were  little  else 
to  commend  it.  The  cultivation  of  taste  is 
almost  as  essential  as  the  cultivation  of  mind, 
and  when  the  two  may  be  combined,  as  is  the 
case  in  a  publication  like  the  one  before  us,  it 
will  be  a  pity  indeed  if  the  opportunity  is  not 
improved  by  all  the  readers  in  the  land. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  comment  upon 
the  character  of  the  contents  of  ' '  Once  upon 
a  Time."  It  is  issued  from  the  Office  of  The 
"Ave  Maria,"  which  is  sufficient  to  insure 
literary  excellence.  The  editor,  with  his  cus- 
tomary discrimination,  has  selected  from  the 
Youth's  Department  of  the  magazine  sixteen 
tales  and  legends,  which  fill  nearly  three  hun- 
dred pages;  there  is  not  a  dull  page  among 
them;  there  are  many  that  are  touched  with 
pathos  and  thrilled  with  dramatic  power;  and 
it  is  safe  to  assert  that  not  a  better,  more  in- 
teresting, or  more  valuable  book  for  young 
Catholic  readers  is  in  the  market  to-day. 

Read  "The  Black  Robe's  Prayer,"  read 
' '  How  St.  Francis  of  Paul  Crossed  the  Straits 
of  Messina" — read  any  one  of  the  beautiful 
sketches,  and  see  if  you  have  the  heart  to  lay 
down  the  volume  without  finishing  it.  On  the 
appearance  of  such  a  book  as  "Once  upon  a 
Time,"  editor,  publisher,  and  reader  are  alike 
to  be  congratulated.  *  *  * 

Glen  Mary.  A  Catholic  Novel.  By  Mrs. 
Junius  McGehee.  Author  of  "Buried  Alive" 
and  "Clouds  and  Pearls."  Baltimore:  John 
Murphy  &  Co.   1887. 

This  is  a  Catholic  novel,  and  a  good  one. 
The  story  is  dramatic,  and  the  interest  in  the 


plot  is  well  kept  up  throughout  the  book.  But 
its  literary  merits  are  by  no  means  its  only  title 
to  consideration.  The  story  points  a  moral, — 
a  moral  ever  needed,  but  needed  more  than 
ever  in  the  age  in  which  we  live  —the  dangers 
of  marrying  outside  the  Catholic  Church.  The 
book  is  dedicated  to  Our  T^ady  of  Perpetual 
Help,  and  so  touching  is  the  narrative  and  so 
well  enforced  the  lesson  it  conveys  that  Oiir 
Blessed  Mother  will  not  refu^.e  to  bless  the 
volume  and  its  gifted  authoress. 

An  elegant  little  volume  comes  to  us 


from  Toronto,  entitled '  'A  Gate  of  Flowers  and 
Other  Poems,"  by  Thomas  O'Hagan,  M.  A. 
Though  the  volume  is  small  and  unpreten- 
tious, it  contains  several  pretty  and  melodious 
pieces  of  verse,  and  is  by  no  means  unworthy 
of  its  title.  Youthful  poets  like  Mr.  O'  Hagan 
deserve  encouragement,  and  we  think  we  can 
not  do  better  than  quote  a  few  stanzas,  in  the 
hope  that  many  may  be  attracted  to  read  this- 
dainty  little  book.  The  following  lines  are 
from  the  piece  entitled  "Another  Year": 
"Another  year  passed  over— gone, 

Hope  beaming  with  the  New^ 
Thus  move  we  on,  forever  on, 

The  many  and  the  {^vj. 

"Another  year  with  tears  and  joy& 

To  form  an  arch  of  love, — 
Another  year  to  toil  with  hope, 

And  seek  a  lest  above; 
Another  year  winged  on  its  way — 

Eternity  the  goal; 
Another  year,  peace  in  its  train — 

Peace  to  each  parting  soul." 


Obituary. 


"//  is  a  holy  and  tuhoUsome  thought  to  pray  jor  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 
Mrs.  Catherine  Donnelly,  of  Philadelphia, 
mother  of  Miss  Eleanor  C.  Donnelly,  the  well- 
known  Catholic  poet,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
13th  ult.  She  was  a  lady  of  superior  intellect,  deep 
faith,  and  solid  piety.  The  last  Sacraments  forti- 
fied and  consoled  her  in  her  illness,  and  her  death 
was  that  of  a  fervent  Christian. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Moran,  whose  happy  death  oc- 
curred in  Galena,  111.,  on  the  loth  of  June.    • 

Mr.William  Coggins,  of  Sacramento,  Cal.,  and 
John  D.  Phelan,  Keokuk,  Iowa. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God.  rest  in  peacef: 


32 


The  Ave  Maria, 


PARTMENt 


Good-Night. 


TTHE  tales  are  told,  the  songs  are  sung, 
^  The  evening  romp  is  over, 
And  up  the  nursery  stairs  they  climb. 
With  little  buzzing  tongues  that  chime 
lyike  bees  among  the  clover. 

The  starry  night  is  fair  without, 

The  new  moon  rises  slowly. 
The  nursery  lamp  is  burning  faint; 
Each  white-robed  like  a  little  saint, 

Their  prayers  they  murmur  lowly. 

Oood-night!  The  tired  heads  are  still 

On  pillows  soft  reposing, 
The  dim  and  dizzy  mist  of  sleep 
About  their  thoughts  begin  to  creep, 

Their  drowsy  eyes  are  closing. 

Good-night!  While  through  the  silent  air 
The  moonbeams  pale  are  streaming, 

They  drift  from  daylight's  noisy  shore — 
'  Blow  out  the  light  and  shut  the  door. 
And  leave  them  to  their  dreaming.^' 


Two  Little  Rustics. 


«y  CLARA  MULHOLLAND,  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MISER 
OF  KINGSCOURT,"  "  PERCY'S  REVENGE,"  ETC 


I. 

One  day,  in  the  month  of  June,  a  young 
girl,  dressed  in  a  simple  cotton  gown,  sat  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  Tee  in  a  shady  nook 
in  the  Sussex  Woods.  A  little  fox-terrier 
lay  at  her  feet,  watching  her  with  inquiring 
-eyes,  as  though  wondering  when  she  was 
likely  to  rise  up  and  depart.  But  the  girl 
did  not  seem  anxious  to  move.  She  had 
been  sketching;  and  round  about  her  on 
the  grass  were  pencils,  brushes,  and  paints, 
whilst  on  her  knee  was  a  half-finished  water 
•color.  But  her  thoughts  had  wandered  far 
from  her  work,  and  her  face  wore  a  sad, 


perplexed  expression  as  she  gazed  dreamily 
into  the  distance. 

Suddenly  the  dog  sprang  up,  and  uttered 
a  low  growl;  then, wagging  his  tail,  ran  off 
through  the  wood.  Very  soon  he  came  back, 
jumping  and  barking  in  evident  delight. 

"Go  fetch  little  Gip!  Go  fetch!"  cried 
a  merry  voice,  and  a  tall,  handsome  girl 
stepped  lightly  over  the  brushwood,  and 
touched  the  young  artist  on  the  shoulder. 

"What,  dreaming  again,  Maijorie?" 
she  asked,  laughing.  "Not  much  work 
done  to-day,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

"I  was  not  dreaming,  Celia,  only  think- 
ing, "replied  Maijorie,  blushing  aad  stoop- 
ing to  pick  up  her  brush. 

"And  what  may  have  been  the  subject 
of  your  thoughts,  most  wise  little  sister?" 

"A  very  serious  one,  dear.  And  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  something  must 
be  done. ' ' 

"To  help  mother?" 

Marjorie  nodded.  ' '  Yes,  to  help  mother. ' ' 

"But  what  can  we  do?  We  can't  go  out 
charring  or  dress-making,  and  we  are  not 
well  enough  educated  to  be  governesses." 

"No,  dear;  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be 
much  use  in  either  capacity,"  said  Marjorie, 
looking  at  her  beautiful  sister  with  a  smile. 
"But  I  have  thought  of  something  else, 
and,  if  I  can  only  manage  it,  it  would  be  far 
better  than  anything  you  have  suggested." 

"A  lady -help,  perhaps?  But  pi  ay  do  not 
think  of  that  for  an  instant,  Marjorie.  I 
would  rather  starve." 

"Would  you?  Well,  I  am  not  so  sure 
about  that.  However,  I  did  not  tljink  of 
offering  ourselves  as  lady -helps." 

"Then  I  can  not  imagine  what  you 
mean,"  cried  Celia,  sinking  down  upon  the 
grass.  'I  have  gone  overall  the  employ- 
ments for  distressed  gentlewomen  that  I 
know  of,  but  not  one  seems  to  suit  us." 

"There  is  certainly  nothing  I  know  of 
that  would  suit  you,  darling.  Just  fancy 
how  mother  would  grieve  if  her  pretty  Celia 
had  to  work  for  her  bread!  No,  dearest; 
unless  things  become  very  much  worse,  you 
must  never  leave  home — never.  But  it  is 
different  with  me.    I — ' ' 


Tke  Ave  Maria, 


23 


"Marjorie!  Marjorie!  do  not  talk  like 
that,"  cried  Celia,  nestling  up  to  her  sister 
and  giving  her  a  loving  kiss.  "Mother 
would  miss  you  more  than  she  would  me. 
You  are  so  useful,  so  thoughtful  and  kind." 

"Mother  would  miss  us  both,  pet,  I  am 
sure.  But  since  our  money  has  come  in  in 
such  small  quantities,  she  has  found  it  hard 
to  make  ends  meet;  and  it  seems  to  me  as 
if  the  anxiety  must  soon  kill  her  if  she 
does  not  get  some  help.  Therefore  I  have 
resolved  to  earn  something  at  home,  or,  if 
that  fails,  go  out  as  a  nursery  governess. ' ' 

"O  Marjorie!  But  how  could  you  earn 
money  at  home  ? ' ' 

"Well,  dear,  that  is  just  what  I  have  been 
thinking  about,"  said  Marjorie,  blushing 
again.  ' '  Do  you  remember  that  Mrs.  Baker 
told  us  how  some  girls  she  •  knew  made 
money  by  painting  Christmas  cards,  and — " 

"Of  course  I  do,  you  old  darling!  That 
is  a  capital  idea.  Why,  you  can  paint  hun- 
dreds And  if  you  sold  them,  say  at  a  shil- 
ling or  eighteen  pence  each,  you  could  earn 
a  good  deal  of  money. ' ' 

"But  perhaps  no  one  would  buy  them," 
said  Maijorie,  modestly.  "You  see  I  am 
not  so  clever  as — " 

"My  dear  Marjorie,  you  paint  exquisitely. 
You  know  you  do.  Why,  Edith  Thompson 
said  she  paid  two  or  three  shillings  for 
hand-painted  cards  last  Christmas,  and  I 
am  sure  they  were  not  half  so  good  or  so 
pretty  as  yours." 

"Did  you  see  them?" 

"Yes,  and  I  assure  you  yours  were  infi- 
nitely nicer." 

Marjorie  smiled.  ' '  You  are  a  partial  critic, 
dear.  I  am  afraid  strangers  would  not  think 
so  well  of  them." 

' '  Perhaps  not,  but  still  most  people  would 
admire  them." 

"Yes,  they  might,"  said  Marjorie,  ex- 
amining her  sketch  with  much  attention. 
"I  hear  there  is  a  great  demand  for  hand- 
painted  cards  in  London.  But  how  could  I 
get  mine  there?  " 

"By  post." 

"I  don't  think  that  would  do.  They 
might  get  lost. ' ' 


"Then  take  them  there  yourself." 

"Celia!  How  could  I?  It  costs  money  to 
go  to  London.  I  date  not  ask  mother  for 
a  shilling." 

"Of  course  not.  But  we  might  borrow 
the  money  from  some  one,  and  pay  it  back 
when  you  sold  your  pictures." 

"No,  dear;  I  could  not  think  of  that," 
replied  Marjorie,  with  decision.  "I  might 
never  be  able  to  repay  it,  and  that  would 
make  me  very  unhappy.  Out  of  debt,  out  of 
danger,  remember. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  I  suppose  you  are  right, ' '  said  Celia, 
mournfully.  "How  sad  it  is  to  be  pinched 
for  money  as  we  are!  Heigh-ho!  I  think  I 
must  try  being  a  lady  help,  after  all." 

"Nonsense,  Celia!  You'll  do  nothing  of 
the  kind.  However,  I  need  not  be  afraid; 
no  one  would  engage  you.  Lady-helps  are 
made  of  much  more  commonplace  stufi"." 

"That  sounds  very  well,  and  I  dare  say 
you  mean  it  as  a  compliment.  But  it  seems 
to  me  the  commonplace  stuff  is  the  best — 
at  least  when  people  are  poor." 

"There  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Marjorie, 
smiling;  "and  for  that  reason  I  am  full  of 
hopes  for  myself." 

"Marjorie!" 

'  •  Well,  dear,  I  atn  made  of  commonplace 
stuff.  No  one  can  deny  that.  I  am  a  little, 
plain,  brown  creature — not  disagreeable  to 
look  at  perhaps,  because  I  am  healthy  and 
sometimes  merry.   But  you — " 

"Never  mind  me, ' ' cried  Celia, pouting. 
"What  is  the  use  of  a  pretty  face,  after  all? 
It  doesn't  make  money,  or  pay  the  bills  for 
one;  so  I  can't  see — " 

' '  Celia,  Celia,  you  must  not  talk  so  wildly, 
dear.  We  are  both  as  God  made  us,  remem- 
ber, and  He  has  good  reasons  for  all  He 
does.  You  are  pretty,  I  am  plain.  I  can  go 
about  without  being  remarked;  you  can 
not.  Therefore  it  is  your  duty  to  stay  at 
home  with  mother,  mine  to  go  forth  and 
earn  my  own  bread." 

"No,  no,  Marjorie, not  yet!  Think  how 
lonely  we  should  be  without  you,"  cried 
Celia,  flinging  her  arms  round  her  sister's 
neck,  and  laying  her  cheek  lovingly  against 
hers. 


24 


The  Ave  Marta. 


"My  darling!"  —  and  Marjoiie's  voice 
shook  with  emotion,  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears, — ''it  would  be  terrible  to  leave  you 
and  mother,  and  go  amongst  strangers. 
But  what  can  we  do?  Our  little  inco^ie  is 
enough  for  two  with  great  economy,  but 
for  three  it  is  absolute  poverty.  Therefore 
something  must  be  done." 

''Yts,  but,  Marjjrie,  try  selling  your 
sketches  first.  If  that  fails,  you  must  go. 
But  do  try  that,  dearest.' 

*'  I  am  anxious  to  do  so,  dear  Bat  how? 
— where  shall  I  get  money  to  take  me  to 
London?  And  unless  I  go  there  I  can  do 
nothing." 

Cclia  lay  back  amongst  the  bracken,  and, 
closing  her  e\es,  looked  for  a  moment  as 
though  she  had  fallen  askep.  She  was  not 
sleeping,  however,  but  was  pondering 
deeply  over  the  low  state  of  the  family 
finances.  Suddenly  she  sat  up,  her  beautiful 
face  radiant  with  delight. 

"I  have  solved  the  problem,  Marjorie 
mine!"  she  cried,  gaily.  "You  shall  have 
the  money,  go  to  Lone' on,  get  thousands  of 
orders — " 

"My  dear  Celia,  what  do  you  mean? 
Who  will  give  it  to  me?' 

"I  will,  your  humble  servant,  Celia  Dar- 
mer. ' ' 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I.  Listen,  Marjorie.  I  have  one 
piece  of  jewelry  in  the  world,  and — " 

"You  must  not  sell  it." 

"No,  not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  my  idea  is 
this.  You  know  how  kind  that  dear  old 
book- worm  Sqnire  Lindon  is — how  anxious 
he  has  always  been  to  help  mother?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  to-morrow  I  shall  go  to  him,  tell 
him  our  stor\ ,  ard  ask  him  to  take  my 
brooch  and  lend  me  some  money  on  it. 
When  you  earn  a  little  by  your  pictures  we 
can  pay  him  back.  And  if  you  never  earn 
any,  why  he  will  have  the  brooch." 

"But^  Celia—" 

"Bat,  Marjorie,  we  can  not  do  better. 
The  Squire  will  not  object,  I  am  sure." 

"But  your  brooch? — you  will  miss  it." 

"Marjorie  Darmer,  how  dare   )ou    say 


such  a  thing!  How  dare  you  suggest  it!  \ 
am  not  made  of  commonplace  stuff,  per- 
haps, but — " 

"Indeed  you  are  not,  darling!"  cried 
Marjorie,  earnestly.  "I  accept  your  offer,, 
and  stand  rebuked  God  grant  I  may  suc- 
ceed in  my  undertaking!" 

"Amen,"  said  Celia,  reverently.  "And 
now  we  must  go  home.  It  is  almost  dinner 
time.   Mother  will  wonder  if  we  are  late." 

So,  gathering  up  pencils  and  paints,  the 
girls  called  to  Gip  and  wandered  home, 
hand  in  hand,  through  the  wood. 

It  was  a  glorious  day.  The  birds  sang 
gaily  amongst  the  branches  of  the  fine  old 
trees;  the  air  was  filled  with  the  perfume  of 
many  flowers.  And  as  Marjorie  and  Celia 
tripped  along  side  by  side,  their  eyes  spar- 
kled, their  tongues  ran  as  merrily  as  their 
feet;  for  their  hearts  were  full  of  hope. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Concerning  a  Bad  Habit. 


The  United  States  Navy  is  especially 
exacting  in  its  requirements  of  young  can- 
didates. It  takes  annually  into  its  service  a 
large  number  of  apprentice  boys,  who  are 
sent  all  over  the  world  and  taught  to  be 
thorough  sailors.  The  Government  aims  at 
developing  them  in  all  possible  directions, 
believing  that  the  more  intelligent  a  man 
becomes,  the  better  sailor  will  he  be. 

There  is  no  lack  of  ciudidates  for  these 
positions.  Hundreds  of  boys  apply,  but 
many  are  rejected  befcause  they  can  not  pass^ 
the  physical  examination.  Major  Houston, 
of  the  Marine  Corps,  who  is  in  charge  of 
the  Washington  Navy  Yard  Barrack.'',  is  au- 
thority for  the  statement  that  one -fifth  of  all 
the  boys  examined  are  rejected  on  account 
of  heart  disease.  His  fitst  question  to  a  ]x>y 
who  desires  to  enlist  is,  "Do  you  smoke?" 

The  surgeons  say  that  cigarette-smoking 
by  boys  produces  heart  disease,  and  that,  in 
ninety -nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  the  re- 
jection of  would-be  apprentices  on  account 
of  this  defect  comes  from  excessive  use  of 
the  milder  form  of  the  weed. 


tH^ 


'^^^^^^p^^^^W^ 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  9,  1887.  No.  2. 


Vol.  XXV. 


rCoprriicht  -—Hit.  D.  E.  Hdisob,  C.  S.  C.] 


An  Agnus  Dei. 


BY   MARION  M.  RICHARDSON. 


n  SILKEN  heart, by  convent  fingers  hemmed 
With  golden  threads  around  a  Sacred 
Name; 
Reversed,  a  group  of  roses,  thorny  stemmed. 
But  tipped  with  color  of  the  tint  of  flame. 

And,  looking,  I  recall  a  friend  I  knew, 
Whose  steps  were  bounded  by  the  cloister 
shade, 

But  with  her  sunny  kindness  breaking  through 
All  barriers  time  or  place  or  distance  made. 

And  in  wild  deserts,  where  the  Southern  day 
Burns  breaths  of  incense  from  thepiiion  tree, 

I  wear  it,  hoping  when  she  kneels  to  pray, 
The  one  who  gave  may  yet  remember  me. 


Corpus  Christi  in  the  Tyrol. 


BY   RICHARD  J.  MHUGH. 


T  is  the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi,  the 
day  specially  consecrated  to  the 
Sacramental  King. 
Beneath  a  canopy  of  delicious,  dreamy 
blue,  fringed  with  cloudlets  of  softest  fleece, 
the  rugged  mountains,  clothed  in  stoles  and 
pluvials  of  spotless,  sun-kissed  snow,  stand 
like  Nature's  pontijffs  in  reverential  awe; 
the  wooded  hills  are  wrapt  in  purple  haze, 
■which  shifts  and  changes  with  the  south 


wind's  breath  like  fragrant  wreaths  of  in- 
cense ;  in  the  tabernacle  of  the  east  flashes 
the  radiant  sun  of  June — a  massive  mon- 
strance of  burnished  gold ;  and  from  their 
shady  stalls  in  elm  and  linden  the  feath- 
ered monks  are  pouring  forth  their  dulcet 
matin  song. 

It  is  the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi,  and  the 
heart  of  this  Catholic  land  goes  out  in  love 
and  homage  to  its  Lord  and  Saviour — for 
Tyrol,  like  Moreno's  Republic,  is  dedicated 
to  the  Sacred  Heart—  in  thanksgiving  for 
all  His  graces,  and  in  humble  reparation 
for  all  the  insults,  scorn,  and  contumely 
which  Unbelief  with  tireless  persistency 
daily  offers  Him  in  the  Sacrament  Divine. 
From  the  beginning  of  the  ecclesiastical 
day — t.  e. ,  from  y  ester-eve — the  deep-voiced 
cannon  have  been  booming  lustily,  and  from 
an  early  hour  this  morning  the  myriad 
church  bells  of  the  city  have  been  filling 
all  the  air  with  their  notes  of  joy  and  glad- 
ness. At  every  Mass,  fiom  five  o'clock  until 
seven,  such  throngs  of  devout  communi- 
cants approached  the  Holy  Table  that  it 
is  hardly  too  much  to  say  nearly  the  entire 
city  received  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  Not 
alone  with  outward  form  and  imposing 
ceiemony,  therefore,  is  the  day  observed, 
but  with  unuttered  prayer  and  secret  up- 
lifting of  heart  and  soul  as  well. 

At  eight  o'clock  a  Pontifical  High  Mass  is 
celebrated  in  St  James'  (parochial)  Church, 
by  the  Cistercian  Abbot  of  Stams.  The 
Mass  is  coram  Exposito^  and  all  the  splen- 
dor of  her  magnificent  ritual  is  invoked  by 


26 


Tha  Ave  Maria. 


Mother  Church  to  do  honor  to  her  Heav- 
enly Bridegroom.  Like  the  sun  at  glorious 
mid-day  blaze  the  countless  lights  upon  the 
marble  altar;  like  a  garden  of  the  lavish 
East  the  sanctuary  blooms  with  rare  exotic 
flowers.  The  vestments  of  the  celebrant 
and  his  immediate  assistants  are  of  cloth 
of  gold,  encrusted  with  tiny  gems  which 
twinkle  and  glimmer  in  the  fair  white  flood 
of  light  like  star-dust  in  a  cloudless  sky.  A 
well-trained  choir  and  excellent  orchestra 
in  the  organ-loft  render,  alternately  with 
the  theologians  in  the  stalls,  the  ravishing 
music  of  the  day.  Over  all,  the  smoke  of  in- 
cense rolls  in  translucent  volumes  of  amber 
and  azure  and  crimson  and  gold. 

Immediatelv  after  Mass  the  procession  of 
the  Adorable  Sacrament  is  formed.  A  plank 
walk,  four  feet  in  width,  has  been  laid 
throughout  the  streets  along  which  the 
huinan  stream  will  flow.  The  shops,  as  on 
all  festivals  of  the  Church, have  been  closed, 
and  all  the  private  dwellings  along  the  line 
of  march  have  been  adorned  with  branches 
of  trees  and  evergreens.  Statues  and  sacred 
pictures  have  been  set  over  door- ways  and 
in  every  other  available  nook  before  the 
houses,  and  burning  tapers  have  been 
placed  in  all  the  windows.  In  the  public 
squares  temporary  altars  have  been  erected, 
and  beautifully  decked  with  lights  and  ra- 
diant flowers.  The  theological  department 
of  the  grim  old  University  has  undergone  a 
complete  and  pleasing  metamorphosis  Can- 
dles, flowers,  saintly  effigies,  and  flowing 
draperies  of  crimson  and  gold  have  changed 
the  usually  sombre  building  into  some- 
thing like  a  giant  altar  of  royal  splendor. 

And  now  the  procession  moves  slowly  for- 
ward. The  vanguard  is  formed  of  a  bright- 
eyed  army  of  school -boys,  members  of  the 
Gymnasium,  with  banners  of  green  and 
white,  and  red  and  white,  waving  in  the 
breeze.  As  the  dear  little  fellows  march 
proudlv  on,  they  recite  together  the  Rosary 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  their  ' '  Gegriisset 
seist  du^  Maria.'"'  strikes  the  ear — well, 
to  put  it  mildly,  with  charming  vigor. 
Anon  they  halt  and  the  prayer  ceases, while 
with  voices  fresh  and  clear  they  burst  forth 


into  some  joyous  hymn,  that  floats  upward 
through  the  morning  air  with  certainly  a 
grand  effect. 

Following  the  youthful  host  come  young 
and  middle-aged  men, with  gorgeous  flags 
and  massive  candelabra,  taper-crowned ; 
then  an  almost  interminable  double  file  of 
venerable  old  men  with  crucifixes,  ban- 
ners of  the  Sacred  and  Immaculate  Hearts, 
and  other  religious  symbols.  (Remember, 
please,  that  from  first  to  last,  throughout 
the  entire  procession,  "Hail  Mary,  full  of 
grace!"  is  going  up  incessantly.) 

Next  appear  the  members  of  the  "  Hel- 
vetia"— the  Swiss  students'  Verein — with 
caps  and  ' '  colors  "  of  "  red,  white,  green ' ' ; 
then  the  members  of  the  "Austria" — the 
Catholic  students'  Verein^  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  duelling  corps  of  the  ' '  Liberal ' * 
(God  save  the  mark !)  students  of  the  Uni- 
versity— with  colors  of  "white,  red,  gold." 

Now  the  merchants  and  business  men 
and  charitable  guilds  of  the  city  come  into 
view ;  now  the  military  band  with  two  com- 
panies of  infantry.  Then  follow  in  regular 
order  the  mayor  and  city  council,  judges 
and  other  officials  in  full  insignia  of  office; 
the  deans  of  the  University,  with  crosses  and 
chains  of  gold;  the  University  professors; 
one  hundred  and  fifty  theologians,  surplice- 
robed  and  bearing  lighted  candles;  the  vari- 
ous religious  orders — Capuchins,  Francis- 
cans, Servites.  Redemptorists,  and  Jesuits. 
All  around  the  theologians  and  Fathers 
throng  little  mites  of  girls,  sweetly  decked 
in  white  and  childhood's  innocence,  strew- 
ing flowers  in  His  path  who  is  soon  to 
follow. 

A  select  choir  of  theologians  next  appear, 
and  the  deep,  majestic  tones  of  the  grand 
old  Gregorian  chant  roll  upward  and  on- 
ward, harmoniously  sublime.  The  deacons 
and  subdeacons,  in  dalmatics  and  tunics  of 
cloth  of  gold,  followed  by  the  mitre  and 
crosier-bearers,  and  thurifers  with  swing- 
ing censers,  draw  slowly  near,  and  we  fall 
on  reverent  knees  and  bow  our  head;  for 
we  know  that  He  is  passing  as  truly  and 
really  as  He  ever  walked  Judea's  streets 
two  thousand  years  ago. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


27' 


Beneath  a  canopy  richly  wrought,  sur- 
rounded by  a  guard  of  soldiers  with  bayo- 
nets fixed,  the  abbot  bears  the  Sacred  Host; 
while  the  cannon  loudly  boom,  and  the  glad 
bells  gaily  peal,  telling  every  breeze  that 
flutters  by  the  jo>ful  tidings.  "Christ  is 
King! — King  in  the  hearts  of  His  people. 
King  in  the  Bread  Divine!" 

Behind  the  Blessed  Sacrament  walks  the 
Governor  of  Tyrol,  with  head  uncovered; 
and  finally, closing  the  procession,  come  the 
young  ladies'  sodalities,  and  hundreds  of 
good  old  women,  whose  piety  never  permits 
any  thought  of  bodily  fatigue  to  deter  them 
from  doing  public  homage  to  their  Saviour. 

The  piincipal  churches  along  the  route 
are  visited  and  Benediction  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  is  given;  a  pause  is  also  made 
at  the  open-air  altars  while  the  theologians 
chant  a  few  stanzas  from  the  Lauda  Sion  or 
Pange Lingua-^dXi^  the  military  fire  salutes; 
the  solemn  ceremony  concludes  with  the 
Lord  again  deigning  to  bless  His  people. 

Corpus  Christi  in  the  Tyrol,  take  it  all 
in  all,  is  a  day  long  to  be  remembered. 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 
"  A  ND  now  the  question  is — what  am  I  to 
i\  do?"  It  was  Marion  who  asked  her- 
self this,  after  the  departure  of  the  lawyer 
who,  with  some  remonstrance,  had  taken 
her  instructions  for  drawing  up  the  neces- 
sary papers  to  transfer  to  George  Singleton 
his  father's  fortune  It  was  not  with  regard 
to  the  act  itself  that  the  lawyer  remon- 
strated—  that  he  thought  just  and  wise 
enough, — but  with  regard  to  the  sum  which 
the  heiress  of  the  whole  announced  her 
intention  of  retaining. 

"You  might  just  as  well  keep  fifty  or  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars,"  he  declared. 
"Mr.  Singleton  is  willing  to  relinquish 
even  so  much  as  half  of  the  fortune,  and  it  is 
absolute  folly — if  you  will  excuse  me— for 
you  to  throw  away  a  comfortable  independ- 


ence, and  retain  only  a  sum  which  is  paltry 
in  comparison  to  the  amount  of  the  fortune,, 
and  to  your  needs  of  life." 

"You  must  allow  me  to  be  the  be=!t  judge 
of  that,"  Marion  replied,  firmly. 

And,  as  she  held  inflexibly  to  her  reso- 
lution, the  lawyer  finally  went  away  with 
the  same  baffled  feeling  that  the  Single- 
ton cousins  had  experienced.  "  What  fools 
women  are  when  it  comes  to  the  practical 
concerns  of  life!"  he  said,  from  the  depths 
of  his  masculine  scorn  "They  are  always 
in  one  extreme  or  the  other.  Here  is  this 
girl, who,  from  what  I  hear,  must  have  been 
willing  to  do  anything  to  secure  the  fortune, 
now  throws  it  away  for  a  whim  without 
reason ! ' ' 

Meanwhile  Marion,  left  face  to  face,  as  it 
were,  with  her  accomplished  resolve,  said 
to  herself,  "What  am  I  to  do  now?" 

It  was  certainly  a  necessary  question.  To 
remain  where  she  was,  living  with  the  state 
of  Mr.  Singleton's  heiress,  was  impossible; 
to  go  to  her  uncle,  who  would  be  incensed 
against  her  on  ac<^ount  of  the  step  she  had 
taken,  was  equally  impossible;  to  stay  with 
Helen,  however  much  Helen  in  her  kind- 
ness might  desire  it,  was  out  of  the  question. 
Where,  then,  could  she  go? — where  should 
she  turn  to  find  a  friend? 

Marion  was  pacing  up  and  down  the 
long  drawing-room  as  she  revolved  these 
thoughts  in  her  mind,  when  her  attention 
was  attracted  by  her  own  reflection  in  a 
mirror  which  hung  at  the  end  of  the  apart- 
ment. She  paused  and  stood  looking  at  it, 
while  a  faint,  bitter  smile  gathered  on  her 
lip.  Her  beauty  was  as  striking,  as  indis- 
putable as  ever;  but  what  h^d  it  gained  for 
her — this  talisman  by  which  she  had  con- 
fidently hoped  to  win  from  the  world  all 
that  she  desired ?  "I  have  been  a  fool ! ' ' 
she  said,  with  sudden  humility.  "And  now 
— what  remains  to  me  now?" 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  it  was  in  answer  to 
the  question  that  a  servant  at  this  moment 
entered,  bringing  the  morning  mail.  Mar- 
ion turned  over  carelessly  two  or  three  pa- 
pers and  letters,  and  then  suddenly  felt  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  a  foreign 


I'he  Ave  Maria. 


stamp  and  Claire's  familiar  handwriting. 
She  threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  opened 
the  letter. 

It  was  dated  from  Rome.  "I  am  at  last 
in  the  city  of  my  dreams  and  of  my  heart," 
wrote  Claire;  "pleasantly  settled  in  an 
apartment  with  my  kind  friend  Mrs.  Kerr, 
who  knows  Rome  so  well  that  she  proves 
invaluable  as  a  cicerone.  Already  I,  too,  feel 
familiar  with  this  wonderful,  this  Eternal 
City,  and  its  spell  grows  upon  me  day  by 
day.  Now  that  you  have  gained  your  fairy 
fortune,  dear  Marion,  why  should  you  not 
come  and  join  me  here?  I  have  thought  of 
it  so  much  of  late  that  it  seems  to  me  like  an 
inspiration,  and  I  can  perceive  no  possible 
reason  why  you  should  not  come.  Pray  do! 
It  would  make  me  so  happy  to  see  you,  and 
■I  am  sure  you  would  enjoy  many  things 
which  form  part  of  our  life  here.  Having 
lived  abroad  many  years  with  her  husband 
(who  was  an  artist),  Mrs.  Kerr  has  a  large 
cosmopolitan  acquaintance,  and  her  salon 
is  constantly  filled  with  pleasant  and  inter- 
esting people.  Come,  Marion,  come!  I  find 
every  reason  why  you  should,  and  none  why 
you  should  not.  Have  I  not  heard  you  say 
a  thousand  times  that  you  wanted  to  see  the 
world,  and  do  not  I  want  to  see  you  and  hear 
all  about  the  magical  change  that  so  short 
a  time  has  made  in  your  fortunes?  Write, 
then,  and  tell  me  that  you  will  come.  Helen 
has  had  you  for  months,  and  it  is  my  turn 
now. ' ' 

"Ah!  how  little  she  knows!"  Marion 
thought  wiih  a  pang  as  she  read  the  last 
words.  The  letter  dropped  from  her  hand 
into  her  lap;  she  felt  as  if  she  hardly  cared 
to  read  further.  Would  Claire  desire  to  see 
her  if  she  knew  the  story  of  all  that  had 
happened  since  they  parted?  There  was  no 
one  else  in  the  world  from  whose  judgment 
Marion  shrank  so  much,  and  >  et  this  sum- 
mons seemed  to  her  more  of  a  command 
than  an  invitation.  It  came  as  an  answer  to 
her  doubts  and  indecision.  "W^hat  shall  I 
do? — where  shall  I  go?"  she  had  asked 
herself.  "Come  to  me,"  Claire  answered 
from  across  the  sea;  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  no  alternative  but  to  obey — 


to  go,  even  though  it  were  to  meet  Claire's 
condemnation. 

That  condemnation  would  be  gentle,  she 
knew,  though  perhaps  unsparing.  Helen's 
affection  had  indeed  returned  to  her  in  a 
degree  she  could  never  have  expected;  but 
it  is  impossible  that  the  stronger  nature  can 
depend  upon  the  weaker,  and  she  knew  that 
it  was  for  Claire's  unswerving  standards 
and  Claire's  clear  judgments  her  heart  most 
strongly  yearned. 

So  the  way  opened  before  her,  and  when 
she  saw  Helen  next  she  announced  her  in- 
tention of  going  abroad  to  join  Claire.  "It 
seems  the  best — in  fact  it  is  the  only  thing 
I  can  do,"  she  said.  "And  Claiie  is  good 
enough  to  want  me.  She  fancies  me  still 
in  possession  of  what  she  calls  my  fairy  fort- 
une— not  knowing  how  fairy-like  indeed  it 
has  proved, — and  writes  as  if  expense  would 
be  no  consideration  with  me.  But  a  mode 
of  life  which  is  not  too  expensive  for  her, 
surely  will  not  be  too  expensive  for  me  with 
my  ten  thousand  dollars.   So  I  shall  go." 

"I  suppose  it  is  best,"  said  Helen,  wist- 
fully; "and  if  it  were  not  for  mamma  I 
would  go  with  you." 

The  tone  was  a  revelation  to  Marion  of 
all  that  the  tender,  submissive  heart  was 
suffering  still.  "Why  should  your  mother 
object?  '  she  asked,  quickly.  "Come,  Helen 
— come  with  me;  and  when  we  find  Claire, 
let  us  try  to  forget  everything  but  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  together  again." 

"I  should  like  it,"  replied  Helen,  "but 
it  is  not  possible.  I  know  how  long  mamma 
has  looked  forward  to  the  pleasure  of  hav- 
ing me  with  her,  and  I  can  not  go  away  now 
for  my  own  selfish  satisfaction,  leaving  her 
alone.  Besides,  I  doubt  if  running  away 
from  painful  things  does  much  good.  It  is 
better  to  face  them  and  grow  resigned  to 
them,  with  the  help  of  God  " 

"I  am  sure  that  God  must  help  /<?«," 
said  Marion,  "else  you  could  never  learn 
so  many  wise  and  hard  things. ' ' 

Helen  looked  at  her  with  a  little  surprise 
in  her  clear  blue  eyes.  * '  Of  course  He  helps 
me,"  she  answered.  "When  does  He  not 
help  those  who  ask  Him  ? ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


29 


"Oh,  Helen!  if  I  only  had  your  faith!" 
cried  Marion,  with  positive  pain  in  her 
voice.  ' '  How  easy  it  would  make  things ! ' ' 

"  Yes,"  replied  Helen,  with  her  sweet 
smile,  "it  does  make  things  easy." 

But  before  Marion  could  complete  her 
preparations  for  departure,  she  was  obliged 
to  see  Mr.  George  Singleton  again  and  yet 
again.  He  came  in  the  first  place  to  remon- 
strate forcibly  against  her  intentions  with 
regard  to  the  fortune,  and  found  -her  society 
sufficiently  attractive  to  induce  him  to  pay 
inordinately  long  visits  after  he  had  discov- 
ered that  his  remonstrances  were  vain.  ' '  He 
is  certainly  very  unconventional,"  Marion 
observed  after  one  of  these  visits.  ' '  He  does 
not  strike  one  so  much  as  violating  social 
usage,  as  being  ignorant  of  and  holding  it 
in  contempt.  In  essential  thirfgs  he  is  a 
gentleman,  but  that  his  father — one  of  the 
most  refined  and  fastidious  of  men — should 
have  had  a  son  who  is  half  a  savage,  strikes 
me  as  very  strange." 

Young  Singleton  did  not  hesitate  to  speak 
of  himself  as  altogether  a  savage,  and  to 
declare  that  the  strain  of  wild  lawlessness  in 
his  nature  had  brought  about  the  estrange- 
ment between  his  father  and  himself.  "Of 
course  I  am  sorry  for  it  all  now,"  he  said 
frankly  to  Marion;  "but  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  have  been  avoided,  we  were  so  radi- 
cally diflferent  in  disposition  and  tastes. 
My  father  was  a  man  to  whom  the  conven- 
tionalities of  life  were  of  first  importance, 
who  held  social  laws  and  usages  as  more 
binding  than  the  Decalogue;  while  I — well, 
a  gypsy  has  as  much  regard  for  either  as 
I  had.  I  irritated  and  outraged  him  even 
when  I  had  least  intention  of  doing  so;  and 
he,  in  turn,  roused  all  the  spirit  of  opposi- 
tion in  me,  I  do  not  defend  my  conduct, 
but  I  think  I  may  honestly  say  that  he  had 
something  for  which  to  blame  himself.  We 
were  miserable  together,  and  it  ended  as 
you  know.  He  said  when  we  parted  that  he 
had  no  longer  a  son,  and  I  took  him  at  his 
word — perhaps  too  literally.  And  that  be- 
ing so,  Miss  Lynde — his  renunciation  of 
me  having  been  complete,  and  my  accept- 
ance of  it  complete  also, — I  really  do  not 


think  that  I  have  a  right  to  come  and  take 
all  his  fortune." 

"I  am  sorry  if  you  have  scruples  on  the 
subject,  Mr.  Singleton,"  Marion  answered, 
quietly.  "They  ought  to  have  occurred  to 
you  before  you  moved  in  the  matter;  now 
they  are  too  late.  I  can  not  possibly  accept 
the  odium  of  holding  a  man's  fortune  when 
his  own  son  is  alive  and  has  claimed  it." 

"But  you  know  that  I  have  always  said 
I  should  be  satisfied  with  part — ' ' 

Marion  lifted  her  hand  with  a  silencing 
gesture. ' '  I  know,  "she  said, ' '  that  the  afiair 
is  finally  settled,  and  not  to  be  discussed  any 
more.  I  am  satisfied,  and  that  ought  to  sat- 
isfy you.  Now  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
Are  you  aware  that  I  am  going  abroad?" 

"  No, "  he  replied,  quickly,  with  a  startled 
look.  ' '  Where  are  you  going  ? ' ' 

"To  Rome.  I  have  a  friend  who  is  at 
present  living  theie,  and  I  am  going  to  join 
her." 

"But  why?" 

The  point-blank  question  was  so  much 
in  character  with  the  speaker,  that  Marion 
smiled. 

"Why?"  she  repeated.  "Well,  I  have 
nothing  to  keep  me  in  this  country,  I  am 
fond  of  my  friend,  and  I  wish  to  see  the 
world — are  not  those  reasons  enough?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  answered.  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  staring  at  her  with  his 
large,  dark,  brilliant  eyes  in  a  manner  which 
tried  even  her  self-possession.  Then  he 
asked,  abruptly :  ' '  When  are  you  going ? ' ' 

"As  soon  as  I  can  arrange  my  affairs. 
That  sounds  like  a  jest,  but  it  is  not:  I 
really  have  some  affairs  to  arrange.  They 
will  not  occupy  me  very  long,  however.  I 
shall  probably  leave  in  a  week  or  ten  days. ' ' 

' '  Oh — I  thought  you  might  be  going  to- 
morrow!" said  Mr.  Singleton,  with  an  air 
of  relief. 

After  that  he  was  a  daily  visitor, — such 
an  open,  persistent,  long-staying  visitor, 
that  all  Scarborough  was  soon  on  tiptoe  of 
expectation.  What  did  it  mean?  What 
would  be  the  end  of  this  sensational  affair? 
Would  the  legitimate  heir  of  the  fortune 
marry  the  girl  who  had  given  it  up  without 


so 


The  Ave  Maria 


a  contest?   People  began  to  say  that  Miss 
Lynde  had  been  shrewd,  and  had  known 
very  well  all  the  time  what  she  was  about. 
Miss  Lynde,  on  her  part,  felt  as  if  she 
would  never  reach  the  end  of  the  difficulties 
which  seemed  to  evolve  out  of  one  another, 
according  to  a  process  of  evolution  with 
which  we  are  all  familiar.    Had  her  pas- 
sionate desire  for  wealth  created  a  sort  of 
moral  Frankenstein,  which  would  continue 
to   pursue  her?    When,  after   a   struggle 
known  only  to  herself,  she  had  decided  to 
resigfn  the  fortune,  she  had  thought  that 
she  cast  away  all  perplexities  arising  out  of 
it ;  but  no  w  it  appeared  that  she  had  le^igned 
only  the  money,  and  that  the  difficulties 
and  perplexities  remained.   For,  as  clearly 
•  as  anyone  else,  she  perceived — what  indeed 
George  Singleton  made  no  eflfort  to  conceal 
— the  object  of  his  constant  and  assiduous 
attentions.  The  fortune  she  had  given  up 
was  to  be  offered  her  again:   she  would 
again  be  forced  to  make  a  difficult  choice. 
For  all  that  has  been  written  of  Marion 
Lynde  has  been  written  to  little  purpose  if 
any  one  imagines  that  wealth  had  lost  its 
glamour  in  her  eyes,  or  that  her  old  ambi- 
tions w6re  dead  within  her.  They  had  been 
for  a  time  subdued, — for  a  time  she  had 
realized  that  one  might  be  crushed  by  the 
weight  of  a  granted  prayer;   but  the  old 
desires  and  the  old  attraction  still  remained 
strong  enough  to  prove  a  potent  force  in 
the  hour  of  temptation. 

And  she  began  to  feel  that  it  might  be 
a  temptation  to  regain  in  the  most  entire 
manner  the  fortune  she  had  resigned;  to 
cast  one  glance  of  triumphant  scorn  at 
Rathborne,who  had  fancied  himself  schem- 
ing for  her  downfall;  to  receive  Mrs.  Single- 
ton's cousinly  congratulations;  and,  above 
all,  to  prove  to  Brian  Earle  how  easily  she 
could  console  herself  for  his  desertion — how 
readily  another  man  offered  the  homage  he 
had  withdrawn.  Yes,  all  these  things  were 
temptations;  for  the  sway  of  the  world,  of 
natural  inclinations  and  passions,  was  still 
strong  in  this  soul,  which  had  leaned  toward 
higher  things  without  embracing  them. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

WHEN  summer  came,  everybody  who 
could  leave  Rome  fled  to  the  country ; 
but  Gaston,  as  a  young  atiache^^as  obliged 
to  remain.  He  fell  ill,  and  this  illness  was 
destined  to  be  a  turning-point  in  his  life.  It 
was  God's  call  to  him  for  something  more 
than  he  had  yet  given.  He  was  quite  alone, 
and  a  holy  priest,  who  had  become  attached 
to  him,  insisted  on  carrying  him  off  to  his 
own  house,  in  order  the  better  to  nurse  him 
through  his  illness.  Thankful  to  escape 
from  loneliness,  Gaston  gladly  accepted  the 
invitation.  This  act  of  priestly  charity  from 
a  comparative  stranger  had  a  great  effect 
upon  him.  For  the  first  time  he  was  brought 
into  close  personal  contact  with  a  man  of 
austere  holiness;  he  now  saw  the  beauty  of 
charity  in  a  true  priest;  the  example 
wrought  upon  him  like  a  spell,  and  before 
he  was  aware  of  the  workings  of  his  own 
mind,  the  desire  to  sacrifice  himself  to  God 
and  lead  a  perfect  life  had  taken  possession 
of  him.  He  rose  up  from  his  illness  greatly 
changed ;  life  looked  different  to  him ;  he 
felt  detached  from  it,  and  stood  ready  to  go 
anywhere,  to  do  anything  that  Q06.  might 
ask  him. 

As  soon  as  he  had  got  through  his  con- 
valescence, a  young  man  who  was  leading 
a  devout  life  in  Rome  proposed  to  him  that 
they  should  make  a  pilgrimage  together  to 
Loreto.  Gaston  was  delighted  at  the  oppor- 
tunity of  making  a  thank-offering  for  his 
recovery,  and  at  the  same  time  paying  a 
tribute  of  respect  to  Our  Blessed  Lady ;  he 
consented  joyfully,  and  the  two  set  out  on 
their  journey.  The  moment  they  entered 
the  shrine  of  Loreto,  Gaston  was  conscious 
of  a  wonderful  visitation  of  grace;  he  felt 
his  heart  inflamed  with  extraordinary  fer- 
vor, and  torrents  of  tears  poured  from  his 
eyes.  This  lasted  all  the  time  of  his  first 
visit ;  he  left  the  sanctuary  feeling  that  Our 
Lady  had  obtained  some  wonderful  favor 


The  Ave  Maria. 


31 


for  him,  and  that  henceforth  he  was  bound 
to  serve  Her  with  no  ordinary  service. 

Three  months  later  he  made  a  vow  of 
virginity,  and  consecrated  himself  to  Mary 
by  a  vow  to  enter  the  priesthood.  He  made 
this  solemn  act  at  Midnight  Mass  on  Christ- 
mas, before  receiving  Holy  Communion. 
The  incident  is  recorded  in  a  note  found 
amongst  his  papers. 

■  'Pars  mea  Dominus!  Rome,  in  the  night  of  the 
Nativity  of  Our  Lord,  1842. 

"  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  before  the  Adorable  Sacra- 
ment of  the  Eucharist,  i  n  this  blessed  night  of  Thy 
birth.  I  consecrate  myself  to  Thee,  and  bind  my- 
self wholly  to  Thee  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary 
by  a  vow  of  perpetual  chastity  Here  I  promise 
and  swear  to  follow  the  holy  vocation  by  which 
Thou  hast  called  me  to  Thyself  In  faith  of  which 
I  promise  Thee,  O  Jesus!  sweet  Spouse  of  my 
soul,  to  read  every  day  the  Little  Office  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  until,  having  received  by 
Thy  grace  Holy  Orders,  I  shall  take  upon  myself 
the  most  sweet  burden  of  the  great  breviary. 
Amen.  Alleluia!" 

When  Gaston  de  Segur  made  this  conse- 
cration of  himself  to  God  he  had  been  ten 
months  in  Rome.  He  made  no  secret  of  his 
vocation,  and  the  news  of  it  excited  general 
surprise.  It  always  seems  so  strange,  not 
merely  to  worldlings,  but  to  good  Chris- 
tians in  the  world,  that  a  young  man  who 
has  everything  to  make  life  brilliant,  who 
has  only  to  stoop  to  pick  up  the  flowers  on 
his  path,  should  deliberately  renounce  all 
this  for  Christ's  sake,  and  sacrifice  the  sweet 
happiness  of  family  life  for  the  austere  joys 
of  a  life  of  sacrifice.  This,  I  say,  so  takes 
even  good  people  by  surprise,  that  their  first 
idea  generally  is  to  attribute  it  to  some 
human  motive,  some  sudden  grief  or  intol- 
erable disappointment. 

The  report  was  spread  that  young  De 
Segur  had  been  disappointed  in  love,  and 
that  to  drown  his  despair  he  was  going  to 
become  a  priest.  Any  one  who  had  seen  the 
uncontrollable  merriment  which  the  story 
caused  Gaston  when  it  was  repeated  to  him 
would  have  had  no  need  of  further  proof  of 
its  absolute  groundlessness.  God  makes  use 
of  an  infinite  variety  of  means  to  lead  souls 
to  their  destiny,  and  some  of  the  most  heroic 
vocations  have  had  their  source  in  grief  for 


the  loss  of  an  earthly  ideal ;  but  in  Gaston  de 
Segur' s  case  it  sprang  from  a  direct  move- 
ment of  grace,  without  the  faintest  assist- 
ance from  human  sentiment.  God  touched 
his  pure  and  happy  soul  that  day  in  the 
sanctuary  of  L<oreto;  and  the  soul,  faithful 
to  the  grace,  had  responded  generously,  and 
made  its  sacrifice  there  and  then. 

Writing  later  to  an  intimate  friend,  who, 
like  himself,  was  preparing  to  give  up  all 
things  for  Christ's  sake, he  says:  "There  is 
not  so  much  as  one  grain  of  truth  in  this 
precious  story  that  you  have  heard.  From 
the  time  I  was  eighteen  I  was  resolved  to 
give  myself  to  God.  At  twenty-two  I  en- 
tered the  seminary,  and  should  have  done 
so  sooner  had  it  not  been  for  a  director  who 
was  very  cautious,  and  took  great  pains  to 
prove  and  enlighten  me.  I  did  not  enter 
'  against  the  will '  of  my  family,  but  in  spite 
of  their  intense  reluctance,  which  is  the 
case  nine  times  out  of  ten,  and  which  is  no 
doubt  permitted  by  God  in  order  to  try  the 
vocation  of  those  whom  He  calls  to  the 
priesthood." 

In  Gaston's  case  the  reluctance  and  grief 
of  his  family  far  exceeded  what  nine  out  of 
the  ten  have  to  encounter.  His  mother's 
grief  amounted  to  despair,  and  expressed 
itself  with  an  intensity  that  is  hard  to  rec- 
oncile with  her  deep  piety  and  lively  faith. 
The  probability  is  that  she  did  not  quite 
believe  in  his  vocation,  and  trembled  lest  it 
should  turn  out  to  be  no  more  than  a  pass- 
ing phase  of  pious  enthusiasm.  Gaston's 
love  for  his  art,  the  passion  he  had  shown 
for  it  as  a  career,  blinded  her  to  the  reality 
of  the  higher  and  deeper  enthusiasm  before 
which  this  had  vanished  so  suddenly.  He 
had  kept  the  secret  of  his  soul  so  guard- 
edly that  his  mother  never  suspected  it,  and 
thus  the  vocation  which  he  had  been  yearn- 
ing after  from  his  boyhood  came  upon  her 
with  a  suddenness  that  shook  her  belief  in 
it.  This  is  the  only  solution  we  can  find  for 
the  despair  of  the  deVout  Christian  mother 
on  leaiping  that  her  son  was  called  b] 
to  the  sublime  service  of  the  Alt£ 

Her  grief  and  expostulatic 
heavy  cross  to  the  one  Gastoi 


32 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  carry  in  separating  from  her,  and  leaving 
a  home  that  was  inexpressibly  dear  to  him. 
Her  letters  were  agonized  appeals  to  his 
compassion  and  love  for  her;  it  was  hard 
for  such  a  son  to  read  and  not  succumb  to 
them.  He  told  her  in  after  years  that  he 
used  to  take  them  into  church,  and  read 
them  on  his  knees  before  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament, so  much  did  he  dread  the  pain  and 
the  strife  they  awoke  in  him.  He  left  noth- 
ing undone  to  convince  her  of  the  sincerity 
of  his  vocation,  and  his  perfect  happiness 
in  it;  but  in  vain:  his  boyish  gayety,  the 
serenity  of  his  countenance,  his  enthusiasm 
for  the  life  he  had  chosen, — all  seemed  to 
her  a  sustained  and  heroic  effort  to  over- 
come nature,  and  disguise  his  own  feelings 
in  order  to  console  and  mislead  her;  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  he 
was  not  suffering  intensely. 

She  used  to  accuse  herself  afterwards  of 
this  obstinate  resistance  of  her  heart  to  his 
vocation,  and  many  a  time  in  later  years 
brought  comfort  and  hope  to  other  moth- 
ers in  the  same  trial  by  telling  them  how, 
after  so  long  repining  and  rebelling,  she 
had  not  only  become  entirely  reconciled  to 
the  sacrifice,  but  had  grown  to  love  it  as 
the  greatest  happiness  of  her  life,  even  hu- 
manly; for  of  all  her  children,  this  one, 
whom  she  had  so  grudgingly  given  to  God, 
was  the  one  whom  she  most  retained  as  her 
own,  who  most  shared  and  brightened  her 
home-life  to  the  last;  who, after  giving  her 
up  for  God,  was  the  least  separated  from  her. 

Gaston  was  very  anxious  to  pursue  his 
ecclesiastical  studies  in  Rome,  but  this  con- 
cession his  parents  absolutely  refused  to 
make;  so  he  returned  to  Paris,  and  entered 
the  seminary  at  Issy.  Before  taking  this 
final  step,  however,  he  made  a  journey  to 
Russia  in  order  to  take  leave  of  his  venera- 
ble friend  and  grandmother,  the  Countess 
Rostopchine.  He  also  made  a  farewell  visit 
to  Nouettes.  This  done,  he  turned  his  back 
upon  home  and  kindred,  and  entered  the 
seminary  in  the  month  of  October,  1843. 

For  three  years  he  pursued  his  course  of 
studies  without  any  interruption;  then  he 
was  arrested  by  an  attack  of  ophthalmia, 


which  made  it  necessary  to  give  up  every- 
thing and  take  a  complete  holiday.  He 
went  with  his  brother  and  a  friend  to  make 
a  tour  in  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol.  It  was 
a  happy  time  for  the  three  tourists.  Gaston 
was  the  life  of  the  party;  his  high  spirits, 
his  sense  of  humor,  and  his  childlike  enjoy- 
ment of  everything,  made  him  a  delight- 
ful companion.  He  was  in  raptures  at 
the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  was  wild  to 
sketch  every  beautiful  point  they  passed. 
But  amidst  these  fine  scenes  that  excited  his 
artistic  imagination,  he  was  mindful  and  on 
the  watch  for  things  that  were  above  the 
beauties  of  nature. 

Two  highly-favored  souls,  known  as  the 
ecstatica  and  the  addolorata^  were  drawing 
numerous  pilgrims  to  the  Tyrol,  and  the 
three  young  Frenchmen  could  not  fail  to 
seek  the  privilege  of  seeing  them.  They 
went  first  to  Marie  de  Moerl,  the  ecstatica. 
They  found  her  kneeling  on  her  bed,  bent 
forward  in  an  attitude  that  could  not  have 
been  maintained  for  a  moment  naturally; 
her  hands,  transparent  as  wax,  were  lifted 
up;  her  face  shone  with  a  sort  of  divine 
illumination ;  her  whole  person  was  that  of 
a  soul  beholding  God.  It  was  impossible  to 
look  at  her  without  being  profoundly  im- 
pressed as  by  a  supernatural  presence;  even 
unbelievers,  who  went  to  see  her  out  of  cu- 
riosity, were  so  overcome, that  involuntarily 
they  fell  on  their  knees.  Gaston,  after  gaz- 
ing for  a  long  time  on  her  rapt  countenance, 
with  ardent  reverence,  took  out  his  pencil, 
and  made  a  rapid  but  remarkably  faithful 
sketch  of  her.  Just  as  he  had  finished  it,  the 
ecstatica  came  out  of  her  ecstasy,  and  spoke. 

Dominica  Lazzari,  the  addolorata^  was 
lying  on  her  bed,  rigid  as  a  corpse,  her  pallid 
face  covered  with  clotted  blood  from  the 
thorn  wounds  in  her  forehead ;  she  was  thin 
to  emaciation,  a  ghastly  and  awful  picture 
to  look  at;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  the  signs  of 
physical  agony  visible  in  her  body,  her 
countenance  bore  the  impress  of  a  divine 
peace.  Gaston  carried  away  a  very  vivid 
sketch  of  her  also. 

His  eyes  and  his  general  health — on 
which  their  condition  was  erroneously  sup- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


hZ 


posed  to  depend — were  greatly  benefited  by 
this  tour  and  the  bracing  air  of  the  moun- 
tains. He  returned  to  his  studies,  completed 
them  successfully,  and  was  ordained  in  1847. 
The  first  Mass  of  a  fervent  priest  is  a 
unique  event,  not  only  in  his  own  life,  but  in 
the  lives  of  his  kindred  and  friends.  There 
is  nothing  on  this  side  of  heaven  that  can 
be  compared  to  it  for  divine  solemnity  and 
heavenly  sweetness.  To  such  a  family  as 
Gaston  de  Segur's,  it  came  glorified  as  an 
apparition  of  Christ  amongst  them.  His 
parents,  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  many 
near  relatives  and  dear  friends  assisted  at  it, 
and  received  Communion  from  his  hands. 
Those  who  beheld  him  celebrating  that  first 
Mass  at  the  great  high  altar  of  St.Sulpice, 
at  which  so  many  thousands  of  young 
priests  celebrate  the  sacred  mysteries  for  the 
first  time,  declare  that  his  air  of  angelic 
fervor  was  a  thing  never  to  be  forgotten. 
He  looked  like  an  angel  as  he  came  down 
the  altar  steps  holding  the  consecrated  Host 
over  the  ciborium. 

It  is  customary  for  a  priest  to  make  some 
special  petition  at  the  moment  of  conse- 
crating the  bread  and  wine  at  his  first  Mas?, 
and  it  is  a  pious  and  general  belief  that  any- 
thing he  asks  then  will  be  granted.  Gaston 
was  charged  with  many  ' '  particular  inten- 
tions" from  kindred  and  friends,  and  we 
may  rest  assured  they  were  all  devoutly  ex- 
ecuted. But  he  made  a  special  petition  of  his 
own  which -gives  us  the  measure  of  his  love 
for  God,  and  which  was  destined  to  affect 
signally  the  whole  course  of  his  career:  he 
asked  Our  Lady  to  obtain  for  him  the  in- 
firmity which  would  be  most  crucifying  to 
himself  without  hindering  his  ministry. 

While  Mme.  de  S^gur  was  shedding  tears 
of  joy  as  she  bowed  down  before  the  God 
that  this  dear  son  lifted  up  for  her  adora- 
tion, she  little  dreamed  what  a  prayer  was 
ascending  to  Him  from  the  celebrant's 
heart;  if  she  had,  her  courage  would  prob 
ably  not  have  been  equal  to  saying  Amen 
to  it.  But  she  suspected  nothing;  he  con- 
fided his  secret  only  to  his  confessor  and 
one  other  spiritual  friend. 

(to  be  continued.) 


That  Wicked  Paragraph. 


BY  MAURICE  F.  EGAN. 


(Conclusion.) 
VI. 
"A/^OU  say  that  the  phenomenon  I  men- 
1  tioned  in  my  last  letter,  dear  Red,  is 
not  uncommon,  and  that  Catholic  young 
ladies  are  frequently  as  devoted  to  their  re- 
ligious duties  as  the  one  I  have  mentioned. 
Perhaps  so.  It  strikes  me  as  strange  in  this 
mocking  nineteenth  century  that  anybody 
can  take  religion  seriously.  It  makes  me 
uneasy. 

' '  I  have  seen  the  old  gentleman .  The  ami- 
able landlady  came  up  and  asked  me  if  I 
could  play  whist.  I  said  I  could,  and,  as  his 
daughter  has  gone  to  New  York  for  a  few 
days,  I  go  into  his  room  for  a  game  occa- 
sionally. It  will  amaze  you  when  I  say  that 
he  is  the  man  I  pulled  from  under  the 
horses'  feet  on  Broadway !  The  young  lady 
is — the  Unknown.  His  name  is  Vernon. 
He  is  good-tempered,  but  rather  sad  and 
reticent.  Something  seems  to  weigh  on  his 
mind.   His  daughter's  name  is  Anita. 

'  'As  I  was  writing  that  last  line  she  came 
home  in  the  coach — it  looks  like  an  ambu- 
lance— which  brings  passengers  from  the 
station.  Later  I  went  down- stairs  with  a 
newspaper  in  my  hand.  I  had  promised  to 
give  it  to  Mr.  Vernon.  As  I  was  about  to 
knock  at  his  door,  I  heard  a  slight  rustle 
near  me,  and  I  turned.  The  young  lady  was 
there. 

' ' '  Do  you  want  to  see  father  ? '  she  asked, 
looking  at  me  frankly  from  a  pair  of  very 
earnest  eyes. 

"'I  came  to  give  Mr. Vernon  this  news- 
paper,' I  said. 

' '  She  colored  slightly  and  hesitated. 
'  Will  you  please  give  the  newspaper  to  me? 
I  always  look  over  any  newspaper  intended 
for  him.'  She  saw  that  I  looked  surprised; 
she  colored  more  vividly,  and  said :  '  You 
no  doubt  think  this  strange.  My  father  had 
a  dreadful  shock  from  a  newspaper  once, 
and  I  am  always  very  careful  now.' 


34 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"I  gave  her  the  newspaper,  and  she 
thanked  me.  She  has  an  air  of  charming 
dignity,  and  of — I  don't  exactly  know  what 
to  call  it,  but  it  is  very  pleasant  to  look  at 

her." 

VII. 

"  You  accuse  me,  Anita  Vernon,  of  hav- 
ing forgotten  you,  Anna  Arthur.  How  un- 
reasonable! I  have  thought  of  you  every 
day,  and  I  am  sure  I've  written  more  letters 
to  you  than  you  have  written  to  me  since 
we  left  the  convent.  We  have  been  at  this 
dear,  delightful  place  for  over  five  weeks. 
At  first  the  wind  was  awful;  the  sky  was 
the  grimmest  expanse  of  gray  clouds  I  ever 
saw,  and  the  sea  roared  like  a  monster.  I 
assure  you  I  have  often  come  back  from 
early  Mass  drenched  with  the  spray, which 
was  flung  almost  into  the  very  city  itself. 

"I  told  you  that  the  only  guest  at  the 
cottage  is  a  young  man  from  New  York, 
Mr.  Weston  Lee,  who  is  a  writer.  It  turns 
out  that  he  is  the  gentleman  who  saved 
father's  life  on  that  awful  day  in  Broadway. 
He  plays  whist  with  papa,  and  I  have  ac- 
quired a  habit  of  sitting  with  them.  He 
certainly  is  nice,  but  hopeless.  It  is  the 
saddest  thing  to  hear  him  speak  of  the 
weariness  of  life.  He  has  high  views,  too; 
and,  in  speaking  of  the  journalistic  life 
yesterday,  he  said  he  had  never  written  a 
line  that  he  would  want  to  blot.  It  is  a 
great  thing  to  say.  Father — you  know  how 
he  loves  me,  and  thinks  that  everybody  else 
should  be  in  love  with  me, — warned  me  to- 
day that  I  was  becoming  too  friendly  with 
Mr.  Lee.  He  says  that  I  ought  not  to  encour- 
age him.  This  warning  was  founded  on  the 
fact  that  I  let  him  walk  to  Mass  with  me 
four  mornings  last  week.  How  queer  of 
father! 

"  P.  S. — As  I  was  going  to  the  post-office 
to  mail  this,  I  met  Mr.  Lee.  He  is  generally 
very  self-possessed.  He  seemed  nervous, 
and  he  asked  if  he  might  walk  back  with 
me  to  the  office.  I  was  glad  to  say  yes,  for  I 
do  like  him.  He  said  he  was  about  to  leave ; 
the  office  wanted  him,  and  he  would  have 
to  go  to-morrow.  I  felt  all  of  a  sudden  that 
I  should  miss  him  very  much.   Returning 


alone  the  beach,  we  were  both  silent.  We 
seemed  to  be  walking  on  a  glass  floor  col- 
ored with  the  glow  of  a  million  rubies.  The 
sunset  was  magnificent,  and  the  wet  beach 
reflected  it  until  both  earth  and  sky  were  on 
fire. — Well,  my  dear,  he  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife,  and  I  told  him  that  I  would  never 
marry  a  man  outside  the  Catholic  Church. 
He  tried  to  argue,  and  then  I  told  him  that 
I  would  never  marry  at  all,  that — and  you 
know  how  hard  that  was — my  father's  name 
was  tarnished  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and 
that  his  daughter  was  too  proud  to  take  to 
her  husband  a  tarnished  name  as  her  only 
dowry.  O  Anna!  how  sad  and  astonished  he 
looked,  and  how  wretched  I  felt!  I  began 
to  sob  in  spite  of  myself,  and  ran  ahead  of 
him,  though  I  heard  hi<?  voice  asking  me 
to  pause.  Don't  try  to  conifort  me,  Anna; 
I  can  find  comfort  only  at  the  foot  of  the 
Tabernacle.  Ah,  Anna,  it  is  hard  to  do  one's 
duty  sometimes! 

' '  You  know  that  I  have  not  known  him 
long,  and  it  may  surprise  you  that  I  should 
suddenly  have  become  conscious  of  so 
great  a  regard  for  him.  He  has  been  so  very 
kind  to  my  father,  and  so  reverent  when 
any  subject  connected  with  our  holy  relig- 
ion was  brought  up.  I  could  have  cut  out 
my  tongue  for  having  spoken  of  my  father's 
misfortunes,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  must  tell  him 
the  truth.  He  naturally  can  not  compre- 
hend my  reasons  for  refusing  to  marry  a 
non-Catholic.  He  might  persist  in  his  atten- 
tions if  he  did  not  know  there  were  other 
reasons  for  my  refusing  him.  As  it  was,  he 
joined  me  n^ar  the  cottage.  'Let  me  add 
one  word.  Miss  Vernon,'  he  said.  'I  will 
even  join  your  Church  for  your  sake.  Forms 
make  little  difierence. ' 

"'No,'  I  said,  'you  must  not  think  of 
such  a  step.  The  barrier  that  separates  us  is 
no  mere  form.  Your  conversion  for  my  sake 
would  neither  satisfy  God,  yourself,  nor 
me.  It  would  be  the  most  empty  of  forms. 
Good-bye.'" 

VIII. 

"Well,  my  dear  Redmond,  you  know  all 
that  occurred  during  my  last  day  at  Atlan- 
tic City  from  my  last  letter.   I  have  been 


The  Ave  Maria. 


J5 


deeply  impressed  ever  since  by  the  thought 
that  there  must  be  soynething  under  all  your 
Catholic  ceremonies  when  a  young  girl  can 
act  as  Miss  Vernon  has  acted.  I  give  no 
weight  whatever  to  her  words  about  her 
father's  'tarnished  name.'  I  find  out  that 
Mr.  Vernon  failed  in  business  because  of  bad 
debts,  and  that  he  honorably  discharged  his 
obligations  as  far  as  possible.  I  do  not  im- 
agine that  I  shall  ever  meet  her  again,  but 
I  will  never  cease  to  remember  her  sweet 
womanliness,  her  patience,  her  regard  for 
duty,  and  the  serenity  which  seemed  to 
emanate  from  a  heart  filled — yes,  I  will  say 
it,  though  many  of  my  friends  would  call  it 
cant — with  the  love  of  God.  Oblige  me,  my 
dear  boy,  by  sending  some  books  to  me, — 
books  that  will  answer  why  Catholics  be- 
lieve so  firmly  in  these  days  of  doubt.  I  can 
not  get  rid  of  the  influence  of  Miss  Vernon's 
daily  example." 

IX. 
' '  Dear  LeE: — There  is  an  acquaintance 
of  yours  on  a  visit  to  my  mother.  It  is  Miss 
Vernon,  Will  you  run  down  to  Swampscott 
with  me?  Meet  me  at  the  Grand  Central 
station  on  Saturday. 

"Redmond  O'Connor." 

X. 

' '  Dear  Redmond  : — With  pleasure.  Ex- 
Governor  Jinks  is  there  just  now,  too.  I  will 
mix  business  with  pleasure,  and  interview 
him  at  the  same  time.  I  am  to  be  baptized 
conditionally  to-morrow.  It  is  sudden,  but, 
you  see,  I  had  prepared  myself  for  it  un- 
consciously. It  may  amuse  you  when  I 
say  that  Mallock's  'New  Republic'  had  as 
much  to  do  with  it  as  anything,  except  Miss 
Vernon's  beautiful  example,  and,  above 
all,  God's  grace.  I  have  always  worn  that 
medal  since  I  received  it.  I  can't  under- 
stand why  the  author  of '  The  New  Repub- 
lic' does  not  enter  the  Church.  I  can  say 
honestly  that  the  hope  of  one  day  marrying 
Miss  Vernon  has  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  change  in  my  belief — or,  rather,  my 
adoption  of  the  only  belief  possible  for  a 
logical  mind;  but,  as  I  have  said,  her  ex- 
ample was  my  first  impetus  towards  the 
Faith." 


XL 

' '  Dear  Anna  : — Father  and  I  were  sur- 
prised to  meet  him"  ("him"  is  scratched 
out  in  the  original  letter,  and  "Mr.  Lee" 
written  over  it)  "at  Mrs.  O'Connor's.  He 
looked  happier,  and  I  soon  discovered  the 
reason.  He  has  become  a  Catholic.  He  told 
me  so  as  we  stood  in  the  little  parlor  wait- 
ing for  the  others  to  come  down.  And  then 
I  had  to  listen  to  a  new  proposal.  I  told 
him  that,  although  it  made  me  happy  to 
hear  that  he  had  entered  the  Church  (and 
you  know,  Anna,  I  prayed  for  it  very  hard), 
I  could  not  be  his  wife.  I  repeated  that  we 
were  under  a  cloud.  My  father  had  been 
branded  as  worse  than  a  thief  in  a  public 
print.  We  had  sought  refuge  from  the  sneers 
of  the  world  in  quiet  places,  and  that  I 
would  never  marry  any  man  with  a  load  of 
disgrace  upon  my  father  and  me. 

"He  seemed  amazed  at  my  vehemence. 

' "  I  know  all  about  it.  The  world  does 
not  sneer  at  your  father.  He  is  much  re- 
spected, notwithstanding  his  misfortunes.' 

"  '  You  don' t  know,'  I  answered, wishing 
from  my  heart  that  I  could  have  been  saved 
from  this  cruel  ordeal;  and  then  I  drew 
from  my  pocket-book  that  cruel,  cruel  arti- 
cle, the  sight  of  which  in  a  New  York  paper 
gave  papa  his  first  stroke  of  paralysis.  '  I 
will  show  you,  Mr.  Lee,  what  the  world  says 
of  my  father.  And  then  I  will  ask  whether 
you  can  marry  a  girl  whose  name  has  been 
dragged  in  the  mire,  and  whose  father  you 
would  have  to  call  father.' 

"He  started  at  this,  and  turned  paler.  I 
gave  him  that  heart-crushing  paragraph. 
He  started  to  read,  and  turned  it  over.  *  I 
think  I  know  this  type,'  he  said:  'it's  a  bit 
out  of  our  paper ' ;  and  then  he  read  sotto 
voce: 

' ' '  Mr.  Vernon — carelessness — criminal  to 
reduce  working-men  to  despair  by  taking 
the  bread  out  of  their  mouths — ' 

' ' '  That  was  said  of  my  father — my  fa- 
ther^ who  reduced  himself  to  poverty,  who 
knew  them  all,  who  never  refused  to  help 
them!'  I  interrupted,  tears  coming  to  my 
eyes.  '  O  Mr.  Lee!  why  did  you  force  me  to 


36 


The  Ave  Maria, 


show  you  this? — why  did  you  ?  Look  in  his 
face  and  see  whether  he  is  capable  of  de- 
frauding laborets'  of  their  wages.  He  failed, 
it  is  true;  but  he  has  left  no  man  worse  by 
his  failure.  My  mother's  property  has  gone 
to  pay  his  debts.  His  creditors  have  shown 
their  appreciation  of  this,  and  allowed  him 
enough  for  his  old  age.  But  tell  me,  Mr. 
Lee,  if  5  ou  would  marry  the  daughter  of  a 
man  whose  name  was  tarnished  by  such  a 
stain?  He  has  suffered  silently;  for  when 
he  recovered  from  the  blow  that  those  cruel 
words  gave  him,  it  was  too  late  to  meet  the 
charge.  Let  us  say  no  more  of  marriage, 
Mr.  Lee.'" 

"He  tried  to  take  my  hand,  but  I  would 
not  let  him.  'You  can  not  comfort  me  in 
any  way.  I  must  bear  my  burden.' 
•  ' '  He  read  the  paragraph  to  the  end,  color- 
ing up  to  the  eyes.  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  men  are  not  like  us — constant  to  those 
we  love  in  all  darkness  and  storm.  I,  in 
his  place,  would  not  have  blushed  for  the 
woman  I  loved. 

"  'If,'  I  added,  as  I  saw  that  he  was  not 
about  to  speak,  'you  should  ever  meet  the 
editor  who  wrote  that  article,  ask  him  not 
to  be  so  ruthless  the  next  time.  That  printed 
calumny  is  worse  than  murder.  I  could 
more  easily  forgive  a  murdeier.  And  now, 
Mr.  Lee,  let  us  be  merely  polite  to  each 
other  while  we  are  here. ' 

"He  went  to  the  window  in  silence.  I 
noticed  his  head  trembled.  He  turned  to 
me  as  if  to  speak,  when  my  father  and  Mrs. 
O'Connor  came  in.  During  his  stay  at 
Swampscott  I  did  not  again  see  him  alone. 
Imagine  a  woman  acting  like  that!  Love! 
These  men  may  talk  of  love,  but  no  woman 
would  ever  desert  one  she  loved  because 
the  world  spoke  ill  of  his  father.  I  am  al- 
most ashamed  to  admit  even  to  you  that  I 
thought  him  the  bravest  of  men." 

xn. 

"O  Anna,  Anna!  what  am  I  to  do?  He 
admits  in  a  note  I  received  this  morning  that 
he  wrote  that  wicked,  wicked  paragraph! 
The  wretch,  the  dastard,  the  calumniator — 
and  yet  he  seems  so  nice!" 


XIII. 

"In  answer  to  my  letter  asking  for  an 
explanation,  he  says  that  he  can  give  none, 
except  that  he  is  a  journalist.  Journalists 
are  worse  than  brigands,  x^nna.  The  former 
take  our  good  name,  the  latter  only  our 
money.  Does  'I  am  a  brigand'  seem  suffi- 
cient excuse  for  highway  robbery  ?  And  yet 
he  asks  me  to  accept  'I  am  a  journalist'  as 
an  excuse  for  worse  than  highway  robbery. 
How  I  dislike  him  and  his — occupation!" 
XIV. 

"Dear  Red:  —  It  is  all  up  with  me. 
What  endless  evil  I  have  done!  How  lightly 
words  roll  from  our  pens,  sometimes  crush- 
ing hearts  and  blasting  names!  I  have  at 
last  come  to  realize  this.  I  will  never — so 
help  me  God ! — write  another  line  thought- 
lessly or  under  the  pressure  of  opinion  I 
know  to  be  false.  I  will  not  write  again  for 
a  long  time.  I  can  give  Miss  Vernon  no  ex- 
planation that  would  not  seem  to  make  my 
weakness  more  pitiable. ' ' 

XV. 

In  spite  of  this  last  line,  there  must  have 
been  some  explanation;  for  I  find  a  wed- 
ding-card in  the  bundle,  but  no  note  further 
explaining  it. 


To  the  Ocean  Queen. 


BY    R.  HOWLEY. 


T\  WAY,  sea-sounding  song!    Upon  the  tide 
-^  Resistless  ride,  the  Ocean  Queen  to  greet; 
How  soft  the  billows'  bonds !  Their  realm  how 
wide! 

How  all  their  paths  of  light 
Lead  th'  enraptured  sight 
To  where  the  glowing  skies  and  waters  meet — 

To  Thee,  Mary! 
II. 
O  stainless  sea!  thou  makest  all  things  clean; 
Where'  er  thou  flowest  health  and  hope  abound. 
The  very  stars  that  on  thy  bosom  lean 
Melt  in  thy  fond  embrace, 
And  with  a  mystic  grace. 
New  rays  of  liquid  loveliness,  are  crowned: 

So  Thou,  Mary! 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


37 


III, 
The  spell  of  Thy  sweet  name,  the  breath  of 

Thee, 
Brings  incorruption.   So  the  starry  way 
Of  souls  elect  hangs  mirrored  in  the  sea 
Of  Thy  unbounded  love, 
That  all  the  spheres  above 
'  Grow  pale  with  envy  of  their  hallowed  ray — 

Thy  light,  Mary.* 

IV. 

And  Thou  dost  love  the  sea;  for  never  sin 
Did  wanton  in  its  depths;  nor  primal  fault 
That  cursed  our  grosser  earth  found  home 
therein ; 

But,  like  Thee,  clean  alway 
It  spurns  a  guileful  sway. 
And  of  a  wounded  world 's  the  healing  salt, — 

lyike  Thee,  Mary. 

V. 

Still  be  the  seaman  bold  Thy  favored  son. 
Whom  billows  sever  from  a  mother's  side. 
Whose  only  light  till  his  life's  course  be  run. 
His  morn  and  vesper  star. 
Thine  eyes  of  mercy  are. 
To  cheer  his  pathway  o'er  the  waters  wide. 

VI. 

From  deep  to  deep  as  the  great  echoes  swell, 

lyike  sound  of  floodgates  let  Thy  prayer  as- 
cend;! 

Let  all  the  depths  of  grace  that  in  Thee  dwell 
In  pitying  currents  flow 
To  meet  our  depths  of  woe,' 

And  with  our  sighs  in  one  sweet  concord  blend. 


*  The  commoti  people  believed  that  the  Milky 
Way  was  appointed  by  Providence  to  point  out  the 
particular  place  and  residence  of  the  Blessed  Vir 
gin,  and  it  was  on  that  account  called  the  "  Wal- 
singham  Way." — Blomfield  {quoted  in  Northcote's 
'^^ Sanctuaries  of  the  Madonna'' — "  Our  Lady  of 
Walsingham^^). 

f  Deep  calleth  on  deep  at  the  noise  of  thy  flood- 
gates.  (Ps.  xli,  8.) 


As  for  spirits,  I  am  so  far 
their  existence,  that  I  could 
that  not  only  whole  countries 
persons,  have  their  tutelary 
angels.  .  .  This  serves  as  a 
solve  many  doubts  whereof 
losophy  aifordeth  no  solution 
Brow7ie. 


from  denying 
easily  believe 
,  but  particular 
and  guardian 
hypothesis  to 
common  phi- 
— Sir  Thomas 


The  Ways  of  God. 


BY   I..  W.  REILLY. 


THIS  anecdote  was  told  by  me  to  the 
editor  of  a  Catholic  newspaper: 

When  Father  K was  stationed  at 

Palatka  in  Florida  he  had  to  make  period- 
ical trips  to  a  dozen  outlying  missions.  On 
one  occasion  when  he  went  to  De  Land  he 
was  met  at  the  wharf  by  an  acquaintance, 
who,  after  greeting  him,  said: 

"There  is  a  young  man  at  Blank's  who 
is  anxious  to  see  you." 

' '  Is  he  a  Catholic?  "  inquired  the  priest. 

"No,  Father;  that  is — yes — well,  he 
ought  to  be.  He  is  baptized  and  made  his 
First  Communion.  But  he's  nothing  now. 
He  drifted  out  West  in  his  early  youth,  and 
lived  for  >ears  where  there  was  no  other 
Catholic.  Missionaries  occasionally  visited 
adjacent  hamlets,  but  he  never  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  at  hand.  Consequently  he  fell 
away  from  the  knowledge  as  well  as  the 
practice  of  his  religion.  Finally  he  took 
to  attending  Protestant  meeting-houses^ 
wherein  itinerant  preachers  held  forth  at 
irregular  intervals.  His  health  began  to 
break  down  last  year,  owing  to  the  severity 
of  the  climate,  and  he  has  come  here  to 
locate. ' ' 

"Is  he  sick?" 

"No,  Father,  he's  not  sick.  His  lungs  are 
weak  and  his  system's  run  down,  but  he's 
able  to  do  light  work,  and  is  as  lively  and 
chipper  as  a  cricket. ' ' 

"What  does  he  want  with  me?" 

"I  presume  he  desires  to  put  himself 
under  instructions  to  return  to  the  Chuich. 
He  was  here  recently,  and  when  he  found 
out  that  I  was  a  Catholic  he  seemed  drawn 
to  confide  in  me.  He  told  me  his  whole 
history.  When  he  came  to  speak  of  his  ill- 
ness he  said  that  lately  he  had  been  at  the 
point  of  death  in  one  of  the  Territories,  and 
that  his  one  source  of  dread  was,  as  he  put 
it,  'to  go  across  the  river  without  being 
acquainted  with  God.'  All  along  he  had 
been  eager  to  meet  a  priest.  When  I  told 


38 


The  Ave  Maria. 


him  that  you  would  soon  be  here,  his  face 
flushed  with  pleasure;  but  as  lie  is  working 
in  Mr.  Blank's  grove,  and  is  kept  busy  all 
day  long  at  this  season,  he  begged  me  to 
request  you  to  visit  him.  Indeed  the  last 
words  he  said  as  he  bade  me  good-night 
were :  '  Now,  don' t  forget ;  tell  him  to  please 
come  right  away.' " 

The  day  was  hot.  The  priest  was  tired. 
Noon  was  near.  The  road  was  dusty,  and 
Blank's  was  three  miles  away. 

"All  right,"  said  the  priest;  "I'll  go  see 
him  after  dinner." 

Then  he  went  to  a  hotel,  got  a  room, 
made  his  toilet,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  the 
mid-day  meal.  But  he  couldn't  rest.  The 
thought  of  that  unhappv  man  so  long  de- 
prived of  the  Sacraments  haunted  him,  and 
the  words,  "Tell  him  to  please  come  right 
away, ' '  rang  in  his  ears.  * '  Right  away ! ' ' 
echoed  the  priest;  "that's  unreasonable. 
I'll  go  after  dinner." 

Then  he  picked  up  a  paper,  but  he  couldn't 
read  His  mind  would  not  be  interested  in 
the  news;  it  would  persist  in  recalling  the 
entreaty,  "Tell  him  to  please  come  right 
away. ' '  He  took  an  orange  from  a  dozen  on 
a  table  in  the  room,  and  began  to  peel  it; 
but  that  troublesome  "right  away"  took 
away  his  taste  for  the  fruit.  He  got  up  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  The  level  land 
stretched  out  before  him  for  miles;  the  pine- 
trees  waved  their  high  branches  in  the  dis- 
tance; the  orange  groves  that  dotted  the 
neighboring  fields  were  beautiful  in  green 
and  gold;  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the 
bright  blue  sky,  and  the  sun  was  fiercely 
shining.  The  priest  put  back  the  orange 
on  the  table.  "I'll  go  before  dinner,"  he 
said. 

He  hurried  down  stairs,  hired  a  horse 
against  the  remonstrance  of  the  landlord, 
who  urged  him  to  defer  the  trip  until  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  and  rode  away  to 
Blank's. 

The  young  man  was  at  the  gate.  No- 
ticing the  priest's  black  garb  and  uncom- 
mon collar,  he  asked:  "Are  you  Father 
K ?"  He  cordially  welcomed  his  vis- 
itor, invited  him  to  dismount,  gave  the  horse 


some  corn,  and  took  the  priest  to  his  own 
apartment.  Dinner  was  not  quite  ready, 
and  they  would  have  time  for  a  talk.  Hur- 
riedly the  young  man  outlined  the  story  of 
his  life.  After  rehearsing  the  hardships  he 
had  endured,  and  the  sufferings  th^t  had 
brought  him  to  death's  door,  he  began  to  set 
forth  in  glowing  terms  his  exuberant  hopes 
of  health  and  prosperity  in  Florida.  He 
felt  so  well!  His  prospects  were  so  bright! 
In  the  midst  of  a  sentence  descriptive  of 
his  projects  for  the  years  of  plenty  after  his 
to  be-planted  grove  had  come  into  bearing, 
he  stopped  of  a  sudden  and  coughed  sharply; 
there  was  a  choking  sound  in  his  throat, 
blood  filled  his  mouth  and  came  pouring 
down  in  a  crimson  tide  upon  the  floor.  The 
priest  caught  him  and  called  for  help.  When 
assistance  arrived,  the  sufferer  was  properly 
cared  for,  and  soon  the  hemorrhage  was 
stopped.  It  was  one  of  a  dozen  that  had 
drained  away  his  vigor.  He  was  very  weak, 
but  he  insisted  on  receiving  some  instruc- 
tion, and  having  his  confession  heard  at 
once. 

The  priest  sent  the  others  out  of  the 
room,  and  prepared  the  penitent  for  the 
Sacrament.  Then  he  helped  him  to  examine 
his  conscience.  As  his  transgressions  were 
acknowledged,  his  contrition  deepened,  and 
when  he  bowed  his  head  to  receive  absolu- 
tion the  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  Just  as  the 
priest  pronounced  the  Amen  of  the  pardon, 
the  ominous  cough  was  heard  and  the 
choking  noise,  and  again  the  blood  gushed 
forth, but  now  in  an  endless  stream.  Fainter 
he  grew  and  fainter;  the  color  that  had 
warmed  his  cheek  fled;  the  courage  that 
had  buoyed  him  up  gave  way  to  the  certi- 
tude of  dissolution,  and,  with  one  supreme 
eSbrt,  he  leaned  over  towards  the  priest  and 
died  within  his  arms. 

"May  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul!" 
said  the  priest;  "his  death  was  sudden  but 
not  unprovided.  Strange  are  the  merciful 
ways  of  Providence.  If  this  poor  boy  had 
not  implored  his  friend  to  send  the  priest  to 
him,  if  I  had  not  come  to  De  Land  to-day, 
if  his  friend  had  not  met  me  and  thought  to 
tell  me  of  his  plea,  if  I  had  not  come  '  right 


The  Ave  Maria. 


S9 


away '  as  he  had  desired,  where  would  he  be 
now?  What  a  number  of  coincidents  con- 
curred to  give  him  the  grace  of  a  happy 
death!" 

When  I  had  concluded,  the  editor  sighed 
and  said: 

"I  can  match  your  anecdote  with  an  ex- 
perience of  my  own.  My  little  boy  was  run 
over  by  a  horse-car  not  far  from  our  home, 
and  was  taken  to  a  hospital  in  a  hastily- 
summoned  ambulance.  As  the  vehicle  was 
on  its  way  back  from  the  scene  of  the  ac- 
cident, it  was  stopped  to  take  up  a  poor 
workman  who  had  fallen  thirty-five  feet 
from  a  scaffolding.  When  they  reached  the 
hospital  it  was  found  that  my  child's  arm 
must  be  amputated.  His  mother  was  noi- 
fied,  but  before  she  got  to  his  side  the  opera- 
tioa  was  performed  As  soon  as  she  saw 
him  she  seat  for  a  priest  to  hear  his  first 
confession.  The  dear  boy  was  conscious,  but 
^  very  low  from  shock  and  loss  of  blood;  and 
while  there  was  excellent  reason  to  hope 
for  his  recovery,  his  mother  would  run  no 
risk,  and  thougfht  that  the  presence  of  the 
priest  would  be  a  comfort  to  him,  as  well  as 
serving  to  make  assurance  of  his  salvation 
doubly  sure  for  one  so  young  and  innocent, 
in  case  he  were  called  awav. 

"It  was  ascertained  that  his  companion 
in  misfortune  was  fatally  hurt,  but  it  was 
supposed  that  he  would  linger  for  a  day  or 
two. 

*'The  priest  came.  He  heard  my  little 
son's  confession,  and  thought  to  stay  with 
him  a  while.  But  an  attendant  informed 
him  of  the  other  case,  and  added  that  while 
there  was  no  immediate  danger,  yet  that 
the  injured  man  would  likely  die  in  a  few 
days;  and  that,  as  he  was  a  Catholic,  his 
reverence  would  savehimself  ajourneyif  he 
would  give  him  the  last  Sacraments  then. 
The  priest  consented.  He  heard  the  man's 
confession  and  anointed  him,  and  promised 
to  see  him  again.  Then  he  returned  to  the 

room  where was,  to  console  us  (for  by 

this  time  I  had  been  sent  for  and  had  reached 
the  bedside  of  my  boy),  and  we  talked  over 
the  dreadful  occurrence.  While  we  were 
conversing,  one  of  the  nurses  came  in  to  tell 


the  priest  that  the  man  whose  confession  he 
had  just  heard  was  a  corpse,  having  expired 
within  five  minutes  of  receiving  absolution. 

"But  for  the  accident  that  maimed  my 
boy,  and  his  mother's  prompt  call  for  the 
priest,  it  is  most  probable  that  the  poor  man 
would  not  have  had  this  grace." 

The  ways  of  God  are  indeed  wonderful, 
and  His  mercy  is  above  all  His  works. 


Religious  Vocations. 


IN  an  article  on  religious  vocations  pub- 
lished in  the  Figaro^  a  paper  indifferent 
and  sometimes  even  hostile  to  the  Faith, 
Monsieur  Ernest  Daudet  has  recalled  to 
mind  the  principles  of  his  own  religious 
education.  He  writes  as  follows,  in  reply  to 
the  clamor  and  insults  raised  against  con- 
vents by  the  radical  press: 

"The  legislator  has  not  found  a  legal 
means  to  prevent  a  son  or  daughter  who 
has  attained  majority  from  marrying  against 
the  will  of  parents ;  he  has  even  been  obliged 
to  give  up  trying,  and  to  admit  that  a  time 
comes  when  the  authority  of  the  father  is 
powerless  against  the  will  of  the  child.  He 
considers  that  with  the  obligatory  somma- 
tions  respectueuses^  the  paternal  right  is  at 
an  end,  and  that  when  this  formality  has 
been  complied  with,  the  child  may  marry 
on  his  own  responsibility.  It  should  be  the 
same,"  says  M.  Daudet,  "for  those  who  are 
carried  away  by  a  religious  vocation.  The 
definitive  suppression  of  religious  commu- 
nities will  not  hinder  them  from  enrolling 
recruits  in  undiminished  numbers.  Every 
day  5  oung  men  leave  our  country  to  enter 
the  novitiates  founded  in  other  lands  by 
orders  that  have  been  suppressed  in  France, 
while  women  display  even  more  ardor  and 
enthusiasm  than  men  when  actuated  by  the 
irresistible  power  of  vocation. 

"It  is,  then,  the  vocation  which  is  the 
enemy,  if  there  be  an  enemy.   But  I  defy 


*  By  the  law  of  France,  when  a  man  or  woman 
marries  without  the  consent  of  parents,  it  is  obli- 
gatory to  send  them  at  three  diflferent  times  an 
announcement  of  their  intentions. 


40 


The  Ave  Maria. 


any  one.  no  matter  who  he  may  be,  to  con- 
quer it ;  or,  if  it  were  banished  for  a  time, 
to  prevent  it  from  returning.  Whence  do 
these  vocations  spring?  How  do  they  take 
possession  of  frail  and  tender  souls?  How 
do  they  transform  them,  rendering  them 
insensible  to  the  seductions  of  the  world,  to 
family  entreaties,  to  maternal  tears?  How 
do  they  give  that  invincible  courage  which 
later,  in  hours  of  peril,  at  the  bedside  of  the 
sick,  in  the  presence  of  death,  during  epi- 
demics, on  the  field  of  battle,  in  the  rigors 
of  the  cloister,  reveals  itself  in  nuns  as  well 
as  in  priests? 

"It  is  customary  to  say  that  early  educa- 
tion and  surroundings  have  much  to  do  with 
it.  That  is  perhaps  true,  but  not  absolutely 
so.  Contrary  to  an  erroneous  but  widespread 
opinion,  the  men  and  women  who  people 
the  convents  were  not  all  brought  up  in  re- 
ligious communities.  I  know  many  whom 
nothing  had  prepared  for  the  destiny  they 
chose — neither  their  manner  of  living,  nor 
the  examples  before  their  eyes,  nor  the  in- 
structions they  had  received.  There  were 
some  even  in  whose  case  everything  was 
calculated  to  draw  them  away  from  the  re- 
ligious state. 

"Towards  the  end  of  the  Empire  there 
was  a  woman,  well  known  in  Paris,  who, 
without  hoW  ing  a  high  rank  in  the  world, 
.  .  .  owed  a  brief  celebrity  to  her  beauty 
and  her  luxurious  life.  I  shall  not  name  her ; 
I  should  fear  to  disturb  the  retreat  where 
she  lives  repentant  and  forgotten.  But  I 
can  without  naming  her  recall  the  fact  that 
a  daughter  was  born  to  her, — an  innocent 
flower,  springing  up  amid  the  mire  of  Paris. 
She  was  brought  up  in  England,  and  only 
recalled  to  her  mother's  side  to  be  given 
in  marriage  to  a  foreigner.  During  the  few 
weeks  precedmg  the  fiance^ s  arrival,  the 
young  girl  went  each  Sunday,  with  her 
maid,  to  assist  at  the  services,  not  in  the  par- 
ish church,  but  in  the  chapel  of  a  Carmelite 
convent  near  her  home.  One  evening,  after 
a  long  ceremony,  she  returned  in  a  more 
serious  mood  than  usual.  Finding  herself 
alone  with  her  mother,  after  dinner,  she 
said  to  her  suddenly : 


" '  I  have  reflected  seriously,  mamma,  and. 
I  renounce  my  marriage. ' 

"'You  renounce  it?' 

"  'Yes:  I  want  to  become  a  religious.' 

'  *  The  mother  was  thunderstruck.  '  You 
a  religious!' 

'"  Yes,  mamma,  a  religious;  why  not?' 
And  the  young  girl  smiled  softly,  as  if  it 
were  not  a  question  of  engaging  in  a  life  of 
mortification  and  suffering. 

"And  yet  no  one  had  influenced  her  to 
choose  this  future;  no  one  had  gilded  its 
austere  perspective.  But  in  the  shadow  of 
the  silent  chapel  where  she  went  to  pray  she 
had,  as  the  feivent  say,  heard  the  divine  call, 
and  she  was  obeying  that  call.  She  entered, 
not  the  Carmelite  Convent,  but  an  order 
devoted  to  the  education  of  children  and 
the  care  of  the  sick. 

"How  many  other  examples  could  be 
cited  analogous  to  this!  Is  not  that  also  a 
spontaneous  vocation,  independent  of  all 
outward  action, which  draws  to  the  cloister 
rich  and  beautiful  heiresses,  for  whom  life 
in  the  world  seems  to  have  nothing  but 
charms  ?  .  .  .  They  abandon  fortune,  hom- 
age, and  opulence,  to  embrace  a  career  of 
sacrifice  and  incessant  immolation.  Who  is 
to  be  reproached  with  having  seduced  and 
enticed  them?" 

In  confirmation  of  the  preceding,  M. 
Daudet  recalls  a  personal  reminiscence. 

' '  The  education  of  my  earliest  childhood 
was  confided  to  one  whom  a  vocation  of 
this  kind  had  led  to  the  priesthood.  In  the 
world  he  would  have  encountered  only 
smiles  and  attentions.  To  be  happy  in  it 
would  have  required  no  effort  on  his  part; 
he  had  but  to  will  it,  and  to  abandon  him- 
self to  it.  So  many  privileges  assured  to  him 
from  his  cradle  did  not  prevent  him  from 
wishing  to  become  a  priest.  When  he  an- 
nounced his  determination  to  his  family  it 
occasioned  the  most  violent  despair.  They 
entreated  him  to  renounce  it,  but  he' re- 
mained firm.  And  yet  he  was  an  only  son, 
the  last  inheritor  of  his  name.  He  consented 
to  go  and  live  in  Paris  for  a  year,  in  order 
to  prove  the  sincerity  of  his  vocation  by 
testing  it  in  the  face  of  the  seductions  of 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


41 


the  world.  But  at  the  end  of  a  few  months' 
•experience,  after  having  distributed  to  the 
poor  the  money  destined  for  his  pleasures, 
he  entered  the  seminary,  and  shortly  after- 
wards became  an  admirable  priest. 

' '  Of  what  avail  would  be  the  laws  advo- 
cated by  some  against  vocations  such  as 
these?  Is  it  not  evident  that  laws  could  not 
control  these  over-excited  energies,  capable, 
if  one  attempted  to  subdue  their  manifesta- 
tion, of  going  even  to  martyrdom?" 

M.  Daudet  continues  in  these  terms: 

"  It  is  not  the  monastic  orders  which  we 
must  accuse  of  awakening  these  vocations 
and  fanning  them  to  a  flame.  They  arise,  in 
most  cases,  without  the  help  of  these  orders, 
and  in  spite  of  them.  With  some  very  rare 
exceptions,  far  from  finding  incitement  and 
encouragement  from  the  superiors  of  com- 
munities, those  who  go  to  consult  them 
hear  at  first  only  advice  and  remonstrances 
more  likely  to  discourage  than  to  allure 
them  if  they  are  not  sincere.  What  the  orders 
dread  above  all  are  postulants  drawn  to 
them  only  by  romantic  excitement  or  dis- 
eased imaginations.  What  they  seek  are 
strong  souls  in  healthy  bodies.  To  those  who 
ojGfer  themselves  they  first  show  the  monas- 
tic life  only  in  its  most  repellent  aspect — 
through  the  hard  trials  of  a  severe  novi- 
tiate,— and  they  who  confront  it  without 
flinching  are  truly  of  the  elect. 

' '  And,  notwithstanding  these  proofs,  in 
spite  of  the  persecutions  exercised  against 
the  Church,  perhaps  even  because  of  these 
persecutions,  never  have  vocations  been 
more  numerous.  The  superior  of  one  of 
the  most  important  communities  in  Paris,  a 
woman  of  very  distinguished  family,  told 
me  recently  that  not  a  day  passed  in  which 
she  did  not  refuse  or  put  off"  postulants 
eager  to  take  the  veil.  And  it  is  true,  the 
convents  are  full — those  in  which  life  is 
passed  in  mortifications  and  prayer,  as  well 
as  those  where  they  form  guardians  of  the 
sick  and  aged,  or  instructresses  of  child- 
hood. 

"Whether  these  facts,  which  are  undeni- 
able, please  or  displease,  the  responsibility 
of  them  must  not  be  imputed  to  human 


causes.  They  proceed  from  causes  beyond 
our  reach, — causes  which  elude  the  action 
of  men.  And  it  is  for  this  reason  that  the 
grave  question  which  they  raise  is  not  to  be 
decided  by  the  law.  It  is  one  of  those  ques- 
tions which  the  law  cannot  solve, and  which 
it  will  never  solve. 

"As  long  as  life  is  not  softened,  and  until 
death  ceases  to  be;  as  long  as  poetry  is  not 
withered,  enthusiasm  frozen  and  faith  killed 
in  human  hearts;  as  long  as  the  perspective 
of  an  uncertain  and  mysterious  hereafter 
— darkness  for  some,  light  for  others — has 
not  been  banished  from  the  imagination; 
as  long  as  human  beings  sufier,  weep,  think, 
and  pray;  as  long  as  there  are  souls  acces- 
sible to  repentance,  and  souls  consumed 
with  the  need  of  sacrifice,  so  long  will  there 
be  religious  vocations.  They  will  exist  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  man,  in  spite  of  sur- 
roundings, in  spite  of  education.  And  noth- 
ing can  move  them  or  disarm  them." 


Catholic  Notes. 


There  are  not  a  few  Catholic  parents  who 
will  not  allow  their  children  to  attend  Cath- 
olic schools,  on  the  false  supposition  that  the 
religious  instruction  received  therein  prevents 
all  progress  in  secular  knowledge  and  retards 
worldly  advancement.  They  seem  to  be  but 
little  affected  by  the  evil  results  of  irreligious 
training  as  exemplified  in  the  life  around 
them;  they  pay  no  heed  to  the  words  of  advice 
and  warning  from  the  great  educators  of  the 
day — even  those  outside  of  the  Church, — who 
realize  themselves  and  give  the  strongest 
public  expression  to  the  fact  of  the  absolute 
necessity  of  a  religious  training  of  the  young. 
But  there  are  instances  of  frequent  occurrence 
which,  we  think,  would  not  fail  to  exercise  an 
influence  on  such  parents,  if  they  were  brought 
to  their  notice.  In  every  case  of  public  exam- 
inations in  which  pupils  of  Catholic  schools 
have  been  brought  into  competition  with  those 
of  state  or  public  institutions  invariably  the 
result  has  been  to  the  credit  and  honor  of  the 
former,  both  in  the  Old  and  the  New  World. 
A  recent  case  mentioned  in  the  Pilot  may  be 
cited  as  an  example. 

Victor  James  Bowling,  a  young  man  wholly 


42 


The  Ave  Maria, 


educated  in  schools  conducted  by  the  Chris- 
tian Brothers  —  St.  Peter's  Parochial,  De  la 
Salle  Institute,  Manhattan  College,  New  York. 
— recently  graduated  from  the  Law  School  of 
the  University  of  the  City  of  New  York,  carry- 
ing away  from  a  host  of  competitors  (all  grad- 
uates of  the  secular  schools  and  colleges)  the 
only  prizes:  one  of  $ioo  for  best  oral  exam- 
ination, the  other  of  $ioo  for  the  best  written 
examination.  No  student  heretofore  ever  won 
the  two  prizes.        

The  British  Medical  Association  will  meet 
next  month  in  Dublin,  and  it  is  announced 
that  the  proceedings  will  be  inaugurated  by 
a  morning  service  at  the  Pro- Cathedral,  at 
which  the  Rev.  Father  Klein,  S.  J.,  a  distin- 
guished scientist,  has  been  invited  to  preach. 
Father  Klein  is  Professor  of  Biology  in  the 
University  College;  he  was  formerly  a  surgeon 
in  the  French  Army. 

Not  long  since  a  priest  was  called  on  to 
attend  a  poor  woman  in  one  of  the  large  Dub- 
lin workhouses;  she  had  been  there  for  many 
years  and  suflfered  from  some  internal  disease 
— in  fact,  a  complication  of  diseases.  He  heard 
her  confession,  gave  her  the  Holy  Viaticum, 
and  anointed  her.  Her  fervor  during  the  ad- 
ministration of  these  Sacraments  was  admira- 
ble. While  anointing,  the  priest  had  occasion 
to  move  her  head,  and  to  his  surprise  found 
that  she  had  a  large  stone  under  her  pillow. 
When  all  was  over  he  said:  ' '  My  poor  woman, 
why  have  you  that  stone  under  your  head? 
Are  you  not  suffering  enough  ?  "  At  first  the 
dying  woman  hesitated  to  reply,  but  after  a 
little  pressing  she  answered,  simply:  "Well, 
your  reverence,  maybe  it  would  be  wrong  of 
me  not  to  tell  you.  It  has  pleased  God  to  afflict 
every  part  of  my  body  but  my  head,  and  I 
thought  I  might  do  that  much  myself. ' ' 

In  the  Church  of  St.  Dominic,  Washington, 
D.  C. ,  is  to  be  found,  embedded  in  one  of  the 
exterior  walls,  a  stone  of  the  greatest  historic 
interest, — a  stone  which  forms  the  only  ex- 
isting memento  of  the  first  Catholic  church 
erected  at  the  national  capital.  The  Baltimore 
Mirror  says  the  stone  is  of  the  same  material 
as  that  used  in  the  construction  of  the  older 
or  central  portion  of  the  Capitol  building — 
Virginia  sandstone, — and  was  no  doubt  cut 
from  one  of  the  blocks  designed  for  that  mag- 
nificent structure.  The  surface  of  this  vener- 


able memorial  which  for  more  than  three 
quarters  of  a  century  has  been  exposed  to  sun 
and  storm,  bears  evidence  of  the  corroding  in- 
fluence of  time;  but  the  following  inscription, 
in  deeply -cut  words  and  figures,  surmounted 
by  the  sacred  emblem  of  the  cross,  is  plainly 
discernible,  though  a  few  letters  are  oblit- 
erated: 

"In  the  name  of  the  blessed  and  undivided 
Trinity.  Amen.  This  first  stone  of  a  small  Roman 
Catholic  church  is  laid  in  the  city  of  Washington, 
in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ 
1806,  and  dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary, 
under  the  title  and  name  of 

SAINT  MARY'S. 
GLORIA  IN  EXCEL  .  .  .  DEO." 


Among  the  many  motives  which  serve  to 
impress  the  Christian  soul  with  the  salutari- 
ness  of  devotion  to  the  ever-blessed  Virgin 
Mary,  perhaps  there  is  none  that  exercises  a 
greater  influence  than  the  thought  of  Her 
twofold  maternity — that  She  is  the  Mother  of 
Jesus  and  our  Mother.  It  is  a  thought  that 
brings  home  to  the  mind  at  once  the  realiza- 
tion of  Her  great  dignity  and  power,  and  of 
Her  willingness  to  aid  and  assist  us.  This  has 
been  beautifully  expressed  and  developed  in 
a  discourse  by  the  late  Father  Farrell,  whose 
sermons  have  been  recently  published  by 
M.  H.  Gill,  of  Dublin.  Speaking  of  a  mother's 
love,  he  says: 

"It  is  unselfish  and  everlasting,  patient  and 
ineffaceable;  it  never  tires,  never  gives  up;  time 
can  not  weaken  it,  ingratitude  itself  can  not  kill 
it.  Even  in  this  cold  world  the  mother  will  not 
forget  the  son  whom  she  has  borne.  .  .  .  He  may 
have  placed  the  early  wrinkle  on  her  brow,  and 
sown  the  silver  streak  upon  her  hair;  he  may  have 
planted  thorns  in  her  pillow,  and  made  her  heart 
ache  with  very  anguish  for  his  follies  and  his 
crimes:  still  she  remembers  only  that  she  is  his 
mother.  When  all  her  schemes  have  failed,  when 
his  sins — as  sins  always  do — have  found  him  out 
and  dragged  him  down,  when  the  hand  of  sorrow 
has  bowed  him  to  the  dust,  his  mother's  hand  is 
there  to  soothe,  his  mother's  heart  is  there  to 
sympathize,  his  mother's  love  is  there  to  pour 
balm  into  the  wounds  that  sin  and  sorrow  have 
inflicted  on  his  soul.  And  Mary  is  your  Mother; 
you  have  it  on  the  words  of  the  dying  Saviour — 
'  Behold  thy  Mother.'" 

Cardinal  di  Rende  before  leaving  France 
spent  a  day  at  the  little  seminary  near  Orleans, 
where,  twenty -five  years  ago,  he  completed 
his  classical  studies.  His  Eminence  made  a 


The  Ave  Maria. 


43 


very  humorous  speech  in  answer  to  the  pretty 
compliment  addressed  to  him  by  the  superior. 
He  told  his  hearers  that  when  he  had  been 
only  a  few  days  at  the  College  a  bishop  paid 
it  a  visit,  and  the  young  Di  Rende  remarked 
that  especially  the  closing  words  of  the  speech 
which  his  Lordship  made  were  vociferously 
cheered;  not  understanding  French, he  turned 
to  a  companion,  who  observed:  "It  is  for 
conge,  of  course."  This  did  not  throw  any 
light  upon  his  ignorance,  so  he  went  off  to  a 
fellow-student  who  spoke  Italian,  and  finally 
learned  what  '  'conge ' '  meant.  ' '  In  this  way , ' ' 
said  the  Cardinal,  'V^w^^  was  the  first  French 
word  I  learned,  I  beg  you,  Monsieur  le  Supe- 
rieur,  to  have  me  cheered  Well,  my  children, 
I  give  you  a  conge. ' '  The  wished-for  applause 
broke  forth  with  a  heartiness  which  must  have 
thoroughly  satisfied  his  Kminence. 


New  Publications. 


The  Conversion  of  St.  Augustine  and 
Other  Sacred  Poems  By  Eleanor  C.  Don- 
nelly. With  a  Preface  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Michael 
Joseph  O'Farrell,  D.  D.,  Bishop  of  Trenton,  N.J. 
Published  and  sold  to  aid  in  the  erection  and 
completion  of  the  Church  of  St.  Monica  at  At- 
lantic City,  N.  J. 

A  new  collection  of  poems  by  Miss  Eleanor 
C.  Donnelly  means  always  a  fresh  wreath  of 
fragrance,  purity,  and  beauty  laid  upon  some 
holy  altar.  This  time  she  brings  her  offering 
to  the  feet  of  St.  Monica,  the  holy  mother 
of  that  magnificent  sinner  and  more  mag- 
nificent saint,  Augustine.  These  sweet  and 
graceful  verses,  apparently  aiming  at  so  little, 
yet  flying  so  far,  and  striking  so  deep  into 
hearts  that  hear,  are,  many  of  them,  familiar 
to  the  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maeia."  "The 
Angelus-Bell  of  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,"  "The  Humming- Bird  at  the  Chapel 
Door, "  "  Our  L,ady  of  Good  Counsel  at  Gen- 
azzano,"  are  here, with  "The  Conversion  of 
St.  Augustine,"  "The  Bishop's  Ring,"  "St. 
Christopher's  Burden,"  "St.  Nicholas  and 
the  Doves, ' '  and  others. 

When,  where,  and  how,  are  questions  asked 
by  the  poet  concerning  the  coming  of  the  last 
hour  on  earth.  They  are  marked  with  a  spirit 
of  such  loving  content  that  they  deserve  to 
form  the  model  for  less  humble,  less  trustful 
souls. 


Dear  Lord!  in  some  dim  future  year. 

In  some  dim  future  month  and  day. 
Abides  the  hour,  the  solemn  hour. 

When  Thou  shalt  call  my  soul  away; 
That  year,  that  month,  that  day  of  days, 

Come  soon  ?  come  late  ? — I  know  not  when ; 
O  Thou  who  rulest  all  my  ways. 
Master  of  life,  whom  Death  obeys. 

Be  with  me  then,  be  with  me  then! 

Somewhere  upon  this  globe  of  ours 

Is  hid  the  spot  where  I  must  die, — 
Where. 'mid  the  snows  or  'mid  the  flowers, 

My  shrouded  form  shall  coffin'd  lie; 
If  north  or  south,  if  east  or  west, 

At  home,  abroad, — I  know  not  where; 
O  tender  Father,  Lord  of  grace. 
Whose  presence  fills  the  realms  of  space, 

Be  with  me  there,  be  with  me  there! 

By  fire  ?  by  flood  ?  by  famine  sore  ? 

By  sudden  stroke  ?  by  slow  decay  } — 
When  Death's  dark  Angel  opes  my  door, 

How  shall  it  call  my  soul  awa v  .•* 
God  only  knows.  He  bends  the  bow, 

And  He  alone  can  fix  the  dart; 
Yet  care  I  not  when,  where,  or  how 
The  end  may  come,  sweet  Lord,  if  Thou 

Wilt  then  but  shield  me  in  Thy  Heart! 

But  to  select  is  a  difficult  task,  and  fortu- 
nately there  are  few  American  Catholics,  at 
least,  who  need  to  be  told  of  the  charm  of 
Miss  Donnelly's  life  work. 


Obituary. 


"  //  is  a  holy  and  ■wholesome  thoiifrhi  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  M.  Eleanora,who  was  lately  called  to  the 
reward  of  her  devoted  life  at  the  Convent  of  the 
Visitation,  Mt.  de  Chantal,  W.  Va.  She  was  in  the 
eighty-first  year  of  her  age,  and  the  fifty- fourth  of 
her  religious  profession. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Josephine,  of  the  Sistersjof 
the  Good  Shepherd,  who  peacefully  departed  this 
life  in  New  York  city  on  the  14th  ult. 

Mrs. Bridget  M.Considine,  whose  death  occurred 
in  Detroit  on  the  15th  ult. 

Miss  Mary  E  Sherman,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
who  passed  away  on  the  20th  of  June,  fortified  and 
consoled  by  the  last  Sacraments.  Her  life  was  an 
example  for  all  who  knew  her. 

Mary  J.  Henry,  of  Philadelphia;  Felix  Dugan 
and  Miss  Teresa  Balentine,  San  Francisco;  Ed- 
ward Hanrehan,  Mrs.  C.  Waub,  and  Luke  Series, 
San  Jose,  Cal. ;  John  Holahan,  Sacramento. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


44 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PARTMENT 


Two  Little  Rustics. 


BY  CI,ARA  MULHOLIvAND,  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MISER 
OF  KINGSCOURT,"  "PERCY'S  REVENGE,"  ETC. 


II. 


The  next  morning  the  girls  were  early 
astir.  They  could  not  go  to  Lindon  Court 
till  after  breakfast,  but  they  were  excited 
and  restless,  and  found  it  impossible  to  lie 
in  bed.  So,  rising,  they  wandered  forth  into 
the  garden,  where  they  gathered  roses  wet 
with  the  summer  dew,  which  they  placed 
with  loving  hands  upon  the  altar  of  Our 
Lady.  Then,  as  the  hour  for  Mass  came 
round,  they  stole  into  the  little  chapel,  and 
offered  fervent  prayers  to  God,  imploring 
Him  to  bless  them,  and  help  them  in  this 
their  great  undertaking. 

They  were  full  of  anxiety  as  to  what 
their  mother  would  think  of  their  plan,  and 
longed  to  hear  her  opinion.  But  they  re- 
solved to  tell  her  nothing  until  they  had 
seen  the  Squire,'and  obtained  the  money  for 
Marjorie's  journey  to  London.  So  whilst 
Mrs.  Darmer  was  present,  the  great  subject 
was  not  mentioned;  and  Celia  sat  up  at 
the  breakfast  table  as  grave  as  a  judge,  the 
pretty  gold  brooch  fastening  her  collar. 

"How  smart  you  look  this  morning, 
dear!"  said  her  mother,  smiling.  "One 
would  think  you  were  bent  upon  some  gay 
excursion,  with  your  fresh  muslin  and  your 
beautiful  jewelry. ' ' 

Celia  blushed  and  crumbled  her  bread. 
But  Mrs.  Darmer  was  busy  with  the  teapot, 
and  did  not  notice  her  confusion. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  day,  dear,"  she  remarked 
presently.  ' '  What  would  you  say  to  walk- 
ing up  to  the  Court?  Miss  Lindon  asked 
me  for  a  recipe  last  week,  and  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  not  get  that  far  for  some  days." 

"I'll  go  with  pleasure,  mother,"  cried 


Celia,  gaily.  ' '  Maijorie  and  I  have  not  been 
there  for  a  long  time.  O  Marjorie!  will  you 
come?" 

' '  Certainly,' '  and  Marjorie  looked  straight 
at  her  mother.  ' '  We  were  going  there  on 
our  own  account.  We — want  to  see  the 
Squire  about  something." 

' '  Indeed ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Darmer,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes, but  please  do  not  ask  us  what  we 
want  to  see  him  for,  mother,"  cried  Celia, 
clasping  her  hands.  "It  is  a  secret  for  the 
present.  You  shall  hear  all  about  it  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

"  Keep  your  secret,  dear  child,"  answered 
her  mother,  smiling.  ' '  But  if  you  go  to  the 
Court,  give  my  compliments  to  the  Squire 
and  his  sister.  Also  give  this,  please,  to 
Miss  Lindon. "  And  she  handed  her  a  folded 
paper.  "Do  not  walk  too  fast,  and  do  not 
be  late  for  dinner." 

"No,  mother;  and  this  very  evening  we 
promise  to  tell  you  our  reason  for  wishing 
to  see  Mr.  Lindon.  We  may  then  have  a 
favor  to  ask  of  you. ' '  And  Marjorie  put  her 
arms  round'  her  mother,  and  gave  her  a 
loving  kiss. 

"Well,  I  trust  I  may  be  able  to  grant  it, 
dearest.  But,  alas!  I  have  little  in  my  power 
now. ' '  Then,  sighing  heavily,  she  rose  from 
the  table  and  left  the  room. 

"Poor  mother!"  said  Marjorie,  sadly; 
"how  troubled  she  looks!  Things  are  in  a 
bad  way,  Celia.  She  seems  more  depressed 
than  usual." 

"Yes,  I  noticed  that,  although  she  smiled 
and  tried  to  look  bright.  This  state  of 
things  must  not  go  on.  It  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  either  you  or  I  should  earn 
some  money." 

"Certainly.  And  if  I  do  not  succeed  very 
soon  with  my  painting,  I  shall  look  out  for 
a  situation  as  nursery  governess.  I  am  not 
accomplished,  but  I  think  I  could  teach 
little  children." 

"Of  course  you  could.  But  I  do  hope 
that  may  not  be  necessary.  I  am  sure  you 
will  make  a  good  deal  of  money  by  your 
sketches — I  am  indeed." 

"I  trust  you  may  be  right,  dear,"  sighed 


The  Ave  Maria, 


45 


Maijorie.    "But  come,  we  must  set  out  for 
the  Court  at  once." 

And  they  went  up-stairs  to  put  on  their 
hats. 

Mrs.  Darmer  was  a  widow,  and  lived  in  a 
pretty  cottage  just  outside  the  picturesque 
village  of  Slindon.  Her  husband  had  been 
in  the  navy,  and  had  little  to  leave  her  at 
his  death  besides  the  small  pension  allowed 
to  her  and  her  children  by  Government. 
But  that  little  had  been  enough  to  make  a 
great  difference  to  them  all,  and  had  enabled 
them  to  live,  if  not  in  luxury,  at  least  in 
comfort  But  quite  unexpectedly  the  bank 
in  which  Mr.  Darmer  had  placed  his  sav- 
ings smashed,  and  his  wife  found  herself  in 
a  very  difficult  position. 

And  as  time  went  on  she  became  more 
and  more  embarrassed.  Debts  began  to  ac- 
cumulate, creditors  pressed  for  their  money, 
and  the  poor  wom^n  knew  not  where  to 
turn  for  help.  The  thought  that  her  daugh- 
ters might  soon  be  forced  to  leave  their 
home  was  anguish  to  her,  and  she  did  not 
dare  to  mention  such  a  thing  for  fear  of 
giving  them  pain.  But  Maijorie  and  Celia 
loved  their  mother  dearly,  and  noted  each 
change  in  the  sweet  face  with  keen  anxiety. 
They  knew  she  required  money,  and  so  they 
resolved  to  take  the  matter  into  their  own 
hands,  and  earn  it  for  her  if  they  could. 

Celia  was  beautiful,  and  her  mother's 
darling;  so  Marjorie  determined  that  she 
was  the  one  to  go  forth  and  work.  But  as 
she  sat  in  the  wood  sketching  the  pretty 
wild  flowers  and  delicate  ferns,  it  struck 
her  that  by  selling  her  pictures  she  might, 
perhaps,  earn  i?ufficient  money  to  help  her 
mother  without  leaving  her  home.  And,  as 
she  shrank  from  going  amongst  strangers, 
she  gladly  seized  on  this  idea,  and  resolved 
to  carry  it  out  Then  came  the  difficulty  of 
procuring  funds  for  her  journey  to  London. 
This,  however,  was  speedily  disposed  of  by 
Celia,  when  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to 
the  Squire  and  ask  him  to  give  her  money 
for  her  brooch. 

The  girls  had  known  Mr.  Lindon  all  their 
lives;  and,  though  they  stood  rather  in  awe 
of  him — for  he  was  grave  and  silent, — they 


knew  he  was  kind  and  good,  and  felt  certain 
he  would  grant  their  request.  But  as  they 
walked  through  the  shady  lanes  that  led  to 
the  Court,  a  great  fear  took  possession  of 
Marjorie. 

"Supposing  Mr.  Lindon  should  refuse, 
Celia?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "What 
should  we  do?" 

' '  He  will  not  refuse, ' '  replied  Celia,  de- 
cidedly. "Why  should  he?  This  brooch  is 
a  treasure."  And  she  gazed  lovingly  at  the 
little  bit  of  gold  as  it  lay  in  its  blue  velvet 
case.  ' '  I  never  knew  how  beautiful  it  was 
till  this  morning,  when  I  put  it  on  for  the 
last  time,  just  to  say  good-bye  to  it.  If  we 
are  never  able  to  repay  him  " — with  a  sob  in 
her  voice, — "he  will  have  this  to  look  at*' 

"Poor  little  Celia!  I  do  hope  you  may 
get  it  back  soon — I  do  indeed." 

' '  Don't  talk  like  that — as  if  you  thought 
I  cared!  It  makes  me  feel  so  mean.  Just  as 
if  it  mattered !  Please  say  no  more  about  it." 

"Very  well,  dear,  I  will  not,"  said  Mar- 
jorie, meekly.  But  she  pressed  Celia' s  hand, 
and  gazed  with  teaiful  eyes  away  over  the 
fields. 

After  this  the  girls  walked  on  in  silence 
until  they  came  to  the  gates  of  the  Court. 
Then  they  paused,  and  both  grew  very  red. 

"It  seems  hard  to  ask  for  the  money  to- 
day," cried  Celia.  "Yesterday  in  the  woods 
it  seemed  as  easy  as  possible." 

' '  Shall  we  go  home,  then  ? ' ' 

' '  Certainly  not.  I  wonder  at  you,  Marjorie 
Darmer.  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such  a 
coward."  And  Celia  pushed  open  the  gate, 
and  walked  boldly  up  the  avenue. 

lyindon  Court  was  a  low,  two-storied 
house,  built  of  red  brick,  green  and  brown 
in  many  places,  and  almost  covered  with 
ivy.  Over  the  hall-door  was  a  porch,  round 
which  clustered  roses  of  every  hue,  mixed 
with  Virginia  creeper  and  pure  white  clem- 
atis. Within  this  pretty  bower  sat  a  lady 
of  some  forty  summers,  working  industri- 
ously at  clothing  for  the  poor.  This  was 
the  Squire's  sister,  a  kind-hearted  though 
somewhat  garrulous  person,  who  had  lived 
with  and  kept  house  for  him  since  the  death 
of  their  parents,  some  ten  years  before.  For, 


46 


'I he  Ave.  Maria. 


although  Mr.  Lindon  was  wealthy,  and  had 
reached  the  mature  age  of  thirty-eight,  he 
was  still  a  bachelor,  and  was  regarded  in  the 
neighborhood  as  a  man  who  would  never 
marry. 

As  the  girls  were  seen  approaching  the 
house,  Miss  Lindon  laid  aside  her  work, 
and  went  forward  to  meet  them  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

"My  dear  Marjorie,  my  prety  Celia,  I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you !    How  is  your  mother ? ' ' 

"Mother  is  quite  well,  thank  you,"  said 
Marjorie.  "  She  asked  me  to  give  you  this  " 

"Thanks  so  much!  The  very  thing  I 
wanted !  This  recipe  is  a  treasure.  It  is  more 
than  kind  of  Mrs.  Darmer  to  part  with  it," 
she  cried,  rapturously.  "And  how  goes  the 
world  with  our  fair  Celia?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Celia, 
blushing  and  looking  about  uneasily. 

"  That  is  right  I  like  to  see  >oung  peo- 
ple happy.  They  always  are  if  they  are 
healthy,"  she  said,  resuming  her  work. 
"And  I  am'^sure  -sou  look  blooming,  Celia. 
How  you  have  grown,  my  love!  Why, Mar- 
jorie, she  has  left  you  far  behind!" 

* '  Yes, ' '  replied  Marjorie,  smiling.  ' '  She 
did  that  long  ago.  Miss  Lindon.  She  has 
not  grown  since  you  saw  her  a  month  ago." 

"No,  of  course  not;  but  I  never  remember 
noticing  before  what  a  contrast  you  are.  One 
tall  and  fair,  the  other  small  and  brown," 
she  said,  examining  them  critically.  "Mar- 
jorie, I  am  afraid  you  do  not  take  care  of 
your  complexion.  Shall  I  give  you  a  little 
receipt  I  have  for  the  skin?  It  is  capital 
for  keeping  off  freckles  and  sunburn." 

"Thank  you,  my  complexion  does  not 
matter  at  all.  I  am  always  brown.  It  is 
very  kind  of  you  to  care  about  it,"  the  girl 
answered.  ' '  But,' '  she  added  quickly,  seeing 
that  Celia  was  looking  quite  exasperated 
at  so  much  useless  conversation,  "do  you 
think  we  might  see  Mi.  Lindon — ^just  for  a 
moment?" 

"My  brother  is  busy,  but  if  I  ask  him  he 
will  come  out  to  speak  to  you,  I  am  sure." 
And  she  rose  to  enter  the  house. 

"Let  us  go  to  him,  pray,"  said  Marjorie, 
laying  a  detaining  hand  upon  the  lady's 


dress.  "We  have  something  private  to  say 
to  him.  But  it  will  not  take  five  minutes. 
Will  it,  Celia?" 

"No,  I  think  not."  And  Celia  colored 
painfully.    "  Ft — can  not  take  long." 

Miss  Lindon  glanced  curiously  from  one 
sister  to  the  other. 

"If  your  business  is  private,  you  must, 
of  course,  see  mv  brother  alone,"  she  said, 
gravely.    "Come  this  way,  please." 

The  girls  followed  their  guide  across 
the  hall,  and  down  a  long,  narrow  passage, 
at  the  end  of  which  was  a  red  baize-cov- 
ered door.  This  Miss  Lindon  opened,  then 
knocked  gently  upon  an  inner  door  of  solid 
oak. 

'  ■  Come  in,"  called  a  clear,  ringing  voice, 
loud  but  full  of  sweetness. 

Miss  Lindon  entered,  leaving  Marjorie 
and  Celia  on  the  mat.  But  it  was  only  for 
an  instant,  and  then  before  they  quite  knew 
what  had  happened,  or  how  they  had  come 
there,  ihey  were  seated  in  the  Squire's  most 
comfortable  chairs,  with  the  Squire's  grave 
eyes. fixed  inquiringly  upon  their  faces. 

Miss  Lindou  had  vanished,  the  two  heavy 
doors  were  shut,  and  Mr.  Lindon  had  laid 
aside  his  books,  and  was  waiting  to  hear 
whv  they  had  come  to  visit  h^'m. 

Celia's  tongue  seemed  parahzed.  She 
who  generaUy  had  so  much  to  say  was  now 
mute.  Her  color  came  and  went,  her  lips 
trembled  and  she  did  not  dare  to  raise  her 
eyes  to  Mr.  Lindon's  as  she  sat  before  him. 
Presently  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  pushed 
the  jewel  case  into  Marjorie's  hand  with  an 
imploring  gesture.  Her  ^v^i^x  understood 
her  at  once:  her  courage  had  failed  her  at 
the  last,  and  she  wished  her  to  explain  the 
object  of  their  visit. 

So  straightforward  Marjorie  went  to  the 
point  at  once.  She  stated  their  case  simply: 
told  how  troubled  their  mother  was;  how 
anxious  they  were  to  help  her;  how  she 
wanted  to  go  to  London  to  sell  the  sketches 
she  had  made,  and  if  pos=;ible  get  orders  for 
others.  And  finally  she  wound  up  by  laying 
the  little  brooch  before  him,  and  asking  if 
he  would  kindly  take  it,  and  give  them 
some  money  on  it. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


47 


Mr.  Lindon  took  up  the  jewel  case,  and 
bent  his  head  as  though  examining  the 
trinket.  In  reality  he  saw  nothing,  but  was 
.-:  silent  to  hide  his  emotion ;  for  he  was  deeply 
touched.  Then  he  rose,  and  went  over  to 
his  desk.  In  a  few  moments  he  returned,. 
'    carrying  a  large  envelope. 

"You  have  done  me  a  great  honor  in 
asking  me  to  assist  you.  This  will,  I  think, 
be  enough  for  what  you  require,"  and  he 
handed  the  envelope  to  Maijorie.  ' '  You  can 
repay  me  when  you  like.  But,"  turning  to 
I  Celia,  "I  can  not — I  will  not  keep  your 
'\       brooch."     • 

'I  ' '  Then, ' '  she  replied,  proudly,  and  rising 

s       as  she  spoke, ' '  we  can  not  take  your  money. 
We  did  not  come  here  to  beg."  And  she 
^       swept  past  him  to  the  door. 

"Miss  Celia,  pray  consider,"  cried  Mr. 
Lindon,  surprised  at  the  girl's  manner.  "I 
do  not  offer  the  money  as — as — a  present, 
but  merely  as  a  loan — to  be  repaid  when 
you  please." 

"When  /  please!"  she  said,  somewhat 
bitterly, — "I  who  have  no  money, who  can 
never  earn  any,  because — because  I  am  good 
for  nothing."  And  the  stately  Celia  burst 
into  tears. 

The  Squire  turned  away,  and,  walking 
over  to  the  table,  laid  the  jewel  case  amongst 
his  papers. 

"Pray  do  keep  the  brooch,  Mr.  Lindon," 
said  Marjorie,  raising  her  honest  brown  eyes 
to  his  face.  "  It  is  worth — something,  and  it 
will  make  us  happier  to  think  that,  should 
we  never  be  able  to  repay  you,  you  will 
have  some  value  for  your  money.  So  please 
keep  it — ^just  to  make  us  comfortable." 

"Certainly  I  will,  since  you  desire  it  so 
earnestly, ' '  he  answered ,  kindly.  ' ' But  Miss 
Celia  must  not  think  so  lit  tie  of  herself,  or 
be  so  sensitive.  See  I  will  put  the  brooch 
here,"  and  he  opened  the  desk.  "Every 
day  I  shall  take  a  look  at  it  to  remind  me 
of  two  good,  affectionate  children." 

Celia  came  back,  smiling  through  her 
tears.  "Thank  you,"  she  said,  putting  her 
little  hand  in  his.  "I  will  take  the  money 
now.  You  are  very  good,  and  we  will  pray 
for  you  every  day." 


"God  bless  you!"  he  said,  simply;  "and 
you  too,"  turning  to  Maijorie.  "You  must, 
let  me  know  at  once  how  )  on  fare  in  Lon- 
don. I  have  a  strong  feeling  that  }  our  visit 
will  be  a  fortunate  one. ' ' 

"That  is  just  what  I  feel,"  cried  Celia, 
radiant  with  delight.  "  Marjorie  will  soon 
be  making  plenty  of  money." 

Marjorie  smiled.  "Always  in  one  extreme 
or  the  other,  Celia.  Is  she  not  a  curious 
girl,  Mr.  Lindon?  Mo, her  says  she  is  like 
an  April  day." 

"Half  sunshine,  half  tear.*;,"  he  replied^ 
smiling.  "Yes,  the  description  suits  you 
well,  Miss  Celia." 

' '  I  am  all  sunshine  now, ' '  she  cried,  gaily ^ 
"  But  come,  Marjorie, we  must  hurry  home. 
Good-bye,  Mr,  Lindon.  You  are  very,  very 
kind." 

"Not  half  so  kind  as  I'd  like  to  be.  You 
aie  very  proud.  Miss  Celia." 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  she  said,  lightly.  "Good- 
morning!  ' '  And,  dimpling  and  smiling,  she 
made  the  grave  man  a  sweeping  curtsy, and 
ran  out  of  the  room. 

"Pray  forgive  Celia,  Mr.  Lindon,"  said 
Marjorie,  gently.  ' '  She  is  a  little  wild  some- 
times, especially  when  much  moved" 

"She  is  charming,"  he  cried.  "I  would 
not  have  her  otherwise  for  the  world," 

Maijorie  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "You 
are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "Good-b>e,  and 
thank  you  so  much ! "  Then,  passing  out  of 
the  room,  she  followed  her  sister  through 
the  hall. 

Mr.  Lindon  stood  at  the  window,  and 
watched  them  go  down  the  avenue.  "Half 
sunshine,  half  tears — poor  little  girl!  poor 
little  girl!"  Then,  sighing,  he  seated  him- 
self at  the  table  and  re- opened  his  books. 

All  that  day  Mr.  Lindon  seemed  lost  in 
thought,  and  his  sister  wondered  why  he 
was  so  absorbed — what  great  subject  occu- 
pied his  mind;  for  she  never  imagined  that 
the  staid,  silent  man  was  thinking  of  what 
he  had  seen  that  morning  iji  the  library — 
a  pair  of  blue  eyes  heavy  with  tears,  a  sweet 
mouth  trembling  with  emotion,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  wreathed  in  bewitching  smiles.. 
(to  be  continued.) 


-48 


7 he  Ave  Maria, 


Confidence  in  Mary. 

AX    IXCIDENT    OF    THE    WAR. 

A  poor  5'Oung  soldier  had  received  a  bullet 
wound  in  the  chest  in  General  Foster's  attack 
-on  Goldsborough, North  Carolina,  and  was  left 
for  dead  on  the  field.  One  of  the  ambulances 
which  were  sent  to  bear  the  wounded  men  to 
the  temporary  camp  erected  after  the  battle, 
passed  near  him. 

He  was  speechless,  but  not  unconscious, 
•and,  while  trying  to  stanch  the  blood  with  his 
Scapulars,  kept  saying  mentally, "  Mother  of 
'Ood,I  am  in  mortal  sin;  don't  let  me  die  with- 
out the  priest, ' '  so  that  it  seemed  a  marvellous 
and  direct  answer  to  prayer  when  he  heard  the 
voices  of  the  men,  now  almost  beside  him.  But 
"they  .perceiving  that  the  end  was  approaching, 
■said,  unfeelingly,  "Oh!  there's  no  use  stop- 
ping for  him.  He  will  be  dead  before  we  can 
. get  him  into  the  ambulance."  And  they  went 
•on,  leaving  him  to  his  fate.  The  suflFerer  heard 
•every  word,  and  prayed  the  more  earnestly 
to  Our  Lady  not  to  let  him  die  in  his  sins. 

The  relief  party  had  already  gone  a  consid- 
erable distance,  when  one  of  the  men,  perhaps 
more  humane  than  the  rest,  said  to  his  com- 
rades: "I  must  go  back  to  that  poor  fellow; 
-I  can  not  let  a  fellow-soldier  die  like  that  with- 
out making  an  effort  to  save  him."  So  he 
induced  some  of  them  to  return  with  him,  and 
when  they  came  to  the  wounded  man,  he  had 
regained  strength  enough  to  cry  out, ' '  For  the 
love  of  God  take  me  out  of  this. ' ' 

Tenderly  they  raised  him,  and  bore  him  on 
a  stretcher  to  the  camp,  where  so  many  of  his 
brother  soldiers  were  struggling  in  mortal 
agony.  When  all  the  wounded  men  had  been 
thus  gathered  together,  they  were  brought  to 
the  Military  Hospital  at  Newbern,  which  was 
conducted  by  the  Sisters  of  Mercy.  It  was  a 
long  and  weary  journey  of  nearly  three  days, 
and  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  men  were  greatly 
increased  by  the  heat  and  fatigue;  but  here  at 
last  they  found  rest  and  care. 

When  the  doctor  had  examined  and  dressed 
the  wounds  of  the  poor  soldier  who  had  so 
fervently  implored  Our  Blessed  Lady's  help, 
lie  told  the  Sisters  that  there  was  no  possible 
"hope  of  his  recovery ;  that  his  death  was  immi- 
nent, and  might  be  expected  at  any  moment. 
He  had  lapsed  into  unconsciousness  during 


the  operation,  so  one  of  the  Sisters  took  her 
station  at  his  bedside,  watching  for  a  lucid 
interval  in  which  to  prepare  him  to  meet  his 
God.  After  a  little  time  she  noticed  him  grop- 
ing for  something,  which  when  he  had  found 
he  opened  his  eyes  with  such  a  satisfactory 
expression  that  she  bent  over  him  to  learn  the 
cause,  and  speak  some  words  of  comfort.  He 
was  grasping  tightly — his  Scapulars. 

' '  Thanks  be  to  the  Mother  of  God,  Sister! ' ' 
said  he:  "She  heard  my  prayer  and  did  not 
desert  me."  Then  in  broken  accents  he  told  of 
his  terror  lest  he  should  die  in  the  condition 
in  which  he  was  left  on  the  battle-field,  and  of 
his  oft-repeated  prayer:  "Mother  of  God, I  am 
in  mortal  sin;  don't  let  me  die  without  the 
priest."  "And  now,  Sister,"  he  continued, 
' '  will  you  send  me  one  without  delay  ?  I  know 
I  have  not  long  to  live,  and  it's  many  and 
many  a  year  since  I  went  to  confession." 

The  good  chaplain  of  the  hospital  hurried 
to  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man.  With  the 
utmost  fervor  he  made  his  peace  with  God,  was 
anointed,  and  received  Holy  Communion;  and 
after  the  Sister  had  helped  him  to  make  his 
thanksgiving  he  opened  his  heart  lo  her,  and 
told  her  that,  although  from  boyhood  he  had 
led  a  wild  and  reckless  life,  and  had  not  oyice 
approached  the  Sacraments  from  the  time  of 
his  First  Holy  Communion,  he  had  always 
preserved  some  remnant  of  the  love  for  Our 
Blessed  Mother  which  his  own  Irish  mother 
had  endeavored  to  plant  in  his  heart  when  he 
was  a  child.  On  enrolling  himself  in  one  of  the 
militia  companies  formed  so  rapidly  in  those 
times,  he  had  procured  a  pair  of  Scapulars 
among  the  first  articles  of  his  regalia,  thus 
placing  himself  under  the  patronage  of  Her 
who  was  to  protect  him  so  visibly  in  the  end. 

His  touching  prayer  to  Our  Lady  when  left 
among  the  dead  and  dying  was  prompted  no 
doubt  by  the  Scapulars,  to  which  he  clung  so 
fervently;  and  She  ' '  to  whom  no  one  ever  had 
recourse  without  obtaining  relief"  inspired 
his  soldier  companion  to  go  back  to  him  be- 
fore life  was  extinct,  and  strengthened  him 
miraculously  until  his  soul  was  renewed  in 
the  Blood  of  the  Lamb. 

After  the  great  efforts  consequent  on  his  re- 
ception of  the  Sacraments,  he  seemed  to  rally 
for  a  few  hours,  but  then  sank  into  a  state  of 
complete  exhaustion,  and  in  the  evening  of 
the  second  day  after  his  arrival  at  the  hospital, 
his  soul  went  forth  to  God. — Catholic  Youth. 


tH^ 


tHENCfFORTH  /ObGE/EmioKS  Sj^aU  CAlLJA^EBlE^EOt 


_§-^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  i6,  1887. 


No.  3. 


'OoDVrirbt       ■Hw'    D    K    Wliwow.  O  R  O  ' 


The  Feast  of  Mount  Carmel. 


SOUNT  CARMEL,  as  every  one 
knows,  is  in  Palestine,  and  is  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  Holy  Script- 
ure both  on  account  of  its  natural  beauties 
and  the  many  mysterious  events  of  which 
it  has  been  the  scene.  The  Prophet  Elias, 
especially,  has  rendered  it  celebrated.  Here 
it  was  that  he  triumphed  over  the  eight 
hundred  and  fifty  priests  of  Baal ;  here  it  was 
also  that  he  made  his  dwelling,  in  company 
with  the  great  Eliseus,  and  gathered  to- 
gether that  assemblage  of  holy  persons  who 
were  called  "the  children  of  the  Prophet." 
He  prescribed  for  them  certain  rules  of 
abstinence,  fasting,  prayer,  and  other  exer- 
cises of  piety  by  which  they  were  distin- 
guished from  the  rest  of  the  Jews. 

Tradition  says  that  this  holy  Prophet  on 
whom  God  bestowed  the  favor  of  seeing 
events  that  time  was  to  bring  forth  in  the 
distant  future,  once  beheld  the  Mother  of 
the  world's  Redeemer  under  the  figure  of 
a  small  cloud  arising  from  the  sea,  and  that 
he  consecrated  to  Her  the  Order  which  he 
founded.  Under  this  aegis  it  flourished 
wondrously,  and  when  our  divine  Saviour 
began  His  public  life,  ihe  disciples  of  Elias, 
of  all  the  inhabitants  of  earth,  were  the 
most  eager  and  best  disposed  to  receive  the 
Gospel.  After  the  Ascension  of  Christ,  His 
Blessed  Mother  frequentlv  visited  Mt.  Car- 
mel, entertaining  Her  devout  clients  with 


conversations  that  filled  them  with  holy  joy. 

Elias  is  considered  the  founder  and  first 
General  of  the  Carmelite  Order,  and  the 
present  religious  of  Mt.  Carmel  are  the  suc- 
cessors of  "the  children  of  the  Prophet"; 
consequently  the  venerable  institute  em- 
braces not  only  the  past  nineteen  centuries 
of  the  era  of  grace,  but  also  nearly  nine 
centuries  of  the  preceding  era  ot  the  Old 
Testament.  Its  members  devote  themselves 
in  an  especial  manner  to  the  honor  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  have  always  regarded 
Her  as  their  Mother  and  superioress.  Their 
chief  occupation  is,  by  fervent  prayers  and 
other  pious  practices,  to  make  Her  better 
known,  loved  and  venerated.  They  were  the 
first  to  erect  an  oratory  in  Her  honor  after 
She  had  been  taken  up  to  heaven;  it  stands 
on  Mt.  Carmel,  near  the  Fountain  of  Elias, 
and  covers  the  very  spot  on  which  the 
Prophet  stood  when  he  saw  the  symbolic 
cloud  arising  from  the  sea.  As  a  reward  for 
their  zeal  and  devotion,  Our  Lady  has  at  all 
times  shown  Herself  a  special  protectress 
of  the  Order,  and  obtained  for  it  innumer- 
able graces  and  blessings. 
H. 

One  of  the  most  signal  favors  granted  by 
the  Blessed  Virgin  to  the  Carmelites  was 
the  bestowal  of  the  Scapular  by  the  hands 
of  S^  Simon  Stock,  an  Englishman  by 
birth,  and  the  first  European  elected  Gen- 
eral of  the  Order.  His  death  occurred  in 
1265.  This  holy  man  prayed  for  a  long 
time  that  the  Mother  of  God  would  deign, 
by  some  special  token,  to  show  Her  good 


The  Ave  Maria. 


will  towards  the  religious  of  Mt.  Carme]. 
One  day,  while  he  was  prostrate  in  suppli 
cation,  the  Qaeen  of  Heaven,  attended 
by  choirs  of  angels,  appeared  before  him, 
holding  in  Her  hands  a  Scapular,  and  said: 
"Receive,  My  son,  this  habit  of  th\  Order; 
it  is  a  mark  of  the  privilege  which  I  have 
obtained  for  thyself  and  all  the  religious  of 
Carmel;  he  who  is  invested  with  this  habit, 
and  piously  wears  it,  shall  be  saved  from 
eternal  punishment  aiter  death.  It  is  a  sign 
of  salvation,  a  safeguard  in  dangers,  and  the 
pledge  of  a  >pecial  protection." 

Pope  Benedict  XIV.,  of  illustrious  mem- 
ory, declares,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Feasts  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  that  he  believes  the  ap- 
parition of  the  Mother  of  God  to  St.  Simon 
to  be  a  fact,  and  adds,  "It  seems  to  Us  that 
all  the  faithful  should  so  corsider  it."  With 
authority  like  this  in  its  favor,  it  would  be 
rashness  to  contest  the  genuineness  of  the 
supernatural  levelation,  or  the  ^reat  ad- 
vantages attached  to  the  Scapular.  We  may, 
therefore  firmly  b^'li^ve,  since  it  is  promised 
in  the  revelation,  that  all  who  die  invested 
with  this  holy  habit  shall  obtain  grace  be- 
fore God  and  be  preserved  from  e\  erla^ting 
fire.  The  Blessed  Virgin  will  procure  for 
them  all  the  assi.<«tarce  necessary  for  their 
perseverance  in  the  path  of  justice;  or, 
should  they  fall  into  sin,  She  will  obtain 
pardon  for  them  before  they  die,  enabling 
them  to  become  'ruly  penitent  and  contrite. 
This  pious  and  consoling  belief  has  been 
confirmed  by  the  apostolic  authority  of 
many  Sovereign  Pontiffs;  and,  in  order  to 
encourage  the  spread  of  the  salutary  devo- 
tion of  the  Scapular,  they  have  enriched  it 
with  numerous  and  precious  indulgences. 
III. 

About  half  a  century  after  the  vision  re- 
corded above,  the  Mother  of  God  deigned 
to  appear  to  Pope  John  XXII.  She  assured 
him  that  She  would,  in  a  special  manner, 
assist  the  Carmelites  and  all  others  enrolled 
in  the  Scapular,  who,  having  died  before 
satisfying  the  divine  justice,  should  be  con- 
demned to  the  pains  of  purgatory,  and  that 
She  would  mercifully  obtain  their  release 
the  Saturday  following  their  death.   Fiom 


this  apparition  originated  the  celebrated 
Sibbatine  Bull,  in  which  John  XXII.  pub- 
lished both  the  vision  with  which  he  had 
been  favored,  and  the  singular  privilege  of 
being  delivered  from  the  flames  of  purga- 
tory by  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  This  Bull 
was  confirmed  by  Alexander  V.,  and  Bene- 
dict XIV.  subsequently  declared  that  the 
Apostolic  act  of  John  XXII.  was  worthy  of 
all  respect  from  the  faithful.  A  large  num- 
ber of  Supreme  Pontiffs  have  not  hesitated 
to  ex^ol  these  signal  favors;  the  zeal  witk 
which  they  have  labored  to  publish  and 
defend  these  privileges  bears  witness  to  the 
estimation  in  which  they  held  them. 

IV. 

Prom  what  has  been  said  it  follows  that 
the  Scapular  is  productive  of  inestimable 
advantages  to  those  who  wear  it  and  fulfil 
the  necessary  obligations:  *  (i.)  The  special 
patronage  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  during  life, 
which  will  enable  them  to  bring  forth  wor- 
thy fruits  of  penance,  and  obtain  the  grace 
of  a  happy  death;  (2.)  A  participation  in  the 
merit  of  all  the  good  works  and  of  all  the 
prayers  of  the  Carmelite  Order;  (3.)  Assist- 
ance after  death  and  prompt  deliverance 
from  purgatory. 

We  should  remark,  furthermore,  that  the 
Scapular  is  the  insignia  of  a  reciprocal 
alliance  between  Mary  and  those  who  are 
invested  with  it.  The  Blessed  Virgin  obliges 

*  It  is  absolutely  required  that  the  Scapular 
be  worn  day  and  night.  It  is  suspended  from  the 
shoulders — hence  the  name, — one  piece  hanging 
over  the  breast,  the  other  over  the  back.  It  is  not 
a  sin  to  lay  it  by  (unless  this  be  done  through 
contempt),  but  in  doing  so  we  forfeit  all  its  ad- 
vantages till  we  put  it  on  again.  No  matter  what 
the  motive  whic  h  induced  us  to  take  it  off,  we  are 
restored  to  all  its  privileges  on  resuming  it.  Some 
authors,  however,  are  of  opinion  that  if  we  have 
laid  it  aside  for  several  years,  we  ought  to  be 
again  invested  by  a  competent  priest.  (We  say 
'  ■  competent, "  for  a  priest  must  have  special  facul- 
ties to  confer  it.)  To  participate  in  all  its  benefits, 
we  must,  moreover,  comply  with  the  conditions 
prescribed  by  the  bulls  of  concession.  The  usual 
conditions  are  confession  and  Communion  on 
certain  appointed  d^ys.  and  prayers  for  the  Pope, 
for  the  Church,  and  for  peace  among  Christian 
princes. 

As  regards  the  singular  favor  of  a  speedy  deliv- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


51 


Herself  to  obtain  for  us  special  graces  and 
favors;  we,  on  the  other  hand,  bind  ourselves 
not  to  dishonor  Her  holy  habit.  The  Scap- 
ular is  the  livery  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
indicates  that  he  who  wears  it  has  adopted 
Her  for  his  Mother.  * 

What  more  glorious  title  than  that  of 
child  of  Mary — Queen  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Mother  of  God!  Noblesse  oblige.  We  must, 
then,  always  show  ourselves  worthy  of  so 
holy  and  so  glorious  a  Mother;  there  must 
be  nothing  in  our  thoughts,  in  our  words, 
or  in  our  actions  that  can  displease  Her; 
our  whole  conduct  must  be  such  as  to  man- 
ifest our  love  and  veneration.  Those  who 
truly  love  the  Blessed  Virgin  will  do  all  in 
their  power  to  prevent  others  from  doing  or 
saying  anything  derogatory  to  Her— will 
leave  nothing  undone  to  inspire  them  with 
the  same  sentiments  of  esteem  and  affection 
which  they  themselves  entertain.  The  true 
child  of  Mary  is  never  happier  than  when 
he  is  doing  something  to  further  the  inter- 
ests and  glory  of  his  holy  Mother.  Mary, 
on  Her  part,  having  the  treasures  of  heaven 
at  Her  disposal,  will  not  let  Herself  be 
outdone  in  generosity;  She  will  return  a 
hundredfold  all  that  is  done  for  Her.  It  is 
towards  the  associates  of  the  Scapular,  in 
particular,  that  She  loves  to  display  Her 
generosity.  The  holy  habit  with  which 
they  are  clothed  is  for  them  a  mantle  like 
that  bequeathed  of  old  to  Eliseus;  under  its 
folds  they  pass  in  safety  over  the  Jordan 
of  temptations,  and  traverse  the  stormy  sea 
of  life  secure  from  danger;  it  encourages 
them  to  holiness  of  life,  is  a  pieventative 

*  The  Scapular  of  Carmel  consists  of  two  pieces 
of  brown  or  black  woollen  cloth,  joined  together 
by  two  pieces  of  string  or  ribbon  of  any  kind  or 
color.  An  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  on  each 
of  the  pieces  of  cloth  is  usual,  but  not  necessary. 

erance  from  purgatory  after  death,  we  must,  in 
addition  to  the  preceding  conditions, observe  chas- 
tity according  to  our  state  of  life,  and  recite  every 
day  the  Little  Oflfice  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  or  the 
Canonical  Office.  Those  who  can  not  read  must  not 
fail  to  observe  fast-days,  and  abstain  from  flesh- 
meat  on  Wednesdays,  Fridays,  and  Saturdays. 
When  there  is  a  grave  reason  these  works  may  be 
•commuted  by  proper  authority. 


against  sin,  and  a  powerful  meatis  of  leading 
the  erring  back  to  the  path  of  repentance. 

The  Scapular  is  a  mark  of  predestination 
for  those  who  wear  it  worthily.  Never  has 
a  true  servant  of  Mary  been  abandoned  by 
the  Mother  of  fair  love  and  holy  hope;  She 
is  his  guardian  and  protectress  until  he  en- 
ters into  the  true  Promised  Land.  There  are 
numerous  instances  even  of  persons  who 
placed  little  or  no  faith  in  the  efficacy  of 
this  devotion,  and  yet  received  great  advan- 
tages from  it.  Volumes  of  such  examples 
might  be  written.  Let  it  suffice  to  say — and 
who  can  deny  it? — that  by  virtue  of  the 
Scapular  tempests  have  been  stilled,  con- 
flagrations extinguished,  mortal  wounds 
healed,  incurable  diseases  cured,  the  chains 
of  the  captive  broken,  obstinate  sinners  con- 
verted, and  despairing  souls  restored  to  the 
arms  of  God's  mercy.  If,  as  it  sometimes 
happens,  we  hear  skeptics  assert  that  such 
marvels  are  altogether  disproportionate  to 
the  cause,.we  have  only  to  remind  them  that 
"the  foolish  things  of  this  world  hath  God 
chosen  that  He  may  confound  the  wise." 

Who  shall  dare  to  place  a  limit  to  His 
power,  or  set  Him  laws  by  which  to  act? 
If  it  pleases  His  Mother,  whom  He  has  ap- 
pointed the  dispenser  of  His  riches, — who 
was  the  cause  of  His  first  great  miracle  at 
Cana,  —to  determine  on  any  livery  what- 
ever, and  to  oblige  Herself  to  reward  him 
who  wears  it  worthily  in  Her  service,  why 
can  She  not  do  so?  Earthly  potentates  dis- 
tinguish their  servants  by  various  kicds  of 
badges, which  secure  privileges  held  in  the 
highest  esteem:  why  should  the  world 
wonder  that  the  Queen  of  Heaven  distin- 
guishes Her  servants  in  like  manner? 

We  ought,  then,  to  admire  the  goodness 
of  this  Most  Holy  Queen,  who  gives  us  so 
easy  a  means  of  showing  our  devotion,  and 
of  procuring  Her  assistance  and  protection. 
We  ought  not  to  delay  taking  part  in  a 
practice  so  salutary,  which  can  contribute 
so  powerfully  towards  the  assurance  of  our 
salvation;  and  the  thought  that  it  is  a  cer- 
tain means  of  pleasing  God  and  His  holy 
Mother  will  be  an  incentive  to  our  perform- 
ing well  the  duties  attached  to  the  devotion. 


52 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Mercy. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


JN  bis  last  hour  a  good  man  lay  alone, 
His  couch,  the  naked  earth;  his  pillow, 

stone. 
Thus  faithless  fortune  left  him,  in  the  end, 
To  perish  in  the  dark,  without  one  friend. 
Lifting  his  eyes,  in  great  bewilderment, 
He  saw  seven  shining  angels  o'er  him  bent; 
And  with  his  failing  breath  he  cried,  in  fear, 
' '  Ye  heavenly  messengers !  what  do  ye  here  ? ' ' 
Kach  angel  in  his  turn  made  low  reply, 
In  voices  of  celestial  melody: — 
' '  I  was  a-hungered,  and  thou  gavest  meat ' ' ; 
"I  was  athirst,   thy   draught  was  passing 

sweet ' ' ; 
'  'And  I  was  naked,  and  was  clothed  by  thee" ; 
"A  captive,  I,  when  thou  didst  ransom  me"; 
"I  harborless  till  I  thy  harbor  found"; 
' '  When  I  was  sick  thy  mercy  knew  no  bound' ' ; 
Then  the  last  whispered,  as  he  bowed  his  head, 
'  'And  thou  didst  bury  me  when  I  was  dead. ' ' 
Now  a  great  glory  filled  the  vault  of  night, 
A  still  small  voice  glowed  like  intensest  light; 
It  seemed  to  fashion  words  that  were  as  flame, 
One  flashed  and  faded  as  another  came: — 
"And  lo!  as  thou  hast  done  it  unto  these. 
So  hast  thou  done  it  unto  Me."    At  ease 
On  his  cold  bed  the  good  man  breathed  his  last: 
A  bed  of  roses  now,  and  every  blast 
"Was  softer,  sweeter  than  an  infant's  breath, 
For  the  bright  watchers  by  that  bed  of  death; 
And  as  the  spirit  left  its  form  of  clay, 
Seven  angels  bore  it  in  their  arms  away. 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA, 


(Continued.) 

THE  young  priest  went  forth  with  his 
ministry  full  of  courage  and  joy.  He 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  come  to  reside  in 
his  father's  house,  but  went  with  four  other 
young  priests  to  a  little  lodging  in  the  Rue 
Cassette.  They  were  all  the  sons  of  wealthy 
parents,  but,  filled  with  the  spirit  of  their 
holy  state,  they  resoled  to  conform  their 
lives  as  much  as  possible  to  the  ideal  of 


evangelical  poverty.  Some  months  before 
the  Abbe  de  Sdgur's  ordination,  Mgr.  Aflfre 
had  been  applied  to  for  a  chaplain  for  the 
military  prison ;  there  had  been  some  delay 
in  filling  the  appointment,  and  meantime 
Gaston  had  obtained  permission  to  go  to 
the  prison  and  devote  himself  to  the  service 
and  consolation  of  the  prisoners.  As  soon  as 
he  was  ordained  he  offered  himself  as  chap- 
lain, and  was  appointed  to  the  post. 

He  entered  on  this  his  first  sacerdotal 
mission  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  neophyte. 
The  soldiers  soon  came  to  love  and  trust 
him,  and  he  thus  easily  gained  access  to 
their  souls.  They  made  their  confession  to 
him  without  any  difiiculty,  and  numbers 
who  had  never  made  their  First  Commun- 
ion were  instructed  and  prepared  for  it,  and 
made  it  in  the  prison.  When  these  penitents 
of  the  young  priest  were  removed  to  heavier 
punishment,  or  returned  to  their  regiments, 
they  did  not  forget  him,  and  he  was  careful 
to  retain  his  influence  over  them  by  corre- 
spondence. Numerous  letters,  soldierly  in 
style  and  orthography,  were  found  amongst 
his  papers  after  his  death.  Some  were  dated 
from  the  hulks  at  Toulon — the  outpourings 
of  violent  but  not  vicious  fanatics,  who  had 
been  led  to  take  part  in  the  riots  of  '48;  they 
were  all  alike  in  their  expressions  of  grati- 
tude to  the  Abb^  de  S^gur — "the  friend 
who  came  to  us  and  stood  by  us  when  every 
other  friend  had  deserted  us,"  writes  one  of 
the  convicts. 

His  friendship  was,  on  some  few  occa- 
sions, put  to  a  terrible  test  by  these  poor 
misguided  rebels;  some  of  them  were  con- 
demned to  be  shot  at  Vincennes,  and  the 
chaplain  accompanied  them  to  the  ground, 
giving  them  the  crucifix  to  kiss.and  praying 
with  them  to  the  last  moment.  He  dreaded 
these  executions,  in  spite  of  his  courage, 
and  would  stand  pale  and  trembling  by  the 
poor  condemned  man,  looking  as  if  he  were 
about  to  faint.  What  he  shrank  from  still 
more  was  accompanying  a  convict  to  the 
guillotine.  He  invariably  had  the  consola- 
tion of  seeing  them  die  in  the  most  Christian 
sentiments  of  faith  and  contrition;  not  a 
few  died  saintly  deaths,  and  this  rewarded 


The  Ave  Maria. 


53 


him  for  all  the  pain  he  went  through  in 
assisting  them.  The  one  thing,  he  used  to 
declare,  that  he  never  would  have  had  the 
courage  for  was  to  escort  an  impenitent 
sinner  to  the  gates  of  hell. 

His  mission  amongst  prisoners  gave  him 
an  insight  to  the  horrors  of  the  galleys, 
which  made  him  extraordinarily  compas- 
sionate towards  the  unhappy  men  who  were 
condemned  to  those  foul  abodes.  The  letters 
of  the  prisoners  whose  souls  he  had  won  to 
God  were  always  full  of  the  moral  anguish 
they  had  to  suffer  from  the  corruption  of 
the  prison,  and  the  persecution  a  converted 
convict  had  to  bear  from  the  degraded  and 
vicious  beings  around  him.  "If  you  utter 
a  good  sentiment,"  writes  one  of  them, 
"you  are  a  spy;  blasphemy  and  vice  are  in 
the  air."  The  Abbe  de  Segur  had  many 
friends  in  distant  prisons,  both  convicts  and 
chaplains,  and  from  these  latter  he  some- 
times heard  accounts  of  holy  and  happy 
deaths  that  rejoiced  him. 

Besides  the  soldiers,  he  devoted  himself 
to  young  apprentices.  This  latter  mission 
was  less  harrowing  to  his  heart,  but  it  was 
in  many  ways  more  laborious.  There  was 
the  difficulty  of  catching  the  wild  and  wilful 
lads  who  were  scattered  over  a  g^reat  space 
in  their  workshops,  not  ready  to  his  hand 
like  the  soldiers;  but  once  caught,  their 
conquest  was  generally  easy  enough;  the 
young  priest  "had  a  way  with  him,"  as  the 
soldiers  said,  that  nobody  could  long  resist. 
When  Easter  was  drawing  near,  and  there 
was  the  great  affair  of  the  Paschal  Com- 
munion to  be  accomplished,  he  determined 
to  gather  his  vagabond  flock  together  for  a 
few  days,  and  put  them  through  a  kind  of 
retreat.  For  this  purpose  he  hired  a  room, 
and,  in  order  not  to  excite  the  curiosity,  and 
perhaps  ridicule,  of  the  neighborhood,  the 
meetings  were  carried  on  as  secretly  as  pos- 
sible. The  lads,  unconsciously  impressed  by 
the  serious  opportunity  so  zealously  pro- 
vided for  them,  were  as  quiet  as  possible 
both  coming  and  going,  and  the  retreat  was 
a  great  success, — so  great,  in  fact,  that  the 
Abbe  de  Segur  resolved  to  brave  everything 
the  following  year,  and   risk   the  conse- 


quences of  having  it  on  a  larger  scale,  and 
this  time  openly,  in  the  school-house  of  the 
Rue  de  Grenelle. 

The  instructions  were  so  popular  that  the 
apprentices  crowded  to  hear  them  in  greater 
numbers  than  the  place  could  accommo- 
date, and  when  they  were  dispersing,  the 
street  was  momentarily  turned  into  a  wild 
pandemonium.  The  noble  residents  of  the 
aristocratic  old  houses  took  fright,  and  fan- 
cied some  popular  insurrection  must  be 
brewing.  One  day  the  Abbe  de  S^gur  hap- 
pened to  be  in  a  salon  when  the  juvenile 
congregation  was  rushing  to  the  evening 
instruction,  and  a  lady  started  up  in  great 
alarm.  ""Don't  be  frightened,"  said  the 
Abb6,  huirying  out  to  the  encounter;  "it 
is  only  my  retreat  marching  past!"  The 
retreat  was  always  on  its  best  behavior, 
but  its  best  was  noisy  enough  to  scare 
the  dignified  inhabitants  of  the  Rue  de 
Grenelle.  When  the  boys  met  their  friend 
in  the  street,  they  greeted  him  with  a  salvo 
of  cheers,  and  cries  of ' '  Vive  M.  de  Segur/ ' ' 
that  brought  the  neighborhood  out  to  see 
what  the  uproar  was  about.  But  it  soon 
came  to  be  known  who  the  rioters  were,  and 
then  no  one  com  plained  of  the  noise  they 
made.  His  little  room  in  the  Rue  Cassette 
was  invaded  at  all  hours  by  these  honest 
lads, who  grew  to  look  on  the  young  priest 
as  their  own  particular  friend. 

For  the  first  six  months  after  his  ordina- 
tion, he  worked  so  hard  that  a  doctor  who 
was  a  witness  of  his  life  said  to  him:  "If 
you  want  to  be  carried  to  Pere- la-Chaise  in 
six  months,  go  on  working  like  this  for 
another  six  months. ' '  He  took  no  heed  of 
the  remark,  and  precisely  six  monihs  later 
his  health  broke  down.  He  had  been  always 
expecting  some  answer  to  that  prayer  at 
his  first  Mass,  and  seeing  the  months  go  by 
without  bringing  any  sign  of  its  having 
been  accepted,  he  said  laughingly  to  the 
friend  who  knew  of  it,  "It  looks  as  if  I  had 
set  the  Blessed  Virgin  a  problem  that  She 
can't  solve!"  The  solution  was, neverthe- 
less, on  its  way  to  him. 

The  break-down  in  his  health  was  not, 
however,  the  result  of  deliberate  impru- 


54 


The  Ave  Marta 


dence,  or  wilful  disregard  of  that  invaluable 
blessing,  a  sound  body;  he  had,  theoreti- 
cally, a  great  respect  for  health,  and  his  rule 
of  life,  though  breathing  austerity  and  self- 
sacrifice  in  every  line,  included  "reasonable 
care  of  my  health."  He  conscientiously 
believed  that  he  observed  this  clause,  and, 
ascetic  though  his  life  was,  there  was  no 
undue  strain  put  upon  his  health  by  fasting 
or  vigils.  It  was  his  burning  zeal  that  wore 
him  out;  he  saw  so  much  io  be  done,  and 
longed  so  ardently  to  do  it,  — he  set  his  du- 
ties so  high  above  his  strength,  that  imper- 
ceptibly he  bent  under  the  pressure  until  he 
fell.  His  love  for  God  and  for  souls  was  like 
a  fever  consuming  his  physical  strength, 
and  he  may  be  truly  said  to  have  had  but 
one  thought  from  the  moment  he  awoke 
till  he  lay  down  to  rest — to  suffer  and  to 
work  for  his  divine  Master. 

Love  for  Our  Blessed  Lady  was  the  chief 
characteristic  of  his  piety.  His  rule  of  life 
contains  the  following  clau*^e:  "Absolute 
devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God.  I  must  act 
always  in  total  dependence  on  Her;  for  all  I 
am  belongs  to  Her.  I  will  ask  Her  blessing 
before  coming  in  and  going  out.  Recite  the 
Rosary  meditated."  He  took  Mary  for  his 
guide  and  confidante  in  all  things,  and  he 
honored  Her  as  the ' '  Virgin  most  Prudent ' ' 
too  much  not  to  imitate  Her  discretion,  as 
far  as  his  light  enabled  him.  But  heroic 
souls  have  principles  and  enthusiasms  that 
are  apt  to  clash  in  practice.  The  Abbe  de 
S6gur  had  a  theory,  which  he  adopted  before 
his  ordination,  that  every  man  must  always 
be  in  extremes,  and  that  if  he  does  not  fall 
into  extremes  on  the  right  side,  he  runs  a 
great  risk  of  doing  so  on  the  left.  A  priest, 
he  held,  is  bound  to  give  himself  wholly  to 
the  service  of  his  Master,  and  the  Master 
will  look  to  the  consequences. 

The  Abbe  de  Segur  slaved  for  the  sol- 
diers, the  apprentices,  children,  and  the 
poor;  he  confessed  and  preached  unspar- 
ingly, and  he  walked  in  all  weathers  until 
his  strength  gave  way.  He  was  arrested 
suddenly  by  a  loss  of  voice  and  a  spitting 
of  blood.  He  immediately  gave  in,  put  him- 
self with  the  docility  of  a  child  in  the  hands 


of  the  doctor,  even  to  the  point  of  staying 
in  bed  and  drinking  ass's  milk  of  a  morn- 
ing, and  so  sacrificing  the  happiness  of  say- 
ing Mass.  He  considered  at  once  how  he 
could  best  turn  to  account  the  period  of 
leisure  that  illness  forced  upon  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  employ  it  in  writing.  He  set  to 
work  on  a  book  entitled  "Answers  to  Ob- 
jections against  Religion." 

The  Abb^  Gay  read  the  MS. ,  and  thought 
highly  of  it ;  the  substance  was  solid,  and 
the  style  terse,  lucid  and  to  the  point,  and 
had  all  the  qualifications  of  a  popular  book. 
It  was  sent  in  to  the  Society  of  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul, — a  society  for  the  publication  of 
good  books.  The  president,  unable  to  come 
to  an  opinion  himself,  sent  it  to  a  distin- 
guished man  of  letters,  since  an  academi-  - 
cian,who  was  a  member  of  the  society.  His 
verdict,  after  careful  reading,  was,  "Dull 
enough  to  justify  the  general  opinion  that 
good  books  are  always  dull."  The  author 
accepted  the  snub  very  meekly,  but  his 
friends  did  not.  They  refused  to  believe  in 
the  judgment  of  the  literary  man,  and  took 
the  MS.  to  three  publishers,  who  each  in 
turn  refused  it. 

The  Abb^  de  S^gur,  now  fully  convinced 
that  the  book  was  worthless,  put  it  away, 
and  thought  no  more  about  it.  He  had 
almost  forgotten  its  existence,  when  his 
mother  asked  him  to  let  her  read  it.  He 
could  not  even  remember  what  he  had  done 
with  it,  and  for  some  days  it  was  supposed 
to  be  lost.  The  volume  was  found  at  last, 
and  Mme.  de  S6gur  read  it,  and  pronounced 
it  a  very  able  and  valuable  piece  of  work. 
She  had  a  sum  of  two  thousand  francs  at 
her  disposal  for  some  good  work,  and  de- 
termined to  spend  it  on  the  publication  of 
this  book.  It  proved  a  good  inspiration. 
The  '  'Reponses ' '  was  an  extraordinary  suc- 
cess; the  first  edition  went  off  like  wild- 
fire, and,  after  going  through  one  hundred 
editions,  the  book  still  remains  popular. 

The  incident  furnishes  as  striking  an  in- 
stance of  the  fallibility  of  private  judgment 
on  a  literary  work  as  the  records  of  pub- 
lishers show.  Five  years  ago,  no  less  than 
seven  hundred  thousand  copies  of  the  book 


The  Ave  Maria. 


55 


had  been  sold  in  France  and  Belgium,  while 
countless  editions  of  the  translation  into 
foreign  languages  were  selling  in  Europe; 
it  was  even  translated  into  Hindostanee;  in 
all,  it  was  calculated  before  the  author's 
death  that  over  a  million  copies  had  been 
sold.  And  yet  a  number  of  critics,  supposed 
to  be  competent  judges,  had  rejected  this 
book  as  ' '  dull  and  worthless ' ' ! 

The  Abbe  de  Segur  took  the  brilliant 
success,  as  he  had  taken  the  contemptuous 
rejection,  with  the  gentle  humility  of  one 
who  looked  at  events  outside  of  self.  The 
good  the  ''^Reponses''''  did  was  the  reward 
that  went  to  his  heart;  and  humility  could 
not  blind  him  to  this,  because  the  conver- 
sions it  made  were  brought  constantly  un- 
der his  eyes  His  illness  was  thus  only  the 
beginning  of  a  new  field  of  labor,  and  one 
in  which  he  toiled  as  diligently  and  as  suc- 
cessfully as  in  any  where  he  had  hitherto 
carried  his  vigorous  service. 

His  health  was  completely  restored  by 
the  rest  and  the  mild  climate  of  the  Pyre- 
nees. He  was  surprised  when  his  voice  re- 
turned; for  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  this 
might  have  been  the  infirmity  he  had  asked 
Our  Lady  to  obtain  for  him.  Had  She  re 
jected  the  prayer  as  overbold,  and  was  he 
to  renounce  the  hope  of  seeing  it  answered  ? 

He  returned  with  renewed  ardor  to  his 
ministry,  and  was  welcomed  back  with  joy 
by  the  poor  and  the  outcasts  to  whom  his 
first  service  was  devoted.  As  a  very  young 
priest  he  displayed  such  a  wonderful  power 
of  helping  the  dying,  that  his  presence  at  a 
death-bed  came  to  be  sought  for  as  a  heav- 
enly consolation  and  support.  A  man  of  the 
world  who  saw  him  assisting  a  dying  soul 
said:  "You  can  not  look  at  that  priest  with- 
out seeing  God  in  him."  This  atmosphere 
of  holiness  that  breathed  from  him  was 
often  a  source  of  potent  grace  to  death-bed 
sinners,  and  many  an  impenitent  soul, who 
had  resisted  every  other  influence,  suc- 
cumbed almost  involuntarily  to  the  charm 
of  the  Abbe  de  Segur' s  angelic  sweetness 
and  burning  piety. 

Gaston  de  Segur  was,  both  by  inherited 
loyalty  and  personal  conviction,  a  devoted 


partisan  of  the  Comte  Me  Chambord ;  but 
once  a  priest,  he  ceased  to  take  any  heed  of 
politics.  So  long  as  the  Chuich  was  pro- 
tected, and  left  free  to  fulfil  her  divine  mis- 
sion, the  form  of  government  under  which 
she  lived  and  reigned  was  indifferent  to  him, 
as  indeed  it  has  been,  under  every  regime^ 
almost  universally,  to  the  French  clergy. 
When  the  monarchy  was  overturned  in  '48, 
and  the  revolution  built  up  a  Republic  on 
its  ruins,  he  held  aloof  from  political  parties 
and  agitation.  When  the  Republic  went 
down  and  the  Empire  came  up,  he  accepted 
the  despotic  reign  of  order  as  a  plank  in  the 
storm,  and  was  content  to  let  it  take  its 
trial. 

Soon  after  the  coup  c^ktat^  he  was  ofiered 
the  post  of  Auditor  of  the  Rota.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  refuse  it;  but  Monseigneur 
Pie  and  other  influential  friends  implored 
him  to  accept  it,  protesting  that  to  have 
him  occupying  such  an  ofiice  would  be  "a 
great  benediction."  This  advice  prevailed; 
he  accepted  the  appointment,  and  made 
ready  to  set  out  for  Rome.  Before  leaving 
Paris,  the  newly  named  Auditor  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  presence-chamber  at  the 
Tuileries.  The  audience  was  long  and  cord- 
ial, and  Gaston  de  Segur  fell  a  conquest  to 
that  personal  charm  which  was  so  potent 
in  the  Emperor.  It  would,  indeed,  have  been 
hard  to  withstand  the  winning  frankness 
with  which  Napoleon  HI.  confessed  and  be- 
wailed his  wild  youth,  and  the  errors  that 
had  led  him  away,  and  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  expressed  his  regret  for  the  mis- 
taken ideas  he  had  entertained  concerning 
the  Church.  The  Auditor  left  his  presence 
penetrated  with  confidence  and  admiration 
and  sympathy. 

The  news  that  they  were  about  to  lose 
their  friend  was  received  by  the  poor  pris- 
oners and  the  apprentices  and  a  host  of 
workmen  with  a  feeling  of  despair.  Many 
of  them  asked  for  his  photograph;  he  had 
it  taken  on  purpose  for  them,  and  distrib- 
uted it  freely  amongst  them.  The  letters 
of  those  poor  people  asking  for  it  are  very 
touching;  they  looked  up  to  him  as  2^ grand 
seigneur^  and  at  the  same  time  they  were 


S6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


on  terms  of  the  most  familiar  equality  with 
him,  while  one  and  all  regarded  him  as  a 
saint. 

In  the  month  of  May,  1852,  the  Abbe, 
now  Monseigneur,  de  Segur  left  Paris  on 
his  way  to  Rome,  where  he  entered  on  a  new 
sphere  of  duties 

On  reaching  the  Eternal  City,  he  went 
straight  to  his  cousin,  Cardinal  de  M^rode, 
who,  as  chaplain  to  the  Pope,  lived  in  the 
Vatican.  While  they  were  in  the  first  ex- 
citement of  their  meeting,  a  message  came 
from  the  Pope,  ordering  the  newly  arrived 
Auditor  to  come  to  him  at  once.  The  trav- 
eller was  in  dismay.  Present  himself  be- 
fore the  Sovereign  Pontiff  all  dusty  and 
unkempt  as  he  was?  Impossible!  But 
Monseigneur  de  M^rode,  who  dearly  loved 
a  joke,  was  filled  with  wicked  glee  at  the 
sight  of  his  horror  and  embarrassment,  and 
hunted  him  off,  without  a  moment's  grace, 
to  obey  the  papal  summons 

The  moment  Pius  IX.  beheld  Gaston  de 
S%ur,  his  heart  went  out  to  him,  and  he 
loved  him  as  Our  Lord  loved  the  young 
man  in  the  Gospel  on  whom  He  looked. 
The  piety  and  modesty  of  the  young  priest 
went  straight  to  his  heart,  while  his  gayety 
and  fine  sense  of  humor  refreshed  and  de- 
lighted him.  From  this  first  visit  he  ad- 
mitted the  French  Auditor  to  an  intimacy 
which  never  ceased  during  the  four  years 
that  the  latter  resided  in  Rome. 

Before  settling  down  in  rooms  of  his  own 
at  the  Palazzo  Brancadero,  Monseigneur 
de  Segur  was  the  guest  of  his  cousin,  De 
Mdrode,  for  some  days.  He  was  deeply 
impressed  by  the  insight  into  the  life  and 
character  of  the  bellicose  prelate  which  this 
visit  afforded  him.  Cardinal  de  M^rode 
treated  his  body  with  a  rude  contempt 
which  bordered  on  inhumanity;  he  took  no 
more  heed  of  how  it  fared  as  to  eating  and 
sleeping  than  if  it  bad  been  a  stray  dog  that 
came  about  the  house.  Hospitable  as  a 
patriarch,  but  assuming  that  his  guests,  who 
were  almost  always  priests,  were  as  indiffer- 
ent to  bodily  comfort  as  he  was  himself,  he 
sometimes  exercised  them  in  mortification 
without  the  least  intending  it.    "Never  in 


my  life,"  declared  Monseigneur  de  Segur, 
"was  I  so  much  edified,  or  so  badly  fed." 
He  himself  cared  very  little  about  the 
feeding;  for,  better  than  most  Christians, 
he  knew  that  man  does  not  live  by  bread 
alone,  and  there  were  compensations  of 
every  sort  to  make  up  for  the  rough  fare  of 
his  saintlike  host.  It  was  a  constant  enter- 
tainment to  him  to  observe  the  tall,  lean 
Cardinal,  agitating  his  long  limbs,  so  vehe- 
ment in  his  gestures,  so  brusque  in  his  com- 
ings and  goings,  at  prayer  so  humbly  rapt  in 
devotion,  at  the  altar  so  majestic.  A  soldier 
in  his  early  youth.  Cardinal  de  Merode 
remained  a  soldier  always;  he  must  fight 
somebody;  he  fought  for  the  Church  and 
God,  he  fought  the  world  and  the  devil; 
sometimes  he  fought  the  Pope,  and  Pius  IX. 
admired  his  honest  daring,  and  was  never 
offended  by  his  courageous  contradiction. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Forget  Me  Not. 


iplNE  morning,  when  the  earth  was  new, 
^  And  rainbow-tinted  lay  the  dew, 

The  Father  came. 
Upon  His  waiting  flowers  He  cast 
A  gentle  glance,  and,  as  He  passed, 

Gave  each  a  name. 

The  twilight  deepening,  as  before 

He  walked  among  His  flowers  once  more, 

And  asked  each  one 
What  name,  apart  from  all  the  rest, 
He  gave,  its  faithfulness  to  test, 

When  day  begun. 

The  Aster,  Columbine,  and  Rose 

All  answered — every  flower  that  grows 

In  field  or  wood, — 
Save  one  wee  blossom,  from  whose  eyes 
Shone  back  the  color  of  the  skies, 

That  silent  stood. 

The  flowers  were  still.  "I  loved  Thee  so! " 
She  said;  then,  trembling,  whispered  low, 
"Yet  I  forgot!" 
' '  Dear  child,  thy  name  thou  mayst  forget 
And  be  forgiven — only  yet 
Forget  Me  Not." 

— Marion  Boyd  Allen,  in  ^''Cottag^ Hearth.'''' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


57 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MARION  did  not  in  the  least  relax  her 
preparations  for  departure,  and  she  gave 
no  sign  to  Mr.  Singleton  of  perceiving  the 
end  which  he  had  in  view.  They  progressed 
very  far  toward  intimacy  in  the  course  of 
their  long  interviews;  but  it  was  an  inti- 
macy which  Marion  regulated,  and  to  which 
she  gave  its  tone,  preserving  without  diffi- 
culty command  of  the  situation.  Yet  even 
while  she  commanded  it,  an  instinct  told 
her  that  the  hour  would  come  very  soon 
when  this  man  would  assert  himself,  when 
her  time  of  control  would  be  over,  and  the 
feeling  that  betrayed  itself  in  his  eyes  and 
voice  would  find  expression  in  a  manner 
beyond  her  power  to  regulate.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  declaration 
when  it  came  one  day,  abruptly  and  with- 
out anticipation  on  her  part. 

"I  think,  Miss  Lynde,"  said  Singleton, 
' '  that  it  is  time  you  and  [  understood  each 
other — or,  at  least,  that  I  understood  you; 
for  I  am  pretty  sure  that  you  understand 
me  thoroughly.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  I^am  in  love  with  you.  Do  you  intend 
to  marry  me?" 

' '  Mr.  Singleton ! ' '  cried  Marion,  startled 
and  considerably  discomposed.  "Do  I  in- 
tend— "she  repeated.  "How  could  I  pos- 
sibly have  any  intention  in — in  such  a 
matter?  That  is  a  very  extraordinary  way 
of  speaking." 

"Is  it?"  said  Singleton.  "But  yon-do 
not  expect  an  ordinary  way  of  speaking 
from  me;  for  do  you  not  make  me  under- 
stand every  day  how  much  of  a  savage  I 
am  ?  What  can  I  do  except  ask  your  inten- 
tions? For  you  can  not  say  that  you  do  not 
know  I  am  in  your  hands  to  be  dealt  with 
as  you  like," 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  an- 
swered, hastily.  "Why  should  I  know  it? 
I  have  been  glad  that  we  should  be  friends, 
but  beyond  that — " 


' '  Do  not  talk  noasense ! "  he  interrupted, 
somewhat  roughly.  "You  are  too  clever  a 
woman  not  to  have  been  aware  from  the 
first  that  there  was  no  friendship  about  it. 
As  soon  as  I  saw  you,  I  made  uo  my  mind 
that  I  would  marry  you  if  you  would  agree 
to  it.  And  why  should  you  not  agree?  It 
will  settle  all  difficulties  about  the  fortune, 
and  I  am  not  really  a  bad  fellow  at  heart.  I 
assure  you  of  that." 

"  I  think  I  know  very  well  what  kind  of 
fellow  you  are,"  said  Marion,  smiling  in 
spite  of  herself.  "  Certainly  not  one  who  is 
formed  on  a  very  conventional  model.  I 
like  you  very  much— I  am  sure  you  know 
that, — but  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying 
you." 

It  cost  her  something  of  an  effort  to  say 
this — to  put  away,  finally  as  it  were,  the 
glittering  prize  that  life  had  cast  in  her  way. 
But,  thus  brought  face  to  face  with  the  ne- 
cessity for  decision,  she  found  that  no  other 
answer  was  possible  to  her.  Yet  the  form 
of  words  that  she  chose  did  not  convey 
her  meaning  in  an  unalterable  sense  to  the 
man  watching  her  with  such  keen,  brilliant 
eyes. 

"You  have  no  intention  of  marrying 
me!"  he  repeated.  "Does  that  mean  that 
you  will  not  form  such  an  intention — that 
you  will  not  take  the  subject  into  consid- 
eration ? ' ' 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should," she 
answered.  "  It  is  best  that  you  should  think 
no  more  of  it." 

' '  I  can  not  agree  to  that, ' '  he  said.  ' '  On 
the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  best,  from  every 
point  of  view,  that  I  should  continue  to 
think  of  it,  and  endeavor  to  bring  it  to  pass. 
I  warn  you  that  I  am  not  a  man  who  is 
easily  daunted.  Unless  you  intend  to  marry 
some  one  else,  I  shall  continue  my  efforts 
to  induce  you  to  marry  me. ' ' 

"Not  if  I  tell  you  that  there  is  no  use  in 
such  efforts?"  said  Marion. 

"You  can  not  possibly  tell  whether  there 
would  be  use  in  them  or  not,"  he  persisted, 
"unless  you  are  decided  with  regard  to 
some  other  man.  If  so,  I  hope  you  will  tell 
me." 


S8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"There  is  no  other  man  in  question," 
she  said,  coldly.  "I  may  surely  be  supposed 
to  know  my  own  mind  without  being  bound 
to  any  one," 

"And  I  know  mine,"  he  replied,  "so  posi- 
tively that,  until  you  are  bound  to  some  one 
else,  I  shall  not  relinquish  the  hope  of  in- 
ducing you  to  marry  me.  I  give  you  fair 
warning  of  that." 

"Really,  Mr.  Singleton,"  said  Marion, 
who  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  vexed  or 
amtised,  "you  are  a  very  singular  person. 
Are  you  not  aware  that  a  man  must  abide 
by  the  woman's  decision  in  such  a  matter 
as  this?" 

"I  am  not  so  uncivilized  as  you  imag- 
ine," he  replied.  "Of  course  I  know  it.  But 
everywhere  and  always  he  has  the  right  of 
endeavoring  to  change  that  decision  if  he 
can.  And  I  have  a  double  reason  for  desir- 
ing to  change  )  ours  I  not  only  want  to 
marry  )  ou,  but  I  also  want  you  to  have 
youT  share  of  my  fortune. ' ' 

"I  have  no  share  in  it,"  she  said,  haugh- 
tily— for  surely  such  a  persistent  suitor  as 
this  promised  to  be  very  troublesome; — 
"you  know  that  well,  and  you  know  also 
that  I  have  forbidden  you  to  speak  of  it 
to  me." 

"Henceforth  I  will  endeavor  to  obey 
you,"  he  answered,  with  the  courtesy  which 
now  and  then  contrasted  oddly  with  the 
usual  abruptness  of  his  manner.  ' '  But  you 
can  not  forbid  me  to  think  of  it — nor  of 
you  " 

' ' I  hope, "she  said, ' '  that  when  I  go  away 
you  will  very  soon  cease  to  think  of  me." 

H«»  smiled.  "Do  you  think,"  he  asked, 
"that  I  shall  not  follow  you?  The  way  to 
Europe  is  as  open  to  me  as  to  you." 

"But  if  I  forbid  it?"  she  cried,  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  dismay. 

"You  have  no  right  to  forbid  it,"  he  an- 
swered, quietly.  "I  have  no  intention  of 
accompanying  you  and  I  have  surely  been 
guilty  of  nothing  which  could  lead  you  to 
disown  my  acquaintance  should  we  meet 
in  Rome  or  elsewhere." 

Marion  fancied  that  after  his  declaration, 
and  the  refusal  with  which  it  had   been 


met,  George  Singleton  would  leave  Scarbor- 
ough, since  he  had  certainly  no  business  to 
detain  him  there.  Butthatgentleman  proved 
himself  to  be  of  another  opinion.  He  not 
only  remained  in  Scarborough,  but  he  con- 
tinued his  visits  with  the  same  regularity 
which  had  characterized  them  before.  Partly 
vexed,  partly  amused,  Marion,  nevertheless, 
took  precautions  to  guard  against  any  em- 
barrassing renewal  of  his  suit.  She  ceased 
to  receive  him  alone,  and  whenever  it  was 
possible  she  turned  him  over  to  Helen  for 
entertainment.  To  this  he  apparently  did 
not  object  in  the  least.  He  had  hardly  met 
Miss  Morle>  before,  and  her  soft  gentleness 
charmed  him.  It  was  the  type  of  woman- 
hood best  suited  to  his  own  passionate, 
impulsive  nature,  and  he  vielded  to  its  in- 
fluence with  an  abandon  that  surprised 
himself. 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  an  effect  you 
have  upon  me,"  he  said  to  her  on  one  oc- 
casion. "When  I  come  into  your  presence 
I  am  like  a  cat  that  is  smoothed  the  right 
way — you  put  me  into  harmony  and  accord 
with  all  the  world." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  at  the 
frankness  of  this  assertion,  as  well  as  the 
homeliness  of  the  comparison.  "I  am  very 
glad  to  hear  that  my  presence  has  a  good 
effect  upon  you,"  said  Helen;  "although! 
do  not  know  why  it  should  be  so." 

"I  suppose  some  people  would  call  it 
magnetism,"  he  answered;  "but  I  think  it 
is  simply  owing  to  the  fact  that  your  nature 
is  so  placid  and  gentle  that  you  exercise 
a  calming  influence  upon  the  passions  of 
others. ' ' 

' '  My  nature  is  not  so  placid  and  gentle  as 
you  imagine,  perhaps,"  she  said, with  some- 
thing of  a  shadow  stealing  over  her  face. 
"I  have  passions  too  " 

■'Have  you?"  he  asked,  rather  incred- 
ulously. "Well,  if  so  they  must  be  of  a 
very  mild  order,  or  else  you  understand 
managing  them  in  a  wonderful  manner.  I 
wish  you  would  teach  me  how  to  manage 
mine." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  blue  eyes, 
and  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  am  afraid  you  would 


7'he  Ave  Maria^ 


59 


not  care  to  learn  the  only  thing  that  I  could 
teach,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?    I  think  that  I  should  like 

to  learn  anything  that  you  would  teach." 

"Perhaps,  then,  if  our  acquaintance  lasts 

long  enough,  I  may  take  you  at  your  word 

some  day, ' '  she  replied,  smiling. 

In  saying  this  she  thought  herself  very 
safe;  for  she  had  little  idea  that  their  associ- 
ation would  outlast  the  day  on  which  Marion 
left  Scarborough.  She  knew  that  the  latter 
had  been  offered  the  opportunity  of  re- 
gaining her  lost  fortune  in  the  most  legiti- 
mate and  satisfactory  way,  and  had  little 
doubt  but  that  the  matter  would  end  by  her 
accepting  George  Singleton.  "For  Marion 
was  never  meant  to  be  poor,"  she  said  to 
herself;  "and  he  really  seems  to  have  a 
great  deal  of  good  in  him — much  more  than 
one  could  have  fancied.  And  he  takes  her 
treatment  of  him  very  nicely.  It  is  kind  of 
him  to  seem  to  like  my  society,  instead  of 
finding  me  a  dreadful  bore." 

She  said  as  much  as  this  to  Marion,  who 
laughed.  "There  is  very  good  reason  for 
his  not  finding  you  a  bore, ' '  Marion  replied. 
"He  enjoys  your  society  much  more  than 
mine — it  suits  him  better.  I  can  see  that 
very  plainly.  In  fact,  the  thing  is  that  he 
and  I  are  too  much  alike  to  assimilate  well. 
We  are  both  too  fiery,  too  impulsive  in  our 
natures  and  strong  in  our  passions.  You 
are  the  counteracting  influence  that  we 
need.  Instinct  tells  him  so,  as  experience 
tells  me." 

' '  Marion,  what  utter  nonsense ! " 

"So  far  from  that,  the  very  best  sense, 
my  dear.  There  is  only  one  person  who  has 
a  more  beneficial  influence  upon  me  than 
you  have.  That  is  Claire,  and  I  am  going  to 
her.  If  Mr.  Singleton  is  wise  he  will  stay 
with  >ou." 

"  If  I  thought  you  were  in  earnest  in  say- 
ing such  a  thing  as  that,  you  would  really 
provoke  me,"  said  Helen,  gravely. 

"Then  you  may  be  sure  that  I  am  not 
in  earnest,"  cried  Marion;  "for  I  would  do 
anything  sooner  than  provoke  you.  No  man 
in  the  world  is  worth  a  single  vexed  thought 
between  you  and  me." 


It  was  a  few  days  after  this  that,  every- 
thing being  at  last  settled,  she  finally  left 
the  place  where  she  had  gained  and  lost 
a  fortune, — where  she  had  sounded  some 
depths  of  experience  and  learned  some 
lessons  of  wisdom  that  could  not  soon  be 
forgotten. 

' '  Marion, ' '  said  Helen,  the  evening  before 
her  departure,  ' '  I  am  going  to  have  a  Mass 
said  for  my  intention  to-morrow  morning 
— and,  of  course,  that  means  you.  Will  you 
not  come  to  the  church  ? ' ' 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  the  other, 
quickly.  "Indeed  I  am  not  so  absolutely 
a  heathen  but  that  I  meant  to  go,  in  any 
event.  I  am  setting  out  anew  in  life,  as  it 
were,  and  I  should  like  to  ask  God  to  bless 
this  second  beginning,  as  I  certainly  did 
not  ask  Him  to  bless  the  first. ' ' 

' '  Then  you  will  be  at  the  church  at  eight 
o'clock?"  said  Helen.  "And  afterward 
breakfast  with  me,  so  that  you  will  not  need 
to  return  here  before  meeting  )  our  train.  I 
should  like  the  last  bread  that  you  break  in 
Scarborough  to  be  broken  with  me." 

"It  shall  be  exactly  as  you  wish,"  ob- 
served Marion,  touched  by  the  request, 
which  meant  more,  she  knew,  than  appeared 
on  the  surface.  For  it  was  not  onlv  that 
Helen  wished  to  renew  the  link  of  hospital- 
ity— not  only  that  she  desired,  as  she  said, 
that  the  last  bread  broken  by  Marion  in 
Scarborough  should  be  broken  with  her  in 
token  of  their  renewed  amity, — but  she 
wished  to  show  to  all  the  little  world  that 
had  so  curiously  watched  the  course  of 
events  in  which  the  beautiful' stranger  was 
concerned,  that  their  friendly  and  cousinly 
relations  were  unchanged.  All  of  this  Mar- 
ion understood  without  words. 

Eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  found 
her  in  the  church.  As  she  acknowledged, 
she  had  asked  no  blessing  of  God  on  her 
former  beginning  of  life — that  life  which 
had  come  to  such  utter  failure  in  every  re- 
spect; and  in  the  realization  of  this  failure 
much  of  her  proud  self-confidence  had  for- 
saken her.  She  had  asked  only  that  oppor- 
tunity should  be  given,  and  she  had  felt 
within  herself  the  power  to  win  all  that  she 


6o 


The.  Ave  Alaria. 


desired.  Opportunity  had  been  given,  and 
she  had  ended  by  losing  everything,  saving 
only  the  remnant  of  her  self-respect,  and 
Helen's  generous  affection.  These  thoughts 
came  to  her  with  force  as  she  knelt  in  the 
little  chapel,  knowing  that  she  was  going 
forth  to  a  new  life  with  diminished  pros- 
pects of  worldly  success,  but  with  a  deeper 
knowledge  of  herself,  of  the  responsibilities 
of  existence,  and  of  the  claims  of  others, 
than  she  had  possessed  before. 

Then  she  remembered  how  she  had  knelt 
in  this  same  place  with  Brian  Earle,  and 
felt  herself  drawn  near  to  the  household  of 
Faith.  It  had  been  an  attraction  which  had 
led  to  nothing,  because  it  had  been  founded 
on  human  rather  than  on  divine  love.  Now 
that  the  human  love  was  lost,  had  the  divine 
no  meaning  left?  The  deep  need  of  her 
soul  answered  this,  and  when  she  bent  her 
head  as  the  priest  at  the  altar  offered  the 
Holy  Sacrifice,  it  was  with  a  more  real  act 
of  faith  and  worship  than  she  had  made  on 
that  day  when  it  seemed  as  if  but  a  step 
divided  her  from  the  Church  of  God. 

Mass  over,  she  went  to  say  a  few  words 
of  farewell  to  Father  Byrne,  and  then  ac- 
companied Helen  home.  It  had  been  a 
long  time  since  she  had  entered  her  aunt's 
house,  and  the  recollections  of  her  first 
coming  into  it,  and  of  the  welcome  which 
had  then  met  her,  seemed  to  rush  upon  her 
as  she  crossed  the  threshold.  "If  it  were 
only  to  do  over  again!"  she  thought,  with 
a  pang.  When  th'=>y  sat  down  to  breakfast 
she  glanced  at  the  place  which  she  had  so 
often  seen  Rathborne  occupy,  and  thought 
that  but  for  her  Helen  might  never  have 
been  undeceived,  might  never  have  suffered 
wi+h  regard  to  him.  "At  least  not  in  the 
way  she  has  suffered,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"In  some  way,  however,  she  must  have 
suffered  sooner  or  later.  Therefore  perhaps 
it  is  best  as  it  is — for  her.  But  that  does  rot 
excuse  me.  If  only  I  might  be  permitted  to 
make  some  atonement!" 

But  atonement  is  difficult  to  make  in  this 
world,  either  for  our  mistakes  or  our  wrong- 
doing. The  logic  of  life  is  stern  indeed. 
From  certain  acts  flow  certain  consequences 


as  inevitably  as  conclusions  proceed  from 
premises  or  night  follows  day.  It  is  vain  to 
cry  out  that  we  had  no  such  end  in  view. 
The  end  comes  despite  our  protests,  and  we 
are  helpless  in  the  face  of  that  which  springs 
from  our  own  deed. 

These  reflections  had  in  great  measure 
become  familiar  to  Marion,  especially  with 
regard  to  the  pain  she  had  brought  upon 
Helen.  She  had  been  forced  to  realize  clearly 
that  what  it  would  have  been  easily  pos- 
sible for  her  to  avoid,  it  was  absolutely  im- 
possible for  her  to  repair.  To  Helen's  own 
goodness,  generosity,  and  gentleness  she 
owed  the  relief  that  had  come  to  her  on  the 
subject.  Nevertheless,  she  longed  greatly 
for  some  means  of  repairing  the  injury  she 
had  done,  the  suffering:  she  had  caused, 
and — was  it  an  inspiration  which  suddenly 
seemed  to  suggest  to  her  such  a  means? 
(to  be  continued.) 


A  Memorable  Disaster. 


A  RECORD  OF  MARVELS  AND  GOLDEN  DEEDS. 


THE  burning  of  the  Opera  Comique,  one 
of  the  principal  theatres  of  Paris,  on  the 
night  of  the  25th  of  May,  plunged  the  whole 
city  into  mourning,  and  the  hoirors  of  that 
disaster  are  still  spoken  of  with  bated  breath 
by  those  who  witnessed  them.  The  scenery, 
it  appears,  took  fire  from  the  gas  jets,  and 
some  sparks  fell  upon  the  stage.  The  direc- 
tor came  forward  and  implored  the  audi- 
ence to  retire  quietly,  declaring  that  there 
was  no  danger;  but,  as  burning  material 
continued  to  fall  on  the  stage,  and  the  iron 
curtain  was  not  let  down — it  was  out  of 
order, — the  theatre  became  filled  with 
smoke,  and  a  great  panic  ensued.  Unfortu- 
nately, all  the  doors  from  the  building  onto 
the  passages  opened  inwards.  People  fought 
theii  way  out  as  best  they  could,  some  leap- 
ing from  the  windows,  and  falling  in  shape- 
less masses  on  the  pavement.  Others  by 
dint  of  hard  blows  right  and  left  escaped, 
and  in  this  struggle  the  weaker  were 
knocked  down  and  trampled  under  foot. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6i 


The  number  of  corpses  found  was  eighty- 
three,  nearly  all  of  whom  were  identified. 
About  one  hundred  persons  were  hurt  and 
injured  more  or  less  severely.  The  exact 
number  of  those  who  perished  in  this  fire 
will  never  be  known,  as  after  the  first  two 
days  all  bodies  in  the  theatre  were  com- 
pletely carbouiztd. 

The  bravery  and  heroism  of  the  firemen 
were  beyond  all  praise,  but  they  were  so 
poorly  armed  that  they  fought  at  a  terrible 
disadvantage.  On  that  fatal  night,  as  there 
was  no  water  at  hand — two  reservoirs  which 
should  have  been  filled  were  empty, — all 
they  could  do  was  to  rnsh  into  the  build- 
ing and  try  to  SAve  as  many  lives  as  pos- 
sible. The  fire  was  burning  for  nearly  an 
hour  before  any  water  was  thrown  on  it, 
and  it  was  not  till  eleven  o'clock,  when  the 
theatre  was  a  huge  furnace,  that  fourteen 
engines  began  to  play  upon  it.  The  first 
fire-escapes  did  not  arrive  till  one  hour  and 
twenty  minutes  after  the  fire  began,  and 
then  they  required  such  complicated  ma- 
nceuvring  that  much  valuable  time  was 
lost  in  getting  them  into  order. 

The  cure  of  the  Madeleine,  on  hearing 
of  the  disaster,  rose  immediately,  and,  turn- 
ing to  the  priests  who  were  sitting  with 
him,  said:  "Gentlemen,  I  must  go  at  once 
to  these  poor  suffering  souls."  All  followed 
without  a  word.  Thev  were  able  to  give 
absolution  to  many,  and  to  hear  the  dying 
confessions  of  a  few.  One  poor  danseuse  had 
been  crying  out  in  great  v^nstry ,'''■  Un preii^e, 
un  preiref''  And  the  Abbe  le  Rebours  had 
the  unspeakable  consolation  of  being  in 
time  to  administer  to  her  the  last  rites  of 
our  holy  Faith. 

The  Theatre  Comique  was  considered 
the  most  respectable  in  Paris,  and  was  fre- 
quented for  the  most  part  by  the  best  class 
of  the  populace;  therefore  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed that  the  greater  number  of  the  un- 
fortunate victims  were  Catholics.  In  the 
pockets  of  many  of  the  women  Our  Lady's 
Beads  were  found,  and  we  can  hope  that 
Our  Blessed  Mother  asked  a  special  mercy 
for  them — for  all.  This  belief  is  shared  by 
the  venerable  Archbishop  of  Paris,  who  said 


in  the  touching  letter  read  from  the  pulpit 
of  Notre  Dame  before  the  funeral  service: 
* '  A  cruel  and  sudden  death  is  a  lesson  on 
which  we  can  not  too  often  meditate;  it 
confirms  the  words  of  the  Master,  'Watch 
and  pray ;  for  you  know  not  the  day  or  the 
hourv '  In  that  awful  moment  when  the  soul 
is  suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  eter- 
nity, and  cries  out  to  God,  He  answers  by 
numberless  graces.  We  may,  then,  hope 
and  believe  that  the  memory  of  their  Bap- 
tism and  First  Communion  brought  back 
to  God  many  of  the  souls  summoned  so  un- 
expectedly to  the  judgment-seat." 

A  few  almost  miraculous  escapes  and 
some  deeds  of  noblest  heroism  have  been 
reported;  they  are  quite  authentic,  and  de- 
serve to  be  recorded  in  the  pages  of  Our 
Lady's  Journal.  The  mysteries  of  grace  and 
conversion  wrought  amidst  those  terrible 
flames  and  that  suffocating  smoke  will  be 
revealed  only  at  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

At  the  first  sign  of  fire,  a  poor  woman ,  box- 
keeper  at  the  Op^ra  Comique,  was  seized 
with  fright;  her  impulse  was  to  rush  out  of 
the  theatre,  but  seeing  a  crowd  hurrying  to 
a  corridor  without  egress,  she  turned  back 
and  called  on  them  to  follow  her.  In  their 
excitement  they  knocked  down  the  lamps 
lighting  the  stairs,  and  the  confusion  so 
increased  in  the  dark  that  several  persons 
were  trampled  upon,  amongst  them  the 
box-keeper.  As  she  fell  she  sent  up  an  as- 
piration, "O  Notre-Dame  des  Victoires, 
receive  my  last  breath ! ' '  She  then  lost  con- 
sciousness, and  when  she  recovered  her 
senses  she  found  herself  lying  in  a  bed  at 
the  Hopital  de  la  Charite.  Her  slight  in- 
juries will  soon  disappear.  She  is  convinced 
that  her  preservation  was  due  to  the  inter- 
vention of  Notre-Dame  des  Victoires,  under 
which  title  she  has  great  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  She  begged  a  friend  who 
visited  her  on  the  day  following  the  disas- 
ter to  have  a  Mass  of  thanksgiving  offered, 
also  to  have  her  name  inscribed  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Arch  confraternity. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  26th  of  May 
two  ladies,  mother  and  daughter,  were  at 
the  same  favorite  shrine  to  thank  God  for 


62 


The  Ave  Man  a 


having  spared  their  lives.  They  had  come 
•  to  Paris  on  business  for  a  few  days,  and 
wished  to  see  "Migtion."  To  their  great 
disappointment,  they  could  obtain  seats 
only  in  a  top  gallery ;  afterwards  they  were 
shown  to  a  box,  but  it  was  already  too 
crowded  to  admit  even  one  more.  There 
was  nothing  left  for  them  but  to  leave  the 
theatre.  Coming  out,  the  young  girl  said: 
' '  Mother,  let  us  go  to  the  May  devotions  at 
the  Madeleine."  The  mother  gladly  as 
sented,  and  both  were  delighted  with  the 
"services.  The  sermon  was  eloquent,  and  the 
music  exquisite.  ' '  Mother, ' '  exclaimed  the 
young  girl  on  leaving  the  church,  "how 
glad  I  am  that  we  came  here!  I  could  not 
have  enjoyed  the  theatre  half  so  much." 

On  the  way  to  their  hotel  they  had  to 
pass  before  the  Opera  Comique.  To  their 
horror  they  saw  it  blazing  in  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  the  victims,  dead  or  dying, 
being  carried  away.  Then  they  realized  the 
hand  of  Providence;  their  gratitude  knew 
no  bounds,  and  they  hastened  to  Our 
Lady's  shrine  to  pour  out  their  hearts  be- 
fore the  privileged  altar. 

Another  marvel  was  related  in  a  wine- 
shop by  a  person  of  very  weak  religious  sen 
timent,  but,  being  still  under  the  impression 
of  what  he  had  seen  the  night  before,  he 
spoke  with  much  warmth.  '  *  From  my  win- 
dow," he  said,  "I  commanded  a  full  view 
of  the  burning  theatre.  One  group  of  men 
and  women  had  taken  refuge  on  a  cornice 
of  the  monument.  They  were  the  image  of 
despair,  paralyzed  with  indescribable  terror. 
Just  in  front  of  them  a  woman  knelt,  her 
hands  lifted  up  in  the  attitude  of  supplica 
tion;  she  remained  thus  for  some  minutes 
— minutes  that  seemed  hours, — when  sud 
denly  a  fireman  appeared;  he  lifted  her  in 
his  arms,  but  hardly  had  he  reached  the 
ladder  than  the  wall  supporting  the  others 
fell  with  a  terrible  crash,  burying  them  in 
tongues  of  flame."  The  narrator  did  not 
add  what  conclusions  he  drew  from  the 
fact,  but  it  was  evident  from  his  tone  that 
he  believed  it  to  be  a  supernatural  answer 
to  fervent  prayer. 

The  fourth  episode  can  not  be  read  with- 


out emotion;  it  illustrates  in  a  striking 
manner  the  beauty  of  heroism  inspired  by 
religion.  Several  young  men  of  the  Fau- 
bourg St. Germain  bore  testimony  to  it;  one 

of  them,  M.  de  M related  it  to  a  circle 

of  friends.  The  fire  was  raging  with  intense 
fury,  casting  a  dazzling  glare  on  all  the 
surroundings.  Several  members  of  the  fire- 
brigade  gathered  about  their  lieutenant, 
awaiting  his  orders;  their  attention  was  di- 
rected to  a  group  of  five  people  standing  on 
a  wall  threatening  to  crumble  every  mo- 
ment. The  lieutenant  turned  to  his  men. 
"I  can  not  ask  anv  of  you,"  he  said,  "to 
succor  those  wretched  creatures;  it  would 
be  certain  death,  with  faint  hope  of  saving 
them;  yet  if  there  be  one  amongst  you  who 
will  attempt  the  rescue,  here  is  a  ladder." 
Deep  silence  greeted  the  officer's  words, 
then  a  voice  was  heard;  it  was  that  of  a 
brave-hearted  Breton.  "I  will  go."  And, 
making  a  great  Sign  of  the  Cross  he  added: 
"Farewell,  comrades!"  In  another  mo- 
ment he  was  nimbly  climbing  the  ladder. 
To  the  amazement  of  all  present,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  rescuing,  one  after  the  other,  the 
five,  who  but  for  him  must  have  perished 
in  the  flames.  As  he  finished  his  perilous 
work,  he  fell  exhausted  into  the  arms  of  his 
valiant  comrades. 


A  "Lost  Paradise"  Found. 


AN  occasional  correspondent  of  the  Lon- 
don Tablet  gvvts  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  a  country  "rich  in  all  that  flows 
from  Nature's  hand,"  but,  ala^jj  poor  in- 
deed as  regards  the  light  and  consolations 
of  Religion.  We  hope,  with  the  writer,  that 
missionaries  will  soon  be  found  for  this 
beautiful  but  abandoned  country: 

On  American  soil,  from  the  Straits  of  Magel- 
lan to  the  extreme  north  of  the  Canadas,  no 
region  presents  such  a  favorable  field  for  mis- 
sionary labor  as  the  Republic  of  Guatemala, 
in  Central  America.  In  1872,  when  the  Relig- 
ious Orders  were  exiled,  the  population  of 
Guatemala  amounted  to  900,000,  all  Catholics 
except  the  tribe  of  Indians  called  De  la  Can- 


T}ie  Ave  Maria. 


63 


tonis,  who  may  be  seen  only  from  a  distance 
by  the  pyramids  and  smoke  of  their  city,  and 
upon  whose  grounds  no  one  dare  trespass  who 
values  his  life.  Among  these  900,000  inhabi- 
tants there  are  300,000  of  mixed  race,  or  Gua- 
temalian?,  who  are  called  civilized;  600,000 
are  pure  Indian.  These  Indians  are  naturally 
gentle  and  tractable,  and  are  all  Catholics, 
but,  alas!  entirely  neglected,  and  left  destitute 
of  the  blessings  of  the  Catholic  ministry:  no 
priests,  no  schools;  their  beautiful  churches, 
built  by  the  early  Fathers,  are  falling  into 
ruin;  idols  are  being  again  erected,  and  the 
people  returning  to  their  primitive  ."-tate  of 
idolatry  and  paganism.  They  live  together 
in  large  villages,  numbering  from  800  up  to 
40,000  inhabitants,  having  their  own  chiefs 
and  government,  making  their  own  laws,  and 
leading  a  quiet  and  industrious  life.  They 
weave  the  cloth  for  their  own  clothing,  and 
possess  immense  droves  of  sheep  and  cattle; 
and  everything  that  goes  into  the  great  mar- 
ket of  the  city  of  Guatemala  and  other  im- 
portant cities — such  as  the  skins  of  deer  and 
bears,  honey,  indigo,  cochineal,  chocolate, 
coflfee.  India-rubber,  etc. ,-  all  comes  from  the 
free  industry  of  these  Indians. 

From  the  earliest  date  the  Republic  was 
divided  (spiritually)  among  the  Dominican 
and  Franciscan  Fathers,  who  had  built  mon- 
asteries in  every  village;  these  are  yet  stand- 
ing, and  anxiously  waiting  for  some  one  to 
dwell  within  their  walls.  The  country  was 
.thus  ministered  to  up  to  the  year  1872;  they 
treated  the  Fathers  with  the  most  affectionate 
kindness  and  gratitude,  and  were  accustomed 
to  place  f  >ur  Indians  as  sentinels  outside  the 
door  of  the  convents;  others  attended  to  the 
wants  of  the  Fathers  inside  gratis ;  four  oth- 
ers would  remain  at  the  porch  of  the  church 
to  guard  the  precious  ornaments  of  the  altar. 

The  mysteries  of  religion  and  the  feasts  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  were  dramatized  by  them, 
especially  during  Holy  Week,  when  they 
would  go  through  the  streets  bearing  the 
crucifix,  and  sounding  the  trumpet  to  call  on 
the  people  to  come  to  confession.  Besides  their 
own  language,  they  all  speak  Spanish.  On 
Good  Friday  they  would  sweep  the  church, 
and  take  home  with  them  the  very  dust  of  the 
pavement  in  memory  of  their  devotions;  and 
their  faith  gained  for  them,  through  the  pious 
use  of  this  dust,  many  special  benefits,  not  to 
say  miraculous  cures.  In  seasons  of  drought 


they  would  come  in  thousands,  and,  reciting 
the  Rosary,  carry  the  image  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  in  procession  through  the  country:  the 
old  people  carrying  heavy  stones  and  crosses 
on  their  shoulders  others,  with  their  faces 
concealed,  scourging  themselves  to  blood;  and 
even  the  little  children  decorating  their  brows 
withwild  rose  branches, and  forcing  the  thorns 
into  their  foreheads.  Thus  they  went,  clam- 
oring for  mercy,  and  never  returning  to  the 
church  until  the  rain  should  be  granted  to 
their  prayers  and  tears;  and  we  know  that  God 
invariably  heard  them.  This  is  a  sign  that  if 
these  poor  people  are  now  falling  again  into 
idolatry  it  is  not  on  account  of  their  bad  will, 
but  from  pure  want  of  Catholic  ministration. 

Among  them  are  to  be  found  the  most 
beautiful  antiquities:  ancient  cities  and  mon- 
uments of  fine  architecture  in  ruins;  pyramids 
resembling  those  of  Egypt;  curiously  carved 
idols  resembling  animals  and  devils;  little 
birds  of  silver  and  gold,  and  warlike  imple- 
ments, remnants  of  a  very  early  pagan  civili- 
zation 

The  scenery  is  beyond  description  in  its 
magnificence  —  the  mountains  covered  with 
trees,  whose  branches  are  crowned  with  para- 
citos  exhibiting  every  hue  and  variety  of  color, 
and  producing  the  appearance  of  a  garden  in 
the  skies.  The  country  abounds  in  fruits  of 
all  kinds,  growing  wild  in  the  greatest  pro- 
fusion, such  as  bananas,  cocoanuts.  oranges, 
pine-apples,  etc.  The  climate  is  such  that  you 
can  enjoy  in  one  day  all  the  four  seasons  of 
the  year,  according  to  the  altitude  you  go.  The 
advantages  of  this  country  are  well  appre- 
ciated by  the  Indians,  who  have  built  their 
cities  on  elevated  places  commanding  the  most 
charming  prospects  in  the  world,  and  redo- 
lent of  the  most  exquisite  perfumes  of  nature. 

All  the  minerals  and  precious  stones  abound 
in  this  country.  From  the  time  of  its  first  dis- 
covery^ up  till  this  day  all  the  gold  and  silver 
used  have  been  coined  here.  But  what  consti- 
tutes the  happiness  of  these  Indians  is  not  the 
products  of  earth  (which  they  have  in  abun- 
dance), but  the  light  and  consolations  of  the 
Church,  of  which  they  aie  utterly  deprived. 
We  have  witnessed  them  as  late  as  1872 — ^just 
before  the  banishment  of  the  religious — as 
much  more  desirous  of  the  ministrations  of  the 
missionaries  than  of  the  riches  which  nature 
has  strewn  around  them.  We  have  listened  to 
them  playing  the  marimbas  on  the  towers  of 


64 


Ihe  Ave  Maria. 


the  churches  to  announce  to  their  people  the 
eve  of  an  approaching  feast;  and  have  beheld 
how  on  the  following  day  every  one  without 
exception  came,  headed  by  a  band  of  music  — 
flutes,  fifes,  and  drums— to  the  church,  and 
there  in  stentorian  voices  intoned  the  Kyrie 
^/mc«,  and  sung  at  intervals  their  own  hymns 
in  Spanish — Dios  te  salve  Maria,  Perdon  O 
Dios  Mia,  etc.  — in  the  most  touching  manner. 

The  Stations  of  the  Cross  was  a  general 
devotion  during  the  year,  beginning  in  the 
village  in  the  evening,  and  going  out  into  the 
country,  where  the  crosses  were  erected,  and 
thence  returning  at  night  by  torch-lights  made 
from  the  pine-trees,  into  the  church,  singing 
Stabat  Mater. 

We  write  this  not  to  amuse  the  curious, 
but  from  affection  for  these  poor  souls,  who, 
through  the  publication  of  this  letter  in  Cath- 
olic papers,  may  perhaps  receive  some  help, 
by  inducing  religious  missionaries  and  plenty 
of  Sisters  to  turn  their  steps  to  this  beautiful 
but  abandoned  country.  The  country  now  is 
peaceful,  and  the  Government  favorable. 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  is  well  known  that  at  Rome,  on  each 
recurring  Festival  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  a 
medal  is  struck  to  commemorate  another  year 
of  the  Pontificate  of  the  Holy  Father  happily 
reigning.  This  year  the  Pontifical  Medal  is 
designed  to  represent  the  great  event  of  the 
Papal  mediation  in  the  international  question 
of  the  Caroline  Islands.  On  one  side  of  the 
medal  is  a  portrait  of  Leo  XII I.  with  the  in- 
scription, Leo  XIII.  Pont.  Max.  Anno  Decimo. 
On  the  reverse  is  an  allegorical  figure  of  Re- 
ligion, with  Germany  and  Spain  on  either 
side  holding  her  by  the  hand.  It  bears  the 
following  inscription  composed  by  Padre  Tbn- 
giorgi:  Pads  arbitra  et  conciliatrix .  -  Gontro- 
versia  de  insiiHs  Carolinis  ex  cequitaie  dirempta. 


A  few  facts  and  figures  serve  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  wonderful  growth  during  the  last 
few  years  of  the  Archdiocese  of  Chicago. 
Though  the  most  recently  established,  it  has 
proved  the  most  progressive  of  all.  Up  till  last 
year  the  Archdiocese  of  New  York  headed 
the  list  in  the  number  of  churches,  priests, 
parochial  schools,  and  religious  institutions; 
but  at  present  the  number  of  Catholic  churches 


in  Chicago  is  greater  than  in  New  York.  The 
figures  are:  New  York.  182;  Chicago,  198. 
The  Catholic  population  of  Chicago  reaches 
a  total  of  425,000.  The  See  of  Chicago  was 
established  in  1844,  but  was  not  created  an 
Archdiocese  till  the  fall  of  1880,  when  Arch- 
bishop Feehan  was  placed  at  the  head.  He 
has  now  275  priests,  and  is  contemplating  the 
establishment  of  seven  or  eight  new  parishes. 
The  Archdiocese  has  no  less  than  eighty  theo- 
logical students  preparing  for  the  priesthood. 


"The  Church  and  Civilization"  is  the 
title  of  the  Alumni  Oration  delivered  by  the 
Rev.T.  O'SuUivan  at  the  Forty-Third  Annual 
Commencement  of  the  University  of  Notre 
Dame.  This  discourse  is  indeed  a  remarkable 
production,  containing  a  wealth  of  illustra- 
tion and  a  fund  of  information,  that  entitle  it 
to  a  very  high  rank  among  compositions  on 
the  subject.  As  specimens  we  cite  the  follow- 
ing passages: 

"Religion  is  the  only  middle  term  that  can 
reconcile  the  contradictory  elements  of  society — 
poverty  with  riches,  class  with  class, power  with 
weakness.  She  opens  the  strong  coffers  of  wealth, 
and  fills  the  bony  hands  of  want  with  plenty. 
She  causes  poverty  to  bless  her  benefactor  and 
draws  the  sting  of  envv  from  the  heart  of  the 
poor.  Like  the  good  Samaritan,  she  pours  the  oil 
and  wine  of  Christian  charity  into  the  bleeding 
wounds  of  humanity.  She  can  not,  it  is  true,  re- 
move all  sorrow  from  earth — for  this  is  a  valley  of 
tears,  a  land  of  exile, — and  the  abuse  of  free-will 
must  always  prove  a  prolific  source  of  misery. 
But  she  has  always  an  antidote  at  hand  for  those 
passions  from  which  so  large  a  part  of  social  in- 
equality and  wretchedness  resulr,  and  she  light- 
ens every  cross  b)  pointing  to  the  cr.  wn  which 
attends  it.  And  as  to  that  suffering  and  poverty 
which  proceed  from  unavoidable  accident,  or 
mental  and  physical  inequality,  the  Church  looks 
upon  such  misfortunes  as  blessings  in  disguise. 
'Blessed  are  the  poor;  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven!  Blessed  are  the  mourters;  for  they 
shall  be  comforted ! '  To  her  <  he  poor,  the  working 
classes, are  the  especial  friends  and  representatives 
of  Him  who  was  born  in  a  stable,  earned  His  bread 
in  the  swtat  of  His  brow,  and  died  naked  on  a 
Cross.  Thus  are  labor  and  poverty  ennobled.'and 
the  poor  made  content  with  their  lot.  The  rich 
are  commanded  to  act  the  part  of  Gcds  almoners, 
and  stewards  towards  their  less  fortunate  breth- 
ren, under  the  terrible  penalty  which  attaches  to 
the  avarice  of  Dives.  Rich  and  poor  are  alike 
taught  that  the  highest  end  of  life  is  not  mere 
material  wealth  or  enjoyment,  but  eternal  beati- 
tude in  the  world  to  come;  and  that  virtue, which 


The  Ave  Maria. 


65 


can  be  gained  in  every  state  of  life,  is  of  infinitely 
more  value  than  gold  or  precious  stones. 

"The  Church  levels, but  she  levels  upward,  on 
the  grand  lines  of  Christian  faith  and  Christian 
charity;  and,  had  she  the  opportunity,  she  would 
renew  the  miracles  of  former  davs,  when  there 
were  no  poor-houses  in  the  land,  and  when  her 
religious  took  upon  themselves  the  chains  of  the 
captive  to  restore  a  father  to  his  wt  eping  children, 
a  son  to  his  broken-hearted  parents." 


The  church  of  Mexiotl,  Mexico,  contains  a 
remarkable  veil  of  great  value.  For  nearly 
three  centuries  Spaniards  were  in  the  habit  of 
vowing  a  jewel  to  the  Veil  of  Our  I/ady  of 
Mexiotl  if  they  returned  safely  from  a  voy- 
age to  Spain,  until  in  Maximilian's  time  the 
veil  was  bejewelled  to  the  value  of  about  forty 
thousand  pounds. 

An  interesting  antiquarian  discovery  has 
just  been  made  in  Detling  Church,  Kent,  Eng- 
land. In  the  course  of  taking  down  the  outer 
wall  of  a  lean-to  on  the  north  side,  for  the 
purpose  of  widening  the  aisle,  it  was  necessary 
to  remove  a  stone  which  seemed  to  be  nothing 
more  than  a  doorstep.  This  stone  proved  to 
be  a  slab  of  Bethersden  marble,  and  had  evi- 
dently been  the  upper  portion  of  a  coflSn  lid, 
measuring  two  feet,  four  inches  and  a  half 
where  it  was  broken  off.  It  was  perfectly  flat 
on  the  top  as  it  lay;  but  on  being  lifted  up 
disclosed  on  the  under  surface  a  half-length 
figure  of  a  priest,  in  bold  relief,  with  the  hands 
joined  as  in  prayer,  the  whole  contour  of  the 
face  and  head  being  well  preserved,  and  the 
features  beautifully  sharp.  Unfortunately, 
from  contact  with  the  damp  earth  in  which  it 
was  embedded,  the  right  shoulder  had  scaled 
away,  and  the  head,  though  entire,  had  from 
the  same  cause  become  detached  from  the  flat 
stone.  No  letters  or  marks  can  be  traced  round 
the  head,  nor  has  the  lower  part  of  the  figure 
been  found.  It  has  probably  been  ignorantly 
or  wantonly  utilized  (as  this  was)  for  the  pav- 
ing of  some  portion  of  the  floor,  and  so  will  be 
past  recovery.  This  choice  representation  of 
mediaeval  sculpture  clearly  belongs  to  the 
twelfth  century. 

The  Archconfraternity  of  Notre  Dame  des 
Victoires,  Paris,  counts  1,061,886  members. 
They  are  found  in  every  part  of  Christendom. 


ate  in  St.  Peter's,  in  order  that  the  great  influx 
of  pilgrims  may  have  the  happiness  of  seeing 
him  and  assisting  at  his  Mass.  The  great  hall 
over  the  portico  or  vestibule  of  St.  Peter's  is 
now  undergoing  a  thorough  renovation,  and 
it  is  expected  that  the  grand  ceremony  of  can- 
onization announced  for  the  Jubilee  will  take 
place  there. 

Thomas  Hallahan,  who  for  many  years  has 
been  a  well-known  restaurant  keeper  in  Oak- 
land, has  recently  returned  from  his  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Grotto  of  Our  Lady  of  lyourdes,  in 
the  south  of  France.  The  history  of  Mr.  Hal- 
lahan's  case  is  very  remarkable.  Last  year  he 
was  a  complete  cripple  from  spinal  irritation, 
and  had  to  be  rolled  around  in  a  chair.  The 
disease  had  been  pronounced  incurable  bj^ 
several  of  the  most  distinguished  specialists, 
and  he  himself  had  given  up  all  hope  of  a  cure 
until  a  friend  induced  him  to  try  applications 
of  the  water  from  the  Grotto  of  Lourdes.  Mr. 
Hallahan  did  so,  at  the  same  time  vowing  a 
pilgrimage  to  Lourdes.  The  result  was  an 
almost  miraculous  cure.  Mr.  Hallahan  is  to- 
day as  healthy  a  man  as  there  is  in  Oakland, 
and  may  be  seen  at  any  time  attending  to  his 
business. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


During  the  celebration  of  his  Golden  Ju- 
bilee the  Holy  Father  will  sometimes  offici- 


The  Rt.  Rev.  Lawrence  Scanlan,  first  Bishop 
of  the  newly  constituted  See  of  Salt  Lake, 
Utah,  was  consecrated  in  St.  Mary's  Cathe- 
dral, San  Francisco,  on  Wednesday,  the  29th 
ult.  The  consecrating  prelate  was  the  Most 
Rev.  Patrick  W.  Riordan,  Archbishop  of  San 
Francisco,  who  was  assisted  by  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Eugene  O'Connell,  Bishop  of  Joppa,  and  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Patrick  Manogue,  Bishop  of  Sacra- 
mento. The  Rt.Pev.  Bishop  Machebeuf,  of  Den- 
ver, Col. ,  and  a  large  number  of  priests  were 
also  present.  The  sermon  on  the  occasion  was 
preached  by  the  Very  Rev.  J.J  Prendergast, 
Vicar-General  of  San  Francisco. 

Bishop  Scanlan,  now  in  the  forty-fifth  year 
of  his  age,  was  ordained  at  All  Hallows'  Col- 
lege, Ireland,  June,  1868.  The  first  three  years 
of  his  life  in  the  ministry  were  spent  as  as- 
sistant rector  of  St.  Patrick's  Church,  San 
Francisco.  He  was  then  assigned  to  the  active 
charge  of  the  territory  over  which  he  now 
holds  episcopal  jurisdiction,  and  where,  over- 
coming the  most  trying  difficulties,  his  humil- 
ity, self-sacrifice,  patience,  and  zeal  have  been 
wonderfully  blessed  and  most  signally  re- 
warded  by   God.    The  churches,  hospitals. 


66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


schools  and  higher  educational  institutions 
established  through  his  enterprise  and  ability 
are  noble  monuments,  attesting  his  zeal  for 
God's  glory  and  the  temporal  and  eternal 
good  of  souls. 

Bishop  Scanlan  thus  enjoys  a  distinction, 
rare  indeed  in  the  annals  of  the  Church  in 
America,  of  being  the  founder,  the  builder, 
and  the  guiding  spirit  of  the  new  diocese  over 
which  he  has  been  called  to  preside.  May 
many  years  of  health  and  strength  be  his  in 
the  dignity  to  which  he  has  been  raised,  to 
continue  and  push  forward  to  still  more  glo- 
rious results  the  grand  apostolic  work  in  which 
he  has  been  so  successfully  engaged. 

The  late  eminent  theologian,  journalist  and 
publicist  Gjacomo  Margotti,  took  particular 
pains  to  train  young  journalists,  especially 
.laymen,  in  the  art  of  controversy,  that,  while 
urging  with  all  the  powers  of  earnestness  and 
conviction  the  unassailable  rights  to  which 
the  Italian  Catholics  were  entitled,  they  might 
always  observe  the  courteous  forms  and  gentle 
Christian  manners  which  give  a  charm  even 
to  polemics,  and  raise  Catholic  journalism 
above  the  commonplace  level  of  the  ordinary 
daily  press.  Though  an  ecclesiastic  himself, 
he  well  knew  the  value  of  lay  assistance  in  the 
cause  of  Catholic  truth,  and  often  reminded 
his  readers  of  the  words  of  Joseph  de  Maistre 
{Du  Pape :  Discours  Preliminaire) :  ' '  We  live 
in  one  of  the  greatest  of  religious  epochs,  in 
which  every  man,  who  is  able,  is  in  duty  bound 
to  bring  a  stone  to  the  august  edifice,  the  plans 
of  which  are  visibly  designed.  Every  science 
owes  something,  and  in  these  days  especially 
should  pay  a  tithe  at  least  to  Him  from  whom 
all  science  comes;  for  '  He  is  the  God  of  sci- 
ences, and  it  is  He  who  prepares  all  our 
thoughts.' — Deus  scientiarum.  dominus  est,  et 
ipsi  praeparantur  cogitationes.  {Reg.  i,  ii.) 
The  priest  who  defends  religion  does  his  duty, 
no  doubt,  and  deserves  all  admiration;  but 
in  the  eyes  of  a  number  of  inconsiderate  and 
prejudiced  people  he  appears  to  be  engaged 
in  his  own  cause,  and,  though  his  good  faith  is 
beyond  question,  every  observer  may  perceive 
that  the  unbeliever  is  less  suspicious  of  the 
man  of  the  world,  and  allows  himself  to  be 
approached  by  him  with  less  repugnance." — 
Irish  Ecclesiastical  Record 

The  approbation  of  the  Supreme  Pontiff  has 
imparted  a  new  impulse  and  life  to  the  Inter- 


national Catholic  Scientific  Congress,  which 
will,  in  its  own  sphere,  carry  into  practical 
operation  the  suggestions  of  the  Head  of  the 
Church  in  regard  to  "the  concentration  of  the 
forces  and  works  of  religion,  and  the  union  of 
all  Catholics  in  the  domain  of  scientific  inves- 
tigation." 

— — — «  ♦  » 

New  Publications. 


The  Existence  of  God.  A  Dialogue  in 
Three  Chapters.  By  Richard  F.Clarke,  S.J. 
Formerly  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  St.  John's  Col- 
lege, Oxford.  New  York.  Cincinnati,  and  St. 
Louis:   Benziger  Bros.    1887. 

Says  the  author  in  his  preface  to  this  work: 
"This  Dialogue  is  an  attempt  to  put  forward, 
in  popular  form,  the  chief  arguments  from 
reason  by  which  the  existence  of  God  is 
proved,  and  to  answer  the  objections  most 
commonly  urged  against  it. ' '  The  ' '  attempt ' ' 
has  been  successful.  The  language  is  clear, 
forcible  and  convincing;  the  style  is  attrac- 
tive and  invests  the  whole  work  with  a  charm 
which  fixes  and  retains  the  attention  of  the 
reader,  whilst  the  mind  is  imbued  with  the 
solid  and  cogent  arguments  which  sustain  this 
grand  truth,  upon  which  all  doctrine,  scientific 
as  well  as  religious,  must  depend.  The  work 
is  divided  into  three  chapters,  in  the  first  of 
which  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God  de- 
ducible  from  reason  are  given.  The  author 
explains  what  force  may  be  attached  to  the  ar- 
guments by  which  the  human  mind  seeks  to 
rise  to  the  certain  knowledge  of  a  Supreme 
Being,  and  at  the  same  time  sets  forth  the 
inadequacy  of  many  of  them.  For  example, 
the  arguments  from  consciousness,  or  design, 
whilst  admirably  filling  the  role  of  confirma- 
tory proofs,  are  not  in  themselves  sufficient  to 
produce  conviction;  and, besides, in  individual 
cases  there  may  be  moral  hindrances — such 
as  indulgence  of  the  passions,  pride,  and  the 
like, — which  must  first  be  overcome  before  the 
mind  can  be  prepared  to  practically  admit  this 
truth.  The  author  takes  as  the  great  funda- 
mental argument  from  reason  which  demon- 
strates the  existence  of  God,  "the  argument 
from  causation,"  which  proves  irrefragably 
the  existence  of  a  First  Cause,  independent, 
self-existent,  containing  all  the  perfections  of 
the  universe.  After  developing  this  proof,  the 
remainder  of  the  chapter  is  devoted  to  a  mas- 
terly refutation  of  the  objections  which  the 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


67 


skeptical  mind  would  be  likely  to  conceive. 
The  second  chapter  is  taken  up  with  the 
consideration  of  what  might  be  called  the 
"subsidiary"  arguments  in  support  of  the 
truth  of  the  existence  of  God,  such  as  those 
taken  from  the  moral  law — especially  the  ar- 
gument from  conscience, — the  general  con- 
sent of  mankind,  etc.  We  may  quote  from  the 
conclusion  of  this  important  chapter: 

"I  weigh  the  claims  of  the  advocates  and  the 
opponents  of  Theism.  On  the  one  side  I  find  the 
great  mass  of  mankind;  on  the  other,  an  insignif- 
icant minority.  I  g9  further,  and  examine  into  the 
moral  character  and  general  tone  of  those  who 
lead  the  van  of  the  opposing  camps.  On  the  one 
side  I  find  the  heroes  of  humanity — those  who 
live  a  life  of  self-sacrifice,  who  are  the  enthusiasts 
of  virtue,  and  who  are  ready  to  lay  down  life  itself 
for  the  sake  of  that  God  whose  existence  is  to 
them  as  certain  as  their  own.  On  the  other  I  find 
those  who  are  in  general  a  villainous  and  abomi- 
nable crew.  I  find  among  them  all  the  filthy  things 
that  shun  the  light — selfishness,  lust,  greed  of 
gold,  petty  meanness,  every  kind  of  vice.  The 
most  respectable  of  tbem  are  but  a  handful  of  self- 
sufficient  theorists,  full  of  pride  and  vainglory, 
while  the  rank  and  file  are  corrupt  beyond  descrip- 
tion. Joyfully,  then,  I  cast  in  my  lot  with  the 
friends  of  God;  joyfully  I  recognize  my  depend- 
ence on  Him;  joyfully  I  listen  to  the  accents  of 
that  soft  whisper  which  is  the  voice  of  my  Father 
and  Friend;  joyfully  I  admire  in  Him  a  perfec- 
tion which  sums  up  all  the  perfections  of  created 
things;  joyfully  I  contemplate  His  attributes,  and 
try  to  realize  in  my  poor  feeble  fashion  how  He  is 
the  First  Cause,  Himself  uncaused;  the  Creator 
and  lyord  of  all,  Himself  uncreated  and  supreme; 
the  Friend  and  Father  and  Lover  of  us  His  chil- 
dren— though  He  in  His  self-contained  felicity 
has  no  need  of  our  friendship,  and  derives  no  bene- 
fit from  our  love, — the  infinite,  incomprehensible, 
omnipotent  God.  I  do  not  think  I  could  live  if  I 
did  not  believe  in  God  and  love  Him.  Truly  in- 
deed does  jour  candid  friend  say  that  with  the 
negation  of  God  the  universal  has  lost  its  soul  of 
loveliness.  What  would  the  world  be  without  God 
but  a  miserable  blank  of  hopeless  despair  ? ' ' 

In  the  third  chapter  Father  Clarke  removes 
all  the  ' '  popular  difficulties ' '  that  prevent  the 
skeptic  from  being  willing  to  accept  this  truth. 
Among  the  questions  considered  are:  "The 
limited  nature  of  God's  mercy, "  "  The  eternal 
punishment  of  a  momfentary  action,"  "The 
creation  of  hell."  "The  misery  of  this  life 
often  suffered  by  the  innocent, "  "  Predestina- 
tion," etc. 

The  brief  outline  which  we  can  only  give 


of  this  work  is  far  from  affording  an  idea  of 
its  merits.  We  consider  it  the  best  popular 
exposition  of  the  truth  of  God's  existence 
that  has  come  under  our  knowledge.  Besides, 
it  has  a  character  of  timeliness,  appearing  as 
it  does  at  a  period  when  the  popular  mind  is 
more  than  ever  liable  to  be  impressed  with  the 
teachings  of  liberalism,  free-thought,  and  the 
negation  of  all  religion.  We  bespeak  for  the 
work  a  widely  extended  circulation  at  the 
hands  of  every  intelligent  Christian  through- 
out the  land.       

Obituary. 

"  //  ».>  u  nuty  and  viholesomt  iftmtght  to  pray  jor  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Father  Connaughton  a  devoted  mem- 
ber of  the  Society  of  African  Missions,  whose  death 
took  place  at  Lagos,  Equatorial  Africa.  He  visited 
this  country  two  years  ago,  in  company  with  the 
Rev.  Father  Merlini.  to  collect  for  the  African 
Mission. 

Sister  Mary,  of  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame,  Low- 
ell. Mass.,  who  went  to  receive  the  reward  of  her 
many  virtues  on  the  30th  ult.  She  was  remarka- 
ble for  her  tender  charity  and  childlike  docility. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Paul,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy 
Cross,  who  was  called  to  the  recompense  of  her 
devoted  life  on  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady's  Visitation. 

Mr. .  Alexander  Traill,  formerly  of  Charlotte- 
town,  P.  E.  I.,  who  died  a  happy  death  in  South 
Boston  on  the  26th  of  May. 

Mr.  John  A.  Lloyd,  whose  death,  fortified  by  the 
Sacraments,  occurred  in  Boston  on  the  7th  inst. 

Mrs.  Marj-  McCormick,  of  Roxbury,  Mass.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  26th  of  May,  in  the  disposi- 
tions of  a  fervent  Christian. 

Miss  Hannah  Foley,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
who  departed  this  life  last  month  in  Pittsburg. 
Her  holy  death  made  a  deep  impression  on  all  who 
witnessed  it. 

Mrs.  Mary  Hurley,  of  New  York  city,  whose  ex- 
emplary life  closed  with  a  precious  death  on  the 
27th  ult. 

Mr.  Michael  Cunningham,  who  breathed  his  last 
on  the  2oth  of  June,  at  Loogootee,  Ind.  He  was  a 
native  of  Co.  Roscommon,  Ireland.  His  devotion 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  remarkably  fervent. 

Mrs.  John  Shea,  of  N.  Cambridg-e,  Mass. ;  John 
and  Samuel  Dougherty,  Mary  F.  Cooney,  and 
William  O'Hara,  of  Philadelphia;  James  Reagan. 
Boston;  William  Gibson,  Peter  Dunn,  Mrs.  Mary 
Shaw,  and  Patrick  Kehoe,  of  Pottsville,  Pa. ;  Mrs. 
Bridget  Moran,  Minneapolis,  Minn. ;  and  Cathe- 
rine McCaffrey  San  Jos6,  Cal. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


68 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^^HTMENt 


The  Story  of  a  Shepherd  Boy. 


There  is  a  very  true  saying,  "No  one 
knows  what  he  can  do  until  he  tries."  And 
I  am  sure  the  little  peasant  boy,  Giotto, 
never  dreamt  of  what  he  could  really  do, 
but  he  was  always  trying,  and  great  things 
came  of  it  at  last. 

Six  hundred  years  ago  he  lived.  His  fa- 
ther was  a  herdsman,  and  their  cottage 
stood  in  one  of  the  Italian  valleys.  Every 
morning  he  drove  out  the  sheep  and  goats 
to  beautiful  green  places,  where  there  was 
plenty  of  grass  and  herbs  for  them  to  feed 
upon.  All  day  long  he  took  care  of  them, 
and  kept  the  flock  together;  and  in  the 
evening,  after  counting  them,  and  seeing 
that  they  were  all  his  own — for  he  knew 
each  by  sight,  as  every  shepherd  does, — ^he 
would  drive  them  back  to  the  little  valley 
for  the  night. 

What  could  a  boy  accomplish  whose  daily 
work  was  this  and  nothing  more? 

But,  although  he  took  good  care  of  his 
father's  sheep,  Giotto  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  left — idle  time,  when  he  could  only  sit 
and  rest  himself  beneath  a  tree,  or  watch  the 
birds  laboring,  always  in  their  own  way  re- 
joicing, or  the  few  white  clouds  that  drifted 
across  the  blue,  intensely  bright  sky.  At 
last  he  found  an  occupation  for  all  those  idle 
hours — something  that  kept  his  fingers  and 
his  mind  busy;  something  of  which  he 
never  tired,  until,  as  he  tried  and  tried  again, 
he  was  able  to  do  it  better  and  better.  He 
would  sit  or  kneel  beside  one  of  the  large 
smooth  stones  which  abounded  there,  and, 
taking  a  sharp  bit  of  slate,  would  draw  on 
the  stone,  copying  as  perfectly  as  he  could 
something  before  him,  generally  one  of  his 
flock. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  copying  a 
sheep  which  was  grazing  at  a  little  distance, 


he  perceived  that  some  one  was  looking 
down  over  his  shoulder.  A  stranger  taking 
an  evening  walk  on  the  plain  had  seen  him 
at  work,  and  drawn  near  softly,  not  to  dis- 
turb him.  He  was  delighted  to  see  how  the 
boy  was  occupied;  for  this  stranger  was 
Cimabue,  a  renowned  artist  from  Florence. 
He  asked  Giotto  if  he,  too,  would  like  to  be 
an  artist — would  he  live  with  him  and  learn. 
The  little  shepherd  must  have  thought  he 
was  only  dreaming;  but  no,  it  was  all  true 
— quite  true,  even  when  the  stranger  went 
down  to  the  child's  home  to  get  his  fa- 
ther's consent,  and  then  took  him  away  to 
Florence. 

In  that  great  and  beautiful  city  there 
were  many  artists  doing  their  work  under 
the  care  and  direction  of  Cimabue.  But  in 
a  little  time  the  shepherd  excelled  them 
all;  and  his  kind  patron  took  care  to  have 
him  educated  in  other  things  besides  art,  so 
he  placed  him  under  a  celebrated  master. 
He  was  about  twenty-six  years  old  when 
Cimabue  died.  They  are  always  spoken  of 
and  praised  together;  and  when  the  peas- 
ant artist  died  too,  after  a  long  life  of  fame, 
he  was  buried  in  the  same  Italian  church 
where  the  friend  who  had  done  so  much  for 
him  had  been  laid  years  before. 

Giotto's  paintings  were  sought  for  with 
the  greatest  enthusiasm  by  the  people  of 
his  time,  because  they  were  remarkable  for 
being  natural  and  life-like;  and  we  think 
he  owed  his  success  to  having  begun  by 
simply  copying  his  sheep  and  goats  feeding 
or  lying  down,  just  as  they  were.  So  great 
was  his  fame  that  the  highest  nobles  of 
Italy  ordered  pictures  from  him,  and  the 
Pope,  desiring  to  see  this  marvellous  artist, 
sent  a  messenger,  bidding  him  go  to  Rome. 
When  the  messenger  reached  Giotto's 
house,  he  began  to  doubt  if  the  man  he  saw 
was  really  the  great  painter,  so  he  asked 
him  for  a  proof.  There  was  paper  lying  on 
the  table.  Giotto  took  a  pencil,  and  with 
one  sweep  of  his  arm  drew  upon  it  a  large 
perfect  circle.  Now,  a  perfect  circle  is  the 
hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  do;  to  draw 
one  in  a  moment,  without  any  tremble  or 
mistake,  is  what  only  one  in  a  thousand 


The  Ave  Maria. 


69 


would  think  of  trying.  ' '  This  is  indeed  the 
great  artist ! "  thought  the  messenger;  he 
could  need  no  further  proof.  Even  to  this 
day, when  an  Italian  is  talkie  g  of  anything 
utterly  impossible,  he  will  say  that  it  is 
"rounder  than  the  O  of  Giotto." 


Two  Little  Rustics., 


BY  CLARA  MUIvHOLLAND,  AUTHOR  OF  "  THK  MISER 
OP  KINGSCOURT,"  "PERCY'S  REVENGE,"  ETC. 


III. 


That  evening,  as  the  girls  sat  under  the 
tall  sycamore  tree  in  their  little  garden, 
Marjorie  asked  her  mother's  permission  to 
go  up  to  Loudon  the  next  day. 

Mrs.  Darmer  looked  at  her  elder  daugh- 
ter in  surprise. 

"To  London!  My  dear  Marjorie,  are  you 
dreaming?" 

" Not  at  all,  mother.  Listen,  dear,"  said 
the  girl,  earnestly.  And  then  she  poured 
forth  the  whole  story. 

"And  did  Mr.  Lindon  really  lend  you 
money,  and  keep  Celia's  brooch?" 

"Yes,  mother;  see."  And  she  held  up  a 
five-pound  note.  ' '  Was  he  not  generous  ? ' ' 

"Very,  dear, ' '  answered  her  mother,  kiss- 
ing the  eager  face;  "too  much  so,  I  fear. 
The  brooch  is  hardly  worth  all  that." 

' '  O  mother ! ' '  cried  Celia, ' '  surely  it  is ! " 

' '  Well,  dear,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  val- 
uing jewelry,  but  I  should  say  not.  How- 
ever, do  not  fret  about  it.  We  must  redeem 
the  brooch  as  soon  as  possible. ' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  cried  Marjorie ;  * '  the  first  money 
I  earn  will  go  to  do  that.  And  I  shall  not 
require  half  of  five  pounds  to  take  me  to 
London.  I  shall  go  third  class,  and  make  a 
penny  bun  do  me  for  lunch. ' ' 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  allow  sixpence  for 
your  lunch,  dear,"  said  Celia,  wisely,  "and 
a  few  shillings  for  cabs.  London  is  such  a 
big  place. ' ' 

"What  a  princess  you  are,  Celia!"  re- 
plied Marjorie,  laughing.  ' '  I  am  more  sim- 
ple in  my  views.  Not  a  penny  will  I  spend 
on  cabs.  I  am  a  good  walker,  remember." 


"As  you  like,  dear.  But  I  would  not  kill 
myself  if  I  were  you. ' ' 

* '  Don' t  be  afraid,  dearest, ' '  said  Marjorie ;, 
and  she  went  off  to  bed  singing  merrily. 

Early  next  morning  Marjorie  started  for 
London,  and  Celia  walked  into  Arundel  to 
see  hier  off.  The  girls  bade  each  other  good- 
bye as  solemnly  as  though  they  were  part- 
ing for  years  instead  of  hours,  and  the  tears 
hopped  quickly  over  Celia's  nose  as  the 
door  of  the  railway  carriage  was  shut,  and 
she  was  left  on  the  platform  alone. 

"You  look  so  sad  going  off  to  seek  your 
fortune  by  yourself,  darling!"  she  cried. 
' '  Would  that  I  could  afford  to  go  with  you! " 

"I  wish  you  could.  But  don't  fret,  Celia. 
I'll  soon  be  back." 

"Yes — of  course — good-bye — and  Go^ 
bless  you!"  she  cried.  " I  am  not  fretting. " 

Then,  as  the  train  puffed  out  of  the  sta- 
tion, she  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket,, 
drew  out  an  old  white  satin  shoe,  and  flung 
it  after  the  carriage  where  sat  her  darling 
Marjorie. 

"Who  is  the  bride,  Miss  Celia?"  said  a 
voice  at  her  elbow;  and,  blushing  deeply,, 
the  girl  turned,  to  find  herself  face  to  face 
with  the  Squire's  sister. 

"There  was  no  bride.  Miss  Lindon,"  she 
replied.  "But  Marjorie  was  going-  to  Lon- 
don, and  I  wanted  her  to  have  good  luck." 

"Waste  of  time,  my  dear.  Slippers  are 
for  brides,  and  not  for  young  ladies  who  go 
to  town  for  a  day's  shopping.  Horace"  — 
to  her  brother,  who  at  this  moment  came 
out  of  the  parcel  office, — "do  you  know 
what  this  foolish  child  has  been  doing? 
Throwing  a  satin  shoe  after  her  sister  who 
has  gone  to  London." 

"Well,  I  hope  it  may  bring  her  good 
luck,"  said  the  Squire,  as  he  took  Celia's. 
hand.  "Marjorie  is  a  brave  little  girl,  and 
deserves  to  succeed  in  her  undertaking." 

"Indeed  she  is  brave,"  cried  Celia,  rais- 
ing her  eyes  full  of  gratitude  to  his  face;: 
"and  I  do  hope  she  may  get  on." 

"So  do  I.  And  I  feel  sure  that  if  she 
does  not  succeed  with  her  painting,  she  will 
succeed  at  ."something  else.  She  is  a  clever 
girl,  and  full  of  energy. " 


7]o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Yes,  but  it  is  so  hard  for  girls  to  find 
anything  to  do,"  replied  Celia,  plaintively. 
"Look  at  me — here  I  am  young  and  strong; 
and  yet,  because  I  am  a  girl,  I  can  do  noth- 
ing— absolutely  nothing  " 

Mr.  Lindon  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  ad- 
miringly on  the  blooming  face  and  golden 
ihead. 

"Well,  my  child, "he  said,  gently,  "our 
ilives  are  in  God's  hands.  He  made  us  what 
we  are,  and  as  such  we  must  be  content. 
Who  knows  what  happy  future  He  may 
have  in  store  for  you?    You — " 

' '  Horace,  are  you  going  to  stand  there 
talking  all  day?"  cried  Miss  Lindon,  im- 
patiently. 

"No,  dear,  no,"  answered  her  brother, 
-dreamily.  Then  he  added,  with  a  smile: 
"Let  me  drive  you  home.  Miss  Celia? 
Lydia  and  I  pass  your  door. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  that  would  be  very  nice — 
that  is  if  yoH  are  sure  there  is  room  for  me. ' ' 

"Of  course  there  is.  Lydia  won't  mind 
■sitting  behind.  Will  you,  dear?  Miss  Celia 
is  coming  with  us,  and  I  want  to  point  out 
several  things  to  her  as  I  go  along. ' ' 

Miss  Lindon  smiled,  and  stepped  into  the 
dog-cart. 

"I  have  no  objection  to  sitting  behind," 
-she  said;  "in  fact,  I  rather  like  it." 

Then  the  Squire  handed  Celia  on  to  the 
front  seat,  and,  taking  his  place  beside  her, 
gathered  up  the  reins  and  drove  off. 

Meanwhile  poor  little  Maijorie  was  car- 
ried away  from  the  beautiful,  fresh  country, 
into  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  great  metrop- 
olis. She  had  been  brimming  over  with 
good  spirits  and  blight  hope  all  the  morn- 
ing, but  suddenly  she  felt  full  of  fear.  Her 
heart  beat  loudly,  and  her  courage  oozed 
gradually  away,  growing  fainter  and  fainter 
as  she  neared  her  destination. 

At  last  the  train  stopped  with  a  jerk. 
Her  travelling  companions  hurried  from  the 
carriage,  and  all  at  once  she  knew  she  was 
in  London.  Taking  her  parcel  of  sketches, 
she  went  forth,  and,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left  walked  out  of  the  sta- 
tion, and  up  the  Buckingham  Palace  Road. 

Presently  she  came  to  a  stationer's  shop. 


"This  is  the  kind  of  place  I  want.  I  know 
they  sell  them  here,"  she  thought,  and  in 
she  went. 

"Do  you  keep  hand-painted  Christmas 
cards?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

' '  Certainly,  madam.  This  is  not  the  sea- 
son for  them,  but  we  always  have  a  few  left 
over — ' ' 

"Oh!  please,"  said  Marjorie,  blushing, 
"I  do  not  want  to  buy  any — but — but  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  take  some  of 
mine  for  next  Christmas.    I  paint  them." 

"We  never  get  our  stock  in  that  way," 
replied  the  man.  "We  have  ordered  all  we 
shall  require  from  the  wholesale  houses 
some  time  ago.  Is  there  an>  thing  else  I  can 
do  for  you,  madam?" 

"No,  thank  you — nothing."  And  Mar- 
jorie walked  out  again  into  the  sunshine. 
"They  may  not  all  be  the  same,"  she  said, 
sadly.  "I  must  not  lose  heart  so  soon." 

Then  she  went  into  a  confectioner's,  ate 
a  scanty  lunch,  and  drank  a  glass  of  water. 

"Now  for  Regent  Street,"  she  said,  put- 
ting her  purse  into  her  pocket.  ' '  There  are 
many  shops  of  the  kind  I  want  there." 

So,  feeling  refreshed  after  her  slight  re- 
fection, she  set  off  across  St.  James'  Park, 
up  Piccadilly  into  Regent  Street. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  the  height  of  the 
season,  and  many  were  the  gorgeous  equi- 
pages that  rolled  past  her  as  she  trudged 
along.  Crowds  of  well-dressed  people 
thronged  the  streets,  cabs  and  carriages 
filled  the  road-ways,  and  our  poor  little  rus- 
tic felt  sick  with  terror  as  she  rushed  wildly 
across  the  street,  or  was  jostled  rudely  from 
side  to  side  as  she  stood  watching  an  oppor- 
tunity to  run  over  a  crossing. 

"Why  do  people  live  in  towns?"  she 
thought.  "How  much  pleasanter  are  the 
quiet  roads  and  shady  lanes  in  the  country ! 
The  roar  and  din  of  London  would  soon 
drive  me  mad .  B  ut — oh ,  what  a  lovely  lady ! 
How  sweetly  she  smiles!  How  graciously 
she  bows! "  And  Marjorie  stood  still,  gazing 
in  delight  at  the  Princess  of  Wales,  as  she 
swept  past  in  her  handsome  barouche. 

"There  are  many  beautiful  things,  many 
good-looking  people  here,"  she  sighed,  as 


7'he  Ave  Maria. 


71 


she  walked  on.  "But  I'd  rather  have  our 
■dear,  lonely  woods.  One  seems  nearer  to  God 
there.  I  must  finish  my  business  and  get 
away. ' ' 

So  on  went  Marjorie,  determined  not  to 
turn  back  till  she  had  tried  every  station- 
er's, every  fancy  shop  in  Regent  Street.  It 
was  weary  work,  full  of  humiliation  and 
disappointment.  Of  humiliation,  because 
the  free-and-easy  manners  of  some  of  the 
shopmen,  and  the  cool  contempt  and  scorn 
of  others,  annoved  the  girl  intensely ;  whilst 
the  constant  refusal  to  buy  the  sketches  she 
had  with  her,  or  order  others,  was  cruel 
disappointment. 

"It  is  no  use,"  she  said,  as  she  stopped 
in  front  of  Jay's,  and  looked  sadlv  across 
the  circus:  "I  might  go  on  forever  like 
this.  I  see  now  how  foolish  I  have  been  to 
think  of  making  money  by  my  paintings.  I 
am  only  fit  to  be  a  nursery  governess.  I  must 
put  an  advertisement  in  the  Times  as  soon 
as  possible.  Poor  Gelia! " — and  with  muc^ 
difficulty  Marjorie  checked  a  rising  sob  — 
"how  sorry,  how  grieved  she  will  be!  But 
she  shall  have  her  brooch  back  soon.  The 
very  first  money — how  tired  I  am !  If  I  had 
received  one  order  or  sold  one  picture  I 
would  certainly  take  a  cab.  But  now  I  can't. 
I  have  spent  too  much." 

And  she  turned,  and  walked  bravely  back, 
down  the  hot,  glaring  street.  But  if  the  din 
and  noise  of  London  tormented  her  on  her 
first  arrival,  when  she  was  fresh  and  com- 
paratively hopeful,  ir  dazed  and  bewildered 
her  now.  She  felt  thoroughly  weary  and 
sick  at  heart.  Her  head  was  aching,  her 
pulse  throbbing.  So  when  she  reached  Pic- 
cadilly Circus,  and  saw  an  omnibus  marked 
"Victoria,"  she  crept  in,  and  sat  down  in 
the  farthest  corner.  Presently  the  "bus" 
filled,  and  off  it  rattled  towards  the  station. 
Marjorie  looked  at  no  one,  spoke  to  no  one, 
and  did  not  notice  what  kind  of  people  she 
travelled  with.  They  did  not  interest  her. 
She  had  but  one  thought — the  failure  of  her 
great  scheme,  and  Celia's  disappointment. 

After  some  time  she  heard  the  chinking 
of  money,  and,  guessing  instinctively  what 
was  going  on,  she  handed  some  coppers  to 


her  neighbor  to  pass  on  to  the  conductor, 
put  her  purse  back  into  her  pocket,  and  re- 
lapsed into  thought. 

Ariived  at  Victoria,  she  fonnd  a  train 
almost  ready  to  start  for  Arundel,  and,  hur- 
rying up  the  platform,  she  took  her  seat  in 
a  third-class  carriage. 

"Tickets,  please,''  said  the  guard. 

And,  without  raising  her  eyes,  Marjorie 
put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  in  search  of 
her  purse.  With  a  cry  she  started  to  her  feet. 

"It  is  gone — my  purse — my  ticket  also! 
What  shall  I  do?" 

The  mm  looked  vexed.  The  girl  was  a 
lady.  She  doubtless  spoke  the  truth,  and 
had  really  lost  her  ticket.  But  be  could  not 
help  that.   He  was  bound  to  do  his  duty. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said, "but  you  can  not 
travel  without  a  ticket.  So  I  must  ask  you 
to  leave  the  train." 

"Yes,"  replied  Majjorie,  white  as  death, 
a  look  of  cruel  anguish  in  her  brown  eyes. 
"But  how  shall  I  get  home?  I  know  no 
one  in  lyondon.  Please  let  me  go,  and  I  will 
pay  you  again." 

' '  I  dare  not,  miss, "  h  e  .said ,  de^  ply  moved. 
"I  am  jeally  sorry—  but  sit  here  a  moment; 
you  look  faint." 

And  he  led  her  to  a  portmanteau  that  lay 
upon  the  platform. 

' '  This  is  mv  luggage — this  and  that  large 
black  trunk,"  .«aid  a  manly  voice.  "Please 
have  them  put  into  the  van  at  once,  porter. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  I  am  s  rry  to  dis- 
turb you." 

And  looking  up,  the  girl  saw  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man  with  a  far  beard  and  hon- 
est giey  eyes,  standing,  hat  in  hand,  before 
her. 

"I — beg — your  pardon,"  she  said,  and 
she  tried  to  rise  and  walk  away.  But  a  feel- 
ing of  dizziness  came  over  her ;  she  opened 
her  lips  to  speak — put  out  her  hand  to 
steady  herself— staggered,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  had  not  a  strong  arm 
caught  her  and  held  her  up. 

"The  lady  is  in   trouble,  sir,"  said 
guard.  "She  has  lost  her  purse  and 
so  I  was  obliged  to  make  her  leave  i 
She  looked  like  one  about  to  die 


72 


The  Ave  Maria. 


clared  she  had    not   a   friend  in  London." 

" Poor  child !' '  said  the  gentleman;  "is 
that  really  the  case?" 

'*  Yes."  replied  Marjorie,  blushing  deeply, 
and  drawing  herself  away  from  the  protect- 
ing arm.    "I — I  don't  know. what,  to  do  " 

"I  shall  soon  make  it  all  right  for  you," 
he  said.  "Mother,  here  is  some  work  for 
you.  Look  after  this  young  lady,  please, 
whilst  I  get  her  ticket.  We  have  not  a  mo- 
ment to  spare,  so  take  her  with  vou  at  once 
to  our  carriage."  And  he  dashed  off  down 
the  platform. 

The  person  addressed  as  "mother"  by 
the  stalwart  stranger  was  a  little  old  lady 
with  rosy  cheeks,  small  features,  and  snow- 
white  curls  arranged  in  stiff  rows  round  her 
face.  Her  eyes  were  grey  and  honest  like 
her  son's,  and  her  mouth  spoke  of  a  gentle, 
sweet  disposition. 

"Come,  dear,"  she  said  to  Marjorie; 
"there  is  no  time  to  lose."  And  she  led  the 
fainting  girl  across  the  platform  into  the 
train. 

Marjorie  sank  upon  the  seat,  closed  her 
eyes  for  a  moment;  then,  opening  them 
again,  gazed  about  her  in  alarm. 

"I — can  not — go — this  is  6rst  class,"  she 
gasped.  "O  madam! — it  is  too  much — I 
must  not  go  first — " 

"My  son  said  I  was  to  bring  you  here, 
dear.  So  do  not  be  frightened.  It  will  be  all 
right,"  answered  the  old  lady,  soothingly. 

"But — it  IS — too   much — ^you   do  not 
know— O  sir!"    she  cried,  as  the  gentle 
man  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  took  his 
seat  by  her  side;  "pray  let  me  out — I  can 
not  afford — I  must  not  travel  first  class." 

"It  is  too  late  to  change  now,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "  We  are  just  off. "  And  as  he  spoke 
the  train  puffed  out  of  'he  station. 

Maijorie  fell  back;  her  eyts  filled  with 
tears,  her  heart  felt  as  though  it  must 
break.  For  some  moments  she  sat  in  silent 
misery,  her  head  bent,  her  brain  in  a  whirl. 
But  presently  she  looked  up.  The  mother 
and  son  were  conversing  together  in  low, 
hushed  tones.  They  were  talkirg  of  her, 
she  knew;  and  their  words  were  kind,  she 
felt  sure.  Suddenly  the  gentleman  glanced 


her  way,  and  smiled  encouragingly.  Then> 
Marjorie  sprang  to  her  feet,  and,  fixing  her- 
tearful  eyes  upon  his  face,  exclaimed : 

"How— oh!  how  and  when  can  I  ever 
repay  you?" 

"My  dear  yoa ng  lady,  the  debt  is  not 
large, ' '  he  answered,  gently.  * '  You  can  re- 
pay me  exactly  when  you  please." 

"You  little  know  how  hard  it  will  be. 
Oh!  why  did  you  bring  me  first  class?" 

"Because  it  is  the  proper  place  for  you, 
and  my  mother  and  I  wanted  your  society. 
Eh,  mother?" 

"Certainly,  Ronald.  But  come,  dear," 
said  the  old  lady,  drawing  the  excited  girl 
down  beside  her;  "be  calm.  Do  not  fret 
about  this  small  debt.  It  is  not  necessar\' 
to  repay  it  at  once,  so  prav  forget  all  about 
it.  And  now,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I 
should  like  you  to  tell  me  your  story.  Why 
are  you  travelling  alone  this  afternoon?" 

"Because — "  then  Marjorie  broke  down, 
and  fell  to  weeping  bitterly. 

The  big  man  looked  uncomfortable,  and, 
flushing  hotlv,  stared  out  of  the  window. 

"That  will  relieve  you,  dear,"  said  his 
mother.  "Have  a  good  cry,  and  then  tell 
us  what  you  like. ' ' 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


What  one  Sows  he  Reaps. 


One  day  the  master  of  Lukman,  an  East- 
ern fabulist,  said  to  him,  "Go  into  such  a 
field,  and  sow  barley."  Lukman  sowed  oats 
instead.  At  the  time  of  harvest,  his  master 
asked,  angrily,  "Did  I  not  tell  you  to  sow 
barley  here?  Why,  then,  have  you  sown 
oats?"  He  answered,  "I  sowed  oats  in  the 
hope  that  barley  would  grow  up."  His 
master  said,  "What  foolish  idea  is  this? 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  like?"  Luk- 
man replied, "You  yourself  are  constantly- 
sowing  in  the  field  of  the  world  the  seeds  of 
evil,  and  yet  expect  to  reap  in  the  after-life 
the  fruits  of  virtue.  Therefore  I  thought, 
also,  I  might  get  barlev  by  sowing  oats." 
The  master  was  abashed  at  the  reply,  and 
set  Lukman  free. 


'tH^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JULY  23,  1887. 


No.  4. 


Our  Lady  of  Lujan.* 


EAR  "Ave  Maria": — Your  pages 
made  mention  some  weeks  3 go  of 
iFatber  Salvaire's  mission  to  Rome 
with  a  crown  for  the  miraculous  Madonna 
of  Lujan;  so  allow  one  who  was  privileged 
to  witness  the  coronation,  on  the  8th  of 
May,  to  tell  your  readers  something  about  it. 

I. 
First,  they  will  care  to  know  the  tradi- 
tional origin  of  the  shrine.  It  dates  back  as 
far  as  1630,  In  that  year  a  certain  Poitu- 
guese,  whose  name  has  not  come  down  to  us, 
had  a  farm  near  Sum  am  pa,  a  village  some 
forty  leagues  from  Cordoba,  in  the  Prov- 
ince of  Tucuman.  Being  a  devout  Catholic, 
he  wished  to  erect  a  chapel  on  his^estate,  and 
dedicate  it  to  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
then  called  in  Spanish  La  Purissima  Con- 
cepdon.  Accordingly  he  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Brazil  for  a  small  imdgen  (image)  of  Our 
Lady  under  that  title,  asking  him  to  send 
it  by  sea  to  Buenos  A)- res.  His  friend  sent 
two  images:  one  of  the  Purissima,  the 
other,  somewhat  larger,  of  the  Madre  de 
Dios—\h&  Spanish  designation  for  a  Virgin- 
and-Child.  The  ship  arrived  safely  at 
Buenos  Ayres,  and  the  sacred  images  had 
to  be  conveyed  all  the  rest  of  the  way  by 
bullock -cart— a  clumsy  vehicle  on  two  huge 
wheels, still  used  for  long  "camp"  journeys 

*  Pronounced  Lutr/^an,  hard  guttural  ch.    Old 
spelling  "Luxan," 


rCopyriflit :— E«T.  D.  K.  HnwoH,  C.  S.  CJ 

with  wool,  timber,  etc.  These  carts  at  that 
time  travelled  in  caravans  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  together — a  measure  rendered  nec- 
essary by  the  hostile  Indians. 

Oar  Lady's  two  imdgenes^  each  boxed  up 
separately,  were  placed  in  the  same  cart. 
The  caravan  travelled  slowly,  of  course,  and 
on  ihe  third  day  reached  a  spot  near  the 
River  Lujan,  where  there  was  a  ranch  called 
Rosen  do  de  Oramas.  Encamping  here  for 
the  night,  the  men  prepared  to  resume  their 
journey  next  morning,  when  a  wonderful 
thing  occurred.  The  cart  which  held  the 
sacred  itriages  would  not  move!  The  oxen 
were  cruelly  goaded,  and  as  many  as  six 
yoke  attached  to  the  vehicle;  yet,  although 
there  was  no  obstacle  from  road  or  rut,  all 
efforts  at  motion  proved  futile.  At  last,  it 
is  said,  the  miracle  recorded  in  Numbers 
(xxii,  28)  was  renewed;  only  this  time  it 
was  an  ox  that  sjJoke,  reproaching  his  driv- 
ers for  their  blindness.  This  protest  opened 
their  eyes  at  once  to  the  supernatural  char- 
acter of  what  had  befallen  the  cart ;  so  they 
took  down  the  box  containing  the  larger 
image,  and  then  plied  the  goad.  But  no: 
the  wheels  would  not  stir.  On  the  other 
box  being  taken  out  of  the  cart,  all  diffi- 
culty was  over.  It  was,  therefore,  clear  to 
them  that  Our  Blessed  Lady 
smaller  image,  at  any  rate,  to 
spot  She  had  chosen.  And  t 
main,  while  the  other,  it  app 
its  long  drive  to  Sumampa 

Ahutof  s!raw  was  Mary's 
near  the  River  Lujan;  and  Her 


74 


The  Ave  Maria. 


dian  there  was  a  black  man,  sole  occupant 
of  the  ranch.  No  wonder  that  a  settlement 
soon  formed  around  this  favored  spot, — a 
village,  which  in  course  of  time  grew  into  a 
town.  A  pious  lady,  Doiia  Ana  Mattos,  one 
day  undertook  to  remove  the  sacred  image 
from  the  ranch  to  her  own  house;  but  it 
had  disappeared  next  day,  and  was  found  at 
home  in  its  hut  of  straw!  This  was  recog- 
nized as  conclusive  evidence  that  Our  Lady 
had  selected  a  particular  spot,  and  meant 
to  stay  there.  So  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  the 
year  1677,  Father  Pedro  Montalvo  built  a 
chapel  on  this  spot,  with  the  money  of  the 
good  Dona  Ana. 

In  1730,  the  centenary  of  the  miraculous 
detention  above  recorded,  Bishop  Juan  Ar- 
reguy  erected  a  church  in  place  of  the 
humble  chapel;  and  this  church,  in  turn, 
was  rebuilt  and  enlarged, in  i754,bj^  Bishop 
Agramont  and  Don  Juan  Lezica.  This  is 
the  sanctuary  which  stands  to-day,  with 
quite  a  venerable  look,  and  which  is  now 
to  give  place  to  a  basilica. 
II. 
Such  is  the  origin  of  the  shrine  and  sanct- 
uary of  Our  Lady  of  Lujan,  as  tradition 
gives  it.  It  is  easy  to  call  the  miraculous 
story  a  legend  unworthy  of  credit.  But  why 
is  it  unworthy  of  belief?  Is  there  anything 
absurd  about  it  ?  It  does  not  read  like  an 
invention.  For  my  part,  I  can  not  see  any 
solid  reason  for  rejecting  it.  However,  be 
this  as  it  mav,  the  fact  is  beyond  question 
that  Our  Lady  has  had  a  shrine  at  Lujan 
from  the  latter  half  of  the  seven tfenlh  cen- 
tury. And  equally  is  it  matter  of  fact  that 
recourse  to  this  shrine  has  been  made  not 
only  by  countless  individuals  in  all  sorts  of 
necessities,  but  by  dignitaries  of  the  Argen- 
tine Church  and  officials  of  the  Argentine 
nation. 

In  1763  Our  Lady  of  Lujan  was  declared 
patroness  of  Buenos  Ay  res — that  is,  of  the 
ej^tire  province.  And  what  was  this  bufa 
iblic  acknowledgment  of  many 
A)rs  received  from  Her?  And 
i|i  the  war  of  independence, 
lught  in  the  early  part  of  the 
ftury,  the  Argentines  invoked 


Our  Lady  of  Lujan  to  aid  them  against  the 
Spaniards,  and  attributed  their  victories  tO' 
Her  intercession.  Thus  in  18 13  General 
Belgrano  offered  at  this  shrine  the  flags 
taken  from  the  Spaniards,  while  in  1815 
Colonel  French  placed  his  troops  under 
Our  Lady's  protection. 

It  is  far  more  interesting,  to  your  readers 
who  are  not  Argentines,  to  know  that  the 
great  servant  of  Mary  who  was  afterwards, 
as  Pope,  to  define  Her  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion, paid  his  homage  at  this  sanctuary  of 
Lujan  in  the  year  1824. 
IIL 

The  image  itself  is  a  queer  little  thing, 
more  like  a  doll  than  a  Madonna.  It  is  about 
fourteen  inches  in  height,  though  its  dress 
makes  it  appear  taller.  The  dress  consists 
of  a  white  rob?,  like  an  alb,  which  widens 
out,  bell-shaped,  at  the  feet;  and  over  this  a 
blue  mantle,  like  a  cope,  covering  the  head 
and  reaching  to  the  feet.  Both  garments  are 
of  silk,  and  richly  embroidered. 

It  is  singular  that  the  Argentine  colors 
are  those  of  Our  Lady — white  and  blue;  the 
latter,  too,  generally  of  the  exquisite  tint 
known  as  "the  Blessed  Virgin's  blue."  For 
this  reason,  I  confess,  I  think  the  Argentine 
flag  the  prettiest  in  the  world.  Would  that 
the  nation  were  worthy  of  it ! 

The  shrine  at  Lujan  is  literally  covered 
with  votive  oflferings — silver  hearts,  arms, 
legs,  etc., — made  in  acknowledgment  of 
favors  received.  But  far  more  valuable  do- 
nations have,  of  course,  been  lavished  at 
Our  Lady's  feet  there.  Indeed *the  crown 
just  placed  upon  the  head  of  the  miraculous 
image  was  formed  from  the  store  of  gold  and 
jewels  faithfully  treasured  by  the  Lazarist 
Fathers,  who  have  charge  of  the  sanctuary 
of  Lujan. 

This  crown— blessed  by  Pope  Leo  XIII. 
on  the  30th  of  last  September — is  a  mas- 
terpiece of  Parisian  workmanship.  -  It  is 
valued  at  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  one 
of  its  diamonds  being  worth  seven  thou- 
sand The  arms  of  Pius  IX.,  Leo  XIII., 
Archbishop  Aneiros  (of  Buenos  Ayres),  and 
of  the  Argentine  Republic,  are  beautifully 
enamelled  on  it.  The  Pope  at  first  delegated 


'Ike  A.ve  Maria. 


IS 


Father  Salvaire  to  crown  the  sacred  image 
in  his  name;  but  the  humble  priest  had 
come  to  ask  that  honor  for  Archbishop 
Aneiros,  and  the  Holy  Father  granted  the 
request. 

Our  Archbishop,  moreover,  made  a  vow 
of  pilgrimage  to  Lujan  when  the  cholera 
attacked  this  city  last  December;  and  we 
may  well  attribute  to  Our  Lady's  interces- 
sion the  surprisingly  little  harm  done  by 
the  plague  among  streets  and  vicinities 
the  most  favorable  for  its  ravages.  While 
Rosario  suflfered  heavily,  and  other  places 
and  provinces — particularly  Mendoza  and 
Tucuman, — Buenos  Ay  res,  both  city  and 
province,  was  singularly  spared,  as  all  ac- 
knowledge. It  was,  therefore,  peculiarly 
gratifying  to  his  Grace  Archbishop  Aneiros 
to  be  the  Pope's  delegate  for  placing  the 
crown  upon  the  head  of  Our  Lady  of  Lujan. 

IV. 

Father  Salvaire  had  another  favor  to  ask 
from  the  Holy  Father:  viz.,  the  concession 
of  a  new  feast,  with  proper  Mass  and  office, 
in  honor  of  Our  Lady  of  Lujan.  He  asked 
that  it  might  be  assigned  to  the  fourth  Sun- 
day after  Easter,  and  as  a  feast  of  the  first 
class.  The  Congregation  of  Rites  granted 
the  petition  in  all  but  one  point — making 
the  feast  of  the  second  class;  but  an  Octave 
was  also  conceded,  though  at  first  not  re- 
quested. And  it  is  probable  that  in  a  few 
years'  time  the  festival  will  be  raised  to  the 
first  class. 

The  first  Vespers  of  the  new  feast  were 
solemnly  sung  in  the  church  at  Lujan,  Sat- 
urday evening:  the  Archbishop  officiating, 
with  three  bishops  present — one  the  Bishop 
of  Montevideo, — -iand  a  large  number  of 
clergy,  secular  and  regular.  As  to  the  peo- 
ple, the  church  was  crowded  to  overflowing. 
Two  Fathers  and  a  Brother,  beside  myself, 
represented  the  Passionists.  And  we  three 
Fathers  deemed  ourselves  highly  favored 
next  morning  by  being  the  first  to  celebrate 
Our  Lady's  new  Mass,  each  securing  an 
altar  at  four  o'clock  (the  earliest  permissible 
hour).  There  were  some  eighty  priests  to 
say  Mass,  and,  fortunately,  ten  altars. 

At  nine  o'clock  began  the  gT&nd.  funcion 


(function);  the  procession  forming  at  the 
church,  and  wending  its  way, 

"with  solemn  march  and  slow, 
Like  mighty  Nile  or  Ganges  in  his  flow," 

to  a  large  open  space  outside  the  town, 
where  an  altar  had  been  erected-  upon  a 
high  platform,  and  under  a  sail-like  canopy. 
The  procession  was  certainly  very  pictu- 
resque, and  in  far  better  taste  than  I  had 
expected  to  see.  At  the  head  rode  two  com- 
panies of  Knights  of  Our  Lady:  one  com- 
pany in  blue,  the  other  in  yellow  (the  Pope's 
color).  Bringing  up  the  rear  marched  two 
battalions  of  infantry,  sent  expressly  by  the 
Minister  of  War.  His  Grace  the  Archbishop 
had  the  place  of  honor,  of  course,  and  in 
front  of  him  was  the  bishop  who  was  to  sing 
the  Mass.  Then  there  were  the  other  two 
bishops,  and  the  canons  with  their  violet 
capes;  and  then  the  miraculous  image,  car- 
ried in  a  sort  of  sedan-chair  of  blue  plush, 
and  resting  on  the  shoulders  of  eight  priests 
in  alb  and  chasuble.  The  Dominican  and 
Franciscan  habits;  the  long  line,  on  either 
side,  of  surpliced  clergy;  the  confraternities, 
with  their  banners  of  white  or  blue  silk; 
the  white-dressed  Children  of  Mary,  and 
the  blue-sashed  seminarians, — all  contrib- 
uted to  fill  up  the  picture.  There  were  also 
three  bands  of  music,  one  of  which  acted 
as  orchestra  for  the  Mass. 

V. 

The  only  drawback  to  the  Mass  was  the 
wind,  which  not  only  prevented  the  light- 
ing of  any  candles,  except  those  enclosed 
and  carried  in  the  procession,  but  also  kept 
shaking  the  canvas  roof  in  a  very  distract- 
ing way,  ripping  it  a  good  deal,  and  threat- 
ening to  carry  it  away  altogether.  I;i  other 
respects  the  day  was  perfect,  a  genuine 
specimen  of  the  Southern  November  (May)i 
After  the  Gospel,  his  Grace  .Archbishop 
Aneiros  preached  eloquently,  as  he  always 
does;  though  he  could  hardly  be  heard,  I 
suppose,  by  anybody  off  the  platform.  The 
throng  of  people  was  dense  indeed;  there 
must  have  been  twenty  thousand  at  the  very 
least — probably  thirty,  while  one  estimate 
was  over  forty  thousand. 


76 


The  Ave  Maria. 


At  the  end  of  the  Mass  came  the  corona- 
tion ceremony.  This  was  reserved  for  the 
Archbishop,  as  Apostolic  Delegate.  Inton- 
ing the  Regina  Cosli  at  the  foot  of  the  altar, 
and  singing  the  collect  which  completes 
the  antiphon,  his  Grace  then  blessed  the 
incense,  and,  proceeding  up  some  steps  at 
the  back  of  the  altar,  to  where  Our  Lady  of 
Lujan  stood  with  Her  sacerdotal  guard, 
<:ensed  the  sacred  image;  then,  taking  the 
golden  crown,  placed  it  on  the  veiled  head, 
saying  as  he  did  so:  ''^ Sicuti  per  manus 
nostras  coronaris  in  terris^  ita  et  a  Christo 
glojcia.  e4  honore  coronari  mereamtir  in 
ccelis.''^  *  At  the  same  moment  all  the  ban- 
ners and  flags  gave  the  royal  salute,  and 
the  soldiers  fired  two  volleys. 
•  The  Te  Deum,  of  course,  closed  the  cere- 
mony, and  the  procession  formed  for  the 
return  march.  The  crowned  image  was 
brought  back  to  its  sanctuary  along  streets 
hung  with  banners,  and  the  church  itself 
was  most  tastefully  decorated  with  hangings 
of  blue  and  yellow — blue  predominating. 

VI. 

The  day  finished  with  solemn  Vespers, and 
a  panegyric  from  a  famous  preacher;  fol- 
lowed by  another  procession,  which,  instead 
of  merely  going  round  the  plaza^  or  square, 
in  front  of  the  church,  as  I  had  been  told  it 
would,  led  us  a  slow  tramp  of  over  a  mile 
along  the  two  principal  streets.  And  here  I 
think  Our  Lady  of  Lujan  wrought  numer- 
ous miracles, for  which  few  gave  Her  credit; 
for  the  sun  had  set  before  we  started,  and 
the  air  grew  chill  and  damp  to  a  degree 
that  ought,  by  the  laws  of  nature,  to  have 
given  a  most  severe  cold  (to  say  the  least) 
to  many  who  took  part  in  the  interminable 
-walk, — to  myself,  for  one,  who  find  the  cold 
of  this  climate  possessed  of  a  penetrating 
power  never  experienced  anywhere  else. 
But  I,  for  one,  escaped  unharmed. 

After  the  religious  ceremonies  were  over, 
there  was  a  display  of  fireworks,  of  course. 
But  these  I  did  not  witness,  being  better 


*  As  by  our  hands  Thou  art  crowned  on  earth, 
•So  may  we  deserve  to  be  crowned  b}-  Christ  with 
glory  and  honor  in  heaven !  ^ 


employed  in  warming  myself  up  at  the 
hospitable  dinner  table  provided  by  the 
Lazarist  Fathers. 

VII. 
Each  day  of  the  succeeding  week  was 
devoted  to  Our  Lady's  honor,  and  placed 
under  the  care  of  some  clerical  or  religious 
body.  Friday  was  the  day  chosen  for  the  Re- 
demptorists  and  ourselves :  ihey  furnishing 
the  preacher  (in  Spanish) ;  we^  the  celebrant, 
ministers,  and  master  of  ceremonies  for  the 
Mass.  That  day  was  consequently  selected 
by  many  of  our  English-speaking  Catholics 
for  their  visit  to  Lujan,  while  not  a  few  who 
had  attended  at  the  opening  came  again.  A 
goodly  number  approached  the  Sacraments. 
There  were  four  thousand  Communions,  by 
the  way,  on  the  first  day;  and  a  laige  por- 
tion of  the  communicants  were  men  belong- 
ing to  the  "Catholic  Association"  formed 
in  Buenos  Ayres  last  year,  and  having  a 
branch  at  Lujan. 

The  corner-stone  of  the  new  basilica  was 
laid  by  Archbishop  Aneiros  on  the  closing 
day  of  the  Octave,  May  15.  The  Jesuit 
Fathers  were  in  charge  that  day,  but  the 
canons  of  the  cathedral  chapter  were  pres- 
ent also,  with  a  very  large  assembly  of  the 
laity. 

VIIL 

And  now,  in  ending  this  long  letter,  dear 
"Ave  Maria,"  I  am  sure  your  readers 
will  all  join  with  me  in  the  hope  that  our 
glorious  Lady  of  Lujan  will  bring  about  a 
great  revival  of  faith  and  practice  among 
this  nominally  Catholic  people.  When  She 
first  came  among  them,  they  were  fervent. 
There  still  are  to  be  seen  many  native  fam- 
ilies, as  well  as  individuals,  well  worthy  of 
the  name  of  Catholic.  But,  alas!  within  the 
past  thirty  years  (as  I  am  told)  the  circle  of 
the  elect  has  narrowed  alarmingly.  The 
Church  is  hampered  and  insulted  by  a  Ma- 
sonic Government,  whose  propaganda  -is  to 
destroy  Christianity  by  infidel  education 
and  every  other  means  in  its  power.  The 
worst  feature  of  the  case  is  the  fact  that  the 
people  are  alienated  from  their  clergy  to  a 
very  serious  extent.  Their  minds  have  been 
poisoned,  it  would  seem,  by  the  bad  Italian 


The  Ave  Maria. 


77 


element  which  has  been  flowing  into  the 
country — I  mean  the  revolutionary,  Gari- 
baldian,  secret-society  element;  for  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  Italians  who  come 
here  are  much  better  Catholics  than  the 
natives.  Yes,  the  Argentine  clergy,  though 
a  respectable  body  of  men,  aie  regarded  by 
their  people  as  holding  a  purely  official 
position — as  salaried  servants  of  the  State. 
Consequently  so  many  of  their  flock  will 
not  come  near  them  except  when  obliged  to 
do  so,  as  for  baptisms,  marriages,  or  funerals; 
while  even  in  case  of  fatal  illness  the  priest 
is  seldom  sent  for  till  life  is  despaired  of; 
and  then,  of  course,  it  is  often  too  late  to 
benefit  the  parting  soul.  The  entrance  of 
a  priest  into  their  houses  means  death  in 
the  eyes  of  these  people. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  Argentine 
clergy  dread  the  separation  of  Church  and 
State  Bat  there  is  no  need  to  dwell  further 
on  this  painful  pictuie  to  convince  your 
readers  that  Our  Lady  of  Lujan  has  a  vast 
work  of  reform  to  accomplish,  if  the  wills 
of  Her  rebellious  children  can  be  brought 
to  yield  to  God's  grace.  Let  us  hope  that 
with  this  coronation  of  Her  miraculous  im- 
age a  new  era  has  dawned.  Her  sanctuary 
at  Lujan  is  not,  indeed,  the  most  celebrated 
in  South  America ;  but  Her  image  there  is 
the  first  that  has  been  crowned  anywhere 
in  the  New  World  (I  believe). 

I  ask  your  pious  readers,  dear  "Ave  Ma- 
ria," to  join  with  me  in  praying  frequently 
for  the  intention  of  Our  Lady  of  Lujan  as 
to  the  triumph  of  the  Argentine  Church. 

Your  servant  in  Christ, 
Edmund  of  the  Heart  of  Mary, 

Passionist. 

Buenos  Ayres,  May  17,  '87. 


There  is  more  genius,  more  poetry,  more 
thought,  in  one  mediaeval  building  than  in 
all  the  tame  and  idea-less  edifices  of  modern 
construction  put  together.  Go  to  an  ancient 
square  of  Antwerp  or  a  street  of  Nuremburg 
— then  think  of  Piccadilly  or  the  Boulevard 
Haussmann,  and  shudder.  Or  go  yonder 
into  the  Trastevere,  and  think  of  the  Via 
Nazionale,  near  at  hand. — Heart  of  Steel. 


In  Retreat. 


BY  T.  J.  K. 


C^  OFT,  sweet  and  low,  yet  once  again  I  hear, 

^    In  these  few  days  of  quiet,  calm  retreat, 
(So  full  of  peace,  with  grace  and  hope  replete) 

The  voice  of  God  breathe  gently  in  mine  ear: 

Ego  elegi  te;  as  in  that  year — 
Remembered,  O  so  well! — when  at  His  feet 
My  youth  I  cast,  and  found  how  strangely 
sweet 

His  grace  can  make  the  penitential  tear. 

Ego  elegi  te — I  come,  my  God; 
Lo,  here  I  am.  Thy  prodigal  returned. 
Even  as  I  am,  again  Thou  choosest  me — 
Way-weary,  worn  and  travel-stained;  I've  trod 
Those  ways  in  which, alas!  too  well  I  learned 
Earth's  joys  are  phantoms  when  bereft  of 
Thee. 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

ANOTHER  striking  figure  of  Mgr.  de 
Segur's  intimate  circle  in  Rome  was  the 
Abb^  Bastide.  He,  too,  entered  the  priest- 
hood very  young,  leaving  a  happy  home, 
and  turning  his  back  on  a  bright  world  to 
consecrate  his  life  to  God.  As  a  mere  youth 
he  had  devoted  himself  to  the  sufferers  of 
the  revolution  of  '48,  and,  while  ministering 
to  the  wounded  and  dying,  received  as  his 
reward  a  call  to  the  higher  life.  He,  too, 
was  named  chaplain  to  the  soldiers  soon 
after  his  ordination,  and  was  then  sent  on 
to  Rome,  where  the  remainder  of  his  holy 
life  was  to  be  spent.  These  three  kindred 
souls  became  as  one  family;  they  passed 
their  evenings  together,  and  made  a  com- 
mon fund  of  their  piety,  their  learning,  and 
their  fun. 

Other  consolations  were  in  store  for  Mgr. 
de  S^gur  during  his  stay  in  Rome.  Mme. 
de  Segur  and  her  daughters  came  to  spend 
the  winter  there,  and  their  salon  was  soon 
one  of  the  most  delightful  centres  in  the 


78 


The  Ave  Maria. 


city.  It  was  a  great  joy  to  Gaston  to  have 
this  dearly  loved  mother  and  his  sisters  near 
him,  for  his  love  for  God  rather  intensified 
than  chilled  his  family  affections;  but  he 
never  allowed  the  allurement  of  their  soci- 
ety to  intrench  one  iota  on  his  duties.  One 
of  their  great  happinesses  was  to  assist  at 
his  Mass.  All  who  had  that  privilege  were 
deeply  impressed  by  the  angelic  fervor  with 
which  he  celebrated  the  divine  mysteries 
A  stranger,  having  chanced  to  see  him  at 
the  altar,  was  so  struck  by  his  extraordinary 
air  of  sanctity  that  he  went  from  one  person 
to  another  asking  who  he  was,  describing 
him  as  "a  very  young  priest,  whose  face 
was  illuminated  like  the  face  of  an  angel." 
His  duties  as  Auditor  were  extremely 
irksome  to  him,  from  his  inexperience  and 
ignorance  of  technical  science ;  but  he  took 
it  up  as  his  cross,  and  carried  it  with  his 
habitual  energy  and  courage.  It  was  his 
only  cross.  At  this  period  of  his  life,  every- 
thing conduced  to  make  him  as  nearly  per- 
fectly happy  as  a  mortal  can  be  in  this  world. 
The  Pope  treated  him  as  a  favorite  son;  all 
that  was  good  and  noble  in  Rome  loved  and 
honored  him;  he  was  in  good  health,  and 
was  doing  a  vast  deal  of  work,  and  doing  it 
well.  It  seemed  now  pretty  evident  that  the 
heroic  petition  he  had  made  at  his  ordina- 
tion was  to  be  answered  like  Abraham's 
sacrifice, — only  by  the  hundredfold  of  hap- 
piness with  which  God  is  wont  to  repay 
every  generous  aspiration  of  His  creature. 
Still  Gaston  de  Segur  looked  reproachfully 
at  Our  Lady,  and  wondered  why  She  had 
rejected  his  prayer. 

The  Abb^  Bastide  was  employed  in  the 
service  of  the  French  soldiers  garrisoned 
in  Rome,  and  Mgr.  de  S6gur  joined  him 
in  this,  and  had  himself  named  joint  chap- 
lain with  him.  The  troops  had  now  been 
three  years  in  the  Eternal  City,  and  were  to 
remain  there  three  more.  Mgr.  de  S^gur  had 
learned  by  experience  how  to  manage  them 
— how  to  get  at  the  soldier's  soul  through 
his  heart.  The  French  soldier — torn,  nolens 
volens^  from  his  native  Village,  from  his 
parents,  his  wholesome  field-work,  all  the 
protecting  influences  of  an  honest  agricul- 


tural home, — is  the  most  forlorn  and  ex- 
posed of  human  beings,  and  the  priest  alone 
can  replace  in  any  degree  all  that  has  been 
taken  from  him — the  tenderness,  the  kind 
personal  interest,  the  fearless  rebuke,  the 
generous  indulgence  of  the  parental  home. 
Here,  as  in  Paris,  Mgr.  de  Segur  made 
himself  quickly  loved  and  trusted  by  the 
soldiers.  His  very  glance  sometimes  had  a 
compelling  virtue  in  it  when  it  rested  on 
one  of  them. 

One  morning  a  young  man  named  Kling- 
enhoffen,  a  non-commissioned  officer  of  the 
chasseurs^  chanced  to  be  standing  on  the 
sidewalk  while  the  gala  carriages  of  the 
Papal  court  passed  on  in  procession  to  a 
grand  ceremony  at  the  Vatican  (the  canon- 
ization of  St.  Germaine  Cousin,  I  believe); 
he  noticed,  seated  in  one  of  them,  a  distin- 
guished-looking young  priest,  clothed  in  a 
violet  soutane^  who,  meeting  his  glance, 
bowed  to  him  with  a  smile.  The  smile,  the 
face  pursued  Klingenhoffen.  He  inquired 
who  the  priest  was,  and  longed  to  go  and 
see  him;  but  before  he  could  accomplish 
his  desire,  he  fell  ill,  and  the  Abbe  Bastide 
came  to  visit  him.  Finding  him  lamentably 
ignorant  concerning  religion,  he  brought 
him  a  copy  of  the  Reponses.  Klingenhoffen 
read  it  with  attention,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
was  well,  took  courage  and  went  to  see  the 
author.  In  a  trice  Mgr.  de  Segur  had  fas- 
cinated him  and  confessed  him.  His  con- 
version was  heart-whole,  and  included  a 
vocation  to  the  priesthood.  During  his  stud- 
ies he  acted  as  secretary  to  Mgr.  de  S^gur, 
who  took  him  into  his  house,  and  treated 
him  as  a  brother. 

It  was  a  beautiful  life  they  led  in  the 
Palazzo  Brancadero,  and  rich  in  the  best 
things  that  are  to  be  had  out  of  heaven. 
Mgr.  de  Segur  was  as  merry  as  a  school -boy, 
and  he  had  a  capacity  for  work  that  ex- 
cited rages  of  envy  in  many  zealous  but  less 
strongly  endowed  laborers.  His  prolonged 
sittings  in  the  confessional  were  the  despair 
of  the  cook,  for  he  kept  the  dinner  waiting 
till  eight  o'clock  verv  often;  then,  to  make 
things  worse,  he  would  bring  four  or  five 
penitents  home  with  him  to  share  the  dishes 


The  Ave  Maria. 


79 


that  had  been  waiting  since  six.  Even  the 
Abbe  Bastide  sometimes  took  part  with  the 
aggrieved  cook,  and  joked  Mgr.  de  Segur 
on  the  scanty  menu  he  set  his  guests  down 
to.  But,  bad  as  this  wa<?,  things  were  not  com- 
plete unless  Mgr.  de  Merode  came  in  and 
claimed  his  share  of  the  soup;  true,  he  had 
a  knack  of  making  it  go  farther  by  pouring 
plenty  of  water  on  it,  so  his  arrival  did  not 
much  matter;  and,  with  a  slice  of  cold  meat 
and  a  few  leaves  of  salad,  he  always  fared 
sumptuously.  When  Mgr.  de  Segur  invited 
bishops  to  his  table,  he  departed  from  this 
evangelical  simplicity,  and  spread  the  board 
bountifully ;  but  even  on  these  grand  occa- 
sions abundance  was  the  only  excess,  and 
he  never  swerved  from  the  principle  of 
i      plain  living  and  high  thinking 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Mgr.  de 
Segur,  on  being  named  Auditor  of  the  Rota, 
had  had  a  private  audience  with  the  Em- 
peror. Napoleon  III.  was  too  keen  a  judge 
of  human  nature  not  to  have  seen  quickly 
what  manner  of  man  the  young  priest  was; 
he  felt  a  strong  sympathy  for  him,  and,  see- 
ing in  him  a  safe  and  wise  medium  of  com- 
munication with  the  Holy  See,  gave  him 
his  confidence,  and  held  out  hopes  to  him 
of  suppressing,  or  at  least  of  rectifying,  the 
Organic  Articles;  in  fact,  he  seemed  filled 
with  genuine  respect  for  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  and  an  earnest  desire  to  establish 
filial  relations  towards  him  personally,  and 
to  place  France  in  her  immemorial  and 
'glorious  position  of  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Church.  Mgr.  de  S^gur  was  himself  a  good 
judge  of  men,  and  he  believed,  and  contin- 
ued ever  afterwards  to  believe,  that  at  the 
time  the  Emperor  made  these  professions 
and  overtures  he  was  thoroughly  sincere. 
Probably  he  was.  His  instincts  were  noble 
and  generous,  and  when  he  betrayed  them, 
it  was  under  pressure  from  that  fatal  prin- 
ciple of  expediency  which  proved  the  bane 
of  his  reign  and  ended  in  ruining  him. 

He  had  set  his  heart  on  having  Pius  IX. 
come  in  person  to  crown  him,  and  he  en- 
trusted Mgr.  de  Segur  with  the  mission  of 
obtaining  this  favor  from  the  Holy  Father, 
as  the  following  letter  shows: 


TuiLERiES,  May  S,  1853. 

My  Dear  Monsieur  de  Segur: — I  profit  by 
Mgr.  Ricci's  departure  for  Rome  to  send  you  the 
enclosed  letter  for  the  Holy  Father.  I  ask  him  in 
this  letter  to  tell  me  frankly  whether  he  will  come 
to  Paris.  I  prefer  that  the  letter  should  pass 
through  your  hands,  so  that  it  may  not  have  an 
ofiicial  character.  You  will  try  and  send  me  the 
answer  as  soon  as  possible.  I  have  not  written  to 
you  for  a  long  time,  because  I  had  not  settled  my 
plans  on  two  subjects — the  coronation  and  the 
Organic  Articles.  As  to  the  coronation,  if  the  Pope 
thinks  he  can  not  come,  it  will  take  place  towards 
the  month  of  September,  and  I  will  convene  all 
the  bishops  of  France  to  that  effect. 

As  to  the  Organic  Articles,  long  before  the 
Empire  was  thought  of,  I  charged  the  Bishop  of 
Carcassonne  to  say  how  much  I  desired  that  they 
might  by  common  accord  be  revised.  But  the 
moment  there  was  a  question  of  the  coronation, 
I  had  to  act  with  more  reserve;  for  I  would  not 
have  it  thought  that  it  was  through  interest  or  am- 
bition that  I  wanted  the  revision  of  the  Articles, 
when,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  only  with  a  view  to 
closer  ente7ite  with  the  spiritual  power,  and  for  the 
good  of  religion.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  me, 
something  eked  out  to  the  public,  and  I  saw  with 
regret  that  opinion  was  opposed  to  any  change 
that  could  seem  like  a  concession  to  the  court  of 
Rome.  Undoubtedly,  the  coming  of  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther would  do  a  great  deal  of  good  to  religious 
ideas  and  politics.  But  in  this  world  a  crowd  ot 
little  things  always  come  to  interfere  with  great 
projects.  Well,  may  the  will  of  God  be  done! 

Receive,  with  my  thanks  for  your  zeal ,  the  as- 
surance of  my  sentiments, 

Napoleon. 

Immediately  on  receiving  this  letter,  Mgr. 
de  S6gur  carried  it  to  the  Holy  Father,  to- 
gether with  the  ofiicial  letter  which  accom- 
panied it.  Pius  IX., with  his  eye-glass  in 
one  hand,  and  the  Emperor's  letter  in  the 
other,  read  the  contents,  muttering  them 
to  himself  as  he  went  on,  with  a  nodding 
movement  of  the  head.  Mgr.  de  S^gur, 
meantime,  was  waiting  on  his  knees,  breath- 
less with  excitement,  till  the  Pope  finished 
and  looked  up. 

''''Ecco  una  letter  a  magnijica/^''  he  ex- 
claimed, radiantly. 

"What  does  the  Emperor  want?"  de- 
manded Gaston,  boldly. 
.    ' '  He  wants  me  to  come  and  crown  him ! '  * 

' '  He  is  quite  right.  You  would  want  the 
same  in  his  place." 

The  Pope  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 


8o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"There  are  obstacles  in  the  way,"  he  said; 
"I  am  in  the  act  of  concluding  a  concordat 
with  Austria,  and  what  would  Austria  say 
if  I  went  off  to  France  now?  It  might 
break  off  the  negotiations  altogether.  But 
what  is  more  important  than  this  is  the 
affair  "of  the  Articles  Organiqiies.  While 
they  are  in  existence,  I  can  not  put  my  foot 
on  French  soil;  they  were  a  slap  in  the 
face  to  the  Holy  See."  He  read  the  letter 
again,  and  then  said,  suddenly:  "And  what 
does  Mgr.  de  Segur  say?" 

' '  Holy  Father,  I  am  not  capable  of  hav- 
ing an  opinion  on  such  a  subject.  Who  am  I 
to  dare  give  my  opinion  to  your  Holiness! " 

"But  I  wish  to  know  it.  Speak  out,  and 
tell  me  what  you  think." 

"Well,  Holy  Father,  I  will  obey  you. 
Why  should  not  the  Pope,  after  crowning 
the  French  Emperor,  go  to  \'ienna  and 
crown  the  Emperor  of  Austria?  This  ap- 
parition of  the  Papacy  in  Europe  would 
produce  a  splendid  effect.  The  moment 
you  set  foot  on  French  soil,  all  France  will 
be  at  your  feet,  and  your  presence  would 
give  the  death-blow  to  Gallicanism.  Once 
in  Paris,  you  will  obtain  all  you  wish  from 
the  Emperor.  From  Paris  to  Vienna  your 
progress  will  be  a  triumphal  march.  You 
will  pass  through  Germany  like  a  con- 
queror, and  deal  a  fatal  blow  to  Protestant- 
ism, which  can  not  satisfy  the  people,  who 
are  turning  in  despair  to  Rationalism  and 
Catholicism. ' ' 

The  Pope  heard  him  out,  and  then,  with 
a  smile,  exclaimed,  ^^Ebbene,  andremoy 
(Well,  we  will  go.)  "But  the  Emperor  must 
first  open  the  door.  If  he  wants  me  to  come 
to  France,  he  must  make  a  new  concordat, 
and  set  aside  the  existing  one.  I  will  wait 
three  months.  This  will  save  him  from  the 
appearance  of  making  a  bargain  in  the  in- 
terest of  his  ambition. ' '  Then,  tapping  his 
snuff-box,  the  Pope  added,  "And  that  done. 


in  carrozza 


/" 


Mgr.  de  S6gur  went  home,  and  wrote  a  full 
account  of  this  conversation  to  the  Emperor, 
urging  him  frankly  to  accept  the  Pope's 
proposal.  "You  see,  sire,"  he  pleaded,  "it 
is  only  dead-wood  the  Holy  Father  asks  of 


you.  These  Articles,  equally  inapplicable 
and  unapplied,  have  been  always  rejected, 
not  only  in  Rome,  but  by  all  good  Catholics 
in  France.  If  your  Majesty  attempted  to 
put  them  into  execution,  you  would  see  all 
your  bishops,  all  your  priests,  rise  up  as  one 
man  to  protest,  and  if  needs  be  to  resist." 

The  Emperor  made  no  immediate  answer 
'  to  this  letter;  but  when,  a  month  or  so  later, 
Mgr.  de  Segur  went  to  France  for  his  holi- 
day, he  saw  the  Emperor,  and  was  received 
with  great  consideration  and  cordiality.  He 
went  so  far  as  to  propose  to  Napoleon  III. 
that  he  should  take  Charlemagne  for  his 
model,. rather  than  Napoleon  I.  "Sire,  go 
to  Rome,  and  be  crowned ! "  he  exclaimed, 
in  his  impetuous  way. 

The  Emperor  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 
' '  I  should  make  a  sorry  figure  in  Rome, ' ' 
he  answered;  "I  spent  a  wild  youth  there, 
and  the  dignity  of  the  imperial  purple 
would  be  in  danger." 

He  did  not  add,  what  he  no  doubt  felt, 
that  his  own  life  might  be  in  danger — that 
Freemasons  and  Carbonari  might  take  ven- 
geance on  him  for  his  desertion.  He  knew 
what  their  deadly  rancor  was  towards  de- 
serters, and  when  Orsini's  attempt  horrified 
Europe,  probably  the  Emperor  was  the  only 
one  whom  it  did  not  take  by  surprise. 

Time  went  on,  and  no  Pope  went  to  Paris, 
and  no  Emperor  came  to  Rome.  Mgr.  de 
Segur  hoped  on  while  it  was  possible,  and 
used  all  his  influence  to  decide  the  Emperor, 
but  in  vain.  If  Napoleon  HI.  had  been  brave 
enough  to  inaugurate  his  reign  by  taking 
his  stand  by  the  Church  against  the  Revo- 
lution, the  whole  course  of  his  destiny 
would  in  all  human  probability  have  been 
changed,  and  he  would  have  played  a  mag- 
nificent part  in  history.  But  self-protection 
and  the  policy  of  expediency  prevailed.  He 
played  fast  and  loose  for  a  time,  and  then 
betrayed  his  nobler  self  and  lost  his  oppor- 
tunity; and  that  legal  lie,  the  Articles  Or- 
ganiques^  was  left  uncancelled — an  odious 
burden  upon  the  Church  of  France,  and  a 
blot  on  the  name  of  Bonaparte. 

These  negotiations  between  the  Holy 
See  and  the  Tuileries  had  given  great  eclat 


The  A  ve  Maria. 


8i 


to  Mgr.  de  Segur,  and  increased  his  prestige 
before  the  world,  while  they  won  for  him 
the  tender  regard  of  the  Emperor — a  senti- 
ment which  the  latter  continued  to  cherish 
until  he  took  up  openly  a  hostile  attitude 
towards  the  Holy  See.  Mgr.  de  Segur  had 
been  now  more  than  a  year  in  Rome,  hon- 
ored and  trusted,  and  perfectly  happy.  He 
had  found  time  in  the  midst  of  his  occupa- 
tions to  paint,  and  had  composed  a  series  of 
pictures  representing  the  Beatitudes,  which 
he  hoped  would  be  of  use  in  serving  souls 
and  the  glory  of  God.  When  Mme  de  Segur 
left  Rome  he  was  engaged  on  the  one 
illustrating  " Blessed  are  the  Merciful" — 
St.  Charles  Borromeo  ministering  to  the 
plague-stricken  population  of  Milan. 
(to  be  continued.) 


A  Far-Famed  Shrine  of  the  New  World. 


BY    A.    M.   POPE. 


k 


THE  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury saw  the  exodus  from  the  sunny 
land  of  Brittany  of  numerous  hardy  and  ad- 
venturous mariners.  These  men,  attracted 
by  the  love  of  danger  common  to  "those 
who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,"  with 
possibly  an  additional  motive  responsive  to 
the  newly-awakened  enthusiasm  of  the 
soldier  of  Navarre,  sought  to  enrich  them 
selves,  it  is  true;  but  also  bore  in  mind 
that  they  would  aid  in  and  form  part  of  the 
establishment  of  a  Christian  and  Catholic 
colony  upon  the  pine-crowned  shores  of 
the  New  World.  Fresh  from  the  hallowed 
shrine  of  St.  Anne  d'Auray,with  the  bless- 
ing given  from  her  altar  lingering  in  their 
memories,  and  the  graces  obtained  through 
her  intercession  keeping  the  light  of  faith 
aflame  in  their  hearts,  it  is  not  wonder- 
ful that  these  early  colonists  should  have 
broadly  scattered  seeds  of  devotion  to  the 
mother  of  Our  Blessed  Lady. 

Of  the  seventeen  shrines  dedicated  to  St. 
Anne  which  exist  to-day  in  the  most  Cath- 
olic Province  of  Quebec,  there  is  one  partic- 
ularly dear  to  Canadian  hearts,  and  famous 


above  all  other  sanctuaries  of  the  New 
World.  Away  among  the  grand  Laurentian 
Mountains  which  skirt  the  northern  bank 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  River,  lies  a  valley  con- 
secrated by  holy  memories — St.  Anne  de 
Beaupre.  This  parish,  lovingly  called  by  the 
fervent  French  Canadians  la  bomte  Sainte 
Anne^  has  many  natural  charms,  but  on 
,  purely  supernatural  grounds  has  it  acquired 
celebrity  above  the  other  hamlets  of  Que- 
bec, and  gained  the  soubriquet  mockingly 
bestowed  upon  it  by  a  Protestant  journalist 
of  Montreal — "the  Canadian  Mecca." 

The  first  settlement  of  Beau  pie,  or  ''  Petit 
Cap,"  as  it  was  called  in  the  olden  time, 
is  lost  in  obscurity.  The  account  generally 
received  is  that  a  fleet  of  Breton  fishermen 
were  caught  in  one  of  those  sudden  squalls 
that  sweep  up  the  St.  Lawrence,  and, having 
invoked  St.  Anne,  were  saved  from  drown- 
ing; whereupon  they  named  the  marshy 
bank  on  which  they  scrambled  out  of  the 
angry  waters  after  their  beloved  patroness. 
Year  after  year  sailors  were  guided  to  land 
in  safety  on  this  spot,  and  at  length  quite  a 
settlement  grew  up,  attracting  colonists 
from  Quebec. 

Among  the  precious  volumes  that  live  in 
retirement  on  those  upper  shelves,  upon 
which  cobwebs  lovingly  licger,  is  one 
wherein  is  set  forth  in  quaint  old  French 
the  story  of  how,  oa  the  13th  of  March, 
1658,  Monsieiir  Louis  d'Ailleboust  de  Cou- 
langes.  Governor  of  New  France,  with  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Vignard,  visited  the  coast  of  Beau- 
pre, to  see  if  the  work  of  building  dwellings 
there  was  being  carried  oa  properl)-.  It  is 
further  told  how  Mr.  Vignard,  commissioned 
by  his  ecclesiastical  -superior  in  Quebec, 
blessed  the  site  for  the  church  of  Petit  Cap, 
and  how  the  Governor,  with  all  due  cere- 
mony, laid  the  corner-stone.  Occasionally 
Jesuit  Fathers  from  Quebec  would  come 
to  hold  missions  on  this  spot,  destined  here- 
after to  be  so  famous. 

On  the  25th  of  October,  1645,  Monsieur  de 
St.  Sauveur,  a  secular  priest  from  Quebec, 
started  for  Beaupre,  the  "Company  of  a 
Hundred  Associates"  having  promised  to 
pay  him  a  yearly  salary  should  he  under- 


82 


The  Ave  Mai'ia, 


take  the  spiritual  and  temporal  charge  of  the 
mission.  This  was  arranged  with  the  con- 
sent of  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  in  order  that  one 
of  their  number,  who  had  hitherto  served 
the  mission,  might  be  free  to  attend  at  the 
Hospital  of  Quebec,  where  his  services  were 
daily  needed.  For  this  charge  Monsieur  de 
St.  Sauveur  was  to  leceive  the  magnificent 
sum  of  twenty-five  crowns  a  year  I  , 

Miracles  were  frequent  in  that  spot  from 
its  earliest  settlement.  The  foundress  of  the 
Ursulines  of  Quebec,  the  Venerable  Mother 
Mary  of  the  Incarnation,  writing  to  her  son 
in  1665,  says:  ''At  seven  leagues  distant 
from  here  there  is  a  village  called  Petit 
Cap,  where  there  is  a  church  dedicated  to 
St.  Anne,  in  which  Our  Lord  works  great 
marvels  in  favor  of  the  holy  mother  of  he 
Blessed  Virgin.  There  one  may  see  para- 
lytics walking,  the  blind  receiving  sight, 
and  the  sick  restored  to  health." 

In  the  year  1668  Monseigneur  de  Laval, 
the  great  Bishop  of  Quebec,  received  a  relic 
of  Sr.  Anne,  which  a  Jesuit,  the  Rev.  Faiher 
Nouel,  brought  from  the  chapter  of  Car- 
cassonne to  the  shriae  at  Beaupre.  It  was 
first  venerated  there  on  the  12th  of  March, 
1670.  The  church,  of  which  the  foundation 
stone  was  laid  with  the  stately  ceremonial  of 
the  old  regime^  by  Monsieur  Louis  d' Aille- 
boust  de  Coulanges,  was  opened  for  wor- 
ship in  1660,  and  was  dedicated  to  St.  Anne. 
It  was  erected  on  the  shore,  so  near  the 
river's  brink  that  the  rising  tide  constantly- 
flooded  it,  and  rendered  it  almost  useless. 
It  was  therefore  removed,  or  rather  lebuilt, 
with  the  same  stones,  in  1676.  by  Monsieur 
Filion,  then  parish  priest  of  St.  Anne's, 
and  still  stands  on  a  slight  eminence  rising 
from  the  north  side  of  the  road,— a  quaint 
old  stucco  edifice,  with  the  high-pointed 
roof  and  double  bell-tower  that  mark  the 
Canadian  style  of  church  architecture  in 
those  early  da)  s.  * 


*  This  is  the  earliest  church  at  Beaupre  of  which 
we  have  any  authentic  account,  but  it  is  generally 
believed  that  there  was  a  simple  structure  built 
there  in  1650  by  those  Breton  sailors,  who  were  the 
first  pilgrims  guided  by  the  good  St.  Anne  to  her 
now  famous  shrine. 


This  venerable  structure,  long  since  too 
small  to  contain  the  crowds  which  flock  to 
la  bonne  Sainte  Anne^  has  been  the  scene 
of  many  wonderful  and  well-authenticated 
miracles.  To  it  the  converted  Indians  were 
in  the  habit  of  coming  annually  in  great 
numbers.  Towards  the  end  of  July  the 
broad  St.  Lawrence  would  be  black  with 
their  canoes,  and  the  shore  bristle  with 
Indian  tents.  From  distant  deserts,  from 
beautiful  Gasp6,from  Restigouche,  from  the 
shores  of  the  great  lakes,  even  from  bleak 
Hudson's  Bay,  the  red  men  came  in  hun- 
dreds to  do  homage  to  their  good  mother 
St.  Anne,  and  to  beg  her  intercession  for 
her  poor  children  of  the  forest.  The  wild 
Ojjibbeway,  the  graceful  Algonquin,  the 
Huron,  the  Abenequais,  the  Milecite,  and 
the  Mic-Mac  were  all  brothers  in  their  love 
for  her.  They  would  make  this  pilgrimage 
with  great  faith  and  earnestness,  approach- 
ing the  Sacraments  with  reverence,  and 
venerating  the  precious  relic  of  her  who 
has  been  so  manifestly  a  protectress  to  the 
Indians.  Many  miracles  are  recorded  among 
the  Indians  at  this  time,  in  especial  a  cure 
granted  to  an  old  Mic-Mac  chief  from  Res- 
tigouche, who,  as  long  as  he  lived,  came 
every  year  from  his  New  Brunswick  home 
to  thank  and  honor  the  good  St.  Anne. 

The  new  church — a  large  stone  edifice, 
built  in  1870, — is  on  the  lower  side  of  the 
road-way.  It  was  begun  in  1872;  in  1876  it 
was  solemnly  blessed  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Qaebec,  and  that  same  "year  a  decree  of  his 
Holiness  Pius  IX.,  dated  May  7,  declared 
St.  Anne  the  Patroness  of  Quebec,  as,  long 
since,  St.  Joseph  had  been  proclaimed  Pa- 
tron of  all  Canada. 

The  church  has  eight  altars,  given  by 
different  Canadian  dioceses.  There  are  some 
fine  stained-glass  windows,  and  a  profusion 
of  old  oil-paintings,  most  of  them  giving 
evidence  of  piety  rather  than  genius.  Nearly 
all  represent  scenes  of  peril  or  shipwreck  in 
which  St.  Anne  mercifully  comes  to  the  aid 
of  the  mariner.  Above  the  high  altar  is  a 
true  work  of  art — a  painting  from  the  bi  ush 
of  Lebrun,  representing  St.  Anne,  her  Im- 
maculate Daughter,  and  two  pilgrims.  This 


The  Ave  Maria, 


83 


fine  old  picture,  on  which  may  be  seen 
the  armorial  bearing-;  of  the  noble  house 
of  Tracy,  was  the  votive  offering  of  the 
Marquis  de  Tracy,  Viceroy  of  New  France, 
presented  to  the  shrine  on  the  occasion  of 
his  visit  in  August,  1666.  Two  pictures  by 
the  Franciscan  monk  Lefrangois,  and  a 
magnificent  reliquary,  are  gifts  from  the 
princely  Bishop  Laval  de  Montmorency*  In 
1706  the  gallant  Iberville,  dying  in  far  Ha- 
vana, sent  to  the  distant  shrine  on  the  shore 
of  the  blue  St.  Lawrence  a  massive  silver 
crucifix.  A  second  relic  of  St.  Anne  was 
brought  from  Rome  in  1877,  by  the  Rev.  M. 
Laliberte,  at  one  time  cure  of  the  parish. 

Perhaps  the  most  magnificent  of  the  treas- 
ures of  this  sanctuary  i§  a  chasuble  wrought 
by  the  royal  fingers  of  Anne  of  Austria, 
queen-mother  oi  le  grand  ^nonarque.  Two 
hundred  years  have  passed  since  the  gor- 
geous fabric  came  as  an  earnest  of  the  inter- 
est taken  by  the  court  of  France  in  France's 
most  Catholic  colony  of  Canada;  but  the 
silver  and  gold  have  lost  none  of  their  splen- 
dor, and  the  work  of  the  regent  Qaeen  is 
still  shown  with  pardonable  pride  to  pil- 
grims to  the  shrine  of  la  bonne  Sainte  Anne. 

To  the  last  two  cures  of  St.  Anne's,  the 
Rev.  J.  B.  Blouin  and  the  Rev.  Antoine 
Gauvreau,  belongs  the  credit  of  having  built 
the  existing  fine  church  and  school. 

In  1879,  in  accordance  with  an  agreement 
between  the  Archbishop  of  Quebec  and  the 
Society  of  the  Most  Holy  Redeemer  in  Bel- 
gium, the  parish  of  St.  Anne  was  ceded  to 
the  Redemptorist  Fathers,  four  of  whom 
arrived  to  take  charge  of  it  on  the  21st  of 
August  of  that  year.  Since  then  their  num- 
ber has  more  than  doubled,  and  their  work 
is  ever  on  the  increase.  The  number  of 
organized  pilgrimages  to  the  shrine  of  the 
good  St.  Anne  in  1882  was  seventy-eight; 
in  these  52,030  persons  received  Holy  Com- 
munion, and  2,540  Masses  were  celebrated. 
Since  that  time,  however,  the  number  per 
annum  has  greatly  increased,  many  from 
the  maritime  provinces  having  been  added 
to  the  record. . 

In  1882  it  was  the  good  fortune  of  the 
writer  to  assist  at  an  Irish  pilgrimage,  which 


left  St.  Patrick's,  Montreal,  for  St.  Anne  de 
Beaupr^,  on  the  29th  of  July.  The  Canada^ 
one  of  the  fine  river  steamers  of  the  Riche- 
lieu Company,  had  been  chartered  for  the 
occasion ;  the  number  of  her  passengers  was 
limited  to  seven  hundred.  Of  these  there 
were  pilgrims  from  various  parts  of  the 
Dominion,  and  some  from  the  United 
States.  After  receiving  the  blessing  of  his 
Lordship  the  Bishop  of  Montreal,  the  Can- 
ada^ carrying  the  Pontifical  and  Irish  flags, 
as  well  as  those  of  England  and  America, 
let  go  her  grapplings,  and  steamed  down 
the  river. 

Particularly  beautiful  on  a  golden  sum- 
mer afternoon  is  the  aspect  of  Mount  Royal 
from  the  St.  Lawrence;  green  and  cool  are 
its  pine-covered  heights,  to  which  here  and 
there  the  sunbeams  give  a  russet  tint.  The 
summit,  first  consecrated  by  the  cross  which 
the  gallant  Maisonneuve  erected,  and  by 
Pere  du  Perron's  Mass  of  thanksgiving, 
is  partially  hidden  in  silvery  clouds,  that, 
floating  in  mid-air,  break  the  monotony  of 
the  almost  tropical  blue  of  the  sky.  Below 
lies  the  city,  her  many  domes  and  spires 
glinting  in  the  sunlight;  the  vast  avenues 
of  houses  and  shops  attesting  to  her  wealth 
and  importance;  and  her  ever-increasing 
number  of  factories,  lazily  smoking,  adding 
their  quota  to  the  heat  and  heaviness  of  the 
atmosphere. 

Past  Montreal  steams  the  Canada;  past 
beautiful  St.  Helen's,  past  Longueuil,  Bou- 
cherville,  and  Varennes  (where  there  is  an- 
other famous  shrine  of  St.  Anne) ;  past  He 
Ronde  and  He  Grosbois,  and  all  the  other 
entrancing  spots  so  easy  of  access  to  Mon- 
trealers.  It  is  dark  when  we  reach  Sorel, 
where  the  Richelieu  flows  into  the  St.  Law- 
rence; we  can  scarce  trace  the  outlines  of 
that  beautiful  stream,  the  Iroquois  River 
of  olden  time.  The  town  is  almost  lost  in 
shadows;  the  ships  in  the4ittle  bay  swing 
lazily  at  anchor,  without  a  light  to  mark 
their  location.  All  is  sombre  and  solemn, 
but  we  think  of  the  stirring  scenes  that 
have  been  enacted  at  this  gate  to  the  land 
of  the  Mohawks,  of  the  strong  fort  of  De 
Tracy,  and  of  the  days  when  the  war-whoop 


84 


The  Ave  Maria. 


resounded  along  the  shores  of  the  Richelieu. 
In  later  times  the  Royal  Duke  of  Kent  re- 
sided at  Sorel,  and  here  his  life-long  friend- 
ship grew  and  strengthened  for  Canada's 
soldier  hero,  the  Lord  of  Chambly,  the  gal- 
lant De  Salaberry. 

The  population  of  Sorel  is  largely  com- 
posed of  English,  or  rather  of  "  United  Em- 
pire Loyalists."  So  loyal  were  they  that 
at  one  time  they  changed  the  name  of  the 
town  to  "William  Hem  y,"  in  honor  of  the 
King.  However,  the  tenacity  of  the  Cana- 
dian race  with  regard  to  all  that  bears  on 
their  country  and  its  nomenclature  is  in- 
tense, so  the  English  name,  never  wholly 
popular,  fell  into  disuse,  and  the  erstwhile 
seigniory  of  the  brave  Sieur  de  Saurel,  of 
•the  Carignan  Salieres  Regiment,  is  still, 
and  alwa)  s  will  be,  Sorel. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


The  Pioneer. 


BY  MARGARET  H.  LAWLESS. 


TV  THOUSAND  echoes  from  the  hills 
-^   Have  followed  every  ringing  stroke, 
Until  the  rapid,  glittering  steel 

Each  stout  heart  reached  and  broke, 
And  oak  and  elm  and  pine  and  fir 
Bent  low  to  man,  the  conqueror! 

What  thoughts  sweep  thro'  his  busy  brain? 

What  fields  spread  out  before  his  gaze  ? 
Broad  wheat-lands,  yellowing  in  the  sun 

Armies  of  rustling  maize? 
Four  walls  lit  up  with  love  divine, 
A  hearth-stone  odorous  with  pine  ? 

Where  once  he  plied  the  ringing  steel — 
Sons  of  his  sons  shall  sit  at  ease; 

Where  once  he  reared  his  hut  of  logs — 
They  dwell  in  palaces: 

Till,  like  the  oak  and  elm  and  fir, 

Forgotten  be  their  conqueror! 


Fairy  Gold. 


"In  speaking  of  the  saints  whom  the 
Roman  Catholics  revere, he  said, '  I  too  have 
a  favorite  saint — St.  Francis  of  Assisi.'  " — 
Longfelloiv'  s  '  ''Final  Memorials. ' ' 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID, 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

BREAKFAST  over,  they  went  into  the 
familiar  sitting-room — for  there  was  still 
an  hour  or  two  before  Marion's  train  was 
due,  —  and  it  was  there  that  Helen  said,  with 
a  smile:  "Mr.  Singleton  is  coming  to  see 
you  off:  I  met  him  yesterday  evening  after 
I  left  you,  and  he  announced  his  intention, 
of  doing  so;  so  I  asked  him  to  come  here 
and  accompany  us  to  the  train.  Of  course 
there  is  no  needoi  him:  the  boys  will  do  all 
that  is  necessary;  but  I  thought  it  would 
look  better.  People  have  talked  so  much 
about  you  both,  that  I  would  like  them  to 
have  a  public  proof  that  you  are  really  on 
very  good  terms." 

"You  think  of  everything,  Helen,"  said 
Marion.  "What  a  wise  little  head  you 
have 1 " 

"Do  you  think  it  is  the  head?"  asked 
Helen.  "I  think  it  is  the  heart.  One  feels 
things  rather  than  thinks  them — at  least  I 
do." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  said  her  cousin.  "  It  is 
your  heart  in  the  first  place ;  but  you  must 
not  underrate  your  head,  which  ceitainly 
has  something  to  do  with  it. ' ' 

Helen  shook  the  appendage  in  question. 
"Not  much,"  she  answered.  "I  have  never 
fancied  that  my  strong  point  was  my  head. " 

"Head  or  heart,  you  are  seldom  wrong," 
said  Marion, "when  it  comes  to  a  practical 
decision.  Whereas  I — you  know  I  have 
been  very  vain  of  my  cleverness,  and  yet  I 
am  always  wrong—  no,  don' t  contradict  me; 
I  mean  exactlv  what  I  say,  and  I  have  the 
best  possible  reason  for  meaning  it.  But, 
Helen,  let  me  ask  one  favor  of  you.  When 
Mr.  Singleton  comes  leave  me  alone' with 
him  for  a  few  minutes.  Now  mind,  only  for  a 
few  minutes.  I  have  something  to  say  to  him, 
but  it  will  take  only  a  little  time  to  say  it." 
"That  will  be  easily  arranged,"  said 
Helen,  who  would  not  sufifer  herself  even  to 
look  a  question. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


85 


So  when  Mr.lSmg^leton  presently  anived, 
she  spirited  herself  and  her  mother  out  of 
the  room  in  the  most  unobtrusive  manner 
possible,  leaving  the  young  man  alone  with 
Marion. 

The  latter  did  not  waste  one  of  the  min- 
utes for  which  she  had  asked.  She  plunged 
without  preface  into  the  subject  on  which 
she  desired  to  speak.  "Mr,  Singleton,"  she 
began,  abruptly, "I  am  going  to  say  some- 
thing very  unconventional,  but  you  who 
are  so  unconventional  yourself  will  pardon 
me,  I  am  sure.  Briefly,  I  am  going  to  recall 
to  your  mind  something  that  you  said  when 
— when  we  had  our  last  private  conversa- 
tion. You  then  declared  your  intention  of 
following  me  abroad,  is  it  not  so?" 

"  Yes, "  answered  Singleton,  with  com- 
posure, "I  did,  and  I  meant  what  I  said. 
You  will  soon  see  me  over  there." 

"I  think  not — I  hope  not,"  she  said, 
quickly;  "for  I  am  sure  that  you  have  too 
much  self-respect  to  persecute  a  woman 
with  attentions  which  can  lead  to  nothing. 
And  I  tell  you  in  the  most  positive  manner 
that  they  can  only  bring  you  disappoint- 
ment." 

' '  You  can  not  be  sure  of  that, ' '  he  ob- 
served,  with  a  touch  of  his  former  obstinacy. 
"Women  have  sometimes  changed  their 
minds." 

She  shook  her  head.  ' '  Not  women  who 
feel  as  I  do.  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  the 
whole  truth  about  myself,  since  there  is  no 
other  way  of  convincing  you.  I  will  not 
deny  that  what  you  offer  is  in  some  degree 
a  temptation  to  me — I  am  worldly  enough 
and  unworthy  enough  for  that;  and  it  has 
been  a  temptation,  too,  to  suffer  you  to  fol- 
low me,  and  keep,  as  it  were,  the  chance 
open  in  case  I  should  find  that  it  was  the 
best  life  offered  me.  But  I  know  this  would 
be  wrong;  for  I  can  not  deceive  myself  into 
fancying  that  there  is  any  doubt  whatever 
about  my  feelings.  If  my  heart  were  empty, 
you  might  in  time  fill  it.  But  it  is  not — I 
will  be  perfectly  frank  with  you  at  any  cost 
to  myself, — another  man  has  long  since 
filled  it." 

Theie  was  a  pause  after  these  words — 


words  which  it  cost  Marion  very  much  to 
utter.  To  acknowledge  even  to  herself  the 
fact  which  they  expressed,  was  hard  enough ; 
but  to  acknowledge  it  to  another,  to  this 
man  who  sat  regarding  her  steadily  with 
his  dark,  brilliant  eyes,  was  harder  still.  But 
in  courage,  at  least,  she  was  not  deficient, 
and  her  own  eyes  met  his  without  droop- 
ing. 

"You  see  now  why  I  can  not  let  you 
follow  a  false  hope  in  following  me,"  she 
continued,  when  after  a  moment  he  had  still 
not  spoken.  "I  may  be  mercenary  in  some 
degree,  but  I  am  not  mercenary  enough  to 
marry  you  for  the  sake  of  your  fortune, 
when  I  love  another  man.  I  have  tried  to 
crush  this  love,  and  it  humiliates  me  to 
acknowledge  it;  but  I  have  incurred  the 
humiliation  in  order  to  be  perfectly  frank 
with  you,  and  to  keep  you  from  making  a 
great  mistake." 

The  last  words  seemed  to  touch  him 
suddenly.  His  whole  face — a  face  which 
showed  every  passing  emotion — changed 
and  softened.  "Believe  me,"  he  said,  "I 
appreciate  your  frankness,  and  I  see  no 
humiliation  in  your  confession.  It  is  good 
of  you,  however,  to  suffer  the  pain  of  mak- 
ing it  in  order  to  save  me  from  what  you 
think  would  be  a  mistake." 

"I  know  that  it  would  be  a  mistake — a 
mistake  in  every  way,"  she  said,  earnestly. 
'  'And  I  have  made  so  many  mistakes  al- 
ready that  I  can  not  add  another  to  the  list. 
Believe  me,  if  you  succeeded  in  persuading 
me  to  marry  you,  it  would  be  a  mistake 
which  we  would  both  regret  to  the  end  of 
our  lives.  For  we  do  not  suit  each  other  at 
all.  When  you  marry  you  ought  to  select 
a  woman  different  altogether  from  what  I 
am — a  woman  gentler,  yet  with  more  moral 
strength. ' ' 

"That  may  be,"  he  answered,  in  a  med- 
itative tone;  "but,  then,  no  other  woman 
can  be  the  one  to  whom  my  father  left  his 
fortune,  who  has  generously  given  it  back 
to  me,  and  with  whom  I  should  like  to 
share  it." 

"That  is  a  feeling  which  I  can  understand, 
and  which  does  you  credit, ' '  she  said.  ' '  But 


86 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


do  you  not  see  that  I  could  hardly  accept 
your  suit  on  such  a  ground  as  that?  It 
would  have  been  better  to  have  kept  your 
fortune  than  to  do  that.  No,  Mr.  Singleton, 
I  beg  you  to  think  no  more  of  this;  I  beg 
you  not  to  follow  me  with  any  such  thought 
in  your  mind.  Promise  me  that  you  will 
not." 

She  leaned  toward  him  in  her  earnest- 
ness, and  held  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  entreaty.  George  Singleton  had  some- 
thing chivalrous  in  his  nature,  under  all 
his  brusque  exterior;  and  taking  the  little 
hand  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

^'The  confidence  that  you  have  placed  in 
me, ' '  he  said,  * '  makes  it  impossible  that  I 
can  do  anything  to  annoy  you.  Your  request 
is  a  command.  I  shall  not  follow  you.  ' 

Her  eyes  thanked  him.  ' '  Now  I  can  go 
in  peace,  because  I  shall  not  have  to  think 
that  I  am  misleading  any  one.  However 
hard  or  lonely  my  path  in  life  may  be,  I 
want  henceforth  to  keep  my  conscience 
clear.  I  have  tasted  the  bitterness  of  self- 
reproach,  and  I  know  what  it  is.  Yes,  you 
will  stay.  You  have  duties  here  now,  and — 
and  I  hope  it  may  not  be  long  before  you 
will  find  happiness." 

He  had  no  opportunity  to  reply,  if  he  had 
been  inclined  to  do  so.  Helen,  remember- 
ing Marion's  urgent  request  that  the  min- 
utes allowed  for  her  ' '  few  words ' '  might  be 
short,  was  heard  approaching.  Her  clear, 
sweet  voice  gave  some  orders  in  the  hall, 
and  then  she  entered  the  room. 

'  ■  I  grieve  to  say,  Marion,  that  it  is  almost 
time  for  you  to  go,"  she  announced.  "Ah, 
how  sad  parting  is!" 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Marion  was 
borne  away  from  Scarborough,  her  last 
backward  glance  showed  her  Helen  and 
Singleton  standing  side  by  side  on  the  sta- 
tion platform,  waving  her  an  adieu ;  and  if 
she  smiled  at  the  sight,  it  can  not  be  denied 
that  she  also  sighed.  With  her  own  hand 
she  hid  closed  the  door  of  a  possibly  brill- 
iant destiny;  and, naturally  enough, it  had 
never  looked  so  bright  as  when  she  said 
to  herself,  "That  is  over  finally  and  for- 
ever. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

It  was  with  little  pause  for  sight-seeing 
on  the  way  that  Marion  made  her  journey 
to  Rome.  A  few  days  in  Paris  constituted 
her  only  delay;  then,  flying  swiftly  down 
through  Italy — reserving  until  later  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  beautiful  historic 
cities  which  she  passed, — she  did  not  stop 
again  until  she  found  herself  within  the 
walls  of  Rome. 

And  not  even  the  fact  of  entering  by 
means  of  a  prosaic  railway  could  lessen  the 
thrill  with  which  she  realized  that  she  was 
indeed  within  the  city  of  the  Csesars  and  the 
Popes, — the  city  that  since  the  beginning 
of  historic  time  has  been  the  chief  centre  of 
the  earth,  the  mistress  of  the  world,  and  the 
seat  of  the  apostolic  throne.  It  was  strange 
to  feel  herself  in  this  place  of  memories, 
yet  to  step  into  a  modern  railway  station, 
resounding  with  noise  and  bustle;  but  even 
Rome  was  fori^otten  when  she  found  her- 
self in  Claire's  arms,  and  Claire's  sweet 
voice  bade. her  welcome. 

What  followed  seemed  like  a  dream — the 
swift  drive  through  populous  streets,  with 
glimpses  of  statelv  buildings  and  narrow, 
picturesque  wa^s;  the  passing  under  a 
great,  sounding  arch  into  a  court, where  the 
soft  plash  of  a  fountain  was  heard  as  soon 
as  the  carriage  stopped;  the  ascent  of  an  ap- 
parently interminable  flight  of  stone  steps, 
and  pausing  at  length  on  a  landing,  where 
an  opening  door  gave  access  to  an  ante- 
chamber, and  thence  through  parting  cur- 
tains to  a  long  ^a/c*;/,  where  a  pietty,  elderly 
Jady  rose  to  give  Marion  greeting.  This 
was  Claire's  kind  friend  and  chaperon,  Mrs. 
Kerr,  who  said  to  herself,  as  she  took  the 
young  stranger's  hand, "What  a  beautiful 
creature ! ' ' 

Marion,  on  her  part,  was  charmed,  not 
only  with  Mrs.  Kerr,  but  with  all  her  sur- 
roundings. The  foreign  aspect  of  every- 
thing enchanted  her;  the  Italian  ^ervants, 
the  Italian  dishes  of  the  collation  spread  for 
her,  the  soft  sounds  of  the  language, — all 
entered  into  and  made  part  of  her  pleasure. 
"O  Claire!"  she  said,  when  presently  she 
was  taken  to  the  pretty  chamber  prepared 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


87 


for  her,  "I  think  that  I  am  going  to  be  so 
happy  with  you — if  only  you  are  not  dis- 
gusted with  me^  when  you  hear  the  story  I 
have  to  tell  you ! ' ' 

Claire  laughed,  as  she  bent  and  kissed  her. 
"I  have  not  the  least  fear  that  I  shall  be 
disgusted  with  you.  "she  said.  ' '  You  might 
do  wrong  things,  Marion — things  one  would 
blame  or  censure, — but  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  never  do  a  mean  thing,  and  it  is  mean 
things  which  disgust  one." 

"Ah!"  said  Marion, with  a  sigh,  "do  not 
be  too  sure.  I  am  not  going  to  possess  your 
good  opinion  on  false  pretences,  so  you  shall 
hear  to-morrow  all  that  has  happened  since 
we  parted.  Prepare  your  charity,  for  I  shall 
need  it." 

Acd,  indeed,  on  the  next  day  Claire  heard 
with  the  utmost  fulne-s  all  that  had  oc- 
curred since  the  two  parted  at  their  convent 
school.  As  far  as  the  Rath  borne  incident 
was  concerned,  Marion  did  not  spare  her- 
self; and,  although  Claiie  looked  grave  over 
her  self-accusation  she  was  unable  to  ex- 
press any  regret  that,  even  at  the  cost  of 
Helen's  suffering,  the  engagement  of  the 
latter  to  Rath  borne  should  have  been  ended. 
"I  ?aw  the  man  only  once,"  she  said, "but 
that  was  enough  to  make  me  distrust  him 
thoroughly.  He  has  a  bad  face — a  face 
which  shows  a  narrow  and  cruel  nature.  I 
always  trembled  at  the  thought  of  Helen's 
uniting  her  life  to  his.  There  seemed  no 
possible  prospect  of  happiness  for  her  in 
such  a  choice.  So  I  am  glad  that  at  almost 
any  cost  the  engagement — entanglement, 
or  whatever  it  was — has  been  ended.  And  I 
can  not  see  that }  our  share  in  it  was  so  very 
heinous. ' ' 

"That  is  because  I  have  not  made  it 
clear  ':o  you,  then,"  answered  Marion.  "I, 
too,  always  distrusted  the  man,  but  I  liked 
his  admiration,  his  homage;  it  was  my  first 
taste  of  the  power  for  which,  you  know,  I 
always  longed.  Indeed,  Claire,  there  are  no 
excuses  to  be  made  for  me ;  and  if  the  matter 
ended  well  for  Helen — as  I  reallv  believe 
it  did, — I  am  still  to  blame  for  all  her  suf- 
fering; and  you  do  not  think  that  evil  is 
less  evil  because  good  comes  of  it?" 


"I  certainly  do  not  think  that,"  said. 
Claire.  "But  you  had  no  evil  intention,  I 
am  sure;  you  never  meant  to  hurt  Helen." 

"No,  I  did  not  mean  to  do  so,  but  I  was 
careless  whether  she  suffered  or  not.  I 
thought  only  of  myself — my  own  vanity, 
my  own  amusement.  Nothing  can  change 
that,  and  so  I  have  always  felt  that  it  was 
right  I  should  suffer  just  as  I  made  her 
suffer.  Retribution  came  very  quickly, 
Claire." 

' '  Did  it  ?  "  asked  Claire.  Her  soft,  gray 
eyes  were  full  of  unspoken  sympathy. 
"  Well,  suffering  is  a  great  thing,  dear;  it 
enables  us  to  expiate  so  much!  Tell  me 
about  yours—  if  you  like. ' ' 

"I  feel  as  if  1  had  come  here  just  to  tell 
you,"  said  Marion.  And  then  followed  the 
story  of  her  engagement  to  Brian  Earle,  her 
anger  because  he  would  not  comply  with 
his  uncle's  wishes,  their  parting,  her  un- 
expected inheritance  of  Mr.  Singleton's 
fortune,  Rathborne's  revenge  in  finding  the 
lost  heir,  her  surrender  of  the  fortune  to 
him.  and  her  rejection  of  his  suit. 

"So  here  I  am,"  she  observed  in  conclu- 
sion, with  a  faint  smile, "like  one  who  has 
passed  through  terrible  storms:  who  has 
been  shipwrecked  and  has  barely  escaped 
with  life — that  is,  with  a  fragment  of  self- 
respect.  I  am  so  glad  I  had  stiength  to  give 
up  that  fortune,  Claire!  You  know  how  I 
alwa>s  desired  wealth." 

"I  know  so  well,"  said  Claire,  "that  lam 
proud  of  you— proud  that  you  had  the  cour- 
age to  do  what  must  have  cost  you  so  much. 
But  I  always  told  you  that  I  knew  you 
better  than  you  knew  yourself,  and  I  was 
sure  that  you  would  never  do  anything  un- 
worthy, not  even  to  gain  the  end  you  had 
so  much  at  heart.  But,  Marion  " — her  face 
grew  grave, — "I  have  something  to  tell 
you  that  I  fear  may  prove  unpleasant  to 
you.   Brian  Earle  is  here." 

"Brian  Earle  here!"  repeated  Marion. 
She  became  very  pale,  and  for  a  moment 
was  silent.  Then  she  said,  proudly, "  I  hope 
no  one  will  imagine  that  I  suspected  this.  I 
thought  he  was  in  Germany.  But  it  will 
not  be  necessary  for  me  to  meet  him." 


88 


The  Ave  Afana. 


"That  must  be  for  you  to  decide,"  said 
Claire,  in  a  somewhat  troubled  tone.  *'He 
comes  to  see  us  occasionally — he  is  an  old 
friend  of  Mrs. Ken's, — but,  if  you  desire  it, 
I  will  ask  her  to  let  him  know  that  it  will 
be  best  for  him  to  discontinue  his  visits." 

"No,"  said  Marion,  with  quick^  instinc- 
tive recoil ;  ' '  for  that  would  be  to  acknowl- 
edge that  I  shrink  from  seeing  him.  If  I 
do  shrink,  he  shall  not  be  made  aware  of  it. 
Perhaps,  when  he  knows  that  I  am  here,  he 
will  desire  to  keep  away.  If  not,  I  am — I 
will  be — strong  enough  to  meet  him  with 
indifference. ' ' 

Claire  looked  at  her  steadily,  wistfully ; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  were  trying  to  know  all 
that  might  be  known.  "If  you  do  not  feel 
indifference,"  she  said,  gently,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "is  it  well  to  simulate  it?" 

"How  can  you  ask  such  a  question?" 
demanded  Marion,  with  a  touch  of  her  old 
haughtiness.  "It  is  not  only  well — it  is 
essential  to  my  self-respect.  But  I  do  not 
acknowledge  that  it  will  be  simulation. 
Why  should  I  be  other  than  indifferent  to 
Brian  Earle?  As  I  confessed  to  you  a  few 
minutes  ago,  I  suffered  when  we  parted,  but 
that  is  over  now. ' ' 

"You  care  for  him  no  longer,  then?" 

"Is  it  possible  I  could  care  for  a  man 
who  has  treated  me  as  he  has  done?  For  I 
still  believe  that  it  was  his  duty  to  have 
remained  with  his  uncle,  and  if — if  he  had 
cared  for  me  at  all  he  would  have  done  so." 

"But   perhaps,"  said   Claire,  "he   per 
ceived  that  passionate  desire  of  yours  for 
wealth,  and  thought  thai  it  would  not  be 
well  for  you  to  have  it  gratified.   I  can  im- 
agine that." 

"You  imagine,  then,  exactly  what  he 
was  good  enough  to  say,"  replied  Marion, 
dryly.  "But  I  suppose  you  know  enough 
of  me  to  be  also  able  to  imagine  that  I  was 
not  very  grateful  for  such  a  form  of  regard. 
He  talked  like  a  moralist,  but  he  certainly 
did  not  feel  like  a  lover  and  so  I  let  him 
go.   I  am  not  sorry  for  that. ' ' 

"Then,"  said  Claire,  after  a  short  pause 
of  reflection, "  I  can  not  see  any  reason  why 
you  should  avoid  meeting  him.  There  may 


be  a  little  awkwardness  at  first;  but,  if  you 
have  really  no  feeling  for  him,  that  will  pass 
away. ' ' 

"I  should  prefer  to  avoid  such  a  meeting, 
if  possible,"  answered  Marion;  "but  if  not 
possible,  I  will  endure.  Only,  if  you  can,  give 
me  warning  when  it  is  likely  to  occur." 

"That,  unfortunately,  is  what  I  can 
hardly  do,"  said  Claire,  in  a  tone  of  regret. 
"Our  friends  have  established  a  habit  of 
dropping  in,  without  formality,  almost  any 
evening;  and  so  we  never  know  who  is 
coming,  or  when." 

"  In  that  case  there  is,  of  course,  nothing 
to  be  done.  I  can  only  promise  that,  when- 
ever the  occasion  occurs,  I  will  try  to  be 
equal  to  it." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  answered 
Claire. 

But  she  looked  concerned  as  she  went 
away,  and  it  was  evident  to  Mrs.  Kerr  that 
she  was  more  than  usually  thouiihtful  that 
evening.  As  she  had  said,  their  friends  in 
Rome  found  it  pleasant  to  drop  informally 
into  their  pretty  salon.  Artists  predomi- 
nated among  these  friends,  so  it  was  not 
strange  that  she  watched  the  door,  thinking 
that  Brian  Earle  might  come,  and  conscious 
of  a  wish  that  he  would ;  for  Marion,  plead- 
ing fatigue,  declined  to  appear  on  this  first 
evening  after  her  arrival ;  and  Claire  said  to 
herself  that  if  Earle  did  come,  it  would  give 
her  an  opportunity  to  tell  him  what  meet- 
ing lay  before  him,  and  he  could  then  avoid 
it  if  he  chose  to  do  so.  When,  as  the  even- 
ing pas.^ed  on,  it  became  at  length  clear 
that  he  was  not  coming — and  there  was 
no  reason  beside  her  own  desire  for  expect- 
ing him, — Claire  thought,  with  a  sigh,  that 
events  must  take  their  course,  since  it  was 
plainly  out  of  her  power  to  direct  them. 

(TO  BE   CONTINUED.) 


An  old  cavalier  was  asked,  when  Crom- 
well coined  his  first  money,  what  he  thought 
of  it.  On  one  side  was  the  inscription, ' '  God 
with  us,"  and  on  the  other, 'The  Com- 
monwealth of  England. "  "I  - ee, ' '  he  said, 
' '  that  God  and  the  Commonwealth  are  on 
different  sides." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


89 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


A  CONVERSION  BY  MEANS  OF  THE  HOLY  ROSARY. 


WE  find  the  following  account  of  the 
conversion  of  Queen  Mary  of  Bavaria 
in  a  recent  number  of  our  valued  contem- 
poraiy,the  Indo-European  Correspondetice^ 
of  Calcutta;  it  is  translated  from  the  Apos- 
tolat  du  Tyrol.  The  trait  is  well  calculated 
to  increase  the  piety  and  fervor  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Mary  in  the  daily  recitation  of  the 
Beads,  a  practice  so  strongly  recommended 
by  our  Holy  Father  Leo  XIII. : 

In  1874  the  Queen-Mother,  Mary  of  Bavaria, 
and  relict  of  King  Maximilian  II.,  abjured 
Protestantism  and  was  solemnly  admitted  into 
the  Church.  Her  conversion  caused  a  great 
sensation  throughout  Germany;  for  as  she 
was  by  birth  a  Prussian  princess,  so  was  she 
hitherto  a  zealous  Protestant,  unequalled  in 
her  kindness  to  the  poor,  and  her  charities  of 
various  kinds;  insomuch  that  her  fellow- 
believers,  the  Protestants,  were  proud  of  her 
dazzling  example.  From  the  day  of  her  con- 
version, she  became  a  model  of  Catholic  piety, 
practising  the  virtues  of  a  Christian  with 
charming  simplicity  and  consummate  perfec- 
tion. Now,  this  remarkable  conversion  is  due 
to  the  Beads. 

When  in  1842  she  was  married  to  the  heir 
of  the  crown  of  Bavaria,  she  was  in  the  prime 
of  life  and  gifted  with  the  most  brilliant  qual- 
ities. Great  then,  presumably  speaking,  was  to 
be  the  influence  she  was  destined  to  exercise 
over  the  hearts  of  her  people.  Her  Catholic 
subjects  began  to  feel  uneasy  on  the  score  of 
their  religion.  To  ward  ofi"  the  impending 
danger,  the  pious  ladies  of  Munich  formed  an 
association  on  an  intimate  footing,  the  sole 
object  of  which  was  the  conversion  of  their 
future  Queen.  They  resolved  that  the  chief 
duty  of  their  association  should  be  the  daily 
recitation  of  the  Beads  for  this  intention. 

When  Death  claimed  the  King,  her  hus- 
band, for  his  victim,  Queen  Mary  was  cast 
into  deep  sadness,  and  began  to  see  the  empti- 
ness of  Protestantism;  whereas,  on  the  con- 
trary, she  was  forcibly  struck  with  the  prayers 
and  ceremonies  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
the  common  practice  of  its  devout  people  in 


saying  their  Beads.  Thenceforward  she  deter- 
mined to  seek  for  consolation  in  prayer;  and, 
as  she  often  visited  the  public  hospitals,  she 
became  closely  acquainted  with  the  Sisters  of 
Charity.  It  was  her  delight  to  recommend 
herself  and  her  departed  husband  to  their 
prayers.  She  frequently  asked  the  good  Sis- 
ters to  instruct  her  on  the  manner  of  reciting 
the  Beads;  and,  turning  to  good  account  their 
lessons,  she  set  herself  to  saying  them  with 
daily-increasing  fervor.  Passing  a  part  of  the 
summer  in  one  of  her  country-seats  some- 
where in  the  middle  of  the  Alps,  she  came  in 
contact  with  a  virtuous  priest  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. By  slow  degrees  she  asked  him  to 
explain  to  her  all  the  points  of  the  Catholic 
religion.  The  more  she  listened,  the  more  she 
reflected  and  prayed;  the  more  completely, 
too,  did  her  Protestant  prejudices  vanish;  the 
more,  in  fine,  did  she  feel  herself  drawn  tow- 
ards the  one  only  true  religion  of  Jesus  Christ. 
At  last,  after  long  and  fervent  prayer,  accom- 
panied with  deep  study,  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  become  a  Catholic. 

As  soon  as  they  got  wind  of  her  resolve  at 
Berlin,  they  left  no  stone  unturned  to  change 
her  mind.  They  sent  her  one  of  the  chief 
Protestant  pastors,  in  whom  she  formerly  had 
great  confidence.  He  put  forth  all  his  argu- 
ments to  induce  her  to  remain  a  Protestant. 
But  it  was  all  to  no  purpose;  for,  after  having 
bootlessly  spun  out  all  his  logic,  he  added, 
' '  Then,  madam,  all  you  have  to  do  now  is  to 
say  your  Beads. "  "I  am  already  in  the  habit 
of  saying  them  every  day, "said  the  Queen, 
with  a  smiling  countenance.  The  Protestant 
pastor  found  no  reply  to  this,  and  left  her. 
Shortly  afterwards  the  ceremony  of  her  ab- 
juration and  her  admission  to  the  Sacraments 
took  place,  and  ever  since  the  Queen  has  made 
the  Beads  her  inseparable  companion. 


If  we  take  the  full  pleasure  of  all  that  is 
lawful,  it  is  almost  certain  that  we  shall 
pass  over  the  limit  of  a  lawful  use,  and  go 
onward  before  long  into  that  which  is  un- 
lawful. The  way  to  use  lawful  things  safely 
is  to  keep  far  within  the  boundary,  and  the 
farther  we  keep  within  the  boundary  the 
safer  we  shall  be.  The  most  sparing  use  of 
lawful  things  is  safest. — Cardinal  Man- 
ning. 


90 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Last  month  the  Holy  Father  received  in 
private  audience  two  priests,  zealous  propa- 
gators of  the  devotion  of  the  Holy  Rosary, 
who  made  oflferingof  a  handsome  photograph 
of  an  admirable  painting  by  Vincent  Pacelli, 
representing  Leo  XIILin  the  act  of  reciting 
the  Beads,  kneeling  before  the  Madonna.  The 
Cardinal  Vicar,  who  presented  the  clergymen 
to  his  Holiness  had  written  beneath  the  pho- 
tograph the  text  of  Holy  Scripture:  hispice 
et  fac  secundum  exemplar, — '  Look,  and  follow 
the  example  given  to  you, ' — with  a  few  words 
of  comment.  The  Pope,  after  closely  exam- 
ining the  photograph  and  the  written  sen- 
tences, and  learning  that  the  Fathers  were  to 
devote  themselves  to  the  work  of  propagating 
in  Catholic  families  the  devotion  of  the  Holy 
Rosary,  was  pleased  to  declare  his  supreme 
satisfaction,  "since  nothing  could  be  more 
gratifying  and  acceptable  to  him,"  and  affec- 
tionately blessed  all  connected  with  the  pious 
intention. 

The  Princess  Eugenie,  sister  of  the  King  of 
Sweden,  recently  sold  her  diamonds  to  raise 
funds  in  order  to  complete  a  hospital  in  which 
she  is  interested.  When  visiting  this  hospital, 
after  its  completion,  one  of  the  sufferers  cried 
with  gratitude  as  she  stood  by  his  side,  and  a 
tear  happened  to  fall  upon  her  hand.  "Ah," 
she  said,  as  she  noticed  it,  ' '  now  I  see  my 
diamonds  again! " 

As  a  happy  result  of  the  interest  excited  in 
historical  research  by  Leo  XIII.,  and  his  act 
of  throwing  open  the  Vatican  Library  to  the 
students  of  every  class,  creed,  and  country, 
the  Catholic  Standard,  of  Hobart  (Tasmania), 
notes  the  publication  of  an  able  work,  by  a  dis- 
tinguished Protestant  canon  of  England,  on 
the  history  of  the  Papacy  during  the  period  of 
the  Reformation,  which  quite  upsets  the  pet 
Protestant  views  of  Papal  power  and  action. 
Even  Alexander  VI.  is  shown  not  to  be  by 
any  means  the  infamous  character  that  Prot- 
estant historians  have  been  accustomed  to  de- 
scribe him;  for  "he  was  not  given  either  to 
prodigality  or  luxury."  The  author,  it  is 
worthy  of  remark,  is  professor  of  Ecclesiasti- 
cal History  in  the  University  of  Cambridge. 
We  may  hope  that  the  Holy  Father's  action 


will  have  the  eiTectof  making  many  non-Cath- 
olics see  hov,'  seriously  the  Church  has  been 
misjudged,  and  with  what  prejudice  so  many 
have  written  of  the  Papacy. 


We  had  occasion  not  long  since  to  refer  to 
the  public  recognition  in  Los  Angeles,  Cali- 
fornia, of  the  untiring  zeal  and  courage  dis- 
played bj'  the  Sisters  of  Charity  during  the 
small-pox  epidemic  in  that  city  some  months 
ago.  We  are  gratified  to  learn  that,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  $20,000  voted  to  them  on  that 
occasion  for  their  orphan  asylum,  several  gen- 
erous citizens  of  Los  Angeles  have  made  up  a 
purse  of  equal  amount,  and  presented  it  to  the 
Sisters  for  the  same  purpose. 


The  Commencement  Exercises  of  George- 
town College  have  been  attended  by  all  the 
Presidents  of  the  United  States,  from  Wash- 
ington to  Cleveland. 

In  the  current  number  of  The  Pilgrim  of 
Our  Lady  of  Martyrs  is  a  very  interesting  ac- 
count of  missionary  work  that  is  going  on  in 
South  America,  high  up  in  the  Andes.  This 
locality  was  one  of  the  great  fields  of  labor 
for  the  Jesuits  till  the  modern  spirit  of  liberty 
deemed  it  necessary  to  drive  them  out.  Thir- 
teen years  ago  they  were  allowed  to  go  back, 
and  since  then  they  have  held  their  post  in 
spite  of  the  continual  revolutions  all  around 
them.  Up  on  the  heights  of  the  Andes,  in  the 
wildest  region  of  the  Republic  of  Ecuador, 
you  find  to-day  a  Jesuit  missionary  in  charge 
of  "the  poorest  church  in  the  world."  Read 
the  testimony  rendered  to  his  heroic  and  self- 
sacrificing  work  by  an  English  Protestant 
traveller: 

"  I  had  often,  from  previous  knowledge  of  and 
personal  friendship  with  Jesuits,  admired  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  their  lives;  but  never  was  this  so  mark- 
edly realized  as  now,  when  I  saw  the /fadfr^  busying 
himself  among  these  miserable  suflFerers,  attend- 
ing to  their  physical  requirements,  administering 
remedies,  and  listening  to  their  confessions.  .  .  . 
Can  the  lives  of  our  Protestant  missionaries  be 
compared  to  those  of  Rome  in  abnegation  ?  Those 
who  have  known  both,  be  it  in  the  East  or  in  the 
West,  will  be  able  to  say  which  lead  the  lives 
exemplified  by  their  professed  Master. ' ' 

The  life  of  this  devoted  Jesuit  priest  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  savages  among  whom  he 
lives.  His  food  is  of  the  poorest  and  coarsest 
kind;  he  is  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  every 


The  Ave  Maria. 


91 


kind  of  wild  beast  and  insect.  Many  of  his 
predecessors  have  suffered  martyrdom.  May 
their  deaths  and  his  unselfish  life  be  fruitful 
to  the  building  up  of  Christ's  Church  in  the 
inhospitable  wilds  of  Ecuador! 


' '  A.t  this  time  of  the  year, ' '  observes  the 
Catholic  Review,  '  when  everyone  who  can  fly 
from  the  city's  heat  makes  haste  to  do  so, 
Catholics  should  remember  that  they  are  un- 
der a  peculiar  obligation  in  the  selection  of  a 
place  for  the  summer's  rest.  It  is  hard  to  un- 
derstand how  Catholics  can  deliberately  make 
up  their  minds  to  pass  two  or  three  months  in 
a  place  where  it  will  be  impossible  for  them 
to  be  at  Mass,  even  on  Sundays,  during  the 
whole  time.  Yet  a  great  many  undoubtedly 
decide  upon  their  summer- vacation  place  with- 
out thinking  of  this  matter  at  all,  while  others 
seem  to  think  that  there  is  some  sort  of  dis- 
pensation in  hot  weather. ' ' 


The  French  Chamber  has  refused  to  exempt 
seminarists  from  military  service,  also  to  con- 
sider a  proposal  to  limit  their  service  to  hos- 
pitals and  ambulances.  This  last  suggestion 
received  some  support  even  on  the  Opportu- 
nist benches,  but  the  Government  refused 
even  to  argue  it.  The  exemption  of  priests 
was  defended  by  Mgr.  Freppel  in  a  long  and 
powerful  speech. 

Duke  Paul  of  Mecklenburg,  who  was  re- 
cently converted  from  L,utheranism,  has  sent 
a  letter  to  Pope  lyco  expressing  the  most  filial 
sentiments  of  devotion  towards  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff"  and  loyalty  to  the  Church. 


In  a  recent  issue  of  the  Sunday  News,  of 
Buffalo,  we  find  this  edifying  item,  under  the 
heading  '  'A  Brave  Sister  of  Charity  " : 

"An  accident  that  came  near  resulting  in  the 
death  of  a  deaf-mute  occurred  at  Old  Fort  Erie 
Grove  yesterday  afternoon.  The  Sisters  of  Charity 
with  about  fifty  deaf-mutes,  boys  and  girls,  from 
St.  Mary's  Asylum,  went  over  to  the  grove  yester- 
day for  their  annual  outing.  They  had  a  very 
pleasant  time.  The  train  was  coming  up  from  Fort 
Erie  while  the  happy  party  was  waiting  for  the 
boat.  Just  as  the  train  got  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  party  who  were  standing  near  the  track,  a 
mute  boy  about  fifteen  years  of  age  rushed  out  to 
speak  to  one  of  his  companions.  The  bystanders 
called  to  him  in  frantic  tones  to  look  out,  but  he, 
of  course,  could  not  hear.  Just  as  he  was  almost 


under  the  wheels,  a  brave  Sister  ran  forward  and 
seized  him,  and  got  him  to  the  other  side  of  the 
track.  The  engine  passed  within  a  foot  of  him." 

In  copying  this  paragraph  the  Catholic 
Union  remarks  that  the  secular  press  usually 
speaks  of  all  Sisters  as  Sisters  of  Charity.  ' '  In 
this  case  it  was  a  Sister  of  St.  Joseph  who 
performed  the  heroic  action. ' ' 


A  thoroughly  old-fashioned  Christian's  last 
will  and  testament  is  that  of  the  lately  de- 
ceased Bohemian  Magnate,  Count  Clam-Mar- 
tinic.  Testator,  addressing  his  nephew  and 
successor,  adjures  and  entreats  him,  whatever 
may  happen,  "to  remain  true  to  the  holy 
Catholic  Faith,  to  the  principles  of  honor  and 
virtuous  conduct;  to  preserve  loyalty  to  our 
King  and  Emperor;  love,  attachment,  and  de- 
votion to  our  fatherland  Bohemia;  to  remain 
a  worthy  son  of  his  nation,  and  to  practise 
constant  works  of  fraternal  charity  towards 
all,  especially  towards  the  working  classes  and 
the  poor." — London  Tablet. 


Those  who  bind  The  "Ave  Makia" — and 
we  are  glad  to  know  that  their  number  is  con- 
stantly increasing — can  now  be  supplied  with 
the  table  of  contents  and  title-page  of  Volume 
XXIV.  (January — June.)  Application  for 
missing  numbers  to  complete  files  should  be 
made  without  delay.  Attention  is  directed  to 
the  advertisement  of  covers,  etc. 


Obituary. 

"  //  is  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  jor  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  40 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  Amelia,  of  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame, 
who  was  called  to  her  eternal  rest  on  the  9th  inst., 
at  Roxbury,  Mass. 

Mr.  Edward  McKenna,  an  exemplary  young 
man, whose  death  occurred  at  Pittsfield,Mass.,on 
the  12th  ult. 

Miss  Margaret  McCoy,  of  Versailles,  Conn., 
whose  happy  death,  after  a  long  illness,  took  place 
on  the  6th  inst. 

Mrs.  Anne  Hurley  and  Mrs.  Bridget  Smith,  of 
Chicaffo;  Mr.  Timothy  Murphy,  Glen  More, Wis. ; 
Mrs.  Margaret  Doyle,  Mr.  James  Cahill  Mr.  James 
J.  Lawlor,  Miss  Hannah  Kirby,  Mrs.  Mary  Shea- 
han,  and  Mr.  James  Landrigan  of  Albany,  N.  Y. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


92 


The  Ave  Maria. 


allow  him  to  dispose  of  them  for  you  if  he 


Two  Little  Rustics. 


BY  CLARA  MULHOLLAND,  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MISER 
OF  KINGSCOURT,"  "PERCY'S  REVENGE,"  ETC. 


(Conclusion.) 
IV. 

Marjorie  smiled  through  her  tears,  and 
after  a  time  she  dried  her  eyes,  and,  nestling 
up  close  to  the  old  lady,  told  her  story  from 
beginning  to  end.  Her  new  friends  listened 
attentively,  and  seemed  much  moved. 

"May  I  see  your  sketches,  Miss  Darmer?  " 
asked  Ronald  when  she  had  finished.  "I 
am  fond  of  drawing,  and  know  something 
about  art." 

Matjorie  brightened  considerably,  and 
opened  her  packet. 

"Do  not  be  too  hard  on  me,"  she  said, 
blushing;  "I  am  fond  of  my  painting,  but 
I  have  not  studied  much. ' ' 

' '  I  promise  not  to  be  severe, ' '  he  replied, 
then  thought  sadly,  "  Poor  little  girl!  She 
has  not  studied  much,  yet  she  imagined  she 
could  sell  her  work — enter  into  competition 
with  real  artists.  What  simplicity!" 

Then,  one  by  one,  he  examined  the 
sketches,  and  passed  them  on  to  his  mother. 
The  old  lady  was  in  raptures. 

"They  are  charming!  they  are  really 
beautiful!" 

"Mother,  you  will  make  the  young  lady 
vain." 

"I  always  speak  the  truth,  Ronald;  and 
I  do  not  think  Miss  Darmer  could  be  made 
vain  just  now.  She  has  suffered  too  much 
to-day." 

"You  are  right,  mother,  as  you  always 
are."  And  he  turned  again  to  Marjorie. 
"You  have  a  great  deal  of  talent.  Miss 
Darmer.  These  are  very  pretty.  You  were 
anxious  to  sell  them  in  London?  Now,  I 
have  a  friend  who  knows  a  lot  about  this 
sort  of  thing.  May  I  take  them  to  him,  and 


can 


■3" 


Maijorie's  eyes  sparkled,  a  brilliant  color 
dyed  her  cheeks,  her  little  face  became 
wreathed  in  smiles. 

"If  you  would,"  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands,  "I  should  be  so  grateful!" 

"That  is  right,"  he  said,  laughing;  "I 
like  gratitude.  And  now,  Miss  Darmer,  pray 
give  me  your  address." 

"Rose  Cottage,  Slindon." 

"How  fortunate!  My  mother  and  I  are 
going  to  pay  a  visit  in  that  neighborhood, 
so  I  shall  drop  in  to  see  you  some  day,  and 
tell  you  how  my  friend  succeeds  in  dispos- 
ing of  your  paintings." 

"Thanks!  thanks!"  cried  Marjorie.  "You 
are  more  than  good.  How  shall  I  ever — 
ever  show  my  gratitude?" 

"Perhaps  I  may  tell  you  by  and  by,  when 
we  meet  again. ' ' 

"Please  do.  I  would  do  anything  for 
you." 

Here  the  train  ran  into  Arundel  station, 
and  Marjorie  saw  Celia  peering  into  the 
passing  carriages. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand;  "this  is  where  I  get  out.  Good-bye, 
and  God  bless  you!" 

"Good-bye,"  replied  her  new  friends, — 
' '  good-bye  for  the  present. ' ' 

And  in  another  instant  Marjorie  was  on 
the  platform,  with  Celia' s  arms  around  her. 

"Well,  my  darling,  what  news?"  cried 
Celia.  "How  have  you  fared  in  that  big 
wilderness  of  a  city  ? ' ' 

* '  Badly,  dearest ;  very  badly. ' ' 

"Marjorie!  But  where  is  your  packet  of 
sketches?  If  you  have  sold  all  those,  you 
have  not  done  so  badly." 

' '  I  have — not — sold  any, ' '  answered  Mar- 
jorie, in  a  choking  voice;  "and — I — lost 
my  purse  and  ticket.  I  might  have  been 
wandering  sad  and  lonely  through  London 
this  moment,  only  for  a  good,  kind  man  who 
had  pity  on  me,  and  bought  me  another 
ticket.  But,  O  Celia!  he  made  me  come  first 
class — and  so — and  so  I  owe  him  a  great 
sum  of  money.  I  wish — oh!  how  I  wish  I 
had  stayed  at  home!" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


93 


And  as  the  girls  walked  along  in  the 
dusk,  Marjorie  sobbed  aloud. 

' '  My  poor  little  sister ! ' '  said  Celia,  gently, 
"what  a  bad  time  you  have  had!  But  do 
not  fret,  dearest.  It  is  a  pity,  but  it  was  not 
your  fault.  Some  one  picked  your  pocket 
I  suppose." 

' '  Yes,  in  the  '  bus '  I  think.  Oh !  why  did 
I  ever  start  off  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase? ' ' 

"Well,  dear,  you  thought  it  right  to  go  to 
London.  You  did  it  for  the  best,  so  do  not 
cry,  Marjorie.   Be  brave,  dear;  do  not  cry." 

"I  know  it  is  silly  to  fret — but — but  I 
can't  help  it." 

"I  understand  your  feelings,  dear.  It  is 
very,  very  hard."  And  Celia's  blue  eyes 
were  wet  and  shiny.  "But  what  have  you 
done  with  vour  sl^etches,  Marjorie?  Did 
you  lose  them  also?" 

' '  No :  the  strange  gentleman  took  them, ' ' 
said  Marjorie,  brightening.  "O  Celia!  he 
was  so  kind !  And  his  dear  little  mother  had 
the  sweetest  face  in  the  world,  and  spoke 
to  me  so  gently!  I  forgot  all  my  trouble 
when  I  was  talking  to  them.  He — I  don't 
know  his  name — took  my  sketches,  and 
promised  to  show  them  to  some  friend,  who 
would  perhaps  sell  them  for  me." 

' '  Then  you  have  had  good  luck,  after 
all!"  cried  Celia,  joyfully.  "I  knew  my  old 
slipper  would  be  of  use. ' ' 
•  "Your  old  slipper?"    Marjorie  looked 
puzzled. 

"Yes — at  least  it  was  one  of  mother's 
white  satin  wedding-shoes ;  for  I  never  had 
such  a  thing.  I  heard  it  was  lucky  to  throw 
a  slipper  after  people  when  they  went  on  a 
journey,  so  I  threw  one  after  you  as  you 
went  off  in  the  train. ' ' 

Marjorie  stopped  short,  and  her  merry 
laugh  rang  out  upon  the  evening  breeze. 

"You  dear,  good, simple  little  goose!  O 
^Celia!  if  any  one  had  seen  you!" 

"Some  one  did  see  me." 

"Who?" 

"The  Squire — or  at  least  his  sister,  and 
;she  told  him  what  I  had  done." 

"And  he—?" 

"Laughed,  and  said  he  hoped  it  would 
'bring  you  good  luck,  and  it  has." 


"Perhaps,"  replied  Marjorie,  thought- 
fully. ' '  Yes,  I  am  sure  he  will  do  what  he 
said;  and  if  my  sketches  are  worth  any- 
thing, he  will  dispose  of  them  for  me. ' ' 

' '  Then  he  is  a  brick.  Pardon  the  slang 
expression,  sweet  sister, ' '  cried  Celia,  gaily. 
"But  no  other  word  says  so  plainly  that  a 
man  is  good — thoroughly  good." 

' '  Then  I  forgive  you,  dearest ;  for  I  believe 
he  is  all  that.  He  has  a  noble  face,  and  his 
mother  is  a  darling. ' ' 

"That  sounds  very  nice.  I  wish  I  had 
seen  them." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  may  soon.  I  gave 
him  our  address,  and,  as  he  is  going  to  stay 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  he  will 
call  and  tell  me  what  his  friend  thinks.  His 
mother  will  come  with  him,  I  hope." 

"So  do  I.  And  when  he  comes  I  am  sure 
he  will  have  good  news  for  you,  Marjorie. 
!He  would  never  have  taken  your  sketches 
unless  he  had  thought  them  clever. ' ' 

' '  Perhaps  not.  But,  unless  he  gives  me 
great  encouragement,  I  shall  not  do  any 
more  painting.  I  shall  advertise  at  once  for 
a  place  as  nursery  governess. ' ' 

"Not  yet,  Marjorie;  not  yet.  Please  wait 
till  the  summer  is  over." 

"But  why?  If  a  thing  is  to  be  done,  it 
ought  to  be  done  at  once." 

"True,  but  we  are  going  to  have  a  little 
gayety  here  soon.  Mr.  Lindon's  cousin  from 
Jamaica,  a  Mr.  Vane,  is  coming  to  stay  at  the 
Court,  and  Miss  Lindon  is  going  to,  give  a 
big  tennis  party.  So  you  must  not  think 
of  going  till  that  is  over." 

"My  dear  Celia,  I  shall  probably  wait 
longer  than  that  for  my  situation.  They 
are  not  always  easy  to  get." 

"So  much  the  better.  Let  us  put  off  the 
evil  day  as  long  as  possible." 

" Naughty  little  temptress!"  cried  Mar- 
jorie, shaking  her  head.  "But  when  did 
you  hear  this  news,  Celia?" 

"This  morning.  After  I  had  thrown  my 
old  shoe,  I  went  for  a  drive  with  the  Squire 
and  his  sister." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  me — wild  little  me,"  answered 
Celia,  with  a  total  disregard  for  grammar. 


94 


Xhe  Ave  AlarKi, 


'  'And  the  Squire  was  so  nice !  He  says  we 
are  to  have  gay  doings  when  his  cousin 
comes.  And  he's  so  simple  when  he  talks, 
and  says  such  pleasant  things  that  one  for- 
gets he  is  such  a  clever,  serious  man.  We 
had  a  most  delightful  drive." 

"Yes?   I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  it.   But 
when  does  this  cousin  arrive?" 
'      "To-night.   Miss  Lindon  told  him  to  go 
on  to  Farnham.  It  is  nearer  the  Court  than 
Arundel." 

' '  Yes — but,  O  Celia !  here  we  are  at  home ! 
How  shall  I  ever  tell  mother  my  misfort- 
unes?  It  will  be  very,  very  hard." 

But  when  Marjorie  found  herself  seated 
at  her  mother's  feet,  her  head  resting  on 
her  knee,  her  face  well  hidden  from  sight, 
she  found  it  easy  enough  to  pour  forth  a 
full  account  of  all  that  had  happened  since 
her  departure  for  London  that  morning. 

"You  did  what  you  believed  to  be  your 
duty,  dearest,"  said  Mrs.  Darmer,  gently; 
"so  you  must  not  blame  yourself.  I  am 
sorry  you  are  disappointed.  But  I  am  not 
surprised.  I  never  expected  much  from  this 
visit  to  London.  God  took  care  of  you,  and 
sent  that  kind-hearted  stranger  to  your  aid. 
I  am  deeply  grateful  to  Him  for  His  pro- 
tection, and  glad  to  have  my  Marjorie  safe 
home.  I  prayed  fervently  for  you,  darling, 
and  asked  Our  Blessed  Lady  to  watch  over 
you.  I  feel  now  that  my  prayers  were  not 
in  vain.  You  were  well  taken  care  of  in 
your  hour  of  need.  We  must  pay  this  gen- 
tleman what  he  spent  for  your  ticket,  and 
redeem  Celia' s  brooch." 

"Yes,  mother,  and  I  am  determined  to 
go  out  as  a  nursery  governess.  I  see  now  I 
can  not  earn  money  by  my  painting.  I  will 
not  be  a  burden  on  you  any  longer." 

"My  poor  darling!  I  am  afraid  there  is 
nothing  else  to  be  done — at  least  for  a  time. 
It  is  a  trying  life,  I  fear.  But  you  are  a  good, 
brave  girl,  and  God  will  bless  you."  And 
Mrs.  Darmer  kissed  the  little  brown  face 
■with  loving  tenderness. 

Next  day  Marjorie  sent  her  advertisement 
to  the  Times^  and  resolved  to  accept  the 
first  situation  that  should  offer  itself.  From 
her  mother's  manner  she  felt  sure  that  her 


difficulties  were  greater  than  she  had  ever 
imagined;  so,  no  matter  what  it  might  cost 
her  to  leave  her  home,  she  was  determined 
to  do  so  as  soon  as  possible.  But  in  the 
meantime  she  would  be  bright  and  cheerful. 
No  one  should  know  how  much  she  suf- 
fered, and  she  begged  her  mother  and  sister 
never  to  mention  the  subject.  Mrs.  Darmer 
gladly  assented,  so  did  Celia,  and  life  at  the 
cottage  went  on  as  before. 

One  morning,  some  ten  days  later,  the 
two  girls  sat  with  their  mother  in  the  little 
arbor  on  the  lawn.  Mrs.  Darmer  and  Mar- 
jorie were  sewing  busily.  Celia  was  reading 
aloud.  Suddenly  a  shadow  fell  upon  her 
book,  and  two  gentlemen  stood  bowing  in 
the  door- way. 

"Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  Miss 
Celia,"  said  the  Squire's  cheery  voice. 
"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Darmer.  Allow  me 
to  introduce  my  cousin,  Mr.  Ronald  Vane." 

And  as  her  mother  went  forward  to  greet 
the  visitors,  Marjorie  started  to  her  feet 
with  a  cry  of  surprise. 
'  "My  friend,  Celia, — the  kind  gentleman 
who  helped  me  that  day !  Isn't  it  wonderful 
that  he  should  be  the  Squire's — " 

' '  You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  hope,  Miss 
Darmer  ? ' '  said  Mr.  Vane.  ' '  I  have  thought 
a  great  deal  about  you  since  we  parted. ' ' 

"No,  indeed,  I  have  not  forgotten  you," 
she  cried,  putting  her  hand  in  his,  and  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "I  never, 
never  could.  And  your  mother — the  dear, 
kind  old  lady — is  she  well?" 

"Quite,  thanks;  and  most  anxious  to  see 
you  again.  She  took  a  great  fancy  to  you 
that  day  in  the  train.  And  now  you  must 
introduce  me  to  your  sister;  for  of  course 
this  is  Miss  Celia,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so 
much."  And  he  looked  admiringly  at  the 
beautiful  young  girl. 

"Yes,  this  is  Celia,"  replied  Marjorie, 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure;  for  she  noticed 
the  admiration  in  his  glance. 

"She  is  not  at  all  like  you,'"'  he  remarked, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.  ' '  I  never  - 
saw  two  sisters  more  unlike. "' 

Marjorie  laughed  softly.  ' '  No, ' '  she  saidi,, 
"we  are  not  at  all  like  each  other.'" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


95 


"You  must  not  judge  by  appearances," 
cried  Celia,  raising  her  head  and  looking  at 
him  a  little  defiantly.  "I  am  more  like 
Marjorie  than  you  would  suppose.  I  have 
the  same  wish  to  work,  but  unfortunately  I 
am  stupid,  whilst  she  is  clever  and — ' ' 

"Celia!"  cried  Marjorie;  "you  know 
that  is  not  true." 

"Marjorie  Darmer, itis.  I  can  do  noth- 
ing— absolutely  nothing,  and  am  quite  tired 
of  being  told  that  I  am  pretty,  and  so  must 
stay  at  home;  whilst  you — but  you  know 
how  clever  she  is,  Mr.  Vane.  You  have  seen 
her  sketches." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  amused  at  the  girl's 
quaint  manner,  but  anxious  not  to  show  his 
amusement,  lest  he  should  oifend  her;  "and 
that  is  what  I  have  come  to  talk  about.  I 
have  good  news  for  you.  Miss  Maijorie." 

"Really?" 

The  girls  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and 
looked  at  him  with  shining  eyes. 

"My  friend  has  kept  all  the  sketches  I 
sent  him,  and  is  willing  to  pay  twenty-four 
shillings  a  dozen  for  them.  If  you  agree,  he 
would  like  you  to  do  several  dozen  at  the 
same  rale  as  soon  as  you  can.  It  is  not  high 
payment,  but  just  to  begin— ^" 

"O  Mr. Vane!  it  is  splendid!"  cried  the 
sisters  in  a  breath.  "Thank  you  —  thank 
you  a  hundred  times!" 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased,"  he  said. 
"Mr.  Lindon  thought  you  would  be.  I  my- 
self think  the  pay  miserable,  so  does  my 
mother. ' ' 

"If  you  had  trudged  through  the  London 
shops  imploring  men  to  buy,  and  been  re- 
jected as  I  was,  you  would  not  think  so  little 
of  the  price,"  said  Marjorie,  gravely.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  going  to  make  my 
fortune. ' ' 

"Here,  then,  is  the  beginning  of  that 
great  fortune,"  he  answered,  smiling,  as  he 
opened  his  pocket-book  and  drew  out  a 
cheque.  "This  came  from  my  friend  this 
morning — the  price  of  the  sketches  I  sent 
him.  There  were  two  dozen  in  all,  so  he 
sends  forty-eight  shillings. ' ' 

"Oh!"  cried  Marjorie,  joyfully.  "I  shall 
soon  send  him  some  more.  Thank  you  so 


much!  You  have  indeed  been  a  tiue  friend^ 
to  me.  And  now,"  she  said,  blushing,  "1 
hope  you  will  tell  me  how  much  my  ticket 
was  that  day,  and  allow  me  to  repay  you."' 

"May  I  ask  a  favor.  Miss  Marjorie?" 

"As  many  as  you  like,"  she  cried,  gaily.. 
"O  Mr. Vane!  I  feel  so  happy!" 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  but  what  I  want  yotb 
to  do  is  this.  Pay  me  in  kind, not  in  money:" 

"In  kind?"  repeated  Marjorie,  looking 
bewildered. 

' '  Yes,  in  kind.  Paint  me  a  pretty  picture^ 
and  allow  me  to  choose  the  subject." 

' '  With  the  greatest  pleasure.  When  shall 
I  begin?" 

"To-morrow,  if  you  have  no  objection. 
My  mother.  Miss  Lindon,  perhaps  the 
Squire,  and  I  will  call  early  in  the  mornings 
and  we  shall  all  wander  together  through 
the  woods  till  we  find  an  inspiring  place. 
Then  we  shall  sit  down,  and  you  can,  if 
you  like,  begin  your  picture,  whilst  we  talk 
and  look  on." 

"That  will  be  charming!"  ciied  Mar- 
jorie. "And  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  dear 
Mrs.  Vane  again — " 

"Well,  Ronald,  have  you  made  your  ar- 
rangements?" asked  the  Squire,  coming 
back  from  his  walk  round  the  garden  with 
Mrs.  Darmer. 

"Yes,  and,  if  Mrs.  Darmer  has  no  objec- 
tion, I  think  the  young  ladies  are  quite 
content. ' ' 

' '  I  have  no  objection,  indeed, ' '  cried  Mrs.. 
Darmer,  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion.  "Mr:. 
Lindon  has  told  me  what  you  have  done — 
what  you  mean  to  do.  My  Maijorie  is  fort- 
unate in  finding  such  a  friend." 

"It  was  all  caused  by  that  old  satin 
shoe, ' '  cried  Celia,  gaily.  ' '  I  knew  it  would, 
surely  bring  Marjorie  good  luck." 

"Miss  Lindon  was  shocked  at  such  mis*- 
use  of  the  ancient  slipper,"  said  Ronald^, 
laughing. 

"Yes,  but  the  Squire  was  not,"  replied! 
Celia;  "he  knew  it  was  only  for  fun." 

"Of  course  I  did,"  said  that  gentleman,, 
smiling.  "I  told  Lydia  it  was  a  harmless, 
joke.  So  now  good-bye  till  to-morrow,  when 
we  are  to  meet  in  the  woods.    My  sister 


•96 


k'kb  Ave  Maria. 


brings  provisions  for  a  picnic  lunch.  Good- 
bye." 

And,  shaking  hands  with  the  ladies,  the 
^gentlemen  took  their  departure. 

For  the  next  three  weeks  the  two  girls 
"were  supremely  happy.  The  summer  days 
w^ere  warm  and  bright/  and  many  hours 
were  spent  in  the  shady  woods  with  their 
friends.  Marjorie  made  rapid  progress  with 
ier  painting,  and  the  other  ladies  got 
through  a  large  quantity  of  sewing,  as  they 
sat  together  under  the  trees.  Mr.  Vane  and 
the  Squire  were  their  constant  companions, 
and  helped  to  make  the  meetings  enjoyable 
by  reading  aloud  to  them  from  some  inter- 
esting book. 

Thus  time  passed  pleasantly,  and  Mar- 
jorie was  full  of  hope;  for  as  fresh  orders  for 
Christmas  cards,  birthday  cards,  and  menus 
^ame  in,  she  felt  sure  she  could  now  help 
"her  mother  sufficiently  without  leaving  her 
liome.  And  so  the  advertisement  in  the 
Times  was  promptly  withdrawn.  Several 
small  debts  were  also  paid,  and  they  were 
ready  to  redeem  Celia's  brooch. 

Meantime  Miss  Lindon's   tennis  party 
-<}ame  off,  and  it  resulted  in  two  engagements. 

There  was  much  astonishment  amongst 
the  good  people  of  Slindon  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  Ronald  Vane,  the  rich  Jamaica 
merchant,  had  chosen  plain  little  Marjorie 
Darmer  as  his  wife.  But  their  amazement 
was  greater  still  when  they  learned  that  the 
grave,  studious  Squire  had  wooed  and  won 
the  beautiful,  vivacious  Celia. 

So  one  day,  just  before  Christmas,  there 
was  a  double  wedding  in  the  little  ivy- 
.:grown  church,  and  Mrs.  Darmer' s  money 
troubles  were  at  an  eod  forever. 


A  Lesson  for  a  King. 


It  used  to  be  said  of  Father  Gourdan,  a 
-religious  of  the  last  century,  who  had  a  great 
-reputation  for  virtue,  that  his  brother,  who 
was  a  cantor,  sang  the  praises  of  the  saints, 
-and  that  he  imitated  them.  One  day  the  Due 
deVilleroi  brought  the  youthful  King,  Louis 
.XV.,  to  see  him.   It  was  the  hour  of  Ves 


pers.  The  porter  was  told  to  inform  Father 
Gourdan  that  his  Majesty  asked  for  him. 
The  porter  replied :  "  It  is  of  no  use;  for  if 
it  were  the  Pope  himself  he  would  not  come 
out  until  the  Office  is  finished."  In  fact, 
not  until  the  Office  was  ended  did  the  holy 
monk  appear.  Then  he  presented  himself, 
conversed  with  the  King  in  the  most  edify- 
ing manner,  and  the  latter,  touched  by  his 
words,  recommended  himself  to  his  prayers. 
When  subsequently  the  Father  was  accused 
of  keeping  the  King  waiting,  his  Majesty 
observed:  "He  was  right:  he  was  serving 
a  Master  whom  I  ought  to  serve  myself" 
From  that  time  the  King  sent  him  every 
year,  by  the  First  Groom  of  the  Chamber, 
his  blessed  taper  on  Candlemas  Day. 


Cardinal  Gibbons  as  a  Peacemaker. 


While  Cardinal  Gibbons  was  driving  in 
the  suburbs  of  Baltimore  the  other  day,  he 
saw  a  number  of  boys  indulging  in  a  free 
fight,  the  outcome  of  a  game  pf  baseball. 
The  Cardinal  told  his  driver  to  stop,  and, 
alighting  from  the  carriage,  hastened  to 
where  the  melee  was  going  on,  separated  the 
astonished  combatants,  and  acted  the  part 
of  a  peacemaker  all  around.  He  soon  had 
the  youngsters  in  good  humor,  and  walked 
back  to  his  carriage  as  quietly  as  he  came. 
Just  as  he  was  driving  off,  one  of  the  boys 
proposed  three  cheers  for*the  Cardinal, 
which  were  given  with  a  will. 


A  Pretty  Legend  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales. 


At  the  death  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales  it  was 
remarked  that  one  of  his  breviaries, which 
remained  in  a  Convent  of  the  Visitation 
that  he  had  founded  shortly  before  in  Bur- 
gundy, opened  of  its  own  accord  and  began 
to  fill  the  house  with  the  sweetest  odor. 
This  miracle  was  looked  upon  as  a  divine 
testimony  to  his  piety,  and  as  an  earnest 
that  he  had  begun  in  heaven,  never  more 
to  cease,  the  office  of  blessing  and  praise 
which  he  had  sung  here  below  with  so  an- 
gelic a  fervor. 


'tH^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUIvY  30,  1887. 


No.  5. 


(CopTTiicht  — R«Y.  D.  E.  Htneon,  C.  8.  C.l 


Midsummer. 


BY    WILLIAM    D.    KELLY. 


mIDSUMMER,  and  in  meadowlands  the 
lush 
Green  grasses  rippling  in  the  passing  breeze, 
As  dimples  the  smooth  surface  of  the  seas 
Which  south  winds  softly  with  their  pinions 

brush; 
Cornfields,  where,  when,  the  feathered  song- 
sters hush, 
One  hears  a  burst  of  insect  melodies; 
Fruits  bending  down  the  branches  of  the 
trees. 
And  wild  vines  where  the  ripening  berries 
blush: 

Dear  mother  of  the  Maid  Immaculate, 
St.  Anne,  who  bore  Her  who  begot  the  I^ord, 
And  thus  had  part  in  that  great  act  which 

brought 
The  world  the  Saviour  it  so  long  had  sought ; 
This  month,  with  all  its  promise  of  reward. 
To  thy  blest  motherhood  is  consecrate. 


A  Far-Famed  Shrine  of  the  New  World. 


(Conclusion.) 
HE  sun  rose  clear  and  bright  over 
fortress-crowned  Quebec  as  the 
Canada  steamed  up  to  a  wharf, 
where  was  waiting  the  little  lender,  Broth- 
ers^ to  which  the  pilgrims  were  transferred, 
and  which  left  for  St.  Anne's  at  5.30  a.  m. 
What  pen  can  tell  the  beauties  of  that  sail ! 


How  picturesque  are  the  rugged  outlints 
and  quaint  architecture  of  old  Quebec,  the 
cradle  of  the  Canadian  race,  its  grim  bastions 
and  moss-grown  glacis  towering  against  the 
sky,  confronting  the  green  heights  of  Point 
L<evis  across  the  mighty  stream,  over  which 
they  have  kept  their  solemn  watch  since 
time  began! 

The  district  lying  between  Quebec  and 
St.  Anne's,  known  as  the  Cote  de  Beaupre, 
affords  to  the  traveller  who  may  be  ignorant 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  Province  of 
Quebec,  the  best  opportunity  of  seeing  for 
himself  the  strong  stamp  of  national  char- 
acter that  is  indelibly  impressed  on  the 
descendants  of  the  early  French  colonists. 
It  is  by  studying  the  peasantry  of  a  coun- 
try that  we  can  best  learn  that  country's 
past  and  future.  These  habitans^  as  they 
are  called,  are  a  race  that,  with  a  loyalty 
amounting  to  a  passionate  love  of  the  coun- 
try given  to  civilization  by  their  ancestors, 
and  an  unyielding  determination  to  uphold 
their  religion,  their  language,  and  their 
laws,  were  the  first  to  bear  the  name  now 
given  to  all  the  natives  of  the  great  Domin- 
ion— Canad  ians. 

But  to  return  to  the  Cote  de  Beaupr^,  as 
the  little  steamer  glides  past  its  wave-kissed 
shores.  How  beautiful  is  the  Fall  of  Mont- 
morency, dashing  headlong  over  its  rocky 
steps,  a  wonderful  path  of  silvery  light  in 
the  distance ;  then,  as  we  come  near,  an  angry 
torrent,  discharging  its  foaming  body  of 
waters  down  a  dizzy  height  amid  rainbow- 
hued  clouds  of  glittering  spra> !    To  our 


98 


The  Ave  Maria. 


right,  green  and  smiling  in  its  placid  love- 
liness, is  He  d' Orleans;  to  our  left,  after 
Montmorency,  comes  the  picturesque  vil- 
lage of  Cbateau  Richer, then  beautiful  Ange 
Gardien,  and  then  the  goal  for  our  seven 
hundred  pilgrims,  Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre. 

Apart  from  its  fame  as  a  miraculous 
shrine,  the  village  of  St.  Anne  would  be 
noticed  for  its  natural  loveliness.  It  lies  in 
the  shadow  of  the  Laurentian  Mountains, 
— a  picturesque  cluster  of  cottages,  with  the 
goodly-proportioned  church  standing  out  in 
bold  relief.  Away  up  on  the  hill-side  is  the 
convent  of  the  Soeurs  Grises;  below  it,  and 
adjoining  the  church,  is  the  monastery  of 
the  Redemptorist  Fathers.  Running  down 
through  a  verdant  marsh,  a  long  pier  rises 
from  water  so  deep  that  the  pilgrimage 
boats  can  lie  up  beside  it,  and  thus  spare 
their  passengers  the  inconvenient  mode  of 
transit  of  former  years,  when  pilgrims  were 
all  landed  in  small  boats,  that  were  paddled 
to  the  water's  edge,  where  they  were  ex- 
changed for  carts,  which  in  turn  were  em- 
bedded in  the  mud,  forcing  their  occupants 
to  wade  to  shore.  Now  we  walk  serenely 
up  the  gangway;  or,  if  the  tide  be  low, 
scramble  up, — a  difl&cult  matter  for  some  of 
the  ill  and  infirm.  It  is  pitiful  to  note  the 
expression  of  some  of  the  faces :  such  wist- 
ful hope, such  earnest  faith;  so  many  who 
•feel  that  this  for  them  is  life  or  death- 

We  pass  quickly  along  the  pier,  and  up 
the  village  street,  which  brings  us  to  the 
House  of  God.  A  Mass  is  being  said  for 
a  ' '  Lower  St.  Lawrence ' '  pilgrimage,  and 
the  church  is  quite  full;  so  we  take  advan- 
tage of  the  time  of  waiting  to  visit  the  cele 
brated  fountain  of  water,  from  which  many 
vessels  are  filled,  in  order  that  the  benefits 
of  the  visit  to  this  shrine  of  St.  Anne  may 
be  extended  to  the  homes  of  the  pilgrims. 
The  old  chapel  stands  near  the  fountain. 
On  entering  we  are  struck  by  its  simplicity. 
There  are  no  pews;  on  the  walls  hang 
paintings  so  old  that  their  subjects  are 
barely  distinguishable.  Two  very  ancient 
statues  stand  one  on  either  side  of  the  altar. 
A  crowd  has  congregated  in  one  part  of  the 
chapel ;  we  approach,  to  find  them  gazing  at 


a  block  of  wood — a  portion  of  the  pioneer 
church  built  in  the  days  of  the  first  settlers 
at  Petit  Cap.  Outside  of  the  chapel  is  the 
little  graveyard, where  repose  many  "good 
and  faithful  servants."  The  bell  collects 
the  scattered  band  of  pilgrims,  who  soon  fill 
the  new  church  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

There  are  few  more  striking  scenes  than 
a  pilgrimage  Communion  at  the  shrine  of 
Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre.  After  long  weeks, 
sometimes  months  or  years,  of  prayer  and 
faith  and  patience,  the  supreme  moment 
has  arrived — God  is  about  to  come  unto 
His  own  in  this  His  most  holy  place;  and, 
whether  the  pleading  prayer  be  granted,  or 
whether  the  grace  be  withheld,  each  knows 
it  will  be  well  with  him;  for  God's  will 
must  be  best.  Oh !  the  hope,  the  yearning 
for  a  special  manifestation  of  divine  grace, 
followed  by  an  expression  of  awe,  almost  of 
terror,  as  the  poor  cripple  feels  the  thrill  of 
returning  strength,  and,  tottering  on  limbs 
so  long  useless,  goes  back  to  kneel  and  give 
thanks  to  God  and  to  St.  Anne!  Such  was 
the  case  of  one  poor  woman  of  our  pilgrim- 
age, who  added  two  more  crutches  to  the 
pyramid  standing  on  the  epistle  side  of  the 
sanctuary. 

This  pyramid  is  about  thirty  feet  high, 
and  is  composed  of  all  sorts  of  crutches 
and  other  reliefs  for  suffering  humanity.  So 
many  of  these  have  been  left  here  that  the 
Rev.  Fathers,  not  knowing  how  to  dispose 
of  them,  were  obliged  recently  to  have  a 
large  number  burned. 

After  Mass,  and  an  address  by  the  Rev. 
Father  Burke,  C.  SS.  R.,  we  venerated  the 
holy  relic  of  St.  Anne,  and  then  dispersed. 
The  morning  air  from  the  mountains  in 
this  historic  spot  is  apt  to  make  one  prosa- 
ically, painfully,  piteously  hungry.  Even 
the  sincerely  religious  fervor  that  upheld  us 
through  the  solemn  exercises  of  the  jnorn- 
ing  can  not  successfully  quiet  the  cravings 
of  the  inner  man.  Breakfast,  therefore,  was 
our  prevailing  thought.  Some  of  us  were 
most  hospitably  entertained  by  the  good 
Fathers;  others  went  up  to  the  convent, 
where  the  Sisters  are  always  in  readiness 
for  the  hungry  pilgrim;  others  again  be- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


99 


took  themselves  to  the  numerous  hostleries, 
which  are  uniformly  clean  and  well  kept. 

The  village  consists  of  one  long  and  some- 
what crooked  street;  the  inns  are  inter- 
spersed with  clean  and  comfortable  private 
dwellings,  of  which  we  may  often  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  interior,  and  note  the  union 
of  past  and  present  that  is  everywhere  re- 
markable in  this  quaint  Cote  de  Beaupre. 
Imagine  a  picturesque  old  grandam,  whose 
drawn  silk  cap  might  have  been  fashioned 
in  the  days  of  Samuel  de  Champlain,  and 
whose  nervous  brown  hands  deftly  ply  her 
old-fashioned  spinning-wheel,  while  beside 
her,  in  a  costume  of  the  present  day,  her 
daughter  sits  with  feet  on  the  treadles  of 
that  triumph  of  American  "institutions" 
— an  improved,  patent,  generally  faultless 
sewing-machine ! 

In  summer  evenings  these  villagers  re- 
move the  furniture  to  the  sidewalk,  where 
the  usual  avocations  are  calmly  pursued; 
the  father,  in  his  toque  bleue^  smokes  his 
short  pipe;  the  mother  has  her  knitting — 
generally  a  stocking  on  five  needles, — and 
there  is  somebody  patient  enough  to  rock 
the  inevitable  baby  whilst  the  rest  of  the 
family  indulge  in  music  and  dancing. 

The  village  post-office  at  St.  Anne's  bears 
the  somewhat  peculiar  sign,  ^''Bureau  de 
Poste-  Office. ' '  ' '/«"  Bonne  Maison  de  Pen- 
sion^^''  hangs  from  every  second  gable;  but 
of  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  village  the 
most  striking  is  a  huge  sign-board  bearing 
the  inscription,  "jG".  Lachance^  Epoux  de 
Dlle.  Mercier. ' '  Now,  for  a  man  to  pose  as 
a  candidate  for  public  patronage  because  he 
is  the  son  of  his  father,  or  the  successor  of 
his  uncle,  is  common  enough ;  but  why  the 
husband  of  the  Demoiselle  Mercier  should 
proclaim  the  fact  of  his  so  being  from  his 
house-top  puzzled  us  not  a  little. 

We  learned  that  "a  many  yfears  ago," 
next  door  to  this  old  hostlery  stood  a  maison 
de  pension  kept  by  one  Mercier,  who  had 
two  daughters,  one  of  whom  was  so  win- 
ning, so  obliging,  so  attentive,  and  so  cour- 
teous, that  she  attracted  a  large  share  of 
custom  to  her  father's  inn.  An  enterprising 
candidate  for  the  patronage  of  the  travelling  | 


public  kept  the  hostlery  next  door — one 
I/achance,  a  lonely  bachelor.  For  once  love 
and  interest  went  hand  in  hand ;  he  wooed 
and  won  the  village  belle,  and,  having  se- 
cured as  custodian  of  his  Lares  and  Penates 
the  magnet  of  the  Mercier  Inn,  he  pro- 
claimed the  fact  upon  the  curious  sign 
which  amuses  every  visitor  to  the  village  of 
St.  Anne. 

Those  hanging  signs,  among  the  more 
unpretentious  class  of  Canadian  trades- 
people, are  often  very  comical  in  their 
strained  adaptations  to  the  two  languages 
spoken  almost  equally  in  the  towns  of 
Quebec  and  Montreal.  We  recollect  once 
seeing,  set  forth  in  white  letters  on  a  ver- 
milion ground,  the  intimation  that  the  sec- 
ond floor  was  occupied  by  ''''Mad.  Pigeon., 
couturihre  dans  les  hardes  d'' hommeSy^'^ 
which,  on  the  reverse  of  the  sigti,  was  kindly 
translated  for  the  passer-by  into,  "Mad. 
Pigeon,  dressmaker  in  men's  clothes"! 

One  can  not  leave  St.  Anne's  without 
a  second  and  quieter  exploring  of  the 
churches  and  their  treasures.  The  statue 
of  St.  Anne,  which  is  the  most  prominent 
object  in  the  parish  church,  is  very  fine;  it 
is  from  the  studio  of  M.  Zens,  of  Belgium, 
and  was  given  by  the  family  of  Father 
Hendrickx,  C.  SS.  R.  Below  this  gracious 
figure  of  the  mother  of  Our  Blessed  I^ady 
a  poor  blind  boy  was  kneeling  in  an  attitude 
of  earnest  supplication.  With  accents  of 
pitiful  entreaty  he  murmured  again  and 
again,  '''' Bonne  Ste.  Anne,  gukrisses  mes 
yeuxf''  and  from  the  sightless  eyes  scald- 
ing tears  fell  upon  the  little  folded  hands. 
Poor  child !  it  made  one  sad  to  leave  him 
there;  surely  such  faith  must  be  rewarded. 

Many  and  wonderful  are  the  cures  con- 
stantly reported  at  the  favored  shrine. 
From  the  day  when  Samuel  de  Champlain 
planted  the  white  flag  of  France  over  the 
site  of  Quebec,  to  our  own  more  favored  age, 
thousands  of  Canadians  have  echoed  the 
cry  ^^''Bonne  Ste.  Anne.^  priez  pour  nous.f'' 
confident  that  even  if  the  cure  come  not,  yet 
the  prayer  will  be  crystallized  into  a  shower 
of  graces  falling  on  the  head  of  the  earnest 
suppliant. 


lOO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

MME.  DE  SEGUR  bade  her  son  good- 
bye on  the  25th  of  April.  On  that  day, 
immediately  after  taking  leave  of  her  and 
his  beloved  sister  Sabine,  he  mentioned  to 
•  his  friend,  Mgr.  Conny,  that  he  felt  a  slight 
pain  in  his  left  eye,  and  noticed  a  red  spot  in 
the  comer  of  it.  The  pain  passed  off,  how- 
ever, and  he  thought  no  more  about  it.  On 
the  ist  of  May — the  first  day  of  the  Month 
of  Mary — he  assisted  at  a  session  of  the 
Rota,  came  home  feeling  very  tired,  and  by 
way  of  resting  himself  sat  down  to  his 
painting.  Suddenly  the  little  red  spot  on 
his  left  eye  spread  all  over  it,  covering  the 
pupil  like  a  curtain;  then,  instantly,  the 
sight  went  out,  and  the  eye  became  stone- 
blind.  He  said  to  himself  at  once,  "It  is 
paralysis  of  the  optic  nerve;  the  other  eye 
will  soon  go. ' ' 

Mgr.  Conny  came  in  a  few  moments 
later,  and  on  learning  what  had  happened 
was  greatly  shocked;  he  saw  at  once  the 
gravity  of  the  malady,  and  went  off  with 
Mgr.  de  Segur  to  consult  Dr.  Mayer,  the 
oculist  of  his  dear  friends,  the  soldiers.  Dr. 
Mayer  said  it  was  very  serious,  ordered  ab- 
solute rest,  and  a  rkgime  for  the  general 
health  The  two  friends  walked  home  by 
the  streets  along  the  Quirinal  gardens. 
Mgr.  Conny  was  agitated  and  depressed, 
Gaston  de  S%ur  was  calm  and  cheerful. 
Any  one  seeing  them  would  have  supposed 
it  was  his  companion  who  had  been  stricken 
with  the  affliction,  and  that  he  (Gaston)  was 
cheering  and  encouraging  him  under  it. 

' '  What  have  I  to  com  plain  of  ?  "  he  said ; 
' '  thirty- two  years  ago,  God  gave  me  two 
eyes;  He  has  a  perfect  right  to  take  away 
one  now  if  He  pleases. ' ' 

"No  doubt,"  replied  his  friend;  "but  it 
is  a  heavy  trial,  and  nature  will  cry  out. ' ' 

"And  are  we  Christians  and  priests  to 
listen  to  nature?  "  was  the  brave  retort.  He 
seemed  positively  elated.  ' '  This  is  the  hap- 


piest thing  that  could  have  befallen  me," 
he  said, after  a  moment's  silence;  "in  my 
position,  enjoying  the  favor  of  the  Pope  and 
the  confidence  of  the  Emperor,  I  might 
have  been  made  Archbishop,  and  then  Car- 
dinal; and,  do  what  we  will,  honors  are  a 
great  danger,  and  expose  our  hearts  to  swell. 
There  is  an  end  now  of  that  danger  for  me! 
I  shall  go  back  to  Paris,  and  set  to  work 
confessing  my  poor  street  Arabs  again.  I  tell 
you  this  is  the  best  thing  that  could  possi- 
bly befall  me.  The  only  thing  that  grieves 
me  is  the  sorrow  it  will  be  to  my  poor 
mother. ' ' 

Mgr.  Conny  made  no  answer:  his  heart 
was  too  full  for  speech ;  he  could  only  praise 
God  in  silence. 

Before  nightfall  the  news  was  all  over 
Rome.  It  was  received  everywhere  with 
genuine  sympathy,  but  the  sorrow  of  the 
troops  was  inconsolable;  to  them  it  came 
like  a  family  affliction.  Mgr.  de  S^gur  saw 
the  Holy  Father  two  days  later,  and  found 
him  full  of  tender  anxiety  about  the  stricken 
eye.  "I  know  of  only  three  remedies  for 
those  diseases,"  said  Pius  IX. :  "good  food, 
cold  water,  and  patience."  To  which  the 
patient  replied:  "Holy  Father,  I  have  more 
faith  in  the  last  than  in  the  other  two." 

A  little  while  later  the  Pope,  on  seeing 
him,  inquired:  "How  is  the  poor  eye?" 

' '  Holy  Father,  it  is  all  over  with  it! "  was 
the  cheerful  reply. 

The  Pope  looked  at  him  with  emotion, 
and  sighed.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  Mgr. 
de  Segur  to  take  advantage  of  this  propi- 
tious moment  for  asking  a  favor  of  the  Holy 
Father.  He  went  down  on  his  knees,  and 
said,  impulsively,  "Santo  Padre,  grant  me 
a  consolation:  grant  me  leave  to  keep  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  in  my  oratory  ?  "  It  was 
a  tremendous  thing  to  ask;  even  cardinals 
do  not  enjoy  the  privilege.  The  Pope  started, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  ' '  Impos- 
sible!" when  he  looked  at  the  upturned 
face,  where  the  sightless  eye  was  pleading 
so  eloquently;  the  denial  was  arrested  on 
his  lips;  his  heart  failed  him,  and  for  a 
moment  he  stood  irresolute;  then  taking 
Gaston  de  S^gur's  head  in  both  hands,  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lOI 


pressed  it  to  his  heart,  and  said,  with  emo- 
tion: "To  any  one  else  I  should  answer, 
*  Impossible!'  to  you  I  sav ,  'Yes,'  because 
I  love  you.  Ad  consolationem^  ad  tempusy 

But  neither  the  Pope  nor  Mgr.  de  Segur's 
other  friends  could  accept  as  beyond  hope 
of  remedy  the  trial  that  won  for  him  this 
consolation.  They  in  is  ted  on  his  imploring 
a  miracle  through  the  intercession  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  but  he  answered  always: 
"I  dread  the  responsibility  of  a  miracle.'' 
In  his  secret  soal  he  knew  that  the  miracle 
had  already  been  performed,  and  that  the 
blindness, which  he  believed  would  become 
total,  was  a  miraculous  answer  to  the  prayer 
of  his  ordination.  Nothing  but  this  convic- 
tion can  explain  the  spirit  of  joy  with  which 
he  welcomed  it,  and  his  constant  assertion 
that  some  wonderful  grace  was  attached  to 
the  trial;  for  there  is  no  infirmity  that  hu- 
man nature  shrinks  from  with  such  terror 
as  blindness;  it  places  a  man  in  absolute 
dependence  on  the  charity  of  everyone 
around  him,  and  in  many  ways  makes  his 
gifts  useless,  and  paralyzes  his  powers.  It 
fell  with  an  additional  cruelty  upon  Mgr. 
de  Segur,  because  it  deprived  him  of  the 
exercise  of  his  talent  for  painting,  which 
was  his  chief,  almost  his  sole,  recreation; 
but  from  the  first  hour  of  his  trouble  he 
made  the  sacrifice  cheerfully,  and  never  was 
a  murmur,  a  regret,  heard  to  escape  him ;  he 
gave  it  up — he  gave  up  everything,  as  a 
child  lays  down  its  toys  at  the  bidding  of  a 
mother. 

The  following  letter,  dated  Rome,  May 
25, 1853,  written  to  a  friend  a  few  weeks  after 
his  affliction,  expresses  the  serenity  of  his 
soul  under  the  trial : 

"  I  know  not,  dear  friend,  whether  I  am 
destined  or  not  ever  to  see  you  again ;  but, 
judging  from  appearances,  you  are  destined 
to  see  me  again,  because  you  have  eyes. 
You  know  that  in  former  times  I,  also,  had 
eyes,  and  that  I  used  them  in  the  days  of 
our  rambles  through  the  Pyrenees  to  draw 
caricatures.  .  .  .  Well,  it  seems  I  put  God 
out  of  patience  with  me  since  then,  by  the 
bad  use  I  made  of  them;  or  else,  on  the 
contrary,  I  made  such  good  use  of  them  that 


He  wishes  to  reward  me  by  treating  me  as 
He  treats  His  best  friends;  for  here  I  am 
for  the  last  month  with  one  eye  nearly  gone, 
and  the  other  in  such  sorry  plight  that  it  is 
not  worth  counting.  I  incline  to  think  that 
what  has  befallen  me  is  of  the  nature  of 
gouttes  sereines  .  .  .  This  means  simply 
that  the  optic  nerve  is  becoming  paralyzed, 
partially  or  wholly.  So  far  this  paralysis  of 
the  left  eye  is  not  complete,  and  I  still  dis- 
tinguish objects  as  if  seen  through  water. 
The  doctor,  in  whom  I  have  as  much  con- 
fidence as  one  can  have  in  a  doctor,  hopes 
that  it  is  not  final.  For  my  own  part,  I 
neither  hope  nor  don't  hope;  for  at  heart, 
my  good  friend,  it  is  perfectly  indifferent  to 
me.  I  have  the  happiness  to  be  a  Christian ; 
I  know  that  I  am  in  this  world  only  for  a 
moment,  and  I  have  long  since  centred  all ' 
my  hopes  in  eternal  life.  If  I  had  the  choice, 
I  should  choose  suffering,  and  I  hope,  in 
God's  goodness,  that  if  this  should  prove  to 
be  a  visit  from  His  justice  and  His  mercy, 
as  I  rather  believe,  I  shall  know  how  to 
appreciate  so  great  a  favor,  and  shall  remain 
faithfully  with  the  Blessed  Virgin  at  the 
foot  of  the  Cross  of  the  Master  of  suffering. 
It  is  from  Good  Friday  that  one  sees  the 
approach  of  Easter  Sunday.  I  see  Good 
Friday  coming  on  very  willingly. 

* '  You  who  are  a  good  Christian,  my  dear 
friend, — you  will  not  offer  the  affront  to  Our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  of  being  afflicted  at  what 
has  befallen  me.  You  love  me  well  enough 
to  thank  Him,  and  will  simply  ask  that  I 
may  use  as  I  ought  so  excellent  a  trial.  We 
are  God's  in  life  and  in  death,  said  St.  Paul 
once  upon  a  time.  God  has  not  changed 
since  that  time.  .  .  .  Adieu,  dear  friend.  I 
love  and  embrace  you  tenderly. ' ' 

From  this  date  his  handwriting  changes 
— falters,  grows  more  and  more  unsteady, 
until  he  is  compelled  to  use  the  pen  of  a 
friend.  On  the  6th  of  June  he  writes: 

"...  My  eye  is  about  the  same;  rather 
a  little  better  than  worse,  and  this  little  is 
a  great  deal.  ...  I  do  nothing,  except  to 
take  every  day  a  little  iron  and  quinquina 
to  strengthen  the  nervous  system.  I  don't 
work  at  all.   I  am  not  dull,  and,  although 


I02 


The  Ave  Maria. 


we  are  in  June,  I  have  the  luck  not  to  suflFo- 
cate.  .  .  .  Have  you  ever  seen  Tasso's  por- 
trait? If  I  lose  my  eye,  I  have  before  me 
the  prospect  (not  a  picturesque  one)  of  be- 
ing like  him.  Picture  to  yourself  one  eye 
completely  closed,  and,  recalling  the  sleep 
of  innocence,  the  other  staring  wide  open, 
and  full  of  fire.  If  ever  I  come  to  be  like 
that,  I  shall  wear  a  bandage,  like  Robert 
Macaire!  I  leave  it  all  to  God;  He  knows 
best  what  is  good  for  us;  He  is  the  Master 
of  our  two  eyes,  as  He  is  of  our  whole 
being,  and  He  tries  us  and  humbles  us  when 
He  knows  it  is  necessary  for  our  soul.'' 

A  week  later  he  writes  to  the  same  friend: 
*'You  frightened  me,  announcing  that  you 
.were  suflfering  from  your  eyes;  but  when  I 
found  it  was  only  a  miserable  sty,  I  smiled 
with  pity,  indignation,  and  happiness,  in 
comparing  myself  to  you.  .  .  .  My  eye  is 
just  the  same,  neither  better  nor  worse. 
This  morning,  after  a  monster  dinner  given 
yesterday  by  the  Ambassador  to  the  two 
new  cardinals,  and  after  the  public  consis- 
tory that  I  have  just  come  from,  and  where 
we  all  nearly  suffocated,  so  hot  was  it,  I  see 
a  little  better  than  before.  This  looks  like  a 
spirit  of  contradiction.  In  three  months — 
after  my  holidays— we  shall  know  the  fate 
of  this  unfortunate  eye,  for  which  in  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  have  small  hope.  You 
know  what  an  admirable  consolation  the 
Pope  has  granted  me  in  this  trial,  and  how, 
in  exchange  for  this  first  visit  that  He  has 
deigned  to  make  me,  Our  Lord  Jesus  took 
up  His  abode  with  me  eight  days  ago. ..." 

At  the  desire  of  his  family,  he  came  to 
Paris,  and  consulted  the  leading  oculists 
there.  They  gave  no  hope  of  restoring  the 
lost  eye,  and  very  little  of  saving  the  other 
one.  Its  sight  was  going  out  slowly  but 
surely.  Mgr.  de  S^gur  knew  its  days  were 
numbered,  but  he  said  this  to  no  one.  It  was 
a  secret  between  himself  and  Our  Blessed 
Lady.  The  Emperor  was  full  of  the  kindest 
concern  about  him,  but  spoke  confidently 
of  his  recovery,  and  intimated  his  desire  to 
make  him  Grand  Almoner. 

Mgr.  de  Segur  listened  complacently,  and 
made  no  protest;  but  began  diligently  to  ' 


prepare  himself  for  total  blindness,  learning 
to  do  things  with  his  e>es  shut,  practising 
eating  and  shaving  in  this  way.  He  also  be- 
gan to  learn  by  heart  the  Psalms,  ofl&ces,  and 
other  devotions;  he  committed  to  memory 
the  Masses  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  the  Chair  of 
St.  Peter,  the  Stigmata  of  St.  Francis,  the 
Mass  for  the  Dead,  and  the  \"otive  Mass  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  which  the  Pope  had  al- 
ready given  him  leave  to  say  always,  so  as  to 
spare  the  eye  whose  sight  was  to  be  trie  d  as 
little  as  possible.  He  had  not  a  good  mem- 
ory naturally, but  from  the  moment  his  eyes 
failed  him  it  was  wonderfully  quickened. 
He  was  making  great  haste  to  do  all  he 
could  for  himself  while  there  was  still  light; 
for  he  felt  it  would  not  last  long.  His  friends 
little  suspected  that  he  was  training  himself 
for  blindness;  they  were  full  of  illusions, 
and  rejoicing  over  the  apparent  certainty  of 
his  being  soon  made  Archbishop  and  Grand 
Almoner  to  the  Emperor.  He  let  them 
talk,  laughing  in  his  sleeve,  and  making 
ready  for  a  different  service;  for  he  was  as 
certain  as  if  Our  Lady  had  appeared  in 
person  and  announced  it  to  him,  that  the 
next  time  God's  finger  touched  him  it 
would  be  to  put  out  the  light  completely, 
and  lock  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  in  total 
darkness. 

A  year  went  by,  and  it  seemed  to  those 
around  him  that  the  state  of  the  right  eye 
remained  stationary;  he,  however,  knew 
that  it  was  failing,  and  more  rapidly  as  time 
went  on.  When  the  holidays  came  round, 
he  set  out  for  France  with  a  kind  of  anxious 
impatience,  praying  that,  if  it  were  God's 
will,  his  sight  might  not  go  before  he  got 
home,  and  that  he  might  be  permitted  to 
see  his  parents  and  all  his  brothers  and 
sisters  once  more.  It  seemed  very  unlikely 
that  this  prayer  would  be  granted..  His 
brothers  and  sisers  had  not  intended  to 
assemble  during  this  vacation  at  Nouettes, 
but  God  reserved  this  sweet  consolation  to 
His  generous  servant.  A  series  of  unex- 
pected circumstances  led  every  member  of 
the  family  to  the  castle  just  at  this  time, 
and  when  Gaston  arrived  he  found  them  all 


The  Ave  Maria. 


103. 


awaiting  him ;  even  the  brother  who  was  in 
diplomacy  got  an  unlooked-for  conge^  and 
came  home  in  time  to  greet  him. 

A  few  days  after  his  arrival,  the  village 
doctor  came  to  examine  his  eyes,  and 
brought  the  eye  of  an  ox,  and  dissected  it 
before  him,  in  order  that  he  might  admire 
the  structure  of  the  organ.  He  followed  the 
operation  with  interest.  When  it  was  over, 
he  took  a  sheet  of  card -board,  and  made  a 
spirited  sketch  of  Pius  IX.  This  was  the 
last  time  he  ever  used  his  pencil. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer's  day;  they  all 
went  for  a  stroll  in  the  park.  Monseigneur 
was  walking  with  his  brother,  who  was 
a  little  in  advance  of  him.  Suddenly  he 
stopped,  and  said,  quietly,  "I  am  blind!" 
He  took  his  brother's  arm,  and  returned  to 
the  castle,  and  begged  that  nothing  might 
be  said  to  his  mother.  He  went  to  his  room, 
and  Mme.  de  S^gur,  on  returning  from  her 
walk,  went  and  sat  a  while  talking  to  him, 
and  noticed  nothing;  she  did  this  several 
times  during  the  afternoon,  and  had  no  sus 
picion  of  the  teirible  fact;  Gaston  was  as 
gay  as  usual,  and  looked  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  But  at  dinner  the  truth  broke 
upon  her.  She  noticed  that  he  did  not  help 
himself  when  the  dishes  were  carried  round; 
then  she  saw  his  sister  cut  his  meat  for  him. 
She  looked  fixedly  at  her  son  for  a  long 
moment,  and  saw  that  he  was  blind.  At  first 
horror  held  her  silent  and  motionless,  then 
the  mother's  agony  found  vent  in  tears, and 
her  sobs  broke  forth.  The  sight  of  her  grief 
overcame  the  self-control  of  all  present,  and 
soon  Mgr.  de  Segur's  eyes  were  the  only 
dry  ones  at  the  table.  He  remained  serene 
and  smiling  amidst  the  emotion  of  his  sor- 
rowing family.  The  catastrophe  was  to  him 
as  a  heaven-sent  guest;  he  met  God's  mes- 
senger reverently,  and  bade  it  welcome.  His 
real  sorrow,  as  he  had  said  from  the  first,  was 
the  pain  his  blindness  was  to  his  mother, 
and  all  his  efforts  were  directed  now  to 
consoling  her. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Great  dejection  often  follows  great  en- 
thusiasm.— Abbk  Roux, 


Our  Lady's  Knight. 


BY    R.  J.    MCH. 


TV  BRAVE  young  knight  rode  to  the  West, 
^^  His  visor  closed,  his  lance  at  rest; 
The  shield  before  his  valiant  breast 

A  Heart  inflamed  discovered; 
An  interfretted  annulet 
Of  thorns  around  the  Heart  was  set, 
And  'round  his  lance's  coronet 

The  golden  sunbeams  hovered, 

II. 
'To  him  who  loves,  all  things  are  light; 
Who  suffers.  Love  will  soon  requite; 
Who  loves  to  suffer,  loves  aright! " — 

Thus  read  the  warrior's  motto; 
Thus  sang  he  as  with  gallant  air 
He  rode  unto  the  dragon's  lair, 
Nor  paused,  except  to  breathe  a  prayer 

At  his  dear  Lady's  grotto. 

III. 

He  journeyed  when  the  sun  was  high, 
And  when  the  stars  were  in  the  sky, 
Until  he  reached  far  Molokai, 

The  Island  of  Affliction; 
The  very  air  was  thick  with  death, 
So  noisome  was  the  dragon's  breath, 
Yet  fearless  rode  the  knight  beneath, 

Our  Lady's  benediction. 

IV. 

He  faced  the  dragon  in  his  den 

(Our  Lady's  help  was  needed  then!) — 

He  would  not  see  his  fellow-men, 

Unaided,  mourn  and  languish; 
He  fought  right  valiantly  and  well 
To  save  them  from  the  dragon  fell, 
And  by  God's  grace  he  wrought  a  spell 

That  soothed  their  lonely  anguish. 


What  though  his  own  young  life  must  be 
The  forfeit  claimed  by  Leprosy, 
In  that  far  island  of  the  sea, 

Where  bloom  Hope' s  roses  never  ? — 
'To  him  who  loves,  all  things  are  light; 
Who  suffers,  Love  will  soon  requite; 
Who  loves  to  suffer,  loves  aright! " 
Rose  for  his  chanson  ever. 


I04 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID, 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AND  events  did  take  their  course, when, 
a  few  evenings  later,  Marion  suddenly 
saw  Earle  entering  the  ^«/o;/,  where  three  or 
four  visitors  were  already  assembled.  She 
herself  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 
and  somewhat  concealed  by  a  large  Oriental 
screen,  near  which  she  was  seated.  She  was 
very  glad  of  this  friendly  shelter  when  she 
felt  her  heart  leap  in  a  manner  which  fairly 
terrified  her,  as,  glancing  up,  she  saw  Earle's 
face  in  the  doorway.  Her  own  emotion  sur- 
prised her  far  more  than  his  appearance; 
she  shrank  farther  back  into  shadow  to  con- 
ceal what  she  feared  might  be  perceptible 
to  others,  and  yet  she  could  not  refrain  from 
following  him  with  her  eyes. 

What  she  saw  was  this — that,  even  while 
greeting  Mrs.  Kerr,  his  glance  wandered  to 
Claire;  that  his  first  eager  step  was  taken  in 
her  direction;  and  that  his  face,  when  he 
took  her  hand,  was  so  eloquent  of  pleasure 
and  tender  admiration  that  it  made  Marion 
recall  some  words  he  had  spoken  when 
they  first  knew  each  other  in  Scarborough. 
"She  charmed  me,"  he  had  said  then  of 
Claire;  "she  is  so  simple,  so  candid,  so  in 
tent  upon  high  aims."  Every  word  came 
back  with  sudden  distinctness,  with  sudden, 
piercing  meaning  and  weight  in. the  light 
of  the  look  on  Earle's  face. 

"He  is  in  love  with  Claire!"  said  Mar- 
ion to  herself.  "Nothing  could  be  more 
natural,  nothing  more  suitable.  There  is  no 
struggle  here  between  his  heart  and  his 
judgment,  as  was  the  case  with  me.  She 
seems  to  be  made  for  him  in  every  respect. 
Why  did  I  not  think  of  it  sooner,  and  why 
did  not  Claire  tell  me  that  he  had  transferred 
his  affection  to  her?  Did  she  want  me  to 
see  for  myself,  or  did  she  think  that  I  should 
not  see?  But  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
care — none  whatever." 

Even  while  she  repeated  this  assurance 
to  herself,  however,  the  sinking  of  her  heart, 


the  trembling  of  her  hands,  belied  it,  and 
frightened  her  by  the  evidence  of  a  feeling 
she  had  not  suspected.  Surely,  among  the 
mysteries  of  our  being,  there  is  none  greater 
than  the  existence  and  growth  of  feelings 
which  we  not  only  do  not  encourage,  but 
of  which  we  are  often  in  absolute  ignorance 
until  some  flash  of  illumination  comes  to 
reveal  to  us  their  strength. 

Such  a  flash  came  now  to  Marion.  She  had 
assured  herself  that  she  had  put  Brian  Earle 
out  of  her  heart,  and  instead  she  suddenly 
found  that,  during  the  interval  in  which  she 
had  condemned  it  to  darkness  and  silence, 
her  feeling  for  him  had  increased  rather 
than  lessened.  And  she  was  now  face  to 
face  with  the  proof  that  he  had  forgotten 
her — that  he  had  found  in  Claire  the  true 
ideal  of  his  fancy !  She  felt  that  it  was  nat- 
ural, she  acknowledged  that  it  was  just,  but 
the  shock  was  overpowering. 

Fortunately  she  happened  at  that  mo- 
ment to  be  alone — a  gentleman  who  had 
been  talking  to  her  having  crossed  the  room 
to  ask  Mrs.  Kerr  a  question.  Seeing  him 
about  to  retrace  his  steps,  a  sudden  instinct 
of  flight — of  flight  at  any  cost  of  personal 
dignity — seized  Marion.  She  felt  that  in 
another  instant  Claire  would  point  her  out 
to  Earle,  that  he  would  be  forced  to  come 
and  address  her.  Could  she  bear  that? — was 
she  able  to  meet  him  as  indifferently  as  she 
desired  to  do?  Her  beating  pulses  told  her 
no,  and,  without  giving  herself  time  to 
think,  she  rose,  lifted  a  portiere  near  her,  and 
passed  swiftly  and  silently  from  the  room. 

Claire,  meanwhile,  glanced  up  at  Earle, 
and  she,  too,  met  that  look  of  tender  admi- 
ration which  Marion  perceived.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  she  had  met  it,  but  it  was  the 
first  time  that  a  consciousness  of  its  possible 
meaning  flashed  upon  her.  She  did  not  color 
at  the  thought,  but  grew  instead  suddenly 
pale,  and  glanced  toward  the  corner  of  the 
room  where  Marion  was  sitting.  Marion  at 
that  instant  had  made  her  escape,  but  Claire 
did  not  perceive  this,  and,  with  the  sense  of 
her  presence,  said  to  Earle: 

' '  You  have  probably  not  heard  that  my 
friend  Marion  Lynde  is  here?" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


105 


■) 


He  started,  ' '  Miss  Lynde  here  —  in 
Rome! "  he  asked.  "No,  I  had  not  heard  it. 
Why  has  she  come?" 

"To  see  and  to  be  with  me,"  answered 
Claire,  calmly.  "You  know,  perhaps,  that 
we  are  great  friends." 

"I  have  heard  Miss  Lynde  speak  of  you,' ' 
he  said,  regaining  self-possession;  "and  if 
the  friendship  struck  me  as  rather  a  strange 
one,  knowing  little  of  you  as  I  did  then, 
you  may  be  sure  that  it  strikes  me  now  as 
more  than  strange.  I  have  never  met  two 
people  in  my  life  who  seemed  to  me  to  have 
less  in  common." 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Claire,  "you 
think  so  because  you  do  not  know  either  of 
us  very  well.  We  have  really  a  great  deal 
in  common,  and  I  doubt  if  any  one  in  the 
world  knows  Marion  as  well  as  I  do." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  keen 
glance  from  under  brows  i-omewhat  bent. 
"Are  you  not  aware  chat  I  had  at  one  time 
reason  to  fancy  that  I  knew  Miss  Lynde 
quite  well?"   he  asked. 

"Ye?,"  said  Claire, with  frankness;  "I 
know.  She  has  told  me  of  that.  But  in  such 
a  relation  as  the  one  which  existed  between 
you  for  a  time,  people  sometimes  learn  very 
little  of  each  other.  And  I  think  that  per- 
haps you  did  not  learn  very  much  of  her." 

"I  learned  quite  enough,"  he  replied, — 
"all  that  was  necessary  to  convince  me  that 
I  had  made  a  great  mistake.  And  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  Miss  Lynde  reached  the 
same  conclusion.  That,  I  believe,  is  all  that 
there  is  to  say  of  the  matter."'  He  paused 
a  moment,  then  added,  "If  she  is  here,  I 
hope  it  will  not  be  unpleasant  to  her  to 
meet  me,  since  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  ban- 
ished from  this  salon^  which  Mrs.  Kerr  and 
yourself  make  so  attractive." 

"There  is  no  reason  for  banishment, 
unless  you  desire  it,"  said  Claire.  "Mar- 
ion does  not  object  to  meeting  you.  But  I 
think  that  there  are  one  or  two  things  that 
you  ought  to  know  before  you  meet  her. 
Are  you  aware,  in  the  first  place,  that  she 
has  given  up  your  uncle's  fortune?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  very  much  startled. 
"Why  has  she  done  so?" 


"Because  Mr.  Singleton's  son  appeared^ 
and  she  thought  that  he  should  in  justice 
possesss  his  father's  fortune.  Do  you  not 
think  she  was  right?" 

"Right? — T  suppose  so.  Bat  this  is  very 
astonishing  news  Are  you  positively  cer- 
tain that  George  Singleton,  my  uncle's  son, 
is  alive?" 

"  I  am  certain  that  Marion  has  told  me 
so,  and  I  do  not  suppose  she  is  mistaken, 
since  she  has  resigned  a  fortune  to  him. 
People  are  usually  sure  before  they  take 
such  a  step  as  that. ' ' 

"Yes."  he  assented,  "but  it  seems  almost 
incredible.  For  years  George  Singleton  has 
been  thought  to  be  dead,  and  I  was  under 
the  impression  that  my  uncle  had  positive 
reason  for  believing  him  so.  This  being  the 
case,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  leave  his  fortune  as  he  liked,  and  I  was 
glad  when  I  heard  that  he  had  left  it  to 
Miss  Lynde;  for  the  possession  of  wealth 
seemed  to  be  the  first  desire  of  her  heart." 

"Poor  Marion!"  said  Claire,  gently. 
"You  might  be  more  tolerant  of  that  de- 
sire if  vou  knew  all  that  she  has  suffered — 
suffered  in  a  way  peculiarly  hard  to  her — 
from  poverty.  And  she  has  surely  proved 
in  the  most  conclusive  manner  that,  how- 
ever much  she  desired  wealth,  she  was  not 
prepared  to  keep  it  at  any  cost  to  her  con- 
science or  her  self-respect." 

"Did she,  then, resign  all  the  fortune?'* 

' '  Very  nearly  all.  She  said  that  she  re- 
luctantly retained  only  a  few  thousand 
dollars." 

"  But  is  it  possible  that  George  Singleton 
did  not  insist  upon  providing  for  her  fitly? 
Whatever  his  other  faults,  he  was  not  mer- 
cenary— formerly. ' ' 

"Mr.  Singleton  must  have  tried  every 
possible  argument  to  induce  her  to  keep  half 
the  fortune,  but  she  refused  to  do  so.  I  think 
she  felt  keenly  sone  reflections  that  had 
been  thrown  on  her  bv  Mr.  Singleton's  rel- 
atives, and  wished  to  disprove  them." 

Earle  was  silent  for  a  minute.  He  seemed 
trying  to  adjust  his  mind  to  these  new  views 
of  Marion's  character.  "And  you  tell  me 
that  she  is  here — with  you?" 


io6 


The,  A  ve  Maria. 


"I  was  about  to  sav  that  she  is  in  the 
room,"  Claire  answered;  "but  I  do  not  see 
her  just  n^w.  She  was  h^re  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"Probably  my  appear  ince  sent  her  away. 
Perhaps  she  would  rather  not  meet  me." 

"She  assured  me  that  she  did  not  object 
to  meeting  you;  and, unless  you  give  up  our 
acquaintance,  I  do  not  see  how  such  a  meet- 
ing can  be  avoided;  for  she  has  come  to  stay 
in  Rome  some  time." 

"Well,"  said  Earle,  with  an  air  of  deter- 
mination, "I certainly  have  no  intention  of 
giving  up  your  acquaintance.  Be  sure  of 
that.  A.nd  it  would  go  hard  with  me  to 
cease  visiting  here  in  the  pleasant,  familiar 
fashion  Mrs.  Kerr  and  yourself  have  allowed 
me  to  fall  into  So  if  Mss  Lynde  does  not 
object  to  meeting  me,  there  assuredly  is 
not  th  \  least  reason  why  [  should  object  to 
meeting  her." 

Claire  would  have  liked  to  ask  in  her 
sincere,  straightforward  fashion  if  all  his 
feeling  for  Marion  was  at  an  end,  and  she 
might  have  done  so  but  for  the  recollection 
of  the  look  which  had  startled  her.  She  did 
not  acknowledge  to  herself  in  so  many 
words  what  that  look  might  mean,  but  it 
made  her  instinctively  avoid  any  dangerous 
question,  and  she  was  not  sorry  when  at 
this  point  their  tete-cl-tete  was  interrupted. 

But  Marion  did  not  reappear,  and  when 
Claire  at  length  went  to  seek  her,  she  found 
that  she  had  retired.  Her  room  was  in  par- 
tial darkness,  so  that  her  face  could  not  be 
seen,  but  her  voice  sounded  altogether  as 
usual  when  she  accounted  for  her  disap 
pearance. 

"I  fjund  that  I  was  more  tired  than  I  had 
imagined  by  our  day  of  sight-seeing,"  she 
said.  "I  grew  so  stupid  that  flight  was  the 
only  resource.  Pray  make  my  excuses  to 
Mr.  Gardner.  I  vanished  while  he  went 
across  the  room,  and  I  suppose  he  was  as 
tonished  to  find  an  empty  chair  when  he 
returned." 

"Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Earle  entered 
just  at  the  time  you  left?"  asked  Claire, 
who  had  her  suspicions  about  this  sudden 
flight. 


"Did  he?"  said  Marion,  in  a  tone  of  in- 
difference. "Fortunately  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  make  my  excuses  to  him.  There  is 
no  more  reason  why  he  should  wish  to  see 
me  than  why  I  should  wish  to  see  him. 
Another  time  will  answer  as  well  to  ex- 
change some  commonplaces  of  gieeting. 
Good-night,  dear.  Don't  let  me  detain  you 
longer  from  your  friends." 

' '  I  am  so  sorry  you  are  tired !  Hereafter 
we  must  be  more  moderate  in  sight-seeing," 
observed  Claire. 

As  she  went  out  of  the  room  she  said  to 
herself  that  she  must  wait  before  she  could 
decide  anything  with  regard  to  the  feelings 
of  these  two  people.  Was  their  alienation 
real  and  complete?  One  seemed  as  cold 
and  indifferent  as  the  other.  But  did  this 
coldness  only  mask  the  old  affection,  or 
was  it  genuine?  Claire  had  some  instincts 
which  seldom  misled  her,  and  one  of  these 
instincts  made  her  fear  that  the  indifference 
was  more  genuine  with  Earle  than  with 
Marion.  "That  would  be  terrible,"  she 
said  lo  herself:  "  if  ^^  has  forgotten  and  she 
has  not.  If  it  were  only  possible  that  they 
would  tell  the  simple  truth!  But  that,  I 
suppose,  can  not  be  expected.  If  I  knew  it, 
I  would  know  how  to  act;  but  as  it  is  I  can 
only  wait  and  observe.  I  believe,  however, 
that  Marion  left  the  room  because  he  ap- 
peared ;  and  if  his  presence  has  such  an  ef- 
fect on  her,  she  certainly  cares  for  him  yet. " 

Marion  was  already  writhing  under  the 
thought  that  this  very  conclusion  would  be 
drawn — perhaps  bv  Earle  himself, — and 
determining  that  she  would  never  again  be 
betrayed  into  such  weakness.  "It  was  the 
shock  of  surprise, "  she  said  in  self-extenua- 
tion. '  I  was  not  expecting  anything  of  that 
kind,  and  it  naturally  startled  me.  I  know 
it  now,  and  it  will  have  no  such  effect  a 
second  time  I  suppose  I  might  have  looked 
for  it  if  I  had  not  been  so  self-absoibed. 
Certainly  it  is  not  only  natural,  but  very 
suitable.  They  seem  made  for  each  other; 
and  I — I  do  hope  they  may  be  happy.  But 
I  must  go  away  as  soon  as  I  can.  That  is 
necessary. ' ' 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Ave  Maria. 


107 


The  Rome  of  To-Day. 


MGR.  DU  PAN  LOUP,  preaching  at  St.- 
Atidre  della  Valle  in  1862,  foresaw  the 
revolutionary  invasion  uf  Rome  which  was 
realized  in  1870.  After  having  enumerated 
the  most  celebrated  monuments  of  the  Rome 
of  the  Popes,  the  eloquent  Bishop  cried  out: 
*'And  there  are  men  who  would  dwell 
there!  But  they  should,  then,  raze  Rome  to 
the  ground,  and  rebuild  another  suited  to 
themselves."  These  words  came  to  my  mind 
last  year,  when,  after  a  long  absence,  I  was 
paying  a  visit  to  the  Eternal  City, — a  city 
to-day  profaned  by  sacrilegious  intrusion. 

1 1  was  even  ing.  Before  me  was  the  depot, 
illuminated  with  the  electric  light,  by  whose 
silvery  rays  could  be  seen  locomotives  mov- 
ing backward  and  forward,  whistling  and 
snorting;  and  ancient  remnants  from  the 
agger  of  Servius  Tullius,  which  the  pick- 
axes of  modern  engineers  had  unearthed. 
From  this  place  I  was  carried  into  regions 
entirely  unknown  to  me,  yet  I  must  have 
been  in  them  on  several  previous  occasions. 
Many  a  time  have  I  visited  the  Church  of  St. 
Mary  of  the  Angels,  and  the  summits  of  the 
Quirinal,  of  the  Viminal,  of  the  Esquiline. 
But  where  was  I  now  in  this  spacious  street, 
full  of  omnibuses  and  tramways,  lined  with 
saloons  all  sparkling  with  light,  and  with 
stores  vying  with  one  another  in  the  brill- 
iant display  of  their  merchandise?  Was  I 
indeed  in  Rome,  and  not  rather  in  Turin, 
Paris,  New  York,  or  Chicago — in  one  of 
those  cities  newly  formed  out  of  diverse 
elements,  and  suddenly  springing  up  as  did 
Potemkin  formerly  to  honor  Catharine  the 
Great  of  Russia  on  her  passage  through  it? 

It  was  only  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that 
I  recovered  from  my  bewilderment.  My 
legno  (cab-driver)  made  a  turn,  descended 
a  street  down  a  steep  grade,  and  in  a  few 
moments  I  found  myself  in  a  place  less 
brilliantly  lighted,  more  quiet  and  solemn. 
I  was  really  in  Rome.  Here  was  the  Vene- 
tian Palace,  the  Gesu^  deserted  shortly  after 
it  became  the  Roman  College.  At  this 
moment  a  clock  began  to  strike;  I  remem- 


bered its  chimes;  I  had  heard  it  before — 
twenty -five  years  ago.  Then  its  striking 
announced  the  lectures  of  Franzelin,  of 
Patrizzi,  of  Tarquini,  and  of  those  illustri- 
ous professors,  successors  of  other  Jesuits 
more  illustrious  still ;  but  now  what  does  it 
announce? 

On  the  next  day  I  hastened  to  revisit 
those  basilicas  and  churches,  from  which, 
after  one  has  prayed  and  contemplated 
them  at  leisure,  one  can  not  depart  without 
leaving  a  portion  of  his  heart  behind  him. 
St.  Peter's — the  great  St.  Peter's — is  there 
in  its  resplendent  immensity,  with  its  mar- 
bles, its  tombs  of  Popes,  its  figures  of  the 
holy  founders  of  religious  orders.  Pilgrims 
still  continue  to  come  and  reverently  kiss 
the  bronze  feet  of  the  Galilean  fisherman's 
statue.  The  little  lamps  burn  as  of  old, 
tranquil  and  calm,  around  the  glorious  sep- 
ulchre of  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles.  The 
noble  edifice  is  still  filled  with  that  mild 
and  heavenly  atmosphere  which  so  deeply 
impressed  the  visitor  in  past  ages;  and  when  • 
one  raises  his  eyes  towards  the  gigantic 
cupola,  he  sees  it  suspended  in  the  air  like 
the  immovable  diadem  of  an  imperishable 
royalty. 

The  Basilica  of  St.  Paul,  on  the  Ostian 
Way,  is  near  completion,  and  glitters  like  a 
vision  of  the  Apocalypse.  St.  John  of  Lat- 
eran  has  been  renovated  by  the  munificence 
of  Leo  XIII.,  who  caused  the  choir  to  be 
rebuilt  and  ornamented  with  the  most  pre- 
cious marbles.  At  St.  Mary  Major's,  the 
statue  of  Pius  IX.  seems  still  to  glorify  by 
an  eternal  prayer  the  Virgin  recently  pro- 
claimed Immaculate.  Pius  IX., where  is  he 
not?  There  are  souvenirs  of  him  every- 
where; his  name  is  seen  at  every  step;  mar- 
ble and  bronze  exhibit  it  on  all  sides;  and 
it  seems  as  if  the  streets  of  Rome  mourn 
because  they  no  longer  see  him,  and  St. 
Peter's  appears  desolate  now  that  his  in- 
comparable voice  is  heard  no  more  pro- 
nouncing a  blessing  over  the  city  and  the 
world.  But  it  is  above  all  at  St.  Lawrence's, 
on  the  Tiburtian  Way— at  this  basilica,  the 
least  pretentious  of  all,  perhaps,  which  the 
immortal  Pontiff  chose  for  his  last  resting- 


io8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


place,  and  in  which  his  remains  lie  sur- 
rounded with  honor,  glory,  and  veneration, 
— that  the  memory  of  Pius  IX.  is  particu- 
larly cherished. 

Yes,  the  Rome  of  the  Popes,  the  Rome 
of  the  Apostles,  the  Rome  of  Christ,  is  ever 
full  of  life,  and  her  streets  and  columns  of 
marble,  her  mosaics  and  the  gilded  roofs  of 
her  venerable  basilicas  forever  glitter  in  the 
brightness  of  her  glowing  sun.  But  if  the 
heart  expands  in  the  presence  of  so  en  chant- 
ing a  spectacle,  alas!  how  many  other  things 
there  are  to  depress  and  make  it  gloomy! 
How  many  sights  there  are  that  a  dutiful 
son  would  not  wish  to  see  in  the  city,  in  the 
kingdom  of  his  father — and  such  a  Father! 
That  kingdom  is  now  in  the  hands  of  men 
who  outrage  the  holy  tenant  of  the  Vatican, 
— men  who  proclaim  themselves  his  ene 
mies  and  oppressors.  They  have  violently 
taken  possession  of  the  city  which  God  gave 
him.  With  their  artillery  they  have  broken 
down  his  gates  and  shattered  his  walls,  say- 
ing, "In  the  name  of  all  that  is  just,  this 
land  belongs  to  us."  And  yet  on  seeing 
these  men  one  can  not  help  thinking  that 
they  feel  conscious  of  being  a  burden  to  the 
soil,  and  with  fear  and  trembling  await  the 
issue  of  their  sacrilegious  deeds.  They  have 
surrounded  with  fortresses  the  peaceful  city 
of  the  Popes;  they  have  massed  troops  and 
ordnance  within  it,  and,  nevertheless,  they 
deem  it  necessary  to  cry  out  from  time  to 
time  to  encourage  themselves,  like  one  who 
in  the  darkness  of  night  dreads  some  lurk- 
ing danger.  "Rome,"  they  proclaimed  the 
other  day,  "is  impregnable."  Why  make 
so  much  noise  about  it,  if  not  to  show  their 
doubts,  or  soothe  their  guilty  consciences? 

They  have  thought — and  from  their  point 
of  view  they  were,  perhaps,  right, — that 
it  was  necessary  to  metamorphose  Rome 
— to  change  its  entire  character,  to  rid  it 
of  its  solemn,  aristocratic  and  sacerdotal 
aspect, — in  order  to  make  of  it  a  modern 
city,  bearing,  as  they  say,  the  stamp  of  the 
civilization  of  the  age.  To  this  end  they 
have  multiplied  bazaars,  theatres,  barracks, 
dram-shops,  tramways,  omnibus  lines,  gas- 
lamps,  electric  lights,  etc.  They  have  not 


only  built  this  Via  Nazionale,of  which  they 
feel  so  proud—  the  street  in  which  I  became 
lost  on  my  arrival, — but  they  have  also 
erected  a  pile  of  other  buildings  in  places 
of  very  doubtful  repute.  In  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  depot  are  rows  of  immense 
square  houses,  six  stories  high.  They  re- 
mind one  of  Turin  stripped  of  its  beauti- 
ful porticos  and  picturesque  perspective. 
Among  these  buildings  is  the  bureau  af 
finances.  It  is  very  spacious — quite  in  har- 
mony with  the  deficit  of  the  Italian  budget. 
"This  house  would  make  a  fine  seminary 
for  the  Propaganda,"  said  Pius  IX.  Let  us 
trust  that  some  day  it  may  be  put  to  this 
holy  use.  A  new  suburb  is  springing  up  in 
the  Prati  di  Castello,  behind  the  Vatican, 
where  Cincinnatus  labored  with  his  plow. 
Its  eulogium  i§  summed  up  in  the  verse  of 
Brizieux : 

"  The  useful  has  forever  banished  the  ornamental." 

To  reach  the  place  one  must  cross  over  a 
crooked  old  bridge,  which  terminates  in  a 
variety  theatre  of  the  lowest  class,  and 
utterly  destroys  the  picturesque  beauty  of 
the  Port  of  Ripetta. 

In  several  places  the  masons  are  busy  in 
their  work  of  destruction.  They  have  torn 
down  the  Corso,  to  enlarge  it;  the  centre  of 
Rome  is  a  heap  of  rubbish,  which,  when 
carted  away,  will  allow  the  Via  Nazionale 
to  continue  its  course.  They  have  mutilated 
the  Capitol,  to  place  a  statue  of  Victor 
Emanuel  in  a  corner  of  the  terrace  of  the 
Ara  Caeli,  not  far  from  where  the  deplumed 
eagle  and  savage  wo'f  have  been  encaged 
by  those  who,  except  as  sons  of  Adam ,  can 
claim  no  affinity  with  Romulus  or  Julius 
Caesar. 

Where  there  is  so  much  to  blame,  it  is  a 
relief  to  find  something  to  praise,  and  we 
therefore  turn  to  the  excavations  of  the 
Campo  Vaccino,  where  have  been  discov- 
ered the  pavement  of  the  Forum  and  of  the 
Julian  Basilica,  the  atrium  of  the  vestals 
with  the  interesting  statues  of  the  vestal 
priestesses.  But  they  have  stripped  the  Col- 
iseum of  all  the  majesty  and  beauty  with 
which  the  hand  of  Religion  alone  had  been 
able  to  adorn  it.   How  grand  it  was,  that 


The  Ave  Maria. 


109 


austere  wooden  cross,  looking  down  in  glo- 
rious triumph  upon  the  soil  that  had  been 
so  often  crimsoned  by  the  blood  of  Chris- 
tian martyrs!  But  it  had  to  come  down, 
it  seems,  at  any  cost;  and  so  also  the  little 
Stations  that  hung  on  the  wall  of  the  gal- 
lery where  the  Caesars,  consuls,  pontiflfs, 
and  vestals  formerly  sat  to  view  the  games. 
The  interests  of  archaeology,  too,  must  be 
promoted  by  these  modern  Romans,  and 
accordingly  they  scooped  up  the  sand  of 
the  arena  till  they  came  to  a  couple  of  half- 
finished  walls  that  had  been  built,  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  from  the  dkbris  of  the  gigantic 
structure. 

The  grand  monument  is  disfigured,  but 
what  matter!  The  Cross  is  down,  and  pa- 
ganism externally  triumphant.  But,  won- 
derful to  relate,  the  little  nook  in  which  St. 
Benedict  Labre  used  to  pray  remains  un- 
touched, and  before  it  1  found  men  and 
women  of  unmistakably  Italian  physiog- 
nomy saying  their  Beads;  so  that  all  Rome 
is  not  pagan.  When  ihey  had  ended  the 
Rosary,  they  honored  the  virginity  of  Mary 
with  three  Ave  Marias^  which  I  repeated 
with  them.  The  Roman  people  have  not 
forgotten  their  religion,  and  Rome,  Catholic 
Rome,  whose  perfumes  a  great  poet  has 
sung  in  harmonious  prose,  is  immortal. 

What  sentiments  must  fill  the  heart  of  the 
true  Christian  as  he  experiences  these  feel- 
ings of  joy  and  sadness  while  contemplating 
so  much  splendor  and  devastation,  coming 
in  contact  with  this  beauty  ever  ancient 
and  ever  new,  marred,  however,  as  it  is  by 
the  work  of  modern  vandals !  To  the  politi- 
cian all  this  ought  to  be  a  subject  of  serious 
reflection.  For  sixteen  years  the  successor  of 
St.  Peter  has  been  shut  up  in  the  Vatican, 
while  in  the  dishonored  Quirinal  opposite 
him  his  vanquisher  sits  enthroned.  The 
trial  is  a  hard  one;  the  history  of  the  Popes, 
who  have  suffered  so  much  in  their  day,  nar- 
rates few  incidents  like  this.  Satan  seems 
to  have  chosen  his  own  time,  and  taken  the 
utmost  precautions.  Acting  from  impulse 
and  so-called  patriotism,  Italy  has  consti- 
tuted itself  a  kingdom ;  i  ts  geogra  phy  even  is 
changed,  thanks  to  the  railroads  that  furrow 


its  plains  and  mountains.  For  twenty- five 
years  military  service  and  admiristrative 
centralization  have  assimilated  native  and 
foreigner.  Europe,  a  prey  to  liberalism  and 
Freemasonry,  sent  a  few  chosen  soldiers  to 
take  part  in  the  modern  crusades;  but  it 
looked  on  with  silence  and  indiifeience 
during  the  contest  at  Castelfidardoand  Men- 
tana.  The  strange  fact,  however,  remains 
that  when  it  has  need  of  a  mediator  and  an 
impartial  arbiter  it  calls  upon  the  Pope. 

The  Vatican  of  Leo  XIII.  is  like  the  tomb 
at  Gethsemane.  Soldiers  stand  as  sentries 
round  about,  and  magistrates  seal  the  gate. 
But  all  who  have  faith  in  Christ  believe 
that  in  this  sepulchre  is  an  imperishable 
germ  of  supernatural  life.  When  will  the 
hour  of  liberty,  then,  sound  for  the  Church 
and  for  the  world  ?  When  will  the  moment 
come  for  justice  to  triumph  over  sects  of 
iniquity?  God  alone  knows.  When  Leo 
XIII.  rai.ses  his  eyes  to  the  cupola  of  St. 
Peter's  he  knows  that  the  words  ''''Porta? 
inferi  non  prcsvalebimt^''  are  there  traced 
in  ineffaceable  characters.  He  knows  that 
the  grand  obelisk  of  the  Vatican,  illumined 
by  the  light  of  human  torches  under  Nero, 
will  forever  sing  of  victory  and  of  Christ  the 
Liberator.  When  he  casts  a  sorrowful  look 
over  the  Eternal  City — his  own  rightful 
domain — he  beholds  on  the  summit  of  his 
ancient  fortress  the  statue  of  the  Archangel 
Michael,  the  great  corqueror.  He  has,  ac- 
cordingly, ordained  that  all  his  priests  and 
all  the  faithful  shall  invoke  every  day  the 
name  of  him  who  formerly  triumphed  over 
the  demons. 

Yes,  the  prospect  is  sad;  but  already  the 
dawn  of  another  day  is  breaking — the  day 
of  victory,  when  the  God  of  armies  will  arise 
in  defence  of  the  right,  and  when  the  Lord 
of  hosts  will  mock  at  the  efforts  of  kings, 
princes,  and  diplomats. 


It  is  a  sublime  and  beautiful  doctrine  of 
the  early  Fathers  that  there  are  guardian 
angels  appointed  to  watch  over  cities  and 
nations,  to  take  care  of  good  men,  and  to 
guard  and  guide  the  steps  of  helpless  in- 
fancy. —  Washington  Irving. 


I  lO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Knight  of  Mary. 


A  MAN  in  whom  the  world  was  far  from 
seeing  a  great  saint,  and  who  was  then 
but  a  brilliant  and  brave  officer,  defended 
for  Charles  V.  the  city  of  Pampt  luna  against 
the  army  of  Francis  I.  This  was  in  1521. 
The  young  officer  was  named  Ignatius  of 
Loyola. 

The  detachments  which  had  been  left 
him  for  the  defence  of  Pampeluna  were  in 
great  fear  of  the  French  army,  and  in  spite 
of  all  his  efforts  the  city  surrendered.  Igna- 
tius, still  unconquered,  retired  to  the  cita- 
del, accompanied  by  a  single  soldier  who 
had  courage  enough  to  follow  him;  and, 
although  he  found  but  a  handful  of  men  in 
this  retreat,  he  sustained  several  assaults; 
a  bleach,  however,  was  finally  made,  and 
the  victorious  army  entered  the  city.  The 
young  officer,  who  had  wished  to  make  of 
his  body  a  rampart  to  the  fort  which  he 
defended,  received  a  blow  from  a  stone, 
which  wounded  him  in  the  left  leg,  at  the 
same  time  that  a  bullet  shattered  the  oiher. 

He  bore  himself  so  bravely  that  the 
French,  on  his  account,  spared  the  little 
garrison.  They  carried  him  with  honor  to 
their  general,  who  had  him  conveyed  in  a 
litter  to  the  Castle  of  Loyola.  His  family 
dwelt  in  this  manor,  which  was  not  far  from 
the  city. 

We  shall  not  speak  here  of  the  courage 
with  which  the  wounded  man  endured  the 
sufferings  which  he  underwent  from  the 
medical  treatment  of  his  case.  It  was  nec- 
essary to  break  the  limb  on  account  of  being 
badly  set,  cut  off  a  bone  which  protruded 
above  the  knee,  and  adopt  other  extreme 
measures. 

During  his  convalescence  the  time 
dragged  along  wearily  and  monotonously. 
His  youthful  years  had  been  passed  at  court : 
first  as  a  graceful  page,  next  as  a  gallant 
courtier,  and  finally  as  an  officer  of  merit 
He  was  of  a  noble  familv,  brought  up  amid 
pleasures  and  vanity.  Up  to  that  time  (he 
was  in  his  twenty-ninth  year)  he  had  paid 
but  little  attention  to  his  Christian  duties. 


leading  a  life  such  as,  unfortunately,  is  too 
generally  led  in  the  world.  To  alleviate 
the  monotony  of  his  condition,  he  asked  for 
books,  choosing  those  romances  of  chivalry 
so  much  in  vogue  at  the  time.  Having  de- 
voured all  the  literature  of  this  type  that 
could  be  furnished  him,  his  attendants 
brought  him  the  "Life  of  Christ"  and  the 
' '  Flowers  of  the  Saints. ' '  These  books  he 
received  coldly,  but  little  by  little  he  began 
to  take  pleasure  in  them.  He  admiied,  in 
other  careers  than  his  own,  heroic  acts 
which  he  had  never  imagined;  deeply  im- 
pressed by  the  imposing  army  of  martyrs, 
anchorites,  confessors,  and  virgins,  he  was 
not  slow  to  recognize  that  their  immortal 
palms  were  far  above  the  empty  toys  of  this 
world. 

As  he  continued  to  read,  his  mind  was 
more  and  more  enlightened,  and  grace 
touched  his  heart.  He  vowed  himself  wholly 
to  God,  and  took  the  generous  resolution 
to  walk  henceforth  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
saints.  If  the  disorders  of  what  is  called  in 
society  the  life  of  a  young  man  seem  light 
to  frivolous  cor  scieruces,  the  soul  which 
enters  into  itself,  and  examines  itself  by 
the  light  of  God,  judgts  differently.  Faults 
that  indifferent  men  scarcely  notice,  showed 
themselves  to  his  eyes  in  their  true  aspect. 
According  to  the  code  of  the  saints,  they 
were  crimes;  for  they  had  outraged  God's 
goodness.  It  was  necessary  to  expiate  them. 
The  hair-shirt  and  other  instruments  of 
penance  were  at  once  employed,  and  never 
again  did  St.  Ignatius  hesitate  to  make  a 
sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  his  Redeemer. 

The  ideas  of  military  life  had  rot  been 
eradicated  from  his  mind.  In  thought  he 
had  made  himself  the  Knight  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  and  consecrated  himself  to  Her  ser- 
vice. As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  go  out,  he 
mounted  his  horse,  saying  simply  thjit  he 
was  going  to  visit  his  relative,  the  Duke  of 
Najera  Upon  his  arrival,  he  dismissed  the 
two  servants  who  accompanied  him,  and, 
after  his  visit,  set  out  alone  for  the  sanctuary 
of  Our  Lady  at  Montserrat. 

On  this  rugged  mountain,  from  which 
the  most  magnificent  views  of  Catalonia 


'I  he  A  ve  A/ etna. 


Ill 


can  be  had,  is  reverenced  a  famous  image 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  According  to  the 
traditions  which  the  historians  of  this  cel- 
ebrated shrine  have  preserved,  the  sacred 
image  of  Our  Lady  of  Montserrat  had  been 
brought  into  Spain  in  the  first  century,  if 
not  by  the  Apostle  of  the  country,  at  least 
by  his  disciples.  It  was  thus  honored  at 
Barcelona  during  the  time  of  the  Roman 
government.  When  the  iiruption  of  the 
Moors  occurred,  it  was  hidden  in  a  cave  at 
Montserrat,  and  not  found  until  the  ninth 
century. 

The  annalists  of  Catalonia,  relying  upon 
an  inscription  discovered  in  1239,  and  pre- 
served in  the  monastery  of  Montserrat,  re- 
late that  in  880,  under  the  reign  of  Geoffrey, 
Conn  I  of  Barcelona,  three  young  goat-herds, 
whi'st  guarding  their  flocks  on  the  moun- 
tain dining  the  night,  saw  bursting  forth 
from  a  rock  a  brilliant  light  which  seemed 
to  unite  heaven  and  earth;  at  the  same  time 
they  heard  coming  from  the  same  quarter  a 
supernatural  melody.  The  Bishop  of  Mau- 
resa,  accompanied  by  all  the  Christians  of 
the  neighborhood,  went  to  the  mountain  on 
the  following  night.  All  beheld  the  heav- 
enly light.  The  Bishop,  filled  with  wonder, 
betook  himself  to  prayer;  after  which  he 
advaiced,  followed  by  the  faithful,  to  the 
place  marked  by  the  light  There  he  found 
an  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  He  wished 
to  cirry  it  to  Manresa,  but  upon  arriving 
at  the  spot  on  which  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Montserrat  was  afterward  erected 
he  found  it  impossible  to  proceed  firther. 

Mabillon,who  regards  as  certain  the  ven 
eration  of  this  image  before  the  Saracen 
invasion,  and  the  venerable  Canisius,  who 
gives  Montserrat  a  place  among  noted  pil- 
grimages, testify  without  hesitation  to  the 
truth  o'"  these  events 

Great  miracles  soon  signalized  the  event 
just  related:  the  sick  whom  medical  skill 
had  given  over  suddenly  recovered  health, 
dead  infants  were  restored  to  their  mothers, 
plagues  and  infirmities  disappeared. 

It  was  before  this  sacred  and  miraculous 
image  that  the  young  officer  wished  to  ac 
complish  the  project  he  had  formed.  Knight 


of  the  Blessed  Virgin — he  thought  only  of 
this  title,  although  he  as  yet  but  partly  un- 
derstood its  significance. 

After  making  a  general  confession,  re- 
membering to  have  read  in  his  former 
favorite  books  that  the  aspirants  to  knight- 
hood prepared  themselves  by  watching  a 
whole  night  in  their  armor,  which  was  called 
the  'vigil  of  arms,"  he  wished  to  sanctify 
this  ceremony.  In  his  uniform  and  arms, 
which  he  was  soon  to  lay  aside  forever,  he 
watched  the  whole  night  before  the  altar  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  In  the  morning  he  hung 
his  sword  to  a  pillar  near  the  altar,  to  mark 
his  renunciation  of  secular  warfare ;  he  gave 
his  horse  to  the  monastery,  his  clothes  to  a 
poor  man,  and,  after  receiving  Holy  Com- 
munion, he  departed  from  Montserrat,  a  sol- 
dier of  the  Lord,  whose  greater  glory  he 
would  always  seek.  Soon,  no  doubt  favored 
by  Our  Lady,  he  saw  the  whole  career  of 
combats  opened  before  him.  The  Church, 
threatened  or  attacked  on  all  sides  by  the 
so-called  reformers ,  stood  in  need  of  an  in- 
trepid advance  guard.  He  conceived  the 
project  of  his  famous  Company  of  Jesus, 
which,  however,  was  not  established  until 
1534,  at  Paris,  on  the  Feast  of  the  Assump- 
tion, in  the  crypt  of  Our  Lady  of  Mont- 
martre.  The  Bull  instituting  it  was  prom- 
ulgated at  Rome  in  the  year  1540 

We  need  not  narrate  here  the  life  of  St. 
Ignatius,  who  was  at  the  same  time  a  great 
man  and  a  great  saint;  nor  is  this  the  place 
to  speak  of  the  Jesuits,  ever  persecuted  by 
those  who  know  them  not.  They  arrested 
the  so-called  Reformation,  spread  enlight- 
enment and  a  zeal  for  study,  increased  the 
domains  of  science,  produced  an  imposing 
array  of  profound  scholars,  eminent  wri'^ers, 
and  illustrious  missionaries  and  saints. 
Everywhere  innocent,  but  attacked  with 
arms  which  they  can  not  use  judged  with- 
out being  understood,  the  Society  of  Jesus 
marches  on  the  royal  road  of  the  Cross.  As 
the  Gospel  commands,  it  goes  about  doing 
good,  and  prays  for  those  who  calumniate  it. 


Morals  are  the  blossomings  of  truth. 
Victor  Hugo. 


I  12 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Treasured  Word. 


MANY  years  ago  the  present  Bishop  of 
Charlottetown  was  parish  priest  of 
Tignish,  an  Acadian  settlement  in  the  west- 
ern part  of  Prince  Edward  Island.  His  mis- 
sion comprised  a  large  district  which  is  now 
divided  into  many  parishes.  One  of  these — 
the  Indian  reserve  known  as  Lennox  Island 
— was  often  visited  by  Father  Mclntyre, 
who  offered  Mass  in  the  little  Chapel  of  St. 
Anne,  and,  in  default  of  a  presbytery,lodged 
in  the  home  of  the  Mic-Mac  chief,  Peter 
Francis  who  was  in  very  comfortable  cir 
cumstances. 

Mrs.  Francis, who,  like  Martha  of  old,  was 
much  engrossed  in  housewifely  duties,  and 
careful  for  the  good  Father's  comfort,  had 
occasion  during  one  of  his  visits  to  punish 
her  little  boy  Peter,  then  not  much  more 
than  a  baby.  She  was  very  angry,  and  in 
keen  pursuit  of  the  little  fellow,  who,  ter- 
ribly afraid  of  the  coming  hastisement,  fled 
to  the  piiest  for  protection.  Father  Mc- 
lntyre opened  his  cassock  and  wrapped  it 
around  the  trembling  baby,  while  he  gently 
reproved  the  mother  for  her  extreme  harsh- 
ness, saying  that  she  really  must  forgive  her 
son,  who  would  be  good  henceforth. 

"And  how  do  I  know  he"  11  be  good,  Fa- 
ther?" asked  the  woman. 

''I'll  answer  for  him,"  said  the  priest; 
"I'll  go  security  that  he  will  be  good." 

And  so  the  little  boy  was  reprieved,  and 
Father  Mclntyre  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter. 

Many  year«!  after,  when  he  was  pay- 
ing his  first  pastoral  visit  to  Lennox  Island 
as  Bishop  of  the  diocese,  a  procession  in 
his  honor  came  to  meet  him  at  the  shore. 
From  the  ranks  stepped  a  tall,  handsome 
young  man, who,  doing  homage  to  his  chief 
pastor,  said  smilingly  that  he  had  come  to 
relieve  his  Lodship  of  his  bond,  and.  upon 
the  Bishop  wonderingly  asking  what  he 
meant,  recalled  the  incident  of  the  threat- 
ened whipping,  and  said  that  he  was  the 
baby  boy  for  whom  his  Lordship  had  gone 
security  so  many  years  before,  naively  re- 
marking that  he  had  been  good  ever  since. 


Honjiigo  de  Oro. 
The  Monk's  Revenge. 


A  FRANCISCAN  lay-brother  went  out  one 
i\.  day  as  usual  to  ask  for  alms.  He  came  by 
chance  to  the  abode  of  a  noble  English  Prot- 
estant, who  had  come  to  take  up  his  quarters 
in  a  beautiful  country-house  outside  the  walls 
of  Nice.  Seeing  the  door  open,  the  friar  began 
with  great  humility  to  ask  for  alms;  but  no 
sooner  had  the  Englishman  seen  him  with  his 
bag  on  his  back  than,  full  of  rage,  be  com- 
manded him  to  be  gone  out  of  his  sight  The 
friar  did  not  understand  the  broken  French 
which  the  other  spoke,  and  so  he  continued 
to  beg  with  great  humility  and  patience.  At 
length,  quite  beside  himself  with  anger,  the 
Englishman  belabored  the  poor  mendicant 
so  furiously  with  a  stick  that  he  returned  to 
his  monastery,  bearing  upon  him  the  signs  of 
the  reception  he  had  met  with  at  the  hands  of 
the  Protestant.  Rebuffs  are  the  alms  which  the 
good  sons  of  St.  Francis  oftentimes  receive! 

Some  time  after  this  event,  the  Englishman 
had  occasion  to  visit  a  Franciscan  morastery 
in  that  district.  He  went  thither  one  day  to 
take  sl^etches  of  the  surrounding  country. 
The  good  religious  conducted  him  to  the  gar- 
den, procured  a  chair  and  table,  and  paid 
him  every  attention, pointing  out  the  vantage- 
grounds  which  other  artists  had  chosen,  and 
answering  courteously  all  his  questions. 

When  he  had  finished  sketching,  the  friar 
who  had  accompanied  him  brought  him  to  a 
little  cell, where  he  received  refreshment.  The 
Englishman  accepted  it  with  gratitude,  but 
while  he  was  taking  it  he  was  rather  surprised 
to  see  that  the  friar  who  ser\'ed  him  was  the 
very  one  whom  he  had  treated  so  roughly  in 
his  own  house.  He  was  so  embarrassed  that 
he  could  not  help  asking  if  that  was  the  beg- 
gar he  had  treated  so  ignominiously  .some  time 
before.  The  friar  said  he  was  the  man. 

' '  But  tell  me, ' '  said  the  Englishman, ' '  how 
can  you  treat  me  so  well,  after  the  evil  treat- 
ment you  received  from  me?  I  suppose  you 
didn't  know  me?" 

' '  Yes.  I  knew  you  very  well, ' '  answered  the 
friar,  with  great  humility;  "but  my  religion 
commands  me  to  forgive  injuries — to  love  my 
neighbor,  and  return  good  for  evil." 

This  sublime  principle,  enunciated  with  so 
much  calmness  and  modesty,  made  such  an 


The  Ave  Maria. 


1^3 


impression  on  the  heart  of  the  Protestant,  that 
he  at  once  called  for  the  superior  of  the  mon- 
astery, related  what  had  happened,  and  begged 
pardon.  He  gave  a  considerable  sum  of  money 
to  the  monastery,  and  asked  that  the  monk 
who  had  been  treated  so  badly  by  him  should 
go  to  his  house  every  Saturday,  where  he 
would  obtain  an  abundant  alms. 

A  few  months  afterwards  this  Protestant 
became  a  fervent  Catholic.  Such  are  the  fruits 
of  Christian  Charity. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  decree  of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
Indulgences  and  Holy  Relics,  bearing  date 
April  27  of  the  present  yiear,  declares  that  for 
the  valid  reception  of  the  Brown  Scapular  it 
is  necessary  that  it  be  blessed  and  imposed 
singly,  and  not  together  with  other  Scapulars. 
The  privilege  of  blessing  and  imposing  the 
Brown  Scapular  at  the  same  time  with  others 
will  not  be  granted  in  future;  and  in  the  case 
of  those  who  have  already  received  this  priv- 
ilege, it  is  to  cease  in  ten  years  from  the  date 
of  the  decree.  

Information  was  received  at  San  Francisco 
on  the  1 8th  inst. ,  from  Oun,  Alaska,  that  Arch- 
bishop Seghers  was  murdered  last  November 
by  his  companion  and  servant  in  a  lonely 
spot  on  the  Yukon  River.  The  murderer,  who 
assigns  no  motive  for  his  crime,  has  given 
himself  up  to  the  authorities  The  murdered 
prelate  was  formerly  Archbishop  of  Oregon, 
but  resigned  his  see,  and,  with  the  approval 
of  Leo  XIII.,  devoted  himself  to  missionary 
work  among  the  Indians  of  the  Northwest. 
He  had  gone  to  Alaska  with  the  object,  as  he 
himself  expressed  it,  of  exploring  regions 
never  before  visited,  and  of  laboring  among 
natives  never  before  preached  to  by  mission- 
aries of  any  denomination.  An  illustrious  ex- 
ample of  Christian  devotedness.  Archbishop 
Seghers  was  also  a  fit  representative  of  the 
Church  as  the  pioneer  of  civilization. 

The  Pilot  draws  attention  to  the  fact  that 
the  Governors  of  Massachusetts,  for  over  thirty 
years,  have  distributed  the  honors  at  Holy 
Cross  College,  Worcester.  Governor  Ames, 
however,  it  appears,  has  been  the  first  to  make 
the  natural  inquiry,  ' '  How  can  such  admira- 
ble results  be  achieved  with  such  slender  re- 


sources ? ' '  The  Governor  was  amazed  to  learn 
that  the  College  never  had  any  endowment, 
and  that  its  very  moderate  tuition  fees  were 
all  it  had  to  depend  on.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
could  not  better  testify  his  admiration  for  the 
noble  Xvork  the  College  was  doing  than  by 
starting  an  endowment  fund,  which  he  did, 
with  a  subscription  of  $1,000.  People  do  not 
seem  to  realize  that  every  Catholic  college  in 
this  country  is  doing  its  work  without  endow- 
ments; and  if  so  much  has  been  done  without 
this  help,  what  could  not  be  accomplished  with 
it?  We  look  to  men  of  the  stamp  of  Governor 
Ames  for  an  answer  to  this  question. 


About  one  hundred  and  forty  leagues  from' 
La  Paz,  the  most  populous  city  of  Bolivia,  is  a 
celebrated  sanctuary  dedicated  to  the  Mother 
of  God.  It  possesses  a  very  ancient  and  mirac- 
ulous statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  venerated 
under  the  title  of  Our  Lady  of  Copacabana. 
It  was  on  this  spot  that,  in  the  month  of  No- 
vember last,  a  very  touching  scene  was  wit- 
nessed, at  the  parting  between  the  President  of 
the  Republic  of  Bolivia,  M.  Pacheco,  and  his 
family, who  were  about  to  leave  for  Europe. 
All  had  assembled  around  the  altar  of  Our 
Lady  of  Copacabana,  consecrated  themselves 
to  Mary,  and  vowed  to  send  from  Europe  a 
rich  mantle  of  gold  for  Her  venerated  statue. 

A  voyage  thus  placed  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Star  of  the  Sea  could  not  fail  to  have  a 
happy  issue,  and  as  soon  as  they  arrived  at 
their  destination,  the  mother  and  children  set 
about  the  accomplishment  of  their  vow.  A 
cloak,  such  as  had  been  promised,  was  ordered, 
and  when  completed  was  immediately  sent  to 
Bolivia.  M.  Pacheco  determined  to  associate 
the  whole  people  with  him  in  this  act  of  hom- 
age to  the  Blessed  Virgin  He  formed  a  na- 
tional pilgrimage  to  Our  Lady  of  Copacabana, 
and  set  out  from  La  Paz,  accompanied  by  the 
Vice-President  of  the  Republic,  the  Minister 
of  State,  his  aides-de-camp,  the  chief  officers 
of  the  army,  the  prominent  citizens  of  the 
country,  his  own  military  escort,  and  several 
regiments  of  soldiers.  After  two  days  the  im- 
posing pilgrimage  arrived  at  the  port  of  Co- 
pacabana. The  road  to  the  sanctuary  of  Our 
Lady  was  decorated  with  two  hundred  and 
fifty  triumphal  arches,  richly  and  tastefully 
ornamented.  Between  the  throngs,  fervent 
and  pious,  that  lined  both  sides  of  the  road, 


114 


The   Ave   Muria. 


the  pilgrimage,  with  the  military  band  at  the 
head,  advanced  processionally.  On  arriving 
at  the  sanctuary,  the  Salve  Regina  was  sung; 
then  the  President,  amid  the  deep  emotion  of 
the  assembled  multitude,  offered  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin, with  respect,  love,  and  gratitude,  the 
rich  cloak  of  gold.  Next  day  a  Solemn  Mass 
of  thanksgiving  was  offered  up,  and  all  ad- 
mired the  beautiful  statue  of  Our  Lady  of  Co- 
pacabana,  now  resplendent  with  the  graceful 
ornament  bestowed  upon  Her  by  Her  devoted 
son,  the  worthy  chief  of  a  worthy  people. 


The  Weekly  Register  states  that  the  Rev. 
Father  Ferrari,  S.  J.,  a  pupil  of  the  celebrated 
Padre  Secchi,  has  been  sent  by  the  Pope  on  a 
scientific  mission  to  Moscow— to  observe  the 
solar  eclipse  that  will  be  visible  from  that  city 
next  month.  He  will  also  be  the  bearer  of  an 
autograph  letter  from  the  Pope  to  the  Czar. 


The  question  of  a  short  cut  from  Europe  to 
India  has  engaged  the  attention  of  statesmen 
and  navigators  ever  since  the  days  of  Colum- 
bus. The  problem  has  now  been  solved,  but 
by  a  different  method  from  that  which  was 
formerly  thought  to  be  the  true  one.  ' '  The 
present  age,"  says  the  New  York  Sun^  ''has 
discovered  both  the  existence  and  the  useless- 
ness  of  the  northwest  passage."  The.shortest 
way  to  the  East  is  over  the  Atlantic,  and  across 
the  American  continent;  and  the  sagacious 
surmise  of  Columbus  that  the  shortest  route 
to  the  Orient  was  westward  has  been  estab- 
lished by  the  arrival  the  other  day  in  I^ondon 
of  the  first  cargo  of  tea  from  Japan  over  the 
Canadian  Pacific  Railroad.  The  time  it  took 
in  coming  was  thirty  and  one-half  days,  or  ten 
days  less  than  is  required  by  the  Isthmus  of 
Suez  route. 

A  novelty  in  church  organs  is  being  exhib- 
ited at  Milan.  It  is  constructed  entirely  of 
paper.  The  inventor  is  a  priest  named  Gio- 
vanni Crespi-Righizzo,  one  of  the  professors 
in  the  Lyceum  in  that  city ;  and  its  builder  is 
a  workman  named  Luigi  Colombo.  The  two 
gentlemen  have  obtained  a  patent  for  the 
invention.  A  German  firm  of  organ  builders 
has  already  offered  them  a  sum  of  50,000  lire 
for  the  priority  of  use. —  The  Republic. 


The  Rev.  Adrien  Rouquette,  who  died  at 
New  Orleans  on  the  15th  inst.,  was  for  many 


a  year  a  prominent  figure  in  the  world  of  lit- 
erature, and  in  his  beloved  field,  of  labor  as 
an  apostolic  missionary.  He  was  born  in  one 
of  the  wealthiest  and  most  influential  French 
families  in  Louisiana,  and  his  youthful  days 
were  spent  in  the  midst  of  all  the  happiness 
that  affluence  could  afford.  His  education,  be- 
gun in  New  Orleans,  was  completed  at  Phila- 
delphia and  Nantes  (France),  from  the  Royal 
College  of  which  city  he  graduated  with  high 
honors.  During  a  stay  of  some  years  in  Paris, 
he  became  an  associate  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  day.  It  was  there  that,  after  long  medi- 
tating upon  his  vocation,  he  felt  that  he  was 
called  to  the  priesthood,  and,  entering  the 
seminary,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of 
theology.  When  his  course  was  finished  he 
returned  to  New  Orleans,  where  he  was  or- 
dained by  Archbishop  Blanc  in  the  Cathedral 
of  that  city  For  several  years  Father  Rou- 
quette served  at  the  Cathedral,  during  which 
time  he  gave  evidence  of  the  remarkable  pow- 
ers of  oratory  with  which  he  was  gifted.  How- 
ever, in  his  zeal  he  asked  and  obtained  per- 
mission to  lead  the  life  of  a  missionary  among 
the  Choctaw  Indians,  who  had  settled  at 
Bayou  Lacombs.  There,  known  by  the  Indian 
name  of  Chatuima,  he  lived  in  the  midst  of  the 
tribe,  sharing  their  wild  and  rough  life,  and 
realizing  the  happy  reward  of  his  devotedness 
in  effecting  their  conversion  to  the  true  Faith, 
until  a  few  months  ago,  when  failing  health 
obliged  him  to  enter  the  hospital  at  New  Or- 
leans, where,  in  the  74th  year  of  his  age,  he 
gave  up  his  soul  to  God. 

Though  Father  Rouquette' s  writings  are 
not  numerous  or  voluminous,  still  they  are 
of  such  literary  value  as  to  insure  him  immor- 
tality. Especially  delightful  are  his  fugitive 
poems.  ' '  Les  Savannes, ' '  which  appeared  in 
Paris  in  iS4i,was  greeted  by  a  most  flattering 
reception  from  the  Parisian  literati.  His  next 
production  was  ' '  La  Thebaide  en  Amerique, ' ' 
an  apology  on  the  life  of  solitude  and  con- 
templation. "Wild  Flowers"  is  a  collection 
of  poems  in  English,  which,  though  not  his 
mother  tongue,  are  of  the  purest  and  truest 
style,  free  from  all  taint  of  Gallicism.  Among 
his  more  recent  productions  were  "  La  Nou- 
velle  Atala;  or  I'lsle  de  I'Esprit,"  and  a  long 
poem  in  which  he  idealizes  Catherine  Tegah- 
wita.  Brizieux,  in  writing  about  1' Abbe  Rou- 
quette, has  frequently  called  him  the  ' '  Bard 
of  Louisiana,"  or  the  "Ossian  of  America." 


Tke   A  ve  Mm/ct. 


115 


Longfellow,  we  remember,  regarded  him  one 
of  the  greatest  poets  of  our  day.  He  had 
enjoyed  the  correspondence  of  many  famous 
men  of  our  time,  most  of  whom  have  expressed 
their  admiration  for  him  as  a  poet  and  man  in 
terms  bordering  on  enthusiasm. 


The  Ufiiverse  tells  a  good  story  of  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Established  Church  who  went  to 
a  certain  part  of  Ireland  to  stamp  out  of  the 
people's  minds  the  evils  of  Mariolatry;  and 
taking  a  little  boy,  he  asked  him  to  repeat  his 
prayers  for  him.  At  once  the  little  boy  began 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  then  went  on  to  the 
Hail  Mary;  but  the  clergyman  immediately 
stopped  him,  saying,  excitedly,  "Leave  Her 
out,  and  never  on  any  account  mention  Her 
again. ' '  Continuing,  the  little  one  recited  the 
Creed  till  he  came  to  the  words  ' '  who  was  con- 
ceived by  the  Holy  Ghost,  born  of— "  when, 
turning  his  ey^es  to  the  worthy  man,  he  said: 
' '  Please,  sir,  here  She  is  again !  What  am  I  to 
do  this  time?" — Indo-European  Correspond- 
ence. 

«  ♦  » 

New  Publications. 


Life   of   Leo    XIII.    From  an  Authentic 

Memoir.    By  Bernard  O'Reilly    D.D.,LL.  D. 

(Laval.)  New  York:  Charles  L.  Webster  &  Co. 

1887. 

This  magnificent  volume  is  one  of  the  most 
important  and  valuable  publications  that  has 
appeared  during  the  last  few  years.  Compiled 
from  an  authentic  memoir  furnished  by  the 
order  of  his  Holiness,  and  written  with  his 
encouragement,  approbation,  and  blessing,  it 
will  always  be  a  standard  and  authoritative 
work  on  the  life  of  our  beloved  Holy  Father, 
now  happily  reigning.  The  execution  of  this 
labor  of  love  could  not  have  fallen  into  better 
hands  than  it  has  done.  Rev.  Father  O'Reilly's 
well-known  and  widely  appreciated  Life  of 
Pope  Pius  IX.,  of  blessed  memory,  showed 
conclusively  that  there  were  few  better  fitted 
than  himself  to  undertake  the  task  of  giving 
to  the  public  an  account  of  the  life  and  life- 
work  of  his  Holiness  Pope  Leo  XII F.,  to  be 
issued  as  a  souvenir  of  his  Golden  Jubilee 
year.  The  volume  is  most  appropriately  dedi- 
cated to  Cardinal  Gibbons,  and  contains  a 
letter  of  approval  from  his  Eminence,  along 
with  similar  communications  from  Cardinal 
Parocchi,  the  Vicar  of  his  Holiness;  Cardinal 


Simeoni,  Prefect  of  the  Propaganda;  and  the 
Archbishop  of  New  York. 

This  memoir  commends  itself  to  all  Catho- 
lics on  account  of  its  subject,  the  high  auspices 
and  favorable  conditions  under  which  it  has 
been  written,  and  lastly  the  marvellously 
faithful  and  successful  execution  of  the  work. 
His  Holiness  is  set  before  us  as  a  scholar,  as  a 
servant  of  God  of  saintly  and  stainless  char- 
acter, as  a  diplomatist,  as  a  teacher  of  all  that 
is  calculated  to  advance  the  welfare  of  society, 
and  as  a  master  of  the  difficult  science  of  soci- 
ology. The  fact  of  his  being  chosen  arbitrator 
between  Germany  and  Spain,  his  conclusion 
of  a  concordat  with  Portugal,  the  exquisite 
tact  he  has  shown  in  dealing  with  ecclesiasti- 
cal matters  in  Great  Britain,  must  invite  to 
the  perusal  of  his  life  even  those  who  are  most 
bitterly  opposed  to  him;  while  his  love  for 
the  United  States,  and  his  paternal  interest 
in  all  that  pertains  to  the  welfare  of  our  glo- 
rious Republic,  can  not  fail  to  induce  many  of 
our  separated  brethren  to  embrace  the  oppor- 
tunity afforded  them  by  the  publication  of 
this  life  to  enlighten  themselves  on  the  true 
character  of  the  common  Parent  of  Chris- 
tians. 

Youthful  readers  will  find  the  story  of  the 
early  life  of  Joachim  Vincent  Pecci  full  of 
interest  and  romance;  students  will  read  with 
due  appreciation  the  account  of  his  early 
studies  and  his  progress  in  the  sciences;  states- 
men will  be  attracted  by  the  full  and  detailed 
account  of  his  administrative  and  diplomatic 
career;  and  every  reader  of  the  newspapers 
will  stop  to  glance  at  the  chapters  which  give 
us  an  insight  into  the  state  of  Europe  since 
the  death  of  Pope  Pius  IX. ,  such  as  can  not 
be  obtained  from  any  but  the  authentic  sources 
which  Father  O'Reilly  has  had  placed  at  his 
disposal.  We  know  of  no  book  that  will  inter- 
est a  wider  circle  of  readers,  and  we  are  sure 
the  distinguished  author  will  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  that  his  work  has  done  much 
to  delight  Catholics,  to  attract  non-Catholics, 
and  to  dispel  ignorance  and  prejudice. 

What  Catholics  Have  Done  for  Sci- 
ence. With  Sketches  of  the  great  Catholic 
Scientists.  By  the  Rev.  Martin  S.Brennan,  A.M. 
New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  St.  Louis. :  Benziger 
Bros.    1887. 

The  title  of  this  work  is  one  which  will  at- 
tract the  attention  of  every  Catholic;  the  sub- 
ject which  the  book  deals  with  is  one  of  the 


ii6 


The  Ave  Ala  via. 


prominent  topics  of  the  day,  but  we  think 
Father  Brennan  has  not  treated  it  as  fully  as 
it  deserves  to  be  treated.  The  book  aims  at 
being  a  good  deal  more  than  a  mere  rt'sume, 
but  lacks  the  grasp  of  the  subject  that  would 
entitle  it  to  rank  as  an  authority.  We  are 
convinced,  however,  that  it  will  do  good  and 
be  read  with  interest  by  many,  and  we  are  also 
convinced  of  the  excellence  of  the  author's 
intention.  But  the  field  is  still  open  for  an 
author,  scientist  or  no  scientist,  who  can  write 
a  complete  and  authoritative  treatise.  Such  a 
man  would  confer  an  inestimable  boon  on  all 
classes  of  the  community. 


Obituary. 


•  *'  It  is  a  holy  and  whoUsome  thought  to  pray  Jor  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  4C 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Arthur  Devlin,  of  Dunbar,  Fayette  Co. , 
Pa.  (Diocese  of  Pittsburg),  who  departed  this  life 
on  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Mt.  Carmel,  aged 
thirty-seven  years. 

Brother  Francis  de  Sales,  C.  S.  C.,who  died  sud- 
denly, in  Chicago,  on  the  same  day,  having  just 
finished  his  annual  retreat.  He  was  the  efficient 
director  of  the  Manual  Labor  School  at  Notre 
Dame. 

Sister  Mary  Cherubim,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy 
Cross,  who  passed  away  on  the  21st  inst.,  forti- 
fied by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Jennie  Mclatosh,  who  calmly  breathed  her 
last  on  the  6th  inst.,  at  Newry,  Pa.  She  was 
eighty-one  years  old,  and  her  peaceful  death  was 
fit  ending  of  a  well-spent  life. 

Mrs.  Sarah  J.  O'Donnell,  whose  precious  death 
occurred  on  the  13th  ult.,  at  Clontarf,  Minn. 

Mr.  Francis  C.  Kathman,  who  was  called  to  his 
eternal  rest  on  the  12th  of  April.  He  bore  a  long 
illness  with  true  Christian  fortitude,  and  expired 
in  beautiful  dispositions. 

Mrs.  Mary  Hogan,  an  old  friend  of  The  'Ave 
Maria"  in  Charlestown,  Mass.,  whose  happy 
death  took  place  on  the  i6th  ult. 

Mrs.  Ellen  Conroy ,  of  Newport,  R.  I. ,  whose  good 
life  was  crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the  9th  inst. 

Mrs.  Bridget  Ivory,  who  rendered  her  soul  to 
God  on  the  8th  inst.,  at  Lewiston,  Me.  She  had  a 
long  and  severe  illness,  during  which  she  was 
consoled  and  fortified  by  the  Sacraments  of  Holy 
Church. 

Mrs.  L.  Maginnis,  of  Omaha,  Neb. ;  Kate  Moran, 
Lewiston,  Me.;  Mr. Lynch,  Lowell,  Mass. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


RAIITMENI 


Honesty  Recompensed. 


BY   E.  v.  N. 


I. 

A  bright  summer  sun  shed  its  genial  rays 
over  the  humble  cottage  of  Hans  Miiller 
and  his  wife,  who  had  just  returned  from 
assisting  at  early  Mass  on  a  Sunday  morn- 
ing. The  Miillers  had  seen  more  prosperous 
days.  Hans  had  received  a  goodly  patri- 
mony from  his  father,  who  had  plied  his 
trade  of  baker  in  one  of  our  great  cities  of 
the  West,  and  he  had  increased  it  so  far  as 
to  enable  him  to  enlarge  his  shop,  employ 
more  men,  and,  in  fine,  live  at  his  ease. 

One  sorrow  pressed  upon  his  kind,  pa- 
rental heart,  and  that  of  his  devout  wife — 
viz. ,  that  of  several  children  born  to  them, 
only  one  son,  William,  had  survived.  Natu- 
rally they  lavished  upon  him  all  their  atten- 
tion. He  was  sent  to  school  regularly,  and 
gave  great  satisfaction  to  the  Christian 
Brothers,  who  looked  upon  him  as  a  very 
promising  pupil.  When  the  boy  had  com- 
pleted his  studies  in  grammar  and  mathe- 
matics, he  asked  his  father  to  let  him  be- 
come a  watchmaker,  and  his  parents,  after 
due  deliberation,  placed  him  with  a  fiirm  of 
noted  jewellers,  where  the  greatest  pains 
were  taken  to  teach  him  the  delicate  art  of 
watchmaking.  The  good  couple  were  very 
lonesome  without  their  dear  boy,  but  wisely 
consoled  themselves  by  praying  much  for 
him,  giving  alms  for  his  success  and  his 
perseverance  in  the  good  principles  he  had 
imbibed  at  school.  There  was  a  frequent 
interchange  of  affectionate  letters;  for  Wil- 
liam had  been  entrusted  with  commissions 
to  dealers  in  watches  and  jewelry  in  Cincin- 
nati, some  distance  from  his  native  place. 

Meanwhile   the  Civil  War   broke   out. 
Miiller' s  business  suffered  greatly,  and  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


117 


found  himself  indebted  for  a  large  quantity 
of  flour  and  other  provisions  which  he  could 
no  longer  hope  to  sell.  To  complete  his 
pecuniary  loss,  a  mob  set  fire  to  his  bakery, 
which,  with  his  shop  and  dwelling-house, 
was  reduced  to  ashes.  He  resolved,  there- 
fore, to  dispose  of  the  lots  on  which  his 
former  property  had  stood,  pay  his  debts, 
and  with  the  surplus  purchase  a  small 
house  in  the  suburbs.  A  letter  was  written 
to  William,  but  not  a  line  of  sympathy 
arrived.  However,  as  the  mails  were  often 
intercepted  in  those  troublous  times,  the 
fond  parents  resigned  themselves  to  this 
seeming  neglect.  Aided  by  Father  Alphon- 
sus,  a  charitable  Franciscan,  they  obtained 

a  neat  cottage  near  M ,  in  the  suburbs 

of  their  native  city,  within  a  short  walk 
of  the  monastery.  The  venerable  Fathers 
kindly  invited  the  worthy  couple  to  assist 
at  Mass  in  their  chapel,  and  aided  them  in 
many  ways  to  support  themselves  decently, 
and  become  reconciled  to  their  change  of 
condition. 

Again  and  again,  as  time  passed,  letters 
were  sent  to  the  absent  son,  but,  strange  to 
say,  no  answer  ever  came.  Finally  the  par- 
ents concluded  that  he  had  followed  some 
recruiting  officer,  and  had  been  slain  in 
battle.  Thus  fifteen  years  elapsed,  and 
on  the  Sunday  on  which  this  little  story 
opens,  Miiller  and  his  faithful  wife  Gertrude 
had  been  reading  over  the  ' '  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,"  which  Father  Alphonsus  bade 
them  do  whenever  they  were  tempted  to 
despondency. 

"At  one  time,"  remarked  Mrs.  Miiller, 
with  tearful  eyes,  "we  were  able  to  give 
to  charitable  purposes  more  than  we  now 
own." 

"True,"  rejoined  Hans,  "and  now  nei- 
ther of  us  has  a  decent  suit  to  go  to  High 
Mass.  But,  wife,  get  your  spectacles,"  he 
added,  *  *  and  read  a  few  pages  of  the  '  Imi- 
tation.'" 

She  did  so,  and  began  to  read  slowly  and 
solemnly,  her  husband  signifying  his  appre- 
ciation of  the  thoughts,  maxims,  and  prom- 
ises by  a  nod  and  a ' '  yes. ' '  When  she  closed 
the  precious  volume,  both  recited  the  Beads 


of  the  Mother  of  Sorrows,  and  resolved  more 
fervently  than  ever  to  put  all  their  trust  in 
Him  who '  feeds  the  birds  of  the  air,  and 
clothes  the  lilies  of  the  field,  though  they 
neither  toil  nor  spin.' 

II. 

Before  Miiller' s  cottage  there  was  a  wellr 
kept  grass-plot,  shaded  by  the  wide-spread- 
ing branches  of  a  towering  elm,  under 
which  was  a  rustic  arm-chair,  in  which 
Father  Alphonsus  would  sit  and  contem- 
plate the  beauties  of  nature  when  he  visited 
his  humble  friends  Near  the  gate,  which 
was  always  ajar,  stood  a  comfortable  bench, 
behind  a  small  table;  for  some  of  the  neigh- 
bors patronized  Miiller' s  vegetable  garden, 
and  his  wife's  treasures  of  fresh  eggs  and 
thriving  poultry.  Passengers  on  the  turn- 
pike often  came  in  during  summer,  and 
occupied  the  bench  for  a  moment's  rest.  In 
fact,  the  little  cottage  was  very  attractive; 
a  luxuriant  multiflora  ran  over  the  porch, 
and  petunias  of  every  shade  bloomed,  with 
ponisetta,  Jacobean  and  Bermuda  lilies,  and 
hyacinths  of  many  tint?.  Father  Alphonsus 
brought  them  seeds  of  choice  plants  and 
scions  of  shrubs,  which  Miiller  cultivated 
carefully.  Then,  too,  Mrs.  Miiller's  varieties 
of  beautiful  poultry  would  attract  the  eye 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  driving  out  in  the 
afternoon  for  an  airing.  The  bronze  turkeys 
strutting  about,  with  fowls  of  Andalusia; 
the  Toulouse  geese  and  Rouen  ducklings 
swimming  gaily  in  the  little  pond,  excited 
well-deserved  admiration. 

Still,  with  all  their  efforts  and  their  indus- 
try, as  the  couple  were  advancing  in  years, 
they  could  only  just  manage  to  live  and  keep 
clear  of  debt.  Their  garments  had  become 
faded  and  old-fashioned,  so  they  paid  their 
visit  to  the  chapel  of  the  monastery  in  the 
morning  and  evening  twiligh  t,  always  car- 
rying with  them  a  rich  bouquet  of  flowers 
and  greenery  to  place  on  the  altar. 

III. 

While  Gertrude  was  reading  aloud  to 

her  husband,  he  had  observed  a  man  enter 

their  gate,  and,  sitting  on  the  bench,  make 

use  of  the  small  table  to  write  a  memoran- 


ii8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


dum;  then,  after  reading  a  few  moments, 
the  stranger  tcx)k  up  his  portmanteau,  and 
resumed  his  journey. 

Hans  told  his  wife  what  he  had  observed. 
"Probably  the  man  is  looking  for  the  Fran- 
ciscan Fathers,"  she  said;  "but  he  is  going 
in'  the  wrong  direction.  I  wonder  who  he 
is?" 

Hans  took  his  hat  and  cane,  and  walked 
slowly  over  to  the  arm-chair;  but  as  he 
passed  the  bench  he  observed  a  coin,  which 
he  took  to  be  a  new  cent,  glittering  on  the 
grass,  and,  stooping  with  difficulty,  picked 
it  up  and  threw  it  on  the  table,  supposing 
some  customer  had  dropped  it.  But  the 
strange  rattle  of  the  piece  induced  him  to 
take  his  spectacles  and  examine  it  more 
closely.  It  was  an  eagle  fresh  from  the 
mint.  "Gertrude!  Gertrude!  come  here," 
he  called  to  his  wife,  who  hurried  to  his 
side;  "look  at  this  coin!  It  is  a  ten-dollar 
piece.  I  found  it  here." 

"Blessed  be  Our  Lord!  He  has  not  for- 
gotten us, ' '  cried  Mrs.  Miiller.  ' '  He  always 
remembers  those  who  put  their  trust  in 
Him.  Now,  Hans,  this  will  get  you  a  new 
summer  coat  and  hat,  and  you  can  go  to 
High  Mass  and  sermon.  Just  what  I  have 
asked  Oar  Blessed  Mother  to  give  you!" 

"It  would  buy  you  a  new  dress  and  a 
bonnet  as  well,"  rejoined  the  aged  man; 
"but  you  forget  this  money  is  not  ours: 
it  probably  belongs  to  the  traveller  whom 
I  saw  here  while  you  were  reading." 

"I  hardly  think  he  will  ever  miss  it;  at 
all  events,  he  can  not  be  sure  that  he  dropped 
it  here.  It  is  a  real  favor  from  God,  who  is 
proving  to  us  that  He  does  not  forget  His 
friends." 

"God  is  good,  dear  wife,  beyond  all  that 
we  can  express.  See  how  my  garden  grows, 
what  lucky  broods  your  poultry  bring,  how 
cool  the  wind  blows  this  very  morning  to 
refresh  us.  But  God  is  just  also;  soon  the 
winds  will  blow  over  my  grave,  and  I  even 
hear  them  murmur  in  advance  the  words 
of  the  Great  Judge:  'What,  Hans  Muller, 
you  dishonored  your  grey  hairs  for  a  piece 
of  yellow  dust!'" 

*'you  are  right,  Hans.    I  suppose  ] we 


ought  to  try  to  overtake  the  traveller  and 
return  it  to  him. ' ' 

"I  will  try  to  do  so,"  said  Hans,  laying 
down  his  newspaper  and  starting  off 

His  wife  watched  him  trudging  along, 
bent  almost  double,  but  hurrying  as  much 
as  he  could,  when  a  sudden  thought  seized 
her.  She  ran  down  the  road,  and,  quite  out 
of  breath,  stopped  him,  saying,  "You  know 
there  is  a  big  'elbow'  in  the  turnpike 
hereabouts.  We  had  better  go  through  the 
fields,  and  we  shall  be  pretty  sure  to  get  in 
advance  of  him.  Lean  on  me,  Hans,"  she 
added;  "I  am  stronger  than  you."  And  on 
they  walked  together. 

Gertrude  had  made  a  close  calculation; 
they  had  time,  by  crossing  fields,  to  take 
breath  and  wait  a  few  seconds  for  the  stran- 
ger to  come  up;  then  Hans  called  out: 

"  Here,  sir,  is  a  gold  piece  that  I  think 
you  must  have  dropped  on  the  grass,  at  our 
little  cottage,  a  while  ago." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  ever  so  much! 
I  just  now  missed  it"  And  the  traveller 
swept  his  eye  over  the  ill-clad  couple, while 
Hans  gazed  at  the  speaker.  "I  would  be 
glad  to  give  it  to  you, ' '  he  continued,  reflec- 
tively,"  but  I  have  a  long  journey  to  make, 
and  I  may  need  it.  However,  if  you  will 
give  me  your  name,  I  will  send  you  more 
than  this  when  I  reach  my  destination." 

Hans  was  lost  in  thought,  but  Gertrude 
said:  "O  sir,  we  do  not  want  a  reward  for 
restoring  your  own  money. ' ' 

The  stranger  smiled,  then,  drawing  out  a 
card  and  pencil,  he  asked  again,  "Give  me 
your  name,  please?" 

"It  is  Miiller,"  she  replied. 

^''Midler!'*''  exclaimed  the  man,  in  aston- 
ishment; "why,  my  own  name  is  Miiller!" 

"William  Miiller?"  inquired  Hans. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  traveller,  breath- 
lessly. "  Perhaps  you  knew  a  baker  in  the 
city  of — " 

"Wife,"  interrupted  Hans,  "this  is  our 
own  son!"  And  he  threw  his  arms  about 
the  young  man's  neck.  The  mother's  heart 
was  ready  to  burst  with  joy.  She  clung  to 
her  son  for  a  long  time,  kissing  him  fondly. 

God  had  indeed  sent  the  venerable  couple 


The  Ave  Maria. 


119 


a  blessing  after  years  of  sore  trial ;  for  the 
stranger  was  really  their  long-absent  son. 

Our  readers  may  imagine  the  details  of 
such  a  meeting:  the  emotion  of  the  parents, 
the  explanation  of  their  child;  the  advent- 
ures of  both  father  and  mother,  their  grief 
and  misfortunes,  minutely  narrated;  their 
pious  thanksgiving,  and  their  projects  for 
the  future. 

IV. 

When  the  Civil  War  broke  out,  a  Swiss 
partner  in  the  firm  to  whose  care  William 
had  been  entrusted  was  on  the  eve  of  setting 
out  for  Geneva,  for  the  double  purpose  of 
transacting  business  for  the  company  and 
settling  family  aflfairs.  This  gentleman  was 
a  friend  of  William,  and,  thinking  that  he 
was  too  young  to  join  the  army,  and  that 
all  their  apprentices  would  have  to  be  dis- 
missed, conceived  the  idea  of  taking  him 
to  Europe,  and  let  him  continue  the  study 
of  his  art  in  a  city  in  which  w^chmaking 
is  carried  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection. 
The  presiding  partner  approved  of  the  plan; 
letters  were  sent  to  Hans  Miiller,  but,  as 
we  have  seen,  they  never  reached  him.  The 
Miillers'  change  of  residence  and  the  acci- 
dents of  civil  strive  had  contributed  to  the 
loss  of  letters  on  both  sides.  When  William 
returned  he  again  made  unavailing  inqui- 
ries, and,  obtaining  no  satisfactory  response, 
had  tarried  in  New  Orleans  with  a  branch 
house  of  the  Cincinnati  firm.  Finally  he 
became  a  partner  in  the  business,  and,  hav- 
ing prospered,  had  married  an  estimable 
lady.  But  he  never  forgot  his  devoted  par- 
ents, and  had  resolved  to  follow  a  slight 
clue  given  him  by  a  missionary  priest  so- 
journing in  New  Orleans.  We  have  seen  the 
result. 

The  dutiful  son  at  once  took  measures  for 
having  his  parents  made  comfortable  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  their  days.  He  settled 
on  them  an  annuity,  and,  as  they  had  be- 
come sincerely  attached  to  the  excellent 
Franciscan  Fathers,  and  their  pretty  cot- 
tage, it  was  deemed  better  to  let  them  re- 
main where  they  were  than  to  change  their 
residence  in  the  decline  of  life.  An  addi- 
tion was  built  to  the  cottage,  and  in  the 


summer  William  would  bring  his  wife  and 
children  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  worthy 
old  couple. 

Mrs.  Miiller  had  a  statue  of  the  Afflicted 
Mother  placed  near  the  garden  gate,  and 
she  would  often  tell  her  grandchildren  that 
upright  dealing,  with  confidence  in  God's 
protection,  gives  peace  of  soul,  a  treasure  far 
beyond  all  the  riches  earth  can  bestow. 


A  Daughter  to  be  Proud  of. 

Two  gentlemen,  friends  who  had  been 
parted  for  years,  met  in  a  crowded  city  street. 
The  one  who  lived  in  the  city  was  on  his 
way  to  meet  a  pressing  business  engage- 
ment. After  a  few  expressions  of  delight, 
he  said: 

' '  Well,  I'm  off  I'm  sorry,  but  it  can' t  be 
helped.  I  will  look  for  you  to-morrow  at 
dinner.  Remember,  two  o'clock,  sharp.  I 
want  you  to  see  my  wife  and  child." 

"Only  one  child?"  asked  the  other. 

"Only  one,"  came  the  answer,  tenderly; 
"a  daughter.  But  she^s  a  darling.'''' 

And  then  they  parted,  the  stranger  in  the 
city  getting  into  a  street-car  bound  for  the 
park. 

After  a  block  or  two,  a  group  of  five  girls 
entered  the  car;  they  all  evidently  belonged 
to  families  of  wealth;  they  conversed  well. 
Bach  carried  a  very  elaborately  decorated 
lunch  basket;  each  was  well  dressed.  They, 
too,  were  going  to  the  park  for  a  picnic. 
They  seemed  happy  and  amiable  until  the 
car  again  stopped,  this  time  letting  in  a 
pale-faced  girl  of  about  eleven,  and  a  sick 
boy  of  four.  These  children  were  shabbily 
dressed,  and  on  their  faces  were  looks  of 
distress.  They,  too,  were  on  their  way  to 
the  park.  The  gentleman  thought  so;  so 
did  the  group  of  girls;  for  he  heard  one  of 
them  say,' with  a  look  of  disdain: 

"I  suppose  those  ragamuffins  are  on  an 
excursion,  too."  Another  remarked:  "I 
shouldn't  want  to  leave  home  if  I  had  to 
look  like  that.  Would  you?" — this  to  her 
nearest  companion. 

* '  No,  indeed.  But  there  is  no  account- 


120 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ing  for  tastes,  t  think  there  ought  to  be  a 
special  line  of  cars  for  the  lower  classes." 

All  this  was  spoken  in  a  low  tone,  but  the 
gentleman  heard  it.  Had  the  child  heard? 
He  glanced  at  the  pale  face  and  saw  tears. 
He  was  angry. 

Just  then  the  exclamation — "Why,  there 
is  Nettie!  Wonder  where  she  is  going?" — 
caused  him  to  look  out  upon  the  corner, 
where  a  sweet-faced  young  girl  stood  bec- 
koning to  the  car-driver.  When  she  entered 
the  car  she  was  warmly  greeted  by  the  five, 
and  they  made  room  for  her  beside  them. 
They  were  profuse  in  exclamations  and 
questions. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  one. 

"Oh, what  lovely  flowers!  Who  are  they 
for?"  said  another. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  Belle  Clark's.  She  is 
sick,  you  know,  and  the  flowers  are  for  her. ' ' 

She  answered  both  questions  at  once,  and 
then,  glancing  toward  the  door  of  the  car, 
saw  the  pale  girl  looking  wistfully  at  her. 
She  smiled  at  the  child,  a  tender  look  beam- 
ing from  her  beautiful  eyes;  and  then,  for- 
getting that  she  wore  a  handsome  velvet 
skirt  and  costly  jacket,  and  that  her  shapely 
hands  were  covered  with  well-fitted  gloves, 
she  left  her  seat  and  crossed  over  to  the 
little  ones.  She  laid  one  hand  on  the  boy's 
thin  cheeks  as  she  asked  of  his  sister: 

"The  little  boy  is  sick,  is  he  not?  And 
he  is  your  brother,  I  am  sure." 

It  seemed  hard  for  the  girl  to  answer,  but 
finally  she  said : 

"Yes,  miss,  he  is  sick.  Freddie  never  has 
been  well.  Yes,  miss,  he  is  my  brother. 
We're  goin'  to  the  park  to  see  if  't won't 
make  Freddie  better." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going,"  the  young 
girl  replied,  in  a  low  voice  meant  for  no 
one's  ears  except  those  of  the  child.  "I 
think  it  will  do  him  good ;  it  is  lovely  there, 
with  the  spring  flowers  all  in  bloom.  But 
where  is  your  lunch?  You  ought  to  have  a 
lunch  after  so  long  a  ride." 

Over  the  little  girl's  face  came  a  flush. 

"Yes,  miss,  we  ought  to,  for  Freddie's 
sake;  but,  you  see, we  didn't  have  any  lunch 
to  bring.   Tim — he's  our  brother — saved 


these  pennies  so  as  Freddie  could  ride  to  the 
park  and  back.  I  guess,  mebbe,  Freddie'  11 
forget  about  being  hungry  when  he  gets  to 
the  park. ' ' 

There  were  tears  in  the  lovely  girl's  eyes 
as  she  listened,  and  very  soon  she  asked  the 
girl  where  they  lived,  and  wrote  the  address 
down  in  a  tablet  which  she  took  from  a  bag 
on  her  arm. 

After  riding  a  few  blocks  she  left  the  car, 
but  she  had  not  left  the  little  ones  com- 
fortless. Half  the  bouquet  of  violets  and 
hyacinths  was  clasped  in  the  sister's  hand, 
while  the  sick  boy,  with  radiant  face,  held 
a  package  from  which  he  helped  himself 
now  and  then,  saying  to  his  sister,  in  a  jubi- 
lant whisper: 

"She  said  we  could  eat 'em  all — every 
one — when  we  get  to  the  park.  What  made 
her  so  kind  and  good  to  us?" 

And  the  little  girl  whispered  back: 

"It's'caijse  she's  beautiful  as  well  as 
her  clothes."  The  gentleman  heard  her 
whisper. 

When  the  park  was  reached,  the  five 
girls  hurried  out.  Then  the  gentleman 
lifted  the  little  boy  in  his  arms  and  carried 
him  out  of  the  car,  across  the  road,  and  into 
the  green  park:  the  sister, with  a  heart  full 
of  gratitude,  following.  He  paid  for  a  nice 
ride  for  them  in  the  goat  carriage,  and 
treated  them  to  oyster  soup  at  the  park 
restaurant. 

At  two  o'clock  sharp  the  next  day,  the 
two  gentlemen,  as  agreed,  met  again. 

' '  This  is  my  wife, ' '  the  host  said,  proudly, 
introducing  a  comely  lady;  "and  this,"  as 
a  young  lady  of  fifteen  entered  the  parlor, 
"is  my  daughter." 

"Ah!"  said  the  guest,  as  he  extended 
his  hand  in  'cordial  greeting,  "this  is  the 
dear  girl  whom  I  saw  yesterday  in  the  street- 
car. /  doii^  t  wonder  you  called  her  a  darMng. 
She  is  a  darling^  and  no  mistake,  God  bless 
her! "  And  then  he  told  his  friend  what  he 
had  seen  and  heard  in  the  horse-car. — 
Our  Dumb  Animals. 


The  boy  who  says  his  night  prayers  in 
bed  will  soon  neglect  them  altogether. 


^f  tHENCfPORJH  /VLLjCE/Ef^TloKTsjlAU  CAIl  jV^E  BlE^EOt 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  6,  1887. 


No.  6. 


'Ooprrirbt  — R«t.  D.  E.  Hotbos.  C  S  C 


Lilies. 


BY    SARA    TRAINER    SMITH. 


TT  HE  blossoms  of  the  lilies  slow  unfold 
^  When  the  glad  summer  sighs  its  happy 
breath 

O'er  teeming  fields  that  seem  to  laugh  at 
death. 
The  petals  open  over  hearts  of  gold, 
And  from  the  sweetness  loose  their  gentle  hold, 

To  cast  it  wavering  on  the  golden  air. 

Seeking  in  vain  a  resting-place  more  fair 
Than  these  pure  chalices  of  perfect  mould. 
Well  might  the  Angel  come  to  Mary's  side, 

Bearing  such  token  of  Her  home  on  high! 
First  by  the  ripple  of  life's  crystal  tide, 

Must   they  have  bloomed  beneath   God's 
loving  eye; 
And  when  His  Son  came  hither  to  abide, 
His  footsteps  left  them  springing  far  and  wide. 


The  Children  of  Mary. 


k 


HEN  Mary  became  Mother  of  God 
all  Christians  were  made,  by  the 
very  fact,  Her  children.  This  ten- 
der relationship  was  solemnlv  ratified, from 
the  tribunal  of  the  Cross,  when  the  dying 
Redeemer  pronounced  Her  the  Mother  of 
His  beloved  Apostle.  Thus  the  Congrega- 
tion of  the  Children  of  Mary  is,  virtually,  a 
divine  institution.    It  embraces,  in  a  true 


sense,  all  mankind,  but  it  binds  together  the 
children  of  the  Church  by  the  strictest  ties 
of  spiritual  consanguinity.  Yet  this  com- 
mon family  tie  was  not  deemed  sufficient  to 
satisfy  the  ardor  of  devotion  that  at  all  times 
inflamed  the  popular  heart  in  the  service  of 
the  common  Mother  of  the  faithful. 

It  may  often  be  observed,  in  the  natural 
famih ,  that  the  mother — the  centre  and 
bond  of  all  the  home  affections — becomes 
an  object  of  almost  passionate  attachment 
to  one  or  more  of  her  children.  This  she 
repays  in  kind,  and  so  in  that  circle  wherein 
love  is  most  impartial  there  is  formed  a 
sort  of  esoteric  bond.  An  inner  sanctuary  is 
built,  whose  secrets  are  reserved  for  those 
specially  beloved  ones  whom  a  holy  jeal- 
ousy designates  as  the  "mother's  pets." 
These  assume  a  sort  of  prerogative  in  the 
household,  founded  chiefly  on  their  fond- 
ness for  "clinging  to  the  mother's  apron- 
string."  Such  as  these  in  the  family  of  the 
Church  are  the  Children  of  Mary.  It  will 
surely  be  interesting  to  all  Mary's  Ameri- 
can children  to  learn,  through  The  "Ave 
Maei.4.,"  which  I  take  it  is  their  organ, 
the  story  of  the  institution,  formation,  and 
fortunes  of  their  society.  I  shall  tell  them, 
or  those  of  them  ihat  do  not  know,  all  I 
know  myself  on  the  subject. 

The  Confratern  ity  of  the  Children  of  Mary 
is  connected  in  a  very  special  manner  with 
the  history  of  the  Jesuit  Order.  Through 
the  Jesuits  it  became  widely  known,  and  it 
was  cherished  and  patronized  by  their  So- 
ciety in  all  parts  of  the  Catholic  world. ^ A 


122 


The  Ave  Maria. 


young  Jesuit  priest,  Father  Leon,  a  profes- 
sor in  the  Roman  College,  established  the 
Confraternity  there  in  1563.  Soon  after  it 
became  one  of  the  most  distinguished  and 
popular  of  devout  institutions.  It  had  in- 
scribed on  its  lists  such  names  as  those  of 
St.  Charles  Borromeo,  St.  Francis  of  Sales, 
St.  Louis  Gonzaga.  This  Confraternity  was 
erected  under  the  title  of  the  Annunciation 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  and  it  flour- 
ished wonderfully  among  the  youth  who 
frequented  the  Jesuit  colleges  wherever 
they  were  established.  It  was,  however,  ex- 
clusively a  boys'  society. 

This  foundation  can  not,  however,  be 
truly  called  the  origin  of  the  Confrater- 
nity of  Mary.  It  goes  back  to  a  much  ear- 
lier age.  Towards  the  end  of  the  eleventh 
century  a  Regular  Canon  of  St.  Augustine, 
the  Blessed  Peter  de  Honestis,  founded  at 
Ravenna,  in  the  Church  of  S.  Maria  del 
Porto,  a  congregation  which  he  named 
the  "Sons  and  Daughters  of  Mary."  An 
immense  enthusiasm  sprang  up  on  all  sides 
in  its  favor.  All  classes  became  eager  for 
■enrolment.  The  very  title  of  the  association 
levelled  all  distinctions  of  rank  by  enno- 
bling all  its  wearers.  The  "Sons  and  Daugh- 
ters of  Mary ' '  were  all  equal  in  an  age  and 
a  society  where  faith,  their  common  bond 
and  heritage,  was  the  recognized  chapter 
of  true  nobility,  and  mere  rank  was  but 
its  appanage.  Supreme  Pontiflfs,  emperors, 
kings,  and  queens,  many  of  whom  were 
enrolled  in  the  society,  could  own  no  higher 
title  than  that  of  "Sons  and  Daughters  of 
Mary."  As  such  they  were  "one  in  name 
and  one  in  fame"  with  the  lowliest  in 
worldly  station.  At  the  head  of  the  list  was 
the  name  of  the  great  Princess  Matilda  of 
Canossa,  who  may  justly  be  called  the  first 
Child  of  Mary. 

Unfortunately,  this  Congregation,  like 
all  others  that  are  nearly  connected  with 
the  dogma  and  destinies  of  the  Church,  suf- 
fered, together  with  her,  all  the  inward  and 
outward  trials  she  passed  through  during 
the  succeeding  ages.  Little  by  little  its 
members  abandoned  the  fervor  of  devotion 
that  distinguished  the  earlier  period  of  the 


institution.  In  fact,  it  may  be  considered  to 
have  lapsed,  as  a  special  association,  in  the 
centuries  that  followed. 

It  was  revived,  however,  towards  the  end 
of  the  sixteenth  century:  first,  as  we  have 
seen,  by  the  Jesuit,  Father  L^on,  who  in- 
troduced it  into  the  Roman  College,  whence 
it  spread  to  all  the  Jesuit  institutions.  But 
another  hand  was  destined  to  spread  this 
seed  of  devotion  broadcast  throughout  the 
world,  and  restore  it  to  its  primitive  pur- 
pose. It  was  the  hand  of  Blessed  Peter 
Fourier,  Patriarch  of  the  "Active  Orders," 
and,  like  the  early  founder  of  the  Confrater- 
nity, also  a  Canon  Regular.  This  apostolic 
man  had  himself  been  educated  by  the 
Jesuits  at  the  University  of  Pont-a-Mousson, 
and  was  a  Child  of  Mary  of  the  Confrater- 
nity of  that  place.  In  1586  he  became  a 
Canon  Regular  of  St.  Augustine,  in  the  an- 
cient Abbey  of  Chaumouzey,  near  Kpinal, 
and  afterwards  cure  of  the  parish  of  Mat- 
taincourt  in  the  Vosges,  a  once  obscure 
hamlet,  now  become  famous  from  his  name 
and  virtues.  The  one  idea  of  his  life  was 
the  religious  education  and  training  of  chil- 
dren. To  this  end  he  founded  a  religious 
congregation  at  Mattaincourt,  devoted  en- 
tirely to  instructing  young  girls  in  letters 
and  useful  handiwork.  This  congregation 
was  approved  and  erected  into  a  religious 
order  by  Paul  V.  and  Urban  VIII.  Under 
the  name  of  the  Congregation  of  Notre 
Dame,  it  spread  in  a  remarkable  way.  It 
was  established  in  Canada  as  early  as  1657 
— more  than  a  huncired  years  before  the  In- 
dependence of  the  United  States — by  Mar- 
garet Bourgeois,  President  of  the  Congre- 
gation Extkrne  of  Troyes. 

This  was  what  may  be  called  the  grand 
work  of  Blessed  Fourier's  life.  In  connection 
with  it,  however,  he  wished  to  popularize, 
among  the  young  especially,  the  Cotifrater- 
nity  of  Mary  to  which  he  had  long  ago  given 
his  name  when  a  student  with  the  Jesuit 
Fathers,  and  which  owed  its  first  foundation 
to  a  member  of  his  own  Canonical  Order. 
"This  holy  Confraternity,"  he  writes  to 
the  Rev.  Father  Guinet,  "  must  tend  to  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  increase  of  devotion  to 


The  Ave  Maria, 


123 


the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary. ' '  He  introduced 
it  first  among  the  girls  that  were  being 
educated  by  his  congregations  of  Notre 
Dame,  but  he  so  framed  its  rules  that  it 
might  be  adapted  also  to  young  boys  in 
parish  schools,  and  to  young  people  in  all 
stations  of  life.  In  1631  Cardinal  Francis 
of  Lorraine,  Bishop  of  Toul,  approved  of 
Blessed  Peter's  association  of  Children  of 
Mary,  and  erected  it  into  a  confraternity. 
Thenceforth  it  grew  apace,  spread  from  the 
Old  World  to  the  New,  and  flourished  vig- 
orously in  both. 

But  we  have  not  yet  done  with  the  history 
of  this  happy  family,  so  old  in  time,  and 
yet  so  fresh  and  youthful  in  its  gathering 
that  it  seems  to  have  kept  up  a  perpetual 
springtime,  an  unending  flower  season,  in 
the  long  ages  of  Religion.  The  associations 
we  have  been  observing  so  far  embraced 
but  did  not  define  the  Children  of  Mary  of 
our  day,  who  are  a  congregation  of  young 
maidens  only,  devoted  to  Mary's  service 
and  imitation.  It  was  left  to  the  poetic  heart 
of  Pius  IX.  to  gather  the  daughters  of  the 
family  together,  and  bind  them  to  their 
Mother  by  the  sweetest  bond  of  consecra- 
tion— a  memorial  wreath  formed  from  the 
mingled  laurels  and  lilies  of  martyrdom 
and  maidenhood.  It  was  a  thought  worthy 
of  that  tender  soul  to  weave  into  the  story 
of  the  Children  of  Mary  the  blessed  mem- 
ory of  Agnes,  the  true  "mother's  pet"  of 
the  Church  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  It 
happened  this  wise. 

About  the  middle  of  this  century  the 
Most  Rev.  Dom  Passeri,  General  of  the  Can- 
ons Regular,  re-established  the  institution 
of  his  early  predecessor  in  the  Order,  Blessed 
Peter  de  Honestis,  in  the  Basilica  of  St. 
Agnes  outside  the  walls  of  Rome.  This  is 
one  of  the  Roman  churches  of  the  Regu- 
lar Canons,  and  is  a  celebrated  centre  of 
devotion  for  the  youth  who  congregate  in 
Rome.  On  the  30th  of  September,  1864, 
this  new  foundation  was  canonically  erected 
by  a  rescript  of  Cardinal  Patrizi,  Vicar- 
General  of  Pius  1 X. ,  under  the  title  of  Pious 
ITnion  of  the  Children  {figlie — daughters) 
of  Mary.  It  was  then  placed  under  the  pat- 


ronage of  the  Immaculate  Virgin  and  St. 
Agnes.  Thus  Pius  IX.  made  the  tomb  of 
this  heroic  virgin  and  martyr  the  centre  of 
all  the  congregations  of  the  Children  of 
Mary,  and  by  divers  briefs  he  nominated 
it  Primaria — first,  or  chief,  or  arch-confra- 
ternity. He  gave  to  it  also  the  faculty  of 
aggregating  canonically  to  itself  all  other 
associations  of  the  Children  of  Mary,  and 
he  enriched  this  Archconfraternity  and  its 
aggregates  with  many  and  large  indul- 
gences. * 

lyco  XIII.  renewed  and  confirmed  this 
work  of  his  predecessor.  Since  1886  the 
Confraternity  of  St.  Agnes  has  gathered  to 
itself  three  thousand  Pious  Unions  from  all 
parts  of  the  world.  The  authority  of  affili- 
ating is  reserved  to  the  Most  Rev.  Father 
General  of  the  Canons  Regular,  on  condi- 
tion that  the  society  petitioning  for  affilia- 
tion have  the  approval  of  the  bishop  of  the 
place  where  it  exists,  conducts  its  proceed- 
ings under  the  patronage  of  Mary  Im- 
maculate and  St.  Agnes,  and  engages  to 
observe  the  rules  contained  in  the  "Man- 
ual of  the  Primaria,  "t  or  book  of  common 
prayer  of  the  Confraternity  of  St.  Agnes. 
Thus  upon  the  very  tomb  of  this  heroic 
virgin  and  martyr  the  Confraternity  of  the 
Children  of  Mary  has  come  to  be  estab- 
lished. Resting  upon  such  foundation,  it 
shall  no  more  suffer  change  of  form  or  lack 
of  fervor  and  efficiency. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  desired  that  all  the 
American  congregations  of  the  Children  of 
Mary  should  associate  themselves  with  the 
Confraternity  of  St.  Agnes.   I  have  before 


*  Pius  IX.  never  forgot  his  miraculous  preser- 
vation on  the  occasion  of  a  state  visit  he  made  to 
St.  Agnes'  Church  in  1855,  about  ten  years  before 
the  foundation  of  this  association.  For  an  account 
of  this  event  see  The  "Ave  Maria,"  Vol.  XXI., 
No.  51. 

f  This  manual,  or  prayer-book,  has  not  yet  ap- 
peared in  English.  I  have,  therefore,  undertaken 
to  translate  it  from  the  Italian,  so  that  it  may 
come  to  be  in  general  use  among  English-speak- 
ing Children  of  Mary,  and  that  the  Confraterni- 
ties may  be  enabled  to  gather  with  their  Roman 
sisterhood  round  the  tomb  of  St.  Agnes,  enjoy  all 
the  blessings  and  privileges  of  the  Roman  Con- 
fraternity, and  form  one  society  with  it. 


124 


The  Ave  Maria. 


me  a  ravishing  vision  as  I  write, — a  vision 
that  will  certainly  before  long,  become  a 
more  beautiful  reality.  I  see  the  fair  and 
faithful  young  sisterhoods  of  America  gath- 
ering from  every  diocese  and  parish  of  the 
boundless  continent,  under  the  guidance  of 
their  several  pastors.  I  see  them  assemble 
by  the  Atlantic  shore,  like  the  white  sea- 
birds  that  stop  to  rest  a  while  and  concert 
their  airy  plans  before  taking  wing  over  the 
wide  ocean.  I  see  them  at  length  perch  as  it 
were  outside  Rome's  walls  —  there  where 
old  Nomentum  lies  hiding  its  secrets  deep 
in  the  hallowed  soil.  They  bring  with  them 
a  breath  of  ocean  to  refresh  the  tired  old 
Tiber,  and  a  whiff  from  the  prairie  to  stir 
up  and  disinfect  the  lazy  breezes  of  the 
Campagna.  Of  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
they  will,  for  the  nonce,  take  only  a  bird's- 
eye  view.  The  goal  of  their  flight  is  not 
hung,  like  Angelo's  artistic  miracle,  high 
in  air.  It  lies  low  in  the  nether  earth ;  for 
ages  have  piled  their  grey  robes  over  the 
bed  where  Agnes  lies  sleeping. 

There  is  nothing  in  Rome  or  in  the  world 
more  soul-subduing  than  that  silent  shrine. 
Down  the  great  marble  steps  leading  to  it 
flutter  the  American  Children  of  Mary.  The 
great  nave,  with  its  everlasting  pillars, 
opens  to  their  view.  It  is  the  vestibule  of 
the  Catacombs  of  St.  Agnes.  Its  arches 
glow  serenely  in  the  mellow  light  that 
seems  the  glimmer  of  a  spiritual  presence — 
for  the  glitter  of  day  has  been  left  to  the 
world  above.  Festoons  of  gold  mosaic,  like 
amber  satin,  bind  the  pillar  caps  and  archi- 
traves, and  they  seem  to  swing  and  rustle 
as  the  shadows  come  and  go  upon  them. 
At  the  far  end  from  the  foot  of  the  great 
staircase  stands  the  altar.  It  is  St.  Agnes' 
tomb.  Beneath  it  lies  that  faultless  virgin 
form.  One  feels  as  though  it  had  but  just 
been  laid  there.  Tears  of  unspeakable  pity 
spring  to  the  eyes.  ' '  So  young,  so  beautiful ; 
cut  off  so  cruelly  in  the  flower  of  her  hopes 
and  joys,  at  the  very  moment  of  the  fulfil- 
ment of  life's  brightest  promises! "  But  pity 
is  here  a  brief  sentiment.  Admiration,  love, 
a  yearning  for  spiritual  companionship  with 
her,  a  devout  jealousy  of  the  blessed  martyr- 


maiden,  is  the  feeling  that  succeeds  and  re- 
mains. All  the  American  Children  of  Mary 
will  experience  these  emotions;  and  a  ten- 
derness, worth  a  thousand  such  long  flights 
as  they  have  taken  to  come  here,  will  pos- 
sess their  souls. 

Around  the  marble  chancel  rail,  within 
it,  and  swaying  backwards  to  the  curve  of 
the  apse,  they  will  see  gathered  their  dark- 
eyed  Roman  sisters.  The  gilt-bronze  statue 
of  Agnes,  raised  above  the  tabernacle,  forms 
the  lofty  centre  figure  of  their  group.  The 
arms  are  slightly  parted  from  the  sides,  as 
though  in  the  inception  of  a  gesture  of 
embrace.  The  right  hand  holds  a  wreath 
of  gold — the  double  crown  she  won.  She 
seems  to  have  removed  it  from  her  brow  to 
place  her  visitors  more  at  ease,  and  to  re- 
ceive them  as  their  sister  rather  than  as 
their  queen. 

I  dare  not  pursue  the  vision,  for  it  ends  at 
this  point  in  a  sweet  confusion.  Nature  and 
grace  become  delightfully  mingled.  There 
is  a  rush  and  a  flutter,  and  two  ages,  sepa- 
rated by  eighteen  hundred  eventful  years, 
meet  as  though  they  had  parted  but  yes- 
terday. Old  Rome  and  young  America,  or 
young  Rome  and  young  America — which 
is  it? — (the  mind  becomes  dazed  amid 
this  mingling  of  forms  and  faces,  dates  and 
distances,  that  are  all  one,  and  yet  not  one) 
meet  together  at  the  feet  of  Agnes.  Oceans 
and  continents,  ages  and  their  events,  are 
but  illusions.  The  one  truth  is  that  these 
are  sisters  who  have  known  and  loved  one 
another  and  lived  together  all  their  days 
without  being  aware  of  it  till  now.  There  is 
no  common  language  needed  here.  Theirs 
is  the  true  language  of  flowers— flowers 
that  reflect  and  interpret  themselves,  and 
distil  from  one  to  other  the  fragrance  caught 
from  the  Lily  of  the  Valley  and  the  Rose  of 
Sharon. 


Wretched  is  he  who  remains  ignorant 
of  the  sublime  influences  of  confession. 
Still  more  wretched  he  who  feels  called 
upon  to  regard  it  with  scorn,  that  he  may 
not  appear  one  of  the  vulgar.  —  Silvw 
Pellico. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


1^5 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  X XXL— (Continued.) 

IT  was  several  days  after  this  that  the 
meeting  between  herself  and  Earle  took 
place.  She  had  been  with  Claire  for  some 
hours  in  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  and 
finally  before  leaving  they  entered  the 
beautiful  Raphael  L'^ggia — that  lovely  spot 
filled  with  light  and  color,  where  the  most 
exquisite  creations  of  the  king  of  painters 
glow  with  immortal  sunshine  from  the 
walls.  As  they  entered  and  paced  slowly 
down  its  length,  a  figure  was  advancing 
from  the  other  end  of  the  luminous  vista 
toward  them.  Marion  recognized  this  figure 
before  Claire  did,  and  so  had  a  moment  in 
which  to  take  firm  hold  of  her  self-posses- 
sion before  the  latter,  turning  to  her  quickly, 
said,  "Yonder  comes  Mr.  Earle." 

"  So  I  perceive, ''  replied  Marion,  quietly. 
*'He  has  not  changed  sufficiently  to  make 
an  introduction  necessary." 

The  next  moment  they  had  met,  were 
shaking  hands,  and  exchanging  greetings. 
Of  the  two  Marion  preserved  her  composure 
best.  Earle  was  surprised  by  his  own  emo- 
tion when  he  saw  again  the  face  that  once 
had  power  to  move  him  so  deeply.  He  had 
said  to  himself  that  its  power  was  over,  that 
he  was  cured  in  the  fullest  sense  of  that 
which  he  looked  back  upon  as  brief  infatua- 
tion ;  but  now  that  he  found  himself  again 
in  Marion's  presence,  a  thrill  of  the  old 
emotion  seemed  to  stir,  and  for  a  moment 
rendered  him  hardly  able  to  speak. 

Conventionalities  are  powerful  things, 
however,  and  the  emotion  must  be  very 
strong  that  is  not  successfully  held  in  check 
by  them.  Claire  went  on  speaking  in  her 
gentle  voice,  giving  the  others  time  to  re- 
cover any  self-possession  which  they  might 
have  lost. 

"We  just  came  for  a  turn  in  this  beauti- 
ful place  before  going  home,"  she  said  to 
Earle.  ' '  They  are  my  delight,  these  loggia 
of  the  Vatican.  All  the  sunshine  and  charm 


of  Italy  seem  to  meet  in  the  divine  loveli- 
ness of  the  frescos  within,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  classic  gardens  without.  A  Papal 
audience  is  never  so  picturesque.  I  am  sure, 
as  when  it  is  held  in  one  of  these  noble 
galleries." 

Earle  assented  rather  absently;  then  say- 
ing, "If  you  are  about  to  go  home,  I  will 
see  you  to  your  carriage, ' '  turned  and  joined 
them.  It  was  a  singular  sensation  to  find 
himself  walking  again  by  Marion's  side, 
and  the  recollection  of  their  last  parting 
returned  so  vividly  to  his  mind  that  when 
he  spoke  he  could  only  say,  "My  poor 
uncle's  life  was  much  shorter  than  I  imag- 
ined it  would  be,  Miss  Lynde. ' ' 

"Yes,"  replied  Marion,  quietly.  "His 
death  was  a  great  surprise  to  everyone.  I 
am  sure  you  did  not  think  when  you  parted 
from  him  that  his  life  would  be  numbered 
only  by  weeks." 

' '  I  certainly  did  not  think  so, ' '  he  an- 
swered, with  emphasis  Then  he  paused 
and  hesitated.  Conversation  seemed  hedged 
with  more  difl&culties  than  he  had  antici- 
pated. His  parting  with  his  uncle  had  been 
so  closely  connected  with  his  parting  from 
Marion,  that  he  found  it  a  subject  impos- 
sible to  pursue.  He  dropped  it  abruptly, 
therefore,  and  remarked:  "I  was  greatly 
surprised  to  learn  from  Miss  Alford  that  my 
cousin  George  Singleton  is  alive,  and  has 
returned  from  the  wild  regions  in  which  he 
buried  himself ' ' 

This  was  a  better  opening.  Marion  re- 
plied that  Mr.  Singleton's  appearance  had 
astonished  everyone  concerned,  but  that  his 
identity  was  fully  established.  "Indeed," 
she  added,  "  I  do  not  think  there  was  a  doubt 
in  the  mind  of  any  one  after  he  made  his 
personal  appearance." 

"And  you  gave  up  your  fortune  to  him?" 
said  Earle,  with  a  sudden  keen  glance  at  her. 

She  colored.  "I  did  not  feel  that  it  was 
my  fortune, ' '  she  answered, ' '  but  rather  his. 
Surely  his  father  must  have  believed  him 
dead,  else  he  would  never  have  made  such 
a  disposition  of  his  property." 

' '  That  was  my  impression — that  he  be- 
lieved him  dead.  But  it  is  difiicult  to  speak 


126 


The  Ave  Maria. 


with  certainty  about  a  man  so  peculiar  and 
so  reticent  as  my  uncle.  You  will,  perhaps, 
pardon  me  for  saying  that,  since  he  had  left 
you  his  fortune,  I  do  not  think  you  were 
bound  to  resign  it  all." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Marion,  somewhat 
coldly, ' '  that  I  was  not  bound  to  resign  any 
of  it:  I  had,  no  doubt,  a  legal  right  to  keep 
whatever  the  law  did  not  take  from  me. 
But  I  am  not  so  mercenary  as  you  believe. 
I  could  not  keep  what  I  did  not  believe  to 
be  rightfully  mine." 

Despite  pride,  her  voice  trembled  a  little 
over  the  last  words,  and  Earle  was  immedi- 
ately filled  with  self-reproach  to  think  that 
he  had  wounded  her. 

"So  far  from  believing  you  mercenary, ' ' 
he  said,  gravely,  "I  think  that  you  have 
acted  with  extraordinary  generosity, — gen- 
erosity carried,  indeed,  beyond  prudence. 
Forgive  me  for  alluding  to  the  subject.  I 
only  regret  that  my  uncle's  intentions  tow- 
ard you  have  been  so  entirely  frustrated. ' ' 

"I  have  the  recollection  of  his  great  kind- 
ness, ' '  she  said,  hurriedly.  ' '  I  know  that  he 
desired  to  help  me,  therefore  I  felt  it  right 
to  keep  something.  I  did  not  leave  myself 
penniless." 

"You  would  have  been  wrong  if  you  had 
done  so,"  remarked  Earle;  "but  it  would 
have  been  better  still  if  you  had  kept  a  fair 
amount  of  the  fortune. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!"  she  replied;  "for  I  had  no 
claim  to  any  of  it — no  claim,  I  mean,  of 
relationship.  I  was  a  stranger  to  your  uncle, 
and  I  only  kept  such  an  amount  as  it  seemed 
to  me  a  kind-hearted  man  might  give  to 
a  stranger  who  had  wakened  his  interest. 
Mr.  George  Singleton  was  very  kind,  too. 
He  wished  me  to  keep  more,  but  I  would 
not." 

' '  I  understand  how  you  felt, ' '  said  Earle ; 
"and  I  fear  I  should  have  acted  in  the  same 
manner  myself,  so  I  really  can  not  blame 
you.   I  only  think  it  a  pity." 

The  gentleness  and  respect  of  his  tone 
touched  and  pleased  her.  She  felt  that  it 
implied  more  approval  and  sympathy  than 
he  liked  to  express.  Unconsciously  her  eyes 
thanked  him,  and  when  they  parted  a  little 


later  in  one  of  the  courts  of  the  Vatican, 
each  felt  that  the  awkwardness  of  meeting 
was  over,  and  that  there  was  no  reason  why 
they  should  shrink  from  meeting  again. 

"I  have  wronged  her,"  said  Earle  to 
himself  as  he  strolled  away.  ' '  She  is  not  the 
absolutely  mercenary  and  heartless  creature 
I  had  come  to  believe  her.  I  might  have 
known  that  I  was  wrong,  or  Miss  Alford 
would  not  make  a  friend  of  her.  Whoever 
she  likes  must  be  worthy  of  being  liked." 

CHAPTER  XXXri. 

It  was  soon  apparent  to  Marion  that 
Claire's  talent  was  as  fully  recognized  by 
the  artists  who  made  her  circle  now,  as  it 
had  been  by  the  nuns  in  the  quiet  convent 
she  had  left.  They  praised  her  work,  they 
asked  her  judgment  upon  their  own,  and 
they  prophesied  a  great  future  for  her — a 
future  of  the  highest  distinction  and  the 
most  solid  rewards. 

"I  knew  how  it  would  be,  Claire,"  Mar- 
ion said  one  day,  as  she  sat  in  the  studio 
of  the  young  artist  watching  her  at  work. 
' '  I  always  knew  that  you  would  succeed, 
whoever  else  failed.  Do  you  remember  our 
last  conversation  together — you  and  Helen 
and  I — the  evening  before  we  left  school, 
when  we  told  one  another  what  we  desired 
most  in  ]  i  fe  ?  /  said  money ;  wel  1 , 1  have  had 
it,  and  was  forced  to  choose  between  giving 
it  up,  or  giving  up  my  self-respect.  I  have 
found  out  already  that  there  are  worse  things 
than  to  be  poor.  Helen  said  happiness — 
poor,  dear  Helen! — and  the  happiness  of 
which  she  was  thinking  slipped  out  of  her 
fingers  like  a  vapor.  But  you,  Claire, — you 
chose  something  worthy :  you  chose  success 
in  art,  and  God  has  given  it  to  you." 

' '  Yes,"  observed  Claire,  meditatively, "I 
have  had  some  success;  I  feel  withinjmyself 
the  power  to  do  good  work,  and  my  power 
is  recognized  by  those  whose  praise  is  af 
value.  I  feel  that  my  future  is  assured — that 
I  can  make  money  enough  for  all  my  needs, 
and  also  the  fame  which  it  is  natural  for 
every  artist  to  desire.  But,  Marion,  do  you 
know  that  with  this  realization  has  come  a 
great  sense  of  its  unsatisfactoriness  ?  There 


The  Ave  Maria. 


127 


are  days  in  which  I  lay  down  my  brushes 
and  say  to  myself  ^Cui  bonof  as  wearily 
as  the  most  world-weary  man." 

"Claire, it  is  impossible!" 

Claire  smiled  a  little  sadly  as  she  went  on 
mixing  her  colors.  "  It  is  very  possible  and 
very  true,"  she  said.  "And  I  suppose  the 
moral  of  it  is  that  there  is  no  real  satisfac- 
tion in  the  possession  of  any  earthly  ideal. 
We  desire  it,  we  work  for  it,  and  when  we 
get  it  we  find  that  it  has  no  power  to  make 
us  happy.  We  three,  each  of  us  in  different 
ways,  found  that  out,  Marion." 

"But  there  was  no  similarity  in  ihe 
ways,"  replied  Marion.  "Mine  was  an  un- 
worthy ideal,  and  Helen's  a  foolish  one; 
but  yours  was  all  that  it  ought  to  be,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  should  be  perfectly 
happy  in  the  attainment  of  it." 

"And  so  I  am  happy,"  said  Claire.  "Do 
not  mistake  me.  I  am  happy,  and  very 
grateful  to  God ;  but  I  can  not  pretend  to  a 
satisfaction  in  the  attainment  of  my  wishes 
which  I  do  not  find.  There  is  something 
lacking.  Though  I  love  art,  it  does  not  fill 
the  needs  of  my  nature.  I  waat  something 
more— something  which  I  do  not  possess — 
as  an  object,  an  incentive — " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  Marion  was 
silent  for  a  moment  from  sheer  astonish- 
ment. That  Claire  should  feel  in  this  way — 
Claire  so  calm,  so  self-contained,  so  devoted 
to  her  art,  so  ambitious  of  success  in  it — 
amazed  her  beyond  the  power  of  expression, 
until  suddenly  a  light  dawned  upon  her, 
and  she  seemed  to  see  what  it  meant.  It 
meant — it  must  mean — that  Claire  in  her 
loneliness  felt  the  need  of  love,  and  the  ties 
that  love  creates.  Friends  were  all  very 
well,  but  friends  could  not  satisfy  the  heart 
in  the  fullest  sense;  neither  could  the 
pleasure  of  painting  pictures,  nor  the  praise 
of  critics,  however  warm.  Yes,  Claire  de- 
sired love — that  was  plain;  and  love  was 
at  hand  for  her  to  take — love  that  Marion 
had  thrown  away. 

"It  is  just  and  right,"  said  the  latter  to 
herself.  "I  have  nothing  to  complain  of — 
nothing!  And  she  must  not  think  that  I 
will  regret  it.    I  must  find  a  way  to  make 


her  understand  this."  After  a  minute  she 
spoke  aloud :  "Certainly  you  have  surprised 
me,  Claire;  for  I  did  think  that  you  were 
happy.  But  I  suppose  the  moral  is,  as  you 
say,  that  the  attainment  of  no  object  which 
we  set  before  ourselves  is  able  to  render  us 
thoroughly  satisfied.  But  your  pictures  are 
so  beautiful  that  it  must  be  a  pleasuie  to 
paint  them." 

"Genius  is  too  great  a  word  to  apply  to 
me,"  remarked  Claire,  quietly.  "But  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  paint;  I  should  be  ungrateful 
beyond  measure  if  I  denied  that.  I  have 
much  happiness  in  it,  a^d  I  am  more  than 
content  with  the  success  God  has  granted 
me.  I  only  meant  to  say  that  it  has  not  the 
power  to  satisfy  me  completely.  But  that, 
I  suppose,  nothing  of  a  purely  earthly  nat- 
ure can  have. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  not?"  asked  Marion, 
rather  wistfully.  This  is  "a hard  saying  " 
for  youth  to  believe,  even  after  experience 
has  somewhat  taught  its  truth.  Indeed  the 
belief  that  there  may  be  lasting  good  in 
some  earthly  ideal,  eagerly  sought,  eagerly 
desired,  does  not  end  with  youth.  Men  and 
women  pursue  such  delusions  to  the  very 
end  of  life,  and  lie  down  at  last  in  the  arms 
of  death  without  having  ever  known  any 
lasting  happiness,  or  lifted  their  eyes  to  the 
one  Ideal  which  can  alone  satisfy  the  yearn- 
ing of  their  poor  human  hearts. 

This  glimpse  of  Claire's  inmost  feeling 
was  not  forgotten  by  Marion.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  it  made  matters  very  plain,  and  she 
had  now  no  doubt  how  the  affair  would  end 
as  regarded  Barle.  She  said  again  to  her- 
self, ' '  I  must  go  away ' ' ;  but  she  knew  that 
to  go  immediately  would  be  to  betray  her- 
self, and  this  she  passionately  desired  not  to 
do.  Therefore  she  did  what  was  the  next 
best  thing — she  avoided  Barle  as  much  as 
possible,  so  markedly  indeed  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  him  to  force  him- 
self upon  her  even  if  he  had  desired  to  do 
so.  She  persevered  in  this  line  of  conduct 
so  resolutely  that  Claire  began  to  think  that 
some  conclusions  she  had  drawn  at  first 
were  a  mistake,  and  that  the  alienation  be- 
tween these  two  was  indeed  final. 


128 


The  Ave  Maria, 


But  Marion's  success  cost  her  dearly.  It 
was  a  severe  discipline  through  which  she 
was  passing— a  discipline  which  tried  every 
power  of  her  nature,  in  which  there  was  a 
constant  struggle  to  subdue  everything  that 
was  most  dominant  within  her.  Passion 
that  had  grown  stronger  with  time,  selfish- 
ness that  demanded  what  it  desired,  vanity 
that  smarted  under  forge tfulness,  and  pride 
that  longed  to  assert  itself  in  power, — all 
of  these  struggled  against  the  resolution 
which  kept  them  down.  But  the  resolution 
did  not  fail.  "After  having  thrown  away 
my  own  happiness  by  my  own  fault,  I  will 
die  before  I  sacrifice  Claire's,"  she  deter- 
mined. But  it  was  a  hard  battle  to  fight 
alone,  and,  had  she  relied  solely  upon  her 
own  strength,  might  never  have  been  fought 
at  all,  or  at  least  would  have  ended  very 
soon.  But  Rome  is  still  Rome,  in  that  it 
ofiers  on  every  side  such  spiritual  aids  and 
comforts  as  no  other  spot  of  earth  affords. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Deception. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


I  knew  a  cumbrous  hill, 
From  whose  green  breast  did  daintily  distil 
A  throbbing  rill. 

"This  is  the  artery, 
And  farther  on  the  crystal  heart  must  be, ' ' 
Thought  said  to  me. 

All  other  I  forsook. 
To  follow  every  turn  and  curious  crook 
In  that  wild  brook. 

Among  deep  mosses  set, 
I  found  the  sparkling  fount  that  did  beget 
The  rivulet. 

No  other  eye  had  known 
Its  secret,  nor  ear  heard;  for  it  made  moan 
Always  alone. 

I  quaffed  its  waters  clear. 
Its  lulling  music  babbled  to  mine  ear 
With  voice  sincere. 


Then  such  a  silence  fell 
Upon  me,  mantling  me  as  where  a  spell 
Is  wont  to  dwell. 

Yet  fled  I  from  the  place 
At  a  rude  rustling,  and  fear  gave  me  chase 
In  my  disgrace — 

'Twas  a  slim  water- snake, 
Slipt  like  an  arrow  thro'  the  shivering  brake, 
And  left  no  wake, 

But  cleft  the  placid  spring, 
And  waved  its  flaming  sword,  its  forked  sting. 
In  a  charm' d  ring. 

.  So  was  the  fountain  spoiled: 

Within  its  limpid  walls  a  devil  coiled — 

My  trust  was  foiled. 


Father  Friederlch  Spee  and  the  Witch- 
craft Mania. 


BY    T.    F.    GALWEY. 

SUPERSTITION  and  irreligiou  are  two 
opposite  forms  of  error.  Superstition 
ascribes  divine  or  supernatural  powers  to 
persons  or  things  that  are  not  entitled  to 
them,  while  irreligion  refuses  to  ascribe 
these  where  they  really  exist.  It  is  a  preva- 
lent notion  that  superstition  is  confined  to 
the  ignorant.  The  phrase  "ignorance  and 
superstition"  has  enjoyed  a  wide  vogue, 
showing  how  easy  it  is  for  ingenious  and 
plausible  phrase-makers  to  disseminate  un- 
truth merely  by  playing  on  the  popular  love 
for  brief  and  pithy  expression.  It  is  quite 
true  that  a  certain  sort  of  ignorance  is  fa- 
vorable to  superstition,  but  the  sophistry  of 
the  phrase  consists  in  making  superstition 
seem  to  be  coincident  with  what  is  popu- 
larly called  ignorance — that  is  to  say,  with 
illiteracy  and  general  lack  of  knowledge  of 
the  world's  ways;  whereas  the  only  igno- 
rance that  has  any  logical  connection  with 
superstition  is  ignorance  of  true  religion. 

In  our  own  day  and  country  we  have  an 
instance.  Millions  of  Americans  of  at  least 
the  average  intelligence,  and  of  more  than 
the  average  inquisitiveness  of  mind — many 


The  Ave  Maria. 


129 


of  them,  even,  of  unusual  acquirements, — 
have  been  the  victims  of  what  is  called 
Spiritism.  It  matters  not  whether  Spiritism 
be  regarded  as  a  thorough  deception,  or 
whether  it  be  held  to  be  in  whole  or  part  a 
manifestation  of  infernal  forces:  it  remains 
that  the  mass  of  Spiritists  wrongly  suppose 
themselves  to  be  in  communication  with 
an  upper  world.  Thoueh  superstition  and 
irreligion  are  opposite  forms  of  error,  they 
are,  for  all  that,  often  united  in  the  same 
person.  The  leally  superstitious  are  nearly 
always  irreligious,  and  the  irreligious  are, 
perhaps,  nearly  as  often  superstitious. 

Figuratively  speaking,  superstition  is  the 
ruins  of  true  religion.  It  is  in  a  sense  a  car- 
icature of  true  religion.  The  most  Protes- 
tant parts  of  Germany  are  full  of  queer 
superstitious  beliefs  and  practices,  which 
are,  to  a  considerable  extent,  the  misunder- 
stood survivals  of  Catholic  doctrines  and 
devotions.  Those  regions  of  Pennsylvania 
where  the  primitive  habits  and  customs  of 
the  early  Protestant  German  settlers  remain 
without  much  change,  and  some  of  the 
Western  rural  communities  whose  inhabi- 
tants came  originally  from  that  Pennsyl- 
vanian  stock,  are  very  much  given  to  odd 
varieties  of  superstition;  which,  however, 
are  rarely  malignant  in  intent,  having  to  do 
chiefly  with  the  pretended  cure  of  ills  in 
man  or  beast.  The  late  Norman  MacLeod, 
one  of  Queen  Victoria's  honorary  chaplains, 
related,  in  a  volume  of  ministerial  reminis- 
cences, that  not  many  years  ago  the  Protes 
tant  clergymen  in  the  Presby  terian  parts  of 
the  Scottish  Highlands  used  to  be  incensed 
on  observing  that  their  simple-minded 
mountain  flocks,  Presbyterians  though  they 
were,  persisted  in  making  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  over  their  sick  cattle,  as  the  best  rem- 
edy available;  they  mumbled  at  the  same 
time  in  Gaelic  broken  and  meaningless 
fragments  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  An- 
gelical Salutation.  In  this  case,  what  with 
their  Catholic  ancestors  had  been  a  pious 
and  perfectly  proper  prayer,  had,  appar- 
ently, become  degraded  among  these  Pres- 
byterians into  a  superstitious  incantation. 

In  the  countries  that  constituted  the  Ro- 


man Empire  every  grove,  every  dell,  every 
mountain  and  stream  had  its  special  divin- 
ity. In  the  barbarous  lands  of  the  north 
of  Europe  each  of  the  elements — air,  fire, 
water;  every  season  of  the  year,  storm  and 
calm,  the  blue  sky,  the  dark  cloud;  every 
wind,  the  rain,  the  hail,  the  sleet  and  the 
snow;  every  locality,  had  its  particular 
dominant  spirit.  Everywhere,  in  fact,  there 
was  the  dominion  of  the  deified  physical 
forces,  whose  worship  in  another  form  has 
been  revived  by  our  modern  infidels.  The 
natural  physical  laws  were  but  little  under- 
stood then,  even  by  the  most  enlightened. 
The  sailor,  therefore,  saw  the  direct  aciion 
of  the  gods  in  the  winds  and  the  waves; 
the  farmer  in  the  favorable  or  unfavorable 
growth  and  bearing  of  his  crop<?  and  herds; 
the  housewife  was  conscious  of  an  unseen 
presence  amid  her  domestic  duties. 

In  the  Roman  and  Grecian  States,  despite 
the  general  mythology  which  had  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  Government  and  the  legalized 
priesthood,  there  was  everywhere  a  purely 
popular  form  of  religion  which  clung  with 
an  almost  pathetic  affection  to  the  local 
deities,  which  knew  little  and  cared  liitle 
for  Jupiter  and  Apollo,  or  Juno  and  Venus, 
or  Neptune  and  Vulcan,  but  which  wor- 
shipped with  genuine  devotion  the  queer 
gods  and  goddesses  of  the  mountain  cleft 
and  the  river  side,  the  deities  of  their  own 
neighborhood.  It  was  thi>  local  and  rustic 
idolatry  which  toward  the  end  offered  the 
most  strenuous  opposition  to  the  introduc- 
tion of  Christianity  into  the  Roman  Empire. 
The  villagers,  ox pagani^  had  a  sort  of  home 
feeling  for  their  neighbDrhood  deities;  and, 
though  they  would  readily  abandon  the 
great  gods  and  goddesses  of  Olympus — for 
whom,  after  all,  it  is  quite  likely  that  the 
masses  of  the  people,  especially  the  rustics, 
had  never  entertained  any  very  sincere  rev- 
erence,— they  displayed  a  sort  of  patriotic 
reluctance  to  give  up  their  local  supersti- 
tions. 

Christianity,  therefore,  found  many  un- 
willing converts,  who,  while  in  deference 
to  the  general  popular  movement  they  out- 
wardly conformed  to,  inwardly  retained  a 


130 


The  Ave  Maria, 


liking  for  the  ancient  local  myths.  Dryads 
and  fauns,  naiads,  sprites,  elves,  and  fairies 
still  continued  to  have  their  votaries.  But 
as  Christianity  gained  strength  and  took  an 
official  sanction,  the  ancient  cult  withdrew 
more  and  more  out  of  sight.  Remote  or 
obscme  spots,  such  as  deep  glens  in  the 
mountains,  or  gloomy  nooks  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wood — probably  the  ancient  seats 
of  these  deities, — were  resorted  to  by  these 
imperfectly  converted  Christians  By  the 
force  of  circumstances,  an  air  of  mystery 
and  of  weirdness  began  to  enshroud  these 
superstitions,  which  in  the  olden  day  had 
been  conducted  with  an  artless  frankness 
entirely  devoid  of  affectation,  and  probably 
•innocent  of  fraud  or  of  intentional  deceit. 
The  depth  of  night  was  now  the  chosen 
time,  and  the  chief  promoters  were,  for  the 
most  part,  crabbed  and  sour- faced  old 
women — withered  and  gibbering  hags  such 
as  Shakspeare  presents  to  us  in  "  Macbeth.' ' 

It  was  undoubtedly  this  foul  and  uncanny 
survival  of  the  old  local  heathenism  which 
developed  in  the  course  of  time  into  the 
mania  known  as  witchcraft.  It  is  true  that 
magic,  necromancy,  divination,  and  other 
occult  superstitions,  flourished,  and  vigo- 
rously too.  before  the  time  of  Christianity  ; 
but  there  is  this  important  distinction  to 
bear  in  mind.  Before  Christianity  the  public 
conscience  saw  nothing  intrinsically  impi- 
ous in  these  arts.  Sd  long  as  they  produced 
no  disastrous  effects,  or  supposed  disaslrous 
effects,  their  practice  excited  no  ill-will.  On 
the  contrary,  they  were,  rather,  regaided 
with  kindly  interest  if  practised  for  a  good 
purpose;  for  example,  for  the  curing  of  dis- 
ease and  the  like.  But  once  Christianity 
was  accepted,  the  very  profession  or  practice 
of  such  arts,  no  matter  what  the  end  aimed 
at,  was  in  itself  an  impiety — an  irreverent 
deceit,  if  fraudulent;  or  a  defiance  of  God, 
if  genuine. 

Witchcraft  implies  some  sort  of  contract 
with  the  infernal  powers, by  mears  of  which 
preternatural  privileges  are  supposed  to  be 
obtained.  As  might  be  expected, Germany, 
where  Christianity  was  latest  introduced, 
gives  us  the  earliest  records  in  Christendom 


of  the  existence  of  witchcraft.  There  are 
German  synodal  decrees  of  the  eighth  and 
ninth  centuries  which  deal  with  the  matter; 
although  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  these 
dtcrees  seem  intended,  not  so  much  for  the 
suppression  or  punishment  of  witchcraft,  as 
for  the  condemnation  of  those  who,  through 
a  foolish  dread  of  witchery,  were  tempted 
to  engage  in  a  fanatical  pursuit  of  supposed 
witches  that  was  likely  to  lead  to  great 
injustice. 

The  dawn  of  Protestantism  was  really 
the  beginning  of  the  witchcraft  era.  For 
even  the  famous  bull  of  Innocent  VIII., 
near  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  centuiy — the 
first  official  pronouncement  of  consequence 
on  the  subject  of  witchcraft, — was,  like  the 
decrees  of  several  centuries  before  in  Ger- 
many, to  a  considerable  extent  for  the 
benefit  of  those  accused  of  witchcraft.  Its 
immediate  purpose  was  to  remove  the  ac- 
cused from  the  civil  courts  (where  the 
probability  was  that  they  would  be  tried 
in  accordance  with  ignorant  and  popular 
clamor)  to  the  ecclesiastical  tribunals,  where 
common-sense  and  equity,  as  well  as  piety 
and  learning,  were  more  likely  to  prevail. 
But  even  then  Wycliffe's  and  John  Huss' 
teachings  had  begun  to  unsettle  faith  and, 
consequently,  to  make  an  opening  for 
superstition. 

Not,  however,  until  Protestantism  had 
been  established  with  all  the  possible  sanc- 
tions of  English  law — that  is  to  say,  not 
until  the  statute  of  Elizabeth  in  1562 — 
was  witchcraft  declared  in  England  to  be  a 
crime  in  itself,  to  be  punished  with  death. 
Under  James  I.  witch- finding  became  al- 
most a  fine  art,  and  the  accounts  of  the 
cruelties  to  which  the  hapless  "witches" 
were  subjected  in  England  during  the  time 
when  Protestant  zeal  and  fanaticism  ruled 
that  country  are  enough  to  hairow  even 
the  hardest  of  hearts.  And  just  in  pro- 
portion to  the  growth  of  Pjotestantism  in 
England  grew  the  witchcraft  mania  with 
all  its  attendant  horrors.  During  the  sitting 
of  the  notorious  Long  Parliament,  when 
Puritanism  dominated  England,  three  thou- 
sand  persons,  according   to   the   ordinary 


The  Ave  Maria. 


131 


estimates,  were  put  to  death  in  England  for 
witchcraft.  The  last  execution  there  was 
that  of  Mrs.  Hickes  and  her  daughter,  who 
were  hanged  in  17 16  on  the  accusation  of 
having  sold  their  souls  to  the  devil,  and  for 
having  on  several  occasions  raised  a  storm 
by  pulling  off"  their  stockings  and  at  the 
same  time  making  a  lather  of  soap. 

So  grave  a  Protestant  legal  writer  as 
Blackstone  *  sa)  s  that  ' '  to  deny  the  possi- 
bility, nay  actual  existence,  of  witchcraft 
and  sorcery  is  at  once  flatly  to  contradict  the 
revealed  word  of  God  both  of  the  Old  and 
the  New  Testament,  and  the  thing  itself  is 
a  truth  to  which  every  nation  in  the  world 
halh  in  its  turn  borne  testimony."  From 
the  first  case  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  to 
that  of  Mrs  Hickes,  it  is  estimated  that  in 
England  thirty  thousand  persons  were  put 
to  death  by  law  for  witchcraft. 

The  history  of  England  during  the  dark 
or  Protestant  period  that  covers  the  seven- 
teenth and  part  of  the  eighteenth  centuries 
has  been  written  for  us  almost  exclusively 
by  Protestants,  and  it  is,  therefore,  distin- 
guished for  a  careful  reserve  as  to  the  many 
evils  that  undoubtedly  followed  the  estab- 
lishment of  Protestantism.  The  real  truth 
of  the  history  of  that  Protestant  period — a 
period  of  black  hypocrisy  and  harsh  perse- 
cution— in  its  social,  moral,  and  political 
aspects,  will  probablv  never  be  disentangled 
from  the  maze  of  rhetoric  which  Strype,  Gil- 
bert Burnet,  Hume,  Macaulay,  and  smaller 
writers,  such  as  the  late  Mr.  Green,  have 
spun  about  it,  until  the  time  comes  that 
competent  Catholic  writers  shall  be  enabled 
to  give  it  to  the  world. 

As  for  Scotland,  the  accounts  are  fright- 
ful. The  first  Scottish  act  of  Parliament 
against  witchcraft  was  passed  in  1563,  in 
deference  to  the  wishes  of  John  Knox  and 
his  friends.  Some  years  later,  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  marriage  of  Scotland's  first  Prot- 
estant king,  thirty  persons  were  executed  in 
Edinburgh,  charged  with  having  conspired 
with  Satan  against  the  life  of  James.  Indeed 


it  may  be  said  without  exaggeration  that 
the  Presbyterian  clergy  of  Scotland  seem  to 
have  resolved  themselves  into  a  committee 
of  witch- finders.  The  General  Assembly 
of  the  Presbyterian  Kirk  almost  yearly 
renewed  its  denunciations  of  the  witches, 
and  of  those  who  harbored  them,  or  failed 
to  inform  against  them.  The  civil  courts 
of  Scotland  were  obedient  to  the  Kirk,  and 
in  1659  a  single  circuit  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Glasgow  convicted  and  burned  seven- 
teen persons.  The  total  number  supposed 
to  have  been  capitally  punished  in  Scotland 
between  1563  (the  date  of  the  first  penal 
enactment)  and  1722, when  the  last  victim, 
an  old  woman,  was  executed  by  the  Sheriflf 
of  Caithness,  is  four  thousand.  Considering 
both  that  this  was  limited  almost  exclu- 
sively to  the  southern  and  other  most  in- 
tensely Protestant  parts  of  Scotland,  and 
that  in  those  days  the  population  of  Scot- 
land was  comparatively  very  small,  some 
idea  may  be  formed  of  the  fury  to  which  the 
witchcraft  fanaticism  had  been  lashed  by 
the  preaching  and  legislation  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Kirk. 

So  late  as  1730  there  was  published  at 
Edinburgh  a  serious  and  systematic  com- 
mentary on  Scottish  law,  under  the  title  of 
"The  Institutes  of  the  Law  of  Scotland." 
Its  author,  William  Forbes,  was  a  jurist  of 
reputation  in  Scotland  at  that  time.  In  the 
"Institutes"  the  following  passage  appears: 
"Nothing  seems  plainer  ^o  me  than  that 
there  may  be,  and  have  been,  witches,  and 
that  perhaps  such  are  now  actually  existing; 
which  I  intend,  God  willing,  to  clear  in  a 
larger  work  concerning  the  criminal  law," 
— a  promised  work,  by  the  way,  which  ap- 
parently was  never  published. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


*  "  Commentarj^  on  the  Laws  of  England," 
Book  IV.,  ch.  4,  sec.  6. 


Our  sentiments,  our  thoughts,  our  words 
lose  their  rectitude  on  entering  certain 
minds,  just  as  sticks  plunged  in  the  water 
look  bent. — Abbe  Roux. 

Do  not  think  it  wasted  time  to  submit 
yourself  to  any  influence  which  may  bring 
upon  you  any  noble  feeling, — Ruskin. 


132 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

THE  news  went  quickly  from  Nouettes  to 
all  his  friends,  and  many  hurried  thither 
to  express  their  sympathy.  Mgr.  Conny  was 
amongst  the  first  to  arrive.  He  was  filled 
with  admiration  by  the  blind  man's  submis- 
sion and  perfect  content;  he  found  him  just 
as  calm  and  detached  as  on  that  evening 
when  they  had  walked  back  together  from 
the  oculist's.  Mgr.  de  Segur  declared  to 
him  that  he  was  not  "resigned":  he  was 
too  happy  to  apply  the  word  resignation 
to  his  state  of  mind;  he  had  already  begun 
to  love  his  blindness,  to  feel  that  it  drew 
him  closer  to  Our  Lord,  and  enabled  him  to 
see  souls  as  he  had  never  seen  them  before. 
No  one  who  met  him  could  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  his  acquiescence  in  the  divine 
will,  for  his  spirits  never  flagged  for  a  mo 
ment;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  more  than 
usually  gay  and  merry  from  the  day  of  the 
final  accident.  A  letter  dictated  to  his  be- 
loved friend,  Mgr.  Pie,  within  a  week  after 
the  occurrence,  reveals  the  temper  of  his 
mind  and  of  his  soul  better  than  any  de- 
scription. 

"...  I  was  going  to  write  to  you,  my 
dear  Lord,  when  I  received  your  kind  little 
note. . . .  To-day  I  can  begin  my  letter  like 
Marlborough: 

'  The  news  I  bring  you,  vour  bright  eye  will  weep  over.' 

I  am,  in  fact,  busy  these  last  five  or  six  days 
getting  rid  of  the  little  eyesight  that  re- 
mained to  me,  and  a  cataract,  already  very 
thick, .  .  .  scarcely  let-;  me  see  the  outline  of 
things  around  me.  Here,  as  ever,  the  justice 
of  God  is  tempered  with  mercy,  and  where 
the  trial  abounds,  grace  superabounds.  The 
grief  of  my  dear  mother,  of  my  brothers 
and  sisters,  amidst  whom,  happih ,  I  am  at 
this  moment,  gives  me  more  pain  than  my 
personal  petites  miseres.  The  cross  is  such 
a  good  and  holv  thing  that  really  one  must 
be  very  little  of  a  Chri-.tian  to  complain  of 
it;  and  if  it  only  affected  myself,  I  should 


be  more  inclined  to  rejoice  than  to  repine. 
Are  we  not  all  God's  in  death  as  in  life? 
And  what  does  it  matter  whether  or  not 
we  see  the  outer  light,  provided  the  eyes  of 
our  heart  perceive  the  eternal  light,  which 
is  no  other  than  Jesus  Christ  living  in  us? 

"  Do,  dear  Lord, remember  me  at  the  holy 
altar,  at  the  feet  of  this  divine  Master,  and 
ask  Him  that  I  may  carry  the  cross  wor- 
thily. You  will  understand  that  all  the  fine 
plans  they  have  been  making  for  me  (or 
against  me)  have  vanished  utterlv.  My  vo- 
cation is  now  simplified,  and  the  will  of  God, 
the  only  rule  to  be  followed  in  all  things,  is 
clear  and  evident.  I  only  ask  Our  Lord  that 
when  the  time  comes  the  Emperor  may 
make  a  good  choice,  and  place  near  him- 
self a  man  devoted  to  Holy  Church  and  to 
France. 

"For  me,  I  return  to  Rome,  where  my 
new  infirmity  will  make  little  change  in  my 
manner  of  life.  ...  I  have  a  little  priestly 
ministrv  all  prepared,  and  I  need  only  ears, 
legs,  and  a  tongue  to  preach  and  hear  con- 
fessions. Perhaps  it  will  come  like  a  piece 
of  good  luck  to  big  sinners  to  be  able  to  tell 
their  tale  to  a  confessor  who  is  stone-blind. 
.  .  .  Adieu  for  to-day,  my  very  kind  and 
very  dear  Bishop;  I  embrace  you  heartily, 
and,  thank  God,  I  don't  require  any  eye- 
sight to  love  you  a  great  deal. ' ' 

Again  he  writes  to  one  dear  to  him:  "It 
is  a  great  blessing  and  an  inestimable  grace 
to  be  nailed  to  the  cross  by  any  infirmity, 
but  above  all  by  blindness ;  it  is  a  permanent 
share  in  Jesus  Crucified,  and  a  sort  of  relig- 
ious consecration  which  compels  you,  ^^« 
gre^  mal  grk^  to  give  up  the  world  and  its 
foolish  joys,  to  renounce  the  dangerous 
attraction  of  earthly  grandeurs, y^/<?.y,  and 
pleasant  gatherings.  It  is  like  a  drop  of  di- 
vine vinegar  which  comes  to  Christianize 
every  earthly  drink,  and  a  sort  of  elixir 
against  naturalism.  Help  me  to  bless  God 
for  this  undeserved  visit." 

He  received  his  blindness,  in  fact,  as  a 
kind  of  divine  vocation.  It  remained  to  the 
end  of  his  life  a  crucifixion  that  nature 
never  grew  accustomed  to,  and  his  joy  in  it 
was  to  the  last  an  act  of  heroic  sacrifice; 


Tilt  Ave  Alaria. 


133 


but  he  loved  it  -with  the  supernatural  love 
of  saints  for  the  cross.  Kindred  and  friends 
could  not  rise  to  these  heights  of  generosity. 
They  cried  out  in  desolation,  and  refused 
to  believe  that  science  could  not  restore  his 
lost  sight  ''No,  no,  I  will  not  believe  it!" 
crie>  his  father,  in  an  outburst  of  natural, 
passionate  grief;  "God  will  not  strike  us 
with  such  a  cruel  blow! "  And  Mgr.  Bastide 
writes  from  Rome  to  Mme.de  Segur:  "Is 
his  poor  eye  really  as  bad  as  he  says?  I 
confess  his  resignation  terrifies  me  He  is 
only  too  ready  for  so  great  a  sacrifice.  .  .  . 
What  reassures  me  is  the  conviction  that 
Gaston  is  called  to  do  so  much  good  in  the 
Church.  Few  men  are  capable  of  bearing 
adversitv  well,  but  far  fewer  are  capable  of 
bearing  honors —I  mean  of  bearing  them 
with  advantage  to  themselves  and  others. 
And  this  is  why  I  go  the  length  of  hoping 
for  a  miracle  to  preserve  the  eyesight  of 
your  dear  son." 

All  his  friends,  however,  proved  worthy 
of  him  and,  after  giving  expression  to  the 
personal  sorrow  inseparable  from  human 
affection,  they  joined  him  in  offering  the 
sacrifice  to  God,  and  gave  thanks  for  the 
grace  that  bore  him  through  it  so  bravely. 
He  would  have  been  bitterly  disappointed 
if  they  had  done  otherwise.  He  had  a  hor- 
ror of  what  he  called  "sugary  piety,"  and 
looked  for  sterner  stuff  in  those  who  loved 
him.  No  one  gave  him  the  heroic  sympathy 
he  longed  for  more  courageously  than  the 
venerable  Comtesse  Rostopchine.  She  was 
in  her  eightieth  year  when  the  news  reached 
her  at  Moscow.  She  wrote  to  him  at  once, 
in  the  language  of  a  Maccabean  mother: 

'*  Happy  Gaston  to  have  en  ered  into  the 
way  of  the  Beatitudes  announced  by  the 
Saviour!  This  God  of  our  souls  is  treating 
you  like  one  of  His  elect;  but  if  He  takes 
away  the  sightof  your  body,  He  illuminates 
your  soul.  And  I  will  even  say,  with  a  divi- 
nation that  is  easy  to  one  who  knows  your 
antecedents:  Happy  is  he  who  has  become 
blind  while  considering  the  true  light  of 
the  living!  May  it  never  cease  to  shine  in 
thee,  and  may  we  all  walk  in  the  path  it 
marks  out  for  us ! " 


A  little  later  this  valiant  mother  writes 
to  Mrae.de  Segur  and  Gaston:  'My  dear 
Sophie,  my  dear  Gaston,  an  illness  which 
was  neither  long  nor  painful  has  made  me 
lazy  in  writing  to  you.  God  must  love 
Gaston  very  dearly  to  try  him  by  so  great 
a  loss  as  that  of  sight.  I  look  upon  this  loss 
as  a  pledge  of  divine  grace,  which  only  tries 
him  in  order  io  crown  his  submission,  his 
faith  and  love.  Verily,  my  daughter,  you 
are  very  blessed  to  have  given  birch  to  a 
saint. . .  .  My  dear,  my  preciously  dear  boy, 
you  are  stricken  like  St.  Paul,  and,  if  I  dare 
say  it,  better  than  St.  Paul;  for  it  was  not 
at  the  moment  when  you  were  persecuting 
Jesus  Christ,  but  while  you  were  seeking 
His  glory  and  the  good  of  your  neighbor. 
I  ought  rather  to  ask  you  for  your  blessing 
than  to  give  you  mine.  All  the  same,  I  bless 
you,  in  my  condition  of  an  old  woman,  an 
adorer  of  the  God  you  adore,  a  grandmother, 
a  poor  woman  in  the  sight  of  Oar  Lord,  in 
whose  presence  my  age  and  His  mercy  will, 
I  hope,  soon  call  me  to  appear." 

This  is  the  language  of  a  woman  after 
the  heart  of  St.  Jerome — one  of  those  stout- 
hearted Christians, ''elect  ladies"  and  ser- 
vants of  the  saints,  whom  the  Apostles  loved 
to  honor.* 

His  Holiness  Pius  IX.  was  not  slow  to 
add  his  consolation  to  all  that  came  to  soften 
the  blow  of  his  great  trial  to  his  dear  son. 
He  wrote  most  affectionately,  expressing 
hopes  for  a  recovery  through  science  and 
care,  and  sending  a  fatherly  blessing  to  the 
sufferer  and  his  sorely-tried  family. 

The  Emperor,  whose  heart  was  easily 
moved  by  the  sight  of  suffering  anywhere, 
but  above  all  in  his  friends,  wrote  to  him 
as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  young  prelate's 
affliction. 

Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  Sept.  22. 

My  Dear  Monsikur  de  Se;gur:— I  am  truly 
afflicted  by  the  sad  cause  which  deprives  me  of 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  I  am  not  the  less 
touched  by  the  courage  with  which  you  do  not 
hesitate  to  resume  your  important  functions. 
Continue  as  in  the  past  to  give  me  news  of  your- 

*  An  interesting  sketch  of  Comtesse  Rostop- 
chine was  published  in  The  "Ave  Maria"  a  few 
months  ago. 


134 


l^he  Ave  Maria. 


self;  it  will  always  be  a  pleasure  to  nie,  and  add 
to  it  such  information  as  circumstances  shall  dic- 
tate. I  await  a  favorable  opportunity  for  allevi- 
ating your  great  trial  as  far  as  depends  on  me, 
by  naming  your  brother  to  Rome.  The  moment 
this  opportunity  occurs,  be  assured  I  shall  take 
advantage  of  it  with  alacrity. 

If  it  were  possible  to  obtain  from  the  Pope  one 
Catechism  for  all  France,  I  should  attach  great 
price  to  it.  I  beg  you  to  sound  His  Holiness' 
intentions  on  this  head. 

Believe  in  all  my  sentiments, 

Napoleon. 

Although  Mgr.  de  Segur  had  absolutely 
renounced  all  idea  of  accepting  any  of  the 
high  offices  and  honors  that  were  within 
his  reach,  he  did  not  at  oace  resign  his  po- 
sition of  Auditor  of  the  Rota.  He  thought 
it  wiser  to  return  to  Rome,  and  see  how  far 
it  was  possible  for  him  to  resume  his  former 
duties  under  his  present  altered  conditions. 
The  medical  men  were  of  opinion  that  the 
disease  was  a  cataract,  which  might  be  re- 
moved when  it  was  ripe.  He  did  not  share 
this  belief;  he  knew  that  human  science 
could  do  nothing  for  him;  but,  in  deference 
to  tbe  wishes  of  others,  he  consented  to  act 
as  if  he  shared  their  hopes.  He  lefc  Nou- 
ettes,  and  went  back  to  Rome  to  resume  his 
functions,  and  continue  those  negotiations 
between  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor  of 
which  he  was  the  sole  direct  medium. 

His  blindness  imposed  few  privations  on 
him  more  bitter  than  that  of  standing  be 
fore  Pius  IX.  and  not  being  able  to  see  him. 
Next  to  this  he  felt  keenly  not  being  able 
to  see  Rome,  the  mighty  mother,  whose 
face  he  loved,  and  in  the  beauty  of  whose 
tabernacles  he  delighted.  His  love  of  nat- 
ure, too,  was  now  a  source  of  salutary  pain 
to  him.  One  day,  when  he  was  walking  with 
a  friend  in  the  Campagna,  he  said:  *  The 
Blessed  Virgin  knew  well  what  Sie  was 
doing  when  She  answered  my  prayer.  I 
used  to  keep  wondering  how  She  would 
contrive  to  combine  the  infirmity  that 
would  make  me  suffer  most  without  taking 
away  my  faculty  for  the  ministry.  She  knew 
my  weak  point,  and  deprived  me  of  the  only 
enjoyment  compatible  with  my  renuncia- 
tion of  the  world  and  its  pleasures." 

It  was  not  long  until  the  Emperor  found 


the  opportunity  he  desired  of  sending  Mgr. 
de  Segur' s  youngest  brother  as  secretary 
to  the  French  Embassy  in  Rome,  and  no  act 
of  kindness  could  have  .^o  delighted  Mon- 
seigneur  as  this.  The  only  sacrifice,  he  him- 
self declared,  that  his  vocation  had  imposed 
upon  him  was  the  giving  up  his  family,  to 
whom  he  was  extraordinarily  attached.  But 
now  it  seemed  as  if  God,  in  compensation 
for  the  other  sacrifice,  was  resolved  to  re- 
store to  His  servant  some  of  those  joys  that 
had  been  relinquished  for  His  sake.  The 
presence  of  his  young  brother  in  Rome 
made  at  once  a  home  to  him. 

But  his  Catholic  heart  had  larger  joys 
than  the  p'lrest  earthly  ones  to  fill  it  at  this 
crisis.  The  bishops  of  Christendom  were  as- 
sembled in  the  Eternal  City  for  the  definition 
of  the  dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion, and  Mgr.  de  S^gur,  whose  devotion  to 
Mary  was  intense,  felt  like  a  son  who  was 
making  ready  for  his  mother's  coronation. 
His  house  was  open  to  all  the  bishops  of 
France,  to  whom  he  did  the  honors  with 
evangelical  hospitality  and  the  stately  cour- 
tesy of  a  grand  seignior.  He  was  present 
at  the  magnificent  festival  of  the  proclama- 
tion of  the  dogma;  and,  if  his  bodily  eyes 
were  blind  to  the  blaze  of  the  myriads  of 
torches  that  illuminated  the  bisilica,  his 
spiritual  eyes  beheld  the  sweet  vision  of  the 
mystery  all  the  clearer  for  it;  for  his  heart 
beat  with  a  joy  beyond  the  joys  of  this 
world  when  Pius  IX.  proclaimed  Mary 
immaculate,  and  pronounced  anathema  all 
who  denied  this  truth  so  dear  to  every  Cath- 
olic heart. 

Soon  after  this  glorious  event  the  cholera 
broke  out  in  Rome,  and  made  fearful  havoc 
amongst  the  French  soldiers.  The  Holy 
Father  went  to  visit  them,  and  gave  them 
blessings  and  words  of  encouragement,  and 
distributed  crucifixes  and  medals  to  them. 
The  surprise  and  happiness  of  the  brave 
fellows  on  beholding  the  Vicar  of  Christ 
amongst  them  was  so  great  that  some  of 
them  were  arrested  in  the  very  act  of  dying. 
Mgr.  de  Sdgur  wrote  an  account  of  this 
visit  to  the  Emperor,  and  spoke  with  sat- 
isfaction of  the  piety  and  morality  of  the 


'I lit  Ave  Alaria. 


135 


French  troops.  The  Emperor  answered  this 
letter  himself.  "...  What  you  tell  me  of 
the  excellent  conduct  of  the  soldiers,"  he 
says,  "and  of  the  justice  that  is  rendered 
to  them,  and  of  the  cause  of  the  Holy  See 
being  more  and  more  closely  linked  with 
that  of  France,  causes  me  great  satisfaction 
I  am  also  happy  to  hear  that  the  doctors 
hope  for  your  cure;  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me 
to  share  their  hopes." 

Napoleon  III.  was  evidently  very  fond  of 
him.  He  was  also  sincerely  attached  to  the 
Holy  Father  at  this  time,  and  full  of  the 
most  loyal  Catholic  sentiments  The  Abbe 
Klingenhoffen  relates  that  one  day,  being 
called  to  an  audience  at  St.  Cloud  the  Em- 
peror conversed  with  him  in  his  private 
room  for  a  time,  and  then  coming  back  with 
him  into  the  salon^  where  there  were  a  great 
number  of  people,  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice: 
"You  are  going  to  see  the  Holy  Father; 
tell  him  to  pray  for  France  and  for  the  Em- 
press [she  was  expecting  the  birth  of  the 
Prince  Imperial];  tell  him  to  ask  for  me 
that  1  may  al  wa)  s  have  light  to  see  the  right 
way, and  strength  to  walk  in  it."  Alas!  if 
he  had  but  acted  up  to  the  dictates  of  his 
conscience  and  the  promptings  of  his  better 
self! 

After  a  verv  short  time  it  became  a  matter 
of  scientific  certainty  to  most  of  Mgr.  de 
Segur's  friends  that  all  hopes  of  a  cure  were 
utterly  vain.  He  resolved,  consequently,  to 
give  up  his  functions  in  Rome,  and  to  re- 
turn to  Paris,  and  work  there  in  the  humble 
sphere  in  which  his  infirmity  must  hence- 
forth confine  him.  The  question  now  arose 
what  rank  could  the  Holy  See  confer  upon 
him  suitable  to  the  position  he  had  occupied 
in  Rome;  for  he  had  been  in  reality  envoy 
from  the  Emperor  to  the  Pope.  There  was 
no  prt  cedent  for  a  blind  priest  being  made 
a  bishop;  half  hXwA^ccBCucientes^  yes;  but 
ccBcutiens^  no.  The  prelates  of  the  Sacred 
College  tried  to  make  him  out  half  blind. 
"You  can  distinguish  day  from  night," 
they  urged;  "and  therefore  we  may  con- 
sider you  ccBcucientes. "  But  he  never  would 
acquiesce  in  the  charitable  prevarication. 
The  Pope  solved  the  diflficulty  by  naming 


him  Prothonotary  Apostolic,  with  the  right 
to  assume  the  dignity  of  bishop. 

It  was  with  a  very  heavy  heart  that 
Gaston  de  Segur  took  leave  of  this  loving, 
generous  and  indulgent  father.  The  parting 
between  them  was  full  of  emotion  on  both 
sides.  Amongst  the  many  who  saw  him 
depart  with  regret,  there  was  one  notable 
figure — a  beggar  named  Lazarus,  whom  he 
lodged  in  the  Palazzo  Brancadero,  and  fed 
from  his  table.  When  Lazarus  saw  his 
benefactor  drive  away  never  to  come  back, 
his  grief,  till  then  restrained  by  respect  for 
Mgr.  de  Segur,  broke  forth  in  howls  of  de- 
spair that  were  pitiable  to  hear. 

And  so  this  first  period  of  Gaston  de 
Segur's  apostolate  came  to  an  end.  On  leav- 
ing Rome,  he  turned  his  back  on  the  brill- 
iant career  that  had  begun  for  him  in  this 
world, and  entered  on  a  new  mission,  which, 
if  more  hidden  before  men,  was  not  the  less 
fertile,  and  was  crowned  moreover  with 
that  finish  of  beauty  which  the  Cross  alone 

can  give. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Hidden  Reef. 


BY    ELIZA    ALLEN    STARR, 


A  LETTER  describing  Mackinac  Island 
as  only  a  poetic  soul  and  a  facile  pen 
could  describe  its  associations  as  well  as  its 
natural  beauties,  had  so  charmed  us  that  we 
repeated  it  to  another  friend,  who  said:  "I 
must  show  you  a  chart  (bearing  my  name) 
of  that  entire  region,  and  your  friend's  letter 
reminds  me  of  its  extraordinary  interest." 
The  chart  was  produced,  and  very  fair  it 
was  too,  with  its  indented  coast,  its  islands 
and  strait,  and  our  Mackinac  Island  lying 
off  from  Bois  Blanc  Island  like  a  detached 
piece  of  its  veidure.  There  was  a  wonderful 
fringing  of  coast  and  lake  towards  the  north- 
east, where  our  friend  laid  his  finger  on  a 
mere  speck.  "Here  is  Martin's  Reef,  to 
which  belongs  a  story.  Thirty-three  years 
ago — i.  e.^  in  1854— I  was  engaged  on  the 
government  survey  of  the  lakes,  and,  with 


M6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


a  party  of  some  thirty  men  and  three  assist- 
ant engineers,  was  at  work  on  the  north 
shore  of  Lake  Huron,  between  Mackinac 
Island  and  the  mouth  of  St.  Mary's  River. 
We  were  directed  by  Captain  Macomb,  in 
charge  of  the  survey,  to  carry  our  soundings 
far  enough  from  shore  to  include  every- 
thing at  a  depth  of  less  than  five  fathoms, 
or  thirty  feet,  and  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out 
for  hidden  reefs  and  shoals  outside  the  gen- 
eral line  of  soundings.  So, on  the  occurrence 
of  a  'heavy  blow,'  we  were  accustomed  to 
have  an  eye  to  'breakers'  oiBf  shore;  for  it 
is  only  when  the  sea  is  very  rough  that  rocks 
six  to  eight  feet  under  water  will  cause  the 
sea  to  break  around  them,  and  thus  betray 
their  secret. 

"One  da)  we  discovered  indications  of 
a  reef  nearly  midway  between  Mackinac 
Island  and  St. Mary's  River.  The  storm  was 
succeeded  b>  a  perfect  calm,  and  the  lake  so 
clear  as  to  tempt  one  not  only  to  float  over 
its  surface,  but  to  peer  into  its  depths.  It 
was  the  very  day  for  reef-hunting,  and  we 
lost  no  time  in  running  a  line  of  soundings 
from  a  station  on  shore  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated by  the  breakers  during  the  'heavy 
blow.'  It  was  a  weary  pull  from  shore,  and 
for  two  miles  or  more  the  leadman  called : 
'Three  fathoms!  By  the  mark, four!'  Then: 
'A  quarter  less  seven! '  And  so  on,  when  a 
minute  later  came  the  startling  call:  '  Four 
feet!'  We  were  floating  over  a  boulder  on 
the  very  crest  of  a  reef,  which  was  perfectly 
visible  as  we  leaned  over  the  boat's  edge; 
for  we  had  discovered  Martin's  Reef! 

"When  its  position  had  been  accurately 
determined, it  was  marked  upon  our  chart — 
■  and,  I  must  own,  with  a  touch  of  compla- 
cency. It  was,  in  fact,  an  important  discov 
ery,  as  we  found  it  to  be  on  the  direct  line 
from  the  southeast  point  of  Mackinac  to 
the  mid-channel  of  the  mouth  of  St.  Mary's 
River. 

"The  existence  and  exact  position  of 
this  dangerous  reef  were  published  in  the 
newspapers  of  the  towns  most  interested  in 
the  navigation  of  the  lakes,  but  elicited 
from  some  of  the  most  experienced  naviga- 
tors only  derisive  remarks  about  the  'folly 


of  those  government  surveyors.'  'Had  not 
steamboat  men  and  sailors  run  that  line  for 
years  ?  If  there  were  such  a  reef  they  must 
have  seen  it'  '  The  reef  was  away  in-shoie, 
off"  the  track  of  steamers  between  Mackinac 
and  the  Detour.' 

' '  Not  long  after  the  publication  of  the  lo- 
caliiy  of  Martin's  Reef,  the  fine  steamboat 
Garden  City,  running  between  Chicago  and 
the  Sault  Sainte  Marie,  left  the  pier  at 
Mackinac  for  the  mouth  of  St.  Mary's  River, 
having  on  board  a  crowd  of  passengers  for 
the  Sault  and  Lake  Superior.  There  had 
been  a  three  days'  blow  from  the  north  and 
east,  but  the  weather  was  then  perfectly 
clear,  and  the  lake  uniu filed  by  a  breath  of 
air.  The  'blow'  from  the  north,  however, 
had  driven  the  waters  of  the  lake  from  the 
northern  shore,  and  when  it  subsided,  the 
'let-back'  was  just  enough  to  counterbal- 
ance the  ordinary  current  of  the  lakes,  so 
that  there  was,  for  a  short  time,  absolutely 
still  water  between  Mackinac  Island  and  the 
Detour.  Thus,  for  once  the  steamer  actu- 
ally made  the  straight  course  for  which  she 
was  accustomed  to  steer,  there  being  no  cur- 
rent to  cause  the  slightest  deflection  frf  m 
it.  At  mid- day,  or  about  one  o'clock,  i he 
passengers  were  at  dinner,  all  in  fine  spirits 
on  account  of  this  delightful  passage  to 
the  Sault,  when  there  was  a  crash,  and  pas- 
sengers and  crockery  were  promiscuously 
intermingled.  The  reef  was  there,  after  &11, 
and  the  Garden  City  had  found  it !  Happily 
there  were  some  sailing  craft  within  hail, 
by  whose  aid  passengers  and  their  luggage 
were  transported  to  Mackinac  The  Garden 
OVj  went  ofi"  in  pieces  during  the  next 
heavy  blow,  and  the  chart  of  the  govern- 
ment survey  still  bears,  beside  the  mere 
speck  called  Martin's  Reef,  the  brief  com- 
ment: 'Wreck  of  Garden  City^  1854.'" 

We  have  given  the  narrative  in  the  very 
words  of  our  friend;  for.  the  narrative  hav- 
ing a  technical  value,  there  was  a  certain 
scientific  accuracy  in  his  statement  that  we 
must  not  lose.  But  the  words  with  which 
he  prefaced  his  narrative — "When  one  has 
been  long  familiar  with  any  locality,  on  land 
or  sea,  he  is  apt  to  presume  that  he  knows 


The  Ave  Maria. 


137 


all  about  it;  and  sometimes  this  presump- 
tion is  the  parent  of  disaster" — suggested 
a  certain  contrast  between  the  guidance  of 
what  is  called  personal  experience,  and  that 
auihorized  guidance  of  which  the  life  of 
our  friend  has  proved  to  be  an  exponent. 
Ten  years  before  he  was  appointed  to  this 
survey  of  the  lake  coast,  he  had  found  out 
the  fallacy  of  personal  experience  in  mat- 
ters of  faith  as  well  as  in  science,  and  had 
put  himself  under  the  authorized  and  infal- 
lible guidance  of  the  Church  Catholic  and 
Roman.  General  Scammon,  whose  West 
Point  education  and  training,  reinforced  by 
inborn  chivalry,  won  distinction  by  his 
command  in  the  Mexican  war,  and  even 
moie  brilliant  laurels  during  the  war  for 
the  Union,  was  no  other  than  our  Captain 
Scammon  of  the  Coast  Survey,  whose  skiff 
stocd  above  the  boulder  cresting  Martin's 

Reef. 

»  ♦  > 

The  Church  in  Catholic  Countries. 


IT  is  sometimes  alleged  by  those  who 
ought  to  know  better  that  the  Church  is 
losing  ground  in  Catholic  countries.  In  a 
spirited  and  timely  article  in  the  columns  of 
the  New  York  Sun  this  opinion  is  ably 
combated.  "Catholicism,"  says  \he.  Sun^ 
"is  actually  better  off  under  the  French 
Republic  than  it  was  under  the  pious  des- 
potism of  Louis  XIV. ' '  This  view  has  been 
successfully  championed  by  Mr.  A.  F.  Mar- 
shall in  the  last  number  of  the  Catholic 
Quarterly.  He  declares  that  Louis  XIV. 
did  more  harm  to  religion  than  Paul  Bert, 
and  he  proves  this  assertion  by  showing  that 
there  is  to-day  among  the  people  of  France 
a  larger  number  of  fervent  Catholics  than 
there  was  two  hundred  years  ago.  ' '  In  the 
old  Versailles  days  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil  were  all  in  active  fraternity  with 
the  show  of  faith." 

In  Italy,  too,  Mr.  Marshall  points  out  that, 
numerically,  there  are  as  many  professing 
Catholics  as  there  were  before  the  Garibal- 
dian  aggression,  and  that  the  force  of  the 
Catholic  religion  in  Italian  life  is  as  great 
as  it  ever  was.  In  Germany  M.  Stoecker,  the 


chief  Protestant  minister  of  Berlin,  writes 
as  follows  in  the  Gazette  Ecclesiastique 
Evangelique:  "For  years  back  we  have 
seen  the  Catholic  Church  in  Germany  ac- 
quire a  constantly  increasing  development. 
She  has  gained  the  sympathy  of  the  nobles, 
the  princes,  the  upper  classes  generally, 
as  well  as  the  peasantry  and  working  peo- 
ple. ...  It  is  incontestable,"  concludes  M. 
Stoecker, ' '  that  the  Catholic  Church  has  far 
outstripped  the  Protestant  Church." 

After  such  testimonies  as  these  in  refer- 
ence to  France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  what 
further  need  have  we  of  witnesses  to  refute 
the  silly  calumny  that  the  Church  is  losing 
ground  in  Catholic  countries  ?  But  to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure,  news  comes  from 
Mexico  of  a  great  Catholic  revival,  charac- 
terized by  increased  devotion  everywhere  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  In  the  face  of  facts  like 
these  we  think  it  ill-timed,  to  say  the  least, 
to  bring  up  a  ten- times  refuted  slander. 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  is  announced  that  the  Holy  Father  has 
deigned  to  erect  into  a  basilica  the  sanctuary 
of  Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre,  in  the  Diocese  of 
Quebec,  and  that  the  miraculous  statue  of 
the  Saint  venerated  therein  will  be  solemnly 
crowned,  in  the  name  of  Leo  XIII. :  the  Pope 
desiring  thus  to  glorify  the  patroness  of  French 
Canada.  The  crowns  for  St.  Anne  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin  will  be  of  massive  gold,  the 
gifts  of  the  women  of  Canada.  The  announce- 
ment has  caused  great  rejoicing  among  Cana- 
dian Catholics. 

The  Spanish  pilgrimage  to  Lourdes  last 
month  comprised  a  thousand  persons,  mostly 
men.  All  classes  were  represented.  The  pil- 
grims left  a  number  of  beautiful  banners  at  the 
Grotto  as  souvenirs  of  their  visit. 


There  has  just  died  at  the  Visitation  Con- 
vent in  St.  Louis  the  last  member  of  a  most 
remarkable  family,  whose  name  is  famous  in 
the  annals  of  the  Church  in  America, — Sister 
Mary  Josephine  Barber.  Her  grandfather  and 
father  were  both  originally  Episcopalian  min- 
isters, and  were  converted  to  Catholicity,  the 
latter  becoming  a  Jesuit.  His  son,  Sister  Mary 


138 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Josephine's  brother,  also  joined  that  Order, 
while  his  wife  became  a  Visitation  nun,  under 
the  name  of  Sister  Mary  Augustine.  Their  five 
daughters,  moved  by  a  like  spirit  of  devoted- 
ness,  all  became  members  of  religious  orders; 
four  of  them  joined  the  Ursulines,  and  died  in 
Canadian  convents;  while  Sister  Josephine, 
the  last  surviving  member  of  the  family  .whose 
death  we  have  now  to  chronicle,  became  a 
Visitandine  Born  in  i8i7,shewas  educated 
at  the  convent  in  Georgetown,  D.  C. ,  made  her 
novitiate  in  Kaskaskia,  111. ,  and  was  sent  in 
1844  with  her  mother,  to  St.  Louis,  where  they 
remained  together  for  four  years,  after  the  ex- 
piration of  which  time  Sister  Mary  Augustine 
was  sent  to  Mobile  Sister  Mary  Josephine 
remained  to  the  end  of  her  life  as  a  teacher  in 
the  St.  Louis  convent,  and  had  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  ladies  in  the  country  for 
her  pupils.  Beloved  and  esteemed  by  all  who 
knew  her,  she  fulfilled  her  duties  with  great 
self-sacrifice  and  conscientiousness.  For  the 
last  two  years  of  her  life^he  was  a  sufferer 
from  cancer,  which  finally  caused  her  death. 
The  last  survivor  of  an  illustrious  family,  she 
has  been  gathered  in  to  make  the  harvest 
complete.  May  she  rest  in  peace! 

It  is  no  surprise  to  learn  that  the  number 
of  gifts  already  forwarded  to  Rome,  or  to  be 
sent  to  the  Vatican  Exhibition,  is  so  large  that 
they  are  fast  becoming  an  embarrassment. 
A  multitude  of  offerings  are  pouring  in  from 
everj^  country  and  diocese  in  Christendom  as 
tokens  of  the  attachment  of  the  faithful  to  the 
august  occupant  of  the  Chair  of  Peter.  It  has 
been  wisely  suggested  that  henceforth  efforts 
be  made  to  promote  the  augmentation  of  the 
annual  collection  of  Peter's  Pence,  as  the  most 
suitable  means  of  manifesting  loyalty  to  the 
Holy  See.  ^  

A  grateful  father  contributes  to  the  English 
Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart  another  in- 
stance of  the  efl&cacy  of  the  Scapular.  It  would 
seem  that  marvels  of  this  kind  were  never 
more  frequent,  and  no  doubt  there  is  every- 
where a  corresponding  increase  of  devotion  to 
the  Brown  Scapular.  We  give  the  communi- 
cation entire: 

"My  eldest  son  is  station-master  at  a  place 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  mention.  I  wish  to 
tell  you  what  happened  to  him,  to  the  honor  of 
Our  Blessed  Lady  and  Her  Brown  Scapular. . .  . 
That  morning  an  express  train  had  appeared  in 


sight,  when  a  woman,  in  the  unaccountable  way 
in  which  some  people  will  act,  calmly  procetded 
to  CI  OSS  the  line,  with  the  simple  certainty  of  being 
killed.  My  son  sprang  forward,  threw  her  back 
upon  the  platform,  and  made  a  leap  for  his  own 
life;  but  the  engine  struck  him,  casting  him  to  a 
great  distance,  as  if  dead.  The  report  of  his  death 
reached  me  and  his  mother  in  a  few  hours,  and, 
indeed,  spread  all  along  the  line.  Three  surgeons 
were  quickly  brought  to  the  spot  by  the  rumor 
of  the  accident  and  all  three  examined  the  extent 
of  the  harm.  Not  a  bone  was  broken;  there  was 
no  internal  injury;  the  whole  harm  consisted  in 
a  sort  of  girdle  of  black  biuises,  providentially 
arrested,  within  half  an  inch  on  each  side  of  the 
spine,  on  which  the  Scapular  of  Our  Lady  rested. 
The  surgeons  were  surprised  that  the  violence  of 
the  shock  alone  had  not  caused  death.  The  first 
words  he  uttered  on  returning  to  consciousness 
were  (to  the  utter  amazement  of  the  crowd  of  peo- 
ple round  him) :  '■My  Scapular  saved  me!  '  Such  is 
the  conviction  of  his  happy  and  grateful  father.  I 
ha\e  seen  the  clothes  which  he  had  on;  a' 1, even 
to  the  flannel  which  was  next  his  skin,  are  in 
tatters:  only  the  Scapular  is  untouched." 

On  the  Feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul  the  Rev. 
James  Durward,  son  of  B.  I.  Durward ,  poet  and 
painter,  whose  name  is  familiar  to  the  readers 
of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  celebrated  his  first 
Mass  in  the  beautiful  Church  of  St.  Mary's  of 
the  Pines,  at  Durward's  Glen;  the  Rev.  George 
Brady,  of  Portage,  Wis.,  acting  as  deacon; 
the  celebrant's  brother,  the  Rev.  John  Dur- 
ward, of  Seneca,  as  subdeacon;  his  professor 
from  St.  John's  Abbey,  Minnesota,  zs, presbyter 
assistens  and  orator.  The  German  priest  from 
Portage  was  also  present,  and  many  friends, 
— some  even  from  a  distance  of  twenty  miles; 
so  that,  with  the  congregation  belonging  to 
St.  Mary's,  there  were  more  than  could  kneel 
within  the  church.  But  the  pines  gave  them 
shelter  under  the  very  eaves  of  the  sanctuary. 
The  family  itself  made  the  choir,  led  by  the 
celebrant's  brother  Wilfrid;  the  wine  used  in 
the  Holy  Sacrifice  was  made  by  his  only  sis- 
ter, from  grapes  grown  by  the  father  in  his 
vineyard;  the  mother  giving  as  the  work  of 
her  hands  an  exquisitely  netted  alb.  The  only 
member  of  the  family  absent  was  in  his  far 
Texan  home  among  the  flowers  and  bees;  for 
on  the  slope  of  the  pine  ridge,  among  the 
graves  of  the  scattered  neighborhood,  lies  a 
brother  Charles,  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  a  high 
artistic  career. 

The  story  of  Durward's  Glen  and  St.  Marj^'s 
of  the  Pines  is  still  to  be  written.  It  holds  a 


I 


TJie  Ave  Mariii. 


139 


place  among  the  sanctuaries  of  the  far  North- 
west, hallowing  by  its  altar  the  romantic 
region  of  " The  Wisconsin  Dells," — in  fact, 
the  most  interesting  of  all,  for  reasons  we  may 
sometime  be  able  to  give.  And  the  2gth  of 
June,  1887, was  another  of  those  days  at  "The 
Glen"  '"at  which  the  angels  rejoice  and  give 
praise  to  the  Son  of  God  ' ' 


Cardinal  Manning  celebrated  his  seventy- 
ninth  birthday  on  the  15th  of  July.  It  was  an 
occasion  of  great  rejoicing  among  his  numer- 
ous admirers,  friends,  and  spiritual  children, 
lay  and  clerical.  Our  English  exchanges  state 
that  his  Eminence  enjoys  the  best  of  health, 
and,  judging  b)'  the  duties  he  is  constantly 
performing,  his  activity  almost  seems  to  in- 
crease as  he  grows  older.  May  he  be  spared  to 
England  and  the  Church  many  more  years! 


The  Roman  correspondent  of  the  London 
7a^/^/,  writing  under  date  of  the  i6th  ult., 
confirms  the  report  of  the  establishment  of 
new  dioceses  in  the  United  States. 

"The  Pope  has  sanctioned  the  decision  of  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Propaganda  to  divide  the 
existing  Diocese  of  Leavenworth,  erecting  there- 
from the  three  dioceses  of  Leavenworth,  under 
the  present  titular,  Rt.  Rev.  Louis  Fink,  O.  S.  B.,  of 
Wichita,  of  which  see  the  Rev.  James  O'Reilley,  of 
Leavenworth  is  named  first  Bishop;  and  that  of 
Concordia,  of  which  see  the  Rev.  Richard  Scan- 
nell.  Vicar  General  of  the  Diocese  of  Nashville,  is 
nominated  Bishop.  Likewise  his  Holiness  has  ap- 
proved the  decree  of  that  Sacred  Congregation  to 
divide  the  existing  Diocese  of  Omaha,  with  the 
erection  of  the  three  dioceses  of  Omaha,  under 
the  present  titular,  Rt.  Rev.  James  O'Conaor;  of 
Lincoln,  of  which  the  Rev.  Thomas  Bonacum,  of 
St.  Louis,  is  appointed  first  Bishop;  and  that  of 
Chej^enne,  of  which  see  the  Rev.  Maurice  Burke, 
of  Chicago,  is  nominated  Bishop." 

We  regret  to  record  the  death  of  Father 
O'Reilley,  Bishop-elect  of  Wichita.  He  died 
of  typhoid  fever  on  the  26th  ult.  He  was  a 
most  worthy  priest,  and  so  humble  as  to  be 
greatly  distressed  over  his  promotion. 


The  best  behaved  of  all  the  meteoric  streams 
holds  its  anniversary  on  the  loth,  and  the  few 
days  preceding  and  following.  The  Tears  of 
St.  Lawrence  it  is  called,  because  it  makes  its 
appearance  on  the  day  sacred  to  the  memory  of 
that  august  Saint.  We  call  this  zone  the  best 
behaved  of  the  family,  because  the  fiery  rain 
never  fails  to  fall,  and  no  one  is  disappointed 


who  looks  skyward  when  the  .shower  is  due 
and  the  clouds  are  propitious.  The  tiny  atoms 
of  which  it  is  composed  are  sure  to  impinge 
against  the  earth's  atmosphere,  burst  into  yel- 
low stars,  and  descend  with  trains  of  silvery 
light. 

The  .\ugust  meteors  consist  of  a  swarm  of 
particles  following  Comet  II.,  1862, in  its  orbit. 
The  distintegrating  process  has  been  carried 
on  so  long  that  the  debris  of  the  comet  are 
nearly  evenly  scattered  throughout  the  gigan- 
tic ellipse  in  which  they  wander.  One  extrem- 
ity of  the  zone  crosses  the  earth's  orbit,  and 
the  other  extends  far  beyond  Neptune.  The 
earth  encounters  this  zone  on  the  io:h  of 
August,  and  countless  meteors  falling  from 
the  skies  attest  the  fact  that  the  earth  is  then 
plunging  ' '  full  tilt ' '  through  the  swarming 
atoms. 

It  is  a  wonderful  fact,  which  remains  as  true 
in  our  days  as  in  the  early  ages  of  the  Church, 
that  the  blood  of  martyrs  becomes  the  seed 
of  new  Christians.  A  French  missionary,  Mgr. 
Pineau,  Vicar-Apostolic  of  South  Tonquin, 
writes  that  two  large  pagan  villages,  Hwa-luat 
and  Dong-ai,  foremost  in  the  persecution  last 
year— the  inhabitants  of  which  ruthlessly  be- 
headed more  than  1,100  Christians, — are  now 
beseeching  him  for  the  grace  of  Holy  Bap- 
tism.— Indo  European  Correspondence. 


New  Publications. 


Shamrocks.  By  Katharine  Tynan.  Author 
of  "  Louise  de  la  Valliere,  and  Other  Poems," 
etc.  London:  Kegan  Paul,  Trench  &  Co.  1887. 
This  volume  of  poetry  is  not  unworthy  of 
its  dedication  to  William  and  Christina  Ros- 
setti.  We  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  it  contains 
some  of  the  best  verse  written  by  any  poetess 
during  recent  years,  and  we  prophesy  for  Miss 
Tynan  a  reputation  as  an  authoress  to  which 
few  Catholics  of  the  rising  generation  will 
attain.  For  true  lyrical  grace,  felicity  of  ex- 
pression, and  exquisitely  musical  rhythm, — 
for  a  freshness  and  sweetness  that  characterize 
productions  of  only  the  highest  order  of  merit, 
we  confidently  recommend  this  volume  to  all 
lovers  of  true  poetry,  feeling  sure  that  its  peru- 
sal will  not  disappoint  them.  Some  of  the 
verse  has  a  rare  beauty  and  delicacy  of  color- 
ing and  description;  as,  for  instance, "  Sanct- 
uary," "At  Daybreak,"  "St.  Francis  to  the 


140 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Birds"  (first  published  in  The  "Ave  Ma- 
ria"), "The  Good  Shepherd,"  and  "A  Win- 
ter Landscape."  "The  Pursuit  of  Diarmuid 
and  Grainne"  will  attract  many;  in  it  the 
authoress  seems  to  have  caught  much  of  the 
inspiration  of  Tennyson  and  Rossetti.  But  it 
is  invidious  to  make  special  selections  where 
most  of  the  pieces  are  almost  equally  beautiful. 

Memories.    By  M.  G.  R    Dublin:    M.  &  S. 

Eaton.  1887. 

This  is  a  rather  large  collection  of  poems, 
many  of  the  pieces  contained  in  it  being  suit- 
able for  scenic  presentation.  The  subjects  are 
chiefly  religious — the  praises  of  various  saints, 
and  particularly  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  form- 
ing a  large  proportion  of  the  themes.  Patri- 
otic poems  come  next,  some  historical,  others 
bearing  on  the  politics  of  the  day,  with  the  vein 
of  satire  in  them  that  we  expect  in  political 
poems.  Then  there  are  some  verses  addressed 
to  personages  of  distinction;  those  in  particu- 
lar to  John  Ruskin  will  make  manifest  what 
has  been  often  shown  before — how  much  more 
kindly  Catholics  feel  towards  him  than  he  does 
towards  Catholics,  as  such.  The  work  has  evi- 
dently been  done  largely  to  meet  the  necessity 
for  the  public  expression  of  wholesome  senti- 
ments,— a  necessity  which  is  always  felt,  from 
time  to  time, in  an  institution  to  which  many 
look  for  moral,  intellectual  and  spiritual  guid- 
ance. While  some  of  the  verses  are  intended 
for  special  occasions,  the  majority  will  be 
found  of  general  interest.  Almost  every  style 
of  poetry,  except  the  epic  and  erotic,  is  here 
exemplified;  showing  great  facility  and  pleas- 
ing diversity  of  rhythm,  and  a  correct  ear  for 
rhyme.  We  recommend  the  work  to  all  lovers 
of  poetry.  The  exterior  is  neat  and  even  ele- 
gant, making  it  suitable  and  acceptable  as  a 
present. 

The  Guardian's  Mystery;  or,  Rejected 
FOR  Conscience'  Sake.   By  Christine  Faber. 
New  York:  P.  J.  Kenedy. 
The  story  is  a  good  one,  and  thoroughly 
American.  The  characters  are  drawn  with  a 
skilful  touch,  and  illustrate  several  phases  of 
modern  social  development.  The  plot  is  in- 
teresting and  well  worked  out,  without  any 
unnatural  straining  after  astistic  effect.  The 
ars  celare  artem  rules.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  add  that  the  moral  principles  inculcated 
are  thoroughly  sound  and  wholesome,  and 
the  aims  of  the  writer  pure  and  high.  If  more 


works  of  this  kind  were  upon  our  drawing- 
room  tables,  the  generally  developed  appetite 
for  novel-reading  might  be  satiated  with  less 
detriment  to  the  heart  and  intellect  than 
usually  results  from  its  gratification. 

"In  the  Way."  By  J.  H.  London:  Burns 
&  Gates.  New  York:  Catholic  Publication  So- 
ciety Co. 

"In  the  Way ' '  is  one  of  those  useful  works 
in  which  an  interesting  narrative  has  been 
made  the  thread  on  which  to  string  the  pre- 
cious pearls  of  Christian  doctrine.  The  scene 
is  laid  in  England,  and  the  well-sketched 
characters  belong  chiefly  to  the  industrious 
classes.  An  excellent  combination  of  enter- 
tainment and  instruction,  in  very  neat  form. 


Obituary. 

"//  i«  a  holy  and  tuAolesomt  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  45 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  Margaret  Mary,  of  the  Sisters  of  Peace, 
whose  happy  death  occurred  on  the  21st  of  June. 

Sister  ^I.  Liliosa,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
7th  of  June,  at  St.  Mary's  Convent,  Notre  Dame. 

Mrs.  Catherine  Corcoran,  of  Rockford,  111., who 
died  suddenly  on  the  21st  inst.  Her  life  was  one 
of  unswerving  faith  and  charity,  and  she  was  re- 
garded by  all  who  knew  her  as  a  model  Christian. 
The  large  attendance  at  her  funeral,  and  the  deep 
sorrow  manifest  on  every  countenance,  were  proof 
of  the  great  esteem  and  affection  in  which  she 
was  held. 

Mr.  John  Greene,  whose  deatli,  at  the  venerable 
age  of  eighty,  took  place  at  Valatie,  N.  Y. ,  on  the 
4th  of  July.  He  was  a  native  of  Queen's  Co., 
Ireland. 

Mrs.  Cecilia  McNally,  of  Boston,  who  was  called 
to  her  eternal  rest  on  the  17th  ult.  She  was  a  de- 
vout client  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

Mrs.  Alice  O'Hagan,  who  calmly  breathed  her 
last  on  the  20th  ult.  at  Renovo,  Pa.  She  was  in 
the  8oth  year  of  her  age.  Her  beautiful  death  was 
the  fitting  end  of  a  well-spent  life.  Mrs.  G'Hagan 
will  long  be  remembered  by  all  who  knew  her  for 
her  saintlike  faith  and  fervent  Christian  life. 

Master  Charles  Schayer,  who  was  drowned  on 
the  2oth  ult.  He  was  a  boy  of  great  promise,  and 
his  sudden  death  is  mourned  by  a  large  circle  of 
friends  in  Boston. 

Richard  J.  Hughes,  of  Albany,  N.  Y. ;  Mrs. 

Hurson,  New  York  city;  John  Murphy,  Dennis 
and  William  Donnelly. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


141 


The  Old  Hair  Trunk. 


A    TALE    OF  THE    ASSUMPTION. 


It  was  an  excessively  hot  day  in  August, 
but  the  heat  was  tempered  by  a  delicious 
air  that  blew  straight  in  from  the  west, 
laden  with  the  perfume  of  the  woodbine, 
and  the  keen  salt  odor  from  the  river  that 
raced  like  a  silver  greyhound  past  the  house 
to  join  the  Chesapeake,  a  few  miles  away. 

Fair  Point,  with  its  garden  and  orchards, 
lay  on  a  tongue  of  land  bounded  right  and 
left  by  two  picturesque  creeks,  that  merged 
themselves,  with  swift  current  and  a  soft 
clatterof  tiny  waves,  in  theChoptank  River. 
And  among  all  the  stately  old  country-seats 
in  Talbot  County  it  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
typical  Southern  home  one  could  find.  By 
day  the  pla«h  of  water,  the  drone  of  the 
bees  about  the  hives,  the  murmur  of  the 
pines  around  the  gables,  the  singing  of  the 
catbirds,  and  the  twitter  of  the  swallows, 
made  a  symphony  as  restful  as  it  was  de- 
lightful. But  by  night  the  voices  of  the 
river  and  the  wind  had  it  all  to  themselves, 
and  then  it  was  you  might  have  guessed 
that  there  was  the  burden  of  a  great  sorrow 
weighing  down  the  household  at  Fair  Point. 

'  'And  the  weight  thereof  was  mournful ' ' ; 
for  the  owner,  a  kinsman  of  Jefferson  Davis, 
had  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  cause 
of  the  Confederacy,  and  had  made  such  a 
good  record,  even  in  that  army  whose  valor 
and  courage  in  victory  and  defeat  have  be- 
come a  proverb,  that  when  the  war  was 
over  he  was  a  marked  man,  and  only  by 
"taking  the  oath"  could  he  qualify  him- 
self for  employment  by  and  under  the  Gov- 
ernment. This  he  could  not  do;  "it  stuck 
in  his  conscience,"  he  said;  for  he  felt  too 
keenly  the  ruin  of  his  hopes  to  honestly 


swear  allegiance  to  the  United  States;  and 
so  he  and  his  beautiful  young  wife  went 
back  to  the  one  possession  left  them,  and, 

"  Beating  his  sword  into  a  pruning-hook," 
he  tried  gallantly  to  wrest  a  living  from 
the  soil. 

But  Fair  Point  was  already  loaded  with 
a  heavy  mortgage,  put  on  its  broad  acres 
the  last  year  of  the  Rebellion;  and  the  in- 
terest on  it  was  a  cruel  drain  that  left  no 
money  to  pay  for  labor,  machinery,  fertil- 
izers, or  seed ;  and  the  young  officer  strug- 
gled on  with  a  courage  as  splendid  as  it 
was  ignorant  and  unavailing;  and  this  year 
the  troubles  culminated  in  a  ruined  fruit 
crop,  that  left  the  annual  interest  unpaid, 
and  so  exasperated  the  mortgagee  that  he 
announced  his  intention  of  foreclosing  im- 
mediately. 

And  so  in  the  first  week  of  August,  with 
heavy  hearts,  the  afflicted  couple  turned 
with  fresh  entreaty  to  Our  Lady,  and  began 
a  no  vena  in  honor  of  Her  Assumption,  and 
to  beg  relief  from  the  loss  of  their  home. 
Everybody  in  the  house  joined  in  the  devo- 
tion, and  there  were  a  good  many  to  make 
it;  for  that  year,  as  a  last  resort,  Major  and 
Mrs.  Ridout  had  advertised  for  summer 
boarders,  and  two  charming  Catholic  fam- 
ilies had  responded,  lured  in  a  measure  by 
the  beauty  of  the  place,  but  chiefly  by  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  chapel  in  the  house, 
where.  Ma^s  was  said  at  regular  and  short 
intervals. 

The  two  families  counted  between  them 
eight  children,  who  simply  adored  the  Ma- 
jor, reckoning  him  their  chief  playmate,  and 
who  frolicked  and  scampered,  and  ate  and 
swam,  and  laughed  and  talked,  until  the 
wonder  is  they  did  n6t  fly  into  pieces  like 
' '  the  one-horse  shay. ' ' 

Next  to  the  Major  in  the  scale  of  their 
affections  was  his  mother-in-law,  dear  old 
Mrs.  Tra vers.  And  small  wonder;  for  she 
stuffed  their  heads  with  fascinating  stories, 
their  stomachs  with  delicious  "ole  time" 
Southern  delicacies,  and  filled  their  little 
souls  with  many  beautiful  thoughts  of  the 
Son  that  died  for  us,  and  the  Mother  whose 
love  forgave  us  that  death. 


142 


The  Ave  Maria. 


This  special  afternoon  the  dear  old  lady — 
she  was  just  like  a  fine  bit  of  Dresden  china, 
with  her  pretty  pink  cheeks,  bright  eyes, 
and  soft  grey  curls — was  standing  at  the 
door,  kissing  each  child  as  the  troop  of  them 
trotted  after  their  Uncle  Jeflf  (for  so  he 
taught  them  to  call  him)  for  a  sail  in  the 
Skip-John^  which  was  quite  the  fastest  and 
prettiest  sail-boat  on  the  Choptank. 

' '  Get  the  most  beautiful  flowers  and  vines 
you  can  find  in  Cambridge, ' '  she  said  be- 
tween the  kisses ;  "for  the  chapel  must  look 
its  very  best  for  Our  Lady's  feast." 

'' Yes'm,"  they  shouted,  or  said,  or  were 
going  to  say — according  to  the  place  they 
occupied  in  the  rank  and  file, — and  she 
smiled  and  waved  her  hand ;  but  when  the 
trim  little  craft,  with  its  white  sails  and  float- 
ing pennon,  dipped  and  courtsied  around 
the  bend,  her  mouth  quivered,  and  her  blue 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Poor  Aline,  poor  Jefl"!  How  they  are 
praying  and  hoping !  I  do  hope  Father  John 
will  get  here  by  to-morrow's  boat,  so  we 
can  finish  the  novena  with  Mass  and  go  to 
Holy  Communion.  I  wonder  if  the  mail 
will  bring  me  a  letter?  O  sweetest  Mother! 
remember  our  needs,  and  pray  we  may  not 
be  turned  out  in  the  world  penniless!" 

Then — for  she  was  the  right  sort  of  Chris- 
tian: prayed  and  worked — she  went  with 
light,  nimble  feet  to  the  trunk-room  in  the 
attic  to  set  it  to  rights;  for  it  was  the  chil- 
dren's favorite  game -place,  and  always 
needed  to  be  put  in  order. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it !  From  the 
huge  Saratoga  to  the  little  half- bald  old  hair 
trunk  that  stood  modestly  in  the  comer, 
there  was  not  one  piece  of  luggage  that  had 
not  been  pressed  into  the  service.  They 
stood  in  procession,  and  represented  either 
a  train  of  cars,  or  a  circus  entering  a  city, 
or  Buffalo  Bill's  Wild  West,  or  a  fleet  of 
ships  drawn  up  in  line-of- battle,  or  some 
such  thing;  for  those  youngsters  had  im- 
aginations (like  Mark  Twain's  aunt's  con- 
science) seven  feet  high,  and  as  broad  as 
Lake  Michigan. 

She  looked  at  them  a  moment;  then 
turned,  and,  as  she  had  not  the  muscles  of  a 


coal-heaver,  did  the  only  thing  to  be  done — 
left  them.  Not,  however,  before  she  patted 
the  little  old  trunk,  and  sighed: 

' '  Dear  Uncle  John !  If  I  live  to  be  a  hun- 
dred I'll  never  guess  why  you  wanted  me 
to  have  this.  '  Tell  her  to  take  care  of  it, 
and  never  to  part  with  it, '  was  what  you 
said.  Well,  here  it  is,  and  here  it  will  stay 
till  I  go.  Poor  old  thing!  We've  made  some 
pleasant  journeys  together." 

II. 

The  next  day  dawned  grey  and  dismal, 
and  the  rain  poured  in  torrents;  but  it  did 
not  make  any  difference  to  the  household; 
for  Father  John  did  come  by  the  Highland 
Light^  and  the  elders  put  their  tears  away  in 
their  hearts,  and  the  youngsters  hung  about 
his  cassock  like  bees  about  buckwheat. 

The  priest  was  Mrs.  Travers'  eldest  son, 
and  called  himself  the  "chaplain  of  Fair 
Point."  He  was  one  of  those  pure,  holy 
natures  that  make  ' '  being  good ' '  attractive 
alike  to  young  and  old,  and  his  great  knowl- 
edge was  hidden  under  a  manner  so  simple 
and  ingenuous  that  the  poorest  and  most 
ignorant  came  to  him  unabashed,  and  the 
wisest  went  away  instructed.  He  stirred 
the  whole  family  into  fresh  enthusiasm  and 
activity  for  the  morrow's  festival,  and  from 
greybeard  to  toddler  they  worked  like 
Trojans. 

The  chapel  was  decorated  with  garlands ; 
Our  Lady's  shrine  was  a  bower  of  loveli- 
ness; the  tabernacle  was  banked  with  and 
hung  with  the  fairest  and  most  delicate  of 
vine  and  flowers;  and  finally,  when  the  last 
spray  was  set,  Mrs.  Ridout  said  they  must 
have  some  Assumption  lilies.  There  were 
none  nearer  than  Farmer  Brown's,  and  as 
they  could  not  go  until  the  rain  held  up 
— for  you  go  everywhere  by  boat  in  that 
part  of  the  world, — they  all  separated:  the 
seniors  to  go  to  their  rooms,  Father  John  to 
the  chapel  to  read  hi-;  Office,  and  the  chil- 
dren flew  to  the  attic,  after  a  hurrah  for  Mrs. 
Travers,  who  gave  the  permission. 

"Remember,  children,"  she  called  after 
them,  "when  the  dressing  bell  rings  come  at 
once.  Don't  go  into  any  other  room;  don't 
be  boisterous;  and,  above  all,  don't  fuss." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


H3 


Her  voice  rose  in  a  steady  crescendo  the 
higher  they  climbed,  and  in  shrill  diminu- 
endo the  answers  came  drifting  down: 

*'No'm.  No,  Mis' Travers.  No,  ma'am. 
Noindeedy!  We  will,  ?t'^  won't.  We  won't, 
ive  will,"  like  a  party  of  highly-excited 
katydids. 

They  burst  into  the  room,  the  boys  in  a 
bunch,  the  girls  wisely  keeping  back  till 
the  whirl  of  boot-heels  subsided. 

"What' 11  we  play?"  shouted  Louis. 

**Circust,"  said  Philip — but  they  under- 
stood. "Here  are  the  animills  all  ready. 
The  big  Sara—  one  will  be  the  el'phant." 

"Hurrah!"  they  squealed  in  chorus. 
And  they  clapped  a  red  shawl  over  the 
"Sara —  one's"  lid,  put  a  magnificent  gilt 
pasteboard  crown  on  Edyth's  head,  seated 
her  in  her  wee  chair,  and  mounted  her  on 
sits  top,  with  Laura's  red  umbrella  in  her 
hand. 

"Sit  perfectly  still  now,"  said  Clarence, 
"You're  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty, 
and  you're  on  your  throne." 

' ' I  can' t, ' '  quavered  the  little  maid ;  "it's 
so  it'iggly! ' ' 

(Other  queens  have  had  the  same  com- 
plaint to  make  before  this.) 

But  Clarence  said:   'Oh,  yes  you  can!" 

And  Shorb  added:  "Never  mind,  Edie; 
•we'll  pick  you  up  if  you  tumble." 

And  then  the  boys  sprang  to  their  favor- 
ite camels — Arabians  (?),  mustangs (?),  and 
dromedaries  (?), — got  out  their  Jew's-harp, 
accordion,  bones,  and  mouth-organ,  and  the 
fun  commenced. 

Those  children  must  have  had  throats  of 
brass  and  lungs  of  leather;  for  the  tongue 
of  the  Jew's-harp  nearly  dropped  dut  with 
the  twanging  of  a  sturdy,  sunburnt  finger; 
the  accordion  was  fit  to  burst  with  the  vio- 
lent rushing  in  and  out  of  the  ait;  the 
mouth-organ  soared  above  the  din,  and  the 
"bones  rattled  as  if  they  had  a  superior  at- 
tack of  fever  and  ague;  and  all  the  party 
ibeat  time  rapturously  with  their  heels  on 
the  cribs  of  the  trunks,  and  yet  they  were  as 
fresh  as  paint;  and  "Old  Aunt  Jemimie" 
was  in  its  fifth  encore^  when  .suddenly  the 
<door  opened,  and  Mrs. Travers  stood  in  the 


frame  with  her  fingers  stuffed  in  her  ears 
and  shouting, 

"Children,  children,  what  are  you  doing ! 
Play  more  quietly,  for  pity's  sake.  You're 
not  out  in  the  wilderness!" 

There  was  an  instant  hush ;  for,  now  that 
they  remembered,  they  would  not  disturb 
the  darling  old  lady  for  anything  in  the 
world. 

Louis  opened  his  mouth,  and  cleared  his 
throat  to  explain,  when  Edyth  fell  with  a 
crash  of  umbrella,  chair,  and  self,  and  every 
other  consideration  gave  way  to  her  cries. 

True  to  his  promise,  Shorb  picked  her 
up  (but  it  must  be  owned  he  did  it  by  one 
arm  and  leg  in  his  hurry),  %nd  carried  her 
pick-a-pack  to  Mrs.  Travers'  room,  where 
the  tender-hearted  old  lady  rubbed  arnica 
on  the  bruises,  washed  her  face,  put  cologne 
on  her  handkerchief,  kissed  her  eyes  dry 
of  tears,  and  gave  each  child  a  stick  of  candy 
— of  which  she  kept  a  famous  supply  on 
hand, — then  suggested  they  should  go  back 
and  straighten  up  the  trunk-room. 

They  went  at  it  with  a  will,  and  as  they 
worked  she  said :  "  I  am  glad,  children,  you 
never  play  roughly  with  my  little  old  trunk, 
and  you  must  promise  me  you  never  will." 

"  Yes'm,"  they  all  said. 

"How  long  have  you  had  it.  Miss 
Travers" — "Miss"  seemed  more  polite  to 
Edyth — ' '  a  thousand  years  ? ' ' 

"Not  quite,"  she  laughed;  "but  it  is  a 
hundred  years  old,  and  I've  had  it  for  forty 
years  or  so." 

"  Where' d  you  get  it,  Mrs.  Travers?" 
asked  Lee. 

"My  favorite  uncle  left  it  to  me,  and  I'm 
very  fond  of  it  for  his  sake.  Many  a  time 
I  come  in  here  and  have  a  talk  and  a  cry 
with  it." 

"O  Mrs.  Travers!  It  can't  talk  and  cry, 
can  it?" 

"After  a  fashion,"  she  answered,  dream- 
ily, "and  in  a  language  of  its  own.  Things 
that  belong  to  our  dead  have  a  way  of  speak- 
ing. ' '  And  she  wiped  her  eyes.  Then,  real- 
izing by  their  round  eyes  and  solemn  faces 
that  she  had  rather  gone  beyond  the  chil- 
dren's understanding,  she  added,  briskly: 


144 


The  Ave  Maria. 


''This  brass  band  was  very  bright  and  fine 
once  upon  a  time.  It  wasn't  alwavs  there, 
though ;  but  when  Uncle  John  was  dying 
he  seemed  so  troubled  about  the  trunk — 
he  always  kept  it  under  his  bed  when  he 
wasn't  travelling, — and  tried  so  hard  to  tell 
us  something  about  the  cover,  that  I  prom- 
ised him  to  see  to  it  myseK,  and  he  died  sat- 
isfied, I  did  look  at  it,  and  found  the  edges 
of  the  hide  ripped  up  in  places  and  torn 
out,  and  then  I  knew  he  wanted  it  mended; 
so  I  sent  for  a  man  to  come  here — for  I 
wouldn't  trust  it  to  the  rough  usage  of  a 
shop, — and  now  for  forty -one  years  it  has 
worn  its  brass  belt." 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


The  Poison  of  Zaniab. 


A  Jewish  woman  named  Zaniab,  who  had 
been  taken  captive  by  the  first  followers 
of  Mohammed,  determined  to  murder  the 
false  prophet  After  his  conquest  of  Khai- 
bar,  she  prepared  for  his  table  a  shoulder 
of  lamb  impregnated  with  a  subtle  poison. 
Mohammed  sat  down  to  his  meat,  but  at 
the  first  taste  discovered  the  drug,  and  in- 
stantly spit  it  out.  In  that  instant  enough  of 
the  poison  had  entered  his  system  to  injure 
his  health  for  life  It  afiected  him  to  the  last. 
In  the  paroxysms  of  death  he  exclaimed, 
"The  veins  of  my  heart  are  throbbing  with 
the  poison  of  Khaibar!"  One  wrong,  one 
sin,  one  mistake  even,  may  send  its  poison 
through  the  life,  like  the  poison  of  Zaniab. 


In  the  Streets. 


An  Italian  School- Boy" s  Journal. 

Saturday,  25. 
I  was  watching  you  from  the  window  this 
afternoon,  when  you  were  on  your  way  home 
fi-cm  the  master's;  you  came  in  collision  with 
a  woman.  Take  more  heed  to  your  manner  of 
walking  in  the  street.  There  are  duties  to  be 
fulfilled  even  there.  If  you  keep  your  steps 
and  gestures  within  bounds  in  a  private  house, 
why  should  you  not  do  the  same  in  the  street, 


which  is  everybody's  house ?  Remember  this  . 
Enrico.  Every  time  that  you  meet  a  feeble  old 
man,  a  poor  person,  a  woman  with  a  child  in 
her  arms,  a  cripple  with  his  crutches,  a  man 
bending  beneath  a  burden,  a  family  dressed 
in  mourning,  make  way  for  them  respectfully. 
We  must  respect  age  misery,  maternal  love, 
infirmity,  labor,  death.  Whenever  you  see  a 
person  on  the  point  of  being  run  down  by  a 
vehicle,  drag  him  away,  if  it  is  a  child;  warn 
him,  if  he  is  a  man;  always  ask  what  ails  the 
child  who  is  crying  all  alone;  pick  up  the 
aged  man's  cane  when  he  lets  it  fall.  If  two 
boys  are  fighting,  separate  them;  if  it  is  two- 
men,  go  away,  do  not  look  on  a  scene  of  brutal 
violence,  which  offends  and  hardens  the  heart. 
And  when  a  man  passes,  bound,  and  walking 
between  a  couple  of  policemen,  do  not  add 
your  curiosity  to  the  cruel  curiosity  of  the 
crowd;  he  may  be  innocent. 

Cease  to  talk  with  your  companion,  and  to 
smile,  when  you  meet  a  hospital  litter,  which  is, 
perhaps,  bearing  a  dying  person;  or  a  funeral 
procession,  for  one  may  issue  from  your  own 
home  on  the  morrow.  Look  with  reverence 
upon  all  boys  from  the  asylums,  who  walk  two 
and  two, — the  blind,  the  dumb,  those  afflicted 
with  the  rickets,  orphans,  abandoned  children; 
reflect  that  it  is  misfortune  and  human  charity 
which  are  passing  by.  Always  pretend  not  to 
notice  any  one  who  has  a  repulsive  or  laugh- 
ter-provoking deformity.  Always  answer  a 
passer-by  who  asks  you  the  way, with  polite- 
ness. Do  not  look  at  any  one  and  laugh;  do 
not  run  without  necessity ;  do  not  shout.  Re- 
spect the  street.  The  education  of  a  people  is 
judged,  first  of  all,  by  their  behavior  on  the 
street.  Where  you  find  offences  in  the  streets, 
there  you  will  find  offences  in  the  houses.  And 
study  the  streets;  study  the  city  in  which  you 
live.  If  you  were  to  be  hurled  far  away  from 
it  to-morrow,  you  would  be  glad  to  have  it 
clearly  present  in  your  memory,  to  be  able  to 
traverse  it  all  again  in  memory; — your  own 
city,  and  your  little  country;  that  which  has 
been  for  so  many  years  your  world;  where 
you  took  your  first  steps  at  your  mother's  side; 
where  you  experienced  your  first  emotions, 
opened  your  mind  to  its  first  ideas;  found  your 
first  friends.  It  has  been  a  mother  to  you:  it  has- 
taught  you,  loved  you,  protected  you  Study 
it  in  its  streets  and  in  its  people,  and  love  it" 
and  when  you  hear  it  insulted,  defend  it. 

Thy  Father. 


Vol.   XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  13,  1887. 


No.   7, 


'CoDTirht  •— R«T.  D   K.  HODsoH.  O.  8.  C.l 


The  Assumption  of  Our  Lady. 


BY    M.    A. 


n  RIGHT  Virgin  Queen,  when  Thou  didst  rise 
*^      From  this  our  earthly  sphere, 
To  reign  in  heaven,  Thou  didst  leave 

A  growth  of  lilies  here. 
Mother,  from  Thine  all-glorious  throne, 

O  send  an  angel  fair 
To  pluck  the  weeds  from  out  my  heart. 

And  plant  a  lily  there! 

II. 
Celestial  lilies  crown  Thee  now, 

And  virgins  round  Thee  stand, 
Pearl  coronets  on  every  brow, 

A  lily  in  each  hand. 
Great  Queen  of  Heaven,  as  Thou  art, 

Will  not  Thy  tender  care 
Banish  the  weeds  from  out  my  heart. 

And  plant  a  lily  there  ? 

III. 
Thou  sittest  on  Thy  radiant  throne 

In  majesty  serene, 
While  angel  hosts  encircle  Thee — 

Our  Mother  and  their  Queen. 
Mother,  from  that  celestial  throng, 

O  send  an  angel  fair 
To  pluck  the  weeds  from  out  my  heart, 

And  plant  a  lily  there! 

IV. 

O  Mother!  'tis  my  only  pride 

That  I  am  Thine  alone: 
Thy  gentle  hand  protects  my  way, 

Thou  claim  st  me  as  Thine  own. 
Mother  of  Mercy,  my  sure  hope 

Is  that,  beneath  Thy  care. 
The  weeds  may  vanish  from  my  heart, 

And  lilies  blossom  there. 


/ 


A   Brave   Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


Part  II. 
S  soon  as  he  arrived  in  Paris,  Mgr. 
de  S^gur  set  about  organizing  his 
«^  little  household  on  the  larger  foot- 
ing that  his  blindness  made  necessary.  He 
now  required  a  secretary,  as  well  as  a  servant 
who  should  be  in  constant  attendance  upon 
him.  M.  Klingenhoffen,  that  non-commis- 
sioned officer  on  whom  the  Bishop's  glance 
had  fallen  with  such  a  blessed  fascination 
as  he  drove  to  St.  Peter's,  had  acted  as  his 
secretary  so  far;  but  the  convert  was  study- 
ing for  the  priesthood,  and  compelled  to^ 
resign  his  functions  on  this  account.  Mon- 
seigfneur's  choice  next  fell  on  the  Abb6: 
Diringer.  He  was  delighted  to  replace  M. 
Klingenhoflfen ;  but  before  accepting  his  ser- 
vices, the  Bishop  warned  him,  almost  with 
exaggeration,  of  all  that  might  make  the 
position  irksome.  The  Abb^  Diringer,  how- 
ever, was  not  daunted,  and  persisted  in  his 
desire  to  undertake  the  office.  When  the 
afifair  was  finally  decided,  Mgr.  de  Segur 
wrote  to  him  as  follows : 

"...  One  more  month  of  holidays,  and 
then  you  become  my  slave.  I  will  endeavor, 
by  the  love  and  in  the  love  of  Our  Lord,  to 
soften  to  you  as  far  as  depends 
duties  you  will  have  to  perfft 
times  painful  and  fatiguing  di 
on  you  by  the  infirmity  whic 


146 


The  Ave  Maria, 


mercy  has  sent  me.  You,  on  your  side,  will 
endeavor,  for  love  of  the  same  Lord,  to  bear 
with  my  daily  imperfections,  and  with  that 
end  of  my  cross  which  will  fall  heavily  on 
your  shoulders.  .  .  .  We  are  going  to  live 
like  priests — that  is  to  say,  simply,  labori- 
ously, and  roughing  it  a  little.  May  God 
bless  us,  and  increase  His  divine  charity  in 
us!    I  embrace  you  cordially." 

The  blessing  was  given  abundantly,  and 
the  Abb^  Diringer's  eyes  became  so  com- 
pletely those  of  his  blind  friend,  that  the 
latter  used  to  say  he  sometimes  forgot  they 
were  not  his  own. 

The  other  fiacre  which  we  see  by  the 
side  of  Mgr.  de  S6gur  during  the  rest  of  his 
life  is  Methol,  his  valet.  Methol  had  been 
a  soldier  in  Rome,  and  had  won  the  esteem 
of  his  future  master  by  his  courageous  piety 
and  total  absence  of  human  respect.  He 
Ijelonged  to  a  Basq'ie  family.  Amongst  the 
Basques  the  right  of  primogeniture  reigns 
like  a  divine  law,  and  the  duty  of  providing 
for  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters  devolves 
upon  the  eldest  son.  Methol  was  the  eldest, 
but  on  receiving  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  oflfer  he  at 
once  made  over  his  birthright  to  a  younger 
brother,  looking  forward  with  joy  to  ferv- 
ing  the  master  whom  he  already  looked 
upon  as  a  saint. 

But  Mgr.  de  S6gur  insisted  on  his  taking 
time  to  reflect  and  seek  counsel  before  finally 
committing  himself  to  so  decisive  a  step. 
^'. . .  I  must  add  a  few  lines  to  my  brother  s 
letter,"  he  writes,  "in  order  to  put  more 
clearly  before  you,  iny  good,  honest  Methol, 
what  you  will  have  to  do  here,  and  what 
I  shall  expect  from  you  if  you  enter  my 
household.  What  I  look  for  above  all  else 
in  the  two  men  who  will  be  my  servants 
is  a  peaceful  Christian  life,  more  like 
that  of  a  religious  than  of  an  ordinary  ser- 
vant; and  next  to  this  the  certainty  that 
they  will  be  happy  with  me,  and  that  they 
will  remain  with  me  all  my  life.  I  wish 
them  to  see  in  me,  not  a  master  who  pays 
them,  but  a  father  whom  they  will  serve 
from  affection  and  devotedness  in  the  sight 
of  God.  This,  needless  to  say,  will  not  pre- 
vent my  giving  them  fixed  wages,  as  my 


brother's  letter  will  have  made  clear  to  you. 
But,  I  repeat,  these  wages  must  be  accessory 
in  the  affair,  for  you  as  for  me;  and  it  is  a 
son  and  a  brother  that  I  want  to  find  in 
you.  I  am  well  aware  that  this  is  not  the 
usual  way  of  looking  at  things  between 
master  and  servant,  and,  therefore,  again, 
my  dear  Methol,  I  want  you  to  reflect  seri- 
ously before  making  up  your  mind,  so  as 
to  leave  no  room  for  regrets  afterwards." 
Some  days  later,  having  received  an  em- 
phatic acceptance  from  Methol,  Monsei- 
gneur  answers  it  as  follows;  "Your  lettei, 
my  good  Methol,  gave  me  great  joy,  and  I 
already  consider  you  as  belonging  to  me — as 
my  faithful  servant  and  my  son  in  Jesus 
Christ  You  will  try  and  see  Our  Lord  in 
me,  and  do  for  Him  all  that  you  do  for  me. 
We  are  to  have  the  happiness  of  dwelling 
close  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  which,  by 
a  special  privilege  from  the  Holy  Father,  I 
reserve  in  the  tabernacle  of  my  chapel. 
Your  service  will  be  easy  and  simple,  al- 
though I  shall  expect  from  you  the  utmost 
punctuality  and  diligence." 

Those  social  revolutionaries,  who  de- 
nounce the  Church  as  the  enemy  of  the 
rights  of  man,  will  search  in  vain  amongst 
themselves  for  an  c  xample  of  perfect  equal- 
ity, acknowledged  with  the  grace  of  perfect 
charity,  such  as  is  here  displayed  by  the 
nobly  born  prelate  towards  his  hired  ser- 
vant. M6thol  was  welcomed  to  his  house 
like  a  son,  and  as  a  son  he  served  him,  with 
unflagging  fidelity  and  an  affection  that 
could  not  be  surpassed.  His  fellow-servant, 
the  cook  Urruty,  was  also  from  the  Basque 
country,  and  worthy  of  being  a  member  of 
that  beautiful  Christian  home. 

The  apartment  was  furnished  with  an 
almost  monastic  simplicity,  but  the  chapel 
formed  an  exception.  Here  Mgr.  de  S^gur 
allowed  his  artistic  taste  to  have  full  play. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  red  'silk,  the 
ceiling  was  painted  blue  and  spangled  with 
stars,  while  the  altar  was  as  beautiful  as  he 
could  afford  to  make  it,  and  the  tabernacle 
was  overlaid  with  fine  and  costly  enamels. 
The  prelate's  bedroom  was  in  fine  contrast 
to  the  splendor  of  the  chapel;  a  kitchen 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


147 


cupboard  of  common  deal,  two  straw  chairs, 
and  a  long,  low  chest  of  deal,  composed  the 
furniture.  This  odd  kind  of  box,  in  which 
there  were  two  drawers,  had  a  thin  mattress 
on  the  top  of  it;  this  was  the  bed;  on  this 
hard  couch  he  rested  for  the  next  five  and 
twenty  years,  and  never  until,  as  we  shall 
see,  a  few  days  before  his  death  could  he 
be  persuaded  to  leave  it  for  a  softer  one. 

His  daily  life  was  in  keeping  with  this 
penitential  bed.  He  had  always  been  a  very 
early  riser,  and  as  he  advanced  in  life  he 
came  to  need  less  and  less  sleep;  he  would 
gladly  have  risen  every  day  at  four  o'clock 
now,  but  out  of  consideration  for  Mechol 
he  lay  in  bed  till  five,  making  his  meditation 
of  an  hour  before  he  rang  his  bell.  Then 
M^thol,  who  slept  in  the  next  room,  ran  in, 
not  waiting  to  dress  himself  completely, 
and  assisted  his  master  to  dress.  While  he 
was  being  clothed,  the  latter  recited  aloud 
the  six  Franciscan  Paters  and  Aves,  and 
theZ>«?  Profundis.  Then  he  would  give  vent 
to  his  soul's  affections,  uttering  fervent 
ejaculatory  prayers,  and  inviting  Methol  to 
join  him.  "O  we  love  our  God!  Don't  we, 
my  dear  friend  ?  "  he  would  exclaim ;  ' '  but 
what  will  it  be  when  we  are  in  heaven,  face 
to  face  with  Him!"  And  so  on,  until  the 
toilet  was  complete.  Then  he  would  go 
into  the  chapel,  where  he  was  sure  to  find  a 
group  of  penitents  waiting  for  him — chiefly 
young  apprentices,  who  were  obliged  to 
come  at  that  early  hour  before  going  to  their 
work.  But  men  of  high  rank,  too,  were  to 
be  seen  kneeling  in  the  dimly  lighted  little 
sanctuary;  and  big  sinners,  who  came  and 
went  mysteriously,  encouraged  to  lay  bare 
their  souls  to  a  confessor  who  could  not 
identify  them. 

As  the  virtue  of  his  direction  became 
known,  the  number  of  his  penitents  in- 
creased, especially  among  young  workmen, 
and,  to  suit  their  convenience,  he  advanced 
the  hour  of  his  Mass  from  seven  to  half- 
past  six.  By  degrees  the  crowd  became  so 
great  that,  after  beginning  to  confess  at  six 
o'clock,  and  returning  to  the  work  afcer 
Mass,  he  was  kept  in  the  confe?sional  till 
ten,  sometimes  eleven  o'clock.  After  a  time 


the  fatigue  and  the  long  fast  made  him 
seriously  ill,  and  the  Abb6  Diringer  insisted 
on  "the  trap,"  as  the  household  called  it, 
being  closed  at  nine,  and  no  one  admitted 
after  that  hour.  Bat  when  some  long-absent 
prodigal  came  after  the  hour,  and  expressed 
sad  disappointment  at  mis!-ing  his  opportu- 
nity, Methol  was  easily  melted,  and  would, 
bring  him  in;  and  so  after  a  while  things 
fell  pretty  much  into  their  old  way,  and 
the  trap  was  kept  open  till  ten  and  eleven 
o'clock.  As  soon  as  the  Bishop  escaped 
from  it,  he  went  to  his  work,  dictating 
letters,  etc.,  until  noon,  when  the  midday 
meal  was  served.  After  this  he  went  out  to 
his  sick  calls.  He  never  left  or  re-entered 
the  house  without  going  to  adore  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  in  the  chapel.  At  three 
o'clock  he  came  home,  and  recited  Vespers 
with  the  Abb^  Diringer,  in  presence  of  the 
Blessed  Sacrament.  Three  days  in  the  week 
his  afternoons  were  taken  up  by  penitents, 
and  he  spent  the  whole  of  Saturday  in  the 
confessional.  Workmen  and  apprentices 
crowded  in  all  day  long,  often  keeping  him 
sitting  till  ten  at  night. 

Every  day  except  Saturday  he  dined  at 
his  mother's — close  by,  in  the  Rue  de  Cre- 
nelle— at  half-past  six,  and  remained  in  the 
midst  of  his  family  till  nine  o'clock,  when 
he  returned  home,  and,  after  a  last  visit  to 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  retired  to  rest 

Although  it  seemed  to  others — to  some  of 
the  holiest  and  wisest — that  Mgr.  de  S^gur, 
from  his  birth,  education,  and  social  influ- 
ence, was  specially  called  to  be  the  apostle 
of  those  in  his  own  rank,  he  himself  felt 
distinctly  called  to  minister  to  the  poor  and 
the  ignorant.  His  best  loved  work  was 
amongst  the  people,  above  all  amongst 
young  artisans  and  working-men.  He  had 
an  unconquerable  tenderness  for  those  brave 
young  fellows  who  struggle  to  keep  their 
faith  alive  and  their  souls  clean  in  the  midst 
of  foul  and  contagious  surroundings. 

The  Patronage  of  Our  Lady  and  the  Per- 
severance of  the  Rue  de  Crenelle — a  work 
for  helping  first  communicants  to  persevere 
in  frequenting  the  Sacraments — seized  upon 
him  the  moment  he  returned  to  Paris,  and 


148 


The  Ave  Maria. 


became  his  chief  mission.  The  young  boys, 
and  the  elder  lads  who  were  already  out  on 
the  world  earning  their  bread,  got  to  know 
and  love  the  ''blind  Bishop,"  and  came 
regularly  to  every  meeting  of  the  Patronage 
and  the  Perseverance,  where  his  appearance 
was  the  signal  for  shouts  of  welcome  and 
merriment,  and  a  rush  for  a  blessing.  He 
made  these  meetings  delightful  as  well  as 
instructive  to  them;  he  gave  them  earnest 
discourses,  interspersed  with  stories  that 
alternately  made  them  laugh  and  cry,  but 
oftenest  laugh;  for  he  used  to  say  that  when 
you  made  a  boy  laugh,  you  had  it  all  your 
own  way  with  him. 

It  frequently  happened  that  after  keeping 
this  turbulent  assembly  of  three  hundred 
boys  amused  and  interested  with  games 
and  funny  anecdotes  and  sallies,  he  would, 
on  reaching  home,  find  that  a  number  of 
them  had  run  away  from  the  meeting  to 
wait  for  him  to  hear  their  confessions. 
These  boys,  * '  mon  petit  peupie^ '  as  he  called 
them,  were  zealous  propagandists.  They 
carried  home  to  their  families,  their  work- 
shops, the  enthusiasm  for  better  things  with 
which  he  inspired  them;  they  induced 
others  to  come  and  see  the  blind  Bishop, 
who  was  a  grand  seignior,  and  yet  so  blind 
and  simple  that  they  were  all  as  familiar 
with  him  as  with  a  father;  and  numbers 
came,  first  out  of  curiosity,  but  they  came 
again,  falling  quickly  under  the  spell  which 
attracted  all  to  Mgr.  de  Segur.  All  this  con- 
solation of  success  brought  with  it  extra 
work.  The  newcomers  followed  the  Patron- 
age and  the  four  hundred  boys  of  the  Per- 
severance to  his  confessional,  and  to  these 
were  added  a  procession  of  outside  peni- 
tents, so  that  their  name  became  legion, 
and  on  the  eve  of  festivals  and  all  through 
Holy  Week  he  was  kept  confessing  from 
before  his  Mass  to  past  midnight,  barely 
stopping  to  take  a  bowl  of  soup  and  a  crust 
of  bread,  when  it  became  physically  impos 
sible  for  him  to  go  on  without  some  such 
sustenance. 

His  reward  came  after  these  arduous  days 
of  labor,  when  he  gave  Holy  Communion  to 
the  souls  that  he  had  reconciled  to  God.  It 


is  wonderful,  when  we  come  to  think  of  it, 
that  he  should  have  been  able  to  give  Com- 
munion, and  that,  in  spite  of  his  blindness, 
he  should  never  have  had  the  smallest  ac- 
cident when  administering  the  Sacred  Host 
He  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  holding 
the  ciborium  in  one  hand  and  the  Host  in 
the  other,  and  a  priest  guided  his  right 
hand  to  the  lips  of  the  communicant. 

Zeal  brings  many  obligations  with  it 
Mgpr.  de  S^gur's  love  for  his  boys  knew  no 
limitations,  but  his  purse-strings  did;  and 
what  with  lotteries  and  prizes  and  little 
presents  and  treats,  he  came  very  soon  ta 
the  end  of  his  money.  Mdthol  declared  this 
state  of  things  must  stop,  if  there  was  not 
to  be  the  scandal  of  a  bankrupt  bishop.  But 
Monseigneur  hit  upon  a  device.  He  formed 
a  committee  of  boys,  the  sons  of  rich  par- 
ents, and  made  them  the  protectors  of  his 
poor  boys;  he  assembled  them  at  stated 
intervals  at  his  own  house,  fired  them  with 
his  own  zeal  on  behalf  of  their  sufiering 
young  brothers,  so  that  they  vied  with  one 
another  in  helping  them.  They  agreed  to 
contribute  a  yearly  sum  out  of  their  own 
pocket-money,  and  with  reckless  indiscre- 
tion committed  their  parents  to  supplement 
these  contributions;  they  did  more  than 
this :  they  went  about  amongst  their  friends 
and  begged  for  the  apprentices  and  poor 
lads.  In  this  way  the  Bishop  secured  an- 
nually a  sum  sufficient  to  cover  what  he 
spent  on  the  association. 

But  the  demand  continued  to  increase, 
and  soon  ran  far  ahead  of  these  new  sup- 
plies. The  Bishop  cast  about  for  some  fresh 
resources,  and  hit  upon  the  idea  of  giving 
a  concert.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
how  to  go  about  it,  for  he  did  not  know  an 
artist  who  could  either  sing  or  play.  But  this 
was  a  trifle.  He  knew  most  of  the  leading 
artists  by  name,  and  he  determined  to  go 
and  see  them — speak  to  them  rather, — and 
ask  them  to  perform  for  his  poor  boys.  He 
had  a  childlike  belief  in  the  good  will  of  all 
men,  and,  though  he  felt  he  was  doing  a 
bold  thing,  he  never  doubted  a  moment  but 
that  he  would  meet  with  a  kind  response. 
And  he  was  not  disappointed.  He  was  re- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


149 


ceived  every  whe-  e  with  the  greatest  respect 
and  s)mpathy,  and  the  artists  granted  his 
request  with  a  readiness  which  fully  justi- 
fied his  iTUSt  in  their  kindness.  The  concert 
proved  a  ••pleudid  success.  When  all  was 
over,  the  Bishop,  ever  observant  of  the  cour- 
tesies o\  a  man  of  the  world,  and  impelled 
on  this  occasion,  perhaps,  by  a  lively  grat- 
itude for  future  benefits,  paid  a  visit  of 
thanks  to  all  those  who  had  lent  their  talent 
to  the  charity,  and  presented  each  one  with 
a  handsomely  bound  copy  of  "Les  Re- 
ponses."  One  artist,  who  was  a  Jew,  was, 
out  of  delicacy,  not  offered  the  book;  he 
protested  against  the  exclusion  when  he 
heard  of  it,  and  claimed  his  reward,  which 
was  gladly  bestowed. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  XXXII.— (Continued.) 

IF  Marion  had  begun  to  find  mysterious 
peace  in  the  bare  little  chapel  of  Scar- 
borough, was  she  less  likely  to  find  it  here 
in  these  ancient  sanctuaries  of  faith,  these 
great  basilicas  that  in  their  grandeur  dwarf 
all  other  temples  of  earth, — that  in  their 
beauty  are  like  glimpses  of  the  heavenly 
courts,  and  in  their  solemn  holiness  lay 
on  the  spirit  a  spell  that  language  can  but 
faintly  express?  It  was  not  long  before 
this  spell  came  upon  her  like  a  fascination. 
When  the  heavy  curtains  swung  behind 
her,  and  she  passed  from  the  sunlight  of  the 
streets  into  the  cool  dimness  of  some  vast 
chuich;  when  through  lines  of  glistening 
marble  columns — columns  quarried  for 
pagan  temples  by  the  captives  of  ancient 
Rome — she  passed  to  chapels  rich  with 
every  charm  of  art  and  gift  of  wealth,  — to 
sculptured  altars  where  for  long  ages  the 
Divine  Victim  had  been  offered, and  the  un- 
ceasing incense  of  prayer  ascended, — she 
felt  as  if  she  asked  only  to  remain  and  steep 
her  weary  heart  and  soul  in  the  ineffable 
repose  which  she  found  there. 


She  expressed  something  of  this  one  day 
to  Claire,  when  they  passed  out  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore  into  the  light  of  common 
day ;  and  Claire  looked  at  her,  with  a  smile 
in  her  deep  grey  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  her  usual  quiet  tone, 
"I  know  that  feeling  very  well.  But  it  is 
not  possible  to  have  only  the  comfort  of  re- 
ligion: we  must  taste  also  the  struggle  and 
the  sacrifice  it  demands.  We  must  leave 
the  peace  of  the  sanctuary  to  fight  our 
appointed  battle  in  the  world,  or  else  we 
must  make  one  great  sacrifice,  and  leave 
the  world  to  find  our  home  and  work  in 
the  sanctuary.  I  do  not  think  that  will 
ever  be  your  vocation,  Marion,  so  you  must 
be  content  with  carrying  some  of  the  peace 
of  the  sanctuary  back  with  you  into  the 
world.  Only,  my  dear" — her  voice  sank 
a  little — "I  think  if  you  would  take  one 
decisive  step,  you  would  find  that  peace 
more  real  and  enduring." 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  answered 
Marion,  thoughtfully.  "I  can  not  tell  why 
I  have  delayed  so  long.  I  certainly  believe 
whatever  the  Catholic  Church  teaches,  be- 
cause I  am  sure  that  if  she  has  not  the 
truth  in  her  possession,  it  is  not  on  earth. 
I  am  willing  to  do  whatever  she  commands, 
but  I  am  not  devotional,  Claire.  I  can  not 
pretend  to  be." 

' '  There  is  no  need  to  pretend, ' '  returned 
Claire,  gently;  *'nor  yet  to  torment  your- 
self about  your  deficiency  in  that  respect. 
Yours  is  not  a  devotional  nature,  Marion; 
but  all  the  more  will  your  service  be  of  * 
value,  because  you  will  offer  it  not  to  please 
yourself,  but  to  obey  and  honor  God.  Do 
not  fear  on  that  account,  but  come  let  me 
take  you  to  my  good  friend,  Monsignor 
R ." 

* '  Take  me  where  you  will , ' '  said  Marion. 
"If  I  can  only  retain  and  make  my  own 
the  peace  that  I  sometimes  feel  in  your 
churches,  I  will  do  anything  that  can  be 
required  of  me. ' ' 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  find  that  any- 
thing hard  will  be  required  of  you,"  ob- 
served Claire,  with  a  smile  that  was  almost 
angelic  in  its  sweetness  and  delight. 


ISO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


And  truly  Marion  found,  as  myriads  have 
found  before  her,  that  no  path  was  ever 
made  easier,  more  like  the  guiding  of  a 
mother's  hand,  than  that  which  led  her  into 
the  Church  of  God.  So  gentle  were  the 
sacramental  steps,  and  each  so  full  of  strange, 
mysterious  sweetness,  that  this  period  ever 
after  seemed  like  a  sanctuary  in  her  life — 
a  spot  set  apart  and  sacred,  as  hallowed  with 
the  presence  of  the  Lord.  She  had  will- 
ingly followed  the  suggestion  of  the  good 
priest,  and  gone  into  a  convent  for  a  few 
days  before  her  reception  into  the  Church. 
This  reception  took  place  in  the  lovely  con 
vent  chapel,  where,  surrounded  b>  the  nuns, 
with  only  Claire  and  Mrs.  Kerr  present  from 
the  outer  world,  it  seemed  to  Marion  as  if 
•  time  had  indeed  rolled  back,  and  she  was 
again  at  the  beginning  of  life.  But  what  a 
different  beginning!  Looking  at  the  selfish 
and  worldly  spirit  with  which  she  had  faced 
the  world  before,  she  could  only  thank  God 
with  wondeiing  gratitude  for  the  lesson 
He  had  taught  so  soon,  and  the  rescue  He 
had  inspired. 

When  she  found  herself  again  in  Claire's 
salon ^  with  a  strange  sense  of  having  been 
far  away  for  a  great  length  of  time,  one  of 
the  first  people  to  congratulate  her  on  the 
step  she  had  taken  was  Brian  Earle.  He 
was  astonished  when  Claire  told  him  where 
Marion  had  gone,  and  he  was  more  aston- 
ished now  at  the  look  on  her  face  as  she 
turned  it  to  him.  Although  he  could  not 
define  it,  there  was  a  withdrawal,  an  aloof- 
mess  in  that  face  which  he  had  never  seen 
there  before.  Nor  was  this  an  imagination 
on  his  part.  Marion  felt,  with  a  sense  of 
infinite  relief,  that  she  had  h^&n  withdrawn 
from  the  influence  he  unconsciously  exerted 
upon  her;  that  it  was  no  longer  painful  to 
her  to  see  him;  that  the  higher  feeling  in 
which  she  had  been  absorbed  had  taken  the 
sting  out  of  the  purely  natural  sentiment 
that  had  been  a  trouble  to  her.  She  felt  a 
resignation  to  things  as  they  were,  for  which 
she  had  vainly  struggled  before  ;  and,  even 
while  she  was  withdrawn  from  Earle,  felt 
a  quietness  so  great  that  it  amounted  to 
pleasure  in  speaking  to  him. 


"Yes,"  she  said  in  answer  to  his  con- 
gratulation, "I  have  certainlv  proved  that 
all  roads  lead  to  Rome.  No  road  could 
have  seemed  less  likely  to  lead  to  Rome 
than  the  one  I  set  out  on  ;  but  here  I  am — 
safe  in  the  spiritual  city.  It  is  a  wonder  to 
me  even  yet. ' ' 

"It  is  not  so  great  a  wonder  to  me,"  he 
replied.  "I  thought  even  in  Scarborough 
that  you  were  very  near  it. '' 

She  colored.  The  allusion  to  Scarborough 
made  her  realize  how  and  why  she  had 
been  near  it  then,  but  she  recovered  herself 
quickly.  "In  a  certain  sense  I  was  always 
near  it,"  she  said,  quietly.  "I  never  for  a 
moment  believed  that  any  religion  was  true 
except  the  Catholic.  But  no  one  knows 
better  than  I  do  now  what  a  wide  diiference 
there  is  between  believing  intellectually 
and  acting  practically.  The  grace  of  God  is 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  latter,  and  why 
He  should  have  given  that  grace  to  me  I 
do  not  know." 

"It  is  difficult  to  tell  why  He  should 
have  given  it  to  any  of  us, ' '  observed  Earle, 
touched  and  surprised  more  and  more.  Was 
this  indeed  the  girl  who  had  once  seemed 
to  him  so  worldly  and  so  mercenary  ?  He 
could  hardly  credit  the  transformation  that 
had  taken  place  in  her. 

' '  I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  changed 
as  Miss  Lynde,"  he  said  later  to  Claire. 
' '  One  can  believe  any  change  possible  after 
seeing  her." 

Claire  smiled.  "You  will  perhaps  believe 
now  that  you  only  knew  her  superficially 
before,"  she  replied.  "There  is  certainly  a 
change — a  great  change — in  her.  But  the 
possibility  of  the  change  was  always  there." 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Soon  after  this  Claire  said  to  herself  that 
if  these  two  people  were  ever  to  be  brought 
together  again  it  could  only  be  by  her  ex- 
ertions. Left  to  themselves,  it  became  more 
and  more  evident  that  such  an  event  would 
never  occur.  And  Claire  had  fully  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  which  could  occur;  for  she  had  no 
doubt  of  the  genuineness  of  Marion's  regard 
for  Earle;   and,  while  she  recognized  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


151 


\ 


attraction  which  she  herself  possessed  for 
the  latter,  she  believed  that,  underlying 
this,  his  love  for  Marion  existed  still. 

"But,  whether  it  does  or  not,  his  fancy 
for  Die  can  come  to  nothing,"  she  thought; 
"and  the  sooner  he  knows  it,  the  better.  I 
should  be  glad  if  he  could  know  it  at  once. 
If  such  a  thing  must  be  stopped,  there 
should  be  no  delay  in  the  matter." 

It  was  certainly  no  fault  of  Claire's  that 
there  was  any  delay.  Earle's  manner  to 
herself  rendered  her  so  nervous,  especially 
when  Marion  was  present  to  witness  it,  that 
she  could  hardly  control  her  inclination  to 
take  matters  in  her  own  hand,  and  utter 
some  words  which  it  would  be  contrary  to 
all  precedent  for  a  woman  to  utter  until  she 
has  been  asked  for  them.  But  her  eagerness 
to  make  herself  understood  at  last  gave  her 
the  opportunity  she  so  much  desired. 

One  evening  Earle  inquired  about  a  pict- 
ure on  which  she  was  engaged,  and  of  which 
he  had  seen  the  beginning  in  an  open-air 
Campagna  sketch.  She  replied  that  she  was 
not  succeeding  with  it  as  she  had  hoped  to 
do;  and  when  he  asked  if  he  might  not  be 
permitted  to  see  it,  she  readily  assented. 

"For,  you  know,  one  is  not  always  the 
best  judge  of  one's  own  work,"  he  re- 
marked. ' '  You  may  be  discouraged  without 
reason.  I  will  give  you  a  candid  opinion  as 
to  the  measure  of  your  success." 

"If  you  will  promise  an  altogether  can- 
did opinion,  you  may  come,"  she  answered; 
"for  you  were  present  when  I  made  the 
sketch,  and  so  you  can  tell  better  than  any 
one  else  if  I  have  succeeded  in  any  measure 
at  all." 

"To-morrow,  then,"  he  said, — "may  I 
come  to-morrow,  and  at  what  hour  ? ' ' 

Claire  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then 
named  an  hour  late  in  the  afternoon.  "I 
shall  not  be  at  leisure  before  then,"  she 
said. 

She  did  not  add  what  was  in  her  thoughts 
— ^that  at  this  hour  she  might  see  him  alone, 
since  Mrs.  Kerr  and  Marion  generally  went 
out  at  that  time  to  drive  It  was,  she  knew, 
contrary  to  foreign  custom  for  her  to  receive 
him  in  such  a  manner;  but,  strong  in  the 


integrity  of  her  own  purpose,  she  felt  that 
foreign  customs  concerned  ber  very  little. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  when  Earle  ar- 
rived he  was  informed  that  the  ladies  were 
out,  except  Miss  Alford,  who  was  in  her 
studio, and  would  receive  him  there.  A  little 
surprised  but  very  much  pleased  by  this, 
he  followed  the  servant  to  the  room  which 
Claire  used  as  a  studio  when  she  was  not 
studying  in  the  galleries  or  in  the  studio  of 
the  artist  who  was  her  master. 

It  was  a  small  apartment,  altogether  de- 
voted to  work,  and  without  any  of  the 
decorations  which  make  many  studios 
show-rooms  for  bric-a-brac  rather  than 
places  for  labor.  Here  the  easel  was  the  chief 
article  of  furniture,  and  there  was  little  else 
beside  tables  for  paints  and  a  few  chairs. 
All  was  scrupulously  clean,  fresh  and  airy, 
however;  and, with  Claire's  graceful  figure 
in  the  midst,  it  seemed  to  Earle,  as  he  en- 
tered, a  very  shrine  of  art— art  in  the  noble 
simplicity  which  suits  it  best. 

Claire,  with  her  palette  on  her  hand,  was 
standing  before  the  easel.  She  greeted  him 
with  a  smile,  and  bade  him  come  where  he 
could  command  a  good  view  of  the  paint- 
ing. "Now  be  quite  candid,  "she  said;  "for 
you  know  I  do  not  care  for  complimeats." 

"And  I  hope  you  know  that  I  never  pay 
them — to  you,"  he  answered,  as  he  obeyed 
her  and  stepped  in  front  of  the  canvas. 

It  was  a  charming  picture,  a  typical  Cam- 
pagna scene — a  ruined  mediaeval  fortress, 
in  the  lower  story  of  which  peasants  had 
made  their  home,  and  round  the  door  of 
which  children  were  playing;  a  group  of 
cattle  drinking  at  a  flag-grown  pool;  and, 
stretching  far  and  wide,  the  solemn  beauty 
of  the  great  plain.  The  details  were  treated 
with  great  artistic  skill,  and  the  sentiment 
of  the  picture  expressed  admirably  the  wild, 
poetic  desolation  of  this  earth,  '  ''fatiguee  de 
gloire^  qui  semble  dedaigner  de  produirey 

' '  You  have  succeeded  wonderfully, ' '  said 
Earle,  after  a  pause  of  some  length.  ' '  How 
can  you  doubt  it?  Honestly,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  anything  half  so  beautiful.  How 
admirably  you  have  expressed  the  spirit  of 
the  Campagna!" 


152 


The  Ave  Maria. 


''Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Claire, 
coloring  with  pleasure.  ' '  Or,  rather,  I  know 
that  you  would  not  say  so  if  you  did  not 
think  so,  and  therefore  I  am  delighted  to 
hear  it.  I  wanted  so  much  to  express  that 
spirit.  It  is  what  chiefly  impresses  me 
whenever  I  see  the  Campagna,  and  it  is  so 
impossible  to  put  it  in  words." 

"You  have  put  it  here,"  said  Eirle,with 
a  gesture  toward  the  canvas.  "Never  again 
doubt  your  ability  to  express  anything  that 
you  like.  You  will  be  a  great  painter  some 
day.  Miss  Alford ;  are  you  aware  of  that  ? ' ' 

She  shook  her  head,  and  the  flush  of 
pleasure  faded  from  her  face  as  she  turned 
her  grave,  gentle  eyes  to  him.  "No,"  she 
answered,  quietly, "I  do  not  think  I  shall 
ever  be  a  great  painter ;  and  I  will  tell  you 
why:  it  is  because  I  do  not  think  that  art  is 
my  vocation— at  least,  not  my  first  voca- 
tion." 

' '  Not  your  first  vocation  to  be  an  artist? ' ' 
he  said,  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  astonish- 
me  nt.  ' '  How  can  you  think  such  a  thing 
with  the  proof  of  your  power  before  your 
eyes  ?  Why,  to  doubt  that  you  are  an  artist 
in  every  fibre  of  your  being  is  equivalent  to 
doubting  that  you  exist." 

"Not  quite,"  she  answered,  smiling. 
"But  indeed  I  do  not  doubt  that  I  am  an 
artist,  and  I  used  to  believe  that  if  I  really 
could  become  one,  and  be  successful  in  the 
exercise  of  art,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy. 
Now  I  have  already  succeeded  beyond  my 
hopes.  I  can  not  doubt  but  that  those  who 
tell  me,  as  you  have  just  done,  that  I  may  be 
a  painter  in  the  truest  sense  if  I  continue  to 
work,  are  right.  And  yet  I  repeat  with  the 
utmost  seriousness  that  I  do  not  think  it 
is  my  vocation  to  remain  in  the  world  and 
devote  myself  to  art. ' ' 

Eirle  looked  startled  as  a  sudden  glimpse 
of  her  meaning  came  to  his  mind.  "What, 
then,"  he  said,  "do  you  believe  to  be  your 
vocation  ? ' ' 

Claire  looked  away  from  him.  She  did 
not  wish  to  see  how  hard  the  blow  she  must 
deliver  would  strike. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  quietly,  "that  it  is 
my  vocation  to  enter  the  religious  life.  God 


has  given  me  what  I  desired  most  in  the 
world,  but  it  does  not  satisfy  me.  My  heart 
was  left  behind  in  the  cloister,  and  day  by 
day  the  desire  grows  upon  me  more  strongly 
to  return  there." 

"But  you  will  not!"  said  Earle,  almost 
violently.  "It  is  impossible — it  would  be  a 
sacrifice  such  as  God  never  demands!  Why 
should  He  have  given  you  such  great  talent 
if  He  wished  you  to  bury  it  in  a  cloister?" 

' '  Perhaps  that  I  might  have  something 
to  ofier  to  Him,"  answered  Claire.  "Other- 
wise I  should  have  nothing,  you  know.  But 
there  can  be  no  question  of  sacrifice  when 
one  is  following  the  strongest  inclination 
of  one's  heart." 

' '  You  do  not  know  your  own  heart  yet, ' ' 
said  Earle.  "You  are  following  its  first  in- 
clination without  testing  it.  How  could  the 
peace  and  charm  of  the  cloister  fail  to  at- 
tract you — you  who  seem  made  for  it? 
But—" 

Claire's  lifted  hand  stayed  his  words. 
"See,"  she  said,  "how  you  bear  testimony 
to  what  I  have  declared.  If  I  '  seem  made' 
for  the  cloister,  what  can  that  mean  save 
that  my  place  is  there?" 

"Then  is  there  no  place  for  pure  and 
good  and  lovely  people  in  the  world?" 
asked  Earle,  conscious  that  his  tongue  had 
indeed  betrayed  him. 

"Oh!  yes,"  she  answered:  "there  are 
not  only  places,  but  there  are  also  many  du- 
ties for  such  people ;  and  numbers  of  them 
are  to  be  met  on  all  sides.  But  there  are  also 
some  souls  whom  God  calls  to  serve  Him  in 
the  silence  and  retirement  of  the  cloister, 
who  pine  like  homesick  exiles  in  the  world. 
Believe  me  I  am  one  of  those  souls.  I  shrank 
from  leaving  the  convent  where  I  had  been 
educated,  to  go  out  into  the  world;  but  I 
knew  what  everyone  would  say:  that  I  was 
following  a  fancy — an  untried  fancy — if  I 
stayed.  So  I  went,  and,  as  if  to  test  me, 
everything  that  I  desired  has  been  given 
me,  and  given  without  the  delays  and  dis- 
appointments that  others  have  had  to  en- 
dure. The  world  has  shown  me  only  its 
fairest  side,  yet  the  call  to  something  better 
and  higher  has  daily  grown  stronger  within 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^53 


me,  until  I  have  no  longer  any  doubt  but 
that  it  is  God's  will  that  T  shall  go." 

Earle  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  sat 
for  a  minute  silent,  like  one  stunned.  He 
felt  as  if  he  had  heard  a  death-warrant  read 
— as  if  he  was  not  only  to  be  robbed  indi 
vidually,  but  the  world  was  to  be  robbed  of 
this  lovely  creature  with  her  brilliant  gift. 

''What  am  I  to  say  to  you?"  he  cried  at 
length,  in  a  half-stifled  voice.  "This  seems 
to  me  too  horrible  for  belief.  It  is  like 
suicide — the  suicide  of  the  faculties,  the 
genius  that  God  has  given  you, — of  all  the 
capabilities  of  your  nature  to  enjoy, — of  all 
the  beaut\ ,  the  happiness  of  life — " 

He  paused,  for  Claire  was  regarding  him 
with  a  look  of  amazement  and  reproach. 
*'You  call  yourself  a  Catholic,"  she  said, 
"and  yet  you  can  speak  in  this  way  of  a 
religious  vocation ! ' ' 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  religious  vocations  in 
general,"  he  answered.  "I  only  speak  of 
yours.  There  are  plenty  of  people  who  have 
nothing  special  to  do  in  the  world.  Let  them 
go  to  the  cloister.  But  for  >ou — \ou  with 
your  wonderful  talent,  your  bright  future  — 
it  is  too  teirible  an  idea  to  be  entertained." 

' '  Do  you  know, ' '  she  said,  gravely, ' '  that 
you  not  only  shock,  you  disappoint  me 
greatly?  How  can  you  be  a  Catholic  and 
entertain  such  sentiments? — how  can  you 
think  that  only  the  useless,  the  worn-out, 
the  disappointed  people  of  this  world  are 
for  God  ?  I  have  been  told  that  Protestants 
think  such  things  as  that,  but  they  are 
surely  strange  for  a  Catholic  to  believe. " 

"I  do  not  believe  them, ' '  he  said ;  " I  am 
sure  you  know  that.  But  when  one  is  aw 
fully  shocked,  one  does  not  measure  one's 
words.  You  do  not  realize  how  close  this 
comes  to  me — how  terrible  the  disappoint- 
ment— " 

She  cut  him  short  ruthlessly.  ' '  I  realize, ' ' 
she  said,  with  a  sweet  smile,  "that  you  are 
very  kind  to  have  such  a  good  opinion  of 
me — to  believe  that  the  world  will  really 
sustain  any  loss  when  such  an  insignificant 
person  as  I  leave  it  for  the  cloister. ' ' 

' '  Insignificant ! "  he  repeated,  with  some- 
thing like  a  groan.  "How  little  you  know 


of  yourself  to  think  that!  But  tell  me,  is 
your  mind  unalterably  made  up  to  this  step? 
— could  nothing  induce  you  to  change  it?" 
Her  eyes  met  his,  steady  and  calm  as 
stars.  ' '  Nothing,  "she  answered,  firmly  but 
gently.  ' '  When  God  says,  '  Come, '  one 
must  arise  and  go.  There  is  no  alternative. 
As  a  preparation,  He  fills  one  with  such  a 
distaste  for  the  world,  such  a  sense  of  the 
brevity  and  unsatisfactoriness  of  all  earthly 
things,  that  they  no  longer  have  any  power 
to  attract. ' ' 

"Not  even   human  love?"    he  asked, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

She  shook  her  head.  ' '  Not  when  weighed 
against  divine  love,"  she  answered. 

In  that  answer  everything  was  said,  and 
a  silence  fell,  in  which  Claire  seemed  to 
hear  the  beating  of  her  heart.  Would  he 
be  satisfied  with  this  and  go  away  without 
forcing  her  to  be  more  explicit,  or  would 
he  persist  in  laying  on  her  one  of  the  most 
painful  necessities  which  can  be  laid  upon 
a  woman?  As  she  waited  with  anxiety  for 
the  solution  of  this  question,  Earle  was  hav- 
ing something  of  a  struggle  with  himself. 
The  impulse  was  strong  with  him  to  declare 
unreservedly  what  he  felt  and  what  he  had 
ventured  to  hope;  but  an  instinct  told  him 
not  only  that  it  would  be  useless,  but  that 
he  would  inflict  needless  pain  upon  Claire, 
and  mar  their  friendship  by  a  memory  of 
words  that  could  serve  no  possible  purpose. 
He  knew  that  she  understood  him;  he  rec- 
ognized the  motive  which  had  made  her 
speak  to  him  of  a  purpose  that  he  felt  sure 
had  been  spoken  of  to  no  other  among  her 
associates  and  friends;  and  he  was  strong 
enough  to  say  to  himself  that  he  would  keep 
silence — that  she  should  know  no  more 
than  she  had  already  guessed  of  the  pain 
which  it  cost  him  to  hear  her  resolution. 

When  he  presently  looked  at  her,  it  was 
with  a  face  pale  with  feeling,  but  calm  with 
the  power  of  self-control.  * '  Such  a  choice," 
he  said,  "it  is  not  for  me  or  for  any  other 
man  to  combat.  I  only  venture  to  beg  you 
not  to  act  hastily.  It  would  be  terrible  to 
take  such  a  step  and  regret  it. ' ' 

Claire  smiled  almost  as  a  cloistered  nun 


15  + 


The  Ave  Maria, 


might  smile  at  such  words.  "Do  you  think 
that  one  ever  takes  such  a  step  hastily?  No: 
there  is  a  long  probation  before  me;  and  if 
I  have  spoken  to  you  somewhat  prema- 
turely, it  was  only  because  I  thought  I 
should  like  }ou  to  know — "' 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  as  she  hesitated. 
"It  is  well  that  I  should  know.  Do  not 
think  that  I  am  so  dull  as  to  mistake  )  ou 
in  the  least.  I  am  honored  by  your  confi- 
dence, and  I  shall  remember  it  and  you  as 
long  as  I  live.  Now" — he  rose — "I  must 
bid  you  good-bye.  I  think  of  leaving  Rome 
for  a  time.  I  have  a  friend  in  Naples  who  is 
urging  me  to  join  him  in  a  journey  to  the 
East.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  in  the 
Holy  Land?" 

' '  You  can  pray  for  me, ' '  said  Claire ;  "and 
believe  that  wherever  I  may  be  I  shall 
always  pray  for  >ou." 

*  'What  better  covenant  could  we  make? ' ' 
he  asked,  with  a  faint  smile.  And  then,  in 
order  to  preserve  his  composure,  he  took  her 
hand,  kissed  it,  and  went  hastily  away. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Father  Friederich  Spee  and  the  Witch- 
craft Mania. 


BY    T.    F.    GALWEY. 


(Conclusion.) 

PROTESTANTISM  had  scarcely  gained 
a  foothold  in  North  America  when  the 
witchcraft  mania  began  to  rage.  In  the 
Spanish  and  French  settlements,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  there  was  no  trace  of 
it;  but  throughout  the  Protestant  colonies, 
almost  without  exception,  witches  were  a 
common  subject  of  uneasiness,  though  it 
was  only  in  the  most  radically  and  genuinely 
Protestant  region — that  is  to  say,  in  New 
England — that  the  evil  delusion  showed 
the  worst  malice,  seven  or  eight  supposed 
witches  having  been  hanged  in  Massachu- 
setts Bay  before  1655. 

Boston  and  Salem  and  Plymouth  enjoyed 
a  short  lull  after  that.  But  in  1688  an  old 
Irishwoman,  who  could  speak  no  English, 


was  apprehended  in  Boston  on  the  charge 
of  having  bewitched  the  children  of  John 
Goodwin.  That  light  of  Calvinistic  theol- 
ogy, the  Rev.  Cotton  Mather,  was  called  on 
to  examine  the ' '  witch. ' '  The  poor  creature, 
not  understanding  what  was  said  to  her, 
but  put  in  great  fear  by  the  forbidding 
countenance  and  expression  of  "the  great 
divine," — and  perhaps,  in  her  turn, looking 
upon  him  as  in  some  way  an  agent  of  the 
Evil  One, — probably  had  recourse  to  prayer, 
and,  as  well  as  her  toothless  old  mouth 
and  pallid  lips  would  permit,  muttered  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and  the  "  Hail  Mary  "  over 
and  over  again  in  Gaelic.  At  all  events,  the 
orthodox  master  witch-finder  of  America 
concluded  that  she  was  speaking  some  de- 
moniac words  of  incantation,  and  he  pro- 
nounced for  her  death.  Four  years  later, 
Mather  reigned  supreme  for  a  while  in  Sa- 
lem, and  twenty  were  put  to  death  there, 
one  of  the  women  being  pressed  under 
gradually-increasing  weights  until  her  life 
was  extinct. 

The  witchcraft  mania  was  one  of  the 
most  horrible  which  Christianity  has  ever 
beheld.  Pope  Innocent's  bull  shows  that  it 
was  already  beginning  to  attract  attention 
just  before  the  opening  of  the  sixteenth 
century;  yet  it  was  not  until  that  century 
was  well  under  way — not  until,  as  was  said 
before.  Protestantism  had  begun  to  unsettle 
religious  beliefs — that  it  took  on  the  malig- 
nant form  which  constituted  its  main  hor- 
ror. The  cities  of  the  Rhine,  of  Italy,  and 
of  France,  put  their  witches  to  death  on 
sufficiently  absurd  evidence,  and  with  suf- 
ficient stupidity  generally  and  cruelty  of 
detail,  and  in  great  numbers.  But  these 
were  precisely  those  localities  where  Prot- 
estantism for  a  time  seemed  as  if  it  were 
about  to  obtain  the  mastery.  In  Spain  and 
Portugal,  where  Protestantism  was  never 
much  more  than  a  foreign  menace,  there 
was  but  little  heard  of  witchcraft. 

Rome  alone,  let  it  be  noted,  among  the 
important  cities  of  Europe,  was  completely 
innocent  of  the  witching  fury.  Rome  is  prob- 
ably the  only  great  city  of  Europe  where 
no  one  in  Christian  times  has  ever  suffered 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^55 


death  for  witchcraft.  While  Galileo,  that 
famous  "victim  of  the  Inquisition,"  was 
undergoing  for  his  contumacy  a  pleasant 
and  honorable  "imprisonment" — really  as 
the  guest  of  his  friend,  the  eminent  scholar 
Cardinal  Bellarmine — "liberal"  and  "re- 
formed ' '  England  was  burning  and  hanging 
and  torturing  poor  old  women  as  witches, 
by  the  thousand. 

By  the  time  that  the  witchcraft  mania 
was  at  its  height — that  is  to  say,  by  the  mid- 
dle of  the  seventeenth  century — the  beauti- 
ful lands  along  the  Rhine  had  already  for  a 
hundred  years  been  suffering  from  the  effects 
of  the  schism  begun  by  Luther.   Many  of 
the  princes  and  nobles  there,  as  elsewhere, 
had  been  shifting  about  from  Catholicity 
to  "the  Reform,"  and  back  again,  and  to 
and  from   Lutheranism,  Zwinglianism,  or 
Calvinism,  accordingly  as  opportunities  of 
self-aggrandizement  seemed  to  offer.  The 
Saxon  unfrocked  friar's  work  had  already 
culminated  in  hatred,  and  in  constant  wars 
or  menaces  of  war.  The  almost  harmless 
superstitions  that  had  suivived  here  and 
there  through  the  Middle  Ages  from  pagan 
•forefathers  —  hitherto,  however,  practised 
among  ignorant  and  obscure  rustics,  and 
only  by  stealth, — now  broke  out  as  a  sort 
of  epidemic  of  foil  v.  The  endless  and  ab- 
surd controversies  which  the  "Reformers" 
had  been  carrying  on  as  to  faith  and  good 
works,  the  redemption  of  man,  the  way  of 
salvation  generally,  had  convinced  no  one. 
Yet  these  controversies  had  very  fairly  suc- 
ceeded in  disturbing  the  unity  of  belief  in 
the   reign  of  God, — a   belief  which   had 
formed  the  basis  of  that  comity  of  Euro- 
pean nations  ordinarily  described  under  the 
term  "Christendom,"  —  a   comity   which 
promised  a  glorious  development  of  civili- 
zation in  peace  and  concord  as  time  should 
roll  on. 

By  these  controversialists  and  the  thou- 
sands of  loud-mouthed  preachers  who  were 
industriously  spreading  the  new  gospel  of 
**Reform,"  the  Church  which  the  Saviour 
of  men  had  planted,  which  the  blood  of  the 
martyrs  had  fertilized,  which  the  Spirit  of 
God  had  brooded  over  from  the  day  of  Pen- 


tecost, was  declared  to  be  merely  a  rotten 
trunk,  which  ought  to  be  cut  down.  The 
angels  and  saints  were  denounced  as  idola- 
trous abominations.  After  centuries  of  the 
reign  of  Christ,  Europe  was  told  by  the 
"Reformers"  that  only  the  Evil  One  had  in 
reality  prevailed.  Heaven  itself  was  closed 
by  the  "Reformers"  to  all  except  their 
chosen  few,  but  for  the  great  mass  of  the 
human  race  the  gates  of  hell  were  said  to 
be  gaping  wide  on  their  hinges,  while  the 
elements  fairly  swarmed  with  the  emissaries 
of  Satan.  Is  this  exaggeration?  Read  the 
writings  of  the  leading  "Reformers"  them- 
selves, many  of  whom  were  men  of  intellect 
and  more  or  less  scholarly  attainments. 
How  they  boil  over  with  wrath  and  denun- 
ciation! Read  Luther  himself  Although 
much  of  his  language  is  too  foul  to  quote, 
it  is  hardly  up  to  the  bounds  of  truth  to 
say  that  the  name  of  the  devil  occurs  in 
his  writings  very  much  oftener  than  does 
that  of  God. 

But  if  men  like  Luther  and  Calvin  and 
Melancthon  were  so  free  in  consigning 
myriads  of  Christians  to  eternal  torments, 
it  needs  no  great  exercise  of  fancy  to  con- 
jure up  the  sentiments  and  the  teaching  of 
the  horde  of  ignorant  fanatics,  the  inspired 
tinkers  and  cobblers,  who  contributed  so 
large  a  share  to  the  ministerial  fraternity  in 
the  second  and  third  generations  of  Protes 
tantism.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  the 
appearance  of  Protestantism  was  always 
followed  by  a  readiness  to  discern  the  cloven 
foot  of  the  enemy  of  the  human  race  in 
whatever  was  mysterious  or  hard  to  under- 
stand? Even  in  "Paradise  Lost" — that 
sad  and  gloomy  Protestant  epic,  in  which 
Milton  sits  in  the  shadow  of  the  "Divine 
Comedy," — Satan  is  enthroned  in  awful 
majesty. 

It  was  reserved  for  a  Catholic  of  the 
Rhine  to  be  among  the  first  to  expose,  with 
sound  logic  and  good-natured  wit,  tempered 
by  a  charitable  commiseration  for  the 
helpless  victims,  the  absurdity  and  injus- 
tice of  the  witch  persecution.  This  was 
Father  Friederich  Spee,  a  Jesuit,  born  in 
1591  at  Kaiserswerth,  near  Dusseldorf  To 


i;6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  greater  number  of  his  countrymen, 
Father  Spee  is  probably  better  known  for 
his  poetry;  for  he  was  a  true  poet, his  sub 
jects  for  the  most  part  being  simple  in  the 
extreme,  and  his  method  very  much  more 
artless  than  that  of  most  of  the  poets  of 
his  day.  But  to  all  who  are  not  Germans  he 
must  be  chiefly  interesting  for  the  impor- 
tant share  which  he  enjoyed  in  calling  the 
attention  of  the  learned  to  the  iniquity  of 
the  legislation  and  procedure  against  sup- 
posed witches. 

Spee  received  his  academic  education  in 
the  Jesuit  college  of  Cologne,  and  when 
nineteen  years  of  age  was  admitted  a  novice 
to  the  Society  of  Jesus.  His  life  as  a  priest 
and  a  member  of  that  Society  was  passed 
in  the  usual  way—  as  prefect  or  professor 
in  college,  or  else  in  parish  work.  He  taught 
moral  theology  for  a  while,  and  evidently 
with  some  success ;  for  the  celebrated  moral 
writer  Busembaum,  who  had  been  one  of 
his  pupils,  always  spoke  of  him  with  affec- 
tion and  respect.  In  the  course  of  his  career 
he  had  to  serve  for  two  years  (1627-29)  as 
chaplain  in  the  prison  of  Wiirzburg.  This 
was  during  the  witchcraft  epidemic  on  the 
Rhine.  His  experiences  while  exercising 
this  function  resulted  in  his  reallv  valuable 
work  (when  the  sentiment  of  those  times 
is  considered),  the  "Caulio  Criminalis,"  a 
treatise  intended  to  expose  the  fallacies  and 
absurdities  of  the  proces  es  then  in  vogue 
against  witches. 

Father  Ryder,  in  an  article  entitled  "A 
Jesuit  Reformer  atd  Poet,"  published  in 
the  Nineteenth  Century^  gives  an  excellent 
summary  of  the  main  features  of  the 
"Cautio  Criminalis."  He  says: 

"It  wa.s  first  printed  in  1 631,  at  the  Protestant 
press  of  Rlntel .  Although  ar  ony  mous ,  its  author- 
ship would  seem  to  have  been  from  the  first  an 
open  secret.  It  is  a  collection  of  theses  in  Latin, 
and  closely  argued,  against  the  abuses  inherent 
and  accidental  of  the  witch  processes,  with  inter- 
ludes of  vivid  description  and  expostulation.  Its 
plain-speaking  is  simply  tremendous.  It  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  writer  that  in  his  hands  the  syllo- 
gistic process  seems  here  to  kindle  and  culminate 
in  fiery  outbursts  of  indignation,  just  as  in  his 
compositions  on  happier  themes  his  prose  so  fre- 
quently bloisoms  into  song.   The  soft-hearted, 


sentimental  poet,  as  the  lawyers  thought  him,  in 
whom  the  love  of  God  and  man  was  the  one  ab- 
sorbing passion, — a  man  so  gentle  that  even  in 
those  fierce  times  he  was  never  known  to  use  a 
harsh  word  even  of  a  heretic. — swept  down  upon 
them  with  falcon  clutch,  and,  more  dreaded  still, 
with  a  voice  that  rang  in  the  ears  of  men  with  the 
shrill,  thronging  notes  of  his  own  'nightingale.' 
It  was  verily  'the  wrath  of  the  Lamb  '  that  last, 
worst  threat  of  outraged  mercy. 

"  He  paints  in  vivid  colors  the  hopeless  tangle 
of  accusation  in  which  the  poor  victim  is  in- 
volved. '  Gaia '  (the  accused)  is  either  of  bad  or  of 
good  repute.  If  the  fonner,  her  reputation  grounds 
a  presumption  of  guilt;  for  vices  go  in  company. 
If  the  latter,  there  is  an  equivalent  presumption 
against  her;  for  witches  are  wont  to  cloak  them- 
selves under  an  appearance  of  virtue.  Again, 
Gaia  either  mar  ifests  fear  or  she  does  not.  If  she 
fears,  her  fear  shows  that  she  is  aware  what  is  in 
store  for  her,  and  is  a  proof  of  her  consciousness 
of  guilt.  If  she  has  no  fear,  this  is  yet  another 
proof  {i7idicium)\  for  witches  constantly  make  a 
pretence  to  innocence.  What  matters  if  there  is  a 
failure  of  adverse  evidence!  She  is  racked  till  she 
becomes  her  own  accuser.  She  is  allowed  neither 
advocate  nor  the  liberty  of  self-defence;  and  were 
an  advocate  allowed  her,  no  one  would  be  found 
bold  enough  to  face  the  suspicion  of  sorcery.  'And 
so  every  mouth  is  closed,  and  every  pen  paralyzed, 
that  they  neither  speak  nor  write.'  Even  when 
she  is  permitted  to  explain,  no  one  takes  the 
slightest  notice  of  her  explanations.  If  she  insists 
upon  her  innocence,  she  is  remanded  to  prison, 
where  she  ma}-  bethink  herself  seriously  if  she 
will  still  be  obdurate;  for  exculpation  is  nothing 
less  than  obduracy.  She  is  then  brought  back, 
and  the  rack  programme  is  read  over  to  her.  'All 
this  constitutes  the  first  stage  of  her  agony,  and 
if  she  then  confesses,  she  has  confessed  without 
the  rack.'  And  after  such  a  trial  as  this,  Gaia 
is  without  a  scruple  hurried  to  the  stake;  for, 
whether  she  confesses  or  not,  her  fate  is  sealed — 
she  must  die. ' ' 

Father  Spee  was  not  the  only  Jesuit  of 
that  period  who  assailed  the  witchcraft 
delusion.  In  Bohemia,  Father  Adam  Tan- 
ner, of  the  University  of  Prague,  in  his 
"Theologia  Scholaslica"  enjoined  the  ne- 
cessity of  greater  caution.  But  so  much  had 
the  Hussite  schism  aggravated  religious 
fanaticism  among  the  Czechs,  that  after  his 
death  the  poptilace  of  Prague  disinterred 
Father  Tanner's  body,  and  burned  it  amid 
indignant  imprecations  against  him  for 
having  seemed  inclined  to  protect  odd  and 
eccentric  women  from  dangerous  suspicion. 


J 


The  Ave  Maria. 


157 


Father  Spec  himself  was  once  cruelly  as- 
saulted by  a  Lutheran;  but  the  assault  was 
not  on  account  of  his  denunciation  of  the 
witch  processes,  but  because  of  his  great 
success  in  winning  back  to  the  faith  num- 
bers of  Westphalians  who  had  gone  over  to 
Protestantism  during  the  first  excitement 
of  the  "Reform."  Father  S pee  was,  in  fact, 
one  of  those  to  whom  Micaulay,  in  his 
"  History  of  EngUnd,  '  so  eloquently  refers 
as  having  helped  to  beat  bacl<:  the  tide  of 
Protestantism  that,  flowing  down  from  the 
North,  at  one  time  threatened  to  engulf  all 
Germany.  But  so  far  from  his  "Cautio 
Criminalis"  bringing  obloquy  on  its  au- 
thor, tha:  work  was  hailed  with  so  instant 
and  almost  unanimous  favor  that  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  witch  delusion  in  the 
Rhine  countries  followed  very  closely  after. 

Three  writers  of  note  had  preceded  Fa- 
ther Spee  in  denunciation  of  the  folly,  and 
they  are  three  to  whom  Protestants  are 
very  much  accustomed  to  ascribe  the  rid- 
ding of  the  pub'ic  mind  of  its  childish 
fears  and  fancies.  These  are  Reginald  Scot 
in  Eagland,  and  Molitor  aud  Cornelius 
Agrippa  in  Germany, — all  three  having 
flourished  and  written  a  generation  or  more 
before  the  appear  luce  of  Fa -.her  Spee's 
"Cautio  Criminalis,"  But  Reginald  Scot 
was  so  obscure  a  man  that  few  facts  are 
known  about  him,  except  that  the  book  on 
which  his  reputation  rests— "The  Disco v- 
erie  of  Witchcraft,  '  published  in  1584, — 
met  with  hearty  and  almost  unanimous 
condemnation  from  his  contemporaries, 
James  I.  himself  writing  in  reply  the 
famous  '  Daemonology,"  in  which  among 
other  things  appears  the  declaration  that 
under  Popery  there  had  been  more  ghosts, 
but  that  since  the  "  Reformation  "  there  had 
been  more  witches.  Scot's  book  was  burnt 
by  the  public  hangman,  and  executions 
for  witchcraft  continued  in  England  for 
a  hun'^red  and  thirty  years  after  Scot's 
death. 

As  for  Molitor  and  Agrippa,  neither  en- 
joyed any  influence  in  his  own  time. 
Agrippa  indeed,  in  spite  of  his  undoubted 
talents  and  learning,  was  but  little  removed 


from  a  mere  adventurer;  while  his  reason- 
ing against  the  witchcraft  delusion  was 
involved  in  a  general  abuse  of  holy  things, 
and  therefore  would  hardly  meet  with  at- 
tentive consideration  from  the  mass  of  men 
of  that  day:  all  the  more  because  Agrippa 
was  regarded  as  a  carping  and  sneering 
skeptic  in  all  things,  and  destitute  of  any 
sound  moral  or  religions  principles  what- 
ever. 

There  were  no  sneers  in  Spee's  writing; 
there  was  warmth,  and  perhaps — and  justly 
too — indignation;  but  this  was  tempered 
with  charity.  He  wrote  to  convince,  not  to 
wound,  nor  to  mock  or  amuse.  Spee  did 
not  deny  the  existence  of  infernal  powers 
acting  through  chosen  human  agents  by 
some  sort  of  compact  Ic  is  doubtful  if  there 
were  many  sane  and  serious  men  of  that 
day  who  would  have  sincerely  made  such 
a  denial.  But  Father  Spee  did  deny — and 
most  logically,  yet  kindly  and  courteously, 
did  he  sistain  his  denial — that  any  of  the 
processes  of  law  then  in  vogue  was  capable 
of  establishing  the  guilt  of  the  accused. 
That  was  all  that  was  needed  to  put  an  end 
to  the  folly.  Reasonable  men,  even  though 
still  believing  in  the  possibility  of  witch- 
craft, would  no  longer  consent  to  the  im- 
prisonment, torture,  or  execution  of  persons 
who  were  quite  as  likely,  after  every  process 
of  law  had  been  exhausted  in  the  inquiry, 
to  be  as  innocent  as  themselves  of  any  real 
crime. 

But  not  only  did  the  gentle  poet  prac- 
tically put  an  end  in  his  country  to  the 
witchcraft  mania,  but  the  reasoning  which 
he  had  employed  for  that  purpose  led  just 
as  certainly  to  the  downfall  of  the  whole 
system  of  legal  inquisition  by  torture 

The  lovely  soul  of  Father  Spee  is  shown 
in  the  folio sving  stanza  of  one  of  his  hvmns^ 
which  Father  Ryder  quotes  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century  article  referred  to  above: 

,,C^  2cl)6u()cit  E'er  iUaturen. 

O  Syunbcrlieblicl)feit, 
C  3a^l  bcr  (srcatiiren, 

ffiieftrecfft  bii  bid)  [0  lucit! 
Unb  mcr  bann  ivollt  nit  merfen 

Dee  Scl)oi)fer&  JQcrrlic^feit, 
llnb  i[)ii  in  fcincn  iiverfcn 


i5^ 


The  Ave  Jilaria. 


en>uifn  icbcr  ^^W. 
C  Slcnfd),  crincfi  iin  pencil  bciii, 
Sic  iCunbcr  imifj  t)cr  3cl)6pfer  fcin!  "* 

Father  Spee  died  peacefully  among  his 
brethren  at  Tribur,  August  7,  1635,  but  a 
few  weeks  after  having  performed  a  most 
arduous  service  as  chaplain,  confessor,  and 
nurse  amid  the  contending  military  forces 
of  the  Empire  and  France.  He  had  done 
his  work  thoroughly,  however, — all  that  it 
was  given  him  to  do;  and  he  had  done  it 
from  the  first  with  no  wound  of  body  or 
mind  to  his  adversaries,  and  his  modest  but 
wonderful  work  lived  after  him. 


A  Singular  Instance  of   Our  Lady's 
Protection. 


In  the  A  ear  1848  a  mysterious  murmur  of 
discontent  was  heard  in  the  city  of  Turin. 
It  arose  among  the  enemies  of  religion  and 
the  Government.  While  the  Kinof  of  Sar- 
dinia, Charles  Albert,  was  debating  what 
measures  he  should  take,  it  became  trumpet- 
toned  in  its  defiance.  Lawless  deeds  were 
of  daily  occurrence,  and  greater  evils  were 
feared  for  the  near  future.  The  religious 
orders,  as  usual,  were  among  the  chief  ob- 
jects of  persecution. 

Among  many  institutions  that  were  dis- 
pleasing to  the  radicals  was  the  convent  of 
the  Ladies  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  to  which 
was  attached  a  boarding-school  for  daugh- 
ters of  the  nobility,  under  the  special  pat- 
ronage of  her  Majesty  the  Queen.  It  was 
her  delight  to  visit  the  class-rooms  of  the 
pupils,  listen  to  their  recitations,  hold  coun- 
cil with  their  teachers  and  in  particular  to 
watch  the  young  girls  from  a  balcony  when 
they  were  engaged  in  their  recreations  and 


O  comeliness  of  nature, 

O  wondrous  loveliness, 
O  widespread  world  of  creatures, 

In  numbers  numberless! 
Who,  then,  can  fail  to  notice 

The  Maker's  master-hand, 
And  trace  Him  in  his  working 

In  sea  and  sky  and  land  ? 
Think,  man, within  this  heart  of  thine, 
How  must  the  great  Creator  shine! 


games.  Great,  therefore,  was  the  sorrow  of 
the  pious  Queen  when  the  revolutionists 
became  so  violent  in  their  menaces  as  to 
make  it  prudent  for  Madame  du  Rousier  to 
notify  parents  and  guardians  to  withdraw 
their  children  and  wards. 

One  of  the  first  to  heed  the  summons  was 
General  de  V ,  his  profession  render- 
ing him  more  apprehensive  than  civilians 
were  regarding  the  position  of  the  religious 
and  their  pupils.  As  his  little  motherless 
daughter  Hlena  clung  to  the  beloved  supe- 
rioress, who  had  tenderly  cared  for  her,  the 
religious  whispered  to  her:  ''The  Blessed 
Virgin  will  protect  }  ou,  and  your  aunt  in 
Florence,  who  will  be  a  second  mother  to 
you.  Promise  me,  my  child — will  you? — 
that  you  will  recite  three  Ave  Marias  each 
night  before  you  retire." 

''I  promise,  Mother,"  sobbed  the  heart- 
broken Elena,  as  her  anxious  father  hurried 
her  to  the  carriage  that  was  in  readiness. 

There  were  only  a  few  passengers  in  the 
diligence^  so  the  General  placed  his  little 
daughter  near  a  window,  where  she  could 
observe  the  fleeting  landscapes,  and  listen 
to  his  explanations  of  the  various  scenes 
through  which  they  passed.  Hence  she  soon 
became  cheerful,  and  interesting  in  her  re- 
marks or  intelligent  questions.  The  officer 
meanwhile   forwarded   a   dispatch    to    the 

Countess  de  V ,  his  sister,  begging  her 

to  send  a  domestic  to  conduct  Elena  from  a 
village  at  which  he  intended  to  halt,  to  their 
villa  in  the  suburbs  of  Florence. 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  the  inn 

at  N^ ,  and  the  two  travellers  alighted, 

while  the  stage-coach  proceeded  on  its  cus- 
tomary route.  The  landlord  was  very  polite 
and  attentive  offering  his  best  apartment 
to  the  General,  and  providing  an  excellent 
supper.  The  guest  expressed  great  satisfac- 
tion on  seeing  in  the  sleeping  room  a  deep 
recess,  which  contained  a  comfortable  bed, 
well-nigh  concealed  by  curtains  gracefully 
draped  and  gorgeously  tasselled.  ''This 
alcove,"  he  said,  "I  will  occupy,  and  I  will 
ask  you  to  bring  in  a  cot  and  a  portable 
screen  for  my  little  daughter,  as  she  would 
be  afraid  to  sleep  alone  in  a  strange  house. " 


The  Ave  JMaria. 


159 


His  orders  were  promptly  obeyed.  "Bring 
me  several  candles,"  said  the  officer  to  a 
valet  who  entered  as  he  was  opening  his 
portmanteau,  and  drawing  forth  a  large 
package  of  letters;  "I  shall  have  to  write 
nearly  all  night,'  However,  only  a  small 
quantity  of  lights  was  brought,  with  the 
promise  to  provide  more  after  supper.  But 
the  promise  was  not  fulfilled. 

After  chatting  a  while  with  his  child, 

General  de  V said:  "Now,  Elena,  you 

will  make  your  night  toilet  while  I  get 
through  these  letters.''  And,  lighting  a 
taper,  he  began  to  undo  the  package  and 
peruse  letter  after  letter.  Suddenly  it  oc- 
curred to  h>'s  fdtherlv  heart  that  the  light 
might  keep  the  child  from  sleeping  soundly, 
so  he  bade  her  take  the  bed  in  the  alcove. 
"[  shall  hardly  find  lime  to  repose,'' he 
thought;  "and  if  I  do,  I  will  throw  myself, 
military  fashion,  on  the  stretcher." 

Elena  said  her  prayers,  bade  her  kind 
father  good-night,  and  climbed  up  into  the 
dainty  bed.  The  officer  wrote  letter  after 
letter,  and  the  night  wore  on.  Suddenly  his 
attention  was  arrested  by  faint  sobs  from 
the  recess.  Going  to  the  bedside,  he  found 
his  little  daughter  regretting  her  teachers 
and  schoolmates  He  explained  lo  her  in  the 
gentltst  manner  the  cause  of  her  removal 
from  the  convent,  adding  that  by  that  time 
her  companions  were  all  dispersed  to  their 
homes.  The  )  the  child  started  up,  and, 
bounding  out  of  bed,  cried,  "O  I  forgot  to 
say  my  three  Avesf-  and  with  clasped 
hand.>>  she  knelt  and  repeated  them. 

As  Elena  jumped  out  of  bed  her  father 
was  surprised  to  observe  that  the  bedstead 
swayed  from  side  to  side,  and  while  she 
prayed  he  examined  the  construction  of  the 
handsome  couch,  and  found  that  it  swung 
from  fixtures  in  the  ceiling;  that  the  heavy 
cords  ending  in  magnificent  tassels  were 
strong  ropes  that  were  attached  to  movable 
pulleys;  and,  moreover,  that  the  portion  of 
the  floor  that  was  under  the  canopied  bed 
was  distinctly  separated,  and  seemed  to  be 
furnished  with  springs.  Never  having  seen 
such  an  arrangement  before,  he  began  to 
grow  suspicious.    So  when  Elena  had  fin- 


ished her  devotions,  he  bade  her  return  to 
the  cot,  remarking  calmly  that  she  would 
probably  sleep  more  soundly  on  it  than  in 
the  grand  bedstead. 

He  rext  examined  his  pistols,  and  placed 
them  in  readiness  near  him,  and,  remem- 
bering that  the  valet  had  not  brought  in 
the  promised  tapers,  he  went  to  the  door 
to  call  for  them,  and  found  that  the  key 
with  which  he  had  locked  the  room  during 
supper  had  been  removed,  and  the  door  of 
the  apartment  fastened  on  the  outside:  this 
convinced  him  that  some  mischief  was  in- 
tended. Agonized  at  the  thought  of  Elena's 
danger,  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  and 
commended  himself  and  his  innocent  child 
to  the  God  of  Mercy.  "It  is  her  fidelity," 
he  pleaded  with  Almighty  God  "that  has, 
humanly  speaking,  revealed  to  us  our  dan- 
gerous position.  Through  the  intercession 
of  Mary,  be  propitious  and  deliver  us  from 
our  enemies."  Rising  from  his  knees,  he 
recited  the  Rosary,  and  calmly  awaited 
developments. 

A  little  after  midnight  the  mysterious  bed- 
stead sank  visibly,  then  mounted  noiselessly, 
and  mumbled  curses  were  distinctly  heard. 
The  officer  commendtd  himself  anew  to 
the  care  of  his  Father  in  heaven,  and  de- 
termined to  take  steps  to  save  himself  and 
child.  He  found  the  two  windows  securely 
fastened,  but  contrived  to  undo  the  bolts 
of  one,  and,  looking  out,  saw  that  it  would 
be  possible  to  get  down  onto  the  public 
road.  He  promptly  awakened  Elena,  bade 
her  dre>s  as  quietly  as  possible,  while  he 
tied  the  sheets  in  a  strong  knot,  and  then 
putting  her  inside,  contrived  to  lower  her 
to  the  ground;  next  he  let  down  his  port- 
manteau and  part  of  her  baggage.  All  was 
done  so  noiselessly  that  it  did  not  alarm  the 
inmates  of  the  tavern,  who  expected  their 
guest  would  stop  with  them  some  time,  as 
he  had  said  that  he  intended  to  await  the 
arrival  of  a  servant,  and  she  had  not  yet 
appeared.  This,  they  thought,  would  give 
them  another  chance. 

General  de  V now  conducted  Elena 

to  a  clump  of  bushes  near  the  roadside, 
then  went  back  for   their   baggage.   And 


i6o 


The  Ave  A/aria. 


\ 


there  the  two  remained  until  the  early 
morning,  when  the  General's  quick  ear 
discerned  the  martial  tread  of  advancing 
soldiers.  Soon  the  drum-beat  assured  him 
that  he  could  easily  secure  aid,  and,  sig- 
nalling the  officer,  a  halt  was  commanded, 
explanations  made,  and  some  of  the  men 
were  detailed  to  conduct  the  General  and 
Elena  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Of  course  the  authorities  were  speedily  in- 
formed of  the  mysterious  occurrence  at  the 
inn,  and  an  investigation  was  ordered.  The 
result,  after  proper  trial,  was  the  execution  of 
the  landlord  and  his  accomplices  The  deep 
vault  beneath  the  deceitful  bedstead  was 
found  to  contain  many  human  skeletons, 
and  much  lost  property,  including  a  num- 
.ber  of  valuable  documents.  The  inn  was 
razed  to  the  ground,  the  plough  passed  over 
its  site,  and  the  name  of  the  innkeeper  was 
stricken  from  the  public  register. 

After  some  delay  the  expected  domestic 
arrived,  and  took  charge  of  Elena,  who  was 
warmly  received  by  the  Countess,  her  aunt, 
and  cherished  as  the  only  daughter  of  the 

house  usually  is.  General  de  V narrated 

their  wondrous  escape  from  a  violent  death, 
and  an  account  of  it  was  sent  to  the  banished 
religious,  among  whom  was  the  narrator  of 
this  wonderful  instance  of  Our  Lady's  pat- 
ronage. 

«  ♦  « 

The  Virgin's  Necklace  and  Veil. 


LEGENDS   OF  THE  ASSUMPTION. 


NIGHT  wore  upon  her  brow  her  crown 
of  stars,  and  the  moon  slept  in  her  bed 
of  clouds.  Silence  reigned  unbroken,  save 
where  the  great  cedars  slowly  waved  their 
branches  in  the  gentle  breeze  that  whis- 
peied  from  one  to  another.  Now  and  then, 
too,  a  bird  would  take  a  sudden  flight,  or  far 
away  the  nightingale  poured  foith  a  song 
whose  melody  resembled  that  of  the  angels 
of  heaven.  Meanwhile  Paradise  resounded 
with  songs  of  joy  and  triumph,  because  the 
Bride  awaited  from  eternity  and  Her  heav- 
enly Spouse  were  to  celebrate  the  divine 
espousals  with  gladness  unspeakable. 


Mary  had  breathed  Her  last  sigh  in  a 
supreme  ecstasy;  Her  soul  had  broken  its 
bonds  with  one  last  ejaculation  of  love.  She 
was  now  to  ascend  to  highest  heaven.  Be- 
hold where  She  sleeps  in  ihe  rocky  sepul- 
chre, which  the  holy  women  had  sprinkled 
with  myrrh  and  aloes  ere  they  laid  Her  to 
rest  in  Her  snowy  robes — Her  beautiful  eyes 
closed  to  earth,  Her  long  hair  unbound,  en- 
veloping Her  like  a  royal  mantle.  A  heavy 
stone  closed  the  entrance  of  the  sepulchie, 
and  the  mysteries  of  death  encompassed 
Her  in  their  shadow,  while  the  intense  i  zure 
of  the  heavens  shone  like  an  infinite  ocean 
above  the  place  of  Her  repose. 

The  distant  mountains  were  tinged  with 
flame,  and  the  summit  of  Libanus  was  em- 
purpled with  rosy  light.  Dawn  comes  rap- 
idly in  these  lands  of  fire.  Suddenly  from 
amidst  the  silvery  twilight  descended  a 
snowy  cloud  like  a  breath  of  vapor;  and 
while  the  impalpable  light  dispersed  the 
shadows,  myriad  forms,  white  and  diapha- 
nous, assembled  under  the  arching  firma- 
ment, surrounded  the  tomb,  and  by  the 
motion  of  their  wing-;  rolled  away  the  heavy 
stone  which  closed  it. 

The  Virgin  slowly  awakened.  Like  the 
daughter  of  Jairus,  She  rose  from  Her  couch, 
and  moved  towards  the  great  stone  that  lay 
at  the  mouth  of  the  tomb.  As  She  returned 
to  life,  a  smile  came  to  Her  still  pallid  lips, 
and  Her  lovely  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven. 
She  listened  to  the  sweet  call  of  Her  Be- 
loved, Her  beautiful  countenance  radiant 
with  happiness.  She  knew  then  that  nothing 
of  Her  was  to  remain  on  earth.  The  Mother 
of  the  living  God  escaped  the  horrors  of 
death.  Never  could  they  touch  One  who 
had  borne  in  Her  womb  the  Master  c  f  the 
universe.  Joy  filled  Her  heart,  and  Her  soul 
dilated  in  a  divine  ecstasy,  while  the  Cher- 
ubim, kneeling,  offered  homage  to  tKeir 
Queen. 

And  now  the  whole  earth  began  to 
awaken  from  its  slumber;  the  Vii  gin  beheld 
it  bathed  in  the  heavy  dews  which  glittered 
in  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  represent- 
ing to  Her  eyes  and  Her  heart  the  count- 
less teais  of  our  poor  suffering  humanity. 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


i6i 


She  endeavored  to  gather  these  dewdrops 
in  Her  holy  hands,  but  at  Her  touch  they 
were  transformed  into  pearls.  Of  these 
pearls  She  formed  a  brilliant  necklace,  and 
the  Rosary  which  She  afterwards  bestowed 
on  one  of  Her  chosen  children.  Adorned 
thus  with  Her  bridal  ornament  of  human 
tears,  in  a  golden  cloud-chariot  She  floated 
slowly  upward  to  the  empyrean. 

Her   brown,  flowing  locks  changed    to 
waves  of  light,  Mary,  as  She  is  represented 
by  Her  painter  and  Her  poet  Murillo, — 
Mary,  followed  by  Her  cortege  of  Seraphim 
and  Cherubim,  Powers  and  Dominations, 
— Mary,  the  Queen  of  Angels,  entered  into 
eternal  beatitude.  And  when  at  the  thresh- 
old of  Paradise  God  the  Father  offered  Her 
the  spousal  ring  in  the  name  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Sanctifier,  and  the  Son  of  Man 
placed  upon  Her  brow  the  crown  of  eternal 
Toyalty,  Mary  besought  Her  nuptial  gift. 
Presenting  to  the  Most  High  the  gathered 
tears,  the  pearls  of  Her  necklace — Her  sole 
memorial  of  earth,— She  asked  the  gift  of 
iDOundless  mercy,  and  from  that  moment 
She  became  the  all-powerful  Mistress  of  the 
treasures  of  divine  compassion.   It  is  She 
who  consoles,  who  sustains,  who  intercedes, 
who  ever  extends  help  to  those  who  suffer. 
We  invoke  Mary,  and  at  Her  blessed  name 
the  tempest  sinks  to  rest,  the  raging  storm 
is  appeased,  and  tranquillity  returns  to  our 
troubled  hearts.   And  Mary  is  become  the 
Sovereign  of  the  world  in  the  name  of  grief 
and  of  poesy. 

In  Her  flight  to  heaven  the  Virgin 
dropped  a  portion  of  Her  veil.  Lighter  than 
the  air  of  the  morning,  it  was  borne  along 
by  the  breeze,  and,  catching  in  the  thorns 
of  earth,  it  was  torn  and  ravelled.  In  the 
warm  days  of  autumn  we  often  see  the  shin- 
ing threads  of  which  it  was  wrought  float- 
ing in  the  golden  air.  We  can  not  seize 
them,  but  as  they  brush  by  us,  carrying  to 
heaven  our  passing  thought,  young  heart, 
oh!  breathe  a  prayer;  weary  exile,  ask  for 
deliverance.  You  will  cease  to  live  for  earth, 
you  will  cease  to  mourn,  because  the  Virgin 
always  listens  to  the  message  borne  into  Her 
presence  by  the  shining  threads  of  Her  veil. 


Praise  of  Mary. 


[On  the  occasion  of  the  crowning  of  a 
statue  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  at  Villanoor, 
India,  a  short  account  of  which  appears 
elsewhere,  Z  Savarayolounaiker,  the  poet 
laureate  of  Pondicherry,  composed  some 
verses  in  Tamil,  a  few  of  \\hich  have  been 
translated  into  English  by  a  correspondent 
of  the  Tndo-  European  Correspondence. 
They  afford  a  characteristic  example  of  the 
Indian  style.] 

"In  the  midst  of  rich  fields,  fertilized  by  abun- 
dant streams,  where  thousands  of  wild  fowls  have 
fixed  their  abode;  in  the  midst  of  the  intoxicating 
odors  of  perfumed  flowers;  in  the  midst  of  the 
splendid  water-lilies,  which  set  off"  the  brilliant 
plumageof  the  graceful  birds  which  sport  joyfully 
under  shining  flowers,  stands  Villanoor. 

' '  Villanoor,  celebrated  for  its  temples  and  an- 
cient palaces;  remarkable  for  its  towers  which 
reach  the  sky;  protected  by  its  cyclopean  walls; 
embellished  by  its  gardens  and  flowery  groves ; 
sanctified  by  its  convent  of  virgins;  thronged  by 
the  crowds  attracted  by  the  abundance  of  its 
markets. 

"It  is  there — it  is  there,  within  a  temple  of 
foliage,  in  the  depths  of  a  picturesque  grotto 
carpeted  with  a  thousand  flowers, — it  is  there,  O 
Lady  of  Lourdes!  that  Thou  appearest  smiling 
on  Thy  people  who  kneel  before  Thee.  O  Divine 
Mother !  guard  us  by  Thine  aid ;  ward  off"  all  evils ; 
bring  the  infidel  to  Thy  altar,  which  he  knows 
not. 

' '  Every  day  Thou  overwhelmest  us  with  ben- 
efits without  number,  and  we  know  not  how  to 
testify  our  profound  gratitude,  O  Divine  Virgin! 
So  we  have  had  recourse  to  our  chief  Pastor,  and, 
thanks  to  the  prayer  of  our  venerable  Archbishop, 
thanks  to  the  boundless  kindness  of  the  Supreme 
Pontiff",  behold  us  ready  to-day  to  place  a  golden 
crown  on  Thy  august  head.O  Divine  Lady, already 
crowned  with  twelve  radiant  stars' 

"What  is  our  humble  offering!  It  is  like  the 
little  shining  fire-fly  of  night,  which  hides  its 
feeble  light  as  soon  as  appear  the  first  rays  of  the 
powerful  sun.  But  anything  which  children  are 
pleased  to  off"er  to  their  cherished  Mother,  is  it 
not  always  received  with  delight  ? 

"And  we  also, behold  us  prostrate  at  Thy  august 
feet,  O  Mother,  the  most  excellent  of  mothers! 
Accept  this  crown,  with  its  gold  and  brilliant 
emeralds.  Accept  this  ^off"ering:  it  is  the  offering 
of  Thy  children,  and  in  their  minds  will  be  in- 
effiaceable  the  remembrance  of  this  gladsome 
day." 


l62 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  apprehensions  that  the  Liberal  press 
of  Italy  are  trying  to  raise  about  the  failing 
health  of  the  Holy  Father  are  altogether 
groundless,  and  the  reports  they  print  are  ut- 
terly devoid  of  foundation.  His  Holiness,  we 
are  pleased  to  be  able  to  state,  enjoys  excellent 
health,  and  can  engage  without  weariness  in 
his  usual  arduous  mental  labors.  He  does  not 
appear  to  experience  any  discomfort  even  from 
the  overpowering  heat  of  the  weather,  and  is 
able  to  work  with  much  less  fatigue  than  any 
member  of  his  household.  The  numerous  and 
prolonged  private  audiences  granted  to  bish- 
ops and  prelates  are  a  ytill  further  proof  of 
his  Holiness'  undiminished  energy  and  vigor. 


.  Off  the  northeast  coast  of  New  Caledonia 
lies  a  group  of  small  islands,  called  Loyalty 
Islands,  the  largest  of  which  is  named  Lifou. 
The  natives  are  for  the  most  part  Protestants, 
a  fact  due  to  the  presence  of  numerous  English 
preachers  who  preceded  the  French  mission- 
aries of  the  Society  of  Mary  To  counteract  the 
evil  effects  of  heretical  teachings,  which  were 
principally  directed  against  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  the  Marist  Fathers  have  called 
to  their  aid  the  great  mystery  by  which  the 
Mother  of  God  crushed  the  head  of  the  serpent 
— the  mystery  of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 
On  Cape  Meketepoun,a  point  first  perceived 
by  voyagers  from  New  Caledonia,  they  have 
erected  a  colossal  statue  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception.  Around  the  base  of  this  glorious 
image  of  Mary's  triumph  beautiful  mountain- 
firs  form  a  crescent  of  perpetual  verdure ;  and, 
lower  down,  the  foam  from  the  waves  of  the 
sea  beating  against  the  rock  paints,  as  it  were, 
the  pedestal  with  a  symbolical  white  color. 
Whenever  the  French  vessels  pass  before  this 
statue,  their  flags  are  lowered  in  salutation  to 
the  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  crews  uncover  their  heads,  and  the  melody 
of  beautiful  canticles  rises  above  the  sound  of 
the  waves.  

On  ihe  2d  inst.  was  celebrated  the  centenary 
of  the  death  of  St.  Alphonsus  Liguori,  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  theologians  of  the  Church 
and  founder  of  the  Congregation  of  the  Most 
Holy  Redeemer,  whose  members  are  generally 
known  as  Redemptorists.  A  few  facts  about 
the  life  of  this  great  Saint  and  Doctor  will  be 


interesting,  even  if  familiar.  Born  of  a  noble 
Neapolitan  family,  it  was  prophesied  of  him, 
while  3-et  a  child,  that  he  was  destined  for 
canonization.  His  talents  and  piety  won  the 
admiration  of  all  who  knew  him,  and  when  he 
took  up  the  study  of  law  he  was  considered 
to  have  a  brilliant  future  before  him.  In  the 
face  of  great  opposition  from  his  family,  he 
put  off  the  lawyer's  gown  for  the  cassock  of 
the  humble  seminarian,  and  was  rapidly  ad- 
vanced to  the  priesthood.  His  renown  as  a 
confessor  is  well  known,  and  it  was  not  till 
after  many  years  of  experience  in  the  confes- 
sional that  he  published  his  great  and  justly 
celebrated  treatise  on  Moral  Theology.  In 
1749  he  founded  his  Congregation,  and  lived 
to  see  it  increase  and  prosper  beyond  his  most 
sanguine  expectations.  Despite  his  unwilling- 
ness, he  was  elected  in  1762  to  the  bishopric 
of  St.  Agatha  of  the  Goths,  a  town  near  Capua. 
His  life  as  a  bishop  was  only  a  continuation 
of  the  self-sacrificing  career  which  he  had  fol- 
lowed as  a  priest.  His  zeal  and  charity  worked 
wonders  everywhere.  He  governed  his  see  till 
1775,  when  Pius  VI.  accepted  his  resignation 
on  account  of  feeble  health.  St.  Alphonsus 
then  retired  to  Nocera,  where  he  gave  himself 
up  to  prayer  and  to  the  care  of  his  beloved 
Congregation.  He  died  in  1787,  and  was  cano- 
nized by  Pope  Gregory  XVI.  in  1839. 

The  Redemptorists  are  well  known  in  this 
country,  having  permanent  establishments  in 
fifteen  dioceses  of  the  United  States.  They 
have  been  always  very  active  and  zealous  in 
giving  missions,  and  the  good  they  have 
wrought  in  this  manner  is  incalculable.  The 
saintly  Bishop  Neumann,  of  Philadelphia,  was 
a  member  of  the  Order,  as  was  the  present 
Archbishop  of  Oregon,  the  Most  Rev.  William 
Gross.  

An  exhibition  of  relics  was  the  most  inter- 
esting feature  of  the  tercentenary  of  the  exe- 
cution of  the  saintly  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  at 
Peterborough,  England.  Queen  Victoria  con- 
tributed numerous  relics,  including  a  Bible 
with  autograph;  a  print  portrait, of  which  only 
three  copies  are  known  to  exist;  and  a  lock  of 
Queen  Mary's  hair. 

A  recent  number  of  the  Indo-European  Cor- 
respondence, published  at  Calcutta,  contains 
an  interesting  account  of  the  ' '  Coronation 
of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  at  Villanoor,"  on 
Sunday,  the  8th  of  May  last.  The  ceremony 


The  Ave  Maria. 


163 


was  certainly  unique  in  India,  attracting  over 
thirty  thousand  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  drawn  by  the  desire  to  render  their 
homage  to  the  Immaculate  Virgin.  A  large 
temporary  church  had  been  erected  for  the 
occasion,  and  beautifully  decorated;  but  it  was 
insufficient  to  contain  more  than  a  third  of 
the  immense  crowd  that  gathered  to  witness 
the  coronation.  From  the  26th  of  April  to  the 
4th  of  May  the  exercises  of  a  novena  took 
place  in  the  church,  with  frequent  Masses, 
Benedictions,  and  sermons.  Twice  a  day  the 
pious  pilgrims  gathered  before  the  Madonna 
to  recite  the  Rosary.  On  May  4  the  miraculous 
image  was  carried  solemnly  to  the  church, 
and  placed  in  a  grotto  built  over  the  high 
altar.  On  the  following  Sunday  the  corona- 
tion took  place.  The  ceremony  was  performed 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Pondicherry,  assisted  by 
the  Bishop  of  Bangalore,  the  Titular  Bishop 
of  Tricala,  and  many  of  the  clergy.  The  brill- 
iant golden  crown,  all  glistening  with  precious 
stones,  was  solemnly  blessed  in  the  name  of 
his  Holiness  Leo  XII  l.,  and  then  the  Arch- 
bishop slowly  piounted  the  steps  and  placed 
it  on  the  head  of  the  statue,  amid  indescribable 
emotion  on  the  part  of  the  vast  multitude  of 
worshippers,  who  were  entranced  by  the  im- 
posing spectacle.  In  the  evening  there  was  a 
grand  procession  and  display  of  fireworks,  and 
on  all  sides  were  heard  the  enthusiastic  shouts 
of  the  multitude,  '  Long  may  Our  Lad}^  of 
Lourdes  reign  at  Villanoor!" 


A  Roman  periodical  makes  us  acquainted 
with  a  Polish  gentleman,  Count  Joseph  Mlo 
decki,who  took  part  in  the  pilgrimage  of  the 
Slavs  to  Rome  some  time  since.  This  noble- 
man, who  is  related  to  the  principal  families 
of  his  nation,  is  one  of  the  many  victims  of 
the  fierce  persecution  of  Catholics  hy  Russia 
which  began  in  1863.  The  Emperor  confiscated 
the  property  which  he  held  in  Russian  Poland, 
valued  at  5,000,000  francs  Some  time  after- 
wards he  was  summoned  to  appear  before  the 
Governor  of  Kiew,  who  told  him  that  his 
property  would  be  restored  on  one  condition. 
' '  What  is  the  condition  ? ' '  asked  the  noble 
Pole. — "It  is  that  you  renounce  Catholicity 
and  enter  the  Greek  Church.  This  is  not  much 
to  ask." — "My  faith  is  something  above  all 
price  I  will  keep  it ;  you  may  keep  my  goods. ' ' 
And  hereupon  the  noble  confessor  retired  to 
Austrian  Galicia. 


New  Publications. 


The  Works  of  Orestks  A.  Bkownson. 
Collected  and  Arranged  by  Henry  F.  Brownson. 
Volume  XX.  Containing  Explanatory  and  Mis- 
cellaneous Writings.  Detroit:  H.  F.  Brownson. 
1S87.  ■pp.636. 

This  is  the  last  volume  of  Dr.  Brownson's 
Works.  It  brings  his  writings  down  to  the  last 
article,  the  "Valedictory."  that  he  published 
in  his  well-known  and  influential  Quarterly 
Review.  The  vigor,  courage,  strength  and'in- 
dependence  of  character  that  so  conspicuously 
distinguished  Dr.  Brownson  find  expression 
even  in  his  closing  articles — are  made  mani- 
fest even  as  his  eyes  grow  too  dim  for  further 
work,  and  the  taper  of  life  flickers  in  its 
socket.  The  "Valedictory"  appears  in  the 
Review  for  October,  1875.  It  marks  the  termi- 
nation in  activity  of  a  busy  life — a  life  ren- 
dered conspicuous  by  commanding  abilities, 
extraordinary  firmness,  unflinching  courage, 
unyielding  fidelit}',  and  an  aggressive  cham- 
pionship of  truth.  From  the  time-  in  active 
manhood  when  Dr.  Brownson  entered  the 
True  Fold,  he  became  and  continued  to  be  a 
faithful  servant  of  the  Church,  and  devoted 
advocate  of  all  her  interests,  as  God  gave  him 
to  see  and  understand  those  interests.  This  fact 
is  well  illustrated  by  the  articles  that  appear 
in  the  volume  before  us.  In  his  "Valedictory'  * 
he  writes,  almost  with  childlike  humility: 
' '  Yet  none  will  be  found  more  sincerely  Cath- 
olic, or  more  earnestly  devoted  to  Catholic  in- 
terests; though,  no  doubt,  men  may  be  found 
with  more  prudence,  and  with  a  far  better  un- 
derstanding of  those  interests,  as  well  as  ability 
to  advance  them."  And  again:  "I  have,  and  I 
desire  to  have,  no  home  out  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  with  which  I  am  more  than  satisfied, 
and  which  I  love  as  the  dearest,  tenderest  and 
most  affectionate  mother.  My  only  ambition 
is  to  live  and  die  in  her  communion. ' '  A  vale- 
dictory such  as  this  suggests  the  inscription 
for  the  monument  to  Dr.  Brownson,  and  surely 
none  could  be  more  touching,  beautiful  and 
inspiring. 

This  volume  has  a  deep  and  peculiar  inter- 
est, in  that  it  closes  the  notable  series  to  which 
from  time  to  time  The  "Ave  Maria"  has 
referred,  and  gives  the  articles  written  in 
life's  twilight  by  one  whose  towering  intellect 
brought  him  fame,  whose  unswerving  patri- 


164 


'J he  Ave  Maria. 


otism  gained  him  honor  among  his  country- 
men, whose  advocacy  of  truth  never  compro- 
mised with  the  tricks  and  shifts  of  policy, 
whose  faith  and  sense  of  right  never  sought  a 
mask  nor  knew  dissimulation.  Of  the  leading 
articles  published  in  it  we  may  be  pardoned 
for  citing:"  Capes 's  Four  Years'  Experience"; 
' '  The  Church  in  the  United  States  " ;  '  'Arch- 
bishop Hughes  on  the  Catholic  Press"; 
"Burnett's  Path  to  the  Church";  "Catho- 
lic Polemics";  "Reading  and  Study  of  the 
Scriptures  " ;  "  The  Punishment  of  the  Repro- 
bate " ;  "  Catholicity,  Liberalism,  and  Social- 
ism " ;  "  Reform  and  Reformers  " ;  "  Civil  and 
Religious  Freedom  " ;  "  Liberalism  and  Prog- 
ress. ' ' 

The  indexes  are  complete,  accurate  and 
admirably  arranged.  They  bear  witness  to 
•careful  and  painstaking  labor  on  the  part  of 
the  editor.  The  "Index  of  Titles"  covers 
twenty-three  pages  The  many  articles  and 
reviews  published,  about  940  in  number,  are 
appropriately  indicated  under  this  head,  due 
reference  being  made  to  the  volumes  and  pages 
where  they  may  be  found.  These  deal  with  a 
great  variety  of  subjects — in  fact,  everything 
inviting  discussion  and  comment,  or  concern- 
ing the  interests  and  welfare  of  humanity, 
during  the  author's  long  and  busy  life, — and 
every  subject  treated  appears  to  gain  in  in- 
terest, importance  and  lustre  from  the  charm 
of  his  gifted  pen.  The  'Index  of  Subjects" 
•comprises  171  pages,  and  enables  the  reader 
to  refer  at  once  to  the  volume  and  page  where 
each  and  every  noteworthy  matter  is  pre- 
sented. To  prepare  these  indexes  was  mani- 
festly a  most  laborious  task,  but  well  and  ably 
Tias  it  been  accomplished. 

Dr.  Brownson's  Works  are  now  finished. 
As  alread}'  stated,  this  is  the  last  volume. 
Henry  Brownson,  the  editor  and  compiler,  has 
faithfully,  ably,  lovingly  and  devotedly  dis- 
charged his  dutj'  in  the  premises.  He  has 
placed  before  the  Catholics  of  the  country 
and  the  public  generally  a  magnificent  edition 
of  his  father's  works — an  edition  of  which 
Catholics  and  Americans  generally  may  alike 
feel  proud.  He  has  not  only  edited,  but  also 
published  these  imperishable  works,  and  in 
carrying  to  a  successful  issue  an  undertaking 
so  formidable  he  necessarily  incurred  much 
expense.  Now,  is  it  not  pertinent  to  ask 
whether  Catholics  and  the  public  generally 
have  not  an  obvious  and  positive  duty  to  sup- 


port and  encourage  so  praiseworthy  an  un- 
dertaking— an  achievement  so,  important  in 
Catholic  and  American  literature  ?  Aside  from 
that,  however,  Dr.  Brownson's  Works  are  of 
great  utility  on  account  of  their  philosophy, 
their  history,  their  strong  moral  tone,  their 
sound  religious  teaching,  their  high  literary 
standard;  viewed  from  any  and  every  stand- 
point they  can  not  but  be  regarded  as  an  in- 
valuable accession  to  any  library.  Whenever 
practicable,  room  should  be  made  for  them  in 
parochial,  school  and  society  libraries;  and 
we  are  persuaded  that  many  of  the  wealthier 
laymen  will,  once  they  carefully  consider  the 
claims  of  Catholic  literature  upon  their  favor, 
regard  their  libraries  as  incomplete  without 
Dr.  Brownson's  Works. 


Obituary. 

"  It  ».<  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thought  to  pray  j or  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  40 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are 
commended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  read- 
ers. 

Sister  Mary  Cecilia,  who  was  called  to  her  eternal 
rest  on  the  25th  ult. ,  at  the  Sacred  Heart  Mission, 
Indian  Territory.  She  was  one  of  the  first  Sisters 
to  labor  among  the  Indians  there. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Catharine,  of  the  Sisters  of 
Holy  Cross,  who  departed  this  life  on  the  4th  inst. , 
at  St.  Mary's  Convent,  Notre  Dame.  She  had  been 
a  professed  religious  nearly  forty  jears. 

Mrs.  Mary  Casey,  whose  death,  in  her  eighty- 
eighth  year,  occurred  last  month  at  Knocknagree, 
Co.  Kerry,  Ireland. 

Mrs.  Michael  Ryan,  of  Charlestown,  Mass.,  who 
was  called  to  the  reward  of  her  good  life  on  the 
25th  ult.  She  was  a  fervent  member  of  the  Third 
Order  of  St.  Francis. 

Miss  Agatha  Casey,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
whose  happy  death  took  place  at  her  home  in 
Potosi,  Mo.,  on  the  22d  ult.  Miss  Casey  was  be- 
loved by  a  large  circle  of  friends. 

Mr.  David  O'Leary,  of  Springfield,  Mass.,  who 
died  on  the  3d  of  May,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacra- 
ments. 

Mr.  Patrick  Cleaiy.  one  of  the  first  subscribers 
of  The  "Ave  Maria"  in  Marysburg,  Minn., 
who  breathed  his  last  on  the  30th  ult.  He  was  a 
practical  Catholic,  and  highly  respected  by  all 
who  knew  him. 

Miss  Hanora  Buckley,  of  Chicago. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


165 


PARTMENt 


To-Day. 


BY  SISTER   MARY   AGNES. 


Q  WEET  Jesus!  grant  at  least  to-day 
^    My  soul  for  Thee  maj'^  live, 
Not  seeking  any  gift  to  weigh, 

Thou  askest  it  to  give; 
Not  counting  any  price  too  dear 

For  Thy  loved  smile  to  pay. 
So  that  each  hour  I  feel  Thee  near, 

And  helping  me  to-day. 

Forget  my  infidelity, 

The  graces  I  have  lost; 
Remember  only  all  that  I 

Thy  Precious  Blood  have  cost. 
Think  what  I  am  when  left  alone, 

And  do  not  leave  my  side; 
Cover  my  merits  with  Thine  own, 

And  all  my  weakness  hide. 

The  past  my  tears  can  not  undo, 

The  future  is  not  mine; 
To-day,  I^ord  Jesus,  keep  me  true 

To  every  wish  of  Thine. 
What  I  have  done  till  now  is  naught, 

And  life  fleets  fast  away; 
But  oh!  to  serve  Thee  as  I  ought. 

Let  me  begin  to-day! 

As  though  I  ne'er  before  had  clung 

To  Thee  or  holy  things, 
As  though  on  this  one  day  were  hung 

The  hopes  the  future  brings; 
As  though  my  dread  eternity 

Rested  on  this,  I  pray 
To  serve  Thee  with  integrity, 

Let  me  begin  to-day! 


The  alms  of  a  man  is  an  act  of  cbarity, 
but  that  of  a  child  is  at  one  and  the  same 
time  an  act  of  charity  and  a  caress — do  you 
understand?  It  is  as  though  a  soldo  and  a 
flower  fell  from  your  hand  together. — An 
Italian  School- Boy^  s  Journal. 


The  Old  Hair  Trunk. 


A    TALE    OF  THE    ASSUMPTION. 

IIL 

When  Mrs.  Travers  left  the  room,  the 
children  looked  first  at  one  another,  then 
cast  furtive  glances  at  the  hair  tiunk.  They 
had  taken  her  words  literally,  and  endued 
it  with  a  voice;  for  there  was  Hans  Ander- 
sen's *' sole-leather  trunk,"  and  everyone 
knows  how  that  talked! 

"Talks  and  cries!"  said  Lee.  "I  wonder 
if  it  would  talk  to  us?  Let's  try" — for  she 
was  a  hardy  little  soul. 

But  there  was  an  undefined  crinkle  up 
and  down  their  backs  at  the  thought  of 
opening  a  conversation  with  a  hundred-year 
old  article,  and  when  the  dressing  bell  rang 
they  silently  and  promptly  withdrew. 

After  dinner,  however,  they  went  back, 
and  gathered  about  the  little  old  trunk, 
staring  at  it,  and  revolving  plans  to  make 
it  speak.  The  wind  hummed  faintly  about 
the  eaves,  and  there  was  a  little  sound  now 
and  then  of  creaking — probably  the  trunks 
reviving  from  the  weight  of  their  riders. 

Suddenly  Louis  said:  '*Sh— sh!  What's 
that?  I  believe  it's  //  talking — I  mean 
whispering!" 

* '  Nonsense ! ' '  answered  Laura.  "  It' s  the 
wind." 

*' Sounds  like  a  telegraph  wire  hum- 
ming," said  Clarence. 

'*A  tree-frog,"  said  Shorb. 

"A  bee  buzzing,"  said  Phil. 

"A  mouse  squeaking,"  said  Edyth. 

"A  stair  creaking,"  said  Lee. 

Then  they  all  asked:  "What  is  it?" 

"It  was  right  here,  "said  Philip;  "and  I 
just  believe  it  is  the  trunk  talking." 

"Bosh!"  put  in  Clarence — he  was  get- 
ting scared. 

"Bosh  yourself!"  said  Louis.  "What 
in  thunder  do  you  know  about  it?  Didn't 
Mrs.  Travers  say  it  talked  ? ' ' 

' '  Y — es,  but  she  said  it  talked  a  language 
of  its  own." 

"Well,  and  how  do  you  know  this  ain't 
the  language?"  demanded  Louis. 


1 66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


That  was  a  poser,  so,  in  obedience  to  a 
suggestion  from  DoUie,  they  sat  down  as 
quiet  as  mice  to  listen. 

We  all  know  what  tricks  an  excited  im- 
agination plays,  therefore  it  was  not  very 
diflScult  for  the  children  soon  to  persuade 
themselves  they  did  hear  a  whispering  in 
the  trunk. 

*'Open  it,"  ordered  Lee. 

*'Howcan  I?"  asked  Clarence.  "Don't 
you  see  this  brass  thing  goes  clear  round 
and  holds  it  fast  ?  " 

"Burst  the  bind,"  said  Shorb. 

"Break  Mrs.  Travers'  dear  old  little 
trunk!   I'm  ashamed  of  you!"  said  Lee. 

But  somehow  the  idea  once  sugg^ested 
took  a  permanent  hold  on  their  minds,  and, 
after  a  long  consultation,  sympathy  was 
compromised  with,  and  conscience  silenced 
by  a  decision  to  cut  a  slit  in  the  hair  cover — 
just  a  wee  slit, — then  to  bore  a  little  hole  in 
the  lid,  so  as  to  peep  through  and  see  what 
was  there.  Maybe  it  was  a  brownie  suflfer- 
ing  imprisonment  through  the  cruelty  of  a 
wicked  fairy ;  and  they  would  free  the  little 
fellow — delightful  thought — and  then  have 
good  luck  all  their  lives.  For  the  children 
had  an  old  North  country  nurse,  and  be- 
lieved as  firmly  as  she  did  in  "the  good 
people ' '  —  brownies,  lob  - 1  ie  -  by  -  the  -  fires, 
kelpies,  nixies  and  pixies. 

"There  couldn't  be  any  harm  in  it,"  ar- 
gued Lee.  "Indeed  it  would  be  a  kind  and 
good  action." 

And,  after  the  fashion  of  oWer  folk  when 
they  want  to  justify  a  dubious  matter  to 
themselves,  this  argument  carried  the  day. 

Louis  was  sent  for  Shorb' s  tool- box,  and 
•cautioned  to  go  tiptoe,  for  fear  of  rousing 
possible  nap- takers.  Soon  they  heard  him 
puffing  up  stairs,  and  in  he  rushed,  breath- 
less. 

"Oh!  I  met  Uncle  Jeff— " 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Why,  he  wanted— whew! — to  know — 
where  we  were — ah! — and  I  told  him — and 
he  wanted — no,  I  mean  he  said  he  was 
■coming  up — oh!  dear,  my  breath — to  tell 
us  a  story;  and  I  said  he  mustn't,  and  he 
«aid — " 


' '  Oh,  dry  up !  Is  he  coming  or  not  ? ' '  said 
Clarence. 

"  Miybe  he  is,  and  maybe  he  isn't,"  was 
Louis'  answer;  for  the  boy  was  provoked 
under  the  snub. 

"Well,  if  he  does  come,  brownie  won*t 
get  out  this  evening,  that's  all.  Philip,  go 
stand  at  the  door  and  watch  for  ten  min- 
utes, then  we'll  each  take  a  turn,"  ordered 
Clarence. 

"Just  a  wee  slit  now,  Lee,"  said  Shorb, 
giving  the  little  girl  the  sharp  blade. 

"  Oh,  I'  m  so  frig  htened ! ' '  said  Lee.  "  I'  m 
scared  most  to  death." 

"Pshaw!  give  it  to  me,"  said  Clarence, 
impatiently.   "Girls  are  such  scareysP^ 

He  took  the  knife  to  make  a  slit,  but, 
alas!  the  skin  was  very  old  and  very  dry, 
and  the  boy  was  very  energetic  and  very 
strong,  and  what  was  meant  for  a  small  in- 
cision stretched  suddenly  into  a  ghastly 
gash  across  the  whole  top  of  the  trunk! 

They  were  horrified.  What  should  they 
do?  Brownie  was  forgotten,  only  poor  Mrs, 
Travers  remembered.  For  forty  years  she 
had  loved  it,  and  now  they — the  children 
she  was  so  good  to — the  children  to  whom 
she  had  told  its  story — had  ruined  it!  It 
seemed  incredible. 

Steps  were  heard.  Throwing  the  red  shawl 
over  the  wounded  veteran,  they  started  pell- 
mell  down  the  stairs,  almost  overturning 
Mrs.  Ridout,who  was  coming  to  find  them. 

"My  patience,  children,  what  is  the 
matter?  Lee,  you  are  as  white  as  a  ghost 
What  is  it?" 

"We  got  scared,  Mrs.  Ridout,  and  we  are 
going  down  to  Kathie,"  answered  Philip. 

"Nonsense!  Frightened  in  broad  day- 
light? You  ought  to  be  ashamed.  Nothing 
can  hurt  you.  Mother's  in  her  room,  Sydney 
in  his.  Go  back  all  of  you  and  play." 

"No'm,  thank  you.  We'll  go  play 
dom'noes  and  Jack  Straws  on  the  gallery." 

"Don't  make  a  noise,  then;  and,  if  you 
are  very  good,  I'll  get  Uncle  Jeff  to  take  yon 
all  in  the  Chipmunk  when  he  pulls  over 
after  the  lilies.  You  see  it  has  cleared,  and 
there'll  be  a  rainbow  presently.  Clarence, 
do  you  and  Louis  be  sure  to  fetch  some 


The  Ave  Maria. 


167 


water- lilacs  for  Our  Blessed  Lady's  feet. 
Jeff  may  forget  them." 

"Yes'm,"  Clarence  answered,  meekly. 
But,  alas!  neither  lilies  nor  water-lilacs 
nor  rainbow  nor  Chipmunk  could  raise  their 
spirits.  They  were  in  the  first  bitter  mo- 
ments of  repentance,  and  they  huddled  in  a 
group  on  the  gallery,  and  whispered;  plans 
of  remedy  were  discussed  and  rejected ;  no 
smooth  way  from  the  trouble  seemed  to 
open  up,  and  to  tell  of  it — oh,  how  could 
they  bear  to  grieve  Mrs. Tra vers! 

The  tea-bell  rang,  and  a  dejected,  sorrow- 
ful crowd  of  children  gathered  about  Miss 
Susan  at  the  table  reserved  for  them. .  The 
cake  was  not  touched,  the  curds  and  cream 
were  left  in  their  saucers,  the  clabber  on 
the  plates,  the  tea  in  their  caps. 
/  '*It's  the  weather,  mother,''  said  Mrs. 

Ridout  in  answer  to  dear  Mrs.Travers'  so- 
licitous inquiry, "What  can  ail  the  dear 
children?" 

**They  have  been  housed  all  day,"  Mrs. 
Ridout  continued,  *'and  I  suppose  they've 
been  eating  crackers  and  candy.  You  know 
Kathie  always  has  something  for  them." 

'*  Come  to  the  Chipmunk!  Passengers  for 
the  Chipmunk!  This  way,  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen. ^o\fiioT\.\ic^  Chipmunk!  lyast  bell's 
rung,"  shouted  the  cheery  voice  of  Uncle 
Jeff  down  the  hall.  *'Come,  children." 

What  should  they  do?  Suppose  they  went, 
and  somebody  should  go  into  the  trunk- 
room  and  find  out?  It  would  be  worse  than 
if  they  told,  suggested  one. 

*'I^t's  go,"  said  Lee,  "and  tell  Uncle 
Jeff?" 

"  Tell  Uncle  Jeff ! "  they  gasped,  horror- 
stricken. 

' '  Yes, Uncle  Jeff.  He's  so  good  and  kind 
he  couldn't  scold  so  very  awfully  even  if  he 
tried.  Besides,  we'll  have  to  tell  somebody. ' ' 

"Come,  children,"  again  called  Uncle 
Jeff,  coming  from  the  chapel,  where  he  had 
been  to  say  his  Beads. 

"Yes,  sir;  in  one  minute,"  said  Lee. 
"Come  on,  Clarence;  let's  all  go  in  and 
ask  Our  Blessed  Lady  to  help  us  tell.  She 
won' t  scold. ' ' 

So  they  all  glided  into  the  chapel,  and 


surely  more  fervent  prayers  are  not  often 
laid  at  Our  Lady's  feet  than  those  suffering 
little  hearts  poured  out  that  August  evening. 

Then  they  ran  down  the  walk  to  the 
landing,  and  were  soon  seated  in  the  Chip- 
munk. 

IV. 

It  was  a  lovely  sky  the  storm  had  washed 
and  draped  for  the  world,  and  the  sun 
painted  it  in  splendid  shifting  colors  as  the 
wind  rolled  the  clouds  gently  to  and  fro. 
The  water-lilacs  were  in  full  bloom,  and  the 
grasses  and  seaweeds  pulsed  in  sprays  and 
bunches  of  living  green.  But  the  children 
saw  nothing,  felt  no  pleasure,  and  pulled 
their  oars  at  sixes  and  sevens. 

"What's  the  matter  there,  Clarence?" 
called  out  Uncle  Jeff  finally,  attracted  by 
the  yawing  and  tacking  of  the  boat.  "Mind 
the  tiller.  Pull  up,  pull  up,  Louis.  Lee, 
you'll  have  a  basket  of  crabs  *  at  that  rate. 
Feather,  feather,  Dollie.  You  and  Laura 
look  like  you  are  poling.  Mind  that  sloop — 
Jove,  boy,  you  nearly  had  us  into  it!" 

But  they  reached  the  shore  safely,  and  got 
the  lilies;  took  the  mail  out  of  the  cigar-box 
nailed  to  the  big  pear-tree  at  the  farmer's 
gate,  into  which  a  kind  neighbor  dropped 
it  daily,  and  so  saved  them  a  six-mile  drive 
to  the  post-oflBce;  and  started  home. 

On  the  way  the  Major  ran  through  the 
mail.  "Poor  mother,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"nothing  for  her!  God  knows  she  has 
enough  to  bear,  without  that  brute's  adding 
to  it.  I  don't—" 

Here  the  sound  of  a  sob  interrupted  him, 
and  before  he  could  even  place  it,  or  ask 
what  it  was  for,  the  entire  party  of  children 
were  weeping  bitterly. 

"Thunder  and  blazes!"  he  said  (he had 
given  up  his  trooper's  oaths  since  he  became 
a  Catholic,  but  he  still  used  strong  lan- 
guage), "what  is  the  matter  with  you  all?" 

"O  Uncle  Jeff!  Uncle  Jef— f!"  they 
wailed. 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me?" 


*  When,  through  awkwardness.the  blade  of  the 
oar  catches  in  the  water,  at  d  the  handle  strikes  the 
rower  in  the  breast,  knocking  him,  it  is  called 
"  catching  a  crab." 


1 68 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"We've  been  so  wicked!" 

*' Great  heavens!"  he  thought,  "what 
have  they  been  up  to?"  Then  aloud:  "Now, 
children,  stop  crying  and  tell  me.  No  mat- 
ter what  you've  done,  out  with  it — the 
truth  and  the  whole  truth.  Do  you  hear?" 

* '  Yes,  sir — yes,  sir, ' '  they  sobbed. 

"All  right.  Now,  Lee,  go  ahead. "  And 
he  spoke  after  the  fashion  his  soldiers  knew 
and  always  obeyed. 

"The  trunk.  Uncle  Jeflf— the  trunk  in 
the — "  but  she  choked. 

"Well, what  trunk — whose  trunk?  What 
of  it?" 

"The  little  old  hair  trunk.  Mrs.Travers 
— oh — oh — ' ' 

And  then  they  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
wept  again  in  chorus. 

"Steadv  there,  steady! "  he  said,  divided 
between  one  desire  to  laugh  at  and  another 
to  shake  them  all  around.  "What  have  you 
done  with  the  trunk?" 

"We  did  it  to  it,"  they  sniffed,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"Well,  to  it,  then?" 

"We  cut  its  back  open." 

"What?" 

"Cut  it's  b— back  open." 

"What  for?" 

"To  let  brownie  out" 

''WhatP' 

"To  let  brownie  out.  We  heard  him 
groaning,  and  we  were  going  to  make  a 
weensy  hole — a  peep-hole;  but  when  we 
poked  in  the  knife,  the  back  just  split  wide 
open." 

"Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Uncle  Jeff. 
"Supf)ose  I  were  to  make  a  weensy  hole  in 
yourhzxik.  with  my  knife, wouldn't  you — " 

Here  something  in  his  voice  encouraged 
them;  they  looked  up,  and  saw  his  eyes 
twinkling.  In  an  instant  they  threw  them- 
selves upon  him,  hugging  and  kissing  him. 

"O  Uncle  Jeff  I  will  she  mind  much? 
Can  you  mend  it?  Need  she  know?  Will 
we  have  to  tell  her?"     ' 

"Sit  down,  sit  down!"  he  shouted. 
"You'll  upset  the  boat,  and  then  where 
will  you  be?"  And  he  held  on  to  as.many 
of  the  girls  as  he  could,  and  elbowed  the 


boys  back  amidships  and  forward;  then  he 
said : 

"Yes,  I  think  she  will  mind."  (They 
groaned.)  "I  may  be  able  to  mend  it." 
(They  all  said,  "Ah— h!"  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.)  "  But  she  must  know,  and  you  must 
tell  her.  It's  best  to  be  on  the  square  al- 
ways, no  matter  what  the  first  cost  is." 
(Here  they  shivered.)  "Now  you  all  go  to 
the  second  gallery,  wait  till  I  make  the  Chip- 
munk fast, and  come  to  you;  then  we'll  go 
to  the  attic  and  see  the  wounded  soldier.'* 
(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


How  an  Old  Woman's  Prayer  was 
Answered. 


One  bitter  January  night  the  inhabitants^ 
of  the  old  town  of  Sleswick  were  thrown 
into  the  greatest  distress  and  terror.  A  hos- 
tile army  was  marching  down  upon  them, 
and  new  and  fearful  reports  of  the  conduct 
of  the  lawless  soldiery  were  hourly  reaching 
the  place  In  one  large,  commodious  cot- 
tage dwelt  an  aged  grandmother  with  her 
granddaughter  and  her  grandson.  While  all 
hearts  quaked  with  fear,  this  aged  woman 
passed  her  time  in  praying  to  God  that  He 
would  ' '  build  a  wall  of  defence  round  about 
them,"  quoting  the  words  of  an  ancient 
hymn.  Her  grandson  asked  why  she  prayed 
for  a  thing  so  entirely  impossible  as  that 
God  should  build  a  wall  about  their  house 
that  should  hide  it,  but  she  explained  that 
her  meaning  only  was  that  God  should 
protect  them. 

At  midnight  the  dreaded  tramp  was 
heard:  an  enemy  came  pouring  in  at  every 
avenue,  filling  the  houses  to  overflowing. 
But,  while  most  fearful  sounds  were  heard 
on  every  side,  not  even  a  knock  came  to 
their  door;  at  which  they  were  greatly  sur- 
prised. The  morning  light  made  the  matter 
clear;  for  just  beyond  the  house  the  drifted 
snow  had  reared  such  a  massive  wall  that  it 
was  entirely  concealed.  ' ' There! ' '.  said  the 
old  woman,  triumphantly;  "do  you  not 
see,  my  child,  that  God  did  raise  up  a  wall 
to  protect  us?" 


tH^ 


THENCTfORJH  A^GElTEmioKSSJIAU  CA1l/\E  BlE^EDt 


Vol.   XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  20,  1887.  No.  8. 


(CopTTirbt  — RsT.  D.  B.  Huiaoa,  C.  8.  C.I 


Cloister  Peace. 


BY    MARION   M.  RICHARDSON. 


XlOW  often,  out  of  Life's  thick  dust  and  heat, 
-*'  ^  And  sick  of  its  continual  sad  cries, 
The  woman,  weak  and  overburdened,  sighs 
For  the  still  confidence  of  that  retreat 
That  holds  the  convent  well,  whose  waters 

sweet 
From  out  the  heart  of  peaceful  gardens  rise, 
Far  from  the  busy  world's  unkindly  eyes. 
And  bitter  triumphs  that  are  real  defeat! 

^*  But  never, ' '  the  soft- voiced  Sister  replies, 
' "  Can  even  these  calm  cloisters  give  repose 
To  those  within  whose  hearts  earth's  leaven 

lies. 
With  power  to  work  confusion  where  it  goes. 
Bring  not  to  us,  O  restless  and  forlorn! 
.The  fatal  pangs  wherewith   yourselves   are 

torn," 


'        The  Treasures  of  the  Missal  and  Ritual. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


I. 

Y  the  transgression  of  our  first  par- 
ents man  came  into  the  power  of 
the  evil  spirit,  as  the  Council  of 
Trent  teaches  in  accordance  with  the  Sa- 
cred vScriptures.  (Session  V.;  Hebrews, 
ii,  14.)  The  visible  creation  was  also  bur- 
dened with  the  malediction  of  the  Creator, 
as  He  said  to  Adam;  "Cursed  is  the  earth 


in  thy  worV."  For  this  reason  we  find 
the  spirit  of  evil  called  in  various  places 
of  the  Sacred  Scripture  the  prince  of  this 
world.  *  The  earth  itself  bears  evidences  of 
the  fall ;  for  we  can  not  imagine  a  God  of 
infinite  goodness  creating  a  world  such  as 
ours  is  at  present.  So  truly  is  it  natural  for 
man  to  entertain  this  view,  that  even  the 
pagan  philosophers  and  the  sages  of  all 
nations  and  times  have  regarded  the  earth 
as  more  or  less  a  place  of  punishment  for 
the  human  race.  Their  conviction  of  this 
led  the  children  of  God  at  all  times  to  ask 
the  divine  blessing  upon  such  creatures  as 
they  had  occasion  to  use, — evidences  of 
which  are  to  be  met  with  in  various  places 
in  the  sacred  writings,  and  everywhere  in 
sacred  biography,  f  But  it  is  not  with  this 
precisely  that  we  are  at  present  concerned. 
Apart  from  the  use  which  man  is  necessi- 
tated to  make  of  various  created  things  for 
the  sustenance  and  conveniences  of  life, 
he  is  also  required  to  use  them  in  relation 
to  the  service  of  God,  and  this  in  a  three- 
fold manner:  they  are  oflfrred  as  victims  to 
be  sacrificed;  as  vessels,  vestments,  etc.,  in 
the  service  of  religion;  and  as  instruments 
or  channels  for  the  conveying  of  supernat- 
ural assistance  to  the  souls  of  men,  as  in 
the  Sacraments,  sacramentals,  etc.  The  in- 
finite dignity  of  Almighty  God  and  the 
relation  which  man  bears  to  Him  require 
that  this  should  be  done  at  all  times  and 
under  all  circumstances  with  becoming  de- 

*  St.John,  xii,,3i;  xiv,  30;  Ephesians,  vi,  12. 
t  I.  Tim.,  iv,  4, 5. 


170 


The  Ave  Maria. 


corum ;  in  other  words,  with  certain  ritual 
and  liturgical  observances.  And  here  let  us 
note,  in  passing,  the  meaning  of  these  two 
terms,  and  the  difference  between  them; 
for  they  are  not  unfrequently  confounded. 
By  ritual  is  meant  the  forms  to  be  observed 
by  the  priest  in  the  administration  of  the 
Sacraments,  giving  Holy  Communion  out 
of  Mass,  and  performing  the  many  blessings 
which  he  may  be  empowered  to  perform; 
while  liturgy  is  more  comprehensive,  and 
takes  in  everything  that  is  in  any  way 
connected  with  the  sacred  functions  of  the 
Church. 

In  patriarchal  times  the  liturgy  appears 
to  have  been  regulated  by  the  patriarch's 
own  ideas  of  what  was  becoming,  because 
at  that  time  he,  or  one  appointed  by  him, 
was  the  sacrificing  priest  of  the  tribe  or 
family  of  which  he  was  the  head.  And  this 
continued  among  the  Gentiles  even  after 
the  institution  of  the  Mosaic  Law,  as  in  the 
case  of  Job,  from  whom  God  accepted  sacri- 
fices for  himself,  his  family,  and  his  friends. 
But  when  the  Jews  were  set  apart  as  the 
chosen  people  of  God,  a  special  ritual  was 
prepared  for  them  by  a  revelation  from 
Heaven ;  in  which,  as  we  learn  from  the  Pen- 
tateuch, the  ceremonial  law  was  laid  down 
to  the  most  minute  details,  and  its  observ- 
ance enjoined  under  the  severest  penalties. 

With  the  abrogation  of  the  Mosaic  Law 
a  new  liturgy  came  into  existence  to  suit 
the  changes  brought  about  in  divine  wor- 
ship by  the  institution  of  the  Sacrifice  of 
the  Mass  and  the  Sacraments.  Our  Divine 
Lord  unchangeably  fixed  all  that  relates 
to  their  essence,  as  the  matter  and  form; 
but  it  was  fitting  that  He  should  leave  to 
His  Church  the  regulation  of  the  minor 
details  of  their  administration,  both  because 
it  became  His  dignity  to  do  so,  and  because 
these  depended  in  a  measure  on  the  cir- 
cumstances of  time,  place,  and  people.  The 
authority  necessary  for  arranging  these 
particulars  is  contain'ed  in  the  power  of 
binding  and  loosing  given  in  its  plenitude 
to  the  teaching  body  of  the  Church.  To 
the  same  authority  was  entrusted  the  power 
of  instituting  such  sacramentals  as  might. 


from  time  to  time,  be  found  conducive  to 
the  welfare  of  the  children  of  God. 

What  relates  to  the  offering  of  the  Ador- 
able Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  the  administra- 
tion of  the  Sacraments,  and  the  blessing 
and  use  of  the  sacramentals,  is  found  in  the 
Missal  and  the  Ritual.  These  books  are, 
of  course,  printed  in  Latin — the  language 
of  the  Church;  and,  notwithstanding  that 
prayer-books  are  readily  to  be  had  in  which 
some  of  the  prayers  of  the  Missal  are  ren- 
dered into  the  vernacular,  and  even  entire 
translations  of  the  Missal  are  made,  and  not 
a  few  of  the  blessings  of  the  Ritual  are 
witnessed,  and  explanations  of  them  heard^ 
still  these  books  are  more  or  less  a  mystery 
to  the  greater  number  of  Catholics.  Their 
lack  of  information,  as  is  too  often  the  case, 
both  renders  them  incapable  of  appreciat- 
ing their  value,  and  leaves  them  without 
the  desire  of  increasing  their  knowledge. 

A  short  explanation  of  these  two  very 
important  books  must,  therefore,  be  at  once 
interesting,  instructive  and  useful  Interest- 
ing, because  they  treat  of  matters  in  which 
all  are  concerned,  and  would  be  still  more 
concerned  if  they  knew  more  of  them;  in- 
structive, because  it  will  open  up  a  new  and 
extensive  field  of  knowledge  relating  to  our 
holy  religion  and  the  salvation  of  ourselves 
and  others;  and  useful,  because  it  will  place 
within  the  reach  of  everyone  many  graces^ 
the  existence  of  which  was  wholly  or  par- 
tially unknown  before, — graces  which  will 
strengthen,  console,  and  encourage  them  in 
the  time  of  temptation,  trial,  and  bereave- 
ment, and  prepare  them  the  better  for  their 
final  passage  to  eternity. 

II. — The  Missal. 

The  Mass  offers  to  God  the  greatest  honor  that 
can  be  given  Him,  subdues  most  triumphantly 
the  powers  of  hell,  affords  the  greatest  relief  to 
the  suffering  souls  in  purgatory,  app>eases  most 
eflBcaciously  the  wrath  of  God  against  sinners, 
and  brings  down  the  greatest  blessings  on  man- 
kind.— St  Liguori,  "'Sacerdos  Sanctificatus,'' p.6 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  treat  in  this  ar- 
ticle of  the  treasures  we  possess  in  the  Holy 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass;  it  is  regarded  by  all 
as  the  clean  oblation  foretold  by  the  Prophet 


The  Ave  JMaria. 


iir 


Malachy,  which  was  to  be  offered  up  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  of  the  sun.  I  pur- 
pose rather  to  treat  of  its  form  and  the  con- 
tents of  the  Missal.  * 

Time  was  necessarily  required  to  bring 
the  Missal  to  its  present  state  of  perfection ; 
for,  although  from  the  beginning  all  the 
essential  parts  were  in  use  in  the  Church, 
the  Missal  had  not  reached  the  form  in 
which  we  now  have  it  until  the  lapse  of 
centuries.   Nor  were  the  parts  arranged  in 
precisely  the  same  manner  as  they  are  in  our 
day.  A  portion  was  found  in  one  book  and 
another  portion  in  another,  which  different 
books  were  known  as  the  Antiphonary,  the 
l/cctionary,  the  Book  of  the  Gospels,  and 
the  Sacramentary.  Besides,  certain  prelates 
arranged  the  Missals  for  their  dioceses  more 
or  less  according  to  their  own  ideas.  The 
necessity  of  adopting  uniformity  of  ritual 
where  there  was  uniformity  of  belief  be- 
came more  and  more  apparent  as  time  wore 
on,  and  the  faith  became  diffused;  and,  the 
better  to  secure  this,  the  necessity  of  re- 
stricting the  power  to  make  alterations  to 
the  highest  authority  in  the  Church.  But  it 
was  not  till  the  sixteenth  century  that  the 
Missal  was  brought  to  its  present  form,  and 
all    further   changes  forbidden  under  the 
severest  penalties. 

The  Council  of  Trent  recommended  this 
action,  and  it  was  taken  by  Pope  St.  Pius  V. , 
who  thoroughly  revised  the  Missal,  and 
published  it  in  its  corrected  form,  making 
that  the  standard  to  which  all  subsequent 
editions  should  strictly  conform ;  forbidding 
at  the  same  time,  under  the  severest  penal- 
ties, the  use  of  any  other  Missal  or  of  any 
other  pra>  ers  or  ceremonies  in  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  Holy  Sacrifice.  No  person,  how- 
ever exalted  his  dignity,  was  exempted 
from  the  observance  of  this  command;  but 
churches  or  religious  orders  having  different 


*  The  Missal  and  Ritual  consulted  in  the  prep- 
aral  ion  of  this  article  are  the  "  Typical  Editions, ' ' 
which  were  revised  and  published  by  the  special 
command  of  the  Holy  Father,  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Congregation  of  Sacred  Rites,  and  declared 
to  be  the  model  to  which  all  future  t  ditions  must 
strictly  conform. 


customs  dating  back  at  least  two  hundred 
years,  were  excepted  out  of  respect  for  the 
antiquity  of  their  liturgy.*  The  Holy 
Father's  bull  enjoining  the  use  of  the  re- 
vised Missal  and  prohibiting  all  others  is 
dated  July  i6, 1570.  But  the  evil  was  not 
fully  remedied,  and  Pope  Clement  VI H., 
under  date  of  July  7,  1604,  issued  another 
bull  on  the  same  subject,  increasing  the 
penalties.  He  was  followed,  September  2, 
1634,  by  Pope  Urban  VIII.,  in  a  bull  of  the 
same  tenor.  These  three  bulls,  are  placed  at 
the  beginning  of  every  Missal,  as  well  as 
certain  decrees  of  the  Congregation  of  Sa- 
cred Rites  bearing  on  the  same  subject. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  Missal  came  to  as- 
sume its  present  form.  The  first  step,  how- 
ever, had  been  taken  by  '*  Burchard,  master 
of  ceremonies   under   Innocent  VIH.  and 
Alexander  VI.,  who  set  out  at  length  both 
the  words  and  the  ceremonies  of  the  Mass  in 
his '  Roman  Pontifical, '  printed  at  Rome  in 
1485,  and  again  in  his '  Sacerdotale, '  printed 
a  few  years  later.  .  .  .  After  this  the  cere- 
monies were  joined  to  the  Ordinary  of  the 
Mass   in  some  printed  Missals,  and  were 
finally  arranged  under  their  present  titles  by 
PiusV."    ("Catholic  Dictionary,"  p.  724.) 
A  matter  which  those  not  of  the  One 
Fold  find  it  difficult  to  understand,  and  for 
which,  unfortunately,  the  vast  majority  of 
Catholics  are  not  able  to  give  a  satisfactory 
reason,  is  the  use  of  the  Latin  language  in 
the  liturgy  of  the  Church.  While  a  spirit 
of  submission  to  the  Church  and  of  confi- 
dence in  the  wisdom  of  her  decrees  follows 
necessarily  from  a  lively  faith,  there  are  too 
many  Catholics  who  are  satisfied  with  these, 
forgetting  the  advice  of  the  Apostle,  that 
they  should  be  able  to  give  a  reason  for  the 
faith  that  is  in  them.  It  may,  however,  be 
doubted  whether  it  is  the  result  of  faith, 
and  not  rather  of  indifference,  that  so  many 
Catholics  feel  a  reluctance  to  study  books 
of  instruction.    Faith  is  not  founded  on 
ignorance,  nor  is  it  nourished  by  ignorance; 
nor  does  it,  as  some  of  our  enemies  would 

*  For  a  fuller  explanation  of  this  matter,  and 
of  the  rites  having  the  requisite  antiquity,  see 
O'Brien's  "History  of  the  Mass,"  pp.  103  et  seq. 


172 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fain  havfe  us  believe,  fear  the  light.  On  the 
contrary,  the  Church  invites  and  desires  the 
careful  study  of  both  friend  and  foe. 

But  to  return.  The  Latin  is  the  language 
of  the  Church's  liturgy  for  several  good  rea- 
sons. In  the  first  place,  it  was  the  language 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  was  generally 
understood,  if  not  spoken,  throughout  the 
civilized  world  at  the  date  of  the  foundation 
of  our  holy  religion;  and,  as  St.  Peter  fixed 
the  centre  of  the  Christian  commonwealth 
in  the  city  of  the  Caesars,  it  was  not  only 
natural  but  also  necessary  for  the  Church 
to  adopt  the  Latin  tongue  as  that  of  her  lit- 
urgy. Again,  the  Church  is  one,  and  oneness 
of  language  serves  to  illustrate  and  pre- 
serve her  unity  of  faith.  Besides,  living  lan- 
guages are  always  changing,  more  or  less; 
new  terms  are  constantly  being  introduced, 
and  those  already  in  use  vary  their  mean 
ing.  As  instances  of  this  we  have  certain 
English  words  not  only  changing  their  sig- 
nification, but  taking  a  diametrically  oppo- 
site one;  as,  for  example,  let^  prevent,  etc. 
But  it  is  of  the  first  importance  that  the 
■well-defined  doctrines  of  religion  should  be 
expressed  in  language  that  always  conveys 
the  same  ideas.  The  advantages  also  of  a 
medium  of  communication  between  the 
members  of  the  Church  throughout  the 
world,  whether  assembled  in  general  coun- 
cil, addressing  their  common  Father,  or 
corresponding  with  one  another,  is  too  ap- 
parent to  require  comment. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AND  so  for  Earle  those  Roman  days 
ended,  with  the  brief  dream  which  he 
had  indulged  of  finding  in  Claire's  heart  a 
response  ior  the  feeling  that  bad  arisen  in 
his  own  Yet  no  disappointment  can  be  very 
keen  when  hope  has  not  been  very  great, 
and  Earle  was  well  aware  that  he  had  never 
possess^id  any  ground  for  hope.   Kind  and 


gentle  as  Claire  had  been,,  he  was  always 
conscious  of  something  about  her  which 
seemed  to  set  her  at  a  remote  distance, — an 
indefinable  manner  which  had  made  him 
once  call  her  "a  vestal  of  art."  He  under- 
stood this  now,  but  he  had  felt  it  before  he 
understood  it,  and  so  the  blow  was  not  as 
heavy  as  it  might  have  been  if  this  under- 
lying instinct  had  not  existed.  A  vestal! — 
the  expression  had  been  well  chosen;  for 
there  was  indeed  a  vestal-like  quality  about 
her, — a  vestal-like  charm,  which  seemed  to 
inspire  thoughts  of  cloisteral  tranquillity, 
and  keep  the  fires  of  human  passion  at  bay. 
This  exquisite  quality  had  been  her  chief 
attraction  to  Eirle:  its  very  unlikeness  to 
the  nature  which  had  fascinated  him,  and 
from  which  he  had  recoiled,  making  its 
charm  the  greater;  but  even  while  it  at- 
tracted, he  had  felt  that  it  removed  her  from 
him,  and  made  hope  wear  the  guise  of 
presumption. 

Now  all  hope  was  finally  at  an  end,  and, 
since  it  is  in  human  nature  to  resign  itself 
to  the  inevitable,  the  wound  might  be  said 
to  carry  its  own  cure.  Earle  was  aware  of 
this,  and  he  left  Rome  in  no  melodramatic 
spirit  whatever,  but  feeling  it  best  to  go,  in 
order  to  recover  that  calm  and  healthy  con- 
trol of  himself  and  his  own  feelings  which 
had  been  lacking  with  him  since  he  first 
met  Marion  in  Scarborough.  As  we  know 
that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  it  is  probable 
that  his  attachment  to  Claire  arose  partly 
from  the  disappointment  of  that  prior  at- 
tachment—from the  need  of  the  heart  to 
put  another  object  in  the  place  of  that  which 
had  been  dethroned ;  but,  leaving  all  anal- 
ysis of  the  kind  for  the  fature,  he  quietly 
accepted  the  pain  of  the  present  and  went 
away. 

Marion  had  not  the  least  doubt  of  the 
reason  of  his  going,  although  no  word  fell 
from  Claire  on  the  subject.  She  said  to  her- 
self that  she  was  sorry — that  she  had  hoped 
to  know  thatClaire  and  himself  were  happy 
together,  since  they  suited  each  other  so 
well ;  but, although  she  was  sincere  in  think- 
ing this,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that,  de- 
spite herself,  she  felt  his  departure  to  be  a 


The  Ave  Maria. 


173 


relief — that  it  relaxed  a  strain  in  whicli 
she  held  herself, — and  that  if  a  blank  fol- 
lowed, a  sense  of  peace,  of  release  from  pain- 
ful conflict,  also  came.  "I  suffer  through 
my  own  fault,"  she  reflected:  "therefore  it 
is  quite  right  that  I  should  suffer."  And 
such  acceptance  robbsd  the  suffering  of 
half  its  sting. 

Tvvo  or  thre^  trinquil  months  followed 
— months  during  which  the  influences  that 
surrounded  her  sank  deep  into  Marion,  and 
seemed  to  be  moulding  over  again  the  pas 
sionate,  impulsive  nature.  Claire  was  one  of 
the  foremost  of  these  influences,  as  Marion 
herself  was  well  aware;  and  more  than  once 
she  thought  that  she  would  be  content  if 
she  might  spend  her  life  near  the  friend 
who  had  always  seemed  to  her  the  voice  of 
her  better  self.  She  had  begun  to  study  art 
— having  a  very  fair  talent, — and  one  day  as 
she  sat  working  at  a  study  she  said  to  Claire, 
who  was  painting  busily  on  the  other  side 
of  the  roDm: 

"  If  I  can  ever  grow  to  be  anything  of  an 
artist,  what  a  pleasure  it  will  be  for  us  to  live 
and  work  together!  I  can  not  think  of  any- 
thing I  should  prefer  to  that." 

Claire  smiled  a  little  "Nevertheless," 
she  said, "  there  may  be  something  that  you 
will  prefer  as  time  goes  on,  although  our 
association  is  very  pleasant — as  pleasant  to 
me  as  to  you." 

"Is  there  anything  that  you  would  pre- 
fer?" asked  Marion;  for  something  in  the 
tone  of  the  other  struck  her  with  surprise. 

Claire  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  said,  quietly:  "Yes.  I  must  be 
frank  with  you.  There  is  something  I  should 
prefer  even  to  your  companionship,  even  to 
art.  I  should  prefer  to  go  back  to  the  convent 
that  I  have  never  ceased  to  regret. ' ' 

Marion's  brush  dropped  from  her  hand. 
She  was  astonished  beyond  measure,  for  it 
was  the  first  intimation  she  had  received  of 
such  a  feeling  on  Claire's  part.  "Go  back 
to  the  convent,"  she  cried,  "and  give  up 
your  art! — Claire,  are  you  mad?" 

' '  Very  sane,  my  dear, ' '  answered  dlaire, 
smiling.  "I  have  disliked  to  tell  you  about 
it,  because  I  knew  you  would  be  sorry.  I  am 


sorry,  too,  that  it  should  be  necessary  for  us 
to  part;  but  I  grow  daily  more  certain  that 
my  vocation  lies  not  in  the  world  but  in  the 
cloister." 

' '  I  am  more  than  sorry  — I  am  shocked ! ' ' 
said  Marion.  "With  your  talent! — why,  all 
the  artists  whom  we  know  say  that  your 
future  is  certain  to  be  a  brilliant  one.  And  to 
bury  that  in  the  cloister! — Claire,  it  should 
not  be  allowed!" 

Claire  remembered  what  other  voice  had 
said  this,  almost  in  the  same  words;  but  she 
was  no  more  moved  by  it  now  than  she  had 
been  then. 

"Who  should  prevent  it?"  she  asked. 
"If  you,  for  instance,  had  the  power,  would 
you  venture  to  prevent  it — to  say  that  any 
soul  should  serve  the  world  instead  of  serv- 
ing God?" 

"That  is  not  a  fair  way  to  put  it.  Can 
not  people  serve  God  in  the  world  as  well 
as  in  the  cloister?" 

"Surely  yes,  if  it  is  their  vocation  to  do 
so.  But  if  one  has  a  vocation  for  the  relig- 
ious life — if  that  imperative  call  is  heard, 
which  can  not  be  realized  except  by  those 
who  hear  it,  bidding  one  arise  and  go  forth, 
— then  one  can  not  serve  God  as  well  in 
the  world  as  in  the  cloister." 

' '  But,  Claire,  may  you  not  imagine  this 
call?  I  can  not  believe  that  God  would  have 
given  you  such  a  talent  if  He  had  not  meant 
you  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Think  how 
much  good  you  might  do  if  you  remained 
in  the  world — how  much  money  you  might 
make,  as  well  as  how  much  fame  you  might 
win ! ' ' 

"My  dear,"  said  Claire,  with  gentle  so- 
lemnity, "how  much  will  either  money  or. 
fame  weigh  in  the  scales  of  eternity  ?  I  want 
to  work  for  eternity^  rather  than  for  time, 
and  I  am,  happily,  free  to  do  so — to  go  back 
to  the  cloister,  where  I  left  my  heart.  Do 
not  make  it  painful  for  me.  Try  to  reconcile 
yourself  to  it,  and  to  believe  that  God  makes 
no  mistakes. ' ' 

"I  can  not  be  reconciled,"  said  Marion. 
"It  is  not  only  that  I  can  not  bear  to  give 
you  up — that  I  can  not  bear  for  you  to  re- 
sign the  success  of  which  I  have  been  proud 


^74 


The  Ave  2/aria. 


in  anticipation, — but  I  am  selfish  too.  I 
think  of  my  own  life.  You  are  my  one  an- 
chor in  the  world,  and  I  have  been  happy  in 
the  thought  of  our  living  together,  of  our — ' 

Her  voice  broke  down  iu  tears.  It  was 
indeed  a  blow  which  fell  more  heavily  than 
Claire  had  reckoned  on.  Feeling  assured 
herself  what  would  be  the  end  for  Marion, 
she  overlooked  the  fact  that  Marion  herself 
had  no  such  assurance.  In  her  disappoint- 
ment and  her  friendlessness  she  had  come 
to  Claire  as  to  a  secure  refuge,  and  lo!  that 
refuge  was  now  about  to  fail  her.  Emotion 
overpowered  her — the  strong  emotion  of  a 
nature  which  rarely  yields  to  it, — and  for 
some  minutes  she  was  hardly  coascious 
that  Claire's  tender  arms  were  around  her, 
and  Claire's  tender  voice  was  bidding  her 
take  comfort  and  courage. 

"I  am  not  going  to  leave  you  immedi- 
ately, nor  even  soon, ' '  that  voice  said ;  ' '  and 
I  should  certainly  not  leave  you,  under  any 
circumstances,  until  I  saw  you  well  placed 
and  happy.  Dear  Marion,  do  not  distress 
yourself.  Let  us  leave  things  in  God's 
hands.   He  will  show  us  what  is  best." 

' '  I  am  a  wretch  to  distress  you^ ' '  said 
Marion,  struggling  with  her  tears.  "But 
you  must  not  believe  me  more  selfish  than  I 
am.  Do  you  think  I  should  only  miss  you 
as  a  convenience  of  my  life?  No,  it  is  you^ 
Claire — your  influence,  yourself — that  I 
shall  miss  beyond  all  measure.  No  one  in 
the  world  can  take  your  place  with  me — no 
one!" 

' '  But  there  may  be  a  place  as  good  for 
some  one  else  to  take,"  said  Claire.  "Do 
not  fear:  the  path  will  open  before  you.  If 
we  trust  God  He  will  certainly  show  us 
what  to  do.  Trust  Him,  Marion,  and  try  to 
be  reconciled,  will  you  not?" 

"I  will  try,"  Marion  answered;  "but  I 
fear  that  I  never  can  be.  You  see  now,  Claire, 
how  strong  a  hold  the  world  has  ou  me.  If 
I  were  good,  if  I  were  spiritual-minded,  I 
should  be  glad  for  you  to  do  this  thing;  but 
as  it  is,  my  whole  feeling  is  one  of  vehe- 
ment opposition. ' ' 

"That  will  not  last,' '  said  Claire.  ' '  I  have 
seen  it  often,  even  in  people  whom  you 


would  have  called  very  spiritual-minded; 
but  it  ended  in  the  belief  that  whatever 
God  wills  is  best.  You  will  feel  that,  too, 
before  long.'' 

Marion  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  she 
would  not  pain  Claire  by  further  words. 
She  felt  that  her  resolution  was  immovable, 
however  long  it  might  be  before  it  was 
executed.  "So  there  is  nothing  for  me  but 
to  try  and  resign  myself,"  she  thought,  "I 
wish  it  were  my  vocation  that  I  might  go 
with  her;  for  everything  that  I  care  for 
seems  to  slip  from  my  grasp. ' ' 

Apart  from  resigning  herself  in  feeling, 
there  was  also  a  practical  side  of  the  ques- 
tion which  she  was  well  aware  must  be  con- 
sidered. Where  was  she  to  go,  with  whom 
was  she  to  live  when  Claire  had  left  her, 
and,  like  a  weary  dove,  flown  back  to  cloister 
shades?  She  considered  this  question  anx- 
iously, and  she  bad  not  arrived  at  any  def- 
inite conclusion,  when  one  day  a  letter  came 
which  made  her  utter  a  cry  of  surprise  and 
pleasure. 

"This  is  from  Helen,"  she  said,  meeting 
Claire's  glance;  "and  what  I  hoped  and 
expected  has  come  to  pass — she  has  prom- 
ised to  marry  Mr.  Singleton." 

"Helen!"  exclaimed  Claire,  in  a  tone  of 
incredulity.  "Why,  I  thought  he  wanted 
to  marry  you." 

MarioQ  laughed.  "That  was  a  mistake 
on  his  part, ' '  she  said, ' '  which  fortunately 
did  not  impose  upon  me  Perhaps  he  was 
a  little  in  love — the  circumstances  favored 
such  a  delusion, — but  I  am  sure  his  ruling 
motive  for  asking  me  to  marry  him  was  to 
give  me  that  share  of  the  fortune  which  he 
could  not  induce  me  to  take  in  any  other 
way.  I  really  did  not  suit  him  at  all.  I  saw 
before  I  left  that  Helen  did  suit  him,  and  I 
hoped  for  just  what  has  come  to  pass.  Oh! 
Claire,  you  don't  know  how  happy  it  makes 
me;  for  I  feel  now  as  if  I  had  in  a  measure 
atoned  to  Helen  for  the  pain  I  caused  her 
about  that  wretched  Rathbome." 

"How?"  asked  Claire,  smiling.  "By 
making  over  Mr.  Singleton  and  his  fortune 
to  her?  But  I  am  afraid  you  can  scarcely 
credit  yourself  with  having  done  that." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


175 


"Only  indirectly,  but  it  is  certain  that  if 
I  had  accepted  him  he  could  not  be  engaged 
to  her  now.  I  am  so  glad — so  very  glad !  He 
is  really  a  good  fellow,  and  Helen  will  be 
able  to  do  a  great  deal  with  him." 

"Is  he  a  Catholic?" 

"She  says  that  he  has  just  been  received 
into  the  Church.  But  here  is  the  letter. 
Read  it  for  yourself.  I  think  she  is  verv 
happy.'' 

Claire  read  the  letter  with  interest,  and 
when  she  had  finished,  returned  it,  saying, 
"Yes,  1  think  she  is  certainly  very  happy. 
Dear  Helen!  how  we  always  said  that  she 
was  made  for  happiness!  And  now  God 
seems  to  have  given  it  to  her  in  the  form  of 
great  worldly  prosperity — the  very  prosper- 
ity  that  you  lost.  Are  not  His  ways  strange 
tons?" 

' '  This  is  not  at  all  strange  to  me, ' '  replied 
Marion.  "What  I  lost  would  have  ruined 
me;  what  Helen  has  gained  will  have  no 
eflfect  upon  her,  except  to  make  her  more 
kind  and  more  charitable.  She  is  one  of 
the  people  whom  prosperity  can  not  harm. 
Therefore  it  is  given  her  in  full  measure. 
But  it  certainly  would  have  been  singular 
if  I  could  have  foreseen  that  after  I  had 
gained  my  fortune  it  would  pass  into 
Helen's  hands,  and  that  by  a  simple  process 
of  retribution.  For  if  matters  had  remained 
as  they  were  between  Rathborne  and  her- 
self, there  could  have  been  no  question  of 
this.  And  they  would  have  so  remained  but 
for  me. ' ' 

"You  should  be  very  grateful,"  said 
Claire, ' '  that  you  have  been  allowed  to  atone 
so  fully  for  a  fault  that  you  might  have  had 
to  regret  always.  JVow  it  can  be  forgotten. 
Helen  says  she  will  be  married  in  April, 
does  she  not?" 

Marion  turned  to  the  letter.  "Yes,  in 
April — just  after  Easter.  Claire,  let  us  beg 
her  to  come  abroad  for  her  wedding  journey, 
and  join  us?" 

' '  With  all  my  heart, ' '  said  Claire.  ' '  They 
can  come  here  for  a  little  time,  and  then  we 
can  go  with  them  to  Switzerland,  or  the 
Italian  lakes,  or  wherever  they  wish  to  go 
for  the  summer.  It  will  be  pleasant  for  us  to 


be  together  once  more  — for  the  last  lime." 
"Claire,  you  break  my  heart  when  you 
talk  so!" 

"Oh!  no,"  said  Claire,  gently,  "I  am 
very  sure  that  I  do  not  break  your  heart; 
and  if  I  sadden  you  alittle,  that  is  necessary; 
but  it  will  not  last  long.  There  is  no  need 
to  think  of  it  now,  however;  only  think 
that  you  and  Helen  and  I  will  pass  a  few 
happy  da\  s  together — for  I  suppose  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton will  not  be  much  of  a  drawback — 
before  we  start  on  another  and  a  difierent 
beginning  of  life  from  that  on  which  we 
entered  when  we  left  our  dear  convent." 

(conclusion   in  OIJB    NEXT   NUMBER.) 


CathoHc  Painters  of  Spain. 


Schools  of  Andalusia. 


BY  OCTAVIA  HENSEL. 


MAHOMETANISM,  which  ruled  this 
land  of  the  pomegranate  and  orange 
so  long,  was  as  antagonistic  to  the  art  of 
painting  as  to  the  spirituality  of  that  relig- 
ion which  has  ever  imbued  and  called  forth 
the  noblest  efforts  of  art.  Not  until  the  con- 
quest of  Granada  and  the  discoveries  of 
Columbus;  not  until  Charles  V.  had  united 
the  peninsulas  under  one  government,  when 
Italy  in  the  zenith  of  her  splendor — the 
golden  days  of  Buonarroti,  Raphael,  and 
Da  Vinci — was  teaching  the  world,  from 
Naples  to  Antwerp,  the  loveliest  lessons  of 
sacred  story,  did  the  intellectual  life  of 
Spain  rise  from  the  lethargy  of  Moorish 
rule  to  the  spiritual  beauty  of  Catholic  art, 
and  seek  at  the  shrine  of  Italy's  great  mas- 
ters the  knowledge  which  was  to  lead  on- 
ward to  the  glorious  works  of  Murillo  and 
Velasquez. 

Flemish  artists,  who  had  settled  in  Spain 
when  its  more  adventurous  sons  had  sailed 
for  the  western  El  Dorado  across  the  sea, 
brought  the  first  ideas  of  painting  to  a  little 
band  striving  to  express  their  ideas  in  form 
and  color. 

Perfected  by  intercourse  with  the  Italian 


ilS 


The  Ave  Maria. 


schools,  there  arose  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century  a  special  school  at  Seville, 
founded  by  Juan  Sanchez  de  Castro,  whose 
first  painter  of  note  was  Antonio  del  Rincon 
(1446-1500),  whose  masterpiece,  the  Life  of 
the  Virgin^  is  still  seen  in  the  Church  of 
Robledo,  near  Madrid  Of  those  who  left 
Castile  for  Italy,  the  names  of  Alonso 
Berruguete,  Navairete  (el  Mudo).Juan  de 
Joanes,  and  Francisco  de  Ribalta ;  from 
Valencia,  Luis  de  Vargas,  and  Pablo  de 
Cespedes  from  Cordova,  stand  pre-eminent 
as  teachers  and  founders  of  schools,  which, 
while  they  adopt  the  coloring  of  the  Vene- 
tians, possess  a  sombreness  peculiarly  their 
own.  The  gloom  of  the  asceticism  of  Spanish 
cloister  life,  the  solitary,  kingly  dignity  of 
the  palace,  with  a  few  simple  genre  pictures 
of  street  and  home  life,  foreshadowing  the 
later  English  school  of  which  the  Spanish 
has  been  called  the  anticipation,  are  the  few 
types  that  remain  of  the  earliest  period  of 
Spanish  art. 

Through  the  Valencian  school,  the  les- 
sons of  Italy  came  to  Spain ;  and  this  school, 
with  those  of  Seville,  Toledo,  and  Madrid, 
sprang  into  life  almost  simultaneously ;  but 
later,  Valencia,  combining  with  the  schools 
of  Cordova,  Granada,  and  Mercia,  became 
one  with  the  parent  school  of  Seville,  or  the 
Andalusian,  whose  zenith  was  reached  in 
Murillo;  while  the  school  of  Toledo,  with 
those  of  Badajoz,Saragossa,  and  Valladolid, 
merged  into  the  Madrid,  or  school  of  Castile, 
whose  highest  art  was  perfected  in  Velas- 
quez. 

Juan  de  Joanes  (i 507-1 579)  was  the 
leader  and  founder  of  the  Valencian  school. 
His  works  are  rare  except  in  Madrid.  He 
painted  especially  for  churches  and  con- 
vents. His  pictures  are  all  religious.  It  is 
said  of  him,  as  of  Fra  Angelico,  that  he 
began  his  work  by  prayer  and  fasting.  He 
imitated  Raphael,  especially  in  the  pictures 
of  Oiir  Blessed  Lady.  Of  his  picture  La 
Purissima^  legend  tells  us  that  Oar  Blessed 
Mother  appeared  to  the  Jesuit  Fathers  in 
their  convent  church  at  Valencia,  and  com- 
manded a  picture  of  Herself  to  be  painted 
in  the  dress  She  wore — a  white  robe  and 


blue  mantle, — a  crescent  beneath  Her  feet, 
the  mystic  dove  hovering  above  Her, while 
Our  Lord  placed  a  crown  upoa  Her  head, 
with  God  the  Father  looking  from  clouds 
above.  The  apparition  was  described  and 
the  work  entrusted  to  Joanes,  He  fasted 
long  and  prayed  incessantly,  but  inspiration 
came  not.  At  last  his  zeal  and  sincerity  con- 
quered, and  he  painted  the  picture  which 
still  hangs  above  the  altar  of  the  convent 
church,  and  is  known  as  La  Purissima. 

Joanes'  pictures  show  invention  in  de- 
sign, and  splendor  of  color,  but  they  are  stiff 
and  severe  in  attitude.  He  also  painted  a 
lovely  Head  of  Christ  upon  an  agate  cup, 
now  in  the  Cathedral  of  Valencia. 

The  Ribalta,  father  and  son,  students  un- 
der Raphael  and  the  Carracci  in  Italy,  are 
chiefly  seen  in  their  paintings  in  Valencia, 
but  rarely  found  out  of  Spain.  Francisco, 
the  father,  was  the  best  historical  painter 
of  his  time.  We  are  told  that  while  study- 
ing in  Valencia  he  fell  in  love  with  his 
master's  daughter,  but  her  father  refused 
to  allow  him  to  marry  her  until  he  became 
a  great  artist.  He  went  to  Italy,  and,  after 
a  few  years  of  earnest  study,  returned  with 
the  title  of  the  Spanish  Domenichino,  and 
became  the  husband  of  his  early  love.  His 
son  Juan  died  when  only  thirty  years  of 
age.  His  style  of  painting  was  similar  to 
his  father's,  and  had  he  lived  he  would  have 
been  a  great  artist. 

The  Riberas  are  noted  more  especially 
as  the  instructors  and  friends  of  Jose  de  Ri- 
bera,  or  "II  Spagnoletto, "  as  he  was  called 
in  Italy.  Jose  de  Ribera,  born  in  1588,  after 
studying  in  the  studio  of  Francisco  de 
Ribalta,  fellow-student  with  Juan,  went  to 
Italy  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  He  was  very  poor  when  he  arrived 
in  Rome,  but  he  attracted  the  attention  of 
a  cardinal,  who  took  him  to  his  home  and 
provided  for  his  comfort.  But  Ribera  loved 
life  in  the  streets,  and  ran  away.  The  car- 
dinal reproached  him  with  ingratitude,  but 
the  young  painter  replied  that  it  needed 
the  spur  of  poverty  to  make  him  a  good 
artist.  The  cardinal  approved,  and  allowed 
him  to  seek  his  own  support. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


177 


Ribera  greatly  imitated  Caravaggio,  but 
studied  under  Raphael  and  the  Carracci. 
A  picture-dealer  in  Naples  offered  him  his 
daughter  in  marriage.  He  accepted  the 
offer,  and  soon  rose  to  wealth  and  greater 
fame.  In  1630  he  was  made  a  member  of 
the  Academy  of  St.  Luke,  and  in  1644  the 
Holy  Father,  Innocent  X.,  sent  him  the 
Order  of  the  Cross  of  Christ.  He  died,  full 
of  honor  and  possessor  of  worldly  wealth, 
in  1656. 

Notwithstanding  the  best  part  of  his  life 
was  spent  in  Rome,  Parma,  and  Naples, 
Ribera  never  forgot  his  Spanish  birth,  and 
to  his  finest  pictures  he  affixed  the  word 
"Espafiol."  In  the  Carthusian  Convent  of 
S.  Martino  at  Naples  he  painted  his  great 
work,  the  Communion  of  the  Apostles^  and 
his  famous  picture,  the  Descent  from  the 
Cross ^ — a  picture  so  full  of  pathos  and  ex- 
pression that  it  seems  to  unite  the  energy 
of  Caravaggio,  the  grace  of  Correggio, 
and  the  religious  fervor  of  Fra  Angelico. 
Power  of  expression,  the  union  of  grief  and 
beatitude,  with  grace  of  outline,  are  his  chief 
excellences ;  his  coloring  is  not  brilliant,  but 
full  of  deep  tone  and  warm-lighted  shadows. 

Many  celebrated  artists  of  the  Andalusian 
school  precede  Murillo.  As  all  are  noted  for 
some  excellence  which  seemed  to  culminate 
in  that  great  master,  it  may  be  well  to  men- 
tion them  in  the  order  of  their  influence. 

lyuis  de  Vargas  (i502-i568),who  studied 
in  Italy  for  twenty-eight  years,  was  the  first 
to  teach  the  true  method  of  oil-painting 
in  Spain.  He  substituted  Renaissance  art 
for  the  Gothic;  there  was  little  taste  or  har- 
monious effect  in  his  tone,  but  his  coloring 
was  fresh  and  brilliant;  character  and  ex- 
pression were  shown  in  his  faces,  especially 
his  female  heads,  which  are  very  graceful. 
His  frescoes  form  his  greatest  fame.  He 
was  very  religious.  After  his  death  scourges 
and  instruments  of  penance  were  found  in 
his  coffin,  which  he  had  kept  in  his  studio, 
and  in  which  he  would  often  lie  down  to 
meditate  on  death.  Once  when  asked  his 
opinion  of  a  picture  of  Christ  on  the  Cross, 
he  replied:  "Our  Saviour  looks  as  if  He 
were  saying, '  Father,  forgive  them ;  for  they 


know  not  what  they  do.'"  His  best  picture 
is  the  Temporal  Generation  of  Christ^in  the 
Chapel  of  the  Conception  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Seville.  * 

Pablo  de  Cespedes,  who  lived  1 536-1 608, 
was  more  noted  as  a  scientist  and  litterateur 
than  a  painter.  His  best  work,  the  Last 
Supper^  is  in  the  Cathedral  of  Cordova. 
The  jars  in  the  foreground  of  this  picture 
were  so  well  painted,  that  they  detracted 
from  other  portions  of  the  work — at  least 
they  attracted  more  attention.  This  angered 
Cespedes,  and  he  told  his  servant  to  eSace 
them.  Only  the  most  judicious  entreaty 
saved  them  and  the  picture.  He  made  a 
head  of  Seneca  in  marble,  which  so  well 
fitted  the  torso  that  it  gained  for  him  the 
title  "II  Spagionola  Victor."  The  Italian 
artist  Zuccaro  was  asked  to  paint  a  picture 
for  the  Cathedral  of  Cordova.  He  replied: 
"You  have  no  need  of  Italian  artists  while 
Cespedes  lives  in  Spain."  In  coloring  he 
resembled  Correggio.  He  was  appointed 
canon  in  the  Cathedral  of  Cordova,  where 
he  was  received  with  full  approbation  of  the 
Cordovese  Bishop  and  chapter.  He  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  writing  and  studying 
the  fine  arts.  He  excelled  in  languages  of 
the  Orient,  and  through  his  literary  labors 
greatly  influenced  the  Spanish  schools  of 
painting. 

Juan  de  las  Roelas  (1558-1625)  studied 
under  Titian  and  Tintoretto  at  Venice,  and 
brought  back  to  Spain  the  gift  of  Venetian 
coloring.  He  used  the  rich  olive  hues  in 
flesh  tints,  which  in  Murillo  developed  into 
most  vivid,  life-like  efiects.  His  anatomical 
drawing  is  most  admirable.  St.  lago  and 
the  Moors ^  in  the  Museum  of  Castile,  is  his 
chef-d'oeuvre. 

Francisco  Pacheco  (i57i-i654),who  suc- 
ceeded Roelas,  is  more  celebrated  for  the 
academy  he  opened  for  the  instruction  of 
young  painters  than  for  his  work  as  an  artist. 
Among  his  pupils  we  find  Alonzo  Cano, 
later  termed  the  "Spanish  Michael  An- 
gelo";   and  Velasquez,  who  married   the 

*  This  picture  is  sometimes  called  La  Gamba 
(the  leg),  because  the  leg  of  Adam  is  so  perfect 
in  drawing. 


178 


The  Ave  Maria. 


daughter  of  Pacheco.  A  writer  on  art  rather 
than  a  painter,  Pacheco  introduced  many 
eflfects  detrimental  to  art.  He  was  the  first 
to  paint  backgrounds  and  figures  of  bas- 
reliefs;  his  method  of  gilding  and  painting 
statues,  and  his  portraits  are  his  best  works. 

Francisco  de  Herrera  (i 576-1 656),  usu- 
ally called  "  El  Viejo"  (the  elder),  to  distin- 
guish him  from  his  son  who  had  the  same 
name,  was  also  a  teacher  of  Velasquez.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  and  original 
of  Spanish  artists,  but  a  man  of  such  gloomy 
and  violent  temper  that  even  his  son  de- 
serted him.  He  made  valuable  etchings  of 
his  pictures ;  the  best  of  these  are  found  in 
Seville. 

Contemporary  with  Herrera  we  find  Juan 
del  Castillo  and  Francisco  de  Zurbaran, 
noted  in  the  Andalusian  school  as  teachers 
of  Murillo  and  Alonzo  Cano. 

Zurbaran  is  one  of  the  first  Spanish  paint- 
ers in  whom  we  recognize  an  independent 
and  national  style.  His  heads  are  majestic 
and  life-like,  full  of  religious  fervor  and 
triumphant  faith.  His  coloring  and  chiar- 
oscuro are  noted  for  peculiar  depth  and 
breadth;  in  expression  of  suffering  he  is 
too  realistic,  and  his  grouping  is  not  always 
artistic  and  graceful.  His  contrasts  in  light 
and  shade  are  most  strong.  His  tints  are 
subdued  but  brilliant.  He  made  his  dra- 
peries fac-simile  of  the  models  from  which 
he  painted.  He  has  been  called  the  Cara- 
vaggio  of  Spain.  In  painting  animals  he 
was  very  successful,  but  his  chief  excellence 
was  his  painting  of  Spanish  monks.  He 
made  a  special  study  of  these  good  friars, 
and  painted  them  with  as  keen  a  relish  as 
Titian  painted  the  Venetian  noble,  or  Van- 
dyke the  gentlemen  of  England.  He  has 
been  called  "  Painter  of  the  King,  and  king 
of  painters. ' ' 

Alonzo  Cano,  the  Spanish  Angelo,  was 
bom  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century  (1601);  and,  although  he  lived  more 
than  half  a  century,  as  painter,  sculptor, 
and  architect,  little  is  known  of  his  life, 
except  that  its  close  was  spent  most  peace- 
ably in  Granada,  his  birthplace.  Although 
he  had  a  very  disagreeable  temper,  he  was 


most  generous  to  the  poor.  When  he  had 
no  money  to  give  to  beggars,  he  would  go 
into  a  shop,  sketch  a  head,  and  leave  the 
drawing  to  be  sold  for  their  benefit. 

His  dislike  for  Jews  amounted  almost  to 
insanity.  Numerous  stories  are  told  of  his 
avoidance  of  them.  Once  when  he  found  his 
housekeeper  bargaining  with  one  of  them, 
he  chased  her  out,  and  made  her  go  through 
several  days'  quarantine.  He  had  his  house 
purified,  and  the  spot  where  the  Jew  had 
stood  was  re -paved.  He  even  put  off  the 
shoes  in  which  he  had  chased  him  Seven 
of  his  best  paintings  he  left  to  the  Museum 
of  Madrid ;  among  these  are  St.  John  writ- 
ing the  Apocalypse^  and  the  Dead  Christ 
mourned  by  ait  Angel.  He  loved  the  chisel 
better  than  the  brush,  and  was  excelled  by 
no  sculptor  of  Spain.  His  masterpiece,  The 
Blessed  Virgin^  is  in  the  sacristy  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Granada. 

Here,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century, we  leave  the  school  of  Andalusia, 
and  its  parent  Seville,  where  Bartolom^ 
Esteban  Murillo  was  born  on  the  first  day 
of  January,  1618,  to  glance  at  the  Castilian 
group  of  artists  gathering  at  Madrid  when 
Philip  n.  raised  that  city  to  the  rank  of  a 
metropolis. 


Two  Halves— One  Perfect  Whole. 


By  Sara  Trainer  Smith. 


THE  LOWER  HALF. 

lyHE  window  of  my  little  room 
^    Is  high  and  bare  and  narrow, 
It  looks  upon  a  corner  grim, 

Where  dwells  the  braggart  sparrow; 
It  looks  into  the  shadows  dark 

Of  neighbor  windows  jagged, 
And  sees  the  couches  of  the  poor, 

Unclean  and  coarse  and  ragged;' 
Close  clustering  houses  towering  high. 

Roofs  varied  and  unsightly, 
Damp  wells  of  gardens  where  the  sun 

Can  never  shine  too  brightly. 
The  poverty,  the  pain,  the  want, 

The  sorrow  of  a  city, 
Ivie  spread  before  it,  bleak  and  gaunt, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


179 


Outcrying  for  my  pity. 
But,  oh!  my  quiet  little  room, 

That  window  floods  with  beauty, 
And  sets  with  jewels  of  lovely  thoughts 

The  golden  chain  of  duty. 

THE  UPPER  HALF. 
I  lift  my  eyes.  The  upper  sash, 

Two  crystal  panels,  framing 
White  fleece  of  clouds,  wide  azure  sweeps, 

The  sunrays'  glorious  flaming; 
The  dawn's  broad  gold,  the  noon's  pure  light, 

The  sunset's  crimson  glowing; 
And,  silent  in  the  holy  night, 

Star  lilies  silver  blowing. 
Far  oflF,  far  up,  I  seem  to  hear 

The  trail  of  garments  whiter 
Than  earthly  sun  and  dew  can  bleach. 

The  flash  of  pinions  brighter. 
I  seem  to  hear  the  sighing  soft 

Of  angels  interceding, 
And  on  the  shadowed  streets  there  falls 

The  music  of  their  pleading. 
The  earth  is  fair  and  love  is  true, 

My  heart  grows  strong  and  cheery — 
My  window  opens  heavenward, 

Above  the  city  dreary. 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

A  CURIOUS  incident  is  related  apropos 
of  one  of  the  presentation  copies  of 
* '  R^ponses. ' '  Mme.  Car  valho  was  just  going 
to  enchant  Paris  for  the  first  time  with  her 
unrivalled  performance  of ' '  Marguerite ' '  in 
Faust,  and,  not  wishing  to  use  a  prayer-book 
in  the  scene  in  the  church,  she  took  the  "Re- 
ponses, ' '  which  she  happened  to  be  looking 
through  as  she  was  called  to  start  for  the 
theatre.  The  first  representation  of  the  part 
she  was  to  make  so  famous  was  an  extraor- 
dinary success,  and  the  great  artist  used 
to  say  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  book  inspired  her 
and  brought  her  luck,  and  she  never  used 
any  other  in  the  church  scene  during  the 
three  hundred  successive  nights  that  she 
played  in  Faust. 

In   catering  for  help  for  his  boys,  the 


Bishop  came  in  contact  with  actresses  as 
well  as  musicians.  One  of  them,  who  gave 
her  services  at  his  first  concert,  opened  her 
heart  to  him,  and  asked  him  to  pray  for  her 
son,  whose  wild  youth  was  causing  her  great 
anxiety.  He  told  her  to  send  the  young 
man  to  him,  and  that  he  would  try  and  in- 
duce him  to  make  his  confession.  "  O  Mon- 
seigneur,  I  dare  not  do  that!"  replied  the 
actress;  "for  if  you  get  possession  of  his 
conscience,  he  will  despise  his  mother." 
"How  little  you  know  the  spirit  of  Our 
Saviour!"  replied  Mgr.  de  Segur;  "the 
better  Christian  he  becomes,  the  more  he 
will  love  and  bless  the  mother  who  has 
given  him  the  gift  of  faith.  Do  you  suppose 
I  would  let  him  forget  the  respect  he  owes 
you  ? ' '  She  sent  the  young  man  to  him,  and 
he  continued  to  go  to  the  Rue  du  Bac  for  a 
year;  then  he  ceased  to  come,  and  Mgr.  de 
Segur  never  heard  of  him  again. 

Such  desertions  were  a  sharp  grief  to  him, 
but  happily  they  were  rare;  his  children — 
"my  own  children,"  as  he  called  the  lads 
of  the  Patronage  and  the  Perseverance — 
might  give  up  the  Sacraments  and  fight 
shy  of  him  for  a  time,  but  they  almost  in- 
variably came  back  to  him.  Sometimes  it 
was  joy  that  made  them  return.  When  they 
were  going  to  be  married,  they  must  go  to 
confession — that  was  the  law  when  France 
was  Christian, — and  who  would  be  so  indul- 
gent as  their  own  Father?  But  it  was  more 
frequently  sorrow  that  made  them  seek  the 
well-known  door  in  the  Rue  du  Bac,  When 
sickness  or  death  entered  their  gates,  they 
cried  out  to  the  Bishop,  and  he  ran  in  haste 
to  obey  the  summons.  During  a  long  sick- 
ness he  would  go  every  day  to  visit  them, 
and  sit  by  their  bedsides,  do  little  ofiices  of 
kindness  for  them,  and,  fearless  of  con- 
tagion, would  embrace  them  coming  and 
going.  When  death  was  approaching  he 
spared  no  pains  to  prepare  them  for  it, 
watching  and  praying  with  them  to  the  last; 
when  all  was  over  he  would  return  to  pray 
by  the  dead  body,  and  not  grudge  the  time 
he  spent  consoling  the  bereaved  family. 
Very  often  he  paid  them  the  last  tribute  of 
charity  and  friendship  by  accompanying 


i8o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


them  to  the  cemeteiy,  and  praying  over  the 
new-made  grave. 

Special  record  is  made  in  Mgr.  de  Segur's 
life  of  the  death  of  one  young  man  who  was 
very  dear  to  him.  Athanase  Rousselle  kept 
a  little  shop  of  articles  of  piety ;  he  had  been 
known  from  his  earliest  childhood  toMon- 
seigneur,  who  had  prepared  him  for  his 
First  Communion  and  made  a  little  saint 
of  him.  He  grew  up  a  model  of  virtue  and 
a  zealous  apostle  amongst  young  men  of  his 
class.  One  day  when  Monseigneur  was  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Patronage,  a  message  came 
to  him  from  the  Rousselles,  saying  that 
their  son  was  taken  suddenly  ill.  He  rose  at 
once  and  hurried  off  to  the  house  with  his 
secretary.  They  found  Athanase  in  bed,  pale 
and  faint,  but  without  fever  or  any  other 
visible  ailment.  He  said,  however,  that  he 
was  dying,  and  implored  Monseigneur  to 
give  him  the  last  Sacraments.  His  parents 
declared  this  idea  of  approaching  death  was 
a  mere  delusion;  but  the  Bishop  believed 
that  it  was  a  presentiment,  and  sent  at  once 
to  St.  Sulpice  for  a  priest.  Athanase  received 
Holy  Communion  and  Extreme  Unction  in 
a  spirit  of  extraordinary  fervor.  The  next 
day  he  died. 

Mgr.  de  Segur  grieved  for  the  young 
man  as  if  he  had  been  a  near  and  dear  rela- 
tive. He  went  as  chief  mourner  to  the 
funeral,  giving  his  arm  to  the  heart-broken 
father,  who  guided  him  while  he  leaned 
upon  him.  As  the  procession  passed,  every 
one  stood  to  look  at  the  strange  and  touch- 
ing sight  of  the  blind  Bishop  supporting 
the  old  workman;  overcome  with  emoiion, 
every  man,  by  one  impulse,  took  off  his  hat 
and  stood  bareheaded  while  the  two  fathers 
passed  by.  So  great  was  the  impression 
made  by  this  manifestation  of  priestly  love 
and  humility,  that  next  day  the  newspapers 
gave  an  account  of  the  young  tradesman's 
funeral  as  if  he  had  been  some  personage  of 
public  interest.  Mgr.  de  Segur  continued 
his  fatherly  kindness  to  Athanase  even  after 
his  death.  The  young  man  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  an  almond  cake  to  his 
mother  every  year  on  her  fete  day;  the 
Bishop  heard  of  this,  and  said :  "I  must 


not  forget  to  do  it  for  him  now. ' '  And  every 
year  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Magdalen  he  used 
to  take  her  favorite  gdteaii  d'' amandes  to 
the  old  lady,  or  send  it  if  he  could  not  carry 
it  to  her  himself. 

It  was  these  delicate  traits  of  personal 
tenderness  that  made  his  charity  so  unlike 
that  of  ordinary  good  people.  He  was  not 
satisfied  with  doing  the  charities  of  his 
priestly  office  for  the  poor:  he  must  love 
them  and  make  them  happy,  and  give  them 
his  whole  sympathy.  Few  things  delighted 
him  more  than  being  asked  to  bless  the 
marriage  of  one  of  his  poor  protkgks;  he 
would  don  his  richest  vestments  and  all  his 
pontifical  insignia — the  mitre,  the  crosier, — 
proud  to  have  an  opportunity  of  showing 
respect  to  the  poor,  and  giving  them  of  his 
best  to  add  brilliancy  to  their  Christian 
festival. 

The  time  that  he  gave  to  the  Patronage 
and  the  Perseverance  would  seem  to  have 
been  enough  to  fill  a  priest's  life,  but  there 
was  room  in  Mgr.  de  Segur's  for  a  still 
larger  service.  The  College  Stanislas  shared 
his  zeal  almost  in  an  equal  degree  with  the 
above-named  institutions.  Soon  after  he 
arrived  in  Paris,  the  Abb^  Hugo,  nephew 
of  the  poet,  went  to  him  and  asked  him  to 
give  the  annual  retreat  to  the  students.  He 
consented  gladly,  and  by  the  third  day  of 
the  instructions  the  boys  were  so  moved  by 
his  exhortations  that  they  went  to  confes- 
sion to  him  in  a  body,  and  entreated  him 
to  come  and  confess  them  regularly.  The 
director  of  the  College  was  only  too  willing 
to  support  this  petition,  and  from  that  time 
forth,  during  five  and  twenty  }ears,  Mgr. 
de  Segur  went  every  Saturday  to  the  college 
confessional,  and  became  virtually  the  stu- 
dents' chaplain.  He  so  inspired  their  young 
souls  with  his  own  ardent  devotion  to  the 
Eucharist  that  very  soon  weekly  confession 
and  Communion  became  the  practice  of 
the  greater  number.  The  increase  of  work 
which  this  service  brought  him  was  very 
considerable.  When  he  began  it,  the  Col- 
lege had  not  a  hundred  pupils;  in  a  very 
short  time  it  reckoned  three  hundred. 

After  confessing  his  poor  penitents  up  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i8i 


within  a  few  minutes  of  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  he  would  hurry  oflf  to  Stanislas, 
where  he  was  due  at  ten,  and  remain  in  the 
confessional  till  near  four,  when  he  came 
out  to  breathe  and  take  a  bowl  of  soup.  On 
returning  home,  he  always  found  the  chapel 
full  of  poor  penitents,  who  had  been  wait- 
ing a  long  time,  and  whom  he  never  had 
the  heart  to  turn  away.  Sometimes,  about 
six  o'clock,  if  he  felt  very  exhausted,  he 
would  call  Methol,  and  ask  if  he  thought 
he  might  take  a  short  respite  and  have 
some  food ;  but  almost  always  Methol  was 
obliged  to  answer  that  the  chapel  was  still 
very  full — the  Bishop's  confessional  was  in 
the  sitting-room, — and  that  there  was  not  a 
minute  to  spare  if  all  were  to  be  confessed. 
The  blind  man  would  smile  and  resume 
his  ministry,  and  go  on  until  the  last  peni- 
tent had  been  absolved,  which  was  fre- 
quently not  till  ten  o'clock.  Methol  used 
to  say  that  on  these  evenings  his  master's 
lips  were  often  black  from  the  prolonged 
and  incessant  speaking.  These  Saturday 
confessions  were  the  despair  of  Urruty,  the 
cook,  who  sat  in  the  kitchen  wailing  over 
the  dried-up  dinner,  which  was  not  fit  to  be 
eaten  by  the  time  it  was  served. 

Men  of  the  world  swelled  this  long  list 
of  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  penitents,  and  it  was  a 
common  thing  to  see  ministers  of  the  Em- 
pire and  officers  high  in  command  waiting 
their  turn  to  pass  into  the  salon ^  and  kneel 
at  the  feet  of  the  priest  whose  political 
creed  and  sympathies  .  they  knew  to  be  so 
different  from  their  own. 

The  confessional  was  undoubtedly  Mgr. 
de  Segur's  chief  sacerdotal  mission,  but  it 
was  not  by  any  means  his  only  one.  He 
was  held  in  wide  repute  as  a  preacher;  he 
preached  the  Lenten  station  at  the  College 
Stanislas  every  year,  and  every  Sunday  he 
preached  to  the  boys  of  the  Patronage,  and 
all  the  year  round  he  was  in  constant  de- 
mand to  preach  retreats  in  various  commu- 
nities. All  this  made  up  an  amount  of  work 
that  might  have  broken  down  a  stronger 
constitution  than  his;  but,  although  now 
and  then  nature  rebelled  and  forced  him  to 
some  concession,  his  indomitable  energy 


and  his  burning  zeal  rose  quickly  to  the 
rescue,  and  sent  him  on  his  way  again. 

A  ministry  that  was  dearer  to  him  than 
all  others  was  the  forming  of  souls  for  the- 
priesthood.  It  was  a  grand  thing  to  train 
a  young  soul  to  be  a  good  Christian,  but  it 
was  a  much  grander  thing  to  train  him  ta 
be  a  good  priest;  and  when  Mgr.  de  S^gur 
discovered  amongst  his  penitents,  rich  or 
poor,  the  germ  of  a  vocation,  he  would 
foster  it  with  the  tenderest  care.  He  some- 
times had  a  hard  fight  for  it  with  the  par- 
ents when  the  time  came  for  asking  their 
consent,  and  then  he  would  put  himself 
between  their  anger  and  its  object,  leaving 
nothing  undone  to  persuade  and  propitiate 
them. 

But  the  opposition  a  vocation  meets  with 
from  parents  of  the  upper  classes  is  seldom 
lasting  or  very  violent.  With  the  poor  it  is 
different.  It  is  hard,  at  the  best,  for  a  relig- 
ious vocation  to  develop  amongst  the  poor. 
The  air  of  the  workshop  poisons  it,  blights 
it  in  the  bud.  Add  to  this  the  strong  and 
often  inexorable  opposition  of  parents, wha 
see  in  a  son's  call  to  the  priesthood  an  im- 
mediate and  prolonged  expense,  in  place  of 
the  salary  that  he  would  bring  in  as  soon  as 
his  term  of  apprenticeship  was  out.  When 
this  was  the  sole  or  primary  motive  of  re- 
sistance, Mgr.  de  S%ur  would  remove  it  by 
taking  upon  himself  the  whole  burden  of 
the  expenses  during  the  eight  or  ten  years 
of  the  ecclesiastical  education.  He  then 
adopted  the  neophyte  as  a  son,  became  his 
director,  procured  masters  for  him,  and  paid 
the  parents  a  sum  sufficient  to  compensate 
them  for  the  loss  they  sustained. 

He  devoted  to  this  work  the  entire  income 
he  received  from  his  books;  but,  though  it 
was  seldom  less  than  ten  thousand  francs,* 
it  soon  fell  short  of  his  requirements.  He 
then  went  about  amongst  his  rich  friends, 
and  frequently  found  a  Christian  family  glad 
to  share  in  so  sublime  an  act  of  charity  by 
taking  his  protege  into  their  house,  or  pay- 
ing for  his  expenses  elsewhere.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  he  met  with  rebuffs.   He  used  to 


*  Two  thousand  dollars. 


I«2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


relate,  with  a  fine  sense  of  the  humorous  side 
of  the  incident,  how  one  millionaire  lady 
to  whom  he  applied  for  an  alms  urgently 
needed,  refused  him  with  profuse  regrets, 
alleging  as  a  reason  that  her  conservatory 
alone  cost  her  twenty-five  thousand  francs 
a  year  to  keep  it  filled  with  fresh  plants  and 
flowers !  When  his  proteges  were  ready  for 
the  seminary,  he  always  found  the  Bishops 
willing  to  help  him  by  lowering  the  terms. 

The  following  narrative  from  one  of 
these  adopted  sons  gives  us  an  idea  of  what 
Mgr.  de  S^gur's  paternal  care  of  them  was: 
"It  was  in  1856,  during  a  retreat,  that  I  first 
met  Mgr.  de  Segur,  I  was  one  of  the  choris- 
ters at  St.  Thomas  d'Aquin.  ...  He  used  to 
arrive,  with  the  Abbe  Klingenhoffen,  every 
evening  a  little  before  the  exercises  of  the 
retreat  that  he  was  preaching  to  the  appren- 
tices. After  adoring  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
he  would  go  into  the  sacristy.  I  and  another 
chorister  used  to  be  there,  and  the  Abbe 
would  give  us  a  box  on  the  ear  or  poke  some 
fun  at  us.  We  could  not  run  away,  so  we 
used  to  take  refuge  beside  Monseigneur, 
who  would  stretch  out  his  hand,  by  the  way 
to  protect  us;  for,  though  he  saw  nothing, 
he  heard  the  scuffle.  I  never  shall  forget  the 
happiness  it  was  to  me  to  be  near  him.  I 
felt  as  if  a  virtue  came  out  of  him.  One 
evening  he  asked  me  my  name,  and  what  I 
meant  to  be  when  I  was  grown  up.  I  said : 
*  I  mean  to  be  a  priest,  and  the  Abbe  Rivie 
gives  me  a  Latin  lesson  twice  a  week.' 
Monseigneur  said:  'You  won't  get  on  very 
fast  with  two  lessons  a  week.  Would  you 
not  like  to  have  one  every  day?'  I  replied 
that  I  should  like  it  very  much,  and  he 
promised  me  to  manage  it." 

Not  only  did  the  Bishop  manage  it,  but 
he  hired  a  room  over  his  own  apartment, 
where  the  little  chorister  and  three  others 
who  were  preparing  for  the  priesthood  met 
every  evening  for  their  lesson.  He  took  the 
liveliest  interest  in  their  studies,  and  insti- 
tuted a  reward  of  five  cents  a  week  for  every 
boy  who  had  good  notes  from  the  master. 
He  wished  them  to  serve  his  Mass  in  turns, 
and  in  order  to  impress  them  with  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  honor,  he  had  a  little  soutane 


and  a  surplice  with  flowing  sleeves  made 
for  them.  He  was  very  strict  about  their 
demeanor  at  the  altar,  and  though  he  could 
see  nothing,  he  questioned  them  so  closely 
that  he  was  able  to  detect  the  smallest  im- 
perfection in  their  manner  of  serving.  He 
would  make  them  practise  the  genuflexion 
before  him — "the  right  knee  on  a  level 
with  the  left  heel,  the  head  and  body  erect. ' ' 
(to  be  continued.) 


Religion  and  Medicine.'' 


IT  is  very  difficult  for  us  to  realize  all  that 
Jesus  Christ  and  His  Church  have  done 
for  Medicine.  Christ  has  bestowed  upon  us 
the  honor  of  a  real  priesthood,  the  glory  of 
a  divine  fraternity,  the  Christian  constitu- 
tion of  our  profession;  to  the  Church  we 
owe  the  preservation  of  ancient  science,  the 
creation  of  hospitals  and  schools  of  medi- 
cine, and  the  most  constant  and  efficacious 
protection.  The  whole  history  of  Medicine 
testifies  to  this;  but,  in  view  of  the  short 
time  at  my  disposal,  I  will  refer  only  to  the 
most  notable  facts. 

From  its  origin,  Christianity  created  an 
element  previously  unknown — the  army  of 
charity;  and  from  that  time  physicians  form 
an  integral  part  of  that  army,  which,  be- 
ginning with  the  Apostles,  has  gone  on 
developing  during  the  course  of  ages,  and 
which  continues  to-day,  with  all  its  attri- 
butes and  all  its  soldiers  more  vigorous  and 
more  resolute  than  ever.  From  the  first  days 
of  the  Church  there  appeared  in  Rome  men 
and  women  who  devoted  themselves  to  the 
service  of  the  poor  and  the  sick.  Christian 
physicians,  in  company  with  the  Lawrences, 
the  Agathas,  the  Cecilias,  the  Fabiolas, 
employed  all  the  resources  of  their  art  for 
charitable  ends.  Many  amongst  them  shed 
their  blood  for  their  faith.  Some  day  this 
brilliant  history  will  be  placed  before  us  in 


*  Portion  of  a  lecture  delivered  by  Professor 
Junibert  Gourbeyre  at  the  opening  of  the  course 
of  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  at  Clermont,  France. 
It  has  been  honored  by  being  called  ' '  un  scandal 
universitaire''  hy  the  infidel  journals  of  France. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


183 


a  clearer  light  by  means  of  the  monuments 
which  we  possess — viz.,  "The  Acts  of  the 
Martyrs,"  the  Dipiicos^  and  the  recent  dis- 
coveries made  in  the  Catacombs. 

With  the  victories  of  Christianity  and 
its  occupation  of  the  throne  of  the  Caesars 
there  dawned  a  glorious  era  for  Medicine, 
and  Christian  charity  shone  forth  in  all  its 
splendor  in  the  ranks  of  that  tender-hearted 
and  unselfish  profession.  Charity  in  those 
days  was  a  public  function  directed  by  the 
priests  and  bishops,  who  became  true  fathers 
of  the  poor.  No  one  was  excluded  from 
this  ministry :  virgins  and  widows  devoted 
themselves  with  great  enthusiasm  to  the 
care  of  the  poor  and  the  sick.  Everywhere 
arose  asylums  of  charity,  and  beautiful 
name 5,  such  as  Orphanotrophia^Xenodochia, 
and  N^osocomia^  were  then  first  coined. 

But  it  was  not  long  before  the  Roman 
Empire  fell  beneath  the  blows  of  the  bar- 
barians ;  the  Church  then  extended  her  pro- 
tecting hand  over  crumbling  society.  The 
Popes  and  prelates  little  by  little  checked 
the  invasion,  and  finally  brought  the  fierce 
conquerors  under  the  yoke  of  Christ.  Mean- 
while the  monks  tilled  the  earth,  gathered 
the  wandering  peoples  into  settlements 
around  their  monasteries,  and  preserved,  in 
manuscripts  that  are  still  objects  of  our 
admiration,  the  treasures  of  wisdom  and 
science  bequeathed  by  antiquity.  This  was 
the  monastic  epoch  of  Medicine;  science 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  cloisters,  and  nearly 
all  physicians  were  monks  or  priests;  in  the 
convent  gardens  medicinal  plants  were  cul- 
tivated; within  their  walls  treatises  were 
written  descriptive  of  the  qualities  of  these 
plants,  as  we  see  from  the  Hort2ilus  of 
Walapid  Strabo  and  the  works  of  Macer  and 
the  Abbess  St.  Hildegard.  This  monastic 
Medicine  continued  down  to  the  fifteenth 
century,  in  which  we  find  the  celebrated 
Treatise  on  Antimony  of  Basil  Falentin,  a 
remarkable  monument  of  chemistry  and 
therapeutics. 

During  the  Middle  Ages  the  charitable 
organization  of  the  Church  performed  mir- 
acles of  charity.  The  hospices  scattered 
everywhere  were  directed  by  priests,  served 


by  consecrated  virgins  and  by  lay  persons, 
male  and  female,  who  dedicated  themselves 
to  this  ministry  by  religious  vows.  These 
hospices  gradually  produced  the  great 
orders  of  Hospitallers.  Those  new  societies 
were  eminent  for  the  practice  of  every  work 
of  charity,  from  military  service  in  the 
protection  of  pilgrims  and  the  defence  of 
the  Holy  Places,  to  the  art  of  Medicine, 
especially  the  care  of  those  afflicted  with 
certain  contagious  maladies,  such  as  leprosy 
and  St.  Anthony's  Fire.  This  was  the  chi- 
valric  epoch  of  Medicine.  The  physician 
was  seen  to  put  on  the  armor  of  the  cavalier 
over  his  professional  dress,  and  to  fight  with 
equal  valor  against  sickness  and  against 
the  enemies  of  Christ.  If  the  pure  science 
of  Medicine  made  little  progress  in  this 
epoch,  there  were  witnessed  in  compensa- 
tion deeds  of  charity  bordering  on  the 
heroic. 

Medical  education  was  inaugurated  in 
the  palatine  schools  of  Charlemagne.  Later 
on,  the  Popes  founded  throughout  Eu- 
rope universities  wherein  medicine  was 
taught,  together  with  theology  and  law. 
From  these  magnificent  institutions  of  the 
Papacy  our  science  dates  its  advance  and 
development.  It  is  to  the  successors  of  St. 
Peter,  then,  that  we  owe  the  first  direct  im- 
pulse given  to  our  studies,— studies  which 
obtained  for  us  an  entrance  into  the  hospi- 
tals for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  our  knowl- 
edge by  means  of  experience:  a  double 
benefit,  which  was  the  starting  point  of  the 
conquests  since  made  in  the  same  field. 

Beautiful,  however,  as  science  may  be, 
there  is  something  still  more  beautiful,  and 
that  is  charity.  We  can  not  all  be  men  of 
science,  but  we  can  all  consecrate  ourselves 
to  the  service  of  our  fellow-creatures  in 
their  sickness  and  distress.  It  is  science  and 
charity  that  have  made  of  Medicine  a  real 
priesthood. 

Amongst  all  peoples,  from  their  origin  to 
their  decay,  have  been  found  and  are  still 
to  be  found  three  classes  that  are  specially 
looked  up  to — priests,  physicians,  and  sol- 
diers. The  reason  of  this  supremacy  is  that 
these  three  social  classes  are  the  bases  on 


1 84 


The  Ave  Maria, 


which  all  political  society  is  founded.  Fre- 
quently Medicine  and  priesthood  are  united 
in  the  same  person.  In  Egypt,  in  olden 
times,  the  priests  exercised  the  healing 
art,  and  in  Greece  it  was  practised  in  the 
temples.  After  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire, when  Christianity  was  already  well 
established,  most  of  the  physicians  were 
priests,  and  several  of  the  Popes  were  phy- 
sicians; Albertus  Magnus  was  a  physician, 
as  were  also  Roger  Bacon  and  Raymond 
Lully.  Amongst  the  French,  Guillaume  de 
Beaufet,  a  physician,  was  also  a  canon  of  the 
Church,  and  afterwards  Bishop  of  Paris; 
Gui  de  Chauliac,  the  celebrated  surgeon, 
was  chaplain  of  Pope  Clement  VI.  In  the 
early  days  of  the  University  of  Paris  all  the 
professors  were  priests. 

At  first  sight  it  may  be  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise that  for  centuries  Medicine  was  prac- 
tised by  the  clergy;  but  the  reason  is  plain, 
and  is  to  be  found  in  the  close  union  ex 
isting  between  the  two  ministries.  If  at 
present  the  physician  is  not  a  priest  in  the 
full  extent  of  the  word,  he  is  so  at  least  in 
some  measure.  The  oifice  of  physician, 
like  that  of  priest,  is  of  divine  institution. 
Creavit  eiim  AUissimus.  He  is  the  minister 
of  God,  as  Galen  says,  since  he  bestows 
health  upon  the  sick  in  the  name  of  the  Dis- 
penser of  all  health.  As  the  priest  gives  the 
Sacraments,  the  physician  gives  medicines: 
the  former  being  for  the  healing  of  the  soul, 
as  the  latter  for  that  of  the  body. 

When  Christ  founded  the  Apostleship, 
He  sent  His  disciples  to  extend  the  kingdom 
of  God^  and  to  heal  the  sick;  during  these 
eighteen  centuries  the  physician  has  been 
striving  to  extend  the  kingdom  of  God  by 
curing  the  sick.  When  science  points  out 
and  condemns  the  excesses  and  vices  of 
human  actions,  what  does  it  do  but  extend 
the  kingdom  of  God  by  fostering  morality, 
which  must  be  of  benefit  to  those  that  ob- 
serve its  dictates,  and  to  their  successors? 
Medicine  is,  then,  a  real  apostolate,  a  genu- 
ine priesthood. 

Medical  science  is  often  consulted  by  all 
classes  of  authorities — by  theologians,  mag- 
istrates, legislators,  etc., — because   it   can 


shed  the  light  of  truth  on  a  multitude  of 
questions,  thus  verifying  another  profes- 
sional prophecy:  "The  science  of  the  phy- 
sician will  be  admired  by  the  great :  In  con- 
spec  tic  magnorumy 

Hippocrates  used  to  say:  "Life  is  short, 
and  science  takes  a  long  time  to  acquire. 
Vita  brevis^  ars  longa  ";  and  he  added :  "  It 
is  necessary  that  the  physician  perform  his 
duty  just  as  well  as  the  patient,  as  the  at- 
tendants, and  as  those  that  surround  the 
patient."  This  illustrious  doctor  knew  that 
the  concurrence  of  all  was  necessary  in 
waiting  on  the  sick, — a  duty  so  painful,  so 
repugnant,  and  sometimes  so  dangerous. 
To  Christianity  was  reserved  the  realiza- 
tion of  this  ideal,  which  was  effected  by  the 
creation  of  hospitals,  in  which  her  admira- 
ble army  of  charity  was  to  serve  constantly. 

But  it  is  not  enough  to  create  asylums 
to  which  the  sick  may  betake  themselves: 
it  is  necessary  that  those  that  wait  upon  the 
sick  should  have  the  gift  of  self-abnegation 
requisite  to  perform  their  duty.  The  priest, 
the  Sister  of  Charity,  the  doctor,  and  the 
hospital  are  the  product  of  Christianity. 
The  hospital,  the  centre  of  all  human  mis- 
eries, is  at  the  same  time  the  dwelling-place 
of  science  and  unselfishness.  It  is  the  great 
book  in  which  the  physician  studies  mal- 
adies, where  he  learns  to  cure  them  by  prac- 
tical experience,  and  where  the  great  help 
that  charity  aflfords  science  is  most  strik- 
ingly manifested.  The  hospital  is  also  the 
battle-field  where  glory  is  gained  by  en- 
countering great  danger,  as  in  the  case  of 
contagious  maladies.  Every  year  there  are 
many  cases  of  diseases  contracted  in  hos- 
pitals by  charitable  persons  and  physicians 
zealous  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty. 

Can  we  be  surprised  at  the  fact  that  the 
majority  of  physicians  have  always  pro- 
tested against  the  idea  of  delivering  the  sick 
in  the  hospitals  to  the  care  of  mercenary 
nurses?  For  eighteen  centuries  the  physi- 
cian has  been  attending  on  the  sick,  standing 
between  the  priest  and  the  Sister  of  Char- 
ity, and  there  is  his  place  of  honor.  It  is  not 
strange,  then,  that  he  wishes  to  keep  this 
place  which  surrounds  him  with  such  an 


The  Ave  Maria. 


185 


I 


aureole  of  glory,  and  gives  him  two  such 
powerful  auxiliaries. 

It  is  time  to  conclude.  We  have  come 
forth  from  the  Word  who  created  us;  from 
Christ,  who  has  been  our  leader  and  our 
model;  from  the  Church,  which  has  raised 
our  ministry  to  the  dignity  of  a  priesthood. 
We  belong  to  a  class  who  are  not  in  the 
world  to  be  served,  but  to  serve;  who  labor, 
not  for  fortune,  but  for  glory ;  and  who,  after 
the  example  of  the  Master,  go  through  the 
world  doing  good. 

Thanks  be  to  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  we 
have  been  successively  confessors,  martyrs, 
monks,  priests,  and  cavaliers.  Our  profes- 
sion is  compatible  with  all  this.  Therefore 
to-day,  in  the  midst  of  the  reigning  scepti- 
cism, I  conjure  physicians  not  to  depart 
from  the  doctrines  of  the  Founder  of  Chris- 
tianity. What  interest  can  they  have  in 
obscuring  the  brilliant  history  of  Medicine 
during  the  past  by  flinging  themselves  into 
the  degradation  of  materialism  or  the  follies 
of  free  thought?  Beside  the  detriment  to 
science  that  would  follow  from  such  a  course 
of  action, our  profession  would  be  converted 
into  a  mere  trade — a  means  of  gaining  a 
livelihood,  like  any  other  occupation. 

Two  hundred  years  ago  one  of  the  chiefs 
of  our  school  wrote  from  the  centre  of 
Protestant  Germany :  "It  is  necessary  that 
the  doctor  should  be  a  Christian:  Medicus 
sit  Christianus.^^  Gentlemen,  I  leave  you 
to  reflect  on  these  words — the  utterance  of 
the  celebrated  Frederick  Hofmann. 


A  Christian  Heroine. 


I  AM  an  old  soldier,  and  have  seen  many 
a  noble  example  of  courage  on  the  battle- 
field, but  the  oldest  and  best-tried  veteran 
does  not  display  more  coolness,  more  heroic 
simplicity  in  the  fulfilment  of  duty  than 
that  intrepid  army  of  ministering  angels, 
the  Sisters  of  Charity. 

On  the  1 8th  of  August,  1870,  I  was 
wounded  in  the  battle  of  Gravelotte  (Lor- 
raine), and  was  lying  in  the  midst  of  the 
dead  and  the  dying.  Evening  came  on;  I 


was  wondering  whether  I  should  die  on  that 
spot,  forsaken  like  so  manv  poor  fellows, 
and  my  thoughts  reverted  to  my  father  and 
mother,  who  no  doubt  were  praying  for  me. 

Those  who  have  never  left  their  homes — 
those  who  expect  to  die  in  the  arms  of  dear 
relatives — can  not  realize  the  anguish,  the 
awful  perspective  of  a  lonely  death. at  night, 
on  a  battle-field,  without  hearing  a  sooth- 
ing word,  without  feeling  the  pressure  of  a 
tender  hand.  In  that  supreme  hour  the 
only  source  of  consolation  is  to  throw  one- 
self on  God's  meicy. 

Suddenly,  a  few  steps  distant,  I  saw 
kneeling  on  the  blood -drenched  ground  a 
Sister  of  Charity.  Never,  [  think,  did  I  feel 
such  intense  joy  or  such  relief  as  at  the  sight 
of  that  religious.  A  few  seconds  before,  I 
was  almost  in  despair.  The  White  Cornet 
now  sufficed  to  revive  both  my  courage  and 
my  faith.  By  a  supreme  effort,  which  gave 
me  great  pain,  I  succeeded  in  raising  myself, 
and  leaned  on  my  elbow  to  see  better  and  be 
seen.  I  dared  not  call  out,  for  fear  of  being 
espied  by  some  stragglers  of  the  German 
army,  who  used  to  indulge  in  the  barbarous 
pleasure  of  finishing  off  the  wounded. 

The  Sister  was  kneeling  beside  a  poor 
soldier,  whose  wound  she  dressed  while 
uttering  comforting  words  of  hope.  I  could 
not  catch  the  words,  but  from  the  inflections 
of  the  voice  I  understood  their  meaning.  I 
was  about  to  call  softly  to  her  when  the 
gallop  of  a  horse  was  heard,  and  a  cavalry 
man  dashed  up.  He  held  in  his  left  hand  a 
lance,  and  in  his  right  the  sword  of  a  French 
oflficer,  which  I  recognized  at  once  by  the 
gold  tassels  hanging  from  the  hilt.  On  ap- 
proaching the  Sister,  he  threatened  her  in 
broken  French.  The  devoted  woman  rose 
up,  and  putting  out  her  hand  in  a  suppli- 
cating manner,  she  pointed  to  the  wounded 
.soldier.  "See,"  she  said,  "I  am  tending 
this  unfortunate  man." 

The  ulan  drew  back  his  horse,  as  if  he 
feared  being  stopped  by  this  woman,  and, 
whirling  his  sword  over  his  head,  with  a 
single  blow  struck  off"  the  heroine's  right 
hand.  She  gave  a  low  wail,fell  to  the  ground, 
and  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  with  her 


i86 


The  Ave  Maria. 


mutilalec  arm. while  the  Prussian  galloped 
away  with  a  savage  shout. 

1  fainted.  When  I  recovered  my  senses, 
I  was  in  the  ambulance,  and  a  Si^te^  bend- 
ing over  me.  At  first  I  took  her  for  the 
one  whom  I  had  seen  on  the  batile-field, 
but  no— this  one  had  both  her  hands.  What 
became  of  the  wounded  Sister  of  Charity? 

She  dwells  among  the  angels  now. 

Beside  the  crystal  river; 
God's  crown  is  on  the  mart\T  brow 

Forever  and  forever. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  magnificent  religious  ceremonial  in  honor 
of  the  Pope's  Jubilee  took  place  at  Limerick 
on  August  7.  A  procession  composed  of  sev- 
eral bishops,  hundreds  of  priests,  and  twenty 
thousand  men,  walked  through  the  city, carry- 
ing five  hundred  banners.  The  streets  through 
which  they  passed  were  decorated  for  a  length 
of  five  miles  with  triumphal  arches,  and  the 
houses  along  the  route  were  hung  with  ever- 
greens and  banners.  An  eloquent  address  was 
delivered  by  the  Bishop  of  Limerick,  and 
listened  to  by  over  forty  thousand  people.  It 
was  the  greatest  demonstration  ever  known  in 
Ireland.  

The  death  is  announced  of  Edmund  Water- 
ton,Esq.,an  English  Catholic  gentleman, well 
known  for  his  chivalrous  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  His  death  was  that  of  a  true 
Knight  of  Mary.  He  received  all  the  rites  of 
Holy  Church  with  the  deepest  piety  and  rec- 
ollection, answering  all  the  prayers  with  per- 
fect self-possession.  The  last  lines  he  wrote, 
or  attempted  to  write,  with  trembling  hand, 
very  few  minutes  before  receiving  the  Sac- 
raments, are  a  protestation  that  he  desired  to 
die  a  faithful  son  of  the  Church  and  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Even  in  his  last  agony  the 
lips  were  to  be  seen  moving  frequently  in 
prayer;  the  enfeebled  hand  struggled  to  the 
last  to  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  the 
crucifix  applied  to  his  lips  was  enough  to 
rouse  him  out  of  his  lethargy.  Fortified  with 
the  special  blessing  of  the  Holy  Father  and  a 
last  absolution,  and  surrounded  by  his  family 
and  servants,  he  expired  peacefully  in  the 
early  morning  of  the  22d  ult.  Mr.  Waterton 
was  born  at  Walton  Hall,  Yorkshire,  April  7, 


1830.  He  was  educated  by  the  Jesuit  Fathers 
at  Stonyhurst  College.  In  early  j-outh  he  con- 
ceived that  chivalrous  devotion  to  Our  Lady 
for  which  he  was  so  remarkable,  and  which  is 
breathed  in  the  pages  of  his  "  Pietas  Mariana 
Brittanica."  From  the  day  (Decembers.  1843) 
that  he  wrote  himself  down  Servus  B.  V.  M. 
perpetmis,  to  within  a  few  days  of  his  death,  he 
never  once  missed  saying  the  Little  Office  of 
the  Immaculate  Conception.  R.  I  P. 


Archbishop  Gross  has  lately  issued  a  beau- 
tiful and  touching  pastoral  letter  to  the  clergy 
and  laity  of  the  Archdiocese  of  Oregon,  con- 
taining some  appropriate  thoughts  on  the 
life  and  death  of  his  illustrious  predecessor, 
Archbishop  Seghers,who  was  so  cruelly  mur- 
dered a  few  weeks  ago  "His  great  talents," 
says  Archbishop  Gross, "his  profound  learn- 
ing, but,  above  all,  the  holiness  of  his  life, 
enkindled  the  greatest  respect  and  admiration 
in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him.  .  .  .  His 
great  charity  for  the  souls  confided  to  his 
care,  and  his  boundless  zeal  for  the  glory  of 
God  made  him  undertake  many  and  most 
arduous  journeys  to  the  wildest  and  remotest 
parts  of  the  Archdiocese.  Although  not  pos- 
sessing a  robust  constitution,  he  exposed  him- 
self to  the  severest  privations  and  labors  in 

these  journeys His  death,  though  sudden, 

is  glorious  before  God, and  there  shines  around 
it  the  aureole  of  martyrdom." 


The  Roman  correspondent  of  The  Pilot  de- 
clares that  "business  is  not  in  a  flourishing 
state  with  some  of  the  Protestant  proselyting 
.societies  which  have  established  institutions  in 
Rome,  the  'hot-bed  and  centre  of  Popery,'  as 
they  describe  it.  In  spite  of  the  sums  spent  on 
soup,  cheap  Bibles  and  innumerable  tracts  dis- 
tributed to  the  people,  the  task  of  conversion 
has  not  been  a  success.  The  Methodist  church, 
planted  opposite  the  ofiice  of  the  Cardinal 
Vicar,  is  for  sale,  and  a  similar  fate  has  over- 
taken the  other  'meetin'  house'  situated  in 
the  Via  Urbana,  near  the  Manzoni  Theatre." 


Apart  from  the  respect  and  reverence  which 
millions  of  Christians  throughout  the  world 
pay  to  his  Holiness  Pope  Leo  XIII.  because  of 
his  dignity  as  the  visible  Head  of  the  Church, 
the  Vicar  of  Christ  upon  earth,  it  is  now  a  gen- 
erally admitted  fact  that  a  supremacy  attaches 
to  him  which  even  the  infidel  recognizes,  and 


The  Ave  MafUf. 


187 


I 


that  is  his  leadership  in  the  world  of  thought 
— in  the  domain  of  literature  and  science.  A 
notable  instance  of  his  active  interest  in  liter- 
ary pursuits  was  given  some  three  years  ago 
in  the  foundation,  at  Rome,  of  the  school  for 
the  prosecution  of  higher  literary  studies.  This 
is  known  as  the  I<eonine  Institute,  and  has 
for  its  object  tne  advancement  of  clerical 
students  in  the  analytical  study  of  the  best 
classical  writings,  ancient  and  modern.  Four 
chairs  have  been  founded  in  the  college  for 
Grecian,  Latin,  Italian,  and  Dantesque  liter- 
ature, and  have  been  well  attended. 

Recently  a  soirie  was  held,  at  which  the 
Holy  Father  presided,  attended  by  the  pon- 
tifical court,  a  large  body  of  cardinals,  numer- 
ous prelates  resident  and  visiting,  and  a  great 
many  priests.  Essays  were  read  on  subjects 
connected  with  the  various  branches  of  literary 
studies,  while  special  examiners  interrogated 
the  students.  The  Holy  Father,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  entertainment,  was  pleased  to 
express  his  pleasure  at  the  efforts  of  the  stu- 
dents, and  delivered  a  very  interesting  and 
instructive  discourse,  in  which  he  commended 
the  study  of  literature  as  one  of  the  best  means 
whereby  truth  might  be  presented  to  the 
human  mind  in  its  most  beautiful  aspect.  Be- 
sides, the  furtherance  of  this  branch  of  study 
in  all  Catholic  institutes  would  be  a  constant 
rebuke  to  those  that  attack  the  Church  on  the 
score  that  she  fosters  ignorance. 

The  number  of  Catholic  Indians  in  Mani- 
toba is  estimated  at  15,000.  Bishop  Grandin, 
who  has  been  a  missionary  many  years  in 
that  bleak  country,  is  assisted  in  his  apostolic 
labors  by  thirty-five  priests  and  twenty-two 
lay-brothers,  all  members  of  the  Congregation 
of  Oblates  of  Mary  Immaculate.  There  are 
also  about  forty  Sisters  taking  care  of  orphans 
and  sick,  and  teaching  schools.  Heretofore 
the  good  Bishop  and  his  devoted  priests  have 
suffered  incredible  hardships,  sharing  all  the 
miseries  of  the  wandering  tribes,  travelling  in 
dog-sleighs  and  with  snow-shoes  in  winter; 
but  now,  as  the  buffalo  are  being  driven  off, 
the  Indians  will  have  to  settle  down,  and  the 
missionaries  will  not  suffer  so  much.  In  the 
northern  part  of  the  diocese,  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  the  sun  does  not  come  above  the  hori- 
zon for  thirty-three  days.  The  days  are  marked 
by  a  strong  twilight.  The  Bishop  receives  a 
donation  from  the  Society  of  the  Propagation 


of  the  Faith  for  his  missions,  the  support  of 
priests,  erection  of  chapels,  etc.  If  the  priests 
can  count  on  twenty-five  cents  a  day  for  per- 
sonal expenses,  they  consider  themselves  well 
off 


The  seventeenth  annual  Convention  of  the 
Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Union  of  America 
was  held  in  Philadelphia  on  the  3d  and  4th 
inst.  Over  four  hundred  delegates  were  pres- 
ent, making  it  the  most  numerou.sly  attended 
as  it  was  also  the  most  succe.ssful  convention 
of  representative  workers  in  the  cause  of  Total 
Abstinence  thus  far  held.  On  the  evening  of 
the  2d  the  societies  of  the  Archdiocesan  Union 
of  Philadelphia,  represented  by  upwards  of 
ten  thou.sand  men  in  line,  made  an  imposing 
display  in  a  grand  torchlight  procession,  which 
was  reviewed  by  Archbishop  Ryan  and  the 
visiting  delegates, and  witnessed  by  thousands 
of  spectators  On  the  morning  of  the  3d  inst. 
the  Convention  opened  with  Solemn  Pontifical 
Mass,  celebrated  by  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop 
Ryan.  In  the  absence  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop 
Ireland,  the  Rev.  James  M.  Cleary,  President 
of  the  Union,  preached  the  sermon.  Reports 
made  at  the  business  meetings  showed  that 
during  the  year  passed  there  had  been  a  gain 
of  105  societies  and  7.000  members,  testifying 
to  the  rapidly  extending  influence  for  good 
exercised  by  those  actively  interesting  them- 
selves in  this  noble  work. 

Among  the  other  features  of  the  Convention 
were  the  spirited  and  encouraging  addresses 
of  Archbishop  Ryan  and  Bishop  Keane,  of 
Richmond,  the  sending  of  a  filial  message  to 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff  asking  the  Papal  Bless- 
ing, and  the  enacting  of  a  series  of  resolutions 
clearly  setting  forth  the  principles  actuating 
the  work  of  the  Union,  and  presenting  meth- 
ods of  reform  to  be  adopted.  The  labors  of  the 
Convention  concluded  with  the  election  of 
officers  for  the  ensuing  year,  which  resulted 
as  follows:  President — Rev.ThomasJ.Conaty, 
of  Worcester,  Mass.;  Vice-President — Rev. 
Thomas  E.Walsh,  C.S.  C,  President  of  the 
University  of  Notre  Dame;  Treasurer — Rev. 
Philip  J.  Garrigan,  Fitchburg,  Mass. ;  Secre- 
tary—  Philip  A.  Nolan.  Philadelphia.  Pro- 
vincial Vice-Presidents — Cincinnati,  William 
A.  Manning;  Baltimore,  Frank  McNorham; 
Boston,  Rev.  J.  McCoy;  Chicago,  Hugh  J.  Mc- 
Guire;  Milwaukee,  Rev.  M.  E.  Murphy;  New 
Orleans,  D.  H.  Buckley;    New  York,  W.  H. 


£88 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Downs;  Philadelphia,  J.  A.  Collier.  The  next 
■convention  will  be  held  in  Boston  on  the  sec- 
ond Wednesday  in  August,  1888. 


The  Catholic  Standard  notes  that  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Horstmann,  Chancellor  of  the  Archdiocese 
of  Philadelphia,  has  presented  to  the  Histori- 
cal Society  of  that  city  a  Catechism  which  was 
given  by  Archbishop  Purcell,  of  Cincinnati, 
to  the  late  Archbishop  Wood,  when  the  latter 
went  to  him  asking  to  be  instructed  in  the 
Faith.  Archbishop  Wood  often  showed  it  to 
visitors,  assuring  them  that  he  studied  it  word 
for  word,  like  a  little  child  He  treasured  it 
above  everything  he  possessed. 


Obituary. 


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

—  a  Mach.,  xii.,  4t 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Edward  McSweeny,  who  yielded  his 
soul  to  God  on  the  8th  inst.,  at  St.  Francis'  Hospi- 
tal, Pittsburg.  He  had  been  in  ill  health  for  sev- 
-eral  years,  and  unable  to  exercise  the  ministry. 

The  Rev.  M.  O'Reilly,  a  prominent  priest  of  the 
Diocese  of  Fort  Wayne,  for  nearly  twenty-five 
years  the  esteemed  pastor  of  Valparaiso,  Ind., 
-where  he  erected  one  of  the  finest  churches  in  the 
State  of  Indiana. 

Mother  Emilie,  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Mary,  the 
heloved  superior  of  her  Order  in  the  United  States, 
whose  devoted  life  closed  in  a  holy  death  at  Lock- 
port,  N.  Y.,  on  the  20th  of  July.  She  entered  the 
•convent  at  Namut  in  1844. 

Sister  Annunciation,  who  was  called  to  eternal 
rest  at  the  Ursuline  Convent,  Tiffin,  O.,  on  the 
31st  ult. 

James  J.  Birmingham,  whose  happy  death  oc- 
curred at  Hudson,  N.  Y.,  on  the  24th  ult.,  after  a 
brief  illness. 

Dr.  John  Sharbkinzer,  of  Philadelphia,  who  ex- 
pired on  the  8th  ult. ,  fortified  by  the  Sacraments. 

Mr.  Michael  Clark,  who  was  called  from  among 
the  living  on  the  13th  ult.,  at  Sherborn,  Mass.  The 
deceased  was  for  many  years  a  resident  of  Brook- 
lyn. 

Mr.  John  Connor,  who  breathed  his  last  at 
Crosby,  Mich.,  on  the  25th  of  July,  comforted  and 
strengthened  by  the  Sacraments  of  Holy  Church. 

Dennis  D.  Higgins,  of  Thurlow,  Pa.,  whose 
happy  death  took  place  on  the  same  day. 

Mrs.  Catharine  Cirdey,  who  met  with  a  sudden 
death  on  the  31st  ult.,  at  Silex,  Mo.  She  was  an 
exemplary  Catholic — one  whose  whole  life  was  a 
preparation  for  the  other  world. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


Gentle  Words. 


"K   KINDLY  word  and  a  tender  tone — 
-^  To  God  alone  is  their  virtue  known. 
They  can  lift  from  the  dust  the  abject  head. 
They  can  turn  a  foe  to  a  friend  instead; 
The  heart  close-barred  with  passion  and  pride 
Will  fling  at  their  knock  its  portal  wide. 
And  the  hate  that  blights  and  the  scorn  that 

sears 
Will  melt  in  the  fountain  of  childlike  tears. 
What  ice-bound  griefs  have  been  broken. 
What  rivers  of  love  have  been  stirred, 
By  a  word  in  kindness  spoken — 
By  only  a  gentle  word! 

—  The  Universe. 


The  Old  Hair  Trunk. 


(Conclusion.) 
V. 

Uncle  JefF  delivered  the  mail,  whispered 
to  Father  John  to  go  tell  Mrs.Travers  there 
was  nothing  for  her,  knowing  the  priest 
could  give  comfort  with  the  bad  news  (and 
this  was  very  bad;  for  she  had  made  a  final 
appeal  for  an  extension  of  the  mortgage,  and 
the  silence  meant  refusal),  then  he  went  to 
join  the  children.  It  was  getting  on  towards 
dusk,  and  he  lit  a  lamp,  and  they  all  stole 
to  the  trunk-room. 

"There  it  is,  Uncle  JefF,"  said  Lee,  re- 
moving the  shawl.    "Ain't  it  awful?" 

And  it  was  a  pretty  hard-looking  gash — 
worse  than  when  they  left  it;  for  it  had 
gone  on  splitting. 

"Hum!"  said  Uncle  JefF,  and  he  began 
softly  to  whistle,  "Old  Zip  Coon." 

"Glory!  it's  a  heap  bigger  than  it  was, 
and  all  the  stuffing's  coming  out!"  cried 
Philip,  pointing  to  what  looked  like  old 
brown  linen  rags  oozing  through  the  gap. 

"Pull  it  out,  Phil,"  said  Uncle  JefF,— 


The  Ave  Maria. 


189 


•;         ''all  of  it;  then  maybe  I  can  get  the  edges 
;*         together  and  stitch  them." 
^,  "There's  something  hard  and  crackley 

A        under  it, ' '  said  Phil,  as  the  rags  tore  away 
t        in  his  hands 

r  ** Maybe  it's  the  brownie,"  said  Edie; 

fc  . :    "  and  maybe  that's  his  clothes  Philip's  tear- 

■L      ing.   He'll  be  mad  if  it  is,  and  he'll  pinch 

^B   ns  and  beat  us  black  and  blue.  Oh, dear!" 

^F       ' '  Nonsense,  sweetheart ! ' '  said  Uncle  Jeff; 

H      ' '  see,  it's  only  paper. ' '  And  he  pulled  at  it. 

H  What  looked  like  a  square  envelope-end 

appeared,  and  lines  of  crabbed  writing  ran 

across  its  width.   Uncle  Jeff  looked  closer, 

changed  color,  then: 

"  Hold  the  lamp,  quick,  Clarence!" 
And  from  his  pocket  he  took  his  knife, 
and — oh,  horror!— began  cutting  right  and 
left,  and  even  tearing  off  the  old  hair  cover. 
When  the  top  was  well  bared,  he  dre\y  out 
a  long  package  of  stout  parchment,  folded 
many  times,  and  bearing  a  red  seal  quite  as 
large  as  a  small  saucer,  much  cracked  and 
chipped,  but  still  holding  a  bunch  of  nar- 
row green  ribbons. 

He  glanced  down  the  first  page,  fell  on 
his  knees,  and,  bowing  his  battle-scarred 
face,  gasped  rather  than  said : 

"Merciful  Lord,  I  thank  Thee!  O  Lady 
of  Help,  blessed  be  Thy  name!"  Then  he 
turned  to  the  youngsters  and  said:  "Run 
down  and  send  Mrs.  Ridout  to  me;  and 
then,  kittens,  go  into  the  chapel  and  say 
a  decade  to  thank  Mother  Mary  for  me. 
Won't  you ?^' 

Soon  it  was  noised  about  that  some  mar- 
vellous thing  had  happened,  and  when  it 
was  known  that  Father  John  had  asked  the 
household  to  meet  in  the  hall  at  nine  o'clock 
to  hear  abaut  it,  there  wasn'  t  a  man, woman 
or  child  on  the  place,  black  or  white,  miss- 
ing when  the  big  eight-day  clock  began  to 
boom. 

"My  friends,"  said  Father  John,  "  when 
Mrs.  Travers  was  a  child  she  was  adopted 
|-  by  a  wealthy  uncle — a  bachelor, — who  an- 
H  nounced  that  he  had  made  her  his  heiress, 
H  ■  and  had  her  with  him  constantly  until  her 
^L  marriage.  But  when  he  died  the  only  will 
^■i-that  could  be  found  was  one  dated  the  year 

I 


she  was  born,  and  which  gave  her  just  the 
same  portion  as  the  others.  On  his  death- 
bed, though,  he  seemed  anxious  and  restless 
about  a  little  old  trunk  that  had  been  the 
constant  companion  of  his  wanderings.  He 
spoke  several  times  about  it,  but  not  clearly, 
for  he  was  paralyzed ;  and  then,  too,  he  died 
suddenly.  But  he  managed  to  make  Mrs. 
Travers  understand  she  was  to  keep  it,  and 
she  has  done  so,  for  old  times'  sake,  up  to 
to-day.  Everybody  thought  the  will  queer, 
but  she  would  not  dispute  it,  especially  as 
the  fortune  left  was  so  much  smaller  than 
any  one  expected,  and  gradually  the  whole 
matter  dropped  out  of  rnind. 

"You  all  know,  dear  friends,  the  straits 
we  have  been  in,  the  sorrow  that  hung  over 
my  dear  old  mother's  head,  and  the  burden 
on  Jeff  and  Aline,  and  ho  w  it  all  came  about 
through  the  want  of  money.  You  also  know 
how  a  novena  has  beeu  made  to  Our  Lady 
to  beg  Her  to  incline  Her  Son's  Heart  to 
pity  this  temporal  need  of  His  children. 
Well,  to-day,  through  an  accident — if  in 
God's  plans  anything  can  be  called  an  acci- 
dent,— another  will  of  Uncle  John's  was 
discovered;  a  will  that  fulfils  his  promise 
to  my  mother,  and  saves  her  home,  and 
gives  her  back  prosperity  and  plenty.  She 
is  directed  in  these  lines" — pointing  to  the 
endorsement  on  the  end — "to  go  to  Boston 
and  claim  her  property,  so  she  and  the 
Major  will  start  to-morrow  afternoon.  Our 
novena  ends  to-morrow.  Let  us  receive 
Holy  Communion  with  devout  recognition 
of  the  mercy  of  God  to  these  His  children." 

The  men  all  shook  hands,  the  women 
kissed  one  another  and  Mrs.  Travers,  the 
children  rolled  and  squealed  in  high  feather 
at  the  happy  termination  of  their  curiosity- 
seeking,  and  the  darkies  pranced  and  chuc- 
kled to  think  ' '  ole  miss'  was  a-gwine  to 
live  VC&.^  folks  agin. "  Then  all  dispersed  to 
prepare  for  the  morrow. 

Mrs.  Travers  went  to  Boston,  called  at  the 
bank,  presented  her  papers,  and  created  a 
wild  excitement  by  proving  to  be  the  clai- 
mant of  the  box  that  had  become  a  mystery 
during  the  forty-five  years  it  had  lain  in  the 


190 


The  Ave  Maria. 


vault.  Every  memorandum  was  too  accu- 
rate, every  paper  too  well  drawn  up,  to  need 
more  than  a  casual  examination,  especially 
as  the  will  wound  up  with,  "Present  this 
mem.  to  the  bank,  and  tell  them  to  deliver 
to  you  the  box  marked  J,  T. ,  and  bearing 
the  number  7864  on  the  inside  of  the  cover.' ' 
And  in  a  few  days  Mrs.Travers  was  in  pos- 
session of  something  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars. 

No  more  trouble  at  Fair  Point  now.  Peace 
and  plenty  reigned,  and  the  whole  county 
rejoiced  over  the  good  fortune  of  the  family 
so  loved  and  honored;  and  all  the  county 
families  came  '*in  couples  and  groups,"  as 
the  old  butler  said,  tooflfer  congratulations; 
"an'  dey  rung  dat  ar  bell  tell  the  co'd  hung 
slack,  an'  de  tongue  done  flop  like  a  houn's 
tongue  when  he  chase  de  fox  an'  lose'm.'' 

And  the  first  thing  they'd  ask  for  would 
be  a  sight  of  the  trunk.  But,  bless  you !  they 
didn't  recognize  it;  for  it  was  covered  with 
plush  and  fringed  with  bullion,  and  set 
upon  a  tiger  skin  (like  Eastern  royalties) 
at  the  end  of  the  drawing-room. 

What  did  Mrs.Travers'  uncle  put  the  will 
in  the  top  of  the  trunk  for?  Well,  he  was  a 
bit  of  what  we  call  ' '  a  crank, ' '  and  this  was 
what  his  family  called  ' '  one  of  Uncle  John's 
little  peculiarities." 


A  Fountain  of  Consolation. 


BY   E.  v.  N. 


I. 

It  was  the  Vigil  of  the  Feast  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  in  the  year  1304.  A  burning  sun 
had  made  the  golden  ears  of  wheat  droop, 
and  ever  and  anon  a  sultry  south  wind 
raised  clouds  of  fine  dust,  and  seemed  to 
bear  on  its  wings  the  heat  of  the  torrid 
zone.  Two  peasant  women,  followed  by  a 
donkey,  were  on  their  way  from  Arras  to  the 
Chateau  of  Tramecourt.  They  were  quite 
overcome  with  weariness,  but  seemed  to 
suffer  still  more  fiwn  grief;  for  the  burdens 
of  the  body  are  easier  to  carry  than  those 
of  the  mind  and  heart.  The  younger  of  the 


two,  a  girl  of  twelve,  occasionally  brushed 
aside  a  tear  that  in  spite  of  beiself  would 
roll  over  her  sunburnt  cheek.  The  elder 
watched  her  child  with  anxious  solicitude, 
and  at  length  remarked : 

"I  see  you  are  tired  out,  dear  Amy;  but 
we  shall  soon  be  at  the  Fonntaic,  and  then 
we  can  rest  a  while." 

"Yes,  but  though  I  were  ever  so  well 
rested  and  refreshed,  I  could  not  forget 
brother  Claude,  or  reconcile  myself  to  the 
loss  of  my  two  pretty  hens,"  and  she  cast  a 
sympathizing  glance  at  the  latter  as  they 
lifted  their  tufted  heads  above  the  basket 
which  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

"We  must  will  what  God  wills,  child 
dear,  and  not  murmur  against  Him  or  our 
superiors.  We  owe  the  lords  of  the  manor 
of  Tramecourt  great  reverence. ' ' 

"And  a  big  ground-rent  too,"  rejoined 
Amy,  with  a  sigh. 

' '  Certainly ;  we  hold  our  lease  from  them,, 
and,  like  the  other  tenants,  we  must  pay 
rent — eighty-four  bushels  of  wheat  at  St. 
Remy,  a  fat  goose  at  Christmas,  two  dozen 
of  eggs  at  Eistertide,  and  two  good  chick- 
ens at  St.  John  Baptist.  It  is  fortunate  that 
we  have  the  fowls." 

"Dear  little  pets!  To-night  the  cook  will 
roast  them  on  the  spit  for  the  grandees, 
and  poor  Claude  will  have  nothing  better 
than  a  little  water- gruel  of  black  flour." 

"But  we  have  no  cause  to  complain  of 
our  landlords;  they  did  not  make  us  poor." 

Whilst  the  mother  and  daughter  thus 
conversed,  they  reached  a  bend  in  the  road, 
where  stood  a  number  of  enormous  oaks 
several  centuries  old.  Under  their  thick 
shade  the  sparkling  water  that  sprang  from 
a  hill  close  by  had  been  collected  in  a  stone 
j  basin,  which  age  and  moss  had  bronzed. 
On  one  side  of  the  ancient  curb  a  pious  hand 
had  carved  ''''Benedicite^  fontes^  Domino^^'' 
and  the  opposite  side  was  adorned  with  a 
bas-relief  representing  a  battle.  This  place 
was  called  the  Fountain  of  Presles;  no  one 
then  alive  knew  its  origin,  but  the  word 
Presles  and  the  bas-relief  seemed  to  com- 
memorate a  great  battle.  Perhaps  the  Atre- 
bates  had  met  the  legions  of  Caesar  there!! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


191 


\ 


The  oaks  had,  without  doubt,  witnessed  the 
ceremonies  of  Gallic  Druids ;  and  who 
knows  but  a  messenger  sent  by  the  Prince 
of  the  Apostles  had  traced  the  words  of  Holy 
Writ  on  the  inviting  place  of  repose? 

After  resting  a  while,  and  bathing  their 
foreheads  in  the  waters  of  the  spring,  Amy 
gathered  a  large  bouquet  of  fragrant  blos- 
soms of  eglantine,  which  grew  there  in 
great  abundance,  saying  that  she  would 
offer  it  to  the  Blessed  Mother  to  obtain 
Claude's  restoration  to  health;  and,  plung- 
ing a  large  gourd  into  the  sparkling  liquid, 
she  added, ' '  This,  too,  shall  be  for  Claude — 
my  poor,  languishing  brother!"  Then  re- 
suming their  walk,  they  soon  found  them- 
selves in  presence  of  the  imposing  pile 
of  Tramecourt  Castle.  It  was  a  fortress 
so  girt  with  dikes  that  the  spectator  could 
barely  discern  its  lofty  ramparts,  its  loop- 
holed  towers,  and  the  graceful,  aerial  spire 
of  the  chapel.  The  drawbridge  was  lowered, 
and  the  courtyard  thronged  with  tenants, 
who  had  come  like  our  friends  to  pay  the 
feudal  ground-rent. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  audience  hall  sat 
a  personage, who  was  saluted  profoundly  by 
all  who  entered.  It  was,  however,  no  imperi- 
ous feudal  lord  that  occupied  the  lofty  dais. 
The  assembly  was  presided  over  by  Aloysia. 
Lady  of  the  Manor— a  sweet,  mild-faced 
girl  of  only  ten  years.  She  was  still  in 
mourning  weeds  for  her  deceased  father, 
and  her  robe  of  black  velvet,  bordered  with 
ermine,  fell  in  massive  folds  on  the  marble 
pavement,  while  the  rich,  soft  veil  that 
floated  from  her  coronet  made  her  delicate 
person  appear  even  more  diminutive.  She 
replied  to  the  salutations  of  the  gentry  and 
the  peasants  in  the  most  amiable  and  ap- 
propriate terms;  and  when  a  request  was 
made  to  the  bailiff  at  her  side, she  supported 
the  petition  with  modest  dignity.  "Speak 
to  me,  my  friends,"  she  would  say  to  the 
peasantry,  "with  the  same  freedom  as  you 
did  to  my  mother.  How  often  she  said, 
*  What  is  not  found  in  the  cottage  must  be 
had  at  the  castle'!" 

After  a  while  Amy  and  her  mother  ap- 
proached. 


"Who  are  these?"  inquired  Lady  Alo- 
ysia of  her  attendant. 

"These,  madame,  rent  the  fee-farm  called 
L'  Homme  Arm^.  The  woman  is  a  widow 
and  the  mother  of  two  children.  This  is  her 
daughter.  They  seem  sad  and  weary. ' ' 

"Call   them,  please.    I   must   speak   tO' 
them." 

The  lady  attendant  beckoned  to  Amy^ 
who  advanced  and  tremblingly  knelt  on  the 
steps  of  the  dais. 

"Tell  me,  child,  why  are  you  so  sad?" 

"Noble  Lady — "  began  the  girl, but  she 
could  not  proceed ;  the  array  of  maids  of 
honor,  pages,  etc.,  grouped  around  the 
throne,  filled  her  with  awe. 

"Do not  be  frightened, dear,"  said  Lady 
Aloysia,  taking  her  hand;  "speak  out?" 

"Madame,  my  brother  Claude  is  ill  with 
fever, and, although  I  have  asked  the  Blessed ' 
Virgin  to  cure  him,  he  is  no  better,  and  he 
needs  broth  and  other  nourishment.  We 
have  no  meat,  and  no  money  to  buy  any; 
for  the  foragers  took  our  cattle,  and  the 
winter  was  so  hard  that  we  lost  all  our 
hens." 

"Then,  my  child,  why  did  you  bring 
those  two  chickens?" 

"Noble  Lady, because  they  are  appointed 
for  our  ground- rent,  and  we  were  thankful 
to  God  that  we  had  them." 

Aloysia  dropped  a  tear  of  pity  on  Amy's 
sunburnt  hand,  and  said:  "Be  consoled, 
my  good  girl;  henceforth  for  ground-rent 
at  St.  John  Baptist  you  will  bring  me  a 
gourd  of  fresh  water  from  the  Fountain  of 
Presles,  and  a  bunch  of  wild  roses  like  these, 
if  you  can  get  them. ' ' 

"  Ob,we  can  get  them  easily,kind  Lady ! " 
answered  Amy;  "they  grow  in  abundance 
at  the  Fountain." 

"And  you  shall  have  twenty-four  bushels 
of  wheat,  and  three  golden  crowns  to  buy  a 
milch  cow.  Bailiff,  be  kind  enough  to  give 
her  a  certificate  of  this,  and  note  it  also  in 
the  records." 

Amy  kissed  the  hand  of  the  noble  Aloysia^ 
and  the  hem  of  her  robe,  and  then  with- 
drew to  rejoice  the  sorrow^-stricken  heart  of 
her  mother. 


192 


The  Ave  Maria. 


II. 

Ten  years  elapsed,  and  the  Eve  of  St. 
John  Baptist  saw  Amy  once  more  on  the 
road  to  Tramecourt.  She  was  now  a  tall, 
beautiful  woman,  and  tripped  lightly  on- 
ward with  her  blossoms  of  fresh  eglantine, 
and  her  gourd  well  filled  from  the  Fountain 
— her  annual  tribute  to  the  Lady  of  the 
Manor.  As  usual  the  courtyard  was  filled 
with  tenantry  taking  receipts  from  the 
bailiff,  but  the  audience  hall  was  vacant, 
and  Amy  looked  around  in  vain  for  her 
"benefactress. 

"Ah!  Amy,  is  that  you?  Thrice  wel- 
come!" cried  the  bailiff.  "My  Ladv  Alo- 
ysia  is  ill  with  fever,  and  anxiously  waiting 
your  arrival.  Here,  page,  show  Amy  to  your 
mistress'  bedroom." 

Amy  timidly  entered  the  vast  apartment, 
sumptuously  adorned  with  paintings,  tapes- 
try, and  sculpture,  and  ventured  to  the  foot 
of  Lady  Aloysia's  bed.  Though  extremely 
weak,  she  raised  herself  on  her  pillows  at 
the  sight  of  Amy,  and  exclaimed,  joyously, 
"Oh, here  you  aie  with  the  sweet  wild  roses! 
How  delicious  their  perfume!  I  need  not 
ask  if  you  are  well,  for  your  cheeks  are  as 
pink  as  the  petals  of  the  eglantine,  while 
mine  have  become  white  as  wax.  I  have 
intermittent  fever." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  my  Lady,  to  find  you 
ill;  but  if  you  are  suffering  from  fever,  let 
me  give  you  a  draught  of  this  spring- water. 
I  gave  it  to  Claude  every  morning  when  he 
was  sick,  and  he  soon  got  well." 

"Indeed?  Perhaps  the  water  is  medic- 
inal," and  she  took  the  sparkling  beverage. 

"If  you  find  that  it  helps  you, ' '  said  Amy, 
**I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  bring  you 
some  every  morning,  and  we  will  ask  Our 
Blessed  Lady's  benediction." 

Aloysia  reflected  a  moment,  then  said: 
^'Listen,  Amy.  I  will  take  the  water,  and 
if,  with  the  aid  of  Our  Mother  in  heaven, 
I  am  cured,  I  will  build  a  hospice  at  the 
Fountain  of  Presles,  and  entrust  it  to  six 
religious.  It  shall  be  under  the  invocation 
of  the  Health  of  the  Sick,  and  travellers 
and  sick  people  shall  receive  there  all  the 
attentions  of  Christian  charity.   I  will  be- 


stow on  it  the  ground-rent  of  the  farm  called 
L' Homme  Arme,  and  every  year  you  will 
carry  your  tribute  of  wild  roses  to  Our 
Lady's  .shrine.  You  are  witness  to  my  sacred 
promise. ' ' 

"  You  will  certainly  be  cured,  my  Lady," 
said  her  admiring  friend;  "and,  if  God 
spares  me,  I  shall  gladly  bring  my  eglantine 
to  the  chapel  dedicated  to  Our  Queen." 

Lady  Aloysia's  promise  was  blessed  by 
God.  She  was  soon  restored  to  perfect 
health,  and  gave  orders  to  have  a  grand 
hospice  erected  at  the  Fountain  of  Presles, 
and  there  devout  pilgrims,  travellers,  and 
those  who  were  fever-siricken  were  relig- 
iously cared  for. 

In  this  home  of  charity  and  sacrifice, 
Amy  assumed  the  livery  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  in  their  season  never  failed  to  renew 
the  crown  of  wild  roses  that  graced  the 
statue  of  Sweet  Mary,  Health  of  the  Sick. 

Later  on  the  Lady  Aloysia  came  and 
asked  an  asylum  in  the  convent  she  had 
founded.  Heart-broken  from  a  succession  of 
crosses,  she  found  herself  the  widow  of  a 
valiant  knight  who  fell  at  Crecy,  and  child- 
less; for  her  three  sons  were  slain  at  Agin- 
court.  A  few  drops  of  joy  were  reserved  to 
sweeten  her  chalice  of  grief,  by  meeting 
with  Amy,  the  transformed  friend  of  her 
youth.  Often  they  conversed  of  the  past, 
and  the  holy  nun  drew  from  the  treasures 
of  her  interior  life  words  of  hope  and  con- 
solation for  the  afflicted  Aloysia.  Wearied  of 
worldly  grandeur,  the  noble  widow  often 
gazed  with  delight  on  the  lovely  crown  of 
wild  roses,  and  their  fragrance  never  failed 
to  revive  her  drooping  heart. 
.  But  the  brilliant  and  agitated  life  of  the 
Lady  Aloysia  soon  came  to  a  close,  and  her 
humble  friend  bedewed  with  tears  of  sincere 
affection  the  blossoms  of  fresh  eglantine 
that  she  scattered  over  the  pall  of  her  kind 
benefactress. 


If  it  takes  a  boy  twenty-five  minutes  to 
cut  three  sticks  of  wood  to  get  supper  by, 
how  long  will  it  take  him  next  morning  to 
walk  three  miles  to  meet  a  circus  coming  to 
town? 


^n^ 


Vol.  XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  27,  1887. 


No.  9. 


'CoBTTifht  •— R«T.  D.  E.  Hmi80K,  C.  S.  C.l 


The  Fellowship  of  the  Immortals. 


BY  E.  P.  R. 


rrmS  is  my  attic  room;  the  walls  and  floor 
^   Are  bare  of  all  the  luxuries  of  art, 
Yet  here  are  treasures  which  I  value  more, 

And  which  are  always  dearer  to  my  heart. 
In  rare  confusion  scattered  round,  on  shelves 

And  chairs,  and  filling  all  convenient  nooks, 
Are  the  delights  of  one  who  fondly  delves 

For  learning  in  a  glorious  host  of  books. 
True  friends  are  they,  whose  dear  love  never 
goes! 

And,  having  them,  why  should  I  wish  for 
more, 
Since  thro'  their  trusty  channels  always  flows 

The  storied  wine  which  thrilled  the  gods  of 
yore? 
And,  drinking  deep,  in  enviable  dreams, 
I  walk  with  them  beside  their  mystic  streams. 


Honor  Rendered  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


DR.JANSSEN  REPLIES  TO  HIS  CRITICS. 


R.  JANSSEN,  the  celebrated  Ger- 
man historian,  has  published  a 
spirited  reply  to  certain  critics  who 
took  him  to  task  for  what  they  considered 
his  extravagant  expressions  concerning  de- 
votion to  Our  Blessed  Lady.  The  reply  is 
so  pointed  and  so  exhaustive  that  we  give 
a  translation  of  ihe  greater  portion  of  it. 
He  writes: 


No  one  need  be  surprised  at  the  great 
respect  shown  by  the  Church  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Any  Catholic  acquainted  with  the 
teachings  of  his  religion  knows  by  experi- 
ence that  we  honor  Mary  only  because  of 
all  the  graces  bestowed  on  Her  by  the  Lord, 
and  he  will  take  no  scandal  from  those 
words  of  an  enthusiastic  preacher  which 
so  shock  my  critics:  "If  I  had  a  hundred 
tongues  and  a  hundred  mouths,  and  a  voice 
of  brass,  I  could  not  yet  say  aught  that  is 
worthy  of  Thee,  O  Mary !  I  console  my- 
self with  the  words  of  Jerome,  who  says: 
'Though  none  of  us  is  qualified, yet  even 
the  meanest  sinner  need  never  desist  from 
the  praises  of  Mary.'  It  is  true  that  I  know 
not  what  to  set  before  you,  but  I  will  pluck 
for  you  the  roses  and  sweet-smelling  flowers 
of  the  holy  Doctors. ' ' 

"The  holy  Doctors"  here  referred  to 
were  all  the  zealous  panegyrists  of  the  Holy 
Virgin.  Did  not  St.  Cyril,  a  thousand  years 
before,  preach  in  a  similar  style?  In  the 
liturgy  used  in  the  first  centuries  of  the 
Church,  and  attributed  to  St.  James,  we 
find  these  words :  * '  When  with  all  the  saints 
and  just  we  commemorate  our  most  holy, 
unspotted,  and  most  glorious  Lady,  Mary, 
the  ever-intact  Virgin  and  Mother  of  God, 
we  are  thereby  recommending  ourselves  and 
our  whole  life  to  Christ,  our  God."  "Let 
us  celebrate  the  memory  of  our  most  holy, 
unspotted,  most  glorious  and  Blessed  Lady, 
Mary,  the  Mother  of  God  and  the  intact 
Virgin,  in  order  that  through  Her  interces- 
sion we  may  obtain  all  mercy.   Hail  Mary, 


194 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Thou  art  full  of  grace;  the  Lord  is  with 
Thee;,  blessed  art  Thou  amongst  women, 
and  blessed  is  the  Fruit  of  Thy  womb;  for 
Thou  hast  borne  the  Saviour  of  our  souls  " 
"It  is  just  that  we  style  Thee  blessed — the 
ever-blessed  Mother  of  God,  exalted  above 
all  blame;  Mother  of  our  God,  more  mag- 
nificent than  the  Cherubim,  more  glorious 
than  the  Seraphim, who, without  detriment 
to  Thy  virginity,  hast  borne  God,  the 
Word.  In  Thee,  who  art  full  of  grace,  all 
creatures  rejoice;  the  choirs  of  angels  and 
the  race  of  men  venerate  Thee,  who  art  a 
sanctified  temple." 

In  almost  the  same  words  St.  Chrysostom 
in  his  liturgy  addresses  the  Blessed  Virgin; 
he  even  introduced  the  Angelical  Saluta- 
tion into  the  Holy  Mass.  St.  Athanasius 
also,  the  great  champion  of  the  Catholic 
faith  in  the  God- Man  in  opposition  to  the 
Arians,  prayed  and  taught  the  people  to 
pray  thus:  "We  proclaim  Thee,  O  Mary! 
over  and  over  again  and  at  all  times,  blessed. 
To  Thee  we  cry  out :  Remember  us,  O  Most 
Holy  Virgin!  who  after  being  delivered 
didst  still  remain  a  virgin.  Hail,  full  of 
grace;  the  Lord  is  with  Thee  All  the 
hierarchies  of  angels  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth  proclaim  that  Thou  art  blessed 
amongst  women,  and  that  blessed  is  the 
Fruit  of  Thy  womb.  Pray  for  us,  O  Mistress 
and  Lady,  Queen  and  Mother  of  God!" 

No  higher  praise  can  be  bestowed  upon 
the  Blessed  Virgin  than  was  spoken  by  the 
Angel  at  the  Annunciation  in  the  name 
and  by  the  authority  of  God.  This  form  of 
homage  to  Mary  in  the  Angelical  Saluta- 
tion, which  will  be  daily  uttered  with  respect 
and  love  even  to  the  end  of  time,  is  in  the 
eyes  of  God  and  of  the  world  a  Christian 
confession  of  faith.  • 

When  the  Church  invites  us  to  say  the 
Angelus  three  times  a  day,  what  does  she 
desire  thereby  but  that  we  should  call  to 
mind  the  great  and  fundamental  mystery 
of  the  Incarnation  of  Christ  with  immediate 
reference  to  His  Mother,  who  out  of  all 
earthly  beings  was  the  only  witness  of  this 
mystery?  All  the  honor  shown  to  Mary 
flows  back  to  God.  As  Mary  on  earth  was 


the  guardian  of  Her  divine  Son,  as  She 
bore  Him  in  Her  womb,  clasped  Him  in  Her 
arms,  nourished  Him  at  Her  breast,  so  the 
praises  and  honors  shown  Her  by  Catholics 
serve  only  to  confirm  and  to  proclaim  aloud 
the  right  belief  in  Him  as  the  God-Man. 
Every  church  and  chapel  dedicated  to  Her, 
every  confraternity  instituted  in  Her  honor, 
every  picture  representing  Her,  has  for  ob- 
ject to  raise  our  minds  to  the  One  who, 
although  happy  from  eternity  with  the 
Father,  yet  for  the  sake  of  sinners  "had  no 
horror  of  the  Virgin's  womb." 

Human  nature,  which  the  Saviour  actu- 
ally and  truly  took  from  Mary,  was  united 
to  the  Divinity  in  one  Person,  the  source  of 
salvation  and  grace.  And  since  it  pleased 
God  to  bestow  upon  the  world  through  Mary 
the  Grace  of  all  graces,  the  Author  of  grace, 
we  honor  and  glorify  Mary,  and  we  cling  to 
the  belief  that  even  yet  God  sends  us  gifts 
and  graces  through  Her  who  was  full  of 
grace,  when  with  humble  trust  we  pray  for 
them.  Every  prayer  addressed  to  Mary  is  a 
prayer  for  Her  influence  as  intercessor  with 
God,  the  only  Lord  and  dispenser  of  all  good 
gifts. 

My  critics  will  not  find  one  solitary'  prayer 
of  the  Church  that  appeals  to  Mary  as 
the  bestower  of  grace.  That  prayer  from 
the  Hortulus  AniniiE  which  they  cite,  and 
which  is  so  repugnant  to  them,  is  found  also 
in  my  prayer-book,  and  I  am  not  conscious 
that  I  turn  to  any  other  source  but  the 
Saviour  Himself  when  I  thus  invoke  Mary: 
Ut  per  tuam  sanctissiviam  intercession e7n 
et  per  tua  merita  ovinia  mea  dirigantur  et 
disponantur  opera^  secundum  tuam  tuique 
Filii  voluntatem.  * 

When  the  Catholic  prays  thus  he  places 
no  confidence  thereby  in  Mary  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  living  God:  no  confidence  in 
"merits"  that  She  did  not  acquire  solely 
through  the  grace  of  God — other  '  *  merits ' ' 
there  are  none,  either  for  the  Holy  Virgin  or 
for  any  other  creature.  Thus  there  is  found 

*  That,  through  Thy  most  holy  intercession  and 
Thy  merits,  all  my  works  may  be  directed  and 
disposed  according  to  Thy  will  and  that  of  Thy 
Son. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


195 


therein  no  lack  of  confidence  in  God,  but 
simply  a  distrust  of  the  worthiness  of  one's 
own  prayers.  The  Catholic  knows  from 
Holy  Scripture  that  God  prefers  to  hear  the 
prayers  of  the  just,  and  that  He  Himself 
has  said :  '  I  will  do  the  will  of  them  that 
do  My  will. '  Therefore,  with  the  sense  of 
his  own  unworthiness,  the  suppliant  turns 
to  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  of  the  saints,  who  are  worthier  of  being 
heard  than  he  is,  and  in  their  company  he 
appears  before  the  throne  of  God  in  the 
firm  conviction  that  then  his  prayers  will 
be  more  readily  heard. 

I  would  like  to  address  to  every  Protes- 
tant this  question:  If  it  be  true  that  the 
worship  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  of  the 
saints  in  the  Catholic  Church  is  ''an  injury 
to  the  honor  of  Christ,"  and  we,  as  is 
claimed, "  detract  from  the  mediatorship  of 
Christ  by  this  worship,"  whereas  amongst 
Protestants  "Christ  alone  is  looked  up  to," 
how  does  it  come  to  pass  that  in  the  Cath- 
olic Church,  and  in  her  alone,  the  belief  in 
Jesus  Christ  the  Lord,  and  His  divine  works 
of  redemption,  has  remained  unmoved  and 
immovable  in  all  times,  whilst  within  the 
Protestant  pale  this  belief  has  been  lost 
or  abandoned  by  so  many,  even  professed 
theologians  and  preachers? 


Fairy  Gold. 


BY    CHRISTIAN    REID, 


Epilogue. 

A  YEAR  from  the  summer  day  when 
three  girls  had  stood  together  on  the 
eve  of  parting  in  their  convent  school-room, 
the  same  three  were  seated  together  on  the 
shores  of  the  Lago  di  Como,  The  garden 
of  the  hotel  in  which  they  were  staying 
extended  to  the  verge  of  the  lake,  and  they 
had  found  a  lovely  leafy  nook,  surrounded  by 
oleander  and  myrtle,  with  an  unobstructed 
view  over  the  blue  sparkling  water  and  the 
beautiful  shores,  framed  by  mountains. 

"A  year  ago  to-day!"  said  Marion,  med- 
itatively, after  a  pause  of  some  length.  ' '  Do 


you  remember  how  we  wondered  when  and 
where  we  should  be  together  again?  And 
here  we  are,  with  an  experience  behind  us 
which  is  full  of  dramatic  changes  and  full 
of  instruction — at  least  for  me. ' ' 

' '  Certainly  for  me  also, ' '  observed  Helen. 
"  Looking  back  on  what  I  passed  through, 
I  realize  clearly  how  foolish  we  are  to  regret 
the  loss  of  things  that  seem  to  us  desirable, 
but  which  God  knows  to  be  just  the  reverse. 
How  miserable  I  was  for  a  time!  Yet  that 
very  misery  was  paving  the  way  for  my 
present  happiness." 

' '  Very  directly, ' '  said  Marion ;  ' '  yet  it  is 
something  I  do  not  like  to  think  of;  for  it 
might  all  have  ended  so  differently  but  for 
the  mercy  of  God — and  yours  too,  Helen. 
You  deserve  happiness,  because  you  were 
so  gentle  and  generous  under  unhappiness. 
As  for  me,  I  deserve  nothing  good,  yet  I 
have  gained  a  gieat  deal — the  gift  of  faith, 
relief  from  self-reproach,  and  the  great  pleas- 
ure of  being  here  with  you  and  Claire. ' ' 

Claire  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  smile. 
"The  pleasure  of  being  together  is  one  that 
we  all  share,"  she  said;  "and  also,  I  think, 
the  sense  of  great  gratitude  to  God.  How 
much  have  I,  for  instance,  to  be  grateful 
for — I  who  a  year  ago  went  forth  into  the 
world  with  so  much  reluctance — that  the 
way  has  been  made  so  clear  to  my  feet,  that 
I  have  now  such  a  sense  of  peace,  such  a 
conviction  of  being  in  the  right  path ! ' ' 

The  others  did  not  answer.  It  was  hard 
for  them — particularly  hard  for  Marion — to 
give  full  sympathy  on  this  point;  for  the 
pain  of  impending  separation  was  hanging 
over  them,  and  not  even  their  recognition 
of  the  peace  of  which  Claire  spoke  could 
make  them  altogether  willing  to  see  her 
pass  out  of  their  lives  forever.  There  is  the 
irrevocableness  and  therefore  the  pain  of 
death  in  such  partings,  intensified  by  the 
fact  that  just  in  proportion  as  a  character 
is  fitted  for  the  religious  life  does  it  possess 
the  virtues  to  endear  it  most  to  those  asso- 
ciated with  it  in  the  world.  In  such  cases 
renunciation  is  not  altogether  on  one  side; 
and  although  Marion  had  struggled  for  the 
strength  to  make   this  renunciation,  she 


196 


The  Ave  Maria. 


could  not  yet  control  herself  sufficiently  to 
speak  of  it.  Her  own  future  looked  very 
blank  to  her,  although  it  had  been  decided 
that  she  should  remain  with  Helen,  at  least 
for  a  time,  when  Claire  left  them. 

"I  will  stay  with  you  until  after  your 
return  to  America, ' '  she  had  said  to  Helen 
when  her  plans  were  discussed;  "but  then 
I  must  find  something  to  do — some  occupa- 
tion with  which  to  fill  my  life." 

Helen  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  am  sure  that 
George  will  never  consent  to  that,"  she 
answered. 

"And  what  has  George  to  do  with  it?" 
asked  Marion,  amused  by  the  calm,  posi- 
tive tone  of  Helen's  speech.  "I  am  really 
not  aware  that  he  has  any  control  over  me.' ' 

"Control — no,"  answered  Helen;  "but 
he  feels  that  he  owes  you  so  much — the 
recovery  of  his  father's  fortune  without  any 
expense  or  division — that  he  is  anxious  to 
find  something  he  can  do  for  you,  and  he 
has  said  again  and  again  how  much  he 
wished  that  you  would  allow  him  to  make 
you  independent." 

"He  could  not  make  me  independent  of 
the  need  to  fill  my  life  with  some  work 
worth  the  doing,"  said  Marion.  "I  do  not 
yet  perceive  what  it  is  to  be,  but  no  doubt 
I  shall  find  out." 

"Of  course  you  will  find  out,"  said 
Claire, with  her  gentle, unquestioning  faith. 
"God  never  fails  to  show  the  way  to  one 
who  is  willing  to  see  it." 

The  way,  however,  had  not  yet  been  made 
clear  to  Marion  as  the  three  sat  together  on 
this  anniversary  of  their  first  parting.  She 
felt  the  difierence  between  herself  and  her 
companions  very  keenly.  To  them  life 
showed  itself  as  a  clear  path,  which  they  had 
only  to  follow  to  be  certain  that  they  were 
in  the  way  of  duty.  All  doubts  and  perplexi- 
ties were  at  an  end  for  them,  whereas  for  her 
they  seemed  only  beginning.  What,  indeed, 
was  she  to  do  with  her  life?  She  could  as 
yet  see  no  answer  to  that  question,  and 
could  only  trust  that  in  God's  time  the  way 
would  be  made  clear  to  her. 

The  silence  after  Claire's  last  speech 
lasted  some  time;  for  there  seemed  little  to 


be  said,  though  much  to  be  felt,  on  the 
events  of  the  past  year.  At  length  Helen 
observed,  looking  around  toward  the  hotel, 
' '  How  long  George  is  in  coming !  He  prom- 
ised to  follow  us  almost  immediately,  and  I 
think  we  must  have  been  here  almost  an 
hour." 

"Oh!  no,"  said  Claire,  smiling,  "not  so 
long  as  that.  But  certainly  he  has  not  ful- 
filled his  promise  of  coming  soon. ' ' 

"And  it  is  a  pity,"  continued  Helen; 
"for  just  now  is  the  most  delightful  time 
to  be  on  the  water.  I  believe  I  will  go  and 
look  for  him.  Will  any  one  else  come  ? ' ' 

Claire,  who  was  always  in  readiness  to  do 
anything  asked  of  her,  assented  and  rose. 
But  Marion  kept  her  seat.  ' '  I  think  this  is 
almost  as  pleasant  as  being  on  the  water," 
she  said.  "But  when  you  have  found 
George,  and  he  has  found  a  boat,  and  all  is 
in  readiness,  you  may  summon  me.  Mean- 
while I  am  very  comfortable  where  I  am." 

"We  will  summon  you,  then, when  we 
are  ready,"  said  Helen.  And  the  two  walked 
away  toward  the  hotel. 

Marion,  who  had  still,  as  of  old,  a  great 
liking  for  solitude,  settled  herself,  after  the 
others  left,  in  a  corner  of  the  bench  on  which 
they  had  been  seated,  and  looked  at  the 
lovely  scene  before  her  with  eyes  which  saw 
its  beauty  as  in  a  dream.  She  was  living 
over  her  life  of  the  past  year  while  she  gazed 
at  the  distant,  glittering  Alpine  summits; 
and  although  she  had  spoken  truly  in  saying 
that  she  was  deeply  conscious  of  gratitude 
for  many  dangers  escaped,  and  chiefly  for 
the  wonderful  gift  of  faith,  there  neverthe- 
less remained  a  sharp  recollection  of  failure 
and  pain  dominating  all  her  thoughts  of 
the  past. 

Her  face  was  very  grave,  therefore,  and 
her  brows  knitted  with  an  expression  of 
thought  or  suff'ering,when  a  man  presently 
came  around  a  bend  of  the  path,  and  paused 
an  instant,  unobserved,  to  regard  her.  He 
saw,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  many  changes 
in  that  face  since  it  had  fascinated  him  first; 
but  they  were  not  changes  which  detracted 
from  its  charm.  The  beauty  was  as  strik- 
ing as  ever,  but  the  expression  had  altered 


The  Ave  Maria. 


197 


much.  There  was  no  longer  a  curve  of  dis- 
•dain  on  the  perfect  lips,  nor  a  light  of  mock- 
ery in  the  brilliant  e>  es.  The  countenance 
had  softened  even  while  it  had  grown  more 
serious,  and  its  intellectual  character  was 
more  manifest  than  ever.  These  things 
struck  Brian  Earle  during  the  minute  in 
which  he  paused.  Then,  fearing  to  be  ob- 
served, he  came  forward. 

His  step  on  ihe  path  roused  Marion's  at- 
tention, and,  turning  her  eyes  quickly  from 
the  distant  scene,  she  was  amazed  to  see 
before  her  the  man  who  was  just  then  most 
<:learly  in  her  thoughts. 

Startled  almost  beyond  the  power  of  self- 
control,  she  said  nothing.  It  was  he  who 
advanced  and  spoke.  ' '  Forgive  me  if  I  in- 
trude. Miss  Lynde — but  I  was  told  that  I 
should  find  you  here;  and — and  I  hoped  that 
you  would  not  object  to  seeing  me." 

Marion,  who  had  now  recovered  herself, 
held  out  her  hand  to  meet  his,  saying, 
quietly,  "Why  should  I  object?  But  it  is  a 
great  surprise.  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were 
in  this  part  of  the  world  at  all." 

' '  My  arrival  here  is  very  recent, ' '  he  said, 
sitting  down  beside  her;  'and  you  may 
fancy  my  surprise  when,  an  hour  after  my 
arrival,  I  met  George  Singleton,  and  heard 
the  extraordinary  news  of  his  marriage  to 
your  cousin." 

"That  must  have  astonished  you  very 
much.  We  first  heard  of  it  after  you  left 
Rome." 

' '  It  astonished  me  the  more,' '  he  said,  with 
some  hesitation,  "because  I  had  fancied  it 
likely  that  in  the  end  you  would  marry 
him. ' " 

"  I ! "  she  said,  coloring  quickly  and  viv- 
idly. Then  after  a  moment  she  added,  with 
a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  her  tone,  "Such  an 
idea  was  natural,  perhaps,  considering  your 
opinion  of  me.  But  it  was  a  great  mistake." 

"  So  I  have  learned, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  But 
when  you  speak  of  my  opinion  of  you,  may 
I  ask  what  you  conceive  it  to  be?" 

"Is  it  necessary  that  we  should  discuss 
it?"  she  asked,  with  a  touch  of  her  old 
haughtiness.  "It  is  not  of  importance — to 
me. ' ' 


"I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  said, with  some- 
thing of  humility.  "  But,  believe  me,  your 
opinion  of  it  is  of  importance  to  me.  There- 
fore 1  should  very  much  like  to  know  what 
you  believe  that  I  think  of  you." 

Her  straight  brows  grew  closer  together. 
She  spoke  with  the  air  of  one  who  wishes 
to  end  a  disagreeable  subject.  "This  seems 
to  me  very  unnecessary,  Mr.  Earle;  but, 
since  you  insist,  I  suppose  thai  you  think 
me  altogether  mercenary  and  ready,  if  the 
opportunity  had  been  given  me,  to  marry 
your  cousin  for  his  fortune." 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered  when  she 
ceased  speaking.  "I  am  much  obliged  by 
>our  frankness.  I  feared  that  you  did  me 
just  such  injustice;  and  yet.  Miss  Lynde, 
how  can  you  ?  In  the  first  place,  do  you 
suppose  that  I  am  unaware  that  you  gave 
his  father's  fortune  intact  to  my  cousin,  and 
in  the  second  place,  have  I  not  heard  that 
you  refused  it  when  he  offered  it  to  you 
again,  with  himself?  If  I  had  ever  fancied 
you  mercenary,  could  I  continue  to  so  mis- 
take }ou  after  hearing  these  things?  But 
indeed  I  never  did  think  you  mercenary, 
not  even  the  days  when  we  differed  most 
on  the  question  which  finally  divided  us.  I 
did  not  think  then  that  you  desired  wealth 
for  itself,  or  that  you  would  have  done  any- 
thing unworthy  to  gain  it;  but  I  thought 
vou  exaggerated  its  value  for  the  sake  of 
the  things  it  could  purchase,  and  I  believed 
then  (what  I  krioiv  now)  that  you  did  injus- 
tice to  the  nobleness  of  your  own  nature  in 
setting  before  yourself  worldly  prosperity 
as  your  ideal  of  happiness. ' ' 

She  shook  her  head  a  little  sadly.  "The 
less  said  of  the  nobleness  of  my  nature 
the  better,"  she  answered;  "but  I  soon 
found  that  the  ideal  was  a  very  poor  one, 
and  one  which  could  not  satisfy  me.  I  am 
glad  your  cousin  came  to  claim  that  fortune, 
which  might  else  have  weighed  me  down 
with  its  responsibility  to  the  end." 

"And  do  you  forgive  me,"  he  said,  lean- 
ing toward  her  and  lowering  his  voice, "  for 
having  refused  that  fortune?" 

' '  Does  it  matter, ' '  she  answered,  some- 
what nervously, "  whether  I  forgive  you  or 


198 


The  Ave  Maria. 


not?  It  would  have  ended  in  the  same  way. 
You,  too,  would  have  had  to  give  it  up  when 
your  cousin  appeared. ' ' 

*'But,  putting  that  aside,  can  you  not 
noiv  realize  a  little  better  my  motives,  and 
forgive  whatever  seemed  harsh  or  dictato- 
rial in  my  conduct?" 

Marion  had  grown  very  pale.  ''I  have 
no  right  to  judge  your  conduct,"  she  said. 

"You  had  a  right  then,  and  you  exercised 
it  severely.  Perhaps  I  was  too  presumpt- 
uous, too  decided  in  my  opinion  and  re- 
fusal. I  have  thought  so  since,  and  I  should 
like  to  hear  you  say  that  you  forgive  it." 

"I  can  not  imagine,"  she  said,  wi  h  a 
marked  lack  of  her  usual  self-passession, 
"why  you  should  attach  any  importance 
to  my  forgiveness— granting  that  I  have 
anything  to  forgive." 

"Can  you  not?  Then  I  will  tell  you  why 
I  attach  importance  to  it.  Because  during 
these  months  of  absence  I  have  learned  that 
my  attachment  to  you  is  as  great  as  it  ever 
was — as  great,  do  I  say?  Nay,  it  is  much 
greater,  since  I  know  you  better  now,  and 
the  nobleness  in  which  I  formerly  believed 
has  been  proved.  I  can  hardly  venture  to 
liope  for  so  much  happiness,  but  if  it  is  pos- 
sible that  you  can  think  of  me  again,  that 
you  can  forgive  and  trust  me,  I  should  try, 
by  God's  help, to  deserve  your  trust  better. " 

"Do  not  speak  in  that  manner,"  said 
Marion,  with  trembling  lips.  "It  is  I  who 
should  ask  forgiveness,  if  there  is  to  be  any 
question  of  it  at  all.  But  I  thought  you 
had  forgotten  me — it  was  surely  natural 
enough, — and  that  when  you  went  away  it 
was  because — on  account  of — Claire." 

"You  were  right,"  he  answered,  quietly. 
"I  meant  to  tell  you  that.  In  the  reaction 
of  my  disappointment  about  you,  I  thought 
of  your  friend;  because  I  admired  her  so 
much,  I  fancied  I  was  in  love  with  her.  But 
when  she  put  an  end  to  such  fancies  by  tell- 
ing me  gently  and  kindly  of  her  intention 
to  enter  the  religious  life,  I  learned  my  mis- 
take. The  thought  of  her  passed  away  like 
a  dream — like  a  shadow  that  has  crossed  a 
mirror, — and  I  found  that  you,  Marion,  had 
been  in  my  heart  all  the  time.  I  tested  my- 


self by  absence,  and  I  returned  with  the 
intention  of  seekir  g  you  wherever  you  were 
to  be  found,  and  asking  you  if  there  is  no 
hope  for  me — no  hope  of  winning  your 
heart  and  your  trust  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "You  have 
never  lost  either,"  she  said. 
(The  End.) 


A   Brave   Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA, 


(Continued.) 

THE  Bishop  exacted  profound  silence  in 
presence  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  One 
day  his  little  acolyte  was  snuffling  after  he 
had  served  Mass.  Monseigneur  whispered 
to  M^thol:  "  Pierre  has  forgotten  his  hand- 
kerchief; go  and  give  him  one  of  mine." 
Pierre  took  care  not  to  snuffle  after  that.  It 
was  difficult,  indeed,  to  forget  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Bishop  what  was  due  to  the 
Divine  Presence  he  was  adoring.  He  knelt 
upright,  motionless  as  a  statue,  his  hands 
joined,  his  sightless  eyes  fixed  in  adoration 
on  the  tabernacle,  as  if  trying  to  pierce  the 
twofold  darkness  that  veiled  his  God  from 
him — every  sense  suspended  in  the  inten- 
sity of  his  contemplation.  But  he  had  his 
hours  of  spiritual  darkness,  like  other  holy 
souls  Sometimes  his  Lord  would  hide  from 
him  and  withdraw  His  consolations,  and 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  took  the  trial  humbly  and 
simply,  like  a  child.  If  one  of  the  acolytes 
was  in  the  chapel  while  he  was  wrestling 
with  it,  he  would  call  him  and  say :  ' '  My 
child,  take  the  'Imitation, 'and  read  me  a 
few  verses."  The  little  boy  would  open  the 
book  at  hazard,  and  when  the  Bishop  had 
heard  some  sentence  that  gave  him  help, 
he  would  say,  "That  will  do,"  and  he  re- 
turned to  his  prayer. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  him  when  he  as- 
sisted at  the  ordination  of  one  of  his  adopted 
sons.  His  whole  heart  was  moved,  and  the 
joy  that  he  tasted  was  one  of  those  that 
may  be  said  to  give  a  foretaste  of  heaven. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


199 


The  Protestant  and  Masonic  propaganda 
was  in  furious  activity  when  the  Church 
proc  aimed  the  dogma  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception,  and  that  triumph  of  faith 
over  rationalism  seemed  to  have  goaded 
the  Freemasons  to  fiercer  onset  against  the 
Church.  Pius  IX.,  stricken  with  grief  at 
the  progress  of  their  diabolical  efforts,  ex- 
pressed to  several  French  prelates  a  desire  to 
see  some  vigorous  association  of  prayer  and 
faith  formed  to  oppose  them.  The  prelates 
on  returning  to  France  went  at  once  to  Mgr. 
de  Segur,  and  begged  him  to  convene  at  his 
house  a  meeting  of  priests  and  religious  to 
discuss  this  suggestion  of  the  Holy  Father. 
The  idea  was  taken  up  warmly  by  the  as- 
sembly of  holy  and  zealous  men,  who  met 
in  the  blind  Bishop's  drawing-room.  With- 
out further  delay  the  society  was  placed 
under  the  patronage  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  protests  and  his  already 
too  heavily  burdened  shoulders,  Mgr.  de 
Segur  was  named  president. 

The  post  involved  a  great  responsibility 

Land   an  enormous  increase  of  work.    He 

'shrank  from  neither,  and  God  blessed  his 

generosity,  and  made  the  society  prosper 

far  beyond  the  hopes  of  any  of  its  founders. 

He  travelled  through  the  provinces,  and 

ipreached  a  veritable  crusade  for  it;  he  went 

[from  one  bishop  to  another,  begging  their 

jatronage  and  firing  their  zeal  for  it;  he 

rent  to  every  monastery  and  community 

each  diocese  that  he  entered;  he  wrote 

)oks,  he  gave  lectures,  he  got  up  missions 

-he  put  his  whole  soul  and  all  his  might 
fto  the  work,  and  he  was  rewarded  by  mar- 
vellous results.  Wherever  the  society  was 
founded,  conversions  quickly  followed,  and 
a  change  for  the  better  was  noticeable  in 
the  parish.  It  would  be  impossible  to  give 
even  a  remote  idea  of  the  amount  of  good 
it  did — the  churches  it  built  or  restored,  the 
missions  it  founded,  the  libraries,  the  char- 
itable confraternities  for  succoring  souls 
and  bodies,  the  ceuvres  of  ever)  kind  that 
it  created.  At  the  time  of  Mgr.  de  S6gur's 
death  it  was  flourishing  in  every  diocese 
in  France,  and  had  spread  its  branches 
through  Spain, Italy, Belgium,  and  Canada; 


it  counted  fifteen  hundred  thousand  mem- 
bers, and  distributed  annually  in  alms 
ihirty-two  thousand  pounds  sterling.  These 
figures  will  enable  us  to  form  some  vague 
estimate  of  what  the  society  accomplished. 

In  1865  the  Bishop  went  to  Annecy  for 
the  second  centenary  of  the  canonization 
of  St.  Francis  of  Sales.  He  was  asked  to 
preach  the  paneg>  ric  of  the  Saint,  and  did 
so  with  great  eloquence  and  fervor,  improv- 
ing ihe  opportunity  b\  invoking  his  bless- 
ing on  the  society,  which  he  commended 
earnestly  to  the  zeal  of  the  immense  con- 
gregation. So  irresistible  was  the  charm  of 
his  eloquence,  that  a  worthy  priest  from  a 
distant  parish,  overcome  with  emotion,  ran 
up  the  platform  to  where  the  Bishop  stood, 
and  threw  his  arms  round  him  and  hugged 
him  with  delight. 

Another  incident  of  a  different  nature 
testifies  to  the  effect  of  the  same  sermon. 
A  poor  woman  had  brought  her  blind  child 
to  venerate  the  relics  of  St.  Francis,  and, 
feeling  her  confidence  suddenly  inflamed 
by  the  burning  words  of  the  preacher,  she 
said  to  the  child:  "Now,  kneel  down,  and 
ask  God,  through  the  intercession  of  St. 
Francis,  10  give  you  your  sight." — "I  can't, 
mother,"  replied  the  little  one;  "the  Bishop 
has  just  been  saying  that  we  ought  to  wish 
for  nothing  but  the  will  of  God.  I  will  ask 
St.  Francis  that  the  will  of  God  may  be 
done  to  me." 

Tradition  has  kept  the  memory  of  their 
great  apostle  so  living  ^mongst  the  people 
of  Annecy  that  they  all  speak  of  him  as  if 
he  had  been  a  contemporary — as  if  they 
had  seen  him.  They  found  many  points 
of  personal  resemblance  between  him  and 
Mgr.  de  Segur.  The  nuns  of  the  Visitation 
declared  that  he  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  their  saintly  Father  in  height  and 
figure,  and  begged  him  to  try  on  a  soutane 
of  the  Saint's,  which  Mgr.  de  Segur,  grate- 
ful for  the  privilege,  hastened  to  do.  To 
the  delight  of  the  community,  it  fitted 
almost  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  him.  There 
was  something  very  touching  in  the  marks 
of  respect  that  everywhere  followed  the 
blind  prelate.  When  he  walked   through 


200 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  streets  of  Annecy,  leaning  on  his  secre- 
tary or  Methol,  every  hat  was  raised,  and 
people  stood  uncovered  till  he  passed,  his 
head  erect,  his  sightless  eyes  gazing  at 
vacancy,  but  his  countenance  serene  and 
bright,  as  if  he  were  pleased  with  the 
courtesies  of  which  he  was  unconscious. 

This  visit  to  Annecy  was  fruitful  in  many 
spiritual  results.  The  society  took  root 
theie,  and  flourished  as  if  St.  Francis  him- 
self were  directing  it;  and  during  the  four 
and  twenty  years  that  Mgr.  de  Segur  pre- 
sided over  it,  he  had  few  gi  eater  consola- 
tions than  that  which  he  derived  from  the 
fruits  it.  put  forth  in  the  diocese  of  its 
saintly  patron. 

But  even  this  apostolate,  large  as  it  was, 
did  not  fully  satisfy  the  Bishop's  burning 
zeal.  Like  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  who  cast 
his  eyes  round  the  courts  and  slums  of 
Paris,  ar  d  groaned  over  the  bodily  suffer- 
ings of  the  neglected  poor,  and  knew  no  rest 
until  he  brought  relief  to  them,  so  did  Mgr. 
de  Segur  groan  over  the  spiritual  destitu- 
tion of  the  great  city,  so  far  more  popu- 
lous under  the  second  Empire  than  under 
Louis  XIV. ,  and  cry  out  to  God  for  strength 
and  means  to  come  to  its  assistance.  "It 
has  often  been  said, ' '  he  wrote,  ' '  that  we 
need  not  go  to  China  to  find  infidels.  And 
nothing  is  truer.  .  .  .  All  round  us  in  this 
vast  and  brilliant  Paris,  which  the  princes 
of  Europe  never  tire  admiring,  there  exists 
a  wide  belt  oi  faubourgs  containing  from 
six  to  seven  hundred  thousand  inhabitants, 
who  are,  most  of  them,  Christians  only  in 
name.  To  evangelize  these  abandoned 
masses  one  would  want  a  thousand  mis- 
sionary priests,  a  hundred  schools,  and  two 
hundred  churches.  Are  we  to  await  the 
interference  of  the  State  before  trying  to 
help  these  forsaken  populations?  Are  we 
to  leave  the  few  priests  who  are  laboring 
under  their  heavy  and  ungrateful  task,  to 
break  down  in  despair?" 

Mgr.  de  Segur  determined  that  he,  at 
least,  would  not  do  so.  He  conceived  the 
idea  of  evolving  a  great  effort  of  zeal  from 
the  Society  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales.  He 
broached  the  subject  to  several  influential 


parish  priests  in  Paris,  and  met  with  a  cord- 
ial response.  A  number  of  hard- worked 
vicars  volunteered  to  give  up  their  evenings 
to  the  work  of  evangelizing  ^t.  faubourgs. 
Forty  members  were  quickly  recruited,  and 
the  Conference  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales  was 
founded.  This  was  on  the  29th  of  June, 
1858.  The  first  mission  was  preached  in 
preparation  for  the  Feast  of  the  Assump- 
tion. It  was  a  grand  success.  The  working- 
men  crowded  round  the  pulpit,  where  for 
fifteen  days  the  fundamental  mysteries  of 
faith  were  preached  to  them  in  plain,  apos- 
tolic language,  and  numerous  conversions 
were  made. 

The  next  mission  was  in  the  Faubourg 
Mont  Parnasse.  The  success  here  was  ex- 
traordinary. Sinners  who  had  not  beeu  to 
the  Sacraments  for  twenty,  thirty,  forty 
years,  crowded  round  the  confessional;  chil- 
dren were  baptized,  enemies  were  recon- 
ciled, marriages  were  validated,  and  a  vast 
general  Communion  crowned  the  blessed 
labors  of  the  missionaries.  It  was  the  same 
harvest  everywhere.  Mgr.  de  Segur  opened 
every  mission  himself,  and  devoted  himself 
unsparingly  to  help  while  it  lasted. 

The  Conference  was  soon  in  demand 
everywhere.  La  Villette  was  about  the  most 
abandoned  and  demoralized  population  in 
Paris.  Thousands  of  the  inhabitants  lived 
and  died  without  ever  hearing  or  using  the 
name  of  God  except  as  a  profane  or  blasphe- 
mous expletive;  they  had  sunk  into  the 
lowest  stage  of  animalism,  ignorance,  and 
vice.  The  cur^  heard  of  the  wonders  that 
were  being  wrought  by  the  Conference  of 
St.  Francis,  and  came  to  Mgr.  de  Segur,  and 
entreated  him  to  have  a  mission  in  his  par- 
ish. The  undertaking  offered  little  encour- 
agement. What  could  a  few  priests  do  in  a 
fortnight,  a  month  even,  amongst  thirty- 
five  thousand  people,  all  hostile,  stubborn 
and  impious?  The  Bishop  could  not  refuse, 
however;  he  commended  the  undertaking 
to  God  and  St.  Francis,  and,  for  better  luck, 
determined  to  open  the  mission  on  the  ist 
of  May.  The  first  day  very  few  came  to  the 
sermons,  but  the  second  day  there  was  a  fair 
attendance,  and  on'the  third  the   church 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


20I 


wa>  crowded.  The  young  men  hurried  in  in 
their  blouses,  straight  from  their  work ;  the 
confessionals  were  besieged  every  evening, 
and  conversions,  almost  miraculous  in  their 
suddenness  and  sincerity,  followed  every  ser- 
mon. At  the  Mass  which  closed  the  mission 
one  thousand  persons  went  to  Communion. 

Mgr.  de  Segur  was  fond  of  relating  a  com- 
ical incident  which  occurred  at  the  end  of 
this  Villette  mission.  A  woman  who  had 
been  for  long  years  estranged  from  religion 
came  and  made  a  general  confession  after 
one  of  the  evening  instructions.  On  receiv- 
ing absolution,  she  was  so  full  of  joy  that 
she  could  hardly  contain  herself.  "I  never 
felt  so  happy  in  my  life ! ' '  she  exclaimed  to 
the  priest  who  had  reconciled  her  to  God. 
"Ah,  Monsieur,  if  you  could  nab  {pincer) 
my  husband  now,  what  a  mercy  it  would  be! 
He  is  not  a  bad  fellow,  but  he  won't  hear  a 
word  about  religion;  and  yet  he  has  come 
every  evening  to  the  sermon.  If  you  could 
only  get  hold  of  him ! ' '  She  went  on  to  say 
that  he  stood  behind  a  certain  pillar,  and 
described  him  as  a  tall,  broad-shouldereH 
man,  with  a  heavy  black  beard,  and  ended 
with  the  remark:  "But  if  you  catch  him, 
don't  let  on  that  I  pointed  him  out;  he 
would  kill  me  if  he  knew  it! " 

The  next  evening  a  stalwart  working 
man,  with  a  heavy  black  beard,  came  to  the 
Abbe's  confessional.  When  he  had  made 
his  confession  and  received  absolution, 
"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  married 
man,  and  my  wife  is  anything  but  a  pious 
woman.  I  wish  you  could  get  hold  of  her. 
I  will  try  and  bring  her  here  to-morrow  on 
some  pretext  or  another ;  but  I  beg  of  you 
not  to  let  her  suspect  I  have  been  to  confes- 
sion, for  she  would  laugh  at  me."  He 
found  the  desired  pretext,  and  brought  his 
wife  next  day  to  the  sacristy,  and  great  was 
the  surprise  of  both  to  find  that  they  had 
been  plotting  against  each  other. 

In  closing  this  fruitful  mission,  Mgr.  de 
Segur  exercised  for  the  first  time  the  pre 
rogative  he  had  just  received  from  Rome  of 
giving  the  Papal  Benediction,  with  a  plen- 
ary indulgence  attached  to  it.  He  spared  no 
pains  to  give  grandeur  and  solemnity  to  the 


ceremony;  thirty  priests  in  surplice',  hold- 
ing lighted  tapers,  stood  round  the  altar, 
while  the  blind  prelate,  with  that  majesty 
that  was  peculiar  to  him,  and  which  bor- 
rowed a  sort  of  sublime  prestige  from  his 
infirmity,  called  down  the  blessing  of  the 
Most  High  on  the  assembled  multitude. 
Never  did  a  more  reverent  congregation 
bow  down  to  receive  it;  a  great  number  of 
men  prostrated  themselves  while  he  gave 
it,  and  raised  their  faces  bathed  in  tear.--. 

The  departure  of  the  Bishop  from  the 
church  of  the  mission  was  always  an  im- 
pressive and  touching  scene.  The  people, 
in  their  eagerness  to  get  a  parting  glimpse 
of  the  holy  man,  rushed  round  his  cab,  so 
that  he  had  difiisulty  in  getting  away.  The 
driver  was  a  worthy  fellow,  who  always  be- 
spoke the  honor  of  conveying  "the  blind 
saint,"  and  hired  some  one  to  look  after 
his  horse  in  order  that  he  might  go  in  and 
assist  at  the  sermon,  and  get  the  Bishop's 

blessing. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Treasures  of  the  Missal  and  Ritual. 


BY  THE  REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


III. 


TURNING  to  the  parts  of  which  the 
Missal  is  composed.  After  the  insertion 
of  the  Papal  bulls  already  referred  to,  the 
first  place  is  devoted  to  the  arrangement 
of  all  that  relates  to  the  calendar  of  the 
movable  and  immovable  feasts.  It  may  be 
said  briefly  that  this  arrangement  of  the 
Masses  for  seasoins  and  saints  depends  on 
the  feasts  of  Christmas  and  Easter.  The 
former  fixes  all  from  the  first  Sunday  of  Ad- 
vent to  the  octave  of  Epiphany;  the  latter, 
all  from  Septuagesima  to  Trinity  Sunday; 
and  the  two  together  thus  regulate  the 
number  of  Sundays  that  must  intervene 
between  Epiphany  and  Septuagesima,  and 
between  Trinity  Sunday  and  the  first  Sun- 
day of  Advent,  in  order  to  have  fifty-two 
in  the  year.  If  Easter  is  late,  there  will  be 
more  of  the  former;  if  early,  there  will  be 


20 


The  Ave  Mana. 


more  of  the  latter.    The  calendar  of  the 
feasts  of  saints,  etc.,  is  also  placed  here. 

Next  come  the  rubrics,  which  are  laws  or 
rules  for  the  guidance  of  the  priest  in  the 
celebration  of  the  Adorable  Sacrifice.  The 
word  rubric  i->  derived  from  the  Latin  term 
rubor  (red),  and  its  application  in  this  place 
is  taken  from  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
used  in  the  writing  of  the  Roman  laws  and 
decisions,  in  which  the  titles,  maxims,  and 
principal  decisions  were  written  in  red.  In 
the  beginning  the  rubrics  of  the  Mass  were 
not  found  in  the  Missal  at  all,  much  less 
in  the  place  and  order  they  now  occupy; 
but  wrre  co  vtained  in  other  works  known 
as  Directories,  Rituals,  Ceremonials,  and 
Ordos.  They  were  finally  incorporated  into 
the  Missal  by  Burchard,  elsewhere  referred 
to.  The  revision  of  the  Missal  by  Pope  St. 
Pius  V.  fixed  them  in  the  place  they  must 
ever  hold 

After  the  rubrics  come  a  preparation  and 
a  thanksgiving  for  Mass,  which  are  not, 
howtver,  strictly  obligatory  on  the  cele- 
brant. Then  begins  what  may  be  called  the 
Missal  proper,  or  that  part  of  the  book 
which  contains  the  Masses  of  the  feasts  and 
saints.  It  opens  with  the  Mass  for  the  first 
Sunday  of  Advent,  containing,  as  do  all  the 
other  Masses,  those  portions  only  of  the 
Mass  which  are  peculiar  to  the  several  days 
or  feasts  to  which  they  are  assigned,  omit- 
ting those  portions  which  are  found  in  what 
is  called  the  Ordinary  of  the  Mass,  which 
will  be  considered  presently.  The  Masses 
for  each  Sunday  and  for  some  of  the  feasts 
which  cluster  immediately  around  Christ- 
mas, as  well  as  for  all  the  days  of  Lent,  make 
up  this  division,  which  closes  with  Holy 
Saturday.  Then  comes  the  Ordinary  of  the 
Mass, which  comprises  all  that  part,  except 
the  secret  prayers,  from  the  Gospel  to  the 
Post-Communion  exclusive.  It  is  composed 
of  the  prefaces,  eleven  in  number,  which  are 
given  first  in  solemn  chant,  then  in  ferial 
or  simple  chant,  and  finally  without  music, 
with  rubrics  directing  during  which  sea- 
sons or  on  which  feasts  each  is  to  be  said. 

Next,  there  is  the  Canon  of  the  Mass,  so 
named  from  the  Greek  word  x<//w/,  which 


means  a  rule;  because  this  part  of  the  Mass, 
as  it  were,  follows  a  rule,  and  admits  of  no 
changes,  except  of  two  or  three  words  in  a 
few  of  the  more  solemn  feasts.  To  illustrate 
the  firmness  with  which  the  Church  resists 
all  encroachments  on  the  Canon,  it  may  be 
stated  that,  some  seventeen  years  ago,  when 
the  Holy  Father,  at  the  request  of  a  very 
large  number  of  the  hierarchy  of  the  Chris- 
tian world,  declared  St.  Joseph  Patron  of 
the  Universal  Church,  he  at  the  same  time 
refused  the  request  of  the  same  prelates  to 
have  the  name  of  the  chaste  spouse  of  the 
Holy  Mother  of  God  inserted  in  the  Canon 
after  the  Consecration,  where  the  names  of 
a  dozen  other  saints  are  found. 

At  the  close  of  the  Canon  the  Fea^^t  ot 
Easter  begins  the  Masses,  ard  it  is  followed 
by  the  Masses  for  all  the  Sunda\s  till  the 
last  before  Advent,  with  some  other  Masses 
in  their  proper  places,  as  those  within  the 
octaves  of  Easter  and  Pentecost,  and  a  few 
more.  This*  closes  what  are  called  the  Masses 
of  season-;  the  rest  of  the  Missal  is  taken 
up  almost  entirely  with  the  Masses  of  saints, 
of  mysteries  in  the  life  and  Passion  or  Our 
Lord  and  of  His  Holy  Mother,  votive 
Masses,  and  Masses  for  the  Dead.  The  por- 
tion devoted  to  the  Masses  of  saints  is  com- 
posed of  two  parts:  the  proper  of  saints,  and 
the  common  of  saints.  The  former  embraces 
all  that  IS  proper  to  each  individual  saint 
— as  t^'e  collec!:;  or  the  collect,  secret  pra)  er, 
and  Post-Cjmmunioii;*  or,  with  these,  the 
Epistle  and  Gospel;  while  the  latter  con- 
tains Masse-  for  each  c  ass  of  .*-aints — as 
martyrs,  confessors, virgins,  etc., — of  which 
there  are  more  than  one  for  each  class,  and 
separate  Masses  for  mart\rs  during  Paschal 
time. 

The  next  section  of  the  Missal  is  occu- 
pied by  the  votive  Masses;  and  these  are 
followed  by  a  number  of  prayers,  one  or 

*  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  almost  all  the 
Post-  Communion  prayers  are  so  worded  as  to  show 
that  at  the  time  the}'  were  composed  it  was  the 
custom  for  all  present  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice  to 
communicate — a  standing  rebuke  to  the  laxity  of 
our  uahapp}'  times.  The  same  idea  is  expressed 
in  the  Canon  of  the  Mass,  immediately  after  the 
Consecration. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lO' 


more  of  which  may  be  introduced  into  cer 
tain  Masses  at  the  option  of  the  celebrant, 
or  the  request  of  the  person  for  whose  in- 
tention the  Holy  Sacrifice  is  offered.  Then 
come  tour  different  Masses  for  the  Dead — 
that  for  All-Souls'  D^y,  and  for  a  deceased 
Pope  or  Bishop;  that  for  the  day  of  death 
or  interment;  that  for  the  anniversary; 
and  that  for  any  day  upon  which  a  Mass 
for  the  Dead  is  permitted  by  the  rubrics. 
To  these  Masses  are  appended  twelve  pray- 
ers for  diffeient  individuals  or  classes  of 
the  faithful  departed,  one  or  more  of  which 
ma,y  be  introduced  into  the  Mass  accord- 
ing to  certain  rules,  at  the  discretion  of  the 
celebrant,  or  according  to  the  intention 
of  the  person  requesting  the  celebration  of 
the  Mass.  But  the  number  of  prayers  must 
always  be  an  odd  one.  An  odd  number, 
being  indivisible,  has  a  mystic  signification ; 
one  represents  unity  in  the  several  forms  in 
which  it  appears  in  religion,  as  the  unity  o\ 
God,  the  unity  of  the  Church,  etc. ;  three 
represents  the  three  Persons  of  the  Adora- 
ble Trinity,  Christ  praying  thrice  in  the 
Garden  of  Gethsetnane,  His  rising  from  the 
dead  on  the  third  day,  the  angels  thrice  re- 
re  pealing  Sanctus;  five  represents  the  Five 
Wounds  of  Our  Saviour;  and  seven ^  the 
Seven  Gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  the 
seven  petitions  of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  These 
remarks  apply  equally  to  the  number  of 
prayers  used  in  the  blessmgs  of  the  ritual.* 

Certain  formula  for  blessing  water,  arti- 
cles of  food,  and  a  few  other  things,  occupy 
the  next  place;  but  inasmuch  as  they  per- 
tain rather  to  the  ritual,  they  will  not  be 
treated  heie.  After  these  we  have  the  six 
votive  Masses  permitted  by  his  present 
Holiness  to  be  celebrated  on  the  several 
days  of  the  week  upon  which  no  saint's 
feast  occurs,  or  only  feasts  of  minor  rite. 
The  rest  of  the  Missal  is  taken  up  with 
Masses  of  saints  that  have  been  canonized, 
for  the  most  part,  since  the  time  of  St. 
Pius  v.,  and  others  that  are  peculiar  to  cer- 
tain religious  orders  or  localities. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  the  Missal.    I  can  not 


*  DeHerdt.,Vol.I.,No.82;  O'Brien,  p.  213. 


believe  that  what  has  been  said,  though 
apparently  very  commonplace,  will  be  alto- 
gether useless.  There  are  few  priests  who 
have  not  reason  to  regret  the  limited  knowl- 
erige  of  many  of  their  people  on  points  like 
these;  and  hence  simple  and  plain  instruc- 
tions must  ever  be  regarded  as  the  most 
useful,  although  they  will  never  be  the  most 
popular  or  attractive. 

IV. 
But  the  purpose  of  this  article  is  twofold: 
to  give  a  general  idea  of  the  construction 
of  the  Missal,  and  to  call  attention  to  the 
votive  Masses  and  to  the  prayers  that  are 
permitted  to  be  inserted  in  other  Masses 
on  some  of  the  feasts  of  minor  rite.  But  the 
question  naturally  rises:  What  is  a  votive 
Mass,  and  why  so  named?  The  word  is 
derived  from  the  Latin  votuni^  and,  as  found 
in  the  liturgy,  means  a  Mass  which  does  not 
correspond  with  the  office  of  the  dav  or  feast, 
and  which  is  so  named  because  it  is  cele- 
brated by  the  free  choice  of  the  priest.  The 
following  are  the  votive  Masses  found  in 
the  Missal:  That  of  the  Most  Holy  Trinity, 
with  a  special  collect  when  it  is  offered  as 
a  Mass  of  thanksgiving;  of  the  Angels;  of 
the  Holy  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul;  of  the 
Holy  Ghost;  of  the  Most  Holy  Sacrament; 
of  the  Cross;  of  the  Passion  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ;  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary, 
which  varies  for  the  different  seasons  of  the 
A  ear;  for  the  election  of  a  Supreme  Pontiff; 
for  the  election  or  consecration  of  a  Bishop; 
for  the  destruction  of  schism;  for  every 
necessity;  for  the  remission  of  sins;  for 
the  grace  of  a  good  death;  against  pagans; 
in  time  of  war;  for  peace;  as  a  protection 
against  mortality,  or  for  the  time  of  pesti- 
lence; for  the  sick,  with  a  special  prayer 
when  it  is  said  for  those  who  are  believed  to 
be  near  their  last  hour;  for  those  on  a  jour- 
ney; and, finally,  the  Nuptial  Mass, of  which 
I  wrote  at  length  in  these  pages  some  time 
ago. 

But  besides  these  votive  Masses  there  are 
six  others  permitted,  as  was  said  above,  by 
Pope  Leo  XIH. — namely:  of  the  Angels; 
of  the  Apostles;  of  St  Joseph;  of  the  Most 
Blessed  Sacrament;  of  the  Passion;  and  of 


204 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary;  some  of  which  differ  a  little 
from  those  of  the  same  title  given  above. 
Still  further,  in  addition  to  these,  any  Mass 
of  a  saint  may  be  said  as  a  votive  Mass,  for 
a  suflBcient  reason,  upon  the  observance  of 
certain  rules,  which  differ  little  from  those 
governing  the  other  votive  Masses. 

Still  another  mine  of  spiritual  riches  of 
the  Missal  are  the  prayers  of  which  mention 
has  already  been  made,  one  of  which  must, 
and  more  than  one  of  which  may,  be  in- 
serted in  the  Mass  on  some  Sundays  and 
other  days  at  the  option  of  the  celebrant,  or 
to  comply  with  the  request  of  the  person 
for  whose  intention  the  Holy  Sacrifice  is 
offered.  These  prayers  are  thirty-five  in 
number,  each  of  which,  of  course,  includes 
the  collect,  the  secret  prayer,  and  the  Post- 
Communion.  The  following  are  some  of 
them :  To  ask  the  prayers  of  the  saints;  an- 
other of  the  same  kind;  for  every  grade  of 
persons  in  the  Church;  for  the  Pope;  for 
prelates  and  the  congregations  committed 
to  their  care;  against  the  persecution  of  the 
Church ;  for  every  necessity ;  for  every  trib- 
ulation; in  time  of  famine;  in  time  of  an 
earthquake;  for  rain;  for  fair  weather; 
against  pests  among  animals;  for  the  priest 
himself;  for  the  gift  of  tears;  for  the  remis- 
sion of  sins;  for  those  who  are  in  tempta- 
tions and  trials;  to  repel  evil  thoughts;  for 
the  gift  of  patience;  for  the  gift  of  charity; 
for  friends;  for  enemies;  for  the  welfare  of 
the  living;  and  for  the  living  and  the  dead. 
To  these  must  also  be  added  the  prayers 
found  in  the  Mass  of  any  saint  or  mystery, 
which  may  also  be  taken,  upon  certain  con- 
ditions, that  apply,  however,  to  but  few  of 
them. 

From  all  this  it  must  be  apparent  to  the 
thoughtful  reader  that  not  only  have  we  an 
inestimable  treasure  in  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
itself,  but  also  that  the  value  of  this  treas- 
ure is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  special  Mass 
which  he  can  have  celebrated,  which,  be- 
sides its  value  as  a  sacrifice,  has  a  worth  of 
its  own  from  its  being  adapted  to  the  partic 
ular  intention  for  which  its  celebration  is 
requested, — there  being  Masses  for  so  many 


different  intentions,  as  we  have  seen, besides 
one  for  every  necessity,  no  matter  what  it 
may  chance  to  be.  And  granting  that  for  a 
sufficient  reason  the  special  Mass  is  not  per- 
mitted to  be  said,  the  addition  of  one  of  the 
prayers  just  named,  when  it  is  allowed,  en- 
hances the  value  of  the  Mass  immensely, 
as  being  a  particular  petition  made  to  God 
through  His  divine  Son  and  -in  the  name  ot 
the  Church,  as  an  integral  part  of  her  most 
solemn  act  of  worship.  Hear  St.  Liguori  on 
this  important  point.  After  giving  the  opin- 
ion of  a  theologian,  with  which  he  concurs, 
that  the  prayer  of  a  lay  person  when  offered 
up  in  a  church  at  the  time  when  a  Mass  is 
being  celebrated  is  on  that  account  the  more 
readily  and  certainly  heard  by  Almighty 
God,  he  adds:  "How  much  more  the  prayer 
of  the  priest  himself?"  And,  speaking  of 
the  Divine  Office,  which,  though  more  effi- 
cacious than  any  other  form  of  prayer,  is  yet 
far  less  so  than  the  Mass, he  says:  "Many 
private  praters  do  not  equal  in  value  only 
one  prayer  of  the  Divine  Office,  as  being 
offered  to  God  in  the  name  of  the  whole 
Church,  and  in  His  own  appointed  word<=.' '  * 

In  the  Old  Law  there  were  many  sacri- 
fices suited  to  the  manifold  wants  of  the 
people;  the  Sacrifice  of  the  New  Law  has 
not  only  taken  the  place  of  all  those  of  the 
Jewish  Dispensation  in  the  sense  of  being 
the  supreme  act  of  worship  of  God,  but  also 
in  the  sense  of  being  the  supreme  act  of 
petition  for  graces  for  men. 

A  serious  reflection  on  the  treasure  we 
possess  in  the  Adorable  Sacrifice,  as  briefly 
set  forth  in  this  article  will,  it  is  believed, 
convince  the  reader  of  the  imihense  advan- 
tage he  may  derive  from  asking  for  the 
graces,  both  general  and  special,  which  he 
stands  in  need  of,  by  means  of  this  Holy 
Sacrifice.  The  graces, as  St.  Liguori  remarks, 
which  are  not  obtained  during  the  Mass  are 
with  great  difficulty  obtained  at  any  other 
time.  Here  it  is  not  man  but  the  God-Man 
who  petitions  His  Eternal  Father  for  His 
people  through  the  ministry  of  His  priests. 
(to  be  continued.) 


"Sacerdos  Sanctificatus,"pp.  36, 128 


I 


The  Ave  A f aria. 


205 


Catholic  Painters  of  Spain. 
Castile. 


-Schools  of 


BY  OCTAVIA  HENSEL. 


MADRID  as  the  royal  residence,  attracted 
all  the  dispersed  elements  of  the  Castil- 
ian  school  of  painters;  thither  they  flocked 
from  Toledo,  Badajos,  Saragossa,  and  Val- 
ladolid,  and  formed  what  was  called  the 
school  of  Madrid,  or  Castile. 

The  artists  most  celebrated  in  this  school, 
which  the  genius  of  Velasquez  crowned 
with  everlasting  fame,  may  be  named,  as 
in  the  Andalusian  school,  from  the  middle 
of  the  15th  century— the  period  of  Alonzo 
Berruguete.*  painter,  sculptor,  and  archi- 
tect. He  was  born  at  Valladolid,  but  at  the 
age  of  twenty- five  he  went  to  Florence,  and 
studied  under  Michael  Angelo  He  assisted 
this  master  in  his  great  work  ordered  by  the 
Holy  Father  Pope  Julian  H. ,  at  the  Vatican; 
and  upon  his  return  'o  Spain,  in  1520,  was 
appointtd  painter  to  the  court  of  Charles  V., 
as  he  had  been  to  that  of  Philip  I.  His  chief 
works  are  altar-screens  for  churches. 

Luis  de  Morales,  called  "El  Divino,"  is 
a  painter  about  whom  little  is  known.  He 
was  summoned  to  Madrid  by  Philip  U.  We 
are  told  that  he  appeared  before  the  King 
in  such  superb  court  dress  that  it  annoyed 
his  Majesty,  who  declared  he  could  do  noth- 
ing for  an  artist  who  spent  a  fortune  on  his 
clothing.  "Thatis  just  what  I  have  done," 
said  Morales  when  told  of  the  King's  dis- 
pleasure; "  [  tried  to  make  m>self  worth v 
to  appear  before  him."  Philip  forgave  his 
indiscretion  when  this  reply  was  repeated, 
and  commissioned  him  to  paint  some  altar 
pictures;  but  he  soon  returned  to  Badajos, 
whence  he  came.  On  a  visit  to  that  city, 
many  years  after,  the  King  again  met  the 
painter. 

"You  are  very  old.  Morales,"  said  his 
Majesty. 

' '  Yes,  sire,  and  very  poor. ' ' 

Philip  commanded  that  two  hundred 
ducats  of  the  crown  rents  should  be  given 

*  1480-T561. 


him — "for  your  dinner,  Morales,"  he  said. 

"And  what  for  my  supper?"  was  the 
quick  reply  of  the  artist. 

Amused  with  the  repartee,  the  King  or- 
dered that  another  hundred  should  be  given. 

Morales  painted  on  wood  and  copper. 
His  pictures  are  very  small  and  simple,  but 
very  exquisite  in  religious  sentiment.  The 
Blessed  Mother  supporting  the  Dead  Christ 
is  one  of  his  best. 

Alonzo  Sanchez  Coello,  who  died  about 
1590,  or  the  beginning  of  the  17th  century,, 
was  both  courtier  and  painter  to  Philip  U.^ 
son  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  He  was 
greatly  beloved  by  this  King,  who  always 
addressed  him, "Beloved  son."  At  Madrid 
he  lived  in  apartments  adjoining  the  palace; 
to  these  Philip  had  a  private  key,  and  often 
surprised  the  painter  in  his  studio  or  at 
table.  The  Holy  Fathers  Gregory  HI.  and 
Sixtus  v.,  the  Princes  of  Farnese,  with  the 
Dukes  of  Florence  and  Savov,  were  Coello's 
warm  friends  and  patrons.  King  Philip 
called  him  his  Portuguese  Titian,  and  made 
him  court  painter  and  gentleman  in  wait- 
ing.* He  must  riOt  be  confounded  with 
Claudio  Coello,  the  best  of  the  old  Spanish 
masters,  who  lived  a  century  later. 

Alorizo  was  the  first  great  portrait  painter 
in  Spain.  He  has  left  the  best  portrait  ex- 
tant of  St.  Ignatius  Loyola,  and  his  most 
famous  pictures  are  found  over  the  altars  of 
the  chapels  of  the  Escurial.  He  knew  how 
to  represent  the  repose  and  refinement 
which  belongf  to  gentle  blood  and  delicate 
nurture.  He  was  generous  to  the  poor,  and 
endowed  a  hospital  at  Valladolid.  His  pupil 
Felipe  de  Li^'fio  excelled  in  portrl^iture,  and 
from  the  beauty  of  his  coloring  has  been 
called  el pequen  Tizianoi^^  little  Titian). 
Juan  Fernandez  Navarrete  (1526-1579)^ 
called,  on  account  of  being  deaf  and  dumb, 
"Ei  Mudo,"  studied  under  Fra  Vincenta, 
a  Brother  in  the  Convent  of  La  Estrella. 
While  still  very  }OUcg  he  was  taken  to 
Italy,  and  after  visiting  Rome,  Naples,  and 
Florence,  he  settled  at  Venice  and  studied 
under  Titian.  His  principal  works  are  at  the 


*  Pentor  de  camera,  y  el  privado  del  rey. 


2o6 


The  Ave  Maria > 


Escurial.  In  his  picture  of  the  Nativity  * 
he  has  overcome  a  singular  difficulty.  He 
has  introduced  three  distinct  lights  inlo  this 
picture— one,  the  radiance  that  proceeds 
from  the  Holy  Child ;  one  which  descends 
from  the  sacred  nimbus  and  permeates  the 
whole  picture;  the  third,  from  a  torch  held 
by  St.  Joseph.  It  is  a  singularly  beautiful 
conception,  quite  worthy  a  Catholic  artist. 
He  has  been  called  the  Spanish  Titian,  from 
the  beauty  of  his  coloring  and  rich  flesh 
tints. 

Domenico  Theotocopuli,  known  in  Spain 
as  "  Al  Greco,"  a  Greek  by  parentage,  was 
the  founder  of  the  art  school  of  Toledo 
After  studying  under  Titian  in  Venice,  he 
settled  at  Toledo  in  1577.  Painter,  sculptor, 
and  architect,  he  was  a  better  instructor 
than  artist.  His  first  style  of  co'oring  was 
purely  Venetian ;  he  then  adopted  ^rw«z'//^, 
or  a  pale  grayish  coloring,  making  his  fig- 
ures appear  like  ghosts  or  shadows.  Luis 
Tristan  was  his  best  pupii.  His  works  are 
found  in  the  church  of  Yepes,  near  Toledo. 
He  surpassed  his  master  both  in  design  and 
execution. 

In  the  middle  of  the  i6th  century  three 
families  of  Italian  artist-s  came  from  Tus- 
cany to  Madrid.  They  were  the  Carduccio, 
Cajesi,  and  Ricci.  Bartolommeo  Carduccio 
{1560-1608)  studied  under  Zuccaro,  and 
came  with  him  to  Spain  towards  ihe  close 
of  the  16th  century.  With  Pellegrino  Ti- 
baJdi,  Carduccio  painted  the  ceiling  of  the 
library  in  the  Escurial,  and  various  of  the 
palace  frescos,  also  the  Church  of  S.  Felipe 
el  Real  at  Madrid. 

Vincenzo  Carduccio  was  a  pupil  of  his 
brother  Bartolommeo,  and  an  artist  of  great 
promise.  He  died  while  painting  a  St.  Jer- 
ome. Among  other  literary  works  he  has 
left  a  valuable  text-book — "Dialogues  on 
Painting."  The  Carthusian  Convent  of  el 
Paular  intrusted  him  with  the  entire  dec- 
oration of  its  great  cloister.  The  contract 
is  still  extapt.  Vincenzo  was  to  paint  the 
life  of  St.  Bruno,  the  founder  of  the  Order. 


*   The  picture  is  often  called  The  Beautiful 
Shepherds. 


It  was  agreed  in  this  contrac:  between  the 
prior  and  the  painter  that  the  artist  should, 
in  the  space  of  four  years,  paint  fifty-five 
pictures  entirely  by  himself,  the  price  of 
ihem  to  be  fixed  by  competent  judges.  This 
singular  contract,  dated  August  26,  1626, 
was  faithfully  executed.  These  pictures  are 
now  in  the  Museo  Nacional  in  Madrid. 

Of  the  Cajesi  family,  Patricio  was  invited 
to  Madrid  bv  Philip  II.,  and  employed  by 
him  in  the  palaces  of  that  city.  With  his 
son  and  pupil,  Eugenio  Cax^s,  he  was  en- 
gaged to  decorate  the  Queen's  Gallery  in 
the  Prado.  These  frescos  and  paintings  per- 
ished in  the  fire  which  destroyed  that  palace. 

Fra  Juan  Rizi,  born  of  the  Ricci  family 
at  Madrid,  in  1595,  entered  the  Order  of  St. 
Benedict  in  1626,  at  Montserrat.  He  went 
to  the  College  of  St.  Vincent  at  Salamanca 
to  pursue  his  studies,  but,  being  too  poor  to 
pay  the  hundred  ducats  entrance  fee,  was 
refused  admission.  He  immediately  set  to 
work  with  palette  and  brush;  in  twenty- 
four  hours  he  completed  a  picture  which 
gained  him  the  price  of  admission  to  the 
College,  and  during  his  studies  there  sup- 
ported himself  by  his  art.  His  best  work 
was  for  the  brotherhood  at  Burgos.  His 
picture  St  Scholastica  Reading  is  the  por- 
trait of  a  young  girl  whose  dower  as  a  nun 
he  paid  with  the  price  of  his  labors.  His 
fame  was  so  great  that  A\  the  communities 
of  his  Order  wished  him  to  reside  with 
them.  He  was  made  Abbot  of  Medina  del 
Campo,  and  the  Holy  Father  soon  after 
appointed  him  to  a  bishopric,  but  he  died 
before  being  consecrated. 

His  brother  Francisco  was  appointed 
painter  to  the  Cathedral  of  Toledo,  as  well 
as  to  the  court  of  Philip  II  and  his  son 
Charles  II.  In  1684  Charles  employed  him 
on  a  design  for  a  new  altar  to  be  dedicated 
to  the  relic  at  the  Escurial,  known  as  Santa 
Forma.  This  relic  is  a  Sacred  Particle, 
which  was  dashed  from  the  altar  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Gorcum  by  heretics  and  trod- 
den under  foot.  Three  rents  were  made  in 
It,  from  which  the  blood  issued.  One  heretic 
was  converted  at  sight  of  the  miracle,  and, 
with   the  Bishop  of  Gorcum,  carried  the 


The  Ave  ]\Taria. 


207 


relic  to  Mechlin.  It  was  afterwards  taken  to 
Vienna  then  to  Prague.  In  1592  It  was  sent 
to  Philip  II.  Since  then  It  is  shown  on 
festival  days,  stained  with  blood.  Francisco 
died  before  completing  this  altar,  which  was 
finished  a  few  )  ears  after  his  death  by 
Clandio  C^iello. 

The  Ricci  biothers  died  within  ten  years 
of  each  other — ^Juan  in  1675,  Francisco  in 
1685,— and  following  them,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  17th  century,  came  Diego  Rod- 
riguez de  Silva  y  Velasquez,  baptized  at  the 
Cathedral  of  Seville  June  6,  1599. 

In  him  the  school  of  Madrid,  or  Castile, 
found  its  greatest  mastc.  As  Murillo  to 
the  school  of  Andalusia  so  was  Velasquez 
to  the  school  of  Castile,  a  crowning  excel- 
lence and  glor> .  Exponents  of  a  nation's 
art, they  s'and  alone  ar,d, although  contem- 
poraneous apirt.  Alike  in  genius,  different 
in  spirit;  for  Vela.'-quez  is  called  the  painter 
ofeaith;  Murijlo,  of  heaven. 


Sonnets. 


Written  on  hraring  that  a  Catholic  Ouirch  is  to  be 

built  at  Ambleside,  and  dedicated  to  Our  Lady 

under  the  title  of 'Maria  Amabilisy 


TV  ROMAN  host  descended  from  the  height 
•^^  Of  Kirkstone  Pass, rock- walled  and  roofed 

with  cloud. 
Slowly  they  trod:  sudden  they  cried  aloud. 
The  mists  had  risen, — what  met  their  raptured 

sight? 
A  golden  vale  sun-saturate,  on  the  right, 
Nor  vexed  by  storm,  nor  veiled  by  flying  shroud 
Slept 'mid  green  hills:  a  rainbow  o'er  it  bowed; 
Upon  the  left  a  blue  lake  laughed  in  light. 
For  years  embosomed  in  that  gracious  valley 
Then  first  those  warriors  found  a  stainless 

bliss; 
They  wreathed  its  flowers;  in  skiff"  or  ban- 
nered galley 
They  clove  its  lake;  its  lawns,  its  woods  they 

ranged; 
Parting,  a  name  they  gave  it:  scarcely  changed, 
That  name  survives — "Situs  Amabilis. " "^^ 


II. 
A  grateful  name, loving  and  sweet!  yet  sweeter 
Among  Our  Lady's  titles  one  there  is. 
One  loving  more — "Maria  Amabilis." 
By  it  Her  destined  fane  ere  long  shall  greet 

Her; 
By  it  shall  souls  sore  tried  for  help  entreat  Her, 
When  fiercer  tempests  round  them  wave  and 

hiss 
Than  those  that  shake  black  tarn  or  precipice: 
For  mountain-girdled  church  what  name  were 

meeter  ? 
Ascend,  pure  walls!    Centuries  to  come  shall 

hear* 
From  hill  to  hill  again  Her  church- bells  ring- 
ing. 
Her  "Ave  Stella"  cheer  the  dawn-touched 

water; 
Old  men  grow  young  once  more,  when,  totter- 
ing near, 
They  catch  the  chime  of  English  children 

singing 
Her  anthem, " Salve,  Redemptoris  Mater!" 
Aubrey  de  Verb,  London  Tablet. 


Cardinal   AIoisi-Masella. 


BY   S.   M    M. 


*  ' '  Situs  Amabilis  "  has  become  contracted  into  1 

'Ambleside." 


IN  the  private  consistory  held  on  the  14th 
of  last  March,  His  Holiness  Pope  Leo 
XIII  raised  to  the  sacred  purple  the  holy 
and  eminent  prela'e,  Thomas  Maria  Caje- 
tan  AIoisi-Masella,  who  forms  the  subject 
of  the  present  sketch.  He  was  born  in  the 
town  of  Pontecorvo.  in  the  ancient  King- 
dom of  Naples,  on  the  30th  of  September, 
1826,  so  that  his  Eminence  is  now  in  his 
sixty  first  year.  Sprung  from  an  old  patri- 
cian family,  one  of  his  ancestors,  Bento 
Masella,  was  a  member  of  the  deputation 
sent  by  Pontecorvo  in  1463  to  offer  Pius  II. 
seigneurial  rights  over  that  city  Towards 
the  end  of  the  15th  century  the  noble  family 
of  Aloisi  was  merged  in  that  of  Masella,  re- 
taining, as  is  customary  in  many  Italian  fam- 
ilies, the  united  patronymic  of  both  houses. 
Cardinal  Masella  owes  his  early  instruc- 
tion to  the  Barnabite  Fathers  in  Naples. 
When  sufficiently  advanced,  he  entered  the 


2o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Roman  Poniifical  Seminar^  ,  where  he  fin- 
ished the  course  of  theology  and  philoso- 
phy wiih  brilliant  success,  taking  doctor's 
degrees  in  both  faculties.  In  1849  ^^  was 
ordained  priest,  and  said  his  first  Mass  on 
the  3d  of  June  while  the  French  were 
bombarding  Rome.  The  Cardinal  was  once 
asked  if  he  had  not  felt  afraid  on  that 
occasion,  when  the  crashing  of  the  bombs 
and  the  noise  of  falling  houses  formed  the 
martial  accompanimen's  to  the  Holy  Sacri 
fice.  "No"  he  .«:aid,  simply;  "I  did  not 
think  of  myself,  but  I  was  much  distracted 
by  the  thought  of  the  danger  to  which  the 
Holy  Father  was  exposed,  as  he  was  offici- 
ating in  a  church  not  far  off."  These  few 
words  show  the  Cardinal's  character.  The 
Church,  the  Hoh  Father,  the  interests  of 
both,  with  total  forgetfulness  of  self,  have 
been  the  objects  of  his  devotion  through 
life. 

The  year  f)lloNving  his  ordination,  al- 
though scarcely  twenty- four  years  old,  the 
young  priest  was  appointed  secretary  to 
the  Papal  Nunciature  of  Naples,  where  the 
late  Cardinal  Ferrieri  was  then  Nuncio, 
and  this  appointment  is  convincing  testi- 
mony of  the  high  estimation  in  which  the 
future  Cardinal  was  held.  After  some  years 
he  was  promoted  to  the  auditorship  of  the 
same  nunciature,  where  he  remained  until 
1859,  when  he  was  sent  to  Munich  as  Audi- 
tor to  the  Nuaciature  of  Bavaria.  He  acted 
as  charge  d'affaires  during  the  interval 
that  elapsed  between  the  depar  ure  of  the 
Nuncio,  Mgr.  Ghigi,  and  the  arrival  of  his 
successor,  Mgr.  Gon-^elli,  in  Munich.  In 
1864  he  was  promoted  to  the  auditorship 
of  the  Paris  Nunciature,  which  he  left  in 
time  to  escape  the  horrors  of  the  Commune, 
being  recalled  to  Rome  in  1867.  It  was 
then  that  Pope  Pius  IX  made  him  Domes- 
tic Prelate,  Consultor  of  the  Sacred  Con- 
gregation, and  Referei  dary  of  the  Signature 
cf  Justice. 

When  Mgr.  Franchi  was  sent  by  the  Holy 
See  as  Envoy  Extraordinary  to  the  Sublime 
Porte,  in  187 1,  Mgr.  Aloisi-Masella  accom 
panied  him  as  counsellor  of  the  legation. 
On  his  return  to  Rome  he  was  named  sec- 


retary to  the  Sacred  Congregation  of  the 
Propaganda  in  the  department  for  the  aff"dirs 
of  the  Oriental  rites,  Canon  of  the  Literan 
Basilica,  and  Apostolic  Pronotary  partic- 
ipant. In  May,  1877,  ^^^  Holiness  chose 
him  for  Nuncio  in  Bavaria,  and  nominated 
him  Archbishop  of  Neocsesarea  in  partibus 
infidelium.  He  was  consecrated  bishop  on 
the  3d  of  June  of  that  year — the  day  on 
which  Pope  Pius  IX., of  blessed  memory, 
celebrated  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  his 
episcopal  consecration. 

In  the  same  month  the  distinguished 
prelate  departed  for  Munich,  where  he  ren- 
dered eminent  services  to  the  Church,  and, 
as  is  well  known,  was  highly  esteemed  by 
Prince  Bismarck ,  with  whom  he  held  several 
conferences  at  Kissinoen.  That  the  ne  J^otia- 
tions  then  entered  on  did  not  lead  to  more 
satisfactory  results,  was  owing  to  no  lack 
of  ability  or  good-A-ill  on  either  side,  but 
to  events  whi.^h  supervened,  over  which 
neither  party  had  control;  however,  if  at- 
tended with  no  immediate  success,  they 
certainly  forged  the  first  links  in  the  bond 
of  amity  now  so  happily  concluded  br  tween 
Germany  and  the  Holy  See. 

In  1879  his  Holiness  Pope  Leo  XI IL 
transferred  Mgr.  Aloisi-Masella  to  the  Nun- 
ciature of  Portugal,  which  ranks  as  first 
clas*^.  He  arrived  in  Lisbon  in  July  of  that 
year,  and  during  the  four  yeirs  he  dis- 
charged the  onerous  duties  of  his  post,  the 
distinguished  prelate  won  the  esteem  and 
affection  of  all  the  faithful  children  of  the 
Church.  His  firmness  in  defending  the  in- 
terests of  religion  drew  on  him  so  much 
contradiction  and  annoyance  from  the  Gov- 
ernment of  the  day,  that,  weary  of  the 
useless  struggle,  and  saddened  by  the  pre- 
mature death  of  his  Auditor  and  faithful 
friend,  Mgr.  Spagnoletti  (who  was  snatched 
away  by  a  brief  illness  in  June,  1883)^  Mgr. 
Aloisi-Masella  sent  in  his  resignation  to 
Rome.  The  Holy  Father  was  most  unwill- 
ing to  accept  it,  and  even  offered  to  appoint 
the  Auditor  charge  d'affaij'es^  and  leave  the 
post  of  nuncio  to  be  nominally  held  by  Mgr. 
Aloisi-Masella.  This  arrangement  Mgr. 
Aloisi-Masella  was  too  generous  to  accept, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


209 


although  it  was  warranted  by  preceding  ex- 
amples. His  Holiness  yielded  at  last  to  his 
reiterated  request,  and  in  August,  1883,  he 
left  Lisbon,  and  retired  to  his  ancestral 
home  in  Pontecorvo,  where  he  resided  until 
last  February,  when  he  was  summoned  by 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff  to  Rome  to  receive 
the  purple. 

The  impression  left  by  the  career  of  Mgr. 
Aloisi-Masella  in  Portugal  was  shown  on 
liis  departure  from  that  country.  The  rail- 
way station  was  crowded  by  the  most  dis- 
tinguished Catholics  in  the  land,  vying  with 
one  another  to  show  the  honor  and  respect 
due  to  the  intrepid  defender  of  their  faith. 
A  Portuguese  lady  of  high  rank  remarked 
on  one  occasion  to  the  present  writer:  "The 
great  charm  of  Mgr.  Masella's  character 
consists  in  the  union  of  force  and  sweetness 
which  distinguishes  him,  and  the  fact  that 
you  at  once  feel,  on  being  in  his  society  for 
€ven  five  minutes,  that  you  are  speaking  to 
a  perfect  Christian  gentleman." 

On  the  17th  of  March,  when  his  Holi- 
ness Pope  Leo-  XHL  imposed  the  mozzetta 
and  berretta  on  Cardinals  Aloisi-Masella 
and  Giordani,  the  former,  in  his  own  name 
and  that  of  his  colleagues,  returned  thanks 
in  an  address,  from  which  we  take  a  few 
extracts: 

"Most  Holy  Father:— The  homage  of  filial 
aflfection  and  profound  gratitude  which  I  have  the 
honor  to  oflfer  to  your  Holiness,  although  ex- 
pressed by  the  lips  of  the  least  worthy,  is  the 
utterance  of  the  hearts  of  all  those  whom  your 
Holiness  has  now  graciously  raised  to  the  most 
eminent  dignity  in  the  whole  ecclesiastical  hierar- 
chy. Yes,  Most  Holy  Father, while  we  are  moved 
by  the  high  honor  bestowed  upon  us,  we  are 
filled  with  sincere  gratitude  to  your  Holiness  for 
thereby  manifesting  the  esteem  in  which  you 
hold  the  illustrious  Italian  episcopate,  and  those 
prelates  who,  chosen  as  your  legates  to  foreign 
nations,  represent  your  sovereign  dominion  and 
the  divine  mission  confided  to  you  of  preserving 
and  uniting  in  the  infallible  centre  of  Truth  all 
the  peoples  of  the  earth. 

"Called  as  we  now  are  so  near  your  sacred 
person,  and  penetrated  with  the  gravity  of  the 
duties  thereby  imposed  on  us,  we  profess  ourselves 
ready, with  the  aid  of  divine  grace,  to  fulfil  them 
with  perfect  and  affectionate  submission  of  will 
and  intellect.  Unlimited  and  immovable  is  our 
devotedness  to  Holy  Church,  and  to  him  who, 


called  to  govern  it  by  its  divine  Founder,  and 
exposed  to  so  many  hostile  aggressions,  succeeds, 
despite  all,  in  rendering  its  beneficent  authority- 
desired  and  acceptable.  .  .  .  May  the  Apostolic 
Blessing,  which  we  humbly  implore,  be  to  us  a 
pledge  of  the  heavenly  lights  and  graces  which 
shall  confirm  and  render  efficacious  these  resolves 
and  the  sentiments  of  gratitude  with  which  we 
are  animated!" 

The  Holy  Father's  speech  is  so  full  of 
feeling  and  wisdom  that  we  give  it  in  full: 

"We  shall  reply  in  a  few  words,  beloved  son, 
to  the  noble  and  affectionate  discourse  you  have 
addressed  to  Us  in  your  own  name  and  in  that  of 
your  colleagues,  whom  with  you  We  raised  to  the 
purple  in  the  last  consistory. 

"  The  creation  of  new  Cardinals  is  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  most  solema  and  important  acts  be- 
loneing  to  the  Apastolic  See.  The  Cardinals  of 
the  Holy  Church,  being  raised  to  the  highest  and 
most  excellent  degree  of  the  ecclesiastical  hie- 
rarchy, compose  the  authoritative  and  august 
assembly  to  which  is  confided  the  gravest  affairs 
of  the  Catholic  Church.  In  different  ways— each 
for  himself,  like  the  various  members  of  one  body, 
— they  are  called  on  to  fill  that  most  noble  and  im- 
portant task,  and  should  therefore  employ  for  the 
common  good,  some  the  light  of  their  intellect 
and  doctrine;  others,  the  fruit  of  their  long  ex- 
perience in  the  management  of  public  and  private 
affairs,  whether  ecclesiastical  or  civil;  all,  as 
faithful  helpers  and  able  counsellors,  aiding  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff  in  the  government  of  the  Uni- 
versal Church. 

"  Profoundly  grieved  by  the  recent  loss  of  sev- 
eral illustrious  members  of  the  Sacred  College, 
and  feeling  deeply  the  necessity  of  repairing  it 
as  soon  as  possible.  We  turned  our  eyes  on  you, 
and  on  others  lately  placed  like  you  in  Our  senate. 
We  are  confident  that  you  will  all  correspond, 
with  devout  souls  and  a  zeal  proportionate  to 
your  increased  dignity,  to  Our  desires  and  to  the 
promises  you  have  made.  This  confidence  is  fully 
justified  by  the  knowledge  We  possess  of  the 
excellent  qualities  which  distinguish  you,  and 
the  eminent  services  you  have  rendered  to  the 
Church.  They  are  secure  guarantees,  beloved  sons, 
for  the  execution  of  the  firm  and  generous  resolu- 
tions you  have  just  expressed,  and  therefore  with 
great  pleasure  We  bestow  on  you  the  berretta,  one 
of  the  insignia  of  the  dignity  of  cardinal.  This 
token  by  its  red  color,  as  well  as  the  hat  which 
to-morrow  We  shall  confer  on  you,  will  always 
remind  you,  beloved  sons,  of  the  beautiful  words 
of  the  Ritual:  'Qjiod  usque  ad  sanguinis  effusi- 
onem  .  .  .  pro  exaltatione  sanctce  Fidei  .  .  .  te  in- 
trepidem  exhibere  debeas.'  ImpLafing  forties  end 
the  plenitude  of  heavenly  fa;TOra^pon^yrfinWe 
add  for  your  greater  consojiatipn  th^ApbStblic 


rr^N^ 


2IO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Blessing,  which  We  impart  to  you,  beloved  sons, 
to  your  colleagues,  and  to  all  here  present,  with 
all  Our  heart." 

In  conclusion  we  can  only  express  the 
hope  thai  the  eminent  and  reverend  prelate 
who  has  formed  the  subject  of  this  sketch 
may  long  he  spared  to  that  Holy  Church 
of  which  he  is  so  bright  an  ornament — of 
whose  rights  he  is  so  able  and  zealous  an 

advocate 

«  ♦  > 

Catholic  Notes. 


Everyone  has  heard  of  the  famous  clock  of 
Strasburg  Cathedral,  and  the  procession  of 
figures  representing  scenes  in  Sacred  History 
which  appears  on  the  dial-plate  at  the  striking 
of  the  hour  of  noon.  Some  years  ago  a  dupli- 
cate in  miniature  of  this  wonderful  work  of 
art  was  made,  with  much  patience  and  labor, 
by  a  peasant  who  lived  near  the  city.  This 
clock,  in  which  every  detail  is  reproduced  with 
the  greatest  skill  and  exactness,  has  been  pur- 
chased on  behalf  of  the  diocese  for  presenta- 
tion to  the  Holy  Father.  It  will  have  place  in 
the  coming  Vatican  Exhibition,  and  can  not 
fail  to  be  an  object  of  great  admiration  to 
visitors. 

The  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  at  Notre  Dame  was  en  fete  on  Tuesday 
of  last  week,  the  occasion  being  a  pilgrimage 
from  St.  Augustine's  Church,  Kalamazoo, 
Mich.  The  pilgrims,  who  numbered  between 
four  and  five  hundred,  were  under  the  leader- 
ship of  the  Rev.  Francis  O'Brien,  the  beloved 
rector  of  St.  Augustine's;  his  devoted  assist- 
ant, the  Rev.  Father  Ryan;  the  Rev.  Father 
Kelly,  the  worthy  assistant  pastor  of  Battle 
Creek;  and  the  Rev.  John  Ryan,  of  Paw  Paw. 
Arriving  at  St.  Mary's  Station,  the  pilgrims 
marched  in  procession  to  Notre  Dame,  reciting 
the  Beads.  While  the  clergy  were  vesting  for 
High  Mass  the  Litany  of  Loreto  was  recited 
at  the  Grotto  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  the 
mammoth  bell  pealing  forth  joyous  notes  of 
welcome.  Solemn  High  Mass  was  celebrated 
by  the  Rev.  Father  Ryan,  with  the  Rev.  Fa- 
thers John  Ryan  and  Kelly  as  deacon  and 
subdeacon.  The  music  was  well  rendered  by 
St.  Augustine's  choir.  At  the  Gospel  Very  Rev. 
Father  Corby,  C.  S.  C.,who  lately  conducted 
a  very  successful  triduum  at  Kalamazoo, 
welcomed  the  pilgrims  to  Notre  Dame  in  a  few 


cordial  words;  then  followed  a  sermon, which 
was  preached  by  the  Rev.  Father  Cook,  a  well- 
known  mis^ioner  of  the  Congregation  of  the 
Most  Holy  Redeemer.  Dinner,which  wasa  fete 
champilre,  was  followed  by  visits  to  places  of 
pious  interest,  the  University  buildings,  St. 
Mary's  Academy,  etc.  At  four  o'clock  the  bells 
again  summoned  the  pilgrims  to  the  church 
for  the  closing  service — the  Benediction  of  the 
Blessed  Sacrament.  The  day  was  replete  with 
edification  to  those  who  saw  the  devout  wor- 
shippers, eager  to  avail  themselves  of  the  spir- 
itual treasures  which  the  zeal  of  the  Rev. 
Father  O'Brien  had  placed  within  their  grasp. 

An  article  which  appeared  in  a  recent  issue 
of  the  London  Guardian  gives  us  a  good  idea 
of  the  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  a  Prot- 
estant tourist  by  the  present  condition  of 
Catholicity  in  Holland.  The  traveller,  having 
been  accustomed  to  associate  Protestantism 
and  the  Netherlands  very  strongly  together, 
was  surprised  at  the  activity  of  the  Church 
and  the  strong  position  she  holds  in  the  coun- 
try, where  a  visitor  fresh  from  reading  Motley 
would  expect  to  find  nothing  but  signs  of  the 
Reformation.  The  large  number  of  priests  and 
religious  that  the  tourist  saw  on  the  streets 
showed  him  that  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
inhabitants  still  hold  to  the  ante- Reformation 
faith,  or  have  given  up  the  cold  and  cheerless 
Calvinism  that  is  the  form  of  Protestantism 
which  holds  sway  in  Holland,  Anything  more 
chilling  than  the  Protestant  churches  and  the 
manner  of  worship  in  them,  says  the  writer, 
can  hardly  be  imagined.  Protestant  congrega- 
tions are  few  in  numbers,  and  the  demeanor 
during  the  service  utterly  listless;  while  the 
Catholic  churches  on  Sundays  and  festivals 
' '  are  literally  crammed  with  devout  congrega- 
tions Catholicism  is  evidently  not  merely  the 
religion  of  a  small  minority,  but  shares  with 
the  State  Evangelical  Church  the  character  of 
being  the  prevailing  religion  of  the  country." 

It  has  been  suggested  that  it  would  be  an 
excellent  undertaking  for  art-workers  and 
lovers  of  art  to  design,  embroider,  or  subscribe 
for  various  banners  of  Our  Lady  and  of  the 
Fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  to  be  sent  to 
the  Vatican  Exhibition,  and  afterwards  dis- 
posed of  at  the  pleasure  of  the  Holy  Father 
among  churches  dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin. We  heartily  commend  this  idea  to  those 
of  our  readers  who  have  a  taste  for  art,  or  are 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i\  I 


acquainted  with  persons  who  have.  Such  a 
project,  if  carried  out,  would  provide  a  fitting 
tribute  of  respect  to  his  Holiness  and  devotion 
to  Our  Blessed  Lady.  Further  information  on 
this  subject  can  be  obtained  from  Commenda- 
tore  Filippo  Tolli,  Via  Borgo  Nuovo,  8i ,  Rome. 


A  new  Mass  in  memory  of  Joan  of  Arc,  by 
the  great  composer  Gounod  was  performed 
last  month  in  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Papal  Nuncio  and  a  great 
gathering  of  bishops  and  musical  celebrities. 
All  who  heard  the  Mass  expressed  great  ad- 
miration of  it.  It  is  in  the  Palestrina  style, 
and  is  said  to  contain  scarcely  any  instrumen- 
tation, with  the  exception  of  a  regal  trumpet 
accompaniment  in  the  prelude,  and  some  ex- 
quisite harp-playing  in  the  Benedichis. 

We  learn  from  the  Pilot  that  the  Govern- 
ment of  Columbia,  South  America,  has  passed 
a  bill  in  the  National  Legislative  Council 
"authorizing  the  Government  to  oifer  its 
homage  to  his  Holiness  Leo  XI 1 1,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  his  Sacerdotal  Jubilee.  For  this  end 
it  has  destined  the  sum  of  10,000  pesos  in  gold, 
from  the  public  treasury. ' '  This  is  a  testimony 
to  the  fact  that  the  religion  of  which  Leo  XIII. 
is  the  supreme  Head  constitutes  a  social  bond 
and  element.  It  also  emphasizes  the  position 
acquired  by  his  Holiness  in  the  opinion  of 
statesmen  and  of  the  public.  Since  the  day 
when  Spain  and  Portugal  disputed  the  limits 
which  should  enclose  their  authority  in  the 
New  World,  the  influence  of  the  Pontiff  was 
never  so  great  as  it  has  been  since  the  acces- 
sion of  Leo  XIII.   

It  is  a  deplorable  fact  that  large  numbers  of 
employes  of  railroad  companies  do  not  attend 
Mass  on  Sundays  and  holydays,  on  account  of 
the  slavery  to  which  their  avocation  subjects 
them.  The  worst  of  the  matter  is  that  such  as 
begin  this  neglect  in  good  faith  soon  come  to 
consider  it  a  matter  of  course,  and  end  by  be- 
coming lukewarm  and  indiflferent,  and  some- 
times yielding  themselves  up  to  a  disorderly 
life.  We  are  glad  to  note  that  the  Southeastern 
Company  of  Russia,  amongst  others,  has  taken 
steps  to  enable  the  employes  to  obey  the  precept 
of  hearing  Mass.  For  this  purpose  ' '  chapel- 
cars'  '  have  been  built,  which  are  to  be  attached 
to  the  trains  on  Sundays  and  holydays  of  obli- 
gation, so  that  the  workmen  can  hear  Mass. 
To  the  credit  of  the  men  be  it  said  that  it  was 


they  who  initiated  and  secured  this  concession 
from  the  railroad  authorities.  In  Switzerland 
the  railroad  and  mail  agents,  in  1872,  obtained 
a  free  Sunday — or.  when  it  could  not  be  Sun- 
day, a  weekday — every  three  weeks.  In  Nor- 
way, owing  to  a  similar  pressure  brought  to 
bear  on  the  companies,  an  appropriation  was 
made  of  100,000  francs  annually  to  pay  a  corps 
of  substitutes  on  one  Sunday  out  of  three. 
Finally,  the  Belgian  Minister  of  Public  Works 
has  set  himself  to  study  the  question  of  keep- 
ing holy  the  Lord's  Day,  and  has  found  the 
means  of  putting  it  in  the  power  of  the  46,000 
workmen  to  sanctify  that  day.  He  recently  de- 
clared officially  that  some  hundreds  of  freight- 
trains  had  been  suspended  on  Sundays  with- 
out any  inconvenience,  and  that  there  were 
no  complaints,  although  the  number  of  letters 
distributed  on  festival  days  was  considerably 
diminished.  

The  Feast  of  St.  Victor,  Martyr,  of  Marseilles, 
which  occurred  on  the  24th  ult. ,  was  celebi  ated 
in  several  parts  of  France  with  great  solemnity 
and  crowded  congregations.  The  right  foot 
of  the  Saint  is  preserved  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Nicolas-du-Chardonnet,  and  was  exposed  for 
veneration  all  that  day.  Its  history  is  this: 
The  Saint,  having  been  commanded  by  the 
Emperor  Maximilian  to  offer  incense  to  Jupi- 
ter, and  forced  to  stand  before  the  statue  of  the 
false  god,  raised  his  foot  and  overturned  the 
altar,  whereupon  the  Emperor  immediately 
ordered  the  offending  foot  to  be  cut  off.  The 
relic  is  in  perfect  preservation,  every  joint  and 
ligament  intact,  and  covered  with  the  dried 
flesh,  which  has  the  appearaace  of  parchment. 
Savants  have  examined  the  relic,  and  have 
been  unable  to  detect  any  sign  or  peculiarity 
which  contradicts  the  tradition  attributing  it 
to  St.  Victor,  at  the  close  of  the  third  century. 
The  foot  was  given  to  the  Due  de  Berry, 
brother  of  Charles  V.,  by  Pope  Urban  V.,who 
had  been  Abbot  of  St.  Victor  at  Marseilles.  In 
the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century  it  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  Victorins  of  Paris,  who 
have  ever  since  faithfully  celebrated  the  mem- 
ory of  the  reception  of  the  gift  by  a  proper 
office  and  solemn  festival.  During  the  Revolu- 
tion the  precious  relic  was  hid  away  securely 
in  the  vaults  of  the  abbey,  and  when  the  storm 
was  over  it  was  brought  to  light,  and  placed 
in  the  Church  of  St.  Nicolas,  where  it  has 
remained  ever  since. — Paris  Correspondence, 
London  Tablet. 


212 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 

A  Tribute  to  Notre  Dame.    By  Truman 

A.  de  Weese.  New  York:  The  Photogravure  Co. 

Price,  $1. 

This  most  artistic  brochure  comes  to  us  not 
only  as  an  apostrophe  to  Nature  and  Art,  but 
in  recognition  of  what  is  more  to  the  world 
than  either — the  nobility  of  an  institution 
' '  which  has  for  its  ultimate  aim  the  formation 
of  character,' '  and  a  system  of  '  'education  that 
would  make  men . "  "  Hearts  must  be  educated 
as  well  as  the  mind."  Indeed  the  author's 
own  words  are  so  full  of  the  spirit  which  sug- 
gested his  "Tribute,"  so  "leading  through 
nature  up  to  nature's  God,"  that  it  is  hard  to 
find  words  of  praise  delicate  enough  to  com- 
mend ideas  of  education  so  true,  and  homage 
so  loyal  to  the  venerable  founder,  President, 
and  Faculty  of  Notre  Dame.  And  not  to  the 
University  alone  is  the  ' '  Tribute ' '  offered, 
but  also  to  St.  Mary's  Academy,  that  lovely 
home  where  ' '  lilies  of  queens'  gardens ' '  are 
taught  all  that  ennobles  and  graces  true 
womanhood. 

A  very  delightful  book  it  is,  with  its  vellum- 
like paper,  clear  type,  and  exquisite  pictures, 
full  of  those  atmospheric  effects  which  only 
tinted  photogravure,  resembling  etching,  can 
give.  From  the  admirable  likeness  of  the  ven- 
erable Father  Sorin,  the  pictured  pages  lead 
through  lovely  woodlands,  pathways  beneath 
shadowy  archways,  along  the  lake,  broad 
drives,  and  charming  bits  of  architectural 
beauty,  to  sketches  of  the  principal  buildings 
of  University  and  Academy. 

But  apart  from  its  gems  of  art,  every  Chris- 
tian heart  will  delight  in  its  suggestions  of 
educational  worth,  agreeing  with  its  closing 
sentences: 

"What  noble  institutions  these, that  have  for 
their  ultimatum  the  making  of  character!  Ten- 
derly and  with  pathetic  appeal  do  they  come  into 
the  heart  of  every  lover  of  purity  and  nobility, 
clad  in  the  crimson  splendor  of  all  their  past  his- 
tory, and  the  purple  glory  of  a  future  radiant  with 
glowing  hopes." 

By  suggestive  word  and  exquisite  tinted 
photogravure,  the ' '  Tribute  "  is  a  most  worthy 
offering  to  those  ' '  conservators  of  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  useful  in  youth,"  the  educa- 
tional institutions  of  Notre  Dame. 

O.  H. 


Tales  for  Eventide.  A  Collection  of  Stories 
for  Young  Folks.  248  pp.  i8mo.  Office  of  The 
"Ave  Maria."  Price  60  cents. 

Quick  on  the  advent  of  "Once  upon  a 
Time, ' '  recently  issued  by  The  '  Ave  Maria'  ' 
press,  comes  another  charming  collection — 
"Tales  for  Eventide," — all  of  which  have 
been  published  in  the  ' '  Youth' s  Department ' ' 
of  the  magazine.  Catholic  parents  need  no 
longer  complain  of  a  lack  of  suitable  reading 
for  their  children  while  such  delightful  vol- 
umes as  "Tales  for  Eventide"  are  compiled 
for  their  amusement.  Equal  in  literary  merit 
to  the  most  attractive  stories  in  Wide  Awake 
or  St  Nicholas,  their  moral  tone  is  far  supe- 
rior, from  a  Catholic  standpoint".  They  are 
characterized  by  a  religious  sentiment  so  obvi- 
ous as  to  be  instructive,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  full  of  pathetic  incident,  bright  thought  and 
expression,  that  children  can  find  nothing  but 
unalloyed  pleasure  in  the  reading.  We  hope 
soon  to  see  another  issue  of  these  charming 
tales  and  sketches  from  the  same  source. 

M.  E.  M. 


Obituary. 

"  //  M  a  holy  and  tuhoUsome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are 
commended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  read- 
ers. 

Mother  Baptiste  Lynch,  for  twenty-three  years 
the  beloved  Superioress  of  the  Ursulines  in  the 
Diocese  of  Charleston,  who  was  called  to  her 
reward  on  the  28th  ult.  She  founded  the  first 
convent  in  South  Carolina.  Mother  Baptiste 
was  a  sister  of  the  late  Bishop  Lynch,  of  Charles- 
ton. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Ebba  and  Sister  Mary  of  St. 
Gerald,  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross,  both  of 
whom  passed  away  on  the  17th  inst.,  fortified  by 
the  last  Sacraments. 

Miss  Margaret  Meade,  who  departed  this  life  at 
Washington,  D.  C,  on  the  loth  inst.,  in  her  8oth 
year.  She  was  well  known  for  her  great  charities 
— her  life  was  spent  in  doing  good.  She  died  com- 
forted and  strengthened  by  the  Sacraments  of 
Holy  Church.  She  was  a  sister  of  the  late  Gen. 
George  Meade,  U.  S.  A. 

William  Condon,  of  Hoosic  Falls,  N.  Y. ;  Mr. 
James  Sharp,  Brooklyn,  Iowa;  and  Mrs.  Bridget 
Gaul,  Albany,  N.  Y. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


213 


The  Little  Florentine  Scribe.* 


He  was  a  graceful  Florentine  lad  of 
twelve,  with  black  hair  and  a  white  face — 
the  eldest  son  of  a  railway  employee,  who, 
having  a  large  family  and  but  small  pay, 
lived  in  straitened  circumstances.  His  fa- 
ther loved  him  and  was  tolerably  kind  and 
indulgent  to  him, — indulgent  in  everything 
except  in  that  which  referred  to  school.  On 
this  point  he  required  a  great  deal,  and 
showed  himself  severe,  because  his  son  was 
obliged  to  attain  such  a  rank  as  would 
enable  him  soon  to  obtain  a  place  and  help 
his  family;  and  in  order  to  accomplish  any- 
thing quickly,  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  work  a  great  deal  in  a  very  short 
time.  And  although  the  lad  studied,  his 
father  was  always  exhorting  him  to  study 
more. 

His  father  was  advanced  in  years,  and  too 
much  toil  had  aged  him  before  his  time. 
Nevertheless,  in  order  to  provide  for  the 
necessities  of  his  family,  in  addition  to  the 
toil  which  his  occupation  imposed  upon 
him,  he  obtained  special  work  here  and 
there  as  a  copyist,  and  passed  a  good  part 
of  the  night  at  his  writing-table.  Lately  he 
had  undertaken,  in  behalf  of  a  house  which 
published  journals  and  books  in  parts,  to 
write  upon  the  parcels  the  names  and  ad- 
dresses of  their  subscribers,  and  he  earned 
three  lire  (sixty  cents)  for  every  five  hun- 
dred of  these  paper  wrappers,  written  in 
large  and  regular  characters.  But  this  work 
wearied  him,  and  he  oftea  complained  of  it 
to  his  family  at  dinner. 

"My  eyes  are  giving  out,"  he  remarked; 
"this  night- work  is  killing  me."  One  day 
his  son  said  to  him:  "  I^et  me  work  instead 
of  you,  papa?  You  know  that  I  can  write 
like  you,  and  fairly  well."  But  the  father 

*  "Cuore."  By  Edmondo  de  Amicis. 


answered:  "No,  my  son:  you  must  study. 
Your  school  is  a  much  more  important 
thing  than  my  wrappers;  I  feel  remorse  at 
robbing  you  of  a  single  hour.  I  thank  you, 
but  I  will  not  have  it;  do  not  mention  it  to 
me  again." 

The  son  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  insist 
on  such  a  matter  with  his  father,  and  he  did 
not  persist ;  but  this  is  what  he  did.  He  knew 
that  exactly  at  midnight  his  father  stopped 
writing,  and  quitted  his  workroom  to  go  to 
his  bedroom;  he  had  heard  him  several 
times:  as  soon  as  the  twelve  strokes  of  the 
clock  had  sounded,  he  had  heard  the  noise 
of  a  chair  drawn  back,  and  the  slow  step  of 
his  father.  One  night  he  waited  until  the  % 
latter  was  in  bed,  then  dressed  himself  very 
softly,  and  felt  his  way  to  the  little  work- 
room, lighted  the  petroleum  lamp  again, 
seated  himself  at  a  writing-table,  where  lay 
a  pile  of  white  wrappers  and  the  list  of 
addresses,  and  began  to  write,  imitating 
exactly  his  father's  handwriting.  And  he 
wrote  with  a  will,  gladly,  a  little  in  fear, 
and  the  wrappers  piled  up,  and  from  time 
to  time  he  dropped  the  pen  to  rub  his  hands, 
and  then  began  again  with  increased  alac- 
rity, listening  and  smiling.  He  wrote  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty — one  lira!  Then  he  stopped, 
placed  the  pen  where  he  had  found  it,  extin- 
guished the  light,  and  went  back  to  bed  on 
tiptoe. 

At  noon  that  day  his  father  came  home 
to  dinner  in  better  spirits  than  usual.  He 
had  perceived  nothing.  He  did  his  copying 
mechanically,  measuring  it  by  the  hour, 
and  thinking  of  something  else,  and  only 
counted  the  wrappers  he  had  written  on  the 
following  day.  He  seated  himself  at  the 
table  in  a  fine  humor,  and  slapping  his  son 
on  the  shoulder,  he  said  to  him:  "Bh, 
Giulio!  Your  father  is  even  a  better  work- 
man than  you  thought.  In  two  hours  I  did 
a  good  third  more  work  than  usual  last 
night.  My  hand  is  still  nimble,  and  my  eyes 
still  do  their  duty."  And  Giulio,  silent  but 
content,  said  to  himself:  "Poor  daddy!  be- 
sides the  money,  I  am  giving  him  some  sat- 
isfaction in  the  thought  that  he  has  grown 
young  again.  Well,  courage!" 


214 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Encouraged  by  these  good  results,  when 
night  came  and  twelve  o'clock  struck,  the 
boy  rose  once  more,  and  set  to  work.  And 
this  he  did  for  several  nights.  Meantime 
his  father  noticed  nothing;  only  once,  at 
supper,  he  uttered  this  exclamation,  "It  is 
strange  how  much  oil  has  been  used  in  this 
house  lately ! ' '  This  was  a  shock  to  Giulio; 
but  the  conversation  ceased  there,  and  the 
nocturnal  labor  proceeded. 

However,  by  dint  of  thus  breaking  his 
sleep  every  night,  Giulio  did  not  get  suffi- 
cient rest ;  he  rose  in  the  morning  fatigued, 
and  when  he  was  doing  his  school-work  in 
the  evening  he  had  difficulty  in  keeping 
^  his  eyes  open.  One  evening,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  fell  asleep  over  his  copy- 
book. 

"Courage!  courage!"  cried  his  father, 
clapping  his  hands.   ' '  To  work ! ' ' 

He  shook  himself  and  set  to  work  again. 
But  the  next  evening  and  on  the  days  fol- 
lowing the  same  thing  occurred,  and  worse. 
He  dozed  over  his  books,  he  rose  later  than 
usual,  he  studied  his  lessons  in  a  languid 
way,  he  seemed  disgusted  with  study.  His 
father  began  to  observe  him,  then  to  reflect 
seriously,  and  at  last  to  reprove  him.  He 
should  never  have  done  it! 

"Giulio,"  he  said  to  him  one  morning, 
"you  put  me  quite  beside  myself;  you  are 
no  longer  as  you  used  to  be.  I  don't  like  it. 
Take  care;  all  the  hopes  of  your  family  rest 
on  you.  I  am  dissatisfied;  do  you  under- 
stand? ' '  At  this  reproof,  the  first  severe  one, 
in  truth,  which  he  had  ever  received,  the 
boy  grew  troubled.  ' '  Yes, ' '  he  said  to  him- 
self, "it  is  true;  it  can  not  go  on  so;  this 
deceit  must  come  to  an  end." 

But  at  dinner,  on  the  evening  of  that  very 
same  day,  his  father  said,  with  much  cheer- 
fulness: "Do  you  know  that  this  month  I 
have  earned  thirty-two  lire  more  at  address- 
ing those  wrappers  than  last  month ! "  And 
so  saying  he  drew  from  under  the  table  a 
package  of  sweets,  which  he  had  bought 
that  he  might  celebrate  with  his  children 
this  extraordinary  profit,  and  they  all  hailed 
it  with  clapping  of  hands.  Then  Giulio  took 
courage  again,  and  said  in  his  heart:  "No, 


poor  papa,  I  will  not  cease  to  deceive  you ; 
I  will  make  greater  effi)rts  to  work  during 
the  day,  but  I  shall  continue  to  work  at 
night  for  you  and  for  the  rest."  And  his 
father  added, ' '  Thirty-two  lire  more !  I  am 
satisfied.  But  that  boy  there" — pointing  to 
Giulio — "is  the  one  who  displeases  me." 
And  the  little  fellow  received  the  reprimand 
in  silence,  forcing  back  two  tears  which 
tried  to  flow;  but  at  the  same  time  he  felt 
a  great  pleasure  in  his  heart. 

And  he  continued  to  work  by  main  force, 
but  fatigue  added  to  fatigue  rendered  it 
ever  more  difficult  for  him  to  resist.  Thus 
things  went  on  for  two  months.  The  father 
continued  to  reproach  his  son,  and  to  gaze 
at  him  with  eyes  which  grew  constantly 
more  wrathful.  One  day  he  went  to  make 
inquiries  of  the  teacher,  and  the  latter 
observed:  "Yes,  he  gets  on,  because  he  is 
intelligent;  but  he  no  longer  has  the  good- 
will which  he  had  at  first.  He  is  drowsy, 
he  yawns,  his  mind  is  distracted.  He  writes 
short  compositions,  scribbled  down  in  all 
haste,  in  bad  chirography.  Oh,  he  could  do 
a  great  deal  better  if  he  wanted  to!" 

That  evening  the  father  took  the  son 
aside,  and  spoke  to  him  words  which  were 
graver  than  any  the  boy  had  ever  heard. 
"Giulio,  you  see  how  I  toil,  how  I  am  wear- 
ing out  my  life  for  the  family.  You  do 
not  second  my  efforts.  You  have  no  heart 
for  me  nor  for  your  brothers  nor  for  your 
mother!" 

"Ah,  no!  don't  say  that,  father!"  cried 
the  son,  bursting  into  tears,  and  opening 
his  mouth  to  confess  all.  But  his  father  in- 
terrupted him,  saying, 

' '  You  are  aware  of  the  condition  of  the 
family ;  you  know  that  good- will  and  sac- 
rifices on  the  part  of  all  are  necessary.  I 
myself,  as  you  see,  have  had  to  double  my 
work.  I  counted  on  a  gift  of  a  hundred  lire 
from  the  railway  company  this  month,  and 
this  morning  I  have  learned  that  I  shall 
receive  nothing. ' ' 

At  this  information  Giulio  repressed  the 
confession  which  was  on  the  point  of  escap- 
ing from  his  soul,  and  repeated  resolutely 
to  himself:    "No,  papa,  I   shall   tell   you 


The  Ave  Maria. 


215 


nothing ;  I  shall  guard  my  secret  for  the 
sake  of  being  able  to  work  for  you;  I  will 
recompense  you  in  another  way  for  the 
sorrow  which  I  occasion  you;  I  will  study 
enough  at  school  to  win  promotion.  The 
important  point  is  to  help  you  to  earn  our 
living,  and  to  relieve  you  of  the  fatigue 
I     which  is  killing  you." 

And  so  he  went  on,  and  two  months  more 
passed,  of  labor  by  night  and  weakness  by 
day ;  of  desperate  efforts  on  the  part  of  the 
son,  and  of  bitter  reproaches  on  the  part  of 
the  father.  But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  the 
latter  grew  gradually  colder  towards  the 
boy,  addressed  him  only  rarely,  as  though 
he  had  been  a  recreant  son  of  whom  there 
was  nothing  any  longer  to  be  expected,  and 
almost  avoided  meeting  his  glance.  And 
Giulio  perceived  this  and  suffered  from  it; 
and  when  his  father's  back  was  turned,  he 
threw  him  a  furtive  kiss,  stretching  forth 
his  face  with  a  sentiment  of  sad  and  duti- 
ful tenderness;  and  between  sorrow  and 
fatigue  he  grew  thin  and  pale,  and  he  was 
constrained  to  still  further  neglect  his 
studies. 

But  he  understood  well  that  there  must 
be  an  end  to  it  some  day,  and  every  evening 
he  said  to  himself,  ' '  I  will  not  get  up  to- 
night" ;  but  when  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
at  the  moment  when  he  should  have  vigo- 
rously reaffirmed  his  resolution,  he  felt 
remorse:  it  seemed  to  him  that  by  remain- 
ing in  bed  he  should  be  failing  in  a  duty, 
and  robbing  his  father  and  the  family  of  a 
lira.  And  he  rose,  thinking  that  some  night 
his  father  would  wake  up  and  discover  him, 
or  that  he  would  discover  the  deception  by 
accident,  by  counting  the  wrappers  twice; 
and  then  all  would  come  to  a  natural  end, 
without  any  act  of  his  will,  which  he  did 
not  feel  the  courage  to  exert.  And  thus  he 
went  on. 

But  one  evening  at  supper  his  father 
spoke  a  word  which  was  decisive,  so  far  as 
he  was  concerned.  His  mother  looked  at 
him,  and  as  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was 
more  ill  and  weak  than  usual,  she  said: 
' '  Giulio,  you  are  ill. ' '  And  then,  turning  to 
his  father, with  anxiety:  " Giulio  is  ill.  See 


how  pale  he  is!  Giulio,  my  dear,  how  do 
you  feel?" 

His  father  gave  a  hasty  glance,  and  said : 
"  It  is  his  bad  conscience  that  produces  his 
ill  health.  He  was  not  thus  when  he  was  a 
studious  scholar  and  a  loving  son." 

*'But  he  is  ill!"   exclaimed  the  mother. 

"I  don't  care  about  him  any  longer," 
replied  the  father. 

This  remark  was  like  a  stab  in  the  heart 
of  the  poor  boy.  Ah !  he  cared  nothing  any 
more! — his  father,  who  once  trembled  at 
the  meie  sound  of  a  cough  from  him!  He 
no  longer  loved  him ;  there  was  no  longer 
any  doubt;  he  was  dead  in  his  father's 
heart.  "Ah!  no,  my  father,"  said  the  boy  to 
himself,  his  heart  oppressed  with  anguish; 
' '  now  all  is  over  indeed ;  I  can  not  live  with- 
out your  affection ;  I  must  have  it  all  back. 
I  will  tell  you  all;  I  will  deceive  you  no 
longer.  I  will  study  as  of  old,  come  what 
may,  if  you  will  only  love  me  once  more, 
my  poor  father!  Oh,  this  time  I  am  quite 
sure  of  my  resolution!" 

Nevertheless,  he  rose  that  night  again, 
by  force  of  habit;  and  when  he  was  once 
up  he  wanted  to  go  and  see  once  more,  for 
the  last  time,  in  the  quiet  of  the  night, 
that  little  chamber  where  he  toiled  so  much 
in  secret  with  his  heart  full  of  satisfaction 
and  tenderness.  And  when  he  beheld  again 
that  little  table  with  the  lamp  lighted,  and 
those  wrappers  on  which  he  was  never 
more  to  write  those  names  of  towns  and  per- 
sons, which  he  had  come  to  know  by  heart, 
he  was  seized  with  a  great  sadness,  and  with 
an  impetuous  movement  he  grasped  the 
pen  to  recommence  his  accustomed  toil. 
But  in  reaching  out  his  hand  he  struck  a 
book,  and  it  fell.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 
heart.  What  if  his  father  had  waked!  Cer- 
tainly he  would  not  have  discovered  him 
in  the  commission  of  a  bad  deed :  he  had 
himself  decided  to  tell  him  all.  And  yet — 
the  sound  of  that  step  approaching  in  the 
darkness;  the  discovery  at  that  hour,  in 
that  silence;  his  mother,  who  would  be 
awakened  and  alarmed;  and  the  thought, 
which  had  occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time, 
that  his  father  might  feel  humiliated  in  his 


2l6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


presence  on  thus  discovering  all, — ^all  this 
terrified  him  greatly. 

He  bent  his  ear,  with  suspended  breath. 
He  heard  no  sound.  He  laid  his  ear  to  the 
lock  of  the  door  behind  him — heard  noth- 
ing. The  whole  house  was  asleep.  His  father 
had  not  been  disturbed.  He  recovered  his 
composure,  and  set  himself  again  to  his 
writing,  and  wrapper  was  piled  on  wrapper. 
He  heard  the  regular  tread  of  the  policeman 
below  in  the  deserted  street;  then  the  rum- 
ble of  a  carriage,  which  gradually  died  away ; 
then,  after  an  interval,  the  rattle  of  a  file  of 
carts,  which  passed  slowly  by;  then  a  pro- 
found silence,  broken  from  time  to  time  by 
the  barking  of  a  dog.  And  he  wrote  on  and 
on — and  meanwhile  his  father  was  behind 
him.  He  had  risen  on  hearing  the  fall  of  the 
book,  and  had  remained  waiting  for  a  long 
time.  The  rattle  of  the  carts  had  drowned 
the  noise  of  his  footsteps  and  the  creaking 
of  the  door-casing;  and  he  was  there,  with 
his  white  head  bent  over  Giulio's  little 
black  head,  and  he  had  seen  the  pen  flying 
over  the  wrappers,  and  in  an  instant  he  had 
divined  all,  remembered  all,  understood  all, 
and  a  despairing  penitence,  but  at  the  same 
time  an  immense  tenderness,  had  taken 
possession  of  his  mind  and  had  held  him 
nailed  to  the  spot,  suflfocating  behind  his 
child.  Suddenly  Giulio  uttered  a  piercing 
shriek:  two  arms  had  pressed  his  head 
convulsively. 

"Oh,  papa,  papa!  forgive  me,  forgive 
me!"  he  cried,  recognizing  his  parent  by 
his  weeping. 

* '  Do  you  forgive  me ! ' '  replied  his  father, 
sobbing  and  covering  his  brow  with  kisses. 
*'I  understand  all,  I  know  all.  It  is  I — it  is 
I  who  ask  your  pardon,  my  blessed  boy! 
Come,  come  with  me!"  And  he  pushed 
or  rather  carried  him  to  the  bedside  of  his 
mother,  who  was  awake,  and,  throwing  him 
into  her  arms,  he  said : 

"Kiss  this  little  angel  of  a  son,  who  has 
not  slept  for  three  months,  but  has  been 
toiling  for  me,  while  I  was  saddening  his 
heart,  and  he  was  earning  our  bread ! ' '  The 
mother  pressed  him  to  her  breast  and  held 
him  there,  without  the  power  to  speak;  at 


last  she  said:  "Go  to  sleep  at  once,  my 
baby;  go  to  sleep  and  rest. — Carry  him  to 
bed." 

The  father  took  him  from  her  arms,  car- 
ried him  to  his  room,  and  laid  him  in  his 
bed,  still  breathing  hard  and  caressing  him, 
and  arranged  his  pillows  and  coverlets. 

"Thanks,  papa,"  the  child  kept  repeat- 
ing; "thanks;  but  go  to  bed  yourself  now; 
I  am  content;  go  to  bed,  papa." 

But  his  father  wanted  to  see  him  fall 
asleep ;  so  he  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  took 
his  hand,  and  said  to  him:  "Sleep,  sleep, 
my  little  son ! ' '  And  Giulio,being  weak,  fell 
asleep  at  last,  and  slumbered  many  hours, 
enjoying  for  the  first  time  in  many  months 
a  tranquil  sleep,  enlivened  by  pleasant 
dreams;  and  as  he  opened  his  eyes,  when 
the  sun  had  already  been  shining  for  a  tol- 
erably long  time,  he  first  felt  and  then  saw, 
close  to  his  breast,  and  resting  upon  the 
edge  of  the  little  bed,  the  white  head  of  his 
father,  who  had  passed  the  night  thus,  and 
who  was  still  asleep,  with  his  brow  against 
his  son's  heart. 


The  Garden  of  the  Soul. 


King  Charles  the  Fat  was  very  fond  of 
visiting  the  Monastery  of  St.  Gall,  where 
lived  Notker,  the  composer  of  "  In  the  midst 
of  I/ife  we  are  in  Death."  Once  he  sent  a 
messenger  to  Notker  to  ask  for  some  advice 
on  the  conduct  of  his  soul.  Notker  was  in 
the  garden,  watering  and  weeding,  when 
the  messenger  addressed  him.  "Tell  the 
King, ' '  he  said, "  to  do  as  I  am  doing  now.  * ' 
Charles,  when  he  heard  this,  exclaimed, 
"Yes,  that  is  the  sum  of  all.  Away  with 
the  weeds  of  vice,  and  water  the  herbs  of 
grace. ' ' 


A  DRESS-MAKER  neglected  to  send  home 
some  work  on  Saturday.  Early  on  Sunday 
morning  she  told  her  little  niece  to  take  it 
to  the  lady's  house.  "Put  the  bundle  under 
your  shawl,"  she  said,  "and  nobody  will 
notice  it."  " But,' aunty, "  said  the  child, 
"isn't  it  Sunday  under  my  shawl?" 


tH^ 


THENCEFORXH  A^GEXeRATIoKS  S](AlL  CAU^E  BLE^EDT  j 


Vol.  XXV.         NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  3,  1887. 


No.   10. 


rCopTTicht  -— Kwr.  D.  E.  Hinisov,  C.  S.  C.) 


Golden   Rods. 


BY    WILWAM    D.    KELLY. 


I  V\  GOL/DEN  rods  in  every  meadow  growing, 
^  And  making  bright  the  beauty  of  the  field, 
Where  the  rich  colors  of  your  petals  glowing 

Compel  all  other  tints  to  them  to  yield; 
Autumnal  flowers,  that  seemingly  embosom 

The  golden  harvest  and  the  ripened  fruit, 
True  types  are  ye  of  that  far  fairer  blossom 

Borne  by  the  rod  which  rose  from  Jesse '  s  root. 

For,  when  that  budded,  all  the  sombre  shadows 

Which  long  had  veiled  the  Syrian  land  in 
gloom, 
lyifted  and  fled,  and  all  the  hills  and  meadows 

Beauteous   became   because  of  its   bright 
bloom: 
The  skies  assumed  a  loveliness  more  tender, 

The  earth  took  on  a  myriad  new  charms, 
When,  in  the  majesty  of  all  its  splendor, 

The  rod  of  Je.sse  flowered  in  Mary's  arms. 


The  Litany  of  Loreto  as  Sung  by  Amer- 
ican Blossoms. 


BY    ARTHUR  J.  STAGE. 


|HE  flowers  of  America  are  unknown 
even  to  Americans  themselves.  For- 
eign plants  fill  our  gardens.  Our 
lawns  are  besprent  with  European  clover 
and  dandelion.  Our  very  roadsides  are  mal- 
odorous with  weeds  from  the  Old  World — 
May- weed,  toad- flax,  and  hound' s-tongue. 


Indigenous   flowers   have  fled    before    the 
plough  and  harrow,  and  hid  themselves  in 
the  fastnesses  of  forest  and  swamp;  while 
the  felling  of  timber  and  the  process  of 
drainage  yearly  threaten  to  drive  them  from 
these  final  resorts.   As  the  red  man  gives, 
place  to  the  white,  and  the  untamed  bison 
to  the  plodding  ox,  so  these  sweet  blossoms 
seem  destined  to  pass  away  unnoticed,  un- 
known to  literature  and  song,  recorded  only 
by  the  careful  botanist,  in  whose  scientific 
mind  they  arouse  no  more  interest  than  the 
yeast-plant  or  the  ague  germ.    He  takes 
little  heed  of  the  charms  of  color  and  odor 
which  their  Creator  gave  them  to  appeal  to 
the  human  heart.  He  would  rather  cut  them 
in  pieces  to  examine  with  his  microscope, 
and  by  analyzing  their  beauty,  destroy  it 
Yet,  before  they  have  passed  away  en- 
tirely, let  their  voices  be  heard  in  praise  of 
Her  to  whom  the  intrepid  discoverer  dedi- 
cated this  New  World.  In  every  land  the 
choicest  blossoms  have  been  woven  into 
garlands  to  do  Her  honor.   But  the  flowers 
of  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa  had  been  pre- 
viously polluted  in  the  worship  of  false 
divinities.   Classic  literature  still  connects 
their  names  with  heathen  legends, dragging 
their  beauty  in  the  mire  of  foul  or  frivolous 
imagination.   But  if  the  heathen  Indians 
ever  so  degraded  our  American  blossoms, 
the  infamy  has  never  been  perpetuated  in 
literature.  They  come  to  us  unconnected 
with  any  defiling  thought,  meet  oflPerings  to 
lay  at  the  feet  of  the  Blessed  Mother.  Thus„ 
then,  shall  they  sing  their  litany: 


2l8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Sancta  Maria^  orapro  nobis.  The  thoughts 
awakened  in  our  hearts  by  the  sweet  name 
of  Mary  may  be  aptly  symbolized  by  one  of 
the  best  known  of  American  flowers,  in  New 
England  called  the  May-flower,  in  Mary- 
land the  trailing  arbutus,  while  the  botanist 
knows  it  as  Epigcsa  repens.  (We  shall  give 
the  botanical  names  of  all  the  plants  we 
mention,  not  in  the  spirit  of  pedantry,  but 
as  the  only  sure  means  of  identification;  for 
what  are  given  as  their  "common"  names 
in  books  of  reference,  are  by  no  means  com- 
mon in  the  sense  of  popular  or  well  known. ) 
This  little  flower  loves  the  seclusion  of 
the  forest,  blooming  beneath  the  withered 
leaves  of  the  previous  autumn.  Its  fra- 
grance, however,  betrays  its  presence,  and 
then  the  delicacy  of  its  white  and  rosy  col- 
oring is  discovered  and  admired.  But,  with 
all  this  delicacy,  it  is  not  afraid  to  brave  the 
rigors  of  the  early  season,  being  among  the 
first  of  flowers  to  break  the  fetters  of  the 
frost-giants.  How  emblematical  of  the  qual- 
ities of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  how  sweet  the 
song  of  praise  this  humble  blossom  sings 
to  Her  name,  telling  of  the  perfume  of  Her 
virtues,  the  purity  and  amiability  of  Her 
soul,  and  the  intrepidity  with  which  She 
met  Her  surpassing  sorrows,  it  is  needless 
for  us  to  point  out  to  the  faithful  Christian. 

Sancta  Dei  Genitrix^  orapro  nobis.  Amid 
the  falsification  of  religious  feeling  conse- 
quent on  the  building  of  Babel  and  the 
confusion  of  tongues,  one  tradition,  one  ele- 
ment of  truth,  one  blessed  hop?,  survived. 
It  was  the  expectation  of  a  Redeemer  to 
come — of  a  God  Man  who  should  restore  the 
long-lost  Eden  to  a  fallen  race.  And  as  the> 
saw  a  bud  rise  from  the  depths  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  waters,  to  meet  the  Divine  Spirit 
brooding  over  them,  they  fancied  that  the 
unfolding  of  the  snowy  petals  might  dis- 
close the  long-sought  Messiah.  On  the 
banks  of  the  Nde  and  the  Gangfes  alike,  the 
lotus  was  the  emblem  of  Divine  Maternity. 
In  America  we  have  our  own  fragrant  white 
water-lily  (A >/w/>/z<^«  <9<af^r«/«).  flushed  with 
virginal  blushes,  and  exhaling  a  perfume  of 
which  the  scentless  water-lilies  of  the  Old 
World  know  not  the  secret.   Let  it  be  to  us 


a  fitting  symbol  of  the  Holy  Mother  of  God. 

Sa7icta  Virgo  Virginum,  ora  pro  nobis. 
As  April  advances  with  fitful  promises  of 
spring,  the  remembrance  of  recent  snows 
seems  to  be  retained  even  by  the  flowers 
that  bloom  in  defiance  of  their  possible  re- 
turn. A  large  proportion  of  them  are  white. 
Those  of  Cormis  Jlorida  look  like  actual 
snow-flakes  resting  on  the  leafless  branches. 
The  amelanchier  flings  its  snow  less  rest- 
fully  to  the  mercy  of  the  breeze;  the  anem- 
ones gather  it  up  in  drifts  upon  the  bank. 
But  among  all  these  snowy  blossoms,  as 
Mary  among  the  virgins,  is  one  of  surpass- 
ing beauty.  The  children  who  roam  the 
woods  generally  call  it  the  "white  lily," 
although  this  name  is  not  given  to  it  in  any 
of  the  books  to  which  we  have  referred.  Its 
botanical  name  is  Trillium  grandiflorum. 
A  lady  writer,  to  whose  well-known  work 
"Rural  Hours"  we  shall  have  frequent 
occasion  to  lecur  (for  she  has  done  for  indig- 
enous plants  what  her  yet  more  celebrated 
father  has  done  for  the  aboriginal  races — 
enshrined  fhem  in  undying  literature),  calls 
them  "moo'e- flowers," — a  charming  name, 
suggestive  of  woodland  glades  and  forest 
haunt,  but  probably  only  popular  in  her 
own  county  or  State.  It  is  one  of  those  few 
species  which  bear  their  petals  in  threes, 
suggesting  the  intimate  relationship  of  the  I 
Holy  Virgin  to  the  Three  Divine  Persons.     ■ 

Mater  Christi^ora pro  nobis.  When  spring 
flowers  are  gone,  and  summer  flowers  have 
not  as  yet  appeared,  there  is  a  brief  period 
when  all  is  greeneiy — forest  and  field  alike 
clothed  in  the  fresh,  tender  verdure  of  the 
budding  ^ear.  At  such  times,  as  you  pass 
through  the  grove  you  are  saluted  by  a  pow- 
erful )et  delicate  fragrance,  whose  source 
Aou  are  at  first  unable  to  discover.  At 
length,  by  patient  research,  you  trace  it  to 
the  blossoms  of  the  wild  vine  {Vitis  cordi- 
folid)^  our  native  American  grape,  from 
which  the  early  missionaries,  the  martyred 
Breboeuf,  Lallemant,  Jogues,  prepared  the 
wine  for  the  Eucharistic  Sacrifice.  The 
blossoms  are  of  the  same  vivid  green  as  the 
surrounding  leaves,  and  hence  are  not  at 
once  recognized  as  flowers.  Their  fragrance 


I 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


219 


is  unsurpassed,  and  that  of  the  Old-World 
species  has  found  its  place  in  literature, 
even  in  the  sacred  pages  of  Holy  Writ.  And 
as  the  fruit  of  the  vine  is  the  constant  symbol 
of  Christ — the  symbol  of  His  own  choice, 
— so  the  perfumed  blossom  of  the  same 
should  remind  us  of  His  Holy  Mother,  and 
be  of  Her,  in  this  character,  the  most  ex- 
pressive emblem.  The  heart-shaped  leaves 
of  this  most  fragrant  species,  its  place  of 
growth  by  the  borders  of  running  brooks, 
and  the  fact  that  its  fruit,  called  \\i^  frost 
grape^  does  not  ripen  until  earthly  cheer 
has  passed  from  the  landscape, — all  sug- 
gests new  parallels  of  thought  to  the  devout 
Christian. 

Mater  Divines  Gratitr^  ora  pro  nobis.  As 
you  roam  through  sunny  glades  on  a  bright 
June  morning,  you  see  shining  blossoms 
where  nothing  but  grass  was  to  be  seen  the 
day  before.  So  brilliant  and  so  sudden  is 
their  appearance  that  they  seem  to  be  act- 
ual emanations  from  the  orb  of  day,  as  our 
Catechisms  tell  us  of  grace  being  a  partici- 
pation in  the  Divine  Nature.  Pluck  them 
while  you  may,  for  in  an  hour  or  so  their 
place  will  be  found  no  more.  In  this,  too, 
they  resemble  grace;  for  if  the  blessed  op- 
portunity is  neglected,  it  may  never  return. 
And  on  the  stem,  below  the  conspicuous 
flowers,  you  will  find  other  inconspicuous 
ones,  apetalous  as  the  botanists  call  them, 
but  yet  as  fruitful  as  the  former.  This  may 
teach  us  that  the  graces  that  sustain  the 
hidden  virtues  of  a  cloistered  life  are  as 
precious  as  those  that  elevate  their  recipient 
upon  the  pedestal  of  acknowledged  sanctity. 
The  flower  is  the  rock-rose  {Helianthemum 
Canadense)^  and  may  call  to  our  minds 
when  we  see  it  the  remembrance  of  Her 
who  is  named  Mother  of  Grace  Divine. 

Mater  purissima^  ora  pro  nobis.  Those 
who  admire  the  elegance  of  the  calla  lily,  so 
common  in  cultivation,  may  not  be  aware 
that  we  have  an  indigenous  calla,  not  less 
brilliant  in  its  whiteness.  It  is  rare — far  less 
often  seen  than  its  cultivated  congener.  In 
all  my  rural  rambles  I  have  met  it  but  once. 
It  blooms  in  pure  but  shallow  waters,  raising 
its  spathe  above  their  rippling  flow.   Calla 


palustris  may  well  suggest  to  us  the  Mater 
purissima. 

Mater  castissima^  ora  pro  nobis.  The  idea 
of  whiteness  is  so  thoroughly  associated  in 
our  minds  with  that  of  the  lily,  that  it  must 
be  a  surprise  to  the  botanical  student  to  find 
that  not  one  American  species  of  the  genus 
Lilium  bears  a  white  flower,  and,  indeed, 
only  three  foreign  species  do  so.  The  popu- 
lar name  "lily,"  however,  is  frequently  ap- 
plied to  plants  belonging  to  other  genera^ 
and  particularly  to  the  well-known  Conval- 
laria  majalis^  or  lily  of  the  valley.  Well 
known,  because  indigenous  to  Europe  as 
well  as  to  America ;  yet  let  no  one  mistake 
it  for  merely  a  naturalized  foreigner,  like  so 
many  weeds  that  thrust  upon  us  their  un- 
welcome company.  The  lily  of  the  valley 
is  found  in  the  trackless  dells  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  in  Virginia  and  southward,  and 
was  at  home  there  before  the  white  man's 
foot  had  pressed  the  sod.  None  to  whom  the 
perfume  and  beauty  of  this  favorite  flower 
are  familiar  can  doubt  the  propriety  of  our 
choice  of  it  as  the  songstress  of  the  invoca- 
tion, Mater  castissima^  ora  pro  nobis. 

Mater  inviolata^  ora  pro  nobis.  Enter  the 
forest  after  a  recent  storm, while  the  leaves 
are  still  dripping,  and  some  perhaps  torn 
from  the  branches  by  the  violence  of  the 
gale;  and  beneath  the  trees  you  shall  find 
a  delicate  fern  showing  no  sign  of  having 
been  subjected  to  the  wrath  of  the  tempest — 
not  even  a  drop  of  rain  staining  its  feathery 
fronds,  while  its  elastic  stem  stands  erect 
among  the  drooping  and  down-beaten  foli- 
age of  less  favored  denizens  of  the  forest. 
This  is  the  maiden-hair  fern  {Adiantum 
pedatum)^  like  the  flower  last  mentioned,  a 
native  alike  of  America  and  Europe,  and 
therefore  well  known  in  literature  and  art. 
Its  peculiar  property  of  repelling  rain  is 
intimated  by  its  generic  name  *''' adiantum^'' 
and  makes  it  appropriately  the  symbol  of 
the  Mother  Inviolate. 

Mater  intemerata,  ora  pro  nobis.  After 
the  summer  has  passed  its  prime,  if  you 
seek  the  woodland  shade  amid  the  heated 
droughts  of  July  and  August,  a  singular 
growth  will  be  apt  to  attract  your  attention. 


2  20 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  cursory  glance  might  pass  it  by  as  a  fun- 
gus, for  no  trace  of  verdure  appears  on  stem 
or  leaf.  All  is  white,  but  not  the  dead  white 
of  a  fungus.  It  has  a  translucence  which 
makes  it  seem  carved  in  alabaster,  and  you 
notice  that  it  bears  a  solitary  blossom,  bell- 
shaped  and  pendulous.  A  reference  to  your 
treatise  on  botany  soon  identifies  it  as  Mono- 
tropa  unijlora.  Yet  seek  not  to  pluck  it  The 
lightest  touch  of  fairy  fingers  will  leave  an 
ink-stain  on  its  delicate  surface,  and  carried 
in  your  hand  it  soon  becomes  a  blackened, 
unsightly  object,  from  which  all  beauty  has 
disappeared.  But  while  growing  beneath 
its  natural  shelter,  pure  and  undefiled,  it  is 
to  us  an  emblem  of  the  Mater  intemerata. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

ALIKE  crowded  with  such  an  amount  of 
active  work  would  seem  to  leave  no 
room  for  the  apostolate  of  the  pen,  and  yet 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  contrived  to  carry  on  inces- 
santly and  ably  this  latter  ministry.  He  first 
began  it,  it  will  be  remembered,  during  the 
enforced  leisure  of  a  long  illness;  but  it  did 
not  cease  with  this  leisure;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  grew  with  his  restored  health,  and 
had  gone  on  steadily  increasing  ever  since. 
His  published  works  amount  to  some  sixty 
volumes,  large  and  small.  It  seems  incred- 
ible that  in  so  busy  a  life  he  should  have 
accomplished  so  much  literary  work;  but, 
as  his  brother  explains,  this  fact  was  in  a 
measure  due  to  his  blindness  Whilst  the 
Bishop  was  in  the  confessional  or  the 
pulpit,  or  occupied  in  some  function,  his 
secretary  was  searching  out  materials  for 
him — quotations  from  the  Fathers,  from 
the  Councils;  texts  and  facts  elucidating 
or  illustrating  his  doctrine,  corroborating 
whatever  thesis  he  had  in  hand;  so  that 
when  he  sat  down  to  the  work  of  composi- 
tion, he  found  everything  ready  prepared, 
in  perfect  order;  and  thus  he  was  enabled 


to  produce  his  book  in  less  time  than  it  had 
taken  to  prepare  it 

His  style  was  very  attractive — terse, 
glowing,  full  of  charms;  his  doctrine  was 
solid.  His ' '  Treatise  on  Holy  Communion  *' 
— an  ardent  appeal  to  souls  in  favor  of  fre- 
quent Communion — so  delighted  Pius  IX. 
that  he  distributed  it  with  his  own  hand  to 
the  preachers  who  assembled  to  receive  his 
instructions  for  the  Lenten  station.  "This 
book,"  said  the  Vicar  of  Christ,  *' should  be 
given  to  every  child  at  his  First  Commun- 
ion; every  parish  priest  ought  to  have  it^ 
it  contains  the  rules  for  Communion  as  the 
Council  of  Trent  understands  them,  and  as 
I  wish  to  see  them  applied."  Such  a  testi- 
mony includes  all  that  can  or  need  be  said 
of  the  value  of  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  service  of 
the  pen. 

His  love  for  the  Eucharist  made  him 
anxious  to  promote  frequent  Communion,^ 
and  he  was  perpetually  adjuring  both  relig- 
ious and  seculars  to  practise  and  encourage 
others  to  practise  it  He  had  a  hard  battle 
to  fight  in  this  direction;  for  although  the 
heresy  of  Jansenism  was  dead,  its  ghost  was 
not  laid,  and  the  notion  that  Holy  Commun- 
ion was  to  be  taken  rather  as  a  reward  for 
Christian  holiness  than  a  means  of  attaining 
to  it  was  still  practically  pievalent  Mgr.  de 
S^gur  did  a  great  work  against  this  fatal 
delusion,  and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  daily 
Communion  adopted  by  a  great  number  of 
souls  both  in  the  world  and  the  cloister. 

Next  to  the  Eucharist,  the  object  of  his 
devotion  and  zeal  was  Our  Blessed  Lady. 
He  encountered  little  opposition  in  preach- 
ing this  doctiine,  which  France  has  held 
dear  and  sacred  amidst  all  her  aberrations; 
she  has  denied  God  in  moments  of  national 
frenzy,  but  she  has  never  publicly  insulted 
His  Mother,  or  refused  the  Immaculate 
Virgin  the  honor  and  love  due  to  Her  sub- 
lime prerogatives.  I  remember  hearing  a 
venerable  old  Frenchman  relate  how,  in  one 
of  those  moments  of  popular  fury,  when  the 
nation  turns  on  God  as  on  a  personal  enemy 
(in  1850, 1  think  it  was),  a  woman  cried  out 
to  a  demagogue  who  was  going  to  attack 
Our  Lady,  "Hold  off,  citizen!  Take  the  bon 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Ill 


Dieu  from  us  if  yoa  liVe,  but  leave  us  the 
Blessed  Virgin!"  The  outrageous  senti 
ment  was  in  reality,  perhaps,  less  blasphe- 
mous than  it  sounds;  for  the  woman  felt 
instinctively  that  while  the  Mother  was 
held  in  honor,  the  Son  could  not  long  be  re- 
jected or  denied.  This  tender  feeling  towards 
Our  Lady,  which  is  so  universil  a  nongst 
the  French  was  one  reason  why  all  Mgr. 
de  Segur's  books  about  Her  were  so  ex- 
tremely popular. 

The  Bishop  had  grown  practically  accus- 
tomed to  his  infirmit)-,  and  was  in  full  fire 
of  his  .work  in  Paris,  having  adjusted  his 
ministry  to  his  altered  conditions,  when 
suddenly  the  question  arose  of  having  an 
operation  performed  on  his  eyes.  His  par- 
ents had  brought  their  courage  to  the  point 
of  submission  to  God's  will,  but  they  had 
never  renounced  all  hope  of  a  cure  The 
first  oculists  had  pronounced  the  case  abso- 
lutely hopeless,  the  optic  nerve  being  dead; 
but  M.  and  Mme  de  S^gur  hoped  on  against 
hope.  They  consulted  the  famous  surgeon 
Nelaion,  and  to  their  joy  he  said  that,  far 
from  being  incurable,  it  was  a  simple  case 
of  cataract,  and  that  he  would  undertake 
the  operation,  and  pledge  himself  to  its 
success.  Mgr.  de  Segur  heard  this  opinion 
with  dismay;  he  was  perfectly  certain  it 
was  an  erroneous  one,  and  that  his  blind- 
ness was  as  far  beyond  the  reach  of  human 
cure  as  death;  but  he  could  not  convince 
his  mother  of  this,  so  he  lent  himself  to 
her  desire,  and  consented  to  go  through  the 
misery  of  the  experiment,  and  the  tedious 
treatment  involved  in  thepreparation  for  it. 

When  the  day  came,,  Ndlaton  arrived  an 
hour  before  the  appointed  time,  in  order  to 
avoid  any  one's  being  present  during  the 
operation.  Mdthol  alone  was  there,  and  held 
the  glass  to  receive  the  cataract — a  little 
crystalline  particle  which  the  surgeon,  after 
making  the  incision,  shot  out  from  the 
pupil.  Nelaton  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
triumph  when  he  saw  it.  Mgr.  de  Segur 
smiled,  made  a  large  Sign  of  the  Cross,  as 
he  had  done  at  the  beginning,  and  said, 
■quietly,  "God's  will  be  done!"  He  then 
let  himself  be  put  to  bed,  and  obeyed  the 


surgeon's  orders  with  the  docility  of  a  child, 
lying  motionless  for  hours,  while  a  linen 
cloth  wetted  with  iced  water  was  continu- 
ally applied  to  his  eye. 

For  the  first  two  days  Nelaton  was  jubi- 
lant, but  on  the  third  he  was  less  confident. 
Every  morning  after  dressing  the  eye  he 
asked,  'Do  you  perceive  any  glimmer  of 
ligH  t  th  rough  the  bandage  ? ' '  To  which  the 
patient  replied, '  Not  the  faintest!"  At  last 
one  day  Nelaton  told  Methol  to  draw  back 
the  curtains,  and,  placing  his  hat  over  the 
eye,  he  removed  the  bandage  suddenly,  then 
the  hat,  and  said,  "What  do  you  see  now?" 
''Nothing,doctor;  absolutely  nothing.  May 
God's  holy  will  be  blest!"  was  the  serene 
reply.  Nelaton  took  up  his  hat,  and  left  the 
room  without  a  word,  and  never  appeared 
again.  Mgr,  de  Segur,  thankful  to  be  done 
with  the  tiresome  experiment,  got  up  and 
dressed  himself,'and  went  into  the  chapel 
to  recite  the  Te  Deum.  This  done,  he  went 
out  to  call  on  his  parents,  and  console  them 
for  the  disappointment  of  hopes  that  he 
had  never  shared. 

But  the  blow,  though  a  heavy  one,  did  not 
even  yet  kill  hope  in  Mme.  de  Segur.  Where 
man  had  failed,  God  could  succeed.  Science 
could  do  nothing,  but  the  supernatural 
could  do  all  things ;  she  resolved  to  ask  for 
a  miracle.  Mgr*  de  Segur  shrank  from  this 
experiment  even  more  than  from  the  former 
one,  but  he  could  refuse  his  mother  noth- 
ing. .  She  entreated  him  to  go  and  see  the 
Holy  Man  of  Tours,  and  get  him  to  rub 
the  blind  eyes  with  the  oil  which  burned 
before  the  image  of  the  Holy  Face,  and 
which  had  performed,  it  was  said,  many 
wonderful  cures. 

The  saintly  prelate  went  to  Tours.  The 
very  morning  he  arrived  a  religious  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  had  been  instantaneously 
cured  of  a  loss  of  voice  which  nad  lasted 
for  a  long  time.  The  Bishop  knelt  down 
before  the  sacred  image,  and  held  up  his 
eyes  to  be  anointed.  As  the  oil  touched 
them,  they  were  quickened;  he  saw  the 
image  of  the  Saviour's  face,  seamed  and 
stained,  with  the  blood  trickling  down  from 
the  thorns.  A  cry  rose  from  his  lips  at  the 


222 


The  Ave  Maria. 


apparition;  then  the  light  went  out.  The 
darkness  closed  before  him,  and  was  never 
lifted  again.  The  return  of  sight  had  not 
been  more  than  a  flash  of  lightning,  but  it 
sent  a  thrill  through  him  that  he  never 
forgot.  It  may  only  have  been  a  spiritual 
vision,  a  vivid  glance  of  the  soul  that  pierced 
the  senses;  but  Mgr.  de  Se^iir  believed  he 
had  seen  the  image  with  his  bodily  eyes, 
and  those  -ground  him  were  convinced  that 
he  had;  but  he  never  again  alluded  to  it, 
and  went  away  more  <"l:an  ever  certain  that 
his  blindness  was  not  to  be  taken  from  him. 

But  this  momentary  grant  of  hrr  ardent 
petition  had  raised  his  mother's  hope?,  and 
she  implored  him  to  return  again,  and  let 
his  eyes  be  once  more  anointed  with  the 
holy  oil.  Gently  acquiescent  as  usual,  he 
returned,  and  knelt  again  under  the  lamp 
burning  before  the  image;  but  nothing 
could  move  him  to  utter  any  prayer  but 
his  chosen  one:  "Let  the  will  of  God  be 
done!"  The  holy  man  of  Tours  did  his 
best  to  make  him  ask  for  a  cure.  With 
delightfully  simple  faith  he  urged  the  ex- 
ample of  the  sick  people  in  the  Gospel, 
saying,  "It  is  not  easy  to  obtain  a  bodily 
cure  from  God  unless  we  ask  it  in  the  words 
of  the  blind  man  in  the  Gospel :  '  ''Domine^ 
ut  videam! — '  Lord,  gi  ant  that  I  may  see ! " ' 
But  nothing  could  induce  the  blind  priest 
to  depart  from  his  formula:  Fiat  voluntas 
tua!  The  second  attempt  was  answered  by 
a  great  infusion  of  inward  light  and  joy ;  but 
this  was  not  accompanied,  as  before,  by  that 
momentary  flash  of  bodily  sight  which  had 
permitted  him  to  see  the  face  of  his  Lord. 

His  mother,  nothing  daunted,  entreated 
him  to  go  to  Ars,  and  ask  the  miracle 
through  the  prayers  of  the  saintly  Cure. 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  went  to  Ars,  but  he  told  the 
servant  of  God  that  he  had  the  greatest  re- 
pugnance to  the  idea  of  asking  for  a  cure. 
The  Cur^  did  not  take  this  view;  resigna- 
tion and  love  of  the  cross  were  admirable, 
he  said;  but  sight  was  a  great  benefit,  and 
it  was  both  reasonable  and  legitimate  in  a 
Christian  to  fsk  for  it.  He  advised  the 
Bishop  to  petition  for  it,  and  promised  to 
join  him  in  the  prayer;  but  when  his  visitor 


took  leave  of  him,  he  remarked  [to  some 
persons  who  were  present:  "There  goes  a 
blind  man  who  sees  farther  than  any  of  us ! " 
That  day  he  said  to  a  friend  whom  he  met 
on  the  road :  ' '  To-day  I  have  seen  a  saint. ' ' 

But  his  prayers  did  not  obtain  the  mira- 
cle. Mgr.  de  Segur  remained  stone-blind. 
Satisfied  thai  he  had  done  all  that  he  could 
to  content  and  obey  his  parents,  he  hugged 
his  blessed  infirmity  to  him  as  a  miser  hugs 
his  treasure.  It  was  a  treasure  given  him 
by  God,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  him  when  he 
found  that  it  was  not  to  be  taken  from  him. 
It  helped  him  wonderfully  in  the  service  of 
souls,  and  he  did  more  with  it  for  the  glory 
of  God  than  he  could  have  done  with  his 
eyesight.  The  spectacle  of  his  serenit) ,  his 
charming  gayety  under  a  trial  which  men 
dread  above  every  other,  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  those  who  beheld  it,  and  some- 
times produced  an  effect  on  souls  that  was 
almost  miraculous  Sinners  who  had  re- 
mained obdurate  to  the  holiest  influences 
were  often  smitten  with  compunction  by 
the  pleadings  of  the  blind  priest,  who  would 
fix  his  sightless  e>  es  upon  them,  and  hold 
out  his  arms  to  draw  them  to  his  heart. 
His  blindness,  too,  was  a  help  in  this — that 
it  made  confession  easier  to  some  who 
shrank  from  exposing  their  polluted  souls 
to  a  confessor  who  could  see  them. 

One  day  he  was  preaching  on  confession 
to  a  large  assembly  of  young  men,  mostly 
students,  and  exhorting  them  to  come  to 
the  cleansing  Sacrament  Suddenly,  hold- 
ing out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  passion- 
ate entreaty, ' '  If  there  be  any  of  you  who  feel 
a  little  shy,"  he  exclaimed,  "who  shrink 
from  showing  yourselves  to  the  priest,  well, 
come  to  me.  I  am  blind — stone-blind;  I 
can't  see  you;  that  will  make  it  easier." 
Few  could  resist  such  an  invitation.  They 
thronged  to  his  knees,  and  he  received  them 
like  a  father;  if  there  came  a  moment's  hes- 
itation, if  he  felt  they  were  struggling  to 
bring  out  some  avowal,  he  would  put  out 
his  arms  and  draw  them  to  him,  and, with 
their  head  upon  his  breast,  the  most  painful 
confession  became  easy. 

His  blindness  was,  in  fact,  a  divine  vo- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


223 


I 


cation,  and  as  such  it  had  its  own  special 
privileges  and  graces,  which  enabled  him  to 
use  it  as  a  weapon  and  an  instrument;  it 
widened  his  opportunities  instead  of  nar- 
rowing them,  and  diversified  his  means  of 
action.  If  he  had  retained  his  sight,  he 
would  have  been  set  over  a  diocese,  and  his 
action  would  have  been  localized  there; 
whereas  his  blindness  left  him  free  to  exer 
cise  it  everywhere.  His  power  as  a  director 
of  souls  was  greatly  increased  by  the  pres- 
tige of  his  terrible  infirmity.  People  heard 
of  it,  and  came  to  him  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  An  American  gentleman,  who  had 
read  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  books,  and  been  deeply 
moved  by  them,  thought  he  would  like  to 
carry  his  soul  to  the  priest  who  wrote  them, 
so  he  took  the  steamer  and  came  straight 
off  to  Paris;  on  alighting  from  the  train,  he 
drove  to  the  Rue  du  Bac,  asked  to  see  the 
Bishop,  was  an  hour  in  the  confessional, 
started  by  the  next  train  for  England,  and 
went  back  to  America  by  the  next  boat  from 
Liverpool.  That  man  was  in  earnest  about 
his  confession,  certainly. 

Incidents  that  seemed  to  show  the  useful- 
ness of  his  blindness  were  a  great  plea-ure 
to  Mgr.  de  S^gur;  he  was  sensitive  about 
his  infirmity,  as  if  it  were  a  friend,  or  some 
sacred  thing,  as  in  truth  it  was.  A  peni- 
tent, grieving  over  a  dear  mother's  fading 
sight,  said  to  him  one  day :  *'It  is  a  constant 
grief  to  me  to  see  you  blind,  Monseigneur; 
you  who  would  make  such  a  good  use  of 
your  eyes."  The  Bishop  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  intense  distress, ' '  Don' t  say  that,  my 
son;  don't  say  that!  If  you  but  knew  it,  my 
blindness  is  my  greatest  joy,  and  the  great- 
est blessing  of  my  life."  It  certainly  did 
gather  wonderful  blessings  around  him. 

A  young  man  of  two  and  twenty  was 
studying  law  in  Paris;  he  got  into  debt, 
and  was  tempted  to  try  his  luck  at  cards  in 
hopes  of  making  enough  to  meet  his  liabil- 
ities; he  lost  heavily,  and  was  pursued  by 
his  creditors.  After  several  days  spent  in 
hiding  from  them,  he  fell  into  despair, 
and  resolved  to  commit  suicide.  Drowning 
seemed  the  easiest  method,  so  when  it  was 
getting  dark  he  left  his  hiding  place  and 


walked  to  the  river.  He  was  on  the  bridge, 
in  the  very  act  of  flinging  himself  off  when 
he  was  arrested  by  the  app  oach  of  two 
men;  they  stood  talking  for  some  minutes, 
and  this  interval  of  suspension  probably 
checked  his  impulse  He  suddenly  called  to 
mind  that  he  had  heard  of  a  blind  Bishop 
close  by,  who  was  extracrriaarily  kind  to 
young  men;  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  the 
Rue  du  Bac,  got  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  address  at 
the  first  shop  where  he  inquired,  and  walked 
on  to  his  house.  It  was  now  pitch-dark, 
about  half-past  six  in  mid- winter.  The 
prelate  had  been  hearing  confessions  all 
day,  and  was  so  worn  out  that  he  had  given 
orders  to  let  no  one  else  in.  M6thol,  ac- 
cordingly, told  the  stranger  that  his  master 
could  not  be  seen.  The  poor  fellow  seemed 
terribly  disappointed,  but  turned  away  in 
silence.  The  look  of  despair  in  his  face 
struck  M^thol;  he  went  after  him,  p  essed 
him  with  questions,  and  with  difficulty  ex- 
tracted his  sad  story,  and  the  confession  that 
he  was  now  driven  to  drown  himself,  since 
his  last  hope  had  failed.  Methol  entreated 
him  to  come  back,  and  tell  everything  to 
Monseigneur,  who,  he  assured  him,  would 
find  a  way  of  helping  him. 

The  young  man  at  last  yielded,  and  went 
up  stairs  again.  The  Bishop,  of  course,  re- 
ceived him  with  the  tenderest  compassion. 
He  promised  to  hide  him  in  the  Abb^ 
Diringer's  room,  and  meantime  Mdthol  was 
sent  off  to  dispatch  a  telegram  to  the  fam- 
ily, and  wait  for  the  answer.  It  brought]|a 
full  corroboration  of  the  truth  of  the  young 
man's  story.  The  Bishop  sent  for  his  cred- 
itors, got  their  receipts  for  nearly  a  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  set  their  debtor  perfectly 
free.  The  poor  fellow  was  so  overcome  by 
this  extraordinary  generosity  that  he  was 
filled  with  compunction  for  his  sinful  life, 
and,  falling  on  his  knees,  entreated  the 
Bishop  to  hear  his  confession,  and  reconcile 
him  with  God.  He  went  away  like  one 
renewed  to  life,  and  returned  to  the  Rue  du 
Bac  many  times  to  make  his  confession,  and 
thank  the  friend  who  had  saved  him  from 
ruin  of  soul  and  body. 

(to  be  continued.) 


224 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Message  that  Came  to  Martin 
Avdayitch. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  OF  LEO  TOLSTOI, 
BY  JULIA   MINDELEFF  AND  E.  L.  DORSEY. 


THE  town  cobbler  was  named  Martin 
Avdayitch.  He  lived  in  a  basement,  in  a 
little  room  with  one  window.  The  window 
gave  on  the  street,  and  from  it  one  could 
watch  the  people  passing  by,  although  one 
could  see  only  their  legs.  But  Martin 
Avdayitch  could  recognize  people  by  their 
boots.  He  had  lived  a  long  time  in  the  same 
place,  and  his  acquaintances  were  many.  It 
was  rare  indeed  to  find  any  pair  of  boots  in 
the  neighborhood  that  had  not  been  once 
or  twice  in  his  hands.  Some  of  them  he  had 
half-soled,  on  some  he  had  put  patches, 
some  he  had  bound,  and  on  others  he  had 
put  new  uppers,  and  he  often  saw  his  work 
through  the  window. 

He  had  plenty  to  do;  for  his  work  was 
good :  he  used  the  best  materials,  did  not 
charge  high  prices,  and  he  kept  his  word. 
If  he  could  finish  a  piece  of  mending  at  the 
time  named,  he  would  take  the  order;  if 
not,  he  would  make  no  promises.  All  knew 
Avdayitch,  and  he  was  never  out  of  a  job. 
He  had  always  been  a  good  man,  but  tow- 
ard old  a^e  he  began  to  think  more  of  his 
soul,  and  to  draw  near  to  God. 

He  had  lost  his  wife  while  still  a  journey- 
man, and  she  left  him  a  boy  three  years  old. 
The  other  children  had  died  before  their 
mother,  and  at  first  Martin  thought  of  send- 
ing his  little  son  to  his  sister  who  lived  in 
the  country,  but  afterwards  he  said :  "  It  will 
be  hard  for  my  Kapitoshka  to  live  among 
strangers.  I  will  keep  him  with  me."  And 
he  left  his  master,  and  went  into  lodgings 
with  his  little  son. 

But  God  did  not  give  him  luck  with  chil- 
dren. The  boy  had  hardly  begun  to  grow 
and  to  help  his  father,  who  was  beginning 
to  take  pleasure  and  comfort  in  him,  when 
he  fill  sick,  took  to  his  bed,  burned  for  a 
week  with  fever,  and  died. 

Martin  buried  him,  and  fell  into  stich 


despair  that  he  began  to  murmur  against 
God.  A  deadly  weariness  seized  him,  and 
often  he  prayed  for  death,  reproaching  God 
because  He  had  not  taken  him — the  old 
man — and  left  the  child.  He  stopped  going 
to  church.  But  one  day  a  pilgrim  from 
Troitza,  who  had  been  visiting  the  holy 
shrines  and  places  for  seven  years,  entered 
into  conversation  with  him,  and  as  they 
talked,  Avdayitch  told  him  his  woes. 

*  *  Life  is  no  more  a  pleasure, ' '  he  said. 
' '  I  only  wish  to  die — it  is  the  one  thing  I 
ask  of  God. "  For  he  was  a  hopeless,  future- 
less  man. 

"You  do  not  speak  well,  Martin,"  said 
the  old  pilgrim.  "We  can  not  judge  God's 
actions.  It  is  His  will  that  rules,  not  ouis. 
God  saw  fit  to  take  your  child  and  to  let 
you  live,  and  so  it  is  best.  But  you  despair, 
because  you  seek  your  own  pleasure." 

"What  else,  then,  should  we  live  for?" 
asked  Martin. 

"For  God.  He  gives  you  life,  so  you 
must  live  for  Him.  When  you  begin  to  do 
that  you  will  not  grieve  about  anything. 
Everything  will  seem  easy  to  you," 

Martin  was  silent  for  a  little  while.  Then 
he  said :  '  'And  how  do  you  live  for  God  ? ' ' 

"How?  Christ  has  shown  us  how.  Can 
you  read  ?  Buy  yourself  a  New  Testament, 
and  read  it.  There  you  will  find  out  how 
to  live  for  God.   Everything  is  told  there." 

And  these  words  fell  into  the  heart  of 
Avdayitch,  and  he  went  the  same  day  and 
bought  himself  a  New  Testament  in  large 
print,  and  began  to  read.  He  had  intended 
to  read  only  on  holidays;  but  when  he 
began  he  felt  so  uplifted  and  refreshed  that 
he  read  every  day,  becoming  so  absorbed 
sometimes  that  all  the  oil  would  burn  out 
of  his  lamp,  and  even  then  he  could  not 
tear  himself  away  from  his  book.  And  he 
read  that  way  every  night;  and  the  mote  he 
read,  the  more  clearly  he  understood  what 
God  wanted  of  him,  and  what  it  meant  to 
live  for  God,  and  his  heart  grew  lighter  and 
lighter. 

Before  this,  when  he  went  to  bed  he  used 
to  toss  about  and  moan  and  sigh,  thinking 
always  of  his  Kapitoshka.    But  now  he 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


225 


would  say  only:  "Glory  to  Thee,  O  Lord! 
Thy  will  be  done!"  And  the  whole  life  of 
Avdayitch  was  changed.  Formerly  on  a 
holiday  he  used  to  go  into  this  or  that 
tractir  to  drink  tea,  and  sometimes  vodka. 
He  would  take  a  glass  here  and  there  with 
a  friend,  and,  although  not  drunk,  on  leav- 
ing the  tractir  he  would  be  very  merry  and 
loquacious,  almost  boisterous.  He  would 
address  and  talk  to  strangers;  and  it  was 
nonsense  he  talked. 

All  this  went  by,  and  his  life  was  as  quiet 
as  it  was  cheerful.  In  the  morning  he  would 
go  to  his  bench,  work  out  his  day;  take 
down  his  lamp  from  its  hook,  put  it  on  the 
table,  reach  for  his  book  from  the  shelf,  lay 
it  open,  and  begin  to  read.  And  the  more 
he  read,  the  more  he  wondered,  and  the 
more  light  and  joyous  grew  his  heart. 
'  It  happened  one  night  he  read  very  late. 
He  read  the  Gospel  of  S :.  Luke.  It  was  the 
sixth  chapter,  and  he  read  these  verses: 

"And  to  him  that  strikerh  thee  on  the 
one  cheek,  offer  also  the  other.  And  him 
that  taketh  away  from  thee  thy  cloak,  hin- 
der not  to  take  thy  coat  also. 

' '  Give  to  every  one  that  asketh  thee ;  and 
of  him  that  taketh  away  thy  goods,  ask 
them  not  again. 

"And  as  you  would  that  men  should  do 
to  you,  do  you  also  to  them  in  like  manner.' ' 

And  he  read,  farther  on,  the  verses  where 
Our  Lord  says: 

"And  why  call  you  Me  Lord,  Lord,  and 
do  not  the  things  which  I  say  ? 

"Whosoever  cometh  to  Me,  and  heareth 
My  words,  and  doeth  them,  I  will  show  you 
to  whom  he  is  like. 

"  He  is  like  to  a  man  building  a  house, 
who  digged  deep,  and  laid  the  foundation 
upon  a  rock.  And  when  a  flood  came,  the 
stream  beat  vehemently  upon  that  house, 
and  it  coal d  not  shake  it;  for  it  was  founded 
on  a  rock. 

"But  he  that  heareth  and  doeth  not  is 
like  to  a  man  building  his  house  upon  the 
earth, without  a  foundation;  against  which 
the  stream  beat  vehemently,  and  immedi- 
ately it  fell ;  and  the  ruin  of  that  house  was 
great.!' 


Avdayitch  read  these  words,  and  received 
their  message.  He  took  off  his  spectacles, 
laid  them  on  the  book,  leaned  his  arm  on 
the  table,  and  lost  himself  in  thought.  He 
began  to  measure  his  life  and  weigh  it  by 
the  words  he  had  read.  And  he  thought: 
"Does  my  house  stand  on  the  rock  or  on 
the  earth?  If  on  the  rock — good!  When 
one  sits  alone  and  thinks  of  God,  it  seems 
easy  to  do  all  He  commands;  but  when 
distractions  creep  in,  one  begins  to  sin 
again.  Still  one  must  Veep  tryipg — I  will 
(it  is  very  good),  so  help  me  God!" 

He  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  but  could  not 
leave  the  book.  And  he  began  the  seventh 
chapter.  He  read  about  the  centurion ;  about 
the  widow'-?  son;  the  answer  given  the 
disciples  of  John  the  Baptist;  and  then  he 
came  to  where  the  rich  Pharisee  invited  the 
Lord  to  his  house,  and  the  woman  washed 
His  feet  with  her  tears,  and  anointed  them, 
and  how  He  justified  her.  And  he  came  to 
the  forty- fourth  verse,  and  began  to  read: 

"And,  turning  to  the  woman,  He  said  to 
Simon:  Dost  thou  see  this  woman?  I  en- 
tered into  thy  house;  thou  gavest  Me  no 
water  for  My  feet;  but  she  hath  washed  My 
feet  with  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  her 
hair. 

"Thou  gavest  Me  no  kiss;  but  she,  since 
she  came  in,  hath  not  ceased  to  kiss  My  feet. 

"  My  head  with  oil  thou  didst  not  anoint, 
but  she  with  ointment  ha  h  anointed  My 
feet." 

Avdayitch  thought  :*"  Water  for  the  feet 
I  have  not  given;  kisses  I  have  not  given; 
the  head  I  have  not  anointed, "  And  he  took 
up  his  spectacles  again, but  laid  them  down, 
and  again  began  to  think.  "It  seems  that 
Pharisee  was  just  like  me.  I  also  seem  to  re- 
member only  myself — how  to  drink  tea  and 
be  comfortable  in  heat  and  cold, — with  no 
thought  of  a  guest  at  any  time.  I  remem- 
ber about  myself,  but  not  my  guest;  and 
this  guest  is — who?  The  Lord  of  Heaven. 
If  He  were  to  come  I  would  do  just  that 
way. ' '  And  he  leaned  on  both  arms,  and 
fell  asleep. 

"Martin!"  was  suddenly  breathed  in 
his  ear. 


2  26 


The  Ave  Maria. 


He  rouseti  up.  "Who  is  there?  '  He 
turned  around,  looked  at  the  door — no  one. 
Then  he  dozed  again. 

Suddenly  he  heard  distinctl)  :  "Martin, 
O  Martin!  Look  on  the  street  to-morrow. 
I'll  come.  ' 

Wide  awake,  Martin  rose  from  his  chair 
and  began  to  rub  his  eyes.  He  did  not  know 
whether  the  voice  was  a  dream  or  a  reality, 
but  it  rang  in  his  ears.  Then  he  turned 
down  the  lamp,  and  went  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  Avdayitch  got  up  before 
daybreak,  said  his  prayers,  heated  the  oven, 
put  on  the  stschi*  and  kasha^\  fired  the 
samovar^'^\x\.  on  his  apron,  and  sat  down  be- 
fore the  window  to  work.  As  he  pierced  the 
•leather  and  handled  the  bristles  he  thought 
of  what  happened  the  night  before,  and 
he  was  in  two  minds  about  it.  Sometimes 
he  thought  he  only  fancied  it,  and  then 
again  he  thought  he  had  really  heaid  the 
voice.  'Such  \\vvn%^  have  happened,'' he 
said  to  himself 

He  sat  by  the  win'-'ow.  and  his  work  did 
not  progress  as  he  looked  out  of  it.  When 
anybody  passed  in  boots  strange  to  him,  he 
bent  forward  so  as  to  see  not  only  the  boots, 
but  the  face  also. 

A  porter  passed,  in  new  felt  boots;  the 
water-carrier  went  by;  then  an  old  soldier 
of  the  reign  of  Nicolas.  Avdayitch  knew 
him  by  his  laced  shoes.  He  carried  a  shovel, 
and  his  name  was  Stepanitch;  he  lived  with 
a  neighboring  merchant,  who  employed 
him  through  kindness,  and  his  duty  was  to 
help  the  porler. 

He  began  to  clear  away  the  snow  oppo- 
site Avdayitch's  window.  The  latter  looked 
at  him.  then  recommenced  his  work.  "I 
am  getting  foolish  in  my  old  age,"  he 
laughed  to  himself.  "Stepanitch  is  clean- 
ing away  the  snow,  and  I  think  Christ  is 
coming  to  visit  me!  I  am  getting  very 
childish." 

He  made  a  dozen  stitches,  but  something 
forced  him  again  to  look  from  the  window. 
He  saw  that  Stepanitch  had  leaned  his 
shovel    against   the  wall,  and   was   either 


Cabbage-soup. 


t  A  sort  of  gruel. 


warming  or  resting  himself  "The  man  is 
old  and  broken.  He  doesn't  seem  strong 
enough  to  shovel  the  snow,"  thought  Av- 
dayitch. "Shall  I  give  him  some  tea?  The 
samovar  is  ready." 

He  stuck  his  awl  in  his  bench,  got  up, 
put  the  samovar  on  the  table,  poured  the 
water  over  the  tea,  and  knocked  on  the 
glass.  Stepanitch  turned  around  and  came 
up  to  the  window.  Avda\  itch  beckoned  to 
him,  and  went  to  open  the  door. 

"Come  in  and  warm  yourself,"  said  he. 
' '  You  must  be  cold . " 

"Christ  save  you!  The  bones  do  ache," 
answered  Stepanitch,  coming  in  and  flick- 
ing the  snow  from  his  coat.  He  began  also 
carefully  wiping  his  feet  so  as  to  leave  no 
tracks,  but  he  was  reeling  with  the  cold. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  to  wipe  your 
feet.  I'll  do  that.  That's  my  business,"  said 
Avdayitch.  Then  he  filled  two  glasses, 
passed  one  to  his  guest,  poured  his  own  tea 
into  his  saucer,  and  began  to  blow  it. 

Stepanitch  drained  his  glass,  turned  it 
upside-do  wn,  put  the  remainder  of  the  sugar 
on  the  top  of  it,  and  began  to  thank  Martin. 
But  it  was  evident  he  wanted  more. 

"Take  another  glass,"  said  Avdayitch, 
filling  his  own  at  the  same  time  he  filled 
his  guest's.  Then  as  he  drank  he  kept  his 
eyes  incessantly  on  the  window 

"Are  you  expecting  any  one?"  asked 
Stepanitch. 

"I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say  who  I  ex- 
pect— that  is,  not  exactly  expect;  but  a  word 
has  fallen  into  my  heart,  and  whether  it  was 
a  dream  or  not  I  can  not  tell.  Yon  see,  my 
brother,  I  was  reading  that  Gospel  about 
Christ,  our  Father — how  He  walked  on 
earth,  how  He  suffered.  You  mav  have 
heard  of  it?" 

"I  have  heard  something  of  the  sort," 
answered  Stepanitch.  "  But  we  are  a  dark  " 
{i.  <?. ,  unlearned)  "people;  we  do  not  know 
the  letters." 

"Well,  I  was  reading  about  this  thing 
— how  He  walked  on  earth  I  read  how  He 
came  to  a  Pharisee,  and  the  Pharisee  did  not 
receive  Him  properly.' Well,  then,  as  I  read, 
I  thought  to  myself:  '  Why  did  he  not  re- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


227 


ceive  Christ  with  hunor?'  And  then  I 
thought:  '  But  if  it  should  happen  to  me  or 
any  one  else,  we  would  not  know  how  to 
receive  Him.'  While  I  was  thinking  this 
way  I  fell  asleep.  I  was  asleep,  my  little 
brother,  but  I  heard  somebody  call  me.  I 
raised  my  head,  and  a  voice  said,  as  if  it 
whispered:  'Wait!  I'll  come  to-morrow.' 
And  this  twice.  Well,  as  you  may  believe, 
this  sticks  in  my  head,  and  T  am  scolding 
myself  for  it,  but — I  am  waiting  for  Him, 
the  Lord." 

Stepanitch  shook  his  head,  but  did  not 
speak.  He  finished  his  glass  and  turned  it 
on  its  side.  But  Avdayitch  lifted  it  and 
filled  it  again 

"Drink  to  your  own  health.  I  am  too 
busy  thinking."  Then:  "When  He,  the 
Lord,  was  walking  the  earth  He  did  not 
despise  anybody,  but  He  went  more  among 
the  poor  and  among  the  working  people — 
He  selected  His  discipks  from  our  sort. 
*He,'  He  said,  'who  exalteth  himself  shall 
be  humbled,  but  he  who  humbleth  himself 
shall  be  exalted.'  'You  call  Me  Lord,'  He 
said,  'and  I  wash  your  feet.  The  one  who 
wants  to  be  firs%  let  him  be  the  .'■ervant  of 
all.  For,'  He  said,  'blessed  are  the  poor,  the 
humble,  the  peacemakers,  the  merciful.'" 

Stepanitch  forgot  his  tea.  He  was  old 
and  tender-hearted,  and  as  he  sat  and  list- 
ened the  tears  ran  over  his  cheeks. 

"Here,"  said  Avdayitch,  "have  some 
more  tea?" 

But  he  pushed  his  glass  away,  made  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross,  thanked  him,  and  rose. 

"Thank  you,  Martin  Avdayitch.  You 
have  treated  me  well.  You  have  fed  my  body 
and  my  soul." 

"Do  me  the  favor  to  come  again.  I'll  be 
glad  of  your  company,"  said  Avda>itch. 

And  Stepanitch  went  away. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


How  mistaken  and  short-sighted  we  are 
in  judgments  that  we  pass  every  day  — 
drawing  conclusions  from  erroneous  prem- 
ises, and  pronouncing  opinions  upon  actions 
the  motives  of  which  we  can  not  gauge ! — 
Christian  Reid. 


The  Treasures  of  the  Missal  and  Ritual. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


v.— The  Ritual. 

The  prayers  of  the  Church  possess  an  elevation 
of  sentiment,  a  beauty  of  allusion,  a  force  of  ex- 
pression, and  a  depth  of  feeling  which  no  modem 
form  of  supplication  ever  exhibits.  —  Cardinal 
Wiseman . 

' '  The  beautiful,  natural,  and  soothing  actions  of 
the  Church.'' — Cardinal  Newman. 

The  august  character  of  a  pontiflf  or  priest  is  a 
source  of  sanctification :  the  mere  contact  of  their 
consecrated  hand  produces  a  salutary  effect,  as 
often  as  they  act  in  virtue  of  the  priesthood  of 
Christ,  which  dwells  in  \hem.—  Dom  Gueranger. 

IT  was  the  same  with  the  Ritual  as  with 
the  Missal;  its  contents  were  not  in  the 
beginning  found  in  their  present  form,  or 
even  in  one  book.  The  early  Rituals  (for 
they  were  in  reality  such)  went  by  a  variety 
of  names,  according  to  the  place  where  they 
were  used  and  the  nature  of  their  contents; 
and  they  embraced  a  more  or  less  complete 
collection  of  the  rites  and  ceremonies  to  be 
observed  in  the  administration  of  the  Sac- 
raments, funeral  services,  blessings,  eic.  At 
length,  however,  the  name  Ritual  came  to 
be  regarded  as  ihe  most  appropriate  teim, 
and  as  such  superseded  all  others — at  least 
in  the  Western  or  Latin  Church  — and  it 
will  doubtless  never  yield  to  any  other. 

But  to  whom,  it  may  be  asked,  do  we  owe 
the  Ritual  in  its  present  form  ?  A  Sacerdo- 
/(■tf/^  (another  name  for  a  Ritual) ' '  was  edited 
by  Castellanus  and  printed  at  Rome  in  1537. 
Previously  the  difierent  dioceses  were  free 
to  follow  their  own  Rituals,  but  in  1614  an 
edition  with  the  title  Rituale  was  drawn  up 
under  Paul  V. ,who  in  the  bull  Apostolicts 
Sedi  exhorted  all  prelate.^,  secular  and  reg- 
ular, to  conform  to  it  exactly."  *  But  the  * 
fact  that  all  persons  of  whatever  rank  are 
only  exhorted {hortamur  in  Domino.^  are  the 
words  of  the  bull)  to  use  this  one  to  the 
exclu-ion  of  all  others  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  the  use  of  'he  Ritual  is  not  of  so 


*  Catholic  Dictionary,  p.  721. 


228 


The  Ave  Maria. 


strict  obligation  as  that  of  the  Missal.  But 
this  i«5  a  point  which,  though  warmly  dis- 
cussed, and  not  yet  definiiely  settled,  would 
not  be  of  special  interest  to  the  readers  of 
The  "Ave  Maria." 

But  who  waL  't  that  reduced  the  Ritual 
to  its  present  »orm?  It  may  be  remarked  in 
passing  that  the  Ritual,  like  the  Missal,  was 
revised  in  accordance  with  the  recommen- 
dation of  the  Councd  of  Trent,  for  the  sake 
of  securing  uniformity  in  the  administra- 
tion of  the  Sicramenls  and  the  performance 
of  the  other  sacied  lunctions  of  religion. 
The  Ritual  was  finally  reduced  to  its  pres- 
ent form  by  a  commission  of  Cardinals  ap- 
pointed for  that  purpose  by  Pope  Paul  V., 
and  assisted  by  many  other  learne  \  divine>; 
but,  as  we  learn  from  the  bull  of  the  Pope 
prefixed  to  the  Ritual,  and  dated  June  17, 
1614,  it  was  mainly  the  work  of  Jalius  An- 
tonius.  Cardinal  Priest  of  St.  Severinus, — a 
man,  as  the  same  bull  declare^,  of  lemarka- 
ble  piety,  zeal  and  learning.  From  the  time 
it  came  from  his  hand  it  has  undergone 
little  change,  although  it  was  revised  by 
Pope  Benedict  X IV. ,  who  prefixed  to  the  re- 
vision a  bull  {Quoniam  autem)  dated  March 
25, 1752.  Numerous  arfditions,  for  the  most 
part  in  the  form  of  appendixes,  have  since 
been  made  to  it,  consisting  of  varies  us  bless- 
ings, etc.  Before  discussing  the  blessings  of 
the  Ritual,  it  will  be  advisable  to  give  the 
reader  an  idea  of  the  contents  of  the  work, 
and  its  divisions. 

In  examining  the  Ritual,  we  find  that 
after  certain  decrees  of  the  Sovereign  Pout 
tiffs  there  is  a  short  chapter  devoted  to 
general  remarks  on  the  administration  of 
the  Sacraments.  It  may  be  well  to  note  in 
this  place  that,  besides  the  general  rubrics 
which  are  found  prefixed  to  certain  divisions 
and  chapters  of  the  Ritual,  there  are  other 
•  special  ones  interposed  throughout  the 
work  for  the  guidance  of  the  priest  in  the 
performance  of  his  sacred  functions.  If  the 
reader  bears  this  in  mind  as  we  proceed,  it 
will  obviate  the  necessitv  of  frequent  repe- 
titions. 

The  Sacrament  of  Baptism  is,  then,  first 
treited  of,  wir^  all  the  ceremonies  for  its 


administration  to  infants  and  adults  by  a 
priest  or  a  bishop.  Then  comes  the  manner 
of  administering  the  Sacrament  of  Penance, 
with  the  form  of  absolving  from  censures, 
in  case  a  person  has  contracted  any.  A 
chapter  folio  ^^^s  on  the  manner  of  giving 
Holy  Coaimuuion  to  those  in  health  and  to 
the  sick,  with  remarks  on  the  Paschal  Com- 
munion. After  this  comes  that  of  Extreme 
Unction,  with  the  Seven  Penitential  Psalms 
and  the  Litany  of  the  Saints,  which  those 
in  attendance  are  recommended  to  recie 
during  the  administration  of  the  Sacrament. 
To  these  are  added  a  chapter  on  the  visi- 
tation and  care  of  the  sick,  with  priyers 
and  selections  from  the  Holy  Gospels  to  be 
read  on  such  occasions,  as  far  as  time  and 
circumstances  may  permit  or  render  ad- 
visable; also  the  method  of  assisting  the 
dying,  giv  ng  the  last  blessing,  and  recom- 
mending the  departing  soul  to  Gad. 

Nothing  could  better  show  the  solicitude 
of  the  Church  for  the  eternal  welfare  of  her 
children,  or  better  entitle  her  to  the  tender 
name  of  Mother,  than  the  care  she  has  for 
them  in  the  hour  of  their  direst  need  It  is 
much  to  be  regretted  that  Catholics  do  not 
familia'ize  themselves  better  with  these 
succors  which  the  Church  has  prepared  for 
them  in  the  hour  of  death  The  careful 
reading  of  these  prayers,  besides  preparing 
a  person  to  recite  them  better  when  neces- 
sary, would  also  form  a  very  fitting  exercise 
for  a  monthly  retreat. 

But  the  Church,  ever  in  harmony  with 
the  Sacred  Scriptures,  teaches  us  not  only 
that  the  soul  is  immortal,  but  also  that  the 
body  shall  rise  again,  and  be  endowed  with 
an  endless  existence;  that,  having  been 
instrumental  in  the  good  or  the  evil  done 
by  the  soul  in  this  life,  it  is  also  entitled  to 
share  in  its  eternal  destiny.  Would  to  God 
that  this  truth  were  better  remembered,  and 
then  fewer  would  sin  against  their  body  as 
well  as  against  their  soul!  Not  only  so,  but 
having  been  in  life  the  temple  of  the  Holy 
Ghost;  having  been  th«»  channel  through 
which  the  soul  was  enabled  to  receive  the 
Sacraments,  especially  the  Most  Holy  Sac- 
rament of  the  Eucharist;  and  having  been 


J 


The  A  ve  Afafia. 


2  29 


anointed  with  the  holy  oils  in  the  Sacra 
ments  of  Bdptism,  Confirmation,  and  Ex- 
treme Unction,  the  body  is  justly  regarded 
as  deserving  of  honor.  Hence,  when  the  soul 
has  fled,  it  is  brough^  into  the  church:  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  is  offered  up  in  its  presence, 
it  is  sprinkled  with  ^'oly  water,  the  per 
fume  of  incense  ascendi  around  if,  and  it  is 
finally  laid  to  rest  in  consecrated  ground. 
For  the  performance  of  this  sad  and  solemn 
rite  the  Ritual  has  a  fitting  service,  con- 
sisting of  psalms  set  to  suitable  chant, 
prayers,  versicles  and  responses,  with  the 
Office  of  the  Dead  also  set  to  music. 

But  the  Church  looks  upon  death  as  the 
punishment  of  sin,  and,  remembering  that 
nothing  defiled  can  enter  heaven,  treats  her 
\)  deceased  members  as  those  upon  whose 
souls  sins  of  a  lesser  kind  mav  have  been 
found  by  the  all  sf^arching  eye  of  God  at  the 
hour  of  death.  For  this  reason  her  funeral 
services  are  supplicatory.  She  does  not 
canonize  the  dead,  as  it  weie  or  perform  a 
pagan  apotheosi'^  upon  them  regardless  of 
the  sort  of  lives  they  may  h.ive  led  in  this 
world,  as  is  too  often  the  case  outside  the 
Church.  On  the  contrary,  she  banishes,  or 
desires  to  banish — for  there  are  s.ill  some 
Catholics  who  would  fain  cling  to  pagan 
customs — all  signs  of  paganism  from  their 
obsequies,  and  only  covers  their  remains  in 
the  burial  ca-^ket  with  a  plain  black  pall, 
without  any  flowers  on  it;  for  death  is  a 
punishment,  and  any  one  who  is  possessed 
of  a  lively  fiith  can  not  absolutely  rejoice 
in  the  death  of  one  who  has  passed  the  age 
of  reason — no  matter  what  may  have  beea 
the  purity  of  his  life  —as  if  he  were  already 
in  the  fruition  of  the  beatific  vision.  No  one 
knows  either  in  life  or  in  death  whether  he 
is  deserving  of  love  or  hatred,  although  we 
must  not  mourn  the  departed  Christian  as 
persons  without  hope. 

But  the  Church  has  a  separate  ceremony 
for  the  interment  of  those  little  innocents 
who  die  before  they  have  attained  the  age  of 
reason.  In  their  case  the  Ritual  recommends 
that,  besides  the  white  ves^-^ents  of  the 
priest,  a  crown  of  flowers  or  u'  odoriferous 
herbs  be  placed  on  the  cofiin,  as  a  sign  of 


the  purity  of  both  the  body  and  the  soul  of 
the  deceased.  And,  with  the  chant  of  psalms 
of  joy,  and  the  recitation  of  prayers  sugges- 
tive of  the  virginal  purity  of  the  deceased, 
and  radiant  with  hope,  the  remains  are  en- 
signed  to  their  final  rest.    But  to  return. 

Matrimouv,\Vith  the  blessing  of  a  woman 
after  childbirth,  closes  that  part  of  the  Rit- 
ual which  relates  to  the  ari ministration  of 
the  Sacraments.  And  here  it  may  be  well 
to  remark  parenthetically  that  for  the  con- 
venience of  priests  on  the  mission,  who  have 
to  go  on  frequent  and  sometimes  distant 
sick  cills,  the  portions  of  the  Ritual  neces- 
sary for  such  occasions  are  printed  sepa- 
rately in  a  smaller  book,  that  ma\  be  easily 
cirried  in  the  pocket.  The-e  are  also  com- 
monly, though  improperly,, called  Rituals. 

vr. 

The  remainder  of  the  Ritual  is  devoted 
principally  to  the  blessings  of  various  ob- 
jects, from  a  church  to  a  medal ;  but  before 
treating  of  these  it  will  be  advisable  to 
complete  our  survey  of  its  contents  and 
divisions;  we  shall, then, return  to  the  bless- 
ings, and  discuss  them  more  in  detail. 

A  number  of  blessings,  some  of  which 
are  reserved  to  a  bishop,  or  a  priest  having 
special  faculties  from  him, come  next;  and 
these  are  followed  by  the  ceremonies,  pray- 
ers, psalms,  hymns,  etc.,  for  the  processions 
ofCandlemasDay,Palm  Sunday;  St.  Mark's 
Day,  or  the  Greater  Litany  (April  25); 
Corpus  Christi;  the  processions  praying  for 
rain,  for  fair  weather,  for  the  dispelling  of 
tempests;  in  time  of  want  or  of  famine,  in 
time  of  mortality  or  pestilence;  prayers  to 
be  added  to  the  Litany  of  the  Saints  in  time 
of  war;  for  every  necessity;  with  pra)  ers  to 
be  added  when  it  is  made  in  thanksgiving 
for  favors  received;  and  finally  a  procession 
for  the  tran-latio.i  of  sacred  relics.  Then 
comes  in  order  an  exorcism  —  which  is  quite 
long,  and  consists  of  prayers,  psalms,  .'^elec- 
tions from  the  Gospel  and  exorcisms— for 
expelling  the  spirit  c'  .'vil  from  those  who 
are  possessed  or  obsessed  by  him.  N'ixt  are 
given  the  various  formulas  for  making  en- 
tries of  marriages,  baptisms,  confirmations. 


2^0 


The  Ave  Maria. 


etc. ,  in  the  severa»  ^ooks  required  to  be  kept 
in  the  archives  of  every  church.  With  these 
closes  the  Ritual  proper;  but  there  are  two 
appe  idixes  and  a  rupplement,  which  aggre- 
gate three- fourths  its  own  size. 

The  first  of  these  opens  with  a  short  form 
for  blessing  baptismal  water,  for  the  use  of 
missionaries  who  give  stations  in  places  to 
which  they  can  not  conveniently  carry 
water  from  the  font  in  the  church ;  which  is 
followed  by  the  ceremony  by  which  a  priest, 
with  the  necessary  faculties — very  rarely 
given  by  the  Holy  See,^ — may  adminis- 
ter Confirmation  where  there  is  no  bishop; 
instruction  for  a  priest  who  is  permitted  to 
celebrate  Mass  twice  the  same  day ;  and  the 
I/itaniesof  the  Saints, of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
and  of  the  Holy  Name  of  Jesus.  Then  begin 
the  blessings  for  various  articles,  some  of 
which  may  be  performed  by  a  simple  priest, 
others  by  a  priest  having  special  faculties, 
some  by  a  bishop  only,  others  by  the  mem- 
bers of  certain  religious  orders  or  congrega- 
tions, while  not  a  few  are  peculiar  to  certain 
dirceses.    But  of  these  more  anon. 

The  secord  appendix  follows,  compris 
ingan  additional  number  of  blessings.  The 
Ritual  closes  with  abrief  supplement,  which 
does  not,  however,  properly  speaking,  form 
a  part  of  it,  but  is  given  for  the  convf  nieace 
of  priests  in  this  country,  and  will,  there- 
fore, be  passed  over  wi  hout  comment. 

Such  is  the  Roman  Ritual,  according  to 
the  latest  revision.  We  shall  now  take  up 
the  principal  blessings,  and  to  these  the 
reader's  attention  is  earnestly  invited,  as 
they  constitute  a  rich  treasure  for  those  who 
will  draw  from  it  in  a  spirit  of  lively  faith. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


I F  men  wantonly  expose  the  precious  gift 
of  taith  to  the  attacks  and  to  the  subtlety  of 
unbelievers,  or  to  the  pestilence  and  infec- 
tion of  infidel  books,  or  to  the  poisonous  lit- 
erature which  at  this  day  is  written  against 
Christianity  in  every  tongue,  and  above  all 
against  Christianity  full  and  perfect,  which 
is  the  Catholic  Faith,  they  have  no  one  to 
thank  but  themselves. —  Cardinal  Man- 
ning. 


Md  Viatorem. 

1  NNOCENiJ  et  perbeatus, 
-^    More  florum  decidi. 
Quid  sepultum  fles,  viator? 
Flente  sum  beatior. 


A   CHRISTIAN   PARAPHRASE. 

Weep  not  for  me, 
Weary  wayfarer  in  a  world  of  strife. 
Brief  was  my  span  of  life; 
Like  some  frail  flower  I  drooped  within  an  hour 
In  all  my  fresh  young  innocency  blest. 

Weep  not  for  me. 
For  thine  own  woe  let  thy  tears  flow: 
Thy  days  are  shrouded  in  a  murk  of  gloom. 
Here,  in  ray  silent  tomb, 
'Neath  the  green  sod, 
I  sleep  and  am  at  rest, 
In  the  clear  light  of  God. 
Edward  Healy  Thompson,  in  The  Mofith. 


The  Pope  of  the  Crusades. 


ON  the  2istof  July  the  pic'.urc^ que  valley 
of  Cbadllon,  in  Champagne,  was  rap- 
idly being  filled  with  rnuliitiidesof  people, 
who  arrived  in  a  continuous  stream  through 
the  two  pa^sayes  that  ed  to  it.  What  ob- 
ject had  these  twenty  thousand  men  and 
women  in  view?  They  had  come  to  render 
homage  anrt  veneration  to  one  of  the  most 
illustrious  Pontiffs  that  ever  occupied  the 
Chair  of  St.  Peter:  they  had  come  to  witness 
the  unveiling  of  a  statue  of  Pope  Urban  IL, 
beatified  by  our  Holy  Father  Leo  XIII.  in 
1882. 

In  the  centre  of  the  valley  rises  an  emi- 
nence on  which  are  the  ruins  of  the  old 
castle  of  the  Dukes  of  Chatillon,  the  birth- 
place of  Urbiu  II.,  whose  family  name  was 
Odon  de  Chatillon;  this  spot  waL.  chosen 
as  an  appropriate  site  for  the  eiec  ion  of  a 
colossal  statue  of  th.  Pope  of  the  Crusades. 
The  idea  of  this  monument  first  occurred  to 
his  Eminence  Cardinal  Langeuieux,  Arch- 
bishop of  Reims,  to  whose  persevering  en- 
ergy we  owe  its  realization.  Ten  \  ears  ago 


The  Ave  Marja. 


231 


the  proprietor  of  the  hill  of  Chatillon  made 
it  over  to  the  Cardinal,  with  the  ruins  of  the 
monastery  of  Biuson,  which  had  belonged 
to  Urban  II.  The  ge  aero  as  donor,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  cus'.om  of  our  Catholic  fore- 
fathers, added  a  vinevard  for  the  benefit  of 
the  monks,  its  new  occupants;  he  imposed 
one  obligation  on  them — viz  ,  that  within 
ten  years  a  triumoh<l  statue  of  Urban  II, 
should  be  raised  on  the  above  named  site. 

A  committee  was  formed  for  this  purpose, 
and  his  Holiness  Leo  XIH.  was  the  first 
subscriber  to  the  fund.  Rich  and  poor  con- 
tributed to  this  monument,  which  may 
justly  rank  among  the  artistic  wonders  of 
the  woild  Its  gigantic  proportions  (it  is 
nearly  eighty  feet  in  height)  are  so  harmo- 
nious that,  besides  being  imposing  at  a  dis- 
tance, it  loses  none  of  its  beauty  when  one 
comes  up  to  it.  The  Pontiff  is  represented 
standiag;  in  his  left  hand  he  holds  a  cru- 
cifix; his  right  hand  paints  heavenward, 
while  he  seems  to  exclaim  to  the  multitudes 
as  of  old:  Dieu  le  veutf  —'"''OoA  wills  it." 
The  figure  is  majestic,  and  the  expression 
of  the  face  indicating  as  it  does  indomitable 
energ'/  combined  with  the  tenderest  pieiy, 
captivates  the  e\e  and  elevates  the  soul. 
The  statue  and  pedestal,  which  are  of  Breton 
granite  were  executed  by  Le  GofF,  of  Brit- 
tany, who  spent  three  years  over  this  mas- 
terpiece. His  disinterestedness  equalled  his 
talent,  for  he  accepted  no  remuneration. 
Thus  the  expens  s  were  comparatively 
small. 

The  ceremony  of  inauguration  took  place 
in  the  afternoon.  Twenty-two  bi.shops,  in 
full  pontificals,  headed  by  his  Eminence 
Cardinal  Langenieux,  came  one  by  one  to 
the  rtserved  «eats  awaiting  them  on  the 
temporary  platform.  The  Cardinal  had  on 
his  right  Mgr  Rotelli,  the  Papal  Nuncio, 
and  on  his  left  Mgr.  Richard,  .\Tchbishop  of 
Paris.  The  Bishop  of  Angers,  Mgr.  Freppel, 
that  master  of  sacred  eloquence,  ascended 
the  pulpit,  and  pronounced  one  of  those 
incomparable  discourses  in  which  solidity 
of  doctrine  is  combined  with  the  utmost 
beautv  of  thought  and  elegance  of  lan- 
guage. His  first  sentences  were  interrupted 


bv  outbursts  of  applause,  which  he  tried  in 
vain  to  repress.  Our  readers  must  content 
themselves  with  a  brief  summarv  of  this 
admirable  discourse 

The  learned  Bishop  began  bv  demon- 
strating the  active  zeal  of  Pope  Urban  II. 
for  the  reign  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  independ- 
ence of  the  Church,  and  the  liberty  of  the 
Gospel.  In  the  eleventh  century ,  when  ihis 
prelate  succeeded  Gregory  VII.  of  glorious 
memory,  Mahometanism  was  threatening 
to  subvert  the  Christian  world,  and,  by  tak- 
ing advantage  of  the  dissensions  among 
European  nations,  it  was  gradually  but 
surely  ensnari -g  them  Already  the  coasts 
of  Africa  and  a  large  part  of  Spain  were 
in  possession  of  the  enemies  of  the  Cross, 
while  the  south  of  France  and  Italy  suf- 
fered much  from  their  incursions  Urban 
at  once  measured  the  peril,  and  found  the 
remedy;  but  where  was  he  to  recruit  an 
army  for  his  bold  design?  God  inspired 
him  with  the  idea  of  returning  to  his  native 
land, where  Peter  the  Hermit  had  already 
fired  souls  with  a  holy  zeal  by  his  accounts 
of  the  sufferings  of  the  Christians  in  Pal- 
estine. 

The  Pope  went  through  France,  preach- 
ing with  such  irresistible  ardor  that  in  the 
council  he  assembled  at  C'ermont  (Au- 
vergne)  on  the  i8th  of  November  1095, 
a^'ter  a  thrilling  appeal — in  which  he  de- 
scribed the  condition  of  Jerusalem  in  the 
hands  of  the  infidels,  the  desecration  of  the 
tomb  of  Our  Lord,  the  imprisonment  of  the 
Christians,  and  the  near  prospect  of  an 
overwhelming  invasion  of  the  whole  of 
Europe, — the  people,  seized  with  holy  en- 
thusiasm,responded  to  the  'Dieu  le  veutf'' 
of  the  Vicar  of  Jesus  Christ  bv  that  heroic 
movement  known  as  the  Crusades.  All 
rivalry  and  difference  of  race  was  forgfotten, 
all  petty  divisions  were  put  aside;  faith  ac- 
complished a  miracle  of  unity,  which  was 
ten  times  renewed  during  two  succeeding 
centuries.  This  magnificent  era  begun  by 
one  saint  was  closed  by  another—  St.  Louis, 
King  of  France. 

Urban  was  not  less  vigilant  on  behalf  o 
the  liberty  of  the  Church;  the  disciple  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


St.  Bruno  victoriously  opoos'^d  the  preten- 
sions of  the  German  Emperor.  Moreover, 
at  an  epoch  of  incessant  wars,  he  prevailed 
upon  the  princes  to  keep  that  admirable 
compact  so  touchingly  called  the  Truce  of 
God,  by  which  fighting  was  interdiced  from 
Wednesday  evening  to  Monday  morning  of 
each  week,  on  great  feasts,  ar,d  throughout 
the  whole  of  Advent  and  Lent.  This  tiuce 
aflForded  protection  to  laborers  and  artisans, 
enabling  them  to  till  their  land,  and  gather 
in  the  harvest;  in  a  word,  giving  rest  and 
peace  to  impoverished  populations. 

With  his  wonted  intrepidity,  Urban  un 
sparingly  condemned  the  wicked  conduct  of 
kings  and  princes,  however  powerful.  Philip 
L,  King  of  France,  had  repudiated  Bertha, 
his  legitimate  queen,  after  a  union  of  twenty 
years,  to  marry  Bertrada,wife  of  Foulques, 
Duke  of  Anjau;  he  took  no  heed  of  Urban's 
remonstrances,  and  was  excommunicated. 
After  a  resistance  of  ten  years,  he  was  at 
last  overcome  by  he  unflinching  firmness 
of  the  Pope,  and  was  induced  to  send  away 
Bertrada,  and  take  back  his  lawful  wife 
Bertha.  This  is  only  one  of  several  instances 
in  which  Urban  vindicated  the  sanctity  and 
indissolubilit>  of  the  marriage  tie. 

These  brief  notes  can  give  but  a  very 
incomplete  idea  of  Mgr  Freppel's  wonder- 
ful panegyric,  which  was  well  worthy  of 
his  subject  At  its  conclusion,  when  the 
speaker  strenuously  urged  a  spiritual  cru- 
sade for  the  cause  of  Religion,  ending  by 
^^Dzeu  le  vent!  '  the  thousands  of  listeners 
rose  to  a  man,  and  for  some  minutes  the  air 
was  filled  with  acclamations  and  cheers. 
Then  Mgr.  Rotelli  proceeded  to  bless  the 
monument,  and  the  ceremony  terminated 
with  the  united  blessingof  the  twenty-three 
bishops.  Everv  head  in  that  vast  assembly 
was  uncovered  every  knee  was  bent,  while 
the  prelates  invoked  on  the  multitude  the 
blessing  of  Almighty  God. 


A  Wayward  Client  of  Mary. 


There  is  a  God:  therefore  there  is  un- 
erring justice;  then  whatever  happens  is 
ordained  for  the  best;  consequently  the  suf- 
ferings of  man  on  earth  are  for  the  good  of 
man. — Silvio  Pellico. 


pASTON  DE  RAOUSSET-BOULBON 
vJ  was  a  boy  who  gave  his  teachers,  the 
Jesuit  Fathers  at  Fribourg,  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  occasioned  them  no  little  anx- 
iet>.  His  character  was  proud  and  passion- 
ate, but  he  had  a  warm  and  generous  heart, 
and  w  as  distinguished  by  a  tender  and  lively 
devotion  to  Our  Bkssed  Lady,  amongst 
whose  special  clients  he  desired  to  be  en- 
rolled. However,  the  rules  of  the  confra'er- 
nity  we  re  very  .strict,  and  he  coul  d  not  obtain 
the  number  of  good-conduct  marks  requi- 
site for  admission  into  it.  His  was  a  nature 
tending  to  ex  remes;  his  devotion  to  Father 
Labonde  knew  no  bounds,  and  the  latter 
took  great  interest  in  the  boy.  and  spared 
no  pains  to  help  him  to  overcome  his  fiery 
temper  and  curb  his  outbreaks  of  passion. 

For  a  time  all  went  well,  and  Gaston  was 
at  length,  to  his  great  joy,  received  as  an  as- 
sociate, but,  alas!  only  to  all  back  ere  long 
into  his  old  ways.  He  never  succeeded  in 
becoming  amemler  of  the  confrattrnity, 
and  the  departure  of  his  beloved  gu  de 
from  Fribourg  was  to  him  an  irreparable 
calamity.  He  even  went  so  far,  in  the  vio- 
lence of  his  grief,  as  to  make  most  unbe- 
coming remarks,  refit  cting  upon  the  Falher 
who  was  now  placed  over  him,  so  that  the 
rector  had  to  insist  upon  a  public  apology. 

After  leaving  college,  the  Count  de 
Raousset  led  for  several  years  a  life  the  re- 
verse of  edifying,  until  at  last,  having  run 
through  two  or  three  fortunes,  he  found 
himself  compelled  to  emigrate  to  California. 
In  the  midst  of  all  his  extravagance  and 
evil  ways  he  never  lost  his  devotion  to  Our 
Lady,  nor  did  he  allow  a  single  day  to  pass 
without  reciting  the  Memorare.  Upon  his 
arrival  in  California  his  energy  and'intelli- 
gence  soon  gave  him  the  ascendency  over 
the  motley  crowd  of  adventurers  by  whom 
he  found  himself  surrounded,  and  who  had, 
like  himself,  been  drawn  thilher  in  the  hope 
of  retrieving  a  ruined  fortune.  Difficulties 
having  arisen  between  the  Europeans  and 
the  Mexican  Government,  troops  were  sent 


The  Ave  Mana. 


235 


against  them,  and  they,  being  obliged  to 
take  up  arms  in  self-defence,  elected  Gaston 
as  commander.  After  a  series  of  skirmishes, 
the  Mexicans  prevailed,  and  De  Raousset, 
■who  had  fought  like  a  lion,  was  taken  pris- 
oner, and  sentenced  to  death. 

On  the  eve  of  his  execution  he  was,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  country,  locked 
up  in  a  chapel  for  several  hours;  there,  while 
he  knelt  before  Her  image,  the  Refuge  of 
Sinners  bent  down  Her  eyes  of  mercy  upon 
him,  and  obtained  for  Her  erring  child  sin 
cere  repentance.  With  tears  of  grateful  af- 
fection he  thought  of  Father  Labonde  and 
his  parting  counsels;  he  delayed  not  to  rec- 
oncile himself  with  God,  and  spent  part  of 
his  last  night  on  earth  in  writing  a  letter  to 
the  religious  who  had  been  his  early  in- 
structors, thanking  them  for  having  im- 
planted in  his  heart  that  faith  which' alone 
shows  the  prodigal  how  to  return  to  his 
Father's  house. 

Count  de  Raousset  met  his  end  with 
unflinchiag  courage,  expiating  his  sins  by 
a  violent  death;  he  fell  with  a  smile  upon 
his  lips,  cheered  by  the  thought  of  the  ten- 
der Mother  who  would  welcome  him  in  a 
better  world. 


Catholic  Notes. 


"We  need  a  new  Mariolatry,  and  voices 
again  to  cry  to  a  sensual  age,  Hail,  Mary !  for  it 
will  mean, when  reason  uses  it,  Hail,  Modesty ! 
Hail,  Purity!  Hail,  watchful  Motherhood! 
Hail,  patient,  heroic  endurance!  In  this  wor- 
ship we  are  sadly  deficient,  who  interest  our- 
selves in  the  annals  of  other  courts  than  those 
of  the  temple. ' '  So  speaks  a  Protestant  writer 
in  one  of  last  month's  periodicals.  It  is  a  plea 
— unintentional  it  may  be — for  the  efficacy  of 
devotion  to  the  ever- blessed  Mother  of  God, 
who  has  overcome  all  heresies,  and  leads  the 
human  soul  in  the  path  of  truth. 


In  Monsignor  Consitt's  interesting  lyife  of 
St.  Cuthbert,  which  we  have  noticed  in  a  pre- 
vious issue,  an  account  is  given  of  the  strange 
facts  connected  with  the  body  of  that  great 
Bishop,  who  was  one  of  the  chief  apostles  of 
the  north  of  England.  Immediately  after  his 


death,  the  body  of  the  servant  of  God  was  con- 
veyed to  Lindisfarne  Cathedral,  where  it  was 
deposited  on  the  right  side  of  the  altar,  and 
remained  undisturbed  for  eleven  years  At  the 
expiration  of  this  period  the  monks  of  Lindis- 
farne  opened  the  tomb,  wishing  to  place  the 
relics  of  the  Saint  in  a  shrine  raised  above  the 
floor  of  the  church.  To  their  amazement  and 
joy  they  found  the  whole  body  entire,  and  the 
vestments  in  which  he  had  been  clothed  fresh 
and  unsullied.  The  bod}^  was  preserved  at 
lyindisfarne  till  the  year  875,  when  to  secure  it 
from  the  rude  hands  of  the  Danish  invaders, 
it  was  borne  off,  accompanied  by  a  numerous 
body  of  men,  with  their  wives  and  children. 
This  noble  guard  of  honor,  in  order  to  preserve 
the  body  of  their  patron  Saint  from  profana- 
tion and  sacrilege,  wandered  to  and  fro,  so 
that  "there  is  hardly  a  spot  in  the  north  of 
England  or  south  of  Scotland  which  they  did 
not  visit,"  until  the  body  was  finally  laid  in 
state  in  a  magnificent  shrine  prepared  for  it 
in  Durham  Cathedral,  where  it  reposed,  still 
uncorrupted,  for  seven  hundred  years,  until 
the  desecration  of  the  shrine  by  the  ' '  Reform- 
ers" in  1540. 

Seventeen  hundred  miles  by  canoe!  Such 
was  the  apostolic  journey  lately  made  by  Mgr. 
Lorrain,  Bishop  of  Cythera,  Canada.  He  had 
been  on  a  pastoral  visit  to  the  Indian  missions 
on  the  Upper  Ottawa  and  Rupert's  Land.  The 
trip  occupied  over  two  months,  and  was  mostly 
by  water,  in  bark  canoes.  Forty  baptisms,  six 
hundred  Communions,  and  four  hundred  and 
fifty  confirmations  were  some  of  the  fruits  of 
this  toilsome  journey. 


The  mitre  which  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
has  sent  to  the  Pope  as  a  Jubilee  gift  is  of  pure 
gold,  exquisite  in  workmanship,  and  brilliant 
with  precious  stones.  The  offering  is  accom- 
panied by  an  autograph  letter,  in  which  the 
Emperor  writes  in  reispectful  and  sympathetic 
terms  of  the  Pontiff"' s  policy  of  peace  and  rec- 
onciliation,— a  policy  in  which  the  Emperor 
himself  participates.  In  acknowledging  this 
gift  of  his  Majesty,  the  Holy  Father  expressed 
the  joy  he  feels  in  seeing  religious  peace  re- 
established in  Germany  and  Prussia,  and 
announced  his  hope  that  the  Emperor  will 
continue  to  protect  Catholic  interests. 

In  a  recent  able  sermon  on  ' '  Scripture  In- 
terpretation," the  Rev.  R.  F,  Clarke  gives  a 


The  Ave  Aluria. 


beautiful  explanation  of  an  expression  in  the 
second  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John, upon 
which  Protestants  have  laid  great  stress,  as 
presenting  an  argument  against  devotion  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  Father  Clarke  says: 

'The  nature  of  Thought- Interpretation  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  example  of  Our  Lord  saying 
to  His  Mother  at  the  marriage  feast  of  Cana: 
'Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  Thee?'  as  it 
stands  in  the  Protestant  version.  Now  •  Woman, 
what  have  I  to  do  with  Thee?'  is  as  insolent  and 
undutiful  as.  in  reply  to  the  modest  intimation 
'They  have  no  wine,'  it  would  have  been  uncalled 
for  and  inexcusable;  and,  of  course,  it  is  a  contro- 
versial mistranslation.  The  word ^7^«az, translated 
woman  has  not  the  disrespectful  and  impudent 
meaning  it  would  possess  in  English  but  ap- 
proaches rather  to  lady,  and  is  even  paralleled 
with  despoina,  mistress,  or  even  queen.  What  is 
to  Me  and  to  Thee?'  (which  is  word  for  word  the 
rendering  of  the  phrase  mistranslated  '  What  have 
I  to  do  with  Thee  ? ')  is  a  familiar  formula,  equiva- 
lent to '  Leave  this  to  me, '  and  needing  to  be  inter- 
preted by  the  circumstances  of  the  case  and  the 
relation  between  the  pirties.  It  occurs  twice  else- 
where in  Holy  Scripture,  and  in  bath  instances 
with  implications  of  friendship  and  legard;  the 
first  instance  being  where  David  asks  his  faith- 
ful friends  in  calamity  to  leave  him  to  deal  with 
Shimei  in  his  own  way ;  and  the  second,  that  in 
which  the  King  of  Egypt  protests  that  he  intends 
no  hostility  tp  the  King  of  Juda  (II  Kings,  xvi., 
lo;  II.  Chronicles,  XXXV.,  2i)  '  What  h  ive  I  to  do 
with  you,  ye  sons  of  Zeruiah  ? '  is  an  almost  ludi- 
crous falsification  of  the  relations  existing  be- 
tween the  sons  of  Zeruiah  and  poor  fugitive  David, 
whom  they  were  helping  in  his  calaiiity.  'What 
have  I  to  do  with  thee  O  King  of  Jada? '  is  not 
a  less  improper  expression  of  a  thought  which, 
as  we  see  from  the  context,  may  be  paraphrased: 
'  Do  not  oppose  my  expedition;  for  I  am  really  on 
your  side,  having  been  commissioned  by  the  God 
whom  you  serve  to  attack  Assyria. ' 

"In  the  second  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  the 
'  What  is  to  Me  and  to  Thee? '  or  '  Leave  this  to 
Me,' was  not  a  refusal  but  an  acquiescence;  for 
when  the  Blessed  Virgin  had  heard  it.  She  knew 
that  Her  suggestion  was  to  be  attended  to  since 
otherwise  She  would  not  thereupon  have  said  to 
the  servants,  'Whatsoever  He  saith  to  you,  do 
ye.'  Our  Lord's  reply  to  Her  is  to  be  taken  in  its 
entirety,  and  the '  My  hour  is  not  yet  come, '  means 
'  The  appropriate  moment  has  not  yet  arrived ' — 
the  failure  of  the  wine  was  as  yet  unnoticed.  The 
reply  signifies, '  Do  not  let  this  trouble  you;  I  will 
see  to  it;  but  the  right  moment  has  not  yet  come. ' 
That  this  was  the  real  meaning  we  know  from  the 
result — that  the  defect  was  supplied.  She  knew  it 
before  the  result,  from  the  nature  of  Her  previous 
relations  with  Her  Son,  and  from  the  assentient 


tone, it  may  be, in  vhich  the  answer  was  conveyed, 
or  from  a  stress  on  the  word  yet :  '  My  time  has 
not  yet  come,  but  it  will  come  presently.'  Such 
expressions  are  like  'If  you  please";  or  'Thank 
you'(wh  ch  sometimes  signifies  assent  and  some- 
times refusal);  or  '  Never  mind  that ' ;  or  a  host  of 
others,  whose  meaning  depends  on  tone  of  voice, 
emphasis,  the  footing  on  which  th?  persons  are 
with  one  another,  and  other  circumstances  The 
words  themselves  tell  us  little,  but  we  must  read 
down  to  the  thought  by  means  of  the  circum- 
stances and  the  unfriendly  or  affectionate  footing 
of  those  concerned." 


The  Spanish  Government,  in  view  of  the 
great  importance  to  science  of  the  fine  mete- 
orological observatory  founded  by  the  Jesuit 
Fathers  at  Manilla,  which  renders  such  ser- 
vice to  the  mercantile  marine  in  those  waters, 
has  declared  it  a  national  establishment,  and 
granted  it  a  handsome  sum  for  its  expenses, 
salaries,  and  instruments. 


His  Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons  sent  the 
following  reply  to  an  invitation  of  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Constitutional  Centennial  Com- 
mission to  be  present  at  the  celebration  in 
Philadelphia  this  month.  It  not  only  shows 
that  love  of  country  and  respect  for  the  Con- 
stitution are  consistent  with  the  high  office 
held  by  the  writer,  but  that  prejudice  on  this 
score  is  fast  being  dispelled  from  the  minds 
of  our  separated  brethren.  The  invitation  is 
significant  of  a  reversion  of  public  sentiment 
as  complete  as  it  is  gratifying: 

' '  I  beg  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  favor 
of  the  8th  inst. .  informing  me  that  I  am  invited 
to  offer  the  closing  prayer  and  to  invoke  a  bene- 
diction on  the  17th  day  of  September  next.  I 
gratefully  accept  the  invitation,  and  shall  cheer- 
fully comply  with  the  request  of  the  committee 
by  performing  the  sacred  duty  assigned  to  me. 
In  common  with  my  fellow-citizens,  I  heartily  re- 
joice in  the  forthcoming  commemorative  celebra- 
tion. The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  is 
worthy  of  being  written  in  letters  of  gold.  It  is  a 
charter  by  which  the  lioerties  of  sixty  millions  of 
people  are  secured,  and  by  which,  under  Provi- 
dence, the  temporal  happiness  of  countless  mill- 
ions yet  unborn  will  be  perpetuated." 

In  the  fore-front  of  the  ranks  of  the  numer- 
ous self-sacrificing  bodies  who  are  engaged  in 
the  work  of  Christian  education  are  the  Broth- 
ers of  the  Christian  Schools,  an  Order  founded 
by  the  Venerable  De  La  Salle,  who  renounced 
a  brilliant  ecclesiastical  career  to  give  himself 
up  to  poverty  and  the  instruction  of  youth. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


233 


'i^he  Brothers  are  to  be  found  all  over  Chris- 
tendom, actively  engaged  in  the  cause  of  edu- 
cation and  religion.  The  lately  published 
statistics  of  the  Order  are  remarkable;  from 
them  it  appears  that  they  possess  twelve  hun- 
dred establishments,  managed  by  over  eleven 
thousand  Brothers,  and  attended  by  three 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  pupils.  By  far 
the  greatest  number  of  their  houses  are  in 
France,  where  they  have  nearly  nine  thousand 
members.  They  are  to  be  found  in  almost 
every  civilized  country,  with  the  exception  of 
Germany, — Germany  alone,  as  the  Germania 
remarks  with  bitterness,  is  deprived  of  the 
benefit  of  these  admirable  educators  of  youth. 


The  Sodality  of  Mary  Immaculate  in  Shang- 
hai, comprising  more  than  eighty  young  men 
of  the  first  families  of  the  city,  with  Father 
Aloysius  Sica,  S.  J.,  as  director,  have  sent  to 
the  Holy  Father  an  address  written  in  Chinese 
characters  on  yellow  satin,  surrounded  by 
gold  and  silk  ornamental  work.  The  address, 
the  work  of  a  prominent  man  of  letters,  is 
accompanied  by  a  Latin  translation,  and  en- 
closed in  an  envelope  of  white  satin.  This 
again  is  enclosed  in  a  little  ebony  box,  em- 
bossed with  ornaments,  which  represent  sym- 
bolically the  glories  of  the  Roman  Pontiff. 
Surrounding  the  box  is  a  scroll  separated  into 
two  parts,  in  one  of  which  are  represented  in 
relief  fruits  and  flowers,  and  in  the  other  Chi- 
nese musical  instruments,  such  as  the  cithern, 
the  viol,  and  the  tambour.  The  lock  is  silver, 
and  so  ingeniously  constructed  that  without 
a  knowledge  of  its  mechanism  it  is  impossible 
to  open  it.  When  the  gift  was  presented  to 
the  Holy  Father  by  the  Rev.  F.  di  Maria,  S.  J  , 
Prefect  of  Studies  in  the  Gregorian  University, 
the  Pope  expressed  great  admiration  of  it  as 
a  specimen  of  Chinese  art,  and  sent  the  Apos- 
tolic Blessing  to  the  pious  donors  and  their 
zealous  director. —  Weekly  Register. 


The  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Lynch,  of  To- 
ronto, in  a  letter  addressed  to  Archdeacon 
Cavanagh,  gives  an  account  of  a  remarkable 
cure,  which  he  attributes  to  the  intercession  of 
Our  Lady  of  Knock.  The  subject  of  the  marvel 
is  one  of  the  Christian  Brothers— "an  excel- 
lent young  man,  one  of  our  best  teachers,  very 
pious  and  devoted  to  his  work."  It  seems  he 
had  become  subject  to  epileptic  fits,  which,  be- 
sides causing  him  great  pain,  deranged  the 


community;  for  his  place  in  the  schools  had 
frequently  to  be  filled  by  one  of  the  others. 
' '  He  came  to  me  some  time  ago, ' '  writes  the 
Archbishop,"  and  with  great  faith  asked  me 
to  cure  him.  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  the  plaster 
of  Knock  to  be  put  in  water,  some  of  which 
he  should  take  three  times  a  day,  with  pious 
invocations  of  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  and 
other  pra\  ers.  Since  the  first  time  he  took  the 
water  he  has  not  had  a  fit.  The  other  day  he 
came  to  me  quite  a  changed  man,  of  fine, 
healthy  appearance,  and  full  of  gratitude  to 
the  Mother  of  God  for  his  cure. ' ' 


New  Publications. 


Our  Divine  Saviour  and  Other  Dis- 
courses By  the  Rt.  Rev  J.  C.  Hedley,  O.  S.  B., 
Bishop  of  Newport  and  Menevia.  London: 
Burns  &  Gates.  New  York:  The  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society  Co.    1887. 

To  those  who  have  read  any  of  Bishop 
Hedley 's  sermons  the  title  of  this  work  is  a 
sufficient  guarantee  of  its  excellence.  We  have 
never  been  able  to  understand  how  it  was  that 
those  remarkable  lectures  on  the  "Spirit  of 
Faith ' '  by  this  distinguished  prelate,  which 
were  published  some  fifteen  years  ago,  never 
attracted  the  attention  they  deserved.  We  are 
much  pleased  to  see  them  now  republished 
in  the  volume  before  us,  along  with  thirteen 
other  sermons,  all  equally  excellent;  and  we 
hope  that  in  this  form  they  will  obtain  a  more 
extended  circulation.  The  style  of  Bishop 
Hedley's  discourses  is  remarkably  beautiful, 
and  grace  of  diction  and  felicity  of  style  are 
combined  in  them  with  practical  usefulness  in 
a  very  unusual  degree.  They  are  full  of  fresh, 
vigorous  thought,  and  are  marked  by  an  hon- 
esty which  does  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge 
difficulties,  and  by  an  earnestness  which  must 
command  respect  if  it  does  not  win  convic- 
tion. In  order  that  our  readers  may  be  able  to 
judge  of  the  merits  of  this  book,  and  be  in- 
duced to  peruse  it  for  themselves,  we  repro- 
duce the  following  passage  from  the  discourse 
entitled  "Faith  the  Gift  of  Jesus  Christ": 

' '  If  there  is  such  a  wonderful  gift  and  endow- 
ment of  the  soul  as  Faith,  it  is  no  wonder  that,  in 
spite  of  wilfulness  and  in  spite  of  prejudice,  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  ardent  belief  in  God's  revela-  ^ 
tion.  I  have  said  that  Faith  is  a  gilt  which  is  be- 
stowed upon  the  heart  in  order  to  enable  it,  as  by 


236 


The  Ave  Maria. 


some  new  faculty,  to  live  and  move  in  an  invis- 
ible and  supernatural  world— or,  in  other  words, 
to  realize  God  the  Creator.  The  difficulties  which 
prevent  the  heart  from  accepting  or  looking  for 
this  invisible,  supernatural  world  are  chiefly,  as  I 
liave  also  said,  hesitation  as  to  the  proofs  of  rev- 
elation, prejudice  or  preoccupation,  and  wilful- 
ness.   Now,  no  religious  system  or  theory  could 
deal  with  these  difficulties  which  did  not,  like  the 
Catholic  Church,  start  with  the  supposition  that 
Providence  has  destined  for  man  a  special  gift  or 
endowment  to  help  him  over  them.  Take  the  first. 
Hesitation  as  to  the  proofs  of  revelation  arises 
either  from  inability  to  see  the  force  of  the  proofs, 
or,  more  commonly,  from  inability  to  get  rid  of 
some  st^gering  objection.  The  proofs  of  revela- 
tion are  not  so  strong  and  overwhelming  as  the 
proofs  of  many  far  less  important  matters.  They 
are  sufficient  to  prove  its  existence;   especially 
they  are  sufficient  to  prove  the  existence  of  a  teach- 
ing Church.  But  since  they  lie  in  a  sphere  which 
the  mind  of  the  ordinary  man  and  woman  of  the 
world's  millions  is  not  familiar  with,  and  since 
they  have  to  be  held  with  an  earnest  grasp  as 
motives  and  master-thoughts,  the  human  mind 
must  be  helped  to  take  them  in  and  helped  to 
hold  them.  There  is  many  a  truth  which  men  do 
not  acknowledge  merely  because  it  is  crushed  out 
oi  sight  by  the  rush  of  other  truths ;  and  there  is 
many  a  conviction  which  lies  asleep  and  is  hardly 
a  conviction.  And  revelation  might  be,  and  would 
be,  no  better  than  such  a  truth  and  such  a  convic- 
tion to  the  multitudes,  were  it  not  for  the  special 
gift  of  Faith." 

Life  of  Monseigneur  r  e  Merode.  By  Mgr. 
Besson.  Translated  into  English  by  Lady  Her- 
bert. London:  W.  H.  Allen  &  Co.   1887. 
This  is  a  most  interesting  account  of  the 
life  of  one  who,  by  his  varied  career  as  soldier, 
priest,  diplomatist,  and  Archbishop,  has  many 
claims  on  our  attention  and  admiration.  A 
descendant  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  noblest 
families  on  the  Continent,  and  counting  among 
his  ancestors  many  of  the  Crusaders,  he  passed 
his  youth  as  a  soldier  in  African  warfare. 
Feeling  the  impulse  of  a  divine  vocation  to 
the  priesthood  he  laid  down  the  sword  only 
to  find  himself,  shortly  after  his  ordination, 
face  to  face  with  deadlier  enemies  than  any 
he  had  encountered  on  the  field  of  battle.  It 
was  this  young  soldier-priest  who,  at  the  risk 
of  his  life,  aflBixed  to  the  door  of  every  basilica 
in  Rome  the  bull  of  excommunication  which 
Pius   IX.  launched  against    those    impious 
wretches  who  had  driven  him  into  exile.  His 
subsequent  experience  as  a  military  chaplain 
is  full  of  interest,  and  many  a  good  anecdote 


enriches  the  pages  devoted  to  this  portion  of  his 
life;  but  it  is  afterwards,  when  he  was  called 
by  the  great  Pontiff  to  the  Papal  court, — when 
we  see  the  cloi^e  intimacy  to  which  he  was  ad- 
mitted by  Pius  IX.,  and  the  high  regard  and 
affection  which  the  latter  entertained  for  him, 
— when  we  follow  his  successful  career  as 
diplomatist  and  statesman, — then  it  is  that 
we  feel  most  deeply  the  charm  of  a  great  and 
attractive  personality.  We  must  thank  Lady 
Herbert  for  giving  us.  in  English,  such  a  read- 
able account  of  one  who  played  so  prominent 
a  part  on  the  stage  of  events  during  fifty  years 
of  the  present  century.  We  are  obliged,  how- 
ever, somewhat  reluctantly,  to  temper  our  ex- 
pression of  thanks  with  regret  that  the  trans- 
lation can  scarcely,  from  a  literary  point  of 
view,  be  said  to  be  well  executed.  It  bears 
marks  of  both  haste  and  carelessness,  which 
we  hope  will  be  removed  in  a  subsequent 
edition. 


Obituary. 

"  //  /.■;•  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  a  Mach.,  xii.,  ^ 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Patrick  J.  Colovin,  an  eminent  priest 
of  the  Archdiocese  of  Milwaukee,  whose  death, 
after  a  long  illness, occurred  on  the  226.  ult.,at 
Dayton,  Wis. 

Mr.  Charles  McMahon,  a  promising  young  nov- 
ice of  the  Congregation  of  the  Holy  Cross,  who 
died  piously  at  his  home  in  St.  Louis,  on  the  3d 
ult. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Patrick  Maguire,  old  friends  of 
The  "Ave  Maria"  in  San  Francisco, whose  lives 
of  exemplary  fervor  were  crowned  with  precious 
deaths — one  on  the  23d  of  June,  the  other  on  the 
15th  of  July. 

Francis  J.  Augarde,  Esq., who  breathed  his  last 
in  London  on  the  6th  of  July,  aged  eighty-six 
years. 

Mr.  William  Canfield,  who  departed  this  life  on 
the  28th  of  June,  at  Somerville,  Mass.,  sincerely 
mourned  by  all  who  knew  him. 

Miss  Janet  Clink,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary,  who 
was  called  to  her  eternal  rest  on  the  6th  ult. ,  at 
Natick,  Mass. 

Mr.  James  S.  Cuttle,  of  Fall  River,  Mass.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  15th  of  July,  fortified  by  the 
last  Sacraments 

Miss  Catherine  Maher. whose  happy  death  took 
place  on  the  9th  ult.,  at  Louisville,  Ky. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


235r 


PAllTMENT 


The  Bad  Half-Dollar. 


BY  E.  V.  N. 


I. 

Betty  Lindsay  was  a  sweet,  pleasant- 
faced  girl,  with  red  laughing  lips,  rosy 
cheeks,  bright  blue  eyes,  and  curls  that 
tumbled  about  her  roguish  face  as  if  they 
were  as  thoughtless  and  as  mischievous  as 
herself.  No  wonder  her  father  was  proud 
'  of  her,  and  her  mother  petted  her.  In  fact, 
although  Mr.  Lindsay  was  a  grave  lawyer, 
and  Mrs.  Lindsay  a  very  sensible  woman, 
they  were  so  fond  of  their  daughter,  and 
so  anxious  to  make  her  happy,  that  they 
indulged  her  in  every  fancy,  and  readily 
forgave  all  her  shortcomings. 

One  chilly  morning  in  autu  mn  Mrs.  Lind- 
say was  seated  on  a  lounge  by  the  window, 
sewing;  and  Betty  was  standing  on  a  high 
chair  to  get  a  better  view  of  what  was  pass- 
ing on  the  avenue. 
H         "O   mamma,  mamma!"    cried   Betty, 
■    ' '  look  yonder,  quick ! ' ' 
P        "What  is  it?"    inquired  Mrs.  Lindsay, 
rising.  "Ah,  I  see — that  poor  woman  sing- 
ing 'Home,  Sweet  Home!'    and  her  two 
forlorn  little  ones." 

"No,  mamma:  I  mean  that  little  girl," 
and  Betty  pointed  down  the  street.  "What 
a  lovely  blue!  I  never  saw  such  a  pretty 
colored  dress.  And  she  has  buff  gloves — kid 
or  silk,  I  can  not  see  which." 

"Well,  dear,  is  that  anything  wonder- 
fttl?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay.  "  F<7m  have  a  blue 
dress — in  fact,  two  blue  dresses." 

"Yes,  mamma,  but  that  silk  is  peacock 
blue;  it  is  going  to  be  all  the  rage.  Will 
you  buy  me  one  like  that,  and  buff  silk 
gloves?" 

"Yes,  dearest,  if  you  wish.  But  look  at 
that  |>oor  boy  selling  matches, ' ' 


Betty  looked  around,  and  saw  a  little 
fellow,  with  ragged  clothes  and  a  thin  white 
face,  that  showed  very  clearly  he  was  suffer- 
ing from  cold  and  hunger. 

"I  often  see  that  match-boy  pass,"  said 
Betty,  but  thinking  the  while  how  many 
silver  buttons  would  be  necessary  for  a  new 
blue  dress. 

"I  wonder,  darling,  that  you  do  not  show 
sympathy  when  you  see  another  child  so- 
miserable. ' ' 

"Well,  I  hope  he'll  be  able  to  sell  all. 
his  matches,  mamma,"  answered  the  little 
girl;  "but  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  me>. 
has  he?" 

Her  mother  turned  away,  rang  the  bell, 
and  bade  the  porter  buy  some  matches,  and 
give  the  lad  some  bread  and  hot  coffee.  ' '  I 
am  sorry  I  let  the  poor  woman  pass,"  said 
Mrs.  Lindsay;  " for  I  fear  tnere  is  not  much> 
'  Sweet  Home '  for  her  and  her  little  chil- 
dren. ' ' 

"Will  you  go  out  shopping  to-morrow^ 
dear  mamma?"  asked  Betty,  kissing  and 
caressing  her  mother  in  her  most  bewitch- 
ing way. 

' '  I  dare  say  I  shall,  for  winter  is  coming; 
on." 

"May  I  tell  Harry  to  get  the  carriage 
ready?" 

"No,  daughter, "  said  Mrs.  Lindsay, look- 
ing uneasy  and  thoughtful.  ' '  It  will  do  us 
good  to  walk;  and  I  will  take  you  to  see 
some  poor  people,  so  that  you  may  not  be 
ungrateful  to  God,  who  has  given  you  more 
than  you  need,  and  nearly  all  you  wish 
for." 

The  following  day,  faithful  to  her  prom- 
ise, Mrs.  Lindsay  took  her  selfish  child  to 
witness  the  distress  of  some  poor  people, 
and  between  their  calls  she  endeavored  to 
draw  her  attention  to  their  necessities,  and 
inspire  her  with  compassion.  The  spoiled 
girl,  however,  had  been  so  long  used  ta 
having  her  own  way  with  the  servants  and 
her  parents,  that  it  seemed  it  would  require 
some  severe  lesson  to  induce  her  to  show 
any  consideration  for  the  sufferings  of  her 
neighbor. 

The  blue  silk  dress,  with  trimmings  of ' 


^38 


The  Ave  Maria. 


white  down  and  pretty  silver  buttons,  was 
purchased,  hat  and  shoes  were  ordered  to 
match,  and  the  buff  silk  gloves  with  a  Jap- 
anese fan  added  to  please  the  conceited 
little  miss. 

When  Mrs.  Lindsay  drew*  out  her  purse, 
Betty  caught  sight  of  a  bright  silver  half- 
dollar — one  that  Mrs.  Lindsay  did  not  use 
in  paying  for  her  purchases. 

*'Give  me  that  bright  piece,  mamma," 
said  the  pet,  looking  up  with  her  winning 
smile,  and  slipping  her  thumb  and  finger 
into  the  purse. 

•'That  one?"  said  her  mother.  "Oh!  it 
ds  a  bad  coin — a  counterfeit.  I  do  not  know 
how  I  came  by  it,  but  I  am  told  that  it  is 
bad." 

' '  Bad  ? ' '  repeated  Betty.  ' '  How  can  that 
Tdc?  It  is  bettef  looking  than  the  other 
pieces.  Let  me  keep  it,  mamma;  oh!  do, 
please?" 

"Certainly  you  may  keep  it,  but  it  will 
not  buy  anything.  Why  not  take  this  one? ' ' 
^offering  her  another  that  was  not  so 
bright. 

"I  like  this  one  best,"  persisted  Betty, 
with  a  frown  at  the  other  coin;  "and  if  I 
want  to  buy  anything,  the  people  must 
take  it" 

"Well,  since  you  insist  on  having  the 
bad  coin, remember  it  will  be  on  your  hands. 
I  will  not  change  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay, 
smiling.  The  amiable  lady  did  not  wish 
to  show  her  feelings  in  the  store,  but  she 
thought  it  was  high  time  to  give  Miss  Betty 
a  lesson. 

Now,  when  Betty  had  pocket-money  she 
wanted  to  spend  it  right  away,  so  as  she 
walked  home  with  her  mamma  she  would 
run  to  the  store  windows  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  she  might  like  to  purchase.  They 
passed  a  toy-shop,  where  she  saw  a  beauti- 
ful doll's  hat,  marked  "Only  fifty  cents." 
Just  the  thing  for  her  doll.  However,  when 
she  presented  her  coin,  the  salesman  de- 
•clined  to  take  it;  but,  not  wishing  to  mor- 
tify her,  he  said :  "  I  think,  miss,  we  will  not 
part  with  the  hat  to-day,"  and  he  laid  the 
•article  back. 

Next  they  came  to  a  confectioner's  shop, 


and  the  little  girl  saw  a  large,  richly- colored 
bird — one  of  those  whose  heads  obligingly 
screw  off  and  on  at  pleasure.  In  she  ran. 
The  price  was  twenty-five  cents,  and  she 
laid  her  half  dollar  piece  on  the  counter. 
The  clerk  rang  it  on  the  wood.  "Another 
piece  of  money,  if  you  please,  miss;  this  is 
a  bad  coin,"  he  said, 

"Then  you  can  have  it  all  for  twenty- 
five  cents,"  answered  Betty,  with  the  utmost 
simplicity.  The  clerk  laughed  heartily,  and 
explained  that  it  was  really  good  for  noth- 
ing; so  the  little  pet  put  it  in  her  pocket, 
and  went  out  to  her  mamma,  and  begged 
her  to  give  her  a  good  half-dollar. 

"My  dear,  remember  you  would  not  take 
my  advice;  I  am  going  to  keep  to  what  I 
said,"  and  Mrs.  Lindsay  stroked  Betty's 
bright  curls  as  they  walked  on.  However, 
Betty  said  to  herself:  * '  Papa  will  change 
it  for  me."  But  to  her  surprise  her  father 
began  to  joke  when  she  showed  him  the 
coin,  said  his  little  daughter  wanted  to 
cheat  her  kind  papa,  and  offered  her  a  bright 
nickel  and  other  small  change;  so  the  bad 
half-dollar  lay  a  long  while  in  Betty's 
pocket-book;  for  she  could  not  think  of 
any  way  to  use  it. 

n. 

A  few  weeks  later  gray  clouds  hid  the 
blue  peaks  of  the  distant  Catskills;  the  birds 
had  hushed  their  songs  and  the  pavements 
were  covered  with  brown  leaves.  The  fire  in 
Mr.  Lindsay's  parlor  burned  brightly,  and 
with  boots  and  social  gatherings  the  in- 
mates of  the  granite  mansion  contrived  to 
defy  King  Winter.  Mrs.  Lindsay  was  an 
active  member  cf  the  Sodality  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  spent  much  of  her  time 
in  making  garments  for  the  poor  of  her  own 
parish,  and  for  those  whose  necessities  had 
been  laid  before  the  Children  of  Mary  by 
their  zealous  presiden  t.  Often  she  called  on 
her  little  daughter  to  help  her  sew  plain 
seams  in  warm  garments,  so  as  to  initiate 
her  gradually  into  the  service  of  the  hum- 
ble poor. 

One  day  Mrs.  Lindsay  said:  "Come, 
Betty,  and  I  will  show  you  what  I  am  get- 
ting made."  So  they  went  to  the  kitchen, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


239 


and  the  girl's  eyes  opened  wide  at  the 
sight  of  a  big  cake,  just  ready  to  go  into 
the  oven.  "Do  you  remember  the  little 
match-boy — that  poor  neglected  child  to 
whom  I  called  your  attention  one  morning 
not  very  long  ago  ? ' ' 

"No,  mamma,"  said  Betty,  and  she 
.picked  a  big  raisin  out  of  the  cake. 

"Well,  I  remember  him,  and  I  have  had 
a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  whole  basket  of 
winter  clothing  prepared  for  him;  and  this 
cake,  with  a  bright  half-dollar  in  it,  will  be 
hidden  in  the  centre  of  the  basket.  When 
the  little  fellow  passes  to-night,  Ann  will 
run  out  and  give  it  to  him." 

Not  a  word  from  Betty.  "A  big  cake  and 
a  good  half-dollar  for  a  beggar  boy,"  she 
mused;  "not  a  slice  of  it  for  me!  '  And 
she  picked  out  some  more  raisins.  Then 
her  mamma  left  the  kitchen,  and  cook  be- 
gan to  brush  the  oven,  for  she  had  a  large 
batch  of  bread  and  some  other  things  to 
bake.  While  she  was  thus  occupied  Betty 
put  her  fingers  into  the  dough;  cook  was 
displeased,  and  told  her  to  go  up  stairs, 
adding,  ' '  There  is  a  cake  prepared  for  your 
little  cousins,  who  are  expected  this  even- 
ing, and  a  large  oider  has  been  sent  to  the 
'Fancy  Bakery'  besides.  You  will  have  a 
lovely  entertainment,  miss.  So  please  do 
not  spoil  the  poor  boy's  loaf"  Then  Betty 
ran  up  stairs  to  see  what  pretty  dress  she 
would  wear  at  her  little  party. 

The  following  night  was  cold  and  rainy. 
The  twilight  was  gaihering  fast  into  dark- 
ness, which  the  lighted  lamps  on  the  ave- 
nue hardly  dispelled.  The  pavements  were 
wet  and  sloppy,  and  only  a  solitary  person 
here  and  there,  hurr>  ing  on,  relieved  the 
<3reary  appearance  of  the  street. 

Hugh  Costello  was  wending  his  way 
homeward,  silent  and  sad.  He  had  sold 
only  a  few  bunches  of  matches,  and  there- 
fore had  only  four  dimes  to  give  to  his  wid- 
owed mother.  Almost  in  despair  at  this  re- 
flection, he  wasstartled  by  some  one  running 
after  him,  who,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder, 
gave  him  a  large  basket  containing  a  pack- 
age, with  the  words, "Pray  for  the  giver." 
He  looked  up,  and  saw  a  woman  closely 


wrapped  in  a  water- proof,  and  breathless 
from  running.  "My  mistress  sent  it  to  you; 
you  need  not  fear  to  take  it,"  she  said  in 
woids  interrupted  by  her  eflforts  to  recover 
her  power  of  speech.  "Good-night,  my  lad, 
and  pray  for  us. ' ' 

Hugh's  weary  eyes  brightened  as  tears 
of  joy  and  thankfulness  started  to  thenl; 
but  the  girl  ran  back  home;  for  she  had 
been  sent  to  overtake  him,  and  had  not  had 
time  to  think  of  an  umi)Tella.  On  he  went 
with  a  light  step;  he  even  began  to  whis- 
tle, notwithstanding  the  rain,  he  was  so  de- 
lighted with  his  new  burthen,  and  felt  sure 
that  it  contained  something  nice  for  his 
mother  and  sick  sister.  He  wondered,  too, 
what  lady  had  made  him  such  a  present, 
and  despite  his  glee  he  felt  very  sorry  that 
he  had  been  unable  to  return  her  even  the 
smallest  message  of  gratitude. 

At  length  he  reached  his  home — a  mis- 
erable shanty;  no  one  could  mistake  the 
utter  poverty  of  those  who  lived  there.  His 
mother  rented  two  small  rooms,  but  she 
had  abandoned  the  front  one,  which  she 
generally  used  as  a  sitting-room,  to  live  in 
the  back  one,  or  kitchen,  so  that  they  might 
have  the  heat  of  the  only  fire  they  could 
afford  in  the  apartment  in  which  her  other 
child  lay  ill. 

Mrs  Costello  was  ironing  when  Hugh 
ran  in,  exclaiming  joyfully,  "Mother, look 
— look  at  this  big  package!  All  for  me — 
for  us,  I  mean.  A  lady  sent  her  servant  to 
give  it  to  me. ' '  And  he  showed  the  bundle 
to  his  amazed  mother.  Satisfied  with 
Hugh's  answers  to  her  prudent  questions, 
she  opened  it,  and  found  the  suit  of  clothes, 
shoes,  hat,  and  the  warm  underclothes  that 
Mrs.  Lindsay  had  so  charitably  made  with 
her  own  hands.  And  the  beautiful  cake, 
nicely  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  was  placed  in 
the  centre. 

' '  No  wonder  it  was  heav>' ! ' '  exclaimed 
Hugh. 

' '  Speak  softly,  my  boy, ' '  said  his  mother. 
'  'Amanda  is  very  weak  to-day,  and  the  least 
noise  disturbs  her. ' ' 

"Well,  the  cake  will  cheer  her  up;  that 
will  be  for  you  and  her.    I  wish,  mother, 


240 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  you  could  wear  the  flannels  instead  of 
me."  And  then  he  glided  on  tiptoe  to 
his  sister's  bed,  and  found  her  asleep. 
"Mother, can't  we  do  anything  for  her?" 
he  whispered. 

The  woman  shook  her  head,  and  heaved 
a  deep  sigh.  "  If  I  could  get  her  some  wine 
— some  California  wine — I  think  it  would 
strengthen  her.  It  is  not  dear,  Mrs.  Ellis 
tells  me.  How  much  did  you  get  to-day, 
my  son?" 

Hugh  showed  her  the  four  dimes.  She 
would  not  let  him  see  her  disappointment 
at  the  small  sum,  but  sent  him  out  at  once 
to  procure  some  articles  for  their  scanty- 
supper. 

When  Hugh  returned,  Amanda  was  still 
asleep.  His  mother,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  began  to  get  the  supper  ready,  and 
the  boy,  placing  the  lighted  lamp  on  the 
table  near  him,  sat  down  beside  the  bed. 
After  a  while  the  sick  girl  awoke. 

''How's  poor  sis?"  asked  Hugh,  softly. 
Many  a  good  heart  beats  beneath  worn-out 
clothes  and  tatters,  and  his  gentle  tone 
showed  that  he  possessed  one. 

"Dear  brother — dear  Hugh!"  was  the 
child's  only  answer,  as  she  clasped  his  coarse 
hands  between  hers,  so  thin  and  white. 

He  looked  into  her  face.  What  a  change 
had  taken  place  since  morning!  She  ap- 
peared more  wasted  than  e\er,  and  she 
breathed  heavily,  with  now  and  then  a 
stifled  moan.  "What  a  pity,"  he  thought, 
"that  she  should  be  so  ill  when  I  have  a 
cake  to  surprise  her ! ' ' 

At  length  she  drew  him  down  close  to 
her  and  said:  "I  feel  so  faint  and  strange! 
My  side  aches  so — oh, how  it  aches !  Hugh, 
don't  let  mother  know,  but  I  think  " — she 
gasped  a  little;  she  could  scarcely  speak, — 
"don't  cry,  brother.  I  think — sometimes — 
I'll  die  soon." 

"Oh,  hush!  Wait  till  you  see  what  I've 
brought  you,  sissy." 

He  went  across  the  room,  brushed  away 
his  tears  with  his  coat-sleeve,  and  coming 
back  laid  the  frosted  cake  on  her  bed. 

Little  Amanda  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow,  looked  at  Hugh  and  then  at  his  gift, 


as  if  she  could  not  believe  in  such  good 
fortune.  Poor  Hugh  was  even  happier  than 
she;  for  he  had  feared  that  he  should  never 
see  the  dear  pale  face  look  glad  again.  Bnt 
their  pleasure  was  short-lived;  for  when 
the  cake  was  cut  Amanda  could  only  taste 
it,  and  then  she  lay  1  ack  wearily.  She  was 
too  ill  to  enjoy  anything,  and,  turning  away,, 
fell  into  a  troubled  sleep. 

(conclusion  in  our  nbxt  number.) 


The  Manner  of  Assisting  at  Mass  ir> 
Ancient  Times. 


As  a  general  rule  the  churches  of  early  days 
had  no  seats  for  the  people  to  sit  on,  as  that 
position  was  deemed  ill  in  keeping  with  the 
gravity  becoming  the  house  of  God.  As  the 
services,  however,  were  much  longer  than  at 
present,  those  who,  through  feebleness  of 
health  or  other  causes,  could  not  stand,  were 
allowed  the  use  of  staves  to  lean  upon,  and  in 
some  rare  eases  even  of  cushions  to  sit  upon — 
a  practice  which  is  yet  quite  common  in  the 
churches  of  Spain,  and  in  many  of  those  of 
the  rest  of  Europe.  It  was  the  rule  to  stand 
always  on  Sunday,  in  memory  of  Our  Lord's 
glorious  Resurrection,  and  to  kneel  the  rest  of 
the  week.  As  kneeling  is  a  sign  of  humilia- 
tion, it  was  the  rule  to  observe  it  during  the 
penitential  seasons  and  on  all  occasions  of 
mourning.  According  to  St.  Jerome,  St.  Basil 
the  Great,  Tertullian.  and  others,  these  rules 
were  derived  from  the  Apostles  themselves. 
Whenever  any  important  prayer  or  lesson  was 
to  be  read,  and  the  people  had  been  kneeling 
beforehand,  the  deacon  invited  them  now  to 
stand,  by  the  vfords, 'Erecfi  stemus  honesie" , 
that  is, "Let  us  become  erect  and  stand  in  a 
becoming  manner."  During  the  penitential 
season  the  congregation  was  invited  to  kneel 
by  saying, "F/ecfamus  ^euua/'  and.  to  stand 
up  afterwards  by  " Levate.''  The  same  custom 
may  yet  be  observed  in  Lent  and  on  some 
other  occasions.  — History  of  the  Mass. 


Philip,  King  of  Macedon,  was  com- 
mended as  a  jolly,  good  fellow,  who  could 
drink  freely.  Demosthenes  answered  that 
this  was  a  good  quality  in  a  sponge,  but  not 
in  a  king. 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  lo,  1887.       No.   11. 


rCopTrifht  '— Krr.  D.  E.  BunsoH,  C.  8.  C.I 


On  the  Name  of  Mary. 


HE  Blessed  Trinity  bestowed  upon 
Thee,  O  Mary !  a  name  superior  to 
all  other  names  after  that  of  Thy 
divine  Son ;  so  that  on  pronouncing  it  all 
the  powers  of  heaven,  earth,  and  the  abyss 
should  bend  the  knee. ' '  *  The  Blessed 
Henry  Suso  says  that  the  name  of  Mary  re- 
animated his  confidence  and  love  to  such  a 
degree  that  his  heart  seemed  ready  to  jump 
up  out  of  his  mouth  between  the  joy  and 
the  teais  with  which  he  pronounced  it:  "O 
tmost  sweet  name!  O  Mary!  what  must 
^hou  be  Thyself  when  Thy  mere  name  is 
so  amiable  and  so  sweet! "  And  St.  Bernard 
-exclaims:  "O  great,  O  clement,  O  most 
praiseworthy  Mary !  We  can  not  utter  Thy 
name  without  being  inflamed  with  love  of 
Thee!  We  can  not  think  of  it  without 
delight  and  consolation,  because  we  love 
Thee." 

The  Gospel  does  not  inform  us  whether 
the  name  of  Mary  was  given  by  Heaven,  as 
were  the  names  of  Jesus  and  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist.  But  St.  Antoninus  says:  "The day 
on  which  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  born,  Her 
parents  gave  Her  the  name  of  Mary,  as  had 
been  revealed  to  them  by  an  angel."  St. 
Jerome,  St.  Epiphanius,  and  others  say  that 
the  name  of  Mary  came  down  from  heaven, 
and  was  given  by  the  command  of  God. 
St.  Bonaventure   observes:  "Most  appro- 

*  Richard  of  St.Laurence,  De  Laud.  Virg. ,  lib.  i, 
cap.  ii. 


priately  was  this  holy,  sweet,  and  honorable 
name  given  Her  as  to  a  Virgin  so  replete 
with  holiness,  sweetness,  and  dignity.  The 
name  of  Mary  has  four  meanings — namely, 
Sea  of  Bitterness,  Star  of  the  Sea,  Illumi- 
nated or  Illuminatrix,  and  finally  Lady. 
She  is  a  Sea  of  Bitterness,  in  a  spiritual 
sense,  to  the  demons;  the  Star  of  the  Sea 
to  men,  by  the  office  which  She  holds  in 
their  regard;  a  constant  Illuminatrix  of  the 
angelical  spirits;  and  the  universal  Lady  or 
Mistress  of  all  creatures." 

Benedict  XIV.  says  with  reason  that  the 
name  of  Mary  always  deserved  the  highest 
respect.  On  this  account  it  was  for  many 
ages  forbidden  even  for  women  of  royal 
blood  to  bear  it.  Thus  it  appears  from  his- 
tory that  at  the  baptism  of  a  Moorish  prin- 
cess who  was  to  marry  King  Alphonsus 
VI.,  of  Castile,  this  King, would  not  allow 
her  to  take  the  name  of  Mary,  although  she 
desired  to  do  so.  In  the  marriage-contract 
of  Marie  Louise  of  Nevers  and  Ladislaus, 
King  of  Polatid,  it  was  stipulated  that  the 
princess  should  drop  her  first  name,  and  call 
herself  simply  Louise.  Casimir  I.,  another 
King  of  Poland,  made  a  similar  condition 
when  he  married  Mary  of  Russia. 

The  holy  Fathers  and  Doctors  mentioned 
above,  as  well  as  many  others  whom  we 
might  quote,  are  unanimous  in  proclaiming 
the  cordial  devotion  cherished  at  all  times 
by  the  Church  towards  the  sweet  name 
of  Mary.  Spain,  which  claims  to  have  been 
visited  by  Our  Lady  in  mortal  flesh,  takes 
the  lead  amongst  all  nations  in  devotion  to 


242 


The  Ave  Maria. 


this  august  name.  The  following  passage 
from  the  learned  and  venerable  Spanish 
author,  Father  Nieremberg,  written  at  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century,  is 
well  worth  reproducing: 

"Finally,  devotion  to  Mary  has  spread 
over  the  whole  world,  to  all  States,  through- 
out all  nations,  as  Our  Lady  Herself  proph- 
esied, saying  that  God  had  regarded  the 
humility  of  His  handmaid,  and  therefore 
all  generations  would  call  Her  blessed ;  that 
is  to  say,  all  nations  and  all  times.  We 
certainly  behold  this  prophecy  fulfilled  in 
Spain.  In  it  alone  there  are,  by  careful  com- 
putation, more  than  eighty  thousand  tem- 
ples dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  hill- top  in  the  country 
that  is  not  crowned  by  some  chapel  or  her- 
mitage under  Her  invocation.  The  ancient 
devotion  of  the  Spaniards  to  Our  Lady  is 
plainly  seen  in  the  precautions  they  took 
when  Spain  came  under  the  power  of  the 
Mahometans,  not  to  let  the  images  of  Mary 
fall  into  the  hands  of  these  miscreants;  for, 
as  they  do  not  allow  the  worship  of  images, 
although  they  speak  highly  of  Mary,  those 
devout  Christians  did  not  wish  to  expose 
the  images  of  this  great  Mother  of  Mercy  to 
any  risk  of  profanation,  but  carried  them 
away  or  hid  them;  and  since  then  many 
have  been  discovered,  and  great  miracles 
have  been  wrought  by  their  means. ' '  * 

We  may  adduce  in  proof  of  the  devotion 
of  the  Spaniards  to  this  holy  and  consoling 
name,  the  great  and  wonderful  achievement 
of  Hernan  Perez  del  Pulgar,  commonly 
called  the  Triumph  of  the  ^4 z/^  Maria;  the 
innumerable  confraternities  that  sprang  up 
all  over  Spain  under  the  pious  impulse  of 
the  Blessed  Simon  de  Rojas  in  honor  of  the 
Ave  Maria;  and,  finally  and  above  all,  the 
antiquity  of  the  Feast  of  the  Sweet  Name  of 
Mary,  which  was  first  celebrated  in  Spain. 
Its  origin  dates  back  so  far  that  it  is  lost 
in  the  mist  of  ages.  Benedict  XIV.  makes 
mention  of  a  pontifical  diploma  issued  in 
15 13,  directed  to  the  Cathedral  of  Cuenca, 
in  which  this  festival  is  explained  and  ap- 

*  Tratado  de  la  Aficion  y  Amor  a  Maria  (Trea- 
tise on  the  Affection  and  Love  of  Mary). 


proved.    But  the  document  speaks  of  it  as 
already  established,  and  merely  confirms  it. 

"From  Spain,"  says  the  same  Pontifi", 
' '  the  Festival  of  the  Name  of  Mary  passed 
to  other  countries,  and  was  celebrated  on 
September  22,  conformably  to  the  opinion 
of  those  that  held  that  amongst  the  Jews  it 
was  not  usual  to  give  a  name  to  the  new- 
born child  till  fifteen  days  after  birth.  But 
at  present  this  feast  is  celebrated  on  the 
Sunday  within  the  Octave  of  the  Nativity, 
and  the  lessons  of  the  second  noctum  are 
taken  from  a  sermon  of  St.  Bernard.  The 
venerable  servant  of  God,  Innocent  XL,  by 
a  decree  issued  in  1683,  commanded  that 
the  Office  of  the  Name  of  Mary  should  be 
recited  throughout  the  whole  Church." 

The  motive  that  impelled  Innocent  XI.  is 
set  forth  as  follows  by  the  Abbe  Gaume: 

"The  venerable  servant  of  God,  Pope 
Innocent  X  I. ,  by  his  decree  of  1 683,  declared 
obligatory  on  the  whole  Church  this  festival , 
which  was  heretofore  particular  to  Spain; 
in  which  command,  such  an  agreeable  one 
to  observe,  we  can  see  a  new  testimony  of 
the  gratitude  of  the  Church  towards  the 
Most  Holy  Virgin.  The  Queen  of  Virgins 
always  seemed  to  be  a  personal  enemy  of 
Mahometanism — a  gross  religion  of  the 
senses,  the  progress  of  which  in  the  six- 
teenth century  was  arrested  by  Her  in  the 
waters  of  Lepanto.  However,  Mahometan- 
ism again  threatened  Christendom  in  1683. 
The  grand  vizier,  at  the  head  of  a  formida- 
ble army,  laid  siege  to  Vienna,  one  of  the 
bulwarks  of  the  Church.  John  Sobieski,  at 
the  head  of  his  Poles  hastened  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  besieged  city:  On  the  morning 
of  battle  he  and  all  the  army  placed  them» 
selves  under  the  protection  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin;  all  the  troops  fell  on  their  knees 
whilst  Sobieski  heard  Mass  in  the  convent 
of  the  Camaldolese,  praying  with  his  arms 
extended  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  '  There  it 
was  that  the  grand  vizier  was  defeated,'  re- 
marked a  Christian  warrior,  with  profound 
truth.  On  leaving  the  church,  Sobieski 
commanded  that  the  signal  of  battle  should 
be  sounded;  the  Turks  were  panic-stricken 
and   abandoned   everything,  even   to   thei] 


The  Ave  Maria. 


243 


great  standard  of  Mahomet,  which  the  con- 
queror sent  to  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  as  a 
trophy  to  Mary." 

We  may  add  that  Sobieski,  having  re- 
ceived Communion,  rose  full  of  confidence, 
and  exclaimed  aloud:  "Now  we  can  march 
under  the  protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
with  full  confidence  that  She  will  not  re- 
fuse us  Her  assistance. ' ' 

The  siege  of  Vienna  was  certainly  not 
the  only  occasion  on  which  Mary  fought 
against  the  Turks  in  defence  of  the  Chris- 
tians. If  it  would  not  carry  us  too  far  from 
our  purpose,  we  might  speak  of  the  con- 
quest of  Jerusalem  by  Godfrey  de  Bouillon, 
of  the  victory  of  John  Huniades  in  Hun- 
gary, of  that  of  King  Ladislaus  at  Buda,  of 
that  of  Eugene  of  Savoy  also  in  Hungary, 
of  the  siege  and  deliverance  of  Corfu,  and 
numberless  others.  And,  turning  to  the 
sublime  epic  of  the  Reconquest  of  Spain 
from  the  power  of  the  Moors,  we  would  be- 

Igin  with  Don  Pela>  o  at  Covadonga,  and, 
continuing  with  St.  Ferdinand  at  Seville 
and  Don  Jaime  the  Conqueror  at  El  Puig 
and  in  Valencia,  we  would  terminate  with 
the  Catholic  kings  in  Granada. 
The  Universal  Church,  then,  celebrates 
the  Festival  of  the  Sweet  Name  of  Mary, 
according  to  the  decree  of  Innocent  XL  It 
is  a  double  major,  and  its  object  is  to  extol 
the  greatness  and  sweetness  of  this  holy 
name,  to  give  thanks  to  Mary  for  Her  con- 
stant protection,  and  to  implore  the  con- 
tinuance of  Her  patronage.  Let  us  enter 
fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  Church,  often 
pronounce  the  name  of  Mary,  be  grateful 
for  Her  maternal  love,  and  call  upon  Her 
in  all  our  necessities. 

It  is  related  that  a  holy  woman  of  Cologne 
told  Bishop  Marsilius  that  when  she  uttered 
the  name  of  Mary  she  felt  a  taste  in  her 
mouth  sweeter  than  honey.  And  Marsilius, 
adopting  the  habit  of  often  using  this  holy 
name,  experienced  the  same  sweetness. 
"But,"  to  quote  the  words  of  St.  Alphonsus, 
"  I  do  not  speak  here  of  that  sensible  sweet- 
ness, because  it  is  not  granted  to  all;  but 
of  that  salutary  sweetness  of  consolation, 
of  love,  of  joy,  of  confidence,  of  strength. 


which  this  name  of  Mary  ordinarily  brings 
to  those  who  pronounce  it  with  devotion." 
Let  the  sweet  and  saving  name  of  Mary, 
therefore,  be  always  on  our  lips  and  in  our 
hearts  during  life,  and  let  it  be  our  last 
word  at  the  hour  of  death. 


Our  Lady's  Nativity. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.P. 


Orietur  Stella  ex  Jacob.  (Num.,  xxiv,  17.) 

STAR  of  the  Morning,  how  still  was  Thy 
shining 
When  its  young  splendor  arose  on  the  sea! 
Only  the  Angels,  the  secret  divining. 

Hailed  the  long-promised,  the  chosen,  in 
Thee. 

Sad  were  the  fallen,  and  vainly  dissembled 
Fears  of  the  Woman  in  Eden  foretold: 

Darkly  they  guessed,  as  believing  they  trem- 
bled. 
Who  was  the  gem  for  the  casket*  of  gold. 

Oft  as  Thy  parents  bent  musingly  o'er  Thee, 
Watching  Thy  slumbers,  and  blessing  their 
God; 

Little  they  dreamt  of  the  glory  before  Thee, 
Little  thought  Thee  Jesse's  mystical  Rod.f 

Though  the  deep  heart  of  the  nations  forsaken 
Beat  with  a  sense  of  deliverance  nigh; 

True  to  a  hope,  through  the  ages  unshaken, 
Looked  for  the  ' '  day  spring ' '  to  break  ' '  from 
on  high"; 

Thee  they  perceived  not,  the  pledge  of  Re- 
demption— 

Hidden  like  thought,  though  no  longer  afar; 
Not,  though  the  light  of  a  peerless  exemption 

Beamed  in  Thy  rising,  Immaculate  Star! 

All  in  the  twilight  so  modestly  shining, 
Dawned  Thy  young  beauty,  sweet  Star  of 
the  Sea! 

Only  the  Angels,  the  secret  divining, 

Hailed  the  elected, ' '  the  Virgin, ' '  %  in  Thee. 


*  Thou  art  the  casket  where  the  jewel  lay. — Geo. 
Herbert. 

t  Is.,  xi,  I.     X  Is.,  vii,  14.  ^  llapHhoq — Ixx. 


244 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A   Brave   Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    OMEARA. 


(Continued.) 

MGR.  DE  SEGUR'S  generosity  was  so 
extraardinary,  so  seemingly  out  of  all 
proportion  with  his  fortune,  that  it  was  often 
said  his  money  was  miraculously  increased. 
Everything  he  used  seemed  endowed  with 
a  superhuman  faculty  for  never  wearing 
out.  His  last  soutane  held  on  him  for  ten 
years,  and  he  brought  from  Rome  a  cloak 
which  he  wore  to  the  end  of  his  life;  it  grew 
perfectly  threadbare,  but  he  never  allowed 
himself  any  other  protection  against  the 
bitterest  cold  of  winter. 

Amongst  the  good  works  that  interested 
Mgr.  de  Segur  outside  his  own  immediate 
duties,  there  was  one  particularly  dear  to 
him — the  Devotion  of  the  Lamps.  The  ob- 
ject of  this  ceiivre  was  to  reform  a  painful 
scandal  which  had  crept  into  the  Church 
with  Gallicanism — namely,  the  disuse  of  a 
lamp  in  the  sanctuary  before  the  Blessed 
Sacrament.  A  liturgical  law  made  by  the 
Council  of  Trent  commanded  that  a  light 
should  be  kept  perpetually  burning  before 
the  tabernacle;  and  St.  Alphonsus  Liguori 
declares  that  "if,  by  guilty  negligence  of 
the  pastor  or  the  person  charged  with  the 
care  of  the  lamp,  it  ceased  to  burn  before 
the  Adorable  Sacrament  a  whole  day  or  a 
few  nights,  it  is  a  case  of  mortal  sin."  Yet, 
in  spite  of  these  severe  ordinances,  the  use 
of  the  lamp  in  the  sanctuary  had  been 
abandoned  in  a  great  number  of  churches 
throughout  France.  A  fervent  French  lady, 
now  gone  to  her  reward,  Mademoiselle  de 
Mauroy,  undertook  the  task  of  reforming 
this  scandal,  and  founded  the  confraternity 
known  as  the  Work  of  the  Lamps.  Mgr.  de 
S^gur  joiaed  her  in  the  enterprise,  and, 
thanks  to  their  united  zeal,  a  great  result 
was  obtained;  he  preached  for  the  work, 
and  wrote  for  it,  and  urged  it  on  the  clergy 
and  the  faithful  in  season  and  out  of  season. 

The  patronage  of  Pius  IX.  gave  a  great 
impetus  to  these  efforts.   The  Holy  Father 


received  once  a  gift  of  a  thousand  dollars 
to  be  applied  to  the  work  he  loved  best. 
"Then,"  said  the  Pope,  "it  shall  go  to  the 
(Euvre  des  Lampes! ' '  And  he  sent  it  off  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Mauroy,  This  devoted 
lover  of  Jesus  in  the  Eucharist  had  the  con- 
solation of  lighting  four  thousand  lamps  in 
as  many  churches  throughout  France  before 
the  death  of  her  friend,  Mgr.  de  S^gur,  left 
her  to  carry  on  her  labor  of  love  alone. 

The  ardent  devotion  he  felt  for  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  made  Mgr.  de  Segur  keenly 
alive  to  the  least  irreverence  towards  It.  He 
once  had  to  undergo  a  grievous  suflfering 
in  this  direction.  It  happened  on  the  eve 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception.  He  was  in 
the  confessional,  when  a  horrible  avowal 
was  made  to  him.  One  of  his  own  penitents, 
one  of  his  own  dear  sons  of  the  Patronage, 
confessed  to  having  in  a  moment  of  diaboli- 
cal temptation  profaned  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment He  had  no  sooner  committed  the 
hideous  sacrilege  than  he  was  smitten  with 
agonies  of  lemcrse,  and  flew  to  the  Bishop, 
and  confessed  his  crime  in  floods  of  tears. 
The  confessor  was  shaken  to  his  soul's  cen- 
tre, but  he  did  not  let  an  exclamation  escape 
him ;  he  did  not  betray  by  a  word  the  effect 
of  the  confession  upon  him,  and  quietly  di- 
rected the  penitent  to  say  for  his  penance  an 
Ave  Maria.  The  young  man,  alarmed  by 
his  calmness,  and  surprised  at  the  leniency 
of  the  penance,  said : ' '  Only  one  Ave  Maria, 
Father  ?  "  "  Only  one, "  replied  the  confes- 
sor ;  "  I  will  take  upon  m>  self  the  expiation 
of  your  sacrilege.  G:>,  and  sin  no  more." 

With  the  consent  of  the  penitent,  he  sent 
for  his  guilty  accomplices  in  the  crime, 
brought  them  to  repentance,  and  sent  them 
away  absolved,  and  impressed  as  they  had 
never  before  been  with  the  heinousness  of 
sin.  He  then  promised  five  thousand  Masses 
in  reparation  of  the  sacrilege.  It  was  g.  heavy 
!  burden  to  take  upon  his  already  strained 
I  resources,  but  he  felt  that  nothing  short  oi 
the  Adorable  Sacrifice  of  the  Body  and 
Blood  of  Christ  could  adequately  atone  for 
the  awful  outrage  that  had  been  committed 
on  the  Blessed  Sacrament  Added  to  this, 
he  imposed  upon  himself  the  obligation  of 


I 


i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


245 


spending  every  day  for  the  rest  of  his  life 
an  hour  in  adoration  before  the  tabernacle 
in  his  own  chapel,  rising  for  this  purpose  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  or  in  the  morning 
before  Methol  came  to  him.  In  order  not  to 
be  obliged  to  disturb  his  servant,  he  begged 
from  the  monks  of  la  Trappe  the  alms  of 
one  of  their  large  cowls,  that  he  could  slip 
on  without  any  assistance.  The  good  Fa- 
ther AbbDt  offered  him  his  own,  and  it  was 
in  this  garment  of  penance  that  for  the 
remaining  fifteen  years  of  his  life  he  per- 
formed his  penitential  watch  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament.  Not  content  with  these 
acts  of  reparation,  he  offered  himself  up  as 
a  victim  to  undergo  any  chastisement  that 
God  chose  to  send  him.  Nearly  a  year  went 
by  without  any  answer  to  this  heroic  act  of 
consecration,  but  as  the  anniversary  of  the 
crime  approached,  it  came. 

Owing  to  an  indiscretion  on  the  part  of 
some  one  in  Rome,  a  conversation  between 
the  Holy  Father  and  Mgr.  de  S^gur,  in 
which  the  latter  deplored  the  leaven  of 
Gallicanism  that  lingered  in  the  Diocese  of 
Paris,  was  repeated  to  Mgr.  Darboy,  and  in 
terms  exaggerated  almost  to  the  point  of 
misrepresentation.  The  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
wounded  in  his  most  sensitive  point,  and 
listening  only  to  his  angry  feelings,  forth- 
with suspended  Mgr.  de  Segur.  The  prelate 
was  hearing  confessions  at  the  College 
Stanislas  when  the  archiepiscopal  docu- 
ment came  to  the  Rue  du  Bac.  The  Abb6 
Diringer  hurried  off  with  it,  and  waited  till 
the  penitent  who  was  making  his  confes- 
sion had  finished,  and  then,  going  into  the 
sacristy  with  one  of  the  professors  of  the 
house,  he  said:  " Monseigneur,  I  have  to 
announce  to  you  that  you  are  suspended  by 
the  Archbishop."  Mgr.  de  Segur  exclaimed, 
"  What! "  Then,  falling  on  his  knees  before 
the  great  crucifix  on  the  wall,  he  remained 
in  silent  prayer,  his  whole  attitude  express- 
ing such  profound  humility  and  grief  that 
the  two  spectators  were  moved  to  tears. 
After  this  prayer  he  rose,  and  went  in  to  the 
director  of  the  College,  told  him  what  had 
happened,  and  begged  him  to  tell  the  pupils 
that  he  could  no  longer  confess  them. 


On  his  way  home  he  called  at  the  Patron- 
age, and  informed  the  Brothers  of  his  dis- 
grace. Everyone  received  the  news  with 
consternation  and  incredulity.  On  reaching 
home,  he  collected  his  little  household  in 
the  chapel,  and  begged  them  to  join  him  in  a 
prayer  appropriate  for  the  occasion  To  their 
surprii-ehe  added:  "We  will  say  \h^ Mag- 
nificat. We  must  thank  Our  Lady  for  the 
grand  opportunity  of  sanclificacion  She  has 
procured  for  us  all."  And  in  a  clear,  ring- 
ing voice,  he  intoned  the  hymn  of  praise. 
Next  morning  penitents  arrived  as  usual, 
and  there  were  tears  on  both  sides  when 
the  confessor  had  to  send  them  away. 

If  the  Bishop  had  chosen  to  stand  on  his 
rights,  he  might  have  refused  to  submit  to 
the  humiliating  order;  his  high  ecclesiasti- 
cal dignities  and  prerogatives  gave  him  the 
right  to  appeal  direct  to  Rome;  but  his  hu- 
mility and  respect  for  authority  led  him  to 
prefer  the  personal  injustice  to  the  breach 
of  charity  his  resistance  must  have  caused. 
His  friends,  many  of  them  persons  of  emi- 
nence in  the  ranks  of  the  clergy,  were  far 
more  excited  about  the  matter  than  he  was. 
They  went  to  the  Archbishop,  and  implored 
him  to  withdraw  the  sentence,  and  accept 
Mgr.  de  Segur' s  apologies  and  explanation. 
These  wise  counsels,  together  with  the  in- 
comparable meekness  and  humility  of  the 
Bishop,  prevailed;  and  the  Archbishop, who 
had  been  misled  by  distorted  statements, 
withdrew  the  cruel  decree. 

This  was  the  first  suffering  that  was  sent 
to  him  in  expiation  of  the  sacrilege  he  had 
generously  taken  upon  himself  to  atone  for. 
Striking  as  it  did  his  sacerdotal  honor,  he 
felt  it  keenly ;  but  he  did  not  rebel  against 
it  for  a  moment.  He  accepted  it  as  part  of 
the  debt  he  had  to  pay,  and  he  told  a  per- 
son who  had  his  confidence  that  every  year, 
as  regularly  as  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  came  round,  God  sent  him  some 
sharp  trial  to  remind  him  of  his  contract, 
and  help  him  to  fulfil  it. 

It  was  a  source  of  surprise  to  many  who 
knew  the  austere,  detached,  interior  life  that 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  led,  that  he  had  not  entered 
a  religious  community.    He  did  at  one 


246 


The  Ave  Maria. 


moment  entertain  the  idea  of  retiring  into 
solitude  with  a  few  Tertiaries,  and  devoting 
himself  wholly  to  spiritual  exercises  and 
the  teaching  of  the  poor;  but  the  plan  was 
disapproved  of  in  Rome,  so  he  abandoned 
it.  True,  his  blind nesb  svas  a  cloister  more 
complete  than  any  that  monastic  walls 
could  have  made  for  him,  and  he  carried  it 
about  with  him  everywhere,  secure  against 
all  intruders,  an  .  thus  dwelt  in  a  solitude 
■where  none  but  God  could  penetrate. 

He  had  close  and  affectionate  intercourse 
with  many  religious  communities.  Devo- 
tion to  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  was  one  of  the 
features  of  his  piety.  It  dated  from  his  earlv 
boyhood,  ^ong  before  his  entrance  to  the 
seminary;  he  imbibed  at  that  period  the 
spirit  of  poverty  that  characterized  the 
seraphic  Saint,  and  in  later  years  became  a 
member  of  the  Third  Order.  He  wore  the 
Cord  of  St.  Francis,  and  always  had  over 
it  a  garment  of  coarse  brown  wool,  a  kind 
of  hair-shirt.  He  preached  the  devotion  of 
the  Cord,  and  wrote  a  number  of  pamphlets 
calculated  to  popularize  it. 

He  shared  in  a  large  degree  that  kindred 
devotion  to  St.  Dominic  and  his  magnificent 
Order,  which  is  the  inherited  tradition  of 
the  sons  of  St.  Francis.  Pere  Jandel,whom 
he  tenderly  loved,  gave  him  a  dispensation 
which  permitted  him  to  be  at  the  same 
time  a  Tertiary  of  St.  Dominic  and  of  St. 
Francis.  He  was  also  the  intimate  friend 
of  the  Brothers  of  St.  John  of  God.  One 
of  them,  Brother  Francis  of  Sales,  was  for 
many  years  his  only  doctor.  He  used  to 
send  his  poor  sick  to  Brother  Francis  to  be 
healed,  and  also  frequently  young  men  who 
could  not  fee  a  physician,  and  would  not 
seek  gratuitous  advice  at  the  hospital. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Treasures  of  the  Missal  and  Ritual. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  IX.  D. 


The  effect  of  example  is  one  of  the  most 
terrible  things  in  life.  No  one  can  possibly 
tell  how  far  it  extends.  One  man's  life  or 
one  man's  thought — influencing  in  turn  a 
multitude  of  others — may  go  down  through 
ages,  gathering  its  tremendous  harvest  of 
good  or  evil. 


(Conclusion.) 

vn. 

THE  blessing  of  objects  proves  three 
things:  First,  the  fall  of  man,  and  the 
passing  of  the  world  into  the  power  of  him 
who  is  the  prince  of  this  world;  secondly, 
the  solicitude  of  the  Church  that  all  we  use 
should  not  only  have  the  influence  of  the 
evil  spirit  expelled  from  it,  but  also  that  it 
should  be  "sanctified  by  the  word  of  God 
and  prayer ' ' ;  and  thirdly,  it  proves  the  faith 
of  Catholics  in  times  past,  because  many  if 
not  all  these  blessings  would  not  have  been 
instituted  if  they  had  not  been  asked  for  by 
the  piety  of  the  faithful.  It  may  be  further 
remarked  that  the  prayers  recited  in  the  sev- 
eral blessings,  as  a  rule,  indicate  or  express 
both  the  desire  that  the  article  blessed  may 
be  conducive  to  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
welfare  of  those  for  whom  it  is  intended, 
and  also  the  special  grace  for  which  the 
blessing  petitions.  The  number  of  blessings 
in  the  Ritual  is  much  greater  than  the 
majority  of  Catholics  imagine,  being  at  least 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five.  These  are  so 
many  sacramentals  or  vehicles  of  grace 
which  the  Church  makes  use  of  to  impart 
not  only  spiritual  but  also  temporal  bless- 
ings to  her  children. 

The  general  rules  for  the  blessing  of  ar- 
ticles are,  that  the  priest  performing  the 
sacred  function  should  be  vested  in  surplice 
and  violet  stole,  commonly — though  an- 
other color  is  sometimes  required ;  that  he 
should  stand  with  head  uncovered,  attended 
by  an  acolyte  carrying  the  holy- water  pot 
with  the  sprinkler;  and  that  he  should 
begin  with  the  following  versicles,  to.which 
the  acolyte  responds,  which,  with  the  pray- 
ers, etc.,  are  recited,  of  course,  in  Latin: 
' '  Our  help  is  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  Who 
made  heaven  and  earth.  O  Lord!  hear  my 
prayer.  And  let  my  cry  come  unto  Thee, 
The  Lord  be  with  you.  And  with  thyi 
spirit."  Then  follow  the  prayer  or  prayers;^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


247 


for  in  many  cases  there  are  three  or  more, 
but  seldom  two;  for  the  Church  prefers  odd 
numbers,  as  was  said  befoie  with  regard  to 
the  collects  of  the  Mass.  Sometimes  also 
an  additional  number  of  versicles  and  re- 
sponses is  found;  or  again,  one  or  more 
psalms  or  hymns  are  taken  into  the  bless- 
ing; or  there  is  an  exorcism.  At  the  end 
the  object  is  usually  sprinkled  with  holy 
water  and  in  the  more  solemn  blessings — 
as  those  of  candles,  ashes,  palms,  etc., — 
incense  is  used. 

So  great  is  the  variety  of  blessings  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  classify  them,  but  some  at- 
tempt will  be  made  to  group  those  together 
that  seem  most  nearly  related  to  one  an- 
other. And  first,  of  blessings  of  persons. 
There  is  a  blessing  for  those  who  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  holy  places,  and  another  for 
them  on  their  return;  a  form  of  absolving 
and  blessing  persons  and  fields  by  a  special 
indult  from  the  Holy  See.  But  these  are 
special,  and  are  rarely  given  in  our  day,  at 
least  in  this  country.  Those  that  follow  are 
in  more  general  use.  Of  these  is  the  bless- 
ing of  St.  Blasius,  which  is  accustomed  to  be 
given  on  the  feast  of  that  Saint  (Feb.  3),  to 
children  as  a  preventative  against  diseases 
of  the  throat.  Next  comes  the  blessing  of 
sick  adults,  which  is  followed  by  that  for 
pregnant  women,  for  the  grace  of  a  happy 
delivery, — a  blessing  that  should  be  more 
frequently  besought,  when  we  remember 
the  natural  difficulties  of  parturition,  the 
transmission  of  original  sin,  and  the  un- 
scrupulous methods  resorted  to  by  too  many 
physicians,  and  permitted  by  irreligious  or 
indifferently  instructed  mothers,  and  which, 
called  by  its  right  name,  is  nothing  more 
nor  less,  in  many  instances,  than  murder  of 
the  defenceless.  Why  should  not  mothers 
resort  to  the  Creator  to  save  His  creature, 
rather  than  to  improper  methods,  perhaps 
to  destroy  its  frail  life,  and  doom  it  to  eter- 
nal separation  from  God? 

Then  we  have  a  blessing  for  infants,  that 
they  may  live  to  grow  up  in  innocence  and 
holiness,  uncontaminated  by  sin;  another 
blessing  for  a  child,  that  it  may  obtain  the 
mercy  of  God,  and  increase,  like  the  Divine 


Child,  in  wisdom,  age  and  grace  with  God 
and  men,  and  attain  to  a  good  old  age;  and 
still  another  for  childf-en  assembled  in  the 
church  for  that  purpose,  in  which  the  vir- 
tues suitable  for  their  age  and  state  of  life 
are  besought  of  God.  After  these  there  is  a 
blessing  for  sick  children  who  have  come 
to  the  u^e  of  reason,  that  they  ma>  be  re- 
stored to  health,  to  the  Church,  and  to  their 
parents.  Finally,  there  is  a  blessing  for  boys 
and  girls  on  the  feast  of  the  Union  of  the 
Holy  Infancy, asking  especially  for  spiritual 
strength,  and  the  grace  to  guard  themselves 
against  temptation. 

Next  come  the  blessings  of  religious  ar- 
ticles. I  shall  not  treat  here  of  holy  water, 
because  an  article  on  that  subject  appeared 
not  many  months  ago  in  the  columns  of 
The  "Ave  Maria'  ;  nor  of  candles,  ashes, 
and  palms,  because  instructions  on  these 
are  frequently  heard  in  the  church  on  the 
days  set  apart  for  the  blessing  of  these  sac- 
ramentals;  nor  will  mention  be  made  of  the 
dedication  of  churches,  the  laying  of  corner- 
stones, and  the  consecration  of  cemeteries, 
for  the  same  reason.  The  blessing,  too,  of 
sacerdotal  vestments,  the  sacred  vessels  of 
the  altar,  etc.,  will  be  passed  over,  as  not 
being  of  special  interest  to  the  general 
reader;  the  purpose  of  this  article  being 
rather  to  treat  of  such  blessings  as  come 
within  reach  of  the  mass  of  the  people. 
Others  might  afford  curious  information; 
these  extend  useful  aid.  Among  these  may 
be  mentioned  the  blessing  of  a  new  cross; 
of  the  statues  of  Our  I/ord  and  His  Blessed 
Mother  and  the  saints,  in  the  countless 
styles  in  which  they  are  designed;  the  bless- 
ing of  a  church-organ;  of  a  processional 
banner;  of  the  metal  for  a  new  bell;  and 
of  a  girdle  in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
for  health  of  body,  purity  of  soul,  and  the 
divine  protection.  Then  there  is  another 
blessing  for  a  crucifix  or  picture  of  the  Cru- 
cifixion; the  simple  blessing  of  a  church- 
bell  by  a  priest  having  proper  faculties;  and 
lastly  the  blessing  of  crosses,  crucifixes,  ro- 
saries, chaplets,  statues,  etc. ,  and  imparting 
to  them  the  Papal  indulgences. 

Another  class  of  objects  to  which  the 


248 


The  Ave  Maria. 


blessings  of  the  Church  are  imparted  are  the 
several  kinds  of  buildings.  And  first  there 
is  the  blessing  of  houses  on  Holy  Saturday, 
in  the  performing  of  which  the  priest, 
clothed  in  surplice  and  white  stole,  and  at- 
tended, as  usual,  by  an  acolyte,  passes  from 
house  to  house,  asking  that  as  the  blood  of 
the  Paschal  Lamb,  which  was  a  figure  of 
our  true  Lamb,  protected  the  Israelites  in 
their  houses  in  Egypt  from  the  destroying 
angel,  so  God  would  deign  to  send  His 
angels  to  guard  the  inmates  of  these  houses 
from  all  harm.  Besides  this  there  is  another 
blessing  for  a  dwelling,  which  may  be  im- 
parted at  any  time  by  the  priest;  another 
for  a  new  house;  another  for  a  place,  which 
.  may  also  be  applied  to  a  house ;  and  a  bless- 
ing for  a  bed-chamber.  Would  it  not  be  well 
for  Christians,  who  spend  so  much  of  their 
time  in  their  houses,  particularly  in  their 
bed-chambers,  where  perhaps  they  were 
bom,  and  where  they  expect  to  die,  if  they 
had  these  fortified  with  the  blessings  of  re- 
ligion ?  It  is  the  pious  custom  of  many,  and 
it  should  be  that  of  all;  and  it  is  with  a 
view  of  increasing  their  knowledge,  and 
thus  stimulating  their  piety  and  their  con- 
fidence in  the  divine  protection,  so  liberally 
imparted  by  the  Church,  the  dispenser  of 
the  graces  of  the  Redemption,  that  these 
pages  are  written. 

Still  another  blessing  for  houses  is  given, 
which  is  assigned  to  the  Feast  of  the  Epiph- 
any, in  which  reference  is  made  to  the 
mysteries  which  that  feast  commemorates. 
The  Church,  the  patron  of  education  and 
useful  knowledge,  has  also  a  blessing  for  a 
new  school,  in  which  the  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral favors  desirable  for  pupils  are  be- 
sought of  the  God  of  wisdom  and  truth. 
Lastly,  we  have  the  blessing  of  the  first  stone 
of  any  edifice,  no  matter  what  it  be,  beg- 
ging of  God  that  what  is  now  undertaken 
for  His  honor  and  glory  may  be  brought  to 
a  successful  termination. 

The  blessings  of  articles  of  food  shall 
next  engage  our  attention.  There  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  number  of  blessings -in  the 
Missal  for  eatables  and  a  few  other  things; 
but  they  are  reproduced  in  the  Ritual,  and 


properly  come  up  for  treatment  here.  Of 
living  things,  there  is  a  blessing  for  the 
Paschal  Lamb,  beseeching  God  that  He 
would  deign  to  bless  it  through  the  Resur- 
rection of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  for  the 
welfare  of  those  who  desire  to  partake  of  it. 
Also  a  blessing  for  fowls,  with  a  reference 
to  the  action  of  Noe  in  sacrificing  of  the 
animals  and  fowls  saved  in  the  ark  from  the 
ravages  of  the  deluge,  and  to  Moses  at  the 
command  of  God  drawing  the  line  between 
clean  and  unclean  creatures  in  the  Old 
Dispensation.  The  benediction  asks  that 
those  who  partake  of  these  creatures  may 
be  replenished  with  the  divine  blessing,  and 
may  merit  to  be  nourished  to  eternal  life. 

Of  other  articles  of  food,  there  is  a  bless- 
ing for  fruits  and  vines;  for  eggs;  for  bread; 
another  for  bread;  for  new  fruit;  for  any 
eatable;  for  simple  oil;  for  wine  on  the 
Feast  of  St  John  the  Evangelist.  This  bless- 
ing usually  takes  place  at  the  end  of  Mass, 
while  the  priest  is  still  vested,  with  the 
exception  of  the  maniple,  which  he  lays 
aside.  It  is  imparted  in  honor  of  the  Apos- 
tle, who  is  said  to  have  drunk  poisoned  wine 
without  injury;  and  the  special  favor  asked 
is  that  all  those  who  partake  of  it  on  that 
day  may  be  protected  from  the  evil  effects 
of  poison,  and  from  all  else  injurious  to 
their  health,  and  may  be  preserved  from 
sin.  To  these  must  be  added  a  blessing  for 
bread  and  cakes;  for  cheese  and  butter;  for 
lard;  and  finally  one  for  beer,  introduced, 
no  doubt,  by  some  pious  Bavarian. 

There  are  many  other  blessings  which 
can  not  be  brought  under  distinct  heads; 
but"  taking,  first,  those  which  relate  to  liv- 
ing creatures,  we  have  one  for  bees,  contain- 
ing a  reference  to  the  use  of  their  wax  in 
the  service  of  the  altar,  begging  that  they 
may  be  preserved  from  everything  hurtful 
to  them,  and  that  the  fruit  of  their  labors 
may  redound  to  the  glory  of  the  Three  Di- 
vine Persons  and  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary.  A  blessing  for  herds  of  cattle  and 
oxen;  for  horses  and  other  animals;  for  an- 
imals attacked  by  a  plague;  and  another 
somewhat  similar  to  it  for  herds  and  oxen 
afflicted  with  any  disease.  Then  there  is  a 


The  Ave  Maria. 


249 


deprecatory  blessing  against  mice,  locusts, 
grubs,  and  all  noxious  vermin. 

While  the  worldly-minded  may  smile  at 
these  things,  talk  about  the  bull  against  the 
comet,  and  may  be  joined,  tacitly  at  least, 
by  some  nominal  Catholics — for  it  is  hard 
to  live  in  the  world  without  being  ,contam- 
inated  by  it, — the  devout  child  of  the 
Church  will  not  fail  to  remember  that  every 
good  and  every  perfect  gift  comes  down 
from  above,  from  the  Father  of  Lights;  that 
the  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness 
thereof;  and  that  all  things  are  under  the 
direction  of  an  all-ruling  Providence,  by 
whose  command  or  permission  everything 
takes  place,  in  the  irrational  and  inanimate 
creation  as  well  as  in  the  angelic  spheres. 

Among  other  blessings  of  inanimate 
things,  we  have  those  of  a  new  ship;  of 
gold,  frankincense  and  myrrh  on  the  Epiph- 
any; of  chalk  on  the  same  feast,  for  writing 
the  names  of  the  three  Magi  on  the  doors  of 
houses;  of  seeds  and  sawed  fields;  of  a  rail- 
road and  the  cars  for  it;  of  a  new  bridge;  of 
a  fountain  or  spring  of  water;  of  a  well;  of 
fire;  of  a  limekiln;  of  a  smelting  furnace; 
of  seed  grain;  of  a  granary  and  harvested 
grain;  of  a  bakery ;  of  linen  or  bandages  for 
the  sick;  of  every  kind  of  medicine;  of  salt 
and  vegetables  for  animals;  of  a  stable  for 
horses,  oxen,  and  other  draught  animals;  of 
a  telegraph;  another  blessing  for  a  railroad 
and  cars;  and,  lastly, there  is  one  for  any- 
thing for  which  no  special  blessing  is  given. 

Besides  these  and  others  not  mentioned — 
for  all  could  not  be  mentioned — there  is  a 
large  number  reserved  to  bishops  acd  the 
members  of  religious  orders  or  congrega- 
tions, which  can  not  be  imparted  by  any 
other  priest,  unless  he  receives  special  fac- 
ulties for  that  purpose.  These  faculties  are 
commonly  given,  or  may  be  easily  obtained 
with  regard  to  certain  articles;  as,  for  ex- 
ample, to  invest  with  the  Brown  Scapular, 
to  erect  the  Way  of  the  Cross  canonical ly, 
to  bless  the  Beads  of  St.  Dominic,  the  Ben- 
edictine Medal,  the  Cord  of  St.  Francis,  etc. 
Not  a  few  of  the  above  blessings  might 
readily  and  naturally  have  been  made  the 
subject  of  interesting  comments  or  mar- 


ginal notes;  but  it  was  thought  better  not 
to  interrupt  the  course  of  the  treatise  toO' 
much,  and  only  to  give  what  was  deemed 
necessary  to  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
subject.  Some  of  these  blessings  may  be 
taken  up  separately  at  some  future  time,  and 
be  treated  of  at  greater  length  than  could 
be  done  in  this  article,  which  is  but  a  gen- 
eral outline,  as  it  were,  of  these  important 
treasures  of  our  holy  religion. 

Such,  then,  kind  reader,  are  some, though 
not  all,  of  the  treasures  which  the  Missal 
and  the  Ritual  of  the  Church  place  at  your 
disposal;  examine  them  carefully,  and  try 
to  avail  yourself  of  them  as  far  as  your  ne- 
cessities may  require  or  your  piety  prompt; 
remembering  that  no  matter  how  largely 
we  draw  from  the  treasure  of  divine  grace, 
it  can  never  be  exhausted.  "Hitherto," 
says  Christ,  "you  have  asked  nothing  in 
My  name ;  ask  and  you  shall  receive,  that 
your  joy  may  be  full." 


"After  the  Day,  the  Night." 


BY  SARA  TRAINER  SMITH. 


AFTER  the  day,  the  night."    Oh,  tender 
thought  of  God! 
After  the  parching  dust,  the  cool  and  dewy 

sod; 
After  the  blinding  glare,  the  soothing  shad- 
ows dim; 
After  the  weary  strife,  the  quiet  rest  with  Him. 

For  as  we  come  and  go  throughout  the  throng- 
ing day, 

His  very  garment's  hem  the  crowd  still  plucks 
away; 

But  with  the  night  He  comes  and  bars  the 
latchless  door. 

That  those  who  love  and  wait  may  sit  with 
Him  once  more; — 

Sit  at  His  very  feet,  beneath  His  loving  hand, 
And  tell  in  broken  words,  with  pauses  tears 

demand. 
The  sorrows  of  the  day — the  hopes,  the  fears, 

the  pain. 
The  very  heart  of  hearts,  the  very  darkest 

stain. 


250 


The  Ave  JMaria. 


And  through  the  darkness  towards  us  His 

list'ning  face  is  bent, 
We  k  an  the  closer  to  Him,  our  saddened  souls 

content; 
With  Him  we  wait  the  dawning,  the  hot,  fierce 

hours  of  light. 
And, smiling, see  bej^ond  them  "after  the  day, 

the  night. ' ' 


The  Message  that  Came  to  Martin 
Avdayitch. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  OF  LEO  TOLSTOI, 
BY  JULIA  MINDELEFF  AND  E.  L.  DORSEY. 


(Conclusion.) 

MARTIN  poured  out  the  last  of  the  tea, 
drank  it,  put  away  the  dishes,  and  sat 
at  his  work  by  the  window.  He  stitched  and 
watched,  still  expecting  Christ,  still  think- 
ing of  Him  and  His  worts,  and  in  his  mind 
ran  the  different  sayings  of  the  Saviour. 

Two  soldiers  went  by — one  in  Govern- 
ment, the  other  in  his  own  shoes ;  the  master 
of  a  neighboring  house,  in  clean  overshoes; 
then  a  baker  with  a  basket;  but  they  all 
passed  on,  until  a  woman  came  along  and 
stopped  near  the  window.  Avdayitch  saw 
she  was  a  stranger,  poorly  clad,  and  carry- 
ing a  baby  in  her  arms.  She  stood  near  the 
wall,  with  her  back  to  the  wind,  and  tried 
to  wrap  the  baby  up  in  her  rags,  but  they 
were  insufficient.  And  Avdayitch  heard  the 
child  crying;  for,  though  she  tried,  she 
could  not  soothe  it.  He  got  up,  opened  the 
door,  went  up  the  steps  and  called:  '"''Ooni- 
^^^^/.y^.'"  (good  woman);  '  oh^oomneeisaf'' 

She  heard  him  and  turned  around. 

' '  Why  do  you  stand  in  the  cold  with  the 
little  one?  Come  into  the  house;  you  can 
attend  to  it  better.    Come  in  here." 

The  woman  looked  surprised,  but  she  saw 
he  was  old,  wore  a  workman's  apron,  had 
glasses  on  his  nose,  and  was  asking  her  in, 
so  she  followed  *him. 

He  led  her  near  the  oven.  "Sit  here," 
he  said;  "warm  yourself,  and  suckle  your 
baby." 

"I  can  not,"  answered  the  woman;  "my 


breasts  are  dry.  I  have  eaten  nothing  since 
morning." 

Avdayitch  shook  his  head,  went  to  the 
table,  got  the  bread,  a  bowl,  lifted  off  the 
oven  door,  poured  something  into  the  bowl, 
and  took  out  the  pot  of  kasha;  but  this  was 
not  quite  done,  so  he  put  the  stschi  on,  and 
said:  "Sit  down  and  eat  something,  poor 
soul,  and  I'll  mind  the  baby.  I  have  had 
children  myself." 

She  sat,  crossed  herself,  and  began  to  eat, 
while  Avdayitch  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed 
to  amuse  the  child.  He  tried  to  chirrup  and 
whistle,  but  could  not  do  it  very  well,  for 
he  had  no  teeth.  Then  he  began  to  make 
passes  at  it  with  his  forefinger,  but  the 
child,  who  had  been  fretting,  began  to  roar; 
then  Avdayitch  changed  the  motion, sweep- 
ing narrowing  circles  that  ended  by  the 
great  forefinger  being  thrust  at  its  open 
mouth.  But  he  did  not  put  it  in;  for  it  was 
black  with  cobbler's  wax.  The  biby  be- 
came interested  in  this,  slopped  shrieking, 
and  presently  began  to  crow  and  laugh. 
Martin  was  delighted. 

The  woman  as  she  ate  told  him  who  she 
was  and  where  she  was  going.  Her  story 
was  common  enough  in  Russia.  She  was 
a  soldier's  wife.  Eight  months  before,  her 
husband  was  conscripted,  and  driven  away, 
since  which  time  she  had  heard  nothing  of 
him.  She  went  into  service,  and  was  in  a 
good  home  as  cook  when  her  child  was 
bom.  The  family  would  not  keep  her  with 
the  baby,  and  this  was  the  third  month 
she  had  been  wandering  about  wi'hout  a 
place.  She  had  consumed  everything  she 
had.  She  had  tried  for  a  place  as  wet  nurse, 
but  trouble  had  made  her  thin,  and"  no  one 
would  hire  her, 

"I  have  been  to  a  merchant's  wife  to- 
day," she  added.  "I  know  a  woman  living 
there.  She  promised  to  hire  me,  I  thought 
right  away,  but  she  says  it  is  next  week  I 
am  to  come.  It  is  very  far;  I  am  exhausted, 
and  his  poor  little  heart  is  worn  out.  I  am  \ 
thankful  my  landlady  pities  us.  She  let's 
us  stay  for  Christ's  sake." 

Avdayitch  sighed  and  asked:  "  Have  you 
no  warm  clothes  ? ' ' 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


251 


' '  Where  would  they  come  from  ?  Yester- 
day I  pawned  my  last  kerchief  for  twenty- 
five  kopecks.'''' 

The  woman  then  came  to  the  bed,  and 
lifted  the  child ;  and  Avdayitch  went  to  a 
corner,  where  he  fumbled  about  until  he 
found  an  old  coat. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "take  it.  It  is  a  poor 
thing,  but  it  will  do  to  wrap  up  in — it  is 
warm. ' ' 

The  woman  looked  at  the  old  man,  took 
the  coat,  and  began  to  cry. 

Avdayitch  turned  away,  went  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  brought  out  a  little  chest; 
and,  as  he  felt  about  in  it,  he  sat  down  op- 
posite the  woman,  who  said : 

"May  Christ  reward  you,  grandfather! 
He  must  have  sent  me  to  your  window. 
^  •  He  must  have  made  you  look  out  and  pity 
me,  the  sad  one." 

Avdayitch  smiled.  "jHe  did.  It  is  not 
for  nothing  I  look  out  of  that  window." 
And  he  told  the  soldier's  wife  his  dream  of 
the  voice  that  had  promised  him  the  Lord 
shoald  come  to  him  that  day. 

"Everything  is  possible,"  answered  the 
woman  as  she  rose,  put^the  coat  on  her 
baby,  and  began  to  bow  and  thank  Avday- 
itch again. 

"Take  this  for  Christ's  sake,"  he  said. 
And  he  gave  her  from  the  chest  twenty-five 
kopecks  to  redeem  her  kerchief 

The  woman  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross, 
Avdayitch  d!d  the  same,  and  she  went  out, 
Martin  walking  with  her  to  the  door.  Then 
he  ate  some  stschi,  cleared  off  the  table,  and 
began  once  more  to  work.  But  he  remem- 
bered the  window.  Whenever  it  darkened, 
he  looked  up  eagerly. 

Friends  passed  by,  strangers  passed  by, 
but  nothing  happened.  By  and  by  an  old 
apple  woman  halted  near  the  window.  She 
carried  a  tray  that  had  been  full,  but  now 
held  only  a  few  apples — she  had  had  a  good 
day.  She  had  over  her  shoulder  a  bag  of 
chips.  She  had  probably  gathered  them 
where  some  house  was  building.  The  bag 
was  heavy,  and  she  was  trying  to  shift  it  to 
the  other  shoulder.  To  do  this  she  had  to 
ut  down  her  tray,  and  lower  the  bag  to  the 


ground ;  she  laid  the  tray  on  a  coping  stone, 
and  began  to  shake  down  the  chips  in  the 
bag;  and  while  she  was  shaking  the  chips, 
a  gamin  sprang  from  God  knows  where, 
seized  an  apple,  and  started  to  run.  He  was 
a  ragged  gamin,  with  a  shock  of  hair  start- 
ing out  between  his  dingy  cap  and  its  torn 
visor.  But  the  old  woman  saw  him,  turned, 
and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  He  struggled 
violently ;  his  cap  fell  ofi"  in  the  scuffle ;  then 
she  seized  him  by  the  hair,  scolding  vigo- 
rously, while  he  shrieked  and  screamed. 

Avdayitch  had  not  time  to  stick  his  awl 
in  the  bench  this  time:  he  dropped  it  on 
the  floor,  and  scrambled  up  the  steps  so  fast 
his  glasses  fell  from  his  nose.  He  ran  into 
the  street.  The  woman  had  the  boy  by  the 
cowlick  and  was  pulling  royally.  She  still 
scolded,  and  wanted  to  haul  him  off  to  the 
magistrate ;  the  boy  struggling  meanwhile, 
and  denying  his  fault.  "  I  didn't  take  it,'* 
said  he;  "what  are  you  beating  me  for?" 

Avdayitch  separated  them,  and  took  the 
boy  by  the  hand.  "Let  him  go,  babooshka^^ 
(grandmother).  "Forgive  him  for  Christ's 
sake. ' ' 

"I'll'forgive  him  in  a  way  he  won't  for- 
get till  the  new  brooms  come.*  I'll  take 
the  rascal  to  the  station-house." 

Then  Martin  began  to  coax  the  woman. 
"Forgive  him,  babooshka;  he  will  not  do  it 
again.  Let  him  go  for  Christ's  sake." 

She  let  go  her  hold,  and  the  boy  tried  to 
run;  but  Avdayitch  held  him. 

"Ask  pardon  of  babooshka^'''' \i&  sa\.^. 
"And  don't  do  this  again.  I  saw  you  take 
the  apple. ' ' 

The  gamin  began  to  cry,  and  begged  for 
forgiveness. 

"That's right,"  continued  Martin;  "and 
here's  an  apple  for  you."  And  he  took  one 
from  the  tray  and  gave  it  to  the  boy.  "I'll 
pay  you,"  he  said  to  the  old  woman. 

"You  spoil  these  scamps,"  she  answered. 
"The  way  he  ought  to  be  rewarded  is  one 
that  would  keep  him  from  sitting  down  for 
a  week." 

"O  granny,  granny!  this  is  the  way  we 


They  are  made  eveiy  spring  for  the  market. 


2t  2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


think,  but  God  thinks  differently.  If  he  is 
to  be  thrashed  for  an  apple,  what  shall  we 
get  for  our  sins  ? ' ' 

The  woman  was  silent.  And  Avdayitch 
told  her  the  parable  of  the  master  who  for- 
gave his  servant  his  debt,  and  how  the  ser- 
vant cast  his  debtor  into  prison. 

The  old  woman  listened  to  the  end,  and 
the  boy  listened  too. 

"God  has  commanded  us  to  forgive,  or 
we  shall  not  be  forgiven.  Forgive  all — 
every  one,  but  especially  those  that  know 
little  and  have  but  little  sense." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  and 
sighed:  "That  is  true.  But  the  children 
are  so  bad  now ! ' ' 

' '  That  is  the  reason  we  old  folks  should 
teach  them." 

"That  is  what  I  say,"  answered  the  old 
woman.  "I  had  seven  of  them  myself,  but 
only  one  daughter  is  left." 

And  she  began  to  tell  how  and  where  she 
was  living  with  her  daughter,  and  how 
many  grandchildren  she  had.  "You  see," 
she  said,  "my  strength  is  almost  gone, but 
I  pity  the  little  ones,  and  they  are  such 
pretty  babies!  Little  Aksutka  will  not  go 
to  anybody  from  me.  It's  'dear  granny, 
sweet  granu)',  sweetheart!'  "  And  the  old 
woman's  anger  melted  away  as  she  thought 
of  her  darling.  "Of  course  he  acted  like  a 
child,"  she  said  of  the  gamin.  "Never 
mind  him." 

She  was  going  to  put  the  bag  on  her 
shoulder,  and  move  on,  but  the  boy  sprang 
forward.  "Let  me  carry  it,  babooshka.  It  is 
on  my  way." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head,  and  put 
the  bag  on  his  strong  young  back.  Then 
they  went  down  the  street  side  by  side. 
And  the  old  woman  forgot  to  ask  Avdayitch 
for  the  money  for  the  apple. 

Avdayitch  stood  and  watched  them,  lis- 
tening how  they  talked  together  as  they 
went.  Then  he  returned  to  his  shop,  picked 
up  his  glasses — they  were  not  broken  as  he 
had  feared, — and  went  inside,  took  up  his 
awl,  and  sat  to  work.  He  worked  a  little 
while,  but  the  bristle  began  to  miss  the 
hole  as  often  as  to  find  it;  the  lamp-lighter 


went  by,  and  the   street-lamps  began   to 
twinkle. 

"Why, it  is  time  to  lighf  up ! "  he  thought. 
So  he  trimmed  his  lamp,  fired  it,  hung  it 
up,  and  began  to  work  again. 

He  finished  one  boot,  turned  it  up  and 
examined  it  carefully.  The  work  was  good. 
Then  he  put  his  tools  together,  swept  up 
the  pieces  and  litter,  put  away  the  bristles 
and  waxed  ends,  brads  and  awls,  took  the 
lamp,  set  it  on  the  table,  and  took  down  the 
Testament  from  the  shelf.  He  wanted  to 
open  it  at  a  place  he  had  marked  with  a 
bit  of  soft  kid  the  previous  evening,  but 
it  opened  in  another  place.  And  as  soon  as 
he  saw  it  he  remembered  his  dream.  And 
as  he  recalled  it  he  thought  he  heard  some- 
thing move  at  his  back.  It  was  like  the 
shuffling  of  feet.  He  looked  around  and 
saw  a  shadow  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  as  if 
several  persons  were  standing  there,  but  he 
could  not  tell  who  they  were.  Then  a  voice 
whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Martin,  O  Martin!  you  did  not  know 
Me  then?  This  is  I."  And  a  figure  like 
Stepanitch  came  forward,  smiledjupon  him, 
and  disappeared  like  a  cloud-wreath. 

"This  is  I,"  continued  the  voice.  And 
before  him  stood  the  woman  with  her  child ; 
the  woman  smiled,  and  the  baby  laughed. 
Then  they  too  vanished. 

"And  this  is  I,"  it  said  again.  And  the 
old  woman  and  the  gamin  smiled  upon'him 
radiantly,  and  also  disappeared. 

And  the  heart  of  Avdayitch  grew  jovful. 
He  signed  himself  with  the  Holy  Sign,  put 
on  his  spectacles,  and  began  to  read  where 
the  book  had  opened.  And  he  saw  at  the 
top  of  the  page: 

' '  For  I  was  hungry,  and  you  gave  Me  to 
eat;  I  was  thirsty,and  you  gave  Me  to  drink ; 
I  was  a  stranger,  and  you  took  Me  in." 

And  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  he  read: 

"Amen  I  say  to  you,  as  long  as  you  did 
it  to  one  of  these  My  least  brethren,  you 
did  it  to  Me." 

And  Avdayitch  understood  then  that  his 
dream  had  not  deceived  him — that  really'on 
that  day  the  Little  Father  Christ  had  come 
to  him,  and  that  he  had  entertained  Him. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


253 


The  Litany  of  Loreto  as  Sung  by  Amer- 
ican Blossoms. 


BY  ARTHUR  J.  STAGE. 


(Continued.) 

MATER  AMABILIS,ora/r^  nobis.  The 
tenderness  and  solicitude  with  which 
those  flowers  called  by  hotanists  papt/iona- 
ceoiis  enfold  and  cherish  the  germs  com- 
mitted to  their  care  has  often  been  the 
subject  of  remark.  We  have  so  many  native 
plants  of  this  kind  that  it  is  difficult  to 
select  among  them.  One  whose  beauty  has 
introduced  it  into  our  gardens, where  Amer- 
ican plants  seldom  pene'rate,  may  be  to  us 
the  symbol  of  the  Amiable  Mother, — the 
wistaria  {IVistaria  fnitescens\yj\\}[\.  its  rich 
purple  clusters  of  bloom. 

Mater  admirabilis^  ora  pro  nobis.  Admi- 
rable among:  the  forest-trees  of  American 
woods  its  erect  trunk  often  rising  to  the 
height  of  one  hundred  and  forty  feet,  its 
glossy  leaves  literally  sparkling  in  the  sun- 
shine, and,  above  all,  showing  a  wealth  of 
bloom  such  as  trees  are  not  expected  to 
exhibit,  is  the  tulip- tree  {Liriodendron  tu- 
lipiferd),^  familiar  to  us  under  the  name 
of  "  whitewood "  and  the  misnomer  of 
"poplar." '  Ard,  although  a  celebrated  Eng- 
lish lover  of  nature,  John  Ruskin,  has  re- 
corded his  disapproval  of  it,  which  it  seems 
to  share  with  almost  everything  else  that  is 
American,  vet  to  as,  who  can  look  upon  it 
with  unprejudiced  eyes,  it  shall  be  a  fitting 
type  of  the  Admirable  Mother. 

Mater  Creatorts^  ora  pro  nobis.  The  act  of 
creation  is  continuous,  not  instantaneous. 
Every  moment  of  our  existence  we  need  the 
exercise  of  power  divine  to  keep  us  from 
falling  back  into  the  nothingness  from 
which  we  were  drawn.  So  that  creative 
power  is  best  symbolized  by  the  means  by 
which  life  is  sustained,  our  daily  bread 
standing  for  all  the  rest.  The  cereals  which 
God  has  given  to  man  for  his  sustenance 
are  all  beautiful  as  well  as  useful;  the  wav- 
ing grace  of  a  field  of  wheat  in  full  ear  as 
the  breeze  of  heaven  passes  over  it,  the 


paler  gold  of  the  panicled  oat,  and  the  ruddy 
wealth  of  bearded  barley,  all  attract  our 
admiration.  But  which  can  compare  in 
majesty  and  fruitfulness  to  that  which  was 
given  especially  to  be  bread  for  the  New 
World,  and  to  which  we  have  restricted  the 
originally  generic  term  "corn"  {ZeaMaysy 
— tasselled  and  in  silk  attire,  in  orderly  and 
serried  ranks, like  the  "army  set  in  array  "? 
Shall  it  not,  then,  sing  to  us  the  praises  of 
the  Mother  of  the  Creative  Word? 

Mater  Redemptoris^  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
passion-flower  of  our  gardens  and  conserva- 
tories, with  its  cross  and  nails,  its  garments 
of  purple  and  white,  its  pillar  and  stripes, 
and  its  pearly,  balsamic  tears  dripping  from 
its  leaves,  is  familiar  to  many  of  us.  Few, 
however,  know  that  our  own  woods,  south 
of  the  Ohio,  produce  a  native  passion-flower 
{Passijlora  incarnatd).,  whose  specific  name 
is  derived  from  the  fact  that  the  innumer- 
able filaments,  which  represent  ihe  stripes 
of  the  scourging,  are  flesh-colored,  not 
yellow,  as  in  the  cultivated  species.  We 
should  never  look  upon  it  without  a  thought 
of  Her  who  stood  beneath  the  Cross,  and  by 
Her  compassion  co-operated  in  the  work  of 
man's  redemption. 

Virgo  prudentissima^  ora  pro  nobis.  This 
invocation  recalls  the  parable  of  the  pru- 
dent virgins  with  their  shining  lamp-,  and 
directs  our  attention  to  those  floral  lamps, 
the  various  species  of  the  genus  Phlox.  The 
brightest  and  most  fragrant  of  these.  Phlox 
suaveolens.,  must  be  to  us  the  lamp  of  the 
most  prudent  Virgin. 

Virgo  veneranda.,  ora  pro  nobis.  Unno- 
ticed even  by  the  few  writers  who  have 
recently  begun  to  make  American  plants  a 
study,unadvertised  by  those  gardeners  who 
have  awakened  to  the  growing  demand 
for  native  flowers,  is  a  way-side  herb  whose 
attributes  elevate  it  far  beyond  mere  pretti- 
ness.  Its  canescent  foliage  should  give  it 
a  place  among  the  "leaf-plants"  now  so 
fashionable  in  our  gardens;  and  above  the 
beautiful  leaves  arises  a  floral  spike  of  deep^ 
darkhyacinthine  blue,  besprent  with  golden 
stamens.  It  is  a  summer  flower,  and  sum- 
mer flowers  attract  less  attention  than  those 


254 


The  Ave  Ala  no 


of  spring  or  autumn.  No  other  explana- 
tion can  I  find  for  the  i  eglect  of  a  plant 
that  to  me  seems  the  symbol  of  the  Virgo 
vetieranda.  Its  botanical  name  is  Ainorpha 
canescens;  and  by  some  it  is  called  the 
"lead- plant,"  which  is  hardly  to  be  con- 
sidered its  popular  name. 

Virgo  prcedicaiida,,  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
laurel  has  alv^ays  been  the  symbol  of  re- 
nown. Among  our  American  laurels,  species 
of  the  genera  Kalmia^  Rhododendron^  and 
others,  there  is  an  embarras  de  richesse;  we 
hesitate  which  among  them  to  choose  as  cel- 
ebrant of  the  praises  of  the  most  renowned 
Virgin.  The  mountain  laurel  of  the  Penn- 
sylvanian  Alleghanies  {Kalmia  latifolid) 
commends  itself  by  its  bright  green  foliage 
and  profuse  blossoms,  rose-color  and  white. 
Be  it,  then,  our  chosen  vocalist  to  chant 
Her  praises  on  its  native  hills. 

Virgo potens^  ora  pro  nobis.  Rising  like  a 
sceptre  of  virginal  power  above  the  prairie 
flowers,  its  lithe  and  graceful  stem  gemmed 
with  a  wealth  of  gold-flecked  crimson 
bloom,  on  the  long  days  of  the  summer  sol- 
stice we  may  find  that  lovely  orchid  Calo- 
pogon  pulchellus^  sometimes  known  as  the 
"grass- pink."  It  shall  elevate  our  hearts 
to  the  Virgo  pot  ens. 

Virgo  Clemens.,  ora  pro  nobis.  Few  of  our 
native  plants  are  fairer  and  richer  than  the 
American  centaury  {Sabbaiia  angnlaris\ 
with  its  profusion  of  rose-colored  blossoms 
lavishly  poured  forth  as  from  the  inex- 
haustible fountains  of  Divine  mercy,  every 
blossom  bearing  a  star  of  hope  in  its  centre. 
Prize  it  when  found;  for  it  changes  its 
places  of  growth,  and  next  year  you  may 
not  find  it  again.  And  let  it  be  for  you  a 
remembrance  of  the  most  merciful  Virgin. 

Virgo  Jide lis ^  ora  pro  nobis.  Around  the 
death-bed  of  the  year,  amid  fading  autum- 
nal glories,  stand  the  faithful  asters,  their 
starlike  blossoms  telling  of  a  higher  life  to 
come,  and  their  balsamic  odors  breathing 
peace  upon  the  last  hours  of  the  departing 
season.  Wonderful  in  the  multitudinous 
variety  of  species  and  coloring — rich  purple, 
bright  gold,  aerial  gray,  deep  wice-color, 
spotless  white,  and  clear  blue, — they  seem 


designed  to  add  the  hues  which  autumnal 
foliage  fails  to  supply,  and  to  be  the  com- 
plement of  its  splendors.  In  a  thicket  of 
dwarf  sassafra5  and  sumach,  the  former 
turned  to  scarlet  and  gold,  the  latter  to 
crimson  and  purple,  I  have  seen  the  azure 
stars  of  Aster  IcBvis  shining  like  sapphires 
on  a  velvet  robe.  What  more  beautiful  em- 
blem of  the  Virgo  Jide lis  can  we  choose? 

Specnlufn  justitice.,  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
emblems  of  justice — the  sword  to  punish 
offenders,  and  the  crown  to  reward  merit — 
stand  forth  mirrored  in  our  native  flower- 
de-luce  (/rw  versicolor).,  its  ensiform  leaves 
raised  in  threatening  guise,  while  its  beau- 
tiful blossom — the  flower-de-luce  itself — is 
the  chosen  ornament  of  royal  coronals. 

Sedes  sapientice^  ora  pro  nobis.  The  gift 
of  wisdom  is  the  epitome  of  all  virtues. 
Far  from  seeking  display,  it  yet  can  not 
be  hidden,  the  vicissitudes  of  human  life 
continually  demanding  its  exercise.  But  it 
must  be  sought  after,  like  the  most  brilliant 
flower  American  woods  produce.  I  knew  a 
young  lady,  an  American  born  and  a  great 
lover  of  flowers,  whose  privilege  and  delight 
it  was  to  adorn  the  altars  of  her  parish 
church  with  the  choice  productions  of  her 
garden,  and  yet  she  had  never  seen  the  car- 
dinal-flower {Lobelia  cardinalis).  It  grew 
within  a  mile  of  her  home,  but  iu  an  alder 
swamp,  whose  approaches  defied  the  femi- 
nine foot,  and  whose  tangled  twigs  threat- 
ened destruction  to  feminine  attire.  One 
might  travel  from  New  York  to  San  Fran- 
cisco and  back  without  s^ing  it,  even 
though  it  were  the  season  of  its  flowering; 
but  once  seen  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten. 
Wherever  it  grows  it  always  has  a  name, 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  any  other 
wild  flower.  Some  of  these  names  are  neither 
poetic  nor  choice,  but  all  express  the  intense 
impression  made  upon  the  optic  nerve.  For 
this  flower  seems  to  shine  by  its  own  light, 
so  bright  is  its  red  among  the  surrounding 
verdure.  Red — not  scarlet,  not  rose-color, 
not  crimson,  not  flame-color,  not  any  sec- 
ondary hue  or  tint,  but  pure,  elementary 
red.  It  seeks  not  to  display  its  chaims:  it 
grows  not  by  the  way-side,  unless  you  speak 


The  Ave  Jllai-m. 


255 


of  those  woodland  ways  that  penetrate  the 
inmost  recesses  of  the  forest.  There,  in  se- 
clusion, in  the  haunts  of  the  contemplative, 
like  that  wisdom  of  which  it  is  the  symbol, 
it  is  to  be  found,  with  its  chosen  colleagues — 
the  creamy,  recurved  spike  of  the  sauriiriis^ 
the  lush  foliage  and  fantastic,  freckled  blos- 
som of  the  wild  balsam ;  and  the  blue  lobe- 
lia, its  congenial  relative.  It  is  known  to 
the  herbalist,  the  physician,  the  hermit; 
unknown  in  the  turmoil  of  worldly  strife. 
It  is  rapidly  disappearing  before  so-called 
civilization.  Spots  in  this  neighborhood 
where  it  used  to  be  plentiful,  know  it  now 
no  moie.  But  whenever  its  unparalleled 
radiance  flashes  across  our  woodland  path 
let  us  raise  our  hearts  to  Her  whose  bosom 
the  Incarnate  Wisdom  chose  for  His  most 
excellent  throne. 

Causa  nostra'  Icetitice^  ora  pro  nobis. 
There  is  a  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  which 
is  the  first  of  American  spring  flowers.  The 
spathes  of  the  Syniplocarpus  fcetidus  force 
their  way  through  the  ice  of  March,  but 
neither  in  form,  color  nor  odor  do  they  cor- 
respond to  the  popular  idea  of  a  flower.  The 
bloom  of  willows,  hazel,  and  the  various 
poplars,  which  we  have  seen  in  February, 
would  be  called  flowers  only  by  the  scien- 
tific. Viola  tricolor,  the  little  plant  fiom 
which  the  florist  produces  the  rich  and  va- 
ried pansy,  may  be  found  blooming  in  every 
winter  month,  when  the  season  is  mild,  but 
it  is  a  foreigner.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
the  humbler  "shepherd's-purse."  A  native 
plant  bears  the  name  of  "harbinger  of 
spring,"  but  its  inconspicuous  pepper-and- 
salt  blossoms  would  not  be  noticed  at  any 
other  season.  The  little  hepatica  {Anemone 
triloba)  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  true 
harbinger  of  our  American  spring,  its  glad- 
some buds  delighting  the  beholder  not  only 
by  their  beauty  and  delicate  fragrance,  but 
by  the  promise  of  better  times  to  come.  The 
author  of  "Rural  Hours,"  already  referred 
to,  calls  them  "  squirrel- cups, "  and  says  of 
them:  "Very  pretty  they  are  in  this  stage 
of  their  short  life;  they  have  a  timid,  mod- 
est look,  hanging  leafless  from  their  downy 
stalks,  as  if  half  afraid,  half  ashamed  of  be- 


ing alone  in  the  wide  woods. ' '  The  name 
"squirrel-cup"  I  have  never  heard  else- 
where; but  it  is  preferable  to  "liver  leaf" — 
the  name  found  in  our  treatises  on  botany, 
and,  I  think,  nowhere  else.  ' '  Hepatica,"  no 
longer  the  botanical  name,  is  probably  the 
most  popular  one.  But,  by  whatever  name 
they  aie  called,  these  joy-bringing  flowers 
should  sing  to  us  the  praises  of  One  who 
has  been  the  cause  of  never-ending  joy. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Told  by  a  Missionary. 


BY   L.  \V.   REILLY 


THE  great  Oblate  missionary.  Father 
Robert  Cooke,  seasons  his  sermons  with 
stories  taken  from  his  personal  experience 
as  a  pastor  of  souls,  and  some  of  the  anec- 
dotes he  tells  are  more  startling  than  the 
sensational  dreams  of  fiction.  Among  the 
reminiscences  of  his  career  in  England,  he 
relates  these  three  incidents : 

I. 

At  Appleton,  near  Warrington,  Father 
Cooke  once  preached  a  two  weeks'  mission. 
On  the  last  day  of  the  fortnight,  the  resident 
pastor  said  to  him : 

"A  report  is  beginning  to  circulate  that 
a  certain  aged  woman  of  the  congregation 
will  die  about  one  o'clock  to-morrow  after- 
noon. ' ' 

"Indeed!  Are  your  people  prophets? ' ' 

' '  No,  but  the  belief  is  common  that  God 
is  keeping  this  woman  alive  in  answer  to 
prayer.  She  has  an  only  son.  For  twenty 
years  he  has  not  been  to  his  duties.  His 
mother  has  been  seeking  his  conversion  all 
this  while,  with  tears  and  prayers  and  pen- 
ance. Her  prayer  is  that  she  may  not  die 
until  she  hears  from  his  own  lips  that  he 
has  been  to  Communion.  Several  times  in 
every  twelvemonth  during  the  fourteen 
years  I  have  been  here,  I  have  administered 
the  last  Sacraments  to  her,  she  being  on 
these  occasions  apparently  at  the  point  of 
death;  but  every  time  she  has  rallied  un- 
expectedly, and  against  the  doctor's  pre- 


256 


The  Ave  Maria. 


dictions  she  has  recovered.  She  is  full  of 
faith  that  God  will  grant  her  prayer.  Now, 
it  has  become  known  to  many,  though  not 
to  her,  that  the  young  man  has  gone  to 
confession  to  you,  and  it  is  supposed  that 
he  will  go  to  Communion  to-morrow.  If  he 
receives  at  the  last  Mass,  he  will  get  home 
about  one  o'clock,  and  folks  are  saying  that 
when  he  tells  his  mother  what  he  has  done, 
she  will  die  of  joy. " 

The  general  expectation  proved  pro- 
phetic. When  the  widow's  son  reached  his 
dwelling  on  his  return  from  church,  he 
kissed  his  mother  and  said : 

"Mother,  I  have  received  Holy  Com- 
munion to-day." 

"You  have,  my  son?  Then  God  be 
thanked!  Now  I  have  nothing  more  to  live 
for.  My  prayer  is  heard." 

Joyfully  she  embraced  the  repentant 
prodigal,  and  while  his  arms  were  still  about 
her  she  peacefully  expired. 

II. 

A  stocking- weaver  at  Whitwick  had  a 
daughter  who  was  an  epileptic.  One  day, 
as  she  was  passing  through  the  town,  she 
fell  in  a  fit.  A  Trappist  monk,  of  the  Mount 
St.  Bernard  community  near  by,  who  wit- 
nessed her  distressful  condition,  placed  a 
medal  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  on 
her  neck,  and  invoked  the  intercession  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  Instantly  the  girl  was 
cured.  She  arose  in  health,  and  never  had 
a  recurrence  of  the  malady.  She  became  a 
convert,  and  lived  and  died  happily. 

Her  marvellous  recovery  drew  her  father's 
attention  to  the  Catholic  religion.  He  sought 
instruction,  and,  as  he  was  a  person  of  in- 
telligence, he  soon  learned  all  the  doctrines 
of  the  faith.'  But  he  neglected  to  ask  for 
baptism.  When  warned  of  the  peril  of  tri 
fling  with  grace,  he  promised  to  prepare 
himself  for  the  Sacrament.  Still  he  delayed. 
The  reason  why  he  put  off  his  reception 
into  the  Church  was  that  he  feaied  the  loss 
of  a  small  weekly  pension  granted  to  him 
by  a  benefactor  of  his,  who  was  a  bitter 
anti- Catholic,  and  whom  he  was  reluctant 
to  offend.  Time  passed.  Finally  he  fell  sick. 
When  he  was  confined  to  his  bed,  he  sent 


for  Father  Cooke,  who  hastened  to  his  side^ 
heard  his  confession,  gave  him  conditional 
baptism,  and  then  went  back  to  Grace  Dieu 
Church  for  the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  the 
holy  oils.  When  he  returned  to  the  weaver's 
house,  he  found  that  the  benefactor  had 
called  in  his  absence,  and  had  persuaded  the 
invalid  that  he  was  in  no  danger  of  death, 
and  that  he  ought  not  to  become  a  Catholic. 
The  latter,  therefore,  coolly  informed  the 
priest  that  he  did  not  desire  to  receive  the 
Viaticum. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  have  been  thinking  that  if  I 
have  a  soul,  I  have  a  body  also;  and  that  I 
should  not  neglect  my  body  for  the  sake  of 
my  soul." 

The  priest,  horrified  at  this  unchristian 
reply,  entreated  the  man  not  to  defer  his 
conversion,  not  to  abuse  the  Sacraments  he 
had  already  received  not  to  shut  the  door 
on  the  Lord  who  had  come  to  abide  with 
him,  not  to  jeopard  his  eternal  salvation 
for  money. 

Expostulation,  however,  was  futile:  the 
sick  man  would  not  listen  to  any  reproof; 
and  the  missionary,  unwilling  to  vex  him, 
bore  back  the  Holy  Host  to  the  tabernacle 
in  the  church,  and  besought  the  Saviour 
not  to  lay  up  against  the  sinner  the  insult 
of  His  rejection. 

Not  long  after  this  the  miserable  man 
grew  worse.  The  end  was  approaching.  He 
was  visibly  giving  up  his  hold  on  life,  but 
still  showed  no  sign  of  seeking  a  reconcil- 
iation with  his  Creator.  He  was  morose,  he 
was  gloomy,  he  was  irritable.  He  had  trifled 
with  the  gift  of  faith  too  long,  and,  while  his 
mind  may  still  have  been  convinced,  his 
heart  had  grown  hard.  His  soul  was  going 
out  in  darkness.  When  he  was  very  low,  a 
Catholic  lady  who  visited  the  sick  called 
on  him,  and,  seeing  his  feeble  state  seat  for 
the  priest  With  an  uncontrollable  fore- 
boding. Fa  her  Cooke  entered  the  chamber 
of  death.  Approaching  the  sick  man,  he 
greeted  him,  and  asked  him  how  he  was.  No 
answer.  Then  with  gentle  words  he  began 
to  implore  him  to  make  his  peace  with  God. 
Suddenly  the  sinner  raised  his  arm   and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


257 


•Aimed  a  blow  at  the  priest.  The  stroke  fell 
short,  and  a  look  of  disappointment  and 
hate  passed  over  the  wan  features.  Father 
Cooke  said: 

* '  Since  you  do  not  care  to  hear  me,  I  will 
cease  to  speak  to  you;  but  I  shall  speak  to 
Ood  for  you — I  will  pray  for  you." 

"I  want  no  prayers  said  for  me,"  was 
the  reply. 

Raising  himself,  and  clutching  the  bed- 
clothes, the  wretched  man  tore  them  into 
shreds,  exclaiming,  "If  I  had  you  near  me, 
I  would  tear  you  thus,  limb  from  limb." 
Falling  back  on  the  pillow,  he  muttered : 
"Oh!  it  is  a  horrible  thing  to  die!"  He 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  made  no 
further  sign.    His  last  words  were:  "lam 

going  into  hell!" 

HI. 

In  one  of  the  manufacturing  towns  where 
Father  Cooke  gave  missions,  a  Protestant 
lady,  after  hearing  some  of  the  instructions, 
requested  to  be  admitted  into  the  Church. 
On  the  morning  of  her  baptism,  she  said: 

"Oae  cloud  only  darkens  the  splendor 
of  this  day.  My  husband  is  an  atheist.  In 
his  early  boyhood  he  lost  his  parents,  who 
were  Catholics;  and,  later  on,  he  spent  a 
few  months  in  a  Catholic  college.  But  he 
was  brought  up  by  Protestant  relatives,  and 
when  he  was  grown  to  manhood  he  fell 
among  infidel  surroundings.  The  result  is 
that  to-day  he  sneers  at  religion  as  a  super- 
stition, and  scoflfs  at  the  name  of  God." 

"Go  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,"  said  the 
priest,  "and  beg  Her  to  obtain  from  Jesus 
the  grace  to  touch  your  husband's  heart." 

Accordingly  the  neophyte  remained  in 
church  for  hours,  kneeling  at  the  shrine  of 
the  Mother  of  God,  invoking  Her  aid  to 
procure  the  conversion  of  the  atheist. 

The  same  evening  the  convert  persuaded 
her  husband  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  missionary.  He  was  amused  at  the  idea 
of  an  agnostic  meeting  a  priest.  Yet  he 
assured  his  wife  that  if  he  went  with  her, 
he  should  not  hesitate  to  disclose  his  opin- 
ions. When  he  was  introduced  to  Father 
Cooke,  the  latter  saw  in  him  a  young,  gen- 
tlemanly, and  intelligent  man. 


' '  You  have  been  doing  a  useless  piece  of 
work,"  he  said,  "by  making  a  Catholic  of 
my  wife.  But  I  shall  not  trouble  her.  As 
for  me,  I  look  upon  all  religions  as  good 
enough  in  their  way  as  checks  on  the 
ignorant,  but  as  unworthy  of  serious  con- 
sideration by  men  of  educated  mind." 

The  priest  judged  prudent  not  to  antag- 
onize him  in  any  way  just  then,  and  re- 
plied, simply: 

"I  will  pray  for  you." 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  retorted,  abruptly, ' '  you  will 
pray  to  God,  as  if  there  were  a  God ! " 

Of  this  impertinence  the  priest  took  no 
apparent  notice,  but  changed  the  subject, 
and  led  the  conversation  to  current  topics. 

The  next  morning  the  wife  returned  to 
the  missionary,  disheartened.  Her  husband 
had  never  been  so  bitter  in  his  criticisms  of 
Christianity  as  the  night  before.  He  had 
distressed  her  beyond  measure.  She  feared 
that  prayers  for  him  would  end  only  in  lost 
graces.  He  had  af^rmed  that  never  would  he 
yield  his  reason  to  the  claims  of  revelation. 

"Am  I  to  abandon  hope  of  his  conver-- 
sion?"  she  inquired. 

"  By  no  means.  Have  confidence;  be  per- 
sistent. Constant  dripping  wears  away 
stones — repeated  knockings  at  the  gate  of 
Heaven  will  have  to  be  answered.  Go  on 
praying  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  take  your 
husband  under  Her  protection.  And  ask 
him,  for  me,  to  call  on  me  again." 

Once  more  the  poor  woman  knelt  for 
hours  before  the  statue  of  Mother  Mary, 
imploring  the  Queen  of  Heaven  to  beg  Her 
divine  Son  to  bestow  upon  the  atheist  the 
grace  of  faith. 

That  same  evening  the  young  man  re- 
turned to  the  missionary's  presence  to  apol- 
ogize for  his  rudeness  the  night  before, 
saying, 

"I come  to  beg  pardon  for  the  abruptness 
of  my  remarks  yesterday  evening.  While  I 
do  not  abate  one  jot  of  my  convictions,  I 
wish  you  would  forget  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  expressed." 

The  priest  graciously  accepted  this  apol- 
ogy. Then,  turning  his  visitor's  thoughts 
backward,  he  said: 


258 


7 he  Ave  Maria. 


"You  were  at  a  Catholic  college,  I'm 
told,  when  you  were  very  young.  You  must 
have  heard  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  there?" 

"Oh!  yes.  And  I  remember  that  when 
we  boys  wanted  any  special  favor  from  what 
you  call  Gcd,  we  were  wont  to  ask  Her  to 
obtain  it  for  us,  and  what  we  used  to  pray 
for  usually  came  to  pass;  but  that  was  all 
chance  " 

"No,  it  was  not  chance.  It  was  the  real 
granting  by  Almighty  God  of  favors  asked 
through  His  Blessed  Mother." 

When  the  atheist  had  called,  the  priest 
was  about  to  invest  another  visitor  with  the 
Scapular  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
and  held  one  in  his  hands  while  he  spoke. 
It  caught  his  eye.  An  inspiration  came  to 
him  at  the  same  moment.  Unwilling  to 
enter  upon  an  idle  argument,  and  recalling 
the  earnest  praters  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
said  by  the  wife,  he  requested  the  young 
man.  as  a  favor  to  him,  to  wear  the  Scapular. 

"Though  it  would  appear  to  be  a  denial 
of  my  principles  to  do  so,  yet,  as  you  ask  it 
as  a  favor,  I  will  not  object." 

Accordingly  Father  Cooke  put  the 
strings  around  the  atheist's  neck,  and  he 
himself  helped  to  put  the  ends  in  place. 
No  sooner  was  it  on  than  a  great  change 
came  over  him.  His  face  lost  its  haughty 
look ;  his  manner  became  subdued ;  an  air 
of  thoughtful  melancholy  overspread  his 
countenance,  as  memory  was  busy  with  his 
childhood,  his  dead  parents,  his  early  days 
at  school.  The  past  made  him  sad,  the 
present  had  little  comfort,  the  future  was 
dark.  No  wonder  he  4vas  silent. 

Noticing  this  striking  change  of  de- 
meanor, the  missionarv  said : 

"My  friend,  you  had  better  give  up  the 
struggle.  Kneel  down  here  now,  like  a  man, 
and  begin  your  confession." 

Without  demurring  or  hesitating,  the  pen- 
itent knelt  down  at  the  chair  of  the  priest, 
and  with  childlike  simplicity  suffered  him- 
self to  be  instructed  and  aided  to  confess  his 
transgressions.  He  went  home  a  changed 
man.  The  next  day  he  came  back  with  a 
light  heart  and  a  radiant  countenance. 
"I  have  come  of  my  own  accord,  Fa- 


ther, to  make  a  good  confession  of  my  whole 
life." 

His  doubt  had  disappeared.  Faith  in  its 
fulness  illumined  his  mind.  His  conversion 
was  a  work  of  pure  grace.  No  controversy 
had  conviEced  him  of  his  errors  or  turned 
him  from  his  sin?.  The  metamorphosis  was 
the  result  of  the  operation  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  His  belief  at  once  embraced  all  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church.  His  remorse  for 
his  cffences  was  peaceful, active, permanent. 
He  thenceforward  led  a  truly  Christian  and 
openly  edifying  life.  He  gave  all  his  spare 
time  to  charity.  His  devotion  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  was  beautiful — the  affectionate  ser- 
vice of  a  grateful  son  to  a  loving  Mother. 
To  Her  he  ascribed  his  conversion,  saying 
repeatedly,  "To  Her  I  owe  all." 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  total  abstinence  question  continues  to 
attract  greater  attention  every  day,  and  facts 
are  being  adduced  to  show  that  the  total  ab- 
stainer is  not  the  niggardly  skinflint  that  he 
has  been  sometimes  represented  to  be.  The 
Pilot  notes  that  the  Archdiocese  of  Phila- 
delphia, which  contains  nearly  one-third  of 
the  50,000  Catholic  abstainers  of  the  United 
States,  made  the  largest  contributions  of  any 
diocese  to  the  relief  of  the  Charleston  sufferers 
and  to  the  negro  and  Indian  missions;  while 
the  total  abstinence  societies  of  the  same  city 
gave,  not  long  ago,  the  substantial  sum  of 
$8,000,  as  their  own  special  offering,  to  the 
cause  of  Irish  national  independence.  '  'After 
all, "  concludes  the  Pilot,  ' '  total  abstinence  is 
not  necessarily  a  parsimonious  vnrtue. ' '  This 
conclusion  is  further  supported  by  an  incident 
related  in  a  recent  bulletin  of  the  Indiana 
Union.  A  priest  in  this  State  gave  notice  that 
he  wished  to  have  a  meeting  of  the  men  of  his 
congregation  to  assist  him  in  a  work  which 
he  proposed  to  undertake.  Out  of  three"  hun- 
dred parishioners  only  seventeen  attended; 
thirteen  of  these  were  members  of  the  total 
abstinence  society. 


King  Ludwig,  of  Bavaria,  has  been  a  muni- 
ficent benefactor  of  Catholic  communities  and 
churches  in  the  United  States.  In  the  year 


The  Ave  Maria. 


259 


1 835  he  gave  a  thousand  florins  for  the  found- 
ing of  a  church  in  Evansville,  Indiana.  A  few 
years  later  he  contributed  double  this  amount 
for  the  Pittsburg  Cathedral,  and  a  like  sum 
for  the  one  in  Chicago.  The  Sisters  of  Notre 
Dame  received  from  him  no  less  than  fifteen 
thousand  florins  for  the  building  of  their 
mother-house  in  Baltimore.  The  Redempto- 
rists,  Ursulines,  Benedictines,  and  many  other 
religious  orders  have  also  been  the  recipients 
of  his  pious  bounty.  King  Ludwig  was  not 
satisfied  with  helping  to  establish  religious 
institutions:  he  also  assisted  them  afterwards 
when  they  stood  in  need  of  aid.  In  particular 
the  splendid  Benedictine  Abbey  of  St.  Vin- 
cent received  several  princely  donations  from 
him.  The  King  took  such  an  interest  in  the 
prosperity  of  this  abbey,  that  he  kept  up  a 
continual  correspondence  with  the  venerable 
Abbot  Wimmer,  and  often  sent  him  letters 
written  by  his  own  hand. 


The  Abbe  Cailhat,  an  eloquent  French 
preacher,  addressing  the  pilgrims  of  Lourdes 
on  a  recent  occasion,  employed  these  inspiring 
words: 

' '  You  desire  to  be  saints  ?  Let  the  world  be  to 
you  a  temple  and  a  Calvary, — the  temple  to  pray 
in,  the  Calvary  on  which  to  suffer.  Prayer  and 
suffering  are  the  two  indispensable  elements  of 
holiness.  Prayer  is  an  obligation  of  individuals, 
families,  and  nations;  sufferings  are  a  means  of 
reparation,  and  we  must  accept  them.  There  is  the 
secret  of  holiness  as  we  discover  it  in  the  school 
of  Mary, whom  during  Her  life  we  see  principally 
in  the  Temple  and  on  Calvary;  and  who  appeared 
at  Lourdes,  Her  hands  joined  in  prajer,  and  Her 
feet  resting  on  the  stone  of  sacrifice." 


The  London  Tablet  contains  an  interesting 
account  of  the  bestowal  of  the  Cross  of  the  Le- 
gion of  Honor  on  a  Sister  of  Charity  at  the 
hospital  of  Troyes  in  France — one  of  the  few 
hospitals  in  that  country  that  are  not  yet  given 
over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  hired  nurses. 
Over  five  hundred  people  witnessed  the  touch- 
ing ceremony,  among  them  the  officers  of  the 
garrison  and  the  mayor  of  the  city.  Soeur 
Philomene,  whose  advanced  years  and  delicate 
health  prevented  her  from  leaving  the  arm- 
chair in  which  she  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
scene,  received  the  cross  from  the  hands  of 
Col.  de  St.Fargeau.  Dr.  Vauthier,  in  the  name 
of  the  physicians  of  the  establishment,  ex- 
pressed his  gratification  at  seeing  the  appre- 


ciation that  was  felt  for  Soeur  Philomene' s 
devotedness.  The  venerable  religious  is  sev- 
enty-four years  of  age,  and  has  spent  thirty- 
four  in  the  service  of  the  sick  at  Troyes.  A 
heroine  even  among  heroines,  her  fearless  de- 
votion during  the  Franco- Prussian  war,  and 
through  every  epidemic  of  contagious  disease, 
is  beyond  all  praise. 


The  venerable  Father  Joset,  S.J.,of  the 
old  Coeur  d'Alene  mission,  is  a  well-known 
figure  throughout  Idaho.  Along  with  Fathers 
Blanchet,  de  Smet,  and  others,  he  was  among 
the  first  white  men  to  penetrate  the  Indian 
country  of  the  Northwest.  He  crossed  the 
plains  in  1844,  and  ever  since  that  time  has 
been  living  among  the  Indian  tribes  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Till  the  Northern  Pacific 
Railroad  broke  way  through  the  country,  this 
venerable  priest  had  never  seen  the  electric 
telegraph,  and  had  a  very  limited  acquaintance 
with  railroads.  Street-cars,  type-writers,  and 
other  modern  inventions  of  the  kind,  he  never 
beheld  till  this  year,  when  he  paid  a  brief  visit 
to  Portland,  Oregon.  Seventy-eight  years  old, 
he  has  spent  nearly  half  a  century  of  his  life 
entirely  away  from  civilization.  The  hard- 
ships he  has  endured  would  have  killed  a  less 
robust  man;  but  while  his  bent  form  and  fur- 
rowed face  bear  many  a  trace  of  them,  he  is 
still  more  vigorous  and  hearty  than  most  of 
those  who  have  ' '  lain  in  the  roses  and  fed  on 
the  lilies  of  life,"  May  this  heroic  pioneer  be 
spared  to  prolong  his  apostolic  labors  for  many 
years  to  come! 

In  connection  with  an  announcement  of  the 
death  of  the  late  Father  Connaughton,  of  the 
Society  of  African  Missions,  the  New  York 
Sun  states  that  this  devoted  priest  is  the  last 
of  twelve  members  of  his  Congregation  who 
within  the  past  two  years  have  fallen  victims 
to  the  climate  of  Equatorial  Africa.  M.  Flegel, 
a  Protestant,  thus  describes  an  interesting 
feature  of  the  work  these  devoted  missionaries 
are  doing: 

"  It  is  well  known  that  some  of  the  Niger  River 
tribes  offer  human  sacrifices  to  their  gods.  They 
believe  that  they  can  heap  upon  the  poor  victim 
— who  is  almost  invariably  a  child — all  the  sins  of 
the  people,  and  that  this  load  of  sin  is  completely 
washed  away  in  human  blood.  Great  crowds  as- 
semble to  witness  the  sacrifice.  The  multitude  fill 
the  air  with  frenzied  imprecations,  and  wave  their 
arms  wildly  toward  the  trembling  little  victim. 


26o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


After  all  is  over,  the  people  go  home  light  of  heart, 
■believing  that  their  sins  have  been  expiated. 

"The  victims  are  usually  obtained  by  purchase 
from  some  of  the  most  degraded  Niger  tribes,  who 
bring  their  sickly  and  weaker  children  to  certain 
markets,  and  there  sell  them  with  full  knowledge 
that  the  children  are  to  be  murdered.  These  Cath- 
olic missionaries  have  been  doing  their  utmost  to 
break  up  this  horrid  custom.  While  trying  to  in- 
duce the  tribes  to  give  up  their  sacrifices,  they 
liave  also  kept  a  close  watch  on  the  markets,  and 
have  saved  scores  of  the  children  from  a  fearful 
fate.  They  have  induced  many  of  the  parents  to 
take  them  back  home.  When  they  have  failed  in 
this  they  have  bought  the  wretched  merchandise 
themselves,  have  nursed  the  children  back  to 
health,  taught  them  how  to  work,  and  instructed 
them  in  the  Christian  faith." 


The  Church  continues  to  make  great  strides 
in  Scandinavia,  the  last  stronghold  of  Lu- 
theranism.  Numerous  conversions  occur  in 
Sweden,  especially  at  Stockholm.  Mgr.  Fal- 
lize,  the  new  Prefect- Apostolic  of  Norway, 
Tias  been  on  a  visit  to  Christiania,  where  he  was 
received  by  the  Government  authorities.  Be- 
fore 1845,  priests  were  forbidden  the  country 
under  pain  of  death.  Twenty  years  ago  there 
were  only  130  Catholics;  now  there  are  over 
800,  with  twenty  priests;  while  Sisters  of  Char- 
ity have  the  management  of  two  hospitals  and 
eight  schools.  This  is  a  good  showing,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  sparseness  of  the  population, 
and  the  great  distances  which  separate  one 
town  from  another. 

' '  The  duty  of  the  hour, ' '  observes  the  New 
York  Freeman's  Journal,  "with  which  no 
les.ser  duty  ought  to  interfere,  is  to  lead  the 
children  to  the  feet  of  Him  who  commanded 
that  they,  above  all  others,  should  be  brought 
to  Him.  Who,  with  a  clear  conscience,  can 
disobey  that  command?  The  Church,  speak- 
ing with  her  Spouse's  words,  asks  for  the  little 
children.  Her  schools  are  open.  On  the  decis- 
ion of  this  hour  depends  the  future  of  the  child 
in  this  world  and  the  next.  Woe  to  the  parent 
who  stands  between  the  light  of  Faith  and 
the  children  God  has  put  in  his  keeping! " 


The  friends  —  and  their  name  is  legion 
throughout  New  England — of  the  Rev.  Patrick 
Strain,  for  many  years  the  beloved  rector  of  St. 
Mary's  Church,Lynn,  Mass., are  rejoicing  over 
his  promotion  to  the  dignity  of  Monsignor 
and  Domestic  Prelate  to  his  Holiness  Leo 


XI  n.  Honors  never  mean  more  or  less  than 
when  they  are  bestowed  upon  inen  like  the 
venerable  Father  Strain:  more,  because  they 
are  rarel}'  so  well  deserved;  less,  because  per- 
sonal worth  is  already  so  evident.  For  nearl)-- 
forty  years  this  excellent  priest  has  exercised 
the  sacred  ministry  in  Massachusetts,  re- 
spected and  beloved  wherever  he  was  known. 
His  zeal  for  Christian  education,  his  devotion 
to  the  poor,  his  energy  and  .self-sacrifice  shown 
in  the  erection  of  new  churches,  schools,  etc., 
are  beyond  praise.  Gentle,  humble,  unworldly 
— a  model  of  every  sacerdotal  virtue.  Father 
Strain  will  grace  in  an  eminent  degree  the 
honors  conferred  upon  him. 


Obituary, 

"  //  IS  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  Jor  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  4& 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Father  Schultz,  S.J. ,  of  St.  Louis  Uni- 
versity, who  met  with  a  sudden  death  on  the  25th 
ult.  He  was  a  man  of  God,  and  his  long  and  use- 
ful life  was  a  practical  exemplification  of  his 
teachings. 

Mother  Teresa,  of  St.  Joseph's  Convent, Toronto, 
Canada,  whose  saintly  life  was  crowned  with  a 
precious  death  on  the  23d  ult.  She  had  passed 
thirty-six  years  in  religion,  and  filled  several  im- 
portant ofl5.ces  in  her  Order. 

Sister  Mary  Alacoque,  of  the  Sisters  of  St. 
Joseph,  who  yielded  her  pure  soul  to  God  on  the 
26th  of  August. 

Sister  Mary  Petronilla,  who  was  called  to  eter- 
nal rest  on  the  nth  ult.,  at  St.  Ann's  Academy, 
Osage  Mission,  Kansas.  She  had  been  a  religious 
nearly  fifty  years,  forty  of  which  were  devoted  to 
the  instruction  of  Indian  children.  She  was  one 
of  the  first  religious  women  to  labor  in  Kansas. 

Mr. John  J.Wiseman,  of  San  Francisco,  Cal., 
who  departed  this  life  on  the  22d  of  July,  fortified 
by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Mary  E.  Glass,  whose  death  occurred  at 
Pasadena,  Cal  ,  on  the  3d  ult.  She  w£is  a  fervent 
Catholic— one  whose  life  was  an  example  wher- 
ever she  was  known. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Cremer,who  died  last  mOnth  at 
Peoria,  111. ;  Mrs.  Ellen  McCormick,  recently  de- 
ceased in  Ireland;  Miss  Mary  McEvoy,  Mrs.  iMur- 
phy,  and  Mrs.  Garrison,  victims  of  the  terrible 
railroad  accident  at  Chatsworth,  111. ;  Catherine  T. 
Collins  and  Penelope  A.  Delaney,  of  Brooklyn. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  sofils  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


261 


\ 


The  Prisoned  Angel. 


n  BLOCK  of  marble  caught  tlie  glance 

*^    Of  Buonarroti's  eyes, 

Which  brightened  in  their  solemn  depths 

Like  meteor-lighted  skies. 
Listening,  there  stood  beside  him  one 

Who  smiled  the  while  he  heard — 
'I'll  hew  an  angel  from  the  stone! " 

Such  was  the  sculptor's  word. 
Soon  mallet  deft  and  chisel  keen 

The  stubborn  block  assailed ; 
And  blow  by  blow,  and  pang  by  pang, 

The  prisoner  stood  unveiled. 
A  brow  was  lifted,  high  and  pure; 

The  waking  eyes  outshone; 
And  as  the  master  sharply  wrought, 

A  smile  broke  through  the  stone. 
Beneath  the  chisel's  edge  the  hair 

Escaped  in  floating  rings, 
And  plume  by  plume  was  slowly  freed 

The  sweep  of  half-furled  wings. 
The  stately  bust  and  graceful  limbs 

Their  marble  fetters  shed, 
And  where  the  shapeless  block  had  been 

A  a  angel  stood  instead. 

O  blows  that  smite,  O  wounds  that  pierce 

This  shrinking  heart  of  mine! 
What  are  ye  but  the  Master's  tools. 

Forming  a  work  divine  ? 
O  hope  that  crumbles  at  my  feet! 

O  joy  that  mocks  and  flies! 
What  are  ye  but  the  clogs  that  bind 

My  spirit  from  the  skies  ? 
-Sculptor  of  souls!   I  lift  to  Thee 

Encumbered  heart  and  hands; 
Spare  not  the  chisel — set  me  free. 

However  dear  the  bands 
How  blest  if  all  these  seeming  ills 

Which  draw  my  thoughts  to  Thee, 
^Should  only  prove  that  Thou  wilt  make 

An  angel  out  of  me! 


There  was  a  ceitain  knight  who  owed 
much  money,  and  yet  could  sleep  soundly. 
The  emperor,  hearing  of  it,  sent  to  buy  his 
bed;  for  he  thought  there  must  be  some- 
thingV^n  it  more  than  ordinary  to  procure 
sleep. 


The  Bad  Half-Dollar. 


BY   E.  V.  N. 


(Conclusion.) 
III. 

As  the  evening  wore  on,  Amanda  grew 
worse.  All  her  efforts  could  not  conceal  from 
her  mother  how  ill  she  felt.  "If  we  could 
only  get  a  little  wine,"  said  Hugh,  "it 
would  help  her.  She  can  not  enjoy  the  cake, 
but  you  must  taste  it,  mother;  for  I  am  sure 
you  are  weak  and  hungry."  As  he  lifted 
the  cake  from  the  bed,  a  bright  half-dollar 
fell  among  the  crumbs. 

"Mother,"  cried  Hugh,  rapturously,  "a 
half-dollar  in  the  cake!  It  fell  out  just  as  if 
a  fairy  had  put  it  there. ' ' 

' '  Thank  God !  Make  haste  now,  Hugh, ' ' 
said  the  widow,  "and  buy  a  pint- bottle  of 
California  wine.  That  will  revive  her." 

Even  the  thought  of  it  seemed  to  refresh 
the  little  sufferer,  as  she  whispered,  "You 
won' t  be  long  away,  Hugh  ? ' ' 

"No,  darling,"  he  said,  putting  on  his 
cap;  "you  shall  have  it  in  five  minutes." 
And  the  little  fellow  ran  out  into  the  pour- 
ing rain,  and  entered  a  shop,  in  which  a 
crowd  of  noisy  customers  had  gathered. 
The  bottle  of  Catawba  was  handed  to  him, 
and  he  gave  the  half-dollar  to  the  clerk,  who 
rang  it  on  the  counter. 

"Come,  come!"  he  shouted,  in  a  voice 
that  startled  the  boy  enough  to  make  him 
look  as  fricjhtened  as  if  he  were  guilty; 
"trying  to  pass  bad  money,  eh?" 

"It— it  ain't  bad,  sir,  that  I  know  of," 
pleaded  Hugh,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot. 

"So  you  are  growing  up  to  be  a  thief, 
young  fellow  ? ' '  persisted  the  man.  ' '  Now, 
where  did  you  get  this  coin  ?  Tell  the  truth, 
or  you'll  get  free  lodgings  for  the  night  in 
a  place  you  won't  like.  You're  not  the  first 
herewith  bad  money."  Then,  turning  to 
the  customers,  he  went  on :  "  It's  a  common 
thing  nowadays  for  counterfeiters  to  send 
these  young  street  tramps  to  dispose  of  false 
coins.  This  is  a  bran  new  one. — Did  this 


262 


The  Ave  Maria, 


come  from  Brooklyn,  youngster?  Who  sent 
you  here  ? ' ' 

"  My  mother,  sir,  and  the  wine  is  for  my 
sick  sister." 

'*But  who  gave  you  the  coin?  —  you 
know  well  enough  what  I  mean. ' ' 

' '  I  got  it  in  a  cake  a  strange  lady  gave 
me  on  my  way  home  to-night  from  selling 
matches. ' ' 

"Oh,  you  did,  eh?"  said  a  rou^h-look- 
ing  man  close  by,  and  there  was  a  roar  of 
laughter;  for  the  customers  were  passing 
jokes  at  Hugh's  expense,  and  following  up 
the  tirade  of  the  grocer's  clerk. 

"That's  the  honest  truth,  sir;  it  is  in- 
deed, ' '  said  poor  Hugh. 

But  his  words  were  vain.  The  clerk  said 
an  example  must  be  made  of  him,  and  in- 
quired if  there  was  a  policeman  outside. 
In  vain  our  little  match-boy  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  go:  the  men  said  it  was  better 
for  him  to  get  a  few  days'  imprisonment 
now  than  to  be  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for  life 
when  he  was  a  man.  Then  came  a  heavy 
step  behind  the  unhappy  boy:  a  policeman 
laid  a  strong  hand  on  him,  and  a  little  later 
poor  Hugh  was  in  his  "free  lodgings  for 
the  night" — a  dark,  flag- paved  room,  the 
door  of  which  was  secured  with  heavy 
bolts.  The  boy  wept  bitterly  and  wrung 
his  hands,  not  because  of  his  own  trouble 
and  disgrace,  but  he  was  thinking  of  his 
mother  and  Amanda.  When  would  they 
hear  of  this?  Would  they  starve  if  he  were 
sent  to  prison  to-morrow?  Perhaps  when 
he  got  out,  his  little  sister  would  be  dead, 
and  his  mother  in  despair.  He  sat  down 
on  a  bench,  and  gave  vent  to  his  feelings 
until  he  thought  his  heart  was  breaking. 

Meanwhile  Hugh's  mother  was  growing 
anxious  and  uneasy.  She  went  often  to  the 
door  and  looked  out,  but  could  not  see  him 
coming.  The  lamp  was  burning  low,  and 
each  time  she  returned  to  the  room  Amanda 
seemed  fainter.  Almost  beside  herself,  the 
poor  mother  knelt  down  by  her  child's  bed, 
and  the  small,  wasted  arms  of  the  girl  stole 
round  her  neck. 

' '  Mother,  is  Hugh  coming? ' '  whispered 
Amanda,  sadly  and  weakly. 


"Yes,  my  darling;  he  will  be  here  very- 
soon,  and  the  wine  will  revive  you." 

There  was  a  silence;  the  child  lay  there 
suffering  and  faint;  the  poor  widow's  heart 
sank  lower  and  lower.  She  could  not  imag- 
ine what  was  keeping  Hugh,  and  thought 
he  must  have  met  with  some  accident.  The- 
old  Dutch  clock  went  on  licking,  swinging 
its  long  pendulum  on  the  shadowy  wall. 
The  sick  child  withdrew  her  arms,  but- 
begged  her  mother  not  to  leave  her.  "I'm 
so  faint,  mother  —  so  very  faint!  I'm  glad 
that  I  saw  Father  Denny  this  morning.". 
The  sorrowing  widow  knelt  again,  and  felt 
the  cold  lips  pressed  against  her  cheek.  "Is 
Hugh  coming — rot  that  I  care  for  the  wine, 
but  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  see  him  again," 
whispered  the  little  sufferer. 

"I  trust,  my  sweet  one,  that  he  will  soon 
be  here." 

A  few  moments  more,  and  the  large 
glassy  eyes  openc  d  again,  and  turned  for  a 
moment  towards  the  door;  then  they  closed, 
and  with  a  deep  sigh  she  clasped  her  little 
hands  and  lay  quite  still.  Mrs.  Costello- 
took  out  her  Beads  and  recited  them  fer- 
vently, and  at  length,  overcome  with  watch- 
ing and  her  day's  hard  work,  she  too  fell 
into  a  light  slumber. 

Ah!  Betty  Lindsay,  at  that  same  hour 
romping  about  the  parlors  with  merry  little 
cousins,  enjoyiog  a  luxurious  lunch,  if  you 
had  known  all  this,  could  you  have  laughed 
so  much  and  so  merrily  ?  Could  you  have 
enjoyed  the  lady-fingers,  the  fruit-cake,  the 
banana  =5  and  luscious  oranges? 

IV. 

In  the  evening  of  the  next  day  Mrs. 
Lindsay  was  awaiting  her  husband's  return 
to  dinner.  Her  sister,  Miss  Fowler,  was 
spending  a  few  days  at  the  mansion,  and  the 
drawing-room  was  brilliant  with  gaslight 
and  fragrant  with  choice  flowers. 

"Betty  is  nearly  old  enough  to  make  her 
First  Communion,"  observed  Miss  Fowler. 
"I  presume  she  already  goes  to  confession; 
does  she  not,  Maude?" 

"Well,  I  must  say  that  I  had  not  thought 
about  confession  yet,  although  she  is  just 
seven,"  responded  Mrs.  Lindsay. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


265 


Suddenly  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Betty 
rushed  into  her  father's  arms.  As  she  was 
his  only  child,  he  never  thought  of  going 
to  dinner  without  her,  unless  there  were 
invited  guests.  While  at  table  the  incidents 
of  the  day  were  talked  over,  and  Mr.  Lind- 
say remarked: 

"There  was  a  very  sad  case  going  on  in 
Judge  Donohue's  court  this  morning.  I 
had  some  business  with  the  judge,  and,  as 
the  court  was  sitting,  I  was  obliged  to  wait 
some  time  before  seeing  him.  The  delin- 
quent was  a  boy  named  Hugh  Costello — the 
very  picture  of  poverty, — who  was  charged 
with  trying  to  pass  bad  money.  Poor  little 
fellow, he  was  in  such  distress!  He  is  a  ven- 
der of  matches,  and  the  whole  affair  turned 
on  a  bad  half-dollar." 

."A  bad  half-dollar?"  echoed  Mrs.  Lind- 
say. "Poor  boy!  Those  counterfeit  coins 
are  very  common  nowadays.  This  reminds 
me,  I  gave  one  to  Betty  not  long  ago," 
she  continued,  growing  more  serious;  "but 
there  is  no  harm  in  having  it,  after  all." 

' '  Not  in  having  it,  my  dear;  but  this  boy 
was  trying  to  pass  it  for  wine.  He  is  re- 
manded— sent  to  prison  for  a  few  days — 
until  further  inquiries  are  made.  But  really, 
Maude,  you  would  have  pitied  him;  he  is 
such  a  fine,  intelligent  boy,  and  only  about 
ten  or  eleven.  Some  of  those  poor,  neglected 
children  in  the  streets  of  New  York  would 
make  excellent  men  if  they  were  in  good 
hands. — Betty,  my  love, what's  the  matter? 
That  lemon  pie  is  a  little  too  sour  for  you? 
Here,  put  sugar  on  it." 

"Why,  Betty,  I  fancy  cook  made  this 
custard  for  you,"  said  her  mother.  "She 
knows  it  is  your  favorite.  Why  did  you  not 
take  it  instead  of  lemon  pie?" 

However,  Betty  kept  putting  sugar  on 
the  lemon  pie,  and  seemed  deaf  to  her 
mother's  suggestion.  Finally  Miss  Fowler 
remarked:  " Something  ails  the  child;  see, 
she  is  crying."  And  big  tears  rolled  down 
the  pretty  pink  cheeks,  and  she  could  not 
utter  a  word. 

"My  little  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
in  his  kindest  tone,  "you  must  not  take  the 
story  of  that  poor  boy  so  much  to  heart.  If 


he  is  guilty, he  deserves  to  be  punished;  but 
if  he  is  not  guilty,he  will  be  released. — I  for- 
got the  strangest  part,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  two  ladies.  "The  boy's  story  was  far- 
fetched and  most  improbable.  He  said  that 
a  servant-girl  ran  after  him  in  the  avenue, 
and  gave  him  a  basket  containing  some 
clothes,  with  a  large  cake,  in  the  middle  of 
which  was  a  half-dollar;  and  on  discover- 
ing the  money  he  went  out  directly  to  buy 
some  California  wine  for  his  dying  sister. — 
Good  gracious,  what  is  Betty  sobbing  for? 
Cheer  up,  Betty !  cheer  up ! "  And  he  pulled 
one  of  her  curls  as  she  stood  near  him. 

' '  The  match-boy's  story  is  perfectly  truey 
as  regards  the  basket,  the  parcel,  and  the 
cake,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay;  "for  /sent  them 
out  to  him  after  he  passed  the  other  day — 
yesterday  I  believe  it  was, — but  as  to  the 
bad  coin,  it's  very  mysterious.  I  put  a  good 
half-dollar  into  the  cake — I  am  sure  of  that. 
Can  you  do  anything  for  the  lad,  dear?  It 
would  be  dreadful  if  in  trying  to  befriend 
him  I  should  have  brought  him  into  such 
trouble.  We  must  examine  into  this  aflfair." 
"Yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  "it  is  a  touch- 
ing case ;  and  I  would  begin  at  once  to  see 
what  I  can  do  if  I  only  knew  what  ails 
Betty.  Really,  I  didn't  know  my  little 
daughter  had  such  a  tender  heart,"  and  he 
pulled  another  ringlet.  ' '  What's  the  matter^ 
pet?" 

Then  Betty  threw  herself  into  his  arms, 
and  sobbed  out:  "Oh!  papa,  it  was  I  that 
put  my  bad  half-dollar  into  mamma's  cake, 
and  took  the  good  one  out,  I  thought  it  was, 
only  a  little— little— sin. " 

Mr.  Lindsay  repelled  her  caress.  He  was^ 
astonished  beyond  measure,  while  Betty's 
mother  was  deeply  afflicted.  Miss  Fowler 
showed  no  great  surprise;  it  was  her  ob- 
servation of  her  niece's  little  foibles  that 
had  led  her  to  speak  of  Betty's  First  Com- 
munion just  before  dinner.  As  for  the  girl 
herself,  we  will  do  her  the  justice  to  declare 
that  she  had  never  before  been  so  unhappy^ 
— so  wretched. 

Mr.  Lindsay  left  the  table  and  walked  to 
the  window,  to  conceal  his  emotion.  Betty 
ran   to  her  mother,  who  questioned  her 


.264 


The  Ave  Maria. 


about  her  conduct  and  her  motives,  while 
Miss  Fowler  walked  over  to  her  brother-in- 
law  and  inquired  if  it  was  possible  to  get 
the  boy  out  of  prison. 

' '  Certainly  it  is, "  was  the  answer ;  ' '  and 
it  is  fortunate  that  I  took  note  of  his  home  " 
And  he  drew  forth  his  memorandum- book, 
and  gave  Miss  Fowler  the  direction.  "I 
will  go  to  the  station-house,'  he  continued ; 
"and  you  and  Maude  had  better  order  the 
carriage,  and  call  on  Hugh's  mother." 

All  this  was  hastily  resolved  upon  and 
speedily  put  in  execution.  Mr.  Lindsay  hur- 
ried oflf,  and  Mrs.  Lindsay  bade  the  waiter 
send  for  the  carriage. 

' '  We  must  take  Betty  with  us, "  she  said, 
' '  that  she  may  see  what  pain  and  misery 
have  been  occasioned  by  her  mean  act. ' ' 

Port  wine,  biscuits,  and  the  basket  of  fruit 
that  graced  the  dinner-table  were  put  into 
the  carriage,  and  away  the  ladies  drove  to 
<:omfort  and  console  Hugh's  mother.  They 
learned  that  the  neighbors  had  called  in 
two  Sisters  of  Bon  Secours  to  help  the  poor 
"widow,  and  to  care  for  Amanda,  who  was 
now  much  better.  Hugh  was  soon  at  lib- 
erty, and  joyous  was  the  meeting  with  his 
mother  and  sister. 

That  night  was  the  saddest  that  Betty  had 
^ver  experienced.  She  lay  awake,  thinking 
of  the  match- boy  and  his  pale,  sick  sister; 
and,  if  the  truth  were  known,  perhaps  she 
shed  more  tears  than  Hugh  himself. 

Amanda  improved  rapidly.  Good  medical 
care  and  proper  nourishment  soon  restored 
her  to  perfect  health. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  to  his  daugh- 
ter, one  day  when  the  excitement  of  the 
events  above  recorded  had  entirely  sub- 
sided, "you  mu>t  think  of  some  way  to 
make  personal  amends  for  the  suffering  you 
brought  on  that  poor  boy." 

"Can't  you  take  him  into  your  office, 
.papa?"  she  asked,  imploringly. 

"Well,  I  am  afraid  he  would  hardly  be 
able  to  copy  a  document.  What  do  you 
think? — can  he  write?" 

"Perhaps  not,  but  he  could  be  taught.  If 
you  could  manage  to  send  him  to  school  I " 

"  That  is  a  better  idea.  Your  mother  and 


myself  will  call  on  Father  Denny,  and  con- 
sult with  him." 

It  was  finally  decided  that  Mr.  Lindsay 
would  pay  Mrs.  Costello's  rent,  and  his 
amiable  wife  and  her  sister  would  allow 
the  poor  woman  a  monthly  pension,  and 
give  her  laundry  work.  Then  Hugh  could 
attend  the  Brothers'  school,  and  Amanda 
could  go  in  the  mornings  to  take  lessons  in 
reading,  writing,  and  sewing  from  the  good 
Sisters  of  Our  Lady. 

Miss  Fowler  did  not  forget  to  remind 
Mrs.  Lindsay  again  that  as  Betty  was  seven 
years  old  it  was  time  for  her  to  approach 
the  holy  tribunal,  and  kindly  offered  to  in- 
struct her  niece  on  the  Sacrament  of  Pen- 
ance. Betty  was  very  docile,  and  during  the 
next  few  months  she  made  an  excellent 
preparation  for  her  First  Communion. 

Betty  ofren  paid  a  visit  to  little  Amanda, 
whose  life  she  had  once  endangered  by  her 
selfishness,  and  whom  she  afterwards  aided 
by  deeds  of  self  denial  and  charity.  Often, 
too,  she  asked  her  kind  mother,  instead  ot 
buying  her  a  new  dress  or  a  pretty  bonnet, 
to  let  her  have  the  money,  to  devote  it  to 
the  needs  of  that  poor  but  honest  family. 

A  few  years  have  produced  two  great 
changes.  In  Mr.  Lindsay's  law  office  there 
is  a  boy  ably  filling  the  place  assigned  him, 
and  promising  to  become  a  clever,  noble- 
minded  man.  This  is  Hugh,  the  former 
squalid  match-vender. 

In  Mr.  Lindsay's  mansion  there  is  a  tall, 
handsome  girl,  still  called  by  her  nursery 
name  Betty,  and  winning  the  hearts  of  all 
around  her  by  her  amiable  manners,  her 
filial  conduct  towards  her  parents,  and  her 
devotedness  to  the  sick  and  poor. 


When  John  Wesley  was  on  his  voyage 
with  General  Oglethorpe  to  Georgia,  the 
General  threatened  revenge  upon  an  offend- 
ing servant,  saying,  "  I  never  forgive." 
"Then  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wesley, " you 
never  sin."  The  General  felt  the  force  of 
the  rebuke,  and  modified  his  action  towards 
the  servant. 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  17,  1887.       No.  12. 


(CopTTicht  r— Rn.  D.  E.  HmeoH,  C.  8.  C] 

At  the  Foot  of  the  Cross. 


BY   MARY   E.  MANNIX. 


' Ivf  E ATH  the  Cross  His  Mother, standing, 
-*-^    Hears  Him  murmur, '  'AH  is  done! ' ' 
Sees  the  veil  of  night  descending, 
Hiding  all  the  glorious  sun. 

Then  the  earthquake  shock — the  rending 

Of  the  Temple's  sacred  veil; 
While  from  yawning  graves  arisen, 

Wander  spectres  gaunt  and  pale. 

And  the  weeping  friends  who  loved  Him 
I,oud  proclaim  their  sorrow  now: 

ThoU;  with  silent  tear-drops  falling — 
Mother!  not  a  wail  hast  Thou. 


St.  Leo  IX.  and  Pius  IX.— Civitella  and 
Castel  Fidardo. 


BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D, 


I. 

N  the  year  1048,  while  the  Emperor 
Henry  III.  was  residing  at  Fri- 
singen,  deputies  came  to  him  from 
Rome,  informing  him  of  the  death  of  Pope 
Damasus  II.,  and  asking  him  to  give  the 
Church  a  new  Pontiflf.  Henry  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  arrogate  this  to  himself,  but  never- 
theless he  convoked  the  bishops  and  other 
grandees  of  the  Empire  to  consult  con- 
cerning an   election.    The  assembly  was 


held  at  Worms,  and  its  unanimous  choice 
was  Bruno,  Bishop  of  Toul,  a  cousin  of  the 
Emperor  Conrad,  and  an  Alsacian.  Un- 
doubtedly Henry  would  have  named  a  Ger- 
man, had  he  not  feared  to  irritate  the 
Romans. 

The  writers  of  the  time  differ  as  to  the 
conduct  of  Bruno  when  he  was  notified  of 
his  nomination.  According  to  Otho  of 
Frisingen  (B.  vi,  c.  33),  Bruno  proceeded  to 
Cluny,  clothed  in  the  pontifical  purple,  and 
the  Prior  Hildebrand — afterwards  Gregory 
VII. — ''immediately  rebuked  him,  saying 
that  it  was  illicit  for  any  one  to  receive 
the  pontificate  from  lay  hands."  And  Pla- 
tina  says  that  Bruno  afterwards  reproached 
himself  "because  he  had  obeyed  the  Em- 
peror rather  than  God. ' '  But  Wibert,  who 
was  Bruno's  archdeacon  at  Toul,  tells  us 
that  his  lord  declared  to  the  assembly  at 
Worms :  "I  shall  proceed  to  Rome,  and  if 
the  Roman  clergy  and  people  freely  choose 
me  as  Pontifi",  I  will  comply  with  your 
wish";  and  the  same  is  attested  by  St. 
Bruno,  Bishop  of  Segni,  author  of  another 
"Life  of  St.  Leo  IX. "  At  any  rate,  Bruno, 
accompanied  by  Hildebrand,  whom  the  fu- 
ture Pontiff  had  providentially  withdrawn 
from  the  solitude  of  Cluny,  presented  him- 
self to  the  Romans  in  plain  attire  ac  d  bare- 
footed, saying,  "The  choice  of  the  clergy 
and  people,  as  well  as  the  authority  of  the 
canons,  is  superior  to  any  other  nomination; 
if  you  do  not  elect  me,  I  am  ready  to  return 
to  my  own  country."  Then,  observes  Otho 
of  Frisingen, ' '  by  the  advice  of  Hildebrand, 


266 


The  Ave  Maria, 


all  the  ancient  usages  were  followed ;  Bruno 
was  elected  Pope,  and  was  enthroned  Feb. 
12,1049  In  his  first  synod,  the  new  Pontiff 
made  Hildebrand  Cardinal  Deacon. 

The  attention  of  the  new  Pope  was  soon 
drawn  to  the  miserable  state  of  affairs  in 
Southern  Italy,  where  an  enemy,  scarcely 
less  barbarous  and  ferocious  than  the  Mo- 
hammedan hordes  who  were  infesting  the 
Greek  Empire,  had  introduced  a  reign  of 
rapine,  sacrilege,  and  murder.  The  first  es- 
tablishments of  the  Normans  in  Italy  had 
been  very  feeble,  but  by  degrees  they  had 
extended  their  domination  over  Italian 
barons,  Greek  lieutenants,  and  Saracen  in- 
truders. At  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
Robert  Guiscard  had  proclaimed  himself 
Duke  of  the  Puglia  and  of  Calabria;  and, 
having  turned  his  terrible  arms  against 
the  Campagna — attracted  more  by  lust  of 
wealth  than  by  desire  of  conquest, — he  had 
spread  devastation  over  a  hitherto  fertile 
and  opulent  province,  and  had  usurped  the 
papal  duchy  of  Benevento. 

Moved  with  pity  for  the  oppressed  popu- 
lations, who,  to  avoid  the  flames  which  de- 
stroyed their  less  fortified  towns,  had  sought 
refuge  in  the  mountain  fastnesses,  and  fear- 
ful also  lest  Rome  itself  should  fall  a  prey 
to  a  modern  Alaric,  Pope  Leo  remembered 
that  he  was  a  king  as  well  as  a  Pontiff,  and 
that  his  sceptre  was  meant  to  protect  as 
well  as  to  rule  his  people.  He  called  upon 
his  own  subjects  and  the  other  Italians  for 
volunteers.  The  inhabitants  of  Ancona,  of 
the  Puglia  and  of  the  Campagna  sent  their 
quotas  to  his  standard ;  but  Leo  well  under- 
stood that  their  devotion  would  avail  little 
against  the  disciplined  forces  of  the  Nor- 
man Therefore  he  requested  the  Byzantine 
Emperor,  whose  own  interests  were  in- 
volved, to  send  him  some  veteran  troops. 
In  his  letter  to  this  sovereign,  his  Holiness 
says:  "As  we  are  told  in  Wisdom,  no  one 
can  change  him  whom  God  rejects,  and  the 
fool  is  not  corrected  by  words.  So  it  is  with 
the  malice  of  this  people:  every  day  they 
grow  worse.  Therefore,  not  only  wishing 
to  use  my  temporal  resources  for  the  libera- 
tion of  the  flock  of  Christ,  but  also  desir- 


ing to  devote  myself  to  that  work,  I  have 
thought  that  nothing  will  more  manifest 
the  wickedness  of  these  men,  or  more 
quickly  repress  their  obstinacy,  than  the 
use  of  human  weapons.  For  I  learn  from 
the  Apostle  that  princes  do  not  hold  the 
sword  without  reason,  and  that  they  are  the 
ministers  of  the  anger  of  God,  punishers  of 
those  who  work  evil. ' '  * 

The  Greek  Emperor  answered  with  fair 
words,  but  no  aid  arrived.  Then  Leo  jour- 
neyed into  the  wilds  of  Pannonia,  where 
Henry  III.  was  at  the  head  of  an  army,  and 
he  besought  that  Emperor's  assistance.  He 
obtained  only  five  hundred  veterans,  but 
with  this  small  reinforcement  he  led  his 
army  —  otherwise  composed  of  pontifical 
infantry  and  Lombard  pikemen — into  the 
Capitanata,  in  June,  1053.  On  the  approach 
of  Leo,  the  Normans  sent  him  an  embassy, 
offering  to  become  tributary  to  the  Holy 
See;  but  the  Pontiff  would  accept  of  no- 
conditions  short  of  their  entire  evacuation 
of  Italy,  t  Then  occurred  the  battle  of  Civ- 
itella,  called  by  some  Dragonara.  The  pon- 
tifical army  was  nearly  destroyed,  and  the 
Pope,  who  had  watched  the  combat  at  a 
little  distance,  was  captured  by  the  victors. 

Then  was  witnessed  an  extraordinary 
event — conquerors  kneeling  at  the  feet  of 
the  conquered.  As  the  Pontiff,  preceded  by  11 
the  cross,  came  forward  to  meet  his  captors,  ■' 
they  prostrated  themselves  before  him,  im- 
ploring his  mercy.  %  Then  they  conducted 
their  prisoner  to  Benevento,  where  for  the 
space  of  nine  months  he  was  honorably 
entertained  by  Count  Hunfrid.  Profoundly 
aiflicted  at  the  loss  of  his  faithful  soldiers^ 
many  of  whom  were  his  own  relatives  and 
friends,  Leo  did  not  retire  to  his  couch  dur- 
ing the  whole  time  of  his  captivity,  but  took 
his  necessary  sleep  on  the  stone  pavement 


*  Migne's  "Patrology,"  vol.  143,  p.  449. 

t  According  to  Gaufridus  Malaterra  (History, 
B.  i,  10),  and  Hermann  Contractus  ("  Chronicle ")i 
the  Pontiff  would  have  accepted  the  offer  of  the 
Normans;  but  the  German  auxiliaries  arrogantly 
relied  on  their  superior  size,  and  thought  it  would 
terrify  the  enemy. 

X  Sismondi:  vol.  i, p. 359;  Wibert:  "Life  of  St. 
Leo  IX.' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


267 


of  his  chamber;  he  fasted  beyond  measure, 
and  completely  despoiled  himself  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor. 

The  Normans  were  soon  glad  to  withdraw 
from  their  anomalous  position,  especially  as 
they  were  surrounded  by  enemies — Italians, 
Greeks,  Germans,  and  Saracens.  Reflecting 
on  the  great  advantages  they  would  derive 
from  the  favor  of  the  Roman  Pontiffs,  they 
not  only  offered  peace  and  liberty  to  their 
venerable  prisoner,  but  implored  him  to 
receive  them  as  vassals  of  the  Holy  See, 
swearing  to  defend  it  against  all  enemies, 
in  return  for  the  papal  investiture  of  their 
conquests  in  the  Two  Sicilies.  St.  Leo  IX. 
readily  accepted  the  offer,  and  on  March  12, 
1054,  he  departed  from  Benevento,  and  ar- 
rived in  due  time  at  Rome,  where  he  died 
April  19  of  the  same  year. 

The  conduct  of  St.  Leo  IX.  in  the  matter 
of  the  Norman  usurpation  of  his  territories 
has  been  severely  criticised ;  even  St.  Peter 
Damian  reproved  him  for  appealing  to  the 
temporal  sword.  However,  history  tells  us 
of  no  Pope  who  voluntarily  surrendered 
any  portion  of  the  patrimony  of  *St.  Peter 
because  of  a  scruple  to  adopt  material  force 
in  its  defence.   If  Julius  II.  was  the  only 
Pontiff  who  himself  led  his  troops  to  battle, 
many  others  have,  from  time  to  time,  called 
renowned  warriors  to  the  service  of  the 
Holy  See;  and  these  Gonfalonieri,  or  Cap- 
tains of  the  Church,  as  they  were  styled, 
held  their  commissions  as  the  most  honor- 
able that  their  profession  could  affo;  d  them. 
In  1084  Robert  Guiscard,  once  the  foe  of  St. 
Leo  IX.,  was  called  by  St.  Gregory  IX.  to 
defend  Rome  against  Henry  IV.,  of  Ger- 
many. In  1370  Louis  I. ,  of  Hungary,  aided  I 
Urban  V.  against  the  Florentines.   Martin  | 
V.  created  the  great  Sfoiza  Gonfaloniere  of 
the  Church.  Frederick  Malatesta  fought  for 
Pius  II.,  Paul  11.,  and  Sixtus  IV.;  Robert 
Malatesta  served  the  last  named  Pope,  and 
when  mortally  wounded  received  the  Sac- 
raments from  the  pontifical  hands.   Under 
St.  Pius  V.  fought  Marcantonio  Colonna, 
the  hero  of  Lepanto,  and  in  our  own  day 
the  Catholic  world  glorifies  the  memory  of  , 
L^on  Juchault  de  Lamoriciere. 


None  of  these  leaders,  and  not  one  of  the 
Popes  who  employed  them,  felt  any  of  the 
scruples  affected  by  the  enemies  of  the  Holy 
See.  No  such  scruples  were  entertained  by 
those  Pontiffs  who,  during  four  centuries, 
were  the  soul  of  the  resistance  made  by  the 
civilized  world  to  the  inroads  of  barbarous 
Islamism ;  and  precisely  because  those  Pon- 
tiffs did  use  the  temporal  sword  in  defence 
of  religion  and  of  the  right,  the  crescent 
does  not  shine  to-day  over  every  capital  in 
Europe.  From  St.  Leo  IX.  to  Pius  IX. ,  each 
Pope  who  has  drawn  the  sword  in  defence 
of  his  temporal  dominion  has  done  only 
what  the  world  admires  in  all  other  kings. 
It  is  curious,  therefore,  that  we  should  so 
often  hear  men  counselling  the  Popes  to 
answer  the  invaders  of  their  territories  with 
a  benediction. 

II. 

There  is  much  similarity  between  the 
campaign  of  St.  Leo  IX.  against  the  Nor- 
mans, and  the  unfortunate  yet  glorious  one 
which  the  papal  troops  undertook  in  i860. 
In  both  cases  the  enemy  was  composed  of 
baptized  persons,  professing  no  heresy,  but 
apparently  glorying  in  the  creed  of  Rome. 
However,  in  the  case  of  St.  Leo  IX  ,  the 
Pontiff  himself  marched  against  the  in- 
vader; whereas  in  the  campaign  of  Castel 
Fidardo  the  little  papal  army,  organized  to 
deal  only  with  the  hordes  of  Garibaldi  con- 
centrated on  the  Neapolitan  frontier,  and 
expecting  no  attack  from  the  regular  troops 
of  Sardinia,  *  were  suddenly  and  treacher- 

*  The  battle  of  Castel  Fidardo  was  fought  Sep- 
tember 18.  It  was  only  on  the  loth  that  Lamori- 
cere  was  informed  by  Capt.  Farinl,  aide-de-camp 
of  Gen.  Fanti,  the  Sardinian  war-minister  and 
commander-in-chief  that,  in  certain  described 
cases,  the  troops  of  King  Victor  Emmanuel  would 
cross  the  frontier.  In  answer,  the  hero  of  Con- 
stantina  replied:  "What  you  propose  to  me  is  a 
shame  and  a  dishonor — viz.,  to  evacuate  without 
combat  the  provinces  which  it  is  my  duty  to  de- 
fend. It  would  have  been  more  candid  on  the  part 
of  the  King  of  Piedmont  and  his  generals  had 
they  at  once  declared  war  on  us.  But,  despite  the 
numerical  preponderance  of  the  Sardinian  army, 
we  shall  not  forget  that,  on  certain  occasions, 
officers  and  soldiers  must  not  count  th^  enemy X^ 
numbers,  nor  spare  their  own  lives^in  prese 
ing  the  outraged  honor  of  the  gov« 


268 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ously  assailed  on  their  own  territory.  "Im- 
pious men ! ' '  said  Pope  Pius  I X. , "  of  whom 
the  Almighty  now  makes  use  in  order  to 
punish  the  sins  of  all,  but  to  disperse  them 
and  punish  them  in  the  day  of  His  fury, — 
trampling  on  the  law  of  God,  cursing  the 
voice  of  the  Holy  One  of  Israel,  and  ceasing 
not  to  wage  most  cruel  war  on  the  Church 
and  this  Apostolic  See.  Possessed  by  the 
spirit  of  Satan,  they  have  excited  the  peo- 
ples of  Italy  to  rebellion;  they  have  unjustly 
expelled  legitimate  princes,  and  have  dis- 
turbed all  things  human  and  divine;  dur- 
ing the  past  }ear  they  have  invaded  our 
States,  sacrilegiously  occupying  some  of 
our  provinces,  and  now  they  try  to  invade 
and  usurp  the  rest."  "^ 

These  aggressors,  said  the  same  Pontiflf, 
"for  a  long  time  have  waged  war  against 
the  Catholic  Church,  her  ministers,  and 
her  property;  and,  caring  nothing  for  eccle- 
siastical laws  or  censures,  they  have  dared 
to  imprison  illustrious  cardinals  and  bish- 
ops and  most  worthy  members  of  both  ihe 
secular  and  regular  clergy;  to  expel  re- 
ligious communities  from  their  cloisters,  to 
appropriate  the  goods  of  the  Church,  and  to 
subvert  the  civil  principality  of  this  Holy 
See.  . . .  They  open  public  schools  for  the 
teaching  of  every  false  doctrine;  with  abom- 
inable writings  and  theatrical  representa- 
tions, they  offend  and  banish  all  modesty, 
chastity,  honesty,  and  virtue;  they  despise 
the  holy  mysteries  and  the  Sacraments,  the 
precepts,  institutions,  ministers,  rites,  and 


*  Letter  to  the  chaplain-in-chief  of  the  papal 
army,  Sep.  lo,  i860. 

serve."  And  as  late  as  September  13  the  Duke 
de  Gramont,  French  Embassador  at  the  Vatican, 
telegraphed  the  following  to  the  French  Vice- 
Consul  at  Ancona:  "The  Emperor  has  written 
from  Marseilles  to  the  King  of  Sardinia,  that  if  the 
Piedmontese  troops  enter  the  pontifical  territory, 
he  will  be  forced  to  oppose  them.  Orders  have 
already  been  given  to  embark  troops  at  Toulon, 
and  these  reinforcements  will  soon  arrive.  The 
Imperial  Government  will  not  tolerate  the  culpa- 
ble aggression  of  the  Sardinian  Government;  as 
Vice-Consul  of  France,  you  will  regulate  your 
course  by  this  information."  (See  Lamoriciere's 
"iReport"  to  the  Papal  Minister  of  War.) 


ceremonies  of  our  holy  religion;  and  try 
to  banish  all  justice  from  the  earth,  and  to 
destroy  the  very  foundations  of  religion  and 
of  civil  society."  * 

The  use  of  military  force,  therefore,  was 
a  duty  incumbent  upon  Pius  IX.,  just  as  it 
had  been  upon  his  predecessor,  the  Ninth 
Leo.  But  we  must  here  remark  that  in  the 
days  of  St.  Leo  IX.  no  one  thought  of  re- 
proving, still  less  of  insulting,  the  soldiers 
of  the  Pope.  No  Norman  knight  threw  the 
stigma  of  "mercenary"  in  the  faces  of  the 
defenders  of  the  patrimony  of  St.  Peter; 
such  mendacious  discourtesy  was  reserved 
for  a  Cialdini  and  a  Fanti  to  display  to  a 
Lamoriciere,  a  Pimodan,  a  Charette,  and 
the  hundreds  of  scions  of  the  noblest  blood 
of  Brittany  and  Belgium,  who  abandoned 
wealth  and  comfort  for  the  defence  of  the 
freedom  of  the  Chair  of  Peter. 

They  who  were  killed  at  Civitella,  fight- 
ing under  the  standard  of  the  Keys,  were 
hailed  as  martyrs  alike  by  Pontificals  and 
penitent  Normans;  and  when  the  holy  Leo 
IX  was  seized  with  his  last  illness,  he  said 
to  his  weeping  attendants:  "The  time  of 
my  departure  approaches.  Last  night  I  saw 
in  a  vision  the  heavenly  land;  and  among 
other  things,  I  saw  crowned  as  martyrs 
those  who  fell  in  the  Puglia  fighting  for  the 
Church.  With  one  voice  they  all  said  to 
me:  'Come  and  dwell  with  us;  for  it  was 
through  thee  that  we  attained  this  glory.' "t 

It  was  not  given  to  Lamoriciere  to  crown 
with  his  death  for  Holy  Church  one  of  the 
most  glorious  military  records  which  even 
the  history  of  France  can  furnish.  But  he  be- 
came the  generous  envy  of  every  Christian 
soldier,  and  as  a  prisoner  of  war  for  the 
Roman  Pontiff  he  was  greater  than  when 
amid  his  triumphs  at  Medeah,  Mascara,  and 
Constantina.  "I  found  myself,"  he  wrote 
in  his  "Report"  to  Mgr.  de  M^rode,  "be- 
fore a  question  of  duty  and  honor;  and  if, 
in  my  resolutions,  I  had  at  all  considered 
the  gravity  of  the  danger  probably  await- 
ing us,  my  old  companions  in  arms  of  the 
French  army  would  have  disowned  me." 


♦Allocution, Sep.  28, i860,  f  Bollandists,  April  ii. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


269 


Nora's  Recompense.* 


CHAPTER  I. 
^^pRANDMAMMA,  shall  we  be  travel- 

\jr  ling  again  the  whole  summer?  And 
where  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  yet  know,  dear.  What  do  you 
say  to  Switzerland?" 

"Switzerland?    Oh,  I  am  so  tired  of  it!" 

This  scrap  of  conversation  was  held  in 
a  first-class  railway  carriage,  and  the  last 
words,  uttered  with  a  weary  sigh,  provoked 
an  amused  smile  from  a  lady  and  her  hus- 
band 'who  were  in  the  same  compartment, 
and  looked  with  undisguised  astonishment 
at  the  young  speaker. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  without  appearing 
to  remark  the  attention  she  excited;  "I  am 
tired  of  Switzerland.  Germany  and  Italy 
have  also  lost  all  charm  for  me.  I  should  so 
like  a  settled  home,  grandmamma!  Can  we 
never  remain  a  year  in  any  one  place?" 

Her  companion  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  answered:  "Most  young  girls,  Nora, 
would  be  only  too  happy  to  lead  your  life. " 

Nora  made  no  reply,  but  looked  out  gf 
the  window,  and  contemplated  abstractedly 
the  fleeting  landscape.  She  was  very  young 
— scarcely  nineteen, — with  delicate  though 
slightly  irregular  features,  a  profusion  of 
bright  hair,  and  a  clear,  rosy  complexion; 
but  the  principal  charm  of  her  face  lay 
in  her  frank  yet  profound  glance,  in  which 
youth,  gayety,  and  goodness  of  heart  were 
clearly  portrayed.  If  one  felt  tempted  to 
accuse  her  of  the  indifference  to  beauty  and 
poetry  which  her  words  seemed  to  betray, 
that  look  protested  against  such  an  opinion; 
for  it  expressed  intelligence,  sensibility,  and 
the  most  enchanting  simplicity. 

The  lady  whom  she  termed  grandmamma 
"was  so  well  preserved  as  to  appear  still 
young.  Her  agreeable  features,  smooth 
brow,  elegant  manners,  and  careful  toilet 
led  to  the  inference  that  she  was  one  of 
those  superficial  natures  over  which  sor- 


*  For  The  "Ave  Maria,"  from  the  German  of 
Maryan,  by  B.  S. 


row  passes  lightly,  leaving  traces  quickly 
effaced.  Suffering  under  any  form  is  their 
deadliest  enemy,  and  they  combat  and  con- 
quer it  by  every  means  in  their  power,  even 
by  voluntary  and  cherished  forgetfulness.   , 

The  smiling  green  fields  were  followed 
by  an  arid  plain,  then  again  the  country 
became  fertile.  Few  young  girls  of  nineteen 
would  have  been  unmoved  at  the  view  of 
this  changing  scenery,  or  looked  with 
indifferent  eyes  on  the  distant  snow  clad 
mountains,  the  majestic  river  in  its  singular 
curvings,  and  the  dark,  shadowy  woods.  But 
Nora  remained  cold  and  tranquil;  for  all 
these  things  were  well  known  to  her.  From 
her  earliest  childhood  she  had  led  a  nomadic 
life,  and  at  the  age  in  which  others  consider 
travelling  the  greatest  pleasure,  she  longed 
for  repose  and  the  sweet  monotony  of  a 
quiet,  retired  home. 

But  her  grandmother  was  in  her  element. 
Widowed  young,  And  bereft  of  all  her 
numerous  family  save  one  delicate  child, 
she  sought  forgetfulness  and  distraction  in 
travel.  She  had  no  near  relatives  now,  with 
the  exception  of  a  sister  of  her  deceased  hus- 
band, with  whom  she  had  never  agreed ;  but 
her  granddaughter  satisfied  her  heart,  and 
trstvel  was  most  congenial  to  her  English 
nature.  She  and  Nora  were  united  by  the 
most  tender  affection,  and  the  fond  though 
somewhat  frivolous  grandmother  would 
have  been  astounded  had  any  one  hinted 
that  she  could  not  live  forever,  and  that  she 
ought  to  care  for  her  grandchild's  future. 

The  day  was  drawing  near  its  close  when 
the  train  stopped  at  a  town  near  the  Ital- 
ian frontier  much  frequented  for  its  baths. 
The  travellers  dispersed,  and  Mme.  de  Bre- 
lyon  with  her  granddaughter  took  rooms 
at  one  of  the  best  hotels.  Nora  knew  from 
experience  what  would  take  place  during 
their  stay.  Some  travelling  acquaintances 
would  be  met  with,  excursions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, water  parties,  evening  concerts 
in  the  Casino  attended  in  their  company; 
so  that  scarcely  any  time  could  be  devoted 
to  the  studies  over  which  the  grandmother, 
with  her  wonted  eccentricity,  presided.  Then 
Mme.  de  Br^lyon  would  declare  their  stay 


270 


The  Ave  Maria, 


in  the  hotel  too  expensive,  write  mysterious 
letters  to  procure  money,  and  finally  take 
her  departure,  for  the  purpose,  she  would 
say,  of  economizing  in  some  remote  place. 
»  All  happened  as  Nora  had  foreseen,  but 
the  week  after  their  arrival  an  incident  oc- 
curred which  made  a  lively  impression  on 
the  girl's  mind.  They  were  sitting  one  even- 
ing on  the  Promenade,  enjoying  the  beauti- 
ful view  of  the  Mediterranean,  when  Mme. 
de  Br^lyon  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
started  up,  and  rapidly  approached  a  distin- 
guished-looking man  of  about  sixty,  who 
was  walking  up  and  down  a  neighboring 
alley  and  smoking  a  cigar.  Nora  remained 
sitting  quietly,  being  accustomed  to  similar 
encounters;  for  her  grandmother  often  met 
with  friends  of  her  youth,  whom  she  greeted 
gladly,  and  left  after  a  few  days  just  as 
gaily.  But  in  the  present  instance,  after  a 
short  conversation,  she  returned  to  her 
granddaughter  with  the  stranger,  and  said: 

"Nora,  I  think  this  is  the  first  member 
of  our  family  you  have  ever  met.  You  have 
often  heard  me  speak  of  my  cousin  Bouvier, 
my  poor  brother's  best  friend?" 

"I  now  doubly  regret  the  wandering  life 
which  has  so  long  deprived  me  of  the  ac- 
quaintance of  such  a  charming  cousin," 
added  Mr.  Bouvier,  smiling  and  offering  his 
hand. 

One  must  have  felt  Nora's  longing  for 
family  ties  to  understand  the  pleasure  with 
which  she  laid  her  small,  gloved  fingers  in 
those  of  her  newly  found  relative. 

"Are  you  alone  here?"  asked  Mme.de 
Br^lyon,  as  she  sat  down,  and  invited  her 
cousin  to  take  a  place  beside  her. 

"  Oh !  no.  My  wife,  son,  and  daughter  are 
with  me.  We  are  not  to  make  a  long  stay, 
but  shall  be  delighted  to  profit  by  your  pres- ' 
ence;  and  my  little  Bertha  will,  I  am  sure, 
be  charmed  with  the  young  relative  so  un- 
expectedly met  with," 

A  lively  conversation  ensued  between 
the  two  old  friends.  Mme.  de  Brelyon  had 
lived  for  many  years  after  her  marriage  in 
intiiEate  friendship  with  her  husband's  rel- 
atives. A  thousand  reminiscences  of  those 
da}  s  weie  naturally  recalled,  to  which  Nora 


listened  with  vivid  interest.  The  old  lady 
spoke  also  of  her  griefs — the  earlv  death  of 
the  only  son  who  had  survived  of  a  numer- 
ous family,  and  the  arrival  of  her  grand- 
child in  her  deep  mourning.  The  girl's  eyes 
filled  with  tears  as  she  recalled  the  sorrow 
of  her  childhood,  her  grandmother's  grief 
and  her  tender  love.  But  the  vivacious  dis- 
position of  the  latter  soon  drew  her  to  gayer 
themes,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  was  ab- 
sorbed in  a  thousand  projects  for  excursions 
to  be  made  in  the  neigfhborhood. 

On  the  same  day  Nora  was  introduced 
to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Bouvier^  and  her  delight 
was  unbounded.  The  former  lady  was  still 
young  and  pretty,  with  agreeable  manners 
and  all  the  vivacity  of  a  true  Parisian.  Ber- 
tha was  about  Nora's  age;  she  fell  in  love 
with  her  at  once,  and  overwhelmed  her 
with  caresses.  Louir,  a  handsome  young 
man  of  twenty-five,  did  not  attempt  to  con- 
ceal his  admiration  for  his  new  cousin,  and 
was  always  ready  to  escort  the  ladies;  and 
so  in  the*  following  weeks  the  young  peo- 
ple were  inseparable.  To  Nora  they  were 
most  happy  days;  for  she  had  never  be- 
fore possessed  a  friend  of  her  own  age,  and 
Bertha  had  promised  to  keep  up  a  constant 
correspondence  with  her  when  they  parted. 
Nora  and  Louis  sang  duets  together,  and 
their  voices  blended  harmoniously, — one  a 
magnificent  tenor,  and  the  other  a  remark- 
ably sweet  soprano.  Future  meetings  in 
Paris  were  arranged  for,  and  when  the  Bou- 
vier family  at  last  departed,  Nora  cried  so 
bitterly  that  her  grandmother  determined 
to  start  at  once  for  the  Swiss  village,  where 
she  meant,  for  economical  reasons,  to  spend 
the  summer. 

CHAPTER  II. 

Once  more  they  were  in  the  train,  and 
night  was  approaching. 

"I  like  our  relatives  very  much,'*  said 
Nora  for  the  hundredth  time.  "Grand- 
mamma, won' t  you  spend  the  winter  near 
them?  And, as  they  are  so  kind  and  affec- 
tionate, so  glad  to  meet  you  again,  could 
you  not  resolve  to  settle  down  near  them? 
It  is  so  pleasant  to  live  among  friends!" 

Mme.  de  Brelyon  did  not  answer  immedi- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


271 


ately,  but  after  a  moment  she  took  Nora's 
hand,  and  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice:  '*Am 
I,  then,  no  longer  sufficient  for  you?" 

The  young  girl  pressed  her  lips  warmly 
on  her  grandmother's  hand.  ''No  longer 
sufficient  for  me ! ' '  she  rept  ated.  ' '  Is  not  my 
tenderest  affection  yours  ?  Are  you  not  my 
stay  and  protection?  Have  we  not  always 
lived  for  each  other?  It  is  for  your  sake 
even  more  than  for  my  own,  dearest  grand- 
mamma, that  I  long  for  a  settled  home.  We 
should  be  so  happy  all  alone  together!" 

"I  can  not  live  like  other  women,"  an- 
swered Mme.  de  Brelyon,  with  a  melan- 
choly shake  of  the  head.  ' '  I  should  pin  e  for 
change  and  variety.  And  yet  I  sometimes 
ask  myself  if  I  am  acting  wisely  towards 
you.  It  might  have  been  better  for  your  fut- 
ure interests  if  I  had  surrounded  you  with 
friends,  with  permanent  connections,  and 
habituated  you  to  a  regular  mode  of  life.  But 
I  have  alwa>s  hated  to  be  so  fettered,  al- 
though for  your  sake  I  could  resign  myself. 
However,  you  are  still  too  >oung  to  marry; 
when  you  are  twenty-two  we  shall  settle 
down  in  Paris,  and  arrange  your  future.  You 
are  not  rich,  but  with  your  pretty  face,  and 
the  dowry  I  shall  give  you,  it  will  not  be 
difficult  to  provide  you  with  a  husband." 

Thus  ended  the  conversation  which  had 
begun  so  gravely,  and  with  a  tender  kiss 
Mme.  de  Brelyon  added, "  Now, good-night, 
dear;  it  is  time  to  sleep,  as  we  are  both  able 
to  sleep  in  the  train. ' ' 

"Good-night,  darling  grandmamma!" 
answered  Nora,  warmly  responding  to  her 
caress.  "  I  think  we  shall  be  alone,  and  that 
is  very  pleasant. ' ' 

She  spread  a  warm  rug  over  Mme.  de 
Brelyon,  settled  her  comfortably  in  one 
corner,  and  then  established  herself  in  the 
other;  but  she  could  not  sleep.  Her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  landscape,  whose  out- 
lines became  every  instant  more  indistinct ; 
by  degrees  the  mountains  disappeared,  the 
woods  grew  darker,  and  finally  the  only 
signs  of  life  were  the  lights  in  the  houses 
which  they  passed.  At  last  Nora's  eyes  grew 
heavy;  she  heard  for  some  time  longer  the 
loud  breathing  of  her  grandmother,  then  all 


grew  still,  and  she  sank  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

The  night  is  long,  and  who  can  divine 
what  the  folds  of  her  mantle  hide?  The 
dawn  appeared  in  due  course;  a  light  vapor 
rose  frpm  the  rivers  and  trembled  in  the 
air;  the  grass  bent  under  the  sparkling 
dewdrops,  and  a  ray  of  the  rising  sun  fell 
on  Nora's  closed  eyelids.  She  opened  them 
lazily,  and  closed  them  again  immediately; 
but  the  sunshine  grew  brighter,  and  soon 
awoke  her  fully.  Noiselessly  (for  her  grand- 
mother was  still  asleep)  she  lowered  the 
sash  and  looked  out  on  the  rose-tinted 
country.  On  the  distant  slope  of  a  hill  lay 
a  peaceful  village, with  its  church;  and  the 
young  girl,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  steeple, 
said  her  morning  prayers.  How  often  had 
she  done  so!  Her  heart  longed  more  than 
ever  for  the  peaceful  repose  of  that  village 
church;  for  she  loved  to  begin  the  day  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar.  Amid  all  her  wander- 
ings, the  poor  grandmother  had  succeeded 
in  instilling  a  tender  piety  into  Nora's 
heart,  and  she  never  saw  the  spire  of  a 
church  in  the  distance  without  breathing  a 
loving  greeting  to  the  God  whom  she  knew 
to  dwell  there. 

The  sun  rose  higher;  Nora  looked  at  her 
guide-book,  and  found  they  had  nearly 
reached  the  term  of  their  voyage  for  that 
day.  Mme.  de  Brelyon  still  slept,  and,  un- 
willing to  disturb  her,  the  girl  collected 
their  wraps  and  packages  as  silently  as 
possible.  At  last  the  station  came  in  sight; 
now  she  must  awake  the  dear  sleeper.  How 
cold  she  is,  and  how  pale !  The  morning  air 
must  have  given  her  a  chill. 

"Grandmamma,  awake!  We  are  at  the 
station." 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  the  sleeper's 
forehead,  but  started  back  in  affright  at  the 
icy  cold  which  met  her  warm  young  lips. 
Seizing  her  in  her  arms,  she  listened  anx- 
iously for  a  breath ;  but  the  head  fell  back 
inanimate,  and  no  sound  came  from  the  pale 
lips.  Then  she  screamed  for  help,  but  no 
one  heard  her  cry.  The  locomotive  sped  on 
its  iron  road,  bearing  its  freight  of  living 
and  dead  till  it  reached  its  goal. 
(to  be  continued.) 


272 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Litany  of  Loreto  as  Sung  by  Amer- 
ican Blossoms. 


BY   ARTHUR  J.  STAGE. 


(CoNTINUEDl) 

VAS  SPIRITUALE  ora  pro  nobis.  A 
more  spiritual  form  of  beauty  can  hardly 
be  found  in  flowers  tban  that  which  greets 
us  in  the  upturned  cups  of  Houstonia  ccb7'u- 
lea,  sometimes  known  as  "bluets."  The 
shape  of  this  little  plant  is  fragile  to  the 
verge  of  unsubstantiality ;  the  colors  are  all 
aerial — heavenly  blue,  evanescent  purple, 
translucent  white,  and  that  delicate  tint  of 
yellow  we  see  in  the  twilight  above  the 
place  of  sunset;  all  speaking  to  us  of  Her  to 
whom  the  above  invocation  is  framed. 

Vas  honorabile^  ora  pro  nobis.  Glorious 
among  the  lilies  are  the  golden  vases  of 
Liliicm  Philadeiphicum^  filling  themselves 
with  sunshine,  to  diffuse  it  again  around 
them  with  accompanying  joy  and  gratitude. 
It  blooms  when  the  days  are  longest — be- 
fore the  parching  heat  of  July  has  withered 
up  the  green  herbage,  whose  cool  verdure 
contrasts  so  well  with  its  lamp  of  flame.  A 
fitting  emblem  of  the  heavenly  Vas  hono- 
rabile. 

Vas  insigne  devotionis^  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
blue-fringed    gentian  {Gentiana   crinita)^ 
gazing,  as  the  poet  Bryant  sings  of  it, 
"...  Through  its  fringes  to  the  sky; 
Blue,  blue,  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall," 

must  be  our  symbol  of  the  Vas  ittsigne  de- 
votionis.  So  well-known  a  flower  needs  no 
attempt  of  ours  to  commend  its  beauties.  It 
is  the  last  of  the  flowers,  and  it  remains  faith- 
ful to  its  post  until  the  first  snow  hides  it 
from  our  view.  Its  constancy  suggests  devo- 
tion to  duty,  its  azure  hue  is  that  of  fidelity 
and  hope,  its  singular  form  and  ornaments 
are  the  embodiment  of  delicate  loveliness. 
Rosa  77iystica^  ora  pro  nobis.  There  are 
many  American  roses,  the  most  beautiful  of 
all,  perhaps,  being  Rosa  lucida;  although 
this  is  one  that  "exalteth  not  herself,"  her 
stem  scarcely  lifting  her  above  the  herbage. 


which  is  replenished  with  the  fragrance  of 
the  rose.  ''''Quia  respexit  Juimilitate7n  an- 
ciHcB  su^.,^^  are  words  which  naturally  rise 
to  our  lips  as  this  loveliest  of  blossoms  casts 
herself  at  the  feet  of  God  in  adoration. 

Tnrris  Davidica.,  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
Tower  of  David,  adorned  by  the  shining 
armor  of  valiant  men,  may  be  imaged  by 
the  turn-cap  lily  {Lilium  stiperbum),'V}\\.h.  its 
towering  height  and  damaskeened,  shield- 
like blossoms.  Those  who  are  acquainted 
only  with  the  orange  and  black  turn-cap 
lily  common  in  gardens,  would  do  well  to 
examine  the  fine  gradation  of  color  in  this 
wild  flower,  and  they  will  be  surprised  and 
delighted  with  its  superiority  to  its  culti- 
vated congener.  Here  you  have  a  ground- 
tint  of  richest  flame-color,  passing  from  pale 
yellow  gradually  into  the  brightest  scarlet; 
and  the  markings  are  not  black,  but  deep 
purple,  varying  in  number  and  intensity 
with  their  position  on  the  petals.  The  whole 
plant,  too,  is  lithe  and  willowy  in  compari- 
son with  the  thick-stemmed  garden  lilies. 
Seek  it  in  meadow-lands  in  June  and  July ; 
its  height  will  render  it  visible  from  a  dis- 
tance; and  remember  the  invocation  we 
have  annexed  to  it. 

Turris  eburnea^  ora  pro  nobis.  The  yucca 
[Yucca  filamentosa^  of  our  gardens,  un- 
changed by  cultivation,  is  a  native  of  the 
sands  of  Virginia.  It  is  too  well  known  to 
need  description,  but  we  will  ask  our  read- 
ers to  observe  that  its  tower  of  bloom  is 
neither  snow-white  nor  milk-white,  but  dis- 
tinctively ivory-white;  and  hence  to  note 
the  propriety  of  the  place  here  assigned  to  it 

Domus  aurea^  ora  pro  nobis.  Of  golden 
flowers  there  is  no  lack.  The  true  sunflow- 
ers number  at  least  eighteen  native  species; 
the  golden-rods  are  still  more  numerous. 
The  rosin-plants,  with  their  pleasant  tere- 
binthine  odors,  are  a  prominent  feature  on 
the  prairies  of  the  West, — one  species  serv- 
ing as  a  guide  to  the  wanderer,  its  leaf- 
blades  standing  with  edges  north  and  south, 
whence  it  derives  its  name  of  compass-plant. 
Acres  upon  acres  of  wild  coreopsis  actualize 
for  us  the  storied  ''Field  of  the  Cloth-of- 
Gold."  All  these  are  autumn  flowers,  but 


The  Ave  Maria. 


273 


the  cone-flower  {Rudbeckia  fulgida)  stays 
with  us  from  midsummer  until  the  early 
snows,  sometimes  even  surviving  them.  Its 
purple  dome  rising  from  the  midst  of  golden 
rays  makes  it  a  beautiful  image  .of  the 
House  of  Gold. 

Foederis  arca^  or  a  pro  nobis.  The  Ark  of 
the  Covenant  was  made  of  incorruptible 
wood.  The  durability  of  the  wood  of  our 
own  American  cedar  {/iiniperus  Virgini- 
and)  is  well  known.  Its  limit  has  not  been 
reached  within  the  three  hundred  years  that 
it  has  been  familiar  to  us,  so  that  we  may 
fairly  consider  it  as  incorruptible,  like  the 
wood  of  the  Scriptural  tree.  Its  fragrance, 
suggestive  of  frankincense,  is  peculiarly 
grateful ;  and  its  bright  rosy  color  is  not  the 
least  among  its  charms.  In  the  West  it 
reaches  a  lofty  height,  worthy  of  the  majes- 
tic name  of  cedar, — rising  heavenward  as 
if  it  would  there  sing  the  praises  of  Her  who 
is  the  Ark  of  the  New  Covenant. 

Janua  coeli^  ora  pro  nobis.  When  the 
patriarch,  fleeing  before  the  wrath  of  an 
angry  brother,  laid  his  desolate  head  on  the 
desert  rocks  to  obtain  what  rest  he  might, 
he  was  comforted  by  a  heavenly  vision — 
the  celestial  gates  standing  open  to  him  and 
his  offspring,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascend- 
ing and  descending  by  a  ladder  of  light  that 
reached  from  earth  to  heaven.  The  humble 
plant  to  which  popular  fancy  has  attached 
the  name  of  "Jacob' s-ladder"  {Polemonium 
ccBruleuni)^  with  sky-blue  blossoms  and 
long,  ladder- like,  pinnated  leaves,  must 
serve  (inadequately  indeed,  but  how  should 
a  mere  emblem  be  other  than  inadequate?) 
to  remind  us  of  the  glories  of  the  patri- 
arch's vision,  and  of  Her  to  whose  interces- 
sion we  look  for  entrance  into  the  kingdom 
of  Her  Son. 

Stella  matutina^  ora  pro  nobis.  Flowers 
are  the  stars  of  earth,  as  stars  are  the  flowers 
of  the  sky.  Our  earthly  stars  often  assume 
the  shape  of  the  heavenly  ones.  Our  Mich- 
aelmas daisies  derive  their  name  of  "aster" 
from  this.  The  genera  of  the  large  order, 
Caryophyllacea.,  particularly  Cerastium 
and  Stellaria.,  all  have  an  inclination  to 
the  starlike  form.  The  star-grass  {Hypoxis 


erectd)  glitters  among  the  meadow  herbage 
in  summer;  and  Smilacina  stellata^  one  of 
the  kindred  of  the  lily  of  the  valley,  adds  the 
charm  of  a  delicate  perfume  to  the  beauty  of 
its  form.  But  a  more  appropriate  star  for  our 
purpose  than  any  of  these  is  the  May -star 
{Trientalis  Americana)^  concerning  which 
we  will  quote  a  tasteful  remark  of  the  lady 
to  whose  work  on  "Rural  Hours"  we  have 
referred  more  than  once: 

"The  May -star  is  remarkable  for  its  elegance — 
a  delicate  starlike  blossom  of  the  purest  white 
standing  like  a  gem  in  a  setting  of  leaves,  fine 
in  texture  and  neatly  cut.  Some  persons  call  this 
'chickweed  wintergreen.'  a  name  which  is  an  in- 
sult to  the  plant  and  to  the  common-sense  of  the 
community.  Why,  it  is  one  of  the  daintiest  wood 
flowers,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  with 
chicks  or  weeds  or  winter.  It  is  not  the  least  of 
an  evergreen,  its  leaves  withering  in  autumn,  as 
a  matter  of  course;  and  there  is  not  a  chicken  in 
the  country  that  knows  it  by  sight  or  taste.  Dis- 
criminating people,  when  they  find  its  elegant 
silvery  flower  growing  in  the  woods  beside  the 
violet,  call  it  May-star;  and  so  should  everybody 
who  sees  it." 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  we  cheerfully 
accept  this  well-considered  decision.  And 
we  dedicate  the  delicate  blossom  to  Her 
whose  beams  irradiate  every  month  in  the 
year,  but  particularly  that  sweet  month 
when  this  little  flower  blooms  in  Her  honor. 

Salus  infirmorum^  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
stately  tree  known  as  balm  of  Gilead  {Popu- 
lus  balsamiferd).,  diffusing  its  grateful  bal- 
samic fragrance  far  and  wide,  and  bursting 
its  wintry  bonds  with  the  earliest  gleams  of 
spring  sunshine,  must  be  for  us  the  type  of 
Her  who  is  called  the  Health  of  the  Weak. 

Refugium peccatorwm.^  ora  pro  nobis.  The 
trembling  sinner  flies  to  Mary's  feet;  and, 
although  the  blessed  feet  themselves  are  be- 
yond the  limits  of  earthly  vision,  we  may  be 
reminded  of  them  by  the  elegant  covering 
which  popular  imagination  has  assigned 
to  them  under  the  name  of  Our  Lady's 
slipper  ( CypripediMm  spectabile).  This  lovely 
rose-colored  species  is  quite  rare.  I  have 
never  met  it  but  once.  The  yellow  species, 
with  its  honeyed  perfume,  is  common  still 
in  our  woods  in  May.  The  white  is  raier,but 
was  once  abundant  in  the  marsh  between 


274 


The  Ave  Mario. 


our  lakes  at  Notre  Dame.  The  livid  veins 
that  are  visible  through  its  whiteness  render 
it  rather  curious  than  beautiful,  and  justify 
my  selection  of  the  rose-colored  species  as 
the  true  calceame^i  of  Our  Lady  and  Refuge 
in  the  time  of  sorest  need. 

Consolatrix  affl-ictorum^  or  a  pro  nobis.  In 
the  well-known  lines  of  Moore  we  have  a 
picture  of  the  dangers  and  horrors  of  an 
American  morass,  often  extending  over 
thousands  of  acres : 

"His  path  was  rugged  and  sore, 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds 

And  man  never  trod  before. 
And  when  on  the  earth  he  sank  to  sleep, 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew. 
He  lay  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear,  and  nightly  steep 
The  flesh  with  blistering  dew. 
.  And  near  him  the  she- wolf  stirred  the  brake, 
And  the  copper-snake  breathed  in  his  ear." 

But  amid  all  these  forms  of  terror  grows 
the  lovely  and  fragrant  swamp-rose  {Rosa 
Carolina),  filling  the  air  with  its  perfume, 
neutralizing  the  poison  of  rhus  and  vera- 
trum^  and  cheering  the  wanderer  on  his  way 
— a  sweet  s)  mbol  of  Her  who  is  the  true 
Consolatrix  afflictorum. 

Auxilium  Christianorum^  ora  pro  nobis. 
As  helps  to  a  Christian  life,  we  natu- 
rally think  of  the  devotions  instituted  in 
honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  such  as  the 
Scapular,  Rosary,  and  many  others.  About 
the  middle  of  July,  when  the  Cburch  cele- 
brates the  Festival  of  Our  Lady  of  Mount 
Carmel,  you  may  observe  among  the  shrub- 
bery a  climbing  plant  whose  flowers  assume 
a  most  unusual  tint  in  the  floral  kingdom 
— a  deep  chocolate  brown  the  color  of  the 
Scapular.  It  is  Apios  tuberosa.  Dig  it  up, 
and  you  will  find  the  beads  of  the  Rosary, 
or  a  string  of  tubers  very  much  resembling 
them.  They  are  edible,  and  give  the  plant 
its  common  name  of ' '  ground-nut. ' '  These 
characteristics,  and  the  ascending  stems, 
turning  apparent  obstacles  into  aids  to 
growth,  may  chant  for  us  the  praise  of  Her 
to  whom  all  good  Christians  look  for  assist- 
ance in  their  efforts  to  reach  their  heavenly 

home.  ' 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


The  Golden  Jubilee  of  Our  Holy  Father 
Pope  Leo  Xlll. 


BY    M.   A. 


Ipj  GOLDEN  is  the  light  that  gleams 
^    When  noonday  sun  is  high, 
And  golden  are  the  parting  beams 

That  flush  the  western  sky; 
And  golden  the  phosphoric  rays 

Illumining  the  sea, 
And  golden  is  the  light  that  plays 

Around  thy  Jubilee. 

And  gold  is  hidden  in  the  mines 

Of  many  a  sought-for  land. 
And  grains  of  golden  lustre  shine 

In  Eastern  river  sand; 
And  crowns  of  gold  and  gems  combined 

Imperial  rulers  wear. 
But  the  gold  of  thy  great  heart  and  mind 

Is  far  more  rich  and  fair. 

I  love  thee,  Father,  well,  although 

I  ne'er  have  seen  thy  face: 
Its  look  I  scarcely  care  to  know, 

Or  on  my  mind  to  trace; — 
Not  for  thy  peerless  dignity, 

Thy  wisdom  or  thy  fame; 
But  I  behold  Our  Lord  in  thee, 

So  thou  my  love  dost  claim. 

Nothing  am  I,  but  millions  more 

Have  placed  their  hearts  on  thee, 
And  turned  in  vision  to  the  shore 

Of  beauteous  Italy, 
Where  thou  dost  dwell,  an  uncrowned  king, 

Thy  royal  banner  furled; 
Yet,  soaring  as  on  eagle's  wing, 

Thou  still  dost  rule  the  world. 

And  so  we  come,  with  heart  and  voice, 

Thy  Jubilee  to  greet; 
With  thee  exultingly  rejoice, 

In  spirit  kiss  thy  feet. 
O  if  on  earth  such  light  is  given, 

Thy  heart  and  soul  to  fill, 
What  wilt  thou  be  when  raised  to  heaven? 

Lumen  in  f«'/^— still! 


Kindness  has  converted  more  sinners 
than  either  zeal,  eloquence,  or  learning. — 
Faber. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


275 


A  Brave  Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Continued.) 

ONE  incident  of  his  relations  with  the 
Brothers  of  St.  John  of  God  is  too  char- 
acteristic both  of  them  and  Mgr.  de  S%ur 
to  be  omitted.  A  young  lad  named  Pierre 
Sazy  was  apprenticed  to  a  gilder.  He  lived 
with  a  Protestant  aunt,  who  did  all  in  her 
power  to  make  him  renounce  the  faith,  but 
in  vain;  and,  finding  threats  and  endear- 
ments alike  useless,  she  turned  him  out  of 
her  house  into  the  streets.  The  boy  was 
lodged  and  fed  by  his  employer  during  the 
week,  but  from  Saturday  to  Monday  he  was 
houseless.  For  six  successive  weeks  he  spent 
this  interval  wandering  about  the  streets, 
sitting  down  when  he  found  a  bench  or  a 
bit  of  wall,  sleeping  under  any  doorway 
that  stood  hospitably  open.  It  was  in  the 
depth  of  winter,  and  he  nearly  died  of  the 
cold.  A  Sister  of  Charity  met  him,  and  sent 
him  to  Mgr.  de  Segur.  He  was  received 
with  open  arms,  and  made  welcome  to  a 
home  every  Saturday. 

The  Sunday  was  henceforth  a  day  in 
Paradise  to  the  lonely  lad.  But  the  food 
and  warmth  came  too  late:  his  health  had 
been  fatally  undermined  by  the  nights  spent 
sleeping  under  the  stars.  Consumption  had 
set  in,  and  he  was  soon  in  a  dying  state. 
The  Bishop  sent  him  to  Brother  Francis, 
who  said  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  ex- 
cept take  him  in  and  minister  to  him  till 
the  end  came.  This  they  did  with  most 
loving  kindness.  Pierre  was  as  happy  as  a 
child ;  he  went  to  Communion  every  day, 
and,  after  edifying  the  community  by  his 
angelic  piety,  he  died  the  death  of  a  saint. 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  was  with  him  to  the  last, 
and  assisted  at  his  funeral,  and  placed  a 
white  cross  on  his  grave.  He  wanted  to  pay 
the  Brothers  for  the  expense  they  had  gone 
to  in  this  long  act  of  charity;  but  they  re- 
fused to  accept  the  smallest  remuneration, 
declaring  that  Pierre  had  paid  them  abun- 
dantly by  his  prayers  and  his  affection. 


Sanctity  and  love  of  his  fellow- creatures 
for  God's  sake  had  not  chilled  or  narrowed 
Mgr.de  Segur' s  natural  affections,  as  world- 
lings are  apt  to  accuse  holiness  of  doing. 
He  loved  his  family  with  a  rare  and  deep 
tenderness.   Next  to  his  mother,  his  sister 
Sabine  held  the  largest  place  in  his  large 
heart.  Sabine  was  a  saint-like  soul ;  she  en- 
tered the  Order  of  the  Visitation  some  years 
after  her  brother  had  entered  the  priest- 
hood, and,  after  ten  years  of  a  most  exem- 
plary life,  she  died  a  saintly  death.   He  was 
heart-broken  at  her  loss.   She  had  been  a 
sister  of  his  soul  as  well  as  a  dear  sister  in 
the  natural  order,  and  they  had  helped  each 
other  to  reach  nearer  to  God,  and  to  mount 
higher  and  higher  in  detachment  and  vir- 
tue.  For  a  time  his  grief  was  inconsolable. 
In  the  course  of  his  various  missions, 
Mgr.  de  Segur  had  come  upon  such  appall- 
ing evidences  of  the  power  and  dangers  of 
Freemasonry  that  he  was  induced  to  study 
the  question  with  a  view  to  combating  it. 
The  more  he  learned  about  it,  the  more 
his  horror  grew,  and  his  determination  to 
attack  it  and  wage  vigorous  war  against  it. 
He  wrote  a  book  exposing  its  principles 
and  mode  of  action,  and  pointing  to  the 
abyss  of  crime,  actual  and  potential,  that 
yawns  round  its  diabolical  practice.   The 
book  was  very  powerful  from  its  authen- 
ticity and  passionate  sincerity.   It  made  a 
sensation,  provoking  a  general  sentiment 
of  horror  against  the  Freemasons,  and  a 
corresponding  rage  of  anger  on  their  part. 
Anonymous  letters  full  of  threats  and  in- 
vectives poured  in  on  the  author.  He  paid 
no  attention  to  them ;  but  his  faithful  Me- 
thol  was  a  little  alarmed  by  these  stabs  in 
the  dark,  and  kept  a  nervous  look-out  for 
his  master's  safety. 

One  morning,  as  the  Bishop  was  going 
up  to  the  altar  to  say  Mass,  a  strange  man 
entered  the  chapel.  His  sinister  expression, 
the  dark-blue  glasses  that  concealed  his 
eyes — something  altogether  odd  about  his 
appearance,  excited  Methol's  suspicions, 
and  he  watched  him  closely  during  Mass. 
The  stranger  remained  on  after  it  was  fin- 
ished, apparently  waiting  to  go  into  the 


276 


The  Ave  Maria. 


sitting-room,  where  the  Bishop  heard  con- 
fessions. When  his  turn  came,  and  he  passed 
in,  Methol,  moved  by  some  presentiment, 
stepped  behind  the  curtain,  and  stood  with  a 
weapon  in  his  hand,  ready  to  spring  forward 
at  the  first  notice  of  danger.  The  man,  in- 
stead of  kneeling  down,  stood  before  Mgr. 
de  Segur,  and  demanded,  bluntly, "  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  be  a  Catholic  and  a  Freemason?" 

The  Bishop  stood  up  and  said:  "You  are 
a  Freemason!   What  brings  you  here?"  . 

"I  have  come  to  give  you  a  warning.  At 
a  recent  meeting  of  the  Lodges,  your  death 
was  decreed  in  punishment  for  what  you 
have  written  about  our  society." 

Mgr.  de  Segur  with  a  sudden  movement 
threw  out  his  arms,  and  drew  the  man  to 
him,  and  held  him  clasped  to  his  heart.  ' '  So 
this  is  your  Freemasonry ! "  he  cried ;  ' '  this 
is  what  you  call  a  benevolent  institution! 
When  it  is  charged, with  proofs  in  hand,  of 
revolutionary  designs,  it  answers  by  threats 
of  assassination!  Does  not  this  in  itself 
show  you  what  it  is?" 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  stranger,  disen- 
gaging himself  from  the  prelate's  embrace; 
"but  I  have  not  time  to  discuss  that;  I 
have  come  here  out  of  gratitude  for  a  ser- 
vice you  once  rendered  to  a  member  of  my 
family.  You  are  warned  that  sentence  of 
death  has  been  pronounced  against  you. 
Take  your  precautions.  But  tell  no  one 
about  what  I  have  done;  it  would  bring 
persecutions  on  me — perhaps  even  death." 

"My  poor  friend!"  said  the  Bishop; 
' '  why  do  you  not  break  off  from  this  ac- 
cursed sect?" 

"Because  I  can  not.  You  are  warned.  I 
know  not  when  the  decree  is  to  be  put  into 
execution,  but  it  will  be  before  the  opening 
of  the  council."  And  with  this  he  disap- 
peared. 

Mgr.  de  Segur  immediately  dictated  a 
letter  to  the  Pope  and  one  to  his  mother, 
and  gave  them  to  the  Abb^  Diringer,  with 
injunctions  to  deliver  them  after  his  death, 
should  this  strange  warning  be  carried  out. 
Then  he  went  on  with  his  daily  work,  as  if 
he  had  heard  nothing.  Methol  mounted 
guard  over  him  night  and  day,  but  the 


Bishop  took  no  precautions  whatever.  If 
the  threat  were  serious,  he  argued,  no  pre- 
cautions would  avail.  He  could  not  close 
his  door,  which  was  always  open  to  anybody 
who  chose  to  walk  in  and  ask  to  see  him 
alone;  he  was  stone-blind,  and  could  not 
attempt  to  protect  himself;  it  would  be  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  murder  him. 

His  household,  however,  could  not  take 
the  matter  so  coolly,  and  for  a  time  they 
were  in  a  perpetual  state  of  alarm,  trembling 
when  a  strange  face  appeared  at  the  door; 
but  after  a  while  they  grew  calm,  and  were 
satisfied  to  follow  Monseigneur's  example^ 
and  commit  the  care  of  his  life  to  God. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  not  till  the  year  closed, 
after  the  opening  of  the  council,  that  they 
breathed  in  security.  Nothing  ever  hap- 
pened to  alarm  them  or  the  Bishop.  The 
Freemasons,  probably,  feared  the  obloquy 
the  murder  would  bring  upon  the  society; 
or  for  some  other  reason  they  left  Jiim  un- 
molested. 

A  great  trial  and  a  great  grace  came  to 
Mgr.  de  S^gur  soon  after  this  strange  inci- 
dent. His  mother,  his  best  beloved  friend 
on  earth,  was  seized  one  morning  with  a  fit 
of  apoplexy,  and  found  on  the  floor  of  her 
room  seemingly  dead.  The  prelate  was  sent 
for  in  haste.  His  first  thought  was  for  her 
soul.  Consciousness  was  restored,  and  he  at 
once  confessed  and  absolved  her,  and  ad- 
ministered Extreme  Unction,  the  medical 
men  having  assured  him  that  death  was 
imminent.  He  then  with  the  utmost  ten- 
derness broke  the  news  to  her.  She  an- 
swered, quietly :  "I  knew  it.  I  felt  that  it 
was  death  that  had  seized  me.  May  God's 
holy  will  be  done!"  It  was  now  the  turn 
of  the  son  to  ask  a  miracle  for  the  mother. 
He  who  had  lent  himself  so  reluctantly  to 
seek  any  supernatural  agency  to  obtain  his 
own  cure,  was  ready  enough  to  appeal  to 
Mary  on  behalf  of  his  mother.  An  old 
friend,  hearing  that  Mme.  de  Segur  was  dy- 
ing, brought  in  some  Water  of  Lourdes, 
and  the  Bishop  at  once  seized  upon  it  with 
hope  and  faith.  He  tells  us,  in  a  touching 
biographical  sketch  entitled  "Ma  Mere,'* 
what  followed. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


277- 


"I  put  a  few  drops  on  the  compresses 
that  were  kept  applied  to  her  head  in  order 
to  combat  the  apoplexy,  and  which  so  far 
had  had  no  effect  whatever.  A  few  minutes 
later,  my  mother  fell  into  a  calm  sleep.  She 
awoke  at  five  o'clock  rather  better,  and 
again,  a  few  hours  later,  fell  asleep,  and  had 
a  good  night.  The  next  day  she  was  out  of 
danger.  She  had  maintained  in  the  face  of 
death  a  serenity  that  filled  us  with  admira- 
tion. Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  had  preserved 
our  good  mother  to  us,  and,  in  accordance 
with  a  vow  that  I  had  made  at  the  moment 
of  danger,  I  went  to  offer  up  my  thanks  at 
Lourdes." 

He  made  the  pilgrimage  of  thanksgiv- 
ing in  company  with  Father  Hermann,  a 
Jewish  artist,  who  had  been  miraculously 
converted.  Father  Hermann  was  an  enthu- 
siastic devotee  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  and 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  She  was  to  per- 
form the  miracle  of  opening  the  eyes  of  his 
blind  friend,  as  She  had  opened  the  eyes 
of  his  own  soul.  A  little  miracle  more  or 
less  to  Mary — what  did  it  matter?  So, while 
the  prelate  said  Mass  in  the  Basilica  above 
the  Grotto,  the  priest's  prayers  went  up  to 
the  Immaculate  One  for  a  cure.  But  She 
heard  the  cry  without  answering  it.  Poor 
Father  Hermann  was  terribly  disappointed; 
he  did  not,  however,  blame  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes:  he  blamed  Mgr.  de  Segur;  it  was 
all  his  fault — it  was  his  indifference  that 
hindered  the  miracle;  he  would  not  ask  for 
it,  but  kept  on  obstinately  repeating  his 
Fiat  voluntas  tua!  Probably  Father  Her- 
mann was  right.  It  is  certain  that  Mgr.  de 
S^gur  owed  no  grudge  to  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes  for  not  granting  his  cure.  He  re- 
mained ever  after  Her  devoted  worshipper, 
and  never  tired  of  proclaiming  the  wonders 
She  wrought  at  the  miraculous  fountain. 
The  Franco-German  war  of  1870  brought 
out  the  prelate's  patriotism,  and  proved  to 
France,  if  she  had  needed  the  proof,  that 
she  has  no  more  loyal  and  self-sacrificing 
citizen  than  a  good  priest.  His  first  care 
was,  naturally,  for  the  souls  of  his  country- 
men who  were  going  out  to  the  battle- 
field. The  opportunities  of  spiritual  succor 


provided  for  the  army  were  few,  and  the 
total  absence  of  any  organized  relief  for  the 
sick  and  wounded  was  known  to  all  those 
who  took  the  trouble  of  inquiring  about  it, 
and  did  not  rest  content  with  the  bragga- 
docio which  blinded  the  nation  and  led  to 
so  much  disaster.  Mgr.  de  S^gur  formed 
a  committee  to  collect  funds  for  setting  up^ 
ambulances,  and  appealed  to  the  priests 
to  volunteer  for  the  service  as  chaplains. 
Money  and  chaplains  poured  in  quickly;  a 
noble  service  was  improvised,  and  God  alone 
can  measure  the  blessed  work  that  it  did 
for  ^ouls  and  bodies.  Father  Ambrose,  a. 
Capuchin  monk,  who  was  attached  to  one- 
ambulance,  certified  to  having  heard  one 
thousand  confessions,  administered  three 
hundred  soldiers,  and  visited  some  three 
thousand  wounded  men.  This  solitary  ex- 
perience gives  a  vague  idea  of  the  amount 
of  good  that  must  have  been  achieved  by 
the  whole  body  of  chaplains  that  the  army 
owed  to  Mgr.  de  S^gur's  zeal. 

As  soon  as  the  war  was  over,  a  great  trial 
overtook  him — the  greatest  sorrow  of  his- 
life.  His  mother  was  dying.  She  had  been 
suffering  for  many  years  from  disease  of  the 
heart,  and  was  subject  to  violent  crises  of 
suffocation,  that  seemed  to  put  life  each 
time  in  immediate  danger.  One  morning- 
the  Bishop  was  sent  for  to  come  and  assist 
her.  The  crisis  this  time  was  to  end  fatally. 
He  stood  by  her  side,  ministering  to  her 
with  the  tenderest  love,  and  doing  all  that 
was  possible  to  comfort  her  and  alleviate 
her  sufferings.  Those  who  were  present  at 
the  scene— the  noble,  austere-looking  priest 
standing  by  the  couch  of  the  dying  mother, 
his  face  illumined  with  the  smile  of  faith, 
while  the  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes — 
were  reminded  of  St.  Augustin  at  the  death- 
bed of  St.  Monica. 

The  venerable  mother  peacefully  expired 
in  her  son's  arms  at  daybreak.  When  he 
had  closed  her  eyes,  he  went  home,  and 
vested  and  said  Mass  for  the  departed  soul. 
He  was  filled  with  spiritual  joy  in  the  cer- 
tainty of  her  salvation,  in  thanksgiving  for 
her  holy  death;  but  his  soul  was  pierced 
with  sorrow,  and  his  heart  was  broken  ;^he 


278 


The  Ave  Maria. 


shed  such  abundant  tears  while  celebrating 
that  his  vestments  were  wet  through,  as  if 
they  had  been  steeped  in  water.  No  man, 
perhaps,  ever  united  more  completely  the 
perfect  son  with  the  perfect  priest  than 
-Gaston  de  Segur  had  done. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


IVIurillo  and  his  Pupils.— The  School  of 
Andalusia. 


BY  OCTAVIA  HENSEL. 


^"T^HERE  is  no  such  thing  as  crushing 
i  out  genius,"  might  well  become  an 
-axiom ;  for  so  often  have  children  born  of 
poor  parents,  reared  in  poverty,  neglected 
and  ignorant  in  youth,  surpassed  in  char- 
acter and  life-work  those  more  favored  by 
fortune  and  other  earthly  blessings. 

The  boy  Bartolome  Esteban  Murillo,* 
"baptized  in  the  Cathedral  of  Seville  twenty 
years  after  the  baptismal  cross  had  been 
signed  from  that  same  font  on  the  brow  of 
the  wealthier  child  Velasquez,  may  well  be 
numbered  among  those  who  have  risen  to 
fame  in  spite  of  poverty  and  adverse  sur- 
roundings. His  only  friend  was  a  distant 
Telative — the  painter  Juan  del  Castillo,  t — 
an  artist  little  known  by  his  own  works,  but 
possessing  power  to  guide  others  to  the  fame 
Jie  could  never  attain  for  himself.  Death, 
however,  deprived  the  boy  of  this  friend,  and 
then  he  went  to  Cadiz,  where  alone,  in  pov- 
erty and  obscurity,  he  supported  himself  by 
painting  hastily-executed  pictures  for  the 
weekly  fair,  or  for  exportation  to  America. 
At  the  age  of  twenty- four  he  returned  to 
Seville,  where  Pedro  de  Moya  was  sojourn- 
ing on  his  way  to  Granada  from  London, 
whence  he  had  brought  several  copies  of 
Vandyke,  with  whom  he  had  studied.  See- 
ing these,  we  are  told,  "Murillo  was  in  ec- 
stasies," and  with  a  few  reals  gained  by 

*  Elvira  Murillo,  his  grandmother's  name,  was 
^iven  him. 

t  His  parents  had  intended  him  for  Holy  Orders, 
but,  discovering  his  talent  for  painting,  placed 
him  under  Castillo. 


hard  labor  he  started  on  foot  for  Madrid. 
Velasquez  was  then  in  the  zenith  of  his 
glory.  Generously  and  kindly  he  received 
the  young  man,  procured  him  useful  work 
in  the  palaces  and  at  the  Escurial,  while 
admitting  him  to  his  own  studio,  and  aiding 
him  by  advice  and  lessons. 

After  two  years  of  patient  study  at  Ma- 
drid, Murillo  returned  to  Seville,  where  his 
first  work  was  for  the  Convent  of  S.  Fran- 
cisco. Twenty  years  later,  in  1660,  he  estab- 
lished the  Academy  of  Seville,  but  retired 
from  its  presidency  the  following  year,  and 
devoted  himself  to  painting  religious  pict- 
ures for  the  churches  and  convents  of  his 
native  city.  In  April,  1682,  while  painting 
an  altar-piece  for  the  Church  of  St.  Cath- 
arine at  Cadiz,  he  fell  from  a  scaffolding, 
and  received  internal  injuries  which  caused 
his  death.  His  best  paintings  still  remain 
in  Seville,  although  many  of  them,  by  the 
fortunes  of  war,  or  as  royal  gifts  to  kings 
and  princes,  have  been  carried  away  to 
other  countries  of  Europe. 

The  picture  that  Murillo  preferred  to  all 
his  works — one  representing  St.  Thomas  of 
Villaneuva  distributing  alms — is  now  in 
the  provincial  museum  of  Seville,  where  it 
is  placed  near  the  most  exquisite  and  best 
known  of  all  his  pictures,  to  Catholics  at 
least — the  Perla  de  las  Concepcioiies.  * 

It  has  been  said  that  Murillo  had  three  dis- 
tinct styles  of  painting:  the  cold,  the  warm, 
and  the  aerial, — ^''frio^caldo^yvaporoso.^'* 
Of  the  first  style,  the  picture  of  the  Holy 
Family  with  the  little  dog,  the  Martyrdom 
of  St.  Andj-ew^  and  the  smallest  of  the  An- 
nunciations., are  the  most  beautiful,  t 

The  warm  style,  which  Murillo  himself 
preferred,  contains  many  exquisite  legends 
of  the  saints,  an  Immaailata,  and  a  Nativ- 
ity^ which  remind  one  of  the  grouping  in 
Correggio's  Notte.  These  last  are  in  the 
Hermitage  of  St.  Petersburg.  The  Munich 


*  Called  the  Pearl  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion ;  but  it  is  not  more  beautiful  than  his  hnmac- 
ulata,  now  at  the  Louvre  in  Paris,  which  is  often 
called  La  Perla. 

t  His  beggar-bo3-s,  peasants,  and  modern-life 
subjects  belong  to  the  cold  {/no)  style. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


279 


gallery  has  several  of  his  best  Beggar- 
Boys^  and  a  painting  of  St.  Francis  de  Paula 
healing  a  paralytic  at  the  door  of  a  church. 

The  Louvre  contains  the  celebrated  Beg- 
gar-Boy with  the  Pitcher^  and  one  of  the 
loveliest  pictures  of  the  third  style  (angelic, 
aerial )  —  the  Immaculate  Conception^  —  a 
picture  which  seetns  an  ecstasy  of  prayer. 
Wordscan  not  describe  it;  one  can  but  kneel 
in  spirit  before  the  Mother  Immaculate. 
Indeed,  all  his  pictures  awaken  tender  emo- 
tions and  religious  sympathies.  Murillo  ex- 
celled in  the  management  of  draperies,  light, 
clouds,  flowers,  and  transparent  waters. 

Murillo  was  buried  in  the  Church  of 
Santa  Crux,  beneath  a  picture — the  Descent 
from  the  Cross — before  which  he  had  prayed 
daily.  His  influence  upon  the  Andalusian 
school  kept  it  most  truly  devoted  to  relig- 
ious art;  but  the  followers  of  his  immediate 
pupils, possessing  but  little  personal  genius, 
dwarfed  their  talent  by  imitating,  and  ended 
by  meiely  copying  the  great  master. 

Ignacio  Iriarte  (1620-1685),*  the  cele- 
brated painter,  was  indebted  to  Murillo  for 
the  best  of  the  figures  represented  in  his 
pictures.  This  kindly  fellowship,  so  ben- 
eficial to  both,  was  at  last  broken  up  by  a 
foolish  quarrel  as  to  who  should  paint  first 
and  who  last  on  the  Life  of  David^  ordered 
by  the  Marquis  of  Villamanrique.  Murillo 
changed  the  subject  to  the  Life  of  Jacob, 
and  painted  the  entire  work  himself 

Francisco  de  Herrera  (1622-1685),  called 
el  Moso  to  distinguish  him  from  el  Viejo^ 
who  had  run  away  from  his  home  on  ac- 
count of  his  father's  violent  temper,*  went 
to  Rome,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the 
painting  of  historic  pictures.  Flowers  and 
still-life  subjects  were  his  specialties,  and 
the  painting  of  fish  gave  him  the  name  of 
lo  Spagnuolo  degli  Pesci\  by  the  Italians. 

The  most  faithful  yet  comparatively  self- 


*  Iriarte  has  been  called  the  Spanish  Claude 
Lorraine,  but  his  subjects  are  more  like  Salvator 
Rosa — wilderness,  glens,  and  mountain  streams. 

*  He  is  said  to  have  been  extremely  jealous  of 
other  artists,  and  his  temper  was  quite  as  violent 
as  his  father's. 

t  ' '  The  Spaniard  of  the  Fish. " ' 


taught  Sebastian  Gomez,  oftener  called  the 
Mulatto  of  Murillo,  was  one  of  the  master's 
best  copyists.  After  years  of  study,  he  com- 
pleted a  sketch  of  the  head  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  begun  by  Murillo.  So  pleased  was 
the  artist  with  this  attempt,  that  he  encour- 
aged hiin  to  adopt  the  profession  of  painter. 
His  pictures,  defective  in  drawing  and  com- 
position, are,  nevertheless,  most  successful 
imitations  of  Murillo  in  their  coloring. 

Juan  de  Valdes  Leal  (i 630-1 691),  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  school  of  Seville, — 
sculptor,  painter,  and  architect, — studied 
under  Antonio  del  Castillo,  and,  after  the 
death  of  Murillo,  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
Andalusian  school.  His  works  are  chiefly 
historical  subjects,  and  altar-pieces  in  the 
churches  of  Seville  and  Cordova. 

Pedro  Nunez  de  Villa  Vincencio,  a  young 
nobleman  who  studied  under  Murillo,  and 
in  whose  arms  the  master  died,  took  up  the 
study  of  art,  as  Beltraffio  did  under  Da 
Vinci,  for  amusement.  He  painted  children 
of  the  poorer  class,  beggars,  and  street 
children,  almost  as  well  as  Murillo  himself. 

Palomio  y  Velasco,  although  his  paint- 
ings are  found  in  the  Alcazar,  the  Escurial, 
and  at  Salamanca  and  Granada,  is  far  more 
famous  as  a  historian  of  the  artists  of  Spain 
than  a  painter.  He  has  been  called  the 
Spanish  Vasari,  but,  in  spite  of  his  pleasing 
style,  he  is  not  trustworthy. 

Alonzo  Miguel  de  Tobar  (1678-1758)  and 
Francisco  Meneses  Osorio,  worthy  of  little 
praise  as  artists,  succeeded  so  admirably  in 
copying  Murillo's  works  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  tell  them  from  the  original. 
Osorio,  who  lived  about  the  year  1700,  par- 
tially completed  the  picture  of  St.  Catharine 
which  Murillo  left  unfinished;  and  Tobar 
made  a  copy  of  Murillo's  Holy  Family  for 
the  Church  of  S.  Maria  la  Blanca  of  Seville, 
which  was  at  one  time  declared  an  original. 
The  finest  work  of  his  own  is  an  enthroned 
Madonna  in  the  Cathedral  of  Seville. 

With  Tobar  and  Osorio  the  school  of 
Andalusia  declined,  as  all  art  must  decline 
when  originality  and  spontaneity  fail.  Imi- 
tation does  not  require  genius;  and  when 
genius  dies,  the  soul  of  art  is  dead. 


28o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  "Angelus"  at  Montmartre. 


BY  A  SPANISH   PILGRIM. 


FOR  some  centuries  past  devotion  to  the 
Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  had  been  prac- 
tised in  the  parish  of  St.  Pierre  de  Mont- 
martre, and  this  first  seed  of  devotion  has 
produced  fruits  of  the  greatest  importance. 

How  could  one  have  foreseen  the  designs 
of  Providence,  which  were  to  convert  the 
Mountain  of  the  Martvrs  into  an  immense 
dispensatory  of  the  infinite  mercies  of  the 
Sacred  Heart?  The  foundation  of  the  Soci- 
ety of  Jesus  at  that  spot  was  a  sweet  presage 
of  such  a  blessing;  but  neither  the  loving 
Margaret  Mary  Alacoque  nor  Hoyos,  that 
devoted  son  of  the  great  Lo)  ola,  could  have 
imagined  or  desired  a  more  sumptuous  and 
grand  offering  to  present  to  the  magnet  of 
their  love,  than  that  realized  in  the  erection 
of  the  magnificent  basilica  dedicated  to  the 
Sacred  Heart,  which  France  is  raising  as  a 
majestic  crown  on  the  summit  of  those 
hills  from  which  shall  flow  over  Paris,  lying 
at  their  feet,  rich  and  abounding  rivers  of 
grace. 

By  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  standing 
on  the  bold  scaffolding  erected  to  finish  the 
cupola,  which  is  to  surmount  the  four  lesser 
ones  at  the  four  corners  of  the  edifice,  bright 
visions  pass  before  the  mind  as  we  look 
down  upon  the  city,  now  for  the  most  part 
devoted  to  material  progress.  Instead  of  the 
devastating  fire  belched  forth  upon  the  me- 
tropolis by  seven  hundred  cannon  mouths, 
directed  against  her  by  the  Communists — 
a  just  retribution  for  her  fickleness  and  all 
her  abominations, — we  see  reflected  from 
the  painted  windows  a  thousand  life-breath- 
ing colors,  which  proclaim  the  mercies  of 
Christ,  and  announce,  like  the  dawn,  the 
plenitude  of  the  mystic  rays  which  the  in- 
comparable cupola,  formed  of  crystal  and 
the  finest  gold,  is  to  emit. 

At  the  height  to  which  we  were  led  by 
the  amiable  and  well-known  Catalonian 
priest  resident  here,  it  is  beautiful,  charm- 
ing, to  listen  to  the  brazen  tongues  of  Notre 


Dame,  St.  Sulpice,  la  Madeleine,  and  a  hun- 
dred other  fanes,  inviting  the  phalanx  of 
fervent  Catholics  to  call  upon  Her  who  is 
' '  terrible  as  an  army  set  in  array, ' '  and  to 
remind  the  followers  of  Dives  that  man 
"liveth  not  by  bread  alone." 

Beautiful,  enchanting  is  the  panorama;, 
sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  crowd  upon  the 
mind;  we  never  can  forget  the  impression 
made  upon  us  as  we  recited  the  Angelus 
kneeling  amidst  the  immense  frame- work, 
with  its  array  of  ingenious  machinery  for 
the  adjusting  of  those  enormous  blocks  of 
stone  destined  to  form  the  arch  of  the 
temple. 

We  had  gone  over  all  the  divisions  of  the 
grand  sanctuary,  had  read  the  inscriptions 
of  the  thousands  of  little  marble  slabs  on  its 
walls,  commemorative  of  the  piety  and  grat- 
itude of  those  whose  names  they  bore;  had 
seen  the  precious  columns,  the  gifts  of  in- 
dividuals and  of  corporations;  had  admired 
the  [architectural  mysteries  of  the  apsides 
of  the  immense  crypt,  which  we  had  seen 
on  the  morning  of  the  Feast  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  in  company  with  three  thousand 
persons,  who  repealed:  "O  Sacred  Heart, 
Thou  shalt  reign!  '  Our  love  of  country- 
had  been  gratified  on  seeing  that  altars  were 
raised  to  St.  Teresa,  St.  Dominic,  St.  Igna- 
tius Loyola,  St.  Isidore,  and  St.  John  of  the 
Cross;  our  enthusiasm  for  the  fine  arts  had 
been  satisfied  on  seeing  that  Catholic  poets, 
musicians,  painters,  sculptors,  and  orators 
had  given  their  testimonies  of  adhesion  to 
Christ  Our  Lord,  to  be  perpetuated  in  col- 
umns of  granite;  and  the  dew  of  the  heart 
had  flowed  from  our  eyes  on  viewing  the 
beautiful  image  of  the  Redeemer,  repre- 
sented ia  the  act  of  taking  all  mankind  to 
His  bosom. 

We  had  seen,  felt,  and  admired  all  these 
things;  and,  to  be  more  thoroughly  im- 
pressed by  the  material  magnitude  of  this 
grand  edifice,  we  had  measured  the  thick- 
ness of  its  walls  (two  metres),  the  size  of  one 
of  its  side  chapels  (one  hundred  metres  by 
fifty);  we  knew  that  the  foundations  were 
thirty-six  metres  in  depth,  and  we  had  been 
informed  as  to  the  incalculable  sums  spent 


The  Ave  Maria. 


281 


in  the  construction:  since, without  counting 
the  polishing  and  placing  of  the  stones,  the 
sand  cost  fifteen  francs  a  cart-load,  the  gravel 
twenty,  and  the  stone  thirty  francs.  Of  all 
this  and  still  more — all  calculated  to  in- 
crease our  enthusiasm — we  had  received  an 
account,  and  yet  we  were  far  from  having 
experienced  anything  like  the  emotion 
which  was  to  be  excited  in  the  celebrated 
Chapel  of  the  Agonizing. 

The  aged  Oblate  Father  who  acted  as  our 
guide  had  gone  on  relating  to  us,  in  that 
select  language  and  with  that  clearness  of 
thought  so  peculiarly  his  own,  the  marvel- 
lous events  that  had  occurred  beneath  those 
shapely  arcades;  but  when  he  reached  this 
spot,  consecrated  to  the  most  austere  sor- 
row, he  leaned  back  against  one  of  its  eight 
mighty  columns,  his  eyes  shone  with  un- 
usual brilliancy,  and  a  tear  rolled  furtively 
down  his  venerable  face.  In  a  broken  voice 
he  informed  us  that  here  had  been  per- 
formed a  stupendous  miracle,  which  was 
well  calculated  to  form  the  climax  of  so 
many  impressions,  and  which  I  will  attempt 
to  relate  in  his  own  words : 

'  *  I  had  accompanied  a  well-known  writer 
of  Paris  through  the  basilica,  and  had  called 
his  attention  to  all  those  marvels  on  which 
you  have  looked;  and  on  reaching  this 
chapel,  the  bell  of  St.  Pierre  rang  out  the 
Angelus.  Although  I  knew  that  my  com- 
panion was  a  thorough  infidel,  I  said  to  him : 
*  You  will  not  object,  I  hope,  if,  according 
to  my  custom,  I  stop  to  recite  the  Angelus  ? ' 
And,  taking  off  my  cap,  I  knelt  down  before 
this  image  of  our  Crucified  Lord. 

' '  When  I  arose  I  saw  my  companion  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  and  leaning 
against  this  pillar.  I  was  struck  with  aston- 
ishment, but  did  not  venture  to  disturb  him 
for  a  few  moments,  thinking  that  perhaps 
some  sad  memory  had  come  upon  him  on 
remembering  that  the  chapel  was  called 
'The  Agonizing.'  However,  as  he  still  con- 
tinued in  that  attitude,  I  approached  him 
after  a  while,  and  noticed  that  he  was  weep- 
ing. Touching  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder, 
I  said : '  Come  along,  and  leave  sad  thoughts 
behind  you.'   To  my  surprise  he  turned 


and  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  weeping 
bitterly  as  he  exclaimed:  'No,  Father, — 
no:  it  is  not  sad  and  gloomy  thoughts  that 
oppress  me :  it  is  remorse.  It  is  thirty  years 
since  I  have  said  the  Angelus — that  prayer 
which  my  mother  taught  me  to  address  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  I  have  lost  the  faith,  and 
know  not  how  to  return  to  it. '  '  Courage, 
courage,  my  friend,'  I  answered,  taking  him 
gently  by  the  hand.  '  Let  us  repeat  the  An- 
gelus together,  and  the  Blessed  Mother  will 
do  the  rest.' 

"We  recited  the  Angelus^  and  the  un- 
believer did  not  rise  from  his  knees  until 
he  had  made  a  general  confession,  during 
which  two  pairs  of  eyes  shed  an  abundance 
of  tears — tears  of  joy  they  were,  at  least  on 
one  side.  ' 

With  what  confidence  may  not  oae  pray 

on  this  spot  for  the  preservation  of  the  faith 

of  his  country,  for  the  conversion  of  sinners, 

for  graces  for  his  family,  his  friends,  and 

himself ! 

«  ♦  » 

Catholic  Notes. 


Preliminarj"^  negotiations  have  been  entered 
into  at  Rome  with  a  view  to  introduce  the 
cause  of  the  beatification  of  Mother  St.  Ku- 
phrasie  Pelletier,  the  foundress  of  the  Sisters 
of  the  Good  Shepherd.  This  saintly  religious 
died  April  24,  1868,  at  Angers  (France),  where 
she  had  established  her  community  in  1832. 
During  her  administration  more  than  one  hun- 
dred new  houses  of  the  order  were  established, 
twenty-five  of  which  belong  to  the  United 
States.  The  wonderful  and  rapid  extension  of 
this  community  betokened  the  immense  influ- 
ence for  good  which  Mother  Pelletier  exer- 
cised in  the  Church,  and  the  continuance  of 
the  grand  work  to  which  the  community  de- 
votes itself  shows  that  her  noble  spirit  still 
pervades  the  minds  and  hearts  of  her  spiritual 
children.  It  is  fitting,  indeed,  that  a  soul  which 
was  privileged  to  shine  as  a  light  to  lead  so 
many  hearts  to  the  Throne  of  Mercy  should 
be  known  and  venerated  by  all  members  of 
the  Church  upon  earth,  and  all  will  hope  for 
the  successful  issue  of  the  cause  now  begun. 


There  is  a  movement  on  foot  to  present  to 
the  Holy  Father,  on  the  auspicious  occasion 


28, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  his  coming  Jubilee,  a  petition  requesting 
him  to  extend  to  the  Catholic  clergy  of  all 
nations  the  privilege — at  present  enjoyed 
only  in  Portugal,  we  believe, — of  saying  three 
Masses  for  the  repose  of  the  souls  of  the  faith- 
ful departed  every  year  on  All-Souls'  Day. 
Petitions  to  this  effect  have  been,  and  are  now 
being,  circulated,  signed  already  by  nearly  a 
thousand  bishops  and  other  ecclesiastical  dig- 
nitaries. The  Catholic  Review  suggests  very 
appropriately  that  the  laity  as  well  as  the 
clergy  should  be  enlisted  in  this  good  work, 
and  that  all  should  unite  their  prayers  and 
suffrages  for  the  success  of  so  important  a 
measure.  We  hope  to  see  an  expression  of  feel- 
ing to  this  effect  on  the  part  of  the  laity;  and 
we  are  sure  it  will  be  a  universal  one,  once 
they  reflect  on  the  inestimable  benefits  to  be 
.  derived  from  such  a  custom  for  the  souls  both 
of  the  living  and  dead. 


It  is  our  painful  duty  to  record  the  death, 
after  a  long  illness,  of  the  Very  Rev.  Father 
Jacker,  who  for  upwards  of  thirty  years  has 
zealously  served  the  Indian  missions  of  Lake 
Superior.  He  was  also  for  many  years  Vicar- 
General  of  the  Diocese  of  Mai  quette.  Father 
Jacker  was  born  at  EUwangen  in  the  Kingdom 
of  Wiirtemberg.  His  studies  were  made  at 
Tiibingen  and  at  the  University  of  Munich. 
He  came  to  the  United  States  in  1852,  and  was 
ordained  not  long  after  by  the  saintly  Bishop 
Baraga.  Many  churches  in  different  parts  of 
Michigan  attest  his  great  energy;  every  place 
he  visited  he  left  a  memory  of  zeal  and  self- 
sacrifice.  During  his  stay  at  Mackinaw  he 
discovered  the  grave  of  the  eminent  Jesuit  mis- 
sionary, Marquette.  A  man  of  great  learning 
and  of  studious  habits.  Father  Jacker  found 
time  to  write  a  number  of  valuable  essays  on 
historical  and  archeo logical  subjects.  No  one 
knew  more  than  he  of  the  early  history  of  the 
Indians  of  Northern  Michigan.  He  was  re- 
spected everywhere,  and  beloved  by  all  who 
knew  him  intimately.  The  career  of  Father 
Jacker  will  long  be  remembered  as  that  of  a 
saintly  missionary,  and  his  name  will  be  as- 
sociated with  those  of  the  illustrious  Baraga 
and  Marquette. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  trustees  of  the  new 
American  Catholic  University  held  at  Balti- 
more on  the  7th  inst.,  under  the  presidency  of 
his  Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons,  the  city  of 

\ 


Washington  was  definitely  selected  as  the  site 
of  the  proposed  institution.  So  far  there  is 
about  $700,000  subscribed,  including  the  sum 
of  $300,000  given  by  the  Misses  Caldwell. 
The  estimated  cost  of  the  University  will  be 
$8,000,000.  The  architect  presented  his  plans, 
which  were  examined  and  adopted,  and 
ground  will  be  broken  next  month.  The  theo- 
logical department  will  be  the  first  to  be 
opened,  and,  it  is  said,  will  be  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Sulpician  Fathers. 


Mgr.  Livinhac,  Vicar-  \postolic  of  Lake 
Nyanza,  Central  Africa,  writing  of  the  con- 
stancy with  which  native  Christians  meet 
martyrdom,  says: 

"The  practice  of  our  holy  religrion  is  now  for- 
bidden under  pain  of  death,  and  it  is  impossible 
for  our  neophytes  to  visit  us,  except  by  stealth  at 
night.  Nevertheless,  during  the  month  I  sta3-ed  at 
St.  Mary  of  Rubaga  many  of  them  exposed  their 
lives  by  coming  to  see  me.  Often  I  had  to  rise  four 
or  five  times  a  night  to  receive  my  dear  visitors. 
I  can  not  say  how  I  have  been  touched  by  the 
marvellous  effects  grace  has  produced  in  the 
Christians  of  a  day.  They  behold  the  cruel  death 
that  awaits  them  with  a  calm  courage  that  only 
faith  can  give." 

Although  Catholic  emancipation  in  Den- 
mark dates  only  from  1848,  there  are  now  4,000 
Catholics  in  the  country, served  by  some  thirty 
priests.  The  Jesuit  Fathers  have  a  college  at 
Copenhagen,  and  there  are  numerous  schools 
in  charge  of  religious. 


Brother  Cyrillus,  instructor  in  the  Royal 
Institute  for  Deaf  Mutes,  Brussels,  has  been 
created  a  Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  Leopold. 
The  good  Brother,  who  is  esteemed  as  one  of 
the  foremost  living  authorities  in  the  wonder- 
ful art  of  teaching  the  dumb  to  speak,  is  also 
a  linguist  of  extensive  acquirements,  and  is 
frequently  called  on  to  act  as  interpreter  in 
the  law-courts. — Le  Coideulx  Leader. 


The  Congregation  of  the  Passion  mourns 
the  demise  of  the  Rev.  Father  Albinus  Magno, 
one  of  the  pioneers  of  his  community  in  the 
United  States.  Father  Albinus  was  born  in 
Naples,  and  became  a  Passionist  while  still  a 
very  young  man.  After  his  ordination  he  was 
engaged  for  several  years  in  mission  work  in 
his  native  land.  In  1853  ^^  came  to  this  coun- 
try with  the  late  Bishop  O'Connor,  of  Pitts- 


The  Ave  ^fana. 


285 


burg.  He  was  a  most  efficient  and  zealous 
missionary,  and  when  too  old  to  travel  was 
always  ready  to  minister  to  those  who  came 
to  him.  His  spirit  of  faith  was  remarkable, 
and  many  cures  are  said  to  have  been  effected 
by  his  prayers.  He  will  not  soon  be  forgotten 
by  the  thousands  in  different  parts  of  the  coun- 
try whom  he  instructed  unto  justice  by  word 
and  example.  Full  of  years  and  merits,  he 
has  gone  to  his  reward  exceeding  great.  May 
he  rest  in  peace! 

The  Benedictine  Order  in  the  United  States 
has  just  suffered  a  very  heavy  loss  by  the 
destruction,  by  fire,  of  St.  Meinrad's  Abbey, 
Spencer  Co. ,  Ind.  This  institution  was  one  of 
the  most  flourishing  religious  communities  in 
the  West.  It  was  founded  in  1857  by  three 
Fathers  from  Einsiedeln,  Switzerland  The 
present  Bishop  of  Dakota,  the  Right  Rev.  Dr. 
Marty,  was  the  first  abbot.  The  abbey,  which 
is  presided  over  by  the  Right  Rev.  Fintan 
Mundwiler,  contained  a  large  library,  a  col- 
lection of  rare  coins,  and  a  valuable  museum. 
The  college  had  just  been  repaired  and  reno- 
vated for  the  opening  of  the  new  session.  The 
total  loss  is  estimated  at  $1,000,000.  Fortu- 
nately, some  buildings,  commodious  enough 
to  accommodate  the  students  until  the  abbey 
is  rebuilt,  escaped  destruction. 


The  highest  church  in  Europe,  according 
to  the  Bundner  Tagblatt,  is  the  pilgrimage 
Chapel  of  S.  Maria  de  Ziteit,  above  Salux,  in 
the  canton  of  Graubiinden.  It  lies  2,434  metres 
above  the  sea  level — nearly  8,000  feet  high, 
near  the  limits  of  perpetual  snow.  It  is  open 
only  from  St.  John  the  Baptist's  Day  to  the 
Feast  of  St,  Michael. — London  Tablet. 


The  unexpected  death  of  the  Rev.  Father 
Stack,  S.  J.,  recently  appointed  President  of 
Boston  College  and  rector  of  the  Church  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception,  produced  a  profound 
impression,  not  only  among  his  brethren  but 
in  the  large  congregation  and  community 
with  which  he  was  connected.  Father  Stack 
was  no  common  man.  Although  his  talents 
were  of  a  high  order,  he  was  simple  and  un- 
pretending as  a  child.  He  w^s  a  priest  of  great 
holiness  of  life,  had  a  warm  and  sympathetic 
heart,  and  endeared  himself,  by  his  disinter- 
ested kindness  and  urbanity,  to  all  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact.  The  estimation  in  which 


he  was  held  was  manifested  by  the  presence 
of  a  crowded  congregation  in  the  large  Jesuit 
church  on  the  occasion  of  his  funeral.  His 
loss  will  be  deeply  felt,  and  his  memory  will 
long  be  cherished  by  a  grateful  and  loving^ 
people.  R.I. P. 

From  an  interesting  article  on  Chili, by  W.  E. 
Curtis,  in  the  current  number  of  Harper' s^ 
Magazine,  the  Pilot  quotes  the  following  note- 
worthy paragraph.  The  article  is  illustrated 
with  a  portrait  of  General  Patrick  Lynch,  and 
a  view  of  the  equestrian  statue,  in  Santiago,  of 
Bernard  O'Higgins,  the  liberator  of  Chili: 

"  Many  of  the  leading  men  of  Chili  are,  and 
have  been,  of  Irish  descent.  Bernard  O'Higgins 
was  the  liberator — the  George  Washington — of 
the  Republic,  and  Patrick  Lynch  was  the  fore- 
most soldier  of  the  late  war.  The  O'Learys  and 
McGarrys  and  other  Chiliano-Irish  families  are 
prominent  in  politics  and  war  and  trade  There  is 
a  sympathetic  bond  between  the  shamrock  and 
the  condor,  and  nowhere  in  South  America  does 
the  Irish  emigrant  so  prosperously  thrive." 


Obituary. 


"  It  IS  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  %  Mach.,  xii.,  40. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Gannon,  of  Vicksburg, 
Miss.,  who  died,  the  latter  on  the  20th  ult.,the 
former  some  weeks  previous.  Both  had  the  happi- 
ness of  receiving  the  last  Sacraments,  and  passed 
away  in  peace. 

Mr.  Henry  P.  Machen,  an  old  and  warm  friend 
of  The  "Ave  Maria"  in  Toledo,  whose  fervent 
Christian  life  was  crowned  with  a  precious  death 
on  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady's  Nativity. 

Mrs.  Ann  Garret,  a  devout  child  of  Mary,  who 
departed  this  life  last  month  at  Georgetown,  D.  C. 
She  bore  a  long  and  painful  illness  with  saintlike 
patience  and  resignation  to  the  divine  will. 

Mr.  A.  B.  Mukautz,  of  Manistee,  Mich.,  whose 
holy  death  occurred  last  month.  He  was  formerly 
of  Kankakee,  111.,  where  his  faithful  practice 
of  religion  in  face  of  most  disheartening  obstacles 
is  remembered  with  great  edification  by  all  Cath- 
olics. 

Mr.  John  H.Campbell,  of  Boston;  Mrs.J.  J.Tobin, 
San  Francisco;  Patrick  A.  Grace,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. ; 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Coffey,  Baltimore  Co.,  Md  ;  Mrs. 
Mary  Turney  and  John  Turney,  Jackson,  Mich. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  ia 
peace ! 


:284 


Tyie  Ave  Maria. 


¥^RTMENT 


Missionary  Life  in  Madura. 


[The  following  summary  of  a  familiar 
•discourse  delivered  by  a 'Jesuit  missionary 
to  the  pupils  of  the  Sacre  Coeur  at  Jette  St. 
Pierre,  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Brussels,  will 
be  sure  to  interest  our  young  readers.] 

My  white  soutane  and  red  beretta  may 
suggest  thoughts  of  the  carnival  season; 
but  this  costume  suits  admirably  in  Madura, 
where  the  climate  is  so  hot  that  a  black 
garment  is  insupportable.  The  long  veil 
which  covers  my  head  is  the  distinctive 
mark  in  that  region  of  the  priest,  or  sami; 
it  may  be  also  worn  as  a  scarf  or  as  a  ban- 
doleer. Madura  being  in  the  south  of  Hin- 
dostan,  and  only  a  few  degrees  above  the 
equator,  the  heat  is  overpowering.  The 
ground  becomes  parched,  and  opens  in  broad 
and  deep  fissures;  and  in  a  distance  such  as 
separates  me  from  your  lovely  statue  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin — say  fifty  feet — a  hundred 
chinks  as  broad  as  my  hand  may  be  easily 
counted.  These  can  be  avoided  only  by  fol- 
lowing the  path  that  has  been  traced  out 
by  some  pedestrian,  and  people  walk  always 
in  single  file.  In  the  open  country  of  India 
there  are,  properly  speaking,  no  roads;  the 
first  individual  that  repairs  to  the  town  after 
the  rainy  season,  makes  a  track,  which  is 
used  by  all  succeeding  travellers  for  the 
rest  of  the  year. 

During  ten  months  of  the  year  it  seldom 
rains  more  than  once;  and  even  in  the  rainy 
season,  which  lasts  about  six  weeks,  it  rains 
only  fourteen  or  fifteen  times.  The  ponds 
fill  very  rapidly,  and  their  overflowing  is 
as  much  to  be  feared  as  a  lack  of  rain  to  fill 
them ;  for  either  event  will  result  in  a  dearth 
of  water;  since  if  the  ponds  burst, the  water 
needed  to  drain  gradually  over  the  rice-fields 
is  wasted;  and  if  that  grain  can  not  be  irri- 
gated, a  famine  is  the  consequence.  During 


the  last  ten  years  this  disaster  has  occurred 
three  or  four  times.  You  will  easily  under- 
stand, my  >  oung  friends,  that  it  is  a  country 
full  of  privations  to  a  European,  and,  in 
fact,  one  must  have  a  missionary  vocation 
to  accept  them. 

The  only  water  to  be  had  is  that  caught 
in  the  ponds  of  which  I  have  spoken,  during 
torrential  showers.  After  the  rainy  season, 
women  come  to  wash  their  family  linen ;  and 
men,  after  anointing  themselves  with  oil, 
plunge  into  the  ponds,  and  rub  their  bodies 
with  a  native  plant,  the  juice  of  which 
unites  with  the  oil  and  forms  a  kind  of  soap. 
It  is  of  this  water,  in  which  also  whole 
droves  of  oxen  take  their  siesta^  that  we  are 
obliged  to  drink.  In  India  even  the  wealth- 
iest women  go  to  draw  water  from  the 
ponds.  With  a  highly  polished  vase  of  brass 
or  copper,  richly  carved,  which  is  placed  on 
the  left  hip,  they  sally  forth,  preceded  by 
a  dozen  or  more  handmaids.  Whilst  they 
bathe  their  long  tresses,  and  fill  their  urns, 
they  chat  together,  and,  after  collecting  the 
news  of  the  neighborhood,  retire  to  their 
respective  homes  to  talk  over  the  events  of 
the  day. 

To  purify  the  water,  the  Indians  give  a 
seed  of  a  certain  plant  to  a  very  little  child, 
who  passes  it  around  the  sides  of  the  decan- 
ter; and  when  the  water  enters  the  vase,  it 
is  instantly  covered  with  a  veil,  or  film,  that 
floats  to  the  bottom,  carrying  any  impurity 
with  it.  But  the  yellow  tinge  of  the  water 
and  the  odor  imparted  by  the  seed  do  not 
render  it  at  all  attractive,  even  after  it  has 
been  carefully  poured  into  another  vessel. 
Several  times  I  tried  to  form  a  filter  with 
layers  of  clay  and  charcoal ;  but  just  as  I  flat- 
tered myself  with  the  prospect  of  a  supply 
of  clear  water,  I  was  summoned  by  some 
Indian  to  hurry  away  and  administer  the 
Sacraments  to  the  dying.  Once  on  the  road, 
it  may  perhaps  be  weeks  before  one  can 
return. 

We  number  about  one  hundred  mission- 
aries. Each  one  has  to  preside  over  a  parish 
of  twenty  or  thirty  villages,  some  of  which 
contain  only  thirty  Christians,  others  four 
hundred  or  more.  In  the  course  of  the  year 


The  Ave  Maria. 


285 


the  missionary  is  obliged  to  visit  them 
all.  The  journeys  to  accomplish  this  are  by 
no  means  agreeable.  The  equipage  consists 
of  a  two-wheeled  cart,  veiled,  and  drawn 
by  oxen.  When  seated  or  suspended  in  this 
rude  vehicle,  one  is  forced  to  conform  to 
every  jolt  backward,  forward,  or  sideways, 
that  the  oxen  give;  and  as  these  shocks 
are  not  very  uniform  even  on  a  European 
highway,  what  must  they  be  over  such  a 
rough  and  trackless  country?  Then  the 
oxen  move  so  slowly !  I  read  my  Office,  say 
the  Rosary,  recite  a  De  Profu7tdis  for  a  de- 
parted friend;  then  I  remember  that  my 
sister,  a  religious  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  has 
requested  a  litany  for  each  of  the  band  that 
made  their  profession  with  her,  so  I  go  on 
with  my  devotions — and  still  the  village  is 
not  yet  in  sight.  But  you  may  ask:  "Why 
not  walk  ? ' '  Because  a  foot-  passenger  here 
would  not  be  deemed  respectable,  and  my 
poor  Indians  would  be  greatly  pained  if 
their  sami  were  despised  by  the  pagans. 
Therefore,  we  submit  to  the  weary  drives 
in  ox- carts. 

On  one  of  my  excursions,  just  as  night 
was  approaching,  my  driver  informed  me 
that  he  had  lost  his  way.  — There  is  scarcely 
any  evening  or  morning  twilight  in  this 
country;  in  the  morning,  one  observes  a 
thin  line  of  white  light,  and  fifteen  minutes 
later  the  sun  shines  out  in  full  splendor; 
and  the  night  comes  on  almost  as  suddenly. 
— However,  you  must  not  imagine  that  I 
was  frightened.  No:  I  had  committed  my- 
self and  my  journey  to  the  protection  of 
the  Holy  Angels,  with  full  confidence  in 
the  powerful  protection  of  their  leader,  St. 
Michael.  So  I  stretched  myself  on  the 
ground,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep.  About  mid- 
night I  was  aroused  by  a  procession  of  the 
Christians  to  whose  village  I  was  bound. 
Seeing  I  had  not  arrived  at  the  appointed 
time,  they  feared  I  had  met  with  some  ac- 
cident, and  had  come  to  seek  me.  Bearing 
lighted  torches,  they  had  gone  through  the 
country,  making  the  most  detestable  racket 
with  a  portable  bell,  which  they  call  tam- 
tam. (It  consists  of  a  plate  of  copper,  and  is 
struck  with  a  wooden  mallet.) 


I  was  conducted  by  them  to  a  little  cabin, 
so  low  that  I  could  not  wear  my  beret  taj 
and,  that  I  might  get  some  repose,  they  had 
prepared  a  wooden  plank  about  three  feet 
wide  and  six  feet  long,  standing  on  four 
small  pillars.  This  is  the  sort  of  couch  that 
we  have  been  advised  to  use,  when  possible, 
in  order  to  avoid  the  bite  of  serpents  that 
glide  over  the  ground  in  search  of  rats, 
with  which  this  region  abounds,  and  on 
which  these  repulsive  creatures  feed.  From 
fifteen  to  eighteen  thousand  persons  die 
annually  in  India  from  the  bite  of  serpents. 
The  Indians  revere  the  serpent,  and  think 
it  wicked  to  kill  one:  hence  the  great  num- 
ber of  them.  The  first  floor  of  the  house  is 
usually  left  open,  and  snakes  crawl  in  to 
hunt  for  rats.  If  when  the  snake  touches  a 
person  any  movement  is  made,  the  reptile 
believes  it  is  attacked,  and  instantly  gives 
him  a  poisonous  bite.  Happily,  certain  rem- 
edies have  been  discovered  which,  when 
properly  applied,  heal  the  wound,  and  the 
poor  Indians  often  come  to  the  colleges 
of  the  mission  to  ask  for  antidotes.  By  a 
permanent  blessing  of  Divine  Providence, 
not  one  of  our  Fathers  has  been  bitten  by  a 
serpent. 

However,  we  have  nol  escaped  that  dread- 
ful pestilence,  Asiatic  cholera.  The  action 
of  the  burning  sun  and  the  bad  quality  of 
the  drinking-water  render  us  very  liable  to 
this  disease,  which  comes  on  suddenly,  and 
apparently  without  any  provoking  cause. 
Thus  I  was  rejoicing  on  one  occasion  at 
the  unexpected  visit  of  another  Father, 
and  especially  at  the  privilege  of  going  to 
confession,  when  I  was  attacked;  but  with 
his  kind  and  intelligent  care  I  soon  recov- 
ered. 

In  India  the  ground  is  the  sole  bed  in  use 
for  children,  adults,  the  aged,  and  the  sick. 
True,  they  lie  on  a  mat;  but  the  couch  is 
anything  but  soft.  The  new-born  babe  is  put 
in  a  hammock  of  linen,  which  is  suspended 
from  the  ceiling.  Its  mother  gives  the  bed 
a  push,  and  the  baby  is  thus  rocked,  leaving 
its  parent  free  to  work;  but  as  soon  as  the 
little  creature  is  four  months  old,  it  lies  on 
the  ground  like  the  rest  of  the  family.  This 


286 


The  Ave  Maria. 


position  has  one  advantage — one  can  not 
fall  out  of  bed. 

The  art  of  cooking  is  not  held  in  high 
esteem  in  the  East  Indies.  Rice  is  almost 
the  sole  article  of  food ;  and  this  dish  is  not 
prepared  with  cream,  sugar,  raisins,  etc. : 
the  rice  is  simply  boiled  in  water, and  served 
with  a  kind  of  black  sauce.  Twice  a  day  one 
of  my  scholars  prepares  my  rice.  He  is  very 
much  pleased  when  he  can  persuade  me  to 
use  a  spoonful  of  the  sauce,  which  is  made 
up  of  red  and  black  pepper,  salt,  garlic, 
onions,  allspice — in  fact,  anything  to  burn 
the  tongue. 

But  all  these  privations  are  as  nothing 
when  compared  to  the  solitude  of  the  mis- 
sionary. My  parish  is  about  half  as  large  as 
.a  department  of  France,  and  I  am  all  alone. 
If  we  could  only  keep  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment in  our  chapel,  it  would  be  a  great  con- 
solation. I  have  been  delighted  with  the 
appearance  of  your  sanctuary,  but  what 
would  all  iis  beauty  amount  to  if  the  Holy 
Eucharist  were  not  reserved  in  its  lovely 
tabernacle?  On  arriving  in  India,  I  told 
my  people  they  must  go  to  work  and  build 
a  chapel.  "With  what,  samif  ihey  won- 
der ingly  asked.  "Why,  with  whatever  >ou 
can  get,  but  we  must  have  a  chapel,"  I  an- 
swered. 

The  poor  people  selected  a  site,  and  with 
their  spades  traced  two  parallel  lines;  they 
poured  some  water  in  the  middle  of  the  en- 
closed space,  dug  up  the  ground,  and  then 
poured  water  anew.  The  men  kneaded  the 
mud  with  their  feet,  and  the  women  carried 
it  to  the  limits  marked  out  with  the  spades, 
and  thus  were  formed  two  walls  about  as 
high  as  my  shoulder.  When  the  walls  be- 
came sun-dried,  they  laid  branches  of  trees 
crosswise  to  form  a  roof,  and  used  the  leaves 
of  the  cocoanut  tree  for  tiles.  Then  they 
closed  both  ends  with  mud,  leaving  just 
space  enough  for  me  to  crawl  in.  Now,  this 
mud  wall  soon  became  full  of  crevices,  into 
which  lizards,  scorpions,  and  centipedes 
withdrew, — creatures  whose  retreat  no  one 
cares  to  disturb.  Th«re  are  no  windows  in 
it,  and  the  air  is  so  noisome  that  on  two 
occasions  I  fainted  on  entering  the  hovel. 


We  could  not  think  of  keeping  the  Sacred 
Host  in  such  a  place,  and  the  beautiful 
statues  that  have  been  sent  to  us  by  kind 
friends  in  France  are  all  destroyed  by  the 
white  ant. 

When  the  pagan  >  perceive  our  poverty, 
they  say:  "Oh!  we  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  God  they  adore :  He  is  powerless. " 
They  have  magnificent  temples  in  stone, 
one  of  which  contains  25,000  idols,  each 
richly  adorned.  Recently  the  merchant  caste 
covered  one  of  their  deities  with  layers 
of  solid  gold;  while  our  chapel  is  so  poor 
that  the  Blessed  Sicrament  has  only  two 
tapers,  which,  for  want  of  candlesticks,  are 
fastened  to  the  altar  by  drop-  of  melted  wax. 
The  first  thing  I  do  on  arriving  at  one  of  the 
villages  is  to  order  the  chapel  to  be  cleaned, 
and  while  I  am  saying  Mass  two  men  stand 
on  either  side,  fanning  me  with  large  leaves. 
Of  course,  this  is  not  according  to  the  Ro- 
man Ritual,  but  the  air  is  so  mephitic  in 
the  apartment,  that  I  should  no:  be  able  to 
conclude  the  Holy  Sacrifice  without  this 
refreshment. 

Every  morning  the  catechist  rings  the 
tamtam  for  prayer,  and  the  whole  family 
hasten  to  the  chapel.  The  mother  lays  her 
babe  on  the  floor  (there  are  no  benches  or 
chairs  used  there),  and  the  younger  children 
group  themselves  beside  her;  while  the  fa- 
ther and  the  elder  children  kneel  round 
the  altar,  which  is  surmounted  with  a  statue 
of  the  S  icred  Heart.  I  think  it  would  shame 
many  European  Catholics,  who  declare  they 
can  not  find  time  for  prayer,  to  see  these 
poor  Indians,  who  will  not  leave  the  chapel 
until  they  have  heard  Mass  and  recited 
the  Beads.  How  joyously  they  go  to  their 
daily  toil  after  thus  invoking  the  blessing 
of  Heaven ! 

At  half-past  six  in  the  evening  the  cate- 
chist beats  the  tamtam  for  the  class  in 
Christian  Doctrine.  All  the  children  run 
in  from  the  street  and  take  their  places — 
the  boys  on  one  side,  the  girls  on  the  other. 
And  such  a  babbling  as  follows!  At  first 
my  ears  were  stunned,  but  when  I  went 
round  among  the  classes,  and  heard  the 
monitors  and  monitresses  teaching  the  Cat- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


287 


echism  and  sacred  hymns,  my  heart  exulted 
that  God  was  thus  glorified.  The  monitors 
call  the  roll,  and  the  absentees  as  well  as 
those  who  talk  unnecessarily  during  class 
time  are  marked,  and  receive  several  strokes 
with  a  rod.  The  parents,  who  are  excessively 
tender  towards  their  children,  and  would 
not  suffer  them  to  receive  the  slightest  rep- 
rimand under  other  circumstances,  remain 
calm  and  silent  while  their  little  ones  do 
public  penance  for  a  fault  committed  in 
public. 

Perhaps,  dear  young  friends,  you  will 
think  that,  like  the  owl  in  La  Fontaine's 
fable  that  described  her  own  nestlings,  I  am 
very  partial  in  my  views.  Well,  I  am  the 
spiritual  father  of  those  poor  Indians,  and 
I  confess  I  love  them  tenderly,  and  should 
like  you  to  share  my  sympathy  with  them. 
Many  of  my  parishioners  live  and  die  in 
baptismal  innocende,  and  I  think  they  owe 
their  piety  to  the  devotion  to  the  Sacred 
Heart,  which  you  are  taught  in  this  convent 
home;  hence  I  urge  you.  in  conclusion,  to 
practise  it  faithfully;  it  offers  the  most  effi- 
cacious means  of  persevering  in  God's  grace 
and  dying  in  His  love. 


The  Cardinal's  Lodger. 


Once  upon  a  time — about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago — a  little  boy  stood,  one  morn- 
ing, at  the  door  of  a  palace  in  Florence,  and 
looked  about  him.  Why  he  was  standing  there 
I  do  not  know:  perhaps  he  was  watching  for 
the  butcher  or  the  milkman;  for  he  was  a 
kitchen-boy  in  the  household  of  a  Cardinal. 
He  was  twelve  years  old,  and  his  name  was 
Thomas.  Suddenly  he  felt  a  tap  on  his  shoul- 
der, which  made  him  turn  round,  and  he  ex- 
claimed: 

"What!  Is  that  you,  Peter?  What  has 
brought  you  to  Florence,  and  how  are  they 
all  in  Cortona?" 

"They're  all  well,"  answered  Peter,  who 
was  also  a  boy  of  about  twelve.  ' '  But  I've  left 
there  for  good.  I'm  tired  of  taking  care  of 
sheep— stupid  things!  I  want  to  be  a  painter. 
I've  come  to  Florence  to  learn 'the  art.  They 
say  there's  a  school  here  where  they  teach 
people. ' ' 


' '  But  have  you  got  any  money  ? ' '  asked  the 
other. 

"Not  a  cent." 

'  *  Then  you  had  much  better  take  service 
in  the  kitchen  with  me.  You  will  be  sure  of 
not  starving  to  death,  at  least,"  said  Thomas, 
dryly. 

' '  Do  you  get  enough  to  eat  ? ' '  asked  Peter, 
reflectively. 

' '  Plenty — more  than  enough. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  to  enter  service:  I'm  bound 
to  be  a  painter,"  said  Peter.  "But  I'll  tell 
you  what  we'll  do.  As  you  have  more  than 
you  need  to  eat.  suppose  you  take  me  to  board 
— on  trust  at  first,  and  when  I'm  well  off  I'll 
settle  the  bill?" 

"Agreed, "  answered  Thomas,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought.  "I  can  manage  it.  Come  up- 
stairs to  the  garret  where  I  sleep,  and  I  will 
bring  you  some  dinner  by  and  by." 

So  the  two  boys  went  up  to  the  little  room 
among  the  chimney-pots,  where  Thomas  slept. 
It  was  very  small,  and  all  the  furniture  in  it 
was  an  old  straw  bed  and  two  rickety  chairs. 
The  food  was  good  and  plentiful;  for  when 
Thomas  went  down  in  the  kitchen  and  foraged 
among  the  broken  meats,  he  found  the  half  of 
a  fine  mutton  pie,  which  the  cook  had  over- 
looked. 

Peter,  who  was  very  hungry,  ate  the  pie  with 
keen  relish.  "So  far,  so  good,"  said  he;  "but, 
Thomas,  I  can't  be  a  painter  without  paper 
and  pencils  and  brushes  and  colors.  Haven't 
you  any  money  ? ' ' 

' '  No, ' '  replied  Thomas,  despairingly ;  ' '  and 
I  don't  know  how  to  get  any,  for  I  shall  re- 
ceive no  wages  for  three  years. ' ' 

"Then  I  can't  be  a  painter,  after  all! "  said! 
Peter,  mournfully. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  suggested  Thomas. 
"I'll  get  some  charcoal  down  in  the  kitchen, 
and  you  can  draw  pictures  on  the  wall." 

So  Peter  set  to  work,  and  drew  so  many 
figures  of  men  and  women  and  birds  and  trees 
and  beasts  and  flowers,  that  before  long  the 
walls  were  entirely  covered. 

At  last  one  day  Thomas  was  given  a  piece  of 
money.  You  may  be  sure  there  was  joy  in  the 
boarding-house  up  among  the  chimney-pots^ 
for  now  Peter  could  have  pencil  and  paper  and 
india-rubber,  and  a  few  other  things  that  ar- 
tists need.  Then  he  changed  his  way  of  life  a 
little:  he  went  out  early  every  morning  and 
wandered  about  Florence,  and  everything  he 


^288 


The  Ave  Maria. 


could  find  to  draw — whether  the  pictures  in 
the  churches,  or  the  fronts  of  the  old  palaces, 
•or  the  statues  in  the  public  squares,  or  the 
outlines  of  the  hills  beyond  the  Arno, — de- 
lighted him. 

Then  when  it  became  too  dark  to  work  any 
longer,  Peter  would  go  home  to  his  boarding- 
house,  and  find  his  dinner  all  nicely  tucked 
away  under  the  old  straw  bed,  where  Landlord 
Thomas  had  put  it,  not  so  much  to  hide  it  as 
to  keep  it  warm. 

None  of  the  servants  knew  that  Thomas  kept 
a  boarder;  or  if  they  did,  they  good-naturedly 
shut  their  eyes.  The  cook  used  to  remark 
sometimes  that  Thomas  ate  a  good  deal  for  a 
lad  of  his  size,  and  it  was  surprising  he  didn't 
grow  more. 

One  day  the  Cardinal  took  it  into  his  head 
"to  alter  and  repair  his  palace.  He  went  all 
over  the  house  in  company  with  an  architect, 
and  looked  in  places  he  had  never  set  his  foot 
before.  At  last  he  reached  the  garret,  and,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  stumbled  into  Thomas' 
boarding-house. 

"Why,  how  is  this?"  exclaimed  the  Car- 

Mdinal,  astonished  at  seeing  the  little  room  so 

beautifully  decorated  in  charcoal    "Have  we 

an  artist  among  us?    Tell  me  who  occupies 

this  room  ? " 

"The  little  kitchen-boy, Thomas,  j'our  Emi- 
nence. ' ' 

'  'A  kitchen-boy !  But  so  great  a  genius  must 
not  be  neglected.  Call  the  boy," 

Thomas  came  up  in  fear  and  trembling.  He 
looked  at  the  charcoal  drawings  on  the  wall, 
then  in  the  prelate's  face,  and  his  heart  sank 
■within  him. 

*  *  Thomas,  you  are  no  longer  a  kitchen-boy, ' ' 
«aid  the  Cardinal,  kindly. 

Poor  Thomas  thought  he  was  dismissed 
from  service,  and  then  what  would  become  of 
Peter? 

"Don't  send  me  away, "he  cried,  implor- 
ingly, falling  on  his  knees.  "I  have  nowhere 
to  go,  and  Peter  will  starve,  and  he  wants  to 
fee  a  painter  so  much! " 

"Who  is  Peter?"  asked  the  Cardinal. 

"He  is  a  boy  from  Cortona,  who  boards 
■with  me,  and  he  drew  these  pictures  on  the 
wall;  it  will  break  his  heart  if  he  can  not  be 
a  painter. ' ' 

' '  Where  is  he  now  ? ' '  demanded  the  Car- 
dinal. 

"He  is  out, wandering  about  the  streets,  to 


find  something  to  draw.   He  goes  out  every 
day,  and  comes  back  at  night." 

"When  he  returns  to-night,  Thomas,  bring 
him  to  me,"  said  the  Cardinal. 

But,  strange  to  say,  that  night  Peter  did  not 
come  back  to  his  boarding-house.  One  week, 
two  weeks  went  by,  and  still  nothing  was 
heard  of  him.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the 
Cardinal  caused  a  search  for  him  to  be  insti- 
tuted, and  at  last  they  found  him  in  a  convent. 
It  seems  he  had  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  one 
of  Raphael's  pictures  which  was  exhibited 
there.  He  had  asked  permission  of  the  monks 
to  copy  it;  and  they,  charmed  with  his  youth 
and  great  talent,  had  readily  consented,  and 
had  lodged  and  fed  him  all  the  time. 

Thanks  to  the  interest  the  Cardinal  took 
in  him,  Peter  was  admitted  to  the  best  school 
of  painting  in  Florence.  As  for  Thomas,  he 
was  given  a  post  near  the  Cardinal's  person, 
and  had  masters  to  instruct  him  in  all  the 
learning  of  the  day. 

Fifty  years  later  two  old  men  lived  together 
in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  houses  in  Flor- 
ence, One  of  them  was  called  Peter  of  Cortona, 
and  people  said  of  him:  "He  is  the  greatest 
painter  of  our  time."  The  other  was  called 
Thomas,  and  was  famed  for  his  deeds  of  char- 
ity,— London  Universe. 


The  Bond  of  Union. 


A  man  unfamiliar  with  the  blacksmith's 
art  spent  several  hours  in  vainly  trying  to 
join  two  bars  of  iron  by  hammering  them  upon 
an  anvil.  At  last  he  did  what  he  should  have 
done  at  first:  he  placed  them  in  the  fire  until 
they  were  glowing  with  white  heat.  Then  a 
few  blows  soon  united  them,  and  that  so  firmly 
that  they  could  not  be  parted.  And  so  it  is  with 
a  family,  Let  its  members  be  without  love  for 
one  another,  and  they  will  be  only  so  many 
isolated  units,  cold  and  careless  of  one  an- 
other's happiness  and  welfare.  But  let  the  fire 
of  love  lay  hold  upon  them,  and  they  will  soon 
discover  that  they  are  of  one  mind  and  one 
heart, 

«    ♦    * ; 

An  Indian  having  heard  from  a  white  man 
that  too  much  religion  is  as  bad  as  none,  re- 
plied: "I  don't  know  about  having  too  much 
religion,  but  I  think  it  is  better  the  pot  should 
boil  over  a  little  than  not  boil  at  all." 


tH^ 


tHENCEFORTH  A^GEjTEmioKSSJlAlL  CAlL;A.E8LEw^EDt 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  24,  1887.       No.  13. 


tCoprricht  ■— Kbt.  D.  E.  Hmisoa,  C.  S.  C.I 


To  Our  Lady  of  Mercy. 

^  AIL,  Queen  of  Mercy!  IJke  the  gentle  rain, 
^^   Thy  favors  drop  upon  our  thirsting  souls; 
Twice  blessM  in  Thy  love,  which  when  we  gain, 
We  gain  the  love  of  Him  whom  Love  controls. 
We  claim  the  King,  and  claim  Thee,  too,  I  ween. 
Sweet  Mercy's  Queen! 

O  fair,  dear  Queen,  Thou  balm  for  all  our  needs! 

Who  would  not  crave  Thy  love, so  pure  and  deep? 
Who  would  not  follow  where  Thy  soft  eye  leads? 

Whose  frozen  heart  could  fail  to  melt  and  weep  ? 
Thou  moonlight-glow  of  God!  Thou  ray  serene! 
Sweet  Mercy's  Queen! 

We  stand  outside  the  court.  Thy  tender  touch 
Is  like  the  golden  sceptre  of  the  king; 

It  lifts  us  up.  'Tis  Mercy  claiming  much 
From  Him  who  stands  where  throbbing  choirs 

^^"S'  Sweet  Mercy's  Queen! 

September  24.  MERCEDES. 


Our  Lady  of  Oostacker.— Lourdes  in 
Flanders. 


]HE  village  of  Oostacker,  a  suburb 
of  Ghent,  has  suddenly  found  itself 
famous ;  for  in  this  chosen  spot  Our 
Eady  has  deigned  to  manifest  Her  power 
with  Her  divine  Son  by  miraculous  cures 
of  almost  every  disease  which  afflicts  suf- 
fering humanity. 

Thanks  to  the  teachings  of  St.  Amand, 
the  zealous  apostle  of  the  country,  and  of 
his  worthy  successors,  the  monks  of  St. 
Bavon,  in  no  part  of  the  world  is  there  a 


more  tender  devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God 
than  among  the  simple,  devout  people"of 
Catholic  Flanders,  and  nowhere  was  the 
solemn  declaration  of  Her  Immaculate  Con- 
ception received  with  holier  transports  of 
joy  than  in  this  little  village  of  Oostacker, 
now  so  favored  by  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

Here  are  situated  the  estate  and  chdteau 
of  the  Marquise  de  Courtebonne, — the  es- 
tate bearing  the  Flemish  name  of  Slooten- 
driesch  (a  place  planted  with  many  trees), 
mentioned  for  the  first  time  in  a  charter  of 
King  Lothair,  dated  May  5,  967. 

We  need  not  follow  the  fortunes  of  the 
noble  family  De  Courtebonne  during  the 
troublous  times  that  succeeded  the  so-called 
Reformation,  Suffice  it  to  say  they  bore 
themselves  as  befitted  true  sons  of  the  Cru- 
saders and  loyal  children  of  Holy  Church. 
The  first  member  of  the  family  whom  we 
will  mention  in  this  sketch  is  Francois 
Baron  de  Plotho,  chamberlain  to  their  im- 
perial Majesties,  who  married,  November 
6,  1751,  a  lady  of  illustrious  lineage — 
Mademoiselle  Reine  de  Beer. 

Two  sons  were  born  to  them.  The  elder, 
Francois,  laid  the  foundation  of  all  that  we 
find  of  interest,  from  a  religious  point  of 
view,  in  the  Oostacker  of  to-day.  In  early 
manhood  he  resolved  to  devote  himself  to 
the  service  of  God  in  the  Order  of  La 
Trappe.  But  in  this  severe  life  his  already 
delicate  health  soon  began  to  fail,  and  he 
was  obliged,  in  obedience  to  his  superiors, 
to  return  to  a  world  to  which  he  had  fondly 
hoped  he  had  bidden  adieu  forever.  The 


290 


The  Ave  Maria. 


death  of  his  parents  soon  followed,  and, 
possessed  of  a  magnificent  castle,  he  gener- 
ously resolved  to  convert  it  into  an  asylum 
for  the  persecuted  priests  and  religious 
who  were  being  driven  from  their  peaceful 
homes  and  monasteries  by  the  French  Rev- 
olution. His  brethren  of  La  Trappe,  ex- 
pelled from  France,  came  to  ask  hospitality 
of  Fran^ais,  and  they  received  from  the 
pious  young  nobleman  a  brother's  welcome. 

The  work  of  transforming  the  chdteau 
into  a  monastery  suited  to  the  accommoda- 
tion of  the  honored  exiles  was  soon  begun ; 
but,  alas!  the  storms  of  religious  persecu- 
tion burst  over  Catholic  Flanders  also,  and 
the  generous  project  had  to  be  abandoned. 
Nevertheless,  the  princely  home  of  Fran- 
cois was  ever  open  to  persecuted  priests  and 
religious,  and  he  dispensed  to  them  a  hos- 
pitality in  keeping  with  his  exalted  rank. 

He  constructed  a  rude  hermitage  for 
himself,  and  led  a  life  worthy  of  the  ancho- 
rites of  old — meditating  on  the  truths  of 
religion,  and  practising  the  greatest  auster- 
ities. He  was  called  to  his  reward  Decem- 
ber 31,1811.  And  now, after  little  more  than 
half  a  century,  a  Grotto,  from  which  issues 
a  spring  of  wonder-working  power,  may  be 
seen  on  the  ground  consecrated  by  the  life 
and  death  of  the  holy  penitent.  His  sister 
Theodora,  who  married  the  Marquis  de 
Courtebonne.  inherited  the  estate.  The 
widow  of  their  only  child,  Alphonse  Jean 
Joseph,  Marquis  de  Courtebonne,  is  now 
the  owner  of  this  hallowed  spot. 

In  1870  the  Marquise,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  day,  constructed  an  aquarium  and  arti- 
ficial Grotto  on  the  site  of  the  hermitage. 
The  cure  of  Oostacker,  Rev  Father  Morrels, 
was  visiting  it  one  day  in  company  with 
the  pious  chdtelaine^  and  said  to  her:  "  Ma- 
dame la  Marquise,  why  do  you  not  put  a 
statue  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  in  that 
niche?"  The  suggestion  pleased  the  lady, 
and  a  fac-simile  of  the  statue  in  the  great 
world-sanctuary  of  Lpurdes  was  at  once 
ordered  from  Paris  and  placed  in  position. 

The  Grotto  and  statue  were  solemnly 
blessed  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Peter,  1875,  on 
which  occasion  the  first  pilgrimage  in  honor 


of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  outside  of  France, 
was  made  at  Oostacker,  about  two  thousand 
persons  joining  in  the  procession,  includ- 
ing the  leading  members  of  the  communal 
administration  and  other  local  dignitaries. 

The  holy  impressions  of  the  pilgrimage 
induced  the  servants  of  Mary  to  ask  permis- 
sion to  come  every  Sunday  and  pray  at  the 
Grotto.  This  permission  was  readily  granted, 
the  zealous  Marquise  answering,  simply, "  I 
have  given  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  full  posses- 
sion of  my  park."  Thenceforth  the  crowd 
of  pilgrims  rapidly  increased.  Soon  the  sick 
were  carried  there,  and  many  were  the  mi- 
raculous cures  effected  through  the  inter- 
cession of  Our  Blessed  Mother. 

But  a  place  of  pilgrimage  can  not  be 
without  an  altir  where  the  Bread  of  Life  is 
distributed,  and  the  sacred  tribunal  of  pen- 
ance where  the  Divine  Consoler  whispers 
words  of  peace  and  reconciliation  to  the 
sinner.  The  Maiquise  de  Courtebonne  did 
not  wait  for  the  formal  command  of  Our 
Lady  to  build  a  church  in  Her  honor;  she 
saw  the  need,  and  a  beautiful  temple  under 
the  invocation  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  was 
soon  completed.  It  is  of  ample  dimensions, 
built  in  the  Gothic  style  of  the  13th  cen- 
tury, with  the  two  symbolic  tower*,  so  ap- 
propriate for  a  church  dedicated  to  the 
Mother  of  God — Tower  of  David,  Tower  of 
Ivory.  Is  She  not  indeed,  in  the  language  of 
St.  Andrew  of  Crete, "a  most  firm  tower  of 
hidden  hope,'' — turris  firmissima  abscon- 
ditcB  spei? 

The  church  is  served  by  the  Fathers  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  that  valiant  army  of 
soldiers  of  the  Cross,  the  vanguard  in  the 
conflict  which  is  ever  being  waged  between 
the  forces  of  good  and  evil,  — whose  battle- 
cry  is  ''''Ad  majorem  Dei gloriam^^^  whose 
peaceful  victories  are  achieved  in  every  land 
the  sun  shines  upon.  The  good  Fathers 
have  no  sinecure  at  Oostacker:  the  pilgrims 
are  now  counted  by  tens  of  thousands  in  a 
single  day,  and  not  unfrequently  the  con- 
fessionals are  thronged  from  dawn  until 
midnight. 

From  a  list  of  more  than  a  hundred  mira- 
cles (we  use  the  word  in  all  submission  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


291 


the  decrees  of  Pope  Urban  VIII.)  wrought 
at  this  holy  shrine,  our  limited  space  will 
permit  us  to  cite  only  three.  The  first  cure, 
which  was  fully  authenticated,  was  that 
of  Mathilde  Verkimpe,  a  little  girl  ten 
years  of  age,  residing  at  Loochristy.  She 
had  become  lame  from  an  injury  received 
on  the  Feast  of  All  Saints,  1875,  and  was 
unable  to  take  a  step  except  with  the  aid  of 
crutches.  For  three  months  the  best  phy- 
sicians in  Ghent  were  consulted,  but  their 
remedies  were  of  no  avail,  and  the  poor 
mother  was  at  last  driven  to  the  sad  con- 
clusion that  her  little  daughter  would  be  a 
cripple  for  life.  Hearing,  however,  of  the 
wonderful  cures  at  the  Groito  of  Oostacker, 
she  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  the  loving 
Mother,  whose  intercession,  in  the  words 
of  St.  Bernard,  has  never  been  invoked  in 
vain.  She  went  to  the  Grotto,  procured  a 
small  quantity  of  the  miraculous  water,  and 
bathed  the  child's  foot  with  it  every  day  of 
the  novena  which  she  made  to  Our  Lady 
of  Lourdes.  The  devotions  were  performed 
with  great  confidence  and  fervor,  and  on 
the  ninth  day,  after  the  mother's  Holy 
Communion,  little  Mathilde  suddenly  cried 
out:  "Mamma,  mamma,  I'm  cured!  See, 
I  can  walk! — I  can  jump!  O  dear  mamma! 
we  must  go  to  Oostacker  to-morrow  to 
thank  the  Blessed  Virgin."  The  next  day, 
February  12,  1876,  the  happy  child  went 
with  her  mother  to  the  Grotto  to  pour  out 
her  simple  words  of  thanksgiving  at  the 
feet  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 

Another  very  interesting  cure  was  that  of 
M.  Louis  Ryelandt  Casier,  a  member  of  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  familiesof  Bruges. 
This  gentleman  was  seized  with  a  violent 
illness  in  December,  1875.  He  received  the 
last  Sacraments,  and  his  afiflicted  relatives 
surrounded  his  couch,  awaiting  his  death. 
Three  pilgrimages  in  his  behalf  were  made 
to  Oostacker  by  friends,  and  to  these  were 
added  the  fervent  prayers  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  many  charitable  institutions  in 
Bruges,  of  which  he  had  been  the  constant 
benefactor.  On  the  12th  of  May,  1876,  six 
hundred  young  men  of  the  Sodality  of  St. 
John  Baptist  went  on  foot  to  the  Grotto  to 


implore  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  not  to  let 
the  month  dedicated  to  Her  close  without 
obtaining  M.  Ryelandt  Casier' s  complete 
restoration  to  health.  The  prayers  of  these 
laborers  (for  such  they  were)  touched  the 
heart  of  ihe  loving  Virgin.  But  we  will  let 
the  patient  tell  the  story  himself,  in  a  letter 
to  his  brother-in-law,  M.  Victor  Casier: 

"The  prayers  of  your  pious  young  men 
have  been  heard.  While  they  were  prostrate 
at  the  feet  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  at 
Oostacker,  I  returned  to  the  world. — I  mean 
by  '  the  world '  all  outside  of  my  sick  room. 
I  rose  from  my  bed,  and  dressed  myself 
unaided, — a  thing  I  have  not  been  able  to 
do  since  the  22d  of  December,  1875.  ^^^ 
must  be  as  ill  as  I  have  been  to  appreciate 
restoration  to  health.  To-morrow  I  will 
ofier  my  Holy  Communion  for  all  those  who 
in  their  great  charity  have  prayed  for  me, 
and  especially  for  all  those  who  have  made 
pilgrimages  in  my  behalf.  How  grateful  I 
ought  to  be  to  God,  to  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
and  also  to  my  friends,  who  by  their  fervent 
and  persevering  prayers  have  opened  for  me 
the  treasures  of  divine  mercy ! "  * 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  all  the 
cures  wrought  at  the  Grotto  of  Oostacker 
was  that  of  Pierre  de  Rudder,  of  Jabbeke, 
West  Flanders, — a  laborer  in  the  service  of 
the  Viscount  Alberic  du  Bus  de  Gisignies. 
On  the  i6th  of  February,  1867,  Pierre  was 
engaged  in  felling  timber  on  the  estate, 
when  suddenly  a  tree  fell  on  another  near 
it;  Pierre's  right  leg  was  caught  between 
the  two,  and  horribly  crushed.  In  this 
pitiable  condition  he  was  carried  home,  and 
the  leadirg  surgeon  of  Oudenbourg,  Dr. 
Affenaer,  summoned.  He  set  the  limb  and 
bandaged  it,  but  it  did  not  heal.  At  the 
end  of  five  weeks  a  large  gangrenous  sore 
appeared  on  the  foot,  and  the  doctor  de- 
clared that  the  poor  sufferer  was  beyond 
medical  aid,  and  that  death  must  shortly 
supervene.  Two  other  surgeons— Dr.  Jacques 
and  Dr.  Verriest,  of  Bruges — gave  the  same 
opinion.   Contrary  to  the  expectations  of 


*  This  instantaneous  and  miraculous  cure  was 
attested  by  several  of  the  leading  physicians  of 
Bruges. 


292 


The  Ave  Maria. 


his  physicians,  however, "Pierre  lived  on 
for  many  years  in  this  sad  condition.  His 
leg  was  frightful  to  behold;  the  lower  part 
was  nearly  detached  from  the  rest,  and  could 
be  turned  round  so  that  the  heel  was  in  a 
line  with  the  knee.  There  was  a  gap  of 
several  inches  between  the  two  parts  of  the 
tibia,  which  protruded  through  the  skin, 
causing  a  suppurating  wound. 

Pierre  had  always  had  a'great  devotion  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  during  these  years 
of  enforced  idleness  his  Beads  were  always 
in  his  hands,  and  he  never  gave  up  the  hope 
that  Our  Lady,  whom  he  loved  so  much, 
would  cure  him.  Such  was  his  condition 
when  he  determined  to  do  what  seemed, 
humanly  speaking,  impossible — to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Grotto  of  Oostacker.  He 
prepared  himself  for  this  great  undertaking 
by  a  no  vena  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes.  The 
last  day  of  the  novena  dawned — it  was  the 
7th  of  April,  1875 — and  Pierre,  accompanied 
by  his  wife,  dragged  himself  painfully  on 
crutches  to  the  railway  station  at  Jabbeke. 
Sympathizing  neighbors  lifted  him  into 
the  train,  and  he  was  soon  on  the  way  to 
Ghent. 

The  journey  caused  him  indescribable 
torture,  and  on  arriving  at  the  sanctuary 
he  was  completely  exhausted.  After  rest- 
ing a  short  time,  however,  he  courageously 
took  his  crutches,  and  with  great  difficulty 
made  the  customary  tour  of  the  shrine  three 
times,  praying  meanwhile  most  fervently; 
the  other  pilgrims,  touched  by  his  sad  con- 
dition, forgot  their  own  sorrows  and  prayed 
with  him.  He  then  sank  down  on  one  of  the 
front  benches,  and,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
beautiful  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  he 
conjured  that  sweet  Mother  to  obtain  his 
restoration  to  health,  that  he  might  be  able 
to  work  again  for  the  support  of  his  wife 
and  children.  Suddenly  he  rose,  dropped 
his  crutches  (without  which  for  eight  years 
and  ten  months  he  had  not  been  able  to 
take  a  step),  walked  to  the  statue  of  Our 
Lady,  and  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  then 
raising  his  eyes  to  Heaven  he  exclaimed: 
*  *  O  Mother  of  Gal,  I  am  cured ! "  He  rose, 
walked  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his 


crutches,  and,  returning,  laid  them  as  an 
ex-voto  at  Our  Lady's  feet. 

The  cure  was  found  to  be  complete.  The 
two  extremities  of  the  broken  bone  were 
joined  anew;  the  wounds  (twelve  in  all)  on 
the  foot  and  leg  were  healed,  and  there  was 
no  trace  of  the  fracture,  save  a  little  blue 
line  on  the  skin. 

A  great  crowd  assembled  at  the  station  at 
Jabbeke  to  receive  Pierre  on  his  return  from 
Oostacker, — those  of  weak  faith  quite  sure 
that  they  would  again  behold  him  in  the 
same  afflicted  condition  in  which  they  had 
seen  him  depart;  the  more  confident  hoping 
against  hope.  What,  then,  was  the  astonish- 
ment and  joy  of  all  to  see  their  townsman, 
full  of  strength  and  health,  alight  from  the 
train,  and,  before  going  to  his  own  honle, 
take  his  way  to  the  church,  to  thank  the 
Giver  of  every  good  gift  for  a  perfect  cure 
of  all  his  infirmities! 

This  was  no  case  of  imagination.  Skilful 
physicians  do  not '  *  imagine ' '  that  a  bone  is 
broken,  and  that  the  parts  are  covered  with 
sores.  It  was  a  genuine  miracle,  a  veritable 
creation,  and  acknowledged  to  be  such  by 
the  leading  physicians  of  Ghent  and  Bruges. 

Dr.  Affenaer  examined  Pierre's  leg  care- 
fully, and,  with  tears  streaming  down  his 
cheeks,  exclaimed:  "Pierre,  you  are  per- 
fectly cured!  Your  leg  is  like  that  of  a  new- 
born child.  All  human  means  were  power- 
less in  your  case;  but  what  man  can  not 
do,  God's  Mother  can  do.  An  infidel  must 
become  a  believer  in  the  face  of  such 
prodigies." 

And  so,  alike  at  Oostacker  and  Lourdes, 
the  Queen  of  Heaven  continues  to  shower 
Her  favors  on  those  who,  with  hearts  full 
of  faith  and  bowed  down  with  contrition, 
seek  Her  shrine.  Salus  in/irmorum^  orapra 
nobis  nunc  et  in  hord  mortis  nostrce.  Amen. 


An  excited  mind  ceases  to  reason;  car- 
ried away  by  a  resistless  torrent  of  wild 
ideas,  it  forms  for  itself  a  sort  of  mad  logic, 
full  of  anger  and  malignity;  it  is  in  a  state 
at  once  as  absolutely  unphilosophical  as  it 
is  unchristian. — My  Prisons. 


The  A  ve  At  ana. 


293 


A   Brave   Life. 


BY    KATHLEEN    O'MEARA. 


(Conclusion.) 

THIS  breaking  of  the  strongest  link  that 
bound  Mgr.de  S6gur  to  life  changed 
all  his  habits,  and  undoubttdly  hastened  his 
death  by  removing  the  one  interest  that 
divided  his  life,  and  which  had  hitherto  in 
some  degree  put  a  check,  perhaps  unawares. 
to  his  inordina  e  zeal.  There  was  no  one 
now  to  plead 'with  authority  on  behalf  of  his 
health  when  he  fagged  himself  and  over- 
rated his  strength.  Soon  after  his  mother's 
death  he  was  asked  to  become  president  of 
an  admirable  foundation,  called  "Central 
Office  of  the  Union  of  all  Catholic  Works. " 
It  was  adding  an  immense  burden  to  his 
already  manifold  one;  but  he  accepted  it, 
and  staggered  on  valiantly  under  the  in- 
calculable amount  of  extra  work  that  it 
brought  upon  him.  Tbe  mental  anxiety 
that  this  new  responsibility  caused  him  un- 
doubtedly had  much  to  do  with  the  cerebral 
congestion  which  attacked  him  three  years 
afterwards.  He  was  obliged  to  give  up 
everything,  and  take  a  complete  rest.  The 
rest  he  chose  was  a  journey  to  Rome,  where 
he  arrived  in  time  to  console  the  last  mo- 
ments of  his  life-long  friend,  Mgr.  Bastide. 
The  one  other  surviving  friend  of  his 
youth  that  he  found  iif  Rome  was  Pius  IX. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  tender  affection 
of  the  welcome  he  met  with  from  the  saintly 
Pontiff.  When  this  dearly  loved  son  entered 
the  presence-chamber,  and  was  about  to 
kneel  down  at  his  feet,  the  Holy  Father 
prevented  him  quickly,  and,  clasping  him 
to  his  heart,  held  him  in  a  long  embrace. 
M^thol,who  had  the  happiness  of  leading 
his  master  into  the  room,  declared  ' '  there 
never  was  anything  so  beautiful  or  touch- 
ing as  to  see  those  two  good  saints  locked 
in  each  other's  arms."  Every  day  during  his 
stay  in  Rome  Mouse igneur  went  to  visit  the 
Pope  during  his  hour  of  recreation  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Vatican,  or  the  library  where 
he  received  his  privileged  familiar  friends. 


It  was  a  very  happy  time  for  the  saiatly 
prelate,  and  it  was  with  a  bitter  pang  that  he 
departed  from  Rome.  When  he  took  leave  of 
the  Holy  Father,  both  were  deeply  moved; 
each  felt  that  it  was  a  supreme  adieu,  and 
that  they  would  never  again  meet  on  earth. 

When,  three  years  later,  Mgr.  de  S^gur 
once  more  set  out  towards  Rome,  it  was 
to  pray  beside  the  dead  body  of  the  great 
Pontiff  whom  he  had  loved  and  venerated 
so  profoundly.  This  death  opened  afresh  the 
fountains  of  grief  which  had  never  wholly 
closed  since  the  demise  of  his  mother.  He 
waited  to  pay  his  homage  to  the  successor 
of  Pius  IX. ;  he  was  received  by  him  with 
great  kindness,  and  confirmed  in  all  the 
prerogatives  he  held  from  the  late  Pope. 

This  was  his  last  visit  to  Rome.  From 
this  date  he  was  like  one  ready  waiting  to 
start  on  a  journey,  visibly  detached  from 
all  things.  And  yet  life  still  held  much  that 
was  dear  to  him;  it  was  full  of  delightful 
interests;  he  had  brothers  and  sisters  to 
whom  he  was  strongly  attached,  and  their 
children  had  a  warm  place  in  his  heart.  He 
had  a  great  number  of  friends  of  his  youth, 
many  of  them  priests  whose  vocations  he 
had  fostered.  He  was  surrounded  by  more 
love  than  falls  to  the  ordinary  lot  of  human 
beings;  multitudes  of  young  men,  especially 
amongst  the  working  classes,  called  him 
Father,. and  were  devoted  to  him  as  sons; 
mothers  blessed  him  as  the  protecting  angel 
of  their  offspring;  his  friends  amongst  the 
poor  were  legion ;  and  in  his  own  class,  men 
distinguished  for  merit  in  everv  depart- 
ment were  proud  to  claim  his  friendship. 

The  great  infirmity  which  had  impover- 
ished his  life  externally,  had  enriched  it  in 
many  ways,  acting  as  a  magnet  that  drew 
sympathy  and  respect  to  him.  As  regarded 
his  spiritual  life,  he  believed  to  the  last  that 
it  had  been  the  greatest  blessing  God  could 
have  bestowed  upon  him.  It  cut  him  off 
from  a  host  of  dangers  and  temptations. 
He  had  a  kind  of  mediaeval  spirit  of  morti- 
fication, and  used  to  declare  that  his  blind- 
ness had  effectually  delivered  him  from  all 
possibility  of  temptation  to  gluttony,  the 
sense  of  taste  having  decayed  gradually 


291 


The  Ave  Maria, 


from  the  time  he  lost  his  sight,  until  he 
could  no  longer  distinguish  between  one 
flavor  and  another.  He  fasted  rigorously 
three  times  a  week,  according  to  the  rule  of 
the  Third  Order  of  St.  Francis,  and  never 
permitted  himself  the  least  dispensation 
until,  after  his  first  attack  of  cerebral  con- 
gestion, the  doctors  formally  insisted  upoa 
it.  His  personal  habits  were  austere  as  those 
of  a  monk.  He  slept  on  a  sort  cf  wooden  box, 
already  described,  and  in  the  depth  of  win- 
ter had  only  one  thin  blanket  for  covering. 

Patience  was,  perhaps,  the  most  striking 
of  his  virtues;  it  certainly  was  the  one  in 
which  practice  might  most  easily  have 
made  him  perfect.  His  blindness  exposed 
him  continually  to  ojQfend  against  it;  he  was 
constantly  knocking  against  things  that 
hurt  him,  and  taking  up  the  wrong  things; 
out  walking,  his  guide  would  often  forget  to 
warn  him  in  time  to  prevent  his  taking  a 
false  step,  or  coming  against  some  one;  but 
never  was  he  known  to  utter  an  impatient 
word,  to  make  an  impatient  gesture ;  his  first 
movement  was  always  to  confound  himself, 
to  apologize  for  his  awkwardness,  and  for 
the  trouble  he  gave.  M^thol,  on  his  oath, 
declared  that  in  all  the  six  and  twenty  years 
he  had  passed  with  the  Bishop,  he  had  never 
once  seen  him  impatient. 

But  the  years  were  hurrying  on,  and  the 
time  was  not  far  off  when  the  faithful 
servant,  who  had  followed  his  Master  in 
meekness,  humility, and  patience,  was  to  be 
called  to  receive  his  crown. 

One  morning,  early  in  July,  in  the  year 
1879,  he  was  on  his  way  to  preside  a  meet- 
ing of  the  Society  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales, 
when  his  tongue  became  suddenly  heavy 
and  his  speech  embarrassed.  He  went  on  to 
the  meeting,  but  his  friends  immediately 
perceived  what  had  happened,  an,d  were 
alarmed;  they  insisted  on  his  returning 
home.  He  yielded  to  their  desire,  and  went 
away.  The  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  said  the 
case  was  very  serious  as  a  warning,  but  that 
there  was  no  proximate  danger;  he  ordered 
change  of  air  and  complete  rest.  The  Bishop, 
docile  as  ever  to  constituted  authority,  left 
Paris  without  delay  for  his  sister's  chdteaii 


of  Kermadio,  in  Brittany,  bent,  as  he  jo- 
cosely said,  on  leading  the  life  of  a  Catholic 
oyster  for  some  months.  He  kne  w  what  this 
warning  meant,  and  set  his  face  towards 
eternity  from  the  moment  he  received  i'.  He 
wrote  to  his  chief  friends  informing  them 
that  he  was  ''called  for,"  and  requesting 
their  help  to  speed  him  on  the  aoproaching 
journey.  He  says  to  a  dear  fellow  worker, 
a  Sister  of  Chanty:  "I  have  got  a  hint 
from  St.  Peter,  the  kind  porter  of  Paradise, 
to  pack  up  my  trunk  and  get  ready  my 
things.  As  a  good  Sister  of  Charity,  you 
will,  I  know,  lend  me  a  hand  at  the  pack- 
ing ;  women,  above  all  Sisters,  understand 
these  matters  better  than  we  men  do.  I, 
therefore,  commend  this  matter  to  )  ou  and 
to  the  holy  souls  around  you." 

The  Bishop  stayed  at  Kermadio  till  the 
beginning  of  October,  when  he  returned  to 
Paris.  He  was  greatly  improved  in  health, 
but  his  speech  was  still  very  thick  and 
embarrassed  This  was  a  great  trial,  for  it 
made  it  ii possible  for  him  to  preach.  He 
wrote  to  the  superior  of  the  Seminary  of 
Montmorillon,  where  he  had  been  for  long 
years  in  the  habit  of  giving  the  annual  re- 
treat, to  say  that  he  could  not  keep  his 
engagement  there.  "Our  dear  Lord,"  he 
said,  "won't  have  me  this  year  to  help  in 
your  retreat;  quia  manus  Domhti  tetigit 
me.  I  scarcely  felt  the  loved  hand  when  it 
touched  me;  but  my  poor  tongue  perceived 
it,  and  has  been  running  much  less  glibly 
than  those  of  the  majority  of  the  students 
at  Montmorillon ;  or,  at  least,  than  those  of 
that  noisy  minority,  whose  unruly  members 
would  be  all  the  better  for  a  slight  touch  of 
this  same  paralysis." 

With  the  exception  of  preaching,  he  was 
able  to  resume  his  ministry  just  as  before  his 
accident — confessing  at  home,  at  Stanislas, 
and  the  Patronage  with  his  accustomed  dil- 
igence, but  refraining  from  night  work  by 
order  of  his  ph>sician. 

So  the  winter  passed,  and  the  spring 
came  in.  Good  Friday  fell  on  the  15th  of 
April.  It  was  his  sixty-first  birthday.  He 
rose  at  his  usual  hour,  said  Mass,  and  was 
going  to  his   confessional,  when   he  was 


The  Ave  Mana. 


295 


seized  with  a  great  giddiness,  and  called 
out;  they  ran  in  and  laid  him  on  the  sofa. 
He  felt  at  once  that  this  was  the  final  warn- 
ing, and  immediately  made  the  sacrifice  of 
his  life.  It  was  not,  however,  to  be  accepted 
as  promptly  as  he  and  others  expected.  He 
rallied  sufficiently  to  receive  visitors,  and 
his  room  was  thronged  with  friends  coming 
for  a  la«:t  farewell  and  blessing.  His  spirit- 
ual children  were  crowding  at  his  door  all 
the  day  long,  and  he  was  able  to  see  them 
all,  and  converse  with  them,  and  leave  to 
each  a  piecious  legacy  of  devout  counsels. 

The  nuncio,  Monseigneur,  now  Cardinal 
Czacki,  came  to  see  him,  and  brought  him 
a  special  blessing  from  the  Holy  Father. 
They  conversed  in  Italian,  and  the  nuncio 
said  to  the  d>ing  prelate:  "You  have  had 
the  rare  privilege  of  being  known  and  loved 
by  two  great  Popes. ' ' 

So  he  lingered  on  till  the  first  da)s  of 
June:  his  faculties  unimpaired,  hi.^  serenity 
unclouded,  his  heart  as  tender  to  those 
around  him  as  it  had  been  in  his  youth. 
During  the  night  which  was  to  be  his  last 
on  earth  a  strange  thing  happened.  Doctor 
Ingigliardi,  who  was  his  spiiitual  son  and 
very  dear  to  him,  was  watching  by  the  Bish- 
op's bedside,  bathing  his  temples,  moisten- 
ing his  lips,  ministering  to  him  with  infinite 
tenderness;  for  the  agony  had  begun,  and 
the  body  was  in  sore  distress.  Suddenly  a 
fierce  temptation  seized  upon  the  young 
medical  man,  "Suppose,"  he  thought, 
"there  should  be,  after  all,  no  future  state, 
no  immortality,  no  heaven  to  reward  the  life 
of  sacrifice  that  is  ebbing  away  in  pain  and 
strife?  Suppose  that  when  the  vital  princi- 
ple leaves  the  poor  struggling  body,  there  is 
nothing  beyond  but  annihilation?"  The 
doubt  clutched  him  like  a  living  force; 
it  was  horrible,  intolerable;  his  whole  be- 
ing inwardly  cried  out  against  and  prayed 
to  be  delivered  from  it;  but  it  held  him  as 
with  a  physical  grasp.  At  last,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  dying  friend,  he  said  internally : 
"Oh!  if  there  be  a  hereafter,  if  there  be  a 
heaven,  and  that  you  go  there, will  you  not 
come  back  and  give  me  some  sign,  that  I 
may  believe?"    Scarcely  had  this  thought 


passed  through  his  mind,  when  Mgr.  de 
Segur,  awaking  from  the  lethargy  of  death 
that  was  alread\  upon  him,  turned  his  head 
towards  the  young  man,  and  with  a  great 
effort  said,  distinctly :  '"''Believe^  my  son;  be- 
lieve^ my  child;  believe!"'  Then,  sinking 
back  into  the  lethargy,  he  went  on  with  his 
agony,  and  never  spoke  again.  Only  the 
soul  to  whom  the  mysterious  words  were 
addressed  understood  the  meaning  of  them; 
but  to  that  soul  thev  lemained.  and  must 
ever  remain,  a  divine  message  of  strength 
and  consolation 

Soon  after  dav  break  Gaston  de  Segur 
breathed  his  last.  The  blind  man's  eyes 
were  opened,  and  he  looked  upon  his  God. 
They  clothed  him  in  his  brown  Franciscan 
habit,  with  his  mitre,  and  a  white  chasuble 
in  sign  of  his  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment and  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  so  laid 
him  on  the  little  iion  bed,  to  which  during 
his  last  illnes's  they  had  moved  him  from 
his  wooden  box;  the  bed  was  too  short,  and 
his  bare  Franciscan  feet  came  through  the 
rails,  as  if  offering  themselves  to  the  salu- 
tations of  the  faithful,  who  crowded  to  ven- 
erate "the  blind  saint"  the  moment  his 
death  was  known.  The  concourse  was  so 
great  that  the  street  was  blocked ;  numbers 
of  cab- drivers  left  their  horses  to  the  care 
of  the  crowd,  and  came  in,  many  of  them 
waiting  an  hour  for  their  turn,  and  knelt 
down  and  kissed  the  naked  feet. 

Meantime  Masses  were  being  said  as  late 
as  possible  in  the  little  chapel  close  by — that 
blessed  sanctuary  where  for  five  and  twenty 
years  Gaston  de  Segur  had  so  faithfully 
adored  his  God  in  the  Eucharist  and  min- 
istered at  the  altar. 

The  funeral  service  was  performed  in  the 
parish  Church  of  St.  Thomas  d'Aquin.  It 
was  a  grand  spectacle.  The  church  itself 
was  filled  in  every  part  to  overflowing,  and 
the  great  square  without  was  crowded  with 
a  devout  and  sorrowing  multitude,  waiting 
to  pass  in,  and  sprinkle  holy  water  on  the 
coffin.  When  all  was  over,  they  took  him 
to  Plumeret,  close  by  the  Cathedral  of  St 
Anne  d'Auray,  and  laid  him  to  rest  beside 
his  beloved  mother. 


296 


The  Ave  Maria, 


To  a  Young  Lady  born  within  the  Octave 
of  the  Assumption. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.P. 


jPiUR  Lady's  bright  triumphal  feast 
^  To  me  grows  dearer  year  by  year, 
For  some  new  charm  'tis  sure  to  gain: 
As  now,  to  grace  its  memories'  chain. 
One  blossom  more — with  sunny  tear 
Bejewell'd  from  a  faith-lit  East — 

Your  birthday.  To  be  born  at  all 
Within  the  month  we  consecrate 
To  Mary's  Heart,  is  boon,  I  ween, 
More  than  the  heirdom  of  a  queen: 
That  Heart  the  heavenly  palace  Gate 
For  those  who  love  its  gentle  thrall. 

But  you,  within  this  octave  born. 
Are  highlier  favor' d,  happy  girl! 
Our  Lady  keeps  you  in  Her  Heart 
Nearer  its  centre— more  apart. 
To  me,  you  rest  there  like  a  pearl 
In  depths  all  rosy  with  the  morn 

Of  love  that  grows  to  perfect  day. 

Yet  think  not  mine  an  idle  lute. 
To  flattery  tuned.  I,ess  yours  the  wrong 
Than  Hers  were  then  this  tribute  song. 
Better  the  chords  forever  mute 
Than  sounding  one  untruthful  lay. 

Be  sure  your  place  in  Mary's  Heart 
Will  cost  you  dearly.  You  must  learn 
The  precious  lore  of  sacrifice. 
And  'tis,  in  sooth  a  heavy  price 
For  one  who  craves,  at  every  turn, 
Her  own  sweet  will — if  such  the  art 

You  follow  for  a  life  of  peace? 
If  wiser,  then  but  ponder  well 
The  sorrows  of  that  sinless  breast — 
Which  yet  knew  naught  to  mar  its  rest : 
Ask  why  and  whence  the  dolorous  spell 
That  ruled  Her — but  with  joy's  increase — 

Since  first  the  angel's  Ave  woke 
Her  maiden  tremor,  till  the  hour 
When, exile  o'er, She  stoop'd  to  death? 
And  why,  at  last,  that  yielded  breath? 
Where  sin  had  never  reign'd,  what  power 
Had  vanquish' d  death  to  deal  his  stroke? 


One  answer  waits:  So  will'd  it  God. 
And  She,  His  handmaid  evermore, 
Nor  counting  aught  but  love  for  loss, 
Drank  Her  Son's  chalice, shared  His  cross; 
And,  while  each  step  Her  heart-strings  tore, 
In  blood-stained  footprints  firmly  trod! 

So  will'd  it  God.  And,  winning  thus 
The  crown  of  perfect  sacrifice, 
She  took  Her  seat  on  Jesus'  throne 
By  right  of  conquest  like  His  own; 
Nor  claim' d  Her  place  in  Paradise 
By  dower  of  grace  unshared  with  us. 

Then  school  thee  well,  child,  where  thou  art: 
No  choicer  school,  no  kinder  home. 
Howe'er    our  skies   may   change    their 

weather. 
May  thou  and  I  abide  together 
Where  now,  for  many  a  year  to  come, 
I  wish  thee  joy — in  Mary's  Heart! 


The  Litany  of  Loreto  as  Sung  by  Amer- 
ican Blossoms. 


BY  ARTHUR  J.  STAGE. 


(Conclusion.) 

REGINA  ANGELORUM,  ora  pro  nobis. 
Among  the  numerous  species  of  golden- 
rod  which  light  up  our  woods  through 
August  and  September  is  one  which  is 
more  properly  called  "  golden  -  wreath  " 
{Solidago  ccBsia)^  its  smooth  bluish  stems 
being  studded  with  blossoms,  and  curving 
into  the  form  of  those  shining  circlets  which 
the  angels  of  heaven  continually  cast  at  the 
feet  of  their  Queen.  When  we  meet  it  in 
our  woodland  rambles,  let  us  ofier  up  the 
glorious  invocation  of  which  it  should  nat- 
urally remind  us. 

Regina  patriarcharum^  ora  pro  nobis. 
The  long  silky  hair  of  patriarchal  whiteness 
which  follows  the  fall  of  the  blossoms  of  the 
purple  willow-herb  {Epilobium  angustifo- 
liuni)  adds  a  new  charm  to  an  elegant  plant 
already  beautified  by  all  the  advantages  of 
shape  and  color,  and  fits  it  as  the  emblem  of 
the  Queen  of  Patriarchs. 

Regina  prophetarum,  ora   pro    nobis. 


I 


i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


297 


When  the  octave  of  the  Assumption  is  over, 
an  autumnal  feeling  seems  to  manifest  itself 
indefinably  in  the  air — in  the  shortening  of 
days,  in  the  renewed  freshness  of  herbage. 
It  is  not  that  any  perceptible  change  has 
taken  place  in  the  woods.  They  are  still 
green.  Here  and  there,  perhaps,  a  sumach 
or  a  pepperidge  shows  a  crimson  leaf,  but 
we  ascribe  these  eflfects  to  blight.  Yet  open- 
mouthed  stand  the  geraidias,  prophets  of 
the  coming  desolation,  telling  that  the  end 
is  at  hand,  that  the  days  are  soon  to  be 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting. 
Pale  yellow  among  the  trees  whose  doom 
they  are  pronouncing,  oak-leaved,  willow- 
leaved,  and  with  leaves  cut  and  toothed  in 
many  a  curious  shape,  still  of  uniform  coun- 
tenance and  warning  aspect,  they  meet  us 
at  every  turn  of  the  forest  path.  Queen 
among  them  all  is  the  beautiful  purple  ge- 
rardia  {Gerardm  purpurea)^  haunting  the 
borders  of  the  marshes  and  prairies,  the 
home  of  the  wild  fowl.  A  delicate,  graceful 
plant,  it  still  utters  its  boding  note  of  the 
approach  of  winter.  Let  the  sight  of  it  be 
to  us  a  caution  to  avoid  that  casting  out 
into  the  uttermost  darkness — the,  winter 
never  to  be  followed  by  a  returning  spring. 
Regina  apostolorum^  or  a  pro  nobis.  Bot- 
any, as  we  have  it  to-day,  arose  in  the  period 
when  everything  was  referred  to  classic 
models,  when  the  names  of  heathen  gods 
were  preferred  to  those  of  Christian  saints. 
So  that  when  a  stately  primulaceous  plant 
was  discovered  with  an  umbel  of  twelve 
lovely,  starlike  blossoms  for  its  crown,  the 
botanist  thought  only  of  the  twelve  gods 
that  the  old  Romans  called  Dii  majoruni 
gentium,2xA  named  it  Dodecatheon  Meadia. 
But  the  faithful  Christian  would  have 
thought  of  Her  who  is  crowned  with  twelve 
stars  as  Queen  of  the  Apostles.  The  flower 
is  one  of  the  finest  our  land  produces,  and 
has  received  manv  popular  names — Ameri- 
can cowslip  (although  the  name  "cowslip" 
is  commonly  usurped  by  Caltha  palustris)^ 
shooting-star,  pride  of  Ohio.  It  is  not  pecu- 
liar, by  any  means,  to  the  last  named  State, 
being  found  beyond  the  Mississippi,  and  as 
far  West  as  California.  It  is  one  of  the  few 


American  flowers  that  one  finds  in  Ameri- 
can flower-gardens,  its  unrivalled  beauty 
having  forced  an  entrance.  Let  it  hence- 
forth receive  a  new  and  holy  significance 
for  us. 

Regina  martyrum,^  orapro  nobis.  In  early 
spring,  as  you  wander  by  the  river-side 
among  the  leafless  trees,  you  see  arising 
from  the  dark,  damp  earth  an  erect  and  leaf- 
less scape,  bearing  on  its  summit  a  flower 
whose  large  milk-white  petals  and  delicate, 
elusive  perfume  arrest  your  attention.  You 
pluck  it,  and  with  the  slight  jar  the  petals 
have  fallen  to  the  ground,  leaving  nothing 
in  your  hand  but  the  slender  stem,  and  that 
is  dripping,  apparently,  with  blood.  See, 
your  hand  is  stained  with  it.  This  is  the 
bloodroot  {Sanguinaria  Canadensis)^or\&oi 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  flowers  of  spring, 
but  not  to  be  subjected  to  the  frivolous  uses 
of  a  bouquet.  Its  crown  of  yellow  stamens, 
its  fair  and  smiling  face,  and  the  blood  that 
it  is  ever  ready  to  shed,  seem  to  warrant  us 
in  annexing  it  to  this  invocation. 

Regina  confessoruin^  or  a  pro  nobis.  Her- 
mit-like, in  the  darkest  woodland  fastnesses 
lives  the  mitre-wort  {Mitella  diphylld)^  con- 
cerning which  the  lady  from  whose  "  Rural 
Hours"  we  have  already  quoted  speaks 
thus:  "The  slender  mitella,  or  fringe- cup, 
or  false  sanicle— one  does  not  like  a  false 
name  for  a  flower,— hangs  its  tiny  white  cups 
at  intervals  on  a  tall,  slender,  two-leaved 
stalk."  The  seclusion  in  which  it  loves  to 
dwell,  the  humility  of  its  demeanor,  the 
purity  of  its  color  are  all  emblematic  of  the 
virtues  of  confessors;  while  its  ornament, 
the  mitre,  has  adorned  the  most  distin- 
guished among  them. 

Regina  virginum^  ora  pro  nobis.  That 
lovely  and  rare  orchid,  the  Arethusa  {Are- 
thusa  bulbosa\  is  distinguished  for  the  deli- 
cacy of  its  blushing  hues,  the  sweetness  of 
its  fragrance,  resembling  that  of  the  Euro- 
pean violet ;  the  solitude  of  its  flower,  only 
one  being  found  upon  the  stem;  and  its 
disposition  to  hide  rather  than  display  its 
charms.  It  well  repays  the  diligent  search 
that  must  be  made  to  find  it,  and  those  who 
are  fortunate  enough  to  do  so  will  remem- 


298 


The  Ave  Maria, 


ber  the  invocation  to  the  Queen  of  Virgins. 

Regina  sanctorum  omniutn^ora pro  nobis. 
Lake,  stream,  marsh,  and  forest  have  their 
blossoms,  but  the  home  of  flowers  is  the 
prairie.  As  the  white  man  found  it,  un- 
fenced,  untilled,  limitless  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach, it  was  an  ocean  of  floral  display. 
By  the  wayside,  as  you  pass  through  culti- 
vated fields  in  the  prairie  States,  some  of 
these  abundant  gifts  of  beauty  still  remain, 
though  restricted  within  narrow  bounds 
where  they  once  revelled  in  perfect  free- 
dom. Above  them  still  towers  the  Queen 
of  the  Prairie  {Rosa  setigera)^  sometimes 
called  the  prairie  rose,  the  Missouri  rose, 
etc.,  with  bright  crimson  blossoms  in  greater 
abundance  than  are  produced  by  any  other 
species  of  the  genus  Rosa  Justly  is  it  re 
garded  as  the  queen  of  flowers,  as  Mary  is 
Queen  of  All  Saints. 

Regina  sine  labe  originali  concepta^  era 
pro  nobis.  A  native  only  of  the  States  south 
of  the  Ohio,  the  surpassing  splendor  of 
the  magnolia  {Magnolia  macrophylla)  has 
made  it  well  known,  not  only  throughout 
the  United  States  but  wherever  there  are 
florists  and  conservatories— that  is  to  say, 
throughout  the  civilized  world.  It  were  un- 
necessary therefore,  to  speak  of  its  queenly 
form,  its  ample  and  rich  foliage,  or  its  un- 
rivalled flowers.  Could  we  find  a  more 
choice  symbol  of  the  Immaculate  Queen? 
Regina  sacratissimi  Rosarii,  or  a  pro 
nobis.  This  final  invocation  (added  to  the 
litany  by  his  present  Holiness  Pope  Leo 
XIII.,  whom  may  God  preserve,  and  equal 
his  reign,  at  least,  to  that  of  his  illustrious 
predecessor!)  we  will  assign  to  a  graceful 
native  of  southern  mountain  ranges,  not 
unknown  to  our  gardeners — the  lose  aca- 
cia {Robinia  hispida)^  whose  pendulous 
racemes,  lovely  both  in  color  and  form,  hang 
like  rosaries  from  the  girdles  of  devout 
religious.  And  as  we  conclude  our  litany, 
the  writer  would  himself  beg  remembrance 
in  the  prayers  of  those  to  whcm  these  sweet 
flowers  have  spoken  words  of  devotion. 

And  what  a  multitude  of  blossoms  are 
still  left  to  swell  the  chorus!  Such  a  wealth 
of  bloom  from  which  to  choose  has  been  a 


source  of  embarrassment.  There  are  all  the 
violets,  for  instance,  unassigned.  Eighteen 
American  species  of  Viola^  with  no  particu- 
lar reason  why  one  should  be  chosen  rather 
than  another.  Their  near  relations,  the  cross- 
bearers — the  various  species  of  Dentaria^ 
Cardamine^  and  Arabis — also  claim  our 
notice.  They  take  the  lead  in  the  procession 
of  flowers,  as  cros-;- bearers  should;  but  a 
cross-bearer  is  not  called  upon  to  be  a  cantor. 
The  campanulas,  too,  must  be  left  to  ring 
the  bells.  Then  there  are  the  bland  and  in- 
ofiensive  mallows,  the  dainty  little  spring- 
beauty,  the  bright- winged  polygala,  the 
regal  catalpa,  the  dove-like  columbine,  and 
the  Veronica,  speaking  words  of  cheer  to  the 
wayfarer.  Could  no  special  place  be  found 
for  them? 

Harder  is  the  case  of  those  to  whom  a 
carelessness  which  seems  like  actual  spite 
has  given  ugly  names.  Why  should  the 
lovely  Cercis  Canadensis.,  which  fills  with 
bright  and  tender  hues  the  bare  shrubbery 
of  April,  have  been  dubbed  the  Judas-tree? 
Why  should  the  long,  narrow,  spreading 
leaves  of  Tradescantia  Virginica  have  at- 
tracted more  attention  than  the  cluster  of 
bright  blue  flowers  and  gained  for  it  the 
name  of  spider  wort?  And  there  is  a  fairy- 
like shrub  which  in  early  summer  covers 
itself  with  a  veil  of  feathery  mist,  whose 
useful  qualities  have  consigned  it  to  the 
domain  of  comedy  under  the  title  of  "New 
Jersey  tea."  The  painted-cup,  the  crown  of 
the  "Manitou  of  Flowers,"  and  shaking 
"its  gleam  of  war-paint  on  his  dusky 
cheek,"  has  a  savagery  in  appearance  as 
well  as  in  name  I  mav  follow  in  the  throng, 
as  the  Indians  flocked  to  the  preaching  of 
the  Canadian  missionaries.  Then  there  are 
a  crowd  of  floral  oddities  to  bring  up  the 
rear  of  the  procession — the  Mimulus,  the 
Tecoma.,  the  Bignonia,  the  DeiphiniuTn.,  the 
Dicentra  which  some  call  "squirrel-corn"; 
and  its  relative,  the  Corydalis.  The  murder- 
ous Sarracenia  must  be  excluded. 

As  to  what  I  have  said  respecting  Amer- 
ican flowers  being  unknown  to  literature, 
I  mean  no  slight  to  such  writers  as  Susan 
Fenimore    Cooper,   from    whose    "Rural 


The  Ave  Mai'ia. 


299 


Hours  "  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  quote  so 
often.  Would  that  her  delightful  rambles 
had  been  more  extended,  and  that  more  of 
our  native  blossoms  had  fallen  in  the  way  of 
one  so  well  able  to  direct  attention  to  their 
claims.  Dr.  Holmes,  also,  and  John  Bur- 
roughs, in  prose,  and  Bayard  Taylor,  Sidney 
Lanier,  and  Bryant,  in  poetry,  with  many 
among  the  recent  magazine  writers,  have 
done  much  to  foster  the  love  of  wild  flowers, 
— an  affection  of  which  we  may  say  that  it 
grows  not  old.  A.s  we  advance  in  years,  the 
return  of  spring  and  the  passage  of  the 
floral  procession  before  our  gaze  is  a  source 
of  ever-increasing  delight.  The  above  men- 
tioned writers  are  beginning  a  good  work 
in  addressing  themselves  to  the  cultivation 
of  a  taste  which  elevates  the  soul  while  it 
recreates  the  body ;  which  restores  health 
to  the  sick,  delight  to  the  world-weary,  and 
youth  to  the  aged.  Its  natural  tendency  is 
to  elicit  acts  of  adoration  and  praise  towards 
the  Creator,  and  if  these  pages  have  in  any 
wav  tended  to  aid  the  sentiments  of  religion 
thus  called  forth  by  the  contemplation  of 
what  is  lovely  and  pure  in  the  works  of 
Nature,  the  aims  of  the  writer  will  have 
been  felicitously  attained. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  what  followed,  Nora  had  only  a  con- 
fused remembrance.  When  the  train 
stopped,  a  guard  hastened  to  the  carriage 
from  which  cries  for  help  were  heard,  and 
found  a  )oung  girl  clasping  in  her  arms 
and  vainly  trying  to  revive — a  corpse.  A 
crowd  quickly  collected;  the  body  was  car- 
ried into  the  waiting-room,  and  a  doctor 
summoned.  But  a  very  cursoiy  examina- 
tion sufficed,  and,  turning  to  Nora  with  a 
pitying  glance,  he  asked  if  she  had  any 
friends  in  the  city.  She  shook  her  head 
without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  dear 
face,  which  seemed  to  be  calmly  sleeping. 
The  police  officer  and  the  station-master 
vainly  tried  to  induce  her  to  leave  the  spot, 
as  the  corpse  had  to  be  taken  away;  but 


she  only  murmured, "  I  will  not  leave  her,'* 
and  followed  the  bier  in  silence,  without 
knowing  or  asking  where  they  were  taking 
her. 

They  passed  over  the  threshold  of  a  large 
building  encircled  by  a  high  wall.  A  Sister 
of  Charity,  in  her  gray  habit,  came  to  meet 
them,  and,  after  a  hasty  dialogue  with  the 
officer,  quickly  approached  the  young  girl, 
and  seized  her  hands  in  mute  sympathy. 
On  being  asked  again  if  she  had  any  rela- 
tives, she  gave  the  address  of  the  only  one 
she  knew — Mr.  Bouvier.  But  the  Bouviers 
were  perhaps  still  travelling,  and  it  might 
be  some  time  before  she  could  hear  from 
them.  Thereupon  the  authorities  thought  it 
well  to  examine  Mme.  de  Br^lyon's  papers. 
They  consisted  mostly  of  business  letters, 
that  indicated  clearly  enough  a  wasted 
patrimony,  and  referred  to  a  lost  lawsuit.  A 
£6p  note  was  found  in  her  pocket-book, 
and  some  gold  pieces  were  in  her  purse. 
The  magistrate  wrote  to  Mr.  Bouvier,  and 
undertook  all  the  funeral  arrangements, 
while  Nora  remained  alone  with  the  dead. 

Moments  never  to  be  forgotten  were 
these.  What  a  sudden  revolution  in  that 
happy  young  life!  Could  she  realize  it? 
The  physician  had  spoken  of  aneurism,  but 
Mme.  de  Br^lyon  had  enjoyed  excellent 
health,  and  never  complained  of  illness. 
Yesterday  she  had  been  so  gay  and  affec- 
tionate, and  now!  The  life-chords  had  been 
suddenly  severed,  and  the  mortal  remains 
of  the  gay,  elegant,  much  flattered  woman 
of  the  world  lay  on  a  poor  hospital  bed, 
awaiting  their  interment  in  stranger  earth. 

The  young  girl  found  some  comfort  in 
the  tender  sympathy  of  the  devoted  relig- 
ious, who  prayed  and  watched  with  her  by 
turns;  and  with  more  courage  than  could 
have  been  expected,  she  followed  the  be- 
loved cofpse  to  its  last  resting-place — alas! 
so  lonely  and  unadorned, — but  then  her 
strength  gave  way,  and  she  fainted.  A  vio- 
lent fever  followed,  but  youth  and  a  good 
constitution  fiually  triumphed,  and  in  a  few 
days  Nora  was  able  to  rise  and  breathe  the 
balmy  air  of  spring-  time  in  the  quiet  con- 
vent garden. 


300 


The  Ave  Maria. 


With  the  return  of  health  came  the  cares 
of  life.  What  was  she  to  do?  She  had  no 
relative  living  that  she  knew  of,  and  was  ut- 
terly ignorant  of  her  grandmother's  afifairs; 
but  however  others  might  censure  the  old 
lady's  conduct  in  isolating  the  girl  as  she 
had  done,  and  leaving  her  so  totally  unpro 
vided  for,  no  thought  of  reproach  crossed 
Nora's  mind.  She  knew  she  had  been  ten- 
derly loved,  and  she  did  not  stop  to  ask  her- 
self if  that  love  had  been  y^ise  and  provident. 

As  she  sat  one  day  in  the  garden  wrapped 
up  in  a  warm  shawl,  and  brooding  over  a 
past  which  could  never  return,  the  Sister 
who  attended  her  drew  near,  and  asked  her 
affectionately  if  she  was  strong  enough  to 
receive  a  visitor.   Nora  looked  up. 

"A  visitor? — for  me?    Who  can  it  be?" 

"It  is  one  of  your  relatives,  my  dear 
child, — the  one  who  was  written  to  on  your 
arrival  here — a  fatherly  old  gentleman." 

A  relative!  The  word  sounded  so  consol- 
ing to  the  desolate  girl  that  tears  of  joy 
stood  in  her  eyes  a>  she  entered  the  parlor, 
where  Mr.  Bouvier  awaited  her.  How  kind 
and  sympathizing  he  was  as,  clasping  her 
to  his  breast,  he  assured  her  of  his  sincere 
affection !  ' '  He  is  a  relative ! "  she  thought ; 
"the  same  blood  flows  in  our  veins,  and 
he  will  advise  and  protect  me." 

She  related  in  a  trembling  voice  her 
grandmother's  sudden  death,  and  then  he 
spoke  with  emotion  of  the  handsome  Eng- 
lish woman,  whom  he  had  first  met  in  the 
bloom  of  her  twentieth  year.  It  was  sweet 
to  the  young  girl  to  hear  her  grandmother 
spoken  of  as  "  Nora, ' '  and  when  Mr.  Bouvier 
asked  her  if  she  would  be  ready  next  day 
to  accompany  him  home,  a  ray  of  sunshine 
seemed  to  break  through  the  clouds  of 
sorrow  which  enveloped  her. 

Next  morning  she  paid  a  farewell  visit 
to  her  grandmother's  lonely  tomb.  The 
surrounding  graves  were  covered  with  soft 
green  grass,  and  a  weeping- willow  stretched 
its  pensile  branches  over  Nora  as  she  prayed 
and  wept.  When  she  rose  at  last  from  her 
knees,  she  saw  a  su^jpicious  moisture  in  Mr. 
Bouvier' s  eyes,  and  that  tear  of  sympathy 
won  her  whole  trust. 


CHAPTER  IV.     . 

It  was  late  at  night  when  they  reached 
Paris.  The  carriage  which  bore  them  to 
their  destination  passed  through  far  grander 
and  more  biilliantly  lighted  streets  than 
Nora  had  ever  seen;  and  finally  stopped  in 
a  large  square,  in  whose  centre  arose  a 
stately  building  in  the  Greek  style,  whose 
magnificent  pillared  arcade  awoke  many 
dim  remembrances  in  her  mind. 

"This  is  the  Madeleine,"  explained  Mr. 
Bouvier,  as  he  helped  her  to  alight. 

Through  the  entire  journey  he  had  shown 
her  the  greatest  kindness,  and  assured  her 
of  the  pleasure  that  he  felt  in  bringing  her 
to  his  house.  Perhaps  a  more  experienced 
person  than  Nora  would  have  noticed  how 
vague  these  protestations  were,  and  that 
her  future  was  never  alluded  to.  He  did  not 
tell  the  orphan  he  would  be  to  her  a  father ; 
he  merely  offered  her  temporary  refuge  in 
his  own  house,  leaving  circumstances  to 
decide  the  rest.  But  the  poor  girl  thought 
her  future  life  was  now  secure  in  his  family, 
and  was  happy  in  the  kindness  shown  her, 
without  reflecting  that  it  might  change. 
Her  tears  flowed  abundantly  when  she  was 
welcomed  by  Mrs.  Bouvier  at  the  door  of 
a  small  but  elegantly  furnished  drawing- 
room,  while  Bertha  embraced  her  with  cord- 
ial sympathy. 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  lady,  drawing 
her  over  to  a  sofa.  "How  you  must  suffer! 
What  a  frightful  position  to  be  in!  And  it 
was  only  on  our  return  that  we  received 
your  letter.    What  a  sad  surprise ! ' ' 

"Your  grandmother  seemed  so  young 
still!  How  pretty  she  was,  with  her  silky 
curls  and  lace  cap!"  exclaimed  Bertha. 

Nora  tried  to  suppress  her  sobs.  Mrs. 
Bouvier,  partly  from  curiosity  and  partly 
from  sympathy,  wished  to  hear  all  details  of 
the  sad  event;  but  the  wound  bled  afresh  in 
the  girl's  heart  as  she  narrated  them.  The 
slight  mourning  of  her  cousins  surprised 
her;  Mrs.  Bouvier's  costume  glittered  with 
jet,  while  Bertha  merely  wore  a  gray  dress 
with  black  trimmings.  However,  they  had 
scarcely  known  Mme.  de  Brelyon,  and  were 
not  near  relatives. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


301 


\ 


A  servant  entered  noiselessly  and  placed 
a  tea-tray  on  a  side  table.  Bertha  stood  up, 
made  the  tea  quickly,  and  brought  Nora  a 
cup.  ' '  Try  one  of  these  cakes, ' '  said  Mrs. 
Bouvier,  offering  her  a  plate ;  ' '  you  have 
dined  hastily  on  your  journey,  and  they  will 
tempt  you."  The  young  guest  thanked 
her,  but  was  too  much  excited  to  swallow 
a  morsel. 

Father  and  daughter  chatted  gaily  mean- 
while, and  Bertha  related  all  that  had  passed 
during  her  father's  absence  with  a  vivacity 
by  no  means  checked  by  Nora's  presence. 
The  latter  was  completely  worn  out ;  when 
at  last  they  noticed  it,  she  was  led  to  a  tiny 
but  prettily  furnished  room,  and  left  to  seek 
the  repose  she  so  much  needed.  Dismissing 
the  maid,  she  offered  a  short  prayer,  and 
soon  fell  into  a  profound,  refreshing  sleep. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when 
she  awoke  next  morning;  her  watch  pointed 
to  eight  o'clock,  but  there  was  no  move- 
ment in  the  house  as  yet.  Nora  was  accus 
tomed  to  rise  early,  for  the  morning  hours 
had  been  the  only  ones  on  which  she  could 
count  in  her  wandering  life.  So  she  rose  at 
once,  and  opened  the  trunks  which  had 
been  brought  to  her  room.  It  was  a  sorrow- 
ful task,  but  she  accomplished  it  courage- 
ously. What  remembrances  they  awoke! 
what  reminders  of  the  long  journeys  with 
her  beloved  dead!  The  young  girl  knew 
well  how  to  arrange  things,  for  she  had  had 
plenty  of  practice  in  packing  and  unpack- 
ing; but  over  many  more  familiar  objects, 
once  touched  by  the  delicate  hands  of  her 
grandmother,  her  tears  flowed  abundantly. 

Now  it  was  the  last  book  she  had  read, 
again  some  work  she  had  begun;  then  a 
ribbon  she  had  worn,  or  some  trinket.  She 
had  not  courage  to  open  the  boxes  which 
contained  laces,  jewels,  and  similar  articles; 
it  seemed  to  her  a  bitter  parody  on  their 
owner,  now  cold  in  death.  Just  as  she  had 
provided  herself  with  indispensable  re- 
quirements, a  gentle  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  the  waiting-maid  came  in  with  a 
tray  bearing  chocolate  and  toast. 

"Already  up.  Miss!"  she  exclaimed  in 
surprise.  "You  should  have  rung  for  me. 


Shall  I  let  Miss  Bertha  know?  She  is  up, 
but  did  not  like  to  come  in  until  she  heard 
you  stirring." 

' '  Oh,  she  may  come  whenever  she  likes.' ' 

While  Nora  breakfasted  and  awaited  her 
cousin,  she  looked  round  the  little  room, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  grief,  a  feeling  of 
rest  and  comfort  stole  into  her  heart.  Ac- 
customed as  she  had  been  to  hotels  and 
lodging-houses,  the  neat  little  room  was 
singularly  attractive.  What  pleased  her  far 
more  than  the  snowy  curtains,  polished 
furniture,  and  flower-strewn  carpet,  was 
the  handsome  statuette  on  the  mantlepiece, 
and  two  copper- plate  engravings  over  her 
writing-table,  on  which  stood  a  portable 
bookstand  containing  half  a  dozen  volumes. 
The  only  thing  wanting  was  a  crucifix  or 
religious  picture. 

The  door  flew  open,  and  Bertha  entered;, 
she  was  not  nearly  so  handsome  as  Nora,  but 
her  little  rosy  face  looked  fresh  and  charm- 
ing above  her  pink  flannel  morning- dress. 
She  embraced  her  cousin  tenderly,  and, 
pointing  to  the  trunks, said:  "My  poor  dar- 
ling! how  have  you  had  so  much  courage? 
They  must  all  be  taken  away  as  soon  as 
possible.  You  have  been  crying  too.  How 
I  wish  I  could  comfort  you  and  make  you 
forget  your  grief!" 

"  I  should  not  wish  to  forget  it,  but  your 
sympathy,  my  dear  cousin,  makes  it  easier 
to  bear.  Indeed,  I  should  be  very  ungrate- 
ful if  I  did  not  feel  cheered  by  such  tender 
devotion." 

"We  must  go  out  shopping,"  exclaimed 
Bertha;  "you  want  ever  so  many  things l 
And  our  dressmaker  must  see  about  your 
mourning ;  for  your  present  dress,  dear,  is 
quite  out  of  fashion.  Although  one  cares 
very  little  about  fashion  on  such  occasions, 
one  must  follow  the  common  practice, and 
do  as  everybody  does.  Have  the  Sisters  pro- 
vided you  with  a  gauze  veil  ?  English  crape 
alone  is  worn  now,  so  we  must  change  that. 
You  are  too  young  for  a  shawl— but  mamma 
will  come  with  us,  and  see  about  your  pur- 
chases. What  a  pretty  way  you  wear  your 
hair,  and  what  beautiful  hair  it  is!  I  shall 
have  such  pleasure  in  introducing  you  to 


302 


The  Ave  Maria,. 


my  friends.  Several  of  them  are  still  trav- 
elling, but  will  return  for  the  races.  Then 
we  shall  gfo  to  Normandy,  which  I  hate;  it 
bores  mamma  and  me  to  death,  and  we  are 
always  afraid  that  papa's  love  for  a  country 
life  may  lead  him  some  day  to  settle  down 
there  altogether.  We  have,  however,  pro- 
vided for  such  an  emergency.  Papa  does 
not  know  what  to  do  with  himself  since 
he  resigned  his  office,  but  he  must  become 
a  litth-ateur;  that  will  occupy  him." 

Nora  tried  to  smile  at  this  outpour,  but 
her  heart  was  too  full  for  words  just  then. 

"I  am  sure  you  would  be  bored  in  the 
country, ' '  Bertha  went  on ;  "  you  have  trav- 
elled so  much.  How  enviable  such  a  life  is! 
With  the  exception  of  a  trip  to  Switzer- 
land, I  have  never  been  out  of  France. ' ' 

"If  you  had  led  a  life  like  mine,"  said 
Nora,  "you  would  long  for  repose.  I  shall 
be  delighted  if  your  parents  will  be  so  kind 
as  to  take  me  into  the  country  with  them." 
'Then  be  happy,  Nora.  In  your  com- 
pany the  time  won't  seem  so  long  to  me. 
Perhaps,  too,  it  may  induce  my  brother  to 
favor  us  with  his  presence  more  fiequently. 
It  was  very  anno)  ing  that  he  was  not  here 
yesterday,  but  you  will  see  him  at  break- 
fast. You  can't  imagine  how  much  he  likes 
you." 

It  required  all  Bertha's  caressing  sympa- 
thy to  make  this  small  talk  supportable  to 
her  cousin,  who  longed  for  quiet  and  soli- 
tude. But,  grateful  for  the  kindness  shown 
her,  she  tried  to  interest  herself  in  Bertha's 
friends  and  pursuits. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Mrs.  Bouvier  came  to 
see  Nora,  and  warned  her  daughter  that 
breakfast  was  ready.  Bertha  withdrew  to 
change  her  dress,  and  Nora  was  left  for  a 
few  minutes  to  herself.  Mr.  Bouvier  and  his 
son  welcomed  her  to  breakfast;  the  latter 
was  most  attentive,  but  his  mother  sought 
by  a  thousand  artifices  to  engross  Nora's 
attention. 

"Were  you  always  alone  with  Mme.  de 
Br^lyon?"  she  asked.  "I  wonder  a  lady 
like  her  would  travel  without  a  maid." 

"She  found  one  more  an  encumbrance 
than  anything  else,  as  she  always  said." 


"Had  she  no  settled  dwelling  in  London 
or  Paris?  ' 

"She  hired  a  house  in  London,  but  we 
have  not  been  in  England  for  the  last  five 
years. ' ' 

' '  Did  you  make  long  stays  in  the  large 
cities  on  your  route?  Had  you  any  vis- 
itors?" 

"Oh!  certainly.  We  met  friends  every- 
where, and  always  had  letters  of  recom- 
mendation to  the  diflferent  embassies. ' ' 

"You  probably  stopped  at  hotels?" 

"Yes." 

"But  that  must  have  been  a  very  ex- 
pensive way  of  living,  for  Mme.  de  Brelyon 
dressed  richly  also  However,  I  believe  she 
had  a  fine  property  when  her  husband  died.' ' 

"She  rarely  spoke  of  her  property.  Her 
agent  possessed  her  entire  confidence,  and 
furnished  her  with  money  as  she  needed  it. " 

Nora  suflfeied  indescribably  under  this 
cross-examination, while  Mrs.  Bouvier  and 
her  husband  exchanged  significant  glances. 

"You  must  give  me  all  your  grand- 
mother's papers, "observed  the  latter.  "It 
is  time  to  see  about  your  afFiirs.  But  I  must 
not  do  so  alone;  for  you  have  much  nearer 
relatives,  whom  you  have  perhaps  visited — " 

"  Never,"  interrupted  the  young  girl,  as- 
tonished. "I  often  heard  them  spoken  of, 
but  the  Eaglish  famih  of  my  grandmother 
is  almost  extinct,  and  the  few  surviving 
members  held  no  intercourse  with  her." 

"I  allude  to  your  grandfather's  sister.  Do 
you  not  know  the  address  of  Mrs.  Auvrard, 
your  grand-aunt?'' 

Nora  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  even 
know  if  she  is  still  alive." 

"That  must  be  inquired  into,  for  a  fam- 
ily council  is  necessary." 

Nora  did  not  even  understand  what  he 
meant,  but  Bertha,  who  was  standing  near 
her,  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  saying  in 
low  tones:  "Don't  be  afraid:  your  olS  aunt 
will  gladly  leave  you  to  us." 

Breakfast  over,  Mrs.  Bouvier  considered 
it  indispensable  to  look  after  Nora's  toilet 
without  delay,  and  declared  she  would 
be  ready  at  three  o'clock  to  go  out  with 
her.    In  the  meantime  Louis  and  Bertha 


The  Ave  Maria. 


303 


took  possession  of  their  new  cousin,  and 
proceeded  to  show  her  the  house.  She  was 
enchanted  with  the  tasteful  elegance  with 
which  it  was  furnished.  Although  the  abode 
consisted  of  a  single  story,  it  was  so  clev- 
erly arranged  that  not  an  inch  of  space  was 
lost.  The  furniture  did  not  dazzle  with  gild- 
ing; the  carpets  were  simple,  but  A\  were 
in  perfect  harmony  of  form  and  color,  and 
numberless  works  of  art  relieved  and  em- 
bellished the  studied  but  costly  simplicity 
of  this  truly  Parisian  home.  Nora  had  often 
dreamed  of  such;  a  lover  and  connoisseur 
of  art,  she  examined  the  cabinet- pictures, 
the  chased  silver  vases,  the  delicate  china 
figures,  with  such  discerning  admiration, 
that  Louis,  who  prided  himself  on  his  repu- 
tation as  a  virtuoso,  was  fairly  astonished. 
Later  on  Nora  perceived  the  economy 
with  which  the  house  was  governed,  so  as 
to  present  a  brilliant  exterior  with  a  very 
small  income.  Mrs.  Bouvier  was  therefore 
determined  on  rich  marriages  for  her  chil- 
dren; and  the  stay  in  the  country,  which 
Bertha  disliked  so  much,  was  really  actu- 
ated by  economical  motives. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Velasquez  and  His  Pupils.— The  School 
of  Castile. 


BY    OCTAVIA   HENSEL. 

THE  great  master,  Diego  Rodrigutz  de 
Silvay  Velasquez,*  who  studied  under 
Herrera  {el  Viejo)^  and  Francisco  Pacheco, 
attained  but  little  renown  until  his  twenty- 
third  year,  when  his  marriage  with  Doiia 
Juana  Pacheco  (his  master's  daughter)  and 
his  removal  to  Madrid,  in  1622,  brought 
him  into  royal  notice.  Philip  IV.,  whose 
portrait  he  had  painted,  was  so  delighted 
with  the  young  artist  and  his  work,  that  he 
ordered  all  former  portraits  of  himself  de- 
stroyed, and  named  Velasquez  el  pintor  de 
<r^»?ar«,  admitting  him  among  his  courtiers 
as  privados  del  Rey.  f 

*  Born  at  Seville,  1599. 

t  Painter  and  courtier  to  the  King. 


In  1625  Velasquez  set  out  for  Venice,  to 
study  under  Titian,  Tintoretto,  and  Paolo 
Veronese ;  and  later  went  to  Rome,  where 
he  copied  portions  of  Michael  Angelo's  Last 
Judgment,  and  Raphael's  School  of  Athens. 
He  visited  his  countryman  Ribera  at  Na- 
ples, and  in  1631  returned  to  Madrid,  his 
talents  thoroughly  cultivated,  his  genius, 
matured.  He  was  gladly  welcomed  at  the 
court, and  assigned  high  rank  as  firs:  painter 
to  the  King.  Sixteen  years  later  he  again 
went  to  Italy  to  purchase  works  of  art  for 
the  palace.  He  visited  Correggio  at  Parma, 
and  the  art  galleries  of  Florence  and  Bo- 
logna. After  his  return  to  Madrid  he  con- 
tinued piinting  and  teaching  until  his 
death. 

He  has  left  pictures  in  all  styles  except 
in  subjects  of  religious  art,  and  many  his- 
torical paintings,  portraits,  animals,  flowers, 
fruits,  and  landscapes.  Among  the  latter  is 
one  representing  a  visit  of  St.  Anthony  to 
St.  Paul  the  Hermit,  which  approaches  as 
near  a  religious  subject  as  he  ever  came. 

In  portrait  painting  he  shares  equal  glory 
with  Titian,  Van  Dyck,  and  Rembrandt. 
His  equestrian  portraits  are  especially  re- 
nowned for  admirable  drawing  of  the  hu- 
man form,  correct  perspective,  and  marvel- 
lous foreshortening;  the  figures  are  riding, 
to  all  appearance  in  motion,  not  sitting  on 
a  horse  to  be  painted.  The  best  are  his 
pictures  of  Philip  IV.,  Queen  Elizabeth  of 
France,  Marian  of  Austria,  and  the  young 
Infanta  Margaret  with  the  Infante  Don 
Balthasar  galloping  on  spirited  ponies. 

The  best  among  the  genre  or  interior 
pictures  is  one  of  the  tapestry  weavers — 
Las  Hilanderas.  It  represents  a  high  room, 
dimly  lighted,  at  the  hottest  hour  of  the 
day ;  while  some  workmen  ply  their  looms, 
others  are  showing  lady  visitors  their  work. 
The  effects  of  light,  half-light,  and  perspec- 
tive, are  extremely  beautiful.  His  picture 
of  the  maids  of  honor — Las  Meninas — was 
so  pleasing  to  the  King,  that  he  exclaimed, 
"There  is  but  one  thing  wanting";  and, 
seizing  a  brush,  he  painted  the  Cross  of 
Santiago  on  the  breast  of  the  artist,  and 
commanded  the  order  bestowed  upon  his 


304 


The  Ave  Maria. 


favorite.  Of  the  historical  pictures,  the  Sur 
render  of  Breda^  is  probably  the  best.    It 
is  sometimes  called  The  Lances^  from  the 
spearmen    grouped    around    Spinola,  the 
Spanish  general. 

In  St.  Petersburg,  Munich,  and  Dresden 
many  specimens  of  his  portraits  are  to  be 
found,  but  his  best  pictures  aie  all  in  Ma 
drid.  A  number  of  them  have  been  given 
to  royal  princes,  or  carried  to  other  lands  by 
victorious  troops.  England  has  secured  sev- 
eral of  his  character  studies.  These,  with  his 
rustic  groups,  and  sketches  from  the  na- 
tional life  of  the  day,  are  his  most  pleasing 
efforts.  The  character  and  individuality  he 
gives  his  subjects  often  remind  one  of 
Hogarth's  inimitable  satires. 

His  death  was  probably  occasioned  by 
over-exertioa  at  the  betrothal  of  Louis 
XIV.,  of  France,  with  the  Infanta  Maria 
Teresa.  The  King  had  given  Velasquez  full 
control  over  the  arrangemeat  of  the  pageant 
— the  courts  of  France  and  Spain  meeting 
on  the  Isle  of  Pheasant.  After  the  ceremony 
Velasquez  returned  to  Madrid,  where  he 
expired  August  3,  1660.  His  best  epitaph 
has  been  pronounced  by  Stirling, who  says: 
*'He  was  the  friend  of  Rubens,  the  most 
generous,  and  of  Ribera,  the  most  zealous 
of  the  brethren  of  his  craft.  He  was  the 
friend  of  Cano  and  Murillo,  who,  next  to 
himself,were  the  greatest  painters  of  Spain. 
The  favorite  of  Philip  IV.,  in  fact  his  min- 
ister for  artistic  affairs,  he  filled  this  position 
with  an  integrity  and  disinterestedness  very 
uncommon  in  counsellors  of  State;  and  to 
befriend  an  artist  less  fortunate  than  him- 
self was  one  of  the  last  acts  of  his  amiable 
and  glorious'life. " 

Juan  Pareja  (1610-1670),  his  mulatto 
slave  and  valet,  whose  business  it  was  to 
grind  the  colors,  clean  brushes,  and  put  the 
paint  on  the  palette,  determined  to  become 
a  painter,  so  delighted  was  he  with  his  mas- 
ter's work.  He  watched  Velasquez  closely, 
heard  all  his  lectures  and  instructions  to  his 
pupils;  then  during  the  night,  with  pencil 
and  brush,  he  practised  what  he  had  seen 
and  heard.  At  the  age  of  forty -five  he 
placed  a  picture  he  had   painted  among 


a  collection  that  Philip  IV.  was  to  visit. 
The  King  saw  it,  and  selected  it  from  the 
others;  acd,  learning  the  name  of  the  artist 
and  his  estate  in  life,  gave  him  liberty. 

Velasquez's  most  skilful  pupil,  however, 
was  Juan  Bautista  Martinez  del  Mazo,*  but 
only  as  a  copyist  and  imitator  was  he  re- 
nowned. Many  of  the  copies  he  made  of 
Titian  and  Veronese  were  sent  to  Italy, 
where  they  were  admitted  as  originals.  He 
succeeded  especially  in  copying  the  works 
of  his  master. 

Claudio  Coello  (1635-1687)  was  called  the 
last  of  the  old  Spanish  masters.  His  father 
was  a  sculptor  in  bronze,  and  intended  his 
son  for  the  same  profession,  but  painting 
seemed  his  talent.  He  studied  under  Titian 
in  Italy  and  Rubens  in  Antwerp.  His  mas- 
terpiece. Collocation  of  the  Host^  is  in  the 
Escurial.  His  paintings  are  his  best  works; 
his  frescos  are  too  hastily  done.  After  Rizi's 
death  he  painted  the  Santa  Forma  altar- 
piece,  and  in  1683  was  called  to  Saragossa 
by  the  Archbishop,  to  paint  the  collegiate 
church  of  the  Augustinians.  On  his  return 
to  Madrid,  he  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  court 
painter  to  the  King,  keeper  of  the  Royal 
Galleries,  and  painter  to  the  Cathedral  of 
Toledo. 

Juan  de  Alfaro  y  Gamez  t  studied  first 
under  Antonio  del  Castillo,  a  nephew  of 
Juan  del  Castillo  of  the  Andalusian  school. 
Castillo  was  of  little  account  as  a  painter, 
but  was  a  teacher  of  good  reputation  at  Cor- 
dova. Velasquez,  with  whom  he  studied  at 
Madrid,  greatly  improved  his  general  style 
and  coloring. 

Gamez  was  absurdly  vain.  We  are  told 
that  he  aifixed  to  every  picture  he  painted, 
whether  he  copied  from  prints  or  other 
sketches,  ''''Alfaro  pinxit.'''*  %  Castillo,  his 
old  master,  in  order  to  rebuke  him,  obtained 
leave  to  paint  one  of  the  scenes  from  the 
life  of  St.  Francis  which  Gamez  was  em- 
ployed to  paint  for  the  cloister  of  the  con- 
vent. When  he  finished  it  he  wrote,  "aV<9« 


*  He  painted  a  few  hunting  scenes,  and  married 
the  daughter  of  Velasquez,  then  settled  down  to 
copy  his  father-in-law's  pictures. 

t  1640-1680.  X  Alfaro  painted  this. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


305 


pmxit  Al/aro^^^*  which  sarcasm  soon  be- 
came a  proverb  His  best  picture,  the 
Guardian  Angel^  is  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Imperial  College  at  Madrid 

After  the  death  of  Coello,  the  kings  of 
Spain  had  none  but  foreign  painters,  until 
the  middle  of  the  iSth  century,  when  Fran 
cisco  Go>a  y  Lucientes,  a  self-taught  artist, 
inaccurate,  weird,  full  of  boldness  and  orig 
inality,  arose  to  revive  art  in  Spain.  He  was 
called  Goya,  and  is  said  to  resemble  Velas- 
quez in  successful  painting  of  portraits  Bat 
his  etchings  are  his  best  works.  They  have 
been  collected  in  a  volume  called  ''Works 
of  Goya."  They  are  allegories  of  persons 
and  events  of  his  own  time,  full  of  satire 
and  wit,  reminding  us  of  Rembrandt  in  the 
style  of  their  etching,  the  modern  Kaulbach 
in  their  satire,  and  Hogarth  in  their  humor. 

The  bane  of  Spanish  artists  was  their 
talent  for  copying  and  powers  of  imitation. 
After  the  death  of  Goya,  in  1825  there  was 
a  dearth  of  Spanish  painters.  Not  until 
1867,  at  the  Universal  Exhibition  in  Paris, 
do  we  find  painters  of  any  note  in  Spain. 

Mariano  Fortuny  y  Carbo  studied  in  Ger- 
many under  a  pupil  of  the  Catholic  master, 
Franz  Overbeck.  He  returned  to  Madrid 
to  study  the  works  of  Velasquez  and  Goya, 
but  he  never  imitated  or  copied  them.  His 
pictures  are  noted  for  their  originality.  His 
landscapes  are  beautiful — blue  skies  and  air 
full  of  sunshine,  with  vivid  dots  of  color  on 
peasant  or  flowery  parterre.  He  painted  at 
Rome,  and  lastly  in  Paris,  where  he  died  in 
1874,  in  the  very  flower  of  his  age  and  fame. 

Contemporary  with  him,  although  four 
years  his  junior,  was  Eduardo  Zamacois, 
born  in  1842,  and  dying  thirty  years  later. 
He  studied  painting  under  the  present  great 
French  artist,  Meissonier,  and  resembled 
him  in  the  coloring  and  style  of  his  "inte- 
riors, "  Two  of  his  paintings  are  often  found 
in  photographs;  one,  the  Education  of  a 
Prince^  has  been  etched.  Buffon  in  the  i6th 
Century  was  exhibited  at  the  Paris  Salon  in 
1867,  and  received  the  medal  of  the  society. 

With  Zamacois,  as  with  all  modern  Span- 
ish artists,  warmth,  light,  coloring,  charac- 

*  Alfaro  did  not  paint  this. 


terized  by  force  of  originality,  are  the  ruling 
features.  T.iey  paint  Spanish  lite  as  they 
see  it,  Spanish  skies  as  they  are  at  their 
bluest,  and  the  vivid  colors  worn  by  veiled 
senora  or  uniformed  matador.  There  is 
something  startling  in  the  vividness  of  their 
effects, but  it  takes  one  out  of  the  dreamland 
of  ideality  into  the  joyous,  glad  life  of  Spain: 
the  sun  on  its  cor  vent  wall,  the  pome- 
granates beside  its  palaces,  the  olive  and 
m>rtle  on  its  monasteries,  with  here  and 
there  a  Moorish  palace. 


German  Catholics  in  the  United  States. 


Ypsilanti  Sentinel. 

THE  secular  press  was  looking  to  see  some 
important  eruption  that  would  shake  the 
foundation  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  this 
country,  or  at  least  split  it  into  Irish  and  Ger- 
man factions,  at  the  late  Chicago  convention. 
To  the  chagrin  of  all  the  ultra-Protestants, 
nothing  of  the  kind  has  happened.  The  appar- 
ent result  of  the  meeting  was  a  free  expression 
of  views  in  regard  to  the  condition  of  German 
Catholics  in  this  country,  and  a  declaration  of 
unshaken  allegiance  to  the  Church.  The  gen- 
eral effect  of  the  meeting  is  salutary.  .  .  . 

Meantime. we  doubt  not  the  decision  of 
Rome  will  be  accepted  without  demur,  which 
is  to  the  effect  that  while  the  Church  will 
see  thai  Germans  in  the  United  States  shall 
enjoy  religious  instructions  and  privileges  in 
their  native  language,  even  though  they  may 
have  acquired  the  English  tongue  sufficiently 
for  the  purposes  of  daily  life,  and  after  years 
of  residence,  the  Church  will  not  divide  dio- 
ceses or  parishes  on  national  lines,  nor  will  it 
contribute  to  the  preservation  of  foreign  ideas, 
language  or  customs.  Neither,  however,  will 
it  oppose  them,  or  seek  to  hasten  the  assimila- 
tion of  the  foreign  element  with  the  native 
population. 

This  position  is  sensible.  It  certainly  would 
be  bad  policy  to  attempt  to  perpetuate  na- 
tional distinctions,  and  their  obliteration  pro- 
ceeds fast  enough  from  natural  causes,  with- 
out assistance.  We  hear  no  complaint  about 
the  decadence  of  their  language  and  customs 
from  any  nationality  except  the  Germans,  and 
we  are  rather  inclined  to  sympathize  with 
than  blame  them;  for  in  a  certain  manner 


3o6 


The  Ave  Marta 


they  have  a  real  though  inevitable  grievance. 
On  arriving  in  this  country,  their  children 
enter  the  public  schools,  from  the  day  they 
get  a  fixed  abode.  From  that  time  they  hear 
their  native  tongue  at  home  only,  and  within 
a  few  months  their  language  among  them- 
selves, their  schoolmates,  and  other  children, 
is  English.  The  little  German  they  speak  with 
their  parents  is  all  they  learn,  and  this  they 
soon  regard  with  dislike.  The  parents  do  not 
and  can  not  learn  English  as  the  children  do, 
and  there  is  a  "  gulf  fixed ' '  between  the  two. 
Not  even  German  schools  and  churches  are 
enabled  materially  to  check  this  tendency. 

If  German  parents  could  overcome  their  nat- 
ural feelings  they  might  see  that  this  rapid 
"Americanization" — if  we  may  so  call  it— of 
their  children  is  really  not  an  evil,  but  a  great 
benefit  If  they  were  mere  sojourners  here  it 
would  be  different;  but  this  country  is  to  be 
their  residence,  and  that  of  their  posterity.  Let 
them,  then,  lose  their  foreign  peculiarity  of 
birth, — not  necessarily  abandoning  any  prin- 
ciple of  morality  or  good  custom  of  Father- 
land: but  rather,  like  grafts  from  another  tree, 
become  identified  with  and  flourishing  on  the 
native  stock,  but  perhaps  bearing  better  fruit. 


Catholic  Notes. 


We  have  been  pleased  to  notice  that  our 
Catholic  citizens  were  not  behindhand  in  cel- 
ebrating the  centenary  of  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States.  Philadelphians  were,  of 
course,  foremost.  The  American  Catholic  His- 
torical Society  of  that  city  held  a  meeting  on 
September  15  with  this  object  in  view.  The 
programme  included  an  oration  by  the  Hon. 
Michael  Glennan,  of  Virginia;  an  ode,  "Our 
Nation's  Glory,"  composed  for  the  occasion 
by  the  well-known  Catholic  poetess,  Miss 
Eleanor  C.  Donnelly;  and  a  historical  paper 
entitled  '  Thomas  Fitzsimons, Pennsylvania's 
Catholic  signer  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States ' ' :  this  was  the  production  of 
Mr.  Martin  J.  Griffin,  who  is  so  well  known  for 
the  interest  he  has  displayed  in  matters  per- 
taining to  Catholic  history  and  antiquities. 
The  Very  Rev.  Father  Horstmann,  chancellor 
of  the  diocese,  presided  at  the  meeting,  which 
was  an  unqualified  success,  and  proves  that 
a  good  Catholic  need  not  be  a  bad  citizen. 
Father  Horstmann,  in  his  address,  reviewed 


the  progress  of  Catholicity  in  America  since 
the  adoption  of  the  Constitution.  At  that  time 
there  was  no  bishop  in  America,  now  there  are 
12  archbishops  and  61  bishops,  and  a  Cath- 
olic population  of  8.000,000,  against  50,000  a 
century  ago.  In  the  United  State.-^  there  are 
now  8S  Catholic  colleges,  593  academies,  and 
2,697  schools.  At  the  beginning  of  the  century- 
there  was  not  of  these  in  the  land. 

In  the  evening  of  the  same  day  the  Catho- 
lic Club  tendered  a  reception  to  his  Eminence 
Cardinal  Gibbons.  Among  those  present  were 
President  Cleveland,  Secretary  of  State  Bay- 
ard, and  other  distinguished  public  men.  As 
the  press  reports  stated  when  the  Head  of  the 
Nation  and  the  Prince  of  the  Church  in  Amer- 
ica grasped  each  other's  hand  there  was 
general  and  prolonged  applause  among  the 
as&emblv. 


The  press  of  France  pays  a  most  glowing 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  General  de  Sonis, 
whose  death,  deeply  lamented  by  the  whole 
nation,  occurred  at  Paris  a  few  weeks  ago. 
General  de  Sonis  was  esteemed  by  all  as  a 
brave  soldier,  a  skilful  leader,  and  a  devoted 
Christian.  He  particularly  distinguished  him- 
self in  the  Fran  CO- German  war,  when  he  com- 
manded at  the  battle  of  Patay .  and  fell  severely  ■ 
wounded  at  the  head  of  the  Papal  Zouaves,  I 
whom  he  led  against  the  enemy  with  the  cry 
of ' '  Vive  la  France!  Vive  Pie  IX. ! ' '  The  brill- 
iant cavalry  officer  led  a  most  sincerely  Chris- 
tian life.  He  recited  daily  the  Little  Office  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin;  he  never  through  his  own 
fault  missed  hearing  Mass  every  day,  caus- 
ing himself  to  be  carried  to  the  church  by 
his  servants  when  the  effects  of  his  wounds 
prevented  his  entering  a  carriage.  He  was 
most  abstemious  in  his  habits:  a  small  cup 
of  coffee  in  the  morning  and  a  slender  repast 
in  the  evening  were  his  only  meals.  In  the 
battle  of  Patay  he  led  his  command  under 
the  flag  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  after  which  he^ 
was  always  known  as  the  "General  of  the' 
Sacred  Heart."  When  wounded  he  Was  left 
for  hours  on  the  battle-field,  upoti  which  dark- 
ness had  descended,  and  would  probably  have 
succumbed  to  his  sufferings  but  for  the  kind 
offices  of  a  Bavarian  soldier.  But  during  those 
horrible  hours  before  help  arrived  he  placed 
all  his  hope  in  the  intercession  of  Our  Lady . 
of  Lourdes.  Out  of  gratitude  to  Her  he  always; 
spent  in  prayer  the  anniversary  of  that  night  i 


The  Ave  Maria, 


307 


on  the  battle-field  of  Patay:  at  Rennes,  when 
he  there  commanded  a  division,  he  passed  it 
in  prayer  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  The 
obsequies  of  the  Christian  hero  were  performed 
at  St.  Honore,  without  military  honors,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  wish.  General  Lhotte,  repre- 
senting the  Minister  of  War,  pronounced  a 
few  words  of  adieu  on  the  tomb  of  his  valiant 
brother-in-arms;  he  said  that  he  had  in  pri- 
vate life  the  virtues  of  a  perfect  Christian;  in 
his  public  life  he  deserved  to  be  a  model  for 
all  soldiers. 


The  annual  meeting  of  the  British  Associa- 
tion for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  which 
was  held  in  Manchester  during  the  first  week 
of  September,  was  attended  by  many  Catho- 
lics distinguished  for  scientific  attainments. 
Among  the  Vice-Presidents  of  the  Association 
is  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Vaughan,  of  Salford; 
and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Casartelli,of  St.  Bede's  Col- 
lege, is  one  of  the  local  secretaries.  The  Very 
Rev.  Gerald  Molloy,  D.  D.,of  the  Catholic 
University,  Dublin,  author  of  that  excellent 
work  "Geology  and  Revelation,"  was  kept 
away  by  ill  health.  Among  the  foreign  guests 
were  Captain  Coquilhart,  of  Congo  celebrity; 
the  eminent  geologist.  Abbe  Renard,  of  Brus- 
sels; Dr.  J.  B.  Carnoy,  Professor  of  Biology  at 
the  University  of  Louvain;  Dr.  G.  Gibson, 
Professor  of  Embryology  at  the  same  Univer- 
sity; and  the  distinguished  young  engineers 
of  Louvain,  MM.  Henri  and  Louis  Si  vet. 


What  the  Home  Journal  regards  as  ' '  one  of 
the  most  curious  sights,  either  mediaeval  or 
modern,  that  England  has  witnessed,"  was  to 
be  seen  recently  in  Northumberland,  when  the 
twelfth  centenary  of  St.  Cuthbert  was  cele- 
brated by  a  pilgrimage  to  Holy  Island,  near 
Berwick,  where  are  the  ruins  of  the  abbey 
which  the  Saint  inhabited  as  Bishop  of  Lin- 
disfarne.  The  place  can  be  approached  only  at 
low  tide  by  wading  three  miles  on  the  sands. 
Ten  thousand  pilgrims,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, did  this  through  three  hours— all  bare- 
footed, and  reciting  the  Rosary  or  singing 
hymns  as  they  marched.  An  altar  was  fitted 
up  in  the  open  air  on  the  ruins  of  the  abbey. 
Over  one  hundred  priests  about  it  and  a 
thousand  kneeling  worshippers  made  an  im- 
pressive spectacle.  Owing  to  the  difficulty  of 
access,  the  procession  did  not  arrive  till  one 
o'clock,  when  Mass  was  celebrated.  Among 


the  ' '  waders ' '  were  all  the  old  Catholic  gentry 
of  Northumberland  of  both  sexes,  many  of 
whose  ancestors  were  out  in  17 15  and  1745 
for  the  Stuarts,  and  whose  names  are  the  most 
historic  in  England;  and  side  by  side  with 
these  Were  Irish  laborers  from  Newcastle. 


The  annual  report  of  the  Association  of  the 
Holy  Childhood  for  1886  shows  a  very  favora- 
ble condition  of  this  admirable  work.  The 
collections  in  France  amounted  to  1,201,670 
francs, being  14,000  francs  more  than  last  year. 
In  Africa,  2,040  francs  were  collected;  in  Asia, 
9,605;  in  America,  208,082;  in  Europe,  3,221, - 
102;  making  in  all  a  total  of  3,441,718  francs. 
The  director  of  the  Association  in  publishing 
this  report  reminds  its  supporters  that  the 
work  is  the  very  foundation  of  Christianity  in 
the  future,  at  least  in  pagan  lands;  for  the  faith 
of  the  man  depends  mainly  on  the  faith  of  the 
child,  and  to  plant  the  principles  of  religion  in 
the  hearts  of  millions  of  children  all  over  the 
world  is  to  secure  the  reign  of  Christ  in  their 
generation. 

The  history  of  Catholic  education  in  Bel- 
gium is  repeating  itself  in  France.  From  1876 
till  1885  inclusive,  the  infidel  Government  of 
the  latter  country  established  (at  an  expense 
of  $3,383,885)  6,514  schools  from  which  relig- 
ious instruction  was  excluded,  and  laicized 
5,660  of  the  existing  Catholic  schools.  Within 
the  same  period  the  French  Catholics  have, 
at  their  own  cost  by  free-will  offerings,  es- 
tablished 5,041  schools,  which  are  filled  to 
overflowing,  while  the  godless  schools  of  the 
Government  are  but  scantily  attended.  Con- 
cerning the  relative  merits  of  the  education 
imparted  under  each  system ,  it  is  a  significant 
fact  that  the  Government  have  steadfastly  re- 
fused the  challenge  of  the  Catholic  schools  to 
a  competitive  contest. — The  Pilot. 

Outside  the  walls  of  Jerusalem  a  new  town 
has  sprung  up.  a  building  club  having  been 
established  a  few  years  ago,  under  the  opera- 
tion of  which  one  hundred  and  thirty  houses 
were  erected  in  four  years  by  the  Jews;  while 
along  the  Jaffa  road  many  country  villas  have 
been  erected  of  late  by  European  residents. 
The  latest  development  of  the  erection  of  new 
houses  without  Jerusalem  is  to  be  found  in 
the  enterprise  which  has  led  to  much  building 
being  done  on  the  slopes  of  the  Mount  of 


3o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


■Olives,  the  summit  of  which  is  crowned  with 
the  Church  of  the  Ascension. 


A  Quaker  was  once  advising  a  drunkard  to 
leave  off  his  habit  of  drinking  intoxicating 
liquors.  "Can  you  tell  me  how  to  do  it?" 
asked  the  slave  of  the  appetite,  ' '  Yes,  friend, ' ' 
answered  the  Quaker;  "  it  is  just  as  easy  as  to 
•open  thy  hand."  "Convince  me  of  that,  and 
I  will  promise,  upon  my  honor,  to  do  as  j'ou 
tell  me, ' '  said  the  drunkard.  ' '  Well,  my  friend, 
when  thou  findest  any  vessel  of  intoxicating 
liquor  in  thy  hand,  open  the  hand  that  con- 
tains it  before  it  reaches  thy  mouth,  and  thou 
wilt  never  be  drunk  again."  The  toper  was 
so  well  pleased  with  this  plain  advice  that  he 
followed  it. — Indo-European  Correspondence. 


Obituary. 


■"  It  IS  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thotight  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  4t 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Richard  Shortis,  C.  S.  C. ,  whose  happy 
death,  in  the  seventy-third  year  of  his  age,  oc- 
curred at  Notre  Dame  on  the  Feast  of  the  Exalta- 
tion of  the  Holy  Cross.  He  was  for  many  years  a 
most  efficient  member  of  the  faculty  of  the  Univer- 
sity, and  at  one  time  its  Vice-President.  Father 
Shortis  also  labored  in  Galveston,  New  Orleans, 
and  Montreal,  and  left  in  each  place  a  memory  of 
singular  devotedness.  Since  1875  he  has  acted 
as  chaplain  of  St.  Marys  Academy,  near  Notre 
Dame,  where  he  was  respected  and  beloved  as  a 
kind  and  conscientious  teacher,  a  genial  and  sin- 
cere friend,  and  a  devoted  priest.  Father  Shortis 
was  a  native  of  Carrick-on-Suir,  Ireland. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Amelia,  of  the  Sisters  of  the 
Good  Shepherd.whose  holy  life  was  crowned  with 
a  precious  death  on  the  31st  ult. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Cecilia,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy 
Cross,  who  went  to  receive  the  reward  of  a  career 
of  singular  devotedness,  extending  over  many 
years,  on  the  loth  inst. 

Mr.  Peter  McNally ,  for  many  years  attached  to 
the  post-office  in  Brooklyn,  who  departed  this  life 
August  27.  He  was  a  fervent  member  of  St.  James' 
parish  in  that  city,  and  was  highly  respected  by  a 
large  circle  of  friends  among  all  classes  of  citizens. 

Mr.  John  J.Anderson,  of  Boston;  Mrs.  Anne 
Cashbaugh,  Zanesville, Ohio ;  Miss  Margaret  Mary 
O'Neil,  Stockton,  Cal. ;  Mrs.  Hanora  Donovan 
and  James  Hopkins,  Cambridge,  Mass.;  Mrs. Ve- 
ronica McFadden,  San  Francisco;  and  Terrence 
Shields,  Brooklyn. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


PARTMENT 


The  Owl  that  drove  Want  from  the 
Widow's  Door. 


FOR  THE  "AVE  MARIA"  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN  OF  A.  VON 
ULRICH,  BY  JULIA  MENDELEFF  AND  E.  L.  DORSEY. 


There  was  a  time  when  he  was  >oung, 
and  famous  for  his  strength  and  the  swift- 
ness of  his  flight;  when  his  eyes  were  so 
fierce  and  keen  that  in  the  blackest  night 
he  could  see  the  smallest  birds  napping  on 
the  bushes  in  the  deep  grass,  and  before  the 
poor  little  things  could  awake  or  stir  would 
have  them  trembling  in  his  sharp  claws. 
The  light  of  day  he  could  not  bear  at  all, 
and  it  was  only  when  the  darkness  fell  that 
he  would  come  out  of  his  hollow  tree,  and, 
cleaving  the  air  softly  and  noiselessly  with 
his  downy  wings,  fall  like  a  thief  in  the 
night  on  his  prey. 

But  now  it  was  different.  The  poor  old 
owl  had  grown  infirm,  and  had  long  ago 
ceased  to  nest  in  the  tree.  He  lived  under 
the  roof  of  a  half-ruined  isba.  Under  the 
thatch  a  beam  had  rotted,  and  in  the  soft 
rubbish  and  decay  he  fixed  his  abode.  There 
he  dwelt,  and  thought  of  his  past  successes, 
and  hunted  for  mice;  but  these  seemed  poor 
food  indeed  after  the  bird-diet  of  other  cays*. 
He  rarely  went  out,  but  if  the  weather  was 
clear  and  fine  he  would  sometimes  leave  his 
retreat  in  the  twilight,  and  occasionally — 
very  occasionally — he  would  catch  a  bird. 

The  old  owl,  however,  was  not  the  only 
tenant  of  the  isba;  for  under  the  same  roof, 
in  the  narrow  but  tidy  enclosure,  lived  Vas- 
sutka  with  his  mother.  He  was  just  seven 
years  old, — a  handsome,  sturdy  boy,  with 
light  curling  hair,  and  dark  eyes,  which  mer- 
rily and  bravely  peeped  from  behind  his 
eyelashes.  He  was  good,  but  so  very  lively 
that  his  mother  often  said,  sighing: 

"God  knows  who  he's  like!  His  father 
was  a  quiet,  industrious  man — my  Prohor! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


309. 


— but  this  fellow's  a  scamp.  The  other  day 
I  mended  his  shirt  and  dressed  him  neatly 
and  properly,  and  now  here's  another  hole 
ready  for  me  again.  It's  a  perfect  misery! " 

But  it  was  a  joy  too,  and  she  looked  with 
pride  at  her  healthy,  handsome  boy,  and  in 
her  soul  she  greatly  admixed  his  vigor  and 
his  cleverness. 

The  summer  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
and  it  was  evening.  Quiet  had  fallen  on  the 
isba;  for  Vassutka  was  sitting  waiting  for 
his  supper. 

It  was  a  four-sided  room,  the  little  isba; 
the  petch*  stood  on  the  left  of  the  door; 
around  two  walls  ran  the  lavka;'\  at  its 
angle  stood  the  table,  and  above  it  were  the 
icons  of  Our  Lady  of  Kurzan,  St.  Vasili 
(Vassutka' s  patron  saint),  and  St.  Marfa 
(his  mother's);  before  them  were  the  lamps 
which  were  lit  every  Saturday  evening  to 
bum  through  Sunday  in  honor  of  the  holy 
ones  they  commemorated.  The  ceiling  was 
very  low,  and  there  was  no  need  to  fear  high 
winds;  for  the  house  had  only  one  story. 

Vassutka  sat  under  the  zV^wj-,  with  a  spoon 
in  his  hand,  watching  his  mother  as  she  put 
a  bowl  of  kasha  %  on  the  table,  filled  it  to 
the  top  with  milk,  made  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  and  sat  down  beside  him.  Then  he 
began  his  supper.  The  kasha  seemed  to  be 
particularly  to  his  taste,  and  the  spoon  trav- 
elled fast  between  his  mouth  and  the  bowl. 
But  suddenly  he  stopped  and  asked : 

**Is  it  true,  mamma,  grandfather  was 
rich?" 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"They  were  talking  about  it  in  the  vil- 
lage the  other  day,  and  Fedka  said  grand- 
father sold  wax  and  honey,  and  had  plenty 
of  money. ' ' 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
*'I  was  an  orphan,  and  grandfather  took 
me  when  I  was  a  wee  thing.  He  fed  me, 
reared  me,  and  married  me  off,  but  I  never 
saw  any  money  about  the  house.  It  is  true 
he  often  said :  '  Don't  worry,  Marfusha,  be- 
cause your  sarafan  is  poor.  You  will  have 

*  A  brick  oven  built  up  several  feet  high,  and 
■with  a  place  on  the  top  for  the  family  to  sleep, 
t  A  wide  wooden  bench.         %  A  stiff  gruel. 


enough  to  last  you  all  your  life,  and  some- 
thing for  the  children  too.'  Who  knows, 
perhaps  there  was  something?  But  when 
the  cholera  came,  grandfather  was  the  first 
to  die.  They  had  hardly  time  to  bring  him 
the  Sacraments  before  he  gave  up  his  soul, 
and  he  never  said  a  word.  In  his  sanduc* 
there  under  the  lavka  we  found  two  roubles 
and  two  kopecks,  and  that's  all  I  have  ever 
seen." 

Poor  Marfa !  She  sighed  deeply,  and  her 
thoughts  went  sadly  back  to  her  dead 
Prohor,  whom  she  had  buried  three  years 
before;  for  since  that  time  no  matter  how 
hard  she  worked  she  could  not  drive  want 
from  her  door.  While  the  summer  lasted  it 
was  not  so  bad,  but  here  was  the  autumn 
at  hand;  the  long  rains  would  soon  set  in^ 
the  roof  was  leaking,  and  she  had  no  money 
to  have  it  mended;  and  then  there  would 
come  the  white  wolf.  Winter,  with  his  bit- 
ing frosts  and  storms,  and  where  could  she 
get  fuel?  Her  shuba-\  was  in  tatters,  the 
touloupeX  in  rags,  and  Vassutka  had  out- 
grown his  sheepskin  too. 

And  as  she  remembered  all  this  she  grew 
sadder  yet,  and  did  not  notice  her  tears  were 
falling  fast.  But  Vassutka  saw  them,  be- 
came very  uncomfortable,  put  down  his 
spoon,  and  slipped  out. 

The  evening  was  bright  and  still,  and  in 
the  west  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun  still 
lingered.  Vassutka  stood  a  little  while  on 
the  step,  and  thought  mournfully  of  a  brood 
of  ducks  that  had  disappeared  mysteriously 
by  ones  and  twos  not  long  before;  then  he 
spoke  to  the  goat,  his  cormeletza^  %  then 
went  to  the  fence,  climbed  up  and  sat 
astride  of  it. 

Before  him  lay  a  large  meadow,  and  in 
the  distance  beyond  the  river  was  a  belt  of 
beech  and  willow  trees.  In  the  air  was  a 
hush  of  repose,  as  if  Nature  rested  after  the 
hot,  passionate  day.  The  boy  was  looking 


*  Something  like  a  sailor's  sea-chest,  and  hold- 
ing all  the  personal  belongings. 

f  A  short  garment  lined  with  fur. 

X  A  cloak  of  sheepskin,  worn  hide  out  and  wool 
in. 

\  Milk-mother,  or  foster-mother. 


310 


The  Ave  Maria. 


aimlessly  into  the  distance.  Around  him 
might-moths  were  flying  and  grasshoppers 
singing.  Suddenly  he  felt  something  brush 
by,  and  immediately  afterward  saw  a  large 
bird  settle  a  few  paces  away. 

"The  owl!"  thought  he,  and  began  to 
study  him  attentively;  for  he  had  never 
seen  him  so  close  before. 

The  owl  cocked  his  head  on  one  side,  and 
returned  the  compliment;  then  he  rose  in 
the  air,  wheeled  about  two  or  three  times, 
poised  for  a  moment,  then  swooped.  Some- 
thing fluttered  and  cried  in  the  grass,  and 
when  the  owl  flew  up  again, Vassutka  saw 
in  its  claws  what  he  thought  was  a  bird. 

* '  Oh,  the  villain ! "  he  cried,  looking  after 
fhim.  But  imagine  his  surprise  when  he 
«aw  him  disappear  with  his  prey  under  the 
roof  of  his  own  isba. 

The  boy  jumped  from  the  fence  and  ran 
in.  It  was  dark,  but  he  felt  his  way  to  the 
'flint  and  steel,  and  began  to  strike  a  light. 

*'What  for?"  asked  his  mother. 

"The  owl,"  answered  Vassutka,  breath- 
lessly, — ' '  the  owl  under  our  very  roof !  I'  11 
find  him,  the  villain!" 

"Don't,  Vassutka!"  said  his  mother. 
*'Who  would  ever  think  of  going  under  a 
thatch  with  a  light?  Stop!  You  can  catch 
him  better  in  the  daytime." 

"That's  true,"  said  the  boy,  unwillingly 
laying  aside  the  flint  and  steel.  Then  he  told 
her  his  adventure. 

"And  I  know  he  is  the  fellow  that  stole 
-all  our  ducklings.  Oh,  mamma!  how  he 
ipounced  on  that  little  bird, — how  pitifully 
it  cried  I    Oh,  my  heart  felt  squeezed! ' ' 

And  he  talked  and  talked  about  it,  dis- 
cussing it  from  every  pDint.  Even  when  he 
went  to  bed  he  could  not  get  to  sleep  for  a 
long  time;  before  his  eyes  still  appeared 
the  bird,  and  in  his  ears  still  rang  the  cry 
of  the  poor  little  victim. 

The  sun  had  risen  when  he  awoke,  and 
"his  mother  had  already  gone  out.  Vassutka 
jumped  up,  hurried  into  his  clothes,  said 
-his  prayers,  and  scrambled  into  the  loft.  He 
searched  in  all  the  dark  comers  for  the  owl. 
At  last  he  touched  something  soft. 

"Here  he  is! "  he  said,  and  stretched  out 


both  hands  to  seize  him.  But  the  frightened 
bird  struggled  from  him,  and  fluttered 
through  a  hole  in  the  thatch.  Wishing  to 
follow  him,  the  boy  climbed  on  a  beam  and 
began  to  enlarge  the  hole;  but  the  wood 
was  rotten,  and  gave  way  under  him ;  some- 
thing crashed  with  a  sound  like  pottery, 
and  an  odd,  rattling  noise  was  heard. 

After  milking  the  goat,  Marfa  was  return- 
ing to  the  isba  with  the  pail  in  her  hand. 
Suddenly  she  heard  Vassutka  calling.  He 
was  bending  out  of  the  hole  in  the  thatch, 
and  he  said: 

"  Oh,  mamma,  look  here!  What's  this? 
It  looks  like  money." 

And  a  handful  of  gold  pieces  fell  at  her 
feet. 

"What  is  the  matter? — where  did  you 
get  these?"  asked  the  frightened  woman. 

"Right  here.  Here  is  lots  of  it!" 

Marfa  hastily  set  down  the  bucket  on  the 
step  and  ran  up  to  the  loft.  There,  under  the 
dust  of  years,  amidst  bits  of  decayed  wood 
and  broken  pottery,  lay  a  heap  of  gold  coins, 
and  next  to  them  was  an  earthen  pot  with 
its  mouth  tied  up  with  rags.  Marfa  opened 
it.  It  was  nearly  full  of  silver  pieces! 

But  while  with  trembling  fingers  she 
gathered  the  gold,  Vassutka  had  succeeded 
in  climbing  on  the  roof,  and  catching  the 
owl, which,  blinded  by  the  light,  blundered 
into  his  hands. 

"Here  he  is!"  he  shouted,  joyfully, 
scrambling  down.  "Here  he  is,  the  rascall 
I  neatly  lost  him.'' 

' '  Let  him  go,  Vassu  tka, "  said  his  mother, 
piously  crossing  herse.f.  "Let  the  bird  go; 
for  the  Lord  Himself  seems  to  have  sent 
him  to  show  us  where  grandfather's  treas- 
ure was  hid — to  dr  ve  want  from  a  poor 
widow's  door." 


Guilt,  though  it  may  attain  temporal 
splendor,  can  never  attain  real  happiness. 
The  evil  consequences  of  our  crimes  long 
survive  their  commission,  and,  like  the 
ghosts  of  the  murdered,  forever  haunt  thej 
steps  of  the  malefactor. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


311 


The  Story  of  a  Shipwreck.* 


One  morning  in  the  month  of  December, 
several  years  ago,  there  sailed  from  the  port  of 
lyiverpool  a  huge  steamer,  which  had  on  board 
two  hundred  persons,  including  a  crew  of 
sixty.  The  captain  and  nearly  all  the  sailors 
were  English.  Among  the  passengers  were 
several  Italians:  three  gentlemen  and  a  com- 
pany of  musicians.  The  steamer  was  bound 
for  the  island  of  Malta.  The  weather  was 
threatening. 

Among  the  third-class  passengers  forward 
rwas  an  Italian  lad  of  a  dozen  years,  small  for 
liis  age, but  robust, — a  bold,  handsome,  austere 
face,  of  Sicilian  type.  He  was  alone  near  the 
foremast,  seated  on  a  coil  of  cordage,  beside 
a,  well-worn  valise,  which  contained  his  effects, 
and  upon  which  he  kept  a  hand.  His  face  was 
brown,  and  his  black  and  wavy  hair  descended 
to  his  shoulders.  He  was  meanly  clad,  and  had 
ta  tattered  mantle  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 
Land  an  old  leather  pouch  on  a  cross-belt.  He 
[^gazed  thoughtfully  about  him  at  the  passen- 
gers, the  ship,  the  sailors  who  were  running 
fpast,  and  at  the  restless  sea. 

A  little  after  their  departure,  one  of  the 
iSteamer's  crew,  an  Italian  with  grey  hair, 
lade  his  appearance  on  the  bow,  holding  by 
le  hand  a  little  girl;  and  coming  to  a  halt  in 
ront  of  the  young  Sicilian,  he  said  to  him: 
Here's  a  travelling  companion  for  you,  Ma- 
io."  And  the  girl  seated  herself  on  the  pile 
>f  cordage  beside  the  boy. 

They  surveyed  each  other.  ' '  Where  are  you 
joing?"  asked  the  Sicilian. 

' '  To  Malta,  on  the  way  of  Naples, ' '  was  her 
iply.  ' '  I  am  going  to  see  my  father  and 
lother,  who  are  expecting  me.  My  name  is 
riulietta  Faggiani  " 

The  boy  said  nothing.  After  the  lapse  of 
few  minutes  he  drew  some  bread  from  his 
pouch,  and  some  dried  fruit;  the  girl  had  some 
biscuits.  They  began  to  eat. 

"Look  sharp  there!"  shouted  the  Italian 
sailor,  as  he  passed  rapidly;  "a  lively  time  is 
at  hand!" 

The  wind  continued  to  increase,  the  steamer 
pitched  heavily;  but  the  two  children,  who 
did  not  suffer  from  sea-sickness,  paid  no  heed 
to  it.  The  little  girl  smiled.   She  was  about 


Edmondo  de  Amicis.  Adapted. 


the  same  age  as  her  companion,  but  was  con- 
siderably taller,  brown  of  complexion,  slender, 
somewhat  sickly,  and  dressed  more  than  mod- 
estly. Her  hair  was  short  and  curling;  she 
wore  a  red  kerchief  over  her  head,  and  two 
hoops  of  silver  in  her  ears. 

As  they  ate  they  talked  about  themselves 
and  their  affairs.  The  boy  had  no  longer 
either  father  or  mother.  The  father,  an  artisan, 
had  died  a  few  days  previously  in  Liverpool, 
leaving  him  alone;  and  the  Italian  Consul  had 
sent  him  back  to  his  country — Palermo, — 
where  he  had  some  distant  relatives.  The 
little  girl  had  been  taken  to  London  the  year 
before,  by  a  widowed  aunt,  who  was  very  fond 
of  her,  and  to  whom  her  parents — poor  people 
— had  given  her  for  a  time,  trusting  in  a  prom- 
ise of  an  inheritance;  but  the  aunt  had  died  a 
few  months  later,  run  over  by  an  omnibus, 
without  leaving  a  centesimo;  and  then  she  too 
had  had  recourse  to  the  Consul,  who  had 
shipped  her  to  Italy.  Both  had  been  recom- 
mended to  the  care  of  the  Italian  sailor. 

' '  So, ' '  concluded  the  little  maid, ' '  my  father 
and  mother  thought  that  I  would  return 
rich  and  instead  I  am  returning  poor.  But 
they  will  love  me  all  the  same.  And  so  will 
my  brothers.  I  have  four,  all  small.  I  am  the 
oldest  at  home.  I  dress  them.  They  will  be 
so  delighted  to  see  me!  " 

Mario  was  silent. 

At  night,  as  they  parted  to  go  to  bed,  the 
girl  said  to  Mario:  "Sleep  well." 

' '  No  one  will  sleep  well,  my  poor  children ! ' ' 
exclaimed  the  Italian  sailor,  as  he  ran  past  in 
answer  to  a  call  from  the  captain. 

' '  Good-  night, ' '  responded  Mario.  And  they 
descended  to  their  berths. 

The  sail  or', s  prediction  proved  correct.  Be- 
fore they  could  get  to  sleep,  a  frightful  tempest 
had  broken  loose.  It  was  like  the  onslaught 
of  great,  furious  horses,  which  in  the  course 
of  a  few  minutes  split  one  mast,  and  carried 
away,  like  leaves,  three  boats  which  were  sus- 
pended to  the  falls,  and  four  cows  on  the  bow. 
On  board  the  steamer  there  arose  a  confusion 
a  terror,  an  uproar, — a  tempest  of  shrieks, 
wails,  and  prayers,  sufficient  to  make  the  hair 
stand  on  end.  The  tempest  continued  to  in- 
crease in  fury  all  night.  At  daybreak  it  was 
still  raging.  The  formidable  waves,  dashing 
the  craft  transversely, broke  over  the  deck,  and 
smashed,  split,  and  hurled  everything  into  the 
sea.  The  platform  which  screened  the  engine 


312 


The  Ave  Maria. 


was  destroyed,  and  the  water  dashed  in  with  a 
terrible  roar;  the  fires  were  extinguished;  the 
engineers  fled;  huge  and  impetuous  streams 
forced  their  way  everywhere.  A  voice  of 
thunder  shouted: 

"To  the  pumps!"  It  was  the  captain's 
voice.  The  sailors  rushed  to  the  pumps.  But 
a  sudden  burst  of  the  sea,  striking  the  vessel 
on  the  stem,  demolished  bulwarks  and  hatch- 
ways, and  sent  a  flood  within. 

All  the  passengers,  more  dead  than  alive, 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  grand  saloon.  At  last 
the  captain  made  his  appearance. 

' '  Captain !  captain ! ' '  they  all  shrieked  in 
concert.   "Is  there  any  hope?    Save  us!  " 

He  waited  until  they  were  silent,  then  said, 
coolly :   ' '  Let  us  be  resigned. ' ' 

At  one  moment  the  captain  attempted  to 
launch  a  life-boat;  five  sailors  entered  it;  the 
boat  sank;  the  waves  turned  it  over,  and  two 
of  the  sailors  were  drowned,  among  them  the 
Italian;  the  others  contrived  with  difficulty  to 
catch  hold  of  the  ropes,  and  draw  themselves 
up  again.  After  this  the  sailors  lost  all  cour- 
age. Two  hours  later  the  vessel  was  sunk  in 
the  water  to  the  height  of  the  port-holes. 

A  terrible  spectacle  was  presented  mean- 
while on  the  deck.  Mothers  pressed  their 
children  to  their  breasts  in  despair;  friends 
exchanged  embraces  and  bade  one  another 
farewell;  some  went  down  into  the  cabins, 
that  they  might  die  without  seeing  the  sea. 
The  two  children,  Giulietta  and  Mario,  clung 
to  a  mast,  and  gazed  at  the  water  with  staring 
eyes,  as  though  senseless.  The  sea  had  sub- 
sided a  little,  but  the  vessel  continued  to  sink 
slowly.  Only  a  few  minutes  remained  to  them. 

"  Launch  the  long-boat!  "  shouted  the  cap- 
tain. 

A  boat,  the  last  that  remained,  was  thrown 
into  the  water,  and  fourteen  sailors  and  three 
passengers  descended  into  it.  The  captain 
remained  on  board. 

"Come  down  with  us!"  they  shouted  to 
him  from  below. 

"I  must  die  at  my  post,"  he  answered. 

' '  We  shall  meet  a  vessel, ' '  the  sailors  cried; 
'  *  we  shall  be  saved !   Come ! ' ' 

"I  shall  remain." 

* ' There  is  room  for  one  more! ' '  shouted  the 
sailors,  turning  to  the  other  passengers.  "A 
woman ! ' ' 

A  woman  advanced,  aided  by  the  captain; 
but  on  seeing  the  distance  at  which  the  boat 


lay,  she  did  not  feel  sufficient  courage  to  leap 
down,  and  fell  back  upon  the  deck.  The  other 
women  had  nearly  all  fainted. 

"A  boy!  "  shouted  the  sailors. 

At  that  shout  the  Sicilian  lad  and  his  com- 
panion, who  had  remained  up  to  that  moment 
petrified  as  by  a  supernatural  stupor,  were 
suddenly  aroused  by  a  violent  instinct  to  save 
their  lives.  They  detached  themselves  simul- 
taneously from  the  mast,  and  rushed  to  the 
side  of  the  vessel. 

' '  The  smallest ! ' '  shouted  the  sailors.  ' '  The 
boat  is  overloaded!  The  smallest!  " 

On  hearing  these  words,  the  girl  dropped 
her  arms,  as  though  struck  by  lightning,  and 
stood  motionless,  staring  at  Mario  with  lustre- 
less eyes.  He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment* 
the  gleam  of  a  divine  thought  flashed  across 
his  face. 

"The  smallest!"  repeated  the  sailors, with, 
imperious  impatience.  ' '  We  are  going! ' ' 

And  then  Mario,  with  a  voice  which  no 
longer  seemed  his  own.  cried:  "I  give  you 
my  place,  Giulietta.  You  have  a  father  and 
mother.  I  am  alone.  Go  down ! ' ' 

"Throw  her  into  the  sea!"  shouted  the 
sailors. 

Mario  seized  Giulietta  by  the  body,  and 
threw  her  into  the  sea.  The  girl  uttered  a  cry 
and  made  a  splash;  a  sailor  took  her  by  the 
arm,  and  dragged  her  into  the  boat.  The  boy 
remained  at  the  vessel's  side,  with  his  head 
held  high,  his  hair  streaming  in  the  wind — 
motionless,  tranquil,  sublime. 

The  boat  moved  ofi"  just  in  time  to  escape 
the  whirlpool  which  the  vessel  produced  as 
it  sank,  and  which  threatened  to  overturn  it. 
Then  the  girl,  who  had  remained  senseless 
until  that  moment,  raised  her  eyes  to  the  boy, 
and  burst  into  a  storm  of  tears. 

"Good-bye,  Mario!"  she  cried  amid  her 
sobs,  with  her  arms  outstretched  towards  him. 
"Good-bye!  Good-bye!  Good-bye!" 

' '  Good-bye ! ' '  replied  the  boy,  raising  his 
hand  on  high. 

The  boat  went  swiftly  across  the  troubled 
sea,  beneath  the  dark  sky.  No  one  on  board 
the  vessel  shouted  any  longer.  The  water  was 
already  lapping  the  edge  of  the  deck. 

Suddenly  the  boy  fell  on  his  knees,  with 
his  hands  folded  and  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven. 

The  girl  covered  her  face  When  she  raised 
her  head  again,  she  cast  a  glance  over  the  sea: 
the  vessel  was  no  longer  there. 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  i,  1887. 


No.   14. 


rCopTTicht  -— Rrr.  D.  E.  HmaoB,  C.  S.  C.I 


Cor  Cordium. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


«f|  HEART  of  hearts!  what  bitter  fate! 
^    A  flame  of  love  Thy  crest  adorns; 
Yet  pierced  with  the  lance  of  hate, 
And  girt  about  with  thorns, 

They  nailed  Thee  to  the  cruel  Cross, 
O  Heart  of  hearts!  and  left  Thee  there, 

To  languish  and  to  mourn  the  loss 
Of  love  beyond  compare, 

A  world  of  love,  incarnate,  fed 

With  rivers  of  the  Precious  Blood, 

O  Heart  of  hearts!  that  broke  and  shed 
An  ever-cleansing  flood. 

How  may  we  know  with  soul  unmoved 
The  peace  Thy  perfect  love  imparts— 

The  perfect  peace  that  we  have  proved 
Through  Thee,  O  Heart  of  hearts? 


The  Holy  Rosary  the  Queen  of  Devo- 
tions. 


BY    THE    REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 

AM  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  the 
readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria" 
will  regard  my  return  to  the  sub- 
ject of  the  Holy  Rosary  at  this  distant  day 
as  an  instance  of  tenacity  of  purpose,  and 
call  it  a  virtue;  or  look  upon  it  as  an  evi- 
dence of  tardiness  or  neglect,  atid  call  it  by 
perhaps  a  more  appropriate  name.  It  mat- 


ters little.  The  plan  I  proposed  to  myself 
more  than  four  years  ago,  and  carried  out 
in  part,  was  to  treat  of  the  Rosary  under 
three  heads:  First,  the  devotion  considered 
in  itself — or  its  origin,  essential  parts,  in- 
dulgences, etc. ;  secondly,  the  Rosary  as  an 
exercise  of  the  virtues;  and  thirdly,  the 
Rosary  as  a  compendium  of  devotions.  The 
first  two  parts  were  treated  of  at  that  time; 
it  is  now  the  purpose  to  take  up  the  third 
part.  Although  it  is  so  far  out  of  time  as  to 
have  no  immediate  connection  with  what 
has  gone  before,  it  is  hoped  it  may  still  be 
read  with  profit,  and  may  serve  to  revive 
devotion  to  Our  Lady  and  Her  Rosary  in 
the  hearts  of  some,  and  add  intensity  to  the 
devotion  already  existing  in  the  hearts  of 
others. 

It  is  proposed  to  show  in  a  series  of  brief 
remarks  that  the  Rosary,  when  recited  with 
the  pious  reflections  which  its  several  mys- 
teries are  so  well  calculated  to  awaken,  is 
not  only  a  most  beautiful  devotion  in  itself, 
but  is  also  a  compendium  of  many,  if  not 
all,  the  devotions  that  manifest  themselves 
in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  faithful  servants 
of  Mary.  Here  it  is  especially  that  the  sur- 
passing excellence  of  the  Rosary  appears; 
for  one  of  the  principal  recommendations 
of  a  devotion  is  its  suitableness  to  all  times, 
to  all  classes,  and  to  individuals  under  all 
circumstances,  and  with  all  their  endless 
number  and  variety  of  dispositions.  In 
this  the  Holy  Rosary  excels  all  others.  It 
ranges  through  the  entire  field  of  devotions, 
and  embraces  all  of  them  in  a  more  or  less 


3H 


The  Ave  Maria, 


perfectly  developed  state;  it  is  an  epitome 
of  the  history  of  redemption,  and  is  there 
fore  the  centre  of  devotion  in  all  times;  it 
treatsof  the  Joyful,  the  Sorrowful,  and  the 
Glorious  Mysteries,  and  hence  suits  all  cir- 
cumstances and  dispositions  of  individuals; 
in  a  word,  it  is  the  queen  of  devotions. 

I. 
The  origin  of  devotions  in  the  Church 
forms  a  subject  of  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive study.   Sometimes  a  devotion  is  the 
result  of  a  direct  revelation  from  Heaven ; 
again,  in  a  public  calamity  the  children  of 
God  seek  relief  in  some  new  exercise  of 
piety;  at  another  time  it  is  the  pious  prac- 
tice of  some  isolated  Christian  or  commu- 
nity that  gradually  spreads;  or,  finally,  it 
is  the  voice  of  Our  Lord  Himself  or  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  speaking  to  some  favored 
child — as  Blessed  Margaret  Mary,  Simon 
Stock, or  Dominic, — pointing  out  the  means 
by  which  truth  is  to  be  made  to  triumph 
over  error.    If  the  finger  of  God  is  there, 
the  celestial  origin  of  the  devotion  is  soon 
attested  by  the  streams  of  divine  grace  that 
flow  plenteously  from  its  practice;  the  ap- 
probation of  the   Church  is  sought;    the 
devotion   is   approved,  recommended,  en- 
couraged, and  enriched  with  indulgences; 
and  the  result  is  that  it  spreads  throughout 
the  Christian  commonwealth.   But  just  as 
the  articles  of  our  holy  faith  which  have 
been  defined  from  time  to  time  are  contained 
in  the  original  deposit,  so  too  are  these  de- 
votions in  a  latent  condition  in  the  Church, 
awaiting  the  time  appointed  for  their  in- 
troduction  among   the  children  of  God. 
Having  undertaken  to  show  that  the  Holy 
Rosary  is  a  compendium  of  devotions,  it  is 
fitting  that  we  should  begin  with  the  fun- 
damental mysteries  of  our  holy  religion. 

St.  Bonaventure  in  his  "Life  of  Christ" 
represents  the  three  Persons  of  the  Blessed 
Trinity  holding  a  council  with  regard  to 
the  redemption  of  man,  when,  before  his 
creation, his  unhappy  fall  was  present  to  the 
divine  mind.  And  when,  in  the  fulness  of 
time,  the  same  divine  Persons  would  accom- 
plish the  merciful  work  of  redemption,  each 
one  is  duly  represented  in  His  reUtion  to 


the  favored  Woman  who  is  chosen  to  be  the 
mother  of  the  Redeemer.  Mary  is  the 
daughter  of  the  Father,  the  mother  of  the 
Son,  and  the  spouse  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  salutation  of  the  angel  refers  explicitly 
to  each  of  the  three  Persons.  He  is  sent  as 
the  messenger  of  the  Father  to  declare  His 
choice  of  Mary  as  the  mother  of  the  long- 
expected  Messiah,  and  he  announces  the 
Incarnation  as  a  work  to  be  effected  by  the 
operation  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  "The  Holy 
Ghost  shall  come  upon  Thee,  and  the  power 
of  the  Most  High  shall  overshadow  Thee; 
and  therefore  the  holy  One  that  shall  be 
bom  of  Thee  shall  be  called  the  Son  of 
God. ' '  The  mystery  of  the  Blessed  Trinity 
was  again  proclaimed  at  the  beginning  of 
the  public  life  of  our  divine  Redeemer: 
when,  at  His  baptism  in  the  Jordan,  the 
Father  spoke  from  the  cloud,  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  was  present  in  the  form  of  a  dove. 
So,  too,  at  the  end  of  His  life  upon  eartli 
He  promised  to  ask  His  Father  to  send  the 
Comforter  upon  the  Apostles. 

How  admirably  is  not  all  this  set  forth 
in  the  mysteries  of  the  Rosary !  At  its  very 
threshold  it  proposes  this  fundamental  truth 
for  our  consideration;  and  it  renews  the 
lesson  as  we  proceed,  speaking  now  of  one 
Person,  now  of  another,  while  the  scope  of 
the  Rosary — the  redemption  of  man — is 
everywhere  represented  as  the  work  of  all 
Three.  Having  sent  an  Archangel  to  Mary  to 
begin  the  great  work.  They  finally  unite  in 
crowning  Her  Queen  of  Heaven,  to  end  it; 
just  as  we  begin  the  recitation  of  the  Rosary 
by  invoking  the  three  divine  Persons  im 
making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  end  k 
in  the  same  manner.  The  Holy  Rosary  may, 
then,  be  termed  an  exercise  of  devotion  t» 
the  ever- blessed  Trinity.  It  is  impossible 
to  recite  it  devoutly  without  enkindling  a 
more  tender  devotion  to,  and  a  fixmer  faith 
in,  this  fundamental  mystery. 

II. — The  Eternal  Father. 
The  great  mystery  of  which  the  Rosary 
treats  is  pre-eminently  the  work  of  the  Fa- 
ther; for,  though  the  Son  was  the  principal 
actor  in  the  sorrowful  drama.  He  was  guided 


The  Ave  Maria. 


315 


by  the  commands  which  the  Father  had 
given  Him,  as  He  declares  in  more  places 
than  one,  in  such  words  as  these :  ' '  I  always 
do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me,  that  I  may 
perfect  His  work."  The  characters,  too, 
that  figure  most  prominently  in  the  Rosary 
are  all  intimately  connected  with  the  Fa- 
ther. Jesus  Christ  is  His  only- begotten  Son, 
"the  brightness  of  His  glory  and  the  figure 
of  His  substance,"  who  could  truly  say, ''  I 
and  the  Father  are  one. ' '  Mary,  the  Mother 
of  Christ,  whose  crown  the  Rosary  is,  was 
the  favored  daughter  of  the  Father,  upon 
whom  He  bestowed  His  choicest  graces.  St. 
Joseph,  the  foster-father  of  the  Redeemer, 
to  whom  He  gave  a  greater  share  of  His 
power  and  wisdom  than  He  has  ever  given 
to  any  other,  or  ever  will  give,  has  been 
appropriately  called  by  the  Fathers,  the 
shadow  of  the  Eternal  Father  upon  earth. 
But  this  point  is  so  clear  that  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  enlarge  further  upon  it. 

The  manner  in  which  the  work  of  the 
redemption  was  accomplished  was  wholly 
in  accordance  with  the  will  of  the  Father. 
Jesus  Christ  came  upon  earth,  lived  in  pov- 
erty, wrought  miracles,  taught,  sufiered  and 
died,  rose  from  the  grave,  and  ascended  into 
heaven,  in  accordance  with  the  decrees  of 
the  Father.  Hence  He  frequently  restrained 
the  impetuosity  of  His  disciples,  who  were 
impatient  at  His  delays,  with  the  remark, 
"My  hour  is  not  yet  come."  Hence,  too, 
the  Father  on  more  occasions  than  one  bore 
witness  to  Him  by  a  voice  from  heaven, 
declaring  Him  His  well-beloved  Son,  and 
requiring  all  to  hear  Him.  Hence  Jesus 
Christ  cried  out  upon  the  Cross:  'Father, 
into  Thy  hands  I  commend  My  spirit." 
Hence,  too,  at  His  Ascension  He  said:  "I 
go  to  Him  that  sent  Me." 

All  the  personages  who  figure  in  the 
Rosary  were  the  special  instruments  of  the 
Father,  and  in  the  end,  upon  the  fulfilment 
of  the  part  which  He  had  assigned  them, 
each  returned  to  Him,  and  received  a  re- 
ward. Christ  humbled  Himself  even  to  the 
death  of  the  cross;  but  in  return  the  Father 
exalted  Him,  and  gave  Him  a  name  that  is 
above  all  other  names,  at  the  sound  of  which 


all  knees  bend  in  heaven,  on  earth,  and  in 
the  abyss;  and  further  constituted  Him 
the  Judge  of  the  living  and  the  dead.  The 
sacred  humanity,  too,  in  which  He  suflfered 
has  been  raised  by  the  Father  to  a  place  at 
His  right  hand  in  glory.  The  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, the  chosen  daughter  of  the  Father, was 
faithful  to  the  duties  of  the  exalted  position 
to  which  He  raised  Her,  and  in  return  He 
assumed  Her,  body  and  soul,  into  His  king- 
dom, and  crowned  Her  Queen  of  angels  and 
men,  where  He  alone  is  King.  St.  Joseph, 
that  faithful  servant  whom  the  Lord  placed 
over  all  His  possessions,  merited  on  earth 
to  be  entrusted  with  the  care  of  the  Child 
and  His  Mother,  and  now  in  heaven  his 
throne  is  above  all  save  that  only  of  his  holy 
Spouse.   And  so  of  the  rest. 

If  we  examine  the  Rosary  in  detail  we 
shall  perceive  the  divine  attributes  of  the 
Father  shine  forth  in  every  mystery:  His 
love.  His  mercy,  His  goodness,  His  justice, 
His  wisdom,  and  so  of  the  others.  It  opens 
by  addressing  Him  by  the  endearing  name 
of  * '  Father, ' '  which  is  repeated  at  intervals ; 
and  it  closes  with  leaving  Jesus  and  Mary 
in  glory  with  Him.  This  devotion,  as  the 
choice  of  his  present  Holiness  Leo  XIII. 
would  seem  to  show,  is  especially  suited  to 
the  unhappy  times  in  which  our  lot  is  cast, 
when  we  are  forced  to  witness  all  but  uni- 
versal unbelief  outside  the  Church,  and 
lamentable  coldness  within  her  pale;  when 
the  majesty  of  God  is  so  wantonly  outraged, 
His  authority  so  boldly  defied.  His  sacred 
law  so  ruthlessly  trampled  upon,  and  His 
very  existence  so  openly  called  in  question; 
and  all  this  in  the  pursuit  of  that  happi- 
ness which  can  be  found  only  in  Him,  and 
in  the  search  after  those  riches  which  only 
they  possess  and  enjoy  who  possess  Him 
and  enjoy  Him.  Truly,  then,  may  the  Holy 
Rosary  be  called  a  devotion  to  the  Eternal 
Father,  and  the  most  excellent  of  all. 

III.— The  Holy  Ghost. 

The  Holy  Ghost,  like  the  Father  and  the 
Son,  is  frequently  mentioned  and  more  fre- 
quently referred  to  in  the  Holy  Rosary,  and 
His  divine  operations  are  everywhere  per- 


3i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ceptible.  And  these  manifestations  are  sucli 
as  both  to  increase  our  knowledge  and  en- 
kindle our  love  toward  the  third  Person 
of  the  Blessed  Trinity.  The  great  work  of 
the  Incarnation  was  pre-eminently  a  work 
of  the  Holy  Ghost.  ''The  Holy  Ghost," 
said  the  Archangel  to  Mary,  "shall  come 
upon  Thee,  and  the  power  of  the  Most  High 
shall  overshadow  Thee."  If  we  pause  to 
consider  more  in  detail  the  numerous  mani- 
festations of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  course 
of  the  Rosary,  we  shall  learn  more  of  His 
ineffable  operations. 

In  the  first  mystery  He  effects  the  great- 
est of  all  mysteries,  the  Incarnation;  in  the 
second  He  enlightens  St.  Elizabeth  to  rec- 
ognize in  her  humble  and  youthful  cousin 
the  Mother  of  the  Redeemer  of  the  world, 
and  moves  her  to  exclaim  in  accents  of  ad- 
miration: "x\nd  whence  is  this  to  me  that 
the  Mother  of  my  Lord  should  come  to 
me?"  At  the  same  time  He  moves  His 
holy  Spouse  to  utter  that  most  sublime  of 
canticles,  i^x^ Magnificat ^Kn  which  She  de- 
clares that  all  generations  shall  call  Her 
blessed,  because  He  that  is  mighty  has  doue 
great  things  to  Her.  He  fills  the  holy,  but 
for  a  time  incredulous,  Zichary  with  the 
spirit  of  prophecy  to  utter  his  beautiful 
canticle,  the  Benedicius,  which,  like  the 
Magnificat^  the  Church  daily  repeats  in  her 
Ofiice.  He  leads  the  old  man  Simeon  into 
the  Temple,  there  to  witness  the  fulfilment 
of  the  promise  made  to  him,  that  he  should 
live  to  see  the  Saviour  of  the  world  made 
flesh  and  dwelling  among  men.  He  again 
appears  at  the  baptism  of  Christ,  and  after- 
ward leads  Him  into  the  desert  to  undergo 
His  forty  days'  fast  before  entering  upon 
His  public  ministry.  He  descends  upon 
the  Apostles  at  Pentecost  to  prepare  them 
for  the  wonderful  work  before  them;  and 
finally  He  assumes  His  chaste  Spouse  into 
heaven,  and  places  Her  on  a  throne  high 
above  all  other  creatures  whether  angelic  or 
human. 

The  Holy  Ghost  is  the  Spirit  of  super- 
natural wisdom  and  eternal  truth.  Real 
wisdom  can  never  be  at  variance  with  truth, 
nor  can  there  be  any  true  wisdom  but  that 


which  is  based  upon  infallible  truth.  How 
well  does  not  the  Holy  Rosary  inculcate 
devotion  to  true  wisdom  when  it  unites  the 
worihip  of  the  Spirit  of  Wisdom  with  ven- 
eration for  the  Seat  of  Wisdom !  Blessed 
are  they  who  are  taught  of  God !  Let  us, 
then,  who  are  the  true  children  of  God, 
because  the  children  of  Mary,  seek  wisdom 
by  means  of  the  Holy  Rosary;  and  in  all 
doubts  and  perplexities  go  with  loving  con- 
fidence to  Her  whom  the  Church  styles  the 
Seat  of  Wisdom.  Happy  for  us  if  the  Seat 
of  Wisdom  is  our  advocate  with  the  Spirit 
of  Wisdom  1  Truly,  then,  may  it  be  said 
that  the  Rosary  inspires  and  nourishes  de- 
votion to  the  third  Person  of  the  Adorable 
Trinity. 

IV.— Jesus  Christ  as  God. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  so  much 
of  our  devotion  should  centre  upon  the 
person  of  our  divine  Saviour.  It  is  not  that 
we  thereby  detract  from  what  is  due  to  the 
other  Persons  of  the  Blessed  Trinity,  as 
some  non-Catholics  have  been  heard  to  say; 
but  rather  because  our  Saviour  appeared  so 
long  among  men  in  a  visible,  tangible  form 
— t*»aching  working  miracles,  dying,  rising 
from  the  dead,  and  ascending  into  heaven, — 
that  much  is  known  of  Him,  and  may  be 
expressed  in  human  language  that  could 
not  be  known  nor  expressed  of  the  Father 
and  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  are  pure  spirits. 
All  His  manifestations  were  of  such  a  char- 
acter as  to  evince  an  infinite  love  for  man, 
and  no  heart  can  fail  to  remember  them 
with  gratitude  Then,  too.  He  established  a 
Church,  in  which  His  sacred  life,  sufferings, 
and  death  are  frequently  commented  on. 
His  Sacraments  received,  and  the  Adorable 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass — of  His  own  sacred 
Body  and  Blood — offered  up  and  assisted 
at;  all  of  which  keep  the  thought  of  Him 
so  vividly  before  our  minds  that  we  can  not 
even  for  a  short  time  lose  sight  of  Him. 

The  manner  in  which  the  Holy  Rosary 
excites  devotion  to  the  second  Person  of  the 
Blessed  Trinity  can  not  be  treated  of  under 
one  head,  but  will  require  several.  His  di- 
vinity, His  humanity,  the  holy  childhood, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


317 


the  hidden  life,  Jesus  suflfering,  Jesus  dead, 
Jesus  risen,  Jesus  glorified,  Je^us  in  the 
Most  Blessed  Sacrament,  the  Most  Piecious 
Blood,  the  Sacred  Heart,  the  Holy  Face, — 
each  will  require  treatment  separately,  will 
form  a  fitting  subject  for  remarks,  and  will 
be  found  most  intimately  connected  with 
the  Holy  Rosary. 

Let  us  begin  with  Jesus  Christ  as  God, 
because  His  numberless  claims  upon  our 
adoration,  praise,  and  gratitude  are,  one  and 
all,  based  on  the  fundamental  truth  of  His 
divinity.  It  is  more  necessary  to  iusist  on 
the  divinit>  of  Jesus  Christ  in  our  day,  even 
among  Catholics,  than  most  of  us  are  dis- 
posed to  imagine.  True,  indeed,  when  we 
see  Him  raise  the  dead  to  life,  or  perform 
some  other  of  the  many  supernatural  won- 
ders which  require  almighty  power,  we  rec- 
ognize the  presence  of  God;  but  these  are, 
if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  the 
exceptions  in  His  life  upon  earth.  It  is  not 
in  this  form  that  He  is  usually  presented  to 
us.  The  weeping  Infant  in  the  manger,  the 
fugitives  with  the  divine  Child  hastening 
into  exile,  the  Boy  carpenter  at  Nazareth, 
the  Teacher  sitting  fatigued  at  the  well  in 
Samaria;  and,  much  more,  the  agonizing 
Victim  in  the  garden,  the  Prisoner  in  the 
judgment -hall,  the  Accused  before  His 
judges,  the  Object  of  mockery  at  the  pillar, 
the  new  Isaac  carrying  the  wood  for  sacri- 
fice to  the  top  of  the  mountain  of  God,  and 
thrice  falling  beneath  its  weight;  hanging 
bleeding  upon  it,  or  taken  down  in  death 
from  its  cold  embrace,  and  consigned  to  the 
damp  dungeon  of  the  sepulchre, — these 
impress  the  idea  of  His  sacred  humanity  so 
deeply  upon  us  that  it  sometimes  requires 
an  efibrt  of  our  weak  minds  to  remember 
that  He  is  God  equal  to  the  Father 

The  Rosary,  in  presenting  Him  to  us  as 
the  Redeemer  of  the  world,  shows  Him 
rather  in  the  weakness  of  the  humanity 
than  in  the  might  of  the  divinity.  Yet  to 
the  eye  of  faith  the  Rosary  is  an  expression 
of  devotion  to  the  divinity  of  Our  Lord,  and 
a  most  powerful  means  of  cultivating  it ;  for, 
though  the  whole  devotion  is  but  a  dramatic 
view  of  the  life  of  Christ  as  man,  that  drama 


drew  all  its  significance  from  the  union  of 
the  human  with  the  divine  nature.  And 
though  the  mysteries  of  the  Rosary  do  not 
present  us  with  many  striking  manifesta- 
tions of  the  divinity,  such  as  we  read  of  in 
the  Gospels — for  it  is  rather  a  record  of  His 
humiliation  and  suflfering, — there  are  not 
wanting  glimpses  of  the  divinity,  such  ais 
the  prostration  of  His  enemies  when  they 
came  to  apprehend  Him,  His  glorious  Res- 
urrection and  admirable  Ascension.  And  if 
such  evidences  appeared  through  the  veil 
of  the  humanity  as  to  make  even  a  pagan 
centurion  exclaim,  ''Indeed  this  was  the 
Son  of  God ! "  at  the  time  wh en  more  than 
any  other  the  divinity  was  eclipsed,  and 
but  a  moment  after  Christ  had  exclaimed, 
"My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken 
Me?  "  surely  it  should  not  seem  diflficult  for 
the  children  of  God  to  find  in  every  mystery 
a  proof  of  the  presence  of  a  divine  Person. 

v.— Jesus  Christ  as  Man. 

The  Incarnation  of  the  Son  of  God  is  the 
central  point  of  the  world's  history.  What- 
ever occurred  before  it  pointed  to  it,  and 
drew  its  significance  from  it;  whatever  has 
transpired  since  flows  from  it.  God,  who  in 
times  past  spoke  by  the  prophets,  in  the 
fulness  of  time  sent  His  own  divine  Son, 
who  was  to  be  for  all  future  ages  the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life;  so  that  those  who  be- 
lieved in  Him  might  not  perish,  but  might 
have  life  everlasting.  The  Man- God  is  the 
Teacher,  the  Model,  the  Redeemer,  and  the 
Victim  for  the  children  of  God  in  all  times. 
Devotion  to  Him  must,  therefore,  be  the  one 
great  devotion  of  Christians. 

How  admirably  this  devotion  is  incul- 
cated in  the  Holy  Rosary  few  words  are 
needed  to  explain.  In  every  mystery,  from 
the  fiist  to  the  last,  the  Rosary  is  but  a  pres- 
entation of  Jesus  Christ  as  man  under  a 
variety  of  aspects,  each  revealing  more  and 
more  clearly  the  unfathomable  depth  of  His 
love  for  man,  and  His  equally  insatiable 
thirst  for  the  glory  of  His  Father.  Like  the 
spouse  in  the  canticle,  as  one  of  the  Fathers 
remarks.  He  comes  leaping  over  the  moun- 
tains, skipping  over   the  hills;  from  the 


3i8 


The  Ave  Marta. 


bosom  of  His  Father  He  comes  to  the 
bosom  of  Mary,  to  be  manifested  in  the  sta- 
ble of  Bethlehem,  from  Bethlehem  to  the 
Temple,  from  the  Temple  to  Egypt,  from 
Egypt  to  Nazareth,  to  Jerusalem,  to  the  re- 
tirement of  the  hidden  life,  to  the  cities  and 
towns  of  Judea  and  Galilee,  to  the  Garden 
of  Gethsemane,  to  the  hall  of  Pilate,  to 
Calvary,  to  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  again 
to  the  right  hand  on  high.  Everywhere  the 
sacred  humanity  shields  the  divinity,  but 
at  the  same  time  permits  that  virtue  to 
shine  forth  which  won  all  hearts.  Never  diH 
heaven  appear  so  near  to  earth  as  when  the 
human  and  divine  natures  were  present 
united  in  Clirist — the  essential  Being  of 
heaven  united  with  the  noblest  Creature  of 
earth,  the  Son  of  the  Father  with  the  Son 
of  Mary.  But  it  will  be  necessary  to  pause 
to  reflect  at  greater  length  on  a  few  of  the 
scenes  which  are  presented  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  Holy  Rosary. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Ampere  the  Elder. 


BY    T.    F.    GALWEY. 


IT  is  a  widespread  belief  that  the  religion 
of  the  French  people  is  weakened  by 
skepticism,  and  that  their  literature  is  de- 
filed by  an  unworthy  familiarity  with  vice. 
It  can  scarcely  be  denied  that  the  one  form 
of  modern  infidelity  best  calculated  to  win 
popular  acceptance  was  first  successfully 
disseminated  from  Paris.  Deism  may  be 
defined  as  a  doctrine  which  acknowledges 
an  all-wise,  personal  God,  but  denies  any 
revelation  of  Himself  to  His  creatures  other 
than  that  which  is  contained  in  the  opera- 
tions of  His  universe.  It  was  Voltaire  and 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  who  gave  the  fiist 
great  impetus  to  deism,  and  these  two  writ- 
ers occupy  a  most  important  place  in  the 
history  of  French  literature.  Yet  of  these 
two  the  one  whose  writings  did  the  more 
mischief  was  not  a  Frenchman,  but  a  Swiss 
of  Calvinistic  parentage  and  training,  who, 
in  the  course  of  his  evil  career,  enacted  the 


farce  of  becoming  a  Catholic  for  a  brief 
moment.  Rousseau  was  a  type  of  those 
aliens  in  race  or  religion,  or  both, who  have 
done  so  much  to  darken  the  brilliancy  of 
French  letters  by  immorality  and  skepti- 
cism. 

Modern  deism  had  its  origin  in  England 
among  Protestants,  and  was  the  direct  re- 
sult of  the  contradictory  teachings  of  the 
Protestant  sects  Locke,  Hobbes,  Shaftes- 
bury, and  Bolingbroke  formulated  the  ideas 
for  which  Voltaire  and  his  successors  in 
France  furnished  both  an  attractive  literary 
attire  and  the  ornament  of  pungent  Gallic 
wit.  So  has  it  been  with  the  later  phases 
of  doubt  or  denial.  Unbiased  investigation 
shows  that  they  have  had  their  origin  among 
Protestants,  and  in  thoroughly  Protestant 
communities;  and  if  they  have  gained  a 
foothold  in  France,  or  rather  in  Paris,  it  is 
principally  because  for  centuries  Paris  has 
been  a  great  centre  of  intellectual  activity, 
one  might  almost  say  the  intellectual  ex- 
change of  the  whole  world. 

To  Paris  every  intellectual  inventor  has 
taken  or  sent  his  invention  in  order  to  bring 
it  into  vogue.  The  Gauls  have  always  been 
accomplished  talkers  and  writers;  English 
and  German  thinkers  have,  therefore,  usu- 
ally regarded  themselves  as  fortunate  when 
they  have  been  able  to  get  their  ideas  be- 
fore the  Gauls  to  be  embellished  in  dis- 
cussion. The  French  language,  like  the 
French  mind,  is  at  once  clear  and  system- 
atic. Clearness  is  lacking  in  the  German, 
and  system  in  the  English,  but  it  is  easy  to 
see  what  perfection,  so  far  as  error  is  perfecti- 
ble, German  and  English  heiesies  could  ac- 
quire by  passing  through  the  French  mind, 
and  taking  vocal  form  through  the  French 
speech.  This  is  the  history  of  the  infidel 
propaganda  of  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries,  and,  to  a  certain  extent, 
of  the  nineteenth.  The  French  people. 
Catholic  as  most  of  them  have  been  and  are, 
have  sins  enough  of  their  own  to  answer 
for  without  being  compelled  in  addition 
to  bear  the  weight  of  others'  wrong-doing. 

Besides,  not  counting  the  colonies  of  for- 
eigners settled  at  Paris,  largely  Protestant 


The  Ave  Maria. 


319 


as  thefe  colonies  are,  tViere  has  always,  since 
the  time  of  the  so-called  Reformation,  been 
a  numerous  body  of  na  ive  Protestants  in 
France,  It  would  be  a  curious  inquity,  how 
much  of  the  infidelity  of  the  last  two  hun- 
dred years  is  due  directly  to  Huguenot  in- 
fluence? The  Huguenot  tradition  has  from 
the  first  been  one  of  alliance  with  the  ene- 
mies of  France,  and  of  bitter  antipathy  to 
the  Catholic  religion.  It  is  a  fact  that  most 
of  the  descendants  of  those  Huguenots  who 
did  not  finally  become  Catholics  are  infidels 
to-day.  What  proportion  do  they  form  of 
the  present  zealous  enemies  of  Christianity 
in  France?  To  these  should  be  added  the 
Jewish  element,  chieflv  residing  in  the  large 
cities,  which,  numerous  as  it  is,  exercises, 
on  account  of  its  wonderful  business  sagac- 
ity, and  at  the  same  time  its  inherent  love 
and  aptitude  for  art  of  a  certain  order,  an 
influence  in  journalism,  politics,  and  litera- 
ture quite  out  of  proportion  to  its  numbers, 
— an  influence  decidedly  hostile  to  the 
Christian  religion.  Some  of  the  vilest  of 
the  productions  which  bear  the  stamp  of 
the  French  language  issue  frorn  Calvinistic 
Geneva  and  from  non- Catholic  sources  in 
Belgium. 

It  being  conceded,  then,  that  Paris  is  not 
France,  and  that  although  infidelity  has 
long  been  rife  at  Paris,  it  has  been  to  a  great 
extent  the  expression  of  opinion  of  but  a 
small  minority  there,  so  far  as  the  natives 
are  concerned,  it  can  not,  nevertheless,  be 
denied  that  at  one  time  infidelity  made  its 
way  in  France  among  those  who  were  nei- 
ther of  Huguenot  or  foreign  origin,  nor  of 
flagrantly  vicious  life.  A  great  deal  of  what 
was  called  "polite  society"  in  Paris  and  the 
other  cities  of  France  during  the  eighteenth 
century  amused  itself  by  playing  the  skep- 
tic. There  was  in  Paris  no  great  centre  of 
Catholic  intellectual  activity.  What  might 
have  been  the  case  if  the  University  of  Paris 
had  been  governed  by  the  French  episco- 
pate, it  is  unnecessary  to  inquire.  The  Uni- 
versity, weak  for  a  long  while,  came  at  last 
to  an  end.  For  the  lack,  perhaps,  of  such 
a  centre  as  the  University  should  have  been, 
the  "clubs"  grew  in  numbers  and  impor- 


tance, and  the  salons  of  fashionable  women 
gradually  assumed  some  of  the  functions 
of  the  University,  and  began  to  discuss  and 
mould  opinions  in  philosophy  and  religion. 

This  latter  fact,  perhaps,  accounts  to  a 
considerable  extent  for  the  light  and  frivo- 
lous tone  in  which  men  of  brains  at  that 
time  treated  the  most  serious  subjec's. 
Scholars  frequented  the  salon  of  Madame 
So-and-Si  to  hear  what  m'ght  be  the  last 
theor>  put  forth  as  to  the  relations  of  God 
to  man.  No  very  virile  Christianity  could 
well  flourish  amid  the  enervanng  perfumes 
of  the  salon^  where,  under  the  soft  light  of 
wax  candles,  ladies  with  powdered  hair, 
and  with  patches  on  their  cheeks  and  chins, 
skimmed  across  the  waxed  floors  from  one 
grave  man  to  another,  and  set  the  theme 
on  which  they  were  to  think.  Religion  as 
well  as  philosophy  became  under  such  cir- 
cumstances S)  stems  of  bons  mots.  In  every- 
thing but  doubt  or  denial,  fashionable  and 
intellectual  Paris  ceased  to  be  serious.  Then 
came  the  bloody  era  of  the  Revolution,  and 
on  top  of  that  the  despotism  of  Napoleon's 
rule. 

The  polite  infidelity  of  the  Parisian  in- 
tellect experienced  a  shock  when  it  saw 
some  of  its  principles,  or  rather  denials  of 
principles,  so  rudely  applied  by  the  sans 
culottes.  Many  of  the  brighter  minds  then 
began  to  doubt  of  the  wisdom  of  this  uni- 
versal doubt.  One  of  the  great  men  of  France 
wrote  at  that  time  (1805)  to  a  friend:  "No 
one  knows  better  than  you  how  fully  I  once 
believed  in  the  revelation  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion,  but  since  coming  to  Paris 
I  have  fallen  into  an  unbearable  state  of 
mind.  How  I  regret  the  change  from  the 
time  when  I  lived  in  those  thoughts,  though 
they  may  have  been  chimerical! "  He  who 
thus  expressed  regret  at  the  loss  of  faith 
was  the  man  to  whom,  along  with  Galileo 
and  Newton,  the  exact  sciences  are  most  in 
debt — Ampere  the  Elder, 

Andre  Marie  Ampere  was  born  in  Lyons, 
January  20,1775.  His  father,  Jean  Jacques 
Ampere,  was  a  merchant  of  wealth,  highly- 
esteemed  by  his  fellow-citizens  for  his  busi- 
ness integrity,  and  he  was  also  distinguished 


7'he  Ave  Maria. 


for  his  refined  tastes  and  varied  acquire- 
ments. Andre's  mother,  who  before  her 
marriage  with  M.  Ampere  had  been  a  Ma- 
demoiselle Antoinette  Sarcey  de  Sutieres, 
was  an  accomplished  woman,  of  an  amiable 
disposition,  and  was  fond  of  doing  good 
among  the  suffering  poor.  Shortly  after 
Andre's  birth,  M.  Ampere  retired  from  busi- 
ness, and  removed  to  a  little  property  which 
he  had  purchased  at  Foley mieuxles- Mont- 
d'Or,  in  the  suburbs  cf  Lyons.  There  Andle 
passed  his  bo)hood,  and  there  he  first  dis- 
played that  genius  which  was  to  make  him 
the  pride  and  the  glory  of  scientific  France. 
The  faculty  which  he  first  developed  was 
that  of  arithmetical  calculation.  Before  he 
had  learned  to  make  the  Arabic  numerals, 
he  used  to  work  out  long  arithmetical  prob- 
lems by  means  of  a  few  pebbles,  or  white 
beans.  Once,  while  the  little^fellow  was  con- 
fined to  his  bed  by  some  childish  ailment, 
his  mother,  desiring  to  keep  his  mind  at 
rest,  took  away  the  pebbles  which  he  had 
arrayed  on  the  bed  beside  him ;  but  she  had 
no  sooner  left  the  room  than  he  broke  a 
biscuit  into  pieces,  and  by  means  of  them 
went  on  with  his  calculations. 

Young  Ampere  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
read  took  up  the  Encyclopaedia,  and  went 
through  it  deliberately  from  the  first  page 
to  the  last,  without  skipping  an  article  or  a 
sentence.  He  was  all  his  life  fond  of  poetry, 
and  while  still  a  mere  lad  had  read  all  the 
French  poets  of  eminence,  besides  having 
familiarized  himself  through  translations 
with  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Tasso,  and  the 
Greek  and  Latin  poets.  But  in  his  youth  his 
greatest  predilection  was  for  mathematics. 
Having  read  or  heard  of  certain  authors  who 
had  treated  of  its  more  abstruse  branches, 
he  one  day  inquired  for  their  works  at  a 
bookstore  in  Lyons.  The  bookseller  smiled 
and  answered:  "But,  my  boy,  the  books 
you  ask  for  are  in  Latin! "  Andre  reflected 
a  moment,  then  went  home,  and  after  a  few 
weeks'  solitary  study  had  fortified  himself 
with  sufficient  Latin  to  read  these  treatises 
without  difficulty.  It  was  then  that  he  for 
the  first  time  felt  the  usefulness  of  a  uni- 
versal language  for  science,  and  determined 


to  create  one  himself.  One  evening  after- 
wards, when  a  collegian  at  Lyons,  he  recited 
before  an  assembly  of  his  friends  a  poem 
which  he  had  composed  in  this  language 
of  his  own,  and  the  verses  aie  said  to  have 
rolled  out  rich  and  harmonious. 

The  Revolution  meantime  was  disturb- 
ing France.  M.  Ampere,  therefore,  in  order 
to  obtain  greater  se^  urity  for  his  little  house- 
hold, gave  up  his  mountain  seat,  and  moved 
his  family — consisting  cf  Madame  Ampere 
and  two  children,  Andr^  and  Josephine — to 
Lyons,  where  he  was  quickly  made  a  justice 
of  the  peace.  When  the  Jacobins,  under 
Collot  d'  Herbois  and  Fouche,  entered 
Lyons,  a  general  massacre  of  the  inhabi- 
tants took  place,  and  M.  Ampere,  on  the 
charge  of  being  an  aristocrat,  was  sent  with 
other  honorable  citizens  to  the  guillotine. 
It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Madame  Ampere 
and  her  children. 

In  some  respects  Andre  Marie  Ampere 
may  be  likened  to  the  great  Italian  poet  and 
novelist  Manzoni.  The  two  were  brought 
up  in  childhood  to  call  themselves  Catho- 
lics. The  families  of  both  were  Catholics,  of 
virtuous  life  and  excellent  reputation.  Both 
families,  however,  from  the  circumstances 
of  the  time  and  of  their  social  circles,  were 
somewhat  penetrated  with  that  false  philo- 
sophical spirit,  the  tincture  of  deism  trans- 
planted from  Protestant  England,  diluted 
with  the  pagan  humanitarianism  of  Epic- 
tetus  and  Marcus  Aurelius.  The  fact  that 
Andr6,  not  yet  twelve  years  of  age,  was 
permitted  and  even  encouraged  by  his  father 
to  devour  the  French  Encyclopedie — a  work 
edited  and  almost  exclusively  written  by  the 
"philosophers" — is  highly  significant. 

So  that  if  both  Ampere  and  Manzoni 
when  in  the  prime  of  their  manhood  and 
genius  were  models  of  simple  Christian  faith 
and  piety,  the  explanation  is,  not  that  their 
minds  when  young  had  been  ' '  cramped 
within  superstitious  moulds,"  but  that  their 
great  intellects,  undimmed  by  vice  and 
loving  the  truth  for  itself,  enabled  them  to 
work  out  for  themselves  the  problem  of 
human  existence.  Had  these  men  been  less 
intellectual  than  they  were,  or  corrupted  by 


The  Ave  Maria. 


321 


vicious  habits,  the  probability  is  that  they 
would  have  lived  and  died  indifferent  to 
religion,  like  so  many  of  their  contempora- 
ries. They  became  sincere  in  spite  of  the 
circumstances  of  their  youth. 

One  of  Ampere's  earliest  published  essays 
(1802)  was  in  a  line  of  study  to  which  Pascal 
had  been  among  the  first  to  give  definite 
scientific  form :  the  calculation  of  probabili- 
ties. It  was  the  geometer  Legendre  who 
spoke  of  this  science  as  "common-sense 
reduced  to  calculation. "  Ampere's  treatise 
was  named  Considerations  sur  la  Thkorie 
Mathematique  du  Jeu  (Considerations  on 
the  Mathematical  Theory  of  Gaming),  and 
it  attracted  the  attention  of  the  learned,  re- 
sulting in  his  appointment  to  a  place  in  the 
faculty  at  lyyons.  In  1805  ^^  ^^s  assigned 
to  a  mathematical  chair  in  the  Bcole  Poly- 
technique  at  Paris.  Before  going  to  Paris 
he  had  married  an  excellent  young  lady 
of  Lyons,  and  the  fruit  of  this  marriage 
was  one  son — Jean  Jacques  Antoine,  better 
known  as  Ampere  the  Younger,  who  in  his 
day  became  distinguished  as  an  eminent 
critic  and  historian  of  classical  literature. 

While  Ampere,  now  settled  at  Paris, 
was  discovering  the  principles  of  electro- 
dynamics, establishing  the  identity  of  elec- 
tricity and  magnetism,  and  achieving  great 
things  in  physics  generally,  he  was  deep 
in  the  ttudy  of  metaphysics  also.  The 
scholastic  system  was  sadly  out  of  fashion. 
It  was  identified  by  the  greater  number 
of  thinkers  then  with  the  ''Dark  Ages" 
and  the  "ignorant  monks."  The  philoso- 
phers of  the  period  had  a  supreme  contempt 
for  scholasticism,  of  which  they  knew  next 
to  nothing,  except  through  hearsay  or  a 
prejudiced  tradition.  It  was  a  system,  they 
supposed,  which  concerned  itself  with  prob- 
lems such  as  the  determination  of  how 
many  angels  could  balance  themselves  at 
the  same  time  on  the  point  of  a  needle;  evi- 
dently a  very  absurd  system. 

Ampere  went  through  the  whole  range 
of  eighteenth  century  philosophy,  from  the 
materialists  of  England  and  France  to  the 
idealists  of  Germany.  His  vast  intellect  was 
able  to  exhaust  all  these  contrary  or  con- 


tradictory systems,  and  to  summarize  irt 
clear  propositions  their  doctrines  on  the 
most  obscure  or  recondite  points.  The  cat- 
alogue of  treatises,  essays,  and  pamphlets 
which  issued  from  his  pen  during  his  thirty- 
one  years  at  Paris  would  fill  a  large  page, 
most  of  the  subjects  which  he  chose  by 
preference  being  those  which  were  the 
source  of  perplexity  to  the  learned  world. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  he  found  delight  in 
the  lyatin  poets.  The  immense  variety  of 
his  learning  made  his  a  universal  mind,  but 
a  mind  that  was  as  profound  as  it  was 
broad.  Still,  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  Catholic 
in  belief  not  long  after  his  arrival  in  Paris, 
and  had,  of  course,  abandoned  the  use  of  the 
Sacraments. 

In  1 814  Ampere  was  elected  a  member 
of  the  Institute.  It  was  then  that  his  old 
friend  Bredin  wrote  of  him:  "At  last  he 
has  attained  to  the  highest  honors  that  a 
scientist  can  win ;  and  among  all  those  men 
whose  colleague  he  now  is,  not  one  has  so 
large  or  so  mighty  a  brain  as  his.  The 
greatest  difficulties  of  science  are  mere 
sport  for  him;  heights  which  others  try  to 
climb  only  with  painful  efforts  are  reached 
by  him  naturally,  and  apparently  at  his 
ease.  He  is  not  affected  by  the  desire  of 
succeeding,  as  he  loves  science  purely  and 
for  itself  alone."  That  was  the  truth,  and 
not  a  pretty  sa\  ing;  Ampere  loved  science 
for  itself  and  it  was  now, when  approaching 
the  summit  of  his  fame,  that  he  found  the 
emptiness  of  a  philosophy  that  refuses  to 
look  towards  God 

Having  ascertained  this,  he  set  himself 
to  study  out  the  difficult  problem  of  relig- 
ion in  the  same  serious  scientific  way  that 
he  had  entered  upon  the  study  of  other  dif- 
ficult problems.  He  read  all  that  was  written 
on  the  subject,  and  he  thought  over  what 
he  had  read,  and  he  worked  out  the  problem 
in  detail,  section  by  section.  He  had  never 
denied  the  being  of  God,  and  an  intelligent 
God;  he  was  too  wise  for  that.  He  worked 
out  the  problem  he  had  before  him,  and  ar- 
rived at  a  Divine  Providence,  a  revelation, 
and  an  authoritative  deposit  for  that  revela- 
tion. He  went  through  the  Holy  Scriptures 


322 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  through  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  he 
examined  the  claims  of  the  sects,  and  finally 
he  found  the  visible  Church  of  God,  one, 
holy.  Catholic  and  apostolic.  In  1817  this 
great  and  therefore  simple  man  wrote  to 
Bredin:  ''My  dear  friend,  this  morning  I 
have  received  the  great  grace  of  absolution. 
.  .  .  To-day  it  is  in  the  Catholic  Church  only 
that  I  can  find  the  faith,  as  well  as  the  grad- 
ual accomplishment  of  the  promises  which 
God  has  made,  and  made  to  her  only." 

The  University  of  France  was  the  work 
of  Napoleon.  The  ancient  University  of 
Paris,  which  in  the  da)  s  when  it  was  Cath- 
olic in  spirit  had  numbered  as  many  as 
thirty  thousand  students,  had  gone  into  de- 
cay, and  finally  had  collapsed  like  many 
other  institutions,  valuable  or  otherwise,  of 
France.  The  old  University  was  a  true 
university  in  its  organization — a  free  as- 
semblage of  lovers  of  learning,  with  its  fac- 
ulties of  theology,  letters,  and  law.  The 
University  of  Fiance  i<5  merely  a  bureau  of 
the  Government — a  sort  of  Government 
superintendence  of  the  various  educational 
houses  of  France — a  development  of  that 
centralizing  tendency  which  has  destroyed 
the  independence  of  the  provinces,  and  has 
blighted  the  career  of  all  the  other  cities  in 
order  to  build  up  Paris  and  to  strengthen  a 
civil-service  tyranny  of  red-tape. 

Napoleon  was  bent  on  making  his  Uni- 
versity a  success,  and  therefore  took  all 
suitable  measures  to  put  it  in  charge  of 
scholars  whose  own  fame  would  be  reflected 
upon  it.  Among  these  there  was  none  for 
whom  he  had  a  greater  admiration  than  for 
Ampere,  though  Ampere,  patriotic  French- 
man as  he  was,  always  regarded  Napoleon's 
methods  of  government  as  disastrous  to 
France.  Napoleon's  fall,  however,  produced 
no  effect  on  Ampere's  life.  In  1824,  after 
an  interval  of  metaph)sical  and  literary 
labors,  he  accepted  the  professorship  of  ex- 
perimental physics  in  the  College  de  France, 
and  later  was  appointed  Inspector-General 
of  the  University.  He  was  at  this  time  a 
member  of  almost  every  learned  society  of 
note,  both  on  the  Continent  and  in  Eng- 
land. 


Amid  all  his  engagements.  Ampere  never- 
theless found  time  for  prayer  and  medita- 
tion. He  received  into  his  household  as  a 
boarder  a  young  man  from  the  provinces 
who  was  making  his  university  studies,  and 
with  whose  family  he  was  united  in  very 
warm  friendship.  This  was  Frederic  Oza- 
nam,  himself  destined  to  make  a  mark  in 
French  literature,  and  to  be  always  remem- 
bered as  the  founder  of  the  Conferences  of 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  At  this  time  young 
Ozanam  was  beset  with  religious  doubts; 
many  of  the  students  whom  he  daily  met  at 
the  lectures  were  inclined  to  be  skeptical, 
and  not  a  few  of  the  professors  were  open 
infidels.  One  afternoon  Ozanam  went  into 
the  Church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont,  and  sat 
down  to  think  over  the  perplexiies  of  his 
soul.  He  descried  a  man  past  middle  life 
kneeling  in  an  obscure  corner  near  an  altar, 
peacefully  fingering  a  rosary.  The  man's 
back  was  turned,  but  scon,  crossing  himself 
and  rising  to  his  feet,  he  walked  down  the 
aisle  and  out  into  the  street.  Ozanam  never 
forgot  the  impression  he  then  received.  His 
doubts  almost  instantly  disappeared.  It  was 
Ampere,  the  giant  of  scholars! 

In  1836  Ampere  set  out  for  Marseilles  on 
a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  various  colleges 
on  the  way.  He  caught  cold  in  the  journey, 
and  when  he  arrived  at  Marseilles  he  was 
prostrated  under  an  attack  of  lung  fever, 
from  which  he  died  June  9, 1836,  after  hav- 
ing most  devoutly  received  the  last  rites  of 
the  Church.  It  was  another  great  scientist, 
Arago,  who  related  as  of  his  own  knowledge 
that  when  a  priest,  M.  Deschamps,  chaplain 
of  the  College  of  Marseilles,  offered  to  com- 
fort Ampere  on  his  sick  bed  by  reading  to 
him  the  "Imitation  of  Christ,"  Ampere 
gently  made  answer:  "I  know  it  by  heart! " 


We  call  that  person  who  has  lost  his 
father,  an  orphan ;  and  a  widower,  that  man 
who  has  lost  his  wife.  And  that  man  who 
has  known  the  immense  unhappiness  of 
losing  his  friend,  bv  what  name  do  we  call 
him?  Here  every  human  language  holds 
its  peace  in  impotence. — Abbk  Roux. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


323 


Mignonette.* 


b 


BY    FLORA    L.  STANFIELD. 


3T  was  a  little  weed;  from  curious  eyes 
It  hid  its  modest  face,  and  blushed  for  shame 
When  all  the  lovely  flowers  which  mortals 
prize 
With  red  and  gold  and  azure  were  aflame. 
"I'm  but  a  weed,"  the  tiny  vagrant  said, 
And  hung  its  drooping  head. 
II. 
One  day  the  Rose  with  supercilious  air 

Called  all  the  flowers  together;  then  it  said 
That  on  the  morrow,  if  the  day  was  fair, 

The  Blessed  Virgin  would  that  garden  tread. 
"And  as  She  walks,  it  surely  will  be  meet 
To  see  us  at  Her  feet. ' ' 
III. 
So  on  the  morrow,  as  the  Blessed  Maid 

Walked  in  the  garden  where  the  posies  grew, 
They  sprang  about  Her  way,  each  one  afraid 

L,est  it  might  fail  to  render  homage  due. 
They  scorned  the  little  weed  with  cruel  pride. 
And  crowded  it  aside. 

IV. 

"  O, "  sighed  the  weed, ' '  what  can  I  do  to  show 
The  love  I  bear  Our  Lady  ?   For  not  one 

Of  all  the  flowers  which  in  this  garden  grow, 
And  share  the  blessings  of  the  summer  sun, 

Would  do  for  Her  a  more  heroic  deed 
Than  I,  though  but  a  weed." 

V. 

It  thought  a  moment,  trembling  on  its  stalk. 

Then,  lifting  up  its  voice,  it  meekly  said: 
* '  When  down  this  path  the  Blessed  Maid  shall 
walk, 
'Tis  upon  me  Her  holy  feet  shall  tread. 
It  must  be  sweet  in  such  a  service  high 
For  little  weeds  to  die." 

VI. 

And  as  the  Blessed  Lady  pressed  Her  feet 

Upon  the  weed  which  blossomed  in  Her  way, 
Bach  humble  stalk  gave  forth  a  fragrance 
sweet. 
Which  lingers  in  its  petals  to  this  day. 
The  little  weed  is  living  with  us  yet, — 
Men  call  it  Mignonette. 

*  There  is  a  legend  that  the  mignonette  had 
no  perfume  until  the  Blessed  Virgin  trod  upon  it 
while  walking  in  the  meadows  one  day. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTKR  V. 

IT  was  a  lovely  June  afternoon;  the  races 
were  over,  and  the  Bouviers  were  pre- 
paring for  their  excursion  to  Normandy. 
The  whole  house  was  upset:  the  curtains 
were  off  the  windows,  the  furniture  muffled 
in  holland  wraps,  and  only  the  little  salon 
and  Mr.  Bouvier's  study  were  undisturbed. 
The  master  of  the  house  had  gone  out  in 
search  of  a  gardener  skilled  in  agriculture, 
a  subject  of  which  he  had  been  talking  a 
good  deal;  his  wife  and  daughter  were  at 
the  dressmaker's,  preparing  their  wardrobe 
for  the  country;  and  Nora  was  alone.  This 
very  rarely  happened;  for  Bertha  clung  to 
her  passionately,  and,  although  her  mourn- 
ing prevented  her  appearing  at  large  par- 
ties, her  relatives  always  made  her  accom- 
pany them  to  conferences,  to  the  Corso,  and 
the  different  May  exhibitions.  Mrs.Bouvier 
would  not  miss  one  of  the  latter,  so  Nora 
had  to  assist  at  the  diflferent  picture  and 
flower  shows,  as  well  as  those  of  birds  and 
dogs,  which  excited  her  cousin's  interest. 
Bertha  did  not  care  much  for  them,  but  le 
bon  ton  required  she  should  see  all  that  was 
to  be  seen. 

The  young  girl  was  weary  of  all  this 
sight-seeing;  the  wound  in  her  heart  was 
still  too  fresh  to  permit  of  her  enjoying  such 
pleasures;  but,  young  and  timid,  she  did  not 
venture  to  intrude  her  sorrow  on  those  who 
evidently  thought  it  was  passed  and  gone. 
Her  grandmother  was  never  alluded  to  save 
when  Mr.  Bouvier  related  some  anecdote  of 
her  youthful  days,  and  all  the  family  seemed 
to  consider  it  necessary  by  constant  distrac- 
tions to  draw  Nora  out  of  herself  and  make 
her  forget  her  loss.  Only  one  hour  of  the 
day  was  left  to  her  undisturbed — that  of  the 
morning  Mass  in  the  Madeleine,  where  she 
daily  prayed  and  wept  for  her  dearly  loved 
grandmother. 

One  thought  preoccupied  her  sadly:  Was 
she  to  find  a  permanent  home  in  this  fam- 
ily? But  she  did  not  venture  to  question 
Mr. Bouvier;  she  knew  he  was  arranging 


324 


The  Ave  Maria. 


her  affairs,  and  tliat  lie  often  held  private 
consultations  with  his  wife  about  them, 
although  he  had  never  spoken  to  her,  nor 
explained  the  circumstances  in  which  she 
was  left.  She  was  treated  like  a  welcome 
guest;  her  hostess  showed  her  uniform 
kindness,  but  was  as  silent  as  her  husband 
in  regard  to  the  future.  This  uncertainty 
tormented  the  young  girl,  and  twenty  times 
she  had  been  on  the  point  of  asking  Mr. 
Bouvier  to  place  her  on  an  independent 
footing — to  allow  her  to  pay  her  board  while 
remaining  in  his  family, — but  her  courage 
always  failed. 

On  this  afternoon  Nora  was  enjoying  her 
solitude,  and  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
preceding  year,  when  she  had  been  in  Rome 
with  her  grandmother.  Mme.  de  Brelyon 
had  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  Prin- 
cess B ,  and  the  fairy-like  scene  came 

vividly  before  the  young  girl's  eyes:  the 
magnificent  palace,  the  splendid  mosaics 
and  frescos,  and  the  garden  glittering  with 
thousands  of  colored  lamps.  Mme.  de  Bre- 
lyon had  worn  ornaments  which  Nora  well 
remembered,  and  a  gre)  silk  dress  trimmed 
with  gossamer  Honiton  lace,  which  admira- 
bly suited  her  delicate  complexion.  Never 
had  she  looked  younger  or  more  attractive 
to  the  partial  eyes  of  her  grandchild,  who 
was  fir  less  moved  by  the  admiration  she 
herself  excited  in  her  simple  white  dress. 
One  short  year  had  passed,  and  all  was  so 
changed !  Nora's  tears  fell  fast,  but  a  ring  of 
the  door-bell  made  her  dry  them  hastily. 

Bertha  catne  in  with  Louis,  and,  clapping 
her  hands  with  delight,  exclaimed:  "I  ani 
the  happiest  of  mortals!  Fancy,  we  have 
improvised  such  a  pleasant  little  party  for 
this  evening!  We  met  accidentally  a  cousin 
of  mamma's  with  such  a  charming  son! 
They  are  coming  this  evening,  and,  as  we 
could  not  think  of  boring  them  with  a  tire- 
some family  meeting,  we  have  invited  a  few 
intimate  friends  who,  fortunately,  are  still 
in  town.  I  like  everything  improvised  sud- 
denly. Now  I  must  practise,  for  we  are  sure 
to  have  music ;  and  you  must  listen  to  Louis, 
with  whom  you  sang  such  lovely  duets  at 
our  first  meeting.    Is  it  not  delightful?" 


Nora  was  very  pale.  ' '  You  will  excuse 
my  absence,  will  you  not?"  she  said.  "My 
mourning  is  too  recent  for  me  to  appear." 

"Too  recent! — two  whole  months  gone! 
My  dear,  if  you  were  not  so  strict  you  might 
wear  silk  by  this  time.  Life  is  so  short  we 
must  not  yield  too  long  to  grief." 

"Oh,  Bertha!  if  you  had  lost  a  grand- 
mother— " 

"I  did  lose  one  about  two  years  ago,  and 
I  fretted  very  little  for  her  loss.  She  was  the 
most  disagreeable  old  woman — always  talk- 
ing of  past  times  and  preaching  to  -me  and 
Louis!" 

' '  Mine  was  amiable  and  ind  ulgent, ' '  said 
Nora,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

Bertha  kissed  her.  "I  know  it,  darlingt 
Don't  be  vexed  with  me,  nor  think  me  un- 
feeling; but  you  must  be  reasonable,  and 
spend  the  evening  with  us. ' ' 

' '  I  think,  Nora, ' '  interposed  Louis, ' '  that 
my  mother  will  be  greatly  disappointed  if 
you  do  not  come  down.  I  shall  not  venture 
to  speak  of  my  own  feelings  lest  I  should 
seem  to  urge  you  to  what  grieves  you  for 
my  own  pleasure." 

The  girl  made  no  answer;  Louis  sat  down 
opposite  her,  and  after  a  few  moments' 
silence  began  to  speak  of  other  things.  She 
soon  grew  interested  in  his  description  of 
the  new  paintings  accepted  by  the  Academy 
of  Fine  Arts,  and  he  was  again  astonished 
at  her  correct  artislic  taste  and  apprecia- 
tion. Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Bouvier  found 
them  both  in  animated  conversation.  Louis 
did  not  conceal  the  admiration  he  felt  for 
his  cousin,  and  Nora's  brilliant  color  lent 
her  a  new  charm. 

Mrs.  Bouvier  answered  their  warm  greet- 
ings by  a  cool  no"!.  'To-day  we  dine  half 
an  hour  earlier,"  she  said,  unbuttoning  and 
slowly  drawing  off  her  long  gloves.  "Ber- 
tha, did  you  give  my  message  to  John?" 

"Yes,  mamma." 

"You  know  we  shall  have  a  few  friends 
this  evening?"  said  Mrs.  Bouvier  to  Nora. 

"So Bertha  tells  me, "replied  the  latter, 
in  a  slightly  tremulous  voice;  "but  you 
will  allow  me,  dear  aunt,  to  remain  in  my 
room." 


The  Ave  Maria, 


325 


"Why  will  you  not  come  down?" 

"Think  of  my  mourning!" 

' '  Of  course,  but  for  so  small  a  party  it 
does  not  matter. ' ' 

"I  should  only  sadden  it;  I  should  fancy 
I  saw  my  dear  grandmother  as  she  appeared 
just  a  year  ago  to-night  in  Rome." 

' '  My  dear, ' '  said  Mrs.  Bouvier,  rather  sar- 
castically, "one  that  has  a  good  memory 
can  find  a  remembrance  for  every  day  in 
the  year.  You  are  not  the  only  one  who  has 
suflfered.  You  are,  unfortunately,  too  sensi- 
tive, and  should  not  encourage  this  feeling. 
Besides,  your  absence  would  be  an  implied 
censure  on  my  conduct.  I  have  neglected 
my  friends  lately  out  of  consideration  for 
your  grief;  but  when  I  deem  it  fitting  that 
you  should  be  present  at  a  small  party,  you 
may  feel  certain  that  there  is  nothing  un- 
becoming in  your  doing  so." 

With  these  words  she  left  the  room;  her 
husband,  who  had  not  interfered,  trifled  with 
an  album  in  sbme  confusion.  Nora  looked 
at  him  anxiously,  and  said: 

"I  am  afraid  1  have  annoyed  Mrs.  Bou- 
vier. ' ' 

"My  dear  child,  it  would  naturally  be 
unpleasant  to  my  wife  if  you  should  refuse 
to  appear  this  evening;  it  would  look  as  if 
you  blamed — " 

"Nora,"  interrupted  Bertha, opening  the 
piano,  "mamma  is  very  tyrannical,  for  all 
her  soft  ways,  and  you  must  submit  to 
whatever  she  wishes.  We  all  do,  not  ex- 
cepting papa;  it  is  the  only  way  to  live  in 
peace  here. ' ' 

"Bertha!"  exclaimed  her  father,  impa- 
tiently. 

"Oh,  I  can  say  what  I  like  before  Nora! 
I  don't  love  mamma  the  less  doatingly. " 

"In  my  time,"  replied  her  father,  shak- 
ing his  head,  "children  doated  less  on  their 
parents,  perhaps,  but  they  certainly  re- 
spected them  more." 

"Don't  mind  Berthas  prattle,  papa," 
interposed  Louis,  smiling;  "she  is  a  com- 
pletely spoiled  child.  But,  if  I  may  venture 
an  opinion,  I  think  my  cousin  ought  to 
appear  this  evening.  I  confess  it  is  a  biased 
opinion;    for  my  whole  pleasure  for   the 


evening  will  be  spoiled  if  she  refuses." 

"And  mine  also,"  said  Bertha.  "Come^ 
Nora,  it  is  agreed.  Now  listen  to  my  piece, 
and  tell  me  how  you  like  it." 

What  could  poor  Nora  do?  When  dinner 
was  over  she  went  to  her  room,  and,  pas- 
sionately kissing  a  little  miniature  of  her 
grandmother,  she  murmured:  "Darling 
grandma,  you  know  how  my  heart  bleeds, 
and  that  I  would  remain  alone  to  think  of 
you ! ' ' 

Bertha  came  in  quickly.  "Look,  Nora," 
she  cried,  "  I  have  kept  on  the  dress  I  wore 
all  the  afternoon.  That  will  show  you  that 
we  want  you  to  appear  at  no  formal  party. 
A  party,  and  the  furniture  all  covered  in 
holland!  Our  fifteen  or  twenty  guests  will 
have  room  enough  in  the  small  salon  and 
papa's  study.  Is  my  hair  nice?  Now  that 
Louis  is  not  here,  I  can  tell  you  this  is  a 
serious  afiair — I  overheard  a  secret. — If  my 
handsome  cousin  should  suit  me,  all  parties 
would  be  verv  well  pleased.  I  sha'n't  offer 
any  obstacle,  for  he  is  charming — a  little 
cynical  perhaps,  but  that  is  not  altogether 
unbecoming  in  a  man.  Nora,  you  look 
lovely !  I  never  saw  any  one  with  such  mag- 
nificent hair!  But  I  quite  forgot — here  is- 
something  to  set  off"  your  dress." 

She  opened  a  casket  and  took  out  a  gold 
bracelet,  necklace  and  brooch,  set  with  coral. 

"Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  but  I  am 
in  too  deep  mourning  for  these  ornaments. '  ^ 

"Oh,  nonsense!  Because  there  is  gold 
and  a  little  red!  Try  them  on;  don't  be 
childish  now,  but  obey  me." 

Nora  resisted. 

"Then  you  will  get  me  a  scolding,"  said 
Bertha  impatiently.  "Mamma  told  me  ta 
bring  you  some  jet  ornaments  to  set  off"  your 
dark  dress,  and  I  chose  this  coral;  it  will 
become  you  admirably.  Don't  oblige  me  ta 
call  mamma;  she  is  out  of  sorts.  That  is 
right;  bend  your  head  a  little  more  please,^ 
so  that  I  can  clasp  the  necklace.  Now  look 
in  the  glass.  Nothing  could  suit  your  fair 
hair  better  than  the  gold  and  red  on  the 
black  ground  of  your  dress.  When  I  look  at 
you  I  really  regret  I  am  so  dark,  black  is  sa 
becoming  to  you." 


3^6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Noia's  eyes  were  still  moist  when  Bertha 
led  her  into  the  salon^  but  she  looked  so 
lovely,  and  her  fair  complexion  contrasted 
so  advantageously  with  Bertha's  olive  pale- 
ness, that  Mrs.  Bouvier  bit  her  lips  with 
vexation.  Three  or  four  persons  had  already 
arrived,  with  whom  she  was  conversing; 
but,  rising,  she  approached  Nora,  and  said, 
with  scarcely  disguised  annoyance:  "Did 
Bertha  give  you  my  coral  ornaments?  You 
are  rather  too  elegant  for  a  young  girl,  nor 
are  they  suitable  for  deep  mourning. ' ' 

* '  So  I  thought  also, ' '  answered  Nora  can- 
didly, making  a  movement  to  unclasp  the 
bracelet. 

'No,"  said  Bertha,  stamping  her  foot 
with  the  petulance  of  a  spoiled  child;  "you 
are  charmingly  pretty  as  you  are. ' ' 

"It  is  too  laie  to  remove  them  now," 
interposed  her  mother,  dryly;  "they  have 
already  been  noticed." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and 
*' Prince  Marvellous"  (as  Bertha  styled  her 
handsome  cousin)  came  in  with  his  mother. 
While  Mrs.  Bouvier  overwhelmed  her  rela- 
tives with  civilities,  she  narrowly  watched 
the  young  man.  To  her  extreme  annoyance 
he  was  looking  at  Nora  with  such  ad  mira- 
tion that  Bertha  had  to  recall  his  attention 
as  she  extended  her  hand  to  him. 

"Nora  is  very  beautiful,"  whispered 
Louis  into  his  mother  s  ear.  "I  never  saw 
any  one  more  charming. ' ' 

The  guests  had  all  arrived;  they  were,  as 
Bertha  had  said,  few  in  number,  but  the 
improvised  soiree  was  a  complete  success. 
Nora  was  introduced  to  her  cousin's  young 
friends,  while  their  hostess  whispered  her 
story  to  the  matrons.  If  the  young  girl 
could  have  heard  all  the  prai.se  bestowed  on 
Mrs.  Bouvier' s  benevolence  towards  her, she 
might  have  been  enlightened  on  the  mo- 
tives which  urged  that  lady  to  insist  on  her 
appearance.  Many  women  are  coquettes 
even  in  good  deeds,  and  make  them  serve 
their  vanity.  But  she  had  not  calculated 
on  the  effect  of  Nora's  striking  beauty,  of 
which  her  very  sadness  and  her  mourning 
garb  enhanced  the  charm. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Recent  Favors  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


THE  National  Pilgrimage  of  France  to 
Ivourdes  has  been  signalized  this  year 
by  forty-two  miraculous  cures,  all  duly  au- 
thenticated by  medical  experts.  Most  of 
them  took  place  in  the  piscina  and  before 
the  Grotto,  but  some  were  effected  only  on 
returning  from  Lourdes.  We  append  a 
notice  of  a  few  of  the  most  remarkable. 

Fifteen  thousand  pilgrims  congregated 
at  the  far-famed  shrine  formed  one  of  the 
most  imposing  sights  that  can  be  conceived, 
from  a  religious  point  of  view.  A  thousand 
sick  were  amongst  them,  and  all  united 
in  earnest  supplication  to  the  Salus  In/ir- 
morum.  The  pilgrimage  left  Paris  on  the 
17th  of  August,  passing  through  Poitiers 
as  usual,  and  there,  en  the  tomb  of  the 
holy  Queen  Radegonde,  the  first  cure  was 
operated. 

Antoinette  Miossec,  thirty-three  years  of 
age,  was  afflicted  with  chronic  ulcerated 
gastralgia,  certified  by  Doctor  Mallard,* 
of  the  Hopital  Beaujeu,  where  she  had  re- 
ceived treatment.  For  the  last  seven  years 
she  has  suffered  from  a  violent  stitch 
in  the  side;  every  repast,  however  slight, 
was  followed  by  suffocation  and  sickness. 
On  arriving  at  Poitiers  she  was  still  fast- 
ing, and  received  Holy  Communion  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Radegonde.  She  returned 
there  in  the  afternoon,  was  laid  on  the  tomb 
of  the  Saint,  and  remained  two  hours  in 
prayer;  she  found  herself  suddenly  cured, 
and  felt  hungry.  Her  stomach,  hitherto  un- 
able to  bear  any  kind  of  food,  now  retained 
a  substantial  meal,  the  eating  of  which  was 
unaccompanied  by  any  of  the  previous  dis- 
tressing symptoms.  The  stitch  in  her  side 
was  also  gone,  and  her  strength  had  re- 
turned. A  novena  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 
closed  by  a  fervent  Communion  on  the  day 


*  The  sick  pilgrims  bring  with  them  from  their 
respective  physicians  a  certificate  describing  their 
ailments,  before  and  after  their  cure,  this  docu- 
ment must  be  presented  to  the  medical  body  of 
Lourdes,  which  is  composed  of  eight  resident 
physicians,  and  others  who  come  to  investigate. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


327 


of  her  departure,  had  prepared  the  invalid 
for  this  signal  favor.  After  her  cure  she 
proceeded  to  Lourdes  on  a  pilgrimage  of 
thanksgiving. 

On  the  mornirg  of  the  19th,  when  the 
pilgrims  were  at  lyourdes,  Julia  Gabriel,  a 
young  girl  from  St.  Dizier  (Haute-Marne), 
was  at  the  point  of  death  from  constant 
vomiting  of  bloo'd ;  her  state  was  so  critical 
that  her  parish  priest,  who  accompanied  her, 
gave  her  absolution  three  times  between 
Poitiers  and  Lourdes.  On  leaving  the  train, 
she  was  borne  to  the  piscina  by  two  bran- 
cardiers^  one  of  whom  was  the  hero  of  Ste. 
Marie-aux-Chenes  (1870),  the  valiant  Gen- 
eral de  Geslin.  He  had  come  to  Lourdes  to 
implore  the  recovery  of  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters, who  was  seriously  ill ;  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  might  join  the  brancardiers^ 
and  he  did  so  with  the  greatest  simplicity. 
Seeing  the  extreme  weakness  of  Julia 
Gabriel,  he  said  to  the  Sister  who  accom- 
panied her:  ^^Ma  Sosur^  she  will  die  in  your 
arms;  it  is  too  imprudent." 

"Humanly  speaking,  it  is, General," re- 
plied the  religious;  "but  to  you  I  need  not 
urge  confidence." 

Immersed  in  the  piscina,  the  patient  felt 
a  violent  pain  in  the  spine, and  crying,  "I 
am  cured!"  came  out  of  the  water  and 
dressed  heiself  without  assistance.  The 
Sister  reappeared  bathed  in  tears. 

"I  had  warned  you:  she  is  dead!"  ex- 
claimed the  General. 

"No,"  said  the  Sister;  "she  is  cuied." 

Escorted  by  her  brancardiers  and  the 
kind  Sister,  Julia  Gabriel  then  presented 
herself  to  the  medical  jury,  who  declared 
themselves  satisfied  that  the  cure  was  com- 
plete. General  de  Geslin,  quite  overcome, 
cried  like  a  child  in  relating  the  m  racle. 

George  Til  Hard  (132  Faubourg  St.  Denis, 
Paris)  was  born  in  November,  1877.  He  was 
blind  of  the  right  eye  from  his  birth,  and 
had  lost  the  use  of  the  left  three  years  before, 
after  an  attack  of  meningitis.  He  could 
not  distinguish  between  day  and  night, 
and  had  to  be  led  by  the  hand.  Brought 
before  the  doctors  at  Lourdes  for  medical 
examination,  he  stood  on  a  chair  and  related 


his  cure  with  childish  naivete  and  an  ex- 
uberance of  joy  which  charmed  all  pres- 
ent. The  very  instant  the  water  touched  his 
eyes,  he  was  able  to  distinguish  the  statue 
of  Our  Lady  in  the  Grotto,  and  exclaimed: 
"Oh;  the  pretty  blue  ribbon!" 

"Had  you  prayed  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin?" some  one  inquired. 

"Oh, yes!"  he  answered;  "I  asked  Her 
to  make  me  well,  that  I  might  become  a 
priest. ' ' 

It  was  touching  to  listen  to  his  expres- 
sions of  delight  and  wonder  at  everything 
he  beheld.  On  his  return  to  Paris,  he 
was  presented  to  Doctor  Massols,  who  had 
attended  him  before  the  pilgrimage  to 
Lourdes;  though  an  unbeliever,  the  doctor 
seemed  deeply  moved,  and  asked  the  child 
to  pray  for  him. 

Mme.  Issartel,  of  St.  Mande,  a  suburb  of 
Paris,  was  afflicted  with  a  tumor  in  the  brain 
for  five  years,  and  had  been  treated  by  the 
eminent  Doctois  Hardy  Charcot, and  others, 
all  of  whom  pronounced  her  case  beyond 
medical  skill.  She  was  cured  at  Lourdes, 
without  being  able  to  tell  the  exact  moment 
of  the  miraculous  occurrence.  Her  attend- 
ing physician.  Dr.  Negre,  on  seeing  her 
cured,  examined  her  state  thoroughly,  then 
wrote  out  a  certificate,  minutely  describing 
the  various  phases  and  symptoms  of  her 
complicated  malady ;  he  concluded  by  say- 
ing that  all  these  had  entirely  disappeared, 
and  that  she  was  perfectly  well.  This 
explicit  certificate  must  satisfy  the  most 
incredulous. 

Maria  Chevalier  (55  Rue  de  Lourmel, 
Paris)  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  rheu- 
matism which  affected  all  her  limbs,  espec- 
ially the  left  knee;  her  hands  were  distorted, 
and  her  neck  had  grown  stiff.  This  painful 
state  had  lasted  five  years,  but  became 
much  worse  within  the  last  few  months; 
she  was  even  cor  fined  to  her  bed  for  some 
time.  On  her  departure  for  Lourdes  she 
could  not  walk  without  the  help  of  two 
persons,  and  was  borne  to  the  the  piscina  on 
a  litter.  At  the  third  immersion,  she  rose, 
dressed  herself  without  assistallce7an^>was 
able  to  walk  without  any/aiBBonwSTlie 


328 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"knotty"  rheumatism  with  which  she  was 
afflicted  is  said  to  be  the  most  rebellious  to 
medical  influence. 

Charles  Barras  (Rue  des  RecoUets,  Paris), 
a  little  boy  three  years  old,  was  suflfering 
from  decomposition  of  the  bones;  a  deep 
ulcer  had  formed  in  his  side,  with  profuse 
suppuration.  He  was  plunged  in  ik^t piscina, 
and  came  out  completely  whole;  no  vestige 
remained  of  the  sore,  which  was  so  dried  up 
that  the  doctors,  on  passing  their  hands  over 
the  skin,  could  no  longer  perceive  it. 

Zulma  Ranson  (Ribeaucourt,  Somme), 
twenty-six  years  old,  was  afflicted  with  a 
tumor  in  the  stomach,  which  had  attained 
the  size  of  a  large  orange.  She  frequently 
fell  into  swoons  from  intense  pain,  and  a 
month  ago  was  paralyzed  in  the  left  side 
for  a  whole  day;  from  time  to  time  she  also 
lost  her  speech.  She  made  the  journey  to 
Lourdes  with  great  difficulty,  and  arrived 
there  in  a  deplorable  condition,  lying  on  a 
mattress;  a  small  quantity  of  milk  was  the 
only  nourishment  she  could  retain.  Some 
time  after  her  arrival  she  was  praying  in 
the  Grotto  with  the  greatest  fervor,  when 
suddenly  she  felt  a  violent  pain  in  the  region 
of  the  tumor;  it  subsided  shortly  after,  and 
she  was  able  to  remain  in  prayer  with  out- 
stretched arms  for  two  hours.  The  careful 
examination  of  the  doctors  could  not  dis- 
cover the  least  trace  of  the  tumor,  which 
had  been  characterized  as  of  the  most  dan- 
gerous kind.  The  former  invalid  now  de 
clares  herself  as  well  and  as  strong  as  if  she 
had  never  been  ill. 

M.  Guillaume  Becker  (Rue  Nationale, 
Paris),  had  a  scrofulous  affection  resembling 
king's-evil— tumefied  glands  in  the  throat 
and  chest.  Last  year,  at  Notre-Dame  des 
Victoiies,  one  of  the  glands  suddenly  disap- 
peared. Confident  that  Our  Lady  would  com- 
plete his  recovery,  he  set  out  for  Lourdes. 
While  in  the  piscitia  he  experienced  some 
relief,  but  the  glands  still  remained.  He 
continued  to  pray  earnestly  during  the  jour- 
ney homeward.  On  reaching  Paris,  he  felt 
a  strange,  crackling  sensation,  which  made 
him  turn  his  head,  and  the  tumor  vanished, 
without  any  flowing  either  exterior  or  in- 


terior. Next  day  he  attended  the  reunion  of 
the  pilgrims,  and  was  recognized  by  many 
who  had  seen  him  at  Lourdes  in  his  former 
pitiable  condition. 

Two  inmates  of  the  Ho'el-Dieu,  Paris, 
were  radically  cured.  One  of  them,  Henri 
Mack,  had  one  foot  quite  distorted.  The 
celebrated  surgeons  of  the  hospital  having 
declared  his  case  hopeless*the  young  man, 
full  of  faith,  determined  to  have  recourse 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Without  disclosing 
his  p'ans,  he  left  the  hospital,  with  all  the 
attestations  of  the  surgeons^  and  set  out  on 
crutches  for  Our  Lady's  shrine.  He  joined 
the  pilgrims  of  Paris,  and  was  at  Lourdes 
on  the  i9':h  of  August.  He  bathed  in  the 
piscina^  and  the  bystanders  saw  the  infirm 
foot  become  straight,  distended  by  super- 
natural power.  Coming  out  of  the  water, 
M.  Mack  laid  his  foot  on  the  ground  and,  as- 
tounded by  a  cure  he  could  scarcely  realize, 
exclaimed, ' '  See,  I  can  stand ! "  and  walked 
about.  The  poor  fellow  was  radiant  with 
heavenly  joy;  he  intends  to  show  himself 
to  the  surgeons  of  the  Hotel- Dieu. 

Certain  scoffers  have  given  as  a  pretext 
for  unbelief  the  fact  that  men  are  not  cured 
at  Lourdes.  It  is  true  that  there  are  not  so 
many  men  as  women  who  go  there  to  pray 
for  a  supernatuial  recovery;  it  is  worthy 
of  note,  therefore,  that  this  year  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  men  were  cured. 


A  Shrine  in  the  Rue  du  Bac. 


1 


ALL  who  have  visited  Paris  know  the 
Rue  du  Bac  —that  long,  narrow  street 
beginning  at  the  Seine  and  terminating  at 
the  Rue  de  Sevres.  It  is  the  busiest  street 
in  the  aristocratic  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
but  even  here  seclusion  can  be  found ;  for, 
according  to  the  old  French  fashion;  resi-  \ 
deuces  entre  coiir  etjardin  are  common,  and 
have  been  favorite  abodes  of  many  illustri- 
ous writers;  of  this  century, we  might  name 
among  a  j^oodly  number  Chateaubriand, 
Montalembert,  and  Louis  Veuillot. 

The  house  bearing  the  number  39  is  one 
of  unpretending  appearance;  a  stone  stair- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


329 


case  conducts  you  to  the  second  story;  you 
enter  a  narrow  antechamber  leading  to  a 
modestly  furnished  dining-room,  the  chief 
ornament  of  which  is  a  large  bust  of  Pope 
Pius  I X.  Off  the  dining-  room  is  the  salon — 
a  small,  square  room,  containing  a  writing- 
table  of  plain  wood  and  two  book-cases. 

This  house  was  for  many  years  the  home 
of  Mgr.  de  Segur,  and  it  is  venerated  as  the 
abode  of  a  saint.  Everything  is  placed  ex- 
actly as  if  he  were  still  living.  His  arm- 
chair is  before  the  writing-table,  on  which  is 
a  statuette  of  the  Immaculate  Conception; 
it  was  here  that  so  many  treatises  were  com- 
posed, and  so  many  letters,  the  outpourings 
of  his  heart,  were  written. 

The  mantelpiece,  surmounted  by  a  beau- 
tiful picture  of  St.  Fraacis  de  Sales,  bears 
a  colored  statue  of  Notre-Dame  de  Miseri- 
corde.  On  the  left  side  is  a  small  painting 
in  an  exquisite  frame,  with  the  Papal  arms; 
it  is  the  head  of  St.  Peter  painted  by  Mgr. 
de  S6gur,  and  offered  to  his  Holiness  Pius 
IX.  The  work  is  singularly  beautiful.  St. 
Peter's  face  is  upturned  with  an  ardent  ex- 
pression of  faith,  as  he  seems  to  utter  the 
thrice -repeated  affirmation,  "Lord,  Thou 
knowest  that  I  love  Thee! ' '  An  inscription 
indicates  that  the  painting  remained  in  the 
Pope's  private  study  for  twenty-four  years; 
at  his  death  it  was  returned  to  the  artist, 
in  memory  of  his  august  friend.  Opposite 
the  chimney-piece  is  a  large,  old-fashioned 
green  sofa,  and  above  it  hangs  another 
painting  by  Mgr.de  S%ur — the  Child  Jesus 
sleeping.  The  Divine  Infant  is  lying  in  the 
crib,  His  arms  folded  on  His  breast;  the 
dimpled  hand  clasping  a  little  cross  is  ex- 
quisite; the  face — generally  a  failure  in 
representations  of  Our  Lord — is  a  master- 
piece of  coloring  and  expression.  It  was 
I'  during  Gaston  de  Segur's  sojourn  in  Rome 
as  attachk  d''  ambassade^  before  his  sacerdo- 
tal vocation,  that  he  executed  these  two 
remarkable  works,  which  give  evidence  of 
rare  artistic  talent.  If  his  subsequent  blind- 
ness robbed  the  world  of  a  great  artist,  it 
gave  the  Church  a  devoted  prelate. 

Let  us  pass  on  to  his  bedroom — his  cell 
we  might  rather  call  it.  A  door  to  the  right 


of  the  drawing-room  opens  into  a  small 
chamber  scarcely  two  yards  wide;  the  bed, 
that  of  an  ascetic,  consists  of  a  chest  of 
drawers,  on  which  a  mattress  is  laid;  over 
it  hang  photographs  of  the  Care  d' Ars  and 
Leo  XIII. ;  on  each  side  of  it  are  portraits, 
by  Gaillard.  of  Pius  IX.  and  the  Comte 
de  Chambord.  At  the  head  of  the  bed  is  a 
crucifix  with  three  statues — the  Immacu- 
late Conception,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  and 
St.  Francis  de  Sales;  on  the  opposite  walls 
may  be  seen  a  picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Per- 
petual Succor  and  another  of  St.  Philip 
Neri,  also  a  statue  of  Notre-Dame  des  Vic- 
toires.  An  old  arm-chair  near  the  window 
belonged  to  the  venerable  mother  of  the 
saintly  prelate,  who  used  it  constantly  dur- 
ing the  last  years  of  her  life. 

To  the  left  of  the  drawing  room  is  the 
oratory,  the  jewel  of  this  modest  dwelling. 
It  is  a  small  room,  carpeted  in  crimson;  the 
walls  are  hung  in  the  same  color,  and  the 
curtains  and  canopy  over  the  altar  are  of 
crimson  velvet.  This  is  the  only  spot  in  the 
house  that  is  furnished  with  anything  like 
luxury^  although  great  simplicity  prevails 
even  here.  The  Blessed  Sacrament  is  always 
kept  in  the  oratory.  A  prie-dieu  in  the  cen- 
tre indicates  the  spot  where  Mgr.  de  S^gur 
was  accustomed  to  kneel.  He  would  often 
rise  at  night  and  remain  there,  rapt  in  ado- 
ration, until  daybreak.  Facing  the  altar,  a 
large  black  cross  of  wood  bears  a  few  memo- 
rial wreaths  of  evergreen,  with  the  word 
"Regrets.' 

The  Abb6  Diringer,who  was  the  devoted 
secretary  of  Mgr.de  Segur,  still  occupies  the 
apartment,  which  has  become  the  centre  of 
the  Association  of  St.  Francis  de  Sales;  it 
is  also  a  much  frequented  place  of  pilgrim- 
age, and  the  piety  of  the  pilgrims,  it  is  need- 
less to  say,  is  in  keeping  with  the  sanctity 
of  the  shrine. 


"What  power  is  there  in  a  grave  and 
kindly  examination !  Let  us  not  brin  g  flame 
where  light  will  suffice." 

Man  is  only  weak 
Through  his  mistrust  and  want  of  hope. 

—  Wordsworth. 


3^o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 


As  our  readers  are  aware,  the  month  of 
October  has  been  consecrated  by  our  Holy 
Father  Leo  XIII.  to  that  most  salutary  of  all 
devotions  in  honor  of  the  Mother  of  God,  the 
Holy  Rosary.  It  must  be  the  source  of  great 
encouragement  and  confidence  to  the  faithful 
soul  who  follows  the  exercise  of  this  month 
to  realize  that  with  him  are  united  millions 
of  fellow-Christians  throughout  the  world,  in 
every  spot  where  the  light  of  the  Gospel  has 
reached.  Our  Blessed  Lord  has  said :  ' '  Where 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  My 
name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them. ' '  What 
efficacy,  then,  must  be  attached  to  the  aspira- 
tions of  such  a  multitude  of  devout  souls,  who, 
in  unnumbered  tongues,  are  sending  up  to 
Heaven  the  same  prayers  and  for  the  same 
objects !  How  strikingly,  too,  must  not  this  fact 
impress  even  the  non-Catholic,  who  reflects 
upon  it,  with  the  thought  of  the  universality 
of  the  Catholic  Church, — that  she  alone  num- 
bers her  children  in  every  land  under  the  sun, 
and  can  embrace  the  whole  world  in  a  unity  of 
faith,  sacrifice,  and  prayer! 


On  Thursday,  the  15th  ult.,  the  famous 
shrine  of  St.  Anne  de  Beaupre.on  the  northern 
shore  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  was  the  scene  of 
an  imposing  and  very  remarkable  demonstra- 
tion, when  Cardinal  Taschereau,in  accordance 
with  an  authorization  from  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  solemnly  crowned  the  new  statue  of 
St.  Anne.  Probably  no  fewer  than  10,000  peo- 
ple attended  the  ceremony.  Besides  Cardinal 
Taschereau,  there  were  present  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Ottawa  and  great  numbers  of  the 
Rt.  Rev.  and  Rev.  clergy.  The  large  church 
was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity,  and  yet 
hundreds  of  the  pious  pilgrims  were  unable  to 
gain  admission.  Sermons  were  preached,  in 
English,  by  Archbishop  Duhamel  of  Ottawa, 
and  in  French  by  Bishop  Racine  of  Sher- 
brooke.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  Mass  the 
ceremony  of  the  coronation  of  the  statue  was 
performed,  on  a  raised  platform  erected  for  the 
purpose  outside  the  entrance.  The  golden 
crowns  were  presented  to  his  Eminence,  who, 
in  the  observance  of  due  precedence,  took  first 
the  smaller  one  and  laid  it  upon  the  head  of 
the  Virgin  Child,  immediately  thereafter  lay- 
ing the  larger  crown  upon  the  head  of  St. 


Anne.  As  soon  as  the  act  of  coronation  was 
performed,  guns  were  fired,  bells,  weie  rung, 
and  the  bands  played  thtir  most  joyous  music. 
Then  followed  a  solemn  Tc  Deion,  in  which 
the  vast  a>semblage  joined. 


An  interesting  tribute  to  the  work  of  the 
Church  in  Korea — and  one  which  has  a  special 
value,  coming  as  it  does  from  a  bitter  oppo- 
nent— is  to  be  found  in  a  letter  to  the  Daily 
Herald,  of  Yokohama,  from  a  Protestant  mis- 
sionary resident  in  Korea.  ' '  I  fear, ' '  he  writes, 
"that  if  the  Protestants  do  rot  do  their  duty 
we  shall  have  a  Romish  instead  of  a  heathen 
people  to  convert.  They  [the  Catholics]  have, 
as  you  well  know,  a  large  following  in  Korea 
of  the  natives,  and,  from  those  that  we  have 
seen,  they  have  some  noble  converts  For  the 
purpose  of  raising  up  a  native  ministry,  they 
have  from  fifteen  to  twenty  Koreans  studying 
for  Holy  Orders  in  the  theological  seminary  at 
Nagasaki. "  It  is  the  old  story,  as  told  so  many 
times  in  Marshall's  "Christian  Missions": 
Protestants,  with  millions  of  money  at  their 
command,  and  everything,  humanly  speaking, 
in  their  favor,  are  driven  to  acknowledge  that 
they  can  accomplish  practically  nothing  in  the 
matter  of  conversions;  while  a  few  Catholic 
mi>sionaries,  without  material  resources  or 
comfortable  means  of  living,  are  making  rapid 
steps  to  the  conversion  of  entire  nations. 


The  numerous  pilgrimages — national,  pro- 
vincial, and  local — to  the  shrine  of  Lourdes, 
which  mark  the  great  festivals  of  the  year  in 
France,  give  a  most  convincing  proof  of  the 
fact  that  the  nation  is  still  Catholic,  despite 
the  devices  of  the  iniquitous  faction  which, 
through  the  reprehensible  political  indolence 
of  the  majority  of  the  people,  has  been  enabled 
to  usurp  the  functions  and  places  of  power. 
The  spectacle  so  frequently  presented  of  mul- 
titudes kneeling  before  the  statue ^*of  Our 
Lady  in  the  Grotto,  thronging  the  \  church 
which  crowns  the  height,  and  congregating 
thickly  around  the  miraculous  spring,  is  one 
which,  though  unnoticed  by  our  cablegraph- 
ers,  recalls  the  pilgrimages  of  the  ages  of  faith, 
and  often  suggests  even  to  those  alien  in  race 
and  religion,  who  chance  to  be  present,  the 
reflection  that  the  country  of  St.  Louis  is  still 
capable  of  crusades  such  as  the  royal  Saint 
conducted  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  that  France 
in  her  present  condition  is  an  example  of  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


331 


momentary  triumph  of  irreligion,  soon  to  be 
dispelled  by  the  advancing  triumph  of  the 
Church,  whose  eldest  daughter  she  has  been 
so  fitly  named.         

' '  L,ie  boldly,  something  will  stick, ' '  is  said  to 

have  been  one  of  Voltaire's  favorite  maxims. 

Vigorously  has  it  been  carried  out  in  practice 

not  only  by  Voltaire,  but  by  a  host  of  traduc- 

ers  of  Catholicity  before  his  day  and  after  it. 

Historians  have  been,  perhaps,  the  most  un- 

blushing  in  their  disregard  of  truth  when  they 

■     have  to  speak  of  Catholics  and  the  Catholic 

W      Church  and  clergy.   Attention  is  drawn  by  a 

|P      Fellow  of  the  London  Society  of  Antiquaries 

in  a  letter  that  appears  in  the  Tablet  to  an 

audacious   statement  in    Hallam's  "History 

of  the  Middle  Ages,  "  to  the  eflfect  that  'not 

»one  priest  in  a  thousand  in  Spain,  about  the 
age  of  Charlemagne,  could  address  a  common 
letter  of  salutation  to  another."  Fortunately 
the  historian  gives  a  reference  to  his  author- 
ity, which  enables  us  to  correct  this  impudent 
perversion  of  truth  The  passage  from  Ma- 
billon  which  Hallam  cites  in  support  of  his 
statement,  simply  says  that  the  priests  of  the 
time  referred  to  gave  so  much  attention  to 
Arabic  and  Chaldean  literature  that  they  neg- 
lected the  Latin  tongue,  which  was  then  the 
»only  language  of  correspondence.  Mr.  Hallam 
in  this  yistance  did  not  lie  with  suificient 
boldness:  he  should  have  omitted  the  refer- 
ence. 


It  is  said  that  the  Passion- Play  at  Oberam- 
mergau  will  not  be  performed  again  till  1890. 


A  most  noticeable  gift  for  the  Golden  Ju- 
bilee of  Leo  XI I  r.  will  be  the  immense  organ 
designed  by  M.  Caville  Coll  for  St.  Peter's. 
The  model  has  been  examined  by  a  committee 
of  the  Academic  des  Beaux  Arts,  who  declare 
that  the  problem  of  filling  St.  Peter's  with  an 
adequate  musical  instrument  has  been  solved; 
and  by  architects,  who  consider  that  the  nave 
will  not  be  marred  by  the  erection  of  an  organ. 
So  that  there  seems  little  doubt  of  the  accept- 
ance of  this  colossal  work,  which  will  rank  in 
music  as  the  Bartholdi  statue  in  sculpture. 


Prince  Bismarck  has  been  writing  good  ad- 
vice in  an  English  "  Mees'  "  album,  says  the 
Paris  Temps.  The  young  lady  petitioned  the 
Prince  for  his  autograph,  declaring  patheti- 
cally that  a  few  lines  of  his  handwriting  would 


make  her  happy  for  life.  So  the  great  chancel- 
lor wrote  on  the  front  page  of  the  book:  "Be- 
ware, my  child,  of  building  castles  in  the  air; 
they  are  buildings  which  we  erett  so  easily, 
yet  they  are  the  most  difficult  to  demolish." 


Blairs  College,  Edinburgh,  possesses  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  which 
is  recognized  as  authentic.  It  was  formerly  the 
property  of  one  of  Mary's  attendants  at  the 
execution,  and  was  bequeathed  by  her  in  1620 
to  the  Seminary  or  Scots  College  at  Douai,  her 
brother  being  at  the  time  one  of  the  professors 
there.  At  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution 
in  France  (the  Reign  of  Terror),  the  inmates 
were  obliged  to  fly,  and  the  portrait  was  taken 
out  of  the  frame,  rolled  up  and  hidden  in  a 
chimney  of  the  refectory,  the  fireplace  being 
afterwards  built  up.  In  18 14  it  was  removed 
from  its  hiding-place  and  transferred  to  the 
English  Benedictine  College  in  Paris,  and  was 
brought  to  Scotland  in  1830  by  the  late  Bishop 
Patison,  and  deposited  in  Blair's  College.  The 
painting  is  eight  feet  by  five. 


The  New  York  Sun,  in  a  very  interesting 
article  on  the  visit  of  the  Queen  Regent  of 
Spain  and  her  son  to  San  Sebastian, an  obscure 
watering-place  near  the  French  frontier,  gives 
an  anecdote  which  is  so  striking  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  Queen's  amiable  and  charitable 
disposition  that  we  reproduce  it  in  full: 

"A  well-known  poet  of  Spain,  deservedly  famous 
for  his  work,  was  at  the  same  time  a  man  of  most 
advanced  radical  opinions,  and  waged  such  bitter 
and  open  war  against  the  regency  that  he  was  at 
last  arrested,  tried,  and  exiled.  He  was  but  scantily 
endowed  with  the  world's  goods,  and  the  wife  and 
children  he  left  behind  soon  fell  into  absolute 
poverty.  The  poet  petitioned  the  Queen  for  par- 
don in  their  behalf,  and  was  at  once  permitted  by 
her  to  return  to  Spain  and  to  his  family.  He 
obtained  an  audience, and  went  in  person  to  tender 
his  thanks  to  the  sovereign,  and  ofifer  the  expres- 
sions of  his  gratitude  and  homage.  He  was  gra- 
ciously treated,  less  as  the  enemy  that  was  than 
the  future  friend.  Suddenly  the  Queen  said :  '  You 
are  not  rich,  sefior;  literary  men  seldom  are;  and 
you  have  a  large  family,  have  you  not  ? ' 

"  '  I  have  six  children,  your  Majesty.' 

'  ■ '  Six  ? '  repeated  the  Queen ;  '  then  there  are 
three  for  you  and  three  for  me.' 

'•From  that  day  the  poet's  three  daughters 
were  cared  for  and  educated  at  the  Queen's  ex- 
pense, who  considers  them  as  her  special  and 
personal  charge." 


332 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 


IviFE  OF  ^Ev.  Mother  St.  John  Font- 
bonne,  Foundress  and  First  Superior- General 
of  the  Congregation  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph 
in  Lyons.  Translated  from  the  French  of  the 
Abbe  Rivaux,  Honorary  Canon,  Author  of 
"  Cours  d'Histoire  Ecclesiastique."  New  York, 
Cincinnati,  and  St,  Louis:   Benziger  Brothers. 

This  book  is  more  than  its  title  implies;  for, 
besides  the  life  of  the  saintly  foundress,  we 
have  a  succinct  history  of  the  Sisters  of  St. 
Joseph  from  their  re-establishment  in  1807  ^o 
the  present  day.  In  the  United  States  and 
Canada  more  than  2,500  devoted  religious  of 
this  community  instruct  70,000  children,  and 
also  have  charge  of  50  charitable  institutions. 
And  all  this  is  due,  under  God,  to  the  zeal, 
courage,  and  devotion  of  Mother  St.  John.  The 
life  of  this  valiant  woman  is  full  of  interest 
and  edification.  The  book  possesses  a  special 
value  from  the  fact  that  Mother  St.  John  had 
such  a  thoughtful  and  tender  devotion  to  St. 
Joseph,  and  we  earnestly  hope  that  an  in- 
creased veneration  for  the  great  patron  of  the 
Universal  Church  will  be  one  of  many  happy 
results  of  its  publication.  We  cordially  recom- 
mend it  to  the  members  of  all  religious  orders, 
and  to  the  devout  laity. 

Mass  in  Honor  of  the  Holy  Face  of 
Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  By  the  Rev.  Lawrence 
Moeslein,C.P.  New  York:  Wm.  A.Pond&Co. 
Father  Moeslein  has  given  in  this  work  a 
brilliant, well- voiced  Mass,  full  of  melody,  and 
not  too  difficult  for  the  amateur  choirs  of  our 
churches.  The  ' '  Kyrie ' '  opens  with  an  adagio 
for  the  bass  voice,  full  of  pathos,  simple  and 
grand  in  harmony,  leading  into  a  duet  for 
soprano  and  alto — "  Christe  eleison  " — full  of 
prayerful  tenderness.  The  "Gloria"  is  worthy 
its  viotivo,  and  moves  onward  in  well- voiced 
harmony  with  soli  and  duettino  to  a  "  Quo- 
niam"  opening  in  fugue  form,  which  ends  with 
a  brilliant  chorus.  One  great  charm  of  the  mu- 
sic is  the  fact  that  it  is  thoroughly  descriptive 
of  the  themes  it  presents.  Thus  in  the  ' '  Cum 
Sancto  Spiritu,"  the  opening  duet  for  tenor 
and  bass  moves  in  unisons  for  four  measures 
to  the  beseechingly  brilliant  chorus.  The 
"Credo,"  with  exception  of  the  soprano,  is 
written  in  unison  for  the  first  four  measures. 
The  gem  of  this  charming  "Credo"  is  the 
"Et  Incarnatus  est,"   a  duet  between   the 


soprano  and  alto,  echoed  by  a  bass  solo,  and 
terminated  by  eight  measures  of  harmonious 
chorale,  which  lead  into  a  ' '  Crucifixus ' '  full 
of  majestic  unisons  A  melodious  ' '  Sanctus ' ' 
for  soprano  and  bass  with  chorus,  a  "Bene- 
dictus ' '  for  tenor  solo,  and  the  ever-prayerful 
and  plaintive  "Agnus  Dei"  for  soprano  solo 
and  chorus,  are  all  well  calculated  to  make  this 
work  most  popular  with  professional  choirs 
for  its  correct  harmonies,  and  with  amateiirs 
for  its  simple  and  graceful  melodies. 

The  accompaniment  throughout  is  admira- 
bly adapted  to  hold  the  voices  together,  and 
not  so  difficult  but  that  the  least  experienced 
organist  may  venture  to  attempt  it  prima 
vista.  We  trust  that  Father  Moeslein 's  work 
may  find  place  in  choirs  and  classes  for  the 
stud)'^  of  sacred  music. 


Obituary. 


"  It  IS  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  a  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are 
com  mended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  read- 
ers: 

Sister  M.  Lucy,  of  St.  Joseph's  Convent,  To- 
ronto, whose  precious  death  occurred  on  the  4th 
of  September. 

Sister  Aloysia,  a  novice  of  the  Order  of  St.  Dom- 
inic, whom  God  called  from  this  life  01^ the  13th 
ult.,  at  Jacksonville,  111. 

Mr.  Charles  F.  Twemler,  who  calmly  breathed 
his  last  at  St.  Louis  on  the  7th  ult., after  receiving 
the  consolations  of  our  holy  religion. 

Mrs.  Winifred  Sweeny,  one  of  the  first  subscrib- 
ers of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  whose  happy  death,  at 
the  venerable  age  of  eighty-five,  took  place  at 
Fms worth,  Pa.,  on  the  9th  of  September. 

Mrs.  Catherine  Fennell,of  Davenport,  Iowa,  who 
rendered  her  soul  to  God  on  the  3d  ult.  She  bore 
a  long  and  painful  illness  with  edifying  patience, 
and  died  a  saint-like  death. 

Mr.  Henry  Beckman,  one  of  the  oldest  residents 
of  Cleveland,  who  passed  away  on  the  20th  ult. 
He  was  a  fervent  member  of  St.  Peter's  parish,  and 
a  generous  supporter  of  every  good  work. 

Mrs.  Joseph  McGillick,  who  departed  this  life  at 
her  home  in  New  York  on  the  12th  of  September, 
fortified  by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Patrick  Donnelly,  of  New  York;  Mrs.  Ellen 
Murphy  and  Miss  Jennie  Murphy,  Baltimore; 
Patrick  McCullough,  New  York;  and  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet Martin,  Pamell,  Iowa. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


333 


FAIITMENI 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  Shrines  of  Our 
Lady  in  Austria. 


BY  OCTAVIA  HENSEL. 


"  Mary!  the  dearest  name  of  all, 
The  holiest  and  the  best; 
The  first  low  word  that  Jesus  lisped, 
Laid  on  His  Mother's  breast." 

Isle  Margaret,  or  "Garden  of  Delights" 
as  it  was  called  in  the  days  when  Turkish 
rule  held  sway  in  Buda  on  the  Danube,  and 
the  convent  home  of  Pearl  Margaret  lay  in 
ruins  there;  but  Isle  Margaret  we  call  the 
lovely  garden  spot  to-day,  when  Catholic 
Faith  rules  the  Austrian  land,  and  the  Dan- 
ube flows  silently  beside  these  woodlands, 
where  broken  arch  and  architrave  lie  deep 
in  ferns  and  moss. 

Stephen  of  the  house  of  Arpad — "St. 
Istvan,"  Hungaria's  first  Christian  king 
— was  crowned  at  Buda  in  the  year  looo, 
and  for  two  hundred  and  forty  years  his  de- 
scendants reigned  in  peace  and  prosperity. 
Bela  IV.,  the  eighteenth  monarch  of  the 
house  of  Arpad,  "a  loving,  fatherly.  Chris- 
tian king,"  granted  his  daughter  Margit 
permission  to  build  a  Carmelite  cloister  on 
this  beautiful  island  in  the  heart  of  the 
Danube,  which  now  bears  her  name. 

Little  is  known  of  her  life  save  its  perfect 
retirement  from  the  world,  first  as  a  Carmel- 
ite nun  in  the  narrowest  cell  of  the  convent 
which  she  built,  then  as  Mother  Superior 
of  that  same  order,  and  finally  her  tomb  in 
the  exquisite  chapel,  the  ruins  of  which  still 
attract  the  attention  of  artists  and  archi- 
tects of  every  clime.  But  the  Turks  came 
and  threw  down  the  gleaming  marble  walls, 
or  carried  them  away  to  the  northern  por- 
tion of  the  island,  to  build  their  baths  and 
beautify  their  gardens  of  delight.  They 
allowed  forest-trees  to  grow  up  on  the  deso- 


late spot;  and  now, under  woodland  arches, 
the  mosses,  ferns,  vines,  and  wild  flowers 
tenderly  clasp  the  broken  shafts  or  marble 
base  of  column  and  doorway,  hidden  in  the 
earth  and  underbrush  of  the  southern  part 
of  the  island. 

A  shaded  pathway  from  the  ivied  chapel 
wall  leads  through  a  grove  of  hemlock  and 
larch  and  birch  trees,  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  on  either  side  can  be  seen  the  ruins  of 
the  old  convent.  Only  a  few  stones  and  mar- 
ble blocks  remain,  with  here  and  there  a  bit 
of  carving,  but  mouldy  and  moss  covered 
beyond  power  of  recognition  as  belonging 
to  window  or  portal. 

Two  young  girls,  accompanied  by  the 
chaplain  and  their  governess,  had  wandered 
far  among  these  shadows,  and  paused  to  rest 
under  the  green  birches,  through  which  the 
sunshine  was  glinting. 

"Tell  us  a  story.  Father;  or  read  us  one," 
said  Hilda.  "Surely  that  little  book  which 
you  always  bring  for  us  in  our  walks  has  yet 
another  '  Shrine  of  Our  Lady '  we  should 
learn  to  love. ' ' 

"Yes,  it  has  many;  but  are  you  quite 
sure  you  remember  those  I  have  already 
described?" 

"Yes  indeed,"  said  Roberta,  "we  know 
them  all,  and  we  start  upon  our  pilgrimage 
next  week. ' ' 

The  good  priest  smiled.  "And  so  you 
really  intend  to  visit  all  these  shrines  of 
Mary  in  our  Austrian  land?" 

"Most  assuredly.  Father,"  replied  Ro- 
berta; "papa  and  mamma  have  both  con- 
sented, providing  we  can  persuade  Madame 
Veronique  to  take  us." 

"I  am  onlv  too  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  go  myself,"  said  their  governess.  "I  can 
not  imagine  a  happier  method  of  passing 
the  days  of  our  September  vacation  than  in 
visiting  the  shiines  of  Our  Blessed  Lady." 

The  priest  opened  the  volume  he  held. 
"Then  let  me  assign  you  the  order  of  your 
pilgrimage, ' '  said  he.  * '  First  you  will  go 
northward  to  Vienna,  there  to  the  Cathedral 
of  St.  Stephen  for  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady 
!  of  the  Himmelspforte,  with  the  humbler  but 
more  crowded  shrine  of  the  Dienstboten 


334 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


Maria;*  then  from  the  Cathedral  to  the 
Mariahilfe  district,  to  the  Mariahilfe  Ma- 
donna. But  now  I  will  tell  you  a  story  of 
these  shrines  which  I  know  to  be  absolutely 
true." 

*'A11  three  of  them,  Father  ?  "  questioned 
Hilda,  eagerly. 

"The  Himmelspforte  and  the  Mariahilfe 
shrines  more  particularly,"  he  replied; 
' '  but  there  are  many  beautiful  stories  of  the 
simple  Dienstboten  Maria  picture  beside 
the  chapel  of  the  high  altar.  It  is  there  that 
the  poorer  classes  of  Vienna  pause  as  they 
hurry  through  the  great  transept,  kneel, 
and,  having  oflfered  their  hurried  petition 
or  thanksgiving,  go  on  to  their  work  with 
lighter  hearts,  comforted  by  the  prayer  of 
.faith.  But  listen  to  this  story: 

**On  the  outskirts  of  Vienna,  near  the 
Ottakring  district,  there  lived  a  poor  seam- 
stress and  her  family.  The  father  was  too 
ill  to  work,  and  the  three  children  too  young 
to  gain  very  much  in  so  poor  a  neighbor- 
hood. Times  had  been  hard;  the  mother 
had  found  no  work  for  several  days,  their 
earnings  were  spent,  and  the  last  morsel  of 
food  gone  the  day  before. 

*"Ach!  Mariahilfe! — could  I  but  crawl 
to  Her  shrine!'  exclaimed  the  suffering 
father. 

"'I  will  go,'  said  the  mother;  and,  lifting 
her  youngest  child  in  her  arms,  and  leading 
her  baby  boy  by  the  hand,  she  started  for 
the  shrine  of  Our  Lady,  a  mile  distant.  The 
oldest  child  remained  beside  the  father,  and 
together  they  recited  the  Litany  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  the  Rosary  for  the  pil- 
grims to  Mariahilfe. 

"At  that  same  hour,  in  the  Cathedral  of 
St.  Stephen,  away  in  the  centre  of  Vienna,  a 
lady  was  kneeling  before  the  iron  grating  f 
of  the  chapel  which  contained  '  Our  Lady  of 
the  Himmelspforte.'  Death  had  taken  from 
her  all  that  she  most  loved  on  earth;  she 


*  The  errand-boys' or  servants'  Maria. 

t  These  iron  doors  are  closed  after  the  seven- 
o'clock  Mass,  which  is  said  in  this  chapel,  and 
not  opened  until  the  following  day,  except  for 
tourists  who  may  wish  to  examine  the  miraculous 
statue  of  Our  Lady. 


was  alone  and  very  sorrowful.  Thoughts  of 
her  loneliness  and  sadness  were  well-nigh 
crushing  the  life  from  her  heart.  'What 
can  I  do? — whert  can  I  find  relief?'  was 
the  burden  of  her  cry. 

'"God's  poor,'  seemed  to  whisper  a 
voice  from  the  chapel  s  gloom.  Rapidly  as 
thought  came  before  her  the  face  of  the 
woman  who  had  applied  for  sewing  on  the 
previous  day,  and  to  w  horn  she  had  forgotten 
to  send  the  promised  work.  'God's  poor' 
and  then  the  name  Maria  die  Nlihterin  * 
were  murmured  as  if  from  the  lips  of  the 
statue. 

"  'Yes,  Mother,'  responded  the  lonely  one, 
and  instantly  rising  went  from  the  Cathe- 
dral. Food,  tea,  and  requisite  articles  of 
sewing  were  soon  purchased,  a  messenger 
hastily  summoned,  and  the  address  of  the 
poor  seamstress  near  the  Ottakring  given 
him. 

"Two  hours  later  the  weary  mother  and 
her  little  children  reached  their  home. 
Hardly  had  the  poor  woman  entered  the 
door  when  she  fell  on  her  knees.  '  Maria 
hatgeholfen^  ach!  Hebe  Himmelskdniginl '  t 
There  on  the  table  was  a  good  breakfast, 
and  a  steaming  cup  of  tea  was  held  towards 
her  by  her  husband,  who,  strengthened  by 
the  viands,  had  been  able  to  rise  from  the 
bed  and  take  his  accustomed  seat  beside  the 
window. 

"Two  days  later  the  seamstress  carried 
home  the  work,  and  told  the  lady  how  she 
had  been  miraculously  .<;uccored  by  the 
Mariahilfe  Madonna. 

"  '  Yes,  our  Moiher  at  the  door  of  heaven 
hears  our  sighs  and  half- murmured  peti- 
tions,' whispered  the  benefactress  to  her- 
self, and  then  aloud:  'Our  Lady  of  the 
Himmelspforte  told  me  your  need;  let  us 
go  to  St.  Stephen's  and  thank  Her  for  aid- 
ing us  both. ' 

"Thither  they  went, — one  to  the  shrine 

of  Our  Lady  of  the  Himmelspforte,  the  other 

to  the  simpler  shrine  of  the  Dienstbotea 

Maria. ' ' 

(to  be  continued.) 

*  Maria  the  seamstress. 

f  Mary  has  aided — ah,  loved  Heaven's  Queen? 


The  Ave  Maria. 


335 


Napoleon  and  His  Page. 


Though  far  from  devout,  Napoleon  I.  had 
retained  as  a  remnant  of  his  Christian  edu- 
cation a  certain  respect  for  religion  and  for 
those  who  professed  it.  When  at  the  sum- 
mit of  his  power,  after  Europe  had  bowed 
to  his  despotic  rule,  he  was  present  one 
evening  at  the  Corned  ie  Fran^aise  in  Paris. 
His  eyes  wandered  from  the  stage  to  the 
spectators,  whose  countenances  he  studied; 
then  turning  to  his  young  page,  to  whom 
he  was  very  partial  (for  he  bore  a  name  and 
title  of  the  old  noblesse — Rohan- Chabot, 
Prince  de  L^on),  the  Emperor  noticed  that 
the  youth  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  the 
play,  and  kept  his  hands  concealed  under 
a  fur  rug  folded  on  his  knees.  Curious  as  to 
the  cause  of  such  singular  behavior  in  a 
boy  so  young.  Napoleon  suddenly  thrust  his 
hand  in  the  fur,  and  discovered  between  the 
fingers  of  his  page — a  rosary ! 

At  that  period  the  rosary  was  far  from 
being  in  favor  at  the  court;  the  young  duke 
blushed,  and  expected  a  severe  reprimand. 

**Ah,  Auguste!  I  have  caught  you!"  ex- 
claimed the  Emperor.  "Well,  I  am  pleased, 
and  I  like  you  all  the  better  for  it.  You  are 
above  the  silly  scenes  of  the  stage.  One  day 
you  will  be  a  man."  And,  returning  the 
beads  to  their  owner,  he  added :  '  *  Continue ; 
I  will  not  interrupt  you  again." 

The  tittering  courtiers  dared  not  make 
merry  over  the  adventure,  after  the  words 
of  their  master. 

The  page  became  a  man  indeed:  he  died 
Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Besangon,  where  he 
left  a  cherished  memory  of  piety  and  good 
works.  The  Cardinal  de  Rohan  was  the 
valued  friend  of  the  most  distinguished 
Catholics  of  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century ;  we  will  name  only  two — Mgr.  Du- 
panloup,  the  eminent  Bishop  of  Orleans; 
and  Montalembert,  the  eloquent  author  of 
the  "Monks  of  the  West." 


Regard  no  vice  so  small  that  you  may 
brook  it,  no  virtue  so  small  that  you  may 
overlook  it. — Oriental. 


The  Raven's  Exploit. 


From  Golden  Days. 

"Pierre's  late  to-night,"  said  a  stout,  sun- 
burnt woman,  who  was  standing  at  the  door 
of  a  log  hut  on  a  small,  rocky  islet  in  the 
middle  of  the  Rhone.  "  I  do  hope  nothing  has 
happened  to  him;  he's  so  terribly  venture- 
some since  he  got  a  boat  of  his  own! " 

' '  Pooh,  pooh  ! ' '  answered  her  husband; 
"he'll  come  back  all  right,  never  fear.  It's 
only  natural  that  our  boy  should  be  a  ferryman 
like  his  father,  and  so  he  must  learn  to  manage 
a  boat.  See,  yonder  he  comes,  rowing  like  any 
boatman ! ' ' 

' '  But  whatever  has  he  brought  with  him  ? '  ^ 
exclaimed  Mrs.  lycnoir,  in  amazement. 

What,  indeed?  At  first  sight,  the  sturdy 
little  twelve-year-old,  who  came  skimming 
toward  them  across  the  broad,  shining  stream, 
appeared  to  be  wearing  a  huge,  black  over- 
coat, torn  almost  in  two.  But  a  second  glance 
showed  the  strange  object  to  be  a  raven  nearly 
as  big  as  himself  which  hung  loosely  over  his 
shoulders,  as  if  either  dead  or  badly  hurt. 

"See  what  I've  got,  mother!"  he  cried, 
gleefully.  ' '  I  found  it  in  the  wood  yonder, with 
its  wing  broken.  At  first  it  snapped  at  me, 
and  wouldn't  let  me  touch  it;  but  it's  quiet 
enough  now.  Isn't  it  a  big  one?" 

"Oh,  you  dreadful  boy! "  said  his  mother. 
"What  do  you  think  we're  going  to  do  with 
a  great,  ugly  thing  like  that  about  the  house? 
And  who  is  going  to  feed  it,  pray  ? ' ' 

"Why,  mother,  you  know  you  always  say 
that  this  house  of  ours  on  the  island  is  just 
like  an  ark;  and  Noe  had  a  raven  in  his  ark, 
that  he  used  to  send  flying  about,  and  why 
shouldn't  jz^(?f  Besides,  we  can  teach  him  to 
carry  messages  for  us,  like  that  one  Father 
Gregoire  told  us  about  the  other  day." 

"Well,  there's  something  in  that,"  said 
Jean  Lenoir, laughing;  "and  as  for  feeding, a 
raven  can  pick  up  his  own  living  any  day ;  and, 
besides,  we  have  always  plenty  of  odds  and 
ends  of  fish.  Bring  him  in,  my  boy,  and  we'll 
see  what  can  be  done  with  him." 

The  broken  wing  soon  healed,  and  in  a  few 
months  Pierre's  raven  (named  Christopher, 
in  honor  of  the  ferryman's  patron  saint)  had 
become  famous  through  the  whole  country- 
side. Many  a  bright  silver  franc  did  Pierrer 


33^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


pick  up  at  the  village  fairs  by  making  the  bird 
go  through  the  tricks  which  he  had  taught  it; 
-and  when  once  it  had  learned  to  Oidxxy  mes- 
sages, the  people  along  the  riv^er  gave  it  so 
many  that  the  postman  used  often  to  threaten 
it  jokingly  with  a  summons  before  the  magis- 
trates for  taking  away  his  business. 

Even  Pierre's  mother  got  reconciled  to  the 
•'great,  ugly  thing"  at  last;  more  especially 
as  the  good  priest  of  the  parish,  Father  Gre- 
goire,  was  very  fond  of  it,  and  never  came  to 
see  them  without  bringing  something  good  in 
his  pocket  for  ' '  our  friend  Christopher, ' ' 

Sometimes,  indeed,  as  soon  as  the  kind 
-clergyman's  black  cassock  and  broad  hat  were 
seen  on  the  opposite  bank,  little  Pierre  would 
point  and  call  out, "  Food,  Christopher ! "  And 
the  raven,  shooting  like  an  arrow  across  the 
river,  would  perch  on  the  priest's  shoulder, 
and  thrust  its  great,  black  bill  into  his  pocket 
in  search  of  the  food  which  it  was  always  sure 
to  find  there. 

So  matters  went  till  one  night  in  the  early 
spring,  when  Jean  Lenoir,  coming  home  tired 
after  a  hard  day's  work,  paused  for  a  moment, 
as  he  got  out  of  his  boat,  to  notice  a  strange, 
leaden  dimness  that  overhung  the  hills  along 
the  eastern  sky. 

' '  It  must  be  raining  hard  up  in  the  moun- 
tains." he  said  to  himself,  and  then  thought 
no  more  about  it.  But  at  daybreak  next  morn- 
ing he  was  awakened  from  a  dream  of  being 
at  sea  in  a  storm,  which  seemed  strangely  real 
^ven  after  he  was  broad  awake.  Doors  were 
(banging,  windows  rattling,  timbers  creaking 
and  groaning,  mingled  with  a  roaring  and 
•dashing,  as  if  Niagara  had  been  let  loose. 
Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  sprang  to  the 
door  and  threw  it  open,  and  instantly  started 
back  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

The  water  was  within  a  foot  of  the  door- 
sill!  Worse  still,  it  was  plainly  rising  higher 
every  moment.  The  Rhone,  swollen  by  the 
heavy  rains  and  the  sudden  melting  of  the 
mountain  snows,  had  burst  its  banks  and  come 
down  in  full  flood,  driven  by  such  a  gale  as 
had  not  blown  in  those  parts  since  the  great 
•storm  ten  years  before.  All  sorts  of  things  went 
whirling  past  upon  the  yellow  foam — drowned 
sheep,  hurdles,  beams,  boxes,  and  uprooted 
trees,  upon  one  of  which  crouched  a  poor  little 
shivering  dog,  wailing  piteously  for  the  help 
that  no  one  could  give. 

Jean's  first  thought  was  for  his  boat,  but 


both  it  and  the  shed  in  which  it  was  moored 
were  gone  as  if  they  had  never  been.  Sick  at 
heart,  he  clambered  up  into  the  loft  after  his 
wife  and  son,  just  as  the  water  came  flooding 
in  over  the  door-sill. 

Meanwhile  an  anxious  crowd  had  gathered 
on  the  opposite  bank,  eager  to  help  the  im- 
periled family  on  the  island.  But  how  was  this 
to  be  done  ?  No  boat  could  live  in  that  boil- 
ing flood,  and  it  seemed  hopeless  to  think  of 
getting  a  rope  across.  The  strongest  man 
could  not  fling  a  stone  so  far.  A  kite  would 
be  instantly  torn  to  shreds  by  the  wind,  and 
they  had  no  means  of  sending  across  either  an 
arrow  or  a  bullet. 

Poor  Father  Gregoire  ran  about  from  man 
to  man,  imploring  them  to  do  something, 
and  meeting  everywhere  the  same  despairing 
shake  of  the  head.  And  still  the  water  rose 
higher  and  higher  and  higher. 

Suddenly  Pierre  put  his  mouth  close  to  his 
father's  ear,  and  screamed  with  all  his  might 
through  the  deafening  uproar:  "Father — 
Christopher!" 

Catching  his  son's  idea  in  a  moment,  the 
ferryman  rummaged  out  a  roll  of  twine,  one 
end  of  which  Pierre  fastened  around  the  leg 
of  his  pet,  which  was,  indeed,  about  to  become 
in  terrible  earnest  what  they  had  often  called 
it  in  jest, ' '  the  raven  sent  forth  from  the  ark. ' ' 

"Food,  Christopher!"  shouted  the  boy, 
pointing  to  the  opposite  shore;  and  instantly 
the  raven  outspread  its  broad,  banner-like 
wings,  and  swooped  forth  into  the  storm,  while 
a  stifled  cry  broke  from  the  gazing  crowd  as 
they  watched  its  flight. 

Twice  all  seemed  lost,  as  poor  Christopher 
was  almost  beaten  down  into  the  raging  wa- 
ters beneath;  but  the  brave  bird  persevered, 
and,  catching  a  momentary  lull  in  the  fury  ot 
the  storm,  struggled  across  the  space,  and  fell 
exhausted  on  the  bank  A  stout  farmer  sprang 
forward  to  seize  the  string  tied  to  the  bird's 
leg,  and  instantly  half  a  dozen  eager  hands 
were  at  work  on  the  cord  attached  to  it.  Com- 
munication was  thus  established  with  the 
island,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  three 
Crusoes  in  the  ferryman's  hut  were  drawn 
safely  ashore,  just  as  the  whole  house  feU 
crashing  into  the  swollen  river. 

After  this  the  raven  became  a  greater  favor- 
ite than  ever,  and  from  that  day  every  one 
called  him  "Christophe  le  Courrier"  (Chris- 
topher the  Messenger). 


^H^ 


^^^^^^^^WP^^K^'W^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  8,  1887. 


No.   15. 


ICopjrriirht  — R«t.  D.  K.  Hubboii.  C.  8.  C.l 


I 


Submission. 


BY  MARGARET  H.   LAWLESS. 


THHERE  is  a  cup  that  each  of  us  must  drink, 
*■     Although  we  fain  would  have  it  pass  us  by, 

That  our  red  lips  may  pale  not  on  its  brink, 
Its  dregs  upon  our  tongues  be  not  drained  dry. 

Flesh, heart.and  soul  in  quivering  anguish  shrink; 
"Oh.  any  cup  but  this!"  we  kneel  and  cry, 

At  sight  of  bitter  bubbles  on  its  brink, 

And  wreathing  steam  that  dulls  and  fills  the  eye. 

And  yet  we  know  life's  triumph  can  be  won 

By  these  words  only, ' '  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done ! ' ' 

Like  some  poor  suppliant  who  kneels  and  begs, 

We  weep,  pray,  shuflder,  drain  it  to  the  dregs. 

And  when  God's  will  is  donje  within  us  thus, 

His  angels  come  and  minister  to  us. 


The  Client  of  Our  Lady  of  Rimini. 


A  MEMORY  OF  BELLEVUE   HOSPITAL,  NEW  YORK. 


T  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon 
of  a  Sunday  mornir  g  in  early  sum- 
mer. In  the  open  streets  the  air  was 
heavy  and  still,  and  I  felt  the  atmosphere 
oppressive  as  I  wended  my  way  along  the 
deserted  pavements  to  Bellevue  Hospital. 
Inside  the  building,  fresh  and  clean  though 
everything  was,  this  feeling  of  oppression 
was  well-nigh  unbearable.  For  my  own 
part,  I  can  never  go  through  a  hospital  with- 
out experiencing  something  of  the  kind 
There  must  be  a  secret  sympathy  of  the 
nerve  centres  with  the  varied  forms  of  suf- 


fering, that  depresses  the  spirits  and  relaxes 
the  bodily  fibres.  In  this  magnificent  pal- 
ace of  pain,  one  of  the  best- kept  and  best- 
appointed  in  the  world,  I  was  as  sensible  of 
this  feeling  as  ever  I  had  been  in  the  mean- 
est structure  devoted  to  the  same  purpose; 
much  more  than  I  had  ever  been  at  the  close 
of  a  long  day  spent  among  remote  country 
cabins,  or  in  the  city's  reeking  alleys  and 
tenements. 

Notwithstanding  this  sensation,  I  felt  not 
the  slightest  aversion  for  the  duty  I  was 
engaged  in;  on  the  contrary,  in  strong  con- 
trast with  the  aforesaid  feeling  of  lassitude, 
there  came  from  time  to  time  a  keen  sense 
of  spiritual  comfort — a  tenderness  of  soul 
that  was  very  sad, but  at  the  same  time  very 
soothing.  I  was  half  conscious,  however,  of 
a  morose  humor — a  smouldering  rebellion 
of  spirit  against  the  woes  of  human  life  dis- 
played in  open  spectacle  before  me.  Every 
murmur  of  pain,  every  silent  throe  of  agony, 
seemed  to  appeal  rather  for  redress  to  some 
tribunal  of  justice  than  for  aid  to  the  bosom 
of  mercy.  It  was  the  man  in  me  bemoan- 
ing man's  miseries.  Oh,  the  woe  of  it  all! 
oh,  the  pity  of  it!  Unmoved  by  these  mute 
murmurings,  something  within  the  heart 
of  the  priest  kept  whispering,  "Oh,  the 
beauty,  the  goodness,  the  wisdom  of  itall! " 
and  I  went  on  steadily  with  the  Master's 
work.  Thus  swayed  by  conflicting  emotions, 
I  paced  the  wards,  leaving  no  pain  unas- 
suaged  that  niy  tongue  or  hand  could  reach. 

I  have  dwelt  on  this  state  of  my  mind  at 
the  time  because  I  believe  it  contributed 


33S 


The  Ave  Maria. 


very  much  to  render  vivid  at  the  moment, 
and  indelible  for  all  future  time,  the  impres- 
sion of  the  fact  I  am  about  to  relate.  How 
many  more  striking  and  extraordinary 
things  drop  out,  day  after  day,  from  the 
records  of  a  priest's  memory! 

During  some  portion  of  the  day  preced- 
ing the  morning  of  my  visit,  one  of  the 
priests  at  St.  Stephen's  (28th  Street)  had 
administered  the  last  Sacraments  to  the 
dying,  and  heard  the  confessions  of  conva- 
lescents and  patients  not  dangerously  ill. 
I  had  supplemented  his  work  by  hearing 
also  a  number  of  penitents  before  begin- 
ning Mass.  There  were  very  many,  there- 
fore, waiting  to  receive  Holy  Communion.  I 
could  not  tell  the  precise  number,  or  their 
positions  in  the  various  wards.  One  of  the 
nurses,  however,  usually  conducted  the 
priest  to  the  diflferent  bedsides. 

Every  Sunday  morning  the  weekly  turn 
of  duty  in  Bellevue  began  for  each  of  the 
priestsat  St.  Stephen's  Mass  was  celebrate d 
in  the  anatomical  lecture  hall  at  eight 
o'clock.  This  room  was  an  amphitheatre 
circled  round  by  seats  ascending  tier  above 
tier.  On  weekdays  it  was  used  by  the  hos- 
pital students,  and  on  Sundays  by  our  con- 
gregation— that  is,  all  who  were  able  to 
attend  Mass.  In  its  centre,  where  the  dissect- 
ing table  stood  throuehout  the  week,  was 
raised  the  altar  of  the  living  Body  of  Christ 
on  this  day  of  worship.  All  the  requisites 
for  celebrating  the  Holy  Sacrifice  were  pie- 
served  in  an  iron  safe  set  icto  a  recess  of 
this  room.  Mass  was  always  followed  by  a 
short  sermon,  and  there  was  Benediction 
and  another  short  instruction  in  the  even- 
ing. Immediately  after  Mass  the  round  of 
the  wards  began — Communion  of  the  sick 
in  bed,  and  administration  of  Baptism  or 
Bxtreme  Unction,  as  required.  This  was 
the  Sunday  routine. 

I  had  attended  all  the  communicants, 
and  was  slowly  returning  to  the  chapel  from 
a  distant  ward.  There  was  but  one  sacred 
Particle  left  in  the  pyx  I  held.  I  looked 
attentively  from  side  to  side  toward  the 
rows  of  beds  as  I  proceeded,  knowing  by 
experience  that  I  might  yet  be  called  on  to 


administer  the  Viaticum  to  some  soul  in 
need.  This  often  happened,  through  a  sud- 
den breathing  of  divine  grace,  or  some 
agency  more  sure  and  efficacious  than  hu- 
man eflfort  or  foresight 

In  one  of  the  wards,  remote  from  the 
altar,  I  caught  sight  of  a  pale,  haggard  man, 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  rough  but  decent  pilot- 
cloth.  A  woolen  scarf  of  bright  red  was 
thrown  loosely  round  his  neck.  He  was 
seated  on  the  side  of  his  bed,  his  head  bent, 
and  his  hands  clasped  round  one  knee.  I 
see  him  distinctly  now,  though  many  years 
have  passed  away.  In  health  he  must  have 
appeared  swarthy  and  weather-beaten;  now 
his  face  wore  that  sallow,' greenish  hue  such 
complexions  assume  in  mortal  illness.  His 
thick  black  hair  hung  long  to  his  shoul- 
ders. His  eyes — oh,  the  piteous  pleading, 
the  vision  of  loved  things  far  away  that 
gleamed  from  their  dark  depths!  He  seemed 
about  forty  years  of  age.  I  had  scarce  time 
to  mutter  to  m3self,  ''A  foreigner,"  when 
he  addressed  me  in  a  strange  tongue.  I  was 
as  yet  too  far  from  him  to  catch  the  feeble 
accents,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
eagerness  of  the  tones  and  the  look  that 
accompanied  them.  I  approached  him,  and 
the  following  words,  uttered  in  the  smooth 
Romagna  dialect,  struck  mv  familiar  ear: 
'  ^ Padre ^  me  vorr^ '  confessh  ? ' '  (Father,  will 
you  hear  my  confession?) 

I  seated  myself  beside  him,  not  permit- 
ting him,  in  his  weak  state,  to  kneel  as  he 
tried  to  do.  As  I  spoke  to  him  in  his  native 
tongue,  the  light  of  his  own  sunny  land 
seemed  to  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  He  was  a 
sailor,  he  told  me;  from  stately  Rimini,  a 
city  renowned  in  pagan  and  Christian  story, 
and  beloved  of  the  Madonna  and  of  Her 
divine  Son.  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  "Ma- 
donna of  the  moving  eyes,"  the  famous 
Virgin  of  Rimini.  This  picture  had  been  a 
special  object  of  devotion  to  the  students  of 
my  day  in  Rome.  I  had  had  a  copy  of  it 
painted  by  a  poor  young  artist,  whom,  on  ' 
account  of  a  cast  in  one  of  his  eyes,  we  used 
to  call  "Guercino,"  after  his  great  prede- 
cessor in  art.  He  was  so  poor  that  I  en- 
gaged him  on  the  work  out  of  charity. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


339 


Neither  I  nor  any  one  else,  as  far  as  I  know, 
had  any  opinion  of  his  skill.  The  picture 
he  produced,  for  four  scudi^  was  a  perfect 
masterpiece.  A  Spanish  nobleman,  trained 
in  the  school  of  Murillo,  assured  me  since 
"  that  it  was  worthy  of  a  place  in  his  pri- 
■  vate  gallery.  I  rejoiced  now  that  my  early 
taste  had  furnished  me  with  a  subject  that 
brought  gladness  to  the  eyes  and  eloquence 
to  the  lips  of  this  poor  stranger,  dying  un- 
known in  a  foreign  land,  far  away  from  those 
tender  eyes  that  had  often  spoken  hope  and 
cheer  to  his  soul  in  happy  Rimini. 

*'0h,  yes,  Father!"  he  exclaimed,  '*I 
often  saw  the  dear  Madonna,  and  Her  eyes 
that  opened  and  closed;  often — fifty  times. 
Benedetto  IddioT'  (Blessed  be  God!)  Then 
followed  an  outpouring  of  sweet  prayer  to 
the  Patroness  of  his  city:  "^^,  cava  Ma- 
dref'  (Ah,  dear  Mother!)  ''No,  Thou 
wouldst  not  permit  me  to  die  without  aid 
and  comfort." 

The  tears  rained  down  his  pallid  cheeks 
— tears  of  unutterable  thankfulness  and  as- 
sured happiness.  I  was  in  no  condition  to 
arrest,  if  I  would,  this  torrent  of  feeling.  It 
flowed  along,  and  carried  me  away  with  it. 
I  too  was  in  Rimini.  Soon,  however,  in  a 
broken  voice,  he  made  his  confession,  and 
never  before  did  I  feel  such  happy  convic- 
tion of  a  soul  restored  to  peace  and  destined 
for  heaven  as  at  the  moment  I  pronounced 
over  him  the  words  of  absolution.  He  felt  a 
like  assurance  himself,  and  with  childlike 
trust  spoke  of  his  salvation  as  a  thing  ac- 
complished. 

When  I  rose  to  depart  I  observed  a  sud- 
den change  in  his  expre-sion — a  glance 
of  surprise  and  disappointment.  ''''Ed  il 
Signore^  non  me  Lo  daf"*^  he  exclaimed. 
I  then  gently  explained  to  him  that  I  'had 
but  one  particle  of  the  Sacred  Host  left,  and 


*  ' '  Will  you  not  give  me  the  Lord  ? ' '  The  Ital- 
ians, and  Spaniards  also,  state  the  whole  theology 
•of  the  Real  Presence  by  simply  calling  the  con- 
secrated Host  il  Signore,  el  Seiior — "the  Lord." 
How  much  sweeter,  more  sublime,  faithful,  and 
\  Catholic  this  sounds  than  our  cold  expression 
"Communion,"  or  even  " Holy  Communion,"  or 
the  ' '  Blessed  Sacrament ' ' ! 


that  in  all  probability,  before  concluding 
my  morning's  work,  I  should  have  to  ad- 
minister it  as  Viaticum  to  some  patient  act- 
ually dying ;  that  there  was  no  immediate 
danger,  and  he  was  not  likely  to  succumb 
to  his  fa<^al  malady  (consumption)  for  many 
days,  at  least.  I  would  see  him  again,  I  said, 
and  give  him  "the  Lord,"  the  desired  of 
his  soul.  I  impressed  on  him  that  charity 
toward  others  required  of  him  this  act  of 
patience  and  resignation. 

I  doubt  if  he  understood  or  even  heard  my 
pleading;  he  was  seized  with  a  sublime  self- 
ishness, that  rendered  him  callous  to  every- 
thing except  the  yearnings  of  his  own 
spirit.  There  could  exist  for  him  no  right 
that  was  stronger,  no  need  more  pressing, 
than  the  passion  of  Eucharistic  desire  that 
consumed  him.  Before  he  could  utter  his 
feelings,  the  fierce  craving  of  his  eyes  riv- 
eted my  glance  on  him.  They  said,  if  ever 
eyes  spoke:  "I  have  found  Him  whom  my 
soul  loveth,  and  I  will  not  let  Him  go." 
Then,  in  a  tone  of  command  rather  than 
entreaty,  he  spoke  the  words  I  have  never 
since  forgotten:  '"''Che  me  Lo  dia  a  meP'* 
(Give  Him  to  me.)  I  had  no  power,  even 
had  I  the  will,  to  resist  this  appeal.  Rever- 
ently he  received  the  Sacred  Host,  and  I  left 
him  absorbed  in  prayer,  and  unconscious  of 
me  and  all  the  world. 

A  few  days  afterwards  I  was  again  in 
Bellevue  Hospital.  It  may  seem  strange  to 
the  lay  reader,  but  the  priest  will  readily 
comprehend  how,  notwithstanding  the  im- 
pression made  upon  me  by  the  scene  faintly 
outlined  above,  I  had  for  the  time  forgotten, 
or  rather  laid  aside  in  some  recess  of  mem- 
ory, the  very  existence  of  the  Italian  sailor. 
In  the  mind  of  a  priest  actively  engaged  in 
missionary  work,  there  is  no  place  or  time 
for  reflection  on  duties  duly  completed:  his 
attention  is  absorbed  by  what  he  has  yet  to 
accomplish.  Moreover,  the  present  visit  to 
the  hospital  was  occasioned  by  a  doctor's 
note  marked  urgent^  and  I  was  entirely 
preoccupied  by  anxiety  to  attend  the  partic- 
ular case  it  referred  to.  I  had  passed  rapidly 
through  several  wards,  and  just  reached  one 
whose  wide,  double  doors  were  thrown  open 


340 


The  Ave  Maria. 


before  me,  entirely  concealing   the  beds 
stationed  immediately  within  on  each  side. 

I  had  nearly  reached  the  middle  of  the 
ward  when  a  cry,  repeated  sharply  and  pain- 
fully, reached  my  ears.  It  came  from  one 
of  the  beds  concealed  from  my  view  as  I 
entered.  Suddenly  turning,  I  could  see 
those  beds  from  my  present  position,  and 
in  one,  next  the  wall  and  farthest  from  the 
door,  I  beheld  my  poor  Italian  sailor  from 
Rimini.  At  once  I  recognized  him,  though 
this  was  not  the  ward  nor  the  bed  where  I 
had  formerly  discovered  him.  He  was  dying 
— not  merely  near  to  death,  but  in  its  actual 
throes.  Yet  a  glad  smile,  the  last  gleam 
of  the  setting  of  his  sunny  soul,  brightened 
all  his  features  as  I  drew  near  and  leaned 
over  him.  In  answer  to  my  questioning,  he 
replied  in  gasps,  but  with  great  distinctness, 
and  with  an  expression  of  the  beautiful 
upturned  eyes  caught  from  his  own  Ma- 
donna di  Rimini:  '"''Padre — si — contento; 
pregho  —per — Lei. ' '  (Father — yes — happy ; 
I — pray — for — you.) 

One  more  radiant  glance  from  the  bliss- 
ful eyes  toward  me — a  farewell  look  full  of 
friendly  purpose,  — and  he  closed  them  to 
this  world,  while  I  pronounced  over  him, 
in  briefest  form,  the  blessing  of  the  plenary 
indulgence  in  articulo  mortis. 

I  hurried  away  to  my  other  duty,  with  a 
heart  too  full  even  for  self-communing. 
There  was  within  me  an  overpowering  sense 
of  human  sorrow.  How  could  I  help  loving 
this  sweet,  candid  nature  that  had  mingled 
so  deeply  and  lovingly  with  mine,  though 
only  for  a  brief  moment!  Amid  so  many 
dearer  thoughts  that  must  have  crowded 
upon  his  dying  moments  in  a  strange  land, 
— thoughts  of  Rimini  by  Adrian's  bright 
blue  sea,  in  whose  waters  he  had  bathed  his 
boyish  limbs,  and  upon  whose  bold  billows 
he  had  schooled  himself  for  a  life  of  ad- 
venture, and,  alas!  for  an  exile's  death, — 
thoughts  of  loved  ones  there,  who  would 
watch  his  bark's  returning,  full  of  that 
sweet  warmth  of  hope  and  love  that  God 
reserves  for  the  poor  and  simple  of  heart 
alone,  and  that  glows  in  them  with  greater 
fervor  the  nearer  they  dwell  to  the  sunlight 


of  nature  and  of  faith, — amid  memories  like 
these  he  found  moments  to  devote  to  grate- 
ful prayer  for  the  poor  instrument  of  God's 
latest  bounty  to  his  soul. 

Ah,  I  did  well,  beloved  brother,  to  'give 
Him  to  thee. '  Thou  didst  not  have  me  long 
wait  for  the  first  fair  portion  of  my  reward. 
I  will  demand  of  thee  yet  my  full  guerdon. 
When  my  hour  of  greatest  stress  shall  have 
come, 

' '  Bend  on  me  then  those  tender  eyes, 
As  stars  look  on  the  sea." 

Meanwhile  I  echo  back  to  thee  thine  own 
resistless  prayer:  ''''Che  me  Lo  dia  a  me!'''' 

R.  H. 


The  Holy  Rosary  the  Queen  of  Devo- 
tions. ' 


BY  THE  REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


VI. — The  Holy  Child  Jesus. 

FATHER  FABER  is  reported  to  have 
said  that  he  wrote  his  other  works  to 
please  his  friends,  but  that  he  wrote ' '  Beth- 
lehem ' '  to  please  himself;  and  we  need  not 
wonder  that  so  profound  yet  simple  a  mind 
as  his  should  have  been  specially  attracted 
to  the  Manger  of  Bethlehem.  If  it  be  true 
that  infancy  possesses  its  attractions,  much 
more  must  the  infancy  of  Jesus  have  pos- 
sessed them.  That  it  awakened  the  tenderest 
sympathy  of  the  poor,  illiterate  Shepherds, 
and  infused  new  wisdom  into  the  sages  of 
the  East,  is  but  little :  it  has  been  the  subject 
of  the  deepest  and  most  pleasing  medita- 
tions of  the  devout  of  all  subsequent  times, 
— a  book  the  depths  of  whose  riches  no 
mind  has  been  found  capable  of  fathoming. 
What  a  mystery  is  infancy!  What  capa- 
bilities lie  hidden  in  the  tiny,  helpless  form! 
It  may  conceal  the  piety  of  a  Teresa,  the 
innocence  of  a  Rose  of  Lima,  the  zeal  of  a 
Francis  Xavier,  the  intellect  of  an  Augus- 
tine, the  sorrows  of  a  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
the  daring  of  a  Columbus,  the  ambition  of 
a  Napoleon,  or  the  patriotism  of  a  Wash- 
ington. Who  can  tell?  When  the  mother 
of  a  Moses  or  a  Peter  Damian  exposed  her 


The  Ave  Maria. 


341 


infant  to  apparent  death, what  imagination 
would  have  been  so  wild  as  to  predict  his 
future  career?  But  what  were  these  to  the 
Babe  of  Bethlehem — to  the  Word  made 
Flesh  and  dwelling  among  us — to  Him  in 
whom  all  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead  dwelt 
corporally,  even  to  eyes  unenlightened  by 
faith;  while  to  the  eye  of  faith  a  new  world 
of  infinite  extent  and  countless  wonders 
was  revealed, — a  world  of  which  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Rrsary  are  the  merest  abstract ! 
Yet  how  touchingly  does  not  the  Rosary 
portray  the  scenes  in  which  the  Child  and 
His  Mother  were  the  principal  actors!  The 
Archangel  appearing  in  the  humble  house 
at  Nazareth  as  the  messenger  of  the  Most 
High,  declaring  that  the  greatest  of  all 
mysteries  was  now  about  to  take  place;  the 
long  and  painful  journey  to  Bethlehem  in 
fulfilment  of  a  prophecy;  the  birth  of  the 
divine  Child  in  the  manger,  in  untold  pov- 
■erty  and  suffering;  the  visit  of  the  Shep- 
herds and  the  Wise  Men;  the  Circumcision, 
with  its  first  shedding  of  the  Most  Precious 
Blood;  the  presentation  in  the  Temple, 
with  the  prophecy  of  holy  Simeon;  the 
flight  into  Egypt,  with  its  years  of  exile,  and 
the  return;  the  losing  and  finding  in  the 
Temple,  that  ushered  in  the  eighteen  years 
of  the  hidden  life, — how  beautifully  are 
they  not  summarized  in  the  crowning  devo- 
tion of  Our  Lady !  What  sublime  subjects 
of  meditation,  yet  how  briefly  and  admira- 
bly put!  It  is  impossible  to  recite  the  Joy- 
ful Mysteries  of  the  Rosary  with  proper 
dispositions  without  experiencing  an  in- 
creased devotion  to  the  Sacred  Infancy  of 
Jesus  Christ. 

VII  — The  Hidden  Life  of  Jesus. 

Among  the  countless  mysteries  which 
the  life  of  Christ  presents  to  us,  few  are 
more  profound  than  the  one  of  which  we 
have  now  to  speak.  That  He  should  have 
come  upon  earth  for  man's  redemption,  and 
should  have  remained  in  seclusion  for  eigh- 
teen years,  is  not  according  to  the  dictates 
of  human  wisdom.  Nor  can  these  years  be 
said  to  afford  us  an  example  for  the  regula- 
tion of  our  conduct,  since  nothing  whatever 


is  recorded  of  them,  except  that  He  went 
down  with  Mary  and  Joseph  to  Nazareth, 
and  was  subject  to  them ;  and  we  are  left  as 
much  to  our  own  guidance  as  if  He  had  not 
spent  those  years  at  all.  Pious  writers  have 
offered  various  explanations  of  this  seclu- 
sion, and  given  many  reasons  why  our 
divine  Lord  should  have  thus  remained  so 
long  at  the  home  of  His  Mother;  but, while 
all  have  an  air  of  plausibility  and  are  edi- 
fying, they  afford  little  assistance  toward  a 
solution  of  the  mystery.  Perhaps  as  satis- 
factory an  explanation  as  any  would  be  to 
say  that,  since  Christ  as  God  was  infinitely 
perfect.  He  wished  to  attain  perfection  as 
man  before  entering  upon  the  great  work 
for  which  the  Father  had  sent  Him;  and  it 
was  at  the  age  at  which  man  attains  his 
prime  that  He  consummated  the  dread  sac- 
rifice of  Calvary. 

But  whatever  theories  may  be  advanced, 
we  must  yet  confess  our  inability  to  fathom 
the  divine  counsels,  and  silently  ponder 
the  words  of  the  prophet,  who,  speaking 
in  the  person  of  Almighty  God,  says:  "As 
the  heavens  are  exalted  above  the  earth,  so 
are  My  ways  exalted  above  your  ways,  and 
My  thoughts  above  your  thoughts."  We 
could  regard  these  years  of  seclusion  in  the 
cottageof  Nazareth,  with  its  vine-clad  walls, 
its  garden  of  flowers  and  fig  and  palm  trees, 
and  its  little  carpenter  shop,  as  years  of  su- 
preme happiness  for  the  Holy  Family,  were 
it  not  for  the  mission  for  which  Christ  came 
upon  earth,  and  the  deep  shadow  which  the 
prophecy  of  holy  Simeon  had  cast  upon 
them.  Notwithstanding  this,  the  feeling 
that  comes  over  us  as  the  last  of  the  Joyful 
Mysteries  leaves  us  on  the  threshold  of  the 
hidden  life  is  akin  to  that  with  which  a 
person,  wearied  with  life  in  the  city,  retires 
for  a  time  into  the  cool,  refreshing  air  of  the 
forest,  to  spend  a  few  days  in  its  fragrant 
groves,  by  the  side  of  rippling  streamlets, 
or  listening  to  the  warblings  of  its  varied 
songsters,  the  while  enjoying  the  company 
of  those  dearest  to  him  on  earth.  But  storms 
sweep  over  the  forests,  and  the  Sorrowful 
Mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  which  tell  us,  in 
the  words  of  Christ,  "My  hour  is  come," 


342 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rudely  awaken  us  from  our  pleasing  reflec- 
tions on  the  hidden  life. 

While  the  Joyful  Mysteries  form  a  fitting 
introduction  to  the  life  at  Nazareth,  though 
not  without  a  foreboding  in  the  three  days' 
loss,  the  Sorrowful  Mysteries  give  the  key 
to  its  true  character,  and  show  that  not  for 
a  moment  was  Jesus  any  other  than  the 
Man  of  Sorrows,  nor  Mary  any  other  than 
the  Mother  of  Sorrows.  Devotion  to  the 
hidden  life  of  Jesus  is.  therefore,  most  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  Holy  Rosary. 

VIII.— The  Public  Life  of  Jesus 

The  public  life  of  our  divine  Redeemer, 
which  forms  the  second  part  of  the  interval 
that  elapsed  between  the  scenes  of  the  Joy 
ful  and  the  Sorrowful  Mysteries  of  the 
Rosary,  is  summed  up  by  the  sacred  writer 
in  the  words,  "He  went  about  doing  good. " 
Yet  how  much  is  contained  in  this  brief 
sentence!  It  embraces  nearly  the  whole 
Gospel  narrative,  which  is  itself  an  abstract 
of  the  public  teaching  and  ministry  of  our 
divine  Lord.  St.  John,  speaking  under  in- 
spiration, says :  ' '  But  there  are  also  many 
other  things  which  Jesus  did;  which, if  they 
were  written  every  one,  the  world  itself,  I 
think,  would  not  be  able  to  contain  the 
books  that  should  be  written." 

How  replete  with  subjects  for  profound 
meditation  is  not  the  public  life  of  Jesus 
Christ !  That  sweetness  that  drew  the 
crowds,  even  the  little  children,  after  Him 
into  the  desert,  and  kept  them  there,  despite 
their  hunger,  for  days;  that  sublimity  of 
doctrine  which  forced  even  His  enemies  to 
declare  that  He  spoke  as  one  having  author- 
ity, and  that  never  did  man  speak  as  He; 
that  poverty  and  detachment  which  en- 
abled Him  to  say  that,  though  the  birds  of 
the  air  had  their  nests,  and  the  foxes  their 
holes,  the  Son  of  Man  had  not  where  to  lay 
His  head ;  that  compassion  for  suffering  hu- 
manity which  drew  tears  from  His  divine 
eyes;  that  compassion  for  sinners  which 
lent  a  character  to  more  than  one  of  His 
parables,  caused  Him  to  weep  over  the 
doomed  city,  and  absolve  a  Peter  or  a  Mag- 
dalene,— who  on  reading  of  them  can  for- 


bear exclaiming,  "Surely  He  hath  borne 
our  sorrows  and  carried  our  infirmities"! 
But  when  we  contemplate  Him  stilling 
the  surging  waters  of  the  sea  of  Galilee, 
multiplying  the  loaves  and  fishes,  changing 
water  into  wine,  healing  the  sick,  restoring 
sight  to  the  blind,  and  strength  to  the  pal- 
sied limbs,  or  raising  the  dead  to  life;  or, 
much  more,  giving  His  sacred  Body  and 
Blood  to  His  Apos'.les  at  the  Last  Supper, 
and  conferring  upou  them  the  power  to 
work  the  same  stupendous  miracle,  or  to 
reconcile  sinners  to  their  offended  God,  who 
can  help  exclaiming,  "Indeed  this  was  the 
Son  of  God"! 

Although  this  portion  of  the  life  of  our 
Saviour  is  not  so  intimately  connected  with 
the  Rosary  as  the  others  both  before  and 
after  it,  still  we  can  not  reflect  upon  His 
sojourn  on  earth  without  having  the  scenes 
of  His  public  life  forcibly  recalled  to  our 
minds;  and  hence  it  may  with  propriety  be 
said  that  the  Rosary  embraces  devotion  to 
the  public  life  of  Jesus  Christ. 

IX. — ^Jesus  Suffering. 

The  entire  second  part  of  the  Holy  Ro- 
sary is  of  itself  the  best  of  all  devotions 
to  Jesus  suffering.  Bach  mystery,  like  the 
darkness  of  Calvary  during  the  three  hours' 
agony,  grows  deeper  and  deeper.  As  the 
first  mystery  presents  Him  for  our  contem- 
plation, we  seem  to  hear  Him  say,  "My 
soul  is  sorrowful  even  unto  death :  stay  you 
here  and  watch  with  Me. ' '  Soon  His  agony 
increases,  and  He  is  heard  crying  out,  as 
the  human  nature  shrinks  from  the  dread- 
ful sufferings  in  store  for  it,  "  O  My  Father! 
if  it  be  possible,  let  this  chabce  pass  from 
Me."  But  love  triumphs  over  fear,  the  di- 
vine will  over  the  human,  and  He  says: 
"Arise,  let  us  go;  behold  the  hour  is  come." 
The  second  and  third  mysteries  advance  us 
more  deeply  into  the  awful  drama,  while 
the  fourth  presents  the  second  Isaac  as- 
cending the  mountain,  bearing  the  wood 
for  the  sacrifice;  but  who,  unlike  the  first, 
knows  full  well  whence  the  Victim  is  to 
come.  And  the  sorrowful  though  obedient 
Abraham  is  represented  by  the  Queen  of 


I 

! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


343 


Mart\rs.  who  shrinks  not  from  the  dread 
spectacle,  but  willingly  offers  Her  Son  to 
death,  and  Her  Heart  to  the  sword  of  sor- 
row foretold  by  holy  Simeon.  The  fifth 
mystery  completes  at  once  the  sufferings 
of  Christ,  the  martyrdom  of  Mary,  and  this 
division  of  the  Rosary,  which  is  a  compen- 
dium of  the  history  of  Ihe  Passior. 

So  self  evident  is  this  point — so  familiar 
are  Catholics  with  it,  owing  to  the  many 
ways  in  which  the  Church  presents  it  to 
them  in  her  devotions, — that  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  enlarge  further  upon  it.  It  is  rather 
a  subject  for  the  mind  to  reflect  upon,  for 
the  heart  to  cherish,  than  for  language  to 
discuss. 

X.— Jesus  Dead. 

What  an  indescribable  feeling  thrills  the 
heart  of  the  Christian  as  he  comes,  in  the 
course  of  his  meditations  on  the  sacred  Pas- 
sion, to  the  words, '  Jesus  is  dead" !  Such 
thoughts  can  not  be  expressed  in  words.  It 
is  indeed  the  consummation  Not  only  does 
it  fill  to  overflowing  the  measure  of  the 
sufferings  of  Jesus  and  the  sorrows  of  Mary : 
it  fulfils  all  the  Scriptures,  both  prophetic 
and  symbolic,  of  the  Old  Testament;  it 
imparts  an  infinite  value  to  all  that  Christ 
has  done  in  teaching  man  and  establishing 
His  Church;  it  abrogates  the  Je wish  law, 
blots  out  the  handwriting  that  was  against 
us,  restores  to  the  Father  the  honor  of  which 
He  had  been  deprived,  drives  the  spirits  of 
evil  in  dismay  to  their  infernal  dungeons, 
and,  in  a  word,  renews  the  face  of  heaven 
and  earth. 

The  dead  Jesus,  as  presented  for  our  con- 
sideration in  the  Rosary  and  in  the  crucifix, 
is  the  most  profound  of  all  treatises,  yet  the 
most  simple  No  intellect  is  so  acute  as  to 
fathom  its  depths,  no  mind  so  uncultured 
as  not  to  be  enchanted  with  its  eloquence; 
children  have  shed  tears  at  the  sight  of  it, 
while  the  gigantic  intellect  of  an  Augus- 
tine or  a  Thomas  Aquinas  has  drawn  from 
its  inexhaustible  wisdom.  We  must  say  that 
the  Rosary  presents  us  here  with  the  key 
to  all  mysteries  —  the  explanation  of  all 
the  problems  of  history;  and  St.  Paul  was 
drinking  at  the  very  fountain  of  wisdom 


when  he  desired  to  know  nothing  but  Jesus 
Christ,  and  Him  crucified. 

XL— Jesus  in  the  Sepulchre. 

The  period  that  elapsed  between  the 
death  of  Jesus  Christ  and  His  resurrection 
would  seem  to  form  a  break  in  the  religious 
history  of  the  world.  With  the  consum- 
mation of  the  sacrifice  of  Himself  upon  the 
cross  all  the  sacrifices  of  the  Old  Law  were 
forever  abrogated,  while  the  New  Law  still 
lacked  the  confirmation  of  His  resuriectioa. 
The  Apostle  sa}s:  "If  Christ  be  not  risen 
from  the  dead,  then  is  our  preaching  vain, 
and  your  faith  is  also  vain. "  As  at  the  time 
of  the  Incarnation  the  salvation  of  the 
world  depended  for  the  moment  on  the  re- 
ply of  Mary  to  the  angelic  messenger,  so 
during  these  forty  hours  the  faith  of  the 
Church  was  kept  alive  in  Her  immaculate 
Heart.  While  Her  divine  Son  could  no 
longer  suffer  in  body,  and  while  His  soul 
ha^^  gone  to  preach  to  those  who  were  de- 
tained in  prison,  to  announce  to  them  the 
glad  tidings  of  the  r  redemption  and  release, 
what  feelings  filled  the  Heart  of  Mary!  Sor- 
row for  the  dea^ih  of  Christ,  joy  for  the  re- 
demption of  man,  happiness  at  the  thought 
that  Goi's. honor  was  now  at  length  re- 
paired, peace  at  the  conclusion  of  the  great 
sacrifice,  confidence  in  the  promise  of  His 
resurrection,,  hope  in  the  fruits  of  His  sa- 
cred Passion.  Truly,  when  we  reflect  on  the 
position  of  Mary  during  that  Friday  night 
and  Saturday,  must  we  exclaim  with  the 
prophet :  ' '  To  whom  shall  I  compare  Thee, 
O  Virgin  Daughter  of  Zion?" 

After  the  rapid  change  of  scenes  in  the 
great  drama  of  man's  redemption,  the  Ro- 
sary leaves  us  in  the  end  calmly  to  meditate 
on  Jesus  in  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  renew 
within  our  souls  a  more  tender  devotion  to 
this  sacred  mystery. 

XII.— Jesus  Risen. 
No  greater  contrast  could  be  imagined 
than  that  which  is  presented  in  the  last  of 
the  Sorrowful  and  the  first  of  the  Glorious 
Mysteries.  In  the  one  we  see  Our  Lord  re- 
duced to  the  ignominy  of  death  ;  in  the 
other  we  witness  His  almighty  power  shin- 


344 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ing  forth  with  unwonted  splendor.  Centu- 
ries before,  the  royal  prophet  had  declared, 
in  the  person  of  Christ  addres:3ing  His  Fa- 
ther: "Thou  wilt  not  leave  My  soul  in  hell, 
nor  wilt  Thou  suffer  Thy  holy  One  to  see 
•corruption."  It  was  necessary  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  this  prophecy  that  Christ  should 
rise  from  the  dead;  but  it  was  also  neces- 
saiy  for  many  o'her  reasons.  He  had  proved 
by  His  miracles  that  He  was  divine,  but 
the  scenes  of  the  Passion  had  so  presented 
the  weaknesses  of  His  humanity  as  to 
shake  the  faith  of  even  His  most  devoted 
followers.  Another  striking  proof,  and  more 
convincing  than  the  former,  was  required 
to  re-establish  it  in  their  minds,  and  to  put 
it  beyond  the  reach  of  dispute  for  all  future 
times,  as  this  was  to  be  the  fundamental 
truth,  the  very  groundwork,  of  our  holy 
religion.  Hence  it  was  that  Christ  when- 
ever He  spoke  of  His  coming  Passion  and 
death  added  that  He  would  rise  again  on 
the  third  day.  Hence,  too,  the  A-postles  in 
their  sermons  and  epistles  always  insist  so 
strongly  on  the  doctrine  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion, as  fixing  the  seal  upon  His  teaching. 
The  resurrection  of  Christ  from  the  dead 
is  the  type  of  our  resurrection  on  the  last 
day,  when  our  bodies,  like  His,  shall  be  en- 
dowed with  immortality.  And  the  Rosary 
in  presenting  this  mystery  for  our  consider- 
ation affords  us  a  twofold  consolation:  that 
of  knowing  that ' '  Christ  being  risen  from 
the  dead,  dieth  now  no  more" ;  and  the  as- 
surance that  we,  too,  shall  rise  at  the  end 
of  time.  The  frequent  remembrance  of  both 
the  one  and  the  other  is  very  salutary;  for 
while  the  one  is  the  ground  of  our  faith, 
the  other  is  the  ground  of  our  hope.  The 
Christian  who  by  the  pious  recitation  of 
this  mystery  of  the  Rosary  is  led  to  reflect 
upon  the  resurrection  of  his  own  body,  in 
imitation  of  the  resurrection  of  the  sacred 
Body  of  his  divine  Master,  will  not  dishonor 
that  body  by  sin,  and  render  it  unfit  for  the 
place  that  Christ  has  gone  to  prepare  for  it, 

XHI.— Jesus  Glorified. 

When  our  divine  Saviour  met  the  two 
disciples  on  their  way  to  Emaus  on  Easter 


evening,  and,  though  unknown  to  them, 
spoke  such  burning  words  as  set  their 
hearts  aglow.  He  said,  among  other  things: 
"Ought  not  Christ  to  have  suffered  these 
things,  and  so  enter  into  His  glory?"  If 
the  resurrection  of  Christ  was  necessary,  no 
less  so  was  His  ascension  into  heaven.  His 
sacred  humanity  had  triumphed  over  death 
and  hell ;  it  had  finished  the  work  for  which 
He  had  assumed  it;  and  now,  as  a  faithful 
servant,  it  should  receive  its  reward, — a  re- 
ward which  it  was  not  in  the  power  of  earth 
to  give.  The  instruction  of  the  Apostles 
having  been  completed,  and  sufficient  proofs 
of  His  resurrection  having  been  furnished, 
He  declared  to  the  chosen  few:  "I  go  to 
Him  that  sent  Me. ' ' 

We  can  form  at  least  a  faint  idea  of  the 
glory  of  the  ascension  of  Christ.  The  com- 
pany of  all  the  blessed  who  had  finished 
their  career  before  that  time — the  patri- 
archs, the  prophets,  the  priests,  the  kings, 
the  pious  men,  women,  and  children  of  all 
times,  from  the  just  Abel  to  the  courageous 
Baptist, — what  a  triumphant  throng !  These 
were  met  on  their  way  by  the  hosts  of 
heaven,  chanting  hymns  of  joy  and  exulta- 
tion such  as  heaven  itself  had  never  before 
heard.  And  the  welcome  which  the  Eternal 
Father  extended  to  His  well-beloved  Son, 
who  was  obedient  unto  the  death  of  the 
cross — human  language  feels  its  utter  ina- 
bility to  describe  and  the  mind  to  conceive. 

Can  we  wonder  that  a  special  devotion 
sprang  up  at  an  early  day  in  the  Church  to 
Jesus  glorified?  It  could  not  have  been 
otherwise.  The  ascension  was  the  finishing 
stroke  of  the  great  work  of  the  redemp- 
tion. This  mystery  is  by  its  very  nature  pre- 
eminently one  of  hope  and  consolation ;  but 
it  is  much  more  so  on  account  of  the  ex- 
press declaration  of  Christ,  who  told  His 
Apostles :  "  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you. 
...  I  will  come  again;  and  take  you  to  My- 
self; that  where  I  am,  you  also  may  be." 
And  again,  in  the  prayer  which  He  ad- 
dressed to  His  Father  on  the  eve  of  His 
Passion,  He  says:  "Father,  I  will  that 
where  I  am,  they  also  whom  Thou  hast 
given  Me  may  be  with  Me;  that  they  may 


The  Ave  Maria. 


345 


see  My  glory,  whicli  Thou  hast  given  Me  " 
How  well  the  last  mystery  of  the  Rosary 
that  treats  expressly  of  our  divine  Saviour 
is  calculated  to  increase  this  devotion,  it  is 
not  difficult  to  understand;  for  while  it 
recalls  the  devotion  to  the  mind,  it  ac- 
companies the  renewal  of  the  impression 
with  the  grace  necessary  to  deepen  and 
strengthen  it. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Her  First  Communion. 


BY    ANGELIQUE    DE    LANDE. 


iTHERE  came  to  the  Table  that  Jesus  has 

^       spread 

One  by  His  free  mercy  forgiven, 

And  humbly  she  asked  for  a  morsel  of  bread, 

Some  crumbs  of  the  Manna  of  Heaven. 

She  knew  how  unworthy  her  soul  must  appear, 

All  scarred  by  the  malice  of  sin; 

For  the  fetters  of  heresy  many  a  year 

Had  bound  her  without  and  within. 

Did  the  Saviour  repel  her  with  loathing  and 

scorn, 
And  bid  her  unfed  to  depart  ? 
No, no:  at  the  threshold  He  met  her  that  mom, 
And  welcomed  her  home  to  His  Heart. 
He  prepared  her  a  bath  from  that  Heart's 

crimson  flood. 
He  clothed  her  in  garments  of  white, 
He  bade  her  sit  down  to  His  Banquet  of  IvOve, 
To  feast  with  the  children  of  light. 

All  doubt  and  misgiving  forever  at  rest, 

She  drank  of  His  chalice  of  grace, 

She  knelt  at  His  feet,  leaned  her  head  on  His 

breast. 
Then  stole  one  swift  glance  at  His  face. 
O  favorite  of  Jesus!  what  seest  thou  there? 
Why  leap  the  glad  tears  to  thine  eyes? 
And  thy  face  has  the  look  of  a  saint  at  his 

prayer; 
Hast  thou  caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  the  skies  ? 

' '  Nay,  question  me  not !  To  such  rapture  as  this 

My  tongue  can  no  utterance  give; 

Marvel  not  at  my  tears — they  welled  up  at  the 

kiss 
Of  that  God  in  whose  presence  I  live. ' ' 


Long  years  have  elapsed  since  that  glad  Easter 

morn 
When  the  stone  was  rolled  back  from  the  tomb, 
And  the  soul  of  the  convert,  in  Christ  newly 

born, 
Aros6  and  came  forth  from  its  gloom. 
Not  the  treasures  of  earth,  nor  the  world's 

varied  charms. 
Nor  fame,  nor  distinction,  nor  art. 
Can  loosen  the  clasp  of  His  sheltering  arms, 
Or  lure  her  away  from  His  Heart. 

Communion!   'tis  rest  and  refreshment  and 

peace. 
To  the  hungry  the  sweetest  of  bread; 
To  the  exile  'tis  home,  to  the  prisoner  release, 
It  quickens  the  soul  that  was  dead. 
"My  Body  and  Blood!" — 'tis  the  Master's 

own  word; 
Is  the  saying  too  hard  to  receive  ? 
Oh,  turn  not  away  from  the  call  you  have  heard, 
But  trust  in  His  w^ord  and  believe! 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.  RIVARD,  the  young  cousin  on 
whom  Bertha  had  built  such  brilliant 
hopes,  did  not  leave  Nora's  side.  He  found 
her  in  every  way  attractive;  she  had  seen 
and  observed  much,  she  spoke  several  lan- 
guages, and  her  conversation  was  far  supe- 
rior to  the  general  chitchat  of  the  Parisian 
salons  At  last  Bertha  also  noticed  Mr.  Ri- 
vard's  marked  attention  to  Nora;  Louis  had 
long  before  been  aware  of  it,  and  observed 
his  cousin  with  lowering  brow.  Mrs.  Bouvier 
regretted  inexpressibly  having  forced  Nora 
to  join  the  party. 

Music  and  cards  were  introduced;  the 
little  circle  was  very  animated,  and  the  lady 
of  the  house  was  perhaps  the  only  one  to 
notice  her  husband's  absence.  About  ten 
o'clock  she  beckoned  her  son,  who  unwill- 
ingly left  the  corner  where  Nora  sat. 

"Dd  you  know  where  your  father  is?'* 
she  asked. 

"He  was  called  away  half  an  hour  ago, 
and  is  in  his  study  with  a  stranger." 

"That  is  too  bad.  Such  intruders  should 


34^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


be  sent  away  when  one  has  company.  Listen 
for  a  moment.  Louis,  yoa  are  making  your- 
self ridiculous  by  your  exclusive  attentions 
to  Nora  " 

Louis  bit  his  lips,  and  was  about  to  an- 
swer sharply, when  some  one  drew  near  and 
asked  him  to  sing. 

"It  is  such  a  pity!"  said  Bertha;  "Mrs. 
Lynberg  promised  to  come,  and  she  and 
Louis  could  have  sung  the  Diamond  Duet." 

"The  trio  from  der  Freischiitz  will  also 
be  missed,"  sighed  a  young  girl.  "I  knew 
my  part  so  well!  From  the  time  Bertha 
invited  me  I  did  not  cease  practising.  That 
is  always  t he  way,  I'll  never  learn  anything 
again ! ' ' 

"If  any  ore  could  take  Mrs.  Lynberg's 
place!"  suggested  the  hostess,  who  loved 
to  hear  her  son  sing. 

"Nora  sings  charmingly,"  said  Louis; 
"and  her  knowledge  of  music  is  such  that 
I  am  sure  she  could  take  the  missing  voice 
perfectly,  if  I  had  courage  to  ask  her." 

"Miss  de  Brelyon  sings!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Rivard.  "Oh,  I  beg  of  you,  then,  do  not 
deprive  us  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you ! " 
he  said,  addressing  her. 

Nora  blushed.  "I  really  can  not  sing," 
sh  e  replied ;  "my  mournic  g  is  too  recen  t. " 

"Just  what  I  expected,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Bouvier,  in  a  vexed  tone.  "We  must  do 
without  the  trio,  after  all  your  trouble, 
Anna." 

"And  Louij  sings  it  so  well!"  answered 
Anna's  mother. 

"If  you  know  the  music,  Nora"  resumed 
Mrs.  Bouvier,  in  a  somewhat  imperative 
tone,  "it  is  by  no  means  amiable  of  you  to 
refuse  to  sing.  We  are  all  intimate  friends, 
and  only  wish  to  pass  the  time  pleasantly." 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  poor  Nora.  She 
felt  her  cousin's  conduct  cruel  to  force  her 
thus  to  sing  so  soon  after  her  bereavement ; 
but, defenceless  and  unprotected,  what  could 
she  do? 

"I  request  your  compliance,"  insisted 
Mrs.  Bouvier,  emphatically. 

The  girl  rose,  and,  struggling  against 
the  emotion  which  threatened  almost  to 
suffocate  her,  she  began  the  song  in  a  voice 


which  faltered  at  first,  but  soon  swelled 
full  and  powerful  through  the  room.  All 
listened  in  profound  silence,  for  every  note 
seemed  to  resound  in  the  hearts  of  the 
hearers  She  had  studied  music  in  Italy  and 
Germany,  and  cultivated  carefully  a  voice 
of  rare  sweetness  and  power,  which  her  in- 
ward emotion  rendered  at  that  moment 
doubly  expressive. 

Mrs.  Bouvier  could  scarcely  control  her 
feelings  of  vexation,  yet  it  was  all  her  own 
doing;  she  had  forced  this  young  girl  to 
display  her  striking  gifts,  which  cast  her 
own  daughter  so  utterly  into  the  shade. 
Even  Bertha's  self-sufficiency  could  not 
blind  her  to  the  fact  that  her  betrothed  (as 
she  really  deemed  him  in  her  own  mind) 
had  no  ej  es  save  for  Nora. 

At  last  the  trio  ended;  to  Nora  it  was  a 
veritable  relief  As  she  returned  to  her 
place,  leaning  on  Mr.  Rivard,  and  listening 
indiflferently  to  his  enthusiastic  praises,  she 
saw  at  the  end  of  the  room  an  unknown 
face,  whose  cold,  sharp,  penetrating  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  persistently  with  an  expression  of 
contemptuous  dislike.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  Mr.  Bouvier  approached  his  wife, 
accompanied  by  a  gentleman  who  was 
unknown  to  all  present.  He  was  unusually 
tall,  with  sharply- cut  features,  deep  grey 
eyes,  and  hair  streaked  with  silver,  which 
made  him  look  prematurely  old,  and  con- 
trasted oddly  with  his  light  brown  mous- 
tache and  olive  complexion.  While  far  from 
handsome,  there  was  something  in  his  face 
which  commanded  attention  One  glance 
at  his  cold,  determined  features  and  pene- 
trating eyes  would  suffice  to  show  the  most 
superficial  observer  that  his  was  no  ordinary 
character,  however  unsympathetic  to  the 
generality  of  men. 

Although  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  he 
traversed  the  room  with  perfect  self-posses- 
sion, and  bowed  to  the  lady  of  the  house  as 
Mr.  Bouvier  said:  " My  dear,  allow  me  to 
present  to  you  Mr.  Auvrard,  who  so  kindly 
aided  me  to  arrange  our  deceased  friend's 
affairs.  He  will  only  make  a  short  stay  in 
Paris,  and  with  difficulty  I  persuaded  him 
to  spend  the  evening  with  us. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria 


347 


"I  am  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Auvrard,"  said  the  lady,  in  her  most 
gracious  manner.  "I  hope  I  shall  often 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

' '  Unfortunately,  I  leave  Paris  very  early 
to-morrow, ' '  replied  the  stranger ;  "  so  I  fear 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  call  again." 

''Then  I  must  introduce  you  to  Miss  de 
Brelyon,"  rejoined  the  other,  looking  round 
in  search  of  the  young  girl. 

Mr.  Auvrard' s  eyes  followed  her  glance. 

Nora's  preceding  emotion  had  given  her 
an  unwonted  flush,  which  might  have 
been  ascribed  to  pleasure  or  gratified  van- 
ity ;  for  all  present  had  crowded  round  her, 
and  were  warmly  praising  her  exquisite 
singing. 

"Does  she  know  her  position?"  asked 
Mr.  Auvrard  of  his  host  after  a  moment's 
silence. 

"I  have  known  it  myself  only  a  few 
days,  and  I  hesitated  to  speak  to  her  on 
business  matters." 

"It  seems,  at  all  events,  not  to  be  giving 
her  much  trouble;  such  carelessness  at  her 
age  is  really  wonderful.  But  why  should  it 
astonish  me?  Carelessness  appears  hered- 
itary in  her  family." 

He  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Bouvier  and 
led  her  across  the  room,  to  where  Louis  and 
Mr.  Rivard  were  eagerly  talking  to  Nora. 

"Your  cousin  Mr.  Auvrard  wishes  to  be 
introduced  to  you,  Nora,"  observed  Mrs. 
Bouvier,  with  a  coldness  that  struck  the 
young  girl  with  dismay.  "Mr.  Auvrard, 
Miss  de  Brelyon."  Then  turning  to  Mr. 
Rivard,  "Come,"  &he  said,  with  her  most 
attractive  smile,  "and  look  at  the  palm  I 
have  reared  myself.  I  know  what  a  lover  of 
plants  you  are.  Your  hot-houses  in  Marville 
are  famous.  Louis,  sing  the  gondola  song 
that  was  so  much  admired  at  General  Lar- 
chez's." 

Having  thus  skilfully  disposed  of  the  two 
young  men,  whose  attentions  to  Nora  so 
tormented  her,  she  went  off  satisfied,  and 
Mr.  Auvrard  took  the  vacant  seat  beside 
the  young  girl.  She  had  given  him  a  warm 
welcoming  glance  at  the  word  cousin,  but 
he  was  in  no  way  touched  by  it. 


"Mrs.  Bouvier  makes  a  mistake,"  he  re- 
marked, icily,  "in  granting  me  the  honor 
of  a  relationship  to  which  I  really  have  no 
claim.  Mrs.  Auvrard,  your  grand-aunt,  is 
my  father's  second  wife,  and  the  only  tie  be- 
tween us  is  that  of  custom  and  affection." 

Nora  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  She 
was  quite  ignorant  of  all  circumstances  re- 
lating to  her  grand-aunt. 

"I  had  not  the  least  hope  of  meeting  you 
this  evening,"  he  continued,  with  ironical 
politeness.  "In  the  first  place  I  did  not 
know  Mr.  Bouvier  had  guests;  and  when  I 
was  persuaded  to  join  them,  I  did  not  expect 
to  find  you  present." 

"I  am  here  against  my  will,"  said  Nora, 
cut  to  the  heart  by  the  implied  censure.  "I 
vainly  assured  my  cousin  that  my  mourn- 
ing was  too  recent  for  appearing  in  com- 
pany." 

"Oh!  nowadays  there  are  a  thousand 
ways  of  relieving  the  sorrowful  hue  of  the 
costume,"  replied  the  man, with  a  mocking 
glance  at  the  coral  ornaments. 

Nora  felt  deeply  hurt  by  a  sarcasm  which 
touched  on  rudeness  at  their  very  first  in- 
terview. She  disdained  to  defend  herself, 
and  he  went  on,  with  a  bow:' 

"You  have  an  unusually  fine  voice,  and 
I  understand  that  you  seize  every  opportu- 
nity of  displaying  it." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  What  had  she  done  to  this  man 
that  he  should  treat  her  so  rudely  and  judge 
her  so  harshly? 

' '  Does  Mrs.  Auvrard  live  far  from  Paris? ' ' 
she  asked  after  a  moment  of  embarrassing 
silence. 

' '  She  has  been  living  in  Brittany  since 
her  marriage.  Have  you  never  heard  of 
her?  Has  Mme.  de  Brelyon  so  far  indulged 
her  hatred  as  never  to  pronounce  her  sister- 
in-law's  name?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  my  grandmother's 
motives  were, '  answered  Nora,  with  forced 
composure;  "but  every  allusion  to  her  fam- 
ily seemed  painful,  so  that  I  never  touched 
on  the  subject." 

"My  mother,  as  I  always  call  Mrs.  Auv- 
rard, has  every  reason  to  consider  herself 


348 


The  Ave  Maria. 


offended  and  ill-treated;  but,  notwithstand- 
ing, she  does  not  hesitate  to  accept  the 
charge  of  you,  and  she  wishes  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  I  start  early  to-morrow  for 
home,  but  I  shall  first  have  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Bouvier.  If  you  will  kindly  rise 
somewhat  earlier  than  you  are  probably 
accustomed  to  do,  I  shall  have  the  honor  of 
submitting  to  you  my  mother's  proposi- 
tions. ' ' 

"I  am  in  the  habit  of  rising  early,  and 
shall  be  ready  to  listen  to  whatever  you 
have  to  say."  Then,  rising  with  gentle  dig- 
nity, she  added:  "Allow  me  now  to  look  for 
my  cousin  Bertha,  from  whom  I  have  been 
separated  nearly  the  whole  evening." 

He  bowed  without  making  any  effort  to 
detain  her,  and  she  went  over  to  Bertha; 
but  the  latter  never  noticed  her,  and  when 
she  offered  to  assist  in  serving  the  tea,  she 
vouchsafed  her  no  answer. 

Mr.  Auvrard's  imposing  stature  surpassed 
that  of  all  the  gentlemen  present,  and  when- 
ever Nora  looked  towards  h'm  she  met  the 
same  cold,  inflexible  glance.  Bertha's  sud- 
den reserve  hurt  her  deeply,  and  never 
perhaps  had  she  felt  more  isolated  than  in 
that  gay  company,  of  which  she  ever  after 
retained  a  painful  remembrance. 
CHAPTER  VII. 
That  night  Nora  slept  little.  As  soon  as 
the  guests  left,  the  family  separated.  Mr. 
Bouvier  was  confused  and  anxious,  his  wife 
dry  and  sullen,  while  Bertha  did  not  re- 
spond to  Nora's  affectionate  "good-night."' 
"What  have  I  done  to  her?"  the  latter 
vainly  asked  herself  "What  has  changed 
her  so  suddenly.  Before  this  unfortunate 
evening  she  seemed  sincerely  fond  of  me, 
and  to  please  her  I  wore  the  ornaments  and 
sang.  What  more  could  I  do?  And  in  the 
eyes  of  that  stranger  who  was  so  harsh  to 
me  I  made  myself  appear  giddy  and  un- 
grateful. ' ' 

Towards  morning  she  slept  a  little;  her 
watch  pointed  to  six  when  she  awoke. 
Although  she  felt  completely  worn  out,  she 
got  up  at  once,  and  went  to  Mass.  When  she 
returned  all  were  still  asleep,  and  she  had 
leisure  to  reflect  on  the  late  behavior  of  her 


relatives.  Something  must  have  occurred  to> 
change  all  their  dispositions  towards  her  so 
thoroughly,  and  her  self-respect  demanded 
that  she  should  no  longer  remain  in  a  false 
position.  She  therefore  resolved  to  ask  Mr. 
Bouvier  if  the  law  had  appointed  a  guardian 
for  her,  and  what  provision  had  been  made 
for  her  future.  Her  stay  in  his  house  was 
no  longer  possible.  Slie  reflected  seriously 
on  her  future  plans,  and  determined  on 
having  them  arranged  at  once 

Towards  nine  o'clock  she  heard  a  noise 
in  Bertha's  room,  which  was  opposite  hers. 
Eager  to  clear  up  the  misunderstanding 
which  seemed  to  have  arisen,  she  knocked 
and  entered. 

"Have  you  "^lept  well?"  she  inquired 
gently,  advancing  to  embrace  her. 

"Slept!"  said  Bertha,  furiously;  "how 
could  I  sleep  after  the  way  you  acted?" 

"I?  What  have  I  done?  I  have  suffered 
enough  already  vainly  trying  to  discover 
how  I  offended  you  and  your  mother." 

Bertha  turned  her  pale,  excited  face  ta 
her.  "Mamma  is  perfectly  right!"  she 
exclaimed.  "We  could  not  believe  it  until 
last  evening,  but  you  are  a  thorough  flirt. 
Mr.  Rivard  did  not  leave  your  side  the 
whole  evening,  and  yet  you  knew — for  I 
was  foolish  enough  to  tell  you — that  my 
mother  wanted  him  to  be  engaged  to  me. ' ' 
Nora  turned  pale  as  death.  " O  Bertha," 
she  cried,  "what  a  dreadful  accusation  you 
bring  against  me !  Vainly  did  I  try  to  stay 
near  you  last  evening:  you  fled  from  me. 
My  heart  was  far  too  sad  to  seek  to  occupy 
any  one's  attention." 

"Really!  Dd  you  think  mamma  did  not 
see  it  also?  But  I  can  say  no  more;  I  can 
only  cry  as  I  have  done  the  whole  night, 
and  bear  with  your  behavior,  since  you  are 
our  guest." 

Nora  put  her  arms  round  her  and  drew 
her  to  a  seat.  "You  are  completely  de- 
ceived, Bertha,"  she  said,  gently.  "I  have 
so  little  desire  of  taking  your  lover  from 
you,  that  I  have  resolved  on  thanking  your 
kind  parents  for  their  hospitality,  which  I 
can  no  longer  accept. ' ' 

Bertha  looked  in  her  face  quite  aston- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


349 


I 


ished.  It  bore  so  unmistakable  an  impress 
of  real  suffering  that  she  was  toucbed,  and 
said,  in  a  softer  tone:  "You  want  to  leave 
us,  but  where  will  you  go?" 

*'I  should  be  very  glad  if  I  could  find 
temporary  refuge  in  a  convent." 

"  In  a  convent ! ' '  repeated  Bertha,  with  a 
shudder;  "that  would  be  too  severe  a  pun- 
ishment. Only  promise  me  not  to  marry 
Mr.  Rivard.  Besides,  it  would  be  a  great 
injustice  to  poor  Louis." 

Nora  looked  so  amazed  that,  in  spite  of 
her  vexation,  Bertha  burst  out  laughing. 
"Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  such  wonder? 
Surely  you  know  that  Louis  is  deeply  in 
love  with  you?  Mamma  was  quite  pleased 
at  first,  but  si  ace  yesterday  she  has  changed 
her  mind — oh,  don't  cry,  Nora!  It  is  not 
your  fault.  Only  promise  to  leave  me  my 
intended. ' ' 

'*  How  could  you  trust  my  promise  if  you 
judge  me  capable  of  thwarting)  our  parents' 
plans  after  all  their  kindne&s  to  me?  You 
see,  I  must  go  away;  what  you  have  just 
said  confirms  my  resolution.  Don't  think 
a  convent  has  any  tenors  for  me;  I  shall 
not  become  a  nun,  although  I  admire  and 
envy  those  who  have  the  happiness  to  be 
called  to  the  religious  state.  But  those  quiet 
cloisters  often  give  a  temporary  home  to  us 
children  of  the  world,  and  offer  to  the  weary 
heart  the  j  eace  and  quietness  for  which  I 
so  long. ' ' 

Bertha  was  touched  by  Nora's  tears;  she 
threw  her  arms  round  her,  begged  her  to 
forgive  her,  and  with  a  thousand  sobs  and 
kisses  declared  she  was  quite  ashamed  of 
herself. 

"Then  you  no  loiger  think  me  wicked 
and  ungrateful?"  asked  Nora. 

"No,  no!  It  is  I  who  am  bad  and  ungrate- 
ful; forgive  me." 

"With  all  my  heart." 

And  they  kissed  each  other  fondly. 

At  this  moment  the  maid  entered  with 
a  message  from  Mr.  Bouvier  to  Nora;  he 
wished  to  see  her  in  his  study. 

' '  What  can  he  have  to  say  to  you  ?  I  will 
go  with  you,"  said  Bertha,  resolutely. 

"He  is  not  alone.  Miss,"  observed  the 


maid ;  ' '  the  strange  gentleman  who  came 
yesterday  evening  is  with  him." 

"What!"  cried  Bertha";  "your  cousin! 
O  Nora!  he  wants  to  marry  you,  but  don't 
accept  him.  He  is  horrid ;  he  looked  like 
an  ogre  to  me  last  night. ' ' 

"He  is  not  my  cousin:  he  is  only  my 
grand-aunt's  stepson;  and  he  is  not  think- 
ing of  marrying  me,  that  you  may  depend 
on." 

So  saying   Nora  went,  with  a  beating 
heart,  to  Mr.  Bouvier' s  study. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


THE    RETURN    OF    A    RECREANT. 


COUNT  X ,  a  young  nobleman  de- 
scended from  a  long  line  of  Catholic 
ancestry,  for  two  year^  had  renounced  the 
most  glorious  of  his  titles,  that  of  "son  of 
the  Church."  In  vain  did  his  sorrowing 
relatives  urge  him  to  consider  his  ways:  he 
continued  to  deride  the  clergy,  to  read  and 
distribute  anti-Catholic  literature,  and  pos- 
itively refused  to  enter  any  edifice  conse- 
crated to  divine  worship. 

However,  fraternal  affection  led  him  to 
visit  from  time  to  time  a  favorite  sister,  a 
religious  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  at  the  Trinit^- 
du-Mont,  Rome.  Often  did  this  devoted 
sister  lay  the  case  of  her  wayward  brother 
before  the  shrine  of  Mater  Admirabilis  in 
the  corridor  of  the  monastery.  How  many 
tears  have  been  dried  before  that  marvel- 
lous picture!  how  many  griefs  have  been 
consoled!  how  many  heart- wounds  healed! 
Why  should  she  not  believe  that  her  fer- 
vent petition  would  be  granted  at  the  shrine 
of  the  Mother  of  Holy  Hope? 

The  Count  on  one  occasion  wrote  to  his 
sister  that  he  would  shortly  visit  her,  and 
she  renewed  her  novena  before  the  mirac- 
ulous statue.  Whenever  the  young  ' '  liberal 
Catholic"  (as  he  styled  himself)  called  at 
the  Trinit^-du-Mont,  he  would  ring  the 
door- bell  at  a  little  reception  room  in  the 
apartments  allotted  to  an  exterhaty  so  as 


3SO 


The  Ave  Maria, 


not  to  infringe  on  his  resolution  of  never 
setting  foot  in  the  parlor  of  a  convent. 

He  arrived  before  the  appointed  day,  and 
the  portress  invited  him  to  enter  the  Chapel 
of  Mater  Admirabilis^  while  she  went  to 

summon  Mme.  X ,who  was  engaged  in 

a  distant  wing  of  the  academy. 

"Thank  you,  Sister,  I  prefer  remaining 
here;  I  never  enter  churches,"  said  the  vis- 
itor. 

'  'Ah !  pardon  me, ' '  returned  the  portress, 
somewhat  embarrassed;'  "but  there  is  a 
celebrated  picture  there  that  attracts  the 
attention  of  everybody,  even  Protestants, 
and  I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  it. ' ' 

"Indeed?  Well,  I  do  like  fine  paintings; 
show  me  where  it  is,  please. ' ' 

So  the  Sister  led  him  to  the  door  of  the 
chapel,  and  indicated  a  kneeling  bench, 
which  he  declined,  remaining  standing,  his 
arms  folded,  gazing  intently  at  the  Lily  of 
the  Temple.   Nearly  five  minutes  elapsed 

before  Mme.  X reached  the   chapel, 

where  to  her  astonishment  she  beheld  her 
brother  prostrate  before  the  tabernacle, 
and  weeping  bitterly.  She  dropped  on  her 
knees,  praised  God  and  His  Holy  Mother, 
then  withdrew  unobserved,  and,  controlling 
her  emotions,  .«ent  for  her  brother  to  the 
little  parlor  outside  the  convent  cloister. 

The  Count's  face  showed  traces  of  har- 
rowing sensations,  but  he  made  no  remark 
concerning  his  visit  to  the  shrine;  and  his 
sister,  fearing  to  intrude  on  the  operations 
of  grace,  avoided  any  very  pointed  remarks 
on  religion  or  its  obligations,  and  so  they 
parted.  But  on  the  following  morning,  when 

Mme  X went  to  hear  Mass  at  the  shrine, 

and  complete  her  nine  days'  devotion,  im 
agine  her  glad  surprise  to  see  the  strayed 
sheep  approaching  the  feet  of  the  Good 
Shepherd  in  Holy  Communion! 

After  a  protracted  and  tearful  thanks- 
giving, the  convert  begged  to  see  his  sister. 
Their  interview  was  truly  touching.  He 
informed  her  that  some  irresistible  impulse 
had  forced  him  to  advance  his  proposed 
visit  to  Rome;  that  for  some  time  past  he 
had  interiorly  admitted  that  he  was  acting 
wrongly,  but  had  not  sufficient  courage  to 


take  the  formidable  step  required,  until  he 
stood  before  the  picture  of  Mater  Admira- 
bilis.  When  he  left  the  parlor  that  day,  he 
had  gone  to  the  fiist  church  he  could  find, 
entered  the  confessional,  made  a  general 
confession,  and  departed  firmly  resolved,  at 
whatever  cost,  to  lead  henceforth  the  life  of 
an  exemplary  Christian. 

With  feelings  of  deepest  gratitude,  and 
requesting  continued  pra-s  ers,  he  withdrew 
from  his  interview  with  his  pious  Sister  in 
the  convent  parlor,  with  the  seal  of  the 
peace  of  God  stamped  upon  his  brow. 


Our  Lady's  Exile. 

Kathcrine  Tynan,  ''Merty  England.'' 

rp  WELVE  years,  and  down  on  earth  the  time 

^       was  long; 

She  was  dreaming  all  alone  in  Her  leaf-framed 

bower, 
What  time  the  limes  and  almonds  were  in 

flower; 
Outside  the  casement  was  a  white  bird's  song 
Ringing  and  clinging;  there  was  scent  of  spice 
From  some  far-opening  door  in  Paradise. 

About  Her  were  magnolias,  white  and  red. 
And  palms  like  emerald  flame  went  leaping  up 
From  the  poor  setting  of  an  earthen  cup; 
Lilies  grew  pale,  and  roses  crimsoned: 
At  dawn  a  little  angel  like  a  child 
Brought  them  to  Her,  and  kissed  Her  gown, 
and  smiled. 

Such  heavenly  visitants  were  often  here, 
For  this  one  brought  Her  flowers,  and  that  one 

fruit; 
And  here  one  sitting  tinkled  on  his  lute, 
Singing  the  songs  the  Lord  Christ  loves  to  hear; 
And  there  one  floated  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
Like  a  flushed  lily  or  a  rose  in  bloom. 

Across  the  sun  His  birds,  the  cherubim, 
Went  flying  home  like  distant  flakes  of  light, 
And  a  late  lark  was  scaling  heaven's  blue 

height, 
Seeking  to  trace  the  self-same  path  to  Him; 
Then  the  sun  setting  caught  Her  robe's  white 

fold, 
And  lit  Her  mournful  eyes  with  sudden  gold. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


3!  I 


"How  long?"  She  sighed.   If  but  the  door 

would  swing, 
And  Michael  enter,  in  his  silvery  mail, 
And  the  plumed  helmet,  where  the  ringed  stars 

pale 
And  glow  about  his  curled  hair  glittering. 
And  lean  to  Her,  and  place  the  torch  a-lit 
In  Her  tired  hands  that  oft-times  longed  for  it! 

No  sign!   The  red  hearts  of  the  roses  burned 
Love-lit;  a  fiery  moon  was  in  the  sky, 
And  the  night  wind  was  trembling  like  a  sigh; 
Faint  and  far-off  the  ringdoves  yearned  and 

mourned. 
And  from  the  olives  came  a  voice  forlorn — 
That  bird  who  leans  her  heart  upon  a  thorn. 


An  Ancient  Shrine  of  Mary. 

THE  most  venerable  of  the  shrines  of 
Our  lyidy  in  France  is  that  of  Roc- 
Amadour,  nea-r  Quercy.  Tradition  says  that 
it  was  erected  by  Zacheus,  the  converted 
publican  mentioned  in  the  Gospel,  who, 
after  the  death  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  took 
up  his  abode  in  that  mountainous  region. 
The  name  is  supposed  to  be  derived  from 
the  title  Amator  Rupis  (Lover  of  the  Rock), 
which  the  inhabitants  gave  to  the  pious 
hermit.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  certain 
that  there  is  much  associated  with  this 
shrine  which  appeals  to  the  faith  and  piety 
of  the  Christian  soul. 

The  statue  that  adorns  the  sacred  place  is 
unquestionably  one  of  the  oldest  statues  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  in  existence;  six  sanctu- 
aries surround  the  spot;  there  is  a  miracu- 
lous bell,  which  oftentimes  has  rung  of  itself 
on  the  occarrence  of  some  extraordinary 
manifestation  of  the  powerful  protection  of 
the  Queen  of  Heaven.  There  is  also  a  large 
stairway  of  some  six  hundred  steps,  which 
millions  of  pilgrims  for  more  than  eighteen 
hundred  years  have  ascended  on  their  knees. 
All  this,  combined  with  the  wonderful  rec 
ords  of  various  pilgrimages,  and  the  wild, 
weird  beauty  of  the  locality,  can  not  fail  to 
impress  the  mind  and  heart  of  all  who  visit 
or  read  of  Roc-  A.madour. 

The  revolutions  with  which  France  has 


been  afflicted  left  their  blighting  influence 
upon  this  shrine,  and  during  the  last  of 
these  outbreaks  it  was  almost  completely 
destroyed.  A  little  more  than  twenty  years 
ago,  Monseigneur  Grimardias,  now  the  be 
loved  Bishop  of  Cahors,  set  about  its  res- 
toration, and  has  gradually  succeeded  in 
removing  all  traces  of  the  ruin  wrought  by 
heretical  and  revolutionary  hordes.  Each 
year  witnesses  immense  concourses  of  pil- 
grims, and  the  scenes  of  faith  and  devo- 
tion which  characterized  the  Middle  Ages 
are  frequently  renewed.  On  the  i8th  of 
last  August  a  most  impressive  and  edifying 
spectacle  was  presented,  when,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  great  multitude,  the  "Cross  of  the 
Penitential  Pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem"  was 
erected  on  the  summit  of  the  rock, — at  once 
a  perpetual  testimony  of  the  life  and  death 
of  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  a  public 
homage  to  the  Immaculate  Mother  of  the 
Son  of  God. 


The  Battle  of  the  Faith  in  Ireland. 


THE  late  Cardinal  Cullen,  in  a  pastoral 
letter  issued  shortly  after  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  archiepiscopal  see  of  Dublin, 
wrote  as  follows: 

'  'And,  as  during  the  trials  and  visitations  of  the 
present  daj-  we  can  not  cease  to  exhort  5'ou  with- 
out intermission  on  the  subject  of  fraternal  char- 
ity, it  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  remind  you  that 
we  shall  render  one  of  the  most  grateful  tributes 
to  our  Blessed  Lad>  by  imitating  Her  example 
in  the  practice  of  this  virtue.  When  She  fled  from 
the  persecution  of  Herod,  sheltering  the  divine 
Infant  in  Her  breast,  She  foreshadowed  the  office 
of  Christian  charity  under  a  persecution  more 
cruel  than  that  which  tore  the  children  from  their 
mothers'  arms,  and  consigned  them  to  the  sword 
of  the  executioner.  The  young,  the  innocent,  and 
the  helpless  appeal  to  us,  to  save  them  not  from 
martyrdom  but  from  that  second  and  everlasting 
death  which  consigns  soul  and  body  to  the  abyss 
of  hopeless  ruin  The  agents  of  proselytism  still 
endeavor  to  tear  from  the  bosom  of  the  Church 
those  little  ones  whom  she  loves  so  dearly,  and 
her  voice  is  heard,  like  that  of  Rachel  bewailing 
their  unhappy  fate  in  accents  of  the  bitterest  an- 
guish. 

' '  Woe  to  the  unnatural  parents  who  consent  to 
sell  back  again  to  Satan,  for  the  wretched  dross  of 


352 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  world,  the  souls  that  have  been  purchased  bj 
the  Precious  Blood  of  Christ!  No  mind  can  con- 
ceive, no  tongue  can  express,  the  enormity  of  their 
guilt,  or  the  rigors  of  the  judgment  with  which 
it  shall  be  visited.  For  your  parts,  dearh*  beloved, 
be  vigilant,  zealous,  and  persevering  in  counter- 
acting this  demoralizing  system  of  proselytism  by 
all  the  lawful  means  in  your  power,  particularly 
b}'  assisting  according  to  your  circumstances  the 
efforts  of  those  who  are  emplo3'ed  in  the  merito- 
rious work  of  establishing  schools  for  religious 
education,  and  giving  missions  amongst  the  poor. 
Experience  teaches  us  that  those  who  have  been 
well  instructed  in  the  principles  of  our  holy  relig- 
ion, and  who  have  been  taught  its  practices  by  its 
zealous  and  devoted  ministers,  never  become  the 
prey  of  the  proselytizer;  whilst  those  who  have 
been  brought  up  in  ignorance,  without  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  mj'steries  of  our  faith,  without  ap- 
proaching the  holy  Sacraments— those  who  have 
spent  their  days  in  immorality  and  vice. — easily 
lose  their  faith,  and,  abandoned  to  their  iniquities, 
fall  into  the  abyss  of  heresy  and  infidelity. 

"The  appearance  of  godliness  assumed  by  the 
false  prophets  engaged  in  this  insidions  but  most 
cruel  species  of  persecution  might  deceive  some, 
did  not  our  divine  Redeemer  forewarn  us  that 
they  would  be  known  by  their  fruits,  and  did  not 
the  glaring  contradiction  thej  exhibit  in  their  con- 
duct prove  that  they  are  the  seducers  denounced 
in  the  Gospel,  whose  mission  is  from  the  father  of 
lies.  The  advocates  of  all  that  is  intolerant  and 
persecuting  amongst  us,  they  appear  in  foreign 
countries  as  the  ardent  apostles  of  liberty;  whilst 
endeavoring  to  forge  new  chains  for  their  Cath- 
olic countrymen  at  home,  they  proclaim  them- 
selves in  distant  lands  as  the  friends  of  the  cap- 
tive, anxious  to  burst  his  fetters,  and  to  throw 
open  his  prison  doors.  Denouncing  our  constitu- 
tional efforts  to  obtain  redress  of  grievances  as 
seditious  and  disloyal,  they  seem  linked  in  pur- 
pose and  companionship  with  all  the  troubled 
and  disaflfected  spirits  of  the  Continent,  sapping 
the  security  of  Government,  and  scattering  on  all 
sides  the  fires  of  revolution.  Pretending  that  they 
appeal  to  the  impartial  decision  of  reason  alone 
on  the  subject  of  religion,  they  go  around  with 
the  mammon  of  iniquity  amidst  the  victims  of 
phj'sical  and  moral  destitution ;  and  the  famine- 
stricken,  the  infant,  the  orphan,  the  deaf-mute, 
the  helpless  and  unfortunate  of  ever>'  grade— in  a 
word,  all  those  who  are  incapable  of  forming  an 
opinion  for  themselves,  are  the  favorite  objects  of 
their  zeal." 

There  is  not  one  word  which  was  written 
by  the  great  Aichbishop  thirty- five  )ears 
ago  which  is  not,  unfortunately,  as  true  to- 
day as  when  it  was  first  published.  A  gigan 
tic  system  of  bribery  prevails,  and  the  fiith 


of  the  poor  of  Ireland  is  assailed  by  a  thou- 
sand temptations.  The  widow  mourning  by 
the  couch  of  her  dead  spouse,  before  the 
corpse  of  him  she  loved  is  yet  cold  in  the 
grasp  of  death,  hears  the  voice  of  the  tempter 
whispering  in  her  ears  delusive  hopes  of 
comfort  for  her  children.  The  heart-broken 
husband  whose  young  wife  rests  beneath 
the  green  sod  at  Glassnevin,  and  whose  deft 
hands  can  find  no  work — whose  darlings 
are  growing  wan  by  dint  of  hunger, — meets 
the  messenger  of  evil  at  his  lowly  door  as 
he  hastens  forth  to  seek  bread  for  his  little 
ones.  The  starving  street  Arab,  the  home- 
less little  girl, — those  whose  parents  are 
not  over  kind,  as  well  as  those  others  whose 
fathers  and  mothers  already  stand  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  eternal  throne,  are  liter- 
ally hunted  down  by  the  agents  of  a  gigan- 
tic system  of  proselytism. 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  such  a  condition 
of  things  could  exist  in  a  Christian  country 
in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  eighteen  hundred 
and  eighty  seven, but  facts  are  facts.  Human 
souls  are  made  barter  of,  and  consciences 
bought  and  sold,  to  bring  glory  to  the  myr- 
iad agencies  which  a  fierce  and  unscrupu- 
lous bigotry  supports,  in  a  vain  efibrt  to  sap 
the  ancient  faith  of  the  Irish  people.  Such  a 
deplorable  evil  needed  to  be  combated,  and 
never  yet  was  the  Church  of  God  assailed, 
even  in  the  persons  of  its  most  humble 
members,  that  faithfal  soldiers  were  not 
found  ready  to  sustain  the  banner  of  the 
Cross. 

A  Home  has  been  founded  at  Drumcon- 
dra,  near  Dublin,  under  the  patronage  and 
benediction  of  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop 
Walsh,  and  managed  by  a  comrnittee  of 
ladies,  headed  by  the  gifted  Lady  Mayoress 
of  Dublin,  Mrs.  T.  D  Sullivan,  wife  of  one 
of  Ireland's  most  patriotic  as  well  as  most 
poetic  politicians,  the  Right  Hon.  'T.  D. 
Sullivan,  M  P.  A  pious  and  devoted  lady, 
Mrs.  Waters,  has  undertaken  the  constant 
supervision  of  the  establishment,  and  be- 
stows upon  the  little  inmates  the  motherly 
care  which  they  sorely  need.  The  spiritual 
interests  of  the  children  are  protected  by 
the   superintendence  of  the   Rev.  Father 


The  Ave  Maria. 


35J 


Michael  Waters,  S.  J. ,  to  whom  the  founda- 
tion of  the  institution  is  largely  due,  and  to 
whose  wisdom  and  devotion  its  present  sue- 
•cess  is  chiefly  ascribable. 

It  is  needless  to  say,  however,  that  such 
a  work  as  this  can  not  be  perfected  without 
fund?,  and  money  is  sorely  needed  for  the 
support  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  Home,  Drum- 
■condra,  Dablin.  Contributions  may  be  sent 
to  the  Lady  Mayoress,  Mansion- House, 
Dublin;  to  the  Rev.  Father  Waters,  S.  J., 
St.  Xavier's,  Dublin;  or  to  the  Home. 

A  holier  work  never  appealed  to  Catholic 
sympathy,  and  we  are  sure  that  thei  e  is  not 
a  father  or  mother  in  all  this  fair  land  wto 
would  refuse  to  aid  in  the  preservation  of 
the  faith  of  the  children  of  Ireland.  We  feel 
confident  that  our  Catholic  and  Irish  breth- 
ren of  the  press  will  help  also;  for  the  lowly 
and  the  helpless  never  yei  called  on  true 
knights  in  vain ;  and  the  crusaders  of  the 
present  day,  although  their  weapons  are  but 
pens,  fight  in  cause  as  holy  as  that  which 
stirred  the  heart  of  Christendom  in  days  of 

yore. 

*  ♦  » 

Catholic  Notes. 


A  letter  received  recently  informs  us  of  an 
instance  of  a  remarkable  conversion  obtained 
by  means  of  that  most  salutary  of  all  devo- 
tions in  honor  of  the  Mother  of  God,  the  Holy 
Rosary.  The  father  of  the  writer  for  upwards 
of  twenty-three  years  had  never  approached 
the  Sacraments,  or  given  the  least  thought 
to  religion;  though  during  that  long  time 
a  favorite  daughter  prayed  fervently  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin, reciting  daily  the  Salve  Regina 
to  obtain  his  conversion.  At  last  she  had  him 
enrolled  in  the  Archconfraternity  of  the  Holy 
Rosary,  and  commended  him  to  the  protection 
of  our  Blessed  Mother.  A  few  months  after- 
wards he  was  taken  seriously  ill,  and  the 
daughter  sent  for  a  priest.  To  her  surprise  her 
father  consented  to  make  a  general  confession, 
and  received  Holy  Communion.  He  asked  for 
a  pair  of  beads,  and  during  the  four  months  of 
his  illness  recited  them  with  great  fervor  and 
piety.  In  his  last  moments  he  was  fortified  by 
the  Sacraments  of  the  Church,  and  died  in  the 
best  of  dispositions,  just  as  his  children,  sur- 


rounding his  bedside, concluded  the  recitation 
of  the  Rosary. 

This  example  is  but  one  of  many  that 
might  be  recorded  of  the  power  and  patronage 
of  the  Queen  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary,  and 
which  must  serve  to  increase  the  faith,  confi- 
dence, and  love  of  the  Christian  soul,  especi- 
ally during  this  month  consecrated  to  Her 
honor. 

The  Holy  Father  has  fixed  upon  the  6th  of 
January,  i?88— the  Feast  of  the  Epiphany. — 
as  the  day  for  the  solemn  canonizations  which 
will  signalize  the  Papal  Jubilee.  The  cere- 
monies will  take  place  in  the  hall  over  the 
vestibule  of  the  Vatican  Basilica.  This  im- 
mense apartment  will  be  decorated  for  the 
occasion,  and  so  transformed  that  in  future  it 
will  be  used  in  place  of  the  Sistine  Chapel 
for  all  papal  ceremonies.  The  saints  who  will 
receive  the  supreme  honor  are:  Three  mem- 
bers of  the  Society  of  Jesus— Blessed  Peter 
Claver,  Blessed  John  Berchmans,  and  Blessed 
Rodriguez,  -  and  the  seven  noble  Florentines 
who  founded  the  Order  of  the  Servites  of  Mary. 
This  first  great  ceremony  will  be  followed, 
on  successive  Sundays,  by  the  ceremonies  of 
the  beatification  of  other  servants  of  God. 
The  number  includes  five  whose  cause  of  be- 
atification is  complete:  Louis-Marie  Grignon 
de  Montfort;  Egidius-Marie  de  Saint  Joseph, 
of  the  Institute  of  St.  Peter  of  Alcantara; 
Clement-Mary  Hofbauer;  Felix  of  Nicosia, 
Capuchin  lay-brother;  and  Ivez  de  Benin- 
ganim,  Augustinian.  Among  the  holy  men 
and  women  whose  cause  is  under  examination 
may  be  mentioned:  The  Blessed  Margaret 
Mary;  Ven.  P.  Claude  de  la  Columbiere,  S.  J. ; 
Ven.  J.  B.  Vianney,  better  known  as  the  Cure 
of  Ars;  Ven.  John  Eudes;  Ven.  Madeleine- 
Sophie  Barat;  and  Mgr.  Franjois  de  Mont- 
morency. 

The  last  issue  of  the  United  States  Catholic 
Historical  Magazine  contains  an  interesting 
article  on  the  Franciscan  priests  who  founded 
two  missions— that  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception, and  that  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul — on 
the  River  Colorado,  and  suffered  martyrdom 
there  in  the  year  1781.  Much  interest  has  been 
aroused  over  the  question  of  the  exact  local- 
ity where  these  martyrs  labored  and  died, 
and  doubts  have  been  expressed  whether  our 
country   could   claim   them  or  must   allow 


354 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Mexico  to  hold  the  honor.  Happily,  however, 
the  spot  whereon  their  martj^rdom  took  place 
has  been  identified  by  a  zealous  Franciscan, 
who  places  it  on  the  Gila  River,  in  the  south- 
western portion  of  Arizona.  These  martyrs 
are  well  worthy  of  remembrance  Called  upon 
to  take  up  the  labors  of  the  Jesuits  which  had 
been  interrupted  by  the  suppression  of  the 
missions  of  that  Order,  they  endured  untold 
hardships  for  twelve  successive  years,  until 
in  1 78 1  they  were  cruelly  murdered  by  hos- 
tile Indians.  The  names  of  the  four  martyrs, 
which  should  be  in  eternal  honor,  are  Fathers 
Barrentche.  Garces,  Diaz,  and  Moreno. 


Another  well-known  name  must  be  added  to 
the  list  of  converts  to  Catholicity  from  the  dra- 
matic profession.  Sir  Charles  Young,  whose 
.most. successful  piece — "Jim  the  Penman" — 
had  a  very  prosperous  run  in  this  country  a 
few  months  ago,  had  the  happiness  of  being 
received  into  the  Church  shortly  before  his 
death, which  took  place  last  month  He  was  an 
excellent  actor;  his  reputation^ as  a  dramatic 
author,  and  knowledge  of  matters  connected 
with  the  profession,  were  so  well  recognized 
that  he  was  appointed  by  Lord  Beaconsfield  a 
member  of  the  Commission  on  Copyright.  By 
his  death  the  stage  has  lost  an  accomplished 
actor  and  play-writer,  society  a  favorite,  and 
the  Church  a  recent  but  fervent  convert. 


The  Colorado  Catholic  states  that  the  Bureau 
of  Catholic  Missions  among  the  Indians  has 
now  under  its  control  thirty-five  boarding  and 
twenty  day  schools,  with  an  attendance  of 
2,190  boarders  and  870  day  scholars.  The 
schools  receive  a  subvention  of  $231 ,880  from 
the  Government,  which  has  also  furnished 
food  and  clothing  for  400  boarding  pupils  at 
a  cost  of  $30,000.     

Things  are  going  from  bad  to  worse  in 
France,  it  would  seem.  Three  years  ago  the 
municipal  council  of  Paris  had  the  books  used 
in  schools  examined,  in  order  that  all  passages 
wherein  the  name  of  God  occurs  or  any  allu- 
sion is  made  to  Christian  doctrines,  might  be 
eliminated.  Recent  alterations  in  the  counse  of 
studies  gave  occasion  for  further  revision.  The 
work  has  been  done  so  thoroughly  this  time 
that  the  most  impious  ought  to  be  satisfied. 
In  the  text-book  of  La  Fontaine's  fables,  a 
verse  running  as  follows,  ' '  The  little  fish  will 


grow  to  full  size  if  God  but  grant  it  life,"  is 
thus  amended,  "if  one  but  grant  it  life." 

The  books  distributed  as  priz.-s  this  year  at 
the  lay  schools  of  Saint  Ouen,  a  suburb  of 
Paris,  were  so  shockingly  immoral  that  indig- 
nant protests  were  made  by  the  parents  of  the 
children,  and  the  books  were  torn  into  shreds. 
Happily  the  attendance  at  the  godless  schools 
of  the  Government  decreases  year  by  year, 
while  Catholic  schools  are  filled  to  overflow- 
ing.   

In  striking  contrast  with  the  froth  and  fume 
of  recent  utterances  of  French  generals,  who 
are  striving  after  notoriety  at  the  expense  and 
to  the  danger  of  their  country,  was  the  speech 
of  General  Sheridan,  the  commander-in-chief 
of  the  armies  of  the  United  States,  at  the  Cen- 
tennial banquet  in  Philadelphia  Sheridan  is 
a  soldier  who  has  probably  seen  as  much,  as 
bloody,  and  as  costly  fighting  as  any  living 
general.  It  is  encouraging  to  find  such  a  man 
putting  his  faith  in  arbitration  rather  than 
the  sword  for  the  settlement  of  international 
disputes.  When  generals  of  Sheridan's  stamp 
and  position  side  with  the  Holy  Father,  the 
great  promoter  of  arbitration  as  a  substitute 
for  war,  a  wearied  world  may  be  nearer  the 
dawn  of  universal  peace  than  it  supposes  itself 
to  be.  All  the  generals  of  the  United  States, 
North  and  South,  are  pretty  much  of  Sheri- 
dan's way  of  thinking  in  this  grave  matter. 
Grant  was  strongly  so. — Catholic  Review. 


It  is  with  feelings  of  deep  regret  that  we 
chronicle  the  death  of  the  Most  Rev.  Francis 
Xavier  Leray,  Archbishop  of  New  Orleans, 
who  breathed  his  last  at  Chateau  Giron  in 
France  on  the  23d  ult.  Born  in  Brittany,  he 
came  to  America  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  and, 
after  completing  his  theological  studies  at  St. 
Mary's  Seminary,  Baltimore,  went  to  Natchez, 
and  was  there  ordained  priest.  Shortly  after- 
wards he  was  sent  to  Jackson,  Miss.,  and  dur- 
ing an  epidemic  of  yellow  fever,  in  1853  ^nd 
1855,  he  performed  active  missionary  work  at 
Vicksburg,  Jackson,  and  Brandon.  He  con- 
tinued to  labor  in  this  region  till  1877,  when 
he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Natchitoches. 
From  that  see  he  was  called  in  1879  to  New 
Orleans,  where  he  was  appointed  coadjutor  to 
the  late  Archbishop  Perche,  on  whose  death, 
in  1883,  he  succeeded  to  the  archbishopric. 
The  zeal  and  energy  which  he  displayed  in 


The  Ave  Maria. 


355 


his  high  office  are  too  well  known  to  require 
any  eulogy.  His  death,  though  deeply  re- 
gretted,was  not  a  mat*^er  of  surprise,  as  he  had 
been  ailing  for  some  time  previously.  May  he 
rest  in  peace! 

The  aversion  which  the  young  Queen  of 
Spain  entertains  for  the  cruel  and  barbarous 
amusement  of  bull-fights  is  well  known,  and 
redounds  greatly  to  her  honor,  although  it  has 
exposed  her  to  much  derision  and  contempt 
on  the  part  of  her  people.  The  Spaniards  were 
very  intolerant  of  a  protestation  which  they 
either  could  not  or  would  not  understand,  and 
derisively  nicknamed  this  highbred  lady  "the 
Austrian."  But  since  she  has  assumed  the 
regency,  her  excellent  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart,  her  gentleness  and  charity , her  unselfish 
devotion  to  her  son,  have  won  over  people's 
minds,  and  her  absence  from  the  national  pas- 
time no  longer  provokes  criticism. 


We  are  tired  of  hearing  the  question  asked, 
' '  Is  life  worth  living  ? ' '  and  still  more  tired 
of  the  answers  that  are  given  to  it.  More  sen- 
timental rubbish  has  been  written  on  this 
subject  during  the  last  fifteen  years  than  on 
any  other.  Such  being  the  case,  it  is  truly  re- 
freshing and  encouraging  to  find  in  a  society 
paper  like  the  Home  Journal,  of  New  York, 
the  following  remarks,  which  lay  down  a  prin- 
ciple unhappily  too  often  lost  sight  of: 

"Were  the  little, ordinary  matters  of  everyday 
life  more  attended  to,  and  its  amenities  more 
cultivated,  there  would  be  less  questioning  and 
grumbling.  We  are  too  selfish,  think  too  little  of 
our  neighbors  and  thereby  do  incalculable  injury 
to  ourselves.  Life  is  ours, whether  we  appreciate 
the  gift  or  not;  and  the  soundest  wisdom  for  phi- 
losopher or  clod-hopping  lout  is  to  make  the  best 
of  it.  Let  us  try  and  be  happy,  and  make  others 
happy.  Charity  begins  at  home,  so  let  us  first 
make  home  happy,  and  happiness  will  soon  over- 
flow into  other  channels  as  well.  The  task,  after 
all,  is  not  a  very  difiicult  one;  for  happiness  is 
necessarily  made  up  of  little  things.  If  we  only 
determine  to  be  as  cheerful  as  our  natures  will 
let  us  be,  leady  to  help  others,  put  up  with  petty 
annoyances  without  raising  a  whirlwind  of  pas- 
sion, or  an  icy  current  of  sour  resentment,  we  shall 
accomplish  wondeis  in  a  very  short  time." 


The  column  of  Catholic  news  which  ap- 
pears in  two  daily  issues  of  the  Boston  Herald 
not  only  shows  a  commendable  spirit  of  enter- 
prise on  the  part  of  that  journal,  but  is  proof 


of  the  importance  which  the  editors  of  news- 
papers nowadays  attach  to  what  concerns  the 
Church  and  her  children.  This  department 
of  the  Herald  is  ably  edited,  and  we  feel  sure 
it  is  of  interest  to  all  classes  of  readers.  The 
respect  shown  to  the  Church,  her  worship, 
her  doctrine,  her  ministers,  and  notably  to 
her  chief  ruler,  by  some  of  the  leading  secular 
journals  of  the  United  States, — the  evident 
care  to  avoid  giving  offence  by  repeating 
calumnies  or  misstating  Catholic  principles, 
are  happy  signs  of  the  times. 


The  famous  gem  known  as  the  Southern 
Cross,  discovered  at  Roeburn,  in  Western 
Australia,  consists  of  nine  pearls  adhering  to- 
gether in  the  form  of  a  Latin  cross  —seven  in 
the  shaft  and  two  in  the  arms,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  shaft,  nearly  opposite  the  second 
pearl  from  the  top.  The  pearls  are  slightly 
compressed,  like  peas  in  a  pod,  and  no  trace  of 
any  artificial  junction  can  be  observed.  They 
are  of  fine  quality,  though  slightly  misshapen 
at  parts    The  value  of  the  gem  is  very  high. 


Obituary. 

"  It  IS  a  holy  and  wliolesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Francis  J.  Rowan.  O.  S.  A.,  late  assist- 
ant pastor  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Lawrence,  Mass., 
whose  death  occurred  last  month,  in  Brooklyn. 

Brother  Francis  de  Sales,  of  the  Brothers  of  the 
Christian  Schools,  whose  holy  life  was  crowned 
with  a  happy  death  on  the  12th  ult. 

Sister  Mary  Aquila  and  Sister  Vincent,  of  the 
Sisters  of  Charity,  Mobile,  Ala. ,  who  was  lately 
called  to  their  reward. 

Otway  Cosgrave,  of  Cincinnati,  whose  death,  in 
the  seventy-fifth  year  of  his  age,  took  place  on 
the  loth  ult. 

James  Stiles, who  died  at  Pittsford,  N.  Y.,  on  the 
6th  of  September,  after  receiving  the  last  Sacra- 
ments.  He  was  a  convert  to  the  Church 

Denis  Carey,  of  Maiden  Mass. ,  who  passed  away 
on  the  2oth  ult.,  after  a  long  illness. 

Mrs.  E.  A.  Oflfutt,  widely  known  and  highly  es- 
teemed in  Norfolk  and  Washington, who  recently 
departed  this  life  in  the  latter  city. 

Stephen  Hanson,  of  Holbrook,  Iowa;  William 
Amsberry,  Crawfordsville,  Ind. ;  Neal  Dougherty, 
Francis  M.Bray,  and  Dennis  Higgins,  Chester,  Pa. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


356 


The  Ave  Alai'ta. 


PARTMENI 


From  the  Apennines  to  the 
Andes.* 


Many  years  ago  a  Genoese  lad  of  thirteen, 
the  son  of  a  working-man,  went  from  Genoa 
to  America  all  alone,  to  seek  his  mother. 
She^had  gone  two  years  before  to  Buenos 
Ayres,  the  capital  of  the  Argentine  Repub- 
lic, to  take  service  in  a  wealthy  family,  in 
the  hope  of  earning  in  a  short  time  enough 
to  place  once  more  in  easy  circumstances 
lier  family, who  had  fallen,  through  various 
misfortunes,  into  poverty  and  debt.  There 
are  courageous  women — not  a  few — who 
take  this  long  voyage  with  this  object  in 
view,  and  who,  thanks  to  the  large  wages 
which  people  in  service  receive  there,  re- 
turn home  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  with 
several  thousand  lire.  The  poor  mother 
had  wept  tears  of  blood  at  parting  from  her 
children — the  one  aged  eighteen,  the  other 
eleven, — but  she  had  set  out  courageously, 
and  full  of  hope. 

The  voyage  was  prosperous.  She  had  no 
sooner  arrived  at  Buenos  Ayres  than  she 
found,  through  a  Genoese  shopkeeper — a 
<:ousin  of  her  husband,  who  had  been  estab- 
lished there  for  a  long  time, — a  good  Argen- 
tine family,  who  gave  her  high  wages  and 
treated  her  well.  And  for  a  short  time  she 
kept  up  a  regular  correspondence  with  her 
loved  ones  at  home.  As  it  had  been  settled 
between  them,  her  husband  addressed  his 
letters  to  his  cousin,  who  gave  them  to  the 
woman;  and  the  latter  handed  her  replies 
to  him,  and  he  dispatched  them  to  Genoa, 
adding  a  few  lines  of  his  own.  As  she  was 
earning  eighty  lire  a  month,  and  spending 
nothing  on  herself,  she  sent  home  a  hand- 
some sum  every  three  months,  with  which 
her  husband,  who  was  a  man  of  honor,  grad- 
ually paid  off  their  most  urgent  debts.  And 

*  "Cuore."  By^Edmondo  de  Amicis. 


in  the  meantime  he  worked  awav,  and  was 
satisfied  with  the  state  of  his  affairs,  since 
he  also  cherished  the  hope  ihat  his  wife 
would  shortly  return;  for  the  hou.se  seemed 
empty  without  her,  and  Lhe  younger  son  in 
particular,  who  was  txtremely  attached  to 
his  mother,  was  very  much  depressed,  and 
could  not  resign  himself  to  having  her  so 
long  away. 

A  year  had  elapsed  since  they  parted; 
after  a  brief  letter,  in  which  the  mother 
said  that  her  health  was  not  very  good, 
they  heard  nothing  more.  They  wrote  twice 
to  the  cousin,  without  receiving  a  reply. 
They  wrote  to  the  Argentine  family  where 
the  woman  was  at  service;  but,  owing  to 
an  inaccuracy  in  the  address,  it  is  possible 
that  the  letter  never  reached  its  destina- 
tion. Fearing  some  misfortune  had  be- 
f-illen  her,  they  wrote  to  the  Italian  Con- 
sulate at  Buenos  Ayres  to  have  inquiries 
made,  and  after  a  lapse  of  three  months 
they  received  a  response  from  the  consul 
that,  in  spite  of  advertisements  in  the  news- 
papers, no  one  had  presented  herself  nor 
sent  any  word.  And  it  could  not  have  hap- 
pened otherwise,  for  this  reason  if  for  no 
otter:  that,  with  the  idea  of  sparing  the 
goold  name  of  her  family,  which  she  fancied 
she  was  discrediting  by  becoming  a  servant, 
the  good  woman  had  not  given  her  real 
name  to  the  Argentine  family. 

Several  months  more  passed  by ;  no  news. 
The  father  and  sons  were  in  consternation ; 
the  younger  one  was  oppressed  by  a  deep 
melancholy.  The  father's  first  thought  had 
been  to  set  out  for  America  in  search  of  his 
wife.  But  his  work  ? — who  would  support 
his  sons?  And  neither  could  the  elder  boy 
go;  for  he  had  just  then  begun  to  earn 
something,  and  he  was  necessary  to  the 
family.  And  in  this  anxiety  they  lived,  re- 
peating each  day  the  same  sad  speeches,  or 
gazing  at  one  another  in  silence;  when,  one 
evening,  Marco,  the  younger,  declared  with 
decision,  "I  am  going  to  America  to  look 
for  my  mother." 

His  father  shook  his  head  sadly  and  made 
no  reply.  It  was  an  affectionate  thought, 
but  an  impossible  thing.  To  make  a  journey 


The  Ave  Maria. 


357 


to  America,  Which  lasted  a  month,  alone, 
at  the  age  of  thirteen!  But  the  boy  impa- 
tiently insisted.  He  persisted  that  day,  the 
day  after,  every  day,  with  great  calmness, 
reasoning  with  the  good  sense  of  a  man. 
' '  Others  have  gone  thither, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  and 
smaller  boys  than  I,  too.  Once  on  board  the 
ship,  I  shall  get  there  like  everybody  else. 
Once  arrived  there,  I  have  only  to  hunt  up 
our  cousin's  shop.  There  are  plenty  of 
Italians  there,  who  will  show  me  the  street. 
After  finding  our  cousin,  my  mother  is 
found;  and  if  I  do  not  find  him,  I  will  go 
to  the  consul — I  will  search  out  that  Ar- 
gentine family." 

And  thus,  little  by  little,  he  almost  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  his  father.  The  fond 
parent  esteemed  him;  he  knew  that  he  had 
good  judgment  and  courage;  that  he  was 
inured  to  privations  and  to  sacrifices;  and 
that  all  these  good  qualities  had  acquired 
double  force  in  his  heart  in  consequence  of 
the  sacred  project  of  finding  his  mother, 
whom  he  adored.  In  addition  to  this,  the 
captain  of  a  steamer — the  friend  of  an  ac- 
quaintance of  his, — having  heard  the  plan 
mentioned,  undertook  to  procure  a  free 
third-class  passage  for  the  Argentine  Re- 
public. And  so,  after  a  little  hesitation,  the 
father  gave  his  consent;  the. voyage  was  de- 
cided on.  They  filled  a  valise  with  clothes 
for  him,  put  a  few  crowns  in  his  pocket, 
and  gave  him  the  address  of  the  cousin, 
and  one  fine  evening  in  April  they  saw  him 
on  board. 

"Marco,  my  son,"  said  his  father,  as  he 
gave  him  his  last  kiss,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  on  the  steps  of  the  steamer,  which  was 
on  the  point  of  starting,  "take  courage. 
Thou  hast  set  out  on  a  holy  undertaking, 
and  God  will  aid  thee." 

Poor  Marco!  His  heart  was  strong  and 
prepared  for  the  hardest  trials  of  the  voyage; 
but  when  he  beheld  his  beautiful  Genoa 
disappear  on  the  horizon,  and  found  him- 
self on  the  open  sea,  on  that  huge  steamer 
thronged  with  emigrating  peasants,  alone, 
unacquainted  with  any  one,  with  that  little 
bag  which  held  his  entire  fortune,  a  sudden 
discouragement  assailed  him.  For  two  days  ' 


he  remained  crouching  like  a  dog  on  the 
bows,  hardly  eating,  and  oppressed  with  a 
great  desire  to  weep.  Every  description  of 
sad  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  and 
the  saddest,  the  most  terrible,  was  the  one 
which  was  the  most  persistent  in  its  re- 
turn— the  thought  that  his  mother  was 
dead.  In  his  broken  and  painful  slumbers 
he  constantly  beheld  a  strange  face,  which 
surveyed  him  with  an  air  of  compassion, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Your  mother 
is  dead!"  And  then  he  awoke,  stifling  a 
shriek. 

Nevertheless,  after  passing  the  Straits  of 
Gibraltar,  at  the  first  sight  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  he  recovered  his  spirits  a  little,  and 
his  hope.  But  it  was  only  a  brief  respite. 
That  vast  but  always  smooth  sea,  the  in- 
creasing heat,  the  misery  of  all  those  poor 
people  who  surrounded  him,  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  solitude,  overwhelmed  him 
once  more.  The  empty  and  monotonous 
days  which  succeeded  one  another  became 
confounded  in  his  memory,  as  is  the  case 
with  sick  people.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had'  been  at  sea  almost  a  year.  And 
every  morning,  on  waking,  he  felt  surprised 
afresh  at  finding  himself  there  alone,  on 
that  vast  watery  expanse,  on  his  way  ta 
America. 

There  Were  days  of  bad  weather,  during 
which  the  boy  remained  constantly  in  his 
berth,  where  everything  was  rolling  and 
crashing,  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible  chorus- 
of  lamentations  and  imprecations,  and  he- 
thought  that  his  last  hour  had  come. 
There  were  other  days — when  the  sea  was 
calm  and  yellowish — of  insupportable  heat, 
of  infinite  tediousness;  interminable  and 
wretched  hours,  during  which  the  ener- 
vated passengers,  stretched  motionless  on 
the  planks,  seemed  all  dead. 

And  for  long  hours  he  stood  leaning  on 
the  bulwarks,  gazing  at  that  boundless 
sea  in  amazement,  thinking  vaguely  of  his- 
mother,  until  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  head 
was  drooping  with  sleep;  and  then  again 
he  beheld  that  unknown  face  which  gazed- 
upon  him  with  an  air  of  compassion,  and 
repeated  in  his  ear,  * '  Your  mother  is  dead !  '*' 


358 


The  Ave  Maria. 


And  at  the  sound  of  that  voice  he  awoke 
with  a  start. 

The  voyage  lasted  twenty-seven  days,  but 
the  last  days  were  the  best.  The  weather 
was  fine,  and  the  air  cool.  He  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  good  old  man,  a  Lombard, 
who  was  going  to  America  to  find  his  son, 
an  agriculturist  in  the  vicinity  of  the  town 
of  Rosario;  he  had  told  him  his  whole  story, 
and  the  old  man  kept  repeating  every  little 
while,  as  he  affectionately  tapped  him  on 
the  nape  of  the  neck  with  his  hand,  "Cour- 
age, my  lad;  you  will  find  your  mother  well 
and  happy." 

This  companionship  comforted  him ;  his 
•sad  presentiments  were  turned  into  joyous 
ones.  Seated  on  the  bow,  beside  the  aged 
peasant,  who  was  smoking  his  pipe,  beneath 
the  beautiful,  starry  heaven,  in  the  midst  of 
a  group  of  singing  peasants,  he  pictured 
to  himself  a  hundred  times  his  arrival  at 
Buenos  Ay  res:  he  saw  himself  in  a  certain 
street;  he  found  the  shop;  he  flew  to  his 
cousin.  "How  is  my  mother?  Come,  let 
us  go  at  once!  let  us  go  at  once!"  They 
hurry  on  together;  they  ascend  a  staircase; 
a  door  opens.  And  here  his  mute  soliloquy 
came  to  an  end ;  his  imagination  was  swal: 
lowed  up  in  a  feeling  of  inexpressible  ten- 
derness, which  made  him  secretly  pull  forth 
a  little  medal  that  he  wore  on  his  neck,  and 
murmur  a  short  prayer  as  he  kissed  it 

On  the  twenty-seventh  day  after  their 
<ieparture  they  arrived.  It  was  a  beautiful 
May  morning  when  the  steamer  cast  anchor 
in  the  immense  river  of  the  Plata,  near  the 
shore  along  which  stretches  the  city  of 
Buenos  Ayres.  Marco  was  beside  himself 
with  joy  and  impatience.  His  mother  was 
only  a  few  miles  from  him!  A  few  hours 
more  and  he  would  see  her!  He  was  in 
America,  in  the  New  World!  The  whole  of 
that  long  voyage  now  seemed  to  him  to 
have  passed  in  an  instant.  And  he  was  so 
happy  that  he  hardly  experienced  any  sur- 
prise or  distress  when  he  felt  in  his  pockets, 
and  found  only  one  of  the  two  little  heaps 
into  which  he  had  divided  his  small  treas- 
ure, in  order  to  be  the  more  sure  of  not 
losing  the  whole  of  it.  He  had  been  robbed : 


he  had  only  a  few  lire  left;  but  what  did 
that  matter  to  him,  when  he  was  near  his 
mother? 

With  his  bag  in  his  hand,  he  descended, 
in  company  with  many  other  Italians,  to 
the  tug-boat,  which  carried  him  within  a 
short  distance  of  the  shore ,  clambered  down 
from  the  tug  into  a  boat  which  bore  the 
name  oi  Andrea  Doria;  was  landed  on  the 
wharf;  said  good-bye  to  his  old  Lombard 
friend,  and  began  to  walk  with  rapid  strides 
towards  the  city. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  Shrines  of  Our  Lady 
in  Austria. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE   HIMMEI/SPFORTE. 


And  Mary  answered :  '*  From  thy  bitter  past. 

Welcome,  my  child  !  O  welcome  home  at  last ! 
I  filled  thy  place.    Thy  flight  is  known  to  none  ; 
For  all  thy  daily  duties  I  have  done."  * 

Up  the  Danube,  through  fading  twilight 
and  moonlight,  under  the  purple  shadows 
of  mournful  Visigrad  until  the  moon  rose 
over  the  convent  towers  of  Gran,  and  the 
huge  Cathedral  seemed  sketched  in  inky 
blackness  over  the  broad  river  before  us, 
onward  we  sailed  to  Vienna,  to  the  miracle- 
shrines  we  had  learned  to  love  in  the  legen- 
dary story  of  the  imperial  land. 

At  midnight,  after  passing  the  great 
Cathedral  town,  where  the  crown  of  Hunga- 
rian kings  is  kept  since  the  court  remoyed* 
from  Presburgt  to  Budapest,  we  retired; 
but  only  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours;  for  we 
were  awakened  at  dawning  by  the  bells  of 
Klosterneuburg,  under  which  we  sailed  as 
we  rounded  the  Nussberg  hills  and  entered 
the  Danube  Canal  along  the  city  wharf,  the 
"  Franz  Josef  Quai." 


*  Adelaide  Procter,  in  her  "Legend  of  Pro- 
vence," tells  in  verse  the  story  of  this  Himmels- 
pforte  Madonna. 

t  It  was  expected  the  King  of  Hungary  would 
be  crowned  at  Gran.  Liszt  wrote  his  celebrated  cor- 
onation Mass — the  Graner  Messe — for  the  corona- 
tion ceremony  of  the  present  King,  Franz  Josef; 
but  his  Majesty  was  crowned  at  Budapest. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


359 


Refreshed  by  a  few  hours  of  rest  and  the 
comforts  of  the  great  Hotel  Imperiale,  the 
young  girls  and  their  chaperon  were  quite 
ready  to  begin  their  ' '  pilgrimage ' '  by  nine 
o'clock. 

"We  will  go  more  quickly  by  driving," 
said  Hilda. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  driving  about  in  a 
carriage  when  making  a  pilgrimage! "  cried 
Roberta.  "No:  we  must  walk  to  St.  Ste- 
phen's, to  Our  Mother  of  the  Himmels- 
pforte. ' ' 

The  old  convent  of  that  name,*  which 
stood  where  the  street  now  opens  from  the 
Ring-Strasse,  has  long  since  disappeared; 
and  its  famed  gateway,  above  which  was 
the  statue  of  Our  Lady  holding  the  Infant 
Christ,  has  also  been  removed  to  make  way 
for  the  treasury  built  by  Prince  Eugene  of 
Savoy.  The  statue  was  placed  in  Oar  Lady's 
Chapel  near  the  Riesen  Thor  f  of  the  great 
Cathedral, — a  dark,  dimly  lighted  comer, 
whose  exquisite  windows  are  rich  in  hues  of 
crimson,  orange,  emerald  and  purple;  hues 
which  modern  glass' has  never  imitated. 
The  jewelled  effect  is  superb,  but  only  in 
clearest  sunlight, or  when  lighted  for  espec- 
ial service,  can  the  chapel  and  its  quaint 
statue  be  distinctly  seen. 

We  entered  at  the  western  portal,  called 
the  Singer  Thor,  from  the  meistersinger, 
Nicolas  Fuchs,  whose  tomb  is  near  the  por- 
tal. The  Chapel  of  St.  Barbara  is  on  our 
right  as  we  enter,  but  we  glance  only  at 
its  new  Gothic  altar — a  memorial  for  the 
preservation  of  the  Eoiperor  Franz  Josef 
from  assassination,  —and  pause  before  the 
Frauenchor,  in  the  centre  of  which  stands 
the  great  wood  en  coffin  of  Duke  Rudolf  and 
his  wife,  exquisitely  carved  in  geometrical 
traceries  and  historical  figures.  Then  we 
pass  on,  and  kneel  before  the  Hauptchor, 
or  principal   choir,  with  its  high  altar  of 


*  The  convent,  founded  in  1230,  was  removed 
in  1782.  The  gateway  "Madonna  des  Himmels- 
pforte  '  was  placed  in  Oar  Lady's  Chapel  at  St. 
Stephen's — the  oldest  portion  of  the  Cathedral, 
dating  from  the  reign  of  its  founders,  Duke  Al- 
bert I.  and  Rudolf  IV.  (1300). 

t  The  ' '  Festival  Entrance. ' ' 


black  marble  and  richly  carved  stalls  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  On  the  right  of  the  high 
altar  is  an  altar  to  St.  Charles  Borromeo, 
and  on  the  left,  one  to  St.  John  of  Nepomuk. 
But  our  pilgrimage  holds  us  before  the  pict- 
ure of  Our  Blessed  Lady  called  the  Dienst- 
boten  Maria,  which  stands  on  the  pedestal 
of  the  choir  arch  to  the  left. 

It  is  a  very  simple,  old-fashioned  picture 
of  Our  Mother  of  Sorrows;  but  before  it, 
on  the  stone  pavement,  a  crowd  of  peasants 
—  men,  women,  and  children — are  kneel- 
ing, their  market-baskets  or  packages  laid 
beside  them.  Now  and  then  a  child  or  an 
old  woman  will  put  a  bouquet  of  kitchen- 
garden  flowers  on  the  frame  of  the  picture, 
or  give  a  few  coins  to  the  attendant  to  light 
a  tiny  taper  before  this  shrine;  but  the 
crowds  are  formed  of  passing  errand-boys, 
women,  laborers,  or  servants,  going  hurri- 
edly to  work,  and  taking  only  time  to  kneel 
and  say  a  "Hail  Mary,"  or  invoke  our 
dear  Mother  in  some  sore  distress.  The 
better- dressed  among  them  merely  kneel  at 
this  shrine,  and  pass  around  the  Cathedral 
to  Our  Lady's  Chapel,  to  present  their  peti- 
tions to  the  Himmelspforte  Maria  enshrined 
there.  But  this  Dienstboten  Maria  by  the 
wayside,* — this  simple  shrine  where  the 
poor  and  the  suffering  from  all  life's  hum- 
bler estat'  s  kneel  and  find  aid  and  spiritual 
refreshment, — seems  more  truly  Catholic 
than  the  more  exclusive  shrine  at  the  other 
end  of  the  great  church. 

We  leave  the  crowd  at  last,  and,  passing 
the  next  choir  corresponding  to  the  Frau- 
enchor on  the  left  of  the  altar,  enter  St. 
Catharine  s  Chapel.  Pas-iing  onward  down 
the  northern  transept,  we  pause  before  many 
altars  until  we  come  to  the  Tirni  Chapel,  f 
with  its  superb  bronze  monument  to  Prince 
Eugene.  The  circular  stairway  leading  to 


*  This  portion  of  the  Cathedral  is  but  a  durch- 
gatig,  or  thoroughfare  passage  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Stevensplatz;  at  least  long  custom  has 
made  it  so. 

f  In  this  chapel  is  to  be  seen  also  the  celebrated 
bearded  Christ,  a  crucifix  life-size.  The  beard  on 
our  Blessed  Lords  face  is  quite  long,  hanging 
over  the  breast. 


360 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


the  great  organ-loft  and  music  gallery  be- 
tween the  Heidenthiirme,  below  which  is 
the  Riesen  Thor  entrance,  stands  next  to 
the  Tima  Chapel.  •  We  pass  this  and  the 
vestibule  of  the  Riesen  Thor,  and  come  to 
the  baptistery,  beyond  which,  in  the  south- 
west corner,  is  Our  Lady's  Chapel,  contain- 
ing the  Himmelspforte  statue  of  the  Blessed 
Mother. 

It  was  long  past  noon,  so  the  iron  gates 
were  closed ;  but  through  their  grating  we 
could  distinctly  see  the  quaint  old  image, 
its  flesh  tints  of  deep  chocolate-color;  but 
whether  this  hue  is  the  effect  of  time  and 
atmospheric  changes,  or  whether,  in  accord- 
ance with  Eastern  tradition,  the  faces  of  Our 
.Lady  and  Child  were  tinted  deep  olive-  color, 
tradition  does  not  tell  us. 

Whether  dark  or  light,  the  tints  of  the 
old  legendary  statue  mattered  little  to  the 
young  girls  kneeling  there,  offering  their 
prayers  that  the  petitions  of  those  in  need 
might  ever  be  granted.  "The  unknown 
sympathies  of  this  life  are  too  apt  to  be 
forgotten,"  said  Hilda;  "but  they  exist, 
nevertheless." 

The  noonday  sun  came  through  rays  of 
crimson  and  blue,  brilliantly  purple  as  it  fell 
upon  the  heads  of  the  young  girls  kneeling 
*  at  the  portal.  Was  it  emblematic  of  the 
purple  of  their  power,  or  did  it  foreshadow 
the  purple  of  future  suffering? 
(to  be  continued.) 


A  Memorable  First  Communion. 


During  the  French  Revolution  a  noble  lady 
was  imprisoned  in  a  gloomy  dungeon  at  Paris. 
Her  little  daughter,  twelve  years  old,  remained 
under  the  care  of  a  faithful  old  servant.  The 
child's  father  was  absent  with  the  armj^  of 
Conde,  and  her  mother  had  been  taken  away 
from  home  too  suddenly  even  to  bid  her 
good-bye. 

The  little  girl's  one  thought  was  to  get  ad- 
mission to  her  mother's  prison.  At  last  she 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  jailer's  wife, 
and  the  kind  woman  dressed  her  in  her  own 
child's  clothes,  and  put  her  in  her  mother's 
cell.  After  that,  for  three  months,  she  used  to 


visit  her  mother,  and  have  just  such  delightful 
talks  with  her  as  you  would  have  with  your 
mother  under  similar  circumstances. 

But  one  day  the  mother  took  the  child  in 
her  arms,  and  with  sobs  and  tears  told  her 
that  they  must  soon  part — she  was  called  to 
trial,  and  she  would  certainly  be  condemned. 
When  the  violence  of  their  first  grief  was  over, 
the  mother  told  the  child  to  go  to  a  certain 
priest,  and  ask  him  to  let  her  make  her  First 
Communion  during  her  mother's  life. 

The  same  evening  the  little  one  went  to  the 
priest,  and  he  readily  granted  her  request — 
heard  her  simple  confession,  arid  bade  her  re- 
turn the  next  morning.  When  she  went  back 
in  the  morning, he  had  just  offered  Mass  for  her 
mother's  intention,  and  reserved  two  Hosts. 

"My  child,"  he  said, "I  am  going  to  trust 
you  with  a  sacred  mission.  In  early  Christian 
times  children  used  to  carry  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament to  the  martyrs;  I  am  going  to  let  you 
carrj'  It  to  your  mother,  and  you  shall  make 
your  First  Communion  at  the  same  time." 

The  child  went  in  solemn  joy  to  her  mother, 
bearing  Christ  the  Consoler.  The  jailer's  wife 
left  the  two  alone,  knowing  that  it  must  be 
their  last  meeting.  They  fell  on  their  knees, 
and,  placing  the  Sacred  Host  on  the  table, 
adored  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  The  mother 
then  bade  her  little  daughter  say  some  prayers 
which  she  had  taught  her  in  infancy,  and  tak- 
ing one  of  the  Hosts  in  her  hand,  she  received 
It  as  Viaticum,  and  then  gave  the  child  her 
First  Communion. 

The  next  day  the  little  girl  went  to  the 
prison  to  see  her  mother,  but  the  jailer's  wife 
said  the  orders  were  positive,  and  she  could 
not  be  admitted  until  the  follojving  week.  She 
went  to  the  priest  but  he  pointed  up  to  heaven, 
and  said,  "Your  mother  is  in  heaven,  my 
dear  child;  and  there  you  must  look  to  meet 
her." 

The  little  girl  grew  up  to  womanhood,  and 
to  old  age;  and  in  telling  this  wonderful  story 
to  her  friends  she  used  to  say:  "  It  happened 
sixty  years  ago,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  the 
scene  of  ray  First  Communion,  or  ceased  to 
join  my  prayers  to  those  of  my  dear  mother." 
—  The  Little  Crusader. 


If  the  riches  of  both  Indies,  if  the  crowns 
of  all  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  were  laid  at 
my  feet,  in  exchange  of  my  love  of  reading,  I 
would  spurn  them  all. — Fenelon, 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  15,  1887. 


No.  16. 


rOopTTifht :— RsT.  D.  E.  Emisoa,  C.  8.  C.I 


More  Blessed. 


BY    H.   D.   E. 


"  Yea,  rather,  blessed  are  they  who 
hear  the  word  of  God,  and  keep  it.". 
— St.  Luke,  xi,  28. 

r5  L/ESSBD  was  She  on  whose  retirement  broke 
^"^  That  angel  form — the  Star  portending  mom; 
And  blessed  She  upon  whose  bosom  woke 

And  wept  the.  Eternal  Child,  the  Virgin -bom, 
Who  like  a  robe  the  Heaven  of  heavens  had  worn. 
But  oh!  more  blessed,  lyord,  by  Thy  dear  name, 
Is  he  who  hears  Thy  word,  and  keeps  the  same! 


How  I  became  a  Child  of  Mary. 


HE  insignificant  babble  of  the  world 
is  as  quickly  forgotten  in  pleasure 
as  in  sorrow,  but  a  few  words  spoken 
out  of  the  fulness  of  a  charitable  heart  sel- 
dom fall  unheeded.  "Make  a  beginning 
for  God  and  Our  Lady, ' '  was  once  said  to 
me  in  my  careless,  so-called  happy  days.  I 
noted  them  well  even  then,  but  it  was  not 
until  my  path  in  life  was  as  thickly  strewn 
with  troubles  as  a  forest  track  with  autumn 
leaves  that  I  felt  the  rousing  force  of  the 
words.  My  conversion  was  indeed  this 
hoped-for  beginning, made, it  is  true,  amidst 
many  blinding  mists;  for  I  was  proud  and 
obstinate,  and  learned  but  slowly  that  the 
way  to  God  is  short  and  simple,  not  like  the 
perplexing  mazes  which  lie  round  human 
respect  and  human  consolation. 

As  I  was  an  orphan,  entirely  dependent 


on  rich  relatives,  who  withdrew  almost  all 
help  when  I  became  a  Catholic,  I  was  neces- 
sarily obliged  to  seek  some  means  of  ex- 
istence, and  so  it  came  about  that  I  was 
advised  to  leave  England  and  live  in  France. 
Painting  was  my  only  talent,  and  fortu- 
nately I  was  informed  of  a  demand  for  a 
teacher  of  drawing  and  painting  in  a  vil- 
lage near  Alteville,  in  the  north  of  France. 
The  position  had  been  vacant  since  the  re- 
cent death  of  the  widow  of  a  painter,  herself 
an  artist  of  unusual  merit,  who  for  many 
years  had  given  lessons  to  the  children  of 
the  numerous  families  that  passed  the  sum- 
mer months  in  the  pretty  villas  which 
dotted  the  leafy  valley  of  Hucqueviliers. 

A  kind  friend  had  ascertained  all  this  for 
me,  and  had  given  me  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  the  curS;  it  remained  for  me,  then, 
only  to  remember  my  watchword,  and  set 
out.  It  was  a  great  venture,  but  I  longed  to 
be  away  from  my  old  friends  and  connec- 
tions,who  had  kept  aloof  from  me  since  my 
conversion.  I  looked  eagerly  to  the  change, 
hoping  to  catholicize  myself,  and  perhaps 
attain  my  ambition  of  becoming  a  Child  of 
Mary.  So  at  last  I  found  myself  settled  at 
Hucqueviliers,  with  an  empty  purse,  but 
with  an  immediate  prospect  of  six  pupils, 
and  a  heart  full  of  hope  and  thankfulness. 

It  was  rather  diflBcult  for  me  to  accept 
the  somewhat  cold  reception  I  met  with 
from  the  good  folks  in  the  village.  They 
were  unable  to  grasp  the  idea  of  an  English 
convert;  all  the  English  ^key  had  known 
had  been  Protestants  with  full  purses,  which 


362 


The  Ave  Maria, 


opened  freely  during  the  summer  season, 
wlien  they  paid  extremely  well  for  country 
accommodation,  and  subscribed  generously 
to  all  local  funds.  They  were  by  no  means 
prepared  to  accept,  at  once,  the  audacious 
young  Englishwoman,  who  called  herself  a 
Catholic,  as  the  successor  of  their  belov*d 
old  friend  Madame  Kelna. 

Therefore  I  had  to  creep  very  quietly 
and  steadily  on  my  daily  round  of  duty; 
and  as  for  becoming  a  Child  of  Mary,  cer- 
tainly I  must  wait  as  patiently  for  that  as  for 
the  passing  away  of  the  prejudice  against  a 
convert.  I  was  impetuous  too,  and  not  a 
little  disappointed  at  the  want  of  sympathy 
amongst  the  old-fashioned  country-folk; 
but  some  of  my  pupils  more  than  made  up 
for  it,  and  one  or  two  of  them  tried  to  grat- 
ify my  desire  of  becoming  a  Child  of  Mary 
by  using  their  influence  with  the  associa- 
tions to  which  they  belonged.  But  the  an- 
swer was  uniformly  the  same — all  excusing 
themselves  with  exquisite  politeness,  say- 
ing, as  I  was  an  adult  and  a  convert,  they 
did  not  wish  to  venture  on  any  innovations. 

About  two  years  and  a  half  had  thus  gone 
by,  when  my  efforts  received  a  delightful 
impetus  iri  the  month  of  May.  The  wife  of 
our  maire  wished  to  present  to  the  church 
of  Hucqueviliers,  as  an  ex  voto^  the  best 
copy  she  could  procure  of  the  celebrated 
picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Roses^  the  great 
treasure  of  the  museum  of  Alteville.  The 
authorities  of  the  museum  had  given  the 
maire  full  permission  for  the  copy,  pro- 
vided he  would  answer  for  the  good  faith  of 
the  artist,  as  there  had  been  some  surrepti- 
tious work  done  a  few  years  previously.  My 
joy  and  thankfulness  were  great  when  I 
was  asked  to  undertake  the  task,  with  the 
promise  of  a  liberal  remuneration.  I  ac- 
cepted the  offer,  although  I  was  frightened 
at  my  temerity;  for,  having  seen  the  picture, 
I  knew  that  I  must  strain  every  nerve  in 
order  to  render  a  faithful  reproduction.  But 
if  I  succeeded,  I  hoped  that  I  might  merit 
some  reward  from  our  dear  Lady,  and  surely 
I  should  be  looked  upon  in  a  more  favor- 
able light  by  the  people  of  Hucqueviliers. 

A   residence    in   Alteville  was  now  a 


necessity,  and  that  in  itself  was  a  great 
pleasure ;  but  I  had  to  make  arrangements 
to  spend  two  days  a  week  at  Hucqueviliers 
with  my  pupils,  who  rejoiced  at  the  honor 
bestowed  on  their  instructress.  So  I  started 
on  another  ' '  beginning, ' '  laden  with  pray- 
ers and  good  wishes.  A  quiet  lodging  was 
found,  and  I  was  soon  installed  in  perfect 
comfort  at  the  museum.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  kindness  of  the  committee;  the 
picture  was  removed  from  the  room  devoted 
to  it,  and  placed  in  one  of  the  larger  gal- 
leries, that  I  might  have  the  necessary  light 

Notre-Dame  des  Roses  was  the  work  of 
a  Spanish  artist  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
but  it  glowed  with  rich  coloring  as  if  fresh 
from  the  easel ;  the  angelic  repose  of  a  glori- 
fied Madonna  contrasted  artistically  with 
the  brilliant  hues  of  a  garland  of  roses,  borne 
by  angels,  whose  faces  were  turned  to  the 
Madonna  with  loving  intensity. 

I  suffered  sometimes  from  the  tittering 
and  whispering  of  visitors  to  the  museum, 
and  my  sensitive  nerves  often  flinched 
under  the  fire  of  criticisms  ijiore  remarka- 
ble for  candor  than  judgment.  One  day  I 
was  fairly  overcome  by  the  ceaseless  noise, 
and  resolved  to  put  up  my  paints,  and  go 
for  a  walk  round  the  ramparts  of  the  town, 
to  refresh  my  eyes  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees,  when  a  venerable-looking  priest,  with 
a  serene  face  framed  by  flowing  white  hair, 
came  towards  me,  accompanied  by  some 
friends.  He  expressed  his  surprise  on  see- 
ing Notre-Dame  des  Roses  in  so  unusual  a 
place,  and  sought  an  explanation,  which  I 
readily  gave.  He  looked  at  my  work  with 
the  eye  of  a  connoisseur,  which  his  remarks 
proved  him  to  be. 

I  was  inexpressibly  cheered  by  all  the 
good  Father  said,  and  my  vexation  van- 
ished. He  made  so  many  shrewd  observa- 
tions about  my  manner  of  working,  that 
I  was  emboldened  to  ask  him  if  he  lived  in 
Alteville,  desiring  to  see  him  again.  ''In- 
deed I  do,  and  have  lived  here  all  my  life," 
he  replied.  "Will  you  come  to  the  mu- 
seum again,  Father,"  I  said,  "and  give  me 
a  few  more  hints,  and  the  encouragement 
I  need  so  much  in  this  my  most  ambitious 


The  Ave  Maria. 


363 


work  ?  "  '  'Are  you  a  Protestant, ' '  he  asked ; 
* '  most  of  your  countrywomen  are. ' '  I  an- 
swered that  I  was  a  convert,  and  told  him 
my  position.  His  words  were  most  kind  and 
consoling ;  he  promised  to  come  and  see  me 
again  in  a  few  days,  telling  me  he  was  the 
Cur^  of  St.  A.ndr6.  From  that  day  I  seemed 
to  work  with  renewed  energy,  and  hailed 
with  joy  the  visits  of  my  newly-found  friend, 
who  came  very  often,  watching  my  prog- 
ress, giving  useful  hints,  and  pointing  out 
beauties  in  the  picture  which  he  fancied  I 
had  not  sufficiently  dwelt  on,  as  it  were,  in 
my  thoughts. 

One  day  the  priest  arrived,  accompanied 
by  a  lady  so  extremely  like  him  that  it  was 
hardly  necessary  for  me  to  be  presented  to 
his  sister.  Mile.  Dubois,  who,  he  said,  was 
deeply  interested  in  all  he  had  taken  the 
liberty  to  tell  about  me.  "Which,  you  see, 
was  not  enough,"  observed  Mile.  Dubois; 
"so  I  came  to  judge  for  myself."  Her  ex- 
pressions of  admiration  were  very  encour- 
aging. She  told  me  frankly  that  she  had  a 
little  project,  in  the  furthering  of  which  she 
thought  I  might,  if  I  would,  aid  her;  and 
for  this  she  begged  I  would  favor  her  with 
a  visit  the  very  next  afternoon,  as  it  was  the 
day  of  her  weekly  reception.  ' '  My  brother 
also  will  be  proud  to  show  you  his  collec- 
tion of  Italian  photographs. "  I  accepted  the 
invitation, without  a  thought  of  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  my  toilet, — a  grim  fact  of  which  I 
was  sternly  reminded  by  my  old  landlady. 
But  when  the  time  came  for  me  to  start,  in 
a  neat  black  dress  and  irreproachable  boots 
and  gloves,  I  passed  unscathed  the  uncom- 
promising scrutiny  of  Mile,  former's  eyes 
and  spectacles. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  the  door  was  opened 
by  an  old  maid-servant,  with  a  snowy  lace 
cap  and  apron,  who  conducted  me  across  a 
courtyard,  where  large  oleanders  bloomed 
in  green  tubs,  to  a  small  ante-room — how 
well  I  remember  it,  and  the  pretty  statue 
of  Our  Lady,  with  the  word  Dulcedo  in  gold 
letters  on  its  pedestal!  There  was  a  hum  of 
voices  from  an  inner  room,  and  Mile.  Dubois 
was  soon  presenting  me  to  a  circle  of  ladies, 
all  more  or  less  like  herself  in  appearance. 


"I  have  ventured.  Mile.  Hamilton,"  she 
said,  "to  ask  you  to  come  here  to-day, as 
I  was  anxious  to  put  before  you  an  idea 
which  I  have  already  imparted  to  my 
friends;  we  form  a  small  society  attached 
to  the  Association  of  the  Children  of  Mary 
for  the  working  classes,  in  the  school  of  the 
Sisters  of  Charity.  We  have  just  had  a 
little  chapel  erected  for  the  Home,  and  the 
altar  requires  some  embellishment.  Will 
you  kindly  undertake  to  make  another 
copy  of  Notre-Dame  des  Roses^  if  you  do 
not  find  it  irksome  to  repeat  your  work? 
The  authorities  of  the  museum  have  given 
full  permission  for  this,  provided  you  are 
to  be  employed."  What  my  answer  was 
can  readily  be  imagined.  All  questions  as 
to  price  were  reserved  for  a  more  fitting 
opportunity,  and  Mile.  Dubois  now  sent  me, 
with  the  old  attendant,  to  see  her  brother's 
study,  exacting  a  promise  that  I  would  re- 
turn soon  for  a  cup  of  real  English  tea. 

I  was  taken  down  a  long,  glass-covered 
passage,  and  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
him  who  now  seemed  like  an  old  friend. 
I  was  filled  with  gratitude,  for  I  knew  I 
owed  all  to  his  kindness;  and  a  thought 
came  to  my  mind  that  now  perhaps  I  had 
a  golden  opportunity  of  asking  if  it  were 
possible  for  me  ever  to  hope  to  become  a 
Child  of  Mary,  and  with  all  my  old  impet- 
uosity I  felt  the  words  rushing  quickly  to 
my  lips.  As  briefly  as  possible  I  told  the 
story  of  my  aspiration  and  my  disappoint- 
ments, and  of  the  sudden  impulse  which 
had  seized  me  to  speak  to  him.  He  listened 
with  the  most  perfect  patience  and  good- 
ness, made  a  few  notes  on  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  asked  a  few  more  particulars  as  to  my 
position,  age,  and  manner  of  living.  "I 
heartily  approve  of  your  desire, ' '  he  said, 
"and  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you  to  realize 
it;  and  we  may  hope  for  help  from  Her 
who  leaves  none  unaided.  But  of  this  we 
will  speak  later." 

I  had  still  another  project  to  confide  to 
him.  "We  will  see,"  he  answered.  "Pos- 
sess your  soul  in  patience  now,  and  come 
and  see  my  pictures  and  engravings."  My 
head,  already  a  little  confused,  became  dazed 


364 


The  Ave  Maria. 


with  all  the  lovely  things  he  showed  me: 
views  of  the  Coliseum,  the  Basilica  of  St. 
Paul — the  beauties  of  each  view  being  mi- 
nutely pointed  out  by  him;  the  wondrous 
symmetry  of  St.  Peter's  with  its  colossal 
dimensions,  which  no  man  realizes  until 
he  stands  near  it;  the  delicate  tracery  of 
Milan  Cathedral,  which  looked,  he  said,  as 
if  carved  in  ivory,  with  its  mellow  tone,  its 
ornamented  roof,  and  every  niche  filled 
with  a  priceless  statue.  After  a  while  the 
old  servant  courteously  reminded  me  of  my 
appointment.  The  cure  in  saying  good-bye 
promised  to  visit  me  at  the  museum  in  a 
short  time,  and  bring  me  all  necessary  in- 
formation. 

In  about  a  week  I  received  a  letter  from 
the  honorary  secretary  of  the  Home,  beg- 
ging me  to  begin  as  soon  as  I  could  the 
copy  of  the  picture,  as  the  time  was  short. 
The  question  of  price  was  to  remain  for 
the  present  in  abeyance.  My  picture  for 
Hucqueviliers  being  now  ready,  was  sent 
oflf  at  once,  and  I  received  a  warm  letter  of 
approval  from  the  mayor,  and  full  payment 
for  the  work.  This  was  very  cheering  to 
me,  and  my  heart  felt  lighter  and  my  hand 
stronger  than  ever  when  I  began  my  sec- 
ond copy.  Its  progress  was  daily  watched 
with  the  deepest  interest  by  the  ladies  of 
the  society.  The  curk^  too,  renewed  his  sug- 
gestions, warning  me  not  to  let  my  English 
coldness  creep  onto  my  palette,  pleading 
hard  for  the  warm  glow  of  the  roses,  and 
the  deep  rich  tint  of  ultra-marine  in  the 
mantle  of  Our  Lady. 

At  last  the  second  copy  was  finished,  and 
I  was  invited  to  be  present  at  the  solemn 
benediction,  when  three  new  members 
would  be  received  into  the  Association, 
and  the  picture  unveiled.  The  congregation 
was  composed  of  the  Sisters,  the  school- 
children, the  associates,  and  the  Ladies' 
Society  and  their  friends.  I  was  under  the 
protection  of  Mile.  Dubois,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  her  were  seated  the  three  aspir- 
ants. After  Compline  she  bent  towards  me, 
saying,  "Dear  child,  follow  these  three 
young  girls;  like  them  you  are  an  aspirant, 
and  are  to  be  received  to-day  into  the  As- 


sociation. They  are  proud  to  possess  you; 
and,  although  they  are  only  simple  work- 
ing-girls, I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy  to 
be  one  of  them."  I  followed  joyfully,  and 
was  soon  kneeling  at  the  altar,  and  repeat- 
ing my  answers,  dictated  by  the  curk.  At 
last  I  felt  the  ribbon  drop  over  my  shoul- 
ders, and  I  returned  to  my  seat  a  Child  of 
Mary,  receiving  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand  from  Mile.  Dubois. 

The  cure  now  made  a  little  discourse, 
which  was  simple  and  eloquent.  He  went 
over  a  few  points  of  the  history  of  the  Home, 
and,  reminding  his  hearers  of  the  great  priv- 
ileges of  the  Association,  he  said:  "We 
have  had  many  touching  instances  of  the 
protection  extended  by  Our  Lady  to  Her 
children — here  a  miraculous  cure,  there 
a  danger  averted,  everywhere  exceptional 
blessings,  especially  those  extraordinary 
favors  received  during  their  last  hours,  and 
above  all  the  inestimable  grace  of  a  happy 
death." 

The  good  priest  finished  his  address  by 
these  words,  which  I  may  be  pardoned  for 
repeating :  ' '  One  of  our  new  associates,  my 
dear  children,  desired  so  heartily  to  enjoy 
the  title  of  Child  of  Mary,  that  to  obtain 
it  she  did  not  hesitate  to  make  numerous 
advances  and  demands,  which  were  often 
renewed,  and  as  often  rejected.  At  last  she 
came  to  Alteville,  almost  friendless;  for 
she  was  abandoned  by  her  family  after  her 
conversion.  She  is  possessed  of  rare  artistic 
skill,  which  now  enables  her  to  earn  her 
daily  bread.  Our  dear  Lady  has  permitted 
her  to  embellish  this  little  chapel,  and  the 
Association  is  asked  to  accept  her  beautiful 
picture  as  a  thank-offering.  Of  this  matter 
it  is  not  my  province  to  speak  further  than 
to  say  that  I  know  a  refusal  would  be  pain- 
ful to  her,  who,  brought  up  in  ignorance, 
and  in  the  negation  of  all  the  rights  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  to  her  love  and  respect, 
wishes  to  repair  the  past,  although  irre- 
sponsible for  it. 

"Now  that  she  is  a  child  of  the  Church,      * 
she  desires  to  offer  the  homage  of  her  pro- 
found faith  to  the  glorious  Mother  of  our 
Saviour.  She  seems  to  say  to  Her,  almost 


The  Ave  Maria. 


365 


in  the  words  of  St.  Augustine  after  his  con- 
version: 'O  my  beloved  Mother!  it  is  late 
to  begin  to  love  Thee,  but  I  dedicate  myself 
to  Thy  seivice  for  the  future;  I  will  love 
Thee  with  all  the  tenderness  and  force  of 
which  my  heart  is  capable.  I  will  devote 
myself  to  making  Thee  known  and  loved; 
I  will  show  myself  untiring  in  Thy  service 
and  in  promoting  Thy  glory.'  Obtain  lor 
her,  then,  beloved  Mother,  the  courage  and 
strength  necessary  to  persevere  in  her  resc^ 
lutions,  and  to  remain  faithful  to  them  and 
to  Thee, — a  happiness,  dear  children,  which 
I  desire  for  you  all." 

At  the  end  of  the  ceremony  the  picture 
was  unveiled,  and  it  seemed  to  look  on  me 
with  an  encouraging  glance.  The  good  Sis- 
ters, the  children,  and  my  fellow-associates 
surrounded  me  when  we  left  the  chapel, 
fairly  overpowering  me  with  kind  words 
and  congraiulations:  thus  replacing  family 
and  friends,  and  more  than  compensating 
for  the  bitter  trials  of  the  past. 

If  my  story  should  meet  the  eye  of  any 
who  are,  as  I  was,  rebuffed  by  some  and  de- 
serted by  others,  let  them  have  confidence, 
and  look  to  our  dear  Lady — ''''Respice  ad 
Mariam. ' '  * 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MR.  BOUVIER'S  study  was  a  large, 
rather  gloomy  room,  furnished  with  a 
writing-table  and  several  bookcases;  statues 
and  oil-paintings  enlivened  its  sombre  as- 
pect, and  comfortable  arm-chairs  stood  on  a 
soft  Smyrna  carpet.  The  preceding  evening 
it  had  been  opened  to  the  guests,  and  a  card- 
table,  with  some  scattered  packs  and  half- 
burnt  candles,  still  remained  in  the  corner. 
Mr.  Auvrard  was  seated  with  his  back  to 
the  window  and  facing  the  door.  On  Nora's 
entrance  he  rose  and  bowed  stiffly,  while 
Mr.  Bouvier  went  to  meet  her,  seized  both 
her  hands,  and,  with  great  cordiality  but 
evident  embarrassment,  inquired  how  she 


*  St.  Bernard. 


found  herself.  Then  he  led  her  to  a  chair, 
and  looked  at  Mr.  Auvrard  as  if  he  wished 
to  leave  to  him  the  necessary  communica- 
tion; but  the  latter  took  no  notice. 

"You  wished  to  speak  to  me,"  Nora  be- 
gan at  last,  turning  to  Mr.  Bouvier,  with 
inward  anxiety;  '  acd  I,  on  my  part,  am 
anxious  to  know  the  state  of  my  affairs.  You 
have  been  most  kind,  and  I  can  never  forget 
how  you  opened  your  house  to  me  in  my 
loneliness;  but  I  must  no  longer  trespass 
on  your  hospitality—" 

She  stopped,  almost  suffocated  with  emo- 
tion; only  the  day  before  she  had  hoped  to 
accompany  them  to  Normandy,  and  to  be- 
come a  member  of  the  family ! 

"Child,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bouvier,  pass- 
ing his  handkerchief  across  his  brow,  "you 
are  not  trespassing  on  our  hospitality;  for 
we  are  really  fond  of  you.  Since  your  ar- 
rival I  have  been  busy  with  your  affairs; 
bur,  as  they  took  an  unfavorable  turn,  I 
hesitated  to  speak  to  you  as  long  as  I  could 
avoid  it.  Now,  my  dear  cousin,  1  must  make 
known  to  )OU  that  your  grandmother, 
although  the  best  creature  in  the  world, 
allowed  her  debts  to  accumulate,  without 
suspecting  that  they  had  already  reached  an 
enormous  sum.  Her  estate  is  mortgaged  far 
beyond  its  value,  and  we  fear,  when  her 
debts  are  paid,  only  a  very  small  portion  of 
her  property  will  remain." 

Nora  did  not  comprehend  the  full  mean- 
ing of  these  words;  for  a  person  who  has 
never  known  the  want  of  money  seldom 
realizes  its  importance.  Her  grandmother 
had  sometimes  complained  of  financial  dif- 
ficulties, but  then  she  wrote  a  few  business 
letters,  and  her  serenity  returned.  Therefore 
the  young  girl  was  by  no  means  as  moved 
as  Mr.  Bouvier  had  feared  she  might  be. 

"Will  enough  remain,"  she  asked,  "to 
satisfy  my  personal  needs,  which  are  very 
small?" 

"I  hope  so,  at  least;  but  your  grand- 
father left  no  property;  your  parents  were 
dependent  on  Mme.  de  Br^lyon,  and  the 
latter  had  full  control  over  her  estate. ' ' 

These  words  startled  Nora  a  little ;  how- 
ever, she  said,  bravely :  ' '  Well,  I  will  work.' ' 


366 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"Work!"'  said  Mr.  Auvrard, coldly, with  a 
contemptuous  shrug.  "What  can  you  do?" 

' '  I  can  give  lessons. ' ' 

"  Have  you  a  diploma?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  can  not  give  lessons;  for  an 
experienced  teacher  would  always  have  the 
preference,  and  they  are  to  be  had  in  abun- 
dance. ' ' 

"But  I  can  give  music-lessons." 

"To  live  alone  and  go  about  from  house 
to  house  at  your  age,  is  out  of  the  question. ' ' 

"Those  to  whom  the  law  confides  your 
guardianship,"  interposed  Mr.  Boivier, 
softly, "  could  not  consent  to  your  adopting 
so  hard  a  life  at  your  age. ' ' 

"Those  to  whom  the  law  confides  my 
guardianship,"  repeated  Nora,  slowly, — 
"who  are  they?" 

"My  mother  has  been  appointed  your 
guardian,  and  she  possesses  too  strict  a  sense 
of  duty  to  neglect  the  obligations  she  con- 
tracts by  accepting  it,"  said  Mr  Auvrard. 

His  mother — the  mother  of  that  cold, 
hard, sarcastic  man !  A  relative  of  whom  her 
grandmother  had  never  spoken,  and  who 
perhaps  cherished  a  secret  rancor  to  that 
beloved  one! 

Nora  turned  to  Mr.  Bouvier  and  said, 
anxiously:  "  I  do  not — I  can  not  be  a  bur- 
den to  any  one.  Surely  some  occupation 
can  be  found  by  which  I  can  earn  a  liveli- 
hood I  can  take  care  of  little  children,  or 
act  as  lady's  companion;  perhaps  I  may 
have  sufl&cient  money  to  hire  a  little  room 
in  some  convent,  where  I  can  live  retired, 
and  mourn  for  the  only  human  being  that 
loved  me." 

She  looked  so  touching,  with  her  youth- 
ful face  bathed  in  tears,  that  Mr,  Bouvier 
was  moved  to  the  liveliest  sympathy.  ' '  Oh, 
how  willingly  would  I  keep  you,  child!" 
he  excla  med;  "but  I  am  only  a  distant 
relative,  and  your  grand-aunt  insists  on  the 
guardianship. ' ' 

"My  mother  never  shirks  a  duty,"  in 
terposed   Mr.  Auvrard.   "As  soon   as  she 
heard  of  your  bereavement,  she  at  once  re- 
solved to  take  charge  of  you,  and  I  encour- 
aged her  in  that  resolve.   Personally  you 


can  have  no  dislike  to  her,  and  whatever 
prejudices  Mme.  de  Br^lyon  inspired  you 
with—" 

"My  grandmother  was  too  noble-minded 
to  inspire  me  with  prejudices  against  any 
one,"  interrupted  Nora,  eagerly;  "but,  as 
you  have  just  said,  your  mother  accepts 
me  only  from  a  sense  of  duty." 

' '  She  will  also  love  you  if  you  show  your- 
self worthy  of  her  affection,  '  he  replied, 
turning  away  his  eyes,  probably  to  avoid 
her  entreating,  sorrowful  glance 

Nora  remained  silent  for  a  moment  in 
painful  perplexity.  ' '  Do  you  think  she  will 
let  me  work?  '  she  then  said. 

"Scarcely,"  he  answered,  without  look- 
ing at  her.  "/  should  never  consent  to  it. 
No  one  shall  say  that  a  young  relative  de- 
pendent on  my  mother  had  to  work  for  a 
living. ' ' 

Nora  turned  to  Mr.  Bouvier  in  despair. 
"Must  one  obey  a  guardian?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded  silently.  She  closed  her  eyes 
for  a  moment,  as  if  exhausted;  then  fixed 
them  on  Mr.  Auvrard  and,  in  a  voice  which 
it  required  all  her  strength  of  will  to  keep 
firm,  she  said:  "Be  it  so.  What  are  my 
aunt's  commands?" 

He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  hastily. 

"Your  affairs,"  observed  Mr.  Bouvier, 
"are  not  all  in  order  yet;  you  must  remain 
with  us  for  the  present;  later  on  you  can  go 
to  your  aunt's." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Auvrard,  "that  can  not 
be.  There  is  no  doubt  that  my  mother  is 
her  guardian;  it  is  better,  therefore,  for  Miss 
de  Brelyon  to  accustom  herself  at  once  to 
her  new  life.  My  mother  lives  in  an  old- 
fashioned  town ;  being  old  and  delicate,  she 
leads  a  very  retired  life,  which  must  seem 
gloomy  to  one  who  has  mixed  in  gay,  youth- 
ful circles.  In  three  days'  time  a  -good 
opportunity  will  offer  for  the  journey,  and 
Miss  de  Brelyon  will  kindly  be  ready." 

"Yes,  it  is  better  so,"  answered  Nora, 
courageously. 

Mr.  Auvrard  drew  out  his  watch.  ' '  I  must 
go,"  he  remarked;  "I  have  only  just  time 
to  write  to  my  mother. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


367 


Mr  Bouvier  asked  him  to  use  his  desk, 
where  he  would  find  all  the  necessary  writ- 
ing implements,  and  told  Nora  to  go  to 
Bertha,  to  console  the  latter  for  their  ap- 
proaching sepiration  She  went  towards  the 
door,  bat,  turning  back,  said  simply  to  Mr. 
Auvrard:  ''Oaght  I  not  write  a  few  lines 
to  your  mother?" 

'*If  you  like,"  he  replied,  oflfering  her 
his  place  at  the  desk.  Declining  the  chair, 
she  bent  down  to  the  heavy  oak  table,  and 
wrote  a  few  hasty  lines.  Mr.  Auvrard  begged 
her  ceremoniously  to  close  her  letter,  then 
she  bowed  to  both  gentlemen  and  retired 
to  her  own  li.tle  room,  where  at  last  she 
could  give  vent  to  her  tears. 

Mr.  Auvrard' s  commanication  ran  thus: 

'*Dear  Mother: — My  business  will 
delay  me  two  days  longer  in  Mans,  so  I 
hasten  to  give  you  an  account  of  my  visit 
to  ]V[r.  Bouvier.  I  called  on  him  yesterday 
afternoon,  but  did  not  find  him  at  home. 
Towards  evening  I  returned,  and,  although 
he  had  guests,  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
long  interview.  He  seemed  so  anxious  to 
get  rid  of  the  business,  that  we  easily  came 
to  an  understanding,  after  which  he  intro- 
duced me  to  MrSi  Bouvier  and  Miss  de 
Br^lyon.  Bouvier's  mother  was  English, 
and  he  resembles  her  in  his  distinguished 
appearance.  His  wife  is  a  thorough  Parisian 
in  the  full  sense  of  the  word;  she  laughs 
and  chatters  on  every  subject.  The  son  is 
a  handsome  youth,  who  does  nothing,  or 
almost  nothing;  while  the  daughter  seems 
capricious  and  insignificant.  Miss  de  Brd- 
lyon  is  very  beautiful  and  greatly  courted. 
I  was  by  no  means  pleased  to  see  her  at 
a  party  so  soon  after  her  grandmother's 
death.  I  promised  to  tell  you  the  impression 
she  made  on  me,  and  must  acknowledge  I 
think  her  giddy  and  selfish.  When  I  entered 
the  room  she  was  singing  as  if  she  had 
never  known  sorrow. 

"This  morning  I  met  Mr.  Bouvier  again ; 
he  was  perfectly  candid  with  me.  He  praises 
his  young  cousin,  but  his  wife  will  not  keep 
her,  for  their  handsome  son  Louis  is  paying 
her  too  much  attention ;  and  although,  when 
Miss  de  Br^lyon  was  thought  to  be  rich, 


his  mother  was  willing  enough  to  accept 
her  for  a  daughter,  she  now  wishes  to  get 
rid  of  her  at  any  cost,  and  insists  on-having 
her  taken  out  of  the  young  man's  wav  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  therefore  called  on  Miss 
Kernoel,  who  willingly  consented  to  bring 
Miss  de  Brelyon  with  her  when  she  returns 
home  at  the  end  of  this  week. 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  how  much  I  admire 
your  generosity  and  abnegation.  We  do  not 
talk  much,  dear  mother,  and  I  seldom  ex- 
press to  \ou  my  sentiments  in  your  regard; 
but  how  few  women  at  your  age,  and  worn 
out  b>  cares,  would  take  on  them  the  charge 
of  an  unknown  relative,  and  the  double 
burden  of  increased  expense  and  responsi- 
bility! You  know  this  young  girl  will  dis- 
turb your  quiet  manner  of  lif*^;  she  has  had 
no  other  teacher  than  that  silly  old  woman; 
and  the  wandering  life  she  has  led,  in  which 
pleasure  was  the  only  objecc,  has  certainly 
ill  prepared  her  for  the  active,  serious  life  of 
the  country.  You  will  also  have  to  combat 
deeply-rooted  frivolity,  bad  habits,  and,  if 
I  mistake  not,  an  independent,  untractable 
character.  All  this  )  ou  have  probably  fore- 
seen and  accepted,  and  it  is  woithy  of  you; 
for  everything  great  and  noble  is  what  I  am 
accustomed  to  in  you. 

"But  our  intimate  intercourse  will  also 
suffer  by  this  stranger's  intrusion.  When  I 
go  to  Pen  van  now,  I  can  scarcely  reckon 
on  the  old  confidential  chats  with  you,  nor 
that  quietness  which  others  of  my  age  avoid, 
but  which  I  prize  so  highly.  What  must 
you  think  of  me!  Am  I  not  selfish  to  dwell 
only  on  my  own  annoyances,  and  am  I  not 
perhaps  unjust  to  a  young  girl,  who  may 
be  gentle  and  amiable,  however  defective 
her  education  has  been  ?  Frivolity  and  van- 
ity are  the  two  feminine  defects  most  repug- 
nant to  my  disposition.  You,  dear  mother, 
were  always  superior  to  the  weaknesses  of 
your  sex,  and  your  practical  common-sense, 
firm  will,  and  clear  understanding  form  for 
me  an  ideal  to  which  very  few  women  at- 
tain. 

"Good-bye,  dear  mother,  for  a  few  days. 
With  love  and  esteem,  your  son, 

"Mark  Auvrard." 


368 


The  Ave  Maria, 


.Nora's  note  to  her  aunt  was  as  follows: 
'■Excuse  me  for  writing  you  a  few  lines, 
now  that  I  learn  for  the  first  lime  my  sad  po- 
sition and  your  generous  offers.  I  am  strong, 
and  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  earn  my  own 
living.  I  beg  of  you  to  love  me  a  little,  for 
I  am  most  unhappy.  I  shall  be  so  grateful, 
and  conform  to  all  your  wishe?.  With  sin- 
cere gratitude,  your  soriowful  niece, 

"Nora." 
CHAPTER  IX. 

Most  hearts  would  have  been  touched  by 
Nora's  simple  letter,  but  the  visible  agita- 
tion and  perplexity,  and  the  disjointed,  un 
studied  style,  which  would  have  appealed 
to  other  women's  sympathies,  were  more 
adapted  to  displease  the  woman  whose  cold 
blue  eyes  scanned  with  utter  indifference 
the  orphan's  short  letter. 

Stiff  and  formal,  she  sat  in  her  large  straw 
chair  by  the  window,  whose  dazzling  white 
curtains  were  drawn  aside  carefully,  so  that 
every  passer-by  could  see  Mrs.  Auvrard  in 
her  accustomed  place.  Before  her,  on  a  low 
stool,  stood  a  basket  with  house  linen;  on 
the  window-sill  lay  a  long,  narrow  account- 
book  and  her  knitting.  The  room  was  large 
and  old-fashioned,  but  the  ceiling  wis  far  too 
low  to  be  in  proportion  with  its  size.  Dark 
red  paper  with  tasteless  gray  scrolls  con- 
trasted unfavorably  with  the  oak  wainscot 
which  half  covered  the  walls.  Oa  a  console- 
table,  in  the  style  or  Louis  XV.,  stood  a 
dozen  or  so  of  cups  that  were  rather  old- 
fashioned  than  precious.  Between  the  win- 
dows was  a  massive  carved  cabinet,  and 
along  the  walls  were  ranged  cane  and  stuffed 
chairs  in  long,  formal  rows.  There  was  no 
carpet  on  the  floor,  save  a  narrow  strip 
before  the  large  mantelpiece,  and  the  only 
objects  that  gave  any  appearance  of  life  were 
some  old  family  portraits,  whose  powdered 
wigs  and  lace  collars  stood  out  in  bold  re- 
lief from  the  dark  background.  Amongst 
them  was  the  likeness  of  a  young  man  of 
later  date,  which  at  the  first  glance  seemed 
to  be  that  of  Mr.  Auvrard,  but  a  closer  in- 
spection revealed  a  certain  difference.  Mark 
Auvrard  had  sharp  features  and  a  hard, 
determined  look,  while  the  face  in  the  por- 


trait wore  an  irresolute,  careless  expression. 

Mrs,  Auvrard' s  age  was  not  easily  divined, 
but  she  was  certainly  past  sixty.  Her  tall, 
thia,  still  erect  figure  was  clothed  in  black, 
nunlike  garments,  while  a  small  muslin 
cap  covered  her  head,  and  left  visible  a 
narrow  band  of  gray  hair.  Though  she  had 
never  been  handsome,  still  hers  was  an  un- 
common face;  the  aquiline  nose  and  dark, 
thick  brows  gave  her  a  commanding  ex- 
pression, which  was  increased  by  the  cold, 
clear  glance  of  her  eyes.  She  held  an  excep- 
tional position  in  the  modest  little  town  of 
Penvan.  Since  her  marriage  (thirty  years 
previous)  she  had  constantly  dwelt  there, 
and  in  the  beginning  mixed  freely  in  soci- 
ety; but  soon  various  trials  came  upon  her. 
Her  husband,  weary  of  inaction,  and  perhaps 
stimulated  by  a  certain  contemptuous  bear- 
ing in  his  wife,  embarked  in  industrial  spec- 
ulations, and  in  a  short  time  spent  all  his 
own  fortune.  Mrs.  Auvrard  forced  him  to 
stop,  put  his  affairs  in  order,  and  thenceforth 
her  influence  predominated  completely. 

If  she  suffered  cruelly  at  the  thought  of 
being  united  to  so  weak  though  good- 
natured  a  man,  he  felt  her  imperious  domi- 
nation scarcely  less  bitterly.  She  might  be 
generous,  but  she  was  totally  devoid  of  ten- 
derness, and  j  adged  that  she  was  a  model 
wife  because  she  paid  her  husband's  debts, 
kept  her  house  in  order,  and  was  a  careful 
mother  to  his  little  son.  She  never  sus- 
pected that  her  haughty,  arrogant  manner 
or  indifference  could  make  her  husband 
suffer.  He  died  young,  without  any  wish  to 
live  longer,  in  the  firm  conviction  that  he 
left  his  son  in  good  hands.  The  thought 
that  his  wife  loved  the  boy,  and  would  train 
him  up  to  be  an  estimable  member  of  so- 
ciety, filled  him  with  such  thankfulness  that 
he  departed  in  peace,  leaving  her  his  grate- 
ful blessing.  She  mourned  him  sincerely, 
but  her  grief  would  not  have  withdrawn 
her  from  all  society  had  not  the  almost 
ruined  state  of  her  affairs  made  it  impera- 
tive: she  was  very  proud,  and  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  coming  down  in  the  world. 

Another  subject  of  annoyance  to  her  was 
her  brother's   marriage  with  a  foreigner, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


1^9' 


after  which,  although  laying  the  blame  most 
unjustly  on  her  sister-in-law,  she  broke  off 
all  communication  with  him.  Her  slender 
income  forced  her  to  remain  in  the  little 
country  town  which  had  seen  her  wealthy 
and  honored;  but  she  withdrew  from  all 
social  intercourse,  and  to  the  younger  gener- 
ation she  appeared  a  mysterious  and  rather 
ridiculous  old  woman.  The  task  of  her  life 
was  her  stepson's  education;  her  passion- 
ate love  for  him  was  strange  in  one  of  her 
reserved  nature,  and  quite  out  of  keeping 
with  her  character;  but  it  was  founded  on 
a  singular  accordance  of  ideas  and  inclina- 
tions. From  his  childhood  the  boy  dis- 
played unusual  talent;  his  will  was  inflexi- 
ble, but  he  sympathized  completely  with  his 
stepmother;  their  veiy  faults,  which  were 
so  much  alike,  far  from  repelling,  seemed 
to  mutually  attract  each  other.  She  never 
gave  words  to  her  aflfection,  but  he  per'^ectly 
understood  it,  and,  as  he  early  perceived  he 
owed  her  everything,  he  devoted  himself  to 
her  with  a  disinterestedness  which  repaid 
her  for  all  her  sacrifices. 

Mark   had  always  been  an  odd  child, 
caring  more  for  justice  than  attention,  more 
for  order  than  for  freedom.  From  their  ear- 
liest meeting  he  had  adopted  the  opinions 
of  his  stepmother;  she  formed  his  ideal  of 
a  woman,  and  he  never  rebelled  against  the 
subjection  in  which  she  held  him.  While 
developing  his  practical  qualities,  she  had 
kept  his  imagination  completely  dormant, 
and  he  never  longed  for  diflferent  life  than 
the  monotonous,  dreary  one  to  which  she 
had  formed  him.  When  he  finished  his  col- 
lege career,  by  her  advice  he  studied  for  the 
bar,  and  devoted  himself  wholly  to  his  pro 
fession,  although  he  prided  himself  on  being 
destitute  of  ambition.  The  truth  was,  he  had 
grown  into  a  complete  misanthrope,  think- 
ing nothing  could  equal  his  mother's  well- 
ordered,  retired  household.  He  settled  down 
near  Penvan,  and  soon  had  a  large  practice. 
All  his  leisure  time  was  spent  with  his  step- 
mother, acd   their  usual  occupation  con- 
sisted in  censuring  the  faults  of  mankind 
in  general,  and  young  girls  in  particular. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


To  My  Guardian  Angel. 


BY   R.   A.    C. 


SHALL  I  not  kneel  to  bless 
Thy  love's  untold  excess, 
Angel  of  many  cares? — to  whom  is  given 
Direction  long  and  sweet 
Over  my  errant  feet, 
By  the  all-bounteous  mind  of  watchful  Heaven. 

Oh!  thou  hast  loved  me  well, 

More  than  this  heart  can  tell, 
Standing  beside  me  in  the  evil  hour; 

And  many  a  thought  of  thine 

Hast  thou  infused  in  mine, 
Till  I  grew  quickened  in  the  blended  power. 

Still  let  thy  potent  arm 

Shield  me  from  guilt  and  harm; 
Show,  too,  the  siren,  sin,  in  devious  way: — 

Strengthless  I  am  indeed, 

Yet  let  the  bruised  reed 
Repose  its  frailty  on  its  guardian-stay. 


The  Holy  Rosary  the  Queen  of  Devo- 
tions. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


XIV.— Jesus  in  the  Most  Blessed 
Sacrament. 

IF  there  be  one  devotion  more  than  an- 
other that  is  ever  present  to  the  minds  of 
Christians,  as  a  body  and  as  individuals,  it 
is  that  to  the  Adorable  Sacrament  of  the 
Altar.  It  is  the  all-absorbing  devotion  of  the 
Church — the  sun  that  makes  every  congre- 
gation so  many  little  firmaments  in  which 
it  diffuses  its  ra>  s,  enlightening,  fructifying, 
strengthening  and  consoling  the  children 
of  God.  Jesus  Christ  in  this  Sacrament  is 
employed  as  He  was  during  His  sojourn 
upon  earth — in  going  around  doing  good. 
Enter  a  church  where  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment is  not  retained,  and  it  will  require  an 
effort  to  realize  that  it  is  the  house  of  God ; 
open  the  portals  of  one  where  His  sacra- 
mental presence  dwells,  and  the  soul  is  an- 


370 


The  Ave  Maria. 


imatcd  with  the  sentiment  of  holy  David, 
and  cries  out  in  transports  of  joy:  "I  re- 
joiced at  those  things  that  were  said  to  me; 
we  shall  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord." 
Though  his  devotion  to  this  sacred  Treas- 
ure be  ever  so  strong  and  tender,  the  Chris- 
tian will  find  it  difl&cult  to  realize  how  en- 
tirely he  leans  upon  the  arm  of  his  Beloved 
in  this  holy  Sacrament.  But  let  him  be  so 
placed  by  circumstances  that  he  can  not 
receive  It,  and  immediately  he  begins  to 
feel  his  loss;  let  death  threaten  him  without 
It,  and  he  is  inconsolable. 

The  Holy  Rosary, by  keeping  the  thought 
of  Jesus  in  the  various  scenes  of  His  divine 
life  before  the  mind,  necessarily  strength- 
.  ens  devotion  to  the  Most  Blessed  Sacrament, 
and  makes  it  more  tender.  It  is  the  same 
Jesus  in  both,  but  He  is  here  in  a  greater 
degree  of  humiliation;  as  represented  in 
the  Rosary,  He  was  man's  servant:  here  He 
is  man's  food.  He  is  surrounded  by  a  few 
friends,  sometimes,  alas !  as  half-hearted  as 
those  of  old  in  Judea ;  with  enemies  numer- 
ous, bold  and  clamorous;  and,  for  love  of 
man,  suffering  in  passive  silence  as  well  the 
coldness  and  indifference  of  the  one.  as  the 
insults  and  blasphemies  of  the  other.  Who 
would  not  pity  the  good  Jesus  in  the  Most 
Holy  Sacrament,  and  sometimes  come  with 
beads  in  hand  into  His  lonely  presence  to 
do  Him  honor! 

It  is  related  of  a  certain  missionary  whose 
duties  required  him  to  preach  often,  that  he 
resolved  never  to  conclude  a  sermon  with- 
out speaking  something  in  praise  of  the 
Holy  Mother  of  God.  After  continuing  in 
this  resolution  for  some  time,  one  of  his 
hearers  asked  him  why  it  was  that  he  never 
preached  without  speaking  of  the  Holy 
Sacrament  of  the  Altar.  He  had  never  ad 
verted  to  the  fact,  and  he  expressed  his  sur- 
prise at  something  so  unintentional ;  from 
which  Father  Faber,  who  relates  the  inci- 
dent, deduces  an  argument,  as  well  he  may, 
in  favor  of  the  intimate  connection  between 
devotion  to  the  Blessed  Eucharist  and  the 
Holy  Mother  of  God.  Nor  is  the  reason  of 
this  difficult  to  find.  Mary  gave  us  Jesus —  , 
the  same  Jesus  who  again  gives  Himself  to 


us  in  the  Treasure  of  our  altars;  and  as  He 
came  to  us  by  Marv%  so  do  we  go  most  di- 
rectly to  Him  by  Mary.  While  we  follow 
Him  through  life  and  into  heaven  by  de- 
voutly meditating  on  the  mysteries  of  the 
Rosary,  we  can  not  but  remember  that  He 
is  still  with  us  here  on  earth  in  the  Most 
Holy  Sacrament  of  the  Altar. 

XV.— The  Most  Precious  Blood. 

Devotion  to  the  Most  Precious  Blood  was 
one  of  the  first  to  spring  up  in  the  infant 
Church;  not  only  because  the  Blood  of 
Christ  was  the  price  of  man's  redemption, 
but  also  because  the  first  Christians  were 
converts  from  Judaism,  in  whose  sacrifices 
blood  played  so  important  a  part  that  with- 
out the  shedding  of  it  there  was  no  remis- 
sion of  sins.  Blood  flowed  upon  the  altar 
of  sacrifice  in  the  Temple  everv  day  of  the 
year;  yet  it  was  from  the  shedding  of  the 
Blood  of  Christ  that  all  this  was  to  derive 
its  efficacy.  The  Precious  Blood  had,  there- 
fore, a  retrospective  as  well  as  a  prospective 
efficacy — confirming  the  sacrifices  of  the 
past,  and  constituting  that  of  the  future. 
Hence  it  is  that  we  find  so  many  references, 
like  the  following,  in  the  writings  of  the 
Apostles :  "  If  the  blood  of  goats  and  of  oxen, 
and  the  ashes  of  a  heifer  being  sprinkled, 
sanctify  such  as  are  defiled,  to  the  cleansing 
of  the  flesh,  how  much  more  shall  the  Blood 
of  Christ,  who  by  the  Holy  Ghost  offered 
Himself  unspotted  unto  God,  cleanse  our 
conscience  from  dead  works,  to  serve  the 
living  God?"  "You  were  not  redeemed 
with  corruptible  things,  as  gold  or  silver, 
from  your  vain  conversation  of  the  tradi- 
tion of  ) our  fathers;  but  with  the  Precious 
Blood  of  Christ,  as  of  a  lamb  unspotted  and 
unde  filed." 

Nothing  could  be  better  calculated  to 
awaken  and  nourish  devotion  to  the  Price 
of  our  salvation  than  the  recitation  of  the 
Rosary.  Every  mystery,  fiom  the  holy  in- 
fancy to  the  burial,  recalls  it.  In  the  case  of 
some  other  devotions,  it  requires  an  effort  to 
see  the  bearing  of  the  Rosary  upon  them ; 
not  so  in  the  case  of  the  Most  Precious 
Blood:  every  bead  is  purpled  with  it;  at 


The  Ave  Maria. 


371 


every  one  we  are  forced  to  cry  out  with  St. 
John:  "Jesus  Christ  hath  loved  us,  and 
washed  us  from  our  sins  in  His  Blood. ' ' 

XVI. — The  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 

Few  devotions  have  had  so  sacred  an 
origin  as  that  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  Jesus 
Christ  Himself,  as  is  well  known,  revealed 
it  to  Blessed  Margaret  Mary,  and  accompa- 
nied the  revelation  with  certain  remarkable 
promises  in  favor  of  those  who  should  prac- 
tise it.  To  this  is  due  the  fact  that  perhaps 
no  devotion  has  spread  so  rapidly,  and  taken 
so  firm  a  hold  among  Christians.  But 
though  the  devotion  in  its  present  form  is 
of  comparatively  recent  origin,  under  an- 
other form  it  is  as  old  as  the  Church.  The 
heart  has  always  been  regarded  as  the  seat 
of  the  affections,  and  hence  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  persons  as  kind-hearted, 
tender-hearted,  etc.  So  it  was,  and  with  in- 
finitely greater  reason,  that  people  spoke 
of  our  divine  Saviour  in  His  day. 

The  sweet  expression  of  His  infant  coun- 
tenance, which  enchanted  all  who  gazed 
upon  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem,  was  but  the 
love  of  His  Sacred  Heart  manifesting  itself 
outwardly.  To  the  same  source  must  be 
attributed  the  charms  that  caused  Him  as  a 
boy  to  increase  in  wisdom  and  age  and  grace 
with  God  and  men.  The  virtue  emanating 
from  the  same  wellspring  formed  a  feast  of 
mingled  love  and  sorrow  for  Mary's  eyes 
during  the  years  of  seclusion  at  Nazareth ; 
attracted  the  throngs  that  followed  Him 
during  His  public  ministry ;  attended  Him 
in  His  sacred  Passion ;  caused  the  Apostles 
to  gaze  after  Him  in  the  Ascension ;  and  has 
been  the  magnet  of  souls  ever  since.  The 
Heart  of  Jesus  is,  as  it  were,  the  lamp  which 
lit  up  His  sacred  humanity  during  His  so- 
journ upon  earth,  and  that  still  lights  it  up 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father  on  high. 

The  Holy  Rosary  in  presenting,  one  after 
another,  points  of  meditation  on  the  life  of 
Christ  upon  earth,  merely  shows  us  the 
adorable  qualities  of  the  Sacred  Heart  man- 
ifesting themselves  by  outward  actions;  and 
it  consequently  embraces  devotion  to  the 
Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  in  its  every  mystery. 


XVII.— The  Holy  Face. 

Those  who  study  the  history  of  the  many 
devotions  that  have  received  the  approba- 
tion of  the  Church  will  discover  a  progres- 
sive development,  which  brings  forward  at 
the  most  fitting  time  not  only  the  devotion 
which  is  best  calculated  to  encourage  the 
pious  to  greater  fervor  and  awaken  the  luke- 
warm from  tepidity,  but  also  to  arm  every 
Christian  against  the  particular  dangers  and 
temptations  of  the  day.  In  other  words,  as 
the  spirit  of  evil  varies  his  mode  of  attack, 
so  the  Spirit  of  God  enlightens  His  Church 
and  her  children  to  vary  their  mode  of 
defence. 

Among  the  most  recent  of  these  means  of 
defence  is  devotion  to  the  Holy  Face  of  Our 
Ivord.  It  is  not,  however,  the  holy  Face  in 
its  glory  in  heaven,  but  rather  that  Face  of 
which  Isaias  speaks  in  the  person  of  Christ, 
when  he  says:  "I  have  not  turned  away 
my  face  from  them  that  rebuked  me,  and 
spit  upon  me ' ' ;  and  of  which  holy  Job,  as  a 
figure  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  said:  "They 
abhor  me,  and  flee  far  from  me,  and  are  not 
afraid  to  spit  in  my  face."  And  what  de- 
votion more  fitting  to  enkindle  our  hearts 
with  the  love  of  God  than  that  which  pre- 
sents for  our  contemplation  the  Face  of  the 
suffering  and  dying  Jesus?  As  the  heart  is 
the  seat  of  the  affections,  so  the  countenance 
is  their  best  external  expression.  And  the 
miracle  of  Veronica's  napkin  has  both  pre- 
served to  us  the  expression  of  the  Face 
of  Jesus  in  His  direst  suffering,  and  has 
taught  us  how  pleasing  to  Him  is  devotion 
to  it. 

Devotion  to  the  Holy  Face  is  a  pathetic 
appeal  of  the  agonizing  Saviour  to  His 
faithful  children  to  meditate  on  His  sacred 
Passion, — an  appeal  which  is  best  enforced 
by  the  Sorrowful  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary, 
which  introduce  Him  to  us  in  the  garden 
with  His  holy  Face  bedewed  with  the 
bloody  sweat,  and  leaves  Him  in  the  sepul- 
chre. His  Face  pallid  in  death. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  Holy  Rosary  is 
a  compendium  of  all  the  principal  devo- 
tions to  the  three  Persons  of  the  Adorable 
Trinity. 


372 


The  Ave  Maria. 


XVI I  r.— Mary. 

It  appears  entirely  superfluous  to  say  that 
the  Holy  Rosary  embraces  devotion  to  the 
Mother  of  God :  it  is  the  life  of  Mary  illus- 
trated—the wreath  with  which  Her  children 
daily  crown  Her;  it  is  Mary  living  in  the 
Church,  as  Her  divine  Son  lives  theie  in  the 
Blessed  Eucharist.  No  matter  with  what 
feelings  we  recite  the  Rosary — whether 
with  fervor  or  lukewarmness,  with  sensible 
devotion  or  with  aridity ;  in  joy  or  in  sorrow, 
in  innocence  or  in  repentance,  in  childhood 
or  in  old  age, — like  a  kaleidoscope,  it  is  con- 
stantly presenting  an  ever- varying  but  ever 
exquisitely  beautiful  picture  of  Her  whom 
all  generations  shall  call  blessed.  What- 
ever grace  or  favor  is  desired,  Mary  is  seen 
there  as  the  most  willing  and  the  most  fit- 
ting person  to  bestow  it. 

Our  Immaculate  Mother  in  this  Her 
favorite  devotion  holds  the  key  of  heaven, 
to  open  it  to  Her  children;  the  key  of  hell, 
to  close  it;  the  key  of  purgatory,  to  liberate 
Her  sujBfering  clients;  the  key  to  the  Heart 
of  Jesus,  to  unlock  its  treasures;  the  key  to 
the  hearts  of  the  good,  to  infuse  additional 
graces  into  them,  and  close  them  against 
sin;  the  kev  to  the  sinner's  heart,  to  open  it 
to  the  grace  of  repentance.  Only  one  key 
She  has  not,  and  that  is  the  key  to  Her  own 
sacred  Heart,  which  She  has  given  to  Her 
children  in  this  devotion,  that  they  may 
open  it  at  pleasure,  and,  it  might  almost  be 
said,  against  Her  will — if  we  could  imagine 
Her  unwilling  to  grant  any  favor  that  would 
be  for  the  spiritual  benefit  of  Her  clients. 
How  beautifully,  then,  does  not  the  Rosary 
illustrate  those  words  of  Sacred  Scripture, 
"And  the  name  of  tbe  Virgin  was  Mary  " ! 

XIX. — Mary  the  Virgin. 
God  in  times  past  spoke  to  our  fathers  by 
the  prophets,  to  encourage  them  and  keep 
alive  within  them  the  remembrance  of  the 
promises  He  had  made  concerning  the  com- 
ing Redeemer,  revealing  to  them  from  time 
to  time  such  circumstances  as  would  enable 
them  to  see  the  coming  and  the  mission  of 
the  Messiah,  as  it  were,  through  a  glass  and 
dimly.   But  the  Woman  who  by  becoming 


His  mother  was  to  crush  the  head  of  the 
infernal  serpent,  and  also  the  Seed  of  the 
Woman,  were  especially  kept  before  their 
minds  by  numerous  types  and  figures,  so 
much  so  that  obscured  revelations  concern- 
ing them  were  to  be  found  even  among 
pagan  nations.  But  it  was  given  to  Isaias 
to  declare  the  virginity  of  the  Mother  of 
the  Saviour  of  the  world.  Rapt  into  future 
times,  he  exclaimed:  "Behold,  a  Virgin 
shall  conceive  and  bear  a  Son.  and  His 
name  shall  be  called  Emmanuel." 

Whether  we  take  this  text  in  the  com- 
mon rendering,  which  has  it  "a  virgin," 
or  in  that  of  Kenrick,  Allioli,  and  a  few 
others,  who  would  translate  ' '  the  virgin, ' ' 
it  matters  little  for  our  present  purpose;  for 
Mary  was  both  a  virgin  and  the  virgin  fore- 
told by  the  prophet.  Both  the  Scripture  and 
reason,  based  upon  the  dignity  of  Her  who 
was  to  be  the  Mother  of  Jesus  Christ,  declare 
that  She  should  be  a  virgin ;  and  St.  Luke 
informs  us  that  "the  Angel  Gabriel  was 
sent  by  God  to  a  city  of  Galilee  called  Naz- 
areth, to  a  Virgin."  And  the  response  of 
Mary  to  the  heavenly  messenger  proves  this 
prerogative,  and  also  that  She  esteemed  it 
so  highly  that  She  would  not  forego  it  even 
to  become  the  mother  of  the  Son  of  God. 
How  important  this  point  is  may  be  learned 
from  the  custom  of  the  Church,  which 
throughout  her  entire  liturgy  always,  as  a 
rule,  joins  the  phrase  "ever  virgin"  with 
the  name  of  Mary  wherever  it  is  mentioned. 

The  frequent  repetition  of  the  words  of 
the  Archangel  in  the  Holy  Rosary  shows 
it  to  be  one  of  the  best  means  of  cultivating 
and  strengthening  devotion  to  the  great 
mystery  of  Mary's  virginity  before,  at,  and 
after  the  birth  of  Her  divine  Son;  and  en- 
ables us  to  honor  Her  most  fittingly  as  such. 
(to  be  continued.) 


There  are  in  this  world  beings  who  are 
not  of  this  world.  The  public  judges  them 
to  be  haughty,  eccentric  insane.  Ah!  if 
the  public  could  see  them  feel,  think,  suffer! 
Then  it  would  account  them  as  more  of  men 
than  other  men. — Abbe  Roux. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^n 


Reminiscences  of  tine  Abbe  Liszt.* 


I  am  not  like  any  one  whom  I  have  known — in 
fact,  I  can  almost  say  I  am  unlike  all  the  rest  of 
mankind ;  not  that  I  am  better  than  they  are,  only 
I  am  different  from  them.—/./.  Rousseau. 

TO  attempt  a  history  of  the  musical  career 
of  Liszt  would  be,  on  the  one  hand,  to 
weary  the  reader  with  tiresome  repetitions, 
and  on  the  other  to  face  the  disagreeable 
task  of  correcting  the  innumerable  mistakes 
and  misconceptions  of  which  the  Abhe  Liszt 
has  been  the  subject.  Rather,  therefore,  will 
I  give  a  sketch  of  the  man  himself — the  lion 
of  salons^  the  spoilt  darling  of  fine  ladies, 
and  above  all  the  enfant  terrible — as  I  knew 
him  during  the  time  of  my  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  him  in  Rome,  at  the  period 
of  his  somewhat  romantic  but  sincere  desire 
to  take  Holy  O.ders.  During  these  six 
years  I  lived  with  him  in  the  threefold  ca- 
pacity of  private  secretary,  master  in  Italian 
and  Latin,  and  pupil  in  music. 

When  Liszt  was  living  at  Santa  Fran- 
cesca  Romana,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Palatine 
(the  summit  of  which  was  my  own  birth- 
place and  my  abode  for  twenty  years),  I 
was  fortunate  enough  to  spend  some  part  of 
every  day  with  him,  and  in  the  evenings, 
when  he  had  not  engagements  elsewhere,  I 
used  to  instruct  and  be  instructed  by  him. 
I  taught  him  Latin,  so  that  he  might  say 
the  Breviary.  Before  lorg,  however,  this  oc- 
cupation was  the  means  of  teaching  me  a 
useful  lesson — one  which  was  perhaps  more 
profitable  to  me  than  the  musical  knowl- 
edge I  acquired.  I  found  that,  as  far  as  my 
pupil  was  concerned,  I  was  merely  wasting 
my  time  and  my  pains.  Never  could  I  have 
thought  it  possible  that  a  man  who  had  so 
remarkable  a  talent  for  arranging  notes, 
could  be  so  totally  wanting  in  the  power 
needed  for  connecting  ideas. 

The  Abbe  was  tres-spirituely  bat  he  was 
utterly  incapable  of  serious  reflection,  or 
indeed  of  applying  his  mind  to  the  same 
subject  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time;  and  this 


*  Adapted  from  The  Month. 


is  why  the  great  master  never  could  learn 
the  elements  of  rhetoric,  or  Latin  enough  to 
say  the  Breviary.  He  undoubtedly  possessed 
more  genius  than  discretion;  and  as  for 
common-sense,  there  was  not  a  single  grain 
of  it  in  his  entire  composition.  Over  and 
over  again,  after  he  had  fairly  taken  my 
breath  away  by  something  he  said  or  did, 
I  used  to  say  to  myself  that  I  knew  that 
everyone  is  apt  to  commit  some  folly  once 
or  twice  in  his  life,  as  one  must  be  exposed 
to  take  a  contagious  complaint,  but  what 
would  it  be  if  one  were  continually  in 
danger  of  infection!  Yet  I  have  frequently 
known  the  talented  Abb^  to  make  blunders 
which  an  ordinary  artisan  would  have  had 
the  sense  to  avoid, —one  of  those  very  arti- 
sans whote  ears  and  perceptions  Liszt  re- 
garded as  so  obtuse,  since  they  failed  ta 
appreciate  the  beauty  of  his  music,  or  that 
of  the  celebrated  Wagner. 

Liszt  was  guilty  of  a  great  many  follies,, 
and  they  have  been  the  more  commented 
on  because  they  were,  latterly  at  least,  com- 
mitted, fo  to  speak,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
sanctuary.  In  none  of  these  follies,  how- 
ever, had  he  an  eye  to  his  own  interest: 
he  was  never  found  try  ing  to  curry  favor  in 
the  antechambers  of  the  great,  nor  did  he 
ever  echo  the  utterances  of  those  liberal 
clerics  who  are  perpetually  talking  about 
liberty,  fraternity,  and  equality. 

The  misfortunes  of  Liszt  may  be  fitly 
epitomized  in  the  familiar  proverb,  Chassez 
le  naturel^  il  revient  au  galop  One  fine 
day  the  marvellous  pianist  was  seized  by 
the  unlucky  fancy  of  trying  to  dress  up  in 
the  cassock  of  a  cleric;  but  he  returned  to 
his  former  self  the  next  day,  and  continued 
to  thrive  and  flourish,  notwithstanding  that 
he  showed  himself  always,  up  to  within  a 
few  days  of  his  death,  a  most  eccentric  and 
abnormal  creature.  No  great  change  in  a 
man's  inner  nature  can  be  brought  about 
by  the  use  of  rose-water,  and  Liszt  can 
never  be  excused  for  the  light  and  trifling 
spirit  with  which  he  entered  upon  the  most 
solemn  and  sacred  of  all  careers.  What  a 
pity  that  he  did  not  allow  himself  a  few  days 
for  deliberation  before  taking  so  important 


374 


The  Ave  Maria. 


a  step!  But  reflection  and  deliberation  were 
not  at  all  in  his  line,  so  all  at  once  he  became 
an  abb6,  anxious  to  pose  before  the  world  no 
longer  as  a  great  pianist,  but  as  a  person  of 
high  ecclesiastical  dignity  and  importance; 
in  fact,  one  of  those  on  whom  a  cardinal's 
hat  might  very  suitably  be  conferred.* 

The  day  after  this  transformation,  ac- 
complished at  railroad  speed,  our  illustri- 
ous friend  took  upon  himself  to  publish  it 
not  only  to  Rome  but  to  all  Europe,  by 
sending  out  thousands  of  visiting-cards  in 
every  direction,  bearing  the  inscription, 
''''D Abbk  Liszt ^  mi  Vatican^  One  of  these 
cards  found  its  way  to  the  famous  statue  on 
the  bridge  over  the  Tiber,  and  the  next  day 
Roman  wit  turned  poor  Liszt  into  ridicule 
by  a  picture  of  a  bevy  of  young  ladies,  de- 
voted to  music  and  inspired  with  an  intense 
admiration  for  the  great  musician,  who 
hurry  with  dishevelled  locks  to  leave  their 
cards  in  incredulous  astonishment  on  the 
new  aspirant  lo  ecclesiastical  dignity. 

From  the  first,  even  as  a  pianist,  Liszt  had 
not  found  much  favor  with  Pope  Pius  IX., 
because  of  the  unconventional  and  erratic 
style  of  the  music  he  executed,  and  which 
he  had  the  presumption  to  try  to  introduce 
in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  in  the  place  of  those 
grand  Masses  and  Misereres  by  Palestrina, 
Stradella,  Baini  and  others,  to  which  it 
owes  its  world  wide  reputation.  On  that 
grand  countenance,  with  its  crown  of  dis- 
orderly locks,  Pius  IX.  would  fain  have 
discovered  such  signs  of  the  divine  afflatus 
as  were  discernible  on  the  serene  features  of 
a  Mozart  and  a  Beethoven;  alas!  our  hero, 
as  he  more  than  once  told  me,  reminded  him 
of  no  one  but  poor  Camillo  Querno  amusing 
Leo  X. ;  and  in  happy  imitation  of  that 
Pontiff,  who  gave  Quemo  the  sobriquet  of 
"arch-poet,"  Pius  IX.  surnamed  Liszt  the 
"arch-pianist." 

The  last  time  I  saw  Pius  IX.  was  in  1871, 
on  my  return  from  the  siege  of  Paris,  dur- 
ing the  days  of  the  Commune;  I  was  the 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  Liszt,  whilst 
bearing  the  title  of  abbe,  never  received  more  than 
Minor  Orders,  and  therefore  was  not  bound  by  any 
permanent  obligation  to  a  clerical  career. 


bearer  of  a  letter  from  Deguerry  (the  Cure 
of  the  Madeleine),  wherein  he  gave  in  his 
full  submission  and  adhesion  to  the  Papal 
Infallibility.  After  taking  the  letter  from 
my  hands,  the  Pope  asked  me  a  great  num- 
ber of  questions  about  Paris — how  I  had 
liked  the  horses  and  animals  out  of  the 
zoological  gardens,  which  had  been  slaugh- 
tered for  our  table  before  we  were  reduced 
to  eating  cats  and  dogs  and  rats,  winding 
up  his  long  and  interesting  conversation 
with  the  inquiry,  "And  did  you  see  your 
friend  the  Abb6  Liszt  again?  How  did  you 
manage  to  exist  in  the  camp  without  bread 
and  without  the  "arch- pianist?" 

Not  long  after  our  Abb^  had  donned  the 
cassock  in  the  Vatican,  the  expediency  of 
taking  up  his  quarters  elsewhere  was  sug- 
gested to  him,  and  he  accordingly  removed 
to  the  Dominican  monastery  on  Monte 
Mario;  for  he  still  desired  to  live  under  the 
shadow  of  the  sanctuary.  But  the  good 
monks,  accustomed  to  seclusion  and  study, 
soon  discovered  that  they  must  decline  the 
honor  of  entertaining  this  gifted  guest, 
since  his  presence  amongst  them  entirely 
destroyed  the  quiet  of  their  monastery.  The 
incessant  coming  and  going  of  visitors  of 
every  rank  and  class — priests  and  laymen, 
politicians  and  princesses, — introducing 
the  atmosphere  of  the  busy  world  within  the 
precincts  of  the  tranquil  cloister,  threatened 
to  dispel  the  peace  of  mind,  as  it  disturbed 
the  devotions,  of  the  good  monks.  Con- 
sequently Liszt  received  an  intimation, 
couched  in  the  most  polite  terms,  from  the 
Dominicans  that  they  could  no  longer  keep 
him  under  their  roof.  He  then  came,  as  I 
have  already  said,  to  live  at  Santa  Francesca 
Romana,  where  he  remained  for  several 
years,  and  where  a  separate  suite  of  rooms, 
which  had  long  been  unused,  was  placed  at 
his  disposal. 

Liszt  never  could  understand  the  strange 
complications  in  which  our  poor  humanity 
is  involved  in  society;  he  was  essentially  a 
child  of  nature,  and  in  the  world  of  nature! 
his  instincts  never  misled  him.  Many  a 
time  have  I  heard  him  give  utterance  to 
opinions  and  feelings  marked  by  the  great- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


375 


est  prudence  and  the  soundest  good  sense; 
but  this  natural  tact  utterly  failed  him  in 
contact  with  the  artificial  surroundings  of 
society.  In  this  respect  he  resembled  a  but- 
terfly. Nature  has  bestowed  upon  that  fair 
but  frail  insect  the  instinct  to  avoid  the 
poisonous  flower  in  whose  fatal  sweetness 
it  would  find  the  death  which  it  presently 
courts  by  fluttering  round  a  lighted  lamp. 
And  why  is  this?  Because  artificial  light 
was  not  invented  until  long  after  the  eter- 
nal laws  of  nature  were  established. 

How  often  have  I  felt  in  the  society  of 
lyiszt  a  pleasure  which  I  have  never  expe- 
rienced except  when  talking  with  children ! 
In  our  long  walks  on  Mount  Palatine,  he 
used  to  lean  caressingly  on  my  arm,  and 
the  gentle  pressure  seemed  to  render  my 
steps  more  light,  just  as  the  child  whose 
little  arms  are  clasped  round  your  neck  is 
not  felt  to  be  a  burden,  but  rather  helps  to 
carry  your  thoughts  to  Heaven,  far  away 
from  care  and  sorrow,  from  the  disappoint- 
ments and  failures  that  bestrew  our  path  in 
life.  The  simplicity  of  Liszt  had  the  same 
eflfpct  on  me.  Assuredly  the  heart  that  beat 
in  Liszt's  breast  answered  ill  to  the  defini- 
tion given  by  Bichat:  Le  coeurest  un  muscle 
creux.  It  was  his  insatiable  longing  for  the 
ideal  that  made  the  realities  of  life  so  re- 
pugnant to  him,  and  led  him  to  acquire 
the  habit  of  looking  at  everything  through 
a  crystal  lens,  or  as  reflected  in  a  magic 
mirror. 

My  mother,  who  was  living  with  me  at 
Santa  Francesca,  was  very  fond  of  Liszt, 
because  she  believed  him  to  have  entered 
upon  his  ecclesiastical  career  through  the 
broad  portals  of  a  vocation,  instead  of  by 
the  backdoor  of  a  whimsical  caprice.  Liszt 
used  very  often  to  come  and  jee  her,  and 
they  frequently  heard  Mass  together  in  St. 
Sebastian's  Chapel,  on  the  spot  were  the 
Saint  was  pierced  with  arrows  by  order  of 
Diocletian.  After  Mass  the  maestro  would 
do  us  the  honor  of  breakfasting  with  us, 
then  he  sometimes  played  duets  with  me, 
but  we  all  prefeired  that  he  should  play  a 
sole.  He  would  never  play  any  but  classical 
music,  and  had  a  horror  of  Offenbach.  One 


day  when  he  came  to  our  hou^e  I  happened 
to  be  playing  Offenbach's  ^''Orphee  aux 
en/ers.''''  He  paused  an  instant  outside  the 
door,  then  entered,  exclaiming,  '"''Bravo^ 
bravissimof''  Bowing  low  both  to  the  music 
and  the  musician,  "Whatever  are  you  play- 
ing?" he  demanded.  I  felt  like  a  school- 
boy caught  in  flagrante  delicto^  and  imme- 
diately handed  him  the  notes  I  had  on  the 
music-stand  before  me.  Then  this  king  of 
pianists  began  attentively  to  examine  a 
style  of  music  which  was  unknown  to  him 
even  by  name,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  on  it 
for  a  considerable  time,  uttering  meanwhile 
various  exclamations  of  astonishment.  He 
next  turned  the  sheets  upside-down  and 
began  to  read  the  music  backwards.  Ac- 
customed as  I  was  to  see  him  do  far  stranger 
things  during  one  of  his  absent  fits,  I  gently 
endeavored  to  hint  that  he  was  making  a 
mistake.  "No,  no,"  he  replied,  "I  am  not 
making  a  mistake;  I  am  annoyed  to  find 
that  I  can  not  understand  this  music  when 
I  read  it  in  the  ordinary  manner,  and  so  I 
am  trying  to  read  it  upside-down,  in  the 
hope  of  comprehending  it  at  last. ' '  He  then 
closed  the  book,  and  placed  it,  not  where  it 
was  before,  but  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  giving  me  at  the  same  time  an 
expressive  glance  of  intense  disapproval. 
He  often  brought  some  of  his  numerous 
friends  to  my  house,  in  order  to  show  them 
the  ruins  of  the  Palace  of  the  Cse^rs.  One 
morning  he  made  his  appearance,  accom- 
panied by  an  English  Protestant  minister. 
I  really  can  not  say  to  what  sect  he  be- 
longed, for  Protestant  sects  may  be  counted 
by  the  hundred;  but  he  certainly  gloried  in 
the  term  "Protestant,"  which  he  consid- 
ered the  equivalent  of  "enlightened" ;  and 
he  consequently  adopted  a  tone  of  superi- 
ority when  addressing  Catholics,  whom  he 
regarded  as  his  inferiors.  Liszt  invited  him 
to  hear  Mass  with  us.  Afterwards,  when 
seated  at  the  breakfast- table,  he  assumed 
his  favorite  tone  of  superiority.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible," he  inquired,  addressing  Liszt, "that 
you,  a  man  of  such  intelligence,  a  genius  in 
fact,  can  actually  believe  in  the  Mass? 
And  you,  madam  "  (turning  to  my  mother), 


376 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"can  you  believe  that  Our  Lord  is  really 
present  in  the  Host  —  that  God  Himself 
comes  down  to  earth?"  Repressing  a  nat- 
ural movement  of  indignation,  my  mother 
answered:  "How  can  I  doubt,  sir,  that  God 
comes  down  to  earth  at  the  word  of  the 
priest,  since  I  know  how  often  He  vouch- 
safes to  make  His  dwe  ling  even  in  my 
heart?"  This  answer  silenced  the  "en- 
lightened" individual;  I  felt  proud  of  my 
mother,  and  Liszt,  ever  ready  to  pay  hom- 
age to  virtue,  gave  proof  of  his  admira- 
tion by  respectfully  raising  her  hand  to  his 
lips. 

Liszt  was  never  known  to  lose  his  self- 
possession  even  in  the  presence  of  the 
greatest  potentates.  When  the  late  Emperor 
of  Russia  invited  him  to  play  before  the 
court  of  St.  Petersburg,  the  former,  entered 
into  conversation  with  a  courtier  during  the 
performance.  Liszt  brok  e  off  abruptly,  and 
folded  his  arms  across  his  chest.  The  Em- 
peror noticing  this  defiant  gesture,  asked 
him  with  evident  annoyance  why  he  had 
left  off  playing  so  suddenly.  "Because  all 
must  be  silent,  sire,  when  the  Emperor 
speaks,"  was  the  great  pianist's  reply. 
(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Ingratitude  towards  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


THE  reputation  M.  Henri  Rochefort  has 
acquired  as  an  irreligious  writer  of  the 
Parisian  press  is  too  well  known  to  make 
it  necessary  to  recall  the  blasphemous 
outrages  he  has  daily  committed,  for  the 
last  twenty  years,  in  the  columns  of  La 
Lanterne  and  H  Intransigeant.  His  talent, 
which  is  undeniable,is  unhappily  expended 
in  the  cause  of  unbelief;  but  a  circum- 
stance, which  occurred  not  very  long  ago, 
reveals  his  character  in  a  still  more  disad- 
vantageous light — that  of  an  ingrate. 

Shortly  after  the  exhibition  in  Vienna  of 
the  scandalous  picture  of  Veraschagine,  M. 
Rochefort  wrote  an  article  attacking  the  vir- 
ginity of  Our  Blessed  Lady.  His  infamous 
aspersions  created  general  disgust,  and  a 
distinguished  publicist,  Paul  de  Cassagnac, 


whose  pen  is  always  at  the  service  of  relig- 
ion and  of  every  noble  cause,  incensed  at 
what  he  called  a  base  act  of  cowardice,  took 
occasion  to  relate  the  following  anecdote: 

A  duel  between  the  two  journalists  had 
been  decided  upon  for  some  political  differ- 
ence. On  the  ist  of  January,  1868,  the  two 
adversaries  stood  knee- deep  in  the  snow, 
at  a  distance  of  twenty  paces.  Rochefort 
fired  first,  and  missed  aim.  Paul  de  Cassa- 
gnac then  pointed  his  pistol,  and  Rochefort 
fell ;  he  had  been  struck  near  the  hip.  The 
seconds  hurried  round  him,  thinking  he 
was  killed,  or  at  least  seriously  wounded. 
To  their  great  surprise  he  was  uninjured, 
and  had  only  received  a  violent  shock.  On 
searching  in  his  clothes  for  the  bullet,  the 
surgeon  found  it  had  been  stopped  by  some- 
thing. They  ripped  a  seam,  and  discovered 
a  medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  which  a  pious 
hand  had  concealed  there  as  a  safeguard. 

This  ir  stance  of  miraculous  protection, 
which  he  so  little  deserved,  ought  to  have 
made  Rochefort  reflect  and  change  his  sin- 
ful course.  But  it  failed  to  do  so,  and  he 
has  so  completely  lost  the  memory  of  it 
that  he  now  insults  his  Benefactress.  His 
opponent,  on  the  other  hand,  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  the  occurrence,  and  on  the  eve  of 
his  marriage,  six  years  or  more  ago,  he  pub- 
licly announced  that  henceforth  he  would 
give  up  duelling,  as  a  practice  condemned 
by  the  Church. 


The  Propagation  of  the  Faith. 


FEW  good  works  are  more  commendable 
in  themselves,  or  have  been  more  ear- 
nestly recommended  to  the  faithful  by  the 
Vicars  of  Christ,  than  the  Propagation  of  the 
Faith.  Attention  has  ofien  been  called  to  it 
both  by  ecclesiastics  and  the  Catholic  press, 
but  we  regret  to  say  that  the  Association 
is  still  not  known  as  it  should  be  in  this 
country,  or  surely  it  would  be  more  gener- 
ously supported.  American  Catholics  ought 
to  be  among  its  most  zealous  members.  The 
alms  of  the  Association  were  liberally  con- 
tributed for  the  support  of  our  early  mis- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rn 


sions,  and  the  poorer  dioceses  of  the  United 
States  still  share  in  its  bounty. 

The  institution  was  founded  at  Lyons  in 
1823,  and  for  more  than  half  a  century  has 
been  the  mainstay  of  Catholic  missions  in 
pagan  lands.  It  obtained  the  approbation, 
prai>e,  and  encouragemcDt  of  Pius  VII.  on 
the  15th  of  March  of  the  same  year,  and 
subsequently  the  highest  recommendation 
from  Leo  XIL,  Pius  VIII.,  Gregory  XVI., 
and  Pius  IX. ;  it  has  also  been  blessed  and 
encouraged  by  Leo  XIII.  Its  object  is  the 
extension  of  the  Church, the  enlightenment 
of  those  "that  sit  in  darkness  and  in  the 
shadow  of  death " ' ;  the  deliverance  of  bar- 
barians and  infidels,  who  were  redeemed  by 
the  Precious  Blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  from 
the  condition  of  beasts  that  perish;  the  res- 
toration to  the  true  faith  of  heretics  who 
"have  erred  from  the  faith,  and  have  en- 
tangled themselves  in  many  sorrows" ;  and 
the  instruction  and  spiritual  re'freshment 
of  millions  of  Catholics  who,  for  want  of 
priests,  receive  no  religious  instruction,  and 
are  deprived  of  the  helps  of  the  Sacraments. 
Furthermore,  the  Work  of  the  Propagation 
of  the  Faith  tends  to  the  fulfilment  of  Our 
Lord's  prediction,  that  before  His  second 
coming  "the  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom  shall 
be  preached  in  the  whole  world. ' ' 

The  CO  operation  of  the  members  of  the 
Association  consists  in  daily  prayers  and  in 
the  contribution  of  only  one  cent  a  week 
towards  the  support  of  apostolic  laborers  in 
pagan  lands.  The  prayers  prescribed  are 
the  "Oar  Father"  and  the  "Hail  Mary," 
with  the  invocation, '  *  St.  Francis  Xavier, 
pray  for  us."  Could  the  lequirements  for 
membership  be  more  simple  or  easy  of  ful- 
filment? The  Association  is  organized  in 
bands  of  ten,  one  member  of  each  band 
collecting  the  alms,  and  passing  them  to 
the  head  of  ten  bands,  or  to  their  parish 
priest  or  bishop,  for  transmission  to  the 
General  Director  of  the  Work  at  Lyons. 

In  order  to  encourage  the  faithful  to  join 
this  noble  Association,  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tiflfs  have  granted  a  Plenary  Indulgence, 
on  the  usual  conditions  of  confession  and 
Communion,  with  fervent  prayer  for  the 


extension  of  the  Church  and  for  the  inten- 
tions of  the  Pope,  on  the  Feasts  cf  the  Find- 
ing of  the  Holy  Cross  and  of  St.  Francis 
Xavier,  the  patron  of  the  Association,  as 
well  as  on  one  day  of  each  month  at  choice; 
with  the  condition  also  of  visiting  the  pa- 
rochial church,  and  there  praying  as  above. 
Moreover,  there  ii  an  indulgence  of  one 
hundred  da}s  for  each  devout  recitation  of 
the  prescribed  prayers,  or  a  donation  made 
to  the  Foreign  Missions. 

Who  would  neglect  to  participate  in  so 
great  a  good,  to  support  so  noble  a  work? 
The  zeal  of  sectaries  in  disseminating  their 
errors  in  heathen  lands  ought  to  make 
many  Catholics  blush  for  shame  '  Doth  the 
charity  of  God  abide  in  us?'  We  hope  that 
all  our  readers  will  become  generous  sup- 
porters of  the  Work  of  the  Propagation  of 
the  Faith  and  pray  fervently  for  its  spread 
in  the  United  States. 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  the  prom- 
inence so  fittingly  given  to  his  Eminence 
Cardinal  Gibbons  at  the  late  centennial  com- 
memoration of  the  adoption  of  the  Constitu- 
tion should  pass  without  exciting  the  rancor  of 
the  Protestant  press.  However  true  it  may  be 
that  among  the  non-Catholics  of  our  country 
there  generally  prevails  a  spirit  of  respect  and 
deference  towards  the  Catholic  in  the  exercise 
of  his  religion,  yet  bigotry  is  far  from  being 
removed,  and  it  would  seem,  with  few  excep- 
tions, to  be  concentrated  in  Protestant  period- 
icals. Accordingly  we. find  the  Presbyterian 
Journal,  of  Philadelphia,  bitterly  denouncing 
the  invitation  to  Cardinal  Gibbons  as  an  at- 
tempt to  "sell  out  and  humiliate  a  Protestant 
city  and  a  Protestant  nation."  This  utterance 
is  rebuked  by  a  Protestant  journal  not  wholly 
blinded  by  bigotry,  which  observes  that ' '  our 
Government  is  not  a  Protestant  government, 
nor  is  our  Constitution  a  Protestant  consti- 
tution, any  more  than  they  are  Catholic.  Cath- 
olics are  as  much  citizens  as  Protestants,  and 
the  acceptance  of  Cardinal  Gibbons  ought  not 
be  made  the  occasion  of  hostile  criticism. ' ' 


An  interesting  tribute  from  a  distinguished 
poet  to  a  great  priest  is  contained  in  the  re- 


37^ 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


ply  of  Whittier  to  an  invitation  given  him 
to  attend  the  celebration,  at  Salem,  Mass.,  of 
the  birth  of  Father  Matthew.  Mr. Whittier 
wrote: 

' '  I  regret  that  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  be 
present  at  the  dedication  of  the  monument  to 
Father  Matthew,  of  blessed  memory.  The  whole 
world,  Catholic  and  Protestant,  can  do  honor  to 
such  a  man.  Would  that  his  mantle  might  fall 
on  other  apostles  of  temperance,  and  the  world  be 
delivered  from  one  of  the  greatest  curses  that 
ever  afflicted  it!' 

A  recent  issue  of  the  Catholic  News  contains 
an  account  of  an  oil-painting  of  Our  Lady  of 
Good  Counsel,  which  was  presented,  under 
somewhat  remarkable  circumstances,  to  the 
Rev  J.  B.  Boulet.  of  Tulalip,  W.  T.,  who  is  in 
charge  of  the  Catholic  Indian  missions  of 
Puget  Sound  and  the  vicinity.  It  appears  that' 
Father  Boulet,  having  been  attacked  last 
summer  with  a  malady  which  was  supposed 
to  be  incurable,  was  advised  by  the  donors  of 
the  painting  to  promise  that,  in  the  event  of 
his  being  cured,  he  would  dedicate  one  of  his 
newly-built  Indian  chapels  to  Our  Lady  of 
Good  Counsel:  the  friends  undertaking  to 
supply  an  appropriate  picture  wherewith  to 
adorn  the  chapel.  The  promise  was  made;  the 
good  missionary  was  cured,  and  now  a  splendid 
painting  of  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel  may 
be  seen  in  the  chapel  of  Her  name,  which 
was  built  about  a  year  ago  by  the  combined 
efforts  of  the  Indians  of  the  locality  and 
their  charitable  Eastern  friends. 


The  question  what  our  Catholic  masses  read 
is  one  which  does  not  attract  sufficient  atten- 
tion, and  the  importance  of  which  is  not  fully 
realized.  The  writer  of  a  very  sensible  letter  to 
the  Catholic  J^eview  points  out  that  many  de- 
vout and  exemplary  Catholics,  through  want 
of  direction  and  assistance,  read  themselves  or 
suffer  their  children  to  read  books  for  which 
the  term  "pernicious"  is  not  too  strong  an 
epithet.  Books  like  Ouida's  novels — books 
which  may  do  a  great  deal  of  harm  almost  in- 
sensibly to  the  readers — are  to  be  found  on 
the  tablesof  many  Catholics,  who  are  entirely 
ignorant  of  their  real  character.  We  altogether 
endorse  the  suggestion  made  by  the  writer  in 
the  Catholic  Review,  that  the  best  remedy  for 
this  state  of  things  is  for  every  parish  to  have 
a  first-class  library  with  a  judicious  selection 


of  books,  especially  of  story-books  and  unex- 
ceptionable novels. 

Not  long  ago  an  able  scientist  was  met  by 
a  priest  in  a  train  near  Manchester.  England. 
He  was  a  man  learned  in  his  department, 
clear  in  its  exposition  most  interesting  in  con- 
versation, but  avowing  himself  an  agnostic. 
When  they  parted  the  priest  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  said:  "  It  would  give  me  great 
satisfaction  if  I  could  think  you  would  pray 
at  least  the  prayer  of  the  dying  soldier  on  the 
battle-field — 'O  God!  if  there  be  a  God,  save 
my  soul,  if  I  have  a  soul.'  "  The  answer  was 
this:  "How  can  you  expect  me  to  address 
such  a  prayer,  when  I  know  not  whether 
there  is  a  being  to  whom  to  address  it  ?  "  Now, 
have  we  not  every  reason  to  fear  that  in 
this  case  there  was  a  real  turning  away  from 
the  truth  offered?  He  had  no  care  to  pray, 
because,  perhaps,  he  had  no  care  to  ascertain 
whether  there  was  a  divine  object  of  pra5'^er. 
Was  this  pursuing  the  path  of  a  real  philoso- 
pher? Take  the  contrary  case  A  missionary 
priest  penetrated  into  a  distant  region  of 
North  America,  where. probably,  the  foot  of  the 
white  man  had  never  trodden  before  He  met 
a  savage  in  the  extreme  of  old  age,  and  asked: 
* '  Do  you  ever  pray  to  the  Great  Spirit  ? ' '  The 
answer  was:  '  For  long  years  I  have  prayed 
every  day  that  if  there  be  a  Great  Spirit  above 
me,  He  would  vouchsafe  to  teach  me  Him- 
self." "Your  prayer  is  answered,"  said  the 
priest,  who  began  thereupon  to  instruct  the 
savage  in  the  faith.  His  words  were  received 
as  a  thirsty  man  drinks  in  water.  The  savage 
made  his  act  of  faith,  was  baptized,  and  died 
an  hour  afterwards.  Contrast  these  two — the 
willing  and  the  unwilling,  the  accepting  and 
the  rejecting,  the  yearning  and  the  self-satis- 
fied,—and  say  which  is  the  truest  philosopher. 


What  the  Indian  can  do  if  he  is  only  given 
a  show  was  well  exemplified  by  the  account 
given  in  the  Spokane  Review  of  the  meeting 
of  Seltice,  the  Coeur  d'Alene  chief,  with  Presi- 
dent Cleveland.  The  President  was  inforfned 
of  the  advance  in  civilization  among  the  Coeur 
d'Alene  tribe,  and  his  attention  was  drawn  to 
the  fact  that  they  have  never  cost  the  Govern- 
ment one  cent  of  expense  for  their  support. 
In  testimony  of  his  recognition  of  these  facts, 
the  President  presented  the  chief  with  a  large 
silver  medal.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


379 


adds  the  Spokane  Review,  that  the  instructors 
of  the  Cceur  d' Alenes  are  the  Jesuit  Fathers. 


His  Eminence  Cardinal  Manning,  in  a  letter 
recently  addressed  to  the  Bishop  of  Ross,  pays 
the  following  memorable  tribute  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  Irish  people: 

"...  I  am  always  saying  that  the  Irish  are  the 
most  profoundly  Christian  people  in  the  world. 
No  other  is  so  peaceable,  so  forgiving,  or.  when 
they  can  be,  so  grateful ;  aod  these  are  high  and 
rare  Christian  graces.  The  reaction  in  England 
towards  Ireland  is  on  every  side,  and  the  confi- 
dence shown  by  Ireland  towards  the  English  peo- 
ple is  hastening  on  the  day  of  justice.  I  am  in  my 
eightieth  year,  but  I  hope  to  live  to  see  it." 


Speaking  of  Sir  Charles  Young,  of  whose 
conversion  and  death  we  made  mention  in  a 
recent  issue,  the  Atlas  remarks  that  he  was  a 
man  of  deeply  religious  views  long  before  he 
took  the  step  of  joining  the  Church,  some  six 
months  before  his  death.  He  was  for  many 
years  secretary  of  the  famous  High  Church 
Organization  known  as  the  English  Church 
Union,  several  of  whose  officials  and  promi- 
nent members  had  "gone  over"  before  him; 
his  favorite  study  was  controversial  theology, 
of  which  he  owned  a  remarkably  fine  library. 


The  election  of  a  priest  to  the  position  of 
principal  of  one  of  the  public  schools  in  Pitts- 
burg has  caused  no  little  sensation  in  that 
city,  as  it  is  the  first  time  on  record  that  a 
Catholic  priest  has  been  called  upon  to  fill 
such  an  office.  Father  McTighe's  reason  for 
seeking  the  post  is  an  excellent  one — viz., 
that  in  the  ward  to  which  the  school  belongs 
there  are  over  four  hundred  Catholic  children, 
and  not  above  thirty  or  forty  of  any  other 
denomination.  The  priest  claims,  and  rightly, 
that  as  Catholic  people  pay  most  of  the  school 
taxes  in  the  ward,  they  should  have  some  of 
the  benefits. 

In  a  well-written  article  in  the  New  York 
Independent,  from  the  pen  of  a  Protestant  min- 
ister there  are  some  striking  facts  pointed  out 
with  respect  to  the  religious  reaction  which 
is  now  taking  place  in  Mexico,  and  it  is  con- 
clusively shown  that  this  reaction  is  in  favor 
of  the  religion  which  the  writer  calls ' '  Roman 
Catholicism,"  New  churches  are  being  con- 
structed and  old  ones  repaired;  Catholic 
schools  are  being  established  on  an  extensive  ' 


scale,  and  there  is  a  great  increase  in  the  pil- 
grimages to  sacred  shrines.  Last  and  most  im- 
portant of  all,  there  is  being  manife:>ted  every- 
where an  increasing  devotion  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  under  the  title  of  Our  Lady  of  Guada- 
loupe;  nearly  a  million  dollars  have  been 
raised  with  which  to  provide  a  worthy  crown 
for  Her  image.  Surely  She  who  uproots  all 
heresies  will  not  fail  to  bless  these  marks  of 
honor. 


Obituary. 


"  //  ;.f  a  holy  and  luholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

-  »  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  p)ersons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  J.  P.  Madden,  D.D.,who  departed  this 
life  at  St.  Meinrad's  Abbey,  Ind.,  on  the  2d  inst. 
Dr.  Madden  was  widely  known  in  Canada,  where 
he  labored  for  many  years  as  a  missionary;  and 
in  the  United  States  as  an  able  professor  of  phi- 
losophy and  theology. 

The  Rev.  Bonaventure  Meier,  who  died  on  the 
26th  ult.,  at  St.  Mary's  Hospital,  Evansville,  Ind., 
after  a  lingering  and  painful  illness. 

Sister  Mary  Joseph  (Miss  Eliza  Phelan),who 
was  called  to  the  reward  of  her  devoted  life  some 
months  ago  at  St.  Joseph's  Academy,  Philadel- 
phia. She  had  been  a  religious  nearly  thirty  years. 

Miss  Annie  F.  Browne,  a  zealous  friend  of  The 
"Ave  Maria."  in  Elizabeth.  N.J. .whose  happy 
death  occurred  on  the  30th  of  August. 

Mr.  Patrick  Kane,  who  breathed  his  last  at 
Charlotte.  Iowa,  on  the  24th  ult.  He  bore  a  long 
and  painful  illness  with  admirable  patience,  edify- 
ing all  who  visited  him. 

James  A.  Lynch,  of  Pittsburg,  who  passed  away 
on  the  14th  of  September,  fortified  by  the  last  Sac- 
raments. 

John  R . .  eldest  son  of  Mrs.  C.  E.  Agnew,  of 
Marengo,  Iowa,  who  rendered  his  soul  to  God  on 
the  23d  ult.,  during  a  visit  to  New  York. 

Mr.  William  H.  Doyle  a  most  devoted  servant 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose  precious  death  took 
place  in  Shanghai.  For  many  years  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  receive  Holy  Communion  every  week, 
and  never  failed  to  recite  the  Rosary  daily.  Mr. 
Doyle  was  one  of  the  first  subscribers  to  The 
"Ave  Maria"  in  China,  and  remained  one  of  its 
warmest  friends. 

Neil  Dougherty  and  John  Bonnes,  of  Chester, 
Pa.;  Mrs.  Joseph  Creighton,  Omaha;  Mrs.  Isa- 
bella O'Reilly,  San  Francisco;  Patrick  Cosgrove, 
Elwyn,  Pa. ;  Mrs.  Mary  Lucey  and  Miss  Ellen 
Lucey,  Maiden,  Mass.;  Margaret  O'Connor,  Al- 
bany, N.  Y. ;  and  Patrick  Murray,  Melleray,  Iowa. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


380 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PAHTMENT 


Angel  Friends. 


iPiUR  guardian  angels!  patient,  kind, 
^    And  full  of  tender  love  and  true, — 
A  wiser  and  more  earnest  love 

Than  human  being  ever  knew; 
To  whom  God  giveth  heavenly  light 
To  guide  our  faltering  steps  aright. 

In  darkest  night,  in  loneliest  path, 
In  wildest  storm  we  need  not  fear; 

For  God  hath  given  His  angels  charge, 
Where'er  we  are,  to  hover  near; 

And  faintest  word  of  humblest  prayer 

They  hear,  and  unto  heaven  bear. 

Our  angel  friends!  on  wide,  swift  wings 
God  sends  them  to  us  from  above. 

Each  bearing  to  our  wistful  hearts 
New  revelations  of  His  love; 

For  all  their  love  of  us  is  still 

But  glad  obedience  to  His  will. 


From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes. 


(Continued.) 

On  arriving  at  the  entrance  of  the  first 
street,  Marco  stopped  a  man,  and  begged 
liini  to  show  him  what  direction  he  should 
take  in  order  to  reach  the  street  del  los 
Artes,  The  passer-by  chanced  to  be  an 
Italian  working-man.  He  surveyed  the  lad 
with  curiosity,  and  inquired  if  he  knew  how 
to  read.  Marco  nodded,  "Yes."  "Well, 
then,"  said  the  other,  pointing  to  the  street 
from  which  he  had  just  emerged,  "keep 
straight  on  through  there,  reading  the 
names  of  all  the  streets  on  the  corners;  you 
will  end  by  finding  the  one  you  want." 
The  boy  thanked  him,  and  turned  into  the 
street  which  opened  before  him. 

It  was  a  straight  though  very  narrow 
street,  bordered  by  low  white  houses,  and 
•crowded  with  people,  with  carriages,  with 


carts  which  made  a  deafening  noise;  here 
and  there  floated  enormous  banners  of  vari- 
.  ous  hues,  with  announcementsof  thedepart- 
ure  of  steamers  for  strange  cities  in>cribed 
upon  them  in  large  letter.-.  At  every  little 
distance  along  the  street,  on  the  right  and 
left,  Marco  perceived  two  other  streets  which 
ran  straight  on  as  far  as  he  could  see,  also 
bordered  by  low  while  houses,  filled  with 
people  and  vehicles,  and  bounded  at  their 
extremity  by  the  level  line  of  the  measure- 
less plains  of  America,  like  the  horizon  at 
sea. 

The  city  seemed  without  limit  to  him; 
he  fancied  that  he  might  wander  for  weeks, 
seeing  other  streets  like  these  on  one  hand 
and  on  the  other,  and  that  all  America 
must  be  covered  with  them.  He  looked 
attentively  at  the  names  of  the  streets — 
strange  names  which  cost  him  an  efibrt  to 
read.  At  every  fresh  street  he  felt  his  heart 
beat  at  the  thought  that  it  might  be  the 
one  he  was  in  search  of.  He  stared  at  all 
the  women  he  met,  thinking  of  his  mother. 
And,  accelerating  his  pace,  he  walked  on 
and  on. 

Arriving  at  the  cross-street,  he  read  and 
stood  as  though  rooted  to  the  sidewalk.  It 
was^:he  street  del  los  Artes.  He  turned  into 
it,  and  saw  the  number  117;  his  cousin's 
shop  was  No.  175.  He  quickened  his  pace, 
and  almost  ran;  at  No.  171  he  had  to  pause 
to  regain  his  breath.  And  he  said  to  him- 
self: "O  my  mother!  my  mother!  Is  it 
really  true  that  I  shall  see  you  in  another 
moment  ? ' '  He  ran  on,  and  arrived  at  a  little 
haberdasher's  shop.  This  was  it.  He  stepped 
up  close  to  it,  and  saw  a  woman  with  gray 
hair  and  spectacles. 

' '  What  do  you  want,  boy  ? ' '  she  asked 
in  Spanish. 

"Is  this  the  shop  of  Francesco  Merelli?" 
said  the  little  wanderer,  making  an  effort 
to  speak. 

"  Francesco  Merelli  is  dead, "  replied  the 
woman,  this  time  in  Italian. 

The  boy  felt  as  though  he  had  received 
a  blow. 

"When  did  he  die?"  he  asked. 

"I^uite  a  while  ago — months  ago.  His 


The  Ave  Maria. 


381 


affairs  were  in  a  bad  state,  and  he  ran  away. 
They  say  he  went  to  Bahia  Blanca — very 
far'from  here, — and  died  just  after  arriving 
there.  The  shop  is  mine  now. " 

The  boy  turned  pale.  Then  he  said, 
quickly:  "Merelli  knew  my  mother, — my 
mother  who  was  at  service  with  Signor 
Mequinez.  He  alone  could  tell  me  where 
she  is.  I  have  come  to  America  to  find  my 
mother.  Merelli  used  to  send  her  our  letters. 
I  must  find  my  mother. ' ' 

"Poor  child!"  sighed  the  woman;  *'I 
don't  know.  I  can  ask  the  boy  in  the  court- 
yard. He  knew  the  young  man  who  did 
Merelli's  errands,  and  may  be  able  to  tell 
us  something." 

She  went  to  the  end  of  the  shop  and 
called  the  lad,  who  came  instantly.  "Tell 
me,"  she  said,  "do  you  remember  whether 
Merelli's  young  man  went  occasionally  to 
carry  letters  to  a  woman  in  service  in  the 
country  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  signora,  sometimes  he  did, — at  the 
end  of  the  street  del  los  Artes^^''  replied  the 
lad. 

"Ah,  thanks,  signora!"  cried  Marco. 
'' '  Tell  me  the  number,  please,  if  you  know 
it.  Send  some  one  with  me;  come  with  me  " 
{turning  to  the  boy);  "I  have  still  a  few 
soldi." 

And  he  said  this  with  so  much  warmth 
that,  with  out  waiting  for  the  woman's  con- 
sent, the  boy  replied,  "Come,"  and  at  once 
set  out  at  a  rapid  pace. 

They  proceeded  almost  at  a  run,  without 
uttering  a  word,  to  the  end  of  the  extremely 
long  street,  made  their  way  into  the  en- 
trance of  a  little  white  house,  and  halted 
in  front  of  a  handsome  iron  gate,  through 
which  they  could  see  a  small  yard,  filled 
with  vases  of  flowers.  Marco  pulled  the 
bell-rope,  and  a  young  lady  made  her  ap- 
pearance. 

"Does  the  Mequinez  family  live  here ? " 
demanded  the  lad,  anxiously. 

"They  did  live  here  some  time  ago," 
replied  the  young  lady,  pronouncing  her 
Italian  in  Spanish  fashion;  "but  now  we 
— the  Zeballos — are  in  possession  of  the 
place." 


"And  whither  have  the  others  gone?" 
asked  Marco,  his  heart  palpitating. 

"They  have  gone  to  Cordova." 

"Cordova!"  cried  the  boy.  "Where  is 
Cordova?  And  the  person  whom  they  had 
in  their  service — the  woman — my  mother? 
Their  servant  was  my  mother.  Have  they 
taken  my  mother  away,  too?" 

The  young  lady  looked  at  him  and  said: 
"I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  my  father  can 
tell  you.  Wait  a  moment,  please." 

She  ran  away,  and  soon  returned  with  her 
father — a  tall  gentleman,  with  gray  beard. 
He  looked  intently  for  a  minute  at  this 
sympathetic  type  of  a  little  Genoese  sailor, 
with  his  golden  hair  and  his  aquiline  nose, 
and  asked  him  in  broken  Italian  if  his 
mother  was  a  Genoese.  Marco  replied  that 
she  was. 

"Well,  the  Genoese  maid  went  with 
them;  that  I  know  for  certain." 

The  boy  gave  a  sigh,  then  said  with  res- 
ignation: "I  will  go  to  Cordova." 

'  'Ah,  poor  child ! ' '  exclaimed  the  gentle- 
man, "Cordova  is  hundreds  of  miles  from 
here." 

Marco  turned  as  white  as  a  corpse,  and 
clung  with  one  hand  to  the  railings. 

"Let  us  see,"  said  the  gentleman,  moved 
to  pity,  and  opening  the  door;  "come  in- 
side a  moment,  and  I'll  see  if  anything  can 
be  done  for  you." 

He  sat  down,  gave  the  boy  a  seat  beside 
him,  and  made  him  tell  his  story.  He  lis- 
tened very  attentively,  meditated  a  while, 
then  asked :  ' '  Have  you  any  money  ? ' ' 

"I  still  have  some — a  little, "  answered 
Marco. 

The  gentleman  went  to  a  desk,  wrote  a 
letter,  sealed  it,  and  handed  it  to  the  boy, 
saying,  "Listen,  my  child.  Take  this  letter 
to  Boca — a  little  city,  half  Genoese,  that 
lies  two  hours'  journey  from  here.  Any  one 
will  be  able  to  show  you  the  road.  When 
you  arrive  there,  inquire  for  the  gentleman 
to  whom  this  letter  is  addressed,  and  give  it 
to  him.  He  will  send  you  off  to  the  town 
of  Rosario  to-morrow,  and  will  recommend 
you  to  a  person  there,  who  will  find  a  way 
of  enabling  you  to  pursue  your  journey  to 


382 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Cordova,  where  you  will  find  the  Mequinez 
family  and  your  mother.  Take  this  also," 
and  he  placed  in  his  hand  a  few  lire.  ' '  Go, 
and  keep  up  your  courage;  you  will  find 
fellow-countrymen  of  youis  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  you  will  not  be  deserted.  Adiosf ' ' 

The  boy  said,  "Thanks,"  without  find- 
ing  any  other  word  to  express  himself,  and, 
having  taken  leave  of  his  little  guide,  he 
set  out  slowly  in  the  direction  of  Boca. 

Everything  that  happened  to  him  from 
that  moment  until  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  lingered  ever  afterwards  in  his  memory 
in  a  confused  and  uncertain  form,  like  the 
wild  vagaries  of  a  person  in  a  fever,  so 
weary  was  he,  and  so  despondent.  And  at 
dusk  on  the  following  day,  after  having 
slept  over  night  in  a  poor  little  chamber  in  a 
house  in  Boca, beside  a  harbor  porter;  after 
having  passed  nearly  the  whole  of  that  day 
seated  on  a  pile  of  beams,  and,  as  in  delir- 
ium,in  sight  of  thousands  of  ships,he  found 
himself  on  the  poop  of  a  large  sailing-vessel 
bound  for  the  town  of  Rosario,  which  was 
managed  by  three  robust  Genoese.  Their 
voices  and  the  dialect  which  they  spoke 
brought  comfort  to  Marco's  heart  once 
more. 

They  set  out,  and  the  voyage  lasted  three 
days  and  four  nights,  and  was  a  continual 
amazement  to  the  little  traveller.  Three 
days  and  four  nights  on  the  wonderful  River 
Parana,  in  comparison  with  which  the  Po 
is  but  a  rivulet!  They  advanced  slowly, 
threading  their  way  among  islands  once 
the  haunts  of  serpents  and  tigers,  covered 
with  orange- trees  and  willows;  now  they 
passed  through  narrow  canals,  from  which 
it  seemed  as  though  they  could  never  issue 
forth;  then  they  sailed  out  on  expanses  of 
water  having  the  aspect  of  great,  tranquil 
lakes;  again  among  islands,  and  through 
the  channels  of  an  archipelago.  A  profound 
silence  reigned.  For  long  stretches  the 
shores  and  vast,  solitary  waters  produced  the 
impression  of  an  unknown  stream,  upon 
which  this  poor  little  sail  was  the  first  in 
all  the  world  to  venture.  The  farther  they 
advanced,  the  more  this  monstrous  river 
dismayed  Marco.    He  imagined   that  his 


mother  was  at  its  source,  and  that  their 
navigation  must  last  for  years. 

Twice  a  day  he  ate  a  little  bread  and 
salt  meat  with  the  boatmen,  who,  perceiv- 
ing that  he  was  sad,  never  addressed  a  word 
to  him.  At  night  he  slept  on  deck,  and 
woke  every  little  while  with  a  start,  as- 
tounded by  the  limpid  light  of  the  moon, 
which  silvered  the  immense  expanse  of 
water  and  the  distant  shores;  and  then  his 
heart  sank  within  him.  "Cordova!  Cor- 
dova!" he  repeated,  as  if  it  were  the  name 
of  one  of  those  mysterious  cities  of  which  he 
had  heard  in  fables.  But  then  he  thought, 
"My  mother  passed  this  spot;  she  saw  these 
islands,  these  shores";  and  then  these 
places  upon  which  the  glance  of  his  dear 
mother  had  fallen  no  longer  seemed  strange 
and  solitary  to  him.  At  night  one  of  the 
boatmen  sang.  The  voice  reminded  him  of 
his  mother' s  songs,  when  sh e  had  lul led  him 
to  sleep  as  a  little  child.  On  the  last  night, 
when  he  heard  that  song,  he  sobbed.  The 
boatman  exclaimed:  "Courage,  courage, 
my  son!  What!  a  Genoese  crying  because 
he  is  far  from  home ! ' ' 

At  these  words  the  boy  braced  himself 

up ;  he  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  Genoese 

blood,  and  he  raised  his  head  aloft  with 

pride,  dashing  his  fist  down  on  the  rudder. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and  if  I 

should  be  obliged  to  travel  for  years  and 

years  to  come,  all  over  the  world,  and  to 

traverse  hundreds  of  miles  on  foot,  I  will  go 

on  until  I  find  my  mother, were  I  to  arrive 

in  a  dying  condition,  and  fall  dead  at  her 

feet!   If  only  I  can  see  her  once  again! 

Courage!"    And  in  this  frame  of  mind  he 

arrived  at  daybreak,  on  a  cool  and  rosy 

morning,  in  front  of  the  city  of  Rosario^ 

situated  on  'a  high  bank  of  the  Parana, 

where  the  beflagged  yards  of  a  hundred 

vessels  of  every  land  were  mirrored  in  the 

wavelets. 

(to  be  continued.) 


If  you  would  not  be  forgotten  as  soon 
as  you  are  dead,  either  write  things  worth 
reading,  or  do  things  worth  writing. — 
Frankliti. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


383 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  Shrines  of  Our  Lady 
in  Austria. 


THE  MARIAHILPE  MADONNA. 

"  Mother  of  Sorrows,  many  a  heart 
Half  broken  by  despair 
Has  laid  its  burden  by  the  Cross, 
And  found  a  Mother  there." 

It  was  the  2otli  of  August,  the  Feast 
of  St.  Bernard,  and  after  the  eight  o'clock 
Mass  at  St.  Stephen's  we  turned  our  faces 
towards  the  shrine  of  Mariahilfe. 

From  the  Stefansplatz  through  the 
Kaertner-Strasse,  across  the  Opern-Ring  to 
the  Babenberger-Gasse,  the  way  is  direct 
into  the  Mariahilfe*  portion  of  the  im- 
perial city;  and,  although  it  is  a  long  walk 
to  the  church,  the  young  pilgrims  entered 
upon  it  joyously.  The  Mariahilfe-Strasse, 
which  lead?  to  Upper  Austria,  Salzburg, 
and  Southern  Germany,  is  entered  from  the 
Babenberger-Strasse.  It  is  narrow  and  steep 
at  first,  but  soon  grows  wider,  and  is  one  of 
the  finest  thoroughfares  in  Vienna.  Passing 
the  parish  church  of  St.  Joseph, we  still  go 
onward  to  the  infantry  barracks,  the  Stift- 
gasse  church,  noted  for  its  exquisitely  slen- 
der spire,  and  other  churches  and  barracks 
or  military  educational  establishments, 
which  succeed  one  another  in  almost  uni- 
form precision ;  and  pause  at  last  on  the  left, 
at  the  old  parish  church  of  Mariahilfe,  built 
in  1 7 13,  by  Prince  Esterhazy. 

The  monument  to  Joseph  Haydnf  stands 
on  the  square  in  front  of  the  church;  for 
it  was  in  this  portion  of  the  city  he  lived 
while  writing  several  of  his  most  celebrated 
works. 

"The  memory  of  good  old  Papa  Haydn, 
as  he  was  called,  is  well  worth  a  pilgrim- 
age," said  Roberta,  gazing  up  to  the  pure, 
calm  face  of  the  master.  ' '  I  am  glad  he  is 
represented  standing,  and  looking  upward 


*  A  suburb  of  Vienna,  called  "Mary's  Help." 

t  Unveiled  May  31,  1887.  Haydngasse,  a  street 

in  Mariahilfe,  is  named  from  the  great  master,  who 

resided  here  vphile  writing  the  "Creation"  and 

"The  Seasons." 


for  that  inspiration  which  surely  came  from 
Heaven." 

"And  right  here,  before  the  door  of  the 
church,"  observed  Hilda, — "the  parish 
church  where  he  heard  his  own  Masses 
sung!  Ah,  if  only  an  echo  of  them,  as  he 
heard  them,  could  reach  us  now!" 

It  was  time  for  the  noonday  Mass,  but  all 
was  silent  as  we  entered  the  quaint,  odd 
edifice,  built  in  that  peculiarly  uneven  style 
called  baroque^  exquisitely  frescoed,  and 
with  towers  of  singular  grace  and  architect- 
ural beauty.  The  miracle-working  picture 
of  Our  Lady, to  which  the  daily  pilgrimages 
are  made,  hangs  above  the  high  altar.  It  is  a 
sweet,  motherly  face,  with  folded  hands  and 
downcast  eyes.  No  one  knows  from  whence 
or  how  it  came  there;  it  has  no  particular 
story;  it  has  always  been  loved  and  rever- 
enced by  the  poor,  and  from  them  arise  the 
numerous  accounts  of  its  miraculous  cures 
in  illness,  its  aid  in  necessity,  its  comfort  in 
afiiiction. 

As  at  St.  Stephen's,  the  space  before  the 
picture  was  crowded  with  kneeling  wor- 
shippers. They  were  all  poor  people — wives 
of  laborers  returning  home  with  empty 
dinner-  cans,  or  seamstresses  with  their  bun- 
dles of  work.  A  few  old  men  and  women, 
crippled  with  rheumatism  or  helpless  from 
paralysis,  sat  praying  there  in  the  calm 
stillness  of  the  old  church,  dim  even  at  mid- 
day with  depths  of  shadow  from  arch  and 
architrave  and  heavily  mullioned  windows, 
where  the  stained  glass  was  covered  with 
the  dust  of  years.  The  prayer  of  faith  from 
believing  hearts  brings  its  own  reply,  and 
the  lovely  face  of  the  Blessed  Mother  be- 
yond the  golden  crucifix,  dimly  outlined 
above  the  Presence  lamp,  was  to  these  faith- 
ful ones  a  visible  sign  of  the  sure  piromises 
of  God.  The  picture  is  the  chief  attraction 
of  the  Mariahilfe  shrine,  and  pious  suppli- 
ants are  ever  kneeling  before  it,  from  early 
dawn  until  the  evening  Angelus  sounds 
from  the  belfry  tower,  and  the  chimes 
ring  out  at  Benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament, when  the  doors  are  closed  at  night- 
fall. 

We  reached  the  church  in  time  for  the: 


384 


The  Ave  Maria. 


noon  Mass.*  Young  maidens  with  their 
governesses,  children  and  their  nurses,  offi- 
cers from  the  neighboring  barracks,  and  a 
few  tourists,  made  up  the  congregation. 

Kneeling  at  the  chancel  railing,  Hilda 
noticed  a  poor  woman  close  by,  vainly  at- 
tempting to  rise  from  the  pavement.  Her 
feet  and  hands  were  crippled  with  rheuma- 
tism and  age,  and  the  eflfort  she  made  to 
manage  her  crutch,  and  a  small  tin  pail 
fastened  to  her  right  arm,  was  pitiful.  In- 
stantly the  young  girl  was  beside  her. 

' '  Let  me  help  you,  mutterchen^ ' '  f  said 
the  kind  young  voice,  and,  with  an  arm 
thrown  around  her,  Hilda  lifted  the  poor 
creature  to  her  feet.  "Now  shall  I  lead  you 
to  the  doorway,  or  do  you  remain  here?" 

'  ''Ach^  liebes  kind,  Maria  hat  geholfen! ' '  % 
murmured  the  woman,  and,  making  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross  on  the  fair  forehead  of 
the  girl,  begged  to  be  led  to  the  almoner's 
door,  where  the  daily  dole  of  soup  and  bread 
is  given. 

Slowly  down  the  aisle,leaning  on  Hilda's 
arm,  the  cripple  went,  and  together  they 
sought  the  almoner's  door. 

"Give  me  your  pail,  little  mother,"  said 
the  girl;  "and  while  you  sit  here  at  the 
base  of  ^^  Haydn  Denkmal%  I  will  bring 
you  soup  and  bread." 

The  grayheaded  almoner  looked  aston- 
ished at  the  fair-haired,  elegantly  attired 
Hilda  as  she  held  out  the  pail  for  her  por- 
tion of  soup;  but  she  pointed  to  the  cripple, 
^s  she  took  a  thick  slice  of  bread  in  her 
daintily  gloved  hand,  and  turned  to  depart. 

"Blessed  are  the  merciful!"  whispered 
the  old  priest,  gazing  after  her  as  he  slowly 
filled  the  bowls  of  other  petitioners;  then  as 
Roberta,  who  had  followed  Hilda,  slipped 
a  gold  piece  into  his  hand, saying,  "For 
•God's  poor,"  he  laid  down  his  ladle,  and 
raising  his  hand  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
after  her  quickly  retreating  figure,  saying 


*  In  the  principal  churches  of  Vienna  Mass  is 
said  every  hour  from  five  in  the  morning  until 
3ioon. 

t  Little  mother,  a  term  of  kindly  endearment. 

X  Ah,  loved  child,  Mary  has  helped  me! 

I  Haydn's  monument. 


in  a  voice  full  of  pathos  and  thanksgiving, 
"Ah,  fair  child,  take  from  these  destitute 
gathered  here  the  richest  of  guerdons — the 
blessing  of  God's  poor! " 

Hand  in  hand  the  young  pilgrims  went 
down  the  crowded  thoroughfare,  and  never 
spoke  until  they  reached  the  hotel. 

"Our  pilgrimage  has  already  brought  us 
a  rich  blessing,"  said  Hilda. 

"The beatitude  and  blessing  of  earth  and 
Heaven,"  answered  Roberta;  "and  yet  we 
really  did  nothing  but  a  little  natural  kind- 
ness and  a  slight  giving  of  alms." 

"It  is  the  little  kindnesses  and  thought- 
ful generosities  of  life,  my  children,  which 
show  the  true  Christian,"  said  Madame 
Veronique,  who  had  seen  the  two  girls  do- 
ing their  errands  of  love.  "  It  is  never  nec- 
essary to  go  out  of  the  way  to  do  some  great 
deed  of  charity :  daily  life  is  full  of  just  such 
opportunities,  if  only  you  have  eyes  to  see 
and  hearts  to  heed  the  call  without  thought 
or  hope  of  reward." 

"Yes,  small  things  are  best,"  remarked 
Hilda.  "I'm  sure  the  life  of  our  Blessed 
Mother  was  made  up  of  daily  duties  and 
neighborly  kindnesses. ' ' 

"And  silence,"  added  Roberta.  "She 
kept  all  things,  and  pondered  them  in  Her 
heart.  Oh,  if  we  could  only  have  the  wis- 
dom to  be  like  Her— to  be  always  guided 
by  the  Holy  Spiiit  of  God,  to  show  forth 
the  gifts  of  the  Spirit  in  thought  and  act! " 

* '  Then  let  us  make  these  our  pilgrimages 
special  acts  of  devotion  to  the  Holy  Spirit! " 
exclaimed  Hilda.  "God  has  been  so  good 
to  us  that  we  have  few  necessities  of  life  to 
pray  for  at  Our  Lady's  shrine:  let  us  ask 
for  the  sevenfold  gifts  of  the  Spirit,  to  guide 
and  control  our  earthly  lives." 

Roberta  bowed  her  head  in  acquiescence, 
and  Madame  Veronique  whispered : 

"Spirit  of  Peace,  give  them  Thy  peace." 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


From  his  early  youth,  St.  Philip  Neri  let 
no  day  pass  without  honoring  the  Blessed 
Virgin  by  some  pious  practice,  or  some  ex- 
ercise of  charity  or  self-denial. 


^H^ 


->^^^s5P<5^t^<^^^^r^^^^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  22,  1887. 


No.   17. 


rCoprrif  ht :— Bit.  D.  E.  HonoB,  0.  B.  C] 

Holy  and  Blessed  Three. 


BY    C.    W.    S. 

LIOLY!  holy!  holy! 
^  ^    Holy  and  blessed  Three! 
Jesus  and  Mary  and  Joseph, 
Help  and  compassion  me. 

Holy!  holy!  holy! 

Gentle  as  lamb  could  be: 
Saviour,  Messiah,  Redeemer — 

Light  of  the  world  was  He. 

Holy!  holy!  holy! 

Mother  most  pure  was  She: 
Refuge  of  Sipners,  whose  ransom 

Setteth  the  bondman  free. 

Holy!  holy!  holy! 

Spouse  of  the  Virgin;  we 
Pray  thee  to  lighten  and  lessen 

Sorrows  we  can  not  flee. 

Jesus,  Mary,  Joseph, — 
Holy  and  blessed  Three! 

Help  and  compassion  a  sinner — 
Help  and  compassion  me. 


The  Mirro.r  of  Justice. 


LTHOUGH  ever  conquered  and  put 
to  shame,  from  the  time  of  Lucifer's 
appearance  as  a  serpent  in  Eden 
until  now,  hell  does  not  cease  the  attempt 
to  destroy  the  Church,  at  one  time  trying 
by  force  and  violence  to  engulf  her  in  an 
avalanche  of  persecutions;  at  another  time 


unchaining  against  her  the  hell-dogs  of 
schism  to  destroy  her  unity;  then  trying  to 
involve  her  in  a  whirlpool  of  heresy ;  again 
corrupting  the  atmosphere  of  morality  by 
the  epidemic  of  immorality,  to  infect  her 
blood  and  destroy  her  life. 

It  is  by  means  of  this  triple  warfare  of 
brute  force  against  the  Good,  of  schism  and 
heresy  against  the  True,  of  degradation 
and  corruption  against  the  Beautiful,  that 
the  powers  of  hell,  in  combination  with  the 
world  aud  the  flesh,  have  not  ceased  and  will 
not  cease  to  combat  the  Church,  whether 
openly,  like  Nero,  or  secretly  by  cunning 
and  hypocrisy,  like  Julian;  but  always  with 
the  same  result — of  shameful  defeat  for 
them,  and  cf  glorious  victory  for  the  Spouse 
of  Christ.  For  it  is  written:  "The  gates  of 
hell  shall  not  prevail." 

Under  God,  it  is  to  Mary,  Help  of  Chris- 
tians, that  the  Church  is  indebted  for  her 
constant  victories  over  her  enemies,  as  the 
Church  herself  confesses  and  proclaims: 
Gaude  Maria  Virgo^  cunctas  hcsreses  sola 
interemisti in  universo  mundOy — ' '  Rejoice, 
O  Virgin  Mary !  Thou  alone  hast  destroyed 
all  heresies  in  the  whole  world, "  When  our 
Blessed  Lady  lived  upon  the  earth  She  was 
directly  the  Mirror  of  Justice  only  in  one 
particular  place — wherever  She  happened 
to  be  actually  present;  for  instance,  in  Naz- 
areth, Jerusalem,  Ephesus,  etc.  But  after 
She  was  taken  up  into  heaven,  in  propor- 
tion as  the  Church  continues  to  expand  in 
space  and  time,  the  reflection  of  the  Spe- 
culum Marianum  from  the  zenith  of  Her 


386 


The  Ave  Maria. 


heavenly  glory  follows  step  by  step,  or 
rather  precedes  and  smooths  the  way,  re- 
moving obstacles,  so  that,  as  Catholic^  the 
Church  may  expand,  without  limit  of  time 
or  place,  to  all  generations  and  to  all  places. 
The  beneficial  influence  of  the  Specu- 
lum Marianum  near  the  Sun  of  Justice  in 
heaven  is  and  will  be  continuous  on  the 
Church  militant  and  suflfering,  although 
there  are  particular  times  when  this  reflec- 
tion is  extraordinary — its  light  more  daz- 
zling and  its  heat  more  intense.  These 
times  and  places,  distinguished  by  a  greater 
abundance  of  spiritual  and  even  temporal 
graces,  constitute  as  it  were  so  many  centres 
of  light,  heat,  and  growth.  Fixing  the  eyes 
of  our  soul  on  the  Speculum  Marianum 
principally  there  where  extraordinary  light 
and  fervor  are  reflected,  our  mind  receives 
more  light  of  grace,  our  heart  more  fervor 
of  charity,  our  will  more  determination  and 
energy  in  well-doing;  our  spirit  penetrates 
more  deeply  into  the  limitless  ocean  of  the 
Divinity,  and  understands  better  the  nature, 
attributes,  and  perfections  of  God. 

Those  times  and  places  are  either  ordi- 
nary or  extraordinary.  The  ordinary  ones 
are  the  feasts  occurring  throughout  the  year 
in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  nu- 
merous churches  and  chapels  dedicated  to 
Her.  The  extraordinary  ones  are  certain 
epochs  and  particular  localities  in  which 
Mary  intervenes  extraordinarily,  sometimes 
even  visibly,  in  aid  of  the  Church,  of  cer- 
tain nations,  and  occasionally  even  of  in- 
dividuals placed  in  critical  circumstances 
and  needing  special  assistance. 

Such  extraordinary  interventions  of  Mary 
are  historical  facts  in  the  annals  of  the 
Church  and  of  nations,  and  are  biographical 
facts  in  the  lives  of  some  particular  clients 
of  Our  Lady.  Occurring  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Church  to  our  own  time",  they 
are  so  numerous  as  to  defy  calculation ;  and 
if  any  one  were  to  undertake  the  task  of 
enumerating  these  interventions  of  Mary, 
he  would  soon  be  forced  to  say  of  them 
what  St.  John  said  of  the  works  of  Christ: 
that  if  all  were  related,  the  whole  world 
would  not  be  able  to  hold  the  records. 


The  ordinary  interventions  are  like  a  dew 
constantly  falling  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Church  and  her  members  in  their  ordinary 
necessities.  The  extraordinary  ones  are  the 
rain  that  falls  seasonably,  at  certain  times 
and  places,  when  it  is  specially  needed.  The 
ecclesiastical  calendar  being  quite  limited, 
the  Church  records  in  it  separately  only 
the  most  remarkable,  and  the  others  in 
globo.  Of  those  recorded  singly  some  are 
commemorated  throughout  the  entire  Cath- 
olic world,  others  in  some  particular  places. 
Thus,  for  example,  the  solemnity  of  the 
Rosary  is  a  festival  for  the  whole  world,  in 
which  all  Catholics  commemorate  the  ex- 
traordinary intervention  of  Mary  in  the 
truly  wonderful  victory  gained  by  Charles 
VI.  in  Hungary  over  an  immensely  supe- 
rior Turkish  force,  which  was  prepared  to 
enter  Vienna,  and,  after  having  pillaged  and 
destroyed  that  city,  to  fall  upon  Southern 
Europe  like  an  irresistible  avalanche,  and 
to  raise  the  Crescent  above  the  Cross. 

Their  design  being  defeated  in  the  north 
of  Europe,  the  Turks  then  sought,  by  a  naval 
battle  in  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto,  to  recover  what 
they  had  lost;  but  here,  by  the  interven- 
tion of  the  Queen  of  Heaven — to  whom  the 
Christian  world,  with  St.  Pius  V.  in  the  lead, 
appealed  through  the  Rosary, — they  met 
with  a  complete  and  shameful  repulse.  To 
commemorate  the  extraordinary  interven- 
tion of  Our  Lady  on  this  occasion,  the  holy 
Pope  added  to  the  Litany  of  Loreto  the  \n- 
vocaXion^Auxilium  Christianorum^  orapro 
nobis^ — "  Help  of  Christians,  pray  for  us." 

In  proportion  as  the  Church  goes  on 
spreading  over  the  five  parts  of  the  globe 
there  are  built  temples,  sanctuaries,  and 
chapels  in  honor  of  Mary.  Amongst  all  the 
sanctuaries  in  which  is  concentrated,  as  in 
so  manyy^a  of  light  and  heat,  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  Speculum,  Marianum^  there  is 
one — the  Holy  House  of  Nazareth — that 
never  had  and  never  will  have  an  equal,  by 
reason  of  its  nature,  origin,  and  endurance, 
both  in  the  past  and  in  the  future.  Its  nat- 
ure is  that  of  an  ordinary  dwelling-house. 
Its  origin  as  a  building  is  anterior  to  Mary, 
who  was  bom  in  it;  as  a  sanctuary  and 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


387 


domestic  oratory  it  dates  from  the  concep- 
tion of  the  Virgin, who  from  the  moment  of 
Her  existence  began  to  reflect  the  Sun  of 
Justice  as  its  mirror.  The  first  to  experience 
the  mysterious  influence  were  St.  Anna  and 
St.  Joachim,  and  when  She  was  born,  all 
those  participated  in  it  that  approached  the 
holy  Child. 

This  domestic  sanctuary  retained  its  pri- 
vate character  during  the  life  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  on  the  earth,  but  after  Her  death  it 
began  to  attract  the  attention  and  venera- 
tion of  the  first  believers,  and  to  become 
celebrated  and  pre-eminent  throughout  the 
Catholic  world.  Before  Italy,  Dalmatia  pos- 
sessed it  for  a  short  time,  whither  it  was 
carried  by  angels,  who  finally  transported  it 
to  I/oreto.  As  the  Son  chose  Italy  for  the 
seat  of  His  Vicar,  and  in  Italy  Rome,  so  the 
Mother  chose  that  country  for  the  seat  of 
Her  house,  and  She  chose  Loreto  in  partic- 
ular, elevating  this  sanctuary  so  far  above 
all  Her  others  in  the  world  that  it  can 
have  no  competitor.  It  is  natural  and  rea- 
sonable to  have  a  predilection  towards  the 
paternal  house  where  one  was  bom  and 
lived ;  it  is  therefore  natural  and  reasonable 
that  Mary  should  give  a  preference  to  the 
Sanctuary  of  Loreto,  which  was  Her  home 
at  Nazareth,  wherein  She  was  born,  wherein 
She  conceived  Her  divine  Son, and  in  which 
she  lived  with  Him  for  nearly  thirty  years. 

Many  other  Christian  nations  as  well 
as  the  Italians  have  been  favored  by  ex- 
traordinary interventions  of  the  Mother  of 
God.  Hence  arose  so  many  sanctuaries  to 
Our  Lady,  durable  witnesses  of  Her  ma- 
ternal protection, — light- houses  to  attract 
pilgrims  in  search  of  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral graces.  The  Blessed  Virgin  has  been 
pleased  to  honor  France,  the  eldest  daugh 
ter  of  the  Church,  by  special  apparitions, 
three  of  which  are  distinguished  in  this 
century.  The  first  to  a  Daughter  of  Charity, 
who  received  the  miraculous  medal  as  a 
vehicle  of  graces  to  all  that  carry  it  about 
them  devoutly.  The  second  to  a  little  boy 
of  La  Salette,  who  was  instructed  to  tell 
the  people  to  be  converted  with  their  whole 
hearts  to  God  in  order  to  appease   His  I 


justice.  The  third,  many  times  repeated,  to 
a  little  shepherdess  of  Lourdes,  Bernadette 
Soubirous,  at  the  Grotto  of  Massabielle,  on 
February  11, 1858. 

Amongst  the  preceding  apparitions  of 
Mary  to  the  French,  this  last  mentioned,  at 
Lourdes,  has  a  special  character  of  its  own. 
The  extraordinary  nature  of  these  repeated 
apparitions  of  our  Blessed  Lady  in  the 
Grotto  of  Lourdes  being  evident,  the  causes 
that  moved  Her  to  appear  thus  must  also 
have  been  extraordinary.  These  causes  were 
manifold:  the  anger  of  God  was  excited, 
and  His  justice  was  provoked  to  pour  out 
terrible  chastisements  on  France  in  punish- 
ment of  her  anti-Catholic  and  antichristian 
Government.  The  immense  Catholic  ma- 
jority of  the  French  people,  if  they  really 
willed  it,  and  used  their  electoral  vote  con- 
scientiously, would  not  have  left  the  doors 
of  Congress  open  to  a  majority  of  Masonic 
deputies,  to  form  a  government  both  anti- 
national  and  anti-Catholic,  such  as  has  been 
misgoverning  France  for  years,  tyranniz- 
ing over  the  people,  and  persecuting  the 
Church. 

Now,  this  could  not  fail  to  provoke  the 
divine  chastisements,  which  will  infallibly 
fall  on  the  nation  unless  it  turns  back  and 
learns  wisdom.  For  if  divine  justice  can 
delay  the  punishment  of  an  impenitent  in- 
dividual till  the  next  life.  He  can  not  do  so 
in  regard  to  nations,  which  have  no  future 
existence:  they  take  their  rise  on  earth; 
here  they  live,  and  here  they  come  to  an 
end.  This  is  why  Mary,  as  a  compassionate 
Mother,  wishing  to  save  France  from  the 
terrible  chastisements  that  are  hovering 
over  her,  appeared  first  at  La  Salette  and 
afterwards  at  Lourdes,  calling  on  the  people 
to  do  penance  and  be  converted.  Now,  this 
requires  a  persevering  discharge  of  all  their 
duties,  private  and  public,  towards  God, 
towards  themselves,  towards  their  neigh- 
bors and  their  country, — everyone  using 
his  best  eflforts  to  free  his  country  from  the 
Masonic  incubus  which  seeks  to  unchrig- 
tianize  it,  and  to  substitute 
that  shall  be  really  nation/ 

Freemasonry  makes  the 


388 


The  Ave  Maria, 


of  its  infernal  power  in  those  States  in 
which  it  has  obtained  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment. Knowing  by  a  sort  of  instinct  that 
now  is  its  hour  and  that  of  the  powers  of 
darkness,  it  tries  to  rob  the  Pope  of  his 
jurisdiction,  confining  him  in  the  Vatican, 
with  the  intention  of  doing  away  with  the 
Papacy  itself  With  this  view  it  took  up 
its  residence  in  Rome,  and  day  by  day  it 
goes  on  tightening  more  and  more  the  in- 
tricate Gordian  knot.  In  its  presumption 
it  defies  Heaven  and  earth  to  untie  this 
knot,  confident  that  as  long  as  it  remains 
tied.  Masonry  will  be  able  to  continue  mis- 
governing Italy,  oppressing  the  people,  and 
persecuting  the  Church. 

Let  us  petition  the  Help  of  Christians  to 
quickly  cut  the  Gordian  knot.  It  is  to  this 
end  that  our  Holy  Father  has  commanded 
the  Catholic  world  to  consecrate  the  month 
of  October  to  Mary  by  the  public  daily  re 
cital  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary.  It  is  to  this 
end  that  he  has  required  all  the  priests  of  the 
Christian  world  to  say  three  "Hail  Marys," 
with  the  Salve  and  corresponding  prayers, 
after  Mass.  Let  us  unite  ourselves  to  our 
Holy  Father  in  offering  to  the  maternal 
Heart  of  Mary  the  gentle  violence  of  fervent 
prayers,  that  She  may  intervene  to  restore 
the  Supreme  Pontiff"  to  that  liberty  and  in- 
dependence so  necessary  for  him  in  the 
government  of  the  Church.  To  this  end 
let  us  often  invoke  Her  under  the  title  of 
Lourdes,  saying  to  Her,  "Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes,  come  quickly  to  liberate  Thy 
Son's  Vicar,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  gov- 
ern the  Church  freely  and  independently." 
The  thought  of  Lourdes  reminds  us  of  two 
questions:  Will  the  intervention  of  Mary 
there  continue  to  have  its  extraordinary 
character?  Yes,  as  a  historical  fact,  but  not 
as  a  fact  of  constant  daily  recurrence;  be- 
cause the  characteristic  of  the  extraordinary 
is  that  it  be  temporary  and  brief,  corre- 
sponding to  some  extraordinary  public  or 
private  necessity,  which  having  passed,  the 
extraordinary  ceases. 

Win  ihe  apparitions  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin cease  with  that  of  Lourdes  as  extraordi- 
nary interventions  in  extraordinary  public 


needs?  They  will,  if  from  this  time  till  the 
end  of  the  world  neither  the  Church  nor 
any  portion  of  the  Church  is  placed  in  ex- 
traordinarily critical  circumstances,  from 
which  there  is  no  human  way  of  escape. 
But  the  Bible  tells  us  that  till  the  end  of 
the  world  there  shall  be  heresies  and  scan- 
dals, through  which  the  Church  will  keep 
on  her  way,  and  that  the  malice  of  men 
and  demons  and  the  corruption  of  the  flesh 
will  not  cease  attempting  to  extinguish 
the  light  of  faith  and  the  fire  of  charity. 
Mary  is  on  the  watch  to  intervene  person- 
ally in  the  future,  as  She  has  done  in  the 
past,  in  the  defence  of  the  Church  and  the 
discomfiture  of  her  enemies;  then,  as  ever, 
She  will  flash  forth  two  special  and  simulta- 
neous rays  to  meet  the  emergency:  one  of 
benediction  and  protection  on  the  Church, 
the  other  of  malediction  and  destruction  on 
her  enemies. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  X. 

NORA'S  last  days  with  the  Bouviers 
were  trying  ones.  Bertha's  noisy  grief, 
Louis'  perplexity,  and  the  graceful  protes- 
tations of  her  hosts,  were  all  painful  to  her, 
and  she  longed  to  be  free  from  them.  Now 
that  the  journey  was  decided  on,  Mrs.  Bou- 
vier  put  on  an  appearance  of  amiability,  and 
sought  to  amuse  and  distract  the  girl,  while 
carefully  keeping  her  out  of  her  son's  way. 
Bertha's  idea  of  pleasure  being  a  constant 
round  of  shopping,  she  dragged  Nora  from 
one  shop  to  another,  until  the  latter  posi- 
tively hailed  with  pleasure  the  note  which 
announced  that  her  travelling  companion 
would  meet  her  the  same  evening  at  the 
terminus. 

One  afternoon — it  was  the  same  day  she 
took  her  departure — Bertha  came  in  sud- 
denly. "Nora,"  she  exclaimed,  tragically 
falling  into  a  chair;  "you  are  taking  away 
all  the  joy  of  the  house." 

Nora  smiled  sadly.  "A  poor  orphan  like 
me,"  she  said,  "is  not  necessary  for  any 
one's  happiness." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


389 


Bertha  started  up  and  embraced  her. 
*'That  you  cau  not  know,"  she  whispered, 
mysteriously. 

The  other  shook  her  head. 

''No,''  continued  Bertha,  "you  cm  not. 
Louis  adores  you  and  has  been  in  complete 
despiir  since  your  departure  was  decided 
on.  Yesterday — you  must  keep  th  s  a  pro- 
found secret, — yesterday  he  had  a  long  in- 
terview with  mamma,  and  it  was  all  about 
you  I  heard  what  mamma  said,  and  it 
grieved  me  very  much.  I  thought  your 
grandmother  was  wealthy,  and  so  did  Louis 
But  if  he  loves  you,  he  must  onlv  work  for 
you.  Tell  me,  though,  plainly,  do  you  like 
him?" 

Nora  drew  herself  up  with  innate  dignity. 
^'Bertha,  I  have  never  thought  of  your 
brother  otherwise  than  as  a  courteous  host, 
and  I  understand  my  duty  too  well  to  op- 
pose your  parents'  plans  for  their  children. 
Louis  will  fiad  a  richer  and  a  better  wife 
than  I  am." 

Bertha  knew  not  what  to  answer,  and 
both  were  relieved  when  the  maid  called 
them  to  dinner.  The  meal  was  a  hasty  one, 
as  they  were  in  fear  of  losing  the  train. 

"It  is  time  W)  start,"  observed  Mr.  Bou- 
vier  at  last. 

"I  shall  call  a  cab,"  said  Louis,  "and 
accompany  you." 

"I  am  sorry  to  interfere  with  your  plans," 
said  his  mother, sweetly;  "but  poor  Bertha 
is  so  agitated  I  shall  take  her  to  drive  in  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  we  will  need  your 
escort." 

Louis  yielded  with  visible  ill- humor. 
Fearing  to  oppose  his  despotic  mother,  he 
gave  no  answer,  but  told  the  servant  to  call 
a  cab  for  his  father  and  cousin.  Bertha 
cried  and  sobbed,  called  Nora  the  tenderest 
names,  promising  her  long  letters  every 
week,  and  making  the  most  ungracious  re- 
flections on  the  dreary  life  her  cousin  would 
have  to  live  in  Penvan. 

The  cab  arrived.  Mrs.  Bouvier  gave  Nora 
a  cold  kiss.  Louis  grasped  her  hand  warmly ; 
and  Bertha  hung  round  her  despairingly, 
until  her  mother  declared  she  would  make 
her  cousin  late  for  the  train. 


"So  much  the  better!"  sobbed  Bertha. 

"By  no  means,"  said  Mrs.  Bouviei, 
sharply;  'she  must  avoid  all  thit  could 
give  her  guardian  offence,  and  that  certainly 
would."  Then  turning  to  Nora:  "You  will 
write  to  us  often,  dear;  and  if  you  should 
come  to  Paris  again,  don't  fail  to  call." 

Nora  tried  to  answer,  but  her  heart  was 
too  full.  Without  once  looking  back,  she 
followed  Mr.  Bouvier  over  the  threshold  of 
the  house  she  had  once  hoped  to  call  her 
home.  He  hurried  so  she  could  scarcely 
keep  up  with  him.  "Hasten,  child,"  he 
said;  "we  must  not  lose  the  train."  Not 
for  worlds  would  Nora  have  slept  another 
night  under  his  roof 

The  cab  rolled  away, 'and  the  poor  girl 
gazed  sadly  on  that  busy  Parisian  life  which 
she  should  perhaps  never  again  behold.  At 
last  the  station  wafs  reached.  While  Mr.  Bou- 
vier saw  after  the  luggage,  Nora  stood  aside, 
and  scanned  with  anxious  eye  every  vehi- 
cle that  drew  up,  in  search  of  her  travelling 
companion.  No  one  appeared.  Mr.  Bouvier 
returned,  and  noticed  uneasily  that  she  was 
still  alone.  ' '  Has  no  one  come  yet  ? "  he 
asked.  "It's  strange;  we  told  them  very 
plainly  how  you  were  to  be  recognized — a 
young  girl  in  mourning, — and  the  place  of 
meeting  near  the  luggage- ofl&ce,  on  the  left 
hand.  Perhaps  ihe lady  has  not  come."  He 
took  out  his  watch,  compared  it  with  the 
station  clock,  and  remarked  it  was  high 
time  to  get  the  tickets.  As  he  raised  his 
eyeglass  to  examine  a  group  of  travellers 
who  were  entering,  Nora  felt  a  slight  touch 
on  the  arm. 

"Are  you  Miss  de  Br^lyon?"  asked  a 
voice  with  a  somewhat  drawling  accent. 

Mr.  Bouvier  turned  quickly.  ' '  Have  I  the 
honor  of  speaking  to  Miss  Kernoel?"  he 
inquired,  courteously  raising  his  hat. 

"Yes;  I  fear  I  am  rather  late." 

"Then  I  shall  get  my  cousin's  ticket. 
Can  I  get  yours  also?" 

"If  you  please: — second  class,  lady's 
coupk. — Will  you  mind  my  things  for  a  mo- 
ment. Miss  de  Br^lyon,  while  I  see  about 
my  trunks?" 

Nora,  who  suddenly  became  the  guardian 


390 


The  Ave  iMaria. 


of  several  enormous  baskets,  looked  with 
astonishment  after  the  strange  apparition 
which  left  her  with  a  short,  peculiar  tread. 
Miss  Kernoel  was  a  small,  lively  spinster  of 
from  forty -five  to  fifty.  In  her  youth  she 
must  have  been  handsome,  her  complexion 
was  still  so  fresh ;  her  features  were  regular, 
and  her  eyes  very  beautiful.  Her  grey  dress 
and  black  mantle  were  extremely  simple 
and  o'd  fashi med,  and  Nora  wondered 
where  she  could  have  got  the  antediluvian 
bonnet  she  wore.  She  soon  returned,  and 
cast  a  sharp,  discerning  glance  on  the  young 
girl. 

"A  lovely, warm  evening,"  she  said,  in  a 
■  friendly  tone ;  ' '  but  it  will  grow  c  ^Ider  tow- 
ards midnight,  and  as  we  draw  near  the  sea 
it  will  become  really  sharp.  Have  you  ever 
seen  the  sea  ?  ' 

Before  Nora's  eyes  passed  a  vision  of  the 
blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
angry  waves  of  the  Channel.  "Yes,"  she 
replied,  with  a  sigh;  ''I  have  travelled  a 
good  deal." 

"True, so  Mrs.Auvrard  told  me.  D050U 
not  know  your  aunt  at  all?" 

"No."  And  Nora  would  have  loved  to 
question  her,  but  just  then  Mr.  Bouvier  re 
turned  with  their  tickets,  and  escorted  them 
to  the  waiting-room.  After  a  short  delay 
they  were  settled  in  the  train;  he  waved  his 
hand  in  smiling  greeting,  and  disappeared. 

"Were  you  long  in  his  house?"  asked 
Miss  Kernoel. 

"Only  a  few  weeks." 

"Then  you  will  not  feel  the  departure 
much,  but  perhaps  a  residence  in  a  little 
country  town  will  be  painful  to  you?  ' 

"I  don't  care  where  I  live,  if  only  people 
are  fond  of  me. ' ' 

Miss  Kernoel  glanced  at  the  fair  young 
face  with  its  wistful  expression,  and  in- 
wardly decided  such  a  desire  ought  to  be 
easily  gratified ;  however,  she  ventured  no 
answer;  for  her  knowledge  of  Mrs.Auvrard 
did  not  lead  her  to  indulge  very  sanguine 
hopes. 

After  a  long  and  rather  tiresome  journey 
they  reached  the  little  station  of  Kernie. 

"Now,"  said  Miss  Kernoel,  kindly,"  we 


have  only  half  an  hour  in  the  omnibus  be- 
fore we  reach  Penvan. "  And, in  fdct,half  an 
hour  later  saw  them  rolling  over  the  rather 
uneven  pavement  of  the  little  Breton  town. 

CHAPTER  XL 

Nora  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw 
stone  houses  with  many  odd,  pointed  gables, 
and  an  old  Gothic  church, round  which  were 
shabby  booths  which  greatly  detracted  from 
the  beauty  of  its  appearance.  At  the  corner 
of  Church  Square  the  omnibus  stopped  be- 
fore a  pretty,  white  house,  with  green  shut- 
ters, and  a  large  fuchsia  before  the  door. 

' '  Does  my  aunt  live  here  ? ' '  asked  Nora, 
delighted  with  the  bright  little  dwelling. 

"No;  this  is  my  home,"  replied  Miss 
Kernoel;  and,  leaning  out  of  the  window, 
she  said  to  an  old  servant  who  hurried  out 
to  meet  her:  "Francisca,  I  shall  first  bring 
this  young  lady  home;  tell  the  coachman 
to  drive  to  Mrs.  Auvrard's.  Is  there  any- 
thing new?" 

'No,  Mi<s;  everything  is  as  usual." 

The  omnibus  rolled  on,  and  stopped  be- 
fore a  grey  stone  house,  with  heavy  oaken 
shutters  and  door.  Not  a  flower  nor  even  a 
blade  of  grass  grew  near  it;  and,  notwith- 
standing the  mild  weather,  all  the  windows 
were  closed.  Miss  Kernoel  alighted  from 
the  omnibus  with  Nora,  and  knocked  thrice 
with  the  heavy  bronze  knocker.  After  a 
few  moments  a  staid,  middle-aged  woman 
opened  the  door. 

"  Is  your  mistress  at  home,  Jane?"  asked 
Miss  Kernoel,  taking  Nora's  hand  and  lead- 
ing her  into  a  dark  passage. 

"Yes,  Miss;  she  is  in  the  parlor,"  was  the 
reply. 

Nora's  heart  beat  fast  as  the  door  opened 
noiselessly,  and  she  found  herself  standing 
before  an  elderly  lady,  who  rose  slowly  to 
receive  her. 

"I  bring  you  my  young  friend  safely,'* 
said  Miss  Kernoel, in  her  kind  way;  "and 
I  have  no  doubt  you  will  find  her  as  amiable 
as  I  have.  She  is  charmed  with  our  coun- 
try." 

"That  is  a  quick,  perhaps  premature  im- 
pression," said  the  cold,  clear  voice  of  Mrs. 
Auvrard.   "However,  as  my  niece  has  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


391 


dwell  in   Penvan,  I  am  naturally  glad  it 
should  please  her." 

She  then  touched  Nora's  cheeks  with  her 
lips,  while  the  latter  vainly  struggled  for 
words. 

''Won't  you  sit  down,  Octa via? "  con- 
tinued the  dame. 

"Thank  you, I  am  expected  at  home;  but 
I  shall  call  soon  again.  Adieu,  Mrs.  Auvrard. 
Adieu,  Miss  Nora;  I  am  quite  at  your  ser- 
vice, and  your  aunt  will  certainly  allow  \  ou 
to  know  the  three  nieces  of  wham  I  have 
charge, ' ' 

Nora  pressed  warmly  the  outstretched 
hand  of  the  kind  little  woman,  while  Mrs. 
Auvrard  bowed  stifly.  Miss  Kernoel  turned 
back  from  the  door  to  bestow  another  en- 
couraging smile  on  Nora,  and  when  she 
disappeared  the  young  girl  felt  as  if  she 
were  utterly  alone  in  the  world. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mrs  Auvrard,  reseat- 
ing herself  in  her  arm-chair;  "they  are 
getting  you  some  coffee." 

Nora  felt  the  tears  would  come  if  she  did 
not  make  some  heroic  effort  to  break  the 
oppressive  silence,  so  she  began,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice : 

"Dear  aunt,  it  is  most  kind  of  you  to 
take  charge  of  me,  but  I  must  not  be  a  bur- 
den on  you.  I  am  young  and  strong  and 
willing  to  work.  Will  you  allow  me  to  look 
for  some  employment?" 

"Employment! "  repeated  Mrs.  Auvrard, 
contemptuously.  "What  are  you  fit  for? 
And  do  you  think  I  would  allow  a  De  Bre- 
lyon  to  enter  service  of  any  kind?  I  am  not 
rich,  but,  since  my  limited  circumstances 
allow  me  to  support  you,  I  will  do  my  duty. 
Let  us  drop  'he  subject" 

"But  can  you  not  understand  that  at 
my  age  I  will  not  be  dependent?"  cried  the 
young  girl. 

"If  you  had  been  brought  up  in  proper 
sentiments  of  esteem  and  affection  for  your 
family,  we  should  not  now  meet  as  stran 
gers, ' '  was  the  cold  reply.   ' '  You  have  been 
prejudiced  against  me. ' ' 

"Never,  never!"  exclaimed  Nora;  "my 
dear  grandmother  never  spoke  ill  of  any 
one." 


"She  was  contented  with  ignoring  my 
existence — but  no  more  of  that!  We  must 
live  on  good  terms;  as  we  shall,  if  you  be 
obedient  and  docile.  I  fear  your  previous 
manner  of  life  has  givt  n  you  little  taste  for 
the  regular,  quiet  life  which  I  think  suita- 
ble for  a  young  girl.  However,  the  past  can 
not  be  undone,  and  )  ou  have  only  to  accept 
the  present  and  future  courageously.' 

She  was  interrup  ed  by  the  servaiit's  en- 
trance with  refreshments.  Nora  tried  to 
take  some,  but  felt  half  choked.  Her  aunt 
shook  her  head  disapprovingly.  "At  your 
age,"  she  observed,  "one  ought  to  have  a 
good  appetite.  I  dare  say  your  health  has 
suffered  from  constant  travelling.  Will  yon 
rest  until  dinner,  or  unpack  your  trunks? 
I  don't  approve  of  a  young  girl  remaining 
alone  in  her  room  indulging  vain  fancies, 
but  to-day  is  an  exception;  you  need  rest." 
She  rang  the  bell  and  the  maid  reappeared. 
"Show  Miss  de  Br61yon  to  her  room,  Jane. 
Have  her  trunks  been  brought  up?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Go,  then,  child.  You  will  have  to  brush 
your  own  clothes,  for  I  have  no  waiting- 
maid.  I  must  confess  I  should  have  liked 
simpler  mourning;  all  these  trimmings  are 
perfect  dust-traps." 

"  Mrs.  Bouvier  chose  my  mourning," 
answered  Nora,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"In  future  we  shall  be  more  reasonable. 
And  could  you  not  arrange  your  hair 
smoothly?  I  hate  it  frizzed  according  to  the 
present  fashion,  which  gives  young  girls 
such  a  coquettish  look,  and  takes  so  much 
time." 

Nora  smoothed  her  hair  with  her  hand, 
and  said :  "It  curls  naturally. ' ' 

Mrs.  Auvrard  was  silent,  and  the  servant 
conducted  the  girl  up  a  cold,  dark  flight  of 
stairs  which  led  to  a  corridor,  from  which 
several  doors  opened.  She  ushered  Nora 
into  one  of  the  rooms,  and,  having  asked  if 
she  needed  anything,  and  been  answered 
in  the  negative,  left  her  alone. 

Poor  Nora  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  burst  into  tears.  "My  God, my  God!" 
she  murmured  in  utter  desolation.  Just  at 
that  moment  the  bell  of  a  neighboring  con- 


392 


The  Ave  Ma^-ta. 


vent  called  its  inmates  to  prayer,  and,  fall- 
ing on  her  knees,  Nora  prayed  fervently. 
As  she  did  so  the  bitterness  passed  from 
lier  soul,  and,  though  the  sorrow  remained, 
she  remembered  one  Friend  remained  to 
Iter  who  would  never  forsake  her,  and  she 
resigned  herself  to  His  will. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


The  Holy  Rosary  the  Queen  of  Devo- 
tions. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


XX. — Mary  the  Mother  of  God. 

ALL  the  graces  which  Mary  received, 
commencing  with  Her  Immaculate 
Conception,  were  to  fit  Her  for  becoming 
the  Mother  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world; 
and  with  whatever  title  we  honor  Her,  that 
of  Mother  of  God  must  be  not  only  the 
most  sublime,  but  also  that  from  which  all 
the  others  have  their  origin,  their  meaning, 
and  their  worth.  Devotion  to  Mary  as  the 
Mother  of  Christ  must,  then,  be  the  most 
acceptable,  and  must  give  a  tone  to  all  the 
others.  That  this  is  fostered  by  the  recita- 
tion of  the  Rosary  is  apparent  to  everyone. 
The  Rosary  itself  is  based  on  this  mystery ; 
every  mystery  shows  it  forth  in  a  new  and 
different  light,  every  ' '  Hail  Mary ' '  repeats 
it.  Of  all  the  divisions  of  our  subject,  this 
one  stands  out  most  prominently.  In  the 
recitation  of  the  Rosary  we  can  not  fail  to 
honor  Mary  as  the  Mother  of  God,  even  if 
our  whole  attention  were  centred  on  some 
other  devotion.  While,  then,  it  is  an  in- 
stinct of  our  nature  to  bestow  honor  upon 
whom  honor  is  due,  we  should  feel  grateful 
to  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Spouse  of  Marv,  for 
placing  within  our  reach  so  beautiful  and 
appropriate  a  means  of  honoring  Her  who 
of  all  creatures  is  most  worthy  of  honor. 

XXI. — Mary  the  Mother  of  Sorrows. 

Whatever  feelings  meditation  on  the 
mysteries  of  the  Holy  Rosary  may  awaken 
in  the  hearts  of  the  devout  clients  of  Mary, 


there  is  one  thought  which,  like  that  of 
Her  incomparable  dignity,  pervades  every 
mystery,  from  the  Annunciation  to  the 
Coronation,  which  can  never  be  lost  sight 
of,  and  which  is,  that  as  Her  divine  Son 
was  to  be  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  so  was  She 
to  be  the  Mother  of  Sorrows.  Her  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  prophecies  of  the 
ancient  Scriptures  relating  to  the  Messiah, 
which  She  had  frequently  heard  read  and 
explained,  and  which  Her  more  than  se- 
raphic intellect  enabled  Her  to  comprehend, 
no  less  than  Her  knowledge  of  the  work 
which  the  Father  had  given  the  Son  to 
accomplish  upon  earth,  convinced  Her  that 
the  mother  of  the  Redeemer  must  of  ne- 
cessity be  the  mother  of  sorrows.  Her  sym- 
pathy was  already  awakened  for  the  favored 
creature  whom  Heaven  should  choose  for 
the  unique  dignity ;  but,  however  great  Her 
charity  may  have  been,  the  weight  of  this 
sorrow  was  brought  home  to  Her  in  its 
reality  when  the  messenger  of  Heaven  de- 
clared to  Her  that  She,  and  no  other,  was 
the  choice  of  the  Most  High.  This  may  be 
regarded  as  the  second  stage  in  Mary's  sor- 
rows. The  third  followed,  still  deepening 
the  shadow,  when  holy  Simeon  foretold  that 
a  sword  of  grief  should  pierce  Her  soul. 
The  other  stages  succeeded  one  another  in 
the  course  of  Her  sacred  life,  and  are  com- 
memorated in  the  several  mysteries  of  the 
Holy  Rosary. 

But  with  the  death  of  Christ  His  suffer- 
ings ended;  not  so  the  sorrows  of  Mary: 
they  continued  not  only  till  the  Resurrec- 
tion, but  to  the  end  of  Her  life.  For  if  the 
Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  longed  to  be  dis- 
solved and  to  be  with  Christ,  and  if  many 
of  the  saints  found  their  pilgrimage  upon 
earth  all  but  unendurable  on  account  of 
their  separation  from  the  Object  of  their 
love — if  such  were  the  feelings  of  the  ser- 
vants, what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of 
the  Mother!  What  a  source  of  undying  sor- 
row must  it  not  have  been  for  Her  to  be 
thus  separated  from  Her  divine  Son  and 
Her  God!  Her  love  was  the  union  of  the 
divine  and  human;  it  was  the  love  of  Her 
God  as  well  as  of  Her  Son. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


393 


That  the  Holy  Rosary  embraces  within 
itself,  and  fosters  in  those  who  recite  it  at- 
tentively, a  devotion  to  the  sorrows  of  Mary 
is  too  evident  to  re  quire  further  proof.  Jesus 
was  born  to  suffer  and  die ;  Mary  was  born 
to  sorrow  and  die.  When,  then,  we  recite 
Her  Rosary,  and  so  often  beg  of  Her  to 
' '  pray  for  us  now  and  at  the  hour  of  our 
death,"  we  should  be  encouraged  with  the 
thought  that  compassion  has  a  peculiar 
power  t9  toucli  the  heart,  and  that  it  is  the 
testimony  of  holy  writers  that  one  of  the 
special  graces  which  flow  from  devotion  to 
the  sorrows  of  Mary  is  that  of  a  calm  and 
easy  death. 

XXII. — Mary  Queen  of  Heaven. 

To  encourage  His  disciples,  our  divine 
Redeemer  was  pleased  to  give  them  a  faint 
idea — a  glitlipse,  as  it  were — of  the  happi- 
ness that  awaited  them  in  His  kingdom. 
He  tells  them :  '  The  j  ast  shall  go  into  life 
everlasting";  and, "I  will  come  again  and 
take  )OU  to  Myself,  that  where  I  am  you 
also  maybe;  that  you  may  see  My  glory." 
That  He  did  not  give  them  a  perfect  pict- 
ure of  the  joys  in  store  for  them  was  because 
they  were  not  capable  of  comprehending 
nor  human  language  of  expressing  it.  As 
St.  Paul  says:  "Eye hath  not  seen, nor  ear 
heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man,  what  God  hath  prepared  for  them 
that  love  Him. ' '  If  such  a  reward  is  in  store 
for  the  servant,  what  must  be  the  reward  pre- 
pared for  the  Mother,  since  God  will  render 
to  everyone  according  to  his  works?  Her 
incomparable  sanctity.  Her  unique  dignity, 
and  Her  relation  to  the  three  Persons  of  the 
Adorable  Trinity,  as  well  as  the  justice  and 
goodness  of  God,  teach  us  that  She  is  noth- 
ing less  than  we  salute  Her  in  the  Rosary — 
the  Queen  of  Heaven.  While  every  mystery 
of  the  Rosary  strengthens  our  expectation 
of  this  title,  and  our  sense  of  its  propriety, 
the  last  openly  declares  it,  and  seals  our  de- 
votion to  Her  under  a  title  which  it  had 
already  taught  us  to  anticipate. 

XXIII. —The  Sacred  Heart  of  Mary. 

Devotion  to  Mary  as  Mother  of  God  and 

Queen  of  Heaven  embraces  all  those  pious 


exercises  which  relate  to  Mary's  power; 
devotion  to  Her  Sacred  Heart,  on  the  other 
hand,  includes  those  that  spring  from  Her 
attributes  of  mercy  and  pity.  Devotion  to 
the  Sacred  Heart  of  Mary  must  be  ranked 
among  those  of  comparatively  recent  origin; 
not  that  Christians  could  at  any  time  have 
been  ignorant  of  the  claims  of  their  Mother's 
compassionate  Heart  upon  their  venera- 
tion and  confidence,  but  that  it  did  not 
please  the  Spirit  of  God  until  in  later  times 
to  inspire  them  with  the  desire  of  ex- 
pressing their  veneration  in  this  particular 
way. 

The  foundation  of  this  devotion  reveals 
itself  in  almost  every  mystery  of  the  Holy 
Rosary.  Mary's  acceptance  of  the  dignity 
of  Mother  of  God,  Her  visit  to  St.  Elizabeth, 
the  presentation  of  the  Holy  Child  in  the 
Temple,  the  sorrowful  seeking  of  Him  in  the 
precincts  of  the  same  Temple,  with  all  the 
Sorrowful  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  are  so 
many  revelations  of  that  admirable  Heart. 
Whatever  awakens  in  the  Christian  a 
greater  love  of  Mary  and  devotion  to  Her, 
enkindles  a  greater  veneration  for  Her  ma- 
ternal Heart;  and  as  the  farmer  is  the  object 
of  the  Rosary,  the  latter  is  the  result  of  its 
pious  recitation. 

XXIV.— St.  Joseph. 

In  the  Joyful  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary  all 
that  is  known  of  St.  Joseph,  his  life,  his 
office,  and  his  extraordinary  holiness,  are 
presented  for  our  edification  and  instruc- 
tion. A  knowledge  of  these  must  of  neces- 
sity result  in  a  tender  devotion  to  this  the 
last  of  the  patriarchs,  and  one  to  whom  God 
not  only  gave  a  promise,  but  the  fulfilment  of 
all  the  promises  He  had  made  from  the  be- 
ginning to  all  the  other  patriarchs.  To  him 
was  entrusted  the  rarest  treasures  of  heaven 
and  earth — Jesus  and  Mary;  an  evidence  at 
once  of  the  confidence  which  the  Father  re- 
posed in  him,  and  his  strongest  claim  upon 
our  special  veneration.  He  is  ever  presented 
to  us  in  the  company  of  Jesus  and  Mary. 
Whether  it  be  in  Bethlehem,  in  Jerusalem, 
in  the  flight  into  Egypt,  the  exile  or  the 
return;  whether  it  be  in  his  home  at  Naz- 


394 


The  Ave  Maria. 


areth,  or  when  he  is  about  to  leave  this  vale 
of  tears,  he  is  in  the  society  of  the  Child  and 
His  Mother.  It  is  Jesus  in  his  arms  cling- 
ing fondly  to  his  neck;  Jesus  the  boy  hold- 
ing his  hand  and  walking  by  his  side; 
Jesus  the  youth  assisting  him  at  his  work; 
Jesus  the  man  by  his  bedside  smoothing 
his  dying  couch,  and  inspiring  him  with 
confidence  and  hope;  and  with  Jesus,  Mary 
too  is  always  present.  Never  was  saint  so 
highly  favored,  and  never  was  saint  so  de- 
serving of  favor.  All  this  is  presented  in 
its  most  attractive  form  in  the  successive 
mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  in  such  a  manner 
that  we  rather  behold  him  than  meditate 
upon  his  holy  life  and  actions, 

XXV.— The  Holy  Angels. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  devotions  in 
the  Church  is  that  to  the  Holy  Angels.  It 
fills  the  soul  with  pious  thoughts,  with  hope 
and  courage,  with  resignation  and  fear. 
They  are  our  guardians  now,  they  are  to  be 
our  companions  forever.  This  is,  then,  an 
appropriate  devotion.  As  our  guardians, 
they  form,  as  it  were,  a  link  between  earth 
and  heaven —between  us  and  God. 

Devotion  to  the  angels  springs  from  the 
Holy  Rosary,  which  opens  with  the  mes- 
sage of  an  angel,  and  closes  with  Mary  being 
crowned  Queen  of  Angels.  The  birth  of 
Christ  was  attecded  by  myriads  of  angels; 
scenes  in  the  life  of  the  Holy  Infant  are 
directed  by  the  ministry  of  angels;  and  how 
many  other  manifestations  of  the  angels  of 
which  the  Sacred  Scriptures  make  no  men- 
tion! Our  own  guardians  were  witnesses  of 
the  sufferings  of  Christ;  adored  His  sacred 
Blood  in  the  garden,  at  the  pillar,  on  the 
way  to  Calvary, on  the  cross  and  the  ground 
around  it, on  the  clothes  of  the  executioners 
and  on  the  sandals  of  the  throng.  They  kept 
guard  around  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  sang 
their  alleluias  at  the  moment  of  Christ's 
resurrection.  With  the  souls  of  the  just, 
they  were  His  invisible  ministers  during 
the  forty  days  of  His  risen  life,  and  their 
hymns  of  exultation  formed  the  chorus  that 
welcomed  Him  back  to  the  right  hand  of 
His  Father.   And  impatiently,  if  that  were 


possible,  they  awaited  the  time  when  they 
should  welcome  Mary  as  their  Queen,  and 
witness  Her  glorious  coronation. 

The  Holy  Rosary  is,  then,  a  devotion  to 
the  angels,  representing  them  to  us  as  mes- 
sengers of  God  to  man  in  joy  and  sorrow, 
in  mercy  and  exultation ;  nor  can  we  recite 
this  beautiful  form  of  prayer  without  feel- 
ing our  devotion  to  these  blessed  spirits 
sensibly  increased. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Thanksgiving. 


BY  ANGELIQUE   DE  LANDE. 


TV  RT  Thou  not  weary,  dearest  Lord, 
^-^   Of  my  poor  selfish  prayers, 
The  oft  recital  of  my  needs, 
My  petty  griefs  and  cares? 

Is  it  not  time  that  I  should  change, 

And  come  to  Thee  at  last 
With  heartiest  thanksgiving 

For  all  Thy  favors  past? 

Thy  mercies,  Lord,  have  followed  me 
Thro'  days  and  months  and  years; 

At  thought  of  them  mine  eyes  o'erflow 
With  sweet,  refreshing  tears. 

I  bless  Thee,  Lord,  for  Christian  birth, 
For  health,  for  length  of  days; 

There  is  not  one  who  walks  the  earth 
That  has  more  need  to  praise. 

For  the  sweet  gift  of  faith  is  mine, 

By  me  so  undeserved; 
Ah !  would  that  from  its  laws  divine 

My  heart  had  never  swerved ! 

Yet  even  in  mj-  many  falls 

I  bless  Thee,  O  my  God! 
For  mercy's  sweet,  resistless  calls, 

And  for  Thy  chastening  rod. 

O  bless  me  as  I  lowly  kneel 
To  praise  the  boundless  love 

That  makes  Thee  on  our  altars  dwell, 
Dear  Eucharistic  Dove ! 


No  joy  is  joy  without  God;  no  pain  is 
pain  with  God. — Abbt  Roux. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


395 


Reminiscences  of  the  Abbe  Liszt. 


(Conclusion.) 

LISZT' S  social  talents  were  of  the  highest 
order,  and  he  knew  how  to  make  him- 
self very  agreeable,  being  a  brilliant  talker, 
full  of  lively  sallies  when  amongst  intimate 
friends,  extremely  polite  to  ladies,  open- 
handed,  and  incapable  of  suspecting  any 
one.  When  his  servant  robbed  him  of  his 
money  and  decorations,  the  Roman  police 
(the  city  was  then  under  the  government  of 
the  Pope)  had  the  greatest  diflficulty  in  in- 
ducing him  to  sign  the  necessary  depositions. 
His  wish  was  that  no  further  steps  should 
be  taken  in  the  matter,  and  that  the  thief 
should  be  released  from  prison ;  this  was  no 
doubt  very  generous,  but  it  was  going  a 
little  too  far.  I  heard  of  the  affair  only 
indirectly;  for  Liszt  never  mentioned  it  to 
me,  nor  was  his  habitual  serenity  in  the 
slightest  degree  ruffled  on  account  of  it. 

Side  by  side  with  this  open-handed  gen- 
erosity, Liszt  possessed  the  serious  fault  of 
over- confidence  in  his  own  judgment,  and 
an  over- weening  self-esteem.  Yet  even  his 
failings  never  offended,  so  thoroughly  may 
he  be  said  to  have  been  one  of  nature's 
darlings.  He  did  wrong  conscientiously,  if 
one  may  so  speak;  for  he  entirely  deceived 
himself  and  was  never  otherwise  than  hon? 
orable.  His  faults  were  the  result,  not  of 
want  of  conscientiousness,  but  of  vanity, 
weakness,  or  too  blind  a  trust  in  himself  or 
in  others.  Repeated  disappointments  never 
made  him  cynical,  because  he  always  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  in  the  right;  but  he 
was  utterly  unable  to  take  an  equable 
view  of  things,  either  in  the  present  or  the 
future. 

He  attracted  a  large  circle  of  admirers, 
but  had  few  real  friends;  though  all  those 
who,  without  sharing  his  opinions,  had  the 
honor  of  being  admitted  into  his  society,  es- 
teemed and  respected  him.  He  would  never 
pay  court  to  others  for  any  selfish  consider- 
ations; in  a  word,  the  part  he  played  in  the 
world  will  never  be  acted  again;  I  do  not 
mean  his  part  as  the  first  of  pianists— that 


is  an  entirely  secondary  matter, — but  as  a 
man  who  gained  vast  sums  of  money  by 
allowing  others  to  employ  him  as  a  means 
of  gaining  them,  whilst  he  remained  him- 
self totally  ignorant  of  its  value.  He  never 
perceived,  even  during  the  last  days  he 
spent  in  London,  how  he  was  being  made 
a  tool,  and  turned  into  a  mere  means  of 
money-making.  I  used  to  try  and  explain 
all  this  to  him,  but  I  might  just  as  well  have 
tried  to  explain  colors  to  a  man  born  blind. 
It  often  grieved  me  deeply  to  see  his  talents 
made  merchandise  of,  and  himself  treated 
as  if  he  had  been  some  Egyptian  mummy. 
Liszt  had  numerous  decorations,  but  he 
invariably  refused  those  that  were  Italian, 
perhaps  because  he  too  frequently  saw  them 
adorning  the  breasts  of  most  unworthy 
persons.  One  of  his  witty  sayings  was 
occasioned  by  seeing  a  man  whom  he  knew 
to  be  worthless  wearing  a  decoration.  "I 
am  astonished,"  he  said,  "at  the  change 
wrought  in  our  day  by  th  e  progress  of  refine- 
ment and  civilization;  for  whereas  thieves 
used  formerly  to  be  fastened  to  the  cross, 
the  cross  is  now  fastened  to  the  breast  of 
thieves. ' ' 

I  do  not  think  Liszt  understood  the  dif- 
ference between  prayer  properly  so  called, 
and  that  poetry  which  is  the  interior  music 
of  the  soul,  and  to  the  time  and  tune  of 
which  he  marched  through  life.  I  believe 
he  never  expressed  his  highest  feelings  even 
to  his  most  intimate  friends;  he  once  said 
to  me  that  what  is  best  in  our  heart  remains 
forever  hidden  there.  One  day  while  we 
were  reading  Lamartine  he  remarked:  "Is 
it  not  true  that  the  purest  and  most  elevated 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  man's  heart  are 
those  which  he  breathes  forth  in  silence  in 
the  form  of  prayer  to  his  God?  Does  he 
ever  dream  of  putting  them  into  words  or 
revealing  them  to  others?  Surely  not;  for 
he  could  not  bear  to  have  them  profaned, 
as  they  would  be  if  heard  by  another  ear, 
or  seen  by  another  eye. "  Thus  we  discover 
a  secret  chamber  in  the  heart  of  Liszt, 
where  its  choicest  treasures  were  stored. 
Occasionally  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  these 
when  I  noticed  something  specially  noble 


396 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  disinterested  in  his  affections,  which 
proved  the  beauty  of  his  soul. 

I  fear  I  have  enlarged  too  much  upon 
the  failings  rather  than  the  good  qualities 
of  my  illustrious  friend;  I  feel,  therefore, 
that  I  ought  injustice  to  mention  his  mag- 
nanimity, his  Christian  feeling,  the  unmis- 
takable sincerity  of  all  that  he  said  or  did. 
If  he  disliked  any  one  or  anything  he  never 
mentioned  it.  The  Jesuits  were  no  favorites 
with  him,  since  he  had  formed  his  opinion 
of  them  from  the  perusal  of  Pascal's  Pro- 
vincial Letters,  but  the  only  way  in  which 
he  manifested  his  dislike  was  by  refusing 
to  speak  of  them.  I  have  said  in  passing 
how  liberal  he  was;  I  must  add  that  there 
never  was  a  more  kind-hearted  man.  When- 
ever he  left  my  house  or  his  own,  as  the 
case  might  be,  he  invariably  had  something 
to  give  to  the  beggars  who  were  lucky 
enough  to  meet  him;  indeed  I  do  not  re- 
member his  once  refusing  to  give  any  one 
an  alms.  When  we  were  going  to  assist  at 
some  grand  ceremony,  and  Liszt  had  put 
on  his  cassock  and  all  his  decorations,  he 
used  to  give  me  a  handful  of  small  coins  to 
be  distributed  to  the  poor,  in  imitation  of 
the  Cardinals,  whose  secretaries  are  wont, 
at  a  sign  from  their  master,  to  fulfil  the 
office  of  almoner.  There  was, it  is  true,  some- 
what of  "ostentation  and  love  of  display  in 
this;  but,  after  all,  in  one  way  or  another 
he  gave  away  a  great  deal,  and  from  a  true 
spirit  of  charity,  even  though  the  motives 
were  not  always  quite  unmixed. 

While  it  is  true  that  Liszt  was  anything 
but  a  faultless  character,  his  innate  kindness 
of  heart  redeemed  all  his  failings,  which 
arose  principally  from  his  tendency  to  credit 
men  and  things  with  the  qualities  and  feel- 
ings he  himself  possessed.  He  lacked  none 
of  the  three  great  things  enumerated  by  the 
Apostle:  faith,  hope,  and  charity.  In  charity 
he  principally  excelled;  his  charity  was 
essent ially  that  described  by  St.  Paul ,  which 
is  patient  and  kind;  which  envieth  not,  is 
not  puffed  up,  seekeih  not  her  own,  is  not 
provoked  to  anger,  thinketh  no  evil,  re- 
joiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the 
truth.   And  this  charity  made  him  ready 


to  bear  all  things,  believe  all  things,  hope 
all  things,  endure  all  things;  it  ended  only 
with  his  latest  breath.  His  last  letter  to  me, 
written  a  few  days  before  his  death,  bears 
witness  to  this.  I  must  own  that  I  had  been 
somewhat  hard  on  him,  and  had  spoken  the 
truth  to  him  rather  unsparingly;  but  this 
only  served,  once  more  and  for  the  last  time, 
to  bring  into  stronger  relief  his  ruling 
virtue  of  charity,  and  convince  me  that  it 
was  indeed  that  charity  of  which  the  Apos- 
tle says  that  it  "never  falleth  away." 

In  regard  to  faith,  Liszt  was  an  orthodox 
Catholic.  He  believed  most  firmly  in  the 
one  true  Church,  and  never  admitted  the 
possibility  of  the  existence  of  any  other.  For 
him,  as  for  every  faithful  Catholic,  the  rock 
of  Peter  was  the  foundation  of  the  Church. 
Ubi  Petrus,  ibi  ecclesia.  He  acknowledged 
the  Pope  to  be  the  sole  and  infallible  au- 
thority in  matters  of  faith,  and  was  fond  of 
calling  him  the  Blessed  of  the  Lord,  the 
Ruler  of  the  Universal  Church,  the  Fount  of 
Apostolic  Truth,  the  Successor  of  the  Apos- 
tles, the  Anointed  of  the  Lord,  the  Chief 
Shepherd  and  Pastor  of  souls.  He  rejoiced 
to  see  how  it  is  bad  Catholic?  who  go  over 
to  the  so-called  Proestant  Church,  whilst 
on  the  other  hand  it  is  the  best  Protestants 
who  become  Catholics. 

It  was  dangerous  to  attack  the  Church 
in  his  presence;  I  several  times  had  a  spec- 
imen of  the  manner  in  which  he  treated 
such  of  his  Protestant  friends  as  tried  to 
enlighten  "this  poor  man  sunk  in  supersti- 
tion," to  quote  their  own  phrase.  Liszt  had 
the  sarcastic  vein  of  TertuUian,  and  soon 
reduced  them  to  silence.  Yet  he  had  an 
aversion  to  controversy  of  every  kind,  be- 
cause, as  he  used  to  say,  when  explanations 
begin,  all  mutual  understanding  is  at  an 
end.  When  those  among  his  friends  who 
were  of  a  sceptical  turn  of  mind  declared 
that  they  could  not  understand  what  he 
believed,  he  got  out  of  the  difficulty  by 
retorting:  "Unless  you  believe,  you  can  not 
understand." 

It  was  in  1863,  at  the  Vatican,  that  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Liszt,  and  I  was 
with  him  in  Rome  until  1870,  when  I  left 


The  Ave  Maria. 


397 


my  native  city  for  the  first  time.  After  that 
period  he  frequently  did  me  the  honor  of 
writing  to  me;  during  the  siege  of  Paris  I 
more  than  once  received  letters  from  him, 
which  had  been  opened  by  the  Prussian 
Government,  then  ia  power  at  Versailles. 
From  the  battle-field  I^often  wrote  to  him, 
dispatching  my  letters  by  balloon  post,  and 
all  these  duly  reached  their  destination.  In 
1878  I  met  him  again  in  Paris,at  the  time  of 
the  Exhibition.  This  was  the  last  time  I  saw 
^him.  He  was  then  the  guest  of  Mr.Erard, 
the  great  pianoforte  manufacturer.    After 
Tthe  lapse  of  eight  years  I  found  him  just  the 
[same,  amusing  himself  amongst  a  strange 
Imedley  of  acquaintances — priests,  artists, 
ropera  -  singers,  monk=!,  ladies   of  fashion, 
comic  actors,  and  republicans.   He  seemed 
as  young  and  vivacious  as  ever,  still  assum- 
ing an  air  of  fictitious  romance,  still  (to 
quote  what  Voltaire  said  of  La  Harpe)  "an 
oven   that  warms   everything   and   bakes 
nothing." 

The  word  fictitious,  which  I  have  just 
employed  in  reference  to  lyiszt,  may  at  first 
sight  appear  to  be  at  variance  with  my  oft- 
repeated  assurances  as  to  his  perfect  sin- 
pcerity.  But  there  are  two  kinds  of  sincerity : 
one  is  habitual  and  lasting,  the  other  tem- 
porary and  pissing.  Hence  it  comes  that 
men  are  often  accused  of  duplicity  who  have 
a  twofold  nature, but  are  not  on  that  account 
hypocritical  or  false.  Swayed  by  their 
weakness  and  their  imagination,  they  are 
easily  carried  away  whilst  they  are  speak- 
ing, and  when  the  time  for  action  co  mes  they 
appear  to  belie  themselves.  Such  was  Liszt 
all  through  life:  he  always  acted  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment.  Yet  I  never  knew 
[any  one  like  him.  and  I  rarely  met  with 
[any  one  so  lovable,  frank  and  open-hearted 
,  to  his  friends,  and  liberal  to  the  poor. 

And  now  I  ask  myself  if  I  have  not 
[spoken  almost  too  severely  of  the  failings  of 
.one  who  was  amoagst  the  privileged  few 
who  seem  made  to  pass  through  life  with  a 
K laugh  and  a  song,  not  to  take  things  seri- 
ously. Let  us  judge  the  Abb^  Liszt  leni- 
tently.  We  who  belong  to  the  common  herd 
know  not  what  it  is  to  stand  on  the  giddy 


height  of  genius,  and  how  difficult  a  thing 
it  is  to  do  so  without  having  one's  head 
turned. 

The  memory  of  Liszt  is  associated  in  my 
mind  with  many  varied  events  and  persons 
— Pius  IX.,  my  dear  and  holy  mother,  the 
Vatican,  the  taking  of  Rome,  the  siege  of 
Paris,  the  battle-fields  where  I  was  present. 
I  have  but  jotted  down  a  few  of  the  mem- 
ories of  my  friend  and  master,  before  he  is 
altogether  forgotten  by  the  fickle  world. 


The  Cure  of  Ars  and  the  Rosary. 


ONE  of  the  most  perfect  models  of  sanc- 
tity that  God  has  given  to  His  Church 
in  our  times  is  the  Venerable  John  Mary 
Vianney,  so  well  and  so  universally  known, 
by  the  name  of  the  parish  which  he  sanc- 
tified and  made  a  place  of  pilgrimage  from 
all  parts  of  the  world,  as  the  Cur6  of  Ars. 

Like  all  saints,  the  Cuie  of  Ars  was  dis- 
tinguished for  a  special  love  and  devotion 
for  the  Blessed  Virgin;  even  before  his 
birth  his  pious  mother  had  dedicated  him 
to  serve  Gcd  in  the  priesthood,  and  the 
practice  of  it  began  on  the  very  day  of  his 
birth  (in  the  month  of  May),  when  he  was 
baptized  and  received  Our  Lady's  name  in 
addition  to  that  of  John.  He  had  hardly 
learned  to  speak  when  he  began  to  pray. 
At  the  early  age  of  three  years  he  joined 
in  the  prayers  that  were  said  by  the  family, 
and  when  the  Angelus  rang  he  was  the  first 
to  kneel  down. 

The  first  present  that  he  received  from 
his  mother  was  a  statuette  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  To  one  already  so  serious  and  pray- 
erful, any  representation  of  Our  Lady  was 
more  than  a  plaything:  it  was  an  object  of 
pious  veneration  as  well.  Sixty  years  after- 
wards he  would  speak  of  it.  *'Oh,how  I 
loved  that  statue ! "  he  said.  '  Day  or  night 
I  would  never  separate  myself  from  it.  I 
should  not  have  slept  in  peace  if  I  had  not 
had  it  by  my  side  in  my  little  bed." 

A  priest  once  asked  him  how  long  he  had 
loved  the  Blessed  Virgin.  He  replied:  "I 
loved  Her  almost  before  I  could  know  Her. 


39^ 


'I'lie  Avd  Maria. 


.  .  .  When  I  was  very  small  I  had  a  pretty 
Rosary.  My  sister  wanted  to  have  it,  and 
this  was  one  of  my  earliest  sorrows.  I  went 
to  speak  to  my  mother  about  it;  she  ad- 
vised me  to  give  it  up  for  the  love  of  God. 
I  did  so,  but  it  cost  me  many  tears." 

When  he  was  only  seven  years  old  John 
Mary  was  sent  to  the  fields  to  take  charge 
of  his  father's  sheep.  He  was  accustomed 
always  to  take  with  him  his  little  statue  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  When  his  sheep  were 
in  safety,  and  he  could  without  danger  relax 
his  watchfulness  over  them,  he  would  make 
a  little  altar  with  sods,  and  enthrone  his 
statue  on  it.  Then  gathering  his  compan- 
ions— little  shepherds  like  himself — around 
it,  he  would  recite  with  them  the  Holy  Ro- 
sary, and  preach  to  them  gravely  in  moving 
and  expressive  terms.  He  never  lacked  a 
congregation  on  these  occasions;  his  piety 
was  not  disagreeable  to  his  playmates:  on 
the  contrary,  it  made  him  amiable  and  win- 
ning; they  were  disappointed  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  absent,  and  welcomed  him  with 
joyful  shouts  when  he  arrived  amongst 
them.  Nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to 
have  his  companions  join  him  in  some  such 
pious  exercises,  but  when  he  was  alone  he 
did  not  regret  his  solitude.  He  would  place 
his  statuette  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  a  tree, 
and  pass  long  hours  before  it,  absorbed  in 
prayer.  Sometimes  his  companions  would 
mind  his  sheep  for  him  in  order  to  give  him 
time  for  the  Rosary,  in  which  they  knew 
he  took  great  delight. 

We  can  not  doubt  that  this  special  devo 
tion  to  Our  Lady  obtained  for  John  Mary 
Vianney  many  interior  graces,  and  power- 
fully helped  him  on  in  the  path  of  sanctifi- 
cation.  The  whole  of  his  life  hinged  on  his 
providential  escape  from  military  service. 
It  was  during  the  wars  of  the  first  Napoleon, 
when  every  effort  was  made  to  secure 
young  men  for  the  army.  John  Mary  was 
at  this  time  an  ecclesiastical  student,  and 
as  such  was  exempted  from  service;  but  by 
some  mistake  his  name  was  included  in  the 
list  of  those  liable  to  serve,  and  he  was 
drawn  at  the  conscription.  It  was  a  terrible 
blow  to  him,  for  all  his  desires  were  to  be 


a  priest.  Nevertheless,  he  submitted,  and 
took  his  way  to  Bayonne,  where  he  was  to 
join  his  regiment.  He  thought  of  deserting, 
and  certainly  he  would  have  committed  no 
sin  had  he  done  so;  for  the  law  itself  ex- 
empted him,  and  but  for  an  unfortunate 
mistake  he  would  have  been  left  free  to 
continue  his  ecclesiastical  studies.  How- 
ever, he  did  not  dare  to  desert.  A  strict 
search  was  always  made  for  those  who  did 
so,  and  they  were  treated  with  the  greatest 
severity. 

Filled  with  gloomy  thoughts  of  his  frus- 
trated vocation,  John  Mary  pursued  his  way 
to  join  his  regiment.  He  had  recourse  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  for  consolation,  and  in  order 
to  obtain  it  from  God  thiough  Her  inter- 
cession he  recited  the  Rosary.  No  sooner 
had  he  done  this  than  an  unknown  indi- 
vidual accosted  him,  and  asked  him  what 
made  him  so  sad.  John  Mary  told  his  s'ory. 
Without  further  discussion,  the  unknown 
bade  him  follow  him,  assuring  him  that  he 
would  conduct  him  to  a  place  of  safety. 
The  holy  young  man  followed  his  guide 
across  the  country,  over  hills  and  through 
woods,  scarcely  ever  passing  by  a  public 
road  or  an  inhabited  house,  until  at  last 
he  brought  him  to  a  remote  village,  where 
he  remained  undiscovered,  though  not  un- 
searched  for.  He  never  learned  who  his 
guide  was,  but  he  looked  on  him  as  a  mes- 
senger sent  by  Heaven  in  answer  to  his 
Rosary. 

When,  later  on,  he  had  been  ordained 
priest,  and  the  parish  of  Ars  had  been  con- 
fided to  his  care,  he  was  not  unmindful  of 
the  graces  which  he  had  received  through 
the  devotion  to  our  Blessed  Lady  and  Her 
Rosary.  At  this  time  A.rs  was  far  fiom  giv- 
ing edification  by  the  piety  or  virtue  of  its 
people.  The  pious  Cure  adopted  two  means 
for  their  reformation:  the  one  was  dpvotion 
to  Our  Lord  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament; 
the  other,  devotion  to  His  Holy  Mother. 
He  encouraged  the  former  by  bringing  his 
parishioners  to  frequent  Communion  and 
the  visitation  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament; 
the  other  he  promoted  by  means  of  the 
Rosary.  He  remembered,  too,  that  the  con- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


399 


I 


fraternities  the  most  encouraged  by  the 
Church  are  those  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
and  the  Holy  Rosary,  while  they  are  also 
the "  most  ancient  and  universal ;  and  he 
therefore  resolved  that  these  two  confrater- 
nities should  be  established  in  his  parish; 
through  them  he  hoped  to  reform  his  peo- 
ple. From  the  beginning  he  established 
the  practice  of  reciting  the  Rosary  in  pub- 
lic every  night  in  the  church;  meanwhile 
he  waited  for  an  opportunity  of  establishing 
his  confraternity. 

That  opportunity  soon  came.  One  Sun- 
day evening  several  young  people,  who  were 
far  from  being  the  most  fervent  of  his  pa- 
rishioners, remained  in  the  church  for  con- 
fession. The  Cuie  noticed  them,  and  said 
to  himself:  "Now  I  have  them!  My  con- 
fraternity is  a  fact!"  He  went  towards 
them,  and  said:  "My  children, if  you  like, 
we  will  recite  the  Rosary  together,  to  ask 
the  Qaeen  of  Virgins  to  obtain  for  you 
the  grace  to  do  well  what  you  are  about 
to  do.  '  The  conversion  of  several  of  these 
young  persons  dates  from  that  moment. 
The  Cure  of  Ars  lo9ked  upon  this  as  his 
first  conquest;  it  was  followed  by  many 
more,  until  at  length  the  parish  was  com- 
pletely transformed. 

His  own  great  resource  when  he  was  in 
any  special  difficulty  was  to  walk  out  into 
the  country,  with  his  beads  in  his  hand, 
saying  the  Rosary.  On  one  such  occasion 
he  was  greatly  troubled  by  the  want  of 
money  with  which  to  pay  the  workmen 
who  were  engaged  on  his  new  Chapel  of  St. 
John  the  Baptist;  he  had  nothing,  for  he 
had  given  away  all  he  had  to  the  poor.  On 
the  day  of  which  we  are  speaking  he  had 
gone  but  a  short  distance  from  the  village, 
when  he  was  met  by  a  strange  gentleman 
on  horseback,  who  stopped,  raised  his  hat, 
and  inquired  after  his  health.  '  I  am  well 
in  heahh,''  replied  the  good  priest;  "but 
I  am  in  distress."  "What!"  exclaimed 
the  other,  "do  your  parishioners  give  )ou 
pain?  '  "On  the  contrary,"  was  the  reply, 
"they  have  much  more  consideration  for 
me  than  I  deserve.  What  troubles  me  now 
is  that  I  have  just  been  building  a  chapel, 


and  I  have  no  money  with  which  to  pay 
for  it."  The  unknown  seemed  to  reflect 
for  a  moment,  then  took  twenty -five  gold 
pieces  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  them  to 
M.Vianney.  "Sir, "he  said, "this  will  pay 
your  workmen.  I  recommend  myself  to 
your  prayers."  He  then  disappeared  at  a 
gallop,  without  leaving  the  priest  time  to 
think  where  he  was. 

On  another  occasion  he  had  bought  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  corn  for  the  use  of  his 
"Providence,' '  as  he  called  the  house  where 
he  maintained  a  large  number  of  orphans. 
Not  having  the  means  wherewith  to  pay 
his  creditor,  he  begged  for  a  short  respite, 
which  was  granted  with  reluctance.  How- 
ever, the  time  stipulated  approached  its 
close,  and  he  was  still  without  means  He 
therefore  went  out  into  the  country,  and 
recited  his  Rosary,  lecommending  his  dear 
little  orphans  to  the  Mother  of  the  poor. 
His  prayer  was  heard  without  delay.  A 
woman  came  up  to  him  suddenly,  and 
said:  "Are  you  the  paiish  priest  of  Ars?" 
"Yes,  my  good  woman."  "Here  is  some 
money  that  I  have  been  told  to  give  to  you, ' ' 
she  continued ;  "your  prayers  are  asked  for 
the  giver."  Thereupon  the  woman  emptied 
her  purse  into  his  hands,  and  the  good 
Cure  never  knew  who  she  was,  or  whence 
she  came. 

For  many  y^ars  before  the  death  of  the 
Cure  of  Ars  scarcely  any  good  work  of  im- 
portance was  undertaken  in  France  without 
being  submitted  to  him  and  receiving  his 
blessing.  Thus  it  happened  that  when  the 
Perpetual  Rosary,  which  had  for  many  years 
almost  fallen  into  disuse,  was  being  revived, 
the  plan  was  submitted  to  the  holy  priest. 
As  soon  as  he  had  understood  the  nature  of 
the  devotion  he  cried  out:  "Oh,  this  work 
is  beautiful!  very  beautiful!  It  is  a  divine 
work,  and  it  is  destined  to  produce  great 
fruits  in  men's  souls  and  in  the  Church.  I 
unite  myself  to  it  with  all  my  heart,  and  I 
wish  to  be  united  in  intention  to  all  the 
hours  of  prayer,  both  by  day  and  night." 

Some  time  after  this  the  registers  con- 
taining the  names  of  those  who  had  been 
enrolled  in  the  Perpetual  Rosary  up  to  that 


400 


The  Ave  Maria. 


time  were  presented  to  him  that  he  might 
bless  them.  He  did  so, saying, "I  bless  all 
the  names  that  are  inscribed,  and  those  that 
shall  be  inscribed ;  I  unite  myself  in  inten- 
tion to  all  the  hours,  in  this  world  and  in 
the  other,  if  God  gives  me  the  grace  to  re- 
ceive me  into  a  happy  e'ernity." 

The  holv  Cure  of  Ars  died  in  1859,  on  the 
4th  of  August,  the  Feast  of  St.  Dominic,  to 
whom  Our  Lady  revealed  the  devotion  of 
the  Rosary.  His  sanctity  was  illustrated  by 
many  extraordinary  occurrences,  and  the 
cause  of  his  beatification  is  now  under  ex- 
amination at  Rome. 


Bigotry  Rebuked. 


THE  incident  of  the  Cardinal's  closing 
prayer  at  the  Constitutional  centenary 
celebration  still  seems  to  occupy  public 
attention,  but  in  a  manner  indicative  of 
rebuke  and  protest  against  the  utterances 
of  the  Presbyterian  organ  of  Philadelphia. 
The  secular  press  generally  regards  the  se- 
lection of  Cardinal  Gibbons  as  eminently 
fitting,  particularly  as  it  indicated  that  the 
spirit  of  religious  tolerance  pervading  the 
Constitution  had  at  last  accomplished  its 
benignant  work — that,  at  length,  the  gen- 
eral sentiment  pervading  the  American  peo- 
ple showed  plainly  that  they  had  become 
imbued  with  the  true  significance  of  a  doc- 
ument which,  while  intended  to  direct  the 
government  of  a  people,  guaranteed  to  every 
man  "the  right  to  worship  God  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience";  and, 
therefore,  to  speak  of  this  country  as  a 
"Protestant  nation"  was  diametrically  op- 
posed to  the  very  letter  and  spirit  of  the 
Constitution.  As  if  to  intensify  the  public 
rebuke  of  the  Presbyterian  Journal^  an- 
other strictly  Protestant  periodical,  the 
Lutkerajt  Observer^  gave  expression  to  the 
following  sentiment:  "We  deem  it  alto- 
gether proper  that  the  Catholic  Church  as 
well  as  the  Protestant  should  have  been 
represented  on  the  occasion,  and  we  regard 
the  head  of  that  Church  in  this  country  as 
its  most  fitting  representative." 


It  has  also  been  well  said  by  secular  jour- 
nals that  there  could  be  but  one  closing 
prayer,  and  the  duty  of  pronouncing  it  was 
properly  assigned  to  the  representative  of 
' '  that  Church  whose  adherents  in  this  coun- 
try outnumber  those  of  any  other  single 
denomination."  And,  all  in  all,  the  general 
public  opinion  acknowledges  that  the  right 
course  was  taken  by  those  in  charge  of  the 
celebration. 

But  perhaps  the  most  pointed  of  all  ex- 
pressions upon  the  subject  appeared  in  a 
recent  issue  of  the  Catholic  Mirror^  which 
republished  a  graceful  letter  of  Archbishop 
Carroll,  written  in  1815  in  response  to  an 
invitatioi  toopen  the  ceremonies  of  the  lay- 
ing of  the  corner-stone  of  the  Washington 
Monument.  It  is  taken  from  the  columns 
of  the  American  Commercial  Daily  Adver- 
tiser of  Baltimore,  dated  Saturday,  July  8, 
1 815  and  the  whole  breathes  a  spirit  of  broad 
and  honest  patriotism  that  shouM  make 
ashamed  of  themselves  the  narrow-micded 
sectarians  who  have  been  ranting  over  the 
honor  paid  to  Cardinal  Gibbons  and  the 
Catholic  Church.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  at  a  time  so  near  the  framing  of  the 
Constitution  its  spirit  was  well  understood, 
and  overheated  fanatics  of  the  present  day 
may  well  learn  from  the  earaest  but  mod- 
est utterances  of  the  venerable  Archbishop 
Carroll  the  true  significance  of  love  of  coun- 
try. The  extract  from  the  Advertiser  reads 
as  follows: 

In  making  the  preparatory  arrangements  for 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the  Washington 
Monument  to  the  memory  of  Washington,  the 
managers  directed  their  committee  to  request,  in 
the  first  instance,  the  venerable  and  universally- 
respected  Archbishop  Carroll  to  commence  the 
ceremonies  by  invoking  a  blessing  on  the  under- 
taking, not  only  on  account  of  his  high  ecclesias- 
tical rank,  but  as  having  been  the  contemporary 
and  intimate  friend  of  that  illustrious  man.  But, 
as  he  was  at  a  distance  from  the  city,  the  wishes 
of  the  managers  were  conveyed  to  him  in  a  com- 
munication from  Mr.  Fenwick,  who  received  in 
reply  the  following  letter, which  we  take  pleasure 
in  being  permitted  to  make  public: 

*  * 
"  You  will  not  fail  to  present  immediately  my 
very  respectful  and  grateful  acknowledgment  to 
Mr.  Gilmore,  and  through  him  to  the  gentlemen 


The  Ave  Maria. 


401 


of  the  committee.for  the  distinguished  honor  done 
tne  by  their  choice  of  me  as  the  person  designated 
to  open  the  august  ceremony  of  the  Fourth  of 
July  and  remind  our  countrymen  of  the  only  true 
sources  of  real  hoaor  and  glory — the  moral  civil, 
and  military  virtues  of  that  illustrious  man  whose 
monument  will  that  day  besfin  to  be  raised,  which, 
€ven  without  the  aid  of  marble,  remains  undefaced 
and  imperishable  in  the  hearts  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens; though  it  is  likewise  worthy  of  all  praise  to 
exhibit  grand  and  solid  testimoaials  of  material 
gratitude  to  emineat  benefactors. 

"These  are  my  sincere  feelings  on  the  present 
occasion,  and  with  pride  would  I  obey  a  call  which 
honors  me  so  much;  and  though  at  all  times  it 
would  exceed  my  pDwer  to  do  it  justice,  but  now 
more  particularly  at  my  advanced  period  of  life, 
and  with  a  half-extinguished  voice,  I  must  una- 
voidably fall  so  much  below  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion  and  public  expectation,  that  respect  for 
thesuperemlnentWdshineton  and  for  my  fellow- 
cit'zens  compels  me  to  offer  my  excuse  to  the 
committee,  which  you  will  do  in  my  behalf,  in 
terms  the  most  expressive  of  my  respect  and  my 
regrtt  for  my  inability  to  answer  their  politeness 
with  a  ready  compliance." 


Catholic  Notes. 


Towards  the  end  of  last  mouth  I^eo  Xtll. 
addressed  to  the  Bishops  of  Italy  a  letter  on 
the  promotion  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  the  text 

;of  which  has  been  late  in  reaching  us.  His 
Holiness  speaks  of  the  trials  of  the  Church,  of 
the  dangers  to  which  the  faithful  in  Italy  are 
exposed,  and  again  expresses  his  desire  to 
revive  everywhere  the  devotion  to  Our  Lady 
of  the  Rosary,  and  to  spread  it  far  and  wide 

[among  the  faithful  of  the  world:  declaring 
that  the  devotion  is  most  appropriate  for  the 
needs  of  the  times,  and  that  his  most  lively 

Umd  sure  hope  is  placed  in  the  Queen  of  the 
Rosary, who  has  shown  Herself,  since  She  has 
been  invoked  by  that  title,  so  ready  to  help 
the  Church  and  Christian  peoples  in  their 
necessities. 

A  piece  of  news  which  possesses  an  interest 
peculiarly  its  own,  and  conveys  a  very  pointed 
lesson,  is  going  the  rounds  of  the  press.  It 
is  to  the  effect  that  a  generous  alumnus  of 
■Georgetown  College,  having  fallen  heir  to  a 
fortune,  has  given  the  sum  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  his  alma  mater.  This  munificent 
gift  has  been  augmented  by  the  donation  of 
a  similar  amount  by  three  other  members  of 


the  gentleman's  family,  swelling  the  sum  re- 
ceived by  the  College  to  the  handsome  figure 
of  forty  thousand  dollars.  We  hope  that  the  ac- 
tion of  these  benefactors  of  Catholic  education 
will  be  looked  upon  as  an  example  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  many  others.  We  would  suggest, 
too,  as  a  fitting  subject  for  the  generosity  and 
practical  sympathy  of  friends  of  education, 
the  rebuilding  of  St.  Meinrad's  Abbey  and 
College  in  Indiana,  the  complete  destruction 
of  which  is  still  fresh  in  the  public  mind, 

Portland,  Oregon,  had  a  great  celebration 
recently,  when  Archbishop  Gross  received  the 
pallium  from  the  hands  of  Cardinal  Gibbons. 
The  event  had  been  looked  forward  to  for  some 
time,  and  elaborate  preparations  had  been 
made  for  its  observance.  Pontifical  Mass  was 
celebrated  in  the  Church  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  ^gidius  Junger, 
and  an  eloquent  sermon  was  preached  by  Car- 
dinal Gibbons  Among  those  present  were 
Archbishop  Riordan,  Bishop  Brondel,  Bishop 
Glorieux,  and  many  priests  of  the  diocese. 

In  a  recent  number  of  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  the  celebrated  European  diplomatist, 
M.  Melchior  de  Vogue,  pays  a  glowing  tribute 
to  the  flourishing  condition  of  the  Church  in 
the  United  States.  He  speaks  in  particular  of 
the  high  qualities  of  mind  and  heart  possessed 
by  the  chiefs  of  the  American  clergy.  Their 
zeal  for  religion,  he  says,  is  equalled  only 
by  their  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  science 
and  learning,  which  is  so  clearly  manifested  by 
the  approaching  foundation  of  the  Catholic 
University.  M.  de  Vogue's  article  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  interest  which  the  present  state 
and  future  prospects  of  the  Church  in  America 
excite  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  As  further 
testimony  to  this  we  may  quote  some  words 
of  Bishop  Keane:  "Few  men  are  more  eagle- 
eyed  to  see  what  is  and  what  is  to  be  than 
Cardinal  Manning.  One  day  last  June  he  said 
to  me:  '  I  consider  it  beyond  doubt  that  the 
next  great  development  of  human  progress  is 
to  be  in  America.'  And  many  another  prince 
of  the  Church  is  frank  to  confess  that  the  Old 
World  has  many  lessons  to  learn  from  the 
New," 

"The  Sisters  of  Mercy  "  was  the  subject  of 
an  eloquent  lecture  delivered  recently  in  Pitts- 
burg by  the  Rev.  J.  F,  Canevin.  The  lecture 
was  listened  to  by  more  than  a  thousand  per- 


40i 


The  A  ve  Maria. 


sons,  and  the  proceeds  were  devoted  to  the  aid 
of  the  Sisters'  new  House  of  Industry.  The 
reverend  lecturer,  after  giving  an  account  of 
the  foundation  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy  in  the 
year  1 831.  at  Dublin,  went  on  to  speak  of  the 
objects  and  rule  of  the  Order,  and  closed  with 
an  eloquent  panegyric  on  the  heroism  and  de- 
votedness  of  the  Sisters  during  the  late  civil 
war.  

A  decree  of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
Rites,  dattd  Sept.  nth,  Feast  of  the  Most 
Holy  Name  of  Mary,  announces  that  the  Sov- 
ereign Pontiff,  seeing  that  the  Feast  of  the 
Solemnity  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary  is  kept 
by  the  people  with  singular  honor  and  vener- 
ation— which  veneration  is  referred  to  all  the 
mysteries  of  the  life  and  passion  and  glory  of 
Jesus  Christ  our  Redeemer,  and  of  His  spot- 
less Mother, — in  order  to  foster  still  more  this 
growing  spirit  of  piety,  and  to  increase  still 
further  the  public  veneration,  has  extended 
to  the  whole  Church  a  privilege  frequently 
granted  to  particular  churches,  by  ordering 
that  the  Solemnity  and  the  Ofl5ce  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Rosary,  assigned  to  the  first  Sunday  of 
October,  should  in  future  be  celebrated  with 
the  rite  of  a  double  of  the  second  class,  so  that 
it  can  not  be  transferred  to  another  day  except 
when  a  feast  of  higher  rank  falls  on  the  same 
day  according  to  the  Rubrics,  notwithstand- 
ing anything  to  the  contrary. 


A  fine  oil-painting  of  the  Rev  Simon  Petit 
Lalumiere,  the  first  native  of  the  State  of  Indi- 
ana to  be  raised  to  the  dignity  of  the  priest- 
hood, is  among  recent  additions  to  the  histor- 
ical collection  of  the  University  of  Notre 
Dame.  He  was  ordained  by  the  venerable 
Bishop  Flaget,  of  Kentucky.  When  Bishop 
Brute  arrived  at  Vincennes,  in  1834,  to  take 
possession  of  his  new  diocese.  Father  Lalu- 
miere  was  the  only  priest  in  the  whole  State 
of  Indiana.  The  painting  was  presented  by 
Mother  Euphrasia,  General  Superioress  of  the 
Sisters  of  Providence. 


The  Nacional,  of  Ecuador,  announces  that 
the  Congress  of  that  Republic  has  voted  to 
present  their  congratulations  to  Pope  I^eo 
XIII.  for  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  first 
Mass;  makes  known  their  fervent  wishes  for 
his  freedom,  and  the  restoration  of  the  sacred 
rights  belonging  to  him  as  the  successor  of 
St.  Peter  and  as  the  visible  Head  of  the  Cath- 


olic Church;  renews  the  promise  already  made 
by  that  nation  to  remain  faithful  to  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Holy  See.  especially  to  those 
j  contained  in  the  Encyclicals  Duiturmim  and 
Immortale  Dei,  and  decrees  that  the  31st  of 
December,  1887,  be  observed  as  a  general  hol- 
iday, and  that  the  executive  authority  cause 
to  be  celebrated  in  all  the  cathedral  churches 
of  the  Republic  a  solemn  Mass  with  Te  Deiim, 
at  which  all  are  expected  to  as'-ist  Finally,  the 
Congress  has  appropriated  the  sum  of  10,000 
duros  (^2,000)  as  their  contribution  to  the 
alms  to  be  presented  by  the  Catholic  world 
to  his  Holiness  on  the  said  anniversary. — 
London  Tablet. 

The  relations  between  the  Holy  See  and 
the  Ottoman  Government  are  daily  becoming 
more  cordial  and  intimate.  The  new  apostolic 
delegate  Mgr.  Bonetti.  who  was  recently  sent 
to  Turkey,  has  been  received  by  the  Sultan 
with  the  highest  honors,  and  accorded  the 
ceremonial  of  a  grand  state  audience.  When 
the  prelate  took  occasion  to  express  to  the 
sovereign  of  Turkey  the  kindly  sentiments 
entertained  towards  him  by  the  Holy  Father, 
and  his  desire  for  the  prosperity  of  the  Empire, 
the  Sultan  responded  in  terms  expressive  of 
the  sincere  good  will  with  which  he  received 
and  reciprocated  the  salutations  of  his  Holi- 
ness, and  throughout  the  whole  audience  took 
particular  pains  to  show  his  friendly  feeling 
towards  the  representative  of  the  Holy  See. 

An  eminent  French  priest  relates  that  a 
short  time  ago  a  physician  in  his  visits  among 
the  sick  poor  of  Paris  found  a  lady  of  evident 
refinement  waiting  upon  an  old  woman,  who 
lived  in  a  back  room  of  a  wretchedly  poor 
house  in  the  Faubourg .  Although  pov- 
erty was  visible  everywhere,  everything  was 
nicely  arranged.  The  furniture  was  clean,  the 
bed  comfortable  and  neatly  dressed,  and  the 
few  little  articles  in  their  proper  places. 

' '  A  neighbor  of  yours  ?  ' '  remarked  the 
doctor  to  the  old  woman, — "and  a  kinjd  one 
truly!" 

' '  I  am  a  friend  of  hers, ' '  said  the  attendant, 
anticipating  the  invalid's  reply. 

Some  time  afterwards  the  Countess  of 

had  occasion  to  call  on  the  same  physician, 
and  servants  in  livery  attended  her. 

"Mon  Z>z>M./ "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "but 
your  ladyship  is  the  same  I  met  at ." 

The  Countess  smiled  at  his  astonishment, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


403 


ind   then,  placing   her   finger   on   her   lips, 
turned  for  a  moment  to  admire  a  painting 

^hich  hung  near  where  they  were  standing. 

*here  are  many  such  heroines  of  charity  in 

*aris,  wicked  as  it  is. 

From  the  first  annual  report  of  the  Sacred 

[eart   Home,  Drumcondra  Road,  Dublin,  a 

lotice  of  which  was  published  recently  in  The 

"Ave  Maria,"  we  learn  that  the  number  of 

children  received  into  the  institution  since  the 

l^d  of  August,  1886,  is  103, — boys,  49;  girls, 

|'54.   Among  the  contributors  to  the  fund  are: 

|the  Archbishop  of  Dublin, /," 50;  the  Cardinal 

irchbishop  of  Westminster,  ^5;  the  Empress 

Dugenie,  ^10;    at  d   Colorel  Sir  W.  Butler, 

'100.  The  Home  was  founded,  as  will  be  re- 

lembered,  under  the  auspices  of  the   Most 

*Rev.  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  for  the  reception 

,of  children  rescued  from  the  "birds' -nests" 

)f  prosely  tism.         

For  many  years  it  was  uncertain  whether 
the  Dresden  or  Darmstadt  "Madonna"  was 
[olbein's  genuine  masterpiece.  The  Grand 
)uke  of  Hesse  has  not  allowed  his  picture  to 
cleared  of  the  thick  coat  of  paint  and  var- 
lish.  Herr  Hauzer,  the  Munich  restorer,  has 
;ea  so  successful  that  there  is  no  doubt  as 
to  its  genuineness.  It  will  be  on  exhibition 
shortly  at  Dresden,  side  by  side  with  the  pict- 
ire  which  has  so  long  been  held  to  be  the  orig- 
inal. The  colors  are  even  more  brilliant  than 
lose  of  the  Dresden  Madonna. — N.  Y.  Sun. 


Most  of  our  readers  have  heard  of  the  mon- 
stery  of  the  Grand  Chartreuse  near  Grenoble, 
It  which  the  celebrated  liqueur  of  that  name 
made;  but  few,  perhaps,  have  any  idea  of 
Ithe  benefits  which  have  resulted  to  the  sur- 
rounding country  from  the  sale  of  this  prod- 
ict.  The  proceeds  of  their  manufacture  have 
enabled  the  monks  to  build  churches  and  hos- 
pitals, to  relieve  the  wants  of  the  poor,  and  to 
bestow  their  hospitality  on  countless  strangers 
and  pilgrims.  Over  two  million  dollars  have 
been  spent  by  them  in  less  than  a  century  for 
pious  and  charitable  purposes,  and  their  alms 
are  sent  all  over  the  world.  It  is  a  striking 
fact  that  the  persecutors  of  other  religious 
bodies  leave  them  alone,  but  the  explanation 
of  this  is  not  far  to  seek:  the  State  receives 
from  them  annually  over  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  paid  as  duty  on  the  liqueur; 
and  it  has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is 


best  to  let  the  monks  of  the  Grand  Chartreuse 
stay  where  they  are. 


An  interesting  ceremony  took  place  recently 
in  Pittsburg — viz.,  the  laying  of  the  corner- 
stone of  a  new  House  of  Industry  by  Bishop 
Phelan.  There  was  a  large  attendance  of  the 
clergy  of  the  diocese,  and  at  least  five  thousand 
people  gathered  on  the  streets  and  the  site  of 
the  new  building.  The  Bishop,  after  laying  the 
stone,  delivered  some  appropriate  remarks  on 
the  beauty  of  charity  and  the  noble  objects  of 
the  proposed  Home  of  Industry,  and  pointed 
out  that  the  best  way  of  manifesting  apprecia- 
tion of  the  self-sacrificing  efforts  of  the  Sisters 
of  Mercy,  for  whom  the  building  will  be 
erected,  was  to  imitate  their  undertakings, 
and  show  love  to  God  and  man  by  works  of 
mercy,  goodness,  and  charity. 


The  Catholic  Union  quotes  an  affirmation 
of  La  Ltimiere  Eledriqiie  that  not  Franklin, 
but  a  Bohemian  monk.  Prokop  Dirvish,  was 
the  inventor  of  the  lightning-rod. 


Obituary. 


"  //  /A-  a  holy  and  wholesome  thouf^ht  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  Teresa,  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph,  whose 
devoted  life  was  crowned  with  a  precious  death 
on  the  ist  inst.,  at  San  Diego,  Cal. 

Mr.  William  A.  Jenks,  formerly  an  Episcopalian 
minister,  whose  happy  death  took  place  at  Cam- 
den N.J.,on  the  2ist  of  July. 
»   Mrs.  Bridget  White,  who  depirted  this  life  on 
the  5th  inst.,  at  Charlestown,  Mass. 

Miss  Ellen  Luby.  of  Jacksonville,  111.,  whose 
tender  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  re- 
warded with  a  precious  death  on  the  6th  inst. 

Mr.  Thomas  J.  Myer,  whose  happy  death  oc- 
curred at  Pikeville,  Md.,  on  the  29th  ult. 

Miss  Mary  L.  Feeney,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
who  breathed  her  last  at  St.  Joseph's  Hospital, 
Baltimore,  on  the  22d  of  September. 

Michael  and  John  Grimes,  Mrs.  Bridget  Grimes, 
Mrs.  Catherine  Heilt,  and  Mrs.  Bridget  Hagan,  of 
Altoona,  Pa. ;  William,  John,  and  George  Peacock, 
and  Mrs.  Mary  Mangan,  Limerick,  Ireland;  An- 
drew Meehan,  Dubuque,  Iowa;  Mrs.  Mary  Dela- 
ney,Waterbury,  Conn.;  Mr.  William  Fitzgerald, 
and  Miss  Mary  Rohan. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


404 


The  Ave  Maria. 


RAllTMENT 


Queen  of  the  Holy  Rosary. 


BY  SISTER   MARY   ALPHONSUS. 


Ipj  JOYFUL  Heart  of  Mary! 

^    What  trembling  bliss  was  Thine, 

Thy  Son  and  God  to  worship 

Within  His  humble  shrine! 
To  watch  His  infant  footsteps, 

To  guard  His  infant  rest, 
Within  Thine  arms  to  shield  Him, 

And  clasp  Him  to  Thy  breast! 

O  mournful  Heart  of  Mary ! 

To  meet  that  cruel  day 
When,  rent  and  racked  and  tortured. 

Upon  the  Cross  He  lay; 
To  feel  His  bitter  anguish, 

To  hear  His  dying  cry, 
To  see  His  death-thirst  mocked  at. 

And  then  to  see  Him  die! 

O  glorious  Heart  of  Mary ! 

O  wonder-spot  above! 
Where  God  hath  all  surpassed  Himself 

In  royalty  and  love: 
For  every  pang  a  glory, 

For  every  prayer  a  wreath, — 
His  crowning  grace  above  Thee, 

His  brightest  saints  beneath! 

But,  sweet  and  joyful  Mother, 

Mother  of  tears  and  woe, 
Mother  of  grace  and  glory, 

Thou  still  hast  cares  below; 
Then  bid  us  share  Thy  rapture. 

And  bid  us  taste  Thy  pain. 
To  sing  at  last  Thy  grandeur 

In  Christ's  eternal  reign. 


The  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  things 
are  oftenest  done  in  the  world  by  those 
wlio  had  no  opportunities,  while  people 
whose  hands  were  full  of  the  means  never 
arrived  at  any  end. — Rosa  Mulholland. 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  Shrines  of  Our  Lady 
in  Austria. 


OUR   L\DV   OF  VICTORIES. 


'  Our  Lady  dear  of  Victories, 
We  see  our  Faith  oppressed. 
And,  praying  for  our  erring  land, 
We  love  that  name  the  best." 

Over  woodland  roads,  under  widespiead- 
ing  sycamore  and  larch  trees,  we  drove  on 
through  summer  meadow -lands  to  the 
pretty  Austrian  hamlet  of  Lanzendorf, 
whose  pilgrimage  Church  of  Sancta  Maria 
is  built  on  the  meadows  where  St.  Luke 
preached  to  the  Markomans  in  the  year  70. 
Not  until  the  year  iioi  did  this  shrine 
become  a  pilgrimage,  under  the  name  and 
protection  of  the  Society  of  St.  Sebastian. 
A  captain  in  the  army  of  Dake  Leop3ld  first 
established  the  custom  of  a  yearly  resort 
for  praver  at  this  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of 
Victories,  atid  since  then,  in  the  month  of 
May,  pilgrims  from  neighboring  cities  go 
thence  in  procession  through  the  Austrian 
woodlands 

The  history  of  the  old  church  is  given  in 
the  seven  pictures  which  surround  the  altar 
in  the  centre  of  the  building  at  the  inter- 
section of  the  transepts — for  the  church  is 
in  the  form  of  a  cross  — and  the  daily  Masses 
are  said  at  this  central  altar;  although  the 
high  altar  is  beyond  the  choir,  in  the  space 
which  may  be  described  as  at  the  head  of 
the  cross;  and  beyond  this  great  altar  is  the 
little  votive  chapel. 

The  hamlet  of  Lanzendorf  is  very  little 
known  to  tourists  in  Austria;  indeed  it  has 
nothing  of  interest  beside  its  church.  It  is 
removed  from  the  railroads,  and  reached 
only  by  a  carriage-road  from  Vienna.  We 
left  the  city  about  three  o'clock  'in  the 
afternoon,  and  after  a  long  drive  found  our- 
selves in  the  little  hill-side  village.  The 
church  was  closed  for  the  night,  but  we  had 
secured  rooms  at  the  inn.  It  was  only  one 
story  high;  the  rooms  all  opened  into  one 
another,  and  seemed  to  possess  nothing  but 
board  floors  and  plastered  ceilings.  Comfort 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


405 


was  hardly  to  be  named  in  such  a  place; 
and  yet,  through  the  kindly  attention  of 
the  hndlady,  we  passed  an  entertaining 
evening  and  comfortable  night.  It  rained 
towards  midnight,  and  the  patter  of  drops 
on  the  tiled  roof  soothed  us  to  slumber,  like 
the  fairy  footsteps  of  Haydn's  allegretto 
played  on  an  old  spinet  in  the  moonlight. 

Early  the  following  morning  we  walked 
up  the  road  to  the  pilgrims'  shrine — a  plain, 
whitewashed  or  cement- covered  stone  edi 
fice,  built  in  the  baroque-renaissance  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Some  of  the  ninth  and 
tenth  century  portions  of  the  church  re- 
main, but  there  is  nothing  of  interest  in 
architectural  or  artistic  beauties.  The  pict- 
ures which  tell  the  history  of  the  place  are 
black  and  browned  with  time  and  atmos- 
pheric exposure,  and  are  placed  around 
the  central  altar  like  a  semicircular  screen. 
They  have  no  artistic  merit,  save  as  being 
poetical  in  design,  and  valuable  as  relics  of 
historical  art. 

The  first  picture  at  the  right  side  of  the 
altar  represents  St.  Luke  preaching  to  the 
Markomans  on  his  return  from  Germany  to 
Macedonia. 

The  Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius  gained  a 
victory  over  the  Markomans  in  this  same 
field  in  the  year  174.  A  violent  thunder- 
storm broke  over  the  barbarians,  while  the 
Christian  legion,  which  led  the  Emperor's 
forces,  remained  quite  dry;  for  the  sun 
shone  over  their  ranks.  After  the  battle  the 
Emperor  built  a  chapel  on  the  field  for  his 
Christian  soldiers.  The  second  picture  rep- 
resents this  bittle,  cloud-shadow  and  sun- 
shine over  the  Christians,  rain  and  storm- 
cloud  over  the  Markomans. 

In  508  King  Arthur  of  England  found  a 
stone  on  this  spot  with  an  inscription  tell- 
ing that  St.  Luke  had  preached  here.  The 
English  King  built  another  chapel  for  his 
knights.  The  third  picture  represents  the 
finding  of  the  stone.  The  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table  grouped  about  the  King 
forms  a  most  effective  painting. 

An  old  legend  tells  us  that  in  the  year  539 
the  German  Princess  Ernirudus  entered  this 
chapel  with  her  maidens,  and  prayed  the 


Blessed  Virgin  to  appear  to  her.  The  fourth 
picture  represents  the  kneeling  Princess, 
and  the  dimly-defined  form  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  surrounded  by  white  lilies.  This  pict- 
ure is  full  of  poetic  beauty  and  deep  relig- 
ious sentiment.  We  lingered  long  before 
it,  and  returned  to  it  again  and  again.  Our 
Lady  among  the  lilies,  loveliest  of  themes 
for  painter  or  poet,  has  long  been  the 
favorite  type  of  "Mother  Most  Pure"  in 
Catholic  art. 

In  791  the  Emperor  Charlemagne  re- 
turned thanks  in  this  chapel  for  a  victory 
gained  over  the  Huns.  In  the  fifth  painting 
he  is  represented  as  kneeling  and  present- 
ing a  picture  as  thank-offering. 

The  sixth  picture  shows  King  Leopold 
offering  alms,  his  sword,  and  the  blood- 
stained clothes  he  wore  in  the  victorious 
crusade  of  iioi. 

The  seventh  and  last  picture  represents 
the  first  woodland  journey  or  pilgrimage  to 
this  shrine,  led  by  the  captain  of  Leopold's 
army,  who  first  established  the  Society  of 
St.  Sebastian,  and  the  custom  of  making  a 
May  pilgrimage  to  St.  Mary's,  Lanzendorf. 

There  were  but  few  worshippers;  the  vil- 
lage is  so  sparsely  settled  that  all  its  inhab- 
itants, even  on  Sundays  and  festivals,  would 
not  fill  a  quarter  of  the  great  church;  but 
during  the  May  pilgrimage  it  can  not  con- 
tain all  the  pilgrims.  Booths  by  the  road- 
side are  filled  with  votive  picture-cards, 
rosaries,  and  mementos  of  the  place.  These 
are  largely  purchased  by  the  faithful,  and 
the  keepers  of  these  little  shops  vie  with 
one  another  in  recommending  their  small 
wares.  A  few  photographs  of  the  historical 
pictures  are  found  among  the  mementos  of 
the  church,  but  none  of  the  loveliest  picture 
of  them-  all — Oar  Lady  among  the  lilies. 

' '  It  can  not  be  copied, ' '  said  an  old  dame 
from  whom  we  purchased  copies  of  the 
other  pictures.  "It  has  been  tried  often  and 
often." 

"But  I  have  copied  it  in  pencil,"  said 
Roberta,  and  forthwith  opened  her  little 
sketch  book. 

'  ''Ach^  wie  wunderschbn  /  "  *  exclaimed 

*  Ah,  how  wonderfully  beautiful! 


4o6 


Th^  Ave  Maria. 


the  poor  woman,  both  hands  raised  in  ad- 
miration; and  then  she  called  the  entire 
mercantile  population  to  enjoy  the  sketch 
with  her. 

It  was  noon  before  our  carriage  was  ready 
to  return  to  Vienna,  and,  to  please  the  old 
dames  who  had  so  thoroughly  admired  her 
work,  Roberta,  aided  by  Hilda,  had  made 
several  copies  of  the  sketch,  and  presented 
them  to  their  admirers.  Words  can  faintly 
describe  the  profuse  thanks  they  received. 

Our  homeward  drive  by  another  road, 
which  led  through  the  barren,  rocky  hills 
upon  which  the  ruins  of  Castle  Tannhauser 
stands, was  longer  than  the  direct  highway, 
and  lights  were  gleaming  in  the  great  city 
long  before  we  reached  our  hotel. 

*' To-morrow  we  go  southward  to  the 
votive  shrine  of  Maria  Schiifz"  (Mary  our 
Protectress),  said  Madame  Veronique. 
(to  be  continued  ) 


From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes. 


(Continued.) 

Shortly  after  landing,  Marco  hastened  to 
find  the  gentleman  for  whom  his  kind  friend 
in  Boca  had  given  him  a  card  bearing  a 
few  words  of  recommendation.  On  entering 
Rosario,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  come 
into  a  city  with  which  he  was  already  famil- 
iar. There  were  the  straigb  t,  interminable 
streets,  bordered  with  low  white  houses, 
traversed  in  all  directions  above  the  roofs 
by  telegraph  and  telephone  wires,  which 
looked  like  enormous  spiders'  webs;  and 
there  *  was  a  great  confusion  of  people,  of 
horses,  and  of  vehicles.  He  wandered  about 
for  nearly  an  hour,  making  one  turn  after 
another,  and  seeming  always  to  come  back 
to  the  same  street;  but  finally,  by  dint  of 
inquiry,  he  found  the  house  he  was  looking 
for.  In  answer  to  his  ring,  the  door  was 
opened  by  a  large,  gruflf  man,  who  had  the 
air  of  a  steward,  and  who  demanded,  with 
a  foreign  accent: 

"What  do  you  want?" 

The  boy  mentioned   the   name   of  his 
patron. 


' '  The  master  has  gone  away, ' '  replied  the 
steward;  "he  set  out  yesterday  afternoon 
for  Buenos  Ayres,  with  his  whole  family." 

Marco  was  speechless.  After  a  moment 
he  stammered :  ' '  But  I — I  have  no  one 
here!  I  am  alone!"  And  he  oflfered  the 
card. 

The  steward  took  it,  read  it,  and  said:  "I 
don't  know  what  to  do  for  you.  I'll  give  it 
to  him  when  he  returns,  a  month  hence." 

"But  I — I  am  alone;  I  am  in  need! "  ex- 
claimed the  lad,  in  a  supplicating  voice. 

"Oh,"  said  the  other,  "just  as  though 
there  were  not  plenty  of  your  sort  from  your 
country  in  Rosario!  Be  off",  and  do  your 
begging  in  Italy!"  And  he  slammed  the 
door  in  his  face. 

The  boy  stood  on  the  door-step  as  though 
he  had  been  turned  to  stone.  Then  he  picked 
up  his  bag,  and  slowly  went  out,  his  heart 
torn  with  anguish,  his  mind  in  a  whirl, 
assailed  all  at  once  by  a  thousand  anxious 
thoughts.  What  was  to  be  done?  Where 
was  he  to  go?  From  Rosario  to  Cordova 
was  a  day's  journey  by  rail.  He  had  only  a 
few  lire  in  his  pocket.  After  deducting  what 
he  should  be  obliged  to  spend  that  day, 
there  was  next  to  nothing  left.  Where  was 
he  to  find  the  money  to  pay  his  fare?  He 
could  work,  but  to  whom  should  he  apply 
for  employment?  As  for  begging,  he  could 
never  do  that.  To  be  repulsed,  insulted, 
humiliated,  as  he  had  been  a  little  while 
ago  ?  No :  never,  never  again ;  rather  would 
he  die!  And  at  this  idea,  and  at  the  sight 
of  the  very  long  street  which  was  lost  in  the 
distance  of  the  boundless  plain,  he  felt  his 
courage  desert  him  once  more.  Flinging 
his  bag  on  the  sidewalk,  he  sat  down  with 
his  back  against  the  wall,  and  bent  his 
head  between  his  hands,  in  an  attitude  of 
despair. 

People  jostled  him  as  they  passed;  several 
boys  stopped  to  look  at  him.  He  remained 
thus  for  a  while,  when  suddenly  he  was 
startled  by  a  voice  saying  to  him  in  a  mixt- 
ure of  Italian  and  Lombard  dialect, "What 
is  the  matter,  youngster?"  He  raised  his 
face  at  these  words,  and  instantly  sprang  to 
his  feet,  uttering  an  exclamation  of  won- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


407 


der :  ' '  You  here ! "  It  was  the  old  Lombard 
peasant  whom  he  had  met  during  his  first 
voyage. 

The  amazement  of  the  peasant  was  as 
great  as  his  own ;  but  the  boy  did  not  give 
him  time  to  ask  any  questions:  he  rapidly 
recounted  the  state  of  his  affairs.  "Now  I 
am  without  a  soldo.  I  must  go  to  work.  Find 
me  work,  that  I  may  earn  a  few  lire.  I  will 
do  anything — I  can  carry  rubbish;  I  can 
sweep  the  streets;  I  can  run  on  errands,  or 
even  work  in  the  country ;  I  am  content  to 
live  on  black  bread,  if  only  I  can  set  out 
quickly,  and  find  my  beloved  mother  once 
more." 

"It  is  easy  to  say,  'To  work,  to  work! '  " 
replied  the  peasant,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"Let  us  look  about  a  little.  Is  there  no 
way  of  finding  thirty  lire  among  so  many 
fellow-countr>  men  ? ' ' 

The  boy  looked  at  him,  consoled  by  a 
ray  of  hope. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  the  peasant. 

The  man  started  on,  and  Marco  followed. 
They  walked  along  for  some  time  without 
speaking.  The  peasant  stopped  at  the  door 
of  an  inn  bearin  >»  the  inscription,  "The  Star 
of  Italy. ' '  He  looked  in,  and,  turning  to  the 
boy,  said:  "We  have  arrived  at  the  right 
moment."  They  entered  a  room  containing 
many  tables,  around  which  were  seated  men, 
drinking  and  talking  loudly.  The  Lombard 
approached  the  first  table,  and  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  saluted  the  six  guests 
who  were  gathered  around  it,  it  was  evident 
that  he  had  been  in  their  company  a  short 
time  previously. 

* '  Comrades, ' '  said  the  peasant,  presenting 
the  little  stranger, "  here  is  a  poor  lad,  our 
fellow-countryman,  who  has  come  alone 
from  Genoa  to  Buenos  Ay  res  to  seek  his 
mother.  At  Buenos  Ayres  they  told  him  she 
had  gone  to  Cordova.  He  came  in  a  bark 
to  Rosario,  with  a  few  lines  of  recommen- 
dation. He  presented  the  card,  and  they 
drove  him  oflF  in  despair.  He  has  not  a  cen- 
tesimo  to  his  name,  and  he  is  all  alone.  Let 
us  see  if  we  can  raise  enough  to  pay  his 
way  to  Cordova  in  search  of  his  mother. ' ' 

"A  fellow-countryman  of  oursl"   they  | 


all  shouted  at  once.  "Come  hither,  little 
fellow!  We  are  all  emigrants!  See  what 
a  handsome  young  rogue!  Out  with  your 
wallets,  comrades !  Bravo!  Came  alone  all 
the  way  from  Genoa!  We'll  send  you  to  your 
motheir,  never  feai ! ' '  And  one  pinched  his 
cheek,  another  patted  him  on  the  shoulder, 
while  a  third  relieved  him  of  his  bag.  Other 
emigrants  rose  from  the  tables  close  by,  and 
gathered  about  him.  The  boy's  story  made 
the  round  of  the  inn ;  three  Argentine  guests 
hurried  in  from  the  adjoining  room,  and  in 
less  than  ten  minutes  the  Lombard  peasant, 
who  was  passing  round  the  hat,  had  col- 
lected forty- two  lire. 

* '  Do  you  see, ' '  he  said,  turning  to  the  boy, 
"how  fast  things  are  done  in  America?" 

"Drink  to  the  health  of  your  mother," 
exclaimed  another,  offering  him  a  glass  of 
wine. 

All  raised  their  glasses,  and  Marco  re- 
peated, ' '  To  the  health  of  my—' '  But  a  sob 
of  joy  choked  him,  and,  setting  the  glass  on 
the  table,  he  flung  himself  on  the  old  man's 
neck. 

Barly  next  morning  he  set  out  for  Cor- 
dova. The  weather  was  close  and  dull;  the 
train,  which  was  nearly  empty,  ran  through 
an  immense  plain  destitute  of  every  sign 
of  habitation  He  found  himself  alone  in  a 
very  long  car,  which  resembled  those  on 
trains  for  the  wounded.  He  gazed  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left,  but  saw  nothing  save 
an  endless  solitude,  strewn  with  tiny,  de- 
formed trees,  with  contorted  trunks  and 
branches,  and  a  sparse  and  melancholy  veg- 
etation, which  gave  to  the  plain  the  aspect 
of  a  ruined  cemetery 

He  dozed  for  half  an  hour  then  resumed 
his  survey.  The  spectacle  was  still  the  same. 
The  railway  stations  were  deserted,  and 
looked  like  the  dwellings  of  hermits;  and 
when  the  cars  stopped,  not  a  sound  was 
heard ;  he  fancied  that  he  was  alone  in  a  lost 
train,  abandoned  in  the  middle  of  a  desert. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  though  each  station 
must  be  the  last,  and  that  he  should  then 
enter  the  mysterious  regions  of  the  savages. 
An  icy  breeze  nipped  his  face.  On  embark- 
ing at  Genoa,  towards  the  end  of  April,  it 


4o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


had  not  occurred  to  him  that  he  should  find 
winter  in  America,  and  he  was  dressed  in 
his  summer  clothes. 

After  some  hours  he  began  to  suffer  from 
cold  and  fat'gue;  for  the  last  few  days  had 
been  filled  with  violent  emotions,  and  his 
nights  had  been  sleepless  and  harassing 
He  fell  into  a  profound  slumber,  aud  when 
he  awoke  felt  feverisli  and  ill.  Then  a  terror 
seized  upon  him:  what  if  he  should  die  on 
the  journey,  and  be  thrown  out  in  that  wild 
prairie,  where  his  body  would  be  devoured 
by  birds  of  prey,  like  the  carcasses  of  animals 
which  he  had  caught  sight  of  every  now 
and  then  beside  the  track,  and  from  which 
he  had  turned  aside  in  disgust!  In  this 
state  of  anxiety  his  imagination  grew  ex- 
cited, and  everything  looked  dark  and  hope- 
less. 

Was  he  quite  sure,  after  all,  that  he  should 
find  his  mother  at  Cordova?  What  if  that 
gentleman  in  the  Via  del  los  Artes  had  made 
a  mistake?  And  what  if  she  were  dead? 
Thus  meditating,  he  fell  asleep  again,  and 
dreamed  that  he  was  in  Cordova,  and  it  was 
night,  and  that  he  heard  cries  from  all  the 
doors  and  all  the  windows, "  She  is  not  here! 
She  is  not  here!  '  This  roused  him  with  a 
start,  and  he  saw  at  the  other  end  of  the 
car  three  bearded  men  enveloped  in  shawls 
of  various  colors,  who  were  staring  at  him, 
and  talking  together  in  a  low  tone;  and 
the  suspicion  flashed  across  him  that  they 
were  assassins,  and  that  they  wanted  to  kill 
him  for  the  sake  of  stealing  his  bag.  His 
fancy,  already  perturbed,  became  distorted: 
the  three  men  kept  on  staring  at  him;  one 
of  them  moved  towards  him;  then  his  rea- 
son wandered,  and,  rushing  to  him  with 
outstretched  arms,  he  shrieked,  "I  have 
nothing;  I  am  a  poor  boy ;  I  have  come  from 
Italy,  and  am  in  search  of  my  mother;  lam 
alone:  do  not  harm  me!" 

They  instantly  understood  the  situation ; 
they  took  compassion  on  him,  caressed  and 
soothed  him,  speaking  to  him  many  kind 
words,  which  he  neither  heard  nor  compre- 
hended; and,  perceiving  that  his  teeth  were 
chattering  with  cold,  they  wrapped  one  of 
their  shawls  around  him,  and  made  him  sit 


down,  so  that  he  might  go  to  sleep  again. 
And  he  did  fall  asleep  once  more,  as  the  twi- 
light Wis  descending.  When  they  aroused 
him,  he  was  at  Cordova. 

Ah, what  a  deep  breath  he  drew,and  with 
what  impetuosity  he  flew  from  the  car!  He 
inquired  of  one  of  the  statioa  emplo)€s  for 
the  house  of  the  Engineer  Meqainez;  the 
man  told  him  it  stood  beside  a  certain 
church,  and  Marco  thanked  him,  and  has- 
tened away. 

(TO  BE   CONTINUED.) 


A  Great  General's  Devotion  to  the  Holy 
Rosary. 


The  celebrated  Austrian  General  Ra- 
detzky  was  as  pious  as  he  was  brave.  Once, 
whilst  resting  in  his  park  near  the  imperial 
residence  in  Vienna,  his  Rosary  fell  out 
of  his  pocket  unperceived.  Some  soldiers 
to  whom  he  had  given  the  freedom  of  his 
premises  found  it.  The  General  happened 
to  pass  near  the  bench  soon  afterwards,  and, 
seeing  them  showing  some  object  among 
themselves, asked  what  they  had. "  Father  " 
(such  was  the  affectionate  title  given  the  old 
General  by  the  soldiers),  they  replied,  "we 
have  found  a  pair  of  beads  on  this  bench, 
and  we  wonder  what  soldier  it  is  that  is 
simple  enough  to  say  them."  "Give  them 
to  me,"  said  the  old  man;  "it  was  I  who 
left  them  there.  They  are  mine,  and  I  am 
simple  enough  to  say  them." 

Before  going  into  battle,  General  Ra- 
detzky  always  exhorted  his  soldiers  to  place 
their  confidence  in  God.  On  account  of  his 
great  age  (he  was  more  than  eighty  years 
old  when  he  won  his  most  splendid  victo- 
ries), he  was  obliged  to  drive  in  a  carriage 
when  the  army  was  in  motion.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  when  all  was  in  readiness 
for  the  order  to  march,  the  old  chieftain  was 
missing.  After  some  time  he  was  discov- 
ered asleep  in  his  carriage,  with  his  Rosary, 
which  he  had  been  reciting,  beside  him. 
How  God  blessed  the  arms  of  this  great 
military  leader  is  well  known  to  the  stu- 
dent of  history. 


1 


^H^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  29,  1887. 


No.  18. 


COopTTicht ;— Rbt.  D.  1.  Hobwm,  C.  8.  C.l 


The  Sealers'  Rosary. 


BY  R.  HOWLEY. 


'  A  goodly  fleet 
Set  in  a  sea  all  dazzling  white. 
Soft  azure  tints  creep  forth  to  meet 
Th'  aurora's  gold  and  ruby  light 

Upon  the  crystal  plain; 
While  underneath,  subdued  and  sweet, 
Sobs  the  imprisoned  main. 
II. 
The  daylight  dies, 
But  fairer  night  o  er  all  the  zone 
From  clustered  lamps  new  glory  throws; 
She  sparkles  round  the  Ice-King's  throne. 

And  lights  his  hall; 
Ivike  steel,  blue-bright,  resplendent  glows 
The  iceberg's  wall. 
III. 
"All  hands,  ahoy!" 
Resounds  above  the  gleaming  floes; 
"To  Rosary!  "   The  crews  deploy 
To  greet  their  ' '  Mary  of  the  Snows ' ' ; 
Then  floats  from  sail  to  sail 
Their  cry,  "Hail  Mary!  hail!" 


Temptations  resisted  are  not  sinv«,  and 
the  indeliberate  adhesion  of  the  mind  to 
that  which  is  deliberately  resisted  is  not  a 
transgression  of  the  law. — Cardinal  Man- 
ning. 

It  is  man's  duly  to  aim  at  reaching  as 
near  to  perfection  as  pDssib'e.  though  he 
can  never  attain  it  here. — Silvio  Pellico. 


The  Holy  Rosary  the  Queen  of  Devo- 
tions. 


BY  THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL.  D. 


XXVI.— The  Saints. 
GROUP  of  the  most  illustrious  ser- 
vants of  God  surrounded  our  divine 
Redeemer  on  earth.  There  were 
Zachaiy  and  Elizabeth,who  were  "both  jast 
before  God,  walking  in  all  the  command- 
ments and  justifications  of  the  Lord  without 
blame."  There  was  their  son,  the  Baptist, 
of  whom  Our  Saviour  Himself  declares: 
"Amongst  thovse  that  are  born  of  women, 
there  is  not  a  greater  prophet  than  John  the 
Baptist."  Next  were  the  simple-minded, 
innocent  Shepherds,  who  merited  to  have 
an  angel  call  them  to  the  cradle  of  their 
new-born  King;  the  Wise  Men,  in  whose 
behalf  a  miracle  was  also  wrought;  there 
were  Simeon  and  Anna,  whose  praises  j?eed 
not  be  rehearsed;  the  Apostles,  who  were 
destired  to  be  the  pillars  upon  which  the 
ChurchofChristwastobebuilt;  and, finally, 
the  holy  women,  who  shrank  not  from  the 
awful  scenes  of  Calvary, 

All  ranks  of  the  saints  are  represented  in 
the  mysteries  of  the  Holy  Rosary, — saints 
of  the  Old  Law  and  saints  of  the  New;  pa- 
triarchs and  prophets,  priests  and  apostles, 
martyrs  and  confessors,  virgins,  widows,  and 
penitents.  Even  the  innocerce  of  childhood 
was  there — that  infant  band  who  uncon- 
sciously won  heaven  before  they  knew  of 


41  o 


The  Ave  Marta. 


earth;  whom  the  Church,  in  the  hymn  of 
their  feast,  represents  playing  with  their 
palms  of  victory  beneath  the  celestial  altar. 
All  have  a  place  in  the  Rosary,  which,  while 
it  enkindles  devotion  to  the  greatest,  in- 
spires devotion  to  all  the  others,  and  excites 
to  a  holy  emulation  of  iheir  virtues. 

XXVII. —T^E  Holy  Souls  in  Purga- 
tory. 
The  Church  presents  Mary  to  us  not  only 
as  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  but  also  as  the 
Qaeen  of  Purgatorv.  It  is  Her  kingdom, - 
and  She  has  a  deep  interest  in  the  souls' 
imprisoned  there;  not  only  because  they 
have  been  redeemed  by  the  Precious  Blood 
of  Her  divine  Son,  and  have  as  yet  failed 
to  attain  the  end  for  which  they  were 
created,  but  also  because  of  their  utter  help- 
lessness, which  awakens  the  t end erest  com- 
passion of  Her  maernal  heart.  She  can  not 
contemplate  their  sufferings  without  being 
moved  to  help  them.  But  God  is  just:  their 
debt  to  Him  must  be  paid,  and  how  is  it  to 
be  done?  If  the  justice  of  God  must  have 
its  due,  so  also  must  the  compassion  of 
Mary,  and  She  will  act  upon  the  Church,  to 
which  Her  divine  Son  gave  the  power  of 
binding  and  loosing.  She  will  move  the 
Church  to  open,  as  we  may  say,  the  very 
flood-gates  of  indulgences  in  their  behalf, 
and  cause  the  living  to  cancel  much  of 
their  debt.  This  She  has  done,  and  there  is 
no  devotion,  if  we  except  the  Way  of  the 
Cross,  that  is  so  richly  indulgenced  as  the 
Holy  Rosar> ;  and  all  its  indulgences  are 
applicable  to  the  souls  in  purgatory.  It  may 
be  called  the  layman's  key  to  heaven,  as  the 
Mass  is  the  priest's  key;  it  may  be  called 
the  ladder  placed  by  the  hands  of  their 
friends  upon  earth,  by  which  they  are  en- 
abled to  escape  from  their  prison-house,  and 
ascend  to  heaven  and  to  God. 

XXVIII. — Zeal  for  the  Salvation  of 
Souls. 
That  the  devotion  of  the  Holy  Rosary  is 
calculated  to  excite  within  the  hearts  of 
tho^e  who  practise  it  a  zeal  for  the  salvation 
of  souls,  follows  as  a  necessary  consequence 
both  from  its  nature  and  its  institution.  It 


is  too  well  known  to  need  repetition  that 
when  St.  Dominic  had  exhausted  all  the 
resource?  of  his  eloquence  and  zeal  for  the 
conversion  of  the  sinners  of  his  day,  he 
complained  to  Heaven  half  in  love,  half  in 
despair,  of  the  little  success  that  attended 
his  efforts;  whereupon  the  Blessed  Virgin 
taught  him  the  devotion  of  the  Rosary,  and 
bade  him  teach  the  people  to  recite  it.  His- 
tory records  his  wonderful  success. 

What  is  the  Rosary  but  a  review  of  the 
life  of  Him  whom  the  Father  sent  into  the 
world,  that  those  who  believed  might  not 
perish,  but  might  have  life  everlasting? 
It  is  also  a  review  of  the  life  of  Her  who  so 
loved  the  world  as  to  give  Her  only  Son 
for  the  salvation  of  sinners;  who  followed 
Him  up  the  mountain  with  more  than  the 
fortitude  of  Abraham,  and  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cross,  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  till  His 
life  was  extinct,  and  the  lance  of  the  centu- 
rion had  pierced  His  sacred  side,  fulfilling 
the  words  of  the  prophet:  "In  that  day 
there  shall  be  a  fountain  opened  to  the 
house  of  Divid  and  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Jerusalem,  for  the  washing  of  the  sinner.*' 
The  Rosary  is  the  life  of  Him  who  came 
among  men  that  they  might  have  life,  and 
might  have  it  more  abundantly;  who  came 
not  to  call  the  just,  but  sinners  to  repent- 
ance; who  loved  us,  and  washed  us  from  our 
sins  in  His  own  Blood. 

If,  turning  from  a  general  view  of  the 
divine  life,  we  regard  it  more  in  detail,  it 
will  be  found  to  reveal  that  thirst  for  the 
honor  and  glory  of  the  Father  which  could 
be  satiated  only  by  the  conversion  of  sin- 
ners. For  this  He  humbled  Himself,  taking 
the  form  of  servant ;  for  this  He  preached  by 
His  presence  in  infancy  to  the  Shepherds, 
to  the  Wise  Men,  to  holy  Simeon,  and  to  all 
those  who  were  waiting  for  the  redemption 
of  Israel;  for  this  He  was  about  His  Father's 
business  in  the  Temple  at  the  age  of  twelve 
years;  for  this  He  led  His  hidden  life  of 
humility  and  self-denial;  to  this  end  were 
directed  His  sermons.  His  parables,  His 
miracles — in  a  word,  all  that  He  did.  And 
how  touching  are  not  many  of  the  actions 
of  His  divine  life,  viewed  from  this  point! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


411 


— His  forgiveness  of  Peter  and  of  Magda- 
lene, even  His  persistent  eflforts  to  triumph 
over  the  perverse  will  of  the  traitor  Judas. 
His  last  commission  to  His  Apostles,  before 
the  cloud  received  Him  out  of  their  sight, 
was  to  spread  the  truths  which  He  had 
taught  them,  and  dispense  to  the  whole 
world  the  graces  of  which  He  had  made 
them  the  custodians — all  for  the  sake  of 
sinners. 

Nor  was  His  love  satisfied  with  all  this: 
He  would,  remain  with  His  Church  to  the 
end  of  time,  that  the  great  work  of  the 
conversion  of  sinners  might  be  carried  on 
the  more  successfully.  He  would  institute 
the  Sacrament  of  Penance  for  the  washing 
of  the  relapsing  sinner,  and  His  sacramental 
Presence  as  an  antidote  against  sin.  The 
Holy  Spirit  must  also  be  enlisted  in  the 
conversion  of  sinners,  as  well  as  in  the  sanc- 
tification  of  the  just;  and  we  do  not  take 
leave  of  our  Saviour  in  the  mysteries  of 
the  Holy  Rosary  until  we  have  witnessed 
the  fulfilment  of  His  promise  to  send  Him. 

The  part  which  Mary  took  in  the  conver- 
sion of  sinners  is  closely  connected  with 
that  of  Her  divine  Son ;  and  so  important  is 
it  that  the  Church  does  not  hesitate  to  salute 
Her  as  the  Refuge  of  Sinners, — a  refuge 
which,  like  the  cities  of  refuge  in  the  Old 
I<aw,  will  shield  the  repentant  sinner  from 
the  punishment  which  his  sins  deserve. 
She  is  the  one  for  whom  the  prophet  longed, 
who  should  rise  up  and  take  hold  of  God  to 
restrain  Him  in  His  just  anger,  while  im- 
ploring forgiveness  for  His  wayward  chil- 
dren. And  surely  if  the  prayer  of  Moses 
stayed  the  hand  of  an  angry  God,  and  saved 
his  people,  so  that  the  Almighty  bade  him 
not  to  pray  for  them,  but  to  let  Him  alone 
that  He  might  destroy  them  in  His  wrath, 
the  prayer  of  the  Mother  of  God  will  be  still 
more  efficacious  than  that  of  the  servant, 
however  faithful. 

And  this  protection  of  our  Heavenly 
Mother  is  implored  and  the  conversion  of 
sinners  is  asked  in  every  '  *  Hail  Mary ' '  that 
is  recited  in  the  Rosary;  in  the  same  way 
that  we  ask  the  conversion  of  sinners  in  the 
petitions  of  the  Lord's  Prayer:  "Thy  King- 


dom come;  Thy  will  be  done.  .  .  .  Forgive 
us  our  trespasses "  ;  and  also  in  the  "Glory 
be  to  the  Father";  while  in  the  Creed  we 
profess  our  belief  in  the  power  of  forgiving 
sins.  Sinners,  then,  who  are  sincerely  de- 
sirous of  returning  to  God  by  true  repent- 
ance, or  persons  who  are  anxious  for  the 
conversion  of  others, cm  do  no  better  than 
approach  the  throne  of  God  through  Mary 
by  means  of  this  form  of  prayer,  which  was 
given  to  the  world  by  God,  through  Mary, 
as  a  special  means  for  bringing  back  the  lost 
sheep  to  the  one  fold  of  the  Church. 

Conclusion. 
If,  by  showing  the  rich  treasure  of  every 
devotion  which  we  possess  in  the  Holy  Ro- 
sary, these  brief,  commonplace  remarks  of 
mine  enkindle  a  greater  love  for  it,  it  is 
enough;  if  they  but  fill  up  a  leisure  hour 
of  the  reader's,  that,  too,  may  in  time  bear 
its  fruit.  We  can  not  be  brought  near  to 
Mary  without  feeling  the  influence  of  Her 
sweet  presence.  The  stress,  too,  which  the 
Holy  Father  lays  upon  the  recitation,  both 
public  and  private,  of  the  Holy  Rosary  is 
an  encouragement,  not  only  for  those  who 
so  recite  it,  but  also  for  those  who  would 
lead  others  to  its  pious  use.  Happy  they 
who  have  this  means  of  coming  to  Mary  in 
life!  She  will  not  fail  to  come  to  them  in 
death.  She  says  to  all:  'He  that  shall  find 
Me  shall  find  life,  and  shall  have  salvation 
from  the  Lord." 


Our  Lady's  Tree,  near  Cairo.* 


THE  blessed  tree  which,  according  to 
tradition,  sheltered  the  Holy  Family  on 
their  arrival  in  Egypt  is  only  a  short  dis- 
tance from  Cairo.  We  invite  our  readers  to 
accompany  us  on  an  excursion  to  it,  and 
we  will  take  them  by  a  round-about  way,  in 
order  to  view  other  interesting  objects. 

For  the  journey  from  Cairo,  short  as  it 
is,  we  must  have  donkeys.  The  Egyptian 
donkeys  are  really  admirable.  I  do  not  speak 

*  ' '  Une  Excursion  a  L'  Arbre  de  la  Vierge  Pr^s 
le  Caire,"  par  le  R.  P.  Jullien,  S.J.  Adapted  by 
Sara  S.  Tracy. 


412 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  the  great  white  animals,  which  some- 
times command  a  price  as  high  as  that  of  a 
beautiful  horse,  but  of  the  ordinary  donkey 
with  which  you  are  all  familiar.  Bat  what 
a  diflference  there  is  between  the  Cairo 
donkeys  and  those  found  in  England  and 
America!  The  former, far  from  beinghumil- 
iated,  seem  quite  proud  under  their  elegant 
sadd'e,  with  its  great  pommel  of  red  leather, 
sometimes  covered  with  red  plush,  edged 
with  gold  fringe.  In  repose  they  hold  their 
heads  high  and  carry  themselves  proudly, 
like  race-horses.  When  mounted  they  start 
off  gaily  on  a  trot;  at  a  touch  of  the  whip 
they  gallop,  and  never  show  the  least  stub- 
bornness. 

We  will  follow  the  Mouski,  a  busy,  noisy 
thoroughfare  which  starts  in  the  centre  of 
Cairo,  and  runs  in  a  straight  line  east.  It 
is  filled  with  the  gay  bazaars  of  Europeans, 
Jews,  Greeks,  and  Turks, — each  merchant 
in  his  national  costume.  At  the  end  of  the 
street,  we  are  near  the  immense  mosque 
Al.Azhar("The  Splendid"),  the  most  cel- 
ebrated Mussulman  school  in  the  world ;  it 
has  at  present  more  than  nine  thousand 
pupils.  Advancing  two  kilometres  farther, 
we  reach  the  end  of  the  street,  and  find  our 
selves  in  a  quagmire  of  dust,  at  the  foot  of 
a  chain  of  hills  called  the  Hills  of  Rubbish. 

Do  not  fancy,  dear  reader,  that  this 
rubbish  is  comp>osed  of  picturesque  ruins, 
blocks  of  stone,  or  broken  p'eces  of  sculpt- 
ure. No:  it  is  only  brcks  fallen  into  dust, 
sweepings,  etc. ;  there  is  nothing  interest- 
ing about  these  hills,  except  the  vast  space 
they  cover.  They  form  a  chain  seven  kilo- 
metres in  length,  which  bounds  Cairo  on 
the  south  and  east.  They  extend  over  at 
least  four  square  kilometres,  their  medium 
height  being  about  thirty  metres.  If  the 
city  of  Cairo,  with  its  four  hundred  mosques 
and  its  countless  palaces, were  razed  to  the 
ground,  the  debris  would  not  make  a  mass 
at  all  comparable  to  these  hills;  for  they 
are  the  dust  of  many  cities.  The  Mussul- 
man never  repairs  his  house  or  his  mosque. 
When  either  becomes  uninhabitable,  he 
destroys  it,  carries  off  the  debris^  and  con- 
structs a  new  one. 


Having  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
which  we  have  climbed  by  a  zigzag  path, 
before  us  stretches  the  chain  Mokattem, 
and  at  our  feet,  in  the  valley,  lies  a  city  of 
elegant  domes  and  fantastic  minarets, — a 
city  surrounded  by  immense  cemeteries, — 
a  city  without  noise  and  almost  without 
inhabitants;  it  is  the  city  of  the  dead;  they 
call  it  the  Tombs  of  the  Caliphs.  There  is 
not  a  tree  here,  not  a  blade  of  grass — noth- 
ing but  thousands  of  Mussulman  sepulchres^ 
like  those  in  the  cemeteries  of  Algeria.  The 
tomb  of  the  common  people  is  a  white- 
washed sarcophagus,  surmounted  at  the  ex- 
tremities by  two  stones  pointing  to  Mecca. 
Painted  wooden  sheds  cover  the  tombs 
of  the  wealthier  families.  The  magnificent 
mosques  of  the  ancient  Mameluke  princes 
are  in  ruins ;  for,  as  we  have  said,  the  Mus- 
sulman never  repairs  anything. 

As  we  pass  through  the  necropolis,  and 
advance  in  a  northerly  direction,  we  have 
before  us  the  five  barracks  of  the  Abbassyeh, 
immense  buildings  on  the  very  border  of 
the  desert.  In  the  distance  rise  the  great 
trees  of  the  khedival  palace,  ElKoubb^ch; 
and  on  the  horizon  looms  up  the  minaret 
of  Matareeyeh.  To  the  right  stretches  the 
apparently  limitless  desert.  Near  the  bar- 
racks may  be  seen  two  or  three  inhabited 
palaces,  and  a  beautiful  observatory.  Bar- 
racks are  plentiful  in  Cairo.  Thirty  thou- 
sand men  might  be  lodged  in  them,  while 
the  Egyptian  army  numbers  only  eighteen 
thousand  soldiers. 

Leaving  the  barracks  to  the  left,  we  go  up 
to  the  great  shooting-grounds,  and  the  im- 
mense stable  constructed  by  Abbas  Pacha 
for  his  Arabian  horses.  It  is  a  square  build- 
ing, flanked  at  the  corners  by  octagonal 
towers.  Only  the  walls  of  this  enormous 
structure  remain.  We  continue  our  journey 
in  a  northerly  direction,  guiding  ourselves 
by  the  minaret  of  Matareeyeh. 

In  the  desert  there  is  nothing  to  distract 
the  mind ;  one  is  almost  obliged  to  become 
a  close  observer.  Occasionally  great  lizards 
peep  from  their  holes  to  look  at  us ;  we  catch 
one,  and  find  it  to  be  the  stellio  spi^iipes — a 
thick  lizard,  a  foot  long,  whose  tail  is  bris- 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


4^3 


tling  with  horny  points  arranged  in  rings. 
We  gather  a  quantity  of  flowers,  for  it  is 
the  favorable  time  (February  and  March) 
to  botanize  in  the  desert;  later  in  the  season 
everything  will  be  scorched  by  the  intense 
heat.  But  one  must  be  careful  how  he 
touches  these  plants,  for  they  are  nearly  all 
poisonous. 

We  cross  the  old  railroad,  which  runs 
direct  from  Cairo  to  Suez.  On  an  eminence 
are  coarse  brick  walls,  the  bricks  being  made 
of  black  clay;  it  is  the  old  station.    Soon 
we  reach  the  palm-trees  of  Matareeyeh,  and 
the  first  enclosure  which  meets  our  eyes 
is  the  ostrich  park,  for  the  production  of 
the  feathers  so  much  prized  by  ladies.   It 
was  founded  about  three  years  ago  by  a 
company  of  French  merchants.   The  man- 
ager is  a  Swiss,  who  lives  in  a  little  villa 
close  by.   His  assistant,  a  young  Spaniard, 
politely  showed  us  everything.   The  prin- 
cipal work  here  is  the  artificial  incubation 
of  the  ostrich  eggs,  and  the  rearing  of  the 
young  birds.  The  eggs  are  placed  in  a  box 
filled  with  sand,  and  kept  at  a  fixed  tetn 
perature  by  a  boiler  of  hot  water  placed 
ibove  the  box.    The  incubation  requires 
rom  forty  to  forty  two  days.  The  ostrich 
when  first  hatched  is  about  the  size  of  a 
len,  and  its  feathers  are  like  the  prickles  of 
the  hedgehog.  It  attains  its  full  size  at  the 
ige  of  four  years,  but  the  feathers  are  taken 
[from  the  tail  and  the  extremities  of  the 
ring!  when  it  is  two  or  thfce  years  old.  The 
>peration  is  by  no  means  easy:  the  bird 
[struggles  so  violently  that  six  or  seven  men 
ind  it  extremely  difficult  to  hold  it. 

We  are  now  only  a  few  minutes'  walk 
rom  Our  Lady's  Tree.  Turning  westward, 
re  pass  along  the  road  which  skirts  the  gar- 
lens  surrounding  Matareeyeh.  Our  Lady's 
'Tree  is  in  the  last  garden  to  the  northwest. 
The  village  of  Matareeyeh,  one  of  the  most 
populous  of  the  environs  of  Cairo,  is  ten 
kilometres  northwest  of  the  city,  and  one 
kilometre  south  of  the  ruins  of  Heliopolis. 
The  houses  are  generally  of  coarse  brick, 
made  of  the  slime  of  the  river;  but  there 
are  a  number  of  finer  dwellings,  having 
■a  story  above  the  ground-floor.  The  road 


leaves  the  village  to  the  right,  and  passes 
before  the  new  mosque,  built  of  beautiful 
white  stone  by  the  Viceroy  Tewfik  I. ,  the 
owner  of  a  large  portion  of  the  land.  Close 
by  is  a  well-watered  field,  at  the  end  of 
which  we  perceive,  between  two  groves  of 
lemon-trees,  an  enormous  sycamore.  It  is 
St.  Joseph's  Tree;  we  will  return  to  it  later. 

Leaving  the  lemon  groves,  we  find  to  the 
right  a  beautiful  road,  about  forty  metres 
in  length,  which  leads  to  the  garden  con- 
taining Our  Lady's  Tree.  At  the  entrance 
is  a  cassia- tree,  which  bears  at  the  same 
time  great  clusters  of  yellow  flowers,  and 
long  blackish  pods  containing  the  sweet 
pulp  so  much  prized  by  pharmaceutists. 
Let  us  enter  this  holy  spot,  once  called 
the  Balsam  Garden.  A  very  ancient  tra- 
dition relates  that  the  Holy  Family  dwelt 
in  this  place,  and  that  at  Mary's  prayer  a 
springy  burst  from  the  ground,  and  gave 
wonderful  fertility  to  the  arid  soil.  For- 
merly pilgrims  were  shown  a  wall  and  a 
little  window  which  formed  a  portion  of 
the  dwelling  of  Jesus,  Joseph,  and  Mary. 
Here  the  Christians  built  a  chapel  dedi- 
cated to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  in  which  they 
celebrated,  on  the  24th  of  the  Coptic  month 
of  Beham  (May  31),  the  feast  of  the  arrival 
of  the  holy  fugitives  in  Egypt*  In  1685 
Ibrahim  Pasha,  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  trans- 
formed this  chapel  into  a  mosque,  which 
none  but  Mussulmans  could  enter.  Thirteen 
years  later,  however,  the  Christians  were 
allowed  into  the  building.  It  was  no  longer 
used  for  Mussulman  rites;  the  name  of 
mosque  ceased  to  be  applied  to  it,  and  it  was 
known  simply  as  Markad^  a.  place  of  repose. 

At  this  time  the  Dominican  Vansleb 
visited  these  places,  and  was  shown  in  the 
Markad  a  sort  of  niche,  where  it  is  said  the 
Blessed  Virgin  laid  Her  Divine  Infant  to 
rest  while  She  was  engaged  in  domestic 
labors;  the  altar  of  the  ancient  chapel  was 
quite  near.  He  saw  also  a  little  reservoir  for 
water,  adorned  with  many-colored  marbles, 
and  fed  from  the  miraculous  well  close 


*  This  feast  is  still  retained  in  the  Catholic 
Coptic  rite. 


414 


The  Ave  Maria. 


by.  The  reservoir  was  eatirely  destroyed  in 
the  last  century;  no  trace  of  it  remains, 
and  the  water  of  the  spring  no  longer  rises 
to  the  surface.  It  is  without  doubt  this 
well  which  has  given  the  village  its  name, 
Matareeyeh^  which  signifies  fresh  water. 
Around  the  spring  was  formerly  cultivated 
the  precious  shrub  which  furnished  the 
balm  of  Judea,  or  balm  of  Mecca;  hence  the 
name  of  Balsam  Garden. 

Our  Lady's  Tree  is  about  twenty  metres 
southwest  of  the  spring.  It  is  said  that  the 
Holy  Family,  pursued  by  wicked  men,  were 
passing  near  a  very  large  sycamore,  the 
trunk  of  which  suddenly  opened,  and  the 
holy  fugitives  took  refuge  therein  until 
their  pursuers  had  passed.  The  piece  which 
had  separated  from  the  tree  to  aflford  a  ref 
uge  to  its  Creator  was  long  preserved  as  a 
precious  relic  in  the  sacristy  of  the  Fathers 
of  the  Holy  Land  at  Cairo. 

This  tree  is  a  very  old  sycamore,  of  the 
same  species  as  that  which  Zacheus  climbed 
to  see  Oiir  Lord.  Its  root  is  almost  inde- 
structible, like  that  of  the  olive.  The  tree 
may  fall  by  accident  or  from  old  age,  but 
the  root  continues  to  live,  and  puts  forth 
shoots,  which  in  time  become  trees.  If  this 
be  not  the  sycamore  which  sheltered  Our 
Blessed  Lady,  it  is  doubtless  an  offshoot; 
for  its  roots  appear  to  be  of  great  antiquity. 
We  knelt  long  under  its  sombre  green  foli- 
age, offering  our  prayers  to  the  Divine  Child 
Jesus,  and  invoking  the  intercession  of 
Mary.  Then,  passing  through  a  cactus  grove, 
we  went  to  visit  St.  Joseph's  Tree,  and 
pray  to  the  saintly  head  of  the  Holy  Fanj- 
ily.  This  is  a  sycamore  also,  and  appears 
to  be  of  the  same  age  as  Our  Lady's  Tree. 
Its  enormous  trunk  is  hollow:  four  or  five 
persons  might  hide  in  it.  Il  is  almost  un- 
known, and  rarely  visited  by  pilgrims.  No 
railing  protects  it,  no  garden  surrounds  it. 

We  are  now  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
ride  from  Heliopolis;  the  Holy  Family  no 
doubt  often  passed  over  this  very  road. 
Three  hundred  metres  farther  on,  there  is 
an  alley  of  slender  trees,  which  leads  to  an 
obelisk  standing  in  a  field  of  wheat.  This 
monolith  is  probably  the  most  ancient  in 


Egypt.  Its  height  is  twenty  metres  and  sev- 
enty-five centimetres,  but  about  three  me- 
tres, together  with  the  pedestal,  are  buried 
in  the  earth.  It  probably  belonged  to  the 
great  Temple  of  the  Sun,  as  well  as  Cleo- 
patra's needles,  which  were  transported  first 
to  Alexandria,  then  one  to  Rome,  the  other 
to  London.  Ancient  writers  tell  us  that  in 
front  of  the  temple  there  was  a  long  avenue 
of  sphinxes,  with  many  obelisks,  erected  by 
the  Pharaohs  of  the  first  dynasty.  A  solitary 
obelisk,  and  a  few  large  stones  which  have 
been  dug  up  in  a  field  a  little  to  the  west, 
are  all  that  remain  of  these  great  monu- 
ments 

We  returned  by  the  carriage-road.  Near 
the  village  of  Matareeyeh  we  passed  a  beau- 
tiful plain,  the  theatre  of  one  of  the  grand- 
est exploits  of  our  French  troops.  There 
Kldber,  on  the  20th  of  March,  1800,  with 
ten  thousand  soldiers,  defeated  eighty  thou- 
sand Turks.  The  battle  was  continued  as 
far  as  Heliopolis. 

In  these  fields,  always  green,  we  see  many 
flocks  of  birds  as  white  as  snow,  of  about 
the  size  of  a  small  hen,  but  of  more  graceful 
form;  all  tourists  give  them  the  name  of 
ibis.  They  are  not,  however,  the  sacred  ibis 
of  the  ancient  Egyptians  [ibis  religiosd)^ 
which  is  always  black,  and  which  is  rarely 
seen  in  Cairo  Our  pretty  white  birds  are  a 
species  of  heron  {ardeola  russata). 

At  about  half  an  hour's  distance  from  the 
city,  in  a  desolat^  spot  a  few  yards  from 
the  main  road,  we  see  a  poor  isolated  house 
surrounded  by  an  enclosure.  On  a  black 
board  nailed  to  the  corner  of  the  wall  we 
read:  Spedale  Europeo  (European  Hospi- 
tal). Yes,  this  is  indeed  the  hospital  of  all 
the  European  consulates;  but,  as  all  the 
consuls  have  charge  of  it,  it  is  caied  for  by 
none.  Five  or  six  French  Sisters  of  St.  Jo- 
seph from  Marseilles  are  wearing  out  their 
lives  here  in  labor  and  poverty. 

At  last  we  re-enter  the  great  city,  where 
Jesus  is  to-day,  as  He  was  nineteen  hundred 
years  ago  at  Heliopolis,  a  stranger,  known 
to  but  few.  May  ours  be  the  happiness  of 
making  Him  better  known  and  better 
loved ! 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


415 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  Xir. 
1 1 7HEN  Nora  rose  from  her  knees,  she  was 
VV  at  peace,  and,  bathing  her  eyes  and  face 
with  cold  water  so  as  to  remove  the  traces 
of  tears,  she  looked  round  her  small,  narrow 
room.  The  walls  were  covered  with  com- 
mon blue  and  white  paper,  and  white  cur- 
tains hung  on  the  windows,  but  the  low  iron 
bedstead  was  destitute  of  all  drapery.  An 
old-fashioned,  inlaid  wardrobe  contrasted 
oddly  with  the  simple  straw  chairs;  a  toilet- 
stand  stood  in  the  corner,  and  over  the  fire- 
place hung  a  small  mirror.  On  the  mantle- 
shelf  was  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
between  two  massive  silver  candlesticks. 
There  was  no  ornament  of  any  kind  in  the 
apartment;  all  was  spotlessly  neat,  but  cold 
and  dreary.  She  looked  from  the  window, 
and  j-aw,  beyond  the  small  courtyard  on 
which  it  opened,  a  high  convent  wall,  over 
which  rose  a  church  steeple,  and  the  tops 
of  some  tall  trees,  which  seemed  to  nod  her 
[a  friendly  welcome  as  they  waved  in  the 
[breeze.  A  homelike  feeling  now  began  to 
[steal  over  her.  She  took  off  her  hat  and 
[unpacked  her  trunk.  Just  as  she  was  ready 
ijane  knocked,  and  brought  her  something 
yin  a  small  tin  box,  saying,  "The  mistress 
inds  you  this  cosmetic.  Miss,  to  smooth 
[your  hair.  And  dinner  is  ready. ' ' 

When  Nora  went  down  stairs  her  golden 
hair  was  slightly  browned  with  the  cos- 
metic, but  it  curled  in  defiance  of  all  her 
eflForts.  Mrs.  Auvrard  made  no  remark  on 
the  subject.  She  sat  straight  as  a  rush  in 
the  cold, gloomy  dining-room,  before  a  large 
table;  the  simple  but  well-cooked  meal  did 
not  take  long,  and  was  interrupted  only  by 
some  frigid  questions  on  Nora's  journey,  or 
sneering  remarks,  in  which  the  old  lady's 
bitter  animosity  to  Mme.de  Brelyon  was 
very  perceptible.  ' '  Fold  your  napkin  into 
this,"  she  said  at  last,  handing  Nora  a  yel- 
low wooden  napkin-ring.  ' '  We  shall  go  out 
to  walk  this  afternoon.  I  never  leave  the 
house  except  on  Sundays,  or  when  I  have 
some  shopping  to  do.  To-day  I  shall  make 


an  exception,  and  show  you  the  town.  We 
shall  go  out  at  three  o'clock.  Have  you  any- 
work  with  whicti  Lo  occupy  yourself  until 
then?" 

Nora  had  to  ackno97ledo[e  she  had  no 
work  on  hands. 

' '  That  is  the  natural  consequence  of  your 
bringing  up,"  was  the  sarcastic  answer. 
"A  young  girl  should  never  be  idle." 

"Will  you  give  me  some  work  to  do?'^ 
said  Nora,  gently;  "  I  sincerely  wish  to  be 
useful. ' ' 

"Of  course  you  must  make  yourself  use- 
ful. Idleness  is  a  sin,  and  I  shall  willingly 
arrange  work  for  you.  But,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  my  sister-in-law  was  an  elegant 
lady,  who  disdained  plaini  sewing.  Have  you 
learned  to  sew?" 

Nora  reddened,  and  acknowledged  she 
knew  how  to  embroider  and  to  crotchet, 
but  had  done  very  little  sewing. 

A  flash  of  triumph  shot  from  her  aunt's 
cold  eyes.  "Then,"  she  replied,  "we  must 
amend  that  want  in  your  education.  Un- 
fortunately my  sight  is  growing  so  weak  I 
can  not  teach  you  myself,  but  that  can  be 
arranged.  I  suppose  you  can  sew  a  seam  in 
a  sheet?"  She  spread  out  before  Nora's 
terrified  eyes  a  fine  linen  sheet,  and  contin- 
ued :  "  It  is  already  commenced ;  the  stitches 
must  be  very  small  and  even.  Here  are  thim- 
ble, thread,  and  needles." 

They  were  then  in  the  parlor,  so  Nora  sat 
down  and  did  her  best  to  imitate  the  small, 
neat  stitches  in  the  linen;  but  she  was  un- 
accustomed to  sewing, and  when  she  showed 
her  work,  Mrs.  Auvrard  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"That  must  be  unsewn — no,  do  not  use 
your  scissors;  they  might  cut  the  cloth.  Pick 
out  the  stitches  one  by  one  with  the  needle. 
Then  begin  again,  and  try  to  improve. ' ' 

Nora  obeyed  without  a  word.  The  win- 
dows were  closed,  and  she  felt  so  tired  and 
so  hot  that  she  was  nearly  fainting;  but, 
determined  to  overcome  herself,  she  tried 
to  begin  a  conversation,  and  asked  her  aunt 
if  Miss  Kernoel  came  often  to  see  her. 

"No,  not  very  often.  I  have  given  up  all 
intimate  relations  with  my  neighbors,  and 


4i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


you  would  not  wonder  at  it  if  you  knew  all 
I  have  suffered." 

Nora's  soft  e)es  expressed  her  warm 
sympathy  as  she  clasped  the  slender  white 
hand  which  held  the  long  knitting-needles, 
and  said:  "I  would  be  really  happy  if  I 
could  be  a  comfort  to  you  in  any  way." 

Her  aunt  drew  away  her  hand,  and  shook 
her  head.  "A  young  creature  like  you  can 
do  little  for  a  woman  of  my  age  " 

"But  grandmother  often  said  my  love 
made  her  forget  her  griefs." 

Mrs. Auvrard  smiled  satirically.  "Your 
grandmother  and  I  are  not  alike.  Her  grief 
was  written  in  sand,  mine  on  a  harder  foun- 
dation. Let  me  see  your  work.  It  is  better, 
but  you  must  have  lessons;  a  young  girl 
should  know  how  to  sew,  wash,  and  iron. 
My  servant  is  often  ill,  and  I  can  not  give 
her  any  additional  work,  so  you  must  attend 
to  your  own  clothes.  It  is  a  quarter  to  three 
now;  dress  yourself,  and  I  will  show  you 
the  church,  the  bsech  grove,  and  the  prin- 
cipal streets," 

Soon  after  this  conversation  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Penvan  were  astonished  at  the  sight 
of  Mrs.  Auvrard  walking  with  a  young  girl, 
whose  graceful  beauty  formed  a  striking 
contrast  to  her  stiff,  angular  figure.  Nora 
was  charmed  with  the  old  Gothic  church, 
which,  however,  was  sadly  out  of  repair; 
she  tried  to  admire  the  shops,  bat  could  sin- 
cerely express  the  pleasure  she  found  in  the 
shadowy  beech  grove,  where  the  town  chil- 
dren were  playing  merrily;  but  they  fled 
when  Mrs.  Auvrard  drew  near. 

"Our  little  town,"  she  remarked,  with 
affected  modesty, ' '  possesses  no  particular 
attractions,  although  antiquarians  admire 
our  church,  and  our  new  town-hall  is  con 
sidered  very  grand.  But  you  will  scarcely 
admire  it,  you  have  seen  so  much.  That  is 
the  misfortune  of  travelling:  it  makes 
young  people  blask.^"^ 

Nora  protested,  and  then  timidly  asked  if 
they  would  not  call  to  thank  Miss  Kernoel 
for  her  kindness  on  the  journey  from  Paris. 
They  were  passing  the  neat  little  house, 
with  its  fuchsia  bush,  as  she  spoke. 

"We  have  plenty  of  time  for  visiting 


Octavia,"  was  the  dry  answer;  "and  I  don't 
suppose  you  gave  her  much  trouble." 

Noia  suppressed  a  sigh  as  she  passed  Miss 
Kernoel' s  door,  and,  hearing  the  sound  of 
merry  laughter,  looked  up,  and  saw  at  a 
window  of  the  upper  story  three  fair-haired 
girls  round  Miss  Kernoel.  "Are  these  Miss 
Kernoel's  nieces?"  she  ventured  to  ask, 
as  she  waimly  answered  the  little  lady's 
friendly  greeting. 

' '  Yes ;  they  are  three  giddy,  spoiled  >  oung 
creatures;  some  day  she  will  repent  of  the 
way  she  is  rearing  them." 

Nora  turned  round  to  look  again,  and 
saw  how  tenderly  Miss  Kernoel  caressed  the 
fair  head  that  leaned  against  her  shoulder. 
What  would  she  not  have  given  for  such 
an  aunt! 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  Mrs.  Auvrard  returned  home.  Tak- 
ing out  of  her  work-basket  an  old  leather- 
bound  volume  entitled  "Rise  and  Fall  of 
Carthage,"  she  said  she  would  now  read  for 
an  hour.  Nora  thought  of  a  book  she  had 
brought  with  her,  and  going  to  her  room, 
she  came  back  with  a  volume  of  poems;  her 
aunt  looked  up  from  her  book,  and  asked 
her  what  she  was  going  to  read. 

"Some  lately  published  poems,"  an- 
swered the  girl. 

' '  Poems !  Your  grandmother  let  you  read 
poetry?  Well,  I  ought  not  to  wondfer!  The 
next  thing  you  will  begin  to  write  it.  Put 
the  book  on  my  table,  and  give  up  such 
reading  for  the  future. ' ' 

Nora  turned  pale.  "If  you  will  read  the 
book,"  she  said, "you  will  perceive  it  may 
be  put  into  any  one's  hands.  The  contents 
are  of  a  religious  nature." 

"Really!  Nevertheless,  in  my  opinion, 
poetry  is  not  fit  reading  for  young  girls. 
Their  imagination  is  too  lively,  and  when 
it  is  encouraged  they  become  unfit  for  the 
practical  realities  of  life.  I  have  never  had 
a  daughter,  but  my  ideas  are  clear  with 
regard  to  modern  systems  of  education.  I 
must  request,  therefore,  that  while  under 
my  roof  you  will  refrain  from  poetry." 
The  girl  closed  the  book  with  a  trembling 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


417 


hand,  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  remained 
silent.  Her  temples  throbbed,  her  cheeks 
flushed,  and  her  heart  rebelled  against  such 
tyranny.  This  cold,  repellent  woman  showed 
herself  every  moment  more  domineering. 
How  could  Nora  escape  from  the  monoto- 
nous years  she  saw  before  her?  Such  a  life 
would  be  worse  than  death.  She  went  again 
to  her  room  and  returned  with  the  New 
Testament,  which  she  read  with  moist  eyes, 
until  a  firm  step  sounded  under  the  win- 
dow, and  a  loud,  double  knock  announced 
a  visitor.  Mrs.  Auvrard  laid  book  and  spec- 
tacles aside;  Mark  entered,  pressed  his 
mother's  hand,  and  bowed  to  Nora. 

"I  did  not  expect  you  this  evening," 
said  Mrs.  Auvrard,  showing  outwardly  no 
sign  of  the  pleasure  she  really  felt. 

**I  happened  to  finish  my  work  before 
the  train  started.   How  are  you,  mother?" 

"A  little  tired.  I  had  to  bring  my  niece 
to  take  a  walk,  and  every  deviation  from 
my  usual  habits  fatigues  me." 

Mark  looked  reproachfully  at  Nora.  "If 
Miss  de  Br^lyon  knew  how  much  walking 
tires  you,"  he  said, "she  could  not  have 
accepted  your  offer. ' ' 

"I  regret  that  my  aunt  should  have 
fatigued  herself  on  my  account,"  replied 
Nora.  "I  would  rather  be  a  help  to  her  than 
cause  her  any  inconvenience. ' ' 

I  "You  arrived  to-day?"  observed  Mark, 
more  from  politeness  than  interest. 
She  bowed ;  he  turned  to  his  stepmother 
and  began  to  speak  of  his  business,  which 
she  seemed  to  understand  perfectly.  They 
were  so  absorbed  in  their  conversation  that 
Nora  thought  they  had  forgotten  her  pres- 
ence, and  she  slipped  away  unperceived. 
As  she  felt  for  the  stairs  in  the  dark 
corridor,  she  thought  she  heard  a  pitiful 
moan;  she  listened:  it  was  repeated,  and 
she  pushed  open  a  door  on  her  right  hand, 
and  found  herself  in  a  large  room,  whose 
walls  were  covered  with  shining  kitchen 
utensils.  The  servant  lay  in  a  chair  pale  as 
a  corpse,  with  her  hands  pressed  to  her 
breast,  and  moaning.  She  started  when 
Nora  entered,  and  asked  with  heroic  self- 
control  if  she  wanted  anything. 


"You  aie  ill,  my  poor  girl!"  said  Nora, 
with  lively  sympathy. 

' '  Did  you  hear  me  cry  out.  Miss  ? ' '  asked 
Jane,  with  visible  uneasiness. 

"  No, but  you  moaned,  and  I  was  passing. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Shall  I  call 
my  aunt?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  poor  girl,  wringing- 
her  hands  despairingly;  "this  will  pass. 
I  get  these  attacks  now  and  then,  but  they 
don't  last  long.  If  the  mistress  knew  I  was 
ill  she  would  not  keep  me,  and  where  could 
I  go?  I  must  earn  my  bread,  and  I  have 
less  work  here  than  any  place  else." 

"If  you  do  not  wish  me  to  say  anything 
about,it,  I  shall  not;  but  you  should  con- 
sult a  doctor." 

"I  have  done  so  already,  Miss." 
"And  did  he  prescribe  anything?" 
' '  Yes,  but  it  is  of  no  use.   Pray  leave  me. 
Miss;  I  fear  the  mistress  may  hear  us." 

"But  you  are  too  ill  to  work.  You  must 
not  do  anything  this  evening." 
"It  will  pass,  only  leave  me." 
At  this  moment  the  parlor  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Auvrard  called  out:  "Did  you  not 
hear  me  ring,  Jane?  My  son  wishes  supper 
to  be  served  a  little  earlier  than  usual.  Lay 
the  table  at  once." 

"Yes,  ma'am";  and  the  poor  creature 

dragged  herself  to  the  dining-room  door. 

Nora  forced  her  to  sit  down,  and  declared 

she  should  let  her  lay  the  table,  and  merely 

tell  her  where  to  find  the  things. 

Jane  pointed  to  a  chest  of  drawers.  "On 
the  right  side  are  the  table  cloth  and  nap- 
kins, on  the  left  the  plates;  the  silver  is  in 
the  middle  drawer."  And,  controlling  her 
pain,  she  showed  Nora  what  to  do,  seeming 
particularly  anxious  that  Mark  should  want 
nothing.  ' '  In  that  press  in  the  wall  ^'s  Span- 
ish pepper  for  Mr. Mark;  put  it  on  the  right 
side  of  his  place — no,  that  is  not  the  glass 
he  uses  generally;  there  it  is.  May  God 
reward  you,  Miss!" 

"Can  I  do  anything  else?" 
"No:  everything  is  ready  now,  and  I  am 
feeling  better;   but  suppose   the  mistress 
knew  you  were  here!" 

' '  Now,  remember,  Jane,  you  are  to  come 


4i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  me  for  help  whenever  you  are  sick.    I 
promise  to  say  nothing. ' ' 

"God  bless  yon,  Miss!  And  He  will;  for 
you  are  one  of  His  angels. ' ' 

Nora  hurried  back  to  the  parlor,  quite 
excited  by  the  incident,  and  resolved  to  find 
out  what  ailed  Jane,  and  to  relieve  her  if 
possible.  Her  aunt  and  Mark  {?eemed  not  to 
notice  her  entrance,  and  in  a  few  moments 
supper  was  announced.  The  young  man 
considered  himself  bound  by  courtesy  to 
address  a  few  words  to  his  mother's  guest, 
so  he  made  some  remarks  on  her  travels, 
after  which  he  became  absorbed  in  a  lively 
discussion  with  Mrs.  Auvrard  on  political 
and  social  questions. 

Nora  found  mother  and  son  unusually 
clever;  their  sense  of  justice  was  paramount, 
and  their  views  were  neither  narrow  nor 
prejudiced;  but  they  seemed  to  think  her 
incapable  of  taking  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion. She  was  free,  therefore,  to  observe  them 
closely,  and  she  recognized  that  what  both 
lacked  was  consideration  for  others.  Too 
great  severity  fills  the  soul  with  a  certain 
dry  self-suflSciency.  This  mother  and  son 
were  bound  together  by  an  egotistical  love, 
which  made  them  impatient  of  all  views 
but  their  own,  and  distrustful  of  everything 
that  opposed  their  wishes.  Wrapped  up  in 
each  other,  their  hearts  seemed  to  have  con- 
centrated their  afiections  in  that  one  love, 
and  to  be  incapable  of  any  warmth  of  feel- 
ing for  their  fellow- creatures. 
CHAPTER  XIV. 

Nora  was  so  tired  that  she  did  not  awake 
next  morning  until  eight  o'clock.  She 
glanced  uneasily  at  her  watch— for  it  was 
Sunday, — and  dressed  hastily.  As  she  fin- 
ished, Jane  knocked  at  her  door. 

"Are  you  better,  Jane?" 

"Yes,  Miss.  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you 
were  up,  because  High  Mass  is  at  ten 
o'clock,  and  it  is  the  last." 

"Does  my  aunt  go  to  it  ?" 

"Never;  she  is  now  at  the  early  Mass 
she  always  attends;  but  you  can  go  with 
me." 

While  Nora  was  breakfasting  Mrs.  Auv- 
rard returned.    "Have  you  slept  well?" 


she  asked,  touching  coldly  with  her  lips  the 
young  girl's  proffered  face.  ' '  I  am  glad  you 
rested  so  long,  for  you  must  have  been  tired 
after  the  journey;  although  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  railway  travelling.  You  will  be 
just  in  time  for  High  Mass." 

' '  I  like  High  Mass  so  much ! ' '  said  Nora. 

"Then  it  is  all  the  better.  Jane  is  wait- 
ing for  you. — Has  Margaret  come, Jane?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;  and  I  have  given  her  all 
the  directions  for  dinner." 

Nora  took  up  her  prayer-book  and  set 
out  for  the  church  with  the  maid.  The 
latter  told  her  that  Mrs.  Auvrard,  though 
she  scolded  a  great  deal,  was  really  good- 
hearted,  and  always  hired  extra  help  on 
Sunday  to  leave  her  free.  At  the  church 
door  they  met  Miss  Kemoel,who  cordially 
greeted  Nora,  and  introduced  her  to  her 
three  nieces — Amelia,  Mary  and  Clotilda, — 
and  their  father,  a  small  man  dressed  in 
black,  whom  she  had  not  met  before. 

Nora  had  already  seen  all  the  pomp  and 
magnificence  of  Catholic  worship  as  dis- 
played in  the  principal  churches  of  Europe, 
but  at  Penvan  everything  was  simple.  The 
vestments  were  faded  and  worn,  the  organ 
shrill,  and  the  choir  out  of  tune;  but  there 
was  a  spirit  of  faith  and  piety  that  more  than 
compensated  for  all  exterior  defects.  The 
parish  priest, who  had  grown  old  amid  his 
flock,  seemed  nearer  heaven  than  earth, 
and  all  were  vivified  by  his  earnestness  and 
devotion. 

When  all  was  over  Nora  left  the  church 
reluctantly;  Miss  Kemoel  invited  her  to 
take  a  walk  with  them,  as  they  had  three 
full  hours  before  dinner;  but  she  declined, 
saying  she  feared  her  aunt  would  expect 
her  home  at  once. 

"Then  I  shall  not  insist  now,"  resumed 
her  kind  neighbor;  "but  I  shall  call  for 
you  in  the  evening.  We  can  attend  Vespers, 
and  then  take  a  walk  to  my  farm, which  is 
near.  Will  that  please  you  ? ' ' 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  take  a  walk 
with  you, ' '  said  Nora,  eagerly,  as  she  left  the 
merry  group  at  the  door,  and  with  a  stifled 
sigh  entered  the  gloomy  house  of  her  aunt 

Dinner  passed  as  supper  on  the  preceding 


The  Ave  Maria. 


419 


day.  Mark  exchanged  some  courteous  words 
with  Nora — speaking  of  Paris  and  Pen  van, 
the  style  of  the  church,  and  the  date  of  the 
market  fountain;  then  he  turned  to  Mrs. 
Auvrard,  and  began  to  give  her  an  account 
of  a  most  complicated  lawsuit.  She  listened 
with  great  interest,  and,  to  Nora's  surprise, 
made  some  technical  observations,  to  which 
her  son  paid  deferential  attention. 

' '  How  old  can  he  be  ?  "  m used  the  young 
girl.  '  *  When  he  laughs — which  is  rarely — 
one  would  think  he  was  thirty- five  at  most; 
but  when  he  is  serious,  or  when  he  speaks, 
there  is  nothing  youthful  either  in  his  face 
or  in  his  words.  What  makes  him  so  dark 
and  reserved?  He  can  not  have  suffered 
much ;  for  his  bearing  is  that  of  a  man  who 
has  never  known  misfortune. ' ' 

When  they  went  to  the  parlor,  Mark  ob- 
served, abruptly:  "I  notice  for  the  first 
time  that  there  is  no  piano  here." 

The  old  lady  gave  a  slight  shrug  and  said : 
' '  I  had  too  serious  duties  in  life  to  think 
of  such  useless  things. ' ' 

''I  only  regret  its  absence  for  Miss  de 
Br^lyon's  sake,"  replied  the  young  man; 
"she  possesses  such  extraordinary  musical 
talent  that  it  is  a  pity  not  to  exercise  it." 

Nora  blushed  deeply. 

"You  can  go  to  Octavia  Kernoel's  from 
time  to  time,  if  you  like,  and  practise  the 
piano,"  said  Mrs.  Auvrard ,  turning  to  her 
niece. 

"I  shall  willingly  go  to  see  Miss  Ker- 
noel,"  answered  Nora;  "but  it  will  be  long 
before  I  care  to  play  and  sing  again." 

Mother  and  son  looked  at  her. 

"Why  so?"  inquired  her  aunt. 

She  pointed  to  her  black  dress. 

"I  thought  you  had  exercised  your  mu- 
sical talent  with  your  Parisian  relatives." 

"I  was  forced  to  do  so. " 

"  I  will  not  blame  you.  Perhaps  it  is  only 
in  small  towns  that  people  mourn  their 
dead.  My  sister-in-law  was  often  obliged  to 
wear  a  black  dress,  but  she  knew  how  to 
procure  distractions  in  her  sorrow." 

' '  She  was  loving  and  lovable, ' '  answered 
Nora,  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 
(to  be  continued.) 


To  a  Friend  at  Parting. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.P. 


T\  H,  think  not  that  I  feel  the  less 
-^   Because  I  smile  and  speak  of  Heaven! 
I  would  not  flout  the  heart's  distress: 

But  why  was  Faith's  sweet  sunshine  given, 

If  not  to  brighten  every  cloud 

That  flits  across  our  mortal  day  ? — 
If  not  to  touch  the  very  shroud 

With  light  from  Easter's  blessed  ray  ? 
II. 
We  part.  For  years  ?   For  life  ?    If  so, 

A  time,  at  most—  a  span  of  breath. 
But  half  a  parting!   There  is  no 

Forever  on  this  side  of  death. 

And  while  on  earth  we  live  apart, 

We  find  each  other,  near  or  far, 
Wherever  rests  the  Sacred  Heart — 

The  altar-lamp  our  guiding  star. 

For  Jesus'  Heart  holds  you  and  me: 

And  only  final  loss  of  grace — 
No  leagues  of  land,  no  stretch  of  sea — 

Can  bar  us  from  that  trysting-place. 
III. 
Another  Heart,  too,  holds  us  both: 

Our  Mother's,  with  its  tender  care, 
And  faithful  love  that  knows  but  growth; 

And  we  can  meet  each  other  there. 

Ay.  morn  and  eve,  and  all  day  long, 
Whene'er  we  breathe  an  Ave  sweet — 

Alone,  at  rest,  or  mid  the  throng 

Of  toil  and  strife— our  souls  can  meet 

In  Mary's  Heart,  so  skill'd  to  keep 
Each  for  the  other,  both  for  Him 

From  whose  illimitable  deep 
That  reservoir  o'erflows  its  brim. 

IV. 

'Tis  thus,  to  me,  our  holy  Faith 
Makes  sunshine  in  the  Vale  of  Tears. 

Nor  less  that  other  side  of  death — 
And  ere  the  everlasting  years 

Encircle  both — for  us  'tis  bright 

With  more  than  sunshine:  so  we  trust 

But  wisely— climbing  tow'rd  the  light 
Which  glads  the  Mansions  of  the  Just. 


420 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  Beggar  Canonized. 


BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D. 


ON  May  20,  i860,  the  writer  was  a  unit 
among  many  tens  of  thousands  who 
had  the  happiness  of  witnessing,  in  the  city 
of  Rome,  one  of  the  most  splendid  among 
the  ceremonies  which,  in  the  4ays  before 
the  revolution,  used  to  render  the  Eternal 
City  so  attractive.  The  occasion  was  the 
solemn  beatification,  or  raising  to  the  hon- 
ors of  public  worship,  of  Benedict  Joseph 
L/abre,  of  France, — an  authoritative  decla- 
ration by  the  supreme  pastor  of  Christen- 
dom that  hereafter  Blessed  Benedict  Labre 
could  be  publicly  invoked  by  Christians; 
that  his  image  and  relics  could  be  presented 
for  public  veneration ;  and  that  it  would  be 
rash, scandalous,  and  blasphemous,  to  doubt 
that  he  enjoys  the  beatific  vision  of  God. 
He  was  canonized  by  Leo  XIII.  on  the  8th 
of  December,  1881 ,  Feast  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  of  Oar  Blessed  Lady. 

On  the  day  of  his  beatification,  St.  Peter's 
assumed  its  holiday  attire  of  priceless  jew 
els  and  precious  ornaments;  its  treasury 
put  forth  the  stores  sacred  to  the  principal 
occasions  of  pontifical  rejoicing;  while 
myriads  of  lights,  reflec*^ed  in  crystals  and 
burnished  metal,  gave  an  effulgence  to  the 
scene  equalled  in  effect  only  by  the  match- 
less taste  that  was  prevalent  everywhere.  A 
masterpiece  of  the  painter's  art  hung  over 
the  main  door  of  the  vestibule,  another  over 
the  principal  entrance  to  the  basilica,  a  third 
on  high  over  the  Chair  of  Peter,  and  others 
throughout  the  nave;  all  being  so  many 
pages  nai rating  to  the  vast  multitude  how 
God,  by  wondrous  ways,  had  led  the  hero 
of  the  day  to  the  ineffable  happiness  of 
paradise. 

Amid  the  breathless  silence  of  the  pious 
expectants,  the  papal  decree  was  read,  and 
at  the  final  declaration  that  Labre  was 
beatified,  a  veil  fell  from  before  a  portrait 
of  the  servant  of  God,  and  amid  the  clash 
and  clang  of  saluting  arms,  and  the  deafen- 
ing roar  of  cannon  from  the  neighboring 


Castle,  the  immense  throng — Pontiff,  car- 
dinals, prelates,  sovereign-princes,  nobles, 
and  people — an  aristocracy  of  power  and 
intellect,  and  a  democracy  of  the  illiterate, 
— all  united  in  veneration  of  him  who  was 
then  for  the  first  time  hailed  as  Blessed.  In 
the  afternoon  another  throng  assembled  in 
the  majestic  basilica,  and  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  accompanied  by  his  court  and  the 
Sacred  College,  descended  from  the  Vatican 
to  venerate  the  image  of  the  newly  beatified. 
Kneeling  before  the  high  altar,  our  beloved 
Pius  IX.  prayed  a  while,  then  taking  in  his 
hands  a  copy  of  the  "Life"  of  Labre  and  a 
relic,  he  kissed  the  latter,  and  pressed  it  to 
his  forehead  for  a  long  time. 

And  who  was  this  man  thus  honored  by 
the  Church  of  God?  What  had  he  done 
that  his  memory  should  be  so  splendidly 
glorified?  What  benefit  had  he  conferred 
on  humanity?  What  had  he  done  that, 
seventy-seven  years  after  his  death,  the 
Catholic  world  should  be  so  ready  to  yield 
him  its  applause?  But  a  few  months  before 
th  s  beatification, we  had  read  the  pontifical 
decree  according  the  title  of  "Venerable" 
to  Mary  Christina  of  Savoy,  Queen  of  the 
Two  Sicilies,and  mother  of  the  unfortunate 
Francis  II  ;  and  we  had  realized  how  heroic 
sanctity  can  shine  from  the  height  of  a 
Catholic  throne  as  well  as  in  the  more  quiet 
sphere  of  private  life.  But  who  was  this 
man?  He  was  a  beggar!  Yes,  a  common 
beggar  of  the  streets — one, too,  of  the  lowest 
grade  of  abjectness  even  in  that  class  of 
humanity  where  everything  is  abject;  and, 
if  we  were  not  restrained  by  courtesy  to  a 
certain  reserve  in  alluding  to  revolting 
things,  we  could  narrate  passages  from 
Labre's  "Life"  which  would  unstring  the 
nerves  of  some  readers,  so  greatly  would 
their  fastidiousness  be  shocked.  And  it  is 
to  be  noted  that  this  man's  poverty  was  not 
caused  by  adverse  fortune,  or  by  inability 
to  earn  a  living  by  labor.  He  was  a  beggar 
by  his  own  deliberate  choice;  or  rather  he 
deemed  himself  called  bv  Gcd  to  that  man- 
ner of  life,  and  he  was  sustained  in  that 
belief  by  those  who  directed  his  conscience 
during  his  painful  career. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


421 


Born  in  1748,  in  the  village  of  Amettes 
in  France,  Joseph  Benedict  Labre  came 
of  parents  who  were  in  respectable  though 
moderate  circumstances.  Up  to  his  sixteenth 
}  ear  he  followed  the  studies  usual  to  his  age, 
and  then  he  conceived  the  idea  of  abandon- 
ing everything  for  God.  He  took  the  ways 
generally  adopted  by  souls  of  similar  tem- 
perament, but,  owing  to  apparently  fortui- 
tous circumstances, he  found  those  ordinary 
paths  to  perfection  closed  to  him;  thus, 
twice  he  vainly  sought  admission  among 
the  Trappists;  and  when  at  length  he  had 
been  received  by  the  Cistercians,  he  was 
soon  obliged  to  leave  them.  Then  he  for- 
sook his  native  land,  and  begged  his  way 
to  Rome. 

When  in  the  Eternal  City,  his  voluntary 
destitution  was  well-nigh  incredible.  His 
days  were  spent  in  prayer  in  the  least  fre- 
quented churches,  and  the  little  sleep  he 
allowed  himself  was  usually  taken  under  a 
bench  in  a  church- porch.  He  was  always 
bareheaded  and  barefooted,  and  seemed  to 
know  nothing  about  the  little  attentions 
to  personal  neatness  often  visible  even  in 
extreme  poverty;  his  rags  were  unworthy 
even  of  that  ng,me,  and  they  were  infested 
with  vermin.  His  food  was  that  rejected 
by  every  other  mendicant,  and  was  usually 
procured  in  the  places  devoted  to  the  dump- 
ing of  garb3ge.  He  continued  this  manner 
of  life  during  fifteen  years,  interrupting  it 
only  each  Lent  by  a  pilojrimage  to  I/oreto. 
Finally,  on  the  Wednesday  of  Holy  Week, 
1783,  he  was  found  dying  on  the  steps  of 
the  Church  of  S.  Maria  dei  Monti,  and  was 
taken  into  the  house  of  a  poor  acquaintance, 
where  he  yielded  his  soul  to  God.  And  this 
miserable  beggar,  because  of  his  heroic 
sanctity — well  proved  in  his  "process," — 
the  Catholic  Church  has  raised  to  her 
altars,  asking  for  him  the  veneration  of  all 
her  children,  from  his  brother-beggar  to^ 
the  crowned  king. 

After  fifty  years  of  examination  and  dis- 
cussion, the  Catholic  Church  had  beatified 
one  whom  modem  philanthropists  and  the 
average  police  justice  would  have  sent  to 
jail  or  the  mad-house.  What  an  example 


to  set  the  world!  What  would  become  of 
civilization  if  imitation  of  Labre  were  un- 
dertaken by  even  a  small  minority  of  those 
who  are  now  asked  to  venerate  him?  Well, 
St.  Benedict  Labre  remains  alone  in  his 
peculiar  sphere  of  sanctity,  and  it  is  very 
probable  that  he  will  so  remain  for  a  long^ 
time.  Far  from  the  mind  of  the  Church  is 
the  idea  that  this  Saint  should  be  indis- 
criminately imitated.  He  deemed  himself 
called  to  that  special  way  of  life,  and  his 
confessors  agreed  with  him;  he  carried  out 
the  will  of  God — his  sanctification. 

But  it  seems  to  have  been  the  design  of 
Providence,  in  the  canonization  of  Benedict 
Labre,  to  furnish  the  world  with  a  standing 
rebuke  of  that  spirit  of  Utilitarianism  sa 
rampant  in  our  day,  and  with  which  so 
many  even  among  Catholics  are  more  or 
less  infected.  Our  age  tends  to  the  develop- 
ment of  a  civil  Christianity^  by  the  elimina- 
tion of  every  element  of  the  supernatural. 
Unable  to  deprive  the  Church  of  the  credit 
of  having  founded  modern  civilization,  and 
only  too  willing  to  enjoy  the  benefits  of  that 
culture,  it  so  dwells  upon  and  magnifies  the 
civil  efiects  of  the  Gospel,  that  it  presents 
the  Christian  Dispensation  as  principally, 
if  not  solely, an  instrument  of  earthly  prog- 
ress. It  is  to  counteract  this  tendency  that 
God  manifests  as  meritorious  of  eternal 
glory  a  kind  of  holiness  which,  far  from  be- 
ing productive  of  any  merely  civil  benefit, 
would  threaten,  if  universally  imitated^ 
even  the  very  existence  of  civilization. 

The  canonization  of  Benedict  Labre  is  a 
lesson  for  the  rich  and  a  comfort  for  the 
poor,  at  a  time  when,  on  the  one  side,  a 
raging  fever  for  wealth  and  power,  and  on 
the  other,  an  ebullition  of  socialistic  sen- 
timent, tend  to  a  development  of  furious 
anarchy  in  society. 


Everything  that  is  exquisite  hides  it- 
self— Abbk  Roux. 

Like  as  the  thermometer  tells  the  meas- 
ure of  heat  or  cold,  so  our  sanctification  goes 
onward  or  backward  just  in  proportion  as 
we  mortify  ourselves. 


422 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Study  of  the  Catechism. 


THE  last  instructions  of  the  glorious  Pius 
to  the  parish  priests  of  Rome  were  that 
they  should  redouble  their  zeal  in  teaching 
the  Catechism  to  the  little  ones;  "for  the 
child  that  grows  up  unconscious  of  the 
duties  of  religion,  will  ignore  the  duties  of 
man. ' '  These  noble  words  of  that  great  Pon- 
tiff should  be  engraved  in  the  heart  of  every 
Christian;  for  they  will  afford  him  a  sure 
and  unerring  guide  throughout  life.  Too 
often  in  our  day  is  the  study  of  Holy  Mother 
Church's  doctrines  neglected;  too  often  are 
they  lightly  regarded.  In  most  cases  this 
does  not  spring  from  want  of  reverence  for 
her,  but  from  lack  of  appreciation  of  the 
great — nay,  incalculable — benefits  that  can 
be  derived  from  the  dogmas  of  our  faith. 
The  Catechism  is  not  a  mere  dry  recital 
of  theoretical  teachings:  it  is  a  manual  of  a 
grand  and  gloiious  life-work;  it  is  a  most 
perfect  epitome  of  the  practical  knowledge 
of  man  and  man's  desires  and  ends;  it  is  a 
perfect  rule  and  exemplar  of  life. 

Nothing  is  more  prevalent  in  our  day 
than  false  and  pernicious  teaching  in  every 
department  of  man's  life,  and  nowhere  can 
a  defence  against  such  teachings  be  found 
more  forcibly  set  forth  than  in  the  Cate- 
chisms of  Christian  Doctrine.  The  notion 
held  by  many  that  it  is  suitable  only  for  the 
young  is  unfounded  and  pernicious.  True, 
it  is  simple,  plain,  easy,  and  concise.  But  for 
these  very  reasons  it  is  most  useful'and  ben- 
eficial; for  it  is  the  essence  of  all  knowledge 
and  all  truth.  It  is  a  book  not  only  for  the 
young,  but  for  the  old.  The  labor  of  study 
in  after-years  is,  if  properly  directed,  only 
an  unfolding  and  development  of  the  teach- 
ings of  our  Catechism. 

The  faith  we  hold  is  not  theoretical :  it  is 
eminently  practical.  The  truths  we  learn 
as  children  from  the  lips  of  the  Church's 
teachers  find  practical  application  in  all 
our  studies  and  actions.  If  we  would  act 
and  live  as  Catholics  should,  we  must  in  all 
things  act  and  speak  as  Catholic  truth  dic- 
tates.  Not  that  we  must  openly  proclaim 


our  faith  on  the  house-top  and  in  the 
streets,  but  that  our  daily  avocations  and 
our  common  conversations  be  carried  on  in 
a  Catholic  tone  and  spirit.  There  is  a  certain 
unobtrusive  insinuation  of  opinion  which 
is  far  more  forcible  than  open  argument.  It 
is  a  happy  mean  between  indifference  and 
boasting  of  faith,  which  we  as  Catholics 
should  aim  at  in  our  daily  pursuits,  in  so- 
ciety, and  in  every  walk  of  life.  In  order 
to  possess  such  a  Catholic  tone  and  ten- 
dency, a  knowledge  and  understanding  of 
our  faith  as  perfect  as  may  be  is  necessary, 
and  it  is  only  in  the  recognized  expositions 
of  our  religion  that  this  can  be  found. 

Hence  the  study  of  the  Catechism  is  im- 
portant to  every  one — not  only  to  the  little 
child,  or  to  the  young,  but  to  the  man  of 
work  and  action.  It  is  a  perfect  philosophy ; 
for  it  is  the  exposition  of  the  doctrine  of 
the  greatest  of  all  masters.  It  is  a  perfect 
foundation  of  all  science  and  all  learning; 
and  as  far  as  men  stray  from  its  declarations, 
in  so  far  do  they  err.  It  is  a  perfect  guide  of 
life,  and  when  its  rules  are  neglected,  man 
even  physically  feels  the  wrong  that  is  done. 
Despise  not  its  study;  for  it  is  the  study  of 
the  science  and  the  moral  teachings  of  the 
great  Master  who,  centuries  ago,  trod  the 
hills  and  vales  of  Judea  to  show  to  wander- 
ing and  despairing  man  the  way  to  knowl- 
edge and  true  happiness. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  Newfoundland  sealing  crews  leave 
their  shores  each  spring  in  early  March  They  ' 
number  from  thirty  to  forty  thousand  stalwart 
men,  distributed  in  crews  of  from  one  to  five 
hundred,  in  sailing-ships  and  steamers.  They 
are  for  the  most  part  Catholics.  Before  ' '  going 
to  the  ice,"  as  they  style  this  voyage,  the 
majority  of  them  approach  the  Sacraments. 
In  the  good  old  days,  at  least,  no  one  would  be 
considered  a  lucky  or  safe  shipmate  who  had 
not  done  .so.  When  they  arrive  at  the  ice,  the 
practice  of  reciting  the  Rosary  every  evening 
in  common  on  shipboard  is,  or  was,  considered 
a  dut}^  by  all  the  crews.  Where  there  is  a 
commingling  of  Protestants  on  board,  these 
too  join  with  the  Catholics  in  this  favorite 


The  Ave  Maria. 


423 


prayer.  No  doubt  taany  of  the  conversions, 
true  and  trusty  ones,  which  take  place  in  great 
numbers,  in  various  parts  of  the  island,  are 
attributable  to  this  devotion.  Every  Catholic 
sealer  takes  care  also  to  provide  himself  with  a 
scapular  and  medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  be- 
fore leaving  port;  so  for  weeks  previous  pious 
fingers  are  kept  busy  preparing  these  ' '  safe- 
guards," as  the  sailors  call  them.  In  point 
of  fact,  considering  the  terrific  perils  that  en- 
compass those  men,  far  away  on  the  vast  ice- 
fields, hemmed  in  by  immense  ice-boulders, 
separated  often  for  several  days  from  their 
ships  by  a  drift,  travelling  over  the  icy  plains 
in  search  of  seals,  disasters — loss  of  life  es- 
pecially— are  so  rare  as  to  seem  little  less  than 
a  miraculous  preservation.  All  these  men 
without  exception,  on  their  return  home, 
contribute  from  their  gains  to  the  support  of 
their  Church  and  clergy.  The  sealers'  devo- 
tion to  the  Holy  Rosary  has  been  made  the 
subject  of  a  graceful  poem,  which  appears  on 
the  first  page  of  our  present  issue. 


A  celebration  attended  with  several'inter- 
esting  and  pleasant  features  took  place  re- 
cently at  Springfield,  111. ,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  twenty- fifth  anniversary  of  the  founding 
of  the  parochial  schools  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception.  Among  those  who  took  part  in 
the  proceedings  were  Brothers  Benjamin  and 
Gabriel,  of  the  Congregation  of  Holy  Cross, 
Notre  Dame.  These  two  Brothers  acted  as 
preceptor  and  assistant  at  the  opening  of  the 
schools  in  1862;  the  former  is  now  superior 
at  Springfield,  while  the  latter  directs  the 
Cathedral  schools  at  Alton.  When  they  began 
their  labors  in  1862  the  parish  school  con- 
tained ninety  pupils;  now,  after  the  original 
parish  has  been  divided  into  four — each  hav- 
ing parochial  schools — the  present  number  of 
male  pupils  is  three  hundred  in  the  parish  of 
the  Immaculate  Conception. 


The  Rev.  Aloysius  Robant,  S.  J.,  in  a  recent 
letter  from  Alaska,  published  in  Church  News, 
gives  an  account  of  the  disposal  of  the  remains 
of  Archbishop  Seghers,  which  will  be  read 
with  great  interest.  There  was  some  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  getting  the  body  taken  to  San 
Francisco,  and  none  of  the  sea-captains  who 
were  applied  to  would  consent  to  undertake 
the  transfer.  The  only  course  left  open  to 
Father  Robant  was  to  bury  the  remains  of  the 


Archbishop  temporarily  at  St.  Michael's.  A 
grave  was  dug  in  a  corner  of  the  Russian 
graveyard,  and  a  small  but  sorrowful  proces- 
sion, including  two  Presbyterian  ministers, 
followed  the  cofiin.  A  large  cross  is  being 
made  to  put  over  the  grave.  This  is  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  fence,  and  an  inscription  will 
be  composed  in  Latin,  giving  the  Archbishop's 
name,  titles,  etc. 

We  learn  that  the  religious  orders,  expelled 
from  the  German  Empire  through  the  action 
of  an  iniquitous  law  now  happily  repealed, 
are  returning  from  exile  to  their  old  convent- 
ual homes.  The  governmental  policy  at  pres- 
ent so  favorable  towards  these  communities 
will  certainly  have  a  most  beneficial  influence 
upon  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  the 
people.  This  follows  necessarily  from  the  very 
nature  and  constitution  of  religious  orders, 
which  provide  one  of  the  most  effective  means 
whereby  the  Church  is  enabled  to  fulfil  her 
divine  mission  in  the  care  of  souls.  In  a  speech 
recently  delivered  before  the  Prussian  Con- 
gress, Deputy  Herr  Lieber  made  so  eloquent 
and  forcible  a  plea  in  behalf  of  the  full  restora- 
tion of  the  religious,  that  we  can  not  forbear 
reproducing  some  of  his  words.  In  the  course 
of  a  moving  address,  he  said: 

' '  We  hear  constant  complaints  that  the  founda- 
tions of  society  are  shaken  and  the  authority  of 
States  is  shaken.  But  we  have  a  remedy  for  all:  we 
have  those  who  by  their  acts  and  their  example, 
as  well  as  their  teaching,  are  the  reformers  of  the 
social  world.  Yes,  in  our  religious  orders  is  the 
medicine  for  all  existing  public  evils, — in  those 
orders  which  in  their  beneficent  influence  are  the 
very  flowering  of  the  Christian  life.  If  we  believe 
Christ  and  are  convinced  by  Him,  how  shall  we 
not  believe  that  the  true  physicians  of  our  world 
are  those  who  most  closely  follow  Him  ?  These 
practise  not  the  Commandments  only,  but  the 
perfections  of  the  Gospel,  and  oppose  the  three 
lusts  of  mankind  with  their  three  vows  of  renun- 
ciation. Such  men  and  women,  are  they  not  the 
benediction  of  Heaven  upon  the  place  that  knows 
them  ? ' ' 

After  asserting  the  vital  need  in  Prussia  not 
merely  of  some  but  of  all  the  religious  orders 
without  exception,  the  speaker  proceeded: 

"Who  can  describe  the  beauty,  the  sublimity 
of  the  religious  life  ?  And  who  will  ever  know 
the  effects  of  it  ?  Who  can  tell  how  often  is  re- 
newed, in  fact  and  in  truth,  within  the  shadow  of 
the  cloister,  the  scene  that  passed  on  Sinai  be- 
tween Moses  and  the  Lord  ?  Who  can  guess  how 
often  the  prayer  of  the  convent  has  turned  away 


424 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  anger  of  God  ?  Truly  the  religious  orders  are 
necessary  to  us  for  the  saving  of  society  by  their 
prayers  and  by  their  works  of  charity.  Their  mis- 
sion is  to  remote  placcs  and  among  savage  men; 
but  none  the  less  is  it  here,  in  the  heart  and  the 
midst  of  our  own  land." 


Archbishop  Ryan's  pastoral  on  the  Papal 
Jubilee  has  had  a  wide  reading  outside  of  the 
Archdiocese  of  Philadelphia.  The  sentiments 
to  which  it  gives  expression  are  particularly 
gratifying  to  American  Catholics'.  Speaking 
of  the  claims  of  the  Holy  Father  on  their  gen- 
erosity, his  Grace  observes:  "The  navigator 
from  Genoa,  the  Catholic  discoverer  of  this 
Continent,  came  here  in  his  bark  of  the  Con- 
ception before  the  pilgrims  from  England  in 
the  Mayflower.  The  Church  that  was  built  on 
the  rock  of  Peter  sent  her  brave  children  to 
this  land  long  before  Puritan  foot  touched  the 
rock  of  Plymouth.  The  first  standard  of  civ- 
ilization planted  here  was  the  Catholic  Cross, 
and  here  it  shall  remain,  to  bless  with  the  bene- 
diction of  Christianity  the  society  of  this  New 
World.  There  is  evidently  nothing  in  the 
genius  of  the  Catholic  religion  inconsistent 
with  the  genius  of  our  Constitution;  and  the 
present  Pontifi"  must  feel,  like  his  predecessor 
of  happy  memory,  that  'in  no  country  of  the 
world  is  he  more  truly  Pope  than  in  the 
United  States  of  America. '  Let  us,  dearly  be- 
loved brethren,  by  our  generous  offerings  on 
occasion  of  his  Jubilee,  show  him  that  in  no 
country  of  this  world  does  the  Pope  continue 
to  be  more  reverenced  and  loved." 


Writing  of  American  converts,  the  Michigan 
Catholic  remarks  that  priests  throughout  the 
United  States  are  receiving  into  the  Church 
every  year,  quietly  and  without  any  herald- 
ing, a  greater  number  of  Protestants  than  all 
the  proselytes  their  foreign  missionary  socie- 
ties, with  large  expenditure  and  much  noise, 
are  able  to  make. 


In  a  pastoral  which  the  Most  Rev.  Arch- 
bishop Walsh,  of  Dublin,  recently  addressed 
to  his  flock  we  find  this  reference  to  the  de- 
votion of  the  Holy  Rosary: 

"While  uniting  in  fervent  prayer  with  all  our 
brethren,  the  children  of  the  Church  throughout 
the  world,  let  us  not  forget  the  special  needs  of 
our  own  Church  of  Ireland,  and  of  her  faithful 
children.  Passing  as  we  are  through  a  time  of  sore 
and  heavy  trial,  let  us  not  cease  to  rely  with 


unfailing  confidence  upon  the  protection  of  the 
Mother  of  God.  Through  ages  of  trial  and  of  perse- 
cution, fidelity  in  devotion  to  Her  has  been  among 
the  surest  safeguards  of  the  purity  of  Irish  faith. 
She  will  not  abandon  us  in  our  present  hour  of 
need.  Let  us, then,  turn  to  Her.the  Mother  of  Good 
Counsel, in  earnest  supplication, that, through  Her 
intercession,  the  clouds  that  have  so  suddenly 
obscured  the  opening  prospect  of  a  brighter  future 
for  all  classes  of  our  people  may  be  as  speedily 
dispelled.  May  the  statesmen  upon  whom  now  lies 
the  responsibility  of  governing  this  troubled  land 
be  guided  by  the  promptings  of  divine  wisdom  in 
the  execution  of  their  awful  trust!  And  may  our 
people,  withstanding  everj  temptation  to  enter 
upon  violent  courses,  continue  to  walk  steadfastly 
in  those  paths  of  justice  by  which  alone  they  can 
hope  to  reach  a  future  of  prosperity  and  peace!" 


The  extraordinary  industry  of  Italian  ladies, 
especially  nuns,  was  shown  at  the  recent  ex- 
position of  laces,  stuffs  and  embroideries  at 
Rome.  This  was  chiefly  an  exposition  of 
women's  labor,  and  was  a  wonderful  display 
of  gauzy  lace,  fine  as  a  spider's  web,  wrought 
into  pictures  of  sacred  scenes ;  and  of  Venetian 
point  a  yard  wide,  made  for  a  priest's  surplice. 


In  the  October  number  of  the  Annals  Mgr, 
DeHaeme,  Director  of  the  Institution  at  Bos- 
ton Spa,  England,  and  Honorary  President  of 
the  Institution  at  Brussels,  Belgium,  has  an 
interesting  paper  on  the  education  of  the 
deaf  in  China.  Mgr.  DeHaeme  has  made  this 
charity  a  study  for  several  years,  and,  as  a  re- 
sult of  his  endeavors,  arrangements  have  been 
made  with  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  of  Cal- 
cutta by  which  a  school  will  soon  be  opened 
in  that  place  for  the  education  of  the  deaf. 
Calcutta  was  chosen  because  it  is  the  most 
central,  not  only  for  India  but  for  China, 
Malacca,  and  Burmah, — Le  Couteulx  Leader. 


The  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Lynch,  of  To- 
ronto, hates  injustice  in  any  form,  and  he  is 
nothing  if  not  outspoken.  Having  noticed  the 
frequent  appeals  which  the  editors  and  pro- 
prietors of  newspapers  are  constrained  to  make 
to  their  subscribers,  urging  them  to  pay  their 
just  debts,  his  Grace  has  addressed  a  letter  on 
the  subject  to  the  Catholic  Weekly  Review,  of 
Toronto.  Its  method  of  treatment  is  admira- 
ble, and,  as  the  theme  is  perpetually  coming 
up,  it  will  be  profitable  to  reproduce  the  Arch- 
bishop's words.  Having  expressed  regret  and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^5 


astonishment  at  the  necessity'  of  addressing 
such  appeals  to  Catholics,  he  says: 

"Cathodes,  at  least,  can  not  be  unaware  of  their 
obligations  in  this  matter,  and  that  absolution  in 
a  penitent  heartily  sorry  for  his  sins  does  not  free 
him  from  the  obligations  of  paying  his  j  ust  debts. 
The  atonement  for  oblivion  of  justice  in  this  world 
■will  certainly  be  enacted  in  the  next.  The  editors 
and  proprietors  of  newspapers,  on  their  part,  give 
their  time,  the  product  of  a  high  education  and 
■experience,  together  with  their  money  for  sta- 
tionery,printing,  and  wages  \.o  employes:  and  they 
€xpect,  and  should  have,  in  common  justice,  a  re- 
turn, often  by  no  means  adequate  to  their  outlay. 
A  man  wbo  will  not  pay  for  a  paper  he  subscribes 
to  or  reads,  and  whose  contents  he  enjoyed,  is  a 
retainer  of  another  man's  goods  and  is  on  a  level 
■with  a  thief" 


New  Publications. 


Tactics  of  Infidels.  By  the  Rev.  I,  A. 
Lambert,  author  of  '  Notes  on  Ingersoll,"  etc. 
Buffalo:  Peter  Paul  &  Brother.  1887. 

This  little  volume  of  357  pages  is  a  fitting 
sequel  to  Father  Lambert's  well-known  and 
deservedly  popular  work  entitled  "Notes  on 
Ingersoll."  It  is  really  a  continuation  of  the 
"Notes,"  of  which  135,000  copies  have  al- 
ready been  printed.  The  demand  for  that 
excellent  book  has  by  no  means  been  confined 
to  Catholics:  it  is  recognized  by  Christians 
of  all  shades  of  religious  faith  as  the  ablest 
refutation  of  IngersoUana,  not  to  mention 
the  claims  set  forth  by  infidels  and  atheists 
generally,  that  has  ever  been  published.  For 
a  long  time  Mr.  Ingersoll  and  his  followers 
aflFected  to  ignore  the  "Notes,"  the  pointed 
thrusts  of  which  could  not  be  parried.  Finally, 
however,  a  champion  of  the  doughty  Colonel 
appeared  in  the  person  of  a  Mr.  Lacy.  The  lat- 
ter published  a  book  in  defence  of  Ingersoll. 
In  this  work"he  attacks  the  ' '  Notes ' '  in  partic- 
ular and  Father  Lambert  in  general.  Father 
Lambert  now  replies  in  the  "Tactics  of  In- 
fidels. ' '  This  book  is  written  in  the  style  of 
the  ' '  Notes, ' '  and  is  distinguished  by  equal 
learning,  wit,sarcasm,  and  warmth  and  felicity 
of  expression.  Its  contents  are  presented  in 
the  form  of  a  dialogue,  the  participants  being 
Ingersoll,  the  "Notes,"  Lacy,  and  Father 
Lambert.  Needless  to  say,  the  objections, 
views  and  theories  urged  by  Ingersoll  and 
Lacy  are  met  and  answered  most  explicitly  and 
convincingly  by  the  arguments,  criticisms  and 


replies  set  forth  in  the  "Tactics,"  as  well  as 
by  the  excerpta  taken  here  and  there  from  the 
"Notes."  It  is  a  timely  book.  Its  arraignment 
of  infidelity  and  the  methods  of  infidels  is 
simply  crushing  and  overwhelming.  Its  logic 
is  incisive,  persuasive,  merciless.  Infidelity  in 
all  its  shapes  and  phases  is  expo.=ed  and  held 
up  to  ridicule  and  derision.  In  the  light  of 
Father  Lambert's  logic  it  becomes  involved, 
tangled  and  bewildered  in  the  mazes  of  its 
own  absurdities.  The  ' '  Tactics, ' '  it  may  safely 
be  said,  is  a  book  worthy  of  generous  patron- 
age. Its  perUvSal  can  not  fail  to  be  of  help  in 
disciplining  and  assisting  the  mind  of  the 
reader  to  reason  in  accordance  with  the  strict 
rules  of  logic,  as  applied  in  the  exposure  of 
the  hollow  generalities,  shams  and  pretexts 
of  modern  infidelity. 


Obituary. 


"  It  ts  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thought  io  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  a  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  John  J.  Quigley,  who  met  with  a  sud- 
den death  on  the  lo'.h  of  September,  at  Elkader, 
Iowa,  where  he  was  rector  of  St.  Joseph's  Church, 

Sisters  Genevieve  and  Evangelist,  of  the  Order 
of  St.  Dominic, who  recently  departed  this  life, — 
the  former  in  New  York  city,  the  latter  at  Adrian, 
Mich. 

Mrs.  Jane  Hall, whose  happy  death  occurred  at 
Paoli,  Pa.,  on  the  24th  ult. 

Mr.  Patrick  Harkins,  of  Boston,  the  venerable 
father  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  of  Providence,  who 
passed  away  on  the  29th  of  September,  fortified 
by  the  last  Sacraments.  He  was  one  of  the  oldest 
Irish  residents  in  Boston,  and  had  been  a  member 
of  the  Cathedral  parish  for  more  th*an  fifty  years. 

Mrs.  Catherine  Rend,  relict  of  the  late  Ambrose 
Rend, who  calmly  breathed  her  last  in  Chicago 
on  the  15th  inst.  Her  loss  is  deeply  regretted  by 
numerous  friends,  and  their  grief  is  intensified  by 
the  suddenness  of  her  death. 

Miss  Margaret  Slattery,  of  Lafayette,  Ind., 
whose  precious  death  took  place  on  the  29th  ult. 
She  bore  her  long  and  painful  illness  in  a  truly 
Christian  spirit,  edifying  all  who  knew  her. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jeremiah  Reordan,  of  Bangor.Me., 
both  of  whom  died  last  month,  in  the  dispositions 
of  fervent  Christians. 

Mrs.  A.  E.  OfFutt  (vie  Miss  Catherine  McCar- 
rick),  of  Washington,  D.  C;  Mrs.  Ellen  Louge 
and  Mrs.  Margaret  Mulrooney, Wilmington,  Del.; 
Michael  Ronan,  New  Haven,  Conn. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


426 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PAIITMENI 


St.  Antony's  Answer. 


BY    C.   MAJOR. 


The  following  incident  was  related  to  me 
by  a  Jesuit  missionary,  one  of  the  few  sur- 
vivors of  a  band  of  thirty-two  who,  seven 
years  ago,  penetrated  to  the  interior  of 
Africa: 

Late  one  afternoon  a  priest  and  a  zealous 
lay-brother  were  seated  together  under  an 
awning  on  the  roof  of  their  little  home  in 
the  valley  of  the  Zambezi  River.  They 
were  enjoying  the  delicious  odors  stealing 
up  from  the  moist  earth,  which  had  been 
refreshed  for  the  firist  time  in  many  months 
by  a  soft  rain.  Suddenly  the  Brother  re- 
membered their  destitution. 

"Father,  what  shall  we  have  for  supper?" 

"What  have  you.  Brother?"  said  the 
priest. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  answer. 

"Well,  then,"  replied  the  other,  with  a 
smile, "we  shall  have  nothing,  I  suppose. " 

"  But,  Father,  that  will  not  do,"  objected 
his  companion;  "to-morrow  will  be  a  fast- 
day,  and  if  we  eat  nothing  to-night  we  shall 
be  faint  to-morrow." 

"True,  but  what  do  you  propose  to  do?" 

The  Brother  pondered  a  moment,  then 
said :  ' '  Father,  will  you  give  me  a  candle? ' ' 

* '  What !  you  are  not  goi  n%  to  fry  a  candle 
for  our  supper?" 

' '  No,  no:  I  will  light  it  before  the  shrine 
of  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  and  ask  him  to 
provide  for  us;  then  perhaps  if  you  go  out 
with  your  gun  and  the  dogs,  you  may  find 
something  that  you  can  shoot  for  our 
supper." 

The  good  Father  accordingly  started  on 
his  hunting  expedition,  and  walked  for  half 
an  hour  or  more,  the  dogs  exploring  every 
possible  covert,  but  in  vain.   Up  hill  and 


down  dale  they  went,  until  at  length  the 
priest  said  mentally:  "Ah!  St.  Antony,  I 
fear  you  have  nothing  for  us  to-nij^ht." 

Just  then  the  dogs  stopped  at  a  clump  of 
trees  some  distance  ahead,  and,  with  tails 
outstretched  and  heads  lowered,  indicated 
by  quick,  sharp  barking  that  they  had 
scented  something.  The  priest  raised  his 
gun  and  fired— once,  twice.  The  expected 
prize  failed  to  take  alarm.  Nothing  even 
stirred  among  the  trees.  Approaching  the 
spot,  and  peering  through  the  bushes,  he 
saw  extended  on  the  ground  a  human  foot 
without  toes,  and,  looking  farther,  a  human 
hand  without  fingers.  He  knew  then  that 
the  man  before  him  was  a  leper. 

The  unhappy  creature  lay  stretched  on 
the  ground,  sheltered  only  by  a  piece  of 
canvas  awning  overhead.  Words  are  power- 
less to  describe  his  loathsome  condition.  In 
answer  to  ihe  priest's  questions,  he  replied 
that  he  was  a  native  of  that  region,  and 
known  by  the  Datch  colonists  as  Scapersthe 
lion-hunter.  Two  years  before  he  had  come 
with  a  hunting  party  to  this  place,  where 
his  companions,  discovering  the  nature  of 
his  disease,  had  deserted  him,  leaving  him 
a  small  supply  of  provisions;  when  these 
were  exhausted,  starvation  stared  him  in 
the  face.  Through  the  kindness  of  a  woman 
who  discovered  his  hiding  place,  he  had 
been  supplied  now  and  then  with  a  small 
quantity  of  coarse  food  This,  with  a  draught 
of  water  from  a  stream  near  by,  had  been 
his  only  sustenance. 

* '  How  long  does  it  take  you  to  go  to  the 
stream  for  your  drink  of  water?"  asked 
the  priest. 

'  I  start  in  the  morning,  and  it  takes,  me 
until  mid-day;  but  I  rest  frequently  by  the 
way,"  he  answered. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"  You  are  from  the  mission  over  the  hill, 
where  I  see  the  smoke  curl  upward  every 
morning. ' ' 

"How  do  you  know  this?" 

' '  I  know  that  no  one  but  the  white  mis- 
sionary would  come  near  and  speak  to  me 
as  you  have  done." 

The  priest  soon  learned  that  the  poor 


The  Ave  Mart  a. 


427 


I 


sufferer  knew  nothing  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion; he  told  him  that  there  was  even  yet 
a  prospect  of  happiness  for  him;  he  spoke 
of  the  joys  of  heaven,  so  easy  to  be  won 
by  the  afflicted  who  bear  their  sorrows 
patiently,  and  prepared  his  heart  for  the 
hope  and  consolations  of  our  holy  Faith. 
Before  leaving,  he  said:  "Will  you  not  try 
to  come  to  us  at  the  mission?  It  may  take 
you  several  days,  but  when  you  are  once 
there  we  will  take  good  rare  of  you."  The 
man's  face  lighted  up,  and  he  promised  to 
do  his  best  to  accomplish  the  journey. 

As  he  hastened  back  to  his  home — for  it 
was  late — the  missionary's  thoughts  wan- 
dered far  from  the  object  of  his  hunting 
expedition.  Suddenly  he  was  roused  from 
his  reverie  by  the  barking  of  his  dogs. 
Following  the  sound,  he  descried  in  the  soft 
twilight  a  magnificent  antelope  some  dis- 
tance ahead.  He  fired  at  once,  and  the  ani- 
mal fell.  "Ah!  St.  Antony,  I  wronged  you! 
Now  let  me  thank  you!"  ejaculated  the 
priest.  He  stripped  the  animal  of  its  hide, 
and,  separating  one  of  the  quarters  from  the 
body,  he  carried  it  back  to  Scapers,  whose 
gratitude  was  touching. 

A  few  days  later  the  leper  arrived  at  the 
mission,  and  was  presently  installed  in  a 
small  stone  house  which  the  Fathers  had 
built  for  him.  At  the  door- way  were  placed 
two  large,  smooth  stones—  one  to  serve  as  a 
seat  for  Scapers  himself,  the  other  for  the 
priest  who  would  instruct  him  in  the  truths 
of  our  holy  religion. 

In  the  course  of  time  an  improvement 
was  made  on  Scapers'  premises.  A  high 
stone- wall  was  built,  and  just  beyond  it  on 
many  a  bright  afternoon  may  be  seen  as- 
sembled a  class  of  little  African  children, 
who  come  to  learn  the  Catechism.  Their  in- 
structor, who  stands  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall,  is  no  other  than  Scapers  himself,  now 
a  zealous  Catholic.  He  devotes  himself  to 
the  noble  work  of  teaching  the  children  of 
the  natives,  thus  affording  a  striking  illus- 
tration of  the  truth  of  those  beautiful  words : 

' '  Even  the  discord  in  one  soul 
May  make  divinerjmusic  roll 
From  out  the  great,  harmonious  whole." 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  Shrines  of  Our  Lady 
in  Austria. 


MARIA   SCHUTZ. 


"Then  shall  I— if  Thou,  O  Mary! 

Art  my  strong  support  and  stay — 
Fear  nor  feel  the  threefold  danger 
Standing  forth  in  dread  array." 

Schottwien  is  famous  in  the  history  of 
the  Imperial  House  of  Austria  as  having 
been  the  scene  of  an  attempt  to  assassinate 
Leopold  I.  When  the  Emperor  went  there 
to  meet  his  affianced  bride,  JMargarita 
Teresa,  daughter  of  Philip  IV.  of  Spain, 
on  her  way  from  Italy  to  Vienna,  he  was 
attacked  by  three  villains.  They  were  foiled 
in  their  murderous  designs,  and,  quickly 
captured, were  as  promptly  executed.  As  a 
thank-offering  and  memorial,  the  Emperor 
commanded  a  church  to  be  built  to  "Mary 
the  Protector";  thus  Maria  Schiitz  arose 
on  the  hillside  where  the  imperial  carriage 
was  waylaid,  and  the  life  of  Leopold  saved 
by  divine  protection. 

Southern  Austria  is  never  more  lovely 
than  in  the  early  autumn;  for  then  the  land 
is  covered  with  the  colchis  flowers,  pale 
lilac  petals, with  heart  of  fleecy  gold;  while 
vineyards  of  purple,  clustering  grapes  are 
vocal  with  the  voice  of  vine- tenders  and 
the  creaking  wine-press.  Through  the  vine- 
yards of  Voslau  and  Gumboldskirchen  we 
entered  the  mountain  region  of  the  Wiener- 
wald.  What  strange,  fantastic  heights  they 
are !  Range  after  range,  with  queer  pointed, 
rounded,  and  square  tops,  which  seem 
shaded  in  level  lines  like  music-paper,  and 
rocky  spaces  or  densely  wooded  knolls  lay 
upon  them  like  the  ancient  notation  of 
numcB^  breva^  and  longabreva.  It  must  have 
been  the  music-school  of  giants  once  upon 
a  time.  Just  beside  it  lies  Hohen  Wand, 
like  the  catafalque  of  a  Titan,  over  which 
gray  clouds  fall  from  the  sky  as  funeral 
pall ;  and  above  this  dark  gray  drapery  are 
masses  of  frosted  silver  clouds,  lying  like 
crowns  and  wreaths  of  lilies  between  the 
buried  giant  and  the  deep  blue  canopy  of 
heaven. 


428 


The  Ave  Marta. 


\ 


The  road  led  on  through  pine  woods  and 
buck  wheat- bordered  corn-fields,  but  far 
away  on  the  horizon  rose  the  Raxalpe  and 
the  heights  that  glitter  in  eternal  snows. 
Before  reaching  Gloggnitz,  where  the  as- 
cent of  the  Semmering  Bahn  begins,  the 
scenery  changes  to  park-like  vistas  and 
wooded  hills.  Poppies  and  blue  rittersporn 
gem  the  meadows,  golden  with  grain;  even 
high  up  among  the  woodlands  these  many 
colored  patches  gleam  out  in  the  splendor 
of  sunlight.  At  Payerbach  the  little  engine 
which  was  to  carry  us  up  an  elevation  of 
-eight  hun<Jred  feet,  and  over  viaducts  five 
hundred  feet  high,  was  fastened  to  our 
train. 

"It  looks  like  a  kitchen- stove ! "  ex- 
<:laimed  Hilda.  "How  dare  they  trust  this 
train  of  thirty  coaches  to  such  a  dwarf 
engine!" 

* '  But  it  moves  so  steadily, ' '  said  Roberta, 
*' surely  there  can  be  no  danger." 

As  we  moved  slowly  upward,  fear  was 
soon  forgotten  in  the  magic  wildness  of  the 
scenery.  The  Schwarzenthal  sank  lower  and 
lower,  and  the  gray  basaltic  columns  of  the 
Atlitz  Graben  rose  weird  and  terrible  from 
the  dead  green  waves  of  the  pine  and  aspen 
forest  sea,  surging  up  their  black,  gray  and 
white  parapet?.  Here  and  there  frightful 
clefts  in  the  rocks  parted  the  woodland 
•depths  below  us,  and  between  these  wall- 
like precipices  rushed  foaming  mountain 
torrents. 

Higher  and  higher  we  ascended,  in  many 
a  spiral  winding  around  the  rocky  pyra- 
mids, over  superb  arches  of  seeming  fairy- 
like lightness  spanning  fearful  chasms, 
then  into  the  very  heart  of  the  mountain, 
^where  reigns  "a  darkness  which  may  be 
felt."  The  yellow  walls  of  Castle  Warten- 
stein  and  the  gray  turrets  of  Ruine  Klamm 
sank  lower  and  lower,  where  once  they  had 
been  high  above  our  heads;  and  even  these 
faded  from  our  sight  as  we  turned  the  last 
peak  of  the  Sonnwendstein,  and  the  great 
heights  of  the  Semmering  were  reached. 
Here  the  train  halted,  as  if  to  breathe  the 
Tare  mountain  air  before  descending  into 
the  picture-like  town  of  Miirzzuschlag. 


Our  pilgrimage  led  us  to  Schottwien, 
which  we  had  passed  on  our  way  up  the 
mountain;  but  we  had  decided  to  pass  the 
night  on  the  heights  of  the  Sonnwendstein, 
and  the  following  morning  walk  down 
through  the  Atlitz  Graben  to  Maria  Schiitz. 
We  left  the  train  and  climbed  the  caniage- 
road  to  the  Hotel  Eizherzog  Johann  on  the 
Stiermark  frontier,  and  spent  the  remainder 
of  the  day  visiting  the  mountain  summits 
around  us.  To  the  right  of  the  hotel  lies 
a  hill  called  Eymar's  Hohe,  and  thither 
we  wandered  through  the  pleasant  beech 
woods.  From  its  summit  of  rocks  descends  a 
precipice  one  thousand  feet  into  the  depths 
of  ravines  and  water-courses.  The  abyss 
over  which  this  rock- ledge  hangs  is  fright- 
ful, but  the  glorious  pyramid  of  Sonn- 
wendstein, a  few  leagues  beyond,  rises  like 
"Nebo's  lonely  mountain"  among  the  cir- 
cling hills. 

The  "vale  in  the  land  of  Moab"  could 
not  have  been  more  exquisitely  peaceful 
than  this  Alpine  valley,  above  which  we 
stood  winding  wreaths  of  wild  gentian  to 
fling  over  the  rocky  heights.  That  exqui- 
site poem,  "The  Burial  of  Moses,"  came 
forcibly  to  mind;  in  the  dying  sunlight, 
when  the  evening  vapors  are  clinging  to 
the  mountain,  in  the  awful  silence,  which 

' '  Noiselessly  as  the  twilight 
Comes  when  the  day  is  done," 

we  seemed  to  hear  the  march  of  the  great 
procession  sweeping  down  the  mountain 
side. 

We  lingered  on,  watching  the  misty  shad- 
ows veiling  the  earth  two  thousand  feet 
below  us,  until  night  settled  down  on  these 
gray  hills;  no  sight  save  the  majestic  out- 
lines of  the  glorious  Sonnwendstein,  and  the 
calm  stars  trembl  ing  like  * '  funereal  tapers ' ' 
in  the  deep  blue  firmament;  no  sound  save 
the  murmur  "low  and  sweet"  of  the  night 
wind  in  the  forest-trees,  and  the  far- distant 
tone  of  the  Angelus  softly  echoing  from 
valley  to  height.  But  our  reveries  ended  as 
the  tremulously  sweet  tones  of  a  zither  were 
wafted  towards  us  from  the  moonlighted 
veranda  of  the  mountain  inn.  Schubert's 
Ave  Maria — 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


429. 


^ 


"Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  Thy  care, 
O  Mother  unde filed!" — 

was  a  most  fitting  ''good -night"  on  this 
lonely  mountain  crest. 

Before  a  ray  of  sunlight  had  fallen  upon 
the  valleys  of  the  plain,  although  for  hours 
it  had  gilded  the  pyramids  of  these  Styrian 
mountains,  we  were  served  our  breakfast 
coffee  on  the  rustic  veranda  overlooking  the 
Semmering  Pass.  Our  guide — a  tall,  mus- 
cular Styrian — was  the  strangest  specimen 
of  humanity  we  had  ever  seen.  He  wore  a 
wretchedly  patched  suit  of  blue  linen,  a 
broad-brimmed  peasant  hat,  with  a  bunch 
of  Alpine  violets  and  a  hen-feather  on  one 
side.  His  long  pipe  peeped  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  a  bag  of  tobacco  hung  from  his  leathern 
girdle.  The  smile  with  which  he  greeted 
us,  and  the  ease  with  which  he  flung  the 
valise  on  a  long  stick  which  he  held  over 
his  shoulder,  convinced  us  that  he  possessed 
both  cheerfulness  and  strength. 

Turning  to  the  southeast,  we  entered  the 
pathway  called  the  Migotti  Steig,  leading  to 
Pinkerkogel,  and  then  due  south,  across  the 
meadows  on  the  mountain  side,  took  a  wild, 
woodland  pathway  leading  down  rocky 
glens  and  into  caverns  of  moss  and  fern. 
Soon  the  woods  ended,  and  we  came  upon 
a  beautiful  plateau  directly  opposite  the 
Raxalpe,  with  the  glorious  Schneeberg 
sparkling  under  a  diamond  mantle,  from 
which  gray  clouds  were  rolling  rapidly  up- 
ward. 

The  scene  before  us,  the  narrow  valley  of 
pine  forest  between  us  and  the  mountains, 
the  sharp  morning  air,  the  surprise  and 
excitement  of  suddenly  facing  the  cloud- 
veiled  heights  of  eternal  snow,  almost  par- 
alyzed our  voices.  Hilda  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"It  is  like  Mount  Sinai, "she  whispered, 
"where  the  people  heard  the  thunder,  and 
saw  the  mountain  smoking!" 

Yes,  there  was  the  cloud  which  enveloped 
the  mountain,  but  roll  of  thunder  was  un- 
heard ;  for  amid  the  awful  silence  a  voice 
seemed  uttering  the  words,  "  I  am  the  lyord 
thy  God." 


Downward, over  the  Gleichestein*  blue 
gentians  fringing  our  mossy  pathway, 
through  woods  and  fields  of  grain,  beside 
rushing  brooks,  and  sparkling  cascades  too 
diminutive  to  claim  the  title  of  waterfalls, 
we  reached  at  last  the  upper  end  of  the 
Atlilz  Graben.  f  It  is  a  chasm  between  rocks 
which  slope  backward  and  upward  for  three 
hundred  feet.  The  rocks  are  entirely  cov- 
ered with  blue  gentian,  and  a  little  white 
fljwer  resembling  edelweiss.  The  air  is 
filled  with  the  perfume  of  Alpine  violets 
and  mountain  pines. 

It  was  noon  when  we  entered  the  moun- 
tain gorge  in  which  Schottwien  is  built, 
and  the  bells  of  Maria  Schii  z  were  ringing 
the  mid- day  Angelus^  answered  by  the 
nearer  bells  of  the  Schottwien  church  beside 
the  village  inn,  whose  vine- covered  veranda 
and  crimson  geraniums,  dotting  the  green 
lawn  between  the  shadowy  porch  and  the 
old  gray  church,  tempted  us  to  rest  until 
evening. 

Maria  Schiitz,  like  all  votive  shrines  in 
Austria,  is  filled  with  gifts  from  noble  and 
peasant.  Its  high  altar  stands  at  the  inter- 
section of  the  transepts,  and  a  spring  of 
purest  water  bubbles  up  under  the  marble 
arch  which  forms  the  rear  portion  of  the 
shrine.  Medicinal  qualities  are  said  to  be- 
long to  this  spring,  which  is  free  to  all.  A 
gourd  dipper  hangs  near  the  wooden  kneel- 
ing-bench  bfside  the  rock  basin  into  which 
the  water  bubbles  up;  and  each  pilgrim 
must  help  himself,  saying  three  "Hail 
Mar}s," — one  before,  one  while  drinking, 
and  one  after  hanging  up  the  gourd.  There 
are  no  pictures  or  offerings  of  value  in 
this  church.  Its  remoteness  from  any^large 
city,  and  its  inaccessible  altitude  to  all  but 
able-bodied  tourists,  prevent  many  from 
visiting  this  thank-offering  of  the  Emperor 
Leopold. 

After  drinking  of  the  spring,  and  look- 
ing at  a  few  quaint  pictures  around  the 
church,  we  went  to  the  pine  woods  just  be> 


*  The  pathway  left  by  glaciers, 
f  The  causeway  of  giants  is  another  name  for 
this  pathway  of  nature. 


430 


The  Ave  Maria. 


yond,  and  spread  our  plaids  on  its  moss 
banks  directly  opposite  the  Raxalpe,  with 
Ruine  Klamm  on  its  rock-pyramid  between 
ns  and  the  mighty  Alps.  Tall  pines  and 
conical  spruce- trees  rise  among  these  ruins; 
the  blue  sky  and  grain-fields  of  mountain 
meadows  beyond  gleam  through  the  broken 
arches  of  tower  and  mighty  Rittersaal;  and 
away  to  the  north  is  the  white  Schneeberg, 
with  its  snow-crowned  peaks  glistening 
above  the  clouds  wreathing  its  ice-creviced 
side.  The  rose-light  of  the  Alpine  glow  fell 
over  the  horizon  as  the  evening  bells  rang 
the  twilight  Angelus;  and  when  it  faded 
into  the  purple  of  coming  night,  the  candles 
•on  the  high  altar  were  extinguished,  and  we 
left  the  darkened  church.  Our  Styrian  pil- 
g^rimage  was  ended. 


From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes. 


(Continued.) 

It  was  night  when  Marco  entered  the  city, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  once  more 
in  Rosario;  he  again  beheld  those  straight 
streets, flanked  with  little  white  houses,  and 
intersected  by  other  very  long  and  straight 
streets.  Under  the  light  of  the  street-lamps 
he  encountered  strange  faces  of  a  hue  un- 
known to  him — between  black  and  green- 
ish ;  and,  raising  his  head  from  time  to  time, 
Tie  beheld  churches  of  bizarre  architecture, 
which  were  outlined  black  and  vast  against 
the  sky.  He  inquired  his  way  of  a  priest, 
speedily  found  the  house,  pulled  the  bell  i 
with  one  trembling  hand,  and  pressed  the 
other  on  his  breast  to  repress  the  beating  of 
his  heart,  which  he  thought  was  leaping 
into  his  throat. 

An  old  woman,  with  a  light  in  her  hand, 
opened  the  door. 

' '  What  do  you  want  ? ' '  she  demanded  in 
Spanish. 

"The  Engineer  Mequinez,"  replied  the 
boy. 

The  woman  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
answered,  with  a  shake  of  the  head:  "So 
you,  too,  have  dealings  with  the  Engineer 
Mequinez !    It  strikes  me  that  it  is  time  to 


stop  this.  We  have  been  worried  for  the  last 
few  months  It  is  not  enough  that  the  news- 
papers have  announced  it:  we  shall  have  to 
print  it  on  the  corner  of  the  street.  Signor 
Mequiaez  and  his  family  have  gone  to  live 
at  Tucuman." 

Marco  made  a  gesture  of  despair,  then 
gave  way  to  an  outburst  of  passion. 

"Oh,  good  God!  shall  I  never  find  my 
mother?  What  is  the  name  of  that  coun- 
try? Where  is  it?" 

' '  Poor  boy ! "  cried  the  woman,  moved  to 
pity.  "We  are  four  or  five  hundred  miles 
from  there,  at  least." 

Marco  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
"And  now  what  am  I  to  do?"  he  asked, 
hopelessly. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you,  poor 
child!"  responded  the  dame.  Butsuddenly 
an  idea  struck  her,  and  she  added,  hastily: 
"Listen,  now  that  I  think  of  it.  Go  down 
this  street  to  the  right,  and  at  the  third 
house  you  will  see  a  courtyard,  where  there 
is  a  capataz  who  is  setting  out  to-morrow 
for  Tucuman.  Perhaps  he  may  be  able  to 
take  you  with  him." 

The  lad  thanked  her,  and  ran  off  Two 
minutes  later  found  him  in  a  vast  courtyard, 
lighted  by  lanterns,  where  a  number  of  men 
were  engaged  in  loading  sacks  of  grain  on 
enormous  carts,  with  immense  rounded  tops 
and  very  high  wheels;  and  a  tall  man  with 
a  mustache,  enveloped  in  a  sort  of  mantle  of 
black  and  white  check,  and  with  big  boots, 
was  directing  the  work.  Marco  approached 
him,  and  timidly  proffered  his  request,  say- 
ing that  he  had  come  from  Italy,  and  was 
in  search  of  his  mother.  The  capataz ,^\iv:^ 
signifies  the  head  (the  head  conductor  of  this 
convoy),  surveyed  him  with  a  keen  glance, 
and  answered,  impatiently:  "I  have  no 
place. ' ' 

"I  have  fifteen  lire,"  continued  the  boy, 
"which  I  will  give  you.  I  will  work  on  the 
journey;  I  will  fetch  the  water  and  fodder 
for  the  animals;  I  will  perform  all  sorts  of 
services.  Make  a  little  place  for  me,  signor, 
please!" 

The  capataz  looked  at  him  again,  and 
replied  with  a  better  grace:  "There  is  no 


The  Ave  Maria. 


431 


room;  and,  then, we  are  not  going  to  Tucu- 
man,  but  to  Santiago  dell'  Estero.  We  shall 
have  to  leave  you  at  a  certain  point,  and 
you  will  still  have  a  long  way  to  go  on 
foot." 

"Ah,  I  will  make  twice  as  long  a  jour- 
ney!" exclaimed  the  boy;  "I  can  walk:  do 
not  worry  about  that;  only  make  a  little 
room  for  me;  for  pity's  sake  do  not  leave 
me  here  alone!" 

"But  it  is  a  hard  journey  of  twenty 
days." 

"It  matters  rot.   I  will  endure  anything, 
if  I  can  only  find  my  mother.   Have  com- 
•  passion,  sign  or!" 

The  capataz  drew  him  close  to  a  lantern, 
and  scrutinized  him  again.  Then  he  said: 
"Very  well." 

The  lad  kissed  his  hand. 

"You  shall  sleep  in  one  of  the  wagons 
to-night, ' '  added  the  capataz,  as  he  left  him ; 
"to-morrow  morning,  at  four  o'clock,!  will 
wake  you.   Good- night!" 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  by  the 
light  of  the  stars,  the  long  string  of  wagons 
was  set  in  motion  with  a  great  noise;  each 
cart  was  drawn  by  six  oxen,  and  all  were 
followed  by  a  great  number  of  spare  animals 
for  a  change. 

Marco,  who  had  been  awakened  and 
placed  in  one  of  the  carls,  on  the  sacks,  in- 
stantly fell  again  into  a  deep  sleep.  When 
he  awoke,  some  hours  later,  the  convoy  had 
halted  in  a  solitary  spot,  and  all  the  men — 
'Cat  peones—vi^x^  seated  round  a  quarter  of  | 
calf,  which  was  roastin^'^  in  the  open  air, 
over  a  large  fire  that  was  flickering  in  the  ■ 
wind.  They  all  ate  together,  took  a  nap, 
and  then  set  out  again;  and  thus  the  jour-  j 
ney  continued,  regulated  like  a  march  of 
soldiers.  Every  morning  they  set  out  on 
the  road  at  five  o'clock,  halted  at  nine;  re- 
sumed their  journey  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  halting  again  at  ten.  The  peones 
rode  on  horseback,  and  stimulated  the  oxen 
with  long  goads.  The  boy  lighted  the  fire 
for  the  roasting.gave  the  beasts  their  fodder, 
polished  the  lanterns,  and  brought  water 
for  drinking. 

The  landscape  passed  before  him  like  an 


indistinct  vision :  vast  groves  of  little  brown 
trees ;  villages  consisting  of  only  a  few  scat- 
tered houses,  with  red  and  battlemented 
facades;  vast  tracts, possibly  the  ancient  beds 
of  great  salt  lakes,  which  gleamed  white 
with  salt  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach;  and 
on  every  hand  the  boundless  prairie,  soli- 
tude, silence.  On  rare  occasions  they  en- 
countered two  or  three  travellers  on  horse- 
back, followed  by  a  herd  of  picked  horses, 
which  passed  them  at  a  gallop,  like  a  whirl- 
wind. The  days  were  all  alike,  as  at  sea — 
wearisome  and  interminable, — although 
the  weather  was  fine. 

But  the  heartless  peones  daily  became 
more  and  more  exacting  with  the  lad,  and 
looked  upon  him  as  their  bond-slave;  some 
of  them  treated  him  brutally,  all  forced 
him  to  serve  them  without  mercy.  They 
made  him  carry  enormous  bundles  of  for- 
age, and  sent  him  to  procure  water  at  a 
great  distance.  The  poor  little  fellow  could 
not  even  sleep  at  night,  continually  tossed 
about  as  he  was  by  the  violent  jolts  of  the 
wagon,  and  the  deafening  groaning  of  the 
wheels  and  wooden  axles.  And  in  addition 
to  this,  the  wind  having  risen,  a  fine  red- 
dish dust,  which  enveloped  everything, 
penetrated  the  wagon,  made  its  way  under 
the  covers,  filled  his  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
robbed  him  of  sight  and  breath,  almost  suf- 
focating him. 

Worn  out  with  toil  and  lack  of  sleep, 
reduced  10  rags  and  dirt,  reproached  and 
ill  treated  from  morning  till  night,  Marco 
daily  gre-v  more  dejected,  and  would  have 
lost  heart  entirely  if  the  capataz  had  not 
addressed  a  kind  word  to  him  now  and  then. 
He  often  wept,  unseen,  in  a  comer  of  the 
wagon, with  his  face  against  hrs  bag,  which 
no  longer  contained  anything  but  rags. 
Every  morning  he  rose  weaker  and  more 
discouraged,  and  as  he  looked  out  over  the 
country,  and  beheld  alwa)  s  the  same  meas- 
ureless plain,  like  a  terrestrial  ocean,  he 
said  to  himself:  "Ah,  I  shall  not  hold  out 
till  night!  To-day  I  shall  die  on  the  road! " 
Still  his  toil  increased,  and  his  ill  treat- 
ment was  redoubled.  One  morning,  in  the 
absence  of  the  capataz^  one  of  the  men  struck 


432 


The  Ave  Maria. 


him,  because  he  had  delayed  in  fetching 
the  water;  and  another  gave  him  an  order, 
at  the  same  time  dealing  him  a  kick,  sayiug, 
"Take  that,  you  vagabond!  Carry  that  to 
your  mother!" 

His  heart  was  breaking.  He  fell  ill;  for 
three  days  he  remained  in  the  wagon,  with 
a  coverlet  over  him  struggling  with  a  fever, 
and  seeing  no  one  except  the  capataz^  who 
came  to  give  him  his  drink  and  feel  his 
pulse.  And  then  he  believed  that  he  was 
lost,  and  invoked  his  mother  in  despair, 
calling  her  a  hundred  times  by  name:  *'0 
my  mother!  my  mother!  Help  me!  Come 
to  me,  for  I  am  dying!  O  my  poor  mother, 
I  shall  never  see  you  again!  My  mo'her, 
I  shall  die  on  the  way ! ' '  And  he  folded  his 
hands  over  hi?  bosom  and  pra)  ed.  Then  he 
grew  better,  thanks  to  the  care  of  the  capa- 
taz^2,nA  recovered;  bat  with  his  recovery 
arrived  the  most  terrible  day  of  his  journey 
— that  on  which  he  was  to  be  left  to  his 
own  devices. 

They  had  been  oa  the  way  for  more  than 
two  weeks;  when  they  arrived  at  the  point 
where  the  road  to  Tucuman  parted  from 
that  which  led  to  Santiago  dell'  Estero, 
the  capataz  announced  to  Marco  that  they 
must  separate.  He  gave  him  some  instruc- 
tions with  regard  to  the  road,  tied  his  bag 
on  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  which  would 
not  annoy  him  as  he  walked,  an«^,  break- 
ing oflf  short,  as  though  he  feared  that  he 
should  be  affected,  he  bade  him  farewell. 
The  boy  had  barely  time  to  kiss  him  on  one 
arm.  The  other  men,  too,  who  bad  treated 
him  so  harshly,  seemed  to  feel  a  little  p'i]ty 
on  seeing  him  thus  alone,  and  made  signs 
of  farewell  to  him  as  they  moved  away. 
He  returned  the  salute  with  his  hand,  stood 
watching  the  convoy  until  it  was  lost  to 
sight  in  the  red  dust  of  the  plain,  and  then 
went  sadly  on  his  way. 

In  the  midst  of  his  sorrow  a  ray  of  hope 
lighted  up  his  path.  After  all  those  days  of 
travel  across  that  endless  plain,  which  was 
ever  the  same,  he  saw  before  him  a  chain  of 
mountains  high  and  blue,  with  white  sum- 
mits, which  reminded  him  of  the  Alps,  and 
made  him  feel  as  though  he  had  drawn 


near  to  his  own  country  once  more.  They 
were  the  Andes,  the  dorsal  spine  of  the 
American  continent;  that  immense  chain 
which  extends  from  Tierra  del  Fuego  to  the 
glacial  sea  of  the  Arctic  pole,  through  a 
hundred  and  ten  degrees  of  latitude.  And 
he  was  al^o  comforted  by  the  fact  that  the 
air  seemed  to  grow  constantly  warmer,  be- 
cause, in  ascending  towards  the  north,  he 
was  slowly  approaching  the  tropics.  At 
great  distances  apart  there  were  tiny  groups 
of  houses  with  a  pe*^ty  shop,  and  he  bought 
something  to  eat.  He  encountered  men  on 
horseback;  everv  now  and  then  he  saw 
women  and  children  seated  on  the  ground,  • 
motionless  and  grave,  with  faces  entirely 
new  to  him — of  an  earthen  hue,  with  ob- 
lique eyes  and  prominent  cheek-bones, — 
who  looked  at  him,  and  accompanied  him 
with  their  gaze,  turning  their  heads  slowly 
like  automaton^.  They  were  Indians. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Proud  of  his  Religion. 


It  is  related  of  that  hero  of  a  hundred 
battles.  General  Shields,  that  once,  while 
in  the  Senate  Chamber  at  Washington,  he 
happened  to  meet  a  priest  of  his  aquaint- 
ance.  The  brave  old  General,  who  was  a 
Catholic,  and  a  practical  one — and  proud  of 
his  religion, — very  naturally  got  into  ear- 
nest conversation  with  him.  As  the  priest 
was  leaving  the  Senate-Chamber,  the  Gen- 
eral called  out,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  by  all  present:  '*Well,  Father,  I  am 
getting  old,  and  can  not  live  much  longer; 
when  I  die  don't  for^jet  to  say  Mass  for 
me."  The  old  hero  would  never  allow  him- 
self to  become  the  slave  of  human  respect^ 
as  so  many  do  who  should  have  more  man- 
liness and  more  sense.  He  loved  his  religion, 
and  lived  up  to  it. 


Whatever  is  coming,  there  is  but  one 
way  to  meet  it:  to  go  straight  forward;  to 
bear  what  has  to  be  borne,  and  to  do  what 
has  to  be  done. 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  5,  1887.         No.  19. 


(Coprrii^t  - — Bar.  D. 


All-Saints'. 


BY    WILLIAM    D.    KELLY. 


QUEEN  of  All  Saints,  upon  this  glorious  day, 
When,  upward  gazing  to  the  skies,  we  sing 
Their  virtues  who  by  toil  and  conquering 
Have  won  admittance  to  the  bright  array 
Of  those  blest  spirits  whose  is  it  for  aye 
To  chant  the  praises  of  that  mighty  King, 
Around  whose  white  throne   they  stand 
worshipping. 
With  what  beatitude  no  tongue  can  say, — 
111  were  it  if  we  sang  no  song  to  Thee, 
Whose  spotless  life,  free  from  the  least  at- 
taints 
Of  all  that  sordidness  and  sin  which  be 

Our  common  heritage  and  our  complaints, 
Won  Thee  by  its  surpassing  purity 
The  glorious  title  of  the  Queen  of  Saints. 


Our  Lady  of  Trim. 


BY  PIERCE  LAURENCE  MARY  NOLAN,  B.  A, 


Y  bounden  dutie  unto  your  honer- 
able  Lordschip  premysid.  Theise 
shal  be  to  advertise  you,  for  that  I 
endevor  my  selff  and  also  cause  others  of  my 
clergie  to  preache  the  Gospell  of  Chris te  and 
to  set  for  the  the  Kinge's  causes,  there  goeth 
a  commen  brewte  amonges  the  Yrish  men 
that  I  entende  to  ploke  downe  Oar  Ladye 
of  Tryme  with  other  places  of  pilgramages, 
as  the  Holy  Crosse  and  souch  like,  which 


B.  HimoH,  C.  8.  C.) 

in  deade  I  never  attempted,  although  my 
conscience  wolde  right  well  serve  me  to  op- 
presse  souche  ydolles. "  So  runs  a  dispatch, 
dated  June  20, 1538,  from  Browne,  the  first 
Anglican  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  to  Henry 
the  Eighth's  ''vicar -general,"  Thomas 
Cromwell.* 

"Our  Ladye  of  Tryme"  was  a  famous 
shrine  of  the  Mother  of  God  preserved  in 
the  abbey  church  of  the  Canons  Regular  at 
Trim,  in  Meath.  Its  story  is  but  a  brief 
chapter  from  the  long  and  well-known  his- 
tory of  the  devotion  of  the  Irish  people  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  of  the  vandalism  of 
the  self-styled  Reformers  in  our  land. 

The  interesting  town  of  Trim  is  situated 
pleasantly  by  the  Boyne;  in  the  olden  time 
it  was  the  seat  of  a  bishopric,  and  possessed 
one  of  those  puzzles  to  antiquarians,  a  Greek 
church;  through  the  Middle  Ages  parlia- 
ments and  important  gatherings  were  held 
in  it.  Its  extensive  remains  of  King  John's 
castle, its  many  ruined  churches  and  friaries, 
still  attest  its  former  greatness.  But  per- 
haps more  famous  still  was  it  for  ''its 
image  of  Mary"  {dealb  Muire^  as  it  was 
called  in  Irish),  that  brought  to  the  abbey 

*  This  letter  was  written  from  Tallaght,  Co. 
Dublin,  where  there  was  a  country  residence  at- 
tached to  the  See  of  Dublin.  It  may  interest  some 
readers  to  know  that  the  writer  was  shown,  by  the 
Dominican  Fathers  at  Tallaght,  the  seal  of  the 
papal  bull  which  excommunicated  this  same  Arch- 
bishop Browne.  It  was  discovered  when  the  foun- 
dations were  being  dug  for  the  beautiful  Father 
Burke  memorial  church,  and  is  preserved,  witk 
other  interesting  relics,  in  the  monastery. 


434 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  the  Canons  Regular  pilgrims  from  far 
and  wide.  I  regret  not  to  have  been  able  to 
find  the  origin  of  this  devotion,  but  will  give 
such  references  as  are  made  to  it  by  our 
native  annalists  and  in  the  State  papers. 

The  first  reference  to  it  I  find  in  the 
"Annals  of  the  Four  Masters,"  *  where  we 
read  that  "in  the  age  of  Christ  1397  Hugh 
MacMahon  recovered  his  sight  by  fasting 
in  honor  of  the  Holy  Cross  at  Raphoe,  and 
of  the  image  of  Mary  at  Ath-Truim."  In 
Irish  Our  Lady  is  nearly  always  spoken  of 
as  Mary  {Maire) — ' '  the  Mary  " ;  so  St.  Pat- 
rick and  the  other  saints  are  called  "Pat- 
rick, ' '  etc.  Our  Irish  equivalent  for  "Good- 
morning"  is,  De  agtis  Maire  agath^  — 
"God  and  Mary  be  with  thee";  and  the 
frequent  response  is,  De  agus  Maire  agus 
Padraic  agaik, — "God  and  Mary  and  Pat- 
rick be  with  thee."  It  is  sad  to  think  that, 
unless  great  efforts  be  made  by  us  to  pre- 
serve our  tongue,  this  beautiful  greeting, 
with  its  invocation  of  Heaven's  blessing, 
and  its  familiar  tutoiement  for  stranger  or 
neighbor,  will  soon  be  a  thing  of  the  past. 
But  that  must  not  be. 

In  1412  again  it  is  recorded  that  "the 
image  of  Our  Lady  at  Ath-Truim  wrought 
many  mirac'es."  Later  on,  in  1444,  "a 
great  miracle  was  wrought  by  the  image 
of  Mary  at  Trim — namely,  it  restored  sight 
to  a  blind  man,  speech  to  a  dumb  man,  the 
use  of  his  feet  to  a  cripple,  and  stretched 
out  the  hand  of  a  person  to  whose  side  it 
had  been  fastened." 

In  1472  a  parliament  held  at  Naas  (12 
Edw.  IV.)  granted  to  the  abbot  and  convent 
of  the  house  of  Our  Blessed  Lady  of  Trim 
and  their  successors  two  watermills  in  Trim, 
with  the  weirs,  fisheries,  etc. ;  trees  in  the 
park  of  Trim,  and  services  of  the  villeins  of 
the  manor  for  the  ordinary  establishing,  re- 
pairing,and  continuanceof  a  perpetual  wax- 
light  from  day  to  day  and  night  to  night 
burning  before  the  image  of  Our  Ble?sed 
Lady  in  the  pavement  pedestal  of  Our  Lady 
in  the  church  of  the  said  house;  and  for  the 


*  O'Dotiovan's  translation,  which  has  been  used 
for  all  references  to  the  "Four  Masters." 


support  of  four  other  wax  tapers  continually 
burning  before  the  same  at  the  Mass  of  the 
Holy  Mary,  at  the  anthem  of  Our  Lady,  to 
the  honor  of  God  and  our  said  Lady;  for  the 
good  estate  of  our  sovereign  lord  and  Cecilia 
his  mother,  and  of  his  children,  and  for  the 
souls  of  their  progenitors  and  ancestors.* 

Trim  was  on  the  outmost  boiders  of  the 
English  Pale;  outside  its  walls  the  native 
clans  held  sway.  To  kill  an  Irishman  be- 
yond the  Pale  was  no  crime  in  English 
law,  but  a  special  act  was  passed  by  Par- 
liament to  allow  the  "rebel"  to  come  and 
pay  his  homage  without  fear  of  death  at  Our 
Lady's  shrine  at  Trim.  I  have  searched  in 
vain  for  any  description  of  a  pilgrimage  to 
it,  but  we  can  well  imagine  how  on  Mary's 
festal  days  the  saffron-gowned  clansman, 
the  armored  invader,  and  the  burgesses  from 
Dublin  and  Drogheda  thronged  through 
the  Sheep- gate  or  the  Water-gate,  hurry- 
ing to  the  blissful  shrine.  Then,  too, would 
the  Dominican  from  the  Assumption,  and 
the  Franciscan  from  St.  Bonaventure's;  the 
Canon  of  S^  Victor,  of  Newtown,  and  the 
crouched  friar,  leave  their  convents  to  join 
their  brethren  at  St.  Mary's  in  hymning 
the  Virgin's  praise. 

But  the  evil  day  was  at  hand  when,  as 
says  one  of  our  annalists,  "a  heresy  and  a 
new  error  sprang  up  in  England  through 
pride,  vainglory,  avarice  and  lust,  and 
through  many  strange  sciences,  so  that  the 
men  of  England  went  into  opposition  to 
the  Pope  and  Rome.  .  .  .  They  broke  down 
the  monasteries  and  sold  their  roofs  and 
bells;  so  that  from  Aran  to  the  Iccian  Sea 
there  was  not  one  monastery  that  was  not 
broken  and  shattered,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  in  Ireland,  of  which  the  English 
took  no  notice  or  heed.  They  afterwards 
burned  the  images,  shrines  and  relics  of  the 
saints  of  Ireland  and  England;  they  like- 
wise burned  the  celebrated  image  of  Mary 
at  Ath-Truim, which  was  used  to  perform 
wonders  and  miracles,  and  which  used  to 
heal  the  blind,  the  deaf,  and  the  crippled. 


*  Given  in  Dean  Butler's  sketch  of  Trim, which 
has  been  of  great  service  to  me. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


43S 


and  persons  affected  with  all  kinds  of  dis- 
eases. ' ' 

To  show  what  store  the  Irish  annalists 
set  on  the  Reformation,  let  me,  at  the  risk 
of  being  tedious,  give  another  extract  from 
a  different  source.  *  ' '  The  most  miraculous 
image  of  Mary  at  Baile  Ath-Truim, which 
the  Irish  people  all  honored  for  a  long  time 
before  that,  and  which  used  to  heal  the 
blind,  the  deaf  and  the  lame,  and  every  dis- 
ease, in  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  Brinn,  over 
which  their  power  reached,  that  they  did 
not  burn ;  and  the  Pope  and  the  Church  in 
the  East  and  at  home  were  excommunicat- 
ing the  Saxons t  on  that  account." 

In  August,  1538,  a  bishop  and  a  friar  were 
transferred  from  Dublin  Castle  to  be  tried 
at  the  sessions  at  Trim  for  *' their  highe 
and  notorious  offences  against  the  Kinge's 
Majestic,"  refusing  to  own  the  "much- 
married"  monarch's  ecclesiastical  suprem- 
acy. Thomas  Allen,  writing  to  Cromwell 
about  the  trial,  is  shocked  at  the  conduct  of 
some  of  the ' '  maisters  of  the  law. ' '  He  says : 
"They  thre"  (Archbishop  Browne,  Mr. 
Treasurer,  and  the  Master  of  the  Rolls) 
"wold  not  come  into  the  chapell  where 
the  idoll  of  Trym  stode,  to  th'  intent  they 
wold  not  occasion  the  people;  notwith- 
standing my  Lord  Deputie,  veray  devoutly 
kneeling  before  Hir,  hard  thre  or  fower 
Masses."  The  Lord  Deputy  was  Lord 
Leonard  Gray,  who,  though  a  bitter  perse- 
cutor of  the  Irish,  remained  attached  to  the 
end  to  the  ancient  faith. 

That  year  or  next  the  image  was  de- 
stroyed, and  the  many  and  valuable  offer- 
ings placed  on  its  altar  swelled  the  unholy 
coffers  of  the  enemies  of  our  Faith  and  Fa- 
therland. 

The  image  is  not  with  us  to-day,  like  the 
many  time-honored  shrines  of  Our  Lady  in 


*  "The  Annals  of  Kilronan,"  translated  by 
O' Curry. 

t  It  is  noticeable  that  to  the  present  day  in  the 
Irish  larguage  the  same  word  {Sassenach)  trans- 
lates ' '  English  "  and  "  Protestant, ' ' 


the  Old  World  and  the  New;  but  the  de- 
votion to  Mary  is  perhaps  in  no  land  more 
living  than  in  ours,  from  which  centuries 
of  persecution  tried  to  banish  it  in  vain.  A 
touching  instance  of  this  tender  love  for  the 
Blessed  Virgin  came  under  my  notice  this 
very  day.  I  was  passing  through  Grafton 
Street,  one  of  the  most  crowded  and  fash- 
ionable thoroughfares  of  Dublin,  when  the 
Aiigelus  bell  of  the  church  of  the  Bare- 
footed Carmelites  hard  by  rang  out;  almost 
at  once  a  gang  of  about  twenty  Corporation 
workmen,  engaged  in  repairing  the  streets, 
ceased  their  work,  rested  on  their  clubs, 
and  lifted  their  hats,  some  blessing  them- 
selves, to  honor,  for  a  moment  even,  the 
Mother  of  the  God- Workman. 


Brother  Jim's  Failure. 


BY   MAURICE  F.  EGAN. 


I. 

BROTHER  JIM'S  failure  was  a  bad 
thing  for  all  of  us,  for  we  were  depend- 
ent on  him.  Since  father  died — mother  died 
when  we  were  children — we  had  had  a  very 
pleasant  home.  Jo— Jo's  my  elder  sister — 
and  I  had  done  pretty  much  as  we  pleased. 
Jim  insisted  only  on  one  thing:  that  we 
should  not  spoil  our  hands,  and  that  we 
should  practise  our  music  every  day.  This 
first  requirement  was  hard  on  me,  for  I 
really  liked  household  work;  but  Jo  had 
her  novels,  so  she  was  glad  enough  that 
Jim's  ideas  gave  her  time  to  read  them. 
Old  Sally  and  Bridget  did  the  work  and 
managed  everything. 

When  papa  was  alive  we  all  worked.  He 
toiled  harder  than  any  of  us,  and  was  the 
earliest  up  and  the  last  to  bed.  His  only 
recreation  was  playing  on  that  old  violin  of 
his  after  dark,  or  having  Jo  thrum  "Rock 
of  Ages,"  or  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee." 
When  the  Irish  began  to  come  into  Sweet- 
briar,  he  used  to  go  to  see  the  priest  some- 
times, and  from  these  visits  came  a  scene 
which  has  had  much  to  do  with  our  lives. 

Father  was  always  a  religious  man;  he 


43^ 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


read  his  Bible  every  day,  and  spoke  to  us 
frequently  about  Christianity;  but  he  had 
never  attached  himself  or  us  to  any  church. 
And  I  think  this  worried  him. 

When  he  grew  sick — it  was  just  in  the 
maple-sugar  time,  and  everybody  was  busy 
— Aunt  Mehi table  came  from  Norwalk  to 
take  care  of  him.  She  exhorted  him  a  great 
deal,  and  scolded  us  every  time  she  met  us. 
She  was  not  a  bit  like  him ;  he  was  mild, 
with  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair, 
and — oh,  dear,  I  can  not  write  about  him; 
for  the  weight  stifles  my  heart !  He  is  gone ! 
— But  Aunt  Mehitable  had  keen,  bead-like 
eyes,  and  a  false  front — I  don't  object  to 
false  hair;  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  hurt 
anybody's  feelings, — and  her  mouth  was 
always  shut  tight  When  it  opened,  there 
was  a  snap  and  a  snarl. 

One  afternoon,  when  Aunt  Mehitable  had 
run  over  to  a  neighbor's  to  see  about  some 
butter  basket,  father  called  me.  His  blue 
eyes  looked  bigger  than  usual,  and  his  face 
was  so  pale,  and  his  hand  so  thin,  that  a 
band  seemed  to  tighten  around  my  heart, 
and  I  had  to  close  my  eyes  so  that  he  could 
not  see  the  tears  in  them. 

"Julia  dear,"  he  siid,  very  softly, *' will 
you  do  me  a  great  kindness?" 

"Anything  in  the  world,  papa!"  And  I 
meant  it;  I  wished  then  that  I  were  the 
Orphan  of  Siberia,  or  the  girl  in  the  History 
of  the  French  Revolution  who  drank  a  glass 
of  blood  to  save  her  father's  life,  or  any 
heroic  woman  I  had  ever  read  of 

"Well,  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  doubtful 
look  in  his  eyes,  "I  want  you  to  go  down 
to  Sweetbriar  and  get  the  priest  to  come 
up  here.  Tell  him  1  need  him  at  once." 

I  was  stupefied  by  this  request.  Aunt 
Mehitable  had  made  my  father's  visits  to 
the  priest  the  subject  of  many  unpleasant 
remarks.  She  had  told  him  over  and  over 
again  that  no  good  could  come  of  them,  that 
the  Bible  was  against  papists,  that  the  Pope 
of  Rome  was  a  Babylonian  beast;  and  she 
had  said  that  if  the  priest  of  Baal  ever  en- 
tered our  house  while  she  was  there,  she 
would  leave.  I  was  afraid  of  Aunt  Mehita- 
ble, and  my  father  saw  it  He  smiled  a  little. 


"You  just  said  you'd  do  anything  in  the 
world  for  me. ' ' 

"But  won't  the  minister  do?"  I  asked; 
"Mr.  Wheaton  or  Mr.  Gray,  or — " 

"No,  Julia;  I  want  the  priest." 

Oh !  what  would  Aunt  Mehitable  say  ? 

"I  will  go,  father, — I  will  go,"  I  an- 
swered, my  heart  sinking. 

"If  Jim  were  here,  he  would  do  this  for 
me.  It  is  the  last  and  best  thing  that  can 
be  done  for  me.  Go,  Julia  dear.  And  re- 
member, if  fire  and  water  and  all  the  ele- 
ments bar  the  way,  you  must  bring  him  to 
me." 

I  murmured  an  assent,  feeling  that  I 
would  have  preferred  to  face  all  the  ele- 
ments in  fury  rather  than  Aunt  Mehitable. 
I  went  up  and  kissed  papa's  hand.  It  was 
cold,  but  I  never  thought  that  this  coldness 
had  any  particular  meaning. 

"Quick!"  he  said,  gravely. 

I  went  to  the  stable  and  saddled  Jack, 
with  a  heavy  heart.  Jack's  a  good-tempered 
pony,  and  we  were  not  twenty  minutes  in 
reaching  Sweetbriar.  I  knocked  at  Father 
Boyle's  white-painted  door.  He  opened  it 
himself  Father  Boyle  is  a  thin,  tall,  dark 
man,  with  a  very  sweet  smile,  and  a  rich, 
soft  voice,  which  is  musical,  particularly 
when  contrasted  with  the  Yankee  drawl. 
He  did  not  know  me,  but  he  smiled  and 
asked  me  to  come  in. 

"  I'm  Julia  Enderby,  and  my  father  asks 
you  to  go  to  him  to-day. ' ' 

Father  Boyle's  face  became  grave.  "Is 
he  worse?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  sir!"  I  answered, eagerly; 
"he  seems  better.  No  fe-ver  at  all;  in  fact, 
he  is  almost  cold.  That's  a  good  sign,  isn't 
it?" 

"For  him,  perhaps  it  is,"  he  replied, 
seriously.  "Wait  a  moment,  please.  I  will 
go  into  the  chapel  a  minu'e." 

When  he  returned  there  was  a  new  so- 
lemnity about  him.  His  horse  was  ready, 
and  as  we  rode  back  he  told  me  the  story 
of  St.  Christopher,  who  bore  the  Saviour  in 
the  shape  of  a  little  child  over  a  flood,  and 
who  was  called  the  Christ-bearer.  Father 
Boyle  spoke  as  softly  and  reverentially  as  if 


The  Ave  Maria. 


437 


he  were  St.  Christopher  bearing  his  sacred 
burden.  I  forgot  all  about  Aunt  Mehitable 
until  our  house  came  in  sight.  I  hoped  and 
hoped  that  she  might  be  out  still.  Just  in- 
side the  fence,  among  the  clover,  Jo  stood, 
looking  anxiously  down  the  road.  She 
beckoned  as  she  saw  us,  and  I  jumped  oflf 
Jack  and  ran  up  to  the  fence. 

"Father  is  straining  his  eyes  looking  for 
the  priest.  /  don't  see  what  he  wants  with 
him  myself;  but  he's  got  to  have  what  he 
wants,  anyhow.  Aunt  Het  has  found  it  out, 
and  she's  guarding  the  front  door.  She  says 
no  priest  shall  ever  enter  Brierwood  Cottage 
as  long  as  she  lives." 

"  O  Jo ! "  I  cried,  frightened ;  ' '  what  can 
we  do?' 

"I'm  waiting  to  tell  you  that.  Just  walk 
through  this  field  and  up  the  back  steps. 
Then  there'll  be  no  fuss." 

Jo  came  forward  and  spoke  to  Father 
Boyle. — Jo  is  not  a  big  girl,  but  she  has 
more  courage  than  one  would  think  she 
has,  to  judge  by  her  red  cheeks  and  mild 
blue  eyes. — He  dismounted,  and  we  had 
just  reached  the  landing  in  front  of  father's 
door  when  Aunt  Mehitable  came  up  the 
front  stairs  and  stood  in  our  way.  Her  eyes 
flashed  on  me. 

"You  have  a  great  deal  of  impudence  to 
smuggle  a  Popish  priest  into  this  house, 
miss,"  she  said.  "I'll  pay  you  for  it." 

I  shrank  back.  But  Jo  put  her  hand  on 
the  knob  of  papa's  door  before  she  could 
Teach  it.  I  am  sure  that  she  would  have 
gone  in  and  bolted  it,  if  she  could. 

' 'Aunt  Het, ' '  Jo  said, ' '  this  is  my  father's 
house.  You  are  a  guest  here,  and  therefore 
only  an  equal  of  this  gentle  man,  who  is  also 
a  guest. ' ' 

It  was  grand!  I  had  no  idea  Jo  could 
carry  on  so.  Father  Boyle  stopped  and 
looked  greatly  pained.  Aunt  Mehitable 
threw  herself  against  the  door,  obstructing 
our  way.  Then  father  said,  in  a  weak  voice: 

"  Is  he  here  ?  For  God's  sake  let  him  in ! " 

Jo  motioned  Father  Boyle  to  enter,  and 
then  snatched  the  key  from  the  inside,  and 
locked  the  door  from  the  outside. 

"I  will  wait  here,  sir,"  she  called  out. 


"You  will  not  be  disturbed.   If  you  want 
anything,  tell  me." 

The  priest  thanked  her. 

Aunt  Mehitable  stamped,  and  called  on 
papa  to  beware  of  Antichrist.  But,  as  the 
hired  men  were  coming  into  supper,  and  as 
they  were  mostly  Irish,  and  would  of  course 
sympathize  with  the  priest,  she  went  away 
at  last,  and  left  poor  papa  in  peace. 

Jo  unlocked  the  door,  and  we  got  such' 
things  as  Father  Boyle  wanted  for  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  last  Sacraments. 

After  Father  Boyle  had  done  all  he  could 
do,  my  father  asked  us  to  kneel  beside  him; 
and  he  smiled  at  us,  and  thanked  his  dear 
little  girl. 

' '  You  and  Father  Boyle  have  made  me 
happy, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  bless  you  and  Jim  with 
all  my  heart.  I  do  not  fear  for  you :  I  hope. 
And  now  God  bless  you!    Pray  for  me.  I' 
die  in  the  Holy  Catholic — " 

Aunt  Mehitable,  entering,  heard  this,  and 
fainted.  We  were  used  to  it;  she  always 
fainted  when  anything  she  did  not  like 
happened. 

Father  smiled  a  little.  "Poor  soul!"  he 
said ;  ' '  she  has  a  good  heart. ' ' 

And  then — and  then  the  great  change 
took  place. 

II. 

Jim  was  away  at  an  English  school  when 
father  died.  -  An  uncle  of  ouns  had  insisted 
on  educating  him ;  and,  as  father  was  anx- 
ious that  he  should  have  every  advantage, 
he  let  Jim  go  to  England.  But  when  Jim 
heard  that  we  two  girls  were  alone  in  the 
world,  he  posted  home,  much  to  our  uncle's 
consternation.  In  truth,  our  uncle  never 
wrote  to  him  after  that. 

From  a  small  boy  with  curly  hair,  Jim 
had  grown  to  be  quite  a  young  man.  He 
was  almost  ae  tall  as  papa.  He  wore  coarse, 
rough  clothes;  he  had  his  hair  cut  close, 
and  he  carried  a  big  cane.  Jo  roared  out 
laughing  whenever  he  spoke,  he  had  ac- 
quired such  a  funny  English  accent.  After 
supper — ^Jim  called  it  dinner — he  put  on  a 
velvet  coat,  and  said  he  thought  he  would 
smoke  a  cheroot.  Aunt  Mehitable  gave 
him  "a  piece  of  her  mind"  then;  and  Jim, 


43^ 


The  Ave  .Maria. 


who,  I  am  sure,  had  not  learned  to  smoke 
yet,  said  he'd  waive  the  cheroot, as  the  ladies 
were  against  smoking-. 

V/e  talked  a  great  deal  about  father,  but 
not  so  sadly  as  we  had  thought;  for  he 
seemed  to  be  with  us,  and  all  the  things  we 
remembered  were  pleasant.  And  Jo, whose 
heart  had  almost  broken  when  father  died, 
began  to  laugh  again.  God  is  very  good  to 
make  such  things  as  this  possible,  else 
children  who  lose  their  father  or  mother 
would  go  mad. 

When  Jim  asked  us  to  go  with  him  to 
father's  grave,  Aunt  Mehitable  made  a  great 
outcry  and  tried  to  faint.  And  Jim  asked 
what  it  all  meant;  for  she  had  shrieked  out 
something  about  "disgrace"  and  "shame." 
Jo  colored  a  little  and  said: 

"Aunt  has  never  forgiven  us  for  burying 
papa  in  the  Catholic  cemetery.  But  he 
wanted  it,  you  know;  and  he  said  he  hoped 
that  at  last  we  would  all  be  buried  near  him. 
And  we  thought  that,  as  mother  had  been 
buried  so  far  in  England,  it  would  make 
no  difference." 

"Cruel!  cruel!"  murmured  Aunt  Me- 
hitable, straightening  herself.  ' '  It  was  done 
without  my  consent!  To  think  of  my 
brother  being  laid  to  rest  among  those  low 
and  ignorant  Catholics,  who  paid  honors  to 
the  Virgin,  and  who  were  the  enemies  of 
American  civilization!" 

Jim  did  not  answer  at  once.  Jo  and  I 
waited  with  some  anxiety. 

"Aunt,"  he  said, his  speech  losing  all  its 
aflfectation,  and  his  eyes  taking  a  very  ear- 
nest look,  "my  father  always  told  me  tip 
speak  charitably  of  others.  And,  now  that 
he  is  dead,  I  will  not  call  the  people  among 
whom  he  rests  ignorant  or  vulgar." 

"But  they  are!"  sobbed  Aunt  Mehita- 
ble; "you  know  yourself  that  Catholics  are 
not  only  low  and  ignorant,  but  treacherous 
and  bloodthirsty." 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind," 
Jim  answered;  "the  greatest  scholar  in 
England  is  a  Catholic  Cardinal.  Our  teach- 
ers taught  us  to  respect  him.  And  now  I 
want  to  go  to  father's  grave." 

Aunt  Mehitable  groaned.   What  would 


people  say?  Jim  would  be  having  some  of 
the  Irish  Catholics  to  tea  next!  I  admit  that 
Jo  and  I  had  acquired  much  contempt  for 
the  Irish  and  German  Catholics,  who  were 
gradually  acquiring  the  best  farms  around 
us. 

We  three  visited  the  little  Cemetery  of 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary.  Father's  grave 
was  fresh  and  green,  and  almost  covered 
with  the  dark  leaves  and  blue  flowers  of 
the  periwinkle.  Jim  took  oflF  his  hat,  and  I 
stood  beside  him  with  my  hand  in  his.  Jo 
threw  herself  on  her  knees.  The  breeze 
softly  murmured  through  the  elms,  and  the 
low  soft  sound  of  the  church-bell,  ringing 
for  noon,  came  to  us. 

Near  us  knelt  a  woman  with  a  little  baby 
in  her  arms.  The  grave  before  her  was 
newly  covered.  She  did  not  see  us.  The 
beads  of  her  rosary  followed  one  another 
through  her  hands.  She  was  wrapt  in 
prayer;  she  had  forgotten  everything,  even 
her  grief,  in  the  fervor  of  her  supplications. 

Jo  looked  at  her  wistfully. 

"  Father  told  us  to  pray,"  she  whispered; 
"but  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

A  strange  longing  filled  my  heart  just 
then.  Thi<  woman  seemed  to  be  privileged, 
while  Jim  and  Jo  and  I  were  not.  She,  poor 
as  she  was,  belonged  to  a  circle  from  which 
we  were  excluded.  Death  had  cut  our  father 
off  from  us.  He  was  gone.  And  we  were 
dumb,  like  "the  goats  that  nourish  a  dull 
life  within  their  brains. ' '  Gone !  Our  voices 
could  not  help  him.  But  this  woman — we 
could  hear  her  say  rapidly,  "  Holy  Mary, 
Mother  of  God," — knew  how  to  help  her 
dead! 

Jim  sighed,  and  I  knew  his  thoughts 
were  like  mine. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


It  is  true,  indeed,  that  men  too  often  hate 
merely  because  they  are  strangers  to  one 
another's  real  views  and  feelings;  and  the 
simple  interchange  of  a  few  words  would 
make  them  acknowledge  their  error,  and 
give  the  hand  of  brotherhood  to  each  other. 
— My  Prisons. 


k 


The  Ave  Maria. 


439 


"Wooden  Will." 


READER,  have  you  ever  been  in  Pitts- 
burg? Do  you  remember  the  feelings 
that  possessed  you  as,  gliding  westward 
along  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad,  you  saw 
for  the  first  time  the  edges  of  that  pall  of 
smoke  sharply  defined  on  the  clear  air  of  the 
suburbs?  You  had  heard  of  the  "Smoky 
City,"  its  furnaces  and  rolling-mills,  its 
iron  and  glass  works;  and  all  these  objects, 
grim  and  black,  came  to  your  mind.  You 
were  prepared  for  much  never  to  be  seen, 
and  not  at  all  prepared  for  what  you  did 
see.  Well,  it;  is  in  Pittsburg  our  present 
sketch  is  drawn;  so  let  us  go  there,  and 
observe  objects  more  closely  as  we  pass  to 
the  scene  of  our  story. 

The  train,  with  slackened  speed  and 
sounding  bell,  enters  the  city.  You  see  on 
your  right  a  long  line  of  low,  blackened 
houses, and  the  "round-house' '  of  the  Road; 
farther  on,  a  Convent  of  Mercy  under  the 
shadow  of  an  unpretentious  church,  whose 
broad,  triangular  fa^ide,  crowned  by  th« 
cross,  rests  upon  massive  pillars,  fronting 
the  west.  A  flight  of  narrow  stone  steps 
leads  to  the  entrance  of  the  church — St. 
Patrick's,  it  is  called, — a  time-honored 
structure,  known  in  the  early  days  of  the 
city's  life,  when  green  fields  lay  along  this 
highway,  and  the  smoke  and  din  of  steam- 
locomotion  were  unknown. 

As  you  pass  the  church  you  glance  up- 
ward, and  lo!  the  marvellous  "incline" 
track  is  stretched  above  your  head,  between 
you  and  the  heavens.  Men,  horses  and 
wagons  are  mounting  in  the  air  over  the 
pufiing  train.  You  watch  the  creaking 
cables,  and  the  balancing  cars,  one  mount- 
ing, one  descending,  until  the  first  reaches 
the  top  of  the  lofty  hill  that  looms  upward 
300  feet  on  your  left.  This  hill  is  a  sheer 
perpendicular  of  brown  rock,  interspersed 
with  green  patches,  and  boxes  of  houses 
scattered  on  its  side.  You  draw  a  breath  of 
relief  as  you  leave  the  monstrous  danger 
behind.  It  is  the  second  surprise  you  have 


had.  The  first  was  the  long,  wild  tongues 
of  ignited  natural  gas,  that  are  curling  up- 
ward night  and  day  along  the  roid;  now 
waving  like  huge  streamers  on  the  breeze, 
then  whirling  into  a  torch,  again  wrapping 
the  very  clouds  in  serpentine  twistings, — 
a  terrific  yet  grand  spectacle. 

These  are  left  behind,  and  you  are  pass- 
ing the  tall,  graceful,  yet  bedim med  spire 
of  St.  Philomena's.  The  clock,  high  up,  is 
striking  the  hour,  and  the  chime  sounds 
sweetly  in  the  sky.  On  you  go  into  the 
city,  and  at  last  the  train  stops  with  a  jolt- 
ing, jarring  concussion.  Leaving  the  Union 
Depot,  you  enter  Liberty  Street.  A  high 
hill  is  on  the  left,  and  perched  on  the  edge 
of  its  summit  is  the  High  School,  of  mas- 
sive stone.  On  the  right  is  the  busy  street, 
with  its  bustle  and  confusion,  its  hotels  and 
street- cars,  its  wagons  and  omnibuses;  and 
in  the  distance  a  railway  sinking  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  directly  under  the 
houses — the  famous  "Pan  Handle"  route. 
Over  all  is  the  shade  of  smoke.  Woe  to 
your  handkerchief,  and  to  the  would-be- 
immaculate  cuffs  that  protrude  daintily 
from  your  coat  or  duster!  A  soft  black  flake 
falls  somewhere  on  your  person,  and  a  del- 
icate touch  with  handkerchief  or  finger  is 
applied,  when,  presto!  a  broad,  stubborn 
track  of  black,  as  deep  as  the  red  chalk 
marks  on  a  freight-car  you  have  been  pass- 
ing, records  the  deed.  A  few  such  experi- 
ences dishearten  and  disgust  you,  and  you 
think,  if  "godliness  is  allied  to  cleanli- 
ness," the  application  here  is  paradoxical. 

Let  us  move  on  through  the  streets,  full 
of  a  busy  tide  of  humanity.  Along  Grant 
to  Fifth  Avenue,  we  will  pass  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  with  its  graceful  twin  towers  and 
its  sunken  dome.  Two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  the  air,  you  may  see,  on  festival 
nights,  a  cross  of  fire  floating  in  the  sky 
above  one  of  these  towers.  Hundreds  of 
eyes  have  watched  the  electric  light  leaping 
from  jet  to  jet,  and  as  the  symbol  of  salva- 
tion stood  out,  perfect  in  its  proportions, 
the  murmurs  of  the  crowd  swelled  into  a 
cheer  that  woke  the  distant  echoes.  Diag- 
onally from  the  Cathedral  stands  the  new 


440 


The  A  ve  Maria. 


Court- House,  built  of  massive,  rough-hewn 
blocks  of  stone;  a  magnificent  structure  it 
is.  Down  Fifth  Avenue  now,  to  the  old 
historic  Point,  where  the  "first  shrine  of 
Mary  "  was  erected  in  the  wilderness  a  cen- 
tury ago,  at  old  Fort  Duquesne;  where  the 
first  Mass  was  celebrated,  beside  the  "Beau- 
tiful River" ;  the  worshippers  the  red  men 
and  a  few  French  soldiers. 

The  city  here  meets  the  three  rivers.  On 
the  right  a  low  covered  bridge  stretches 
over  the  clear  waters  of  the  Allegheny ;  on 
the  left,  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Mononga 
hela  are  spanned  by  the  new  Suspension 
Bridge,  a  marvel  of  engineering  skill.  On- 
ward flows  the  "  Beautiful  River,"  the  Ohio, 
swelling  with  its  double  waters,  curveting 
Tound  islands,  dashing  against  rocks,  until  it 
mingles  with  the  swift- flowing  Mississippi. 

But  we  have  gone  too  far.  Back  again 
to  the  Smoky  City.  Twilight  is  at  hand. 
The  western  sun  is  gilding  the  three  rivers, 
the  bridges,  and  the  city  spires,  eclipsing 
the  furnace  glows,  and  lending  a  weird, 
ruddy  tinge  to  the  pall  of  smoke  that  seems 
to  hang  lower  down.  There  is  no  cessation 
in  the  rumbling  work  of  the  mills.  They  do 
not  stop  at  sunset:  the  night  force  is  put 
on,  and  the  work  progresses. 

Sanlight  dies  on  the  rivers.  We  stand  on 
the  hill- top  and  look  over  the  twin  cities. 
Wonderful  and  fascinating  is  the  scene. 
Now  we  view  Pittsburg  aright;  for  we  see 
it  at  night.  All  along  the  river- banks  and 
xeflected  in  the  waters,  the  tall  iron  chim- 
ney-pipes belch  forth  red  flames;  furnace 
after  furnace  roars,  and  fire  after  fire  glows, 
mounting  higher  aiid  higher  as  the  dark- 
ness increase?,  and  meeping  the  horizon  in 
fearful  fury;  while  here  and  there  a  pale 
star,  low  down  on  the  hill- tops,  glimmers 
through  the  rifts  of  the  flames.  ' '  Hell  with 
the  lid  ofi" ! "  said  a  popular  writer  as  he 
looked  down  at  the  picture;  and  the  grim 
fancy  brings  a  shudder  at  its  aptness.  So, 
then,  it  is  ever^ng,  and  our  story  begins. 

/     II- 

In  the  heart  of  the  city,  where  the  poor 
liave  gathered  in  their  lowly  homes,  rises  a 
tall,  gloomy-iooking  building,  called  "The 


Convent."  Not  that  there  are  no  other  con- 
vents to  be  met,  but  because  this  one  was 
the  first  ever  seen  in  the  city.  It  was  built 
for  the  Sisters  of  Mercy  by  the  late  sainted 
Bishop  Michael  O'Connor,  nearly  half  a 
century  ago.  It  was  in  the  Know- Nothing 
times,  when  Catholicity  was  a  hated  thing, 
and  a  nun  was  looked  upon  as  a  victim  or 
a  sorceress.  No  cross  surmounts  the  lofty 
roof;  the  sign  would  have  been  desecrated. 
A  modest  belfry  holds  the  sweet-toned  bell, 
which  now,  as  then,  sends  forth  its  chime 
at  the  Angelus  hour.  The  eastern  wing  is 
the  parochial  school  of  the  Cathedral,  and 
all  day  long  the  children  swarm  there. 

But  now ' '  the  day  is  done, ' '  and  the  nuns 
are  at  rest.  Is  it  not  so?  No.  Pittsburg  is  a 
city  where  the  day  is  twenty-four  hours 
long,  and  at  sundown,  as  I  have  said,  a  fresh 
term  begins  in  the  great  industries,  and  a 
new  population  is  let  loose.  A  tide  of  boys 
and  girls  from  the  factories  and  glass-houses 
and  mills  is  flowing  to  the  school  rooms 
from  half-past  six  till  half- past  eight.  Poor 
children,  most  of  them,  with  hard  little 
hands, and  grimy  faces.  They  are  Catholics: 
ihey  must  be  taught;  and,  more  than  that, 
they  must  prepare  for  the  Sacraments;  and 
they  come  to  the  convent  school,  where 
they  meet  kind  faces,  sweet  surroundings, 
and  motherly  care,  if  they  need  it. 

It  is  shortly  after  Angelus  time  at  the 
convent,  in  the  month  of  October,  and  the 
two  nuns  who  have  charge  of  the  boys' 
night-school  are  making  ready  for  the  even- 
ing's work.  The  gas  is  burning  brightly. 
The  long  room,  with  its  rows  of  desks  and 
chairs,  looks  cheerful  and  inviting.  From 
the  walls  the  sweet  face  of  Madonna  or  saint 
looks  down  in  blessing.  Noiselessly  and 
earnestly  the  nuns  flit  from  place  to  place, 
and  finally  begin  the  appointed  task  of 
teaching  their  pupils  the  all-impiortant  art 
of  writing.  To-night  our  story  opens,  and, 
to  appreciate  it  better,  we  will  leave  the  busy 
school- room,  protected  by  the  Guardian 
Angels  of  that  >  oung  crowd,  and  go  back  to 
the  war-time — the  War  of  the  Rebellion. 

We  are  in  the  famous  Stanton  Hospital, 
Washington,  and  it  is  just  after  one  of  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


441 


dreadful  battles  of  the  day.  Terrible  and 
fexciting  is  the  scene.  Ambulances  full  of 
wounded  sufferers  are  drawing  up  Men, 
pale,  bleeding,  shattered,  are  carried  into 
the  wards.  Surgeons  have  labored  all  night. 
Attendants  are  ubiquitous,  with  bandages, 
lint,  and  medicine;  and  gliding  between  the 
long  rows  of  beds  are  the  Sisters,  minister 
ing  to  the  poor  heroes  whose  life-blood  paid 
the  penalty  of  victory.  How  soothingly  the 
gentle  voice  of  whispered  prayer  fell  on  the 
quickened  ear  of  those  suffering  men! 
There  are  some  of  them  still  living,  whose 
hair  has  grown  gray;  and  yet  their  dim 
eyes  glow  and  moisten  at  the  name  of  the 
gentle  Sister  who  nursed  them  back  to  life. 
But  alas  for  the  vacant  place  in  a  thousand 
homes!  How  many  were  not  brought  back 
to  life !  And  here,  to-day,  how  many ' '  brave 
boys ' '  are  gasping  their  last,  far  away  from 
home  and  kindred! 

HI. 
About  midway  in  one  of  the  wards  lies 
a  dying  soldier,  and  a  Sister  of  Mercy  is 

•kneeling  beside  the  camp-bed,  quietly 
praying.  The  attendants  hush  their  foot- 
steps as  they  pass  the  bed,  but  no  one 
pauses;  for  the  sight  is  a  familiar  one.  The 

'  nun  holds  the  little  crucifix  before  the  ashen 
face,  and  the  prayers  of  his  childhood — 
♦'Our  Father,"  "Hail  Mary"— fall  on  his 

^ear.  Among  the  first  to  be  brought  in  from 
the  field,  he  had  made  his  peace  with  God, 
and  his  life  is  passing  away  with  the  wan- 

iing  sunlight.  He  is  very  young,  almost 
boyish,  and  the  features  are  as  finely  cut  as 
a  woman's.   Short,  pale  reddish  curls  are 

t tossed  back  from  the  forehead  and  brush 

khe  pillow,  setting  the  white  face  in  a  sort 

yoi  aureole.  Around  his  neck  is  a  string,  and 

small  medal  of  Our  Lady  lies  on  his 

)reast.  His  hand  gropes  for  it.  The  Sister 

^'guides  it,  and  the  touch  seems  to  rouse  him 
rom  the  stupor.  Fixing  his  eyes  on  the  Sis 

Iter's  face,  he  tries  to  smile  a  recognition. 

[The  stiffened  lips  form  words: — 

"Get  me — some  one — from  Pittsburg." 
"I  am  from  Pittsburg,"  said  the  Sister. 
A  glad  flash  shot  from  the  large  eyes. 
' '  Convent  at — Cathedral  ?  "  he  asked. 


"Yes,  my  poor  boy,  that's  where  we  be- 
long. What  can  I  do  for  you?  You  have 
friends  in  Pittsburg?  Tell  me  your  mes- 
sage for  them — when  I  go  back." 

A  pleading  look  came  into  the  large  eyes, 
and  a  spasm  of  pain  caught  the  corners  of 
the  mouth.  The  Sister  lifted  the  medal  and 
touched  it  there.  He  spoke  again  and  with 
a  stronger  voice. 

"My  wife  Mary  lives  there — poor  girl! 
She' s  not  much  past  eighteen,  and  our  baby 
Willie  is  just  born — I  never  saw  him.  God 
bless  them  both ! ' ' 

He  paused  for  breath,  and  the  Sister 
moistened  his  lips;  then  a  wan,  faint  smile 
came  to  the  great  eyes  and  pale  face. 

"Mary  writes  that  the  boy  has  two ' little 
fingers'  on  the  left  hand,  and  they  want  to 
hurt  the  baby.  Tell  her  no  cutting  up  that 
boy — no  matter  what  they  say — " 

The  smile  died  away.  "Lord,  help — " 
gasped  the  cold  lips,  as  a  gray  shadow  fell 
on  the  face.  The  Sister  wept  as  she  prayed. 
Swiftly  the  breath  came — up,  up,  like  the 
pulsing  of  the  sea,  farther  and  farther  away 
as  the  tide  goes  out;  and  the  Sister  thought 
of  the  homely  tenderness  of  that  boyish 
father,  whose  blood  was  draining  from  his 
crushed  body,  and  yet  whose  death-agony 
was  full  of  the  thought  that  no  suffering 
should  come  to  the  misformed  little  hand 
of  the  babe  he  would  never  see.  And  as  she 
gazed,  the  great  pause  came — the  stillness 
we  all  have  suddenly  felt.  The  Great  Judge 
was  there,  and  the  fate  of  a  soul  was  decided 
before  that  awful,  invisible  court  we  all 
must  face.  Requiescat! 

She  closed  the  glazed  eyes,  and  drew  the 
sheet  over  the  calm  face,  and  sighed  to 
think  of  the  child-widow  and  helpless  or- 
phan boy.  Alas  that  he  died  without  giv- 
ing her  a  clue!  How  could  she  give  the 
message  or  that  pathetic  blessing? 

But  the  attendants  carry  away  the  dead; 
there  is  no  time  for  regrets  or  tears.  Again 
she  stands  by  the  suffering,  and  so  the 
months  pass.  The  war  is  over.  Back  to  their 
convent  go  the  Sisters,  and  only  in  reminis- 
cences do  we  meet  the  scenes  of  the  war. 
(to  be  continded.) 


442 


The  Ave  Marta 


"These  Sad  November  Days." 

''Pie  "Jesu,  Domine.  dona  evt  requiem  ^ 
I. 

0  SIGHING  November!  how  you  weep! 
You  wail  and  moan  through  the  dying  trees, 
And  over  the  graves  where  our  loved  ones  sleep 
You  dream  sad  symphonies  to  the  breeze; 
And  you  lift  our  souls  to  that  vision  high 
Where  the  King's  dear  prisoners  sadly  lie 

II. 
Patient  and  meek,  in  their  voiceless  love. 

Mid  the  fiercest  fires  of  spirit-pain. 
They  mutely  plead  to  the  Throne  above, 
Lifting  their  trembling  hands  in  vain; 
Their  eyes  ever  fixed  on  the  golden  door 
That  opes  to  the  bliss  of  the  Evermore. 

III. 
Loving  intensely,  yearning  through  loss 
For  the  God  who  smites  while  He  holds  their 
hand, 
They  lie  outstretched  on  their  fiery  cross, 
And  kiss  the  rod  of  His  dread  command. 
In  the  seething  flames  of  His  blessed  will 
They  would  plunge  yet  more,  to  be  purer  still. 

IV. 

No  thought  they  cast  on  the  vanished  earth, 
But  ever  to  us  comes  their  anguished  cry: 
"Take  pity,  O  friends! — ye  who  dwell  in  mirth; 
Take  pity,  nor  pass  forgetful  by. 
We  pine,  we  sigh  in  this  prison-place, — 
We  languish,  for  we  have  seen  His  Face. 

V. 

"We  look  on  your  altars  in  mourning  hung. 
We  watch  for  your  Mass-bells  day  by  day. 
We  wait  and  long  for  the  Requiems  sung. 
And  ask  the  angels  what  names  you  pray; 
And  gaze  at  the  door  where  the  ransomed  spring 
When  they  fly  to  the  arm^  of  the  spotless  King. 

VI. 

"  O  ye  who  love  us,  pray  0  pray  I 

Your  mightiest  love  is  tlie  mightiest  prayer; 
For  when  our  anguish  haiS  passed  away. 
We'll  sing  your  namesin  our  rapture  there. 
And  the  tears  you  hate  dropped  on  our  prison- 
night  / 
Will  gleam  for  you/kt  the  Throne  of  Light." 

vn. 
Then,  sighing  November,  wail  no  more. 

Nor  lift  to  Heaven  a  moaning  cry; 
Your  thousand  Requiems  open  the  door. 
And  the  King's  dear  prisoners  mount  on  high. 
With  white,  white,  robes,  to  the  Living  Day; 
"For  the  former  things  have  passed  away." 

Mercedes. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BEFORE  Mrs.  Auvrard  could  respond  to 
Nora's  last  remark,  merry  voices  were 
heard,  and  Miss  Kernoel  and  her  three 
young  nieces  were  ushered  into  the  room. 

' '  My  visit  is  a  selfish  one, ' '  said  the 
little  lady,  gaily.  ' '  We  want  to  take  posses- 
sion of  Miss  de  Brdlyon,  for  my  nieces  are 
longing  to  be  better  acquainted  with  her." 

Mrs.  Auvrard  replied  with  a  stiff  bow: 
"I  am  obliged  to  you,  Octavia;  but  there 
are  two  impediments  to  your  projected 
walk." 

' '  What  are  they,  my  dear  Mrs.  Auvrard? ' ' 

' '  In  the  first  place,  it  would  look  strange 
for  my  niece,  in  her  deep  mourning,  to  ac- 
company you  to  the  beech  grove,  where 
you  usually  walk  on  Sundays." 

"That  is  no  impediment;  we  are  going 
to  Kemie,  and  you  know  the  road  is  little 
frequented." 

"But  I  am  going  to  walk  myself,  as  I 
always  do  on  Sundays;  and  my  niece  must, 
of  course,  accompany  me. ' ' 

' '  That  can  all  be  arranged.  At  what  hour 
do  you  go  out?" 

"In  a  few  minutes." 

' '  Very  well ;  I  shall  go  to  Vespers  with 
my  nieces,  and  at  half- past  three  call  for 
Miss  de  Brdlyon.  Will  that  do?" 

Mrs.  Auvrard  hesitated. 

"Your  plan  seems  to  me  a  very  good 
one,"  interposed  Mark.  "Miss  de  Br^lyon 
must  have  felt  the  need  of  gayer  society 
than  ours.  Mother,  do  you  agree?" 

"If  Octavia  so  pleases." 

"We  shall  be  back  punctually,"  said 
the  latter,  nodding  graciously,  and  turning 
to  depart  with  her  merry  troop. 

' '  We  shall  meet  you  at  the  church  door, ' ' 
observed  Mark,  with  a  questioning  look  at 
his  mother. 

The  old  lady  nodded  assent,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  three  set  out  on  a  walk, 
which  appeared  to  Nora  interminable.  Not 
that  the  conversation  between  her  compan- 
ions was  uninteresting,  but  she  was  com- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


443 


pletely  excluded  from  it;  in  fact,they  seemed 
to  consider  her  incapable  of  conversing  on 
intellectual  subjects.  Great  was  her  relief 
when  they  reached  the  church,  and  met  the 
Kernoels  at  the  door.  Clotilda  slipped  her 
arm  into  Nora's,  and  the  parties  separated. 

"Why,"  said  Mrs.  Auvrard,  leaning  on 
her  son's  arm,  "did  you  wish  me  to  let 
Nora  go  with  these  people?" 

"And  did  you  not  also  desire  that  we 
might  be  alone  with  each  other  again?" 
he  answered,  smiling. 

' '  These  young  girls  are  spoiled,  and  I  do 
not  care  to  have  Nora  adopt  their  mode  of 
life.  She  has  before  her,  in  all  probability, 
a  laborious  and  poverty-stricken  career, 
which  it  is  my  strict  duty  to  fit  her  for. 
Octavia  should  do  the  same  in  regard  to 
her  nieces, who  are  by  no  means  well  off." 

' '  But  with  what  other  young  girls  can 
Miss  de  Br^lyon  associate?" 

"I  detest  young  girls'  friendships,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Auvrard,  sharply.  "Nothing  is 
more  dangerous,  and  I  shall  take  care  to 
keep  Nora  away  from  them. ' ' 

' '  But  will  not  her  life  be  too  gloomy 
then?" 

"What!  Is  it  really  you  that  are  speak- 
ing, Mark, — you  whose  youth  was  so  lonely 
that  you  never  had  a  friend  of  your  own 
age?" 

"The  young  men  of  my  own  age,"  he 
answered,  with  a  certain  contempt,  "were 
either  too  foolish  or  too  immature  for  me. 
Women  have  a  different  nature,  and — be- 
tween us — this  young  girl  reminds  me  of  a 
bird  in  a  cage. ' ' 

"At  her  age,"  said  the  dame,  "I  found 
the  society  of  other  young  girls  tedious. 
Consequently,  I  never  acquired  frivolous 
habits,  and  later  on  was  fit  for  the  very 
painful  and  serious  duties  which  devolved 
on  me." 

"Do  you  compare  yourself  with  other 
women  ?  "  he  asked,  tenderly.  ' '  You  must 
take  the  world  as  it  is,  and  remember  that 
you  are  superior  to  your  sex. ' ' 

The  widow  accepted  the  compliment 
with  a  self-satisfied  smile,  never  doubting 
that  it  was  due  to  her  eminent  qualities. 


And  yet  he  who  had  reposed  for  long  years 
in  the  little  churchyard  of  Penvan  had  felt 
no  regret  at  leaving  his  still  young  and 
handsome  wife.  What  he  missed  in  her 
was  the  youth  she  had  stifled — the  gayety, 
the  truthfulness,  the  tender  consideration, 
which  would  have  prevented  her  benefits 
from  becoming  heavy  burdens  to  other 
hearts.  ^ 

Nora  forgot  the  gloomy  room  where  twi 
cold,  searching  eyes  seemed  to  hold  her 
soul  spellbound,  and  rejoiced  in  the  shady 
walk  and  the  merry  society  of  her  young 
friends.  What  did  her  most  good  was  Miss 
Kernoel's  kind  smile.  The  latter  had  said 
to  her  nieces:  "I  don't  wish  to  speak  ill  of 
Mrs.  Auvrard,  but  Nora's  life  is  a  gloomy 
one,  and  you  must  try  to  make  her  happy. ' ' 
And  the  children  gladly  obeyed,  so  that  the 
afternoon  passed  most  pleasantly  for  the 
young  girl. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Auvrard  observed,  in 
her  cold,  incisive  way:  "Nora,  order  has 
always  been  a  passion  with  me,  and  nothing 
is  more  necessary  than  a  wise  disposal  of 
time.  I  have  always  been  accustomed  to 
have  every  hour  of  the  day  regulated,  and 
such  a  practice  is  indispensable  at  your  age. 
You  can  not  wonder,  then,  that  I  have  drawn 
up  for  you  a  rule  of  life.  My  son,  in  whom 
I  have  entire  confidence,  approves  of  it,  and 
I  do  not  doubt  that  your  reason,  if  not  your 
tastes,  will  acquiesce. ' ' 

With  these  words  she  took  from  the 
window-  sill  a  paper  written  in  a  large,  firm 
hand,  and  gave  it  to  Nora.  The  latter  read  it 
The  early  rising  had  no  terrors  for  her,  but 
the  three  hours  spent  in  sewing  before  din- 
ner were  formidable  to  one  unaccustomed 
to  needlework.  Then  followed  reading,  a 
walk  attended  by  Jane,  and  again  sewing. 
The  evening  was  to  be  spent  in  serious  read- 
ing. Neither  music,  drawing,  nor  any  ac- 
complishment was  alluded  to.  According  to 
Mrs.  Auvrard' s  views,  a  young  girl  should 
never  handle  a  pen,  either  to  take  notes — 
even  for  purposes  of  study — or  to  corre- 
spond with  any  one. 

Nora  laid  down  the  pape;^ 

"I  must  add,"  continued 


444 


The  Ave  Maria. 


**tliat,  according  to  my  son's  desire,  I  will 
allow  you  to  frequent  Miss  Kemoel's  society 
whenever  she  wishes;  but  this  intercourse 
must  be  confined  to  Sundays.  You  must 
lead  a  serious  life;  if  you  find  it  hard,  only 
your  former  frivolous  habits  are  to  blame. " 

"Can  I  assist  at  Mass  daily?"  asked 
Nora. 

"Are  you  so  pious?  Yet  I  never  remarked 
that  my  sister-in-law  had  much  piety." 

Mark,  who  was  waiting  for  the  omnibus, 
raised  his  eyes  from  his  writing,  and  said, 
somewhat  impatiently:  "Can  not  Miss  de 
Br^lyon  go  to  Mass  every  morning  with 
Jane?" 

"Yes,  if  she  will  rise  for  the  early  Mass 
■that  Jane  attends. ' ' 

"Oh!  willingly, my  dear  aunt;  all  will 
become  easy  to  me,  if  you  will  only  love  me 
a  little."  And  the  poor  child,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  caught  her  aunt's  hand. 

"You  are  so  romantic!"  said  the  latter, 
drawing  away  her  hand  in  evident  dis- 
pleasure. ' '  Of  course  I  shall  love  you  if  you 
are  reasonable  and  obedient.  Come  now  to 
market  with  me.  Penvan  has  not  many  dis- 
tractions, but  perhaps  you  may  enjoy  this 
walk  " 

Without  a  word  Nora  went  up-stairs,  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments,  ready  to  go  out. 
Mark  was  alone  in  the  room;  he  raised  his 
head  and  saw  tears  glittering  in  Nora's  eyes. 
This  vexed  him,  he  knew  not  why. 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  the  wise  ar- 
rangement my  mother  has  made  for  you?" 
he  asked,  suddenly.  / 

"I  neither  censure  nor  complain,"  she 
said,  with  calm  dignity.  "Why  do  you  ques- 
tion me?  Can  you  preyent  me  from  suffer- 
ing ? " '  She  spoke  so  firmly  and  composedly 
that  Mark  was  astonished.  Mrs.  Auvrard's 
step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Nora  con- 
tinued, hastily :  "I  should  like  to  know  if 
I  possess  nothing.  Am  I  a  complete  burden 
on  my  aunt?" 

' '  I  can  not  say  ye/t,  for  your  affairs  will 
not  be  in  order  for  some  weeks.  My  mother 
intends,  in  any  case,  to  allow  you  a  certain 
sum  for — " 

Nora  made  a  negative  movement,  but 


before  she  could  speak  Mrs.  Auvrard  en- 
tered, and  bade  Mark  good-bye. 

And  so  the  young  girl  began  her  new 
life. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Next  morning  Nora  woke  at  dawn.  Her 
aunt  did  not  rise  until  eight  o'clock,  her 
health  of  late  having  obliged  her  to  this 
change  in  her  habits.  Hearing  a  slight  noise 
in  the  kitchen,  Nora  ventured  down,  and 
found  Jane  ready  to  go  out. 

"Don't  you  wait  till  it  is  time  for  Mass, 
Jane?"  she  asked,  in  wonder;  "I  intend  to 
accompany  you  every  morning." 

The  maid  was  embarrassed.  "  I  go  to  six 
o'clock  Mass,  Miss;  but — "  she  stopped, hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  then  said,  color- 
ing: "The  truth  is.  Miss  Nora,  I  go  to  the 
hospital  every  morning  before  Mass,  and  a 
Sister  attends  to  me." 

"Well,  Jane,  the  church  is  so  near  that  I 
can  go  to  it  alone,  and  wait  there  for  you.'* 

"You  won't  tell  on  me.  Miss?" 

"My  poor  girl,  certainly  not.  But  I  think 
it  imprudent  for  you  to  rise  so  early  in  your 
state  of  health. ' ' 

On  her  way  home  Nora  exchanged  a 
greeting  with  Miss  Kernoel  and  her  nieces, 
who  were  going  to  the  seven  o'clock  Mass. 

"It  is  settled  that  I  can  see  you  only 
on  Sundays,"  she  said,  with  a  melancholy 
smile;  "that  will  be  my  pleasantest  day, 
and  the  expectation  of  it  will  keep  me  up. " 

When  Nora  reached  home  she  found 
Jane  pale  and  suffering,  and  she  declared 
that  she  should  let  her  do  some  of  the  work. 

"I  am  young  and  strong,"  she  said. 
' '  My  aunt  wishes  me  to  keep  my  own  room 
in  order:  I  shall  also  sweep  the  parlor  and 
prepare  breakfast;  but  no  one  shall  know 
anything  about  it,  and  it  will  be  only  an 
amusement  for  me." 

"You  are  too  kind.  Miss;  please 'God, 
I'll  be  better  to-morrow." 

These  servile  occupations  were  tiresome 
enough  to  Nora's  unaccustomed  hands,  but 
she  found  a  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  help- 
ing one  still  poorer  and  worse  off"  than  her- 
self. Miss  Kernoel  often  wondered  how  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Auvrard  did  not  grow  fond 


The  Ave  Maria. 


445 


of  this  gentle,  submissive  creature,  who  won 
all  hearts. 

When  the  long  wished- for  Sunday  came, 
Nora  forgot  the  loneliness  and  dreariness 
of  the  past  week  in  her  joy  at  seeing  her 
friends.  With  them  she  could  be  young, 
gay,  and  unrestrained.  She  felt  at  home 
and  beloved  in  their  pleasant  house,  and  she 
could  speak  of  her  cherished  grandmother 
and  the  happy  past  to  loving  and  sympa- 
thizing hearts.  In  winter,  when  the  weather 
was  unfavorable,  they  sat  round  the  fire, 
played  or  sang,  or  read  an  entertaining  book. 
Although  Nora  loved  each  of  the  young 
girls,  she  was  particularly  fond  of  Mary, 
for  whom  she  felt  the  highest  esteem.  Jane 
told  her  that  Mary  daily  visited  the  hospi 
tal,  and  cheered  the  suffering  patients  by 
her  bright,  winsome  ways. 

Mrs.  Auvrard  seemed  to  have  grown  ac- 
customed to  her  niece's  presence,  but  she 
never  departed  from  her  cold  reserve,  nor 
lost  an  opportunity  of  making  sharp,  bitter 
remarks  about  Nora's  grandmother.  Gen- 
erally profound  silence  reigned  between 
aunt  and  niece  as  they  sat  at  work.  If  the 
former  were  in  unusually  good- humor,  she 
gossiped  a  little  about  the  news  of  the  town, 
in  which  she  took  no  small  interest,  and 
Nora  did  her  best  to  please  and  entertain 
her;  but  there  was  an  abyss  between  them, 
which  no  efforts  of  hers  could  bridge  over. 

Mark's  visits  were  no  pleasure  to  the 
poor  girl.  He  treated  her  with  cold  polite- 
ness, and  always  as  if  she  were  of  an  inferior 
race  of  beings.  But  Nora  never  complained, 
though  the  constant  stooping  over  her 
sewing  had  produced  a  severe  pain  in  the 
chest.  Her  appetite  decreased,  sleep  fled, 
and  an  invincible  sadness  weighed  down 
her  spirits.  Her  aunt  paid  no  attention  to 
her  altered  looks,  but  Jane  grew  uneasy, 
and  spoke  to  Miss  Kernoel.  The  latter  had 
already  noticed  it. 

"Poor  Nora  will  pine  away  and  die  in 
that  gloomy  house,"  she  remarked  to  her 
nieces  one  Sunday  evening,  as  they  sat 
round  the  cosy  hearth  waiting  for  Nora's 
weekly  visit. 

"Aunt,"  said    Clotilda,  tearfully,  "we 


must  get  her  away  from  that  den.   Could 
she  not  get  married  ? ' ' 

Miss  Kernoel  shook  her  head.  ' '  Unfort- 
unately, dear,  Pen  van  has  few  marriageable 
men;  and,  besides,  she  has  no  dowry." 

"Then  she  must  wither  away  in  that 
gloomy  hole!"  interposed  Amelia.  "If  it. 
were  I,  aunt,  I  would  rather  earn  my  bread;, 
no  place  could  be  harder  than  where  she 
is." 

The  girl  stopped  in  some  confusion;  for 
Nora  had  entered  unperceived,  and  now 
placed  her  hand  on  her  friend's  shoulder. 

' '  I  would  be  only  too  happy  if  they  would 
let  me  earn  my  bread,  Amelia;  but  the  law 
is  against  me,  and  until  I  am  of  age  I  can 
not  withdraw  from  their  enforced  guardi- 
anship." 

"Now,  children,"  said  Miss  Octavia,  af- 
fectionately, pointing  to  a  low  seat  beside 
her  known  as  Nora's  chair,  "let  us  not 
preach  rebellion  to  our  friend.  If  I  had  any 
influence,  I  would  long  since  have  used  it 
to  make  her  life  pleasanter;  but  Mrs.  Auv- 
rard mistrusts  me,  and  lets  her  come  to  see 
me  unwillingly." 

"I  look  forward  to  my  majority  as  to  my 
escape  from  servitude, ' '  sighed  Nora. 

' '  L,et  us  leave  the  future,  my  loves,  in  the 
hands  of  God.  He  knows  our  burdens,  and 
will  give  us  light  and  fortitude  as  He  sees 
we  need  them.  Come,  Nora,  and  sing  us 
one  of  your  favorites. ' ' 

The  young  girl  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  sing,  but  suddenly  stopped  and 
returned  to  her  place,  shaking  her  head. 
"I  can  not  to  night,"  she  said;  "the  tears 
are  choking  me." 

The  weather,  though  cold — it  was  De- 
cember,— was  dry  and  fine.  Miss  Kernoel 
proposed  a  walk,  and  beckoned  Mary  aside» 

"You  have  most  influence  with  Nora," 
she  whispered;  "try  to  cheer  her;  for  her- 
nerves  are  greatly  unstrung  to  day." 

When  they  reached  the  hard, frozen  road, 
Mary  drew  Nora's  arm  through  hers,  and 
they  dropped  a  little  behind  the  others. 

"Formerly,''  she  murmured, "I  rejoiced 
in  my  Sundays,  and  looked  forward  to  them 
with  the  greatest  pleasure ;  but  now  I  shud- 


446 


The  Ave  Maria. 


der  when  I  think  they  are  the  beginning  of 
another  long,  tedious  week." 

"You  are  ill,  Nora, and  that  influences 
you." 

"No,  I  am  only  wearied  to  death.  Listen, 
Mary;  yesterday  the  daughter  of  my  aunt's 
carpenter  died.  She  was  young  and  pretty, 
as  you  know,  and  every  one  pitied  her;  but 
what  is  there  frightful  in  death?" 

' '  Nothing, ' '  said  Mary,  pressing  her  com- 
panion's arm — "nothing  to  the  Christian; 
but  we  may  not  ask  for  it  before  the  hour 
appointed  by  God.  Is  it  lawful  at  our  age 
to  look  for  rest  ere  we  have  fulfilled  our 
allotted  task?" 

"But  my  life  is  so  sorrowful!  My  aunt 
endures  me,  but  can  not  forgive  me  for  dis- 
turbing the  solitude  she  loves.  I  confide  in 
you,  Mary ;  may  I  not  plan  to  free  my  aunt 
some  day  from  the  burden  of  my  pres- 
ence?" 

The  young  girl  smiled  to  hide  a  tear. 
"Certainly, Noia, you  have  a  right  to  bet- 
ter your  condition,  if  you  can;  but  what 
would  you  like  to  do?  Perhaps  you  have 
thought  of  consecrating  yourself  to  God  ? ' ' 

Nora  shook  her  head.  "Nuns  are  not 
subjected  to  so  hard  a  yoke  as  mine;  for  love 
and  cheerfulness  make  everything  easy. 
But  I  have  no  vocation  for  a  religious  life. ' ' 

'  'What,  then,  are  your  plans? ' '  said  Mary. 

"To  seek  any  kind  of  respectable  em- 
ployment— teaching  little  children,  taking 
care  of  an  invalid ;  anything  rather  than  eat 
the  bread  of  dependence,  which  is  given  so 
grudgingly." 

"Pardon  the  question,  but  do  you  owe 
anything  to  your  aunt? ' ' 

"I  possess, they  tell  me, some  trifling  rev- 
enue— not  enough  for  my  support.  They 
wanted  to  give  it  to  me,  but  I  refused  to 
accept  any  of  it.  O  Mary !  do  you  value  all 
God  has  given  you  ?  You  have  the  best  of 
friends,  who  allow  you  to  know  the  hap- 
piness of  benefiting  others.  I  am  not  even 
permitted  to  visit  the  poor,  or  work  for 
them." 

Mary's  face  brightened.  "Are  you  really 
willing  to  do  a  good  work  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"Indeed  I  am.  Don't  you  know  when  we 


help  others, it  gives  us  more  courage  to  bear 
our  own  burdens?" 

"Even  if  what  I  suggest  were  difficult 
and  repulsive?" 

"Yes:  I  hope  to  have  courage  for  it. 
Tell  me  what  it  is. ' ' 

"Well,  I  shall  confide  to  you  a  secret. 
I  know  you  have  been  very  kind  to  your 
aunt's  servant;  she  tells  me  that  without 
your  help  she  could  never  get  through  with 
her  work,  and  she  is  the  only  support  of 
her  old  mother.  But  do  you  know  what  ails 
her?" 

"No." 

' '  She  suffers  from  an  incurable  cancer. 
Every  day  it  is  dressed  by  us  in  the  hospi- 
tal; but  think  what  an  alleviation  it  would 
be  to  her  to  be  saved  that  long  walk. ' ' 

Deeply  affected,  Nora  exclaimed:  "I  will 
dress  it ! " 

"I  shall  show  you  how,"  said  Mary; 
"and  God  will  reward  you  for  it." 

Without  another  word  they  rejoined  the 
little  party.  Nora's  thoughts  dwelt  with 
emotion  on  the  heroic,  filial  love  of  the  poor 
servant,  and  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  en- 
thusiasm on  the  work  of  Christian  charity 
she  had  undertaken  to  perform. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


A  MIDNIGHT   PENITENT. 


THE  Feast  of  the  Divine  Maternity  was 
over;  the  Spouse  of  Christ  had  sung 
her  soogof  joy  and  thankfulness,  and  Peace 
with  her  drowsy  sister  Sleep  had  descended 
upon  earth.  It  was  past  midnight  in  a  flour- 
ishing manufacturing  city  in  one  of  the 
New  England  States,  when  a  priest  was 
roused  from  slumber  by  an  incessant  knock- 
ing at  his  front  door.  Opening  his  window, 
which  was  directly  overhead,  he  discerned 
a  man  well  advanced  in  years,  and  asked 
him  what  his  errand  was  at  that  late  hour. 

"Open,  Father!  open!"  was  the  reply. 

"But  what  do  you  wish?  —  who  are 
you?" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


447 


"I  am  everything  that  is  vile  and  bad. 
But,  oh,  open,  open  quickly !  I  want  to  go  to 

mm      confession." 

^  Naturally  the  good  priest  thought  the 

man  had  been  drinking,  and  was  about  to 
bid  him  be  off,  when  he  remembered  St. 
Philip  Neri's  remark — that  his  "most  con- 
soling conversions  were  made  in  the  most 
unseasonable  hours," — and  so  he  decided 

_^     to  admit  this  strange  visitor,  and  see,  with 

B.  •  God's  grace,  what  could  be  done  for  him. 
Half  in  doubt  and  half  in  hope,  therefore, 
he  descended  and  threw  wide  the  door. 
Scarcely  had  the  importunate  caller  crossed 
the  threshold,  when  he  fell  upon  his  knees 
and  cried:  "O  Father!  you  see  in  me  a 
most  abandoned  wretch — a  villain  given  up 
to  all  manner  of  crime.  For  months  I  have 
not  seen  the  inside  of  a  church;  for  twenty 
years  I  have  not  been  to  confession.  In  all 
that  time  there  is  hardly  a  sin  which  the 
enemy  of  souls  could  suggest  that  I  have 
not  committed.  I  have  been  a — everything, 
I  believe,  except  a  murderer.  In  this  very 
hour  I  was  on  an  errand  of  sin,  when  my 
dead  mother  appeared  to  me  and  said^  ^Go 
at  once  to  cottfession.''  " 

The  man  was  not  drunk :  he  had  not  even 
been  drinking;  excited  he  certainly  was, 
and  no  wonder.  The  priest  conducted  him  to 
a  private  room,  and  there,  with  tears  stream- 
ing down  his  cheeks,  and  every  other  sign  of 
deep  contrition,  the  penitent  unburthened 
his  soul. 

When  absolution  had  been  given,  the 
priest  said  to  him:  "My  friend,  your  con- 
version is  as  marvellous  as  it  is  consol- 
ing; how  do  you  account  for  it?  What  good 
deed  have  you  ever  done  in  our  Saviour's 
name  ? ' ' 

"Father,"  the  penitent  replied,  "I  can 
explain  the  grace  which  I  have  received 
only  in  this  way:  on  her  death- bed  my  dear 
mother  made  me — then  but  a  lad  of  twenty 
— promise  to  say  the  beads  every  day. 
Wicked  as  I  have  been,  I  have  kept  that 
promise  faithfully — even  when  farthest  on 
the  road  to  perdition." 

The  mystery  was  explained,  and  the 
priest  breathed  an  ejaculation  of  gratitude 


to  the  Refuge  of  Sinners,  the  Queen  of  the 
Holy  Rosary. 

Again  promising  with  God's  help  to 
make  all  possible  atonement  for  the  evils 
of  the  past,  and  to  conform  his  future  life 
to  the  precepts  of  Holy  Mother  Church,  the 
midnight  penitent  departed. 

Readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  dear 
children  of  Mary,  this  is  no  uncertain  le- 
gend, wafted  down  to  us  on  the  breezes  of 
Time  from  the  shadowy  days  of  old:  but  a 
brief  and  simple  narrative  of  what  occurred 
but  a  few  days  ago  in  wide-awake  America 
— "a  plain,  unvarnished  tale,"  which  was 
related  to  me  only  last  night  by  a  brother 
priest,  who  was  the  instrument  of  Our 
Ivady's  goodness.  Need  I  waste  further 
space,  then,  in  pointing  out  to  you  the  self- 
evident  moral? — need  I  exhort  you  to  love 
the  Rosary,  to  cherish  the  Rosary,  to  recite 
the  Rosary? 


The  Devotion  of  November. 


THE  Church  begins  this  month  with  the 
commemoration  of  the  happiness  of  her 
children  now  rejoicing  in  the  possession  of 
the  reward  of  their  fidelity,  and  thus  en- 
courages us  to  imitate  those  blessed  spirits, 
and,  like  them,  to  persevere  to  the  end,  in 
order  to  merit  the  reward  in  store  for  us. 
Then,  at  once,  she  reminds  us  of  those  other 
souls  who  are  destined  to  rejoice  also  with 
the  Church  triumphant,  but  who  are  still 
detained  in  a  state  of  suffering.  She  sets 
apart  the  day  immediately  following  the 
Festival  of  All  Saints,  as  a  day  of  special 
commemoration  of  the  souls  of  the  faithful 
departed;  and  appeals  to  our  charity  in  be- 
half of  all  who  have  died  in  the  Lord — that 
is  to  say,  those  who  have  departed  this  life 
in  the  state  of  grace,  but  whose  purity  of 
soul  was  not  such  as  to  entitle  them  to  an 
immediate  possession  of  their  eternal  in- 
heritance. 

In  a  less  formal  manner  she  has  conse- 
crated the  whole  of  November  to  this  de- 
votion, as  the  month  of  January  is  devoted 
to  the  Holy  Infancy,  March  to  St.  Joseph, 


448 


The  Ave  Maria. 


May  to  Our  Lidy,  etc.  None  could  be  more 
appropriate.  Nature  herself  at  this  season 
reminds  us  of  death,  and  the  storm-laden 
winds  seem  to  echo  the  wail  of  the  departed : 
"Have  mercy  on  me,  have  mercy  on  me, 
at  least  you  my  friends;  for  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  hath  touched  me!" 

Every  Christian  should  carefully  instruct 
himself  on  his  duty  to  the  dead,  and  so  be 
the  means  of  alleviating  and  shortening 
their  sufferings.  They  are  the  elect;  ihey 
are  souls  full  of  love  for  God  and  of  charity 
for  us;  they  are  heirs  of  God  and  members 
of  Jesus  Christ.  All  these  titles  undoubtedly 
give  them  a  right  to  our  suffrages,  and  in 
charity  we  should  do  all  in  our  power  to  re- 
lease them  from  their  imprisonment.  Faith 
teaches  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  alleviate 
their  pains;  and  that  we  are  in  duty  bound 
to  do  so  is  no  less  certain,  since  they  are 
of  the  same  communion  of  saints  as  our- 
selves, and  are,  each  of  them,  that  neighbor 
whom  we  ought  to  love  as  we  love  our- 
selves. 

The  means  which  the  Church  proposes 
to  us  to  aid  these  holy  souls  are:  the  Sac- 
rifice of  the  Mass,  prayer,  fasting,  mortifica- 
tion, alms— in  a  word,  all  good  works  done 
in  the  spirit  of  charity.  She  allows  us  also 
the  privilege  of  gaining,  on  easy  conditions, 
many  indulgences  which  are  applicable  to 
the  souls  in  purgatory. 

Let  us  stir  up  our  faith  and  our  piety, 
arid  seriously  meditate  upon  these  impor- 
tant truths:  ist,  that  sin  is  an  evil  infinitely 
greater  than  we  can  understand,  since  even 
a  single  venial  fault  entails  upon  the  de- 
parted holy  soul  so  severe  a  chastisement; 
2d,  that  the  purity  and  sanctity  of  God  are 
beyond  all  comprehension,  since  the  least 
stain  of  sin  precludes  all  possibility  of  ap- 
proaching Him;  3(3,  that,  as  we  are  in  this 
world  only  to  serve  God,  and  render  our- 
selves worthy  of  an  everlasting  union  with 
Him,  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
we  employ  our  time  to  the  best  advantage; 
4th,  that  the  last  moment  of  our  life,  than 
which  nothing  is  more  uncertain,  will  de- 
cide our  lot  for  all  eternity;  and  that  then 
we  shall  be  j  udged  according  to  our  works, 


— an  eternity  of  happiness  to  be  the  recom- 
pense of  him  who  shall  have  persevered  to 
the  end,  an  eternity  of  woe  the  fate  of  him 
whom  death  shall  surprise  in  a  state  of 
enmity  with  God;  5th,  that  even  the  just, 
according  to  St.  Peter,  shall  hardly  be  saved ; 
that  an  account  must  be  rendered  of  every 
idle  word ;  and  that  those  who  are  not  found 
guiltless  must  be  purified  by  fire,  from 
which,  as  the  holy  Scripture  declares,  they 
shall  not  come  forth  till  they  have  paid  the 
very  last  farthing. 

Devotion  to  the  souls  in  purgatory  is  cal- 
culated to  keep  all  these  salutary  truths  be- 
fore our  mind.  Besides  being  an  exercise  of 
charity  most  acceptable  to  God,  it  reminds 
us  of  our  last  end,  and,  by  showing  us  the 
enormity  of  sin,  removes  us  farther  and 
farther  from  the  danger  of  committing  it. 
It  serves,  therefore,  as  a  most  powerful  in- 
centive to  make  a  good  and  faithful  U5e  of 
the  means  placed  at  our  disposal  whereby 
we  may  work  out  our  eternal  salvation.  At 
the  same  time  we  are  assured  that  the 
exercise  of  our  charity  in  behalf  of  these 
poor  suffering  souls  will  be  rewarded  a 
hundredfold  by  Him  who  repays  even  the 
cup  of  cold  water  given  in  His  name.  And, 
when  called  from  this  life,  should  God,  in 
His  mercy  and  justice,  condemn  us  for  a 
time  to  tho>e  purifying  flames,  we  shall,  in 
turn,  be  most  earnestly  prayed  for,  that  the 
time  of  our  trial  may  be  shortened,  and 
that  we  may  be  speedily  admitted  into  the 
realms  of  eternal  bliss. 


In  our  trials  we  run  to  God,  and  we  do 
well.  Only  we  are  wrong  in  believing  that 
God,  because  he  is  God,  will  infallibly  grant 
prayer  which  we  address  to  Him,  because 
we  address  a  prayer  to  Him.  If  the  effect 
does  not  meet  our  expectations,  we  are'  scan- 
dalized; we  doubt  God  and  His  providence. 
Suppliants  should  show  more  confidence, 
more  resignation,  and  not  "enjoin "  God  to 
deliver  them  from  their  trouble,  thus  placing 
before  Him  the  alternative  of  either  doing 
our  will  or  of  forfeiting  our  good  graces. — 
Abbe  Rouse 


The  Ave  Maria. 


44^9 


Catholic  Notes. 


The."  Heroic  Act"  consists  in  a  voluntary 
offering  made  in  favor  of  the  faithful  departed 
of  all  our  works  of  satisfaction  done  in  this  life, 
as  well  as  of  all  suffrages  which  may  be  offered 
for  us  after  death,  leaving  them  all  in  the 
hands  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  distribute  them 
as  She  pleases.  This  heroic  act  of  charity  has 
frequently  received  the  approbation  of  the 
Church.  It  has  also  been  enriched  with  great 
indulgences;  but  in  the  course  of  time  doubts 
have  arisen  as  to  some  of  the  conditions  for 
gaining  the  indulgences,  and  recently  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Indulgences  issued  a 
'  decree  solving  five  of  those  most  frequently  re- 
curring. The  decree  decides,  in  the  first  place, 
that  indulgences  declared  by  the  Holy  See  to 
be  "applicable  to  the  souls  in  purgatory" 
are  included  amongst  the  opera  saiisfadoria, 
which  by  the  Heroic  Act  are  offered  for  the 
faithful  departed.  Secondly,  those  who  reserve 
to  themselves  indulgences  granted  to  the  liv- 
ing do  not  satisfy  the  conditions,  but  are 
bound  to  apply  them  all  to  the  holy  souls, 
in  accordance  with  the  words  of  the  indult. 
Thirdly, it  is  not  an  integral  part  of  the  Heroic 
Act  that  the  dispensation  of  these  spiritual 
favors  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  Our 
lyady.  Fourthly,  the  plenary  indulgence 
which  a  person  who  has  made  the  Heroic  Act 
will  gain  by  going  to  Holy  Communion,  or  by 
hearing  Mass  on  Mondays,  need  not  be  placed 
at  the  disposal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  but  may 
be  applied  to  any  of  the  poor  souls  at  the  dis- 
<;retion  of  the  donor.  lyastly,  a  priest  who  has 
made  the  Heroic  Act,  and  who  is  using  the 
privilege  which  some  priests  possess  at  Mass 
of  what  is  called  a  "Privileged  Altar," must 
apply  the  plenary  indulgence  gained  thereby 
to  the  soul  of  the  person  for  whom  the  Mass 
is  offered.  

The  many  miracles  wrought  through  the 
favor  of  Our  I^ady  of  Lourdes  have  long  been 
a  stumbling-block  to  scientific  skeptics,  who 
are  forced  to  admit  the  truth  of  the  wonderful 
<:ures  effected,  and  the  impossibility  of  ac- 
counting for  them  by  any  of  the  results  of 
modern  scientific  investigation.  As  a  last  re- 
sort they  have  gladly  seized  upon  the  effects 
of  hypnotism  as  shown  by  recent  experiments, 
and  think  to  find  in  them  a  way  out  of  their 
difficulty, declaring  that  this  *  'new,  discovery ' ' 


produces  effects  precisely  analogous  to  the 
wonders  of  Lourdes.  But  here  again  they  have 
been  confronted  by  true  science,  and  their 
theory  destroyed  by  one  of  the  learned  phy- 
sicians constituting  the  medical  commission 
at  lyourdes.  The  latter  has  addressed  a  letter 
to  the  Univers,  in  which  he  analyzes  the 
new  "system,"  and  shows  how  far  removed 
it  is  from  serving  as  an  explanation  of  these 
miraculous  cures.  Hypnotism  is  strongly  con- 
demned as  being,  at  best,  but  a  mere  experi- 
ment, without  any  profit  to  the  invalid  subject. 
Besides,  while  it  sometimes  modifies  a  symp- 
tom, or  gives  movement  or  sensibility  to  some 
bodily  member,  it  does  not  remove  the  cause 
of  the  evil,  and  more  frequently  aggravates  it. 
Then,  too,  the  action  of  the  experiments,  to  be 
effective,  must,  like  magnetism,  be  influenced 
by  the  condition  or  susceptibility  of  the  pa- 
tient. 

Now,  with  the  facts  observed  at  Lourdes 
there  is  nothing  analogous  presented  else- 
where. Among  those  who  come  seeking  relief 
and  obtain  it,  there  is  every  possible  variety  of 
character  and  disposition.  The  cures  obtained 
and  attested  by  the  highest  medical  and 
scientific  skill  are  enduring.  There  is  no  need 
for  the  patient  to  return  in  eight  days  or  a 
month  to  seek  new  strength.  In  hypnotism, 
whatever  relief  is  gained  is  of  short  duration 
and,  at  frequent  intervals,  recourse  must  be 
had  to  the  same  means  to  produce  the  same  ef- 
fects in  the  weak-minded  subject.  At  Lourdes 
each  year  pious  pilgrims  may  be  seen  kneel- 
ing in  gratitude  for  cures  obtained  long  years 
before.  They  have  suffered  no  relapse.  They 
have  not,  indeed,  been  exempt  from  the  ordi- 
nary laws  of  nature:  they  may  have  met  with 
accidents  or  suffered  from  other  causes:  but 
the  malady  once  cured  has  remained  cured. 


A  friend,  who  lately  visited  Knock,  informs 
us  that  he  counted  one  hundred  and  sixty 
crutches  inside  the  railing  of  the  church,  left 
there  by  persons  who  had  been  cured.  Out- 
side the  enclosure  hundreds  of  sticks  and 
other  articles  are  to  be  seen,  each  represent- 
ing a  cure. 

The  only  painting  that  adorns  the  chapel 
of  Vassar  College,  the  fashionable  Protestant 
school  for  young  ladies  at  Poughkeepsie,New 
York,  is  a  copy  of  the  Dresden  Madonna.  No 
higher  model  for  maid  or  matron  could  be 
offered  to  the  pupils  of  that  institution  than- 


450 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  Virgin  Mother  of  the  Lord.—  The  Catholic 
American. 


Bishop  Raimoundi,  of  Hong-Kong.  China, 
arrived  a  few  days  ago  in  San  Francisco,  on 
a  visit  to  the  United  States  for  the  purpose  of 
collecting  funds  for  his  new  cathedral.  To  a 
representative  of  the  Monitor  of  that  city  the 
venerable  prelate  furnished  some  interesting 
details  concerning  the  spiritual  condition  of 
his  diocese,  which,  considering  its  recent  or- 
ganization, has  made  rapid  and  marvellous 
progress.  Amongst  the  many  institutions  of 
learning  and  charity  there,  the  following  may 
be  mentioned:  St.  Joseph's  College  for  higher 
students,  conducted  by  lo  Christian  Brothers, 
and  attended  by  300  pupils.  An  industrial  and 
reformatory  institution,  under  the  patronage 
of  the  Government,  with  100  inmates.  A  con- 
vent for  girls,  managed  by  Sisters  of  Charity; 
attendance,  200.  A  Theological  Seminary  with 
about  15  students.  A  select  school  for  young 
ladies;  attendance,  40.  Two  orphan  asylums 
for  girls;  attendance,  350.  An  asylum  for  boys; 
attendance,  25.  House  of  the  Good  Shepherd, 
conducted  by  Sisters  of  Charity;  inmates,  40. 
A  fine  hospital  conducted  by  the  same  relig- 
ious, and  having  from  30  to  40  patients.    His 
lyOrdship  stated  that  the  Protestant  missions 
are  in  a  sorry  state.    The  ministers  are  di- 
vided between  themselves  over  contradictory 
Chinese   translations  of  the  Bible,  and  are 
otherwise  at  variance.  The  Bishop  expressed 
his  firm  conviction  that  China  would  in  time 
be  Catholic,  as  it  was  ages  ago;  and  that  even 
now  the  spirit  of  Christ's  religion  was  surely 
penetrating  the  great  Empire. 

( 

A  meeting  was  held  recently  in  Chicago  of 
the  prominent  Catholic  residents  of  the  West 
Side  to  arrange  for  the  celebration  of  the 
golden  jubilee  of  the  Rev.  Father  Damen,  S.  J. 
It  was  decided  to  erect  in  his  honor  a  free 
hospital  at  a  cost  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and 
committees  were  appointed  for  the  execution 
of  this  admirable  project.  Father  Damen  is  one 
of  the  best-known  priests  in  America;  for  his 
missionary  labors,  so  abundantly  blessed,  have 
extended  throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  United  States.  We  most  heartily  wish 
the  proj  ectors  of  the  hospital  the  success  which 
their  undertaking  so  richly  deserves. 


The  department  of  Ecuador  in  the  Vatican 
Exposition  is  to  be  surmounted  by  a  grand, 


full-length  portrait  of  the  Catholic  hero,  Ga- 
briel Garcia  Moreno.  The  frame  will  be  made 
of  the  most  precious  woods  of  the  country. 
The  picture,  which  is  life-size,  represents  the 
subject  in  the  act  of  offering  to  the  world 
the  only  protest  uttered  by  any  government 
to  the  occupation  of  Rome,  which  is  written 
on  a  scroll  held  in  the  right  hand.  On  the 
upper  part  of  the  canvas,  amongst  clouds  of 
glory,  appears  the  Sacred  Heart,  to  which  the 
hero  consecrated  his  beloved  country.  At  the 
foot  of  the  portrait  is  Garcia  Moreno's  famous 
utterance, ' '  God  dies  not ' ' ;  implying  that  the 
triumph  of  the  Pontificate  in  the  Golden  Jubi- 
lee of  Leo  XIII.  is  due  to  the  Sacred  Heart 
of  Jesus.  Beneath  the  picture  is  the  following 
inscription  taken  from  the  Allocution  of  the 
immortal  Pius  IX.  to  the  pilgrims  of  Laval: 
Gabriel  Garcia  Moreno,  y^quatoriance  Reipub- 
liccB  Prases,  cecidit  fidei  victima  et  Christianee 
in  patriam  charitatis. — "Gabriel  Garcia  Mo- 
reno, President  of  the  Republic  of  Ecuador, 
fell  a  victim  of  faith  and  of  Christian  charity 
towards  his  country.." 


The  eccentric  Train  used  to  tell  a  good 
story  which  gives  a  very  practical  idea  of  the 
difference  between  Catholic  and  Protestant 
missionaries.  It  is  retold  by  the  American 
Catholic  News,  of  New  York.  When  he  was  a 
little  boy  attending  school  in  Massachusetts 
his  sympathies  were  excited  by  the  accounts 
his  teacher  used  to  give  of  the  hardships  en- 
dured by  Protestant  missionaries  in  spreading 
the  faith  among  the  heathen.  By  dint  of  extra 
work  he  was  enabled  to  earn  twenty-five  cents 
weekly,  which  he  handed  in  to  aid  the  foreign 
missions.  When  he  grew  up  to  manhood,  cir- 
cumstances brought  Train  to  China,  and  he 
paid  a  visit  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  Protes- 
tant missionaries  there.  It  was  not  the  kind  of 
building  he  expected,  and  in  the  massive  silver 
knob  which  ornamented  the  door,  he  thought 
he  saw  many  of  the  ' '  quarters ' '  that  he  con- 
tributed when  a  boy.  A  few  miles  from  this 
palatial  residence, Train  met  a  Catholic  priest 
"trying  to  drag  a  donkey  and  cart  through 
the  sand. ' '  He  was  bound  on  errands  of  mercy, 
a  physician  alike  of  soul  and  body.  Further 
acquaintance  with  the  Father  led  Train  to 
say:  "If  I  were  once  more  a  little  boy  in 
Massachusetts,  and  had  twenty-five  cents  to 
spare  every  week,  I  would  know  better  what 
missionary  society  to  give  it  to." 


i 


The  Ave  Maria, 


451 


New  Publications. 


The  Teaching  of  St.  Benedict,  By  the 
Very  Rev.  Francis  Cuthbert  Doyle,  O.  S.  B.  Lon- 
don: Burns  &  Oates.  New  York:  The  Catholic 
Publication  Society  Co. 

A  most  interesting  book,  giving  evidence  of 
great  painstaking  in  what  has  been  evidently 
a  work  of  love.  The  influence  of  St.  Benedict 
and  his  Rule  on  the  civilization  of  modern 
times  may  be  gleaned  from  an  attentive  peru- 
sal of  this  work,  in  connection  with  the  his- 
torical records  of  the  forms  of  barbarism  with 
which  St.  Benedict  had  to  contend.  His  mon- 
asteries were  so  many  oases  of  peace,  charity, 
and  learning,  in  a  howling  wilderness  of  igno- 
rance and  bloodshed.  Their  denizens  were  the 
men  who  proved  the  old  adage  that  the  pen 
is  mightier  than  the  sword, — who  lived  up  to 
the  sacred  injunction,  "Be  not  overcome  by 
evil,  but  overcome  evil  by  good. ' '  As  one  turns 
the  pages  of  this  little  book,  one  can  not  but 
be  struck  by  the  paternal  tenderness  of  St. 
Benedict,  foreseeing  and  providing  for  all  the 
wants  of  his  children — spiritual,  mental  and 
physical, — from  the  most  sublime  religious 
contemplation  to  the  details  of  food  and  rai- 
ment. Prefixed  to  the  main  body  of  the  work 
is  a  short  life  of  the  Saint,  narrating  his  trials 
and  subsequent  victory  in  the  endeavor  to  re- 
store the  monastic  life  to  its  original  perfec- 
tion. Even  those  engaged  in,  secular  life  may 
read  this  volume  with  profit,  and  to  the  relig- 
ious it  is  a  treasure  indeed. 

We  have  received  a  very  interesting 


and  instructive  biographical  sketch bf  Thomas 
FitzSimons,  Pennsylvania's  Catholic  signer 
of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  pub- 
lished from  the  press  of  The  American  Catholic 
Historical  Researches.  Mr.  Martin  I.J.  Griffin, 
of  Philadelphia,  is  its  author,  and  it  was  read 
before  the  American  Catholic  Historical  Soci- 
ety of  that  city.  In  his  day  Mr.  FitzSimons 
was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  enlightened 
and  intelligent  merchants  in  the  United  States 
He  was  conspicuous  throughout  the  Revolu- 
tionary War  for  his  strong  advocacy  of  and 
steadfast  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  patriots 
— American  Independence.  Indeed,  in  the 
early  part  of  the  war  he  raised  a  company,  and 
served  for  a  timejin  the  Continental  army.  At 
a  later  period  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  fur- 


nish the  Government  with  money  and  supplies 
for  the  use  of  its  soldiers.  Washington  and 
Hamilton  were  among  those  who  greatly  ap- 
preciated his  services  and  highly  respected 
him.  In  1782  he  was  elected  to  the  Conti- 
nental Congress,  which  existed  under  the  arti- 
cles of  Confederation.  He  was  also  chosen  at 
different  times  to  hold  offices  under  the  State 
Government.  He  exercised  much  influence  in 
directing  and  shaping  the  financial  policy  of 
the  Federal  Government,  and  it  was  largely 
through  his  instrumentality  that  the  protec- 
tive tariff"  came  to  be  established  as  a  leading 
feature  of  the  American  economic  system.  In 
private  life  he  was  gentle  and  generous.  Arch- 
bishop Carroll  and  Bishop  Egan  were  among 
his  intimate  friends.  He  died  August  26,  181 1, 
in  the  70th  year  of  his  age. 


Obituary. 


"  //  ts  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Francis  B.  Hannigan,  C.  M.,  who 
breathed  his  last  on  the  i6th  ult.,  at  the  Seminary 
of  Our  Lady  of  Angels,  Niagara,  N.  Y.  He  was 
truly  a  njan  of  God,  and  won  the  aflfectionate  re- 
gard of  all  who  formed  his  acquaintance. 

Mother  M.  Devereux,  whose  precious  death  oc- 
curred at  the  Convent  of  Mercy,  Newbury,  N.  Y. 

Sister  Avelina,  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  who 
was  called  to  the  reward  of  her  self-sacrificing  life 
on  the  3d  ult.,  at  St.  Ann's  Infant  Asylum,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C. 

Miss  Caroline  Tessier,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
who  departed  this  life  on  the  6th  of  October,  at 
Vitry-le-Fran9ois,  France. 

Mr.  Thomas  Mattimore  a  prominent  and  highly 
respected  citizen  of  Albany, N.Y.,  who  died  on  the 
i6th  ult.  His  loss  is  mourned  by  all  classes  of  the 
community,  and  the  unusually  large  attendance 
at  his  funeral  was  a  public  tribute  to  his  many 
noble  qualities  as  a  man  and  a  Christian. 

Daniel  F.  McCarthy,  who  passed  away  on  the 
12th  ult.,  at  Avoca,  Iowa,  after  a  long  and  painful 
illness.  He  was  a  man  of  faith,  and  tenderly  de- 
voted to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose  Rosary  was 
always  in  his  hands  during  his  last  illness. 

Mrs.  Agnes  Tighe,  of  Omaha,  Neb. ;  Mrs.  Mary 
O'Donnell,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.;  Mrs.  Dorothy  Cum- 
iskey,  Lowell,  Mass. ;  and  Mary  Teresa  O'Hearn, 
Toronto,  Out. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


452 


The  Ave  Marza. 


PAHTMENt 


A  Good  Turn  that  Served  Another. 


"Stop  pushing,  you  young  scapegrace! " 

' '  I  want  to  see,  captain,  and  I  can't  see  a 
thing!" 

"But  the  procession  isn't  in  sight  yet. 
Keep  quiet,  and  wait  like  the  rest  of  us." 

' '  There,  now !  Don' t  you  hear  the  drums  ? 
They  must  be  coming  out  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  I  sha'n't  see  a  thing.  And  Corpus 
Christi  won't    come   again    for   a   whole 


I" 


year 

And,  trying  to  balance  himself  on  the 
tips  of  his  copper-toed,  hobnailed  shoes,  he 
gave  one  neighbor  a  shove,  tumbled  against 
another,  and  trod  on  the  toes  of  a  third; 
keeping  up  all  the  while  a  vociferous  shout- 
ing, by  way  of  doing  honor  to  the  procession 
which  was  about  to  pass. 

The  crowd  began  to  murmur. 

"Will  you  keep  quiet  or  not?"  I  re- 
peated. "The  next  thing  you'll  be  want- 
ing me  to  lift  you  up,  I  suppose,  so  that  you 
can  see!" 

"Oh, //^^j^  do,  sir!" 

But  before  I  answered — and,  I  certainly 
had  no  intention  of  conjplying  with  the 
request — the  little  urchin, who  was  a  skilful 
climber,  had  mounted  my  back,  and  delib- 
erately ensconced  himself  astride  my  shoul- 
ders. How  he  accomplished  the  feat,  he  did 
not  give  me  time  to  see;  but  it  was  no  use 
struggling:  the  thing  was  done.  I  hadn't 
the  heart  to  put  him  down,  he  seemed  so 
eager  to  view  the  procession;  besides,  it  was 
no  time  for  a  scene. 

The  trumpeters,  who  opened  the  proces- 
sion, were  already  in  a  line  with  us.  After 
the  musicians,  came  the  police;  then  the 
school-children,  boys  and  girls;  next  the 
college  students,  and  the  different  societies, 
preceded  by  their  gaily-colored  banners, 
like  regimental  flags;  then  followed   the 


clerg>  ;  and  last  of  all,  under  a  canopy  of 
velvet  and  gold,  walked  the  Bishop,  carry- 
ing the  Blessed  Sacrament.  At  the  four 
corners  of  the  canopy,  with  the  cords  in 
their  hands,  were  to  be  seen  our  general,  the 
governor,  the  judge,  and  the  mayor.  Then 
followed  a  crowd  of  fervent  worshippers,  all 
mingled  together  in  perfect  equality,  and 
showing  a  most  edifying  spirit  of  recol- 
lection. A  company  of  dragoons  closed  the 
procession. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  beautiful!  Isn't  it  beauti- 
ful!" exclaimed  mv  little  vagabond,  in  a 
low,  almost  awestruck  voice.  "Ob,  here 
come  the  altar- boys!  How  I  wish  I  were 
one  of  them ! ' ' 

In  his  intense  delight,  the  child  hammered 
away  at  my  chest  with  his  heavily-nailed 
shoes;  then  with  the  dexterity  of  a  mon- 
key he  slid  down  from  my  back,  and  with  a 
' '  Thank  you,  sir, — thank  you  very  much ! ' ' 
ran  off  as  fast  as  he  could  towards  the 
cathedral. 

Meanwhile  the  procession  wound  its  way 
slowly  along  the  sireets.  The  houses  were 
hung  with  red  and  white  draperies,and  gar- 
lands of  fresh  flowers.  The  pavement  was 
thickly  strewn  with  rose-leaves  and  flowers 
of  every  hue,  whose  perfume  mingled  with 
the  clouds  of  incense. 

Before  my  little  friend  had  climbed  up 
my  back,  I  had  bestowed  a  few'minutes'  ob- 
servation on  him.  He  was  about  ten  years 
old,  with  thick,  unkempt  black  hair,  which 
stood  out  in  all  directions.  His  eyes  were 
intelligent  and  frank- looking,  and  there  was 
on  his  features  a  general  air  of  honesty  and 
truthfulness.  In  a  word,  it  was  a  face  which 
once  seen  was  not  easily  forgotten. 

I  started  off  for  a  short  stroll  through  the 
town,  and  returned  to  the  square  jiist  as  the 
procession  was  re-entering  the  cathedral. 
My  eyes  were  resting  mechanically  on  the 
troop  of  altar-boys  preceding  the  canopy, 
when  whom  should  I  see  but  my  little 
friend,  in  rtd  cassock  and  white  surplice, 
a  red  beretta  pressed  onto  that  rebellious 
head  of  hair,  and  his  whole  expression  as 
serious  as  at  owl !  He  recognized  me,  gave 
me  an  almost  imperceptible][wink  expres- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


453 


fiive  of  suppressed  satisfaction,  and  marched 
on  with  the  rest  under  the  portals  of  the 
church. 

The  master  of  ceremonies  was  aware  of  the 
presence  of  the  intruder;  but,  as  the  little 
fellow  behaved  very  well,  imitating  scrupu- 
lously the  movements  of  the  other  boys,  he 
thought  it  best  to  say  nothing,  especially 
as  the  whole  affair  had  taken  place  under 
the  eyes  of  the  Bishop  himself,  as  well  as  of 
the  town  authorities,  none  of  whom,  how- 
ever, had  observed  it.  But  once  inside  the 
walls  of  the  sacristy,  it  was  quite  another 
matter:  there  things  were  not  to  be  taken 
so  coolly. 

"Who  are  you?  Where  do  you  come 
from?  How  do  you  happen  to  have  that 
cassock  on?  "  asked  the  priest,  in  a  stern 
voice. 

'*0h,  please  don't  scold  me.  Father!  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  climbed  up  on 
the  shoulders  of  a  kind  officer,  and  he  let  me 
«ee  it  all.  But  when  I  saw  Peter  and  Louis 
And  Francis  all  dressed  up  with  the  other 
-altar-boys,  I  thought  to  myself, '  Why  can' t 
I  have  some  of  those  nice  things  on  as  well 
as  they?'  Once,  when  I  had  been  playing 
with  them, I  went  into  the  sacristy,and  they 
showed  me  where  they  kept  their  cassocks. 
€o  I  jumped  down,  and  ran  hete  as  fast  as 
I  could,  and  dressed  myself.  Then  I  ran 
across  the  town,  and  came  up  with  the  pro- 
cession before  it  was  half-way  back,  and — 
and — here  I  am !  I  didn't  mean  to  steal  any- 
thing, Father;  I  have  brought  everything 
back — oh!  please  forgive  me"  (the  priest 
was  looking  at  some  fresh  spots  on  the  cas- 
sock); *'it  is  a  little  stained;  but  I  couldn't 
help  crying  when  I  was  with  the  other 
fellows;  and  yet  I  was  so  happy, and  it  was 
so  beautiful ! ' ' 

The  good  priest  looked  and  listened.  The 
child  had  taken  off  his  surplice,  and  now 
stood  before  him,  dressed  like  a  little  cardi- 
nal, apparently  finding  it  very  hard  to  part 
with  that  fine  red  costume.  Just  then  a  ray 
of  sunlight,  passing  through  the  stained- 
glass  window  of  the  sacristy,  lit  up  his  head 
and  face  with  a  sort  of  aureole.  What  might 
it  not  foreshadow?  , 


*' Would  you  like  to  be  an  altar-boy?" 
"Oh,  indeed  I  would.  Father!" 
"Then  come  with  me." 
And  the  little  fellow  followed. 

I  must  now,  as  the  novelists  say,  beg  my 
young  readers  to  pass  over  a  space  of  some 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years,  and  accompany  me 
to  Tonquin.  I  was  on  service  there  in  1885, 
and  at  the  battle  of  Tuy  en-  Quan  I  received  a 
wound  in  the  leg.  Stretched  on  the  ground 
under  that  torrid  sky,  with  a  burning  fever, 
I  was  in  anything  but  a  happy  frame  of 
mind,  when  the  military  chaplain  happened 
to  pa'^s  by.  Be  was  a  vigorous,  well-built 
man,  with  a  very  sympathetic  face. 

"You  are  wounded.  General?" 

"Yes,  in  the  thigh.  I  can  not  put  my 
foot  to  the  ground. ' ' 

He  looked  at  me  steadily  for  a  moment, 
as  though  trying  to  recall  some  vague 
memory. 

"Suppose  I  try  to  get  you  up  on  my 
shoulders.  General?  The  ambulance  is  not 
far  off;  I  will  carry  you  to  it." 

I  objected,  but  he  insisted;  and,  as  I  had 
no  special  desire  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
those  heathen  Chinese,  at  last,  with  some 
difficulty  and  much  pain,  I  found  myself 
mounted  on  the  back  of  the  good  chaplain, 
who  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  notwith- 
standing his  load.  Now  and  then  a  ball 
whizzed  by  us,  for  the  battle  was  not  yet 
over.  "That  must  be  meant  for  me,''  he 
would  say ;  ' '  you  have  had  yours. ' '  And  he 
laughed  as  heartily  as  a  boy. 

Just  as  we  reached  the  ambulance,  we 
heard  shouts  of  victory,  and  saw  the  Chinese 
flying  in  all  directions,  throwing  down  their 
arms  and  their  diabolical-looking  stand- 
ards, while  our  tricolored  flag  flung  out  its 
folds  defiantly  to  the  breeze. 

"Thank  God!  is  it  not  beautiful— our 
flag  flying  yonder!"  exclaimed  the  chap- 
lain. 

"/y  it  not  beautiful P''  These  words,  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  and  my  position  on  his 
back,  seemed  to  throw  a  sudden  light  on 
my  memory.  Yes,  this  young  priest  was 
once  that  little  boy  who  had  climbed  onto 


454 


The  Ave  Maria. 


my  shoulders  the  day  of  the  procession  of 

Corpus  Christ!  at  B ,  so  many  years  ago, 

when  I  was  only  a  simple  lieutenant. 

"Yes,  a  glorious  sight!"  I  answered. 
*'And,  Father,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  once 
saw  a  grand  sight  astride  viy  shoulders!" 

He  turned  quickly,  and  looked  in  my 
face.  I  was  recognized;  in  fact,  as  he  after- 
wards said,  he  had  a  suspicion  of  my  iden- 
tity when  he  first  saw  me  It  was  a  happy 
moment  for  us  both — at  least  I  know  it  was 
for  me. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said  again,  in  a  low 
voice;  then,  pressing  my  hand  in  a  cordial 
grasp,  he  added,  "one  good.turn  serves  an- 
other." 

Now  you  know  why  Father  S and  I 

are  such  warm  friends.  I  am  proud  of  his 
friendship,  and  I  like  to  think  I  might  be 
more  unworthy  of  it 


From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes. 


(Continued.) 

The  first  day  Marco  walked  as  long  as 
his  strength  would  permit,  and  at  night 
slept  under  a  tree.  On  the  second  day  his 
spirits  began  to  droop,  and  he  made  consid- 
erably less  progress.  His  shoes  were  broken, 
his  feet  bruised,  and  he  was  faint  from 
hunger.  Towards  evening  he  was  seriously 
alarmed.  He  had  been  told  in  Italy  that  in 
this  land  there  were  serpents,  and  he  now 
fancied  that  he  heard  them  crawling.  His 
blood  began  to  chill;  he  halted  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  set  out  on  a  run.  At  times 
he  was  fairly  overcome  with  sadness,  and 
wept  bitterly.  Then  suddenly  he  said  to 
himself:  "Oh, how  much  my  dear  mother 
would  sufier  if  she  knew  that  I  am  afraid ! " 
And  his  mind  reverted  to  his  happy  days 
in  Genoa;  he  recalled  his  mother's  words 
when  she  was  leaving  home,  and  the  lov- 
ing care  she  bestowed  on  him,  smoothing 
his  little  pillow,  and  tenderly  arranging  the 
coverlet  beneath  his  chin  when  he  was  in 
bed;  and  he  remembered  that  every  time 
she  took  him  in  her  arras,  she  said  to  him, 
"Stay  here  a  little  while  with  me";  and 


thus  she  remained  for  a  long  time,  with  her 
head  resting  on  his. 

These  thoughts  gave  him  fresh  courage, 
and  he  felt  his  heart  expand.  "Shall  I  see 
thee  again,  dear  mother?"  he  exclaimed, 
in  raptures.  "Shall  I  arrive  at  the  end  of 
my  journey  and  meet  thee,  my  mother?" 
And  he  walked  on  and  on,  among  strange 
trees,  vast  plantations  of  sugar-cane,  and 
fields  without  end ;  always  with  those  blue 
mountains  in  front  of  him,  which  cut  the 
sky  with  their  great,  lofty  crests.  Four  days, 
five  days— ^a  week  passed  He  was  over- 
come with  fatigue;  his  feet  were  bleeding. 
Finally,  one  evening  at  sunset  they  said  to 
him:  "Tucuman  is  fifty  miles  from  here." 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  and  hastened  his 
steps,  as  though  he  had,  in  that  moment, 
regained  all  his  lost  vigor.  But  it  was  a 
brief  illusion;  his  strength  suddenly  failed, 
and  he  fell  upon  the  brink  of  a  ditch,  ex- 
hausted. Still,  his  heart  was  beating  with 
content  and  expectation.  The  heaven, 
thickly  spangled  with  brilliant  stars,  had 
never  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him.  He  con- 
templated it  as  he  lay  on  the  grass  to  sleep, 
and  thought  that  perhaps  at  that  very  mo- 
ment his  mother  was  thinking  of  him.  And 
he  said:  "O  my  mother!  where  art  thou? 
What  art  thou  doing  now?  Dost  thou  think 
of  thy  son? — dost  thou  think  of  thy  Marco, 
who  is  so  near  thee?" 

Poor  boy !  Could  he  have  seen  the  con- 
dition in  which  his  mother  was  at  that  mo- 
ment, he  would  have  made  a  superhuman 
effort  to  proceed  on  his  way,  and  reach  her 
a  few  hours  earlier.  She  was  confined  to 
her  bed,  in  a  room  of  the  lordly  mansion 
of  the  Mcquinez  family.  They  had  all  be- 
come very  fond  of  her,  and  had  done  every- 
thing in  their  power  to  make  her  happy 
and  resigned.  But  the  poor  woman  had 
already  been  ailing  when  the  Engineer 
Mequinez  left  Buenos  Ayres,  and  the  fine 
air  of  Cordova  had  wrought  no  improve- 
ment in  her  condition.  Then  the  fact  that 
her  husbmd  or  her  cousin  had  not  replied 
to  her  letters,  and  the  continual  anxiety  in 
which  she  had  lived,  had  undermined  her 
constitution,  and  finally  a  serious  internal 


The  Ave  Maria. 


455 


malady  had  developed  itself.  She  had  not 
risen  from  her  bed  for  a  fortnight.  A  cele- 
brated physician  of  Tucuman  had  been 
summoned,  and  he  declared  that  a  surgical 
operation  was  necessary  to  save  her  life. 
And  at  precisely  the  moment  when  Marco 
was  apostrophizing  her,  the  master  and  mis- 
tress of  the  house  were  standing  beside  her 
bed,  arguing  with  great  gentleness  to  per- 
suade her  to  consent  to  the  operation,  and 
she  was  persisting  in  her  refusal,  and  weep- 
ing. 

"No,  my  dear  master,"  she  said;  "do 
not  count  upon  it;  I  have  not  the  strength 
to  bear  it;  I  should  die  under  the  surgeon's 
knife.  It  is  better  to  allow  me  to  depart 
thus.  I  no  longer  cling  to  life.  All  is  at  an 
end  for  me.  It  is  better  to  die  before  learn- 
ing what  has  happened  to  my  family." 

And  her  master  and  mistress  persisted, 
encouraging  her  with  words  of  consolation 
and  hope;  they  assured  her  that  she  would 
receive  a  reply  to  the  last  letters,  which  had 
been  sent  directly  to  Genoa ;  and  implored 
her  for  the  sake  of  her  husband  and  chil- 
dren to  consent  to  the  operation.  But  this 
allusion  to  her  family  only  aggravated  her 
profound  discouragement,  and  with  in- 
creased anguish  she  burst  into  tears. 

"O  my  husband!  my  sons!"  she  ex- 
claimed, wringing  her  hands ;  \  "  perhaps 
they  are  no  longer  alive!  It  is  better  that  I 
should  die  also.  I  thank  you,  my  good  mas- 
ter and  mistress, — I  thank  you  from  my 
heart.  But  it  is  better  that  I  should  die.  I 
am  certain  that  I  should  not  be  cured  by 
this  operation.  Thanks  for  all  your  care;  but 
it  is  useless  for  the  doctor  to  come  again 
after  to-morrow.  I  wish  to  die.  It  is  God's 
will  that  I  should  die  here.  I  am  resigned." 

And  still  they  remonstrated,  taking  her 
hand,  and  repeating  tenderly,  "Don't  say 
that;  there  is  every  reason  to  hope.  Have 
courage. ' ' 

But  she  closed  her  eyes  in  exhaustion, 
and  fell  into  a  doze,  so  that  she  appeared 
to  be  dead.  And  her  master  and  mistress 
remained  there  watching  with  great  com- 
passion that  admirable  mother,  who  for  love 
of  her  family  had  come  to  die  six  thousand 


miles  from  home, — to  die  after  having  toiled 
so  hard.  Poor  woman !  And  she  was  so  hon- 
est, so  good,  so  unfortunate! 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  Marco, 
with  his  bag  on  his  back,  entered  Tucuman, 
one  of  the  youngest  and  most  flourishing 
cities  of  the  Argentine  Republic.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  beheld  again  Cordova,  Ro- 
sario,  Buenos  Ay  res;  there  were  the  same 
straight  and  very  long  streets,  the  same 
low  houses.  As  he  walked  along  he  expe- 
rienced once  more  the  agitation  which  had 
seized  on  him  at  Buenos  Ayres ;  he  looked 
at  the  windows  and  doors  of  the  houses,  and 
stared  at  all  the  women  who  passed  him, 
with  an  anxious  hope  that  he  might  meet 
his  mother;  he  would  have  liked  to  question 
them,  but  did  not  dare  to  stop  any  one.  All 
the  people  who  were  standing  at  their  doors 
turned  to  gaze  after  the  tattered,  dusty  lad, 
who  evidently  had  come  from  afar. 

The  poor  boy  was  seeking  among  all  these 
strangers  a  countenance  which  should  in- 
spire him  with  confidence,  in  order  to  pro- 
pose his  query, when  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
sign  of  an  inn  upon  which  was  inscribed  an 
Italian  name.  Inside  were  a  man  with  spec- 
tacles and  two  women.  He  approached  the 
door  slowly,  and,  summoning  up  courage, 
inquired: 

"Signor^can  you  tell  me  where  the  En- 
gineer Mequinez  lives?" 

"The  Mequinez  family  is  not  in  Tucu- 
man," replied  the  innkeeper. 

A  cry  of  desperate  pain,  like  that  of  one 
who  has  been  stabbed,  formed  an  echo  to 
these  words.  The  innkeeper  and  the  women 
rose,  and  some  neighbors  ran  up. 

' '  What' s  the  matter  ?— what  ails  you,  my 
boy?"  said  the  innkeeper,  drawing  him 
into  the  shop  and  making  him  sit  down. 
"Tiiere's  no  reason  for  despairing.  The 
Mequinez  family  is  only  a  little  distance  oflf 
— a  few  hours'  walk  from  Tucuman." 

"Where?  where?  Pray  tell  me!"  cried 
Marco,  springing  up  like  one  restored  ta 
life. 

"Fifteen  miles  from  here,"  continued 
the  man;  "on  the  river,  at  Saladillo.  Signor 
Mequinez's  mansion  is  in  a  place  where  a 


456 


The  Ave  Maria. 


big  sugar  factory  is  being  built;  every  one 
knows  it:  you  can  reach  it  in  a  few  hours." 

"I  was  there  a  month  ago,"  said  a  youth 
who  had  hastened  up  at  the  cry. 

Marco  stared  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes, 
and  asked  him,  hastily:  ''Did  you  see  the 
servant  of  Signor  Meqainez — the  Italian?" 

"The  Genoese?   Yes,  I  saw  her." 

Marco  broke  into  a  convulsive  cry,  which 
was  half  a  laugh  and  half  a  sob.  ' '  That's  my 
mother!"  Then  he  asked:  "Which  way 
am  I  to  go?  I  shall  set  out  instantly;  show 
me  the  way,  please! " 

"But  it  is  a  long  walk,"  they  all  told 
him  in  one  breath.  ' '  You  are  weary ;  you 
should  rest;  you  can  set  out  to  morrow." 

"Impossible!  impossible!"  replied  the 
lad.  "Tell  me  the  way;  I  will  not  wait 
another  instant;  I  shall  set  out  at  once, 
were  I  to  die  on  the  road! " 

Seeing  him  so  inflexible,  the  good  people 
no  longer  opposed  him.  "May  God  bless 
and  guide  you ! ' '  they  said.  ' '  Be  careful  to 
follow  the  path  through  the  forest.  A  fair 
journey  to  you,  little  Italian! "  A  man  ac- 
companied him  outside  of  the  town,  pointed 
out  the  road,  gave  him  some  counsel,  and 
stood  still  to  watch  him  start.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  a  few  minutes,  the  lad  disap- 
peared, limping,  with  his  bag  on  his  shoul- 
der, behind  the  trees  which  lined  the  road. 
(conclusion  in  our  next  ntjmber.) 


The  Day  of  the  Dead. 


A    LETTER    FROM    MY    MOTHER. 


November  2. 
This  day  is  consecrated  to  the  commem- 
oration of  the  dead.  Do  you  know,  Enrico, 
that  all  you  boys  should,  on  this  day, devote 
a  thought  to  those  who  are  dead :  to  those 
who  have  died  for  you — for  boys  and  little 
children?  How  many  have  died,  and  how 
many  are  dying  continually!  Have  you 
ever  reflected  how  many  fathers  have  worn 
out  their  lives  in  toil  ?  how  many  mothers 
have  descended  to  the  grave  before  their 
time,  exhausted  by  the  privations  to  which 


they  subjected  themselves  for  the  sake  of 
their  children?  Think,  Enrico,  how  many 
schoolmistresses  have  died  young — have 
pined  away  through  the  fatigues  of  the 
school — through  love  of  the  children,  from 
whom  they  had  not  the  heart  to  tear  them- 
selves away.  Think  of  the  doctors  who  have 
perished  of  contagious  diseases,  having 
courageously  sacrificed  themselves  to  cure 
the  children.  Think  of  all  those  who  in 
shipwrecks,  in  conflagrations,  in  famines, 
in  momentsof  supreme  danger,have  yielded 
to  infancy  the  last  morsel  of  bread,  the  last 
place  of  safety,  the  last  rope  of  escape  from 
the  flames,  to  expire  content  with  their 
sacrifice,  since  they  preserved  the  life  of  a 
little  innocent. 

Such  dead  as  these  are  innumerable, 
Enrico;  every  graveyard  contains  hundreds 
of  these  sainted  beings,  who,  if  they  could 
rise  for  a  moment  from  their  graves, would 
call  the  name  of  a  child  for  whom  they  sac- 
rificed the  comforts,  the  pleasures  of  life,  the 
peace  of  old  age:  wives  of  twenty,  men  in 
the  flower  of  their  strength,  octogenarians, 
youths, — heroic  and  obscure  martyrs  of 
infancy, — so  grand  and  so  noble  that  the 
earth  does  not  produce  as  many  flowers  as 
should  strew  their  graves.  Think  to-day  on 
those  dead  with  gratitude,  and  you  will  be 
kinder  and  more  afiectionate  to  all  who 
love  you,  and  who  toil  for  you,  my  dear, 
fortunate  son,  who,  on  the  day  of  the  dead, 
have  as  yet  no  one  to  grieve  for. — An  Ital- 
ian School- Boy^s  Journal. 


\ 


The  Piety  of  a  Great  General. 


The  celebrated  Marshal  Pelissier,  one  of 
the  bravest  and  most  successful  generals 
that  France  can  boast  of,  was  as  good  a 
Catholic  as  he  was  a  soldier.  Sometimes, 
when  it  happened  that  no  one  was  at  hand 
to  serve  Mass,  the  Marshal  himself  would 
step  forward  and  humbly  take  the  acolyte's 
place.  This  he  often  did,  and  with  such 
humble  simplicity  and  piety  that  it  edified 
many,  atd  made  others  ashamed  of  their 
moral  cowardice. 


tH^ 


Vol..  XXV  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  12,  1887.       No.  20. 


'Coprrif  ht  — R«t.  D. 


Devotion  to  the  Holy  Souls. 


UR  tender  mother  the  Church,  lov- 
ing^ her  children  with  the  enduring 
affection  she  has  learnt  from  the 
Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  Christ,  can  not  forget 
them  after  their  departure  from  this  visible 
world,  but  continually  bears  them  in  re- 
membrance, and  prays  with  unceasing  ear- 
nestness that  they  may  quickly  enter  the 
bright  land  of  everlasting  happiness.  Her 
voice  is  never  silent;  without  a  moment's 
cessation,  night  and  day,  she  cries  out,  with 
plaintive  accents:  "Eternal  rest  give  unto 
them,  O  Lord!  And  let  perpetual  light 
shine  upon  them."  She  never  allows  the 
Adorable  Sacrifice  to  be  offered  without 
begging  her  divine  Spouse,  then  present  on 
the  altar,  to  receive  her  suffering  children 
into  a  place  of  refreshment,  light,  and  peace. 
The  dogmas  of  her  faith  teach  with  infal- 
lible certainty  the  existence  of  temporal 
punishment  after  death,  and  that  those 
pains  can  be  alleviated  and  shortened  by 
the  prayers  and  penances  of  the  faithful. 
By  her  liturgy,  and  by  the  mouths  of  her 
innumerable  preachers  in  every  tongue, 
she  is  constantly  exhorting  us  to  remember 
our  departed  brethren ;  at  the  grave  of  each 
of  her  children,  as  one  by  one  they  go  forth 
to  jucigment,  that  loving  mother  stands 
weeping  and  offering  supplications;  she 
opens  her  sacred  treasure-house,  and  deals 
forth  numbf  rless  inHulq^ences  to  induce  the 
faithful  to  aid  the  suffering  souls. 


E.  Hnsaoa,  C.  8.  C.) 

Besides  all  this,  one  month  of  the  year 
she  has  devoted  in  a  special  manner  to  their 
service.  November  begins  with  a  glorious 
burst  of  triumph  in  honor  of  all  the  saints. 
Year  by  year  that  multitude  that  no  man 
can  number,  standing  before  the  throne,  is 
increased,  and  year  after  year  the  triumph 
of  the  Church  grows  more  splendid.  But 
hardly  has  the  last  joyous  strain  of  the 
Vesper  chaunt  for  All  Saints'  died  away 
than  the  Church  turns  in  sorrow  to  that 
other  vast  multitude,  waiting  amid  penal 
fires  the  moment  of  their  gloiy.  The  sight 
of  the  mighty  army  of  her  children  before 
the  throne  reminds  that  loving  mother  that 
other  children  she  has  who  are  not  yet  in 
the  eternal  home,  and  for  whom  she  must 
prostrate  herself  in  lowly  supplication,  that 
the  time  of  their  banishment  may  be  short- 
ened. So  she  lays  aside  the  cloth  of  gold, 
strips  the  altars  of  their  festive  array,  and 
clothes  herself  in  the  vesture  of  mourning, 
plaintively  reminding  us  that  "it  is  a  holy 
and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the 
dead,  that  they  may  be  loosed  from  their 
sins."  Those,  therefore, who  desire  to  be  in 
union  with  the  spirit  of  the  Church  must 
not  forget  the  prisoners  of  the  King  during 
this  month. 

The  souls  detained  in  purgatory,  as  every 
Catholic  knows,  are  those  that  have  died 
with  venial  sins  unexpiated,  and  with  some 
of  that  huge  debt,  represented  in  Holy 
Scripture  by  the  vast  sum  of  ten  thousand 
talents,  which  is  due  as  the  temporal  punish- 
ment of  forgiven  mortal  sin,  still  undis- 


458 


The  Ave  Maria. 


charged  by  contrition, penance, and  satisfac- 
tion. Few,  indeed,  amongst  all  those  who 
depart  in  God's  grace,  are  not  included  in 
this  number.  Few  are  free  from  all  venial 
sin;  few  have  been  so  fervent  in  their  sor- 
row, so  severe  in  their  penance,  so  patient 
and  resigned  in  their  afflictions,  as  to  be  pre- 
pared at  once  to  possess  that  kingdom  into 
which  nothing  defiled  can  enter.  Ordinary 
Christians  indulge  in  numerous  faults;  they 
have  slight  guard  over  their  tongues,  they 
love  comforts,  they  indulge  their  senses, 
they  misspend  their  time,  they  waste  money 
in  pleasure  instead  of  redeeming  their  sins 
with  almsdeeds,  they  pray  little  and  often 
negligently,  they  make  few  and  not  very 
earnest  acts  of  sorrow,  they  do  slight  pen- 
ance, their  love  of  God  is  weak  and  their 
desire  to  possess  Him  feeble:  for  these  and 
numberless  other  defects,  not  to  mention 
more  serious  transgressions,  penance  must 
be  done  here  below  or  in  purgatory. 

Here  slight  penance,  united  to  Christ's 
pains,  will  purge  the  soul  of  many  defects  | 
and  satisfy  for  much  debt.  But  in  purgatory, 
the  unanimous  opinion  of  all  the  Doctors  i 
of  the  Church  declares  the  pains  to  be  most 
terribly  grievous.  The  soul  is  subjected  to 
various  and  excruciating  torments.  ' '  They 
are  saved,  yet  so  as  by  fire"  (I.  Cor.  iii.,  15); 
and  that  fire  is  supernatural,  created  by  the 
justice  of  God  to  punish  sin,  and,  according 
to  St.  Thomas  and  other  high  authorities, 
differs  from  the  fire  of  hell  only  in  being 
temporal  and  not  eternal.  Does  not  this 
thought  strike  terror  into  our  hearts,  and 
make  us  at  once  anxious  to  avoid  sin  and 
to  do  penance  ourselves,  and  also  to  assist 
by  our  prayers  the  holy  souls  now  suffering? 
The  worm  of  grief  and  of  unsatisfied  love 
also  adds  intolerable  anguish  to  the  pains 
of  fire.  Grief  and  sorrow  fill  those  souls  to 
the  brim  at  the  remembrance  of  their  sins, 
and  love  raises  in  them  an  unspeakable 
longing  to  be  united  to  God,  which  can  not 
be  granted  till  "the  uttermost  farthing"  is 
paid.  From  this  love  of  God,  and  intense 
desire  to  possess  Him,  arises  the  pain  of 
loss,  from  which  they  suffer  more  than  from 
the  piercing  flames  themselves.  We  know 


not  how  time  is  measured  in  purgatory,but 
the  revelations  of  the  saints,  as  well  as  the 
indulgences  of  the  Church,  indicate  long 
perio-^s  of  suffering.  But  this,  as  also  the 
intensity  of  pain,  varies  with  the  amount 
of  debt. 

Thus  in  that  dark  land  of  penance  are 
those  holy  souls  most  sorely  tormented. 
Still  they  are  not  miserable;  for  they  love 
God,  and  are  resigned  absolutely  and  en- 
tirely to  His  will.  They  can  not  sin  in  the 
slightest  degree,  but  are  confirmed  in  His 
grace;  they  are  certain,  with  an  infallible 
and  unwavering  assurance,  that  they  will 
spend  an  eternity  with  God  in  unspeakable 
and  everlasting  happiness. 

Considering  all  these  truths,  who  would 
not  desire  to  assist  them?  Our  thoughtless- 
ness and  want  of  faiih  make  us  negligent  in 
this  work  of  the  truest  charity.  We  must 
remember,  then,  that  these  holy  souls  are 
helpless,  but  that  God's  mercy  has  placed 
their  relief  in  our  hands.  If  we  realized 
this,  how  speedily  should  we  fly  to  their 
assistance!  Probably  many  we  once  loved 
on  earth  are  in  those  purifying  flames — we 
quote  a  touching  passage  from  a  sermon  by 
Cardinal  Manning, — *'a  father  perhaps — 
the  father  who  was  the  strength  and  guide 
of  your  youth;  have  you  forgotten  him? 
Shall  this  month  pass  without  a  filial  mem- 
ory and  loving  prayers  for  the  father  who 
loved  you  so  dearly?  Or  your  mother, 
whom  you  loved  wiih  a  tenderness  only  less 
than  the  tenderness  with  which  she  loved 
you :  ihe  mother  that  bore  you — the  mother 
that  sorrowed  over  you — the  mother  whose 
memory,  it  may  be,  has  agaiu  and  again 
restrained  you  from  doing  wrong.  She  is 
gone;  you  buried  her  in  the  earth;  have 
you  forgotten  her?  And  when  you  pray  for 
yourself  do  you  offer  up  a  prayer  for  her 
like  this:  'May  she  rest  in  peace!  O  my 
Gad,  may  we  meet  again!  Oh,  may  she 
enter  speedily  into  the  bliss  of  Thy  king- 
dom! '  Do  not  your  hearts  breathe  like  this? 
If  you  have  hearts  that  love — human  hearts 
with  human  sympathies — is  it  possible  that 
you  have  not  these  instincts?  Or  it  may 
be  some  friend  who  loved  you  dearly;  have 


The  Ave  Maria, 


d> 


m 


you  forgotten  that  friend  ?  It  may  be,  again, 
some  friend  whom  you  wronged — who 
loved  you, — and  it  may  be  your  example 
led  some  into  sin,  and  in  their  sin  they  died, 
as  far  as  you  know,  and  they  are  gone  to  the 
great  White  Throne;  do  you  ever  pray  for 
them,  that  God  in  His  mercy  might  have 
pity  on  them?  Alas!  as  I  sail  in  the  be- 
ginning, those  who  forget  the  dead,  those 
who  blot  out  the  words, '  May  they  rest  in 
peace ! '  can  have  but  little  human  love  or 
human  sympathy." 

How  can  we  assist  the  suffering  souls? 
In  many  and  various  ways.  We  can  gain 
indulgences  for  them;  we  can  offer  vocal 
prayers  for  them,  especially  the  Rosary. 
Any  penances  we  perform  for  them  will 
bring  them  relief.  Almsdeeds  and  acts  of 
charity,  especially  if  they  imply  self-denial, 
are  most  efficacious.  Then  there  is  the  Way 
of  the  Cross;  but,  above  all,  the  most  holy 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  will  obtain  for  them 
•peedy  relief  from  their  grievous  sufferings. 
Give,  therefore,  with  a  liberal  spirit,  in  all 
these  ways,  spiritual  treasures  to  the  needy 
souls,  and  they  in  gratitude  will  remember 
you  in  the  day  when  the  hand  of  the  Lord 
•hall  have  touched  you. 


"Wooden  Wiir. 


IV. 


WE  are  back  in  Pittsburg.  Twelve  years 
have  passed  away,  and  the  S  ster  who 
closed  the  eyes  of  the  "Pittsburg  boy"  is 
at  her  desk  this  evening  in  the  convent 
school- room.  She  did  not  forget  the  dying 
message,  but  so  far  all  search  has  been  in 
vain. 

The  "  night- boys  "  are  all  there.  They  are 
rough,  unkempt  lads,  with  ragged  clothes 
and  bare  feet;  but  all  look  reveiently  at  the 
black- robed  figure,  who  firmly  and  gently 
"points  out  the  law"  to  each.  There  is 
silence  in  the  room,  and  fifty  earnest  faces 
bend  laboriously  over  copy-books,  and  hold 
the  pen  with  a  perspiring  effort.  Suddenly 
there  is  a  scuffle  at  the  door.  Up  rise  the 
lieads.  Two  lads  enter,  dragging  between 


them  a  small  figure  who  resists  vigorously. 
Before  they  have  advanced  two  yards,  the 
small  figure  breaks  away  and  vanishes.  The 
two  leaders  look  dismayed  under  the  grave 
eyes  of  the  nun,  as  a  voice  is  heard: 

"Boys,  what  does  this  mean?" 

The  delinquents  hang  their  heads  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  look  up  shyly  under  the 
broadside  of  indignant  glances  from  their 
fellows  at  the  desks. 

"Sister,"  said  one, in  a  low  voice,  "it's 
Wooden  Will." 

"It's  wkaif^  inquired  the  Sister, with 
a  puzzled  look  on  her  face. 

"Sister,  it's  Wooden  Will"— a  little 
louder. 

' '  Wooden  Will  ?   Who  is  that  ? ' ' 

"Sister,  it's  that  boy."  (Not  for  the 
world  would  these  youngsters  omit  the  sa- 
cred title  "Sister."  It  piefaces  every  word, 
and  finds  entrance  half  a  dozen  times  in 
every  sentence.) 

'''■That  boy!"  repeated  the  nun;  "well, 
why  doesn't  he  come  in?" 

"Sister,  he  wants  to,  but  he's  scared. 
He  says  you'uns  is  like  heaven  in  here, 
and  he  ain't  fit,  "was  the  answer;  "and  he 
hangs  round  that  door  every  night,  and  we 
pulled  him  in  to  night  to  give  him  a 
'show.'" 

The  nun's  heart  went  out  to  the  little 
vagrant,  and  she  said,  sympathetically: 
"Why,  he  should  not  be  afraid;  he'll  be 
very  welcome.  Can' t  some  of  you  speak  to 
his  mother?" 

' '  He  ain'  t  got  none, ' '  was  the  quick  re- 
sponse. 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  sighed  the  Sister, 
with  great  tenderness.  "Well,  then,  his 
father  or  his  friends?" 

"Father  dead,  too.  Wooden  Will  ain't 
got  nobody  but  himself.  But  he's  a  Catho- 
lic all  the  vSame,"  was  the  reply. 

' '  Now,  boys, ' '  said  the  earnest  voice  of 
the  nun,  "this  will  never  do;  we  must  have 
poor  Wooden  Will  here  at  school.  Any  boy 
who  brings  that  lad  to  me  by  coaxing,  or 
any  other  way  that  doesn't  hurt  him,  shall 
get  a  beauti  ul  silver  medal  of  Our  Lady. 
Now  you  must  continue  your  writing." 


460 


The  Ave  Maria. 


In  a  moment  all  was  silent  again.  The 
evening's  work  went  on,  but  there  was  an 
uneasy  look  on  the  faces  of  the  late-comers, 
which  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  the  relig- 
ious. Her  experience  of  human  nature  in 
children  told  her  where  the  silver  medal 
would  go,  and  she  stifled  a  smile  of  triumph 
at  the  hope  of  success  so  soon. 

The  last  exercise  was  concluded,  the  last 
prayer  said,  when  the  late-comers  made 
a  "straight  line"  towards  the  door  and 
vanished:  soon,  just  as  the  last  boy  had 
gone,  and  the  lights  were  nearly  all  ex- 
tinguished, they  reappeared,  puffing  vigo- 
rously, with  the  small  figure  known  as 
Wooden  Will  between  them.  The  mode  of 
conveyance  was  slightly  changed,  however. 
One  boy  had  the  two  struggling  arms ;  the 
other,  the  two  kicking  bare  feet;  and,  lay- 
ing their  prize  before  the  astonished  relig- 
ious, they  stood  with  an  air  of  triumph,  in 
silence. 

"Giacious!"  ejaculated  the  Sister;  and 
her  companion  came  to  her  side,  vainly 
striving  to  repress  her  laughter. 

The  little  stranger  being  freed  from  the 
grasp  of  his  captors,  made  a  sort  of  revolu- 
tion with  his  small  person,  and  stood  on  his 
feet  before  the  nuns;  then, finding  no  escape, 
pulled  off  his  cap,  which  had  remained  on 
his  head  during  the  whole  scuffle.  A  pretty, 
pale,  begrimed  face  appeared,  lit  with  large, 
frightened  brown  eyes,  and  a  halo  of  light 
reddish  short  curls  around  his  unkempt 
head.  The  Sister  puzzled  her  brains  a  sec- 
ond— where  on  earth  had  she  seen  him 
before? 

"My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "I  am  sorry 
you  were  afraid  to  come  to  school.  You 
don't  know  how  glad  we  are  to  see  the 
boys  coming  to  us.  What  is  your  name  ? ' ' 

"Will,"  was  the  half  audible  reply. 

"What  is  your  last  name?" 

"Ain't  got  none  only  Will." 

"Sister" — a  voice  came  rather  meekly 
from  one  of  the  two  captors — "us  fellows 
calls  him  Wooden  Will,  'cause  he  sleeps 
under  the  wood-piles;  and,  Sister,  which  of 
us  two  fellows  gets  the  medal?" 

Roused  to  a  sense  of  the  state  of  affairs 


in  this  direction,  the  nun  opened  her  desk 
and  presented  each  of  the  proud  and  happy- 
lads  a  good  sized  silver  medal  of  Our  Lady, 
which  they  received  with  all  the  dignity 
of  conscious  worth;  and,  holding  them 
tightly  in  their  hard  hands,  quickly  took 
their  departure,  leaving  Wooden  Will  at  the 
mercy  of  the  two  religious,  with  an  uneasy 
look  on  his  face. 

"Now,  Will,"  said  the  Sister,  gently 
making  him  sit  down,  "I  want  you  to  tell 
me  something  about  yourself;  for  we  are 
your  friends,  and  we  want  to  help  you  to- 
be  comfortable  and  happy.  Have  you  had 
your  supper?" 

"Never  get  any  real  supper,"  murmured 
Will. 

The  Sister  made  a  sign  to  her  companion, 
who  left  the  room,  and  returned  ir  a  ^hort 
time  with  a  bowl  of  milk,  a  plate  of  cold 
chicken  and  ham,  buttered  rolls,  and  some 
clear,  trembling  jelly  in  a  small  glass  dish. 
Will's  brown  eyes  changed  their  expression 
as  the  viands  were  placed  on  a  desk  before 
him,  and  at  the  first  word  of  command  he 
laid  siege  to  the  plate.  The  nuns  moved 
around  the  room  attending  to  various  du- 
ties until  he  finished ;  and,  as  his  restraint 
seemed  somewhat  removed,  he  was  ready  to 
talk. 

"Do  you  'uns  keep  little  fellers  all 
night?" 

"Not  here.  Will, ' '  was  the  reply.  *  *  Where 
do  you  live?" 

"Don't  live  nowhere." 
"Where  do  you  sleep  at  night?" 
"Under  wood-piles,  or  on  the  ash- heaps 
in  the  rolling-mills." 

"Where  do  you  get  your  meals?" 
"Don't  get  no  meals." 
"I  mean  where  do  you  get  your  break- 
fast and  dinner?    Do  you  board  anywhere, 
or  haven't  you  any  relatives  or  frietids?" 
"Ain't  got  no  relatives.  Sometimes  old 
Peter  used  to  let  me  drive  his  cart;  and  I 
get  a  dime  blackin'  boots,  and   I  buy  a 
sandwich ;  or  I  sell  papers,  and  buy  a  cup 
of  milk.  Don't  board  nowhere;  costs  a  feller 
too  much.   Do  my  own  washin',  too;  my 
other  shirt  is  buried  down  on  the  river-bank 


The  Ave  Maria. 


461 


in  a  box.  Never  had  no  friends — I  mean 
friends  what  lets  you  into  their  houses  and 
keeps  you.  The  fellers  is  my  best  friends; 
they  often  give  me  a  lift  when  I  get  a  pain 
here." 

And  the  poor  child  placed  his  left  hand 
on  his  chest,  and  coughed  a  short,  dry 
cough: — an  emphatic  comment  on  these 
enlightened  days  of  Christian  charity  and 
humane  societies! 

"But,  my  child,"  said  the  Sister,  on 
whose  face  the  deepest  sympathy  was  man- 
ifested, "did  you  never  have  any  home  or 
friends?    Where  did  your  mother  die?" 

"Can't  mind  it  much,  it's  so  long  ago," 
said  Will.  "I  ain't  got  one  that  owns  me — 
no  aunts  or  uncles  or  granny,  or  any  one." 

"Poor  boy!   How  old  are  you?" 

* '  Near  twelve  I  guess. ' ' 

"And  what  about  being  in  the  rolling- 
mills?    Surely  you've  had  better  places. " 

"Don't  like  no  places  where  folks  kicks 
yer  and  calls  yer  names,  and  every  place  I 
was  at  they  did  that;  so  I  scooted, 'cause 
when  I  got  right  scared  the  blood  used  to 
come  up  in  my  mouth." 

"Poor  little   fellow!"   sighed  the  nun. 
"Do'you  know  your  prayers?" 
r  "What's  them?" 

"Your  prayers!  Why,  'Our  Father'  you 
say  when  you  are  speaking  to  God — " 

"God?  Yes,  I  knowJ.ots  of  cuss  words." 

"O  my  poor  child!  Don't  you  know  'Hail 
*Mary,  full  of  grace'?  You're  a  Catholic, 
are  you  not?" 

"Yes,  I  know  ' Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace.' 
I  say  that  every  day,  and  twict  on  Sunday. " 
And  he  repeated  the  ' '  Hail  Mary ' '  per- 
fectly. 

"Do  you  never  go  to  church — to  the 
Cathedral?" 

"Ain't  got  no  clothes  good  enough  to  go 
to  church;  sometimes  I  sneaked  in  when 
church  was  out,  and  it  was  awful  solemn 
and  heavenly,  like  this  here  place,  with 
pictures  and  lots  of  thmgs,  and  a  jolly  little 
fence  with  carpet  ins  de,  and  big  chairs, 
and  something  like  a  big  white  monument, 
only  too  long  for  that;  and,  I/ordy ! " — here 
Will's  enthusiasm  made  him  forget  his  fear, 


and  he  waxed  eloquent  as  his  eyes  sparkled, 
— "Lordy!  but  the  gilt  that  was  on  that 
monument!  And  the  big  candles!  And  the 
gay  crocks  of  roses  and  flowers!  Lordy! 
but  it  took  my  breath  away,  and  I  used 
to  hunker  down  in  front  of  it,  and  look  at 
it  all,  until  I  felt  as  if  there  wasn't  no  bad 
people  out  in  the  street  to  kick  or  to  cuss, 
and  as  if  I  could  lay  there  till  I  was  dead." 
Then  his  bro-v^n  eyes  looked  wistfully  into 
the  Sister's  face  for  a  minute,  and  he  went 
on:  "I  used  to  watch  you  'uns  goin'  down 
street,  never  speakin'  nor  smilin',  but  kind 
of  solemn;  and  I  would  have  come  in  here 
like  the  other  fellers,  but  I  wasn't  fit.  I 
want  to  stay  here,  'cause  you 'uns  talk  so 
kind." 

' '  But  you  are  fit,  my  poor  child ;  and  you 
shall  come  every  night,  and  you  may  stay 
here  to-night  if  you  wish.  I  will  get  you  a 
nice  bed,  and  to-morrow  you  can  run  er- 
rands for  us,  and  make  fires,  and  do  any- 
thing you  are  told;  and  we  will  teach  you 
your  prayers  and  your  religion,  and  how  to 
read  and.  write,  and  how  to  be  a  good  man 
some  day.  Are  you  sure  you  have  no  home, 
no  friends, no  place  you  would  like  better?'* 

"No,  sir-ee — ma'am!"  said  Will,  em- 
phatically. 

''Well,  then,  we  will  find  you  a  corner 
to-night, and  to-morrow  we  will  talk  more." 
Then  she  whispered  a  few  words  to  the 
Sister,  and  the  latter  left  the  room. 

"Willie, can  you  bless  yourself?" 

"Don't  know." 

"Can  you  do  this ?"  and  the  Sister  made 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross. 

"I  saw  some  of  the  fellers  do  it,"  and  he 
lifted  his  hand  to  try. 

It  was  a  peculiar-looking  little  hand,  and 
as  the  Sister's  eyes  rested  on  it,  she  saw  it 
had  a  sixth  finger.  A  swift  rush  of  thought 
brought  her  back  to  that  death-bed  scene  in 
the  hospital  in  the  war-time.  She  seemed 
to  see  it  all  again,  and  to  hear  the  painfully 
uttered  words  of  the  dying  soldier  lad,  who 
had  told  her  of  his  boy  Willie,  whom  he 
had  never  seen.  Could  this  be  the  boy? 
Might  she  now  give  the  dying  blessing  that 
so  often  came  before  her  mind  like  an  un- 


462 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fulfilled  duty?  Here  was  the  sixth  finger, 
that  seemed  to  her  the  sign  of  recognition, 
and  then  the  resemblance  that  puzzled  her 
when  she  looked  first  at  Wooden  Will. 
Again  she  observed  the  large  brown  eyes, 
the  delicate,  feminine  features,  the  pale  red- 
dish short  curls.  Was  his  mother's  name 
Mary? 

All  this  time  the  boy  looked  steadfastly 
into  her  face  as  if  he  were  reading  his  fate. 

' '  Will, ' '  she  said, ' '  did  you  ever  see  your 
father?" 

"No,  ma'am.  My  father  was  killed  in 
the  war;  he  died  in  the  Stanton  Hospital. 
It  says  so  in  the  front  of  the  book  that  was 
my  mother's." 

'*What  else  is  in  the  book?" 

"Nothin'  only,  'To  my  wife  Mary,  just 
before  the  battle ' ;  and  right  below  that  is, 
'My  dear  husband  died  for  his  country  in 
the  Stanton  Hospital.'  Old  Peter  giv*  me 
the  prayer  book  afore  he  died,  and  said  to 
keep  it,  'cause  it  was  all  my  relatives  left 
me." 

"Who  was  old  Peter?" 

"  He  knowed  my  mother,  I  guess*.  He  was 
an  old  feller  that  had  a  cart;  he's  dead  The 
book  ain't  much,  'ceptitwasmy  mother's." 

"And  when  did  your  mother  die?" 

' '  She  died  afore  old  Peter.  It  was  a  good 
while  ago.  I  can't  mind  it.  I've  been  on 
the  street  with  the  fellers  since  I  could  walk 
a' most.  I  keep  mother's  book  buried  in  the 
box  with  my  other  shirt,  on  the  river  bank. 
I'll  get  it  for  you  'uns  to-morrow." 

"My  child," said  the  nun,  tenderly  tak- 
ing the  little  misformed  hand  in  hers, 
"God,  who  lives  in  heaven,  where  I  trust 
your  dear  father  and  mother  are,  sent  you 
to  me  to-night.  I  was  in  the  Stanton  Hos- 
pital, miles  away  from  here,  nursing  the 
soldiers  during  the  war,  and  your  poor  fa- 
ther was  cirried  in  bleeding  and  wounded. 
When  he  was  dying  he  requested  me  to 
take  his  blessing  to  his  wife  Mary  and  his 
little  boy  Willie,  who  was  not  long  born. 
He  said  the  poor  baby  had  a  second  'little 
finger,'  and  it  was  his  dying  wish  not  to 
hurt  the  child  or  have  it  cut  oflf.  You  are 
the  perfect  picture  of  your  father,  my  child ; 


the  resemblance  has  puzzled  me  ever  since 
I  looked  at  you  when  \ou  first  came  in; 
and  when  I  saw  this  poor  little  hand,  and 
heard  you  say  your  father  died  at  the 
Stanton,  it  all  came  back  to  me,  and  I  feel 
that  God  has  brought  you  to  me  in  answer 
to  my  prayers.  Your  brave  father  died  nobly, 
and  his  last  words  were  of  you  and  your 
mother, with  a  prayer  to  God  for  his  soul." 

Will  had  listened  motionless  and  almost 
breathless  while  the  earnest  words  of  the 
Sister  continued;  but  large,  silent  tears  had 
filled  the  brown  eyes  and  were  running 
unheeded  down  the  little  face.  When  she 
finished,  suddenly  he  burst  into  an  agony 
of  grief,  and  flung  himself  on  the  desk  witji 
his  face  buried  in  both  arms,  while  he 
moaned:  "I  wisht  I  was  dead!  oh,  I  wisht 
I  was  dead  too!" 

Poor  boy!  no  wonder  his  frail  little  form 
quivered  with  the  agony  of  his  desolation; 
no  wonder  his  untaught  mind  and  heart, 
that  never  knew  the  tender  love  of  mother 
or  father,  saw  but  one  outlet  from  his  lonely, 
comfortless,  wandering  life. 

The  Sister's  eyes  too  were  full  of  tears 
as  she  gently  laid  her  hand  on  the  little 
figure. 

"Oh!  no, my  child:  you  mustn't  say  that; 
you  are  not  ready  to  die.  You  have  to  learn 
ever  so  much  before  \ou  will  be  worthy  to 
join  your  dear  father  and  mother  in  heaven. 
Come  now,  doa't  cry  any  more.  See,  you 
are  trembling  all  over.  Come!  Sister  has* 
prepared  a  nice  bed  for  you  with  old  Tom, 
our  messenger.  You  will  have  a  good 
night's  rest,  and  tomorrow  you  will  feel 
like  a  new  boy.  Rouse  up,  my  child,  and 
come  with  me. ' ' 

Slowly  the  boy's  face  was  lifted  from  the 
desk,  and,  notwithstanding  his  tears,  it  had 
an  almost  ludicrous  expression  about  it. 
The  hot  tears  had  traced  two  white  path- 
ways down  the  grimy  cheeks,  and  the  wet 
lashes  of  the  brown  eyes  were  twitching  in 
a  very  curious  yet  mdurnful  manner.  The 
boy  stopped  his  sobs  at  once,  and,  rubbing 
his  coat-sleeve  into  his  face,  choked  out: 
' '  Didn't  mean  ter  be  a  cry-baby.  Guess  I'll 
have  ter  stop  anyway,  or  the  blood  will 


The  Ave  Maria, 


463 


come  up  in  ray  mouth."  And  he  resolutely 
stopped. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  by  that, 
Will?" 

"You  see, when  I  ge's  scared  or  excited, 
why  the  blood  pours  out  of  my  mouth. 
Onct  a  doctor  seen  me,  an'  he  said  it  would 
kill  me  some  day;  an' not  never  to  get 
scared  or  excited,  if  I  did  n't  want  to  die  right 
oflf."  And  the  little  fellow  smiled  pitifully. 

The  Sister  said  no  more.  She  knew  what 
that  meant.  Her  heart  was  full  of  compas- 
sion for  the  lonely  child,  whose  days  were 
already  numbered.  With  her  companion, 
she  took  Wooden  Will's  hand,  and  led  him 
to  a  cosy  white  cot,  where  the  tired  child 
soon  lost  consciousness  of  his  trials  and 
woes  in  the  sound  sleep  of  worn  out  nature. 
(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


The  Perfect  Way. 


BY  ANGEUQUE  DE   LANDE. 


TT  HERE  is  a  path,  all  other  paths  exceeding, 
^    That  leads  to  perfect  peace; 
Wherein  the  Just  One  walked,  with  Feet  all 
bleeding, 
To  win  our  souls'  release. 

'Tis  entered  by  the  gate  of  self-denial, 

And  they  who  walk  therein 
Find  comfort  in  the  hour  of  sharpest  trial, 

And  pardon  of  their  sin. 

But  it  is  hedged  about  with  briars  and  bram- 
bles, 
And  thorns  bestrew  the  ground, 
And  wild  beasts  lurk  in  cool,  sequestered 
rambles, 
Where  poisonous  snakes  abound. 

lycave  self  behind,  and  take  for  your  companion 

Divinest  charity, 
If  you  would  tread  this  narrow,  rugged  path- 
way 

In  all  security. 

Choose  you  a  guide  prudent  and  wise  and  holy, 

To  lead  you  all  the  way; 
His  counsels  heed  with  spirit  meek  and  lowly. 
And  his  commands  obey. 


Then  shall  you  find  the  roses  of  devotion 

Upspringing  at  your  feet, 
And  chastity's  white  lilies  you  shall  gathef 

In  dewy  meadows  sweet. 

The  modest  violet  of  a  pure  intention 

Shall  perfume  all  the  air, 
And  every  step  shall  be  a  step  toward  heaven, 

And  every  breath  a  prayer. 

I  knew  of  one  who  entered  on  this  pathway. 

By  doubt  afflicted  sore, 
Wounded  by  thieves  upon  the  world's  great 
highway. 

Bleeding  at  every  pore. 

With  trembling  limbs,  he  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps 
Of  his  anointed  guide. 
And  when  the  skies  grew  black,  and  dangers 
threatened. 
Crept  closer  to  his  side: 

Clung  to  his  hands,  that  oft  in  benediction 

Were  raised  above  his  head, — 
Those  blessed  hands  that  broke  in  twain  his 
shackles. 
And  gave  him  daily  bread. 

* 
So,  after  many  days  his  step  grew  lighter, 

Less  wearisome  the  way. 
And  overhead,  the  sky  gleamed  bright  and 
brighter. 
Till  shone  the  perfect  day. 

Ivike  that  glad  soul,  this  pathway  would  you 
enter 
And  go  no  more  astray, 
Then  hide  within  your  willing  heart's  deep 
centre 
The  talisman.  Obey. 

It  will  make  darkness  light,  and  pain  a  pleas- 
ure. 

Turn  loss  to  richest  gain; 
Joy  shall  be  yours — ^joy  in  unstinted  measure; 

And  in  your  heart  shall  reig^ 

The  peace  of  God, ' '  that  passeth  understand- 
ing"; 
His  grace  to  persevere; 
His  steadfast  love,  that  knows  no  shade  of 
turning. 
And  casteth  out  all  fear. 


464 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Brother  Jim's  Failure. 


BY   MAURICE  F.  EGAN. 


(Conclusion.) 

iir. 

AUNT  MEHITABLE  left  us.  She  could 
not  stand  Jim's  new  ways.  Our  guar- 
-dian  lived  in  New  York,  and  was  too  busy 
to  mind  our  doings  much.   A  year  passed. 

The  religious  impressions  we  had  gained 
gradually  wore  off  in  the  excitement  of 
Jim's  reforms.  Our  uncle  had  given  him 
some  money,  and  I  think  he  fancied  him- 
self very  rich.  He  had  a  tennis  ground  laid 
•out,  he  hired  a  steward  to  look  after  the 
farm,  and  he  went  around  the  place  every 
■day  with  a  velveteen  shooting-jacket  and  a 
pair  of  knickerbockers.  He  carried  a  gun 
most  of  the  time. 

Jo  and  I  had  new  dresses  and  new  books 
from  town,  and  no  duties  at  all.  We  led  an 
idle  life,  and  we  gradually  became  so  fond 
of  our  own  ease  that  the  slightest  interfer- 
ence with  it  spoiled  our  tempers.  We  had 
some  young  people  down  from  the  city;  for 
Jim  said  that  there  was  nobody  in  the  neigh- 
borhood that  a  gentleman  could  associate 
-with.  We  had  wine  at  dinner  every  night, 
and  the  stories  of  our  "airs"  and  "stuck- 
iipness ' '  filled  our  part  of  the  country. 

Father  Boyle  had  called  often.  The  last 
time  Jim  was  very  polite  to  him,  and  offered 
him  a  glass  of  wine.  I  noticed  that  the 
priest  gave  a  quick  glance  at  Jim's  face,  and 
then  courteously  refused  it. 

Jim  drained  his  glass.  ' '  Life's  very  pleas- 
ant just  now,  sir,"  he  said;  "let  us  live 
-while  we  live." 

Father  Boyle  turned  his  keen  eyes  on 
Jim,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  life  would 
always  be  so  pleasant. 

"Just  as  long  as  a  man  has  all  he  wants. " 

"My  dear  boy,"  observed  Father  Boyle, 
^' faith  and  work  may  make  life  pleasant. 
Sacrifice  gives  it  its  greatest  happiness. 
Selfishness  is  Dead-Sea  fruit." 

Jim  colored.  "Say  what  you  like,  sir.  We 
are  not  sensitive,  and  we  will  take  with  a 


good  grace  anything  that  comes  from  our 
father's  friend." 

* '  Well. ' '  said  Father  Boyle,  "you  are  let- 
ting your  father's  farm  run  to  seed.  You 
wonder  why  all  the  best  farms  around  here 
are  falling  into  the  hands  of  foreigners.  The 
answer  is  easy.  The  foreigners  work;  and 
the  natives,  who  are  too  high-toned  to  work, 
pay  the  foreigners  by  piece  after  piece  of 
land.  You,  with  your  English  ideas,  which 
might  suit  a  rich  man,  are  bringing  debt 
and  poverty  on  your  sisters  and  yourself." 

I  was  frightened.  Jo  looked  thoughtful. 
Jim  blushed  furiously,  and  curled  his  lip. 

' '  You  priests, ' '  he  answered, ' '  are  always 
giving  opinions  on  secular  matters.  I'm 
only  a  boy,  but  I've  seen  a  good  deal  of  the 
world,  and  I  think  I  know  as  much  about 
it  as  any  priest  or  minister. ' ' 

A  twinkle  of  amusement  came  into  Fa- 
ther Boyle's  eyes.  "I  think  you  asked  for 
my  opinion." 

"  So  I  did ! — so  I  did ! ' '  said  Jim,  looking 
very  much  ashamed  of  himself.  ' '  Pardon 
me.  We  may  differ  in  religion,"  he  added, 
somewhat  pompously;  "but  I  hope  we 
shall  always  be  friends." 

"And  might  I  ask  what  your  religion 


IS 


?" 


Jim  seemed  puzzled,  and  then  replied, 
with  dignity :  ' '  The  religion  of  humanity.' ' 

Father  Boyle  smiled.  Jim  was  only  a  boy, 
you  know.  And  Jo  giggled ;  it  seemed  so 
funny  to  see  him  putting  on  such  airs.  I 
could  not  help  laughing.  Then  we  all 
laughed,  except  Jim,  who  stood,  looking 
rather  sheepish,  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"Well,  young  gentleman,"  said  Father 
Boyle, "  I  advise  you  to  disregard  a  religion 
which  leads  you  to  follow  your  own  selfish 
inclination  without  regard  to  the  well- 
being  of  your  sisters,  whom  God  has  put  in 
your  charge, — which  permits  you  to-waste 
your  father's  property,  and  which  lets  you 
approve  of  all  the  nonsense  and  frivolity  I 
see  around  me. ' ' 

Father  Boyle  made  a  bow,  and  left  the 
room.   I  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"My  dear  young  girl,"  he  said,  turning 
around  with  a  benevolent  look  on  his  face. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


465 


"take  care  of  your  brother.  Write  to  your 
guardian.  Jim's  a  good  boy,  but — let  me 
whisper  it  to  you — he  drinks  too  much.  A 
good  sister  should  find  a  means  to  help 
him." 

**How  can  I?"   I  asked,  greatly  pained. 

"Pray." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,  God  seems 
so  far  away.  Oh!  I  wish  I  knew  more!  But 
life  has  been  so  easy  and  pleasant  here  that 
we  did  not  seem  to  need  religion." 

Father  Boyle  sighed.  ' '  Poverty, ' '  he  said, 
' '  is  not  alwa>  s  bad  for  people.  Come  as  far 
as  the  gate  with  me,  and,  as  we  walk,  I 
will  tell  you  about  the  life  of  One  whose 
every  breath  was  a  sacrifice  of  love,  and 
who  was  so  poor  that  She  could  lay  Her 
Child  only  among  the  beasts  of  the  field. ' ' 

And  then  in  a  few  words  he  told  me  the 
story  of  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God.  I  can 
never  forget  it.  ' '  Catholics, ' '  I  said  to  him, 
"must  find  it  easy  to  pray  with  such  a 
friend  at  court." 

When  I  went  back,  I  put  on  an  old  gown; 
I  packed  away  my  fine  note-paper  with 
* '  Brier  wood  Cottage '  ^  scrawled  on  it  in  gold 
letters;  and  I  turned  my  eyes  from  the  lawn 
tennis-court,  where  Jim  and  Jo  and  a  city 
friend  were  playing.  They  called  me,  but 
I  went  into  the  kitchen.  There  were  three 
servants  there,  and  yet  all  was  confusion. 
If  our  guardian  only  knew  what  was  going 
on,  he  would  certainly  interfere. 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  I  had  a  talk 
with  Jfm.  I  told  him  we  were  not  rich,  and 
that  we  must  work. 

"Life  is  not  worth  living  if  we  have  to 
pinch  and  screw,"  he  said.  "  I  know  that 
we're  getting  poorer  every  day ;  but  there's 
nothing  worth  doing  in  this  world  save  en- 
joying oneself." 

"Yes,  there  is,"  and  I  repeated  what  Fa- 
ther Boyle  had  said.  "And  now,  dear  Jim, 
if  we  want  to  meet  in  the  next  world,  we 
must  do  our  best  in  this." 

Jim  twisted  himself  uneasily.  ' '  But  don' t 
you  see  that  if  you  accept  this  doctrine,  and 
tell  everything  to  the  Mother  of  God, 
you've  got  to  be  a  Catholic,  and  eat  fish  on 
Friday?" 


This  staggered  me. 

"Well,  I  don't  care!"  I  said.  "I  agree 
with  you  that  rich  people,  who  have  every- 
thing they  want,  may  get  along  without  a 
religion  for  a  time,  but  poor  people  must 
believe.  That  silly  staff  about  the  'religion 
of  humanity,'  which  you  picked  up  at 
school,  does  not  help  anybody." 
Jim  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 
"Little  sister,"  he  said,"  Pm  tired  of  it 
myself.  Aunt  Mehitable  was  so  hard  in  her 
ways,  that  she  made  me  hate — yes,  actually 
hate  religion;  and  in  England  goodness 
seemed  to  consist  in  having  roast-beef  on 
Sundays  and  a  good  income  on  week-days. 
Yes,  I'm  tired  of  it  Besides,  we'll  be  turned 
out  of  the  farm,  if  we  go  on  in  this  way  ^ 
much  longer." 

Nothing  more  was  said  that  night 
Jo  was  in  a  bad  humor  all  next  day.  She 
was  tired  of  novels,  she  hated  tennis,  she 
wished  she  were  dead. 

Aunt  Mehitable  came,  too.  When  she 
saw  the  changes — the  waste  in  the  kitchen, 
the  swarm  of  hired  men,  the  gilt  legend 
("Brierwood  Cottage")  over  the  gateway, 
and  Jim's  idleness — she  went  into  a  swoon. 
It  was  almost  genuine  this  time. 

"Is  there  nobody  that  can  influence 
Jim?  "  she  asked,  after  she  had  stormed  for 
an  hour,  and  Jim  had  sulkily  drummed  on 
the  window  pane." 

"Nobody  except  the  priest,"  Jo  said. 
Jim  poured  out  some  whiskey,  and  drank 
it  before  Aunt  Mehitable's  eyes. 

"What  will  the  neighbors  think?"  she 
shrieked. 

"I  don't  care  for  the  neighbors!" 
"Ill  write  to  your  guardian." 
Jim  sneered.  "He  does^n't  care.  He  has 
his  own  business  to  look  after." 

"Have  you  no  fear  of  retribution  ?  "  she 
demanded,  nervously  tying  her  bonnet- 
strings.  "Where  do  you  expect  to  go  to 
when  you  die?  Why  do  you  not  secure  a 
clean  heart  ?  Lay  >  our  troubles  on  the  Good 
Shepherd,  and  be  pardoned." 

"Oh,  bosh.  Aunt  Het!  I've  heard  that 
till  I'm  tired  of  it  I've  heard  all  the  min- 
isters say  the  same  thing,  but  they  never 


466 


The  Ave  Maria. 


give  me  any  consolation.  I  want  something 
more  than  words.  I  know  it's  all  foolish- 
ness to  be  an  infidel,  V>ut  your  preaching 
just  drives  young  fellows  to  it.  Now,  I  tell 
you,  Aunt  Het:  I'll  be  a  drunkard  and  for- 
get mv  duties,  or  a  Catholic  and  fulfil 
them." 

I  thought  Aunt  Mehitable  would  have 
fainted.  But  she  valued  the  farm  so  much, 
and  she  abhorred  the  prospect  of  having  a 
drunken  nephew  so  much  more,  that,  as  a 
choice  between  these  and  the  religion  of 
Antichrist,  she  preferred  the  latter. 

She  closed  her  lips  tightly.  "I  shall  call 
on  Father  Boyle,  but  I  do  hope  nobody  will 
see  me." 

Her  need  must  have  been  great  indeed, 
*  when  she  stooped  to  such  a  humiliation. 

Jim  was  more  reckless  than  ever  that 
afternoon.  He  drank  and  sang,  and  said 
all  kinds  of  daring  things.  Jo  and  I  were 
frightened,  but  we  did  not  show  it.  After 
dinner  he  disappeared. 

"O  Jo!"  I  said,  "what  shall  we  do? 
What  must  Frank  Durward  think  of  it 
all?" — Frank  was  our  visitor. — "What 
shall  we  do?" 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,"  answered  Jo, 
thoughtfully,"  that  the  Catholic  priest 
should  be  our  only  true  friend." 

That  evening  we  called  on  Father  Boyle. 
As  we  went  up  the  wooden  steps,  we  saw 
that  the  door  was  ajar. 

"Hush!"  said  Jo,  and  we  looked  in. 

A  candle  burned  before  the  crucifix  in  the 
little  parlor.  Father  Boyle  was  in  his  arm- 
chair. At  his  feet  knelt  Jim,  and  we  noticed 
that  the  tears  were  trickling  through  the 
fingers  of  the  hand  that  covered  his  face. 

"Let  it  be  the  beginning  of  a  new  life 
for  us  all,"  Jo  whispered. 

We  entered  and  knelt  by  Jim.  The  priest 
did  not  seem  surprised.  As  he  gave  us  his 
blessing,  a  strange  content  filled  my  heart. 
We  seemed  so  safe  in  that  quiet  little  room ! 
What  could  hurt  us  now?  United,  and  in 
the  communion  of  saints, — for  from  that 
moment  we  were  members  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 


Jo  often  said,  after  we  had  been  received 
into  the  True  Fold,  that  she  could  not  see 
how  Catholics  could  fail  to  be  "practical." 

"The  road  of  our  duty  is  so  clearly 
marked  out  before  us,  that  we  can  not  fail 
to  see  it.  And  if  we  do  not  follow  it,  our  in- 
structed consciences  sting  us.  And  then — " 

Frank  Durward  interrupted  her  here,  and 
said,  with  a  yawn : 

"Oh,  but  venial  sins  don't  count  with 
Catholics — I  read  that  somewhere.  You 
can  commit  as  many  small  sins  as  you  like, 
and  keep  out  of  hell. ' ' 

"Frank,"  Jo  said— and  I  never  would 
have  believed  that  the  devotee  of  novels 
and  tennis  could  be  so  solemn, — "jk<?«  don't 
know.  Why,  a  venial  sin  is  awful — how 
awful  we  do  not  realize  The  more  we  live 
for  the  love  of  God,  the  more  horrible  the 
smallest  breaking  of  His  law  will  seem  to 
us." 

I  think  this  made  Frank  reflect ;  for  when 
he  left  us  he  went  to  say  a  few  last  words 
to  Father  Boyle. 

Jim,  acting  on  Father  Boyle's  advice, 
looked  into  his  accounts;  and  he  found  so 
many  debts,  so  many  bills,  and  so  many 
signs  of  foolish  expenditure,  that  he  was  in 
despair.  I  think  the  prospect  of  changing 
our  free-and-easy  way  of  life  appalled  him 
as  it  grew  nearer.  But  a  sermon  which 
Father  Boyle  preached  on  St.  Joseph  one 
Sunday  brightened  him  up. 

At  dinner  that  day  he  looked  up  at  me, 
and  said:  "There's  a  way  out  of  it— ^ork. 
St.  Joseph  worked,  and  our  Blessed  Lady 
worked.  We  can  work  until  everything  is 
paid  off". " 

Jo  looked  dismayed,  but  said  nothing. 

Well, the  servants  went,  and  we — the  lily- 
fingered  ones — worked  in-doors  and  out. 
And,  strange  to  say, although  the  neighbors 
audibly  commented  on  brother  Jim's  fail- 
ure, in  this  fall  of  ours  we  all  three  felt  that 
we  had  ri^en  in  the  world. 

When  Aunt  Mehitable  came  to  us,  her 
soul  was  comforted,  yet  filled  with  agony. 
She  liked  industry,  but  she  hated  Roman- 
ism; she  scolded  a  great  deal  at  first,  and 
hoped  audibly  that  we  would  all  marry 


The  Ave  Maria. 


467 


Protestants,  and  return    to  her  opinions. 

"Now, mind, girls,"  she  said,warningly, 
"you've  got  to  turn  again  to  get  husbands. 
Nobody  here  will  marry  either  of  you. 
Why,  all  the  likely  young  men  I  know  hate 
Romanists. " ' 

"They're  not  old  enough  to  think  about 
such  stuff,  Aunt  Het,"  Jim  interposed.  'I 
wish  }ou  would  not  put  such  ideas  into 
their  heads." 

' '  We'  ve  got  to  look  ahead, ' '  said  Aunt 
Mehitable,  "if  you  don't  want  two  old 
maids  on  your  hands." 

Jo's  color  rose  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "I 
can  be  left  out  of  such  calculations,"  she 
interrupted.   ' '  I  shall  be  a  nun. ' ' 

"And  I,"  said  Jim,  smiling,  "a  Jesuit." 

"And  I,"  I  put  in,  spurred  by  the  spirit 
of  mischief, "  will  convert  my  possible  hus- 
band before  I  marry  him." 

"A  nun,  a  Jesuit!"  Aunt  Mehitable 
really  swooned,  and  we  almost  drowned  her 
in  cologne- water.  We — Jim  and  I — laughed 
when  she  recovered,  and  said  to  each  other 
that  it  was  a  good  joke.  But  Jo  was  very 
quiet. 

Strange!  the  joke  was  more  than  a  joke: 
it  was  a  prophecy.  Jim  and  Jo  have  gone 
to  follow  Our  Lord  where  He  wills.  And  I, 
alone,  thank  God  for  brother  Jim's  failure. 


An  Epitaph. 


[That  unfortunate  genius,  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge,  had  many  prejudices  against  the 
Catholic  faith,  but  the  epitaph  he  prepared 
for  himself  implies  a  wish  to  be  prayed  for 
after  death.  It  is  given  in  the  last  volume 
of  his  published  works.  ] 

Stop,  Christian  passer-by!  stop,  child  of  God, 
And  read  with  gentle  breast.  Beneath  this  sod 
A  poet  lies,  or  that  which  once  seem'd  he; 
Oh,  lift  one  thought  in  prayer  for  S.  T.  C, 
That  he,  who  many  a  year  with  toil  of  breath 
Found  death  in  life, may  here  find  life  in  death! 
Mercy  for  praise — to  be  forgiven,  for  fame, 
He  ask'd  and  hoped,  through  Christ.  Do  thou  the 
same. 
November  9, 1833. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MONTHS  passed.  The  long  winter  was 
over,  and  the  violets  of  springtime 
peeped  through  the  grass.  The  trees  were 
not  yet  in  blossom,  but  the  swelling  buds 
only  awaited  the  first  sunbeam  to  burst 
their  envelopes  and  perfume  the  air.  No 
change  had  taken  place  in  Mrs,  Auvrard's 
gloomy  abode.  From  time  to  time  myste- 
rious conferences  were  held  with  her  son, 
whom  she  wished  to  see  married,  but  none 
of  the  rural  heiresses  pleased  his  taste. 

Jane  grew  daily  weaker,  and  as  her  suffer- 
ings increased  she  seemed  to  be  inspired 
with  new  courage  and  resignation.  Nora, 
who  attended  to  her  privately,  learned  in 
this  humble  school  how  to  suffer  in  silence 
with  God  alone  for  witness.  She  herself 
needed  great  patience;  her  health  was  se- 
riously impaired,  though  her  aunt  did  not 
heed  it;  and  she  was  losing  her  only  hap- 
piness, for  Miss  Kernoel's  nieces  were  soon 
to  leave  her.  Amelia  and  Clotilda  were  to 
be  married  at  Easter  to  two  wealthy  neigh- 
boring proprietors,  and  Mary  was  about  to 
enter  a  convent. 

After  much  hesitation,  Nora  had  written 
to  the  Bouviers  in  January.  Bertha  re- 
sponded at  once.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
being  married.  Louis  also  had  been  pro- 
vided with  a  rich  match.  Nora  wrote  again 
to  offer  her  sincere  congratulations,  but  re- 
ceived no  further  letters ;  she  had  been  only 
a  bird  of  passage,  dangerous  in  the  eyes  of 
the  parents  on  account  of  her  beauty;  and 
Bertha's  affection  was  a  mere  passing  fancy. 

In  Holy  Week  Mark  Auvrard  arrived  at 
his  stepmother's.  Jane,  who  had  always 
been  fond  of  him,  tired  herself  out  waiting 
on  him;  she  was  perfectly  exhausted  on 
Holy  Saturday,  when  she  met  Nora  in  the 
passage,  and  asked  her  to  read  a  letter  which 
she  had  just  received  from  home. 

Nora  opened  the  letter,  but  stopped  as  she 
glanced  at  the  first  lines,  and  said,  compas- 
sionately :  ' '  My  poor  Jane,  have  courage ! ' ' 

Jane's  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  bright- 


468 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ness.    "My   mother   is   dead!"    she  said, 
clasping  her  hands. 

Nora  read  the  letter  for  her  in  a  faltering 
voice,  but  not  a  tear  moistened  Jane's  white 
cheeks.  Raising  her  eyes  piously  to  heaven, 
she  whispered:  "She  died  calmly  and 
peacefully,  after  receiving  the  last  Sacra- 
meats  of  the  Church!  How  good  is  God! 
Now  I  can  die  too.  I  can  not  cry.  Miss 
Nora;  why  should  I  when  I  shall  see  her 
so  soon  again?  Now  I  can  go  to  the  hos- 
pital at  the  next  attack.  Oh,  how  I  thank 
you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me !  In  heaven 
I  will  repay  you.  Will  you  tell  the  mistress 
of  the  death,  if  you  please,  Miss?" 

Nora  went  into  the  parlor  with  tearful 
eyes.  "Jane  has  had  sad  news,"  she  said; 
"her  mother  is  dead." 

"Poor  thing!"  observed  Mark,  compas- 
sionately. 

"That  is  a  sad  occurrence,"  said  Mrs. 
Auvrard ;  ' '  but,  of  course,  she  was  very  old. 
Jane  supported  her  entirely,  and  never  kept 
a  penny  of  her  wages.  Will  she  go  to  the 
funeral,  Nora?" 

"I  don't  know  if  she  is  able.  She  has 
been  very  weak  lately." 

Mrs.  Auvrard  rose  and  went  into  the 
kitchen.  Jane,  quiet  and  tearless,  but  of  a 
waxen  pallor,  sat  at  the  table. 

"You  have  lost  your  mother!  That  is 
very  sad;  however  old  our  parents  are,  we 
must  always  feel  their  loss.  But  you  have 
the  consolation  of  knowing  you  have  been 
a  good  daughter.   Did  she  die  suddenly?" 

"Almost,  ma'am." 

"Do  you  wish  to  go  to  the  funeral?  "   , 

"Iflamable." 

"I  won't  detain  you,  if  you  feel  strong 
enough.  Old  Margaret  will  come  this  even- 
ing, if  you  like  to  start  by  the  post-car." 

Mrs.  Auvrard,  having,  as  she  thought, 
done  her  duty,  resumed  her  place  in  her 
arm-chair. 

When  Jane  turned,  she  saw  Mark  stand- 
ing behind  her. 

"Poor  Jane ! "  he  said,  tenderly, stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  to  her.  He  felt  how  she 
must  suffer,  judging  from  his  passionate 
love  for  his  stepmother. 


She  looked  at  him  searchingly.  ' '  Thank 
you, sir;  you  were  always  kind  to  me." 

He  was  almost  vexed  at  her  calmness. 
"Why  don't  you  cry,  Jane?  You  should 
not  restrain  your  natural  grief ' ' 

"I  can  not  cry,  sir,"  she  said,  softly, 
raising  her  eyes  to  heaven.  "Why  should 
I?  I  was  able  to  work  for  my  mother  till 
the  end.  She  wanted  nothing,  and  I  have 
a  firm  hops  of  seeing  her  again  very  soon.'* 
She  stopped  for  a  moment,  then  contin- 
ued: "You  are  a  learned  man,  Mr.  Mark, 
and  you  know  many  things;  but  there  is 
one  thing  which  the  good  Gad  teaches  us 
poor  people,  and  that  is  to^suflfer  qiietly  and 
in  silence  and  to  look  above  for  all  that  we 
are  deprived  of  here  below. ' ' 

She  stood  up,  dusted  the  table  with  her 
apron,  and  went  over  to  the  fire ;  while  Mark 
withdrew  slowly,  puzzled  to  decide  whether 
the  sorrows  of  life  had  produced  a  numb- 
ness of  the  heart  in  this  woman,  or  whether 
there  existed  a  philosophy  with  which  he 
was  unacquainted. 

They  sat  down  to  dinner  at  the  usual 
hour.  But  poor  Jane  was  not  destined  to  as- 
sist at  her  mother's  funeral.  In  vain  Mrs. 
Auvrard  rang  repeatedly;  Nora  grew  un- 
easy, and  rose  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
She  returned  in  a  few  moments,  and  asked 
Mark  to  help  her  to  carry  Jane  to  bed.  He 
followed  her  at  once,  but  waved  back  his 
mother,  who  had  not  been  well  all  day. 
On  entering  the  kitchen,  he  was  greatly 
alarmed:  the  features  of  the  poor  servant 
were  so  frightfully  convulsed  that  he  saw 
at  once  there  was  serious  illness. 

"I  can  not  die  here,"  she  murmured; 
"think  of  the  mistress!  Send  me  to  the 
hospital." 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  laid  her  on 
the  bed.  Nora  sobbed  aloud. 

* '  You  will  have  to  overcome  yourself  and 
help  me,"  he  said,  sharply. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  dying  woman,  grate- 
fully, "it  will  not  be  the  first  time!  It  has 
come  to  an  end  at  last;  now  that  my  mother 
no  longer  needs  me,  let  death^come." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  asked 
Mrs.  Auvrard,  entering. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


469 


Large  drops  of  blood  began  to  stain 
Jane's  handkerchief,  and  Nora,  who  was 
busy  about  her,  answ^ered,  softly:  "She  has 
cancer,  and  the  dreaded  bleeding  has  set  in." 

"Cancer!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Auvrard,  in 
horror.   "And  I  never  knew  it!" 

"There  was  no  cure  possible,  and  I 
learned  to  dress  it,"  replied  Nora,  simply, 
as  she  gently  but  skilfully  removed  the 
stained  linen  which  covered  the  frightful 
sore. 

Mrs.  Auvrard  sank  into  a  chair,  while 
Mark  hastened  for  a  physician;  but  the  end 
had  indeed  come.  Towards  evening  Jane 
fell  into  her  agony,  holding  Nora's  hand  in 
hers  as  she  received  the  last  Sacraments. 
A  Sister  of  Charity  wiped  the  death- damp 
from  her  brow,  but  she  had  now  no  more 
pain,  and  she  smiled  at  the  young  girl  who 
had  so  long  helped  her. 

Mark  came  in  noiselessly;  he  had  left  the 
chamber  of  death  only  to  quiet  his  mother, 
who  was  hysterical  from  fright.  When  Jane 
noticed  him,  she  called  him  over  to  her  side, 
and  Nora  withdrew.  He  had  always  been 
kind  to  the  poor  servant,  and  she  wished  to 
thank  him  for  the  last  time. 

"May  our  good  God  make  you  happy, 
Mr.  Mark!"  she  said,  in  a  low,  broken  voice. 
"I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  but  we  are  all  equal 
before  God.  I  would  like  to  leave  you  some- 
thing; will  you  keep  this  little  cross  when 
all  is  over?" 

He  nodded,  deeply  moved. 

"From  it,"  she  continued,  "I  have 
learned  the  little  I  know" — and  she  gazed 
lovingly  on  the  brass  crucifix, — "and  what 
it  teaches  is  more  useful  than  all  other 
knowledge  in  the  hour  which  now  has 
come  for  me,  and  which  will  come  for  all. 
Tell  the  mistress  to  be  kind  to  Miss  Nora. 
She  has  a  heart  of  gold.  For  months  she 
has  nursed  me  like  an  angel,  doing  half 
my  work ;  but  see  how  pale  she  is!  Oh,  she 
also  wants  care!" 

That  was  all.  Invincible  drowsiness 
closed  her  eyes,  and  when  dawn  broke 
through  the  window  of  her  little  room,  the 
soul  of  the  long-suffering  servant  was  freed 
from  its  earthly  tenement,  and  went  to  cel- 


ebrate Easter  in  a  bstter  world.  The  Sister 
of  Charity  closed  her  eyes,  and  Nora,  cry- 
ing bitterly,  kissed  her  toil-hardened  hand. 

' '  Come  away, ' '  said  a  singularly  softened 
voice  beside  her.  "You  have  fulfilled  your 
heroic  task  to  the  ead,  and  no^  you  need 
rest." 

Nora  turned  her  tearful  face  to  him,  and. 
murmured:  "She  was  only  a  poor  servant, 
but  she  had  a  great  soul,  and  her  love  was 
dear  to  me. ' ' 

"I  will  never  forget  these  moments,"  he 
continued,  loo's iug  on  the  pale  face  which 
now  seemed  to  smile  in  death.  ' '  This  igno- 
rant, untutored  woman  knew  how  to  die." 

Respectfully  he  took  up  the  little  brass 
crucifix  which  poor  Jane  had  bequeathed 
to  him,  and  went  down  stairs.  He  stopped 
at  his  mother's  door,  and  entered  when  she 
called  him. 

' '  Well  ? ' '  she  said,  anxiously. 

"All  is  over,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice 
whose  emotion  he  could  not  control;  and, 
sitting  down  beside  her  couch,  he  took  her 
hand  in  his  tenderly. 

Mrs,  Auvrard  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
then  she  said:  "It  was  very  wrong  of  Nora 
not  to  have  informed  me. " 

"The  Sister  of  Charity  told  me  that 
Jane's  case  was  incurable.  The  hospital 
doctor  attended  her.  She  might  have  lived 
longer  if  she  had  spared  herself  more.  Af- 
ter yesterday's  attack  she  could  no  longer 
have  continued  in  service." 

"Nora," repeated  Mrs.  Auvrard,  bitterly, 
' '  has  been  wanting  in  the  confidence  due 
to  me." 

"She  has  acted  heroically,"  said  her  son, 
warmly. 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
' '  Heroically !    All.  devotees  are  fanatical. " 

' '  Then  I  wish  all  women  were  devotees. " 

"That  is  a  sudden  enthusiasm,  Mark." 

"No,  mother;  I  can  not  refrain  from 
admiring  a  young  girl  whom  I  considered 
giddy  and  frivolous,  but  who  privately  ac- 
complished what  for  her  delicate  nature 
must  have  been  a  terrifying  ordeal." 

Mrs.  Auvrard  closed  the  conversation 
with  an  impatient  shrug. 


470 


The  Ave  Maria. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Clotiida  and  Amelia  Kernoel  were  mar- 
ried oa  the  same  day.  There  was  no  noisy 
nuptial  banquet;  for  Mary's  approaching 
departure  threw  a  shadow  over  all  hearts. 
Immediately  after  the  ceremony  both  newly 
married  couples  departed  for  their  respec- 
tive homes,  and  the  remaining  guests  as 
sembled  in  Miss  Kernoel's.  Mary  and  Nora 
were  alone  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window. 

' '  Now, ' '  said  the  latter, ' '  I  shall  be  com- 
pletely desolate  without  your  sisters  to 
enliven  my  loneliness,  and  you  to  give  me 
courage. ' ' 

Mary's  soft  glance  contained  a  slight 
reproach.  *'I  give  you  courage!  Fortu- 
nately, you  can  seek  it  at  a  better  source. 
Have  patience,  dear  Nora.  You  will  not 
always  be  unhappy.  Look  at  those  clouds; 
they  move  so  slowly  that  we  do  not  see  their 
motion,  yet  in  a  short  time  they  will  have 
passed  away  forever.  So  with  your  sorrows. 
And  a  better,  wiser  friend  than  any  of  us 
still  remains  to  you." 

"I  was  very  ungrateful  not  to  remember 
that  I  still  have  your  aunt." 

"And  you  will  console  her  for  our  ab 
sence.  My  sisters  were  her  joy,  and  she  will 
also  miss  me  ' ' 

Two  days  later  Mary  entered  the  convent. 
Miss  Kernoel  did  all  she  could  to  console 
Nora,  but  their  intercourse  took  a  graver 
tone,  and  the  little  cosy  parlor  no  longer 
echoed  the  bursts  of  merry  laughter  with 
which  it  formerly  resotmded. 

Summer  came.  Nora  grew  sadder  and 
paler  every  day.  Mrs.  Auvrard,  by  her  son's 
advice,  now  allowed  her  to  visit  Octavia 
every  day,  and  obliged  her  to  take  a  glass 
of  old  port- wine  at  dinner,  while  she  be- 
moaned the  debility  of  the  women  of  the 
present  day,  and  declared  Nora's  health 
irreparably  injured  by  her  travels.  There 
her  care  ceased.  In  proportion  as  Mark  be- 
came more  polite  and  attentive  to  her  niece, 
she  grew  more  bitter  and  severe;  whether  it 
was  that  Nora's  weak  state  irritated  her, 
or  that  she  grudged  the  least  token  of  her 
son's  regard  to  any  one  else,  it  was  difficult 
to  say. 


One  sultry  July  evening  Miss  Kernoel 
sat  with  her  knitting  at  the  open  window, 
when  Mark  Auvrard  was  announced,  and 
sterner,  more  haggard  than  ever  he  entered 
the  pleasant  room. 

"May  I  without  ceremony  make  known 
to  you  the  object  of  my  visit?"  he  asked, 
shaking  hands  abstractedly.  "  I  have  only 
half  an  hour  to  spare,  and  would  ask  your 
opinion  on  a  serious  matter." 

She  nodded  assent. 

"I  am  aware  of  your  lively  interest  in 
Miss  de  Br^lyon,"  he  said,  "and  therefore 
wish  to  know  if  her  state  of  health  does  not 
make  you  uneasy?" 

"I  have  spoken  to  your  mother  more 
than  once  on  the  subject,  but,  as  the  young 
girls  of  her  generation  were  blessed  with 
iron  constitutions,  she  can  not  understand 
that  those  of  our  days  are  weaker. ' ' 

"I  wish  to  have  a  doctor  called  in  at 
once. ' ' 

' '  That  has  already  been  done.  Yesterday 
I  brought  Nora  to  my  old  doctor,  and  to  day 
I  called  on  him  to  know  his  private  opin- 
ion. He  told  me  that  Nora  can  recover  only 
by  completely  changing  her  mode  of  life." 

"What  can  have  cau-^ed  her  ill  health?" 

"Shall  I  be  frank  and  tell  you  what  I 
think?" 

'"Yes." 

"There  was  too  sudden  and  radical  a 
change  made  in  her  way  of  living;  and,  ac- 
customed as  she  was  to  the  pleasures  of 
travelling  and  social  life,  the  restraint  was 
too  great.  Do  }  ou  think  the  loneliness  of 
her  present  life,  constant  sewing,  and  brood- 
ing over  the  past,  can  suit  her  years?" 

Mark's  face  expressed  the  most  contradic- 
tory sentiments.  "You  could  not  expect," 
he  said,  "that  my  mother,  at  her  age, would 
give  up  the  retirement  she  loves,  and  intro- 
duce her  niece  into  Penvan  society.  Besides, 
the  girl  is  poor,  and  can  not  waste  her  time. 
Labor  is  a  law  from  which  no  one  is  ex- 
empted." 

' '  True,  and  I  should  be  the  last  to  advise 
Nora  to  neglect  that  obligation.  But  would 
it  not  have  been  wiser  to  accustom  her  by 
degrees  to  the  rigor  of  such  a  life — to  leave 


The  Ave  Maria. 


471 


her  a  little  more  freedom,  and  not  count 
every  moment  she  spent  -with  my  nieces, 
which  was  her  only  pleasure?  At  one  blow 
she  was  condemned  to  a  life  harder  and 
more  depressing  than  that  of  any  nun, 
without  considering  that  such  a  life  might 
kill  her  in  the  end." 

"Would  you  have  young  girls  brought 
up  according  to  their  own  fancies?" 

"Certainly  not.  My  nieces  had  every 
hour  of  the  day  occupied,  and  mapped  out 
beforehand.  But  I  dreaded  suppressing  that 
young,  fresh  gayety  which  belongs  to  their 
age,  and  is  now  the  joy  of  those  they  live 
with." 

"Poor  mother,"  he  exclaimed, " you  are 
blamed  for  not  assuming  the  gayety  of  your 
youth  towards  the  homeless  girl  you  so 
compassionately  adopted!" 

"I  do  not  blame  your  mother,"  sa'd  the 
lady, gently  but  firmly;  "but  there  is  one 
thing  which  she  could  have  given  Nora, 
and  that  is  aflfection,  without  which  the  soul 
pines.  If  she  felt  unable  to  open  her  heart 
as  well  as  her  house  to  her  niece, — if  she 
had  to  force  her  benefits  on  her  while  mak- 
ing the  iull  weight  of  them  acutely  felt, — it 
would  have  been  better  to  have  allowed  her 
to  gain  her  livelihood  in  freedom.  If  she 
had  then  felt  desolate  and  alone,  she  would 
have  been  supported  by  the  consciousness 
of  independence. ' ' 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments, 
then  Mark  resumed  the  conversation. 

"We  are  responsible  for  this  young  girl's 
health,  and  I  should  be  grateful  to  you  if 
you  would  let  me  know  what  the  doctor 
orders. ' ' 

"  He  orders  amusement,  rest,  and,  if 
possible,  change  of  air." 

"Change  of  air!  How  can  I  induce  my 
mother  to  leave  home?" 

"It  would,  I  am  sure,  be  very  difficult; 
but  don't  you  know,  Mr.  Auvrard,  that  old 
maids  are  meant  to  be  generally  useful? 
Your  mother  ought  to  entrust  Nora  to  me, 
and  I  would  bring  her  back  fresh  and 
strong  again. ' ' 

Mark's  face  brightened,  and  he  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  Octavia. 


' '  How  kind  you  are !  I  was  growing  very 
uneasy.   But  Nora  never  complains. ' ' 

"  She  has  great  strength  of  will." 

"I  saw  that  when  poor  Jane's  illness 
came  to  light.  May  I  tell  my  mother  you 
will  call?" 

"Certainly.  I  shall  fetch  Nora  to-mor- 
row." 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  then 
returned  pensively  to  the  room.  "Nora's 
gentleness  has  touched  him,"  she  thought, 
but  she  was  wrong.  Characters  like  his 
feel  the  charm  of  gentleness  only  after  long 
years.  What  astonished  and  touched  him 
was  the  heroic,  fraternal  charity,  of  which, 
strong  man  as  he  was,  he  knew  himself 
incapable. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Holy  House  of  Nazareth. 


ABOUT  sixty  miles  north  of  Jerusalem 
lies  Nazareth,  once  a  city,  but  now  a 
poor  and  wretched  village;  its  small  and 
roughly  built  houses  stand  in  scattered 
groups  on  the  declivity  and  at  the  foot  of 
a  mountain  which  looks  frowningly  down 
upon  them-  The  papulation,  consisting  of 
Catholics,  Greek  schismatics,  and  Turks,  is 
reckoned  at  3,000,  of  which  the  Catholics 
form  the  majority. 

The  tourist  can  still  see  at  Nazareth 
many  objects  which  recall  to  mind  various 
passages  in  the  life  of  our  divine  Lord 
and  His  Blessed  Mother;  but  the  most 
interesting  religious  monument,  the  most 
authentic,  and  the  one  most  deserving  of 
attention,  is  the  little  house,  forever  to  be 
blessed,  in  which  Mary  and  Joseph  lived, 
and  in  which  was  wrought  the  ineffable 
mystery  of  mercy  and  salvation — the  Incar- 
nation of  the  Son  of  God. 

In  the  time  of  our  Saviour  the  poorer 
class  of  inhabitants  at  Nazareth  built  their 
houses  some  distance  up  the  mountain, 
and  on  the  side  farthest  from  the  high-road; 
the  ruins  of  some  of  them  may  be  seen  at 
the  present  day.  They  were  very  limited, 
and  partly  hollowed  out  of  the  rock.  In  front 


472 


The  Ave  Maria. 


was  a  little  room  built  of  masonry;  the 
floor  of  this  apartment  was  on  a  level  with 
the  floor  of  the  cave  behind  it.  Such,  was 
the  dwelling  of  Mary  and  Joseph.  The 
front  chamber  was  oblong  in  shape,  and 
measured  29 >^  ft.  long  by  127^  ft.  wide;  its 
height  was  ^'^V\  ^^-i  ^^^  ^^^  walls  were 
14  inches  thick.  This  is  the  part  of  the 
building  that  was  carried  into  Dalmatia  by 
angels  towards  the  close  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  some  years  afterwards  to  Lo- 
reto  in  the  Marsh  of  Ancona.  It  is  known 
the  world  over  as  the  Holy  House  of  Loreto. 
A  descent  of  three  or  four  steps  leads 
from  the  front  chamber  into  the  grotto, 
which  is  16  ft.  long,  10  ft.  wide,  and  from 

9  to  10  ft.  high.  At  the  extremity  are  two 
small  apartments,  one  of  which,  it  is  said, 
served  as  an  oratory  for  the  humblest  and 
holiest  of  virgins.  The  two,  taken  to- 
gether, measure  about  20  ft  in  length  and 

10  ft.  in  breadth;  a  little  flight  of  stairs,  in  a 
small  opening,  forms  a  communication  be- 
tween them.  Their  appearance  indicates  an 
antiquity  sufiicient  to  justify  what  tradition 
says  of  them,  and  their  position  inclines  us 
to  believe  what  is  said  about  the  purpose 
to  which  they  were  formerly  devoted. 

The  House  of  Nazareth  was  tiransformed 
into  a  chapel  in  the  earliest  days  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  in  the  fourth  century  St.  Helena 
built  over  it  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
churches  in  the  East.  A  column,  fixed  in 
the  middle  of  the  door  leading  into  the 
grotto,  marked  the  supposed  spot  on  which 
Gabriel  stood  while  saying  the  *'^z/^"/ 
and  about  one  yard  farther  in  stood  an- 
other pillar,  indicating  the  place  where 
knelt  the  Handmaid  of  the  Lord  while 
receiving  the  message  of  Her  heavenly 
visitor.  These  two  columns  were  of  gray 
marble  and  reached  to  the  ceiling.  Each 
measured  20  inches  in  diameter.  As  the 
one  in  the  door  made  the  passage  somewhat 
narrow,  an  opening  was  cut  on  one  side, 
and  finished  off"  with  white  marble. 

On  the  25th  of  March,  1825,  St.  Louis, 
the  greatest  and  most  virtuous  of  the  kings 
of  France,  came  to  receive  Holy  Commun- 
ion at  the  foot  of  an  altar  erected  around 


these  two  pillars.  "He  arrived,"  says  the 
historian,  "at  Cana  of  Galilee,  on  the  vigil 
of  the  Annunciation,  wearing  a  rough  hair- 
shirt;  that  same  day  he  made  the  ascent  of 
Mt.  Thabor,  and  thence  proceeded  to  Naz- 
areth. The  moment  this  latter  appeared  in 
view, he  descended  from  his  horse,  fell  upon 
his  knees,  and  adored  in  the  distance  the 
sacred  place  in  which  was  wrought  the 
great  mystery  of  man's  redemption.  Then 
rising,  his  Majesty  walked  barefoot  to  the 
Holy  House,  although  he  was  greatly  fa- 
tigued and  very  weak,  having  tasted  noth- 
ing all  day  but  a  little  bread  and  water.  "^ 
Next  day  he  assisted  at  Mass  and  Vespers, 
and  received  the  Sacred  Body  of  our  Lord 
from  the  hands  of  the  delegate,  who  on  this 
occasion  delivered  a  most  touching  dis- 
course; so  that,  according  to  the  account  of 
the  King's  cbnfessor,  from  which  we  have 
taken  these  details,  one  may  say  never, 
since  the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation  was 
accomplished  at  Nazareth,  was  God  so  hon- 
ored by  devotion  and  edification  as  He  was 
on  that  day. 

About  forty  years  afterwards  the  infidels, 
having  taken  possession  of  the  whole  of 
Palestine,  destroyed  the  church  erected  by 
St  Helena.  The  Christians  later  on  re- 
built it  in  part,  and  added  to  it  a  monastery 
in  which  pilgrims  were  lodged.  Although 
the  sacred  edifice  has  been  many  times 
demolished,  the  convent  torn  down,  the 
religious  outraged  and  expelled,  yet  the 
Holy  House  has  always  escaped  destruc- 
tion. Of  the  church  built  by  St.  Helena 
there  remains  only  a  portion,  and  that  in 
ruins;  it  serves,  however,  to  give  some  idea 
of  its  former  grandeur.  The  first  of  the  two 
columns  remains  intact;  the  second  has 
crumbled  beneath  the  hammers  of  wretches 
who  thought  to  find  a  mine  of  treasures 
within  it.  A  portion  of  it  may  still  be  seen, 
near  the  sanctuary,  suspended  from  the 
ceiling. 

The  present  monastery  is  grand,  spac- 
ious, and  strongly  built.  It  is  occupied  by 
the  Franciscans.  The  church  which  en- 
closes the  Holy  House  is  itself  enclosed  by 
the  monastery.  At  the  time  of  its  erection 


The  Ave  Maria. 


473 


the  tyranny  of  the  Turkish  governors  did 
not  permit  it  to  be  completed;  it  is,  how- 
ever, very  beautiful,  and  kept  in  the  neatest 
order.  A  passage  of  white  marble  steps  leads 
into  the  grotto,  where  lamps  are  continually 
burning.  On  a  slab,  also  of  marble,  are  in- 
scribed the  memorable  words:  "Here  the 
Word  was  made  Flesh."  In  the  first  of 
the  two  small  chambers  mentioned  above 
there  is  an  altar,  over  which  hangs  a  beau- 
tiful picture  of  the  Holy  Family  bearing 
the  inscription,  Hie  erat  subditus  illis^  — 
"Here  He  was  subject  to  them."  On  the 
«ite  where  formerly  stood  the  Loreto  there 
are  at  present  two  altars — one  at  the  left 
and  the  other  at  the  right  of  the  steps  that 
lead  down  into  the  grotto,  or  excavation. 
Images  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  Her  sweet 
name  are  met  with  at  every  step  in  the 
church  itself  Not  a  flower  culled  by  Cath- 
olic hands  that  is  not  placed  upon  Her  al- 
tar as  an  oflfering  of  love  and  homage.  The 
walls  are  everywhere  full  of  inscriptions  in 
Her  honor,  and  over  each  door  aie  written 
the  words  ''''Ave  Maria^ 


The  Advantage  of  a  Religious  School. 


THE  moral  influence  exerted  by  schools 
in  charge  of  religious  can  hardly  be 
overestimated;  it  is  felt  in  a  thousand  ways. 
But  perhaps  the  best  proof  of  the  advan- 
tage is  afforded  by  the  sacrifices  which  so 
many  priests  and  parishes  make  to  secure 
their  services.  A  correspondent  of  The  Pilot 
maintains  that  as  regards  secular  studies 
also  the  instruction  is  very  superior  to  that 
of  the  public  schools.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
* '  what  would  it  profit  our  children  to  gain 
all  knowledge  and  lose  that  which  is  most 
important  to  the  salvation  of  their  souls?  " 
We  happen  to  know  that  the  writer  is  a 
prominent  layman  in  Boston,  who  was  for 
many  years  an  Episcopalian  clergyman. 
Probably  few  persons  could  write  with  fuller 
knowledge  of  both  public  and  parochial 
schools.   His  communication  runs: 

I  had  occasloa  the  other  day  to  visit  a  family 
in  St.  Patrick's  parish,  Boston  Highlands,  where 


the  splendid  parochial  school,  which  throws  all 
the  public  schools  in  Boston  into  the  shade,  was 
opened  on  the  ist  of  September  last.  This  family, 
besides  the  parents,  embraces  seven  children,  the 
oldest  of  whom  was  fifteea,  and  four  were  girls. 
The  father  is  a  day -laborer,  and  they,  of  course, 
have  a  hard  struggle  to  feed  and  clothe  so  many 
children;  but  I  was  pleased  to  notice  that  while 
they  were  struggling  to  feed  the  bodies,  they  did 
not  neglect  the  minds  and  hearts  of  their  little 
flock.    I  remarked: 

"I  suppose  your  girls  go  to  the  new  Sisters' 
school ? ' ' 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  the  mother  replied, ' '  my  girls  all  go 
to  the  Sisters'  school." 

' 'And  how  do  you  like  it .'" '   I  asked. 

' '  We  like  it  very  much, ' '  she  answered ;  ' '  much 
better  than  the  public  schools." 

' '  How  is  that  ? — why  do  you  like  it  better  than 
the  public  schools  ?  " 

"Because,"  she  said,  "they  not  only  teach  the 
common  branches  just  as  well  if  not  better  than 
they  do  in  the  public  schools,  but  they  give  great 
attention  to  the  morals  and  manners  of  the  chil- 
dren. They  are  taught  how  to  behave  at  home  and 
in  company.  They  are  taught  to  respect  age,  to 
be  obedient  to  their  parents  and  superiors,  to  be 
kind  and  gentle  to  all." 

"Yes,"  spoke  up  a  bright  little  nine-year-old, 
"and  we  mustn't  run  on  the  street  any  more,  nor 
follow  after  wagons,  nor  be  rude  or  boisterous  in 
our  play." 

' '  Yes, '  'said  the  mother, ' '  and  we  see  the  influ- 
ence of  the  good  Sisters  in  our  family  already. 
There  is  not  the  quarrelling,  the  strife  and  con- 
tention there  used  to  be  when  they  went  to  the 
public  schools;  and  they  are  learning  about  their 
religion." 

The  mother  is  an  intelligent  woman  of  her  class, 
and  she  evidently  appreciated  the  great  blessing 
of  having  a  school  for  her  bright,  interesting  girls 
where  they  can  be  taught  something  besides  the 
"three  glorious  R's"  that  we  read  about. 

And  this  reminds  me  that  many  years  ago, 
when  the  late  Archbishop  Bayley  was  Bishop  of 
Newark,  I  had  occasion  to  visit  the  Brothers' 
school  which  had  recently  been  established  there 
in  connection  with  the  Cathedral  parish.  Father 
Doane,  rector  of  the  Cathedral,  at  whose  invitation 
I  made  the  visit,  told  me  that  one  of  the  most 
striking  things  in  connection  with  that  school 
was  the  decided  moral  influence  it  was  exerting, 
even  at  that  early  period  of  its  history,  throughout 
the  whole  parish,  upon  the  parents  as  well  as  the 
children.  I  remember,  too,  that  at  that  time  I  was 
impressed  with  the  superiority  of  the  Brothers' 
system  of  teaching,  even  in  the  secular  branches, 
over  anything  I  had  ever  witnessed  in  the  public 
schools.  The  division  of  the  school  into  two 
classes — Greeks  and  Romans — to  awaken  emula- 


474 


The  Ave  Maria, 


tion,  struck  me  as  most  admirable.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  eagerness  displayed  b>  the  two  sides 
during  a  brief  examination  made  by  the  head 
Brother,  to  give  me  an  idea  of  their  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding. There  were  no  sleepy-heads  there.  The 
boys  were  wide  awake;  every  eye  gleamed;  their 
hands  were  thrust  forward  with  an  intensity  of 
earnestness  which  showed  that  it  was  no  mere 
mechanical  work,  but  one  in  which  their  minds 
and  hearts  were  deeply  interested.  It  is  my  sin- 
cere conviction  that  the  instruction  in  our  public 
schools,  take  them  as  they  run,  does  not  begin  to 
compare  with  that  of  the  teaching  orders  of  the 
Church  even  in  secular  stud  es.  But,  after  all, 
what  wotild  it  profit  our  children  to  gain  all 
knowledge  and  lose  that  which  is  most  important 
to  the  salvation  of  their  souls? 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  belief  in  purgatory,  or  in  something  very 
like  purgatory,  is  beginning  to  gain  ground 
among  the  more  enlightened  Protestants.  The 
discussions  which  took  place  a  few  years  ago 
between  some  Anglican  divines  on  the  ques- 
tion of  the  endlessness  of  future  punishment 
did  much  to  foster  this  belief;  and  a  passage 
in  Mr.  Mallock's  celebrated  work,  "Is  L,ife 
Worth  Living?"  putting  the  matter  in  a 
sensible  and  temperate  way, was  quite  a  reve- 
lation to  most  of  his  readers.  We  think  it 
not  inopportune  to  reproduce  Mr.  Mallock's 
words: 

"To  those  who  believe  in  purgatory,  to  pray  for 
the  dead  is  as  natural  and  rational  as  to  pray  for 
the  living.  Next  as  to  this  doctrine  of  purgatory 
itself— which  has  so  long  been  a  stumbling  block 
to  the  whole  Protestant  world — time  goes  on,  and 
the  view  men  take  of  it  is  changing.  It  is  becom- 
ing fast  recognized  on  all  sides  that  it  is  the  only 
doctrine  that  can  bring  a  belief  in  future  rewards 
and  punishments  into  anything  like  accordance 
with  our  notions  of  what  is  just  or  reasonable.  So 
far  from  it  being  a  superfluous  superstition,  it  is 
seen  to  be  just  what  is  demanded  at  once  by  reason 
and  morality,  and  a  belief  in  it  to  be  not  an  in- 
tellectual assent,  but  a  partial  harmonizing  of  the 
whole  moral  ideal." 


A  deputation  of  Indians  from  the  Umatilla 
reservation  near  Portland,  Oregon,  had  an  in- 
terview with  Cardinal  Gibbons  during  his  re- 
cent visitto  that  city.  Cha-wa-wai,  their  princi- 
pal man,  asked  to  have  a  " '  talk  with  the  great 
chief  of  the  black  robes, ' '  and  the  privilege  was 
granted  to  him,  the  Very  Rev.  Father  Cataldo, 


S.  J.,  superior  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  mis- 
sions, acting  as  interpreter.  The  Indian  chief 
complained  of  ill-treatment  on  the  part  of  the 
whiles,  in  particular  that  the  cross  had  been 
pulled  down  from  their  school-house.  ' '  We  are 
Catholics,"  said  he;  "our  children  are  Cath- 
olics; and  that  cross  on  the  top  of  the  school- 
house  is  the  sign  of  our  being  Catholics.  That 
man  can  take  the  cross  from  our  school-house, 
but  he  can  never  take  it  from  our  hearts." 
Noble  words  these  and  words  which  show  the 
true  fervor  of  the  Catholic  Indian.  The  chief 
concluded  by  urgently  requesting  the  Cardinal 
to  send  them  Sisters  to  teach  their  children,  to 
replace  those  who  had  been  taken  away  from 
them.  Cardinal  Gibbons  expressed  himself 
much  pleased  with  the  visit  of  the  deputation, 
and  promised  to  do  all  that  lay  in  his  power 
to  gratify  them. 

The  Lord' s  Prayer,  a  painting  just  finished 
by  Gabriel  Max,  and  now  on  view  in  the  Neu- 
man  Art  Gallery,  Munich, will  soon  make  the 
tour  of  the  principal  German  cities.  It  is  said 
to.be  one  of  the  most  original  creations  of  the 
great  Christian  artist. 


At  St. Mary's,  Notre  Dame,  Ind..  a  beautiful 
conventual  church,  a  real  gem  of  architect- 
ure, has  been  erected,  and  consecrated  to  the 
Mother  of  God  and  the  service  of  religion  un- 
der the  title  of  Our  Lady  of  Loreto.  It  is  built 
in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross,  with  a  dome  sur- 
mounting the  centre  after  the  style  of  the 
Church  of  Santa  Maria  in  Carignano  at  Genoa. 
It  is  122  feet  in  length  and  92  feet  in  its  great- 
est width.  The  cross  above  the  dome  rises  to 
a  height  of  125  feet.  The  auditorium  is  84  feet 
in  diameter,  and  the  alcoves,  east  and  west, 
with  vaulted  ceilings,  ascend  in  semi-elliptical 
circles  38  feet  in  width.  The  whole  interior 
presents  an  appearance  of  graceful  symmetry, 
where  gentle  curves  blend  into  one  another 
and  rise  and  are  lost  in  the  grand  circle  de- 
scribed by  the  base  of  the  dome.  The  numer- 
ous windows  are  filled  with  elegant  stained 
glass — some  of  very  large  size  —descriptive  of 
the  chief  mysteries  of  Our  Lady's  life — from 
the  rose- window  over  the  portal, which  por- 
trays the  exceptional  privilege  of  the  Immac- 
ulate Conception,  to  that  over  the  transept, 
which  depicts  the  glorious  triumph  of  the 
Assumption. 

This  sacred  edifice,  which  has  been  fitly 


\ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


475 


termed  "a  beautiful  sanctuary  of  the  Ange- 
lus, ' '  was  dedicated  on  the  Feast  of  All  Saints. 
In  the  absence,  through  illness,  of  the  Rt. 
Rev.  Bishop  of  the  diocese,  the  solemn  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  Very  Rev.  W. 
Corby,  C.  S.  C,  attended  by  a  number  of  the 
reverend  clergy  from  Notre  Dame. 


Is  it  possible  that  any  one  should  feel 
ashamed  of  being  a  Catholic?  Yes,  not  only 
possible,  but,  unfortunately,  too  common.  An 
unworthy  cowardice  is  at  the  root  of  this  feel- 
ing: let  those  who  have  it  take  to  themselves 
the  admirable  advice  of  the  Catholic  Review. 
' '  If  you  are  not  proud  of  being  Catholics  (as 
you  ought  to  be)."  says  that  paper, "at  least 
have  the  manhood  not  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  If 
you  do  not  or  can  not  realize  how  glorious  and 
)  precious  a  privilege  it  is  to  belong  to  the  one 
true  Church,  at  least  do  not  belittle  it.  You 
will  declare,  perhaps,  that  you  are  ready  to 
die  for  your  faith  if  need  be.  True,  no  doubt; 
then  do  not  deny  or  conceal  that  faith  for  fear 
of  a  snub  from  some  chance  acquaintance  on  a 
railroad  train,  or  a  sneer  from  some  ill-bred 
bigot  in  a  drawing-room." 


Friday,  October  29 — the  Feast  of  the  Apos- 
tles S3.  Simon  and  Jude, — witnessed  the  ele- 
vation to  the  episcopal  dignity  of  the  Rt. 
Rev.  Maurice  F.  Burke,  Bishop  of  Cheyenne, 
Wyoming  Ter. ;  and  the  Rt.  Rev.  Nicholas 
Matz,  Coadjutor  Bishop  of  Denver,  Colorado, 
— the  former  being  consecrated  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  the  Holy  Name,  Chicago,  and  the  latter 
in  the  Cathedral  at  Denver. 

Bishop  Burke  has  been  for  many  years  a 
conspicuous  figure  among  the  clergy  of  the 
Archdiocese  of  Chicago,  distinguished  alike 
by  his  ability  and  zeal.  In  autumn,  1866, 
when  eighteen  years  old,  he  entered  the  Uni- 
versity of  Notre  Dame,  where  he  passed  one 
year,  and  then  went  to  complete  his  studies 
for  the  sacred  ministry  at  the  American  Col- 
lege in  Rome.  On  his  return  to  this  country 
he  was  ordained  for  the  Diocese  of  Chicago, 
and  for  the  past  ten  years  he  has  been  pastor 
of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Joliet.  The  efficiency 
displayed  in  the  temporal  and  spiritual  ad- 
ministration of  this  large  and  important  con- 
gregation well  merited  his  promotion  to  the 
episcopacy,  wherein  a  wider  sphere  is  opened 
out  to  him  to  employ  in  the  holy  cause  of  re- 


ligion the  talents  with  which  he  has  been 
gifted. 

Bishop  Matz  is  a  native  of  Munster,  Alsace- 
I^orraine,  and  is  now  in  his  thirty-seventh 
year.  In  1868  he  came  to  the  United  States, 
and  entered  the  Seminary  of  Mt.  St  Mary's  of 
the  West  at  Cincinnati.  In  1874  he  was  or- 
dained and  received  into  the  Diocese  of  Colo^ 
rado  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Macheboeuf.  Since 
that  time  his  work  in  the  sacred  ministry  has 
been  characterized  by  efficiency  and  zeal,  and 
crowned  with  signal  success. 


Jacob  William  Lloyd,  Esq.,  who  died  re- 
cently at  Ventnor,  Isle  of  Wight,  was  formerly 
a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England.  After 
his  conversion  he  served  in  the  Pontifical 
Zouaves,  and  was  made  a  Chevalier  of  the 
Order  of  St.  Gregory  the  Great  by  Pius  IX. 
He  was  an  accomplished  Welsh  antiquary, 
and  published  several  interesting  genealogi- 
cal works.  Among  other  services  to  religion, 
he  restored  Llangurig  church  at  a  cost  of 
^10,000.  R.I.P. 

In  1853,  when  the  Diocese  of  Brooklyn  was 
established,  there  were  only  eight  Catholic 
churches  in  the  city,  and  ten  others  scattered 
over  Long  Island,  with  twenty -three  priests. 
Now  there  are  more  than  100  churches,  nearly 
170  priests,  and  a  large  number  of  academies, 
parochial  schools,  and  charitable  institutions. 
The  new  cathedral  on  Clermont  Avenue, 
Brooklyn,  will  be  one  of  the  grandest  churches 
on  the  Continent. 


A  recent  number  of  the  Santa  QXsirSi  Journal 
contains  an  interesting  anecdote  connected 
with  the  late  Father  P.J.  Kelly,  S.J.  Father 
Kelly  used  to  act  as  chaplain  of  the  Industrial 
School  and  House  of  Correction  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  after  he  ceased  attending  there  a 
curious  incident  occurred,  which  shows  how 
thoroughly  he  had  won  the  affisction  and  con- 
fidence of  the  waifs  and  strays  confined  in 
the  Industrial  School.  When  their  superin- 
tendent, wishing  to  reward  them  for  good  be- 
havior, asked  on  one  occasion  what  he  should 
do  for  them,  they  replied:  "Get  us  back  ' the 
little  Father. '  "  "  The  little  Father, ' '  though 
his  work  there  was  probably  not  of  the  most 
inviting  kind,  had  evidently  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  boys 
entrusted  to  his  charge. 


476 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 


An  Abridged  History  op  the  U>3ited 
States  for  the  Use  of  Schools  By  John 
R.  G.  Hassard,  LL.  D.  New  York:  The  Catholic 
Publication  Society  Co. 

The  little  book  before  us  certainly  has  the 
merit  of  brevity,  compressing  in  261  pages, 
i2mo  (much  of  which  space  is  occupied  by 
wood-cuts), the  narrative  of  American  history, 
from  the  period  of  the  earliest  discovery  to 
the  present  time.  The  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence and  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  form  an  appropriate  appendix.  A  com- 
parison naturally  suggests  itself  between  this 
book  and  Thalheimer's  "Eclectic  History  of 
the  United  States  " — a  book  designed  for  read- 
ers of  the  same  degree  of  capacity,  and  con- 
taining about  twice  the  amount  of  reading 
matter  as  the  one  before  us.  We  find  the  dif- 
ference in  compactness  to  arise  chiefly  from 
Hassard's  having  laid  aside  all  attempts  to 
sketch  or  describe  character,  confining  himself 
to  the  bare  narration  of  events.  In  Thalhei- 
mer's book  a  large  space,  for  example,  is  given 
to  encomiums  on  President  lyincoln.  Hassard 
narrates  the  deeds  of  historical  personages, 
and  leaves  his  readers  to  draw  their  own  con- 
clusions as  to  the  heroism  that  animated  them. 
The  introduction  written  by  Bishop  Spalding 
to  Hassard's  larger  work  is  also  prefixed  to 
this  one.  The  printing  is  neat  and  clear,  and 
the  illustrations  are  such  as  to  warm  the  im- 
agination of  the  class  of  readers  to  whom  the 
work  is  addressed. 

Irish  Scholars  of  the  Penal  Days. 
Glimpses  of  their  Labors  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe.  By  the  Rev.  William  P.  Treacy.  New 
York  and  Cincinnati:  F.  Pustet  &  Co. 

So  much  is  to  be  told  of  the  sons  of  Ireland 
in  her  dark  hours  that  one  could  not  expect  a 
small  volume  to  fulfil  the  promise  of  the  title 
we  have  copied;  however.  Father  Treacy  fur- 
nishes a  collection  of  facts  and  a  list  of  names 
gathered  from  many  sources,  not  one  of  which 
should  be  allowed  to  fade  from  memory.  There 
is  no  better  way  to  impress  upon  our  hearts 
and  minds  the  value  of  freedom  than  to  set 
before  ourselves  the  records  of  those  who  suf- 
fered from  tyranny.  There  is  a  number  of 
poems  scattered  through  the  volume,  having 
the  melody  and  fluency  of  Irish  verses:  always 


pleasant  to  read,  and  lingering  sweetly  in  the 
mind  long  after  they  are  read.  They  will  have 
the  efiect  of  fastening  the  events  and  the 
persons  described  on  the  reader's  mind. 

Ancient  History.  With  Questions  Adapted 
to  the  Use  of  Schools.  By  Peter  Fredet,  D.  D. 
New  Edition.   Baltimore:  John  Muiphy  &  Co. 

This  is  a  revised  edition  of  a  work  long  and 
favorably  known  in  the  schools.  The  revision 
has  been,  for  many  years,  needed  and  looked 
for,  as  the  advances  of  historical  knowledge 
and  criticism  enlarged  and  altered  the  older 
views.  It  is  regrettable  that  the  labors  of  re- 
vision have  not  been  performed  more  thor- 
oughly. One  feature  in  particular  detracts 
from  the  value  of  the  book — viz. ,  the  reten- 
tion of  the  objectionable  method  of  arrange- 
ment, which  is  not  adapted  to  the  discussion 
of  the  histories  of  ancient  times.  The  work, 
however,  is  improved  by  the  addition  of  a  few 
much-needed  maps. 


Obituary. 

"  //  I.T  a  holy  and  luholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers : 

Mr.  Charles  P.  Koine,  of  BuflFalo,  N.  Y.,  who 
yielded  his  soul  to  God  on  the  27th  of  October, 
after  receiving  the  last  Sacraments.  His  decease 
is  mourned  by  a  large  circle  of  friends. 

Mrs.  Alvin  Porter,  a  warm  friend  of  Our  Lady's 
magazine,  who  met  with  a  sudden  death  at  her 
home  in  Jackson,  Mich.,  on  the  20th  ult. 

Elizabeth  Thompson,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary, 
whose  happy  death  occurred  at  Versailles,  Conn., 
on  the  19th  of  October. 

Mrs.  Mary  A.Dwyer,  of  the  same  place,  who  de- 
parted this  life  on  the  4th  ult. 

Miss  Margaret  Kelly,  who  calmly  breathed  her 
last  on  the  8th  of  October  at  Newark,  N.  J.  She 
was  a  devoted  Child  of  Mary,  beloved  by  all  who 
knew  her. 

Mrs.  Catharine  GaflFney,  of  Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  30th  ult. ,  after  receiving  the 
last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Jane  Teresa  Dulton,  of  Norfolk,  Va.,  who 
died  on  the  19th  ult. 

Mrs.  T.  Leg^re,  of  Memramcook,  N.  B. ;  Eliza- 
beth Mackin,  Chicago;  Mrs.  Lizzie  B.  Peterson, 
Rockford,  111.;  Denis  Leary,  South  Boston;  and 
Anna  Grumley  San  Francisco. 

May  their  souls,  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


477 


PARTMENT 


To  a  Little  Cousin  on  lier  First 
Birthday. 


TXjINEFRID  URSULA.!  beautiful  names 
^^   Which  Baby  in  artless  serenity  claims: 
Virgins  and  martyrs — their  story  is  told 
In  statues  of  silver,  in  marble  and  gold; 
In  pictures  and  verse,  in  missals  with  page 
Illumined  by  every  best  skill  of  their  age; 
And  windows  that  hold  in  each  glorified  pane 
The  sunshine  imprisoned  in  luminous  stain: 
Such  wonderful  patrons  our  little  girl  claims 
By  reason  of  these  her  two  beautiful  names! 

Winefrid  Ursula,  what  shall  we  say 

To  glorify  you,  little  lady,  to-day  ? 

And  what  are  the  wishes  of  parent  and  friend 

Which  we  to  the  darling  of  darlings  extend  ? 

I/)ng  life?   O  yes:  life  that  will  shame  by  its 

strength 
The  ages  of  fable;  and  still  its  bright  length 
All  brimming  with  sunshine,  like  October 

days; 
Full  of  works  for  God's  glory,  to  whom  be  the 

praise 
Of  sending  to  us.  His  rare  goodness  to  show, 
Our  Winefrid  Ursula  one  year  ago. 

Eliza  Allen  Starr,  in  the  Inter-Ocean. 


From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes. 


(Conclusion.) 
That  night  was  a  dreadful  one  for  the 
poor  sick  woman.  She  suffered  intense  pain, 
which  wrung  from  her  heart-rending  cries, 
and  rendered  her  delirious.  Her  mistress 
ran  in  from  time  to  time,  in  affright.  The 
women  in  attendance  began  to  lose  hope, 
and  all  feared  that  even  if  the  patient 
should  consent  to  the  operation,  the  doctor, 
who  was  not  to  come  until  the  next  day, 
would  arrive  too  late.  During  her  lucid 
intervals,  however,  it  was  evident  that  her 
most  terrible  torture  arose,  not  from  bodily 


pains,  but  from  the  thought  of  her  distant 
family.  Emaciated,  with  pale  face  and 
sunken  eyes,  she  thrust  her  hands  through 
her  hair  with  a  gesture  of  desperation,  and 
exclaimed : 

' '  My  God !  my  God  I  To  die  so  far  away, 
— to  die  without  seeing  them  again!  My 
poor  children,  who  will  be  left  without  a 
mother! — my  poor  little  creatures,  my  poor 
darlings !  My  Marco,  who  is  still  so  small, 
and  so  good  and  affectionate !  You  can  not 
imagine,  sign ora,  what  a  boy  he  was!  If  you 
only  knew!  I  could  not  detach  him  from 
my  neck  when  I  was  setting  out ;  he  sobbed 
so  I  thought  my  heart  would  break;  it 
seemed  as  though  he  knew  that  he  would 
never  behold  his  poor  mother  again.  Dear 
Marco,  my  sweet  baby!  Ah,  if  I  had  only 
died  then — died  while  they  were  bidding 
me  farewell!  If  I  had  but  dropped  dead! 
Without  a  mother,  my  poor  child — he  who 
loved  me  so  dearly,  who  needed  me  so  much  I 
— without  a  mother,  in  misery,  he  will  be 
forced  to  beg!  He,  Marco,  my  Marco,  will 
stretch  out  his  hand,  famishing!  O  eternal 
God!  No,  I  will  not  die!  The  doctor!  Call 
him  at  once!  Eet  him  come;  let  him  cut 
me;  let  him  cleave  my  breast;  but  let  him 
save  my  life!  I  want  to  recover — I  want  ta 
live,  to  depart,  to  flee,  to-morrow,  at  once! 
The  doctor!   Help!  help!" 

And  the  women  seized  her  hands  and 
soothed  her,  calming  her  little  by  little,  and 
speaking  to  her  of  God  and  of  hope.  And 
then  she  fell  back  again  into  a  mortal  de- 
jection, with  her  hands  clutched  in  her  gray 
hair,  moaned  like  an  infant,  uttering  a  pro- 
longed lament,  and  murmuring  from  time 
to  time:  "  O  my  Genoa!  my  house!  All  that 
sea!  O  my  Marco,  my  poor  Marco!  Where 
is  he  now,  my  poor  darling?" 

It  was  midnight;  and  her  poor  Marco, 
after  having  passed  many  hours  on  the 
brink  of  a  ditch,  his  strength  exhausted, 
was  walking  through  a  forest  of  gigantic 
trees,  their  huge  trunks  silvered  by  the  soft 
light  of  the  moon.  In  the  half  gloom  he  saw^ 
m>riads  of  boles  of  all  forms — upright, 
inclined,  contorted,  crossed  in  strange  post- 
ures of  menace  and  of  conflict;  some  over- 


478 


The  Ave  Maria, 


thrown  on  the  earth,  like  towers  which  had 
fallen  bodily,  and  covered  with  a  dense  and 
confused  mass  of  vegetation,  which  seemed 
like  a  furious  throng,  disputing  the  ground 
span  by  span;  others  collected  in  great 
groups,  vertical  and  serrated,  like  trophies 
of  Titanic  lances^,  whose  tips  touched  the 
clouds;  a  superb  grandeur,  a  prodigious  dis- 
order of  colossal  forms,  the  most  majesti- 
cally terrible  spectacle  which  vegetable 
nature  ever  presented. 

At  times  he  was  overwhelmed  by  a  great 
stupor,  but  his  mind  instantly  took  flight 
again  towards  his  mother.  He  was  worn 
•out,  with  bleeding  feet,  alone  in  the  middle 
of  this  far-extending  forest,  where  at  long 
intervals  he  saw  tiny  human  habitations, 
which  at  the  foot  of  these  trees  seemed  like 
ant-hills.  He  was  exhausted,  but  he  was 
not  conscious  of  his  exhaustion;  he  was 
alone,  yet  he  felt  no  fear.  His  nearness  to 
his  mother  gave  him  the  strength  and  cour- 
age of  a  man ;  the  memory  of  the  ocean,  of 
the  alarms  and  the  sufferings  which  he 
had  undergone  and  vanquished,  of  the  toil 
which  he  had  endured, of  the  iron  constancy 
which  he  had  displayed,  filled  him  with  a 
sense  of  triumph.  All  his  strong  and  noble 
Genoese  blood  flowed  back  to  his  heart  in 
an  ardent  tide  of  joy  and  thankfulness. 

And  now  a  new  thing  took  place  within 
him.  While  up  to  this  time  he  had  borne 
in  his  mind  an  image  of  his  mother  dimmed 
somewhat  by  the  two  long  years  of  absence, 
at  that  moment  the  picture  grew  clear;  he 
again  saw  her  beautiful  face,  perfect  and 
distinct,  as  he  had  not  seen  it  for  a  long 
time;  he  beheld  it  close  to  him,  illuminated, 
speaking;  he  saw  the  most  fleeting  motions 
of  her  eyes  and  of  her  lips,  all  her  attitudes. 
Urged  on  by  these  glowing  recollections, 
the  lad  hastened  his  steps,  and  a  new  af- 
fection, an  unspeakable  tenderness,  grew  in 
his  heart,  causing  sweet  and  quiet  tears  to 
flow  down  his  face;  and  as  he  advanced 
through  the  gloom,  he  spoke  to  her — he 
said  to  her  the  words  which  he  would  mur- 
mur in  her  ear  in  a  little  while  more:  "I 
am  here,  my  mother;  behold  me  here.  I 
will  never  leave  you  again;  we  will  return 


home  together,  and  I  will  remain  always 
beside  you  on  board  the  ship — close  beside 
you, — and  no  one  shall  ever  part  me  from 
you  again, — no  one,  never  more,  so  long  as 
I  have  life!"  And  in  the  meantime  he  did 
not  observe  how  the  silvery  light  of  the 
moon  was  dying  away  on  the  summits  of 
the  gigantic  trees  in  the  delicate  whiteness 
of  the  dawn. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  morning,  the  sur- 
geon from  Tucuman,  a  young  Argentine, 
was  by  the  bedside  of  the  sick  woman,  in 
company  with  an  assistant,  endeavoring  for 
the  last  time  to  persuade  her  to  consent  to 
the  operation;  the  Engineer  Me qu Inez  and 
his  wife  were  also  remonstrating,  but  all  was 
in  vain.  The  woman,  feeling  her  strength 
exhausted,  had  no  longer'  any  faith  in  the 
operation;  she  was  certain  she  should  die 
under  it,  or  that  she  should  survive  it  only 
a  few  hours. 

The  doctor  lingered  to  repeat  once  more: 
' '  But  the  operation  is  a  safe  one ;  your  re- 
covery is  certain,  provided  you  exercise  a 
little  courage.  And  your  death  is  equally 
certain  if  you  refuse."  It  was  a  sheer  waste 
of  words. 

"No,"  she  replied,  in  a  faint  voice;  "I 
still  have  courage  to  die,  but  I  no  longer 
have  any  to  suffer  uselessly.  Let  me  depart 
in  peace." 

The  doctor  desisted  in  discouragement, 
and  nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject 
Then  the  woman  turned  her  face  towards 
her  mistress,  and  addressed  her  in  a  dying 
voice :  ' '  Dear,  good  signora,  you  will  send 
this  little  money  and  my  poor  effects  to  my 
family,  through  the  consul.  I  hope  that 
they  may  all  be  alive.  My  heart  presages 
well  in  these  my  last  moments.  You  will 
do  me  the  favor  to  write  that  I  have  always 
thought  of  them,  that  I  have  always  toiled 
for  them — for  my  children;  that  my  sole 
grief  was  not  to  see  them  once  more,  but 
that  I  died  courageously,  with  resignation, 
blessing  them;  and  that  I  recommend  to 
my  husband  and  to  my  elder  son  the  care 
of  my  little  Marco,  my  poor  Marco;  that  I 
bore  him  in  my  heart  until  the  last  mo- 
ment— "    And  suddenly  she  became  ex- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


479 


cited,  and  cried,  as  she  wrung  her  hands: 
"My  Marco,  my  baby,  my  life!" 

But  on  casting  her  tearful  eyes  round  the 
room,  she  perceived  that  her  mistress  was 
no  longer  there;  she  had  been  called  away. 
She  sought  her  master;  he  also  had  disap- 
peared. No  one  remained  except  the  two 
nurses  and  the  assistant  surgeon.  She  heard 
in  the  adjoining  room  the  sound  of  hurried 
footsteps,  a  murmur  of  hasty  and  subdued 
voices,  and  repressed  exclamations.  The 
sick  woman  fixed  her  glazing  eyes  on  the 
door  in  expectation.  At  the  end  of  a  few 
minutes  she  saw  the  doctor  appear  with  an 
unusual  expression  on  his  f-ice;  then  her 
mistress  and  master,  with  their  counte- 
nances also  altered.  All  three  gazed  at  her 
with  a  singular  expression,  and  exchanged 
a  few  words  in  a  low  tone.  She  fancied  that 
the  doctor  said  to  her  mistress:  "Better  let 
it  be  at  once. ' ' 

"Josefa,"  whispered  her  mistress  to  the 
fiick  woman,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "I  have 
good  news  for  you.  Prepare  your  heart  for 
it" 

The  woman  observed  her  intently. 

*'News,"  continued  the  lady,  with  in- 
creasing agitation,  "which  will  give  you 
great  joy." 

The  sick  woman's  eyes  dilated. 

"  Prepare  yourself  to  see  a  person  whom 
you  love  very  dearly." 

The  woman  raised  her  head  with  a  vig- 
orous movement,  and  began  to  gaze  in  rapid 
succession,  first  at  the  lady  and  then  at  the 
door,  with  flashing  e)  es. 

"A  person,"  added  the  lady,  "who  has 
just  arrived — unexpectedly." 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  the  woman,  with  a 
strange  and  choked  voice.  In  another  in- 
stant she  gave  a  shrill  scream,  sprang  into 
a  sitting  posture  in  her  bed,  and  remained 
motionless,  with  starting  eyes,  and  her 
hands  pressed  to  her  temples,  as  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  supernatural  apparition. 

Marco,  tattered  and  dusty,  stood  theie  on 
the  threshold,  held  back  bv  the  doctor's 
hand  on  one  arm. 

The  woman  shrieked  again:  "God!  God! 
my  God!" 


Marco  rushed  forward;  she  stretched  out 
her  fleshless  arms,  and,  straining  him  to  her 
heart  with  the  strength  of  a  tiger,  she  burst 
into  a  violent  laugh,  broken  by  deep,  tear- 
less sobs,  which  caused  her  to  fall  back 
suffocating  on  the  pillow.  Then  recovering 
herself,  and  mad  with  joy,  she  cried,  as  she 
covered  his  head  with  kisses: 

"How  do  you  come  here?  Why,  is  it 
you?  How  you  have  grown!  Who  brought 
you?  Are  you  alone?  You  are  not  ill?  It 
is  you,  Marco!  It  is  not  a  dream!  Speak  to 
me ! ' '  Then  she  suddenly  changed  her  tone : 
' '  No :  be  silent ! ' '  and  turning  to  the  doctor, 
she  said  with  precipitation:  "  Quick, doctor! 
this  instant!  I  want  to  get  Well.  I  am  ready. 
Take  Marco  away,  that  he  may  not  hear. 
Marco,  my  love,  it  is  nothing.  I  will  tell 
you  about  it.  One  more  kiss.    Go!" 

Marco  was  taken  away.  The  master,  mis- 
tress, and  women  retired  in  haste;  the  sur- 
geon and  his  assistant  remained  behind,  and 
closed  the  door. 

SignorMequinez  attempted  to  lead  Marco 
away,but  he  seemed  rooted  to  the  pavement. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked— "what  is  the 
matter  with  my  mother?  What  are  they 
doing  to  her?" 

And  then  Mequinez  said, softly:  "lyisten, 
my  boy:  I  will  tell  you.  Your  mother  is  ill; 
she  must  undergo  a  little  operation;  I  will 
explain  it  all  to  you.   Come  with  me." 

' '  No, ' '  replied  the  lad,  resisting ;  "  I  want 
to  stay  here.   Explain  it  to  me  here." 

The  engineer  gently  remonstrated  as  he 
drew  him  away;  the  boy  began  to  grow 
terrified  and  to  tremble. 

Suddenly  an  acute  cry,  like  that  of  one 
wounded  to  the  death,  rang  through  the 
whole  house. 

The  boy  responded  with  another  despe- 
rate shriek :  ' '  My  mother  is  dead ! ' ' 

The  doctor  appeare<^  on  the  threshold  and 
said :  ' '  Your  mother  is  saved. ' ' 

The  boy  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  flung  himself  at  his  feet,  sobbing, 
"Thanks,  doctor!" 

But  the  doctor  raised  him  with  a  gesture, 
saying, "  Rise!  It  is  you,  heroic  child,  who 
have  saved  your  mother! " 


480 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  "Salve  Regina." 


There  is  a  great  variety  of  opinions  as  re- 
gards the  authorship  of  the  Antiphon  of  Our 
Blessed  Lady  beginning  with  the  words, 
Salve  Regina.  The  most  probable  opinion 
is,  that  it  was  composed  by  Hermannus,  or 
Hermann,  a  Benedictine  motik  of  the  mon- 
astery of  Reichenau  in  Schwaben,  who  lived 
in  the  eleventh  century.  He  was  of  noble 
birth,  but  more  illustrious  still  by  his  learn- 
ing and  the  holiness  of  his  life.  He  is  said 
to  have  composed  in  honor  of  the  Mother  of 
God  many  sweet  canticles,  amongst  which 
the  Salve  Regina  is  the  most  celebrated. 
The  Antiphon  was  originally  used  only  in 
Germany  and  France,  but  about  the  year 
1230  Pope  Gregory  IX.  approved  it  by  his 
supreme  authority,  and  ordered  it  to  be 
recited  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Divine 
Office. 

It  is  related  of  the  devout  servant  of 
Mary,  the  great  St.  Bernard,  that  towards 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century  he  was 
sent  in  quality  of  Apostolic  Nuncio  to  Spire 
in  Germany.  A  numerous  procession  of 
both  clergy  and  laity  met  him  at  the  city 
gates,  and  amid  the  joyous  pealing  of  the 
bells  conducted  him  with  great  solemnity 
to  the  stately  cathedral.  Having  come  to 
the  threshold,  he  perceived  in  the  temple 
the  venerable  statue  of  the  Mother  of  God, 
and  immediately  intoned  the  Salve  Regina. 
As  the  Saint  came  in  the  middle  of  the 
nave,  the  Antiphon  being  no^  completed 
with  the  words,  nobis  post  hoc  exilium 
ostende^  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and 
exclaimed :  O  clemens!  He  then  rose,  and, 
having  proceeded  a  few  steps  farther,  knelt 
again,  saying,  O pia!  And  after  an  interval, 
kneeling  for  the  third  time,  he  said:  O 
dulcis  Maria!  or,  O  dulcis  Virgo  Maria  I 
Scarcely  had  he  pronounced  the  last  word, 
when  a  voice  was  heard  from  the  statue  of 
Our  Blessed  Lady,  distinctly  saying,  Ave 
Bernarde!  The  numerous  worshippers 
who  thronged  the  sacred  edifice  on  that 
occasion,  and  witnessed  the  miracle,  were 
greatly  astonished  and  moved  to  devotion. 


and  gave  glory  to  God  and  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary.  From  that  time  the  words 
of  St.  Bernard,  O  clemens.^  O  pia^  O  dulcis 
Virgo  Maria!  were  added  to  the  Anti- 
phon. • 


Maxims  of  St.  Stanislas  Kostka. 


St.  Stanislas  Kostka,  whose  feast  we  cele- 
brate on  the  14th  inst.  ,was  of  a  noble  Polish 
family.  As  a  child  he  showed  such  purity 
of  soul,  it  was  said  he  was  an  angel  now, 
and  would  be  a  saint  by  and  by.  He  had  a 
tender  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin, who 
cured  him  of  an  illness,  and  bade  him  join 
the  Society  of  Jesus.  After  many  trials  he 
entered  the  novitiate  at  Rome,  where  he 
died,  as  he  had  prophesied,  on  the  Feast  of 
the  Assumption,  1568.  He  is  the  youngest 
confessor  in  the  calendar,  and  is  often 
spoken  of  as  "  the  boy  saint. ' '  St.  Stanislas 
reached  a  high  degree  of  perfection  by  the 
observance  of  these  three  maxims : 

I. — "I  was  not  born  for  this  earth,  but  for 
heaven."  This  maxim  made  him  despise 
vain  amusements;  he  looked  down  with 
contempt  on  the  honors  and  pomps  of  the 
world,  and  he  directed  all  his  energies  to 
acquiring  the  knowledge  of  God,  and  to 
learn  to  love  Him  with  all  his  heart.  • 

2. — "It  is  better  to  do  little  things  by 
obedience  than  great  things  by  one's  own 
will."  This  maxim  made  him  obey  his  su- 
periors promptly,  joyfully,  and  in  the  most 
perfect  manner  possible. 

3. — "  The  Mother  of  God  is  my  Mother. '  * 
Penetrated  by  this  maxim,  he  loved  the 
Blessed  Virgin  tenderly,  and  tried  to  prove 
himself  Her  son  by  the  practice  of  all  vir- 
tues, especially  angelical  purity;  so  that 
he  merited  to  receive  Communion  twice 
from  the  hands  of  angels,  to  receive  the  In- 
fant Jesus  into  his  arms  from  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  and  to  die  on  the  glorious  Feast  of 
Our  Lady's  Assumption  into  heaven. 

Devotion  to  St.  Stanislas  is  very  fruitful      ,^| 
in  graces  and  heavenly  favors,  especially  in       ^^ 
acquiring  solid  virtues,  and  the  grace  of  a 
holy  life  and  a  happy  death. 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  19,  1887.       No.  21. 


rCopTTicht  ■— Rbt.  D. 

Mary  and  the  Infant  Church. 


[■^IT  is  a  duty  incumbent  on  every 
1 1^  conscientious  historical  -writer  to 
i'^41  search  out,  examine,  and  select  the 
matter  of  his  history  from  the  purest  and 
most  original  sources,  and  from  the  most 
truthful  and  incorruptible  witnesses.  Al- 
though the  authors  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  wrote  under  the  inspiration  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  that  did  not  dispense  them 
from  seeking  out  and  investigating  dili- 
gently the  facts  bearing  on  their  narrative. 
Divine  inspiration  went  no  further  than  to 
assist  the  writer,  so  that  he  should  not  fall 
into  error  or  untruth;  and,  if  need  be,  to 
bring  back  to  his  memory  an  occasional 
fact  or  saying  forgotten  by  him.  The  style, 
diction,  and  elegance  of  the  narration  were 
left  to  the  author,  as  we  learn  from  the 
second  book  of  the  Machabees.  When  the 
New  Testament  narrative  was  written,  it 
is  an  authentic  fact  that  of  the  four  Evan- 
gelists two — SS.  Matthew  and  Mark  — 
published  their  Gospels  whilst  the  Blessed 
Virgin  was  still  living.  The  former  wrote 
his  about  six  years  after  the  Ascension,  the 
latter  about  ten  years.  Now,  the  most  prob- 
able opinion  is  that  Mary  died  about  the 
twelfth  year  after  the  Ascension. 

St.  Matthew,  the  pioneer  of  the  Evange- 
lists, in  searching  for  facts  anrl  dates  in  re- 
gard to  his  future  task,  very  naturally  would 
have  recourse  to  Our  Lady  first  of  all,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  genuine  and  au- 


E.  Hnieo,  C.  8.  C,1 

thentic,  especially  in  whatever  was  of  a 
private  and  domestic  character.  Hence  his 
history  abounds  in  incidents  characteristic 
of  the  family  and  home,  which  he  could 
not  have  learned  except  from  the  Virgin 
Mother  Herself,  the  sole  depositary  and  eye- 
witness of  them. 

The  Gospel  of  St.  Luke  is  still  richer  in 
incidents  anterior  to,  accompanying,  and 
following  the  Incarnation.  It  is  true  that 
Mary  had  been  assumed  into  heaven  about 
twelve  years  previous  to  the  time  when  he 
wrote;  but  no  doubt  he  collected  whatever 
incidents  he  could  from  those  that  had  them 
from  the  Virgin  Mother,  and  from  others 
that  happened  to  see  and  hear  the  facts  and 
words.  This  is  evident  from  the  positive 
declaration  of  the  Evangelist  himself  at  the 
beginning  of  his  Gospel. 

The  Evangelist  most  favored  by  the  as- 
sistance of  the  Mother  of  Jesus  is  undoubt- 
edly St.  John,  who,  as  being  the  adopted  son 
of  Mary,  seems  to  have  lived  with  Her  until 
Her  death.  This  accounts  for  the  sublimity 
and  the  special  character  of  his  Gospel, 
which  merit  for  hitn  the  title  of  Eagle;  and 
it  also  explairs  the  spirit  of  his  Epistles 
and  Apocalypse. 

He  has  concentrated  in  his  Gospel,  as  in 
a  focus  of  light,  the  irradiation  of  divine 
Wisdom  reflected  partially  and  directly  on 
him  by  Christ  as  he  rested  on  His  bosom  at 
the  Last  Supper,  and  which  was  afterwards 
perfected  by  his  constant  domestic  relations 
and  intimate  communication  with  Mary. 
He  has  condensed  in  his  Epistles,  as  in  a 


482 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


focus'of  heat,  the  fervor  of  divine  and  frater- 
nal charity,  which  was  enkindled  in  him 
first  frotn  the  Sicred  Heartof  Jesus,  and  was 
cver]after  wards  01  the  increase  beneath  the 
enduring  personal  reflection  of  Her  who  is 
called  the  Mirror  of  Justice.  Finally,  in  the 
Apocalypse, which  is  the  Omega  of  the  Re- 
generation, as  Genesis  was  its  Alpha^  he  has 
prophetically  epitomized  the  history  of  the 
Christian  Church  from  its  birth  to  its  glo- 
rification. 

'  In  the  Apocalypse,  S '.  John  presents  the 
Christian  Church  in  her  nature,  form,  de- 
velopment, expansion,  and  duration  on  the 
earth  till  the  end  of  the  world.  We  behold 
her  conquering  all  the  physical  and  moral 
obstacles  that  her  combined  infernal  and 
worldly  enemies  are  continually  opposing 
to  her  in  order  to  crush  her,  or  at  least  to 
check  her  progress  and  expansion  in  time 
and  space.  The  imperial  tyrants  of  Rome 
failed  to  destroy  her  in  the  blood  of  her  chil- 
dren, which,  on  the  contrary,  rendered  her 
more  prolific.  Schismatics  did  not  succeed 
in  destroying  her  unity,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, made  her  more  compact  and  solid. 
Heretics  did  not  succeed  in  corrupting  her 
dogmatical  and  moral  teaching,  but  only 
rendered  it  more  clearly  defined  and  re- 
splendent. The  corrupt,  whether  within  her 
pale  or  without  it,  failed  to  sully  her  moral- 
ity, but  by  contrast  made  its  beauty  more 
brilliant,  and  rendered  its  purity  more  con- 
spicuous. 

And  has  Mary  no  place  in  the  Apoca- 
lypse? Oh!  yes,  and  a  prominent  one.  How 
could  St.  John,  Her  beloved  child  of  adop- 
tion, pass  Her  by, — John  who,  next  to  the 
Sun  of  Justice,  owed  in  a  great  measure  to 
Mary  the  sublimity  of  his  Gr>spel,  the  fervid 
charity  of  his  Epistles,  the  mysterious  pro- 
fundity of  his  Apocilypse?  To  whom  but 
to  Mary  does  that  Woman  point,  clothed  in 
the  sun,  with  the  moon  under  Her  feet.  Her 
head  crowned  with  twelve  stars,  whose  un- 
born Son  is  waited  for  by  a  monstrous 
dragon,  which  lies  near  at  hand,  awaiting 
His  birth,  that  he  may  devour  Him? 

It  niay  be  asked :  Why  did  not  John  rather 
than  any  of  the  other  Evangelists  write  mi- 


nutely all  the  particulars  of  the  Incarnation 
— birth  infancy, private  home  life  of  Christ, 
— since,  living  for  years  with  Mary,  he  had 
the  best  opportunity  to  know  them?  It 
must  be  remembered  that  when  he  wrote 
his  Gospel,  the  other  three  Evangelists  had 
long  since  publi-hed  theirs.  It  is  most  prob- 
able that  he  read  them,  and,  judging  that 
they  wc^e  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  he  re- 
frained from  repeating  what  they  had  said, 
in  order  to  leave  room  in  his  Gospel  for  the 
relation  of  other  ac.ions  and  words  of  our 
Saviour  which  they  h  id  not  mentioned.  It 
was  about  the  year  6t^  after  the  Ascension 
that  St.  John  wrote  his  Gospel;  and  as  the 
circumstances  and  wants  of  the  Church,  and 
the  obstacles  that  were  opposed  to  her,  were 
difierent  from  what  they  had  been  in  the 
times  of  the  f  rmer  Evangelists,  he  related 
such  facts  and  teachings  of  Christ  as  were 
calculated  to  suit  his  times,  and  also  the 
future  exigencies  of  the  Church. 

Now,  if  it  is  to  Mary,  after  God,  that  the 
Church  owes  her  well-filled  archives  of 
doctrine,  ani  also  her  well-supplied  arsenal 
of  evangelical  writings  for  the  teaching  of 
true  dogma  and  morals,  and  combating 
the  false,  in  like  manner  under  Her  direct 
and  personal  supervision  the  Church  in  her 
infancy  was  educated  and  directed.  God 
willed  that  She  should  remain  on  earth  af:er 
the  A>cen3ioa  in  order  thit  She  might  ex- 
ercise those  functions  of  mother  with  which 
She  was  invested  on  Mount  Calvary,  and 
which  She  was  to  continue  to  exercise  in 
heaven;  that  She  should  remain  with  Her 
adopted  children  to  instruct  elify,  console 
and  strengthen  them;  that  S'le  should,  in 
some  deg^ree, supply  the  absence  of  Her  Son, 
and  "that  thus,"  as  St.  Augustine  says, "  the 
Church  militant  might  not  be  suddenly  left 
an  orphan,  and  stripped  of  visible  help." 

"The  Church,"  as  D>m  Gueranger  ob- 
serves, "was  born  of  Mary;  She  gave  birth 
to  the  Spouse  of  Her  Son.  Now" — he  is 
writing  of  Pentecost — "new  duties  fall 
upon  the  Mother  of  the  Church.  Jesus  has 
ascended  into  heaven,  leaving  Mary  upon 
the  earth,  that  She  may  nurse  the  infant 
Church.  Oh!  how  lovely  and  yet  how  dig- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


483 


Unified  is  this  infancy  of  our  dear  Church, 
'cherished  as  she  is,  fed,  and  strengthened 
by  Mary !  She  has  the  first  claim  to,  and  the 
J  richest  portion  of,  the  gifts  of  the  Holy 
I  Ghost.   Heretofore  He  overshadowed  Her 
land  made  Her  Mother  of  the  Son  of  God; 
now  He  makes   Her  the  Mother  of  the 
Christian  people.  It  is  the  verification  of 
j those  words  of  the  Royal  Prophet:  'The 
stream'  (literally, the  impetuosity)  'of  the 
'river  maketh  the  City  of  God  joyful:  the 
Most  High  hath  sanctified  His  own  Tab- 
ernacle.'   The  Spiiit  cf  Love  here  fulfils 
i^the  intention  expressed  by  our  Redeemer 
rhen  dying  on  the  Cross.  'Woman,'  said 
[esus  to  Her,  'behold  Thy  Son!'  St.  John 
[was  this  son,  and  he  represented  all  man- 
:ind.  The  Holy  Gho5t  now  infuses  into 
[Mary  the  plenitude  of  the  grace  needful  for 
'  Her  maternal  mission.  From  this  day  for- 
ward She  acts  as   Mother  of  the  infant 
jChurch;  and  when,  at  length,  the  Church 
Pno  longer  needs  Her  visible  presence,  this 
Mother  quits  the  earth  for  heaven,  where 
[She  is. crowned  Queen;  but  there,  too.  She 
continues  to  exercise  Her  glorious  title  and 
[office  of  Mother  of  men." 


Cloudland. 


BY    M.    N. 


I  Pi  HOW  the  bees  hummed  gaily  in  the 
^         heather, 

O  how  the  birds  sang  on  that  summer  day, 
As  I  lay  watching  the  mysterious  cloudland, 

And  the  white,  snowy  mountains  far  away! 

I  will  arise  and  get  me  to  those  mountains, 
Those  shadowy  peaks  crowned  with  the 
golden  sun; 

I  will  arise,  it  may  be  I  shall  reach  them 
Before  this  long  and  weary  day  is  done. 

80  I  set  out,  at  first  with  eager  footsteps; 

The  sun  shines  brightly  on  me  as  I  go; 
I  hasten  on,  with  ne'er  a  look  behind  me, 

To  those  white  hills  of  pure,  untrodden  snow. 

O  how  they  changed,  those  wild,  majestic 
mountains, 


With  all  the  changes  of  that  summer  dayl 

Now  they  were  purple  with  a  golden  lining, 

Now  hazy  blue,  and  now  bright,  silvery  grey. 

At  last  I  saw  the  evening  shadows  lengthen, 
The  hills  were  crimson  with  the  sunset  glow; 

But  even  as  I  watched,  the  glory  faded — 
The  hills  were  dark  Why  had  I  lingered  so? 

Wearied  and  sad,  I  sank  upon  the  heather, 
And,  dreaming,  saw  those  snow-white  hilli 
again; 

Alas,  alas,  how  bitter  was  the  waking. 

To  find  my  journey  had  been  all  in  vain! — 

To  find  they  were  indeed  no  snowy  mountains, 
Only  white  clouds  upon  an  azure  sky! 

So  will  it  be  with  all  our  earthly  longings: 
Ere  we  can  reach  them  they  will  fade  and 
die. 


"Wooden  Will." 


(Conclusion.) 
V. 

NEXT  morning  Wooden  Will,  with  his 
well- washed  face  and  comfortable  suit, 
was  a  different  boy.  For  a  few  days  he  was 
all  alacrity  at  his  new  tasks,  and  then  the 
wandering  life  to  which  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed seemed  to  assert  itself.  He  ran  oflF 
to  his  old  haunts,  the  wood-piles;  but  the 
Sisters  had  the  boys  search  him  out  and 
coax  him  back  to  school,  and  when  he 
came  his  repentance  was  touching  indeed. 
By  this  time  he  had  mastered  his  Cate- 
chism, and  was  preparing  for  his  First  Com- 
munion. With  wonderful  facility  he  learned 
his  prayers,  and  the  ejaculations  and  aspira- 
tions taught  him  by  the  Sisters  were  never- 
failing  sources  of  joy  to  him.  Wi!h  all  his 
wandering  wa>s  he  never  failed  to  go  to 
the  dim.  silent  aisles  of  the  Cathedral  almost 
daily,  with  the  little  rosary  his  Sister  had 
taught  him  to  say,  and  kneel  there  before 
Our  Lady  and  repeat,  "Hail  Maty,  full  of 
grace!"  while  the  beads  slipped  through 
his  fingers.  The  Sisters  had  secured  a 
humble  yet  comfortable  home  for  him  with 
a  good  old  Irishwoman,  who  had,  she  said, 
"enoo'  for  mesel'  an'  a  bit  for  him,  thanks 
be  to  God ! ' '  He  gave  Granny  his  earnings 


484 


The  Ave  Maria, 


faithfully,  and  she  gave  him  her  good  old 
name, '*0' Neil." 

All  through  the  winter  he  came  to  school 
every  night,  and  the  religious  noticed  the 
transparent  look  on  his  little  face.  Under 
the  white  skin,  the  blue  tracery  of  the  veins 
was  distinctly  visible,  and  the  brown  eyes 
were  so  bright  that  they  shone  at  times  like 
stars.  Sometimes  the  Sister  questioned  him 
about  his  health,  but  he  always  answered, 
with  a  smile :  ' '  I  am  all  right :  the  blood 
never  comes  up  in  my  mouth  any  more." 
The  nun's  practised  eye  knew  better,  and 
with  anxious  care  she  spared  no  effort  to 
instruct  him  for  his  First  Communion. 

One  evening  in  February  the  instructions 
turned  on  helping  our  neighbor — Christian 
charity  instilled  in  fitting  words  into  the 
unlettered  minds  of  the  youthful  listeners. 
It  was  very  cold,  and  the  attendance  was 
small.  Outside,  the  snow  had  been  falling, 
and  few  people  were  to  be  seen  on  the 
streets.  Will  was  at  class,  for  now  only  a 
week  or  two  would  elapse  before  he  made 
his  First  Communion,  and  the  great  event 
was  a  sort  of  golden  climax  to  his  life, 
before  which  all  other  events  gave  way. 
Already  he  had  been  many  times  to  confes 
sion,  and  said  fervent  Rosaries  that  he 
might  be  fittingly  prepared ;  and  Granny, 
who  loved  the  child,  was  thinking  of  the 
new  suit  he  must  have,  and  how  she  could 
make  the  day  memorable. 

This  February  night  Will  had  heard  the 
Sister  tell  of  the  self-sacrifice  of  the  saints, 
of  the  Virgin  Mother,  of  our  Blessed  Sav- 
iour on  the  Cross,  until  the  little  fellow's 
heart  glowed  within  him,  and  if  there  had 
been  a  chance  of  meeting  a  pagan  prefect, 
or  an  amphitheatre  full  of  lions,  Will  would 
have  walked  half  the  city  through  the 
snow  to  give  his  life  for  the  love  of  God. 

How  he  wished  he  could  be  charitable  to 
his  neighbors!  But,  alas!  he  couldn't  give 
alms;  for  he  possessed  only  a  solitary 
nickel,  which  Granny  had  given  him  to  ride 
home  in  the  cars,  that  he  might  not  be 
"frozen  alive."  He  could  do  nothing  but 
say  his  Rosary  for  his  neighbors,  and  he 
mentally  resolved  to  do  that. 


Instructions  were  over,  and  Will  had  de- 
parted. The  street-lamps  glared  through 
their  frosted  glass,  and  a  purple  starlit  sky 
hung  over  the  Smoky  City,  clear  now  from 
the  frost  in  the  air.  Will  had  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  with  his  coat  collar  up  around  his 
ears.  He  was  making  his  way  to  a  street 
corner  where  the  tinkling  bells  of  the  car 
would  soon  be  heard.  As  he  stood,  first  on 
one  foot,  then  on  the  other,  an  old  man  with 
a  cane  joined  him,  seemingly  in  pain. 

"Sonny,"  said  the  stranger,  "you  look 
honest:  see  if  I  have  dropped  a  nickel  on 
the  pavement.  If  it's  gone,  I  haven't  a  cent 
to  take  me  home,  and  my  lame  foot  is 
aching  sorely  from  the  cold.  I  never  carry 
money  at  night  for  fear  of  robbers,  and  I 
had  nothing  with  me  but  my  fare.  It  must 
have  dropped  in  the  snow.  It  would  kill  me 
to  walk  to-night. — What's  your  name?" 

The  boy  looked  at  him,  and  answered: 
"Will  O'Neil,  sir.  I'll  look  for  the  nickel." 

He  searched  carefully  by  the  light  of  the 
street-lamp,  but  in  vain,  and  as  he  looked, 
the  street- car  came  up  the  track  wi^h  its 
j  ingling  bells.  Like  a  flash  came  the  thought 
of  the  evening  inslTuction.  Why  not  give 
up  his  ride  to  the  lame  old  man?  Here  was 
a  chance — a  rare  chance — of  loving  his 
neighbor  more  than  himself  Already  the 
car  was  at  hand.  Thrusting  his  fingers  into 
his  pocket,  while  he  stooped  towards  the 
pavement,  he  quickly  drew  out  his  own 
nickel,  and  handed  it  to  the  anxious  old 
man,  who  with  a  hurried  "Thanks,  my  little 
man!"  hailed  the  car  and  stepped  in, leav- 
ing the  trembling  boy  on  the  pavement. 

But  Will  was  very  happy.  True,  it  was 
cold,  but  he  had  done  something  for  Our 
Lord  that  night.  The  stars  had  disappeared 
overhead,  and  it  was  snowing  again.  He 
ran  along  over  the  well-known  way  towards 
his  humble  home.  He  had  the  bridge  to 
cross,  and  the  Monongahela  was' frozen, 
at]d  the  air  was  as  keen  as  a  knife.  He  was 
beginning  to  feel  so  sick  and  strange; 
every  breath  seemed  to  cut  his  heart.  He 
couldn't  go  very  fast,  and  he'd  get  so  cold 
if  he  went  slowly.  Now  he  was  near  the 
bridge.    The  lights  were  burning  every- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


485 


where;  the  stores  were  brilliant,  and  no 
one  minded  the  faltering  little  figure  as  it 
staggered  along  the  streets.  On  he  went; 
he  was  on  the  bridge.  Heavens,  how  cold 
it  was!  And  the  blinding  snow  played  all 
around  him — lighting  on  his  cap,  on  his 
short  curls,  on  his  overcoat, — until  he 
seemed  to  hear  it  whirling,  to  see  it  forming 
into  shapes  like  ghosts 

"Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!"  murmured 
Will;  "oh,  I'm  freezing!"  But  he  couldn't 
drag  his  poor  feet  any  farther.  ' '  Holy  Mary, 
Mother  of  God,  help  me  home,  and — "but 
suddenly  there  was  a  choking  and  a  smoth- 
ering sensation,  and  out  of  his  mouth 
gushed  the  crimson  flood,  staining  the  spot- 
less snow  and  warming  the  icy  fingers;  and 
Will  sank  down  under  one  of  the  arches 
of  the  bridge  in  a  limp  heap,  with  the  un- 
finished prayer  on  his  lips. 

On  rolled  the  cars  over  the  bridge,  on 
dashed  the  merry  sleighs,  on  with  quick 
step  went  the  few  pedestrians;  and  there  lay 
the  child,  watched  by  the  angels,  a  martyr 
to  charity.  Half  an  hour  passed,  and  the 
bridge-watch,  coming  along  with  a  lantern, 
stumbled  over  the  little  figure. 

"By  Jove!  what's  this?  A  murder  as 
sure  as  I'm  born!"  With  a  shrill  whistle 
the  guard  put  down  his  lantern  close  to  the 
boy.  ' '  Dead, ' '  he  muttered ,  * '  and  covered 
with  blood  and  snow!" 

In  a  moment  more  two  comrades  joined 
him,  and  cautiously  examined  the  situation 
before  they  touched  the  small  body.  Then 
lifting  it  up,  they  bore  it  to  a  house  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bridge,  and  laid  it  gently 
on  a  sofa.  In  a  few  moments  the  warmth 
of  the  room  and  the  restoratives  that  were 
quickly  applied  brought  back  the  ebbing 
life,  and  poor  Will  opeEed  his  eyes.  Kind  but 
strange  men's  faces  were  around  him,  and 
some  were  washing  the  blood  with  warm 
water  from  his  pallid  face,  to  see  where  the 
supposed  wound  was. 

"Who  tried  to  murdher  ye,  me  boy?" 
asked  a  sturdy  policeman,  with  unmistak- 
able Celtic  accent.  "Bad  cess  to  them!  A 
mane,  cowardly  thrick  it  was  to  harm  the 
«ize  of  ye!    Spake  up  if  ye  can,  and  we'll 


catch  them  afore  they've  skedaddled  far." 

An  expression  of  trouble  overshadowed 
Will's  face,  and  he  tried  to  speak.  The 
policeman  bent  his  ear  to  the  pale  lips, 
and  the  boy  whispered :  "No  one  hurt  me: 
the  blood  comes  up  itself.  Can't  any  one 
take  me  home  to  Granny  ? ' ' 

"God  help  us,  thin!"  said  the  man.  "I 
doubt  if  ye' 11  get  home  alive.  Where  do  ye 
live,  and  what's  yer  name?" 

"Will  O'Neil,  No. Carsou  Street," 

answered  the  boy. 

"That's  not  far,''  said  a  bystander.  "I 
can  carry  him,  poor  lad!  He  doesn't  look 
heavy.  Who  on  earth  does  he  belong  to,  that 
would  let  him  go  on  the  bridge  a  bitter 
night  like  this?" 

.    "Granny  gave  me  money  to  ride,"  Will 
whispered. 

"An' ye  spint  it,  and  walked,  eh?  Sure 
it's  near  nine  o'clock,  and  she'll  be  lookin' 
for  ye.  Here,  give  me  a  blanket,  and  I'll 
be  after  taking  him  home  meself,"  said  the 
policeman. 

While  Will  was  being  wrapped  in  a 
blanket  the  policeman  dispersed  the  crowd 
that  had  gathered  around  the  door,  expect- 
ing a  murder  story ;  and  in  a  short  time  Will 
was  conveyed  by  the  strong,  kindly  arms  of 
the  friendly  stranger  to  the  home  on  Carson 
Street,  where  Granny  was  already  in  great 
trepidation  at  the  prolonged  absence  of  her 
boy. 

After  the  first  outcry  of  terror,  she  laid 
him  gently  on  the  bed,  and  with  wonder- 
ful activity  applied  all  kinds  of  domestic 
restoratives,  and  soon  the  little  fellow  was 
smiling  feebly,  and  protesting  he  was  as 
well  as  ever.  No  one  who  looked  at  the 
pale,  fragile  face  and  thin  hands  could  help 
feeling  that  the  boy  was  not  long  for  this 
world.  Granny  turned  away,  and  bustled 
around  the  little  stove  to  hide  her  tears. 
All  night  long  she  watched  at  his  side,  and 
when  morning  came,  and  he  slept  a  little, 
she  never  stirred  lest  she  might  waken  him. 
At  eight  o'clock  Will  opened  his  eyes. 

"Granny,"  he  said,  "I  dreamed  I  was 
going  to  die,  and  I  want  you  to  send  for  '  my 
Sisters,'  and  ask  them  to  beg  Father  Mark 


486 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  let  me  make  my  First  Communion  be- 
fore I  go." 

"Wirra-wirra,"  moaned  Granny,  "sure 
it's  only  a  dream,  Willie  asthore!  But  ye 
shall  have  the  nuns.  Lie  still  till  I  get  ye 
a  bit  of  broth  to  strengthen  ye." 

"Ah,  Granny,  I'd  sooner  have  the  Sis- 
ters!" pleaded  the  boy. 

"I  tell  ye  ye' 11  have  them,  darlint,  if  I 
have  to  walk  to  the  convent  meself  Can 
ye  sleep  till  I  go  b^yont  for  some  one?" 

"Yes,  Granny,  I'll  try,"  and  the  weary 
eyes  closed  in  mute  obedience. 

Granny  put  her  shawl  over  her  head  and 
went  to  a  neighbor's,  and  soon  a  messenger 
was  on  the  way  to  the  convent  for  the 
Sisters. 

"Wooden  Will  is  dying!"  was  the  word 
received  by  the  night-school  Sisters,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  well-known  black- 
robed  figures  were  seen  moving  swiftly 
down  the  street  on  their  way  to  Granny's 
house. 

Soon  the  door  opened,  and  Will,  whose 
eyes  moved  in  that  direction  at  every  slight 
noise,  utcered  a  glad  cry,  while  a  flush  of 
delight  overspread  his  pale  face. 

' '  Sister,  my  Sister ! "  he  cried,  in  his  weak 
voice;  "I  knew  you'd  come — both  of  ye!" 
And  he  held  out  his  hands. 

One  glance  at  the  marble  face,  from  which 
the  color  had  instantly  vanished,  told  the 
story  before  another  word  was  said.  It  was 
true:  Wooden  Will  was  dying,  and  dying 
rapidly.  At  once  the  gentle,  familiar  voice 
began  the  old  kind  words,  and  the  boy 
clasped  his  hands,  and  an  angelic  smile  lit 
up  his  face,  and  the  starry  eyes  gleamed. 

"Sister,"  he  whispered," won't  ye  ask 
Father  Mark  about  my  First  Communion? 
Sure  I  couldn't  know  the  sweet  Lord  in 
heaven  if  He  didn't  show  Himself  to  me 
just  onct  on  earth." 

The  Sister  tore  a  blank  leaf  from  a  book, 
and  wrote  a  note,  which  she  begged  Granny 
to  have  sent  at  once  to  the  Cathedral.  This 
being  done,  with  soothing  tone  the  Sister 
began  to  prepare  the  guileless  soul  for  the 
first  and  last  visit  of  the  Great  King. 
As  the  boy  lay  on  his  little  cot,  his  eyes 


gently  closed,  his  reddish  curls  forming  a 
halo  on  the  pillow,  a  sweet,  pure,  solemn 
look  on  his  youthful  face,  the  Sister  was 
startled  at  the  resemblance  to  the  dying  sol- 
dier by  whose  side  she  had  prayed  in  the 
Stanton  Hospital  many  years  before. 

Poor  Will!  his  hours  were  numbered.  He 
was  very  still,  and  lay  there  like  a  sculpt- 
ured image;  but  when  the  Sister  ceased 
speaking,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  with  a 
pleading  look  begged  her  to  tell  him  more 
of  the  good  God  who  was  coming  to  take 
him  to  heaven. 

In  another  room  Granny,  between  her 
silent  tears,  was  helping  the  Sister  to  pre- 
pare a  little  table  with  snow-white  linen 
napkin,  wax-candles,  a  crucifix,  holy  water, 
and  all  things  necessary  for  the  administra- 
tion of  the  last  Sacraments. 

Ere  long  Father  Mark's  footstep  was 
heard  on  the  threshold.  Silently  the  Sister 
led  him  to  the  bedside  of  little  Will,  and  all 
withdrew.  In  a  short  time  the  boy's  con- 
fession was  over,  and  the  priest  opened  the 
door  of  the  adjoining  room,  and  quietly  in- 
formed the  Sister  that  no  time  was  to  be 
lost.  The  little  table  was  brought  in ;  the 
priest  unfolded  his  pyx  case,  and  Will's 
ecstatic  eyes  rested  on  the  Sacred  Host  with 
a  rapture  that  thrilled  every  soul.  Sol- 
emnly the  beautiful  prayers  of  the  Church 
fell  on  the  quiet  air  of  that  humble  room. 
Granny's  form  was  bowed  down  to  the  floor 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  tears  dropping 
like  rain.  The  Sisters  knelt  close  by,  and 
the  child  never  took  his  adoring  eyes  from 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  until  the  sacred 
Species  rested  on  his  lips,  when  with  a  gentle 
sigh,  more  like  a  glad,  soft  note  of  joy,  he 
clasped  his  hands  on  his  breast  in  thanks- 
giving. 

Extreme  Unction  was  administered,  the 
last  absolution  given,  and  the  Sisters  rose 
from  their  knees,  but  no  one  spoke'. 

"God  b'ess  you,  my  child!"  whispered 
Father  Mark;  "pray  for  me  when  you  get 
to  heaven." 

The  dying  boy  smiled  sweetly.  "When 
will  I  get  there,  Father?"   he  asked. 

"You  will  be  there,  my  child, when  the 


The  Ave  Aluria. 


487 


sun  goes  down,  and  don't  forget  me,"  an- 
swered Father  Mark.  And,  making  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross  over  the  bed,  he  departed. 

Will  seemed  radiant.  So  much  better  was 
he  that  the  Sisters  took  their  leave,  prom- 
ising to  return  towards  evening. 

The  mid-day  sun  swung  over  the  busy 
city,  and  Granny  still  sat  by  her  boy.  In 
vain  had  kindly  neighbors  begged  her  to 
eat  or  rest.  'No,"  she  said;  "it  won't  be 
long  I'll  have  him,"  And,  as  she  watched 
him,  he  would  smile  sweetly  on  her,  and 
whisper  loving  words  of  thanks  for  her 
mother's  care,  and  wonder  at  the  tears  that 
flowed,  when  he  was  so  happy  and  so  free 
from  pain. 

Once  he  said:  "Granny,  I  wonder  who 
the  lame  man  was  I  gave  my  nickel  to?" 
And  he  told  her  how  he  had  given  his  ride 
to  the  stranger  for  the  love  of  God ;  how  he 
had  tried  to  walk  home,  and  his  strength 
gave  way,  and  the  blood  came  up  in  his 
mouth;  and  how  he  fell  on  the  bridge. 
But  then  a  touch  of  the  old  spirit  came 
back,  as  he  finished,  in  broken  tones :  ' '  But, 
Granny,  that  nickel  is  in  heaven  before  me, 
ain't  it?" 

"God  A' mighty  Himself  11  hold  it  in  His 
right  hand,  me  darlint !"  sobbed  Granny, 
as  she  understood  the  full  sacrifice  of  the 
little  martyr.  "It'll  be  framed  in  glory  by 
the  side  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  and  the 
angels '11  strike  their  harps  of  gold,  singing 
of  the  beauty  of  it." 

Will's  face  wore  a  heavenly  smile.  He 
was  silent,  and  wondered  if  the  Sisters 
would  soon  come. 

The  short  winter  afternoon  was  waning. 
The  red  sun  was  sinking  in  the  murky  sky. 
The  roaring  fires  of  the  mills  near  the  river- 
bank  were  sending  up  long  tongues  of 
flame  to  meet  the  ruddy  glow  of  sunset,  and 
men  were  leaving  their  work  for  home. 

Around  the  little  white  bed  in  Granny's 
house  knelt  the  Sisters  and  some  sympa- 
thizing neighbors.  All  was  silent  save  the 
voice  of  prayer.  At  last  that  too  was  still  for 
a  moment.  The  hush  was  breathless.  The 
small  clock  ticked  painfully  loud  on  the 
humble  mantel.  Crimson  lights  and  shad- 


ows slanted  through  the  windows  facing 
the  west,  and  glowed  on  the  wall,  and  crept 
closer  and  closer  to  the  d)ing  child. 

Poor  Will  had  only  smiled  a  faint  smile 
of  welcome  to  the  nuns  as  they  entered  the 
room.  With  one  hand — the  little  misshapen 
hand — in  the  Sister's,  the  other  holding  a 
crucifix,  he  lay  there,  a  picture  of  serene 
peace. 

Closer  the  crimson  light  crept  to  the 
pillow.  "Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace,''  said  the 
nun,  softh  ;  and  the  murmured  response 
came:  ' '  Now  and  at  the  hour  of  our  death." 
The  crimson  glow  was  right  above  the  pil- 
low; the  pure  face  was  steeped  in  it,  the 
soft  curls  aglow  with  it ;  the  lips  apart,  red 
and  beautiful.  The  brown  eyes,  always  so 
lustrous,  were  full  of  a  sweet  wonderment 
that  made  the  watchers  weep.  All  gazed, 
awestruck,  as  the  grandeur  of  that  blood- 
red  sunset  filled  the  room,  and  bathed  the 
child,  and  lingered  over  that  death-bed.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  very  air  would  give  hom- 
age to  the  little  martyr,  as  it  flushed  into 
crimson  or  gleamed  with  gold. 

Happy  child  1  Heaven  was  nearing  him. 
The  King  was  with  him,  and  it  needed  but 
the  transparent  curtain  of  humanity  to  fall, 
when  he  should  be  greeted  by  glad  hosts 
of  angelic  choirs,  whose  anthems  even  now 
faintly  reached  his  ear. 

In  the  midst  of  the  throbbing  silence  the 
watchers  knelt — how  long  they  knew  not. 
Then  the  color  gently  faded.  The  crimson 
light  went  out  suddenly.  The  sky  grew 
gray,  for  the  sun  had  gone  down. 

Wooden  Will  was  dead ! 

Merckdes. 


Arcan  draws  me  aside,  and  confides  to 
me,  with  numberless  precautions  and  end- 
less exhortations,  a  trifling  secret.  "Be 
careful,  at  least!  Do  not  tell  it,  please,  to  a 
living  soul!  If  you  were  to  compromise 
me!"  I  reassure  him.  Nevertheless,  this 
fine  secret  has  made  the  tour  of  the  town  in 
two  days.  So  some  one  has  betrayed  Arcan? 
No  doubt.  Who  is  it?  Himself.  Everyone 
is  his  intimate  friend,  and  he  opens  his 
heart  equally  to  all. — Abbk  Roux. 


488 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MARK  spoke  little  during  supper,  and 
the  party  separated  early.  As  Mrs. 
Auvrard  was  preparing  to  retire  she  heard  a 
knock  at  her  dressing-room  door,  and  Mark 
asked  if  he  might  enter. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  she  said,  in  alarm, 
as  he  came  in. 

"  Nothing.  I  only  want  to  speak  to  you. ' ' 

*' What  about?" 

"Missde  Br^lyon." 

*'What  have  you  to  say  of  her?" 

He  closed  the  door  and  sat  down.  "She 
is  ill,"  he  remarked,  briefly. 

"Yes:  she  has  what  in  my  day  people 
■used  to  call  sick  fancies.  In  any  case,  I  send 
her  to  walk  every  morning,  and  give  her 
my  best  wine.  What  more  can  I  do?" 

' '  That  is  not  enough.  I  have  been  speak- 
ing to  Miss  Kernoel  about  her;  she,  too,  is 
very  uneasy,  and  has  consulted  a  doctor. ' ' 

' '  She  gives  herself  unnecessary  trouble. 
I  am  able  to  take  care  of  my  niece,  I  hope. ' ' 

"The  doctor's  opinion,"  pursued  Mark, 
without  heeding  the  interruption,  "is  that 
she  requires  change  of  air  and  amusement. 
Miss  Kernoel  offers  to  take  charge  of  her. " 

"Change  of  air!  Amusement!  Fine  rem- 
edies for  imaginary  ills!" 

"Then  speak  to  the  doctor  yourself, 
mother;  but  we  must  submit  to  his  decis- 
ion, whatever  it  may  be." 

"We  mustP''  she  ejaculated,  pale  with 
lage.  ' '  What  right  have  you  to  meddle  with 
a  stranger?" 

"Mother,"  he  replied,  calmly  but  re- 
spectfully, "  it  is  the  first  time  you  have  ever 
made  me  feel  that  our  interests  may  differ. 
Until  now  I  have  always  shared  your  opin- 
ions, and  sympathized  with  you  in  every- 
thing." 

Mrs.  Auvrard  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "Forgive  me,"  she  said,  softly;  "I 
am  jealous  of  your  very  thoughts." 

He  only  answered  by  a  kiss,  and  then  left 
her  with  the  same  assumed  calmness.  But 
he  did  not  sleep,  and  Nora,  whose  room  was 


under  his,  heard  the  old  boards  creaking  all 
night  beneath  his  firm  tread. 

Next  morning — it  was  Sunday — Mark 
was  writing  at  the  table  when  Nora  came 
in.  He  cast  a  rapid  glance  at  her,  inquired 
how  she  was,  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

' '  Have  you  slept  well,  aunt  ? ' '  she  gently 
asked  Mrs.  Auvrard,  who  was  tying  her 
bonnet-strings. 

"No;  but  why  are  you  not  ready?  Are 
you  not  going  to  the  eight  o'clock  Mass?" 

"If  you  wish  I  will  accompany  you;  but, 
you  remember,  you  gave  me  permission  to 
go  later  with  Miss  Kernoel,  and  to  remain 
to  dine  with  her." 

Mrs.  Auvrard  only  wanted  a  pretext  to 
g^ve  vent  to  her  concentrated  wrath,  and 
these  words  furnished  her  with  one. 

' '  How  inconsistent !  This  vigilant  friend 
is  most  uneasy  about  your  sick  capers,  but 
she  fears  nothing  from  the  tainted  air  of 
a  crowded  church,  nor  from  hours  spent  in 
promenading !  ' 

Nora  grew  pale.  "Shall  I  remain  at 
home,  aunt?" 

"My  mother  does  not  mean  that,"  said 
Mark,  interfering  quickly.  "She  is  not  in 
the  habit  of  taking  back  a  permission  she 
has  once  given.  Why  should  you  deprive 
yourself  of  the  sermon?" 

Mrs.  Auvrard  cast  on  him  an  angry  look. 
' '  It  suits  you  well  to  talk  of  sermons, ' '  she 
said, — ' '  you  who  never  put  a  foot  inside  the 
church  door!" 

"That  is  my  misfortune,  perhaps,"  he 
replied,  gravely ;  ' '  but  at  least  I  let  others 
go  there  quietly." 

"You  also  let  them  dream  of  pleasures 
and  travels  with  silly  Octavia." 

Nora  trembled  in  all  her  limbs.  '  'Aunt, ' ' 
she  implored,  "do  not  excite  yourself.  Tell 
me  what  to  do,  and  I  shall  obey  you." 

' '  I  must  not  excite  myself ! ' '  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Auvrard,  wholly  carried  away  by  her 
jealous  wrath.  "No,  I  ought  to  remain 
calm,  while  you  cause  the  first  cloud  that 
has  ever  come  between  me  and  my  son! 
Truly  you  keep  up  the  family  traditions;  for 
your  grandmother  once  separated  me  from 
my  only  brother." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


489 


"Stay!"  said  the  young  girl,  with  sin- 
gular dignity.  "To  me  you  may  address 
what  reproaches  you  please,  however  un- 
just; but  I  neither  can  nor  will  let  my 
grandmother  be  blamed." 

"Your  grandmother!  You  hold  her  in 
great  veneration.  Do  you  know  that  she 
was  rich,  and  squandered  all  she  had,  leav- 
ing you  penniless?" 

"But  she  loved  me,  nevertheless,"  was 
Nora's  faltering  reply. 

"Mother,"  interposed  Mark,  sternly, 
"you  have  no  right  to  insult  the  remem- 
brances of  this  child.  O  mother,  for  the  first 
time  I  see  you  unjust!" 

"I  can  no  longer  be  the  involuntary 
cause  of  dissension  under  this  roof,"  said 
Nora,  controlling  her  agitation  with  diffi- 
culty. "I  was  obliged  to  accept  your  aid, 
and  I  thank  you  for  it,  although  you  refused 
me  your  affection.  But  I  can  earn  my  own 
livelihood,  and  now  the  law  is  in  my  favor 
— I  was  twenty- one  years  of  age  yesterday." 
She  stopped  for  a  moment,  then  added :  "I 
thank  you  once  more  for  all  you  have  done 
for  me;  you  will  be  happier  when  I  am 
gone. ' ' 

No  one  answered,  and  she  left  the  room 
quickly. 

"Mother,  "said  Mark,  pleadingly,  "do 
not  let  her  go." 

' '  Why  not  when  she  wishes  to  ?  "  replied 
Mrs.  Auvrard,  angrily.  "As  she  herself 
said,  she  is  free.  Let  her  go  to  her  friend 
Octavia. ' ' 

Then  she  took  up  her  prayer-book,  and, 
feigning  a  calmness  she  did  not  feel,  set  out 
for  the  church.  Mark  remained  alone  with 
the  ruins  of  his  shattered  idol;  for  until 
that  hour  he  had  judged  his  mother  the 
impersonation  of  every  womanly  virtue, 
and  her  unjust  jealousy  had  at  last  opened 
his  eyes. 

August  was  now  past,  with  its  warm  sun- 
shine, and  had  given  way  to  dark  September. 
Numerous  sportsmen  waited  for  the  open- 
ing of  the  hunting  season  in  Penvan,  but 
otherwise  there  was  no  change  in  the  quiet 
little  town.  Mrs.  Auvrard's  breach  with  her 
niece  had  been  town-talk,  and  as  all  the 


parties  concerned  observed  a  profound  si- 
lence on  the  matter,  curiosity  was  all  the 
more  excited  for  being  unsatisfied. 

On  a  certain  Sunday  the  old  ladyj^had 
come  to  Mass  a  little  late;  Nora  attended 
High  Mass,  and  it  was  noticed  she  kept  her 
veil  down.  On  leaving  the  church  she 
went  to  Miss  Kernoel's,  and  in  the  evening 
departed  with  that  lady  for  the  railway 
station.  The  servants  knew  only  that  Miss 
Nora  was  ill,  and  had  gone  for  change  of 
air.  Mrs.- Auvrard,  under  pretence  of  indis- 
position, closed  her  doors  to  all  visitors,  and 
so  things  remained  until  the  beginning  of 
October,  when  Miss  Kernoel  returned.  To 
all  inquiries  she  merely  stated  that  Miss 
de  Br^lyon  was  staying  with  some  friends; 
but  as  two  large  trunks  were  soon  after  dis- 
patched to  an  unknown  address,  it  was  gen- 
erally believed  she  would  not  return. 

Such,  in  fact,  was  the  case :  Nora  would 
return  no  more  to  the  home  from  which  she 
had  been  driven  in  jealous  rage.  The  low 
chair  on  which  she  used  to  sit  was  placed 
back  against  the  wall,  and  passers-by  no 
longer  saw  the  fair  head  bent  over  its  sew- 
ing. Her  light  step  resounded  no  more  in 
the  passage,  and  nothing  young  or  lively 
graced  the  dark  room  whose  sunshine  she 
had  been. 

Mrs.  Auvrard  found  she  was  growing  old, 
and  time  seemed  to  her  to  pass  very  slowly. 
Sometimes  she  raised  her  head,  but  the 
pale,  drooping  face  no  longer  met  her  gaze; 
then  she  would  press  her  thin  lips,  and 
think  with  bitterness  that  although  she  was 
given  back  her  solitude,  the  pleasant  past 
was  not  returning,  and  there  was  no  longer 
the  old,  confiding  trust  between  her  and  her 
son.  One  name  was  mutually  and  carefully 
avoided,  and  who  does  not  know  how  re- 
serve on  any  subject  destroys  confidence? 
Long  pauses  often  ensued  in  their  conver- 
sations, and  Mark's  wandering,  dreamy 
glance  would  meet  the  penetrating  eye  of 
his  mother,  scrutinizing  him  as  if  to  wring 
his  secret  from  him. 

His  secret!  Had  he  one,  then?  Were 
the  question  put  to  him,  he  would  probably 
have  answered  that  he  could  not  forget  what 


490 


The  Ave  Maria. 


had  taken  place — that  by  his  fault  in  some 
measure  a  motherless  girl  had  suffered.  For 
by  his  harsh  judgment  he  had  prejudiced 
his  mother's  opinion,  and  disposed  her  to 
close  her  heart  to  Nora.  Besides,  his  mother 
had  fallen  from  her  high  pedestal;  the 
nimbus  was  destroyed,  and  the  shattered 
idol  could  never  more  be  replaced.  A  fever- 
ish agitation  took  the  place  of  his  former 
composure,  and  one  day  the  old  family  phy- 
sician told  him  his  health  was  affected,  and 
if  he  did  not  immediately  have  change  of 
air  he  would  become  seriously  ill.  In  former 
year-?  he  would  have  refused  to  listen  ro 
such  a  suggestion,  but  now  it  had  a  singular 
charm  for  him,  and  one  evening  he  aston- 
ished Mrs.  Auvrard  by  telling  her  he  was 
resolved  to  follow  the  doctor's  advice,  and 
spend  his  vacation  abroad. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Few  promenades  are  more  enchanting 
than  the  park  at  Pau,  with  its  encircling 
mountains.  Autumn  had  tinged  with  crim- 
son the  leaves  of  its  majestic  trees,  when 
one  lovely  morning  two  little  girls  profited 
by  the  comparative  loneliness  of  the  early 
hour  to  frolic  about  in  joyous  freedom.  They 
were  followed  by  a  young  lady,  apparently 
their  governess,  who  smilingly  watched 
their  pranks,  while  drinking  in  the  balmy 
air  with  rapture.  Tired  at  last,  and  out  of 
breath,  the  children  drew  near  her,  and  the 
elder,  a  pretty  brunette,  said,  caaxingly : 

"We  must  be  tiring  you,  but  if  you  will 
sit  down  here  in  your  favorite  place,  we 
promise  not  to  go  out  of  sight." 

The  lady  smiled,  and  kissed  the  little 
face  raised  to  hers;  then  she  assented,  and  sat 
down  on  a  stone  seat  near  the  main^a venue. 

"Remember,"  she  said, "we  have  only 
an  hour  to  stay,  so  I  trust  to  your  promise." 

The  children  kissed  her,  and  resumed 
their  play. 

Left  alone,  the  lady  took  some  crochet 
out  of  a  small  basket  which  hung  on  her 
arm,  and  began  to  work;  but  she  often  laid 
it  down  to  gaze  with  silent  pleasure  on  the 
natural  beauties  around  her.  So  absorbed 
was  she  that  she  did  not  perceive  the  tall, 
slight  figure   which   drew   near,  until   it 


hesitatingly  pronounced  her  name;  then, 
startled,  she  turned  round  and  saw  Mark 
Auvrard  bowing  before  her.  She  was  so 
surprised  that  she  stared  at  him  in  silence, 
and  recovered  herself" only  when  he  said: 

' '  I  fear  I  have  disagreeably  surprised 
you;  for  my  presence  must  remind  you  of  a 
painful  scene  which  I  would  give  ten  years 
of  my  life  to  efface  from  your  memory." 

"That  is  all  forgotten,"  she  answered, 
quickly.   "Is  my  aunt  well?" 

"Yes;  I  left  her  a  few  days  ago." 

"Have  you  come  here  for  your  health?  " 

"Oh!  my  health  is  fairly  good,  although 
our  old  doctor  thinks  me  ill.  But  yours? 
Has  the  change  of  air  had  the  good  effect 
Miss  Kernoel  expected?" 

"I  have  quite  recovered  my  health  and 
even  my  color,  as  you  may  see,' '  she  replied, 
smiling.  "You  can  not  think  how  kind 
Miss  Kernoel  has  been  to  me." 

"I  was  disappointed,  though,  when  she 
returned  to  Penvan  without  you.  I  knew 
she  was  anxious  to  keep  you  with  her,  and 
I  hoped  you  would  have  accepted  her  hos- 
pitality, which  was  so  sincerely  offered." 

"How  could  one,  at  my  age,  become 
dependent  on  a  stranger?  Do  you  not  re- 
member how  hard  I  felt  my  dependence  on 
your  mother?" 

"But  Miss  Kernoel  loves  you  tenderly. " 

"I  know  that,  and  her  love  is  precious  to 
me ;  but  she  has  relatives,  and  what  would 
they  think  of  me  if  I  consented  to  lead  an 
idle  life  and  be  a  burden  to  others?  Besides, 
it  would  have  been  an  insult  to  my  aunt  to 
remain  in  Penvan  under  any  roof  but  hers." 

"You  could  have  indemnified  Miss  Ker- 
noel later  for  any  possible  expense.  I  asked 
her  to  tell  you  that  in  case  of  my  mother's 
death — which  may  God  long  avert!  —  I 
would  allow  no  disposal  of  her  property  in 
my  favor." 

"I  will  never  accept  such  a  sacrifice." 

He  hesitated;  one  would  have  imagined 
the  eloquent  advocate  was  at  a  loss  for 
words.  At  last  he  asked,  abruptly:  "Are  you 
happy?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  an  affectionate 
glance  at  her  two  little  pupils;  "as  happy 


The  Ave  Maria. 


491 


as  one  can  be  with  strangers.  Unfortunately, 
my  present  task  will  not  last  long." 

'*Why  so?" 

"Perhaps  Miss  Kernoel  told  you  I  was 
with  a  school  friend  of  hers  ? ' ' 

He  nodded. 

"Mrs.  Harmel  is  obliged  to  spend  the 
winter  in  Pau  on  account  of  her  health,  and 
I  take  charge  of  her  little  grandchildren; 
but  next  Easter  their  father  wishes  to  have 
them  sent  to  a  convent  school.  Perhaps, 
however,  the  plan  may  be  changed." 

"What  will  you  do  if  it  should  not  be?" 

"Look  for  another  situation." 

"Have  you  no  other  views  but  to  remain 
always  in  such  uncertain  positions?" 

"No.  I  shall  never  again  be  a  burden 
to  any  one. ' ' 

"Do  you  live  in  a  villa  here?" 

"No:  Mrs.  Harmel  prefers  a  hotel;  the 
table  cfkbte  amuses  her." 

"If  you  allow  me,  I  shall  see  you  again; 
my  nerves  are  affected,  and  the  air  of  Pau  is 
expected  to  have  a  soothing  effect  on  them." 

She  bowed,  and  they  shook  hands  and 
parted. 

(to  be  continued.) 


In  Loving  Memory. 


BY   A.  D.  L. 


Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  riffhteoiis,  and  let  my  last  end  be 
like  his. 

.   1  SAW  an  aged  Christian  die 
•^    In  silence  and  in  peace, 
I  heard  the  last  faint,  fluttering  sigh, 

That  told  of  her  release; 
Her  fingers  clasped  a  crucifix. 

Her  eyes  were  raised  to  Heaven, 
A  smile  still  hovered  round  her  lips — 

The  smile  of  one  forgiven. 

I  heard  the  sweetly  solemn  words: 
"O  Christian  soul,  depart! 
No  more  in  exile  shalt  thou  pine: 

Thy  home  is  Jesus'  Heart. ' ' 
And  then  I  felt  as  one  who  dreamed, 

And  all  around  there  stood 
Celestial  forms  in  snowy  robes, 

A  shining  multitude. 


And,  bending  o'er  that  bed  of  death 

With  tender,  smiling  eyes, 
Mary  received  her  latest  breath. 

And  bore  her  to  the  skies; 
Then  from  my  heart  welled  up  the  cry, 
"  Whate'er  in  life  I  miss, 
O  dearest  Jesus!  when  I  die. 

Grant  me  a  death  like  this." 

From  stricken  hearts,  on  quivering  lips, 
The  prayer  of  faith  arose: 
'  'Absolve  Thy  servant,  gracious  God, 
And  grant  her  sweet  repose! " 
Angelic  voices,  clear  and  soft. 
Answered  with  one  accord: 
"Blessed,  thrice  blessed  are  the  dead 
Who  die  in  Christ  the  Lord!  " 


The  Shrine  of  the  Three  Oaks. 


BY    OCTAVIA    HENSEL. 


A  DARK,  deeply  blue  firmament  spark- 
ling with  myriads  of  stars;  a  silvery 
moon  sailing  towards  the  western  heaven; 
the  hush  of  midnight  over  the  earth;  no 
sound  save  the  night  wind  in  oaken  forests, 
and  the  fall  of  the  gravel  from  the  garnet- 
filled  rocks  of  the  Molderberg  hills,  as  we 
climbed  up  the  village  road  from  the  inn, 
where  we  had  left  our  carriage,  to  visit  be- 
fore day-  dawn  the  great  church  built  where 
once  stood  the  humble  votive  chapel  which 
had  sheltered  the  miracle  working  picture 
of  Maria  Drei  Eichen: — these  were  the 
sights  and  sounds  that  surrounded  us  as  we 
ascended  the  marble  steps  of  the  chuich. 

The  great  doors  were  open;  a  few  pil- 
grims and  peasants  knelt  before  the  mirac- 
ulous shrine,  towards  which  we  also  turned 
our  steps.  Silent  and  dark  stood  the  confes- 
sionals in  the  broad  vestibule  of  the  church, 
and  in  its  surrounding  chapels.  Many  pen- 
itents knelt  beside  thera,  and  dark- robed 
priests  glided  about  the  dimly  lighted 
church.  Without,  the  moonlight  was  a  flood 
of  glory;  within,  the  Presence  lamps  shone 
like  harbor-lights  to  guide  life's  tempest- 
tossed  mariners  to  their  eternal  home. 

In  the  year  1 656  there  dwelt  in  the  Aus- 


492 


The  Ave  Maria. 


trian  village  of  Horn  a  pious,  God-fearing 
man,  named  Matthias  Weinburger.  In  his 
family  sitting-room  there  was  a  ''Vesper 
picture ' '  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  It  was  made 
of  painted  wax,  and  before  it  he  kept  an 
ever- burning  lamp.  Every  evening,  when 
the  bells  of  the  village  church  rang  out  the 
Angelus,  he  knelt  with  all  his  household 
before  this  picture,  and  recited  the  Rosary 
and  lyitany  of  our  Blessed  Lady. 

One  day  he  was  taken  very  ill,  and  his 
illness  continued  so  long  that  his  poor 
family  were  starving  for  daily  bread.  More 
earnestly  than  ever  the  good  man  prayed 
before  his  waxen  picture  of  the  Virgin.  At 
last,  after  many  hours  spent  in  prayer,  he 
fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  that  our  Blessed 
Mother  appeared  to  him  with  the  Crucified 
Saviour  resting  on  Her  lap.  She  told  the 
sick  man  to  take  Her  picture  and  carry  it 
into  the  neighboring  hills  of  the  Molder- 
berg,  and  there  place  it  upon  an  oak-tree 
which  arose  in  three  separate  stems  from 
the  root,  and  thus  found  a  health-giving 
shrine  free  to  all. 

The  poor  man  could  not  endure  the 
thought  of  parting  with  his  beloved  picture, 
but  he  was  too  earnest  a  Catholic  to  with- 
stand such  a  request,  even  though  made 
known  only  by  a  dream.  He  promised  to 
carry  the  picture  into  the  mountains  and 
search  for  the  designated  spot.  From  the 
moment  he  made  this  promise  his  strength 
began  to  return,  and  in  a  few  days  he  was 
able  to  resume  his  business,  which  was  that 
of  a  furrier.  Success  attended  him  in  all 
things, but  it  drove  from  his  mind  the  dream 
and  his  promise. 

One  day,  returning  from  the  neighboring 
village  of  Eggenburg,  whither  he  had  gone 
to  purchase  furs,  he  lost  his  way  in  the 
Molderberg  hills.  He  wandered  about  until, 
overcome  by  fatigue,  he  sank  down  upon 
the  earth  and  slept.  Again  he  dreamed. 
Before  hitn  was  a  throne  brilliant  as  sun- 
light, and  he  heard  the  sound  of  harps  and 
sweet  voices  singing.  Then  the  dream 
changed,  and  he  saw  an  oak-tree  which 
arose  from  the  root  in  three  separate  stems. 

Thunder   rolled   and   lightning   flashed 


around  him,  until  awakened  by  the  noise 
he  sprang  up,  to  find  the  evening  calm 
and  still,  save  for  the  distant  tones  of  the 
Angelus  ringing  in  the  valley.  He  looked 
around :  before  him  was  an  oak-tree.  It  was 
the  oak  of  his  dream — three  oaks  in  one. 

Full  of  shame  and  sorrow  over  his  broken 
vow,  he  turned  his  steps  homeward,  and  the 
next  day  his  loved  picture  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  was  placed  upon  the  oak-tree,  where 
it  remained  for  many  years.  Numerous  are 
the  legends  of  miracles  wrought  for  those 
who  prayed  beside  this  shrine.  Its  fame 
spread  far  and  wide,  and  hundreds  of  lame, 
blind,  sick  and  suffering  came  hither  and 
were  healed. 

Through  some  unforeseen  accident,  the 
tree  took  fire,  and  the  picture  melted.  Fresh 
branches  came  from  the  spot  where  the  fire 
had  destroyed  the  oak,  and  this  was  taken 
as  a  sign  that  God  wished  to  establish  there 
a  perpetual  shrine.  With  the  permission  of 
the  Benedictine  Convent,  and  the  consent 
of  Count  von  Ho)  os,  a  small  stone  chapel 
was  built.  But  this  was  far  too  small  to  con- 
tain the  crowds  of  pilgrims  who  came  with 
prayers  and  offerings  to  the  shrine.  In  1744 
the  Count  and  Countess  Hoyos  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  present  splendid  church, 
and  from  that  time  until  this  day  crowds 
of  pilgrims  and  long  processions  of  peasants 
come  on  their  "  woodland  journey"  to  the 
shrine  at  Three  Oaks. 

The  church  is  in  the  form  of  a  Greek 
cross,  with  apsidal  terminations,  in  each  Qf 
which  altars  are  placed.  Under  the  high 
altar,  which  stands  at  the  intersection  of 
the  transepts  in  the  centre  of  the  church, 
the  root  with  the  three  stems  of  the  original 
oak-tree  is  preserved.  Behind  this  altar,  in 
the  eastern  transept,  is  the  treasure  room, 
where  thank-offerings  are  kept.  Many 
superb  vestments  and  altar  decorations  have 
been  presented  by  the  Hoyos  family,  who 
are  still  patrons  of  the  church.  * 


*  The  extensive  domain  of  this  powerful  and 
wealthy  family,  who  own  seven  of  the  most  cele- 
brated castles  in  Austria,  extends  for  miles  around 
this  church .  Woodl ands ,  moun tains ,  meadows ,  and 
villages,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  belong  to  them. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


495 


I 


The  matin  bells  awoke  us  before  the 
stars  had  quite  faded  from  the  western  sky; 
but  the  east  was  flushed  with  hues  of  amber 
and  rose,  while  the  morning  mist  rolled 
upward  to  a  zenith  of  palest  blue  and  gray. 
The  woodlands  were  dark;  beyond,  the 
meadow-lands  glistened  with  dew;  and 
far  above  the  hamlet  the  great  church  rose 
massive  and  grand,  its  cross-tipped  spires 
gleaming  golden  in  the  morning  light. 

A  long  procession  of  pilgrims,  coming  to 
welcome  the  dawning  of  the  Angels'  Fes- 
tival, was  slowly  ascending  the  rocky  road- 
side as  we  left  the  quaint  inn  where  we  had 
passed  the  night;  and,  joining  the  older 
peasants  who  walked  slowly  in  the  rear,  we 
followed  with  them  to  the  shrine.  Very 
dark  and  shadowy  was  the  church;  for  the 
dawn  had  not  yet  penetrated  the  painted 
glass  windows,  and  the  blaze  of  light  on 
the  altar  seemed  to  concentrate  itself  round 
the  tabernacle. 

An  hour  later,  as  we  sat  at  breakfast  in 
an  arbor  by  the  road- side,  an  old  peasant 
woman  brought  us  some  garnet  beads 
formed  into  rosaries — souvenirs  of  Drei 
Eichen,  for  the  rocks  are  filled  with  garnets. 
We  purchased  several  of  these  souvenirs^ 
and,  carrying  them  up  to  the  church,  had 
them  blessed  by  an  old  priest,  whose  es- 
pecial delight  seemed  to  consist  in  blessing 
everybody  and  everything. 

In  the  treasury  we  found  so  many  strange, 
incongruously  arranged  articles,  that  we 
could  but  pause  to  think  over  the  legends 
and  life  histories  which  had  brought  them 
there.  Beside  a  priceless  string  of  pearls, 
a  poor  little  pewter  ring;  beside  a  coronet 
of  diamonds,  a  baby's  tiny  shoe,  a  crutch, 
and  a  ruby-hilted  sword;  a  bracelet  of  sap 
phire,  the  offering  of  a  princess;  and  a  bit 
of  blue  ribbon,  the  only  finery  of  some  poor 
girl  pilgrim;  and  above  them  all  the  calm 
face  of  a  marble  Christ  looked  down.  Ah! 
He  that  seeth  in  secret  was  there  to  reward 
openly;  and,  floating  through  the  stillness 
of  the  sanctuary,  one  seemed  to  hear  the 
echo  of  His  voice  who  blessed  the  poor 
widow's  offering;  for  many  here,  truly,  in 
their  penury,  had  given  their  all. 


An  Example  of  the  Power  of  the  Holy 
Rosary. 


BEFORE  the  breaking  out  of  the  revo- 
lution in  Venezuela,  a  widow  with  her 
young  children  lived  on  a  farm  near  Puerto- 
Cabello.  One  evening  two  Spanish  soldiers 
stopped  at  the  house,  and  asked  shelter  for 
the  night,  declaring  that  they  had  lost  their 
way, and  expressing  the  hope  of  being  able 
to  rejoin  their  battalion  early  next  morning. 
The  lady  received  them  kindly,  and  ordered 
her  servants  to  prepare  a  room  with  two- 
beds  in  it.  Meanwhile  a  good  supper  was 
set  before  the  two  travellers. 

It  was  a  practice  with  this  lady  to  assem- 
ble her  household  to  recite  the  Rosary  be- 
fore retiring.  When  the  devotion  was  over, 
she  noticed  the  two  soldiers  remaining  mo- 
tionless behind  the  servants  and  she  even 
thought  that  she  saw  traces  of  tears  in  their 
eyes.  Bidding  them  good- night,  she  said: 
''Rest  well;  you  must  be  tired.  May  our 
Blessed  Mother  protect  you  always!"  She 
charged  the  cook  to  have  breakfast  ready 
for  them  at  daybreak;  and,  in  order  to  make 
sure  of  this,  she  herself  rose  at  the  first  sign 
of  dawn. 

Her  guests  seemed  deeply  moved  at  her 
kindness,  and  before  taking  their  departure 
the  bolder  of  the  two  thus  addressed  her: 
' '  Madam,  we  are  miserable  wretches,  alto- 
gether unworthy  of  your  hospitality.  We 
deserted  from  the  army,  and  came  here  with 
the  intention  of  robbing  your  house;  but 
the  consideration  of  your  kindness  to  us, 
and  especially  the  recitation  of  the  Rosary 
— which,  bad  as  we  are,  we  sometimes  recite 
ourselves,  taught  by  our  mothers  in  better 
days, — changed  our  hearts,  and  caused  us- 
to  repent  of  our  wicked  intention." 

Then  the  other  added:  "We  give  you 
our  word  of  honor  that  henceforth  we  will 
be  different  men.  Our  absence  can  hardly 
have  been  noticed  yet,  nor  is  it  likely  to  be 
if  we  get  back  to  our  quarters  before  the 
rkveille^  so  we  have  concluded  to  return  ta 
our  battalion.  If  we  succeed,  we  will  try  by 
our  future  conduct  to  repair  the  past." 


494 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"But  this  will  not  be  enough,"  said  the 
lady,  calmly.  '  *  You  have  a  chaplain  in  your 
battalion,  of  course ;  if  you  are  truly  repent- 
ant, you  must  go  to  him  and  confess  your 
sins,  so  that,  being  absolved,  and  receiv- 
ing Holy  Communion,  you  may  have  the 
blessing  of  God  on  your  good  resolutions. 
Besides,  I  hope  that  you  will  contiuue  to 
recite  your  Rosary.  Here  are  two  that  I  in- 
tended to  give  you;  they  are  blessed." 

The  soldiers  kissed  her  hand,  took  the 
beads,  and  departed. 

Soon  afterwards  the  revolution  burst 
over  that  beautiful  country,  but  the  peace 
of  that  house  was  not  disturbed  until  about 
four  months  later,  when  it  was  attacked  by 
a  party  of  insurgents;  but  at  the  moment 
of  danger  Spanish  troops  appeared,  led  by 
two  brave  officers,  who  defended  the  house 
nobly,  and  drove  the  enemy  off.  Great  was 
the  surprise  of  the  lady  on  finding  that  these 
officers  were  her  former  guests. 

"Here  we  are,  madam.  We  lemember 
you  well, and  are  still  grateful  for  your  kind- 
ness, and  ready  to  shed  our  blood,  if  neces- 
sary, in  defence  of  your  life  and  interests. 
If  we  occupy  honorable  posts  to-day,  we 
have  to  thank  you.  Those  rosaries  which 
you  gave  us  have  been  the  source  of  un- 
told blessings — spiritual  and  temporal.  We 
would  not  part  with  them  for  the  world." 
And,  unbuttoning  their  uniforms,  they 
showed  her  that  they  wore  them  around 
their  necks. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  lady,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes, ' "  to-day  I  have  much  to  thank 
you  for,  whereas  on  the  former  occasion  I 
did  you  only  a  slight  service.  It  was  the 
hand  of  God  that  led  you,  like  stray  sheep, 
to  my  house;  the  rest  was  the  work  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  It  is  to  Her  that  )  ou  owe 
your  gratitude,  as  I  owe  mine  for  having 
sent  you  to  save  my  home." 

The  farewell  was  touching,  after  which 
the  lady  saw  her  soldier  friends  no  more, 
but  she  learned  afterwards  that  they  con- 
tinued to  rise  in  the  army.  She  herself  was 
blessed  in  her  children,  who  grew  up  and 
became  models  of  every  Christian  virtue, 
especially  of  devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God. 


The  Jubilee    Pilgrimages   Inaugurated. 


The  Holy  Father  Heceives  Nineteen  Hundred 
French  Workingmen. — Their  Address  to  the 
Pope. — The  Reply  of  His  Holiness. 

IT  is  Sunday  morning,  the  i6th  of  October, 
— such  a  glorious  autumn  morning  as  the 
pilgrim  enjoys  beneath  the  golden  sky  of 
Rome.  From  the  first  peep  of  dawn  the  bronze 
doors  of  St.  Peter's  have  been  thrown  open, 
and  citizens  and  foreigners  have  been  stream- 
ing up  through  the  piazza  into  the  interior  of 
the  vast  Basilica  Some  1,900  French  work- 
ingmen, delegated  by  the  Catholic  labor  clubs 
of  all  the  provinces  of  France,  are  to  receive 
Holy  Communion  at  the  altar  of  the  Chair  of 
Peter,  before  going  to  present  their  homage  to 
the  Pope.  Catholic  France, ' '  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter of  the  Church,"  thus  opens  and  leads  the 
solemn  pilgrimage  of  Christian  people  to  the 
shrine  of  the  Apostles,  and  to  the  feet  of  Leo 
XIII.  on  the  occasion  of  his  Golden  Jubilee. 
At  seven  o'clock  Cardinal  Langenieux, 
Archbishop  of  Rheims, ' '  the  Father  of  Work- 
ingmen, "as  he  is  called  in  France,  begins 
Mass  at  the  altar  immediately  under  the  Chair 
of  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles.  There  is  no 
mistaking  the  simple,  fervent  piety  of  these 
nineteen  hundred  delegates  of  the  French 
laboring  classes.  They  are  come  to  protest 
most  solemnly  around  the  Confession  of  St. 
Peter  that  Voltairianism  has  not  extinguished 
in  the  kingdom  of  St.  Louis  the  faith  of  an- 
cient days.  The  distributing  of  Holy  Com- 
munion to  this  noble  band  of  representative 
toilers  takes  up  forty-five  minutes,  the  Cardi- 
nal celebrant  being  assisted  in  doing  so  by 
Monsignor  Jaccbini,  Secretary  of  the  Propa- 
ganda, and  Monsignor  Caracciolo  di  Casta- 
gneta.  Mass  being  ended,  the  fervor  of  the 
pilgrims  bursts  forth  into  the  beautiful  hymn 
of  the  French  workingman: 

"  Quand  J6sus  vient  sur  la  terra, 
Ce  fut  pour  y  travailler; 
II  voulut,  touchant  myst^re, 
Comme  nous  &tre  ouvrier. ' '  * 

Never  did  the  sublime  dome  of  Michael  An- 
gelo  resound  with  strains  more  heartfelt  or 


I 
I 


*  "When  Jesus  came  down  on  earth,  He  came 
to  do  a  toiler's  part.  He  willed — mysterious  con- 
descension— to  be,  like  each  of  us,  a  working- 
man." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


495 


more  thrilling,  and  the  numerous  French  col- 
ony in  Rome,  who  assisted  at  this  spectacle 
with  great  edification  and  deep  emotion,  took 
up  the  verses  of  the  popular  hymn  and  sang 
them  with  a  hearty  enthusiasm.  The  TeDeum 
thatfollowed,inwhich  the  papal  choir's  voices 
alternated  with  those  of  the  pilgrims,  was,  if 
possible,  still  more  thrilling.  Kvery  person 
within  the  church  seemed  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  familiar  sacred  melody,  as  its  majestic 
waves  rose  and  fell  and  succeeded  one  another 
before  the  throne  of  the  Most  High  in  His 
most  magnificent  earthly  temple. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  entire  delegation, 
ranged  in  perfect  order,  each  circle  or  club 
baaring  its  distinctive  banner,  filled  the  splen- 
did Ducal  Hall,  the  second  from  the  Sistine 
Chapel.  The  multitudes  of  strangers  who 
had  come  to  witness  the  scene  were  perforce 
crowded  into  the  adjoining  Sala  Regia,  or 
Royal  Hall  luspiteof  the  crowding, there  was 
perfect  silence.  The  reverential  bearing  of  this 
army  of  Christian  toilers,  as  they  awaited  in 
silence  and  subdued  emotion  the  appearance 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  compelled  even  the 
habitual  sight-seers  to  be  still  and  respectful. 

Just  as  noon  strikes,  the  ushers  of  the  papal 
cortige  appear:  the  entire  audience  kneel  by 
one  impulse  as  Leo  Xll  [. ,  like  some  unearthly 
vision, enters,  his  transparent  features  all  over- 
spread with  the  light  of  a  joy  that  is  surely 
not  of  earth.  He  blesses  the  kneeling  crowd, 
and  then  ascends  the  dais,  turning  toward  his 
children,  and  beaming  on  them  from  his  love- 
lit  eyes  the  welcome  of  his  true,  fatherly  heart. 
Cardinal  Langenieux  expresses  the  deep 
gratitude  of  those  generous  sons  of  France  — 
priests,  manufacturers,  presidents  of  labor 
clubs,  and  simple  workingmen, — who  have 
enjoyed  in  the  Rome  of  the  Popes,  by  the  mu- 
nificent kindness  of  his  Holiness,  a  truly  royal 
hospitality. 

Then  comes  Count  de  Mun,  the  eloquent 
son-in-law  of  the  great  and  eloquent  Mon- 
talembert,  and  President  of  the  French  Cath- 
olic Union  of  workingmen's  societies.  His 
admirable  address  to  the  Holy  Father  is  at 
the  present  juncture  in  the  United  States,  too 
pregnant  with  golden,  practical  wisdom  and 
far-reaching  suggestions  to  permit  me  to  omit 
it  altogether    He  said: 

' '  Most  Holy  Father,  it  is  now  three  years  since 
it  pleased  your  Holiness  to  receive  a  body  of 
French  heads  of  industry,  who  had  come  hither  in 


pilgrimage,  pledging  themselves  at  your  feet  to 
bring  back  ia  their  factories  and  workshops  the 
reign  of  religion  and  of  Christiaa  morals,  by  unit- 
ing, for  that  purpose,  their  own  eflforts  with  those 
of  the  men  in  their  employment.  To-day  these 
workingmen  come  themselves  to  you,  happy  and 
proud  of  this  unhoped  for  honor,  to  ask  in  their 
turn,  with  filial  humility,  that  in  your  fatherly 
kindness  you  will  bless  the  part  they  have  been 
invited  to  take  in  the  great  work  of  regenerating 
the  world  of  manual  labor.  Surrounding  your 
throne  like  a  faithful  army,  bearing  the  historic 
flags  of  our  provinces  and  the  banners  of  their 
respective  Catholic  circles,  we  represent  the  first 
workingmen's  guilds  that  have  sprung  into  ex- 
istence at  the  call  of  your  Holiness,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  protecting,  according  to  your  own  august 
words,  the  interests  of  labor  and  the  morality  of 
the  laborers 

"We  know,  however,  by  daily  experience  what 
difl&culties  are  raised  up  in  the  path  of  these  Chris- 
tian associations  by  the  strife  of  industrial  rivalry 
and  competition;  how  useful,  how  necessary  even, 
would  be  legislative  enactments  protecting  our 
guilds,  and  enabling  them  to  become  the  founda- 
tion of  the  labor  organization  whose  old-time  wis- 
dom your  Holiness  praises  as  contrasting  with 
the  existing  disorganization,  the  source  of  all  the 
evils  which  oppress  u?.  But  we  also  know,  from 
the  very  traditions  of  our  trades  guilds,  that  at 
every  period  of  the  history  of  these  trades,  when 
the  social  question  came  up  anew  in  consequence 
of  some,  industrial  transformation,  the  Church — 
in  the  words  uttered  at  L^ege  by  the  eminent 
Cardinal  who  has  brought  us  to  this  presence, — 
the  Church  has  been  able  to  solve  that  question 
by  invoking  the  justice  of  the  constituted  author- 
ities, and  by  filling  with  the  spirit  of  charity  the 
souls  of  her  children. 

"This.  Holy  Father,  is  the  reason  why  these 
Christian  workingmen  kneel  before  you,  deeply 
and  respectfully  grateful  for  the  devotion  to  their 
cause  which  your  sovereign  intervention  has  cre- 
ated under  so  many  forms  and  strengthened  so 
wonderfully.  They  feel  assured  that  your  words 
and  your  blessing  will  help  them  toward  obtain- 
ing such  protection  from  the  laws  as  shall  stimu- 
late the  salutary  measures  already  adopted  for 
their  benefit.  Thereby,  seeing  their  condition  ele- 
vated, they  will  find  facilities  for  leading  a  truly 
Christian  life,  for  giving  their  families  a  sound 
education,  and  for  providing  against  the  end  of  a 
life  of  hard  labor  the  means  of  an  honorable  old 
age,  while  awaiting  the  joys  and  the  rest  of  heaven 
from  the  hand  of  a  merciful  God." 

Every  sentence  uttered  by  Count  de  Mun, 
while  it  seemed  visibly  to  come  from  every  one 
of  these  loyal  hearts, deeply  affected  the  vener- 
able Pontiff,  whose  eyes  seemed  riveted  on  the 
speaker.  And  now  L^o  XIII.  rises  and  stands, 


496 


The  Ave  Maria. 


erect  and  firm  as  a  statue  of  Carrara  marble, 
before  the  hushed  assemblage.  Fear  not  that 
the  frail  figure  will  be  unable  for  the  task  of 
addressing  at  length,  and  in  a  language  for- 
eign to  him,  the  expectant  representatives  of 
French  industry  and  labor.  Every  nerve  in 
that  aged  frame  is  braced  to  the  firmness  of 
steel  by  the  indomitable  will  which  governs 
it;  every  tone  of  his  voice  distinctly  reaches 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  great  Ducal  Hall. 

"Great  is  Our  joy,  dearest  sons,  at  behold- 
ing you  here  in  such  numbers."  Thus  he 
begins.  "We  know  with  what  an  excellent 
spirit  you  are  all  animated,  and  what  a  gener- 
ous thought  led  to  this  pilgrimage  of  French 
workingmen  to  Rome.  Overcoming  all  human 
respect,  and  despising  the  ridicule  thrown  on 
your  purpose  by  the  evil-minded,  you  started 
from  every  point  of  France,  guided  by  these 
noble  men,  your  faithful  counsellors  and  true 
fi:iends;  and  you  have  come  here,  in  your  own 
name  and  in  that  of  your  fellow-toilers,  to 
seek  the  blessing  of  Christ's  Vicar,  to  visit 
the  churches  and  shrines  of  the  Eternal  City, 
to  pour  forth  prayers  for  your  own  need,  for 
that  of  your  country,  and  for  your  dear  ones. 

"We  must  congratulate  you,  beloved  sons, 
for  thus  fulfilling  a  public  act  of  faith,  and 
thus  solemnly  asserting  your  religious  con- 
victions. We  must  especially  congratulate  you 
on  what  your  eloquent  spokesman  just  men- 
tioned, the  part  you  are  taking  in  the  Christian 
regeneration  of  the  world  of  manual  toil.  In 
this  regeneration  and  this  return  to  Christian 
principles,  to  the  teachings  of  the  Church  and 
her  head,  consists  the  sole  solution  of  the 
social  questions  which  so  nearly  interest  you. 
We  are  moved  to  repeat  it  here,  the  Church  has 
always,  at  every  period,  shown  a  jealous  care 
of  the  condition  of  the  poor  and  the  laboring 
classes.  By  promulgating  the  truths  intrusted 
to  her  as  a  deposit,  she  has  ennobled  labor  by 
lifting  it  up  to  the  height  and  dignity  of 
human  freedom.  She  has  rendered  labor  mer- 
itorious in  the  sight  of  God  by  teaching  the 
workingman  to  sanctify  his  toil  through  su- 
pernatural views,  and  to  bear  resignedly  and 
in  a  penitential  spirit  the  privations  and 
fatigues  inseparable  from  labor.  The  Church, 
again,  has  never  ceased  to  remind  the  rich  and 
the  powerful  of  their  sacred  obligation  to  suc- 
cor their  brethren  of  a  lowlier  condition,  and 
to  respect  in  these  the  character  of  men  and 
Christians.  When  her  word  was  more  respect- 


fully accepted  and  more  faithfully  obeyed  by 
the  nations — when  there  was  less  hindrance  to 
her  free  action,  and  her  command  of  resources 
less  limited, — the  Church  was  wont  to  relieve 
the  poor  and  the  laboring  classes  not  only  by 
her  large-handed  charities,  but  by  creating 
and  fostering  those  great  corporate  institu- 
tions which  contributed  so  powerfully  to  the 
progress  of  arts  and  trades,  and  were  produc- 
tive to  the  workingmen  themselves  of  a  larger 
share  of  comfort  and  well-being.  This  same 
spirit  of  motherly  solicitude  was  infused  by 
the  Church  into  the  popular  manners,  into 
the  statutes  and  by-laws  of  cities,  into  the  en- 
actments and  legislation  of  States. 

' '  Undoubtedly,  the  intervention  and  author- 
itative action  of  the  State  are  not  here  of 
indispensable  necessity,  so  long  as  the  condi- 
tions regulating  labor  and  the  exercise  of  in- 
dustry are  in  no  wise  detrimental  to  morality, 
to  justice,  to  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  and 
to  the  home-life  of  the  workingman.  But  when 
any  one  of  these  priceless  things  is  threatened 
or  imperilled,  public  authority,  by  interfering 
becomingly  and  with  a  just  measure,  is  only 
working  for  the  salvation  of  society;  for  to 
public  authority  it  belongs  to  protect  and  to 
guard  the  interests  of  the  citizens  subject  to  it. 

"Still, what  the  Church  taught  and  carried 
into  effect  in  by -gone  times,  she  has  not  ceased 
to  endeavor  to  realize  in  our  age.  Unhappily, 
instead  of  helping  and  promoting  her  benef- 
icent action,  people  persistently  and  ener- 
getically labor  to  thwart  her  every  endeavor; 
hence  it  is  that  her  efforts  no  longer  accom- 
plish the  same  results.  None  the  less  does  she 
continue  to  attend  to  your  wants,  beloved 
sons,  and  to  claim  for  your  just  interests  all 
that  is  due  to  them.  From  the  very  beginning 
of  Our  pontificate  We  were  mindful  of  you, 
when  We  recalled  to  the  nations  what  were 
the  fundamental  principles  of  social  order. 
Since  then  We  have  followed  attentively  the 
proceedings  of  the  [labor]  congresses  held 
successively  in  France,  in  Italy,  in  Germany, 
and,  quite  lately,  in  Belgium  and  in  Switzer- 
land. We  shall  not  omit  to  do  whatev^er  Our 
office  and  Our  fatherly  heart  may  prompt  Us 
to  do  for  the  amelioration  of  your  lot. 

"Meanwhile,  dearest  sons,  do  not  allow 
yourseh'es  to  be  led  astray  by  the  specious 
promises  of  the  apostles  of  irreligion  and  false- 
hood. They  will  come  to  you  wearing  the 
mask  of  hypocrisy,  and  by  their  flattery  will 


The  Ave  Maria. 


497 


try  to  turn  you  away  from  the  Church  and 
from  the  practise  of  your  religious  duties. 
They  will  try  to  get  you  into  their  secret  meet- 
ings, and  will  urge  you  to  better  your  condi- 
tion by  open  violence,  and  to  the  detriment  of 
the  social  body.  Beware  of  them,  and  close 
your  ears  to  their  mischievous  discourses.  To 
listen  to  them,  to  follow  them,  would  be  to 
lay  up  in  store  for  yourselves  the  bitterest  de- 
ceptions, and  to  be  the  workers  of  your  own 
certain  ruin." 

Such  are  the  golden  lessons,  the  fatherly 
words  of  solemn  and  affectionate  warning 
littered  by  the  Vicar  of  Christ  on  the  first  great 
solemnity  of  his  Sacerdotal  Jubilee.  The  work- 
ingmen  of  France  heard  them  with  loving, 
grateful,  and  obedient  hearts.  I'send  them  to 
the  workingmen  of  America,  with  the  confi- 
dent hope  that  they,  too,  will  ponder  well  these 
teachings  of  a  wisdom  which  is  not  all  of  earth. 

And  not  to  the  laboring  classes  only  are 
these  utterances  fraught  with  salvation:  to 
the  rulers  among  us,  in  Church  and  State,  the 
scene  I  have  described  in  part,  and  the  solemn 
words  which  fall  from  so  venerable  an  author- 
ity,may  be  meditated  upon  with  no  little  profit. 
Bernard  O'Reilly,  in  The  Sunday  Sun. 


Catholic  Notes. 


A  proclamation  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States  dated  the  25th  ult.  designates 
and  sets  apart  the  24th  of  November  as  a  day 
of  thanksgiving  and  prayer,  to  be  observed 
by  all  the  people  of  the  land.  It  recommends 
that  all  secular  work  and  employment  be 
suspended  on  that  day;  "and  let  our  people 
assemble  in  their  accustomed  places  of  wor- 
ship, and  with  prayer  and  songs  of  praise  give 
thanks  to  our  Heavenly  Father  for  all  that 
He  has  done  for  us,  while  we  humbly  implore 
the  forgiveness  of  our  sins  and  a  continuance 
of  His  mercy. 

' '  L^t  families  and  kindred  be  reunited  on 
that  day,  and  let  their  hearts,  filled  with 
kindly  cheer  and  affectionate  reminiscences, 
be  turned  in  thankfulness  to  the  source  of  all 
their  pleasures  and  the  Giver  of  all  that  makes 
the  day  glad  and  joyous." 

The  document  concludes  with  a  kindly  ref- 
erence to  the  needs  of  the  poor: — "lyCt  us 
remember  the  poor,  the  needy,  and  the  unfort- 


unate, and  by  our  gifts  of  charity  and  ready 
benevolence  let  us  increase  the  number  of 
those  who  with  grateful  hearts  shall  join  in 
our  thanksgiving. ' ' 

We  trust  it  will  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
observance  of  Thanksgiving  Day  was  com- 
mended, by  the  Fathers  of  the  Third  Plenary 
Council  of  Baltimore  as  consonant  with  the 
principles  of  faith  and  with  the  promptings  of 
the  heart  of  a  Christian  people,  as  a  custom 
which  declares  our  dependence  upon  God, 
both  as  a  nation  and  as  individuals,  and  tend- 
ing to  strengthen  the  spirit  of  thankfulness, 
and  to  increase  our  confidence  in  the  Creator 
and  Giver  of  all  good. 


That  Catholics  were  the  first  to  set  foot  on 
American  soil  is  beyond  question,  whether  the 
credit  of  the  discovery  of  the  Continent  be 
given  to  St.  Brandan,  Columbus,  or  the  Scan- 
dinavian Ericson.  The  last  named  had  been 
baptized  by  King  Olaf  before  he  left  Iceland 
on  that  voyage  which,  it  is  claimed,  resulted 
in  the  discovery  of  the  great  Western  Conti- 
nent. A  statue  of  this  brave  explorer  was 
unveiled  recently  in  Boston,  and  dedicatory 
services  held,  which  were  attended  by  the  Slite 
of  the  city  and  many  representative  Scandi- 
navian residents  of  the  United  States. 


A  hero  and  confessor  of  the  faith,  after  a 
life  of  much  suff"ering  on  earth,  has  just  gone 
to  his  eternal  reward.  Most  of  our  readers  will 
be  familiar  with  the  name  of  Father  John 
Bapst,  S.J..  and  with  the  story  of  the  cruel 
outrages  to  which  he  was  subjected  by  the  ad- 
herents of  Know-Nothingism.  Born  in  Switz- 
erland about  seventy  years  ago,  he  was  first 
ordained  a  secular  priest,  and  afterward  joined 
the  Society  of  Jesus.  Driven  out  of  his  coun- 
try by  the  revolution  of  1848,  he  came  to  the 
United  States,  and  was  immediately  sent  to 
Maine,  to  minister  to  the  Abnaki  Indians. 
Many  of  his  flock  having  been  driven  into 
exile  by  the  Government,  he  was  transferred 
to  the  white  mission,  where  he  was  very  suc- 
cessful in  pastoral  work,  and  got  together  a 
large  and  flourishing  congregation.  By  at- 
tempting to  prevent  Catholic  children  from 
being  forced  to  learn  Protestant  doctrines, 
he  incurred  great  odium  among  the  citizens  of 
Ellsworth,  where  he  had  a  mission.  A  town 
meeting  was  held,  at  which  it  was  resolved 
that,  if  he  ventured  to  return  thither,  he  should 


49^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


be  tarred  and  feathered  and  ridden  on  a  rail. 
This  barbarous  project  was  carried  into  exe- 
cution a  few  months  later,  when  the  return 
of  Father  Bapst  presented  the  opportunity. 
For  many  hours  the  heroic  priest  was  sub- 
jected to  the  most  outrageous  tortures  at  the 
hands  of  these  diabolical  miscreants,  scarcely 
escaping  with  his  life.  The  next  day  the  citi 
zens  of  Bmgor,  where  Father  Bapst  resided, 
tendered  him  an  unqualified  apology  for  the 
wrong  done  him.  and  presented  him  with  a 
fine  gold  watch,  which,  by  the  special  per- 
mission of  the  Superior-General  of  his  Order, 
he  was  allowed  to  wear.  After  some  years  of 
zealous  labor  in  Boston,  New  York,  and  other 
cities,  he  was  transferred  to  Frederick,  Mary- 
land, where  he  remained  until,  some  six 
months  ago,  his  mind  gave  way,  when  he  was 
removed  to  Mount  Hope  insane  asylum,  where 
he  died.  "  It  is  a  curious  fact,"  says  Gilmary 
Shea  in  his  History  of  the  Catholic  Missions, 
"that  no  mi'^sionary  to  the  Abnaki  tribe  was 
ever  injured  by  the  Indians,  while  Brother  du 
Thet  and  Father  Rale  were  killed  and  Father 
Bapst  has  been  thus  cruelly  treated  by  the 
whites,  more  savage  than  the  original  occu- 
pants of  the  soil. "  R.  I.  P. 


' '  In  wholly  Catholic  countries  or  localities, ' ' 
observes  the  Catholic  Citizen,'' Xho^  An^elus  is 
rung  thrice  a  day,  and  the  devout  Catholic 
kneels  or  scands  to  recite  the  familiar  prayers. 
This,  of  course,  is  in  some  cases  impracticable' 
in  the  business  haunts  of  the  cities,  but  in  the 
home  circle  there  is  certainly  no  reason  for 
its  omission.  In  many  families  the  Angelus 
is  recited  in  common  before  or  after  breakfast, 
dinner,  and  supper.  The  children  thus  learn 
it  in  practice,  and  the  devotion  will,  in  most 
cases,  stick  to  them  through  life.  The  same  is 
true  of  the  Rosary.  How  edifying  it  is  to  see 
parents  and  children  kneeling  side  by  side 
reciting  aloud  the  Rosary  every  Saturday 
evening  of  the  year,  and  every  evening  during 
L,ent  and  Advent,  as  well  as  during  the  month 
of  October!"  

A  Spanish  journal  published  at  Madrid 
tells  of  a  miracle  recently  wrought  during  a 
procession  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  the 
city  of  Toledo.  A  poor  old  blind  man,  well 
known  in  the  city,  had  himself  led  in  company 
with  the  pious  faithful.  At  his  request  he  was 
placed  near  one  of  the  repositories,  and  during 


the  exposition  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  he 
prayed  fervently,  and,  with  a  faith  like  that 
of  ihe  one  mentioned  in  the  Gospel,  he  said: 
"lyord,  grant  that  I  may  see!"  His  prayer 
was  heard:  before  the  kneeling  throng  his 
sight  was  restored,  and  to  the  sounds  of  the 
joyful  Te  Deuni  he  followed  the  procession  to 
the  cathedral,  where  he  solemnly  offered  spec- 
ial acts  of  thanksgiving  to  God  in  the  Sacra- 
ment of  His  Love. 

Encouraged  and  guided  by  the  energy  and 
zeal  of  their  pastor,  the  Rev.  A.  Roy,  C.  S.  C, 
the  Catholics  of  Sackville,  New  Brunswick, 
have  just  erected  a  tasteful  little  church  under 
the  invocation  of  Our  I^ady  of  the  Rosary. 
Those  who  have  followed  the  wanderings  of 
the  Acadians  in  Longfellow's  beautiful  poem, 
' '  Evangeline, ' '  will  be  interested  to  learn  that 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  they  had 
a  chapel  in  that  district,  which  was  pulled 
down  after  their  expatriation. when  Sackville 
became  as!  ronghold  of  the  Metho  lists.  It  was 
probably  the  first  Catholic  chapel  built  in  New 
Brunswick. 

In  a  recent  issue  of  the  London  Tablet  there 
is  a  leading  article  on  the  subject  of  a  Cath- 
olic Congress  in  England.  The  writer  points 
out  that  such  congresses  as  those  which  have 
been  held  by  the  Catholics  in  Germany, 
France,  Belgium,  Italy,  and  Spain,  have  mate- 
rially benefited  the  Catholic  body  in  these 
countries  both  directly  and  indirectly.  They 
have  been  especially  serviceable  in  bringing 
the  leaders  of  the  party  together  and  intro- 
ducing them  to  the  Catholic  electors.  But 
whether  a  congress  is  advisable  at  the  present 
moment  for  English-speaking  Catholics  is 
another  question.  They  have  not  the  same 
grievances  which  the  faithful  on  the  continent 
of  Europe  have  to  complain  of,  nor  are  they 
as  strong  in  numbers  as  the  latter.  On  the 
whole,  we  agree  with  the  writer  in  the  Tablet 
that  the  time  is  hardly  ripe  for  an  English 
Catholic  Congress.  Doubtless  there  are  ques- 
tions which  such  a  congress  might  treat  with 
advantage,  but  the  present  is  hardly  the  oc- 
casion for  it. 

The  rule  of  the  Dutch  in  the  island  of  Cey- 
lon from  1658  to  1796  has  become  notorious  in 
history,  owing  to  the  attempts  made  by  them 
to  extirpate  the  Catholic  religion,  and  to  es- 
tablish Protestantism.  These  attempts  proved 


The  Ave  iMaria, 


499 


in  the  end  as  unsuccessful  as  were  those  of 
their  brethren  in  the  island  of  Formosa  in 
which  they  had  extensive  missions.  Speaking 
of  these,  E.  C.  Baber,  Esq.,  her  Britannic  Maj- 
esty's Chinese  Secretary  at  Peking,  says,  in  a 
recent  number  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society's 
journal,  that  not  a  single  trace  of  the  work  of 
the  Dutch,  in  either  the  religious  or  the  educa- 
tional sphere,  can  be  found  at  the  present  day. 
Meanwhile  the  number  of  Catholics  in  Cey- 
lon has  been  steadily  increasing;  in  1848  there 
were  about  110,000,  now  there  are  almost 
double  that  number. 


An  interesting  description  is  given  in  the 
Voce  di  Malta  of  the  gift  which  is  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  Holy  Father  by  the  people  of 
that  island  on  the  occasion  of  his  Sacerdotal 
Jubilee.  It  is  a  shield  of  silver,  nearly  five  feet 
long  by  two  feet  broad,  on  which  will  be  in- 
scribed in  golden  letters  the  account  of  St. 
Paul's  visit  to  Malta,  taken  from  the  Vulgate. 
The  Maltese  have  never  degenerated  from 
their  faith;  "that  faith,"  says  the  writer  in 
the  Voce, ' '  which,  engraved  by  the  Great  Ship- 
wrecked One  in  indelible  characters  on  the 
hearts  of  his  fortunate  hosts,  indelibly  re- 
newed by  their  posterity  for  nearly  nineteen 
hundred  years,  we  carry  indelibly  in  our  hearts 
with  the  hope  of  handing  it  down  undefiled 
to  the  remotest  generations."  Details  are 
added  which  show  that  the  offering  is  a  most 
beautiful  and  costly  work  of  art. 


New  Publications. 


The  L/ITTle  Fl,owers  op  St.  Francis  op 
Assisi.  Translated  from  the  Italian,  and  Edited 
by  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of 
Westminster.  London:  Burns  &  Oates.  New 
York:  The  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 

A  volume  possessing  so  singular  a  charm 
that  the  reader  of  it  is  at  once  almost  literally 
transported  to  the  Middle  Ages  is  rarely  to 
be  met  with  in  these  times,  but  "The  Little 
Flowers  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi ' '  is  veritably 
such  an  one.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  of 
it  that  under  the  spell  of  its  pages  one  sees 
with  his  own  eyes  and  hears  with  his  own 
ears  the  sights  and  sounds  which  embellish 
the  most  picturesque  and  romantic  period  of 
Church  History.  Here  the  barefooted  friars 
wander  in  the  dusty  highway,  and  by  the 


power  of  their  simple  eloquence  gather  num- 
bers into  their  fold.  We  follow  them  in  their 
varying  fortunes;  see  them  buffeted  and  re- 
viled, and  bearing  with  amazing  humility  a 
thousand  wrongs;  we  see  them  venerated  by 
those  who  have  proved  the  sanctity  of  these 
holy  ones — for  miracles  follow  in  their  foot- 
steps, as  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the  beasts  of 
the  field  bear  testimony,  to  the  unspeakable 
edification. of  the  faithful. 

More  than  twenty  years  ago  the  first  Eng- 
lish version  of  "The  Little  Flowers  of  St. 
Francis"  was  given  to  the  world.  The  Car- 
dinal Archbishop  of  Westminster,  in  his  pref- 
atory note,  announces  the  Marchesa  di  Salvo, 
the  Lady  Georgiana  Fuller  ton,  and  the  Rev. 
Mother  Vicaress  of  the  Franciscan  Convent  at 
Bayswater,as  the  translators.  He  adds:  "This 
little  book,  and  the  History  of  the  English 
Nation  by  S.Bede,  are  utterances  of  the  loving 
faith  of  the  children  of  the  Kingdom,  which 
will  find  ears  to  hear  and  hearts  to  understand 
in  all  those  who  have  learned  to  know  and  to 
love  Jesus  in  the  lowliness  of  His  divine 
infancy." 

It  is  surprising  that  the  volume  has  not 
long  since  become  a  household  word.  The 
unknown  author,  or  authors,  write  as  eye- 
witnesses. The  narratives  are  told  with  an 
almost  childlike  simplicity;  one  can  not  ques- 
tion the  ingenuous  honesty  of  the  narrators — 
this  is  the  naked  truth;  and  it  is  natural  to 
exclaim  while  culling  these  ' '  Little  Flowers, ' ' 
"This  is  indeed  the  beauty  of  holiness:  the 
odor  of  sanctity  pervades  it!"  Who,  after  a 
glance  at  the  index,  from  which  we  quote  the 
following  headings,  can  refrain  from  seeking 
this  garden  of  spiritual  delights — for  such  it 
is  worthy  to  be  called? — "How  St.  Francis 
passed  the  time  of  Lent  in  an  island,  on  the 
Lake  of  Perugia,  where  he  fasted  forty  days 
and  forty  nights,  eating  only  one-half  of  a 
small  loaf. "  "  How  St.  Francis,  walking  one 
day  with  Brother  Leo,  explained  to  him  what 
things  caused  perfect  joy. "  "  How  St.  Francis 
made  Brother  Masseo  turn  round  and  round 
like  a  child,  and  then  went  to  Sienna. "  "  How 
St.  Francis  and  Brother  Masseo  placed  the 
bread  they  had  collected  on  a  stone  near  a 
fountain;  and  how  St.  Francis  praised  the 
virtue  of  holy  poverty,  and  prayed  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul  to  make  him  greatly  love  holy 
poverty.  How  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  appeared 
to  him."  "How St.  Francis,  having  been  told 


500 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Obituary. 

"  It  ts  a  liofy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  2  Mach.,  xii.,  46 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com 
mended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  Jane  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  S.  N.  D.,  whose 
useful  and  selfless  life  was  crowned  with  a  blessed 
death  on  the  4th  inst.,  at  Somerville,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Emily  Hanquenet,  who  departed  this  life 
at  her  home  in  Mt.  Clemens,  Mich  ,  after  a  short 
illness. 

Mr.  Peter  Doury,  of  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  whose 
precious  death  occurred  on  the  24th  ult. 

Mr.  Thomas  Burk,who  died  a  happy  death  on 
the  25th  ult., at  Bridgeport,  N.J. 

Mrs.  Mary  Dooley,  of  Hartford,  Conn.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  26th  of  October,  fortified  by 
the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Franley,  whose  holy  death  took 
place  near  Marengo,  Iowa,  on  the  23d  ult. 

Mrs.  Joanna  Goggin,  who  piously  breathed  her 
last  on  the  i8th  ult.  at  Marlboro,  Mass. ,  after  a  long 
Illness  borne  with  truly  Christian  resignation. 

Mrs.  John  O'Connell,  of  Pin  Oak,  Iowa;  Patrick 
Maughlin  and  Mrs.  Bridget  O'Donnell,  Troy, 
l^.Y. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


by  St.  Clare  and  the  holy  Brother  Silvester 
that  he  should  preach  and  convert  many  to 
the  faith,  founded  the  Third  Order,  preached 
to  the  birds,  and  reduced  to  silence  the  swal- 
lows. "  'Of  the  most  holy  miracle  of  St.  Fran- 
cis in  taming  the  fierce  wolf  of  Gubbio." 
*'0f  the  miracle  which  God  performed  when 
St.  Anthony,  being  at  Rimini,  preached  to  the 
fish  of  the  sea. "  "  How  Brother  Juniper  took 
certain  little  bells  from  the  altar,  and  gave 
them  away  for  the  love  of  God."  "How 
Brother  Giles  was  miraculously  assisted  in  a 
great  necessity,  when,  by  reason  of  a  heavy 
fall  of  snow,  he  was  hindered  from  going  out 
to  quest." 

A  wonderful  chapter  is  that  which  recounts, 
with  fine  touches  of  realism  and  pathos,  the 
most  significant  event  in  the  life  of  the  Saint 
of  Assisi;  it  is  entitled:  "Of  the  sacred  and 
holy  Stigmata  of  St.  Francis,  and  certain  con- 
siderations thereupon."  There  are  lives  of 
Brother  Juniper — whose  simplicity  and  sanc- 
tity are  at  once  edifying  and  inimitable, — 
and  of  the  Blessed  Brother  Giles,  a  collection 
of  whose  instructions  and  notable  sayings 
concludes  a  precious  volume,  unique  in  devo- 
tional literature,  and  well  worthy  of  universal 
popularity.  


WTMENt 


Leo  Marson's  Victory. 


BY   E.  V.  N. 


I. 


"Auntie,  I  am  going  to  shave  my  beard," 
exclaimed  Leo  Marson — a  lad  of  ten  sum- 
mers,— and,  mounting  a  stool  before  a  toilet 
mirror,  he  brandished  aloft  a  razor  which 
he  had  found  in  one  of  the  bureau  drawers. 
"Auntie,  I  want  some  lather.  Please  tell 
Celina  to  make  me  some  soapsuds. ' ' 

"Mother  of  Mercy!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Marson,  hurrying  forward,  and  trying  to 
take  away  the  razor.  "You  naughty  child! 
Give  that  to  me  at  once. ' ' 

"Not  unless  you  promise  to  give  it 
back,"  said  Leo,  holding  to  the  handle 
with  all  his  feeble  might ;  for,  though  mor- 
ally formidable,  he  was  physically  puny  and 
weak. 

"Certainly,  darling,  I'll  give  it  back  to 
you. ' ' 

Then  the  child  partly  yielded;  and  the 
lady,  drawing  her  thumb  over  the  blade, 
found  that  it  was  too  dull  to  do  much  harm, 
so  she  let  him  keep  it. 

' '  Tell  Celina  to  make  me  some  lather, ' ' 
he  repeated,  imperiously. 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Marson  stepped  out, 
and  called:  " Celina,  bring  Leo  some  soap- 
suds: he  is  going  to  shave." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  rosy- cheeked 
maid.  ' '  But  he  may  cut  himself. ' '  And  she 
slowly  proceeded  to  obey  orders. 

"Oh,  there  is  no  danger!"  added  the 
mistress;  "he  has  rummaged  a  drawer  in 
the  toilet-table,  and  found  a  discarded  razor; 
it  is  very  dull." 

Then  the  indulgent  aunt  went  back  into 
the  room,  to  find  her  nephew  waiting  for 
her  on  the  stool  before  the  mirror. 

"Godmother,  how  do  they  pat  the  lather 
on  the  chin?"  he  asked. 


The  A  ve  Mai'ia. 


5ot 


"With  a  little  brush,  pet;  I  think  there 
must  be  one  in  the  same  drawer." 

And  she  hunted  a  while,  and  brought  it 
forth  just  as  Celina,  her  face  beaming  with 
smiles,  came  in  with  a  little  bowl  of  soap- 
suds. Then  the  spoiled  child  began  to  smear 
his  face,  and  scatter  the  soapsuds  in  every 
direction,  while  the  mistress  of  the  house 
stood  at  one  side  of  the  mirror,  and  her 
maid  at  the  other. 

His  aunt  reached  out  her  hand  to  help 
him ;  he  shouted :  ' '  lyet  me  alone.  I  know 
how." 

Just  as  he  uttered  this  rude  speech,  a  little 
tap  was  heard,  and  Mrs.  Maison,  turning, 
saw  a  tall,  military-looking  personage  at 
the  door. 

"Good- morning,  Caroline!"  said  the 
gentleman,  saluting  her. 

"Oh,  how  you  frightened  me!"  cried 
Mrs.  Marson,  affectedly. 

"Quite  unintentionally, cousin,  I  assure 
you;  I  rang  twice,  and  not  getting  a  re- 
sponse, I  thought  I  would  walk  in.  And, 
lo  and  behold,  I  find  my  ward  shaving  him- 
self!  What  a  droll  child!" 

"Take  a  seat,  Colonel,  please,  and  givfs 
me  some  news  from  your  family — how  are 
you?" 

And  while  they  exchanged  the  usual 
compliments  Leo  descended  from  the  stool, 
and  Celina  wiped  his  face  with  a  napkin, 
and  sent  him  to  say  good-morning  to  his 
uncle.  The  latter  took  him  on  his  knee, 
and,  looking  at  him  attentively,  said: 

"Your  weight  is  not  big  enough  for  your 
years,  my  child;  my  Freddie,  who  is  the 
same  age  as  you,  is  a  head  taller;  his  skin 
is  clear,  his  cheeks  bright,  while  you  look 
thin  and  sallow." 

"O  my  dear  Colonel,  he  has  grown  ever 
so  much!"  observed  Mrs.  Marson;  "Celina 
and  I,  who  take  care  of  his  wardrobe,  can 
testify  to  that.  I  knit  his  stockings,  and  she 
is  constantly  lengthening  his  trousers,  and 
we  have  to  renew  his  jackets  very  often." 

"That  is  an  unanswerable  argument. 
Well,  let  me  see,  my  boy.  Do  you  want  to 
be  a  soldier, like  Freddie?  I  think  he  will 
take  after  me." 


*  'A  soldier?  Well,  I  don't  like  real  guns,, 
but  I've  got  a  regiment  of  lead  soldiers ;  and 
I  command  them  just  like  a  real  colonel.'* 

"Oh,  if  you  are  a  coward  I  will  not  own 
you  for  my  nephew!"  said  the  Colonel, 
pretending  to  set  him  down  on  the  carpet. 

"Dear  cousin,  I  can  assure  you  that  Leo 
is  altogether  too  bold.  He's  very  fond  of 
getting  on  the  baluster,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
he  will  break  his  neck  some  day,"  said  Mrs. 
Marson. 

"That  is  a  mere  play  at  gymnastics;  the 
most  timid  boy  delights  to  ride  a  wooden 
horse  sometimes.  Perhaps  he  would  like  to 
be  a  sailor?" 

* '  What !  and  get  drowned  ?  No  indeed ;  I 
have  a  picture  of  a  shipwreck  in  my  reader. 
You  don't  catch  me  on  the  ocean!" 

"Perhaps,  then,  you  will  imitate  your 
Uncle  Marson,  and  be  a  merchant?" 

"No,  sir.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  should  like 
to  be — a  confectioner." 

"Exactly,  and  devour  ice-cream  and 
sponge-cake  all  day!"  cried  a  big,  hoarse 
voice;  and  a  stout  man,  with  a  bright,  jovial 
face,  entered  the  room,  and  cordially  shook 
hands  with  Colonel  Donaldson.  Then  he 
threw  himself,  quite  out  of  breath,  on  the 
nearest  sofa,  and  handed  his  hat  and  cane 
to  his  wife,  as  if  he  were  unable  to  advance 
another  step. 

"I  hope.  Colonel, you  are  going  to  stay 
some  days  with  us  this  time,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
son; "you  military  men  are  so  hard  to 
detain." 

"No:  I  am  on  the  wing.  I  have  been  to 
New  York  on  business  for  the  Secretary  of 
War,  and  I  thought  I  would  stop  at  Harris- 
burg  and  settle  that  little  difficulty  about 
John's  estate,  and  take  Leo  with  me.  It  is 
high  time  he  was  placed  at  college.  Does 
Mr.  Robinson  live  near  here?" 

' '  Yes :  on  this  street,  and  it  was  only  yes- 
terday that  he  sent  one  of  his  clerks  here 
to  ask  for  your  address.  But  do  not  be  in  a 
hurry.  Colonel." 

"Well,  Caroline,  with  your  leave,"  said 
Colonel  Donaldson  to  Mrs.  Marson,  "I  will 
go  and  attend  to  this  business  about  the  es- 
tate before  dinner,  and  then  I  shall  be  able 


502 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day  with  you 
and  Mr.  Marson." 

"I  will  accompany  you,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
son,  making  a  great  effort  to  rise;  then 
beckoning  his  wife  aside  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery, he  said  to  her  in  an  undertone :  ' '  Per- 
haps Robinson  may  return  with  us,  so  pre- 
pare a  good  dinner — oysters,  sauterne  for 
me,  champagne  for  the  Colonel." 

The  gentlemen  withdrew,  and  Mrs.  Mar- 
son  hastened  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and 
cried:  " Celina,  where  is  Leo?" 

*'  Not  far  off  madam — he's  cooking  pota- 
toes here  on  the  stove." 

"Well,  let  him  amuse  himself,  so  long  as 
he  does  not  burn  his  fingers.  But  I  want 
you  up  here,  Celina." 

**0h, yes,  of  course  you  do!"  grumbled 
the  maid,  and  she  rattled  the  stewpans  and 
kettles  as  though  there  were  no  end  to  the 
work  to  be  accomplished ;  then  went  up  to 
meet  her  mistress  on  a  little  platform,  on 
which  a  bench  was  placed,  where  the  two 
often  held  important  councils. 

"I  want  to  give  orders  for  dinner,"  said 
the  lady;  "but  that  is  a  small  matter.  You 
see,  the  Colonel  is  Leo's  guardian,  and  I  am 
sure  he  means  to  take  the  child  away  with 
him;  every  time  he  writes  he  is  talking  of 
sending  him  to  college." 

"But,  madam,  are  there  not  colleges 
enough  in  Harrisburg,  and  gocd  ones  too?  " 
asked  the  maid. 

"Yes,  but  he  is  determined  to  take  the 
boy  away,  because  he  thinks  I  indulge  him 
too  much ;  and  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall 
do  without  him.  Mr.  Marson  dozes  half  the 
time  when  he  is  in  the  house,  and  I  shall  be 
very  lonesome,  notwithstanding  my  aviary 
and  greenhouse.  It  seems  to  me,  too,  that 
my  husband  does  not  like  Leo." 

"Well,  I  think  Mr.  Marson  w  a  little  jeal- 
ous of  the  child;  you  forget  him  in  your 
tenderness  for  Leo,  and  give  the  boy  the 
best  of  everything  on  the  table.  Wouldn't 
it  be  better  not  to  help  Leo  before  you  serve 
Mr.  Marson?" 

"Of  course  I  always  give  the  little  fellow 
what  he  likes  or  what  he  asks  for.  Men  are 
«o  selfish!  I  often  deprive  myself  of  things 


to  please  the^boy ,  but  men  —  'All  for  me '  is 
their  motto.  But  where  is  Leo  now?  He 
must  go  to  school  to-day." 

"Why,  madam,  it  is  long  after  school- 
time." 

"No  matter;  you  have  not  much  to  do: 
can't  you  take  him?" 

"I  haven't  much  to  do!"  repeated  the 
maid,  in  astonishment.  ' '  Why,  there's  fish 
to  fry,  beef  to  baste,  chickens  to  broil,  salad 
to  make,  and — and  the  dessert!" 

"Never  mind;  there's  plenty  of  time." 

Celina  went  down  stairs,  and  was  unable 
to  contain  herself  when  she  found  Leo  had  a 
whole  roll  of  butter  melting  before  the  fire 
to  dress  his  roasted  potatoes,  and  his  face 
and  clothes  all  besmeared.  She  pinched  his 
ears,  and  bade  him  go  to  his  aunt  and  pre- 
pare for  school.  His  scream  brought  Mrs. 
Marson  to  the  door,  who  gave  a  reproachful 
glance  at  Celina,  and  then  said:  "Come, 
darling;  you  know  Uncle  Donaldson  will 
be  here  for  dinner,  so  you  must  get  ready  to 
go  to  school. ' ' 

"To  school ?  I  don' t  want  to  go — I  won't 
go  to  school!" 

"Come  now,  your  holiday  is  over;  you 
are  not  sick  any  more." 

"I  want  to  be  sick — I  want  to  play  with 
my  soldiers." 

"But  if  you  do  not  go  to  school  your 
uncle  will  send  >  ou  to  college. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  think  he  will  ?  Well,  then,  give 
me  a  quarter  to  buy  some  cakes." 

"Yes,  as  much  as  you  want,  pet.  Now, 
where  are  your  Catechism  and  reader  ?  Put 
them  in  the  satchel.  And  here  is  a  note  for 
Brother  Hilary.  I  have  explained  that  you 
hive  been  ill." 

Leo  bounded  after  Celina,  who,  pleased 
to  have  a  walk,  cheerfully  accompanied  him 
to  school,  and  engaged  help  for  the  dinner 
that  was  to  be  prepared. 

"Dear, dear!"  soliloquized  Mrs.  Marson, 
as  with  an  anxious  look  she  watched  them 
go  towards  the  school-house;  "I  do  hope 
Leo  will  know  his  Catechism !  I  let  him 
sleep  late  every  morning  since  he  took  his 
little  holiday,  and  I  fear  he  does  not  know 
more  than  half  a  chapter  by  heart.  But  now 


The  Ave  Maria. 


503 


I  must  see  to  the  dinner  arrangements,  and 
then  I  will  recite  my  beads,  and  pray  that 
the  Colonel  may  not  take  the  boy  away.  In 
fact, he  shall  not  take  him." 

Poor  Mrs.  Marson!  her  birds,  her  poultry, 
and  her  greenhouse  had  occupied  her  time 
and  attention  almost  exclusively.  As  her 
Andalusias  and  her  canaries  were  endowed 
only  with  instinct,  they  gave  her  little 
trouble,  never  suffering  from  the  effects  of 
high-living,  or  sleeping  when  they  should 
be  at  study  or  taking  necessary  exercise. 
But  it  was  quite  another  matter  to  educate 
a  being  gified  by  God  with  free-will  and 
all  the  sublime  endowments  of  an  immortal 
soul.  And  Leo,  her  spoiled  godchild,  made 
her  suffer  from  his  caprices, and  their  effects 
upon  her  husband's  temper. 

II. 

When  Colonel  Donaldson  and  Mr.  Mar- 
son  returned,  the  latter  looked  at  his  watch 
and  remarked  to  his  wife:  "I  think  the 
clock  is  slower  than  the  sun  dial,  so  we 
haven't  much  time  to  spare.  Is  dinner 
ready  ? ' '  To  which  the  lady  replied,  majes- 
tically: *'I  presume,  Robert,  you  will  wait 
until  }  our  nephew  comes  in  from  school?" 

' '  From  school ! ' '  repeated  Mr.  Marson ; 
^*then  he  has  been  to  school  to-day?" 

*' ^To-day  he  was  not  indisposed,"  an- 
swered his  wife,  dryly.  "Why  do  you  wish 
him  to  omit  his  lessons?" 

Mr.  Marson  was  on  the  point  of  making 
a  second  mistake,  when  a  waiter  entered 
with  a  fragrant  dish  of  sugared  fruits,  and 
he  called  the  attention  of  his  guest  to  Mrs. 
Marson's  skill  in  preparing  confections. 

The  appearance  of  the  dinner-table, 
bright  with  plate  and  cut  glass,  tastefully 
draped  with  smilax  and  snow  white  calla 
lilies,  was  enough  to  excite  the  admiration 
and  elicit  the  praise  of  any  one  devoted  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  table. 

'*  Caroline,  shall  we  take  seats  at  table?" 
Mr.  Marson  inquired. 

"If  you  wish,"  was  the  response;  "but 
I  shall  wait  for  Leo." 

Thus  saying  she  steppi^d  to  the  door,  and 
admitted  the  lad,  with  inky  fingers  and 
soiled  face. 


"Gentlemen,  dinner  will  be  served  at 
once,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house.  "I 
will  take  only  one  minute  to  prepare  Leo." 
And  she  led  the  child  away. 

' '  Now,  Leo, ' '  she  began,  hurriedly,  * '  you 
must  behave  well  at  table.  Don't  ask  for 
anything,  don't  blow  your  soup,  and  don't 
smell  the  fish." 

"And  if  I  behave  well  what  will  you  give 
me?" 

"You  shall  have  three  free  days  when 
your  uncle  has  gore?" 

"And  after  that?" 

"A  box  of  caramels." 

"And  then?" 

"Why,  isn't  that  enough?" 

"No,  auntie;  I  want  you  to  buy  me  that 
horse  and  carriage  we  saw  in  Brown's  show 
window." 

"You  shall  have  them,  only  don't  do 
anything  ill-bred  to-day." 

Dinner  was  served, and  Leo  sat  as  straight 
as  a  ramrod,  and  never  said  a  word;  but 
when  coffee  was  brought  he  rushed  off 
without  looking  at  any  one. 

' '  How  polite  Leo  was  to-day ! ' '  observed 
Mr.  Marson. 

"Too  good  altogether,"  answered  the 
Colonel:  "he  hardly  ate  his  dinner." 

"He  is  generally  polite  when  in  society," 
said  the  lady,  gravely. 

"Not  in  ours,  Caroline, — not  in  ours," 
rejoined  Mr.  Marson. 

"Well,  he  behaved  very  nicely  to-day; 
and  so,  if  you  please"  (with  a  significant 
look  at  her  husband),  "we  will  drop  the 
subject,  and  talk  about  other  matters." 

"My  dear  cousin,"  began  Colonel  Don- 
aldson, wiping  his  mustache,  "if  you  have 
no  great  objection,  we  will  exhaust  the  pres- 
ent subject.  Leo  counts  for  a  great  share 
in  my  visit  to-day." 

The  lady  turned  very  red,  and  Mr.  Marson 
poured  a  second  cup  of  ccffee;  for,  although 
he  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  little  tyrant, 
he  compassionated  his  wife,  who  was  so  fool- 
ishly attached  to  the  boy. 

"  It  is  time  to  place  Leo  at  college,"  con- 
tinued Mr. Donaldson, seriously.  "There is 
a  clause  in  my  sister's  will  saying  that  at 


504 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  age  of  nine  years  lie  was  to  be  sent  to 
G ,  and  prepared  for  his  First  Commun- 
ion under  the  guidance  of  the  Fathers  there. 
Last  summer  I  wrote  to  you  on  the  subject, 
but  you  seemed  so  distressed  about  parting 
with  him,  that  I  allowed  you  to  keep  him 
another  year.  The  time  has  expired  now, 
dear  Caroline." 

*'I  think,  cousin,  you  said  that  he  might 
remain  until  he  was  stronger.  And,  then, 
he  is  so  young!  I  declare  it  is  dreadful  to 
think  of  sending  him  so  far  away." 

"Bat  there  is  no  improvement  in  the 
boy's  health;  in  fact,  he  is  very  puny." 

"His  constitution  is  so  delicate  I  give 
him  everything  he  likes." 

"Just  what  is  ruining  him.  Now,  the 
wholesome  diet  and  regular  hours  of  college 
life  are  suited  to  children  and  youth,  and 
are  very  conducive  to  health.  However,  no 
agreement  between  us  could  alter  the  for- 
mally expressed  will  of  a  testator.  I  know 
you  will  miss  the  child,  but  I  will  allow  him 
to  spend  his  vacations  wi'h  you.  Every 
career  requires  a  good  early  education,  and 
I  think  my  sister  had  in  view  especially 
the  religious  training  of  the  child." 

"Oh,  of  course  you  have  the  law  on  )  our 
side!" 

"He  has  the  grave  responsibility  of  the 
lad's  future,  soul  and  body,"  ventured  Mr. 
Marson;  "and  it  is  not  reasonable  for  us 
to  object." 

"Since  my  letters  failed  to  convince 
you,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  conclusion,  "I 
have  come  in  person  to  explain  things.  To 
leave  the  little  fellow  with  you  another  year 
would  be  equivalent  to  neglecting  a  sacred 
trust." 

After  a  few  moments  more  of  similar  in- 
terchange of  thoughts  and  wishes,  the  lady 
was  convinced  that  she  could  not  change 
the  intentions  of  Leo's  guardian,  who  re- 
marked, complaisantly : 

"I  intend  to  ta^e  the  train  for  Washing- 
ton to-morrow  at  half-past  one." 

Mrs.  Marson  bowed  her  head  afl5rma- 
tively  as  she  withdrew,  and  the  gentlemen 
lighted  their  cigars. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Pass  It  on. 


When  Mark  Guy  Pearse  was  about  four- 
teen years  old.  having  been  in  school  in  Ger- 
many, he  came  to  London,  on  his  way  to  the 
' '  beautiful  wilds  of  Cornwall, ' '  his  home.  He 
staj-ed  in  London  long  enough  to  spend  all 
his  money,  except  sufficient  to  pay  his  fare 
home.  He  travelled  by  train  to  Bristol — the 
rail  then  ran  only  that  far.  He  went  on  board 
the  vessel  to  carry  him  home,  and  thought 
when  he  had  paid  the  money  for  his  passage 
that  that  included  all.  At  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney the  steward  came  to  him. and  presented  a 
bill  for  his  meals.  The  boy  told  him  he  had  no 
money.  "Then  you  should  not  have  ordered 
the  things  you  did.  What  is  your  name?" 
Mark  told  him.  The  steward  grasped  his  hand, 
and  threw  away  the  bill,  exclaiming, "  I  never 
thought  I  should  live  to  see  you!  "  Then  he 
related  how,  when  he  had  lost  his  father,  his 
mother  was  in  great  distress,  and  the  lad's 
father  had  been  so  kind  to  her  that  he  made 
a  solemn  promise  that,  if  he  ever  had  the  op- 
portunity, he  would  show  kindness  to  one  of 
his;  so  he  took  charge  of  the  boy, paid  his  bill, 
gave  him  five  shillings,  and  put  him  into  a 
boat  with  some  sailors,  who  rowed  him  in  fine 
style  to  the  shore.  His  father  met  him,  and, 
after  affectionate  greetings,  he  said:  "Father, 
it  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  kind  father" ;  and 
he  told  what  had  taken  place.  ' '  My  boy, ' '  was 
the  reply,  "  I  passed  the  kindness  on  to  him 
in  doing  what  I  did,  and  now  he  has  passed  it 
on  to  you.  Take  care  to  pass  it  on  to  others." 

Well,  one  day  Mr.  Mark  Pearse  was  setting 
out  on  a  journey,  and  intended  to  purchase  a 
first-class  ticket,  as  he  had  some  writing  to  do 
in  the  train,  when  he  saw  a  lad  at  the  third- 
class  ticket-office  rubbing  his  eyes  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  He  asked  him  what  his  trouble 
was,  and  the  boy  told  him  that  he  had  not 
enough  money  for  his  fare  by  fourpence.  He 
gave  him  a  shilling,  and  the  lad  procured 
his  ticket,  and  brought  back  the  change.  Mr. 
Pearse  bade  him  keep  it,  and  told  him  the 
story  of  how  he  had  been  treated  in  the  boat. 
'  'And  now, ' '  he  said, ' '  if  ever  you  have  the  op- 
portunity, pass  it  on  to  others. ' '  The  boy  got 
out  at  the  junction,  and  as  the  train  moved  on 
he  waved  his  handkerchief  to  Mr.  Pearse,  who 
had  left  his  seat  to  look  after  him,  and  ex- 
claimed,"  I'll  pass  it  on! ' ' —  Catholic  Standards 


tH^ 


Vol..  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  26,  1887.  No.  22. 


(OopTricbt :— RlT. 


Ad  Mariam. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


TV  S  southward  o'er  the  watery  way 
'^^  The  wanderer  takes  his  aimless  flight, 
Thou  art  his  pilot-cloud  by  day, 
His  guiding-star  by  night. 

Thy  smile  athwart  the  Tempest's  wrath, 

Beguiles  his  spirit  to  repose; 
Thy  tears  compel  his  desert-path 

To  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Yet  false  his  life,  as  Thou  art  truth, 
And  sad  his  days,  as  Thou  art  sweet; 

Oh!  be  the  loadstone  of  his  youth, 
And  draw  him  to  Thy  feet! 


The  Truce  of  God. 


BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D. 


MONG  the  many  institutions  of  the 
Middle  Age  which  may  well  claim 
Mtial  the  attention  of  the  student,  one  of 
the  most  interesting  is  the ' '  Truce  of  God. ' ' 
During  the  first  period  of  feudalism — un- 
less we  except  the  reigns  of  the  Gothic 
Theodoric,  the  Lombard  Liutprand,  and  the 
Frank  Charlemagne, — the  want  of  an  ar- 
ranging hand,  of  a  competent  ordaining 
authority,  is  plainly  felt.  Only  this  absence, 
says  the  judicious  Semichon,  can  explain 
the  terrible,  even  though  exceptional,  bar- 


D.  E.  Hmaoa,  C.  B.  C.| 

barities  of  that  time.  Heruli,  Goths,  Vandals, 
Lombards,  Franks,  Visigoths,  Huns,  Danes, 
Saxons,  and  Normans,  had  overthrown  the 
Western  Empire,  and  the  miserable  popu- 
lations knew  no  human  power  but  that 
of  the  sword ;  they  rejoiced,  in  fact,  when 
some  one  barbarian  was  sufficiently  strong 
to  crush  his  rivals,  and  to  give  society 
that  kind  of  rest  which  comes  from  the  rule 
of  a  single  tyrant.  When  one  reads  the 
horrible  descriptions  of  such  a  chronicler  as 
Glaber  Rudolphus  (1040) — narratives  not 
only  of  wholesale  murder  and  universal 
rapine,  but  of  cannibalism  and  ghoulism, — 
one  does  not  wonder  that  duels  and  private 
wars  became  the  means  by  which  society, 
in  the  first  period  of  the  Middle  Age,  tried 
to  preserve  the  rights  which  civil  govern- 
ment failed  to  secure  it.  In  the  feudal 
system  of  that  day,  remarks  Cantu,*' there 
being  no  confidence,  recourse  was  more 
willingly  had  to  such  guarantees  as  were 
conformable  to  the  condition  of  society;  and 
duels  and  private  wars  became  a  necessity 
in  such  a  state  of  affairs." 

However,  society  benefited  little  by  the 
introduction  of  such  remedies  for  its  woes. 
Brute  force  remained  its  guiding  influence; 
and  no  matter  under  what  guise  it  may  be 
exercised,  brute  force  is  conducive  neither 
to  civilization  nor  happiness.  On  every 
side  were  anarchy  and  chaos,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  men  imagined  that  the  days  of 
Antichrist  were  at  hand.  But  if  the  abomi- 
nation of  desolation  was  nearly  everywhere 
visible,  the  mercy  of  God  was  about  to  cut 


5o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


sliort  its  work  of  destruction.  There  re- 
mained on  earth  one  power  which  men 
really  revered, — one  power,  the  influence  of 
which  was  moral,  and  was  therefore  felt  not 
merely  by  the  lower  nature  of  man,  but  by 
his  mind  and  soul.  Lombard  and  Italian, 
Frank  and  Roman  Gaul,  Vandal  and  Afri- 
can, Visigoth  and  Iberian,  Saxon  and  Nor- 
man and  Briton,  all  alike — barbarous  and 
cultured — respected  the  Catholic  Church. 
In  that  Middle  Age,  which,  despite  its  fail- 
ings, was  pre-  eminently  an  age  of  faith,  the 
influence  of  religion  was  paramount  over 
the  most  terrible  warriors  and  the  most  un- 
mitigated tyrants.  This,  then,  was  the  power 
which  was  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos;  this 
Church  of  God,  which  had  but  lately  con- 
verted the  barbaric  hordes,  and  had  begun 
the  work  of  forming  a  new  society  on  the 
ruins  of  the  old,  was  about  to  appeal  to  the 
Christian  sentiments  of  her  new  children, 
and  to  give  a  new  life  to  the  world. 

But  how  was  the  Church  to  insure  obedi- 
ence to  her  injunctions?  In  her  mission  of 
protecting  society,  of  substituting  govern- 
ment for  anarchy,  how  could  she  hope  to 
succeed  where  even  the  sword — that  gen- 
erally successful  argument  over  the  purely 
natural  man — had  shown  itself  to  be  of  no 
avail?  But  the  Church  possessed  a  weapon 
more  powerful  than  the  sword — the  power 
of  excommunication, — an  arm  which,  as 
Semichon  lightly  observes,  has  been  the 
origin  of  all  modern  social  progress;  for  it 
convinced  the  barbarian  that  force  could  not 
prevail  over  right.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
individual  prelates — generally  those  who 
were  the  products  of  that  system  of  royal 
"investiture"  which  the  mediaeval  Pontifis 
combated  —  often  launched  ecclesiastical 
censure  for  their  own  unworthy  purposes; 
but  such  were  exceptional  cases.  Still,  as  a 
rule,  whenever  this  weapon  was  adopted  in 
causes  not  purely  religious,  it  was  used  in 
the  interest  of  humanity.  The  Church  had 
determined  to  convince  her  converts  from 
paganism  that  men  might  be  of  various 
conditions  in  the  social  scale,  but  that  they 
were  all  equally  obliged  to  revere  and  de- 
fend the  right,  and  to  uphold  the  good  of 


society.  Starting  on  her  mi;  sion  to  abolish 
the  state  of  universal  warfare  around  her, 
the  Church  of  the  tenth  century  continued 
to  preach  the  Gospel  of  peace;  but  she  also 
began  to  construct  a  social  edifice,  and 
she  defended  her  work  with  her  peculiar 
weapon. 

The  first  step  toward  the  introduction  of 
the  Truce  of  God  was  taken  in  988.  Gonde- 
bald,  Archbishop  of  Aquitaine,  in  a  council 
of  his  suffragans  at  Charroux,  pronounced 
anathema  against  all  who  robbt  d  farmers  or 
the  poor  of  their  flocks,  or  destro]  ed  imple- 
ments of  husbandry.  Many  other  councils 
prosecuted  the  same  object,  and  soon  the 
prelates  began  to  inveigh  against  the  ar- 
rogance and  tyranny  which  the  lords, 
both  great  and  small,  were  wont  to  exercise 
toward  the  weak,  especially  toward  monas- 
teries, peddlers,  and  rustics.  Excommuni- 
cation, and  even  interdict — that  most  de- 
pressing of  all  punishments  to  those  who 
were  not  lost  to  all  sense  of  religion*— were 
often  launched  against  the  titled  ruflSans 
who  formed  the  higher  society  of  the  day. 
The  influence  of  these  clerical  assemblies 
was  exerted,  too,  against  other  social  evils 
than  robbery  and  like  forms  of  license. 
Their  efforts  were  also  directed  to  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  war.  Our  modern  philan- 
thropists who  periodically  hold  a  Congress 
of  Peace,  in  the  vain  hope  of  inducing 
rival  governments  to  reduce  their  mon- 
strous standing  armies,  and  thus  diminish 
the  burdens  of  the  tax-payer,  should  cease 
to  extol  the  nineteenth  century  as  having 
originated  the  idea  of  arbitration.  At  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  the  cities  of  Nar- 
bonne,  Limoges,  Sucilanges    d'Auvergne, 


*  And  to  those,  also,  whose  religious  sentiments 
were  dead  or  dormant:  for  during  an  interdict, 
says  Hurter» "  music  and  festivity,  assemblies  of 
all  kinds,  all  ornaments,  and  frequently  even  the 
ordinary  cares  of  the  body,  disappeared.  A  uni- 
versal fast  was  observed,  all  business  ceased,  andj 
no  communication  was  held  with  those  who  were! 
deemed  unworthy  to  belong  to  Christian  soci-l 
ety . ' '  In  such  a  state  of  affairs,  it  is  no  wonder  that  ^ 
"the  revenues  of  the  suzerain  suffered  a  notable 
diminution,  owing  to  the  paralysis  fallen  on  everyj 
industry." — '"Life  of  Inrioccrit  III ,  '  Vol.  /.,  b.  4, 


Tiie  Ave  Maria. 


507 


Poitiers,  and  many  others, had  synods  which 
put  that  idea  into  practice.  The  nobles  were 
conjured  and  commanded  to  swear,  on  the 
relics  of  the  saints,  that  when  differences 
arose  between  them,  they  would  not  have 
recourse  to  arms  until  they  had  first  tried 
to  arrive  at  a  pacific  understanding  in  the 
presence  of  their  respective  bishops. 

Such  movements,  however,  were  only  the 
first  attempts  to  satisfy  the  aspirations  of  a 
society  satiated  with  bloodshed.  According 
to  Glaber  Rudolphus  (b.  5,  c.  i),  the  year 
105 1  saw  Aquitaine  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
' '  The  Peace  and  the  Truce  of  God, ' '  and  in 
a  short  time  the  institution  spread  through- 
out France.  The  ' '  Peace ' '  exempted  from 
all  the  evils  of  war  all  churches,  clergy- 
men, monasteries  and  convents,  cemeteries; 
women,  children,  pilgrims,  husbandmen; 
all  implements  of  agriculture,  and  all  far- 
mers' cattle,  fields,  vineyards,  etc.  The 
"Truce"  directly  tended  to  habituate  to  a 
peaceful  life  men  to  whom  war  was  as  their 
life-breath;  to  give  time,  at  any  rate,  for 
angry  passions  to  subside;  to  allow  sober 
second- thought  entrance  into  minds  which 
acted  too  read  ily  on  impulse. 

Realizing  the  inopportuneness,  nay  the 
futility,  of  an  entire  prohibition  of  war,* 
the  Church  contented  herself  with  forbid- 
ding it  during  Advent,  Lent,  and  on  the 
greater  festivals.  Then,  when  men  had 
formed  the  habit  of  checking  their  angry 
passions,  and  of  suspending  their  satisfac- 
tion, the  limits  of  the  "Truce"  were  ex- 
tended. Four  days  of  the  week  were  con- 
secrated to  peace;  for  the  "Truce"  went 
into  effect  every  Wednesday  evening,  and 


*  Modern  philanthropists,  forgetting  that  God 
often  commanded  war  to  be  waged,  tell  us  that 
war  is  the  greatest  of  evils.  God  ordered  a  war  of 
extermination  in  the  case  of  the  Canaanites,  a 
civil  war  against  the  Benjamites,  and  a  religious 
war  against  Antiochus.  According  to  St. Thomas, 
the  great  evil  of  man  and  of  society  is  not  physi- 
cal suffering,  but  moral  disorder.  In  accordance 
with  the  claims  of  moral  order,  the  ruler  of  a  state 
protects  the  honor  of  God  from  insult,  watches 
over  the  public  weal,  and  shields  the  weak  and 
the  poor  from  the  oppression  of  the  great  and 
strong. 


terminated  only  with  the  Sunday.  Nor  was 
war  entirely  forbidden  merely  during  Ad- 
vent and  Lent:  the  Christmas  season  was 
soon  added  to  the  former,  and  the  whole 
Paschal  time  to  the  latter.  The  reader  will 
perceive  that  this  salutary  "Truce"  cov- 
eied,  if  the  feasts  be  also  considered,  more 
than  two- thirds  of  the  year.  In  carrying 
out  this  beautiful  idea,  the  Church  found  a 
powerful  auxiliary  in  the  chivalry  of  Chris- 
tendom— that  association  which,  according 
to  Semichon,  has  given  us  a  synonym  for 
much  that  is  noble  and  grand  in  human 
relations  Christian  warfare  assumed  a  char- 
acter of  justice  and  humanity  it  had  never 
before  known,  and  then  was  recognized  a 
right  the  existence  of  which  paganism 
ignored — the  right  of  the  weak  to  be  re- 
spected by  the  strong. 

Glaber  Rudolphus,  who  had  witnessed 
the  development  of  the  Tiuce  of  God,  writes 
as  follows:  "At  this  period  divine  grace 
initiated  a  movement,  which  was  founded 
on  the  love  and  fear  of  God,  first  in  Aqui- 
taine, and  by  degrees  in  every  part  of  Gaul. 
From  the  evening  of  Wednesday  until  the 
dawn  of  Monday,  no  man  should  presume  to 
offer  any  violence  to  another,  or  to  exact  sat- 
isfaction from  any  enemy  whomsoever,  or 
even  to  demand  forfeiture  from  a  security. 
If  any  one  did  any  of  these  things  he  was 
forced  to  compound  for  his  life,  or  was  ban- 
ished from  the  land,  and  made  an  alien  in 
Christian  society.  This  system  was  com- 
monly styled  the  Truce  of  God.  It  was  not 
only  upheld  by  human  safeguards:  very 
frequently  it  was  sanctioned  by  the  terrors 
of  divine  interference ;  for  quite  often,  when 
maddened  audacity  had  transgressed  the 
law,  either  God's  indignation  showed  itself, 
or  the  sword  of  man  punished  the  crime. 
It  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  adduce  all 
the  instances  of  God's  manifestation  of  His 
approval  of  this  institution.  And  such  man- 
ifestations might  have  been  expected;  for 
as  the  Lord's  Day  is  venerated  because  of 
His  resurrection,  so  the  fifth,  sixth,  and  sev- 
enth days  ought  to  be  free  from  evil  deeds, 
on  account  of  reverence  of  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per and  His  Passion. ' ' 


5o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Vitalis  *  informs  us  that  in  the  year  1080 
William  the  Conqueror  sanctioned  a  law 
passed  by  the  bishops  and  barons  at  a  synod 
of  Isle  Bonne,  whereby  the  ''Peace  and 
Truce"  were  promulgated  in  Normandy 
and  England.  The  decree  reads:  " Let  the 
'Peace,'  commonly  styled  the  Truce  of 
God,  be  strictly  observed,  as  Prince  Wil- 
liam ordered  in  the  beginning;  and  let  it 
be  renewed  in  every  parish,  under  pain  of 
excommunication.  If  any  person  contemns 
it,  or  violates  it  in  any  way,  the  bishop  will 
do  justice  according  to  the  laws  now  in 
force.  If  any  one  disobeys  his  bishop,  that 
prelate  will  inform  the  lord  of  the  territory, 
and  that  lord  will  subject  the  culprit  to  the 
episcopal  justice.  But  if  the  lord  should 
neglect  this  his  duty,  the  bishop  will  recur 
to  the  viscount  of  the  king,  who  will  ignore 
every  excuse,  and  will  attend  to  the  affair." 
In  1060  Count  Raymond  Berengarius,  of 
Barcelona,  published  the  "Truce"  in  his 
dominions.  In  1095  Pope  Urban  II.  and 
the  synod  of  Clermont,  and  in  1102  Pope 
Paschal  II.,  confirmed  these  decrees  of 
William  and  Raymond.  In  1102  William, 
Archbishop  of  Auchel  and  Apostolic  Leg- 
ate, promulgated  the  "Truce"  in  his  prov- 
ince, in  accordance  with  the  statutes  of 
Urban  II.  Finally,  in  1139,  the  Tenth  Gen- 
eral Council  (second  of  the  Lateran)  gave, 
in  its  Canon  XL,  the  official  approbation 
of  the  Universal  Church  to  one  of  the  most 
beneficial  institutions  of  the  Middle  Age. 

But,  the  reader  may  ask,  in  thus  promul- 
gating the  Truce  of  God,  did  not  the  Church 
arrogate  to  herself  a  power  which  belongs 
only  to  the  civil  authority?  Well,  we  reply, 
with  Semichon,  where  and  what  was  the 
civil  authority  at  that  time?  The  Church 
has  never  been  disposed  to  encroach  upon 
the  province  of  legitimate  and  competent 
civil  government,  and  she  has  always  re- 
strained her  clergy  when  intemperate  zeal 
has  led  them  to  pass  the  limits  of  their  own 
jurisdiction.  But  at  the  time  of  which  we 
write  human  law  was  almost  entirely  ig- 
nored, and  it  became  not  merely  the  right 
but  the  duty  of  the  Church  to  remind  men 

*  Hist.Ecc1.,b.5. 


of  their  obligations,  and  to  use  her  God- 
given  powers  to  secure  their  observance. 
For  more  than  half  a  century  illustrious 
men  have  been  endeavoring,  by  appealing 
to  justice,  compassion,  and  interest*  to  put 
an  end  to  war;  but  in  spite  of  their  zealous 
apostolate,  the  latter  half  of  this  "think- 
ing" nineteenth  century  has  seen  standing 
armies  doubled  in  number,  public  debts  in- 
creased beyond  measure.  The  self-consti- 
tuted, impartial  arbitrators  speak  to  the 
deaf;  public  opinion  demands  peace,  but 
can  not  obtain  it.  The  impotency  of  mere 
philanthropy  to  effect  lasting  good  in  soci- 
ety is  here  made  evident.  And  how  much 
more  easy  is  this  modern  task  which  philan- 
thropy has  assumed,  than  the  one  essayed 
and  executed  by  the  Church  when  she  abol- 
ished private  warfare! 

"  Philanthropy,"  remarks  a  writer  in  the 
Civilth  Cattolica^\  "struggles  for  universal 
peace  among  nations  already  civilized  and 
cultured,  all  of  whose  interests  invite  them 
to  peace,  and  who  could  be  influenced  by 
the  consent  of  a  dozen  princes.  But  the  at- 
tempt has  been  a  vain  one.  Ou  the  contrary, 
the  abolition  of  private  war  was  undertaken 
by  the  Church,  during  an  epoch  of  barba- 
rism and  confusion,  among  thousands  of 
haughty  and  untamed  barons,  whose  sole 
wealth  was  booty,  whose  sole  hope  of  ag- 
grandizement was  conquest."  Nevertheless, 
the  Church  succeeded  in  this,  as  in  all  of 
her  endeavors  to  mollify  the  dispositions  of 
the  human  wolves  whom  she  was  appointed 
to  save.  It  was  the  Abb6  Saint- Pierre,  in 
the  last  century,  who  first  inspired  men  with 
the  conception  of  a  "  universal  peace, ' '  and 
the  famous  Cardinal  Fleury  styled  his  hope 
"a  dream  of  a  worthy  man."  Certainly, 
outside  of  the  Catholic  idea,  independently 
of  the  idea  of  God — and  the  Congresses  of 
Peace  have  hitherto  ignored  it — permanent 
peace  among  nations  is  a  vain  aspiration. 


*  When  some  of  these  apostles  of  peace  waited 
on  King:  Louis  Philippe,  he  characteristically  en- 
couraged them.saying, ' '  War  is  so  expensive  now- 
adays that  the  civilized  world  may  hope  to  soon 
see  the  last  of  it."  And  since  his  time! 

t  Series  IV.,  vol.  2,  p.  537. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


509 


Nora's  Recompense. 


r 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WHEN  Nora  was  alone  again  the  past 
two )  ears  came  vividly  before  her.  The 
first  time  she  had  seen  Mark,  how  he  had 
pained  her!  What  fears  of  her  new  life  he 
had  inspired  her  with,  and  how  those  fears 
had  been  realized !  She  shuddered  at  the  re- 
membrance of  the  long  hours  spent  in  her 
aunt's  presence,  with  Mark's  Sunday  visits 
that  brought  no  relief;  on  tht-  contrary, 
how  often  had  his  coM,  brusque  manner 
wounded  her!  He  seemed,  by  intercourse 
with  his  stepmother,  to  have  lost  all  the 
freshness  and  vivacity  of  youth,  and  Nora 

I  could  with  difficulty  imagine  he  was  not 
almost  as  old  as  her  aunt. 

But,  from  some  cause  or  other,  Maik  was 

.changed.  His  chest  expanded  in  the  bal- 
samic air;  he  felt  a  youthful  pleasure  in  his 
freedom,  and  in  the  new  scenes  and  places 
lie  visited.  Later  in  the  day  he  strolled  into 
the  little  cemetery,  where  so  many  rested 
who  had  come  to  seek  life  and  health  in 
Pau,  His  heart  was  strangely  moved  by  a 
sculptured  figure  of  a  young  girl  looking 
sadly  but  resignedly  at  a  cross,  and  his 
thoughts  reverted  to  a  humble  grave,  whose 
only  monument  was  a  simple  cross  of  wood. 
Jane's  death  often  recurred  to  his  mind, 
and  it  was  inseparable  from  another  remem- 
brance. Beside  the  pallid  countenance  of 
the  heroic  sufferer,  who  on  her  death  bed 
had  taught  him  so  profound  a  lesson,  he 
saw  a  soft,  tear- bedewed  face— Nora's,  as 
she  dressed  the  gaping  wound.  For  the  first 
time  he  had  understood  how  strong  yet 
how  womanly  this  despised  young  girl  was. 
He  remembered  the  firm  though  gentle  dig- 
nity with  which  she  had  always  defended 
her  grandmother's  memory,  yet  no  angry 
word  ever  passed  her  lips;  to  every  insult, 
meekness  was  her  only  answer. 

It  was  late  when  Mark  left  the  cemetery ; 
he  hastened  to  the  hotel,  and  when  Nora 
looked  round  after  taking  her  seat,  the  first 
face  she  saw  was  his.  After  dinner  he  asked 
her  to  introduce  him  to  Mrs.  Harmel.  The 


latter,  a  good-natured,  simple  old  lady,  was 
delighted  to  be  able  to  speak  of  her  friend 
Octavia  to  some  one  who  knew  her.  As  Mr. 
Auvrard  told  her  he  had  only  jast  arrived, 
the  offered  to  be  his  guide  to  the  beauties 
of  Pati.  and  he  became  their  escort  in  all 
their  excursions. 

One  day,  when  they  were  looking  at  some 
ruins  in  the  vicinity, he  said  to  Nora:  "I 
visited  the  graveyard  a  short  time  ago,  and 
thought  of  poor  Jane." 

' '  Poor  thing ! ' '  she  murmured.  ' '  There 
are  many  such  hidden  treasures  of  patience 
and  suffering  in  the  world." 

' '  Such  brave  hearts  as  hers  are  rare,  yet 
not  so  rare  as  I  once  thought." 

"Such  virtues,"  she  said,  simply,  "are 
blossoms  of  a  tree  whose  roots  ate  struck  in 
eternity.  I  also  like  visiting  the  cemetery. ' ' 
'Yes,"  interposed  her  little  pupil, who 
was  listening,  ' '  Miss  Nora  takes  care  of  the 
neglected  graves — you  know  those  that 
have  thistles  and  where  the  stones  are  fallen 
in." 

Nora's  lip  trembled  as  she  said:  "Far 
away  lies  a  forsaken  grave  that  is  infinitely 
dear  to  me.  When  I  weed  a  neglected  grave 
here,  I  say  to  myself  that  perhaps  some 
other  compassionate  soul  may  read  my 
grandmother's  name  on  her  tomb,  and  do 
the  same  kind  office  for  me.  Some  day  I 
hope  to  visit  that  far-off  grave,  and  to  pluck 
there  some  flowers  or  blades  of  grass,  which 
I  shall  treasure  as  souvenirs  most  pre- 
cious." 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Mrs.  Harmel  found  Mark  charming. 

' '  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  your  aunt, 
my  love,"  she  said  to  Nora;  "but  her  step- 
son does  not  resemble  her  in  the  least." 
And  to  herself  she  added:  "What  a  pity  he 
is  not  younger!  He  would  be  a  splendid 
match  for  Nora." 

The  days  passed  quickly,  and  Mark  began 
to  talk  of  leaving  Pau. 

' '  Do  you  know  that  we  shall  be  quite 
lonely  without  you?"  said  Mrs.  Harmel  to 
him,  as  she  watched  a  passing  train  from 
her  window. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  depart  also, and  the 


5'o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


memory  of  the  last  fortnight  will  ever  be 
dear  to  me ;  it  has  made  me  young  again. ' ' 

"Perhaps  you  never  before  lived  with 
children,"  said  the  lady.  "I  don't  mean  to 
praise  my  grandchildren,  but  their  gayety 
is  contagious, and  banishes  all  sadness." 

"You  are  right,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone 
of  conviction.  "Only  lately  have  I  learned 
what  a  blessing  a  joyous  spirit  is,  what  a 
treasure  there  is  in  youth,  and  that  I  as  yet 
have  been  neither  young  nor  happy." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  asked 
herself  how  old  he  might  be. 

"Where  is  Nora?"  she  continued ;  "the 
lesson  hour  is  past,  and  the  childien  are 
dressing  their  dolls.  Poor  children!  Is  it 
not  cruel,  Mr.  Auvrard,  to  make  them  spend 
two  long  years  in  a  convent?  My  son  will 
take  them  away  from  me  at  Easter,  and  I 
really  don't  know  how  I  shall  live  without 
them." 

"I  can  understand  your  grief,  Mrs.  Har- 
mel;  you  will  sadly  miss  the  dear  little  pets. 
But  you  are  not  the  only  one  that  will 
suffer  from  this  separation." 

"Oh!  children  cry  at  first,  but  at  their 
age  they  are  easily  consoled,  and  will  be 
happy  anywhere.  Besides,  the  stay  in  the 
convent  is  not  so  dreadful  as  it  sounds." 

"I  referred  to  Miss de  Br^lyon;  she  will 
grieve  at  leaving  you,"  he  replied,  with 
some  embarrassment. 

"Poor  child!  I  will  certainly  keep  her 
until  she  finds  another  place.  Do  you  know, 
she  is  a  real  pearl.  I  often  wondered  how 
your  mother  could  separate  from  her." 

The  young  man's  face  darkened  as  he 
said,  slowly:  "Miss  de  Br^lyon  is  proud, 
and  I  think  she  only  awaited  her  majority 
to  seek  an  independent  position." 

"But  one  is  independent  with  relatives. 
Are  there  no  marriageable  men  in  Penvan?  " 

"Very  few." 

"But  this  charming  young  creature  must 
certainly  find  a  husband.  I  shall  takr  that 
on  myself,  and — between  ourselves — I  am 
a  very  lucky  matchmaker.  True,  she  has 
no  fortune;  but,  then,  she  has  a  great  many 
other  charms;  they  must  be  well  known  to 
you,  as  she  lived  with  you  so  long. ' ' 


' '  Yes, ' '  replied  Mark,  gravely ;  ' '  but  one 
of  her  most  attractive  qualities  I  have  only 
learned  to  appreciate  here." 

"And  that  is?" 

"Her  gentle  gayety."  And  he  turned  to 
salute  Nora,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

She  answered  his  greeting  smilingly.  He 
had  laid  aside  his  sternness;  she  was  no 
longer  afraid  of  him  and  they  were  on  very 
cordial  terms,  so  that  he  saw  her  gay,  nat- 
ural and  unconstrained,  and  thus  learned 
to  know  a  very  different  type  of  woman 
from  what  he  had  hitherto  considered  her. 

"I  have  come  to  take  leave  to-day,"  he 
said;  'but  not  forever,  I  trust.  Business 
calls  me  to  the  West,  but  I  hope  to  end  my 
vacation  in  Pan." 

"  Then  you  will  return  with  new  courage 
to  your  musty  law  books,"  she  replied, 
laughing.  "I  could  never  have  dreamed 
that  you  would  stay  away  from  them  so 
long." 

"I  could  not  have  believed  it  myself." 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Auvrard,  that  until 
now  I  have  not  known  you  at  all  ?  This 
will  teach  me  to  judge  more  cautiously  in 
future. ' ' 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  though t"of  me?  I 
fear  you  considered  me  hard  and  cruel." 

"Oh!  no.  But  I  felt  that  you  and  my 
aunt  disliked  me,  and  you  inspired  me  with 
a  dread  I  could  not  subdue." 

"Poor  child!  Why  can  one  never  recall 
the  past,  or  at  least  efface  it?  But  I  also 
misjudged  you,  and  did  not  know  you." 

"I  knew  that  appearances  were  against 
me.  How  could  you  have  imagined  that 
the  young  girl  you  saw  gaily  adorned  and 
singing  had  a  sore  and  grieving  heart  ?  " 

"But  I  now  know  how  true  a  heart  you 
possess,  and  that  any  one  who  once  gains 
an  entrance  there  is  never  forgotten. ' ' 

The  carriage  which  was  to  take  him  away 
now  drew  up,  and  he  had  to  take  leave  of 
Mrs.  Harmel,who  was  chatting  in  a  comer 
of  the  room,  so  his  conversation  with  Nora 
was  interrupted;  but  a  week  later  he  reap- 
peared at  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Harmel  wel- 
comed him  joyfully.  In  the  evening  he  went 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  she  usually  satj 


The  Ave  Maria. 


511 


the  piano  was  open,  and  a  young  lady  was 
singing. 

' '  Ho  se  I  should  like  to  hear  your  voice ! ' ' 
he  said  to  Nora;  "but  not  before  all  these 
strangers. ' ' 

"If  you  want  to  htar  Nora,"  interposed 
Mrs:.  Harmel,  laughing,  ''  I  will  show  you  a 
little  chapel  where  she  leads  the  choir." 

"I  shall  claim  that  privilege  soon,  my 
dear  lady." 

There  were  albums  on  the  table,  and  he 
began  to  turn  over  the  leaves. 

"You  must  have  seen  all  these  places," 
he  said  to  Nora;  ''you  have  travelled  all 
over  Europe." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  approaching  the 
table;  and,  as  one  scene  after  another  met  her 
[j  view,  the  remembrances  of  the  past  ^rew 
more  and  more  vivid.  Here  she  had  visited 
a  gallery,  there  attended  a  concert,  in  that 
street  lived  for  months;  and  her  eyes  grew 
moist  as  she  recalled  those  sweet  reminis- 
cences of  her  girlhood.  At  last,  closing  the 
book  with  a  sigh,  she  observed :  "  It  is  over; 
it  was  only  a  dream,  and  my  awakening 
was  a  terrible  one." 

"I  can  tell  you  something  of  the  place  you 
so  long  to  see/ '  said  Mark ;  "  for  I  come  from 
Jura,  and  have  visited  your  grandmother's 
grave.  I  seldom  pray,  but  I  prayed  there  in 
remembrance  of  you.  You  said  one  day 
you  would  consider  a  flower  from  that 
grave  a  precious  memorial;  unfortunately 
no  flowers  have  yet  g^own  there,  but  in  fut- 
ure it  will  be  cared  for;  trees  will  shade  it 
in  autumn,  and  flowers  cover  it  in  spring 
and  summer,  so  that  you  may  pray  there 
more  contentedly  when  one  day  your  pious 
wish  of  revisiting  it  is  satisfied." 

Nora  was  pale  with  emotion  and  aston- 
ishment. "How  kind  you  are!"  she  ex- 
claimed, and  the  heartfelt  tears  she  cculdnot 
suppress  said  the  rest.  Mark  felt  touched 
and  happy;  these  tears  of  innocent  grati- 
tude seemed  to  have  finally  melted  the  ice 
of  his  frozen  youth. 

The  vacation  passed.  Mr.  Auvrard  re- 
turned to  his  gloomy  home  in  Penvan,  and 
Nora  continued  to  teach  Mrs.  HarmePs 
little  grandchildren. 


Tha'  good  ladv  wro^e  to  Miss  Kernoel  to 
wish  her  a  happy  New  Year,  and  confided 
to  her  friend  her  conviciion  that  Mark  Auv 
rard  was  seriously  in  love  with  Nora,  and 
that  sha  had  been  greatly  disappointed 
when  he  returned  to  Penvaa  without  pro- 
posing for  her.  She  received  the  following 
reply  on  the  3d  of  January: 

"Warmest  thanks,  my  dear  El  za,  for 
the  good  wishes  I  so  heartily  reciprocate. 
Willingly  would  I  write  a  long  answer  to 
your  dear  letter,  and  also  to  Nora's,  but  I 
have  not  a  moment  to  spare.  Typhus  fever 
has  broken  out  in  Penvan ;  my  brother  was 
stricken,  and,  although  —  thank  God! — 
now  convalescent,  he  requires  the  utmost 
care  and  watching.  My  nieces  were  kept 
in  ignorance  of  their  father's  danger;  for 
Mary  is  very  delicate,  and  the  others  are 
expecting  an  important  event,  which  ren- 
ders every  precaution  necessary. 

"Poor  Mr.  Auvrard  is  very  badly  off".  His 
mother  has  taken  the  fever;  no  servant  will 
stay  with  her,  from  fear  of  infection;  and 
he,  who  understands  nothing  of  sickness, 
has  the  whole  charge  of  the  patient.  I  wish 
I  could  help  him,  but  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  leave  my  brother. 

"In  haste.   Your  very  affectionate, 

"OcTAviA  Kernoel." 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  City  of  Is. 


TIEEP  under  the  waves  of  Brittany's  shore 
^    Lies  buried  the  City  of  Is  so  fair, 
And  the  sailors  hear  thro'  the  still  night  air 
The  voice  of  a  bell  that  is  tolling  there, — 
A  bell  of  the  city  that  is  no  more, 
Ringing  a  dirge  for  the  days  that  are  o'er, 
And  calling  its  dead  to  prayer. 

Deep  under  the  waves  of  our  hurried  lives 

Lies  many  a  City  of  Is  so  fair, 

And  we  often  hear  thro'  the  still  night  air 

The  sob  of  the  past  with  its  deep  despair, — 
An  echo  of  days  when  our  lives  were  glad 
That  rings  in  our  hearts,  in  a  voice  so  sad, 

A  dirge  for  the  dead  hopes  there. 

Roland  King,  in  The  American  Magazine. 


512 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Story  of  a  Noble  Work. 


BY   MARGARET   E.  JORDAN. 


ON  one  of  the  cross-  streets  connecting  two 
important  thoroughfares  of  the  busy 
city  of  Boston,  there  stands  a  noble  building, 
■compact  and  substantial  without,  spacious 
and  comfortable  within,  plain  yet  withal 
•elegant.  The  history  of  its  foundation  is  that 
of  one  of  this  philanthropic  city's  noble.'-t 
■charities;  for  the  structure,  over  the  portals 
of  which  stands  a  fine  statue  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  the  Divine  Child,  is  the  home  of 
the  once  homeless  working  boys  of  Boston. 

One  of  the  pioneers  of  Catholicity  in 
New  England,  the  Rev.  Father  Fitton,  had 
yearned  for.  many  >ears  before  his  death 
to  give  a  helping  hand  to  the  waifs  and 
strays, who,  as  newsboys,  errand-boys,  boot- 
blacks, and  in  countless  other  occupations, 
-were  bravely  struggling  in  the  battle  for  a 
livelihood.  Perhaps  the  good  priest  spoke 
often  of  the  homeless  boys  to  the  care-free, 
safe- sheltered  lads  who  gathered  around 
liim,  thus  sowing  the  seed  of  this  present 
good  work.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  who  in 
manhood  has  put  his  hand  to  this  noble 
undertaking,  in  boyhood  served  the  altar  of 
the  Lord  where  ministered  the  venerable 
priest  who  had  yearned  so  ardently  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  work. 

In  the  heart  of  the  late  Rev.  George  F. 
Haskins  a  plan  for  a  similar  charity  de- 
veloped itself.  He  sowed  the  seeds  of  his 
own  enthusiasm  in  other  souls,  and  God 
l)lessed  them  with  vigorous  growth.  The 
House  of  the  Angel  Guardian  for  orphan 
and  destitute  boys,  situated  on  Vernon  St., 
and  ably  conducted  by  the  Brothers  of 
Charity,  is  the  result  of  his  zeal  and  self- 
sacrifice.  We  know  not  how  broad  were 
its  founder's  aims,  how  deep-laid  and  far- 
reaching  his  plans;  but  we  know  that  he 
yearned  to  shelter  and  assist  working  boys, 
as  well  as  the  destitute  of  a  more  tender  age. 
This  was  an  aim  the  realization  of  which 
was  grand  enough  to  become  the  special 
work  of  some  chosen  laborer  in  the  vine- 


yard of  the  Lord,  and  it  was  reserved  by 
Divine  Providence  for  other  hands  in  other 
days  to  accomplish. 

On  the  opening  morning  of  the  Month 
of  the  Sacred  Heart,  1883,  in  an  unpretend- 
ing dwelling  on  Eliot  St.,  a  young  priest 
was  offering  the  Holy  Sacrifice  upon  the 
lowliest  of  altars.  The  chalice  and  sacred 
articles  had  been  borrowed  from  Hol\  Cross 
Cathedral  and  the  Church  of  the  Gate  of 
Heaven,  till  better  days  should  dawn  The 
altar-boy  had  come  from  St.  James'  for  the 
occasion.  It  was  thus,  as  in  the  early  days 
of  Christianity,  the  outlines  of  which  were 
drawn  in  poverty,  obscurity,  and  humility, 
that  Father  Roche  began  his  Home  for  the 
homeless  working  boys  of  Boston. 

One  month's  rent  of  the  dwelling  had 
been  paid  in  advance ;  some  cots  had  been 
put  up;  there  was  food  in  the  larder  suffi- 
cient for  a  few  days,  and  a  competent  per- 
son engaged  to  take  care  of  the  domestic 
arrangements.  Early  that  first  evening  a 
little  Protestant  child  sought  and  obtained 
admission  into  the  Home.  When  night- 
prayers  were  said,  and  the  boy  lay  sleep- 
ing in  his  comfortable  cot.  Father  Roche 
"turned  his  pockets  inside-out,  to  see  how 
much  capital  he  had  to  carry  on  the  Home. ' ' 
He  found  just  thirty- five  cents! 

Thirty- five  cents!  A  meagre  sum  truly? 
But  when  did  a  true  servant  of  God  count 
upon  the  contents  of  his  purse,  or  upon  any 
other  human  resource,  in  doing  his  Master's 
work?  He  knows  that  the  treasury  of 
heaven  is  within  his  reach,  and  that  faith 
in  the  promises  of  Divine  Providence  is  the 
key  to  that  inexhaustible  store.  "Ask  and 
you  shall  receive. ' '  How  much  of  this  spirit 
of  faith,  of  this  daring,  omnipotent  reliance 
upon  Providence,  the  young  priest  pos- 
sessed his  words  have  never  told;  he  is  ex- 
ceedingly reticent  upon  such  a  subject,  but 
his  work  speaks  while  his  lips  are  silent 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  new  ap- 
plicants came  to  the  Home.  Creed,  color, 
or  nationality  was  never  considered  in  ad- 
mitting a  subject.  "Is  he  a  working  boy? 
Or  is  he  able  and  willing  to  work?  Is  he 
homeless?"   Such  was  the  import  of  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


5^3 


questions.  If  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
the  doors  were  opened  to  him  at  once;  and 
it  was  not  long  before  there  was  an  occupant 
for  every  cot  that  could  comfortably  be  set 
up  in  the  various  rooms  of  the  three- story 
dwelling.  A  very  small  end  room  on  the 
main  floor,  Father  Roche  reserved  for  an 
office;  and,  as  space  elsewhere  continued  to 
be  appropriated  for  the  boys,  the  "office" 
became  a  veritable  storehouse. 

Into  this  room  opened  the  humble  little 
chapel.  Soul-touching  indeed  was  it,  and 
heart- elevating,  to  the  visitor  in  the  Sun- 
day's twilight  to  hear  the  untrained  boyish 
voices  swelling  the  melody  of  the  O  Saluta- 
ris^  Tantum  Ergo^  and  the  joyous  Laudate. 
Poor  little  lads!  thrown  upon  the  great, 
wide  sea  of  life,  beaten  about  by  the  winds 
and  waves  of  poverty  and  ad  versity :  from 
the  strong  bark  of  Christian  charity  a  saving 
hand  is  stretched  out,  and  a  kindly  voice 
utters  words  of  cheer  and  guidance.  Be 
brave  and  true.  A  God-given  friend  would 
pilot  you  to  the  port  of  noble,  Christian 
manhood;  and  heaven  is  the  haven  beyond. 

Father  Roche  had  reserved  a  diminutive 
room  up-stairs  for  his  own  private  room  and 
sleeping  apartment.  He  was  soon,  however, 
to  bid  farewell  to  this  luxury.  Another  ap- 
plicant appears,  and  the  room  becomes  the 
property  of  the  boy.  '  'A  lounge  in  the  office 
will  do  for  me!"  mentally  exclaimed  this 
Father  cf  the  fatherless. 

From  its  early  days  it  has  been  the  writ- 
er's privilege  to  visit  the  Home  from  time 
to  time,  and  the  facts  and  incidents  that  go 
to  make  up  this  simple  narrative  have  been 
obtained  during  these  brief  enjoyable  mo 
ments.  There  was  one  bit  of  information 
captured,  however,  that  the  genial  founder 
and  director  of  the  Home  never  intended 
should  reach  even  the  friendly  pages  of 
The  "Ave  Maria."  It  was  the  very  day 
the  new  Home  opened  that  we  heard  it 
fluttering  by,  and  caught  it,  as  it  were,  "on 
the  wing. ' ' 

Father  Roche  had  been  showing  the  va- 
rious rooms  to  some  members  of  his  own 
family.  Kindred  ties  entitled  them  to  ex- 
press their  thoughts  more  freely  than  others 


would  do.  Having  in  mind  the  simple  little 
room,  with  its  comfortable  appointments,, 
which  had  been  allotted  to  him  in  the  new 
house,  one  of  the  ladies  exclaimed,  as  the 
party  returned  to  the  main  room:  "Well,^ 
Father,  I'm  glad  that  you  can  give  up  that 
old  lounge  now,  and  enjoy  the  comfort  of  a 
bed  at  last."  "Don't  say  anything  against 
the  lounge,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  laugh; 
"putting  up  with  that  wasn't  my  worst  ex- 
perience, by  any  means.  There  were  three 
whole  weeks  after  I  gave  up  my  room  that 
I  couldn'  t  affijrd  to  get  even  that  lounge^ 
and  night  after  night  I  slept  sitting  on  a 
chair  with  my  head  upon  a  table."  Judge 
of  his  surprise  on  entering  the  room  to 
find  some  one  with  note-book  and  pencil 
ready  to  take  down  that  interesting  item. 
Of  course  he  found  himself  constrained  to 
tell  the  whole  slory,  without  being  able  to 
obtain  a  promise  of  secrecy,  either. 

"A  lounge  in  the  office  will  do  for  me," 
he  had  resolved;  then  came  the  puzzling 
query,  "How  procure  the  lounge?"  It 
wouldn't  cost  much,  but  he  hadn't  a  dollar 
that  was  his  own.  When  money  came  in 
for  God's  poor,  he  was  not  going  to  use  it 
for  his  own  personal  comfort.  He  would 
pledge  himself  for  any  amount  for  the 
homeless  boys,  but  go  in  debt  for  himself  ? 
Never!  And  so  it  was  that  for  those  three 
weeks  before  the  needed  money  came,  after 
long  days  of  wearing  work  and  travel,  he 
took  his  short  night's  sleep  in  the  uncom- 
fortable position  we  have  spoken  of  above. 

One  by  one  friendless  little  fellows  heard 
of  the  Home,  and  of  the  kind  friend  ready 
to  give  them  a  helping  hand;  so  the  bell 
kept  ringing,  and  timid  lads,  or  lads  made 
bold  by  want,  stood  upon  the  threshold. 
Beds  were  set  up  between  those  already 
standing,  and  so  close  together  were  they 
that  many  a  boy  lound  no  other  way  of 
getting  into  his  cot  than  by  climbing  over 
the  foot  railing.  Portable  cots  were  arranged 
at  night  in  the  play-room  and  reading  apart- 
ment. By  and  by  there  was  literally  no 
room  for  more. 

It  was  then  that  a  stirring  appeal  went 
forth  far  and   wide.    The   "experiment** 


SH 


The  Ave  Maria. 


had  become  a  success,  a  necessity.  Boston 
could  not,  again,  do  without  a  working 
boys'  home.  Lads  born  in  other  States  and 
other  lands  were  not  excluded  from  its  shel- 
ter: why,  then,  should  not  other  States  and 
other  lands  contribute  their  mite  toward 
its  extension  and  support?  Any  day  the 
rented  dwelling  might  be  needed  by  its 
owner:  what  then  would  become  of  the 
bo)s?  What  befall  the  work  well  uader 
way?  Once  more  he  who  was  called  to  do 
this  work  turned  the  key  of  faith  in  the 
treasury  of  Heaven,  and  unhesitatingly  de- 
cided to  purchase  land  and  build  a  Home. 
The  result  of  this  decision  and  its  conse- 
quent appeal  for  funds  was  the  noble  build- 
ing on  Bennet  St.,  with  the  mention  of 
which  our  sketch  opens. 

The  Home  is  built  of  brick,  with  brown 
stone  trimmings.  On  the  miin  floor  are  the 
office, pallor, work  room, the  Rev.  Director's 
rooms,  and  apartments  for  visiting  or  assist 
ing  clergymen.  The  second  floor  is  devoted 
to  the  chapel,  infirmary,  community  room, 
and  cells  for  the  Franciscan  Sisters,  who 
take  charge  of  the  domestic  arrangements 
of  the  house.  The  third  floor  contains  a 
large  dormitory  for  the  boys,  well  lighted 
and  well  ventilated.  Upon  this  floor  are 
cosy  little  rooms  for  the  domestics  employed 
to  help  the  Sisters  in  the  manual  work  of 
the  Home.  The  fourth  floor  is  a  fine  dor- 
mitory nearly  the  entire  size  of  the  build- 
ing. The  roof  is  reached  from  ei  her  side 
of  the  hall  on  this  floor.  Standing  thereon, 
the  visitor  has  a  magnificent  view  of  Boston 
and  vicinity  for  miles  around. 

It  was  on  the  ist  of  June,  1886  the  third 
anniversaiy  of  the  beginning  of  the  wcrk, 
that  the  new  Home  was  opened.  His  Grace 
Archbishop  Williams  oflfered  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice, assisted  by  the  Rev.  Fathers  McGin- 
ness  and  McNulty.  The  bright,  commodi 
ous  chapel  was  thronged  with  the  patrons 
and  well-wishers  of  the  institution.  At  the 
close  of  the  services  many  accepted  the  in- 
vitation expended  to  them  to  make  a  tour  of 
the  building. 

It  was  a  happy  day  for  the  young  priest, 
who  for  many  years  had  looked  forward. 


now  in  confidence,  now  in  doubt,  toward 
the  beginning  of  this  undertaking  now  so 
prosperously  progressing;  it  was  a  day  of 
gratitude  to  the  Most  High,  even  though 
ati  immense  debt  lay  upon  his  shoulders. 
But  why  should  he  sink  beneath  it  ?  Surely 
the  past  inspired  hops  for  the  future.  Who 
could  have  foretold,  that  night  when  the 
sum  total  of  his  temporal  means  amounted 
to  barely  thirty-five  cents,  that  for  three 
years  he  could  have  given  shelter  and  food 
to  hundreds  of  boys,  and,  independent  of 
building  expenses,  stand  free  from  debt? 
The  Master  had  verified  His  divine  prom- 
ise— "All  things  which  you  shall  ask  in 
prayer,  believing,  you  shall  receive."  As  it 
was  in  the  Sacred  Heart  that  Father  Roche 
sowed  the  seed  of  this  noble  work,  so  has 
it  been  to  this  never- failing  source  of  life 
that  he  has  looked  for  its  daily  existence 
and  future  growth. 

It  will  be  of  interest  to  many  to  know 
what  were  the  tangible  forms  of  these  bless- 
ings— to  hear  how  Father  Roche  obtained 
the  tempDral  assistance  indispensably  nec- 
essary for  his  work.  Everyone  knows  that 
the  rent  of  a  three  story  dwelling  in  the 
heart  of  a  large  ci:y  is  anything  but  a  mere 
nominal  sum.  A  meeting  of  the  charitable 
ladies  of  Boston  was  called  just  after  the 
opening  of  the  Home.  ' '  If  one  hundred  can 
be  found  who  will  individually  contribute 
one  dollar  a  month,  the  dwelling  will  be  se- 
cured." This  was  the  announcement  made, 
and  then  and  there  a  society  was  formed, 
and  appropriately  placed  under  the  protec- 
tion of  him  who  upon  earth  had  provided 
shelter  for  the  Divine  Child;  and  well  has 
the  Foster-Father  of  the  Lord  fulfilled  his 
trust 

Donations  of  monev.  food,  c'othing,  and 
many  useful  things,  have  come  to  the  Home 
from  the  veiy  first;  gfifts,  now  large,' again 
small,  of:en  coming  from  unknown  or  un- 
expected sources  in  moments  of  direst  need. 
'•'It  was  a  dark  hour,"  said  Father  Roche, 
"when  I  had  thirty  boys  in  the  Home, 
nothing  in  the  house  to  eat,  and  only  fifty 
cents  in  my  pocket;  but  the  dinner  came," 
he  concluded,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  yet 


The  Ave  Maria. 


15 


witli  a  smile  that  spoke  volumes.  One  might 
expect  to  see  an  upward  glance,  or  hear  a 
remark  that  would  tell  of  divine  interven- 
tion through  human  means;  but  no.  indeed: 
Father  Roche  leaves  you  to  draw  your  own 
inference^.  The  bustling  world  in  which  he 
moves  will  never  rub  oflf  aay  of  his  piety, 
for  he  never  carries  a  thread  of  it  upon  his 
sleeve.  "  Darker  days  came  after  that,"  he 
remarked  later  on,  when  this  circumstance 
was  recalled  to  his  memory, — "days  when 
I  didn't  possess  a  nickel;  but  the  boys  never 
went  hungry:  help  always  came  in  season." 

Two-thirdsof  each  boy's  earnings  go  tow- 
ard his  support  and  clothing,  but  a  meagre 
sum  it  is  in  many  cases.  One- third  is  placed 
to  his  account;  when  for  any  reason  a  boy 
withdraws  from  the  Home,  his  savings  are 
given  him,  with  a  word  of  kindly  advice. 

The  Home  has  had  but  one  continual 
means  of  income — the  Sacred  Heart  Union, 
of  which  any  one  becomes  a  member  by 
subscribing  for  the  Working  Boy^  a  publi- 
cation issued  monthly  at  the  low  price  of 
twenty- five  cents  a  year  It  is  a  pretty  jour- 
nal of  eight  pages,  containing  a  fine  illustra- 
tion, instructive  and  entertaining  reading 
matter,  and  petitions  and  thanksgivings  to 
the  Sacred  Heart.  A  column  each  month 
appears  in  the  French,  another  in  the  Ger- 
man language.  The  circulation  of  the 
Working  Boy  is  large,  but,  as  the  organ  of 
a  work  so  noble  in  aim,  it  claims  the  right 
to  a  steady  increase.  There  is  still  a  large 
debt  upon  the  Home;  a  hampering  burden 
it  is,  even  though  the  time  of  the  mortgage 
be  long  and  the  rate  of  interest  low.  Would 
that  the  noble  charity  stood  untrammelled, 
free  to  perform  its  God-like  mission  among 
the  poor  of  Christ! 

It  is  well  that  the  reverend  founder  of 
this  work  carried  it  on  in  the  strength  as 
well  as  with  the  resources  of  the  Sacred 
Heart ;  for  during  a  long  period  of  time  there 
was  no  limit  to  the  amount  of  each  day's 
labor.  Mass,  meditation, breviary, and  frugal 
breakfast  over  by  half-past  seven,  he  was 
ready  for  his  regular  morning  visit  to  the 
market,  thence  to  the  courts  to  look  after 
the  waifs  and  strays  to  whom  the  station- 


houses  had  given  lodging  over  night.  Then 
followed  hours  of  exertion  and  travel,  on 
foot  and  by  rail,  in  the  interests  of  the  Home, 
and  of  the  boys  for  whom  he  would  secure 
employment.  Home  again  by  the  closing  of 
the  afternoon,  he  was  ready  for  the  perplex- 
ing cares  of  business;  for  three  or  four  hours 
he  was  besieged  by  visitors,  some  seeking 
aid,  some  coming  to  bestow  it;  kind  friends 
now  and  then  bringing  a  welcome  list  of 
subscribers  to  the  Working  Boy;  all  this 
going  on  amidst  the  uproar  of  the  boys  in 
the  adjoining  play  room,  each  striving  to 
outdo  the  other  in  the  boisterous  enjoyment 
of  recreation.  Night- prayer  at  nine,  and 
then,  while  the  boys  were  sleeping  in  the 
safe  shelter  of  the  Home,  he  went  abroad, 
seeking  in  the  streets  and  by-ways  and 
haunts  of  the  great  city  for  the  homeless, 
friendless  young  souls,  whom  a  timely  word 
and  a  hand  stretched  out  to  help  might 
save  from  degradation  and  sin.  It  was  only 
on  his  return,  often  after  midnight,  that 
he  began  his  work  of  necessary  correspond- 
ence. 

Surely  it  must  have  been  hard  for  hu- 
man strength  to  stand  the  strain  day  after 
day,  night   after  night — and  we  question 
whether  his  labors  are  much  lessened  even 
now.—  But  with  a  physical  organization 
which  friends  and  classmates  feared  would 
never  be  equal  to  the  ordinary  duties  of  the 
priesthood,  he   has,  nevertheless,  thriven 
upon  this  life  of  extraordinary  care  and 
labor.  The  secret  lies  undoubtedly  in  this: 
it  was  his  special  vocation,  and  the  special 
graces  attached  to  its  accomplishment  up- 
held him.   "God  fits  the  back  to  the  bur- 
den." A  homely  old  saying,  but  a  true  one. 
It  is  only  when  we  lose  confidence,  and  re- 
verse the  divine  method,  wearing  ourselves 
out  trying  in  vain  to  shape  our  burdens  to 
our  shoulders,  that  health  and  strength  fail 
before  we  have  done  the  work  that  God 
allotted  to  us. 


The  crucifix  preaches  as  no  mortal 
tongue  can  do  of  the  divine  nature  of  that 
forgiveness  so  hard  for  human  hearts  to 
practise. — Heart  of  Steel. 


ci6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Blood  of  St.  Januarlus.* 

IT  is  some  fifty  years  since  a  celebrated 
Neapolitan  mathemaiician,  named  Nic- 
olas Tergola,  in  a  paper  which  at  the  time 
made  a  great  sensation  among  scientific 
men,  after  giving  an  account  of  the  martyr- 
dom of  St.  Januarius  in  the  year  313  of  our 
era,  described  at  some  length  the  extraor- 
dinary phenomenon  of  the  various  changes 
which  the  b^ood  of  the  martyr  undergoes, 
returning,  however,  always  to  the  form  it 
ordinarily  assumes.  This  phenomenon  I 
am  going  to  describe  as  best  I  can  after  a 
detailed  personal  scrutiny,  and  I  shall  leave 
the  reader  to  draw  his  own  conclusions. 

The  blood  of  the  martyr  is  contained  in 
a  thin,  reddish- colored  glass  phial,  pear- 
shaped,  and  surmounted  by  a  tube  hermeti- 
cally sealed,  and  fixed  in  a  reliquary  having 
on  both  its  sides  a  transparent  crystal  plate 
enclosing  it.  The  liquefaction  takes  place 
at  three  several  periods  in  the  year — viz  , 
seventeen  times  in  the  beginning  of  May, 
the  anniversary  of  the  removal  of  the  re- 
mains of  the  Saint;  eight  times  in  Sep- 
tember, during  the  octave  of  his  feast;  and 
once  on  the  i6th  of  December,  the  day  of 
his  feast  as  patron  of  Naples. 

The  question  before  us  is  how  it  happens 
that  the  solid  substance  which  fills  two- 
thirds  of  a  phial,  hermetically  closed  and 
impenetrable  to  chemical  agents,  and  which 
can  not  be  tampered  with  from  outside,  on 
being  brought  to  face,  at  some  distance, 
with  the  head  of  the  Saint,  is  turned  into 
a  fluid  as  liquid  as  water,  retaining  at  one 
time  the  same  volume,  and  at  another  in- 
creasing so  as  to  fill  up  the  phial  completely. 
That  the  liquefaction  takes  place  is  a  fact 
as  startling  as  it  is  indisputable,  it  having 
been  witnessed  by  thousands  in  every  sta- 
tion of  life,  whether  learned  or  ignorant, 
Christians  or  unbelievers,  Catholics  or  her- 
etics and  schismatics;  from  every  country 
—  French,  English,  Germans,  Spaniards; 
and  for  successive  centuries  by  the  most 


*  Count  Orsi,  in  The  Month. 


intelligent  portion  of  the  Neapolitan  com- 
munity. 

Are  we  to  believe  that  this  phenomenon 
is  a  supernatural  fact,  a  miracle,  as  Catho- 
lics contend  it  is;  or  is  it  to  be  attributed 
to  any  physical  influences  brought  to  bear 
upon  it;  as,  for  instance,  the  effect  of  light, 
or  of  the  heat  of  wax  candles  that  burn  on 
or  near  the  altar  where  the  liquefaction 
takes  place  ? 

The  scientific  investigation  of  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  this  extraordinary 
event  had  never  been  attempted  till  an  emi- 
nent Neapolitan  chemist  named  De  Luca, 
himself  an  unbeliever,  having  made  up  his 
mind  to  have  the  problem  solved,  directed 
one  of  his  colleagues,  Signor  de  Punzo,  to 
undertake  the  task  of  making  certain  ex- 
periments with  a  view  of  comparing  them 
with  the  phenomena  exhibited  by  the  sub- 
stance said  to  be  the  blood  of  St  Januarius. 
But  before  proceeding  to  narrate  the  result 
of  the  experiments,  and  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  fact  of  the  liquefaction 
takes  place,  a  short  description  of  the  ap- 
paratus and  its  accessories  is  necessary. 

Behind  the  altar  of  the  Chapel  of  St. 
Januarius  in  the  Cathedral  of  Naples  there 
is  a  shrine  divided  in  two  compartments, 
each  having  a  metal  door  with  two  locks. 
There  are  consequently  four  keys,  two  of 
which  are  kept  at  the  Archbishop's  palace, 
and  two  at  the  Deputazione  del  Tesoro. 
Twice  a  year — in  May  and  September — a 
delegate  from  the  Archbishop's  palace,  and 
one  from  the  Deputazione  del  Tesoro^  meet 
in  the  presence  of  the  chaplain  and  of  other 
witnesses,  to  open  the  doors  of  the  shrine 
with  the  keys  entrusted  to  their  respective 
keeping. 

On  the  right-hand  side  of  the  compart- 
ment is  the  silver  bust  of  St.  Januarius; 
on  the  left  stands  a  metal  pedestal  about  2 
feet  6  inches  high,  supporting  in  its  centre 
the  reliquary,  consisting  of  two  round  sheet- 
glasses,  about  45^  inches  in  diameter,  set  in 
a  silver  r'ng,  equally  circular,  and  cemented 
35^  inches  apart  from  each  other.  The  lower 
part  of  the  frame,  2)^  inches  wide,  has  a 
cylindrical  rod  8  inches  long,  made  to  fit 


The  Ave  Maria. 


S»7 


into  a  hollow  in  the  middle  of  the  pedestal. 
This  rod  also  serves  as  a  handle  when  the 
reliquary  is  carried  round  the  church.  The 
frame  is  surmounted  by  an  ornament  of  the 
same  metal,  somewhat  similar  to  a  crown, 
2^  inches  high,  bearing  a  cross  in  its  cen- 
tre. The  whole  is  hermetically  closed  and 
soldered. 

The  reliquary  contains  two  glass  phials, 
the  shape  of  which  points  evidently  to  their 
being  of  ancient  make.  They  are  fastened 
to  the  reliquary  top  and  bottom  with  a 
whitish  cement,  and  the  upper  part  is  so 
concealed  by  the  cement  and  the  frame  that 
it  is  not  possible  to  make  out  how  they  are 
closed  up.  The  smaller  of  the  two  is  cylin- 
drical, and  has  on  its  inner  sides  a  few  red- 
dish stains  of  no  great  size.  The  larger  one 
is  pear-shaped,  flattened  on  two  sides,  and 
looks  as  if  it  were  capable  of  holding  about 
zyi  ounces  of  distilled  water.  This  contains 
an  opaque,  hard  substance,  the  color  of 
roasted  coffee,  which  fills  two-thirds  of  it. 
The  phial  stands  within  half  an  inch  of  the 
glass  sides  of  the  reliquary. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  ceremony 
the  priest  removes  the  reliquary  from  its 
stand,  and  turns  it  upside  down,  to  show 
that  the  substance  contained  in  the  phial 
has  not  changed  its  position.  Then,  followed 
by  an  attendant  carrying  a  lighted  taper, 
he  passes  before  the  congregation  and  pro- 
ceeds to  lay  it  on  the  altar,  reversing  it  as  he 
goes  from  time  to  time,  that  everybody  may 
see  the  immobility  of  the  substance.  While 
the  prayers  are  being  said,  the  contents  of 
the  phial  are  seen  to  detach  of  a  sudden 
from  its  sides,  and  to  obey  the  movements 
of  the  hand  as  any  other  liquid  would  do. 
The  central  part  at  first  remains  solid  until, 
by  degrees,  the  whole  mass  is  converted  into 
a  liquid  as  thick  as  honey,  opaque,  alike  in 
color  to  the  substance  in  a  hard  state,  and 
leaving  no  trace  on  the  sides  of  the  phial 
whenever  the  latter  is  moved  about  or 
shaken. 

At  this  stage  of  the  ceremony  the  reli- 
quary is  carried  in  procession  in  the  church, 
to  be  kissed  by  the  by-standers,  after  which 
it  is  put  on  its  stand  again,  and  brought 


back,  together  with  the  bust  of  the  Saint^ 
to  the  place  where  the  relic  is  exposed  until 
the  evening. 

At  nine  o'clock  both  the  bust  of  the 
Saint  and  the  reliquary  are  shut  up  again 
in  the  shrine  wherefiom  they  had  been  re- 
moved in  the  morning.  At  this  moment 
the  substance  is  still  in  a  liquid  state,  with, 
however,  the  remarkable  peculiarity  that 
it  adheres  to  the  sides  of  the  phial,  and 
presents  an  appearance  like  jelly;  and  when 
it  is  closely  examined  through  the  glass,  it 
is  found  to  be  of  a  brownish-yellow  color 
veined  with  red  stripes  in  different  parts. 
One  would  be  inclined  to  say  that  the  sub- 
stance is  not  the  same  as  the  one  exhibited 
in  the  morning. 

A  daily  and  personal  attendance  at  the 
performance  of  the  phenomenon  during 
they^/^j  of  May  and  September  has  enabled 
me  to  bear  reliable  testimony  to  the  follow- 
ing details:  Sometimes  the  substance  only 
liquefies, without  any  alteration  in  its  bulk; 
at  other  times,  besides  the  liquefaction,  we 
see  on  the  surface  of  the  liquid,  and  near 
the  sides  of  the  phial,  a  quantity  of  small 
bubbles,  quite  colorless  and  as  big  as  peas. 
Sometimes  these  bubbles  are  very  numer- 
ous, and  when  collected  together  form  a 
froth,  which  ordinarily  lasts  till  night.  It 
often  happens  that  a  bigger  bubble,  which 
is  semicirculai*,  consistent,  and  as  opaque 
as  the  rest  of  the  mass,  is  formed  in  the 
centre  and  on  the  surface  of  the  substance. 

During  the  f^te  of  May,  1879,  when  I 
was  present,  the  volume  of  the  substance 
increased  continuously  every  day,  so  that 
the  phial  was  full  on  the  last  day,  and  was 
in  that  state  shut  up  in  the  shrine.  On  the 
morning  of  the  ist  of  September  y?/<?,  the 
phial  was  still  full  when  taken  out  of  the 
shriLe,  but  the  substance  became  liquefied 
again  within  a  couple  of  hours,  and  resumed 
its  ordinary  volume  during  the  rest  of  the 
octave. 

The  time  within  which  the  liquefaction 
takes  place  is  never  the  same.  Sometimes 
the  substance  becomes  liquefied  in  a  few 
minutes,  at  other  times  in  about  two  hours 
and   a  half.  The  temperature  inside  the 


5'8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


shrine  was  found  to  be  always  identical  with 
that  of  the  chapel,  which  varied  only  a  de- 
gree centigrade  with  that  of  the  church. 
But  there  was  no  corresponding  variation 
between  these  different  temperatures  and 
the  phenomenon.  For  instance,  on  Septem- 
ber 19,  1879,  the  substance  liquefied  after 
two  and  a  half  hours  in  an  atmosphere  of 
30°  centigrade;  on  the  21st  it  liquefied  in 
about  six  minutes  in  an  atmosphere  of  27°; 
and  on  the  25th,  after  thirteen  minutes,  in 
an  atmosphere  of  25°. 

The  two  glasses  of  the  reliquary  enclos- 
ing the  phial  are  flat  on  the  inside  as  well 
as  on  the  outside,  as  is  proved  by  the  ap- 
parent sameness  in  the  form  of  the  phials 
when  the  reliquary  is  turned  upside-down. 
The  feeling  produced  on  one's  lips  when 
they  are  brought  in  contact  with  the  glass, 
is  the  same,  as  regards  the  temperature,  as 
that  which  would  have  been  produced  by 
any  other  kind  of  glass  vessel.  The  me- 
tallic parts  of  the  reliquary,  when  touched, 
marked  no  difference  in  the  temperature  at 
any  time. 

The  accuracy  of  the  above  observations 
being  indisputable,  let  us  tiy  and  explain 
how  the  reported  fact  can  be  produced. 

Heat  —-The  h)  pothesis  of  a  substance 
melting  at  a  low  temperature  might  pos- 
sibly be  admitted  if  the  phenomenon  con- 
sisted merely  in  the  liquefaction,  and  if  the 
point  at  issue  rested  on  an  experiment  made 
a  number  of  times  with  a  tube  containing 
a  substance  composed  of  greasy  matters 
mixed  with  volatile  fluids  which  liquefy  at 
temperatures  below  30° ;  but  on  the  tube 
containing  the  mixture  being  enclosed  in 
another  glass  vessel,  so  as  to  leave  a  small 
distance  between  the  outside  of  the  tube 
and  the  inside  of  the  glass  vessel — as  is  pre- 
cisely the  case  with  this  phial,  hermetically 
enclosed  as  it  is  in  a  reliquary, — the  lique- 
faction could  only  take  place  by  exposing 
it  to  a  very  high  degree  of  heat:  the  exper 
iments  of  the  celebrated  Melloni  having 
proved,  beyond  contest,  the  impenetrability 
of  glass  to  the  rays  of  heat  produced  by 
focuses  of  low  temperature. 

The  large  number  of  times,  one  after  an- 


other, that  the  reliquary  is  kissed  can  have 
no  effect  on  it,  partially  owing  to  their  be- 
ing frequently  interrupted,  and  to  the  fact 
that  glass  is  a  bad  conductor  of  heat;  be- 
sides, the  kissing  01  the  vessel  never  com- 
mences before  the  substance  it  contains  is 
completely  liquefied. 

The  wax-light  held  by  the  priest,  better 
to  exhibit  the  contents  of  the  reliquary,  can 
have  no  influence  on  the  phenomenon,  be- 
cause it  is  always  being  moved  about,  and 
at  some  distance  from  the  reliquary.  The 
surface  of  the  glass  plates  enclosing  the 
phial  being  flat  (which  causes  the  rays  of 
heat  to  be  divergent  instead  of  convergent) 
is  an  additioijal  obstacle  to  the  wax-light 
producing  any  sort  of  difference  of  temper- 
ature ;  and  as  regards  the  wax-lights  on  the 
altars,  they  are  too  far  off  to  make  their 
action  felt. 

Can  it  be  that  the  substance  becomes 
solid  by  the  lowering  of  the  temperature  in 
the  shrine,  and  liquedes  again  in  the  chapel, 
the  temperature  of  which  is  higher?  Un- 
fortunately for  this  supposition,  the  tem- 
perature of  the  shrine  and  chapel  is  exactly 
the  same.  Is  it  possible,  again,  for  the  chap- 
lain who  carries  the  reliquary  to  let  in  an 
amount  of  heat  by  some  my^^teriously  hid- 
den apparatus?  In  this  case  he  must  con- 
trive a  communication  with  the  reliquary 
by  some  means  or  other;  as,  for  instance,  a 
metallic  wire,  if  it  be  an  electric  current, 
or  a  tube  to  let  the  hot  air  in.  Even  then 
it  would  be  necessary  that  one  or  other  of 
these  should  penetrate  in^ide  the  reliquary, 
and  act  on  the  phial  on  all  points  at  the 
same  time.  Because  we  must  not  forget  that 
the  substance,  during  its  liquefaction,  de- 
taches itself  completely  from  the  inside  of 
the  phial.  Besides,  the  supposed  contriv- 
ances could  not  fail  to  be  seen  by  all  the 
by-standers,  especially  when  the  reKquary 
is  turned  upside-down  by  the  priest. 

There  is  still  another  ingenious  theory 
of  the  sceptics.  Let  us  examine  what  the 
effect  would  be  if  the  inside  of  the  reliquary 
was  connected  at  one  of  its  extremities  with 
two  tubes  concealed  in  the  metallic  frame- 
work.  and  containing  different  fluids,  which 


The  Ave  Maria. 


519 


in  uniting  into  fluid  would  raise  the  tem- 
perature so  as  to  melt  the  substance  in  the 
phial,  just  as  concentrated  sulphuric  acid 
and  water  by  their  union  develop  a  very 
considerable  warmth. 

If  this  were  so,  these  liquids  would  pro 
duce  the  desired  effect  but  once;  and,  as 
the  reliquary  is  hermetically  fastened,  and 
would  have  to  be  opened  every  time  to  in- 
sert the  liquids,  the  action  of  this  mixture 
upon  the  phial  would  be  easily  detected, 
as  the  metallic  frame  would  be  the  first  to 
get  heated.  This  factitious  increase  of  heat 
would  gradually  subside  during  the  time 
the  reliquary  is  exhibited,  and  the  substance 
would  very  soon  become  solid  again  at 
night. 

The  hypothesis  of  using  dissolvents  is 
equally  inadmissible,  because  (i)  the  mixt- 
ure would  be  seen  swimming  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  solid  mass  contained  in  the  phial, 
and  would  melt  it  gradually  from  the  upper 
part  downwards;  (2)  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceive a  dissolvent  penetrating  into  the  very 
bottom  of  the  vessel  which  contains  a  hard 
substance  which  fills  it,  before  the  upper 
part  of  it  is  previously  dissolved;  for  in 
this  case  the  phenomenon  should  manifest 
itself,  at  least  in  the  first  moments,  by  a 
portion  of  the  substance  liquefying  on  the 
upper  part,  and  by  another  portion,  still 
solid,  adhering  to  its  sides. 

The  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St.  Janu- 
arius  evidently  defies  every  natural  or  sci- 
entific explanation.  It  suffices  to  witness, 
in  good  faith  and  attentively,  the  ceremo- 
nies during  which  it  takes  place,  to  be  con- 
vinced of  the  honesty  of  those  who  preside 
over  it,  and  the  absolute  impossibility  of  any 
tricks  being  practised  to  produce  it.  All 
those  who  have  witnessed  this  wondeiful 
manifestation  have  been  compelled  to  bow 
before  evidence.  We  can  not  refrain  from 
quoting  the  words  of  a  man  well  known  for 
not  being  over- credulous  or  too  partial  to 
facts  of  a  supernatural  nature — Alexander 
Dumas,  Sr.,  the  celebrated  novelist,  who 
saw  the  prodigy  taking  place  in  his  pres- 
ence. In  the  description  he  gives  of  the 
incidents  occurring  before  and  during  the 


phenomenon,  one  can  easily  discover  that 
the  writer  is  more  or  less  of  a  sceptic,  and 
is  accustomed  to  address  those  who  are  not 
over-scrupulous  in  religious  matters,  and 
who  like,  above  all,  to  be  amused.  But  the 
light  way  in  which  he  handles  a  subject  so 
deserving  of  all  respect,  is  precisely  what 
proves  the  sincerity  of  an  acknowledgment 
given  in  so  clear  and  spontaneous  a  way  to 
the  reality  of  the  miracle: 

"  It  was  a  miracle  indeed,  as  the  phial  was  al- 
ways the  same.  The  priest  touched  it  only  to  place 
it  on  the  altar,  and  to  have  it  kissed  by  all  the 
by-standers.who  never  lost  sight  of  it.  The  lique- 
faction took  place  at  the  very  moment  the  priest 
laid  the  phial  on  the  altar.  Doubt  may  raise  its 
head  to  deny,  and  science  its  voice  to  contradict 
it,  but  this  is  what  really  took  place,  what  was 
done  without  mystery,  without  imposture,  with- 
out concealment,  and  in  the  sight  of  everybody. 
The  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as 
well  as  modem  chemistry, have  wasted  their  Latin 
upon  it.  Voltaire  and  Lavoisier  would  fain  bite  at 
the  phial,  but,  like  the  serpent  of  the  fable,  they 
pull  out  their  teeth  on  it.  It  may  be  a  secret  of 
the  Canons  of  the  Tesoro.  and  kept  from  genera- 
tion to  generation  since  the  fourth  century  to  our 
days;  but.  then,  we  must  admit  that  the  secrecy 
is  more  miraculous  than  the  miracle  itself  I 
prefer,  therefore,  to  believe  the  miracle,  and,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  am  prepared  to  assert  its 
reality." 


A  Shrine  of  Mary  in  Spain.* 


SPAIN,  in  my  opinion  at  least,  can  justly 
lav  claim  to  be  nulli  secunda  to  any 
other  nation  in  the  world  in  her  devotion 
to  Mary.  Whether  we  consider  the  shrines, 
temples,  and  sacred  places,  replete  with 
legendary  lore  and  unrivalled  in  number, 
if  no*:  also  in  splendor  and  magnificence, 
or  the  unbroken  chain  of  the  so-called 
"  Romerias''  that  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end  are  going  on  in  all  parts  of  the  Penin- 
sula in  Our  Lady's  honor,  we  can  not  but 
acknowledge  that  the  Q  leen  of  Heaven  has 
found  loving  and  faithful  children  in  the 
Spaniards. 

Perhaps  not  a  few  of  the  readers  of  our 
little  magazine,  who  know  or  have  heard 


*  Frondes  Silvulce. 


520 


The  Ave  Maria. 


about  these  Spanish  Romerias,  which  are 
so  peculiarly  S^panish^  can  not  suppress  a 
smile  at  the  bare  mention  of  the  word.  I 
know  that  for  many  they  are  associated  with 
revellings  and  debaucheries.  I  am  not  igno- 
rant of  the  fact  that  many  give  it  as  their 
opinion  that  the  feasts  of  Mary  would  be 
considerably  improved  if  the  Romerias  were 
entirely  done  away  with.  But  I,  for  one, 
beg  to  hold  a  very  different  opinion;  for, 
even  granting  that  excesses  are  carried  on, 
a  candid  mind  must  own  that  they  invaria- 
bly arise  from  the  abuse  and  not  from  the 
use  of  the  Romerias.  The  excesses  com- 
mitted are,  moreover,  the  ection  of  a  few. 
There  are  black  sheep  in  every  flock,  and 
the  few  rowdy  and  intemperate  spirits  are 
only  the  depraved  portion  of  these  vast 
gatherings,  and  their  number  is  so  small 
that  it  would  astonish  our  countrymen  to 
see  such  immense  gatherings  so  orderly  and 
well-behaved.  Romerias  are  in  themselves 
good,  and  I  think  it  an  insufficient  reason 
for  doing  away  with  them  because  a  few, 
at  times, behave  in  a  way  wholly  at  variance 
with  the  spirit  of  religion.  As  well  might 
we  from  henceforth  shut  our  haibors  and 
not  allow  our  boats  to  cioss  the  sea,  because 
a  few,  now  and  then,  have  the  misfortune 
to  be  lost;  or  stop  for  good  all  our  trains,  be- 
cause their  running  is  someiimes  attended 
with  loss  of  life  and  property. 

But  to  come  to  the  subject  in  hand.  The 
city  of  Bilboa  offers  but  few  attractions  to 
the  tourist  or  pleasure -seeker,  and  boasts  of 
very  little  to  interest  the  antiquarian  or 
pious  visitor.  The  same,  however,  can  not  be 
said  of  Begoiia,  a  small  village  lying  south- 
east of  Bilboa.  It  is  famous  no  less  in  pro- 
fane annals  for  its  heroes  who  have  fought 
and  bled  in  defence  of  the  never-to-be- 
surrendered  fueros^  than  in  ecclesiastical 
history  for  its  church,  the  date  of  the  foun- 
dation of  which  runs  back  for  many  centu- 
ries. Its  origin,  and  how  it  became  enriched 
with  the  miraculous — for  miraculous  it 
certainly  is — image  of  Our  Lady,  are  made 
very  obscure  by  the  almost  infinite  number 
of  legends  that  are  told,  and  handed  down 
from   father   to   son.    However,  the  more 


generally  received  tradition,  which  I  gath- 
ered in  substance  from  a  small  pamphlet 
obtained  from  one  of  the  priests  stationed 
at  the  church  of  Begoiia,  is  as  follows: 

When  our  legend  begins,  Begona  was 
little  better  than  a  desert,  overrun  with 
briers  and  every  species  of  rank  and  prickly 
shrubs — by  Begciia  I  mean  that  part  of  it 
where  the  chnrch  stands.  Vizcaya  was  then 
a  virgin  soil,  defended  from  the  inroads  of 
Roman,  Vandal,  Saracen  and  Carthaginian, 
and  preserved  entire,  by  the  Spartan  wall 
of  its  own  intrepid  and  indomitable  people. 
T^hese /ueros  were  then  as  holy  and  sacred 
as  they  are  now.  The  Apostles  and  their 
successors  were  the  only  conquerors  of  this 
noble  people,  who  embraced  the  true  Faith 
so  earnestly  that  in  a  short  time  their  re- 
ligion became  one  with  their  fueros^  and 
they  strained  every  nerve  to  preserve  them 
as  one  entire  whole.  God,  who  knows  how 
to  reward  the  heroic  deeds  of  entire  peoples 
no  less  than  individual  actions,  knew  also 
that  His  Holy  Mother  would  be  tenderly 
honored  and  loved  in  this  loyal  country; 
and  in  recompense  for  their  virtues  He 
favored  them  in  an  extraordinary  manner 
with  the  miraculous  image  which  at  this 
day  stands  over  the  high  altar.  The  precise 
time  of  the  finding  of  this  statue  is  not 
known,  but  it  is  certain  that  it  dates  back 
to  the  very  first  ages  of  the  Spanish  Mon- 
archy. It  was  found  on  the  slope  of  Santo 
Domingo,  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree — chroni- 
clers disagree  as  to  the  kind  of  tree.  Noth- 
ing is  known  as  to  the  origin  of  the  image. 
Whether  it  was  made  by  angels  and  placed 
by  divine  disposition  in  the  hollow  trunk; 
or  whether — which  is  not  unlikely — it  was 
one  of  the  first  images  made  by  the  newly- 
converted  Basques  at  the  suggestion  of  St. 
James  or  one  of  his  immediate  successors, 
and  when  made  lodged  and  hidden  in  a 
hollow  tree  for  fear  of  pagan  invasions, — 
all  these  are  only  so  many  surmises,  the 
truth  of  which  will  probably  never  be 
known. 

The  way  in  which  the  village  church 
came  to  be  called  Begciia  is  a  point  not 
wholly  devoid  of  interest  to  the  lovers  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


521 


Mary.  It  received  its  name  in  this  wise: 
the  faithful  of  the  place,  seeing  the  image, 
and  marvelling  at  the  wonderful  way  in 
which  it  was  found,  entered  into  agreement 
to  build  a  hermitage  or  oratory,  wherein 
they  could  place  the  precious  treasure, 
and  honor  it  with  fitting  prayers  and  de- 
votions. The  question  at  issue  was,  where 
was  it  to  be  built?  Some  suggested 
that  the  most  suitable  spot  was  where  the 
image  was  found,  while  others  proposed  the 
top  of  a  mountain.  Each  party  adhered  to 
its  respective  opinion,  and  defended  it  with 
warmth;  for  it  was  love  for  Our  Lady  that 
animated  them  and  guided  their  choice. 
The  latter  opinion  finally  prevailed.  The 
work  was  begun,  but  God  vouchsafed  to 
reveal  His  designs  by  a  stupendous  mira- 
cle, which  Our  Lady  Herself  confirmed. 
The  materials  were  gathered  together  for 
the  building,  and  the  foundations  were  al- 
ready laid,  when  one  night  angels  carried 
stones  and  other  material  to  .the  exact  spot 
where  the  image  was  found.  The  Blessed 
Virgin,  too, appeared  to  one  of  the  chief  men 
engaged  in  the  work,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
miracle,  still  wished  to  build  the  church  on 
some  mountain  height.  She  said  to  him: 
*'Bego-ona" — two  Basque  words,  signify- 
ing, "  Build  it  here. ' '  And  thenceforth  they 
styled  the  image  Nuestra  Senorade  Begona 
(Our  Lady  of  Begona)  and  soon  a  village 
sprang  into  existence,  which  received  the 
same  name. 

The  church  was  built,  and  the  news  of 
the  miraculous  finding  of  the  image  spread- 
ing far  and  wide,  devout  children  of  Mary 
began  to  flock  from  all  parts  to  Her  shrine, 
to  pray  to  Her,  to  lay  at  Her  feet  their 
grievances  and  troubles,  and  to  ask  Her 
help  and  counsel.  Miracle  after  miracle  was 
wrought  at  Her  shrine,  which  gave  renewed 
vigor  to  the  fervor  of  the  Basques,  who 
unceasingly  flocked  to  Begona  to  salute  the 
Queen  of  Heaven.  Individuals,  families,  nay 
entire  populations,  gathered  together  to 
makenovenas  in  Her  honor.  And  this  lively 
faith  in  the  protection  of  Mary  is  still  as 
great  as  ever  among  the  Basques  of  Begona. 

IPhe  church  is  a  very  pretty  one,  though 


it  has  suffiered  severely  from  the  civil  wars 
of  this  century.  In  1835,  when  Bilboa  was 
besieged  by  the  Carlists,  pablic  devotions 
ceased  in  the  church  of  Begona,  to  prevent 
all  chance  of  sacrilege.  The  Liberals  took 
possession  of  the  sacred  edifice,  and  we  may 
be  sure  they  did  not  leave  it  as  they  had 
found  it.  They  burned  the  archives  of  the 
sacristy,  and  before  the  war  was  ended 
a  great  part  of  the  tower  was  destroyed, 
and  the  front  of  the  church  battered  and 
riddled  with  shot.  It  was  in  a  balcony  close 
by  that  the  intrepid  Carlist,  General  Thomas 
Zumalacarregui,  met  his  death.  Notwith- 
standing the  many  losses  the  church  has 
sustained,  the  zeal  of  the  clergy  and  the 
generosity  of  the  faithful  have  gone  far 
towards  repairing  the  ravages  of  the  civil 
wars. 

The  church,  seen  from  a  distance,  has  a 
most  imposing  aspect.  Its  huge  bulk  and 
towering  height,  commanding  the  whole  of 
Bilboa  and  the  surrounding  country,  make 
the  massive  buildings  of  that  city  dwindle 
into  insignificance  before  it.  It  is  built  in 
the  Go:hic  style,  with  three  naves.  The 
high  altar  is  of  marble  of  different  colors, 
and  three  large  chandeliers  swing  from  the 
roof.  In  the  centre  is  exposed  the  miracu- 
lous image,  and  its  sombre  color  brings  out 
in  bold  relief  the  rich  pedestal  of  silver  and 
marble  on  which  it  stands.  The  walls  are 
adorned  with  beautiful  paintings,  represent- 
ing various  scenes  in  the  life  of  Our  Lady, 
and  with  votive  oflferings  of  the  faithful. 
From  the  columns  hang  various  banners, 
offerings  of  parishes  and  confraternities, 
speaking  volumes  for  the  piety  and  lively 
faith  of  the  donors.  Several  tapers  unceas- 
ingly burn  before  the  image,  and  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  enter  the  church  at  any  minute  of 
the  day  and  find  it  deserted. 

It  is  pleasatit  to  hear  the  bells  ringing  out 
the  Angelus  at  sundown,  as  the  busy  hum 
of  town  life  becomes  gradually  more  and 
more  subdued.  Moreover,  to  see  the  crowds 
of  people  climbing  the  long  flight  of  steps, 
to  close  their  day's  woik  with  a  prayer  to 
Mary,  the  Consolatrix  Afflictorum^  is  cer- 
tainly a  consoling  and  edifying  sight. 


522 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholic  Notes. 

By  a  brief  dated  the  first  day  of  October,  the 
Holy  Father  grants  a  Plenary  Indulgence  to 
all  who  shall  visit  Rome  during  the  celebra- 
tion of  his  Sacerdotal  Jubilee  in  order  to  bear 
public  witness  to  the  piety  and  devotion  of 
their  own  people,  and  to  render  honor  and  due 
obedience  to  the  supreme  authority  vested  in 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff  The  same  favor  is  also 
extended  to  those  who  unite  themselves  in 
spirit  to  such  pious  pilgrimages,  or  who  in 
any  way  whatever  promote  their  success.  The 
conditions  are  that  a  novena  be  made  and  the 
third  part  of  the  Holy  Rosary  recited  daily 
before  the  first  day  of  January.  If  the  novena 
is  repeated  during  the  time  fixed  for  the  pub- 
lic audiences,  a  Plenary  Indulgence,  on  the 
usual  conditions,  may  be  gained  on  the  day  of 
the  Jubilee  and  on  the  feast  that  immediately 
follows  the  novella  Furthermore,  his  Holi- 
ness remits  to  all  who  with  contrite  hearts 
make  such  novenas,  for  each  day,  three  hun- 
dred days  of  penance  that  they  may  have  in 
any  way  incurred,  or  that  may  be  due  from 
them.  All  these  indulgences,  etc  ,  are  appli- 
cable to  the  souls  in  purgatory. 


The  Church  has  never  failed  to  caution  her 
children  against  the  evils,  temporal  and  spir- 
itual, that  result  from  mixed  marriages;  and 
she  emphasizes  this  most  particularly  by  with- 
holding her  blessing  from  them,  though  they 
may  be  tolerated  in  the  hope  of  securing  the 
greater  good.  It  not  unfrequently  happens 
that  instead  of  the  conversion  of  the  Protes- 
tant, there  results  the  apostasy  of  the  Catholic 
party,  either  through  actual  denial  of  the 
faith,  or  by  a  falling  off  from  the  practice  of 
religion.  An  instance  of  the  unhappiness  that 
oftentimes  attends  such  unions  has  recently 
come  to  our  notice,  in  the  case  of  a  greatly 
afflicted  family.  The  father,  a  Protestant  died 
of  heart  disease,  leaving  a  widow,  who,  some 
months  before,  broke  her  arm;  two  sons — one, 
aged  twenty-four  years,  an  idiot;  the  other  an 
epileptic;  and  four  daughters — the  oldest  with 
heart  disease;  the  second  in  a  stupor  since  her 
father's  death;  the  third  lying  helpless  for 
fifteen  years,  unable  to  walk,  talk,  see,  or  hear; 
and  the  youngest  about  thirteen  years  old. 
The  mother,  born  a  Catholic,  had,  shortly  after 
her  marriage,  abandoned  her  faith  and  at- 


tended the  services  of  the  sect  to  which  her 
husband  belonged.  Some  years  ago  she  re- 
turned to  the  practice  of  her  faith,  to  her 
husband's  intense  displeasure;  and  succeeded 
in  bringing  all  the  children,  so  far  as  was  pos- 
sible in  their  peculiar  condition,  to  the  bless- 
ings and  privileges  of  the  Church.  But  with 
them  it  had  to  be  done, secretly  and  with  great 
caution.  Now  that  fear  is  gone,  but  the  blow 
is  very  heavy. 

Some  Protestants  are  very  fond  of  appeal- 
ing to  primitive  Christianity  thinking  that 
they  can  draw  from  that  armory  weapons 
against  the  Catholic  Church.  We  are  some- 
times inclined  to  wonder  whether  they  have 
heard  of  the  Coptic  Ciiurch,  or  know  anything 
about  it.  Ivet  them  consider  what  the  fact  of 
the  existence  of  that  Church  means,  and  what 
an  argument  it  is  for  the  antiquity  of  Catholic 
doctrine  and  practices.  In  that  establishment 
we  have  a  Church  founded  by  St. Mark,  which, 
notwithstanding  that  it  has  erred  in  certain 
essential  points  of  doctrine,  still  retains  most 
of  the  forms  and  beliefs  of  the  primitive 
Christians.  The  Indo-European  Correspond- 
ence points  out  some  instances  of  this,  which  it 
may  be  as  well  to  reproduce  here.  The  Coptic 
Church  has  always  held  to  Seven  Sacraments; 
it  demands  confession  as  an  indispensable  pre- 
requisite to  receiving  Holy  Communion;  the 
laity  receive  Communion  only  in  one  kind; 
the  Coptic  word  for  altar  means  "place  of 
sacrifice."  Here,  says  th^  Correspondence, -vi^ 
have  living  witnesses,  if  our  separated  breth- 
ren pay  no  heed  to  departed  ones. 


One  of  the  most  impressive  religious  cere- 
monies of  the  year  was  that  which  recently 
occurred  in  Canada,  when  a  young  Indian  girl 
made  her  profession  as  a  member  of  the  com- 
munity of  Gray  Sisters.  In  the  tender  years  of 
childhood  she  had  been  received  as  an  orphan 
by  the  Sisters,  and,  proving  to  be  very  intel- 
ligent, she  was  carefully  instructed  in  the 
branches  of  a  liberal  education,  and  became 
remarkably  proficient.  Two  years  ago  she 
asked  to  be  received  into  the  novitiate;  her 
request  was  granted,  and  she  received  the 
name  of  Sister  Nebraska.  Her  solemn  vows 
were  pronounced  in  the  cathedral,  which  was 
filled  with  an  immense  throng.  The  new  re- 
ligious received  Holy  Communion  with  her 
aged  mother,  who  could  hardly  restrain  her 


The  Ave  Maria. 


523 


joy,  and  who  cried  out  to  all  after  Mass:  "  I 
am  a  great  lady  now!"  One  of  those  most 
deeply  impressed  by  the  ceremony  was  the 
chief  of  the  Muskegon  tribe,  who  was  accom- 
panied by  a  grand  retinue  of  "braves." 
"What  has  happened  to-day,"  he  said,  "is  a 
proof  that  we  poor  savages  are  not  a  despi- 
cable race,  and  that,  at  least  in  religion,  all 
men  are  equal.  I  am  satisfied  to-day,  and  I 
can  understand  what  good  may  be  done  by 
religion  when  faithfully  practised." 

The  following  statement,  contained  in  a  re- 
cently published  article  by  Professor  Huxley, 
is  worth  quoting.  The  distinguished  scientist 
dislikes  to  appear  illogical,  and  he  has  been 
pushed  to  the  wall  so  often  of  late  that  he  is 
more  guarded  in  his  utterances  than  formerly: 

' '  Nobody  can  presume  to  say  what  the  order  of 
nature  must  be;  all  that  the  widest  experience 
(even  if  it  extended  over  all  past  time  and  through 
all  space)  that  events  had  happened  in  a  certain 
way  could  justify, what  would  be  a  proportionally 
strong  expectation  that  events  will  go  on  so 
happening,  and  the  demand  for  a  proportional 
strength  of  evidence  in  favor  of  any  assertion  that 
they  had  happened  otherwise.  It  is  this  weighty 
consideration,  the  truth  of  which  every  one  who 
is  capable  of  logical  thought  must  surely  admit, 
which  knocks  the  bottom  out  of  all  a  priori  objec- 
tions either  to  ordinary  'miracles'  or  to  the  effi- 
cacy of  prayer,  in  so  far  as  the  latter  implies  the 
miraculous  intervention  of  a  higher  power.  No 
one  is  entitled  to  say  a  priori  \hat  any  given  so- 
called  miraculous  event  is  impossible;  and  no  one 
is  entitled  to  say  a  priori  that  prayer  for  some 
change  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature  can  not 
possibly  avail."         

A  recent  number  of  the  Scientific  American 
contains  an  interesting  account  of  the  magnif- 
icent memorial  which  is  being  erected  to  Chris- 
topher Columbus  at  Barcelona,  the  port  from 
which,  in  the  year  1493,  he  embarked  to  carry 
to  the  monarchs  of  the  world  the  news  of  the 
discovery  of  America,  which  he  had  made  in 
the  preceding  year.  The  statue  of  Columbus 
which  the  people  of  Barcelona  are  putting  up 
is  of  colossal  size.  The  design  is  animated  and 
the  figure  life-like.  Columbus  is  represented 
as  pointing  westward,  and  his  eye  is  on  that 
land  which  he  discovered  and  Christianized. 


Our  English  exchanges  announce  the 
death  of  the  Rev.  Father  Keogh,  a  well-known 
priest  of  the  lyondon  Oratory.  He  was  born  in 
1833,  and  educated  at  St.  Edmund's  College, 


Ware,  where  he  was  the  favorite  pupil  of  the 
famous  Dr  Ward.  At  the  age  of  twenty -one  he 
joined  the  London  Oratory,  and  then  began  a 
long  life  of  devotion  and  varied  usefulness. 
Father  Keogh  was  the  author  of  "Specimens 
of  Scientific  History,"  and  a  collection  of  lives 
of  the  new  English  beati.  His  devotion  to  this 
latter  task,  which  is  only  half  completed,  is 
thought  to  have  hastened  his  last  illness.  He 
also  finished  and  prepared  for  the  press  Father 
Knox's  valuable  "lyife  of  Cardinal  Allen." 
St.  Raphael's  Hospital  for  Catholic  men,  the 
only  institution  of  its  kind  in  London,  of 
which  Father  Keogh  was  the  founder,  will 
perpetuate  his  memory.  R  I.  P. 


A  notable  convert  to  the  Faith  was  the  late 
Joseph  Middleton,Esq  ,of  Woodside,  Chestnut 
Hill,  Pa.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends  until  he  had  reached  middle  life,  when 
he  and  his  wife  and  children  were  received 
into  the  Church  by  Father  Domenec,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Pittsburg.  Two  of  his  daugh- 
ters became  Sisters  of  Mercy,  and  his  only  son 
became  a  priest  of  the  Order  of  St.  Augustine. 
Mr.  Middleton  was  the  original  owner  of  the 
property  on  which  the  beautiful  Mother- 
House  and  Academy  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Jo- 
seph, at  Chestnut  Hill,  Pa.,  now  stand.  He 
was  seventy-four  years  of  age  at  the  time  of 
his  death.  May  he  rest  in  peace! — The  Pilot, 


Obituary. 


"  //  i.«  a  holy  and  wholesome  thou^/il  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  a  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Mother  Mary  Agnes,  of  the  Visitation  Convent, 
Maysville,  Ky., whose  useful  and  selfless  life  was 
crowned  with  a  precious  death  on  the  5th  inst. 

Mr.  J.  J.  Hickman,  of  Newark,  N.  J.,  who  passed 
away  on  the  Feast  of  All  Saints,  fortified  by  the 
last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Catherine  Carney,  a  warm  friend  and  life- 
subscriber  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  whose'';happy 
death  occurred  in  Boston. on  the  8th  inst.  She  was 
one  of  the  oldest  Catholic  residents  of  that  city, 
and  a  model  of  every  Christian  virtue. 

Mr.  Patrick  Daley,  who  met  with  a  sudden  death 
at  Du  Bois,  Pa.,  on  the  5th  inst.  He  was  highly 
esteemed  by  a  large  circle  of  friends. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Barton,  of  Dublin,  Ireland;  Mr. 
E.  Dwyer, Trenton,  N.J. ;  Mrs.  Mary  Walsh,  Los 
Angeles,  Cal. ;  and  John  Weelar,  Baltimore. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


524 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PAllTMENT 


The  Feasts  of  the  Church. 


AS  day  by  day  the  year  goes  round, 
And  still,  as  day  by  day 
The  measured  term  of  every  life 

Ebbs  slowly  thus  away, 
Our  mother  Church, with  tender  care, 

Guides  us  from  place  to  place, 
And  bids  us  tread  with  reverent  feet 

The  holy  path  we  trace; 
For,  shining  on  the  steep  ascent, 

Saints  show  the  way  before, 
And  light  and  glory  linger  there 

From  heaven's  open  door; 
And  each  sweet  feast  our  mother  gives 

Of  grace  a  larger  store. 


Leo  Marson's  Victory. 


BY   E.  V.  N. 


III. 


If  there  was  any  hour  of  the  day  at  which 
Leo  merited  the  title  of  ''Young  Wilful" 
it  was  when  he  got  up  in  the  morning. 
Tom  the  valet  and  Mis.  Marson  or  Celina 
usually  called  him  three  or  four  times,  and 
when  he  rose  he  had  no  thought  of  begin- 
ning the  day  with  prayer,  unless  he  was 
made  to  kneel  before  a  bronze  crucifix  that 
hung  over  his  bed.  The  first  thing  he 
usually  did  was  to  wind  his  top,  and  throw 
it  between  the  feet  of  those  who  came  to 
aid  him  in  making  his  toilet.  Next  he 
would  throw  his  boots  against  the  ceiling, 
then  give  vent  to  a  torrent  of  favorite 
phrases — "I  want  my  pomatum!  Let  me 
part  my  hair  myself!  I  don't  want  you  to 
put  on  my  neck- tie!" — and  in  the  inter- 
ludes he  popped  oflf  his  toy  cannon,  or 
twisted  ofi^  the  feet  and  tails  of  the  leaden 
horses  in  his  cavalry. 

The  day  of  Colonel  Donaldson's  depart- 
ure Mrs.  Marson  rose  very  early, and  ordered 


a  domestic  to  bring  down  Leo's  trunk, 
which  she  addressed  for  Washington,  and 
then  placed  in  the  boy's  room.  After  this 
she  left  the  house  mysteriously,  and  was 
absent  so  long  that  Leo,  weary  of  lying  in 
bed ,  began  screaming  for  Celina  to  come  and 
dress  him.  Mr.  Marson  had  often  objected 
to  his  wife's  acting  as  nurse  for  "that  big 
boy,"  but  the  lady  thought  that  if  her  god- 
child were  able  to  help  himself  she  would 
be  called  upon  to  give  him  up  sooner  to 
his  guardian  On  this  occasion  the  spoiled 
child  had  a  toy  whip,  and  was  chasing 
Celina  about  the  room,  inflicting  stinging 
blows,  when  his  aunt  entered. 

"Why  did  Leo  rise  so  early  this  morn- 
ing?" she  asked,  impatiently. 

"Madam,  it  is  after  nine  o'clock,"  said 
the  maid,  pointing  to  a  timepiece. 

"That  clock  is  fast.  I  did  not  wish  him 
to  get  up  this  morning;  he  is  ill." 

"Sick — I  sick!"  screamed  Leo,  and  he 
jumped  up  high  and  came  down  with  both 
feet  on  a  stool. 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  you  are  ill."  And  she 
lowered  her  voice:  "If  you  are  not  sick, 
your  uncle  will  take  you  away  with  him ; 
go  to  bed  again — that's  a  good  child." 

"Where  must  I  be  sick,  auntie?"  he  in- 
quired, mischievously. 

"I  think  you  ar6  threatened  with  the 
measles.  This  morning  I  went  to  telegraph 
to  my  brother  to  pay  us  a  visit  to-day,  and 
he  answers  that  the  children  have  the  mea- 
sles, and  are  all  out  on  the  plantation.  Lift 
up  5  our  chin;  why,  there's  a  red  spot!  See, 
Celina!" 

"No  wonder  it's  red,  madam;  that  is 
where  he  just  struck  himself  with  his 
whip. ' ' 

"Nevertheless,  the  measles  are  raging, 
and  we  must  take  precautions.  Now,  lie 
still,  Leo,  and  you  shall  have  chocolate  and 
hot  cakes.   Let  me  cover  you." 

She  had  only  time  to  lay  a  corner  of  the 
sheet  over  the  boy,  when  Mr.  Marson  en- 
tered, and  cried:  "  Where  is  that  sluggard 
of  a  Colonel  ?  I  have  been  waiting  for  him 
on  the  public  square  ever  so  long.  And 
Leo,  too,  is  still  in  bed!    What  fooling  is 


The  Ave  Maria. 


525^ 


this,  Caroline?" — casting  a  glance  full  of 
reproof  on  his  wife. 

"The  child  is  far  from  well.  I  did  not  like 
to  expose  him  by  letting  him  rise  early,  for 
I  hear  the  measles  are  raging  in  the  neigh- 
borhood." 

"This  sickness  has  come  up  very  sud- 
denly, I  declare.  The  best  thing  is  to  diet 
him;  dieting  is  the  remedy  of  remedies." 
(He  smelt  the  rich  flavor  of  the  chocolate 
that  Celina  was  bringing  in.) 

"Robert,"  suggested  Mrs.  Marson,  "I 
fear  the  Colonel  is  sick,  he  is  so  late;  will 
you  go  and  see,  please?" 

"Sick!  He  is  made  of  iron!  However,  I 
can  knock  at  his  door."  And  he  passed  out 
through  the  boudoir  to  the  Colonel's  sleep- 
1  ing-room. 

"Drink  quick!"  said  his  aunt  to  lyco, 
holding  the  cup  to  his  lips. 

"It  is  like  the  town  rat  and  the  country 
rat,  auntie,"  remarked  the  child. 

But  his  erudition  spoiled  the  scheme; 
'^for  just  as  Mrs.  Marson  was  moving  the  tell- 
tale cup,  in  walked  both  the  Colonel  and 
Mr. Marson.  After  bidding  his  cousin  good- 
morning,  the  soldier  approached  the  bed, 
and  inquired: 

"At  what  hour  does  my  ward  rise?" 

"  Oh !  quite  early  usually.  Once  he  wakes 
up  he  can  not  endure  to  lie  still,  but  this 
morning — a — an  indisposition  forces  him 
to—" 

"An  indisposition!  Why,  he  looks  re- 
markably well.  Show  me  your  tongue,  my 
lad." 

Leo  did  so,  but  kept  his  eyes  closed  tight. 

"Don't  you  find  his  tongue  charged?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Maison. 

"By  no  means.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Caro- 
line; make  the  boy  get  up." 

"  I  do  not  dare  to,  cousin,  before  the  doctor 
comes  and  gives  his  opinion.  Imagine  the 
consequences  if  he  should  take  a  chill !  You 
see,  I  had  intended  to  have  him  ready  to 
go  with  you  at  half- past  one;  there  is  his 
trunk."  And  she  indicated  it  with  a  wave 
of  her  hand. 

"Oh,  then,  it  is  not  a  farce!"  muttered 
Mr.  Marson,  who  looked  alternately  at  the 


red  face  of  lyco  and  the  obstinate  visage  of 
his  wife;  then,  striking  the  floor  with  his 
cane,  he  said:  "I  will  send  for  the  doctor." 

"Do,  please,  Robert,  let  me  take  care  of 
him  meantime;  one  nurse  is  enough,"  put 
in  Mrs.  Marson.   "There,  I  hear  the  break- 
fast bell!    I  will  join  you  directly." 

When  passing  the  kitchen  Mr.  Marson 
could  not  refrain  from  asking  Celina  if  she- 
had  aught  to  do  with  inventing  Leo's  sick- 
ness. "I  smelt  chocolate  in  the  room,"  he 
said,  much  vexed  at  seeing  the  opportunity 
go  by  of  getting  rid  of  the  little  tyrant. 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  When  you  are  ill  you  take 
coffee,  when  Leo  is  ill  he  drinks  chocolate." 

After  breakfast  the  gentlemen  went  to 
their  business  affairs,  and  Mrs.  Marson  acted 
as  jailer  to  her  godson.  At  noon  the  Colonel 
and  Mr.  Marson  came  in  for  lunch,  and 
the  latter  inquired  how  his  nephew  was. 

"There  is  no  change  yet,  apparently," 
said  Mrs.  Marson.  "Come  up  and  see;  the 
redness  still  remains." 

They  went  to  the  bedside,  and  the  tender 
auntie  delicately  raised  the  sheet  from  the 
boy's  face.  He  ze/«i-  red — very  x^^\  for  he 
was  nearly  smothered. 

Mr.  Marson  suddenly  drew  a  bottle  from 
his  pocket,  in  which  two  big  leeches  were 
squirming,  and  held  them  directly  before 
the  boy's  face. 

"These  will  remove  the  redness  in  a 
short  time;  I  am  going  to  apply  them." 

But  Leo  bounded  out  of  T^ed  in  an  instant, 
and  screamed ^  "I  am  not  sick!  I  don't 
want  to  be  leeched ! ' ' 

"Just  as  I  thought,"  cried  the  boy's  irate 
uncle.  "What  a  way  to  bring  up  a  child f 
My  dear  wife,  what  lessons  of  duplicity  your 
tenderness  is  instilling  into  his  unformed 
mind,  and  how  selfish  this  sort  of  procedure- 
is  making  him !  Let  his  guardian  take  him, 
I  entreat  you." 

"Not  at  all!  I  protest,  Mr.  Marson!  YoU: 
know  that  you  never  liked  the  child ;  you 
are  always  teasing  him." 

The  Colonel  was  pretending  to  look  at 
the  landscape  from  the  window,  but  was 
actually  laughing  till  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks.   However,  he  was  too  upright 


526 


The  Ave  Maria. 


not  to  be  disgusted  with  what  he  had  wit- 
nessed, and  too  prudent  to  push  matters 
further  for  the  present.  After  a  moment  he 
observed: 

'*I  think  it  is  better  not  to  take  the  boy 
with  me  to-day.  I  wished  to  have  him  with 
my  children  for  a  few  weeks,  to  habituate 
him  somewhat  to  discipline  before  entering 
college;  for  I  was  afraid  the  change  might 
prove  too  violent.  But  I  will  leave  him  a 
little  longer.  Good-bye,  Leo." 

At  half  past  one  the  Colonel  set  out  for 
Washington,  and  Mrs.  Marson  hoped  that 
she  had  gained  her  point  for  at  least  another 
year;  she  was  therefore  in  high  spirits. 

Mr.  Marson,  however,  was  very  serious 
during  the  hours  that  elapsed  after  his 
guest's  departure,  and  when  Leo  appeared 
at  supper,  his  uncle  could  not  forbear  a  re- 
newed expression  of  disgust. 

Celina  undertook  to  counsel  her  mistress 
when  ♦;lie  latter  called  her  to  impart  her 
successful  diplomacy.  "Now,  madam," 
said  the  girl, ''if  I  were  you,  I  would  make 
Leo  go  to  school.  And  let  us  try  to  keep  him 
out  of  the  kitchen,  or  there  will  be  more 
trouble.  Mr.  Mar5on  is  too  old  to  change, 
but  we  can  train  Leo." 

"Well,  you  know  I  promised  the  lad  a 
holiday;  after  that, we  will  see  about  amus- 
ing him  in  some  other  way." 

IV. 

The  streets  of  Harrisburg  were  thor- 
oughly washed  by  a  heavy  shower  of  rain 
during  the  night,  and  a  clear,  beautiful  sky 
invited  Mr.  Marson  to  an  early  walk.  The 
Susquehanna  had  yielded  an  abundance  of 
her  piscatorial  riches ;  fish  packed  in  ice  was 
advertised  at  many  stalls,  and  our  merchant 
^ave  an  extensive  order  to  the  market-men. 

On  returning  from  his  refreshing  ramble, 
Mr.  Marson  stepped  to  the  kitchen  door, 
and  bade  Celina  boil  the  fresh  cod  from 
Maine  for  his  dinner,  and  prepare  for  the 
following  day  the  salmon-trout  d.  la  mattre 
'd'' hotel. 

"Codfish  is  better  fried! "  cried  Leo, who 
was  running  about  in  the  basement,  and 
observed  all  the  movements  in  the  culinary 
■department. 


Mrs.  Marson,  hearing  her  husband's  voice, 
advanced,  and  the  latter  said:  "I  wish  the 
codfish  to  be  boiled";  then,  imperiously, 
"do  you  hear, madam?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  Robert;  Celina  always 
does  as  you  tell  her." 

Leo  hid  behind  Celina's  big,  white  apron, 
and  called  after  his  uncle,  in  a  little  shrill 
voice:  "Fried — fried — fried!"  And  Mr. 
Marson,  although  he  heard  the  boy,  moved 
on  without  turning  to  look  back,  or  chide 
him  for  his  impertinence. 

To  Celina's  surprise,  her  mistress  coun- 
selled the  cook  to  fry  the  codfish,  and  please 
her  nephew,  whose  appetite  was  delicate; 
adding,  "  Mr.  Marson  will  be  preoccupied 
all  day  with  his  business,  and  will  forget  his 
orders. ' ' 

When  dinner  was  announced,  and  the 
soup-tureen  removed,  Celina  came  in  with 
a  well-garnished  platter,  and  placed  the 
savory  codfish  before  Mrs.  Marson. 

"No, no!"  cried  her  husband;  "let  w^ 
serve.  Caroline,  pass  me  the  fish-knife. ' ' 

But  no  sooner  did  the  master  of  the  house 
lay  eyes  on  the  crisp  circlets,  browned  in 
the  highest  perfection,  than  his  apoplectic 
countenance  turned  white  with  anger.  He 
looked  at  his  wife, then  at  Celina, and  finally 
at  Leo,  whose  impudent  smile  completed  his 
exasperation.  Pushing  the  platter  rudely 
aside,  so  that  it  came  near  overturning  a 
half  dozen  articles,  he  exclaimed : 

"So  I  am  no  longer  to  be  obeyed  in  my 
own  house!" 

"Why,  yes,  Robert,"  answered  his  dis- 
concerted spouse, ' '  of  course  you  are  always 
master;  but  who  could  imagine  that — " 

"No,  it  is  Young  Wilful  that  controls 
matters  here. ' ' 

"Come,  come,  my  dear,  calm  yourself, 
and  help  yourself  to  fish;  it  is  much  easier, 
you  know,  to  fry  it  than  to  boil  it." 

"No,  I  will  not  touch  it;  let  us  have  the 
next  course." 

Mr.  Marson  finished  his  dinner  in  the 
most  serious  mood;  then,  rising,  passed 
into  a  private  parlor,  opened  a  secretary 
which  he  rarely  used,  and  rapidly  penned 
the  following  note : 


The  Ave  Maria. 


527 


My  Dear  Colonel: — The  truth  is,  that  I  must 
in  sincerity  reproach  myself  for  having  on  sev- 
eral occasions  joined  my  wif:i  in  her  plans  to  keep 
your  ward  a  little  longer;  for  when  the  time  of 
separation  approached,  she  was  so  deeply  grieved 
that  compassion  got  the  better  of  me.  But  her  in- 
dulgence knows  no  bounds,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  it  is  high  time  for  I,eo  to  leave  us,  or  he  will 
be  spoiled  beyond  redemption.  We  have  no  voca- 
tion for  bringing  up  children.  Be  so  kind,  then,  as 
to  send  for  the  lad  as  early  as  possible.  I  shall,  of 
course,  sustain  you  in  the  disagreeable  affair. 
Most  cordially  yours, 

Marson. 

Mr.  Marson  sealed  the  note,  then  took 
his  hat  and  cane,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual 
custom  afier  dinner,  left  the  house  at  once. 
Although  Mrs.  Marson  contrived  to  be  in 
the  vestibule  and  Celina  found  the  door- 
mat needed  shakin^^,  he  passed  out  without 
even  a  glance  at  either  of  them,  and  has- 
tened to  mail  his  communication. 

"I  fancy  he  is  not  half  as  displeased  as  he 
pretends,"  observed  the  lady  to  her  maid. 

"Perhaps  not,  but  he  gave  a  very  sharp 
look  at  Master  Leo,"  rejoined  the  girl. 
"But  I  will  prepare  hot  muffins  for  supper; 
that  may  restore  his  good- humor.  And  I 
must  repeat,  madam,  the  boy  ought  to  go 
to  school,  or  else  remain  up- stairs.  Mr. 
Maison  is  entirely  out  of  patience  with 
him.  And  really  it  is  not  the  boy's  place 
to  order  the  meals. " 

"Oh,  men  are  so  selfish ! "  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
son. ' '  To  get  angry  for  a  fish  being  fried ! ' ' 

V. 

A  fortnight  after  this  scene  Mrs.  Marson 
received  a  short  letter  from  Colonel  Don- 
aldson, enjoining  her  in  very  polite  but 
very  precise  terms  to  have  Leo  conducted 
to  Baltimore,  where  bis  domestic,  William 
Conrad,  would  meet  the  boy,  and  take  him 
on  to  Washington.  Htr  first  thought  was 
to  resist  this  iormal  demand;  her  second, 
to  elude  it;  but  in  the  latter  course  she 
■would  be  obliged  to  have  Mr.  Marson's  co- 
operation, and  that  gentleman  declared  that 
the  Colonel's  order  should  be  obeyed  with- 
out delay.  Then  he  talked  over  what  the 
law  and  the  orphans'  court  required  of 
guardians,  said  Mr.  Donaldson's  demand 
was  most  reasonable,  and  remarked  that  he 


had  been  very  condescending  to  leave  Leo 
with  them  so  long. 

Mrs.  Marson  wrote  and  telegraphed,  but 
Leo's  guardian  remained  inexorable;  and 
the  most  singular  thing  in  the  whole  aflfair 
was  that  the  boy  suddenly  expressed  desires 
in  direct  opposition  to  those  of  his  god- 
mother. After  having  said  in  every  tone  of 
the  scale,  "I  don't  want  to  go,"  he  now  re- 
peated, stamping  his  little  foot  on  the  floor 
with  vehemence:  "I  want  to  go;  1  will goV^ 

Mrs.  Marson,  finding  herself  abandoned 
by  all  her  natural  allies,  even  by  Celina, 
was  obliged  to  yield  and  pack  her  darling's 
trunk.  The  nominal  school-boy  went  to  say 
farewell  to  Brother  Hilary  and  his  assist- 
ants in  the  parochial  school;  as  they  could 
not  conscientiously  give  him  any  premium, 
they  presented  him  with  some  medals,  pict- 
ures, and  a  prayer-book;  and, with  many 
good  wishes,  bade  him  be  docile  and  studi- 
ous in  future. 

The  grief  of  the  devoted  auntie  was 
softened  by  her  firm  conviction  that  the 
Colonel  and  his  wife  would  never  put  up 
with  such  a  capricious,  self-willed  child, 
and  would  soon  send  him  back  to  Harris- 
burg,  in  despair  of  curing  him.  "You  see, 
Celina,"  said  she,  "their  children  are  gentle 
and  docile,  but  Leo  is  so  wild  they  '11  be  glad 
to  have  me  take  him  back.  Three  weeks, 
I  am  sure,  will  settle  the  matter." 

The  manner  in  which  her  pet  behaved 
during  the  whole  journey  to  Baltimore 
was  certainly  calculated  to  confirm  her 
hopes.  He  began  by  obliging  his  aunt  to 
give  him  the  seat  next  the  window.  When 
any  one  left  a  place  for  a  moment,  he  would 
rush  otit  and  take  it.  The  windows  and 
blinds  seemed  to  have  been  contrived  solely 
for  his  benefit  or  amusement;  for  he  opened 
and  closed  them  at  will.  Mrs.  Marson  hav- 
ing given  the  boy  a  travelling-cup  to  get 
her  a  drink,  he  walked  to  the  iced- water 
urn,  drank,  and  Ihen  filled  the  goblet  for 
his  aunt.  The  passengers  in  general  were 
greatly  annoyed  by  his  rudeness,  but  his 
blinded  godmother  smiled  serenely  at  his 
doings.  At  length  the  train  entered  the 
depot  at  Baltimore,  and  Mr.  Marson  heaved 


528 


The  Ave  Maria. 


a  sigh  of  relief,  but  his  wife's  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Conrad  soon  appeared,  and,  after 
a  cordial  greeting  from  Mr.  Marson,  pre- 
sented his  written  order  for  receiving  the 
ward  of  Colonel  Donaldson, 

*' How  long  can  we  remain  here?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Marson;  and  when  a  time-tab'e 
was  shown  him,  he  called  out:  "Well,  Leo, 
you  may  order  dinner;  I  fancy  it  will  be 
long  before  you  enjoy  your  favorite  privi- 
lege again."  And  he  exchanged  a  signifi- 
cant glance  with  Conrad,  who  seemed  to 
think  that  the  remark  would  prove  literally 
true. 

Dinner  was  soon  ready,  and  the  good  Mr. 
Marson  showed  that  the  success  of  his  un- 
dertaking, and  the  journey,  had  given  him 
a  capital  appetite.  After  the  meal  was  over, 
while  Mrs.  Marson  was  counselling  Iv°o  to 
write,  her  husband  made  a  sign  to  Conrad 
to  join  him  in  another  apartment. 

' '  You  will  have  to  be  very  firm  with  that 
youngster,  my  man,  or  he  will  not  go  with 
you ;  and  as  his  aunt  is  extremely  indulgent, 
I  fear— " 

"My  orders  are  precise.  I  must  be  at 
Washington  this  evening,  and  bring  the 
lad  with  me." 

"Excellent! — military  form,  I  see." 

Five  minutes  later  Conrad  and  Leo  were 
seated  in  the  train,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mar- 
son prepared  to  return  alone  to  Harris- 
burg.  On  arriving  home,  Mrs.  Marson  was  in 
very  low  spirits  for  a  time,  until  she  found 
that  her  birds  and  greenhouse,  having  been 
neglected  of  late  in  her  preoccupation  with 
her  nephew, needed  prompt  attention.  Then 
exercise  in  and  out  of  doors  restored  her 
drooping  spirits;  and  Mr.  Marson,  finding 
himself  the  sole  object  of  her  housekeeping 
talents,  became  as  good-natured  as  ever. 

Leo  bought  whatever  he  wanted  on  the 
cars  (evidently  Conrad  had  received  orders 
not  to  oppose  him),  and  as  he  consumed 
an  unusual  amount  of  fruit  and  caramels, 
he  was  not  feeling  very  comfortable  when 
he  reached  the  depot,  where  his  uncle,  with 
his  sons  Edward  and  Augustus,  waited  to 
receive  him. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Power  of  Habit. 


There  is  a  fairy  story  of  a  princess  who- 
was  shut  up  in  a  castle,  out  of  which  she 
must  make  her  escape,  or  else  be  starved  to 
death.  After  a  long  search,  she  found  the 
key  of  the  main  door,  and  it  was  the  same 
that  unlocked  the  gate  at  the  entrance  of 
the  grounds.  Escape  seemed  easy  enough 
now. 

The  bright  sun  is  shining  on  the  forest 
in  which  the  castle  stands,  and  the  princess 
joyfully  hastens  to  the  door,  that  she  may 
pass  it  and  be  free.  Just  outside  the  door  a 
spider's  web  is  hanging  from  top  to  bottom. 
She  sweeps  it  away  in  a  moment,  and  is 
going  on;  when,  behold,  another  spider's 
web  is  before  her,  between  the  trees  of  the 
narrow  pathway!  It  is  very  easy  to  sweep 
that  too,  and  she  does  it.  But  there  is  a 
third;  and  when  that  is  removed,  a  fourth |. 
and  when  that  is  removed,  a  fifth;  and  when 
that  is  removed,  a  sixth;  and  so  again,  and 
again,  and  again ;  and  at  last  the  poor  prin- 
cess sits  down  and  weeps  bitterly,  and  feels 
that,  though  there  is  only  a  spider's  web 
between  her  and  liberty,  she  shall  never  be 
free. 

Habits  are  like  these  spiders'  webs  Each 
single  act  of  a  habit — what  is  easier  to  be 
overcome?  But  it  is  the  constant  succes- 
sion of  them,  the  coming  of  them  one  after 
the  other,  which,  except  by  God's  especial 
assistance,  will  in  the  long  run  overcome 
us. 


A  Little  Girl's  Definition  of  Scandal. 

Some  girls  were  asked  by  one  of  the  in- 
spectors at  a  school  examination  whether 
they  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word  "scan- 
dal." One  little  girl  stepped  forward,  and, 
holding  her  hand  up,  attracted  the  notice 
of  the  inspector.  He  desired  her  to  answer 
the  question,  upon  which  she  uttered  these 
memorable  words:  "Nobody  does  nothing, 
and  everybody  goes  on  telling  of  it  every- 
where." 


tH^ 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  3,  1887.  No.  23. 


(CopyrifU  >-BaT.  D.  K.  Hvnoa,  C.  B.  0,1 


Mater  Immaculata. 


BY   ANGELIQUE    DE    LANDS. 


U^HERE  are  many  bright  feasts  of  Our  I^ady 
^  To  the  hearts  of  Her  children  most  dear; 
They  come  with  the  blossoms  of  springtime, 

With  the  frosts  of  the  fast  closing  year. 
And  each  brings  its  own  tender  lesson 

Of  meekness,  of  love,  and  of  trust — 
Strong  links  in  that  chain  of  devotion 

Whose  gold  will  not  tarnish  or  rust. 

II. 
But  there's  one,  and  it  comes  in  December, 

That  month  overflowing  with  mirth. 
When  even  the  careless  remember 

How  the  Saviour  was  once  upon  earth: 
'Tis  the  Feast  of  Her  spotless  Conception 

In  the  womb  of  the  Blessed  St.  Ann. 
Then  began  the  great  work  of  Redemption, 

Restoring  lost  rights  unto  man. 

III. 
Immaculate  Queen  of  Creation! 

Of  whom  Thy  Creator  was  born, 
Accept  the  poor  tribute  we  offer 

On  this  Thy  glad  festival  morn. 
O  Mother  of  mothers  most  tender. 

We  children  so  signally  blessed 
Our  souls  to  Thy  keeping  surrender, 

O  purest,  O  sweetest,  O  best! 


"Time  restores  all  things."  Wrong! 
Time  restores  many  thingf.«,  but  eternity 
alone  restores  all. — Abbe  Roux. 


Shrines  of  Mary  in  Mexico. 


BY  THE  VERY  REV.  J.  ADAM. 


HINKING  that  the  readers  of  Our 
Lady's  magazine  may  be  inter- 
ested in  hearing  some  of  the  ex- 
periences in  a  foreign  land  of  one  of  its  old 
contributors,  I  am  going  to  tell  them  some- 
thing about  my  peregrinations  in  Mexico. 
I  shall  npt  inflict  on  them  a  minute  account 
of  my  travels,  but  will  select  only  what  I 
deem  of  most  interest,  and  what  is  more 
closely  connected  with  The  *'Ave  Maria" 
— namely,  my  visits  to  the  sanctuaries  of 
Our  Lady. 

After  passing  through  the  States  of  Ari- 
zona and  New  Mexico,  on  September  20  I 
crossed  the  line  that  divides  Mexico  from 
the  States,  and  I  must  confess  I  became 
somewhat  downcast  at  the  thought  that 'I 
was  no  longer  under  the  protection  of  the 
Stars  and  Stripes;  the  more  so  as  I  was  told 
that  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  enter  Mexico 
with  the  Roman  collar — a  piece  of  infor- 
mation which  I  soon  found  to  be  incorrect. 
It  happened  that  not  far  from  the  border- 
line I  was  reading  a  pious  book  in  which 
W2S  quoted  the  text  of  St  Paul :  *'rf  I  should 
try  to  please  men,  I  could  not  be  a  servant 
of  Christ";  so  I  said  to  myself:  "I  am  not 
going  to  try  to  please  a  few  radicals;  I  will 
venture  to  enter  our  sister  Republic  in  the 
same  gaib  in  which  I  travel  in  the  Uni  ed 
States.  After  wearing  the  Roman  collar  for 


530 


TTie  Ave  Maria, 


twenty- five  years,  it  will  not  do  to  say  that 
I  had  to  take  it  oflf  in  a  Catholic  country." 

Just  as  we  entered  Mexico,  I  was  stopped 
— not,  however,  on  account  of  my  collar, 
but  lo  have  my  basket  and  valise  searched. 
At  first  the  ofiictr  told  the  driver  to  go  on, 
but  when  he  saw  I  was  a  priest  he  coun- 
termanded the  order,  and  wished  to  ex- 
amine my  effects.  Siili,he  was  not  impolite; 
the  only  action  on  the  part  of  the  custom- 
house officers  which  I  could  complain  of 
was  that  they  took  away  from  me  a  large 
photograph  of  an  Indian  called  Gabriel,one 
hundred  and  forty  years  old.  On  my  pro- 
testing at  this,  they  called  the  head  officer, 
and,  after  a  few  moments'  deliberation,  the 
latter  decided  to  let  it  go.  Then  the  sub- 
officer  asked  me  whether  I  had  any  more 
photographs.  "Yes,  I  have,' '  was  my  reply, 
and  from  the  bottom  of  mv  trunk  I  pro- 
duced a  large  bound  book  entitled  "E'ch- 
ings  of  the  Franciscan  Missions  of  Califor- 
nia"; so  the  head  officer  was  called  again, 
and  to  my  great  relief  he  signified  this 
time  also  that  I  might  pass  unmolested. 
Having  secured  my  trunk  I  hurried  to  the 
Pullman-car,  with  my  valise  and  basket  in 
my  hands,  when  I  was  accosted  by  the 
porter,  who  said:  *' You  can  not  take  these 
things  inside  the  car  unless  they  are  ex- 
amined and  labelled  by  custom  officers." 
And  although  I  assured  him  they  had  been 
thoroughly  examined  at  the  line,  it  was  of 
no  avail:  I  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  in- 
spection again;  though  this  time  there  was 
no  trouble  made,  as  I  had  no  photographs 
in  my  valise. 

Next  morning  we  saw  the  towers  of  Chi- 
huahua church  piercing  the  clouds;  we 
did  not  stop  there,  but  travelled  twenty- 
four  hours  more,  till  we  reached  Zacatecas. 
As  the  cars  gradually  ascend  an  eminence 
about  8  ooo  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
you  see  the  city  under  you,  and  very  quaint 
it  looks,with  its  adobe  houses  and  flat  roofs, 
looming  one  over  another.  I  heard  one  of 
my  fellow-travellers  remark  that  the  houses 
bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  those  of 
Judea. 

After  dinner,  accompanied  by  our  hotel 


agent,  I  took  the  street-cars  that  run  from 
the  p^aza  to  the  little  town  of  Our  Lady  of 
Guadalupe, which  contains  one  of  the  most 
richly  adorned  chapels  in  the  world.  On 
the  car  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  a 
priest,  who  was  also  going  to  Guadalupe; 
he  pointed  out  to  me  a  sanctuary  looming 
on  the  top  of  the  hill,  above  the  city.  It  was 
called  the  Sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  of  La 
Bufa,  and  my  friend  was  the  chaplain  of 
it.  I  asked  him  about  the  antiquity  of  the 
chapel,  but  he  could  tell  me  nothing,  except 
that  when  he  was  a  little  boy  the  sanct- 
uary had  already  existed  for  many  years — 
which  I  did  not  doubt,  as  my  informant  was 
not  more  than  forty  years  old.  He  told 
me  that  the  principal  feast  is  celebrated 
every  year  on  the  15  th  of  September — the 
Octave  of  the  Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin,— when  a  great  many  people  climb 
up  the  mountain,  there  being  no  path  for 
vehicles,  but  only  for  humble  beasts,  which, 
by  the  way,  abound  in  every  part  of  Mexico 
— another  point  of  resemblance  to  Judea. 

I  expressed  an  earnest  wish  to  learn  the 
history  of  the  image,  but  the  good  chaplain 
regretted  his  inability  to  satisfy  my  desire, 
and  asked  me  to  read  a  circular  he  had 
issued  inviting  the  people  of  Zacatecas  to 
the  feast.  I  feel  bound  to  quote  a  few  lines 
of  the  document  for  fear  that  if  my  friend 
should  happen  to  read  this  sketch  he  might 
not  forgive  me  for  the  omission: 

"When  a  false  philosophy  tries  to  stifle 
the  feelings  that  elevate  and  ennoble  men 
and  nations,  it  is  worth  while  to  recall  to 
the  hearts  of  our  people  memories  of  the 
past,  which  are  also  lessons  for  the  time 
to  come.  People  of  Zacatecas,  Mary  is  the 
advance-guard  that  watches  continually 
over  the  walls  of  Christian  Israel,  in  order 
to  sound  the  alarm,  and  to  fill  with  heroic 
valor  its  sleeping  defenders." 

As  the  i6Lh  of  September  is  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  Independence  of  Mexico,  it  was 
no  wonder  that  the  circular  contained  many 
patriotic  sentiments,  such  as  the  following: 
"Our  nation  fought  in  the  name  of  Mary 
for  its  liberty  and  its  laws;  under  Her  pro- 
tection the  whole  nation  triumphed  over 


The  Ave  Maria, 


531 


barbarism  and  tyranny ;  and  for  this  reason 
the  whole  nation  should  take  part  in  this 
celebration  in  honor  of  our  heavenly  Pa- 
troness." 

After  half  an  hour's  ride  we  arrived  at  the 
quiet  little  town  of  Guadalupe,  and  directed 
our  steps  at  once  towards  the  far-famed 
sanctuary  of  Mary.  Entering  the  church, 
we  saw  on  the  main  altar  a  large  picture  of 
Ojtir  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  and  on  a  side  altar 
the  relics  of  one  of  the  Holy  Innocents  mas- 
sacred by  Herod ;  but  the  attention  is  drawn 
at  once  to  a  side  chapel  on  the  left  as  you 
go  in,  which  may  be  called  a  Temple  of 
Solomon  in  miniature,  heavily  gilded.  In  a 
niche  on  the  main  altar  is  a  statue  of  Our 
Lady  of  Naples.  This  image  was  brought 
here  from  Naples,  when  and  under  circum- 
stances I  could  not  ascertain:  these  holy 
priests  being  apparently  more  anxious  to 
preserve  the  devotion  than  the  facts  con- 
nected with  it. 

There  are  three  altars  altogether,  and  on 
the  wall  are  fine  frescos.  I  will  mention 
only  one,  which  represents  the  four  quarters 
of  the  globe  honoring  Mary,  and  testifying 
to  the  fulfilment  of  Her  prophetic  words: 
*' Henceforth  all  generations  shall  call  Me 
blessed."  The  railings  of  the  altars  are  of 
nickel,  highly  ornamented,  and  inlaid  with 
gold.  I  was  told  that  Father  Sanchez,  the 
present  guardian  of  the  Franciscans,  hav- 
ing had  a  large  sum  of  money  placed  in  his 
hands  by  a  pious  lady,  determined  to  ex- 
pend it  in  building  this  chapel  in  honor  of 
our  Blessed  Mother.  He  has  spent  more  than 
$80,000  on  it,  his  liberal  benefactress  renew 
ing  her  donations  when  she  saw  the  way 
in  which  her  money  had  been  employed. 
Over  the  entrance  gate  are  the  words, 
'''' Dilexi  decorem  domus  tucB,^'*  I  could  not 
help  remarking  that  the  text  had  never 
been  better  employed,  and  that  it  should 
be  written  on  the  tomb  of  good  Father 
Sanchez  when  called  to  receive  a  crown 
from  the  Mother  of  God,  whose  memory  he 
has  honored  here  on  earth  by  giving  to  the 
people  one  of  the  richest  chapels  in  the 
Christian  world. 

Next  day,  before  taking  the  train  for  the 


capital,  we  had  a  chance  to  admire  once 
more  the  beautiful,  slender  tower  and  shin- 
ing cupola  of  Our  Lady's  chapel,  and  wit- 
nessed at  the  station  of  Guadalupe  a  touch- 
ing sight  seldom  seen  elsewhere — namely, 
that  of  a  man  about  forty  years  old  kneel- 
ing by  the  railroad-track,  in  the  sight  of 
everyone,  to  receive  his  father's  blessing. 
I  saw  the  tottering  old  man  raise  his  hand 
over  him,  and  bestow  a  benediction  with 
the  utmost  solemnity. 

I  arrived  in  Mexico  early  on  the  24th  of 
September,  and  went  to  the  Church  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception,  close  by  the  hotel, 
to  say  Mass.  In  the  afternoon  I  visited  the 
cathedral,  and  presented  my  letters  of  rec- 
ommendation to  the  secretary  of  the  Arch- 
bishop. I  intended  to  say  Mass  at  the 
Sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe  on 
Sunday,  but,  not  feeling  well,  had  to  be 
content  with  celebrating  at  the  hospital. 
Next  day  I  took  the  street-cars,  and  soon 
found  myself  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  Tepeyac, 
where  the  Blessed  Virgin  appeared  to  Juan 
Diego.  No  doubt  most  of  the  readers  of 
The  "Ave  Maria"  are  familiar  with  the 
apparitions  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven  to  the 
happy  Indian ;  however,  a  brief  outline  of  the 
facts  concerning  this  extraordinary  event 
may  be  welcome,  especially  as  this  is  the 
year  of  the  solemn  coronation  of  the  mirac- 
ulous picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 

Before  speaking  of  this,  however,  let  me 
endeavor  to  convey  to  your  readers  my  im- 
pressions on  arriving  at  the  sanctuary.  The 
name  of  Guadalupe  awakes  in  the  breast 
of  every  Mexican  the  keenest  religious  and 
patriotic  feelings.  The  Tepeyac.  so  arid  in 
itself,  had  a  certain  celebrity  even  in  pagan 
times,  as  the  then  unconverted  Indians 
used  to  adore  on  that  mountain  a  goddess 
called  in  their  language  Tonantzin  (Mother 
of  other  gods),  at  whose  feast  the  benighted 
tribes  used  to  assemble  in  great  numbers. 
It  was  here,  too,  that  the  Captain -General 
Gonzalez  de  Sandoval  had  his  camp  when 
Cortes  besieged  the  city  of  Mexico  in  152 1. 
So  far  it  has  been  impossible  to  ascertain  the 
time  when  the  first  chapel  was  built.  We 
are  told  that  the  miraculous  picture  of  Our 


532 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Lady  was  first  venerated  over  the  door  of 
one  of  the  houses  of  Mexico,  which  was  soon 
turned  into  a  sanctuary.  It  is  said  also  that 
wonderful  events  took  place  in  that  small 
chapel.  About  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century  it  was  enlarged  to  the  size  of  a 
church,  and  as  such  serves  to-day  as  sacristy 
to  the  present  magnificent  temple.  It  was 
in  this  church  that  the  sacred  picture  re- 
mained till  the  year  1622. 

In  September,  1629,  the  city  of  Mexico 
suffered  a  dreadful  inundation;  the  people 
besought  the  Archbishop  to  allow  them  to 
convey  the  image  of  Our  Lady  to  the  city, 
in  order  to  preserve  it  from  destruction.  It 
was  brought  and  placed  in  the  pro^cathe- 
■  dral,  and  there  kept  till  May,  1634,  when 
the  waters  having  abated,  the  image  was 
brought  back  to  its  former  resting-place 
with  great  pomp.  At  this  time  devotion  to 
Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe  increased  in  a 
wonderful  manner;  copies  of  Her  picture 
were  made  by  the  best  painters,  and  scat- 
tered around  in  such  profusion  that  soon 
not  a  church  or  private  house  was  without 
one  of  them.  Even  while  I  write  these 
lines  I  have  before  me  in  my  room  a  beau- 
tiful copy  of  the  picture,  and  on  going  down 
stairs  I  noticed  on  the  wall  a  large  painting 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin's  first  apparition  to 
Juan  Diego. 

About  the  year  1663  a  petition  was  sent 
to  the  Holy  See,  requesting  that  a  proper 
OflSce  and  Mass  be  assigned  for  the  12th  of 
December,  the  day  of  Our  Lady's  last  ap- 
parition. For  the  furtherance  of  this  object 
the  metropolitan  chapter  took  all  the  infor- 
mation necessary  concerning  the  appari- 
tions, and  twenty- one  witnesses,  before  com- 
petent judges,  deposed  to  all  the  facts  as 
they  had  heard  them  from  their  very  child- 
hood. These  documents  were  sent  to  Rome, 
^  a  copy  of  them  being  preserved  in  Mexico. 
The  present  edifice  was  commenced  in 
1695,  and  was  finished  in  1709.  It  is  of  the 
Doric  order,  with  three  naves  divided  by 
eight  pillars.  The  middle  nave  is  higher 
than  the  others,  and  is  surmounted  by  a 
cupola.  The  building  looks  north  and  south, 
and  has  three  doors.  Some  say  that  it  cost 


^420,000;  others  make  the  amount  ^800,- 
000;  whichever  estimate  is  correct,  the 
money  was  all  the  outcome  of  almsgiving. 
Statues  of  SS.  Joachim  and  Anne  stand  on 
either  side  of  the  main  altar,  which  is  of 
marble;  above  are  the  Archangels,  SS. 
Michael,  Gabriel,  and  Raphael;  and  still 
higher,  amongst  the  cherubim,  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  Most  Blessed  Trinity.  The 
altar  is  adorned  with  two  pillars  of  white 
marble,  and  two  others  of  a  reddish  color; 
between  these  the  miraculous  picture,  en- 
closed in  a  frame  of  silver,  attracts  the  at- 
tention of  every  visitor,  and  here  thousands 
of  pilgrims  kneel  to  obtain  the  protection 
of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe.  On  this  favored 
spot  I  had  the  happiness  to  pray  for  some 
time,  for  my  relatives,  friends,  and  benefac- 
tors, not  forgetting  the  pious  readers  of  Thb 
'*AvE  Maria." 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Brother  Mansuetus. 


BY   CHARLES  WARREN  STOI>DARI>. 


I. 

THE  way  grew  weary  as  it  wound  onward 
and  upward,  from  among  the  stiff  lines 
of  poplars  on  the  plain,  toward  a  mountain 
fastness  in  the  south  of  France.  Mile  after 
mile  changed  the  character  of  the  road  from 
dust  to  grit;  it  gathered  roughness,  was 
rock-  strewn  and  broken,  and  finally,  dwin- 
dling to  a  mere  grass- fringed  bridle-path,  it 
struck  into  a  wild  gorge  that  opened  like 
an  iron  gate  in  the  wall  of  the  mountain. 
Along  this  forbidding  track  a  solitary 
traveller  plodded  painfully  as  the  night  was 
coming  on.  His  air  was  courtly ;  his  gait 
and  carriage  high-bred ;  his  engaging  feat- 
ures, while  they  betrayed  an  almost  danger- 
ous knowledge  of  the  world — it  was  the  face 
of  a  man  who  had  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of 
life,  and  of  life  in  the  French  capital  at  the 
most  brilliant  period  of  the  Empire, — yet 
bore  an  expression  of  pain  that  argued  the 
possession  of  a  heart  of  the  liveliest  sensi- 
bility, now  stricken  with  contrition. 


2^ he  Ave  Maria. 


533 


tHe  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  this  pilgrim  in  the  twilight;  he  seemed 
■wrapped  in  a  re  very,  which  even  his  stum- 
bling feet,  the  gathering  darkness,  and  the 
dew-fall  could  not  dispel.  The  steep  walls 
of  the  gorge  closed  soon  about  him.  Far 
below  plunged  an  ice-cold  torrent  that 
broke  in  upon  the  silence  with  sullen  roar; 
far  above  towered  the  monumental  cliffs, 
fringed  with  Alpine  forests;  between  the 
heights  and  the  depths,  upon  a  ledge  of  rock 
that  afforded  only  dangerous  foothold,  the 
mysterious  stianger  pressed  forward  with 
an  energy  that  was  apparently  inspired  by 
increasing  difficulties. 

E'ght  centuries  before,  St.  Bruno  had 
threaded  a  wilderness  similar  in  most  re- 
spects to  this.  He  was  a  youth  of  glorious 
destiny;  possessed  of  a  studious  disposition, 
he  achieved  the  whole  circle  of  the  sciences. 
He  was  accounted  a  clever  poet  of  the 
period;  he  excelled  in  philosophy  and  theol 
ogy,  and  was  celebrated  among  his  contem- 
poraries as  poet,  philosopher,  and  divine; 
he  was  even  regarded  as  master  and  model 
of  the  schools.  Refusing  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishopric of  Reggio,  he  was  hailed  as  the 
light  of  churches,  the  doctor  of  doctors, 
the  glory  of  the  two  nations  of  France  and 
Germany,  the  ornament  of  the  age,  the 
model  of  men,  and  the  miri  or  of  the  world 
— as  an  ancient  writer  quaintly  records. 

St.  Bruno  and  six  companions,  by  the 
advice  of  St.  Robert,  Abbot  of  Molesme, 
journeyed  to  Grenoble,  and,  casting  them 
selves  at  the  feet  of  the  saintly  Bishop 
Hugh,  begged  of  him  a  comer  in  his  dio- 
cese, where,  remote  from  the  world  and 
forgotten  of  men,  they  might  devote  their 
lives  to  the  worship  of  God. 

Prophetic  hour!  On  the  night  preceding 
the  visit  of  St.  Bruno,  the  pious  Bishop  of 
Grenoble  had  in  his  dreams  beheld  a  vision 
of  God  building  a  church  in  the  wilderness 
of  Chartreuse,  while  seven  newly- arisen 
stars,  forming  a  circle,  served  to  pilot  him 
into  that  hitherto  unexplored  portion  of  his 
diocese.  These  are  those  well-favored  stars, 
thought  the  Bishop;  and  forthwith  he  led 
them  into  the  land  of  his  vision,  until  that 


moment  a  desolate  and  forbidding  region. 

Doubtless  such  thoughts  as  these  accom- 
panied the  recluse  as  he  threaded  the  nar- 
rowing gorge.  St.  Bruno  and  his  followers 
have  inspired  many  to  walk  in  the  rugged 
path,  but  all  paths  were  then  more  difficult; 
patient  industry  has  hollowed  out  a  foot- 
hold in  the  more  inaccessible  heights,  and 
at  present  one  approaches  even  the  most 
isolated  retreat  with  comparatively  little 
risk,  though  not  without  fatigue.  Fog  and 
snow  visit  those  bleak  heights  a  good  por- 
tion of  the  year,  and  the  fog  was  thicken- 
ing now;  the  seolian  murmur  of  the  pines 
and  the  deep  rumble  of  the  torrent  drowned 
the  footsteps  of  the  pilgrim,  even  as  they 
had  drowned  the  footsteps  of  the  flying 
saint,  who,  scorning  preferment,  sought  with 
his  followers  the  solitude  of  the  mountain 
that  was  to  become  a  tabernacle  of  prayer. 

Where  was  the  earth  now  while  the  tire- 
less feet  groped  among  the  vapors  ?  Sunk 
deep  in  the  blackness  of  darkness  that 
rolled  like  a  sea  about  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain A  rushing  wind  tore  the  clouds  to 
tatters,  and  moaned  in  the  forest  of  pine 
that  topped  the  cliffs.  A  chill  struck  to  the 
heart  of  the  wa)farer;  for  he  had  been 
lapped  in  luxury  all  his  days,  and  even  the 
winds  were  tempered  to  him  in  the  delect- 
able shelter  of  his  home. 

Now  he  recalled  St.  Bruno's  motto,  the 
pathetic  song  of  the  Psalmist:  "My  eyes 
prevent  the  watches;  I  was  troubled,  and  I 
spoke  not.  I  had  in  my  mind  the  eternal 
years.  Lo!  I  have  gone  far  off,  flying  away, 
and  I  abode  in  the  wilderness. ' ' 

Suddenly  the  clouds  parted,  and  a  flood 
of  moonlight  fell  upon  an  open  plateau 
between  two  walls  of  rock.  It  was  bordered 
by  a  bounding  stream  that  turned  the  rus- 
tic wheel  of  a  primitive  mill.  Near  at  hand 
was  a  cluster  of  rude  houses,  utterly  with- 
out architectural  pretension;  sloping  roofs 
and  gables,  and  the  shadowy  crosses  upon 
the  peaks  of  the  roofs,  scarcely  suggested 
the  picturesque.  Bare,  rocky,  almost  tree- 
less— for  the  forests  had  been  decimated 
by  the  hand  of  toil, — what  could  be  more 
uninviting  than  this  spectacle  after  a  pas- 


53+ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


sage  of  such  pain  and  peril?  Yet  this  was 
the  destination  of  a  weary  soul,  this  the 
holy  house  of  those  whom  the  learned 
Cardinal  Bona  apostrophized  as  "the  great 
miracles  of  the  world— men  living  in  the 
flesh  as  out  of  the  flesh ;  the  angels  of  the 
earth,  representing  John  the  Baptist  in  the 
wilderness;  the  principal  ornament  of  the 
Church;  eagles  soaring  up  to  heaven,"  etc. 

With  quickened  pace  the  vague  form 
approached  the  gate  of  the  monastery ;  with 
steady  hand  he  pulled  at  the  clumsy  bell- 
rope;  he  could  have  turned  then  and  fled 
into  the  night,  had  his  heart  failed  him; 
that  heart  failed  him  not,  but  held  stead- 
fastly to  the  one  purpose  of  his  life.  With 
impatience  he  awaited  the  soft  tread  of 
the  sandalled  feet — they  drew  nearer  and 
nearer, — and  the  slow  sliding  of  the  wicket 
through  which  he  was  to  communicate  his 
wishes  to  the  attendant.  "Mine  eyes  pre- 
vent the  watches,"  he  repeated  as  he  heard 
the  echo  of  an  approaching  footfall;  "I  was 
troubled,  and  I  spoke  not.  I  had  in  my 
mind  the  eternal  years.  Lo!  I  have  gone 
far  off,  flying  away,  and  I  abode  in  the  wil- 
derness." 

In  a  few  moments  the  applicant  was  re- 
ceived with  the  ceremony  prescribed  by 
the  rule  of  the  Order  of  La  Trappe.  The 
Brother  who  was  keeper  of  the  gate  opened 
it,  and  immediately  fell  upon  his  knees  be- 
fore the  stranger,  whispering, '  ''Benedicite^ ' ' 
as  if  to  ask  his  blessing.  Conducting  his 
charge  to  a  small  apartment  destined  for 
the  reception  of  strangers,  the  attendant 
gave  three  strokes  upon  a  bell,  thus  sum- 
moning two  Brothers  who  are  charged  with 
the  care  of  stranger  guests. 

The  penitent,  dazed  with  the  novelty  of 
his  position,  staggered  in  their  presence, 
overcome  for  a  moment  by  the  profoundest 
emotion;  but  a  jarring  noise  recalled  him 
to  himself ;  for  he  recognized  the  grating 
of  the  bolt  as  the  great  gate  was  solemnly 
barred  against  a  world  that  was  to  know 
him  no  more  forever. 

II. 
A  deep  and  dreamless  sleep  possessed  the 
postulant  for  some  hours  after  his  arrival  at 


the  monastery ;  dreamless  I  say,  though  to 
him,  at  intervals,  the  dark  corridors  seemed 
filled  with  ghostly  forms,  and  low  voices 
saluted  one  another  under  the  breath;  muf- 
fled footsteps  sounded  faintly  and  more 
faintly  as  they  died  softly  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. There  was  a  stir,  as  of  the  disem- 
bodied; animate  but  invisible  beings  moved 
to  and  fro,  dumb  for  the  most  part;  though 
at  intervals  that  whispered  greeting  was 
barely  audible,  and  it  suggested  the  flutter 
of  restless  birds  in  their  nests  at  night,  or 
a  zephyr  among  the  leaves. 

From  afar  came  the  monotonous  drone  of 
litanies,  the  harmonious  discord  of  uncul- 
tivated voices  blending  naturally,  as  every- 
thing in  nature  blends  without  the  aid  of 
art;  and  this  was  followed  by  the  first 
glimmer  of  dawn  blinking  in  the  narrow 
window  of  his  cell.  Through  the  gray  twi- 
light and  the  prolonged  Matins  of  the 
brotherhood  he  slept  as  one  sleeps  at  a 
journey's  end;  as  one  sleeps  at  life's  end, 
doubtless — having  put  aside  the  cares  of  the 
world,  never  to  resume  them. 

The  allotted  hours  crept  on;  not  one  of 
them,  not  even  a  moment  of  one  of  them, 
but  was  dedicated  to  some  pious  duty ;  and 
through  them  all  reigned  a  silence  as  pro- 
found as  that  of  the  mountain  solitude. 

At  eight  o'clock  a  grave  figure  ap- 
proached the  couch  of  the  sleeper ;  it  was  a 
narrow  couch  and  a  hard  one,  in  a  small 
apartment  bare  to  the  extreme  of  poverty; 
there  was  a  crucifix  over  the  bed,  two  or 
three  pious  prints  upon  the  wall;  a  jug  of 
water  in  the  window-seat,  a  coarse  cover- 
let, and  a  thin  pillow, — this  was  the  sum 
total  of  the  furnishment.  The  grave  figure 
greeted  the  sleeper,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder  before  those  heavy  eyes  were 
opened. 

It  was  the  abbot  who  had  come  in  the 
absence  of  the  Brothers,  now  scattered, 
plying  their  several  trades;  and  this  inter- 
view was  to  be  the  only  one  vouchsafed  the 
novice.  The  abbot  was  to  learn  as  much 
of  the  history  of  the  strange  Brother  as  the 
Brother  felt  constrained  to  reveal;  none 
other  in  all  that  busy  hive  would  ever  know 


The  Ave  Maria. 


535 


aught  of  the  name  and  fame  of  the  new 
comer.  Among  them  he  was  a  mere  figure, 
clad  as  they  weie — in  coarse  hair-shirt, 
coarse  robe  girded  at  the  waist,  with  pointed, 
voluminous  cowl,  drawn  even  to  the  eyes 
and  overshadowing  the  face  when  not  in 
solitude;  with  bare  feet  thrust  into  rude 
sandals,  and  with  head  and  heart  bowed 
down, — one  more  penitential  spirit  clad  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  dead  to  the  world  and 
to  men. 

Known  to  the  abbot  as  Brother  Mansue- 
tus,  he  was  an  anonymous  to  all  the  rest; 
when  they  passed  him,  the  eyelids  were 
never  lifted,  the  face  was  hidden  in  the  cowl ; 
even  the  hands  were  withdrawn  irto  the 
loose  sleeves,  and  only  the  sandalled  feet 
were  visible.  Thus  was  he  to  pass  his  days, 
looking  neither  to  the  one  side  nor  the 
other,  though  a  voice  whispered  so  faintly  as 
hardly  to  be  audible,  Memento  mori! — ' '  Re- 
member thou  shalt  die!"  His  ears  heard 
no  other  greeting  during  his  waking  hours, 
and  at  night  the  perpetual  reminder  mut- 
tered in  his  dreams — but  what  of  that? 
Having  been  assigned  his  duties,  he  went 
his  way  mechanically,  and  in  his  turn 
greeted  the  passing  shadows  at  his  side  with 
''''Memento  mortf'^'' 

Time  was  when  the  discipline  of  the 
monastery  and  of  this  Order  had  grown  lax. 
Perfection  is  not  of  men,  and  even  the 
bravest  heart  may  grow  weary  in  well-doing 
— so  they  had  grown  in  the  wilderness. 
Then  came  one,  world- ridden,  fleeing  from 
the  abundance  with  which  he  was  surfeited, 
and  seeking  sanctuary  in  the  abode  of  the 
recluse.  The  strict  rule  to  which  he  would 
have  gratefully  subjected  himself — the  fast- 
ing, vigils,  maceration,  flagellation, — all 
these  had  made  a  compromise  with  pious 
sloth.  They  that  should  have  been  delving 
in  the  Lord's  vineyard  were  waxing  fat  on 
the  fruits  thereof. 

It  was  Armand  Jean  le  Bouthillier  de 
Ranc6  who  rent  his  goodly  garments,  and 
cried  out  against  the  abuses  that  then  pre- 
vailed. Nor  did  he  cry  in  vain;  for  his  ac- 
cusing voice  purged  and  reclaimed  the  ven- 
erable Order,  and  made  La  Trappe  a  syno- 


nym for  humility,  poverty,  and  obedience. 
Once  more  the  ancient  glory  of  that  mother- 
house  shone  like  a  beacon  in  a  dark  and 
dissolute  age,  and  it  was  to  this  rigorous 
routine  that  Brother  Mansuetus,  with  the 
abundant  enthusiasm  of  the  novice,  wholly 
abandoned  himself. 

It  was  the  wise  abbot  who  felt  in  the 
presence  of  this  new  enthusiast  that  pru- 
dence forbade  precipitation,  and  for  this 
reason  he  enjoined  a  week  of  complete  re- 
tirement, during  which  the  postulant  might 
confer  with  God  and  his  confessor  only. 
The  latter  saw  him  frequently,  and  he  was 
supplied  with  an  abundance  of  books, 
proper  food  for  thought. 

Perpetual  prayer  and-  self-abnegation 
were  the  principle  upon  which  De  Ranc^ 
founded  this  reform.  There  was  no  moment 
but  the  heart  and  the  head  were  bound  to 
duty  or  to  sleep,  and  no  devil  of  them  all 
found  never  so  small  a  chink  to  enter  in. 
Listen  to  the  order  of  exercises,  and  say  if 
a  soul  could  languish  in  such  company. 
The  good  abbot  himself,  in  a  low  voice, 
thus  delivered  an  instruction  to  the  postu- 
lant, who  impatiently  awaited  his  cowl  and 
tonsure : 

"The  abbot,  or  first  superior,  has  the  full 
and  entire  administration  of  his  monastery, 
as  well  in  temporal  as  in  spiritual  concerns 
— yet  he  is  under  the  control  of  the  gen- 
eral superiors;  the  abbot,  elected  by  a  ma- 
jority of  the  votes  of  the  community,  and 
his  election  presided  over  by  the  Vicar- 
General  of  the  Congregation,  must  be  after- 
wards confirmed  by  the  court  of  Rome. 
After  the  abbot  come  the  religious  ac- 
cording to  their  different  ranks,  and  years 
spent  in  the  Order.  First,  the  choir  relig- 
ious, chiefly  occupied  in  choir  service  and 
the  continual  sacrifice  of  praise.  They  are 
consecrated  to  the  Lord  by  the  three  usual 
monastic  vows,  to  which  is  generally  added 
a  fourth  vow,  termed  the  vow  of  stability. 
After  these  raiik  the  lay-brothers,  bound 
also  by  the  same  vows;  their  ofl&ce  is  briefer 
than  that  of  the  choir  religious,  and  they 
are  chiefly  employed  in  the  servile  works 
of  the  monastery.  Their  habit  is  of  a  dark 


536 


The  Ave  Maria. 


brown  color,  while  that  of  the  choir  relig- 
ious is  white.  There  are  iwo  other  classes  of 
Brothers  who,  without  binding  themselves 
"by  any  vows,  live  with  the  Order:  one,  called 
'Temporary  Brothers,'  wear  the  habit;  the 
other,  in  secular  dress,  are  known  as '  Broth- 
ers of  the  Family. ' 

"We  rise  at  two  o'clock  a.  m.  on  every 
"week  day,  at  one  on  Sunda3's,  and  at  mid- 
night for  the  solemn  feasts.  We  have  on 
these  days  seven  or  eight  hours  of  office  in 
the  church.  Oar  work  is  from  four  to  six 
liours  a  day,  according  to  the  season,  and  it 
is  usually  in  the  fields.  The  food  is  poor 
and  simply  prepared.  No  meat,  fish,  butter 
or  eggs  are  ever  given  in  community,  but 
some  of  these  are  sometimes  allowed  the 
sick  in  the  infirmary.  Our  fare  consists  of 
pulse,  roots,  and  herbs;  the  cooks  are  di- 
rected to  prepare  the  provision  in  as  simple 
a  manner  as  possible,  and  never  to  make 
use  of  spices  or  anything  tending  only  to 
the  gratification  of  the  palate. 

*'  During  two- thirds  of  the  year  we  Trap 
pists  eat  but  once  in  twenty-four  hours. 
This  meal  consists  of  soup,  a  dish  seasoned 
-with  salt  and  water,  and  a  half- pint  of 
•weak  wine.  There  is  added  some  kind  of 
fruit,  as  a  dessert,  on  those  days  that  are  not 
fast  days  commanded  by  the  Church,  and 
on  Fridays  of  the  Paschal  season.  From 
the  14th  of  September  until  Lent  this  one 
meal  is  taken  at  half  past  two  o'clock,  p.  m. ; 
in  Lent  it  is  delayed  until  a  quarter  past 
four.  During  the  rest  of  the  year  nature  is 
invigorated  among  us;  dinner  during  this 
season  is  taken  about  noon,  and  a  slight 
collation  is  served  up  in  the  evening;  upon 
no  pretext  whatever,  at  any  season  of  the 
year,  can  our  bill  of  fare  be  added  to,  and 
chocolate,  cofiee  and  tea  are  reserved  for 
those  who  are  convalescing  in  the  infirm- 
ary." 

The  abbot  paused.  "Go  on!"  cried 
Brother  Mansuetus,  filled  with  a  kind  of 
lioly  zeal;  to  him  the  fasting  and  prayer  of 
the  Fathers  of  the  desert  were  a  perpetual 
feast  unto  his  soul,  and  this  regimen  fell 
short  of  that — far  too  short  to  satisfy  his 
fervent  soul.  He  who  had  lived  riotously 


all  his  days;  whom  a  prodigal  fortune  had 
indulged  in  every  excess ;  whose  wish  was 
law,  and  whose  word  the  letter  of  the  law, 
—  he  became  the  most  humble  of  tjiem 
all. 

Doubtless  among  those  who  passed  him 
unrecognized,  who  whispered  at  his  side, 
"Remember  thou  shalt  die!'*  there  were 
some  who  had  revelled  with  him;  some 
who,  with  him,  had  met  the  dawn  and  the 
rising  sun  at  the  close  oi  fetes  noted  for 
their  reckless  prodigality.  So  soon  does  one 
drop  out  of  the  memory  of  the  world  where 
there  is  neither  time  nor  inclination  for 
serious  retrospect.  He  had  lived,  but  he 
lived  no  longer  in  the  recollection  of  those 
whom  he  had  abandoned ;  he  had  passed, 
like  many  another,  from  the  bright  scenes 
he  once  delighted  in,  and  the  former  idol  of 
his  associates  was  already  relegated  to  the 
dim  halls  of  oblivion. 

^^ Memento  moriP''   whispered  Brother 

Mansuetus  to  the  figure  that  swept  past  him 

like  a  shadow,  and  the  hushed  voice  of  that 

spirit  responded:   "Remember  thou  shalt 

die!" 

(to  be  continued.) 


Light-House  and  Boat. 


A  souvenir. 


'  rpiS  a  dainty  Parisian,  trifle, 
^    Brought  from  over  the  sea, 
And  it  holdeth  a  tender  meaning 

For  the  glance  of  the  poet  to  see, — 
A  sweet  allegorical  meaning, 

A  poem  with  truth  for  its  part, 
This  dainty  Parisian  trifle, 

This  little  bronze  verse  for  the  heart. 

II. 
'Tis  a  miniature  white- winged  sail-boat, 

And  a  miniature  light-house  tower 
That  rises  from  silvery  wavelets, 

Like  a  beacon  when  storm-clouds  lower; 
And  a  golden  chain  from  the  tower 

Is  caught  by  the  little  boat. 
As  safe  in  the  friendly  shadow 

It  peacefully  seemeth  to  float. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


537 


III. 
And  the  tower  seemeth  the'symbol 

Of  a  nature  fearless  of  storm, 
And  the  white-winged  boat  beside  it, 

Of  a  heart  confiding  and  warm. 
And  the  sacred  bond  of  friendship 

Is  the  firm-wrought  golden  chain 
That  links  the  boat  to  the  tower 

In  sunshine  and  in  rain. 

IV. 

So  the^^Mz/^wzVholdeth  a  meaning — 

A  meaning  almost  divine: 
'Tis  a  symbol  of  strength  and  protection- 

A  symbol  of  trust  sublime. 
And  happy  the  heart  that  findeth 

In  its  course  o'er  the  sea  of  life 
A  tower  of  strength  and  protection 

To  shelter  it  in  the  strife ! 

Mercedes. 


Nora's  Recompense. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  SPACIOUS,  gloomy  room  sparely  fur- 
nished; heavy  oak  beams  supporting 
the  low  ceiling;  no  carpet  on  the  polished 
floor;  a  half  extinguished  fire  glimmering 
in  the  fireplace;  on  the  table,  in  utter  dis- 
order, bottles,  glasses,  lint.  etc. ;  on  the  bed 
a  motionless  figure,  with  staring  eyes  and 
dishevelled  hair — one  would  have  thought 
life  had  already  fled,  were  it  not  for  the  low 
moan  which  at  intervals  broke  from  the 
parched  lips. 

Beside  the  bed,  on  which  so  hard  a  battle 
was  raging  between  Life -and  Death,  sat  a 
man  worn  out  by  sleeplessness  and  anxiety. 
Fcr  eight  long  days  and  still  longer  nights 
he  had  never  left  his  post;  the  one  servant 
he  had  induced  with  difficulty  to  remain 
would  scarcely  approach  the  door,  so  great 
was  her  dread  of  the  malady.  It  grew  dark. 
Oh,  how  long  are  the  sleepless  hours,  broken 
only  by  the  sick  woman's  moans!  How  sad 
to  seethe  motionless  form,  the  glassy,  vacant 
eyes,  the  distorted  face!  Where  is  now  the 
lofty,  powerful  mind?  where  the  sharp, 
penetrating  glance?  Is  that  beloved  voice 
mute  forever?  All  her  faculties  are  subject 


to  the  dread  power  of  that  fatal  fever,  which 
may  last  for  weeks  to  come. 

Mark  thinks  of  the  other  two  women 
who  had  once  dwelt  in  that  house.  One,  no 
human  power  could  have  retained;  but 
the  other?  Alas!  a  little  love  would  haye 
forged  for  her  unbreakable  chains,  and  the  * 
poor  woman,  who  would  now  perhaps  die 
for  want  of  proper  care,  would  have  been 
tended  with  filial  affection.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and  let  Fancy  picture  what  might 
have  been.  A  light  step  glides  through  the 
room;  a  slender  figure  bends  over  the  bed; 
a  tender,  skilful  hand  bathes  the  throbbing 
brow,  and  a  soft  voice  whispers  words  of 
consolation.  She  stands  again  before  his 
mind's  eye,  with  gleaming,  golden  hair,  per- 
forming her  duties  courageously  and  well 
in  a  strar  ger's  home.  A  kind  of  torpor  came 
over  him  as  the  hours  passed;  suddenly 
he  was  startled  by  a  touch  on  the  arm. 

"There  is  some  one  below  asking  for 
you,  sir, "  said  the  servant,  with  a  frightened 
glance  at  the  bed.  "I  said  you  could  not 
come,  )3Ut  she  insists  on  seeing  you." 

He  rose,  renewed  the  cold  bandage  on 
his  mother's  burning  forehead,  and  telling 
the  maid  to  remain,  as  he  would  be  back  in 
a  minute,  went  down  stairs. 

The  parlor  door  was  open,  and  the  soli- 
tary candle  which  stood  on  the  table  made 
the  room  look  more  gloomy  than  ever.  A 
slender  fignre  came  to  meet  him — was  he 
still  dreaming? — a  small  hand  pressed  his, 
and  a  voice  of  tender  compassion  said : 

"I  heard  of  aunt's  illness,  and  have 
come  to  help  you  to  nurse  her.  Is  she 
worse?" 

"No,  but  the  doctor  will  give  no  opinion 
until  the  twenty-  first  day — if  she  lives  till 
then." 

* '  Is  she  conscious  ? ' ' 

"No:  she  minds  nothing  that  goes  on 
round  her." 

He  spoke  mechanically,  and  hardly  sure 
he  was  not  still  dreaming. 

"Then  I  can  go  up  without  any  fear  of 
agitating  her. "  And  taking  off"  her  hat  and 
shawl,  she  threw  them  on  a  chair. 

This  brought  him  to  his  senses.  "Stop!" 


538 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lie  exclaimed;  'you  must  not  enter  my 
mother's  room.  It  was  most  imprudent  of 
you  to  come  here  and  breathe  the  poisoned 
air  of  this  town.  How  did  you  hear  of  my 
mother's  illness?" 

"Miss  Kernoel  told  me.  I  thought, "she 
continued,  in  accents  of  gentle  reproach, 
*'we  had  become  such  good  friends  in  Pau 
that  my  presence  would  not  annoy  you." 

"Annoy  me!"  he  exclaimed,  coloring 
deeply.  "Don't  you  see  it  is  for  your  sake 
I  am  uneasy?  And  your  remaining  here 
■will  only  double  my  anxiety." 

"Will  you  not  let  me  go  to  her?" 

"Impossible!  You  are  not  accustomed  to 
.this  pestiferous  air.  To-morrow  morning  I 
will  bring  you  to  the  train." 

"I  see,"  she  said, firmly,  "I  must  use 
other  means.  Mr.  Auvrard,  I  will  remain." 

"Not  with  my  consent." 

"You  can  force  me  to  leave  this  house, 
but  not  Penvan.  I  pledge  you  my  word  that 
if  you  persist  in  refusing  to  let  me  nurse  my 
aunt,  I  will  aid  Miss  Kernoel  to  nurse  her 
brother." 

"You  talk  like  a  child,"  he  said;  "you 
seem  to  attach  no  value  to  life." 

"There  you  err.  I  am  young  and  love 
my  life,  but  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  take  the 
fever.   Shall  I  go  to  Miss  Kernoel's?" 

"That  would  be  worse;  her  servant  is 
dying. ' ' 

"Then  I  remain."  And, seizing^  the  can- 
dle, she  preceded  him  up  the  dark  stairs. 
For  a  moment  she  bent  over  the  uncon- 
scious patient,  ' '  How  is  she  being  treated  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"For  the  present,  merely  cold  bandages 
on  the  head  are  applied,  and  wine  and  broth 
are  administered  continually;  but  you  must 
not  begin  your  nursing  until  to-morrow; 
you  are  exhausted  from  the  long  journey." 

"Do  you  forget  that  travelling  is  my  ele- 
ment, and  two  nights  in  the  train  are  noth- 
ing to  me?" 

He  shook  his  head  resolutely.  "To-night 
you  must  rest,"  he  insisted.  "  Do  }OU  wish 
to  fall  ill  also?" 

"Very  well,"  she  replied;  "to-night  I 
■will    rest,  bat  henceforth   we   share   the 


watching.   At  eleven  I  shall  leave  you." 

Mark's  dream  had  become  a  reality. 
Two  tender,  skilful  hands  smoothed  the 
sick  woman's  disordered  hair,  arranged  her 
couch,  and  settled  her  head  on  the  pillows. 
Then  the  girl  poured  a  spoonful  of  wine 
between  the  closed  lips,  and  sat  down  by 
the  now  bright  fire. 

"Poor  aunt!  But  with  God's  help  we 
shall  save  her.  Have  you  asked  for  that  aid, 
without  which  our  efforts  are  unavailing?  " 

"I  can  not  pray." 

"You  must  learn  to.  Man  sows,  as  you 
know,  but  God  sends  the  fructifying  rain 
and  sunshine.  Let  us  nurse  your  poor 
mother,  but  ask  the  Lord  of  life  and  death 
to  assist  us." 

She  knelt  and  repeated  in  her  soft,  har- 
monious voice  that  divine  prayer  which 
our  Saviour  Himself  taught.  Mark's  lips 
moved ;  they  were  the  same  words  he  had 
learned  by  his  dead  mother's  knee,  but  had 
long  since  forgotten.  In  his  pride  of  heart 
he  had  determined  to  do  without  God;  but 
there  were  hours  when  he  felt  the  void 
which  the  human  heart  inevitably  experi- 
ences in  the  absence  of  its  Creator.  Twice 
lately  had  the  thought  of  religion  been 
forced  on  him — once  when  it  sweetened  the 
last  hours  of  the  poor  servant,  and  filled 
her  with  confidence;  and  now  when  he  saw 
it  enabling  Nora  to  return,  by  an  act  which 
endangered  her  life,  the  unkindness  of  for- 
mer days.  His  soul  was  awakened,  and  he 
resolved  no  longer  to  deny  his  God ;  grace 
had  touched  his  heart,  and  it  bowed  before 
its  Maker.  When  Nora  recited  the  "Hail 
Mary,"  his  heart  followed  the  movement  of 
his  lips. 

Eleven  o'clock  struck,  and  the  young 
girl  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Mark,  and 
said,  with  a  smile:  "Now  you  are  not  vexed 
with  me  for  coming  ? ' ' 

He  pressed  her  hand  with  almost  reverent 
affection,  and  answered :  ' '  You  know  I  was 
only  vexed  for  your  own  sake. ' ' 
CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Towards  morning  Mark  yielded  to  fa- 
tigue; his  mother  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  a  heavy  slumber,  and  he  dozed,  uncon- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


539 


sciously  at  first,  then  slept  soundly.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  the  winter  sun  shone 
thro-ugh  the  carefully  drawn  curtains,  a 
cheerful  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and  a 
kettle  saag  merrily  on  the  hob.  No  one 
was  in  the  room,  but  as  he  approached  the 
bed,  he  easily  guessed  who  had  smoothed 
the  invalid's  hair,  and  covered  it  with  a 
snowy  cap.  The  table  was  neatly  arranged, 
the  empty  bottles  removed,  the  medicine 
glasses  rinsed,  and  not  a  speck  of  dust  to 
be  seen.  He  pressed  his  lips  to  his  mother's 
brow;  she  seemed  quieter,  though  she  was 
still  unconscious.  A  light  step  made  him 
turn  round:  Nora,  in  a  simple  morning- 
dress,  stood  beside  him. 

"She  looks  better  than  she  did  last  even- 
ing," she  remarked. 

"And  she  slept  all  night,"  he  replied; 
"for  I  slept  also — something  that  has  not 
happened  to  me  for  a  long  time.  I  need  not 
ask  what  busy  hand  has  been  at  work  put- 
ting everything  to  rights." 

She  smiled.  ' '  I  succeeded  in  not  awaking 
you,  but  now  come  to  breakfast.  I  had  it 
prepared  in  the  next  room ;  we  can  leave 
the  door  open,  and  so  will  hear  every  move 
of  my  aunt. ' ' 

Mark  followed  her  into  the  next  room: 
it  was  small,  wainscoted  with  oak,  and  lined 
with  tall  presses  with  bronze  handles  and 
ornaments.  A  bright  fire  was  blazing  cheer- 
ily, and  before  it  Nora  had  placed  a  small 
table  with  an  old-fashioned  tea-service. 

"In  Pan  you  took  tea,  so  we  shall  have 
an  English  breakfast";  and  so  saying  she 
took  the  toast-rack  from  the  fender,  placed 
it  on  the  table,  and  sat  down  to  pour  out 
the  tea. 

"I  am  ashamed  of  giving  you  so  much 
trouble,"  observed  Mark. 

"None  whatever.  I  always  prepared  tea 
for  grandmamma,  and  if  you  knew  what 
happy  remembrances  it  recalls!" 

The  hot  toast  and  fragrant  tea  difFased 
an  appetizing  odor,  and  Mark  thought  Nora 
had  never  looked  lovelier  than  in  the  per- 
formance of  these  simple,  household  duties. 
He  began  to  perceive  that  the  domestic 
hearth  has  a  poetry  of  its  own. 


"You  must  look  back  with  regret  on 
your  travelling  days,"  he  said;  "that 
changeful, eventful  life  must  have  been  very 
attractive  to  a  young  girl,  and  made  a  set- 
tled, domestic  life  very  irksome." 

Nora  shook  her  head.  "You  are  mistaken. 
I  was  not  fit  for  wandering  from  one  place 
to  another,  and  the  life  I  dreamed  of  was  a 
quiet  home,  where  travelling  would  be  a 
rare  pleasure.  I  longed  for  oider,  stability, 
and  a  settled  residence." 

"But  did  you  not  find  order  and  stability 
in  my  mother's  house?" 

"Order  is  not  monotony,"  she  replied, 
smiling;  "but  I  could  have  borne  all  if  my 
aunt  had  liked  me." 

"I  understood  too  late  how  you  pined 
for  afiection,and  I  was  most  unjust  myself. ' ' 

"I  was  really  afraid  of  you,"  she  an- 
swered, frankly.  "Your  Sunday  visits  were 
my  dread.  It  seemed  to  me  your  eyes  were 
alwa>s  on  me,  detecting  the  least  fault  in 
my  soul. ' ' 

"And  now?"  was  the  question  which 
burned  on  his  lips,  but  ere  he  had  courage 
to  utter  it  the  doctor  entered  for  his  daily 
visit.  He  found  his  patient  in  a  more 
hopeful  state,  and  to  Mark's  question  if  he 
could  absent  himself  without  fear  for  a  day 
on  urgent  business,  the  doctor  unhesitat- 
ingly replied  that  he  could. 

"Then  I  shall  leave  her  to  your  care 
until  evening,  Miss  de  Br^lyon,"  he  said; 
"you  have  brought  us  a  change  for  the 
better." 

"Stay  until  morning,"  replied  Nora. 
"I  shall  send  you  a  telegram  if  there  is  any 
change. ' ' 

He  departed  almost  immediately,  and,  as 
he  received  a  satisfactory  telegram  that 
evening,  did  not  return  until  next  day. 

The  weather  had  changed  when  he  got 
back;  it  was  cold  and  raining  heavily,  so 
that  he  was  stiflf  and  numb  when  the  omni- 
bus left  him  at  his  mother's  door.  A  feeling 
of  indescribable  comfort  came  over  him  as 
he  entered  the  sick  room;  a  blazing  fire  and 
the  table  laid  for  dinner  were  visible  in  the 
ante-room,  through  the  open  door  leading 
from  his  mother's  apartment.  The  patient 


540 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lay  quietly  on  her  snowy  pillows;  all  was 
in  perfect  order,  and  Nora  came  to  welcome 
him  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"The  night  was  good,"  she  said,  "and 
aunt  asked  for  a  drink  this  morning.  She 
looked  at  me,  but  she  is  still  too  weak  to 
mind  anything.  I  saw  Miss  Kernoel;  her 
brother  is  almost  well,  and  she  can  give  us 
an  hour  every  day. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  of  it  for  )our  sake,"  he  an- 
swered, cordially. 

They  sat  down  together  at  the  little  table, 
as  Nora  gaily  said  to  play  at  dining;  and 
Mark  thought  he  had  never  spent  such  en- 
chanting hours  as  those  now  passed  with 
Nora  in  nursing  his  sick  mother.  No  longer 
afraid  of  him,  she  unconsciously  displayed 
every  day  new  treasures  of  mind  and  heart 
His  only  anxiety  was  as  to  what  his  mother 
would  think  when  she  recovered.  "She  is 
too  just  not  to  admire  her  devotedness 
and  courage,"  he  often  repeated  to  himself. 
And  so  the  days  went  on,  bringing  alternate 
hope  and  fear  as  the  disease  approached  its 
crisis.  Miss  Kernoel  came  every  day,  and 
took  Nora  out  for  an  hour,  and  the  epidemic 
daily  decreased. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


The  Immaculate  Conception. 


GOD,  when  He  foresaw  from  all  eternity 
the  most  sorrowful  ruin  of  the  human 
race  to  follow  from  the  transgression  of 
Adam,  and,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  deter- 
mined to  restore  it  more  happily  by  the 
Incarnation  of  the  Word,  from  the  begin- 
ning and  before  ages,  chose  and  ordained 
a  Mother  for  His  only- begotten  Son,  of 
whom,  made  flesh.  He  should  be  born  in 
the  fulness  of  time.  Wherefore,  far  above  all 
the  angelic  spirits  and  all  the  saints,  He  so 
wonderfully  endowed  Her  with  the  abun- 
dance of  all  heavenly  gifts,  drawn  from  the 
treasure  of  the  Divinity,  that  She  might  be 
ever  free  from  every  stain  of  sin,  and  all  fair 
and  perfect,  and  might  possess  that  pleni- 
tude of  innocence  and  holiness,  than  which, 
tinder  God,  none  is  greater,  and  which, 


except  God,  no  one  can  reach  even  in 
thought."* 

"  By  a  special  grace  and  privilege  of  God, 
in  virtue  of  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ  Her 
Son,  the  Redeemer  of  mankind,  Marv  was, 
from  the  first  moment  of  Her  conception, 
preserved  free  from  the  stain  of  oiiginal 
sin."  t  This  has  been  piously  professed  by 
the  faithful  of  Christ  from  the  very  dawn  of 
Christianity.  It  is  the  belief  of  the  Church, 
and  is  now  defined  and  promulgated  as  a 
dogma  of  Catholic  faith. 

The  following  eloquent  praises  of  Oar 
Lady's  sublime  privilege  occur  in  a  treatise 
on  the  Immaculate  Conception,  beautifully 
written  on  parchment,  by  an  unknown  au- 
thor of  the  tsrelfth  century: 

"O  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  my 
Lord,  Qaeen  of  the  angels,  crown  of  the 
saints,  honor  of  our  race!  glorious  thicgs 
are  said  of  Thee  by  the  lips  of  the  prophets; 
great  things  have  been  done  for  Thee  by 
the  Almighty;  all  great  and  glorious  things 
are  believed  of  Thee  by  Thy  servants,  the 
children  of  the  Catholic  Church.  We  be- 
lieve, O  holy  Mother  of  God!  that  in  Thee 
the  beginning  corresponds  to  the  end. 
And  as  we  know  that  Thou  art  raised  above 
all  the  orders  of  saints  and  all  the  choirs 
of  angels,  we  also  believe  that  at  the  mo- 
ment of  Thy  creation  Thou  wert  filled  with 
the  grace  of  God.  We  know  that  Jeremias, 
because  he  was  destined  to  be  a  prophet 
amongst  the  people,  was  sanctified  in  his 
mother's  womb;  we  have  been  taught  that 
John,  the  Precursor  of  the  Lord,  was  filled 
with  the  Holy  Ghost  in  his  mother's  womb: 
how,  then,  could  any  one  dare  to  say  that 
Thou,  the  Mother  of  the  Redeemer,  the 
medium  of  our  eternal  salvation,  wert  des- 
titute of  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Gho^t  at  the 
first  moment  of  Thy  conception  ?  It  v\  true 
that  Thou  wert  born  of  the  sinful  race  of  the 
Old  Adam ;  but  as  God  can  make  the  thorn- 
less  rose  spring  from  amongst  sharp  thorns, 
how  could  it  be  impossible  for  the  Son  of 
God  to  cause  Thee,  His  Mother,  although 
conceived  amongst  the  thorns  of  sin,  to  re- 
main untouched  by  them?   Without  doubt 

*  Bull  promulgating  the  dogma.  f  Ibid. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


S4I 


He  could,  and  He  willed  it;  and  because 
He  willed  it,  He  did  it.  Thus  it  is,  O 
dear  Queen!  and  we  rejoice  that  it  is  so. 
*  *  And  was  it  becoming,  O  Mother  of  God ! 
that  in  Thy  conception  Thou  shou'dst  be 
subject  to  the  gereral  law  of  sin?  Nothing 
is  like  to  Thee,  O  Qaeen!  nothing  is  to  be 
compared  to  Thee.  For  all  that  is,  is  either 
above  Thee  or  beneath  Thee.  Above  Thee 
is  God  alone;  beneath  Thee  is  all  that  is 
not  G^d.  Of  Thee,  then,  O  Queen!  whom 
the  divine  power  predestined  and  raised  to 
such  a  height;  of  Thee,  on  whom  the  all- 
disposing  Wisdom  bestowed  so  many  pre- 
rogatives; of  Thee,  whom  the  infinite  and 
eternal  Goodness  chose  for  His  Mother, — 
shall  I  believe  that  in  Th>  conception  Thou 
wert  subject  to  sin,  which  came  into  the 
world  by  the  enmity  of  the  evil  spirit?  My 
soul  recoils  from  such  a  thought,  my  will 
rejects  it,  my  tongue  dares  not  utter  it.  I, 
O  sweet  Queen! — I  Thy  lowest  servant,  be- 
lieve and  confess  that  Thou  didst  spring 
from  the  root  of  Jesse  without  any  stain  of 
sin,  and  didst  come  forth  from  the  corrupted 
stock  of  Adam  entirely  free  from  corrup- 
tion. And  through  this  Thy  supereminent 
purity,  through  this  grace  of  original  jus- 
tice, I  beseech  Thee  draw  me  to  the  love  of 
Thy  beauty,  attract  me  to  the  imitation  of 
Thy  sanctity.  Give  me  a  pure  soul,  an  un- 
sullied heart,  a  chaste  body,  a  willing  mind, 
that  I  may  prove  my  devotion  to  Thee  by 
my  actions  and  my  desires,  and  may  thus 
deserve  a  share  in  Thy  bliss,  yonder  where 
Thou  art  seated  on  the  right  hand  of  Thy 
Son,  throughout  all  eternity." 


It  is  unwise  and  unwholesome  when  the 
emotional  element  in  religion  is  allowed  to 
take  the  p^ace  of  common  sense  and  self- 
respect,  —  when  the  religious  sentiment 
runs  to  the  emotional,  rather  than  to  duty, 
character,  obligation,  service. 

There  is  an  old  French  proverb  which 
says:  "The  best  prayers  are  those  which 
are  said  with  the  nightcap  on" — the  last  as 
we  kneel  at  our  bedside  at  night,  the  first 
on  rising  in  the  morning. 


The  Miraculous  Medal. 


R.  F.  C. ,  m  "  The  Month: ' 

THE  sinister  predictions  of  some  of  the  in- 
opportunist  bishops  at  the  time  of  the 
definition  of  the  dogma  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  of  our  Blessed  Lady  have  been 
strikingly  falsified  by  events.  Not  only  has  the 
Church  suffered  no  loss — even  among  those  of 
her  children  whose  faith  was  weak  and  loyalty 
doubtful — by  reason  of  the  honor  accorded 
some  thirty  years  since  to  the  Holy  Mother  of 
God,  but  there  has  been  a  remarkable  growth 
of  fervor  and  devotion  among  Catholics,  espec- 
ially as  regards  all  the  various  manifestations 
of  love  and  reverence  for  the  Incarnation  of  our 
Blessed  L,ord,and  all  the  doctrines  that  cluster 
round  this  august  mystery.  Through  Mary, 
Jesus  has  been  honored  with  a  more  devoted 
love  than  ever;  through  Mary  He  has  won 
countless  souls  who  seemed  to  be  lost  in  the 
depths  of  sin;  through  Mary  He  has  shown 
His  miraculous  power,  both  in  the  far  simpler 
task  of  healing  the  diseased  body,  and  in  the 
more  difficult  task  of  healing  the  soul  from 
which  the  life  of  grace  seemed  to  have  de- 
parted never  to  return.  Witness  lyourdes  and 
its  countless  wonders;  witness  other  places  of 
pilgrimage  honored  with  miraculous  favors 
scarcely  less  wonderful  from  the  Queen  of 
Heaven;  witness  Our  Lady  of  Help  and  Our 
Lady  of  Good  Counsel,  the  devotion  to  whom, 
once  confined  to  a  single  shrine,  has  now  be- 
come world-wide. 

Of  all  these  signs  of  the  unceasing  love  of 
Mary  and  of  an  increasing  love  for  Her,  there 
is  none  that  has  been  more  widely  spread  than 
the  little  medal  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion, which  has  been  received  by  the  Catholic 
world  with  the  acclamation  of  an  universal 
testimony  to  its  wondrous  efficacy.  Still, famil- 
iar as  it  is  to  us  all,  and  very  dear  to  many, 
there  are  but  few  who  know  anything  of  its 
origin  and  its  history;  and  a  short  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  bestowed,  and  the., 
character  of  the  wonders  wrought  through  it, 
may  be  interesting  to  our  readers.  If  any  of 
them  in  the  perusal  are  led  to  a  greater  devo- 
tion to  Her  who  communicated  it  to  one  of 
Her  faithful  clients,  and  to  a  more  implicit 
confidence  in  Her  "suppliant  omnipotence," 
it  will  not  have  been  written  in  vain. 


542 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Among  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul 
at  the  convent  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine 
at  Paris,  in  1830,  was  one  called  Sister  Cath- 
erine. Her  name  in  the  world  was  Zoe  La- 
boure.  She  was  born  in  the  village  of  Fain-les- 
Mcutiers,  in  theC6te-d"0r,  not  far  from  Dijon. 
Left  an  orphan  when  she  was  eight  years  old, 
she  became  at  a  very  early  age  mistress  of  her 
father's  house,  owing  to  the  departure  of  her 
elder  sister  for  the  Convent  of  St.  Vincent. 
Poor  Zoe's  longing  thoughts  turned  in  the 
same  direction,  but  she  had  many  years  to 
wait  before  God  granted  the  fulfilment  of  her 
desires.  At  home  she  led  a  life  of  obedience, 
labor,  and  devotion,  preparing  for  her  future 
life  as  her  Lord  and  Master  in  the  humble 
house  of  Nazareth  had  prepared  for  His  future 
ministry.  At  the  parish  church  she  was  seen 
with  unfailing  regularity,  kneeling  on  the 
flags  even  in  the  depth  of  winter.  She  fasted 
every  Friday  and  Saturday  in  honor  of  Our 
Lord's  Passion  and  of  the  Holy  Mother  of 
God,  seeking  with  pious  cunning  to  hide  from 
her  father  her  practice. 

But,  though  she  loved  to  visit  the  Convent 
of  St.  Vincent  at  the  neighboring  town,  and 
had  determined,  if  it  were  God's  will,  to 
enter  religion,  she  prudently  abstained  from 
fixing  on  one  rathfsr  than  on  another  religious 
community,  until  the  will  of  God  was  defin- 
itively made  known  to  her  by  a  dream.  She 
seemed  to  be  at  the  village  church,  kneeling 
in  a  chapel  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Souls.  An 
old  priest,  of  reverential  aspect  and  a  remark- 
able countenance,  appeared  in  sacerdotal  vest- 
ments, and  said  Mass  in  her  presence.  At  the 
end  of  Mass  he  beckoned  her  to  him,  but  in 
her  fear  she  seemed  to  walk  backwards  out 
of  the  church,  with  her  eyes  continually  fixed 
on  him.  Then  she  thought  she  went  to  visit 
a  sick  person  in  the  village,  but  she  had  no 
sooner  entered  the  house  than  the  venerable 
priest  again  appeared  to  her,  and  spoke  thus: 

My  child,  you  run  away  from  me  now,  but 
one  day  you  will  esteem  it  your  greatest  hap- 
piness to  come  to  me.  God  has  His  designs 
x)n  you — remember  that. ' '  Once  more  she  fled 
in  fear,  and  sought  her  father's  house,  seem- 
ing to  herself  to  be  walking  on  the  air  as  she 
did  so;  but  at  the  moment  she  entered  she 
awoke,  and  found  she  had  been  only  dream- 
ing. 

She  was  then  eighteen,  of  inferior  educa- 
tion, and  conscious  of  her  deficiencies.  It  hap- 


pened that  her  sister-in-law  kept  a  boarding- 
school  at  Cbatillon-sur-Seine,  which  was  not 
far  from  her  home;  Zoe  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  go  there  for  a  short  time  to  improve  her- 
self, and  her  father  consented.  One  day  she 
went  in  company  with  her  sister-in-law  to 
see  the  Sisters  of  Charity  at  Chatillon,  On 
entering  the  parlor  she  stopped  in  amaze- 
ment before  a  picture  that  hung  there.  It  was 
an  exact  likeness  of  the  old  man  whom  she 
had  seen  in  her  dream!  Needless  to  say  it 
was  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  and  from  that  time 
Zoe  recognized  it  as  the  will  of  God  that  she 
should  hereafter  become  one  of  his  children 
in  religion. 

She  did  not  remain  long  at  Chdtillon.  Her 
desire  to  consecrate  herself  to  God  now  be- 
came stronger  than  ever,  and  had  assumed  a 
definite  character,  which  prompted  her  to 
seek  for  its  speedy  realization.  She  communi- 
cated her  design  to  one  of  the  Sisters  at  Cha- 
tillon before  she  left,  and  on  returning  home 
asked  her  father's  permission  to  enter.  But 
the  poor  old  man,  who  had  already  given 
his  eldest  daughter  to  God  in  religion,  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  part  with  Zoe,  who 
had  now  for  many  years  managed  his  house 
most  prudently.  In  the  hope  of  turning  her 
from  her  design,  he  sent  her  to  Paris  to  one 
of  her  brothers,  who  kept  a  restaurant  there, 
and  charged  him  to  do  all  he  could  to  change 
her  mind,  by  continual  occupations  and  a 
round  of  amusements.  Vain  attempt  of  poor 
feeble  man  to  frustrate  the  designs  of  God! 
Life  at  Paris,  so  distasteful  to  Zoe,  made  her 
long  more  ardently  than  ever  after  the  peace 
and  happiness  of  a  religious  life.  Cruel  in- 
deed were  the  sufferings  of  that  holy  soul, 
longing  after  God,  during  those  years  of  un- 
congenial occupation  and  surroundings.  After 
some  time,  remembering  her  sister-in-law's 
kindness  to  her  at  Chdtillon,  she  wrote  and 
begged  her  to  come  to  her  assistance.  Her 
sister-in-law  invited  her  to  pay  her  a  visit, 
wrote  to  her  father,  and  finally  obtained  for 
her  the  permission  so  long  desired.  In  the 
beginning  of  1830  she  was  received  into  the 
convent  at  Chatillon.  Happily  for  her,  she 
had  from  the  first  as  her  director  M  Aladel,  a 
most  holy  priest  and  true  son  of  St,  Vincent 
de  Paul,  whose  prudence,  sound  judgment, 
long  experience,  and  solid  piety  made  him  a 
most  suitable  guide  for  Zoe  Laboure,  now 
Sister  Catherine. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


543 


Shortly  after  she  entered  the  seminary,* 
the  ceremony  of  the  Translation  of  the  Relics 
of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  to  the  chapel  at  Saint- 
I^azare  took  place.  Sister  Catherine  was  pres- 
ent, and  as  she  prayed  to  the  Saint  for  France, 
for  the  religious  conimunity  to  which  she  be- 
longed, and  for  herself,  she  saw  his  heart  ap- 
pear above  the  reliquary,  while  a  voice  within 
spoke  to  her  of  the  sorrow  that  St,  Vincent 
felt  for  all  the  troubles  that  were  coming  on 
France.  M.  Aladel  advised  her  to  take  no 
notice  of  her  fancied  vision.  But  others  soon 
followed:  during  Holy  Mass  she  frequently 
saw  Our  I,ord  present  before  her.future  events 
became  known  to  her,  and  the  result  justified 
her  predictions. 

We  are  not  attempting  a  I^ife  of  Sister 
Catherine,  and  we  must  hasten  on  to  the  par- 
ticular revelation  with  which  we  are  con- 
cerned. But  a  brief  sketch  of  her  subsequent 
career  and  of  her  personal  character  is  almost 
necessary  as  an  introduction  to  the  devotion 
which  it  was  her  privilege  to  be  the  means  of 
communicating  to  mankind.    . 

Sister  Catherine  was  clothed  in  1831,  and 
placed  in  a  hospital  attended  by  the  Sisters  of 
Charity,  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  at  Paris. 
She  was  employed  first  in  the  kitchen,  then  in 
the  laundry,  and  after  this  for  forty  years  in 
tending  the  old  men  in  the  Hospice  d'  Enghien, 
and  in  looking  after  the  poultry-yard.  To  these 
humble  offices  she  devoted  herself  with  all  her 
heart.  She  never  cared  to  go  out  for  a  walk, 
loving  to  remain  with  the  poor  who  were  so 
dear  to  her, — the  only  exception  being  when 
she  had  the  chance  of  visiting  the  house  of 
the  community.  In  fact,  the  walk  from  the 
hospital  to  the  community  house  was  the  only 
part  of  Paris  with  which  she  was  acquainted. 
During  the  forty-six  years  she  was  in  the 
hospital  at  Enghien,  she  was  never  known  to 
say  a  word  against  charity.  Her  gentleness 
and  sweetness  to  those  placed  under  her  were 
the  more  remarkable  because  she  had  natu- 
rally a  very  lively  temper.  She  was  also  of  a 
rather  impulsive  disposition,  and  for  some 
time  after  she  joined  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
the  effort  to  keep  herself  in  check  was  mani- 
fest to  all  around  her.  Bodily  sufferings  were 
not  wanting  to  her,  in  spite  of  her  strong 


*  In  the  communities  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul, 
the  seminary  is  the  equivalent  of  the  novitiate 
of  religious  orders. 


constitution.  A  curious  circumstance  was  ob- 
served in  connection  with  them:  all  the  great 
feasts  of  Our  I^ady,  and  especially  the  Im- 
maculate Conception,  brought  her  invariably 
some  painful  ailment  or  accident.  AH  her 
Sisters  were  struck  with  her  wonderful  devo- 
tion to  the  Holy  Mother  of  God,  and  this 
although  they  knew  little  or  nothing  of  the 
supernatural  revelations  vouchsafed  to  her. 
Sometimes  she  would  drop  a  word  that  showed 
'how  much  she  learned  from  her  heavenly 
Friend  and  Mistress.  When  the  Commune 
was  destroying  the  religious  houses  of  Paris, 
one  of  her  Sisters  was  very  anxious  about  the 
safety  of  their  house,  which  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  band  of  Communists,  and  was  said  to 
have  been  pillaged.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  said 
Sister  Catherine;  "Our  Lady  is- keeping  it  all 
safe.  She  has  promised  to  do  so."  Of  course 
she  had  a  great  devotion  to  the  Rosary,  and 
deemed  the  daily  recital  of  it  a  matter  of  no 
small  importance.  Indeed,  the  only  point  on 
which  she  was  inclined  to  be  severe  in  her 
condemnation  was  any  sort  of  carelessness  or 
wilful  distraction  while  saying  it.  Her  Sisters 
were  often  struck  with  the  grave,  pious,  lov- 
ing tone  in  which  she  repeated  the  Angelical 
Salutation, 

But  it  is  time  to  speak  of  the  special  revela- 
tion which  has  made  Sister  Laboure's  life 
one  of  great  importance  in  the  annals  of  the 
Church,  The  details  of  it  were  repeated  by 
her,  in  the  first  instance,  to  her  director,  who, 
though  he  carefully  pooh-poohed  the  whole 
story  to  Sister  Catherine,  took  notes  of  what 
she  told  him.  She  herself  never  thoug'ht  of 
writing  down  a  word,  and  showed  the  great- 
est reluctance  to  do  so.  For  twenty-five  years 
she  wrote  nothing.  It  was  not  till  1856, when 
events  had  shown  the  credibility  of  the  reve- 
lations made  to  her,  and  the  wonders  wrought 
by  the  medal  had  become  famous  all  over  the 
world,  that,  by  the  order  of  M.  Aladel,  she  com- 
mitted to  paper  an  account  of  Our  Lady's  ap- 
pearance to  her.  Twenty  years  later  she  wrote 
out  the  whole  account  afresh  and  a  third  nar- 
rative, without  any  date,  was  found  among  her 
papers.  These  three  accounts  agree  perfectly 
in  all  substantial  matters,  and  the  little  vari- 
ations of  detail  are  a  sufficient  proof  that  they 
were  written  independently  of  one  another. 

It  had  long  been  the  ardent  desire  of  Sister 
Catherine  to  see  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  many 
and  fervent  were  the  prayers  which  in  the  sim- 


544 


The  Ave  Maria. 


plicity  of  her  heart  sheoflfered  to  her  guardian 
angel,  to  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  and  to  Our  Lady 
Herself.  On  July  i8,  1830,  the  vigil  of  the 
Feast  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  she  had  been 
listening  to  an  instruction  on  devotion  to 
Mary,  which  had  increased  her  previous  de- 
sire. That  night  she  went  to  sleep  recommend- 
ing herself  to  St.  Vincent,  with  great  confi- 
dence that  her  prayers  were  going  to  be  heard. 

Towards  midnight  she  heard  a  voice  calling 
her:  "Sister  Laboure!"  The  words  were  re- 
peated three  times.  She  woke  up,  drew  aside 
the  curtain  of  her  bed,  and  beheld  to  her 
astonishment  a  little  child  apparently  about 
four  or  five  years  old,  exquisitely  beautiful, 
with  fair  hair,  and  dressed  in  white.  From  his 
whole  body  there  seemed  to  issue  forth  bright 
rays  of  light,,  which  illuminated  everything 
around.  ' '  Come, ' '  he  said  in  a  sweet,  melodi- 
ous voice, — "come  to  the  chapel;  Our  Lady 
is  expecting  you  there."  "But,"  said  Cath- 
erine to  herself,  ' '  I  shall  be  heard ' '  (she  was 
sleeping  in  a  large  dormitory),  "and  shall  be 
found  out."  "Don't  be  afraid,"  rejoined  the 
child,  interpreting  her  thoughts;  "it  is  half- 
past  eleven,  and  every  one  is  asleep.  I'll  come 
along  with  you."  At  these  words  Catherine 
could  no  longer  resist.  She  dressed  herself 
quickly,  and  followed  the  child,  who  walked 
on  her  left,  pouring  rays  of  light  wherever  he 
went.  Everywhere  the  lamps  seemed  to  be 
lighted,  to  the  Sister's  great  astonishment. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  chapel, 
the  child  touched  it  with  the  end  of  his  finger, 
and  lo!  the  door  opened  of  itself.  The  chapel 
was  all  illuminated,  as  at  a  midnight  Mass. 

Catherine's  guide  led  her  up  to  the  altar- 
rails,aDd  himself  entering  thesanctuary  stood 
on  the  Gospel  side  of  the  altar.  For  a  short, 
time  (which  seemed  very  long  to  Catherine) 
she  knelt  there  and  saw  nothing,  but  suddenly 
the  child  cried  out  to  her, ' '  Here  is  Our  Lady: 
here  She  comes!"  At  the  same  moment 
Catherine  heard  something  like  the  rustle  of 
a  dress  and  soon  a  Lady  of  exquisite  beauty 
came,  and  sat  in  the  sanctuary  on  the  left 
side,  in  the  place  usually  occupied  by  the 
director  of  the  community.  The  dress,  the 
attitude,  the  general  appearance,  bore  a  close 
resemblance  to  a  picture  of  St.  Anne  hanging 
on  the  wall  of  the  sanctuary.  The  countenance 
alone  differed,  and  for  a  moment  Sister  Cath- 
erine hesitated  as  to  whether  it  were  Our  Lady 
or  not.  Then  the  child,  speaking  in  a  deep 


voice  and  severe  tone,  reproved  her  incredu- 
lity, asking  her  whether  it  was  not  in  the 
power  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven  to  appear  to  a 
poor  mortal  in  whatever  form  She  pleased.  At 
these  words  all  hesitation  ceased,  and  Sister 
Laboure,  following  the  impulse  of  her  heart, 
drew  near  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  knelt  at  Her 
feet,  and  placed  her  hands  on  Her  lap,  as  a 
child  does  when  beside  his  mother's  knee. 

"At  this  moment,"  says  the  Sister  in  her 
account  of  the  apparition, ' '  I  felt  the  sweetest 
emotion  I  ever  experienced.  Our  Lady  ex- 
plained to  me  how  I  must  behave  in  all  my 
troubles,  and,  pointing  to  the  foot  of  the  altar, 
She  told  me  to  come  and  throw  myself  there 
in  time  of  sorrow,  and  pour  out  my  heart,  and 
that  I  should  there  receive  all  the  consolations 
I  needed.  Then  she  added:  'My  child,  I  am 
going  to  confide  to  you  a  mission.  You  will 
have  plenty  of  troubles,  but  you  will  overcome 
them,  through  the  thought  that  it  is  all  for  the 
glory  of  God.  You  will  be  contradicted,  but 
fear  not:  you  will  have  abundant  graces.  Tell 
all  that  takes  place  in  you  with  simplicity  and 
confiden«e.  You  will  see  certain  things,  you 
will  receive  inspirations  in  your  prayers:  give 
an  account  of  them  to  him  who  has  care  of 
your  soul.'  " 

Our  Lady  then  proceeded  to  tell  of  all  the 
dangers  that  were  impending  over  France, and 
the  terrible  crisis  through  which  the  country 
would  have  to  pass,  enumerating  certain  cal- 
amities which  happened  exactly  at  the  time 
and  with  the  details  that  were  revealed  to 
Sister  Catherine.  How  long  ^e  remained 
there,  the  Sister  could  not  say;  all  she  knew 
was  that  after  Our  Lady  had  talked  long  with 
her,  She  vanished  like  a  shadow.  The  fair 
child  standing  by  the  altar  cried  out,  "She's 
gone!"  and  once  more  placing  himself  on 
the  left  of  the  Sister,  he  led  her  back  the 
same  way  as  he  had  brought  her  again  diffus- 
ing around  him  a  heavenly  brightness.  "I 
think,"  added  the  Sister,  '  that  this  child 
was  my  angel  guardian,  because  I  had  often 
asked  him  to  obtain  for  me  the  favor  of  seeing 
our  Blessed  Lady.  .  .  .  When  I  got  back  to  bed 
I  heard  the  clock  strike  two,  and  I  did  not 
fall  asleep  again. ' ' 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


That  which  deceives  us  and  does  us  harm, 
also  undeceives  us  and  does  us  good. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


545 


Catholic  Notes. 

We  called  attention  a  week  or  two  ago  to 
the  beautiful  gift  presented  to  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther in  honor  of  his  Jubilee  by  King  Albert 
of  Saxony,  who,  with  pious  zeal  and  filial  de- 
votion, caused  a  faithful  and  artistic  reproduc- 
tion to  be  made  of  one  of  the  Biblia  Pauperum 
which  circulated  among  the  faithful  during 
the  Middle  Ages.  As  explained  in  the  note, 
these  manuscripts  —  the  illuminated  handi- 
work of  devoted  monks— contained  the  prin- 
cipal portions  of  Scripture  bearing  upon  im- 
portant dogmas  of  religion,  illustrated  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  impress  them  upon  the  mind 
of  those  who  were  unable  to  read. 

The  existence  of  these  works  of  art  is  a 
standing  refutation  of  the  charge  so  often 
made  against  the  Church,  that  she  withheld 
the  written  word  of  God  from  the  people. 
They  show  that  not  only  is  the  charge  untrue, 
but  that  the  very  best  means  was  adopted  by 
the  Church  in  those  ' '  dark  ages ' '  to  bring  the 
great  teachings  of  the  Bible  before  the  minds 
of  all.  

The  beauty  and  fitness  of  that  versicle  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  which  the  Church  so  often  loves 
to  sing,  Cundas  hareses  sola  interemisH,  thus 
applying  to  Her  the  title  of  "Destroyer  of 
heresies, ' '  is  illustrated  in  an  article  on  ' '  Prot- 
estantism in  Spain ' '  in  the  current  number  of 
the  American  Catholic  Quarterly  Review.  The 
writer  well  says  that  one  of  the  principal 
causes  of  the  failure  of  Protestantism  to  ' '  root 
itself  in  the  Spanish  mind  and  heart  was  its 
opposition  to  the  honoring  of,  or  devotion  to, 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  This  devotion,"  contin- 
ues the  writer,  "intimately  connected  with 
the  most  heroic  acts  of  the  Spaniards  in  their 
long-protracted  struggles  with  the  Moors; 
thoroughly  interwoven  with  all  that  is  Span- 
ish— literature,  art.  legislation;  the  source  of 
inspiration  both  for  the  masterpieces  of  Mu- 
rillo  and  for  the  noble  deeds  of  Spanish  chiv- 
alry; spoken  of  and  praised  and  regulated 
by  the  oldest  laws  of  Spain;  preserved  with- 
out alteration  both  in  the  statute  books  of 
Spain  and  in  Spanish  hearts  down  to  our  own 
days:  witnessed  by  the  very  language  of 
the  people,  who  utter  the  exclamation, '.<4z;^ 
Maria  purissima'  whenever  an  occasion  of 
surprise,  or  joy,  or  sorrow,  or  any  other  emo- 


tion, presents  itself  to  their  souls— can  not  by 
any  means  be  eradicated,  or  dimmed,  or  oblit- 
erated, or  even  spoken  of  disrespectfully,  in 
any  Spanish  country.  It  was  under  the  banner 
of  Our  Lady  of  Covadonga  that  the  Spaniards 
reconquered  their  country  from  the  hated 
Moors.  It  was  under  the  flag  of  Our  Lady  of 
Guadalupe  that  the  Mexicans  secured  their 
independence  The  glories  of  Lepanto  are  in- 
separable from  the  name  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary.  And  the  Spanish  victory  over  Napo- 
leon, and  the  recovery  of  Spanish  independ- 
ence, can  never  be  remembered  without  unit- 
ing with  them  heroic  Zaragoza  and  its  most 
revered  palladium,  the  Virgin  of  the  Pillar. 
Against  the  rock  of  this  devotion  all  Protes- 
tant attempts  will  end  in  failure. ' ' 


A  program  for  the  celebration  of  the  Holy 
Father's  Jubilee  has  been  arranged.  On 
the  31st  inst.  he  will  receive  an  international 
deputation.  On  the  ist  of  January  he  will 
celebrate  his  Jubilee  Mass  in  St.  Peter's.  On 
that  day  or  the  previous  day  he  will  receive 
in  audience  the  Cardinals  and  other  prelates, 
the  Roman  nobles,  and  distinguished  person- 
ages from  abroad.  On  the  2d  will  be  held  the 
solemn  "Academy"  in  the  Basilica  of  San 
Lorenzo.  On  the  3d,  4th,  and  5th  he  will  re- 
ceive the  great  Italian  pilgrimage  and  depu- 
tations from  the  Catholics  of  all  lands.  On  the 
6th  he  will  open  at  the  Vatican  the  exhibition 
of  the  Jubilee  offerings.  From  the  6th  to 
Sunday,  the  14th,  he  will  give  more  collective 
audiences  to  the  pilgrims;  and  on  the  14th  and 
the  succeeding  Sundays  he  will  solemnize  in 
the  great  hall  above  the  portico  of  St.  Peter's 
the  canonizations  and  beatifications  already 
announced. 

Few  there  are  among  the  children  of  the 
Church  to  whom,  at  times  the  ordinary  expe- 
riences of  everyday  life  do  not  bring  the  most 
consoling  confirmations  of  the  faith  which 
they  profess,  and  of  the  truth  and  security  of 
the  Fold  into  which  they  have  been  happily 
gathered.  As  an  instance  we  present  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  a  letter  recently  received, 
in  which  the  writer  narrates  an  incident  which 
afforded  a  very  practical  illustration  of  one  of 
the  great  marks  of  the  Church  of  Christ: 

"We  spent  the  three  nights  and  two  days  of 
the  recent  lake  storm  in  a  snug  little  harbor  at 
one  of  the  Manitou  isles.  For  the  first  twenty-four 


5^6 


The  Ave  Afa?'ia. 


hours  we  were  moored  to  the  docks,  but  when  the 
wind  bee  irae  more  violent  the  captain  wavS  forced 
to  cut  loose,  and  tru^t  to  the  anchor  alone.  It 
was  during  the  first  twenty-four  hours,  and  the 
cables  that  held  us  to  the  dock  creaked  dismally, 
and  the  knocking  of  the  steamer  agiinst  the 
wharf  sounded  verj'  ominous.  I  was  sitting  rather 
apart  from  the  others,  and  it  was  not  unnatural 
that  the  words  of  the  Salve  Regina  should  find 
their  utterance  from  me.  I  said  the  prayer  softly 
to  myself  at  first,  and  then  it  struck  me  that  as  no 
one  was  near,  and  no  one  could  understand,  I 
might  give  myself  the  full  consolation  of  the 
words.  The  only  other  passenger  near  me  was  a 
Polish  girl,  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  who  could 
scarcely  speak  a  word  of  any  language  save  her 
own ;  she  was  under  the  captain's  care,  on  the  way 
to  Milwaukee  to  enter  service  Without  doubt  she 
belonged  to  the  illiterate  class,  for  whose  sake  so 
many  rail  against  the  Latin  liturgy.  As  I  sang, 
'O  Clemens,  O  pia,  O  dulcis  Virgo  Maria!"  she 
turned  on  me  a  look  of  glad  surprise;  and  as  I 
repeated  the  words,  all  expression  of  fear  passed 
from  her  countenance.  I  next  sang  the  Ave  Maris 
5'/^//fl,  softly  but  distinctly,  and  when  I  finished 
there  was  a  complete  understanding  between  us: 
we  had  both  placed  ourselves  under  the  protection 
of  the  Star  of  the  Sea.  I  never  again  saw  her  look 
terrified;  when  others  were  fright'^ned, she  would 
look  at  me  with  an  expression  which  said,  'We 
know  whom  to  trust.'  When  at  last  the  storm 
abated,  and  we  were  watching  the  receding  land 
as  we  steamed  out  of  our  haven  of  safety,  she  was 
again  standing  by  me.  I  turned  to  her,  and  chanted 
in  an  undertone, '  Te  Deum  laudamus.  te  Domimim 
confitemur.'  Again  I  was  perfectly  understood, 
and  she  moved  to  a  more  retired  position,  and. 
wearing  a  look  of  jubilant  gratitude,  repeated 
something  to  herself— I  think  the  rest  of  the  Te 
Deum;  for  as  I  continued  the  chant  sh2  occasion- 
ally turned  to  me,  nodding  her  head  especially 
when  she  heard  the  notes  of  the  melody  which 
accompanies  the  'Sanctus,'  etc.  This  experience 
seems  to  me  a  most  beautiful  and  touching  illus 
tration  of  the  glorious  and  consoling  universality 
of  the  Church."         

During  the  recent  epidemic  of  yellow  fever 
in  Florida  two  marked  instances  were  given 
of  that  singular  heroism  which  characterizes 
the  priests  and  religious  of  the  Church  in  the 
fulfilment  of  the  duties  of  their  holy  vocation. 
The  first  ''martyr  to  duty"  was  the  Rev. 
Father  Peterman,  rector  of  the  church  at 
Tampa,  who  from  the  time  the  plague  broke 
out  was  constantly  by  the  bedside  of  the  vic- 
tims, ministering  to  their  wants  both  temporal 
and  spiritual,  until  at  length  he  himself  died 
of  the  dread  disease.   Father  Swemberg,  of 


I  Orlando,  immediately  took  his  place,  and  ren- 
I  den  d  noble  service,  until  he  too  was  stricken 
down,  and  in  a  few  short  days  was  carried 
away.  There  were  also  two  Sisters  of  Charity 
who  fell  martyrs  to  their  zeal  and  charity  in 
behalf  of  the  plague-stricken. 

The  Golden  Jubilee  of  the  Rev.  Father 
Damen,  S  J.,  whose  name  is  .so  well  known 
throughout  the  West,  both  among  Catholics 
and  Protestants,  was  celebrated  recently  in 
Chicago  at  the  Chu-^ch  of  the  Holy  Family 
with  special  services,  presided  over  by  the 
Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Feehan,  and  attended 
by  a  very  large  number  of  people.  High  Mass 
was  sung  by  Father  Damen  himself,  forty- 
five  of  the  leading  voices  of  the  city  and  a  full 
orchestra  contributing  the  music.  An  appro- 
priate sermon  was  preached  by  one  of  Father 
Damen's  old  pupils,  the  Rev.  Father  Fitz- 
gerald, S.J.  The  evening  exercises  consisted 
of  Solemn  Benediction,  at  which  the  Papal 
Blessing  was  given,  and  an  address  to  Father 
Damen  read  by  one  of  Chicago's  most  prom- 
inent Catholic  citizens,  W.  J.  Onahan,  Esq. 
Father  Damen  in  reply  briefly  and  modestly 
reviewed  his  work  as  a  priest,  and  said  that  he 
had  never  thought  that  it  would  be  blest  with 
so  much  success.  Most  of  our  readers  know 
Father  Damen,  either  personally  or  by  reputa- 
tion, and  will  unite  with  us  in  the  wish  that 
he  may  be  spared  for  many  years,  to  continue 
the  work  which  is  the  crowning  glory  of  his 
old  age. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  soon 
after  the  proclaimed  independence  of  the 
United  States,  the  Portuguese  Minister  to  this 
Government  was  a  priest — the  Abb6  Correa.  ^ 
He  was  an  accomplished  scholar  and  a  man  of 
edifying  life,  and  had  been  chaplain  to  Kosci- 
usko. The  Abbe  Correa  was  also  a  member 
of  the  French  Academy  and  founder  of  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Lisbon. — Catholic  Union. 


A  correspondent  of  one  of  our  English 
exchanges  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
title ' '  Queen  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary ,  pray  for 
us, ' '  is  not  in  general  use  in  churches  where 
the  Litany  of  Loreto  is  sung.  It  may  be  that 
the  same  remark  is  applicable  to  church  choirs 
in  this  country.  We  are  all  aware,  of  course, 
that  the  petition  "Queen  of  the  Most  Holy 
Rosary,  pray  for  us,"  has  long  been  recited  and 
sung  in  Dominican  churches;  but  it  is  of  no 


The  Ave  Maria. 


547 


distant  date  since  his  Holiness  Pope  Leo  XIII. 
commanded  that  our  Blessed  Lady  should  be 
addressed  under  the  title  ''Regina  Sacratis- 
simi  RosarW  in  all  churches  wherever  Her 
lyitany  was  sung;  and  the  same  command 
must,  of  course,  apply  to  private  use.  It  seems 
strange  indeed  that  choirs  conducted  by  priests 
should  sing  the  Litany  of  Our  Lady  at  Bene- 
diction without  giving  Her  all  Her  titles, 
since  the  one  of  which  we  speak  is  certainly 
a  "title"  added  by  command  of  our  Holy 
Father.  

On  Thursday,  November  3d,  private  pontif- 
ical audience  was  accorded  to  the  Very  Rev. 
Edward  Sorin,  Superior- General  of  the  Con- 
gregation of  the  Holy  Cross,  with  residence  at 
Notre  Dame,  Indiana,  U.  S.,  in  company  with 
Mgr.  Dufal,  Procurator-General  of  that  Con- 
gregation in  Rome,  who  presented,  as  Jubilee 
offering  from  the  Congregation  over  which 
he  presides,  a  superb  copy,  in  antique  yellow 
marble,  of  the  celebrated  painting  of  the  Ma- 
donna della  Sedia,  the  first  reproduction  in 
sculpture  of  that  masterpiece  of  art.  The  Very 
Rev.  Father  Sorin  further  presented  a  hand- 
somely bound  volume  of  The  '  'Ave;  Maria,  ' ' 
the  weekly  periodical  in  honor  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  published  at  Notre  Dame.  The  Pope 
was  pleased  greatly  to  admire  the  two  gifts, 
and  to  impart  to  each  and  every  member  of 
that  religious  Congregation  the  Apostolic 
Benediction. — Roman  Correspondence,  London 
Tablet.  

Obituary. 

"  //  ts  a  holy  and  wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  a  Mach.,  xii..  4fc. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com 
mended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Mrs.  Leonard  Schmauss,  whose  happy  death  oc- 
curred at  Rockford,  111.,  on  the  i8th  ult.  She  was 
remarkable  for  saint-like  faith,  and  her  life  pre- 
sented an  example  of  every  virtue. 

Dr.  Charles  E.  McGowan,  of  South  Boston, 
Mass.,  who  departed  this  life  on  the  12th  ult. 

Mr.  Francis  Cassidy,  a  devout  servant  of  Mary, 
who  died  a  happy  death  last  month  in  Baltimore. 

Mr.  Patrick  Gibbons,  of  Crum  Lynne,  Pa.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  15th  ult.,  fortified  by  the  last 
Sacraments. 

John  S.Rorke, of  Dublin, Ireland;  Mrs. Joanna 

Cahill,  Peru,  111. ;  Mrs. O'Brien,  Big  Rapids, 

Mich. ;  and  Aloysius  Dillon,  Chenoa,  III. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


PAll'mENX 


The  Immaculate  Conception. 


BY    M.    A. 

ipj  BLESSED  Mary,  Virgin  Queen, 
^    Enthroned  in  royal  state, 
Thy  loving  children,  on  this  day, 

Hail  Thee  Immaculate! 
Angels  rejoice  to-day  in  heaven. 

While  we  rejoice  on  earth. 
That  Thou  art  purer  still  than  they, 

And  yet  of  mortal  birth. 

Unconscious  Nature  homage  pays 

To  Thy  bright  purity: 
To  greet  Thy  Feast,  she  comes  arrayed 

In  bridal  robes  to  Thee. 
A  wedding-garment  she  assumes. 

Fair  as  the  flowers  of  May — 
A  snowy  robe  and  icy  gems. 

In  honor  of  the  day. 

O  Virgin  Blessed!  obtain  for  us 

That  our  poor  hearts  may  be 
As  pure  and  stainless  as  the  snow. 

An  offering  meet  for  Thee. 
And  when  our  parting  hour  shall  come, 

Then  may  our  angels  wait 
To  bear  Thy  children  to  Thy  feet, 

Mary  Immaculate! 


Leo  Marson's  Victory. 


BY   E.  v.  N. 


VL 


Leo  had  a  violent  headache  when  he  left 
the  train,  so  Colonel  Donaldson  took  him 
home  in  a  hack,  first  making  inquiries  of 
his  domestic  concerning  the  health  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marson,  and  his  trip  with  the  boy. 
The  young  cousins  of  Leo  reached  home 
by  the  time  the  little  stranger  had  been  in- 
troduced to  Mrs.  Donaldson,  the  Colonel's 
excellent  mother,  and  to  his  good  wife,  who 
was  called  Albina. 


548 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"Give  Leo  a  cup'of  hot  tea,  and  then  take 
him  to  his  room  and  prepare  him  to  retire; 
a  good  night's  rest  will  revive  him,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "But  first  let  Freddie  and  Leo 
stand  up  together.  Ah!  just  as  I  thought: 
Freddie  is  a  half  head  taller.  They  will  be 
good  friends,  I  am  sure  " 

Both  the  ladies  kissed  the  newcomer,  and 
bade  him  good-night;  then  the  tired  child 
was  taken  up  to  bed,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  Leo  was  awakened 
"by  hearing  morning  prayers  recited  down- 
stairs, and  recognized  the  sonorous  voice  of 
his  guardian  leading  the  family  devotions. 
He  raised  his  head  from  the  pillow,  and 
wondered  whether. he  was  still  dreaming. 
Above  his  nice  little  iron  bedstead  hung  a 
lovely  picture  of  the  Madonna  of  the  Chair; 
on  either  side  were  pretty  pictures  of  young 
saints,  such  as  Stanislaus  Kostka,  Berch- 
mans,  Agnes,  etc. ,  and  everything  seemed 
so  quiet  and  neat  that  he  finally  remem- 
bered he  was  in  Washington.  There  were 
no  broken  toys,  no  whips,  tops,  or  empty 
candy-boxes  scattered  around;  neither  did 
auntie  or  Celina  bid  him  get  out  of  bed. 
He  thought  this  must  be  a  sort  of  paradise, 
and  while  he  was  congratulating  himself 
the  door  opened  very  softly,  and  Master 
Freddie  came  on  tiptoe  to  find  out  how  his 
stranger  cousin  was  getting  on.  Seeing  him 
wide  awake,  the  little  fellow  asked  in  a 
gentle  tone  whether  he  felt  better,  where- 
upon Leo  made  what  he  styled ' '  big  goggle 
eyes,"  and  put  out  his  tongue. 

**Are  you  very  sick?"  inquired  kind- 
hearted  Freddie,  drawing  back  in  alarm. 

"Sick!   No;  why  do  you  ask  that?" 

"Because  we  put  out  our  tongue  when 
we  feel  sick." 

"Oh, my!  is  that  all  the  boys  know  in 
Washington?"  asked  Leo.  And  as  he  pre- 
pared to  rise  he  muttered  to  himself:  "He 
is  an  idiot,  even  if  he  is  taller  and  stronger 
than  I  am ! ' '  But  Freddie  did  not  hear  this 
remark,  having  gone  to  summon  Conrad  to 
aid  his  little  friend. 

When  the  obliging  domestic  had  com- 
pleted Leo's  toilet,  he  inquired  whether  he 
had  said  his  morning  prayers. 


"I  said  a  Pater  and  Ave  in  bed,"  an- 
swered Leo. 

"A  very  familiar  way  of  addressing  Al- 
mighty God,"  remarked  the  servant,  dryly; 
"however,  we  shall  teach  \ou  better." 

After  breakfast,  which  passed  off  charm- 
ingly— for  all  at  the  table  were  very  cheer- 
ful and  polite, — the  cousins  took  their  guest 
to  the  garden.  This  was  qui»e  spacious;  for 
Colonel  Donaldson's  house  was  at  the  in- 
tersection of  one  of  the  avenues,  and  there 
were  handsome  shade  trees  round  it,  and 
plots  of  beautiful  flowers.  A  portion  was 
laid  off  for  croquet  and  lawn  tennis,  and  the 
walks  had  been  lengthened  by  serpentine 
windings,  so  that  a  tricycle  could  run  a  good 
distance  in  this  contracted  space.  They 
gave  Leo  a  ride,  showed  him  all  the  play- 
things which  could  possibly  interest  one  of 
his  age,  and  were  about  to  begin  a  game  of 
croquet,  when  Conrad  rang  a  little  bell,  and 
instantly  every  tongue  was  hushed.  Emma, 
the  only  daughter  of  the  Colonel,  went 
cheerfully  to  the  piano;  Edward  and  Gussie 
entered  the  studio,  where  their  tutor,  Mr. 
Adrian,  was  waiting  for  them;  and  Grandma 
Donaldson,  holding  a  "Little  Catechism," 
beckoned  Freddie  to  her  from  the  parlor 
window.  The  little  fellow  obeyed  promptly, 
but  on  drawing  near  he  inquired  softly: 
"May  we  not  have  a  holiday  in  Leo's 
honor?" 

Mrs.  Donaldson  smilingly  turned  and 
spoke  to  some  person  at  the  other  end  of 
the  apartment;  then  her  son  advanced,  and, 
looking  up  at  the  clear,  cloudless  sky,  said : 
' '  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  day,  and  I  cheerfully 
grant  a  holiday  in  honor  of  Leo's  arrival." 
Then  turning  to  his  wife  he  continued: 
"Suppose  we  drive  to  the  Falls  of  the  Po- 
tomac? It  is  a  place  worth  seeing;  besides, 
we  all  need  some  exercise." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  ob- 
served the  elder  lady;  "I  think  the  children 
are  kept  too  confined,  especially  as  they 
have  continued  their  studies  during  vaca- 
tion." 

' '  Well,  mother,  the  boys  have  not  studied 
over-much.  Besides,  the  period  of  vaca- 
tion is  greatly  prolonged  nowadays,  and  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


549* 


time  spent  in  preparing  for  exhibitions,  and 
the  delay  in  resuming  classes  when  school 
re- opens,  render  the  scholastic  year  very 
shorf." 

"No  doubt  you  are  acting  for  the  best, 
but  I  see  the  children  all  day  long,  and  it 
seems  to  me  Emma  is  failing.  But  now, 
Albina,  make  haste  and  tell  the  boys  they 
are  free  for  to  day. ' ' 

Merry  shouts  rent  the  air,  and  the  next 
moment  all  were  ready  for  a  drive.  The 
carriages  were  promptly  at  the  door,  but 
when  Leo  was  invited  to  take  a  seat  in  his 
Aunt  Albina' s  barouche,  he  very  coolly  an- 
swered :  "I  would  rather  stay  in  the  arbor, 
and  play  with  Freddie's  ball." 

However,  as  he  noticed  a  little  surprise 
ott  the  faces  of  his  new  acquaintances,  he 
concluded  to  go,  but  began  to  show  his 
selfishness  by  asking  Emma  to  change  seats 
with  him,  so  that  he  might  view  the  hand- 
some horses  at  leisure;  by  keeping  his  aunt's 
fan  the  whole  time,  and  every  now  and  then 
expressing  a  wish  to  go  home. 

The  sun  set  gloriously  as  the  gay  party 
returned  to  the  city;  and  when  dinner  was 
announced,  none  did  fuller  justice  to  the 
feast  prepared  for  them  than  the  hitherto 
weary,  sleepy  Leo  Marsou.. 

As  they  arose  from  table  the  letter-carrier 
arrived ;  Colonel  Donaldson  looked  through 
the  mail,  and  opened  a  letter  which  he 
seemed  to  have  been  expecting;  it  was  rap- 
idly perused,  and  then  he  said,  cheerily: 

"Now,  ladies,  here  is  pleasant  news.  The 
cottage  at  Piney  Point  is  in  order,  and  Mr. 
Flynn  has  made  provisions  for  our  stay 
there  during  the  next  fortnight." 

"That  will  carry  us  almost  to  the  last 
days  of  vacation,"  said  the  younger  lady. 
"I  am  very  glad;  the  sea- air  will  do  you 
goo^l,  as  well  as  our  dear  mother  and  the 
young  folks." 

"How  soon  can  you  all  be  ready?"  in- 
quired the  Colonel. 

"Would  the  day  after  to-morrow  be  too 
soon  for  you,  mother?"  asked  Mrs.  Don- 
aldson. 

"Oh!  no — that  is  if  you  wish  me  to  ac- 
company you." 


"We  should  not  dream  of  going  without 
you." 

"  Well,  then,  Conrad  and  I  will  go  and 
select  the  state-rooms  early  to-morrow 
morning,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I  will  report 
to  the  Secretary  of  War,  and,  God  willing, 
we  shall  have  a  delightful  excursion  and 
holiday." 

Leo  frowned  a  little  that  night  when 
Conrad  led  him  aside  with  Freddie  to  say 
a  decade  of  the  Rosary,  while  the  other 
members  of  the  family  recited  the  Beads 
in  common.  However,  he  had  been  trying 
to  keep  up  his  "society  manners,"  as  his; 
godmother  aptly  styled  his  correct  behavior 
on  pressing  occasions;  and  the  effort  cost 
him  so  much  that  he  was  very  weary,  and 
fell  asleep  as  soon  as  his  head  touched  the 
pillow. 

vn. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Eddie 
wrote  a  note  to  Mr.  Adrian  to  inform  him 
that  class  was  suspended  for  the  holidays, 
and  then  he  and  his  brother  Gussie  ran- 
sacked, the  house  for  bows  and  arrows, 
fishing-rods,  etc.  Freddie  and  Leo  went  ta 
the  garden  with  Emma.  Leo  immediately 
took  possession  of  the  tricycle,  and  con- 
tinued riding  around  as  though  he  were 
the  owner  of  it,  and  his  young  hosts  had 
nothing  to  do  but  admire  him.  When  they 
played  croquet  he  would  openly  cheat,  and 
if  attention  were  politely  called  to  it,  he- 
would  giggle,  but  never  think  of  desisting. 
At  length  Emma  grew  tired  of  him,  and 
quietly  seated  herself  at  a  piece  of  embroid- 
ery she  was  preparing  for  Father  Mc- 
Nally's  fair.  She  heard  "I  will"  and  "I 
won't"  a  great  many  times  from  Master 
Leo,  in  response  to  Freddie's  suggestion  to- 
play  this  or  that  game,  and  she  said  to 
herself:  ' '  I  hope  my  good  little  brother  will 
not  imitate  his  new  friend's  manners." 

As  the  sun  began  to  grow  warm  the 
little  fellows  came  in  doors,  and  amused 
themselves  with  magnetic  geese  and  ducks,, 
and  other  toys  illustrating  the  elementary 
principles  of  Natural  Philosophy. 

"Let  us  break  that  swan,"  cried  Leo,. 
' '  and  see  what  makes  it  follow  the  needle?'*" 


5SO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"No,  no!  Eddie  wouldn't  like  it;  the 
toys  are  his," 

"I  don't  believe  he'd  care;  you  are  afraid 
of  that  old  woman." 

Freddie  looked  up  in  amazement,  and  ran 
away  to  his  grandma,  exclaiming, "  Cousin 
Leo  is  wicked!" 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  dear?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Donaldson,  taking  the  child  in 
her  arms ;  ' '  what  has  happened  ? ' ' 

"Leo  was  disrespectful;  he  called  you 
an  'old  woman.'" 

"Well,  my  sweet  Freddie,  I  am  old,  that 
is  true — my  hair  is  nearly  white;  but  you 
Are  right  in  believing  that  my  age  entitles 
me  to  respect.  Leo  is  not  wicked,  but  ill- 
bred." 

"I  never  saw  any  boy  like  him  before; 
but  still  it  is  so  pleasant  to  have  some  one 
to  play  with  that  is  just  my  age." 

"You  must  learn  to  be  patient  with  your 
papa's  ward.  After  a  time  he  will  probably 
-drop  his  uncouth  ways.  But  you  must  re- 
member, dear,  that  Leo's  conduct  is  not  sin- 
ful, but  merely  offensive.  If  I  were  to  run 
■down  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  would  that  be 
a  sin?" 

* '  No,  of  course  not;  but  it  would  be  very 
funny,  grandma. ' ' 

"You  are  right,  darling;  many  things 
are  true  that  it  would  be  unbecoming  to 
assert  without  necessity;  such  as  the  fact 
that  your  grandma  is  an  'old  woman.'  Go 
now  and  play,  and  do  not  forget  that  things 
may  be  improper  without  being  wicked." 

Freddie  found  Leo  intensely  occupied 
when  he  returned  to  the  room  in  which 
they  had  been  amusing  themselves;  but  he 
•was  shocked  when  he  discovered  that  the 
young  mischief-maker  had  emptied  a  box 
of  water- colors  into  a  basin,  which  he  was 
«tirring  vigorously  with  a  sable  hair- brush, 
to  make  an  experiment  in  physics. 

"Brother  Jerome  said  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow  when  mixed  would  produce 
white,"  explained  Leo;  "so  I  thought  I 
would  try  it." 

'*Take  the  cakes  out  quick!"  cried 
SPreddie;  "they  belong  to  Gussie,  and  he 
will  want  them  to  color  his  maps." 


"  Not  at  all ! "  screamed  Leo ; "  I  want  to 
finish!" 

Freddie's  mother,  hearing  the  altercation, 
entered  the  room;  she  was  greatly  aston- 
ished at  seeing  the  mischievous  work  of 
the  little  stranger,  and  quickly  removed 
the  colors,  and  put  them  where  they  would 
dry.  Then  she  locked  upGussie's  treasures, 
gave  the  lads  some  picture-books  and  fairy 
stories,  and  withdrew. 

The  bell  for  lunch  rang,  and  the  ladies 
and  the  children  chatted  merrily  over  what 
had  been  done  and  what  they  intended  to 
do  in  preparation  for  the  visit  to  Piney 
Point.  The  Colonel  had  not  been  idle,  but 
had  secured  whatever  he  fancied  would 
prove  a  source  of  comfort  and  amusement 
to  his  family.  Among  other  things  he  had 
purchased  an  arm-chair  on  wheels  for  his 
venerable  mother,  so  that  she  could  be 
drawn  on  the  beach  and  enjoy  the  invigo- 
rating breezes  from  the  salt-water. 

All  being  in  readiness,  at  the  appointed 
hour  the  captain  of  the  steamer  Swallow 
welcomed  his  guests.  Favorable  winds 
wafted  the  graceful  craft  over  ihe  heaving 
billows,  and  an  ever- changing  series  of  at- 
tractions on  deck  or  on  the  waters  claimed 
the  attention  of  the  passengers.  Colonel 
Donaldson  led  the  older  boys  to  examine 
the  working  of  the  machinery.  Emma, 
Freddie,  and  Leo  watched  the  porpoises, 
the  sea-birds,  and  the  starlike  seaweed  that 
floated  on  the  surface  of  the  foam  created 
by  the  evo"'utions  of  the  mighty  wheels. 
Conrad  smoked,  perused  his  newspaper,  and 
kept  an  eye  on  the  youngest  of  the  party. 
Soon  the  floating  palace  was  moored  at 
Piney  Point, and  after  a  short  walk  the  party 
reached  Seaview  Lodge,  which  had  been 
engaged  for  their  accommodation. 

VIII. 
The  new  habitation  was  a  rambling, 
old-fashioned  farm-house.  Mrs.  Baggs,  the 
landlady,  pointed  out  triumphantly  to  the 
Colonel  and  his  wife  all  the  real  and  imagin- 
ary advantages  of  Seaview,  adding,  "Many 
a  grand  family  has  resided  here,  and  they 
declared  they  never  had  whiter  linen,  a  more 
inviting  table,  or  more  obliging  friends.'* 


The  Ave  Maria. 


55^ 


The  guests  assured  the  housekeeper  of 
their  firm  conviction  of  the  truth  of  her 
statements,  and  then  took  a  turn  around 
the  building  to  select  sleeping  apartments. 
The  result  of  this  inspection  showed  them 
that  Leo  and  Freddie  would  have  to  occupy 
one  wide  bed,  not  far  from  the  sitting-room. 
The  vigilant  mother  did  not  like  this  very 
well,  as  she  still  feared  that  her  son  might 
pick  up  some  of  their  little  guest's  peculiar 
ways.  However,  there  was  no  remedy. 

"Old  Uncle  Pete  can  tell  you  all  the  safe 
and  unsafe  places  for  walking,  bathing, 
etc.,"  said  Mrs.  Baggs,  pointing  from  the 
piazza  to  a  venerable  colored  man  seated 
on  a  pile  of  stones  and  mending  nets;  "he 
knows  every  inch  of  the  shore  for  miles 
above  and  below." 

With  thanks,  the  gay  party  started  away, 
leaving  the  elder  Mrs.  Donaldson  to  keep 
house. 

' '  They  seem  to  be  a  very  happy  family, ' ' 
observed  the  landlady.  ' '  If  any  thing  should 
be  needed,  I  shall  be  glad  to  assist  them.  I 
perceive  they  have  only  a  man- servant." 

"We  are  to  be  served  from  the  hotel,  you 
know.  One  of  the  maids  from  there  will  run 
over  in  the  morning,  and  help  my  daughter 
and  me  with  the  housework;  my  grand- 
daughter also  will  lend  a  hand." 

"An  admirable  arrangement!  It  reminds 
one  of  the  grand  old  families,  in  which  the 
ladies  were  taught  to  be  good  wives  and 
daughters,  as  well  as  good  Christians.  After 
all,  a  woman  can  hardly  be  a  real  lady  un- 
less she  knows  how  to  briug  up  her  family 
in  ways  of  wisdom  and  virtue — but  I  see 
the  others  returning,  so  I  will  bid  you 
good- morning."  And  Mrs.  Baggs  suddenly 
disappeared. 

"Uncle  Pete  has  shown  us  all  the  advan- 
tages and  disadvantages  of  the  coast,"  said 
the  Colonel,  entering.  "There  is  a  light- 
house some  distance  up  the  Point,  where 
the  Chesapeake  is  about  twelve  miles  wide; 
and  there  are  many  places  of  historical  in- 
terest well  worth  visiting.  But  I  have  laid 
down  some  rules,  to  which  Conrad  and  the 
boys  have  listened.  Disobedience  in  this 
case  may  be  attended  with  loss  of  life,  so  I 


expect  to  be  obeyed  implicitly,  with  mili- 
tary exactitude.  Eh,  lads?" 

"Yes,  father;  yes,  sir!"  they  all  cried  in 
a  breath;  and  Emma  ran  to  bring  chairs  for 
her  parents. 

"We  have  found  a  charming  place  for 
your  wheeled- chair,  dear  grandma,"  said 
the  sweet- faced  girl,  going  up  to  the  old 
lady  and  caressing  her.  "I  wish  you  could 
have  gone  with  us,  and  seen  that  good  old 
darky  and  his  wife  Dinah;  they  are  the 
picture  of  content,  and  as  polite  and  oblig- 
ing as  can  be." 

"I  have  a  little  duty  for  my  dear  lassie  to 
accomplish,"  said  Mrs.  Donaldson,  gazing 
at  the  young  girl  fondly.  '  *  I  see  some  flowers 
over  in  the  garden,  and  I  have  brought  all 
that  is  requisite  for  erecting  a  little  shrine 
in  honor  of  Our  Lord  and  His  Blessed 
Mother.  We  will  select  a  nice  place,  hang 
up  a  crucifix,  and  gather  some  of  these  rural 
blossoms  to  set  before  the  statue  of  Our 
Lady." 

"That  is  lovely!"  exclaimed  the  chil- 
dren, and  away  they  ran  to  cull  flowers  and 
assist  in  erecting  the  altar.  Freddie  inquired 
what  he  and  Leo  could  do  to  aid ;  but,  to 
his  surprise,  the  latter  shook  his  head  neg- 
atively, and  stretched  himself  at  full-length 
upon  the  grass. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


An  Offering  to  Our  Lady,  and  what 
Came  of  it. 


"Father,  please  give  me  some  of  those 
roses;  they  look  so  pretty,  and  smell  so 
sweet,"  said  a  young  girl  to  an  old  army 
pensioner,  who  employed  most  of  his  time 
in  the  cultivation  of  a  small  garden. 

"Why, what  do  you  want  them  for?" 
asked  the  old  man ;  ' '  you  would  only  amuse 
yourself  with  them  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  throw  them  away." 

"Oh,  no,  father!  They  are  too  beautiful 
for  that.  But  I  do  not  want  to  tell  \on  the 
use  I  intend  to  make  of  thei 
secret." 

"A  secret!  Well,  now,  Til 


1^ 


.^ 


/    \...iO 


552 


The  Ave  Maria, 


whole  rosebush  if  you  will  tell  me  what 
)t  is." 

"Oh,  give  it  to  me,  father!  You  shall 
know  later  on  the  use  I  am  going  to  make 
of  it." 

"  Maybe  you  intend  to  place  it  on  your 
poor  mother's  grave?" 

"Really,  father,  you  question  me  too 
closely!  Yes,  indeed,  I  want  it  for  my  dear 
mother;  but  this  time  my  thought  is  of  my 
heavenly  Mother." 

The  child  asked  so  earnestly  that  the  old 
officer,  with  whom  she  was  a  great  favorite, 
could  resist  no  longer.  Gently  and  with  a 
delicate  hand  he  took  the  rosebush  out  of 
the  ground  and  presented  it  to  his  daughter, 
'  who  at  once  disappeared  with  her  treasure. 

On  the  following  night  the  veteran  was 
nnable  to  sleep,  although  wearied  by  hard 
labor.  An  unusual,  feverish  excitement  had 
taken  hold  of  him.  The  remembrance  of 
his  stormy  life  came  back  to  him,  and  pro- 
duced a  strange  terror  in  his  soul.  He,  the 
intrepid  warrior,  whose  courage  had  never 
been  shaken  by  the  thunder  of  battles,  was 
now  seized  with  a  mysterious  fear.  Some- 
thing like  a  nightmare  weighed  upon  his 
heart:  it  was  remorse  of  conscience.  In 
order  to  quiet  it,  he  began  to  pray,  or  rather 
to  stammer  the  prayer  which  he  had  learnt 
in  his  childhood  at  his  mother's  knee. 
Prayer,  that  sublime  elevation  of  the  soul 
to  Him  who  made  it  and  loves  it,  who  alone 
is  able  and  willing  to  give  man  true  hap- 
piness, is  one  of  those  gentle  but  powerful 
means,  the  efficacious  action  of  which  does 
not  take  long  to  make  itself  felt,  and  soon 
the  old  soldier  began  to  experience  its  com- 
forting influence. 

Suddenly  a  ray  of  hope  pierced  through 
the  darkness  that  shrouded  his  mind.  "Al- 
though I  am  a  sinner,"  he  said  to  himself, 
— "although  I  have  lived  so  many  years 
like  a  pagan  and  an  enemy  of  God,  still  all 
is  not  yet  lost  for  me.  Have  I  not  a  child, 
a  little  angel,  who  stands  between  me  and 
divine  justice,  supplicating  Almighty  God 
not  to  be  too  hard  on  me?" 

While  thinking  of  his  little  daughter, 
the  old  soldier  fell  asleep,  and  a  pleasant 


dream  came  to  calm  his  anxious  spirit.  He 
thought  he  had  been  transported  into  a 
beautiful  church,  in  one  of  whose  aisles, 
near  the  entrance  of  the  sanctuary,  was  an 
altar  blazing  with  lights  and  adorned  with 
a  magnificent  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
A  large  crowd  of  pious  faithful  were  con- 
tinually coming  in,  and,  kneeling  at  the 
foot  of  the  statue,  they  paid  an  homage  of 
tender  veneration  to  the  Mother  of  God, 
bringing  with  them  as  ofierings  a  bouquet 
of  flowers  or  a  crown.  Exquisite  music  en- 
hanced the  charm  of  this  delightful  dream. 
But  soon  the  crowd  slipped  noiselessly 
away,  the  singing  ceased,  and  the  lights 
gradually  vanished.  There  remained  burn- 
ing only  the  Presence  lamp,  which  cast  a 
glimmering  ray  upon  the  innocent  face  of 
a  young  girl,  who  had  timidly  approached 
the  altar,  and  laid  on  the  steps  a  pretty  vase 
containing  a  rosebush  in  full  bloom.  When 
the  officer  awoke  he  remembered  about  the 
one  which  he  had  given  to  his  daughter, 
and  felt  a  conviction  that  she  had  made  an 
ofiering  of  it  to  Our  Lady  on  his  behalf. 

When  an  hour  or  two  afterward  she  came 
with  a  smile  to  wish  her  father  good- morn- 
ing, he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  said: 

"I  think  I  know  your  secret  now, and  I 
have  one  of  my  own  besides,  which  I  will 
tell  you  soon ;  I  am  sure  it  will  give  you 
great  joy." 

A  few  days  later  an  old  officer,  his  breast 
covered  with  decorations,  approached  the 
Table  of  the  Lord.  Beside  him  knelt  a 
young  girl,  who  looked  as  happy  as  one  of 
God's  angels. 

When  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  was 
over,  the  pastor  broke  a  small  branch  from 
the  little  rosebush  and  presented  it  to  the 
old  soldier.  This  blessed  branch  is  treasured 
as  a  precious  relic.  Whenever  the  old  man's 
glance  falls  upon  it,  he  murmurs  a  silent 
pra^  er  to  Mary.  Mother  of  God,  the  merci- 
ful Refuge  of  poor  sinners. 


The  only  form  of  failure  that  any  man 
need  fear  is  the  failure  in  cleaving  to  the 
purpose  he  knows  to  be  best. — Anotu 


tH^ 


Vol..  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  lo,  1887.  No  24. 


rCopTrirht :— RsT.  D.  E.  Htnsoa,  C.  8.  C,1 

The  Ladye-Chapel  at  Eden  Hall. 


BY  ELEANOR   C.  DONNEIvLY. 


ip  lyOSE  to  the  Sacred  Heart,  it  nestles  fair — 
^   A  marble  poem,  an  aesthetic  dream 
Of  sculptured  beauty,  fit  to  be  the  theme 
Of  angel  fancies.  A  Madonna-prayer 
Uttered  in  stone. 

Round  columns  light  as  air, 
And  fretted  cornice,  Sharon's  Rose  is  wreathed : 
The  Passion-flow' r,  the  thorn-girt  lyily  rare, 
The  palm,  the  wheat,  the  grapes  in  vine-leaves 
sheathed. 

Tenderly  bright,  from  muUion'd  windows  glow 
Our  Lady's  chaplet-mysteries.  Behold! 
Her  maiden  statue  in  that  shrine  of  snow, 
Looks  upward  to  the  skies  of  blue  and  gold; 
Content  that  in  the  crypt,  beneath  Her  shin- 
ing feet, 
The  holy  ones  repose  in  dreamless  slumber 
sweet. 


Brother  Mansuetus. 


BY   CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


III. 


IMONG  the  brotherhood  were  some 
who  went  forth  to  till  the  lean 
earth,  scatter  seed,  or  garner  the 
meagre  sheaves;  there  were  those,  too, who 
worked  cunningly  with  skilful  fingers, 
as  well  as  others  who  kneaded  the  coarse 
loaves,  the  daily  bread  of  the  community; 


there  were  makers  of  garments  and  of  the 
various  implements  necessary  to  the  craft  of 
the  craftsmen;  there  were  strong  arms  and 
brawny  shoulders  at  the  mill,  and  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water;  and  there 
were  likewise  those  whose  cunning  beau- 
tified the  parchment  leaves  of  missals,  and 
who  composed  homilies  for  the  edification 
of  their  brethren. . 

Of  all  these  the  newly  consecrated  eyes 
of  Brother  Mansuetus  saw  little,  and  heeded 
less.  Doubtless  as  a  test  of  his  faith,  he  was 
briefly  directed  to  herd  the  swine  in  a  far 
portion  of  the  almost  sterile  fields,  and 
thither  he  turned  his  steps  in  a  grateful 
spirit  of  obedience. 

Obedience !  Holy  obedience  he  had  never 
known  till  now.  To  obey  the  wilful  im- 
pulses of  his  nature,  to  be  swayed  by  pas- 
sion, wooed  by  love,  courted  by  companions, 
and  easily  driven  to  revolt — this  had  been 
his  rule  of  life,  and  would  have  been  his 
ruin  had  not  the  spirit  within  him  awak- 
ened suddenly  to  the  truth,  which  was  like 
a  revelation  from  Heaven.  The  absolute 
surrender  of  his  will  to  his  superior  was 
agreeable — first  because  it  was  a  novelty, 
and  then  because  it  relieved  him  of  a  re- 
sponsibility that  was  beginning  to  bear 
heavily  upon  him.  He  at  once  respected  his 
superior  as  he  had  never  before  respected 
any  one,  and  he  finally  came  to  look  upon 
that  impressive  but  unobtrusive  figure  with 
reverence. 

In  his  heart  he  thanked  God  that  he  had 
been  made  a  swine-herd.  In  his  spiritual  ex- 


55^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


altation — an  exaltation  whicTi  is  not  unac- 
companied with  dangers  peculiar  to  itself — 
it  seemed  to  him  an  excellent  and  dignified 
cfSce,and  he  was  inclined  to  glory  in  it.  With 
a  kind  of  dumb  joy,  which  was  no  doubt 
flattering  to  his  soul,  he  compared  himself 
with  the  prodigal  who  had  wasted  his  sub- 
stance in  riotous  living,  and  would  fain  eat 
of  the  husks  the  swine  did  feed  on.  He 
looked  forward  with  ecstasy  to  the  hour 
when  he  might  be  permitted  to  return  to 
the  bosom  of  that  Heavenly  Father  whose 
good  gifts  he  had  dissipated,  and  whose 
loving  kindness  he  had  despised. 

In  the  Order  of  La  Trappe,  where  one  at 
once  loses  his  identity,  and  hopes  never  to 
regain  it;  where  one  becomes  an  insignifi- 
cant fraction  of  the  whole,  a  shadow  among 
shadows,  almost  intangible,  and  without 
one  distinguishable  feature;  where  one  is 
acquiescent  yet  imperturbable,  and,  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  world,  deaf,  dumb  and 
blind, — there  was  a  possibility  of  Brother 
Mansuetus  losing  that  without  which  his 
self-immolation  would  have  been  in  vain : 
I  mean  that  rarest  of  Christian  virtues, 
humility. 

Against  a  bare  wall,  glossed  with  the  thin 
sunshine  of  that  mountain  height,  stood  a 
gaunt  figure.  His  coarse  robe  flapped  about 
him  in  the  wind;  his  sandals  were  buried 
in  the  short,  crisp  grass.  He  was  poring 
over  a  well-thumbed  volume  which  he  had 
brought  from  the  library  of  the  monastery 
— it  was  *'The  Imitation  of  Christ";  this 
and  the  "Confessions"  of  St.  Augustine, 
with  the  "Little  Flowers  of  St  Francis," 
were  his  chosen  companions;  they  were 
meat  and  drink  for  the  soul  where  no  flesh 
was  permitted  the  body,  and  water  was  the 
only  beverage  allo-xred.  About  him  rooted 
and  wallo^ved  the  fat  swine — for  the  most 
sensual  of  domesticated  animals  were  well 
fed,  and  remained  living  types  of  the  volupt- 
uaries upon  whom  the  Brother  of  La  Trappe 
had  turned  his  back  in  scorn. 

Here  was  Brother  Mansuetus  in  the  nrst 
flower  of  asceticism.  At  intervals  his  eyes 
wandered  from  the  precious  volume  in  his 
hands,  and  rested  dreamily  upon  the  dis- 


tant mountain  peaks,  or  searched  vaguely 
in  the  blue  spaces  of  heaven  in  rapt  delight. 
At  intervals  the  greedy  herd  that  gathered 
about  him  broke  into  peevish  quarrels,  and 
the  air  was  rent  with  harsh  gutturals  that 
sounded  not  unlike  oaths. 

"I  know  you,"  said  Brother  Mansuetus; 
* '  I  know  you,  each  and  all.   You  are  the 

Due  de ,  and  you  Count ,  and  you 

others  the  sycophants  who  fawn  upon  them ; 
each  of  you  arrogant  and  swinish  in  like 
manner  when  apart" 

Then  the  Dae  wallowed  in  the  mire, 
grunting  his  satisfaction;  and  the  Count, 
with  snout  in  air,  cast  an  evil  eye  upon  the 
gaunt  figure  that  was  strikingly  outlined 
against  the  bare  gray  wall ;  and  all  the  vul- 
gar tribe  rooted  .hither  and  yon,  seeking 
whom  or  what  they  might  devour. 

The  monk's  mind  wandered  back  to  the 
days  when  he  consorted  with  those  who 
were  in  nearly  all  respects  even  as  these 
were — licentious  voluptuaries,  given  to 
gluttony,  debauchery,  effeminacy;  swinish 
in  deed  and  in  truth, — and  with  this  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  book  and  laughed  bit- 
terly. The  swine  heeded  him  not;  though  he 
had  laughed  till  doomsday,  or  wept,  or  re- 
viled them  scornfully,  it  mattered  nothing; 
and  the  monk  knew  it,  and  was  humbled 
even  in  their  presence. 

Day  after  day  he  returned  to  the  blank 
wall,  and  took  his  station  among  his  herd. 
Sometimes  the  sun  shone  on  him  warmly, 
and  a  vine  or  a  shrub — but  there  were  few 
of  these — gave  forth  a  greeting  that  seemed 
heaven-bestowed  in  its  delicious  fragrance; 
sometimes  the  rain  drove  him  to  seek  shel- 
ter as  best  he  might,  and  the  chill  winds 
buffeted  him  unceremoniousl)  ;  always  his 
charges  grunted  their  primitive  monosyl- 
labic grunt  that  seemed  even  less  than  ani- 
mal— it  was  the  gibber  of  half-deVeloped 
beasts, — and  peevishly  crowded  one  an- 
other, snarling  and  complaining;  and  ter- 
ribly they  wore  upon  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
Brother,  whose  cheerful  and  absolute  obedi- 
ence was,  in  spite  of  all,  becoming  steadily 
more  holy  day  by  day. 

A  Kempis,  St  Augustine,  and  the  name- 


The  A  ve  JMaria. 


555 


less  gatherer  of  the  "Little  Flowers  of  St. 
Francis,"  had  a  work  to  do  on  that  bleak 
highland,  and  right  royally  they  did  it. 

IV. 

Time  came  when  Brother  Mansuetus 
was  recalled  from  his  painful  task — it  had 
become  a  burden  that  was  not  easily  borne, 
— and  given  lighter  duties  about  the  hearth 
and  the  refectory.  Here  was  wholesome 
warmth  that  soothed  the  marrow  in  the 
bones,  and  a  good  odor  of  sweet  broth,  and 
the  bright  sparkle  of  the  embers  as  they 
crackled  under  the  pot;  while  the  wind 
wailed  without,  and  the  snow  rimmed  the 
ledges  of  the  small  windows. 

Moreover,  in  balmy  weather,  while  door 
and  lattice  stood  wide  open,  and  the  few 
neighboring  trees  were  heavy  with  leaves, 
there  gathered  about  the  threshold  such 
flocks  of  fowls  as  would  have  delighted  the 
heart  of  even  a  worldling.  These  all  knew 
Brother  Mansuetus,  and  loved  him  in  their 
way,  and  seemed  jealous  of  even  his  glances. 
And  when  he  stood  under  the  eaves  at  twi- 
light, meditating  upon  the  beauty  of  holi- 
ness, and  the  holiness  of  such  beauty  as 
he  found  exemplified  in  the  lives  of  those 
about  him,  lo!  the  doves  swirled  down  from 
the  eaves  and  nestled  in  his  arms.  Then  he 
thought  upon  St.  Francis  and  his  "little 
sisters,"  and  the  pious  Brother  nourished 
them  with  a  tenderness  that  was  almost 
worthy  of  the  Saint. 

One  lesson  he  had  learned  during  the 
discipline  of  his  novitiate;  its  theme  was 
forever  ringing  in  his  ears :  '  *  The  present — 
the  present  is  all  thou  hast  for  thy  sure  pos- 
sessing." It  had  taught  him  to  single  out 
the  virtues  of  every  object  within  his  reach, 
and  to  solace  his  soul  with  the  knowledge 
thereof. 

Another  lesson  he  had  taken  to  his  heart, 
and  it  had  moved  him  profoundly.  St.  Au- 
gustine says:  "The  whole  life  of  a  Christian 
must  be  a  continual  cross. ' '  Now  he  was 
asking  himself  daily,  yea  even  hourly,  what 
manner  of  cross  he  was  bearing.  Certainly 
there  were  some  days  that  were  long,  some 
vigils  that  were  weary;  even  his  faith  fal- 
tered at  times,  and  his  heart  fainted  within 


him.  This  was  a  cross;  but  this  is  the  cross 
borne  by  the  religious  and  the  irreligious, 
and  all  the  world  in  common;  no  one  es- 
capes it.  Brother  Mansuetus  coveted  a  cross 
which  he  might  bear  alone, — a  cross  pecul- 
iarly his  own,  the  weight  of  which  he  might 
glory  in  and  be  jealous  of,  and  not  one  jot 
or  tittle  of  which  he  could  be  persuaded  to 
share  with  another. 

' '  The  whole  life  of  a  Christian  must  be 
a  continual  cross."  When  he  meditated 
upon  this  theme  he  turned  from  the  genial 
hearth,  the  frugal  but  comfortable  refectory, 
from  the  familiar  fowl,  and  especially  from 
the  fond  doves — that  cooed  to  him  twirled 
upon  their  slender  coral  legs,  with  much  co- 
quettish tossing  of  their  heads  and  pluming 
of  their  wings, — and  longed  to  plunge  into 
a  fastness  of  the  forest  and  be  seen  no  more. 
He  would  become  a  hermit,  and  be  fed  mi- 
raculously of  the  ravens;  he  would  immure 
himself  in  the  cave  of  the  anchorite,  and 
fast  even  unto  death;  he  would  court  life- 
long martyrdom  for  love  of  the  cross  which 
he  was  craving. 

Meanwhile  that  cross  was  awaiting  him; 
the  shadow  of  it  was  overshadowing  his 
future,  and  he  was  unaware.  Self-abnega- 
tion, even  when  our  motives  are  of  the 
purest  and  the  noblest,  sometimes  awakens 
within  us  a  kind  of  rivalry  that  savors  of 
pride  or  egotism.  If  one  could  forget  self  in 
the  act  of  self-abnegation — if  one  could  for- 
get the  act  itself,  and  unconsciously  become 
the  actor — the  spirit  of  the  departed  saints 
might  once  more  animate  this  mortal  clay. 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  soul,  Brother 
Mansuetus  was  as  one  living  in  a  dream; 
he  seemed  unconscious  of  the  presence  of 
those  who  were  wichin  his  reach,  but  with 
whom  he  had  never  communed,  nor  ever 
desired  to  commune.  Even  in  the  refec- 
tory, where  the  brotherhood  assembled  on 
certain  feast-days  and  broke  bresd  to- 
gether, few  if  any  of  them  exchanged  greet- 
ings other  than  the  customary  funereal 
salute.  They  ate  and  drank  with  indiffer- 
ence, listening  the  while  to  the  voice  of  an 
unknown  reader,  wl^ose  face  they  had  not 
the  curiosity  to  behold.  There  were  some 


S56 


The  Ave  Maria. 


among  them,  it  has  been  asserted,  who  had 
not  seen  the  ceiling  of  their  cells;  for  they 
had  never  lifted  their  eyes  from  the  pave- 
ment since  entering  the  monastery. 

Brother  Mansuetus  was  not  one  of  these; 
yet  he  had  within  his  heart  a  little  seed 
that  was  likely  to  blossom  and  bear  the 
fruit  of  asceticism;  the  seed  was  always 
there,  unsprouted  until  watered  by  the  tear 
of  penitence.  For  this  reason,  perhaps,  in 
momeiits  of  great  spiritual  elevation,  he 
was  wont  to  pace  the  cloister,  or  kneel  in 
his  darkened  cell,  with  clasped  hands  and 
brimming  eyes,  whispering  reverently  as  he 
dwelt  upon  his  state,  "One  who  was  lonely 
in  the  midst  cf  multitudes,  in  your  seclusion 
finds  companionship,  and  a  solemn  life  no 
longer  solitary ! ' '  But  this  was  ecstasy,  and 
it  was  inevitably  followed  by  periods  of  de- 
pression, and  at  such  times  the  echo  that 
returned  to  him  out  of  his  loved  solitude 
reiterated  the  woids  of  the  Saint:  ''The 
whole  life  of  a  Christian  must  be  a  contin- 
ual cross." 

•        V. 

In  the  dimly  lighted  choir  of  the  convent 
chapel  there  was  death-like  silence;  the 
stalls  were  empty  and  folded  back,  but  be- 
fore them,  extended  at  full  length,  prone 
upon  the  pavement  with  foreheads  pressing 
the  cold  stone,  lay  the  voiceless  brother- 
hood Death  seemed  to  have  visited  them  all 
at  a  single  stroke;  they  were  motionless  as 
corpses;  some  with  faces  buried  in  volumes 
spread  open  before  them;  some  with  cheeks 
glued  to  the  cold  flags,  and  eyes  shrouded 
with  their  books;  and  some,  with  heads 
raised  a  little,  were  poring  upon  the  pages 
that  lay  close  under  their  eyes  with  a  steady 
and  earnest  stare:  they  had  become  even  as 
little  children  lost  in  the  mazes  of  a  wonder- 
tale.  All  were  absorbed,  each  unmindful  of 
his  neighbor,  and  the  long  and  almost  pain- 
ful silence  was  broken  only  at  intervals  by 
a  quivering  and  ill-suppressed  sigh. 

Among  these  indistinguishable  ones  lay 
Brother  Mansuetus.  His  soul  was  consumed 
away;  he  had  remained  so  long  in  one 
position  that  his  limbs  had  become  rigid 
and  his  eyes  fixed.   Humbling  himself  at 


the  foot  of  the  altar,  rapt  in  a  sensuous  ardor 
that  was  transporting,  and  made  of  that 
hard  couch  a  bed  of  roses,  he  recalled  the 
words  of  A  Kempis, — words  that  were 
graven  imperishably  upon  thfc  tablets  of  his 
heart: 

''Son,  I  will  teach  thee  now  the  way  of 
peace  and  true  liberty 

"Study,  My  son,  to  do  rather  the  will  of 
another  than  thy  own. 

"Ever  choose  rather  to  have  less  than 
more. 

"Always  seek  the  lowest  place,  and  to  be 
subject  to  every  one. 

"Always  wish  and  pray  that  the  will  of 
God  may  be  wholly  done  in  thee." 

These  were  his  daily  and  hourly  resolves, 
yet  did  he  accuse  himself  a  thousand  times 
of  having  broken  faith  with  his  conscience, 
his  spiritual  Father,  and  his  God.  He  de- 
scended from  heavenly  raptures  into  abys- 
mal depths,  while  the  pity  of  it  and  the  pa- 
thos of  it  wrecked  his  soul.  Tears  streamed 
from  his  eyes,  his  heart  melted  as  wax,  and 
at  last  he,  the  humblest  and  the  most  eager 
in  holy  obedience  of  all  the  brotherhood, 
quaked  as  one  palsied,  and  lamented  in  the 
chill  darkness  of  the  chapel  choir. 

(conclusion  in  otjr  next  number.) 


Shrines  of  Mary  in  Mexico. 
by  the  very  rev.  j.  adam. 

(Conclusion.) 

GUADALUPE  is  now  a  town,  and  has 
a  parish  priest.  In  1707  there  died  in 
Mexico  a  wealthy  gentleman  named  Andres 
Palencia,  who  left  in  his  will  $100,000  for  a 
convent  of  nuns  or  for  a  college.  The  Cxov- 
ernment  would  not  consent  to  the  erection 
of  a  convent,  but  granted  permission  for  a 
chapter.  The  executors  of  the  will  depos- 
ited in  the  royal  vaults  $160,000.  A  lawsuit 
followed  between  them  and  the  royal  attor- 
ney, which  was  pending  for  a  long  time,  till 
finally  the  King  decided  that  the  $160,000, 
with  $2  500  which  the  executors  agreed  to 
pay,  should  go  into  the  royal  exchequer  at 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


557 


an  inteiest  of  five  per  cent.  In  1747  the 
principal  and  interest  amounted  to  $527,- 
832.  In  a  few  years,  with  the  interest  of 
^30  000  per  year,  payment  was  made  to  ten 
canons,  six  chaplains,  sacristan,  etc. 

Oa  entering  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  I 
noticed  that  the  choir,  as  is  the  case  in  most 
cathedrals  of  Spain  and  Mexico,  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  obstructing  the  view 
and  occupying  a  great  part  of  the  aisle. 
This  was  especially  to  b-  regretted  in  the 
church  of  Guadalupe,  on  account  of  the 
limited  space.  It  appears  that  the  present 
Archbishop,  Pelagio  Labastida,  has  encoun- 
tered opposition  on  the  part  of  some  for 
having  removed  the  obstruction,  but  lovers 
of  sacred  art  will  be  thankful  to  him.  It  is 
proposed  to  build  an  addition  behind  the 
sanctuary  to  make  room  for  the  choir.  This 
^ill  take  some  time,  and  in  a  circular, 
which  was  read  in  all  the  churches  of  the 
Archdiocese,  his  Grace  expressed  his  fears 
that  the  work  would  not  be  finished  by  the 
1 2th  of  December,  the  day  appointed  for 
the  coronation  of  the  statue. 

I  must  now  tell  you  something  of  the 
preparations  that  are  being  made  for  that 
important  occasion.  Some  time  ago  the 
Archbishops  of  Mexico,  Michoacan,  and 
Guadalajara  sent  to  the  Holy  See  a  peti- 
tion, signed  by  them  and  their  suffragans, 
requesting  the  faculty  necessary  for  the 
solemn  crowning  of  the  image  of  Our  Lady 
of  Guadalupe.  In  this  petition  the  prelates 
stated  that  in  1740  the  chapter  of  the  Vati- 
can had  granted  the  desired  permission,  but, 
owing  to  the  political  circumstances  of  the 
times,  it  was  not  carried  into  effect.  They 
observed  that  in  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  that  have  elapsed  since  then,  innumer- 
able miracles  have  beeii  wrought  through 
the  intercession  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe; 
-and  they  asked,  furthermore,  that  the  cere- 
mony might  take  place  in  December  of 
this  year,  when  the  Holy  Father  shall  cel- 
ebrate his  Sacerdotal  Jubilee.  By  letters  of 
Feb.  8,  1886,  Leo  XIII.  gave  the  desired 
permission  to  the  Archbishop  of  Mexico, 
-or  any  other  Bishop  selected  by  him,  grant- 
ing a  plenary  indulgence  to  all  those  who 


on  the  day  of  the  coronation,  or  any  day 
within  the  octave,  after  having  received 
the  Sacraments  of  Penance  and  Holy  Eu- 
charist, shall  visit  the  church  of  Guadalupe, 
and  pray  before  the  image  of  Our  Lady  for 
the  intentions  of  his  Holiness. 

The  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria"  will 
doub:  less  suppose  that  the  whole  nation  has 
united  with  the  pious  views  and  desires 
of  the  venerable  Bishops.  Unft  rtunately 
such  is  not  the  case.  Here,  as  elsewhere, 
there  a'^e  two  parties — that  of  God  and 
that  of  Satan.  The  latter,  so-called  radicals, 
have  opposed  the  coronation  of  Our  Lady 
of  Guadalupe,  and  put  all  manner  of  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  it.  Not  long  ago,  I 
am  told,  the  admirers  of  Juarez,  on  the  an- 
niversary of  his  death,  gathered  around  his 
tomb,  and  there  signed  a  document  pro- 
testing against  the  proposed  ceremony; 
and  afterwards,  as  if  possessed  by  the  evil 
spirit,  rushed  through  the  streets  shouting, 
'Death  to  the  Archbishop  of  Mexico!"  and 
pouring  forth  the  most  outrageous  blas- 
phemies against  the  Mother  of  God.  But, 
in  spite  of  this  diabolical  opposition,  the 
coronation  will  take  place.  The  Immaculate 
Virgin  will  once  more  crush  under  her 
virginal  foot  the  modem  serpent.  Liberal- 
ism ;  and  her  dutiful  children  of  Mexico, 
as  el-ewhere,  will  proclaim  her  Queen  of 
Heaven  Qieen  of  all  nations. 

Now  let  me  redeem  my  promise  to  say 
something  of  the  apparitions  of  Our  Lady. 

On  a  Saturday  morning,  December  9, 
153 1, ten  years  after  the  Conquest  of  Mexico 
by  the  Spaniards,  an  Indian  named  Juan 
Diego  was  going  from  his  town  to  Mexico 
to  hear  Mass.  At  break  of  day  he  was  cross- 
ing a  hill  called  Tepeyac,  near  the  city, 
when  he  heard  strains  of  heavenly  music 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and,  raising 
his  eyes,  saw  a  white  cloud  pierced  with  a 
brilliant  light,  and  surrounded  by  a  rain- 
bow. "What  do  I  see?"  he  exclaimed — 
' '  what  do  I  hear  ?  Am  I  transported  to  Par- 
adise ?  "  Presen  tl  y  he  heard  a  voice  ca  1 1  i  ng 
him, and  advancing, he  sawa  beautiful  Lady, 
who  said:  "My  son,  Juan  Diego, whom  I 
tenderly  love,  where  are  you  going?"    He 


558 


The  Ave  Maria. 


answered:  "I  am  on  my  way  to  Mexico  to 
hear  Mass."  The  Ladv  continued:  *'I  am 
the  Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  the  true  God, 
Author  of  life,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth.  It 
is  my  desire  that  a  church  be  erected  in  my 
honor  on  this  spot,  where  I  will  show  my 
clemency  and  compassion  to  the  natives  of 
this  place,  and  to  all  those  who  implore  my 
protection,  and  call  upon  me  in  their  trials 
and  afflictions.  In  order  that  my  wish  may 
be  accomplished,  go  to  the  Bishop  of  Mex- 
ico, and  relate  to  him  what  you  have  seen 
and  heard;  tell  him  that  I  sent  you  to  him, 
and  that  it  is  my  wish  he  should  build  a 
church  in  this  place.  Be  diligent,  then,  in 
carr>ing  out  my  orders,  and  be  certain  I 
shall  reward  \ou  generously." 

The  Indian  prostrated  himself  and  an- 
swered: "Most  noble  Lady,  I  will  go  at 
once  to  have  your  command  put  into  exe- 
cution." 

On  arriving  at  the  city,  three  miles  dis- 
tant, Juan  Diego  proceeded  to  the  palace  of 
the  Right  Rcv.  Juan  de  Zamarraga,  first 
Bishop  of  Mexico.  It  was  still  very  early 
in  the  day,  and  the  servants,  thinking  the 
visitor  was  a  beggar,  ma«'e  him  wait  along 
time;  but  finally,  admiring  his  patience, 
they  introduced  him  to  the  Bishop.  Kneel 
ing  before  his  Lordship,  Juan  related  his 
vision  with  the  utmost  simplicity  and  can- 
dor. The  prelate  listened  attentively,  but 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  poor  Indian 
must  have  been  dreaming,  or  had  been  de- 
ceived by  Satan,  as  he  had  been  converted 
from  paganism  only  a  few  years  before. 
Sad  and  silent,  Juan  left  the  episcopal  resi 
dence,  seeing  that  no  credence  had  been 
given  to  his  words. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day  he 
was  returning  to  his  own  village,  when, 
on  reaching  the  spot  where  he  had  been 
stopped  in  the  morning,  he  saw  the  Blessed 
Virgin  awaiting  him.  Kneeling  before  her, 
he  exclaimed:  "My  dear  Queen  and  great 
Lady,  I  have  done  as  you  commanded  me, 
and  related  to  the  Bishop  all  that  I  saw  and 
heard  here  this  morning;  he  listened  with 
attention,  but,  from  his  questions  and  re- 
marks, I  do  not  think  he  believed  me.   He 


told  me  to  call  again,  that  he  might  inquire 
into  the  matter,  and  investigate  it  more 
carefully.  He  seemed  to  think  that  the 
temple  you  ask  is  only  a  notion  of  mine; 
so  I  beg  you  to  send  to  him  some  noble 
person  worthy  of  respect,  to  whom  he  may 
give  credit;  for,  you  know,  I  am  orly  a  poor 
Indian.  Forgive  me,  my  Queen,  if  I  have 
dared  to  say  anything  offensive  or  disre- 
spectful to  your  greatness. ' ' 

Mary  heard  with  kindness  the  words  of 
the  Indian,  and  replied:  "Mv  son,  there  is 
no  lack  of  servants  to  do  my  will,  but  I 
have  chosen  you  to  deliver  this  message, 
and  to  carry  my  desire  into  effect.  So  I  ask 
you  to  go  again  to  the  Bishop,  repeat  my 
request,  and  tell  him  the  one  that  sends  you 
is  the  Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  God." 

Juan  answered:  "Be  not  displeased,  my 
Queen  and  my  Lady,  at  what  I  have  said; 
I  will  willingly  deliver  your  message." 

The  Indian  saluted  Oar  Lady  with  great 
humility,  and  returned  home.  Next  day 
(Sunday)  he  went  to  assist  at  Mass  in  the 
Church  of  St.  James,  after  which  he  hast- 
ened to  the  palace  of  the  Bishop,  and  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  told  him  that  he  had  seen 
God's  Mother  again,  and  that  she  had  re- 
quested him  to  go  once  more  to  h's  Lord- 
ship, and  bid  him  build  her  a  temple  on  the 
spot  where  she  had  appeared.  The  Bishop 
listened  to  him  with  greater  attention  than 
he  had  shown  the  first  time;  he  now  began 
to  give  credit  to  the  Indian,  and,  after  ques- 
tioning him  very  closely,  told  him  to  go 
back  and  ask  the  Lady  for  some  proofs  of 
the  truth  of  the  apparition.  The  Bishop,  see- 
ing that  Juan  did  not  object  to  this  trying 
command,  but  on  the  contrary  asked  him 
to  select  a  sign,  privately  called  two  of  his 
servants,  and  told  them  to  follow  the  Indian, 
and  observe  attentively  what  should  hap- 
pen, and  with  whom  he  would  talk.  Juan 
did  not  notice  the  servants,  but,  havings 
crossed  a  bridge,  he  disappeared  suddenly 
from  their  sight;  they  made  a  careful  search 
in  every  direction,  and  not  finding  him, 
they  returned  to  the  Bishop,  and  told  him 
not  to  give  credit  to  the  Indian,  as  he  was. , 
a  sorcerer. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


559 


As  sooa  as  Juan  reached  the  hill  he  saw 
his  heavenly  Visitant  awaiting  him,  and, 
prostrating  himself  before  her,  he  informed 
her  of  his  interview  with  the  Bishop,  ad- 
ding that  his  L/ordship  required  some  proofs 
of  the  truth  of  what  he  had  j elated.  The 
Blessed  Virgin  thanked  him,  told  him  to 
come  again  next  day,  when  she  would  give 
him  signs  which  would  remove  all  doubt 
from  the  mind  of  the  prelate. 

But  on  the  following  day  the  Indian  was 
detained  at  home  to  take  care  of  his  uncle, 
Juan  Bernardino,  who  was  very  ill.  As  the 
patient  grew  worse  he  expressed  a  desire 
to  receive  the  last  S  craments,  and  be  pre- 
pared for  death.  Early  next  morning  (Tues- 
da})  the  Indian  set  out  to  call  the  priest. 
I  On  approaching  the  hill  Tepeyac,  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  not  come  to  meet 
the  Blessed  Virgin  the  day  before,  as  he  had 
promised  to  do,  and,  full  of  fear,  he  turned 
to  take  another  roid.  But  to  his  astonish- 
ment he  saw  her  descending  the  mountain, 
enveloped  in  a  white  cloud,  and  heard  her 
ask:  "My  son,whithtr  do  you  go? — what 
road  have  you  taken?" 

Juan  stood  confused  for  a  moment,  then 
said :  ''My  Lidy,  do  not  be  displeased  with 
me;  my  uncle  is  very  sick,  and  I  am  going 
for  a  priest  to  give  him  thelast  Sacraments, 
after  which  I  will  return  here  without  fail." 

Mary  listened  with  a  sweet  smile,  and 
leplied:  ''Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  son;  your 
uncle  shall  not  die — in  fact,  he  is  now  en- 
tirely well.  Can  I  not  restore  health?  Are 
you  not  under  my  protection?" 

The  Indian,  full  cf  confidence,  and  deeply 
grateful,  said:  "  Wtll,  then,  gracious  Lady, 
I  am  ready  to  do  your  will;  but  give  me 
some  sign,  that  the  Bishop  may  believe." 

The  Blessed  Virgin  rt plied:  "Go  up  to 
the  top  of  this  mountain,  and  gather  the 
roses  which  you  will  find  there.  Put  them 
in  your  serape  [blanket],  and  bring  them 
to  me." 

Juan  ascended  the  mountain,  where  he 
found  most  fragrant  roses;  he  brought 
them  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who  arranged 
them,  and  said:  "Go  now  to  the  Bishop, 
and  tell  him  by  these  roses  to  know  my 


will.  Do  not  show  them  to  any  one  else 
— do  not  unfold  your  serape  to  any  one 
except  the  Bishop."  And  the  apparition 
vanished. 

The  Indian,  rejoicing,  h listened  on  his 
journey,  looking  now  and  then  at  the  beau- 
tiful roses.  On  reaching  the  palace,  he  had 
to  wait  a  long  time  before  he  was  permitted 
to  see  the  Bishop.  The  servants  noticing  that 
something  was  concealed  in  his  blanket^ 
tried  to  unfold  it,  but  he  remonstrated;  how- 
ever, they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ro.se»,, 
and  when  they  attempted  to  touch  them, 
they  seemed  to  be  painted  on  the  blanket. 
Struck  with  astonishment,  they  ran  to  the 
Bishop,  and  told  him  what  had  happened. 
His  Lordship  called  Juan  Diego  to  his  pres- 
ence, and  when  the  Indian  appeared  before 
him,  he  unfolded  his  blanket,  and  lo!  the 
picture  of  Mary  was  painted  on  it  as  it  is 
seen  to  this  day  in  her  holy  temple. 

The  Bishop,  overwhelmed  with  emotipu, 
gave  credit  to  the  vision  and  to  the  words 
of  the  Indian,  and,  with  his  attendants,  pros- 
trated himself  before  the  picture,  and  pro- 
foundly venerated  it.  Then  with  tender 
devotion  he  took  the  blanket  to  his  private 
chapel,  and  gave  thanks  to  God  and  to  His 
Holy  Mother.  He  detained  the  Indian  until 
the  following  day,  when,  with  his  clergv, 
he  accompanied  him  to  the  spot  where  the 
Queen  of  Heaven  had  appeared  to  him  four 
times.  Then  Juan  asked  to  be  permitted  to 
return  to  his  uncle,  and  the  Bishop  sent 
some  servants  with  him,  requesting  them 
to  conduct  Juan  Bernardino  to  him,  in  case 
they  found  him  in  good  health. 

The  old  man  was  astonished  to  see  his 
nephew  accompanied  by  the  Spaniards, and, 
on  hearing  of  the  apparition,  he  attested 
that  at  the  very  hour  mentioned  by  Diego 
the  Blessed  Virgin  had  appeared  to  him- 
self, restored  him  to  perfect  health,  and  ex- 
pressed her  desire  to  have  a  chapel  built  in 
her  honor  on  the  spot  indicated,  adding  that 
the  picture  she  would  give  should  be  called 
Santa  Maria  de  Guadalupe.  The  story  of 
his  miraculous  cure  was  carefully  investi- 
gated, after  which  the  Bishop  received  both 
Indians  into  the  episcopal  residence. 


560 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


Meanwhile  the  report  of  the  apparition 
spread  throughout  the  city,  and  people 
flocked  to  venerate  the  miraculous  picture; 
so  great  was  the  concourse  of  pious  wor- 
shippers that  the  prelate  was  obliged  to 
place  the  image  in  the  parish  church,  where 
it  was  exposed  for  veneration  until  an  edi- 
fice was  built  on  the  spot  where  the  Blessed 
Virgin  had  appeared,  whither  the  image  was 
conveyed  with  great  pomp  and  solemnity. 

This,  in  brief,  is  the  history  of  a  devo- 
tion to  the  Blessed  Virgin  which  is  known 
and  practised  in  every  part  of  our  sister 
Republic. 

Next  week,  before  embarking  for  Europe, 
I  hope  to  have  the  privilege  of  celebrating 
the  Holy  Sacrifice  before  the  miraculous 
picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  where 
I  promise  not  to  forget  my  benefactors  and 
the  pious  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria." 


The  Angelus. 


BY    MARY    C.    CROWI,EY. 


TLjHAT  master  wrought  the  sweet-toned 
W         bells 
That,  soft  o'er  vales  and  sylvan  dells, 

The  Angelus  first  rang  ? 
Gleamed  silver  pure  and  virgin  gold, 
Xike  souls,  within  the  dark  clay  mould, 
Bre  rich  their  spirit  voices  rolled, 

As  though  an  angel  sang  ? 

II. 
Or,  voicing  the  celestial  thought, 
Pealed  forth  the  chimes,  by  seraphs  fraught 

With  melody,  that  thrilled 
From  star  to  star,  when  Gabriel  soared. 
Before  the  flame-white  Throne  adored. 
With  Mary's  answer,  and  the  Lord 

The  earth  with  heaven  filled? 

III. 
Or  first  in  Nazareth's  holy  glade. 
When  Christ  a  child  there  dwelt  and  prayed. 

The  flower-bells  of  spring 
Bade  He,  with  fragrant  breath  of  song. 
To  hail  His  Mother  blessed  among 
All  women,  and  the  wind -swayed  throng 

The  Angelus  did  ring, — 


IV. 

Till  music-laden  was  the  air, 
Till  rose  above  the  valley  fair 

The  chanting  echoes:  thus 
Was  Nature's  sweetest  anthem  heard. 
The  listening  world  with  rapture  stirred, 
As,  at  the  Child-God's  potent  word, 

First  rang  the  Angelus? 


Nora's  Recompense. 


(Conclusion.) 

THE  twentieth  day  of  the  fever  dawned; 
the  eventful  moment  was  at  hand,  and  a 
few  hours  would  decide  the  question  of  life 
or  death  for  Mrs.  Auvrard.  Miss  Kernoel  had 
seen  Mark  at  the  early  Mass, leaning  against 
a  pillar,  evidently  in  overwhelming  anxiety ; 
and  later  on  he  and  Nora  watched  beside  the 
patient,  whose  restlessness  increased  every 
moment.  Suddenly  the  servant  entered 
and  brought  letters,  which  she  laid  on  the 
table.  One  was  for  Nora,  directed  in  a  large, 
scrawling  child's  hand.  Moving  aside,  she 
opened  it,  and  read  as  follows: 

"Pau,  Monday  a.  m. 
"Dearest  Miss  Nora: — We  are  in 
great,  great  trouble.  Scarcely  had  you  gone, 
when  grandmamma  got  a  cough  and  fever. 
She  is  better  now,  but  the  doctor  won't 
let  her  leave  her  room.  The  maid  of  the 
hotel  took  us  out  walking  every  day,  but 
grandmamma  says  that  can  not  continue, 
and  we  must  have  a  governess.  She  will 
take  another  if  you  don't  return,  and  my 
sister  and  I  cry  bitterly  at  the  thought. 
There  is  an  English  lady  here  who  will 
engage  with  us  for  the  winter,  but  not  for 
a  shorter  time.  But  won't  you  come  back 
to  us?  I  am  sure  your  aunt  is  better;  for 
we  prayed  very  much  for  her,  as  you  told 
us  to  do.  Think  how  fond  we  are  of  you! 
And  grandmamma  cries  about  you,  and  she 
will  keep  you  even  if  we  go  to  the  convent. 
She  is  still  too  weak  to  write  herself.  Send 
a  telegram  to  say  you  will  return  at  once. 
We  both  send  you  a  thousand  kisses. 
"Your  grateful  pupil, 

"Margaret  Harmel." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


561 


Nora  grew  pale  as  she  read  these  childish 
lines.  It  was  out  of  the  question  to  leave 
her  aunt  in  her  present  state;  and  if  she 
recovered,  the  convalescence  would  be  long 
and  tedious,  and  require  much  care  and 
watching.  Mark  ought  to  return  to  his  busi- 
ness, even  if  he  knew  how  to  nurse  her; 
and  Nora  could  not  leave  her  task  half 
done.  But  what  a  sacrifice  it  entailed !  She 
lost  an  agreeable,  permanent  situation,  and 
would  have  to  seek  another  among  stran- 
gers when  her  aunt  recovered ;  and,  though 
she  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment,  the 
thought  depressed  her.  Mark  watched  her 
anxiously,  and  saw  the  tears  that  came  to 
her  eves  as  she  read  the  letter. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Have  you  had  bad 
news?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes:  a  psrsoa  who  is  dear  to  me  is  ill." 
*'A  person  dear  to  you — a  relative?" 
"No,  a  friend,"  she  answered  briefly, 
and  left  the  room.  Then,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' absence,  she  called  the  servant,  handed 
her  an  envelope,  and  told  her  to  take  the 
message  contained  in  it  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  have  it  sent  at  once.  When  she 
returned  to  Mrs.  Auvrard's  room,  she  met 
Mark's  grave,  searching  eyes. 

"I  thought  we  were  friends,"  he  said. 
"I  still  thiak  so,"  she  replied,  with  re- 
covered serenity. 

*'  Yet  you  have  a  grief  you  conceal  from 
me." 

''  I  shall  tell  it  to  you  later." 
He  soon  forgot  this  little  occurrence  in 
his  increasing  anxiety  about  the  patient, 
who  began  to  grow  worse,  until  at  nightfall 
her  state  was  so  precarious  that  a  priest 
was  hastily  sent  fjr  to  administer  Extreme 
Unction.  Towards  morning  the  physician, 
who  had  watched  all  night  by  her  bedside, 
whispered:  "There  is  a  change  for  the 
better;  if  she  sleeps  now,  I  answer  for  her 
life."  As  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun 
stole  through  the  clo-ed  curtains,  the  sick 
woman  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  and  hope 
revved  in  the  hearts  of  the  watchers.  She 
was  saved. 

Very,  very  slowly  did  Mrs.  Auvrard  re- 
cover her  health.  Sametimes  tears  rolled 


down  her  pale  cheeks,  but  she  never  told 
their  cause.  She  had  shown  neither  aston- 
ishment nor  any  other  feeling  at  Nora's 
appearance;  she  allowed  her  to  care  for  her^ 
was  docile  to  her  directions,  but  observed 
complete  silence.  About  a  week  after  the 
doctor  declared  her  out  of  danger,  Mark 
prepared  for  his  departure  with  a  joyful 
heart. 

"I  shall  soon  return,  dear  mother,"  he 
said,  tenderly;  "my  heart  and  thoughts 
will  be  constantly  with  you.  I  confide  yon 
to  Miss  de  Br^lyon's  care;  she  was  so  self- 
sacrificing,  so  devoted  in  those  days  of  an- 
guish, I  know  not  what  I  should  have  done 
without  her." 

His  mother  did  not  speak,  but  she  gave 
him  a  long,  scrutinizing  glance,  and  tears 
coursed  down  her  cheeks. 

"Mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the 
matter?  Are  you  not  glad  to  be  restored  to 
us?   Your  strength  will  soon  return." 

"My  strength!"  she  repeated;  "it  is 
gone  forever.  Did  you  ever  see  me  cry  be- 
fore?" 

"But  why  do  you  cry  now, mother?" 
She  wsis  silent. 

"You  do  not  dislike  having  your  niece 
with  you?" 
"Oh,  no!" 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  left  her.  He 
met  Nora  on  the  stairs.  "I  shall  return  in 
three  days, ' '  he  said ;  "  I  con  fide  m  v  mother 
to  you,  but  you  must  excuse  her  if  she  has 
not  yet  expressed  her  gratitude  towards 
you.  She  is  still  so  weak!" 

"I  am  not  vexed  with  her,"  she  replied,, 
smiling. 

He  went  a  step  farther,  then,  turning  back, 
said :  * '  How  selfishly  forgetful  I  have  been  \ 
I  never  thought  to  ask  if  your  long  stay  here 
has  interfered  with  your  prospects  in  Pan." 
"Never  mind  that;  I  can  stay  as  long  as 
I  am  needed." 

"And — if  my  mother  asked  you  to  re- 
main— as  a  beloved  daughter  with  het?" 
"Let  us  leave  the  future  in  the  hands  of 
God,"  she  answered,  evasively,  making  a 
sign  of  farewell,  and  enteiing  her  aunt's 
room. 


5^2 


TitA  Ave  Maria. 


The  latter  seemed  asleep.  Nora  arranged 
the  fire,  and  gently  put  the  room  in  order; 
then  she  took  up  some  mending,  sat  by  the 
fire,  and  began  to  sew  busily.  Her  thoughts 
reverted  to  her  loneliness  and  uncertain 
future,  and  an  involuntary  tear  dropped  on 
the  towel  she  was  mending.  She  courage 
ously  dried  it,  and  stooped  to  take  more 
work  from  the  basket,  when  her  glance  fell 
on  the  bed,  and  she  £aw  her  aunt's  eyes  were 
open  and  fixed  on  her.  Nora  went  over  to 
her  and  said,  softly : 

"How  do  you  feel,  aunt?  Would  you  like 
anything?" 

Mrs.  Auvrard  made  a  negative  sign,  and 
whispered:  ''S  ay  with  me." 

Nora  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  her  aunt 
continued,  in  a  voice  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely 
audible:  "Did  Mark  send  for  you?" 

"No:  I  heard  from  Miss  Kernoel  that 
you  were  ill  and  had  no  nurse,  and  I  started 
at  once  from  Pan. ' ' 

Mrs.  Auvrard  looked  again  at  the  sweet 
face  which  had  so  ofcen  bent  over  her  dur- 
ing the  fever.  "  Kiss  me,"  was  all  she  said, 
but  the  words  went  to  Nora's  heart,  and  her 
tears  fell  on  her  aunt's  hand  as  she  pressed 
her  lips  to  her  brow. 

"Do  not  cry,  dear  child.  Leave  that  to 
old  women  like  me.  Now  let  me  rest  for  a 
little  while.  I  am  very  weak,  and  my  head 
is  confused." 

From  that  day  Nora  felt  she  had  gained 
an  entrance  into  her  aunt's  heart,  but  poor 
Mrs  Auvrard  continued  a  prey  to  a  sadness 
which  her  friends  could  not  banish.  Soon 
she  was  able  to  sit  up,  but  all  Nora's  tflforts 
failed  to  bring  a  smile  to  her  pale  lips.  "I 
can  da  no  more  for  her,  '  said  the  young 
g^rl  in  discouragement  to  Miss  Kernoel.  ' '  I 
must  now  think  about  leaving."  But  next 
morning  Miss  Octavia  received  a  visit  from 
Mark. 

"I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  about  Miss 
de  B  6lyon,"  he  began  without  further  pre- 
amble. ''Do  vou  know  if  Mrs.  Harmel 
wants  her  back?  ' 

"She  cm  not  return  to  Pau:  they  have 
taken  another  governess.  More  than  three 
weeks  ago  she  had  to  choose  between  leav- 


ing your  mother  or  giving  up  the  place  " 

Mark  remembered  the  letter  which  had 
so  agitated  N  >ra.  His  f^ce  wore  a  f-ingular 
expression  as  he  looked  at  Miss  Kernoel  and 
said:  "  I  am  almost  glad  tha'  it  is  so;  for  I 
feared  her  aflfection  for  the  children  would 
have  proved  an  obstacle  to  her  acceptance 
of  mv  mother's  proposals." 

"What  proposals,  mav  I  ask?" 

"My  mother  can  not  fail  to  offer  her  a 
home  with  us." 

"And  do  you  think  Nora  would  be  happy 
with  you?  ' 

"Perhaps  now  she  would." 

She  gave  him  a  curious  look,  half  grave, 
half  quizzical.  "Don't  you  think  that 
Nora  has  been  long  enough  wi'h  strangers, 
and  ought  to  have  a  home  of  her  own?" 
she  asked. 

"Certainly — do  you  mean— she — she 
should  marr>  ?" 

"Exactly.  WiU  you  help  me  to  find  a 
husband  for  her?" 

"I — I — never  thought  of  that,"  he  an- 
swered, with  visible  confusion. 

Miss  Kernoel  laughed,  and,  stretching 
out  her  hand  to  him,  said,  good-naturedly: 
"Mark,  must  an  old  maid  open  your  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  you  are  hopelessly  in  love 
with  Nora?  Why  don't  you  ask  her  to  be 
your  wife?" 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands,  and  asked 
himself  was  it  not  true.  Yes,  undoubtedly 
he  loved  her,  and  had  loved  her  long.  But  a 
cruel  doubt  arose. 

"She  is  so  young  and  charming!"  he 
said;  "could  she  love  a  man  prematurely 
old  like  me?" 

* '  Ask  her.  I  don' t  know  if  she  loves  you 
yet,  but  she  is  a  perfect  treasure,  and  I  think 
you  would  make  her  happy." 

He  pressed  his  old  friend's  hand  in 
silence,  and  left  her.  It  was  late  when  he 
returned  home,  after  wandering  for  several 
hours  in  the  neighbarhood.  He  looked  so 
pale  as  he  entered  the  room  where  Nora 
sat  with  his  mother,  that  the  former  askf  d 
him  If  he  was  ill.  "You  look  so  pale  and 
tired! "  she  said,  kindly. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6  J 


"Yes;  I  took  a  long  walk,  and  am 
weary. ' ' 

He  sat  down,  poked  the  fire  absently,  and 
shortly  after  retired  to  his  room.  As  the 
door  closed  behind  him,  his  mother  sighed 
and  said:  "Mark  is  suflfering." 

"It  is  no  wonder,  dear  aunt,  he  watched 
so  long  beside  your  sick  bed;  and  then, 
between  his  professional  duties  and  his  con- 
stant journeys  to  Penvan,he  is  worn  out." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  said  Mrs.  Auvrard,  in  a 
peculiar  tone.  ' '  Come  here,  child. ' ' 

Nora  drew  a  stool  near  her,  and  sat  down, 
somewhat  amazed. 

"  I  have  loved  my  son  deeply  and  truly," 
pursued  her  aunt,  while  her  thin  white 
hands  trembled  with  agitation;  "he  was  the 
,  one  engrossing  passion  of  my  life,  and  for 
him  all  sacrifices  appeared  light ;  but  now — 
I  hope  not  too  late — I  have  discovered  that 
I  loved  him  selfishly;  I  bound  his  young 
life  to  one  already  aged  and  let  my  sorrows 
overshadow  his  soul  However,  he  is  still 
young,  and  if  I  no  longer  suffice  for  him,  at 
least  I  shall  try  to  make  him  happy.  An- 
swer me  truly,  Nora,  will  you  be  my  son's 
wife?" 

Nora  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment,  and 
turned  deadly  pale. 

"He  is  older  than  you,"  continued  her 
aunt  in  feverish  excitement;  "but  any 
woman  might  be  proud  of  his  intellectual 
abilities  and  his  many  noble  qnalities.  He 
might  have  won  fame  elsewhere,  but  he 
stayed  here  for  my  sake." 

Nora  was  still  too  surprised  to  speak. 

"Then  you  can  not  love  him,"  said  her 
aunt;  "though  he  loves  you  more  than  the 
whole  world — more  even  than  me?"  And 
large  tears  rolled  down  her  emaciated  face. 

"Aunt,"  answered  Nora  at  last,  "per- 
haps you  are  mistaken  " 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Auvrard,  somewhat 
bittetly;  "I  have  loved  him  too  well  to  be 
deceived  " 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened;  Mark 
had  forgotten  something,  and  his  mother 
quickly  addressed  him. 

"  Mark,"  she  said,  in  the  vibrating  tone 
of  strong  emotion,  "have  I  erred  in  telling 


Nora  that  it  is  your  dearest  wish  to  call  her 
wife?" 

The  young  girl  heard  a  stifled  cry,  and 
Mark  was  beside  her,  grasping  her  hand. 

"  Is  it  a  vain  wish  ?  '  he  said.  "O  Nor^! 
I  offer  you  the  home  for  which  >ou  louif, 
the  quiet  life  and  the  love  for  which  ^our 
heart  sighs.  Nora,  can  >ou  learn  in  time  to 
love  me?" 

At  these  words  a  feeling  of  rest  and  secu- 
rity stole  into  Nora's  heart,  and  her  aston- 
ishment yielded  to  the  loving  words  with 
which  he  pleaded  for  her  consent.  She 
could  not  speak,  but  her  smile  told  him  his 
cause  was  gained.  He  pressed  his  lips  oa 
the  little  hand  so  confiiingly  placed  in  his, 
and,  turning  to  his  mother,  said:  "Mother, 
what  do  I  not  owe  you! "  She  kissed  them 
both  affectiona  ely,  then  begged  them  to 
leave  her,  as  she  was  not  strong  enough 
for  much  emoion.  They  went  away,  after 
renewed  thanks,  and  she  leaned  back  ex- 
hausted in  her  arm-chair. 

"All  is  over  now,"  she  said.  "I  loved 
him  more  than  myself,  and  I  have  given 
him  to  another." 

"No, but  all  is  beginning  a  new  life," 
observed  Miss  Kernoel,  who  had  entered 
un perceived.  "  Y^ur  generous  sacrifice  will 
yet  bring  you  a  rich  reward.  We  women 
are  created  for  abnegation  and  seif-sacrifice; 
but  when  we  fix  our  eyes  above,  we  learn 
to  bear  all,  looking  forward  to  Love  eternal 
and  most  blessed.  I  also  am  alone,  but  God 
is  with  me.  Trust  to  Him,  and  a  happy 
future  will  yet  smile  on  you." 

Years  have  passed,  and  Miss  Kernoel' s 
prophetic  words  are  realized.  Mark  and 
Nora  have  come  to  spend  the  summer  vaca- 
tion in  the  old  house,  but  how  changed  it 
is  from  the  gloomy  house  of  old!  Joyous 
laughter  .sounds  through  the  rooms;  soi't 
carpets  cover  the  floors,  on  which  a  ch  ubby 
boy,  his  grandmother's  idol,  rolls  content- 
edly. Flowers  bloom  everywhere,  and  life 
and  gayety  reign  where  once  gloom  and 
severity  made  the  days  so  weary  and  mo- 
notonous. Mrs  Auvrard  is  happier  than 
perhaps  she  has  ever  been,  and  as  Mark 


5^4 


The  Ave  Maria. 


looks  from  the  fairhaired,  blooming  boy  in 
his  mother's  arms  to  the  sweet  face  of  his 
wife,  he  murmurs  toher  sofily:  "Nora, who 
could  have  foretold  this  result  when,  poor 
and  homeless,  you  came  to  our  house? 
Your  sweetness  and  gentle  piety  softened 
our  hearts,  and  with  the  orphan  came  hap 
piness  and  salvation." 


A  Precious  Gift  for  the  Holy  Father. 


OF  the  innumerable  beautiful  and  costly 
presents  to  be  offered  to  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther on  occasion  of  his  Golden  Jubilee  one 
of  the  most  precious  and  appropriate  will 
be  that  of  the  clergy  and  laity  of  the  Arch- 
diocese of  Paris.  It  is  a  real  chef-d^ oeuvre 
of  art,  worthy  of  the  donors  and  the  lecipi- 
ent,  and  will  be  laid  at  the  f  et  of  Leo  XIII. 
by  Mgr.  Richard  himself.  The  gift  consists 
of  a  superb  tiara  enclosed  in  a  case  of  ex 
quisite  workmanship.  Before  describing  it 
in  detail,  it  may  be  well  to  recall  the  origin 
of  the  triple  crown  of  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tiffs. 

Tiara  is  the  name  given  by  Herodotus 
to  the  headgear  of  the  Persian  kings,  and 
came  into  use  as  a  symbol  of  the  sovereignty 
of  the  Pope  towards  the  c!o-;e  of  the  elev- 
enth century,  at  the  coronation  of  Paschal 
III.  The  shape  of  the  primitive  tiara  was 
different  from  the  modern  one:  it  was 
merely  a  mitre  adorned  with  a  crown.  It  is 
generally  believed  that  Pope  Boniface  VIII. 
(1292)  added  the  second  crown,  and  Urban 
V.  (1362)  added  the  third. 

Before  the  calamities  which  befell  Rome 
at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
pontifical  treasury  contained  several  mag- 
nificent tiaras.  By  the  treaty  of  Tolentino, 
the  French  Directory  obliged  Pius  VI.,  of 
saintly  memory,  to  give  over  all  his  prec- 
ious stones.  In  compensation.  Napoleon  I. 
offered  a  superb  tiara  to  Pius  VII. ;  it  is  of 
great  value,  and  contains  the  finest  emerald 
in  the  world.  Q  leen  Isabel  II.,  of  Spain, 
also  gave  a  very  ccstly  tiara  to  Pius  IX. 
The  one  to  be  ptesented  to  his  successor  by 
the  Archdiocese  of  Paris  will  be  the  most 


artistic  of  the  three.  The  crown  and  the 
lappets  are  of  silver-cloth  exquisitely  em- 
broidered. The  dtsign  was  copit  d  from  that 
of  Raphael  in  his  famous  picture  known  as 
the  Disputation  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 

On  the  top  of  the  tiara  is  the  terres  rial 
globe,  the  outline  of  which  is  in  beautiful 
diamonds;  the  cross  over  it  is  also  of  dia- 
monds, the  centre  stone  being  a  large  and 
perfect  gem.  The  three  crowrs  are  identical 
in  shape,  each  having  six  Jieurons,  set  off 
with  one  large  diamond  and  four  smaller 
ones.  Between  these  ornaments  are  placed 
rare  sapphires,  rubies,  and  emeralds.  The 
number  of  stones  used  in  the  whole  tiara 
has  been  calculated  as  follows:  nineteen 
emeralds,  eleven  sapphires,  thirty  two  ru- 
bies, five  hundred  and  twenty  nine  dia- 
monds, and  two  hundred  and  fifty-two 
pearls.  The  papal  arms  are  embroidered  on 
the  lappets,  from  which  golden  tassels  are 
suspended;  in  each  lappet  is  inserted  a  cross 
of  diamonds. 

The  tiara  is  a  marvel  of  workmanship,  and 
the  case  destined  to  hold  it  is  in  itself  an 
o'ject  of  art.  It  opens  like  a  small  cabinet, 
and  is  lined  with  handsome  red  brocade. 
At  the  back  is  a  Jleur-de-lis  interlacing  the 
initials  of  Leo  XIII.,  all  studded  with  prec- 
ious stones  which  could  not  be  used  in  dec- 
orating the  tiara  itself.  The  cover  of  the 
case  is  of  the  finest  red  morocco,  fastened 
with  gold  nails,  on  which  are  enamelled 
the  seals  of  the  convents  and  parishes  of 
the  Archdiocese.  Families  have  their  coat  c  f 
arms  or  initials  enamelled  on  the  nails  of 
the  clasps;  the  lock  bears  the  archiepiscopal 
seal,  and  that  of  the  three  archdeaconries, 
and  of  the  chapter  of  Notre  Dame.  By 
special  desire  of  Mgr.  Richard,  a  place  was 
also  reserved  for  an  inscription  recalling 
"the  humble  offerings  agreeable  to  God." 


That  is  a  miserable  life  which  is  limited 
to  itself  in  care  and  thought.  For  selfish- 
ness defeats  its  own  end.  Instead  of  exclud- 
ing pain  by  excluding  care  for  others,  the 
selfish  life  only  centres  all  care  upon  itself, 
and  so,  when  pain  touches  it,  has  no  other 
refuge.  —  Christian  Reid. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


565 


The^  Miraculous  Medal. 


R.  F.  C. ,in''  The  Month: ' 
(Conclusion.) 

IN  the  course  of  the  same  year  (1830)  Sister 
Catherine  had  another  vision,  which  un- 
folded to  her  more  definitely  the  work  she  had 
to  do.  We  quote  the  account  as  it  was  written 
by  M.  Aladel. 

At  the  hour  when  the  Sisters  were  praying 
in  the  chapel  (5.30  p.m.) the  Blessed  Virgin 
appeared  to  the  young  Sister  as  if  in  an  oval 
frame.  She  was  standing  on  the  globe  of  the 
world,  only  half  of  which  could  be  seen.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  white  robe  with  a  blue  cloak 
edged  with  silver,  having  as  it  were  diamonds 
in  Her  hands,  from  which  fell  streams  of 
golden  ra>  s  upon  the  earth.  Sister  Catherine 
heard  a  voice  saying,  "These  rays  are  the 
graces  that  Mary  obtains  for  men, ' '  and  saw 
these  words  written  in  golden  characters: 
O  Marie,  conpie  sans  pechi.  priez  pour  nous 
qui  avons  recours  ci  vous — "  O  Mary, conceived 
without  sin,  pray  for  us  who  have  recourse  to 
Thee! ' '  This  prayer  was  in  the  form  of  a  sem- 
icircle; beginning  on  a  level  with  Our  Lady's 
right  hand,  and  pissing  over  Her  head,  it  ter- 
minated on  a  level  with  Her  left  hand.  The 
picture  then  turned  round,  and  on  the  reverse 
side  the  Sister  saw  the  letter  M.  with  a  cross 
above  it,  having  a  crosspiece  at  its  base,  and 
below  the  letter  the  Hearts  of  Jesus  and  Mary, 
the  former  surrounded  by  a  crown  of  thorns, 
and  the  latter  pierced  with  a  sword  Then  she 
thought  she  heard  these  words:  "A.  medal 
must  be  struck  on  this  pattern;  the  persons 
who  shall  carry  it  with  indulgences  attached 
to  it,  and  shall  offer  the  above  prayer,  shall 
enjoy  a  very  special  protection  from  the 
Mother  of  God."  At  that  instant  the  vision 
disappeared. 

This  appearance  of  Our  Lady  was  repeated 
several  times  in  the  course  of  a  few  months, 
always  in  the  chapel  of  the  mother-house  of 
the  Sisters  of  Charity:  sometimes  during  Holy 
Mass,  at  other  times  when  Sister  lyibou  e  was 
praying  ther  .  In  an  account  of  one  of  these 
apparitions  from  the  pen  of  the  Sister  herself 
we  have  certain  accidental  differences  from 
the  narrative  given  above.  Our  Ladv  appears 
at  first  with  a  globe  in  Her  hands,  wh'ch  She 
presents  to  Our  Lord.  Her  hanJs  are  sud  lenly 


seen  covered  with  rings  and  precious  stones, 
whence  proceed  brilliant  rays  down  upon  the 
earth.  She  tells  the  Sister  that  these  rays  are 
the  symbol  of  the  graces  that  She  pours  out 
upon  the  persons  that  ask  for  them.  As  She 
speaks,  a  sort  of  oval  picture  encloses  Her, 
on  which  are  written  in  letters  of  gold  the 
words  already  given — "O  Marie  cotgue  sans 
peche, priez  pour  nous  qui  avons  recours  cL  vous. ' ' 
Then  a  voice  is  heard,  telling  the  Sister  to  have 
a  medal  struck  on  this  pattern,  and  informing 
her  that  those  who  carry  it  will  receive  great 
graces,  especially  if  they  wear  it  round  their 
nerk;  and  that  these  graces  will  be  most  abun- 
dant for  those  who  have  a  great  spirit  of  con- 
fidence in  Our  Lady's  intercession. 

These  apparitions,  when  reported  to  Sister 
Catherine's  confessor,  were  invariably  re- 
ceived with  cold  indifference,  and  even  with 
discouraging  severity,  and  she  was  forbidden 
to  place  any  faith  in  them  whatever.  But  her 
obedience,  to  which  M.  Aladel  himself  bears 
witness,  could  not  efface  from  her  heart  the 
delicious  remembrance  of  what  she  had  seen. 
To  return  to  Mary's  feet  was  her  greatest 
happiness;  her  heart  was  always  there,  and 
she  had  ever  the  firm  conviction  that  she 
should  soon  see  Her  again. 

There  is  one  feature  in  the  medal  as  known 
to  us  which  has  not  any  place  in  the  accounts 
given  by  Sister  Catherine  of  her  visions.  The 
serpent  which  appears  under  Our  Lady's  feet 
is  nowhere  mentioned  by  her  in  writing;  but 
hanpily  a  communication  that  she  made  to  one 
of  her  superiors  explains  its  presence.  This 
superior,  who  had  been  admitted  to  her  confi- 
dence, desired  to  have  a  statue  of  Mary  Im- 
maculate made  as  Sister  Laboure  had  seen 
Her.  ' '  Ought  I, ' '  she  asked,  * "  to  put  the  ser- 
pent under  Mary's  feet?"  "Yes,"  said  the 
Sister;  "there  was  a  serpent  of  a  greenish 
color  with  yellow  spots  "  She  also  recom- 
mended that  Our  Lady  should  not  be  repre- 
sented as  too  young,  or  too  smiling,  but  that 
Her  countenance  should  be  grave,  though 
beaming  with  a  radiant  light  of  love,  which, 
she  said,  shone  forth  especially  when  She  was 
dictating  the  prayer  to  be  stamped  on  the 
medal. 

Although  M  Aladel  received  Sister  Cath- 
erine's revelations  so  coldly,  they  neverthe- 
less made  the  deepest  impression  upon  him. 
After  waiting  for  several  months,  he  consulted 
some  persons  of  experience  respecting  them. 


f66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  subsequently  laid  them  before  Monsignor 
de  Qiielen,  Archbishop  of  Paris.  The  evi- 
dence to  their  reality  was  so  strong  that  the 
Archbishop,  in  1832,  gave  his  consent  to  M 
Aladel's  prop  )sal  to  have  a  medal  struck  in 
accordance  with  Our  Lady's  instruction  to 
Sister  Catherine.  It  was  not  easy  to  settle  on 
the  details.  The  Blessed  Virgin  had  not 
always  appeared  under  the  same  form,  and  a 
change  had  sometimes  taken  place  in  Her 
attitude  in  the  course  of  the  apparition.  It  was 
therefore  decided  to  take  the  already  existing 
medal  of  the  Immaculate  Mother,  and  to  add 
to  it  the  rays  of  light  issuing  from  the  rings 
on  Her  fingers,  the  globe  on  which  She  was 
seen  to  be  standing,  and  the  serpent  crushed 
tinder  Her  feet.  Around  the  oval  were  inserted 
the  words,  "6>  Marie,  congue  sans  peche,priez 
pour  nous  qui  avons  recours  h  vousl^'  The 
reverse  side  of  the  medal  was  made  in  accord- 
ance with  Our  Lady's  instructions  as  given 
above. 

As  soon  as  the  medal  was  struck  it  began 
to  spread  rapidly,  especially  among  the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  some  of  whom,  knowing  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  its  origin,  had  the  greatest  con- 
fidence in  it.  They  gave  it  to  their  sick,  and 
at  once  the  most  wonderful  conversions  and 
cures  attested  its  miraculous  eflScacy.  Then 
pious  mothers  begged  for  it  to  give  to  their 
children,  who  seemed  to  have  an  instinctive 
love  for  it,  and  to  value  it  as  a  certain  mark 
and  assurance  of  Our  Lady's  protection.  As 
soon  as  it  became  known  in  a  place  a  throng 
of  pious  persons  hastened  to  procure  it,  and 
boys  and  girls  began  to  discover  its  value  as 
a  preservative  of  innocence.  In  some  country 
parishes  almost  the  whole  population  were 
invested  with  it;  and  a  general  ofl&cer  of  Paris 
asked  for  sixty  medals  to  distribute  among 
various  officers  who  wished  to  have  one. 

The  Archbishop  of  Paris,  whose  great  char- 
ity made  him  a  constant  visitor  to  the  sick, 
several  times  informed  M.  Aladel  that  he  had 
never  given  the  medal  to  any  one  without 
having  recognized  its  happy  fruits.  At  length, 
in  1836,  he  went  so  far  as  to  recommend  it  in 
one  of  his  pastorals.  After  speaking  of  the 
signal  favors  and  graces  of  every  description 
obtained  by  the  invocation  of  Mary  conceived 
without  sin  his  Grace  continued:  'We  ex- 
hort the  faithful  to  wear  the  medal  struck 
some  years  ago  in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, and  to  often  repeat  the  prayer  written 


above  the  figure — '  O  Mary. conceived  without 
sin,  pray  for  us  who  have  recourse  to  Thee! '  " 

But  it  was  not  only  ia  France  that  the  mi- 
raculous medal  was  spread  abroad:  in  Italy, 
Switzerland,  Belgium.  America,  the  Levant, 
and  even  in  China  it  soon  became  celebrated 
for  its  wonder-working  power.  In  Paris  alone 
forty  millions  of  these  medals  had  been  struck 
off  in  1879,  and  about  the  same  number  in 
Lyons.  But  it  is  time  that  we  proceed  to  nar- 
rate some  of  the  extraordinary  cures  both  of 
soul  and  body  wrought  by  means  of  it.  Those 
given  in  M  Aladel. s  book  are  very  numerous, 
and  we  can  not  attempt  to  cite  more  than 
two  or  three  of  them.  They  are  but  samples 
chosen  almost  at  hazard  (  ut  of  a  quantity  of 
others  which  we  w«  uld  fain  adduce. 

In  ahospitil  tended  by  the  Sisters  of  Char- 
ity in  the  dep  irtment  of  Herault  in  France, 
in  the  year  1834.  was  a  captain  of  the  21st 
Light  Infantry  in  an  advanced  .stage  of  con- 
sumption, and  with  ids  left  side  partially  par- 
alyzed. He  prided  himself  on  having  no  re- 
ligion, and  the  Sister  who  had  care  of  him 
found  it  quite  useless  to  speak  to  him  on  the 
subject  One  day, however  when  he  was  worse 
than  usual,  one  of  the  Sisters  t!K)k  courage, 
and  asked  him  if  he  was  a  Catholic.  ' '  Yes  Sis- 
ter "  was  the  reply.  She  then  begg.d  him  to 
wear  the  medal  of  Mary  Immaculate,  assur- 
ing him  th4t  if  he  did  so  She  w(mld  give  him 
patience  and  courage  amid  his  sufF  ring«i.  He 
thanked  her  and  took  it,  but  refused  to  wear 
it.  The  Sister  Infirmarian,  however,  managed 
to  fasten  another  medal  inside  his  pillow.  At 
first  no  effect  seemed  to  be  produced:  the 
young  cffictr  was  rapidly  growing  worse,  and 
still  he  refused  to  see  a  prie-^t.  At  length  the 
doctors  announced  that  it  was  very  doubtful 
whether  he  would  live  through  the  right,  and 
the  Sisters  sent  for  a  priest,  and  brought  him 
to  the  sick  man's  bedside  But  the  dying  pa- 
tient uttered  not  a  word,  save  that  in  answer 
to  the  exhortations  of  the  good  priest,  he  ciied 
out:  "Let  me  alone!  I  shall  be  dead  to- mor- 
row.and  all  will  be  over.'  The  priest  at  length 
withdrew,  but  the  poor  Si.sters  only  redoubled 
their  prayers  to  Mary  Immaculate,  btgging 
Her  not  to  allow  one  to  perish  whom  they  had 
placed  under  Her  omnip  )tent  protection. 

The  following  evening  to  their  surj  rise  and 
delight  the  dying  man  cal  ed  the  ^ister  who 
had  charge  of  the  ward.  "O  Sister,"  he  said, 
"how sorry  I  am  to  have  treated  so  badly  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


567 


Sister  Superior  and  the  good  priest  who  came 
to  see  mt!  Please  express  to  them  my  sin- 
cere regret,  and  ask  them  to  give  me  another 
chance,"  The  good  Sister  lost  no  time.  Back 
came  the  priest,  was  received  with  expressions 
of  hearty  regret  by  the  sick  man,  remained 
with  him  two  hours,  heard  bis  confession,  and 
had  the  happiness  of  seeing  him  maki  his 
peace  with  God.  ' '  I  die, ' '  he  said — and  asked 
the  chaplain  to  write  the  words  down, —  'in 
the  religion  of  my  fathers  I  love  and  I  revere 
it,  and  humbly  ask  pardon  of  God  for  not 
having  always  practised  it  before  the  world." 
And  so  he  peacefully  expired. 

Another  cure  is  related  by  the  very  lady  to 
whom  it  happened,  and  who  gives  her  name 
and  address  in  testimony  of  its  accuracy.  "I 
had  been  ill,"  she  said,  "for  eight  years,  and 
the  doctors  could  do  nothing  for  me.  ( suffered 
from  continual  hemorrhage, could  eat  nothing, 
and  drew  near  to  death's  door.  At  length  the 
doctor  advised  that  I  should  be  sent  to  the 
hospital,  to  spare  my  family  the  painful  spec- 
tacle of  my  death.  One  of  my  neighbors  how- 
ever, suggested  that  a  Sifter  of  Charity  be 
sent  for.  i  consented  rather  reluctantly,  for  I 
thought  they  came  only  to  poor  people;  and 
the  next  day  Sister  Mary  arrived  from  a 
neighboring  parish.  When  she  found  I  had 
not  been  to  confession  for  several  years,  she 
told  me  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to  make  my 
confession.  I'll  go  to  confession  when  I  am 
cured,'  I  answered.  The  Sister  urged  her  re- 
quest. '  My  dear  Sister,  I  don't  like  to  be  pf»r- 
tecuted  with  that  sort  of  thing  I  have  told 
you  that  T  will  go  to  confession  when  I  am 
cured.'  Meanwhile  I  grew  rapidly  worse.  A 
violent  chill  came  over  me  and  every  ore 
thought  I  was  dead.  When  the  doctor  heard 
of  my  condition,  he  remarked:  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  it:  she  has  two  fatal  diseases — con- 
sumption and  continual  hemorrhage.  If  she 
is  not  dead  now,  she  will  scarcely  live  through 
the  day. ' 

"That  afternoon,  at  two  o'clock.  Sister 
Mary  made  her  appearance  '  Have  you  any 
devotion  to  our  Blessed  Lady?'  she  asked. 
'Yes,  I  think  so.'  And  in  fact  I  always  had 
some  sort  of  confidence  in  the  Holy  Mother 
of  God.  '  Well,  then,  if  you  had  a  real  love  for 
Her,  I  would  give  you  something  that  would 
cure  you. '  '  Oh,  I  shall  be  cured  soon  enough ! ' 
(I  meant  that  I  should  soon  be  dead,  for  I  felt 
that  I  was  dying.)    Then  the  Sister  showed 


me  the  medal.  '  Put  this  medal  on,  and  if  you 
have  great  confidence  in  Our  Lady  it  will 
cure  you.'  Somehow  fhe  sight  of  that  medal 
cheered  my  heart.  I  took  it,  and  kissed  it 
devoutly;  for  I  was  very  anxious  to  get  well. 
Then  the  Sister  read  to  me  the  little  prayer 
that  I  was  to  say  every  day,  and  I  promised  to 
add  five  'Our  Fathers'  and  five  '  Hail  Marys.' 
She  put  the  medal  round  my  neck,  and  at  that 
moment  a  strange  sensation  seemed  to  come 
over  me — a  sort  of  general  revolution  in  my 
whole  frame.  It  was  not  anything  painful:  on 
the  contrary,  I  was  shedding  tears  of  joy.  I 
was  not  cured, but  I  felt  that  my  cure  was  com- 
ing, and  I  had  a  confidence  which  certainly 
did  not  come  from  myself. 

"The  same  evening  I  found  to  my  aston- 
ishment that  I  could  sit  up  in  bed.  The  next 
diy  I  asked  for  some  soup,  and  enjoyed  it.  I 
was  cured.  Two  days  afterwards  I  felt  strong 
enough  to  go  to  the  church  to  thank  Our 
Lady.  My  friends  would  not  hear  of  it,  but  I 
insisted.  Alone  and  unaided  I  made  my  way 
thither.  A  day  or  two  afterwards  I  went  to 
confession.  From  the  day  of  my  cure  to  the 
present  time  I  have  enjoyed  perfect  health. 
It  is  to  the  miraculous  medal  that  I  owe  the 
grace  which  has  cured  alike  the  evils  of  my 
soul  and  body." 

This  lady  had  a  little  girl  aged  six  years 
and  a  half,  who  had  from  her  infancy  been 
unable  to  speak  distinctly.  She  was  not  dumb, 
but  was  so  tongue- tied  that  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  make  out  what  she  said.  When 
Sis  er  Mary  saw  her  she  recommended  the 
same  remedy  which  had  cured  her  mother. 
'  Impossible!  Wny,  the  child  has  a  natural 
malformation  of  the  organ  of  speech!"  But 
the  medal  was  put  round  the  little  girl's  neck, 
and  a  novena  begun  to  Our  Lady.  The  child 
was  to  hear  Mass  each  day,  and  to  recite  cer- 
tain prayers.  At  first  no  result  was  visible, 
but  on  the  fifth  day,  on  coming  out  from  Mass, 
the  child  spoke  as  plainly  and  distinctly  as 
though  nothing  had  ever  been  the  matter  with 
her.  Those  who  heard  her  could  not  believe 
their  ears.  Soon  the  report  spread;  people 
came  from  all  sides,  listened  to  her,  ques- 
tioned her.  For  all  little  Hortense  had  but 
one  answer.  She  showed  them  her  medal,  and 
said:  "Our  Lady  cured  me." 

The  miracles  wrought  through  this  won- 
drous medal  are  as  varied  as  they  are  innu- 
mtrable.    A  missionary  from   Macao  writes 


568 


The  Ave  Maria. 


how,  through  its  means,  the  devil  was  expelled 
from  a  pagan  who  had  long  been  possessed. 
From  New  Orleans  comes  an  account  of  the 
conversion  of  a  Freemason  under  whose  pil- 
low it  had  been  placed  At  St.  Louis,  under 
similar  circumstances,  a  j-oung  Methodist, 
who  was  to  all  appearance  dead  came  to  life 
again  and  asked  for  baptism,  dying  in  reality 
only  half  an  hour  after  the  regenerating  wa- 
ters had  been  poured  upon  him.  At  Beuthen 
in  Poland  a  young  Protestant  actress,  who 
consented  to  wear  a  medal  in  order  to  show 
how  little  effect  it  would  have  upon  her,  soon 
succumbed  to  its  influence,  and  asked  to  be 
instructed  and  received  into  the  Church.  At 
a  prison  in  Austria  a  hardened  apostate,  who 
had  been  guilty  of  fearful  outrages  against 
God,  was  changed  by  the  grace  which  came 
with  the  wearing  of  it.  From  every  pait  of 
the  world  comes  the  same  story  of  the  count- 
less miracles  it  has  wrought.  Most  wonderful 
of  all  is  the  story — most  of  our  readers  are 
probably  familiar  with  it — of  the  Abbe  Ratis- 
bonne's  conversion  from  Judaism. 

It  is  easy  for  the  sceptic  to  scoff  at  such 
stories  as  those  we  have  narrated  or  referred 
to  above.  But  we  are  not  writing  for  sceptics, 
but  for  good  Catholics,  and  our  object  is  to 
increase  the  devotion  they  already  entertain 
towards  everything  connected  with  God's 
Holy  Mother.  If  any  of  them  should  think  the 
statements  of  the  universal  tfEcacy  of  the  mi- 
raculous medal  incredible  or  exaggerated,  we 
would  ask  them  to  give  it  a  trial,  and  they  will 
surely  find  by  their  own  experience  that  none 
who  trust  in  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  shall  be 
cxmfounded;  that  She  shall  heap  upon  them 
treasures  of  joy  and  gladness;  that ' '  Her  ways 
are  beautiful  ways,  and  all  Her  paths  are 
peaceable;  that  She  is  a  tree  of  life  to  them 
that  lay  hold  on  Her;  and  that  he  who  shall 
retain  Her  is  blessed  for  evermore."  * 


*  Prov.  iii,  17, 18. 


Christianity,  instead  of  militatingk  against 
anything  good  which  I  had  derived  from  phi- 
losophy, strengthened  it  by  the  aid  of  logical 
deductions,  at  once  more  powerful  and  pro- 
found.— My  Prisons. 

We  are  doubtful  of  the  value  of  many  a 
thing  while  we  hold  it,  which  seems  to  us  abso- 
lutely good  after  it  has  passed  from  our  grasp. 


Catholic  Notes. 


Among  the  innumerable  offerings  to  be 
made  to  the  Holy  Father  on  occasion  of  his 
Golden  Jubilee,  that  of  his  Eminence  Cardinal 
Lavigerie  deserves  particular  mention.  It  con- 
sists of  an  ancient  reliquary  in  silver  contain- 
ing the  bones  of  a  martyr  which  was  recently 
discovered  at  Carthage  From  an  artistic  point 
of  view, it  is  a  masterpiece:  and,  viewed  in  the 
light  of  archaeology,  the  object  is  unique  The 
engravings  represent  all  the  emblems  of  Chris- 
tianity—the monogramof  Christ,  the  palm, 
the  fish,  the  dove,  etc.  The  name  of  the  martyr 
whose  remains  are  contained  in  the  reliquary 
has  not  been  definitely  ascertained. 

This  precious  object,  so  remarkable  as  a 
specimen  of  early  Christian  art,  was  entrusted 
for  renovation  to  M.  Meurice  of  Paris.  Subse- 
quently it  was  trarsferred  to  Rome,  and  placed 
in  the  hands  of  the  illustrious  archaeologist 
De  Rossi,  who  will  examine  it,  and  give  a  re- 
port of  the  same.  The  presentation  was  to 
have  been  made  on  the  8th  of  September,  but 
Signor  de  Rossi  asked  for  further  time  to 
complete  his  report,  which  will  be  presented 
to  the  Holy  Father  with  the  reliquary.  This 
offering  of  the  missionary  Cardinal  of  Afiica 
will  no  doubt  rank  among  the  most  notable 
objects  in  the  Vatican  Museum. 


Earth's  prizes  are  but  a  shadow,  its  glories 
empty,  and  its  successes  disappointing.  And, 
curiously  enough,  the  world  has  never  even 
deceived  itself  about  them.  Listen  to  the 
opinion  of  one  of  the  most  famous  men  cf 
our  time— Prince  Bismarck— as  expressed  in 
a  letter  to  a  young  man  who  asked  his  advice 
about  the  road  to  success: 

"  Fame  is  a  desirable  thing  only  in  the  puri^uit 
of  it.  When  once  attained  it  is  found  to  be  like 
the  Apples  of  Sodom,  and  turns  to  ashes  in  your 
grasp.  To  be  gazed  at  at  eight  paces,  and  to  be 
shot  at  at  four  p  ces,  is  a  poor  nmuneration  for  a 
life  of  toil.  As  for  myself  I  can  truly  say  that  I 
have  received  only  endle.^s  anxiety,  worry,  and 
disappointment;  and  were  it  not  for  the  hope  of 
a  better  1  fe  beyond  the  grave,  through  the  mt  rcy 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  d  »  not  see  h  iw  this 
life  would  be  endurable." 


In  a  coramunica'ion  to  the  Ech/^  de  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Garde,  the  Rev.  Pere  Augier.  Pro- 
vincial of  the  Oulates  of  Mary,  residing  at 


The  Ave  Maria. 


569 


Montreal,  speaks  of  a  visit  lie  recently  paid 
to  an  Indian  village  called  Maniwaki.  Mani- 
waki,  which  means  "land  of  Mary,"  is  situ- 
ated at  the  junction  of  two  rivers  emptying 
into  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  is  one  of  the  mi.>-- 
-sions  attended  by  the  Oblate  Fathers.  The 
Indians  are  comparatively  few  in  number,  but 
still  form  the  majority  of  the  congregation 
■composed  in  part  of  French  and  Irish,  which 
fills  the  church  consecrated  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Father  Augier  says  that  the  Assump- 
tion is  the  great  festival  day  of  these  pious 
Indians,  who  each  year  prepare  for  its  cele- 
bration by  a  retreat  of  eight  days.  They  come 
from  all  parts,  attired  in  their  best  apparel, 
and  with  edifying  regularity  and  recollection 
attend  the  various  exercises.  These  days  of 
preparation  are  crowned  by  a  general  Com- 
munion and  solemn  procession  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  on  the  festival. 


The  Feast  of  St.  Andrew  the  Apostle, 
Wednesday,  Nov.  30,  will  be  memorable  in  the 
annals  of  the  Church  in  the  two  new  Western 
dioceses  of  Concordia  (Kansas)  and  Lincoln 
(Nebraska),  by  reason  of  the  consecration  on 
that  day  of  the  first  Bishops  of  those  sees — the 
Rev.  Richard  Scannell  and  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Bonacum,  The  consecration  of  the  Bishop  of 
Concordia  took  place  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Nashville,  Archbishop  Feehan,  of  Chicago, 
being  the  consecrating  prelate.  The  usual 
sermon  was  delivered  by  Archbishop  Elder,  of 
Cincinnati.  There  were  present  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishops  O'Sullivan,  Maes,  Dwenger,  Rade- 
macher,  and  McCloskey,  and  a  large  number 
of  clergy  from  far  and  near.  The  church,  which 
was  handsomely  decorated  for  the  occasion, 
was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  the 
faithful  who  came  to  witness  the  impressive 
ceremony. 

The  consecration  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  Thomas 
Bonacum,  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  in  St.  John's 
Church,  St.  Louis,  was  made  additionally  im- 
pressive by  the  fact  that  the  day  was  the  forty- 
sixth  anniversary  of  the  elevation  to  the  epis- 
copal dignity  of  the  oflSciating  prelate,  the 
Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Kenrick.  It  was  also  the 
first  consecration  that  has  taken  place  in  that 
city  for  nearly  seventeen  years,  and  it  brought 
togtther  a  very  large  attendance  of  the  Rt. 
Rev.  and  Rev.  clergy.  The  assistant  consecra- 
tors  with  the  venerable  Archbishop  were  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Bishops  Hogan  and  O'Connor.  The 


sermon  was  delivered  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  John  J. 
Hennessy.  The  newly-consecrated  prelate  is 
spoken  of  by  his  late  fellow-members  of  the 
clergy  as  possessing  all  the  qualifications 
that  make  up  the  character  of  one  fitted  for 
the  high  and  responsible  ofiice  of  bishop  in 
the  Church  of  God. 

The  fruitfulness  which  has  hitherto  at- 
tended Bishops  Scannell  and  Bonacum  in 
their  career  in  the  sacred  ministry  gives  the 
brightest  presage  of  future  success  in  the 
wider  and  more  elevated  sphere  now  opened 
before  them.  May  they  realize  in  the  work 
upon  which  they  have  entered  all  that  sincere 
hearts  would  seek  to  express  in  that  fervent 
greeting,  ad  multos  annos! 

Mr.  Percival  Lowell, who  cultivates  learning 
on  a  great  deal  of  ignorance  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  says: 

"The  Roman  Catholic  who  prays  to  a  wooden 
image  of  Christ  is  not  one  whit  less  idolatrous 
than  the  Buddhist  who  worships  a  bronze  statue 
of  Amida  Butzu.  All  that  the  common  people  are 
capable  of  seeing  is  the  soul-envelope;  forthesoul 
itself  they  are  unable  to  appreciate.  Spiritually 
they  are  undiscerning,  because  imagin  atively  they 
are  blind.  ' 

Mr.  Percival  Lowell,  deep  though  he  ap- 
pears to  be  in  the  Vedas,  has  never  glanced  at 
a  Catholic  Catechism.  It  is  a  way  that  some 
of  these  people  of  culture  have.  They  conceal 
their  lack  of  knowledge  of  things  near  them 
by  pretending  to  know  all  about  things  afar 
off. — N.  Y.  Freeman' s  Journal. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  there  are  two 
classes  of  people  in  France— those  who  hate 
religion,  and  those  who  are  very  zealous  for 
it.  This  is  true  to  some  extent,  as  the  French 
character,  whatever  else  it  may  be,  or  may  not 
be,  is  generally  logical.  But, alas!  many  French 
Catholics,  exemplary  as  they  are  in  perform- 
ing their  religious  duties,  are  careless  and 
apathetic  in  the  discharge  of  duties  almost 
equally  important.  Their  lethargy  in  the  mat- 
ter of  voting  is  deplorable:  very  frequently 
by  abstaining  from  the  polls  they  help  to  aid 
the  triumph  of  godlessness.  French  Catholics 
ought  to  remember  that  every  time  they  re- 
fuse to  exercise  their  duties  as  citizens  they 
are  strengthening  the  hands  of  a  power  which 
has  for  its  object  to  destroy  the  very  notion 
of  God.  For  the  infidel  Government  of  France 
Catholics  are  to  a  great  extent  responsible; 


570 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  we  can  scarcely  blame  sceptics  for  saying 
— what  is,  however,  in  fact  untrue— that  the 
Government  represents  the  nation,  and  that  a 
nation  must  be  in  sympathy  with  the  ideas  of 
the  rulers  whom  it  elects.  French  Catholics  are 
greatly  to  blame  for  their  political  apathy;  and 
there  is  no  denying  that  they  have  to  thank 
them.selves  for  much  of  the  persecution  to 
which  the)^  are  subjected. 


One  of  the  noblest  of  all  the  noble  works 
that  Christians  can  engage  in  is  the  rescue  of 
those  whom  the  world  in  its  superciliousness 
and  pride  thinks  fallen  too  low  for  rescue  or 
compassion.  ' '  Every  woe  a  tear  can  claim  ex- 
cept an  erring  sister's  shame,"  says  the  cyni- 
cal poet;  but  it  is  a  crowning  glory  of  Christi- 
anity that  even  these  outcasts  are  not  beyond 
her  ministrations.   Scattered  over  the  length 
and  breadth  of  this  country  are  many  institu- 
tions devoted  solely  to  this  Christ-like  work. 
One  of  the  grandest  of  them  is  the  House  of 
the  Good  Shepherd  founded  in  1875  at  New- 
ark, N.J.  The  original  building  being  found 
too  small,  a  larger  and  more  complete  estab- 
lishment was  erected  last  year  at  a  cost  of  over 
$120,000    The  house  is,  of  course,  conducted 
as  a  Catholic  institution,  but  persons  of  other 
beliefs  are  freely  admitted,  and  form  a  large 
proportion  of  its  inmates;  the  care  of  orphans 
is  also  a  feature  of  the  asylum.  Though  the 
good  Sisters  wish  the  institute  to  be  self- 
supporting,  still,  the  expenses  are  so  great,  we 
feel  sure  that  contributions  would  be  appreci- 
ated. Could  any  work  of  charity  be  more  de- 
serving of  a  generous  support?  We  trust  our 
numerous  readers  in  the  Diocese  of  Newark 
will  remember  the  Sisters  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd in  their  Christmas  benefactions.   The 
circumstances  of  the  establishment  in  Newark 
at  present  are  such  that  there  are  few  objects 
to  which  gifts  could  be  more  fittingly  devoted. 


In  a  notice  of  Prince  Edmund  Radziwill,  of 
an  ancient  and  noble  Polish  family,  who  lately 
entered  the  Order  of  St.  Benedict,  the  London 
Tablet  praises  the  humility  and  zeal  displayed 
by  the  Prince  when  a  secular  priest.  He  began 
his  priestly  life  as  military  chaplain  in  the 
Franco-German  war,  and  was  a  prisoner  of 
Marshal  Bazaine.  Later  on  he  was  at  Rome 
for  the  Silver  Jubilee  of  the  Pontificate  of  Pius 
IX. ,  then  worked  for  several  years  as  a  humble 
curate  at  Ostrovo;  visited  Ireland,  and  spoke 


at  the  great  O'Connell  Centenary.  He  was 
the  protector  of  the  Polish  Sisters  of  the  Visi- 
tation in  England,  and  also  the  founder  of  the 
Sisters  of  St.  Elizabeth  at  Ostrovo.  He  might 
often  be  seen  riding  in  a  peasant's  rough  cart 
to  visit  some  dying  person  in  the  lonely  re- 
cesses of  the  forest .  and  often  gave  away  his  last 
coppers,  his  only  pair  of  boots,  or  his  shirt,  to  a 
poor  man.  He  undertook  a  journey  to  Nijni- 
Novgorod  to  console  the  exiled  Archbishop 
Felinski,  of  Warsaw.  All  these  works  of  char- 
ity were  over  and  ahove  his  activity  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Centre  Party  of  the  Reichstag. 


New  Publications. 


Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel  in  Gena- 
ZANNO.  Compiled  by  permisS'On,  from  the 
work  of  Mgr  George  F.  Dillon,  D.D.  By  Anne 
R.Bennett.  New  York,  Cincinnati,  and  Chicago: 
Benziger  Brothers. 

The  intrinsic  merit  of  this  little  book  is  of 
itself  a  suflScient  reason  to  commend  it  to  the 
attention  of  our  readers.  It  sets  forth,  in  a 
concise  yet  clear  and  comprehensive  manner, 
the  history  of  the  origin  and  development  of 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  practical  de- 
votions in  honor  of  the  Immaculate  Mother 
of  God.  How  powerfully  does  not  the  title 
' '  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel ' '  appeal  to  the 
earnest  soul  seeking  for  the  light  which  will 
point  out  the  safe  path  amid  the  dangerous 
mazes  of  life! 

The  book  is  made  additionally  attractive 
by  the  elegant  descriptive  style  of  the  author, 
who  has  succeeded  in  producing  an  interest- 
ing and  instructive  narrative  based  upon  the 
voluminous  work  of  Mgr.  Dillon.  This  fact, 
together  with  the  inexpensive  form  in  which 
the  book  is  given  to  the  public,  claims  for  it 
an  extended  circulation. 

Compendium  Sacr^  Liturgi^  Juxta  Ri- 

tum  Romanum  Una  cum  Appendice  de  Jure 

Ecclesiastico  Particulari  in  America  Fcederata 

Sept.  Vigente  Scripsit  P.  Innocent ius  Wapel- 

horst,  O  S.  F.   Neo-Eboraci,  Benziger  Fratres. 

The  reverend  clergy  will  hail  with  pleasure 

the  appearance  of  this  useful  and  practical 

work  by  the  Rev.  Father  Wapelhorst,  formerly 

rector  of  St.  Francis'  Seminary,  Wisconsin. 

The  many  prescriptions  by  which  the  Church 

seeks  to  secure  the  proper  obbervance  of  her 

sacred  liturgy  will  be  found  in  this  book,  pre- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


7» 


I 


sented  in  a  concise  but  exact  manner,  that  will 
commend  it  to  the  attention  of  all  who  have 
at  heart  the  honor  and  glory  of  God's  House. 
The  rubrics  of  the  Missal,  the  Roman  Brev- 
iary, the  Roman  Ritual,  and  various  cere- 
monials, are  here  clearly  set  forth,  with  a 
systematic  arrangement  of  the  various  sub- 
jects; thus  making  the  work  valuable  as  a 
text-book  in  our  seminaries,  and  useful  as  a 
manual  for  the  clergy  engaged  in  missionary 
work,  whose  time  is  so  much  occupied  as  to 
preclude  the  possibility  of  consulting  larger 
works.  The  value  of  the  book  is  greatly  in- 
creased by  an  appendix  treating  of  the  various 
decrees  of  the  .second  and  third  Plenary  Coun- 
cils of  Baltimore,  and  their  practical  applica- 
tion. The  publishers,  Messrs.  Benziger  Broth- 
ers, have  issued  the  work  in  good  style,  with 
fine  paper,  clear  type,  and  substantial  binding. 

The  Incarnate  Word  and  the  Devotion 
TO  THES\CRiD  Hbart.  By  the  Rev.  George 
Tickell  S.J.  London:  Burns  &  Oites.  New 
York:  The  Catholic  Public ition  Society  Co. 

This  little  book,  founded  on  the  treatise  De 
Verbo  Incamato  by  the  late  Cardinal  Fran- 
zelin,  S.  J.,  contains  a  clear  and  succinct  out- 
line of  the  dogmatic  basis  on  which  the  de- 
votion to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Our  Lord  rests. 
Lucidly  and  elegantly  written,  it  handles  the 
subject,  which  is  not  an  easy  one,  in  a  mas- 
terly manner;  and  it  will,  we  think,  prove  of 
the  greatest  use  to  those  who  desire  enlight- 
enment on  a  matter  which  is  of  such  deep 
importance  to  Catholics,  and  has  proved  a 
stumbling-block  to  many  of  our  separated 
brethren. 

LiGUORi  Leaflets;  or.  Holy  Thoughts  for 
Every  Day  in  the  M  )nth.  Dra^iFn  from  the 
Works  of  St.  A  ph-)n.«-us  Maria  de  L'guori. 
Edited  by  Eleanor  C.  Donnelly.  Philadelphia: 
Frank  A.  Easy.  1887. 

"Give  me  a  great  thought."  said  a  Ger- 
man poet,  "that  I  may  live  on  it  "  The  en- 
riching of  our  minds  with  holy  sentiments  is, 
next  to  prayer,  the  truest  amulet  against  the 
siren  songs  of  temptation,  the  most  potent 
enchantment  against  each  Circean  spell;  and 
in  these  leaflets  edited  by  Miss  Donnelly, — 
these  holy  thoughts  taken  from  the  works  of 
that  most  safe  guide,  St.  Alphonsus, — we  find 
Q.repertoire  of  maxims  and  ideas  that  will  be 
of  incalculable  value,  to  quote  the  words  of 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Middieton  in  his  admirable  pref- 


ace to  this  book,  "to  every  one  who  has  a 
moment  to  spare — the  layman  or  the  religious, 
the  toiler  or  the  one  at  leisure,  the  child  the 
youth,  or  the  aged. ' '  The  first  part  of  the  book 
consists  of  thoughts  f)r  every  dav  in  the 
month,  and  here  in  particular  we  must  com- 
pliment Miss  Donnelly  on  the  aptness  and 
beauty  of  her  selections,  which  seem  to  set 
before  us  as  in  a  mirror  the  mind  of  St.  Al- 
phonsus, and  provide  a  brief  but  admirable 
compendium  of  Christian  doctrine  and  prac- 
tice. The  second  part  contains  a  method  of 
hearing  Mass  and  other  devotions-  acts  after 
Holy  Communion,  etc.  Everything  about  this 
booklet  pleases  us  except  its  title,  which  we 
think  must  be  a  sacrifice  to  the  popular  taste 
for  alliteration. 


Obituary. 


"  //  ts  a  holy  and  -wholesome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

-  %  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com- 
mended to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The Ver>' Rev. Stephen  Byrne  O.S.D  .ab  loved 
and  widely-known  priest,  who  depirted  this  life 
at  Minneapolis  on  the  23d  ult  .  ^^fter  a  long  ill- 
ness. Father  Byrne  was  an  efficient  missioner, 
and  held  important  offices  in  his  Order.  He  con- 
tributed frequently  to  the  Catholic  press,  and  was 
the  author  of  several  popular  book  s 

The  Rev.  J.  Berbigier,  of  the  Diocese  of  Erie, 
who  died  suddenly  on  the  same  day.  He  had  been 
assistant  rector  of  St.  Joseph's  Church,  Warren, 
Pa. .  for  several  years. 

The  Rev.  B  J.Spalding.of  theDioceseof  Pecria, 
who  breathed  his  last  at  his  home  in  Lebaron, 
Ky.  on  the  28th  ult.  He  was  a  nephew  of  ihe  Ute 
Archbishop  Spalding,  of  Baltimore,  and  brother 
to  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  of  Peoria. 

Sister  Euphrasia  and  Sister  Lawrence,  of  the 
Convent  of  Notre  Dame,  San  Jos6  Cal  ,  who  were 
lately  called  to  the  reward  of  their  self  sacrificing 
lives. 

Miss  Ellen  Comerford,  whose  happy  de^th  oc- 
curred on  the  24th  ult.  at  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  She 
bore  a  long  and  painful  illness  with  edifying  pa- 
tience, and  was  well  prepared  for  a  better  world. 

Mrs.  M.  McHugh,  who  met  with  a  sut'den  death 
at  Morris,  Minn  ,  on  the  nth  of  Septtmber. 

James  Smith,  of  Trenton,  N  J. ;  Th  mas  F.  and 
Mary  J  Birron.  ard  John  Wheeler,  Bdltimore, 
Md. ;  Mrs.  Bridget  Leahy  Chit  ago.  III. ;  Catherine 
O'Connor,  South  Boston  Ma<:s. ;  Peter  McAnally, 
Essex,  111.;  Bernard  J.  O  Niill,  S  >merville,  Masa.; 
and  Thomas  S  Kelly,  Mobile,  Ala. 

May  they  rest  in  peace! 


572 


The  Ave  Maria, 


PARTMENT 


The  Miracle  of  S.  Buenaventura. 


A  SPANISH  LEGEND 


Daroca  is  a  small  village  on  the  road 
from  Teruel  to  Calatayud.  The  appearance 
of  the  city  is  picturesque,  lying  as  it  does 
in  a  valley  surrounded  by  hills,  upon  which 
here  and  there  rise  Moorish  walls  and  tow- 
ers. The  valley  is  shaped  like  a  funnel — 
small  at  one  end  and  large  at  the  other, — 
and  is  subject  to  dreadful  inundations.  In 
these  days  a  tunnel  has  been  cut,  which  is 
called  the  "  Misa,"  and  which  lets  the  water 
out;  and  this  passage  serves,  when  dry,  as 
the  fashionable  promenade. 

In  one  of  the  streets  of  Daroca  there  is  a 
shrine  to  Santa  Buenaventura,  and  under- 
neath it,  enclosed  by  glass,  is  a  large  mill- 
wheel.  Many  people  have  been  surprised 
at  the  sight  of  this  mill-wheel;  but  the  in- 
habitants of  Daroca  would  not  part  with  it 
for  any  price,  for  it  is  one  of  the  many  signs 
of  saintly  intervention  which  have  been 
showered  upon  that  pious  little  city,  and 
*' thereby  hangs  a  tale." 

About  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century 
Daroca  was  threatened  with  a  terrible  in- 
undation. For  days  and  weeks  rain  had 
fallen  in  heavy  showers;  the  hills  about 
the  city  were  furrowed  into  cataracts,  and 
thick  mists  gathered  over  the  town.  The 
inhabitants  did  not  dare  to  move  out  of 
their  houses,  for  fear  of  being  overtaken  by 
the  floods.  Guards  were  placed  at  d  flferent 
points  to  watch  and  open  the  sluice  gates 
of  the  city  in  case  of  an  inundation,  and 
for  weeks  the  inhabitants  of  the  village 
watched  the  weather  with  anxious  hearts. 
But  as  nothing  happened  in  all  that  time, 
excepting  the  continual  rising  of  the  river, 
the  peasants  became  easier  in  their  minds, 
and  gradually  relaxed  their  watchfulness 


and  care.  The  guards  were  jstill  kept  at  their 
posts,  it  is  true;  but  they  were  not  very 
vigilant,  for  they  considered  the  danger 
almost  over,  in  spite  of  the  continual  rains 
and  the  rising  ot  the  river  near  by. 

At  the  head  of  the  valley  there  was  a 
mill  worked  by  a  water-wheel,  where  lived 
the  miller  with  his  wife  and  his  pretty 
daughter  Rosa.  One  night,  after  a  continual 
rain,  and  a  sound  of  roaring  waters,  the  ven- 
erable priest  of  the  village  was  ambling 
home  on  his  lazy  old  mule  somewhere  in 
the  small  hours,  after  attending  a  poor  d)  ing 
woman  far  up  among  the  hills.  He  was  very 
tired,  and,  owing  to  the  constant  exercise  in 
the  cold  air,  he  had  been  overcome  by  drow- 
siness, which  the  slow  jog-trot  of  the  mule 
increased  rather  than  lessened.  Suddenly  he 
woke  with  a  start,  and  saw  standing  before 
him  a  beautiful  woman  dressed  in  blue,  with 
a  silver  star  on  her  head,  whom  he  at  once 
recognized  as  Santa  Buenaventura,  whose 
shrine  was  in  the  corner  of  the  street  close 
by,  and  whose  feast  was  celebrated  that 
day.  She  seized  his  mule  by  the  bridle,  and 
said  to  the  astonished  priest: 

' '  Lis  ten !  hark !  Do  you  hear  that  roari  a  g 
sound  ?  It  is  the  flood.  Fly !  fly  to  the  gates, 
and  tell  the  guards  to  open  them  wide, 
while  I  go  to  the  mill ! ' '  And  with  these 
words  she  disappeared.  The  priest,  now 
thoroughly  awake,  was  frightened  nearly 
out  of  his  wits ;  nevertheless,  he  spurred  on 
the  old  mule  as  fast  as  he  could,  with  the 
noise  of  the  coming  waters  sounding  in 
his  ears,  and  rode  to  the  gates  of  the  city. 
The  guards  were  sound  asleep,  and  he  had 
great  difficulty  in  rousing  them  to  their 
duty.  Then,  seeing  that  they  were  there  to 
do  their  work  if  needed,  he  jogged  back  as 
fast  as  his  mule  would  let  him  to  the  mill. 
He  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  lady,  whom 
he  had  met  in  the  road,  step  upon  a  mar- 
vellously narrow  cross-board  and  unhinge 
the  wheel. 

It  went  into  the  surging  waters  with  a 
great  bounce,  churning  the  stream  white 
as  it  rushed  down  along  the  valley  tow- 
ards the  city  gates.  The  guards,  when  once 
awakened,  could  see  no  one.    The  priest 


The  Ave  Maria. 


57^. 


had  disappeared,  and  they  began  to  think 
that  they  had  been  dreaming,  when  soon 
they  heard  the  well-known  and  dreaded 
sound  of  the  rushing  waters,  which  they 
had  expected  to  hear  for  so  many  weeks.  It 
had  come  at  last,  then,  this  dreadful  inun- 
dation! The  guards  rushed  to  their  posts, 
but  in  vain  did  they  tug  at  the  chains  and 
try  to  open  the  sluice- gates:  they  would 
not  turn.  And  all  the  time  that  dreadful 
sound  of  rushing  water  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  And  the  men  tugged  harder  and 
harder  at  the  gates.  It  was  of  no  use.  Sud- 
denly they  saw  the  mill-wheel  spinning 
down  the  valley,  and  with  a  crash  it  burst 
the  gates  open,  and  the  city  and  people 
were  saved  by  the  miracle  of  Santa  Buena- 
ventura. « 
After  the  danger  was  past,  the  old  priest 
naturally  became  the  object  of  great  rever- 
ence and  awe ;  for  had  he  not  been  addressed 
by  Santa  Buenaventura  herself?  And  had 
she  not  charged  him  with  the  message  to 
the  guards?  The  wheel  was  considered  far 
too  sacred  to  be  used  in  the  mill  any  more, 
and  was  carefully  placed  under  glass  at  the 
foot  of  the  shrine  of  Santa  Buenaventura, 
who  had  saved  the  village  of  Daroca. 


Leo  Marson's  Victory. 


BY  E.  V.  N. 


IX. 


The  altar  that  Grandma  Donaldson  had 
superintended  looked  very  pretty  and  devo- 
tional, and  about  nine  o'clock  that  evening, 
while  the  family  were  resting  themselves 
and  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  on  the  broad 
veranda  facing  the  majestic  bay,  Conrad  led 
the  two  little  lads  away  for  their  night- 
prayers,  which  consisted  of  one  decade  of  the 
Beads.  I^eo  was  unruly  as  usual.  He  was 
very  much  displeased  at  having  to  retire  so 
early,  and  wss  disposed  to  quarrel  with  his 
bedfellow.  Freddie  would  have  preferred  to 
be  alone,  but  was  too  gentle  and  too  polite 
to  express  his  preference.  Conrad  looked  so 
serious  that  Leo  behaved  very  politely  for 


the  time  being,  although  it  cost  him  att 
effjrt  to  conceal  his  displeasure. 

' '  Did  you  notice  that  sketch  of  The  Ark- 
and  Dove  over  the  chimney,  my  dear?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Donaldson  of  her  husband,- 
after  the  children  had  retired. 

"Yes;  these  Indians  have  got  plenty  of 
gay  clothes  and  war-paint,  but  they  are  not 
equal  to  some  that  I  saw  at  Fort  Laramie 
many  years  ago.   There  was  a  council  held 
there,  and  the  Government  wanted  to  con- 
clude a  treaty  with   the  red   men.  After 
everything  was   satisfactorily  settled,  the 
officers  in  charge  presented  the  chiefs  and 
their  braves  with  suits  of  army  clothes — 
cocked  hats,  laced  coats,  and  swords,  a  gen- 
eral's entire  outfit  to  a  chief,  a  colonel's  to- 
the  next  in  rank,  and  so  on.  I  never  saw 
an}  thing  half  so  ludicrous  as  their  appear- 
ance; for  they  all  put  on  their  new  costume, 
and  tried  to  march  as  they  had  previously 
done  in  their  blankets.  The  army  officers- 
laughed  heartily ;  and  Father  de  Smet,  whO' 
had  come  with  us  to  act  as  interpreter,  was 
so  amused  that  it  did  my  heart  good  to  see 
him.    Every  time  that  an  article  of  the 
treaty  was  agreed  upon,  the  calumet  was 
lighted,  and  a  puff  drawn  by  each  councillor.. 
To  aid  in  the  ceremony.  Father  de  Smet 
drew  forth  a  tin  box  of  lucifer- matches,  and' 
striking  one  of  them  handed  it  to  the  pre- 
siding Indian.  When  the  treaty  had  beetk 
concluded,  and  all  were  dispersing,  a  chief,, 
tall  and  hideously  painted,  came  up  very 
mysteriously  to  the  Father,  and  begged  hin*. 
to  share  his '  power  of  Great  Master  of  Fire.' 
Father  de  Smet  was  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  was  meant,  till  the  Indian  explained: 
that  he  wanted  some  of  the  magical  articles 
that  had  kindled  the  smoke  in  the  peace 
pipe.  The  good  priest  at  once  gave  him 
the  whole  box,  and  never  was  a  chief  more 
delighted. 

"Two  years  later  the  famous  missionary- 
was  approaching  the  country  occupied  by  a 
hostile  tribe,  and  he  felt  some  misgivings 
as  to  his  reception.  While  he  was  thus  med- 
itating he  saw  a  number  of  warlike  savages 
advancing  towards  him.  They  halted,  sa- 
luted him  profoundly,  and  spreading  a  gor- 


574 


The  Ave  Mana. 


geous  buffalo-robe  on  the  ground,  bade 
Lim  lie  down  on  it.  What  would  they  do 
with  him?  Knowing  the  Indian  character 
as  he  did,  Father  de  Smet  thought  it  best 
to  obey  them.  He  raised  his  heart  to  God, 
traced  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  on  his  brow, 
and  courageously  resigned  himself  to  life  or 
death.  The  Indians  then  lifted  him  on  their 
shoulders,  and  bore  him  slowly  and  silently 
into  the  camp,  in  which  sat  a  double  row 
of  fierce-looking  braves.  He  was  greeted 
with  a  shout  of  joy  that  made  the  welkin 
-ring,  and,  after  being  ceremoniously  re- 
moved from  his  very  original  palanquin, 
was  invited  by  the  presiding  chief  to  stand 
at  his  right  hand.  The  circling  braves  were 
then  summoned  to  do  homage  to  the  Mas- 
ter of  Fire.  Judge  of  the  good  Jesuit's  sur- 
prise. He  recognized  the  Indian  to  whom  he 
had  made  the  donation  of  a  box  of  matches. 
But  what  did  all  this  mean?  In  order  to 
obtain  an  explanation,  he  asked  the  chief 
what  service  they  had  been  to  him.  '  When 
there  was  question  of  war,'  was  the  sol- 
emn reply,  'I  scraped  one  of  the  sticks  of 
the  Master  of  Fire;  if  it  kindled,  I  went 
to  battle  and  gained  victory;  if  the  stick 
merely  smoked.  I  and  my  warriors  with- 
drew; for  well  I  knew  we  should  be  surely 
■overcome. '  Then  the  red  man  drew  forth 
a  bit  of  deerskin  from  his  bosom,  in  which 
were  carefully  wrapped  the  matches  that 
remained.  Father  de  Smet,  glad  to  have 
«uch  a  large  and  attentive  audience,  briefly 
explained  to  them  the  mystery  of  the 
«ticks,  and  taught  them  something  about 
the  real  Master  of  fire  and  of  all  the  other 
•elements." 

While  Colonel  Donaldson  was  relating 
this  anecdote  there  was  a  good  deal  of  dis- 
turbance in  Freddie's  room. 

"Mamma,"  he  cried,  "L,eo  is  making 
big  eyes  at  me." 

"Shut  your  eyes,  my  son,  and  then  you 
will  not  see  him." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
then  Freddie  called  out  again:  "Mamma, 
JLrCO  is  calling  me  names." 

"Well,  don't  mind  him." 
"*'He  has  .pulled  all  the  clothes  off  of 


me,  and  is  trying  to  push  me  out  of  bed." 

"Conrad,  will  you  see  to  those  young 
fellows?"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  some- 
what impatiently. 

Conrad  caught  up  a  cane,  and,  holding  it 
like  a  musket,  marched  into  the  bedroom; 
he  gave  one  glance  at  Leo,  and  then  walked 
like  a  sentinel  up  and  down  the  little 
apartment.  Freddie  quickly  got  his  share 
of  coveiing,  and  the  monotony  of  Conrad's 
sentinel-like  tread  soon  sent  both  of  the 
tired  children  far  away  in  the  land  of 
dreams. 

"I  do  not  approve  of  that  cowardly, 
whining  tone  of  Fieddie's,"  remarked  Col- 
onel Donaldson;  "I  don' t  want  the  boys  to 
quarrel,  but  I  think  he  should  stand  up  for 
himself  a  little." 

"  You  forget  that  L<eo  is  our  guest,  my 
dear;  and  that,  as  he  is  always  placed  first, 
his  self-love  is  flattered,  and  he  has  become 
overbearing,"  replied  his  wife. 

"I  noticed  a  small  bedroom  partitioned 
off  in  the  attic;  have  that  furnished,  and 
the  first  one  of  them  that  misbehaves  send 
up  there  to  sleep  alone.  There  is  one  good 
thing:  Leo  is  forgetting  to  peep  into  the 
kitchen  since  the  caterer  brings  our  repasts 
from  the  hotel." 

"Yes,  and  his  complexion  is  not  so  sal- 
low as  it  used  to  be,"  remarked  the  elder 
Mrs.  Donaldson. ' '  When  he  has  been  taught 
his  catechism,  and  had  as  much  association 
with  others  as  will  rub  off  selfishness,  he 
will  become  a  good  boy,  I  think.  He  has 
many  excellent  qualities." 

X. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  narrate  all  the  do- 
ings of  the  Donaldson  family  during  their 
three  weeks'  sojourn  at  Piney  Point.  Hunt- 
ing, rowing,bathing,  swimming,  with  drives 
and  rides,  occupied  the  week-days;  and  as- 
sisting at  Mass  and  Vespers,  with'  pious 
and  edifying  reading,  sanctified  the  Sun- 
day. 

One  morning,  just  as  prayers  were  over, 
Uncle  Pete  appeared  at  the  entrance  to 
Seaview  Lodge,  and,  joining  his  hands  to 
make  a  trumpet,  began  to  hollo  with  all  his 
might.  Out  ran  the  boys,  and  the  kind  old 


The  Ave  Maria. 


575 


man  showed  them  by  S'gns  that  his  fishing 
bark  was  ready,  the  day  favorable  for  a 
catch,  and  all  that  was  needed  was  for  them 
to  get  ready  and  embark. 

'O  grandim!"  cried  Edward,  "please 
give  us  a  cup  of  ccflfee  and  a  sandwich,  and 
let  us  go  with  Uccle  Pete." 

"Not  so  fast,  boys;  you  must  have  your 
mother's  permission,  and  she  has  gone  to 
Mass."  (Their  father  was  absent,  having 
been  called  to  Washington  on  military 
affairs  ) 

"Well,  I'll  run  and  ask  leave,"  rejoined 
Edward,  "while  Gussie,  Freddie  and  Leo 
get  everything  ready." 

And  off  he  ran,  just  in  time  to  meet  his 
mamma  coming  out  of  church.  Mrs.  Don- 
aldson questioned  Uncle  Pete,  who  declared 
there  was  "nebber  onny  danger  wid  me." 
But  Leo  said  he  was  afraid,  and  would  not 
go.  However,  while  they  were  eating  their 
sandwiches,  Gussie  narrated  some  captivat- 
ing adventures  that  had  taken  place  the 
previous  summer  at  another  sea-side  resort; 
and  Leo  began  to  think,  as  all  listened  ad- 
miringly to  these  haiibreadth  escapes,  that 
he  would  be  considered  a  coward  if  he  re- 
mained at  home,  so  he  declared  he  would 
accompany  them. 

' '  Well, boys, ' '  said  Mrs.  Donaldson, ' ' you 
may  go  with  Uncle  Pete;  but  you  must 
bear  in  mind  that  the  captain  and  pilot  are 
masters  on  the  boat,  not  Mr.  I  will  or  Mr.  I 
won' t. " 

She  and  Emma  saw  the  boys  on  board, 
well  provided  with  India-rubber  covering 
in  ca«;e  of  rain,  and  the  skiff  sailed' out  like 
a  bird  skimming  the  waves,  while  its  joy- 
ous passengers  sang  the  Ave  Maris  Stella^ 
their  mother  and  sister  watching  them  till 
the  sail  looked  TjO  bigger  than  a  lady's 
handkerchief.  When  Mrs.  Donaldson  and 
her  daughter  returned,  they  knelt  before 
the  little  altar  to  beg  a  blessing  on  the  boys' 
trip;  for  the  mother  ftlt  the  responsibility 
of  her  children  weigh  much  more  heavily 
than  usual  during  the  absence  of  her  hus- 
band. His  authority  was  never  for  an  in- 
stant disputed  by  children  or  servants. 

'  I  am  glad  that  Conrad  is  to  have  a  day 


of  peace  and  leisure,"  said  grandma,  as  she 
took  up  her  knitting,  and  Mrs.  Donald- 
son and  Emma  plied  their  agile  fingers  at 
needlework  to  complete  articles  for  the  con- 
templated fair. 

Presently  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door; 
Aunt  Dinah  appeared  with  a  large  bouquet 
of  flowers;  a  basket  of  fresh-laid  eggs,  and 
a  box  that  seemed  to  be  very  heavy.  Her 
humble  courtesy  and  broad,  good-natured 
smile  secured  her  a  hearty  welcome,  while 
the  ladies  united  in  praising  her  gifts.  But 
when  she  opened  the  mysterious  box  and 
displayed  a  collection  of  lovely  sea-shells, 
all  three  were  in  ecstasies  of  admiration. 

"My  chilluns  picked  um  on  de  sho',  and 
now  deyse  all  dun  growed  up  and  gwine 
away,  dey  dusn't  want  um  no  mo';  so  if 
de  good  ladies  will  'cept  um,  deyse  berry 
welcome." 

Emma  was  delighted,  and  the  elder  ladies 
did  all  they  could  to  please  the  good  Dinah, 
making  her  presents  of  whatever  could  be 
found  at  the  moment,  and  inquiring  what 
they  should  send  her  from  the  Capital.  A 
box  was  brought  out,  and  the  embroidery 
forgotten  in  the  pastime  of  sorting  the  uni- 
valves and  bivalves,  lining  the  box  and 
dividing  it  into  sections.  Between  the  in- 
terstices formed  by  the  larger  shells  were 
myriads  of  tiny  little  pearly  foims,  which 
Emma  pro^jjised  herself  a  world  of  recrea- 
tion in  arranging  according  to  their  classi- 
fication in  conchology. 

The  day  was  beginning  to  wear  away, 
when  a  sudden  cloud  came  over  the  land- 
scape, and  soon  rain  began  to  fall.  Anxious 
for  the  fisherman's  bark  and  its  precious 
freight,  the  ladies  and  good  old  Dinah 
hastened  out  to  look  towards  the  banks. 
They  saw  the  skiff  in  the  distance  home- 
ward bound,  but,  as  the  wind  had  become 
violent,  the  sail  was  lowered,  and  Uncle 
Pete  was  steering  for  the  Point  under  bare 
poles.  There  was  no  little  danger  of  being 
capsized,  and  the  boys  were  all  wet,  cold 
and  frightened.  Loud  peals  of  thunder  suc- 
ceeded each  gleam  of  forked-lightning,  and 
the  wind  seemed  to  blow  harder  and  harder; 
but  the  skipper  had  weathered  many  a 


576 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rougher  gale,  and  knew  how  to  manage 
his  craft  so  well  that  she  was  soon  in  calmer 
water.  All  the  boys  obeyed  Uncle  Pete  im- 
plicitly except  Leo;  he  refused  to  remain 
quiet  under  the  oil -cloth  covering,  and 
finally  lost  his  hat.  He  was  bound  to  save 
it,  and  just  as  the  boat  was  being  moored 
his  feet  got  entangled  in  a  rope,  and  he  ft  11 
overboard.  Such  a  yell !  However,  he  was 
soon  rescued,  trembling  and  crying,  and  wet 
to  the  skin. 

Dinah  helped  the  lads  out  of  the  sloop, 
and  Coarad  hastened  to  get  them  up  to  the 
house,  where  a  warm  drink  was  already 
prepared  for  them,  and  soon  they  were  all 
in  bed,  but  not  asleep;  for  they  were  very 
hungry,  and  soon  asked  for  supper.  The 
ladies,  at  first  much  alarmed,  gradually  con- 
cluded that  it  was  well  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  hour.  So,  while  they  got  up  an 
unusual  collation  for  the  bedridden  mari^ 
ners.  Conrad  related  stories  of  his  life  in 
the  Far  West. 

Among  other  incidents,  the  old  soldier 
told  them  that  on  one  occasion  he  had  jour- 
neyed with  a  company  of  surveyors;  wag- 
ons were  used  to  hold  their  apparatus  and 
provisions,  but  the  scientists  and  their  aids 
were  mounted  on  horseback.  "The  grass," 
he  said, ' '  was  waving  above  our  heads,  and 
the  strawberries  were  so  large  and  plentiful 
that  the  hoofs  of  our  horses  we^e  dyed  with 
their  crimson  juice.  But  on  returning — 
presuming,  of  course,  that  as  we  had  beaten 
a  track  the  travelling  would  be  facilitated, 
— what  was  our  dismay  to  find  the  path 
literally  swarming  with  serpents  that  had 
carawled  out  to  sun  themselves!" 

"Suppose  they  had  bitten  you?"  in- 
quired Edward. 

"It  would  have  been  very  dangerous, 
most  likely  fatal;  but  God  has  provided  a 
weed  that  grows  abundantly  in  the  wilder- 
ness where  rattlesnakes  and  copperheads 
are  found.  This  plant  is  artemisia  (worm- 
wood); if  rubbed  on  the  wound,  and  eaten 
by  men  or  animals  that  have  been  bitten, 
a  cure  is  generally  effected — the  Indians 
declare  invariably,  and  they  are  not  much 
concerned  when  a  horse  has  been  bitten. 


The  rattlesnake  has  one  friend — the  prairie- 
dog.  This  little  animal  always  has  one  of 
the  dreadful  serpeats  and  an  owl  in  his 
burrow,  which  he  keeps  very  neat,  forming 
a  garden  before  his  door  or  entrance,  by 
pulling  up  all  the  grass,  and  leaving  the 
wild  flowers  Wben  travellers  approach,  the 
prairie  dogs  rush  out  by  thousands,  and  all 
bark  at  once  But  if  a  gun  is  fired,  they  dis- 
appear in  a  twinkling." 

So  night  closed  around  the  weary  boys. 
Emma  lighted  the  tapers  before  the  altar^ 
and  all  joined  in  singing  the  Magnificat  in 
honor  of  Her  who  had  watched  over  them 
in  their  peril. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Origin  of  Book-Keeping. 


The  origin  of  book-keeping,  like  that  of 
most  other  useful  arts,  is  involved  in  great  ob- 
scurity. Systematic  book-keeping  is  generally 
admitted  to  have  been  first  practised  at  Venice, 
in  the  15th  century.  Lucas  de  B  )rgio  pub- 
lished a  regular  treatise  on  the  subject,  in  the 
Italian  language,  in  1495.  Beckmann,  in  his 
"History  of  Inventions,"  says  that  the  Ban- 
ians of  India  have  been  from  time  immemorial 
in  pos-ession  of  the  method  of  book-keeping 
by  double- entry,  and  that  Venice  was  the  em- 
porium of  Indian  commerce  at  the  time  Friar 
Lucas'  treatise  appeared.  Other  authors  think 
that  double-entry  was  known  to  the  ancients, 
and  revived  only  in  Italy  with  the  revival  of 
commerce;  and  certain  quotations  are  adduced 
in  support  of  this  opinion,  which  show  that 
the  ancients  entered  the  receipts  and  payments 
of  money  on  opposite  pages  in  the  way  of 
debtor  and  creditor;  but  nothing  beyond  sin- 
gle-entry can  be  inferred  from  this  practice. 
The  first  treatise  on  book-keeping  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  of  which  there  is  anv  account, 
was  published  in  the  year  i  ^ 43  by  Hugh  Old- 
castle,  a  schoolmaster. — Catholic  Examiner, 


Hb  who  thinks  he  can't  win  is  quite  sure 
to  be  right  about  it;  for  he  has  already  lost  — 
Uiicle  Esek. 

Excellence  was  ne\'er  granted  to  man 
but  as  the  reward  of  labor. — Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds. 


tH^ 


tHENCfFORXH  /VLLjGE/EmioHSSJtAU  CA\L  j^EBlE^EOt 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  17,  1887.  No.  25. 


[Cop7Ti(ht  -.—ILaf.  S.  E.  Hmaoa,  C.  B.  C.) 


Dreamland. 


BY   M.    N. 


^OW  straage  to  wander  in  a  world  of  dreams, 
^^  Through  shady  lanes,  by  well-remembered 

streams; 
To  stand  in  those  old  rooms  where  we  have  played, 
To  speak  once  more  with  those  whose  presence 

made 
This  life  worth  living!  . .  .  Soon  they  disappear, 
And  I  am  standing  by  some  mountain  mere. 
Alone;  the  dreary  waste  is  white  with  snow. 
No  form  is  there  to  guide  me  as  I  go.  . . . 
Then  all  grows  dark!   I  seem  to  faint  and  fall, 
While  strange,  sad  voices  thro'  the  stillness  call. 
This  scene  too  changes.  In  cool  cloisters  dim 
I  pace;  the  organ  rolls;  sweet  sounds  the  hymn; 
Its  echoes  thro"  these  aisles  have  often  rung, 
Where  holy  saints  have  lived  and  prayed  and 

sung. ,  ,  . 
A  mist  creeps  round  me;  on  a  rocky  shore 
I  stand  midst  lightning  s  glare;  the  breakers  roar. 
The  thunder  peals,  the  very  mountains  shake. 
And  with  a  cry  of  anguish  I  awake! 


Jaime    Balmes,  Philosopher,  Publicist, 
Statesman,  and  Historian. 


BY    T.    F.    GALWEY. 


T  was  at  Rome,  on  the  15  th  of  Oc 
tober,  1764,35 1  sat  musing  amidst 
the  ru'us  of  the  Capitol,  while 
the  barefooted  friars  were  singing  Vespers 
in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  that  the  idea  of 
writing  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  city  first 
started   into  my  mind,"    It  is  thus  that 


Edward  Gibbon  describes  the  origin  of  his 
famous  history.  To  a  mind  such  as  his, 
impregnated  with  the  railing  deistical  phi- 
losophy of  the  eighteenth  century,  it  seemed 
an  abomination  that  the  humble  children 
of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  should  have  con- 
verted what  was  once  the  central  fane  of 
an  idolatrous  cult  into  a  true  "Altar  of 
Heaven." 

With  Gibbon,  the  substitution  of  Christ 
and  His  pure  religion  for  Jupiter  and  the 
unclean  rites  of  ancient  Rome  was  the 
main  cause  for  the  decay  of  the  mighty 
Roman  Empire.  The  importance  of  the 
"Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire" 
was  at  once  recognized,  for  it  united  to  a 
fascinating  literary  character  a  most  skil- 
fully gathered  mass  of  erudition;  and  as  it 
was  published  simultaneously  in  English 
and  French,  it  came  into  the  hands  of  a 
great  circle  of  readers  both  in  Great  Britain 
and  on  the  Continent.  It  was  a  panorama 
of  the  history  of  civilization  during  the  6rst 
thirteen  Christian  centuries.  But  critical 
judges  immediately  perceived  that  the  artist 
had  contrived  to  give  a  pleasing,  or  at  all 
events  a  natural,  effect  to  pagan  men  or 
pagan  manners;  and  that  he  had  conveyed  a 
certain  impression  of  coarseness,  grotesque- 
ness,  or  stupidity, whenever  he  brought  the 
Christian  religion  or  its  adherents  into  view. 

Gibbon  assumed  to  be  impartial;  he  was 
one  of  those  who  affect  to  let  the  "facts 
speak  for  themselves."  There  have  been 
many  historians  who  have  prided  them- 
selves on  telling  nothing  but  the  truth,  while 


578 


The  Ave  Maria. 


at  the  same  time  telling  only  a  part  of  the 
truth.  But  even  if  Gibbon's  mere  narrative 
were  to  be  let  pass  without  question,  his 
reasonings,  his  silences,  his  mildly  intro 
duced  insinuations,  his  air  of  raillery,  or  of 
good  natured  and  contemptuous  indiffer- 
ence with  regard  to  circumstances,  opin- 
ions, or  doctrines  of  serious  importance  to 
Christianity,  instantly  aroused  an  outcry. 
For  whoever  accepted  Gibbon's  narrative 
of  facts  and  his  inferences  from  them  was 
bound  to  believe  that  Christianity  had,  on 
the  whole,  wrought  misfortune  to  civili- 
zation; that  had  Christianity  kept  off  its 
hands,  mere  naturalism  would  have  given 
the  world  a  system  of  life  and  society  as  far 
above  what  we  now  enjoy  as  the  beautiful 
symmetry  of  the  pagan  temple  of  Greece 
and  Rome  was  above  the  barbarous  irregu- 
larity of  the  Gothic  cathedral.  Protestants 
seemed  to  be  rather  more  anxious  than 
Catholics  to  nullify  Gibbon's  work.  The 
reason  for  this  apparent  apahy  of  Catholics 
was  probably  that  towards  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century  there  was  not  much  se- 
rious religious  controversy  outside  of  Great 
Britain  and  France,  and  in  France  the  po- 
litical excitement  preceding  the  Revolution 
had  made  ancient  history  of  little  moment 
just  then. 

In  the  meantime  the  "Decline and  Fall" 
had  gone  through  many  editions,  and  when 
the  critical  school  of  history  came  into 
vogue,  early  in  this  century,  it  attracted 
more  attention  than  before.  In  France, 
Guizot — a  statesman  and  historian,  a  man 
of  well-balanced  mind  and  sufficient  hon- 
esty of  purpose,  biit  a  thorough  Calvinist 
in  religion — edited  the  "Decline"  with 
notes  intended  to  defend  Christianity.  In 
so  doing,  however,  M  Guizot  was  at  pains 
to  point  out  what  he  regarded  as  a  necessary 
distinction  between  true  Christianity  on 
the  one  side  and  the  "Papal''  perversion 
of  Christianity  on  the  other  An  edition  of 
the  "Decline,"  with  Guizot's  notes  ampli- 
fied by  another  set  of  notes  from  the  pen 
of  another  Protestant,  Daan  Milman,  was 
published  in  England  not  long  after,  and 
this  is  the  edition  with  which  most  Eaglish 


and  American  readers  of  the  work  are 
familiar.  But  Guizot,  not  satisfied  with  his 
emendations  of  Gibbon,  undertook  to  com- 
bat the  "Decline"  in  a  still  more  elaborate 
fishion,  and  about  the  year  1830  published 
an  "  Histoire  Generale  de  la  Civilisation 
en  Earope,"  in  which  he  worked  out  with 
great  care  and  considerable  dialectical  skill 
his  theory  that  Catholicity,  or  "  Papal  Cath- 
olicity," was  a  distinct  force  from  genuine 
Christianity.  Liberty  was  to  be  the  fun- 
damental quality  of  modem  civilization, 
Guizot  maintained ;  and  the  idea  of  liberty, 
of  personal  independence,  was  to  originate 
with  the  Germanic  nations  exclusively, 
and  was  to  find  its  full  expression  in  the 
so-called  Reformation.  These  sophistries, 
clothed  in  graceful  and  dignified  language, 
had  an  immediate  success. 

The  best  answer  to  the  open  scoffs  of 
Gibbon  and  his  infidel  school,  as  well  as  to 
the  more  covert  yet  no  less  mischievous 
assaults  upon  Catholicity  made  by  Guizot, 
Milman,  and  other  Protestant  historical 
essayists,  was  to  come  from  Catholic  Spain. 
In  1848  there  appeared  at  Madrid  "El 
Protestantism©  Comparado  con  el  Catoli- 
cismo  en  sus  Relaciones  con  la  Civilisacion 
Europea,'  a  woik  almost  simultaneously 
published  in  French,  and  not  very  long 
after  translated  into  Eaglish  under  the  title 
of  "Protestantism  and  Catholicity  Com- 
pared in  their  Effects  on  the  Civilization  of 
Europe."  The  author,  a  secular  priest,  al- 
ready well  known  in  Spain  as  a  statesman 
and  sagacious  patriot,  no  less  than  as  a 
philosopher  and  publicist  of  rank,  had 
breathed  his  last  almost  before  the  last  vol- 
ume cf  this  great  work  had  left  the  pub- 
lisher s  hands.  His  name  was  Jaime  Lucian 
Antonio  Balmes. 

Balrnes  was  a  Citalan,born  at  Vich,  An- 
gus' 28, 1810, — at  the  time  when  Spain,  de- 
livered from  the  French  armies,  was  being 
systematically  robbed  of  her  manufactures 
by  her  Eaglish  deliverers.  His  parents  were 
poor  people,  but  respected  by  their  towns- 
men. He  was  a  precocious  boy,  but  his 
precocity  was  full  of  health,  physical  as 
well  as  intellectual.   He  was  admitted  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


579 


the  preparatory  seminary  at  Vich  as  soon 
as  it  became  manifest  that  he  was  called  to 
the  priesthood,  arid  from  there  he  passed  in 
due  course  to  the  University  of  Cervera,  a 
seat  of  learning  no  longer  in  existence.  It 
is  related  that  he  devoted  his  entire  four 
years'  residence  in  the  College  of  San  Carlo 
at  Cervera  to  the  study  of  St.  Thomas' 
*'Summa."  He  was  ordained  in  1834, and 
the  next  year  was  graduated  as  Doctor  of 
Theology. 

There  were  at  that  time  two  political 
parties  in  Spain:  the  Royalists, who  had  set 
up  the  young  Princess  Isabella  as  Queen; 
and  the  Carlists,  who,  because  of  the  ancient 
Salic  custom  excluding  females  from  the 
succession,  had  asserted  the  right  of  Don 
Carlos  to  the  throne.  Since  the  Napoleonic 
wars,  however,  Spain  had  virtually  been 
governed  by  Bagland,  who  favored  the 
Royalists,  receiving  in  exchange  for  this 
favor  free-trade  with  Spain.  The  Carlists 
had  the  protectionists  on  their  side,  and  they 
were  especially  strong  in  Catalonia,  a  region 
whose  industry  had  not  yet  been  substan- 
tially injured  by  British  influences.  In 
order  to  please  England,  the  Royalists,  di- 
rected by  the  Prime  Minister  Espartero, 
leaned  towards  what  was  called  Iviberalism, 
and  advocated  a  further  confiscation  of 
church  property,  as  better  adapted  than  a 
high  tariff  to  meet  the  expenses  of  govern- 
ment. 1 1  is  curious  to  observe  that  the  need 
of  open  markets  for  the  sale  of  British  goods 
has  repeatedly  led  to  the  same  sort  of  anti- 
Catholic  diplomacy  on  the  part  of  Eagland 
within  the  last  fifty  or  sixty  years — in  Port- 
ugal, for  example,  in  Italy,  and  in  Mexico. 

For  three  years  Balmes  had  been  filling 
a  chair  of  mathematics  created  for  him  in 
the  Seminary  of  Vich,  when  in  1840  he 
published,  in  condemnation  of  this  con- 
fiscating theory  of  politics,  his  celebrated 
*' Considerations,  Social,  Political,  and  Eco- 
nomical, on  Church  Property,"  as  the  title 
is  translated.  In  this  essay  he  points  out 
that  to  assail  the  rights  of  property  whose 
title  was  guaranteed  both  by  ancient  pre 
scription  and  continued  legitimate  use,  as 
were  the  rights  of  church  property,  was  to  ( 


pave  the  way  for  an  assault  on  property  in 
general — an  argument  which  the  experi- 
ence of  the  past  forty  years  shows  to  be 
sound,  and  to  have  been  almost  prophetic. 
The  following  year  Balmeswas  chosen  a 
member  of  the  Academy  of  Barcelona. 

In  those  days  Washington  Irving  was 
our  Minister  to  Spain,  and  those  who  are 
familiar  with  the  published  correspondence 
of  that  amiable  litterateur^  but  by  no  means 
impartial  historian  or  sagacious  diploma- 
tist, must  recall  the  adulatory  terms  which 
he  bestows  upon  Espartero  and  the  "Lib- 
erals." Bat  Irving  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
British  legation,  who,  while  talking  warmly 
about  Liberalism,  were  chiefly  concerned 
in  promoting  Eaglish  trade  in  Spain.  Es- 
partero, it  can  easily  be  understood,  had  no 
relish  for  Balmes,  that  learned  yet  patriotic 
sonof  self-reliant,  sturdy  Catalonia.  Espar- 
tero sent  an  army  against  Barcelona,  then 
held  by  a  Carlist  force.  Daring  the  siege 
which  followed,  Balmes  occupied  a  house 
in  Barcelona  within  view  of  a  royalist  bat- 
tery posted  oti  a  height  just  outside  the 
town.  He  was  at  this  time  occupied  with 
his  "Criterion,"  a  text-book  of  logic.  One 
day,  while  at  his  desk,  a  shell  entered  the 
room  and  exploded,  making  sad  havoc 
among  books  papers,  and  furniture, though, 
fortunately,  doing  no  harm  to  the  author 
himself.  On  the  surrender  of  Barcelona, 
Balmes  was  banished,  but  only  for  a  short 
while;  for  the  populace  of  Madrid  in  1843 
rose  in  revolt  against  the  Liberals,  and  Es- 
partero made  a  hasty  flight  to  England, 
where  he  was  most  cordially  received  and 
entertained. 

On  the  warm  invitation  of  its  citizens, 
Balmes  went  to  Madrid,  and  in  1844  he  there 
established  a  weekly  periodical.  El  Pensa- 
miento  de  la  Nacion.  It  was  then  that  he 
proposed  his  famous  plan  for  the  pacifi ora- 
tion of  Spain;  this  was  the  marriage  of  the 
two  contestants  for  the  throne — the  young 
Don  Carlos  and  the  Princess  Isabella, — a 
plan  which  met  the  earnest  approbation  of 
the  sincere  patriots  of  the  Peninsula.  It  was 
opposed,  however,  and  thwarted  not  only 
by  the'tiiplomatic  intrigue  of  England  and 


58o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


France,  but  even  by  the  threat  of  their 
armed  intervention.  Spain  was,  in  fact,  a 
helpless  victim  of  foreign  insolence,  and  the 
Spanish  people  saw  with  regret  their  be- 
loved statesman  and  scholar,  Balmes,  retire 
from  political  action,  to  give  himself  ex- 
clusively to  study  and  authorship. 

Balmes  seemed  to  be  exempt  from  men- 
tal fatigue.  Every  species  of  intellectual 
pursuit  formed  a  part  of  his  employment. 
It  is  really  wonderful  how  much  he  accom- 
plished of  lasting  value  within  the  short 
period  of  his  career.  It  is  doubtful  if  the 
personality  of  Balmes  has  been  properly 
rated  outside  of  Spain.  In  Spain,  however, 
his  name  has  always  been  held  in  the  high- 
est esteem, even  by  the  later  Liberals  of  the 
type  of  Emilio  Castelar.  A  Madrid  critic, 
Don  J.  M.  Qnadrado,  writing  of  Balmes 
shortly  after  his  death,  says:  "Before  his 
appearance  Spain  lay  prostrate  intellectu- 
ally, and  unnoticed  by  intellectual  Europe; 
while  in  Spain  the  clergy  were  condemned 
as  wanting  in  intellectual  vigor,  and  given 
up  to  mere  mechanical  routine. . . .  But  no 
sooner  does  this  Catalan  priest  appear  with 
his  work  '  El  Protestantismo '  in  hand,  than 
the  public  loses  its  dislike  and  indifference." 

Passing  by  the  many  political  pamphlets 
which  rendered  the  name  of  Balmes  a 
household  word  in  Spain,  the  three  works 
which  have  established  his  fame  the  world 
over  are — to  speak  of  them  by  their  Eng- 
lish titles,  for  they  have  all  been  translated 
into  English — the  "Fundamental  Philoso- 
phy," a  treatise  on  mental  philosophy  de- 
signed as  an  elementary  course,  and  which 
Dr.  O.  A.  Brownson  reviewed  in  his  Review; 
the  "Criterion";  and,  above  all,  that  mag- 
nificent answer  to  Gibbon  and  Guizot, 
"Protestantism  and  Catholicity  Compared." 
So  far  as  mere  rhetorical  style,  the  Eng- 
lish version  of  this  last  work  fails  in  jus- 
tice to  Balmes;  for  it  is  a  translation,  not 
of  the  original  Spanish,  but  of  a  French 
translation,  and  it  resounds  with  the  la- 
bored metaphors  of  the  double  translation. 
Balmes'  Spanish  is  m-jestic, it  is  true;  but 
not  with  the  strutting  majesty  of  empty 
tropes,  but  with  the  dignity  of  thi  grand 


style  where  every  word  is  in  its  place  and 
represents  an  idea.  In  this  great  work  every 
important  question,  moral,  ecclesiastical, 
philosophical,  or  historical,  bearing  on  the 
relation  between  Catholicity  and  the  de- 
velopment of  E'lropean  civilization, is  dealt 
with  in  a  rigidly  honest  and  logical  man- 
ner. It  is  a  storehouse  of  sound  arguments 
for  the  providential  mission  of  the  Catholic 
Church  as  a  civilizing  inflnence  among  the 
nations.  Perhaps  some  competent  scholar 
will  yet  supply  to  the  work  what  is  needed 
to  fill  up  the  gap  in  events  during  the  forty 
years  since  its  publication.  Even  as  it  stands 
it  is  without  a  rival. 

In  the  spring  of  1848  Balmes  had  been 
living  in  Barcelona,  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  a  Latin  version  of  his  "  Fnuda- 
mental  Philosophy."  Suddenly  all  Spain 
was  shocked  to  hear  of  his  death,  on  July 
9th  of  that  year,  at  his  native  town  of  Vich, 
whither  he  had  been  hastily  removed  on  the 
appearance  of  dangerous  symptoms.  In  the 
Plaza  de  Balmes  at  Vich  stands  a  beautiful 
monument  erected  to  his  memory  by  the 
subscriptions  of  united  Catalonia,  which  has 
always  been  proud  of  him  as  a  genuine 
Catalan;  while  Spain,  from  the  Pyrenees  to 
the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  venerates  him  as 
priest,  scholar,  patriot,  and  worthy  defender 
of  Catholic  unity  and  Christian  morality. 


Brother  Mansuetus. 


BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


(Conclusion.) 

VI. 

AT  midnight  the  great  bell  began  to  toll; 
the  corridors  were  speedily  filled  with 
shadows,  for  no  exacting  toilet  detained  the 
prayerful  brotherhood.  ^^Memeftto  morif^ 
muttered  one  and  all  upon  meeting  in  the 
oratory.  After  the  prayers  each  Brother 
lighted  his  lantern,  and,  noiselessly  falling 
into  line,  the  procession  passed  into  a  not 
far-distant  enclosure.  A  few  funereal  trees 
swayed  ghostlike  in  the  darkness;  a  great 
cross   towered   between   them.    And  here 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


8i 


every  Brother  took  his  stand  beside  a  half 
dug  grave,  and,  at  a  signal  from  the  abbot, 
mournfully  displaced  a  single  shovelful  of 
earth;  meanwhile  a  deep  voice,  that  seemed 
almost  to  issue  from  the  tomb  itself,  uttered 
these  words:  " Remember,  man,  that  thou 
art  dust,  and  unto  dust  thou  shalt  return." 
There  was  a  sob  in  the  sough  of  the 
wind;  the  light  of  flickering  lamps  fell  upon 
faces  that  were  like  the  faces  of  the  dead ; 
yet  among  those  living  shades  was  one  who 
had  been  digging  his  own  grave  in  common 
with  his  brethren,  and  every  handful  of 
earth  that  he  removed  was  like  a  mountain 
lifted  from  his  heart. 

Through  the  long  night  two  watchers 
sat  in  the  gloom  of  the  chapel;  upon  a  bier 
before  them  lay  the  stark  form  of  one  of  the 
brotherhood.  The  lean  hands,  stiflfened  in 
death,  were  closed  about  a  crucifix  that 
rested  upon  the  breast;  a  cowl  hid  the  feat- 
ures, and  the  shadow  of  a  cross  that  stood 
at  the  head  of  the  bier  stretched  the  full 
length  of  the  body,  and  was  motionless  as 
death;  for  a  taper  placed  beyond  the  cross 
burned  steadily  in  the  breathless  silence. 
The  name  of  the  departed  was  unknown 
to  the  watchers;  his  form  and  features  were 
unrecognized;  even  those  who  sat  like 
graven  images,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer, 
were  unknown  to  each  other,  but  one  of 
these  was  Brother  Mansuetus. 

"This  is  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  mused 
he  in  a  lapse  of  the  litanies.  "It  may  be 
that  this  poor  Brother  who  has  gone  to 
Tender  an  account  of  his  stewardship  was 
even  the  worthiest  amongst  us:  the  truest 
example  of  'holy  obedience,  most  entire 
poverty, and  most  chaste  purity. '  Perchance 
he  is  one  of  the  nameless  saints  who  pass 
away  unrecognized  of  the  world,  but  whose 
heavenly  reward  is  certain.  O  pitiful  clay ! ' ' 
"he  murmured;  "happy  art  thou  to  have 
resigned  thyself  into  the  arms  that  were 
eager  to  receive  thee,  and  the  hands  that 
now  nourish  thee  with  scrupulous  care!" 
Once  more  they  gathered,  the  hushed 
brotherhood,  among  the  congregation  of 
open  graves;  one  of  those  yawning  sepul- 


chres was  about  to  receive  its  tenant.  They 
assembled  in  mute  resignation, — a  resigna- 
tion that  knew  no  sorrow,  since  the  fiaal 
expiation  of  the  flish  was  rather  a  cause  for 
joy.  Reverently  they  gathered  about  the 
tomb,  chanting  in  theii  hearts  the  chant  of 
the  dead.  Cross  and  crosier  were  there; 
likewise  the  blessed  taper,  now  flaring  in 
the  wind;  and  the  incense  clouds  that 
wreathed  a  halo  over  the  tonsured  head  of 
the  departed  Brother. 

It  is  dust  unto  dust  indeed  where  the 
uncoffiaed  clay  is  laid  to  rest  in  the  very 
bosom  of  the  church-yard.  Dust  unto  dust! 
As  the  consecrated  earth  fell  upon  the 
lowly  form  that  lay  deep  in  a  bed  of  its 
own  making.  Brother  Mansuetus  realized 
what  he  had  long  fearfully  anticipated; 
within  his  heart  was  a  wish  unsatisfied, — 
a  wish  that  had  grown  with  time,  and  be- 
come an  intense  and  insatiable  yearning. 
In  the  first  flush  of  his  religious  enthusiasm 
he  had  coveted  a  cross;  he  was  unhappy 
then,  because  his  very  happiness— though 
spiritual — seemed  to  him  a  sin.  All  uncon- 
sciously he  had  found  his  cross,  and  lo!  it 
was  almost  greater  than  he  could  bear. 

The  first  duty  of  the  Trappist  after  rising 
at  midnight  is  to  recite  the  Matins  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin ;  and  his  last  before  retiring, 
the  chanting  of  the  Compline  of  the  same, 
together  with  the  solemn  singing  of  the 
Salve  Regina.  At  the  feet  of  that  Queen 
Brother  Mansuetus  was  prostrate,  and  often 
his  lips  were  silent  in  the  song  because  of 
the  overfulness  of  his  heart. 

His  cry  was  no  longer,  "What  shall  I 
do  to  be  saved?"  He  was  doing  all  that 
lay  within  his  power — all  that  lay  within 
human  power;  the  rest  was  with  God.  Bat 
out  of  the  past  a  voice  was  calling  to  him, 
— a  voice  that  was  at  first  as  gentle  as  the 
bleeting  of  a  far-off"  lamb;  that  voice  had 
strengthened  and  grown  louder  and  louder, 
until  now  it  was  a  piercing  cry  that  rang 
in  his  terrified  ears  by  night  and  by  day.  It  * 
was  the  occasion  of  contmual  distractions, 
that  haunting  voice.  In  meditations  dis- 
traught, in  dreams  driven  from  his  pallet 
with  the  fear-damp  upon  his  brow;  he  was 


5^2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


hounded  by  baying  and  pitiless  memorie*;. 
Oh!   when,  where,  and  how  would  it  end? 

From  the  graveyard,  where  his  sepulchre 
awaited  him,  Brother  Mansuetus  turned 
away  with  a  deep  resolve:  he  would  no 
longer  suffer  the  pent  up  anguish  of  a  heart 
that  was  breaking;  he  would  no  longer  delay 
to  make  known  his  one,  supreme  desire. 

Ah!  how  many  others  of  those  uncom- 
municative religious  were  in  like  manner 
filled  with  sacred  fury — who  can  tell?— as 
they  passed  with  solemn  steps  down  the 
narrow  path,  and  left  that  grave  on  the 
hill-side,  nameless  for  evermore! 

VII. 

Upon  the  hard  floor  of  his  cell  Brother 
Mansuetus  lay  in  his  last  agony;  a  few 
handfuls  of  blessed  ashes,  mixed  with  straw, 
and  covered  with  a  strip  of  serge,  were  his 
bed  of  death;  for  this  is  the  rule  of  the  Or- 
der. Feeling  his  end  approaching,  he  begged 
that  he  might  be  permitted  to  communicate 
with  the  abbot,  who  was  kneeling  by  his 
side.  The  attendants  withdrew, and,  finding 
himself  alore  with  his  superior,  Brother 
Mansuetus  thus  unbosomed  himself: 

*'I,  the  most  unworthy  of  men,"  said  he, 
in  a  feeble  breath,  "was  left  at  an  early  age 
in  charge  of  an  orphan  brother — we  two 
being  the  sole  inheritors  of  ample  estates. 
I  relished  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  but, 
having  had  my  fill  of  them,  in  due  season  I 
learned  in  very  truth  that  'vanity  of  vani- 
ties, and  all  is  vanity,  save  loving  God,  and 
serving  Him  alone.'  Earnestly  I  strove  to 
nourish  carefully  the  one  who  was  left  in 
my  keeping, — the  one  who  was  verily 
dearer  to  me  than  life  itself.  Of  my  too  fre- 
quent sins  of  omission  and  commission  he 
was  kept  in  the  profoundest  ignorance,  lest 
my  example  should  occasion  his  fall;  yet  I 
indulged  him  with  the  fond  foolishness  of 
love,  and  would  have  begged  bread  from 
door  to  door  rather  than  he  should  suffer 
one  wish  ungratified. 

"Thus  did  he  flourish  during  the  halcyon 
days  of  youth,  and,  approaching   a  doles 
cence,  was  renowned  for  his  beauty,  his  ami- 
ability, wit,  learning,  and  a  thousand  graces  j 
that  were  denied  to  me.  Indulgence  had  not 


spoiled  him;  for  I  had  been  careful  to  guard 
him  from  those  temptations  which  are  the 
bane  of  youth.  He  was  all  that  heart  could 
wish — my  joy,  my  pride;  but,  having  never 
been  thwarted,  I  litile  knew  the  tribulation 
that  he  held  in  store  for  me.  Coming  to  the 
years  of  discretion — he  was  approaching  his 
maj  Drity — it  became  my  duty  to  consult  his 
will,  and  with  much  gentleness  and  earnest- 
ness I  besought  him  to  consider  seriously 
those  means  by  which  he  might  profit  him- 
self, and  become  heir  to  the  joys  of  the 
world  which  is  to  come. 

"Imagine  my  horror,  O  Rev.  Father  I 
when  the  object  of  my  idolatry  declared  his 
intention  of  enjoying  to  the  full  those 
worldly  delights  which  had  well-nigh  been 
my  ruin!  In  vain  I  pictured  to  him  the 
perils  to  which  he  was  blindly  subjecting 
himself;  in  vain  I  pleaded  with  him,  and, 
bathed  in  tears,  implored  him  for  the  love 
of  those  dear  ones,  now  in  Paradise,  whose 
memory  we  revered — yea,  for  the  love  of 
God — to  forbear.  But  no:  almost  in  anger 
he  repulsed  me.  Sudden  liberty  had  seem- 
ingly dethroned  his  reason,  and  as  he  sallied 
forth  to  join  his  youthful  companions — 
who,  dazzled  by  his  wit,  his  beauty,  his  rank 
and  wealth,  fawned  upon  him  with  obse- 
quious flattery, — I  fled  the  place,  resolved 
never  again  to  revisit  it,  or  suffer  my  heart 
to  dwell  upon  it;  for  the  world  was  now 
doubly  dead  to  me. 

"Thou  knowest  the  sequel  of  my  story. 
I  have  striven  to  assure  myself  that '  it  will 
give  a  man  a  great  confidence  of  dying 
happily  if  he  has  a  perfect  contempt  of  the 
world,  a  fervent  desire  of  advancing  in  vir- 
tue a  love  of  discipline,  a  toil  of  penance,  a 
ready  obedience,  self-denial,  and  patience  in 
bearing  all  adversities  for  the  love  of  Christ.* 
I  have  striven  to  keep  the  faith,  to' avoid 
giving  scandal,  to  forget — O  Rev.  Father  I 
to  forget  myself.  But  how  can  I  forget  my- 
self when  I  can  not  cease  to  mourn  the  one 
who  was  my  all,  who  scorned  my  love,  and 
whose  miserable  fate  I  may  never  know? 
Daily,  hourly,  yea  continually  I  have  cried 
to  Heaven  for  mercy.  I  may  not  be  de- 
livered from  the  yoke  of  this  agony,  and  I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


583 


would  not.  His  blood  be  on  my  head,  and 
for  his  ransom  may  I  suflfir  a  thousand- 
fold !  But,  inasmuch  as  I  have  with  unceas- 
ing intercession  besought  mercy  upon  his 
soul,  do  thou  and  all  thy  hujible  brethrea 
pray  for  him  as  I  have  prayed  for  him.  Oh! 
I  beseecli  thee  pray,  pray  without  ceasing — 
even  unto  the  end!" 

With  a  gasp  the  dying  monk,  who  in  his 
anguish  had  raised  himself  upon  his  trem- 
bling arms,  fell  exhausted  upon  the  thin 
straw  that  scarcely  cushioned  his  head. 
He  was  painfully  articulating  that  glorious 
prayer,  the  '*Last  Sighs  of  the  Dying" ;  in 
the  corridor  rose  a  dolorous  chant:  it  was 
the  "  Recommenda'ion  of  a  Departing 
Soul."  Extreme  Unction  and  all  the  final 
Sacraments  had  been  administered ;  in  a  few 
moments  more  the  fluttering  heart  would 
cease  to  beat,  and  all  would  be  over. 

There  was  a  swift  step  upon  the  thresh- 
old; two  figures  entered — the  abbot,  who 
had  withdrawn  but  a  moment  before,  and 
an  attending  Brother.  With  utmost  haste 
they  tenderly  lifted  the  form  of  the  death- 
stricken  penitent.  Tears  streamed  from  the 
eyes  of  the  venerable  superior,  but  the  face 
of  the  young  Brother  was  as  maible;  it 
was  he  who  drew  the  fainting  monk  to  his 
bosom,  and  folded  him  in  an  embrace  which 
seemed  almost  to  defy  death. 

At  that  moment  the  eyes  of  the  dying 
Mansuetus  slowly  opened ;  the  flime  of  life 
seemed  to  rekindle  in  them,  and  a  smile  of 
inexpressible  serenity  lit  the  ashen  features 
as  he  turned  toward  the  one  in  whose  arms 
he  lay  dying.  Never  vision  of  the  beatfied 
wrought  a  more  marvellous  change;  all 
hope  was  born  again,  and  all  heaven  was  in 
that  face — for  the  last  glance  of  the  death- 
stiicken  was  fixed  upon  the  seraphic  coun- 
tenance of  the  one  whom  he  had  mourned 
as  lost,  the  lovely  and  devoted  subject  of 
his  prayers. 

On  the  s'ill  air  quivered  the  moan  of  the 
passing  bell,  and  the  Litany  for  the  Dead 
broke  the  silence  of  the  long  corridor.  Re- 
quiescat  in  pace!  "  Thus  death  is  the  end 
of  all,  and  all  man's  life  passes  suddenly 
like  a  shadow.'* 


The  Angel's  Offering. 


BY   A.  D.  L. 


TV  N  angel  was  plucking  a  nosegay 
-^^  From  the  manifold  gardens  of  earth, 
To  lay  at  the  footstool  of  Mary, 

Heaven's  Queen  of  immaculate  birth. 

He  chose  but  the  fairest  and  sweetest, 
Just  washed  in  the  dews  of  the  morn — 

White  lilies  and  modest  blue  violets, 
And  roses  with  never  a  thorn. 

At  last,  his  sweet  labor  completed, 

He  plumed  his  white  pinions  for  heaven, 

Rejoicing  that  into  his  keeping 
A  mission  so  holy  was  given. 

But  as  for  a  moment  he  lingered 

Ere  he  soared  to  Our  Lady's  bright  throne, 
He  saw,  in  its  freshness  and  beauty, 

A  parent  bush  standing  alone. 

Four  tiny  white  rosebuds  adorned  it, 
And  perfumed  the  air  with  their  breath; 

But  one  ('twas  the  smallest)  seemed  drooping, 
As  if  touched  by  the  chill  hand  of  death. 

With  pitying  glances,  the  angel 
Bent  o'er  the  pale  blossom  in  love, 

Then  plucked  it — to  lie  on  the  bosom 
Of  the  dear  Virgin  Mother  above. 


The  Russian  Orthodox  Church.— Some 
Pages  from  a  Nuncio's  Diary. 

BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D. 


AMONG  the  many  causes  of  anxiety  to 
the  mind  of  Pope  Pius  VI.  was  his  con- 
troversy with  Catherine  II.  concerning  the 
Catholics  in  her  dominions.  To  one  phase 
of  that  controversy  we  would  draw  the 
reader's  attention.  By  the  first  partition  of 
Poland,  in  1772,  Russia  had  obtained  White 
Russia — a  land  inhabited  almost  exclu- 
sively by  Catholics,  some  adhering  to  the 
Latin  and  some  to  the  Greek  (Sclavonic) 
rite.  The  Latins  had  no  bishop  of  their 
own,  but  depended  on  the  United  Greek 


584 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"bishops  of  Vilna,  Livonia,  and  Smolensk. 
But  scarcely  had  Catherine  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  country,  when,  on  September 
14,  1772,  she   issued  a  ukase  announcing 
that  she  would  soon  appoint  a  bishop  for  the 
Latins;  and  in  the  following  year  her  new 
subjects  heard  that,  besides  some  disposi- 
tions for  the  United  Greeks,  their  gracious 
Bmpress  had  shown  her  solicitude  for  all 
her  subjects  of  the  Latin  rite  by  assigning 
them  all — no  matter  in  what  part  of  the  vast 
Bmpire  they  were  located — to  the  spiritual 
care  of  Stanislaus  Siestrzencewicz,  hitherto 
titular  Bishop  of  Mallo  and  Coadjutor  of 
Vilna.  This  prelate  had  insinuated  himself 
•  into  her  good  graces,  and  events  showed 
that  he  was  a  ready  tool  in  her  hands.  Of 
course  this  appointment  was  null  in  the 
€yesof  the  Holy  See;  but,  fearing  that  Cath- 
erine's anger  would  be  vented  on  the  Cath- 
olics if  she  were  thwarted,  Garampi,  nuncio 
at  Warsaw,  prevailed  on  the  United  Greek 
bishops  of  Vilna,  Livonia,  and  Smolensk, 
to  delegate  to  the  imperial  appointee  their 
own  jurisdiction  over  the  Latins  of  White 
Russia,  while  he  conferred  the  necessary 
faculties  for  the  other  Latins  of  the  Empire. 
In    1776   Girampi   was    transferred   to 
Vienna,  and  was  succeeded  at  Warsaw  by 
John  Andrew  Archetti,  titular  Archbishop 
of  Chalcedon.    The  first  thought  of  the 
new  nuncio  was  for  the  welfare  of  the  Polish 
Catholics,  then  at  the  mercy  of  the  Russian 
bear.    He  realized  that  they  should  have 
many  bishops,  not  merely  one;  and  he  was 
forming  plans  to  that  eflfect,  when  he  learned, 
from  tbe  experience  of  Mgr.  Sagramosa, 
Bishop  of  Jerusalem,  in  a  similar  case,  that 
Catherine  was  resolved  (and  all  her  resolu- 
tions were  inflexible)  to  have  but  two  Catho- 
lic bishops  in  her  dominions — one  United 
Greek  and  one  Latin.  One  of  the  first  acts 
of  Siestrzencewicz  on  assuming  his  position 
liad  been  to  complain  of  his  cavalier  treat- 
ment by  the  Catholic  missionaries  who  be 
longed  to  various  religious  orders.   To  ob- 
viate all  trouble,  the  Propaganda  gave  him 
* '  the  right  of  ordinary  jurisdiction' '  over  all 
these  religious,  and  the  privilege  was  sanc- 
tioned by  Pius  VI.  in  a  rescript  of  August 


15,1778  However,  by  advice  of  Archelti, 
who  wished  to  keep  the  courtier  prelate  in 
some  little  subjection,  this  extraordinary 
faculty  was  limited  to  three  years. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  Catherine 
had  refused  to  allow  the  promulgation  in 
her  dominions  of  the  brief  of  Pope  Clem- 
ent XIV.  which  suppressed  the  Society  of 
Jesus  (July  21,  1773),  and  that  the  Jesuits 
in  Russia  had  continued  in  the  exercise  of 
their  rule.  When  consulted  by  Siestrzence- 
wicz as  to  how  these  Fathers  should  be 
regarded,  Archetti  replied  that  they  were 
secular  priests,  and  should  be  treated  as 
such;  and  this  decision  was  ratified  by  Car- 
dinal Opizio  Pallavicini,  papal  secretary  of 
state.  Very  soon,  however,  the  Bishop  of 
Mallo,  who,  as  Gagarin  well  observes,  had 
always  been  averse  to  the  Jesuits,  showed 
a  wonderful  affection  for  them — superin- 
duced, of  course,  by  his  subserviency  to 
Catherine.  On  July  11, 1779,  he  issued  an 
order  authorizing  the  Jesuits  of  White 
Russia  to  open  a  novitiate  at  Polotzk.  This 
action  of  Siestrzencewicz  caused  much 
trouble  to  Pius  VI. ,  for  the  court  of  Spain 
was  just  as  indignant  as  Catherine  was  well 
pleased.  As  a  token  of  her  gratitude  to  the 
prelate  who  had  aided  her  in  thus  snubbing 
Spain,  the  Empress  made  him  Archbishop 
of  Mohilev,  and  demanded  the  pallium  for 
him. 

On  September  16, 1780, the  Pope,  with  his 
own  hand,  wrote  to  Catherine,  endeavoring 
to  dissuade  her  from  her  project;  and  in  re- 
turn,on  December  3  r ,  she  sent  an  autograph 
letter  urging  her  demand,  and  promising 
that  if  it  were  granted,  then,  indeed,  she 
would  protect  the  Catholics  throughout 
Russia.  Not  before  the  following  October 
did  the  Pope  reply,  and  then  he  agreed  to 
erect  Mohilev  into  a  metropolitan  see,  but  re- 
fused the  pallium  for  his  Lordship  of  Mallo. 
Other  negotiations  ensued,  and  meanwhile 
Pius  VI.  made  his  fruitless  journey  to 
Vienna  to  mollify  the  "sacristy-sweeper," 
Joseph  II.  Finally,  Stackel berg  waited  on 
Archetti  one  day,  and  showed  him  a  letter 
which  he  had  j  ust  received  from  his  august 
mistress,  and  which  he  was  ordered  to  read 


The  Ave  Maria. 


58s 


to  the  nuncio.  The  missive  was  dated  No- 
vember 15, 1782,  and  was  very  bitter  in  tone. 
Catherine  declared  that  if  the  Roman  Pon- 
tiff exercised  any  authority  in  Russia,  it 
was  by  her  favor;  and  that  if  her  demands 
were  not  at  once  satisfied,  she  would  entirely 
suppress  the  Catholic  worship  in  her  do- 
minions. 

His  Holiness  was  well  aware  of  Cather- 
ine's character,  and  he  yielded.  On  Janu- 
ary II,  1783,  he  wrote  to  the  Empress  that, 
for  the  good  of  religion,  he  would  forget 
the  injuries  which  the  Holy  See  had  re- 
ceived at  the  hands  of  the  Bishop  of  Mallo; 
and  that  he  would  make  Mohilev  an  arch- 
bishopric, with  that  prelate  for  its  incum- 
bent. But,  he  continued,  in  order  that  all 
things  might  be  effected  according  to  Cath- 
olic discipline,  he  would  send  a  nuncio  to 
St.  Petersburg  for  that  purpose.  The  person 
chosen  for  the  important  mission  was  the 
nuncio  at  Warsaw,  Mgr.  Archetti.  He  ar- 
rived at  St.  Petersburg  in  the  beginning  of 
Jaly,  1783,  and  was  appropriately  received 
by  Catherine  in  full  court.  It  is  not  our 
purpose  to  give  an  account  of  his  nuncia- 
ture, but  he  himself  drew  up  an  account  of 
it,*  and  in  1872  Gagarin  gave  a  French 
version  of  it  to  the  world.  If  what  we  have 
already  written  is  of  interest  to  the  histori- 
cal student,  the  remainder  of  our  article, 
which  we  shall  take  almost  literally  from 
Archetti's  narrative,  will  be  just  as  enter- 
taining to  the  theological  tyro. 

From  the  very  commencement  of  his 
nunciature,  Mgr.  Archetti  was  desirous  of 
conversing  with  some  of  the  schismatic 
prelates  on  the  subject  of  reunion.  At  last 
the  desired  opportunity  presented  itself. 
An  imperial  princess,  a  granddaughter  of 
Catherine,  had  come  into  the  world;  and 
her  baptism  being,  of  course,  a  matter  of 
state  ceremony,  all  the  foreign  ambassadors 
were  invited  to  be  present.  After  the  func- 
tion Archetti  saluted  the  Archbishop  of 
Novgorod  with  great  urbanity,  and  the 
Russian  prelate  manifested  much  pleasure 

*  Commentaria  de  Legatione  Petropolitana  ab 
Joanne  Andrea  Archetti,  Archiepiscopo  tunc Chal- 
cedonsi,  postea  S.  R.  E.  Cardinal!,  Administrata. 


at  the  meeting.  Thus  encouraged,  the  nun- 
cio visited  the  Archbishop,  a  few  davs 
afterwards,  at  his  residence  in  the  magnifi- 
cent monastery  of  Alexander  Newski.  The 
conversation  which  ensued  is  well  worth  the 
reader's  attention.  A  century  has  elapsed, 
since  it  was  held,  and  when  we  read  it  we 
imagine  that  we  are  listening  to  an  ex- 
change of  views  between  a  Catholic  and  a 
Greek,  or  ''Orthodox,"  clergyman  of  to- 
day. * 

The  first  subject  mooted  by  the  Russian 
prelate  was,  quite  naturally,  one  of  a  trivial 
nature — namely, the  difference  between  the 
vestments  worn  by  the  Oriental  and  the 
Western  clergy.  Archetti  remarked  that  this 
diversity  was  of  no  moment,  providing  the 
same  faith  were  held;  St.  Paul  tells  us  (Eph., 
iv,  5)  that  the  faith  is  one,  because  God  is 
one.  The  Archbishop  replied  that  nearly 
all  Christians  agree  as  to  what  is  necessary 
for  salvation.  They  admit,  said  he,  that  there 
is  but  one  God;  that  His  Son  became  man 
to  deliver  us  from  the  slavery  of  Satan; 
that  Christ  gave  us  the  means  whereby  to 
recover  God's  grace.  If  they  dispute  on 
other  points,  that  matters  little. 

The  Russian  prelate  did  not  realize,  of 
course,  the  thorough  Protestantism  of  this 
sentiment;  for,  much  as  the  schismatics 
hate  Catholicism,  they  despise  Protestant- 
ism. The  nuncio,  however,  insisted  that 
many  other  points  enter  into  Christian  faith, 
for  Jesus  taught  many  others;  and  He  com- 
manded His  Apostles  and  their  successors 
to  teach,  unto  the  end  of  time,  all  that  He 
had  taught  them.  Those  who  receive  only 
such  doctrines  as  they  themselves  regard  as 
necessary  for  salvation,  do  not,  as  a  rule, 
preserve  the  true  faith  even  within  these 
narrow  limits.  A  Socinian,  for  instance, 
who  denies  the  divinity  of  Christ,  attacks 
the  dogma  of  the  Incarnation  And  is  the 
Incarnation  respected  by  the  Lutherans  and 
Calvinists,  who  entertain  so  many  false  ideas 
concerning  its  effects,  and  as  to  the  sacra- 


*  For  the  distinction  between  the  Greek  schis- 
matic and  the  Russian  "Orthodox"  (al-o  schis- 
matic) churches,  see  our  article  on  these  churches 
in  The  "Avis  Maria,"  Vol.  XXIV., pp.  581,  609. 


586 


The  Ave  Maria, 


meats  which  have  it  for  a  source  ?  In  relig- 
ion, just  as  in  other  bodies  of  doctrine,  the 
various  parts  are  all  linked  together. 

Archetti  was  surp'-ised;  he  avowed  that 
when  enumerating  the  articles  necessary  for 
salvation,  the  Archbishop  had  omitted  that 
of  there  being  only  one  Church,  not  many, 
in  which  to  attain  heaven.  For  the  Script- 
ures tell  us  (Eph.,  V,  25)  that  Christ  loved 
His  Church^noK.  His  churches;  that  for^^r, 
not  for  them^  He  suffered.  It  was  the  Cliurch 
that  He  wished  to  be  immaculate  {lb.  27); 
the  Church  that  was  to  be  the  column  of 
truth  (I.  Tim.,  iii,  15).  And  how  often  we 
read  that  the  Church  is  the  house  of  God, 
a  fold,  a  family;  and  that  there  is  but  one 
Shepherd!  Therefore,  observed  the  nuncio, 
the  Roman  Pontiffs  deserve  all  praise  for 
having  constantly  labored  to  put  an  end  to 
schism. 

The  Archbishop  then  remarked  that 
there  was,  after  all,  but  very  little  difference 
between  the  Orthodox  and  the  Roman 
Church.  The  chief  point,  and  the  one  most 
strenuously  contested,  concerned  the  man- 
ner of  the  Procession  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
As  to  that  controversy,  his  own  opinion  was 
that  it  was  very  obscure;  in  fact,  it  far  ex- 
ceeded the  grasp  of  human  intelligence. 
Would  it  not  be  better,  therefore,  to  confine 
all  remarks  upon  it  to  what  we  read  of  it 
in  the  Scripture?  There  we  are  told,  in- 
deed, that  the  Son  sends  the  Holy  Ghost 
(John,  XV,  26;  Luke,  xxiv,  49);  but  only  of 
the  Father  is  it  said  that  the  Spirit  of  Truth 
*' proceeds"  from  Him  (John, /<^.).  The 
Archbishop,  therefore,  could  not  but  hold 
that  the  Latins  acted  "rashly"  when  they 
inserted  the  clause  Filioque  ("and  from  the 
Son")  in  the  Creed. 

To  this  Archetti  returned  that  his  Grace 
of  Novgorod  could  not  have  forgotten  that 
the  Arians  used  to  contend  that  the  Son 
ought  not  to  be  styled  "consubstantial,"  be- 
cause nowhere  in  Scripture  couM  that  word 
be  found.  And,  nevertheless,  SS.  A'hana- 
sius,  Basil,  G'egory  of  Nazianzen,  and  other 
Oriental  Fathers,  firmly  resisted  the  attempt 
to  keep  the  term  out  of  the  Creed.  There- 
fore, he  (Archetti)   would  now  say  what 


these  Fathers  thenysaid;^that  is,  that  the 
Pontiffs  had  the  right — nay,  it  was  their 
duty — to  bring  to  the  light  what  was  hidden 
in  the  Scripture-;;  to  explain  it  by  the  use 
of  words  best  adapted  to  that  purpose.  If 
the  sense  of  such  words  is  contained  in  the 
Scriptures,  what  matters  it  if  the  doctrine 
is  not  found  expressed  in  the  same  syllables 
and  letters?  Against  new  heresies,  as  St. 
Hilary  teaches,  we  are  often  compelled  to 
adopt  new  word^.  The  nuncio,  then,  was 
forced  to  conclude  that  since  the  Scriptures 
show  that  the  Holy  Ghost  proceeds  also 
from  the  Son,  and  since  the  ancient  Fathers 
openly  taught  that  doctrine,  the  Latins 
should  not  be  reproved  for  employing  a 
formula  which  would  inculcate  a  doctrine 
concerning  the  nature  of  God  that  would 
be  based,  not  on  mere  va^^ue  opinion,  but 
on  determined  principles.  And  oh!  sighed 
Archetti,  would  thit  there  could  be  peace 
between  the  two  churches!  He  would  will- 
ingly die,  if  that  would  effect  union. 

To  this  aspiration  of  the  nuncio  the 
Archbishop  replied  that  a  reunion  was  too 
great  a  work  for  any  one  man,  no  matter 
how  excellent  and  holy,  to  effect.  And, 
then,  again,  we  should  refl'C%  he  observed, 
that  there  is  no  church  which  is  not  divided. 
Look  at  the  Russian,  the  Lutheran,  the 
Calvinistic  bodies!  E/en  the  Latins*  have 
not  escaped;  for  even  at  that  time  the  Jan- 
senists  were  giving  great  trouble  to  Rome. 
To  this  sophistic  il  remark  Archetti  re- 
turned that  the  Church  of  Christ  is  not  and 
can  not  be  divided.  As  to  the  Latins,  they 
were  all  of  one  mind.  All  hearkened  to 
and  believed  the  words  of  the  Gospel  as  an- 
nouncfcd  by  the  successors  of  that  Peter  to 
whom  Christ  entrusted  that  function.  As  to 
the  Jansenists,  they  were  no  more  members 
of  the  Church  than  were  the  followers  of 
Simon  Magus,  of  Menander,  and  of  so  many 
other  heresiarchs.  The  Church  is  no  less 
one  even  though  heresies  come  out  from 
her.  The  unity  of  the  Church  is  effected  by 

*  The  Oriental  schismatics  of  every  rite  so 
denominate  all  those  in  communion  with  Rome, 
though  many  millions  of  Roman  Catholics  belong 
to  the  several  Eastern  rites. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


587 


the  union  of  the  bishops  and  their  flocks 
with  their  head,  the  Roman  Pontiff",  whom 
Christ  made  His  Vicar  on  earth. 

But  Christ  has  no  need  of  a  vicar,  retorted 
the  Russian  prelate,  Christ  is  God,  and  His 
power  is  infinite.  He  confided  the  care  of 
His  Charch  to  all  the  Apostles.  Neverthe- 
less, the  Archbishop  declared  that  he  ad- 
mitted that  the  most  holy  Pope,  as  he  al- 
ways styled  the  Supreme  Pontiff",  was  head 
of  his  Church.  But  so  also  was  every  bishop 
in  his  own  sphere.  To  this  remark  the 
nuncio  urged  that  neither  had  Christ  any 
need  of  apostles  or  of  bishops  to  govern  the 
Church.  However,  he  continued,  the  ques- 
tion is  not  as  to  what  Our  Lord  might  have 
done,  but  as  to  what  He  really  did  and  in- 
stituted. Now,  we  know  that  He  did  insti- 
tute Apostles,  bishops,  and  priests;  but  we 
also  know  that  it  was  to  Peter  alone  that 
He  gave  the  task  of  feeding  His  sheep 
(John,  xxi,  15-17),  and  of  confirming  his 
brethren  (Luke,  xxii,  32).  Finally,  if  the 
various  churches  are  not  united  under  one 
head,  if  each  church  has  its  bishop  for  that 
head,  where  is  the  unity  of  the  Universal 
Church? 

Night  put  an  end  to  this  interesting 
interview;  and  during  the  remainder  of 
Archetti's  nunciature  his  relations  with  his 
Grace  of  Novgorod  were  most  cordial,  but, 
nevertheless,  brought  no  nearer  the  desired 
consummation.  The  Diary  informs  us  that 
the  Archbishop,  and  several  other  "Ortho- 
dox" bishops  with  whom  he  frequently 
conversed,  would  cheerfully  admit  that 
Roman  Catholicism  was  excellent  for  the 
Latins,  but  nothing  could  convince  them 
of  the  need  of  corporate  union  with  the  See 
of  Peter.  In  his  many  conversations  with 
the  greater  lords  and  leading  spirits  of  the 
Empire,  Archetti  became  convinced  that 
with  this  class  the  greatest  obstacle  to  re- 
union was  the  fear  of  offlending  the  Greek 
subjects  of  the  Ottoman  Porte.  And  there 
was  probably  much  truth  in  this  conjecture ; 
for  during  the  reign  of  Catherine  IL  the 
Russians  relied,  much  more  than  they  do 
in  our  time,  on  Greek  aid  to  enable  them  to 
give  form  to  their,  traditional  ideas  about 


Constantinople.  To  keep  this  aid  in  a  state 
of  ready  reserve,  they  omitted  nothing 
which  would  nourish,  among  the  Greeks, 
the  conviction  that  the  day  was  at  hand 
when,  thanks  to  Holy  Russia,  Greece  would 
recover  her  ancient  glory. 


Two  Ruby  Rings. 


BY  C.  O' CONOR  ECCI,ES. 


A  FEW  years  ago,  when  looking  through 
the  contents  of  a  French  library,  I 
came  across  an  old  book  which  contained 
the  following  story.  I  have  made  no  attempt 
to  reproduce  the  quaint  language  of  the 
original  with  its  force  and  ndiveiS,  but  tell 
it,  as  simply  as  possible,  in  my  own  words. 

When  Saladin,  the  Saracen,  ascended  the 
throne  of  Noureddin,  in  1 173,  the  forces  of 
the  West  had  been  hurled  against  the  East 
in  two  successive  crusades,  and  it  was 
rumored  in  Palestine  that  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe,  ceasing  their  intestine  wars,  were 
collecting  their  forces  for  a  third  attack  on 
the  Saracens.  A  wise  general  alwavs  de- 
sires to  know  the  numbers,  the  discipline, 
and  the  equipment  of  his  foes;  and  Saladin, 
in  order  that  he  might  be  better  prepared 
to  withstand  the  expected  assault,  deter- 
mined to  visit  Italy  and  France  in  disgui-se, 
accompanied  by  four  of  his  nobles  repre- 
senting themselves  to  be  Cypriot  mer- 
chants. They  travelled  slowly  from  town 
to  town,  making  cautious  irquiries  as  to  the 
strength  of  the  forces  likely  to  be  raised  by 
each  suzerain  if  a  crusade  were  really  pro 
claimed,  but  taking  every  care  that  their 
nationality  and  identity  should  never  be 
suspected. 

In  these  days,  when  we  breakfast  in  Lon- 
don and  dine  in  Paris  we  can  scarcely  realize 
the  difl&culties  of  travel  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
There  were  few  roids  in  Europe,  except 
those  which  had  been  made  by  the  Roman 
soldiers  in  times  of  peace;  inns  were  few 
and  far  between,  and  of  the  most  wretched 
chaiacter;  most  countries  were  covered 
with  dense  and  trackless  forests*  infested 


588 


The  Ave  Maria, 


with  wild  beasts;  and  every  difficulty  whicli 
we  now  feel,  despite  modern  improvements, 
was  then  intensified  a  thousandfold.  Every 
rocky  and  secluded  path  swarmed  with  ban- 
dits i  and  peaceful  wayfarers  were  liable  to 
be  seized, imprisoned,  and  perhaps  tortured, 
if  they  passed  from  the  dominions  of  one 
prince  to  those  of  another  with  whom  he 
was  at  war.  Whenever  great  men  undertook 
a  journey  in  those  days  they  had  with  them  a 
crowd  of  retainers  for  protection, and  dozens 
of  sumpter  mules  laden  with  provisions  for 
the  company.  It  is  easy  to  see,  therefore, 
that  Saladin  ran  no  little  risk  in  venturing 
with  only  his  four  brave  companions  into 
the  strongholds  of  his  enemies. 

In  those  days  the  ancient  virtue  of  hospi- 
tality was  lavishly  exercised,  but  none  prac- 
tised it  in  greater  perfection  than  a  certain 
Antonio  Turelli,  a  gentleman  of  Istria  in 
Lombardy.  Turelli   was  a  man   of  good 
family  and  great  wealth,  married  to  a  beau- 
tiful wife,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  and  by 
whom  his  affection  was  ardently  returned. 
They  hafl  been  blessed  with  children,  and 
had  extensive  property,  including  a  chdteau 
at  Istria  and  SiPalazzo  at  Pavia.  Beyond  all 
things  Turelli  was  devoted  to  the  chase, 
and  his  falcons,  trained  by  himself,  were 
esteemed  the  finest  in  the  north  of  Italy. 
Oae  peaceful  summer's  evening,as  thesun 
was  setting  behind  the  groves  of  chestnut- 
trees,  Turelli  came  forth  to  enjoy  the  cool 
air  near  his  quaint  old  castle  in  Istria,  for 
centuries  the  seat  of  his  family.  He  paused 
in  his  leisurely  walk  to  admire  the  crim- 
son and  purple  glories  of  the  western  sky. 
In  the  duskier  east  appeared  the  crescent 
moon,  pale  and  silvery,  but  ?oon  to  deepen 
and  glow  at  her  conquest  of  her  fiery  rival. 
White  bullocks,  weary   with   their  day's 
work,  wended  their  way  slowly  homeward; 
their  drivers,  goad  in  hand  forbore  to  prick 
them,  being  engaged  in  laughing  and  jest- 
ing with  the  merry  contadinos.  Tall  poplars 
rose  straight  and  slender  towards  the  sky, 
like  fingers  pointing  heavenward    Peace 
brooded   over  the   scene,  and  all   nature 
seemed  to  listen  when  a  nightingale  on  a 
distant  thorn  began  to  sing. 


Turelli's  musings  were  broken  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  five  strargets,  dusty  and  travel- 
stained,  one  of  whom  approached  him  and 
asked  in  Latin  the  way  to  Pavia.  The 
Istrian  was  struck  by  the  noble  air  cf  las 
interlocutor,  and  the  almost  equally  dis- 
tinguished appearance  of  his  companions. 
*' Pavia  is  far  from  here,"  he  answered; 
"and  the  way  is  difficult  to  find  " 

"  Then  we  are  not  likely  to  reach  it  be- 
fore nightfall?' 

"Impossible;  besides,  the  road  is  danger- 
ous, unless  one  knows  it  well.  Wait  rather 
until  rnorning.  I  live  near  by,  and  such 
poor  hospitality  as  my  roof  affords  is  quite 
at  your  service." 

The  stranger  thanked  him  courteously, 
but  declined  the  offer,  sayirg  it  was  neces- 
sary they  should  reach  Pavia  as  soon  as 
possible.  They  asktd  however,  if  he  could 
furnish  them  with  a  guide,  whom  they 
promised  to  reward  liberally.  Turelli  an- 
swered in  the  affimative,  and  summoning 
one  of  his  attendants,  he  privately  told  him 
to  lead  the  travellers  by  the  most  circuitous 
route,  aad  finally  bring  them  back  to  him. 
Such  hospitable  ruses  were  not  uncommon 
in  those  days  of  greater  simplicity, so  the 
servant  felt  no  surprise  at  the  order. 

The  strangers,  having  made  their  ac- 
knowledgments, departed  with  their  guide; 
and  soon  in  the  depths  of  the  Lombard  oak- 
woods,  night  fell  Oa  they  went,  scram- 
bling over  hills,  slipping  on  loose  stones, 
making  their  way  along  the  beds  of  dried 
water-courses.  Projecting  branches  struck 
them  in  the  face;  brambles  scratched  their 
hands  and  tore  their  garments;  bats  wheeled 
round  in  circles;  now  and  then  some  small 
animal,  disturbed  by  their  voices  and  foot- 
steps, plunged  with  a  cry  into  the  brush- 
wood. They  heard  the  hooting  of  owls,  and 
the  hoarse  baying  of  dogs  in  some  far-oflf 
village;  still  the  walls  of  Pavia  arose  not  be- 
fore them ;  and  when,  altogether  exhausted, 
they  paused  to  strain  theii  eyes  in  search 
of  the  city,  they  found  they  had  journeyed 
in  a  circle,  and  were  now  at  the  point 
whence  they  set  out. 

Here  they  once  more  met  Turelli,  who 


The  Ave  Maria. 


589 


laughingly  reproaclied  them  for  not  having 
taken  his  advice,  and  again  offered  them 
shelter,  which  they  now  gladly  accepted. 
He  had  employed  the  time  while  thev  were 
absent  in  seeing  that  all  was  in  order  for 
their  reception,  and  when  seated  at  his 
plentiful  board  they  had  to  acknowledge 
to  themselves  that  their  reception  befitted 
rather  their  real  than  their  supposed  rank. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly.  Saladin 
and  his  companions,  as  they  had  agreed, 
professed  themselves  to  be  merchants  from 
Cyprus;  and  as  in  those  days,  when  people 
rarely  left  their  homes,  there  was  a  myste- 
rious charm  about  unknown  countries — for 
"distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view," 
— Turelli  listens  d  ea^^erly  to  what  his  guests 
told  him  of  their  travels  and  adventures 
Meanwhile  he  dispatched  a  messenger  to 
his  wife  in  Pa  via,  desiring  her  to  make  ready 
for  the  leception  of  visitors,  and  to  invi'e 
his  friends  and  acquaintances  to  meet  them. 
She  obeyed,  and  when  next  day,  himself 
volunteering  to  be  their  guide,  Turelli  and 
the  Saracens  rode  through  the  city  gites 
and  reached  his  house,  they  found  a  splen- 
did banquet  prepared. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  strangers 
at  Tarelli's  priacely  hospitality,  when,  hav- 
ing been  presented  to  his  family,  each  was 
provided,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of 
the  time,  with  handsome  garments  exqui- 
sitely embroidered  in  gold  by  the  deft  fin- 
gers of  their  amiable  hostess,  Ginevra,  and 
her  maidens.  •  These  garments  were  of  silk 
— a  material  then  but  little  known,  since  it 
was  not  introduced  into  Western  Europe 
till  1 130,  when  Greek  manufacturers  were 
brought  over  by  Roger,  King  of  Sicily,  and 
established  at  Palermo.  Italy  at  that  time 
surpassed  the  rest  of  the  world  in  domestic 
luxury;  thus, accustomed  as  Saladin  and  his 
companions  were  to  the  barbaric  splendor 
and  gorgeous  profusion  of  the  Eist,  the 
refiuement  of  Turelli' s  surroundings,  the 
beauty  of  his  spacious  gardens,  the  elegant 
abundance  of  his  table,  and  his  lavish  gen- 
erosity, were  matters  of  great  surprise  to 
his  guests. 

As  they  dined  in  the  company  of  his 


friends  and  relatives,  the  conversation 
turned,  naturally  enough,  on  the  impend- 
ing crusades  of  which  the  prospect  roused 
Turelli  to  enthusiasm,  though  he  spoke 
with  moderation. 

' '  What ! ' '  asked  Saladin,  "will  you  leave 
your  h  ippy  home,  your  loving  wife,  your 
beautiful  children,  to  encounter  hardships, 
dangers,  possibly  death,  in  a  distant  and 
hostile  land?" 

"My  life  will  be  forfeited  in  a  glorious 
cause  if  it  falls  to  my  lot  to  die  in  winning- 
Jerusalem  from  the  Saracens." 

"  But  why  should  you  care  to  combat  the 
Saracens?  They  have  done  you  no  evil. 
Do  you,  then,  hate  them  so  much?" 

"Nay,  I  will  not  the  death  of  the  infidels: 
all  I  seek  is  once  more  to  deliver  from  their 
power  the  city  sanctified  by  the  life  and 
death  of  our  Redeemer,  and  the  hallowed 
spots  that  once  were  His  abiding  places. 
Now  they  are  in  the  hands  of  those  that 
honor  Him  not.  The  sacred  scenes  of  His 
birth  and  passion  are  desecrated  by  those 
who  blaspheme  Him;  nor  can  Christians 
journey  thither  in  safety  to  honor  Him  by 
tears  and  prayers." 

"Then  hatred  of  the  Saracens  and  desire 
to  exterminate  them  is  not  the  motive  that 
lead-;  you?" 

"God  forbid,  if  they  but  yielded  peace- 
able possession  of  our  holy  places,  that  we 
should  injure  a  hair  of  their  heads!  We 
only  ask  freedom  to  visit  the  land  dearest 
to  our  hearts;  but  this  we  are  resolved  to 
obtain,  cost  what  it  may." 

"If  all  Christians  were  like  you,"  said 
Saladin,  "I  feel  sure  the  Sultan  would  re- 
fuse none  of  their  demands." 

It  was  now  time  for  the  guests  to  proceed 
on  their  way,  and  greatly  was  the  generous 
Saladin  grieved  that,  owing  to  his  supposed 
rank  and  circumstances,  he  could  bestow 
only  presents  of  moderate  value  on  his 
entertainer.  They  parted  with  mutual  ex- 
pressions of  admiration  and  esteem,  Saladin 
inwardly  resolving  to  send,  on  his  return 
home,  gifts  worthy  of  the  greatest  monarch 
of  the  East.  But  his  design  could  not  im- 
mediately be  carried  out;    for  when  he 


590 


The  Ave  Maria. 


reached  his  own  country  after  this  recon- 
noitring expedition,  the  cares  of  his  king- 
dom were  so  absorbing  as  to  make  him  for- 
get all  matters  of  lesser  moment. 

Jerusalem,  conquered  eighty-eight  years 
before  by  the  heroes  of  the  first  crusade,  he 
had  wrested  from  the  Christians;  and  now 
there  remained  but  three  Syrian  towns  of 
importance — Antioch,  Tyre,  and  Tripoli — 
in  possession  of  the  Latins.  Pope  Urban  III. 
having  died  of  grief  at  the  fall  of  the  Holy 
City,  his  successor  empowered  William, 
Archbishop  of  Tyre,  to  preach  the  third 
crusade,  and  amongst  the  gentlemen  of 
every  rank  who  flecked  to  enroll  themselves 
beneath  the  standard  of  the  Cross  was  An- 
tonio Turelli. 

•  Poor  Ginevra  was  broken-hearted  at  the 
thought  of  their  impending  separation.  She 
remembered  the  tales  of  horror  told  by  scat- 
tered fugitives  from  the  battle  of  Tiberias, 
when  Guy  de  Lusignan  and  the  flower  of 
his  arm)  fell  into  the  power  of  Saladin,who 
slew  with  his  own  hand  the  Prince  of  An- 
tioch, and  commanded  a  wholesale  massacre 
of  the  Knights  Templars  and  Hospitallers. 
Still,  like  a  true  woman  and  a  devout  Chris- 
tian, she  soon  ceased  to  urge  him  to  remain 
by  her  side;  had  he  done  so,  her  love  might 
even  have  been  lessened.  She  looked  on 
his  cause  as  sacred,  and,  though  her  heart 
might  bleed,  never  would  she,  a  Roman 
woman,  and  a  daughter  of  the  Church,  hold 
him  back  in  ignoble  security.  She  hoped, 
she  felt,  that  the  Gjd  of  Battles  would  be 
his  protector;  that  he  would  return  from 
the  burning  deserts,  the  wild  mountains  of 
Palestine,  to  be  clasped  once  more  in  her 
arms;  that  ''the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day" 
"would  be  turned  aside  from  his  breast,  and 
a  shield  and  a  defence  interposed  between 
him  and  the  enemy.  Even  if  her  worst 
fears  were  fulfilled — if  the  love  of  her  youth 
should  never  more  look  her  in  the  eyes,  if 
the  father  of  her  children  should  never  see 
them  grow  to  manhood, — still  she  gave 
him,  resignedly  if  not  cheerfully,  into  the 
hands  of  his  Maker,  and  she  bract  d  her 
woman's  soul  to  bear  the  long  agony  of  wait- 
ing and  uncertainty,  harder — aye,  a  thou- 


sand times  harder — to  bear  than  the  terrors 
of  the  strife. 

Before  they  parted,  while  lances  and  pen- 
nons gleamed  in  the  Italian  sunshine,  and 
the  sound  of  bugles  called  stragglers  to  the 
ranks, — when  the  wife  and  mother  saw  the 
light  of  her  life  about  to  be  borne  from  her, 
leaving  darkness  for  her  portion,  she  and 
her  beloved,  as  gages  of  aflf^ction  and  of 
fidelity,  as  souvenirs  of  happv  years  and 
tokens  of  mutual  prayer  and  thought,  ex- 
changed rings,  each  alike,  and  bearing  in 
its  centre  a  Aiming  ruby  stone. 

Antonio  kissed  and  blessed  his  children, 
pressed  his  wife  to  his  heart,  and,  without 
trusting  himself  to  speak  farther,  hurried 
down  the  turret  stairs  that  rang  beneath 
his  iron  heel,  headed  his  retainers,  and  rode 
sorrowfully  away,  leaving  Ginevra  prostrate 
in  her  oratory,  to  begin  at  the  foot  of  Oar 
Lady's  statue  her  life  of  widowed  loneli- 
ness. From  every  Italian  town  through 
which  the  crusaders  passed,  Turelli  sent 
a  peasant  or  a  wandering  minstrel  with 
tidings  to  his  wife,  and  so  far  all  was  well. 
He  gave  them  gold,  and  bade  them  hasten; 
but  larger  was  their  reward  when  they 
reached  the  castle  at  Ischia,  where  Ginevra 
had  secluded  herself  with  her  children. 
Once  the  troops  had  embarked,  no  more 
messages  came. 

News  in  those  days  travelled  but  slowly; 
still,  now  and  then  tidings  were  brought  of 
the  successes  of  the  Germans  under  the 
Emperor  Frederick  I  ;  of  that  monarch's 
death  from  bathing  in  the  Cvdnus  during 
the  heat;  of  the  rivalries  o(  Philip  Augus- 
tus and  Cosurde  Lion;  of  the  siege  of  Acre, 
and  the  victories,  alternating  with  defea's, 
of  the  crusaders.  Of  individuals  less  dis- 
tinguished than  kings  it  was  impossible  to 
hear;  the  holy  palmers  or  the  gay  jongleurs 
who  sought  a  night's  shelter  at  the  chdt^au^ 
and  told  what  they  had  seen  or  heard  of 
Palestine,  did  not  know  the  name  of  Tu- 
relli. When  they  saw  the  eager  face  of  his 
wife,  and  noted  how  she  hung  on  their 
words,  two  or  three  of  these  stray  guests 
were  fain  to  mutter  they  heard  he  was  alive 
and  well;  but  so  closely  did  she  question 


The  Ave  Maria. 


591 


them,  that  their  lack  of  knowledge  was 
speedily  made  manifest,  and  her  face  fell  so 
piteously  when  she  discovered  their  igno- 
rance, that  they  wished  compassion  had  not 
tempted  them  to  vouch  for  more  than  they 
knew. 

Sa  the  heavy  years  dragged  on.  At  last 
came  the  joyful  news  that  a  treaty  was  con- 
cluded with  Saladin  for  three  years  and 
eight  months,  by  which  the  cities  of  the 
coast  were  secured  to  the  Christians  while 
the  Siracens  retained  Jerusalem,  allowing, 
however,  the  free  entrance  and  exit  of  pil- 
grims. The  Army  of  the  Cross  was  dis- 
banded, the  crusaders  were  returning  home, 
and  joy  once  more  revived  in  Ginevra's 
heart.  How  her  baby  bovs  had  grown! 
Antonio  would  never  recognize  them.  How 
like  him  little  Gulio  had  become  who  was 
but  an  infant  when  his  father  left!  From 
morning  till  night  she  worked,  overlooking 
her  maidens,  that  all  might  be  in  good  order 
to  greet  his  coming;  the  house  was  stored 
with  his  favorite  viands,  so  that  he  should 
not  find  her  unprepared.  She  discarded  her 
mourning  garb,  and  chose  the  rich  and 
delicate  textures  he  loved,  the  colors  he  pre- 
ferred, and  the  modes  he  had  praised.  His 
lightest  wishes  were  remembered  and  ful- 
filled. Diily  she  watched,  daily  she  expected 
him  —but  he  came  not. 

"He  is  dead,"  her  sisters  whispered 
finally;  *'he  fell  likeahero.  Gcd  willed  it. 
Cease  to  expect  his  return."  But  her  heart 
answered,  '*He  is  not  dead,"  and  daily  she 
kissed  her  ruby  ring.  At  last  some  of  his 
friends  who  had  fought  by  his  side  returned 
to  Lombardy,  wounded  and  worn.  Little 
comfort  could  they  give;  for  three  years 
they  had  not  seen  him;  he  had  with  many 
others,  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Saracens, 
and  they  heard  he  had  been  put  to  death. 
Ginevra  clung  to  every  thread  of  hope,  but 
one  by  one  these  threads  were  severed. 

Antonio's  neglected  falcon,  now  old  and 
feeble,  stood  idle,  stretching  its  wings,  and 
shaking  it-?  jesses  and  silver  bells.  Where 
was  the  master  who  loved  to  ride  abroad 
with  the  bird  perched  on  his  stout  leathern 
glove.  When  would  he  come  to  unhood  it. 


and  bid  it  lisa  in  air  to  strike  down  stork 
or  partridge? 

Then,  as  time  went  by,  the  lady's  father 
and  brothers  spoke.  The  young  men,  too, 
had  been  in  the  Holy  War,  and  they  be- 
lieved Turelli  had  fallen  by  the  hands  of 
his  captors.  '*Why,"  they  said,  "should 
vou,  still  young  and  so  beautiful,  mourn 
for  him  any  longer?  Were  he  living  he 
would  in  all  these  years  have  found  some 
means  of  communiciting  with  you."  But 
Ginevra  refused  to  believe  them,  and  found 
a  thouand  excuses  and  reasons  why  she 
could  not  have  heard  sooner  from  her  hus- 
band, so  that  they  were  forced  to  leave  her 
in  peace  for  a  time. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Our  Lady  of  Grottaf errata. 


THERE  recently  took  place  a  centenary 
celebration  of  the  coronation  of  the 
ancient  paintingof  the  Blessed  Virgin  ven- 
erated in  the  church  of  the  Abbey  of  Grotta- 
ferrata  in  Italy,  and  the  occasion  suggests 
re  flections  that  may  be  of  more  than  passing 
interest  to  our  readers.  Nothing  could  be 
more  in  harmony  than  the  beautiful  image 
of  Oar  Lady  of  Grottaferrata  and  the  an- 
tique abbey  in  which  it  is  enshrined.  The 
style  and  expression  of  the  painting  show 
the  woikmanship  of  some  pious  Greek  ar- 
tist; and,  as  if  to  complete  and  perfect  the 
framework,  the  convent  inhabited  by  the 
Basilian  monks  is  also  Grecian  in  its  origin 
as  well  as  in  the  grand  objects  of  its  estab- 
lishment. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Order  of  St 
Basil  Is  extended  not  only  throughout  the 
East,  but  also  in  Sicily  and  the  southern 
part  of  Italy.  In  the  East,  the  Basilian 
monks,  up  to  the  eighth  century,  were  the 
defenders  of  the  faith  against  heresy,  es- 
pecially that  of  the  Iconoclasts;  and  in 
order  to  propagate  veneration  towards  holy 
images,  particularly  those  of  the  Virgin 
Mother  of  God,  the  religious  opened  schools 
of  painting  in  their  monasteries.  When, 
through  violence  of  persecution,  the  Basil- 


592 


The  Ave  Maria. 


% 


ians  were  obliged  to  fly  to  the  West,  they 
continued  their  noble  work,  as  is  shown  by 
the  numerous  paintings,  in  the  Byzan- 
tine style,  venerated  throughout  Italy,  and 
known  as  the  Madonnas  of  St.  Luke.  Many 
of  these  pictures  were  saved  from  the  de- 
structive work  of  the  Iconoclasts  by  the 
monks,  who  took  refuge  in  Italy;  the  others 
were  painted  in  the  monasteries  which  they 
established  in  that  country.  It  is  believed 
that  among  the  latter  may  be  classed  the 
picture  at  Grottaferrata,  and  the  records 
state  that  Gregory  IX.  caused  it  to  be  trans 
fened  from  Tusculum  to  its  present  loca- 
tion. That  this  painting  is  more  artistic  than 
others  of  the  Bj  zantine  style,  is  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that  the  Basilians  of  Italy, 
while  preserving  the  traditions  of  the  Ori- 
ental school,  added  to  it  the  taste  and  perfec- 
tion of  Italian  art. 

The  Abbey  of  Grottaferrata  has  another 
claim  to  distinction,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a 
real,  actual  symbol  of  the  union  that  should 
exist  between  the  Eastern  and  Western 
Churches,  and  this  was  most  splendidly 
illustrated  in  the  recent  celebration.  On  that 
occasion,  in  the  solemn  ceremonial  of  the 
Church,  as  well  as  the  processions  in  honor 
of  Oar  Lady,  clergy  of  both  the  Greek 
and  the  Latin  rites  took  part,  each  with  his 
prescribed  vestments  and  in  accordance 
with  his  ritual — all  this,  occurring  before  an 
immense  gathering  of  the  faithful  of  various 
nationalities,  presented  a  living  picture  of 
the  unit>'  and  catholicity  of  the  Church. 

We  can  not.  therefore,  but  admire  the 
wisdom  of  our  Holy  Father  Leo  X  III,  who 
has  expressed  his  desire  that  the  Basilians 
of  Grottaferrata  should  continue  to  follow 
the  rite  of  their  founders,  SS  Nilus  and 
Barthelemy ;  and  that  they  should  establish 
a  college  for  the  clerics  of  the  Grecian  col- 
onies in  Italy,  so  that  ttie«e  young  Greeks 
thus  prepared  and  instructed  may  one  day 
return  to  the  land  of  their  fathers,  and  prop- 
agate in  the  East  the  traditions  of  the 
Greek  Church  in  union  wiih  that  of  Rome, 
and  thus  labor  to  overthrow  that  unfortu- 
nate barrier  which  has  so  long  separated  the 
East  from  the  West. 


Catholic  Notes. 


It  has  been  proposed  by  the  well-known 
Freethinker  and  writer,  M.  Sarcey,  to  oflfer  one 
of  the  vacant  seats  in  the  French  Academy  to 
his  Eminence  Cardinal  Lavigerie.  The  fact 
that  this  suggestion  comes  from  an  intense  re- 
publican, one  who  for  a  long  time  has  been  a 
bitter  enemy  to  the  priesthood, has  occasioned 
a  great  deal  of  comment  on  the  part  of  the 
French  press.  But,  no  doubt,  the  candidacy 
of  a  prelate  so  distinguished  by  the  depth  and 
extent  of  his  learning,  and  whose  labors  have 
been  characterized  by  zeal  for  education,  has 
forced  itself  upon  the  notice  of  this  freethink- 
ing  body.  At  the  same  time  it  is  very  probable 
that  his  Eminence  will  decline  the  so-called 
honor  offered  him. 


A  few  weeks  ago  two  Dominican  nuns,  ac- 
companied by  nine  novices.left  Dublin  for  the 
Antipodes.  A  brief  notice  of  the  labors  of  this 
devoted  community  in  New  Zealand  may  be 
of  interest.  The  Right  Rev.  Dr.  Moran,  shortly 
after  his  translation  to  the  See  of  Dunedin, 
took  out  with  him  from  Ireland  eight  nuns 
and  two  lay  Sisters.  The  hardships  endured 
for  months  after  their  arrival  both  by  Bishop 
and  Sisters  would  be  difficult  to  realize;  they 
scarcely  had  food  or  shelter  during  the  first 
year;  but,  struggling  on  in  the  face  of  un- 
numbered obstacles,  they  put  up  schools,  the 
attendance  at  which  after  a  few  years  was 
counted  by  the  hundreds;  convents  began  to 
be  built,  and  offshoots  put  out.  The  harvest 
indeed  was  plenteous,  but  the  laborers  were 
sadly  few  in  number;  and,  fearing  that  the 
Sisters  would  break  down  under  pressure  of 
work,  and  there  would  be  none  to  take  their 
places,  Mother  Gabriel  paid  a  visit  to  Europe 
last  year  for  the  purpose  of  getting  subjects 
for  the  Order,  and  establishing  a  novitiate. 
'T  had  everything  against  me,"  said  this 
pious  and  high-spirited  lady;  "and  nothing 
in  my  favor.  I  prayed  to  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary,  if  the  work  was  pleasing  to  God.  to 
obtain  for  me  fifteen  postulants  by  Rosary 
Sunday."  When  Rosary  Sunday  came  there 
were  exactly  fifteen  in  the  novitiate,  and  with 
heartfelt  thanksgiving  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mother  G  ibriel  began  the  arduous  work  of 
training  them. 

A  few  months  ago  letters  began  to  arrive 


The  Ave  Maria. 


593 


from  Dunedin,  representing  the  pressing  needs 
of  the  community,  and  urging  Mother  Gabriel 
to  hasten  her  return  She  has  lately  sailed 
with  her  novices  for  the  scene  of  her  former 
labor.  May  our  Blessed  Lady,  who  has  so  sig- 
nally aided  her,  continue  to  bless  their  work 
in  New  Zealand! 


We  have  mentioned  and  described  in  The 
"Ave  Maria"  so  many  gifts  that  have  been 
prepared  for  presentation  to  the  Holy  Father 
on  the  occasion  of  his  Golden  Jubilee,  that 
we  fear  our  readers  must  be  getting  tired  of 
hearing  about  them.  There  is  one,  however, 
which  we  have  not  yet  alluded  to,  and  which 
deserves  a  notice,  were  it  merely  for  its 
unique  and  magnificent  character  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  zeal  and  piety  which  prompted  its 
elaboration.  The  Redemptorist  Fathers  of  the 
province  of  Baltimore  have  had  prepared  as 
their  offering  to  the  Pope  a  combination 
writing-desk  and  bookcase,  which  together 
form  a  splendid  work  of  art,  embodying,  in 
the  carvings  with  which  they  are  adorned,  a 
pictorial  history  of  the  Church  in  America. 
Those  who  have  seen  this  beautiful  piece  of 
workmanship  pronounce  it  to  be  an  artistic 
masterpiece.  The  carvings  contain  repre- 
sentations of  the  landing  of  Columbus,  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  St.  Alphonsus,  St.  Joachim, 
St.  Leo,  St.  Thomas,  and  the  Holy  Father 
himself.  The  representation  of  Columbus  is 
particularly  beautiful.  Surrounded  by  his  fol- 
lowers, he  is  planting  the  Cross  on  the  newly- 
discovered  Continent,  while  in  the  clouds  is 
seen  the  Blessed  Virgin,  with  a  company  of 
angels,  bestowing  Her  benediction  on  the 
band  of  pious  voyagers. 

We  learn  from  the  London  Tablet  that  the 
Bishop  of  Fortaleza  in  Brazil  recently  called 
a  meeting  of  the  leading  men  of  all  parties 
and  all  tendencies  of  the  press,  and  begged 
their  aid  in  carrying  out  the  idea  already  taken 
up  and  recommended  by  several  Brazilian 
bishops,  of  marking  the  Jubilee  of  Leo  XEII. 
by  setting  all  slaves  free.  A  committee  was 
formed  for  the  purpose.  The  action  of  the 
bishops,  it  is  said,  has  given  new  life  to  the 
emancipation  movement,  which  is  becoming 
daily  more  irresistible. 


The  Sisters  of  Charity  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
have  sustained  a  severe  loss  by  the  death  of 


Mother  Mary  Francis  Clarke, which  occurred 
at  the  Mother-House  near  Dubuque  on  the 
4th  inst.  She  had  the  consolation  the  day 
previous  of  receiving  by  cable  the  blessing  of 
the  Holy  Father.  Her  funeral  was  attended 
by  a  large  number  of  her  spiritual  daughters, 
and  many  of  the  reverend  clergy,  by  whom 
she  was  highly  esteemed. 

The  Congregation  over  which  Mother  Clarke 
presided,  and  of  which  she  was  the  first  supe- 
rioress, was  founded  by  the  Rev.  Father  Don- 
oghue  and  herself  in  1833.  He  was  a  holy 
priest  of  the  Archdiocese  of  Philadelphia,  and 
the  first  house  of  the  Order  was  established  in 
that  city.  In  18^3  the  convent  was  destroyed 
during  the  Knownothing  riots,  and  with  a  few 
Sisters  Mother  Clarke  re-established  the  com- 
munity near  Dubuque,  Iowa.  It  has  prosnered 
marvellously,  and  is  widely  spread  throughout 
the  West.  A  woman  of  great  faith,  of  truly 
saintlike  life,  and  gifted  with  all  the  qualities 
of  mind  and  heart  requisite  for  a  superior. 
Mother  Clarke's  loss  is  deeply  mourned  not 
only  by  her  spiritual  children,  but  by  all  those 
who  knew  her  and  appreciated  her  Christian 
and  religious  virtues.  R.  I.  P. 


We  regret  to  record  the  death  of  the  Very 
Rev.  Ulick  Bourke,  a  distinguished  Celtic 
scholar,  the  author  of  an  Irish  grammar  and 
several  other  standard  works.  He  was  engaged 
at  the  time  of  his  death  on  a  complete  Irish 
Dictionary.  Canon  Bourke  was  for  many  years 
the  baloved  parish  priest  of  CUremorris;  he 
had  been  President  of  St.  Jarlath's  College  at 
Tuam,  and  was  at  one  time  Private  Secretary 
to  the  venerable  Archbishop  Mc  Hale,  whose 
life  he  has  written,  and  to  whom  he  supplied 
many  valuable  translations  into  Irish,  includ- 
ing the  Bull  "  Ineffdbilis, "  for  presentation  to 
Pius  IX.  R.  I.  P 


The  Rev.  Father  Woods,  a  learned  priest  of 
Sydney,  N.  S.  W.,  is  engaged  in  making  a 
geological  survey  of  the  Northern  Territory 
for  the  South  Australian  Government.  He  is 
famous  in  that  country  for  his  scientific  re- 
searches, often  pursued  at  the  risk  of  life  and 
limb.  

The  variety  of  remedial  means  that  has 
been  applied,  successfully  or  unsuccessfully, 
to  counteract  the  great  national  evil  of  drunk- 
enness is  immense.  A  new  feature,  however, 


594 


The  Ave  Maria. 


or  at  least  a  comparatively  new  one,  has 
lately  been  revealed  in  this  holy  crusade:  it  is 
the  influence  brought  to  bear  by  women  in  the 
Irish- American  element  of  the  community.  A 
writer  in  the  Philadelphia  Times,  speaking  of 
the  progress  of  temperance  principles  among 
Irish  Americans,  says  that  it  is  without  par- 
allel in  the  history  of  temperance  reform,  and 
attributes  it  mainly  to  the  firm  stand  taken 
by  the  young  women  On  the  question  More 
power  to  these  noble  women!  May  their  ex- 
ample be  followed  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  country ! 


The  death  is  announced  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Moriarty.of  Utica,  N.  Y.,well  known  through- 
.out  the  Middle  States  as  a  writer  and  lect- 
urer. A  priest  of  holy  life,  and  zealous  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duties,  he  won  the  esteem 
and  admiration  of  all  with  whom  he  was 
brought  into  contact.  As  a  writer  he  is  perhaps 
best  known  by  his  "Stumbling- Blocks  made 
Stepping-Stones,"  a  work  which  has  passed 
through  several  editions.  His  "Wayside 
Pencillings"  and  "Keys  of  the  Kingdom" 
are  also  well  known  and  widely  appreciated. 
May  he  rest  in  peace! 


Obituary. 


"  It  u  m  koly  and  -whoUsome  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Macr.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  jjersons,  lately  deceased,  are  com 
mended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

Sister  Consilioa  (Keenan),  of  the  Sisters  of  the 
Good  Shepherd.  Troy,  N.  Y.,who  was  lately  called 
to  the  reward  of  her  useful  and  self-sacri6cing  life. 

Mr.  J.  McGrath,  a  well-known  and  highly  re- 
spected citizen  of  Chicago  whose  happy  death, 
after  a  long  illness,  which  he  bore  with  edifying 
resignation,  occurred  on  the  26th  ult.  His  loss  will 
long  be  mourned  by  all  who  knew  him. 

Mrs.  Denis  McCarthy,  of  Syracuse  N.  Y.,who 
departed  this  life  on  the  ist  inst.  She  was  an 
exemplary  Christian,  and  was  especially  distin- 
guished for  her  charity  to  the  poor  and  suffering 
The  orphans  of  Syracuse  have  lost  in  her  a  de- 
voted friend.  Mrs.  McCarthy  was  a  generous  ben- 
efactor of  her  parish  church,  her  last  gift  to  which 
was  a  beautiful  and  costly  set  of  "Stations." 

James  Ward,  of  Chicago.  111.;  John  Kane  and 
Nicholas  L^ng,  Albany.  N.  Y. ;  and  Patrick  Fen- 
nell,  Rathkeale,  Ireland. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


PAIlTMENt 


Leo  Marson's  Victory. 


BY  E.  v.  N. 


(Conclusion.) 

xr. 

When  Coloael  Donaldson  returned  from 
Washington,  and  the  boys  told  him  of  their 
adventure  in  Uncle  Pete's  little  sloop,  he 
laughed  heartily,  saying, "  Such  adventures 
make  boys  hardy;  however," — in  a  more 
serious  tone — "I  am  very  glad  to  know  that 
you  did  not  go  on  the  water  without  your 
mother" s  permission." 

Emma  had  nearly  filled  up  the  compart- 
ments in  her  shell- box,  and  was  showing 
them  to  the  boys,  who  were  loud  in  their 
praises  of  her  method  of  arranging  the 
shells.  '*I  will  show  them  to  papa  when  the 
work  is  all  done,"  she  said,  and  was  just 
lifting  the  box  from  the  table  where  it  had 
been  deposited,  when  Leo  mischievously 
doubled  his  fist  and  gave  a  blow  to  the  un- 
derside, which  scattered  the  glittering  beau- 
ties all  over  the  floor. 

*' What  did  you  do  that  for?"  cried  Ed- 
ward, indignantly. 

"Oh!  I  am  sure  it  was  not  done  pur- 
posely," interposed  the  gentle,  peace-loving 
girl. 

'*/  think  it  was,"  continued  Edward, 
tempted  to  give  Leo  a  blow;  but  the  noise 
of  the  scattering  shells  brought  his  mother 
to  the  door,  and  prevented  his  yielding  to 
his  temper. 

Leo's  humor  had  not  been  improved  by 
his  recent  unpremeditated  bath  and  the 
ruin  of  his  pretty  straw  hat ;  and  as  he  had 
not  received  much  sympathy,  he  was  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  show  his  resentment. 
Ed  ward  told  his  mother  how  the  shells  came 
to  be  scattered  over  the  room ;  and  all  set 
to  work  to  pick  them  up,  and  help  Emma 
to  re-arrange  them. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


595 


As  a  punishment,  Colonel  Donaldson  de- 
cided that  Leo  should  spend  the  following 
day  in  solitude  up  in  the  attic  bedroom. 
This  was  a  heavy  penance  for  him,  espec- 
ially  as  his  cousins  were  to  go  to  a  shady 
wood  close  by  Seaview,  to  practise  firing 
at  a  mark.  His  meals  were  sent  up  to  him 
by  a  waiter  fiom  the  hotel  who  arranged 
them  on  a  teaboard;  and  if  Emma  had  not 
slyly  slipped  up  to  take  him  some  writing 
materials,  he  would  not  have  seen  a  single 
member  of  the  household.  On  a  card  she 
wrote  in  pencil:  ''Dear  Leo,  ask  pardon, 
and  promise  to  behave  better  in  future." 

Leo  read  this,  and  then  threw  it  across 
the  room  in  a  passion.  At  last  he  got  tired 
of  having  no  one  to  converse  with,  and,  re- 
membering that  he  had  not  sent  a  letter  to 
his  godmother  since  he  left  Harrisburg,  he 
took  his  pen  and  wrote  as  follows: 

"My  DerE  AnT: — We  went  saling  in 
a  bote  lik  the  pichure  of  the  wite  ship  in 
my  reder,  an'  I  fell  over  into  the  oshun  an' 
was  nere  drownded.  Gus  and  Ed  fishd  me 
out,  and  I  cot  cold  in  my  hed.  I  lumd  to 
fire  peas  in  a  popgun,  an'  I  ain't  afeard  no 
more  of  solgers,  lik  I  was.  I  diddent  no  that 
we  had  anny  black  relashuns,  but  we  have 
a  unkil  peet  an'  a  ant  dinar,  cullurd  lik 
darkies  in  harisberg.  I  hop  you  an'  Selena 
is  all  wel  an'  hap  pie.  Nex  munth  I  am 
goin'  to  coUedge.  Good- by  frum  your  luv- 
ing  godson, 

"Leo  Marsen." 

It  took  Leo  a  long  time  to  scrawl  this, 
and  he  used  a  good  many  sheets  of  paper, 
and  made  blot  after  blot.  Finally  he  con- 
cluded that  he  would  ask  pardon,  and  when 
the  waiter  came  with  his  tea,  he  scribbled 
a  few  words  to  the  kind-hearted  Emma, 
who  soon  appeared,  and  spoke  so  kindly  to 
him  that  he  fell  on  his  knees  to  ask  her 
forgiveness.  Then  she  led  the  culprit  down- 
stairs to  the  little  parlor,  where  Freddie 
hastened  to  greet  him,  and  all  had  kind 
words  to  say. 

A  visit  to  the  ruins  of  a  fort  in  the  vi- 
cinity had  been  planned  some  weeks  previ- 
ous, but  it  was  deferred  in  honor  of  Colonel 


Donaldson's  return;  however,  the  very 
evening  before  the  appointed  day  a  tele- 
gram summoned  him  up  to  Washington. 
The  Rev.  Father  Lilly  came  over  to  attend 
the  picnic  in  his  phaeton,  and  one  or  two 
gentlemen  accompanied  him  on  horseback. 
The  four-wheeled  carriage  that  had  been 
provided  was  only  large  enough  to  hold 
Mrs.  Donaldson  and  the  three  eldest  chil- 
dren. It  had  been  her  intention  to  take 
Leo,  and  leave  Freddie  with  his  grandma; 
but  she  finally  concluded  that  it  would  be 
better  to  let  him  feel  that  he  was  no  longer 
entitled  to  the  privileges  of  a  guest,  since 
he  was  so  rude  in  his  manners. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone  than  Conrad 
wheeled  the  old  lady's  chair  down  to  the 
beach,  and  she  busied  herself  in  knitting 
while  the  lads  played  near  by.  Busily 
scratching  in  the  sand,  they  found  a  quan- 
tity of  pretty  little  shells  that  glittered  in 
the  sunlight.  Leo  remembered  that  Celina's 
uncle  had  sent  her  a  shell  necklace  from 
Australia.  He  ran  in  great  glee  to  show 
them  to  Mrs.  Donaldson,  and  tell  her  that 
circumstance. 

"Now,  Leo,"  she  said^  after  admiring 
them,  "if  I  were  you  I  would  collect  some 
of  these  and  wash  them;  Conrad  will  help 
you  to  drill  a  hole  in  the  end  of  each  one ; 
I  will  give  you  some  sewing-silk  to  twist 
a  cord,  and  you  will  make  a  necklace  for 
your  dear  cousin  Emma.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

Leo  was  delighted.  "She  is  so  good  to 
me!"  he  whispered.  So  the  happy  child 
summoned  Freddie  to  help  him  gather 
the  pretty  little  objects.  Soon  they  strayed 
some  distance  from  Mr.*:.  Donaldson;  then 
they  tried  to  drill  a  hole  in  the  ends  of 
several  shells,  and  succeeded  in  boring 
through  a  few  with  a  large  pin. 

' '  Now,  Freddie,  go  and  ask  your  grand  ma 
for  some  thread,"  said  Leo.  And  away  his 
little  friend  scampered;  but  soon  ran  back, 
announcing  that  she  was  fast  asleep. 

"Asleep?"  inquired  Leo;  "do  you  think 
she  really  is  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  thought  it  would  be  impolite  to 
wake  her." 


596 


'J he  Ave  Alarm. 


"Well,  then,  let  us  go  and  ask  Uncle 
Pete;  I  see  him  yonder  on  the  rocks;  he  al- 
ways has  plenty  of  thread — strong  thread. ' ' 

So  they  went  over  to  the  veteran  fisher- 
man. He  was  in  a  talkative  mood,  and  ex- 
plained to  the  children  a  great  many  inter- 
•esting  things  about  his  craft,  as  he  mended 
his  net. 

"  Oh, look  at  those  big  white  shrimps  over 
there!"  exclaimed  Ivco. 

"Yes,  but  you  mustn't  go  out  yander, 
my  boy,"  said  Peter. 

"It's  only  a  little  way,"  answered  Leo. 
And  he  beckoned  to  Freddie  to  follow  him. 

"I  think  that  is  where  papa  said  we 
must  not  go,"  said  Freddie;  "we  must  not 
disobey." 

"Your  granny  is  asleep;  no  one  will 
know  anything  about  it."  And  then  he 
jumped  temptingly,  as  if  to  say,  "Come  on, 
come  on!    I  dare  you!" 

So  Freddie  followed,  and  they  were  soon 
catching  the  coveted  shrimps. 

"Oh!"  said  Leo,  "just  over  that  rill  I 
see  a  monstrous  one.  I'm  going  to  rui  over 
there.  It  looks  exactly  like  silver." 

Freddie  was  running  after  him  when  he 
suddenly  began  to  sink  in  the  soft  sand. 

"Oh!  oh!  I  can't  walk  without  going 
down!"  he  screamed;  "my  shoes  are  both 
gone." 

Leo  came  back  to  help  him,  but  Freddie 
was  so  firmly  stuck  that  he  could  not  get 
him  up.  Then  he  said  he  would  call  Uncle 
Pete,  but  the  old  man  had  gone  home.  Leo 
was  dreadfully  frightened;  for  he  observed 
the  tide  rising  near  where  his  cousin  was 
held  fast.  ' '  Don' t  go  down  any  lower, ' '  he 
said,  "and  I  will  call  Conrad." 

Meantime  the  good  angels  were  watching 
over  the  boy,  or  there  would  have  been  a 
■^dreadful  scene.  Providence  willed  that  Col- 
onel Donaldson  found  a  half  hour  or  so 
sufficient  for  him  to  sign  some  official  doc- 
uments for  which  he  had  been  so  suddenly 
called  to  Washington,  and  he  hoped  that  by 
taking  the  steamer  immediately  he  would 
be  able  to  reach  Piney  Point  in  time  for 
the  excursion.  Sure  enough,  he  reached 
the  Point  quite  early,  and,  in  company  with 


a  gentleman  he  had  met  on  the  Swallow^ 
was  hurrying  over  a  bluff  that  dominated 
that  part  of  the  shore.  Suddenly  he  halted. 
"I  thought  I  heard  a  wail.  Some  one  is  in 
distress!  Yes,  I  see  something  that  looks 
like  a  human  head  above  the  sand  yonder." 
And  over  the  rocks  he  leaped,  taking  long 
strides  across  the  bank,  followed  by  his 
friend.  Judge  of  his  dismay  on  rearing  the 
object  that  had  attracted  his  attention  to 
find  it  was  his  own  darling  son  buried  up 
to  his  neck  in  the  soft  sand.  "  O  papa!  take 
me  out!"  gasped  Freddie. 

Just  at  that  moment  Conrad  advanced, 
breathless;  and  old  Uncle  Pete  came  hob- 
bling after, with  a  hoe.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore they  succeeded  in  getting  him  out,  but 
he  was  too  weak  to  walk,  and  trembled  in 
every  limb.  The  men  took  turns  in  carry- 
ing him  to  the  Lodge,  and  Colonel  Donald- 
son's friend  hastened  off  to  summon  the 
village  doctor.  Grandma  Donaldson  put  her 
dear  boy  to  bed,  and  watched  by  his  side, 
closely  observing  the  S)  mptoms. 

Meanwhile  the  party  from  the  fort  had 
returned  bearing  flowers  and  geological 
specimens,  and  had  gathered  in  the  dining- 
room  for  a  rural  repast,  such  as  could  be 
given  in  the  bygone  days  of  old-time  Mary- 
land. But  the  Colonel  called  his  wife  aside, 
and  told  her  how  near  they  had  been  to 
losing  Freddie.  He  a5sured  the  frightened 
mother  that  all  was  safe  now,  and  begged 
her  to  remain  and  entertain  their  guests. 

Poor  Leo  was  feeling  very  bad;  his 
own  conscience  tormented  him,  and  Mrs. 
Donaldson  treated  him  somewhat  coldly, 
thinking  that  he  was  indirectly  the  cause 
of  Freddie's  fault  and  danger  of  death. 
Emma,  too,  looked  grave,  and  as  the  little 
orphan  had  no  one  to  whom  he  could  open 
his  heart,  he  strayed  away  into  a  tumble- 
down bath-house  and  cried  bitterly.  How- 
ever, Grandma  Donaldson  did  not  desert 
him,  and,  as  she  generally  prevailed  in  the 
family  council,  harmony  was  soon  restored, 
and  Leo  felt  once  more  at  his  ease. 
XIL 

The  first  week  of  September  had  passed, 
and  the  party  had  left  Piney  Point  for 


I 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


59T 


Washington  three  days  before.  Already  a 
seine  was  ordered  to  be  sent  to  Uncle  Pete, 
and  enough  tea  and  sugar  to  Aunt  Dinah  as 
would  enable  her  to  feast  all  the  'aunties" 
of  her  acquaintance  betimes  throughout 
the  winter.  Mrs.  Baggs,  too,  was  not  for- 
gotten; and  she  found  matter  for  conversa- 
tion for  many  months  in  relating  to  her 
friends  and  visitors  all  the  pleasant  and 
edifying  incidents  of  the  Donaldsons'  stay 
at  Piney  Point. 

But  on  the  first  Monday  of  September 
there  were  not  a  few  tears  shed  in  the  Don- 
aldson mansion;  for  Freddie,  who  had  long 
since  recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  in- 
voluntary sand-bath,  was   to  go  over  to 

G College,  accompanied  by  his  cousin 

Leo.  The  elder  boys  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  college  life,  and,  being  fond  of 
their  professors,  and  attached  to  their  com- 
panions, were  rather  hilarious  about  getting 
back  to  their  desks  and  chums.  The  Colonel 
and  his  lady  took  them  up  to  the  College, 
and  the  latter  gave  many  a  charge  to  the 
Brothers  concerning  the  boys'  health  and 
wardrobe.  Colonel  Donaldson  meanwhile 
took  the  President  aside  to  give  him  a  full 
account  of  the  two  lads,  from  which  the 
Father  concluded  that  Leo  was  a  pretty 
*' tough"  subject,  although  his  knowledge 
of  human  nature  made  him  subtract  a  little 
from  Leo,  and  add  it  to  Freddie's  account. 

"Has  your  ward  made  his  First  Com- 
munion, sir?"  he  inquired. 

' '  No,  fortunately, ' '  answered  the  Colonel ; 
"both  boys,  however,  are  old  enough  to 
approach  the  Holy  Table.  Freddie  has  been 
to  confession  since  he  was  seven,  but  I  fear 
Leo  does  not  know  the  Catechism  yet." 

"Well,  I  will  confide  the  little  fellows  to 
the  care  of  a  zealous  young  priest,  and  I 
will  see  them  from  time  to  time,  and  let 
you  know  how  they  get  on." 

Farewells  were  exchanged,  and  the  boys 
were  charged  to  study  well  ard  be  good. 
There  was  no  time  to  get  lonesome;  study, 
recreation,  the  meals,  etc.,  were  so  well  reg- 
ulated that  time  flew  swiftly.  The  monthly 
bulletins  of  the  little  cousins  were  very 
satisfactory;  however,  Leo  deserved  more 


credit  than  Freddie,  for  he  had  made  great 
efforts  to  correct  his  bad  habits  and  observe 
the  rules.  His  director  had  tried  to  find 
out  from  himself  what  was  his  dominant 
failing. 

"I  really  do  not  know,"  said  he  to  the 
Father's  inquiry;  "but  will  )0U  please  tell 
me  the  faults  you  have  observed  in  my 
conduct?" 

Father  Kelly  was  pleased  at  this  evidence 
of  good  will,  and  answered,  kindly:  "My 
son,  yesterday  at  prayers  I  think  I  observed 
some  one  insist  upon  having  a  place  that 
his  cousin  had  already  taken." 

Leo  blushed  scarlet,  but  said  bravely, 
though  very  softly,  "That  was  w^." 

"Then  when  the  bell  rang  for  recrea- 
tion," continued  the  Father,  "one  boy  ran 
as  hard  as  he  could  to  secure  the  best  mallet 
and  ball  on  the  croquet  ground." 

"I  often  do  that,"  said  poor  Leo,  looking 
very  sheepish. 

"Also  when  a  boy  has  a  basket  of  oranges 
I  think  he  should  share  them  with  his 
mates  at  his  table.  I  noticed  the  other  day 
one  of  the  boys  retained  all  except  a  few 
that  he  shared  with  a  cousin;  yet  he  ac- 
cepted bananas  from  a  generous  little  fel- 
low that  passed  his  around." 

Leo  was  too  much  overcome  to  speak,, 
but  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  breast,  and 
significantly  turned  the  angers  towards, 
himself. 

Father  Kelly,  in  a  still  kinder  tone  of 
voice,  then  said:  "These  little  acts  prove 
that  you  have  selfish  habits,  so  be  on  your 
guard  when  the  temptation  to  selfishness 
presents  itself,  and  resist  it." 

In  about  a  month  all  Leo's  selfish  habits 
had  become  less  noticeable,  and  their  roots 
were  greatly  weakened.  One  day  when  Fa- 
ther Kelly  met  him  near  the  chapel  door  he 
said :  ' '  Leo,  what  do  you  think  of  lying  ? '  * 

"It's  awful  mean!  I  can't  bear  a  fellow 
that  tells  fibs." 

"Ah!  then,  of  course,  you  never  tell  any 
yourself;  and  yet — and  yet — " 

"What,  Father?  Do  you  think  I  have 
told  any — that  is  lately?"  asked  Leo. 

"Let  us  reflect  a  while.   Last  week,  I 


598 


The  Ave  Maria, 


think  it  was,  when  I  inquired  of  a  boy  in 
grammar  class  why  he  did  not  know  his 
lesson,  what  did  he  say  and  what  did  he 
do?" 

Poor  lyco  hung  his  head,  but  after  a  short 
pause  answered:  "He  said  he  was  sick, 
and  put  his  hand  on  his  forehead. ' ' 

"A  lie  in  word  and  in  action — a  sort  of 
double  lie,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes,"  came  from  Leo's  lips,  but  quite 
in  a  whisper. 

"Then  when  a  story-book  was  held 
within  the  History  of  the  United  States, 
and  I  asked  what  other  book  you  had,  you 
slyly  threw  it  out  in  the  tall  grass." 

lyco  was  enlightened  as  he  had  never 
been  before.  "I  didn't  know  I  was  such  a 
'fibber,  Father.  I  promise  to  coirect  myself." 

"And  so  you  will,  if  you  try  hard  and — 
pray  hard." 

xin. 

The  beautiful  Festival  of  Corpus  Christl 
^as  the  day  set  for  the  First  Communion 
^t  the  College.  The  parents  of  many  of  the 
boys  came  for  the  occasion,  and  Leo's  god- 
mother and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Donaldson  among 
them.  It  was  the  happiest  day  of  the  year, 
and  one  that  will  long  be  remembered  by 
the  First  Communicants  and  their  relatives 
•and  friends.  It  was  a  day  of  benediction  for 
Freddie  and  Leo,  who  led  ever  afterward  a 
fervent  Christian  life.  All  were  delighted 
at  the  happy  change  in  the  latter,  of  which 
there  were  many  proofs. 

His  godmother  had  brought  with  her  two 
hampers,  one  of  fruit  and  the  other  of  cakes ; 
-and  as  she  gave  them  to  Leo  she  said  in  an 
undertone, "These  are  for  your  personal  use, 
pet."  Leo  thanked  her  politely,  and  then 
Tequested  the  Brother  porter,  who  happened 
to  be  passing,  to  take  them  to  the  pantry. 
^'The  boys  will  appreciate  this  addition  to 
their  w^««,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  aunt; 
""and  I  shall  be  all  the  happier  myself." 

Mr.  Marson  was  ovetjbyed  to  hear  of  this 
-act  of  Leo's.  "I  shall  no  longer  dread  his 
presence  in  vacation."  And  Mrs.  Donaldson 
thanked  God  that  they  had  not  sent  Leo 
back  to  Harrisburg,  as  they  were  so  often 
tempted  to  do.  "God  has  rewarded  our  for- 


bearance and  blessed  our  efforts  for  the  or- 
phan's welfare.  Freddie's  character  will  be 
all  the  stronger  from  intercourse  with  Leo, 
I  see  plainly." 

Years  have  rolled  by  since  these  events 
happened.  Colonel  Donaldson  has  retired 
from  the  army,  and  his  eider  sons  help  him 
to  cultivate  a  vast  ranch  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  Freddie — or  Frederick  I  should  say 
— is  overseer  and  book-keeper.  Emma  aids 
her  mother  in  presiding  over  the  household, 
for  the  benevolent  grandma  has  long  since 
died  a  holy  death. 

When  Leo  had  finished  his  humanities 
he  made  a  special  retreat  to  discover,  what 
was  the  will  of  God  in  his  regard.  At  the 
close  he  told  Father  Kelly  that  he  would 
like  to  be  a  soldier;  the  good  priest  was  a 
little  surprised,  as  he  had  hoped  that  his 
youthful  penitent  might  one  day  be  a  priest. 
Leo  was  sent  to  West  Point,  where  he  grad- 
uated with  honor.  He  always  spent  his 
vacations  with  Mrs.  Marson  as  long  as  she 
lived,  and  was  the  means  of  inducing  his 
aunt  and  uncle  to  resume  their  custom  of 
monthly  Communion,  which  they  had  neg- 
lected during  many  years. 

Recently  our  young  cfficer  was  appointed 

on  the  staflf  of  General ,  who  has  gone 

to  fight  the  warlike  Apaches.  We  shall 
probably  at  some  future  day  read  of  General 
Leo  Marson;  but  whatever  conquest  he 
makes,  he  will  never  gain  a  nobler  victory 
than  when  in  his  boyhood  he  conquered 
hin;self  and  his  passions. 


Our  Lady's  Lighthouse. 


Merry  and  Wise. 

On  a  lonely  island  in  the  Mediterranean 
Sea  lived  Angelo  and  Stella  with  their  par- 
ents. The  island  was  inhabited  by  wreckers — 
people  who  live  on  the  spoils  that  drift  ashore 
from  wrecked  vessels.  It  was  not  wrong  to 
take  these  spoils,  which  could  never  again  be 
claimed  by  their  owners;  but  the  work  had  a 
terrible  effect  upon  the  wreckers.  They  learned 
to  be  glad  when  ships  were  lost  and  they  had 
often  refused  help  to  vessels  sinking  near  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


599 


island,  lest  the  owners  of  the  cargo  should  be 
saved.  Sometimes  poor  half-drowned  creat- 
ures, thrown  ashore  upon  the  mercy  of  these 
savage  beings,  had  been  murdered  or  left  to 
die, lest  they  should  claim  a  share  of  the  booty. 
Dreadful  fights  often  took  place  among  the 
wreckers  over  the  division  of  spoils.  In  short, 
their  good  luck  depended  on  the  ill  luck  of 
•others,  and  so  all  kindness  died  out  of  their 
hearts,  and  their  wicked  ways  were  handed 
down  from  parents  to  children, until  little  boys 
and  girls  played  at  stripping  vessels,  and 
screamed  with  joy  over  fancied  shipwrecks. 
The  priest  who  came  among  them  from  time 
to  time  had  proposed  to  have  a  beacon  light 
placed  upon  the  rocks;  but  they  rejected  the 
plan  with  anger,  and  even  threatened  to  take 
his  life  \f  he  should  attempt  to  carry  it  out. 

The  father  of  Angelo  and  Stella  was  like 
the  other  islanders,  but  their  mother  came  of  a 
different  race.  She  had  been  cast  ashore  as  a 
child  and  reared  among  them;  but  the  differ- 
ent blood  that  coursed  in  her  veins,  and  a 
memory  of  early  lessons  in  humanity,  made 
her  hate  the  evil  life  of  the  island,  and  try  with 
all  her  might  to  teach  charity  to  her  children. 

One  day  the  little  ones  were  having  a 
charming  play  on  the  beach.  Angelo  sailed 
their  boat  upon  a  big  puddle  left  by  the  re- 
ceding tide,  and  Stella  looked  on,  and  found 
names  for  the  shells  and  bits  of  wood  that 
served  for  passengers  and  cargo.  There  were 
two  or  three  princes  on  board,  who  were  bring- 
»ing  hoards  of  diamonds  and  rubies  home  from 
far  countries,  A  violent  tempest,  made  by 
shaking  sticks  in  the  water,  swamped  the  ship 
and  sent  untold  fortunes  ashore  to  the  merry 
little  wreckers. 

Suddenly  a  hand  was  laid  gently  on  Stella's 
shoulder,  and  their  mother  said:  * '  Come, your 
father  wants  you." 

"Oh!  why,  why,  mamma?  Has  he  found 
anything?"  asked  both  children. 

' '  Yes. ' '  she  said,  sadly ;  "a  box  has  floated 
ashore,  and  he  will  break  it  on  the  beach, 
and  let  you  take  the  things  to  the  house." 

"Is  there  a  ship?  Oh!  where  is  it?"  they 
cried,  as  they  trotted  over  the  hot  sand  with 
their  hard  little  brown  feet. 

"It  is  just  off  Snake's  Head,  your  father 
thinks.  No  one  else  has  seen  it,  and  he  means 
to  go  this  afternoon  and  boaid  the  ship  all  by 
himself ' ' 

"Oh!  can't  we  go  too?"  cried  Angelo. 


"No,  indeed,"  she  said,  with  a  shiver.  "I 
wish  I  could  prevent  him  from  going.  There 
is  a  black  cloud  yonder,  and  I  hope  it  will 
breed  a  hurricane,  and  sink  the  poor  ship  be- 
fore any  one  can  leave  this  shore  to  get  at 
her." 

Just  then  the  children  caught  sight  of  their 
father,  and  rushed  towards  him.  The  mother 
followed  sslowly,  and  reached  them  just  as  the 
lid  of  the  trunk  was  wrenched  off,  and  her 
husband  was  lifting  out  the  piles  of  neatly- 
packed  clothes  that  filled  it.  They  were  chil- 
dren's clothes,  and  even  she  was  pleased  to 
see  that  many  of  them  would  fit  her  own  little 
ones.  She  tenderly  raised  a  pair  of  tiny,  half- 
worn  shoes  that  had  fallen  to  the  ground, 
buttoned  the  straps,  and  put  them  in  her 
pocket  with  a  sigh. 

"What's  the  matter, mamma? "  asked  the 
little  girl. 

" They  belonged  to  somebody's  darling," 
she  said.   "  Where  is  he  now,  poor  baby  ?" 

" Now,  Teresina  dear,"  said  her  husband, 
"don't  loiter  there,  making  poetry  and  going 
into  spasms!  Stir  around;  bring  out  my  tools 
and  put  them  in  the  boat;  put  in,  too,  a  bottle 
of  wine  and  some  bread.  If  I  go  now  I  shall 
re?ch  Snake's  Head  before  dark.  If  the  wreck 
is  firm  enough,  I'll  spend  the  night  there,  and 
move  the  cargo  at  my  leisure  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"For  the  Madonna's  sake  don't  stay,  Ri- 
dolfo!  There  are  black  clouds  gathering,  and 
oh!  I  have  such  a  dread  in  my  heart!  Do 
come  back  to-night!" 

"Nonsense  with  your  clouds  and  your  hor- 
rors! "  said  Ridolfo,  and  he  proceeded  to  stow 
away  in  the  Mermaid  the  tools  and  provis- 
ions and  to  unfasten  her  from  the  moorings. 

"Good-bye  wife;  good-bye, little  one.-! "  he 
cried;  and,  throwing  a  red  jacket  over  his  left 
shoulder,  he  sprang  into  the  boat  and  pushed 
off  from  the  shore. 

Teresina  put  away  the  contents  of  the 
trunk,  and  then  went  out  with  the  children  on 
the  beach,  carr>  ing  her  lace-work. 

"Now,  Angelo,  do  you  pick  up  word  for 
a  fire.  Stella,  bring  out  the  wine  and  bread 
and  salt,  and,  while  your  brother  gets  supper 
ready,  I  will  give  you  your  first  lesson  in  mak- 
ing lace.  Father  Pietro  says  that  the  nuns 
will  sell  all  the  lace  we  can  make." 

"Where's  the  u-e?"  asked  Stella.  "The 
wrecks  come  very  olten  in  the  rough  weather, 


6oo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  old  Jacnpo  says  the  rocks  are  getting 
worse  and  worse." 

"God  forbid!"  said  her  mother;  "I  wish 
there  might  never  be  another  wreck!  " 

"O  mamma!  how  can  you  say  so?  Every- 
body else  begs  the  good  God  to  send  us 
wrecks.   We  should  starve  without  them." 

"Not  at  all  We  should  cultivate  our  vines 
and  grain  and  olive-trees,  which  we  neglect 
shamefully  now,  living  like  brigands  on  dead 
men's  wealth.  I  never  see  a  wreck  without 
hearing  my  poor  mother's  scream  when  the 
wares  tore  me  from  her  arms.  It  rings  in  my 
ears  f^r  days  afterwards.  There!  the  sun  is 
almost  gone!   I  must  ring  the  Angelus." 

Near  by  their  house  stood  the  tumble-down 
church. where  now  and  then  Mass  was  cele- 
brated by  Father  Pietro.  At  sunrise,  at  noon, 
and  at  sunset,  Teresina  used  to  mount  the 
belfry  and  ring  the  bell  for  the  Angelus,  call- 
ing the  poor  ignorant  wreckers  for  an  instant 
from  their  work  to  prayer. 

The  bell  rang  out  upon  the  breeze.  Every 
man, woman,  and  child  within  hearing,  on  sea 
or  on  land,  knelt  down.  Ridolfo  heard  the 
peal,  and,  kneeling,  asked  a  blessing  on  his 
odious  expedition — God  forgive  him!  Angelo 
laid  down  the  load  of  fuel,  and,  taking  off 
his  little  red  cap,  dropped  on  his  knees,  and 
reverently  uttered  the  holy  words  his  mother 
had  taught  him.  But  Teresina,  in  her  belfry, 
poured  into  her  prayer  an  agony  of  longing 
for  better  days.  '"  Never  another  wreck,  dear 
Lord!"  she  prayed — "never  another  wreck! " 

That  night  there  came  an  awful  storm,  and 
at  earliest  dawn  Teresina  walked  out  on  the 
rocks,  as  far  as  the  boiling  waves  had  left  a 
foothold.  Only  when  she  reached  the  farthest 
point  did  she  venture  to  turn  her  eyes  tow- 
ards Snake's  Head.  Then,  with  a  bitter  cry, 
she  sank  down.  .The  wreck  was  gone;  the 
surf  was  raging  over  the  ledge.  For  the  Mer- 
maid there  was  not  the  vestige  of  a  hope  in 
such  a  sea.  At  last  she  rose  from  her  knees, 
and  dragged  herself  back  to  the  hut,  where 
the  children  still  lay  asleep. 

Towards  evening  fragments  of  the  wreck 
came  drifting  onto  the  beach,  and,  lashed  to  a 
plank,  there  drifted  among  them  the  body  of 
Ridolfo.  Like  a  mad  woman,  Teresina  threw 
herself  upon  the  form,  so  noble  and  beautiful 
even  in  death.  Suddenly  she  rose  from  her 
feet  and  raised  her  right  hand  solemnly  to 
heaven. 


"I swear  before  the  living  God,"  she  said^ 
"that  from  this  night  until  the  night  of  my 
death  a  light  shall  burn  in  the  belfry  to  warn 
ships  from  these  awful  shores." 

A  murmur  of  suppressed  anger  ran  through 
the  crowd.  She  looked  around  upon  them, 
calmly. 

"  If  I  had  spoken  to  him,"  she  said,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  corpse  at  her  feet — "if  I 
had  spoken  to  him  as  I  speak  to  you,  he  would 
not  lie  there  now,  a  victim  of  your  sins,  and 
oh,  my  Ridolfo!"  she  added,  kneeling  down 
beside  him, ' '  a  victim  of  my  cowardice.  Come 
with  me  all  of  you;  we  will  light  the  lamp 
together. ' ' 

Gladly  would  the  wreckers  have  resisted 
her  power — for  the  proposal  appeared  to  them 
the  ruin  of  their  fortunes, — but  to  their  ex- 
cited fancy  Teresina  seemed  like  a  heavenly 
apparition.  Her  yellow  hair  had  fallen  down 
and  hung,  rippling,  almost  to  the  ground.  All 
emotion  had  passed  from  her  face,  leaving  it 
deadly  pale,  and  she  walked  on  before  them 
with  a  stern  solemnity,  holding  in  each  hand 
a  hand  of  her  sobbing  children.  She  paused 
at  the  door  of  her  own  hut,  to  get  the  lamp 
and  fill  it  with  fresh  oil.  Then,  followed  by 
them  all,  she  passed  up  the  stairs  of  the  church 
into  the  belfry,  set  the  lamp  in  a  window,  and, 
kneeling  down ,  began  the  Litany  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Almost  against  their  will  the  wreckers 
made  the  responses.  Then,  casting  one  long 
glance  out  upon  the  troubled  sea,  she  turned 
away  and  went  down  to  her  own  house,  let- 
ting no  one  but  her  children  follow  her  inta 
its  desolate  privacy. 

And  so  it  came  about  that,  passing  among 
those  terrible  islands,  the  sailors  learned  to 
look  out  on  clear  nights  for  a  spark  of  light 
in  the  belfry,  which  they  called  Our  Lady's 
Lighthouse. 

Years  rolled  on.  Ridolfo's  widow  died,  and 
his  children  carried  on  the  blessed  work. 
After  a  fog,  wrecks  were  still  driven  in,  but 
the  islanders  ceased  to  rely  upon  them,  and 
devoted  themselves  to  their  fields  and  vine- 
yards for  support.  In  the  course  of  time  they 
themselves  begged  the  Government  to  place 
a  lighthouse  on  their  island.  And  so  through 
her  own  great  grief  Teresina's  prayer  was 
granted. 


Manners  are  the  shadows  of  virtues. — 
Sidney  Smith. 


^H^ 


->^%5s»^<^<^^^jr^^^ 


Vol.  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  24,  1887.  No.  26. 

IO*P7iii^  ^->m.  D.  I.  Bum,  0.  B.  Cl 


Star  of  Bethlehem  I 


BY    MARGARET    H.   LAWI.ESS. 


jpjiSTAR  of  Bethlehem!  couldst  thou  arise 
^         and  shine 

Once  more  upon  our  vision  bright  and  clear, 
Thy  searching  rays,  all  pitying,  would  find 
The  world  sunk  deeper  by  another  year 
In  mire  of  sin,  quicksands  of  unbelief. 
Men  with  dishonored  souls  and  hearts  of  grief, 
Who  have  forgotten,  if  they  ever  knew, 
What  joy  it  was  thy  shining  did  portend — 
What  swift  release  from  hopeless  suflfering 
To  which  the  Infant's  coming  put  an  end. 

So  many  homes  with  bubbling  laughter  filled 
And  merry  feasting,  do  abound;  all  gay — 
Wherefore  they  care  not,  for  they  know  not 

God, 
And  welcome  not  His  Son  with  joy  to-day. 
O  Star!   what  thick  mists  hide  thy  radiant 

beams ! 
Pierce  these  poor  souls  with  some  awakening 

gleams, 
To  mind  them  of  the  Mother,  and  the  Child 
Who  waits  to-day  their  fealty  and  love, 
Whose  life  shall  lead  Him  straight  unto  the 

Cross, 
By  which,  when  raised.  He  draws  all  men 

above. 

O  fulfilled  Promise!  shine  thou  clear  and 

bright, 
And  lead  all  hearts  unto  Their  feet  to-night. 


What  must- be  iha  feelings  of  an  atheist 
on  Christmas  Diy  ? 


The  Third  Joyful  Mystery  of  the  Holy 
Rosary. 


HE  time  foretold  by  the  prophets 
II  when  the  Word  made  Flesh  should 
appear  upon  earth  had  arrived. 
Bethlehem,  the  native  city  of  David,  was^to 
be  the  place  of  His  birth.  The  Emperor 
Augustus  had  commanded  a  general  cen- 
sus, and  in  this  he  was  an  instrument  m  ade 
use  of  by  God  to  bring  about  the  fulfilment 
of  the  prophecy  regarding  the  place  where 
the  Saviour  of  the  world  should  be  born. 
In  obedience  to  this  order  "Joseph,  with 
Mary  his  espoused  wife,"  proceeded  to  the 
city,  where  Mary  "brought  forth  Her  first- 
born Son,  and  wrapped  Him  in  swaddling- 
clothes,  and  laid  Him  in  a  manger,  because 
there  was  no  room  for  them  in  the  inn." 
(Luke,ii,  7.) 

' '  What  do  I  behold  1 ' '  exclaims  St.  Greg- 
ory Thaumaturgus;  "a  Virgin  covers  with 
swaddling-clothes  Him  who  clothes  every 
creature ;  She  lays  in  a  manger  Him  who  is 
seated  above  the  Cherubim."  "O  Mary!" 
adds  St  Bernard,  "rejoice;  for  you  hold  in 
your  arms  Him  who  is  the  splendor  of 
heaven  Wrap  the  Infant  God  in  poor  swad- 
dling clothes;  lay  Him  in  a  manger  upon 
straw;  those  poor  swaddling-clothes  are  our 
riches,  and  are  more  precious  than  the  most 
c  stly  purple;  that  crib  is  more  glorious 
than  the  throne  of  the  most  powerful  mon- 
arch " 

'O  mystery  most  profound,  most  sflfect- 


6o2 


The  Ave  Alarta. 


ing,  most  sublime  1  What  language  can  ad- 
equately express  its  greatness?  What  heart 
can  rise,  I  will  not  say  to  the  Infant  Jesus, 
but  to  Mary,  bending  over  the  crib  of  the 
adorable  Emmanuel?  .  .  .  O  Bethlehem!  O 
Stable!  O  Crib!  O  Infant  Jesus!  O  wonder 
of  wonderSjwho  can  ever  comprehend  it? 
O  Mary,  what  a  night!  what  an  hour  for 
you  was  that  in  which  you  brought  forth, 
your  God!  My  senses  are  confounded;  at 
least  let  my  heart  speak."  * 

Rejoice, O  ye  heavens!  and  thou,0  earth, 
rejoice!  Because  the  great  Peacemaker,  in 
whom  all  nations  are  blessed — He  who  had 
been  so  long  expected,  and  for  whose  com- 
ing so  many  sighs  had  been  heaved, — has  at 
last  appeared.  "The  Creator  of  the  human 
race,  assuming  a  living  body,  has  vouch- 
safed to  be  bom  of  the  Virgin.  The  root  of 
Jesse  has  g^ven  forth  its  flower;  the  star  of 
Jacob  has  risen;  Mary  has  given  birth  to 
the  Saviour,  "t 


* 
*  * 


The  angels  were  the  first  to  announce 
these  glad  tidings;  they  only  were  worthy 
of  the  privilege.  These  pure  spirits,  hover- 
ing above  His  cradle,  first  adored  their  in- 
carnate God,  and  then  sped  to  the  plains 
of  Bethlehem,  praising  Him  and  singing: 
"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on 
earth  peace  to  men  of  good- will."  {lb.  14  ) 

The  first  on  earth  to  learn  this  glorious 
news  were  the  lowliest  and  most  humble  of 
men,  the  simple  shepherds  of  Bethlehem. 
They  were  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  crib  of 
the  divine  Infant,  the  first  after  Our  Lady 
and  St.  Joseph  to  oflfer  Him  the  worship 
that  was  His  due.  Happy  shepherds,  in 
■whom  was  verified  the  truth  of  those  divine 
words:  "  I  give  thanks  to  Thee,  O  Father! 
Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  because  Thou 
bast  hid  these  thicgs  from  the  wise  and 
prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  to  little 
ones."  (Matt.,  xi,  25.)  " He  hath  scattered 
the  proud  in  the  conceit  of  their  heart.  . . . 
He  hath  exalted  the  humble,  and  filled 
the  hungry  with  good  things."  (St.  Luke, 
i.  51-53-) 


*  Mgr.  Pavy.  f  Office  of  the  Circumcision. 


They  were  not  shocked  at  the  poor  and 
mean  surroundings  of  Hi^  birth — at  the 
stable  in  which  the  ineffable  m>stery  was 
wrought,  at  the  presecce  oc'  animals,  at  the 
crib  which  He  exchanged  for  a  throne  in 
the  highest  heaven.  ''Blessed  is  he  that 
shall  not  be  scandalized  in  Me."  Through 
this  very  abasement  the  splendors  of  the 
divine  love  shone  more  brilliantly.  These 
signs  of  deepest  humiliation,  this  crib,  these 
garments, reveal  more  clearly  the  Saviour  of 
the  world.  Man's  aspirations  towards  a  false 
greatness  caused  him  to  fall.  "All  that  is 
in  the  world  is  concupiscence  of  the  e)  es, 
concupiscence  of  the  flesh,  and  pride  of 
life."  (I.John,  ii,  16.)  To  drive  out  Beelze- 
bub by  Beelzebub— by  the  glare  of  exter- 
nal pomp — is  impossible.  In  this  Child,  so 
humble,  so  weak,  wrapped  in  swaddling- 
clothes,  and  1>  ing  in  the  manger, we  recog- 
nize our  God  and  Saviour,  who  humbles 
Himself  that  we  may  be  exalted,  and  re- 
established in  the  privileges  we  had  lost. 
He  is  come  into  this  valley  of  tears  to  weep 
and  to  suff'dr;  but  it  is  that  He  may  dr>  our 
tears,  and  change  our  sorrow  in  to  jay.  The 
stable  is  now  His  palace;  the  swaddlirg- 
clothes.  His  royal  robe;  the  crib,  His  throne. 

Prostrate  in  spirit,  let  us  unite  ourselves 
to  the  shepherds,  and  consecrate  to  Him  our 
heart  and  body,  all  we  have  and  all  we  are. 
But  let  us  not  forget  that  He  is  infinitely 
rich  with  gifts  of  grace  to  bestow.  Let  us 
ask  for  the  simplicity,  faith,  innocence,  and 
confiding  love  characteristic  of  children, 
remembering  that  we  must  become  like 
unto  them  in  order  to  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven. 


* 
*  * 


Mary  conceived  J  c;sus  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
without  stain;  She  bore  Him  in  Her  vir- 
ginal womb  and  brought  Him  forth  without 
the  usual  pangs  of  maternity;  for  She  was 
exempt  from  the  penalty  imposed  on  the 
first  Eve.  She  had  conceived  Him  without 
ceasing  to  be  a  virgin,  and  She  brought  Him 
forth  still  remaining  a  virgin.  It  would  be 
incomprehensible  to  us  that  He  who  came 
into  the  world  to  elevate  all  to  perfection, 
should  destroy  the  virginal  integrity  of  His 


The  Ave  A/aria. 


603 


Mother.  The  dogma  that  Mary  was  ever 
a  virgin,  which  is  attested  by  apostolical 
tradition,  has  been  defended  by  the  Church 
with  the  same  zeal  with  which  she  defended 
the  divine  maternity.  These  two  truths  are 
inseparable.  Mary  could  become  mother  of 
God  only  whilst  being  a  virgin;  and  once 
being  mother  of  God,  she  must  always  re- 
main a  virgin. 

The  Gospel  says  that  Joseph  knew  not 
Mary  "till  She  had  brought  forth  Her  first- 
born Son"  (Matt.,i,  25);  the  conjunction 
until  serving  only  to  affirm  the  miraculous 
conception  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  to  ex- 
clude the  ordinary  conditions.  It  is  em- 
ployed in  numberless  passages  of  the  Script- 
ure to  express  th^t  an  action  or  an  event 
not  only  did  not  take  place  before^  but  also 
after  the  time  indicated.  Thus  it  is  said  of 
Michol  that  she  did  not  conceive  until  her 
death.  (II.  Kings,  vi,  23.)  In  the  language 
of  Scripture,  the  terms  "first  born"  and 
"only  son"  do  not  exclude  each  other. 
Thus,  in  the  Book  of  Josue,  Machir  is  called 
the  first-born  of  Manasses, whilst  he  was  at 
the  same  time  the  only  son.  (Jos.,  xvii,  i.) 
The  Gospel  makes  mention  of  the  "breth- 
ren of  Jesus ' ' ;  but  the  word  brother  in  the 
Scriptures  is  applied  to  other  degrees  of 
relationship.  The  "brethren"  referred  to 
-were  cousins  of  Our  Lord.  It  is  clear  from 
what  has  been  remarked  that  when  we 
say,  "O  Virgin!  Thou  hast  brought  forth 
Jesus,"  we  praise  and  exalt  not  only  the 
glory  of  Her  divine  maternity,  but  also  the 
lionor  of  Her  perpetual  virginity. 


*  * 


In  what  words  can  we  express  the  feel- 
ings of  the  Virgin  Mother  at  the  birth  of 
Her  Son,  at  the  coming  of  the  shepherds 
and  their  reverent  greetings,  at  the  arrival 
of  the  Magi, — the  inefftble  delight  with 
which  She  was  filled  at  sight  of  Her  divine 
Son,  the  holy  eagerness  with  which  She 
attended  to  His  wants?  It  would  seem  as  if 
the  evangelical  writers  were  afraid  to  lift 
the  veil  here:  they  merely  show  us  the  Vir- 
gin plunged  in  mute  astonishment,  keeping 
and  meditating  in  Her  heart  (Luke,  ii,  19) 
all  the  marvels  that  She  saw  and  heard. 


"Let  us  all,"  says  St.  Francis  de  Sales, 
"accompany  the  shepherds  of  Bethlehem 
to  visit  the  divine  Infant,  and  beg  His  most 
holy  Mother  to  allow  us  to  gaze  upon  Him. 
Let  us  go  there,  bringing  to  Him  the  pres- 
ents of  our  piety  and  love, — presents  which 
Mary  and  Joseph  will  joyfully  receive  to 
lay  before  Him,  and  which  He  will  accept 
with  delight."  Let  us  prostrate  ourselves 
in  the  silence  of  admiration  and  prayer  be- 
fore that  Crib,  which  is  the  cradle  of  the 
Sovereign  King,  bom  in  poverty.  Let  us 
recognize  and  adore,  under  the  swaddling- 
clothes  which  cover  Him,  the  God  of  infi- 
nite greatness  and  power.  Let  us  ofier  to 
Him  all  we  have  and  all  we  are;  but  espec- 
ially let  us  give  Him  our  heart,  for  it  is  our 
heart  He  desires  and  asks.  "(>ive  Me  thy 
heart." 


Barry's  Christmas  Gift. 

BY  M.  BROWINGTON. 
I. 

THE  joys  of  the  gladsome  Christmastide 
were  brightening  many  homes  in  many 
lands  on  the  night  of  December  24, 1820. 
Lights  shone  from  the  windows,  and  light- 
ened the  darkness  without.  Over  the  moun- 
tain of  Great  St.  Bernard  in  the  Pennine 
Alps  the  night  was  settling  down,  dark  and 
stormy.  The  thermometer  registered  2°  be- 
low zero;  in  some  plaoes  on  the  perilous 
Pass  the  snow,  already  five  feet  deep,  was 
deepening  as  the  night  advanced.  This  Pass 
of  Mons  Jovis,  through  which  marched  the 
Romans,  Charlemagne,  and  Frederick  Bar- 
barossa,  and  along  which,  in  1800,  Napoleon 
led  his  army  of  30,000  men,  is  still  the  dread 
of  travellers.  Like  a  dragon  of  old  it  waits 
and  watches  for  its  victims.  Its  giddy  prec- 
ipices yawn  and  its  beetling  rocks  frown  on 
the  hardihood  of  those  who  brave  its  terrors. 
Par  up  the  mountain,  nearly  8  000  feet 
above  the  sea  level,  stands  the  Hospice  of 
S".  Bernard.  Here  live  those  noble  men, 
the  monks  of  St.  Augustine,  who,  endur- 
ing hardship  and  want,  sacrifice  their  lives 
to  rescue  from  death  the  victims  of  Mons 


6o4 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Jovis  Pass.  When  heavy  fogs  come  or  blind- 
ing snows  the  Brothers  set  forth  with  their 
brave  dogs  to  search  for  lost  travellers. 
They  visit  the  huts  erected  here  and  there 
as  places  of  refuge;  or  the  swift- footed, 
keen-nosed  beasts,  going  where  their  mas- 
ters can  not  follow,  discover  many  a  wan- 
derer. It  may  be  he  is  nearly  buried  in  some 
drift;  it  may  be  he  lies  on  the  brink  of  some 
frightful  precipice;  it  matters  not:  if  he  still 
lives,  dogs  and  masters  would  give  their 
lives  to  save  his. 

The  grim-looking  hospice,  with  its  dark 
stone  walls,  tells  little  of  the  kindness  and 
charity  within.  Its  ample  dimensions,  spa- 
cious enough  to  accommodate  five  hundred 
•persons,  are  outspread  on  the  shore  of  an 
ice-bound  lake.  On  this  wild  December 
night  cheering  beams  of  light  penetrated 
the  darkness  from  the  shutterless  windows 
of  the  building,  and  the  snow-flakes  scin- 
tillated as  they  crossed  the  radiant  paths. 

In  this  house  no  scene  of  mirth  and  merri- 
ment celebrated  the  night  when  Our  Lord 
was  born.  The  dark  walls  of  the  refectory 
were  lighted  by  the  blaze  from  the  roaring 
fire;  the  tables  were  drawn  aside,  and  straw 
strewn  on  the  floor;  everywhere  was  move- 
ment and  bustle,  as  the  Brothers  prepared 
to  set  forth  on  their  charitable  mission. 

One  of  the  monks  took  no  part  in  the 
preparations.  He  sat  on  a  bench  by  the 
chimney,  reading  of  that  time 

"In  the  winter  wild 
While  the  heaven-born  Child, 

All  meanly  wrapped,  in  the  rude  manger  lies. 
Nature  in  awe  of  Him 
Had  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize." 

On  such  a  night  as  this,  a  month  before,  the 
reader  with  one  of  the  dogs  had  rescued 
and  carried  to  the  hospice  a  young  man 
overtaken  by  the  storm.  Brother  Francis 
had  never  recovered  from  the  exposure  and 
fatigue.  The  young  man,  through  the  care 
bestowed  upon  him  by  the  monks, was  soon 
enabled  to  go  on  his  way  rejoicing,  but  his 
rescuer  was  now  waiting  a  greater  deliverer 
from  his  pain.  He  said  little;  he  only  sat  by 
the  chimney  reading  his  book,  or  gazing 


into  the  fire  with  wistful  eyes.  But  he  was 
always  ready  with  a  smile  for  others,  and 
a  word  of  encouragement,  often  as  efiectual 
as  more  practical  help.  He  laid  his  book 
down  now,  to  watch  with  a  gentle  smile  the 
busy  picture  around  him. 

The  dogs  were  showing  signs  of  great 
impatience,  whining  and  running  to  the 
door,  barely  standing  long  enough  for  the 
monks  to  fasten  upon  them  the  flasks  whose 
contents  were  to  revive  some  perishing 
wanderer.  One  large,  fine-looking  dog,  with 
a  noble,  patient  face,  was  standing  a  little 
apart  from  his  companions,  and,  unlike 
them,  quietly  waiting  the  departure.  He 
comprehended  that  any  delay  was  for  the 
best,  and  that  the  impatience  of  the  other 
dogs  retarded  the  preparations.  His  bright 
eyes  wistfully  followed  the  Brothers'  move- 
ments, and  now  and  then  his  eagerness  did 
overcome,  a  little,  his  self-command,  so  that 
he  started  forward  with  a  remonstrating 
whine,  but  always  checked  himself,  and  re- 
sumed his  old  position.  Finally  he  gravely 
stalked  across  the  hall,  and  thrust  his  cold 
nose  into  Brother  Francis'  hand,  mutely 
asking  why  he  was  not  going  with  them 
as  of  old.  This  dog  was  Barry,  the  noblest 
St.  Bernard  that  has  ever  lived  a  life  of 
canine-self-devotion,  through  whose  instru- 
mentality not  less  than  forty  persons  have 
been  saved. 

At  last  the  preparations  were  complete; 
the  dogs,  knowing  what  was  expected  of 
them,  stood  motionless  by  the  door  while 
the  Father  supplicated  that  they  might  all 
be  defended  fiom  "the  perils  and  dangers 
of  this  night,  for  the  love  of  our  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ."  A  deep  "Amen"  sounded 
through  the  hall.  There  was  a  brief  pause, 
while  all  still  knelt,  well  knowing  that  they 
might  never  again  perform  the  impressive 
little  service;  then  the  doors  were  opened, 
the  dogs  rushed  out,  the  monks  followed, 
and  Brother  Francis  was  left  aloue,  s'tting 
by  the  fire,  wi' h  deep  peace  in  his  heart  and 
a  prayer  on  his  lips. 

II. 

The  little  village  of  Martigny  on  the 
Swiss  side  of  the  Alps,  and  Aosta  on  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


605 


Italian,  mark  the  terminations  of  the  Pass  of 
St.  Bernard.  At  Martigny  the  ascent  com- 
mences, and  ends  on  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain about  six  miles  beyond  the  village. 

Four  hours  before  the  monks  set  forth  on 
their  expedition  three  persons  were  to  be 
seen  hurrying  toward  the  mountain  on  the 
road  from  Martigny.  The  ascent  was  already 
becoming  wearisome.  Behind  them  lay  the 
valley,  with  Martigny  in  the  distance;  its 
queer  little  chdlets^  their  roofs  weighed  down 
with  stones,  might  be  dimly  descried.  Be 
fore  the  travellers  were  the  eternal  Alpine 
snows,  where  towered  the  head  of  lofty  St. 
Bernard.  Far  to  the  east  stood  white-capped 
Mt.  Rosa.  To  the  north  lay  a  great  bank 
of  dark  clouds,  rap'dly  advancing.  Ever 
and  anon  the  little  group  paused  and  anx- 
iously regarded  the  threatening  heavens. 
The  party  consisted  of  a  man,  a  woman, 
and  little  boy.  The  man,  evidently  a  guide, 
seemed  endeavoring  to  dissuade  the  woman 
from  proceeding.  , 

"Da  you  not  see,"  said  he,  "that  it  is 
certain  death  to  go  on  ?  With  such  a  cloud 
as  that,  it  will  be  quite  dark  in  an  hour, 
and  if  it  snows  we  shall  be  lost." 

"But,"  answered  the  woman,  "I  must 
go  on.  I  tell  you  my  husband  is  dying  at 
Aosta;  I  must  reach  him  to-morrow." 

"Consider  your  child,  M^re  Wiss,"  con- 
tinued the  guide.  "It  is  folly  to  expose  him 
to  such  dangers.  On  a  night  like  this  we 
should  freeze  if  we  lost  our  way." 

Silence  ensued,  and  for  half  an  hour  they 
walked  on  steadily.  The  road  was  becom- 
ing rugged  and  steep,  and  the  clouds  clos- 
ing in  around  the  party,  when  the  guide 
stopped  and  spoke  again. 

" M^re  Wiss,"  he  said, resolutely, "I  can 
not  and  will  not  go  on.  It  is  certain  death 
to  climb  Mons  Jovis  to-night.  Be  wise  and 
return  ere  it  is  too  late." 

"Man,"  said  the  almost  frantic  woman, 
"will  you  leave  a  distracted  wife  and  her 
delicate  child  to  climb  the  Pass  alone  in  the 
night-time?" 

'  *  Yes, ' '  replied  the  man ;  "  I  am  not  going 
to  risk  my  life."  And  he  turned  away. 

"God  forgive  your  faithlessness!"  said 


the  poor  woman,  choking  back  a  sob.  "My 
child,  we  will  do  the  best  we  can  alone. 
Your  father  must  not  die  without  me. 
Heaven  grant  that  we  reach  the  hospice 
to-night!"  And  the  white- faced  mother, 
taking  her  boy  by  the  hand,  resumed  the 
weary  ascent.  The  snow  began  to  fall,  and 
the  air,  before  mild,  grew  very  cold.  The 
little  boy  spoke  only  once;  looking  up  to 
his  mother's  face,  he  asked: 

" Mother,  isn' t  to-morrow  Christmas?" 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"That  is  a  holyday,  and  last  year  we 
went  to  Mass,  and  father  was  at  home.  Will 
he  be  home  to  morrow?" 

The  mother  said  not  a  word;  she  only 
pressed  a  kiss  on  the  little  boy's  lips,  and 
silently  breathed  a  prayer. 

The  night  grew  darker;  the  wind  howled 
among  the  pines,  while  the  driving  snow 
nearly  blinded  the  travellers.  Little  Pierre, 
terrified,  clung  to  his  moiher. 

"Oh,  let's  go  back!"  he  wailed.  "I  am 
so  cold,  and  I  want  my  supper." 

The  mother  stopped.  "Here,  my  boy,  I 
have  some  bread  in  my  pocket.  Now  while 
you  eat  that  can  you  not  go  on  ?  It  is  only 
a  little  way  to  the  hospice,  and  there  the 
good  monks  will  give  you'  a  warm  bed  and 
some  broth." 

Little  Pierre  ceased  to  cry  while  he 
munched  his  bread.  For  some  time  longer 
they  struggled  on.  The  snow  grew  deeper, 
and  the  walking  more  diflficult.  Finally  the 
child  could  hardly  draw  his  little  legs  out 
of  the  drifts.  With  a  sigh  the  mother  raised 
him  in  her  arms.  He  was  a  heavy  weight, 
and  sometimes  she  staggered  and  almost 
fell.  But  her  child  nestled  against  her,  and 
she  endured  through  her  mother's  love. 
"Surely,"  she  thought,  "the  next  turn 
will  show  the  lights  of  the  hospice.  I  can 
bear  it  a  little  longer. ' ' 

Still  the  snow  fell  and  the  air  grew  colder. 
The  ground  was  much  rougher,  and  it  was 
quite  dark.  The  wind  wrapped  the  woman's 
skirts  about  her,  so  as  to  impede  her  move- 
ments. She  was  becoming  very  sleepy,  and 
the  thought  of  lying  down  to  rest  even  in 
the  snow  afforded  relief.  Only  for  the  sake 


6o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  her  child  she  nerved  herself  to  resist  the 
lone^ing.  Sleep,  she  knew,  would  end  in  a 
fatal  torpor,  and  so  she  struggled  on. 

"Oh!  why  do  I  not  see  the  lights  of  the 
hospice?"  she  moaned.  "Father  in  heaven, 
have  mercy!    Holy  Mother, help  us!" 

Suddenly  both  the  wanderers  felt  a  heavy 
blow.   The  boy  roused  himself  with  a  cry. 

"  Who  is  there?  '  said  the  mother.  "Oh, 
answer  me!    Save  us  for  Mary's  sake!" 

There  was  no  reply.  She  placed  the  boy 
on  his  feet,  and,  too  numbed  for  fear,  ad- 
vanced feebly,  with  hands  outstretched. 
They  touched  something  hard;  it  was  a 
tree.  A  tree  on  the  road!  How  could  that 
be?  Hal  she  then,  lost  her  way?  Turn- 
ing, she  found  others;  evidently  she  had 
wandered  from  the  road  in  the  dark. 

"It  can  be  only  a  little  way  oflf,"  she 
thought.  *•  Pierre  dear,  mother  is  going  to 
leave  you  here  a  moment.  You  will  not  be 
afraid,  will  you  ?  See,  I  will  wrap  my  shawl 
about  you." 

The  woman  drew  the  shawl  from  her 
own  shoulders  to  put  it  around  her  child. 
"Now  if  you  hear  me  call,  you  must  an- 
swer, 'Here  I  am,  mother.'" 

The  little  boy  sleepily  repeated, "  Here  I 
am,  mother."  Then  with  a  deep  sigh  his 
mother  seated  him  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and 
went  in  search  of  the  road. 

At  first  the  child  was  frightened,  but  he 
restrained  his  tears,  and  gazed  into  the 
darkness  with  wide-open  eyes.  Soon,  how- 
ever, his  lids  began  to  droop  and  the  stupor 
overcame  him.  Once  he  heard  a  dull,  roar^ 
ing  sound,  and  thought  his  mother  called. 
He  roused  himself  to  answer,  "Here  I  am, 
mother" ;  but  only  the  wind  replied,  and  he 
dropped  asleep  again. 

Poor  child,  that  dull  sound  was  his  moth- 
er's knell.  She  had  found  the  road,  feeling 
her  way,  and  saw,  far  up  the  mountain,  the 
gleam  of  lights  from  the  hospice.  In  her 
joy  she  heeded  not  the  roar  of  an  avalanche, 
which,  sweeping  down  the  mountain,  bur- 
ied her  in  its  snowy  depths. 

Deeper  grows  the  little  boy's  sleep.  The 
wind  dies  away,  the  snow  ceases  to  fall,  and 


the  stars,  in  the  deep"  blue  above,  make  a 
faint  light;  but  the  cold  is  more  intense. 
Help  must  soon  come,  or  the  little  boy  will 
never  wake  in  this  world. 

A  dog  is  bounding  down  the  Pass.  Now 
he  stops,  and,  with  uplifted  head^snuflfs  the 
air,  then  with  loud  barks  he  runs'on  again. 
He,  too,  had  heard  the  woman's  cry  ere 
the  pitiless  snow  had  made  her  grave. 
Barry — for  it  is  he — well  knew  the  meaning 
of  such  a  cry.  Soon  he  turns  to  the  left,  and 
eaters  the  woods.  Now  pausing,  now  run- 
ning on  again,  he  reaches  the  little  boy. 
With  a  pleased  bark  he  puts  his  nose  into 
the  child's  face.  There  is  no  answering 
move.  Barry  understands  that  it  is  a  des- 
perate case.  With  his  feet"he  rolls  the  child 
over  and  over  till  he  is  thoroughly  awaked, 
and  crying  with  fear.  Then  Barry  dashes 
back  to  the  road,  and  barks  for  the  monks; 
but  they  do  not  come.  His  dog's  mind  is 
perplexed.  What  can  he  do  with  the  little 
boy? 

Suddenly  he  has  an  idea.  He  bounds 
back  to  little  Pierre.  As  gently  as  would  a 
nurse  he  seeks  to  assure  the  child  of  his 
kind  intentions,  till  Pierre  nestles  against 
his  great,  warm  body.  Then  Barry  springs 
up  and  runs  a  few  paces,  waiting  to  be 
followed;  but  the  snow  is  too  deep  for  the 
little  boy  to  walk,  so  the  dog  returns  and 
lies  down.  The  child  draws  near  him,  and 
places  his  arms  round  the  shaggy  neck. 
Again  Barry  rises  and  starts  away,  this  time 
dragging  the  child  after  him.  Pierre  begins 
to  cry,  and  again  Barry  lies  down.  Several 
times  the  performance  is  repeated,  till  the 
boy,  determined  not  to  be  deserted,  climbs 
up  on  the  dog's  back.  Joyfully  Barry  trots 
away,  Pierre  holding  tightly  to  his  neck, 
and  pressing  his  feet  against  the  warm 
sides,  while  surely  and  safely  they  near  the 
twinkling  lights  of  the  hospice. 

III. 
The  fire  was  burning  low  in  the  refec- 
tory. Brother  Francis  sat  by  the  chimney, 
musing,  as  he  waited  for  the  monks'  return. 
His  thoughts  were  far  away  in  Bethlehem 
of  Juda,  where,  eighteen  hundred  years 
before,  a  Child  was  lying  in  a  manger. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


607 


What  peace  and  happiness  had  that  Babe 
brought!  He  had  come  in  winter's  cold, 
"a  Light  to  lighten  the  darkness."  'And 
in  His  name,"  mused  Brother  Francis,  "this 
house  now  stands,  to  lighten  the  darkness 
of  this  mount  lin's  winter  of  snow." 

A  child's  cry  and  a  noise  of  scratching 
sounded  at  the  door.  Brother  Francis  started 
up,  and  painfuUy  ma<3e  his  way  across  the 
hall.  Barry  lay  in  the  entry  without,  breath- 
ing heavily,  his  tongue  lolling  from  his 
mouth;  but  his  eyes  were  almost  smiling, 
and  his  tail  thumped  against  the  stone  floor. 
Behind  him  siood  little  Pierre,  his  cold 
hands  wiping  away  his  fast- freezing  tears. 

Next  day  the  monks  learned  that  little 
Pierre  was  an  orphan.  At  Aosta,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain,  the  husband 
died  on  the  same  night  that  ended  his  wife's 
life.  The  good  Brothers  accepted  Pierre  as 
a  Christmas  gift,  and  for  years  Barry  con- 
sidered him  his  especial  charge,  and  exer- 
cised toward  him  a  fatherly  care. 

When  spring  came  there  was  anew  grave 
in  the  little  cemetery  by  the  Pass;  while  no 
one  ever  sat  in  Brother  Francis'  seat,  but 
the  book  lay  open  there  as  he  left  it. 

ThirLeen  years  after  Brother  Francis' 
death  another  Brother  Francis  took  his 
place, and  joined  in  the  noble  work  to  which 
he,  as  little  Pierre,  owed  his  life. 


Speculum  Justitiae. 


BY    TS,.   L.    DORSEY. 


IT  was  a  bitter  night  in  winter.  The  streets 
had  been  deseried  at  an  early  hour,  and 
the  wind  that  raged  up  from  the  sea  tore 
at  the  shutters  and  banged  at  the  doors, 
shrieking,  whistling,  and  roaring,  till  the 
townsfolk  turned  in  their  beds  and  mut- 
tered : ' '  God  save  the  sai  lor  lads  this  night  I ' ' 
But  some  of  the  nervous  old  women  cov- 
ered their  ears  and  said:  "The  good-for- 
nothing  vagabonds!''  For  they  thought 
the  bauging  and  shouting  came  from  some 
ship's  crew  just  landed,  and  hurrying  to 
spend  their  money  and  vitality  larking. 


Suddenly  the  wind  veered  to  the  north- 
west, and  whirling  down  out  of  the  low 
black  clouds  came  one  soft  whi  e  flake,  then 
another,  and  another,  until  the  air  was  as 
white  as  the  surf  bursting  and  flying  out 
on  the  harbor  bar. 

And  all  the  time,  in  a  side  street  of  this 
water-end  of  the  city,  a  man  lay  face  down, 
a  knife  in  his  back,  and  death  on  his  lips 
and  in  his  heart.  And  the  snow  gathered 
and  covered  the  red  stain  that  crept  like 
a  scarlet  snake  from  the  small  wound,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  winding-sheet  whiter  than, 
any  flax  ever  spun. 

And  a  ship  drove  safely  into  the  harbor 
out  of  the  storm,  let  go  her  anchor  with  a 
rattle  and  clank  of  chains,  and  a  hearty 
"  Yo  heave-oh  1 ' '  that  rang  merrily  through 
the  night;  and  one  of  the  sailors,  refusing 
with  a  laugh  to  wait  for  daybreak,  sprang 
ashore,  and  struck  out  briskly  for  home. 
Such  a  little  box  of  a  home,  but  neat  as  a 
new  pin,  and  an  old  mother  in  it  dearer  than 
all  the  world  to  the  sturdy  fellow  tramping 
through  the  snow. 

"I  told  her  I'd  be  there,  and  of  course  I 
will;  for  this  here  wind  a-blowin',  and  the 
delay  from  the  backin'  and  fillin'  we  had 
to  do  outside  the  bar  thar,  so's  to  git  a  good 
headway  on  th'  old  gal  [the  ship],  nil  have 
her  that  uneasy  I  know  she  won't  sleep  a 
wink  this  blessed — hullo!  what's  here? 
Git  along,  old  chap.  'Tain't  safe  for  a  feller 
to  be  takin'  naps  in  this  here  temperatoor. 
Whew!  if  there's  one  thing  I  hate  it's  a 
feller  a-makin'  a  beast  of  himself  a-drinkin', 
Mebbe,  though,  I'd  been  there  myself  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Father  Tom;  so  here  goes 
to  help  'the  man  and  brother.'  My  Lord 
A'mighty,  what's  this  here?  It's  a  knife, 
and  the  man's- dead  as  a  nail!    Mur — " 

But  an  iron  arm  had  him  round  the  neck, 
and  an  iron  hand  was  clapped  over  his 
mouth,  and  he  was  dragged  furiously  here 
and  there,  while  a  stentorian  voice  rang  out, 
"Murder,  murder,  murder!" 

In  the  mad  struggle  that  followed,  David 
Jameson's  clothing  was  torn  from  his  back, 
and  his  face  bruised;  though  he  defended 
himself  so  manfully  that  his  assailant  was 


6o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


put  to  it  for  breath  wherewith  to  keep  up 
his  shout  of  "Murder." 

The  harbor-watch  ran  panting  to  the 
scene,  and  before  Jameson — bewildered  by 
the  sudden  attack,  and  exhausted  by  the 
violent  tussle — could  speak,  the  man  who 
grappled  him  poured  out  a  voluble  story. 
He  had  been  coming  along  the  street  after 
spending  the  evening  at  Moreno's  cabaret^ 
and  had  seen  the  two  men  struggling; 
this  one  had  plunged  a  knife  into  the  back 
of  the  other;  he  had  fallen  and  died  with- 
out a  groan.  Then  this  man  stooped  to — he 
supposed — rifle  the  dead  man's  pockets, 
and  he  had  seized  him. 

"You  lie!"  shouted  Davie.   "The  man 
must  have  been  dead  an  hour  when  I  saw 
him.  He  was  covered  with  snow — " 
■  "Shut  up!  "  said  the  harbor- watch. 

And  Davie's  captor,  with  an  expressive 
shrug  and  a  flinging  out  of  his  hands,  said : 
*' Behold  the  knife,  signor. " 

The  knife  was  a  black  clasp-knife,  such  as 
any  sailor  of  any  nation  might  carry;  but 
the  officers  smiled  contemptuously  when 
Jameson  declared  it  was  not  his,  and  told 
them  his  sheath  was  empty  only  because 
he  had  lost  his  knife  that  very  night  com- 
ing into  port — that  it  had  been  knocked 
out  of  his  hand  while  he  was'  cutting  away 
some  raffle  tangled  up  by  the  gale.  And  they 
carried  him  off"  with  every  indignity  to  the 
station-house,  treating  with  marked  consid- 
eration the  foreigner — an  Italian — who  had 
captured  the  desperate  murderer  at  such 
tisk  and  after  such  a  fight,  and  thanking 
him  with  some  eff"usion  for  his  offer  to  be 
at  their  service  day  or  night  so  long  as  he 
stayed  in  port,  noting  down  the  place  of 
anchorage  of  his  vessel;  for  of  course  he 
"was  the  only  witness  for  the  prosecution. 
Poor  David!    One  hour  before  a  free, 
light-hearted  lad,  springing  home  to  his 
mother,  his  soul  innocent  of  guile,  and  his 
Tieart  at  peace  with  the  world.   Now  dis- 
graced, ironed  at  ankles  and  wrists,  his  heart 
a  pit  of  rage,  and  every  muscle  aching  to  get 
at  the  man  who  had  lied  away  his  honesty, 
Ms  integrity,  his  liberty,  and — it  might 
easily  come  to  that — his  life. 


The  jailer  was  a  kind  hearted  man,  so 
when  he  came  into  the  cell  in  the  early 
morning  he  asked  David  if  he  had  any 
friends  he  wished  to  see;  and  he,  poor  lad, 
with  a  ray  of  hope  striking  across  his  pas- 
sion of  rage  and  despair,  cried :  ' '  Let  me  see 
Father  Fahey." 

"Father  Tom,  is  it?"  asked  the  jailer. 

"That's  the  one,"  said  David,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I  know ^2 w./"  said  the  man,  with 
a  broad  smile;  ' '  and  it's  himself  always  has 
his  joke  and  his  good  word  for  everybody. 
I  tell  him,  sometimes,  he's  sent  for  so  con- 
stant he'd  better  just  live  here.  Him  and 
me'd  make  a  good  pair,  and  trot  well  in 
double  harness — me  a-catchin'  the  corpus 
delicHsses'*''  {ht.  had  his  little  vanities  of  fine 
language,  this  jailer),  "and  him  a-nabbin' 
the  bad  consciences.  'Gillett,'  says  he  to 
me  no  later  than  last  Tuesday,  when  I'd 
said  as  much  to  him, — '  Gillett,  we've  got 
responsibilities  both  of  us,  and  above  all 
we've  got  to  keep  everything  clean- washed 
and  accounted  for.'  'Yes,'  I  cuts  in,* me  to 
the  Guv' nor  and  you  to  the  Lord.'  That's 
just  what  I  said — *me  to  the  Guv' nor  and 
you  to  the  Lord,' — and  it  was  a  pretty  neat 
answer." 

And  he  rubbed  his  chin  softly,  and  re- 
peated his  own  words  several  times  with 
intense  ecjayment  of  their  neatness. 

"When  can  I  see  him?"  begged  David. 

"To-morrow  maybe." 

"To-morrow!"  and  his  face  fell  back  to 
its  lines  of  misery.  "Good  Lord,  man,  my 
old  mother '11  hear  it  before  that,  and  it'll 
kill  her  if  it's  broke  too  sudden  to  her!  Fa- 
ther Tom's  the  only  man  that  can  do  it." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  jailer,  "I'll  tele- 
phone round  for  you;  but" — with  a  sudden 
sense  of  responsibility — ' '  that  was  a  shabby 
trick  to  play  a  messmate." 

"I  didn't,"  said  David,  simply,  arid  he 
raised  his  honest  eyes  to  the  jailer's  face. 
"I  never  saw  him  till — " 

"There,  there!"  said  the  jailer,  sooth- 
ingly; "don't  talk  till  your  lawyer  gits 
here."  And  off" he  went  down  the  corridor, 
thinking  as  he  did  so:  "He  looks  honest, 
but, great  Scott!  you  never  can  tell.  They'll 


The  Ave  Maria. 


609 


look  like  cheraplis  and  serabims"  (his  bib- 
lical knowledge  was  slight  and  very  mixed), 
* '  and  all  t he  time  t  hey '  11  be  up  to  any  dodge 
on  the  p'lice  docket.  This  feller's  cut  dif- 
f'rent  from  the  heft  of  my  birds,  though." 

An  hour  later  Father  Tom  stood  in  the 
cell,  and  he  took  David  in  his  arms,  and 
welcomed  him  as  if  he  had  come  home  laden 
with  honors  instead  of  crushed  under  the 
charge  of  crime.  Then  he  said,  gently: 
"Now,  Davie,  tell  me  all  about  it.  ' 

And  David  told  the  whole  story,  begin- 
ning with  the  start  from  the  ship,  and  going 
circumstantially  through  the  after-events, 
from  the  brief  but  terrific  struggle  over  the 
dead  man's  body,  to  the  prison.  Father  Tom 
listened  intently,  and  David,  as  he  warmed 
up  to  his  story, concluded  with  "I  am  as  in- 
nocent of  that  man's  blood  as  you  are.  Fa- 
ther Tom;  but  if  I  had  that  Italian  here 
I'd  strangle  him." 

Father  Tom's  only  answer  was  to  pull 
out  the  crucifix  from  his  girdle,  hold  it  up, 
and  point  to  the  agonized  figure  on  it. 

David  hung  his  head,  and  with  the  cry, 
"But  think  of  mother!"  the  tears  burst 
from  his  dry  and  burning  eyes. 

Presently  Father  Tom  said:  "Now, 
Davie,  let  us  kneel  down  and  say  a  Memo- 
rare  and  the  Veiii  Sancte  Spiritus^  and  then 
we'll  see  what's  to  be  done  first." 

But  poor  David's  cry,  as  soon  as  the  Amen 
was  said,  was  again:  "O  Father  Tom!  my 
poor  old  mother!" 

"Now  look  here,  boy,"  said  the  priest, 
with  some  severity, "do  you  suppose  such 
a  good  Catholic  and  such  a  devoted  servant 
of  Our  Lady  as  your  mother  is,  is  going 
to  waste  time  mourning  and  weeping?  If 
you  had  been  guilty,  then  she  might  have 
broken  her  heart;  but  she'll  have  so  many 
prayers  to  say  for  you,  and  so  many  things 
to  do  for  you — and  she  can  come  every  day 
to  see  you  too, — that  the  time  will  go  by 
almost  before  you  know  it.  I'll  go  to  her 
now  and  tell  her  about  it.  And  would  you 
like  me  to  send  your  skipper  or  any  of  your 
shipmates  to  see  you?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Davie;  "tell 'em,  though. 
And,  Father,  tell  'em,  too,  I  didn't  do  it." 


"Ay,  ay,  lad,  you  may  depend  on  that. 
Now,  is  there  anything  you  want?  Have 
you  got  tobacco,  and  warm  flannels,  and 
some  money  ?  Have  you  got  your — oh,  yes,^ 
there  are  your  beads!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Davie.  "I've  got  them 
safe;  but  it's  a  wonder  I  didn't  lose 'em  in 
that  scrimmage  last  night.  I  s' pose  I  V70uld 
a'  done  it  ef  I  hadn't  strung 'em  round  my 
neck  before  I  went  aloft  out  yonder.  The 
wind  certainly  was  tremenjis  ofi"  the  Cape, 
and  when  we  was  piped  up  to  cut  loose  a 
broken  yard  and  snug  down,  I  didn't  count 
much  on  seeirg  home-lights  again.  So's  I 
run  along  the  deck  and  began  scramblin* 
up  the  shrouds,  I  slipped  'em  over  my  head. 
I  heerd  a  Breton  sailor  say  once  that  the 
Blessed  Lady'd  life  us  safe  and  sound  out 
of  even  a  ragin'  sea  into  heaven  by  'em. 
Of  course  I  knew  he  didn't  mean  the  real 
body  of  us,  nor  the  real  string  of  beads,  nor 
the  real  seas;  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  idee 
was  about  so — that  She'd  lift  the  souls  of 
us  out  of  the  pit  o'  death  and  tow  us  into 
port  by  that  theie  hawser  of  prayers  we'd 
been  a~makin'  and  a  makin'  ever  sence  we 
could  toddle." 

"And  it  wso,"  said  Father  Tom, heartily, 
laying  his  hand  on  David's  shoulder;  while 
the  latter  knelt  as  he  used  to  do  when  a 
little  lad  in  Father  Tom's  catechism  class, 
and  received  his  blessing. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  keep  down  your 
temper,  and  trust  in  God,"  were  the  priest's 
parting  words.  "  1 11  send  you  some  papers^ 
and  I'll  come  back  to-morrow." 

Then  he  went  and  had  a  little  talk  with 
the  jailer,  and  asked  such  privileges  as  could 
be  allowed  the  prisoner;  and  left  the  jail 
with  a  heavy  heart,  to  break  the  news  to 
David's  mother,  to  get  good  counsel  for 
him,  to  see  the  judge  of  the  criminal  court, 
whom  he  had  so  often  to  interview  on  be- 
half of  prisoners,  and  to  see  the  captain  of 
the  ship  to  which  the  young  sailor  be- 
longed. And  the  farther  he  went,  the  more 
depressed  he  got — the  hour,  the  circum- 
stances, the  straight  story  told  by  the  Ital- 
ian, all  tended  to  push  David  nearer  and 
nearer  the  gallows. 


6io 


The  Ave  Maria. 


There  was  a  certain  sort  of  good  luck, 
though;  for  the  court  was  in  session,  and  a 
sudden  lapse  in  the  testimony  in  a  long- 
drawn  bank  robbery  case  left  a  free  day, 
which  the  cjunsel  seized  upon,  asking  the 
judge,  in  view  of  the  peculiar  circumstances, 
to  call  the  trial;  for  the  only  actual  wit- 
ness, one  Manuel  Ignatius  Pizarro,  would 
have  to  sail  with  his  brig — the  Maria  di 
Napoli—on.  the  following  Wednesday  for 
Marseilles. 

There  was  s^me  demur  about  precedent 
and  so  on,  but  the  point  was  carried,  and 
the  20th  of  December  saw  the  court-room 
filled  to  hear  the  trial  of  David  Jameson, 
seaman,  for  the  murder  of  an  unknown  man 
on  the  night  of  the  i3*^h  day  of  that  same 
month,  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  188-.  The 
court  was  opened  with  the  usual  formali- 
ties, and  the  case  presented  by  the  couttsel 
for  the  Government.  Then,  after  a  brief 
citation  of  the  facts — "the  terrible  facts," 
they  were  called, — the  Italian,  "whose 
tongue  alone  could  tell  the  truth,"  was 
put  upon  the  stand. 

He  was  a  tall,  well-formed  man,  but  there 
was  a  furtive  trick  about  his  eyes;  and  the 
eyes  themselves,  though  large  and  brilliant, 
were  so  near  together  that  they  seemed  to 
cross  at  times;  the  eyebrows  were  heavy 
and  met  at  the  root  of  the  nose,  which  gave 
a  sinister  look  to  his  face;  and  his  nostrils 
were  thin  as  paper,  and  vibrated  with  every 
breath.  For  the  rest,  he  was  handsome 
■enough;  and  his  picturesque  though  very 
theatrical  costume  was  becoming,  from  the 
scarlet  Phrygian  cap,  and  the  wide  gold 
rings  in  his  ears,  to  the  curiously  embroid- 
■ered  top-boots,  and  the  long  Spanish  cloak 
in  which  he  draped  himself  (as  he  entered 
and  departed)  in  folds  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  an  ancient  Roman. 

He  told  his  story  dramatically  and  with 
abundint  gesture,  and  wound  up  by  saying, 
■*' Doubtless,  excellency,  it  was  some  secret 
foe;  for  he  stabbed  him  with  such  force, 
such  savagerv;  and  a  blow  in  the  back — 
O  treachery!  O  cruelty — " 

* '  S  tick  to  facts,  sir, ' '  said  the  j  udge,  im- 
passively. 


The  Italian  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
bowed,  but  his  eyes  seemed  to  le^p  toward 
each  other,  and  their  flash  belied  the  wide 
smile  that  displayed  his  teeth,  white  and 
strong  as  a  shark's. 

Then  the  cross-examination  began. 

"At  what  time  did  you  goto  Moreno's?" 

"At  twenty-two  hours  (10  o'clock  p.m.)  " 

"Where  were  you  before  that?" 

"Aboard  the  Maria  di  Napoliy 

"At  what  hour  did  you  leave  the  ship?" 

"At  twenty- one  hours  and  a  half  (9  30 
p.m.)" 

"Were  you  alone?" 

"When?" 

"When  you  leift  the  ship." 

"No.  My  mate  was  with  me." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Pedro  Maria  Allegrini." 

"Was  he  with  you  in  the  wine-shop?" 

"All  the  time." 

"Did  you  leave  together?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"  Pedro's  head  was  heavier  than  his  legs." 

"Where  is  Pedro  Allegrini?" 

"Here,"  and  he  waved  his  arm  toward  a 
heavy,  stolid  man  amoug  the  audience. 

His  name  was  noted. 

"When  you  saw  the  two  men — the  pris- 
oner and  the  deceased, — what  were  they 
doing?" 

"Struggling:  this  one  actively,  the  other 
like  a  man  heavy  with  wine." 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  with  a  circumstan- 
tiality of  detail  and  a  distinctness  of  out- 
line that  were  appalling  to  Father  Tom  and 
David's  other  friends. 

And  when  Moreno  and  Allegrini  were 
called  they  confirmed  all  that  Pizarro  had 
said  up  to  the  hour  of  his  leaving  the  house, 
at  two  o'clock. 

The  witnesses  for  the  defence  could  do 
only  negative  service  by  testifying  to  Da- 
vid's previous  good  character,  and  this  they 
did  heartily ;  but  the  jury,  after  a  half  hour's 
deliberation,  returned  a  veidict  of  murder, 
commending  the  prisoner,  however,  to  the 
mercy  of  the  court. 

When  the  foreman  had  spoken,  a  shrill, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


6ii 


heart-broken  cry  rang  through  the  room: 
"  My  son!  my  son!  Spare  him,  your  honor! 
spare  him!    He's  as  innocent  as  a  baby!" 

It  was  the  old  mother,  who  tore  at  her 
gray  hair  and  beat  her  breast,  while  the  slow 
tears  of  old  age  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"Poor  soul!"  said  the  judge,  iindly;  "I 
can  only  let  the  law  take  its  course." 

Then  she  raised  her  tottering  frame,  and, 
with  hands  and  arms  uplifted,  she  cried: 
"Mirror  of  Justice,  defend  us!" 

It  was  a  touching  little  scene,  and  many 
people  in  the  court-room  wiped  their  eyes; 
and  the  prisoner's  drooping  head,  clenched 
fists,  and  laboring  breath,  bore  witness  to 
the  anguish  he  endured. 

Father  Tom  came  to  him,  and  spoke  a 
few  cheering  words,  then  took  the  mother 
from  the  court-room;  and  the  captain  and 
some  of  David's  shipmates  followed  him  to 
the  jail  to  see  him;  but,  finding  they  could 
not  enter,  stood  about  and  talked  in  low 
voices  of  him  as  one  already  dead.  During 
the  week  they  came  back  one  by  one,  the 
captain  to  shake  hands  and  wish  him  kindly 
bui  vaguely  "well  out  of  it";  the  sailor- 
men  to  shiifile  their  feet,  shift  their  quids, 
and  sit  about  awkwardly  and  silently,  the 
very  force  of  their  sympathy  making  them 
as  undemonstrative  as  wooden  figure-heads. 

Then  they  sailed  away,  and  the  Maria 
di  Napoli  spread  her  canvas  wings  for  the 
Mediterranean ;  and  the  world  forgot  David 
— all  except  Father  Tom,  and  his  mother, 
and  his  lawyer;  the  latter  of  whom  had 
become  so  deeply  interested  in  his  fate  that, 
by  incredible  work  and  judicious  appeal 
and  presentment  of  the  case  in  the  right 
quarters  (to  say  nothing  of  catching  at  every 
technical  straw  that  could  aid  him),  he 
secured  a  final  sentence  of  "imprisonment 
for  life  at  hard  labor." 

Bat  this  all  took  months,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  jail  had  blat^ched  his  face,  and  the 
confinement  almost  burst  his  heart,  that 
David  was  taken  to  the  penitentiary,  and 
there,  among  forgers,  murderers,  and  crim- 
inals of  all  degrees  and  grades,  put  to  work 
out  a  life  of  misery. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Christmas  Gifts. 


BY   SARA  TRAINER   SMITH. 


ifl  BI^ESSED  Babe  of  Bethlehem! 
^  Here  is  my  heart; 

If  any  sin  still  lurks  therein, 

Bid  it  depart; 
If  venomed  word  or  thought,  unstirred, 

Lies  coiled  and  hid. 
O  Mary's  Child,  Thou  Babe  most  mild! 

Its  life  forbid. 

0  blessed  Babe  of  Bethlehem 

On  Virgin  breast! 

1  see  above  Thy  Crib  of  love 

The  dread  Mount's  crest; 
I  hear  Thy  words,  Thy  pleading  words, 
From  pale  lips  fall: 

0  Babe  who  died  Christ  crucified! 

I  give  Thee  all. 

Beneath  Thy  star  I  wandered  far. 

In  deserts  drear; 
Thy  infant  arms,  with  tender  charms. 

Still  drew  me  near; 
Thy  gentle  eyes,  with  sad  surprise. 

Rebuked  my  past: 
Behold  it  here.  With  shame  sincere, 

I  bind  it  fast. 

On  either  side  this  Christmastide 

Thy  angels  stand. 
And  offer  share  of  joy  and  care 

With  either  hand; 
All  shrinking,  still  I  know  Thy  will 

Marks  out  the  way: 
Sweet  Christ,  behold  the  myrrh  and  gold 

Of  life's  to-day. 

My  future  lies  where  changing  skies 

Show  clouds  or  sun: 

However  long,  with  sigh  or  song, 

My  course  may  run, — 

Whatever  loss,  or  crown  or  cross. 

Dear  love  or  pain, — 

1  give  it  Thee.  Oh,  may  it  be 

Without  a  stain! 


The  same  desire  which,  planted  on  earth, 
will  produce  the  flowers  of  a  day,  sown  in 
heaven,  will  bear  the  fruits  of  eternity. 


6l2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Two  Ruby  Rings. 


BY  C.  O' CONOR  ECCLES. 


(Conclusion.) 

SIX  years  had  now  gone  by  since  Ginevra 
parted  from  Antonio;  her  heart  began 
to  fail  her,  and  more  and  more  earnestly  she 
prayed,  weeping  the  while,  that  she  might 
look  upon  his  face  again;  for  she  could  not 
and  would  not  realize  that  he  was  dead. 
But  now  fresh  troubles  were  in  store  for  her. 
The  times  were  wild  and  troublous,  her 
estates  large;  the  neighboring  barons  rude, 
and  disbanded  soldiers  ravaged  the  coun- 
try. Her  father  was  advanced  in  years,  and 
the  only  men  she  had  to  defend  her  chil 
dren's  rights  were  her  two  brothers  When 
they,  in  turn,  married,  they  had  enough  to 
do  to  protect  themselves  and  their  lands; 
and  when  she  came  to  them  in  sore  distress, 
the  only  way  they  expressed  their  sympathy 
was  by  advising  her  to  accept  a  second 
husband,  who  would  be  a  father  to  her  chil- 
dren and  a  protector  to  herself.  Her  boys, 
they  said,  would  soon  need  a  firm  hand  over 
them,if  they  were  to  be  worthy  of  Antonio's 
memory;  it  was  impossible  for  a  woman 
either  to  guide  them  or  secure  their  best 
interests;  she  was  not  yet  thirty,  and  might 
have  a  long  life  before  her;  why  should  she 
spend  it  alone  ? 

Such  speeches  filled  her  with  indigna- 
tion. What!  put  a  stranger  over  her  sons, 
give  her  husband's  estates  into  his  power, 
break  her  vows  of  fidelity !  Never!  But  her 
cares  increased;  enemies  encroached  on 
her  lands,  and  laughed  at  her  efibrts  to  re- 
pulse them;  suitors,  attracted  by  her  wealth 
and  wonderful  beauty,  flocked  round  her, 
and  would  not  be  put  off". 

Amongst  those  who  sought  Ginevra' s 
hand  was  a  certain  Count  di  Siltanies,  the 
most  persevering  of  all.  Her  relatives  re- 
garded him  with  special  favor;  she  could 
not  do  better,  they  said,  than  accept  him; 
and  such  pressure,  bordering  on  nnkind- 
ness,  was  brought  to  bear  on  her,  her  folly 
was  so  harshly  reproved,  her  fate  and  that 


of  her  children  if  she  refused  was  painted 
in  colors  so  gloomy,  that  at  last,  in  very 
weariness  of  soul,  helpless  and  hopeless, 
she  gave  way;  but  first  made  a  proviso  that 
for  six  months  she  was  to  remain  free,  un- 
disturbed by  protestations  of  affection,  and 
with  full  liberty  to  mourn  her  dead  hus- 
band; at  the  end  of  that  time,  failing  to 
receive  news  of  Antonio,  she  would  espouse 
Di  Saltantes. 

The  Count  was  overjoyed  at  his  success 
when  the  brothers  had  communicated  her 
decision  to  him;  he  hid  got  in  the  "thin 
end  of  the  wedge,"  he  considered,  and  set 
himself  to  induce  her  to  shorten  the  time 
she  had  fixed;  but  on  thai  point  she  was 
firm  as  adimant  No:  six  months  more 
should  he  wait,  not  a  day  less.  The  more  he 
urged,  the  less  she  liked  him.  She  had 
scarcely  given  her  unwilling  promise  when 
she  repented  of  it.  The  man  became  odious 
to  her,  and  she  was  torn  by  conflicting 
emotions — her  love  for  Antonio,  her  duty 
to  her  aged  father  whose  heart  was  set  on 
seeing  her  a  wife  again,  and  \  he  fears  of  the 
injury  she  might  cio  her  boys  and  their  fut- 
ure prospects. 

The  six  months  were  passing  swiftly,  yet 
no  word  cime  from  the  absent  one.  Ginev- 
ra's  life  grew  more  unendurable;  her  chil- 
dren did  not  like  the  Count;  he  began  to 
assume  airs  of  authority  towards  her  and 
them,  and  the  only  one  to  whom  she  could 
fly  for  comfort  was  the  Abate  di  Sin  Pietro, 
her  uncle.  To  him  she  explained  her  situa- 
tion, and  her  unconquerable  aversion  to  a 
second  marriage,  begging  him  to  leave  no 
means  untried  of  solvmg  the  mystery  about 
Antonio. 

Time  pressed;  the  six  months  had  worn 
away;  the  date  fixed  by  the  Count  for  their 
marriage  was  at  hand:  at  last  came  the  eve 
of  the  wedding. 

Meanwhile  what  was  the  fate  of  Turelli? 
Toiling  under  a  burning  sun,  clothed  only 
in  sackcloth,  fed  on  coarsest  food  and  heav- 
ily manacled,  he  worked  for  years  as  a  slave 
in  the  gardens  of  the  Saltan.  No  hope,  no 
comfort  entered  into  his  life;  what  went 


The  Ave  Maria. 


613 


on  in  the  outer  world  he  never  heard;  his 
daily  labor  under  the  lash  of  a  cruel  task- 
muter  had  aged  him  before  his  time;  his 
proud  heart  beat  rebelliouslv,  but  what  re- 
sistance could  he  mate?  Ooe  by  one  his 
companions  in  slavery  dropped  off  till  only 
two  or  three  were  left,  and  hopeless,  end- 
less bondage,  without  the  faintest  chance 
of  escape,  seemed  the  only  prospect  before 
him.  E/en  if  he  succeeded  in  evading  his 
guards,  he  had  an  unknown  and  hostile 
country  to  traverse,  whose  language  was 
but  imperfectly  known  to  him;  and  if  by 
some  miracle  he  gained  the  coast,  how 
could  a  slave  find  money  to  pay  his  passage 
to  Itah  ?  One  jewel  alone  he  possessed — 
his  wife's  ring, — which,  concealed  from  the 
cupidity  of  the  overseers  in  a  fold  of  his 
ragged  garments,  he  kept  always  by  him, 
dav  and  night. 

Words  can  but  feebly  express  the  prison- 
er's despair,  his  longings  for  home,  chil- 
dren, and  wife.  How  he  pined  for  tidings! 
Were  they  well  or  ill,  happy  or  unhappy, 
aware  of  his  fate,  or  still  in  ignorance  of  it? 
Surely  if  Ginevra  knew  of  his  condition 
she  would  sell  her  lands  and  pawn  her 
trinkets  to  raise  his  ransom.  But  his  weary 
speculations  were  fruitless. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  an  officer  of  the 
Sultan  whi^e  walking  in  the  gardens,  was 
struck  by  something  noble  and  dignified  in 
the  carriage  of  the  Christian  slave.  He 
called  him,  and  inquired  what  he  had  been 
in  Europe,  and  if  he  had  any  particular 
ski  1.  Turelli  answered  that  he  had  been  a 
gentleman,  and  that  beyond  most  men  was 
he  skilled  in  the  training  of  falcons;  for 
once  he  had  dearly  loved  the  chase.  These 
questions,  put  out  of  idle  curiosity,  were  the 
means,  under  Heaven,  of  restoring  him  to 
liberty;  for  the  officer  happened  to  repeat 
the  conversation  to  the  Sultan,  and  sug- 
gested that  he  might  make  use  of  the  slave 
on  his  hunting  expeditions.  Saladin  at 
once,  from  the  description,  suspected  his 
iden'-ity,  and  commanded  that  the  slave 
should  be  conducted  into  his  presence. 

When  the  order  was  communicated  to 
Antonio,  his  first  thought  was  that  instant 


death  awaited  him;  but  that  was  far  less 
terrible  than  piolonged  captivity,  and  he 
prepared  to  meet  death  like  a  Christian.  No 
sooner  had  he  come  into  the  Sultan's  pres- 
ence, though  now  in  rags  and  fetters,  with 
skin  brown  as  an  Arab's  from  exposure, 
than  Saladin  recognized  his  generous  host 
of  former  days. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  Sultan,  "hast  thou 
ever  seen  me  before?" 

"Never  to  my  knowledge,"  replied  the 
prisoner. 

The  Sultan  retired  for  a  moment,  and 
returned  with  four  of  his  suite,  all  clad  in 
the  gold- embroidered  tunics  that  had  been. 
Turelli's  gift. 

"Tell  me  at  least,"  he  said  to  the  won- 
dering man, "  dost  thou  recognize  these  gar- 
ments?" And  Antonio,  lifting  up  his  eyes^ 
saw  before  him  the  Cypriot  merchants. 

Saladin  embraced  him,  ordered  his  fet- 
ters to  be  struck  off",  and  the  most  splendid 
raiment  to  be  given  to  him;  then  he  pre- 
sented him  to  his  court  as  his  friend,  and 
in  the  meantime  made  preparations  to  ex- 
pedite his  return  to  his  native  land  At 
Turelli's  request,  he  accorded  liberty  to  his 
fellow  Christian  slaves,  and,  in  token  of 
gratitude  and  affection,  loaded  with  treas- 
ures the  ship  in  which  he  was  to  embark 
with  his  companions.  When  the  day  came 
for  Turelli  to  set  out,  Saladin  accompanied 
,  him  to  the  sea-coast,  and  bade  him  farewell 
with  every  token  of  sorrow. 

The  travellers  were  blessed  with  a  pros- 
perous voyage,  and  lost  as  little  time  as  pos- 
sible in  journeying  northward.  No  one  rec- 
ognized in  the  bronzed,  bearded  stranger, 
clad  in  garments  of  foreign  make  and  text- 
ure, the  Antonio  Turelli  who  seven  years 
be/ore  embarked  for  Palestine.  How  he 
trembled  as  they  approached  the  borders  of 
Lombardy !  How  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
of  which  his  manhood  was  half  ashamed, 
as  he  recognized  the  familiar  villages,  the 
forests  where  he  had  gaily  chased  wild  boars 
and  deer,  the  brooks  and  rivers  where  he 
had  bathed  in  boyhood,  the  welcome  sights 
and  sounds  of  everyday  life! 

His  impatience  to  reach  his  home  and 


6i4 


The  Ave  Marta. 


his  dear  ones  increased  every  moment ;  he 
chose  the  shortest  b> -paths,  spared  neither 
himself  nor  his  horse.  At  last — O  blessed 
sight!  how  long  desired,  how  ardently  an 
ticipated! — the  white  walls  of  Pavia  rose 
amidst  the  groves  of  cypress,  mulberry  and 
orange  trees;  its  turrets  visible  afar  against 
the  blue  background  of  mountains  crowned 
in  the  farthest  distance  by  snow-topped 
peaks.  Here  was  his  Mecca.  Thoughts  that 
had  been  gathering  in  his  mind  rushed  out 
as  a  torrent.  How  would  he  find  his  loved 
ones?  He  came  back  as  from  the  dead: 
how  would  they  receive  him?  His  boys — 
they  had  forgotten  him.  His  wife,  his  own 
true  wife — he  judged  her  by  himself,  and 
knew  her  heart  was  unchanged.  But  what 
sorrows  might  she  not  have  known!  Alone 
and  unprotected,  what  injustice  might  she 
not  have  endured!  Was  she  even  living? 
He  knew  not. 

It  would  be  best  not  to  break  in  on  her 
with  sudden  shock  of  joy  and  surprise,  but 
first  to  seek  some  friend  who  might  gently 
announce  to  her  the  glad  tidings  that  he 
yet  lived.  He  knew  not  what  he  was  to 
hear.  As  he  rode  his  jaded  steed  through 
the  city  gates,  he  met  a  man  who  in  former 
days  had  worked  in  his  vineyard.  He  ac- 
costed him,  and,  perceiving  that  he  was  not 
recognized,  asked  manv  questions  about  the 
town;  and  then,  having  kept  that  nearest 
to  his  heart  for  the  last,  he  inquired  if  one 
named  Antonio  Turelli  lived  therein. 

"Formerly,"  answered  the  man;  "but 
some  years  ago  he  was  slain  by  the  Sara- 
-cens,  and  his  house  knows  him  no  more." 

"And  his  wife?" 

*'She  lives,  good  soul,  in  the  ancient 
Palazzo^  with  her  children." 

"Is  she  well  and  happy?" 

"Signor,  I  know  not  Doubtless  she  is, 
since  they  say  that  to-morrow  she  is  to  wed 
the  Count  di  Saltan tes." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  dropped  from  the 
<:lear  sky,  Turelli  had  not  been  more  over- 
whelmed. A  cold  hand  seemed  laid  upon 
his  heart;  a  deadly  faintness  overcame  him; 
he  grasped  the  high  pommel  of  his  saddle, 
and  his  breath  came  short  and  thick. 


"It  is  nothing," he  said  hoarsely, seeing 
the  peasant's  astonished  face;  "I  am  ill." 
And  he  flung  the  man  a  silver  piece. 

Turelli' s  companions  would  have  offered 
some  words  of  comfort,  but  what  could  be 
said  in  the  face  of  such  misery  ? 

"She  believed  you  dead,"  whispered 
one;  "judge  her  not  too  harshly;  women 
are  weak." 

Antonio  waved  his  would-be  comforter 
aside.  This  he  had  not  expected;  he  feared 
that  Ginevra  and  his  boys  might  have  lost 
their  properly,  suffered  in  health;  that  one 
or  all  might  be  dead;  but  it  is  a  true  prov- 
erb, "What  is  least  expected  alwavs  oc- 
curs." This  he  had  not  anticipated.  Should 
he  ride  to  her  door,  upbraid  her,  claim  his 
children,  and  depart?  The  thought  was  but 
momentary;  he  still  loved  her  too  well  to 
act  thus  harshly;  but  the  marriage,  this 
iniquitous  marriage,  must  be  stopped  at  all 
risks,  and  to  whom  could  he  apply  that 
this  end  might  be  gained  ?  The  Abate  di 
San  Pietro,  who  better? 

D  istraught  wi  th  gri<  f,  anger,  and  dismay, 
his  fond  anticipations  blighted,  his  heart 
wrung  with  anguish,  he  reached  the  thresh- 
old of  the  priest's  house.  Great  was  the 
amaz .  ment  of  the  Abate.  The  Saracens  had 
given  up  their  prey,  the  grave  its  victim. 
He  could  hardly  persuade  himself  that  An- 
tonio in  the  flesh  stood  before  him;  but 
once  convinced,  his  first  thought  was  of 
Ginevra' s  delight. 

"Your  wife!"  he  said — "she  will  die  of 
joy.  The  most  loving,  faithful  heart  that 
ever  beat." 

"Loving,  faithful! "  echoed  the  other, 
bitterly;  "yet  the  first  news  I  hear  at  the 
city  gate  is  that  to-morrow  she  weds  the 
Count  di  Saltantes." 

The  priest  smiled.  ' '  Be  comforted,  An- 
tonio; rumor  lies,  though  it  is  not,  I  admit, 
without  foundation.  True,  arrangemetits  for 
this  marriage  are  made;  it  has  been  urged, 
forced  on  by  my  brother  and  his  sons;  but, 
of  course,  it  can  not  be  now,  and  Ginevra 
will  be  as  oveTJo>ed  thereat  as  yourself. 
LrCt  me  tell  you  the  story  of  her  filtlity." 

Tuielli's  eyes  filled  with  teais  of  relief, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


615 


joy,  and  gratitude  at  the  recital;  the  sudden 
good  news  unmanned  him.  His  darling,  his 
Ginevra,  when  should  he  clasp  her  to  his 
heart? 

**  Let  us  spare  her  the  shock  of  suddenly 
meeting  thee,"  said  the  Abate.  "I  shall 
l)reak  to  her  the  glad  tidings  as  gently  as 
may  be." 

"Nay,  Rev.  Father,"  broke  in  Antonio, 
**no  other  than  myself  shall  tell  her;  joy, 
they  say,  never  kills.  I  answer  for  it,  she 
shall  not  suflfer.  Thinkest  thou  I  could 
readily  obtain  admission  to  the  banquet 
which  is,  thou  say  est,  to  be  held  to-night?" 

''Assuredly,  my  son." 

"Thinkest  thou  I  might  be  recognized 
before  the  time?" 

"None  but  the  eyes  of  affection  would 
know  thee,  and  scarcely  they.  When  thy 
identity  is  declared  a  former  friend  could 
trace  thy  lineaments,  but  otherwise  the 
Syrian  suns  have  changed  thee  more  than 
one  could  well  believe." 

When  night  fell,  Antonio,  rested  and  re- 
freshed, made  his  way  with  his  companions 
to  the  well-known  mansion,  whose  rafters 
now  rung  with  the  noisy  mirth  of  its  many 
guests.  At  tbe  head  of  the  principal  table 
sat  his  own  Ginevra.  How  lovely  she  looked 
in  her  costly  crimson  robes,  strings  of  pearls 
in  her  dark,  lustrous  hair!  But  how  wan 
she  was,  how  weary !  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
straight  before  her;  she  did  not  smile  at  the 
jests  of  the  Count,  nor  did  she  look  up  as 
the  travellers  entered,  and  room  was  made 
for  them  at  the  end  of  the  spacious  hall. 
Antonio  trembled  from  head  to  foot;  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  look  at  her,  and 
so  placed  himself  that  he  was  barely  visible 
from  where  she  sat.  Soon  it  was  noised 
through  the  hall  that  strangers  were  pres- 
ent; they  had  come  from  the  East,  to  judge 
by  their  costumes;  and  orders  were  given 
that  all  that  they  desired  should  be  set  be- 
fore them. 

Now  was  Antonio's  time.  He  called  to 
bim  a  serving  man,  and  bade  him  tell  his 
mistress  that  in  his  distant  country  it  was 
the  custom,  when  one  arrived  before  a  wed- 
ding, to  make  some  trifling  gift  to  the  bride, 


dropping  it  into  a  goblet  of  wine,  which 
she  should  drain ;  and  he  prayed  the  lady 
that  on  this  occasion  she  would  allow  him 
to  do  as  he  had  always  done  in  his  own 
land.  Ginevra  listlessly  consented.  The 
man  doubtless  meant  it  well,  and  did  he  not 
come  from  the  East,  whose  sands  covered  all 
she  loved  best? 

Antonio  filled  the  small  silver  tankard 
that  stood  before  him,  and  into  it  he  dropped 
his  ruby  ring.  As  in  duty  bound  Ginevra 
drank,  and  when  at  the  bottom  she  saw  the 
ring,  the  duplicate  of  her  own,  she  gasped 
for  breath,  and  seemed  for  a  moment  about 
to  faint;  but  with  sudden  energy  she  rallied 
her  failing  strength,  rose  from  table,  and 
with  hurried,  nervous  steps  gained  the 
stranger's  side.  The  guests  stared  in  amaze- 
ment, the  Count  half  rose,all  was  confusion. 

"Man,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "this  is 
Antonio's  ring,  my  husband's  token.  Where 
is  he?    Speak  or  I  shall  die  at  thy  feet." 

The  stranger  turned.  "Ginevra!"  he 
cried,  and  next  moment  she  was  weeping 
in  her  husband's  arms. 


The  Mystery  of  an  Alpine  Village.* 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 


A  DAY  or  two  before  Christmas,  a  few 
years  ago,  I  found  myself  compelled 
by  business  to  leave  England  for  the  Con- 
tinent. I  am  an  American,  j  anior  partner  in 
a  London  mercantile  house  having  a  large 
Swiss  connection;  and  a  transaction,  need- 
less to  specify  here,  required  immediate 
and  personal  supervision  abroad,  at  a  season 
of  the  year  when  I  would  gladly  have  kept 
festival  in  London  with  my  friends.  But  my 
journey  was  destined  to  bring  me  an  advent- 
ure of  a  very  remarkable  character,  which 
made  me  full  amends  for  the  loss  cf  Christ- 
mas cheer  at  home. 

I  crossed  the  Channel  at  night  from 
Dover  to  Calais.  The  passage  was  bleak  and 
snowy,  and  the  passengers  were  very  few. 


*  The  Month.  Adapted. 


6i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


On  board  the  steamboat  I  remarked  one 
traveller  -whose  appearance  and  manner 
struck  me  as  altogether  unusual  and  inter- 
esting, and  I  deemed  it  by  no  means  a  disa- 
greeable circumstance  when,  on  arriving  at 
Calais,  this  man  entered  the  compartment  of 
the  rail  way  carriage  in  which  I  had  already 
seated  myself. 

So  far  as  the  dim  ligkt  permitted  me  a 
glimpse  of  the  stranger's  face,  I  judged  him 
to  be  about  fifty  years  of  age.  The  features 
were  delicate  and  refined  in  type;  the  eyes 
dark  and  deep-sunken,  but  full  of  intelli- 
gence and  thought;  and  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  man  denoted  good  birth,  a  nature 
given  to  study  and  meditation,  and  a  life  of 
much  sorrowful  experience. 

Two  oiher  travellers  occupied  our  car- 
riage until  Amiens  was  reached.  They  then 
left  u<5,  and  the  interesting  stranger  and  I 
remained  alone  together. 

"A  bitter  night,"  I  said  to  him,  as  I  drew 
up  the  window;  * '  and  the  worst  of  it  is  yet 
to  come.  The  early  hours  of  dawn  are 
alwa>s  the  coldest." 

''I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  in  a  grave 
voice. 

The  voice  impressed  me  as  strongly  as 
the  face;  it  was  subdued  and  restrained — 
the  voice  of  a  man  undergoing  great  mental 
suffering. 

"You  will  find  Paris  bleak  at  this  season 
of  the  year,"  I  continued,  longing  to  make 
him  talk.  "It  was  colder  there  last  winter 
than  in  I^ondon." 

"I  do  not  stay  in  Paris,"  he  replied, 
*'save  to  breakfast." 

"Indeed!  That  is  my  case.  I  am  going 
on  to  Bale." 

"And  I  also,"  he  said;  "and  farther  yet" 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  window, 
and  would  say  no  more.  My  speculations 
regarding  him  multiplied  with  his  tacitur 
nity.  I  felt  certain  that  he  was  a  man  with 
a  romance,  and  a  desire  to  know  its  na  ure 
became  strong  in  me.  We  breakfasted  apart 
at  Paris,  but  I  watched  him  into  his  com- 
partment for  Fa'e,  and  sprang  in  after  him. 
Dming  the  first  part  of  our  journey  we 
slept,  but  as  we  neared  the  Swiss  frontier  a 


spirit  of  wakefulness  took  hold  of  us,  and 
fitful  sentences  were  exchanged.  My  com- 
panion, it  appeared,  intended  to  rest  but  a 
single  day  at  Bale.  He  was  bound  for  far- 
away Alpine  regions,  ordinarily  visited  by 
tourists  during  the  summer  months  only, 
and,  one  would  think,  impassable  at  this 
season  of  the  year. 

"And  you  go  alone?"  I  asked.  "You 
will  have  no  companions  to  join  you?" 

"I  shall  have  guides,"  he  answered,  and 
relapsed  into  meditative  silence. 

Presently  I  ventured  a  further  question: 
"You  go  on  business,  perhaps — not  on 
pleasure?" 

He  turned  his  melancholy  eyes  on  mine. 
''Do  I  look  as  if  I  were  travelling  for  pleas- 
ure's sake?"   he  asked,  gently. 

I  felt  rebuked,  and  hastened  to  apologize. 
' '  Pardon  me ;  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that. 
But  you  interest  me  greatly,  and  I  wish,  if 
possible,  to  be  of  service  to  you.  If  you  are 
going  into  Alpine  districts  on  business  and 
alone,  at  this  time  of  the  year — " 

There  I  hesitated  and  paused.  How  could 
I  tell  him  that  he  interested  me  so  much 
as  to  make  me  long  to  know  the  romance 
which,  I  felt  convinced,  attached  lo  his  ex- 
pedition? Perhaps  he  perceived  what  was 
in  my  mind,  for  he  questioned  me  in  his 
turn. 

"And  you — have  you  business  in  Bdle?" 

"Yes,  and  in  other  places.  My  accent, 
perhaps,  has  told  you  my  nationality.  I 
travel  in  the  interests  of  the  American  firm, 
Fletcher  Bros. ,  Roy  &  Co. ,  whose  London 
house,  no  doubt,  you  know.  But  I  need  re- 
main only  twenty-four  hours  in  Bale.  After- 
wards I  go  to  Berne,  then  to  Geneva.  I 
must,  however,  wait  for  letters  from  Eng- 
land at  Bdle,  and  I  shall  have  some  days 
free." 

"How  many?" 

"From  the  21st  to  the  26th." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute,  meditating. 
Then  he  took  from  his  travelling-bag  a 
portefeuille.  and  from  the  portefeuille  a 
visiting-card,  which  he  handed  to  me. 

"That  is  my  name,"  he  said,  briefly. 

I  took  the  hint,  and  returned  the  compli- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


617 


ment  in  kind.  On  his  card  I  read :  ' '  Mr. 
Charles  Denis  St.  Aubyn,Grosvenor  Square, 
London.  St.  Aubyn's  Court,  Shrewsbury." 
And  mine  bore  the  legend:  "Frank  Roy, 
Travellers'  Club,  Pall  Mall." 

'Now  that  we  are  no  longer  unknown 
to  each  other,"  said  I, "may  I  ask, without 
committing  an  indiscretion,  if  I  can  use  the 
free  time  at  my  disposal  in  your  interests?" 

"You  are  very  good,  Mr.  Roy.  It  is  the 
characteristic  of  your  nation  to  be  kind- 
hearted  and  readily  interested  in  strangers. 
I  am  a  solitary  and  unfortunate  man.  Before 
I  accept  your  kindness,  will  you  permit  me 
to  tell  you  the  nature  of  the  journey  I  am 
making?    It  is  a  strange  one." 

I  assented  eagerly,  and  the  following, 
recounted  with  many  abrupt  pauses,  is  the 
story  to  which  I  listened: 

Mr.  St.  Aub)  n  was  a  widower.  His  only 
child,  a  boy  twelve  years  of  age,  had  been 
for  a  year  past  afflicted  with  loss  of  speech 
and  hearing,  the  result  of  a  severe  typhoid 
fever,  from  which  he  barely  escaped  with 
life.  Last  summer  his  father  brought  him 
to  Switzerland,  in  the  hope  that  Alpine 
air,  exercise,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  trip, 
would  restore  him  to  his  normal  condition. 
One  day  father  and  son,  led  by  a  guide, 
were  ascending  a  mountain  pathway,  not 
ordinarily  regarded  as  dangerous,  when  the 
boy,  stepping  aside  to  view  the  snowy 
ranges  above  and  around,  slipped  on  a  frag- 
ment of  half  detached  rock,  and  went  slid- 
ing into  the  ravine  beneath.  The  height  of 
the  fall  was  by  no  means  great,  and  the 
level  ground  on  which  the  boy  would  neces- 
sarily alight  was  overgrown  with  soft  herb- 
age and  long  grass,  so  that  neither  the 
father  nor  the  guide  at  first  conceived  any 
serious  apprehensions  for  the  safety  of  the 
boy's  life  or  limbs.  As  quickly  as  the  slip- 
pery ground  would  permit,  they  descended 
the  winding  path  leading  to  the  meadow, 
but  when  they  reached  it  the  boy  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

Hours  passed  in  vain  and  anxious  quest; 
no  track,  no  sound,  no  clue  assisted  the 
seekers;  and  the  shouts  of  the  guide,  if  they 
reached— as  doubtless  they  did — the  spot 


where  the  lost  boy  lay,  fell  on  ears  as  dull 
and  deadened  as  those  of  a  corpse.  Nor  was 
the  little  fellow  able  to  give  evidence  of  his 
whereabouts  by  so  much  as  a  single  cry. 
Both  tongue  and  ears  were  sealed  by  infirm- 
ity, and  any  low  sound  such  as  he  might 
have  been  able  to  utter  would  have  been 
rendered  inaudible  b/  the  noise  of  the  tor- 
rent rushing  through  the  ravine  hard  by. 
At  nightfall  the  search  was  suspended  to 
be  renewed  before  daybreak  with  fresh  as- 
sistance from  the  nearest  village.  Some  of 
the  newcomers  spoke  of  a  cave  on  the  slope 
of  the  meadow,  into  which  the  boy  might 
have  crept.  This  was  easily  reached.  It  was 
of  small  extent;  a  few  goats  reposed  in  it, 
but  no  trace  of  the  child  was  discoverable. 
After  some  days  spent  in.  futile  endeavor, 
all  hope  was  abandoned,  and  the  father  re- 
turned to  England  to  mourn  his  lost  boy. 

So  far  the  story  was  sad  enough,  but 
hardly  romantic.  I  clasped  the  hand  of  the 
narrator,  and  assured  him  warmly  of  my 
sympathy,  adding,  with  as  little  appearance 
of  curiosity  as  I  could  command:  "And 
your  object  in  coming  back  is  only,  then, 
to — to — be  near  the  scene  of  your  great 
trouble?" 

"No,  Mr.  Roy,  that  is  not  the  motive  of 
my  journey.  I  do  not  believe  either  that 
my  boy's  corpse  lies  concealed  among  the 
grasses  of  the  plateau,  or  that  it  was  swept 
away,  as  has  been  suggested,  by  the  moun- 
tain cataract.  Neither  hypothesis  seems  to 
me  tenable.  The  bed  of  the  stream  was  fol- 
lowed and  searched  for  miles;  and  though 
when  he  fell  he  was  carrying  over  his  shoul- 
der a  flask  and  a  thick,  fur-lined  cloak — 
for  we  expected  cold  on  the  heights,  and 
went  provided  against  it — not  a  fragment 
of  anything  belonging  to  him  was  found. 
Had  he  fallen  into  the  torrent,  it  is  impos- 
sible his  clothing  should  not  have  become 
detached  from  the  body  and  caught  by  the 
innumerable  rocks  in  the  shallow  parts  of 
the  stream.  But  I  have  another  reason  for 
the  belief  I  cherish.  I  am  convinced  that 
my  boy  still  lives,  for — I  have  seen  htm.'*^ 

"  You  have  j^^«  him ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes, again  and  again — in  dreams.  And 


6i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


always  in  the  same  way,  and  with  the  same 
look," 

Poor  father! — poor  desolate  man !  Not  the 
first  driven  distraught  by  giief;  not  the  first 
deluded  by  the  shadows  of  love  and  longing ! 

"You  think  I  am  deceived  bv  hallucina- 
tions?" he  said,  watching  my  face.  "It  is 
you  who  are  misled  by  the  scientific  idiots 
of  the  day — the  wiseacres  who  teach  us  to 
believe,  whenever  soul  speaks  to  soul,  that 
the  highest  and  holiest  communion  attain- 
able by  man  is  the  product  of  physical  dis- 
ease. Forgive  me  the  energy  of  my  words, 
but  had  you  loved  and  lost  your  beloved — 
wife  and  child — as  I  have  done,  you  would 
comprehend  the  contempt  and  anger  with 
.which  I  regard  those  modern  teachers 
whose  cold  and  ghastly  doctrines  give  the 
lie,  not  only  to  all  human  hopes  and  aspi- 
rations towards  the  higher  life,  but  also  to 
the  possibility  of  that  very  progress  from 
lower  to  nobler  forms  which  is  the  basis  of 
their  own  philosophy,  and  to  the  conception 
of  which  the  idea  of  the  soul  and  of  love 
are  essential. ' ' 

He  spoke  connectedly  and  with  enthusi- 
asm. I  was  about  to  reassure  him  in  regard 
to  my  own  philosophical  convictions,  the 
soundness  of  which  he  seemed  to  question, 
when  his  voice  sank  again,  and  he  added: 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  my  boy,  and  that 
I  know  he  lives — not  in  any  far-off  sphere 
beyond  the  grave,  but  here  on  earth,  among 
living  men.  Twice  since  his  loss  I  have  re- 
turned from  England  to  seek  him,  in  obe- 
dience to  the  vision;  but  in  vain,  and  I  have 
gone  back  home  to  dream  the  same  dream. 
But  only  last  week  I  heard  a  wonderful 
story.  It  was  told  me  by  a  friend  who  is  a 
great  traveller,  and  who  has  just  returned 
from  a  lengthened  tour  in  the  South.  I  met 
him  at  my  club,  'by  accident,'  as  unthink- 
ing persons  say.  He  told  me  that  there 
exists,  buried  away  out  of  common  sight 
and  knowledge,  in  the  bosom  of  the  Swiss 
Alps,  a  little  village  whose  inhabitants  pos- 
sess, in  varying  degrees,  a  marvellous  and 
priceless  faculty.  Almost  all  the  dwellers 
in  this  village  are  mutually  related,  either 
bearing  the  same  ancestral  name,  or  being 


branches  from  one  original  stock.  The 
fouuder  of  this  community  was  a  blind 
man, who,  by  some  unexplained  good  fort- 
une, acquired  or  became  endowed  with  the 
psychic  faculty  called  'second- sight.'  This 
faculty,  it  appears,  is  now  the  hereditary 
property  of  the  whole  village,  more  devel- 
oped in  the  blind  man's  immediate  heirs 
than  in  his  remoter  relatives;  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  is  a  faculty  which,  for  a  reason  con- 
nected with  the  history  of  its  acquirement, 
they  enjoy  only  once  a  year,  and  that  is  on 
Christmas  Eve.  I  believe  I  am  about  to 
verify  the  truth  of  my  friend's  story,  and 
that,  through  the  wonderful  faculty  pos- 
sessed by  these  Alpine  peasants,  the  prom- 
ise of  my  visions  will  be  realized." 

His  \  oice  broke  again ;  he  ceased  speak- 
ing, and  turned  his  face  away  from  me. 

"Do  not  think," I  said,  "that  I  am  dis- 
posed to  make  light  of  what  you  tell  me, 
strange  though  it  sounds. ...  I  have  a  pro- 
posal to  make.  You  are  alone,  and  purpose 
undertaking  a  bitter  and,  it  may  be,  a  per- 
ilous journey  in  mountain  ground  at  this 
season.  What  say  you  to  taking  me  along 
with  you?  Maybe  I  shall  prove  of  some 
use;  and,  at  any  rate,  your  adventure  and 
your  story  interest  me  greatly." 

He  looked  earnestly  and  even  fixedly  at 
me  for  a  minute,  then  silently  held  out  his 
hand  and  grasped  mine  with  energy.  It  was 
a  sealed  compact.  After  that  we  considered 
ourselves  comrades,  and  continued  our 
journey  together. 

(CONCIyUSION  IN  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER.) 


The  Christmastide  Anthem. 

PROM  First  Vespers  of  the  First  Sunday 
1^  in  Advent,  when  the  Christian  world 
begins  to  prepare  for  the  celebration  of  ihe 
anniversary  of  Christ's  birth,  to  the  Feast 
of  Our  Lady's  Purification,  a  daily  com- 
memoration is  made  in  the  following  an- 
them of  the  divine  maternity  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary  and  Her  perpetual  virginity^ 
Praise  and  supplication  are  admirably 
united — homage  to  the  Mother  of  God,  in- 
vocation of  the  Refuge  of  Sinners: 


The  Ave  Maria. 


619 


Hail,  Mother  pure  of  our  redeeming  Lord! 
Hail,  open  gate,  to  holiest  heaven  restored! 
Sweet  Star  of  ocean,  beacon  in  the  sky 
To  lift  our  sinking  souls  to  God  on  high! 
Thou  who  Thy  Holy  One  by  marvel  rare 
Didst  in  Thy  sinless,  stainless  bosom  bear! 
Virgin  before  and  after  Gabriel's  "Hail!" 
With  God,  for  sinners,  make  Thy  prayers  prevail! 

This  anthem  opens  by  eulogizing  the 
divine  maternitv,  reminding  us  of  the  share 
Maiy  took  in  the  rederrption  of  mankind. 
"Sweet  Mother  of  our  Redeemer," — Alma 
Redemptoris  Mater.  From  this  it  follows 
that  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  our  mediator 
with  Her  Divine  Son,  and  for  this  reason 
we  salute  Her  as  the  ever-open  "Gate  of 
Heaven," — Quce  pervia  cceli porta  manes. 
Convinced  as  we  are  that  Mary  is  not  only 
the  Gate  of  Heaven  to  us,  but  that  She 
also  guides  us  through  the  storms  of  life 
to  the  haven  of  salvation,  we  likewise  hail 
Her  as  the  "Star  of  the  Sea,"— ^/  Stella 
Maris. 

These  consoling  thoughts  naturally  in- 
spire us  to  invoke  Her  powerful  patronage 
that  we  may  be  enabled  to  persevere  in  well- 
doing, and  to  successfully  combat  the  evil 
inclinations  of  our  nature.  "Come  to  the 
aid  of  Thy  people,  who  desire  to  rise  from 
sin," — Succurre  cadenti^  surgere  qui  curat, 
populo.  The  remembrance  of  the  miseries  in 
separable  from  our  fallen  state  also  prompts 
us  to  admire  so  much  the  more  the  won- 
drous privileges  which  Mary  enjoyed,  and 
Her  dignity  as  Mother  of  God  in  connection 
with  Her  perpetual  virginity;  hence  we 
continue  to  address  Her:  "Thou  who,  by 
a  prodigy  that  astonishes  Nature,  hast  con- 
ceived Thy  Creator  without  ceasing  to  re- 
mun  a  virgin," — Tu  qucB  genuisti^  natura 
mirante^  tuum  sanctum  Genitorem ;  Virgo 
prius  ac  posterius. 

These  eminent  titles  of  our  Blessed  Lady 
again  bring  to  our  lips  an  humble  supplica- 
tion; we  pray  that  She  may  deign  to  call 
to  mind  Gabriel's  salutation,  and  compas- 
sionate Her  erring  children  who  invoke 
Her  patronage.  "Thou  who  wast  favored 
by  the  Archangel's  salutation,  have  mercy 
on  us  sinners," — Gabrielis  ab  ore^  sumens 
tllud  Ave^  peccatorum  miserere. 


Catholic  Notes. 


The  coronation  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe, 
which  was  to  have  taken  place  on  the  12th  of 
this  month,  has  been  indefinitely  postponed. 
Mgr.  Labastida,  in  a  circular  to  his  clergy  and 
people,  states  that  the  alterations  and  im- 
provements undertaken  on  the  church  will 
not  be  completed  for  some  time  yet. 

It  will  gratify  those  who  contributed  to  our 
fund  for  Father  Dimien,  the  apostle  of  the 
lepers  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  to  learn  that 
the  two  tabernacles  he  desired,  and  which 
have  been  on  the  way  to  him  for  many  weeks, 
will  probably  reach  Molokai  during  the  holi- 
days. The  receipt  of  seven  large  boxes  will 
cause  surprise  and  rejoicing  to  the  devoted 
priest  and  his  stricken  fleck  The  generosity 
of  our  readers  enabled  us  to  send,  besides  the 
tabernacles — which  were  made  to  order,  and  of 
the  finest  workmanship  -expositions  for  the 
same,  six  lamps  and  two  ostensoriums;  also  a 
richly  embroidered  ciborium  veil,  from  friends 
of  The  "Ave  Maria"  in  Portugal;  a  sur- 
plice worked  with  wondrous  care  by  pious 
hands  in  Boston;  a  beautiful  pyx-case,  some 
books,  and  a  collection  of  plants  and  seeds. 
The  long  delay  in  forwarding  these  articles 
was  caused  by  the  manufacturer  of  the  taber- 
nacles; and  as  it  was  necessary  to  irnport  the 
candelabra,  etc., much  time  was  also  spent  in 
negotiation. 

The  venerable  Arch-abbot  Boniface  Wim- 
mer,  founder  and  superior  of  the  Benedictine 
Monastery,  St.  Vincent's,  Pa.,  whose  death  oc- 
curred on  the  8th  inst.,  probably  accomplished 
more,  as  far  as  material  results  go,  than  any 
of  the  pioneers  of  religious  communities  in 
this  country.  Born  in  Bavaria,  he  completed 
an  academic  course  at  Ratisbon,  and  after- 
wards entered  the  University  of  Munich.  He 
joined  the  Benedictines  in  the  year  1832,  and, 
after  thirteen  years'  work  in  his  own  country, 
was  sent  to  the  United  States  to  undertake 
the  establishment  of  an  abbey  here.  At  that 
time  a  sudden  impetus  had  been  given  to 
emigration,  and  the  G;;rman  Catholias  in  this 
country  were  anxiously  begging  for  priests. 
King  Louis  of  Bavaria  extended  the  most 
hearty  encouragement  to  Father  Wimmer, 
who  in  the  year  1846  set  sail  for  America,  ac- 
companied by  four  students  of  theology,  and 


t>20 


The  Ave  Maria. 


fifteen  young  men  skilled  in  various  handi- 
crafts. Soon  after  his  arrival  he  took  posses- 
sion,with  the  sanction  of  Bishop  O'Connor  of 
Pittsburg,  of  the  land  on  which  St. Vincent's 
Abbey  now  stands.  To  the  visitor  to  that 
celebrated  foundation,  we  may  say  briefly, 
Si  quceris  vtonumenium,  circumspice.  Besides 
a  large  and  commodious  monastery,  ecclesi- 
astical seminary,  and  college,  there  are  to  be 
found  there  a  large  flour-mill,  bookbindery, 
tailoring  establishment,  etc  Although  Father 
Wimmer's  work  was  ultimately  successful  be- 
yond his  most  sanguine  expectations,  he  had 
his  share  of  trials  and  hardships,  not  the  least 
of  which  were  want  of  funds,  and  the  diffi- 
culties and  delays  he  encountered  in  getting 
recruits  from  Europe.  Severe  as  these  trials 
were,  they  were  borne  with  a  calmness  which 
in  the  end  overcame  all  obstacles.  Not  con- 
tent with  the  foundation  of  St.  Vincent's,  he 
established  several  offshoots,  which  have  since 
become  flourishing  abbeys. 

Abbot  Wimmer  was  raised  to  the  dignity 
of  arch-abbot  in  1883  by  Pope  I^eo  XIII.,  as 
a  mark  of  appreciation  of  his  forty  years' 
successful  labor  in  the  United  States.  On  that 
occasion,  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  relig- 
ious profession,  there  was  a  grand  celebration 
at  St.  Vincent's,  attended  by  members  of  the 
Order  from  all  parts  of  the  country.  Arch- 
abbot  Wimmer  saw  his  life-work  crowned 
with  brilliant  success.  He  died  full  of  years, 
of  honor,  and  of  merits.  May  he  rest  in  peace! 


The  New  York  Sun  has  a  pointed  reference 
to  the  conference  of  the  so-called  Evangelical 
Alliance  in  session  at  Washington  last  week, 
remarking  that  while  they  were  discussing 
the  estrangement  of  the  masses  from  the 
church,  and  collateral  questions,  there  was  an- 
other conference  held  in  London  to  consider 
the  condition  of  the  working  classes,  and  it  was 
attended  not  only  by  Protestants,  but  by  emi- 
nent Catholics,  including  Cardinal  Manning. 

On  Tuesday,  the  13th  inst.,  the  Church  of 
tile  Immaculate  Conception,  New  York,  was 
solemnly  consecrated  to  the  service  of  God  by 
the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Corrigan.  Solemn 
Pontifical  Mass  was  celebrated  by  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  Conroy,  and  the  sermon  preached  by 
the  Rt.Rev  Bishop  McQuaid.  After  hard  work 
by  the  energetic  and  beloved  pastor,  the  Rev. 
Father  Edwards,  the  church— the  comer-stone 


of  which  was  laid  on  December  8,  1855 — has 
been  freed  from  debt,  and  is  now  the  seventh 
consecrated  church  in  the  city.  A  feature  in 
the  interior  of  the  edifice  is  the  erection  of  a 
high  altar  of  white  American  marble,  hewn 
from  one  solid  piece,  with  panels  and  columns 
of  Mexican  onyx.  Above  the  door  of  the  tab- 
ernacle is  a  piece  of  Irish  marble  seventeen 
feet  high  and  sixteen  feet  long.  The  altar  is 
surmounted  by  an  arcade  of  five  stained  chan- 
cel windows,  on  which  are  represented  the 
principal  events  in  the  life  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin. Some  of  the  other  windows  are  very  rich 
in  color  and  artistic  in  design. 

A  cable  dispatch  last  week  announced  the 
appointment  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  McGovern, 
rector  of  St  Joseph's  Church,  Danville,  Pa., 
to  the  see  of  Harrisburg,  which  as  our  readers 
know,  was  left  vacant  by  the  death  of  the  la- 
mented Bishop  Shanahan.  Father  McGovern 
will  prove  a  not  unworthy  successor,  as  he  has 
considerable  reputation  for  learning  and  ad- 
ministrative ability,  besides  having  won  the 
respect  of  both  clergy  and  laity  by  his  faithful 
and  zealous  labors  at  Danville,  where  he  has 
been  pastor  about  fifteen  years. 

A  lady,  thanking  the  New  York  Freeman'' s 
Journal  for  calling  her  attention  to  the  Work 
of  Poor  Churches,  writes:  "I  happened  to  be 
in  New  Mexico,  and  I  called  with  another 
officer's  wife  on  the  venerable  priest  of  a  very 
small  mission,  to  ask  for  some  Masses.  He  had 
just  laid  aside  an  old  and  much- worn  chasu- 
ble. '  Have  you  not  anything  better  than  that, 
Father  ?  '  asked  my  friend.  '  No, '  replied  the 
priest,  with  a  smile;  *  the  House  of  God  is  very 
poor  here;  that  chasuble  is  past  mending. '  '  I 
wish  I  could  help  you, '  said  my  friend,  with  a 
sigh.  '  I  noticed  two  ladies  at  Mass,'  observed 
the  priest,  'with  silk  dresses,  although  God 
has  no  silk. '  The  hint  was  taken.  My  friend's 
best  silk  frock  was  transformed  into  what  was 
needed  in  less  than  a  week. ' ' 


To  all  the  readers  and  friends  of  The  "AvS 
Maria" — young  and  old, far  and  near— we 
offer  our  Christmas  greeting,  with  the  heart- 
felt wish  and  prayer  that  they  may  share 
abundantly  in  the  joys  of  the  holy  season — 
in  the  blessings  of  the  Divine  Infant,  in  the 
favors  of  His  Immaculate  Mother.  More  with 
the  heart  than  with  the  lips  we  say, 
A  Happy  Christmas! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


621 


RAllTMENT 


The  Old,  Old  Story. 


BY   ANGELIQUE   DE   LANDE. 


t^UCH  a  beautiful  book  I've  been  reading,* 
^  With  covers  of  crimson  and  gold; 
In  its  pages  I  found  a  sweet  story — 
A  story  that  never  grows  old. 

'Tis  the  life  of  our  Blessed  Redeemer, 
Who  lived  upon  earth  as  a  child, 

Who  obeyed  His  dear  father  and  Mother, 
Was  gentle  and  docile  and  mild. 

I  hope  you  will  read  it,  dear  children. 
And  treasure  its  lessons  of  love; 

It  will  teach  you  how  vain  are  all  treasures 
But  those  that  are  laid  up  above. 

It  will  help  you  to  bear  every  sorrow 
For  love  of  the  Saviour  who  died; 

It  will  teach  you  to  govern  your  temper, 
And  chase  away  anger  and  pride. 

For  though  we  have  wisdom  and  learning, 
And  though  we  have  honor  and  wealth. 

Though  our  clothing  be  ever  so  costly. 
And  our  cheeks  have  the  rose-hue  of  health. 

If  we  have  not  the  spirit  of  Jesus, 

And  care  not  His  laws  to  obey. 
It  were  better  to  beg  by  the  roadside 

For  bread  to  keep  hunger  away. 

A  bright,  happy  Christmas  I  wish  you. 

Dear  children  of  every  where; 
May  the  sweet  Infant  Jesus  protect  you, 

And  keep  you  from  every  snare! 


*  "The  Story  of  Jesus,"  by  Rosa  MulhoUand. 


Next  after  His  heavenly  Father  there 
was  no  one  whom  Our  Lord  venerated  and 
loved  as  He  loved  and  venerated  His  Blessed 
Mother.  But  the  example  of  Jesus  Christ  is 
the  law  of  our  life.  We  are  bound  to  imitate 
it;  we  are  bound  to  be  like  Him. — Car- 
dinal Manning. 


Twol  Christmas^lEves. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OP  "TYBORNE."^ 

I. — Christmas  Eve,  1852. 

In  a  large  provincial  town  in  France  the 
day  was  beginning  to  decline,  and  a  sharp- 
northeast  wind  to  blow.  The  streets  were 
nearly  deserted,  for  everyone  was  anxious 
to  get  home  to  warmth  and  comfort.  Many 
had  been  out  to  buy  toys  and  bonbons;  for 
in  France  Christmas  is  reg^arded  as  espec- 
ially the  children's  feast,  and  every  child  is^ 
taught  to  expect  a  Christmas  gift  from  the 
Infant  Jesus. 

In  the  silence  of  the  darkening  streets 
rose  a  clear,  young  voice:  "Any  chimneys 
to  sweep?"  It  was  a  strange  sound  for 
such  a  night.  Who  was  likely  to  have  his 
chimneys  swept  on  Christmas  Eve?  Little 
Johnny  Chanterose  sighed  as  he  called  on. 
Presently  he  came  to  the  church,  and  over 
the  porch  he  saw  the  carved  stone  image  of 
the  Virgin  Mother  holding  the  Infant  Jesus 
in  Hei  arms. 

Johnny  sank  on  his  knees.  "Sweet  little 
Jesus,"  he  said, ' '  please  let  me  find  to-night^, 
the  eve  of  Thy  feast,  one  chimney  to  sweep." 
Then,  rising  up,  he  went  on  his  way,  callingf^ 
out  as  before,  "Any  chimneys  to  sweep?" 
Suddenly  a  window  opened,  and  there  the 
boy  found  a  chimney  that  needed  sweeping. 
He  soon  climbed  up,  and  by  the  quantity  or 
soot  that  descended  it  was  easy  to  see  he  had. 
donehis  work  well.  But  he  never  came  back.. 

"Where  can  he  be?"  asked  the  family. 
Not  in  the  chimney,  for  they  peeped  up. 
They  shouted,  but  there  was  no  reply.  They 
were  very  busy;  it  was  no  afiair  of  theirs,  so- 
they  left  Johnny  to  his  fate. 

Whe  re  was  he  ?  Safe  on  the  roof;  for  this-^ 
was  why  Johnny  had  prayed  so  hard  to  get 
a  chimney  to  sweep.  He  was  an  orphan,  all 
alone  in  the  world,  and  he  did  so  long  to 
have,  like  other  children,  a  Christmas  gift 
from  the  Infant  Jesus. 

"Now,"  he  argued, "the  way  the  Infant 
Jesus  goes  down  to  give  the  children  their 
presents  at  midnight  is  through  the  chim— 


•62  2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


neys;  there  is  no  other  way  for  Him.  And 
in  the  garret  where  J  sleep  there  is  no 
chimneyj  so  how  can  He  come  to  me?  I 
will  wait  for  Him,  then,  on  the  roof,  and 
surely  He  will  see  me,  and  listen  to  me." 
So  he  went  about  on  the  top  of  the  house, 
and  peeped  down  the  chimney.  At  last  he 
heard  some  voices  from  a  group  evidently 
sitting  near  a  hearth,  on  which  the  fire  was 
just  expiring.  He  listened,  and  heard  a  soft, 
gentle  voice  say : 

* '  Mark,  you  must  be  very  obedient  if  you 
want  the  Infant  Jesus  to  send  you  a  beau- 
tiful Christmas  present  to-night  by  His 
angels." 

A  child's  voice  answered:  "I  want  the 
Holy  Infant  to  come  Himself.  I  will  have 
Him  come — I  willP''  And  then  the  child 
stamped  his  little  foot. 

A  third  voice  spoke  gravely:  "Mark,  the 
Infant  Jesus  does  not  love  self-willed  chil- 
dren. Take  care  that  you  do  not  find  any- 
thing else  in  your  stockings  than  a  birch- 
xod." 

Johnny  had  heard  enough.  There  was  the 
place  for  him;  evidently  the  Infant  Jesus 
was  expected  here.  The  socks  were  on  the 
hearth  ready  for  the  present,  so  he  settled 
himself  on  the  roof.  But  the  wind  g^ew 
more  and  more  piercing,  snow  began  to 
fall,  and  Johnny  shivered  under  his  rags. 
•**Alas!"  he  said,  "I  shall  be  dead  before 
midnight  if  I  stay  here.  I'll  creep  into  the 
■chimney;  the  fire  is  out;  I  can  hold  myself 
very  well — just  as  I  do  when  sweeping, — 
and  I  shall  be  warm  and  sheltered.  And  if 
I  do  go  to  sleep,  I  shall  wake  up  when  the 
Infant  Jesus  passes  by."  So  the  little  fellow 
planted  himself  well,  and  soon  fell  asleep; 
but  after  a  while  he  lost  his  balance,  and 
tumbled  down  the  chimney  into  the  middle 
of  the  hearth. 

Papa,  mamma,  and  little  boy  all  started 
to  their  feet  with  a  cry. 

"You  young  rascal!"  exclaimed  papa; 
"where  do  you  come  from?" 

"It  is  the  fault  of  the  cold  night,  sir, 
please.  I  could  not  help  it.  I'm  Johnny,  the 
<ihimney  sweep.   Don't  beat  me." 

^ '  But  what  were  you  doing  on  the  roof  at 


this  time  of  night?"  said  mamma,  gently. 

"Please,  madam,  I  was  waiting  for  the 
Infant  Jesus.  I  am  an  orphan,  and  so  mis- 
erable! I  wanted  to  ask  Him  to  make  my 
master  kinder  to  me,  and  to  make  me 
happy." 

"Oh,  don't  beat  him,  papa!"  piped  little 
Mark. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  my  poor  boy,"  said  papa. 
Then,  turning  to  his  own  little  son,  he  went 
on:  "Mark,  you  said  that  the  Holy  Infant 
should  come  down  Himself  to-night.  Look 
at  Him.  He  has  taken  the  form  and  the 
clothing  of  the  children  He  loves  the  best 
in  the  world — the  miserable  children." 

"It  is  true,"  said  mamma,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

Mark  set  a  chair  for  the  Infant  Jesus,  and 
ran  to  bring  Him  some  bonbons.  Poor,  shiv- 
ering Johnny  was  mute  with  astonishment 
The  father  and  mother  spoke  together  in  a 
whisper.  They  were  excellent  people,  rich 
and  charitable.  They  had  lost  four  young 
children,  and  Mark,  the  only  one  left,  was 
very  delicate,  and  a  cause  of  perpetual  anx- 
iety. 

"Let  us  keep  this  little  one, who  is  alone 
on  earth,  that  God  may  bless  and  preserve 
our  Mark?"  said  the  mother. 

"Yes,  my  wife,  we  will,"  answered  her 
husband.  "What  is  your  name,  child?" 
he  continued. 

'  'John  Chanterose.  I  am  nine  years  old.' * 

"You  have  neither  fither  nor  mother? 
Would  you  like  to  stay  with  us?" 

The  child  trembled  all  over;  he  could 
not  speak. 

' '  Will  you  be  very  good,  and  learn  to  read 
and  write,  and  be  Mark's  companion?" 

Mark  came  in  at  this  minute,  loaded  with 
bonbons.  "Oh,  what  fun!"  he  cried  as  he 
heard  his  father's  last  words. 

The  little  orphan  was  nearly  wild  with 
joy.  He  fell  on  his  knees,  joined  his  hands 
and  said:  "Dear  Infant  Jesus,  dear  Infant 
Jesus,  I  thank  Thee!" 

So  Johnny  was  called  the  little  Christmas 
brother.  He  was  soon  washed  and  dressed 
in  Mark's  clothes — they  were  the  same 
size, — and  now  two  pairs  of  socks  were  laid 


The  Ave  Maria. 


623 


on  the  hearth  to  await  the  Christmas  gifts. 
Next  morning  they  were  found  well  filled, 
and  among  Mark's  gifts  was  a  tiny  cress 
of  honor,  for  he  had  always  said  he  would  be 
a  general ;  and  among  the  bonbons  and  toys 
for  Jjhnny  shone  a  pretty  silver  crucifix. 
Nsiver  had  the  poor  boy's  eyes  fallen  on 
such  gifts  before.  "Oh,  my  dear  Infant 
Jesus  of  Christmas!"  cried  he,  sobbing 
with  joy.  "Now  I  have  a  father,  mother,  and 
brother.  Indeed  I  will  be  good,  and  learn 
hard,  and  show  you  how  I  love  you  all." 

II. — Christmas  Eve,  1870. 

The  two  boys  grew  up  together,  and 
Johnny  did  not  disappoint  the  hopes  of  his 
adopted  parents.  Mark  was  deeply  attached 
to  him,  and  the  companionship  of  his 
brother  did  him  good  in  every  way.  His 
health  improved,  and  he  was  no  longer  the 
peevish,  self-willed  child  he  used  to  be. 

Their  boyhood  passed  away,  and  Mark, 
faithful  to  his  childish  fancy,  chose  the 
army  as  his  profession;  while  Johnny  was 
still  happier,  for  to  him  was  granted  a  voca- 
tion to  the  priesthood.  Mark  came  home 
one  winter,  with  his  oflScer's  epaulettes,  to 
assist  at  John's  first  Mass,  which  was  said 
on  Christmas  Eve,  the  day  so  dear  to  all 
their  hearts. 

At  last,  in  1870,  came  the  terrible  war 
between  France  and  Prussia.  Mark's  regi- 
ment was  in  the  field,  and  John  was  ap- 
pointed, by  earnest  solicitation,  chaplain  to 
it.  There  have  been  few  harder  or. bitterer 
winters  than  that  of  1870.  On  Christmas 
Eve  the  snow  was  falling  fast.  Mark's 
regiment  had  been  in  action  before  the  walls 
of  an  old  cemetery,  and  had  retreated.  But 
in  vain  did  John  seek  for  his  adopted 
brother:  he  was  nowheie  to  be  found;  no 
one  knew  anything  of  him;  all  was  in  con- 
fusion; ever)  one  must  take  his  own  chance. 

Then  John,  with  great  difficulty,  got  a 
lantern  and  a  party  of  peasants,  and  went 
out  to  search.  At  last  he  found  him  in  the 
snow,  "left  for  dead."  But  life  was  not  ex- 
tinct. John  raised  him  in  his  arms,  laid 
him  against  his  breast,  and  hastened  to  a 
place  of  shelter.  The  wounded  man  revived. 


"Brother,"  he  said,  "give  me  absolution. 
It  is  sweet  to  die  in  your  arms,  and  you  will 
console  M^w — "    Then  he  fainted  again. 

Finally  they  reached  the  hut  where  the 
general  of  the  division  had  taken  lefage. 
Wheri  he  saw  Mark,  he  cried:  "Here  you 
are,  my  brave  lieutenant! "  And  taking  off 
his  own  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  he 
placed  it  on  the  wounded  soldier. 

The  surgeon  examined  Mark;  he  had 
three  bayonet  wounds,  and  the  case  was 
serious  and  critical. 

"John,  take  me  to  the  old  church,"  whis- 
pered Mark. 

The  village  church  was  turned  into  a 
hospital,  but  the  sanctuary  was  left  un- 
touched, and  at  midnight  John  began  his 
three  Masses.  Mark  had  made  his  confes- 
sion, and  was  now  ready  to  receive  his  God 
in  Holy  Communion.  It  was  a  strange 
scene,  more  like  a  Mass  in  some  ancient 
catacomb  than  anything  else.  The  wounded 
and  suffering  men  joined  fervently  in  the 
prayers,  and  during  the  Elevation  there  was 
solemn  silence:  every  moan  was  hushed. 

Next  day  Mark  was  better,  and  was  able 
to  be  moved  to  an  ambulance.  A  fortnight 
afterwards  he  went  home  to  recruit  his 
health.  The  father  and  mother  wept  with 
joy.  "John  has  saved  our  Mark,"  said  the 
mother.  "I  knew  well  that  through  him 
God  would  bless  and  preserve  our  child." 

John  continued  with  the  army  until  the 
war  was  over,  and  then  returned  to  his 
humble  country  parish.  Mark  recovered 
his  health,  and  rejoined  his  regiment  with 
the  rank  of  captain.  They  still  live,  devoted 
brothers  and  friends,  ever  rejoicing  that  the 
Infant  Jesus  heard  their  childish  prayer. 


The  Christmas  Color. 


White  is  the  color  employed  by  the 
Church  during  Christmastide.  The  vest- 
ments used  at  every  service,  frcm  Christmas 
Day  to  the  Octave  of  the  Epiphany,  are  of 
this  color.  To  honor  \\&Cr^^^^xX-s rs.  St. 
Stephen  and  St.Thomj6.0^atife^^y,  she 
vests  in  red ;  and  to  fcopdole^ita^achel 


624 


The  Ave  Maria. 


wailing  her  murdered  Innocents,  she  puts 
on  purple;  but  these  are  the  only  excep- 
tions. On  every  other  day  of  the  twenty, 
she  expresses,  by  her  white  robes,  the  glad- 
ness to  which  the  \ngels  invited  the  world, 
the  beauty  of  our  Divine  Sun  that  has  risen 
in  Bethlehem,  the  spotless  purity  of  the 
Virgin  Mother,  and  the  clean-heartedness 
which  they  should  have  who  come  to  wor- 
shi'i  at  the  mystic  Crib. 

Daring  the  remaining  twenty  days,  the 
Church  vests  in  accordance  with  the  feast 
she  celebrates;  she  varies  the  color  so  as  to 
harmonize,  either  with  the  red  roses  which 
wreathe  a  martyr,  or  with  the  white  immor- 
telles which  grace  her  bishops  and  her 
confessors,  or  again  with  the  spotless  lilies 
which  crown  her  virgins.  On  the  Sundays 
which  come  during  this  time — unless  there 
occur  a  feast  requiring  red  or  white,  or 
unless  Septuagesima  has  be^un  its  three 
mournful  weeks  of  preparation  for  Lent — 
the  color  of  the  vestments  is  green.  It  is  to 
teach  us  that  in  the  birth  of  Jesus,  who  is 
the  "  Flower  of  the  fields,"  we  first  received 
the  hope  of  salvation;  and  that,  after  the 
bleak  winter  of  heathendom  and  the  Syna- 
gogue, there  opened  the  verdant  spring- 
time of  grace. 


The  Ox  and  the  Ass  at  the  Nativity. 


The  ox  and  the  ass  are  often  seen  in 
pictures  of  the  Nativity  of  Oar  Lord  be- 
cause of  a  text  of  Holy  Scripture:  ''The  ox 
knoweth  his  owner,  and  the  ass  his  master's 
crib  '  ([saias.i,  3).  From  the  sixth  century 
to  the  sixeenth,  there  was  never  any  rep- 
resentation of  the  Nativity  without  these 
two  animals;  thus  in  the  old  carol  so  often 
quoted: 

Agnovit  bos  et  asinvs 

Quod  Puer  erat  Dominus. 

"The  ox  and  ass  with  one  accord 
Rec  >gnized  the  Infant  Lord." 

In  some  of  the  earliest  pictures  the  ani- 
mals knee':  "The  beast  of  the  field  shall 
glorify  me''  (Fsaias.  xlii  20).  One  of  the 
old  Latin  hymns,  De  Nativitate  Domini,, 


describes  them,  in  that  wintry  night,  as 
warming  the  new-born  Infant  with  their 
breath;  and  they  have  always  been  inter- 
preted as  symbols— the  ox  as  emblem  of 
the  Jews,  the  ass  of  the  Gentiles. 


Shepherds  in  the  Celebration  of  Christ's 
Birth. 

It  is  the  well-known  custom  in  Italy  for 
the  shepherds  of  the  Campagna  and  of 
Calabria  to  pipe  before  the  Madonna  and 
Child  at  Christmas  time ;  and  these  Piffereri, 
as  they  are  called,  with  their  sheepskin 
jackets,  high  hats,  bagpipes,  and  tabors, 
were  evidently  the  models  reproduced  in 
some  of  the  finest  pictures  of  the  Bolognese 
school ;  for  instance,  in  the  famous  Nativity 
by  Annibale  Caracci,  where  a  picturesque 
figure  in  the  corner  is  blowing  into  the  bag- 
pipes with  might  and  main.  In  the  Vene- 
tian pictures  of  the  Nativity,  the  shepherds 
are  accompanied  by  their  wives,  their  sheep, 
and  even  their  dogs.  According  to  an  old 
legend,  SS.  Simon  and  Jude,  afterward 
Apostles,  were  among  these  shepherds. 


A  Christmas  Carol. 

Sweetly  did  the  angels  sing — 

Ring,  bells!  ring! 
On  the  birthday  of  earth's  King — 
Ring,  bells!  ring! 
Naught  of  wealth  and  naught  of  pow'r 
Showed  itself  in  that  still  hour; 
But  Our  Lord  Himself  was  born 
In  a  manger,  Christmas  morn. 
Softly  slept  the  Holy  Child, 
Watched  by  Mary,  Mother  mild; 
Wise  Men,  guided  by  a  star. 
Came  from  different  countries  far; 
Shepherds,  by  their  flocVs  at  night. 
Heavenly  visions  saw  with  fright; 
Hastened  then  away,  to  see 
If  in  the  manger  Christ  could  be. 
Thus  it  was,  the  calm,  sweet  morn 
When  Jesus,  Piince  of  Peace,  was  bom^ 
Heralded  by  angelic  vision 
From  the  realms  of  fields  elysian. 
'Tis  the  birthday  of  earth's  King — 

Ring,  bells!  ring! 
Joy  and  peace  the  day  doth  bring — 
Ring,  bells!  ring! 


'tH^ 


Voi„  XXV.        NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  31,  1887.         No.  a^. 


Published  every  Saturday,  copyrioht:  rev.  d.  e.  hud*on,  c.  8. 0.] 


Bethlehem. 

BY   WII,I,IAM    D.   KELLY. 

TPHE  stars  above  the  Syrian  wold 
^   Shone  glitteringly  bright, 
And  boreal  blasts  blew  keenly  cold 

On  that  December  night, 
Madonna,  when,  in  Bethlehem, 

You  sought  the  inn,  to  find — 
So  many  there  had  harbored  them — 

No  shelter  from  the  wind. 

We  house  ourselves  from  frost  and  snow 

By  comfortable  fires; 
Outside,  the  wintry  winds  may  blow 

Until  their  wrath  expires: 
But  Christmastide  is  this,  and  thus, 

Safe-sheltered  from  the  storm. 
No  thought  of  pity  troubles  us 

For  those  who  are  not  warm. 

And  yet.  Madonna,  you  were  cold 

On  that  December  night. 
When,  in  the  stable's  frigid  fold, 

Your  Babe  first  saw  the  light. 
And  of  the  warmth  that  fills  our  homes 

When  Christmas  blesses  them, 
The  brightest  radiance  outcomes 

From  far,  bleak  Bethlehem. 


The  history  of  civilization  is  the  history 
of  Christianity,  and  the  history  of  Christi- 
anity is  the  history  of  the  Catholic  Church; 
and  the  history  of  the  Catholic  Church  is 
the  his  Lory  of  her  Pontiffs, — Donoso  Cortes. 


Leo  XIIK 

HE  end  of  our  present  year  of  grace 
and  the  beginning  of  the  new  find 
the  whole  Christian  world  filled 
with  joy  and  exultation  because  of  the 
golden  jubilee  anniversary  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  our  Sovereign  Pontiff,  I,eo  XIII., 
now  happily  reigning.    For  months  past 
millions  of  faithful  people  in  every  nation 
on  the  face  of  the  globe  have  vied  with  one 
another  in  manifestations  of  veneration, 
gratitude,  and  devotion  towards  him  who 
is  their  divinely  constituted  chief  shepherd, 
and  upon  whom  they  look  as  the  Father  of 
their  souls.  And  their  homage  has  been  one 
grand  testimony  to  the  unity  of  faith  and 
devotion  characteristic  of  the  true  Church 
and  her  children,  while  forming  a  fitting 
expression  of  the  sincerity  and  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  rejoice  and  congratulate 
their  common  Father  upon  the  completion 
of  fifty  years  of  faithful  service  and  labori- 
ous devotion  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord. 
The  career  of  the  present  Pontiff,  from 
the  time  of  his  ordination,  on  the  31st  of 
December,  1837,  has  indeed  been  eventful 
and  glorious.  More  strikingly,  perhaps,  has 
this  truth  been  manifested  before  the  world 
since  his  elevation  to  his  present  command- 
ing position  on  the  Chair  of  Peter;  but  none 
the  less  true  is  it  that  while  passing  through 
the  lower  oiders  of  the  priesthood,  whether 
as  the  simple  Father  Joachim  Pecci  or  as 
the  distinguished  Bishop  of  Perugia,  he 


626 


The  Ave  Maria. 


exercised,  for  the  good  of  society  and  the 
promotion  of  religion,  those  extraordinary 
powers  of  mind  and  heart  -with  which  he  is 
gifted. 

He  became  Bishop  of  Perugia  in  the 
year  1846,  being  then  in  the  thirty  sixih 
year  of  his  age  and  the  ninth  of  his  priest- 
hood. It  was  the  same  year  that  Pins  IX. 
ascended  the  papal  chair,  during  the  thirty- 
two  )  ears  of  whose  pontificate  he  governed 
with  wisdom  and  glory  the  see  io  which 
he  had  been  assigned  Daring  that  time  it 
is  said  of  him  that  he  was  acknowledged 
by  his  brother  bishops  and  the  people  of 
Italy  as  one  of  the  most  enlightened  eccle- 
siastics, one  of  the  most  saintly  pas-tors,  oce 
of  the  most  eloquent  and  courageous  teach- 
ers of  Gjd's  word  that  the  Church  has 
possessed  for  centuries.  Nor  is  there  on 
record  a  more  illustrious  example  than  his 
of  a  life  spent  in  defending  his  fl  ck  from 
the  inroads  of  revolutionary  impiety  and 
immorality,  and  in  withstanding  the  attacks 
made  on  his  clergy,  on  freedom  of  con- 
science, and  the  institutions  of  the  Christian 
family. 

In  the  year  1878  he  was  raised  to  the 
Sovereign  Pontificate,  and  from  the  very 
outset  the  irfluence  of  his  grand  soul  was 
fel  t  in  the  religious  and  social  world.  Never, 
perhaps,  .«ince  the  beginning  of  the  Church 
did  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  ascend  the 
pontifical  throne  in  the  midst  of  such  trials 
and  dangers  as  confronted  Leo  XIII.  Soci- 
ety shaken  to  its  very  foundations  by  the 
spirit  of  revolution,  the  princes  of  the  world 
inimical  to  the  Church,  the  independence 
of  the  papacy  threatened  even  within  the 
Vatican  walls,— such  was  the  aspect  pre 
sented  be  fore  him  as  he  looked  out  over  the 
wor!d,  whose  direction  had  been  entrusted 
to  him.  But  soon  did  he  begin  to  show  him- 
self truly  the  Lumen  in  ccelo.  His  gigantic 
mind  grasped  the  situation,  and, directed  by 
the  Spirit  of  God,  one  by  one  remer'ies  have 
been  applied  to  existing  evils.  Gradually 
prcjadires  have  been  removed,  dangers 
avoided,  storms  appeased. 

His  teachings  have  solved  the  great  prob- 
lems which  disturb  society  at  the  present 


diy;  and  were  governments  and  peoples  to 
follow  the  counsels  which  he  has  given,  and 
make  them  the  basis  of  public  and  private 
life,  it  would  be  an  easy  task  to  bridge  over 
the  abjss  which-now  lies  between  the  two 
great  and  opposing  elements  in  the  social 
organism.  He  has  defended  and  maintained 
the  rights  of  the  Catholic  hierarchy,  and 
has  given  a  new  impulse  to  the  pursuit  of 
sacred  studies,  thereby  to  ensure  and  pro- 
mote the  dignity  and  respect  due  to  the 
ministers  of  God.  He  has  shed  the  light  of 
his  superior  wisdom  upon  the  study  of 
natural  sciences,  the  progress  of  which 
forms  the  great  boast  of  our  age.  Recogniz- 
ing science  as  the  handmaid  of  faith,  he  has 
declared  that  philosophical  and  scientific 
studies  are  to  be  pursued  with  a  view  to 
arrive  at  truth;  and  thus  science,  when 
enlightened  by  the  Church,  will  become  one 
of  the  most  powerful  motive  forces  in  the 
advancement  of  human  happiness.  The 
work  which  he  has  accomplished  in  the 
political  world  has  been  the  wonder  and 
admiration  of  all:  governments  have  been 
drawn  to  him,  and  even  amongst  the  most 
bitter  adversaries  of  the  papacy  there  is  not 
one  who  does  not  acknowledge  the  virtues, 
the  dignity,  the  grand  intellectual  power 
and  wisdom  of  him  who  now  guides  the 
Bark  of  Peter  through  the  troublous  waters 
of  the  ocean  of  Time. 

So,  too,  with  a  zeal  truly  characteristic 
of  the  Father  of  the  faithful,  he  has  labored 
most  effectively  to  provide  for  the  spiritual 
wants  of  the  souls  entrusted  to  his  care,  by 
giving  a  new  impetus  to  the  practice  of 
devotion  to  the  Ble.«^sed  Virgin  Marv.  The 
Holy  Rotary,  that  most  cherished  of  all  de- 
votions in  honor  of  the  Mother  of  God,  has 
received  from  him  a  new  splendor,  which 
has  served  to  attract  countless  numbers  of 
cold  and  unfeeling  hearts  in  the  world  of 
to-day,  and  has  proved  a  most  potent  factor 
in  the  awakening  of  a  grand  spirit  of 
faith  and  piety  among  Christians  every- 
where. As  Pius  IX.,  of  blesed  memory,  was 
called  the  Pontiff  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception, because  of  the  re.'plendent  diadem 
he  had  placed  in  the  crown  of  glory  encir- 


ilie  Ave  Maria. 


627 


clingf  the  Queen  of  Heaven;  so  Leo  XII I. 
has  been  fittingly  named  the  Pontiflf  of  the 
Holy  Rosary,  because,  like  his  sainted  pred- 
ecessor, he  has  sought  to  promote  the  glory 
of  Mary  before  the  woi Id,  adding  another 
to  the  titles  of  veneration  and  love  which 
the  Church  bestows  upon  Her,  and  calling 
upon  Her  children  to  appeal  to  Her  in  the 
loving  invocation, ' '  Q ueen  of  the  Most  Holy 
Rosary,  pray  for  us! " 

In  a  word,  L<eo  XIII.  has  given  a  new 
splendor  to  the  apostolic  ministry.  By  his 
pontifical  bulls,  and  the  majesty  of  the  au- 
thority with  which  he  is  invested,  he  has 
proclaimed  and  sustained  the  rights  of  truth 
and  j  ustice  throughout  the  world.  As  day  by 
day  and  month  by  month  the  years  pass  by, 
each  in  its  turn  is  ever  presenting,  through 
his  ministry,  a  new  and  striking  confirma- 
tion of  the  fact  so  deeply  impressed  upon 
every  true  Catholic  heart — that  the  Spirit 
of  God  abides  with  the  Church  which  the 
^  Redeemer  of  the  world  founded  upon  earth, 
and  to  which  He  entrusted  the  guardian- 
ship and  direction  of  souls  that  He  had 
come  to  save. 

If  ever,  in  this  vale  of  tears  through 
which  we  must  pass  on  our  earthly  pilgrim- 
age, there  moved  a  tongue  that  spoke  words 
which  lifted  the  soul  up  above  the  mire 
of  error  and  passion,  it  is  that  of  Leo  XIIL, 
our  Sovereign  Pontiff.  His  is  a  voice  that 
brings  consolation  to  the  afflicted,  and  en- 
sures relief  to  the  distressed, — that  resounds 
in  the  midst  of  the  restless  throng  led  away 
by  false  teaching?,  and  recalls  all  honest 
souls  to  a  realization  of  the  demands  of 
justice,  honor,  truth,  and  virtue. 

Well,  therefore,  may  all  faithful  hearts, 
L  in  every  nation  and  country,  rej  >ice  upon 
"  this  happy  anniversary,  and  thank  God  for 
having  so  strikingly  manifested  His  ever- 
watchful  providence  over  the  destinies  of 
the  Church  in  giving  her  so  great  a  Pontiff. 
And  as  the  New  Year  marks  the  completion 
of  a  half  century  of  devoted  and  successful 
labor  in  the  sacred  ministry,  millions  of  the 
chi'drenof  the  Church  will  kneel  before  the 
altar  of  God,  and  pour  forth  fervent  pray- 
ers to  the  Throne  of  Grace  that  length  of 


days  may  be  granted  to  our  Holy  Father, 
that  he  may  continue  to  labor  for  the  good 
of  the  Church,  of  princes  and  of  peoples; 
and  that  we  may  all  live  to  see  that  day  so 
ardently  longed  for  when,  restored  to  the 
liberty  and  power  which  of  old  invested  the 
Sovereign  Pontificate,  he  may  exercise  at 
Rome  his  apostolic  authority  for  the  tri- 
umph and  glory  of  the  kingdom  of  God 
upon  earth.    Long  live  our  Holy  Father 

Leo  XIII! 

•  ♦  » 

Speculum  Justitise. 
by  e.  l.  dorset. 

(Conclusion.) 

II. 

AGAIN  it  was  a  night  in  winter,  and 
again  the  wind  blew  and  the  snow  flew 
— stinging  like  a  swarm  of  white  bees, — 
just  as  it  had  blown  and  flown  that  other 
night  three  years  ago,  when,  in  that  North- 
ern seaport  town,  a  man  had  been  stabbed 
in  the  street,  and  a  young  sailor  was  sent  to 
the  penitentiary  for  it; — sent  to  the  peni- 
tentiary for  life  on  circumstantial  evidence, 
and  the  testimony  of — of  the  man  who  is 
now,  on  this  bitter  winter  evening,  creeping 
along  against  the  houses  of  that  same  town, 
glancing  first  over  one  shoulder,  then  over 
theother,with  terror  in  his  eyes,  and  a  shiv- 
ering and  racking  of  his  body  that  made 
progress  slow.  Once  or  twice  he  stopped, 
panting  for  breath;  but  started  up  and 
hurried  on  again,  looking  back  fearfully  as 
if  pursued. 

Up  the  street  a  great  block  of  carriages 
stopped  the  way.  It  was  before  the  house  of 
an  old  German  merchant,  who,  forty  years 
before,  built  his  house  in  the  then  most 
fashionable  quarter  of  the  city;  but  business 
marched  up  and  on,  pushing  the  gay  world 
firther  and  farther  northward  and  west- 
ward, until  now  it  was  the  onlv  dwelling  in 
the  square  But  the  old  merchant  lived  there 
contentedly,  and  on  this  night  his  young- 
est daughter,  his  golden-haired  Elsa,  came 
of  age,  and  the  birthday  was  celebrated  by 
a  great  fancy  ball. 


628 


T^  Ave  Maria. 


This  the  Italian,  of  course,  could  not 
know;  for  he  was  a  stranger,  and  was,  more- 
over, half  crazed  with  drink;  bat  what  he 
did  know  was  that  at  that  point  there  were 
people,  there  was  lije^  there  was  the  sound 
of  human  voices,  and  above  all  there  was 
light,  beautiful  light, — light  that  kept  at 
bay  the  terrors  that  rent  his  soul  when  night 
and  sleep  fell  on  the  world. 

How  he  hated  the  dark !  It  swarmed  with 
such  ugly  things;  and  a  face — an  awful  face, 
with  staring  eyes  and  rigid  lips — would 
start  into  such  ghastly  distinctness  as  soon 
as  the  sun  was  down.  And  it  followed  him 
like  a  shadow,  hounding  him  from  place  to 
place,  filling  him  with  an  unnatural  vigor, 
and  an  activity  that  tired  out  the  stoutest 
of  his  boon  companions;  and  when  they 
slept,  exhausted,  it  still  drove  him  on,  tor- 
tured, agonized,  panic-stricken,  till  the  day 
broke,  and  the  sight  of  the  living  helped 
him  to  regain  strength  and  reason. 

As  he  reached  the  awning,  and  crowded 
close  to  the  steps,  a  carriage  dashed  up  to 
the  curb;  the  door  of  the  house  was  flung 
open  for  some  parting  guests,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  a  dazzling  vision  was  revealed — 
fairies,  shepherdesses,  arquebusiers,  pages, 
halberdiers,  kings,  court  ladies  and  queens 
in  gorgeous  colors  and  flashing  jewels.  But 
the  Italian  saw  none  of  these;  his  staring 
eyes  fastened  on  a  stately  figure  that  seemed 
to  float  down  toward  him  between  the  rows 
of  orange  and  palm  trees  that  lined  the 
staircase.  On  it  came,  tall,  in  flowing  rai- 
ment, a  cloud  of  golden  hair  rippling  over 
its  shoulders  from  under  a  crown  of  light; 
in  one  raised  hand  a  pair  of  scales,  in  the 
othera  gleaming  sword,  whose  point  seemed 
to  mark  him  from  the  throng. 

^^  speculum  JustiticB!^''  he  shrieked;  **yes, 
I  did  it— I  did  it!  I  murdered  him  I  Take 
me — '* 

And  he  fell  grovelling  at  the  feet  ot  the 
policemen,  who  had  forgotten  their  oflficial 
stolidity  to  stare,  open-mouthed,  at  the 
lovely  Angela  von  Henkeldyne,  who  in  her 
costume  of  "Justice"  had  wrought  such 
innocent  vengeance. 

On  principle  they  seized  the  Italian  for  a 


rowdy;  but  his  repeated  cry,.** I  did  it — I 
murdered  him!"  soon  attracted  their  at- 
tention, and  as  he  struggled  in  a  fit,  they 
called  up  the  patrol  wagon,  and  took  him 
to  headquarters.  There  the  police  surgeon 
took  him  in  hand,  until  fiaally,  at  daybreak, 
he  recovered  consciousness.  On  being  told 
that  he  could  not  live  through  the  next 
night,  he  asked  for  a  priest,  and  who  but 
Father  Tom  was  brought  to  shrive  the  poor 
wretch,  and  listen  to  the  story  he  had  to 
tell! 

He  had  played,  he  said,  in  the  wine  shop 
that  night  until  midnight  with  a  stranger, 
who  lost  heavily  to  him,  and  drank  deeply 
as  he  played.  Bat  his  losses  did  not  seem 
to  depress  him,  and  the  wines  did  not  con- 
fuse him,  and  Manuel  said : 

*'You  are  a  gallant  man,  signor.  You 
lose  with  grace  and  courage. ' ' 

And  he  had  answered,  with  a  laugh:  **I 
can  afford  to.  I  have  fifty  thousand  dollars 
here."  And  he  touched  his  breast. 

Manuel  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Don't  you  believe  me?"  asked  his 
companion,  with  some  heat. 

Manuel  bowed  derisively. 

*'Hang  it!"  said  the  man;  **rm  telling 
you  the  simple  truth.  Look  here."  And  he 
drew  out  and  opened  a  small  doeskin  bag 
slung  around  his  neck,  showing  a  diamond, 
the  like  of  which  Manuel  had  never  beheld. 

*'It  sent  a  madness  to  my  head,  Father, 
and  I  felt  I  must  have  it,  if  I  had  to  wade 
to  my  eyes  in  blood  to  get  it.  But  he  tucked 
it  away  again,  and  rose.  *I  must  go  '  he 
said;  *I  have  already  stayed  too  long.'  I 
pressed  him  to  wait,  but  he  got  restless,  and 
looked  at  me  suspiciously.  I  asked  where 
we  might  meet  the  next  day,  and  drink 
our  glass  and  play  our  little  game  of  mora. 
But  he  answered  he  didn'  t  know — he  was 
here  to-day,  and  there  to  morrow,  and  far 
away  the  day  after.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his 
arm.  *  Come,  crack  another  bottle,'  I  urged. 
But  he  shook  me  cff"  roughly,  and  pushed 
out  of  the  cabaret^  saying,  'Enough's  as 
good  as  a  feast' 

**I  knew  the  house.  There  was  a  cellar 
that  gave  on  the  street  he  must  pass.  I  said : 


The  Ave  Maria. 


629 


*I  must  have  a  bottle  of  lachryma^  the  vin- 
tage of '73.'  I  went  below — the  landlord 
knows  me, — and  I  opened  the  cellar  door, 
and  stole  after  him.  In  the  dark  I  tracked 
him,  and  struck  as  I  sprang  on  him.  I 
wrenched  the  bag  from  his  neck,  and  nearly 
shrieked  as  something  soft  and  cold,  like  a 
dead  finger,  touched  my  cheek.  It  was  a 
snow  fl ike,  and  I  ran  in  hot- haste  back  to 
the  cabaret^  so  no  tracks  could  be  left.  I  had 
struck  well — the  blood  had  not  spattered, 
there  was  no  struggle.  It  was  the  stroke  of 
the  Vendetta.  The  whole  affair  did  not  take 
twenty  minutes,  and  I  came  back  into  the 
room,  and  draak  and  played.  But  the  dia- 
mond id  my  breast  burned  like  a  coal,  and 
I  thought  its  rays  of  splendid  fire  must  be 
seen ;  and  in  at  the  windows  the  dead  man's 
face  seemed  to  look — but  that  was  only  the 
snow  flying  past;  and  I  felt  drawn  back  to 
the  spot,  as  if  he  had  his  hand  at  the  sleeve 
of  my  jacket.  But  this  I  fought  against, 
■until  suddenly  I  remembered  with  terror  I 
had  left  my  knife  sticking  in  the  wound, 
and  I  knew  I  must  have  it  at  any  risk.  As 
I  crept  along  I  saw  a  sailor  coming  up  the 
street.  He  stopped;  he  touched  the  body. 
Here  was  my  chance.  I  sprang  on  him, 
dragging  him  here  and  there — and  he 
fought  well,  that  boy — like  a  wild- cat;  and 
I  shouted,  'Murder, murder!' 

**  It  all  turned  out  as  I  hoped.  The  watch 
— poor  fools! — never  thought  to  see  whether 
the  man  was  stiff;  and  when  the  coroner 
arrived,  he  was  too  stiff  for  question.  Then 
came  the  trial,  and  there  the  first  stone 
struck  me." 

His  face  was  distorted  with  emotion. 

''That  boy  I  pitied — yes!  But  it  was  he 
or  I,  and  /  preferred  to  go  free.  The  lies  I 
swore  to  did  not  trouble  me  at  all,  for  lies 
and  I  were  bosom-friends;  but  when  that 
old  woman  raised  her  hands  and  cried  out, 
'Mirror  of  Justice,  defend  us!'  I  felt  a 
fear;  for  my  medal  hung  at  my  neck,  and 
the  only  prayer  I  had  said  for  years  was, 
sometimes,  an  *^z;<?.'  Habit  I  suppose,  but 
it  was  so.  I  said  it,  and  like  the  thunder  on 
the  mountain  came  the  meaning  of  that 
prayer — Speculum  Justitice.   And  from  that 


day  I  was  a  haunted  man.  Waking,  that  face 
followed  me — the  face  I  had  struck  into 
stone  by  a  knife  blow;  and  if  I  slept  I  saw 
always  the  same  thing — myself  trembling 
before  a  great  balance,  and  a  sword  hanging 
over  my  head;  but  two  hands — a  Woman's 
hands — held  down  the  scale  pan,  and  held 
back  the  sword;  and  through  a  mist  a  face 
sweet  and  sorrowful  looked  down  at  me, 
like  the  Dolorosa  in  the  home  chapel  where 
I  made  my  First  Communion.  And  my 
terror  lest  the  hands  should  slip  or  move 
would  wake  me  with  a  start,  and  there 
would  be  the  dead  man  and — and  my  mem- 
ory waiting  for  me. ' ' 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  his  eyes 
stared  gloomily  into  space. 

"What  a  life  it  has  been!"  he  went  on, 
wearily.  ' '  I  dreaded  to  be  robbed,  and  yet 
I  dared  not  sell  for  fear  of  detection;  I  could 
not  drink  for  fear  I  might  betray  myself, 
and  for  month?  the  diamond  hung  like  lead 
on  my  breast.  Then  I  went  to  South  Amer- 
ica, and  from  there  to  Paris,  where  I  sold  it 
well,  with  a  good  story  of  how  I  found  it  at 
the  mines,  and  smuggled  it  away. 

"  But  bad  luck  followed  me.  The  money 
went  at  play — I  lost,  lost,  lost,  at  every- 
thing; rouge-et-noir^  vingt-un^  roulette^ 
mora — all  were  alike  against  me.  Every- 
thing I  touched  failed.  My  crew  got  the 
fever.  My  Maria  was  lost  off  the  Bahamas. 
My  savings  went  in  a  bank.  And  forever 
and  forever  Our  Lady  appeared  by  night 
and  the  dead  man  by  day. 

"Then  I  began  to  drink  hard,  and  I  kept 
jolly  fellows  about  me — loud  fellows,  bois- 
terous fellows, — and  I  would  hear  no  word 
of  prayer  or  hereafter;  for  the  devil  ruled 
my  soul,  and  I  knew  I  was  outcast  from 
heaven.  But — will  you  believe  it?— I  still 
wore  my  medal,  and  might  have  tried  to  say 
an  'y4z^^,'  but  I  woke  too  often  shrieking, 
''Speculum  Justitice!'*  and  out  of  my  own 
mouth  I  was  condemned;  for  what  would 
justice  mean  for  me? 

"To-night  the  end  has  come;  for  I  saw 
with  these"  (he  touched  his  eyes),  "not 
sleeping,  not  dreaming — awake — the  Mir- 
ror of  Justice.  But  She  no  longer  stayed  the 


630 


The  Ave  Maria. 


sword,  She  no  longer  touched  the  scales. 
She  held  both  in  Her  own  hands — " 

He  stopped,  shuddering  violently. 
"My  son, ' ' said  Father  Tom, ' '  what  you 
saw  to-night  was  not  Our  Lidy,  although 
She  might  well  have  come  from  heaven  to 
cry  justice  on  your  twofold  crime."  He  told 
him  what  had  really  taken  place,  closing 
with,  "Now  be  a  man  and  a  true  son  cf  the 
Church.  Come  back  to  the  manhood  and  the 
faith  you  have  betrayed.  That  you  repent 
truly  of  these  sins  I  firmly  believe. but  prove 
it  by  confessing  before  the  proper  officers  of 
the  law;  set  free  the  innocent  man  who 
drags  out  his  days  under  an  urj  1st  sentence 
in  the  penitentiary ;  and  rest  assured  when 
you  are  weighed  in  the  great  scales  of  eter- 
nal justice.  Oar  lyord's  Cross  will  outweigh 
your  sins,  and  Oar  Lady's  hand  will  stay 
the  sword." 

Manuel  nodded  his  head,  and  with  a  great 
effort  raised  his  eyes  to  Father  Tom's.  They 
were  still  far  too  near  together  for  honest 
dealing  as  the  world  understands  it,  but 
there  was  a  n^w  light  in  them. 

* '  Father,  I  will,  but— but— what  will  they 
think  up  aloft  there,  the  good  Jesu  and 
Saniissima?  I  fear  I  could  not  do  this  if  I 
did  not  know  I  was  going  to  die.  I  would 
not  have  the  courage.  I,  who  call  myself  a 
gallant  man — I  am  a  coward  1"  And  two 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Father  Tom  felt  a  knot  in  his  own  throat 
at  this  confession,  courageous  in  its  weak- 
ness, pathetic  in  its  faltering ;  and,  although 
the  words  of  S  .  Augustine  *  seemed  to 
stand  out  before  him  in  letters  of  fire,  he 
thought  of  that  hill  on  which  once  hung 
three  crosses,  and  he  heard  a  thief  cry, 
"Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  and 
the  Voice  that  answered  through  the  gather- 
ing darkness  across  the  shuddering  earth, 
"This  day  thou  shalt  be  with  Me  in  Para- 
dise." And  while  he  sent  for  the  nearest 
magistrate,  he  said  such  words  of  hope  as 
the  Church  alone  can  breathe  to  the  peni- 

*  Beware  of  delayed  repentance.  A  sick-bed  re- 
pentance is  too  often  a  sickly  repentance;  and  a 
death-b-d  repentance,  alas!  is  in  danger  of  being 
a  dead  repentance. 


tent,  teaching  as  he  did  it  the  meaning  of 
true  repentance,  and  filling  the  sinner's 
heart  with  humble  hope. 

After  all  was  over,  Manuel  begged  to  see 
David.  "I  dread  it,  but  I  can  not  go  until 
he  forgives  me,"  he  said. 

And  somehow,  in  spite  of  technicalities, 
Father  Tom  managed  it  so  the  two  men 
met  on  the  third  day;  for  Manuel  spoke 
the  truth  when  he  said  he  could  not  go 
without  forgiveness,  and  he  lived  on  until 
then,  to  the  amazement  of  the  prison  physi- 
cians. 

At  first  David  refused  outright  to  see 
him,  for  his  heart  was  bitter  with  the  load  of 
anguish  borne  through  those  three  frightful 
years.  But  Father  Tom  "talked  to  him,'* 
and  his  mother  gave  the  final  stroke  that 
determined  him. 

"Ye  must  go,  Davie,"  she  said,  as  she 
hung  on  his  neck.  "Ye  must  go,  boy;  for 
the  Mirror  of  Justice  is  the  Mother  of  Mercy 
too." 

And,  oh  I  the  thoughts  of  the  two  men 
as  they  faced  each  other! 

Where  is  Davie  now?  Well,  his  story 
got  about,  and  there  was  quite  a  furore  of 
sympathy.  Some  good  soul  started  a  purse, 
and  big  hearts  and  good  incomes  ran  the 
money  up  to  enough  to  buy  him  a  half 
share  in  a  schooner,  of  which  he  ultimately 
became  owner  and  captain.  His  old  skipper 
wanted  him  back,  but  he  did  not  need  to 
be  any  man's  man  now,  except  his  own — 
and  Our  Lady's. 

The  old  mother  lived  to  dandle  his  chil- 
dren on  her  knee,  and  to  take  them  on 
sunny  Sundays,  sometimes  to  Father  Tom's, 
and  sometimes  to  a  quiet  graveyard  by  the 
shore  of  the  bay,  where  they  would  kneel 
by  a  small  slab  of  gray  granite,  and  pray  for 
him  who  slept  below.  And  then,  as  they 
rested  before  starting  home,  small  hands 
pulled  the  weeds  from  the  grave,  and  picked 
the  lichens  fiom  the  letters  of  the  inscrip- 
tion, sometimes  spelling  them  out  as  they 
did  so.  And  the  spelling  read :  ' '  Pray  for  the 
soul  of  Manuel  Ignatius  Pizarro.  Mirror  of 
Justice,  defend  him!" 


The  Ave  Maria 


631 


The  Thirteenth  Leo. 


BKLTEF  to  the  soul  is  so  wholly  germane— 
The  evidence  none  can  deny — 
That  those  who  the  true  revelation  disdain 

Must  even  believe  in  a  lie. 
And  most  childish  of  lies  from  that  region  of 
hell 
Where  black  superstition  is  queen, 
Is  the  popular  error  that  some  fatal  spell 
lyurks  under  the  number  thirteen. 

And  what  refutation  can  better  be  found 

This  delusion  so  rank  to  oppose, 
Than  the  glorious  names  of  this  number  re- 
nowred 

Which  pontifical  annals  disclose? 
Under  John  the  Thirteenth  the  fair  kingdom 
so  vast 

Of  Poland  confesses  her  Lord; 
Fierce  Attila's  tribe  sjek  the  Gospel  at  last, 

And  Ravenna  to  Rome  is  restored. 

Upon  Gregory.too, the  Thirteenth  of  thename, 

A  splendor  undying  shall  rest; 
All  civilized  nations  his  praises  proclaim, 

And  Science  his  worth  has  confessed: 
As  long  as  the  seasons  in  order  return, 

And  annual  cycles  be  rolled. 
His  calendar's  merits  our  children  shall  learn, 

And  his  name  write  in  letters  of  gold. 

Two  number  thirteens  in  succession  to  show. 

After  Innocent,  Benedict  leigns: 
The  bulwarks  against  the  Mahometan  foe. 

Pope  Innocent  nobly  sustains: 
Pope  Benedict  seeks  to  quell  discord  at  home. 

And  peace-making  kindness  employ; 
He  ends  the  contentious  assaults  upon  Rome 

By  the  turbulent  House  of  Savoy. 

The  Thirteenth  Pope  Clement,  how  firm  is  his 
hand, 

While  Bourbons  in  plotting  engage! 
The  Order  of  Jesus  they  seek  to  disband. 

He  shields  it  in  spite  of  their  rage 
When  subtle  Febronius'  gall-dripping  pen 

The  Chair  Apostolic  assails. 
Pope  Clement  asserts  before  angels  and  men 

His  right;  and  his  firmness  prevails. 

Once  more  this  illustrious  number  thirteen 
In  the  Vatican  halls  we  behold; 


And  the  tale,  in  his  smile  who  now  sits  there 
serene, 

Of  his  great  predecessors  is  told. 
Like  Gregory  learned,  like  Benedict  kind, 

Like  Innocent  prompt  to  defend; 
Like  Clement,  in  him  will  the  true  teacher  find, 

When  slandered  and  banished,  a  friend. 

And  like  unto  John's,  may  his  reign  be  re- 
nowned 
For  nations  brought  home  to  the  fold; 
May  the  missioner's  labors  with  triumph  be 
crowned. 
And  multitudes  vast  be  enrolled; 
May  tribe  after  tribe  still  receive  the  Good 
Word— 
The  truth  ever  old,  ever  young; 
And  wherever  the  name  of  Our  Saviour  is 
heard. 
May  Pope  Leo's  be  next  on  the  tongue! 
Arthur  J.  Stage,  in  The  N.  D.  Scholastic. 


The  Mystery  of  an  Alpine  Village. 


A   CHRISTMAS  STORY. 


(Conclusion.) 

OUR  day's  rest  at  Bd!e  being  over,  and 
the  business  which  concerned  me  there 
transacted,  we  followed  the  route  indicated 
by  Mr.  St.  Aubyn,  and  on  the  22d  of  Decem- 
ber arrived  at  a  little  hill  station,  where  we 
found  a  guide,  who  on  the  following  day 
conducted  us  to  the  village  we  sought. 
It  was  a  quaint,  picturesque  little  hamlet, 
embosomed  in  a  mountain  recess — a  shel- 
tered oasis  in  the  midst  of  a  wind-swept, 
snow- covered  region. 

Inn  or  hcstlery  proper  there  was  none 
in  this  place,  but  the  peasants  were  right 
willing  to  entertain  us,  and  the  owner  of 
the  largest  chdlet  speedily  made  ready  the 
necessary  board  and  lodgirg.  After  supper 
the  villagers  began  to  drop  in  by  twos 
and  threes  to  have  a  look  at  us;  and  pres- 
ently, at  the  invitation  of  our  host,  we  all 
drew  our  stools  around  the  pine- wood  fire, 
and  partook  of  a  strange  beverage  served 
hot  with  sugar  and  toast,  tasting  not  unlike 
elderberry  wine.   Meanwhile  my  English 


032 


The  Ave  Maria. 


friend,  more  conversant  than  myself  with 
the  curiously  mingled  French  and  German 
patois  of  the  district,  plunged  into  the  nar- 
ration of  his  trouble, and  ended  with  a  frank 
and  pathetic  appeal  to  those  present  that,  if 
there  were  any  truth  in  the  tale  he  had 
heard  regarding  the  annual  clairvoyance  of 
the  villagers,  they  would  consent  to  use 
their  powers  in  his  service. 

When  my  friend  had  finished  speaking,  a 
man  sitting  in  the  chimney-  corner  rose  and 
«aid  that,  if  we  pleased,  he  would  fetch  the 
grandsons  of  the  original  seer,  who  would 
give  us  the  fill  lest  information  possible  on 
the  subject  of  our  inquiry.  This  announce- 
ment was  encouraging,  and  we  assented 
■with  joy.  He  left  the  chdlet,  and  shortly 
afterwards  returned  with  two  stalwart, 
intelligent-  looking  men  of  about  thirty  and 
thirty- five  respectively,  accompanied  by  a 
couple  of  St.  Bernards,  the  most  magnifi- 
cent dogs  I  had  ever  seen.  The  faces  of  these 
two  peasants  were  certainly  not  those  of 
rogues  or  fools.  They  advanced  to  the  centre 
of  the  assembly,  and  were  duly  introduced 
to  us  by  our  host  as  Theodor  and  Augustin 
Raoul.  A  wooden  bench  by  the  hearth  was 
accorded  them ;  the  great  dogs  couched  at 
their  feet;  pipes  were  lit  here  and  there 
among  the  circle;  and  the  scene,  embellished 
"by  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  flaming  pine-logs, 
the  unfamiliar  costume  of  the  peasantry, 
the  quaint  furniture  of  the  chdlet-'kiioheQ.  in 
which  we  sat,  and  enhanced  by  the  strange 
circumstances  of  our  journey,  and  the  yet 
stranger  story  now  recounted  by  the  two 
Raouls,  became  to  my  mind  every  moment 
mote  romantic  and  unworld-like. 

But  the  intent  and  strained  expression  of 
St.  Aubyn's  features  as  he  bent  eagerly  for- 
ward, hanging  as  if  for  life  or  death  on  the 
words  which  the  brothers  poured  forth, 
reminded  me  that,  in  one  respect  at  least, 
the  spectacle  before  me  presented  a  painful 
reality;  and  that  for  this  desolate  and  lonely 
man  every  word  of  the  Christmas  tale  told 
that  evening  was  pregnant  with  import  of 
the  deepest  and  most  serious  kind.  Here,  in 
English  guise,  is  the  legend  of  the  Alpine 
seer,  recounted  with  much  gesticulation 


and  rugged  dramatic  force  by  his  grandsons, 
the  younger  occasionally  interpolating  de- 
tails which  the  elder  forgot,  confirming  the 
data,  and  echoing  with  a  sonorous  inter- 
jection the  exclamations  of  the  listeners: 

Augustin  Franz  Raoul,  the  grandfather 
of  the  men  who  addressed  us,  originally 
differed  in  no  respect,  save  that  of  blind- 
ness, from  ordinary  people.  One  Christmas 
Eve,  as  the  day  drew  towards  twilight,  and 
a  driving  storm  of  frozen  snow  raged  over 
the  mountains,  he,  his  dog  Hans,  and  his 
mule,  were  fighting  their  way  home  up  the 
pass  in  the  teeth  of  the  tempest.  At  a  turn 
of  the  road  they  came  on  a  priest  carr)  ing 
the  Viaticum  to  a  dying  man  who  inhabited 
a  solitary  hut  in  the  valley  below.  The 
priest  was  on  foot,  almost  spent  with  fatigue, 
and  bewildered  by  the  blindirgsnow  which 
obscured  the  pathway,  and  grew  every  mo- 
ment more  impenetrable  and  harder  to  face. 
The  whirling  flakes  circled  and  danced 
before  his  sight;  the  winding  path  was  well- 
nigh  obliterated;  his  brain  grew  dizzy  and 
his  feet  unsteady,  and  he  felt  that  without 
assistance  he  should  never  reach  his  desti- 
nation. Blind  Raoul,  though  himself  almost 
exhausted,  listened  with  sympathy  to  the 
priest's  complaint,  and  answered: 

"Father,  you  know  well  I  am  hardly  a 
pious  son  of  the  Church,  but  if  the  penitent 
dying  down  yonder  needs  spiritual  conso- 
lation. Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  not  do 
my  utmost  to  help  you  to  him!  Sightless 
though  I  am,  I  know  my  way  over  these 
crags  as  no  other  man  knows  it;  and  the 
snow-storm  which  bewilders  your  eyes  so 
much  can  not  daze  mine.  Come,  mount  my 
mule;  Hans  will  go  with  us,  and  we  three 
will  take  you  to  your  journey's  end  safe 
and  sound." 

"My  son,"  replied  the  priest, solemnly, 
"Gk)d  will  reward  you  for  this  act  of  char- 
ity." 

The  fiiry  of  the  storm  increased  as  dark- 
ness came  on.  Dense  clouds  of  snow  ob- 
scured the  whole  landscape,  and  rendered 
sky  and  mountain  alike  indistinguishable. 
At  length,  however,  close  upon  midnight, 
the  valley  was  safely  reached,  and  the  priest 


The  Ave  Maria. 


633 


ushered  into  the  presence  of  his  penitent. 
What  the  dying  man's  confession  was  the 
blind  guide,  of  course,  never  knew;  but 
after  it  was  over,  and  the  Sacred  Host  had 
passed  his  lips,  Raoul  was  summoned  to  his 
bedside,  where  a  stracge  and  solemn  voice 
than)ied  him  for  the  service  he  had  ren- 
dered. 

"Friend,"  said  the  dying  man,  *'you 
will  never  know  how  great  a  debt  I  owe 
you.  But  before  I  pass  out  of  the  world,  I 
would  fain  do  somewhat  towards  repay- 
ment. .  .  .  May  God  hear  the  last  earthly 
prayer  of  a  dying  penitent,  and  grant  you  a 
better  gift  and  a  rarer  one  than  even  that 
of  the  sight  of  your  outward  eyes,  by  open- 
ing those  of  your  spirit!  And  may  the  fac- 
ulty of  that  interior  vision  be  continued  to 
you  and  yours  so  long  as  ye  use  it  in  deeds 
of  mercy  and  kindness  such  as  this!" 

The  speaker  laid  his  hand  a  moment  on 
the  blind  man's  forehead,  and  his  lips  moved 
silently  a  while,  though  Rioul  saw  it  not. 
The  priest  and  he  remained  to  the  last  with 
the  penitent,  and  when  the  gray  Christmas 
morning  broke  over  the  whitened  plain 
they  left  the  little  hut  in  which  the  corpse 
lay,  to  apprise  the  dwellers  in  the  valley 
himlet  of  the  death,  and  arrange  for  the 
burial.  And  ever  since  that  Christmas  Eve, 
said  the  two  Riouls,  their  grandfather  found 
himself,  when  the  sacred  time  came  round 
again,  year  after  year,  possessed  of  a  new 
and  extraordinary  power — that  of  seeing 
with  the  inward  senses  of  the  spirit  what- 
ever he  desired  to  see,  and  this  as  plainly 
and  distiactlv  miles  distant  as  at  his  own 
threshold.  The  pDwer  of  interior  vision 
came  upon  him  in  sleep  or  in  trance,  pre- 
cisely as  with  the  prophets  and  sibyls  of 
old ;  and  in  this  condition,  sometimes  mo- 
mentary only,  whole  scenes  flashed  before 
him;  the  faces  of  friends  leagues  away 
became  visible,  and  he  seemed  to  touch 
their  hands.  At  these  times  nothing  was 
hidden  from  him;  it  was  necessary  only  that 
he  should  desire  ferveatly  to  see  any  par- 
ticulir  person  or  place,  and  that  the  intent 
of  the  wish  should  be  innocent. 

To  the  blind  man,  deprived  in  early  child- 


hood of  physical  sight,  this  wondrous  power 
was  an  inestimable  consolation;  and  Christ- 
mas Eve  became  to  him  a  festival  of  illu- 
mination, whose  annual  reminiscences  and 
anticipations  brightened  the  whole  round 
of  the  year.  And  when  at  length  he  died, 
the  faculty  remained  a  family  heritage,  of 
which  all  his  descendants  partook  in  some 
degree,  his  two  grandsons,  as  his  nearest 
kin,  possessing  the  gift  in  its  completest 
development.  And,  most  strange  of  all,  the 
two  hounds  which  lay  couched  before  us 
by  the  hearth,  appeared  to  enJDy  a  share  of 
the  penitent's  benison.  These  dogs,  Fritz 
and  Bruno,  directly  descended  from  Hans, 
had  often  displayed  strong  evidence  of 
lucidity,  and  under  its  influence  they  had 
been  known  to  act  with  acumen  and  sagac- 
ity wholly  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary 
dogs.  Their  immediate  sire,  Gliick,wa9  the 
property  of  a  community  of  monks  living 
fourteen  miles  distant,  in  the  Arblen  valley; 
and  though  the  Riouls  were  not  aware  that 
he  had  yet  distinguished  himself  by  any 
remarkable  exploit  of  a  clairvoyant  char- 
acter, he  was  commonly  credited  with  a 
goodly  share  of  the  family  gift. 

Thus  ended  the  tale,  and  for  a  brief  space 
all  remained  silent,  while  many  glances 
stole  furtively  towards  St.  Aubyn.  He  sat 
motionless,  with  bowed  head  and  folded 
arms,  absorbed  in  thought. 

One  by  one  the  members  of  the  group  lefl 
the  chdlety  and  soon  there  remained  only 
our  host,  the  two  Raouls  with  their  dogs, 
my  friend,  and  myself.  Then  St.  Aubyn 
found  his  voice,  and  in  slow,  tremulous 
tones  said  to  Theodor: 

"You  will  have  everything  prepared  for 
an  expedition,  to-morrow,  in  case — you 
should  have  anything  to  tell  us?" 

"All  shall  be  in  readiness,  sir.  Pierre  [the 
host]  will  wake  you  bv  sunrise;  for  with  the 
dawn  of  Christmas  Eve  our  lucid  faculty 
returns  to  us;  and  if  we  should  have  good 
news  to  give,  the  start  ought  to  be  made 
early.  We  may  have  far  to  go,  and  the  days 
are  short. ' ' 

He  bade  us  good- night,  and  the  brothers 
left  the  house,  followed  by  the  two  hounds. 


^34 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Pierre  lighted  a  lantern,  and,  mounting  a 
ladder  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  invited  us 
to  accompany  him.  We  clambered  up  this 
primitive  s  taircase  with  some  difficulty,  and 
presently  found  ourselves  in  a  b^d-chamber 
not  less  qiaint  and  picturesque  than  the 
kitchen  below. 

Dawn,  gray  and  misty,  enwrapped  the 
little  village  when  I  was  startled  from  my 
sleep  by  a  noisy  chorus  of  voices  and  a  busy 
hurryingof  footsteps.  A  moment  later  some 
one,  heavily  booted,  ascended  the  ladder 
leading  to  our  bedroom,  and  a  ponderous 
knock  resounded  on  our  door.  St.  Aubyn 
sprang  from  his  bed,  lifted  the  latch,  and 
admitted  the  younger  Raoul,  whose  beam- 
ing eyes  and  excited  manner  betrayed, 
before  he  spoke,  the  good  tidings  in  store. 

' '  We  have  seen  him ! "  he  cried,  throwing 
up  his  hands  triumphantly  above  his  head. 
"Both  of  us  have  seen  your  son,  sir.  Not 
half  an  hour  ago,  just  as  the  dawn  broke, 
we  saw  him  in  a  vision,  alive  and  well,  in  a 
mountain  cave  separated  from  the  valley 
by  a  broad  torrent.  Courage!  he  will  be 
restored  to  you.  Dress  quickly,  and  come 
down  to  breakfast.  There  is  no  time  tolose." 

Everything  was  now  hurry  and  commo- 
tion. All  the  village  was  astir;  the  excite- 
ment became  intense.  At  sunrise  we  sat 
down  to  a  hearty  meal,  and  amid  the  clamor 
of  voices  and  rattling  of  dishes,  the  elder 
Raoul  unfolded  to  us  his  plans  for  reaching 
the  valley,  which  both  he  and  his  brother 
bad  recognized  as  the  higher  level  of  the 
Arblen,  several  thousand  feet  above  our 
present  altitude,  and  in  mid-winter  a  peril- 
ous place  to  visit. 

*'The  spot  is  completely  shut  off  from 
the  valley  by  the  cataract,"  siid  he;  "and 
last  year  a  landslip  blocked  up  the  only 
toute  to  it  from  the  mountains.  How  the 
child  got  there  is  a  mystery." 

Our  little  party  was  speedily  equipped, 
and,  amid  the  lusty  cheers  of  the  men  and 
the  sympathetic  murmurs  of  the  women, 
we  passed  swiftly  through  the  little  snow- 
carpeted  street  and  struck  into  the  moun- 
tain path.  We  were  six  in  number — St. 
Aubyn  and  myself,  the  two  Raouls,  and  a 


couple  of  villagers  carrying  the  requisite 
implements  of  mountaineering;  whiJe  the 
two  dogs,  Friiz  and  Bruno,  trotted  on  before 
us.  At  the  outset  there  was  some  lough 
ground  to  traverse,  and  considerable  work 
to  be  done  with  ropes  and  tools;  for  the 
slipperyedgesof  the  highland  path  afforded 
scarce  any  foothold,  and  in  some  parts  the 
difficulties  appeared  well-aigh  insurmount- 
able. But  every  fresh  obstacle  overcome 
added  a  new  zest  to  our  resolution,  and  at 
length  we  found  ourselves  on  a  broad,  rocky 
plateau.  We  sat  down  to  rest  on  some  scat- 
tered boulders,  and  gazed  with  wonder  at 
the  magnificent  vistas  of  glowing  peaks 
towering  above  us,  and  the  luminous  ex- 
panse of  purple  gorge  and  valley,  wi  h  the 
white,  roaring  torrents  below,  over  which 
wreaths  of  fi.my  mist  hovered  and  floated 
continually. 

As  I  sat  lost  in  admiration  St.  Aubyn 
touched  my  arm,  and  silently  pointed  to 
Theodor  Raoul.  He  had  risen,  and  now 
stood  at  the  edge  of  the  plateau  overhang- 
ing the  lowland  landscape,  his  head  raised, 
his  eyes  wide  opea,  his  whole  appearance 
indicative  of  magnetic  trance.  While  we 
looked  he  turned  slowly  towards  us,  moved 
his  hands  to  and  fro  with  a  gesture  of  un- 
certainty, as  though  feeling  his  way  in  the 
dark,  and  spoke  with  a  slowr,  dreamy  utter- 


ance: 


I  see  the  lad  sitting  in  the  entrance  of 
the  cavern,  looking  out  aero  s  the  valley,  as 
though  expecting  some  one.  He  is  pallid 
and  thin, and  wears  a  dark- colored  mantle, 
lined  with  sable  fur.  The  spot  is  ful'y  three 
miles  distant  from  the  plateau  on  which  we 
now  stand.  But  I  do  not  know  how  to  reach 
it.  I  am  at  fault!" 

He  moved  his  hands  impatiently  to  and 
fro,  and  cried  in  tones  which  manifested  the 
disappointment  he  felt.  We  gathered  round 
him  in  some  dismay,  and  St.  Aub/n  urged 
the  younger  Raoul  to  attempt  an  elucida- 
tion of  the  difficulty.   But  he  too  failed. 

"It  must  be  under  ground,"  he  said, 
using  the  groping  action  we  had  already  ob- 
served on  Theodor's  part.  "  It  is  impossible 
to  distinguish  anything  save  a  f^w  vague 


The  Ave  Maria, 


635 


outlines  of  rock.  Now  there  is  not  a  glim- 
mer of  light — all  is  profound  gloom." 

Suddenly  a  sharp  bark  from  one  of  the 
hounds  startled  us  all,  and  immediately 
arrested  our  consultation.  He  was  running 
excitedly  to  and  fro,  sniffing  about  the  edge 
of  the  plateau,  and  every  now  and  then  turn- 
ing himself  with  an  abrupt  jerk,  as  if  seek- 
ing something  which  eluded  him.  Presently 
the  other  hound  joined  in  this  mysterious 
quest,  and  the  next  moment,  to  our  admi- 
ration and  amazement,  both  d3g3  simulta- 
neously lifted  their  heads,  and  uttered  a 
prolonged  and  joyous  cry. 

"They  have  the  clue!"  exclaimed  the 
peasants,  as  the  hounds  leapt  from  the 
plateau  down  the  steep  declivity  leading  to 
the  valley,  scattering  the  snow  drifts  of  the 
crevices  pall-mellin  their  headlong  career. 
In  frantic  haste  we  resumed  our  loads,  and 
hutried  after  our  flying  guides  with  what 
speed  we  could.  When  the  dogs  had  reached 
the  next  level,  they  paused  and  waited, 
standing  with  uplifted  heads  and  dripping 
tongues  while  we  clambered  down  the 
gorge  to  join  them.  Again  they  took  the 
lead,  but  this  time  the  way  was  more  in- 
tricate, and  their  progress  slower.  We  fol- 
lowed them  along  a  narrow  winding  track 
of  broken  ground,  over  which  every  mo- 
ment a  tiny  torrent  roared  and  tumbled. 

Suddenly  a  great  agitation  seized  St. 
Aubyn.  ''Look!  look!"  he  cried, clutching 
me  by  the  arm;  "here,  where  we  stand,  is 
the  very  spot  from  which  my  boy  fell.  And 
below  is  the  valley. ' ' 

We  stood  still,  and  looked  down  into  the 
valley,  green  even  in  mid- winter,  where  a 
score  of  goats  were  browsing  in  the  sun- 
shine. Here  my  friend  would  have  de- 
scended, but  the  Raouls  bade  him  trust  the 
leadership  of  the  dogs. 

"Follow  them,  sir,"  said  Theodor,  im- 
pressively; "it  is  the  good  God  that  con- 
ducts them.  See!  they  are  advancing." 

We  hastened  after  our  canine  guides, 
who,  impelled  by  the  mysterious  influence 
of  their  strange  faculty,  were  again  pressing 
forward  Soon  we  lost  sight  of  the  valley, 
and  an  hour's  upward  scrambling  over  loose 


rocks  and  sharp  crags  brought  us  to  a 
chasm,  the  two  edges  of  whicli  were  sepa- 
rated by  a  precipitous  gulf  some  twenty  feet 
across.  This  chasm  was  probably  about 
eight  or  nine  hundred  feet  deep,  and  its 
sides  were  straight  and  sheer  as  those  of  a 
well.  Our  ladders  were  in  requisition  now, 
and  with  the  aid  of  these  and  the  ropes  all 
the  members  of  cur  party  were  safely  landed 
on  the  opposite  brink  of  the  abyss. 

We  had  covered  about  t^o  miles  of  difli- 
cult  ground  beyond  the  chasm,  when  once 
more,  on  the  brow  of  a  projecting  eminence, 
the  hounds  halted  for  the  last  time.  It  was 
a  wild  and  desolate  spot,  strewn  with  tem- 
pest-torn bran:hes, — a  spot  hidden  from 
the  sun  by  dense  masses  of  pine  foliage, 
and  backed  by  sharp  peaks  of  granite.  St. 
Aubyn  looked  around  him,  trembling  with 
emotion. 

"Shout!"  cried  one  of  the  peasants; 
"shout!  the  boy  may  hear  you." 

"Alas!"  answered  the  father,  "he  can 
not  hear;  you  forget  that  my  child  is  deaf 
and  dumb." 

At  that  instant  Theodor,  who  for  a  brief 
while  had  stood  apart,  abstracted  and  silent, 
approached  St.  Aubyn,  and  grasped  his 
hand. 

"Shout!"  he  exclaimed,  with  the  ear- 
nestness of  a  command ;  "call  your  boy  by 
his  name." 

St.  Aubvn  looked  at  him  with  astonish- 
ment, then  in  a  clear,  piercing  voice  obeyed. 

"Charlie!"  he  cried;  " Charlie  my  boy, 
where  are  you  ? ' ' 

We  stood  around  him  in  silence  and  ex- 
pectancy a  group  for  a  picture.  St.  Aub)n 
in  the  midst,  with  whi  e  quivering  face  and 
clasped  hands;  the  two  Raouls  on  either 
side,  listening  intently;  the  dogs  motion- 
less and  eager,  their  ears  erect,  their  hair 
bristling  round  their  stretched  throats.  A 
minute  passed  thus,  and  then  there  was 
heard  from  below,  at  a  great  depth,  a  faint, 
uncertain  sonnd.  One  word  only,  uttered 
in  the  voice  of  a  child,  tremulous  and  in- 
tensely earnest:  "Father!" 

St.  Aubyn  fell  on  his  knees.  "My  God! 
my  Gad!"    he  cried,  sobbing;    "it  is  my 


6^6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


boy !  He  is  alive,  and  can  hear  and  speak. " 

With  feverish  haste  -we  descended  the 
crag,  and  speedily  found  ourselves  on  a 
greensward,  sheltered  on  three  sides  by  high 
walls  of  cliff,  and  bounded  on  the  fourth, 
southward,  by  a  broad  stream  some  thirty 
feet  from  shore  to  shore.  Be)  ond  the  stream 
was  a  wide  expanse  of  pasture  stretching 
down  into  the  Aiblen  valley. 

Aeain  St  Aabyn  shouted,  and  again  the 
child  like  cry  replied,  guiding  us  to  a  nar- 
row gorge  or  fissure  in  the  cliff  almost  hid- 
den under  exuberant  foliage.  This  pafsage 
brought  us  to  a  turfy  knoll,  upon  which 
opened  a  deep  recess  in  the  mountain  rock ; 
a  picturesque  cavern,  carpeted  with  moss, 
and  showing, from  someancient,half-effaccd 
carvings  which  here  and  there  adorned 
its  walls,  that  it  had  once  served  as  a  crypt 
or  chapel,  possibly  in  some  time  of  eccle- 
siastical persecution.  At  the  mouth  of  this 
cave, with  startled  eyes  and  pallid,  i>ar ted 
lips,  stood  a  fair-haired  lad,  wrapped  in  the 
mantle  described  by  the  elder  Raoul.  One 
instant  only  be  stood  there:  the  next  he 
darted  forward,  and  fell  with  weeping  and 
inarticulate  cries  into  his  father's  embrace. 

We  paused,  and  waited  aloof  in  silence, 
respecting  the  supreme  joy  and  emotion  of 
a  greeting  so  sacred  as  this.  The  dogs  only, 
bursting  into  the  cave,  leapt  and  gambolled 
about,  venting  their  satL*^ faction  in  sono- 
rous barks  and  turbulent  demonstrations  of 
delight. 

And  now  came  the  history  of  the  three 
long  months  which  had  elapsed  since  the 
occurrence  of  the  disaster  which  separated 
my  friend  from  his  little  son.  Seated  on  the 
soft  moss  of  the  cavern  floor,  St.  Aubyn  in 
the  midst  and  the  boy  beside  him,  we  lis- 
tened to  the  sequel  of  the  strange  tale  re- 
counted the  preceding  evening  by  Theodor 
and  Angtistin  Raoul.  And  first  we  learned 
that,  until  the  moment  when  his  father's 
shout  broke  upon  his  ear  that  day,  Charlie 
St.  Aubyn  had  remained  as  insensible  to 
sound  a-d  as  mute  of  voice  as  he  was  when 
his  accident  befell  him.  Even  now  that  the 
powers  of  hearing  and  speech  were  restored, 
he  articulated  uncertainly  and  with  great 


difficulty:  leaving  many  words  unfinished,, 
and  helping  out  his  phrases  with  gesticula- 
tions and  signs,  his  father  suggesting  and 
assisting  as  the  narrative  proceeded.  Was 
it  the  strong  love  in  St  Aubyn' s  cry  that 
broke  through  the  spell  of  the  disease  and 
thrilled  his  child's  dulled  nerves  into  life? 
was  it  the  shock  of  an  emotion  coming  un- 
expected and  intense  after  all  those  dreary 
weeks  of  futile  watchfulness?  or  was  the 
miracle  an  effect  of  the  same  divine  grace 
which,  by  means  of  a  mysterious  gift,  had 
enabled  us  to  track  and  to  find  this  obscure 
and  unknown  spot? 

Little  St.  Aubyn  had  been  saved  from 
death,  and  sustained  during  the  past  three 
months  by  a  creature  dumb  like  himself — 
a  large  dog  exactly  resembling  Fritz  and 
Bruno.  This  dog,  he  gave  us  to  understand, 
came  from  "over  the  torrent" — indicating" 
with  a  gesture  the  Arblen  valley, — and  from 
the  beginning  of  his  troubles  had  been  to 
him  like  a  human  friend.  The  fall  from  the 
hill- side  had  not  seriously  injured,  but  only 
bruised  and  temporarily  lamed  the  lad; 
and,  after  lying  for  a  minute  or  two  a  little 
stunned  and  giddy,  he  rose  and  with  some 
difficulty  made  his  way  across  the  meadow 
slope  on  which  he  found  himself,  expecting 
to  meet  his  father  descen''ing  the  path.  But 
he  miscalculated  its  direction,  and  speedily 
discovered  he  had  lost  his  way.  After  wait- 
ing a  long  time  in  great  suspense,  and  seeing 
no  one  but  a  few  goat-herds  at  a  distance, 
whose  attention  he  failed  to  attract,  the  pain 
of  a  twisted  ankle,  increased  by  continual 
movement,  compelled  him  to  seek  a  night's 
shelter  in  the  cave  subsequently  visited  by 
his  father  at  the  suggestion  of  the  peasants 
who  assisted  in  the  search.  These  peasants 
were  not  aware  that  the  cave  was  but  the 
mouth  of  a  vast  and  wandering  labyrinth, 
tunnelled,  partly  by  nature  and  partly  by 
art,  through  the  rocky  heart  of  the  moun- 
tain. 

A  little  before  sunrise,  on  the  morning 
after  his  accident,  the  boy,  examining  with 
minute  curiosity  the  picturesque  grotto  in 
which  he  had  passed  the  night,  discovered 
in  its  darkest  corner  a  moss  covered  stone, 


The^^  Ave  Maria. 


637 


behind  which  had  accumulated  a  great 
quantity  of  weeds,  ivy,  and  loose  rubbish. 
Boy-like,  he  fell  to  clearing  away  these  im- 
pedimenta and  excavating  the  stone,  until, 
after  some  industrious  labor  thus  expended, 
he  dismantled,  behind  and  a  little  above  it, 
a  narrow  passage,  into  which  he  crept,  in 
the  hope  that  it  might  afford  him  an  egress 
in  the  direction  of  the  village.  The  aper- 
ture thus  exposed  had  not,  in  fact,  escaped 
the  eye  of  St.  Aubyn,  when  about  an  hour 
afterwards  the  search  for  the  lost  boy  was 
renewed.  But  one  of  his  guides,  after  a  brief 
inspection,  declared  the  recess  into  which 
it  opened,  empty;  and  the  party,  satisfied 
with  his  report,  left  the  spot,  little  thinking 
that  all  their  labor  had  been  lost  by  a  too 
hasty  examination.  For,  in  fact,  this  narrow 
and  apparently  limited  passage  gradually 
widened  in  its  darkest  part,  and,  as  little  St. 
Aubyn  found,  became  by  degrees  a  tolera- 
bly roomy  corridor,  in  which  he  could  just 
manage  to  walk  upright,  and  into  which 
light  from  the  outer  world  penetrated  dimly 
through  artificial  fissures  hollowed  out  at 
intervals  in  the  rocky  wall.  Delighted  at 
this  discovery,  but  chilled  by  the  vault-like 
coldness  of  the  place,  the  lad  hastened  back 
to  fetch  the  fur  mantle  he  had  left  in  the 
cave,  threw  it  over  his  shoulders,  and  re- 
turned to  continue  his  exploration. 

The  cavern  gallery  beguiled  him  with 
new  wonders  at  every  step.  Here  rose  a 
subterranean  spring,  there  a  rudely  carved 
gargoyle  grinned  from  the  granite  roof; 
curious  and  intricate  windings  enticed  his 
eager  steps,  while  all  the  time  the  death- 
like and  horrible  silence,  which  might  have 
deterred  an  ordinary  child  from  further  ad- 
vance, failed  of  its  effect  upon  ears  unable 
to  distirguish  between  the  living  sounds 
of  the  outer  world  and  the  stillness  of  a 
sepulchre.  Thus  he  groped  and  wandered, 
until  he  become  aware  that  the  gloom  of 
the  corridor  had  gradually  deepened,  and 
that  the  tiny  openings  in  the  rock  were 
now  far  less  frequent  than  at  the  outset. 
Even  to  his  eyes,  by  this  time  accustomed 
to  obscurity,  the  darkness  grew  portentous; 
at  every  sLep  he  stumbled  against  some  un- 


seen projection,  or  bruised  his  hands  in  vain 
efforts  to  discover  a  returning  path.  Toa 
late  he  began  to  apprehend  that  he  was 
really  lost  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain. 
Either  the  windings  of  the  labyrinth  were 
hopelessly  confusing,  or  some  debris^  dis- 
lodged by  the  unaccustomed  concussion  of 
foots  eps,  had  fallen  from  the  roof,  and 
choked  the  passage  behind  him. 

The  account  which  the  boy  gave  of  his 
adventure,  and  of  his  vain  and  long-con- 
tinued efforts  to  retrace  his  way,  made  the 
latter  hypothesis  appear  to  us  the  most  ac- 
ceptable, the  noise  occasioned  by  such  a  fall 
having,  of  course,  passed  unheeded  by  him. 
Then,  thoroughly  baffled  and  exhausted, 
the  lad  determined  to  work  on  through  the 
Cimmerian  darkness,  in  the  hope  of  discov- 
ering a  second  terminus  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  mountain.  This  at  length  he  did. 
A  faint,  star-like  outlet  finally  presented 
itself  to  his  delighted  eyes;  he  groped  pain- 
fully towards  it;  it  widened  and  brightened 
slowly,  till  at  length  he  emerged  from  the 
subterranean  gulf  which  had  so  long  impris- 
oned him,  into  the  mountain  cave, wherein 
he  had  ever  since  remained.  How  long  it 
had  taken  him  to  accomplish  this  passage 
he  could  not  guess,  but  from  the  sun's  posi- 
tion it  seemed  to  be  about  noon  when  he 
again  beheld  the  day.  He  sat  down,  dazed 
and  fatigued,  on  the  mossy  floor  of  the 
grotto,  and  watched  the  mountain  torrent 
eddying  and  sweeping  furiously  past  in  the 
gorge  beneath  his  retreat.  After  a  while  he 
slept,  and  awoke  towards  evening,  faint  with 
hunger,  and  bitterly  regretting  the  affl  c- 
tion  which  prevented  him  from  attracting 
help. 

Suddenly  a  huge,  tawny  head  appeared 
above  the  rocky  edge  of  the  plateau,  and  in 
another  moment  a  Si.  Bernard  dog  clam- 
bered up  the  bank  and  ran  towards  the  cave. 
He  was  dripping  wet,  and  carried,  strapped 
acrosis  his  back,  a  double  pannier,  the: -con- 
tents of  which  proved  on  inspection  to  con- 
sist of  three  flasks  of  goat's- milk,  and  some 
half  dozen  rye  loaves  packed  in  a  tin' box. 
The  friendly  expression  and  intelligent 
demeanor  of  his  visitor  invited  little  St. 


6.8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Aubyn's  confidence,  and  reanimated  his 
sinking  heart.  Delighted  at  such  evidence 
of  human  proximity,  and  eager  for  food,  he 
drank  of  the  milk  and  ate  part  of  the  bread. 
The  creature  went  as  he  came,  plunging 
into  the  deepest  and  least  boisterous  part  of 
the  torrent,  which  he  crossed  by  swimming, 
regained  the  opposite  shore,  and  soon  dis 
appeared  from  view. 

But  next  day,  at  about  the  same  hour, 
the  dog  reappeared  alone,  again  bringing 
milk  and  bread,  of  which  again  the  lad  par- 
took. And  when,  as  on  the  previous  day, 
his  new  friend  rose  to  depart,  Charlie  St. 
Aubyn  left  the  cave  with  him,  clambered 
down  the  bank  with  difficulty,  and  essayed 
to  cross  the  torrent  ford.  But  the  dc  pth  and 
rapidity  of  the  current  disma>ed  him,  and 
with  sinking  heart  the  child  returned  to 
his  abode.  Every  day  the  same  thing  hap 
pened,  and  at  length  the  strange  life  bt  came 
familiar  to  him;  the  trees,  the  birds,  and 
the  flowers  became  his  friends,  and  the  gjreat 
hound  a  mysterious  protector,  whom  he  re- 
garded with  reverent  afifcction  and  trusted 
with  the  greatest  confidence.  At  night  he 
dreamed  of  home,  and  constantly  visited  his 
father  in  visions,  saying  always  the  same 
words:  ''Father,  I  am  alive  and  well." 

St  Aubyn  now  turned  towards  the  peas 
ants  grouped  around  us,  arid  in  their  own 
language  recited  to  them  the  child's  story. 
They  listened  intently,  from  time  to  time 
exchanging  among  themselves  intelligent 
glances,  and  muttering  interjections  ex- 
pressive of  astonishment.  When  the  last 
word  of  the  tale  was  spoken,  the  elder  Raoul, 
who  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  gazing 
out  over  the  sunlit  valley  of  the  Arblen, 
removed  his  hat  with  a  reverent  gesture, 
and,  after  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross, 
remained  for  some  time  in  silent  pra}er. 

"The  dog,"  he  said,  "is  G'. lick, who  lives 
at  the  monastery  out  yonder.  The  good 
God  showed  him  the  lad  in  this  cave,  when 
we,  forsooth,  should  have  looked  for  him 
in  vain.  I  know  that  every  day  G  iick  is 
sent  from  the  monastery,  laden  with  food 
and  drink,  to  a  poor  widow  living  up  near 
the  ravine.    As  her  portion  is  cot  always 


the  same  from  day  to  day,  but  depends  on 
what  they  can  spare  from  the  store  set 
apart  for  almsgiving,  she  would  not  notice 
the  diminished  bread  and  milk." 

There  was  silence  among  us  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  Augu'itin  spoke. 

"We  must  ford  the  torrent,"  he  said; 
"the  bridge  was  carried  off  by  last  year's 
avalanche;  but  with  six  of  us  and  the  dogs 
it  will  be  easy  work." 

Twilight  was  falling,  and  already  the 
stars  of  Chri-tmas  B^e  climbed  the  frosty 
heavens  and  appeared  above  the  sno  wy,  far- 
oflf  peaks.  Filled  with  gratitude  and  wonder 
at  the  strange  events  of  the  day,  we  betook 
ourselves  to  the  ford,  and  by  the  help  of 
ropes  and  sticks  our  whole  party  landed 
safily  on  the  valley's  side.  Another  half- 
hour  brpught  us  into  the  warm  glow  of  the 
monks'  refectory  fire,  where,  while  supper 
was  prepared,  the  worthy  Brothers  listened 
to  a  tale  at  least  as  marvellous  as  any  legend 
in  their  ecclesiastical  repertory. 


Fn  Memory. 


The   Rkv.  John   Bapst,  S.J. 


BY    ANGELIQUE   DE   LANDB. 


jlTHEy  told  me  he  was  dead,  that  man  of  men, 
^    Whose  reverend  form  and  face 
Were  graven  on  my  heart  by  memory's  pen, 
The  years  could  not  efface. 

And  I— I  could  not  grieve:  my  tears  were  blent 

With  recollections  sweet, 
While  I  recalled  the  happy  moments  spent 

A  learner  at  his  feet. 

Reared  in  a  cold,  half-hearted,  joyless  creed, 

My  soul  unsatisfied. 
I  came  to  him,  and  told  him  all  my  need,  . 

And  would  not  be  denied. 

Doubt  and  despair  crouched  powerless  at  his 
feet, 
And  dormant  faith  awoke, 
And  hope  and  love  drew  near,  with  footsteps 
fleet, 
At  the  first  words  he  spoke, — 


The  Ave  Maria, 


639 


Sublimely  simple,  like  his  Master's  own, 
Yet  with  rare  wisdom  fraught. 

Who  could  resist  the  magic  of  his  tone, 
Or  spurn  the  faith  he  taught? 

Wi  en  every  other  door  was  closed  in  wrath, 
When  Friendship's  self  grew  cold, 

He  led  me  up  the  rugged  mountain  path 
Into  the  sheltered  fold. 

The  pastor's  love  of  souls,  the  martyr's  zeal, 
The  father's  counsels  kind, 

The  impartial  judge,  from  whom  was  no  ap- 
peal- 
All  were  in  him  combined. 

Oh!  I  have  seen  a  halo  round  his  face 

Like  that  the  saints  do  wear, 
And  in  my  soul  have  felt  an  added  grace 

At  his  prevailing  pra>  er. 

Even  now  I  see  his  form  and  features  mild 

Framed  in  the  college  door, 
His  smiling  welcome,  "Here'smylittlechild," 

I  seem  to  hear  once  more. 

' '  Great  priest  of  God !  confessor  of  the  faith ! ' ' 

Thy  night  is  overpast! 
We  may  not  grieve,  for  thou  hast  conquered 
death. 

And  entered  heaven  at  last. 

But  fir  thy  little  ones  still  left  below, 

These  children  of  thy  care 
Who  walk  life's  ways  with  weary  step  and 
slow. 

Oh!  lift  thy  hands  in  prayer. 

For  thy  great  heart  that  beat  so  warmly  here. 

More  warmly  beats  above. 
And  holds  communion  with  thy  children  dear 

In  an  undying  love. 


Our  Aid  In  Every  Need. 

A  FERVENT  client  of  Our  Lady  of  Per- 
petual Help  has  sent  us  the  following 
simple  narrative,  hoping  that  its  publica- 
tion may  have  the  effect  of  quickening  and 
spreading  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
under  this  sweet  title.  No  doubt  a  shrinking 
from  publicity  deters  many  from  relating 
similar  experiences  of  the  powerful  patron- 


age of  Her  who  is  so  justly  called  the  Help 
of  Christians: 

Some  years  ago  there  resided  in  one  of 
our  Western  cities  a  young  married  man 
with  fair  prospects  in  life,  erjoying  good 
health,  and  possessed  of  a  virtuous  wife  and 
several  dutiful  children.  He  was  an  artisan 
of  more  than  ordinary  skill,  and  stood  high 
in  the  estimation  of  his  employers.  A  fairly 
good  Christian,  he  attended  church  regu- 
larly, but  there  were  no  special  devotions 
practised  in  the  familv;  and  the  sublime 
maxim,  '*Seek  ye  therefore  first  the  king- 
dom of  God  and  His  justice,"  was  forgotten 
at  times  in  the  struggle  for  greater  success 
in  life. 

Suddenly,  like  a  dark  cloud,  adversity 
came  upon  the  happy  household,  and  so 
great  was  the  humiliation  of  being  in  re- 
duced circumstances,  that  the  husband  left 
home  to  seek  employment  where  he  was 
not  known.  But  his  search  was  fruitless, 
and  after  some  time,  having  gradually  ex- 
pended the  savings  of  other  da>s  in  trav- 
elling from  place  to  place,  he  became  a 
veritable  tramp.  Night  and  day  he  was 
constantly  the  prey  of  the  harrowing  re- 
flection, "This  greater  affliction  has  come 
upon  me  through  my  own  fault." 

More  than  a  year  had  gone  by,  and  the 
prospects  of  his  being  again  happily  united 
to  his  family  were  faint  indeed.  In  this  sad 
condition  he  was  seized  with  an  inspiration 
to  pray  for  help  to  the  Mother  of  Grace. 
Remembering  the  words  of  St.  Bernard, 
that  none  ever  had  recourse  to  Her  in  vain, 
he  began  the  recitation  of  the  Litany  of 
Loreto,  praying  that  he  might  be  united  to 
his  family,  and  promising  henceforth  to  be 
a  faithful  member  of  the  Church. 

The  influence  of  the  Blessed  Mother 
with  Her  divine  Son  is  equalled  only  by 
Her  desire  to  help  those  who  pray  to  Her. 
Soon  the  petitioner  obtained  a  most  de- 
sirable situation — one  that  enabled  him 
shortly  afterward  to  send  for  his  family; 
and  in  a  few  years  he  not  only  regained 
what  he  had  lost,  but  added  to  it  a  hun- 
dredfold, so  that  to-day  he  is  a  prosperous 
man,  the  owner  of  a  fine  homestead.  He 


640 


The  Ave  Maria. 


has  been  blessed  also  in  his  children,  who, 
though  grown  to  maturity,  still  keep  up 
the  salutary  custom  in  which  they  were 
trained,  of  daily  asking  the  divine  bless- 
ing through  the  iutercessioa  of  the  Virgin 

Mother. 

«  ♦  > 

A  Singular  Grace. 

THE  following  account  of  an  extraordi- 
nary conversion  is  furnished  by  a  piiest, 
who  can  vouch  for  its  truth,  he  being  a 
grandson  of  the  lady  so  singularly  favored: 

Oae  day,  early  in  the  present  century,  a 
Protestant  lady  not  long  resident  in  Mont- 
real was  in  an  upper  room  of  her  house,  in 
company  with  her  maid  servant,  who  was 
engaged  in  some  domestic  labor.  While 
they  were  thus  occupied  the  faint,  sweet 
tinkle  of  a  bell  was  heaid  in  the  street  be- 
low, and  Mrs.  M ,  going  towards  the 

window  to  look  out,  saw  a  priest  in  soutane 
and  surplice,  preceded  by  two  boys — one 
bearing  a  lighted  candle,  the  other  ringing 
a  little  bell.  The  cortege  was  followed  by 
a  few  very  devout  looking  persons. 

The  lady  turned  to  ask  her  maid  the 
meaning  of  what  she  saw,  but  the  latter 
had  fallen  on  her  knees,  her  head  bowed  in 
prayer.  Turning  once  more  to  the  window, 

Mrs.  M found  that  she  could  not  see 

distinctly.  Everything  was  enveloped  in  a 
haze,  which  soon  became  total  darkness. 
On  rising  from  her  knees,  the  maid  ex- 
plained that  she  had  knelt  to  do  homage  to 
Oar  I/ord,  who,  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
was  being  carried  to  some  sick  person  in 
the  neighborhood. 

Debarred  from  her  usual  pursuits  by  the 
fearful  calamity  which  had  so  suddenly  be 

fiallen  her,  Mrs.  M pondered  much  over 

the  occurrences  of  that  morning,  and  we 
may  be  sure  often  spoke  on  the  subject  to 
her  pious  Irish  maid.  Before  long  the  light 
of  faith  penetrated  her  soul,  and  she  asked 
admission  to  the  Catholic  Church.  Shortly 
after  her  baptism  her  sight  was  restored  to 
her,  and  she  lived  to  bring  up  her  family 
in  that  religion  to  which  she  was  ever  after 
a  devoted  adherent. 


Catholic  Notes. 


In  closing  another  volume  of  our  little  mag- 
azine, we  take  occasion  to  present  our  cordial 
thanks  to  all  who  have  in  any  way  promoted 
its  circulation,  or  contributed  to  its  success. 
The  Blessed  Virgin  will  know  how  to  reward 
them,  and  in  Her  sweet  name  we  venture  to 
ask  a  continuance  of  the  patronage  so  gener- 
ously bestowed.  We  promise  to  do  all  in  our 
power  to  deserve  it,  and  to  render  The  ' '  Avs 
Maria  ' '  more  worthy  of  its  grand  object.  The 
prospects  for  the  New  Year  are  very  bright. 
May  it  be  a  prosperous  and  peaceful  one,  rich 
in  merits  and  blessings  to  all.  Not  in  the  lan- 
guage of  mere  compliment,  but  in  the  spirit 
of  faith,  we  wish  our  readers  and  friends 
A  HAPpy  New  Year! 


The  Rt.  Rev.  Mgr.  Navarre,  of  the  Congre- 
gation of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Vicar- Apostolic  of 
Melanesia,  and  Administrator  of  Micronesia, 
who  was  lately  elevated  to  the  episcopal  dig- 
nity, was  the  first  missionary  to  penetrate 
into  the  wilds  of  New  Guinea.  The  principal 
port  of  this  distant  land  is  called  Port  Leo,  in 
honor  of  the  Holy  Father,  who  established  the 
Vicariate  in  1884.  A  large  river  not  marked 
on  the  maps,  which  was  discovered  by  Mgr. 
Navarre,  is  named  after  St.  Joseph.  Some  of 
the  islands  comprised  in  the  Vicariate  of 
Melanesia  were  evangelized  many  years  ago 
by  the  Marist  Fathers  and  priests  of  the  Con- 
gregation of  the  Milan  Seminary,  most  of 
whom  fell  victims  to  their  zeal. 


The  bishops  appointed  to  solicit  subscrip- 
tions for  the  new  American  Catholic  Univer- 
sity have  addressed  a  circular  to  the  clergy  of 
the  United  States,  calling  upon  them  for  aid 
in  this  meritorious  work.  The  prelates  state 
that  they  intend  to  visit,  during  the  months 
of  January  and  February,  a  few  of  the  larger 
cities;  more  than  this  their  pressing  home 
occupations  will  not  allow  them  to  do.  They, 
therefore,  rely  upon  the  reverend  clergy,  and 
ask  them  to  petition,  in  their  several  districts, 
subscriptions  to  the  fund.  'The  design  is  not 
to  take  the  pennies  of  the  poor,  whose  means 
are  sufl5ciently  drawn  upon  for  local  charities; 
it  is  rather  to  appeal  personally  to  men  who 
may  be  accounted  comparatively  wealthy, 
many  of  whom,  no  doubt,  will  be  glad  to  find 


7  lie  A  ve  Maria. 


641 


the  opportunity  to  take  part  ia  this  great  work 
of  religion."  Furthermoie.they  ask, in  a  spe- 
cial manner,  contributions  from  priests  them- 
selves. ' '  Who  so  much  as  they  understand 
the  benefits  to  follow  from  the  Department  of 
Divinity  in  the  University,  to  the  chairs  of 
which  will  be  called  the  ablest  professors  in 
America  and  Europe?  And  who  are  to  be 
accounted  so  willing  as  they  to  make  sacrifices 
in  aid  of  religion  ? ' '  The  sums  contributed 
may  be  sent  to  any  one  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  com- 
mittee— Bishops  Ireland,  Keane,  and  Spald- 
ing. A  receipt  will  be  forwarded  immediately. 
After  the  next  meeting  of  the  directors  a  more 
formal  receipt,  or  diploma,  will  be  sent,  signed 
by  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons,  President 
of  the  Board,  and  the  Rt.  Rev.  J.  J.  Keane, 
rector  of  the  University.  Names  of  all  contrib- 
utors, furthermore,  will  be  duly  inscribed  in 
the  book  of  subscriptions,  which  has  already 
been  opened,  and  which  will  be  preserved  for 
all  future  time  in  the  archives  of  the  Univer- 
sity as  a  memorial  of  the  piety  and  generosity 
of  Catholics  in  our  own  times. 


Here  is  a  little  romance— in  real  life.  Forty- 
four  years  ago  the  pagan  Druses  were  besieg- 
ing a  little  Catholic  Maronite  town  in  Syria, 
and  threatening  the  inhabitants  with  exter- 
mination. Despair  was  almost  driving  the  hard- 
pressed  Maronites  to  abandon  their  defence, 
when  a  Christian  woman  appeared  on  the 
ramparts,  and,  holding  aloft  her  little  grand- 
child of  two  years  old,  cried  aloud:  "As  long 
AS  there  is  one  baptized  within  the  walls,  we 
will  never  surrender!"  Strange  to  say,  the 
sight  and  words  of  the  woman  produced  such 
an  effect  on  the  superstitious  Arab  mind,  that 
the  savage  besiegers  quietly  withdrew,  and 
the  little  town  was  saved.  Two  years  ago  Leo 
XIII.  erected  a  new  see  in  Syria,  that  of 
Paneas,  anciently  Caesarea  Philippi.  The  act- 
ual Bishop  of  the  new  see,  Mgr.  Jeraigiry,  is 
the  very  child  who  was  so  marvellously  the 
cause  of  the  saving  of  the  Maronite  town. 
He  had  been  educated  for  the  priesthood  in 
France. — Catholic  Standard. 


There  is  an  association  of  women  at  Paris 
who  are  engaged  in  a  work  that  deserves  to 
"be  widely  known  throughout  the  Christian 
world.  The  society  is  called  the  CEuvre  des 
Partants,  and  the  members  furnish  the  outfit 
and  pay  the  travelling  expenses  of  the  young 


missionaries  going  from  the  Missions  Etran- 
geres  every  year.  It  costs,on  an  average,  2,000 
francs  to  provide  a  missionary  with  outfit  and 
travelling  chapel,  and  land  him  on  the  scene 
of  his  apostolic  labors.  I,ast  year  twenty-five 
were  sent  off  at  the  expense  of  this  admirable 
society.  The  annual  report  of  the  work  re- 
cently published  is  full  of  the  most  touching 
proofs  of  that  faith  and  piety  which  still  entitle 
France  to  claim  the  proud  and  blessed  title  of 
Eldest  Daughter  of  the  Church.  The  Director 
of  the  Missions  Etrangeres  constantly  re- 
ceives anonymous  gifts  from  poor  servant- 
girls,  begging  to  be  remembered  in  the  prayers 
of  the  missionaries.  One  letter,  written  in  won- 
derful spelling,  accompanied  a  pair  of  socks. 
The  writer  said:  "I  implore  the  missionary 
who  will  receive  these  socks  to  remember  a 
poor  servant-girl  who  knitted  them  with  great 
joy,  thinking  they  would  cover  the  feet  of  an 
apostle  of  the  Gospel. ' '  Another  poor  woman 
presents  anonymously  her  little  store  of  silver 
spoons  and  forks  to  be  melted  down  for  a 
chalice,  and  begs  that  a  prayer  will  be  said 
for  her  only  son,  who ' '  is  wandering  away  very 
far  from  God." 

The  death  of  the  Rev.  John  J.  Riordan,  for 
several  years  pastor  of  the  mission  at  Castle 
Garden,  New  York  city,  is  widely  mourned. 
He  passed  away  on  the  morning  of  December 
15th,  after  receiving  the  last  Sacraments  at 
the  hands  of  Archbishop  Corrigan.  Father 
Riordan' s  work  is  so  well  known  to  our  read- 
ers that  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  do 
more  than  briefly  allude  to  it.  While  serving 
as  assistant  pastor  at  St  Peter's,  New  York, 
his  duties  frequently  brought  him  into  contact 
with  the  immigrants  from  Europe,  who  ar- 
rived almost  daily  in  large  numbers  at  Castle 
Garden.  To  the  spiritual  welfare  of  these  often 
friendless  and  homeless  people  he  resolved 
to  devote  his  life.  Having  obtained  Cardinal 
McCloskey's  sanction,  he  left  St.  Peter's,  and 
began  to  establish  at  Castle  Garden  a  Catholic 
Bureau,  where  advice  and  protection  could  be 
accorded  to  those  immigrants  who  stood  in 
need  of  them,  irrespective  of  creed  or  national- 
ity. The  mission,  which  was  known  as  that  of 
Our  I^ady  of  the  Rosary,  was  last  year  erected 
into  a  church,  a  new  parish  being  created,  and 
Father  Riordan  placed  in  charge.  Besides  his 
work  at  Castle  Garden,  Father  Riordan  also 
interested  himself  in  the  colonization  of  Cath- 


642 


The  Ave  Marta, 


olics  in  the  West,  and  helped  to  establish  in 
comfortable  homes  thousands  of  able-bodied 
and  industrious  Catholic  citizens.  Truly  his 
memorial  will  abide  for  many  generations. 
May  he  rest  in  peace! 


A  month  ago  a  new  church  was  consecrated 
at  Svendborg,  on  the  Island  of  Fiinen,  in  Den- 
mark. Mgr.  von  Euch,  Prefect-Apostolic,  as- 
sisted by  five  priests,  performed  the  ceremony. 
So  tiny  is  the  Catholic  body  in  Denmark — 
barely  4,000  in  number — that  the  event  was 
one  of  great  importance.  The  altar-piece  is  a 
fine  copy  of  the  Sistine  Madonna,  of  the  same 
size  as  the  original  in  Dresden — the  gift  of 
Count  Moltke-Hoidtfeldt,  the  Danish  Minis- 
ter in  Paris,  who  was  converted  to  the  Catholic 
Church  during  the  past  year.  This  remarka- 
ble conversion,  and  many  other  cheering 
signs,  seem  already  to  promise  a  "second 
spring ' '  for  the  Church  in  this  once  intensely 
Catholic  land.  It  was  only  three  and  a  half 
centuries  ago,  in  1536,  that  all  the  Danish 
bishops  were  cast  into  prison  on  one  and  the 
same  day, and  the  Church  suppressed  through- 
out the  lard.  The  penal  laws  against  the 
Church  were  not  repealed  till  1849.  At  the 
present  day  the  growth  of  religious  toleration 
is  quite  astonishing.  The  Danish  press,  on  the 
whole,  is  extremely  fair,  and  often  sympa- 
thetic. At  the  consecration  above  alluded  to, 
the  majority  of  the  town  council  were  pres- 
ent, and  the  admirable  discourse  of  Mgr. 
Euch,  who  dedicated  the  new  church  to  the 
national  saints— St.  Canute,  the  King,  and  his 
son.  Blessed  Charles  the  Good,— produced  an 
excellent  va^'^x^ssxovi..— London  Tablet. 


The  death,  on  the  17th  of  November,  of  the 
venerable  Mgr.  Andre  Raess,  Bishop  of  Stras- 
burg,  marked  the  close  of  a  life  memorable 
in  the  history  of  the  Church  by  reason  cf  its 
length  of  days  and  great  merits.  The  deceased 
prelate  was  in  the  ninety -fourth  year  of  his 
age,  and  the  forty-seventh  of  his  episcopate. 
The  period  of  his  lifetime  was  characterized 
by  great  political  and  religious  movements, 
which  called  into  active  and  fruitful  exercise 
the  many  noble  powers  of  mind  and  heart 
with  which  he  was  gifted.  He  saw  the  light 
at  the  very  crisis  of  the  great  French  Revolu- 
tion, when  the  profession  of  Christianity  was 
as  great  a  crime  in  the  eye  of  the  State  as  it  was 
in  the  time  of  Diocletian.  He  was  baptized  in 


secret  by  a  priest  who  had  found  shelter  with 
his  father  as  a  farm  hand.  His  seminary  life, 
passed  under  the  direction  of  the  Venerable 
M.  lyiebermann,  gave  indications  of  the  zeal 
and  devotion  which  marked  his  character,  and 
which  were  to  prove  such  efficient  factors  in 
the  fulfilment  of  the  great  and  arduous  duties 
of  the  offices  that  awaited  him.  It  happened, 
during  the  time  of  his  preparation  for  the 
priesthood,  that  an  epidemic  broke  out  in  the 
garrison  of  French  soldiers  in  his  city.  The 
youthful  levite  at  once  ventured, with  several 
of  his  brave  companions,  to  nurse  the  sick 
and  dying.  He  almost  fell  a  victim  to  his 
devotedness,  being  himself  attacked  by  the 
plague,  and  for  weeks  he  lingered  between  life 
and  death.  After  his  ordination,  in  1827.  he 
became  professor  in  the  seminary,  and  after- 
wards its  director.  In  the  fulfilment  tf  the 
duties  of  his  office  he  gave  frequent  proofs  of 
his  high  literary  and  polemic  abilities,  and  met 
with  marked  success  in  the  training  of  youth- 
ful minds,  and  in  defending  the  grand  truths 
of  the  Christian  religion.  In  1840  he  was  con- 
secrated coadjutor  Bishop  of  Strasburg,  to 
which  see  he  succeeded  two  years  later,  and 
continued  to  direct  it  until  he  was  relieved  of 
his  charge  in  his  ninetieth  year.  The  last  few 
years  of  his  life  were  passed  in  much  suf- 
fering, but  it  was  borne  with  characteri.stic 
patience  and  fortitude;  and  when  the  angel 
of  death  came  to  summon  him  before  his  Lord, 
he  was  prepared  and  ready  to  obey  the  call. 
R.  I.  P.  

This  being  the  season  of  gift-making,  we 
suggest  that  a  subscription  to  some  Catholic 
periodical  would  be  an  appropriate  present 
for  relatives  and  friends,  absent  or  near.  Be- 
sides the  good  it  would  be  likely  to  eflfcct.  it 
would  be  a  reminder  throughout  the  entire 
year  of  the  thoughtful  kindness  of  the  sender. 
There  are  not  a  few  persons  who  order  The 
"Ave  Maria."  to  be  sent  as  a  New-Year  gift 
to  friends  and  relatives  in  different  parts  of 
the  United  States;  and  the  number  of  foreign 
subscriptions  which  are  paid  in  this  country 
shows  that  a  subscription  to  a  Catholic  peri- 
odical has  been  found  an  acceptable  gift. 


The  index,  with  title-page,  of  our  conclud- 
ing volume  will  be  ready  next  week.  It  will  be 
sent  free  as  heretofore,  but  only  to  those  who 
order  it. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


645 


Obituary. 


"  //  %M  m  k»ly  mnd  tukolesom*  thought  to  pray  for  the  dead." 

—  3  Mach.,  xii.,  46. 

The  following  persons,  lately  deceased,  are  com 
mended  to  the  charitable  prayers  of  our  readers: 

The  Rev.  Dr.  HalUnan,  an  able  and  worthy 
priest  of  the  Diocese  of  Little  Rock,who  breathed 
his  last  on  the  12th  inst. 

Sisters  Mary  of  St.  Gaudentia  and  Mary  Jane 
of  the  Angers,  of  the  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross,  who 
lately  passed  to  their  reward. 

Sister  Helena  (Flynn),  Visitandine,  who  yielded 
her  pure  soul  to  God  on  the  17th  inst.,  at  W. 
Washington,  D.  C. 

Sister  Mary  Clare,  of  the  Convent  of  Poor 
Clares,  Newry ,  Ireland,  whose  precious  death  took 
place  a  few  months  ago. 

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Vincent,  who  departed  this 
life  on  the  2d  inst. ,  at  the  Convent  of  Notre  Dame, 
Worcester,  Mass. 

Mrs.  M.  M.  Phelan,  whose  fervent  Christian  life 
was  crowned  with  a  saintlike  death,  at  St.  Mary's 
Academy,  Notre  Dame,  Ind.,on  the  loth  inst. 

C.  Sherman  Kendall,  of  Bayou  City,  La., whose 
happy  death  occurred  on  the  ist  ult.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  great  promise,  and  his  early  death 
is  deeply  mourned. 

Mrs.  Maud  H.  Harris,  who  died  suddenly  on  the 
13th  inst.,  at  Williamsburgh,  Iowa. 

Miss  Rose  Dissette,  of  Buflfalo,  N.Y., whose  ex- 
emplary Christian  life  closed  with  a  happy  death 
on  the  3d  inst. 

Mr.  Denis  Shea,  who  met  with  a  sudden  death  in 
Boston  on  the  7th  ult.  He  was  a  man  of  blameless 
life,  and  is  mourned  by  a  large  circle  of  friends. 

Miss  Jane  F.  Brothers,  a  young  1  idy  of  rare 
talent  and  virtue,  who  passed  away  in  New  Haven, 
Conn.,  on  the  Feast  of  the  Presentation. 

Mr.  Thomas  S.  Kelly,  an  old  friend  of  The 
"Ave  Maria."  in  Mobile,  Ala.,  where  he  was 
highly  respected.  His  death  was  the  fitting  close 
of  a  well-spent  life. 

Miss  Stephanie  Langellier,  a  devout  cl'ent  of 
Our  Lady,who  was  called  to  a  better  world  on  the 
26th  ult.,  at  Versailles,  Conn. 

Fiancis  Kirk,  of  Glasgow,  Scotland;  Mrs  Daniel 
Haveland,  Carroll,  Iowa;  Edward  Curamings, 
Philadelphia, Pa. ;  Miss  Sarah  Hennessv, Oswego, 
N.  Y. ;  James  Ryan,  Newbury  port,  Mass.;  M^rk 
J.  McGrath,  Chicago,  111.;  Mr.  M^rtin  Cleary, 
Philadelphia.  Pa. ;  Mr.  John  P.  Hammell,  of  the 
same  city;  Timothy  Ryan,  Biltimore,  Md.;  Mrs. 
Sarah  Herbert,  Michael  and  Edward  Mc.\lester, 
Washington,  D.  C. ;  Patrick  Burns,  Brooklyn, 
N.  Y. ;  and  Mary  Loftus,  North  Adams,  Mass. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


PARTMENl 


The  Hair-Bracelet. 


A    NEW-YEAR    STORY, 


I. 

It  was  the  brightest,  sunniest  of  New- 
Year  days.  Mrs.  Hofer  sat  at  her  parlor 
window  admiriog  the  aspect  of  nature,  and 
moralizing  on  the  opening  year.  Suddenly 
a  gentle  tap  at  the  door  roused  her  from  her 
serious  but  pleasing  cogitations. 

''Excuse  me  for  disturbing  you, madam,'* 
said  a  trembling  and  tearful  voice;  "  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  that  I  must  leave  Blooms- 
bury  with  as  little  delay  as  possible."  And 
Gretcben,  the  lady's  favorite  and  confi- 
dential maid,  sobbed  aloud,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

' '  L<eave  Bloomsbury !  What  on  earth  has 
happened?  Has  anything  occurred  to  pain 
you?"  inquired  Mrs.  Hofer,  motioning  the 
gill  to  a  seat  beside  her. 

"My  dear  mistress,"  said  Gretchen,  try- 
ing to  suppress  her  tears,  "several  times 
during  the  ye^r  I  have  noticed  that  when- 
ever any  articles — ribbons,  lace,  or  jew- 
elry— were  missing  from  your  daughteis* 
dressing-room.  Miss  Wilhelmina  seemed  to 
think  that  I  knew  more  about  them  than 
I  ought — and  even — even — " 

"Pure  imagination!"  cried  Mrs.  Hofer, 
interrupting  the  girl.  "You  know,  dear, 
you  are  naturally  sensitive;  and  as  your 
position  with  me  is  somewhat  inferior  to 
the  one  you  would  hold  had  your  worthy 
parents  lived,  it  makes  you  suspect  the 
girls  of  ideas  they  could  never  entertain. 
May  it  not  be  so?" 

Gre'chen  shook  her  head.  "When  I  tell 
you,  madam,  that  Miss  Wilhelmina  accuses 
me  of  taking  her  costly  hair- bracelet,  and 
orders  me  not  to  enter  her  room  again,  you 
will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  not  mere  sen- 
sitiveness on  my  part. ' ' 


644 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Did  Wilhelmina  presume  to  be  so  un- 
■charitable  as  that?  Please  tell  Barbara  to 
■send  the  girls  to  me  at  once.  Now  dry  your 
tears,  child,  and  go  and  pray  to  Oar  Lady 
of  Good  Counsel  for  yourself  and  for  me. ' ' 

As  Gretchen  withdrew,  Mrs.  Hofer  solilo- 
quized: "The  idea!  To  think  that  a  child 
of  mine  should  be  so  heartless — ah!  here 
you  are!"  as  the  two  girls,  rather  shyly, 
peeped  into  the  room,  as  though  a  little 
doubtful  concerning  the  reason  for  this  un- 
usual summons.  "Come  in,  children,  and 
let  me  know  immediately  what  has  hap- 
pened that  my  good  and  faithful  Gretchen 
is  not  only  in  tear?,  but  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  leave  the  house." 

* '  Why,  mother,  she  has  stolen  my  lovely 
liair-bracelet,  and—" 

''Stolen!  stolen!''''  echoed  Mrs.  Hofer, 
with  emphatic  astonishment;  "is  it  possi- 
ble, Wilhelmina,  that  I  hear  aright?  It  was 
not  at  the  convent  you  learned  to  speak 
thus  of  your  neighbor.  Besides,  Gretchen's 
character  places  her  above  suspicion;  she 
has  lived  with  us  from  childhood,  and  is 
scrupulously  honest.  Why  do  you  dare 
«ven  to  think  such  a  thing?" 

"Well,  mamma,"  replied  Wilhelmina, 
"when  I  returned  from  Laura  Brunei's 
-soirke  last  night,  I  laid  the  bracelet  care- 
fully on  the  toilet- table,  and  when  I  went 
to  put  away  my  things  this  morning  it  was 
missing." 

"Did  you  search  carefully  in  the  draw- 
ers, on  the  carpet — " 

"Yes,  everywhere,  mamma;  and  Gertie 
looked  with  me." 

' '  There  is  a  mystery  about  it, '  *  said  Ger- 
trude; "but  I  am  sure  our  little  Gretchen 
knows  nothing  about  the  trinket.  What 
could  she  want  with  a  hair- bracelet,  Wilhel- 
mina?" 

' '  The  large  diamond  in  the  clasp  is  sur- 
rounded by  precious  pearls;  it  could  be  dis- 
posed of  for  a  large  sum — " 

'  *  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  these  unworthy 
suspicions,"  said  Mrs.  Hofer.  "My  aston- 
ishment at  this  grave  accusation  is  equalled 
only  by  your  boldness  in  forbidding  her  to 
enter  your  room  before  consulting  me." 


"Did  you  not  allow  us  to  have  Gretchen 
for  our  waiting-maid  ?  "  inquired  the  proud 
Wilhelmina,  little  abashed  by  her  mother's 
firm  and  serious  tone. 

' '  On  ihe  whole  I  admit  that  I  am  the  one 
to  blame,"  said  the  good  lady,  "for  allow- 
ing matters  to  come  to  this  pass.  Gretchen 
Forster  is  not  wholly  dependent  on  wages. 
She  came  to  live  with  us  at  the  dying  re- 
quest of  her  widowed  mother,  and  has 
acted  with  grateful  affection  and  devotion 
in  aiding  me  to  bring  up  my  children,  so 
that  I  have  been  blind  to  her  gradual  de- 
scent into  a  position  which  she  does  not 
deserve,  and  which  neither  I  nor  your  father 
ever  intended  she  should  occupy." 

"Well,  mamma,  why  did  Gretchen  blush 
so  when  I  accused  her?" 

"Because  she  is  innocent, and  was  alto- 
gether shocked.  In  future  you  will  be  your 
own  waiting  maids.  If  Gretchen  insists 
upon  leaving  Us  (and  I  can  noi  blame  her  if 
she  does),  she  shall  be  placed  in  the  posi- 
tion which  her  intelligence  and  refinement 
render  her  capable  of  adorning." 

Mrs.  Hofer  motioned  her  daughters  to 
withdraw.  Wilhelmina  stepped  defiantly 
out  of  the  room,  while  Gertrude  went  to 
console  their  life- long  friend,  Gretchen. 

XL 

Two  weeks  later  Mrs.  Hofer' s  mother 
visited  Bloomsbury,  and,  after  exchanging 
the  customary  salutations  with  her  daugh- 
ter, she  expressed  great  surprise  at  having 
just  seen  Gretchen  at  the  Convent  of  Notre 
Dame.  "There  she  was,"  she  observed, 
"seated  at  an  embroidery  frame,  bringing 
out  a  gorgeous  pattern  on  a  rich  damask 
chasuble.  When  I  spoke  to  her  she  seemed 
somewhat  embarrassed,  and  while  I  was 
selecting  altar- linen  for  the  chapel  on  the 
railroad,  she  took  the  opportuni  ly  to  leave 
the  hall,  as  if  wishing  to  avoid  an  inter- 
view." 

"Gretchen  is  a  pupil  there,"  explained 
Mrs.  Hofer.  "Slie  always  wanted  to  learn 
fancy  needlework,  but  something  generally 
broke  off  our  plans.  You  know,  mother,  how 
devoted  she  has  been  to  me  ever  since  the 
girls  went  to  the  Academy."  And  the  lady 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^45 


related  the  unpleasant  episode  that  had 
recently  led  to  their  separation.  "Gretchen 
has  a  little  sum  of  her  own,  which  has  been 
accumulating  interest;  and  Colonel  Hofer 
thought  it  but  right  to  put  |2,ooo  more  for 
her  in  trust,  considering  the  valuable  assist- 
ance she  had  rendered  us.  My  daughters 
were  getting  to  look  upon  her  generous 
care  a3  their  due,  and  Gretchen  was  too  ami- 
able to  allude  to  Wilhelmina's  imperious 
manner.  The  latter  is  losing  the  good  dis- 
positions she  brought  from  the  convent,  I 
am  sorry  to  say." 

The  girls  now  entered  the  drawing-room, 
and  affectionately  saluted  their  kind  and 
indulgent  grandmother,  who  inquired  very 
particularly  after  their  health  and  their 
occupations  and  amusements. 

"I  have  received  a  parcel  of  new  and  in- 
teresting books,"  said  Mrs.  Laner;  V'andif 
you  will  ride  over  to  Willowbank  with  me, 
you  may  take  your  choice  of  them." 

*' Thanks,  dear  grandma— a  thousand 
thanks!"  exclaimed  Gertrude;  "perhaps 
I  may  find  some  that  will  interest  my  poor 
invalids."  And  she  ran  up-stairs  for  hef 
hat  and  shawl. 

Wilhelmina  remarked:  *'I  have  some 
music  to  practise,  so  I  will  not  go;  but 
thank  you,  grandma."  And  she  took  the 
old  lady's  hand  caressingly. 

"Very  well,"  responded  Mrs.  Laner. 
"But  now,  dear,  your  mamma  has  been  tell- 
ing me  about  the  loss  of  your  hair- bracelet, 
and  I  think  you  have  been  hasty  in  the 
opinion  you  formed  of  the  tnatter.  I  read 
recently  that  in  Pittsburg  a  score  of  over- 
coats were  missed  from  the  corridor  of  a 
boarding-house;  and  a  servant  was  sus- 
pected, and  was  just  about  to  be  arrested 
when  a  gentleman  noticed  a  large  New- 
foundland dog  walking  away  with  a  hat, 
which  he  held  by  the  rim.  Softly  following 
the  sly  creature,  he  traced  him  to  a  hole  in 
the  floor  of  the  stable,  where  he  found  all 
the  stray  overcoats  piled  up  for  a  soft  bed." 

"Really,  that  is  quite  enlightening!" 
rejoined  Wilhelmina,  sarcastically. 

"When  I  was  at  school  atTorresdale," 
said  Mrs.  Hofer,  "I  remember  that  the 


laundress  told  me  that  she  had  missed  sev- 
eral very  fine  pieces  of  cambric,  and  was 
tempted  to  suspect  the  daughter  of  a  woman 
who  often  came  to  help  them  with  the 
washing  and  ironing.  To  her  great  surprise 
she  saw  one  day  an  old  cat-bird — that  had 
built  her  nest  year  after  year  in  an  immense 
linden-tree  overshadowing  the  grassplot 
used  by  the  laundresses — fly  down  and  catch 
up  an  embroidered  collar  that  was  laid  out 
to  bleach,  and  carry  it  away  in  triumph. 
Then  a  workman  climbed  the  tree,  and 
found  the  new-made  nest,  along  with  two  or 
three  old  ones,  well  lined  with  the  costly 
fabric." 

"We  should  be  very  careful  to  guard 
against  forming  rash  or  unfavorable  judg- 
ments," observed  Mrs.  Laner. 

Just  then  Gertrude  entered,  saying, 
"Grandma,  I  see  the  postman  coming;  will 
you  please  wait  a  moment  for  the  mail?" 

"Certainly,  dear;  but  why  so  anxious, 
may  I  ask?" 

"I  am  expecting  an  invitation  to  the 
retreat  at  the  convent,  and  I  wish  to  know 
when  it  begins." 

"And  Wilhelmina?"  inquired  Mrs. 
leaner,  sweetly. 

"Oh!"  said  that  young  lady,  "I  had 
enough  of  those  ascetical  practices  at  school 
to  do  me  for  a  lifetime!" 

The  servant  entered  with  letters,  papers, 
and  magazines,  a  bundle  of  which  fell  to 
Wilhelmina' s  share;  she  pettishly  laid 
aside  a  tiny  box  with  her  address,  and  tore 
open  an  envelope, saying,  "Ah!  this  is  from 
Laura  Bruner.  It  must  be  an  invitation  to 
her  mother's  garden  party."  And  in  her 
glee  she  read  aloud : 

"My  dear  Miss  Hofer:— You  must  hare  been 
very  anxious  about  the  lovely  bracelet  you 
dropped  here  the  other  evening.  It  would  hare 
been  forwarded  to  you  long  ago,  but,  seeing  the 
monogram  'W.  H.'  on  the  inside  of  the  clasp,  we 
sent  it  to  Winnie  Harper,  who  tells  us  that  she 
saw  you  remove  it  before  plajdng  that  waltz  of 
Mendelssohn's.  As  she  lives  so  far  away,  it  has 
taken  time  to  get  it  back  and  send  it  to  yon. 
Hoping  you  are  well,  and  with  kindest  regards  to 
your  parents  and  sister, 

"Ever  yoiu», 

♦•I^axtraBruiow." 


646 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'"  Wilhelmina  dropped  the  note  in  her  lap, 
conscious  by  the  silence  of  the  three  ladies 
that  she  was  a  subject  of  triumph  to  them. 
It  had  taken  her  several  minutes  to  read  it, 
so  great  was  her  embarrassment.  At  last 
she  said:  *'I  remember  the  whole  occur- 
rence now!" 

'■'Nowf'^  exclaimed  her  mother.  "Alas 
that  it  is  so  late,  my  child!" 

"Reparation  must  be  made  at  once," 
interposed  Mrs.  Laner;  "and, since  my  car- 
riage is  at  the  door,  we  will  go.  to  the  con 
vent,  and  do  all  we  can  to  remove  the  im- 
pression of  this  unfortunate  accusation." 

Mrs  Hofer  gladly  consented,  and  they 
were  soon  drivingf  out  of  the  grounds,  to 
explain  to  Miss  Forster  how  and  when  the 
missing  jewel  had  come  to  light,  and  to 
express  their  great  distress  that  she  had 
suffered  so  unjistly. 

III. 

Several  years  elapsed,  and  brought  many 
changes  in  the  Hofer  household.  The  two 
daughters  of  Cjlonel  Hofer  had  often  been 
warned  at  the  convent  boarding-school  of 
the  abuse  that  young  persons  may  make 
of  their  accomplishment?,  after  spending 
much  time  in  acquiring  them.  Wilhelmina 
seemed  to  forget  the  kind  words  of  her 
z  ealous  and  faithful  teachers,  and  took  les- 
sons in  music  and  art  only  to  excite  admira- 
tion and  lead  in  society.  Her  medal  of  the 
Sjdality,  and  the  obligations  it  implied, 
were  wholly  neglected,  and  she  fulfilled, 
hilf-heartedly,  only  the  essential  duties  of 
Christian  piety. 

While  her  sister  taught  Sunday-school, 
Wilhelmina  occupied  a  lounge,  reading  the 
latest  novels.  Gertrude  would  hear  an  early 
Mass,  and  then  lend  her  voice  to  assist  some 
pDor  church  choir  during  High  Mass,  or 
play  on  an  organ  for  which  a  musicim 
could  not  be  paid.  She  had  her  private  list 
of  poor  and  invalids,  besides  contributing 
to  the  needy  of  her  own  parish;  and  her 
good  works  were  performed  in  such  a  hid- 
den, silent  way,  that  only  those  who  had  a 
right  to  know  her  comings  and  goings  were 
aware  of  all  the  good  she  was  doing. 

The  admired  Wilhelmina  gave  her  hand 


in  marriage  to  Maj^r  Kessler,  and  her 
worldliness  had  an  occasion  of  display  in 
an  ultra- fashionable  wedding,  with  expen- 
sive costumes,  and  high-priced  gifts  to  her 
bride- maids.  Her  parents  fondly  hoped  that 
this  important  step  would  lead  their  daugh- 
ter to  serious  reflection,  and  that  an  ap- 
proach to  the  Sacraments  would  rekindle 
piety.   But,  alas — ! 

Soon  after  their  marriage.  Major  Kessler 
was  summoned  to  the  frontier  to  lead  a  bat- 
talion against  some  rebellious  Indians;  and 
his  gay  wife  spent  all  her  time  in  a  round 
of  amusements,  until  a  heavy  cold  obliged 
her  to  desist,  and  finally  call  in  the  physi- 
cian. Much  to  her  regret  she  was  unable  to 
assist  at  the  wedding  festivities  of  Gertrude, 
whose  hand  was  bestowed  upon  a  wealthy 
banker,  famed  for  his  benevolence,  who 
allowed  her  to  follow  her  inclinations  in 
spending  for  the  orphan  asylum  the  large 
sums  that  are  too  often  wasted  on  milliners, 
costumers,  and  caterers. 

Mrs  Kessler's  physician  advised  her  to  try 
the  air  of  Florida.  A  hectic  fever  now  dis- 
played its  sinister  redness  on  the  blanched 
cheek  of  the  fiir  young  invalid.  A  profes- 
sional nurse  was  eng^aged,  and  the  patient 
setout  for  Florida  immediately  after  Christ- 
mas. Bat,  alas!  at  St.  Louis  the  symptoms 
of  hasty  consumption  were  so  unmistak- 
able that  she  was  forced  to  remain  there. 
The  doctor  kindly  reques'ed  some  Sisters 
of  Charity  to  wait  on  the  sick  woman, 
who  seemed  not  to  appreciate  fully  her 
dangerous  condition.  These  devoted  mes- 
sengers of  Heaven  soon  found  it  necessary 
to  arouse  their  charge  from  her  delusive 
expectations  of  recovery,  and  prepare  her  to 
meet  death  with  the  sentiments  of  a  fervent 
penitent. 

Sister  Mary  Claude  suggested  her  seeing 
a  confessor,  but  Wilhelmina  wished  fitst  to 
know  the  opinion  of  her  medical  advisers. 
After  a  short  consultation,  they  assured  her 
that,  at  most,  she  had  only  a  few  days  to 
live,  and  even  this  might  be  uncertain. 
Then  the  sick  woman  suddenly  realized  the 
follies  of  her  past  life,  and,  with  the  aid  of 
the  Sister,  prepared  for  her  general  confes- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


647 


sion  and  the  reception  of  the  last  solemn 
rites  of  the  Church.  Telegrams  were  sent 
to  her  husband  and  to  her  venerable  mother, 
and  many  Masses  were  celebrated  at  her 
request,  "to  atone  for  the  past,"  she  said, 
''and  gain  strength  for  the  anal  combat." 
Sister  Claude  rarely  lefc  her  side,  as  the  in- 
valid now  felt  more  confidence  in  her  pray- 
erful attentions  than  in  any  that  seculars, 
however  ski  ful,  could  bestow.  Oae  even- 
ing— it  was  the  fir^t  day  of  the  New  Year — 
she  said: 

"Sister,  T  wish  to  dispose  of  some  articles 
of  jewelry  that  I  have  with  me;  will  you 
kindly  addiess  the  parcels  for  me?  Mrs. 
Braun  will  give  you  the  key,  and  show  you 
the  casket;  will  >ou  not?"  she  added, with 
a  kind  look  at  her  nurse. 

The  casket  was  brought  out,  and  Mrs. 
Kessler's  wasted  fingers  la'd  out  gem  after 
gem,  seeming  to  be  on  the  search  for  some 
article  of  greater  value  than  the  rest.  At 
last  she  took  np  an  enamelled  box,  and, 
carefully  opening  it,  drew  forth  a  hair- 
bracelet,  beautifully  and  artistically  woven. 
"This,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  address  to 
Miss  Gretchen  Forster,  of — why.  Sister, 
what  ails  you?  Bring  some  water,  Mrs. 
Braun;  Sister  is  ill." 

"No,  dear  madam — it  is  past — I  am 
Gretchen  Foster." 

' '  You  1 ' '  said  the  dying  woman,  in  unaf- 
fected surprise — "are  you  really  Gretchen, 
the  friend  of  my  childhood,  whom  I  so 
cruelly  wronged?" 

"Yes,  dear  ladv,  I  am  the  happy,  fortu- 
nate Gretchen.  The  painful  incident  to 
which  you  allude  was,  under  God's  wise 
providence,  the  means  of  developing  and 
securing  my  vocation,  which  I  prize  above 
all  the  treasures  of  this  world.  How  happy 
I  have  been  in  rendering  you  my  feeble 
services  I  can  not  find  words  to  tell." 

"Then,  as  I  know  you  are  too  good  to 
retain  any  ill-will  for  my  heartless  conduct, 
I  may  die  in  peace,"  said  Mrs.  Kessler.  She 
pressed  the  yielding  hand  of  the  Sister,  then 
continued:  "And  this  bracelet — " 

"Shall,  if  you  agree,"  replied  Sister 
Claude,  "be  offered  as  an  ex-voto  to  the 


shrine  of  our  B'essed  Mother,  who  has  an- 
swered our  prayers  in  inspiring  you  to 
realize  your  danger  of  dying  unreconciled 
to  the  Church." 

"With  all  my  heart,  dearest  and  best  of 
friends.  And  you  are  really  my  own— c«r 
own  Gretchen?  I  did  not  know  you  in  that 
garb." 

"And  I  did  not  recognize  you  at  first;  I 
hid  never  heard  of  your  marriage,  and  your 
sickness  had  changed  you  very  much." 
Then,  opening  a  tiny  parcel,  she  went  on: 
"Now  I  must  ask  one  more  favor  from  you. 
Here  I  have  your  medal  of  Chi!d  of  Mary 
and  a  Scapular  sent  by  your  loving  mother 
to  the  'Sister  in  charge.'  I  want  you  to  let 
me  put  them  around  your  neck." 

With  faltering  voice  Wilhelmina  replied: 
"Of  course— dear  Gretchen — too  happy — 
let  me  die  with  these  pledges  of  Mary 's  love. 
This  is  indeed  a  happy  New  Year's  Diy." 

That  very  evening  the  invalid  passed 
away  while  Sister  Claude  was  saying  her 
Rosary.  Her  j  swelled  bracelet  gleams  from 
the  neck  of  Oar  Ladys  statue  in  the  con- 
vent chapel. 


A  Golden  "Hail  Mary.' 


Permit  me  to  make  a  simple  suggestion 
which  may  become  to  some,  perhaps,  of  per- 
manent value  for  eternity.  Those  who  have 
not  only  received  Catholic  baptism,  but  have 
also  been  trained  up  in  the  faiih  have  daily 
said  more  or  less  often  the  "Hail  Mary."  But 
as  a  gold  coin  is  of  more  value  than  a  handful 
of  coppers,  so  is  one  prayer  said  with  piety  and 
devotion  worth  more  than  a  great  number 
said  in  a  careless  and  distracted  manner.  My 
request,  then,  is  that  you  should  in  future  say 
daily,  beside  your  usual  prayers,  one  golden 
"Hail  Mary" — ^slowly,  fervently,  with  great 
confidence,  and  a  sincere  love  of  our  Blessed 
Mother.  This  you  will  find  of  great  benefit  to 
you  now  and  at  the  hour  of  your  death.  You 
may  easily  imagine  how  willingly  our  Blessed 
L'ldy  will  implore  of  Her  divine  Son  a  favora- 
ble judgment  for  those  who  have  been  devotit 
to  Her,  and  how  joyfully  She  will  welcome 
them  to  the  regions  of  eternal  hX\ss.  —  Alban 
Stolz,'' Little  Crusader:' 


Rve  MaPia. 


y     Andante  modern fo  e  tranquillo 


By  A.  E.   TOZER. 
Cres, 


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